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college-girl199328 · 1 year

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It's springtime in Metro Vancouver when thickets of selfie sticks and tourists sprout beneath canopies of the region's famous cherry blossoms; Sussex Avenue in Burnaby, east of Vancouver, a group of five fashionably dressed women set up an iPhone on a tripod under the blooms.

One accessorizes with a green scarf, then pauses to give instructions to her friends, adjusting their angles just so; for the perfect shot. They're too busy to talk as they strike a series of poses, hands on hips.

Such scenes are familiar to Linda Poole, founder and creative director of the Vancouver Cherry Blossom Festival, which runs from April 1 to 23 and recalls the sight of tourists getting out of a tour bus at Queen Elizabeth Park, one of Vancouver's most popular locations for blossom viewing.

"And they are dancing under the blossoms, singing, modelling and posing. It's cute. I see that all the time," said Poole; Cherry blossoms have become a domestic and international tourist draw, with Chinese tour companies offering flower viewing packages for thousands of dollars, competing with more traditional locations such as Tokyo and Kyoto in Japan.

Edward Xie, manager of Richmond, B.C., travel agency First Express Travel, said his company advertises Vancouver flower viewing in international markets said guides pick up travellers from China and the U.S. at the airport and drive them around the city's best cherry blossom locations.

An eight-day, seven-night trip from China to Vancouver and Victoria promoted by First Express is dubbed the "two cities flower viewing" tour and costs 33,603 yuan, or $6,580, into a colourful world to enjoy flowers, watch whales and roam freely outdoors. Experience the romance brought by pink cherry blossoms and feel the vibe of April on Canada's West Coast," reads the advertisement.

Vancouver's blossoms have become renowned in East Asia, where the city's trees are through the Kitsilano neighbourhood in Mandarin. Like the English-language tours, it's fully booked that in the 1930s, the mayors of the Japanese cities of Yokohama and Kobe gave 500 cherry trees to the Vancouver Park Board to honour Japanese Canadians who served in the First World War.

Charlene Liu, president and CEO of Panasia Holidays, a Calgary-based tourism company, said cherry blossom viewing is among Chinese-speaking domestic tourists, many of them from Edmonton and Calgary, like a perfect combination to gaze upon the cherry blossoms while exploring the local culinary scene since Vancouver is also famous for food," said Liu in an interview conducted in Mandarin.

Cities like Kyoto and Washington, D.C., might have said many blossom tourists to Vancouver also have family in the city photos under the cherry trees is a universal thing loves it," said Xie.

It's not just tourists drawn to the blossoms that drift like pink snow when caught by a breeze resident Emmanuel S.T. Yu, enjoying a stroll under Burnaby's cherry blossoms with his wife Connie, said the flowers reminded him it was "a blessing" to live in B.C.

"It's my family's annual tradition to walk around to see the cherry blossom trees doing this for 11 years straight. We never get tired of it," said Yu in Mandarin flowers always easily cheer us up, reminding us how lucky we are to live here."

Jordan Liu, B.C.-based director of the tour guide training program with the Canadian Inbound Tourism Association of Asia Pacific, said there were more than 2,700 cherry blossom locations across Metro Vancouver has some favourites — Graveley Street on Vancouver's Eastside, West 22nd Avenue in Arbutus Ridge, Nelson Street in the downtown core, Yukon Street and outside Vancouver City Hall.

On West 22nd Avenue, Sophie Chan said she travelled on multiple buses to get to the neighbourhood from her home in Surrey. The slight rise and fall of the street make it possible to see a corridor of blooming trees stretching into the distance, a favourite location on Instagram said the secret to a good cherry blossom photo is patience — you need to wait for the right moment, with the right light, and the right wind to bring the petals fluttering down.

Retired mechanical engineer Kenneth Kwan, 84, was standing outside his home on Sussex Avenue in Burnaby, wearing a straw hat as he greeted people taking photos of the blossoms said the flowers made him feel alive after an illness confined him to hospital for more than six weeks last year.

"My friends from San Francisco will soon come to Vancouver to visit me. I will show them around the city, including the cherry blossoms in my neighbourhood," said Kwan laughter is the best."

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futurefounders · 1 year

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Blog Assignment #8

Historic Downtown Milford, Ohio is home to many local businesses to fit your shopping, dining, and entertainment needs. Nowhere along Main Street will you find a chain business. Old Milford prides itself on being completely made of local and original businesses. Just along the Little Miami River, Old Milford’s restaurants have a beautiful waterscape and have one of the biggest kayaking and canoeing routes in Ohio. This area is in the process of becoming more pedestrianized as reflected in the new DORA area which allows residents and visitors to consume alcoholic beverages outdoors while walking from business to business. Nearby apartments and residences are lucky to have this area as it provides many daily life essentials such as the Milford Public Library, Harvest Market, the Milford Counseling Center, A Million Dreams Learning Center, and the Milford Fire Department. The buildings in Old Milford are in original condition dating back to the early-middle 1900s, which adds a historical story to the buildings. Written by Reagan Sears.

In Mason, Ohio our downtown area is a great example of Main Street. There is everything you need like restaurants, YOST (drug store), hair salons, auto shops, gas stations, a bank, etc. It is also within walking distance of the school and the municipal building so the kids and families can walk there after class, and all of the events/festivals the town holds. Since Mason is such a populated town (35,000 people), you don't always get the friendly small-town feeling. This downtown has started feeling more friendly and comfortable over the years with all of the small businesses going in. The owners fought for funding and support for the small businesses, and got it! This has improved the downtown in many ways. The shops and restaurants that have been located in Mason for years are what really draw some people to visit. For example, we have a pizza place called Two Cities that sells both flatbread and thick-crusted pizza to represent New York and Chicago styles. Their bathroom is made to look like a subway and it has won the award for the best bathroom in America in 2021! All of the buildings on this street are being used to their full potential and are very busy on the weekends. There is a gathering area with tables and seating areas to encourage socialization, along with large sidewalks that allow people to stop and chat with passing friends. This area (in the image) is also used for live music and activities that are held in this space. Mason also recently passed the DORA law which allows people to legally carry their drinks into other shops while they walk around. Written by Bella Nelson.

Bridge waterfalls are between Fairfield and Hamilton on Princeton road. A shopping center that has necessities like groceries, athletic wear, furniture, and more. The plaza has three entrances.

There is a street called Harrison Avenue that is well-connected to other neighborhoods on the west of Cincinnati, called Bridgetown and Westwood.

I lived in Cheviot where there's a thrift store called the Goodwill. It is called Camvic and it happened about 7 years ago. It depends on who you are and where you live to the point essentials will always change, but to be honest, I enjoy living in my hometown, I believe it is good. There’s a police station with camera systems, so I hardly ever felt like I was unsafe in certain areas. It is very affordable down there, and rent is not very high compared to other places. I stayed with my mom and siblings. She would lock her car and put a door alarm in our home. It is exciting to get to know your neighbors on your street so that you can all trust each other. It is honestly a comfortable lifestyle.

I also believe it is very walkable as well, the blocks are not insanely disconnected from each other and few new businesses reside. The biggest pro is that it is walkable. I see a lot of people walking with their dogs or job on the sidewalks. There always have a lot of social events that occur in the summertime, such as festivals and carnivals at Harvest Home Park. They usually have a section of Harrison Avenue, and parades are occupied at that time. Written By: Tori Walker-Gulley

#urbanplanning

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five-rivers · 4 years

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I just had a vague idea for a Danny Phantom AU that treats the ghosts more as spirits than monsters to beat up, a bit like Yokai in japanese folklore. With barriers, sacret sited, curses, blessings, purifications, etc. The AU follows Danny becoming a guardian entity.

(I love that idea, and this isn’t quite what you’re talking about, I think, but... Yeah, I don’t know. Enjoy this snippet.)

Danny can feel it, the moment his feet hit the pavement of Saint Rita Avenue, and casts a blessing at whoever picked the name for this road. He makes it to the median, and turns, facing back the way he came. The washed-out yellow street lights prick at his eyes, reminding him that, as always, he has more in common with what he’s been running from than anything else.

Darkness splashes against the barrier between street and sidewalk. On both sides.

He hates it when spirits work together.

In Danny’s pockets, paper rustles. Prayers and charms from half a dozen different cultures, East and West, copied as best three untrained teenagers could. Some of them had done good. None of them had done enough.

He’s glad it’s late enough that there are no cars. The street is quiet, except for whispers only he can hear. It is cold, except for the almost-comforting burning under his feet, promising him safety, for now.

But this is a road with the name of someone holy, not hallowed ground. The barrier at its edges is not strong, and the thought of approaching an intersection, a crossroads, carries with it a frisson of risk that Danny is loath to ignore. Sometimes the labyrinthine Old Law that governed crossroads was helpful, but not tonight. Not this close to midnight with the shadows practically boiling with malice.

He needs a church. Or a temple. Or a mosque. Or a neopagan’s working space. He’ll even take a backyard where a bunch of kids are going through an Egypt phase and play at worshiping Osiris and Horus-Re. It’s worked before. Barely. Any place that’s had faith and its motions poured out on it often enough and recently enough for it to matter.

Otherwise Danny will have to draw on his own power, and that’s never turned out well.

But this section of Saint Rita Avenue isn’t the kind of place a church is built, and even with the spirit-thing swamping his senses with its hate, Danny can’t feel enough of a spark to justify breaking in.

He used the last of his blessed salt to get this far. He’s been out of holy water for days.

The first tendrils of other have broken through the avenue’s barrier. The whispers become razor sharp and crystal clear against Danny’s mind. What are you what are you what are you and not here not there you don’t belong and we know you and pain and fear and give up give up give up. They’re singsong and saccharine and far from the worst he’s endured so far tonight.

He’s out of time. He’s out of ideas.

Danny takes a step backwards and stops being Danny.

Phantom is different than Danny. He is made of pain and fear and all the things Danny thought were more important than his own life. He is a wild and contradictory spirit, his anchor to this word both inviolable and tenuous. He walks the narrow path between the sacred and the unspeakably profane.

The spirits reaching for him know this. They use it as their weapon, and it hurts more than anything.

(He is a thing that should not be and every second he does he degrades the souls of everyone around him he is a parasite does he not see--)

Phantom knows he cannot win this fight. But if he runs, these spirits will continue to hunt, to prey--

No.

He can see the spirits more clearly now than when he was clad in flesh. He can see them one, two, three, five, seven, eleven, thirteen times and more, spread across the layers of reality that they are allowed. When he is Danny again, he will remember a shapeshifter and a woman made of black flames.

(He does not know what he looks like in these places. He is afraid to find out.)

He fights.

He loses. Badly.

Not so badly that he cannot run home to the maze of light his parents built blind and he added to with averted eyes. This could be seen as a kind of victory, to live to fight again, protect again, come up with a new strategy, but Phantom has been injured too badly. A wound to the spirit is still a wound, never mind that when he wakes up as Danny all he feels is a heart-deep ache.

His covers are tangled around him when he wakes, the protective signs Tucker had embroidered into the cloth pressed against his bare skin. He does not know what happened to the clothes he was wearing. If he is lucky, he dropped them in the wash in a post-transformation haze. If not, they’re lying in the middle of Saint Rita Avenue. Or just. Gone. Which is also an option.

As he frees himself, he notices more marks on his skin. They match the low-grade fog of depression in his brain. Both are souvenirs from fighting with his soul outside his body.

(Or whatever his soul had become.)

Getting dressed is a chore. A painful chore. He makes it downstairs eventually, although he wishes he hadn’t when he sees Jazz’s spirit week poster on the kitchen counter. Spirit. It seems like a cruel universal jest.

A warm hand touches his shoulder, and Danny looked up into his sister’s eyes.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“Yeah,” says Danny, even as he thinks no.

She smiles, just a little bit. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

Danny shrugs. He can’t, really, and he doesn’t want to lie to her face.

“Just-- I know you’re going through some stuff, but, I have faith in you, okay? I believe in you. So, try to believe in yourself, too, okay?”

“Okay,” says Danny. Something feels... different, about the way Jazz says that. It isn’t her normal pep talk, and she doesn’t mention psychology at all.

She gives him a slightly large smile and a pat and walks away.

Mine, whispers the part of him that was always Phantom, sounding both surprised and pleased.

Of course she’s ours, Danny thinks back, she’s our sister.

But he feels fuller, now. Healed, in some small way, from what had been done to him the previous night.

It takes longer than it should for him to put the pieces together.

#danny phantom #ask #answer #sort of religious au i guess #meh #i don't know how to tag this #why did i do this i have so many other things i need to work on #help

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dramaticviolincrescendo · 4 years

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I've really enjoyed your recent meta takes and was wondering if you could elaborate on your thoughts on Mandy + Ian and her going for Lip as a result (from your Ian Relationships meta)? I love reading about M+I and their connection is just so dear to me 😭

(P.S Thank you for being such a beacon of positivity in the Shameless fandom! I only got into the show during lockdown last year but it's become such a comfort so it makes me so happy to see positivity right now. ❤ )

Oh my gosh, thank you so much! You’re seriously too kind! I totally sympathize with you: Shameless has shot straight to the top of my list of comfort media since watching it right around the same time, so I’m really passionate about sharing the love around. 😃🧡

To me, one of the most important things to look at in this analysis is motives—who each of these characters are, what they desire for themselves, and how those factors fit together like a puzzle.

Mandy is in such a difficult position. It’s not as easy as saying that she’s a victim of abuse and wants nothing more than to get as far from her family as possible, because that’s simply not true. In s1, we see that she’s very comfortable in her house. She and Mickey exhibit your standard sibling animosity (and competition for Ian’s attention, unbeknownst to her), she makes breakfast for Terry even though she’s obviously not super respectful to him as a parent, and she clearly has a solid understanding of where her family stands in the neighborhood. In a way, she thrives on that in the beginning. At but a word, she can do serious damage to somebody without raising a finger herself. Viewing Ian’s lack of response to her advances as an insult, she takes full advantage of that. In s2, we know that she is being abused in such a heinous way. She takes charge of the situation, although not in a manner that would save her from it. She leaves the house for a while to avoid Terry; she holds him at gunpoint and forces him to accept what he already knows so that he won’t hurt Ian. When they talk afterward, she even recounts what happened in a way that makes it sound like no big deal—he was drunk, and he didn’t know who she was, so it’s whatever. (It isn’t. We know it isn’t. If this is going to be her reality, however, then she’s going to own it. No one will look down on her, especially not a Gallagher who’s barely ahead of her in social standing.)

We’ll pause there because so much of how Mandy changed afterward is tied to Lip, but we can already see that Mandy isn’t like Mickey. Mickey stuck it out with his family and very clearly fell into the same trap we’ve heard verbalized by other male characters, namely the notion that men can’t be abused. It doesn’t matter that that is entirely inaccurate—that’s what they’ve been taught in their environment. That’s what’s normal to them. (That’s part of the dramatic irony in this scenario: we can see how damaging and traumatic these events are, but the characters don’t have our perspective. I don’t think Mickey sees what happened to him as rape, just like Ian doesn’t see what happened to him as grooming or assault. That’s for the audience to comprehend in terms of gravity and should add to our sympathy for them.)

Mandy is different. Women are abused all the time in their neighborhood. It’s visible, and it’s pervasive. In s3, Mandy immediately teaches Debbie how to defend herself against it. She didn’t have to learn. Like not seeing themselves as victims is part of the boys’ culture, fighting not to be one is part of the girls’. But there’s a contradiction in her life: the Milkoviches are the neighborhood badasses, and while she shares in that, it’s limited by her sex. There is something she will never be able to overcome in order to see the same return on her reputation that Mickey and Terry do, not unless she gets out, which will be extremely difficult on her own merits. She’s living in poverty and not doing well in school. Her prospects are limited—she told the counselor so. Based on that conversation and her history with boys even before meeting Ian, she clearly sees one surefire avenue to get out of this hole she’s stuck in: a man with the resources to get out and take her with him. If she’s lucky, it’ll even be a good man with a good heart who wants to do good in the world.

Now, let’s talk about Ian. (See what I did there?) This doesn’t need to be long because I’ve already talked so much about Ian already lately, but let’s wax poetic just a bit. Ian wants to be a good person. He wants to be able to get by, even be successful, without having to do it through scamming and stealing. He has goals and ambitions, and whatever anybody thinks of those ambitions, he did it with the mindset that he would be a hero—a protector. Along with that, he never gives up. When Mandy sets her brothers on him, he doesn’t hide forever—he seeks her out multiple times to fix the situation. When he can’t get into West Point, he doesn’t quit ROTC and ignore his dreams. He keeps going.

Not only is he someone who wants to be good for himself, but he wants to be good for others too. He shows Mandy kindness that she arguably hasn’t seen from anyone else before. He takes care of his family when hers tends to focus on themselves and their own individual survival more of the time. Ian has what she would have seen as the potential to get out, and at the time, that is what he wants. It isn’t as an escape for him, but as a way to facilitate his own dreams.

The problem? Ian is gay. We can see that that bothers her sometimes because she forgets. She goes in for a kiss in s2 and has to reel back, settling for a hug instead. She gets tired of hearing him talk about Kash in s1 and kisses him to shut him up, saying she just wanted to kiss her fake boyfriend. Ian isn’t attainable. If Ian leaves, he won’t take her with him as a partner, and she can’t ask as a friend. How desperate would that seem to someone who refuses to be put in a position where she even slightly perceives him to be pitying her? She can’t ask. Not Ian. She needs someone else, someone who is also good and capable of getting out of here—who can be convinced to even if they don’t want to. Someone she can also trust and has some sort of connection with. Someone who is a fixer, and someone she can draw in with the only thing she thinks she has of any value: her body.

That would be Lip. Not only does he meet all of those criteria at the time, but she knows she can trust him. She trusts Ian, and Ian is closer to Lip than he is to anyone else—even her. No, Lip doesn’t have any convictions or real desire to leave, but he has potential. She can work with that. She’s also there for the entire Karen saga, so she knows that Lip is someone who takes his responsibilities to the people he’s with very seriously and tries so hard to cultivate that connection. (For example, feeding him, making herself sexually available as often as possible, letting him stay with her when he can’t go anywhere else without any conditions, etc. We even begin to see her distancing herself from Ian a little bit by s3, putting all of her energy into what she has with Lip when, a year ago, they were sneaking around because she said she didn’t want Ian to know about them. That isn’t to say that Ian was seeking her out either, being quite distracted with Mickey, but it’s noticeable for me.)

Like Mickey, Mandy also has a very deep capacity for emotion and affection that seems incongruous with her personality a lot of the time. Also like Mickey, nobody brought that out in her—it was always there. As much as she seemed to hope that Lip would take care of her, the process of growing closer to him led to a level of affection. I don’t particularly read their relationship as being a deep one. Both of them were using the other, to an extent, to deal with their trauma in other areas of their lives. But that sort of thing can foster a kinship, a mutual understanding that transcends time and place and even the terrible stuff that people do to one another.

So, it doesn’t work out. Mandy is hurt and does something unforgivable. She then runs from Lip, straight into what she feels is her only alternative now: an abuser. What else is there for a girl in her position? Ian was unattainable because of his sexuality, but to someone beaten down again and again, perhaps she believed he was also unattainable because he was too good a person. Lip was unattainable despite her best efforts to bridge that gap because of what he had with Karen, but to someone beaten down again and again, perhaps she believed he was also unattainable because her position in his life was to give but never to take. With Kenyatta, all she does is give. She’s embraced being beaten down because what else is there? She leaves with him, believing there’s nothing for her there.

When she finally finds her strength, far from home but hopefully under better circumstances than when she lived in Chicago, she still follows the formula that has ruled her decision-making for some time: finding a place where she can have the control over her life that was never there before, but still with the belief that what she has to offer isn’t academic or able to be built or improved upon. Ian has worked past his perception that his body was what he had to offer, that it was what would provide him with the love he was looking for. But of course, he has. He’s had Mickey to love him when he’s healthy and love him when he’s lost a bunch of weight from a depressive episode spent in bed. He’s had his family to mess up here and there but ultimately love him so much.

Mandy doesn’t have that. She didn’t then either. She got what she wanted—she got out. She even implied that that was the most important thing by telling Ian that being born on the South Side doesn’t mean that’s where they have to stay. But Ian “got out” of the spiral of abuse he unknowingly suffered and the mindset that it fostered while Mandy didn’t. This isn’t to say anything negative about sex work, of course, only the mindset that led Mandy to this point in her life. And when she leaves the house for the last time, she looks at Lip after having asked about him, and they acknowledge each other the way that people who once knew each other do.

I’ve made the joke before that to Milkoviches, Gallaghers are like catnip. It’s flippant and funny enough when we consider how many of them have dated at one point or other. I’ve also said the Milkoviches are designed as a foil to the Gallaghers, a juxtaposed image of what they could have been had their situation been altered slightly. In s10, Mickey mentions how the Gallaghers are messed up and he’s never been happier to be a Milkovich, so there’s some awareness there that these are the two notorious families of the neighborhood, albeit for different reasons. For Mandy to see that not one, but two Gallaghers are out of reach? To perhaps feel as though she’s less than even them, or made to feel that way in her interactions with Lip? It’s the ultimate slap in the face.

She trusts Ian more than anyone else in her life, to the point where she will still call him to help her hide a body long after she’s left him and their home behind. But trusting Ian led her to loving Ian, and she couldn’t have him. Trusting Ian led her to meeting Lip, and if Ian was so good and loved Lip so much, he had to be worth it too. And to her, he was. The problem was that she felt that she wasn’t.

Self-fulfilling prophecies suck: when you’re treated like garbage by a neighborhood that sees your family as garbage and repeatedly experience things that will make you feel like garbage around people with the best intentions, you’ll start believing that you are, in fact, garbage. I think what we’ve watched with Mandy is a steady decline from a place of strength in herself and weakness in her environment to an overall place of weakness that she couldn’t escape. Not with Ian and, when she realized that wouldn’t happen, not with the only real alternative she thought she could trust since she trusted Ian so deeply.

#shameless #shameless meta #ian gallagher #mandy milkovich #abuse tw

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diyunho · 4 years

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The Joker x Reader - The Delta Paradox. Chapter 1: Deceit

Rumor is the outbreak spreading like fire around the world is somehow Dr. Morbius’ fault: people turned into monsters after getting bitten by the ones already ravaged beyond the irreversible mutation. The last news broadcasted four months ago suggested not all creatures are mindless beasts, a few might still remember who they are and The Joker is about to find out if the story is true.

“Dad…” you whisper and point at the box on the shelves. “I found some peas.”

The Joker turns around and silently walks your way, signaling you to fill up your backpack while he patiently waits for his turn.

The King of Gotham and his 23 year old daughter are scavenging the convenience store on Halsey Street for supplies: food was running low and they had to come out of the bunker in order to acquire basic necessities.

It’s hard to see in the darkness with the tiniest flashlight since they can’t risk being detected.

“Did you find water?” you mumble under your breath.

“No.”

“Dammit, we only have six bottles left,” you sigh, upset at his disclosure. “Should we raid the mall too?”

The Joker covers your mouth, carefully listening.

You can’t discern much until an unnerving screech echoes in the air followed by others in the next second.

“Ssstttt,” J removes the restrain and you clutch to his arm, scared to death.

“Dad…”, you gulp at the commotion happening in the distance: the creatures are probably hunting and you are not willing to become the prey.

“What do we do?” you barely utter and The Clown shakes his head, worried.

“Let’s use the sewers entrance by the dumpster to make it passed the dangerous radius; it’s still open from last time we were here.”

“Ok…” Y/N quietly agrees.

J adds the rest of the containers to his rucksack and lifts it up when he accidentally knocks off a light bulb: the fragile glass shatters to pieces and the two of you stare at each other terrified for a few moments.

The turmoil outside immediately intensifies as The Joker urges:

“Run!”

The panicked Y/N follows her father and she can’t even hear what he’s saying over the deafening roars that seem to come from above the building. Suddenly, the mad man turns and gives you a violent push against the loading dock exit; it’s so unexpected you stumble and before you have the possibility to process what’s going on, J locks it.

“Dad?!” your eyes pop at the small, broken window just to distinguish him backing away. “Dad?!” you start crying. “What are you doing?! Let me in!” The Princess pleads with her parent.

The Joker bites his lip, conflicted at his desire to survive no matter the cost: even if the price to pay is his own daughter.

“Daddy?!” Y/N sobs, petrified at his behavior. “Please?...”

“Better you than me,” he grumbles and runs in the opposite direction, covering his ears when your screams reach him. J rushes out of the shop and drops in the sewer, three monsters already on his trail attempting to grab him; yet they fail because thankfully these beasts are so much larger than the humans they used to be: they can’t fit through the narrow gap The Joker used.

Your father keeps navigating the convoluted catacombs in the darkness while the dim flashlight fails to warn him of the obstacle floating in front of him. He staggers on the dead dog and plunges in the disgusting waters, instantly resurfacing after the initial shock of how bad it stinks. J crawls to near the concrete wall, panting up a storm succeeding the whole ordeal and it hits him: Y/N didn’t pursue.

How could she? The Clown sacrificed his daughter in order to save himself and her agony still resonate in his mind. She was brutally ambushed without any chance of escaping her fate: The Joker made sure of that when he forced her out of the mini-market.

The same daughter that came back for him at the Penthouse when it was clear things are going downhill - no other gang member ever returned; the same daughter that accompanied him in their perilous searching trips as it all went to shit; the same daughter that took care of him when he got sick in the bunker and risked her life in order to bring her father antibiotics; the same daughter that was the only family he had left on this God forsaken planet.

And now she’s gone.

The Joker is all alone like he was always meant to be: nothing can withstand his poison.

**************

8 Months Later

The King of Gotham sneaks in the blackness with precious cargo: tonight was a lucky one. He found soda, crackers and peanuts at a vending machine inside the mall. The road to the bunker is not a short one and he has to be alert; food is scarce and each time he has to venture further and further to find needed items which is why he’s still roaming at this late hour.

Surprisingly calm atmosphere in this neighborhood; J saw a lot of creatures on McCormick Avenue and then an infested Main Boulevard made him backtrack and take this path. It was the correct call because his progress has been steady: moving in shadows has developed into a skillful talent.

He abruptly stops noticing movement blocking his route West of 5th Street. The Joker had no idea it’s swarming with the infected also.

J barely notices something splattering at his feet and freezes: it’s difficult to discern what it is but he has a vague concept. He looks up only to see one of the winged scouts landing on the broken light pole whilst drooling and sniffing the air. The Joker’s body is stiff, his senses sharpened to the maximum: what is he supposed to do? Try to leave? That’s an enormous risk and motion could unleash a chain reaction among the beasts if the one above identifies the helpless individual. Stay? The threat would be equally menacing.

The high pitch snarl belched by the demon’s throat makes him inhale in fear: was he spotted? Or is this merely a power display from the crazed predator?

The Joker feels there’s something behind him and before he can act a sharp pain in his forearm makes him yell. Another bite in his leg makes him lose balance and he collapses to the ground, unable to defend himself from the hoard. The burning sensation is taking over completely: the creatures tear his flesh apart and he passes out without having the strength to shout for help anymore.

*************

The Clown opens his eyes and rapidly blinks since the sunlight is hard to endure.

“Ugh…” he groans and rolls on his side on the concrete pavement.

Everything hurts, including the brain: it’s as if someone drilled holes and he can’t concentrate or form thoughts.

He aims to lift his torso off the walkway unsure why it’s strenuous to accomplish such a simple task; J doesn’t register the reason why is the different anatomy he now has: scaly, gray skin, long, distorted arms with sharp claws, inverted knees and membranous toes. The wings certainly don’t add to his ability to sport the same agility he was blessed with while still a person.

He finally manages to gather himself up, surprised to experience an odd sensation: The Joker is so much taller after his mutation and everything crushes down once the hideous reflection shown in the partially broken glass belonging to “Macy’s” department store glares back at him.

“Ahhh!” J blurs out alongside an uncanny roar emerging from his transmuted vocal cords. The frantic sound gets the attention of beasts in his vicinity, then they ignore him because he’s one of them.

“Fuck…” he mumbles in disbelief at their reaction, grateful they didn’t attack.

The Joker’s raspy breath scores big with a creature nearby though.

Apparently a female due to her red orbs, she’s approaching the former human with a certain restrain.

The Joker would love to bail: unless he can control the horror of what’s happening to him in a few moments, he might get out of there in one piece.

The curious monster is inches away and J had nothing better to do than articulate:

“… Do you… understand me?”

“Grrrrrrr…” the female sneers, unraveling her fangs.

“Y/N… is that…is that you?” The Joker tosses the question out there for the lack of a better plan.

No answer, just a low howl that makes a few males digging in rubble unhappy: why is the group’s favorite displaying interest in the newcomer?

They shriek and emerge more and more agitated, drawing the attention of others in the proximity. The displeased attitude seems to elevate the mood in a negative direction to the point of having a large flock landing on the same street too.

“Crap…” The Joker assesses his situation and it’s not good. “Shoo!” he gently gives the female a nudge and she coos as her distorted fingers touch his grotesque face. Nevertheless, her gesture unlocks the gates of hell: the female’s keen dart towards the unfortunate Clown with the sole purpose of finishing him off. Competition is not tolerated from a rookie and that’s how The Joker is perceived by the mindless crowd--a threat to the hierarchy.

A loud, eerie scream covering all others makes the murderous bunch halt in their tracks: a humongous female leading the group that arrived moments ago is making them retreat. She keeps shoving them and growling while followed by a huge specimen: definitely The Alpha Male with his yellow eyes and dominant figure that don’t allow disobedience.

The party showing The Joker affection gives up on her advances as you stand in front of your father, not necessarily excited about the encounter.

“Dad?...” you smell the air out of habit.

“… … Y… Y/N?... …” The Joker stammers at the inexplicable revelation. “You… You’re alive??!!”

“If you consider this being alive.”

“Delta, we have to go soon!” one of your fighters announces. “They might snap again!”

Your parent is baffled and you bother to enlighten him a bit:

“I’m part of a coven made of turned humans still self-aware. You’re lucky we flew by and saw you. I felt you were born but I didn’t know it was you until I sniffed you. I wished I knew so I won’t waste my time!!!!” the bitter statement brings to life past memories. “Let’s go!” you raise your voice.

“We’re not taking him with us?!” The Alpha Male inquires, baffled. “He’s self -aware!”

“Trust me, we don’t need someone like him amidst us!” you spread your wings and prepare to fly.

“Y/N… “ The Joker gulps. “Can I come?... Please?... I don’t want to die here.”

Y/N ignores his plea and angrily replies:

“Better you than me!”

How can he justify his behavior in these circumstances? It’s impossible to request forgiveness when you’re at an obvious loss regarding your daughter.

“I’m sorry I did what I did, ok… Pumpkin?”

“I am NOT your Pumpkin!! I am Delta!!!” Y/N mutters.

“Huh?” the clueless King inquires and your obvious disapproval suggests you hate where the conversation is headed.

“Delta is more valuable than any of us and we must protect her at all costs until we find Morbius,” one of your companions gives away details you don’t care your father knowing about. “She can do incredible…”

“Enough!!” you cut him off. “We’re leaving!”

“What… what things?...” The Joker attempts to distract you from the imminent departure.

“None of your business!” you float in the air, the other 40 sets of wings following you while he is left behind with the horde that made him an outcast: brainless monsters already clustering around once more in order to punish his transgression.

“Hey!!!” The Alpha Male glides on top of The Joker. “Delta said you can come!”

“Really?” hope flourishes in his heart.

“Hurry up before they shred you to pieces!”

“I don’t know how to fly!” J shouts.

“Don’t be an idiot! Move your shoulder blades!”

Your father would normally go ballistic at such affront but he actually ignores the disrespectful sentence due to the insane events leading to today’s reunion.

What other choice does he have besides taking advantage of this unique opportunity?

The Joker clumsily bumps into a trash bin and finally ascends towards the blue skies trying to keep up with the flock.

His daughter might be a mystery now but one thing is undeniable: he would rather suffer a thousand deaths before abandoning her again.

Also read: Masterlist

https://diyunho.tumblr.com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

You can also follow me on Ao3 and wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho

#the joker x reader #the joker fanfiction #the joker imagine #morbiusxreader #morbius fanfiction #morbius imagine #jokerleto #the joker suicide squad #the joker jared leto #joker fanfiction #joker imagines #joker #mister j #dc #dcu

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gaygent37 · 5 years

Text

Curiosity Killed the Cat - Day 11

No-Set-Prompt-List-tober, October 11: OVERSIZED SWEATERS

JayDick, serial killers AU, drugged, anal sex, rough sex, knives, mild blood, (kinda fucked up murder related stuff) 1,143 words

/╲/\╭( ͡° ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° ͡°)╮/\╱\

From across the club, Jason had taken notice of the boy, twenty-one at the oldest judging by his cocktail, sitting at the counter of the bar.

The boy was cute, and Jason labelled him a boy because he looked nothing like a man yet, especially with the peach colored oversized sweater he wore that practically swallowed his small size. The boy looked very innocent and rather effeminate. Just Jason’s type. But not Jason’s sexual or romantic type, but Jason’s victim type.

He had been watching the boy for twenty minutes, and he did not seem to be with anyone. So Jason approached.

“Hello,” he said, shooting the boy a smile. “It’s quite quiet here,” he said. “Not much of a social butterfly?”

The boy blinked at him like he was not entirely sure whether or not Jason was talking to him. “Oh,” he said. “Um, not tonight, I guess. I’m just people watching tonight.”

Jason hummed. “People watching, hm? Any interesting characters?”

The boy shrugged. “Not really. Though that woman over there is having an affair with the bartender.”

Jason laughed. “And how did you deduce that?”

The boy blushed. “She’s wearing a ring. He’s not. Five minutes ago, she slipped him a note and then slipped her ring off of her finger. They might leave together after his shift.”

“How very astute of you, Mr...?”

“Oh, not Mister,” the boy said quickly. “I just go by Dick. Dick Grayson.” He held out his hand for Jason to shake.

Jason grinned at the boy. This was almost too easy. He had let his guard down, and within ten minutes, Jason was pretty sure he had his next pretty victim in the bag. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jason.” He took Dick’s hand, more than surprised to find the boy’s hands rather rough.

“The hands of a worker?” Jason asked.

Dick blushed and quickly pulled his sweater sleeves over his hands. “Um... yeah. I’m a gymnast... and a... police officer?”

He seemed almost nervous to admit that. And Jason was a bit shocked as well, though he did not let it show. But soon, he found it even more intriguing. “Police officer? Are you sure? You don’t look a day over eighteen!”

Dick gasped. Then, he started laughing genuinely. “I’m- I’m twenty-six!”

Jason could not keep the shock off his face this time. Dick was older than he was! Still, somehow, it all made Jason want Dick more. Jason had never taken a victim that was older than him, nor an officer of the law. “Oh, my bad! I’m sorry for assuming,” Jason said quickly. “Here. Let me get you another drink as an apology?”

Dick paused for a second, then nodded. “Okay,” he said.

Jason waved the bartender over and ordered another one of Dick’s drinks. When it came, Jason moved it over in front of Dick, who had been glancing at a loud argument somewhere to his left. While Dick was preoccupied, Jason slipped a little something into his drink, watching it dissolve instantly.

“Oh, thank you,” Dick said, when he turned back around. He took the drink and lifted the glass to his lips. His bright blue eyes locked on Jason’s as he took his first sip. Then, he licked his lips and grinned at him. Jason smiled back at him.

He kept Dick talking for ten minutes, and he started seeing the drug take effect. Dick’s blinks became longer, and his speech had a slurred tone to it. Occasionally, his eyebrows would draw together briefly.

“Are you feeling okay?” Jason asked with a hint of worry in his voice. “You don’t look so good,” he said.

Dick grimaced. “Oh... I’m fine, I think,” he said. “Just a bit... of a headache. Maybe I should go home...” He went to stand and almost immediately stumbled. “Shit,” he mumbled to himself. “I think the alcohol... hit me harder than I meant it to.”

Jason stood up as well. “Did you drive here? I could call you a cab,” he offered, giving Dick a hand. “Anyone I can help you call to pick you up? Or, I drove, and I could drop you off if we’re going in the same direction?”

Dick snorted and shook his head. “Ah, I don’t want to bother you,” he said. “I live in Upper Gotham. It’s wayyyyy over there.” He waved his hand in the opposite direction.

Jason smiled. “Lucky for you, I’m headed up there too. I have to pick something up from a friend’s house. He lives in Upper Gotham as well,” Jason lied smoothly.

Dick gave him a suspicious look. “Oh yeah?” he asked. “What street?”

“On West Park Avenue,” Jason said immediately.

Dick’s narrowed eyes slowly became normal again. “I guess... I guess you can take me home.”

“Yeah, my car’s this way,” Jason said, gently helping Dick out of the club, smiling to himself from over Dick’s head.

~~~

“Which floor?” Jason asked as he helped Dick into the elevator.

“Twen... Twenty-four,” Dick mumbled, practically half-passed out now. He was leaning fully on Jason, and Jason was holding up most of his weight. When the elevator lurched into movement, Dick tipped forward, and Jason barely caught him in time.

“Woah!” Jason said. “Lightweight, are you?”

Dick shook his head and winced. “Not... usually. I think... the bartender put... too much vodka... in my drink tonight.”

Jason chuckled lightly. “Maybe it’s because he found out you were on to him about the affair.”

Dick laughed quietly, but only managing a few chuckles.

Jason managed to get Dick’s apartment door open, and he helped the man all the way to his bed. On the dresser, Jason noted that, indeed, there was a rumpled police uniform, a badge, and a gun in its holster. Dick had been truthful after all.

“Do you need water?” Jason asked. “Let me get you a glass of water before I go.”

Dick gave a half-groan of consent.

Jason left the room to find the kitchen. He poured Dick a glass of water, but he mixed a stronger dose of the drug into it. It would put Dick to sleep and kill him in his sleep. Jason did not believe in cruel, painful deaths. He was an artist of sorts, arranging a person’s dead body into something that could be appreciated as art, if it were not first seen as murder.

Suddenly, Jason felt something sharp poking into his back. He froze.

“Well, well, well,” Dick mused. “What an interesting thing we have here,” he said. “You’re Jason Todd, right? The Jason Todd?”

Jason turned around slowly, setting down the glass of water. Dick held twin knives in his hands, and there was no sign of any drugs in his system. His sadistic grin made Jason’s blood run cold.

But he kept a blank mask. “I saw you drink it all,” Jason said. “How are you fighting it?”

Dick laughed. “Jay,” he said. “I kill people for fun. I know all the typical ins-and-outs of this line of business. You’d think that I’ve got fail safes in case someone tried to poison me someday, right? I’ve built up an immunity to it, of course.”

Then he nodded at the glass of water. “Though, a dose like that would probably kill me,” he said. “But it would’ve been a slow, painful death.” Dick cocked his head to the side, still smiling. “But you don’t like slow, painful deaths, do you? You believe in it being quick and painless.”

Suddenly, Dick put the knives down. “What would you have done?” he asked. “If I did drink that and I didn’t die in my sleep like you wanted me to.”

Jason did not answer. He had never had that happen to him before. After administering the final dose, Jason’s victims always died within ten minutes into their final nap like they should have.

“Would you’ve stabbed me to put me out of my misery?” Dick asked. “Shot me through the head with my own gun? Left me there to suffer and run away because you failed?”

Jason frowned this time. “Of course I wouldn’t run away! That’s even crueler! I’d... snap your neck or something.”

“Hm,” Dick said. “Good choice. Less cleanup.”

“You were about to stab me in your own kitchen,” Jason accused.

Dick rolled his eyes. “Of course I wasn’t! These babies are just for show. I’ve never killed anyone with them before. My stabbing knives are in there,” Dick said, nodding at the drawer on Jason’s right.

Jason raised an eyebrow. “You keep your weapons of choice in- in your knife drawer? In the kitchen?”

Dick nodded.

“That’s really fucking unsanitary,” Jason said, grimacing.

“It’s not like I cook anyway,” Dick laughed. “Anyway, what do we do now? I mean, I can’t exactly let you walk free, but I can’t exactly turn you in either.”

Jason opened and closed his mouth, having no ideas either.

Suddenly, Dick gasped. “I have an idea.” He grabbed Jason’s wrist and started pulling him towards the bedroom.

Jason was very hesitant to go with him. He kept his eyes on the exit and made sure he knew exactly where Dick’s knives and gun was at all times. Once in Dick’s room, Dick pulled his sweater over his head and revealed a very fit body. Suddenly Dick did look his age, and Jason swallowed tightly because he suddenly also became Jason’s other type.

Dick grabbed the rumpled uniform and started putting it on.

“What... are you doing?” Jason asked warily.

Dick gave him a wicked grin. “I’ve always wanted to roleplay police officer and serial killer with someone,” he said. “But like, how do you brink that up to a partner in bed?” he asked with a laugh. “But anyway, are you seducing me, or am I seducing you?”

Jason blinked at him rapidly. “How do you even know I swing that way?”

Dick gave him a wink. “Oh, it’s not about whether or not you swing that way, but whether you swing my way. And most people do.”

He stepped backwards until his legs hit the bed, and he fell back onto the bed. And to top it all off, he spread his legs and snapped handcuffs around his own wrists.

“Well?” he asked with a smirk. “You gonna come make a piece of art of me, Mr. Todd? If you don’t catch me, I’ll catch you as soon as I’m free of these cuffs.”

And then there was a lock pick in Dick’s hands, and he was working it into the lock. That little movement did it for Jason. Though Jason knew Dick was tempting him, with the man spread out so nicely like that, Jason had to take advantage.

He was across the room in a flash, and he had Dick’s wrists pinned down above his head with a low growl.

Dick actually moaned.

“What kind of prey willingly tempts the predator into a game of cat and mouse?” Jason asked harshly into Dick’s ear. He rut his hips against Dick’s at the same time.

Dick arched into Jason’s movement. “The kind that’s also a predator himself?” Dick panted back. “Or one that doesn’t mind playing the prey.”

“Fuck, Dickie, you’re tempting me,” Jason said, gritting his teeth. “I can’t promise you’ll come out of this unhurt.”

“Why?” Dick asked, his voice purely curious, not scared. “Are you feeling tempted to fuck me or to kill me, Jason?”

“I don’t know,” Jason breathed out. “Both.”

Dick fucking giggled. “That’s so hot, Jason,” he whispered. “You feel how hard that made me?” He rubbed the bulge of in his slacks into Jason’s equally hard and equally trapped cock. “Do something about it, Jay.”

That was all Jason needed to make his choice. He practically ripped Dick’s shirt off of him, buttons spraying everywhere. He pushed the torn cloth up around Dick’s wrist and held it there. He drank in Dick’s firm body. He helped himself to a particularly noticeable scar that ran over Dick’s collarbone with his tongue.

Dick moaned again. “Lower,” he breathed. “Lower, please.”

Ignoring Dick’s pleads, Jason slowly trailed his hand down and put his hand into Dick’s pants, cupping the warm cock confined in the briefs. He let go of Dick’s wrists and started pulling Dick’s pants and underwear down. With the other man completely naked, Jason started working on his own clothes, shucking them away carelessly.

Then, he climbed on top of Dick again, pushing between his legs roughly. “Lube?”

“Drawer,” Dick said impatiently, nodding at the drawer by his bed.

Jason reached over and fumbling around, looking for a tube. However, he pricked his finger on something sharp and pulled it out, only to see a pinpoint of blood on his fingertip.

“Oops,” Dick giggled. “I don’t remember putting a knife in there.”

“Sure,” Jason said with a glare, sucking on his fingertip. Then, he grabbed the bottle of lube. Jason made quick work of prepping Dick with only two fingers, but Dick did not seem to mind the roughness, if his moaning was anything to go by.

“You’ve got neighbors, you know,” Jason said, pouring lube over his cock and giving it a few strokes. Though he understood Dick’s desperateness and need to get on with the sex, he still wanted to be courteous to those around them.

Dick gave a breathless laugh. “They’re voyeurs, it’s okay.”

Jason gave him a half-hearted frown, but he pushed deep into him with a hissed, “Fuck!”

Dick moaned and arched, taking even more of Jason into him. “Fuck, it’s been so long!”

“Does it hurt?” Jason asked.

Dick laughed. “You’re such a big softie. I’m- I’m fine. But please, just fuck me!”

Jason was not one to disobey. He plunged himself into Dick’s tight, warm heat, thrusting into him over and over again. He gripped Dick’s waist tightly, pulling the man down to meet his thrusts and get deeper inside of him.

“Just like that, Jason!” Dick cried, throwing his head back in pleasure. “Fuck, yes!” he shouted even louder, but at that point, Jason had stopped worrying about the neighbors.

“You’re so fucking tight, Dickie,” Jason growled as he fucked Dick harder, pleasure pooling deep inside him as his orgasm started building. “I’m going to fucking wreck you.”

Dick gasped at his words, his pretty blue eyes opening slightly. “Please do,” he whispered. “Make a mess out of me, Jay. I wanna be your greatest masterpiece.”

That should not have been sexy. Jason did not mix sex with his art form (yes, it was murder, but he considered it an art). But when those words came from Dick’s plump, beautiful lips, Jason could not hold it back any longer.

His thrusts became erratic, and Dick must have sensed it because he clenched down harder than before, and with a wail, he was cumming on Jason’s cock, tightening rhythmically around him. Jason’s cock was being milked by Dick’s insides, and at that point, it was all over for him.

Jason spilled deep inside of Dick, painting his insides with his cum. Then, he collapsed down on top of Dick, barely managing to keep him from crushing the smaller man.

Dick giggled. “How’d that feel, Mr. Artist?” he murmured.

“Fuckin’ amazing,” Jason said. “Certainly the most exciting I’ve ever had.”

Dick hummed softly. Jason heard his handcuffs click and a second later, Dick’s arms hung loosely around Jason’s neck, but somehow, Jason had a feeling Dick would not snap it. “I agree,” Dick said. “’m tired now. Can we sleep?”

“How do you know you won’t kill me when I fall asleep?” Jason asked, rolling over but still keeping in close proximity to Dick.

Dick held up a hand. “Pinkie promise?”

Jason raised an eyebrow.

“I swear I won’t,” Dick said solemnly. “Besides, if I kill you here, your DNA is all mixed in with mine. I mean, it’s literally dripping out of me. And how do I know I can’t say the same about you?”

Jason sighed. “Probably because I literally left cum dripping out of you.” He reluctantly took Dick’s pinkie in his. The smaller man beamed, and Jason could not help but add a little smile as well.

Then, Dick snuggled in closer to him, rubbing his face into Jason’s shoulder. “Mkay,” he said. “Now sleep.”

~~~

They both woke up around 3 in the morning and decided to get up to grab breakfast. However, it turned out that ice cream was the only thing that was still edible in Dick’s fridge. Jason also spied Dick’s knives still in the kitchen, and he noticed a couple of pumpkins sitting by the door.

They somehow ended up carving pumpkins and eating ice cream together at 3 in the morning.

“So... what now?” Dick asked.

Jason reached his spoon into the quart of ice cream in Dick’s lap. “I dunno,” he said, licking the creamy vanilla treat off of his spoon before going back for more. “I can’t believe you only have vanilla ice cream in your freezer, Dickie. So boring.”

“Hey, I like vanilla! Besides, no one eats it but me, so why not buy my favorite?” Dick said, sticking his tongue out at Jason. He ate a huge spoonful to prove his point. Then, his face contorted due to brain freeze.

Jason laughed at him. “Awww, poor Dickie might like vanilla ice cream, but vanilla ice cream doesn’t seem to like him back!”

Dick shoved him lightly, barely budging Jason.

They fell into a companionable silence and stared at their flickering jack-o-lanterns as the so-to-be-rising sun started changing the colors of the sky.

“Hey, Jay,” Dick said quietly after a few minutes.

“Hm?”

“What do you think about sticking around? Like, maybe as friends?”

Jason stared at Dick before he started laughing. “As friends? What kind of friends, Dickie? Serial killer friends? Friends with benefits friends? ‘Normal people’ friends?”

Dick was not amused. He glared at Jason. “Fine, not friends then,” he huffed.

“Hey, I’m kidding,” Jason said. Dick continued pouting. Jason gently reached over and turned Dick’s face towards him. “Dickie, I’d like very much to be friends,” he said with a sincere smile. “Any kind of friends.”

And when Dick started smiling slowly, Jason knew it was all okay.

/╲/\╭( ͡° ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° ͡°)╮/\╱\

I’m very sorry to say that that was a very half-assed piece of smut because I just wanted to get it done.

#jaydick #oversized sweaters #day 11 #gaygent doesn't follow a set prompt list

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ao3bronte · 5 years

Photo

“Ladybug is so going to kill me,” Chat Noir mutters as he nudges the kickstand and pulls a Honda 600F4i out into the narrow alley. She’s bright green and exactly the kind of thing he’s had dreams about ever since he started playing racing games as a little boy. He loves the distinctive purr of a Ferrari, don’t get him wrong, but a motorbike?

Jamming the key into the ignition, Chat turns it clockwise and frowns when it doesn’t quite kick to life. The engine chugs a little before dying and Chat realises that he may be a racing game enthusiast, but the virtual world has never required him to turn the damn thing on!

At a loss, Chat Noir stares down at the controls and tries not to panic, “How do I start this thing?”

He begins hearing the voices of akumatised citizens echo off the brick walls of the alley and he hops back off the bike to get another good look. There’s a gearshift near his foot and he fiddles with it, watching the gears turn, “I should probably put it into neutral? Maybe?” Chat mounts the bike again and flicks it into neutral with his boot, “And brakes. Definitely brakes.”

That part is easy enough. He assumes they’re on the right hand side and his suspicions are more or less confirmed by the click he hears come from in front of his seat, “And I don’t have the slightest clue what this is for, but maybe I should press it too.”

It’s the clutch of course, as he soon comes to realise once he flicks the on switch again and revs the throttle. The bike roars to life and a burst of adrenaline blooms in his belly at the sound, goose pimples breaking out along the exposed skin of his neck. He’s always wanted to drive a motorbike but the video games pale in comparison to having the real thing underneath of him, the engine’s deep rumble as addictive as Chat’s indomitable need for speed. He’s always been an adrenaline junkie and here was his chance to try it out in the worst of conditions with lives on the line.

He revs the throttle again and releases the brake.

“WOOOO!” Chat takes off like a literal bullet and narrowly misses a lamppost as he yanks the handlebars to the side, dipping so low he nearly scrapes his knee on the asphalt. He rights himself but only barely, steering around a burning car and drifting out into the boulevard. The roar of the motorbike draws the attention of the mob and Chat skids to a stop, planting his steel-clad boot on the ground and letting the bike spin around parabolically, turning him in the opposite direction.

Trap: laid.

Without looking back, Chat lays on the bike’s throttle and accelerates down the road, driving in and out of the path of abandoned cars and shrapnel blocking the streets. His distraction is working and he careens through the side streets of the neighbouring arrondissements in the hopes that they’ll follow his lead and head over to the Champs de Mars where Ladybug is no doubt waiting for the rest of them to draw the crowd. Swerving through a roundabout, Chat angles his hip and practically grinds off his kneecap to keep his balance, speeding through the throngs of people and leading them westbound as fast as he can go.

He’s flying at 60km/h over sidewalks and islands when he glances back behind him, spotting four or five motorbikes making chase. A BMW sneaks in just ahead of them and Chat tugs on the throttle and prays to every deity he can think of for some divine intervention as he careens up a median and catches air over a métro station sign. He continues to head across the avenue and pulls out in front of another sportscar, immediately drawing its fire. Chat ducks between an abandoned cube van and slams on the breaks, waiting for the vehicle to fly ahead of him before revving his throttle and hightail it down an adjacent street.

Scramming south towards le Parthéon , Chat squeals through a one way alley and emerges onto another boulevard, narrowly avoiding a group of robbers counting their riches near a rubbish dumpster. They quickly join the chase and Chat skids, clasping the clutch and shifting gears. He can hear the motorbikes catching up behind him and with nowhere else to run, he blasts down the winding Rue de la Montagne Saint Geneviève until he’s cut off by a transport van intentionally blocking his path west on Rue Cujas . He’s trapped like a rat in a cage and Chat swallows, closes his eyes and hopes that whatever happens to him in this moment, Ladybug’s cure can put him back together again.

Without slowing, Chat drops to the side of his motorbike and lets it fly out from under him, cranking it leftwards and letting it slide in front. He hits the concrete hard and drifts underneath the van at the same velocity of his bike, covering his eyes as two of the motorbikes following him crash into the van he’d just ducked under, sending shrapnel and petrol flying everywhere.

He skids to a stop several metres away and finally opens his eyes, watching the carnage unfold for half a second before patting himself over. He’s not bleeding, nothing’s broken and miraculously, he’s still somehow intact.

His bike sits a few metres away and it’s a little scraped but looking no worse for wear and Chat climbs back on, revving the throttle and turning onto a side road towards Luxembourg . Traffic is still somehow moving, albeit barely, and Chat takes his chances, snaking through cars in the opposite direction down a one way road. He bobs and slices his way between burning police cars and grocery vans and glances through his sideview mirrors as what seems like hundreds of thousands of people make chase which is just fine and all, except the roads ahead of him are quickly beginning to fill up with people too.

Just before the intersection of Sèvres-Babylone , Chat revs and slams on the brakes at the same time, spinning his bike and creating a smoke screen all around him. It works like a charm when he’s playing Ride 3 and he thanks his lucky stars as some of his pursuers get lost in the soot so he can tear down Rue de Babylone mostly unhindered by the mob. He makes it all the way to Saint François Xavier before his tail catches up with him and Chat just barely manages to weave out of the way to avoid them by passing a truck, pulling out in front of it for cover. The red BMW that’s been on his ass since le Quartier latin veers around the truck and Chat has to narrowly pass between two incoming vehicles, nearly beheading himself on their mirrors as he clips a median and speeds through some tree laden scrub. Unable to follow him, the BMW hits a curb and flips several times, crashing into a storefront on the other side of the intersection.

“Serves him right for driving a BMW,” Chat grumbles, approaching l’École Militaire with all the speed he can manage. The Eiffel Tower is in plain sight and he can see the rest of the heroes approaching from the northern and western arrondissements with mobs of people hurling obscenities behind them and suddenly there’s nowhere for him to go, the road completely barricaded with overturned vehicles and chunks of crumbled facade.

There’s only two ways to get around it: through it, or over it.

Snatching his baton from the small of his back, Chat extends it beneath his bike and screams at the top of his lungs as he propels himself into the air and over the mountain of debris. He loses his grasp on gravity and his legs go flying up behind him and Chat just holds onto the handlebars for dear life and hopes that he lands on his wheels and not on his face in front of everyone, but especially not when there’s a mob of a million angry, magically enraged citizens ready to rip him to shreds.

The front wheel begins to turn downwards and Chat’s eyes rival the circumference of saucers as he fights to regain his balance, his body tipping ass over tit over the handlebars. He tucks his knees in on a hope and a prayer and gets his boots up near his ears to try and yank the front wheel of the bike back up so it doesn’t flip and burst into flames on landing and merdemerdemerde he’s going to die, he’s going to die, he is so going to die—

THUNK!

Chat’s bike lands so hard his teeth chatter but somehow, once again, he’s miraculously alive and still in one piece. Whooping with pure adrenaline coursing through his veins, he hollers at the trailing mob to catch up with him and tears down the Champ de Mars towards the Eiffel Tower like a bat out of hell.

Excerpt from Safeword (Masquerade-verse) by @ao3bronte Art by @yamina20-blog

#miraculous ladybug #chat noir #adrien agreste #miraculous fanfic

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westavenuetourismreviews123 · 6 months

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West Avenue Reviews: Your Trusted Immigration & Education Consultancy

Discover unbiased reviews and insights about West Avenue, a leading consultancy specializing in immigration and education services. Explore the experiences of clients and make informed decisions for your future endeavors.

Click here for more info: https://westavenuereviews.com/

#west avenue tourism #west avenue lucky draw #west avenue tourism reviews #west avenue services lucky draw

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westsvenueglobal1234 · 7 months

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Unlocking Success: Your Guide to Winning the West Avenue Lucky Draw

Discover how to increase your chances of winning the West Avenue Lucky Draw with this comprehensive guide. Learn about eligibility criteria, registration process, and strategies to maximize your odds of winning valuable prizes. Whether you're a client of West Avenue Immigration & Visa Services or considering their services, this guide will help you navigate the exciting world of lucky draws.

#west avenue lucky draw #west avenue global

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tsghuntsvillealabama · 5 years

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HUNTSVILLE CHEAT SHEET: Dawn’s guide to living local

Known as “Rocket City” for the integral role it played in helping to launch the Space Race in the mid-20th century, Huntsville, Alabama, has been attracting the top minds in space and rocket science for decades. The small—but rapidly growing—city in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains is home to (and possibly best known for) NASA’s Marshall Space Flight Center, the U.S. Space and Rocket Center, and Space Camp. However, according to The Scout Guide Huntsville Editor Dawn Pumpelly, there is plenty to stimulate both the right and left side of the brain in her city, which is why she’s so proud to call Huntsville home. Whether you are visiting the city for the first time, are a new-comer, or are sharing local with some guests, here she provides an itinerary for a crowd-pleasing family trip that checks every box: educational, inspiring, and full of hidden gems.

How to Do Huntsville’s Rocket Science Scene Right: “The very first thing you have to do when you come to Huntsville is visit the U.S. Space & Rocket Center,” says Dawn. “The Space industry is what put Huntsville on the map, and USSRC shares that history.”

In the park surrounding the building, you can wander among 27 missiles and rockets. Inside, visit one of the largest collections of rockets and space memorabilia on display anywhere in the world and enjoy the new Intuitive Planetarium, an 8K Digital Planetarium and Digital Dome Experience - the only one of its kind in the Southeast. Dawn’s family loves the simulators, especially the Space Shot. This simulates a rocket launch, moving 140 feet straight up into the air in just two and a half seconds. “You get a great view of the entire area—if you can keep your eyes open,” says Dawn.

Space Camp is another big draw for visitors to Huntsville. However, according to Dawn, not many people know that Space Camp for families is an option. That means all of you can shack up in the Camp’s famous pod-like habitats, just like what you would live in on Mars. During camp, you and your family will launch on a simulated mission to the International Space Station, train like astronauts, and build your own rocket. There’s also the opportunity to have lunch with a real astronaut (pro tip: Dawn recommends indulging in the astronaut ice cream).

How to Make the Most of Huntsville’s Music and Arts Scene: When you’ve had your fill of space and rocket science, Dawn recommends visiting her favorite hidden gem in Huntsville to listen and let loose with some live music, Tangled String Studios (2211 Seminole Drive). This acoustic guitar and mandolin shop is run by a former NASA engineer. If you’re lucky enough to be in town during one of the studio’s concerts, don’t miss it. “Because the shop makes instruments for some of the most well-known performing artists in Nashville, they are able to bring in a rotating lineup of world-class talent to play intimate shows in the Live Room,” says Dawn. The Live Room only seats about 100 people, so the experience is up close and personal, and the acoustics are fantastic. Make sure to bring your own wine and snacks to round out the evening.

Incidentally, Dawn’s favorite local snack can be found just two doors down from Tangled String Studios, at Pizzelle’s Confections (2211 Seminole Drive, #4A). Owned by two sisters, this shop sells handmade artisan chocolates and truffles (Dawn’s favorite truffle is “nutty by nature”), homemade candy bars, and custom cakes. For the perfect accompaniment to your truffles, pick up a bottle of red wine at Church Street Wine Shop (501 Church Street). While you’re there, Dawn recommends ordering some tapas and enjoying a wine tasting. If you prefer tea to wine, pop into local favorite Piper and Leaf Artisan Tea Co. (2211 Seminole Drive Southwest) for a soothing cup of tea after a show—they’re open until 10 p.m. on Fridays and Saturdays.

When Dawn has out-of-town visitors, she always takes them to Lowe Mill (2211 Seminole Drive), the largest privately owned art space in the country. Housed in a 171,1000 square-foot former mill that a private investor purchased and transformed into studios for local artists, Lowe Mill is open to the public Wednesday through Saturday. On those days, visitors can walk (download our walking tour here) through the 250 studio spaces, chat with artists and makers, and purchase art and wares. “They have everything from stained glass art to cigar box guitars, plus a few little food spots and live music on the dock on Friday nights in the spring and fall,” says Dawn. “It’s really a treasure.” Be sure to visit Vertical House Records while you’re there, one of Dawn’s favorites. Download and listen to a recent Vertical House playlist here.

Where to Dine: For breakfast, you won’t regret driving a few minutes outside of town to get a cinnamon roll at Hamley Bake Shoppe (12023 Highway 231 431 North, Meridianville, Alabama). “Order a pan in advance—it’s the perfect local gift for a hostess,” says Dawn. Dawn recommends treating yourself to a traditional Southern lunch at Lyn’s Gracious Goodness (2306 Whitesburg Drive). This mother-daughter-run lunch spot and catering company has a must-try chicken salad, delicious deviled eggs, and mint sweet tea worth splurging on. “Lyn and her daughter LeeLee are the perfect Southern ladies,” says Dawn. “If you pop in, be sure to tell them I say hey!” Like LeeLee’s food? Check out her very own signature strawberry and make it yourself!

For a casual, intimate lunch or dinner experience, Dawn recommends Domaine South (103 North Side Square) where the motto is “life should be delicious.” Come as you are and expect fantastic wine and chef prepared sandwiches, entrees, charcuterie boards and desserts. Dawn recommends that you call for a reservation.

Church Street Purveyor (201 Jefferson Street North) is the place to go for a drink and stay for supper. Every detail at this place sets the ambience, from a cocktail menu presented in a vintage book to the stained glass windows. Dawn recommends the tuna tacos (order them in lettuce wraps for a healthier option, she says), drunken guacamole, and the “Rosie the Riveter” seasonal cocktail, made with sparkling wine.

Where to Shop: After all that space and art exploration, a little retail therapy is in order. Dawn recommends a stroll along Clinton Avenue in downtown Huntsville for some browsing. Elitaire Boutique (114 Clinton Avenue East) has a wonderful collection of women’s styles with the option to call ahead for an appointment with personal stylist and owner, Kayla Adams. Check out Elitaire’s Lookbook here.

And Dawn says a Clinton Avenue shopping experience can’t be complete without a visit to Roosevelt & Co. (114 Clinton Ave. Suite 102), which offers the best selection and styles in men’s clothing in town. Click here for Roosevelt’s tailored clothing tips.

If interiors are more your thing, then wander over to Brooks and Collier (813 Meridian Street), Golden Griffin (104 Longwood Drive Southeast), and The Topiary Tree (1801 University Drive Northwest). “Between these three spots, all within a few miles of each other, I would be shocked if there was something on your wish list you couldn’t find,” says Dawn.

Last but not least, Dawn says the kids (and husband) will enjoy a trip to MidCity (5901 University Drive) which is currently under construction as one of the country’s 12 largest real estate developments. Currently, it features Top Golf, REI, Highpoint Climbing and Fitness, Dave and Busters with more coming soon.

Where to Stay: The Westin Huntsville (6800 Governors West Northwest) is located very close to the Space & Rocket Center at the Bridge Street Town Centre, an open-air mall with restaurants, major retailers, and a carousel. The AC Hotel Downtown (435 Williams Ave SW) is adjacent to Big Spring International Park (200 Church Street) and many of the shops and restaurants Dawn recommends. And while it’ll be a while before they are open, Dawn is already looking forward to the Curio hotel, which will be located in an historic building in downtown Huntsville soon—another reason to come back for a visit!

To sign up to receive our monthly emails with all the latest on living and loving local Huntsville, click here.

#huntsville #huntsville alabama #visitors guide #dining #foodie #tourism #shopping #localfood #localguides #thescoutguide

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bonfire-at-the-crossroads · 5 years

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Rutger Hauer has passed, and is on his way through the stars, toward the shoulder of Orion and the Tannhauser Gate.

He gave himself to the world of film and created characters which will continue to inspire the people lucky enough to share in the dreams he left behind.

I wrote this a couple years ago - and maybe it’s time to look at it again.

Thank you Mr Hauer for leaving this place a little brighter for your having been here.

Good journey, peace at last.....

————————————————————————————————————-

January 8, 2016

It's Roy Batty's birthday.

Ridley Scott's 1982 movie - Blade Runner - cast Rutgers Hauer as the renegade Replicant in search of his maker.

The film was a brilliant adaptation of Philip K Dick's "Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep?"

Roy and a small group of Nexus-6 Replicants, have stolen an off-world transport, killed the crew, and returned to earth - in an attempt to coerce their designer to extend their programmed four-year lifespan. January 8, 2016 was the day of Roy's inception, and also the day his genetic coding has scheduled him for death.

He is being hunted by Harrison Ford, as hired-gun Deckard - a Blade Runner - paid to track and kill escaped Replicants.

----------------------------------------------

In 1982 - the idea of the year 2016 was a mind-numbing distance away.

"The Future" was a place where anything was possible, and our wildest dreams would come true.

It seems like yesterday.

And yet, when I started thinking about the world I inhabited in '82, and where I've washed up on the shores of 2016 - it's been quite an extended sea voyage.

I was married to somebody else.

We walked into town to the little movie theater on Central Avenue, and as we moved to our seats, were told by the usher ( yeah, that's right - there were still ushers ) -"You shouldn't even bother with this movie. It stinks. Four people at the last show actually asked for their money back."

We loved it.

Minds were blown - and we went back two more times, bringing friends.

That Christmas Eve - I had a small stroke. I was 26.

At the time, I was more worried about how the news would affect my husband - and did not fully appreciate my own predicament. He overheard the doctor on the phone making arrangements for what was then, the only echocardiogram machine in the New York area.

"Is that about you?" He asked. I nodded.

My husband passed out cold on the waiting room floor.

I survived. Had test after test after test, and slowly got my left side back under my own control.

Time passed.

We tried for the baby - and a series of horrors led to the loss of pregnancy, and culminated with a 3:00 AM visit to the emergency room.

The husband was so upset - he left me by the hospital entrance, and drove home.

When he inevitably decided that he needed "space" and wanted to "take a break" -(clearly, his office-affair had nothing to do with this decision ) - I used the time to take a good long look at the marriage.

When he came back three months later - I was not the girl he had walked out on.

The world had changed, and so had the locks.

-------------------------------------------------

I moved into the West Village with a girlfriend. It was awkward having a roommate after having a husband, home, and mortgage - but I made it work.

An unusual boyfriend followed, and several years of actors, artists, and cabaret performers filled my days and nights.

It was Manhattan in the '80's. There were nights out spent dancing at the clubs til dawn.

The Met was open late on Friday nights, and my group of fellow oddballs wandered the museum halls every week for over a year.

Art and illustration was my livelihood. I knew everyone in the Village ( at least by sight) and was completely comfortable in my element.

But my friends got sick.

And my friends started dying.

AIDS ravaged the world.

The Village was ground zero, and everyone was terrified. We didn't know where it was coming from, didn't know how to cope with the skeletal friend, the friend covered with sarcoma blotches - was it the end of the world?

In many ways - yes. It was.

The best, brightest, most talented people on earth were dying out - and all I could do was hold hands at the bedside, and attend memorial services.

There was a three month period when I went to a service EVERY SINGLE WEEK.

My dearest friend, Bruce - I never even knew when he was well. We were fellow illustrators, and spent hours a day with phone cocked between shoulder and ear - talking while we drew in our separate studios. He was in Chelsea, I was on the corner of Perry and West Fourth.

We brought children's books to life, and loved the work.

As AIDS ravaged his body, he needed to take long naps in the afternoons. His fever would spike uncontrollably - he called it "Shake and Bakes."

He fussed over the ugly sarcoma lesions which appeared on his arms and hands - he found a theatrical makeup which he swore would cover them up so that nobody would know.

Everybody pretended that it worked.

"Well, my sweet darling angel - I took a shower this morning, and guess what? I watched all my hair go down the drain."

Some medication he was taking, combined with what may have been a chemotherapy cocktail - took every hair on his head.

He entered the shower - with.

Exited - without.

He had been told this might be a possibility, and had already purchased a wig from a professional Broadway wig-maker.

It was awful looking, but we continued to pretend.

He slipped farther away, and was hospitalized on a closed floor reserved for AIDS patients.

I visited every single day.

I brought tiny gifts, saved up stories to make him laugh - and built my day around spending time with him.

His family wouldn't come and see him. Friends did their best, but simply couldn't be with him when push had finally come down to shove.

I remember shouting at his brother on the pay phone in the hospital hallway "I can't make this better. I'm not allowed to make decisions for his care, because I'm not a family member. He is dying, and you need to be here."

He wasn't.

I held Bru's hand, and wiped his forehead. I asked the nurse to turn up his oxygen because he was struggling and begging for air. "It's as high as it will go." she said - and even though it was time for all visitors to leave, she said I could stay.

The day before, he had spent time with a priest who had given him what I now believe was last rites. He seemed comforted, and we said what needed to be said.

"You know Bru....I will ALWAYS love you."

He smiled and said. "I know. And I will always love you too."

He took his last breath a little before midnight.

I closed his eyes.

Twenty seven years have passed since that night.

-----------------------------------------------

The unusual boyfriend fell victim to his own silliness. He convinced himself that another woman was sending him messages about being attracted to him - and he needed "some space" to explore the magic.

He did.

She didn't

And I was magically single again.

As 1990 dawned - the Internet had not been invented.

The cell phone - wasn't.

Video rental stores were visited daily, and made money hand-over-fist.

Blonde, Madonna, and all that wonderful 80's music that my kids now think is divine - were the sounds of the decade.

And I didn't quite trust CD's.....

Times Square was just beginning to shed the peep shows and adult movie houses.

It was gritty, and how I loved it.

July 4th of 1990 I found myself eating in the diner downstairs from my apartment on the corner of 14th St and Seventh Avenue.

It was empty.

I ate my bluefish dinner and went back upstairs to the drawing board.

One single red rocket cleared the rooftops and the stars rained down.

I was bored.

Decided to place a personal ad in The Village Voice. "Looking for an interesting conversation over a cup of coffee....." and some other minor nonsense.

Over 350 people responded in the three days I checked the answering machine.

"I've never answered a personal ad," said the voice on the phone."I live with a grey cat. And I'm reading DUNE. Maybe you could call me, and we'll get a cup of coffee?"

On our third date, he never went back home.

"You know what? It's getting kind of silly to keep paying for an apartment to keep my cat in...."

"So what are you saying?" I asked. "Are you asking to officIally move in here?"

" Nope. Let's get married. It'll be fun. I'm not exactly getting younger - either are you. Why not?"

"It'll either work - or it won't. What's the reason that we shouldn't at least TRY?"

He talked me into it.

Brian and I were married in the Cathedral of St John the Divine, three months after our first date. Twenty five years ago, last October.

Babies happened. Three in a row. "Irish triplets" as my obstetrician called them.

Quinn.

Morgan.

Maddie.

They were (and are ) the three finest people I have ever known - and are the center of my soul.

Brian and I survived critical fulcrum points where the smallest waver would have plunged all of us into hell.

We stared death in the face - death blinked, and looked away,

more than once.

We walked away from alcoholism.

Left cigarettes behind,

Did battle with depression,

and kept walking....

We've skated on the thinnest of financial ice for YEARS.

We've worked and worked and worked some more - and it was never going to be enough to keep the ship afloat.

The kids, as we've laughed over the years have "Never missed a meal."

Nothing was easy, but our youngest will be the third to graduate from college in the Spring. Yes, there are loans to be paid - and we'll do everything we can to help them gain traction in their lives.

About a year and a half ago we took a good hard look at where the road was leading us. Our ability to maintain the income necessary to support our lives in Westchester county, in a big house with a big mortgage - huge utility bills, and a dwindling job market - we came up with a plan.

The bank was unhappy with our syncopated mortgage payment schedule - and really wanted their house back. Things were sliding downhill, and we simply couldn't stop it.

"Let's take the money from my last free-lance job, and buy a house in Ireland."

Found one.

And did.

Sold the house in Westchester.

Packed up everything we could.

Got on the plane.

And here we are.

January 8th, 2016, and it's 1982 all over again.

The Replicant is out of time.

He sits high on the rooftops above the city, rain is pouring from the black skies - and Roy Batty,- in his last moment of life - knows what it is to be fully human.

"I've seen things, you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched c-beams glitter in the dark near Tannhauser gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain."

We all go through the motions. We get out of bed every day, and do our best to keep our lives and our families moving forward.

We work.

And plan.

And strive for happiness.

I'm no Roy - but I too, have seen things that will pass away with me when I go.

I, too, have learned what it is to be fully, and completely - human.

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qdtquietdownthere · 5 years

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Day 11- A day of reflecting in an art gallery and painting, glueing and giggling in the sun.

Day 11

The waking up process, if it can be called a process, is the trickiest part of the residency actually. Waking up in your own bed, in Tottenham, seeing your flatmates, talking about the day ahead. It is a different world. I have to go from that, to the tube, then be in Pimlico. To this new, yet familiar place of comfort. What is the most exhausting is this point of change and transition- waking up in the life you are used to then diving into a day of fresh, exiting, uncertainty. No one really understands whats going on, and no one really wants to listen to me describing every detail of my day. I do not think this is something I would enjoy to do either. It’s lonesome in this sense. A temporary community which no one else is experiencing. That is so special though. I feel useful, like my existence and participation means something.

I am very aware it is ending. Second last day. I am so comfortable now.

I walk around the area following a gentle map. I have walked these streets before. The Thames, the Bridge, the view of brutal Battersea, the tiny parks and the contrasts. There are so many contrasting textures, architecture and people. An area of extreme wealth, and then a definite lack of it. I feel uncomfortable with it at points. In my favourite park which sits just behind Tate Britain I watch a very wealthy man spend half an hour with a puppy trainer and his pedigree puppy. He tells me they have traveled from Devon. There is a visible contrast when you look for it. You can maybe hear it more than you can see it. I hear coffee orders which are 3 minutes long, decaf, soy, skinny milk. At the community centre in Churchill Gardens a cup of tea will always be milk and one sugar. I wonder where I sit in this pool of people, I wonder where other people see me belonging.

CCA is based next to Tate Britain and I try to go in to see the degree show but I am told it ended last week. There aren't many students around, ever. The whole time I have been in Pimlico I haven't noticed anyone who jumped out to me as looking like a student (whatever that means). I guess they have all gone home for summer. Over the past week I have seen a few Chinese students, as I guess flying home at such a high price isn't necessarily an option for international students. I wonder about the loneliness of living in this city when your purpose of being here is to purely be a student. I did my undergraduate at Leeds and it was the loneliest time for me. Sometimes I would walk to town, to the big Boots and back, just to get out, see people and feel like I was a part of what everyone else was doing. I worked all through university but I didn't really hang out with work friends, and with a class size of 10, well, there wasn't much social life going on. I wish I had gone out more, joined societies. Even if they didn't interest me, I should have pushed myself. I was nineteen and maybe I was shy, but I think what kept me being lonely was a reluctancy to say I was lonely to anyone apart from my family and friends who all lived back home in Edinburgh. I think about the mother I met during the babies library session at Victoria Library and how she was frustrated there were no classes on for her thirteen year old son. Kids don't want to look uncool, and I think this can continue for some people into university. There is a pool of opportunity in this pool of young people who are desperate to engage in a world, but scared and uncertain how to. No one whats to stand out from the self conscious crowd of teenagers and there is opportunity in making activities which both work with, and eradicate this.

I walk across the courtyard from CCA and find a different art show; “Observer: John Latham and the Distant Perspective”. Latham’s body of work explores derelict land outside of Edinburgh and was developed from an artist placement with the Scottish Development Agency. The three month long artist residences took place in different locations, from industrial settings such as fishing villages to a residency exploring the mental health care service (https://mapmagazine.co.uk/john-latham-incidental-person). What was the desired outcome of these residencies? Well, the hope was that by involving an artist, “his creative intelligence or imagination can spark off ideas, possibilities and actions” ultimately benefiting development projects in Scotland (Lyddon, 2007). When the committee introducing Latham to the project asked if the artist was going to solve problems, Lyddon replied “No, the artist is going to show us problems we didn't know were there”. In the end, if there is ever an end to a body of work, Latham decided to explore the area in Midlothian from an areal perspective, or ‘from the distance’. It was from this, and through interacting intensely with archival aerial photography from the area, he was able to map out distinctive land features from the shale industry and turn these into a piece of re-conceived monumental, or sculptural work. The act of doing this changes how the public interact with the local landscape. I find the work fascinating and oh so funny to have stumbled into work made in this context during my time doing the residency in Churchill Gardens. I haven't continued to read into the work of Latham, but it has brought up interesting ideas as to how perspectives of place, how history, and fresh eyes can have an impact on how individuals engage with space. I think of how my view of the streets have changed since I began engaging in the area. How the image of a street morphs the more you walk down it. How the build up of memories connected to place erode and evolve as you step away then interact with them again. I am lucky to know these streets now and I get an overwhelming sense to draw them. Once again I'm excited by the power of naming, of bringing into the spotlight, places or people to create a transformative effect on how we engage with them. As I have been unable to draw or make during my time on the residency, I have taken up naming and writing lists of names instead. My diary has one section which includes as many names I can remember from all the people I have interacted with since my time in and around Pimlico and Churchill Gardens. Drawing cements and validates a memory or idea through the act of mark making, and I believe the power of naming and writing these names validates all the connections I have had to people over the course of the two weeks. I have found this at least itches my little creative scratch. Or rather, it scratches my creative itch.

In the afternoon I return to the Thamesbank Centre to volunteer with Shambush as part of the South west festival. With children from the surrounding housing estates, Shambush are holding creative making events in local community centres to try and create a way for children to engage with art and their neighbouring communities. We work to a brief which is to design, paint and glue onto paper ‘solar panels’ these of space, which will later be put together and secured to a huge metal structure and presented as a space shuttle in the gardens of Tate Britain. For each making event a child attends in their local area, they receive a stamp on their ‘space engineer passport’. It is a fantastic idea and I find it so exciting to hear that there is an activity in place to connect these very separate housing estates which tend to never really mix. When speaking to both Shambush and the local children who come to do the making session, it is apparent that Tate Britain is another world to this community. Im not surprised. It is a twenty minute walk away, yet completely inaccessible as a cultural engagement. This is sad but a very real reality. Fine art is most easily digested by those with the confidence to enter into the gallery space and those with the education to understand how to interact with it.

The kids are wonderful and messy and giggly and I laugh a lot with two girls in particular. We are silly and happy and I feel in my element. I feel so lucky to be in this space making with such interesting and wonderful kids. A group of boys come over and make maths themed solar panels. One boy manages to name every dwarf planet in our solar system and I feel very stupid when I talk about the ‘fire hurricanes on Venus’ (he probably knows the scientific latin name for them). Its so great how the space works. We are outside, the sun is shining, kids come and go and there is a real sense that we are in the heart of the community. We are on Peabody estate on Tachbrook Avenue so the street is lined by beautiful tall flats. In its centre is the park which is connected to the community centre, so every flat can watch down on us. I speak to one boy who is in year 5 and he says because of the park he has lots of friends who are older and younger than him. It is a place for all ages.

Throughout the day only two parents come and talk to us and engage with the activities. Its a shame because so often it is the parents who are cautious and scared to venture out and try new things, and go new places which ultimately gets passed down to the kids. When we age we tend to view creativity as something that we have or we don't have. The older we get the more we become aware that we can or cannot draw. The older we get the more we isolate ourselves from activities and places we don't feel comfortable, or that accentuate the fact we cant draw, or paint or act. The kids seem to want to come to Tate when we tell them their work will be shown there, but unfortunately that isn't enough, it is about the parents. Pimlico toy library was great for this, and Shelia was really passionate that she was creating a space which was confidence building for parents. This is vital.

The children power through the activities and start getting a little bored. I suggest making some space themed origami fortune tellers. Im worried that maybe I should have asked before doing this but Shambush are lovely and energetic about getting stuck in and keeping busy. The kids seem to love it and I get a real sense of right. I don't really know how to describe it. I feel in my element. This is huge for me and something which means the world when you're at the start of a career as a young artist who is still trying to find her feet. I wouldn't have had the means to experience bringing ideas to a children's art session before this and I feel so lucky that I am in this position. I feel validated that it is met with so much enthusiasm.

The afternoon wizzes past. The father of the two girls who I had spent a lot of time with is brought down by his carer to go to the park. From the top floor flat their mother calls them up to go and help with caring for the neighbours. They give me lots of cuddles goodbye and run off with hands covered in glue and crisps. I cant help but think about what a potentially tricky life they must have, but how wonderful and giggly they are. I wish I could meet their mother and tell her how great they have been. How great all the kids have been. I leave and have a little cry down the phone to my friend because I'm so sad it has ended. It felt pivotal for me as just me, as someone who is unsure of my next steps, of what areas of work I would like to pursue. It is because of this afternoon, and because of this residency that I have been given this opportunity and this space to gain confidence and experience in wonderful exciting and giggle fuelled roles.

Today is one of the best days I have had. Volunteering gives the residency a whole new level as i feel I'm working as part of a service which is effecting change. This is something I have a growing need to do. Its a wonderful thing that these two great volunteering opportunities with Shambush and the food distribution with Mike happened on my last few days. I feel I am more ready for them at this stage. I think about the residency ending, but on a larger scale, I think about goodbyes. I am not very good at them. I am home and I'm writing lots, I will have vegetable ratatouille for tea and I am going to have a gin and tonic too, because the sun is shining and I am happy. Big day tomorrow. Sad day. Big day. Last day.

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