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gallickingun · 4 years

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keep my secrets safe

Summary: Bakugou hates covert work. And he’s hungry. But also, apparently he talks in his sleep?

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader Rated: T Warning: language, etc. Word Count: 1,702

bakugou’s birthday party has begun! see here for more info!

“I can’t believe I got stuck on stake-out duty again.”

“I can’t believe they stuck me with you again.”

Bakugou growls, slumping further down in his seat, resting his head on his fists. He’s completely stretched out in the front passenger’s seat, legs sprawled out, fast food wrappers on the floor and a half-empty cup of coffee starting to go cold in his cup holder. You keep your eyes glued to the building across the street where you’re waiting for the final piece of evidence to fall into place so you can arrest a particularly dangerous set of villains.

“And they say I’m a pain in the ass,” Bakugou grumbles, kicking at the tinfoil wrapped beneath his feet. He closes his eyes, “I should be asleep right now.”

You nod in the general direction of the nightclub across the street, “I’m sure if we just go in there and tell them to commit their crimes so you can put on your pajamas, they’ll totally listen!”

The telltale sound of Bakugou’s hands crackling, body itching to display his quirk so you might be the slightest bit intimidated by him, echoes against the windows and you wince, “Seriously?”

“You’re so annoying,” Bakugou curls his fists back together, shutting down the fireworks. He crosses his arms over his chest, resting his head against the window, “This is so stupid, I hate covert work.”

You look through the binoculars again, focusing intently on the various entrances, “It’s because you’re the worst hero possible for covert work. You literally blow things up.”

He goes quiet, so you take advantage of the silence to start really surveying the area. You pinpoint the different exits and make sure to watch the rooftop for any villains with wings or quirks that may allow them to stay so high in the air. Your eyes track over every surface of the buildings and you keep track on a small notepad the number of guards and their rotation schedules.

“S’hungry,” Bakugou mumbles from the passenger seat.

You chuckle, “I told you to get two burgers, but you wouldn’t listen.”

He whines out the word again and you hear his body shift on the leather. You don’t dare take your eyes off of the nightclub as the next round of guards switch out with the prior group. “Bakugou, I didn’t eat my whole sandwich. You can have the rest.”

A string of incoherent words passes from his lips but you don’t pay him any mind. He likes to piss you off, you think, so of course he’d say something about being hungry but not take you up on your offer to feed him what little you have. However, you won’t allow him to distract you from this important mission.

To him it may seem like a nuisance, something that he has to do to get through the day, but this is an opportunity for you. It is an opening into a better agency if you’re able to prove yourself, which is why you pray that Bakugou can behave himself for one night until you can capture the criminal activity going on in the nightclub. And then you’ll let him loose, allowing him to use his quirk to blast whoever he wants.

“Pisces sushi sounds good,” Bakugou’s words slur together, his feet pushing around on the floorboards. You sigh, turning your head just enough so he can know that you’re acknowledging him, “Katsuki, now is not the time to think about sushi.”

“So good!” he whines, “So hungry.”

The next hour passes in silence, which you’re thankful for. You can only take so much of Bakugou’s sarcastic attitude and snarky remarks.

However, in the quiet, your mind starts to wander. You think of the reason you started your Pro Hero journey - your desire to save people stemming from the death of your parents. You swore to yourself as a child that you would use your abilities to save others so no child would have to grow up alone like you.

You tilt your head, leaning back on the car headrest, “Why did you become a Pro Hero?”

The only response you get is the echo of crickets outside the car. You groan to yourself; you knew that Bakugou didn’t have the emotional maturity to have a full length conversation about anything semi-sensitive.

A quick retort sits on your tongue, begging for you to burst, but he surprises you with a small response only milliseconds before you’ve opened your lips.

“Protection. Saving.” Bakugou’s voice is clipped, but you’ll take what you can get. He coughs and out of the corner of your eye you see him shift uncomfortably in the front seat.

You bite down on the corner of your lip, adjusting the binoculars so you can see closer, gathering more details about the various villains guarding the nightclub. A small inhale parts your lips, “Wow, not what I expected.”

“I wan’ to make people feel safe,” he’s slurring his words but you are sure he’s just tired. You chuckle, a blush painted on the tops of your cheeks at his admission - you didn’t think he had such kindness within him, let alone the humility to let it leak through in the form of words. Bakugou swallows audibly, “The way All Might made me feel safe.”

The binoculars rest on your chest now, your nails busied with the base of your cuticles. You can’t believe he’s baring himself to you in this way. The only time you’ve ever heard Bakugou talk openly about All Might is when he’s swearing up and down that he’ll surpass him as Number One Pro Hero. Of course, the veteran has since retired, but Bakugou still holds him to a level above all the others.

“I think that’s very noble of you, Bakugou.”

There is a beat of quiet before his mouth opens again, “I miss Kiri.”

Your jaw drops at his blatant admission, but there is a sound of gunfire from across the road and the two of you spring into action. Bakugou blasts himself forward using his quirk, slamming into the thugs outside before storming the building.

The two of you make quick work of the villains, your backup arriving only a few minutes after you’re tying up the head crook. You hand him off to the cops and step to where Bakugou is leaned against your rental car, “So, how about something to eat? You had to have burned a lot of calories in that fight.”

“Sure, I guess I could eat,” Bakugou grumbles, wringing his hands together. You notice the faint lingering smell of ashen sweetness and you’re reminded of his quirk and the way it works. You smile, “Pisces Sushi sound good?”

His eyes go wide, “Pisces is a hole in the wall - how’d you find out about it?!”

You take a step towards him, looking at him closer with your head tilted, eyeing him up and down, “Did you hit your head?”

“What the he-no!”

“You told me about Pisces, you idiot,” you kick at his shin gently with the toe of your boot, “how else would I know about it?”

Bakugou’s face turns pink at the apples of his cheeks. He turns his eyes downward, watching as he kicks around a few pieces of large gravel with the sole of his shoe, “My mom and I used to go there together. J-Just us. I’ve never told anyone about that place, no one ‘cept Kiri.”

You’re invading his space now, his senses heightened when your closeness makes his temperature sky rocket. You brush your thumb along his jawline, inspecting his face carefully, “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yes, dumbass,” Bakugou swats your hand away, but there’s no malice in his action, “I’m fine. Why are you acting weird?”

“It’s just-” You take a breath and his eyes are drawn to the way your chest swells, “You were talking to me in the car about food and Kiri and All Might, so I just thought that maybe-”

“Woah, wait,” Bakugou grabs you by the biceps, “what the hell? I would never say anything about Shitty Hair, not in public. Unless I was roasting him on a spit. What did I say?”

His sudden interest in the things that came out of his own mouth is intriguing, but also a little disturbing. Your browns knit together, “Uh, you said you wanted to be a hero like All Might, and you said you missed Kirishima?”

A string of cuss words fall from Bakugou’s mouth, grating against his throat, “Well, damn.”

The two of you do end up at Pisces Sushi-

-for the next couple of years.

Every Tuesday night you meet up after patrol, and he introduces you to another sushi roll you hadn’t tried yet. Of course he admonishes you, teasing you relentlessly about your uncultured view of the world. After all, who hasn’t tried a spicy tempura roll before?

And later, much later, you’re staying up long after him when you hear it again.

It isn’t the first time since the stakeout, that was years ago, but it still makes your heart flutter nonetheless. He’s facing you, lips slackened from sleep, and the words are soft, so quiet that you can barely hear them in the safety of your bedroom.

“I love you.”

It’s not something you don’t already know, and it’s definitely not something that he doesn’t tell you whenever he can get over his pride long enough to admit that you’re everything he’s ever needed and more. But, somehow, in the quiet darkness that lays over the both of you like a shadow, it means so much more.

Subconsciously, in his state of dreaming, he’s thinking about you still. His thoughts are on you day and night, and it’s only secured even further by the way he reaches out for you in his slumber. Bakugou’s hands are warm as he taps your rib cage, the entirety of his palm spanning the distance of your side.

You plant a kiss on his head, threading your legs through his as you listen to his soft snores overtake his voice once again.

“I love you too, Katsuki.”

Even if he doesn’t hear you, something within your heart tells you to say it anyway.

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mars-commissions · 3 years

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Kaito x Kei Fluff Commission

2k words

Kaito stopped his motorcycle in front of Kei’s house, removing his helmet to let his short blonde hair breathe, the spiked locks swaying in the breeze. His roots were notably darker than the rest of his hair, seeing as he liked to dye it a lighter tone to match his golden eyes. If you came closer to him, you’d notice a small smiley-face earring on his left ear. He stood a bit below average height and was clad in a black button-down shirt, brown capris, and hiking boots. With no access to a place to clean his clothes, they were a little dirty, but he managed to look presentable to the best of his ability.

It wasn’t Kei’s house exactly, but an abandoned house he and Kaito had been squatting in for a few weeks. It was a long story, but that was their current situation. Kaito had been out all day going to stores to find anything he could use to repair or use to do maintenance on his motorbike. Who knew, what if they’d have to leave town and go somewhere more rural, far from any stores? They knew they wouldn’t be able to stay in one place for long, but at least they had each other.

The two boys were only seventeen but had experienced things that you wouldn’t normally have to go through at that age. Most of their peers weren’t running from the cops after breaking out of prison, they were at home sleeping or staying up all night to study. After all, they were only teenagers. They should be in school too, but they didn’t have much of a choice. The idea of being on the run constantly felt pretty ordinary to them at this point.

It especially wasn’t a foreign idea to Kaito, seeing as his dad was a convict and a distrust for a system was all he had ever known. He never trusted the police as a child and was taught to be clever like his father. The reason why the two boys had been separated, to begin with, was that Kaito’s dad was a felon. Kei had cut him off as soon as his mom told him. He regretted it now, but Kaito had moved on and accepted Kei’s apology.

He patiently waited for his boyfriend to come out to go on a ride with him. It was fairly late into the night. Kaito had chosen to ride at night because there were fewer cars and it was peaceful at night. They also were at a lower risk of getting caught and sent back to jail. Kaito going out for the day was one thing, but the two of them in public in broad daylight was just asking to get arrested again.

Kaito was cautious and made sure to wear sunglasses inside of stores when he didn’t have his motorcycle helmet on. It wasn’t the best disguise, but it was better than nothing. But at night, they’d be as free as birds, able to go anywhere they desired within the city with a low risk of being discovered. The door to the abandoned house opened and Kei sprinted over to him, hugging him. Kaito laughed it off, slipping his helmet onto Kei’s head.

Kei was taller than Kaito, but only by a bit and was a lot scrawnier. Kaito was the strongest of the two, but Kei made up for it with his intellect. Kei had short black hair which could be seen through the visor of the helmet. He had been wearing his signature outfit; a white t-shirt tucked into plain black pants. He too didn’t have many options for clothes and had to make do with whatever he had with nothing but the clothes on his back.

“I missed you all day, I was so worried.” Kei grinned.

“I did too. I don’t mind if I get hurt if we end up in an accident, but I don’t think I’d ever been able to forgive myself if something were to happen to you,” Kaito said as he adjusted the various buckles to fit Kei’s head.

It had been a while since they had reunited and the two had started dating very quickly into their reconciliation. They were inseparable. Kaito was very protective over Kei and wouldn’t dare let anyone lay as much as a finger on his beloved boyfriend. Kaito was shorter by a bit but would take anyone down if it meant his boyfriend would be protected. He sounded like he was very strong, but he had a soft spot in his heart for Kei. No matter how hard he tried to hide behind a rough exterior, he’d always be loving to Kei, even if they were fighting, which seldom happened.

“Ok, weirdo, don’t get all mushy on me,” Kei teased, bringing up his old nickname for his boyfriend.

“Not my fault that I care about your safety. You mean so much to me.” Kaito smiled, getting on his motorcycle.

Kaito patted the space on the black leather seat behind him, letting Kei sit with his arms wrapped around him. He rested his head on his shoulder, shutting his eyes and giving him a tight squeeze, letting out a sigh of comfort. Kaito blushed, smiling to himself. He loved when Kei was affectionate because it gave him a sense of reassurance. It was as if it were Kei’s way of telling him that all of this being on the run stuff was worth it if it meant that he would get to be with him. He knew that of course, but it was the heartful reminder that he needed.

“Where to?” Kaito asked.

“I’m not sure, just take me anywhere.” Kei shrugged.

Kaito started up his motorcycle and began to gain momentum. He stayed at a reasonable speed, cruising down the barren streets. The roads were empty, aside from a few parked cars on the side of the road. They had intentionally chosen this location to hide in temporarily, because of how close it was to their childhood homes. It was for nostalgic purposes, rather than being a safe place to hide. They were sure they’d be caught sooner, but maybe the police assumed they had gone elsewhere. It might have been the last time they got to see their hometown and they wanted to make the most of it before it was too late. He stopped in front of a playground, pointing at it to draw Kei’s attention.

“I remember going to that park as a kid with you before we stopped talking,” Kaito said.

The playground was empty without a person in sight. The colourful structure was lined with ladders, slides, and monkey bars for children to play on. There was even a swing set. The metal chains holding the swings up squeaked as the wind passed through them, making them rub against each other.

“I remember playing here too. I’m really sorry for cutting you out of my life all of those years. I still feel a little guilty about it sometimes. I thought you hated me for the longest time.” Kei sighed, burying his face into Kaito’s shoulder.

“Don’t feel bad about it. You were just a kid and didn’t understand. I’m so glad you came back eventually.” Kaito reassured, starting his motorcycle back up.

“I’m glad I did too,” Kei said in agreeance.

The motorcycle continued to take them to their next mystery location. They passed by the houses of the suburban area before they slowly turned into shops, indicating that they were out in a more public area and would need to be extra careful. Kaito stopped the motorcycle in front of a convenience store, parking it so they could go inside. Before they could go in, the two boys put on hats and sunglasses. They looked a bit odd to be wearing them at night but was for the sake of concealing their identities, even if it meant looking a bit unusual. Kaito opened the door for Kei as they made their way inside.

“Let’s get slushies and drink them on the curb,” Kaito suggested.

“Sure, why not. I feel like we deserve it after all we had to go through.” Kei laughed, shaking his head at Kaito.

“Yeah, I don’t think running from the cops is something most people have to do every day,” Kaito said softly, not wanting to alert the cashier that they were convicts.

They filled up their slushie cups with soda-flavoured slush and headed to the counter to pay. As he made small talk with the cashier, Kei paid for their slushies and snacks they grabbed on the way out. They could’ve easily shoplifted, but getting caught and sent back to jail over a cheap chocolate bar wasn’t worth the risk, even if it meant saving a few bucks.

Sitting on the curb next to where Kaito had parked the motorcycle, they began to eat, chatting about being kids like they were old friends. It was dark out and the only illumination that allowed them to see was the light seeping through the windows of the convenience store. Blue and red light emitted from a large neon sign that informed passersby that they were open, but it wasn’t bright enough to shine on Kaito and Kei.

“Kai, I just wanted to say thanks for saving me back there. You were so willing to help me even though all I’ve ever done is pushed you aside.” Kei thanked, peeling the wrapper of a chocolate bar.

“You’ve thanked me for helping you a hundred times already. Give me a piece of chocolate and then we can be even.” Kaito said, holding his palm open.

Kei carefully broke off a piece of his chocolate bar, handing it over to Kaito, who had eaten it in mere seconds. They sat in comfortable silence as they both chewed on the chocolate pieces. Kaito inched over slowly, trying to break the space between him and Kei on the curb.

“I’m worried that if you sit too close to me, someone might see,” Kei said, biting his lip nervously.

“It’s two in the morning. I think it’s a lot more severe that we just busted out of prison than the fact that we’re dating. I’m proud to have you as my boyfriend.” Kaito smiled.

“I guess you’re right. And no one’s around to see this.” Kei blushed, leaning closer to Kaito and softly kissing his cheek.

Kaito put his arm around Kei so he could rest his head on Kaito’s shoulder. It was a little chilly since it was late in the night, so cuddling made it easier to share their body heat so neither of the two would get cold.

“Nope. I can promise you that only I saw that. And even if someone did, they’d just be happy for us. And if they weren’t, I’d fight them for you.” Kaito chuckled.

“I don’t think there’s anyone else I’d rather be on the run with. You know so much more than me, I’m more book smart when it comes to intelligence, but that means almost nothing out here.” Kei sighed.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, I think you’re smart,” Kaito assured.

The two snuggled on the curbside as the sky went from dark and full of stars to a light reddish-orange. Clouds dotted the sky, now more visible that the sun was peaking over the horizon ahead of them. The picturesque cityscape left the two in awe. It was bittersweet to have to leave the city so soon, but they knew they wouldn’t be able to stay long. The city was beautiful, but it was too risky and they’d surely be caught lurking there. Out in the middle of nowhere was their only option.

“So,” Kaito murmured, ”What do you say we get out of here before we’re seen?”

“Yeah, let’s get going.” Kei agreed.

And just like that, the boys were back on Kaito’s motorcycle, looking for somewhere new to crash.

Message me if you’re interested in commissioning me!

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reddogf13 · 3 years

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Scarlet marks ch3

Pennywise x Beverly

summery: who knew she would end up here? Beverly, having started her work in fashion as a young bright secretary under the older tom Rogan. now forced to sexually serve slimy old politicians under toms vicious grip for power and money. forced into following toms political flock to Derry. she runs into a familiar face, wearing a silver clown suit, out on a special hunt. (mainly smut

status: In progress

rated: M - fowl language, gore, and sex scenes ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

previous chap: Scarlet marks ch 2

next chap: Scarlet marks ch 4

_____________________________________

~ch:3 Business deal~

Beverly woke slowly to the new morning light passing through the wagon window. Stretching out from Pennywise's grasp in bed. Attempting to get out of bed stopped by the clown. “stay in bed again. You know I can pay.”

“no can do Mr. clown.” slipping from his grasp to count the money he set on her jacket. Packing it all away to then put on her shoes to leave.

“why?!” the clown disappointed she said no, but not leaping out of bed to stop her.

“tom set me up for a political meeting. I'll be booked from this morning to lunch or even past dinner. By that point I'll only want to sleep.” not letting his expectations get too high on anything after the meeting.

“hmpf, I bet I can pay higher then those clowns.” his joke earning a laugh from Beverly.

“yes, but its not the money Tom wants from them. Its the power and the immunity.”

“ah.”

“so these things are always mandatory business meetings.”

“well, if things don't work out I'll be here for you.” waving her goodbye out the door. Being given a returning wave from Beverly.

She unenthusiastically walked over to the large lodge where the “political meeting” was held. Passing over a tall hill to cross under the arch marking the entrance of the property. At the hills top she stopped at the sight of police and ambulances around the property. Rushing down to figure out what was going on, she met up with a few of her clients gathering outside. A closer look having her see a car crashed into the wall. She turned to the older gentlemen muttering between themselves.

catching the men's attention. “uh, I came for the meeting from Tom.”

“ah, yes. Tell Tom we need to reschedule.” the big wig out of them all spoke.

“what happened?”

“Baskins accidentally drove into the building. Injured quite a lot after plowing through the wall.”

another speaking up. “his eye sight has gotten so horrible.”

and another speaking. “we keep telling him to just get a driver.” all of them shaking their heads in shame for him to nodding in agreement. None seeming too surprised or concerned for Baskins condition.

“oh, sorry to hear. I'll let Tom know.” faking her sadness until she was out of their view. Excited to head back over to Pennywise's wagon. Hiding her excitement when knocking at his door. Needing to look away with a heavy blush when he answered the door in only a towel wrapped around his hips. Pale skin glowing under the bright sunny sky. Muscles shifting around as he leaned against his door way.

“back so soon? Was the party full?” he joked.

“sorta, a car through the wall killed the partying mood. Still want to do a day date?”

“sure, want to join me for my bath?”

“i am up for it.” following him inside to the bathroom. The tub full of steamy water and rose petals. A wooden side platter settled temporarily on the sink covered in finger food. Fancy fruit stacks, meats, crackers, cheeses, caviar and various toasted bread slices for the spreads.

“want some wine to relax with?” offering as she undressed.

“sounds nice.” smiling as he left for a moment to grab a bottle and two glasses from a small cupboard. He returned to settle into the bath first, then her, and settling the wood food board across the tub as a makeshift table. Pouring a generous amount of wine for them both to sip on between bits of food. She hummed between the food and the lovely massaging he started on her shoulders.

“your muscles are very tense.” rubbing along her back.

“heh, they've been that way for a long time. May as well be their normal state.” taking a big gulp of wine before eating some caviar on a bread slice. Enjoying the foods delicately set up on the board.

“you doing all this work for Tom right? I assume you've tried leaving, but how is he keeping you?”

she sighed. “business meetings.” then continued. “tom has those stuffy old dudes in his pocket in exchange for my service. They don't want to lose that so they pull favors for Tom to keep me working. I even purposefully got arrested once and was back at toms a few hours later. No cop would bother me after getting the memo from the big wigs.”

“ah, explains a lot.” sipping some wine down with a bite of meat. Both surprised by the small flip phone in Beverlys jacket ringing.

“shit!” she scrambled to grab her jacket and the phone out of the pocket. “hello?”

“what the fuck happened to the meeting?!” toms voice loud enough for Pennywise to clearly hear.

“they canceled a-”

“we needed the money from that party! Now you have to make up the loss before I get back!” the call cut after his order.

Beverly quietly shut the phone to frustratingly bump her head on the tubs edging. Chugging the rest of her wine glass down.

“how much you need and before when?” the clown asked.

“20 thousand in 3 days.”

“is that all?” he laughed as he pulled her close. “how bout we have a little business agreement. For each 24 hours you stick with me I'll give you a chunk of the amount. By the time Tom returns you'll have the amount ready and more.” nuzzling into her neck for a small nip.

“cant say no to that.” chuckling at the affection. Holding her glass out as he refilled them.

His attention turned to her clothes off to the side. “need to pick up clothes for the visit?”

“mm, that's actually my only set. Tom only gets me sexy outfits and any other public ware I had got destroyed or “misplaced” by Tom.”

“i like sexy outfits, but not if were heading out.” he chuckled. “we'll have to fix that later.” kissing and nipping along her shoulder.

“oh will we, Mr clown?” rubbing herself back into him. Feeling his hands rub up along her sides to fondle her breasts. Moving back down to grab her ass and get her out of the tub. Between all the kissing and handling the rooms flashed by her. Now on the bed still dripping water to soak into the fabric beneath them. Laying stomach down as he straddled over her. His hips grinding down onto hers with both hands pushing her shoulders into the mat.

Completely helpless under his dominant position, not that she cared. Breathing his comforting scent off his bedding. Their was something so intoxicating about it. She wanted more of the scent, more of him the longer she seeped into it. Shutting her eyes to the thrusts he gave causing a small twinge of pain. Maybe actually being caused by his claws digging into her shoulders leaving drops of blood to pool at the surface. Above her he was growling and drooling uncontrollably. Drops falling from his jaws to land over her back.

This time he was rougher in handling her position. Pinned down unable to squirm from his fast thrusting hips. Hiking her hips up to spare no space away from his. She winced here and there under his firmness, but she submitted to letting him make all the moves. His rod so deep inside with little pull out bringing a large enough satisfaction for her to stay still. When his peek came she felt the thick cum fill her to the brim. Different then before with it all staying inside. He shoved himself in so tightly he blocked any of it from pouring free.

Her body chilled under the effect, fearful that any movement would loosen him too much. Remaining still for so long had her body aching for more. Something was missing again, her body having space for more of him to spill deep down. She only shifted her hips slightly back into his, but it was enough to set him off. Letting out a animalistic growl in warning right as he bit into the back of her neck. Teeth prickling at the skin there to prevent her from doing anything more.

The worry she would have gotten by such an aggressive move crushed by his thrusting. Slamming hard enough the bed rocked under the movements. That being exactly what her body wanted, letting out a chorus of uncontrollable moans. Exciting his own body to be rougher on the submissive female below him. Flooding her with hot cum until her body couldn't hold any more. Gushing out around his dick doing its best to block the flow. Her tightened legs couldn't help anymore after shivering too much following the waves of pleasure. One last load puddling a large amount out onto the bed.

Both their body's going limp in riding the last pleasuring wave. His body laying over hers with his face buried into the back of her head. Licking at the skin reddened by his rough bite down along to her shoulders. Healing the bleeding claw marks dug into her. Beverly laying in bliss as he treated her wounds. Gasping out when he slipped free of her to stand off the bed.

he joked while stoking his hands down along her back. “heh, I think we need another bath.”

her body sensitive to what ever movement she made. “ugh, fuck me.” Turning over to sit up in bed while fabric stuck to her legs slick with cum.

“so soon?” he laughed.

She held in a chuckle to throw a pillow at him. “shut up!” exhausted, but tempted. “hand me my jacket.” holding out her hand toward it. Careful when taking it, from him, to not get it dirty across the coated bedding. Standing up to lean against the wall while avoiding her gaze landing on the naked clown stretching not to far. Blushing at the feeling of a lot of liquid flowing down her legs. Swallowing from the satisfied smirk he shot her with a lick of his jaws flecking a little drool.

She turned her focus to pulling out her birth control from the jacket pocket. Right as she tossed the medication into her mouth the smirking look on the clowns face dropped. She didn't have a chance to swallow before he was back on her. Kissing her deeper then before that his tongue took over her whole mouth. The pill lost for a brief moment in the surprise devouring of her mouth. Yet, she won the dominant fight of tongues long enough to find and swallow the medication. His tongue ready to chase it down her throat if her gag reflex wasn't caught so badly. He pulled back when she pushed him back for air between coughs. Hearing a deep guttural growl escape him.

“fuck, what was that f-?!” her voice cut off from him claiming her mouth again. Hiking her legs up to swiftly thrust her back into the wall. She moaned on the taste of him wrapping around her tongue. Grabbing onto his shoulders in similar positioning to their first night together in the ally. This time wasn't as gentle with far more domination from him. Beverly snickering at the frustrated growls he let out the longer she fought with his tongue taking over her mouth. Sucking on the incredibly long organ tasting of lightly sweet caramel popcorn. Almost swallowing it down at the shock of a deep thrust spilling more cum into her. Enough of a distraction for him to win the fight of tongues by filling her mouth all the way. Submitting under him he kissed her head back into the wall.

Relaxing to the repeated rounds of filling he did one right after another. A whole other mess created where they were. Finishing up, his tongue retracted from her mouth to lick across her lips. A sense of Déjà vu crossing her after being gently set down on shaking legs.

“wow.” was all she could pant out while holding onto him for support. She had completely forgotten what she was going to shout at him for.

“let me help.” hugging her close to carry her into the bathroom for another bath.

Her bath hardly relaxing as he watched her so intently from the other side of the tub. She was expecting him at any moment to start another round. As she felt earlier, tempted, but far too exhausted to start. Especially after that last few rounds leaving her legs shaking. Despite the warm bath they weren't relaxing enough to hold still this time.

“i don't think I can walk anymore.” rubbing her legs to relax the muscle as much as she could.

“was I too rough?” asking her gently from his side of the tub.

“god no. I just wished I had the energy you have to keep up.” her laughter cut by him coming intimately close to kiss her neck. Stopping him this time with a bright blush. “whoa big boy! I am gonna have to clock out for today. One more round and I'll pass out on you.”

“i wouldn't mind.” he laughed in backing away. “we should really fetch you more clothes. They get ruined so easily, or would you like to chance it walking around without tonight?” he teased.

“you'd like that.” teasing him back. “ I need some water first before I go anywhere.”

“how about a meal? Didn't have much of a breakfast and now its already lunch.”

“sounds good to me.”

resting in the wagon managing to relax her legs enough that they went off to eat at a nice little diner. Needing to wrap an arm around greys to keep steady on her feet long enough. Quietly eating their wonderful lunch she noticed he was staring intently again. “what?” she asked between bites of food.

stretching a grin. “nothing, just thinking what I am going to do to you.” his answer leaving another blush on her face. She momentarily stopped eating to regather herself.

This had gone on the entire day, him staring at her. Stirring a feeling in Beverly she wasn't sure was right or not. Picking out clothes after their meal she became lost in her own thoughts. He'd been driving her wild in bed to the point she was willing to submit to whatever he wanted. Unconcerned by all the scarlet marks covering her body like a road map of his sexual thrills with her. Maybe this was getting too unsafe, after all with what he truly was. Another part of it was how she could be using him to placate Tom. Having him conjure up so much money to letting him buy her all these things.

Leaving her to question it all on “why?” in her mind. “Where would this road lead and how would it end? Was this some silent deal to do this forever?” rubbing absent minded at a t-shirt in hand. “that wouldn't be possible. The politics would want to move again eventually and Tom will force me to come with them.” all this time in pennywise's wagon had made her too comfortable. She shouldn't get used to it, it would be harder to adjust when she had to return to working the streets late into the night. Once Tom returns she'll need to lower her time with the clown. who knows how well that will be taken by him when the time comes.

The days flew by with their bedded plays leaving them both resting satisfied together. The only point when time seemed to slow down was when they left the wagon. Eating out or for a stroll by the river on a nice sunny day. Even those sometimes turning into a thrilled play of possibly being caught in public. Then it all ended on the last day with Beverly needing to return to Tom in the morning of his return. Taking a lot of time counting the huge amount of cash Pennywise gave to her as promised. A whopping whole 60 thousand, making her 3 times what she needed to fill her order.

“okay, its all there.” wrapping the wads with rubber bands to carefully hide in her pockets.

“after you see Tom will you be coming back?”

“uh, I have to see what Tom says. He may force me to stay in today.” feeling nervous deep down on returning. Should she tell him now that she wants to lessen her visits with him? starting to pack up all the outfits he bought her on their first day together.

“why don't you leave those here?” the idea having her pause. It would be a good idea, but that meant she'd have to return regularly as if she lived here. “You said Tom doesn't like you having non sexy clothes. They'll be safer here.” he suggested while giving that staring look again.

She was confused why he had picked it up all of a sudden. Maybe being connected with why he was rougher then before and why he was so focused on repeatedly causing a mess. When he saw her taking birth control he was obsessed in keeping her in bed. She'd seen it in other guys who took it as a nice sign to let them freely ride raw. Wouldn't surprise her it thrilled him the same way.

“yeah.” she ended up agreeing. Her chest warming at the decision, another strange sensation she had been dealing with since being with him for so long. She wanted to please him, do whatever he wanted, she wanted him to be pleasured and happy. In turn it warmed her to feeling happy around him. Safe in his grasp that she never wanted to leave, but life with Tom forced her to. Leaving the wagon with a wave goodbye, receiving one in return as he watched her go.

Meeting with Tom at home he was thrilled by the large amount she had brought home. So much he allowed her to take a few days off … from working the streets. Instead acting as some show off prize during nonworking meetings that were actual party's. Press coming by to take photos together as some happy business couple. Tom doing some political money laundering under the guise of their dead fashion industry. Beverly wore a fake happy smile through it all, but was dead inside. Biting her tongue through multiple creepy old politicians complimenting her looks and talking to Tom about other meetings to set up between her and them.

They were very open about it too when the reporters were gone. Talking across the dinner table inside the house while she sat nearby picking at her food. Too sick to take a bite that would cause her to vomit it right back onto the plate. Swallowing down her stomach when the agreement was finalized through a large payment. Dinner finished a small part of the political flock left back to their homes while the ones who paid stayed. Quite a large group Beverly had to suck up to like she was being done a favor to serve such powerful people.

Between her sucking up to the large party she weaved out for some space to breath. Looking annoyed at the crowd she spots one tall man standing out from the others. Dressed more old fashioned without a normal party tux while far younger then everyone. Those golden eyes turning into a grayish blue when she locked onto him. Through the crowd grey had caught up to her without another soul questioning his presence. This party becoming far more fun for her.

#it (2017)#pennywise #pennywise x beverly marsh #beverly marsh

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jadeimpala67 · 4 years

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Let me be clear... I didnt make this blog to be political. And if anything here needs to be corrected or addressed, let me know. I mean nothing but respect here and am just sharing my experience.

When I made this blog, roughly 3 years ago, I made it to escape other social media apps and indulge in fandoms, and crush over my favorite celebrities.

However. A lot has changed in 3 years. And I feel so strongly about what's been going on, that I need to write something in a space I know it will be heard.

Some of you who have been following me for years will remember that I was homeless for just about 6 months.

And I want to talk about this specifically because I feel it's an important example of white privilege that most people wont ever experience.

Many people in nice towns or city areas will get a specific image in their head when they hear "Homeless Person."

But that image, will not be a 5'4, bathed, 21 year old kid, working two jobs.

While homeless, I was ALLOWED to camp for 6 months inside of an external storage unit facility. I'm 85% positive the woman who ran the place knew I was living in the unit I was renting. There was an alternative gate you can get to just outside of the cameras that she never kept locked.

I would work from 10pm to 7am, to walk (I did not have and still do not have a drivers license) down the street to my morning job to work 7:30am to about 3-4pm for tips.

I often fell asleep outside at one of the tables at my second job when my shift was over, because the woman running the storage units shift didnt end until 6pm.

I never got asked to leave.

When the heat wave hit my state, temperatures up to 100⁰F, I was allowed to spend 3 entire days in the breakroom of my overnight job. Which was against the rules of the company. My supervisor told the store owner about my situation, and he took pity on me, letting me stay in the AC, with access to free samples from the grocery department, and a microwave to cook tv dinners with.

On the days where I didnt work my morning job, I would often walk down the streets, singing to myself outloud, and would camp out on the grass in front of anywhere i pleased.

I was never asked to move. I was never threatened to have the cops called on me for loitering.

When I needed to bathe, I had friends or coworkers, or my grandmother take me in for the night to shower, wash my clothes, and sleep on their couch or bed if it was available.

I almost never had to ask.

I spent money recklessly, because I didn't see a future for myself beyond my situation. I drank almost every day, because the bar was really the only thing there was to do in town when you're alone. I took uber's out of state to concerts. I participated in GISHWHES 2017, and did the tattoo item. I almost never had money saved.

I was never judged for this, or looked down on. I went to work drunk many times because I wasnt paying attention to the time, and left the bar late. My job was never once at risk.

And the biggest thing here is I ALWAYS had my backpack with me. I never went anywhere without it. And in it I always had snacks, my electronics, deodorant, and sunscreen. I was never questioned. My presence in a public store with a black backpack never made anyone nervous. I never had the cops called on me.

And to be clear, I still carry that backpack. I've had it for 3 years now, I still take it with me everywhere. I've never had one single person ever make a complaint or even give me a side eye for it. I've never had store employees ask to check it before waking in or out. Was never accused of stealing with it. Nothing. It's just an oversized purse.

And I cant help but wonder how different my situation would've been if I wasnt white. I sure as hell was not the only homeless person working at my job, yet I never saw anyone else stay in the breakroom to escape the summer heat... how many nights did they sweat or freeze alone on the streets? How many of them were arrested for trying to find shelter on abandoned property? How many of them got lucky and found somebody to take them in for a night or two? How many of them could actually drive and sleep in their cars? And out of those people, how many were arrested for falling asleep with the key in the ignition?

I never thought twice about my situation back then. I thought it was just a town full of good hearted people willing to help someone in need. Someone who took pity on a homeless 21yr old, blatantly obvious LGBT kid.

But how much of that was factored into simply because I was white?

I could sit by a lamp post and have an officer pull over and just ask me if I was okay, before leaving again.

I could take a jog around town.

I could fall asleep at my job, in public.

I could walk around with a backpack, anywhere.

I could do a lot of stuff even homeless that a lot of other white people take for granted as much as I have. Stuff that POC have to be on guard for every day or it might cost them their LIFE.

And realizing this has shaken me to my core, but I refuse to let it scare me. I'm using this time to educate myself and learn from the communities around me what *I* can do, with my privilege to help them and their communities. I may never experience their hardships, but I have enough empathy in my being to know that trying to live your life, terrified every single day from the people who took a job that's supposed to protect you, needs to change. And I'll fight on their side during this revolution with every chance I get

#black lives matter #white privilege #homelessness #personal #viva la resistance #justice for geroge #justice for george floyd #i stand with you

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rumpledgoldenweaver · 4 years

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A Bear In Need Of Rescue

Written for the January @a-monthly-rumbelling prompt “How on earth did you get up there?” It kind of got away from a bear in trouble but I hope you enjoy anyway! Read on my blog https://earlyrisingwriting.home.blog/2020/01/09/a-bear-in-need-of-rescue/

Rumple had never felt so relieved as when he pulled into the car park of the hotel, almost immediately finding a space. Switching off the engine he let out a small sigh. Gideon had fallen asleep at some point and Rumple was loath to wake him. Fishing his phone from the glove compartment, he sent Belle a text message saying they were finally here. He decided to wait for her reply instead of getting straight out of the car. He had a slight headache so a couple of minutes quiet wouldn’t hurt. Closing his eyes he gave a small thanks to the car park gods.

Maybe he could book a head massage.. maybe Belle would give him a…

Tyres squealed, an engine roared then a car screamed through the previously silent parking bays jolting both Rumple and Gideon awake.

“What the ever loving fu..”

“PAPA! You sweared! Mama won’t.. PAPA! Look!! it’s a police car!!!” Gideon bounced in his seat.

Sure enough an unmarked squad car hurtled after the first vehicle, disappearing towards the rear of the hotel.

“Your Mama takes us to all the best places Gideon.. come on m’boy, lets go find her before either of those lunatics come back”

“Gideon keep your voice down, the whole hotel doesn’t need to hear you” Belle admonished gently “I know it’s all very exciting but..”

“It was Mama it was! The police car went MEEEMAW MEEEMAW VRRROOOOOOM”

Rumple shook his head “There’s a children’s area in the grounds of the hotel, would you like to go play for a while son?”

“It’s nearly bath time” began Belle

“You really think he’s ready for a bath and bed? He’s bouncing off the walls, he napped on the way here. Let’s take him, it might tire him out”

“Can I take Bear please? Can I? Can I?”

“Okay okay” groaned Belle knowing she was already defeated “but don’t lose him”

Gideon’s over excitement at the police chase was swiftly replaced by over excitement at the play area

“IT’S A PIRATE SHIP!!! C’mon Bear we’re going to sail the seven seas and chase booty!”

Belle nearly choked “He’s going to what did he say?”

Rumple chuckled “Let’s find a bench and sit down, I’m far too old to chase after him. As long as we can see him he’ll be fine”

“Don’t need to see him, we’ll hear him”

Lucy was bored, she’d been at the play area for fifteen minutes with her doll Tinkerbell. There were other children there but they just wanted to play house. Lucy preferred adventure. She spotted a boy, slightly younger than her, chasing round, pretending to sword fight and clutching a teddy bear. Now he looked like fun.

“Hello. I’m Lucy. This is Tinkerbell, she can fly!”

Gideon stopped his sword fight “I’m Gideon. This is Bear.. he can fly too”

“Bears cannot fly”

“Yes they can. Watch!” Gideon threw Bear up into the air with all his might.

In the middle of the pirate ship was a tall mast. Near the top was a mock crows nest. It wasn’t big enough for a child, but it was big enough for a bear. Which was just as well because that’s where he landed with a soft thump.

Lucy looked in horror. Gideon stood with his mouth open “Oops”

“I can’t believe they got away” Weaver strode through the hotel reception. He needed fresh air.

“They can’t have got far. They have the advantage of knowing the area, we don’t” reasoned Rogers “I’ve asked the local police to put out extra patrols and.. did you hear that? Sounds like a kid in trouble”

Weaver snorted “Kids are always in trouble, it’s what they do”

“Look - over there, in the play area. There’s nothing we can do about the case for the moment. Maybe if we help then the hotel might forgive us for tearing up the car park”

“Okay Batman let’s go save the day”

As is often the case with parents who’s children have got themselves into a scrape, Rumple and Belle were verging on the kind of full scale public row generally conducted through gritted teeth and harsh whispers

“I cannot climb up after him Belle, let me use mag..”

“NO. I’ll go up after him”

“Not in those heels you won’t”

“No shit Sherlock. I’ll take them off”

“And certainly not in that skirt”

“EXCUSE ME? What is wrong with my...”

“Hi” said a dark haired young man who had suddenly appeared by Belle’s side “I’m Detective Rogers and this is Detective Weaver” he indicated a surly looking older man who reminded Belle slightly of her husband “Can we help?”

“It’s our son – he’s stuck. He’s too scared to climb down”

Weaver followed her line of sight, Sure enough there was a young boy clinging on to the mast of the wooden ship “How on earth did you get up there?”

“Bear flew up here. I came to rescue him”

“Oh I see” Weaver nodded sagely “That was very brave, but now you need rescuing?”

“Yes please” whimpered the boy

“Well you’re in luck because Detective Rogers here is the best rescuer I know”

Rogers looked at Weaver “Me?”

“Yes you. Off you go”

“Right then mate, let’s get you back on dry land shall we?” Rogers smiled as he started to climb the small rungs that were set into the mast. He reached Gideon easily “Now then, where’s this errant bear? In here?” he reached into the wooden bucket and retrieved the teddy.

“Thank you” sniffed Gideon

“No problem. I’ll climb back down a little and you follow. You won’t fall, just keep going”

Slowly the two of them made their way toward the ground.

“What’s your name son?”

“Gideon”

“Nice to meet you, I’m..”

“Captain Hook!” exclaimed Gideon suddenly noticing his prosthetic “Mama! Papa! I’ve been rescued by Captain Hook!”

Weaver tried hard to contain his laughter however it exploded out of him in a coughing fit.

Belle and Rumple were mortified “I am so sorry” they both began at once.

Rogers waved it away “It’s fine honestly. If it makes the lad feel better I don’t mind at all”

Rumple handed over a business card “If there is ever anything I can help with, just call”

The two officers started to head off when Weaver’s phone rang.

“Yes” there was a pause then “When? Which direction? Okay” he snapped the device shut “They’re on the move Rogers, come on”

The Gold’s watched the men hurry off in pursuit of their quarry. Rumple presumed it must be the boy racers from the car park. Out of sheer nosiness he used his enhanced hearing to eavesdrop on their conversation. It seemed the reprobates in question were headed out of the city with the local police force giving chase. A germ of an idea took root in Rumple’s mind. Would it be so bad if he gave a helping hand?

“Are you listening to me” Belle’s voice brought him back to the present.

“Sorry.. I was just..”

“Thinking of using magic. I know that look Rumple. Why?”

“I want to help them” he’d learned the hard way about not telling his wife the truth “they got our son to safety”

“Okay.. but there’s no magic here so how can you do that?”

“I don’t need magic as such. Just the dagger” he tapped his jacket where the blade lay hidden “You take Gideon back to the room, he’s had enough excitement for one day. I promise to tell you everything when I’m done”

Belle wanted to argue, but she’d learned some hard lessons during their relationship as well so she simply nodded and did as he asked. It wouldn’t stop her from worrying though.

Rumple waited till she was out of sight then found a bench to sit on set far enough back into the gardens he wouldn’t be disturbed. He didn’t need long. He took the dagger from his jacket, closing his eyes, reaching into the very depths of his soul to give the darkness a prod.

“What can I do for you Dearie”

“Would you like a trip out?”

“Ooh lovely! Where are we going?”

“Not me. You”

“Put your foot down Heller! The cops are gaining on us”

“I’m going as fast as this heap will go. If you wanted faster you shouldda got a car with an actual engine in it instead of a hair dryer!”

“Just get us out of here and onto the main highway” Hades growled

“Hello Dearies!”

The two men shot round to see the weirdest looking man.. Was it a man? sitting on the back seat. He had wild hair, green skin and reptilian eyes.

“What the f… shit!” Heller swerved the car, across the road, to avoid rear ending the vehicle in front then back again to miss an oncoming truck. Horns blared and language flew from the other drivers in their wake.

“I don’t think much of your driving skills” the imp huffed. Waving a clawed hand he took control of the car bumping it up onto the pavement, driving straight into a large overgrown hedge. Heller and Hades made to get out but the Dark One was too quick, a snap of his fingers sent both of them to sleep. Finally he took a small pouch from his waistcoat pocket, emptying the contents – some of the more exotic mushrooms the Enchanted Forest had to offer – over the back seat then disappeared.

Weaver had just got back to his car when the phone rang again. He frowned as the officer related the details of the arrest to him.

“A what in the car? A green skinned imp… mushrooms? That explains a lot. We’re on our way. Thank you Officer Humbert”

“Say what now..?” laughed Rogers “Oh my..”

Weaver grinned “Come on Captain Hook, we’ll wrap this up and go raise a glass to our little green friend”

“Less of the little if you don’t mind Detective”

Weaver looked round in surprise “Did you hear that?”

Worry started to gnaw it’s way from the pit of Belle’s stomach to the forefront of her mind. Almost an hour had passed since they’d left Rumple in the gardens to do who knew what using means she probably wouldn’t approve of. Gideon was sound asleep on the sofa bed, clutching Bear tightly.

Picking up her phone and putting it back down again did nothing to make it ring. Unable to settle she decided to take the towels left on the bed by housekeeping and stack them in the bathroom. In order of size. Anything to distract herself.

She had just finished reorganising the pile into a pyramid when she thought she heard something. There was a faint knocking sound coming from outside the room. She walked quickly to the door and put her ear to it

“Belle.. Belle it’s me. I can’t.. I can’t get in”

“Rumple! Hang on.. just hang on!”

She turned the lock, pulled open the door only to have her husband almost fall on top of her. He looked very pale.

“What on earth happened? Rumple? Rumple! Are you okay?”

She manoeuvred him to the bed, sitting him down before he fell again.

“So tired Belle, need to sleep..”

“I’ll get you a glass of water and then help you into..” A snore cut off the rest of the sentence. “Bed” she sighed.

At least he was there and in one piece she told herself. So much for this fun family weekend. She supposed she should get him undressed even if the sheer number of clothes he had on meant that would be no easy task. Certainly there were more agreeable circumstances to peel off the layers one by one.

Rumple wasn’t the largest of men but in such a deep sleep he was a dead weight. It took her almost twenty five minutes to complete the task. “Why” she muttered as she put his suit back in it’s bag “can you not wear jeans and a shirt? I bet it doesn’t take that detective’s wife half an hour to get his clothes off”

With her husband a little more comfy, Belle decided a glass of wine was in order. A glint of metal caught her eye, the dagger was lying on the bed next to it’s owner, almost winking at her. Before she could stop herself the blade was in her hands “Dark One I summon thee” she whispered.

Rumple turned on his side and snored even louder.

“Y’know Dearie” a familiar voice trilled behind her “of all the humans I’ve been attached to over the centuries, your husband is easily the most charming”

Belle couldn’t help but snigger “Will he be okay?”

A green skinned hand touched her shoulder “He’ll be fine. Promise”

“What did you two get up to?”

The Dark One giggled “Well Dearie, I got to drive a car, catch some rather pathetic miscreants and I may have left some of those mushrooms from the forest that you were told never to touch as a memento”

“Sounds like fun”

“Oh it was” he grinned “Now I must be going and you Dearie need to get some sleep” he snapped his fingers and disappeared.

Belle felt the tingle of magic, she was now dressed in her nightie, all the lights except Gideon’s small bedside lamp had been turned off and the bed covers turned down. Rumple was underneath them. Belle couldn’t help but giggle when she realised his underwear was now on the floor. Snuggled up against his back Belle soon started to drift off.

“Love you”

“Love you too Mrs Gold”

#Rumbelle Fic #a monthly rumbelling #OUAT

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leggomylino · 5 years

Text

[...𝟶𝟷𝟶𝟶𝟶𝟷𝟶𝟷𝟶𝟷𝟷𝟷𝟶𝟶𝟷𝟶𝟶𝟷𝟷𝟷𝟶𝟶𝟷𝟶𝟶𝟷𝟷𝟶𝟷𝟷𝟷𝟷𝟶𝟷𝟷𝟷𝟶𝟶𝟷𝟶...𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝙸𝙳......]

[𝙰𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚎? ➤ 𝚈𝚎𝚜 𝙽𝚘 ]

[𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝙰𝚗𝚢 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚞𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚝. 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚎? ➤ 𝚈𝚎𝚜 𝙽𝚘 ]

[............]

[𝙾𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚏𝚞𝚕.]

❧

[𝙼𝚎𝚗𝚞: ➤ 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚢 𝙱𝚊𝚐 𝙻𝚘𝚐 𝚂𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 ]

[(𝚈/𝚗)'𝚜 𝙰𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚕𝚜: (𝚢/𝚗) ➤ 𝙵𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚡 ]

[𝙳𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝙵𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚡? 𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝙰𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢 ➤ 𝚂𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝙸𝚝𝚎𝚖 ]

[𝙼𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎? ➤ (𝚢/𝚗) 𝙵𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚡 ]

[𝙵𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚡 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚢.]

❧

You’re here. You’re actually here.

He can’t believe it. Surely it must be a dream...another one, anyway…

Okay. Everything’s fine. Just like we practiced.

“Did you have any trouble finding the place?” he asks. You shake your head, your (e/c) eyes absorbing the surrounding atmosphere.

“Nope, no trouble. Han dropped me off.”

“Dropped you off?”

“Yeah, he started acting weird halfway up the driveway…” You pause a moment, rolling your eyes skyward to think. “...actually, he’s been acting weird since yesterday. Do you know why?” Yes. “Nah, I dunno.”

“Hmm…”

You’re both just standing there. Standing, standing… What are you doing? This is your house! Take her inside!

“Uh…” He points over his shoulder. “You wanna come in?”

You smile. “I already am inside.”

This makes him smile as well. It’s crazy how just seeing you light up has the same effect on him. He rolls his eyes a bit. “You have more coffee this morning?”

You scoff. “No! Actually...I didn’t have anything at all this morning.”

His smile is gone. “Did you have lunch?”

“No...I woke up late. I told Han to pick me up at twelve, but I totally overslept…”

“Knowing you, that’s probably a good thing. You hardly sleep as it is.”

“That’s totally a lie. I sleep.”

“That’s totally a lie.” He shoots back. You grunt a bit but don’t complain. It’s cute to see you get so worked up about petty back and forth banter, he thinks.

He starts to walk off, motioning for you to follow. “Come on, I’ll fix you something to eat.”

“You mean I’ll fix us something to eat,” you say with a laugh. “You don’t cook.”

“I cook.”

“Just like I sleep.”

He turns from across the island, smirking. “So you admit you don’t sleep.”

“...” You furrow your brows, but your eyes are all sunshine. “Touche.”

It goes on like this for some time, and eventually Felix caves and lets you do the cooking after burning five grilled cheese sandwiches and somehow getting the fourth one stuck to the ceiling. Mom and Dad are not gonna be happy about that--

Thank goodness everyone’s out of the house until September.

“So why’d you stop by the other day?” You ask him while buttering some bread. The two of you figured you may as well make some for the others...if they ever planned on showing up. Felix inwardly sighs. Honestly, what were they expecting him to do? Dip you in his arms like a soldier back from war and make something happen? That wasn’t how things--

“Hey.”

“Hm?” He looks up at you from his perch at the island.

“Why’d you stop by?”

He grins. “I need a reason to come see you?”

This makes you give him a slightly incredulous look and shake your head, your ponytail brushing against your neck. It’s rather wavy today from the humidity after the recent thunderstorms. It looks good on you, the messy-look aesthetic. “No. I was just curious. In case it was something important.”

It was, but he could never tell you that. At least not yet anyway. “Nah, just...stopping by to say hi. And make sure Han wasn’t driving you up the wall.” Totally not because I was planning on asking you out or anything...

“He can barely drive a car.”

“True. He cheated on the exam.”

“No way!”

“Way.”

“How the heck do you cheat on a driver's exam?!”

“You get someone on the inside to administer the exam. Our friend Minho was all for it...but in his defense, he was a little wasted at the time.”

“Which one?”

“Both.”

“...Great. Now I can never ride in the car with him again with any peace of mind.” You shake your head, flipping the last sandwich onto a plate. “Don’t tell Jaemin. He’d have your friend arrested and Han’s license taken away.”

“Your brother is a cop?” Great.

“No,” You smile over your shoulder, a simple, cute lopsided grin. It makes his cheeks flush, getting lost in the simplicity of it all. “He works for City Hall. He’s an assistant for the Director of Public Works.”

Even better. “Wow. That’s pretty big.”

“Yeah, I’m proud of him but...I dunno.” You sigh. “I worry about him sometimes...a lot, actually...”

He can see the light escaping your eyes like a cloud blotting out the sunlight from a stained-glass window. He’s gotta change the subject. “Hey, you uh...since the others are taking so long, you wanna take a look at the new game?”

Your eyes light up like fireworks at the suggestion, but then you frown all too quickly. “But...shouldn’t we wait for the others?”

Felix gives you a half-hearted shrug. “It’s not like we’re gonna play it. Just look at the packaging. Maybe do an unboxing video?”

Your delighted gasp is music to his ears, the staccato applause the symphony behind it. “Yes! That sounds great!”

“Great,” he says. “But first things first...eat.”

❧

[(𝚢/𝚗) 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚢.]

❧

The usual grin you wore grew tenfold as your fingers brush back delicate wrapping paper, revealing a shiny dark purple and black box with fancy gold lettering. An excited squeal leaves your lips as you bounce in your seat on the large area rug, Felix smiling back at you while getting the camera ready for filming.

“You like it that much, huh?”

You give him an over-exaggerated pout. “Of course I do! I’ve been waiting forever for this game to come out! Are you not excited?!”

He chuckles. “I mean, a little, sure. But I have my doubts about the quality given the last game S.M. Entertainment released.”

“You mean Clash of Enforce?”

He blinks up at you in surprise. “...Yeah. I’m surprised you knew that. It wasn’t a popular game, and it got recalled after the first three months for lack of sales and too many bugs.”

You brush your ponytail back, a smug smirk on your face. “Of course I knew that. I’m a gamer girl, after all. ...I ended up returning my copy for a refund though.”

“Smart. Apparently there was a virus that could lie dormant in your system for months, and it could easily leak into other games and cause all kinds of glitches.”

You swallow. You hadn’t known that tidbit. “...Like...save data glitches?”

Felix deadpans you, a serious look in his eye. “Especially saved data glitches.”

You find yourself regretting your choices about six months ago.

But Felix suddenly smiles again, and it’s just enough to put your worries at ease, bringing some color back to your pale face. “Don’t worry. I can run a scan on your harddrive for you, if you like. If we find the virus, I’ll do my best to remove it, or at the very least disable it so it doesn’t spread to anything. It’ll always take up some space in your storage, but otherwise it’ll be like it’s not even there.”

You find yourself nodding, slowly, when there’s a sudden noise coming from the front of the house.

A series of frantic knocking pulls the two of you away from your thoughts, but Felix insists he’ll handle it while you finish setting up the scene for the release video...you’d been so excited about unboxing everything, it was a bit too late to make a video about it now.

It doesn’t take long before a tornado of young college boys are tearing down the hallway and ripping you out of Kansas.

“DETAILS! WE NEED DETAILS!!”

“OH MY GOSH (Y/N) I’M SO HAPPY FOR YOU!”

“For the record I knew you’d two be a good fit for each other.” B))

“SHUT UP HAN IT WAS JEONGIN’S IDEA! QUIT HOGGING THE SPOTLIGHT ALL THE DAMN TIME!!”

“ME?! YOU’RE THE ONE WHO—“

“NO YOU!!!”

“NO YOU!!!!”

“NO YO—“

There’s a loud POP at the far end of the spacious living room, and Hyunjin and Han both squeak, the forming jumping into the latter's arms as they hold each other for dear life with stunned looks on their faces. Jeongin threw himself beneath the coffee table, and you laugh as all three heads gradually turn to see Felix holding a popped balloon in one hand and a small sewing needle in the other.

“Are we done now? All of you keep it down, you’re going to freak out (y/n) and then we’ll never get another candidate to fill the girl slot. This video is gonna be great publicity for us.”

Hyunjin crinkles his nose. “...What video?”

“The release video, duh!” Jeongin snaps. He turns his attention back to you and Felix, crawling out from under the table. “Enough of that! Give us details already!”

You list your head. “Details…?”

“Yeah! Y’know, are you two an item now or—“

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Felix interrupts, a bitter look on his face. “What are you three going on about?”

You stand, crossing your arms over your chest. “An item? Why would Felix and I be an item? We’re just friends.”

A heavy, awkward silence fills the room as those words leave your lips, the whole attitude of the spacious living area deflating like the popped balloon. Hyunjin suddenly (shyly) excuses himself, walking slow at first and then rushing all at once for the door once he thought he was out of sight. You hear a frustrated scream before he quietly enters again, his face a stiff mask of hidden emotion as he makes a beeline for the youngest of the crew.

He’s whispering, but you can still hear him loud and clear as it’s also a yell: “You got the wrong house! That was neighbors!”

Jeongin’s face crumbles. “Ah...hahah...oops?”

Han rolls his eyes. Felix facepalms, swiping it down his cheeks in annoyance.

“Can we please just get to filming already?”

❧

[𝙷𝚢𝚞𝚗𝚓𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚢.]

[𝙷𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚢.]

[𝙹𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚢.]

❧

“So what did you guys want to talk to me about?” you ask, filling out your character information. Ultrascape has turned out to be a beautiful game so far; high quality graphics, an intricate backstory, and awesome character customizations. S.M. Entertainment had really outdone themselves this time.

But then as you’re trying to select a certain outfit, it suddenly changes into a random one you didn’t want. Then your class is suddenly transferred from Buff Support to Sabotage, and in the space where your name should be, it says, “sUck It lOsErs~”

Your mouth drops agape in empuzzlement.

“Um…?”

Your cursor won’t move.

Han sighs. “This is what we wanted to talk to you about...Felix?”

“I’m on it.” The boy gently takes the controller from your hands, and with a few strange combinations and an override to the system, everything goes back to normal. He hands the pink controller he claims belongs to his sister back to you. “Don’t worry, it’s not a big deal. They’re just hackers that have been screwing with us for a while. I reported them two days ago for corrupting my Minecraft account, guess I’ll have to report them here as well…”

“Thanks…” you mutter, carrying on cautiously with your character design. “So...these guys have been messing with you for a long time?”

Hyunjin groans from his spot to your left, shaking his head like a meme. “They’re nothing special. They literally had to steal their name from a Magic the Gathering card because they aren’t smart enough to come up with something cool themselves.”

“Oh really? They have a name?”

“Yeah. Path to Exile. Pfft,” he rolls his eyes. “Lame, if you ask me. Our name is wayyyy cooler than theirs!”

“Path To Exile…” you repeat. You wouldn’t lie, it sounded vaguely familiar... “...I dunno, it sounds kinda cool to me.”

This earns you a shocked shriek to your left and a small gasp from behind you, where Innie is sitting crisscrossed on the sofa.

“(Y/n)! Don’t tell me you’re turning over to the dark side!” Jeongin squeaks. Hyunjin nods his enthusiastic agreement.

“I know it seems fun, but we need you here! With us! We...We need you! How can we be (Y/n)’s Angels without (y/n)?! We love you, (y/n)!” His desperate cries turn into a smirk. “Especially Fe—“

He doesn’t get to finish that thought, because a couch pillow manages to cross the room and silence him just in time. You figure they’re just joking around, anyway, and laugh it off. “Okay, okay, I promise I won’t leave you guys...as long as you’ll have me, that is.”

Hyunjin tosses the pillow at Han, who then curses at him and starts a petty feud you’re mostly used to by now.

“Of course we will! I love having you around!”

“Not as much as me!”

“No me!!”

“No mE!!!”

“NO ME!!!!”

“IT’S ME!!!!!”

“NO IT’S FEL— oW!” Another couch pillow.

Felix grunts, shaking his head as he watches you put the final touches on your character. “Anyway...yes, it’s another gaming troupe that calls themselves Path To Exile. But it’s nothing you should worry yourself over, they’re mainly just…”

“Unpleasantly annoying?” Jeongin offers, mid breaking up the other two.

“Yeah.” He chuckles humorlessly. “Let’s go with that.”

“......” Something is bothering you about the way he’s talking. He’s not telling you everything.

❧

[𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 (𝚢/𝚗) 𝚍𝚘? ➤𝙵𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚢 𝙱𝚊𝚐 𝚁𝚞𝚗 ]

❧

“...” With careful breath, you decide to press him further. “You uh...sound like you know these guys on a personal level.”

“......” Felix’s gaze never leaves the 72” flat screen tv, and by now the other three have all paused in their private quarreling to listen as well. “...On a personal level? No. But...I may have met the boy on the other side before...once or twice.”

“Once or...twice?”

He looks away a bit too dramatically, an air of nostalgia coating his words. “It was at a gaming convention...I was still in high school at the time. We both signed up for the tournament, and we’d made it to the final rounds. Near the end of our match, it was clear that I was going to win. There wasn’t enough time for him to gather enough points, no matter what he tried...but in those last few seconds, something changed. First there was a glitch, then just before the clock struck out, his score had grown exponentially. I don’t know what the hell happened, but I just know he cheated somehow. There was no way he could gain so many points in that amount of time, even if he had been pressing buttons like crazy.

“I tried reporting it to the judge, but I was overruled. I wasn’t upset about losing...it was more that I didn’t want some punk walking off thinking he could just cheat his way through life like that. That kinda shit bugs the hell out of me.” He scratches at the side of his neck, an irritable scowl on his face as he continues his trip down memory lane. “After that...I ran into him again at another tournament. I found him picking on some newbies and I approached him about it. Then...we may have gotten into a fight.”

Hyunjin huffs. “So? What’s new? You yell at us all the time.”

Felix sighs. “No, an actual fight. With fists.”

“You engaged in Mortal Kombat with him?!” cries Han. Again, Felix sighs.

“I wouldn’t go that far but...yeah, pretty much. Both got banned and had our titles stripped. That was just before I started college and met you guys...then (y/n).”

“Whoa…” Hyunjin and Han both mumble at the same time.

“So, wait,” Innie pipes up. You realize you’d stopped focusing on your character and make quick work of saving her so Felix can proceed with the game. “Why have you never told us about this before? Also you’ve known Hyunjin and I since high school, asshat.”

“We didn’t start hanging out til after though.”

Hyunjin screeches. “Uh! Rude! I came over twice to work on a school project!”

“You did? When?”

“Junior year, Ms. Kim’s class! Remember? Save the Sea Turtles?”

Felix smirks. “Doesn’t sound familiar.”

Hyunjin’s face settles into something you can only describe as resting b*tch mode. “Fine, I see how it is!” He stands, marching off into the kitchen. “I'll take my compensation through sna—“

You all turn toward the kitchen when the drama king fails to finish his thought. Walking out of the hall he comes in with a sandwich on his head that’s sliding down half of his face, the one that was stuck to the ceiling before, and you all burst out laughing...except for Jinnie, of course.

“Finally,” Han mumbles, pulling out a can of Pringles from his bag. “The shoe’s on the other foot.”

❧

The video and playthrough had gone off without a hitch, minus a few run-ins with Path To Exile; it was no big deal, though, because the five of you had still managed to have a lot of fun, and ended up gaining over two-hundred new fans in the process of filming live...a last-minute idea proposed by Han, which turned out to be his best to date.

You were now sitting in a cab going homebound. Felix and Han both had a late-afternoon class, Hyunjin had to work, and Jeongin was heading back to the dorms to study for finals.

...Path To Exile...something about that name sounds familiar. Where have you heard it before…? And who are they, really? ...Regarding what Felix told you...it didn’t sound like he was completely telling you the truth.

But then, didn’t that make you a hypocrite all over again? After all, you weren’t being completely honest with any of them, either...so why should he be completely open with you?

Your drumming of fingers against the arm rest seems to be driving the driver a bit mad, so you stop with an apologetic smile, snapped out of one thought and into another.

You’re passing a coffee shop you and Jaemin used to regularly visit when Starbucks was closed or overly crowded, back in your high school days and the first year of college, before you’d gotten sick. Jaemin…

And you’re right back to square one again. Jaemin. You’re still so worried about him...it’s been eating at the back of your mind since yesterday.

The driver pulls to a steady stop in front of your house, and you pay the fare and thank him before hustling out and scurrying inside just as it’s starting to rain.

The rain reminds you of Jaemin, when the two of you would jump into puddles on the sidewalk and see who could catch the most drops in their hands. Then as a chill runs down your back from the air vent, you remember the day Felix came over in February, the two of you curling up for hours watching the snowfall.

“......”

You look at yourself in your bedroom mirror. It’s time to make a change. And you know just what to do.

Tomorrow, you were going to visit Jaemin. Tomorrow, you were officially going to become more independent.

❧

[𝚆𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎? ➤ 𝚈𝚎𝚜 𝙽𝚘]

[𝚂𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚊… 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛…]

[(𝚢/𝚗) 𝚜𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎.]

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝙼𝚢 𝙶𝚊𝚖𝚎 → 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 | [𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚛!𝙹𝚒𝚜𝚞𝚗𝚐 𝚡 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚛!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚡 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚛!𝙵𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚡]

[ 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝙱/𝚈 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚘 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 // ➤ 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝙰/𝚇 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚎 ]

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achangeinpriorities · 4 years

Note

I don't know if you take the prompts,I had this idea.Len has returned from a mission with the Legends a few months ago.In Central there’s a new mayor,who hates vigilantes (perhaps bc during a crisis,they failed to save a person dear to him).So he will insert the task force again to capture the vigilantes,but his goal is flash.The mayor will be able to arrest Barry,the problem is if Cecile and his boyfriend (Len),will help to Barry out of prison? or will he stay in prison forever?

Hello friend! I do take prompts, and I’ll try to be quick to respond but I make no promises. I’ve cross-posted this one to AO3 if it’s easier to access there (link here), but here you go:

“So let me get this straight.” Leonard glowers at the tiny, fearless DA in front of him. Cecile Horton meets his eyes, sets her jaw, and doesn’t back down. “I’m gone for about a year, cruising the timeline with a madman in a timeship, and when he plops me back—late, I should add, he got us all back late—I find Central City with a mayor named Hanson who has a personal vendetta against the Flash and has arrested him.”

“That’s a pretty good summary, yes.” Cecile nods once, curtly. “He’s pushing to delay the trial, and I know why. They have Barry locked in the metahuman wing at Iron Heights. If the trial is delayed long enough…”

“One of his former villains is likely to get out and kill him.” Leonard runs his palm over the handle of the cold gun. He was no fan of Bellows—Lord knows the man deserved to be arrested—but if he ever gets his hands on this Mayor Hanson, vengeance will be swift and subzero. “Which, you understand, leaves only one option.”

“Push for a speedy trial?” Joe rumbles. He’s been standing guard in the background as though he doesn’t trust Leonard around Cecile. As though Leonard would hurt her when, for now, their goals align: free Barry, legally or otherwise.

“Break him out,” Len drawls. “Unless you want to risk your sweet little foster son coming back to you in pieces.”

“Yeah.” Cecile purses her lips. “I have to pretend I didn’t hear you say that, but if you’re set on that course of action, Cisco might be able to help you.” Before he can say another word, she holds up a delicate hand. “I can’t stay. I shouldn’t even have seen you. I need to go pressure Barry’s lawyer into rounding up character witnesses—honestly, they gave him some kid just out of law school, I doubt he could tell an exhibit from a motion…”

After she leaves, still muttering, Leonard turns to Joe with his iciest smile. “Well, Detective, are you going to walk me to the Cortex?”

In the Cortex, they find Cisco, Caitlin, Wally, and the Firestorm trio. Jax and Wally have their heads together, whispering. From the looks Stein and Ronnie keep throwing them, they’re discussing something unwise. Leonard clears his throat. “So who here will help me spring the Flash?”

“Captain Cold.” Cisco points a Twizzler at him. “The last person in the world I wanted to see, and yet the only one I’d actually trust to spring my friend from a maximum-security ward. Gather ‘round, gather ‘round. I have blueprints.”

Indeed he does. Leonard has seen the inside of a metahuman cell—only once and extremely unfairly—but he’d had no time to examine the broader layout. Now he sees the austere beauty of the metahuman wards. Cells are arranged in subunits of six around small open spaces; no doubt that central space constitutes a metahuman’s yard time. Each subunit is outfitted with power dampeners, and as a redundant measure, the food contains a temporary suppressor drug. Even if Leonard gets Barry out of range of the dampeners, there’s no guarantee he’ll be able to run.

“Oh, and, uh, as a little extra incentive…” Ronnie adds while they peruse the blueprints. “If Barry is convicted, all of us will be, too. The cops are looking for us. They almost got Frost the other day.” He reaches a protective hand out to Caitlin. She flashes him a brief smile.

“In that event, why not postpone the jailbreak?” Stein stares at them. “Right now, public opinion might sway the trial, but if there is a jailbreak…”

“You want to bet Barry’s life on public sentiment?” Leonard scoffs. “Professor, you and I both know people can love a hero one day and loathe him the next. Cisco, who else is in Barry’s subunit?”

“Uh…oh, you’re gonna love this. Sam Scudder, Rosa Dillon, Shawna Baez, and Mark Mardon.” Cisco grins. “There’s one empty cell, so guess where you’ll be going if this doesn’t pan out?”

“Hilarious.” Leonard contemplates the six-sided subunit. “I may have a plan.”

***

Two days later, Cecile reports she’s successfully set a date for the trial. Unfortunately, it’s in two months’ time. Everyone is of the sentiment that they can’t afford to wait.

Jax, Wally, Iris, and Jesse Quick rally some of their friends for a protest outside the Mayor’s office on behalf of metahumans. Leonard doesn’t attend—he’s too busy planning—but he hears the turnout was massive, such that even the formidable Captain Singh stopped by. (This Wally reports with particular delight. Leonard entertains the unpleasant notion that the youngsters may be conspiring without him.)

Leonard calls Lisa and Mick for backup. Mick is less than thrilled when he hears the target (“I’m helping you break your booty call out of prison, Snart?”) but both he and Lisa are excited about a daring escape from under the noses of the police.

On the evening of the great escape, Cisco opens a breach into a small supply cabinet near the metahuman wing. “Now remember,” he says, “you go in there, you’re on your own. Barry can’t help you, and we sure as hell can’t help you.”

Leonard grins. It’s been months since he felt the ice-water clarity that comes with the start of a heist. He’s missed this. “Just the way I like it. I’ll be in touch.”

He steps through the breach, and the countdown begins.

Five seconds later, he swipes a security badge. Five seconds after that, he accesses the metahuman wing. Within a minute, he locates Barry’s subunit, enters, and locks the door behind him. They won’t be leaving through the hallway.

“Barry!”

There’s a clatter of activity from all five occupied cells. Shawna Baez rubs sleep from her eyes and pushes curls out of her face. Mark Mardon launches himself at the bars. Barry bolts out of bed with a heartfelt little “Len?” that breaks Leonard’s heart neatly in two.

“Hey Scarlet.” As much as he wants to go to the bars, catch Barry’s hand, and allow thirty seconds for a sweet reunion, he can’t show that kind of vulnerability around the other Rogues. “If I say ‘jailbreak,’ are you going to chide me for breaking the law?”

Barry’s pout speaks volumes. “I want to get out of here legally, Len. Not—”

Leonard shakes his head. He’s been the disadvantaged kid in the system; he knows how this works. “They’re burying your case, Scarlet. No way are you getting a fair trial. And trust me, Central City needs the Flash too much to let him rot behind bars.”

Five swipes of the keycard releases four irate metahumans and a reluctant little Flash. Mardon goes immediately to the exit. “You locked us in?” he demands.

“No.” Leonard strides to the center of the open area, kneels down, and pops a grate out of the floor. The opening is a little small, but with some work, they’ll fit. “After you.”

Shawna and Rosa have a brief, nonverbal standoff over who’s to be first down the grate. Shawna is first, followed by Rosa, Sam, and Mark. Barry lingers. “Len, I mean it. I don’t want to jeopardize…”

“You won’t.” Leonard shakes his head. “I released everyone else so, in a pinch, you can claim I broke out the Rogues and they took you captive. Now come on, Scarlet. We’re on a tight schedule.”

Reluctantly, Barry lowers himself into the hole. Leonard follows behind him. For a single, terrifying moment, he thinks he’ll get stuck; then someone gives a hearty tug on his ankle and pulls him down. He lands funny, twists his ankle, and bites through his lip to stifle a yell of pain.

“All right,” he says, his voice deliberately even. “Let’s go.”

The hallway into which they’ve dropped leads them through an unused lower level into which the metahuman wing will expand as it fills. For now, it’s abandoned; not even maintenance workers cross their path. At the end of the hall, a door opens into the yard.

“We’re going to have to make a break for it,” Leonard warns. “Don’t worry. In three seconds…” he consults his watch “…there will be a diversion.”

As he speaks, there’s the breathless whoosh of a fire igniting. Barry’s eyes widen. “You brought Mick?”

“Of course I did.” Leonard pushes open the door and beckons for the others to run. Then he grabs Barry by the arm and drags him along, pretending to have him captive. “Now go!”

As they’d planned, a fire blazes on the far side of the prison. By the time alarms sound about the escape, it’s too late. All of them have loaded into an SUV (“What took you so long, jerk?” Lisa greets him when he gets in) and have driven away.

They stop to switch cars. Lisa takes Shawna, Rosa, and Sam in a silver Odyssey that will by no means attract police attention. Mark takes the SUV on his own, despite Leonard’s warnings. Leonard drags Barry into a beat-up Mini, shoves him down in the back seat, and tells him to keep his head down until they reach STAR Labs.

Of course, they never do. They’re rounding the corner onto a quiet stretch of road when Leonard’s phone rings. He stabs the ‘answer’ button, puts it on speaker, and chides, “I’m driving.”

“Which of your Rogues did you tell to make an earthquake happen beneath the Mayor’s office?”

Earthquake under the Mayor’s office? “I…didn’t,” he says, nonplussed. “Although I would like to commend whoever did.”

“Well tell the Flash to get back here, get his suit, and get to work!” Cisco snaps. “If he rescues the Mayor, there’s no way they can arrest him!”

Leonard hangs up on him. “You don’t have to listen.” He glances into the back seat, where Barry has pushed himself up from the floorboards. “If your powers are still suppressed…”

His only answer is a crackle of ozone. When next he glances back, Barry is gone.

By the time Leonard reaches STAR Labs, the results of Barry’s heroics are on every television. There’s a particularly touching still of him holding the Mayor as he cries (Leonard neither wants nor needs the man’s tragic backstory; he can only applaud Barry’s patience). He’s prepared to turn the television off when a few-second clip airs of Barry holding the Mayor, clearly having just rescued him. The look of startled awe on the Mayor’s strangely familiar face makes a dark curl of possessiveness settle in Leonard’s gut.

“And you know what, I’m just gonna…turn that off, now.” Cisco dives for the remote. No sooner has the screen gone black than Barry, Wally, and Jax burst into the room at the same time. Leonard thinks they’re all celebrating until he sees Barry’s hand caught in the material of Wally’s suit.

“—Set up a resonation pattern?” he’s ranting. “The Mayor could have been killed, or someone on his staff could have died, and you and Jax and Hartley would have to live with that!”

Oh. The youngsters reached out to Pied Piper. It’s precisely the sort of chaos Leonard would wish upon the Mayor, but out of deference to Barry’s frustration, he doesn’t smile.

“If it works, will you still be mad at me?” Wally asks.

“If what works?” Barry asks. He doesn’t need to wonder long, because Cecile bursts into the room, her cell phone still in her hand.

“I just got permission from the Mayor to drop your case!” she pronounces. She spares a single, bewildered glance at Wally before pulling Barry into an embrace. “It only took five minutes of wheedling, and Iris may or may not have threatened to release a transcript of what he said to you while he was weeping on your shoulder, but you’re a free man! And better yet…” She pulls a sheaf of paper out of her bag. “I have the paperwork here to amend the operating constraints of the Metahuman Task Force. From now on, any associates of the Flash will be guaranteed immunity.” When there are general exclamations of joy, she beams. “Thank you, I only wrote it myself at two in the morning.”

“Babe, you’re a miracle worker.” Joe wraps his arms around her from behind. She leans back against him and closes her eyes in contentment. Joe spares her a fond look before leveling a wary stare on Leonard. “Don’t think Barry didn’t tell me about your…whatever the hell is going on. So if you have business with my son, take it elsewhere.”

“‘Business,’” Leonard drawls. If he thought for one second that Joe’s distaste for their relationship didn’t stem from his reservations about Barry dating a criminal, he would have icy remarks to make. “Such a discreet way of putting it. Well, Barry, I believe I owe you an explanation for the day’s goings-on. Shall we take our ‘business’ elsewhere?”

Barry snuggles readily into his side. Once they’re out of earshot of anyone in the Cortex, he mumbles, “I still don’t forgive you for the jailbreak. What if it hadn’t worked out like this?”

Leonard smirks. “You think I’m above bringing the Flash on the run with me? I’ve had several incredibly detailed fantasies about that very thing…”

“You’re the worst.” There’s a reluctant smile playing around the corners of Barry’s mouth. He wants to concede, so Leonard decides to give a little in return.

“I’m sorry, Scarlet, I understand how you feel. I just want you to understand that I was worried for you.” He presses a kiss to Barry’s temple. “I’ve had the system set against me. I couldn’t watch them damn you to rot in prison because of your powers.”

Barry’s expression softens. “I know,” he agrees. For a second, Leonard thinks he’ll try for a kiss. Then he tilts his head. “So, what do we do about the Rogues you let loose?”

Leonard laughs. “We’ll worry about them another day. Now come on, Scarlet—aren’t you going to welcome me home?”

#anon ask #prompt fill #coldflash #sorry for anyone who finds this before i get the read-more to work

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ill-will-editions · 5 years

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TACTICAL LESSONS FROM LANSING - (Anonymous, 2018)

On the anniversary of the coup de grâce delivered to Richard Spencer and his neo-fascist shock troops by midwest anarchists and anti-fascists in 2018, which helped send the alt-right into a downward spiral from which they still have still not recovered, we’re re-sharing some tactical lessons from a few folks who were there. -IWE

***

What follows are some tactical reflections from the mass antifascist mobilization in East Lansing against Richard Spencer in March, 2018.

The first weekend in March, antifascists converged in Lansing, Michigan to confront the white nationalists who were planning on attending Richard Spencer’s talk at Michigan State University.

The successes of this weekend have been well documented: Richard Spencer cancelled the rest of his college tour, prominent white nationalist lawyer Kyle Bristow announced he would be stepping back from his organizing, existing divisions within the far-Right deepened, and Matthew Heimbach, leader of the Traditionalist Worker Party, got slugged repeatedly in the face.

Yet we cannot rest on our laurels. The bravery and collective intelligence seen in Lansing will be needed again in the coming years. In hopes that others can learn from our affinity group’s experiences in Lansing and be better prepared for future clashes, we here share a set of tactical lessons, insights and lessons from the weekend.

• If chasing fascists, consider getting rental cars. In any case, make sure vehicles are road-ready and minimally identifiable. • Encourage the separation of time and space for actions (where it’s being pushed for); if peace police have their own event far away, you won’t have to deal with them. This does not mean alienating or excluding unknown folks who aren’t peace police (hella random and ‘unprepared’ folks threw down super hard in Lansing). • Make sure forms of ‘in situ’ communication within/between affinity groups are understood by all. Make sure affinity groups talk beforehand about staying together during the action. • Leave an action in the same car you came in. Last minute changes increase the chances that someone gets left behind. • Make sure people know which ‘situation names’ each of your people will be using for the action ahead of time. • Prepare for the challenges of making decisions quickly and efficiently in high stress situations. For example, practice making quick decisions in a group beforehand. Start with an imagined scenario; impose two irreconcilable options, each having its own merits; then practice resolving the tension quickly, with everyone committing to the chosen option with total focus (don’t dwell on the path not taken). • Cultivate your “creative awareness” together. For example, get together and explicitly vocalize three or four scenarios that are plausible within the situation right at the beginning (upon arrival, or beforehand if possible). Don’t let these discussions wander or become speculative, and don’t rely on hearsay or ‘Cops in X town act like Y normally’ clichés. Stay focused entirely on what you can see, what the situation presents you with. • Don’t allow yourself to be spooked into leaving necessary supplies behind out of fear. You got them for a reason; find a way to bring them. It’s almost always possible. Use your imagination. • Pack your stuff up the morning of the action so you are ready to leave quickly or even leave town immediately after an action. At the same time, also make a fallback plan for people to stay up to 48 hours to deal with jail support. This may mean staying somewhere ‘low profile’ after the action. • Wake up and prepare quickly; no dawdling the morning of the action. • Stay joyful, but try to exercise a measure of seriousness and discipline too: go to sleep on time, eat full meals, hydrate, keep your things tidy and together. • Don’t bring illegal drugs to an action, or carry them in cars you’re using. Never bring sketchy shit in a car without telling the driver beforehand. • Fear is the mind killer. Paranoia can prevent you from acting or being properly prepared. Exercise precaution, of course, but it is important to follow through with plans and not allow paranoia and fear to stop you from doing what you came to do. • Make sure you have clear lines of communication open with other crews. Establish in advance whether other crews will be able to come to your aid or change their plans at the last minute. • If you are organizing in public, be aware of who you can vouch for, and make sure those who you can’t vouch for are explicitly (and gracefully) informed that you will need to disappear sometimes, so it’s not weird in the moment. • Think through who you are going to the action with: are they someone you trust in high stress environments? If not, find a way for them to engage that is appropriately low stress. There’s all kinds of low stress activities of support (media, sound system, transportation, listening to police scanners, food prep, spreading counter-information, etc.). • Choose specific and unique affinity group names/calls. Having a name will help you stay together in a crowd, but if it is too vague or general (“my group”), strangers might respond to the same name. • Compliment and encourage strangers when you see them doing brave or inspiring things. • Don’t dismiss the tactical use of soft blockades. NVDA tactics may not work against fascists but might be effective when dealing with police. • Don’t worry about FOMO or get fixated on particular events; sometimes cool and important shit pops off in other places. • Not having cell phones (or only bringing burners) in a large group makes communication difficult but can be a very beneficial group experience — allowing people to relate to each other in different ways. • Proper black bloc attire should include multiple layers. This is easily accomplished by the layering of windbreakers and rain/jogging pants, all of which should be 2x oversized to obscure body-shape. Ideally, you want one or two distinctive ‘bloc’ layers (black or dark grey/blue), and one or two de-bloc layers: one that allows you to remain in the situation while masked, yet not associated with the ‘bloc’ you were in a moment ago, and another to blend into a citizen crowd entirely when leaving (i.e. normie clothes, including a change of shoes + sunglasses). Pack an empty lightweight tote that you don’t use in the situation, to carry your stuff out with you after you de-bloc. Bring multiple masks to hand out to others and switch between. REI carries the tube-like ones, which offer the best face coverage, come in many colors, and allow you to cover your hair too (not enough people do this!). Trading jackets and backpacks on the ground with your friends is a fun and effective technique to preserve anonymity. Be cognizant of when police commanders are pointing at certain individuals in the crowd, and make sure you notify them that it’s time to change their clothes. • Don’t necessarily give credence to rumors. Don’t perpetuate rumors or feed into paranoia. If someone says “a reporter told us the Fed’s or DHS are here,” it’s fine to listen to this information, but don’t weight it more heavily than your own assessment on the ground. Take it with a grain of salt. • If there are horses, there will be horseshit. Bring multiple pairs of disposable latex gloves. Try to dispose of these without leaving them for the cops (DNA databases are a thing). • Practice group activities in advance, e.g. de-arresting games, group brawling or de-blocking. • Play catch together. Throwing accurately is not a skill most people possess innately. • Don’t love violence: it is a means that is sometimes necessary, but not who we are or how we ultimately want to relate to the world. • Don’t fixate on the police. They can distract us from other objectives. They are an obstacle, not an ‘absolute enemy’. • Have a political read of the situation. Understand in advance the constraints on the actions of the police and which actors will be present the day of. Ask yourself: what would a victory look like? How could we win not only today, but going forward? Could this or that day of action also find ways to contribute to a lasting increase of power for local crews on the ground? • Make a graceful exit. If possible, try to march everyone out of harm’s way all together, ensuring a safe exit. People may argue against this in the moment, but it’s better to leave with “winner’s remorse” (‘we could’ve done more’) than in handcuffs.

– some anarchists

Originally posted on It’s Going Down.

#anarchism #anti-fascism #tactics #attack #strategy #affinity groups

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onlywhenitsraininglove-blog · 5 years

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The Carnage Chapter One

Note: Adult Content, Adult Language and Graphic Violence is used in this story. The adult content is not is NOT pornographic nor will it ever be. Adult language is what it is and the violence is graphic with some detail. Reader beware. If you are underage you should not read these stories!

These are Dark stories, meaning that the hero does not always win. I hope you enjoy and please feel free to comment what you like about it and don’t like about it, but please be respectful. Just saying you don’t like it or like it, does not help a writer.

These will be posted under the title and chapter and by chapter since some of these will be very long stories having many chapters.

These are a work of fiction and copywrite by the writer Michael Metzger Please do not copy but feel free to share by keep my name in each chapter which will be located at the bottom of each chapter. Thank you!

One:

True terror penetrates deep into the soul and portions out its depth of trepidation and anxiety in swells of apprehension and uncertainty. It berates the soul till it surrenders to the inevitable conclusion of its demise and true terror is what Tommy thrived on. It wasn’t sex or the overwhelming need to assert absolute control that drove him to murder but their absolute terror of him, of what he would do next. He fucked and tortured every single person he killed, not because the blood was a turn on, but their fear moved him deeply.

Tommy murdered his first person when he was only thirteen years old. It had been a messy kill, but he had learned much from it. It had been a homeless drunk that he had found sleeping in an old abandoned shamble of a building in Detroit, Michigan. The old drunk had put up a good fight at first, but eventually the razor sharp edge of the knife had started to have an effect, weakening him till he dropped unable to defend himself any further.

When the homeless man finally fell to the hard concrete, his knee’s buckling with pops and creaks of age, Tommy held out his small knife to his victim.

“Small cuts muthafucka,” He had said calmly to his victim. “It weakens you quickly, but doesn’t kill you.”

The homeless man, wondering what he had done to enrage this young man so much that he wanted him dead, looked up into the eyes of a devil. His fear seized him, oozing out his brown, alcohol blood shot eyes and saw a monster, but with the sweet innocent smile of a kid. That was when the torture started and he started screaming. He hadn’t even realized he was screaming until the smiling boy told him that no one was going to hear him.

With all the strength he could muster he spoke a single word, “Why?”

“Why?” The boy replied innocently, “Why will no one hear you, or why am I doing this to you?”

The boy had moved and was now lying directly on the man, seeing his face so close to his caused his breath to catch in his already tortured lungs.

“The answer is simple for both questions. The first being that you did this to yourself because you wanted to be so far away from everything else that now, your screams cannot be heard by anyone outside this building. Sorry, ole chap, but its a matter of opportunity. For the second question, well, why not?” Tommy smiled at him.

Then there was more screaming. Tommy took his time with his first victim. He wanted to relish this moment and remember it forever. He liked it when the guy screamed, it excited him immensely. So much so, that he orgasm’d in his pants three times.

When Tommy knew the guy could take no more, he tied a rope around his neck and hung him from a large concrete frame work in the center of the building. He masturbated as the guy kicked and bounced till his neck snapped and Tommy orgasm’d again. It had been a wonderful first experience for him, but he was covered in blood and the cops would be able to read this crime scene like the cover of a match book, only in the end, all of their conclusions were wrong.

The news media had called it a brutal murder and the police chief had eventually asked for the public’s help in apprehending the murderer or murderers. They suspected the killer was an older male, who had military training in hand to hand combat, was exceptional with a knife and who would be big enough to overwhelm the victim with ease. Tommy had got away with it. He was in the clear. After all, he was only thirteen and not old enough to have military experience.

As he sat watching the news again for word of his latest kill and reminiscing about that first time twelve and a half years ago when a new idea entered his mind. It wasn’t the news caster that was talking currently, but rather the one from that long ago time in his head. He had said something interesting. Why had Tommy not thought of this before? The news caster had said that the community was in fear that a brutal murderer was out walking their streets right now and no one knew who it was.

“The community was in fear,” He spoke it out loud, savoring the taste it produced in his mouth as if he were actually sitting at a fine dining restaurant right now having a nice Beef Wellington and making his mouth water. His penis was growing hard with excitement too and that was always a good indicator he was onto something.

He had heard those words before in other news casts, but this time it harmonized in him the way a good Beef Wellington would. He let the flavor of the idea transcend his conscience mind and take him to where it wanted to go. Then he got it. In all the thirteen years he had been killing people, he had never earned a name.

To date, he had killed twenty two people and the cops had never come close to discovering who actually killed them. But because he didn’t only kill in one place and in fact always traveled for his kills, no one actually knew there was a serial killer on the loose. The media had never given him a name because they had always considered the event to be a single event. He had never killed in the same place twice.

The truth was Tommy didn’t want to be caught. He liked killing and wanted to continue for many more years. Those who communicated with police or media were asking to get caught and that wasn’t for Tommy. The B.T.K. killer could have died of old age without ever having been arrested if he hadn’t written notes on cereal boxes to the cops and letters to the media outlets. It was a fool’s path.

But a name would imply more fear. His victims would know who was killing them and why. Tommy not only wanted, but needed a name and that would mean some changes. He needed an idea that he carried around with him and one that would let the cops and media know he was out there. It would certainly make the killing more interesting. But what would he do?

The realm of possibilities was immense. He had almost already killed at least one in every category he could think of. Children were always good because they produced the most fear for him and that was a requirement. But only focusing on children was not just dumb, it was out right asking to get caught. Go kill a bunch of kids as see how fast the law would invest in your capture! It would only take one child getting killed to cause this as he had seen on the two children he had killed already and those had been thousands of miles apart and completely different in the methods they died.

What was funny was that the murder he committed of Ethan Creon, a twelve year old, good looking boy had been pinned on another child killer who took over killing children in that county after Tommy’s own was broadcast all over the media. His focus had been on boys, namely blond haired boys who were good looking kids. The idiot should have considered that before he took over on the murderous spree that lasted almost six months before he got caught.

The girl he killed remained unsolved and the cops had actually given up on trying to find new clues. But when Tommy committed the murder of a child, he was sure to leave nothing. Not a part of his flesh touched that child and if it had, their bodies would never have been found. It would have negated any pleasure for him due to the high risk of killing children. He loved the fear they produced, but not the risk.

So Tommy eliminated children off the list quickly. The elderly followed soon after since they hardly ever produced enough fear to even stimulate him. The elderly had already lived a full life and, well, in Tommy’s mind, just gave up. They accepted their eventual deaths and died much quicker then he wanted. So they too could be removed from his list.

Those with sever mental retardation were just out of the picture entirely. They were unaware of the eventuality of death and while he had never killed on from this group, he also had no desire too. The mentally ill was always fun. Some of them were real fighters and held onto life as long as possible, but there was an issue with them too.

First, they above all other groups required additional research. The reason for this was clear. Some mentally ill people actually wanted to die and one such victim had actually thanked him for saving the poor sucker from having to do it himself. Tommy had never repeated that mistake. Even if it meant breaking into a counseling office to look at his possible victims records to make sure they were not suicidal. It had been one if his biggest disappointments to date because the guy seemed to be vivacious and high spirited in his every day life.

The second issue is that society as a whole did not consider the mentally ill to be a category. Hell, not even the cops did. It was like they all just missed that huge category completely. Tommy didn’t want to have to do so much research either. That took time and trips to the victims city or town and Tommy would not focus on his local area. It was the golden rule for him. Never kill in the city, town or county you live in or the neighboring counties. You leave space between you and your kill.

Like a car, you allow yourself cushion around the other cars on the road. Cops were a lot less likely to discover who you were if you never lived in that state or even county. If you were smart enough to not leave DNA, then you wouldn’t have to worry about the CODIS hits either. It would never be found in the system. Even with touch DNA, if your skin didn’t touch them you wouldn’t leave those trace amounts and it had been apparent to Tommy early on that this would eventually become the case.

What Tommy needed was something that would set him apart from anyone else. A focus no one else had and with all the murderers there had ever been in the world there wasn’t much left that would be considered unique.

Tommy had been sitting at his desk in front of his laptop watching the news from Butler County Missouri where is last victim apparently still lay in a heavily wooded area off county road four twenty five. Tommy had found a small, old dirt track that went up the hill to an old mine. He had heard of people dumping bodies in those but he would never to that unless it was someone he didn’t want found.

He always monitored the news from the local communities where he committed his murders. It did a lot for him mentally. He liked hearing the first reports because it was always there that the words used to describe his brutality were the best. If a media outlet was exceptionally explicit and palpable in those choices it had the effect of putting a smile on his face and a bounce in his step.

As he sat there considering his options a new bleep occurred on the news papers website. It was a video. He clicked the play icon on the screen and put it to full screen view. At the bottom of the video was a red banner that said “Special Report” in bright gold letters. The screen flashed to a man wearing a dark blue suite with a deep melodic voice.

“Good afternoon, I am Miles Vallen with breaking news coming out of the Rolling Hills Mine area. The body of an unknown male has been discovered off the old mine road and had apparently been discovered by a couple of kids who were reported to have been walking up the road toward the mine. We have Millie Farr live on scene.”

The image changed to that of an older woman with straight black hair running past her shoulders and wearing a blue top. Her hair was starting to gray at the fringes and she looked slightly rushed. Tommy never could figure out why in such a small community where the nearest competing reporter was at least fifty miles away, they felt the need to rush things, but he was also glad they did. It was these rush jobs where he got the best descriptions. He listened.

“That’s right Miles. The body of a male was discovered about twenty minutes ago by Butler County Sheriff Deputy,” she paused to look at her note pad, “Deputy Jim Carneada who was first to arrive on scene. The Deputy had this to say.”

The image changed again to a tall slender young man, Tommy would guess was in his early twenties, with very short blond hair, blue eyes and a semi hawkish nose. He was clean shaven and the look on his face was priceless. He looked disturbed and disgusted, which pleased Tommy greatly.

“Yes we found the body of an unknown male just off the path to the mine.” The deputy was saying.

“Is there anything you can tell us Deputy? What kind of shape was the body in or hold old the victim is?”

“I can tell you its bad.” He swallowed hard and pursed his lips obviously reliving the nightmare scene. “Don’t know anything else, once I saw the scene I just backed out and ran to my car to call it in and get the tape to close it off.”

“Have you seen things like this before?” The reporter asked sounding concerned about how well the deputy was doing with this.

“I’ve seen plenty of dead bodies before, especially in Afghanistan, but I ain’t never seen anything like that. It’s bad.”

“Can you describe the scene to us deputy?”

He turned to look at her as if he was seeing her for the very first time.

“Why the hell would I do that? No, anyone who doesn’t need to see this doesn’t need it described in detail to them,” The deputy snapped. This excited Tommy even more.

“Can you tell us who the detective in charge is?” The female reporter asked, doing her best to sound concerned and interested in the facts.

“Do you see any detectives around here lady?” The deputy walked off in complete disgust.

The camera switched back to Miles in the studio.

“He seemed a little upset!” Miles suggested to the audience.

“Well from what I have been able to gather is that the crime scene was savagely vicious and it has obviously bothered this young deputy greatly.” Millie said unperturbed.

What she did was give back the attitude in order to save her reputation with not only her public but also other possible law enforcement officers who ever thought she would just take a criticism like that without rebuke. Tommy knew it was done specifically to help prevent it from happening again.

He loved the word she used too, “Savagely Vicious!” It just had a peculiar sound in his ears and a taste on his tongue that was sweet and wonderful. He liked this reporter. He thought it would be wonderful to pay her a visit. But he knew he would not.

“It sounds like a gruesome scene,” Miles said thoughtfully.

“The reaction of the deputy really brings it...” Millie turned as some woman in the background started to scream.

“My boy! That’s my boy!” The elderly woman screamed as other people gathered to take hold of her.

The camera started moving forward and focusing on the poor woman’s grief stricken face. Tears glistened in the daylight and she collapsed into arms that were holding her. After the camera got the episode on live television the camera panned back to Millie.

“It appears Miles, that one of the victims family had arrived...”

Tommy lost all recognition of the news broadcast. “Family!” He turned the word over in his mind several times, not realizing he was speaking out loud.

“Family!” A frown started to appear. The lines in his facial features deepened as the frown turned into a smile. “No one had done families before!” He had never heard of a serial killer whose primary focus was more then one person at a time. That was usually what they referred too as spree killers now. But families! It was the best of all killing! And the fear it would cause! Tommy came in his jeans.

copywrite Michael Metzger 2019

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nightly1602 · 6 years

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Fight Club

Hey, so I got a massive stroke of energy to write and instead of writing more about the sheriff and the soldier or Start//End I had to write this fic.

This one is based on Lights- Fight Club. Give ‘er a listen

The office door was slammed shut so roughly some of the beat cops swore that the building shook. If it wasn’t for the two women quite literally butting heads, they would have been worried, but they knew not to get in the way of the war zone that was on its way of breaking through the tension.

“I cannot believe you.” Caitlyn snarled, her icy eyes almost smouldering into a fire. She pointed a dexterous finger at her partner. “You ever do something that reckless ever again, I will fire you on the spot, Deputy!” She spat, stomping her foot to punctuate the barely there threat.”I don’t know why I’m not doing it now!”

“Oh fucking, please. I had it under fucking control, Sheriff.” Vi snorted hotly. Her face rested into something overly irritated as she put her weight on her back foot and crossed her arms over her chest. Her jaw was a sharp line of pure annoyance.

“You call that under control??!?” Caitlyn barked standing on her tiptoes and getting into the pink-haired woman's space. Her nostrils flared as Vi rolled her eyes and turned away from the smaller woman. “Don’t you turn your back on me! Give me the respect I deserve, Vi! Your stupid actions got two- TWO of my officers shot and in critical condition. And what do you have to show for it? hmm?” She bellowed. “A beat-up kid that you wrongfully arrested, which by the way, thank you so much for dragging me into another lawsuit, and a bank that got shot up and looted. What was your plan? What in the voids was going through your head that made you think to go in all gun-hoe, fucking late at that, with not a single fucking clue of what was going on? You bloody fucking idiot!”

Vi stopped in her tracks. Caitlyn never swore, never uttered a single curse. But that wasn’t what made her shoulders rise and fall rapidly or her knuckles turning so white they nearly broke through the skin. She made a quick one hundred eighty degrees turn and stomped forward. “You better watch what you’re fucking saying piss princess,” Vi growled lowly, her violet hues practically burning in her fury. The muscles in her shoulder and neck were strained as she towered over her partner. “I did what I had to do to save lives!” She roared. She clasped and unclasped her balled hands, trying to maintain control like she had been taught so long ago.

Don’t lash out. Don’t lash out. Don’t lash out. Control. Breathe. How many circuits are in the left thumb of your gauntlets? Nine. Two for movement. Three for grip control. Two for power. Two for lighting.

“Save Lives?!?!” Caitlyn yelled incredulously. “You endangered my-MY OFFICERS!”

The vein in Vi’s forehead nearly burst as her nostrils flared. “Abso-fucking-lutely. I pulled their fucking attention on to ME! While all of you were under fucking fire stuck behind your fucking bastard ass shithole cars, acting like the fucking cowards you were, while they threatened to kill hostages. NONE OF YOU WERE DOING SHIT! OF COURSE, I FUCKING MOVED IN! NOT MY FUCKING FAULT YOUR STUPID SON OF A BITCH PIGS COULDN’T FUCKING LISTEN TO A FUCKING THING I SAID AND GOT THEMSELVES SHOT!” Vi screamed. ”MAYBE IF ALL OF YOU STILL WEREN’T SO IFFY ON TRUSTING THE GUTTER RAT WE WOULDN’T BE IN THIS SITUATION. YOUR STUPID SNOBNOSED CUNTS COULDN’T PUT THEIR PRIDE AWAY LONG ENOUGH TO TRUST MY IDEA TO SAVE THE INNOCENT PEOPLE IN THAT BANK. THERE WERE FUCKING KIDS, SHERIFF. AND I ONLY SHOWED UP LATE BECAUSE RATHER THAN HAVING ME DOING SOMETHING PROPERLY PRODUCTIVE YOU THREW ME ON TO THE UPPER PILTOVER BEAT! OF COURSE I WAS LATE HAVING TO RUN MY FUCKING WAY THERE BECAUSE I’M NOT AUTHORIZED TO HAVE A VEHICLE BECAUSE YOU PIG FUCKS CAN’T TRUST ME!” She slammed her hand down roughly on the nearby oak desk, cracking the wood underneath her fist.

The two of them stared off for a moment, their breathing rapid and ragged. Rage coursed through their veins, making vision go red.

“You’re fired,” Caitlyn muttered keeping eye contact.

“Fucking good! Don’t need this shit place to make a fucking difference on the street. All of you are fucking useless anyway. What fucking difference did you make before me, hmm, Cait?” Vi spat gravely, nearly touching her forehead to Caitlyn’s

The slap echoed before Vi felt the sting on her tattooed left cheek. Instincts kicked in and she grabbed the sheriff’s wrist. Her other hand pushed against the smaller woman’s waist moving her back and pinning her against the edge of her desk.

“Un...hand...me....now,” Caitlyn said evenly letting venom drip through her words.

“Or fucking what? What in the fuck are you going to do?” Vi growled her grip tightening, starting to bruise the pale skin. She watched genuine fear line Caitlyn’s irises and that was when something in her gut felt heavy, nearly making her vomit. “I have done everything, been through shit and back to do something good with this. Your racist officers disobey my orders and I get shit for it? I get fired for it? I get blamed for it? I did everything to garner their respect and I get fired and a slap to the face by the one person I trusted more in the world, only to have that trust thrown in my face and getting called a fucking idiot.” She said evenly, a ghost of hurt lining her voice. Her grip loosened and she stepped away from Caitlyn. “Go fuck yourself.” She whispered.

It was like the atmosphere became frozen as they both kept eye contact. Vi turned her gaze to her feet and hugged herself unconsciously.

Caitlyn stood shocked.

“Vi,” Caitlyn began, her shock quickly vanishing as the realization of the situation became more clear. “I-”

“Just stop.” Vi cut off. “ I don’t want to hear it. I need to walk away or I’ll say more shit I don’t mean and make all of this worse.”

Caitlyn stood stock still, guilt starting to take over.

“Wait, please. Go...go take a smoke break and come back. We need to talk about this. I...” She sighed heavily. “Let’s talk about this.”

Vi could feel the rage simmering under her skin, but she had been learning to control this, she had been going to the therapy sessions that Caitlyn recommended her. She couldn’t let Russell down like this. He was a good guy, a great shrink and if he heard she totally lost her shit and didn’t go through her coping methods; man she’d never be able to sleep soundly again. He was a good guy and she hated letting good people down.

What would Russell want her to do right now?

She grits her teeth in surrender.

“Fuck.” She groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Fuck it, fine!” She barked. “We’ll talk, whatever, just let me fucking breathe, before I do or say something stupid.”

Caitlyn tipped her chin forward. “Of course.” She breathed, the tension in her shoulders slightly disappearing. “I..Promse me you’ll come back.”

Vi snapped her head from her feet to Caitlyn. Damn her for knowing Vi so well. Damn her for knowing she can’t chicken out after making a promise. Damn damn fuckity shit fuck.

“Fuck me, Fine. Right, I promise I’ll come back in fifteen minutes.” She said exasperatedly. She turned on her heels after her vow was made and exited the office, giving a not so gentle close to the door.

Caitlyn released the breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding.

She massaged her temple as she pushed herself from the edge of her desk and walked around to sit at it. She grabbed at the pad of paper and began jotting down notes.

Jotting down the official and personal apologies to the public, council and to her officers.

But at the very top of her list was her apology to Vi.

#Vi #Caitlyn #Piltover's Finest #Fight Club #Nightly Writes #vi x cait #Lights

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sterwood · 6 years

Text

So, I saw the sidewalk discourse *still* going on for some awful reason, so I’m putting in my two cents, which basically boil down to: primitivism is bad, but you should pay more attention to sidewalks.

The whole “sidewalks are bad because they guide your path for you” notion is a little naive, but there’s a kernel of truth there. Sidewalks have a contested class history, and this history played out in terms of trying to get (poor) people to stay on the sidewalks so (rich) people could drive more easily. This is why there was a concentrated propaganda campaign over sidewalks, funded by automotive industries, to create this sharp divide between sidewalks and streets, because before then the whole street was taken to be public space that could be used by people as they see fit.

This is part of where the primitivist goes wrong: sidewalks aren’t bad as a form of technology controlling where you can go (that’s the fault of automotive industries), but are instead good as an important site of class struggle, namely because they mark one of the main elements in the fight over the public sphere.

You can see this in how sidewalks are often small or non-existent in housing neighborhoods, or in front of businesses that don’t sell a product directly to the public. A shopping mall, by contrast, usually has large sidewalks surrounding it to allow for greater foot traffic (even though you usually can’t get there any other way than by a car, or at least not reasonably). So the sizes of sidewalks tend to be a reinforcement of our purpose in capitalism: to consume when we’re not laboring.

Further, sidewalks are a site over the battle against homelessness. This happens through a lot of legislation changing the public status of sidewalks (more on that in a second), to making sidewalks impossible to rest on (legally or materially), often through the use of anti-homeless architecture. There’s a battle here between upper and middle classes that see the sidewalk as a nice scenic place to pass from one point to another, and those that, out of necessity, see it as actual public space and utilize for doing things like sleeping and resting.

Further, sidewalks mark a site of contestation over disability. Disabled people often are poorer and have to navigate cities through the use of sidewalks and public transportation, or similarly they may have to do so due to various forms of motor impairment. This things like sloping sidewalks, heavily cracked sidewalks, narrow sidewalks, uneven surfaces, etc., can all make sidewalks impossible for those that need clean, level, smooth, and large sidewalks to navigate through the city. This lack of attention to sidewalks can literally close off the city for many people, and this makes sidewalks a class issue in another way.

Finally, sidewalks are a direct class issue not just because of those more particular issues mentioned above that highlight the contradictions between the public and private spheres, but also more generally because of how businesses are trying to legislate away public space. This is important because sidewalks are supposed to be “ours” - one small space that isn’t entirely given over to Capital, and in which we can exist in common. Sidewalks are also a site of protest: Where do protests often happen? Sidewalks. Why do they happen there? Because they’re supposedly public, and also because they’re a site of high visibility.

Sidewalks have increasingly been designated as quasi-public spaces legally though. This means that they function as a public space *as long as you don’t do anything to upset the business that owns the sidewalk.* Businesses will hire large rent-a-cop forces to protect these liminal semi-public zones, specifically to harass, injure, forcibly move, or arrest those that are ‘loitering’- which can extend to literal loitering, to using the space to talk about topics the business finds unseemly, to literal acts of class contestation. This is all at attempt to *steal* sidewalks away from us, as one of the few public spaces still available.

So, yeah, that post was a bit foolish, but please, please take sidewalks more seriously as an actually important issue to address.

#mine #sidewalks

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sanerontheinside · 7 years

Note

Cliche AU fic prompt: do you write Codywan??? Because I have a sudden need for some fluffy Codywan fic. I'd love a Celebrity AU or a Cops AU, but really anything, I'm not picky!!

jawejf;aoiejr I ran out of steam on this I’m sorry but anyone’s welcome to pick up? Or you can throw it back into sw’verse and make Obi-Wan Space Anderson Cooper, that would actually be fantastic.

@aidava and I would be glad to see it

especially “if you can incorporate the ‘the less anderson cooper is wearing, the more dire the reporting situation’ joke”, as aidava says :D

oh yeah! so basically since ‘sharing a cab au’ landed on that prompt list twice I figured I’d feel free and make another. so I smashed together cops au and celebrity au and got bodyguard au so uh there u go

Cody checked his watch as he popped the cap of the cheap coffee he’d picked up at the bagel shop near his apartment complex. It was quarter to six and raining, a cold, wet, and absolutely miserable start to the day.

Not that it was the start of the day for him—no, that had been at two in the bloody morning, waking up in a cold sweat and shaking with adrenaline, tangled in his sheet on the floor. It wasn’t the worst he’d been in the last couple months, but it did smack a bit of irony that now, when he finally had a job to focus on, the nightmares immediately came rushing back to ruin his first day.

All he had to do was drive some famous person around, possibly keep admirers off them from venue to vehicle to home. Not that he was currently parked and and waiting in an area that screamed ‘famous people’, but hells, what did he know. Rent-controlled apartments, Jewish community—apart from the synagogue he’d driven past, there was no mistaking the dark overcoats and hats. Cody hadn’t exactly been keeping up with the latest news and entertainment, but for the life of him he couldn’t imagine who it was he was meant to be chauffeuring. He knew where Maria Callas used to live—hello, odd bits of a past life’s study at Julliard—and he knew one of his professors’ assistants lived in this area. That didn’t give him any clues to go on.

Although, now he thought about it—Maria Callas hadn’t lived far from here, closer to West Side Highway. He tried to imagine providing security for a musician of her calibre, and couldn’t. It was too far out of the realm of his typical assignments.

He grimaced into his coffee, which got only less tolerable with every sip—he’d seen the new guy manning the coffee machine at the bagel place this morning, so he really should’ve known. At least the liquid had burned away half his tastebuds while it was still scalding.

Out of the corner of his eye, Cody caught a glimpse of something that must have been unusual. He looked up—yeah, the leather jacket and messenger bag were certainly a bit out of the ordinary, for what he’d seen so far. The man looked good, though, Cody thought—especially when he turned and started down the street in his direction. Right at that moment the windshield wipers sluiced off a generous bit of water and gave him a better view. It took two seconds for Cody to put a name to that face, and then connect it to the direction he’d taken. He choked and nearly spilled his cup of morning poison.

He knew exactly what his assignment was.

Obi-Wan Kenobi dropped into his backseat with a huff. “Good morning. I’m sorry, I thought I told Depa I didn’t need a car this morning.”

Cody swallowed. “Well, Ms. Billaba wanted me to let you know that she’d be covering expenses for as long as she thinks it’s necessary to keep you safe.”

Obi-Wan flashed him a wry grin. “Understood. I’ll direct all complaints to her.”

Cody felt his neutral working mask drop down, and put the lid back on his coffee. “We make every effort to provide satisfactory service to all our clients.”

“Oh, I have complete faith in your abilities,” Kenobi said with an absolutely disarming grin. “I’m just worried you’d be wasting your time with me, that’s all.”

Uh-huh. “Yes, sir.”

As far as celebrities went, Kenobi wasn’t exactly the first name that came to mind. In his own words, he’d been ‘uncomfortably thrust into the limelight’ about a year ago. He’d been a correspondent for a secondary paper—one that had recently gone bankrupt—enjoying his semi-anonymity. As Obi-Wan had said in interviews since, the loss of this anonymity was just about the worst thing that could have happened to his career in investigative journalism.

By all other accounts, though, it had only been a matter of time before Kenobi made a name for himself entirely without anyone’s assistance. He had a gift for finding a story, which was another way of saying he had a gift for getting into trouble.

The story that made him famous had barely even seen the papers. Kenobi certainly hadn’t penned it. Instead he’d turned around and testified in-camera against one Sheev Palpatine, then CEO of Empire Security—which is to say he went and stirred up trouble, and the fame was an unintended side-effect.

Palpatine, with what influence remained to him during the trial, had allegedly spent a hefty sum of money to ferret out a suspected whistleblower. His investigators ran up against several walls and a general or two before they finally grew an imagination and looked outside Empire’s employees, at civilians. From there it might not have been more than two short and easy steps to a bright young reporter by the name of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Palpatine then tasked his best people with running an ugly smear campaign, with the sort of virulence typically reserved for a Senator who wouldn’t vote his way. But, as Kenobi was neither a politician nor running for office, he shook off much of the resulting noise like water. He was charming, earnest, always effusive about his love for his work. (Cody thought it probably hadn’t hurt that the man didn’t seem to have the faintest idea when he was flirting, and would likely have had chemistry with a wooden block, if it came to that, but never mind.)

Obi-Wan also left the country not long after the trial was over, vanishing into Africa to cover an ongoing conflict—aftershocks of a civil war long over. That report had gotten him hired literally within days of his return, as it turned out.

By now, Cody thought, there couldn’t be a cynic left alive who hadn’t already been aware, at least on some instinctual level, that Palpatine was bent. Palpatine’s company wasn’t particularly improved for the fact that it shared a name with a flooring company. The average citizen had never even heard of it, for the most part, and yet Empire handled a startlingly large percentage of Defense contracts. Cody’s experiences with Empire’s mercenaries had been unpleasant at the best of times.

He was beginning to see why Depa worried. Especially given that Kenobi had recently been offered a book deal for exactly the story that had landed him in the public eye, and Palpatine in prison. Particularly when there were rumours that Palpatine might get an early release.

He did stay close, though, when those nebulous rumours coalesced into verifiable news of an impending hearing. Cody watched Obi-Wan, in particular, when that bit of news crossed his desk. His smile thinned, his expression became pensive more often than not. There were more tense phone calls that week than usual, more late hours at the cramped, dark office, more takeout dinners. Cody half expected him to start sleeping at the office, though he didn’t want to know what the short couch there could do to a person’s back.

By then, Cody knew Obi-Wan’s routine so well he could almost sense the moment Obi-Wan needed his tea refilled. He’d taken it upon himself to do so anyway, having quickly realised that without someone putting a plate or a cup of tea in Obi-Wan’s general vicinity, the man would plainly forget to eat. Cody hadn’t figured out getting him to sleep at regular hours yet, but in his defence he’d never been particularly good at that himself. At least trying to keep up with Kenobi actually exhausted him to the point that he slept without nightmares—for the most part.

Cody was just passing Obi-Wan another steaming cup when he shoved the laptop aside with a heavy sigh and rubbed fiercely at his eyes. He eyed the mug blankly for a moment, then smiled.

“Oh, bless you, Cody,” Obi-Wan sighed, hunching forward and all but wrapping himself around the cup. “Your timing is impeccable.”

Cody grinned, a warm feeling creeping through him as he sat down beside him on the ragged couch. “Pressing deadline?” he asked, nodding at the laptop.

“Of a sort.” Obi-Wan sighed heavily. “You know, when I testified against Palpatine I thought that should be enough to bury him, for good.”

Cody shrugged. “He’s rich, he’s powerful, he owns three senators and their penthouses. What were you expecting?”

Obi-Wan shot him a politely abashed glare. “Pardon me for daring to be occasionally optimistic,” he said wryly—apparently completely unoffended. “In any case, I might be able to push the book out for an early release. Though, I’m beginning to suspect that was a bit ambitious of me.”

“I did wonder about that,” Cody admitted. “His trial didn’t get any publicity. Last year, no one seemed to know who he is or what he was arrested for.”

“They wouldn’t have, if he hadn’t drawn attention to me in the first place.” Obi-Wan scowled at his tea as he viciously toed off his shoes and put his feet up on the almost comically small coffee table. “It’s interesting, actually—the paper I worked for went bankrupt, and most of the places I submitted my stories to in the last year wouldn’t accept them, no matter how eager they when I pitched them. It was just starting to get a little easier in the last month or two.”

Cody barely stopped himself from turning to glare at the man. “Please tell me this isn’t why you thought I’d be ‘wasting my time’ watching your back.”

Obi-Wan seemed surprised. “Well, no, I mean—I’d just gotten a job here, and in a few months I’ll be temporarily replacing Jane as the anchor for the news. It’s not so much that I thought—oh, yes, all right. I thought it would finally stop. I got a job, I got an offer to publish the damn book. Logically, yes, I know, people like that never stop.” He huffed and buried his face in his hands, the mug resting mostly empty on the arm of the couch beside him. “Fuck.”

Cody sighed. “Daring to be occasionally optimistic, right.” That got him a faint snort.

“Honestly I just thought there had to be more interesting targets,” Obi-Wan mumbled. “I was abroad for a year, anyway.”

Cody couldn’t help himself and laughed softly, reaching out to grasp Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “If it’s any consolation, I’m here to be as pessimistic as necessary to keep you out of trouble.”

Obi-Wan huffed, collapsing sideways to rest his shoulder against Cody’s. “I trust you.”

They sat that way for another few moments, until Cody drained his own mug. It was only when he tried to put the cup down that he realised Obi-Wan had fallen asleep, and smiled fondly at the disgruntled sleepy mumbling. Not wanting to wake him just yet, Cody set his timer for twenty minutes and settled back, sighing. In twenty minutes, he would wake Obi-Wan up, take him home, and that would be the end of the night, yes…

Six hours later he woke up stiff-backed and with a faint headache, with faint snoring in his ear. “Shit.”

#Commander Cody #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Obi-Wan Kenobi is Space Anderson Cooper #it's great #fantastic #only I can't do it?? aaarrrgh #XD #anyway I've clearly been watching too much Leverage #wild ficcage and au spawn #myurbandream

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nicklynch3 · 4 years

Text

Week 9 Photography in London

Activity 1 - Cropping

Before Cropping

There is a lot going on in this photo. There is the baby in the stroller, the couple on the bench, the trash all over, and the woman on the right pointing to something. Everyone seems to be emotional, alarmed, or somewhat upset based on their face. For example, the baby is crying, the couple is looking at something with a disturbed look on their face, and the woman on the right appears to be on the phone and pointing at something. Although it is hard to tell what they are thinking about, they give the sense that something is wrong. It makes the viewer more curious about what is going on.

This photo could be about anything. The scene appears to be something similar to a bus stop of some sort. It looks like there is three or four groups of people that don’t know each other, which is typical at a public bus stop. The old couple look to be annoyed by the baby and the parent who is cut out from the photo because the baby’s face looks like he/she’s crying. The woman on the right appears to be on the phone, maybe waiting for someone to pick her up. There’s also a group of people in the background circling up together which, in my opinion, gives the impression, they are discussing whatever is going on. The trash in the foreground brings the scene together because it makes it all look messy and no one wants to be there.

After Cropping

After cropping this photo, it focuses in on one subject: the old couple on the bench. Without previously seeing the original image, there is less to think about. The only question that remains is, what are they staring at? There is no longer trash on the ground or a baby crying so it is easier on the eyes to know what to look at. Even though it is stereotypical to assume that elderly people are upset and annoyed often, that is exactly what this photo shows. It appears to be a sunny day based on the shadows and the natural light of the sun is shining directly on them. You can tell they are older people because of the way that they dress and their faces.

They seem to be calmly enjoying their food, but have abruptly been distracted by something. They seem to be comfortable and keeping to themselves because of the fact that they are eating food on a bench outside. When you look at their faces up close, they look more bewildered than they do upset. This couple is old-fashioned and minding their own business, but something grabbed their attention.

Activity 2 - Captions

1. Ellie and Jacob on vacation in Florida, 2004.

This caption makes it look like two cute young children are near a pier on the ocean and are on a family vacation. You would assume it was taken by one of their parents to record memories from their childhood.

2. Messy isn’t always a bad thing.

The two children look to be enjoying their ice cream as it falls down their face. Even though they are messy, they seem to be enjoying the ice cream. The caption emphasizes the ice cream.

3. Keep your loved ones close.

From one perspective, it looks like the car is about to hit them. This caption puts attention to the car before the kids get hit by it.

4. Look both ways.

This caption makes sense because they are both nearing the street. The caption puts emphasis on the boy as he looks to the side before he crosses with his little sister.

1. Dozing off into space.

This photo could be about the boy who works at the laundromat who is bored out of his mind. “Dozing off” in the caption makes the viewer look at the boy’s posture and facial expression.

2. Just hanging on.

This caption references the boy’s attitude and posture, as well as the socks hanging from above. Which one is it about? The artist leaves it up to the viewer to decide.

3. Chores

Laundry is a common chore done by kids/teenagers so it gives the feel that the boy is just waiting for his laundry to be done. It makes you notice the laundry basket next to the guy and think back to your own personal chores that you had as a kid.

4. All red, everything.

This caption makes you look at everything that is red in the photo and realize that the boy’s entire outfit is featuring red.

Gallery Activity

Mohamed Bourouissa

1. The main message of his work is to convey the societal differences in society and to make people recognize that marginalized people are not given the same attention as others. The premise on most of his work is that these people are not bad, they’re just different. His photos are inspired by a lot of previous art in history.

2. Depending on the photo, there are various techniques that he applies. In most of them, light is a key tool that he uses to create the mood. In the photo of the man getting arrested, he uses hard light, which looks that appears to be glaring in the window from a sunrise, to make it more dramatic. From my perspective, it looks like the man was sleeping and the cops broke in and arrested him. He looks scared and undeserving of this action which ties into the theme. Also, I really like the one where the light from the sun is shining in, but on the other side of the photo it is raining. I would assume it is making a connection between the happiness of the city and the dullness of the banlieues (suburbs). The shadows in this photo do a great job of separating the two sides from one another. Also, he purposely dressed those two guys in all white outfits to show the contrast between their skin colors and outfits. They’re smiling to show that they are good people that aren’t given a chance. In the last photo from the website, he uses the hard light from the sun shining on the man’s face to show the contrasting skin color as well.

This photo by Bourouissa has focus on the entire photo. It is more blurry in the background, but still easy to tell what is shown. The contrast between the sunny day and dreary dark rainy day is unique and is appealing to look at. The light and shadows are the most important part of the photo. The natural hard light from the left creates shadows that separate the dry warm setting from the rainy, dark one. It also separates the one guy from the other group of guys. You would probably need to read the exhibition text to understand the underlying message that Bourouissa is trying to convey. This type of photo really intrigued me because I had seen nothing like it before so I thought it was genius.

Anton Kusters

1. The message that Kusters is trying to convey is the difficulty of representing trauma and sorrow. In The Blue Skies Project, there is a lot of contextual meaning that goes along with the series of photos. He is trying to document the history of the death camps and his personal connection with his grandfather who was a victim of the Holocaust.

2. When you look at the series of photos, you can see how each photo is subtly different. This makes each one unique and makes it aesthetically pleasing to look at as a collection. There is a lot of context behind each photo. For example, the collection is made up of 1078 photos from each last-known location of concentration camps that existed throughout Europe. Also, each one has individuality by using the blind-stamping process and GPS coordinates attached. As far as each photo, I think that he was able to capture a lot of different tones of blue in the sky by taking them at different times of day, slightly different angles, and various shutter speeds. Even though the sky is beautiful in most of them, I think using the color blue represents sadness and dullness, which is what most people feel when thinking about a death camp. The fact that there are so many photos also makes the viewer realize the impact that genocide had on the world and that group of people.

The focus in this photo seems to be inconsistent throughout. Some of them show clear cloud shapes, while others show just a more hazy color of blue. the light influences the mood in each photo. It represents different weather and different times of day. The darker, the more melancholy. The lighter, the more happier. But, when you attach meaning to the work, none of it seems happy. The consistent shape and colors from this piece make it all form as one. The separation by the white lines are essential to individualize one another. You would probably need to read the exhibition text to understand the message and the title doesn’t help the audience understand any better. I feel like I have seen this style done before, but this is unique because there are so many.

Mark Neville

1. The purpose of Neville’s work from this project is to document the town of Guipgang. He was amazed by this small town and the community that lives within it. He states that the town is famous for football and farming and so he incorporates this theme clearly with almost every photo in the project. In an interview, he discusses how photography should have a social ambition

2. He conveys this by putting this collection in a photobook, targeting non-art audiences. He likes the notion of community and he uses many different parts of the community other than football and farming which they are most famous for. He was drawn to the baton twirlers, nuns, beauty pageants, and simple families on an ordinary day that all make up the community. By taking photos of other photos in front of the football stadium and showing community members on the farm in their natural environment, he is touching on all aspects on the community. By having his subjects pose, it makes it more dramatic and appealing to the eye. As they look into the lens of the camera with a straight face, it gives the feeling that the surrounding area is theirs, which draws back to the sense of community.

This photo by Neville is a good representation of the series. The techniques used were probably thought out carefully. The light is coming from the sky, probably behind the camera towards the man’s face and also from the right. You can tell because the right side of the man’s face is lighter than the other side. The contrast between the grey sky and the green trees make the trees appear darker. The foreground seems to be a lot lighter than the background, making the audience focus on what is happening in the foreground. The man’s posture and the fact that he is centered is a great way to make it clear that he is the subject. Also, the angle at which it is taken gives the feeling that all of the land is his. The lines on the fence and the lines between the dirt and green grass separate one another. The audience would need to read the exhibition text and the title does not help anyone understand. The word “parade” seems like it has nothing to do what is going on in this photo. It reminds me of other photos, but not one in particular.

Clare Strand

1. The message behind Strand’s work is to represent the failure of communication and misinformation that occurs between people. She used a complicated method to work on this piece, which adds to the meaning of it. The work is meant to show her personal struggle with interpreting information and to display the struggles that the audience can relate to. This poor quality of communication leads to confusion and issues between two parties; some of which are miniscule, while others are significant.

2. She conveys this by the way in which she did this work. She made the process complicated on purpose to show how she can relate to the audience and to show how everyone experiences miscommunication. It would be hard to understand the meaning behind this if it were not explained. It is, however, easy to understand the different tones of colors that are put together to create one image. ‘1′ being the lightest tone and ‘10′ being the darkest.

This photo by Strand is done very carefully with different tones. The black and white gives the feel that it is from an older time and the fact that the subject is someone taking a photo circles back around to the message that she is trying to convey. You would probably not know by the title or individual photo what her message is, but after reading the exhibition text, you could understand easily. The red numbers make the photo look raw and natural and bring some color to the black and white. There seems to be a lot of shadow and especially darkness in the background, making the audience’s eyes shift to the woman. The black and white create contrast that separate the pale white woman from the background. Everything is in focus, but the subject is clearly the woman and there doesn’t seem to be anything else going on in the photo. It sort of reminds me of the blue skies photo by Bourouissa because how each little piece on the grid is uniquely different and has a special number, similar to how he stamped numbers on each photo representing the location of the camp that the photo was taken at.

Who should win?

Each of these artists showed incredible works, but I believe that Aston Kusters should win. The way that he was able to capture a photo from 1078 different sites and compile them into one piece of work shows determination and commitment to something he is passionate about. He organized the work very well by making every shot symmetrical to one another and the same size. It is visually appealing to see the different tones of blue from each site and the context behind the work is purposeful and something that everyone is familiar with. Not everyone has a special connection to the Holocaust, but everyone knows the impact that it had on the world. Lastly, using so many photographs is a key approach to conveying the impact that this incident had.

Personal photo about something important

Captions:

1. Friendship

2. Coronavirus quarantine, 2020

3. Get outside!

The captions can drastically change the emphasis on the photo. For the first caption, Friendship, the audience focuses on the three guys and their relationship, gestures, and facial expression toward one another. For the second one, Coronavirus quarantine, 2020, I think about looking back on this photo years from now and thinking about how we all stayed inside to prevent the virus from spreading. The third caption, Get outside!, changes the meaning because it looks like a nice sunny day out with the river in the background and these idiots are sitting on the couch!

I chose to crop the photo like this because I think that it emphasizes the interaction that they are having with one another. The two on the end appear to be smiling and talking about something while the other has his head down and sucking on his e-cig. Before cropping it, you can tell he isn’t being antisocial or upset, he is just watching something on the laptop in front of him. After cropping it, he looks more antisocial because it looks like he just has his head down. Cropping this photo also erases the huge mess that they’ve made in the living room and therefore there are no assumptions that people can make about their lifestyle and how messy that they are. They just look like they are enjoying themselves rather than camping out in the living room for days. I think when you have a photo like this that is up close, it makes the audience think about each person’s personality and what they are like.

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thatparkinsongirl · 7 years

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WORLDS.

Friends. No one ever told you life was gonna be this way. The apartment complex has seen better days but it’s a roof over your head and that’s more than enough to be grateful about. There’s a pitch-perfect coffee shop on the corner and the people on your hall are actually fantastic.

Disaster. It’s the end of the world. Everything in ruins. You’re running, running, just trying to survive these last days. You sleep fitfully, even then still alert, one hand tangled with theirs and the other gripped around a gun/wand. Or alternately, you’re the crackpot science team that first discovered something was wrong. You’ve all been locked up behind miles of reinforced steel in the CDC? NSA? Area 51? trying to solve this disaster. You were pulled away from your families, not able to save them, not able to take anything. Coffee, coffee, MRE meals. Microscopes, slides, formulas scribbled across white boards trying not to give in to the impending doom.

Inversion. This is not the world you know. Here, Headmaster Riddle pats a young boy on the shoulder and gives some much needed advice. Here, Grindewald and Dumbledore strike fear in the hearts of all the muggleborns. Here, everything and everyone is just a little off center. Your choices define you. (Borrowed from here)

Darkest. Dark magic thrums through your veins, slick and oily. You crave it, live for it. The forbidden section has been your second home ever since the first time you snuck in second year. You are something to be feared. The magic you play with is going to change the world. It’s not about hurting people (sometimes an unfortunate side effect) or taking over the world necessarily (though that is a goal), it’s about this sickly curiosity in magic. How far can you can go? How many lines can you cross? LOOsely off this in which the golden trio go somewhat dark, https://archiveofourown.org/works/6334630/chapters/14514247. Particularly there’s a whole thing in which they bond themselves to each other in a fit of codependency which just yessssss.

Rich as fuck. Money, money, money. Money is the anthem of success. Fast life, shiny diamonds, the best clothes. Speeding too, too fast down the highway, hand out the window. Cops won’t pull you over; they know better. Your lives are a never-ending party. Super Rich kids by Frank Ocean.

Roadtrip bitches. It’s the summer before university. The last hurrah before you all go your separate ways. Long, too deep conversations around a fire while you all smoke. Roadtrip mix blaring through the speakers. Seeing every weird roadside attraction you can. Talking about growing up, childhood, fears, change. About how you could go a year without speaking to someone but they’re still, always gonna be your best friend.

Political. Is it the west wing or house of cards?? Are they corrupt as fuck, bribing and killing and manipulating their way or they earnest and honest as possible, hearts brimming with desire to make the world something worth living in.

PUnk. idk. Hip hop. DJs. Raves. Tattoo artists. Lighters. Smoke rising up into the sky. Motorcycles and a shit ton of leather. Graffiti in the alleyway behind the bar you own.

Therapy. Post-war, and it’s rough. The physical scars are easy enough to ignore. It’s several months before you break down and join the therapy group at St. Mungos. You all swear you’re only there for the free coffee and doughnuts. Phobias, triggers, panic attacks. Recovery. Late night phone calls cause you had the nightmare again.

Olympics. Fencing? Swimming? Hockey? Gymnastics? Ice skating? Or, I mean, alternately, they could be in the Quidditch world cup. Competitors who like mock each other but also hardcore root for each other. It’s a small community and you all have known each other your entire life. It’s been a fight but here you are on the olympic team, favorites for the gold.

Doctors. Late night hours. 12 hr shifts. Narcissism. The ultimate god complex. Shitty coffee. Stress. Lost a patient today, saved a patient tomorrow. Fighting over who gets to be second on the awesome heart surgery. A quickie in the on call room because damn your ass looks fine in those scrubs. Quizzing each other over a quick lunch. Complaining about your attending at the bar on your first night off in ages.

Unspeakables. They died, struck down during the war and none of you could bear to survive without them. The plan is put together in the early hours of the morning, feverish. It’s stupid, selfish; all this to save one life. You all join the Unspeakables because the rumor is they’ve been working on creating new time turners. None of you care who suffers for this as long as you can get them back.

How to Get Away With Murder/I Know What You Did Last Summer. You’re tied together by an awful, terrible secret. None of you can risk turning on each other. You’ve made sure of that. Toxic people. Guilt. There’s a body in the morgue with your names on it. It was an accident truly but the covering it up that was deliberate. Maybe some unknown person knows and is blackmailing you all or maybe, maybe they’re just trying to get away with it.

Spaceeeee. Inspired by the Wolf 359 and the Strange Case of Starship Iris. Science. Space. Discovery. Futuristic. Bonding because you’re trapped together in a tiny space ship. Conspiracy. Suicide missions. Technology betraying you. The fate of the entire human race resting on your shoulders.

Parks&Rec/Brooklyn Nine-Nine. Any job-lawyers, firefighters, coffee-shop. It doesn’t matter because they’ve become a tight-knit family. Work hijinks, skinny love probably, I broke your email after I sent you 20 cat memes in a row. office parties. a hint of danger and risk (ok i admit it i like the firefighter one best). My very first day I was driving around trying to find the staff parking and a car honked, whizzed past me, yelling something crude out the window. It turned out to be my new boss.

Dark Post War. With Voldemort dead, Death Eaters being rounded up left, and peace returned to Wizarding London for the first time in more than a decade, it’s easy to believe that all is well. (The problem is that there is no length that people won’t go to protect their peace once they get it back.) Conscription into the Aurors for eligible wizards is enacted to ensure a strong standing against any lingering Voldemort supporters. A man in a black robe is murdered in the street one night because a young, nervous Auror thought he was a Death Eater. Incredibly harsh sentences handed down for any war crime. When Hogwarts finally reopens its doors over a year after the Battle of Hogwarts, it’s to the complete eradication of the Slytherin house (there are rumors about what happens to the children that the Sorting Hat would’ve sorted into Slytherin) and the addition of core classes. It is not a school but a training ground. Certain shops in both Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade are shut down for “sedition” and “miscreant behavior”, most notably Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Known war hero, Hermione Granger, is tossed in a Ministry cell for two months for sedition, after she attempts to prevent the arrest of a werewolf. Released war prisoners, people like the Zabini family who did not bear the Dark Mark but who were afflicted with Dark families, and “potential dark wixen” are branded by the Ministry as a warning to the public. All the while, the Ministry reports capturing dangerous Death Eaters, spotting war criminals in Hogsmeade, about danger lurking everywhere. The official statement is that they are trying to right mistakes made after the defeat of Grindewald, if they’d taken a stronger offense then Voldemort never would have happened. What it boils down to though is fear and vengeance and the shifting tide of power.

Darkest Minds. So I’m finally reading this series since the movie’s coming out soon. I’m only 6 chapters in thus far but yes! this plot! would! definitely! want!

Dark Academia. The Secret History!!! Probably, definitely a secret society!! Mystery! The most pretentious assholes you will ever meet. Arguments over classic literature. Speaking latin to each other so no one else knows what they’re saying. Tweed jackets. Fall in New England. Tea. No i don’t own a tv I believe they’re corrupting the youths’ minds. Insomnia. A 40 page treatise on the Odyssey.

Alternate Fifth Year. In a world where the young slytherin fifth years spend the summer of between fourth and fifth year, watching their parents with disgust and trepidation. They are ambitious, devoted to self-preservation and they are smart enough to see that following the Dark Lord is a road to ruin. Lucius Malfoy comes back from Death Eater meetings, shaken, Mr. Nott Senior with a long cut down his face. No, the slytherins have no interest in a life like that. It’s too bad then that they’re not even being taught Defense in school. It’s luck that they hear about the group of students that have started practical magic in secret. Canon divergent fifth year where the slytherins join Dumbledore’s Army. Can start after fifth year too but like that’s where it diverges.

Back Home*. When they say you can’t ever go home again, they mean it, because home isn’t a static location, it’s a word full of extra connotation. It’s tied to a specific time and emotion and feeling. A group of friends return to their small hometown for the first time in eight years for the funeral of a mutual friend. Some of them have vaguely kept in touch but for the most part despite how close they were growing up they’ve all drifted apart. A story about loss, growing up, nostalgia, fear, and friendship. You won’t ever the same kind of friends you had when you were young.

Shadow Children (Margaret Peterson Haddix). Futuristic, dystopian. Every family is allowed ONLY 2 children yet secret 3rd children do exist, living in the shadows and scraps. Some are lucky enough to get a fake identity and freedom. So I read this series when I was like 11 or something and they’ve kind of haunted me ever since. I’d probably wind up disappointed if I ever tried to reread them but whatever. Anyway, I’ve been thinking about the first book lately, in regards to all the school kids protesting gun violence and the people in power just looking away as more children die, and just viscerely reminds of the horror I had reading the end of the first book in which (SPOILER) one of the main characters goes to a protest on the front lawn of the white house esque government building, convinced that if enough them protest, if they demand justice, they can get it. Each and every person at the protest is gunned down. For young me who had largely only read books where everything wound up happy as long as you were brave and honest and full of spirit, this was an enormous shock. Idk how this would work but yes!

CONNECTIONS.

Bodyguard. Mighty, mighty need for this. You’re the ambassador or president or queen or minister’s kid and your parents hire a bodyguard. You resent their protection. Ruining your semblance of a normal life. Judging you. You can’t help slipping their protection. Heart to hearts. Shared truths. Grudging respect and whatever. Ugh and the sexual tension, more alive than a power line. The attack comes out of left field and it’s a mess. (This. So down to play this out as whatever characters in any world)

Death. Straight up angst here. Final battle death scene. One second they’re right there and the next there’s a flash. You hold your hands over the gaping wound, screaming for a healer but you both know it’s over. Tears mixing with blood. Maybe they become a Hogwarts ghost. (Any character, any sort of relationship-married, dating, siblings, best friends, we shouldve dated but now your dying my arms)

Toxic. Do I feel guilty about having a thing for fictional toxic relationships? Yes, yes I do. But does that change anything? no. “Oh, we broke ages ago.” But everyone rolls their eyes when you say it. Because neither of you can stop and everyone knows. A couple of drinks in and you can’t keep your hands off each other. There’s still jealousy and toxicness and protectiveness and posssesiveness. There’s a dent in the wall from the time you threw a lamp at them. And god, if you could just make it work but love just isn’t enough sometimes. I’d tattoo your name on my arm but i wouldn’t marry you(Any characters)

Married in Vegas. You two hate each other’s guts. You’re constantly trying to one up each other in front of the boss. And you both always have a different way of approaching a problem. You steal candy bars out of their desk and they keep getting you locked out of your computer somehow. But your both the best so of course your selected for the Vegas conference work is holding. What happens next?? well?? a lot of alcohol, you know that. Neither of you quite remember but those rings on your fingers might mean something.

Romeo and juliet. Mob vs. cops or Death eaters vs. Order. Forbidden romance. Secret meetings. My uncle killed your father. You have a body count that would make them blush. Maybe you’ll turn states evidence for them. Maybe they’re just using you. (any)

Softsoftsoftsoft. Bakery and coffee shop across from each other. Skinny love. A lot of Troye Sivan and Hayley Kiyoko playing. Longing stares, blushing, awkwardness. All your friends say they are definitely into you but??? Or alternately, you co-own the bakery coffee shop and you’ve been dating since third year and your friends all want to kill you. Because ughhh noone should still be that in love. Some serious codependency and domesticity here. Like if anyone’s seen How I Met Your Mother-Lily and Marshall. (any)

Misunderstandings. Classic trope. Of course, you thought they were dating. They live together, steal food from each others plates, share sweaters, tease each other relentlessly, constantly physically affectionate. Really what were you supposed to think. Cue the miscommunication and needless pining and hilarity. (any)

Bonnie and Clyde. Gringotts robbers? Who knows but you’re criminals and you’re good at it. Three steps ahead of the aurors. Careless laughter, drunk on adrenaline. Drive it like you stole it by the Glitch Mob!! and End Credits by Eden!! (any)

Siblings. I’m sorry that all the others are relationship plots because I really do high key love a good best friends/siblings plot. Real siblings or we grew up together and i would murder someone for you siblings. They know each other better than the backs of their hands. Secrets are for other people. Soft plot-just them taking care of each other after a tragedy. Tough love-you fucked off to Paris because you couldn’t deal with your life and they dragged your ass back because when you were kids they promised not to let you make any irreversible mistakes. protective-just. they keep doing dangerous shit and risking their life and you have to knock some sense into their thick skull. Ridiculous-they are everyone’s worst nightmare, stuck together like glue, always causing trouble. Spitting gum down at people from the astronomy tower. Finding ways to beat the anti-cheating quills. Actually helping your sibling get rid of a body. (any)

Best friends/Squad. You all meet at the bar religiously after work. Got each other’s back still, always, forever. Growing up doesn’t mean you have to lose them. (all; I watched the whole first season of golden girls last night so I’ve got a lotta squad feelings. )

Parent and child. Honestly just this song. Heirloom by Sleeping at last!!!! You’re both trying your best but there’s always going to be this tension, these mistakes on both sides. Regrets, nostalgia, angst, softness, forgiveness. (any, but this song always gives me Draco-Scorpius and Harry-Albus vibes)

Eighth Year Partners. PostWar. After a review of Hogwarts’ records, it’s decided that the school year of 97-98 will have to be repeated for all students. In an effort to bring the students of all houses together to promote healing and unity, a random buddy system is set up. A Ravenclaw sixth year paired with a Gryffindor fifth year. A Hufflepuff and Slytherin second year paired. So on and so forth. Though Headmaster McGonagall believed it was a good opportunity, she was loathe to force any student into something they didn’t want, certainly not after the past few years. Thus her only fast rule for the partnerships was sitting together for two meals a week. Some took full advantage of the system, studying together, attending each other’s quidditch games. Others sat in stony silence during the required time only.

@ginevraxweasleyy @marcusflvnt @occlumensism

#my dears my darling ones i made a thing #by no means a comprhensive list im down to do literally anything in any plot in any world but this a few ideas i guess to jumpstart things #cries a few ideas #lollollol #plots

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badlypackedtraveller · 5 years

Text

Nobody supports the home side.

Crossing the border into ROMANIA the vibe changes again. We are immediately in a country still trying to shake off its past. Big industrial plants belch thick, acrid black smoke onto the atmosphere. There are few eco credentials to boast of and the people look beaten and depressed. Compared to where we have just been it’s all just a bit shit.

However the industrial wastelands soon give way to beautiful scenery and great, empty motorways. We end the day at the Hotel Palace[1] in Turda, which despite the unfortunate name is actually rather lovely.

As we are parking up the bikes on the pavement outside the hotel a couple of local cops wander over giving both us and the bikes a disapproving once over. “Here we go”, thinks I, expecting to be immediately moved on. Instead they mumble something to each other, give us a nod and wander off to resume their boredom elsewhere.

On a Saturday night waitress Anna can’t think of anywhere exciting to send us. A couple of street cafes boast chain smokers, grumpy staff and local football on the TV, but not much else. Turda’s highlight is the theatre, started in the 1980s and never completed.

We leave Turda as soon as breakfast is over and Anna waves us goodbye.

A target of this trip has been to ride the Transfargarasan Pass, that’s what we’ve come all this way to do. Somewhere south of Turda at a petrol stop we meet up with another UK couple of GSs who have sold up everything at home in Halifax to follow their dream of life on the road. Good for them. “You’re too late”, they advise, “You need to be at the bottom of the pass by 0600 at the latest”.

It was all a bit of an anticlimax. A magnificent road to be sure – Top Gear describe it as the best road to drive in Europe – but we end up nose to tail in a traffic jam all the way to the top. Even allowing for racing past on the wrong side of the white lines when gaps in the traffic allow it takes us at least an hour to get up to the top. Cars take three hours easily. At the top the majority of the Sunday drivers fight for a parking space, buy some tat from the numerous stalls lining the road, likewise bad food before joining the jam on the same road back down.

Clarkson and his chums had the road closed, methinks.

However, if you keep on the road south you are rewarded with long sweeping curves that are a joy to ride and coffee at Conacul Ursului.[2] All the way to Pitesti.

Pitesti is a much more interesting bet, although with an unfortunate legacy. Pitesti’s history includes brainwashing experiments carried out at the prison here. The idea was to force convicts to brutalise and torture each other in order to make them have no sense of loyalty to anyone other than the regime that provided for them. Of course, it never worked and eventually the experiment was curtailed in 1952, the prisoners executed and the prison staff and scientists given light sentences, promoted or shuffled off somewhere else. Securitate officials who had overseen the experiment, were tried the following year; all were given light sentences, and were freed soon after.

At the four star La Strada Boutique Hotel’s[3] restaurant the waitress looks terrified when we say hello to her and scurries off to find a colleague who speaks some English. She then spends the next 24 hours hurrying out of any room we walk into.

Double bed again and so Phil makes his usual drama out of informing whoever is on reception that we are not gay, not a couple and we definitely booked a twin room. “Look, it says so on my phone”. Somebody is duly summoned to move the beds a foot apart. Who knows what horrors are averted and Phil sleeps soundly and safely.

On an amble through the town later in the evening I find plenty of busy cafes and a large public screen showing a Romanian Premiership football game. Pretty uninspiring stuff. Nobody I speak to admits to supporting the home side.

On the road between Pitiesti and Brazov we happen upon the Mateias Mausoleum;[4] a tribute to the glorious Moldovan dead knocking lumps out of the Russians. Same sad story everywhere. The Mausoleum is dedicated to the heroes of the National Union War (1916-1918). The Central Powers advancement towards the Romanian Plain was arrested by the battles fought here by the Namaiesti Group, led by the General Traian Gaiseanu. The Mausoleum was built between 1928 and 1935 by the contractor de Nicolo, after the blueprints of architect Dumitru Ionescu-Berechet, the impressive mausoleum, made mainly of Albeşti limestone comprises two bodies: the first, horizontal, houses ossuaries, with marble plates bearing the carved names of fallen soldiers placed on the walls. A spiral staircase leads to the second body, a vertical tower containing, in 31 crypts, the remains of over 2,300 Romanian soldiers.

Memorials I get but why historians feel a need to accessorise them with instruments of death is beyond me. At Mateias we are treated to a diorama of the sound effects of battle and killing.

Romania doesn’t want us to leave. Biking requires discipline and a couple of near misses today are testament to that:

1. A drunk walks out of a hedge and ambles unaware across the road in the path of the oncoming traffic. One, two, three cars ahead of me hit the brakes hard. The drunk pauses to gaze bemusedly at the cars oblivious to how close he has been to not being.

2. I check my rear-view and pull out to overtake. The powerful Mercedes behind me does exactly the same thing at exactly the same time but accelerates quicker. He gets very close to my back wheel. Too close for comfort.

You have to challenge the voice in your head that says “another ten miles” or “nearly there, I’ll stop soon” and just stop, slow down, pull over, enjoy the ride.

Arriving in Bacau I pull up outside the decrepit Hotel Moldova waiting for Phil to catch up with me. There is a well reported con that goes like this – Hi, I’m an English student. Let’s go somewhere and I’ll buy you a drink so that I can practice my English. So you adjourn to a bar and two beers appear. The student soon makes his excuses and disappears off to the loo and is never seen again. The barman then requests payment for two beers at £100.00+ The doors are locked and heavies appear. The bill must be settled in cash.

No sooner have I got of the bike than I get the “Hi, I’m a student approach”. It turns out that this guy has noticed the UK plates on my bike and genuinely wants to offer help if needed. Sometimes cynicism catches you unawares.

The Bohemia Hotel[5] is in a dodgy part of town bordered by scruffy industrial units on one side and railway tracks on the other. We are on the wrong side of the tracks, literally. When I go out to find a cigar shop (none, what is about Eastern Europe’s aversion to cigars?) fat rats scurry amongst the roadside bins. Strangely, a very nice hotel in an ugly part of town. Twin beds and tonight Phil’s snoring is augmented by the sounds of passing rolling stock. I zone them both out.

Leaving Romania is great, not because we are leaving Romania, although that has taken some stamina, but because eastern Romania is beautiful. Leaving Bacau less so when we get caught in a downpour and thunderstorm. As we take shelter passing cars send tidal waves over our bikes. Of course, we do all the things you are advised not to do in such a situation i.e. take shelter under some trees, next to an electrified railway line, next to a makeshift iron cross to a dead railway worker. The clues are all there to be ignored.

Romania has proved to be a strange country and full of surprises and contradictions. Heavy industry, cruel to the environment, peasant living, prematurely aged people the product of a life of drudgery, brand new Dacia Dusters everywhere, cheek by jowl with horse and carts, pockets of ostentatious new wealth, ugly fashions. It is a country wanting to change but still too firmly rooted in its past. It’s all just a bit shit.

[1] Str Piata Republicii 31, Turda, jud Cluj. T: +40 264 317230 E: [email protected] www.hotelpalaceturda.ro

[2] Cazare Restaurant, Transfargarasan DN7C, Km 107, jud Arges. T:0752 877877 E: [email protected] www.conacul-ursului.ro

[3] Boutique Villa, Bulevardul Republicii 63, Pitesti. T: 0770 225078 www.lastradapitesti.ro

[4] E574, Valea Mare-Pravat

[5] Str. Ghe. Donici 2bis, Bacau. T: 0040 234 516008 E: [email protected] www.hotelbohemia.ro

#wanderlustmag #DKtraveller

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