#'police advise that this man is dangerous and not to be approached but the sun says: stop the sickos. have a go!'

[talentforlying]

one of these days i'm going to try and make newspaper clippings for constantine's initial murder trial after newcastle and i Will be hurting my own feelings when i do.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Earth is Space Australia “The Invasion Continues

You all seemed to really enjoy the burg invasion, so here is some more. I hope you like it and I hope you have a great Monday.

“This planet…. Is a death trap. All our men are dead or…. Or dying…. Please we cannot survive any longer.”

The transmission ended rather abruptly, and the newly instated burg commander slammed his fist into the control panel, “What is happening!”

Around the room his counterparts scurried to avoid his anger.

“There have been reports of animal attacks, poisonings and…. Industrial accidents…. It seems that the human planet is far more dangerous than we originally anticipated. The entire thing is a deathtrap.”

Crew members cowered back against their station as a pincer slammed into the console, “They are squishy flesh-bags you should have no trouble taking them out!”

“The humans are not the problem, it is their planet. It is covered in boiling water, poisonous plants, angry wildlife, and apparently non-military have banded into pack-hunting structures in order to kill us, and it is working very effectively. We assumed that their civilian population would be largely inferior to their military counterparts, but it turns out that the non military humans are just more creative.”

The burg commander’s carapace chattered with his anger, “Then if we cannot win this war, we will hit them where it hurts.”

“Your glory?”

“Bring me the GPS coordinates.”

“The ones that we took from the destroyed human ship.”

The burg rubbed two of his upper legs together, “Exactly those.”

The burg second in command looked very confused, “But, your glory. These….. Are just locations on the planet related to specific human soldiers. Why would we need these?”

The burg commander tapped his leg against the console,

“Cut off the head, and the body will die.”

***

“This morning both local and worldwide governments have reported isolated pockets of alien ivation from all over the world, Let’s head to Jeff who has been traveling the eastern seaboard this morning with details.”

“Thank you Tom, and yes worldwide and local governments have issued a state of emergency. UNSC forces are being deployed as we speak to all locations around the globe where the Burg have been sited. However, this is no independence day Steve, this is something entirely different. While there have been reports about burg sightings, teams of them up to five or six strong in some cases, so far no one has been killed or injured, at least not by a burg anyway.”

“What do you mean Jeff?”

“Well isolated reports have reached us from all across the world of people who have accidentally run into burg remains rather than live soldiers.. Evidence suggests that Crocodiles, bears, wolves, poison ivy, army ants, hippos, kangaroos, and poisonous snakes have all taken up the cause of mother earth, who doesn’t seem particularly pleased about being invaded. And when the burg have made their way into populated city centers, well things haven’t gotten much better. Groups of drunken football fans in eastern Europe and the British isles have been seen roaming the streets of Berlin, Paris, London, Dublin, and Rome in packs . Vatican security forces were even dispatching a number of burg troops in the early hours of the morning.”

The TV screen cut to a grainy video of a dark street which showed a pack of riotous humans with bats, clubs, and broken chairs racing down the street after alien forms shouting insults to the fleeing backs.

The video cut.

“Reports in from Chicago have the local gangs, police forces, and a high school chess club teaming up and beating the invasion back with gunfire, improvised explosives, dogs,  and molotov cocktails of all things.”

“A truly shocking turn of events Jeff, but what are the UNSC saying about protecting us and our families during this time.”

“The UNSC is cautiously optimistic about the outcome of this event, Tom, but even so, they are advising that all Burg sightings be directed to the UNSC invasion hotline, with the number posted on screen right here, and available on all major mobile devices. Civilians are encouraged to avoid the burg if at all possible, though if those are not an option for either you or your family, the CDC has issued reports that human saliva can be fatal to the burg due to a certain enzyme which known to break down burg slime, and the potent cocktail of germs which follow. Your best weapon is to spit at them, barring that, than go right ahead and beat them to death with any available blunt object within reach, or sharp object. Shaolin warriors in china, Samurai enthusiasts in japan on Renaissance goers from america to europe are finding uses for swords and bladed weapons they have not been used for in the history of man. Attack dog saliva is just as useful as human saliva in this case so if Fido wants to get in on the action, your best bet is to let your pooch go ham and serve himself up a plate of space crab.”

“Thank you Jeff, and stay tuned where we will be receiving real time updates on the state of the invasion. But for now will your homeowners insurance cover alien invasions, what you need to know.” Martha, Jim, and Sunny sat on the couch staring at the TV.

Jim scratched his chin thoughtfully, “Better stay inside, Sunny. I’m sure after that there might be some people to gungho to notice you’re a bit too pretty to be a burg.”

“Alien invasion.” Martha muttered, “Do you think we should get the guns ready, just in case.”

The man shrugged, “Couldn’t hurt. Come on Sunny, you know how to use a gun don’t you.”

“I am Chief weapons specialist.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Martha stood, “Grab my shotgun will you, dear, I’m going to go check on Adam.”

He nodded, letting her go. Sunny glanced over her shoulder catching a glimpse into the room through the door where Adam was lying out cold. She was pleased to see he was still asleep, and had slept through most of the night.

Hopefully this alien invasion thing would be over by the time he woke up.

***

Martha appeared at the top of the stairs into the basement, just as Jim and Sunny were coming up the stairs, a gun in each hand.

Martha took one from Sunny and walked into the kitchen, where the three of them sat at the table loading weapons. The doorbell going off nearly startled them out of their seats, but Jim went to go get it.

Sunny listened intently.

“Hey dad, did you see the news this morning?”

“Oh hey David, why don’t you come on inside, good morning to you Jordan, ah and my nephew.” Sunny lifted her head as David, Adam’s older brother, walked into the kitchen with his partner Jordan and their little boy bouncing happily in Jim’s arms.

Martha got up to hug her sun, and the other members of his family.

“Yes we heard about that.”

“Oh, hi sunny. Is Adam here?”

Martha had the group of them take their seats, “he’s resting. Apparently he went and saved the universe just recently, and we are trying to get him to rest. So don’t talk about the whole alien invasion thing too loudly.” 

“Oh, sorry.”

It was just at that moment that the absolutely deafening sound of engines rocked the house rumbling through the floors and shaking the very foundation.

“What in blue blazes.”

Outside the front window a chain of bikers and rednecks doubled up on old rickety dirt bikes raced past the window screaming and brandishing guns. The line seemed to go on forever until they vanished down the road.

“What in the hell.”

A groggy voice just behind them, “What’s going on?”

They all turned to find Adam leaning against the hallway wall rubbing his eyes and looking rather bleery. He was still very pale.

“Just the neighbor kids being louds, now, Go back to bed!”

Adam appeared too groggy to be skeptical and just staggered back to his room.

The group of them looked at each other nervously.

“Sunny and I will stay here and guard the house, you three mind going outside and checking out what is going on.”

***

They had come to cut off the head. All remaining burg forces had been rerouted from the rest of earth, and were now making their way towards the GPS coordinates. They knew they could not overtake earth, but if they couldn’t do that then they had vowed  to destroy the morale of humanity and take away it’s greatest nuisance.

Commander Adam vir would be dead before the sun sak below the horizon.

They entirely expected to show up in surprise, unannounced, but earth had different plans for them. In the space of ten minutes, two of their troops was hit by a minivan, and a third was attacked by a very angry small dog.

Walking along the fence line another burg ran into a very strange creature. It was very small, and sat atop a fence post, its golden eyes fixed on the burg as it lazily flicked it’s tail back and forth. Its ears were drawn back flat against it’s skull. He approached, and the creature hissed. He went to shoo it away with a hand.

And was immediately set upon by a very angry cat intent on ripping his eyes out of his face.

Their luck only worsened as engines rolled up the street, and a group of hungry looking bikers, teamed up with a very gleeful group of rednecks came charging down the street guns blazing. Motorcycles spun out, humans went flying.

Nearby, in the residential houses, families hid in their basements, while others made it to rooftops taking pot shots from their balconies, upper windows, or sometimes form the peak of their rooftops. 

One young man had been very industrious, unbeknownst to his parents, and began chucking lit molotov cocktails out the window of his bedroom. 

His older brother, also a chemistry geek upgraded that to homemade napalm.

From the other end of the street, the highschool girls softball team, and the girl scouts rolled up on hover boards and the backs of bicycles. The  softball team had a mounted automated pitching machine on the back of a wagon, and each girl was equipped with a bat, and a bucket full of balls.

The girl scouts had apparently been preparing since last night, and had water guns full of spit, which was pretty gross but rather effective.

The softball captain took up a mounted position at the back of the wagon, and began pouring the balls into the machine which fired out at about ninety miles an hour give or take five. One burg had his face collapsed in an unlucky turn of events.

Their invitation to the high school baseball team had not gone un-headed, but they had brought with them the chemistry club, and the robotics team, who had downgraded to potato guns for the moment.

The police rocked up a few moments later to create a blockade down the next street and coordinate so now humans got caught in the crossfire .

An unsupervised cheerleader, had made herself rather industrious  pulling up with a vest full of hair products, which people seemed skeptical about until she sprayed a burg right in the eyes, and turned another can into a flamethrower. A group of firemen showed up behind the police, blasting lines of Drev with high powered fire hose 

I took the burg longer than it should have to determine that being lumped into a group wasn’t the best idea and so broke off into smaller units managing to sneak in through the mele and into the neighborhood.

Their luck didn’t get much better.

One of them was nailed in the head by a dirty diaper dropped from an upper window.

Another found himself hounded by the cross country team, who were gleefully using mankind's god-given talent of distance running to run their prey into the ground, hunting like pack humans should before beating them to death with tire irons and crowbars.

Someone’s dad stood on his front porch armed with a fire extinguisher and his tool belt, while another mom had packed her kids neatly into their car seats and was roaming the streets with ACDC blaring through her open windows, mowing over any unsuspecting burg that happened to end up in the street while her teenage daughter offered free ammunition and snacks from the back window.

The UNSC showed up late to the party rolling into scene in jeeps with proper military equipment and drones

By this time the invasion force was dwindling, and only a single group had managed to make it through to their target.

A little house in the center of the suburbs unsuspecting in the warm overhead sun.

They crept forward a few of them moving around back while the others inched around front.

One slid up to the front door, reached out a hand and opened inward.

They were met by the barrel of a shotgun and a very angry blond woman, and her face twisted into a snarl, was the last thing he ever saw.

***

Adam was woken a second time by gunshots. Bolting upright in bed and nearly passing out from the vertigo. He blinked blearily past his fuzzy vision and out the door as his mother backed into the hallway. There was another loud blast and blue icor painted the wall before her.

She backed down the hallway, and he could hear the repeated pump of the shotgun as she backed down the hall.

The burg chasing after.

He tried getting to his feet, but ended up on the floor gripping the bedside table for support.

His mother’s hair flew wildly about her head

“YOU STAY AWAY FROM MY SUN.” Another mob of them was rounding the corner.. It looked like she was going to be over-run.

But a sudden swirl of blue overtook them, and Sunny charged into them dispatching at least four less than as many seconds. A whimper came from the corner, and he turned his head to find Jordan, wide-eyed standing in the corner blocking his son shakily holding a rifle in one hand.

Martha backed up until she was kneeling right before Adam blocking him with her body.

Sunny was backing down the hall now too as the Burg followed.

Jordan took a deep breath and peered around the doorframe, taking one or two shots as sunny flattened herself against the wall, before he ducked back into cover.

It wasn’t looking good.

Not at least until Jim, and David came bursting in one through the front and one through the back mowing down the remaining burg.

Adam found himself flat on his stomach pinned to the floor as his mother through herself over him blocking his body with hers despite how much smaller she was.

And then the gunfire stopped.

“Martha! Martha!”

“We’re ok Jim.”

“Jordan.”

“Right here.” The two of them ran into the room David scooping up Jordan and his son, while Jim ran to make sure his wife was ok.

Outside, boots clattered on the porch, and a group of UNSC soldiers burst into the house sweeping their guns over the blood painted walls. They stopped when they saw Adam sitting at the foot of his bed very much alive, 

“Delta to Alpha one the package is secure.”

Adam was thinking about asking his mother why no one had told him about the alien invasion.

But then he saw her cradling a shotgun covered in burg blood hair in a wild mess and decided that.

Maybe that was a topic for another time. 

[baldwin-montclair]

The Unlikely Advocate - Part 5

Just a little more backstory to how this little family of a vampire and two witches formed

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

PART 4

Tagged: @sylverdeclermont @christi14 @fanficqueen306 @holamor

“You look ravishing.” Baldwin admired when Eileen joined him in the foyer.

“Then why dinner? I already gave you my consent to order me around for a few hours.”

He gave a half smile.

“I suppose you took that to mean I planned to tie you to my bed and have my way with you?”

“Doesn’t it?” She challenged.

“Do you like the dress?” He switched subjects.

She did, from first she saw it, hanging on the outside of her wardrobe. It was a beautiful deep red sculpture and contour dress with a risqué slash reaching from the hem to halfway up her thigh.

“It’s beautiful, thank you,” she regarded him in his suit and tie, “where are we going for dinner?”

“Dinner will be served on my plane.”

“Where are we going?”

“You will see.”

“I don’t have my passport.”

“You won’t need it.”

“But-“

“Do I hear dissent, so soon?”

“No, it’s just-“

“Come here.” He ordered, keeping his gaze on her as she approached.

“We need a penalty system,” he decided “if we’re to do this properly, you will have to behave, do not challenge, question or lie to me as I will be keeping count of every transgression and you will be punished accordingly.”

“Are you gonna put me over your knee?” She taunted, placing her hands on his broad chest and leaning forward for a kiss.

“Do not enter into a battle of wills with me, I will win each time,” he warned, “but if my terms were unclear, I’ll happily repeat them?”

“I’m curious, what is my penance?”

“Why do you need to know?”

“I need to know if it’s worth misbehaving.”

“It isn’t.”

“Are you sure?” She grinned.

With a quiet growl, he pressed her against the wall, capturing her lips in a hard kiss and she was unable to suppress the satisfied smile from her ability to evoke a reaction.

“Is this what you want,” he asked gruffly, “I know you were close before,” I could sense it, smell it, practically taste it. You want nothing more than to be taken hard right here.”

He slid his hand inside the long slit in the side of the dress, running almost the length of her leg, and his fingers slipped inside the delicate lace of her underwear.

“Yes,” she gasped as he toyed with her, barely touching her clit to instead slide a finger up and down her slick entrance, the obvious coolness of his skin against her heat made his touch feel more erotic than all the warmbloods she’d been with.

“However,” he pulled away, “you misbehaved.

As if to underscore his point, he gently kissed her neck, just over her pulse.

“I gave you instructions, they were not followed. Assuming that I failed to make them clear enough, I repeated them. The failure to comply from now on will be treated the same.

He framed her face in his hands tenderly.

“This is not about giving you what you think you want.”

“Then what is it?” She mewled in frustration as the friction he’d created within her dissipated.

“I’m giving you what you need.”

“Which is?”

“Freedom.”

“From?”

“Responsibility, fear of failure. You’ve been white knuckling for a year, and you have managed because of your strength, and courage. Tonight you will do as I say because you have the safety of knowing that I will not drop the plates you started spinning. I will not let you take control over what happens at any point tonight, it defeats the purpose. Is that clear?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he kissed he lightly on the temple and released her, “if I’m unable to discipline you immediately at any point in the evening I will do so when we are alone. I just hope the sun doesn’t rise before your penance is paid. Best let this be the last defiance or it will be a very unsatisfying evening for you.”

She let the protest die in her mouth, internally cursing his ability to find the one thing he could most easily control her with.

A denied climax was annoying at the best of times. Right then, it was the last thing she wanted.

“Stop pouting,” he rolled his eyes with amusement, “I guarantee a wonderful evening.”

“Oh. My God!” Eileen moaned involuntary as the softest, richest chocolate cake she had ever tasted played on her tongue.

After two and a half hours of carefully spaced dishes and conversation, she had already forgiven his harsh denial.

“Good?” He asked.

She nodded with enthusiasm and offered him a forkful.

“No thank you, it would be wasted on me.”

“Am I allowed to ask you questions?”

“Of course.”

“Can you not taste human food?”

“Not in the same way you do,” he shrugged, “Matthew has a theory to explain why it is different,” she nodded for him to continue, “which I did not care to have him explain.”

“You don’t want to know more about your fundamental nature?”

“I know everything I need to, I have not much use for the meaning behind it.”

“But you’ve never tasted chocolate, I cannot even imagine that.”

“Well you needn’t imagine because I have.”

“But you’re so much older than-“ she stopped, “I’m sorry that was disrespectful.”

“And if you were going to say the cultivation of ‘xocoatl’ then it would also be untrue.”

She chuckled, expecting him to admit the joke and stopped when he did not.

“I know that the Romans were not in the America’s two thousand years ago.”

“That’s true,” he agreed, “but we were in Africa, and many from there did travel and trade with the people’s they found in Central America. It was nothing like that confection you are eating now, no sugar, or milk, just a bitter drink that did wake you up. I was lucky to be present for a demonstration.”

“Do you have any idea how big a discovery that is? Not only was it not fucking Columbus, it wasn’t even Leif Erickson who was the first European to ‘discover’ America.”

“Progress is not linear, humans forget much more than they discover, then, when the need arises they ‘invent’ it anew. It’s the way of things.”

“That’s a very kind appraisal.”

“Unlike you, I was not always what I am now, I once shared more in common with humans than creatures.”

“Hard to picture you as a soft squishy human.”

“I could disembowel a man from the age of ten, we did not do soft and squishy in those times.”

“What was Rome like back then?”

“Brutal, beautiful. Have you ever been there in our civilised era?”

“Once, with my family. Sophia and I slipped away as often as we could, we walked around, enjoyed the sun, I found an undiscovered bath-house.”

“Really?” He chuckled.

“Yeah, it was under a space mapped out for luxury apartments. The guy who‘d bought the land was not happy when I uncovered it in front of the police he’d called to have me removed. Turns out he knew and kept it a secret, completely willing to destroy important artefacts to make money.”

“Is that how you know Diana, you find things for her?”

“She doesn’t need my help but I’m happy to give it.”

“You have a talent for finding things.”

“Private Investigator, professional finder of things. I don’t follow people having affairs or being people, I specialise in books, artworks, genealogy.”

“You created your own niche, commendable but dangerous.”

“How so,” she noticed his eyebrow quirk, “it’s not a challenge, I’m genuinely interested in your opinion.”

“Very well,” he seemed satisfied, “it’s a disparate skill set, might raise attention as to how you come by the knowledge.”

“Good point,” she relented, “I chalk it down to my superior research skills.”

“Cunning.”

“Thank you,” she replied politely, trying to ignore the flush of endorphins his approving look gave her with respect to her manners, “and for dinner, it was delicious.”

“I will pass your compliments to the chef,” he checked his watch, “landing should be around twenty minutes.”

“The helicopter is ready for you at the airport sir,” a steward advised him and received a curt nod before removing her empty plate and disappearing into the front section of the private plane.

“Exciting,” she watched him carefully, hoping for an indication, “wonder where we can get to in three hours. Not Paris, it wouldn’t take that long.”

“The helicopter will add twenty minutes if it is of any help.”

“May I please open a window blind to see outside?” He silently shook his head.

She opened her mouth to protest and the slight head tilt told her he was waiting for it.

“As you command.” She answered instead.

“What?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I can hear the cogs turning, speak your mind.”

“Okay, I still don’t understand why.”

It was his turn to give her a confused look.

“I mean,” she continued, “I have been nothing but a pain in your backside. I yelled at you in front of your staff, you’ve been dealing with my family, why do this for me?”

“Is it not fairly obvious?”

“Not to me,” she admitted, “if we hadn’t met at the Congregation hearing or even Christopher’s baptism, you wouldn’t have to deal with all my baggage.”

“I don’t have to. I’m sure my sister would make sure both you and Izzy were well protected. I choose to help because I care for the both of you.”

“She seems to really like you.”

“Very smart child and an excellent judge of character.”

“Yes she is, but-“

“But?”

“She needs me,” Eileen admitted, “and I can’t get involved with someone while I’m trying to be there for her. I want to trust but-“

“You don’t have to explain, I understand,” he reached out and placed his hand over hers as the overhead lights came on.

“We are coming into land,” he got up, approached and buckled her seatbelt before taking his seat and doing the same.

The landing was very smooth, surprisingly so, and she waited until the all clear was given before trying to stand up.

“Oh no,” he grinned, a hand firmly on her shoulder, “not without this.”

He showed her a black eye mask blindfold.

“This goes on until we reach our destination.”

“But I want to see outside the helicopter.”

“You will, on the way back.”

She nodded and went to take it from him to put it on.

“Allow me?”

“I’m at your command.”

“You learn quickly.”

Baldwin could shield her eyes but could not hide the sound of waves crashing or the scent of sea air as soon as he got her out of the helicopter.

He led her safely away from the propellers and stopped.

“What’s happening?” She asked with a thrill of excitement.

“Patience,” the smile in his voice was evident and he picked her up into a princess lift, she was more than happy to clasp her hands behind his neck as he carried her to god knows where.

“Are you ready?” He asked after ascending three flights of stairs without even a sigh of strain.

“Desperately,” she admitted as he set her down carefully, a gust of seaside air whipping her hair back and catching her breath.

“I’m going to take this off now, but you have to keep your eyes closed until I tell you otherwise, clear?”

“Crystal.” She confirmed with a definite nod and felt him untie the material.

“Remember, keep them closed,” he warned and placed a glass in her hand.

“What’s this?” She asked before scenting the wine.

“I’m afraid if I tell you that, you will know where we are.”

“Okay, I already know we’re on an island, facing the water. It took twenty minutes from the airport to here, and this’ the Mediterranean, Italy I think?”

“That’s incredible so far.”

“I think, somewhere in the bay of Naples.”

“How on earth-“

“I told you, I’m good at finding things.”

“Using your magic is cheating.”

“I’m using my powers of deduction, for example, humidity is high, without the sea air it would feel warmer so Italy instead of Greece. The wind seems to fan in around like we’re facing a bowl, so bay of Naples.”

“Unbelievable.”

“We’re on Capri?” She asked and he hesitated for a moment.

“You were so close to being correct, open your eyes.”

The vista before her was like a moving painting, the night illuminated up by so many lights from Naples, reflected in the water. Waves crashing against the cliffs below at high tide created mesmerising sound.

“We are on Ischia, that,” he pointed to a nearby island, “is Capri.”

“Take your time.” He kissed her shoulder and left her to take a nearby chair with his wine to enjoy the view. Rather, he was enjoying the view of Eileen enjoying the view.

“Um-“ she spoke after five minutes of silence.

“Yes?” Baldwin responded, now that she had emerged from the stare herself.

“You live here?”

“I live a lot of places, but my favourite vineyard is here.”

“Oh, this is your bachelor pad, impress and bed some supermodels from Milan.” She teased before taking a sip of wine.

“No-one save myself has been here, until now.” He admitted, offering his hand.

She took it and let him pull her onto his lap.

“It’s very beautiful,” she snuggled against his shirt.

“Don’t get too comfortable, we have a party to attend.”

“Really?” She grinned widely.

“A festival, to celebrate the harvest,” he murmured, running his fingers through her hair, “fair warning, you will probably get fairly messy.”

“Why?”

“Have you tried ever grape treading?”

[suddeninklings]

Update!

Hide Your Fires. A little over a year after the events of the Dover-Birch case, Detective David Loki has a chance run-in with a former classmate. Equally lonely souls, burdened with pasts they would like to forget, the two reconnect in ways neither expected. Detective Loki x OC. Romance, Thriller, Comfort.               

(Part 1)

Tuesday. 

Helen Abbott-Howser. The fourth of twelve victims. Between October 1997 and March of 1999, the incongruously named Roadside Ripper had been active across the counties of Centerfield, Cambria and Conyer’s own Middlesex. A round dozen, the killer had proclaimed in a typed letter posted in rest stops across the state in the early hours of April 1st, 1999. Some called it a manifesto. In it, he attempted to rationalize the attacks. At the time, there was no word for a man like the Ripper. With the turn of the century and the rise of the internet, there now was. All of the victims were women between the ages of 25-40.  In the letter, he cited years of rejection and humiliation as proper cause. It wasn’t until 2012 that similar attacks brought the Rippers killings back to light and gave him a more suitable label. He was an incel.

One of many men who practiced what they called “voluntary celibacy” due to the lack of romance or sex in their lives. In their minds, women were to blame and many of them believed that women should be made to suffer. As they had. To most, they were angry young men, dangerous and ruled by hate, but heroes to some. Sixteen years had passed since his last victim had been found off the interstate, ten miles outside of town. Despite the PSP and the FBI’s involvement in the case, there was no evidence other than the circumstantial. No leads. The few suspects the police had managed to find had all of them been disproved by DNA. The case was open, but practically dead in the water. 

David could remember his foster mother, Teri (or was it Denise then? They all blurred together in his memory) watching the story play out on the news with equal parts disgust and fascination. Women were told to take caution driving on the highway alone. Some police departments advised against it altogether. Even after the manifesto had been found, in which the killer claimed he had been absolved of the shame and pain of living as “subsidiary male in a society that set him up to fail,” people were on edge for many of the years that followed. It wasn’t until the string of missing child cases grew more and more frequent that public focus shifted and the Ripper was more or less lost to time.

Shit. David thought, the weight of his offense still weighing on him. Maybe it’s too early. I should come back later. 

He stood on the Howser porch, fighting the urge to pace. Sleep had not been easy to find that night and the lack of it made him restless. He blinked, his grip on the paper wrapping in his hand tightening. He had been up before dawn trying to craft an apology in his head, but anything he managed to come up with felt hollow on his tongue, lacking the sincerity he knew he owed her. It was a problem he had dealt with since childhood. Even now, he still struggled to engage with people outside of work. He couldn’t interrogate them. Couldn’t order them about or adhere to their orders. There were no such hierarchies in life, or at least, if there were, there shouldn’t be. 

He took to observing from a young age, desperate for social cues and leads. He attempted emulation, but as a child often failed, leading him from home to home. Shuffled through a broken system that neither liked nor cared for him. Those years were not ones he wished to linger on, but he couldn’t deny that they had helped him build an arsenal of tools that allowed him to excel at his work. Being guarded and watchful were gifts professionally. But personally? So many relationships were shot before they could even properly begin. He convinced himself it wasn’t troublesome. That it made life easier. Easier to push through life from one day to the next. 

He lifted his hand, to knock on the door one last time, when he picked up the sound of light footfalls behind him. 

“Are those for me?” 

David turned. Grace stood at the bottom of the small staircase leading up to the porch, having just returned home from a morning run. Her cheeks and forehead flushed red and a thin sheen of sweat covered her face and neck. She wore a loose grey t-shirt and leggings, a thin hoody was tied around her waist. Strings of loose hair clung to her temples or floated like a strange crown around her head. Small clouds of smoke escaped her lips as she slowed her breathing. He looked down to his hand, where her gaze was focused. An early morning drive, to help better his thinking, had resulted in, not the right words, but flowers. The market on the corner of Main and Bradshaw had been stocked full at opening and he had had his pick. It was a small bouquet; sprigs of white daisies and purple hoary stock in place of olive branches. He nodded, opening his mouth in hopes that the right words would just tumble out. 

“I’m an asshole-” He felt his own cheeks go hot. 

Grace shook her head, hitching her hands on her sides with a breathy sigh. She looked towards the ground. “David, it’s fine-”

“No really, I-wasn’t even...My head’s be so full of-”

“David!” She laughed this time.

He stopped, blinking twice before daring to look her in the eye again. They were light, almost amused. Yesterday they had looked hazel, but under the glow of the early morning sky they seemed almost green. She smiled and stepped up to meet him, snatching the flowers from his hand and holding them up to her nose. 

“They’re nice,” She said, whole-heatedly.  “I can’t remember the last time someone gave me flowers.”

David dodged her eye, the heat spreading from his face down his neck. A mixture of relief and nervous energy still broiling. It seemed too easy. All the officers at the station, they talked about their wives and girlfriends as if apologies were impossible. 

“You…want to come inside? I have coffee.” Grace said, her voice lilting as she placed her hand on the door and pushed it open. 

-

David settled into a chair at the head of a small oval table off the kitchen, waiting for Grace to return. After ushering him through the narrow front hall, passed the steps to the upper floor and into the family room off the kitchen, she had brought him a cup and excused herself to change. Out of habit, he began to appraise the home. It looked as though no work had been done to it since it had been built. The formal dining room across the hall had been converted into an office; stacks of papers and books were littered across a small folding table that doubled as a desk. A computer that looked to be older than anything he had come across in the precinct was already sitting in a box. The kitchen was small, with bulky walnut cabinetry and aging appliances. The family room was equipped with a small television, couch and recliner that seemed to have labored through the most use. There were few photos on the walls. A watercolor painting of a marina scene hung over a small electric fireplace in the corner next to screen door that led out to the backyard. There was a stale scent in the air. Dust. He could see it floating slowly, as if practically frozen in time, catching the light of the morning sun as it filtered lazily through the glass. 

“Looks like you have your work cut out for you,” He said when she returned. She nodded, her eyes rolling back as she settled into the chair across from him. Simultaneously, they reached for their cups and drank. The coffee was black as night. Just how he liked it. Apparently how she liked it too. 

After a moment’s quiet, Grace said softly, “I feel like I’m the one who should apologize.”

David sat up straighter. “No, Grace, I shouldn’t have-”

“It’s alright, really. I don’t know why I reacted that way.” She lifted the mug to her lips again, but paused before taking another drink. “I mean that was one of the reasons I left,” she took a sip and continued. “...And didn’t come back. Some people, that’s all they want to talk about. Martin never seemed to mind it but...I couldn’t stand it. Being the dead woman’s daughter. All that pity and nosiness...disguised as niceness. People I never knew would approach us about it. As if they had any right or reason other than morbid curiosity.”

David understood the feeling. It wasn’t often that he dated. Or even met with friends. They all wanted to talk about his work. Especially after the Dover case. He could sense when they were about to bring it up. Their eyes would take on a strange light. He could practically see the gear in their heads twisting and turning, trying to find a way to steer the conversation towards the case. 

Grace set her mug down, exhaling. Her shoulder dipped down as if they had been pushed by some invisible weight. “I’m sorry, you don’t need to hear all of this. Hell, I don’t have time for it. The junk company is coming tomorrow and then the realtor and-”

“I can help.” David said. 

Grace stopped, fixing him with a look of confusion. “What? No, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“No, really.” David said, leaning forward. He thought of his empty home across the road. The lack of errands. He thought of his desk at work and how he had been more or less banned from returning to it until the following Monday. “I know it won’t make sense, but...you’d be doing me a favor.” 

-

It didn’t take much convincing, despite the oddity of the request. Once he was able to convince her that he wasn’t aiming to help simply out of guilt, they began to rifle through each room of the house. Boxes were filled, piles of papers tagged for lawyers, furniture pushed towards the center to account for the painters coming later in the week. To David’s relief, the day didn’t drag and before they knew it, the evening had home. Endlessly grateful and thoroughly exhausted, Grace put in an order for pizza. At David’s suggestion they crossed the street over to his house, where a refrigerator stocked with cold beer and a welcoming deck were waiting to be taken advantage of. They sat outside, watching a thin bank of clouds drift slowly over the lake, their colors shifting from a soft white to a pastel yellow to an alarmingly vivid shade of orange as the sun drifted further and further down. 

“I wouldn’t have been able to do this all without you.” Grace said, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. “But...I have good news and bad news.”

“Bad news?” David asked, reaching for his beer. 

Grace squeezed her eyes shut, the corners wrinkling as she indulged in a playful wince. With a shake of her head, she buried her face into her knees for a moment before continuing bashfully, “There’s a basement.”

He smiled. It was small and fleeting. He wasn’t sure if she had seen it. They remained outside, talking softly and long into the night, until the all manner of sunlight dipped down below the treeline and the sky above became an inky blue sea of stars. As though they were, and always had been, old friends. 

-

Wednesday.

David wandered over to her house at 12:15, after he saw the realtor pull out of the drive and drift down the road, out of sight. She opened the door at first knock, wearing a smile that was quickly becoming familiar to him.

“Afternoon,” She said breathlessly. She hitched one arm against the door, her hip jutting out in the opposite direction. A large box, filled with books and bearing the label Goodwill sat at her feet. Her hair was piled up on the top of her head, wisps and strings falling loosely around her face. 

“Look at that, you have arms.” She joked, with a nod of her head. David looked down, feigning a laugh. The day was uncharacteristically warm and humid. A silver sun glared down through a layer of paper thin cloud cover, coating the land below with an odd, muted shadow. He left his jacket and button ups at home this time, instead sporting a jersey t-shirt and ravaged pair of jeans he pulled out when working on his own house. She was dressed similarly, wearing the same leggings as the day before and a cutoff shirt with thin, horizontal pinstripes. 

“How’d it go?” He asked, following her through the narrow front hall. 

“Oh, fine,” She said, making a hard left. “His dad was friend’s with Martin’s, so he’s going to cut me a deal which is nice. Now, I’m almost completely sure that everything down here can be trashed.”

She opened the door to the basement, absentmindedly pulling at a string of ribbon hanging just inside the doorway. A small bulb flickered on with a crackling snap, but it did little to properly light the wooden steps that led down. 

“I’ve been too scared to look, but hopefully there’s not too much do-Ah!!”

A creak and a crash, followed by several smaller thumps and finally a sickening shatter, sent David rushing around the corner after her. 

“Grace!?” He barked, bracings his hands against the frame of the door. 

“Fine! I’m-I’m fine.” Came a garbled response from the shadowy depths below. David reached for the handrail. 

“Wait! Stop!” She called, halting him in his tracks. “There’s a faulty step. I...forgot.”

“Are you alright?”

“-fourth one down, be careful.” She continued. “Ouch. Fuck me.”

He leapt passed it, taking the next few two at a time until he reached the bottom. 

“There’s a switch. On the wall.” She mumbled, looking more like a mass of black shadow as David’s eyes attempted to adjust. He pressed his hand to the wall, flicking it on. A bank of old fluorescents buzzed to life. Grace was hunched over on her knees, her hair having fallen loose from the scrunchie. 

He tried again. “Are you hurt?”

“Uff,” She breathed, pushing her hair away from her face. “I mean, my pride is yeah...and maybe my knee. Ow!”

She hissed, drawing her hand away. The tips of her fingers were coated in blood. 

“God...dammit.” She said, shifting up so that she could sit on the last step. The unmistakable sound of glass scraping against concrete filled the room. David knelt down in front of her. 

“Language, Abbott, please.” He tutted, with a wry smile. Grace huffed a laughed, her teeth gnawing on her lower lip as she tried to shake off the shock and the embarrassment. God, I hope he didn’t see. She thought, as the fall played back through her mind. She was fairly certain she had looked as graceful as a penguin tottering off to sea. She watched as he assessed the damage, trying to push the image far away. 

“Looks like you landed on something.” He said, finally, his fingers gingerly pushing at the now flattened box that sat where she had fallen. It felt necessary, if not useless to state the obvious. 

“Looks like it.” Grace said, her hands hovering over her knee. Sure enough, a few bits of grainy glass had torn through her leggings and looked to be embedded in her skin. 

David stood, offering her his hand. “Here.”

She looked up, her face flushed red. She took it and he pulled her up, winding her arm around his neck so that he could better help her hobble up the stairs.

-

Grace sat atop the kitchen counter next to the sink, situated so that David could tend to her knee. He pulled a chair in from the living room and set it in front of her. She watched quietly as he rifled through a first aid kit. Where he’d managed to find it, she didn’t know. It must have been older than the pair of them. He still looks so young though. She thought, her eyes drifting down past his face to his neck. Except for the tattoos. Did he have those in high school? I can’t remember. That she recognized him, or anyone, was a surprise to her. Her senior year and been a blur of grief and determination. Conyers felt more like a prison then. A barrage of whispers and glance she was desperate to escape. When she couldn’t sleep she studied, earning herself valedictorian status and a full ride ticket out of town. She promised herself she would never look back. It meant losing touch with long kept friendships and starting from scratch. But it felt worth it. Now it seemed a little dramatic, but she was a teenager then.

Maybe it’s because he seems...the same, in some ways, She thought. Quiet and sedate. Many girls in her grade had spent some time nursing a crush on David Loki. He was the ‘new kid’ after all. A broody boy from the outskirts of town. No one had known him before he showed up on the first day of school. He was a loner. A mystery. Grace understood the appeal then, but never enough to act on it. Very few of them had. Even then, as an underweight, seemingly insomniatic teen, he had a strange air about him. As if he were haunted. Or the one doing the haunting. Grace had never been sure which. He had filled out since those high school days, but he still looked saturnine, as if a good day’s rest eluded him entirely. 

She leaned back, her head hitting the cabinetry behind her. She looked around the room, feeling suddenly impolite for staring. The kitchen felt so small, smaller than she remembered. Her legs dangled off the edge of the counter, her feet swaying gently from side to side, as if caught in a breeze. She felt very much like a child, having tripped in the backyard and come bursting through the door with tears streaming down her face and crying for a parent. She could practically feel the heat of the tears, the wobbly path they would make before drying against her skin. She had been holding them back. Fighting them really. Since entering the house after so long. Despite her best efforts, there were still memories here. Small signs of her mother that Martin hadn’t willed away. 

“Grace? Do you mind if I-?”

“Oh! No, I can-” Her hands went to her leg, fingers pulling at the torn fabric of her leggings, until she gathered all of it above the knee. She winced as she could now clearly see the bits of glass, tinged scarlet. 

“This might sting,” David said softly. With surprising tenderness, her carefully pulled loose the pieces of glass, before pressing a damp cloth to the torn skin. Grace’s hands balled into fists as the antiseptic sunk into the shallow wounds. He let it sit for several seconds, before pulling it away and letting it fall into the sink at his right side. 

“You seem to know what you’re doing,” Grace said, trying to fill the silence. 

“We all go through some basic training at the academy.” He explained as he began to wrap her knee with a thin layer of bandage. She felt his finger brush the back of her leg and deftly lift it slightly. Quite strangely, she thought of Cinderella with her leg poised to receive the infamous glass slipper. 

Christ Grace! She thought to herself, feeling her neck grow warm. You are no put upon damsel and he’s no...daring prince…

She looked down at him again, her eye catching sight of a small divot just above his left temple. Were it not for the closeness of his cut, she may not have noticed it at all. 

That must be...She thought. “The bullet wound.”

“What?”

Oh shit. Grace thought. Did I...say that out loud? 

With a heavy sigh, she shook her head. I just keep digging myself deeper. Well...what is it they say? In for a penny... 

“I may have, um,” She flushed, leaning her head back against the cabinet again and gazing up and away. “-looked you up. Last night.”

He didn’t seem surprised.

She shrugged her shoulders. “The Dover-Birch case? That’s...quite a story.”

Dammit. She thought, eyes flicking shut as she prepared for the backlash. Why’d I say that?! I’m going to scare him off. As if he wasn’t wary already. Being a cop and all. She had seen the way he’d blanched at the bar. It wasn’t much more than a blink but it was all she needed to draw the proper conclusions. She had enough dealings with cops to know how they felt about her work. It didn’t bother her if they despised her. But David was...well, not a friend but...he was something. 

He exhaled, long and low, but the breath didn’t carry the disdain or annoyance she expected. He almost sounded amused. That can’t be right. She looked back down at him. Surprisingly, a wry shadow of a smile ghosted across his face. 

“Force of habit?” He said, almost teasingly as he tucked the remaining wrappings back into the kit before snapping it shut. 

“I guess, yeah.” She said, sheepishly, feeling well and truly chastised. 

He paused a moment, a far away look in his eye before standing up. Instead of moving away, he leaned towards her, bracing his hands on the edge of the counter, each one positioned a respectful distance from her legs. His face was level with hers now. And close. Almost uncomfortably so. At least it should have been. But it wasn’t. 

His eyes. She thought, pressing her lips together in a thin line she could only hope was unreadable. They were deep and dark, as blue as oceans. She could see fleck of brown in the irises. He was close. So close. But not close enough. She swallowed hard as the realization came slowly. She wanted him closer. Needed it. 

“Your exposé on the DWP was good.” He said, finally. “Really something,”

Her brow shot up. 

“I...looked you up, too.” He said, a knowing smile flashing across his face. 

Grace reciprocated. “Really?”

“Really.” The smile remained, tugging at one side of his mouth. Grace felt the yearning in her chest begin to churn and warm. 

“Guess we’re both a little too curious, huh?” She said, lifting her hand up. “...May I?”

He tipped his head down. Ever gently, her fingers brushed the longer lengths of his hair up and back so she could better see the scar. Instinctively, he drew closer as her legs slid further apart. She could feel his breath, slow and warm against her neck. Her own breath hitched as she took in the angry, craggy line. It had mostly healed over, but she knew enough about these sorts of wounds to imagine what it had been. He tilted his head up again. She could feel his hands dragging across the counter, drifting closer and closer to touching her. Almost. But not quite. She let her fingers slide through the tendrils of his hair. Back and down until they could more easily cup the back of his neck. It was all the encouragement he needed. He leaned in, his lips pressing against hers. Softly at first. Her fingers tangled in the hair and pulled. Closer. They thought, almost in unison. She could feel his hands on her thighs now, clamping down and drifting upwards. Her hips rocked against him. Once. Twice. The next thing she knew she his hands were underneath her, pulling her up easily. Her legs wrapped around him tightly. Her arms reached around his shoulders and pulled at his shirt. His lips pulled away from her mouth for only a second. Enough time for her to whisper the question they both knew the answer to. 

“Bedroom?”

He drew her off the counter and her legs unhooked, but his arm stayed tight around her waist, keeping her mouth in line with his. Her toes barely made contact with the floor as they moved down the hall. He paused just before the doorway, spinning her round. Her back hit the wall. He muttered an apology as he peppered kisses up her jawline. His hands were splayed on either side of her shoulders, his body pressing up against hers. She could feel the hardness of his form, from his chest all the way down. 

“Don’t be-” She heard herself whisper, her breath ragged and raw. “Just keep going-”

She fumbled with her shirt, trying to loose her arm free. He was there, his hands pulling it up over her head. She followed suit, gripping the hem of his shirt and pulling it over. 

They disappeared through the door, unable to wait any longer, the basement well as truly forgotten. 

-

Just a little tease this time around, but there will be more soon! It’s been a while since I’ve written these kinds of scenes. I feel out of practice. >.< Thanks for reading! Hope to update very soon. 

[pencilsdgr]

Exodus

Extra! Extra!

Gypsy refugees in San Antonio Rodriguez?

Read all about it!

Any morning is a fine morning when I'm woken up by the warm sun on my face. I stretch my back and stand up to get dressed.

If the sun's high enough to shine through my skylight, it's way too late to get something to eat. I step out of my room into my family's main vardo. Our vardo is large, mainly because my grandmother was a hoarder. She kept everything she found, and when she died, my father scrapped everything and used it to build up our vardo. Now, its wheels have sunk into the ground and we can't move it.

I look to the kitchen and see a pan on the stove. There's still some grease in it, I'll have to see what else there is.

"Rigo!" I hear from outside. It's Father. He probably wants me to do something he won't. Father used to be a hard worker, as evidenced by our scrap vardo. Now, though, he usually sits outside drinking and smoking. He's still a very able man, he's just grown lazy. Not as many things need to be fixed now that our caravan has become a village.

We are-- were-- a Roma caravan. Gypsies. We stopped a year ago, North of Los Angeles, when we were rained in. The rain turned the dirt to mud and most of our vardos sank down to their axles. The few that didn't are the ones we use for transportation.

"Rigo!" Father calls again. I open the door and pull back our curtain to see him talking to our mystic. She's probably the one you think of when you hear the word "gypsy." She wears too much jewelry, reads tea leaves, and casts magic. She was talking to Father about a vision she had-- it boiled down to violence forcing us out. Father wanted me to go out and help her set up a sigil, which is essentially a magic fence.

Our mystic is a chihuahua dog. Her real name is Jennifer, but we call her Yenni. She comes from Mexico and joined our caravan a few years back. Her expertise in mysticism stems from her being a "wicken," and so far she hasn't been wrong with any of her prophecies and none of her spells have gone sour.

I go to Yenni's vardo and she hands me some yarn, a bunch of wooden stakes, and a pouch of gemstones and jewelry. We set off to the mouth of our ravine.

It isn't too long of a walk to the mouth, but it is far enough that you can't see or hear our village. It's comforting in a way; why go down this ravine if it looks totally empty? We reach the mouth and I start hammering stakes into the ground. Yenni is behind me laying out the gemstones and jewelry that she'll be using. I tie the yarn and Yenni lays the artifacts and seals her spell. On the way back, she gave me five dollars for the help.

I swear I could have smelled fire as we were heading back. I disregarded it, though, as sometimes people camp near us. So long as they don't throw their waste, we don't mind them.

I arrive back at the village and go over to the food wagon. It's one of the ones that moves, so the food there is usually fresh. The savory-sweet smell of chicken and peppers swiftly overpowers the smell of smoke, and I sit down for lunch.

The next few days pass with little disturbance, but something is amiss. The smell of smoke keeps getting stronger and Yenni is almost never home. While stargazing one night, I notice a cloud streaking all across the sky. The next morning I get out my telescope and notice the cloud is coming from the city. I jump through the skylight and go to turn on Grandma's radio. It's never worked and Father could never figure out why.

I open the back of it and out falls a coiled up wire. It needs electricity. No wonder Father couldn't figure it out, he doesn't know electricity. I know who does, and has an electric crank.

Llewellyn has the smallest vardo in the village. He wants to work in the city and bought a book on electricity a year ago. He's the only one who knows how to use electricity, so he's the only one that has it. I approach his vardo and knock on the door.

"Hello!" he calls after a second. I look around to see him poking his head out of his window. "You can't use the door right now, it's blocked."

"Might I borrow your crank?" I ask him.

"What do you need it for?"

"I'm trying to work my grandmother's radio."

Llewellyn ducks back into his vardo and, a few seconds later, produces his crank. A bulky, heavy iron cage with a handle jutting out of one side and three holes poked into the other. In the middle is what looks- and feels- like a stack of copper plates. I'm strong, but I can barely carry it to my vardo.

I drop the crank onto the table and put the wire from the radio into the holes. I start turning the crank and the radio crackles to life. It's just making a bunch of noises, though. There are three knobs on the front and a button. I press the button and it turns off. I turn the knob on the left, and it does nothing. I turn the knob on the top, and it gets louder. I turn the knob on the right, and I start faintly hearing voices. I turn it some more and the words become clearer. Eventually I can clearly hear what they're saying.

"...from the Pentagon, the National Guard is being dispatched to Los Angeles in response to the riots. In related news, rioters have taken to throwing mustard g..."

The radio faded out. I wind the crank again, but the people were talking about something else by the time the radio started back up.

Riots? Wait, National Guard? In Los Angeles? We're only an hour's walk from there. I have to tell everyone.

I'm not lifting that crank again. Llewellyn can wait. I nearly rip the door off its hinges and sprint for the village's message board. I frantically ring the bell until I see everyone coming out of their homes.

"Listen everyone!" I yell, "there are riots in Los Angeles, and they're sending soldiers! We need to pack everything we can, load it into a wagon, dig up your own vardo, whatever gets us closer to leaving!"

"How did you hear about this?" asks someone.

"I have a radio! They were talking about it on the radio!"

"You made that thing work?" Father asks, surprised.

"Yes, but that doesn't matter. We need to move as soon as possible! Away from the city!"

Everyone gives me a doubtful glare. Yenni comes up behind me.

"I know this to be true. I've looked at the city and seen fire, smoke of all different colors, and buildings falling down. The city's up to no good, and I have a hunch that we will soon be absorbed into it."

Nobody can deny Yenni. She's never been wrong. I guess until today.

Everyone goes back into their vardos and I storm off to mine. Father follows me in.

"How did you make the radio work?" he asked.

"Oh. Llewellyn gave me his hand crank. The radio is electric."

Father's face twists in confusion. I start turning the crank and the radio buzzes back on.

"...tizens are advised to evacuate the area. More at five."

Father's eyes widen in amazement. He'd never seen electricity do something like that. He'd only ever looked to Llewellyn's vardo and seen the light on, but to make a box speak--

"What time is it?" Father snaps. He pulls out his pocket watch and mumbles to himself.

After a minute of rambling to himself, he says, "bring the radio to the message board. If they hear it themselves they'll have to believe you."

"You carry the crank," I command.

I pick up the radio and place it in front of the message board. Father puts the crank down and I plug the radio in.

I start winding the crank and the radio croaks up.

"...sla Echo 2019 now only $39,999. Buy today."

It's a period of solid advertisements until 5:00 comes.

"National news tonight, riots in Los Angeles continue to rage, leaving much of downtown in ruins." I turn the knob to make it louder. "Authorities struggle to restrain the violent protest and demonstrators continue to rain molotov cocktails on local businesses and police. Non-protesters have started a mass exodus, seizing every highway in Southern California."

People started coming out of their vardos and listening to the broadcast.

"From President Trump this morning: 'Violence like this cannot be tolerated. If they want to keep this up, I'll treat them like I treat ISIS.' The Pentagon has confirmed the deployment of the National Guard, and they're expected to arrive at Los Angeles tomorrow morning."

A few people were worried now. I turned off the radio and started preaching again, "See? We need to leave! The city is too dangerous to live near anymore!"

People were now starting to take me up. Everyone who had a shovel went and got theirs, and started digging up their wheels. I went and did the same.

Nobody tired that night, even while they were digging. Whenever someone had unearthed their wheels, the whole village gathered to push their vardo out of the ground. Between our seven wagons, we unfortunately had only one truck. Vardos were carried off one by one as they were dug up. We decided to make a series of miniature camps, and sleep in shifts so a small team could carry on without us having to stop.

By morning, we come across a paved road. Like the radio said, cars were overflowing onto the grass. We followed the road, and I was in the truck when we were stopped at a military post. The soldiers looked confused as we approached. I rolled down my window to answer the soldiers' questions.

"Legal ID?" the soldier requested. I gave him my ID. "What is your name?"

"Rigo Vlaicu," I answered.

"Date of birth?"

"January 20, 2000."

He handed me back my ID and asked me to step out of the truck. I complied and he started inspecting the truck. Then, he and a small team started to inspect the outside of the vardo I was hauling. The door was locked, though, so they couldn't get in. I explained to them that I'm part of a Romani caravan and I still have to haul six more wagons. They wouldn't have it, and they broke the door down. Some time later, they came back out and believed that I was a Roma.

"What the hell kind of gypsy has a truck?" one of them remarks.

"How many wagons are waiting for you?" asks their leader.

"There are six more in the ravine down that way." I point back down the road.

I'm told to turn the truck off and follow them. They take me into their truck. It's huge, and it fits me and five soldiers in it. I guide them to the camp, and they round everyone up in one area. Everyone in the caravan is stirred up until I step out.

The soldiers search all of our vardos in about an hour. The leader spoke into his radio, "We got a band of gypsies here with six wagons. They're all clear, we're requesting an escort."

A couple of the soldiers mounted a vardo and we went back to the post. The rest of the day, we were hauling our vardos to the post. We spent the night there and continued on the road the next day.

We steered off the road after a couple near misses with cars. We went into the desert, and kept going directly East.

About a week later, I looked through my telescope and saw a compound of some sort. The next day we came across the front gate. There's a pit behind the gate with buildings in it, then there's a towering stone arch going through a wall on the other side.

We're stopped by a machine. It looks like a centaur, but more... feline. It has guns, so we stop the moment it sees us. Soon after, a german shepherd dog approaches us.

"State your business," she demands.

"We are Romanis from Los Angeles. We're trying to get somewhere safe."

"Gypsy refugees, huh?" the woman clearly has her doubts. Eventually I convince her that I'm not lying and she gives me some information.

"You're in San Antonio Rodriguez, well the outskirts of it. This place is a sanctuary; and it's lucky you found this place, because everything about your truck is saying it's been far from road-worthy for a few months. Not to mention Vegas is still 70 miles away. Come on in, we'll get you sorted."

I follow the woman across a bridge, under the stone arch, and into a building. Sitting behind the counter before us is some sort of leopard woman. She calls in her director: a dog man. The dog welcomes me loudly, and asks my business over a cup of water.

"I'm just passing by. I'm part of a caravan from Los Angeles-"

"LA? How bad is it there?"

"We were never in the city, we're nomadic and trying to find someplace safe."

"Well, you found the best place, mister..."

"Rigo."

"Mister Rigo, you are in an incredibly safe place. We're surrounded by mountains in the middle of the desert. Nothing could possibly touch you. And if it does, we have some very effective defense. Feel free to stay for as long as you like."

"About that," I started, "our caravan is stopped and I don't think I can bring the rest of it here."

"Well, we have plenty of cars and stuff. How many are waiting?"

"Six."

The dog thought for a second. He sent me back to the truck and soon led a convoy of cars to my caravan. Our caravan had gathered back into a village in about an hour, and the cars filed back into the sanctuary.

The caravan settles a mini-camp, and we decide it'd be in our best interest to take a break from traveling. The dog joins us, sitting on our vardos and listening to the radio, when...

"Reporters from CNN were able to get into the city, and said that the riots were evolving into a full-scale revolution. The unnamed leader of the revolutionary force had this to say: 'We cannot tolerate the tyranny of this nation anymore. To the fascists in Washington, watch your back.' President Trump has not yet commented on this."

"Is that them declaring war?" Llewellyn wondered, a shake in his voice.

The radio continued, "This declaration from Los Angeles has inspired protests in San Francisco. The protests in San Francisco are yet to become violent, but the governor has voiced his concern on the issue, stating: 'We should find a peaceful end to this, before it falls out of our control.' Authorities in San Francisco are trying to control the situation."

"San Francisco, that's just down the road from Sacramento," the dog piped up, "If they take over Sacramento, they'll have California in the palms of their hands."

"We need to get out of California," said our senior.

The dog interrupted him, "You're out of California. The border's right there." He pointed out toward the desert, "San Antonio Rodriguez is right on the border of California and Nevada."

"We need to get farther from California," our senior objected.

"We're in one of the most barren places in the United States, and have virtually no political presence. This is the best place you could be, because it's so insignificant that nobody cares about it."

Yenni cut them both off, "Let me decide. My dreams will tell me if it's better to stay." She disappeared into her vardo.

By then, everyone was too tired to keep listening to the radio. Everyone went into their vardos, and the dog went back to the town.

The next morning, Yenni woke everyone up. We all sat on our vardos and listened.

"I had no vision," she yelled.

"Well we can't wait until you have one!" our senior shouted.

"It's an omen," Yenni continued, "that nothing will happen here."

The general consensus was that we stay.

[knbafterdark-blog]

Hey honeybuns it’s me and I’m so fucking happy you’re restarting this blog. You know my hardcore love for Mr Aomine so like how about we start this blog off with some Mr and Mrs Aomine… but fake married! Because you love that shit and i love you. Why are they fake married? idgaf. You decide ;)

[Sweet girl I love you, and since I love you, here’s your fave: a little police officer!Aomine.  What a way to start this blog again.]

The coastal city grows lethargic with the evening. The suns hangs like a lazy blush in the sky, the wind has subsided after the afternoon rainstorm, a few birds chirp their goodnights, and Aomine Daiki’s plain gold band glints as he fishes his wallet out to lay a credit card on the table. 

Distracted, you smile as you watch the distant waves crest.  “I’m so glad we’re able to just get away from everything.  Darling, you’ve been working so hard for us.  You deserve this.”

Aomine manages to smile and frown within seconds of one another “We’re in public, baby.  Call me by name.”

You fight the urge to flick his forehead or to kick him under the table, but the desire is strong.  Lowering your eyes, you murmur demurely, “yes, Shintaro.”

“Shin-chan is fine,” Aomine pushes at the thick rim of his glasses absently.  He slides the credit card across the gingham brocade to the server.

“Yes, Shin-chan.”

Everything about the cover had been thoroughly researched by his superiors, but Aomine’s backstory had been good enough to convince them that the name wasn’t important.  This was not a high-risk, casualty-gaining sort of operation, anyway.  And you’ll be damned, but the glasses are a delightful touch.

“Shall we go around the boardwalk?” You’re hopeful to get a little fresh air in the most romantic spot in town.  “Remember that couple from the hotel?  They said it’s so romantic at sunset. Since I’m getting a pedicure at the spa tomorrow, I might as well do lots of my walking tonight?”

Aomine throws his grey blazer over his shoulder after accepting the credit card back.  He is the picture of a professional man just starting to unwind; not so much that he’d sleep in the following morning or have a too much to drink tonight, but just enough to let the smiles come a little easier and let some of the stress out of a stiff posture.  Maybe he’d even stay awake long enough to give his pretty, young wife a little extra attention.

Your breath rushes out in a little gasp as he pulls you close firmly by hip.  Leaning down, he breathes in your hair and presses a kiss to the crown of your head.  “We can take in the boardwalk any time,” he mutters.  “I can think of something else I’d rather do.”

You don’t have to fake the blush or the stammer.  “Shintaro!  Don’t, we’re…”

“In public?” he supplies, practically glowing.  Even now, he surprises you as a better actor than you would have ever thought to give him credit for, even knowing his undercover history, but you still begrudge him the cheshire grin.  “It’s fine, no one can hear me, and even if they could, isn’t that the point of coming here in the first place?”

Well, he’s not wrong.  Why else would a serial embezzler and his stunning new fiancee come to a quiet little town like this?  There certainly is something like desire that plays around in the salty wind out here.  She must be a romantic, you muse for the fourth or fifth time since the train ride in.

Aomine’s hand rests naturally on the curve of your waist as you walk back to the hotel, and you the two of you fall in stride.  He’s probably thinking about taking off those uncomfortable shoes, and probably those glasses, too.   Maybe have a beer and a shower and fall asleep with the television still on like he’s told you he does.  The man at your side hardly looks it, but he’s had three hours of sleep in the past two days and most of that was on the train on the way there.  You twist the diamond ring and the plain band back and forth with your pinky finger.  

No, he certainly doesn’t look as tired as he must be.

You get the generous bed to yourself, falling asleep to the picture of Aomine, still in his cardigan and uncomfortable slacks, typing away on a laptop that seems tiny compared to the size of his hands.

When you wake, he’s already gone.

The embezzler’s fiancee, Akane, is phenomenally beautiful up close.  Her skin is crisp and perfect and she has the most perfectly conspiratorial smile you’ve ever seen. 

“So how about it?  It might be fun to blow off a little steam.  I’ve met a couple of other girls here and the one, she’s having a, oh what did she call it, something ridiculous… right, a ‘pre-bridal party party’.  We can catch a cab and be back before Seki and Shintaro even know we’re gone.  Well, maybe not, but we can leave a note and text them.  I doubt Seki will even see it if I just leave a note, though he’s hardly likely to even leave the room.  He needs to relax a little.”  Akane sighs and fingers her necklace delicately, thoughtfully.  “He’s so sweet, really, but I mean, the most he’ll do is visit the pool.”

You nod in sympathy and give a moment’s pause before offering: “my Shintaro, too.  He works so hard for us.  And I know it’s to save for our future, and hopefully for our future children, but sometimes I’d rather - oh forgive me.”

“No!” Akane leans forward.  “It’s okay.”

You’re flushed with just the right shade of embarrassment, delighted so greatly that your breathing is dangerously shallow.  “I am sorry, I don’t mean to rant.  It’s just, sometimes I think that there’s the present to think about, too, you know?  If he keeps up like this, well, I don’t want him working to an early grave.  Oh, I’m so sorry to complain.”

Akane brushes the apology away with a flick of her delicate hand and a shake of her head.  “Getaways like this are vital for recharging.”

“The pool is a great idea,” you continue thoughtfully. “There’s nothing quite like swimming to clear the mind.”

You’d bet an ice-cream sundae over who would be the first to chat to either the target or Akane.  Technically, Aomine had apologized for bumping into them in the elevator, but that had hardly qualified.  This?  This is perfect.

“What do you say?” Akane asks, beaming over a glass of spiked lemonade.

“Well,” you pause long enough to draw the thought out, “I did just get my toes done, and I have my new shoes to try out… oh, of course I would love to - count me in!”

“I’m just calling Shintaro,” you laugh as, making sure to step gingerly into the taxi.  You have to slow down on the drinking and the ride to the party should do the trick for the moment.

“Yeah?” Aomine’s voice comes gravelly and alert.  “Where the hell have you been?”  Ah, so he must be on his own, then, and hasn’t yet seen your note.

“I’m texting Seki now,” Akane says, then brightens as she looks over at you.  “Look at the look on your face, oh, you’re so cute it’s almost borderline!  You love to hear his voice.  I want to be like you when Seki and I are married!”

You cover the mouthpiece of your phone as if it’s somehow necessary, and just laugh before returning to the call.  “I’m going out this evening… just wanting to make sure you got my note.”

You had scribbled POOL ROOM, 21:30 TONIGHT FOR OBSERVATION and pasted it to the bathroom mirror where you were sure he would see it.

“Yeah, no,” he huffs.

You continue like he hadn’t said a word, emboldened by the alcohol and your own personal sense of victory.  “I’m out with Akane - what do you mean, who’s Akane?”

“I’m Akane!” Akane giggles loudly and leans over.  “Hello, Shin-kun!  I’m stealing your wife tonight.  You can punish her later.”

You sputter and laugh and guard your heart against the sound of Aomine’s noise of approval.  

“Don’t get her too drunk,” Aomine advises.  “She’ll start dancing, and once she does you’re going to have to pull her out of there, and she’ll probably hit on half the men.  Take care of her.”

You grind your teeth before smiling curtly.  “Still talking to me, my love.”

You can practically taste the gratitude hidden behind his laughter.  “Well then, have fun and take good measurements.  I’ll need to know the cup size of all attending parties.”

“Ugh,” you grumble and hang up on him with satisfaction.  

“All done,” Akane chirps, looking up from her phone.  “What’s up?”

“He wants to know how big everyone’s boobs are,” you huff.  “What was that about wanting to be just like us when you’re married?”

Even Akane’s half-drunk laugh is a pleasure.  “Men!”

Half an hour and a split cab-fare later,you arrive to find the party is already in full swing in the club.  Akane takes you by the arm and sashays up to the front of the line, blinking just once at the bouncer before announcing your friends are already inside.  It’s like anything she touches turns to gold, and you’re almost sorry you will have had any role in putting her soon-to-be husband away for so many years.  She orders the two of you drinks before whisking you away to the party of at least seven other young women who greet you like you’ve been friends for years.

You can’t help but pity Aomine.  If only things were this easy for him.  You laugh and introduce yourself and, as you down half of your first drink before being pulled by someone’s persuasive argument of “this song is my favourite!”.

“Better music!” you call when three men approach your group with hungry eyes and ask what you’d like.  What you’d really like is to make sure Aomine is okay, even though you’re both the best strategically placed as you could be, and it’s only thanks to you, well, thanks to Akane, really, that he has as good of a shot as he does tonight at all.  So you do what you know you have to do to keep the party going and turn off your mind as much as you can.

“Her husband says to watch out for this one!” one of the soon-to-be bridesmaids yells gleefully and points to you. 

You suck up the implications, convert them to a smoldering smile, and grab a young man from his friends and pull him onto the floor with you.  By the way he slides a hand up your back, he doesn’t seem to mind you have a husband at all, and you can’t help but imagine his strong hand is Aomine’s as you close your eyes and move in.

It continues like this for hours, with the steady bass pumping through your feet, through your heart, and the hands - all of the hands - become Aomine’s hands, the stomachs, chests, and arms become Aomine’s firm stomach and chest and arms pulling you close, holding you tightly.  You grind the diamond against the inside of your pinky and imagine Aomine looking down at you, so full of desire, and why, why couldn’t this be him?

Is this any way a married woman should behave?  Even if her husband told her to?  

You know it’s foolish, that you shouldn’t down another drink, but you do, because Aomine could be talking with Seki the Embezzler right now and you’re helping by keeping Akane busy.

“Oh my god, girl, no.”

Both you and another young woman are propped up in the booth with water in two tall glasses, and you briefly fade out, more from the exertion than anything.

“Someone call a cab!”

Akane hovers into view mutters, her face pink and eyes glassy but at least she’s able to stand, even in her four-inch heels.  “I called Shin-chan, he’ll be on his way soon.  Whose phone password is 9999 anyway?”

You take a shaky sip of water.  “I just need a second, I won’t black out, promise.  I’ll get a cab back later.  I’m gonna call Shin-chan back!  We’ve got a party to celebrate here!”

Akane pauses, but not for long, and laughs her sparkling laugh.  “You’re amazing!  I’ll give you ten minutes and if you’re not ready to dance, I’m sending you back!”

You speed-dial Aomine and think of his eyes and steel yourself against the threat of your racing pulse.

“Are you okay?” is the first thing out of his mouth. The phone hadn’t even rung once, and you melt for his concern.

“I’m fine,” you yell over the noise.  “Just needed a breather.”

“How’s Akane?”

“She’s at least a solid C - I might say D with the right bra!”  Akane turns around, mouthing ‘are you talking about me?’ and you wave.

What you can make out of Aomine’s laugh is that it’s a fake one which makes your ribs feel suddenly too tight, like you want to breathe but there’s not enough air, not enough room to breathe.  “Tell her her husband’s in good hands.  If you’re not back by one, I’m coming to get you, you idiot.  Oh yeah, Seki’s telling me to be kinder - you gorgeous idiot.”

You hang, exhale, and smile in relief.

Twelve thirty comes and goes.  One comes and your feet are killing you, but the dances keep coming and no one in the party is ready to go until you get kicked out, and you’re most of the way to sober, which is and isn’t nice.  You’re exhausted and worried it might be showing.  Nonetheless, you run your hands through a head of dark hair and imagine it to be navy instead, imagine those eyes are the ones you can get lost in, imagine the fingers on your ass pulling you against a firm bulge are someone else’s entirely.

“Excuse me,” comes from behind you, and you turn too slowly, leaving yourself to be pulled back by the shoulders.

You mumble your surprise and stumble back on your heels as much as you trip over your words.  “Sh-Shintaro?”

“I think I’ll be taking my wife home for the evening,” Aomine drawls before calling to the right, somewhere over your head that feels miles away, “Seki, you’d better do the same.”

“Punishment time!” Akane shrieks in full glee as you are personally manhandled out the door.

“My phone, my…”

“I have it,” Aomine shushes and pushes you into the cab.  

The rest of the ride is silent and leaves you gazing out the window to catch Aomine’s reflection against the raindrops on the glass.  His mouth is set in a hard line, but he seems more contemplative than anything for the whole ride and doesn’t spare you a look. You wonder how much got accomplished in the last four hours or so with the target, how late he’ll be up writing the report, how he must be resenting cutting the time short to come and get you.

The elevator ride is just as quiet and it’s not until Aomine’s opened the door up with the keycard and you’ve kicked off your shoes, your heel now bloody from the night’s exertions, that he says anything at all, and that’s only a “you should clean up and get to bed.”

“Sorry,” you say, and you don’t know quite why you’re saying it to the silhouette of his broad shoulders because he does owe you big for this, really for doing this assignment with him at all. But out it comes again, and as you slump in defeat against the bathroom door frame, it comes out a third time.

“Nothing to be sorry for, moron,” he says distractedly. He could just be busy thinking, itching to write his report so you’re one step closer to wrapping up the case. “I made some really good headway.”

“I kinda thought you might be mad for coming to get me,” you say nonsensically, and a quick flick of the bathroom light switch on and off again proves correctly that perhaps the best thing for you to do would be to shower in the dark.

“Nah,” he says curtly, and that marks the end of it.

So you turn on the shower and gratefully slide out of your dress and sweaty underthings.  You hiss as the water hits your heels, but the pain is enough to bring you back to total awareness, and you just sigh your contentment into the darkness. Relaxed against the cool marble tile, you hold your fingers over your mouth and whisper Aomine’s name. You say it again as the drops run over your lips.

A few minutes come and go before you can force yourself to pull a towel over and grab for the pyjamas you’d scattered on the floor earlier that morning. You brush your teeth and feel so much better once you do, like you’re a proper human again, and pad out to bed.

The lights are off. Aomine’s already nestled on the lavish daybed with the laptop resting on his chest.

“Good night,” you half-whisper as you pass. Then, as an afterthought, say, “I really don’t mind switching out on the daybed. You can have the real bed if you want it.”

Aomine doesn’t say a thing, too busy in the blue screen glare of his work, and you smile as your head hits the luscious pillow. You close your eyes and feel your breathing turn deep and slow, feel the weight of the blanket on your chest. Then, so low and quiet you’ve probably imagined it… “Say it again”.

“Mmm?” you moan sleepily.

There’s a shifting sound and a long, measured exhale. “I said, say it again.”

“Weirdo” you say, smiling, “goodnight.”

Blankets rustle and you’ve almost fallen to sleep when a weight settles against the mattress and you dip forward a little. “Not that.”

“Look,” you mumble, fully aware that there’s the potential for you to drool on this most comfortable pillow. “I said you could have the bed but I take it back now.  It’s mine, get lost.”

Aomine shifts his weight and that’s all it takes for the realization to hit.

With a slow breath, panic crosses you and for a moment, you’re back in the shower with your wet hair running over your lips and the few syllables coming from you like a taboo.  “Oh god,” you screw your eyes shut. “I didn’t, not even once, I swear.”

Aomine sighs like his endurance for this wore thin years ago but he doesn’t so much as twitch a single muscle. “Say it again.  Say my name.”

You gulp and heat snakes its way into your stomach and thighs unpleasantly, uncalled for by anything other than the raspiness of his voice. “Aomine,” you breathe.

“Fuck,” he exhales simply. “I’m so fucked.”

“Not in public!” You shoot up in bed. “Only to myself, only in the shower! And all night, it was all ‘my husband Shintaro’ and ‘handsome Shin-chan’ and ‘oh I love -’”

“If you say ‘I love Shintaro’ Midorima or otherwise, I will lose every bit of patience I have left,” Aomine enunciates every syllable, grinds it out. “The name was hilarious at the time and now I can’t stand it. And seeing you like that? Not to mention you smell.”

“Yeah, that’s rude,” you protest with familiar heat rising in your cheeks.

“You do,” he grinds out, furious, as he lowers his head. “Did.  Whatever.”

“You literally smelled like sweaty socks and sweaty basketball player for years. You still stink!”

Aomine punctures each word by caging you in, trapping you first with his arms, then with his legs. “And?  You’re supposed to be my wife.”

The tension sears through you and you feel the particular sinking feeling of having royally screwed up. It doesn’t matter that he had just been being an ass with his comments over the phone earlier. You had fallen for it, fallen to acting the persona he’d detailed for you only because you’d been too focused on being adaptable and ready to play any part perfectly. Deflation and exhaustion are quick to overcome your urge to bicker but his breath is hot on your forehead and his body radiates heat even though it’s at least a foot away from you, it swells in you the need to say something to defend against the onslaught of his overwhelming presence. “Sorry, wait, no, I’m not really sorry, only sorry I fell for it, and I only acted how I did because you told me to be that way! You’re the investigator - you’re the lead! And, thanks a lot, now my feet are bleeding on the sheets I have to sleep in.”

You don’t make it a breath further.

“I regretted every word right as it came out of my mouth.” He sounds exhausted and raw and frustrated. You can’t help but be so aware of your body that it hurts, that burn in your throat, your stomach, your thighs. “It kills me to say that I messed up, kills to know other men had been all over you all night. Ah, damn it, that’s not what I meant to say.” He practically growls, like he’s trying his best to get just a fraction of it out in words. “Because what you do is your choice and I’m going to get off this bed right now like I’m a working fucking professional.”

You let out a shaky exhale and try to relax the stiff board of your body, made tight by his proximity, his heat, his very being. Aomine doesn’t move. Tears sting at the corners of your eyes as you trace the outline of his arms and torso in the air without thinking. The diamond ring has twisted itself and the rock digs into your middle finger.  

“I just have to say the word,” you echo.

Aomine’s arms are shaking, though not from the effort of keeping himself up. “Yeah.”

“And you’ll go?”

“Yes,” he murmurs. His eyes have slipped shut but that’s a cold relief because the weight of the decision aches, presses against your chest, and deadens your limbs. Your pulse rushes against the delicate skin of your neck. He sets your nerves on fire, as in just listening to his forcibly measured breathing makes you want to bury your red cheeks into the pillow.

Tongue-tied and light-headed, you do the only thing you can: reach your arms up and tangle your hands in his hair. Aomine lets out a shade of relief, a short and involuntary growl that jolts you to full attention as your body completely takes over. You guide him an inch and he swoops the rest of the way. Your mouth is enveloped in a wet heat, less a kiss and more an expression of release.

Aomine groans into your mouth, reverberating against your lips and teeth, and your response wells up from deep in your chest as you kiss back, every bit as messy and imperfect and impatient as him. He pulls away sharply, his whole torso shaking with suppression, long enough to say: “I’m going to kiss you now.”

“You just did,” you mumble, grabbing the opportunity to wiggle out of the blanket vise and breathe.  You’re boneless and moving in slow motion with all your senses at once dulled and ablaze.

Like this, sitting up, the moonlight spreads a thick stream across Aomine’s jaw and down his clavicle, and the sight of those defined lines have you choking to breathe.  His posture, relaxed and with rolled back shoulders, is a practiced front.  He stares down at you through heavy lids with blown pupils like he’s dreamed of this. His adam’s apple bobs when he swallows reflexively, and you can only stare, too overwhelmed by the look on his face.

Aomine doesn’t wear his cocky grin but when he speaks, his voice is a purr. “That was just the warm up.”

To keep from moaning and giving in, oh just as completely tempting as it is, you sit straight up and wriggle against the weight of his knees on your legs. And you know you shouldn’t, you know you’re treading volatile territory if you provoke, but you do it anyway. “I’ve seen you warm up better for games when you didn’t even show up for practice.”

Aomine throws his head back and laughs.

“Oh, I’m gonna fuck you so hard,” he says offandedly before turning his full attention round to you again, and this time you can’t stand your ground, no, this time you push up as far against the headboard as you can, putting distance between him and yourself because he’s so there, so close, so overwhelming, and it’s the only way your body knows how to react. There’s a terrible need searing your body, and your heart threatens you with its persistent beating as Aomine bears down on you.

“I had fun tonight,” you threaten softly.

He soft laughs a short laugh, all teeth. And this kiss, this one must be what he meant by a real kiss: a slow brush over the lips like he’s reading them with his own, learning the curves before committing to a chaste press to part your mouth at the seam. You moan a little moan against him and he smiles before dipping his velvet tongue against your own.

Aomine only breaks the kiss to brush your hair out of your eyes and away from your throat, which sets your pulse to fluttering like a trapped bird, and when you open your eyes you’re almost relieved not to be looking straight into his own that are such a consternating split between honest and commanding.

“Of course you had fun,” Aomine murmurs in that dark voice against the crook of shoulder and throat. You shudder and he easily pushes against your jaw to tilt your head to one side. “Because I told you to.” He presses a kiss against your pulse and a soft moan escapes you. When he drapes one of his legs over both of yours, the weight preses your thighs firmly in place. “You hardly even let them dance face to face with you, did you? That would have been too much. And when you did, you were giving in, like your eyes just glazed right over.I can tell.”

“You like the sound of your own voice,” you try, though it comes out as a winded rush like you’ve already lost at whatever game you’re playing. You can’t help your legs from trying to rub against each other as much as possible to relieve some of the incessant throbbing, but Aomine blocks the movement by adding just a little more pressure. He keeps his hand on your cheek as he does so, pinning you to the pillow.

“You,” he pauses to lick a stripe up your neck only to breathe a stream of cool air against it, reveling as you shiver, “loved to pretend they were me. But not knowing that I was thinking about you the whole time. It shoulda been about how close you’d gotten me on this case, but instead,” Aomine hums in your ear, stifling your body’s reaction to the noise with his casual hold, “I’m here at this hotel, thinking of what you must look like. Thinking how just nice it’s all been when it should have been more like work. And all while I’m here, knowing how I served you up on a platter for all the men out there to be all over you. About how you’re out there tonight, on display for everyone but me.”

You try to speak but the words die in your throat and are replaced with shallow, loud breathing. Boiling and bubbling under Aomine’s touch, you wish you could see more of him than a couple of fingers in the periphery.

“Aomine?” is all you manage to carve into the thick silence.

“Mm,” he rasps, running his thumb down your throat to rest with just enough pressure at the base, watching as you swallow hard against the slightest pressure, before turning your face toward his again. He looks completely raw and partly possessed with need as he relaxes his hold on you.

He pulls away and up to take his shirt off in a single fluid motion.

“Oh yes,” you whisper.

“I’m going to ruin you,” he promises with a genuine smirk. “And you’re gonna love it.”

You agree with a hoarse and wrecked groan that leaves Aomine blinking down at you with hooded eyes.  You struggle up long enough to pull your shirt over your head and he leans over to press a kiss to each of your breasts before sliding back to slip his boxers off.  

“You’re never going to want anyone else,” he boasts, but you know the truth of his intentions and the look on his face has you believing him.  His muscles expand and contract as he moves, fluid and beautiful even in the dark.  You smile, and he traces the shape of your delta with his fingers before resting them against the seam of your lips.

“Open up,” he murmurs.  

You do, running your tongue over his index and middle fingers, letting your eyes close in anticipation, fully appreciating his deep exhale at the sensation of your mouth. When Aomine’s had enough, he withdraws and immediately slips that hand under your pajama bottoms, parting your legs with ease and plunging both digits in without hesitation. You take his laugh as a good sign and revel in the depth and breadth of his fingers.

“You’re so ready for me, just went straight in. Damn, you’re so wet,” he marvels before pulling his fingers out and leaving you mewling a complaint of the emptiness. “More foreplay next time, maybe,” he offers and doesn’t give you time to fully appreciate the guarantee. He’s too busy drawing your legs into one arm and gliding the throbbing head of his cock against you in less a tease and more to borrow your slick to ready himself before he plunges in without another word.

You cry out. Ready as you think you are, you’re not ready for him to have gone as far as he did, even is that’s two thirds of the way in. You squirm to adjust to that feeling of fullness and he groans as you move about. His patience is traded for gripping at your calf and breathing hard. Only when you work your way off the shaft just enough to still for a moment does Aomine decides he’s through with waiting and pulls out just enough to push back in and encase himself fully.

“God, Daiki!” you cry, and he groans his approval.

He pumps fully into your heat a couple of times further, delighting in watching you shake below him before pulling out entirely. “I mean it,” he mumbles as he grabs you, pulls you up and twists the pair of you so he’s seated on the bed and your back is pressed flush to his chest. You scramble to grab at his legs as he works his hand over your back. “Anyone ever touches you again and you’re gonna think of me.”

Instead of letting you turn around, he grabs you by the hips and pushes you up as he lays back, to angle you and slowly draw you back down on him. Like this, you’re fully exposed, at your most defenseless, and spread wide for his eyes. ““Yeah, that’s perfect.”

The very new feeling leaves your mind muggy, like it’s too hot to think, and after a long moment your body moves on its own.  His abs press against your your ass as you sink down on the shaft, bent forward, adapting to the angle to form a rhythm of your own.  Like this, he’s so big, and you’re so full, so complete in a way you had never considered, and if Aomine minds your knuckles turning white as you grab his thighs for support, he doesn’t make a sound. You can just imagine himself propped up on one arm as he’s rubbing your back with the other and full of appreciation for the view. You make sure the next descent is forceful enough to make your ass quiver from the impact. His guttural groan is your reward.

Naturally, as soon as you start to get familiar, Aomine shifts. He grabs you roughly by the thighs as he sits up, only to catch you with an arm spread over your chest as you fall forward.  “No, don’t go,” is all you can manage, but it’s too late, he’s already sliding out from under you and pressing wet kisses to your shoulder blades as he goes.

He fully leaves the bed and moves lithe and limber across to the other side just in time for you to turn around. He pulls at your legs and pulls you down the soft sheets, grabbing a pillow as he does so and props that under your hips. You’re still so exposed like this, though differently than before and you’re not sure which sense of subjection you prefer, but Aomine shows you he enjoys the offering that is your body in the way he praises it with kisses down your legs as he spreads them and folds each one up and over his shoulders.

You lock eyes and he unashamedly spits into his hand, rubs himself to relieve the pressure in a way that leaves you to whimper with wanting. As if waiting for his cue, he fulfills your moan of wish and presses back into your folds like he never left. You do your best to stay trained on his eyes, but it’s impossible, with the perfect burn as he screws you deep and hard in his perfect way, it’s all you can do to not repeat his name over and over again - you let a few syllables loose and that spurs him on as you should have known it would.

“I’m close,” he warns as he brings his thumb down to your clit, not so much rubbing as letting the motion of your bodies do the work for him. You yelp, stiffening under the intensity of the feeling, drawing deep shaking breath after deep shaking breath. You’ve become something more than yourself, something violent, something liquid and molten, and your orgasm brings Aomine to the brink so quickly he almost misses pulling out in his next stroke. He only watches as the emission arcs and falls in thick strips over your stomach, chest, and arms. His whole dark body absolutely quivers with sensation as he seems to be trying to unclench his hand from your hip but can’t quite get the coordination just yet.

You work your jaw to say something, anything, and what comes out is very direct and exactly what you weren’t wondering at the moment. “Is it, with us, going to be a one-time thing?” 

You curse yourself the moment you say it but you’re too far into the bliss to work up the stamina to repeal the question.

Aomine doesn’t sigh or brush it off, instead, as he sets your legs back down on the bed and sits up as straight as he can. He looks over his shoulder at you, inscrutable as he asks:  “Do you want it to be?”

Still shaking from the exertions and hoping that somehow of everything that’s transpired this evening, this answer won’t be the turning point that turns the moment sour, you shake your head.

All of Aomine’s burnished body seems to slump for a moment in relief. He wordlessly gets off the bed to pad shakily across the room.

“Aomine?” you inquire as you gather the blankets around you and stare vacantly at the ceiling, waiting for the swimming dark spots in your vision to clear.

“Daiki was fine in the moment and it’s fine now,” he calls from the bathroom.  “Though if you like calling me Aomine, I guess that’s okay. Hey, look at that, this is a honeymoon suite after all. They gave us the good soap.”  The sluice of the water almost drowns out his words, so he shouts over the noise and leaves you speechless. “I’m getting this shower ready for you, so are you coming or what, Mrs. Aomine?”

[h-bailey]

Obama returns to Chicago, a city scarred by gun violence

Crosses, each bearing the name of a murder victim, sit on the sidewalk along Michigan Avenue before the start of a Dec. 31 march to call attention to Chicago’s rising murder rate (Photo: Scott Olson/Getty Images)

President Barack Obama will take the stage Tuesday night in his adopted hometown of Chicago, where he will deliver what aides have described as a farewell speech celebrating the achievements of his eight years in office.

But as Obama returns to Chicago for what will be his final time as president, he does so against the backdrop of a city rocked by historic levels of violence. Last year, according to the Chicago Tribune, 781 people were killed—the highest rate of homicides since 1996, when 796 people died.

A majority of deaths have been attributed to an explosion of violence on the city’s south and west sides where the echo of gunfire has become a daily way of life. More than 4,300 people were shot last year in what police have described as a plague of gun violence that has surged out of control. That’s a major increase over 2015, when there were 2,989 shooting victims and 492 homicides, statistics that, even then, ranked above other large cities.

And though Chicago police have long looked to the city’s brutal winter to temporarily pause gang feuds that many credit for the uptick in shootings, the disturbing pace of violence has continued. Since Jan. 1, more than 70 people have been shot and at least a dozen killed—including 2 Monday night, on the eve of Obama’s speech.

The bloodshed in Chicago comes in contrast to the rest of the country, where other major cities have experienced decreases in violent crime. In 2016, Chicago had more homicides than New York and Los Angeles combined—in spite of the fact that, as the nation’s third largest city, it has a smaller population than either one.

The seemingly unending violence has caused despair in already struggling neighborhoods where residents say they feel under siege in a way that few Americans could truly understand. With the shootings happening at all hours of the day, many are scared to go outside even in broad daylight. On Monday, a man was shot in the street just after 11am on Chicago’s south side, a few miles from the Obama family home near Hyde Park and not far from where outgoing president plans to set up his presidential library.

That proximity has caused mixed feelings among Chicago residents who are proud of Obama but who also feel forgotten and overlooked by him and the rest of the country. Many here look to Obama, who got his start as a community organizer and whose wife, Michelle, grew up in south Chicago, as someone who knows better than others the problems plaguing the city. They question why he hasn’t done more to help.

But in a hint of their complicated feelings about Obama and his legacy, they are also hesitant to criticize someone they revere—which, in some ways, has added to the sense of despair. “If (Obama) can’t help us, who can?” the mother of a shooting victim, who declined to named because she didn’t want her neighbors to see her quoted criticizing the president, said in a recent interview.

On the eve of Obama’s appearance, many in the most dangerous neighborhoods declined to comment, including a prominent activist who told Yahoo News, “If you don’t have anything good to say, you shouldn’t talk at all.”

Chicago’s violence is a complicated issue that existed long before Obama headed to the White House. For decades, people in the city have struggled to combat the factors they say have combined to cause the brutal decline of the inner city, including poverty, easy access to guns and mutual distrust between residents and the police.

As president, Obama tried and failed to pass stricter gun control laws that he and Chicago Mayor Rahm Emanuel, his former chief of staff, argue would have helped stem some of the out of control violence in the city. But Obama has acknowledged the issue is much deeper than guns, suggesting in an exit interview last week with Chicago’s NBC affiliate there is no “silver bullet answer” for how to solve the city’s epidemic of bloodshed.

“It appears to be a combination of factors: the nature of gang structures or lack of structure in Chicago, the way that police are allocated, in some cases the need for more police, the easy accessibility of guns, pockets of poverty that are highly segregated,” Obama said.

Though Obama has frequently cited the need for gun control and made it a central plank of his campaign for Hillary Clinton to succeed him in the White House, the interview marked the president’s first comments on Chicago’s violence in months. In pushing for gun measures, the president has primarily mentioned mass shootings, like 2012 massacre in Newtown, Conn., which left 20 first-graders and six adults dead—an incident that he’s described as the most difficult day of his presidency.

Last January, Obama likened Newtown to Chicago in passing during a White House event. “Every time I think about those kids it gets me mad,” he said. “And by the way, it happens on the streets of Chicago every day.”

But that comment was one of the last times Obama spoke publicly about Chicago’s violence, even as the murder rate rose to historic levels. That has upset some in his adopted hometown who think he hasn’t done enough to call attention to the ongoing tragedy.

Against this backdrop is Donald Trump, who regularly cited Chicago in his stump speech last year. Trump, who campaigned in Chicago but bypassed a chance to see the most dangerous neighborhoods for himself, has likened the city to “a war zone” and pledged to help residents there by bringing jobs and development to the inner city.

Pressed last week on the issue, Obama insisted to NBC Chicago that he has been “pushing everybody that has impact on criminal justice issues” to try to figure out what can be done to help the city.

“I’ve assigned my Justice Department to work directly with the mayor’s office to provide them additional incentives, resources, best practices,” Obama said, adding that he’s approached the issue “as a citizen who has a deep interest in Chicago.” At the same time, Obama pointed to personal initiatives he’s launched to help at-risk youth, including the My Brother’s Keeper program, which he will continue to maintain as part of his post-White House legacy.

That hasn’t been enough for some. Last week, Chicago Tribune columnist John Kass, a frequent critic of Obama, lambasted the president ahead of Tuesday’s farewell speech for using the city “as a prop.” “For all his talk, he has no answers for Chicago, or for its failing institutions or for the blood running in the streets,” Kass wrote.

But Obama allies have defended the president, saying he tried to help his hometown but realized the limited scope of the presidency. In an interview with the Chicago Sun Times, Sen. Dick Durbin, a longtime friend and adviser to Obama, said he and the president had talked “over and over again” trying to figure out an answer for how they might be able to dramatically shift the dynamic of violence in Chicago. But they had come to realize there was no simple solution.

“It’s almost as difficult as Syria,” Durbin told the paper.

[newstfionline]

Heaviest Snow in Decades Batters U.K., Ireland and the Continent

By Ceylan Yeginsu, NY Times, March 1, 2018

LONDON--Mediterranean beaches blanketed in white. Blizzards and “life threatening” conditions in normally snowless areas of Britain, where there is also a developing natural gas shortage. Motorists stranded overnight on a highway in Scotland.

Since last Friday, Europe has been locked in a Siberian weather pattern that has pummeled the Continent with snow, freezing rain and brutal wind chills, paralyzing cities unaccustomed to more than a thin wet film of snow and killing dozens of people, mainly older and homeless people.

The weather system that is being called the “Beast From the East” has hit Britain especially hard, with some areas buried in up to three feet of snow and pushing temperatures as low as 14 degrees Fahrenheit (minus 10 Celsius).

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” said Robert Cole, a lawyer who spent four hours commuting into London from southwest England on Thursday. “It was like coming in from a ski resort, except nothing works.”

The conditions prompted the Met Office to issue a red alert warning for parts of the country, signaling an imminent risk to life.

Adding to the problems in Britain, a storm system heading up from the south is colliding with the Siberian air mass, bringing as much as two feet of drifting snow amid blizzard conditions to the moorlands of Devon, as well as Cornwall and South Wales, before barreling toward Ireland.

Heavy snow is unusual in southern Britain and Ireland, where the local authorities typically do not have the snowplows and salt spreaders that are standard equipment where harsh winters are common.

On Thursday, the third consecutive day of snowfall, most schools across Britain and Ireland were closed, as were many businesses. Even in London, which was not hit as hard as areas to the east and west, many normally packed streets were quiet. The week’s snowfall totals are expected to be the heaviest in decades.

Transportation networks were badly snarled by the weather, with extensive breakdowns and subway and train service stoppages, and flight delays and cancellations. Highway traffic was moving at a small fraction of its usual speed, and hundreds of drivers were stranded.

During rush hour on Thursday, more than half of the scheduled trains at London’s busiest railway station, Waterloo, were either canceled or delayed.

The National Grid, the operator of Britain’s power and gas networks, issued a warning that Britain might not have enough gas to meet demand on Thursday as temperatures continued to plummet and imports were hit by power failures. Spot prices for natural gas have more than quadrupled this week to the highest levels in years, as critics blamed not just the cold weather, but also a decision last year to close a major storage depot.

Officials said they were working with commercial energy consumers to cut gas use so that supplies for residential heating and electricity generation would not be affected.

Europe’s weather usually approaches from the Atlantic, to the west, keeping conditions mostly temperate, but that pattern has temporarily reversed, bringing a frigid system from Asia that meteorologists named “the Beast From the East.” Rome had its first snowfall in six years this week.

The cold weather in Britain and northwestern Europe is to some extent a mirror image of the “sudden stratospheric warming” in the arctic, experts say, referring to a disturbance in the polar jet stream that has alarmed scientists and forced some to reconsider even the most pessimistic forecasts for climate change.

As warm air has surged into the Arctic, experts say, a return flow into Europe dropped average February temperatures there to among the coldest ever.

“These changes in the upper areas of the atmosphere over the North Pole then lead to the jet stream being pushed southwards, which is what normally drives weather patterns in the U.K. and northwestern Europe,” said Chloe Moore, a meteorologist for the Royal Meteorological Society in Reading, southern England.

“When we have this setup in winter, the winds then come from the east, and this brings a very cold air mass from Scandinavia and Northern Russia,” she added.

The French national weather agency, Meteo France, put large parts of the country on alert for dangerous levels of snow, ice and wind on Thursday. The agency warned residents to limit travel and movement as heavy snowfall was expected to continue Friday.

Thousands of homes across the Mediterranean were without power on Thursday, the power provider Enedis said in a statement, as snow fell on areas known for their sun-kissed beaches.

Snowfall paralyzed Northern Spain, and a 65-year-old man died after slipping on snow-covered pavement, the Spanish News agency Europa Press reported. Another older man was found dead in the Netherlands after falling through ice while skating, the BBC reported.

Ireland was bracing for a direct hit on Thursday from Emma, the powerful storm system roaring up from the Bay of Biscay that is expected to deliver 60-mile-an-hour winds and fine, granular snow, leading to snow drifts and whiteout conditions across most or all of the island.

The country was in near lockdown on Wednesday as meteorologists forecast that up to 15 inches of snow would fall in less than 24 hours between Thursday afternoon and 3 p.m. Friday.

The Irish government issued a “status red” weather warning for the east of the island, closing schools and public offices, shutting down public transportation and advising businesses to close. All flights were canceled at the Dublin airport on Thursday afternoon, and the police told people not to leave their homes, except in emergencies, from 4 p.m. on Thursday, when the storm was expected to intensify.

Meteorologists say that the cold spell could last for up to two weeks, and that even with temperatures expected to rise during the day next week, temperatures will most likely remain close to freezing at night.

[robertmcangusgroup]

The Daily Thistle

The Daily Thistle – News From Scotland

Tuesday 12th September 2017

"Madainn Mhath” …Fellow Scot, I hope the day brings joy to you…. Blustery this morning, the weather man and Bill Padly on TRE didn’t say anything about these winds, must be hundreds of butterflys flapping their wings this morning… we tend to take the weather forecast as gospel, when in fact we all live in “Micro-Climates” and it’s impossible for the weather folk to give an exact forecast specifically for you, the streets create wind, the black top, gives of collected heat at night, it stored it during the day, and living on the coast as I do, we have to suffer the vagaries of the ocean and in my case, the Straights of Gibraltar, where to winds can get over 100 kph .. Irma is affecting us even though the Hurricane is 1000 of kilometers away from us, she is the butterfly, that affects the world her action can be felt around the world… just like Donald Trump, but that’s another story altogether…..

SCOTTISH STUDENT SPARKS ROW AFTER STRAYING INTO NORTH KOREA…. A student travelling on a Scottish Government scheme nearly sparked a diplomatic incident after crossing into North Korea without permission. Reece Kidd strayed into the pariah state by accident while on a boat trip in China, despite Foreign Office advice to stay clear. Tensions between North Korea and the West over its nuclear programme have pushed the region to a heightened state of alarm. Foreigners crossing the border have run into trouble in the past but the 22-year-old later joked that the country was “pretty chill” after border guards allowed his boat to depart without detaining them. Kidd, from Northern Ireland, was in China as part of the Saltire Scholar programme, which gives talented young people subsidised work placements overseas. He said he wanted to visit North Korea, saying it seemed to be a “hip place” to visit. He said he took a speedboat trip with a Chinese family on the Yalu river, with the boat eventually approaching a guard tower on the other side. A spokesman for Entrepreneurial Scotland said Mr Kidd’s actions had been “naive”, and did not reflect the standards of the programme. He added the student had apologised, and now understood the danger his lack of judgement may have placed him in. The Foreign Office advises against all but essential travel to North Korea.

WEE WALK WEEK IN CAIRNGORMS ENCOURAGES PEOPLE TO GET ACTIVE…. WEE Walks Week is returning to the Cairngorms National Park this month with the hope that even more miles will be clocked up following last year’s inaugral launch. The Park will be celebrating the best short local walks from next Saturday with the aim being to encourage many people to pledge to get out and enjoy a walk with friends, colleagues or neighbours. Initiated by the Cairngorms National Park Authority (CNPA) through its Active Cairngorms campaign, the idea behind Wee Walks Week is to help people discover the health benefits of being active daily. Wee Walks Week isn’t a walking festival with organised, ‘led walks’ – it’s much more informal than that and the CNPA hopes that people who take part will feel the better for it and make it a regular part of their daily or weekly routine. Adam Streeter-Smith, one of the CNPA’s Outdoor Access Officers said: “Wee walks are a great way to get outdoors – they are fun, free and help you to feel great. A wee walk can be as short as you like, but usually under four miles on good paths and gentle slopes. “You don’t need special equipment so it’s easy to head out on your own or with others.” Peter Argyle, CNPA Convener, said: “The Cairngorms National Park is the UK’s biggest and has the best wee walks by a mile! Wee Walks Week is all about helping people discover the health benefits of being active daily.

£1M TICKET GIVEAWAY ON TOP SCOTTISH RAIL DESTINATIONS…. THE ScotRail Alliance is giving away £1 million worth of free off-peak tickets to some of Scotland’s top destinations. The giveaway is both a thanks to customers and an opportunity to showcase the huge variety of places that the rail network covers. These free Off-Peak Day Return rail tickets are available to claim online, on a first-come-first-served basis, from 10am on 6 September until the offer closes on 15 September. Those who get free tickets must use them between 18 September and 30 November. This leisure ticket giveaway follows a season ticket ‘thank you’ offer earlier this year, when the ScotRail Alliance and Transport Scotland jointly funded a week’s free travel for monthly and annual season ticket holders. The ScotRail Alliance’s Managing Director Alex Hynes said: “We’re in the middle of building the best railway Scotland has ever had and this leisure travel offer is part of getting customers involved. Scotland’s rail network offers some spectacular scenery and we’d love as many customers as possible to get out there and enjoy it. “These tickets are a way of giving some of our customers a free means to do so. We expect high demand, so my advice is claim your tickets early and enjoy the journey!” Humza Yousaf, Minister for Transport and the Islands said: “I am delighted to see the ScotRail Alliance deliver this leisure ticket giveaway as part of our ongoing efforts to recognise and reward passengers for their custom and patience while we invest £5 billion to help transform Scotland’s railways. “This builds on the free week for regular travellers earlier this year following the essential works at Queen Street Tunnel and Winchburgh, which was a testing experience. “Our ambitious programme will bring enhanced station facilities and services with new, longer, faster, greener electric trains, alongside intercity trains connecting our cities. “This should encourage more people out of their cars, bringing with that environmental and health benefits.”

CORPORAL’S 100 MARATHON EFFORT FOR RAF WELFARE CHARITY…. AN air force corporal aiming to do 100 marathons to raise cash for the RAF’s leading welfare charity has now completed number 80 in Perth. Jon Ward, who is based at RAF Lossiemouth, got the running bug after completing his first marathon in 2007. He’s now aiming to become part of the exclusive 100 Marathon Club while paying homage to his career in the RAF. Jon’s last marathon falls on April 1 next year, the 100th birthday of the service. He completed the Perth Marathon on Sunday in 3hrs 18min 42sec. His next race will be on 29 October in Frankfurt when he hopes to beat his PB and go under three hours. He has to take a few weeks’ break due to work commitments. Following on from that will be 10 in 10 at the end of November when he will tackle 10 marathons in 10 days. He’s also planning a 40-mile ultra marathon the same month. Jon said: “I have been fortunate that I have never needed support from the RAF Benevolent Fund. “But being a serving member of the RAF, I see first hand how the charity supports the entire RAF family, so it seemed like a natural fit for me to raise funds for them. “And who knows, after I’ve completed this challenge my legs may give up so I may need their help after all.”

WILLIAM WALLACE HAS A WARRANT FOR HIS ARREST - IN AUSTRALIA…. Have you seen William Wallace? Police in Australia want to talk to you. No, not THAT William Wallace. Australian fugitive Wallace, 50, is currently being sought by police in the southern state of Victoria in relation to a string of assault charges. Described as tall, medium build, blue eyes and blonde hair, officers are appealing for information to trace his whereabouts. A report by Melbourne’s Herald Sun newspaper knowingly states that Wallace “has his freedom for the moment”, and that cops will “hope his heart is brave enough to call in at a police station”. One commenter quipped that the fugitive should be “obvious wandering around in a kilt” in the cold weather of the Australian winter. It is understood Mr Wallace is still at large.

On that note I will say that I hope you have enjoyed the news from Scotland today,

Our look at Scotland today is of the night sky.....

A Sincere Thank You for your company and Thank You for your likes and comments I love them and always try to reply, so please keep them coming, it's always good fun, As is my custom, I will go and get myself another mug of "Colombian" Coffee and wish you a safe Tuesday 12th September 2017 from my home on the southern coast of Spain, where the blue waters of the Alboran Sea washes the coast of Africa and Europe and the smell of the night blooming Jasmine and Honeysuckle fills the air…and a crazy old guy and his dog Bella go out for a walk at 4:00 am…on the streets of Estepona…

All good stuff....But remember it’s a dangerous world we live in

Be safe out there…

Robert McAngus

[stephaniefchase]

Bajan Newscap 4/16/2017

Good Morning #realdreamchasers! Here is your daily news cap for Sunday 16th 2017. Remember you can read full articles via Barbados Today (BT), or by purchasing a Sunday Sun Nation Newspaper (SS).

DLP “LATE” SHOW – Political scientists have questioned the “lateness” of the governing Democratic Labour Party (DLP) in finalising its slate of candidates for the next general election but differ on the impact. Last Thursday the DLP announced that it had replaced Patrick Todd in the City, Kenny Best in St Michael East, and St Michael South East’s Patrick Tannis with Nicholas Alleyne and Henderson Williams and Rodney Grant, respectively. Peter Wickham, the director of Caribbean Development Research Services (CADRES), said that the lateness of the selection exercise was an indication that the DLP believed that it would be victorious in the next election. “The manner in which the Democratic Labour Party went about making those changes, the timing and everything,” he said. (SS)

BWA SOUTH COAST PUMPS SOON READY – Those severe problems that plagued the South Coast Sewerage Project last year should be solved by month-end. The Barbados Water Authority (BWA) has almost completed the overhaul of its wastewater treatment and sewerage systems, as specially imported replacement pumps get set to go online at the South Coast Sewerage Treatment Plant at Graeme Hall, Christ Church. “Four new pumps are expected to replace the failing machines at the plant, the BWA’s Wastewater Division manager, Patricia Inniss, told the SUNDAY SUN. The special equipment was sourced and manufactured in Sweden, after numerous problems plagued the South Coast project late last year, leading to effluent flowing in the streets of Worthing, Christ Church, which led to water quality issues on the Worthing Beach, and its subsequent closure for four days. In addition, the tourism sector was also affected, with a number of visitors leaving their places of accommodation. (SS)

SACRIFICES TO FIX ECONOMI WOES – Barbadians need to look to their own resources inside the country for solutions to the country’s economic, social and financial woes. That bit of advice from Bishop Peter Fenty, the Barbadian who is the top black clergyman in Canada’s Anglican Church. His comments were made against a backdrop of Good Friday and Easter observances, the holiest period on the global Christian calendar. Bishop Fenty said the current economic situation required some tough decisions and there was no doubt the country had what was needed to return to a path of economic and social prosperity. “I do believe that in Barbados we have, right there on the island, the persons and the resources to turn around the economy, to make some difficult decisions. (SS)

MASSIAH TO LEAVE ST. JOSEPH RECTORY – Retired Anglican Priest Errington Massiah is making preparations to vacate the St Joseph Rectory after 32 years of residence there. The long-standing priest at St Joseph Anglican Church, who retired last year, told the SUNDAY SUN that he may be out of the rectory by the end of this week. However, he denied reports that the diocese had written him about vacating the Horse Hill, St Joseph rectory, which is a stone’s throw away from the parish church, which was closed and deconsecrated some years ago because of structural damage. “That ain’t true,” said Massiah, when informed about reports that the church had written him about his continued occupation of the residence, even though he had retired last year. (SS)

FREE VILLAGE LOSES APPEAL - The ancestral history of the first free village in Barbados has lost its value to some in the community. And after last night’s Apology concert, some residents are wondering what’s next? The story goes that the enslaved Blacks of Mount Wilton, who did not take part in the Bussa rebellion of 1816, were willed money from the plantation owner for their “good conduct”. It is said that after Emancipation in 1838, the ex-slaves used their inheritance to purchase fertile land in Rock Hall, St Thomas, which became the first free village in the island. With the ownership of land, these former slaves qualified for the right to adult suffrage. In 2005, a monument to represent the rich history of the area was unveiled by Member of Parliament for St Thomas, Cynthia Forde. The then Barbados Labour Party government was embarking on a tourism project which they hoped would bring needed recognition to the Freedom Village and empower residents. (SS)

THOUSANDS MARCH DEMANDING TRUMP RELEASE TAXES – Tens of thousands of people marched through midtown Manhattan and dozens of U.S. cities on Saturday to demand that President Donald Trump release his tax returns and to dispute his claim that the public does not care about the issue. Organisers of “Tax March” in more than 150 cities across the country and beyond wanted to call attention to Trump’s refusal to disclose his tax history, as his White House predecessors have done for more than 40 years. The marches coincide with the traditional April 15 deadline for U.S. federal tax returns, though the filing date was pushed backed two days this year. There were no reports of violence or arrests, in contrast to a clash between Trump supporters and opponents that erupted at a rally in Berkeley, California, where nine people were arrested. Two of the biggest tax marches took place in New York and Los Angeles, with each drawing about 5 000 people, according to estimates by Reuters reporters. No official estimates were immediately available. In Manhattan, a good-natured crowd rallied at Bryant Park before marching up Sixth Avenue to Central Park. Among the marchers was an oversized inflatable rooster, sporting an angry expression and a sweeping metallic orange hairdo meant to resemble Trump’s signature style. In Washington, more than 1 500 protesters gathered on the front lawn of the U.S. Capitol, where members of Congress addressed the crowd before it marched to the Lincoln Memorial. He described Trump’s refusal to release his taxes as being “like a teenager trying to hide a lousy report card”. As a candidate and as president, Trump has refused to release his tax returns, citing an ongoing audit by the Internal Revenue Service. The IRS has said that Trump can release his tax returns even while under audit. The White House could not be reached immediately for comment on the marches. (SS)

MUM: WHY DID MY SON DIE IN POLICE CELL: Angela Best closes her eyes and tries to talk, but has to pause for a moment to hold back the tears.  Then she becomes angry, refusing to believe that her first-born son would have done the unthinkable, and taken his own life. Best, 63, is calling on the authorities to explain the circumstances surrounding the death of Corey Best in police custody at the Oistins Police Station last Thursday. Police say the 34-year-old used his jeans to hang himself inside a holding cell. (SS)

SHARAZ OBRIAN PATEL WANTED BY THE POLICE – Police continue to seek the public’s assistance in locating 30-year-old Sharaz Obrian Patel, alias “Dappa”, who is wanted in connection with serious criminal matters. Patel’s last known address is Upper Wavell Avenue, Black Rock, St Michael. He is about five foot three inches in height, slim build and brown in complexion. He has an average nose and lips and brown eyes. He also has a tattoo on his left forearm with the words “Out Law”. The police say Patel is considered to be armed and dangerous and should not be approached by the public. Patel is advised that he can present himself to the Black Rock Police Station accompanied by an attorney-at-law of his choice. Anyone knowing his whereabouts is being asked to contact the nearest police station. The police are also reminding the public that it is a serious offence to harbour or assist wanted persons and anyone caught committing this offence can be prosecuted. (BT)

WANTED MAN SHAMAR WELCH CAPTURED - Wanted man Shamar Renaldo Welch has been captured. Welch, 28, who is also known as “Sammy”, of Rochester Road, Grazettes, St Michael, was apprehended by police today at Yearwood Land, Black Rock, St Micheal. The police say he is currently assisting them with investigations. Police Public Relations Officer acting Inspector Roland Cobbler has thanked the public and the media for their assistance.  (BT)

DOMINICAN HELD WITH 128 ROUNDS OF AMMUNITION - Police have arrested and charged 62-year-old Dominican national Pat Thomas with unlawful possession of 128 rounds of ammunition. On Thursday, April 13, Thomas, who is also a US citizen, arrived at the Grantley Adams International Airport on a flighted from the United States. During a search of his luggage, customs officers discovered the ammunition concealed in two pairs of socks. Thomas appeared before Magistrate Douglas Fredericks in the District ‘A’ Court today and was remanded to prison to reappear in the District ‘B’ Court on April 19. (BT)

ANOTHER TOUGH DAY EXPECTED AT CARIFTA GAMES - It will be a second tough day of track and field action for Barbados at the 46th Flow CARIFTA Games at the Ergilio Hato Stadium (SDK) in Willemstad on Sunday. The highlights will be in the 200 and 800 metres and 400 metres hurdles where Barbados will be aiming to add to their four medals on Saturday's opening day. Aaron Worrell will have four more events in the Octathlon, starting with the 110-metre hurdles, followed by the high jump, javelin throw and 1500 metres. In the field events, debutante Shanice Huston will compete in the Under-18 girls’ discus; Jonathan Miller in the Under-18 Boys’ triple jump; Shonita Brome and Akayla Morris in the Under-18 girls’ long jump and Enrique Babb in the Under-18 Boys’ shot put. On the track, Matthew Clarke and the United States-based Tai Brown will represent Barbados in the Under-Boys’ 200 metres while Jaquone Hoyte and Kentoine Browne will race in the Under-20 Boys’ 200 metres. Jonathan Jones and Rio Williams will contest the Under-20 Boys’ 800 metres with Roneldo Rock flying the Barbados’ flag in the Under-18 Boys’ 800 metres. Brome and Hannah Connell are entered for Barbados in the Under-18 Girls’ 400-metre hurdles while Tiana Bowen will be seeking a second medal in the Under-20 Girls’ 400-metre hurdles after her silver medal in the flat 400. Last year’s defending champion Rasheeme Griffith goes after a second consecutive gold medal in the Under-18 Boys’ 400-metre hurdles. Also representing Barbados in this event will be Nathan Fergusson, who took the silver medal last year behind Griffith. Rivaldo Leacock will also be hoping to bid farewell to the CARIFTA Games with a gold-medal run in the Under-20 Boys’ 400-metre hurdles. Barbados will be fielding only the Under-18 Boys’ 4x100-metre relay team with the quartet likely to be selected from Matthew Clarke, Darian Clarke, Tramaine Smith, Tai Brown and Fergusson. (SS)

GREAVES TON RESCUES PRIDE – An impressive unbeaten century by Justin Greaves orchestrated a remarkable recovery that lifted Barbados Pride to 297 for six yesterday on the opening day of the tenth-round Digicel Regional 4-Day Tournament match against the Jamaica Scorpions at Kensington Oval. Greaves recorded his maiden first-class century ten minutes before the close of play when he pulled a delivery from left-arm spinner Dennis Bulli to deep mid-wicket for a single. By stumps he was not out on 104 off 182 deliveries in 215 minutes with eight boundaries.  Greaves and fellow all-rounder Kenroy Williams (82) set the foundation for a productive opening day for the home side after they were forced to bat first. Their century stand lifted Barbados from an uncomfortable 65 for four prior to lunch and 98 for five less than half-hour into the afternoon session. (SS)

MARIJUANA CONCEALED AMONG BABY ITEMS - A 20-year-old man has been arrested and charged with possession of cannabis, possession with intent to supply cannabis and trafficking of cannabis. On April 13, Reshawn Shamar Best of Pilgrim Lane, Christ Church, visited the Seawell Air Services Bond to clear a shipment consigned to him. On inspection of the shipment by customs officers, five transparent packages containing cannabis were discovered concealed among baby items. The matter was reported to the police and Best was subsequently arrested and charged. He appeared before Magistrate Douglas Fredericks in the District ‘A’ Magistrates’ Court today and was granted bail in the sum of $5000 with one surety. He has been booked to reappear in the District ‘B’ Court on April 20. (BT)

STUART: DO MORE TO PUSH FESTIVAL – In the face of waning support for the FLOW Oistins Fish Festival, Prime Minister Freundel Stuart has called for greater involvement in the 40-year-old event. The Prime Minister made the plea yesterday during his feature address at the opening ceremony of the 40th Oistins Fish Festival, following remarks by MP for the area John Boyce in which he spoke to the noted challenges the festival faced in terms of sponsorship. Improvements are in line for the area, Stuart revealed. While praising the popular venue, he said there were many much-needed plans to better assist the physical development of the area. He explained that coming out of a recently held town hall meeting on the Physical Development Plan were plans to create a waterfront pedestrian route from Enterprise beach to Welches beach and create a transport terminal on the land side of Highway 7. (SS)

EASTER DELIGHTS – Easter eggs still attract children in droves. Businesses in Bridgetown were examples of that most of last week, as Barbadians started piling up on the colourful treats for their kids. (SS)

RESIDENTS GIVE BACK THROUGH KITE FLYING - The Dying arts of kite-making and kite-flying have prompted young St Philip residents to start a new annual tradition of making and helping to fly kites for community children. For the second year, old school friends John Jones and Akeem Mason will be coordinating the distribution of kites to children across the island. “When I brought the idea to John, I realised he was thinking the same thing,” Mason, 25, said. “We just want to bring back the excitement of making kites and flying them.” Tomorrow, Easter Monday, the Kite Flying Extravaganza and Giveback will be held in King George V Memorial Park. It is expected to host children of all ages. (SS)

That’s all for today folks. There are 259 days left in the year Shalom! #thechasefiles #dailynewscaps Follow us on Twitter, Facebook & Instagram for your daily news. #bajannewscaps #newscapsbystephaniefchase