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keffirinne · 5 months ago

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You would look good in red - pt 2/ Victor Zsasz x OC

I'm also on ao3: link

#Zsasz's creepy fantasies continue #descriptions of sex #descrtption of cum

Chapter 2: Trial

Lisa tried to focus on the ongoing trial, but she was distracted by the unpleasant feeling of being watched. It was a persistent, itchy feeling at the back of her head that she could not get rid of. When she finally turned her head to confirm her suspicions, the feeling only grew stronger. This creepy, blond man from the warehouse was staring at her with a lazy yet disturbing look of his dark eyes. Despite the fact that he was a few meters away from her, handcuffed, and a lot of police officers were in the room, Lisa was uncomfortable. There was something about him, his presence, that made her fearful. The combination of his appearance and behavior, even when he wasn't doing anything, was bringing back some childhood nightmares. Working as a police officer in Gotham she was facing real monsters on a daily basis, but it was Zsasz who, somehow, was making a unique impression on her. She didn't want to think what was going on in his head right now as he was staring at her like that. She would have sworn that at some point that the corner of his mouth lifted slightly when she glanced at him, but she might have been imagining it too. In any case, she now tried not to look at him at all. Just in case.

When it was Lisa's turn to testify, she pushed aside all her unnecessary thoughts and focused on her job. Answering in front of the judge and prosecutor, she easily recalled the events from less than a week ago and described them truthfully and coherently, just as she rehearsed earlier. She drew confidence from her preparation; the entire action was, after all, meticulously supervised by Jim Gordon. Even if the judge ultimately dismisses the case, as Jim predicted, the main point here was to make an example. Too often the system has turned a blind eye to brazen and blatant violations of the law and acquiesced to criminals with impunity. Provocations like this one were meant to start making the public aware that GCPD was not afraid to throw down the gauntlet to the city’s major players. The bribery, malpractice, dishonest and disgusting practices of previous commanders were coming to an end. Jim Gordon had a mission, and he was going to send a loud message to the entire underground that he was not afraid to go to war. And Lisa sincerely believed that if there was anyone who could make a difference in this sick system, it was Jim Gordon.

When the attorney asked her to recognize the defendant, she did so without hesitation. For a moment they caught eye contact. She even endured his gaze, although now it was not as intense as before. Now the man looked simply bored.

~ ~ ~

Amid the discernible signs of fatigue on the woman's face and learned distance, there was something else about her that caught Zsasz's attention. Pale skin covered with dark circles under her eyes, lightly smeared makeup, and her eyes, bright, deer-like eyes. A deer that was being chased by its predator and had not yet noticed that it was trapped. Was it fear what he could see in them? Zsasz smirked with the corner of his mouth. He had seen this emotion many times, on many faces and in different intensities, ranging from mild anxiety to extreme terror.

Zsasz would like to see the second one on the officer's face.

The woman was currently testifying against him, describing in detail that chilly morning from a week ago when he dealt with an inconvenient partner in Roman's business. Anthony? Alfredo? Something like this. The fat man was a coward, as soon as Zsasz pulled out his knife and didn’t even touch him, he began to tell all the secrets.

Completely pointless, Roman didn't want information from him, he just wanted to get rid of the cocksucker who dared to offend him. He bled like a swine, there was nothing dignified about it. It was a little funny when he pathetically cried for mercy. Even his blood seemed thin and bland.

Zsasz took another look at the blonde officer. Her blood must have been certainly prettier than some overweight sucker. He began to imagine what her body would look like decorated with long, straight cuts, like a canvas on which he could draw red marks. The pale skin would easily yield to each cut, letting the red fluid ooze from them like the finest wine. His knife would enter her softly, gently. Crimson scarf running down her throat, her collarbones, her breasts.

Yes, she would look pretty in red.

However, the longer Zsasz explored the images, his mind started to suggest different pictures. The police uniform that the officer was wearing, despite being shapeless and not at all emphasizing the woman's qualities, left a lot of room for imagination. And Zsasz had a broad imagination and could be very creative if he wanted. Imagining the woman without a multi-part, stiff costume turned out to bring him more amusement than he thought.

His attorney who worked for Roman, a smooth-tongued boy, greedy for bribes had just risen from his seat and replaced the prosecutor, now asking the officer his questions. Zsasz was sure she was avoiding his gaze. When she was told to point him out, she only ran her eyes over his face for a moment, but quickly took them back, looking somewhere in the back of the room.

Zsasz hung his gaze on her body. The woman was petite and slim. Under that heavy uniform, she probably had small, firm breasts. Not too large, but enough to grab them and squeeze with a hand. He also assumed that she was all shaved up, she looked like this type. Slowly, the images of her naked body bathed in blood, covered with a whole map of wounds, arranged in an elegant pattern, began to transform into others, however, bringing equally pleasurable sensations in the body. The feeling of excitement remained, however, began to bend to the usual primal urges.

Zsasz concluded that the officer's naked body would look just as good covered in blood as in his cum. The two contrasting images caused similarly nice feelings, but Zsasz couldn't put them together. It was as if his mind was telling him to choose one or the other. Unable to make up his mind, Zsasz accepted both versions, allowing the alternating fantasies to make his boring time in court more fun.

~ ~ ~

“...The defendant is found not guilty and is cleared of all charges.”

With these words, the judge ended the hearing and left the room, signaling to everyone that the session was over. Although such an outcome was expected, Lisa felt slight disappointment. Some part of her was deluded that perhaps things could end differently. The side of the defendant seemed not to be surprised by the result either, Zsasz seemed not to change his facial expression even once, not betraying completely what he was thinking about. He looked as if he hadn't even listened to his lawyer as he was giving him his final instructions while packing his belongings into an elegant briefcase. He was dressed in a double-breasted, navy blue striped suit trimmed with gold thread. Zsasz was also dressed elegantly and neatly, but not as ostentatiously as his attorney. Instead of a tight t-shirt, he wore a dark, loose shirt unbuttoned at the neck and elegant pants. The right image in court has always been important, but looking at Zsasz’ face and neck covered with scars, what was giving him a look straight out of horror movies, the outfit alone wouldn't be able to do much.

Although the trial had already ended and people had already started to leave, a new person entered the room. If for just a moment Lisa thought that the lawyer was bringing all the attention with his attire, he became completely invisible to the newcomer. Roman Sionis, with a pair of tinted sunglasses on his nose, was dressed in a light blue suit with a colorful pocket square tucked into his breast pocket, and white moccasins. He marched nonchalantly through the wave of exiting people, who for some reason began to part before him, and walked toward the defendant's bench. An ostentatious boredom was painted on his face. Noticing him, the lawyer stopped packing his things and hastily extended his hand in greeting. Roman shook it reluctantly and began to exchange a few words with him. He was one of the most influential men in the city and also one of the most wanted men in Gotham, not only by GCPD, which was confirmed by the numerous glances from women in his direction. Lisa caught herself looking too long at him too. She stopped and rose from her seat, heading to the exit. It was time to focus on more important things like meeting Jim, who would surely want to talk to her about next moves.

<-previous next->

@thegreatwicked

#victor zsasz #victor zsasz x oc #victor zsasz fanfic #birds of prey #birds of prey fanfic #you would look good in red #chris messina #Roman always steals the spotlight #dc #dcu

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terrence-silver · 3 years ago

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Can I make a request of terry silver and the reader having a praise kink? I haven't seen it done before so I would love to see how Terry would be in that situation. Love your work! :)

Sometimes, he liked to be told he was good.

Terry liked to be told he was good.

That he has done good.

Perhaps, because it so seldom happened. Perhaps, it was merely human nature? In fact, he didn't recall when was the last time someone told him he was good. Truly good. Maybe, not since his own parents. Maybe not even they ever called him good, treating each complement like it cost actual money to utter, at times. You say, 'I love you, son', and the virtual bank account goes cha-ching! Later in life, it was always critique and infamy and padded news articles giving him bought-off, fake praise with commissioned publicity his people went through with a fine comb. Even when Terry did a bad thing and he did a great many, he'd act willfully gleeful about it. He'd laugh at his own misdeeds. The corruption. The bribery. The lies. The cruelty. The moral debauchery. He'd have fun with it, like a child has fun with it's favourite toys, always thinking of new ways to play his little games. New ways to arrange the plastic soldiers. The rubber snakes. The tiny cars. His figurative train-set. And then you had to go and say it, in the most mundane of fashions. -"Thank you, Terry. You're too kind."- He didn't even really remember what the context was, or what the situation entailed. He might've acted the gentleman and handed you the salt shaker off of the elaborate, colossal mansion dining table, for all he knew. You went and thanked him.

Furthermore, you went and thanked him like that.

Thank you, Terry, you're too kind.

Him? Too kind?

What a riot.

But, yeah --- yeah, he was good. Why wouldn’t he be good?

There was nothing the matter with him. Terry was good. You said so yourself.

He ponders those words for weeks and weeks and for all his elaborate desire to get ahold of himself and get back in control, he simply cannot and he rewinds it in his head, time and time again, to the point of obsessiveness and distraction, until he corners and confronts you on one occasion, demanding to be praised. Practically ordering you to. Praised about anything. Praised often. Not just in bed, while he was inside of you, in the spur of the moment, heated, while he was coiling his fingers around your neck, spitting in your mouth, subjugating you and making you his, but always, in general, any time, any place --- thinking back to his old Captain Turner in 'Nam and how he never praised him either. Terry never heard the words 'Well done, soldier! At ease!' out of him. Terry never heard the words 'You've gotten stronger! You filled your scrawniness out.' out of his friends. Only out of John did Terry ever hear an amicable word and he felt starved for throughout an entire lifetime --- and now there was you. Patting his cheek, as instructed, telling him how beautiful he was. Of course, he already knew that. Terry was plenty self aware of his qualities. Some would even say he was downright arrogant, but fuck those pricks. He simply needed to hear it. Time and time and time again. Until he was sated. So what if he was a narcissist?

He wanted your fuel until that frightful hollow in his chest no longer ached.

-"You're so handsome. And good. And sweet."-

You begin, warmly, cupping his face. Hah! There you go with the 'good' again.

Felt like a blatant misrepresentation but he adored it. It felt so divine.

You weren't the lying type. You simply loved him.

That's why it was so addictive to hear you say these things.

-"Good. What else?"-

He presses on. He has been, for a couple of hours now.

Terry wants to test just when you'll run out of positive things to say to him.

He hope it would be never at all, and that he could wind you up;

Like a personal robot animatronic here to sing him praises.

-"Tall. Strong. Intelligent. Well-spoken."-

-"Go ahead. I didn't give you permission to stop. More."-

-"I feel so safe around you, Terry. You're so lovely towards me."-

-"M o r e."-

-"You're resourceful and talented and skilled."-

-"What else?"-

-"You've the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen."-

-"More."-

Terry demands, verbally holding you hostage. He intends for you to do this always.

#i'll do you one better anon #terry enjoying some praise himself #terry silver #terry silver x reader #anon ask #kk3 #cobra kai

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n-amelessart · 3 years ago

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Prompt Response - Irresponsible Teachers

I wrote a response to a prompt on Reddit but since I am totally new to the site, I didn’t realize the comments were locked until after I wrote the story. After fuming a while and calming down, I figured the story can be saved. So here it is!

Unfortunately, I can’t find the original prompt so I can not credit the prompt author correctly. If anyone knows who wrote this prompt then please tell me and I will edit this post to credit them. Here is the gist of the prompt:

There is a Conference of Masters where people gather to discuss how they raise their heroes. The main character can not believe how many people are willing to leave the fate of the world in the hands of children.

I tugged at my beard. Are these people stupid? I looked at the long table at the head of the room, careful to keep open ridicule off of my face. Five people sat behind the table. Four of the most senior educators from the Academy and their Headmaster, who sat in the center. The rightmost educator was standing, a retired military commander who once served under the king. The General was supposedly sharing his opinion, though it sounded an awful lot like commands.

"Upon hearing the oracle's prophecy regarding the return of Ahriman," he was practically screaming despite the silence of the room. "The Academy has decided that when the heroes are found, regardless of their current position, they will be immediately enrolled into the advance classes at our Academy."

I had once been involved in the affair of nobles and I was well aware of their political double speak. Regardless of their current position. Clearly, it was meant to sound charitable but there was no doubt that kidnaping was an effective option.

"As this room is filled with Masters, Sages and every other form of educator," the General continued, lowering his voice to only a yell. "It is understandable that if you were to find one of - or all of - the heroes, that you would not want to hand over your disciples. However, if you relinquish your hero to us, you will bestowed a position at the Academy as an Advanced-level Educator. Including all of the benefits that come with that title."

Blatant bribery. There were roughly 50 other people in the room listening to the Academy's speakers, but no one spoke up against them. No one asked what would happen if they refused to hand over the kids. The Academy had the backing of the King, that authority turning its eyes towards you would end tragically.

"Thank you, General." The Headmaster dismissed the General around a yawn. He sat stiffly, pressing the wrinkles out of the military uniform he still wore. The Headmaster was an old wizard was famously brilliant and equally infamous for his apathy. Rumor said he got the role of Headmaster so that students' parents would stop complaining about his teaching habits, or lack there of. Who was the moron who put him in a more important position? Just fire him. The old man rested his chin on his palm. "Any questions for the Academy?"

A scarred and muscled man holding his sword instead of having it hang from his waist raised the hilt to get the Headmaster's attention. "How would you teach the heroes?"

The General slammed the table and exploded back out of his seat. "Do you doubt our methods? The heroes will forgo the standard education of the Academy and immediately be placed in the field. Only real experience would do us any good!" The two men glared daggers at each other. Perhaps they had met each other before.

"Yes yes, thank you General." The Headmaster waved for him to sit back down. "It is as he said. They will be put in charge of a military unit in the King's army to gain leadership and combat skills."

"What about magic theory? Tactics? Logistics?" The person who spoke up was portly man in a robe.

"Hmmm..." The old man tapped his fingers on the table. "I do like theory..."

"Headmaster, if I may?" To the old man's left was a beautiful woman in luxurious purple robes. He sat back in this chair, allowing her to speak.

"Thank you." She did not target the portly man, but instead turned and addressed the whole room. "The education of the heroes, when they are found, will be our top priority. Out in the field, the heroes will come across the exact sort of situations they will face when the time of the prophecy comes. Of course, they will not be left to their own devises. Advanced-level Educators from the Academy will be available to the heroes when they have questions. This will ensure they only ask questions relevant to their purpose. Learning anything more would be a detriment not only to the kingdom, but to the world."

What are the heroes to them? Tools? The sheer arrogant recklessness of putting untrained people into real combat scenarios was tantamount to murder. Not only for the heroes, but for the soldiers under their command. I could not stand this.

"Are you out of your mind?" The words left my mouth before I could stop myself.

"Pardon me?" The woman's tone was incredulous. Dammit. I just had to say something. The room had been quiet in between speakers before, but this silence was overbearing. Might as well commit to this foolishness.

"Have you considered the heroes in this situation?" I started. "You don't know who the heroes are! How could you plan to throw them in the army when they could have been farmers before this? They need, at the very least, the basics of magic, combat and strategy before they even look at a battlefield."

The General on the right had turned several shades redder, veins bulging on his forehead, but it was the woman in purple who spoke first.

"I am a woman of faith, sir." Her tempered anger felt more dangerous than the raging fury coming from the General. "I have no doubt that only the finest and most qualified people are fated to be revealed as the heroes. As such, a farmer rising to that position is simply impossible. In addition to this, we do have some idea as to who the heroes are." She paused, waiting for the full attention of the room before continuing. "The oracle stated that the heroes have just reached the age of adolescence."

My stomach sank. Those who had remained silent gasped and shouted now. Angered yelling, stomping feet and people crowding towards the Academy's table filling the once still meeting room with boiling emotion. The Headmaster did not get up from his seat, but the other four representatives had stood and were attempting to calm the crowd, shouting over the noise to be heard. The General waded into the crowd and shoving people away from the table, hand on the hilt of his weapon.

"The safety of the heroes are ensured! By the Academy and by the flow of Fate itself!" The woman in purple yelled, barely audible over the cacophony. "The sooner the heroes' training begins, the better off the kingdom is!"

They knew that the heroes were children? And they still suggested this? I backed away from the crowd and towards the exit. Representatives from the Academy were yelling about how they were searching every nobleman's house, every school and every business for children in that age range. I slipped out the door and into the much quieter hallway.

Running down the hall, I speed past butlers, maids and whatever other staff worked on Academy grounds and out the front doors. Finding my horse stilled tied to the fencing was a huge relief, especially since so many servant tried to convince me to allow them to put my horse in the stable.

I swung onto the horse and galloped off the campus and down the road. They know the heroes are children. Hooves pounded against the compact I can not let them find the heroes. I can not let them find my students.

#writblr #writing prompt #writing #writers #fantasy #constructive critism welcome #constructive criticism #feedback

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scara-meow-che · 3 years ago

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HAHA yeah I actually got my Masters entirely fueled by thirst. I never did anything actually morally consequential in my 7 total years in the school (undergrad+grad) but I had a lot of close moments and plausibly-deniable almost-flirting-but-we-wouldn't get-caught with my professors.

Zhongli specifically reminds of my music history professor, who wasn't gorgeous (initially) but damn his voice was deep and luxurious, sounded like tall library shelves and velvet and front row orchestra seats on the bass. He was a hard-ass even by academia standards (he's working on a book but told me that the essay contributions from the other authors were mediocre and I choked) but then would be so kind and helpful and encouraging if you worked hard trying to meet his insane demands 😂 He was so so passionate and intense about his courses and he would specifically bring attention to innuendos in the music (in a "matter of fact" way) yet was never truly inappropriate, he was so proper and lovely 🎶

I know for a fact he knew how I felt but wouldn't cross that line because we're both super Responsible™ people too aware of Bad Consequences but in fantasy I wanted him to confront me in his tiny office full of books, corner me to the door, push his thigh between my legs and *press*, pin my hands to the door with his fingers laced in between mine, and scold me for being such a blatant and shameless pet in every class he teaches, my arousal made obvious every time I talked to him alone, showering him with gifts, when my grades clearly didn't necessitate the bribery 💞😫 - 📚

i would honestly do this but i am too obedient of a student. i love praises (shamelessly admitting this one) and i always rank high in class, dress up in those skirts and cute tops just to be complimented, pass works that exceed their standards. i am a hard worker but i haven't met a prof that i would be a brat for, to make him pissed at me, to get his attention on me but he can't do anything but be mad in public because why would you even reprimand a star student? but then would call me in his office, slap me with his dick and tell me how much of an attention whore i was for him so he's gonna make me his cockhungry attention whore™

i wanted this to happen to me so badly 😭😭😭 but no one comes close that can trigger the brat in me.

#( 📚 ) — anon #professors are just #and please #if i were to be a student of your prof #i would pursue him like a career #HWHSBWKSNWKD BCS I HONESTLY FIND HIM SO APPEALING AND HOT #tw.student-teacher relationships #just tagging this as one

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confused-stars · 4 years ago

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actually do you think kurogiri's bar has a "It's been [ ] days since Tomura decayed something on accident" sign? this would be a nice fic prompt actually. probably worth a coffee or two. ;) ;)

the blatant bribery of this... and the fact that it’s working... (also this is just way cute and i just got home from being around my nephew so i’m very in the mood for baby Tomura shenanigans)

It comes from one of the parenting books Kurogiri was forced to pick up. He never criticizes All for One out loud, but dumping a child on him and making said child’s wellbeing his sole responsibility when Kurogiri barely knows how to take care of himself and his own needs was... not a choice expected from a man who claims to be the greatest villain mastermind in history.

Tomura’s quirk is an additional problem. He’s not allowed to wear gloves that would keep him from touching things with all five fingers, because All for One says he shouldn’t have to ‘shackle’ his quirk. Kurogiri doesn’t agree, but keeps silent as always. Accidents happen a lot. Tomura gets upset in the beginning, and Kurogiri distracts him with sugary snacks and video games - a stroke of luck, discovering video games as a sure way to capture Tomura’s attention and make him forget about the world for a while. They’re useful in keeping him busy when Kurogiri has to run other errands, and he barely ever has to pause to scratch at his neck and face when he’s playing.

Then, eventually, as he grows older and less terrified and more demanding, he stops getting upset. He knows Kurogiri will just replace what he destroys and clean up the dust every time with no fail. Game controllers, books, playing cards, chess pieces, glasses, utensils, plates, shoes, clothes in general - once, he decays his toothbrush fully on purpose because he hates brushing his teeth before bed.

So Kurogiri comes up with a strategy.

Tomura blinks up at the board hanging up on the wall beside the bar, right next to the screen All for One uses to speak to them. “What’s this?” Kurogiri doesn’t bother answering that question. Tomura can read. He’s made sure the writing is very easily legible. ‘It has been [ ] days since Tomura decayed something on accident’ is what it says. The blank in the middle leaves more than enough room for what Kurogiri has planned. He reaches into his pocket and calmly places a single, sparkly star sticker into the empty field. “This stands for one day,” he explains. He’s fully aware that not that much of Tomura’s destruction is accidental anymore, otherwise this strategy probably wouldn’t work and only stress him out more, but if a reward system can be used to counter his growing carelessness, then that will only benefit him in the future.

Tomura cocks his head. Attentive. Kurogiri feels something like smug satisfaction, though muted as most of his emotions are. It’s easiest to get through to Tomura with praise. Kurogiri refuses to be just the mindless servant who cleans up after him and feeds him. No, he’ll have a part in raising the boy, too.

“What happens when I break something again?” he asks.

Kurogiri shrugs. “The sticker goes away. And you have to start over.”

Tomura rounds on him, glaring. It would be intimidating if he wasn’t so small. “That’s not fair!”

“If you can make it to ten stars,” Kurogiri continues, undeterred, “There is going to be a surprise for you.”

That makes Tomura reconsider. Children really are all the same, even if they are in unique situations. “... what kind of surprise?”

Kurogiri puts a juice box on the counter. “A good one. Something fun. Perhaps a new game you’ve been wanting. Or a night without a bedtime. Or a trip to someplace fun.” He has a list of ideas already, and Tomura’s eyes light up a little.

He still says: “I could make you do all that anyway.”

Kurogiri turns away, acting nonchalant. “You could, but then it wouldn’t be a surprise anymore, would it?”

Tomura is silent for a long moment. “... fine.”

He makes it fourteen days on the first try.

___

The board comes out again under the worst circumstances, Tomura thinks. Because he’s twenty years old and doesn’t need stickers anymore, thank you very much. Not that he doesn’t still decay things when he doesn’t mean to, sometimes. Mainly in the mornings or too late at night, or when he’s aggravated.

He still balks at the sight of it hanging in its old spot on the wall where it was taken down from when he was twelve or so.

Kurogiri raises his hands in an attempt to signal his innocence, though he seems far too amused.

“Look what we found, Tomura!” Toga grins and bounces on her heels, pointing at the board. “It’s so cute, with the stickers and all! Sparkly!”

“Yeah, it’s adorable,” Dabi drawls, for once present in the back of the bar, a shit-eating grin on his face.

Tomura wants to hide. Or kill all of them. “... why do we even still have that thing?”

Kurogiri makes a noncommittal noise, and Tomura scoffs.

“We’re making more of them!” Toga says, gesturing over to where Twice is sitting on the floor, working on a cardboard sign that says ‘It has been [ ] days since Dabi set someone on fire.’ Next to that one ‘It has been [ ] days since Spinner talked about Stain.’ and ‘It has been [ ] days since Mr. Compress called himself ‘old’.’

Tomura glances at Dabi. He’s entirely sure that particular sign will end up burned to ash within a night.

It doesn’t.

But it also never ends up collecting more than two stickers at most, and when he peels them off, Dabi always flicks them at Tomura over the bar.

It’s long after the bar is lost, and the signs with them that they all manage to reach ten days in their individual categories, and that’s only because Dabi’s been sick for a while and hasn’t left the quarry safehouse for two weeks.

So they get pizza, and they eat it in Dabi’s room, and he pretends to be grumpy about it, and Tomura pretends to be grumpy about having to spend time with them, but when they end up passing out all around the room and Tomura is still awake, he leans his back against the bed and thinks about Kurogiri. He’ll tell him about their progress when they see each other again.

#i love momgiri a normal amount #fun fact my nephew actually had something like this #because he'd constantly wake up in the middle of the night and go bother his parents #so they set up a sticker and reward system #also for other stuff it just works really well kids go nuts for stickers #i can see dabi actually lying about having burned someone because he thinks the whole thing is dumb #actually why don't we as adults do this?#i should reward myself with stickers for good habits!#audaciousanonj

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tiaragqueen · 5 years ago

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The numbers are from Aggressive Yandere Starter Prompts, and the quote is from the Abused Viewpoint prompts! ❣️❣️ sorry for not being clear :’) ~ pastel anon🌸

Give Way

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Kim Taehyung x Reader

✂ Word Count: 1,4k

✂ Trigger Warning: Violence, kidnapping, death, shooting, sadism, possessive behavior, yandere theme.

✂ This story is fictional and for amusement only. I don’t believe any of the members would do this in real life. As always, thank you for reading and I hope you have a good day!

Donot re-upload my writing to another website or use it without mypermission.

[Edited]

***

9. “So, they’re a friend of yours? What did I say about talking to other people?”

17. “Maybe if I branded you, other people wouldn’t be such a nuisance.”

18. “I swear, if anyone lays a hand on you, I’ll chop their arm off.”

I know you didn’t request for Mafia AU but I wanted to try it out for once. Also, I excluded the prompt from The Abused Viewpoint because I couldn’t fit in with the rest of the scenario and because it’s way easier to write prompts from the same place. Hope you don’t mind.

If you like mywriting, please support me on ko-fi!

“Just to get you, I’m doing whatever works. You ain’t never met anybody that will do ya how I do ya, that’ll bring you to your knees.” – Black Widow [Iggy Azalea]

Unknown [4.45 pm]: Come to my house if you still want them to live.

You gripped your phone after rereading the text for at least five times already. You didn’t need to search, didn’t need to think to know who this ‘unknown’ was. The hint was blatant; it couldn’t even be called a ‘hint’ anymore. Still, it didn’t ease the nerves that skyrocketed the moment you saw the sender. Telling the cab driver the address, you clenched your clammy fists and fidgeted on the seat. Oh, how tempting it was to just open the door and roll your way out.

But you weren’t one of those cool spies in movies. You couldn’t do a stunt to even save your life. So, what made you think you could escape in the middle of busy traffic?

At least, the injury would be nothing compared to the situation you’d about to confront. That is if a car didn’t crush you first.

“Miss, we already arrived.” The driver’s raspy voice snapped you out from your slightly suicidal and illogical thoughts. You swallowed and reluctantly climbed out of the cab. It drove away as soon as you paid him, and you resisted the urge to call him again.

No, you couldn’t back out now. That would be complying with his wish, even if he did want you to be there.

One of the guards regarded you coldly once you arrived at the doorstep and led you inside. There was nothing different from the familiar living room, where you used to listen to Taehyung’s rambling about those antique paintings that hung on the wall. You never really understood the meaning or the beauty behind them since you weren’t very knowledgeable in the art of painting. In fact, you considered them as… creepy, to say the least.

And now that you grew more aware of your surroundings – thanks to the paranoia Taehyung had instilled in you and months of running away from him – you could feel their eyes following your movements. You shivered, walking a bit closer to the stone guard. Regardless, he paid no heed to your obvious fear and hesitation and roughly pushed you into a lone room in the basement.

You weren’t surprised when you saw Taehyung already waiting for you, standing behind the twins whose face were concealed under dark bags. They snapped their heads towards your direction once they heard the slam of the door shut, chest heaving from dread. They must’ve known it was you because seconds later they were already screaming and wiggling against the ropes.

But you couldn’t hear them. Not because their voices were muffled, but because your eyes had glued themselves on to Taehyung’s broad back. He was clad in his usual crisp, black suit complemented with a pair of polished dress shoes. You used to think he was handsome in that outfit, but now he looked more menacing than attractive.

Still, you couldn’t deny his appeal.

“You came.” It wasn’t a greeting. It was a statement. He knew you’d come. He knew you weren’t selfish enough to let your friends die at his hands. Literally. After all, what would the famous mafia do to get what he wanted? He could easily get away from the police, either through bribery or force.

“Let them go,” you said, faking confidence that probably seemed laughable to him because you – too – were also trembling in your boots. But you needed to be brave, although outwardly, for the sake of them. Taehyung preyed on your fear - like a monster he was - and the fact that he used your friends against you confirmed that.

Taehyung said nothing at first. Instead, he approached the sobbing twins and put his hand on one of their shoulders. You tensed instinctively, ready to tackle him should he ever do something remotely… harmful to them. “So, they’re a friend of yours?” he asked.

You knew he knew, which was why you didn’t bother to answer.

“What did I say about talking to other people?”

“I’m not your property, Taehyung.” you retorted. “Nor am I your girlfriend anymore.”

He hummed nonchalantly, keeping one hand hidden from you. “Well, you did escape me. So, if anything, you’re still technically my girlfriend.”

Calm down, [Name]. Take a deep breath. He just wanted to provoke you. Just like he always did. Therefore, you shouldn’t let him have the satisfaction of seeing your anger.

“You’re sick, Taehyung.” You spat his name like it was poison in your tongue. “That’s why I escaped from you. No normal man would keep his girlfriend locked inside some fancy house and punish her for the slightest mistake.”

“I did it for you,” he defended. Though, it didn’t exactly sound like one. In fact, it almost felt like he was scolding you. As if you were some kind of a naïve child that knew nothing about manners and punishments. “I need to discipline you. If I didn’t do it, then what kind of a boyfriend am I?”

You shuddered indignantly. “I’m not a fucking child.”

“Ah!” He suddenly snapped his fingers, face lit up like a child at Christmas. You could say that he appeared almost… delighted to hear you swearing. You mentally reminded yourself that you weren’t his lover anymore, therefore you didn’t have a reason to feel like you’d ‘fucked up’ in some way. “There it is! It’s been a long time since I heard you cursing. Seems like you’ve been bratty, eh?” Taehyung nodded, as though he had come into an understanding. What kind of understanding, you had no idea. “These two have been poisoning your mind and destroying your manners. We can’t have that, can we?”

You frowned, though you still maintained your overall pissedexpression.

“Maybe if I branded you, other people wouldn’t be such a nuisance.” Taehyung closed his eyes, seemingly pondering over something. This wasn’t the first time he’d acted this way – spouting nonsense and just generally being contemplative – but it never meant anything good. Maybe because you always acted out during those times. “No, wait. You’re not in the wrong here. No, no, no. They’re the ones at fault here.”

You didn’t know whether you should be glad or confused with his statement.

“… And that’s why,” your eyes immediately widened when he whipped out a gun from his back pocket. “They should die instead.”

On instinct, you stepped forward and stretched out a hand. It was futile, you knew that much, but at least you’ve tried to stop him. “No–!”

And you already knew, no matter how much it hurt, that he would never stop and listen to your reason.

Bang!

The abrupt sound echoed in your ears as you stumbled on to the ground. You winced and looked up, discerning one of your friends instantly went motionless. The living twin cried through the cloth and squirmed on the chair in a futile attempt to save their now deceased sibling. You frowned and turned your head away, already aware of what would happen very soon.

It wasn’t long until Taehyung put them out of their misery as well, thus declaring the tragic death of your friends. The people who have helped you escape and provided you with their humble apartment. The people who have comforted you through the trauma you’d endured during your time in his house.

And worst of all, you never got the chance to truly and sincerely say ‘thank you’.

“See? This is what happens when people mess with my possession.” He ambled towards you and put a finger under your quivering chin. Tears trickled down and dripped on to his palm, yet he found your expression to be simply delightful. “Aw… Are you sad because your little friends are dead, my dear?”

You closed your eyes, unable to see the haunting sight or the malicious glint in his irises.

“How cute,” he cooed. “Crying like a baby you are.” Taehyung grinned wickedly, gripping your jaw in a near-crushing grasp. You didn’t even have the strength to fight back. It was like their deaths had drained you of the stamina and will to live. Well, how could you fight anyway? He was definitely stronger than you. Beating you would be like a walk in the park. That, and because you feared that he might shoot you the same way he did to those twins.

Though, you did wonder if it was better alive and suffer his constant punishments than die painlessly and peacefully. At least, you’d have your friends and other unfortunate people he’d killed in the past.

“But, you know what? This won’t be the last time you’ll see this. I swear, if anyone lays a hand on you, I’ll chop their arm off.”

#yandere bangtan sonyeondan #yandere bts #yandere taehyung x reader #yandere taehyung #yandere kim taehyung x reader #yandere kim taehyung #yandere kpop story #yandere kpop imagine #yandere kpop au #kpop yandere #yandere kpop #kpop yandere au #kpop yandere imagine #kpop yandere story #bts yandere au #bts yandere #taehyung x reader #kim taehyung x reader

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brianberger56 · 5 years ago

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A President Who's For Justice, and Opposes Corruption = Right On, Thank You!

https://pic.twitter.com/ynWzkOy8rAA President Who's For Justice, and Opposes Corruption = Right On, Thank You Mr. President! Like him or hate him, it is FACT that President Trump is the first, and currently only, modern President who has made an effort to give the boot instead of rewarding and PROMOTING corrupt Federal government officials. He’s taken a first step to reverse YEARS of institutional corruption and OFFICIAL Federal Government policies intended too and effectively promoting, encouraging and advancing corruption and unrestrained abuses of power by unethical, unaccountable, criminally-corrupt local governments and local and state officials (elected and appointed). This has included and is perhaps most evident in the epidemic corruption, lack of accountability, transparency, ethics, integrity, or discipline in Law Enforcement Organizations from coast-to-coast, in small towns and big cities, where Presidents up-to and including President Obama advanced policies of Federal government collusion and protection for crooked District Attorneys and prosecutors and their sadistic, corrupt pals in law enforcement (and political and government offices) to deprive far too many decent, undeserving American Citizens (often “targeted individuals” considered a threat to those in power or their agendas or targets selected based on bigotry, race and even wholly arbitrary reasons) of life, liberty, justice, and the most basic and fundamental rights and liberties, deprivations removing from many any semblance of the Constitutional and civil rights, liberties and judicial principles (i.e. innocent until proven guilty, by a jury of peers, punishment based on credible evidence not the fabrication of “cases” irregardless of facts and evidence by habitually malicious prosecutors supported by the U.S. Department of Justice and U.S. Attorneys, and the FBI, presumed to be a “watchdog” providing “oversight” by most Americans but in fact solely concerned with protecting and furthering corrupt prosecutors and sadistic, lawless, corrupt law enforcement agents - as partners of those institutionally-corrupt Federal agencies - rather than providing a check against egregious, indefensible murders, torture, beatings of law-abiding citizens, even war heroes in their own homes, men, women and children, of all races but undeniably especially those of darker complexions, and both major political parties are culpable and the corrupt thugs in the judicial system and law enforcement at every level include men and women, Dems and Republicans, officials of all races, two notable examples being Eric Holder, the most culpable U.S. Attorney General for the worst, routine abuses of law-abiding citizens by violent, brutal LEOs and official protection of government corruption as a formal Federal policy, and Denver’s Mayor Hancock who has prevented any local efforts to address these issues - and increased the national problem in his City for his selfish sexual pursuits and bribes - to appoint his lobbyist cronies to the so-called “Citizen Oversight Board,” a joke that mocks any citizen who believes in justice, Rule of Law, civil rights and liberties, and even life itself as being more valuable to Society than sadistic police brutality harming and murdering individuals of all races and ages who were not and never did break ANY law. President Trump has done far more to promote justice than all recent predecessors combined, while surrounded by the evil, corrupt criminals in office that are so entrenched and great in number that almost no community or government agency exists as an exception to this epidemic of corruption and injustice, or even minimal accountability for the corrupt officials destroying lives and communities and undermining justice and freedom - sacred American values that meant nothing to any of the narcissistic, evil thugs in North Carolina where I was a County Commissioner surrounded by the most immoral, evil people I have ever met, including those in jail and prison - where I was sent for the crime of being a threat to the “culture of corruption” and the officials and voters who live and profit and sin without consequence and with mutual support for each other. By comparison, the people incarcerated in those jails and prisons are saints, far better people with far greater Christian values and virtues (though many have done horrible things and some truly horrific acts that are undeserving of sympathy or mercy, the overwhelming majority were harmless to others and incarcerated for reasons not related to having hurt other people even if guilty of the charges against them...God would find much kinder, humane, moral & spiritual, if tortured & hurting, souls in jail than in any government office or agency or political/judicial body in North Carolina). https://pic.twitter.com/ynWzkOy8rA - An Appeal For Freedom Justice & An End to Torture For Fighting Corruption and Seeking Justice (or "North Carolina And the Crooked Feds - Ten Years Worse Than Death Surrounded By Corrupt Prosecutors, Media Trolls, the US Dept. of Injustice & FBI Swamp Rats, And Their Corrupt, Sadistic Politician & Police Thugs AGAINST Justice, Integrity, Morality and Traditional American Virtues!)

A desperate appeal to our principled, pro-Justice President from a former elected official who opposed corruption and unaccountable, secret government practices in North Carolina, where Corruption is King, and the FBI and Governor Corrupt Government's Criminal, Narcissism-Infected Pimps for Evil, Unethical Prosecutors, Crooked Politicians and their like-minded, sin-sharing Media Troll service providers - Devoid of Ethics or Human Decency too, with their Sadistic deviant lawless badge-bigot goonies no better than your common Crip or truck stop sucker. Crooked Prosecutors and Politicians and suffered consequences far more torturous and less humane than death as a result. For more than ten years, since defeating a long-term Republican County Commissioner and Democratic career Sheriff in Wilmington, NC, where a culture of corruption was pervasive and unrestrained, and common knowledge among state and Federal officials who unbeknownst to most citizens were well-aware of the extensive corruption and routinely permitted criminal activities by elected officials, equally corrupt County and City managers, and sadistic, violent, law enforcement officials with a long, organized role violating civil rights, liberties and the safety and property of any real or perceived threat to the self-serving secret activities of the corrupt District Attorney and an incestuous County Courthouse that had long been the center for corruption and crimes including murders and vile acts of violence and total deprivation of the most basic human and Constitutional and civil rights of innocent citizens at the hands of Sheriffs Deputies and WPD officers serving extremely corrupt, malicious prosecutor, Ben David, his corrupt assistant prosecutors, immoral justices and a cartel of politicians who called the Courthouse home during the day to profit in front of perverted and corrupt judicial partners while laying the foundations for their political corruption behind closed doors in City Hall at night.

I am an admittedly uncompromising Constitutional strict constructionist and abhor injustice, abuses of power, sadistic violence and goon squad law enforcement SOPs including horrific acts of violence against unarmed, presumably innocent citizens, expensive cover-ups of violence occasionally concealed from the public as a condition of legal settlements for those few victims fortunate to be somewhat compensated for damages incurred at the hands or bullets, or K-9 officers employed as implements of torture by law-defiling, abusive, often drug-using Deputies with violent habits similar to the worst street gang skull crackers in the Cape Fear Region (Southeastern NC), but with absolute freedom from any consequences and absolute protection from legal accountability, financial or professional discipline or punishment, or any scrutiny or judicial response for violent criminal attacks – Directly resulting from local prosecutors and political criminal actors AND documented, blatant, unapologetic collusion of the North Carolina S.B.I., recent Attorney General and current Governor Roy Cooper, and numerous U.S. Department of Justice and F.B.I. officials – whose actions as individuals defy any semblance or interest in justice, oversight or prosecution of criminal violations of the law, criminal corruption by Federally-protected local officials and law enforcement personnel, even when extensive, irrefutable evidence is, or has been, provided to FBI Special Agents, Justice Department officials, the U.S. Attorneys Office, and other Federal agencies – under the Administration of President Obama, who in practice maintained policies intended to prevent and encourage, if not enhance and actively promote, local and State government corruption, prohibit investigations of apparent corrupt practices, including policies preventing investigation of documented prosecutorial misconduct, evidence and witness tampering, fabricated misinformation and defamatory, deceptive public statements contradicting documented evidence of criminal wrongdoing, coercion and bribery among other tools to elicit specific behaviors from members of law enforcement, media and public parties to criminal wrongdoing, explicit directions to deprive law-abiding citizens of the most basic and cherished civil rights and undermine the Rule of Law and equal protection under the Law. Further, in conjunction with twin brother Jon David and a District Judge, Sandra Ray Criner, conspiring and initiating determinations in flagrant violation of targeted individuals legal rights while exchanging protection for the aforementioned Judge’s spouse- therein providing protection and exclusionary permit in fact to engage in documented sexual abuses and assaults against pre-adolescent female victims – as well as providing favorable assistance to Judge Sandra Ray Criner’s tenure and ambitions as a member of the Judiciary.

Detailed, highly-consistent, evidence of malicious prosecutorial conduct by District Attorney Ben David, County Board Chairman and Attorney Ted Davis, on record stating a personal leading role in directing illegal targeting, harassment, political intimidation through threats and acts of violence including the use of lethal weapons to carry out lethal retribution for my outspoken opposition to corruption during the Republican Primary for County Board of Commissioners, harassment, stalking, including routine unlawful traffic stops, often occurring between 8-12 times per month, frequently conducted while legally parked (texting constituents), compelled to take a breathalyzer despite no record or regular consumption of alcohol, often accompanied by many of the often dozen or more responding officers pointing their loaded firearms and shotguns at my face and torso, physical and verbal abuse, public humiliation and perception-creation, and credibility eroding, use of six or more vehicles with lights flashing suggesting criminal activity among any onlookers or passers-by, escalating to far more violence and brutal torture, resulting in permanent neurological damage, PTSD and loss of some executive functioning, once well-above average and despite years of rehabilitation and therapy, documented by approximately a dozen or more medical professionals and experts, including independent government experts…

Sadly, this is a very concise and censured account of the torture and life-ruining sadistic violence, property and financial crimes and attacks, various abuses of government power and law enforcement authority to inflict harm, carefully documented and ALWAYS ignored by Senior Justice Department and North Carolina Attorney General (Roy Cooper), SBI and Obama Administration FBI agents, despite visible harm and illegal violations of laws pertaining to my sworn duties as a duly elected and honorable elected representative, acting according to the pledges made while campaigning, pledges I took seriously and led to increasingly illegal and wholly undemocratic, corrupt, nearly-lethal escalations of public and bodily destruction and harm – and possible only with the unyielding approval and periodic, active participation by the very officials and agencies of the Federal government and officials perceived by many Americans as the watchdogs and oversight agencies chiefly or at least most intrinsically and capably charged with pursuing justice and defending citizens from wanton criminal attacks as well as defending the integrity and legitimacy of American democratic government systems and process and representative sanctity.

In point of fact, I did not, do not and never will have the authority, charisma, financial security, connections and future prospects of prominent politicians, Governors, football team owners or multi-millionaire investment professionals, or the connections and resources and talents to influence national decisions, the esteemed Commander-in-Chief and Presidential advisors and trusted staff, nor the means and elites’ protective distance from the wholesale personal destruction inflict able with atomic catastrophic damage that modern social media and unapologetic, unethical and largely fictitious media outlets and troll armies are capable of inflicting. I do not have any recourse from defamation, no matter how dishonest, vindictive and deliberately distorting and ruinous the insults, absolute falsehoods and fabricated the narrative…and frankly, people naturally resent anyone who is constantly flashed on television or the front page of the newspaper…the “Vanilla Ice” effect – extreme overexposure in and of itself – generates negative feelings toward the subject…whether the audience believes the target is attention-seeking or whether they realize the target is a victim of others concerted efforts to harm and incite public hatred and negative feelings toward the targeted individual and everything associated with them, be it a product or principles or ideas….

I was thirty years old, an accomplished professional, and genuine, transparent, highly-principled public official, but the legal attacks and financial, medical, privacy, stalking, life-threatening, even threats to kill my beloved golden retriever, “Boomer,” especially given the history of County Deputies shooting unarmed individuals and killing their sweet dogs as well, constant baseless charges requiring my presence in court from Ben David, Assist. D.A. Lillian Salcines-Bright, Alex Nicely and a large corrupt staff army under Ben David ensured I would be in court constantly – that way, I was prevented to great effect from serving the public and attending to my $16,000 year public office. It was a job I took deathly seriously, and worked 80-100 hours a week, minimally, to be an effective advocate for the general welfare of New Hanover County taxpayers. I eventually lost my house to foreclosure and was robbed four times in one year – sacrifices from legal fees and lost opportunities to pursue my career along with public service, exacerbated by targeted zoning and various financial penalties government has the power to inflict and they came after me with a vengeance….in ways that would boggle most minds.

Eventually, I was forced to leave town after my four-year term concluded, facing continuing harassment and death threats from law enforcement officers. My greatest crime during this four-year period, though I never claim to be a saint, was having a seizure while on the side of a residential street sending a text. Despite medical evaluation, and a handful of seizures, and medical clearance, a B.A.C. of 0.0 and no impairing substances in my system, the D.A. plotted and executed a phony charge and MR. David advertised that I committed a “DUI” when this was totally dispelled by ALL facts and on-scene medical personnel…who determined I was fine to drive on my way from the scene after regaining consciousness. However, I was thrown in jail, again, and again, for no unlawful action justifying imprisonment. The use of solitary confinement was used effectively as a form of torture causing permanent damage in few days, this is universally true in regards to solitary confinement – it’s inhumane and torture that most people can’t endure for even 24 hours, though most people think they could manage it, Every scientific study proves we can talk tough and act tough, but most people have a better chance of beating Tom Brady in a Super Bowl than they do of not being broken by the solitary confinement method of torture.

Lest anyone presume that I harbor anti-police or anti-authority beliefs it should be noted and is not inconsequential that I was a conservative Republican supported by most of the grassroots, principled activists within the Party, as well as garnering significant support from an atypical coalition of Reagan Republicans, the most progressive, environmentalist organizations at the local University of North Carolina campus, seniors and many Democrats, esp. relatively new residents appalled by the ruling "establishment" Republicans and country club attorneys, or the "Jeb Bush/Mitt Romney" GOP establishment with its dominant motivation being continued domination of local government by Wilmington's leading landowning families, who's patriarchs' seized power through a bloody coup d'etat in 1898, the only Coup d'etat in U.S. history, when successful northerners and free blacks were forced to leave town never to return or cut down by machine guns - actions proudly defended by these families and the attorneys and realtors and cronies who cross Party lines and prioritize power and control (and traditional, accepted corruption as "normal business" practices by and within City and county government).

Supported by GOP activists, young working families, the most progressive, environmentalist and activist organizations at the local University, seniors, retirees and many Democrats esp. recent northern transplants appalled by the pervasive and short-sighted corruption by local officials - I pledged to pursue transparency, accountability and ending the closed door meetings where citizen awareness and participation were not welcome AND I took that promise seriously. I advocated support for law enforcement and fighting crime and gang activity, and since I have a record being an elected official, I voted 100% during my four year term to give the Sheriff everything he asked for, and admittedly, in those pre-Ferguson, Mo., pre-Eric Garner, pre-Black Lives Matter days, I was naive...having experienced nothing but a positive relationship with law enforcement my entire life prior to being elected to public office, and I worked closely with various law enforcement agencies as a first responder, and character reference for FBI Special Agents and aspiring law clerks for US Attorneys Offices. Even when crooked officers in the New Hanover County Sheriff's Dept. and Wilmington Police Department were routinely violating my rights, committing acts of violence and harm against me and my golden retriever pal, and engaging in property crimes to damage and intimidate and harm me, I STILL honored my commitment and supported with not a single exception, local law enforcement and the Sheriff - hand picked successor to the Career Sheriff who I defeated in the Commissioner Election, an election I won despite being outspent by approx. $100,000 to $10,000 by long-entrenched Machiavellian incumbents. I continue to support law enforcement causes, but I can no longer ignore the pervasive, epidemic institutional corruption, violence and brutality, bigotry and unaccountability, lack of integrity and ethical indifference that permeates law enforcement from coast-to-coast, in every state, small towns and big cities, and the systemic involvement of corrupt prosecutors, politicians and unethical media outlets along with the U.S. Dept of Justice, FBI and US Attorneys (most notably and personally responsible being Eric Holder in recent years).

There are no groups to whom my life matters. Ben David and the criminal swamp rats at the institutionally-corrupt Department of Justice, FBI, within the incredibly corrupt State of North Carolina, especially the N.C. Governor’s Office with three inhumane, indifferent justice adversaries, occupying that Office most recently, including Roy Cooper who’s record as State A.G. is appalling and current Attorney General Josh Stein is equally indifferent when it comes to Justice. I believe Justice is a traditional Republican value, President Trump has done far more for fixing the corrupt, broken criminal justice system than any other Commander-in-Chief in memory….he has the potential to be the greatest Justice advocate in the White House since Abe Lincoln…Hopefully, he will prioritize that admirable challenge as part of his legacy and continue the first steps he’s taken in Term One of Two! The President who opposes corruption and fights for equal, principled Justice in the face of widespread institutional corruption and epidemic sadism and bigotry and prosecutors who are as criminal, narcissistic and unethical as pervasively as law enforcement is epidemically consumed by institutional corruption that is so deeply-rooted in us-against-them, bullying, sadism values and disregard for liberty and the Rule of Law - and unfortunately, institutional corruption, lack of accountability, transparency, and devoid of integrity almost always requires outside remedy…rarely does an out-of-control rocket right itself without external forces.

I was a highly functional, professional, ethical and public service oriented nice guy who was elected despite a speech impediment, minimal charisma, no talent for lying convincingly, and deep, unwavering principles esp. when it involves Liberty, Justice, the Constitution and Equal rights with Limited Government and Taxpayer, not Politician, Rule!

Now, thanks to events barely described here, and Google, I have been homeless, though not abusing alcohol or drugs, but abandoned by family, friends, supporters, and no organization willing to hire me after doing a Google search – despite my abilities and work ethic and character….

I am praying for mercy from President Trump and though a pardon doesn’t apply to my situation, his clemency and effort to expose the truth I experienced and maybe even allow me to join his staff in some capacity to work on criminal justice reform, anti-corruption action to free the President from HAVING to be the government watchdog against corruption because government has become so corrupt – the agencies that should be fighting corruption, DOJ and the FBI, are among the worst purveyors of corrupt narcissistic self-interested corruption tools – and its hurting America and undermining civil political discourse in our society.

President Trump, please help me. Being homeless and tortured and damaged to the point where death would be better than my life since being elected to stand-up to corruption is torture and nobody deserves it. Everyone deserves Justice and a justice system ruled by laws, not men. “Moderation in the pursuit of Justice is No Virtue,” the great Republican Barry Goldwater said. Let’s bring Justice back into the fold as a traditional value like it once was and you’re moving in that direction. Please help me and if you’re willing, allow me to serve this Nation on Earth by working for you toward that virtuous end!

https://youtu.be/EwKioTi6-Oo

https://www.buzzfeed.com/brianb417f21406/tazers-harassment-beatings-torture-isolation-1dml7

https://www.facebook.com/brianberger

https://www.linkedin.com/in/brianberger56

https://twitter.com/brianberger56

https://pic.twitter.com/ynWzkOy8rA

#ncpol #ncgop #politics #trump #corrupt gop #corrupt politicians #blm #police brutality #new hanover #wilmington #nc

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heoneyology · 6 years ago

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Hearts on the Line: Ch.6

A/N: Sorry this took so long ^^; I had a busy end of my work week and my two days off that finally came around weren’t very relaxing. But the plot thickens...

Pairing: Wooyoung x Reader

Genre: action, angst, romance, outlaw!au

Word Count: 3978

Summary: You’ve got a debt to pay, and Wooyoung has an agenda of his own. But for your help with just one last scheme, Wooyoung is willing to allow your debt to drop off—unknown to him, though, you also have your own agenda, and a loyalty to an unspoken Other. With hearts on the line, you each will end up having to make a decision that may risk what you both thought was simply just a game.

Even in the dark of night, with shadows cast along the streets by the tall buildings, and barely enough light filtering through the windows to see just a few steps ahead—you recognize the figures on the wanted signs posted up in front of you.

Curious, you think to yourself, how these appeared just after meeting Monica.

For the amount of time that you’d spent in the town, you don’t remember any of the wanted signs on bulletins around Sundown having ever been updated. It was why you and the guys had been able to move around so freely. The pictures before you blend with the shadows of the night, though it’s easy to recognize them. There were only four posted, which you found slightly strange. Each of them had their own bounty—but only Hongjoong, Mingi, Seonghwa, and Wooyoung’s hung on the bulletin.

Maybe the first three made sense, being the founders of the gang. Wooyoung’s made sense because of your run-in with Monica, if she was looking for something out of Wooyoung like the two of you suspected.

The longer you stared, their names and bounties blended together. Of course, you had it all memorized. You’d been with them long enough to see the posters before, aware of the danger you were in simply by being associated with them.

Kim Hongjoong, leader of the notorious ATEEZ Gang—Wanted Dead or Alive, $800,000 reward. Armed and dangerous. Accused of murder, robbery, theft & fraud, and military desertion.

Song Mingi, of the notorious ATEEZ Gang—Wanted Dead or Alive, $350,000 reward. Armed and dangerous. Accused of murder, robbery, and military desertion.

Park Seonghwa, of the notorious ATEEZ Gang—Wanted Dead or Alive, $200,000 reward. Consider armed and dangerous. Accused of bribery & grifting, manslaughter, theft, and fraud.

Jung Wooyoung, of the notorious ATEEZ Gang—Wanted Dead or Alive, $750,000 reward. Armed and dangerous. Accused of murder, robbery, bribery & grifting, and fraud.

But why were the others’ bounties not posted? You wondered, turning away from the wall. Before crossing over to the saloon, you glanced up and down the street. Things had started to feel a bit off ever since the run in at the hotel, and ever since Wooyoung had pitched this idea of revenge to you, which had put you on high alert. Your mind was so focused on lifting your debt, though, that you didn’t stop to think things through—or even consider why reality was starting to feel a bit off and why you felt the need to take precautions. A part of you felt as though you were constantly walking through a gossamer cloud of déjà vu.

As you passed through the door of the saloon, you wrinkled your nose as the putrid scent of smoke, alcohol, and sweat instantly suffocated your senses. Pushing past the bodies that were packed inside, you made your way over to the bar. It had been three days since the run-in with Monica and Wooyoung’s confession. Since then, you’d been meeting Monica nightly, revealing minor details about your fake relationship with Wooyoung—although it was pretty easy to make it believable considering you knew his personality so well, and you were able to tie in certain traits to forged stories—making it seem as though you were seeking revenge yourself, and that she was just the woman to help.

“Do whatever you can to get information out of her, even if it means you have to betray me briefly.”

Wooyoung’s words from the other night passed through your thoughts briefly. You’d been doing exactly as he asked, and it had been working. Or rather, you’d been limiting it just enough, trying to play off to Monica that you just wanted a simple marriage. Plus, if you revealed too much you not only risked betraying Wooyoung himself, but all of ATEEZ. Luckily, Monica was seemingly unsuspecting, and had been revealing information about both her past and his—most of which, on his part, you’d already heard before. You did your part to play up the acting, feigning as though you didn’t know any of that which she was revealing.

As soon as you take a seat at the bar, Monica sidled up, almost exactly on cue for your meeting time.

“So, what do you have for me today?” Her voice is as annoyingly alluring as ever, an attempt to speak any unsuspecting victim into a circle.

You barely glance at her, and she waves to the bartender, who places two drinks on the tabletop in front of either of you. Wrinkling your nose, you push the glass away. You’d learned from Wooyoung not to trust consuming anything in her presence.

“Nothing,” you admit, a bit sheepishly. You see her lips twitch in annoyance. “I’ve already told you pretty much everything he’s been up to lately. You told me you could help tame him. I just want a comfortable marriage is all… there’s not much else to tell you.”

It had been three nights too long since your meetings with her had begun. You were starting to run out of fabricated stories to tell.

She scoffed. “You know, I still can’t believe he’s settling down. Let alone marrying you.” Her tone was icy, venomous. You were used to it by now. While she’d said she could “help” you, she’d made her clear dislike of you apparent the moment she’d slapped you so hard your lip split.

Nervously, you find yourself licking your lips as you wonder where she’s going with her tangent, this time. The sore had already healed over, thankfully it hadn’t been too bad of a cut to take any longer than just a few days to close up. With your tongue, you could still feel where the minor wound had previously been.

“I already told you, I made him into what he is,” she glances over at you, lips pursed. “I could help you tame him, again. Make him submissive. No more escapades for him. I don’t have what we need, though, and you’d need to meet with my superior. We’d also need payment.”

She means the drugs, you realize suddenly, and whoever has it out for Wooyoung must be her superior.

You frown. “Well, the payment may be a bit difficult to get… Wooyoung has control over the funds.”

Listlessly, she waves her hand. “That can come later. My superior has a soft spot for Wooyoungie, I’m sure we can work something out. I need some sort of insurance, though, for they payment.”

Without hesitation, you slip the gold band off your ring finger. Wooyoung had acquired some funds to buy off a cheap engagement band from a pawn shop. Neither of you were sure if it were real, especially considering the price—but it worked for the ruse, and that was all that mattered. Having not sentimental value to you, and needing it just for the job, you slide the ring across the bar top toward her. She slaps her palm onto the table to catch it, looking up at you in blatant surprise.

You give a nonchalant shrug, sniffing in contempt. “He’s annoyed me enough these past few years to give that up for a short amount of time. The fool said he’d give me a diamond, and I got that instead.”

Monica chuckles, taking the ring and pocketing it. “That’s the most likable thing I’ve heard you say this entire time,” she muses, pushing herself out of her seat. “Meet me here again tomorrow. I’ll give you a name and a time.”

With that, Monica disappears into the crowd. Back to her saloon girl job, you assume. You glance over the bar at the tender. His back is to you, and with that distraction you decide to quietly slip away. Monica can pay for the drink with her paycheck, you decide. You aren’t picking up the tab. Just as quickly as you’d entered the saloon, you push through the crowd to exit it. The smell and crowd turn your stomach inside out, and the atmosphere makes you uncomfortable. Staying in the room longer than necessary was not something you had any interest in doing.

When you clear the door, you immediately breathe in the cool night air in an attempt to flush out your senses. The smell of the saloon drifts out the door and windows into the night, and you watch a few people stumble clumsily along the streets as they head home for the night. At the very least, the air is much clearer outside.

You’re about to step away and head back to the hotel when a dark figure catches your attention.

Across the street—hovering in front of the bulletin where you’d been just an hour or so before—is a figure. You should think nothing of it, you tell yourself. Townspeople and bounty hunters check the bulletins all the time. Military men check the bulletins all the time. The signs had just been hung up, of course a curious passerby would want to investigate.

But for some reason you find yourself unnerved. The signs just appeared, and now someone seemed a bit too interested in them.

Taking in a breath, you decide to ignore it—them. Your heart, however, is pounding in your chest as you head down the street back toward your hotel. You’ll just tell Wooyoung about the postings and the dark figure.

But then, the sound of your name causes you to freeze in your tracks.

“Rosette.” You’re sure it’s the figure calling. And surprisingly—it’s a female voice.

“Are you really going to ignore me like that?”

The breath you’d sucked in shakily exits your body, and you turn slowly. The figure is leaning over the banister of the building’s deck. Her hair falls over her shoulders from under her hat in waves, and there’s a friendly smile on her face, weathered and tired under long days spent beneath the sun.

“Jean…?” You breath out.

Her smile breaks out into a grin, and she’s swiftly jumping down from the deck to meet you in the street. You feel as if you’re frozen where you stand when she swings an arm over your shoulder. “Long time no see, old friend!”

Old friend… Did she really think of it like that, with everything that had led them to where they stood now? You can’t help but wonder if you two really were still friends. While it was true your history together went back quite a number of years—after some misfortune had befallen her family, she’d come to California to works as a ranch hand on your family’s property. Your fathers has been close friends growing up, and it seemed the most logical thing on her end to do.

During your time finishing off your youth together, you had felt as though you’d gained a sister. Maybe it was because of that sentiment she had asked for your help with a task you had never dreamed of imagining yourself partaking in—Jean was looking for revenge. The debt your father owed, a grand amount suddenly acquired at the time that had your family struggling immensely, just so happened to be owed to the exact people Jean had it out for.

She still had a bit leftover in her own savings, after everything that had befallen her, that she could pay off your father’s debt partially. Because you loved your family dearly, and Jean knew what it was like to lose family, the two of you curated a plan to lift your father’s debt by essentially placing yourself into servitude for ATEEZ. At the time, you’d been skeptical—selling yourself off as a slave? What a ludicrous idea, and entirely demeaning of your self worth as a working woman.

But while ATEEZ had agreed to the trade, and lifted your father’s debt from his shoulders, intending for you to work it off until it was paid—it hadn’t really turned out that way for you at all. As much as you were often strung along by Wooyoung, helping along in schemes as needed, the most physical work you ever did for the guys was cook. Otherwise, you were another member of the party. Another member to collect provisions for. Another mouth to feed.

A spy among them.

For two years you had been sending intel gathered to Jean—any sort of past history on the members, weaknesses and pieces of information that could be used against them, along with plans for upcoming hits and where you would travel to next. Of course, some of the information was delayed as it reached Jean. But it was sent her way, nonetheless, so she might put together a bigger plan. While she did that, you earned their trust as best as you could manage.

Hongjoong had made it very clear if you ever ran from the debt you so boldly took on, your family’s lives were on your shoulders.

Jean had made the promise that after this one thing was complete, you both could return back to the way things were before.

The risk in all of this had been your life, or your family’s life. You’d always figured that the worst that could happen was your life be taken after being discovered as a traitor. At least your family would be able to live peacefully, under the assumption you were still bravely helping them.

“Word on the street is you’re having some fun with Jung Wooyoung, now,” Jean’s teasing tone pulls you from your thoughts—from the past—and you find yourself flinching at her words. She notices.

“Relax. I told you to get close to them. It would look more strange if you didn’t help him with whatever it is you’re doing.”

You let a small sigh of relief escape you. “Really?”

“Really,” she cocks her head to one side, curiosity crossing her features. “What are you two doing, anyway?”

“Revenge seems to be a common theme surrounding me,” you mutter under your breath. She hears, though, and it elicits a chuckle from her.

“Well, on the topic of such,” Jean pulls her arm from your shoulders, and pauses in the middle of the dirt pathway, turning to face you.

You don’t need her to finish the thought for you to know exactly where this is headed. “It’s that time?”

She gives a curt nod. “I gave us a two year time limit. That limit is up. I think things are ready.”

“What do you need me to do?”

For a short moment, Jean glances away from you, studying the lonely street in thought. There’s a few drunks still staggering about, some attempting to make their way home and others off to find the next saloon. She watches them, before her eyes dart along the outlines of the buildings surrounding against the night sky.

“This place is going to go up in flames tomorrow. Do you think you can get as many of those boys into that saloon you were just in by sunset?” As she asks, she glances back at you.

You frown for a moment. Could you? They had recently enjoyed partaking in nightly drinking so long as there was no sign of any danger. With the newly posted wanted signs, Seonghwa probably wouldn't risk coming into town. But what about Jongho and Yeosang? Would they take the risk even though their bounties hadn’t been updated? Wooyoung was easy enough—though that was also a risk, with the updated bulletins around town.

“I think I can manage,” you say, though you aren’t entirely certain of yourself. You find your thoughts wandering as you attempt to figure out a strategy, though you pause your inner turmoil for a moment to glance at her. “What do you mean—‘go up in flames’.”

Jean offers up a smirk, before she pulls the brim of her hat a little further down over her face. “I have this whole place rigged. Make sure by an hour after the sun sets, you’re out of the saloon,” she warns, before bidding you goodnight and turning to walk away from you.

You feel your stomach twist suddenly. Make sure an hour after the sun sets, you’re out of the saloon.

She was going to commit arson? And what of the guys? You shake your head, exasperated with yourself—why would you suddenly think that—what other fate could they possibly face?

“Rosette?”

At the sudden sound of your name, you whirl around, coming face to face with Seonghwa. Your heart practically jumps out of your chest—his blonde hair a ghostly sight against the dark of the night. A gasp of surprise escapes you as you take a step back from him.

“Lord,” you breath out, hand flying to your chest. “Give a girl a heart attack, will you?”

“Sorry,” Seonghwa’s soft voice sounds sincere, though sheepish. “Where’s Wooyoung? Why are you walking back to the hotel this late on your own?”

After recollecting your peace of mind, you straighten up to face him, though you answer with a shrug. “Probably back at the room? I’ve been making friends with a certain woman from his past, so we haven’t been together.”

Seonghwa frowns, before giving a curt nod over his shoulder and heading down the road. It takes you two steps to catch up with his swift stride, but you follow after him. Before you do so, you spare a glance over your shoulder. Jeans retreating figure is nowhere to be seen. Had Seonghwa seen her? Or overheard the conversation? You frown as you consider the possibility.

“So you’re really going through with it?” Seonghwa asked as the two of you walked together.

“I decided to, after all. But Seonghwa—I don’t think Wooyoung wants revenge,” you murmur, glancing down at your feet as you walk. You consider all the pain he’d been put through, and the mystery of how he was being used. Him and Monica both, it seemed, the more you spoke to Monica each night. Even her agreement from tonight… it just seemed as though she were being strung along, still.

“No?” Seonghwa asks, glancing at you sideways. He’s waiting for you to elaborate, but when you don’t immediately do so, he continues, “Rosette, you didn’t see him at that stage of his life. He’s dangerous now, but back then he was the type of dangerous you didn’t want to cross. He had no control, even when he first joined us. He may be in control now—cool and seamless in his acts, it’s what any of us expects from him. He took his training and perfected it into an art of deception. But there’s still a darkness about him that threatens to take hold. That’s part of the deception, part of his act.”

You frown, thinking back to when he’d come so very close to slipping over the edge, just as Seonghwa had described, a few days prior. Back when the two of you had argued and Monica was a mystery woman with no name or history. Back to the way he had reacted in that moment, and how you’d felt the need to somehow ground him to the physical world and not whatever memories had been attacking him.

“That’s the thing, though. I think he just wants closure. That’s how it seemed to me, anyway. He just wants to know why him—why it was done to him.”

“Even so,” Seonghwa sighed, stopping just outside the entrance to the hotel. He turned to you, his face the serious, yet soft and understanding you’d come to know so well. “I warn you to be careful, as I did before.”

You nod, not sure that his warning is of any use any longer. “Thank you for walking me back.”

Seonghwa gives a small smile. “Of course. Do you mind sending Wooyoung down, if he’s upstairs?”

Again, you nod, before turning and heading into the hotel. As you enter, you greet the woman working the desk, briefly sharing pleasantries before you ascend the staircase and head up to the suite you’d been calling your home for the last few days. You rummage through the pocket of your shirt as you near the end of the hall and near your door, unlocking the hotel room and stepping inside.

As you’d anticipated, Wooyoung is there. He’s settled in his corner on the floor, idly flipping through a book that looked much older than he was and probably less interesting than waiting around to see if a snake would blink. He’d been keeping himself cooped up, for the most part, lying low and staying out of Monica’s sights—as well as the sights of any of her cohorts who might recognize him.

“You’re back!” He chirped as you entered, immediately propping himself up into a sitting position and tossing the book aside. “What news do you bring?”

“My first set of news is that Seonghwa is outside. He wants to see you,” you reply, moving towards the wash basin and bath. If Wooyoung is stepping out, now is a perfect time to take advantage of the suite’s luxuries. You hadn’t been doing so as much as you’d hoped. The longer you stayed in the suite, the more you’d come to wonder just how expensive it was—not every hotel had a bath, some were barely lucky enough to provide wash basins to their guests.

Wooyoung watches you with a quirked brow, frowning slightly before letting out a loud sigh of exasperation and pushing himself to his feet. He’d just made himself comfortable for the night, what could his hyung have possibly come all the way into town for?

“I’ll be back, then,” Wooyoung calls over his shoulder, making sure to keep his eyes away from the sectioned off wash area. Ensuring his room key was tucked in his pocket, he slipped out of the hotel room and locked the door behind him. Down the hall, down the stairs—Wooyoung was outside as swift as the wind.

Seonghwa glanced over his shoulder at Wooyoung’s arrival, pushing himself away from the banister he was leaning against as Wooyoung descended a couple of the steps.

“You called for me, hyung?” But instead of answering immediately, Seonghwa studied him with his dark, piercing gaze. Wooyoung thought himself to have an intense gaze, but he found himself shifting beneath Seonghwa’s. He and Hongjoong could be quite intimidating when the situation called for it.

“You’re really going through with this?”

Wooyoung glanced up, having decided under Seonghwa’s scrutiny that the toe of his boot was absolutely the most interesting thing in the entire world at that moment. He studied Seonghwa himself for a moment, wondering why he was pressing the matter yet again, before giving a nod.

Seonghwa sighed. “I need you to have this finished soon. We don’t have much time left.”

“Pardon?” Wooyoung again was quirking a brow, confusion and curiosity crossing his expression.

“The bulletins around town have been updated. We have new bounties posted,” Seonghwa explained, expression darkening a moment. “And I don’t think it has anything to do with Monica. I need you to keep your head about you, for not just your sake, but everyone’s.”

“Hyung,” Wooyoung smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was a cross between his usual charming smile and the smirk he used when he knew something. “Just give me through tomorrow, I’ll be done then. I’ve been lying low since the first day here. It’s too late for me to get caught now.”

“I’m not even worried about you getting caught anymore,” Seonghwa sighed. “Just don’t do anything stupid. Please.”

Instead of answering, Wooyoung gave a small shrug. He turned away, tossing a wave of his hand over his shoulder at his hyung. How could he make such an empty promise? The stupid decisions were often what got the job done, and what made things the most interesting. Wooyoung had never encountered a stupid decision he’d caused that he wasn’t able to get out of—no way was he about to, now.

#ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #wooyoung fanfic #ateez fanfics #ateez wooyoung #ateez outlaw #m.writes #m.hotl

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illionoisprelawland-blog · 5 years ago

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RICO: The Scourge Of Organized Crime

By Justin Xu, University of Chicago Class of 2022

September 16, 2019

In the waning years of the 1950s, a rather obscure law student (and even today still very much someone that does not appear much in the public spotlight) attending Notre Dame Law School edited a student note about the unsuccessful prosecutions of 20 or so accused mafioso which had been snagged in the historical Apalachin Meeting on November 14, 1957. From this one incident, George Robert Blakey, an adviser to the United States Senate Government Operations Committee and under close supervision from the chairman of the committee Senator John Little McClellan (D-AR) would draft what would become known as The Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act (RICO), which would revolutionize the way law enforcement investigates and prosecutes organized crime, and indeed is one of the reasons why the American Mafia in the 21st century is only a shadow of its former self.

Organized Crime and the American Mafia vs. Law Enforcement:

One of the biggest problems that occurs with fighting organized crime is that it is difficult to go for the highest echelons of a criminal organization. Although law enforcement may easily catch and convict so-called low-level street “associates” or “soldiers”—the ones that directly commit crimes like robbery and murder—successfully building a case against the higher-ranking members of such a criminal organization is much more challenging, as normally there is very little, if any, evidence that directly ties the person who directly committed the crime to the person who allegedly ordered the crime to be done. Additionally, many such criminal organizations maintain codes of silence that significantly discourage any sort of court testimony by low-level members against the higher-ups. Perhaps one of the most blatant examples of this occurred in the aftermath of the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre of 1929, in which 7 men of a rival gang were murdered by 4 men, 2 disguised as police officers, most likely on the orders of the infamous gangster Al Capone. Although there was heavy suspicion on Capone and it is essentially universally accepted that he was responsible, his presence in Florida at the time of the massacre gave him an alibi, and the pressure for both those that were attacked and the attackers to remain silent was so great that one of the victims of the massacre, a gangster Frank Gusenberg, denied on his hospital bed that anyone had shot him (despite there being 14 bullet wounds in him). Indeed, the code of silence was so great that until 1957, the existence of the American Mafia wasn’t even agreed upon.

This all changed upon the Appalachian Meeting, hosted at the home mafia boss Joseph Barbaro in Apalachin, New York. What was supposed to be a routine meeting among the bosses of the American Mafia to discuss their operations as well as the murder of a mob boss, Albert Anastasia, rapidly devolved into a debacle for the mafia. State police had become aware of a number of factors indicating the presence of not only a large number of people, but of a large number of cars registered to known criminals, and set up a roadblock. Although the assembled mafioso made desperate attempts to escape, some ruining their expensive clothes walking in the nearby woods and fields, around 58 or an estimated 100 or so suspected mafia were caught. Twenty were indicted and subsequently found guilty, yet all had their verdicts overturned, the US Court of Appeals ruling that “there is nothing on the record of the trial to show that any violation of federal or state law took place or was planned at the gathering.”

Yet despite the overall failure to successfully prosecute any of the indicted mafioso, the arrests revealed both the existence of the American Mafia, previously only really known among Italian-American immigrants, and the true extent of the influence they had in both criminal and otherwise legitimate enterprises. Consequently, the FBI under J. Edgar Hoover, after ignoring the American Mafia for decades, finally acknowledged the existence of this criminal organization and created the “top hoodlums” program to go after prominent mob bosses across the country. It also set the stage for the creation of RICO.

The Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act (RICO):

Under RICO, no longer does the prosecution have to prove a direct connection between a defendant who allegedly committed an act “collection of an unlawful debt” or racketeering—which accounts for 35 criminal acts ranging from murder and bribery to money laundering and even copyright enfringement—and a suspect who supposedly ordered the crime to be committed. Instead, upon establishing that a defendant has committed at least 2 acts of racketeering within a 10-year period, it is said that a “pattern” is established that the defendant’s crimes were related to an “enterprise”, which the Department of Justice defines as “any individual, partnership, corporation, association, or other legal entity, and any union or group of individuals associated in fact although not a legal entity.”

There are four substantial criminal violations in which RICO can be invoked. Section 1962(a) of the US Code forbids investing the proceeds of the pattern of said criminal acts into an enterprise affecting interstate or foreign commerce; Section 1962(b) forbids acquiring or maintaining an interest in said enterprise through the aforementioned patterns of criminal acts; Section 1962(c) forbids conducting the affairs of said enterprise through those patterns of criminal behavior; Section 1962(d) forbids conspiring to do any of the other 3 acts. Overall, the most substantial consequence of the act is that the leaders of criminal organizations could be prosecuted, convicted, and sentenced to much longer prison terms if they were found in violation of RICO than if the act did not exist.

One aspect worth noting, however, that RICO was not specifically meant to target the Mob, but organized crime in general. It can also be applied to individuals with no connections to organized crime. Another aspect is that, should a prosecutor indict someone under RICO, they may temporarily seize the defendant’s assets and/or require the defendant to put up a performance bond, as frequently the shell companies of criminal organizations would abscond with the seizable assets. This can cause defendants to seek plea deals, as said seized assets make it difficult to hire a defense attorney.

Consequences of RICO:

Although the initially untested nature of RICO made federal prosecutors nervous about using it, it quickly proved to be a powerful tool that law enforcement would use. Although the act’s most famous use has been against the American Mafia, with cases like United States v. Anthony Salerno, et al striking devastating blows against the criminal organization through imprisoning the leaders of the mafia and dismantling the wall of silence which had kept locked away valuable testimony for decades, they were not the only instances in which RICO was used. Among the cases in which RICO has been invoked include prosecutions against the Chicago Outfit, FIFA, and even the entire Key West Police Department at one point.

RICO has also spawned several other similar laws. The Continuing Criminal Enterprises Statute, focusing more on narcotics-related crimes instead of the wide range of crimes that RICO pursues, made repeatedly violating or conspiring to violate the Comprehensive Drug Abuse Prevention and Control Act of 1970 a federal crime, and RICO influenced the eventual inclusion of terrorism into the list of crimes under racketeering as part of the PATRIOT Act. For better or worse, there has been no law that so affected the fight against organized crime as much as RICO.

———————————————————————————————————

https://news.google.com/newspapers?id=3HpOAAAAIBAJ&sjid=DAEEAAAAIBAJ&pg=5387,2690893&dq=joseph+barbara+apalachin+meeting&hl=en

https://www.justice.gov/usam/file/870856/download

https://www.law.cornell.edu/uscode/text/18/1964

http://myattorneyusa.com/storage/upload/files/matters/us-v-salerno.pdf

https://www.leagle.com/decision/infdco20120501999

https://www.justice.gov/opa/file/450211/download

https://law.resource.org/pub/us/case/reporter/F2/837/837.F2d.1509.85-5628.85-5602.html

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babylonthrum-a · 7 years ago

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Blakk Family Values - Lesson

Crinkling of paper, wrapped tight around a specific book he had noticed her staring longingly at some small time ago. Red-ringed gaze scanned the package carefully, making certain nothing on it was out of place, final fold and securing the last corner.

"It's not her birthday, you know."

Attention diverted, small scrape of a claw's tip across the flimsy covering rending it with a small hole and a scowl of frustration. A pair of blue eyes stared at him from over the far edge of the desk. Xerxes was growing steadily bolder the older he became, though the presence of his mother’s faithful Slughound nearby probably helped aide it.

With a small grumble, Thaddius started again, meticulous smoothing and folding and securing the covering for the gift once more. "I am aware, Xerxes."

"So ... why are you giving Mom a present?"

"Your mother has had a rough few months. She deserves something for her troubles, don't you think."

Familiar abyssal gaze stared at the wrapped book once more. "Oh." The younger soon returned his attentions to his father's face. "Is it supposed to be a surprise?"

"I would prefer it be such, yes." The answer was considerably more strained than he was expecting. Admittedly, Thaddius was not used to being questioned by a child. Especially so thoroughly.

"Okay." A pause, studious. "...What'll you give me to keep it secret?"

Movement ceased, that red-rimmed green moving from the gift toward the boy. Surprise laced his features at it, obviously unsure at first how to answer such a brash statement. There was perhaps a small twinge of pride, but overall shock that the child should target his own father for such bribery.

"Excuse you?" was growled out, eyes narrowing in apparent annoyance. "What do you think I would have on hand to give? I suppose, if you think yourself so adult for extortion, I could split the stock of the ... secret drawer..."

Xerxes made a face, disbelief that he would even be offered such a thing. "Dad, I'm six."

The shift in the boy caused a rumbling chuckle out of the aging Pseudobane, grasping the handle on the cane and using it and the edge of the desk to pull himself to stand. His mood had shifted once he had regained the upper hand from annoyance to amusement, his free hand picking up the wrapped book for transport. "Name your terms, Xerxes. Don't stutter here."

The blatant encouragement seemed to dent the boy's own pride into action. He visibly puffed at it before responding. "Fine. I won't tell Mom if ... you sit down and watch a Max Jackson movie with me."

The scoff that left the old industrialist came out an awkward mix of noises in amused frustration. "I can never understand how it is that you enjoy that drivel."

He left the office, heading for the apartment on-site with Xerxes in tow, Jaeger following after them with waggling tail stump. "I'm six. What's your answer? I tell Mom? Or we watch Max Jackson?"

"Unusually perceptive for a six-year-old, aren't you." Another snort. "I suppose, for now, I am stuck keeping you company if it keeps your mouth shut."

Conversation ended with the subtle victory acknowledgement out of his eldest son. Thaddius could have easily continued the fight as a teaching mechanism for his heir to use more frequently in his life. He decided instead that just for a glimpse of her smile again, he could surrender to the boy. Just this once. Later attempts to blackmail his father would prove more difficult.

Jaeger needs to be used more often, so he’s been slotted in. To be fair, he probably stays with Xerxes throughout his childhood.

#Slugterra #Slugterra OC #IndustRev #Blakk Family Values #Lesson

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houseofcrimerp-blog · 8 years ago

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« THE ALBATROSS » ❝ SOME JUST WANT TO WATCH THE WORLD BURN... I WANT TO POUR THE KEROSENE ❞

LAST NAME, FIRST NAME: Alyona Petrova AGE: 27 HOUSE OF CHOICE/INDIVIDUAL ACTIVITY/N/A: Death OCCUPATION AND/OR LEVEL: Level 1, Assassin (moonlights as a bartender) FACE CLAIM: Alicia Vikander NATIONALITY: Russian ETHNICITY: Scandinavian

CONNECTIONS:

HALF BROTHER - Erik Nilsen, her half-brother who she lost contact with but she feels responsible for his well being. even though she knows nothing about him anymore. She tried to keep tabs on him for a while, but then he started to look too much like her step-father/uncle and she couldn’t deal with that.

THE SUPERIOR - the one who witnessed Alyona at work (and the one responsible for original the idea to hire her as one of Death’s assassins). Interaction between them has been carried out by strictly covert and untraceable means. She’s never seen their face or heard their real voice; their exchange has always been nothing but subtle; an exchange done via easily manipulated messengers, bearing envelopes with names and location and little else. At first, the regular intake of funds in exchange for her efforts had been satisfying for both her ego and curiosity. She felt no reason to pry… then she got restless. The longer she blindly obeyed killer cues, the more she began resenting the situation she’d been reeled into. Nowadays, she’s no longer able to go on spontaneous killing sprees without a trace - there’s always someone observing her every move and reporting her successes to that unknown higher power calling the shots. She can’t stand feeling like she’s being kept as a pet of sorts; tethered to a leash of a handler that serves to direct her to the next target, sending her off at the word ‘go’ before reeling her back in until needed again. They refuse to kill her so long as she continues to be useful, but the closer she gets to trying to identify the mastermind pulling the strings at the top, who says she’ll dare return the favor? Her ruthlessness made her an attractive recruit in the beginning, but now resentment threatens to cloud her clarity. And it’s no secret that her blatant disrespect of rules and loyalty isn’t already on the house’s radar…

THE LEXICON - if there’s one person Alyona is frustrated by more than the unknown name of her employer it’s the record keeper of all her unsavoury pursuits. Until the term ‘assassin’ was attached to her, she’d been invisible. Written records risked giving her a reputation, and it’s a vulnerability she hates having around. After growing up constantly on the move purely to avoid having her actions reliably logged, to have even the vaguest form of documentation that acknowledges her existence is too incriminating for her liking. She knows killing them would solve nothing, not when another keeper would simply take their place. The lexicon forces Alyona to think more creatively on her feet. She pursues them with calculating and critical moves, ever-changing approaches between empty threats, lucrative bribery, secretive trade offs, and manipulation tactics to guarantee the erasure of her bloodstained tracks. Are her tireless efforts making an impact? That remains to be seen.

THE PROBLEM - the brother of Death’s murdered second commander’s secret plans to vengefully go after Eris would be too tempting a plot to ignore, should Alyona ever catch wind of it. She would 10/10 be willing to team up on any venture that entertained the possibility of taking the House of Death down from the inside out.

THE SACRIFICE - the heart donor who refused to surrender and die. It didn’t matter where they originally came from, they were in Bucharest territory now. Their take down was fair game. The catch? They were not to be harmed. The maintenance of their health was crucial, no poison was to cross their lips. A clean death was required. Enter the next best option - how else better to lure a runner out of hiding than to target their family? Alyona’s services are called upon to lace the relatives of the sacrifice’s foods with toxins, intermittently increasing the dose as requested. Weakening them, with well documented pictured evidence provided to show for it, should be enough to bring the runner to a stop. The longer they delay, the frailer their family members become.

THE FIRST CUT - technically, there’s a witness alive to confirm the one time Alyona miscalculated the amount of poison needed to kill a 6′7. It happened at least a decade ago, when she was still in the amateur stages of her current serial killer status. It was a project that required more supply than she was prepared with, but she’d been too determined to deny the chance at stretching the talent of her skill. It was easy to tamper with the wine, destine to poison a couple in an event that was supposed to go down suicide pact-style. No questions would be asked if both bodies were found together in the later phase of their honeymoon, right? In traditional post-poisoning tradition, she fled the scene as soon as the bottle was delivered. All evidence of her presence erased, by the next morning, she was in a different country planning her next murderous venture. She always assumed it had gone to plan. She was young and flawed with over-confidence, believing looking back over her shoulder raised unnecessary suspicions in comparison to keeping her eyes set ahead. Plot twist - the groom survived. Physically, he possessed a level of strength that rivalled a military man’s. Had she realized this beforehand, she wouldn’t have dared been so careless. Alas, the loved-up couple had seemed an harmless target; blinded into vulnerability by love. His wife was unable to recover, and died on site the way Alyona had intended them both to go. Though he didn’t escape the situation entirely unscathed - his system was negatively impacted by the toxins and he needed several months before his body was able to repair from the nerve damage inflicted. Forced to live on without the love of his life, sadness consumed him, then regret, then rage. There was only one remedy to this level of agony: to track down the person responsible. He couldn’t forget the face of his attempted murderer. Even if she had.

PERSONALITY: ENTJ She has all the makings of a natural-born leader. Charismatic and confident; she loves a good challenge, big or small, and they firmly believe that given enough time and resources, they can achieve any goal. This determined drive is often a self-fulfilling prophecy. She has the ability of pushing her goals through with sheer cutthroat willpower, especially where others might give up and move on. She considers emotional displays to be a sign of weakness. She’s content operating as a lone wolf, but often chooses to mingle in social situations because she enjoys receiving validation and feedback from others. Enneagram 7 - pleasure seekers and planners in search of distraction Sevens are practical people who have multiple skills. She knows how to network and promote herself and her interests. The stagnation that comes with a monotonous routine is the bane of her energy’s existence. Her pursuit of pleasure is compulsive. She constantly seeks to avoid boredom by finding distractions in her external environment and engaging in stimulation seeking of all kinds. She’s prone to obsessive behaviours/addictions of substances to keep her ‘upped’ in order to remain focus on her talents whilst downplaying her flaws. The extent of the her flight from her own darker emotions a prime example of her questionable mental health status. The more that she flees from her past, the more the strength of those memories grow and the more likely they are to erupt into consciousness in the form of a self destructive or a severe depressive episode. Chaotic Evil Alignment Does whatever her greed, hatred, and lust for destruction drives her to do. She’s hot-tempered, vicious, arbitrarily violent, unpredictable, ruthless and brutal glory. Any plans she composes are haphazard, and any groups she’s responsible for forming are impulsively organized. Force is the only language she complies to. ‘Business’ agreements last as long as they can until an attempt to thwart or assassinate each other arises and inevitably dissolves the bond. A symbiotic blend of self-interest and pure freedom. Willing to destroy beauty, life, and the order on which beauty and life depend.

THREE WEAKNESSES:

#1 - Body: based on physical strength alone, Alyona is highly disadvantaged compared to most. The level of fitness she possesses translates only to fast reflexes and footwork. Her muscles have never exceeded beyond a lean accentuation meant for supporting herself in climbing, not combat. Her hands are made for delicately handling tinctures, not for throwing punches. Overtime, her petite stature has been both a blessing and a curse. She uses her beauty and sexuality to fly under the radar which usually allows her to get out of being fought with physically. It’s the only reason she doesn’t throw caution to the damn wind cross every boundary she uncovers. She knows if she was ever to be cornered by someone she would lose, and (deep deep down) it scares her. She heavily relies on the fact that because she looks like an easy target, no one would bother wasting their time because the fight would be too boring… but evan that is a highly nuanced issue because the lack of her appeal fight-wise also somewhat offends her, because she lowkey longs to not rely on poison to do her dirty work for her, all the while she knowing how unrealistic such a goal is because she’s too tiny to do/handle anything significant. It’s mindfuckery level complicated. Basically, she’s a great dane mind in a pomeranian body. Of course she does her best to armour herself with words, sweet charm, and always dressing in heels that raise her height by at least 5 inches. But at the end of the day she’s keenly aware that wit isn’t a fair match against brawn. Should she ever get involved in a serious physical brawl she would only be able to rely on her spry mobility and quick reflexes.

#2 - Competition: your girl’s got serious impulse control issues. The idea of ‘no’ is practically impossible for her to grasp. Whether it’s a challenging dare or casual invitation, she’ll bite. Especially if the odds seemed stacked against her. Proving herself as the best at things is really important to her, though (on the surface) she’d be pokerfaced as hell as if she couldn’t care less. Whether it’s a egotistical or hedonistic urge is uncertain, but it’s definitely one of her biggest downfalls. She sees backing down as act of weakness and, as weakness #1 suggests, she feels she has a lot to compensate for in the physique department so is willing to put herself in demi to severely dangerous situations so long as it means earning praise and recognition (put simply, she’s literally the definition of ‘hoe don’t do it… oh my god’)

#3 - Pride: for years, she’s defined her self worth based on what she’s good at. The one thing she’s always been good at? Murder. And is murder a socially acceptable career to brag and discuss? No. Forced to silently celebrate her achievements with nothing more than untraceable tally marks and adrenaline, she’s always had to be private about how passionate she is about playing with poison. It’s the main reason she’s been successful at it - because she’s been forced to treat it as secretive. To talk about it to the wrong person would mean having to stop, permanently. To stop dealing in poisons would be like cutting out a piece of her heart. Her practically flawless success at serial killing without any repercussions is her longest running and proudest achievement. To insult her craft to her face would wound her more than a punch. Murder is as part of her DNA as what determines her eyes being brown. She’s deeply (unreasonably and dramatically) affected by critiques and criticism toward her technique mainly because it’s always been something that could only be talked about so little, thereby making the ultra rare moments when she can express herself about it all the more valuable. If it’s talked about negatively during those rare windows, she takes it very personally and will be launched into identity crisis mode. If she’s not this, she’s nothing.

BIOGRAPHY: DEATH TW

No one knows less about where Aлёна Aleksandrova Petrova came from than Aлёна Aleksandrova Petrova. An orphan, a daughter, a sibling, a killer.

Origins are complicated to retain when self erasure was imperative for the Petrova family. Supposedly born somewhere in western Russia — when she went on to live in ten different households before she could even walk — who could know for certain? Early on, nomadic living patterns set the tone for the years ahead and engrained into her mind throughout the early stage of infantry that to stay put was to be trapped. Aleksander was her father figure’s name, the brother of her biological father. Her birth biological mother’s identity was not shared. It remained undisclosed, undetermined, whether she died during child birth or abandoned the country shortly after all cords were cut. Considering Alyona was never taught beyond an elementary understanding of Russian, perhaps she wouldn’t have understood if it had been explained to her either way. [ тили тили бом ]

Alyona’s earliest memories all revolved around being with her twin sister, Диана (Diana). They were as inseparable as they were identical. Solitary was not made of one, but two. She was never on her own, so too was her sister. Where one moved, so did the other. It was the summer time. A few days shy of experiencing 4 years of life and they were already in the midst of a celebration. Something had gone well for Aleksander at work, and he returned home with a briefcase filled to the brim with wads of cash. They didn’t notice the swollen bruises or cuts on his knuckles, because that’s how he always looked when he returned home. Sometimes he would disappear for weeks at a time, though the time would feel considerably longer to the twins, they found ample entertainment in exploring the home-of-the-month they had moved into, under the watchful guidance of a Norwegian woman named Vilde Nilsen who’d been hired as their governess. The rooms were never properly furnished asides from the three mattresses gathered around the wood stove fire. Neither owned more than a book and stuffed animal each. They didn’t know what they were missing or abundant in; this was life. It was bearable. It was what it was. [ Close your eyes soon, ] Within 5 years, the twins had grown co-dependant on each other and never spent more than a minute separated. Their father and governess played crucial supporting roles, but their value lay in caregiving parental duties. Whereas the interconnected support Alyona and Diana experienced was a far deeper directly blood-related bond of inexplicable explanation. No one understood them like they understood each other. Then, with his briefcase of money, Aleksander showed them the power money had to drastically change a circumstance. A month later, for the very first time, they lived in a home they owned. A home with furniture in every room; a place of warmth; a place of safety. The twins adored the newfound freedom. Many lazy afternoons were spent roaming the acreage surrounding the Petrova household, wrapped up in their own little world, completely oblivious to a new development between their guardians. [ someone’s walking by the window ] A year and a half on, and Vilde Nilsen gives birth to a son, a boy named Erik that the twins were to refer to as their brother and treat like a sibling. Two years pass, spent in the same house. It’s the longest they’ve ever lived anywhere. It began to seem as though notions that their surroundings would constantly be in need of changing for safety to be achieved had been nothing but an illusion. A dream. Within those familiar walls, the twins’ foundations were built - it’s where they were taught to read, write, cook, and sew for the first time. Their highly spirited nature exhausts their governess easily, and each day lesson time is cut in half so that she may have time to tend to Erik and herself. Then it’s wintertime. Aleksander’s been off grid for three months. Alyona’s nursing a broken arm after slipping on the ice outside. Erik is asleep upstairs, his mother half-slumped over in the chair beside his crib after being kept awake all night dealing with the teething toddler. Alyona and Diana has grown used to a lessening in supervision. Erik had been fussy child since birth, and earned most of the adult attention nowadays. Suffice it to say, him sleeping peacefully was a novelty; and it meant the twins had at least 3 hours to do as they pleased before he’d stir and home school lessons would resume. [ And knocking at the door, ] Tea time was always the first thing to accomplish on their agenda of fun. So, after gathering every toy into a near circle around the miniature dining table set, 7 year old Alyona balances on a crouched Diana’s back, giggling as she awkwardly climbs onto the kitchen counter to reach the top shelf and get biscuits for them both. Diana was always the more adventurous of the two, but ever since Alyona broke her arm she’d let her lead. Sympathy weakened softened her. While perched on the counter, Alyona finds an open bottle of something sweet smelling. It’s bright green and looks particularly pretty when poured into the porcelain cups of Diana’s tea set, unlike the usual boring monotone swirl of hot chocolate. With a cupful each, they cheerfully clink glasses. Diana drinks. Alyona spills hers on the floor before she has the chance, too giddy with the giggles to keep her non-broken hand steady enough. Upon first sip, Diana makes a face and spits and splutters. It didn’t taste at all how it smelled. The reaction only caused naive little Alyona to laugh even harder, believing it was her sister’s intent to make her laugh. Diana, seeking to make her sister happy, continues to drink until the very last drop drains from her lips… along with the color from her face.

[ тили тили бом ]

Alyona learned that day that the telekinetic link between twins wasn’t a real thing. If it was, Alyona’s brain, liver, and kidneys would have been poisoned that day. Instead, her throat felt sore from screaming and all the water inside of her felt as if it had escaped of her eyes. For several hours, Erik and the governess try to soothe her in between trying to get answers to questions. Alyona is silent, unable to pry herself away from her sister, refusing to let her governess approach to cover the sickening sight with a bed sheet. Aleksander returns home within the hour, as if summoned. He turns up at the twins’ room and waits at the doorway, gruffly calling on Alyona to get up. She blubbers something, shocked and confused and vaguely profane. He strictly warns her that Diana is gone and it is wrong to hold onto someone who has already let go. These words finally click something inside Alyona’s head and persuades her to get up. It’s the first time she understands the significance between the living and the dead. Immediately embracing his surviving daughter, behind him, Russian-speaking men in suits appear and tend to the body of her identical. They move in an almost rehearsed precision. Despite being present for it all, Alyona can only understand bits and pieces of the aggressive conversation they have with her father. In her governess’ preference to teaching the children her native Norwegian tongue along with English supplements, her Russian fluency had declined. One word was repeated more than the others — antifreeze. [ Can you hear the birds through the night? ]

Concepts of the law were above Alyona’s 7-year old comprehension, but she felt it in her bones that there couldn’t possible be anything right about what she had done. Accident or not - she had killed her sister and hadn’t been allowed to follow. She was alone now as punishment. When she was was eventually pulled aside by one of the strange men, the last thing she expects is for them to hold out their hand, congratulate her, and then introduce themselves as her new headmaster. [ He’s already made his way into the house, ] The winds of change had returned with new ferocity, this time introduced under the guise of a boarding school center intended for youth protection and prevention. It’s purpose for her confused her at first, but she’s a fast learner. She sees the way they all turn to look at her when she’s found in the kitchen - glassy eyed and standing next to the an open cupboard of cleaning supplies. She’d never forget how peculiar fear looked on a grown man’s face, towards a child. It all seemed so bizarrely set askew. How could they be afraid? What she had done? Or was is what she could do that was so daunting? The moment Aleksander enters the room, all other eyes are averted. Since Alyona’s birth, she had rarely spent time with her father, but she knew he was powerful by the reactions he silently commanded. Though what he specialized in specifically remained a mystery, Alyona also had never thought to directly ask - for part of her feared what she would find. She never believed he’d lied to her about anything, even if omission of information was a form of lying. To be fair, he’d always alluded that he worked ‘with people, for people’. And the involvement of him + ‘people’ was undoubtedly true. When each return visit home came with a new ‘people-produced’ scar or bloodstain, it was clear he certainly was ‘dealing’ with ‘people’. She’d never read into it further. Never had time to fill in the blanks when she was so preoccupied running after Diana and Erik, swathed in the blissful ignorance of childhood. Now, in the wake of Diana’s death, it was as if her whole life she’d been under hypnosis, and witnessing death up close was the snap of the magician’s fingers designed to bring her to her senses. [ for those who cannot sleep, ] She’d never thought anything about her adopted father was odd. She’d never thought it was odd to be raised by someone he’d hired instead of managing the role himself. She’d never thought it odd that he wore an ear piece at all times. She’d never thought it odd when she’d once awoken in the middle of the night to see him adjusting a surveillance camera, planted behind the wall painting in the hall opposite the twins’ room. She didn’t think it odd that he correctly knew it was Diana who’d passed, not Alyona, despite them being identical and him never being around to notice their little differences. Nor did she think it odd that, as her father approached her after finding her standing in front of a cocktail of potentially toxic chemicals, in his eyes she saw nothing but pride. [ Hear his steps, he’s already close, ] In the days that followed, all dormant suspicions were stirred up and answered simultaneously. The reason Aleksander had deliberately stepped away from taking up too noticeable a fatherly role was to avoid bonding with the twins and becoming privy to one over the other. It was a bloodline issue; twins were a genetic mutation that created a problem in creating killers. Families were permitted one son and one daughter. Any extras were to be terminated, or adopted out. The twins’ biological father had been murdered by Aleksander, his own twin during their teen years. It happened at a different age for everyone, but once done, activated dormant genes into full expression. It was impossible to be the same after committing a deathly act. Upon discovering the Petrova twins trait had recurred with Diana and Alyona, since their first breaths it’s been a countdown as to who would knock off who first. Outside intervention wasn’t permitted, but there was a loophole when it came to subliminal indirect prompting. Around the house, objects and substances had been planted throughout their lives until one of them tuned into it. Until curiosity killed the cat. Their DNA represented the strongest generations of agency; bred for power, skill, and strength. It was their birthright to be inherit a profession of killer calculative skill. Alyona insisted it was an accident… but, all things considered, was there a genuine chance it hadn’t been?

[ тили тили бом, ] And so her official training begun. Still shaken by recent events, her participation kept to the bare minimum until she reached a more developed emotional maturity. The prescribed boarding school was intended for providing her with a ‘safe haven’ from the outside world until she reached legal age, and the ‘prevention’ part was the strict surveillance program that prevented her from causing herself harm. Absorbing so much in such a short time often had a whiplash affect, to say the least. The loss of her sister over a petty case of bloodline purity was nothing but revolting to her. It took her just over a year to shake though every stage - resistance, anger, denial, bargaining, acceptance. With blood, sweat, and tears to show for it, there was no way the traumatic memory could be permanently shaken from her system. So when they offered her a non invasive release from some of the wight of it through hypnotherapy - she gave in. [ can you hear someone next to you? ] Able to shoulder her circumstances beneath a layer of numbness, her thoughts were allowed a little bit of clarity. So long as running away wasn’t an option, she did the next best thing - equipping herself with the education needed to mobilize her emotions into something useful. If her sister had to die in order for her to be alive, she would fight to make it a worthy cause. The boarding school was traditional in the foundational courses that it offers - covering the basics of academics and physical conditioning. The exception was the highly illicit extra curriculum, where it would be decided if one’s skill lay in combat waging, combat strategy, or commanding. Alyona fared average in all subjects, and soon became an easy target for bullying. She shut herself off to it, kept her head down, introverted, and coped with it. As far as she was concerned, being there was a means to an end. As soon as she turned 16 she’d be released, even if that meant going rogue and crossing her own so-called family’s blood. Every time there’s a punching bag in front of her, it’s Aleksander she sees.

[ Huddled in a corner, ] At 12 years old she’s introduced to chemistry, and her bitter indifference at last gives way to a spike of interest. At first, she’s merely interested to learning as much as she can about antifreeze and it’s properties and dosages affect the body. It was strangely cathartic to know exactly how her sister’s system shut down; how little or severely she may have suffered, what system shut down first, etc. It was purely self-interested curiosity that led her deeper into from there. She began to explore and research different toxins to compare it’s effectiveness to, then wanted to know the most deadly, then what could be created at home versus what could be found in nature etc. Not only does the subject fascinate her, but it keeps her distracted from interacting with the heart sinking newest edition to the school: Erik. Less startling to the fact that her little half-brother is officially old enough to be a participating part of the system is that he doesn’t recognize her when he sees her. She forgets that she’s a Petrova and he’s a Nilsen. He was too young to remember her. It was better that way.

[ With a penetrating gaze, ] Slowly but surely, she goes on to learn everything she can about any poisonous compound, element, gas, and plant she could get her hands on. She was fast learner and incredibly apt at understanding each component of the chemistry, as if her brain was hardwired for it. Independent study soon began intermingling with private tutoring and class assignments. Putting her newfound knowledge to use required guinea pigs - and along with that realization, all of a sudden her reasons for being there all finally clicked into place and filled her with inspiration. No longer did she loathe the destiny she was being forced to live, not when she had the ability to send it up in flames from within. She kept it morally reasonable at first and targeted those who actually deserved the side effects of prolonged arsenic low exposure; the group that had been bullying her several weeks. Though she couldn’t remember exactly who was to blame, so she laced all the girls’ in her dorm’s water bottles until the end of term. Her moral ambiguity kicks in when she’s 14 years old catches the eye of a boy in the year above her. It’s not love by any means; merely a practice project in the effectiveness of infatuated persuasion. He’s done nothing wrong to her, never bullied her, or ever looked at her the wrong way… but he’s there, unfortunately for him. And simply by breathing within the walls of this boarding school meant he was affiliated to their twisted arrangement between highjacking the children of murderous families. As one of the system’s pawns - so how good could he really be? During the same term she has him on her radar, she’s studying latin to learn the official name for the plant derivative she drops into his drink (conium maculatum). She watches him the entire time, testing herself. It’s the second time she sees someone die in front of her, but it’s the first time she can’t that she enjoys it. There’s an addictive sense power to hurting someone without needing to touch them. It was elevating to her otherwise depressed default state. In the subsequent days, she feels nothing except the desire to do it again. Poison hemlock becomes her weapon of choice. When his body is discovered, his death is written off as foul play between him and a student of his same year he’d supposedly been in a rivalry with. She feels no remorse or regret that the fall is being taken by someone else. He is gone and it is wrong to hold onto someone who has already let go. To celebrate her 16th birthday and release from the facility, she uses the school’s lab to process ricin. Definitely without and clearance and permission, and in total abuse of school policy and resource, in true Alonya “Fuck You Guys I’m Out” Petrova style. She carries a sealed vial of it with her for several months before she encounters Aleksander. So blinded by his pride for his victorious daughter, she’s able to slip the power into his coffee before she leaves. She hasn’t heard from him since, and assumes it succeeded. No new is good news. Ten years of habit forming bad decisions later, and she’s become the informed, self-centered and self-entitled assassin she is today. Without regular installment of hypnotherapy she turned to cigarettes and other occasional recreational drugs on the days it gets too much. Embraced in full swing once again are her nomadic origins - though this time it’s an act of self preservation that keeps her on the go. In every countryside town she visits, a body usually turns up a day later. She tries to discern between those who deserve it versus the innocent, but sometimes all that can lift her spirits on a bad day is a little game of ‘watch the locals play murder mystery’ with each other and chill. Other than the occasional paid hit job, she keeps a very low profile. She travels from country to country without using the same name or piece of ID more than twice. It’s a game of chase that she never gets caught in. A venture which once began rooted in vengeance actually became fun. And if anyone asks, like Aleksander said, she had no choice. Her life was predetermined to go this way, the blood of tradition is woven around her DNA - can she really be held accountable?

[ тили тили бом, ] Always interested in anything mixology related, during her travels she took a bar tending course in order to have a steady side day job (purely for amusement and irony more than anything else). Highly suspicious of others, considering she doesn’t even trust her damn self, she never drinks in public personally unless she’s serving herself from a sealed bottle that originated from a trusted source. She quickly learned not all bars are created equal, and began spiking the drinks wherever she worked depending on her mood. The seedier the bar, the higher the body count. She’s made a lot of fucked up, reckless, impulsive, ruthless, downright horrible decisions in the past. Bucharest was intended to be another random place to pass through, but in the midst of serving up something lethal, she was convinced to linger by the House of Death when the right set of words and length of numbers was sent her way. Her life is a tragic mess of revenge, hate, self loathing, and nihilism. The one things that has been consistent in her life that she feels what she imagines love is like toward is her bundle of handcrafted killer pills and potions. She keeps all of them neatly organized and accessible within sight/reach at all times… but she never keeps track of a poison’s remedies. Some just want to watch the world burn.

#rp #oc rp #crime rp #new rp #roleplay #town rp #b

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Op-Ed: Fozman Says Government Transparency Motivated Party Switch | Brick, NJ Shorebeat -

https://uniteddemocrats.net/?p=9120

Op-Ed: Fozman Says Government Transparency Motivated Party Switch | Brick, NJ Shorebeat -

Brick Councilman Jim Fozman and U.S. Sen. candidate Bob Hugin. (File Photo)

By Brick Township Councilman James Fozman:

Over the past week I have been reading the statements and replies to the news of my switch to the Republican Party, so I would like to preface this with a review of the meaning of “political transparency.” There appears to be some confusion as to what exactly defines the phrase, so let us take a closer look at the definition that is set forth on Wikipedia:

“In politics, transparency is used as a means of holding public officials accountable and fighting corruption. When a government’s meetings are open to the press and the public, its budgets may be reviewed by anyone, and its laws and decisions are open to discussion, it is seen as transparent, and there is less opportunity for the authorities to abuse the system for their own interests.”

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I think the aforementioned excerpt does a fantastic job of explaining why a clear view into the inner workings of politics is important, and it is also in line with how I have always defined the phrase in my own mind. Unfortunately, my interpretation of being open is very different from the one held by my former Democratic colleagues. In the time that I have served as councilman for the township of Brick, I have witnessed council committee meetings becoming fewer and farther between, which allows for incidences such as physical signs being erected on public property before the ordinances are even passed, as well as other bold, and unchecked behavior. I have been prevented from participating in certain caucus meetings due to questioning inappropriate tactics used by other council members. I was met with resistance for being oppositional in the instances that I found something to be wrong. In short, I was speaking out rather than merely going along with the pack, and I was punished for it.

Mayor John Ducey’s only example of being transparent is when he recently stated that other mayors have called him crazy for allowing a Facebook livestream where the residents of Brick can ask questions. Why would any morally good politician think it is crazy to allow tax-payers the right to ask questions about how their money is being spent? One of the many benefits of being a free citizen in the United States of America is the protections set forth by our founding fathers, which allows citizens to assemble peaceably and to question their leaders. Why is that practice, according to Ducey, now considered crazy by a group of purportedly, anonymous mayors? It should not matter where the public forum is held: online vs in person…the people have the right to know what is going on; this is just one piece of the “political transparency” pie, while the other pieces lie in the ring of what happens during closed caucus meetings. In those instances, the citizens of the township have to trust that the council is holding their best interests at heart. When council members are prohibiting certain elected officials from participating, especially those whose values and principles do not align with their own personal views, who then will serve as the watchdog of accountability? If questioning certain practices ruffles feathers, and bars attendance, how will the tax-payers be made aware of the shadiness that is afoot? At that point, who exactly represents the people of the township?

The entire purpose of a multiple party system and political spectrum (liberal-conservative) is to ensure checks and balances, otherwise politics will suffer from biases, which in turn, irreparably damages innocent citizens. I have always been a strong believer in transparency, which is why when I held the position of chair of Business and Finance, I consistently shared every minutia of those meetings with my council colleagues. However, I was not afforded the same clarity by Mayor Ducey, and other members of the town council, who have made it well aware that they work for him, and not for the people of Brick. I believe that the attempts made to silence me are not only due to my blatant opposition to the corrosion of good values, but also because of the rampant cronyism that I have witnessed occurring in the local Democratic Party. While I served the great citizens of Brick as an unbiased, fiscally conservative Democrat, I can no longer align myself with politicians who put their own interests, and their party label, ahead of the people.

The perfect example of the unequivocal nepotism that is occurring within the Democratic Party is the current re-election bid of Senator Bob Menendez (D-NJ), who was recently indicted on federal corruption charges. Menendez advocated for the business interests of a close friend and was given lavish perks in return for favors; he was also charged with crimes such as fraud, bribery, and making false statements. The Senator has lied repeatedly not only to the tax-paying citizens of New Jersey, but to all of the the people of the United States of America. Yet somehow, despite all of Menendez’ publicly exposed wrongdoings, the Justice Department dropped the corruption charges, and the Democratic Party immediately started funding his campaign so that he may hold onto his seat for another term. The entire story is akin to a nailbiting, blockbuster movie about a corrupt administration, but then suddenly, a hero emerged to contest the insanity! And that hero is Bob Hugin. When I learned that Hugin was running against Menendez, and in reflection of what I had experienced with the Democratic Party in Brick, in all good conscience, I chose to endorse Hugin, despite his party affiliation.

In closing, there are some hard questions that need to be asked of the people of Brick: What happens to other council members who decide to speak out against this reprehensible behavior that has occurred on behalf of the Democratic Party? Will all elected officials who are resistant to wrongdoing also be banned from participating in future caucus meetings? My practice of refusing to vote due to party affiliation, but rather for the good of the people, is what got me here in the first place. Are the labels that are used to define different values within the political system more important than whether or not the politician is free from cronyism, and general bad practices that are self-serving? While I am not surprised that some people are upset that I have switched parties, I am shocked that it appears to be more important for some of them to spew vitriol over party lines, rather than come together for the greater good, and to embrace political transparency.

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