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ot7always · 4 years ago

Text

My Fair Lady

Word Count: 8.1k

Pairing: Crown Prince!Taehyung x Captain of the Guard!Reader

Genre: Historical/Fantasy AU, fluff, smut, angst

Warnings: Sparring (swordfight/fistfight), I’ve literally never fenced in my life I’m sorry for any errors, pining, mentions of battle scars, angst angst angst, angsty sex, crying during sex (and not in a sexy way), unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, it’s super angsty but I promise it’ll be okay

Rating: 18+

Summary: His brother unable to spar with him that day, Crown Prince Taehyung comes to you in need of a partner.

A/N: This fic was such a wild ride of a writing experience, and I literally lost chunks of writing because of my laptop crashing multiple times. But this fic is my baby, please let me know what you think!

Huge thanks to @wwilloww for beta reading for me, and also @peekaboongi for crying with me as I wrote.

Tagging @moonmintrails @ppersonna @irissilujm @dee-ehn

Masterlist

You gaze swept across the palace training grounds, hands clasped firmly behind your back. You watched as your soldiers trained, whether it be alone or with each other, and kept an eye out for any glaring errors – incorrect form, weak footwork, and the like.

As the youngest Captain of the Guard in history, it was your duty to ensure each of your soldiers, men and women alike, were in prime condition. Though the position was not passed through bloodlines, you had taken over from your father following his retirement from duty. He was a very well-respected man, and you were determined not to disappoint him. You would continue to prove time and time again that you deserved the honour of your place.

You kept your eyes forward even as you sensed a tall presence settle beside you, taking on a similar stance to your own.

“My Lady,” a deep voice greeted. Your nose crinkled at the title. While it was true your family was of noble station, you much preferred to be addressed as “Captain.” You sought to distance yourself from your cousins who enjoyed hosting fancy balls and tittering about the latest messenger visiting from overseas.

You gave the man beside you a brief once-over, eyes quickly returning to your soldiers in the field. The Crown Prince was looking particularly fresh today, white cotton shirt laced neatly and tucked into black pants that moulded to him like water. His dark curls appeared freshly washed, small tendrils swaying in the wind, having escaped the small tie at the nape of his neck. He smelled suspiciously of lavender. Perhaps he had been delving into his sister’s perfumes once again.

“Your Highness,” you nodded curtly, ignoring the pang in your chest at his appearance. While you tried to put up a good front, you were not immune to the Prince’s charms.

“You know I don’t like when you call me that,” he smiled bashfully at his feet before turning the entirety of his attention to you. “I am in need of a favour,” he continued, gaze imploring.

“What can I do for you, Your Highness?” you responded, suppressing a smirk when you heard him sigh at your words. Having grown up around him, even sharing lessons and training together before you surpassed his abilities, you would consider the two of you friends – more, even. However, you had an image to keep up, barriers that needed to be kept in place lest anyone question your ability to prioritize the royal family’s safety without distraction.

“I require a sparring partner.”

“Do you forget yourself, Your Highness?” you grinned at the notion. Not many dared to challenge you to a fight, and the last time Taehyung matched you in skill he was perhaps a foot or two shorter.

“I beg of you, Captain. My brother is feeling out of sorts and I am in need of a distraction. I have been meeting with courtiers all morning and I cannot begin to express how tiring-”

“He’s taken ill?” you cut in, eyes wide and tone laced with concern as you finally turned to give the Prince your undivided attention. His younger brother was only 15, and you had developed a soft spot for the boy over the years. The plague which tended to come and go from your Kingdom was no joke. While many recovered, many more slowly but surely lost their lives.

“Don’t worry yourself too much, My Lady. Our doctors have assured us it is simply a minor ailment.” His heart warmed at your obvious affection for his brother, knowing how much you cherished his younger siblings. He wondered whether he himself held a similar place in your heart. “Let’s not concentrate on that which will resolve itself quickly in time. Rather, I am still in dire need of a partner. Please?” he appeased, giving you his best impression of a pout. You tried not to crack a smile at the resemblance to his sister.

Your hesitation did not last long – you found it difficult to deny Taehyung anything, not that he asked much of you very often. “Very well, then. Though, we are not exactly dressed for the occasion, are we?” you chuckled, meeting his eyes. It was true. Having only recently left a meeting with those who would accompany Their Majesties to town the next day, you were dressed in a white blouse, dark leather bodice laced on top. While your leather boots allowed for sufficient footwork, the suppressed movement of your torso was not exactly ideal for a fight.

“We both know that you are more than capable of fighting in such attire. Come,” he said, giving you no time to refuse before you were led to the central combat ring. The ring was often used to host friendly tournaments and was clearly visible from any spot in the field.

“Are you so keen to showcase your defeat to my entire squadron?” you teased, shooting the Prince a grin as you caught the foil he tossed to you. Light, thin, and dull, it ensured you did not cause any serious injury lest you accidentally hit him. Cotton, after all, was not the most ideal material to prevent bruising. As for you? Well, you didn’t plan on getting hit anyway.

You took up your position opposite him, bent slightly at the knee, sword in hand, opposing hand clenched comfortably behind your back. You watched as Taehyung settled into the same posture. You clicked your tongue in disapproval upon seeing his form. Shoulders tense already, you sighed. Well, you would just have to see if he fixed his error later on.

“Ready when you are, Sweet Prince,” you smirked, exhaling a laugh as his face flushed. It was a nickname given to him by the men and women he’d seduced and bedded over the years. Even if he’d invited them into his bed only once and never again, they never stopped singing his praises. A part of you was desperate to know what he did to impress them.

“I don’t have all day, Your Highness,” you called out, smile slowly lighting up your face at his embarrassment. A lie, of course. If he asked you to stand there and wait for hours while you simply stared at each other you would do it. You liked to tell yourself it was because of your royal duty, but in reality you had never been able to say no to him, even in your childhood. There was something so charming yet shy, so mature yet naïve about him, that had you wishing for his happiness at every moment. He was a walking contradiction you wanted nothing more than to solve.

Having collected himself, Taehyung launched himself at you quickly, sword flying its way toward your shoulder – easily parried. You figured the two of you would ease into a proper match. After all, neither of you were properly warmed up, and you refused to listen to the Prince’s complaining of sore muscles if you could avoid it.

You remained light on your feet, focusing solely on defending against his basic lunges rather than attempting to retaliate. That would come in time. It wouldn’t be so enjoyable if you didn’t toy with him just a little, right?

After several minutes of rather simple steps, you figured you were ready to break a sweat. The next time his blade swung at you, you batted it aside and thrust your own at his chest, tip poking into his shirt before he could even blink.

“Come now, Your Highness. Shall we see what my father taught you?” you taunted, backing away to your original position. Your heart warmed when you saw the fire light in his eyes at the challenge, his playful expression temporarily replaced by sheer focus. You couldn’t conclude which was more handsome.

The next time he flew at you, it was with newfound ardour, the clink of metal on metal a familiar symphony to your ears. The Prince was skilled, you would give him that. Not that you were surprised – you recalled a time in his youth when he dedicated himself fully to training in this exact spot.

You gave yourself fully to your reflexes, blade swinging left, right, and circling round as you blocked his attacks. Quickly side-stepping a stab toward your neck, you grinned. Despite your original hesitance, you were enjoying yourself. Seeing the sweat form on Taehyung’s brow from his effort, you were happy to see him dedicate himself to something so completely. His technique focused on agility over power, something well-suited to his long limbs and lean muscle. You were the same – fight smart, not hard, your father used to tell you.

Backing away suddenly, Taehyung pouted slightly as he caught his breath. “I can tell that you are going easy on me, Captain. At least try to hit me, I swear to you that I can handle it.” You chuckled at his words.

“Very well, Your Highness. Though if I may point out, perhaps it would serve you better if you relaxed your muscles more. How can you expect to hit me when your shoulder fails to follow through?” you chided. Taehyung bit his lip at your words.

“My apologies, Captain. I find it difficult when I am near you.” Your brows furrowed, unsure whether you heard correctly. He has trouble relaxing around you? You preferred not to pick apart such a statement.

In answer, you lunged at him, a tide of satisfaction flowing through you when he moved immediately in response. You allowed him to continue on the offensive, though this time you followed up every few parries with a riposte, ensuring you never actually hit him with your blade.

Steel was flying through the air so fast it was a blur, your focus lying solely on the flurry of blades between your bodies. You quickly lost track of time, though based on the slight burn in your calves the activity must have gone on for quite a while.

It became almost like a rhythm – feet dancing, you blocked thrice, circling around for a responding thrust. Little did you know, in your focus you missed Taehyung’s wistful glances as he took in your appearance – gaze sharp, hair around your face flying as it escaped your tight knot at the back.

While you did your best not to make contact, your efforts were not perfect. Because as the Prince stepped left rather than right as you had expected, your blade made full and hard contact with his abdomen, confirmed by the faint oof that accompanied the motion. Broken out of your trance, you stared wide-eyed. “My apologies-”

You let down your guard for only a moment, but it was enough for him to swipe your blade aside, his own resting right between your collarbones. Raising your eyes to meet his own, you found only a grin, no sign of pain. That little-

“KIM TAEHYUNG!!!” you bellowed, ignoring the nearby gasps at your blatant show of disrespect. The eldest soldiers only shook their heads in dismay, having become used to your antics over the years. You whipped the side of his blade with your own, force enough to send it flying out of his grasp. “I was worried about you!” you shouted, stalking your way over to his retreating body, met only by a full-bodied laugh and hands raised to defend himself.

He took hold of your shoulders, keeping you at arms’ length as you glared up at him. The look only sent him into another fit of laughter. “The look on your face was magnificent, Captain,” he snickered, ignoring the betrayal on your face. “I’m perfectly fine, also. You needn’t worry so much-”

“Oh, you will not be fine by the time I’m done with you, Your Highness,” you seethed, picking up his discarded blade only to chuck it at him with just a little more force than necessary. “If you wanted a fight, Kim Taehyung, you’ve found one. I will pray for your recovery.”

Taking up your position for the third time of the afternoon, you scanned his features opposite you. He had no blaring weak spots, though you would be surprised if he did after all his years of training. He was fast, though you would bet that you were faster. Defeating him at his full capabilities would not be extremely easy, but if you gave it perhaps 80% you supposed you could be done within minutes.

“Any last words?” you goaded, grinning at the fleck of worry that crossed his face. “You look afraid, Your Highness.”

“It is perhaps in my best interest to remain a bit afraid, My Lady,” he chuckled lightly, eyes keen as they awaited your first movement. The narrowed your eyes, taking him in, planning your actions. He’s not wrong, you thought. Everyone in this field was just a little bit afraid.

Taehyung jumped when your blade made contact with his own, a high-pitched screech ringing out as he fought you off. You gave him no time to contemplate his own actions before you lunged relentlessly at him, delivering strike after strike without pause. He was forced to remain on the defensive, putting in his full effort to parry and step away in time.

Despite his struggle, you were impressed he was able to keep up with you as well as he was. He’s been training more, you noted. His improvement was clear compared to the last time you fought only several months ago. However, in a game of stamina, you were sure to win.

The top of your bodice dug sharply into your chest as your breaths quickened, but you were no stranger to discomfort. Over time you had learned to put aside such trivial things. Aches and pains were part of your job, and you’d be damned if you didn’t do it well.

Unwilling to let go of your pride, your steps quickened, Taehyung’s blade moving frantically to keep up but inevitably slowing slightly as you did not give him time to breathe. If you hadn’t focused all of your energy into this alone with no distractions, you perhaps would have poked fun at him.

When his sword arm lagged only slightly behind, arms slightly too wide, slightly too open, you struck hard. Batting his blade to the side only centimetres above where he held it in his grasp, you simpered, watching his shocked face as his blade went flying. His eyes darted between you and the blade, metres away, seemingly contemplating whether to give up or to pounce on it.

“What now, Little Prince? If this were a battlefield, would you simply cower in fear?” you coerced, eyes predatory. Perhaps it was sadistic of you, but you relished in the look of dismay in Taehyung’s face. He’d been thoroughly defeated – it was only a matter of how long you would draw it out.

Tossing your own foil to the side, you stretched your limbs before beckoning him over, fists positioned in front of you. It was a petty move and you knew it, for soldiers were much more well-versed in hand-to-hand combat than the Crown Prince, who was known to favour his swords and bows.

Taehyung had no complaints, however. A fight was a fight, after all. As he came after you with one, two, three jabs to your chest, you danced aside as you evaded easily. The difference in speed between his punches and sword thrusts were clear, the former much less practiced than the latter.

You unfortunately had not thought this idea through, because your options for victory without injuring the Prince were limited. While you were aware Taehyung would not mind, it would not be the best image for you to beat the life out of the Kingdom’s Crown Prince in open view of a squadron sworn to protect him.

“Are you so eager for my company that you would draw this out?” he joked, a weak punch toward your face easily shoved out of the way by your forearm. “Or perhaps you find pleasure in cornering me, My Lady?”

“You think so highly of yourself, Your Highness. Is it so disconcerting to find yourself put in your place every so often?”

“Quite the opposite, I think. I’ve never enjoyed myself so much,” he beamed, eyes shining. “I’ve quite missed you, Captain.” You faltered at the admission. While you loved to give him a hard time, you knew he was well aware of your fondness for him. However, you don’t believe you’ve ever said something so forthright to each other, and the statement awakened something in you that you thought you had buried deep.

Noting your slightly frozen state, Taehyung charged at you. However, you would not be fooled twice. The audacity of this man-

Twisting your arm to grab hold of his, you leaped forward. Suddenly taking the force of your full weight, Taehyung had nowhere to go but down, groaning as his back thudded against the canvas floor. Knee digging itself into the Prince’s ribcage below you, you sighted your previously discarded blade nearby. Grabbing hold of it, you held it to his throat.

“Yield,” you whispered, words escaping you much softer than intended. He made no effort to move, only staring up into your face with unspeakable emotion.

“And what if I am happy where I am, My Lady?” he murmured, taking in your appearance. Chest heaving, escaped hair wet with sweat, blouse crinkled – you were perhaps the finest sight he’d ever had the pleasure to lay eyes on. Though his words might have been taken for humour, you saw the look on his face. He didn’t even attempt to mask the desire, shameless through and through.

Before you could even think to respond, smatterings of applause broke out across the field at your victorious display, though they could not even begin to understand what was happening between the two of you. Moment broken, you quickly hopped up, helping Taehyung to his feet but avoiding his gaze. You were afraid to admit how much your heart fluttered when you heard his words, afraid of how much it would hurt when you would be forced to walk away and never speak of this moment again.

It was for the best.

“Y/N,” he called out softly, hands reaching for your own, but maintaining a respectful distance. Your eyes flew up to meet his, unused to hearing your own name in the palace nowadays. The look he gave you was honest, sincere. “Do you feel this too?”

You paused. Though he didn’t quite say what this meant, you could guess. In fact, his knowing gaze told you he only wanted you to admit what he already knew. The man had always been perceptive, and you had more memories with him than with your own family. You were certain he was familiar with your every expression. After all, you could write novels about his face – the way his eyes shone in his passion, the way the corners of his lips twitched when he was repressing a scowl.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Pleading ignorance was the best defense. Admitting to your desires was foolish, and would not change your circumstances. You knew this was deeper than physical desires, but that just made it all the more impossible. Princes were destined for arranged marriage – nobody could simply form a relationship with a future King, least of all the soldier who has pledged her life to his parents. No, a proper relationship was not within the realm of possibility. But neither could you lay with the Crown Prince in good conscience – how would the public trust you to put the King and Queen’s safety above all else if you were warming their Prince’s bed?

Every option to act on your desires was fated for failure.

Taehyung’s hands moved from your palms to your wrists, his thumbs pressing into your pulse firmly. “Your heart is racing,” he murmured, eyes staring into your own as though he knew your every secret. “Why do you hide it?”

“You know why,” you stated, voice soft. “Of course I feel it, but it matters not.” The admission coming from your own lips shocked you. You had danced around each other for years, orbiting each other like binary stars, but you’d never admitted your attraction to him.

“It matters to me,” he whispered, thumb stroking at the soft skin of your wrists with care. “Come to my chambers after dinner.”

Your brows shot up at the suggestion. This was not a light request. You were no longer children, no longer laughed in his company until the maids shooed you away, chiding you for making so much noise.

This was real. As much as you grew to accept your desires, you had never even fathomed acting on them. Not when you knew it couldn’t last – not when your reputation, perhaps even your position, were at stake. “Your Highness, I couldn’t possibly-”

“Please,” he begged, staring into you with an expression you would liken to a puppy begging for scraps. You attempted to turn away, but he only followed. “Please,” he repeated, noting your conflicted expression. It was hard to deny him anything when he was looking at you like that, but even harder to deny yourself when every part of you wanted nothing more than to say yes.

“Very well,” you breathed, sealing your fate. “I shall come when the clock strikes eight, Your Highness.”

You couldn’t do it. As much as your heart craved him more than anything, you couldn’t. He was untouchable. If you were any other person, if you were just a court lady, you would jump at the chance. It wasn’t a secret that the Prince has had many partners, and nobody gave it a second thought. But to be with you?

It was improper. Impossible. How could you be trusted to do your duty fully and objectively if you’d laid with the Crown Prince?

After bathing, you made your way to his bedchambers, clad only in a loose blouse and cotton pants, hair flowing freely around your shoulders, still wet. You could not join him in his bed, but he at least deserved a rejection in person rather than your absence.

Knocking lightly on the door, you were startled when it swung open, your arm still raised. He gave you such a sweet smile it was almost painful, still dressed in his earlier attire but hair loose around his face. You stepped into the room, taking in its appearance, having not seen the room in years. It smelled of him, of vanilla and lavender and musk, a scent you would breathe for the rest of your life if it was possible. The room was exactly as you remembered it, mostly barren if not for the set of throwing knives on display – a gift from your father for the Prince’s coming-of-age.

“I’m so glad you came-”

“I’m sorry,” you cut him off, turning to face him. “I came to put a stop to this before it’s begun, Your Highness. You're trying to start something that will be too painful to cease.” Your words struck him, and it physically pained you to see his face transform from excitement to distress.

“But I am not imagining what we have, am I? I have longed for you for years. Am I wrong to think you have too?” he pleaded.

“It doesn’t matter what I want, Your Highness. We can’t possibly do this – think about it. Not only that, I cannot have the palace thinking I earned my position through your bed. There are so many reasons we cannot – I want you but I cannot have you!” You didn’t mean to raise your voice, but you couldn’t help it in your grief. Eyes brimming with unshed tears of frustration, it hurt to look at him standing so close, and yet so out of reach.

At your anguish, Taehyung reached for your face, thumbs wiping away the tears you didn’t even notice had fallen. His tenderness only sent another wave of sorrow through you, chest heavy. “I’m sorry. I know it was selfish to call you here. I know this is easier for me than you. Please forget I ever asked.”

“I know it’s wrong, but...”

“But?” he urged gently.

“Is it so foolish that I want it anyway?” you whispered. You looked at him wide-eyed, gaze pained, searching his face as if it held the answers to the universe. For you, perhaps it did.

“Y/N...” he begun, the sweet sound of your name coming from his lips the final nail in your coffin. Denying that you wanted this more than anything would be the greatest lie you’ve ever told. It was brash, and stupid, and irresponsible, but you wanted to feel this at least once. You wanted to indulge in his touch, his affection. You needed to feel his hands on you, his mouth on your skin, and you didn’t know if you would ever be brave enough to accept him again if you didn’t do it now.

“It can only be once. Nobody can know.” You couldn’t risk the noblewomen catching on to your activities. They were unusually observant, and you didn’t doubt their abilities to discern your relationship with even the faintest of hints. Taehyung knew better than anybody that the palace ladies treated gossip as currency, and word traveled especially quickly on matters involving him. He nodded at your words, but the grave look on his face told you he wished things were different.

“I will cherish our time together, My Lady” he breathed, but his conflicted expression spoke volumes. “We don’t have to do this-”

You shook your head, closing the space between you until your chests were pressed together. Stomach in knots and chest tight, you ran your fingers along his broad chest and down to his abdomen before wrapping them loosely around his waist. You would savour every touch, make note of every expression, save away every delightful noise from his lips, and you would pray for it to be enough to satiate you for a lifetime. Because it had to be.

Tilting your head back to meet his eyes, your heart nearly leapt from your throat at the look on his face. The adoration, the warmness – but most of all, the pain. This was torture for both of you, and you knew it. It was selfish and self-destructive, but the two of you always seemed to bring out both the best and the worst in each other.

Without speaking, you reached up to grab hold of his head, yanking it down to smash your lips together without ceremony. He responded with fervor, moving against you, arms tugging until there was not even a millimetre of space between your bodies. You tried not to think about the desperation in your movements, the saltiness of the tears still present on your face. You dragged your hands over the planes of his chest and down to his biceps, nails digging in slightly when he bit at your bottom lip.

Harshly tugging his shirt from his waistband, you traced your nails up his bare skin, relishing in the uneven breath he let out in response. You would dedicate yourself to memorizing every inch of him. Every dip, every curve would be ingrained in your mind for eternity, your hands tracing patterns into his skin like a brush on canvas.

He did the same to you, his large hands finding their way beneath your blouse and chemise, lifting them both above your head to toss them to the floor. You were bare underneath, having planned to leave for your own bedchambers only minutes after arriving. He sucked in a breath at the sight of you on display entirely for him. His careful fingers traced the scars on your abdomen, accumulated through years of training and fighting on the frontlines. While ugly, you were not ashamed – these were proofs to others and to yourself that you would put your Kingdom above all else.

Bending at the knee, he traced his mouth down your jaw, down your throat, kissing you reverently as he continued his path. Passing over your breasts, he moved lower to mouth gently at the scars littering your belly, his gentle presses causing new tears to spring to your eyes. Was this how it felt to be worshipped? To be loved?

Taehyung took in the sorrow painting your features, but did not comment. There was nothing to be said – he understood perfectly. Perhaps if he pressed his face more firmly into the softness of your skin, he would spare you having to see the twin look of despair he was unable to hide.

Sliding a hand into his hair, you softly brushed it away from his face, gently pulling his chin up to look at you. Your heart wrenched at the sight of him, eyes looking at you as though you were a treasure, as though you weren’t the thing causing him so much pain. As though you wouldn’t leave him alone after this.

Tugging lightly at the collar of his shirt, he quickly got the memo, shucking it off in a direction you didn’t see, too focused on what was just revealed to you. If not for the honeyed gold of his skin, you would have been convinced he was carved of marble. You traced the lines of his body, a tiny smile breaking through at the shudder he gave when your nails scratched over his nipples. Though your actions were slow, he did not rush you. He only watched the awe in your gaze, eyes wide as though if you blinked, he would disappear. The childlike wonder in your face warmed his heart, pleased that you would let your guard down here with him.

You blinked out of your stupor at the sensation of a warm hand on your cheek, the sight of Taehyung’s soft grin at your antics lighting a small fire of embarrassment in you. “Bed?” he asked lightly, nuzzling his face into your neck. The hot breaths near your ear sent a shiver down your spine, tugging him ever-so-closer as you nodded in response.

Pulling away from him, you tugged lightly at the drawstrings to your pants, biting your lip when you saw the Prince follow your every movement. Taking his hands into your own, you brought them to your waistband. “Help me,” you breathed, heart racing at the knowledge that you would soon be laid bare to him.

He took a deep breath before releasing the knot at your waist, tugging your pants ever so slowly down your legs. He knelt at your feet, removing the fabric from your ankles until the only cloth left on your body is your underwear. Eyes falling on your face, he thumbed the waistband, looking up at you in question. At your quiet “please,” he removed that too, your folds revealed to him, shiny with your arousal.

Groaning at the sight, Taehyung latched onto your clit before you could even process the movement, the sudden pleasure making you weak in the knees. He sucked at your bud lightly, taking pleasure in the way you sunk your hands into his hair to ground yourself. When you wobbled slightly in your bliss, his left arm rose to hold you steady at the waist.

When his other hand rose to thumb through your folds while his mouth continued its ministrations, you moaned out. Eyes falling down to observe the Prince, the sight brought a small whimper to your lips, your hips grinding down onto him. He looked absolutely sinful, his eyes heavy-lidded as he delved into your heat with such abandon, focused entirely on your pleasure. When he inserted a finger into you, quickly followed by another upon feeling your wetness, you were sure you would have fallen if not for his arm holding you steady.

“What-” you started, but ended up cutting yourself off with a loud moan at the sensation of his fingers scissoring inside you. “What happened to going to bed?” you managed to get out, utterly breathless.

You let out a gasp when he pulled from you abruptly in response, picking you up at the waist and throwing you onto his mattress. You had no time to reprimand him before he was spreading your legs, mouth and fingers returning to you as he joined you on the bed. Any words were stolen from your throat at the stretch of a third finger, your hips bucking up to get closer to the source of your pleasure.

“You taste so good,” he moaned out, panting. You didn’t miss the way he grinded his clothed crotch into the sheets, heat shooting through you at the sight. When his fingers curled inside you, the heat spread throughout your whole body, abdomen tight and walls clenching tightly around his fingers. You were so close to the edge, it would take only one breath before you fell over.

“Give it to me, please,” he pleaded, tongue flicking over your clit as his fingers continued to nudge that spongy spot inside you. Needing no more encouragement, you fell apart, moans forced from your throat, hips grinding against him as he worked you through your orgasm. When a dull ache begun to replace the pleasure, you pulled away from him, pushing him onto his back.

His arousal was clear, his cock straining in his tight pants enough that it must have hurt. Though, his face held no complaint, only dazed wonderment clear on his features, almost as if he still couldn’t believe what was happening. He let out a sharp hiss as your nails traced the outline of his cock, his teeth biting furiously at his bottom lip.

Deciding not to torture him after the ecstasy he brought you, you tugged his pants and underwear down in one go, Taehyung groaning in relief as his cock sprung free. The tip was angry and red, the slit leaking precum. After freeing him of his clothing, you reached out a hand to pump lightly at his cock, noting the way it twitched in your hold. It looked almost painful, the vein running up the underside big and angry.

You began to lower your mouth to him, eager to return the pleasure he gave you, but were halted by a gentle hand on your cheek. “Please,” he begged, “I can’t. I need you,” he expressed all in one breath, eyes pained and needy.

Taking mercy on him, you rose, shifting until you were seated in his lap, mouth seeking his out. He cried out into your mouth at the sensation of your slick folds rocking against him, grinding down onto his cock. Hand reaching down to position him at your entrance, you pulled your face away to watch his as you sunk yourself slowly onto his length. The moan you let out at the stretch was crude, and it didn’t appear that Taehyung was faring any better, his breaths coming in pants, eyes screwed shut.

He’s beautiful like this, you thought, your own eyes wanting to badly to flutter closed, but your need to take in his every expression won out. Your head tipped back in pleasure as you seated yourself fully, moans escaping as you rocked against him, his pelvis pressing into your clit.

Losing yourself in the sensation, you fell forward to bury your face into Taehyung’s neck, his scent only adding to your pleasure. His hips rocked against your own, thrusts shallow, both of you letting out low moans at the movement. The friction against your clit had your abdomen tightening again, his tender hold on your body the best thing you’d ever felt. But as the pleasure reared in on you again, it was at that moment you remembered the totality of your situation.

You would never get this again.

The thought was like ice-water thrown over your head. How could you have forgotten? His cock deep inside you, his hips rising to meet your own, his hand clutching at the small of your back, his moans – it was all temporary.

You shoved your face tightly into his shoulder, hoping your sob would disguise itself as a moan. But at the shaking of your shoulders, Taehyung paused his actions, hand rising to cradle your head. “Y/N?”

“Tae,” you cried out, heart wrenching. It wasn’t lost on him that this was the first time he’s properly heard his name from your lips since your promotion – no teasing, no games. His heart broke at the sound, your sobs guttural, and he wanted nothing more than to take the pain away. The gravity of the situation brought tears to his own eyes, unable to suppress the emotion any longer.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he whispered, your head lifting to meet his glassy eyes. Your eyes were red-rimmed, your lips quivering. This was an agony that only the two of you could ever understand.

“Taehyung, I-” you faltered, choking on a sob. I love you. You couldn’t say it. What good could it bring you now? But your eyes spoke volumes, the emotion clear on your face. He knew how you felt just as much as you knew how he felt.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he repeated, tears finally escaping his eyes as he tugged you closer. There was no way to be more intimate than this, arms cradling each other as you cried, his cock still nestled inside you.

It would have to be enough.

As your bodies shifted minutes later, the friction against you had you shivering, remembering the position you were in. You pulled your head from his neck to gaze at his face, his eyes meeting your own. It hurt, but there was sad acceptance in your eyes, mirrored in his own. You tried to force a small smile onto your face, but you were unsure whether it appeared as a grimace. You instead elected to press a soft kiss to his lips, eyes falling closed as he returned it.

You rocked your hips together slowly, relishing in the light sighs and quiet moans of the other. Your movements were tender, careful, full of love and affection you would never get the chance to verbalize. When you felt your release creeping up on you again, you arched your back, grinding into his pelvis. Wanting to help you along, Taehyung grabbed hold of your hips, holding you steady as he thrusted up into you, every so often holding himself deep, grinding against you. The emotion of it all had your breath caught in your throat, your orgasm washing over you in gentle waves as you writhed against his body.

You could tell he was coming undone, his thrusts erratic, breaths heavy as he pulled away from you to leave open-mouthed kisses on your collarbone. You moaned at the overwhelming sensation of his movements so soon after your orgasm, but you wouldn’t dare rob him of his pleasure. Not now, not like this.

Groaning loudly, you felt his cock twitch inside you as he continued his thrusts, feeling the warmth of his release coating your walls. He shook in your arms, and you couldn’t bring yourself to confirm whether he was overwhelmed with pleasure or sorrow.

Letting out a whine as you pulled yourself off him, you wiped the mess between your legs on his sheets. His maids would clean for him come sunrise, and you were anxious to escape the room before you lost yourself fully to despair.

You allowed yourself to bask in his presence momentarily, laying alongside him for several minutes before you rose to get dressed. You kept your back to him, unwilling to show weakness despite your vulnerability only moments ago.

“Stay,” he begged, his voice still husky from the passion you’d shared. Your heart sunk at the suggestion. You wanted nothing more than to stay, but every minute you spent here knowing the outcome only shattered you a bit more.

Fully dressed, you made your way to the door. You could still feel where his hands touched you, where his lips pressed against you, where his cock had been inside you. “I’m sorry,” you breathed, misery colouring your tone. You turned to him, taking in his bare appearance for the last time. You stared, hoping to burn the image into your retinas.

“I know,” was his only response. What more was there to say? Your eyes swept over each other, locking this moment away in your hearts forever. Finally, you turned back to the door, turning the knob and stepping out into the hallway without looking back. The sound of the hinge falling into place behind you felt like waking up from a dream, the period at the end of a sentence.

Your tears fell freely and silently as you made your way back to your chambers. Your heart ached a bit more with the increasing distance, every step leaving a piece of you behind.

It’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all? You supposed whoever could claim such a thing had never loved like this. Because walking away left your heart in a million pieces, the only glue that could piece you back together still staring at his empty sheets, the dip from where your body once laid still warm to the touch.

Months went by without speaking of that night. The tonic you’d taken upon returning to your room had worked well, your body having bled weeks later. You had still talked to Taehyung – you had to; your duty required it. But the pain never ceased, only dulled. You told yourself you would move on, that there was no use in dwelling. But the heated glances you caught him directing at you, desire and heartbreak in his eyes, always took you right back to that night.

He hadn’t been with anyone since – not that you were listening. You couldn’t help but to overhear the palace ladies gossiping, spreading word of the Crown Prince denying their advances. You didn’t know what to do with the information.

Having just returned from mapping out Their Majesties route to a neighbouring city, you returned your horse to the stables. While not necessary, you much preferred to prepare yourself for every possibility of attack, taking note of any weaknesses in visibility along the path. Every second counts when you’re under attack, after all.

“Captain!” a voice called out to you urgently. Having just handed off your horse to the stablehand, you turned to meet the man, his hands on his knees as if he had just run a mile before coming here. “I have been looking for you everywhere, Captain. Their Majesties have requested your presence in the throne room.” Unusual, since you had met together only this morning, but you would not keep them waiting.

“Thank you, sir. I will head there now.”

You went directly to the throne room, pausing outside to nod to the royal family’s assistant stationed outside. He smiled to you briefly before pushing the door open.

“Captain Y/N to see you, Your Majesties.”

“Let her in, thank you,” a kind, feminine voice rang out.

You stepped inside quickly, taking a knee until the King gestured for you to stand. “I deeply apologize for my appearance, Your Majesties. I had just returned from planning our route for tomorrow and thought it better not to leave you waiting.”

The King smiled at you, the warm-hearted expression reminding you of Taehyung’s. Your chest ached at the thought, but you kept a blank expression. “Hard at work as always, I see. We had something we would like to discuss with you.” At his words, you noticed that not only were the King and Queen present, but Taehyung was stood off to the side as well. Your heartrate increased slightly at the sight of him.

“Your Highness. Forgive my disrespect, I had not seen you there,” you bowed respectfully, ignoring the heat that rushed through you at his appearance. His hair was loose, his outfit form-fitting. He was beautiful. You tried not to think too much on what he looked like beneath the clothes. “What can I do for you, Your Majesties?”

“Captain, my son came to us earlier today with quite the startling proposition,” he began, and your brows furrowed in confusion. When he failed to elaborate, you spoke up.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean, Your Majesty.”

“You see, he came to us in a frenzy and asked, ‘Father, what would you say if I wanted to marry the Captain of the Guard?’” You froze, eyes wide. Marry? You? Taehyung? Your heart pounded violently at the notion.

“Sire, I promise you this was not my idea. I apologize-”

“My dear, do not panic. We are not angry. But we wanted to ask your thoughts.”

“Your Majesties, I couldn’t possibly marry your son.” You made effort not to look at the Prince, lest your composure fail. “I have no lands to offer. No gold, nothing. I cannot offer you any alliance, I cannot bring anything to your family,” you turned to Taehyung, his expression unreadable. “You cannot marry a soldier,” you whispered, heart breaking once again as the possibility was dangled in front of you, lingering just beyond reach.

“Captain, do you know that the people adore you? That they sing your praises when we pass through their villages?” the Queen asked, a bright smile painting her features. Your face grew hot at the mention. “Your soldiers respect you. Your hometown throws festivals in honour of your birthday. Dare I say that you’re more popular than us?” she joked, giggle chiming lightly through the room. Taking in her appearance and mannerisms, it was no question why Taehyung was as handsome and as loved as he was.

“Ma’am, of course not,” you responded, hand raising to awkwardly scratch at your head. You were unsure where she was going with the statement.

“You’ve earned the Kingdom’s trust, Captain. You’re perhaps the most loyal person I’ve ever laid eyes on. Might I also add that you are not just some nobody? Your family has served ours for generations. You are of noble birth,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Do you consider yourself so unworthy?”

You paused at the question. It did not seem to be a trap, and the Queen was certainly not one to be malicious. Glancing around the room, you noted the King and Prince were observing your reaction expectantly. It was not an environment good for your nerves. “A soldier is not fit to be the future Queen,” is the statement you settled for, attempting to maintain a mask of indifference.

“My dear, do you remember what you told me only a few years ago? When I asked you if you were afraid of trying to accomplish what nobody else in history has?” the King’s deep voice rang out. Your gaze snapped up, knowing exactly what he was about to say. Oh no...

“‘Damn history. I will write my own history,’ I think it was.” Chuckles broke out across the room, the Queen tittering, Taehyung snickering. You’d never told Taehyung about that encounter, embarrassment flowing through you every time you thought about it. You focused your gaze on your feet, face burning at the reminder of your words.

“I have since learned to control my words, Sire,” you muttered ashamedly, fingers tangling together.

“Y/N,” the King’s voice called, grabbing your attention once again. “You have guts. Daring. You’re smart, well-trained. And there’s nobody I would trust to guard my life more than you.” You bit your lip at the praise, struggling to hide a proud grin. Being praised by the King was a feat not many experienced. “It would be an honour to call you our daughter.”

You stared, slack-jawed, processing his words. You didn’t notice Taehyung approaching you until his fingers laced with your own, his opposing hand moving to raise your chin. The open affection on his face, the love - it was everything you’d ever dreamed of and nothing you’d ever dared hope for. Your breathing quickened as he sank to his knees in front of you.

“Please,” he beseeched, vulnerability clear on his face. “Spend eternity with me, together. Will you marry me?”

Tears filled your eyes, but for once they were tears of joy, not tears of despair. You dropped to your knees to meet him, arms thrown around his neck. He barely had time to catch you as you threw yourself at him, bodies the closest they’ve been since that night in his bed. Raising your head to lock your eyes on his, you knew the same love you had for him was written all over your face.

“Yes,” you cried, hands raising to cup his jaw. “Yes.”

#vantaenet #heartsforbts #taehyung x reader #taehyung fluff #taehyung smut #taehyung angst #bts fic #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #bts fanfic #bts fantasy au #bts historical au

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kadeu · 3 years ago

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Accepted — Wainwright Rook

♣ Rook Wainwright aka Hyena looks like Colson Baker (musician/actor) ♣ He was born October 13th, 1966; making him 58 years old, but he appears 26 ♣ This Concubus is Bisexual and a King of Clubs ♣ He is a Tavern Owner and Resistance Informant

Biography

tw: child abandonment

“I’ll keep a razor in my wraps to slit your throat at the gates.”

Rook Wainwright was doomed to be a menace from the start. Memories not eroded by drugs or head trauma of his childhood are few and far between, but what he remembers in fleeting moments is the cold, the ache in his stomach as he struggled to keep himself fed, both on meager scraps of bread and small amounts of water, and the emotional stimuli of the world around him, drawn to anger and misery like a moth to a brilliant flame for his own survival. An orphan with no awareness of his true lineage, Rook knew only that one of his parents had been a concubus- and that if they had once lived in the slums of Club, they had long since left it, and him, behind. Little more than a child, Rook had no awareness of the concepts he’d fallen victim to, homelessness, abandonment- He knew only that he wanted to- no, needed to survive, and so, he fought tooth and nail to do just that.

Club was unkind to him, brutal and lawless, but he found his comfort in a few kinder hands and hearts, a warm meal here and there, a mend on his dirty sweater or a hand me down coat to fight off the biting cold of the winter, and as he grew, he came to understand his position better- he was a one. Lowest of the lows, sooner to be spat on than offered a helping hand, but there were others, people who certainly looked just like him living lives a thousand times better. What made them different? Made them greater than Rook himself? What had they done to deserve their comfortable homes and three square meals? What had they done to sit in the warm glow of the taverns while Rook wasted away in the streets? He learned soon enough that they’d fought for those positions, tore their comfort from the teeth of their opposition, of their ‘greaters’- and had reaped the benefits. Now a teenager with a lithe, muscular frame, the young concubus was no whelp, and with nothing but a miserable excuse of a life to lose, he threw his hat into the ring of Club’s constant power struggles, practically gorging himself on anger and fear before each fight to grasp his single edge over those he faced: Head games.

“The cuts won’t kill you, but hesitation just might. Don’t let him get in your head.”

Oh, how Rook loved watching his opponents squirm, every little emotion, their trepidation, their concern, their fear of losing their status to some young upstart made him bloodthirsty. From the first unlucky two he’d challenged to a fight, his method rarely changed: shake them to their core, break their focus. He’d taunt them, infuriate them into making a foolish mistake- the only mistake he needed to put them down. Weaponless and unable to afford one, he chose instead to hone his fists, torn fabric wrapped around shards of glass and rusted nails to make each swing a more deadly hazard, cutting his own hands to pieces in every clash, wrists slick with blood each time he placed a foot on the neck of his fallen opponent. Each promotion was that one step closer to no longer living with the shameful gaze of those who thought he was nothing, something he had now come to loathe. By 18, Rook was a three of clubs, and had garnered the respect of those beneath him, somewhat renowned for his uncharacteristic kindness to his fellow lowrankers, it was his own bread that he broke now for the Ones struggling to get by, he held no ill will toward those he’d stepped on to climb up- it was the way life worked, after all, and those he left alive always had Rook’s respect. At least, most of them.

“...A Scavenger, you know that’s what you are, right? Scrappy little fucker picking fights you can’t finish?”

Rook’s promotion to a seven was unintentional, at least, as unintentional as the boy could manage. Now in his early twenties, Rook had comfortably settled at his position as a five, a dagger strapped to his hip and several tattoos marking his arms denoting his history and previous wins, the closest thing to a journal that the illiterate concubus could maintain to remember his experiences over the years. He’d liked the position, respected by the lowrankers and rarely bothered by the face cards, and most importantly, able to feed his newfound thirst for the emotion of lust, he likely would have held his position for the rest of his life, no hunger to climb higher than somewhere he felt comfortable, if not for the fact he had gotten brave and made a move on a pretty Seven at the tavern, satisfied to simply be rejected for acting out of his position, to feed on the disgust and shock at his mere implication he might be worthy- what he got instead: was stabbed.

The young man’s lover had seen the exchange, and not particularly pleased at the implication he could be replaced by a five of all things, had drawn his weapon and immediately challenged Rook. With no opportunity to prepare, and largely untrained with his own dagger, Rook was staggered, forced into fighting with a wound and a much more capable foe, his saving grace was liquor, their fight moving into the street before his competitor staggered on the steps, falling back just enough that he could close the distance. It was the same young man he’d flirted with who’d pulled him off, and it was the barmaid who tended to his wound that he celebrated with that night. He was a highranker now, and once more, that voice in the back of his head reminded him that he was still, in the eyes of some, unworthy- a fly to swat, a waste of air and turin. The drive that he had been able to abandon for so long had roared back to life, he would be antagonized no longer, made to look weak by those around him never again. And so, he trained.

“Fights like a man possessed, I tell you. Doesn’t even use a weapon half the time.”

His further climbing of ranks was slow going, but brutal. Unlike those he fought to ascend to Seven, he left none he fought for his next position alive, ten bodies of his fellows falling at his feet. He’d known what they thought of him, his promotion a fluke, that his rank never would have changed, if he hadn’t been aided by the mead coursing through the other Club. he proved them wrong over and over again, and as his rank ticked to eight, then nine, then ten, each one hard fought and won with fists more often than his weapons, his body became a network of ink and scars, each mark a new chapter in the story he’d committed to his flesh. By the time he challenged the position of King, Rook had come to be known as “Hyena,” a scavenger with a taste for blood and a brutality not to be underestimated. Now in his late thirties, Rook had stopped aging, and reached his full potential as a concubus, he fed like a king on lust and desire, low ranks and high alike charmed into his bed, honeyed words and drugs shared on wicked tongues in the dark, anger and fear fueling him in the ring. He had long played smart, his position of Jack taken from the hands of the foolish, the Queen rank choked out of a human who simply couldn’t withstand the physical onslaught- But his opponent for the position of King would offer him no such ease, a Strongarm with a history as bloodied as Rook’s own standing between him and his goals.

“Concede. Concede and we both walk out of here Kings. It’s a fair trade, Rook.”

Rook eventually stood over the bloodied body of the other King, planting his foot on the back of his neck with a primal howl, bones sore and broken, armor chipped and busted, but alive, alive and victorious. He was a King, standing now in the upper echelon of face cards with wounds that would eventually heal to show for it. He had proven with no uncertainty that he was no whelp, no refuse of the streets, and for the twenty years that followed- he would hold that position with a brutal efficiency. Rarely challenged for his title, Rook eventually ‘retired’ from his desperate climb for the top- and from his mercenary for hire work for extra coin. He settled on opening a tavern and working on learning how to read, the time not spent cleaning the bar spent reading and writing, practicing skills he never gave himself the peace to embrace as he was growing up. Still addicted to anything he could chew, smoke or drink, Rook’s tavern soon became a well known hideaway for those less… upstanding than most, an uncomfortable kind of peace formed in the awareness that the King running the place would sooner kill a troublemaker than huck them out on their ass. It was through the Tavern he became privy to, and eventually joined the Resistance, an ear to the ground in High Rank circles and many low ones given his position and occupation, Rook is an information broker, collecting and trading information to those who know how to stay on his good side. His hatred of being looked down upon eventually becoming a lust for true anarchy, no loyalty to Club or anyone but himself, for that matter. In Rook’s mind, there are two kinds of people, those worthy of and willing to work for their survival, and those who are better off crushed beneath the cogs of change.

In Recent Years

Rook has maintained his position as the owner of the Thronebreaker Tavern, so called for one of his early nicknames. He continues to pass information between members of the resistance and operates within High Rank circles only to gather intel, otherwise preferring to be left to his life of excess. Infrequently called to defend his position as a King, Rook has no interest in becoming the Ace of Clubs, and is satisfied to hold his place under a fellow member of the resistance, but he maintains his training regime, and is well known for his brutal removal of those who break the peace of his tavern for anything other than a fight for rank. His addiction to Chrono when he was younger has caused damage to his mind, making him quick to anger and difficult to predict in recent years, and while no longer using it specifically, he still partakes in most other drugs, usually while running the Tavern itself. His taste for anarchy continues to grow, and he’s reveled in the recent attacks performed by those in the resistance, the fear and uncertainty more than enough to sustain him and the general promise of more to come exciting to the concubus.

Personality

Rook has never had any love for the rank system, he climbed it simply because he had to, used it to get where he wanted to be, and treats those around him with that thought process in mind, the gangs and ranks mean nothing to him, a Spade One is as respected as a Heart Ace in his eyes, so long as they respect him in return. Those who are unfamiliar with his past find him generally polite and jovial, a bartender with hundreds of stories and a proclivity for offering drinks on the house if the patron’s got a story to share in return, an imposing man with a heart of gold, at least on the surface. Those with a familiarity with Rook know that his kindness is as much of a play for power as his climb toward King was, that he’s a cunning, calculated sort who never acts without thinking twelve steps ahead, and that telling him too much could get you in the sights of someone you don’t want looking in on you. While often calm and measured, Rook is not above his anger, and often allows it to overtake him with little warning, though if this is because of his drug addictions or his history is up for debate.

A horrendous flirt with a winning smile and a silver tongue, Rook’s truest vice is in the sins of the flesh, willing to trade more than a few things for a rendezvous in his bedroom, he isn’t picky about who he throws his chips in with, a behavior that’s gotten him in trouble before, and earned him an even more distasteful gaze than even his species has. Despite this, he’s warm and inviting, and keeps his friends close, loyal to the death to those willing to risk a friendship with the Hyena.

Congratulations Ring your app has been accepted and your invitation to the discord will be sent to you soon.

Please follow and welcome @crookxdrook to Kadeu!

#accepted;#follow;#colson baker

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equiculus · 16 days ago

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Eheheheh…

Bunny Bloom is the adopted son of Tree hugger and Flutter shy, who are in a qpr. He couldn’t have been happier that his cutiemark is a tie to both of them, he adores his moms so much. He’s a bit snarky and sometimes a bit blunt, but he doesn’t mean harm by it. His element is generosity.

Apple Dunkin is the daughter of Apple Jack, and her father is a deadbeat Apple had thought she might marry. She takes after both of her parents in personality, despite AJ trying to get her to be less… shortcut-y. Plum Tuck, her father, was a lazy guy who pretended he knew what he was doing so he could date AJ, and she only realized he was lying when he got cold feet at the news of her pregnancy. She hadn’t intended for it, and neither had plum, but she thought she could trust him to be there for her regardless. He wasn’t, though, and to AJ’s relief, Dunkin looks like Granny smith with Plum’s hair. Dunkin has grown up on the farm alongside her cousins, Honeycrisp and Orchard Bloom, who are Apple Bloom’s kids. She holds a strong passion for games and fun activities, and will find the safest, most successful way to speed through her chores if it means she can go pull pranks with the Pie-Sandwich trio. Her element is Fun (laughter).

Swing Singer, Sweetie bell’s daughter, is a smalltime jazz musician who would die on a hill and go to hell over it for the other five. She will tell them when they’re going to make a big mistake, like any good friend, but her main focus is supporting them and helping them. Her Aunt Rarity is her favorite family member, but she adores her mom too. Rarity has been a huge part of Swing’s life since she decided to become a famous musician, and helps her land gigs with only the most fabulous dresses. She does tend to eat a bit more than she should, but it’s not anything she cares about — she’s at her happiest when her friends are around, and as long as they support her, she doesn’t see why her body shape matters. She also loves to throw private parties with the Pies for her friends, often organizing herself as musical entertainment. Her element is Loyalty.

Howitzer Confetti “Howie” Pie-Sandwich is the second born of the Pie-Sandwich Trio, a triple threat of pranksters and party-lovers brought into the world by none other than Pinkie Pie and Cheese Sandwich. His older sister, Lil Cheese, is off at a trade school learning how to be an artisan of pasteurized goodies and all the cheeses, and his younger sister, Cheesecake, is in high school. He’s the only one who plans to stay in ponyville, but he doesn’t mind. He wants his siblings to be happy. Regardless, his attitude is a bit short at times, but he always makes sure to tell the truth, even at risk of his own hide. He learned the lesson of honesty the hard way as a colt, and he upholds his truth no matter the cost. His element is Honesty.

Cumulus Falls is Rainbow’s mentee/assistant. He’s a shy guy, but he has a big heart. He loves to do kind things for others, and enjoys being able to sit back and relax while his friends get into shenanigans. His mother is Vapor Trail and his father is the best friend that she had in her only episode (forgot his name). The two of them were not keen on traditional parenting roles, and his father retired from the wonderbolts to care for him while they lived on his mother’s second-in-command income. He grew up on stories of her adventures with Rainbow and the other bolts, but never imagined he’d be the one who eventually trained directly under Rainbow Dash. He was chosen during a day of Flight School when Rainbow was visiting because she was looking to see if she could find a pony to help her relax from all her duties as part ruler of equestria, wonderbolt, element of harmony, and a few other things. She saw some kind of potential in him that not even he had seen yet, and taught him to fly fast enough to bust a raging thunder cloud without being struck. After that, she noticed his struggles trying to befriend other pegasi, and got an idea. She sent him to ponyville, where he befriended the other 5 nextgens, and became the element of Kindness.

Ella Infinitum, Starlight’s clone. She came into the world as a baby, a genetic reshuffle of her mother. Thing is, she doesn’t have a genetic father — her mother created her while trying to complete a spell older than even the reign of Grogar. Starlight was grossly underprepared for motherhood, but thankfully, after she fought off a nightmare magic (almost turned into a nightmare pony of herself basically), she became an alicorn, and learned to let her friends help her. Starlight took the place in equestria that Luna had once filled, and raised Ella into a smart, magically gifted young mare. Ella is just about as powerful as Starlight was before her ascent to alicornhood, and is very cautious when using her magic for that reason. Other than that, she is a great friend to her pals, and fits the element of Magic quite perfectly.

BEHOLD @equiculus /@poppyknitt's excellent nextgen characters that have been COOKING UP in our DMs! So many details about them that I physically can't remember so take it away pal!

#mlp #mlp au #my little pony #my little pony friendship is magic #my little pony au #mlp nextgen #my little pony nextgen #ella infinitum #howitzer confetti pie #cumulus falls #apple dunkin #bunny bloom #swing singer

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bangtanblurbs · 4 years ago

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young forever

song: young forever by BTS

first experience: strangely enough i have a very visceral memory of when forever young dropped. it was during finals week of my final year in undergrad. the song released on a sunday in the wee hours (or perhaps a monday? - days tend to run together during finals week). i didn’t have many assignments due that year since my course load was light and i was really just coasting into grad school the year afterwards (at the same institution i attend for undergrad). i remember logging onto youtube and catching the video as it premiered. i was stunned. HYYH pt. 1 and HYYH pt. 2 were heavenly to me, so of course young forever was greatly anticipated for me - the aesthetics, continuation of the story, and also simply getting new bangtan music. the cotton candy color pallet loaded onto my phone screen, and RM’s beautiful voice can through my earphones... i was immediately in love.

every member looked completely stunning. the message i got from the video was... incredibly powerful. the maze. the lyrics. all of it resonated with me, a young woman -- 22 years old -- soon to turn another corner in life. i sat in my dorm room preparing for a busy week, as i was the RA in my dormitory and needed to help my students move out that week... as i prepared for my graduation and transition into my next step in life... i was also shipping out to macau, china for the summer in a few weeks so i geared up for that. this video dropping was almost a breath of fresh air from everything going on. i was able to really sit and enjoy it, but also reflect on my past, present, and the future to come.

feelings: well, i have quite a lot. as someone who has been chronically obsessed with the story of peter pan since age seven, i’d say that youth is something i value - perhaps a bit too much. what’s interesting though is young forever isn’t necessarily about youth in the rawest sense... it’s also about dreams, reaching the point in your life where you’re happy, with yourself, your circumstances, ultimately your place in life. which i suppose most people equate that with youth, the innocence and naivety of it all. for me, thinking about forever young is kind of about that anxiety we carry as we get younger - have a made good use of my youth? did i squander it, getting caught up in the day to day or bogged down by my demons? the worry that our youth is our prime and when it’s gone, where do we go next? retire? it’s kind of funny thinking about this now as I’m 27 instead of 22. do i feel any older? no, not really - i feel the same. the same energy, the same zeal for life. do i look back on the days when i was younger and think that my youth is gone? no. for me - youth - it’s a state of mind. it’s an ethos, a way of proceeding forwards in my life. i didn’t always think this way - perhaps that was wrapped up in my anxiety about getting older. i used to lament my birthday each passing year - god turning 23 felt the absolute worst for some reason. it’s funny now though - how i almost feel younger, lighter, now than i did. youth should be a feeling of unburdened peace right? ideally it would seem so - but the reality in our world today... youth is pain. youth is struggling. youth is stumbling through the dark and trying to figure out who the hell you are, who the hell you want to be. i still feel like i’m stuck in that place, that place of wonder - of reaching out, exploring, experiencing... i feel as naïve as ever despite the pain that courses through some of my life.

so back to young forever - how does the song make me feel? it makes me feel at home. at peace. forever we can carry our youth, forever we can approach our lives with childish curiosity, with the energy to follow our dreams, with a dedication to our passion, and an and endless realization that change is the only constant in our lives. despite the ups and downs that might come with living with this mindset - i wouldn’t want to live any other way. what’s the point of continuing to grind hard every day in the cruel systems our society has built if we can’t at least say we did it with voracious appetite to experience fully our surroundings, emotions, and imaginations?

personal connection: it’s rather hard for me to nail down all of my personal connections to young forever. as i mentioned, i have a really strong connection to the story of peter pan. i’ll briefly explain why and how that plays in here - but i must warn you... if you’re uncomfortable with strangers oversharing on the internet, perhaps this isn’t the blog for you to read. i’m quite comfortable bearing my soul to people i don’t know. for some reason vulnerability has never been something i’ve struggled with - perhaps it’s the naivety i love about myself. anyways... here we go.

when i was 17 my best friend passed away from cancer. it was relatively quick. just a summer we spent together gossiping in a hospital room, machines beeping while we tried our very best just to giggle about boys and lament our torturous IB courses. i’d known her nearly my whole life. meeting in second grade - and bonding quickly over a love for the whimsy of peter pan’s story. we’d gush on the playground about flying away to neverland - where we could do whatever we wanted. explore, sing, fly. but she was gone then. gone far too soon. frozen in a youthful state in my mind. her passing is still the hardest thing i’ve ever been through in my life, and i’ve been through some scary shit. immediately when i hard young forever i thought about her. i thought about how she lived. she was fearless. the bravest and strongest person i ever knew, and still to this day, have ever known. knowing her - experiencing her soul - it changed me. once she passed away i had to be strong, my classmates looked to me as their rock, my parents forbid me to cry, everyone pushed me into adulthood way too quickly. i was just a seventeen year old girl. i was having a crisis - i wanted nothing more than to speak to my best friend as i navigated choosing my next steps after high school. but she wasn’t there, and i wasn’t allowed to feel. i was terrified. my youth was gone. nothing seemed fun anymore. youth became pain as i looked around at my peers who were back to normal in a matter of weeks. giggling with one another, moving along with life. i became a robot. quickly i threw myself into school work. i was already a high achieving student but i climbed higher. i worked harder. i had decided that for the life she couldn’t live, i would live it for her. i’d go to the best college i could, i’d do all the things i never dreamed i could. i’d do it for her. but i wasn’t living. i had let my youth go. i was fading away. just a shell.

it’s funny. or perhaps it’s not. young forever is a comfort song. a comfort song with some incredible darkness in it. the anxiety in namjoon’s verse, yoongi’s speaking to hiding feelings - pushing forward despite what he carries, hoseok’s verse about letting himself go and just giving what he has to keep pushing. their words - that’s how i felt. the song dropped around four years after my friend’s passing. i needed it before then. although perhaps it wouldn’t have “saved me” because music doesn’t save, music gives us the strength and comfort we need to save ourselves (i’m not a fan of taking way my own agency in MY story), it might have offered me a light in an increasingly blurry world.

a year prior to the song’s release i’d spent a summer in china. my life changed there. i lived with seven incredibly bright middle school girls. that experience, i never thought it would start to heal me the way it did. they were under immense pressure (the education system in china is total bullshit)... and they told me “caroline, youth is pain. it’s not beautiful. it’s a period where we struggle the most.” i’d never heard this. the typical western perspective is that youth is “the most beautiful part of life” - it’s where you fall in love, it’s where you get hurt and you pick yourself up, it’s where you find yourself, you feel invincible. but that’s just it - it’s also where you can get incredibly lost (like the maze in the video). not all of us experience youth without pain. this perspective helped me to heal. i wasn’t so alone - i wasn’t squandering my youth, sure - i was treading water - but that was okay. i could cry. i could feel. and so, at this point i began to write my own story again. rather than living for someone else, i decided to throw the book out the window, to pick myself and run like hell towards what i wanted. to accept the freefall of life. that’s youth. that’s the most beautiful part of life. the part where you free yourself from whatever chains society has on you. youth is only associated with being a child because that who should be the most free. when truly youth, youth is that period in your life when you learn to live for yourself, your dreams. dream, hope, keep going. don’t fucking stop.

so this brings us to 2016. i was weeks away from a new journey abroad when young forever dropped. i was doing better. life felt lighter. i still had a long way to go, but some things i’d gotten right. i gained confidence, i navigated my interpersonal relationships with more poise. etc etc. going to china the second time, it changed me more. i did things on my own i’d never dreamed of doing. crossing multiple national borders, making friends with people i couldn’t communicate with. i opened my heart to it all. and i fell in love with myself. for the first time. i fell in love with how completely i embraced my freedom and coupled it with my drive, my passions. that is what young forever is about. it’s about the struggle but the continued commitment to the state of mind that once you’re free - once you embraced that childlike state of being - you can achieve so much happiness.

which brings us to now - how do i connect to the song now? much in the same way that i did before. carrying these emotions connected to this song so deeply into adulthood has been incredibly touching. i’ve matured with bangtan. from 2015 to now. i’ve only grown in how i embrace my youth. sure, i have to conform at times, play the adult, but the motto “dream, hope, keep going.” that’s what i live by. nothing can change that for me now. i’m still fucking lost, but i’m running like hell. i have my setbacks, my demons, my challenges, but i’ve never been so fucking free. that’s young forever for me. thank you for reading my story.

song breakdown:

musically: something i truly love about young forever is that it’s really atypical in how it flows musically and the entire structure of the song. it’s creativity run wild - it’s a story and build. and i love that. it starts off slow, soft, with a sweet sadness. the highlight isn’t the backing track, it’s the honey rap voices. it’s absolutely perfect. understated and building. with each new voice that comes in the beat speeds up. it’s like running. which is fitting. because the story in the song is that of bangtan. the lyrics say it, the boys are worried - worried about how well they’ve done, when they’ll stop gaining success, concerned that all of this life will end, wondering who they are in this - the performance the journey. they are quite literally running towards their dreams. we see this in the song lyrically.

once the chorus comes, we need an increased speed in the beat and the song picks up with the chanting of the mantra. “forever, we are young.” us together, bangtan and ARMY. the song fades into the beautiful clapping beat, the refrains of dream, hope, keep going. musically the song is beautifully understated in a way that can only draw out the listeners’ emotions and highlight the charged encouraging lyrics. the story here is clear and only more illuminated by the musical choices.

vocally: young forever is such a treat. it’s a rap heavy song, but not in a way that takes away from the beautiful second half of the song which is full of beautiful vocal line refrains and ad libs. it’s a chant song. a comfort song. and perhaps that’s why it’s stuck with me for all these years as one of my ultimate favorite BTS songs.

when the song begins we are greet by namjoon’s beautiful low rap register. he delivers the rap melodically slow. you can appreciate the way his voice carries emotion and the tempo of the beginning story, of the emotional journey the song embarks upon. following namjoon’s beautiful voice is yoongi. who assumes a slower rap style initially. he has a few parts where he treats us to shout rapping as well - which give us kind of a pleading emotion - we can hear his lament for the pressure placed upon him as he stands in the spotlight. finally, rapline is rounded out by hoseok - i’m gonna say it - this is one of hoseok’s best slow verses. he offers his usual spicy tone, giving the trap style endings to each line. the emotion hits it’s peak with the punch tones and hoseok’s strong committment to his lines expressing his desires, his drive.

the second half of the song is dominated by the beautiful tones of vocal line. taehyung leads us into the chorus with his beautiful deep register, followed by jungkook’s high tones. the juxtaposition of their voices coupled by jin and backed by jimin’s beautiful melodies is absolutely stunning. rapline takes turns coming in with the refrain “dream, hope, keep going.” all of this mixed together is simply stunning. it’s like hope in vocal form. we have the low and the highs, the singing voices and the speaking refrains. most devastatingly is jimin’s forever ever ever - piercing the background of the song. highlighting the longing - the conviction - to youth - the spirit of it, the beauty of it. the chant portion of the song is also what makes this song so devastating to hear live. everyone comes in, blends together and makes the message resonate completely.

lyrically: here. we. go. a DEEP DIVE. i think firstly, it’s important to start with the fact that we have a song, young forever, that was released as the epilogue to two devastating HYYH albums. HYYH was the epitome of youth themed albums. it encapsulated everything we associate typically with youth. love songs, songs about pain, songs about healing, songs about not being enough, songs about our dreams, songs about being lonely... it’s all there. both the beauty of youth and the beautiful pain of youth dominate HYYH pt. 1 and HYYH pt. 2. then, those messages, those themes, were sealed with epilogue: young forever. why? well, my feeling is this is bangtan’s way of leaving us with the reality that youth isn’t something that’s fleeting. it’s not an age or state in time. it’s something we carry within. it’s how we approach the things we confront in our lives, how we live and move forward through adversity towards our passions and dreams.

now - with that out of the way it’s time to dissect some lyrics. there’s quite a lot here in the three rap verses so i truly hope to do them justice.

namjoon’s verse starts like a story, “the curtain falls” the end of a performance, often used as metaphor for the end of a certain point in one’s life. “the curtain falls and i’m out of breath / i get mixed feelings as i breathe out” clearly the chapter that’s closing for him has been an exhausting one, but he’s not sure about moving forward even though now he has the time to finally reflect and see what he wants next. to me, this speaks directly to where bangtan was at this point in their career. they’d been through the bullshit - the trainee days, the ridicule, the exclusion from the typical korean music system... they’d made it. I NEED U had one awards, RUN did as well, 2016 bangtan had begun to see the fruit of their labor pay off - but with that, what’s next. where do they climb next? what’s to come? there’s that feeling of unease for namjoon. “did I make any mistakes today? / how did the audience seem?” are the next lines, bringing in that sense of reflection. even though now he can breathe - he worries, what’s his impact, how do people feel about what he’s given them, did he have shortcomings? these thoughts flood in and set the mood for the next steps forward. these questions only become more as the pressure continues. the next and final three lines of namjoon’s verse group well together and offer us much more hope that the foreboding in the start of the verse: “i’m happy with who i’ve become / that i can make someone scream with joy / still excited from the performance.” the peace in these final lines, it’s kind of like the rest of the song - starting with the hardship, the unease, what must or has been overcome - mellowing out to realization that things will keep going on. namjoon is at peace with where is at the end of this chapter, he is glad he can stand on this stage bringing smiles to faces, and finally - the buzz of just being able to do music, that remains with him through all of the constant pressure. something about these lines, they’re beautiful.

just like that, yoongi’s verse begins. he provides the same metaphor to the listener. he is standing on an empty stage. the performance is over. the chapter is closing. HYYH is becoming the past for BTS. the struggles, will they be over too as they move forward with their progressing careers? “i stand on the empty stage while holding onto an aftertaste that will not linger for long” he begins - he knows that the high of this moment, the place they’ve reached in this time... it can’t be forever, the emotions of it all are beginning to fade into something else. he then moves on to offer some more insight into how he feels about that unknown of moving on: “while standing on this empty stage, i become afraid of this unpleasant emptiness.” this line seems telling to me - yoongi is someone that gets a lot from recognition, achievement, sharing his works with others. leaving the stage, moving away from this performance moment... it’s hard on him... he feels empty, his moment, his purpose - they’re over... at least for now. the anxiety seeps in. “within my suffocating feelings / on top of my life’s line” he starts to try and explain deeper his emotions, suffocation, a feeling of panic, likely anxiety or pressure induced. what’s next? will it demand more? he’s on top of his life’s line - he feels like he’s reaching his peak, not knowing where to go next, plateau? down? yoongi then lodges into almost a picture perfect description of what society can make us do in moments of pressure where we are feeling anxiety or panic - “without a reason, i forcibly act that i am fine / this isn’t the first time, i better get used to it” he’s going to put on a strong face, suppress how he really feels because at some point there could be another audience, he remains on the stage even if the curtains have closed. he forces himself to do so, and it’s a habitual thing for him. it sounds like truly this is habitual for yoongi - really needing to mask his fear, his panic, his anxiety for the sake of those watching. it tears me up, because it seems like he also knows that this will continue in his future. and the he realizes that keeping the mask on, it’s not something he’s able to do or perhaps interested in doing “i try to hide it, but i can’t.” the final lines of his verse leave us with some unease - they’re unclear - but perhaps they’re speaking to the fact that performing won’t be his forever... “when the heat of the show cools down / i leave the empty seats behind,” so at some point -- the excitement, the hype, it will be gone... those who want to see him, they’ll be gone too, and he’ll move on to what is next. or perhaps this could allude to the fact that the pressure of those watching goes away and he will finally feel comfortable? there’s a lot here. a lot left up and open.

and finally we round out rapline with hoseok’s verse - which leads us into the chorus and refrains. the first three lines of hoseok’s part go hand in hand with one another - they’re a natural progress of coping with one’s emotions and situation: “trying to comfort myself / i tell myself the world can’t be perfect / i start to let myself go.” the chapter is closing and hoseok is trying to tell himself, it’ll be okay. almost like listening to the song young forever - seeking comfort. a home. realizing that things aren’t always going to go his way, he can’t have this moment forever, and sometimes things are going to be ups and downs... the final line is perhaps the most startling, letting oneself go. realizing that there’s some pieces of yourself that are okay to let go, whatever is holding you back, keeping you stuck, sometimes we need to shed that to go forward with the youthful exploration that keeps life invigorating and exciting. or perhaps hoseok is thinking about the day in which he will let “j-hope” go and just be hoseok, without a stage in the traditional sense. “the thundering applause, i can’t own it forever” he moves on saying that this life won’t be his forever, at some point he will need to move on - realize that this moment is down, lose himself to it, and see what is next. yet - even with this knowledge hoseok continues “i tell myself, so shameless / raise your voice higher” it seems that there’s a conflict he’s facing - letting this moment go or screaming as loud as he can to hold onto it, and shamelessly so - letting go of all the constructed norms for how he should behave. perhaps, holding onto his YOUTH even as he grows older in age and should grow away from a youthful mentality. he is raising his voice and hopefully pushing forwards, perhaps just away from this stage and onto an even larger one. it seems this is the case “even if the attention isn’t forever, i’ll keep singing” he states. he will hold onto his passion, keep moving forwards with his music, his voice, his connection to whatever it is that wants to be connected to him - because this is his very soul and being. finally - hoseok closes out his verse “as today’s me, i want eternity / forever, i want to be young.” it seems that hoseok is choosing to be who he is at this moment, his youthful self, as long as he goes on. he will leave this version of himself, this beautiful, loving, hopeful version of himself as his mark on the earth for eternity.

moving into the chorus we have the iconic title line “forever we are young” which to me, it’s about taking youth forward with you in all that you do. taking your passion, your drive, your love, your hope -- pouring it into all that you do and not letting the outside spoil you and take that from you. keeping your passions and running towards them. that’s the core of the message in young forever.

jungkook then croons “under the flower petals raining down / i run, so lost in this maze” bringing us to think about how seasons change - flower petals can fall because of their abundance but also because they we are moving into winter. either way, the analogy of flowers is hopeful to me. blossoms on trees - the return in time. not the same blossoms, but just as beautiful as the previous ones. perhaps he’s speaking to the fact that the blossoms are falling now as the chapter is ending - which leads into the feeling of lost, of being in a maze... but the reality is, the flowers will come again. the can come again. so long as they keep running - there’s a chance for this beautiful moment to happen once again. that’s youth. perhaps you have your ups and downs, your moments in the sun (your spring days) and your cold days... but keep running, keep your energy, dream, hope, keep going. and you can return.

jin then offers the other refrain “even when i fall and hurt myself / i endlessly run toward my dream.” THIS is youth. this is it. that almost stupid attitude of not recognizing when you’re down and out... not recognizing when perhaps you should stop. turning up the energy at your weakest point even when authority is telling you to let it go. this is the essence of youthful hope and energy. even if they’ve failed, even at their lowest point, they’re cementing that they won’t stop until they achieve their dreams. once again. dream. hope. keep going. just keep fucking going.

finally the other refrain that is repeated throughout the chorus: dream. hope. forward. forward. is the direct translation. but, many would say it’s dream. hope. keep going. this is youth. our dreams, childish and pure. our hope, what we pour into ourselves, what we surround ourselves with - the light that keeps us going. and then constantly moving forward continuing even when our odds look bad. this shit resonates. bangtan did it. they dreamed, 7 boys at a small company. they hoped, holding onto one another, working hard, baby steps forward. they kept going. no matter the ridicule, the setbacks, they pushed forward. these words - they mean the world to me as i’ve pushed through shit in my life. i’m only where i am today because i, by some miracle, internalized this youthful mantra. allowing myself to dream, those moments of hope, pushing forward no matter what. that’s youth. that’s young forever.

performance: well this is shaping up to be quite a long post. i want to discuss both the MV and how live performances typically proceed. i’ve also attached to this post my personal video of young forever at the HYYH: the epilogue tour in macau. sorry for my screaming in advance.

MV: the MV is really interesting for the HYYH universe, although the same could be said for save me, which is technically in the universe... BUT the fact that the MV steps away from the storylines and almost takes us into the minds of the characters bangtan is playing is an interesting choice. we start off the video with the boys in a chain-linked fence maze, wandering around, and flashbacks for each of there characters. the overall aesthetic of the video fits with the lyrics and these feelings of uncertainty... the feeling of being lost... wandering from phase to phase in life. early on we see a scene of yoongi burning photos from the HYYH era - truly this song is about death to the past a new beginnings, overcoming the past but moving forward with the pieces of you that are important. the highlighting of the text “꿈 희망 전진 전진” or dream, hope, keep going - making it the mantra of the song. keep moving, keep running. almost it seems like the characters are running away from their demons as well. the members running off into the sunset together? it’s all about endings. new beginnings. but taking them on with determination and an attitude of childlike awe, glee, dreams, and determination.

performance: we’ve all seen the iconic wembley performance. we’ve probably all cried over it more than once. maybe it’s your comfort video? maybe it’s secretly mine (ha!). i can tell you, experiencing this song live... there’s really nothing like it. it’s understated. there’s no dance. nothing like that.

in the performances - namjoon appears alone in a starlight stage with the lyrics scrawling on a screen behind him. the lights are all dark, deep blue tones everywhere, it feels dreamy. the entire crowd is brought into a dream like state. it’s fitting, its absolutely fitting and incredibly stunning. yoongi then appears to namjoon’s left and hoseok to his right to be spotlighted for their respective verses. the emotion is everywhere. the song is even more incredible with a live band. you cannot imagine it. the chorus arrives with a change in vibe, a beautiful sunset is projected and the vocal line appears from the floor. all of the members stand shoulder to shoulder and belt the chorus and refrain. and you would not believe how devastatingly beautiful it is to hear ARMY shouting along. forever we are young. kkum, huimang, jeonjin, jeonjin. shouting together. again and again. clapping with one another. waving ARMY bombs. it’s completely emotional. i cried. i cried on the strangers next to me, that didn’t speak my language. there is nothing like it.

i must also note, the concert i was at we were all distributed lightsticks and banners with 꿈 희망 전진 전진 written on them. this song has been important since it released. it’s the core of bangtan’s rise. it is so important to these boys. and to many of us fans as well.

now - a word about what happened at wembley. bangtan had no idea that ARMY would sing young forever TO them. at WEMBLEY. fans who likely do not speak korean. chanting their mantra to them “kkum, huimang, jeonjin, jeonjin” and singing “foreverrrrr we are younnnnng” and saying they will keep going. they will walk their journey towards their dreams. something about that, it’s incredibly toughing. you and i cannot imagine how that must have felt for bangtan. the moment must have been completely surreal. one of the world’s largest stages, playing one of the most meaningful songs of their careers - a song meant to memorialize their climb to fame, their accomplishments, their youth that they likely felt the LOST during this climb to where they are now. jimin himself said that night “this song. wow. this song helped me a lot when things were really hard.” young forever means so very much to bangtan. it always has. and their fans chose that very song. we chose that song (rather we were there or not). it’s our mantra too. whatever we go through, we are on this journey, and we are not alone. we are not alone. we can muster the strength to carry on with that same youthful zeal for life. watching that video... it’s moving. it’s completely incredible. to be a part of this journey... just wow.

tl;dr: in conclusion... young forever is one of the BTS songs that has the most touching meanings, and it came at a very delicate time in their career. a time when they were finally getting the recognition they deserved and sought for a long time. a time when they were pivoting from “young” to “young adult.” a time when they likely struggled with a loss of their youth. all of this... it’s powerful because it’s not alien for those of us normal people. we all feel this. i’ve felt it as i’ve gone through tough shit and came out the other side changed, only to have to find my way through the maze and back to myself. youth and being young, it’s a state of mind. i think bangtan sincerely know and believe this. that’s what makes the song and the message it carries so incredibly powerful. so meaningful to us all. thanks for reading yet again.

#bts #bangtan #jin #j-hope #hoseok #namjoon #rm #army #jungkook #taehyung #jimin #yoongi #suga #Lyrics #hyyh #Young forever #analysis

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3centsofbutter · 5 years ago

Text

Memoirs of a medic - BNHA part 3

Part 1 (Start from the beginning)

Chisaki Kai / Eri

Part 3 - Final

“The heroes are outside the base, we have to go.”

It was a regular Thursday morning. It was well in the middle of spring and the sun hung high in the sky warming the earth underneath it. You had attended to the garden earlier that morning to bask in the sunlight and returned back inside to get on with some paperwork. Eri sat opposite you, studying basic kanji from one of the books you used to use when you were first brought into the Hassaikai.

Irinaka burst into the room at 8:29 in a clear state of distress. They were here.

Kai had told you that a few days ago, Eri had escaped and stumbled upon some UA students and had made a scene since then, the compound had been on high alert. A small part of you desperately wished they could have taken her there and then which could have spared the absolute chaos that was about to ensue. Eri mentioned the UA students offhandedly and from the way she spoke of them in such high regard, you couldn’t help yourself but feel a pang of sadness. As much as you knew that a life outside of the clutches of Kai was what she deserved, but your creeping selfishness wanted to stay by her side and watch her grow. Your loyalty laid with Kai, but you secretly wished the heroes could win just this once.

“Eri let’s go, the time has come.”

You scooped up Eri in your arms and fast-walked behind Irinaka to Kai’s office. His desk was clear of everything save for the tiny potted plant on the corner of the table. Hari stood beside Kai with your backpack at his feet and nodded in acknowledgement to your entrance. The main few of the eight bullets had been instructed to pack their bags beforehand in the likelihood of this specific event. Your backpack wasn’t filled with much, you never found yourself indulging in materialistic goods or finding sentiment in any of them. You packed only a few things that couldn’t be replaced, the framed photo from your dresser, a leather-bound journal, a stack of white envelopes, and Eri’s doll.

BOOM

An explosion shook the whole room heralding the beginning of the raid, it was time to leave. The plan was to use half of the eight bullets to hold off the heroes and police while you made your escape through a hidden exit on the other side of the base. It was best to prevent conflict especially while being in possession of Eri and potentially risking everything Kai had worked for. The walk passed in silence with only the thump of footsteps and occasional echoes of explosions and rumbles filling the background. They were walking at an awfully slow pace, seemingly unbothered by the commotion above them.

At 8:42, things got interesting.

“Excuse me.”

Someone had gotten here quicker than anticipated.

“Can I ask some questions?”

It was the boy, the one Eri had described. Blue eyes, blonde hair, bright red and yellow hero suit that stuck out as an eyesore against the dull concrete walls. He was young, around 18-ish you guessed, probably in his third year of high school you presumed. He was so young. You found it sick that society glorified hero work and enabled children such as him to risk his life like this for a fabled utopia. It was a pity he was going to meet his end here.

Your eyes flitted to Kai to gauge his reaction. He seemed unbothered, face blank of emotion.

“You shouldn’t have been able to get here this fast,” Kai drawled, his voice was flat and lazy, completely unresponsive to the situation.

The boy was clearly dishevelled, he was panting and sweating profusely. He must’ve run all the way here.

“I took a shortcut, I’m here to rescue that girl.”

You almost felt sorry for him, he had let go of Eri back then oblivious to the situation she was in and gave her back to her captor. He must’ve felt the guilt weigh down on him once he found out, now hastily throwing himself at national criminals in an attempt to repent his guilty conscience. He should’ve just taken her then.

“This girl doesn’t want you to rescue her, she doesn’t see you as a hero.”

You could feel Eri uncomfortably shuffle in your arms.

“That’s why I’m here.”

Kai sighed and turned to continue walking. “It’s not getting through to you, is it? I’ll make it simpler.”

“Die.”

The boy charged at Kai falling to the ground instantly. Sasaki’s quirk sloshed was in effect, ruining his sense of balance and causing him to stumble around in a drunken state.

Hari tugged at your sleeve, “Sasaki and Nemoto will keep him busy, keep moving.”

You forced yourself to tear your eyes away from the scene, falling into step behind Kai. You knew firsthand how unpleasant it was to be under the influence of Sasaki’s quirk. You never enjoyed drinking and he continuously cemented that concept whenever his presence was near. His control over his quirk was only decent when he was sober— which he never was. You flinched at the sounds of gunshots and tightened your grip on Eri. You prayed his death was short and painless.

“CHISAKI!”

He appeared from under the ground and swung at Kai’s face, failing to land leaving only a slight graze. Before you could even process the situation, his foot connected with your face, sending you flying against the wall.

“Yasuko! Hide, I will find you when this is all over.”

You scrambled to your feet assessing the situation. Eri was in the hero’s arms and Kai was preparing to attack. He flexed his fingers, a habit he had picked up, a small ritual before using his quirk. He hid his left hand behind his back, hiding it so that only you could see. He held up three fingers and pointed downwards.

‘I’m going to use my quirk, don’t get in the way.’

It was the code you both used when you were younger on the streets. You had to leave before you got caught in the crossfire. You picked up your backpack and hastily retreated down the corridor. You hid in one of the empty rooms and slumped against the wall heaving a sigh of relief. Kai was going to be fine, he always would be. It would only be a slight nuisance to patch him up afterwards.

The ground rumbled underneath you, a sure sign that Kai was using his quirk, the whip-like cracks of gunshots could be heard periodically courtesy of Hari’s pistol. You checked the state of the contents in the bag, thankfully nothing was harmed in the process. You lightly touched your cheek noticing it was very much swollen.

The boy had trained his quirk exceptionally well for someone his age, his finesse and determination was unlike anything you had seen before. He was someone to be admired, a striking resemblance to All Might: the retired symbol of hope. He was young and naive, sheltered from the crippling effects of corruption and desperation, as most heroes were. He would’ve made a great role model for Eri, saved her from Kai as fairy tales and stupid marketing would suggest, cape billowing in the wind as a copyrighted theme song played over replays of the final blow. Heroes were never there for you. You had found out the hard way when one of them showed up as your customer and ignored your silent pleas of help as they got drunk off of a temporary high. They were cowards who dressed up in tight suits to instill false hope and ignored those who really needed it. What says they would be there for Eri?

BOOM

A loud crash shook the room. Knocking over the giant oak bookshelf on the opposite side of the wall. You could instantly tell it wasn’t Kai, his quirk was fairly quiet and didn’t cause large crashes like that, the reinforcements must’ve caught up.

You scrambled out of the room only to see that the entire floor had been turned into one giant arena with a jungle of concrete spikes — courtesy of Kai — towering above you. You could only vaguely make out a giant hole in the wall, presumably the source of the crash and the vague image of a body crumpled on the floor.

It was Kai.

His clothes were caked in dust, skin covered in scratches and pink welts. The boy and Eri were a few metres away being tended to by the pro-hero Nighteye. The boy had sustained quite a bit of damage being barely able to stand and very visibly exhausted. Eri was fine save for a few scratches here and there, at least the pro heroes wouldn’t hurt her which left your main priority to be Kai. Just as you were about to run towards him, the pro hero Eraserhead and his green haired companion lept in the air and prepared to attack. They were zeroing in on him at an alarming speed, about to serve the final blow. Before you could even react, Kai’s voice rumbled throughout the makeshift arena.

“GET UP, CHRONO!”

A strand of silver hair sliced through the motionless bundle of white fabric, extending like tape, cutting Eraserhead on the arm. You thanked your lucky stars Hari was alive and most importantly Kai was too. The heroes fell to the ground giving Kai a brief moment to regain composure. His hand slammed on the ground forming another wave of giant spikes across the room separating him from the opposition.

“You did a good job didn’t you, Neomoto? We can’t lose the fight here, not like this…”

His hand reached out, grabbing Nemoto’s mask which disintegrated like wet sand under his touch. He kept going, merging into his face as if it were a hologram. His other hand covered his own face melting into his beaked mask. In a flash of light, an explosion happened. The gust of wind hit you like a whip, causing you to stumble backwards from the force. Your arms instinctively covered your face to protect from the dust and rubble being flicked in all directions, seemingly the only time the mask Kai forced you to wear came in handy. You could barely make out the silhouette of the two bodies as they were shrouded in a whirlwind of debris. It was almost a blessing in disguise as what you could see was something that was most definitely inhuman.

Both bodies were ripped apart into ribbons of flesh swirled around each other, slowly merging together building a body layer by layer. The bones, the organs, the skin welded together like a cursed puzzle piece. Glaring red eyes glowed like torches through the smoke screen as a second pair of arms ripped through his back. The dust cleared revealing the abomination that was Kai. Black crack like lines painted his face and the skin on his arms were darkened and lined with spikes resembling sharp rocks. You didn’t even know if you could consider that thing to be Kai. This wasn’t the boy who saved you from your father, this wasn’t the boy who stole bread for you when you complained you were hungry. This wasn’t the Kai who shared the ratty blanket with you when you slept on the streets. This was a monster, and he had been that way much longer than you would’ve liked to admit.

The green haired boy launched a broken-off spike at Kai’s body. The concrete shattered like glass upon impact, reforming back into spikes just as the boy launched a follow up attack almost piercing through the soles of his shoes. The boy was lucky that his flash hero suit was made with situations like this in mind otherwise his whole leg would have most definitely been smashed into pieces. Nighteye leaped in pushing the green haired boy to the side, narrowly missing the spike Kai had sent towards him.

If nighteye was there, that meant the blonde boy was alone.

You weaved your way through the rubble and saw the boy propped up against the wall a fair distance away from the fight. His hero suit was bloodied and torn and he looked as if he was barely able to move. Eri was further away from the boy, possibly left there in a hurry as Nighteye went to assist the green haired boy. You cautiously approached him being careful not to underestimate him even in his handicaped state.

“You have fought well, young man. May I know your name?”

He stared at the mask on your face, a clear sign of your affiliation with Kai. “I am lemillion to the likes of you scum. I don’t take compliments from villains like you.”

Your face soured at the label, “I don’t go by that term, I prefer yakuza.” Your hand hovered over the knife strapped to your thigh. “Tell me your real name, or this is the last face you’re going to see.”

“Mirio Togata.”

His face showed no sign of lying, a good egg he was. A fault of heroes had to be their strong sense of morals eventually resulting in the downfall of many of them.

“Mirio, I have a knife strapped to my leg, I can end your life faster than you can think. Give me a reason why I should let you live.”

His guard was still heightened and his distress was visibly showing on his face. The fear of death was synonymous with all humans it seemed. He didn’t speak for a moment, hesitant to come up with an answer. You almost thought he wasn’t going to say anything at all until he finally spoke.

“Someone like you may not understand, but I want to live to see the relief on people's faces after I save them. I want to be able to save at least a million people and be the hero people can look up to and feel safe in my presence.”

He was so hopeful that it hurt.

“You could have ignored her, saved a million people instead of dying for one. Why does she matter so much to you?”

His face hardened with determination.

“What type of hero am I if I can’t save one helpless girl? I’d die for her no questions asked if that ensured her safety.”

“Chisaki, join us in the Shie Hassaikai. Your future is one with potential.”

Slate grey clouds darkened the afternoon sky. A heavy downpour of rain had soaked both you and Kai’s clothes and chosen to seek refuge outside a brothel. The man had approached Kai after watching him materialize an umbrella from scraps you had scavenged from the dumpster. He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the crowd. Unlike the usual suit and tie businessmen and raggedy drug addicts that frequented the brothel, he donned a black kimono, a rarity in general even out of the red light district. His silver hair was slicked back neatly and a large carved, jade ring wrapped around his finger. He looked like royalty.

“How do I know you’re not gonna sell me into human trafficking or something, old shit?”

“Boy, look over there.” He pointed to the flashing neon lights of the brothel, “I own that brothel. I own almost 30% of the businesses in the red light district. This could all be yours one day.”

Kai’s eyes immediately glistened with interest. He wouldn’t have to sleep on concrete anymore, he wouldn’t have to worry about his next meal, and he wouldn’t have to worry about braving the winter. He would have somewhere to call home. But the thoughts dissipated as quickly as they came.

“What about Yasu? Can’t leave her out here on her own. I told her I’d protect her forever y’know.”

The man shook his head. “We never brought up women in our clan, its tradition.”

You tugged at Kai’s sleeve. He deserved a life in comfort whether it was with you or not. He had done so much for you already. “You can go, I’ll be fine. You can’t pass up an opportunity like this.”

Kai, very much irked by his response, held up both middle fingers to flip off the man. “Then change tradition. I ain’t going nowhere without her ya heard! Take your gedo sandals and shove them up your ass.”

“Why does she matter so much to you?”

“She’s all I got, I’d die a hundred times over if it means she is out of harm's way. Ya can’t take me without her. We’re a package deal ya got it?”

The man sighed and looked at the boy. He stood defensively in front of the girl. She didn’t look like much but appearances were deceiving. He was loyal, an honorable trait. With a little bit of guidance, he could be a great leader.

“Fine, let us go.”

This boy looked so different but he had those same eyes Kai once had. Hopeful and kind, shining with compassion and determination. He was uncorrupted, a pure soul, the family Eri deserved to have. You had done so much wrong in your life, allowing Kai to succumb to his pride, staying silent while he committed heinous crimes, letting him hurt the innocent, there were too many sins to count. But it was time to do something right for once.

You took the rucksack off of your back.

“Take it.”

He was taken aback. “What?”

“Please, when Eri is old enough give her the contents of this bag. You can look through it if you are suspicious.”

“You mean— “

“Yes. I can’t guarantee that Kai will lose this fight but I entrust Eri with you. Please take care of her, be the hero she needs.”

The bag contained a leather bound journal, your personal diary that you started when you finally learnt how to properly read and write as encouraged by your father. It documented every single tear, laugh, and worry since you were 12; a stack of white letters, For each birthday of Eri’s since you met her, outlining everything that you wished for and regretted, how much you had wanted a better life for her, everything you ever wanted to tell her if you had gotten the chance; the photo from your dresser as something she could remember you by; and the handsewn doll Eri loved that you had made for her because she cried every time Kai’s goons would buy her something new.

You looked over your shoulder to the main fight. Kai was growing weary, his transformation wasn’t enough to fend off the pro heroes. It was drawing to a close. You looked back at Mirio.

“Please tell her I loved her… love her for me.”

“I will.”

Nighteye broke off one of the giant concrete spikes and hurled it towards Kai’s weakened body like a javelin. He sat kneeled on the ground desperately panting for breath. The bottom half of his mask was broken off and his jacket torn in pieces, the shreds decorating the ground around him. His body was drenched in blood, some his own, some others. Hari had disappeared earlier to deal with Eraserhead and all of the Eight bullets were either dead or in the hands of the police. No one was there to save him anymore.

“Tell her I’m sorry.”

Your body moved faster than your brain could react. The effects of the ability enhancing drugs were kicking in right on time. Time was moving in slow motion, you leapt into the battle scene, your hair extending outwards towards Kai’s body pushing him out of the way. The spike skewered your body impaling you square in the chest.

An unknown woman had thrown herself at sure death to save a criminal.

“MOM!”

Eri screams bounced off the walls of the building bringing the entire room to a standstill. She ran from her hiding spot stumbling over loose rubble collapsing beside you, sobbing into the crook of your arm.

Kai’s transformed state instantly melted away into goop around him. He was dumbfounded. Just seconds ago he had prepared himself to face death but was given torture way worse. He gently picked up your figure and held you in his arms.

“No, Yasuko, what have you done.”

“Kai, I’m sorry.” Your voice was hoarse and slurred. It was getting harder and harder to breathe.

“Yasu, I can fix you, y-you can’t go like this, I need you.”

“You know, I always wanted to be called ‘mom’.”

He caressed your cheek.

“Y-you can be if you stick it out. It’ll be like old times, just you and me.”

You chuckled, the laugh reduced to only short, laboured breaths of air. “Stop this nonsense, Kai. Let me rest. Maybe we’ll meet again in another life.”

You never doubted you were a bad person, the bad things you had done heavily outweighed the good. You had never believed in a life after death or reincarnation, always in fear that what awaited after you closed your eyes was eternal punishment. But if there were, you prayed the shinigami would be kind and grant you an eternity to watch over Eri, and see her grow into someone you never got the chance to.

“I love you, Cyclamen. I always have and I always will.”

“I love you too, Kai.”

Your eyelids grow heavy savouring the last moment you could feel. The heaviness of Eri on your chest, shirt wet with her tears; Kai’s calloused hands cupping your cheek, feeling the warmth of his body from being held so tightly. The pain in your chest seemed to melt away in their presence. An unfortunate death yet envied by many, surrounded by the people you loved.

The cyclamen, a flower symbolic of sincere and everlasting love, finally gave in to the weather after drowning in the heavy rain for many years, weathering out the storm until it couldn’t any longer, leaving behind only broken petals in its place. It’s ethereal beauty preserved in what it had been despite the circumstances, its body now nourishing for the garden that is to bloom the coming spring.

In the chaos, there was peace for a brief moment.

Masterlist of all my stuff

A/N: I’m sorry this took so long to write. Got caught up with online school and all that. Excuses excuses I know. It was really hard to write so please forgive me. I hoped you enjoyed reading all of my nonsense, a slight break from all the romance oriented stuff lol (nothing wrong with that, love me some Bakugou). But yeah, thanks for sticking through, it really means a lot.

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allmadxmuses · 3 years ago

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Brian Kerr

BASICS:

Full Name: Brian Kerr

Nickname(s): N/A

Age: 49

Date of Birth: 7th April

Place of Birth: New York City

Current Location: Sandpoint, Michigan

Gender: Male

Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual

Relationship Status: Widowed

Occupation: Retired

Face Claim: Damian Lewis

Hair Color: Red

Eye Color: Green

Height: 6′1‘

Tattoos: None

Piercings: None

Positive Traits: Generous. Hard-working. Humble.

Negative Traits: Unforgiving. Depressed. Pessimistic.

FAMILY:

Father: Graham Kerr (deceased)

Mother: Katie Kerr (deceased)

Children: None

Sibling(s): None

Pet(s): None

BIOGRAPHY: (trigger warning for mentions of suicide, murder, drugs, rape)

Brian Kerr grew up in New York. He was an only child and his parents were normal as they came. They both owned a corner shop and, as a teenager, Brian would help out there quite a lot after school. Mr. Kerr had inherited some money from relatives when he was a little younger so they weren’t exactly poor but Brian’s parents instilled in him that money wasn’t everything and he didn’t get everything handed to him as some tabloids would later have people believe. He went to university straight after high school, determined to become the radio presenter he’d always wanted to be. He’d loved the radio for a long time, it being the one thing he really enjoyed and could see himself doing. Life in an office looking over papers wasn’t what Brian had in mind for himself, and it wasn’t what anybody else could see him doing either. It was no surprise to anybody when Brian made it and became somewhat of a local celebrity in New York.

Brian met Hailee Watson when he was thirty. She was twenty-one and definitely didn’t take to him like he took to her at first. Brian’s charisma and confidence struck her as arrogance and it was safe to say she didn’t care much for him. But he was never one to give up and he, unashamedly, chased after her a bit. Eventually she agreed to go on one date with him and that was supposed to be the end of it. Brian, as ever, won her over in the end and they were married two years later. Life was perfect from that point on. He had a career he loved and a wife he loved even more. Even though his mother had passed away a year or so before and his father had moved to Spain to begin a new life, Brian didn’t feel sad. He felt lucky.

Then it all changed. Brian tried to kill himself nine years ago. To this day nobody knows why he did it. The press were all over the story, trying to get every single little detail they could, as they usually are when someone who’d made it into the limelight starts to break down. Dedicated radio fans were crying in the street, fearing that their favourite radio personality was going to die. The Kerr family were beside themselves with grief. And Brian himself was in hospital for over three months. Then, he went into hiding, and nobody saw or heard from him for an entire year.

Then he was back, and bigger than ever. He had his old job back, and an abundance of support from friends and strangers alike. Apparently people love a good comeback story. Rising from the ashes, as it were…

He wasn’t the same man, however. There once was excitement laced in his voice throughout an entire shocw. Now, Brian seemed dead despite having survived his suicide attempt. People close to him were still incredibly worried he’d try again, and are constantly walking on eggshells around him - something which annoyed Brian more than anything else. Why wouldn’t people just act normally with him? All this tiptoeing around didn’t help him feel any better, all it did was make him angry. He started wandering away from the radio station, skipping out early, or turning up late. Though nobody wanted to fire him in case it set him off, he knew they were all thinking it, and he found himself wishing they’d just hurry up and get it over and done with.

Brian, maybe as some form of protest or maybe because he thought he was “better” now, stopped taking his medication. Nobody noticed but he was certain that he didn’t need them any longer, and he was going to prove that he can handle everything. He wasn’t really thinking clearly though, and somehow managed to get himself involved with some pretty shady people. Drug dealers mostly, but some of Brian’s new ‘friends’ were into much darker things.

Suddenly, he found himself caught up in something he didn’t seem to have any control over whatsoever. While visiting a certain gentleman’s club with these guys, he witnessed something he’d rather forget he ever saw. In the alley behind the club, they beat a man to death and raped a prostitute. At first, Brian thought he’d hallucinated the whole thing but sadly that wasn’t the case… and then suddenly they were after him because he refused to side with them. Brian went to the police, not telling them fully why the gang was after him, but he told them enough and he now has round-the-clock protection.

It was around this time that Brian’s wife filed for divorce. She was still in love with him but their marriage had become too difficult and, while devastated, he couldn’t blame her. Hell, if he could get away from himself, he would... so he let her go, he didn’t deserve her after all, right? Plus, it would keep her safe. Or so he thought.

The leader of the gang hired someone to take Brian out - Shaun Harper, an ex-soldier. Brian found himself somehow surviving three attempts on his life. For someone who was so determined to die, he was surprised by how much his body seemed to want him to live.

In an attempt to lure Brian in, to finally finish the job, Shaun kidnapped Hailee and used her phone to text him to meet, and of course Brian went without question. He realised it was a trap when the bullets started flying but he was too late and Hailee ended up killed in the trap that had been set for Brian. She’d died and he had lived and it wasn’t fair.

Brian had managed to call the police on his phone before it died and they showed up in the nick of time, sending Shaun running for the hills. They didn’t catch him, they couldn’t find a trace of him. Brian didn’t care. All he cared about was Hailee and she was gone. He hadn’t even signed the papers yet, he’d been hoping she would come back to him... and now she never would.

He fled New York immediately, travelling around the country, not wanting to stay too long in one place in case the gang or Shaun found him, but he eventually settled for longer than he’d intended in Sandpoint, where he’s been for the past two years. He lives a comfortable enough life, still having enough money from his old job on the radio, and he keeps in touch with select people from the city but he’s forever haunted by the way his life turned out and he’s certain that he’s no good for anyone so tends to keep to himself where he can.

#brianintro #aboutbrian #brianmuse #sandpoint:intro #suicide tw #murder tw #rape tw

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infoburger · 4 years ago

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Name: Dominique ” Nique ” Dofour

Age: 19

Hair Color: Light Brown

Eye Color: Hazel

Origin/Born ?: Camphrier Town, Kalos

Hometown/ Raised ?: Pastroia City, Sinnoh

Current Residence: Jubilife City, Sinnoh

Occupation: Male idol and coordinator, part time waiter

Starter: Piplup ( Manon )

Family:

Parents ? Talbot Dofour ( father, 52) Hélène Dofour ( mother, 50)

Siblings ? Hortense Fresne ( older sister, 32) Corrine Dofour-Evans ( older sister, 28 )

Grandparents ? N/A

Aunts and/or Uncles ? N/A

Cousins ? N/A

In Laws ? Jesper Fresne ( brother in law, 32 ) Cadfael Evans ( brother in law, 29 )

Nephews and/or Nieces ? Octave Fresne( nephew,13 ) Eulalie Fresne ( niece, 6 ) Cadie Evans ( niece, 6 ) Caron ( niece, 6 ) Cefin ( nephew, 6 )

Others ? Marvin Evans ( 15 ) Lee Evans ( 13 ) Marien-Andéo Fresne ( 18 ) Josselin-Louis Fresne ( 15 )

Height: 6’ / 182.9 cm

Birthday: September 30th

Usual Place(s) to Find: Near Jubilife TV station in Jubilife City, Sinnoh or Dilices de Rive ( a café ) also in Jubilife City

Important Notes:

At times will take his breaks in his sister’s cafe, also likes coming over to her home before and after hours for free food

French was his native tongue and speaks with a slight accent

His stage name is ” Nique “ and introduce himself as such absently

Personality Sum:

Seems high-spirited and lively on stage, but surprisingly very laid back and calm in person.

Sensitive Worrywart. Though he’s usually a calm guy to be around, inside he’s always worrying about things or others around him or going to happen next. Constantly aims to please others, therefore constantly burning himself out at the end of the day. Tries handle his own problems himself until they escalates beyond control.

Don’t like rushing with tough decisions, he’s as tactful as he is indecisive and over analyzing. Despite his chilled demeanor Nique can be very judgmental and detached behind his pleasantries. Tends to be discreet and subtle his own thoughts about others or situations. He have a very sarcastic tongue underneath his ’ aim to please everyone ’ attitude.

Confident, composed and sociable. Gets over his own emotions or issues pretty easily and it’s very rare to see him fly off the handle. Likes to stay positive and self-assured especially for the sake of others. Though not particularly warm or bouncy after meeting him, Nique still is quite approachable from his amicable and responsive attitude.

Backstory: The youngest of three from a family that moved from Kalos to Sinnoh. Though born in Camphrier he was raised in Pastroia City with just his parents ( his second sister was only there until he was around one or two ) for the longest . His parents ran an restaurant there in a before letting his second sister inherent it years later.

She also took responsibility for the now nine year old and shortly moved them to Jubilife City where she made an second bakery/cafe there as well.The entertainment and business driven city made a big impression to Dominique that became was already interested in Pokemon Contests, started to focus on his musician skills too.

About a year later his sister and her boyfriend sent him off to get his trainer license and first Pokemon, a cute Piplup with a primadonna attitude. Afterward the the boy and his Pokemon started exploring around Sinnoh, one of his first goals was to go back to Pastroia City and explore the Great Marsh to finally catch some marsh Pokemon he never could when younger.

Afterward he focused Too bad afterall that hard work to join the idol industry, now he have less time to spend with his Pokemon in contests.

As the years went by he went on to forgo in many contests with his team as well as auditioning for idol performances, performing alongside with his Pokemon.Overtime, he became a pretty popular idol and found it hard to make time to for contests which he and his team loves just much as performing to music.

Faceclaim: KYO of ZOLA PROJECT, VOCALOID product mascot/ Kotobuki Reiji from Uta no☆prince-sama♪

Specialize(s) in what types: None

Favorite Type(s): Water, Grass, and Bug

Hobbies ?: Participating in contests, tennis, parkour, playing sax, playing electric bass, reading, and cooking

Favorite Food(s): Choux à la crème , gougères , and most frozen desserts.

Interest(s) with Pokemon ?: He’s a coordinator and a performer, so he likes to practice with his Pokemon for their moves and stride for the stage; wanting his Pokemon to balance out the flair and strength of themselves, to be efficient battlers as they are performers. Dominique is a casual battler and he’s Pokemon are usually in good form, but onlybattles if asked and if he’s Pokemon are up for it. Also, He likes to do photo shoots and start up concert or shows with his Pokemon as well.

Know any other muse(s): TBA

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Manon ( Sassy, Somewhat vain )

Dominique’s starter and little princess considering how much he spoiled her. She have a large attitude and a lot confidence to go around. Manon do wish she could perform in more contests like she use to, but loves the attention she gets from performing almost as much. Whenever the lady penguin visither one of her trainer’s sister she make it her own cause to spend time with the nieces and nephew’s pet Pokemon like a babysitter.

Tonne ( Adamant, Quick tempered )

His first official catch as a trainer; catching him couple of days after leaving Jubilife City,intentionally wanting to challenge his Piplup by giving her battle with a type-disadvantage. Tonne seems to get irritated very easily at his fellow party members, despite that he seems protective of them as well as Nique.

Lorence ( Quiet, Often lost in thought )

Is more of the solitary type ,he don’t mind Nique or his party members though. Lorence usually can be seen in with off gazes, assumed to be deep thoughts; however, these thoughts are usually just his mind rambling. Silently wishes that Dominique’s agency would give him time off so he can focus on contests more often.

Allard ( Bold, Highlypersistent )

Formerly Nique’s pet Magikarp, since he was not expecting to use him for any contests or battles after being caught. Howeve Allard shown a very stubborn side overtime and grown fed up with this treatment, constantly aggressively flopping around frustrated that Nique would train his friends but not himself. Therefore eventually making Nique feel obligated to train him into a beautiful Gyarados eventually. He resides in a lake nearby Nique’s condo along with some other water types of Nique.

Gribby ( Naive, Highly curious )

A friendly Tangrowth that Dominique caught in the Great Marsh as a Tangela. He likes coming across new things and that can lead to some trouble. To some people a Trangrowth was a odd choice for someone like Dominique to have.Nonetheless, the model thinks that Gribby is the one of the cutest Pokemon in his group; Due to his eager and bubbly personality.

Moriaia ( Naughty, Quick to flee )

A mischievous dragonfly that use to infuriate Dominique constantly when she a uncaught Yanma in Great Marsh. As a younger teen he use to explore the Great Marsh all the time. The Yanma would either take his bait and instantly leave even if was for another Pokemon or taunt him when didn’t catch any Pokemon, leading Dominique to eventually catch her overtime in frustration.

—————————————————————————————————————

Soli ( Bashful, Very finicky )

He found her as an Cherubi in a tree when he tried using honey on the trees. It can take a while for Soli to feel comfortable around the unfamiliar, nonetheless she can perform on stage or participate in Contests as if second nature from her time to adjust to her showy life style.

Revai ( Brave, Proud of its power )

She’s protective of those around her and have a have plenty confidence in her own strength. Revai resides in a lake nearby Nique’s Condo

——————————— ———————————————————————

Initial Relationships

Family

Talbolt and Hélène Dofour / Mama and Papa / Parents

Misses his parents immensely, they’re one of the reasons that he wish for more free time so that he can travel and visit them. Constantly buys sovereigns and candy from various place he performed or participated in a contest at for them. Always ask about their pet Furfrou, Éclair too since he miss seeing the big dog Pokemon when he was a little boy too.

Hortense ” Tensy ” Fresne / Oldest sister

Since they have such a large age gap, Dominique views her more like a fussy second mom or aunt at times. Since her husband owns a large amount of real estate, Nique grown to coming for her family for his needs like a grooming salon or hotels. Sometimes Nique seems scared of his big sister, because of her strict and bossy personality but he knows she’ll always be there for him in a bind.

Corrine ” Coco ” Evans-Dofour / Older sister

Dominique is very close to his second sister, even moving with her family after his parents retire and traveled back to Kalos. He lives close by her and always tries to find time to see her, especially when he wants a home-cooked meal. She always there to support him just like a mother.She babied and spoiled him to an degree and Nique is incredibly protective of her.

Marvin ” Marvy ” Evans / Younger brother figure

Nephew to his sister, Corrine’s husband. He thinks fondly of the younger teen and considers him family. Ever since the boy became a trainer Dominique tried to be a good role model and even today have friendly battles with him. Since the teen works at his sister’s cafe, he likes to visit him when on his lunch breaks and on Marvy’s breaks too, both can be seen hanging out together a lot.

Friends

Elizabeth ” Liz ” Monroe / Fellow Idoland Penpal

Though she resides all the way in Unova, the two have performed alongside each other a few times before. Dominique thinks she’s a real cutie but sometimes he have a hard time matching her energy, but he at least tries. When he calls her up, he automatically ask to ask about her Audino.

Honoka / Friend and fellow idol ( in training )

Thinks she’s a sweet, cute girl and usually sees her since she works at his sister’s cafe. She’s an up-and-coming idol herself so, Nique tries to be a good mentor to her and seems to be protective her almost like a big brother.

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Mun Notes: Nique is a model and idol, so I don’t mind if someone acts like they seen him in a …I don’t know a commercial or something in that nature. However, all first interactions are the same stranger based level ( unless stated otherwise ). I know he have ( a still improving ) French accent but he’s a Sinnoh boy, but if the sweet muns read his bio above this then the assumption “He’s in Kalos” is quickly killed. He don’t personally know Crasher Wake though he lived in Pastroia City as a kid.

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chiseler · 5 years ago

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A Smelling Salts Tigress: Laura Hope Crews

When Laura Hope Crews first appears in The Silver Cord (1933), she seizes the space like the experienced theater star she was, arms and furs flying, crying for her son: “Dave boy!” It’s the kind of entrance that seems meant for entrance applause, and Crews earns that courtesy from the moment she arrives, or even before that, when we hear her off-screen (or off-stage) voice. As Mrs. Phelps, a smother mother of monstrous proportions, Crews acts at the highest possible level of intensity.

It’s hard to keep track of Mrs. Phelps’s passive aggressive and sometimes just aggressive aggressive tactics to sever the marital engagements of her two sons David and Robert (Joel McCrea and Eric Linden). Mother Phelps descends, sometimes, to outright cattiness: “That dress needs distinction…and a figure,” she says to David’s fiancée (Irene Dunne). She’s fond of crying, “I haven’t a selfish hair on my head!” but she’s so obvious a manipulator that her sons seem a little dim to be taken in by her incessant posing at motherly self-sacrifice. Crews plays her like a drawing room wild animal who must always keep up the most furiously gripping kind of playacting if she is to keep her sons, and her audience, in her thrall.

“I nearly died when Dave was born!” she cries, then reminds her victims, in a quieter voice, “He was a twelve-pound baby, you know.” When Crews gets her claws into Linden, it feels like Mrs. Phelps has an almost hypnotic effect on her son; one silent look from her and he is practically her slave. When the chips are really down, when her sons are on the verge of seeing through her, Mrs. Phelps complains of heart trouble. She is a virtuoso of the guilt trip, and she can be outright comic, like Barry Humphries’s drag character Dame Edna Everage insulting a member of her audience “for their own good.”

“Isn’t your mother your best friend?” she asks Linden’s Robert, who keeps retreating into her lap and bosom and letting himself be kissed lingeringly on the mouth. Crews’s grand, raspy voice is full-throated and almost unvaryingly passionate here, but she’s scariest when she speaks in a more normal tone of voice, as when she pulls a phone out of a wall socket and quietly tells Robert’s fiancée Hester (Frances Dee), “You are the only person in the world who has ever forced me to do an undignified thing.” For most of its short running time, The Silver Cord is the record of a performance by Crews that has the force of a natural disaster, a purely destructive hurricane gale, something and somebody that cannot be explained away, even when playwright Sidney Howard has her try to justify her incestuous “romance” with her sons in the final scene.

The Silver Cord had been a success for Crews on stage, too, in the 1920s. She was born in 1879, the daughter of a stage actress, Angelena Lockwood, and Crews went on the stage herself at the age of four. She was Beatrice to John Drew’s Benedick in Much Ado About Nothing, and played Judith Bliss in the original Broadway run of Noel Coward’s Hay Fever. As a young woman, she had a major hit in A.A. Milne’s Mr. Pim Passes By, and she was still reviving it in the late 1920s when she engaged Bette Davis to play an ingénue role. Davis was filled with nervous energy already, and she tended to circle her arms around, which stirred Crews’s ire.

“Miss Crews, famous for the use of her lovely hands, made it very clear from the start that no good ingénue waved her hands about,” Davis wrote in her autobiography, The Lonely Life. Davis tried to keep her hands at her sides, but at one point during the dress rehearsal she moved them to emphasize a line and felt a slap on her wrist from behind, delivered by a furious Crews, who was not only starring in this old-time vehicle but directing it herself. Davis counted to fifty, held her temper in, and kept her job.

Gloria Swanson called Crews to Hollywood to work with her as a vocal coach for her first talking film, The Trespasser (1929) at the suggestion of director Edmund Goulding, who told Swanson that there was “no one in the world with a better ear for the spoken word.” Crews repeated her Silver Cord triumph on film and made a few more movies in small roles before coming to her second major film performance, Prudence in George Cukor’s superlative version of Camille (1936) with Greta Garbo.

Marguerite Gautier, the extravagant courtesan played by Garbo in Camille, orders her dresses from Prudence, who lives off her shop but also off spare money from her various strumpet friends. She’s always giving Marguerite “motherly” advice, but if Mrs. Phelps is the worst mother imaginable, then Prudence has all the motherly instinct of a barracuda. Crews wears rather low-cut dresses here that barely cover her bosom, and she goes all-out with Prudence’s vulgarity and ill-temper. At a rowdy dinner party at Marguerite’s apartment, Prudence uninhibitedly takes off her shoes and sticks her feet up. A dirty story is told round the table, and it is said that the story is as old as Prudence, to which she replies, “I’m 36!” This gets met with a shriek of incredulous laughter (Crews was 56 at this point), and to Prudence’s credit, she joins in the laughter wholeheartedly.

As Marguerite retires into her room with her younger lover Armand (Robert Taylor), Cukor shows Prudence smoking a cigar in close-up, and in this close-up, Crews is as lively and convincing a picture of worldly, hedonistic corruption as has ever been offered in movies. When Marguerite drops Prudence’s purse out a window to get rid of her in a later scene, Crews gives an invigoratingly theatrical line reading as she cries, “What a girl! What a te-ease!” at the top of her vocal register. There is always, with Crews, a hysteria running underneath her vocal attack that she can barely suppress, and this accounts for her rare excitement as an actress. Somehow it never gets monotonous because she is able to work a lot of variations into what is, at best, the ultimate in theatrical authority, in keeping an audience, and often the other characters, in her grip.

“Wine used to go to my head and make me gay!” Prudence says, after a boozy wedding. “Now it goes to my legs and makes me old!” This is a magnetic woman, and it’s easy to want her to reveal a good-hearted impulse or two as Marguerite suffers and dies, but no, Cukor and Crews end their portrait of Prudence on a pitiless note. In her last scene, she not only takes the last of dying Marguerite’s money, but she also cruelly mentions that Armand is back in town and hasn’t tried to see Marguerite. As has been said before, Prudence is a “vulture” and “a dreadful old woman,” and some people just don’t have good hearts or good impulses, in fact, quite the opposite. Prudence administers a kick when Marguerite is on her deathbed just for the pleasure of it, the same pleasure she takes in cigars and brandy and weddings. This is a thoroughly loathsome woman, as bad or even worse than Mrs. Phelps, and Crews plays her unsparingly.

Crews entered folklore as Aunt Pittypat in Gone with the Wind (1939), an Atlanta lady with horns of curls always quivering on her head as she shakes with genteel anxiety and asks for her smelling salts, and after that she played a few more bits before coming to work with Bette Davis again in The Man Who Came to Dinner (1942), after Davis had become the biggest female movie star in the world. Crews played a bit role that was later cut. In her behavior on the set, she proved that she herself was more generous than the roles she often played.

“Past all power and desire to slap ingénues, she was now coaching them in speech and accepting small parts in films,” Davis wrote of Crews. “I think she fully expected anything from me. I had dreamed of a reversal of position for many years.” But Davis decided against outright revenge. “I welcomed Miss Crews warmly and with great deference,” she wrote. “No doubt she would have preferred not being robbed of an ex post facto justification of her high-handedness…When the picture was over, Miss Crews came to my dressing room. She handed me a box—and was gone. I opened it and inside was the most beautiful watch—pearls and diamonds on the back—that I had ever seen. This was her belated apology. She died six months later. It is one of my truly cherished possessions.”

by Dan Callahan

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masaru2042 · 6 years ago

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The Engine is My Boss

This a little short of the r/entitledparents thing. But this time, it’s a story of Bessie...Dana’s former engine, running into a very entitled mother and her brat wanting a cab ride. And then, the mother damages the Flying Scotsman’s cowcatcher, that’s a big no-no!

So, it’s Dana again. I got another one of those stories. Entitled parents, you know. And their kids. Something you have to deal with when driving a steam engine. But this one isn’t from Sodor, it’s from my old job.

I used to work for a particular railroad museum in Chattanooga and was the driver of the famous Southern #4501 “Ms. Mikado”, aka Bessie Baldwin.

Little story on Bessie herself. Bessie is a Mikado type steam locomotive, runs on coal, though she has a brother who runs on waste vegetable oil. Which is why I suggested the fuel to Sir Topham Hatt for Gordon. Bessie managed to talk him into it, saying she’s considering a conversion herself mostly because she’s sick of the bill she gets from TVA. Yeah, she orders coal from TVA, having them drop off a couple cars when they deliver to the steam plant. And it’s expensive! I know when Bessie’s having a bad day when she looks at the invoice she gets from TVA. She already complains about the high electric bill, now this. Saul loves it when she starts complaining.

Mikados have a wheel arrangement of 2-8-2, a wheel arrangement invented in Japan. Sodor has a couple of Mikados of its own, notably the two Smallies...Bert and Mike. But also Hiro Kawasaki, who is a Mikado from Japan. The United States saw the wheel arrangement Japan was using for its steam engines and wanted to use it for their steam engines. The very first MS-1 Mikado built by Baldwin Locomotive Works was Bessie herself. And she’s the last one of that particular type remaining. It’s why she is nicknamed Ms. Mikado. Because she is THE Mikado of the US.

And she’ll let you know it.

She was built in Pennsylvania in 1911, but don’t let that fool you, she’s a Southern belle through and through, even jokes that her water tank is actually filled with sweet tea, not water. It isn’t, but she loves to say it is. She was retired in the 1940s when the Southern Railway was going to diesel, sold to a short line and pulled coal cars until the 1960s when she was bought by a railfan who restored her to working order. Unfortunately, said railfan passed away, and she ended up getting his entire estate. He left her everything, and I do mean everything, including the museum itself!

Bessie Baldwin is in fact the third richest locomotive in the world. Her business partner is Saul Amerigo, a Consolidated 2-8-0 built by ALCO in 1901. He’s the Southern #630.

Some of you Brits might notice the odd surnames these engines have. In Britain, steam engines tend to take on the surname of their designer, not so in the States. American steam engines use their plant name as the surnames. Since Bessie was built at Baldwin Locomotive Works, she’s Bessie Baldwin. Saul was built by the American Locomotive Company, so rather than call him Saul ALCO, he’s Saul Amerigo...for the explorer who named the Americas. Japanese steam engines also do the same thing with their surnames, which is why Hiro has the surname of Kawasaki, despite that in Japan the surnames come first. He actually would be Kawasaki Hiro.

Kinda interesting little tidbit.

Also, Bessie is a big fangirl of the Flying Scotsman. It’s adorable. Likewise, Scott’s got a crush on her as well. If she’s not focusing on the business, she’s on Skype, or Discord, or Facebook with Scott.

And what can I say about Bessie, she practically saved my life once. I was down on my luck, got out of an abusive relationship with my ex-husband, couldn’t go back to working as a freight hauler at Norfolk and Southern, was about to commit suicide when Bessie came in, whistle blaring, scooping me up and took me to the museum. And from that day on until my move to Sodor, I was her driver. My cousin was her fireman.

She even hopped on a boat to Sodor just to surprise me for Christmas all because I was home sick. And that’s no easy task for a steam engine that’s 150 tons. I don’t deserve a friend like Bessie, but I’m glad she is one. She’s like the grandmother I never had but always wanted. She even lets me call her “grannie” a few times too. And apparently Saul is my crazy, fun uncle. Which make sense since my actual uncle drives him.

And she is a hard-ass, make no mistake. She will make you work hard, but in the end, you’ll feel like you achieved something after you did.

But there’s one thing I’ll have to say about Bessie is...you have to follow her rules, no matter what. She’s a “my way, or the highway” kind of girl. Especially when it comes to railroad safety.

On Sodor, cab rides are a flat NO. There’s a reason for that, it’s an actual working railway that has steam engines on it. The only exceptions are VIPs, inspectors, the press, and Sir Topham Hatt’s mother, Dowager Hatt. Don’t ask about the last one, because I don’t know!

However, I do know about heritage railways in the UK that will allow for cab rides, or even the chance to drive said steam engine with a trainer driver and trainer fireman to supervise the guest. The NWR is very strict on no cab rides.

However, back at the museum in Chattanooga, Bessie does allow for cab rides on short excursions, not on long excursions, and the person riding has to be at least 16 years of age, or older. And only two extra riders. Despite American steam engines having much larger cabs than British steam engines, it’s still a tight fit to have a bunch of people standing in it, so, there’s a limit. The driver and fireman still needs their conductor to be with them, so two extra people riding is the limit. That makes five people in total inside Bessie’s cab, and that’s a bit cramped, even for her large cab.

And 16 years or older is because she doesn’t want little kids who can’t keep their hands to themselves from messing with her controls. She figures if the person is old enough to drive a car, they can be mature enough to keep their hands to themselves while being escorted by a parent or guardian. That’s 16 with an adult. However, 18 years and over, you can ride without an adult.

Again, Bessie figures, if you’re old enough to go to war, you’re old enough to not have a babysitter in her cab along with you.

Bessie is funny that way.

Also to get a cab ride, it’s an extra surcharge.

Hey, if you’re gonna be bothering the driver and fireman, you might as well pay them for their time of answering all your questions while they’re trying to pay attention to their job, as Bessie states.

And don’t argue with her about it. She also loves giving the cab rider a nice little lecture before the ride, to make sure the rider understands what they’re allowed to do and what they’re not allowed to do. Because Bessie is Bessie. And she doesn’t want people messing around with things they shouldn’t.

It is her body after all and she makes that clear by saying “you wouldn’t want someone constantly poking you in all the inappropriate places too, right?”

Some people keep forgetting that sapient steam engines are living beings, and have their own boundaries and comfort zones just like humans do. And they expect people respect their boundaries. It takes a lot of trust that the engine must have to work with a driver and fireman manning the controls to assist in the control of steam, and even more trust to allow untrained strangers inside the cab on a ride.

And this is why she doesn’t allow children in her cab.

She had a bad experience once when she gave it a try to allow children inside her cab, and we’ll leave it at that. But it does involve various fluids that little kids tend to excrete either on purpose or on accident.

So, no kids.

They can ride in the coaches instead!

Unfortunately, this is one of those stories that involves a child wanting a cab ride and the entitled mother not understanding that no means no, and thinks that talking to the manager of the museum will get what she wants.

Hahaha, no.

So, we were about go out on our little short excursion, a special all the way to the east end of Chattanooga, passing by historic Civil War sites along the way. The scenery is always nice, especially in the summer. A lot of people love riding this special because at the end of the line, before returning, you get to see some turntable action. Kids love that!

On this particular track, there’s a tunnel, and because of the coal burning, you do have to hold your breath a bit when you’re riding in the cab and going through the tunnel. You don’t want that soot in your mouth. This is the other reason why kids aren’t allowed to ride in the cab.

Well, on that day, Bessie was reversing slowly to the coaches, the conductor was hanging out out the door, helping her and me to see behind her large tender. She just upgraded from her old 15 ton coal capacity tender to an 18 ton coal capacity tender, something she made a little bid on an auction off of an old Illinois Central J-3. Not as big as the Centipede tenders that Saul’s younger sister Opal or his nephew Zack had, but way more than what Gordon uses! A single Corridor Tender that Gresley designed had a 9 ton coal capacity. Bessie now has a tender that is twice that capacity. And she ripped a mechanical stoker from an old Canadian Pacific 4-6-2 steam engine she had purchased as a static display.

We don’t know if said engine was sapient or not, and the Pacific isn’t in good shape for a restore either. Sad.

So, as we were backing up, my cousin Chuck turned his head to hear some sort of argument happening at the ticket counter. It happens. The supervisor inside the ticket counter should be able to help out with any trouble any dissatisfied customer has. So lucky I didn’t have that job. I’m not a people person, or rather a general public person. It’s why I went to work for NS and hauled freight in a diesel up and down the east coast.

The rest of the crowd was out, waiting for the coaches to open up, taking pictures as we backed up. Bessie’s bell was blaring loudly to make sure people knew she was moving. She’s a big ole girl, and she wants to make sure you stay out of her way. And then, the mother who had a scrawny looking 6 year old boy, came storming our way. The ticket lady came out the door and raced after her.

“Hey, cuz…” said Chuck. “We got trouble.”

I got up from my seat and looked out the fireman’s window.

“Bessie, stop!” I shouted and she clenched her brakes.

“Set the brake!” Bessie called back.

I pulled back on the brake lever and then returned to Chuck’s window.

“What’s the hold up?” Bessie asked. Her knuckle hadn’t touched the knuckle of the first coach yet.

“Trouble,” said Chuck.

“What? What kind of trouble.”

There were times Bessie wished she had a neck so she could look around. Though, she does have very excellent peripheral vision, despite being over a century old.

“The ‘I wanna speak to a manager’ kind,” I told her.

“Well, ain’t that a bowl of peaches and cream…”

Except, the mother wasn’t storming up to Bessie to complain to her, because well, Bessie’s the manager. She was storming right to the cab where we were.

Yeah, people tend to either forget, or not know that Bessie is the boss to talk to for any problems. She’ll put her driver wheel down and tell you “tough shit” and then get to her trip. And if you don’t like it, that’s your problem. She’s too old to care and she has a time table to adhere.

“Excuse me,” the woman said, dragging her jiggling son over. “My son wants a cab ride, and the lady at the ticket counter said you won’t give him one. I’m willing to pay extra. That’s not a problem.”

“Right,” I said. “Your son can’t have a cab ride. That’s policy. No child under the age of 16 can ride in the cab.”

“I WANNA RIDE THE TRAIN!” screamed the kid.

I felt a slight tilt from Bessie’s frame. Oh, she hates the screamers. She hates the screamers. I could feel the cab shudder just a little at the ear bleeding sound of that child’s voice.

“And you will, precious,” said the mother.

“He can ride the train,” said Chuck. “Just not the cab. It’s for his safety and also for insurance reasons. We don’t want him potentially messing with the delicate controls inside. And Bessie is very particular when it comes to who can touch her valves. Little children tend to don’t know how to keep their hands to themselves. And it’s just best they don’t ride inside here.”

The mother wasn’t happy with that answer and her mouth puckered, wrinkling at the lips.

“My son is a good boy, he won’t mess with the train’s controls,” she said.

“I ain’t a train, honey!” Bessie shouted. The woman wasn’t paying attention to her.

“It’s also very hot in the cab,” I said. “Which can be very dangerous for very young children's health. There’s also the danger of the child inhaling the particles that come from the engine’s funnel going through the tunnel. She burns coal in her firebox and there’s a lot of soot and ashes. This can damage a child’s lungs. It’s safer for them to ride the coaches.”

“Now, see here!” the mother called.

Oh god, not the “see here” phrase. A Southern mom’s version of holding a gun to your head to get what she wants. You don’t piss of a Southern momma. Ever.

Chuck and I just tensed at her grating voice.

“You let my little son ride in your cab, he’s been a good boy!” she said. “I wanted to do something nice for him. I’ll be sitting there with him, so I’ll make sure he won’t touch anything.”

“We could get fired if we allowed your son in Bessie’s cab,” said Chuck. “It doesn’t matter if you’re with him or not.”

“I WANNA RIDE THE TRAIN, MOMMA!” the child screamed again.

“You’re upsetting my little boy!” she shouted at the both of us. “Now you let my son in there right now, or I’ll see the manager! I’ll make sure you are fired!”

“Oh?” I perked up, jumping down from the cab. “You wanna see the manager? Okay. You can see my boss. And she can tell you why you ain’t getting into that cab.”

All the while, that kid kept screaming, pulling on his mother’s arm. And with each crescendo, I winced.

“Somebody’s torturin’ a cat, it sounds like,” said Bessie. “Marci, get the ASPCA on the phone!”

That’s Bessie, everyone!

“Ma’am,” I began. “This is my manager, Bessie Baldwin. You can now relay all your grievances to her.”

“You’re joking!” the mother shouted. “I will not be disrespected.”

“She ain’t jokin’,” said Bessie. “I own the museum. Now, what’s this about a cab ride?”

“A train runs the museum?”

Keep in mind, that kid was still screaming. He even flopped onto the grass, pulling up the dirt around him.

“Engine, or locomotive,” began Bessie. “And if locomotive is to hard to say, then use engine. Either one will fit. The train is the thing I was backing up to before you ran over with your wailing banshee, demanding for a cab ride despite it being against our policy! I haven’t finished coupling up to it, and I’ve got passengers waiting. Now, what is it you want?”

No engine likes being called a “train.”

“My son deserves a cab ride,” she said. “And your...operator…”

“Engineer,” I said.

“Don’t interrupt me, young lady,” she snapped at me.

“I don’t give a damn if you’re precious little hell spawn’s got good grades, helped a little old lady across the street, made Cub Scouts, won a little league game, or saved a bag of drowning kittens near the Chickamauga Dam, he ain’t getting in my cab.”

I heard a clank on the rails. Bessie just set her center driver wheel down. And when she does that, it’s end of discussion.

I don’t think the mother got that message though.

In fact, she put her foot down as well.

“My son…” the mother began.

“Can get the hell out of my museum,” Bessie finished.

“How dare you…”

“Demand that I let that wallowing little monster inside my cab.”

That’s right, Bessie can play the game too.

The mother pointed her finger stiffly at Bessie, coming near her cowcatcher. Just when she was about to open her mouth again, Bessie blew her whistle loudly. Now, Bessie’s whistle ain’t no peeper you Brits are probably used to hearing from a steam engine. It’s the kind of whistle most people think of when they hear “steam engine whistle”. The loud...whooowhooo! She’s got a three chime whistle. And that clamped the mother’s mouth up real quick. It also grabbed all the eyes from the other passengers to the front.

“I don’t have time to argue with an entitled, stuck up snob that’s obviously gotten more than she deserves, and never once been grateful for it,” began Bessie. “Nor for her little hellion that sounds like he wants to die of asphyxiation rather than shutting up. It’s obvious you haven’t popped one on his little bottom enough. If I had a pair of hands, he would have been taken out to the back of the shed and given a prompt to whoopin’ for making such a scene like that.” She tilted her frame down. “Both my engineer and fireman have given you the reason why we do not allow children under the age of 16 from ridin’ inside my cab. This is policy, and it is to protect my business as much as the child’s health. The boy can easily suffer a heat stroke standing so close to my firebox. My cab ain’t like your fancy Lexus with climate control at the touch of a button. Driving a steam engine is no fun ride, it is hard, hot and sweaty work. And I do not want your child’s snot covered hands anywhere near my controls. I’ve spent most of my century not knowing the intimate relationship between a child’s snot bubble and my valves, and I wish to keep it that way. And another thing, the policy of cab rides is not only my policy, but Norfolk and Southern’s policy. I must adhere to that policy if I wish to continue to run on their lines. What you are asking for just to please your brat and your sense of entitlement will put me out of business. Now either go buy a regular ticket, enjoy the ride in the coaches and shut the hell up, or get the hell off my property.”

There was a short humph from the mother as she began to drag her kid away.

“See if I bring my business back here again,” she said. “And I want a refund and compensation for you scaring my precious child.”

“Patricia!” Bessie shouted. “Did this woman pay for a ticket yet?”

“No, ma’am,” said Patricia.

“That ain’t happenin’, hon,” said Bessie. “Now, get the hell out. You’re holding everyone up. Chuck, release the brake so I can back up. I needa get the coaches hitched.”

There was a clink and Bessie began to back up slowly again, softly expelling steam as she went and letting gravity guide her back. Her bell rang loudly. Then, tapping her brakes, she finally came to a stop as the knuckles connected.

I didn’t have to be in the cab to back her up. Chuck was just as good as a driver as he was a fireman, and could handle both at the same time just to help Bessie back up. And Bessie took care of the rest.

I watched the mother drag her child away, exclaiming: “I’ll sue your company! You’ll go bankrupt and have to be scrapped for parts!”

No engine likes the “S” word. Neither Gordon, nor Bessie.

“Lady, you are banned from my museum definitely!” Bessie called back. “If you try to come back on museum property, I will have you arrested for tresspassin’. And I have the police on speed dial!”

She does. Bessie has an iPad hooked up in her cab, and can do a “hey, Siri, call 911” if need be. Some of the small wires near her smokebox are in fact connected to a microphone so that Siri can hear her and a speaker so that she can hear whoever is talking to her over the phone. Bessie is a bit of a jerryrigger, she can jimmy anything she needs in a pinch, or rather, design it and get one of the mechanics to jimmy it for her. Because, she doesn’t have any hands. And the iPad is actually connected to a rigging near the water glass and plugged into a USB cord that’s attached to her dynamo.

The woman walked swiftly away only to stop for a moment and peered down upon a bright red cowcatcher hanging up by two long nails with four yellow numbers written on it. The numbers were 4472. The woman let go of the child’s hand and then began to tug on the cowcatcher.

Oh no, not the Flying Scotsman’s cowcatcher!

“What in blue blazes are you doin’!” Bessie shouted just as she saw the woman try to drag the heavy iron cowcatcher from its resting place. That thing was Bessie’s prized possession, something she won off an auction from another railway museum. The cowcatcher was from Scott Gresley’s USA tour in the late 1960’s, an event that Bessie sadly missed. Scott Gresley, aka the Flying Scotsman, came to the United States on a friendly tour with his owner Sir Alan Pegler as a show of friendship between the two allies. It nearly ended in tragedy when the Prime Minister at the time withdrew funds and bankrupted Pegler and Scott was nearly scrapped to pay off the debts. Luckily, this was during the time of the Civil Rights movement, which then decided to include sapient steam engines in its movement. Scott was recognized as a person, not an object, could not be cut apart and scrapped, as that would be considered murder, and was sent home under good faith that the UK will recognize Scott’s personhood. They did, in fact. Scott’s now the second richest sapient steam engine in the world and helps to fund the British Railway Museum.

And the last thing Bessie wants is anyone to mess with her beau’s cowcatcher.

“You leave that alone!” Bessie shouted. “Security!”

The aids were already calling for security, Bessie sounding her whistle finally drew them towards where the commotion was happening. All the while, the woman took hold of the cowcatcher and hefted it from the nails. It slid and dropped face down with a loud clang! And right on the woman’s big toe as well.

She called out and slipped her foot from the heavy iron cowcatcher, hopping on one foot. The cowcatcher was very sturdy, so it won’t be easily broken from a fall, but no doubt it probably needs a good repaint after scraping on the concrete.

“You’re gonna pay for whatever detailing is needed to fix the paint,” Bessie said. “Security!”

At last the security guards grabbed the woman. One of them, a rather large man, picked up the child and then took both to their cars. All the while the woman kept shouting she wanted to sue Bessie for not allowing her son a cab ride.

Bessie had to file a small claims and take the woman to court over the damage to Scott’s cowcatcher. Of course, being an engine, she couldn’t really appear in court, but had her lawyer and her secretary appear on her behalf. It wasn’t much, just a couple hundred dollars to have the cowcatcher repainted, but then there was the filing the police report for disruption of the other customers, as well as being fined for delaying a passenger excursion train. Needless to say, the woman had to pay a hefty fine, and serve several hours of community service for her attitude.

Bessie would have given the boy a ride eventually, once he became 16, but now that’s not going to be possible. She put a ban on the boy until he was 18 so he could come back without his loudmouthed mother. However, being around 6 years old, it’ll be over a decade before that boy will be allowed to return to the museum.

But that’s not a problem for Bessie. Oh no. She intends to keep on puffing for another century, until the Good Lord finally decides its her time. Until then, she’ll keep taking passengers, and telling stories of her days on the Southern Railroad.

#flying scotsman #OC #steam engine #Gordon #Dana Gordon's Driver #fanfiction #r/entitledparents #parody

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laidbackmarco · 6 years ago

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Trinkets of a Different Time

As a kid I remember rifling through my dad’s nightstand to find small pocket knives, trinkets, and various other personal articles. As a romantic and philosopher I believe the inanimate objects we interact with everyday tell us a lot about ourselves, and have deep vast stories hidden with them. One could argue that they are as much a part of this living breathing universe as we are. The imagination of a child allowed me to daydream of a life lived before I came into the world.

How much do I know of being a minority in the 60s, 70s, 80s? What Tacoma was like, the stories of Kansas and Virginia which always seem to not be long enough for me to know anything. Or on my mom’s end how could I know what it was like to lose my father at an early age. To grow up in a third world country miles away over the pacific ocean. I hear short snippets of each of their lives through oral stories passed down from one generation to the next. But it’s often strange to think about how little we know about the people who raised us, and often weirder thinking that they have as little of an idea of what they are doing as you do.

Strangers With The Same DNA

My mom being a party animal, my dad being some sort of geek. . . If I met them on the street would I recognize them? What I would give to be Marty McFly and meet and observe my parents in their youth. My knowledge is so limited I have troubling remember what happens in a day if I don’t journal. The images I have of my parents are constructs in my mind that change and shift with every passing moment. Remember the image you held of your dad when you were five, its probably the way my elementary school students think of me now as a 23 year old adult. Up till seven I thought my dad was some sort of flawless super hero. Of course that image has since changed, but as I grow into adulthood and discover how hard it really is, I can once again say that I am amazed by the things my dad has accomplished on his time on this earth. The flaws my dad has only make him more relatable, and overcoming some of them is a testament to how much he cares.

Parents lie to their kids all the time, I think my parents lied about their past as much as they tell the truth. Of course they could be lying on accident due to the lackluster perception of self present all humans. (including me the author)

Most of my parents lives I was not a part of . . .the time I spent with them is less than half of their lives. I know mostly nothing about the people that live under my roof with me and have guided me through the world that they too had to figure out and find meaning in.

The Same Name

Maurice Vincent Harris

My dad and I share practically the same name, but I have never once called him Marc or Maurice, to do so would just feel wrong. Even calling him dad for the sake of my “audience”(thanks for reading really. . .and most of you are English speakers I’m assuming?) feels so unsettling. Because to me he has always been Tatay. Hearing that word in my head makes years of memories fly through my mind. Recently he’s picked up the name Beefo, a name my little sister has knighted him with. During my time in high school my friends had come up with a name for my Tatay that is the most fon for me to use Black Mario.

Black Mario felt just as right as Tatay and is less intimate so for the sake of this chapter let’s call him Black Mario.

Things Only I Know

What can I tell you about my dad that no one else knows? He’s afraid of dying just like everyone else, he hates his job although he appreciates all that it’s provided for us, his favorite cigarettes are menthol lights, he worries all the time about all his kids. Karina, Cristina, me. . . But he worries about Karina the most. . . Because they are scarily alike. He is very old fashion and rarely cooks, cleans, or does the laundry, but he does like to do yardwork and keep all the vehicles in working order. Some of his bad habits are gambling, smoking, and road rage. It’s hard to sleep around him because he snores very loudly, and once he’s out it’s hard to get him back up(yay for sneaking in xbox time). He’s not afraid to express what he feels at restaurants, but for some reason can’t get in touch with his sensitive side. He misses the days when I was little. His mind is always on the future, but is sometimes impulsive. He doesn’t sleep much, but he can sleep for a while when he finally retires to the bed. He’s not as fast up and down the stairs as he used to be even just ten years ago when the regular pace of the slight jog going up the stairs has turned into a labored and offset slower paced climb up them. He expresses his emotions in weird ways like some sort of anime tsundere.

That’s my image of him now, but I know with all things this wasn’t how he always was.

I remember growing up I used to tell people I was black and they wouldn’t believe me until they saw my father. Trying to describe my father to someone who had never seen him went as follows. Well he’s a tall black guy with a mustache, who always wears a hat, and blue Boeing coveralls. He is a plumber/maintenance worker. A description closely matched by one of the world’s most famous Italian plumbers in the world. Mario. . .

Slice of Life

Although Black Mario is my father, the knowledge I have on this specimen is, only a slice of his life. Most of his existence remains shrouded in mystery.(If I ever have kids they can literally search through my teens and twenties, and even further back if I get around to scanning and uploading our photo collection) They need to hurry up with that assassins creed machine Animus please. I know his birthdate by heart thanks to all those damn how old are you things on the internet for mature games not porn I swear. I always put in my dad’s date of birth for some reason so my Xbox live account says I’m in my sixties. I always think about Alan Watt’s description about how we describe a beginning, did my father’s life start when he was born, when he was conceived, or when he was an evil gleam in his father’s eyes?

Baby Boomer

Black Mario is a baby boomer born on December 31st 1954, being part of a military family he was born on the other side of the country in Virginia. Dave and Patricia Harris. Like many, my grandfather had served in Second World War another young man thrown into a battle that shed much blood, but also brought the world together. When the war was over he was in his late teens and met a young girl from the Philippines who returned with him to the states. In the Philippines due to the lack of documentation it was possible for my grandma, who was actually 14, to lie about her age. Perhaps America was the land of opportunity and a chance for her to seek adventure out of her small province. Due to the different cultural values of both the time and the region, it wasn’t strange for people to be settling down and having families at a young age. I mean the concept of “adulthood” is a construct created by culture. Using an arbitrary number such as one’s age to determine responsibility is pretentious, preposterous, and absurd. There was a time when people settled down much younger in life due to the short life expectancy. In other cultures the marriage ages vary to some degree as well, and for all you Christians out there, Mary was like fourteen so . . . Yeah.

Two teenagers went about raising a family . . What could possibly go wrong?

My Grandpa was a short tempered, sharp tonged, sometimes violent man. . . God. . . He’s starting to sound like the stereo typical African American T.V. Dad. Although I imagine being in the military during war time will change you, being African American his role was limited to a cook. He was damn good at his job too often getting requests from generals and officers to have him be the one to prepare their meals. I can’t really speak much about Grandpa Dave as I know almost nothing about him.

Mark In The Middle

My dad is a younger middle child of a large family. . . 12 kids I believe, Lola tells stories of never ending cooking, cleaning, and laundry. . . My worst nightmare. . . Laundry. The values at the time consisted of a breadwinner and the stay at home mom. With limited education and the high cost of daycare what choice was there for Lola. Did she have any bigger dreams than that? For someone like me with delusions of grandeur I often forget that some people’s dreams is to provide and care for a family.

My dad’s journey began in Virginia, where there are a lot of other Harris family groups, but I have never been to the big Harris Family reunion so they might as well be aliens with similar D.N.A. My dad himself doesn’t seem to remember much about Virginia as the earliest stories he had was the drive to Kansas itself. With no freeways, it must have been a traumatizingly long journey for a kid to remember it. When I was a kid when I thought of Kansas I thought of the Wizard of Oz and little house on the Prairie. But included in my dad’s memories are a packed station wagon full of stuff and kids. The American Road trip has some what of romanticized image. With no smartphones the entertainment you had was the people with you and watching the world fly by you.

Kids tend to complain when enduring such things as their perspective on time is much different from a fully grown adult, since time is a relative function 1 year to a five year old is 8 times longer than it is for a forty year old. They would have complained but I imagine grandpa would probably say this when he was at the end of his nerves. “Stop complaining before I give you something to complain about”

The thought of a Parent striking a child is something that I’ve been protected and shielded from for the most part. Sometimes black Mario would spank us or give us a light tap on the head. . . But never beat or strike us with full force. . . Apparently his dad would “beat the shit of of him” and his siblings sometimes. . .I don’t know if this extended to my grandma as well. The terrifying thought and reality of a child being abused in any way isn’t something we like to keep in our minds, but it happens I can only wonder what kind of feelings Black Mario must be harboring about that, he never talks about anything, so that’s not how he expressed it. Perhaps in some journals in the garage somewhere I can find an answer. (Although I’m one of the people that thinks kids are too soft now a days, I mean I got spanked and I turned out somewhat fine. . . Right?)

I doubt that Black Mario has many memories before he was ten, because I’m a third of his age and I have barely anything up there, but from what I can gather about Kansas is that its flat, cold in the winter, hot in the summer, and there are tornadoes. Being stuck in the basement of a house sounds like as much fun as a being millennial in a power outage without cell service.

The Place Where I’m From

When Black Mario was in the third or fourth grade he moved to the City at the Center of my heart. The 253, T-Town, the city with the famous aroma. . . The city of Tacoma. And his family lived in the one place they could afford a home, Hilltop. Which if you’re not a local has a bad rep with being a not so good area to be in, Tacompton. Although neighborhoods were not segregated by color in essence with the way housing prices were in certain areas they might as well have been. Speaking of Black Mario experiencing racism in his youth. It’s not a matter if he did, the question is how much and when he met these challenges and from whom. Being a mixed raced Filipino sometimes it’s hard to fit in with either group and you end up in this limbo between races. Thankfully being in the pacific northwest the harsh treatment was padded to a certain extent, but not eliminated.

I find it extremely odd that events I’ve read about in history books like the moon landing, JFK, Nixon, and all the fantastic things that were happening with the red scare and the cold war were experienced by the teenage version of Back Mario. I ought to pester him and ask him about that one day over a beer. . . Or a joint I mean I’m in Washington let me pick my poison XD. I get these stories but, there are certain things that don’t come to the surface when hearing these stories. It’s so hard to interpret another’s worldview and the personal experiences they have that shape the way they see things. What kind of ten year old was he? A shy quiet one, or the ever rambunctious loud type. Being the younger of the boys of his family, I can speculate that he was given a lot of hand me downs, having the nickname buck(for bucktoothed) probably means he was the one getting teased by his older siblings. Being that my dad is like me and has trouble communicating and keeping friends he and my uncle Cisco or Coach were probably really close.

One thing I know about my dad from his stories is that he is a hustla. He used to shine shoes or sell things to the businessmen of Tacoma downtown, he had a paper route, and he worked in the school cafeteria. Which has a number of benefits, extra food, free lunch, and cash. But it was probably hard for him to make friends if he was working while most kids bond over things like meals. He went to Jason Lee middle school where he played in the drum line and was a bench warmer in sports. To be honest being a black kid in America you’re expected to come out of the womb dribbling a basketball, but luckily for black Mario he enjoyed basketball, but where he actually played the sport I have no Idea.

East Side

Sometime during the teenage years the family moved from hilltop to the East side of Tacoma. The house they lived in was very small for the amount of people that were housed there, but you have to make do with what you have.

This house is very close to the original home in east Tacoma, shown here is my uncles place

When Black Mario hit high school age he went to Stadium High school where he once again played the drums and remained on that shiny bench keeping them nice and warm for the starters. Black Mario didn’t actually graduate from stadium, although he did get his GED. During this time I have stories of him getting caught underage drinking with his stadium friends in northeast Tacoma, when apprehended by the police, he was met with the terrible consequence of pouring the beer out “I had to pour out a whole 30 rack once it was the saddest thing as the cop made us pour them out one at a time”.

When he joined the Military in 1972 as a young Kid. Often hearing his disdain of the government it’s really surprising that he would ever join the military, but I guess you can’t argue with a job with decent wages that provides meals and housing for its soldiers. Not to mention that being in the military teaches values such as work ethic, the importance of time, and some other valuable skills. Other than the whole training you to kill other human beings thing, it’s a pretty good deal. With the military he was able to go to Germany and Korea. Those memories unforgettable as he still talks about the days abroad.

My favorite story is after a night of drinking his best friend Rodney began to put his uniform on.

Black Mario: Nigga why you putting your uniform on Rodney: They serve midnight chow and you gotta be in this here uniform to get some chow. Black Mario: Hey wait for me I’ll put my uniform on too.

While he was in the military Black Mario did some real evaluating and thinking. He calculated the amount of money he got paid per hour to be a solider and compared it to what they were making at Boeing. In 1977 he was honorably discharged from the military achieving the rank of Sergeant. His stint with the military gave him priority for getting a job at Boeing. The company he’s still working for into his sixties. Unfortunately his first relationship didn’t last as long as his job, and neither did his second, but he did have kids and I got extended family members out of the relationship.(well more like they got me because I was to come later) What is a mystery to me is what he was like through the 70s and 80s.

The Big Mystery is What was he like?

His vocabulary and humor makes me feel like he experimented with drugs, I mean that 70s show and Cheech and Chong are funny for most people, but the green guys n gals find it more funny. He and his friend Bobby used to Deejay, but what kind of records did he spin house, hip hop, disco, techno? We get snippets of the music he liked, Funk, Disco, Old school Rap, disco. Did he like dancing and stuff going to the discos?

Having owned a Harley, a Firebird, and some other cars like an RX7, he must have enjoyed motorsports as much as I did.

I think he was a geek, because I remember he had a NES, a Nintendo entertainment system, and so many nerdy toys from the late 80s that he has to be a nerd. Not to mention he beat the Mario Arcade Game, he knew the Pacman Pattern at one point, and he is insanely good at Bullet Hell games. I felt like he went to the bar and played the arcade games and pool, more than socializing or drinking. His memorabilia includes Transformers, and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, so like me he was a grown man who watched cartoons did he read comic books as well?

Family Guy

My dad has fond memories involving my three cousins Ja’nielle, Jarod, and Jon Jon, where he was that cool, weird uncle who lived next door. There was probably a part of him that longed for that family life after his relationships didn’t work out as he had hoped.

Life changed for Black Mario when he went to either a party or a bar one night, he would encounter the most dangerous thing known to man. . . A pretty Woman.

If anyone wants to learn about where I come from this is an article that's about a millenial kid thinking about his boomer dad #babyboomer #millenial #family #kids #dad #father #black #mario #autobiography #tacoma Trinkets of a Different Time As a kid I remember rifling through my dad's nightstand to find small pocket knives, trinkets, and various other personal articles.

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ekedolphin · 4 years ago

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Sample RP for the World Wrestling Alliance

San Francisco, CA December 9, 2009 8:34 a.m. PDT

“Once there was a way to get back homeward… Once there was a way to get back home… Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry… And I will sing a lullaby…”

Listening to the remastered Abbey Road album by The Beatles on his iPod as he jogs down a sidewalk in the middle of San Francisco, California, John Grant—who, in the ring, called himself “The Lion”, as in a hungry young lion eager to prove his supremacy to the pack—lightly sings the words along with Paul McCartney about midway through the fifteen-minute-long medley that ends the last album The Beatles ever put together. John unfortunately inherited his mother’s sense of pitch, and so he’s slightly off-key, but he’s focused enough on his jogging that he doesn’t notice. Besides, in this part of town (and in this kind of cold) there aren’t really a lot of people out to care.

Wearing a light, black jacket with the letters “DV” in flaming blue letters on the back of it, along with black jogging pants, mittens, and Converse running shoes, John is protected, somewhat, from the near-40-degree weather. He could see his breath in front of him, but it didn’t bother him—he’s learned that battling the elements, whether they were the sub-zero temperatures of his father’s native Juneau, Alaska, or the ninety- and hundred-degree days of the California summers—is the best way to truly tell how someone will hold up against real physical pressure.

Not to mention that singing while jogging was a good way to practice breath control.

In this instance, John wasn’t just jogging for his health; he was jogging to the Inferno Wrestling Academy, the place where his uncle had spent six months from April to October torturing him and fifteen other kids in an effort to churn out the wrestling superstars of tomorrow. At least, it had started out as fifteen other kids. John remembered speaking with one of the Academy’s most notable graduates, Antonio Mason, who had gone on to a quite successful career in Japan and Mexico, and having Tony tell him that the Academy was one of the hardest physical regimens he’d ever been through. Antonio had been a three-time All-State linebacker in high school, so John had known what he’d been getting into when he applied…

…or, at least, he thought he had.

Any illusion that the five-time World Champion was going to take it easy on John just because he was his son was shattered in the first five minutes the younger Grant had spent on the mat. Steve had forgotten more wrestling moves than most people will ever know, and damn if he hadn’t applied more than a handful of them on John.

As usual, the Academy had a high washout rate for 2009: Steve Grant demanded nothing but excellence and the deepest commitment from his students, and many people weren’t prepared for that. But in the end, three students prevailed and graduated from the Academy: Barry Andrews, a guy who’d started out hating John’s guts (and nicknamed him “Spoon Boy” after the silver spoon John allegedly was born with in his mouth) but had ultimately come to respect him; Violet Waters, the first female graduate in the Academy’s four-year history; and John.

It’s Violet who greets John by raising up on her toes and shyly kissing his lips when she sees him just outside the Academy’s door. True to her name, Violet was wearing purple; purple, yellow and white were all she seemed to wear, in fact, from the Lakers warm-up jacket to her purple sweatpants and white tennis shoes (with purple highlights). The 5’7”, bespectacled, cream-colored African-American looks much more like a chemistry major at the University of San Francisco than a future professional wrestler. But she was, in fact, both. The shy kiss she greeted John with was an acknowledgement that they were still in the early stages of a romantic relationship. They’d actually met at the university, ironically; John had just finished some homework at the library and was killing time with a Sudoku puzzle book when Violet saw him and commented that she loved Sudoku. Their friendship had started quite easily after that.

Though she’d been friends with John for a month or two before they separately came to the Inferno Wrestling Academy, Violet had been stunned to learn that John was the son of “Blue Inferno” Steve Grant, whom Violet had grown up watching and admiring. John, in turn, had been amazed that the admittedly-nerdy Violet had any interest whatsover in professional wrestling.

Going through the fire together tends to leave the survivors much closer, and that was certainly true with John and Violet, who’d started dating two weeks before graduating the Academy. They’d agreed to let things progress at their own pace, and thus they were still a little shy, a little tentative around each other. Violet had had no serious boyfriends in high school; just a couple of disastrous first dates, but she liked John and wanted to make sure this relationship went right.

“You’re up early this morning,” John comments as he gave his girlfriend a light hug, and upon breaking the hug he slips a hand into his jacket to turn off his iPod and then removes the earphones.

“Yeah well, Harry told me you’d be showing up to view your first promo video in its completed form.” For her part, Violet had already completed a promo video and sent it to ten wrestling federations across the country, but had yet to hear back from any of them. If she was disheartened by it, she’d never shown it around John; besides, the chemistry degree she was working towards would ensure her a job in any number of fields when all was said and done. At the moment she was holding down employment with a start-up paint company.

“If nothing else, that 25-minute classic I had with Antonio on Halloween night should be more than enough to impress the scouts,” John says, feeling a burst of confidence as he remembered the night that he and Antonio Mason had put on a masterpiece of high-flying, brawling and technical wrestling at Shane’s Pub in Alameda. The shows that his father put on weren’t designed to replicate the big-time feel of the major pro wrestling federations of yore, but more the cult feel of the old ECW and small-time bingo-hall operations. But he stressed more than anything the ability to wrestle and the ability to entertain; he would have nothing to do with “garbage wrestling”.

“Hell, the highlights alone would convince me,” Violet says with a smile. “The Flying Space Tiger Drop that missed and wiped out the referee and the guy at the concession stand… the reversal of the Death Valley Driver that ended in a Tiger Suplex… and you got so much elevation on the Superfly Splash at the end I thought you’d never come down.”

John kisses Violet again, and says, “I’m glad to see my girlfriend, anyway, isn’t lacking in confidence. What about the actual interview? What’d you think of that?”

Violet, perhaps sensing that John wanted an honest critique of his interviewing skills, takes a moment or two to think before replying. “It reminded me a lot of your father in the latter days of his career,” she decides. “If you had butterflies up there, it certainly didn’t show. You displayed a level of confidence in your abilities that’s remarkable for someone who’s only had a handful of actual professional matches.” Violet takes a slight stutter-breath here, and John already knows her well enough to know that the constructive criticism was about to come.

“You may have shown a little bit too much bravado, in fact,” she adds. “You put a lot of pressure on yourself to succeed in the business—and, really, in everything you do. Almost like you’re afraid that if you don’t work hard every moment of every day, someone’s going to come and snatch everything away from you.”

John purses his lips, nodding slowly. Violet’s honesty was one of the things he’d come to admire about her, and that honesty was always couched in tact. “You might be right about that: I do put a lot of pressure on myself. I do want, very much, to succeed in the wrestling business.”

“Because of your father?” Violet asks, her tone making it pretty obvious that she already knows the answer.

Again, John nods. “And Uncle Brian. And even Uncle Adam. The three of them combined won just about every championship in every division—heavyweight, light-heavyweight, tag-team—that they set their minds to getting.” Indeed, it was the style of John’s uncle, “The Tiger” Brian Grant—far moreso than his father’s—that John had emulated in developing his own wrestling abilities. A lot of that had to do with the phyiscal differences between Steve and John: John was 6’3”, 227 pounds—tall by normal standards but about average among his wrestling peers. Steve, on the other hand, was 6’9”, 295 pounds in his wrestling days (though he was about 305 pounds in retirement). Steve Grant had been able to do insanely high-flying moves that were nearly unprecedented for a man of his size, and it was because of his martial-arts training and tremendous flexibility and conditioning.

John had no martial-arts training to speak of, and he also lacked Steve’s sheer power and size. Therefore, he had to rely on his technical mastery, speed, and high-flying ability.

“My father and Uncle Adam were so driven and determined to reach the absolute heights of the business,” John continues. “Even though they were best friends most of their careers, and later family, it didn’t matter to them if they were fighting alongside one another or against each other.”

“‘In this business, you can make friends or you can make money,’” Violet quotes, repeating the words that Chief Jay Strongbow once said to Scott Hall and Kevin Nash.

“Right,” John says, nodding in agreement. He’d always wondered, though, whether Uncle Brian agreed with that philosophy. Based on his more modest list of career accomplishments compared to Steve, he doubted it was so.

“Well, let’s get in there,” Violet says, “and see the video that Harry and the gang have put together for you.”

Smiling, John takes Violet’s hand and walks into the Inferno Wrestling Academy with her, his calm demeanor belying the anxiety he felt at this moment. This video could either kick-start a career for him, or, in twenty years’ time, lie covered with dust at the bottom of a moving box somewhere.

~*~*~

A few minutes later…

Having removed his jacket to reveal a Sgt. Pepper album cover T-shirt underneath it, John sits with Violet in the darkened film room of the Academy, watching the video that he’d put together. Highlights of his match with Antonio Mason at Shane’s Pub start the video off, showing, of course, the offensive and defensive moves that were in John’s favor. In real life, the match had been far more back-and-forth than one might assume by watching the highlight video. But highlight videos weren’t meant to emulate real life; they were meant to spotlight one individual in particular.

John knows that the complete video of the match will also be sent to the wrestling promotions that he’s applying for, and so he doesn’t feel bad that the highlight video shows Tony (whom he had tremendous respect for) getting his ass kicked. And anyone who really knew wrestling would know that Tony’s ability to take those bumps was just as impressive as John’s ability to perform the moves in the first place.

So John watched, seeing these highlights for the first time. He’d consulted Harry Jaffee, the video editor—as well as Steve and Brian Grant—as to what moves he would like to have spotlighted, but he hadn’t yet had the opportunity to see himself wrestle on video. They’d certainly spared no expense, either: The video was a dual-layer DVD/Blu-Ray combo, presented in 1080p, and displayed on a large flat-screen television. The film footage had been shot in anamorphic widescreen format. “Blue Inferno” Steve Grant was a multi-millionaire several times over, and he wasn’t afraid to use that money to provide the best for his students.

John watched as he springboard-vaulted off the top rope, and was caught by Antonio. Tony had prepared to hit a fallaway slam, but John had grabbed the back of his knee and pulled him down to his back. There was another highlight of the Death Valley Driver reversal into a Running Tiger Bomb; the Flying Space Tiger Drop that took out the referee and the concession stand guy, sending popcorn and soda flying everywhere (but missing Antonio completely); the STF, figure-four leglock and Sharpshooter he’d applied at various points during the match; and, finally, a high-elevating Superfly Splash that ended John’s first professional match with a win. John lets out a whistle as he realizes for the first time how close he’d coming to slamming his head against the ceiling.

Then came the promo part of the video, during which announcer Alex Yost interviewed John following his match, while “Hells Bells” by AC/DC played lightly in the background to compliment it. John knew that this last bit showed some technical mastery from Harry and the gang: When the interview had been taking place, “Hells Bells” was blaring from the sound system. John had had to strain to be able to hear Alex’s questions over the din.

Alex Yost was dressed nattily in a brown sports coat, blue-and-silver tie and pants, and was about fifty years old. His neat appearance contrasted considerably with John, who looked like he’d just come through hell—but at least he’d come out triumphant.

“Thanks Quinn, and I’m standing here now with the winner of tonight’s epic main event, ‘The Lion’ John Grant.” Turning to angle towards John now, Alex continues to speak. “John, you were born and raised in this business. You’re the son of the great, former world heavyweight champion ‘Blue Inferno’ Steve Grant, and a graduate of the Inferno Wrestling Academy in San Francisco. What does it feel like to win your first professional match?”

When John spoke, his breath was still quite elevated from the hard work he’d put in, but he wasn’t out of breath. “Well, Quinn, it’s the culmination of months of hard work training to become one of the bright young stars of the business. The Inferno Wrestling Academy churns out only the most capable, most determined individuals, with the strongest, most disciplined minds. As you can probably tell by the way Tony and I brought down the house tonight, I didn’t breeze through the Academy just because my father was teaching me.”

“And I know you’re not satisfied with simply one great match,” Alex replied, stating the obvious. But then, it was supposed to be a leading question.

“Absolutely not; the Grant family of wrestlers has always been a family that strives to be the unqualified best at what we do.” John spoke with a steady intensity, and while he’d organized his thoughts in advance of the interview, he was, generally speaking, improvising what he was saying. “At the peak of his career, there was no wrestler, in any federation, whom my father couldn’t beat. I know I’ve only had one match, but I’m hungry for more. I want to prove myself against the greatest competition in the world, and establish my name as a champion just like my father, my uncle, and my uncle-in-law. Hell—I want to one day surpass all of them.

“So to every professional wrestling promoter in the world—if you’re looking for someone who will push himself every day to put on the highest-caliber, most entertaining matches, someone who’ll come in early and stay late, and do whatever it takes to make himself—and the company—successful, you’re looking at him. And for every one of the guys in the back, you’d better start worrying about protecting your spots, because this hungry young Lion is coming, and he’s not playing with kid gloves.”

Both Johns—the one on-screen talking to Alex, and the one in real-life sitting next to Violet—chuckle softly at his use of a mixed metaphor there.

With that, the screen fades to black, and “Hells Bells” by AC/DC continues to play, a little louder than before, before it, too, fades. Then the lights come up in the film room.

“Looks good, Harry,” John says to the very talented, albeit a little skittish, technical manager before the latter could utter a word.

“I agree,” Violet opines, giving John’s hand a light squeeze. “I know you’re gonna be sending it to, like, fifteen different places, but where do you hope to end up?”

“Well, the World Wrestling Alliance is gonna be starting up again in mid-January,” John tells her. “They’re gonna start off slowly, kind of having more of an independent feel to it, so it’ll be ripe for opportunities for a young wrestler to prove himself and move up the ranks.”

“Looks like you’ve already got this all mapped out,” Violet tells him, and a sheepish grin and shrug from John confirms that without words. “Well, wherever you end up, I know you’ll put on a show, and make your family—and me—proud.”

John blushes lightly, and gives Violet a soft kiss on the lips.

#johngrant #rp #oc rp #e-wrestling

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newstfionline · 7 years ago

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To combat hunger, Venezuelans in the U.S. ship food to relatives

Andrea Castillo, Los Angeles Times, Oct. 23, 2017

While video chatting with relatives in Venezuela, Tere Caicedo watched as they opened a package she had sent them stuffed with clothes, shoes and a large bag of oatmeal.

The bag had ripped during transport, spilling oatmeal all over. Caicedo, a Santa Ana resident who cleans houses for a living, told her relatives not to worry. She would send more.

But her uncle carefully picked out the package’s contents, flipped the box over and dumped the oatmeal into a bowl.

“No,” he told her. “This is food. We can’t just throw it away.”

That moment in January brought home to Caicedo, the only member of her immediate family in the U.S., the pressing needs of a country spiraling out of control amid skyrocketing food costs, political chaos and shortages of nearly everything.

Caicedo is one of a growing number of Venezuelans in the U.S. who regularly ship necessities--beans, rice and sugar--to Venezuela at great expense.

“Before it was out of enjoyment, a Christmas gift,” Caicedo said of previous packages. “Now it’s more serious. Now it’s necessity.”

Behind the efforts are individuals, large-scale organizations such as the nonprofit Humanitarian Aid for Venezuela Program in Florida, and grass-roots groups such as the one founded by Caicedo.

Los Angeles is far from the hub of Venezuelan American life in Miami, but expatriates in Southern California began organizing as their home country plunged deeper into disarray.

Their efforts caught the attention of one crisis response organization late last year, the Buena Park-based Giving Children Hope, which has since shipped more than 30,000 pounds of supplies to nonprofits in Florida, which sends them on to Venezuela. Venezuelan actors living in Los Angeles, including the telenovela star Carlos Montilla, have helped mobilize people through social media posts.

Venezuelans in the U.S. tend to be professionals with higher levels of education than other Latino immigrants. Experts say the crisis is forcing the Venezuelan population to become more like the rest of Latin America, where relying on remittances is the norm.

Caicedo’s relatives never asked for help--they only spoke of how expensive things had become. Her father owns a farm, but shortages of pesticides and vitamins started about three years ago and have worsened, making them prohibitively expensive even when they were available.

As the humanitarian crisis in Venezuela grew, Caicedo asked her church for donations of food, clothes and money. She held a raffle and organized a carwash.

She and a group of volunteers have since shipped about 8,000 pounds of food, clothes and necessities, such as toilet paper, diapers and soap, to Venezuela. Her brother, Jose, and other relatives keep what they need and distribute the rest of the goods to needy families.

Several boxes from one of Caicedo’s latest shipments went to the Providence San Antonio Asylum, a retirement home for low-income men located in southwest Caracas.

There’s almost nothing the shelter isn’t short on. The director, Sister Ana Medina Suarez, said that although there is space for 70 people, only 52 live there because the foundation can no longer afford to care for more.

Suarez said that residents are losing weight and that food shipments are vital.

“There is no adequate phrase to describe what we are going through,” she said.

The pantry’s contents consisted of 22 pounds of rice, nearly 9 pounds of black beans, 4 ½ pounds of cornflour, several bags of salt and three avocados. The three freezers and two refrigerators were empty. Meat is impossible to afford.

Food prices in Venezuela have skyrocketed as production of oil, agriculture and cars has plummeted. Inflation since the beginning of the year has risen by more than 536%. This month, earnings for people who make minimum wage were the equivalent of just over $8.50 per month, at the black market exchange rate.

“People are dying of hunger now,” Caicedo said. “Over there, a small bag of rice is like pure gold.”

It costs $100 to ship a 7-cubic-foot box, which can weigh around 120 pounds. Caicedo has spent about $1,500 of her own money, plus more than $11,000 in donations.

Boxes are shipped by air and sea. As in other parts of Latin America, shipping to Venezuela through the postal service comes with a strong risk that packages could be stolen. In the U.S., shipping companies have popped up to meet the need for an alternative.

Ralph Olarte built his Los Angeles-based company, Olarte Transport, on Venezuelan retailers who bought goods in Southern California and shipped them home for sale. Shipments to Venezuela are now dominated by people sending food to relatives.

Olarte delivers in Caracas and surrounding areas, coordinating with people who live in high-risk areas to meet couriers at the nearest safe location. Other shipping companies have set up pickup locations so people can safely collect packages.

Olarte said some of Venezuelan entrepreneurs who used to fly to Los Angeles on business are now seeking asylum. Others who remain in Venezuela send him grocery lists to fill out and ship.

“Most of our customers actually live here in the States now,” he said. “A lot of them, one of the first places they come to ask for work is here.”

About 225,000 Venezuelan-born immigrants live in the U.S., according to the Pew Research Center--more than double the population in 2000. In 2014, Los Angeles was estimated to be home to about 5,000 Venezuelans.

Venezuelans top the list of asylum seekers in the U.S., with more than 21,000 such applications filed in 2017.

Nearly 75% of the population involuntarily lost an average of 19 pounds last year, according to a survey released this year by three of Venezuela’s largest universities and a foundation that tracks nutrition. Venezuelans call the weight loss the “Maduro diet,” a sarcastic reference to life under President Nicolas Maduro.

Severe malnutrition among children has risen most dramatically. Reports this year showed that 11.4% of children younger than 5 suffer from moderate to severe malnutrition. The Venezuelan health minister was fired in May after she released a report showing that maternal deaths had risen by 65%, while infant deaths were up 30%.

Across Venezuela, people are using Facebook and other social media to arrange food swaps-- agreeing, for example, to hand over some sugar in exchange for cornflour.

The United Nations and the U.S. and Latin American governments have called on Maduro to accept humanitarian aid. But he has refused, instead offering $5 million in aid to Texas after Hurricane Harvey and then helping Caribbean island nations hit by Hurricanes Irma, Jose and Maria.

This year, the government banned a long list of imports, including first aid supplies and prescription medicine. Courier services keep shipments small to avoid the attention of authorities and, as needed, bribe customs officials to look the other way and let packages through.

Dassler Dazha, who runs a Facebook page called United Venezuelans in Los Angeles, recalled the story of a cousin who last year got into a store line in Caracas at 4 a.m. and finished shopping at 5 p.m. When she left the store, thieves were waiting. They beat her and stole her food.

Dazha used to send boxes of food but switched to cash because relatives could still find food in big cities or on the black market. He, like many expatriates, sends money home using an underground network of Venezuelans with U.S. bank accounts who trade dollars for bolivars at the black market rate.

The situation--and by extension, the best way to help--changes constantly.

Dazha’s brother and sister had saved dry and canned food items in anticipation of hard times, but ran out of their stores in mid-September. He’s now thinking about sending them boxes of food again. But he worries the shipments won’t arrive.

“I don’t know what to do,” Dazha said. “That’s the dilemma of all Venezuelans, the helplessness of not being able to do anything for our families.”

#Venezuela #hunger in Venezuela #Venezuelan economy

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thewidowstanton · 7 years ago

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Las Chicas Morales, rolling-globe artists, Gandey’s Circus

Rolling-globe specialists Gina Morales (below left) and her younger sister, Jacquie, are Las Chicas Morales. They were born into a circus family – their father is the Mexican clown Chico Rico – and started learning the skill in 2005 during their school holidays. They began performing full-time after finishing their A-Levels in 2006, and have since performed all over the UK and in Hong Kong as part of The Royalles British Thrill Circus in the TungWah Charity Carnival. Gina and Jacquie are appearing at Butlin’s in Skegness with Gandey’s Circus until 3 September 2017 and will join its autumn tour, which starts on 15 September. They chat to Liz Arratoon.

The Widow Stanton: Tell us about your circus background. Gina Morales: Our dad’s side is the circus side. We are sixth generation circus artists.

Was your dad always a clown? Jacquie Morales: No. As he was growing up his father owned a circus so every year he had to change his act and learn a new one. He’s done flying trapeze, tumbling, the cradle… most acts. Our mum, who is English, trained at Guildford School of Acting and started as a Bluecoat at Pontin’s. She was a dancer and that’s how she met our dad in Mexico. She went over as a dancer to join a large touring circus. When they got together and married, she learnt an aerial act, so she was full-time on the circus with us while we were growing up. Then we started getting a bit older, we couldn’t keep going to different schools every week so when we hit secondary school, she finished her circus career and stayed with us at home. She started teaching foreign languages at primary school and later opened a drama school.

Did your mum take easily to doing an aerial act? Gina: Not that I know of... It helped that she was a dancer so she was already used to training and such... but maybe not that sort of training. It was my dad who taught her and from what they have told us... it was a painful journey! Lots of bruises and aching muscles but she was determined and trained hard so before she knew it she was performing.

What’s her drama school called? Gina: It’s a franchise called Razzamataz Rayleigh West, and she has about 80 students who attend on Saturdays. They then put on shows for parents, and attend local parades and events showcasing their talents in acting, singing and dance.

When you were growing up were you in Mexico? Jacquie: [Laughs] We did a few years in Mexico but basically, we were everywhere the circus was. Quite a lot of it was in England as well.

Do you have any other siblings? Gina: Yes, a younger sister, Rosa. She wants to be in the circus, but she’s 17 and studying at ArtsEd in London at the moment. She loves dancing and singing as well so when she finishes her studies we’ll see what she wants to do afterwards. Jacquie: We all finished college before we started performing.

Why did you choose to specialise in rolling globes? Gina: It was kind of not a choice exactly. We ended up loving it but to begin with we were just looking for an act that we could do together. Fortunately for us the prop was available; someone was selling it, so it just worked out that this was the act that we ended up doing. Our dad had an idea of how to train us; though he’d never done the act before he had a good understanding of it. We just spent months practising and before we knew it we had it. So yeah, it just fell into place.

How difficult is it to learn? Jacquie: It took us a good few months to start learning. Obviously the first step is just getting on to the spheres. To get comfortable with it… I mean we still have some trouble now. It depends how the surface is on the floor, it depends if it’s wet. Different conditions make it harder, but then once we leant how to roll on the globes that’s when we started doing the hula-hoops and juggling as well. They were previous skills we had so it was easier for us to put those in.

What is the most important thing for a beginner to know? Jacquie: [Laughs] Not to be scared! Gina: And just go for it! [Laughs]

But it looks scary when you’re going up the ramps; if the one in front rolls back… Jacquie: That’s why Gina is behind me so if I happen to roll back, she always got her eye on my ball. If she sees it coming towards her, she has to roll back as well so I don’t knock her off. [Both laugh]

Was there anything in particular you struggled with? Gina: Just balancing and control. Jacquie: Yes, controlling the actual ball is quite difficult… Gina: … the momentum in the feet, because once you’ve grasped the idea that you have to be constantly moving and if you step too hard on one side it will roll from under you. So it’s just grabbing the whole comfort in knowing you have full control of the prop; that took a while. [Laughs]

Are the globes quite heavy? Jacquie: Yeah, they’re made of fibreglass, so they’re solid and they are quite heavy.

Describe your act… Jacquie: We have two spheres and we start by jumping on to them and walking around on them. Gina juggles four rings while balancing on the globe and then we cross juggle six rings together. I then go on to do hula-hoops, which is three hoops on three different parts of my body, while walking around on the globe and now we have… Gina: … a new prop… Jacquie: … it’s a sphere as well, a mirror ball. It’s slightly bigger than the others and has mirrors all over it, so it’s very shiny. That’s what I do the fire hoops on. Gina: And then we go up and down the ramps; a series of three that go up 16 feet high.

It’s a beautiful act! What other skills do you have? Gina: I’m learning the low wire; it’s about a 6.5ft-high wire. It’s not too high but high enough. [Laughs]

Why did you decide to learn that? Gina: In circus you tend to learn more than one act and you do tend to have an interest in other acts, especially when you’ve been performing something for many years. I had this interest when I was about 12 but wasn’t dedicated enough. It was more of a hobby. I didn’t want to commit to training so I forgot about it until a couple of years ago when I saw another performer in England who kind of made me want to get back into it and I started training it again. It’s always good to have a variety of acts.

Sometimes a company would like to keep you for longer and they can’t keep repeating the same acts. So if you have something new you can show them you can stay with the company you like and have something else to offer. It’s always handy to know more than one thing. Jacquie: With our act being so big, sometimes it’s difficult to have the right venue. So if not in a circus, if we get a job opportunity somewhere else and we’re not sure of the location we can offer different things and whatever’s feasible we can do that. I have a double aerial silks act with my financé, Brandon Carrisosa Nava. He’s from Mexico, too.

What sort of shows have you been in? Jacquie: We have been involved in many different styles of shows and productions especially since we began working for Gandey World Class Productions. One of our favourites was Cirque Surreal, which is one of the most different styles of shows we have done. It meant adapting the act to suit a story and fantasy idea, as well as using new music, which we had to listen to many times to get a feel for how we should perform. It was challenging but the end result was amazing!

What do you like about working together? Gina: So many reasons! We can argue – because all siblings argue! – and not hold a grudge. This is useful when rehearsing, training and working together because you need to be able to get over things quickly and get on with the performance. Also Jacquie makes all our costumes and she knows both our likes and dislikes when designing them. I think working together has brought us closer and that’s something all sisters want.

And what do you like/dislike about touring? Jacquie: I love that we get to see the whole world while doing something we love… not many people can do that as part of their job. We also get to work with people from many countries so see many cultures and traditions from everyone around us as well as when working abroad. The downside to touring means seeing less of our mum and younger sister, who, sadly, don't tour all year round with us and can only visit during school holidays. It can be hard to leave places we love and people we meet... I suppose that’s why social media is so handy these days!

Is it good being in the same shows as your dad? Gina: Of course! He is there to help us with all our training, fixes all our props and cooks the best Mexican food; it’s ideal! Dad also likes a good party and is a barbecue king so without him touring would be very different!

You’ve worked a lot for the Gandeys, you must like their shows… Jacquie: Gandeys is one of the biggest companies we have worked for. I love that every show they arrange is different and unique. They have so many great ideas and always try to incorporate modern with traditional, which is the best way to keep all audiences entertained. We are very lucky to work with and for such professional people.

Can you pick a couple of highlights of your career so far? Gina: Well, Hong Kong is 100 per cent the biggest highlight so far, not just since working for Gandeys but from the start of our performance career; four months working and living in such an incredible place was seriously the experience of a lifetime and we have all said we would go back in a heartbeat.

Would you like to have your own circus one day? Jacquie: I’m sure every circus performer will say yes to this question! If you are in this business, it’s because you love it so, yes, maybe one day when I retire from performing or can no longer be in the circus ring I could have my own circus. It would be the best way to stay involved in a world that I love, and who wouldn't want that as a future possibility?

youtube

Las Chicas Morales appear with Gandey’s Circus at Butlin’s in Skegness until 3 September 2017 and will join its autumn tour, which starts on 15 September.

Picture credit: Gina, Jacquie and Chico Rico; Dan Foster

Twitter: @gandeyscircus @Butlins

Follow @TheWidowStanton on Twitter

#Las Chicas Morales #gandey's circus #Circo Cuba Libre #rolling globe #circus #interview #Gina and Jacquie #gina morales #jacquie morales #Brandon and Jacquie #Gandey's World Class Productions #butlins #skegness

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curseofsebs · 6 years ago

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The Story of a Jaunt Through Innistrad #1

The ‘Jaunters’ came together at the Kessig border at the beginning of New Moon, Inquisitors Ernt Förstemann (Haunted One/ Inquisitor Fighter) and Hjördís (Archaeologist/ Inquisitor Rogue) arriving together from working in Gavony, while Absjorn Agnarr (Hermit Druid) and Eckhat Reinhardt (Sea Merchant Alchemist) arrived together, as the latter met the former in Kessig, having travelled from the Nephalian coast.

Together they arrived at the border town of Trostad and were soon tasked with defending the townsfolk from three large spiders that had left their homes in the Kessig woodlands to feed. A combination of crack shots, deft cuts, green-mana infused magic and a steady rain of alchemical bombs left the arachnids a smoking ruin of limbs and ichor.

The owners of The Silent Graf Inn, Štefan and Yana Kohout, overjoyed that the spiders never made it to them and their mischievous adolescent sons, Pavlo and Olek, gave the party free drinks, lodgings and a skin of quality Wayward Wolf ale to take with them.

During the revelry, amid backslappings and pipe smoke, the Kahout boys, who had previously been pestering Eckhat to see his other wares, cornered the Alchemist, furtively asking for a love potion. Bing a man of somewhat questionable morality, having a history of dealings in the Erdwal with the criminal classes of Nephalia, he agreed and quickly knocked up a pale pink looking liquid with a faint aroma of rosewater. Adding a dirty cork to a glass tube, he handed the concoction to the older boy, pocketing the few moons for his troubles. Ignorant of the target of their affections he told them to get the potion as close to their paramour’s face for the greatest effect, chuckling maliciously to himself that, while the contents of the vial might be somewhat effective, it could also create an irritation or even a nasty burn. Oh well that’s the joys of experimentation after all.

The boys rushed inside eagerly, Pavlo pulling a roughly-made catapult from his britches. It was only when Eckhart entered to see the young lad aiming the sling, loaded with the glass vial, one eye shut and tongue bitten in concentration, squarely at Hjördís’ head that he knew he was in trouble. He snatched wildly at the test tube that tumbled and smashed on the hardwood floor, a reek of sour rose petals pervading the bar.

Coming back from the bar with another foaming round, Hjördís spotted this bizarre scene through the mist of Absjorn’s pipe smoke and gave chase to the two boys, sending them running in fear from the spry Inquisitor. Reactions honed over the years, alerted Ernst to his fellow Inquisitor’s run, and in moments the old pistol he had been cleaning so diligently was locked and in his hand. He had no idea what she was after, but he was ready to have her back, wincing slightly as his aging frame made slight protest, but still sprang into action.

Outside, Hjördís drew her twin rapiers bellowing menacingly at the two boys as the disappeared into the distance, which soon fell to laughing as she saw Ernst scanning the horizon for danger down his gunsights.

Inside Asbjorn continued to bask in a job well done, drinking and smoking contently, while Eckhart was chagrin and still doing his best to clean up the mess, as the Inquisitor’s reinterred, Hjördís flashing a warning look at the Alchemist.

Leaving the excitement of Trosdat behind them, the Jaunters set off deeper into Gavony towards Estwald.

The sun is high in the sky as you make good time across the rocky scrubland of the moorlands. A great flapping of wings above draws your attention, with a mixed rush of fear of large bird of prey or even the wondrous sight of a griffin...but the sight is as breath-taking in its beauty and surprise: three angels fly in formation, the sunlight seeming to absorb and radiate from them, their hair and garments trail in the breeze like spun gold and silver.

This miraculous and wondrous sight fills you with a celestial radiance. Your eyes widen in awe and you feel a broad smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. You feel refreshed in spite of the hours of brisk travel you have put in and you feel a spryness to your step.

Feeling inspired and blessed by the wondrous sight above that was surely the reason they managed to cross the Moorlands without incident, a miracle in and of itself, they arrived in Wittal Parish. The redolent smell of pine wafting on the later afternoon breeze, as the immense trees grew thicker and taller before them, and the floor became a carpet of immense needles.

As they admired the great canopy of trees, Asbjorn feeling in his element with the raw green mana radiating from the forest, a great squealing rang out from the path ahead. The party quickly fell into formation with the Inquisitors taking point on either side of the path. Three large shapes appeared ahead of them, preceded by a fetid stink that only grew worse as they approached. These shapes resolved into huge boars, screeching and fighting each other over the corpse of a large wolf.

The battle, if such a one-sided encounter could ever be call so, was over in less than a minute, as the Jaunters worked as one to put down the beasts. The three boars fell in a filthy heap, as the Inquisitors moved in unison, as they had for many years on the road. Responding to the echoing retort of Ernst’s pistol, two more boars tore from the woods at Asbjorn and Eckhart, who quickly dispatched them, another shot ringing out, while blades, vials and spells flew. The pack lay dead, without even given the chance to bring their wicked, filthy tusks to bare.

Hjördís, having some ecumenical differences to the standard Avacynian doctrine, performed the rites to give their spirits the Blessed Sleep, after she, Asbjorn and Ernst heaved the heavy, rotten carcasses off the path, while Eckhart did his best to look busy. She also claimed a few of the disgusting, splintered tusks, before the smell became too much for her.

The road ahead was clear, giving Asbjorn and Eckhart time to peruse the hedgerows for ingredients, while Hjördís watched on with interest and discussed the finer points of pipeweed with the Druid.

After a time, they came across a scene of destruction, a shredded tent, upturned cart still just about attached to a dead horse with deep gashes torn into its hide and neck, and bloody, scuffed trails. Before they could investigate, Hjördís blundered into a hunting trap that bit wickedly into her leg, and even deeper when Ernst failed to lock it in place and it sprang back savagely.

Absjorn tended to her wounds, while Ernst and Eckhart investigated the scene. The Nephalian discovering a ruined bedroll, half-full battered flask of strong smelling pine needle alcohol, and shreds of a bloodstained letter: ...careful my love, stay close to the towns and do not wander...angels watch over... Love, Helga, in the ravaged tent, while the older of the Kessigers found spilled logs of sweet smelling pine, a torn backpack with its contents spilled among the weeds and wood and an old hand axe in need of sharpening.

For the map of this encounter I used Road Encounter by the incredible Elven Tower

After collecting all three of the hunting traps dotted about the camp, the party followed bloody drag marks into the trees to discover a small silver Avacynian charm among shredded leather straps and a severed arm still clutching a honed and bloody axe. The bloody trail lead further into the woods, before the foliage swallowed it, so tracking was useless. Again, Hjördís performed the funeral rites for an unconventional departed.

Together they finally made it to the wooden palisades of the village of Estwald as the setting sun turned the sky the colour of fresh blood.

(So this is where I messed up and had a very cringey sexist moment at the gates that I addressed here. We replayed the scene below on our I character discussion channel on the campaign Discord)

Estwald Gate late even, New Moon

The party approach the wooden palisades that surround the village of Estwald, a silver spire can be seen reaching into the darkening sky, seeming to glitter in the moonlight, towering above the surrounding pine forest and those treetops seen, entwining roofs and chimneys.

Carl Evening. You looking for lodgings? Try the Hirsute Hare...

Wolfhard: Sorry Inquisitors, he's green as grass and wouldn't know a toad from the Gitrog -- This is Inquisitors Förstemann an Hjördís (Tips hat), they've been through this way many times in the past. They’re from the wilds of Kessig, but it never claimed them, eh? If it did, the finest Thraben Cathar training would have seen to that, ha ha. (Wistful) Something we could only dream of...

Always good to see representatives of the church in these difficult times (looks very awkward and catches himself, Younger Guard looks quizzically at him), blessing of Avacyn. I just mean with the sad passing of Ser Thomas. Not many Cathars get to retire... (more composed) so he's lucky to have spent his twilight years as our marshal and head of our watch. Now I pray he rests in Avacyn's embrace in the Blessed Sleep.

Anyways, you and your companions are always welcome in Estwald, sunlit days and pleasant nights. (makes to usher you in)

Hjördís: (place my hand on his shoulder as I walk up to him) Thank you for the warm welcome Wolfhard, as always. I had not heard of Ser Thomas's passing. My condolences to the family and town. Was it a peaceful end? Did he find the blessed sleep?

Ernst: I initially tip my hat back at the old guard but upon hearing of Ser Thomas passing i remove it. "I'm sorry to hear of Ser Thomas passing, he was a good man"

Wolfhard: That he was. Your kind words are greatly appreciated. He will be missed by all. Go easy on Elder Beckett, old Tomstel is putting on a brave face, but Thomas' passing has been hard on the man. Moonsage Daragor has performed the rites, so I am sure he has been seen to the blessed sleep, Avacyn rest his soul. Well, as my old mother used to say, let moss grow over gargoyles. (makes the sign of Avacyn)

Ernst: As you wish, we will go easy.

Wolfhard: Appreciated (Tips hat) Good eve.

Ernst: (tips hat) evening.

Hjördís: (also tips hat) Farewell. (To the group but more so Ernst) we go should pay our respects whilst we are here.

Ernst: I nod in response, "we should also offer any help we can to Elder Beckett"

Hjördís: Agreed.

(For the map of Estwald I used Walled Town by the incredible Elven Tower)

The Jaunters head straight for the tavern, The Hirsute Hare, passing a small market consisting of a jeweler, cooper, butcher, vegetable and dairy stalls that is winding down for the day.

Inside the Hirsute Hare, they meet the owner, Sagh, a burly Kessiger, and around their lodgings, before heading back out to peruse the wares being packed away, while Eckhart decides to start drinking in earnest. Thinking he is a master of all substances, the Alchemist fails to heed the warnings about how strong the distilled pine alcohol is, feeling remarkably well after the first round of shots, although with the second his body betrays him, wrenching his rations from him forcibly, before all goes dark.

The others return to find a not too impressed Sagh wielding mop and bucket, indicating she carried their companion to his room and that he might not feel so great upon the morrow. Making their apologies, the rest take to bed.

***

In the morning the Jaunters hear a great racket downstairs. A young woman has run into the tavern wailing, ‘my daughter!’, amid great wracking sobs, ‘They’ve taken my daughter!’.

(So that’s where session #1 finished)

Art: Spider Token by Daniel Llunggren, Plains by Eytan Zana, Angels in the Sky, Forst by James Paick, Festerhide Boar by Nils Hamm, game Trail by Adam Paquette)

Check out Elven Tower on Patreon for an incredible array of maps for every situation.

Good hunting and happy gaming! :)

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