#task iii

[quipfcst]

*A box is wrapped on your porch.* MERRY CHRISTMAS! Ready for your yule tide task? Good. Go and see Julian at 2 am tonight. GO ALONE. and hand him this phone. It will ring and he will have to be the one to answer it. Failure to do this will just hurt your relationship with him even further. Successfully doing so and you will find five grand waiting for you at your boyfriend's bar.

@alienpepes

Upon seeing the box without a real tag, Emma was immediately tempted to chuck it right in the damned fire. A groan ripped through her body and she snatched the stupid thing off of her doormat. Kicking her door shut, she ripped the paper out of the envelope. Tossing the package to the table she stopped where she was, brow cocked and reading over the stupid message. Lovely, another stupid message, another horrible position and another choice involving Julian. The fact that there was a phone in the package had her very confused. 

Once she read the paper several times over, scoffing at the numerous digs along the way, she examined the phone the best she could. If she brought this damned thing to him and at 2 am it blew up in his hand and took his head with it -- that wasn’t something she was prepared to live with - but at the same time, she couldn’t seem to find anything wrong or off with the device. 

Why did she have to get home and see the box so early? It was nearly four hours of her pacing around her apartment, trying to make up her mind, trying to see any tricks or traps, trying to figure out what was going to happen at 2, who was going to call. Her mind had made up a million horror stories and not a single happy ending. 

1:30 came, and still wide awake, though perhaps a bit more frazzled than she was earlier in the day, Emma threw her coat on and grabbed the phone, and the note and headed out the door, letting the door slam behind her as she took off at a quick run toward Julian’s. The running felt amazing, pushing and testing her muscles while the cold, winter air cleared her mind of the current situation. 

It went far too quickly. Before she knew it, she was staring at the place she believed Julian was staying at. As depressing and pathetic as it was to admit, since he had come here, she hadn’t once been inside where he lived -- and they lived together at home. The void just seemed to be growing further and further between the two of them and she knew well it was all her fault. She did it, she was the one that was making it worse daily, and he had done nothing. Her Julian, her sweet Julian was suffering and it was completely her fault. 

Now was not the time for this self-pity shit, Emma. Sighing heavily as her eyes closed, she lifted a closed fist and hit the door hard. Phone and letter ready in the other hand. 

[vendetta-hq]

O Experimento Nº 561, também conhecido como ABC, foi criado em 2175, quando Gallica I havia sido instituída há cinco anos e começava a sofrer bastante com a pressão de opositores contra sua política pautada na Lei e Ordem. Naquela época as regras e o controle se enrijeciam, o que criava uma massa de pessoas insatisfeitas. 

Temerosos com o futuro, os Chanceleres resolveram investir no projeto apresentado naquele ano pelo Cientista Enri Matarovsky, que pretendia fazer uma espécie de lavagem cerebral em crianças e transformá-las em soldados perfeitos para proteger o Governo de revolucionários.

Dito e feito, três crianças com menos de cinco anos de idade foram recolhidas de lares da Classe Baixa, trancafiadas no Campo de Treinamento Policial e treinadas por especialistas. Colocaram depressa em suas cabeças que suas famílias haviam sido brutalmente assassinadas pelos rebeldes, o que deveria motivá-los a se vingar. 

O Governo deveria reunir mais pequenos para o Experimento, mas, uma vez que conseguiu calar os opositores de outra forma, restou desnecessário que o projeto se ampliasse. Apenas os três foram treinados, como cobaias.

Chamados de “elementos”, foram nomeados com as letras A, B, e C. A regra era que não deveriam ter mais identidade que isso. Viviam entre policiais e conheceram o que lhes foi mostrado. Chegaram a maioridade, mas continuaram em confinamento, sob a promessa de que seriam grandes soldados um dia. Os melhores.

Entretanto, veio o ataque durante o Feriado Nacional de Gallica I e o Governo se assustou: talvez fosse a hora de finalmente colocar o Experimento Nº 561 em uso... Será mesmo?

            OLÁ, TAG!!!

Hoje venho aqui propor alguns CHARS WANTED CANON para vocês que se interessam pelo jogo, mas ainda não mandaram sua ficha. As três crianças da história acima se tornaram adultas e agora serão os espiões mais bem treinados de toda a história de Gallica I, objetivando entrar na Resistência Rebelde e aniquilá-la. Espero que gostem!!!

Os chars poderão ser reservados e maiores informações em chat privado. Devem ter idades entre 25 e 29 anos. Os personagens serão os seguintes (um male, uma female e um que você escolhe o gênero m/f/nb):

A: male FECHADO. (Habilidades especiais: maestria em campo, estratégia e liderança.) Estará infiltrado na Classe Alta.

B: female FECHADA. (Habilidades especiais: arte da mentira, convencimento, persuasão e sedução.) Estará infiltrada na Classe Média.

C: male/female FECHADO. (Habilidades especiais: manipulação informática e robótica, superinteligência e pensamento lógico avançado.) Estará infiltrado na Classe Baixa.

Precisa de ajuda com nomes? Clique aqui.

[retrocgads]

UK 1988

[mobbekun]

PHOTO OF MY PARENTS ON THEIR WEDDING DAY: dad is all elbows in a starched shirt. mother is a colgate smile of resignation, which, when you squint, looks just like happiness I ASKED HER ONCE WHY SHE MARRIED DAD: she said "it seemed like the right thing to do", like love is a good samaritan act of fate, a settling winter deep in your bones when you’d rather set fire to your skin THREE THINGS THAT ARE CRUEL ABOUT THIS WHOLE THING: that my mother’s escape from the cold war of her parents was a wedding dress that didn’t even fit, that my father was only loved as an alternative, that we learned love is not remaking the world but filling a hole GROWING UP IN OUR HOUSE: there are no wars. only surrenders

IN OUR HOUSE, THERE ARE NO WARS // task iii, v.d.g. ( @clisbons )

[opiumflowers]

The staircase is familiar to my hands and my heart -- the way the carpet sinks lightly under my shoes, no matter the pair I wear or how long it's been, how much time has passed, and I have grown. The banister is its welcome, so smooth to the touch, and I feel its offering -- the tingle of ghost fingers that have skipped up and down to the library before me. My hand glides along it, dark wood worn smooth and pale as bone after all this time. How many have done the same, sliding across this simple comfort? How many have forgotten? How many ARE forgotten and unknown now in all but this softness? These questions slip and slide away as my hand glides the length and lets it go, swinging limply to my side. I've spent six years passing through. I’ve left my mark too. Now the staircase waits for you.

Home, task iii

[it-is-just-hannah]

We are a motley crew of teenagers drunk on life and stories, brought together by words and magic. We are held together by bonds forged in late night rehearsals, both in the shouting on stage and the whispers to one another on couches in the greenroom. These are some of the first people I came out to. These are the people who offer to take in my friend when his mother threatens to kick him out of the house. These are people who have a thousand and one inside jokes, and always know which one to use in a situation. These are the people that I know care about me, and who know that I care about them. We are a family not by blood, but in spirit, and are as close as a group of people can be.

We may be actors, but these are the people I feel the most real with.

[on-the-off-chance]

Home - Task III

When you’re out in the harsh winter wind and it bites your face and claws your cheeks but you know it will be over soon; just one step inside and you’re greeted by the warm comfort. A unique hug.

When the day drags on and the tiredness behind your eyes begins to scream; a pain unforgettable, the calming absence of howling life. The eye of the storm.

When you laugh so hard your belly hurts, and your cheeks are sore from smiling, when the night falls and the joy begins to fade with the light, the walls echo your laughter. What once was, will be again.

but then 

its gone. Chairs are empty. 

shadows long

home is shattered and now

walk the streets, lost and with no direction, the comforting pull of a familiar string has forever been cut. 

Home means nothing without you. 

[girlbruised]

Let me rip a hole in your chest; I want to climb between the bloodstained bones that protect the vitreous organ within. (They told me, “home is where the heart is”, and the only time I feel safe is when it is in your heart that I am homed.) I will hold it in my arms; these tender lips of mine will kiss away the bruises of a heart beaten by the bloody-knuckled fists of the hatred born inside the mind of an angel who is of the belief that he is incapable of having a soul.

m.d.g, Home is where the heart is.

III. HOME // NOSEBLEED CLUB.