#bringing a few watermelons a thousand feet in the air

[thenewtitans60page22]

So Clark would’ve had to learn how to catch falling people without halting or reversing their momentum so quickly it kills them, right? So all I can imagine right now is Pa Kent on the roof of the barn flinging watermelons down for a teenage Clark to fly by and catch

[curvingsunsets]

Gentle Breathing

Luke Patterson X Reader

Description: after another fight with his mom, Luke runs to Y/N’s house for comfort. 

Warnings:  none that I’m aware of

Author’s note:  I know I mentioned I had a Reggie fic in the works. It is still In the works bc I want it to be long enough. I hope y'all enjoy this one, It’s sorta set up weird, but I think it’s pretty rad. 

A gentle knock on the window pulls you away from the textbook in front of you. Before you can react, the window slides open, and a pair of beat up vans climbs inside. You first meet his eyes. They’re glassy and definitely puffy from crying. His nose is pink from either the cold or crying as well. You approach him, placing your warm hands on his tear-stained cheeks. Neither of you say a word as he pulls you into a hug, his arms tying around your middle.

You hold him carefully and smooth his hair. Quiet sobs rake through his body and you’re heartbroken. “It’s gonna be okay,” you promised him quietly and placed a kiss on his temple. He let another hiccup out as you brought him over to the bed. You let him lay his head on your chest as he held onto you. The tears flow for another minute before they die down to shaky breathing.

“What happened?” you asked him softly, pushing his hair away from his eyes.

He let in a deeper breath before speaking quietly, “Another fight with my mom. She was not happy tonight,” he shook his head and let out a pitiful laugh. “I didn’t really know where I was gonna go. I sorta just rode my bike and I ended up here.”

“That’s okay. You know you’re always welcome here,” your eyes meet again and he takes your hand. “You can talk to me.”

He nods and looks down at your fingers, which he’s playing with. “She just...doesn’t understand. It’s more than just a band. They’re my closest family,” he pushes himself to stand up and starts walking around the room, something you’ve noticed he does when he has a lot on his mind. “I wouldn’t be myself if I didn’t have you guys. And she keeps trying to convince me to quit...to..to become this perfect kid who wants to be an accountant or whatever. She doesn’t listen to me when I tell her I don’t want that for me. I want to live, Y/N. And I can’t do that if she keeps pulling me back. I can’t be this perfect image she keeps projecting onto me. A-and I can’t pretend that this is some phase or whatever,” he climbs onto the foot of your bed, feet making a deep indent. “This is what we’re gonna do for the rest of our lives, Y/N. We’re gonna share the music that we make and form real connections with people everywhere. It’s not about the delinquency. It’s not about the edgy guyliner. It’s about the music. And the message it carries with it.”

You move to sit on the edge of the bed, resting your head on his leg. He looks down at you and brings himself to your level. “Y/N. I promise you. No matter what. I’m never leaving.” You don’t respond, just lay your head on his shoulder. “Hey,” he says softly, taking your face in his hands. “I love you.”

The words are spoken softly, but hold so much sincerity that leaves you thinking that he could mean more than they’ve meant in the past years of friendship. The sparkle in his eyes brought a new tension between the two of you. Something brought you to glance from his eyes down to his lips. In a split moment, he’d brought your lips to his, placing a gentle kiss to them. It ended as quickly as it started, yet it felt like a thousand years.

He stutters out a quick, “I-I-I-I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have done that. That was really stupid of me,” he stands up, starting for the window. “I should go-” he’s cut off by your hand clutching his arm.

“Please don’t,” you tell him softly.

He nods, sitting back down on the bed. Without another thought, you lean forward to kiss him. He immediately melts into it, placing a hand on your shoulder. You can actually enjoy the moment now that you’re aware it's really happening. His lips are slightly chapped from all of the times he’d bit them. They taste like watermelon flavored bubblegum, but are still slightly salty from the earlier crying.

He breaks away for air, cheeks red as he lets out a soft laugh. He takes your hand in his and sighs. “I...really like you.”

You nod, a dumb smile finding its way to your cheeks. “I really like you too, Patterson. Even if you’re in some hooligan band,” you tease, nudging his shoulder.

“Y’know, I came here to cry, but this is good too.”

You roll your eyes at him before going back to the textbook you’d abandoned when he first arrived. He watches as you fully immerse yourself back into the chapter and scoffs. He takes the book away from you and tosses it onto the desk. You laugh as he sits down where the textbook used to lay and pulls you into a big hug. He buries his face in your shoulder and you both sit in silence for a few moments, enjoying the others’ company.

“Thank you,” you hear him mutter into your neck

You give him the tightest hug in response, laying back against the pillows behind you. You run a comforting hand across his back and listen as the exhausted boy’s breathing begins slowing down, indicating that he’d fallen asleep. You give him one last kiss to his hair before joining him in slumber.

Tag List:

@sunsetcurve-h @joshy-obx @lolychu  @noncannonships@rudysbay @jortcourse @kiss-themoongoodbye @talksoprettyjjx@mysteriouseyes427 @Whatever-happens-imma-stand-tall @yung-dumb-punk-barbie

@walkingonsunshine  @wcnderwoo @talksoprettyjjx@lukedetails @thexhotmess @chennyetomlinson @carnationcreation@alwayssolo10

@lovesanimals @lukeys-giggle @thesmallest-ace @hxney-bunches-x

[harryscumcloth]

A Thought for a Thought

Thank you @sleepyeyedstyles for guiding me once again. Much love x. And thank you @loveandyourstrulyh for helping me decide an ending and much more. Love you both very much! Warning: marijuana usage

In most cases, your father owning a cinema would be great. Free movies, free snacks, the lot. But for Harry, it was everything but. He was working solely to repay his father for his loans.

It's even worse when the cinema is in the city that never sleeps so any time, day or night, there are thousands of people roaming the streets searching for an activity to enjoy. The cinema just so happens to be one of the most popular locations for teens and young adults after dark.

Y/N and Harry spend a lot of late nights working together, basically a set schedule due to the majority of other employees having curfews and not being able to work the late shift.

This particular night, however, a concert was being held a couple of blocks down and the cinema was unoccupied.

“Harry,” you begin to whine, “This is boring! Why can’t we close up early before the showing is finished?”

He sits on the floor in front of the popcorn machine, twiddling his thumbs, “My Dad would have a massive fit, that’s why.”

“Believe me, I don’t want to be here either sweetheart. Reckon I’d much rather be getting blazed.”

He pulls himself off of the floor and leans over the counter. “Besides, the last showing is practically over, just..” Harry begins to calculate in his head, “59 more minutes, love.”

You scoff as you lift yourself onto the counter, leaving your legs to dangle.

“Well, can we at least find something to do other than just sitting here?” You ask, not considering the ways he could take it.

He smirks and pushes himself away from the counter, “I have a few things in mind. Think you might be interested?” He holds his hand out as a gesture to help you down.

“I’m down for anything at this point”, you say as you hop off with his help.

“Mm, now tha’s what I like to hear.” He quickly checks on the auditorium that’s playing the last movie of the night, making sure it’s clear. He heads to lock the doors, completely disregarding what he had just said about how his father would feel. He hurried back to you and joined his fingers with yours, pulling you to the Employees Only room.

****

You sit across from him at the table, watching as he rolls the blunt. Carefully leaning back in your chair, you prop your feet on the table top. Truth is, you are nervous. This is a bit more rebellious than you are used to, but Harry seems to have no worries.

He stands up from the table and moves to the couch, motioning for you to come as well. You take a seat next to him while he lights up. He slowly runs his tongue along the split one last time to make sure it’s secure, lighting it, and putting it to his lips. He takes one long drag and passes it to you.

You hold it between your index finger and thumb as you tap the ash off. He’s watching you closely as you bring it to your lips.

“Can you like.. Not?” You ask, feeling self-conscious.

His smile widens, showing his precious dimples. His head turns to look the other way and you quickly take a pull at the blunt. Might’ve been a little too quick because you begin coughing. It feels like a fire has started in your throat and lungs. You are extremely embarrassed because you can’t stop coughing and your face has turned a bright shade of red.

“Are you alright?”

You nod and he lights it again, “I’m sorry.. just a little nervous with you looking at me.”

He stops and shows a confused look. “Never been before, why now?”

You shrug, avoiding eye contact.

“Nothin’ to be nervous about love,” He grins at you as he takes another hit.

Harry had just made the assumption that you are never nervous around him, but the truth is that every time you see him, you get jittery. It was more apparent earlier in your first few weeks of working at the cinema, however, you had become exceptional at hiding it. Or so you thought.

It seems as if he didn’t even notice that you were burning a hole into the side of his head with your gaze. You couldn’t help yourself. You’ve never been given an occasion like this to where you could observe him at this close of a distance.

You sit in awe, completely captivated by him.

He has soon made it halfway through before he hands it back. “Y/N?” He waves his hand in your line of vision, bringing your attention back. You take it and show him that you know what you are doing, surely to redeem yourself.

“Oi love, what’s on your mind?” His hand grazes over your kneecap and gently squeezes. You remain silent while your eyes wander to his hold on you.

You try racking your mind of things to say, but you are unable to concentrate with the flock of butterflies in your stomach.

“What about a thought for a thought?” His suggestion brought curiosity. You start wondering what he could possibly admit to you.

“What kind of thoughts?” You pass it back to him. You now feel the full effects in your head and nerves.

“Any.” He brings it back to his lips, his hand still actively squeezing your knee. “But reckon I’d enjoy the ones about you fancying me the most.” He says arrogantly.

You try to hide the panic with a scoff while you mock him.  “What makes you think I ‘fancy’ you?”  

He tries to hand it back but you refuse. “I’m fine” you say defensively. He smirks, and finishes it off, disposing of the evidence down the sink drain. He takes his seat next to you again. “ Y’think I don’t notice how you stare at me? Or how flushed you get when I’m around?”

“I like looking at your tattoos. That’s all.” It didn’t sound very convincing but you went with it anyways.

“I don’t have tattoos on my face love.” He’s full on grinning with both dimples showing. “Just admit it, you fancy me.”

You bury your face in your hands in an attempt to hide the embarrassment. “Fine. I ‘fancy’ you.” You admit in defeat.

“What is it that you fancy about me?” He’s becoming big headed.

At first, you’re unsure if you want to go into detail. You realize the worst that could happen is that he doesn’t reciprocate feelings…. but that would destroy you.

“Everything.” You state bravely. “Your hair. It’s grown a lot since I’ve been here.” You reach over to run your fingers through his long curls, gently tugging. He has his head propped on his hand, with an amused look on his face.

“Your smile.” You poke at his faded dimples. “Especially when these bad boys make their appearance.” He shows his perfect teeth when he lets out a loud laugh.

A warmth grows in your stomach as your pulse quickens. You gaze into his alluring, green eyes. “These,” You reach and begin to rub your thumbs on the outer corners of his eyes. “If I could only see one thing for the rest of my life… I would choose these.”

“Everything.” You quietly repeat.

The relief isn’t what you had imagined when you thought about telling Harry about your crush on him. It was quite dreadful in this silence because you were left wondering if he felt the same.

Regret. That’s all you felt from your confession. Well that, and nausea from the lack of fresh air in the small room.

Harry hasn’t said one word in 5 minutes. He’s perched on the armrest of the couch, his brows furrowed and his bottom lip pinched between his fingers. You purposely avoid eye contact, but you still see him studying you from your peripheral vision.

You’ve had enough. You finally muster up the courage and collect your belongings from the locker.

“You’re leaving?” He moves to stand in between you and the door.

“Bye Harry.” You say as you try to brush past him but he catches you.

“Please don’t go.” He’s holding you by your forearms, pleading.

“You haven’t said a word to me about it and I’m not going to sit here while you stare at me like I’m a lost cause.”

“You don’t know how I was looking at you because you wouldn’t even look at me!” He yells in a hushed tone.

You can’t help but be upset, partially because this seems to be your first disagreement with Harry. “I’m embarrassed! What do you expect? I’ve just made a fool of myself.”

“Y/N, no you haven’t.” He assures you, “Not a fool.”

A smile has crept across your face, followed by a sense of hope. “Tryin’ to leave me and I’ve not had my go yet.” He teases and pulls you back to the couch.

“Wait” he says, exiting the room quickly. You scroll through your phone as you wait for him to return. He comes back with his hands and arms full of treats. He grins and starts handing you snacks. You are surprised when you see your favorite gummies and favorite soda.

“Lucky guess?” You ask, holding the gummies and cup up.

He shakes his head, “I pay attention. Besides, y’eat em every night.”

You begin to speak but he stops you by shushing. “My turn.”

It’s obvious that this is new territory for Harry to step in. You watch as he wipes his sweaty palms across his jeans and fidgets in his seat.

“Not quite sure what to say. Could copy you but it wouldn’t hold meaning.” At this point, you could scream. He already talks extremely slow, and now he is lost in his high thoughts.

You’ve grown impatient and cut his train of thought off, “Harry, it’s me. What’s the big deal? Just say it.” You say sternly.

“That’s precisely the problem, isn’t it? It’s you.” He laughs nervously. “Never acted on it because it’s against policy, but y’know what? Fuck policy. I don’t think I can work another night with you and not have you be mine.”

You try to intervene but he doesn’t allow it. “You drive me absolutely mad with the things you do. Prime examples, using your watermelon hand sanitizer every time you touch money. Who does that?”

He continues.

“You ruin the varnish on your nails every single night by picking and repainting for the next day. You have lovely hands by the way.”

“You don’t even use matching socks for fuck's sake!”

This was very different from how you admitted your feelings. You aren’t sure if he is actually criticizing you, or if this is his way of naming things he likes about you.

“I’m sorry?” You are genuinely confused. “Do you like me or hate me? Because if this is your way of telling me how you feel, then I understand why you’ve never done it before.”

“Who said I’ve never done this before?” He furrows his brows and becomes defensive.

“You’re sweating a puddle, Harry!” You point to his shirt, taking notice to the wetness on his chest and armpits.

“It’s just warm in here. Not enough air coming from the vent.” He motions towards the vent on the ceiling. “But I am tellin’ you how I feel. I think tonight was meant to happen this way.”

“I think you are missing the problem. We can’t be together here, and we both need this job.” Sadness and disappointment fills your body, leaving you feeling defeated.

“We can be together away from here. Before and after work.” It’s cute that he is trying to find ways to make it work, but you aren’t so easily convinced.

“I have school before work, and you have a morning job.”

“Christ (y/n), stop trying to find ways that it won’t work. Give it a chance. Give us a chance.” He lets out a loud sigh, seemingly frustrated at your negativity. “It’s very late now. Let's get back out there.”

He locks the door to the cinema, tugging on it as a double check. He places his arm around your shoulder, pulling you tight, and you link fingers with his. “It’s going to work, love.”

You and Harry live around the block from each other, so it was typical for him to walk you home at night.

The streetlight casts just enough light onto his face for you to see his expression. You kept your eyes glued to him most of the walk home, never feeling safer than being in his arms now.

You hadn’t noticed that you were standing in front of your door until he cleared his throat, gesturing that this was it. “Thank you for walking me home Harry. You do it every night but it felt different this time. Almost romantic. Not that it’s not always romantic but you know, like…” You begin rambling and he cuts you off with a kiss to your forehead.

“I know.” His simple words felt like a match had been lit in your chest. “I will always be sure you get home safely.”

You squeeze his hand once more before letting go and opening the door. “Bye Harry.”

He gives a small wave before heading down the sidewalk. You ponder in your thoughts and quickly stop him by shouting, “Harry!” He stops in his tracks and turns to you. “Do you want to come in? Just for a minute. I know you have to be awake early.”

“I better not. I might not leave if I do.” His hands cup your jaws and pulls you close. Your noses touch and his lips barely graze yours when the door swings open, revealing your mother in her nightgown and slippers. You both panic and scramble to separate in less than a second.

You are completely ashamed when your mother asks, with her hand on her hip and the other holding the door knob, “Where have you been young lady?” You look to Harry with a horrified expression. He’s holding back his laughter as he backs away and your mother pulls you in the house.

[misstinfoilhat]

Whumptober 2019 #15: Trembling/Adrenaline- Bungou Stray Dogs

I am seriously out of ideas. As I start to write this, I still have no idea what is going to be written on this page once I'm done.

(And now that it's done, I'm still not sure what this is. This was just me writing without any purpose, having no idea where it would go. I think you can see a pretty clear shift in the story- yay Hypomania!)  If anybody has any requests, something they want to see, just a small scenario somewhere in some story, please don't hesitate to leave it in a comment/message (depending on where you read this). I really need something to work off of, because I'm empty. Something angsty, fluffy, funny, gory- whatever. I would like to keep writing Dazai-centric things for this, though. Today's prompt was supposed to be 'scars'. I am going to write that- but I'm not able to right now. I'm going to pick it up later. Instead, it's this mix between a prompt from the past and the future! (Even though they’re both technically from the past since I’m behind af.) 

Whumpvember! -----

Some days, Dazai was able to take all he had lost with stride. It was in the past, a finished chapter that didn't need revisiting. There was nothing to do with it- what was written, was written.

Other days, days like today... that just wasn't an option.

Because these days, he felt haunted. As if the many ghosts from his past suddenly came up beside him and sucker-punched him in the gut, leaving him on the floor, heaving for air and trying to stagger back to his feet on his own.

Currently sitting on top of the tallest skyscraper in Yokohama, he let his feet dangle over the edge as he watched the city down there, moving on with their life without him. 

They couldn't see him- didn't even know he existed up here. And he, he had no idea who they were.

Like ants, he imagined that he crushed them with the soles of his shoes, dipping them playfully in the air far above everyone, squishing them one by one- none ever the wiser.

He didn't care about these people. They didn't care about him. He hadn't even known that they existed until a few minutes ago. And they, wouldn't know that he ever existed at all before he plunged down, smashing onto the sidewalk in front of them like a watermelon.

Well, if he did. He wasn't sure anymore.

Sneaking up here, that had been the plan. But now, he wasn't sure if it would be the painless suicide that didn't inconvenience anyone that he wanted.

He had seen enough skulls crush to know that it was quite difficult to digest the first couple of times.

Filling his lungs with air and breathing it out slowly, he closed his eyes and tried to imagine a world where he wasn't used to seeing heads explode, while simultaneously realizing that he didn't want to be the reason another child woke up in panic, reliving the moment a stranger's body pulverized on the pavement in front of them for the rest of their life.

So, no. He wasn't going to jump. Not right now, at least. Maybe tomorrow, during school hours. There would be less children around to witness it then.

Except, the ADA had a mission tomorrow.

...phew, good thing he didn't die today, or else, his death would really be an inconvenience for everybody.

Especially Atsushi. It was the first mission where he had been given the lead- they were going to execute the tiger boy's game plan.

Dazai hummed humorously, thinking about the worry knitted between the kid's eyebrows, and the small drop of sweat trailing down his face when they got the mission and he was appointed to take the lead.

His strategy was... fine. It was no 'Shame and toad', or 'Footsteps of heat and haze', but it was... fine... totally fine.

...as long as he was there to do some patch-work, of course.

Dazai laid back, resting his head on his arms while looking up at the night sky. The clear, dark blue nothingness, filled with the small, pretty twinkling balls of luminous gas with nuclear fusion reactions in their cores.

...Also called stars.

Ten thousand year old lights shone above him, radiating from orbs that could live up to a billion years... and here, he was lying on the roof of a tall building, wanting to end his life after only twenty-two.

...mourning the life of people who were unable to live past much more than that. People who hadn't been ready to die. Good people. People he wished he could bring back.

He huffed out a bitter scoff, shifting and dragging his hands across his face wearily.

It was late, the wind was picking up and it was getting cold. His mind was going places it wasn't supposed to, so he should probably get back to the dorms.

Listlessly, he hosed himself up to a sitting position, retracting his feet from the edge and started to get up.

As he placed his weight on his heels, his left foot slipped on the ledge.

In a moment of confusion, he tilted slightly to the side, instinctively grabbing urgently for something to hold onto. The slight tilt of the roof didn't help at all. His inside contorted into a tight knot as he felt his back glide off the edge.

The world was moving in slow motion. He knew his only way to save himself from this all too ironic death would be if he somehow was able to grab onto the small edges of the rooftop.

What happened next only lasted for a couple of seconds, all though it felt like much longer.

Twisting his body slightly, he was able to grab onto the edge with his right arm, but the suddenly added burden of his body weight immediately jerked his shoulder out of its socket. A blinding, shooting pain traveled to the tips of his fingers that threatened to give out.

Dazai grit his teeth in agony and shut his eyes closed, forcing the hurt back with pure willpower, determined to get back up.

He kinda wished he had informed Atsushi about some of the holes in his plan- just... in case.

With the very last of his strength, he pushed his feet against the wall, using the momentum to fling his left arm up with no other option than having blind faith in his ability to catch a hold of anything.

A small sigh of relief forced its way through his body as he felt his hand touch the cool steel of the roof tiles. Scrambling his legs, trying his best not to slip, he was able to climb, painstakingly slowly, back up.

His heart was racing and he panted heavily, crawling a safe distance away from the slippery side, settling on his back while gripping his injured shoulder tightly.

His whole body was trembling from the rush of adrenaline, and he knew he had to get down from there and (reluctantly admitting to himself that he also had to) visit Yosano to help him set the shoulder back. Usually when he tried to do it himself, he would screw up so many times that he eventually ended up passing out- Mori had dislocated his shoulder and made him try to set it back so many times (it was a good way of breaking out of hand cuffs or tight ropes), that he was almost used to it by now.

He knew he would be able to do it eventually, but just the thought made him gravitate towards the edge again...

Carefully, he coerced himself up to a seated position, a bit impressed with the arm that was now hanging limply by its side, and that it had been able to hold his weight at all after the initial injury. Right now, he had no contact with it, which was usually how it went.

He had heard about things like this, when your body would go above and beyond to survive in near-death situations... Oh, how his body must have had betrayed him for all these years...

Before he could slip back to old habits, he turned and headed for the fire escape he had come up.

Climbing the caged ladder with only one arm was difficult, but manageable. For a while.

About half-way (why had he picked the tallest building in all of Yokohama?), the adrenaline was starting to wear off, and his shoulder began to throb violently. His left arm and legs were getting tired. But, he wasn't stopping. That would only result in his limbs stiffening, and that would only make it harder.

So, he kept descending the ladder at a steady pace, until finally, he stepped on the last step.

It was a 2,5 meters drop from the ladder to the ground. Dazai moaned in exasperation, and (finally) let himself fall.

He hit the pavement bellow with a small thud. Such an anti-climactic ending to his venture on the skyscraper- but at least there weren't any traumatized children around.

Scowling up at the ladder, he rubbed his back wearily and gathered himself at his feet, limping his way back towards the Agency.

--------

“What in the world...?” Yosano uttered dumbfounded, as Dazai dragged himself into the Agency, only a little late. Her words caused a chain reaction. A mixture of perfectly groomed, or disheveled bed-haired heads peeked towards the entry, where Dazai stood, leaning heavily to the wall.

Honestly, Dazai had no idea that it was going to take that long to get back- or that it had been so late in the first place. He hadn't been able to get home for a shower or a change of clothes, before he had to be at work.

His coat was dirty, the knees of his pants ripped and his hair a mess. He looked suspiciously pale, and his breathing was labored like he was in great discomfort.

“Morning...” he mumbled hoarsely, grimacing at how small his voice sounded. It obviously didn't help with the seven pairs of eyes (eight pairs, if you counted Kunikida's glasses) that looked concerned at him.

Before he was able to try and explain himself, Yosano had a tight grip around his healthy arm, which admittedly was sore and stiff after the long climb, and dragged him off towards the infirmary.

------

An hour later, Dazai reappeared at the office with his arm in a sling. Yosano had taken a look at him as he got up from her table of horrors with a small giggle, telling him it was almost nice to see him back in his signature look. 

High as a kite on pain killers, he decided that she was mean and didn't deserve an answer except for a tongue, childishly sticking out and blowing raspberries towards her.

“How are you doing, Dazai-san?” Atsushi asked worriedly. The group were all leaning over the same table, probably going over today's mission a final time.

Dazai set up a wide grin and strode over with featherlike steps, except for the occasional hobble as his backside made reminded him that asphalt didn’t cushion your fall very well.

“I'm great,” he beamed and shook the orange pill bottle he had received from the doctor. “Yosano-sensei is being generous with the funny-pills today.”

“...Right,” Kunikida answered with a frown, while Dazai wormed his way under Ranpo's arm, jiggling the bottle in front of his face and murmuring tauntingly, “And you can't have any of my candy either,” -to which Ranpo pushed him gently away.

“So, what mess did you get yourself into this time?” Kunikida asked gravely, choosing to ignore his partner's foolishness.

The bandaged idiot jerked his head up quickly, watching the bespectacled man intently.

“Oh, I was just going to kill myself, but then, I almost died!” he exclaimed wide-eyed.

Stupified expressions glared at him for a long moment. Atsushi blinked repeatedly until Kunikida cleared his throat to get everyone's attention back to their work.

“So... We'll enter through exit C at the back- where Tanizaki will be waiting to let us in...”

Dazai made his way over to the blonde man and grabbed his shirt tightly, wide orbs glaring deeply into his eyes with a seriousness rarely seen in the slender man.

“Didn't you hear me? I was going to jump, and then I didn't, but then I slipped, and, and...”

Kunikida sighed deeply, calmly placing his hand on Dazai's tight grip, firmly prying his fingers open.

“Yes, we all heard you. You were going to kill yourself, and you almost made it. Now, you should go back to the dorms and sleep this... buzz off, so we can get ready...”

“What? No! I'm coming with you. And I wasn't going to kill myself- I mean, I was, but I wasn't, because I was coming here!” Dazai smiled, nodding vigorously, looking around the room for support.

Atsushi immediately averted his gaze, unable to look into the wide doe-eyes as the light in them eventually would go out, when he realized that they had reworked the whole plan around him not being included.

Apparently, Dazai couldn't find any support from any of the others either. His voice had quieted down considerably when he asked, one final time with just a small glimpse of hope still left in it, “Right?”

“I'm sorry, Dazai-san,” Atsushi said, reluctantly peeking back up at him, as he stood dejectedly in front of Kunikida.

“B-but, no! I was... I was gonna jump, I would have jumped... But I wanted to see my little orphan's debut as team leader!”

“Your little...?” Atsushi uttered, dumbfounded.

“Yeah, like... like Oda said,” Dazai trailed off, lowering his gaze to the floor and shook his head lightly in his haze.

The spectators exchanged bewildered looks.

With a weary rise and fall of his shoulders, Atsushi breathed out tiredly and walked over to Dazai, who was mumbling something about 'footsteps of heat and haze', and placed a light arm across his elder's back and started to walk him towards the exit.

“Come, we should get you home,” he explained and tried for a smile to tell him that it was all okay and nothing to worry about.

“B-but, the mission-” Dazai tried to argue feebly, but kept walking in the direction Atsushi was taking him anyway, trying to look back at the lowered gazes, refusing to look at him.

“Don't worry about it, we'll be fine for a couple of hours-”

“But-”

“-I can make you some food, we can play a game if you're up for it-”

“...What?” Dazai suddenly halted to a stop.

Atsushi stopped too, looking up at his mentor and smiling reassuringly.

“We're going to have to send Yosano if you can't go, and someone needs to look after you... My ability isn't necessary for this, it's fine.”

“No...” Dazai proclaimed, lightly shocked. “No, this... this isn't how it's supposed to be. It's your big day, and... and I'm supposed to look after you, and instead, you're looking after me and it’s all upside down!”

Atsushi chuckled nervously, patting Dazai's uninjured shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting manner. “It's okay.”

“No, it's not. I- I didn't jump last night because I wanted to be there with you on this mission. It's a big day, and... I ruined it... I messed everything up for you by being stupid and broken and...”

He shook his head bitterly, finally looking at the boy. “...and I don't deserve it. You're so pure and...good, and... I'm... not. I'm horrible.”

Dazai's guilt-ridden and genuinely distraught look made the white-haired boy's heart twist painfully in his chest. He had no idea this meant so much to him. Had no idea he did. 

Dazai was just this silly, carefree person at the Agency (albeit with a burning death-wish), who could come up with flawless tactics in the blink of an eye and was supposed to be unbreakable.

Somehow, he wondered if this was how normal children felt when they first realized that there was no Santa Claus.

“Stop that,” Atsushi said finally. “Y-you... You already look after me. I wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for you. I would have starved, or the mafia would've sold me on the black market!”

He was getting some stealth to his voice now, and it looked like Dazai was listening, so he continued.

“You gave me a place to stay, a job. Literally the shirt on my back! You gave me a reason to live... A reason to fight... Sitting out one measly mission isn't going to cancel that out... You can't nullify everything,” he closed with a small smirk.

Dazai chuckled a little too, taking in a deep breath and straightened his back, finding some encouragement in those words- that Atsushi wasn't mad at him, but it didn't mean that he hadn't screwed up royalty.

“Fine,” he sighed, letting Atsushi steady him lightly across the parking lot towards the dorms. He threw his working arm lazily over the younger's shoulder and ruffled his hair vigorously.

Atsushi easily leaned into the light-hearted show of affection, feeling a fuzzy warm feeling melting away the heavy ice that had overwhelmed his heart moments before.

Dazai kept his arm around Atsushi as they crossed the large space. It wasn't until they finally passed the small gate that gave them access to the dormitories, that he spoke again.

“So... death by black market, huh?”

[crystalxfrost]

Mirror to Salvation

I don't like looking at myself in the mirror because I've never really liked how I look. I've had low self esteem my whole life, so I actively avoid my reflection most of the time. I could use expensive makeup or name brand cosmetics to "fix" my appearance, but I've never really had anybody to show me how to use those things and was always too shy to ask, so I don't bother trying; I'm positive that whatever I try to use will only make me look like a clown anyway. So when I need to get ready to go out, I usually just pull a brush through my hair and throw it back in a braid or a ponytail and bam! I'm ready.

The only time I ever look in the mirror is the occasional three-second scan for missed random dirt or leftover dippy eggs from breakfast. However, I am extremely familiar with my reflection and my person, having spent so much time alone with it over the years, so it was something of a mighty shock when in the course of getting ready to go pick up my friend Nathan from the library down at the Square, I lifted my eyes to my mirror and saw a complete stranger in perfect mirror image of my own pose and gesture.

I blinked hard, then squeezed my eyes shut tightly and shook my head to make sure I wasn't crazy or seeing things, then opened my eyes, expecting to see my own boring reflection again. But no, the strange woman was still there in my mirror, just staring at me.I leaned forward, now both afraid and intrigued. The woman was stunningly beautiful in comparison to myself: long curly blonde hair sat perched like a golden waterfall over the shoulders of a tall slender porcelain-skinned woman with large sapphire-blue eyes. She was dressed in a black business suit and carried a small blue purse over her shoulder. I'd seen her everywhere. I'd seen her nowhere.

As I leaned closer, forgetting myself in more than a little bewilderment mixed with fear at the sight of this woman there in the mirror where my own reflection should be, something large and fast swung into view from beyond the right edge of the mirror and smashed against the side of the blonde woman's head. I shrieked and jumped back in horror as her head simply disintegrated into a bloody mass of pulp and raw flesh as whatever that thing had been blew her head right off her shoulders. Blood, lots of it and packed with bits of brain matter and fragments of skull, splashed up against the mirror and I cowered, screaming, eyes screwed tightly shut, fully expecting the wave to bathe me in its disgusting carryings. But no warm wave came.

Shaking and still cringing with the extent of my stress, I looked up at the mirror and slowly rose from the floor where I'd been sitting, praying that whatever horrific thing had just happened was now gone from my view. To my surprise, I was greeted once more by my bright blue myopic eyes behind their plastic blue Walmart frames and my messy un-perfect totally REAL hair attached to my own very real head. And never had I been happier to see my own face.

I would have stayed to muse more over the horrible thing I'd just seen, but I was pulled from my walking daymare when my watch beeped. I glanced at my watch and swore loudly to myself; if I didn't leave now, I'd be late. I paused briefly for one last cautious look in the mirror as I threw on my jacket and sighed in relief when all I saw was my own boring reflection. Sparing no more time for musings, I grabbed my keys and was out the door.The drive through the city to the Square was a lengthy one, my attentions now no longer on the horror my mirror had just shown me, but on the asshole drivers and cranky I-hate-Mondayers in a rush to cut me off on their way to whatever hated job they catered to. Thankfully, at this time on a Monday, the Square was mostly deserted with plenty of ideal parking, so I quickly selected a spot and pulled my Cadillac in.

The Square, which sat in the very center of town, was overshadowed by the city's historically monolithic public library. It was a wide open smoothly paved expanse that boasted its own walking path, multiple benches under artistically shaded canopies, and a huge lighted marble sculpture of a knight brandishing a wicked sceptre. This sculpture was normally very impressive, but this time it was surrounded by scaffolding. The talk was that a large crack had surfaced in the narrowest part of the sceptre's handle due to age and the city had been tasked with its repair, yet no workers could be seen anywhere amidst the crowds of people that bustled across the Square going about their days.

It was under this huge sculpture that I normally met Nathan, usually Wednesdays and Fridays since on those days, he let his 17-year-old sister Natalie borrow his car for driving class. This spot had been our designated meeting place for quite some time now and we both knew it well, had spent many a fine day as children playing on and about the feet of the massive statue.

As I stood there under the shadow of the statue, the sunlight disappeared briefly as ominous clouds covered the sun, and I shivered, the hairs on the back of my neck standing at attention. I couldn't shake the ominous feeling of doom that had crept into my mind and nested there. To take my mind off the oppressive notion of impending death, I decided to watch the people instead.

During times of incredible boredom, of which there tended to be many, I liked to watch the denizens of my city walk past and create life scenarios based on their appearances. Here was a rather stout pissed-off looking gentleman in a stiff three-piece suit; he was a farmer by trade but just came from the funeral of his great-great-aunt Bertha in his only good suit that he hated and the old bitch didn't leave him shit in her will. There was a windblown woman with wild hair and a tired expression in jeans and a thick sweater; she'd spent her only day off this week shopping for food so she could feed her three starving cretins and gluttonous bossy husband to keep them quiet while she cleaned. And here was a tall slender blonde woman in a very expensive black business suit talking hurriedly on her cell phone, her small blue purse swinging back and forth as she rushed along on her way.

Wait a second...

The vision my mirror had shown me slammed back into my thoughts, and I panicked as the vision hit me a second time. I looked around wildly, trying to keep the woman in my view and watching for any wayward objects. I watched her bustle right past me even as a deafening crack ripped the silence. Time seemed to slow down as I automatically craned my neck up to gawk at the orb in the king's sceptre that even now was falling, the crack had given way after all this time and the huge marble ball was falling from the sceptre.

I watched as the ball, suspended only by a few thin strong cables in case of this very thing, dropped fast out of the sky, caught at the last second and came swinging down like a wrecking ball, and with something like dulled horror, I realized that the ball would clap the woman directly in the side of the head...just like in my vision. I struggled to reach her, shouting, and just as she turned around, I tackled her to the ground. Her mouth, which had likely been poised to yell at me for interrupting her important phone call, froze in a solid O as the huge marble ball swung safely over us on its cables through the exact spot where her head would have been, mere feet from where we now lay, me panting with fear and exertion and her with fear and the steadily growing realization that I had just saved her life.We stood up, awkwardly brushing off our hair and clothes. She just gaped at me then. "You...you saved my life. That ball would have..."

"It would have smashed your fucking head like a sledgehammer on a watermelon," I snapped, reeling at the unexpected viciousness of my words but finding myself unable to stop. "Maybe next time you should get off your fucking phone and watch where you're going!" Then I spun on my heel and stalked away without a single glance back, much to her shock.

Back at my own home, after dropping Nathan back off at his house, I closed myself in my bedroom and bawled my eyes out in loud unbroken unhindered sobs, the day finally taking its toll on me. I was upset over the statue finally breaking after all these years, exhausted and sore from tackling the woman to the ground, and sorry as hell for the way I had spoken to her after I'd saved her life. I chalked it up to stress I'd never before encountered until a new thought pushed its way through all the rest like a fresh spring daisy: my mirror, my plain old thrift store mirror that I'd had for years, had shown me a life to save. Maybe I could save someone else, bring some form of purpose to my boring little existence.

From then on, every single day I was given a new life to save, a true vision of gore or other means of death always preceding the encounter. They always turned up wherever I happened be no matter where that was; I never had to actively seek out these people. Hell, I didn't even have to know their names. I saved a suave business man from a drug deal gone wrong, a single mother of four kids from an armed robbery, a black woman from drowning at the local pool. And every time, my mirror showed me the way.

Soon I became something of a local celebrity. When asked how I knew about these deaths and how I knew to be there at the right time, I always answered with the truth, that I saw it in my mirror. The rumors began to swirl that I was psychic, that I could see the future, that I was a witch...that I could stop death. All the big talk shows wanted me to discuss my experiences on air with them, one after another. People now recognized me as a person, and for quite a good deed too.

Weeks came and went, then months. I received hundreds of thousands of fan letters from those who wanted me to predict their deaths, dozens of phone calls from alleged directors and producers who saw potential in my weird abilities for the next big prime time or big screen. I never answered any of them; my mirror only showed me who it wanted me to. And still I continued to save life after life, every day one more unknowing soul my responsibility. I took every challenge, all against the better judgment of my own aching and battered body. And I never once realized that this enormous responsibility was killing me slowly.It came to a head one morning, several years later, after another long night where I'd saved a whole family from their burning house, everyone but the fucking dog. I stood in my bedroom in front of my mirror, eyes closed, feeling emotionally and physically drained, my body resisting every movement with a sharp outcry of pain. I barely even felt the thing I now held in my hand; my mind didn't quite fully register the weight of it.

I wearily opened my eyes, expecting to see yet another perfect stranger in my mirror, but this time I only saw myself. I saw my exhausted eyes, the grays at my temple, the lines that aged my face, and all at once the tears began leaking down my cheeks as I realized that quite simply, I was tired...tired of being responsible for other people, tired of pushing myself so hard...tired of being tired. All this attention, fame...I'd never wanted this.

As I gazed back at my reflection, I smiled in spite of my tears as I watched my reflection raise the gun to its head and pull the trigger. My only thought as my arm echoed the motion of my reflection's was that out of all the lives I'd saved, how ironic that the only life I couldn't save was my own.

[meggiemariewebsite]

‘A Drive In The Sun’ (a travel log in the style of Werner Herzog) - Creative Writing ‘Free-Write’

The journey; three children behind us kicking our backs. The lady next to me tries to sleep. Two more in front. Screaming. I jolt my seat back into the recline position, in the hope that those brats would stop, but alas, it only made them worse. Will Ferrell is in a film I’ve wanted to see, but only half was absorbed because we began landing. Along with the rum I’d smuggled on board. At least my new found intoxication gave me courage to blast those kids. They are promptly and profusely stunned. They almost looked cute. Sweet brats. Around three and a half thousand miles to YYZ and we are here. We ride in the ‘cow catcher’, a name given since the old banger had recently run over one laying in the middle of the road. It was already dead - apparently. Sterling seemed to have known us his whole life. Although his new nickname had become Sturgeon - like the fish. He talks about how he almost drowned in Tobermory where the water in the grotto had been so deceivingly freezing. We soon go and do the same. A journey of roughly four hours, stops at Timmy’s and taking turns to drive on the right until we arrive at our destination. The searing heat didn’t even make up for the temperature of the water. Our voices jump several octaves. A sign holds a picture of a person jumping off a cliff, a big cross over the image. I gaze past it to see somebody do just what it commands against, then another, then another. A man and a woman beckon me into a cave just a few metres away from where I dunk my feet and I turn down the offer, kindly. The water is far too cold for it to submerge beyond my knees. The flies! They bite! My brain cannot match those innocent insects to those which can hurt. Please don’t let there be more! The pain! How can it be? The flies! A tiny shoe without the other lies on a rock, dry as a bone, sticky remanence of a popsicle surrounding the area. The idiots still jumping to their inevitable fate like trees falling one by one at the hands of a lumberjack. They smash to the floor of the water’s skin as it reluctantly breaks open for them. I find a cosy looking cabin right in the woods, it’s empty and so we set up. White balls thrown into red cups, a fire and daft drunken tree climbing. We later brake into a stationary ship and climb up to the top deck, pretend to steer the wheel. My vision is impaired. Are there any muskies maybe, in this harbour? I’d love to catch one, on with only what could be a double cowgirl, I say aloud inside my head.                                                                                                              

   Bellies full with all-you-can-eat fresh water fish and I just about make it to the bus in my pyjamas. Arriving to take us to a tour-guided boat trip, previously booked, some time ago. A Pilipino woman had fallen asleep in her seat – clearly making the most of her twenty dollars. We hit the road for another hour to Sauble. From beyond the barrier between us and the Indian reservation’s side emits strong smells of marijuana, as children build incredible sandcastles copying the layout of those from ‘Game of Thrones’. Old men pull up in even older, expensive cars for the show. Along with the odd Chevrolet Corvette. Sand grains invade between my toes, scratching the surface of webbed skin. We set up in a room which is nothing but remarkably spacious. Not bad. I felt like I was in the 60’s. Sliding doors with those net curtains, before proper barkcloth floral curtains over top, the sink is beige with the bath to match. I will not return what was left lying in this place we have stayed. I do not even remember paying. Hastily we flee. I’m worried, but never too much.                                                                                                               

     We play crazily on crazy golf – certainly not following the rules. First starting backwards, then beginning again on the second hole of the course. We returned at night time to climb into the obstacle props. Ladies sell rings and I purchase one with a bicycle on. Three boys; one with a horse head, one a chicken and the other whose head was sunken so far into his jacket that his face was not visible, drew us. A childlike cartoon was scribbled of the four of us, in which we were given to keep. A triple decker train. The Pan Am Games have hit. 78 Gold, 69 Silver, 70 Bronze. Second place, I think. The smell of the city air as we reach it, the bustling market. Fresh bread, charcuterie. A free grainy mustard from a local university girl. An Amon Tobin concert with slow dancing to the trance, as every beat of base echoed within my body, consuming the sober fragments of what I felt could possibly be my soul from inside my interior. A darkly tanned girl with light brown curly hair is wearing a green backless dress in front of me. She leans on the metal fence as she sways and I watch her curve as her tattooed back curves with her. A lady in pink tries to pick up pigeons. If I were in a horror movie, she’d be the star of the show. A man outside the shopping centre is doing a magic trick floating in the air. We set off to find the tower and joke about the idea of standing nearby to the five hundred and fifty three metre tall thing, to then ask a stranger the daft question of where it was. I go up it, the lift shaking so loosely beneath my feet. We wonder around, grow bored before wondering back down. I almost bent my neck out of shape looking up at it though, would have been better at night, the lights lit up. I get scorned for smoking nearby to a building and have to leave the premises. The floor does look very clean, I admit. It could perhaps be a new health ban. Thirst is filling me as water is not. I need some, fast. A group of about five smilers are selling the stuff by the crate, for a charity it seems. I happily get three. The lady in pink reappears behind me and asks if she can ask me something. She pauses, then insinuates that she knows we want to leave. I hastily tell her of the sheer rush we are headed in and swiftly move on. She spits behind me in disgust as I turn away. I never knew her question.

My heart still jolts from her giving me such a fright, and now it jolts even more whilst on this sozzled train.                                                                                      

At Wonderland, with whom I’d nicknamed Baby Lady, looked after our belongings to avoid the purchase of a few tiny, as more so painfully expensive, locker. I came with no close to riches for that. Mothers are the best. I felt like I could trust her instantly. Married? Definitely. I never gave the thought to have glanced at her hand but no need! She was too contempt. Why would one pay to sit at such a place the whole day, when they do not intend to even so much as dip their foot into the water?                                                                            The infant (that is more accurate to call, foetus!) gapes savagely for milk. A bin oozes in disgust with itself as a family with two older teenage daughters and a boy around eight drive harsh amounts of worthlessness into its poor belly.                                                                                                                           

We pulled such serious faces to the camera as we sloped up, down, upside down and through dark tunnels, it was a struggle at the time, but how it is conventional to smile in photographs - we didn’t wish to be the sheep, we insisted on being the shepherds. We did the same at that waterfall before – bored expressions instead of happy ones, while a nature’s wonder poured behind us. The heat is unbearable, as it visibly rises from the pavement and sways like a translucent ghost mocking us profusely. However, we continued laughter, that is until we got to the hotel, which was abysmal. The puddle of vomit steaming in the heat outside the room’s door should have been enough to put any person off. Torn wallpaper, dirty floor, blood on a pillow, a broken window. A ‘model’ of a Jacuzzi that proved functionless, with handprints on the surrounding mirrors where those before had embraced. Grabbing breakfast at Denny’s before somehow managing to get a lift back, loud music while the hot air suffocates me as it scrabbles through the window engulfing me entirely. We head straight to Gulliver’s. I leap into the lake without even dipping in my toe to test it and bathe gratefully in the glorious coolness. Battling on a floating raft, trying to push one another off. Trying to catch fish with our bare hands. Trying to hold each other under the water. I watch a big happy family as I sit in their garden. The grandad is sat in the middle cracking jokes and telling stories of his past, grandma is bringing out the last of the delicious spread while their sons and daughters discuss the present. A little girl is playing a ball game with the older teens. Their voices blur together in the background. Whittles of light pass through the trees. The sun shines through her soft brown hair turning patches of it amber. She later forbids me from entering the house until I’d guessed the password. After a long time of pondering and clues, it turned out to be ‘watermelon’. She is full of life and especially confident and I visualise the days when I used to be just like that. Sweaty teenagers play guitar and sing badly to Green Day in a bar called Bo’s. I sit, frustrated, knowing that if I had the courage to get up there I could do much better; however it feels somewhat hankering, a breath of fresh expectation, as one who is to be given such presents, will never have the future that they indeed desire. 10pm is nearing, I never did like Pâté, especially at this hour.  The sun brings the heat with it as it rises like a bad-tempered child being dragged from its bed. I laze in a bed sticky with sweat and the cover mostly kicked off onto the floor. Much unwanted. Accents outside the window “pass me the ball” echoes the young air of the street. Do they ever have moments of consideration? A watch may be a good investment. I’d make it faster on foot than in the car at this rate, around 15 minutes at 15km per hour. Beads exude from my face and drip down as I wish it were ice cold rain from some grey clouds. A mile, another mile, arterial thoroughfare; so many. I see nothing but pictures only useful for patriarchy and jealousy. I just want the anagram. The countryside - no city dust here, irony due to the fact that that’s exactly where I am. Amusing ones fill my mind, mother-in-law, conversation, debit card, dormitory and desperation. Horoscopes, ‘Passive day’, they never cease to astound me. So meticulous. The manifestation of indiscretion or an extra drive, may prevent the effective activities and achievements of the previous week. Try all the trouble taken philosophically. Afternoon can bring you a pleasant meeting. I sink into my seat. Oh, terrible bumps. However, it is not yet afternoon, currently night-time and also early hours of the morning - but not afternoon yet. It would have been astonishing to have seen those geese fly past my window. I wonder, could they ever reach that high?

[itsiotrecords-blog]

http://ift.tt/2syrwYO

What’s white, racist, and totally insane? No, it’s not Mel Gibson. We’re talking about the Ku Klux Klan, America’s most infamous hate group. Founded in 1870, the KKK has terrorized American citizens through propaganda, arson, and murder. Fortunately, the Klan’s popularity has faded over time, and today they’re viewed as a sad reminder of America’s racist history. But what’s even more interesting is the history of the Klan itself because, when you come right down to it, the KKK is completely crazy.

#1 The Black Cop In The Klan In 1979, undercover police officer Ron Stallworth spotted an interesting ad in his local newspaper. The KKK was moving into his town of Colorado Springs and was looking for new recruits. Stallworth decided to call them up and see if he could infiltrate the group. Of course, there was one little issue that made things a bit difficult — Stallworth was black. Not a guy to let details get in the way, Stallworth phoned up the Klan and told them he was a white man tired of being harassed by minorities. He even mentioned how angry he was that his sister had dated an African-American (not the term he used). His act worked. The Klan was only too happy to welcome Stallworth into the fold… after an initial meeting. Thinking on his feet, Stallworth sent a white narcotics officer in his place. He gave his buddy several forms of non-photo I.D. to prove he was actually Stallworth, and a few hours later the guy came back with an application form. Over the next year, Stallworth’s partner attended meetings while the undercover agent chatted with Klansman over the phone. He even called up and talked to Grand Wizard David Duke on several occasions. During one conversation, Duke said he could identify black people by the way they talked, something that must’ve made Stallworth chuckle. Eventually, Stallworth became such a respected member of the KKK that he was offered a leadership position in the local branch. Since that obviously couldn’t work out, the operation was cancelled, and Klansman Stallworth disappeared. However, during his investigation, Stallworth learned quite a bit about the Klan’s activities and prevented any cross burnings from occurring in Colorado Springs. Stallworth was so proud of his work that he framed his KKK membership card and hung it in his office until his well-deserved retirement.

#2 The KKK Hates The Westboro Baptists Nobody likes the Westboro Baptist Church (WBC), not even the KKK. While you’d think these two hate groups would get along—especially with their similar views on homosexuals, Jews and Christianity—they actually have quite a few differences, especially in regards to America’s military. On Memorial Day 2011, three members of the WBC showed up at Arlington Cemetery with their usual assortment of “You’re Going to Hell” and “Thank God for Dead Soldiers” signs. However, just a few feet away were ten members of the Knights of the Southern Cross, a Virginia branch of everybody’s favorite racist organization. The KKK had shown up specifically to counter-protest the Westboro bunch, and they spent the day handing out American flags. While everything seemed relatively peaceful (for a WBC/KKK protest that is), things might’ve gotten nasty if police officers weren’t on the scene. When reporters asked the Klansmen if they were armed, they refused to answer. As to the WBC, they weren’t particularly upset by the Klan’s arrival. Abigail Phelps, daughter of the late Fred, declared the KKK had “no moral authority,” claiming the Bible doesn’t support their racist views. Imperial Wizard Dennis LaBonte shot back, saying it was the soldiers who fought for Westboro’s right to protest. So who won this ultimate smackdown of evil? Well, at the end of the day both groups are still terrible, so we’ll say they both lost.

#3 The Literary Origins of Cross Burning Other than their ghostly hoods, the image most often associated with the KKK is that of a fiery cross. The Klan claims this eerie act symbolizes their Christian beliefs, and in a bizarre PR move, they’ve re-dubbed this ritual a “cross lighting.” Of course, we all know the reason behind their little bonfires. Like Justice Clarence Thomas once said, cross burnings represent the Klan’s “reign of terror” against African-Americans across the U.S. But how did this crazy custom get started? Well, literary fans, we’re sorry to say that Scottish writer Sir Walter Scott unintentionally played a pivotal role in terrifying thousands of black people throughout the 20th century. The Ivanhoe author was extremely popular in the American South, probably because the southern states were populated with people of Scotch-Irish origin. They were especially fond of his 1810 poem The Lady of the Lake, which referenced an ancient Scottish custom of burning a cross to call a meeting of all the clans (although the Scottish cross was in the shape of an “X,” not the Roman one we associate with Jesus). Scott’s vivid imagery captured the imagination of novelist Thomas Dixon. Not only was he a fan of Scottish poetry, Dixon was also a supporter of the KKK. Inspired by Scott’s cross burning scene, he added it to his pro-Klan novel, The Clansman, even though the first KKK (1886 to early 1870s) had never even thought about setting a crucifix on fire. When the 1905 novel was turned into the infamous movie The Birth of a Nation, director D.W. Griffith kept the cross burning scene. The scene inspired William J. Simmons, founder of the second Klan, to kick off the 1915 revival with the first cross burning service in KKK history. Thanks, Sir Walter Scott!

#4 Superman Fought the Klan The Man of Steel has fought some pretty dangerous villains in his day, from Doomsday to Brainiac to Lex Luthor. However, in the 1940s, Superman took on an even more dangerous foe, the dreaded KKK. On June 10, 1946, kids across America tuned in their radios to hear The Adventures of Superman and were enthralled by a new serial called “Clan of the Fiery Cross.” Instead of fighting boring old Neo-Nazis or gangsters, this time Superman was battling racism. “Clan of the Fiery Cross” was the brainchild of Stetson Kennedy, a Georgia man who infiltrated the Ku Klux Klan to learn their secrets. He attended meetings, observed rituals, memorized passwords and tried to pass his information to law enforcement officials. However, the cops weren’t interested. Either they were too afraid to take a stand against the Klan, or they were actually members. Frustrated, Kennedy approached the producers of The Adventures of Superman radio show and asked if they were interested in exposing the Klan. They jumped at the chance, and soon the show was mocking the hooded baddies and revealing their codes and customs. Shocked and outraged, the local clan Kennedy had joined started coming up with new passwords and observances. And just as quickly, “Klansman” Kennedy passed along all their new practices to the Superman producers. In fact, it’s said the local branch he’d infiltrated was so humiliated that they actually closed down their chapter. After the success of the Superman show, Kennedy would continue fighting intolerance, publishing books and helping the government crack down on the Klan. He might not have had X-ray vision or the ability to fly, but Stetson Kennedy was a real-life superhero.

#5 The KKK Summer Getaway Looking for a little rest, relaxation and racial purity? Well, if you had lived in Rockport, Texas ninety years ago, you could have visited the Kool Koast Kamp! Billed as an outing “for a red-blooded American” (Klan language for a white person), the seaside resort offered all sorts of fun activities like daylight yachting, moonlight excursions and watermelon parties. Attendees were encouraged to take a dip in the cool, blue ocean, but were asked to refrain from “extreme dress.” Feel like fishing? The Klan was more than happy to provide rods, reels, boats and bait. And who knows? You might even learn a thing or two. The Kamp brochure promised that guests would learn the differences between hammerheads, sea urchins and porpoises. Most importantly, the camp was perfectly safe, especially for white women. The brochure boldly states that “wonderful mothers” need not fear for their safety. “The Fiery Cross guards you at night and an officer of the law, with the same Christian sentiment, guards carefully all portals.” “Beautiful daughters” were also assured the Kamp was just as safe as a mom’s embrace. As bizarre as this all sounds, the Kool Koast Kamp wasn’t really that weird in 1924. Back in the day, the Klan was viewed as a social institution, an organization that helped build and strengthen the community. The group gave money to down-on-their-luck members and promoted small businesses owned by hood-wearing entrepreneurs. Similarly, the resort was meant for poorer Klan clans who couldn’t afford a fancy vacation. For $10, a family could rent an Army tent (complete with cots) and enjoy ten days of summertime fun. However, the Kamp had a second, much more insidious goal. Attendees were asked to bring along non-members in hopes of gaining new recruits. The idea was to dispel negative media portrayals and show the world that Klansmen were just normal, fun loving, family oriented Americans… who lynched black people. They didn’t mention that last part in the brochure.

#6 The KKK Show For Kids When the first episode of The Andrew Show aired in 2009, white audiences were introduced to a blonde-haired boy of about ten. His name was Andrew Pendergraft, and he liked talking about movies, TV shows and the dangers of race mixing. Of course, this preteen hater was nothing more than an indoctrinated pawn reading from cue cards the whole time. Little Andrew is the grandson of Thom Robb, national director of the Knights of the Ku Klux Klan, the most powerful KKK group today. Robb has spent his life remarketing the Klan as a friendlier, less hateful organization. Part of his ploy involved creating a series of white pride web shows, all hosted by members of his family who sit in front of ugly green screens. For the adults, there’s This Is the Klan which features Robb and his daughter/Andrew’s mom, Amanda Pendergraft, discussing the news. For the teens, there’s Youth Focus, hosted by Shelby Pendergraft who’s also a member of the racist country group “The Heritage Connection.” And most disturbingly, there’s “The Andrew Show,” the Sesame Street for baby bigots. Each of the eighteen episodes starts off with Andrew smiling for the camera and welcoming viewers with, “This show is for all the white kids out there!” He then proceeds to talk about whatever movies or shows he’s watched lately and then ties them into KKK ideology. In one episode, he complains about how the character of Tiana from The Princess and the Frog falls in love with a white character. He critiqued The Spy Next Door for showing Jackie Chan dating a white woman. He’s also full of troubling anecdotes to help drive his point home. For example, Andrew once compared baking a cake to interracial relationships. “My mom taught us about the frosting and when you put the different colors in it—the white frosting? It can never be white again.” While The Andrew Show promotes hatred, it’s important to remember the real victim here — Andrew himself. After all, he’s just a brainwashed kid.

#7 The KKK Highway Scandal Americans love the First Amendment. It guarantees people the right to say and believe whatever they want. But those rights apply to everyone, no matter how awful their beliefs. That’s something the state of Missouri found out the hard way. In 1994, the state’s Department of Transportation received an application from the local Klan. The group wanted to adopt a section of Interstate 55, which mean not only would they be cleaning the highway, they’d get their very own sign on the side of the road. Obviously, Missouri wasn’t too keen on condoning Klan activities and refused the application. Furious, the Klan took the Department of Transportation to court… and won. The judge decided the KKK had every right to adopt a stretch of highway, a ruling the 8th Circuit Court of Appeals affirmed in March 2000. While they were legally defeated, Missouri had one last surprise for the Klan. Shortly after the ruling, the state congress renamed the section adopted by the Klan “Rosa Parks Highway” after the famous civil rights activist. However, in 2012, the KKK lost interest in the highway and stopped picking up trash, which allowed the government to kick them out of the program. History has a tendency to repeat itself though, and that same year, the International Keystone Knights of the KKK asked to adopt a part of Georgia State Route 515. Despite their claims that they just wanted to keep the road “beautiful,” the government turned them down, knowing full well the adoption was really a PR move. Of course, if the events in Missouri are any sign, Georgia will probably lose their battle too. In a society that treasures free speech and freedom of belief, those liberties belong to everyone, even the bad guys.

#8 The KKK Store That’s Owned By A Black Pastor Laurens, South Carolina has a sad history when it comes to racism. The town is named after an 18th century slave trader and, like many southern cities, was plagued by segregation and civil injustice. As an example of its tragic past, look no further than the Echo Theater. Once upon a time, African-Americans were forced to enter through a side door and watch movies from the balcony, separated from their white neighbors. Today, Echo Theater is home to the notorious Redneck Shop, a little store that sells Klan merchandise and hosts neo-Nazi meetings. But while the store is run by a racist named John Howard, the theater itself belongs to Rev. David Kennedy, a black pastor. Why does an African-American reverend own a KKK shop? Well, the answer is kind of complicated. The story starts in 1994, when John Howard befriended a young man named Michael Burden. Howard took Burden under his wing, taught him the ways of the Klan, and let Burden and his family live in the Echo Theater basement. But Burden’s wife, who was part Cherokee, eventually grew tired of Howard’s racism. She wanted to leave, but Howard didn’t want his protégé to move. Hoping to appease the family, Howard gave Burden the deed to the theater under the condition he could run the Redneck Shop until his death. Despite Howard’s gift, the two men eventually had a fight, and the elder racist kicked the Burdens out of the basement. The Burdens were alone and had nowhere to go, and that’s when Rev. Kennedy and the New Beginning Church stepped in. Despite the fact Burden was a Klansman, the black church bought his family dinner and rented them a hotel room. And as Burden was desperate for cash, he asked Rev. Kennedy if he’d buy the deed for the Echo Theater for $1,000. Kennedy agreed, and that’s how an African-American pastor came to own a KKK shop. And that’s when the drama really started. In 2006, Howard tried to sell the building, either not knowing or not caring it actually belonged to Kennedy. Hoping to stop the old racist, Kennedy sued Howard in 2008, sparking a four year legal battle over who rightfully owned the Echo Theater. During the long, grueling process, Kennedy’s church came under attack from local racists who left dead animals inside and nailed Confederate flags to the front doors. Finally, in 2012, a circuit judge ruled the theater rightfully belonged to the New Beginning Church… only they couldn’t kick Howard out. According to the deed, he could keep on selling his Klan robes and offensive T-shirts until the day he died. Of course, Howard is a sick man, and he might not be around much longer. And what does Kennedy plan on doing with the building once he can finally close down the Redneck Shop? Well, he says, “I think that the church would do good in that building.”

#9 The KKK Neighborhood Watch The citizens of Fairview Township in York County, Pennsylvania don’t have to worry about leaving their kids at home or locking their doors at night. Aside from the fact they have an extremely low crime rate, their neighborhoods are under the ever watchful eye of the Traditionalist American Knights, a KKK group based in Missouri. Lucky, lucky them. Earlier this year, Pennsylvanians were dismayed to find leaflets declaring, “You can sleep tonight knowing the Klan is awake!” Chances are good the flyers had the exact opposite effect, especially on anyone who wasn’t white, Protestant, or native born. Of course, the Knight’s leader, Frank Acona, claims his group isn’t “targeting any specific ethnicity.” They’re just concerned about all the recent car break-ins and aim to put a stop to it. To make things hard on the criminals, Acona’s men will give up their hoods in exchange for everyday clothing. This way, the crooks will never know which ugly, bucktoothed, unshaven white guy hanging around the neighborhood is a Klansman. But why would the Klan want to form a watch group? Well, they need as much publicity as they can get. Whereas they once were nearly four million men strong, today the Klan boasts less than four thousand members. Groups like the Anti-Defamation League (ADL) believe the Klan is desperate to recruit fresh troops and hopes crazy schemes will draw in new blood. However, there’s one last question… why aren’t they wearing their robes? According to the ADL, it’s because they’re not really patrolling the streets. As the Pennsylvania chapter of the Traditionalist American Knights probably has less than fifty members, they don’t have enough men to actually watch out for crooks. And that’s just fine with the folks of Fairview Township.

#10 The KKK Tried To Start Their Own Country Michael Perdue was a loser with big dreams. A Texas convict with Nazi ties, Perdue wanted what everyone wants — to conquer the island of Dominica and establish his own little empire. It was 1980, and the little nation had only been independent from Great Britain for two years. They didn’t have an army, and their newly created police force wasn’t exactly a top notch crime fighting agency. With enough money and the right men, Perdue figured staging a coup would be easiest thing in the world. He was wrong. The plan involved returning the recently deposed Dominican Prime Minister, Patrick John, to power. In exchange, John would give Perdue the right to export lumber and open a casino. The Texan also planned to start a lucrative cocaine operation and become rich beyond his wildest dreams. (Unbeknownst to Perdue, John actually planned on killing him once his position was restored.) With a puppet dictator in place and financial backing from Canadian mobsters, Perdue visited David Duke, the recently retired Grand Wizard of the Knights of the KKK. Duke thought the idea sounded great but was smart enough not to get directly involved. Instead, he agreed to help Perdue rent a boat and suggested several Klansman who might like to invade an island populated by black people. With Duke’s help, Perdue was able to assemble a team of ten mercenaries, almost all of whom were either Klansmen or Neo-Nazis. In fact, one of the gunmen was none other than Don Black, the current Grand Wizard of the Knights of the KKK. After nicknaming their little mission “Operation Red Dog,” the group armed themselves with thirty-three guns, twenty sticks of dynamite, several blasting caps, and five thousand bullets. In addition to their weapons, they also brought along Nazi flags, Confederate flags, and plenty of whiskey. Their plan was to set sail from Louisiana, invade the island, and seize the armory and police station. It seemed like a solid plan, but they didn’t count on the charter boat captain. When he learned about Perdue’s plans, he immediately notified the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives (ATF). What happened next sounds like a scene from a crazy comedy. On the night the mercenaries were to set sail, they met with undercover ATF agents posing as sailors. The officers loaded Perdue’s private army into the back of a van, explaining they’d drive them to the boat. Only when the doors were finally opened, the halfwit army found themselves staring down the barrel of forty SWAT team machine guns. “You’re not going to Dominica,” a voice epically boomed. “You’re going to jail!” Unfortunately, David Duke escaped prosecution due to a lack of evidence, but the rest of the nutty gang was found guilty of conspiracy and violation of the Neutrality Act. And while they never established their Ku Klux Kingdom, the “Bayou of Pigs” incident lives on as a tribute to true Klan stupidity.

Source: TopTenz