#who was the guy who at the test for signal just sung in his key instead he was so real for that he said i am not embarassing myself

[mikkouille]

i finish watching all the rehearsal vids and then dedicate myself to the essay fulltime for the day fr prommy

[sgtbradfords]

Could you write a Chenford prompt with this “You’re always number one.” ? Thank you!

Ok anon, this one was so much fun to write! Thank you for sending me this prompt! I hope you enjoy :) Send me a prompt from this list!

The sounds of car doors slamming filled the parking lot, the hot California sun bearing down onto the asphalt.  “Someone please remind me why we’re doing this again?” said Nyla Harper as she and Lila met the growing crowd in front of the building.

“Because Nolan said it’d be fun and none of us disagreed.”

“It’s also a bonding experience.” Piped in John Nolan.

Tim Bradford rolled his eyes. “As if we don’t spend enough time out of work as it is.”

“Alright,” said Angela Lopez, gathering the groups attention as she walked out of the building. “We’ve got 2 hours booked for us to play as many rounds as possible with a twenty-minute break after an hour. Wesley and I took the liberty last night of dividing everyone into teams already. Should someone feel as though it’s unfair after the first game then we will redo the teams. Alpha squad will be Wesley, Jackson, Tim, Lila and John. Bravo squad will be Sterling, Lucy, Nyla, Henry and myself.”

“Question, can we change our team names?”

“No.”

“What are the rules?” asked Jackson.

Wesley raised an eyebrow. “Their rules or our rules?”

“Ours of course.”

“No removing your sensor to avoid being shot. Keep physical contact to a minimum. Climbing is allowed as long as you don’t get shot. If you are shot, then your vest will reset after thirty seconds. We have the room to ourselves so no worries about outsiders. An alarm will go off in an hour to signal the break. Most importantly, have fun. Everyone ready?” Angela told the group before moving towards the building.

“You’re going down Bradford.” Lucy gloated as they walked through the door.

“Is that what you think boot?”

Lucy scoffed “Think? I know. Remind me again who was Mid-Wilshire’s shooting champ this year?”

“There was a scuba diver!” Cried John.

“We know.” Voiced the group.

The group divided up into their teams, going into separate rooms to get their gear.

“Game starts in five.” Nyla said as she slipped back into her teams’ room after helping Lila into her gear. “The amount of trash talk coming from them… Don’t be shocked to see Lila and Nolan team up.” She told them as she began gearing up herself.

An alarm through their room, giving off the one-minute warning. Both teams lining up outside of their doors that led to the complex.

The next alarm sounded as the doors opened, the lights off and blacklight’s on making the place glow.

“Yippie ki yay Mother-“

“NOLAN SO HELP ME, DON’T YOU DARE FINISH THAT SENTENCE.” Nyla yelled as she entered the room.

“-theresa!”

Each person began strategizing, Sterling being the first shot as Wesley rounded a corner.

Lucy was able to shoot John, who was helping Lila sneak under a platform, “Not fair Lucy!” he yelled as she ran away.

The first round went quick, the score almost even as the alarm blared, signaling their break, they congregated in one room, huddled around the TV screen showing points.

“How are they winning?” Cried Angela. “I know I shot Nolan at least five times!”

“It’s only by a few points honey.” Wesley smirked as he told his wife, taking a sip of water.

Angela glared, covertly flipping her husband the middle finger as Sterling wondered aloud. “How does a nine-year-old have more kills than me?”

Jackson laughed. “Because you play a cop on TV, Ster. Where as her mother probably gave her the good aim in her genes.”

“Wait, this says Tim and Lucy are tied as the top shooters.” Henry pointed out. “How is that possible?”

Everyone turned staring at the two as Lucy shrugged. “I told you, champion. Besides, I rarely win anything. Now Tim on the other hand, you’re always number one.” She said pointing a finger.

“Come on boot, Antonio won that one time!” he defended before explaining. “We do paintball once a month. Besides, Chen practically lives at the shooting range.”

“Only because you make me!” Lucy snorted before defending herself. “And I do have a life outside of work I’ll have you know.”

“Is that what you’re calling him? Because if I remember correctly, I had to buzz you in the other day at six in the morning wearing yesterday’s clothes because you ‘lost’ your keys.” Jackson pointed out causing her to blush. “And it wasn’t the first time either.”

Nolan propped his head on the fist of the elbow leaning on the table. “Tell me more tell me more did you get very far.” He sung.

“Shut up Nolan.” The group voiced as he raised his hands in defense.

The five-minute bell rang, half the group standing to head back to their room, Angela and Nyla moving to Lucy’s side as she began to put her device back on, shooting the test target in the room to check her gun.

“Is he a decent guy?” asked Angela.

Lucy smiled. “He is.”

“Have you done a background check on him?”

“I haven’t but I don't need to, he’s told me a lot.”

Nyla watched Lucy, her arms crossed over her chest. “You love him.”

“I do.”

Angela looked at Nyla before looking back at Lucy “Does he make you happy?”

Lucy looked at the two, her smile growing. “He does.”

“Then that’s all that matters.” Angela said. “If he hurts you, I hope he knows your family will help you kill him.”

Lucy laughed, “Not if I kill him first.”

The one-minute alarm sounded as each team re-assumed their entry positions.

Team Bravo was the first to strike in round two, Nyla taking Lila and Jackson down ten seconds apart.

Lucy quickly made her way to the second floor, finding the perfect corner that was dark enough to stay hidden with the help of her jacket hiding the glow of her target. She crouched down, keeping an eye out, watching the walkway that ran across the second floor, she knew Jackson was up here, having seen his white shirt go by in a blur as she made her way up from the first floor.

“Boo.” A voice whispered in her ear.

Lucy jumped to her feet, startled as she whipped around, pointing her gun at the person that was crouched beside her on the floor. “Didn’t your T.O ever teach you not to sneak up on someone with a gun?”

“It’s fake. And didn’t your T.O teach you to always stay aware of your surroundings boot?” retorted Tim as he stood, backing her further into the corner.

“How did you get there and how long have you been there?”

“Army crawled.” He said shrugging. “And not that long. So, who’s the guys ass I need to be kicking?”

“None of your business. But,” She told him, her tone playful as Tim stepped closer. “he’s about six foot four, blond hair, killer eyes.”

“Yeah? He sounds like a loser.”

“Well, someone has to counter his inner nerdiness.”

“Wanna play dirty?” he asked, as he moved closer, each hand grabbing for the belt loops of her pants as Lucy’s back hit the wall.

“Looks like we already are.”

“We are but,” he dragged out. “what if we teamed up to take down both sides?” he asked, leaning his body into hers.

Lucy bit her lip as she tilted her head back. “Conspiring to commit treason are we Sergeant Bradford?”

Tim moved his head down, his lips grazing hers as he whispered. "Conspiring to do something Officer Chen.” He said as he acted first, his lips capturing hers harshly, eliciting a moan from deep within as her body reacted to his touch. His fingers let go of the denim loops, hands slowly grazing the exposed skin where her shirt was riding up, causing her to shiver as she moved a leg, wrapping it around his backside.

“We’re going to get caught.” She said as someone yelled from the first floor. Tim moved his lips down her neck, his nose pushing her hair back as he sucked on the skin, a gasp escaping her lips.

“They won’t even know we’re missing.” He mumbled against her neck as his hands slid into the back pockets of her jeans, lifting her, pressing her harder into the wall as she wrapped her other leg around him.

“They’ll know when they see neither of us getting points.”

“We’re getting points.” He smirked, pulling back. “Just none they need to know about.”

Lucy fisted his shirt, pulling him into her in a hungry kiss, returning his earlier kiss with equal fervor before letting go, running her nails over his scalp as she grinded into him.

“Lucy!” Jackson yelled from the first floor, causing them to break apart. “I know you’re waiting for me!”

Lucy dropped down as Tim let her go. “How the hell did he get down there?” she asked, catching her breath as she grabbed her gun that was swinging by its tether.

“I guess you were distracted.” He told her, his tone light and playful.

Lucy moved around him, making the move to go after her friend.

“Wait.” he said as he pulled her back by the arm, twirling her into him as his lips found hers in the darkness, leaving her breathless.

Lucy moaned as she forced herself to pull away. “Later, we will finish this later.” She promised, retracting his hands from his waist as she stepped back. “And babe?”

“Yeah?” he asked stepping closer to her.

“Payback’s a bitch.” She told him as she pressed the trigger on her gun, the laser hitting the target on Tim’s chest.

Tim stood shocked as Lucy ran away. “What the hell Chen!”

Lucy’s laugh echoed off the walls as she ran down the stairs, taking out Wesley who was running up the steps “Oh Jackson.” She sung. “Wanna play a game?”

Fifteen minutes later the final alarm blared, signaling the end of the game.

“Alright, which team is ready to buy the brews?” Angela asked the group who stood waiting outside. “Drum roll please!” Lucy, Nyla and Lila, began beating their hands on their thighs.

“With 3400 points the winner is… Team Bravo!”

“In your face Bradford! Break out the money clip old man!”

Tim rolled his eyes at his girlfriend’s antics before stepping closer, “Twenty bucks says Jackson will be wasted by the end of the night.”

Lucy looked at Jackson who was pouting. “Make it loser pays for ice cream after paintball next week and you’ve got a deal.” She told him sticking out her hand.

“Deal.” He told her accepting her hand, lingering for what was probably too long for ‘coworkers.’

The next week Lucy smiled, handing a twenty-dollar bill over to the cashier before glancing back at Tim who was trying to stop the topping avalanche that was sliding down his double scope of Oreo ice cream. “You ready?” she asked as she pocketed her change, holding out the hand that held no ice cream.

Tim smiled, hints of ice cream on his lips as he took her hand, walking out the door. “With you? Always.

[ecotone99]

[RF] Whistle-blowers (A WikiLeaks Fanfic) Chapter 2

The Solitude Before the Tempest Toss

In a concrete dungeon of four, hard, scream-proof walls, cut off from the world, & alone, lied a tortured & broken soul, on an equally hard surface – though it felt harder. A nightmare made reality. The aching body & weary mind belonged to Chelsea Manning, while the boiling blood & the fighting spirit belonged to us all.

She awoke from a restless sleep, finding herself in the same position she had been in, when she first closed her eyes. Her body had naturally fallen into the recovery-position shortly after being, almost literally, thrown into her cell. The narrow surface of her bed only barely accommodated her slender form. Chelsea’s way of coping with being shut-in for 22 hours a day was to sleep. Unfortunately, in a room that knew no change in light or sound, it was hard to keep abreast of time at the best of times, but when frequent napping was used in order to best manage the torture of solitary confinement, all sense of time was lost.

She alternated between sleeping & exercising while in her cell, but her mind was still not stimulated enough most of the day… or night.

She was wide awake now, but did not alter her position. The less she moved, the bigger the room appeared to be. She tried thinking of ways to distract, or entertain herself. She didn’t want to relive past memories, as if playing home movies in her head, as the current situation has a way of imprinting itself on a memory whenever said memory is recalled for perusal.

Her own brain took her by surprise when a song floated in from an unknown corner of her mind. It was the type that wouldn’t be satisfied unless sung aloud. So, after some time of the same tune going round and around, like a goldfish in its bowl, it finally rose up her throat & sprouted through her lips, like a rose’s blossom. And it was as sweet as one in too. The tune lifted into the air & expanded into every nook & cranny of the small room, until all the space had been filled, after which it burst forth into the hall, almost drowning out the approaching footsteps.

The only time anyone even got near her door was to either feed and water her, or let her out temporarily at a set time every day, if she had “behaved”. They never came if you called, cried, or screamed, no matter how loud, or for how long.

A skeleton-key jingled for a moment & then clanked within the lock, before creaking as it turned, signalling its opening mechanism. Next, the bolts around the doorframe were unfastened. Normally when this happened Chelsea would spring to her feet, not wanting to waste any of what precious time she was allotted outside her cell in a day, even though it was only 2 hours. During those 2 hours she was allowed to make personal phone calls & attend to hygiene needs. On those occasions the guard would usually tell her, through the door, to assume the conventional pose: facing the far wall, with her hands behind her back. But not this time.

The hard door swung open & the heavy boots stepped in. What could only be the prison guard, though Chelsea made no effort to confirm with even a passing glance, did not move from that spot. He had come in, no doubt, to bark at her for singing, & who knows what else. It was always something, even if it needed to be invented. But not this time. This time, there was nothing. Again Chelsea was taken aback by this remission in routine. Curiouser & curiouser. Her eyes tentatively peered out from under their lids in order to scrutinise her intruder, who appeared to be studying her in return.

He was of tall, solid stature & in his thirties. His facial composition was plain & not one to reveal much. His expression was like that of a man looking at a woman in the prone position. She didn’t know him, but this was not unusual. There was a high-turnover rate among guards.

“Don’t stop”, his bassy timbre bellowed, without warning. The abrupt command gave her a start. She hadn’t noticed that she had stopped singing. The tune had continued playing uninterrupted in her head regardless. She obeyed & resumed her tune from the point at which it was playing in her head. She watched his face as she did so. What it expressed was an incongruity with its surroundings, caused by her song, which was a sound, an expression of its own that too was discordant with its time & place.

The drudgery of patrolling, & with it, it’s attitude of resolute solemnity was slowed to a halt, & in its place materialised an appreciation of her authentic beauty. He was mesmerised by her. Her eyes lowered to his pants, as if her stare could coax his rigidity out of its flaccid state. Almost unconsciously she began to slowly turn her lower half away from him, while arching her back, gradually lifting her arse. After it was fully distended, she began bucking her hips, just as slowly. First in, then out. In his eyes the subtle signs of arousal had transformed into a blazing fire of desire. Her own body began to respond to the light, rhythmic caresses of her garments against her intimate areas. She had to start taking sharper intakes of breath between notes. In has pants, his member was swelling, until it strained against the fabric that secured its length in place. It snaked along the front of the left side of his hip, hugging it. Spurred on by want, he approached her writhing body. She bit her lip. He licked his. Her song was transforming into a series of sighs and breathy moans. His bulge was very close to her arse. She could almost feel the heat emanating from it. He had stationed himself there, almost barely able to contain his yearning, yet he was not willing to advance further, lest his occupation was made forfeit. So that is where he remained. His heavy chest heaved. Her movements picked up in speed, testing him. His desire mounted, but physical contact did not follow.

This was the man Chelsea had been waiting for – one who desired her, yet had the self-control not to act on that desire, despite her invitations. Other guards, in the past, had either been one, or the other, but now she had found her perfectly balanced man. A man who had principles, strength, could stand for something, while wielding a burning passion.

Chelsea let out one last sigh, but this time one that signalled despondency. As if deflated, her bottom sunk back into its original position – motionless. Her wanton expression drained from her face, leaving a look of peaceful dejection in its place.

“Is something wrong?” the hormone-logged male inquired.

“I have no speech”, Chelsea responded, being deliberately cryptic.

“You have a beautiful singing voice. I never knew.”

Chelsea blushed “I don’t share it with just anyone.”

“I guess I’m lucky. It’s enough to drive a red-blooded man insane.”

“I’m glad you kept your composure, it means you can stay. And share in… well, what we shared together. But I warn you it may not be as easy next time” She winked at him.

“I don’t know if that’s a bane or a blessing.”

“See it as a potentially fatal perk”, she giggled, evilly.

“Man, you’ll get a guy in trouble.”

“Can you do me the tinniest of favours?”

“Let’s hear it”

“Say my name”

“Your name?”

“Mmh.”

“Chelsea.”

Her name glided off his tongue, sending shivers down her spine. She relished the short, but sweet moment.

“Was that okay?”

Still reeling from the pacifying effect it had had on her, she responded: “Yes, thank you. I just wanted to feel human again, connected with myself again.”

“Happy to oblige.”

“Outside, the most visible trans-woman is Caitlyn Jenner. And I’m here. Invisible & muted. I have no online access, no journos can visit, & even if they could, I would be legally unable to talk, comment on, discuss, or even look at any of the material I helped leak.”

“You should have left this country when you had the chance.” He added, nonchalantly, as if it was a matter of fact. But she had never considered it before that moment. She had felt safe in her own country for some reason. Now she knew better. She was coming to a realisation. One of her original charges, for which her country threatened to kill her, was: ‘aiding the enemy’ – what enemy? It wasn’t a war, it was a massacre, the victims having no way of defending themselves. The butchers were the enemy – the same that had locked her up. Only villains lock up heroes. If only she had left the country when she was still free, as the guard had suggested. Then she would be free to talk about everything to an unbiased press.

Chelsea decided that it was now, or never. “Could you help me get a message out?”

“No, I’m sorry, Chelsea.”

His hormone levels were evening out again. He was sobering up. She would have to find that sweet spot again.

Coyly she asked: “Tell me your name?” No! No sooner had the words left her mouth, she had realised her mistake. She had made too many requests in too short amount of time.

“I’m sorry ma’am, that won’t be possible.”

Ma’am? Oh no, she thought. Her mistake was confirmed as one. The delicate spell she wove was in danger of breaking. His eyes shifted downwards. He was shaking his head & began shifting his weight away from her. She was losing him. Panicked, but with the need to act quickly she considered all her options. She had exhausted the sex-appeal option, since, if she had reintroduced that now, she would be viewed as inauthentic & manipulative. She could not make any movement that rose her from her position without rousing his defences even more than they already were. She finally decided to do what came naturally: turn her face away from him and begin sobbing.

“I’m really sorry, ma’am.” He drummed on.

She could feel his discomfort go up a notch. He began a more conscious retreat, but before committing 100% to this action, she undermined his agency with: “Just go. Please just go” she sniffed.

Shortly afterwards she heard the door shut behind him. As he was locking it back up, she threw away her inhibitions, her composure & vaulted out of bed & sprinted to the door, after which she began imploring him, overwrought:

“Promise me just one thing: look me up. When you get home, look me up. Look up Julian Assange. Follow WikiLeaks on Twitter! Follow Edward Snowden! Follow Suzie Dawson! Follow Jen Robinson! That will give you all the info you need. Please at least recommend this job to friends you trust! Spread the word! Please!”

His bolting of the door had been completed. He walked away without another word. Had he been listening? Only time would tell.

submitted by /u/SnowAssMan [link] [comments] via Blogger http://bit.ly/2GyBN0r

[wannawrite]

[ (1) four: 첫사랑 ]

group: seventeen + unknown group

memeber: lee jihoon + unknown member ;)

a/n: special guest will be joining! 7 yrs old, and jihoon is 5

Happiness, is just a dream that everyone wants.

________________

IT WAS 12 AM.

A small boy, with even smaller, broken dreams continued to journey on the road back home.

Sometimes he wondered if he was really on the right track, or careering down this path of his with no aim for the future.

Jihoon sighed. He was no more than a five year old boy, no more than a petite, small frame. At the age where he should be playing with cars, cuddling into his mother's soft, warm embrace, wailing whenever he wanted something and having people rush to his command.

Kids at his school get that. Kids at his school don't have to do dirty work to earn their school fees.

What's most annoying of all, is that the imagination of kids run to big, big dreams.

Dreams of being astronauts, warriors, doctors and archaeologists.

Jihoon's dream, is to live a normal life. He can't even have that.

It's as small as a seed. Maybe a small, dormant seed.

A flower grown in a dream that can't be blossomed.

As his thoughts progressed further like his slowing, fatigued footsteps, breaking through a medium of age and toddler mentality, snowflakes started to hook onto his tousled, raven locks.

Jihoon felt the ice melt at the contact with his body temperature, and his legs buckled. He cried.

Cold water sliding off his face carefreely carefully masked his tears from the prying eyes of the public, as if that was the only thing Mother Nature could do to give Jihoon some of his dignity back.

Everything seemed to crash down heavily on his exhausted, fragile shoulders and tear him apart, like it always did.

Jihoon was done. Done with shouldering his family's burdens at his age. Done with seeing his mother's heart ache for him at night. Done with Jieun's nightly wails of hunger.

He was even more done, with the situation that fate had so cruelly written for him.

It was never supposed to be. A young boy, flourishing in the spring like a freshly, sprightly young blossom-dancing in the wind like a dandelion and chasing the dogs in the park with a feisty, youthful spirit.

He didn't stay for long.

Poverty had painted on the bags of his eyes smoky grey tints, and the turmoil of time carved out his bitter, pained smiles.

Just like that-the boy from before was chained up, beaten and scorned by the grown up mentality of Jihoon's, which had gone through the test of time with much difficulty. He was tied away, to the deepest, darkest crevices of Jihoon's heart.

What was more horrifying, was that he would stay a memory, a memory that had previously lasted for no more than a year.

Jihoon doesn't know what he wants from himself anymore.

He doesn't even know who he is.

However, in the whirlpool of anxiety that he wallowed in and allowed to grab hold of his emotions, there was a small, insignificant, yet present, sliver of hope.

In his confusion of the migraine surfacing over his sickly, pounding forehead Jihoon hung by a thread. With the last flecks of willpower that he posessed, he listened carefully.

Maybe fate had decided to pick him back up again.

Maybe.

Drifting into his ears, shutting down the berating voices in his head, was no more than a simple, gentle serenade to a broken boy, sung by a low, accentuated undertone.

The corner of my memory

A brown piano settled on one side

In the corner of my childhood house

A brown piano settled on one side

I remember that moment

Way taller than my height

The brown piano that guided me

I looked up to you, I yearned for you

When I touched you with my small finger

I feel so nice mom I feel so nice

I played the piano wherever my hands took me

I didn't know your significance back then

Back then I was content with just looking at you

I remember back during my elementary school days

When my height

Became taller than yours

I neglected you when I once yearned for you so

On top of the white jade-like keyboard

Dust is piling on

Your image that has been neglected

Even then I didn't know

Your significance

No matter where I am

You always defended that spot

But I didn't know that would be the last

You say don't leave like this

The rough voice called out to Jihoon's listening ears, transcending through a medium of unfamiliarity and peeling down all his walls. It faded into an almost weak, passive aggressive whisper, before the keys of the piano were hit hard, and the melody seemed to reach to him-a frail, shaky hand through the snow that was collecting on the top of his head.

A shot of pain, thrust to the heart.

Tingles ebbed out into his blood with familiarity, coughing out a whimper from Jihoon.

Seemingly in response to Jihoon's reaction the melody hung awkwardly in the air. It had stopped.

Jihoon noticed, but somehow, he just couldn't stop crying as his worries tore down his dazy mind.

Crack, crack, crack. The snow was crunching at a consistent, increasingly loud pace, which could only mean one thing-footsteps approaching him.

Even having deduced that the person walking was the guy rapping and playing the piano, Jihoon shrugged it off. He was too tired to pretend any further.

"Stand up." a voice said.

Jihoon's head shot up instinctively. In the starry night sky that heralded his vision, was an intruder blocking out a good portion of it-and it was an intruder not much older than he was, to say the least.

He had miniscule pupils and eyelids that descended into a big arc, spelling the definition of demure. An even more miniscule pimple rested on his button nose irritatingly, allowing flecks of frost from this winter storm to litter the sides of his face, making him more innocent than he already did-largely contrasting to the grungy voice that rolled off that violent tongue of his.

Jihoon figured that bits and pieces of his features looked a little like this person-maybe signaling that on this bitter, not-so-happy night, a stroke of serendipity had brought two of them together.

But as similar as their features were, Jihoon didn't exactly give the older boy the answer he wanted. Weakly squeezing out a smile, he said, "I've been doing that for the past 4 years."

The older boy tilted his head in surprise, as if he didn't understand the gravity of Jihoon's words.

"Then, stand up again."

Jihoon couldn't help but feel a bit angry at that line. A 5 year old boy, crying, out in the cold, and struggling to support his family...is normal?

Not bothering to mask his feelings, he replied through gritted teeth, "You sure make standing up sound easy."

The older boy's pupils drifted to Jihoon's face analytically. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled a wan smile.

"Oh boy, don't worry, I've been doing the same thing for the past 6 years."

_________________________