#and voluntarily walk into a high security prison

[muffinlance]

Fellow Prisoner Li, Part 3: Subtle Zuko is Subtle

Continued from the original post || Read all chapters on AO3

Li, Sokka was coming to realize, had the worst sense of direction. 

“Where you going, buddy?” Sokka inquired, as one does, when one’s former fellow prisoner and current traveling companion was dragging the Avatar off into the forest by his arm. Given the kid’s excited bouncing, the arm grabbing was probably to keep him on the ground. Or at least, ground-adjacent. 

“Firebending training,” Li said. 

“Firebending training!” Aang beamed.

“In that direction?” Sokka clarified.

“Yes,” Li growled, as the Avatar continued to echo him, but with a hundred more years of pent-up enthusiasm.

“The direction we saw that big Fire Nation base in as we flew in?” Sokka further clarified. 

“Y— No. Pohuai isn’t this way. It’s—” their resident directionally challenged firebender looked in many other directions, before picking the one exactly opposite of where he was leading Aang, and pointing with the complete certainty of a gambler who couldn’t take back his chips. “That way?”

If we ever need to know where the nearest Fire Nation presence is, we just need to spin you in a circle and tell you to walk, Sokka did not say, because Katara was already pointedly glaring at him from over by the fire, projecting her sibling telepathy so hard he could practically hear the lecture she was rehearsing in her head. Something something be nicer, something something traumatized prisoner. Also, and more importantly: Li had started helping with meals. Particularly in the delicious delicious pan-searing of meat and fish (and, if Aang was to be believed, various fungi, which Sokka did agree needed to be lit on fire). Sokka’s plate could get suspiciously crispy if he upset their broiler’s delicate Shout-o-Meter. 

“And even if it is,” Li was continuing, because being wrong was an art form that he practiced diligently, “it’s easier to predict military patrols than random civilians. So this is better. For not being seen?”

“You,” Sokka said, ignoring his sister’s increased attempts to shut him up from across the camp, “really don’t think things through, huh?”

Their broiler let go of the Avatar, with a certain sulky slumping.

“...No firebending practice?” Aang also slumped.

“Yeah, no,” Sokka said. “We need to talk flight paths. I am getting really sick of that Zhao guy.”

* * *

“So,” Sokka said. To summarize. “We can’t travel in the Earth Kingdom, because you’re a firebender, and they would kill you.”

Their firebender nodded.

“We can’t go deeper into the Fire Nation colonies, because you’re banished, and they would kill you.”

Additional nodding occurred.

“All right,” Sokka said, with a great deal of patience. “Then we’ll just have to find a way to travel from here to the North Pole. Instantaneously. Without crossing any intervening Earth or Fire territories because that is the entire map.”

“We could go to the Fire Nation,” Li said.

“Li,” Sokka said, “remember the ‘thinking things through’ thing?” 

Li crossed his arms. “No one would expect you to go there.”

“Because we will be in the Fire Nation,” Sokka said.

“There won’t be wanted posters for any of us.”

“Because,” Sokka said, “we will be in the Fire Nation.”

“I don’t know why you even want to go to the North Pole,” Li shouted, throwing up his hands, and also a few sparks. 

“Explain that,” Sokka said.

* * *

The North didn’t teach women to fight. 

The North had not seen the look on his sister’s face upon hearing this, or they would know that women did not require tutelage in the concept, only the techniques.

* * *

“So where can we find a waterbending teacher?” Aang asked.

“You’re from the South Pole,” Li said. “Why don’t you get a southern master?”

Sokka exchanged a look with his sister. Then Katara spoke. “Li. We… don’t have any left. That’s why we left.”

“You might not have any,” Li said, “but the Fire Nation does.”

Oh no.

“They’re alive?” Katara asked.

“I don’t know how many still are,” Li said. “But there’s a prison in the southern isles, it wouldn’t even be far to fly if we go straight across the ocean—”

Oh no no.

“Li, buddy,” Sokka said, even as his sister and Aang were leaning towards Li and, by extension, his terrible idea. “We are not breaking into a prison—”

“Didn’t you already break out those earthbenders? Why not your own people, too?”

“Yeah Sokka,” Katara said, with a scowl she’d learned since Sokka had made the mistake of exiting his own prison break with a friend, “why not?”

Oh no they were doing this.

Continued in Part 4: Zuko Goes to the Time-Out Thinking Corner || Read all chapters on AO3

#so in summary #your plan is for us to fly ourselves to the Fire Nation #and voluntarily walk into a high security prison #that you have conveniently chosen and provided details for #yeah okay seems legit #wHaT coULd gO WrOnG #Avatar The Last Airbender #atla #Fellow Prisoner Li #Sokka #Zuko #ficlet

[the-jennnster]

Inspired by @promptsforthestrugglingauthor‘s Writing Prompt #1537 and day two of my personal Camp NaNo challenge to get back into writing by writing from a dialogue prompt every day

“You’re a fool to think this plan could actually work.”

“I’m a fool either way. Are you with me, or not?”

She scowled, rolling her eyes. “Fine,” she said at last, “but if we die, I’m suing your ass for all it’s worth.”

“Wouldn’t be much, considering the whole ‘shame to my family’ thing,” I told her with a smirk, patting her shoulder and stepping forward to the table. “We need you in the van on coms and cams—no offense, but you’re not exactly the fastest—”

“Neither is Brainy,” she retorted, “But I also just escaped from a high security prison, so if I got caught, our asses are cooked.”

Kyle’s brow furrowed in the background. “I don’t think that’s the—”

“You got me, I just wanted to keep your pretty face out of the front page.” I flashed Dani a smile and she sneered at me, Ethan stepping between us, just like always.

“We need to get here,” he interrupted, pointing to a small room on a sublevel so low I didn’t even know they made basements that deep. “It’s the data vault, where they keep the code information. It’s thirty floors below ground, behind seven fingerprint-locked doors, with at least twenty guards between each door.”

“Wow, it’s almost like they don’t want people getting access to their private information or something,” Maia muttered, picking at a scar on her arm. Dani’s lip quirked in a brief acknowledgement of agreement, and crossed her arms.

“Getting into the vault isn’t the hard part—” she began.

“Really?” I scoffed. “Have you ever gotten through that level of security?” She levelled me an unamused gaze.

“It’s getting the information out. Those databases are the most high-security servers in the world, with so many layers of firewalls and encryptions that it’s like reading Ancient Greek upside down.”

“Let me guess, your specialty?” Maia quipped from the couch, shock of red curls hanging over the arm.

“Mine, actually,” Kyle admitted. “I’ve gotten in before, and that was when I didn’t have an extra ten years of practice.”

Maia’s ever-present scowl returned on the couch while Dani smiled almost proudly. “Which means that we need to get you in.”

He jolted. “Me? I can hack remotely, I don’t—I did it from Nicson before, I can do it from the van—”

“You’ll have a more direct connection in the vault, not to mention bypassing some of the palace’s firewalls to prevent exterior hacking. You’re good, but they’ve upped their security,” she smirked, definitely proudly. “Thanks to my little stunt.”

“That got you thrown in jail,” I added under my breath, earning a sharp flick on the arm.

“Because of you, you little ‘I’m an independent thinker and I don’t do what you say’,” she snapped.

“In my defense, you had anarchist written all over you,” I said with a shrug.

“Still do,” she growled. “But I’m giving up on my dreams of destroying the entire system in exchange for a release information on government corruption.” She forced a smile. “Happy?”

“Very,” I said, though the idea of this all being real, of us succeeding on this insane endeavor, made me uneasy. After this, there would be no hiding. There would be no more Ghost, hell, I wouldn’t even be Cecily Williams anymore. I would be a science experiment, my parents’ personal freak of nature. I… I wouldn’t even be a person, and the whole world would know.

But they would also know that the emperor was building soldiers. That he had been for nearly twenty years, and that he’d had innocent people killed for it. That he’d been collecting data on every citizen in this country, all in the name of protection, to turn them into weapons.

We would be showing people the truth, and not just the people here. The global leadership wouldn’t stand for this blatant act of militarism, even from America. They’d unseat the emperor, dismantle the whole codes system, stop the experiments in their tracks.

At least… We hoped so.

“We can sneak in during the masquerade,” Ethan suggested, placing four invitations on the table. “Cee and Kyle together, and me and Maia.”

“Why do we have to go in together?” Maia whined, head bobbing. “At this point, the whole world knows I’m a lesbian, we don’t have to do this fake dating shit.”

“Because,” Ethan said with an all-too-sincere smile. “We’re going to be the distraction.”

She sat upright, smiling devilishly. “Oh, do tell, highness.”

“The party’s for Emmalyn,” he explained, “to celebrate her and Cal’s engagement—” Dani and I both gagged at the same time. “But it’s also a test for us. We’re still in the public eye given the whole ‘human-monster fusion’ thing, and they want to make sure we can function in society without going all wolf-brain on them.”

Maia frowned. “Can we though?”

Ethan hesitated and, for a brief moment, I saw the fear in his eyes. I knew what this plan entailed—the two of them voluntarily letting their monsters out to play in the middle of a high society party, full of unsuspecting party goers. The plan was to cause just enough chaos to get people screaming and running, and then slip away to help us make our way down to the vault, but… There was always the chance that they would lose control and not be able to turn back. That… that this could be the last time they were Ethan and Maia for a long time.

“We’ll see,” he offered with a weak smile.

“Once security on the main floor rushes to neutralize the threat—” Dani gestures to the two of them, then turns to Kyle and I. “You two need to get here, fast.” She points to a doorway on the map on the table in front of us, hidden away under some stairs. “It’s an entrance to the palace subbasements that technically no one is supposed to know about, but considering that Ethan and Maia are in there practically every other day, it’s… Well, suffice to say, that’s going to be the easiest part of your night. From there, you need to get to the lift at the end of this hall,” she reframed the map with a quick swipe of her fingers, focusing on that first subbasement that appeared to be a maze of offices, the aforementioned elevator hidden around far too many corners for my own good. “Once you’re in there, implant this in the operations box, and I’ll have a direct route to bypass the security systems that restrict access.” She holds up a chip that may as well be a grain of rice for how small it is. “Put it somewhere you won’t break it, eh, slugger?” she tells me as she gently places it in my palm. I immediately turn to Kyle, handing it to him.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, fidgeting with his watch to place it inside.

“I’ll handle everything between the lift and the vault room, but you,” she levels her dark brown eyes at Kyle, “have to get inside there and get the data out.”

“Yeah, I—I can do that.” He nods nervously, picking at his fingernails. “What about getting out?”

Dani half-laughs, half-sighs. “Brainy, by the time we’re done here, getting out will be the least of our problems.”

The five of us exchanged looks. She was right. No matter which way the night went, it wouldn’t matter how we got out of the data vault—what mattered was what happened after. If we succeeded, we’d be walking out into a new world where mutates were given the respect they deserved and the empire as we knew it dissolved. If we failed… Well, we wouldn’t have much say in the matter if we failed. We’d be enemies of the state, moreso than we were already, and our heads would be on the chopping block within minutes. Goodbye, imperial pardons, brand new apartments, and a future of hope. Hello, a cinderblock cell and a sentence to meet the newest firing squad.

We were the empire’s heroes. We were the empire’s most hated.

We were kids.

And we were going to save the world.

#camp nano #prompts for the struggling writer #original writing #jenn writes #my writing

[loudlytransparenttrash]

This Week Within Our Colleges: Part 22

Students at George Mason University spent days protesting the hiring of Brett Kavanaugh as a visiting law professor at GMU’s Law School. Some students complained to campus leaders, telling them students’ mental health is threatened by the Kavanaugh hire, despite the Law School being located 3,500 miles away from the university. “This decision has really impacted me negatively. It is affecting my mental health knowing that an abuser will be part of our faculty.” Another female student gave similar comments to the board, “As someone who has survived sexual assault three times I do not feel comfortable with someone who has sexual assault allegations like walking on campus.” A third female student told the board, “we are fighting to eradicate sexual violence on this campus. But the hiring of Kavanaugh threatens the mental well being of all survivors on this campus.” The next day, students marched around campus chanting “kick Kavanaugh off campus” and holding “cancel Kavanaugh” signs while some stuck blue tape over their mouths.

University of Colorado Denver brought back a 2016 course, “Problematizing Whiteness: Educating for Racial Justice.” Students will learn “the plight of people of color and how white people are complicit.” The course details explains, “The study of whiteness has always sought to challenge racism, racial privilege, white supremacy, and colorblind racism. However, to overindulge in the spectacle of ‘white racial epiphanies’ overlooks the ongoing work whites must do to participate in racial justice. Beyond the feel-good of momentary White racial awareness lurk enormous concerns about how to continually examine Whiteness in order to uphold antiracism, moreover the fruition of a more racially just society.” It also, understandably, tells students that recording any of the lecture is forbidden.

A State University of New York College at Old Westbury professor wrote an article which he states it makes him happy when he sees poor white people on the street begging for food and often wonders how hard he should kick them in the head. “White people begging us for food feels like justice. It feels like Afro-Futurism after America falls. It feels like a Black Nationalist wet dream. It has the feels I rarely feel, a hunger for historical vengeance satisfied so well I rub my belly.” White people, he says, are a Rorschach test: “I see in them the history of colonization, slavery and mass incarceration that makes their begging Black people for money ironic - if not insulting. You wasted your whiteness! Why should we give to you?” The professor admits that this isn’t a “good look,” however, when he thinks about Martin Luther King Jr.’s “be thy best self” and “show compassion to those who spite you,” he retorts “go f**k another secretary Martin!” 

A University of Utah student reported her business professor to campus administrators for assigning too many books written by male economists and philosophers. “Many of these figures are of great importance. But at what cost do we continue to plant the seed of sexism in the minds of individuals? But especially in a course and college that is already deemed to be a ‘boys club,’ continuing those teachings, and those teachings being delivered by a professor of his character is dangerous.” The student also took issue in her bias report about a joke the professor made about how, “while all our jobs will be taken by robots,” he will be “retired living in Tahiti surrounded by 40-45 beautiful women feeding him grapes.” The student complained, “Not only did the professor willingly and openly objectify women, but he also objectified women of color. Women of another culture.”

University of Texas at Austin freshmen were threatened to be doxed if they considered joining the Young Conservatives of Texas or Turning Point USA. “Hey #UT23! Do you wanna be famous? If you join YCT or Turning Point USA, you just might be. Your name and more could end up on an article like one of these,” the tweet said, linking to previous doxing posts of conservative students at the school. “So be sure to make smart choices at #UTOrientation.” They went on to encourage other students, “if you begin to spot the young racists trying to join YCT or TPUSA, send us a tip so we can keep our reports up to date.” The anarchist student network have already released extensive personal information of pro-Brett Kavanaugh demonstrators at UT Austin, including their names, photos and contact information. It went so far as to post some of the phone numbers of the employers of students and urged them to be fired.

Webster University offered its white faculty and staff a chance to “witness their whiteness” in a program that seeks to eliminate racism. According to the event description, Witnessing Whiteness is about “white people voluntarily coming together to do work around racism in a supportive, non-threatening setting.” It’s also about “learning to speak about race and racism, exploring white privilege, and practicing allying with sisters and brothers of color.” White attendees also were taught how to commit to positive change in their lives, workplace and region and understand and practice interrupting racism and developing skills to act as agents of change.

University of North Georgia hosted several "safe zone trainings" to make the school a “safer, more inclusive environment for members of the LGBTQ+ community.” Students were given handouts which featured a ‘gender unicorn’ cartoon and encouraged attendees to use “LGBTQ-Inclusive Language” by giving them a list of “Dos and Don'ts.” They asked students to not use words such as “mailman” and “ladies and gentlemen” or phrases such as “both genders” and “opposite sexes,” instead suggesting that they use “all genders.” Attendees were also shown a YouTube video from Franchesca Ramsey called “5 Tips For Being An Ally,” which instructed them to understand their privilege.

Middlebury College were forced to soothe upset and angry students after Polish conservative scholar and politician Ryszard Legutko was invited to speak on campus about totalitarian temptations within liberal democracies. Ironically, the school canceled the lecture just hours beforehand after some students complained, then later held a reflection meeting with the student protestors, where administrators told them, “I hear you, and you should be outraged, and we should acknowledge that and apologize, because that’s the least we can do right now, because we can’t make it right in the moment. But in the future we will do everything we can to make it right.” As the safe space meeting was going on, unbeknown to the protesters, a political science professor allowed Legutko to be ushered into his classroom and address students in secrecy. 

At University of Texas at Austin, a pro-life speaker’s event was disrupted after someone set off a smoke bomb, triggering the building’s fire alarm and forcing attendees to be evacuated. The event went forward in another building.

A Canadian University of New Brunswick professor said he is in favor of taking a variety of actions against “white supremacists” who speak on campus, including publicly shaming them, firing them from their jobs and driving them from restaurants. What’s concerning about this is the professor’s definition of white supremacists. He said the "Make America Great Again" hats will carry the same shame as the uniforms worn by the Ku Klux Klan. “Every time I watch a documentary about the civil rights movement and all the hateful violence they faced, I wonder what the white people who were doing those horrible things were thinking... We are living in an era with Donald Trump and the Republican Party and the right-wing movement in America where things of similar gravity are happening. The entire sentiment of 'Make America Great Again' implies that there was a time when America was great and it's not any longer... America for Trump and his supporters is no longer great because black people have too many rights or there are too many women in the workplace."

A City University of New York professor was interviewed on radio where she stated the “ideology of racialized terrorism” is the responsibility of every white person in the United States. She criticized America for building "mental health hospital beds for white home-grown terrorists, but concentration camps and high-level security prisons for Black, and Black and Brown immigrants.” She goes on to wonder why we pay tribute every September 11 to “the pillars of American capitalism,” but never to “the young Black and Brown” victims. She also claims she's suffered in capitalist America after being designated a “other, non-white" on her arrival into the country and "white America has damned this democracy into the hands of white terrorists.” 

A University of Arizona student live-streamed herself on Facebook harassing two Border Patrol agents who were giving a lecture to Criminal Justice students. The female student stood near the door of the room, zooming in on the officers repeatedly while calling them murderers and saying they were an extension of the KKK on campus. “They allow murderers to be on campus where I pay to be here. Murderers!” In the second part of the video, the student follows the Border Patrol agents to their vehicle, repeating the phrase “Murder Patrol!” and also yelling at them in Spanish. At the end of the video, she films a protest apparently against the appearance of the officers. The student also launched into a rant about the “white woman” who attempted to talk to her. 

Gonzaga University’s Women and Gender Studies and Native American Studies departments hosted a screening and discussion about Disney’s film, Moana, titled, "Is Moana about rape?" According to the flyer, the professor behind the lesson discussed how Western patriarchy and masculinity attack “the feminine,” indigenous cultures, and the environment and nature. “Layne will ultimately also suggest that the film is Neocolonialist. It excuses Western culture from oppressing women, degrading the environment and erasing/murdering indigenous people,” the flyer says. It also came with a trigger warning, stating that racism, sexual assault, genocide and colonialism will be addressed.

Tufts University decided to remove a historical mural after students complained that the paintings depicting only white people eroded the school’s commitment to diversity and inclusion. The Alumnae Lounge mural, which depicts “the great names of men” of the school’s history, does not include “a single image of a person of color" which has lead students to complain that “they don’t want to receive awards in Alumnae Lounge because they feel excluded.” Tufts Senior Vice President said. “We want to attract a diversity of people to the university. But no less important, when they arrive, we want them to feel they belong here.” Tufts Africana Center Director applauded the decision, saying “the murals create an unwelcoming space for current students of color.”

Also at Gozaga University, an assistant professor wrote an op-ed where he blasted one of his white law students and accused him of deliberate “racial antagonism” because the student wore a MAGA hat to class. Without naming the student, the assistant professor wrote, “From my perspective as a black man living in the increasingly polarized political climate that is America, MAGA is an undeniable symbol of white supremacy and hatred toward certain nonwhite groups. I was unsure whether the student was directing a hateful message toward me or if he merely lacked decorum and was oblivious to how his hat might be interpreted by his black law professor. I presumed it was the former. As the student sat there directly in front of me, his shiny red MAGA hat was like a siren spewing derogatory racial obscenities at me for the duration of the one hour and fifteen-minute class. As my blood boiled inwardly, I jokingly told the student, ‘I like your hat.’ Without missing a beat, the student mockingly grinned from ear to ear and said, ‘Thank you.’” The professor concluded by arguing that “‘making America great again’ suggests a return to the days when women and people of color were denied access to these very institutions.”

A George Mason University assistant professor took to Twitter to ask white parents across America: “Why are you producing so many young white male terrorists?” “What is going on in your households? How involved are you with your sons? Are you missing signs their racism is filtering out of commonplace household racism into ‘I want to murder strangers’ racism?” She followed up with a reply to the white parents declaring their devotion to making sure their child isn’t a white terrorist, “I appreciate the testimonials of white parents doing the work of raising anti racist children. You give me a bit of hope.” 

The University of Michigan revamped its already transgender-friendly student health plan to include more services on top of sex-change operations. The school already covers mastectomies, genital surgeries, hormone therapy and counseling for transgender students. These plans now also accommodate “facial feminization surgeries,” as well as facial hair removal and “Adam’s apple reduction.” Another addition is “fertility preservation” for transgender students whose transition efforts result in infertility.

A Massachusetts school superintendent told a community audience that white people in our “systematically corrupt system that oppresses black individuals” need to “rewire their brains” in order to overcome their biases. The Pittsfield Public Schools chief (who is white) also blasted Trump, blaming the president's “daily hate” for the rise in racism and hatred on a national level. The event was planned to announce the implementation of African American history courses in local high schools. The course will delve into African American oppression and plans on stopping the normalization of seeing “black people being beaten on TV.” A teacher who worked on the curricula design at the schools said her eyes had been opened after participating in implicit bias training and reading the book "Waking Up White." 

Hofstra University students protested a statue of Thomas Jefferson at an annual event, titled “Jefferson Has Gotta Go!” which was co-organized by local Planned Parenthood staff. For the past few years, students have defaced the statue with “DECOLONIZE” and “Black Lives Matter” in an attempt to pressure the university president to join the long list of schools removing or covering up “traumatizing” statues and artwork. So far, the statue remains. 

An academic conference in Toronto focused on “Critical Becky Studies,” with multiple professors and faculty from American universities participating. “This session aims to characterize ‘Becky,’ a term specific to white women who engage whiteness, often in gendered ways,” the session description states. “Explorations of Becky and implications of educational practice from a variety of perspectives and contexts will illuminate the dynamics of power, privilege, and oppression tied to the gendered and raced mechanisms of whiteness enacted by Becky,” says the session description. Another paper discussed in the panel was titled “Border Becky: Exploring White Women's Emotionality, Ignorance, and Investment in Whiteness.” According to the description, the paper focuses on white women who must undergo a battle in order to extract themselves “from the white supremacist alliance.” 

At University of South Dakota, a planned ‘Hawaiian Day’ themed event had to be changed to ‘Beach Day,’ due to a cultural appropriation complaint from a single student. The student group planning the party were told to make the name change and to ban handing out leis as it violates the school's policy on inclusiveness. The group posted, “It was determined that these (leis) are culturally insensitive by the administration after doing research based off of the essay written by the initial complainant.” 

Williams College student activists demanded the Board of Trustees "commit to a complete process of reparation and reconciliation to indigenous peoples." The open letter states, “Many junior faculty of color are considering medical leave due to the unmitigating stress of living in an unsupportive and callous environment and to avoid the emotional detriment of existing here.” The students then demanded a “complete process of reparation and reconciliation” to the indigenous peoples, “approve a request of $34,000 as well as the increase of $15,000 additional funding for incoming Minority Coalition groups.” ”Offer free weekend shuttles for faculty and staff" and provide separate housing for black and queer students, as well as for all other marginalized groups. Lastly, “hire more therapists, especially trans and racial minority therapists.”

Dominican University in California has added a new major, wholly focused on social justice. The school created the major after a “growing number” of students became interested in social justice “careers,” according to the university news release. Students who major in social justice will have the chance to “examine the links between well-being, social justice, and diverse worldviews.” Additionally, students will “analyze social injustices and work toward positive social change.”

The State University of New York-Plattsburgh offered students the chance to de-stress with therapy donkeys during their Wellness Fair. 

#college

[izukurising]

Ladybug and Chat Noir Can Finally Rest

Part 1/2 

It was an exhausting battle. One that will surely go down in Paris history. The adrenaline that ran through the heroes’ veins was fading now that they all had La Farfalla surrounded. She used as much power as possible, and Nooroo wouldn’t be able to wear himself out much longer. Still, the vengeful and bitter woman’s will was strong. The last of La Farfalla’s akumas were defeated. The only thing left to be done was to take down the villain once and for all. It took a lot of planning on Marinette and Adrien’s part to gather the whole team on the day of to finish the years long battle. They let their allies know the plan beforehand. They had agreed that the next appearance of La Farfalla will be the day. Today was that day.

The duo specifically selected their best. Alya, Nino, Chloe, Kagami, Luka, and most of their trusted collège classmates are present for the biggest battle.The gamble of having everyone was simple.They will win, all in. They were all heroed up and geared to finally reclaim the Butterfly miraculous and defeat La Farfalla for good. 

The holder of the Butterfly is sprawled on the ground, knees bent underneath her. She breathes heavily. Lila Rossi makes a show of looking vulnerable as she hides her sneer behind her hair. She waits for someone to make a mistake.

“Lila.” Chat Noir’s voice warns. He speaks cautiously.

Ladybug silently watches. If she spoke, Lila would get aggressive for sure.

“I am La Farfalla,” She rasps, and her voice sounds hoarse.

Her head hangs low.

“You’ve got me…I made a mistake. I’ll give it to you, just please forgive me.” The butterfly holder weakly whispers.

“Don’t let your guard down team, lying is all she has,” Ladybug has to tell them again, despite already going over this with them.

La Farfalla grimaces at the sound of Ladybug’s voice. She didn’t hear what was said but knew Ladybug spoke. She especially hated Ladybug. She hated her so much. Angry tears pour down her face. She wanted to wish everyone who wronged her out of existence. Every single person. If only she had the earrings and ring.

“This Miraculous takes over me…I feel like I have no control. It makes me hurt people. Please help me. I don’t want to be miserable anymore. Save me from it; I can’t hold on to myself!” Lila’s voice cracks painfully.

Ladybug and Chat Noir watch each other. Their partnership as adults is unmatched. With only their eyes and a minuscule nod, they agree that it’s obviously a facade.

“La Farfalla. Give us the brooch,” Chat Noir continues.

Lila cries and finally lifts her head to showcase her tears.

“I don’t want it.Take it. Help me! I’ve been stuck in this repeating nightmare for too long. I wish I was strong enough to fight what takes over me.”

Her wails echo through the silence of the abandoned area.

Rose, who was transformed with the miraculous of the peacock, took pity on the sobbing villain. Rosewing, who helped earlier in the battle by creating an unbreakable monster to protect the heroes from one of the dangerous akumas.

“Lila, everything is going to be okay.” Rosewing’s voice sounds steady and soothing. The peacock hero steps closer, fan held closed. She cautiously reaches out to take the brooch off herself, to “help”.

Finally, Lila had an out.

Lila has no time to hide her smirk before she sticks her cane straight at Rosewing. With the one hero out of position in the circle around her, she can escape. She propels herself above her cane, leaping high.

Ladybug reacts immediately and summons her second lucky charm of the day. She can feel that this is it.

Her team was vital today. She’s proud of everyone. Without Rena Rouge’s illusion, the “Ladybug” La Farfalla targeted wouldn’t of distracted her and let the real Ladybug purify and release the handful of akumas. Without Viperion’s second chance, Ryuko would of disappeared to one of the powerful akumas before she destroyed them with her elemental powers.Thanks to Roi Singe, dangerous powers of akumas went wonky again and again. And of course there’s Chat Noir, who nonstop fought back to back and side to side in this battle with her.

Every single one of the heroes took down akumas left and right and weakened La Farfalla. It was all meant to come down to this. The battle was already won.

She knew they were prepared and following the plan flawlessly.

“Queen Bee, Chat, Pegasus, Tigress, NOW!”

Chat jumps to action, bouncing off his baton and soaring to closely reach La Farfalla’s distance. Pegasus sends Tigress with him in his portal to cut Lila off. Tigress rushes at her, magically fast, successfully getting La Farfalla to pause and change directions in panic. Chat lands perfectly and cataclysms her cane that lifts up to block him. Immediately after, Queen Bee swoops in and uses her readied venom. La Farfalla gets paralyzed in place. Ladybug winds her Yo-yo and wraps her arch enemy in the strings for good measure.

The few main heroes close in.

“It’s over Rossi.” Ladybug declares. There was no spite in her voice, only the assured but exhausted tone of a hero who finally won.

“Finally,” Rena Rouge adds, relieved.

All Lila can do is move her eyeballs, internally screaming in fury. She’s out of moves.

“You thought you pulled a fast one on us,” Queen Bee scoffs. She could laugh but now wasn’t the time.

“Never again,” Carapace comments.

“Lila, it’s time you got what was coming to you. You voluntarily terrorized Paris-” Chat Noir pauses and glances at the woman he’s engaged to, “-and us, for half a decade! You’ve killed, you’ve hurt, you’ve destroyed…”

In his hands are the handcuffs that were summoned by Ladybug’s first Lucky Charm.

He speaks quietly. “You deserve worse than this.”

His father was bad, but Lila was much more clever in all the chaos she created. And somehow, more malicious.

Together, he walks up with Ladybug. They attach the cuffs to her hands.

“Team!-” Ladybug addresses everyone present.

“It’s been a long time coming. Today we reclaim the butterfly miraculous and release the Kwami from evil clutches! Paris will no longer be terrorized from any miraculous, ever again!”

Chat can’t help but lovingly gaze at her while she gives the speech.

Everyone cheers loud bellows, whoops, whistles, and claps.

He notices Ladybug’s most recent Lucky Charm that lays unused in her hand.

He gestures to it.

She further inspects the small rectangle of warm fabric.

She smiles sadly.

“I know what I need this for.”

And finally, Marinette removes the Butterfly brooch from Lila’s self and carefully clutches it. Down came Lila’s costume. Out came the purple Kwami, who looks defeated. He floats towards the ground like a deflated balloon. Ladybug cups her hands to catch Nooroo, wrapping the soft cloth snugly around the being.

“It’s okay Nooroo. You’re safe now. You’ll be alright. Everything will be okay,” Marinette soothes the shaking Kwami. He blinks his eyes open, barely. Chat stays close beside Ladybug, observing Nooroo.

“Ladybug? Chat Noir? I-Is it over?” he quietly inquires.

She nods while she feels her eyes tearing up. Poor thing.

“You can rest now Nooroo. No one will hurt you anymore,” Chat whispers.

Ladybug cooed. “We’ll protect you and every single Kwami. We’ll heal you.”

She passes the snuggled Kwami to Chat.

“One more thing left to do,”

Ladybug turns to the powerless Lila. Lila stared at her wordlessly, a scowl directed towards her. Ladybug removes the handcuffs, and throws them into the air.

“Miraculous Ladybug!”

The battered buildings, destroyed streets, injured civilians, in pain heroes, and damaged battlefield returned to it’s original state through the red, pink, and white swarm.

Lila swallows and lets go of the remains of her pride.

“My heroes! You’ve saved me. I’m free of that overpowering evil…I finally feel like I’m me again.” Lila sobbed. Now that she had no power, she needed to convince them it wasn’t her free will. She plans to apologize and beg.

Marinette has had it.

“You’re freaking shameless. We’re taking you to prison for terrorism, attempted murder, theft, assault, and who knows what else will be added.”

Chat held his lady’s hand in his.

“We’ll let the justice system choose your sentence. I don’t think we’ll see you out on the town in this lifetime.” he smirks.

“I-I!” Lila stutters.

“Save it!” yelled many members of the Miraculous team simultaneously.

Ladybug yanks Lila up to her feet.

“I can’t imagine the infinite life sentences you would get if everyone who’s ever died from your actions didn’t come back from every ‘Miraculous Ladybug’.”

“I-I-I swear it! Once I wore the miraculous it took over my mind. I just t-thought it was just a pretty brooch! It was like I was the bystander of a never ending nightmare. I couldn’t do anything to stop it, it was like a shadow making me an empty, evil shell of the girl I am! I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I did those things. I never wanted this.”

“Cut the crocodile tears!” one of the male heroes jeered.

“There’s a lot of proof, quite a bit, of you being in your mind. Should I mention how when we detained Hawkmoth, you stole the miraculous and said, ‘I’ll be the villain this sad incompetent man wishes he was.’ before transforming and running off?” Ladybug reminds.

“Do you recall the time period where you pursued M-“ Chat’s cut off by Lila’s frustrated scream.

“Yeah yeah, you righteous superheroes got me! But no worries. You know me. I’ll come back in no time. Unlike you, I have certain skills without a dumb little miraculous.” She spits.

“Seriously, how did we let her bamboozle us for so long?” Tigress mumbles under her breath.

Lila smirks but the twitch of her wide eyes betrays her.

“Let’s wrap this up, team. We don’t have to worry about super villains anymore.” Chat moves to collect all of the miraculous.

“Here you go milady,” He hands the many items of the miraculous to her and helps her secure them in her yoyo, to be in her bag when detransformed. Nooroo rests in Chat’s pocket, right next to the brooch.

Besides Ladybug and Chat, the heroes stand as their civilian selves. They look around each other and take in all their friends and acquaintances for the first time, in awe.

“I think I sense a relation here,” Alix comments.

Ladybug half smiles.

“Chat and I will be taking Lila now. We’re forever grateful for the help you’ve all gave us through the years.”

Everyone mutters their thanks and goodbyes.

Ladybug glances at her fiance, unsure eyes debating something. He nods his head.

“Alya, Nino, Chloe, Luka, Kagami…”

He gathers the five people.

“Ladybug and I have something we’ve decided. Meet us at Tom & Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie at closing time tomorrow evening. Come as yourselves of course. We’ll explain everything.”

“Of course,” Kagami confirms, nodding.

“Sure thing,” Luka notes.

“The Dupain-Cheng’s bakery? Won’t they mind?” Chloe wonders out loud.

“No. It’s all fine, trust me.” Ladybug assures.

“I suppose Marinette has always had close ties with the superheroes.” Alya narrows her eyes, looking only at Ladybug.

“It’s a date dudes. Now I don’t know about the rest of you but I sure could use some shut eye.”

Seven out of eight people laugh.

“Yeah. I think Chat and I will head straight home and knock out after dropping Lila off at her new residence. We have a lot to do tomorrow.”

Afterwards, Ladybug and Chat Noir hand off Lila to the guards at the prison.

Lila looks at them blankly. Her frantic tantrum wore off, now that this is actually happening.

“It didn’t need to be this way..” Chat speaks.

“Ugh stop already. You act just like…Them. All you goodies always want to pretend to help and do things for others, when you really just want what’s best for yourselves.”

“That’s just your take on it, Lila. We can’t change what you feel. We’ve tried to get through to you from the beginning. We gave you every chance. You threw your life away. Goodbye,” Ladybug watches the guards walk Lila away with a straight face.

Chat sighs.

“You took the words right out of my mouth, Mari.”

Ladybug wraps her arms around him.

“God, I can’t believe it’s finally over.”

“Not just yet. Last one home is a stinky cheese!”

Chat speeds away. Ladybug lets herself laugh as she chases him down.

 It was Marinette who won. Chat took it easy with the exhausted kwami settled in his pocket.

She detransformed just as Chat pounced through an unlocked window.

“Intruder!” She yells.

He laughs and embraces her.

While they hug, he calls the transformation off.

It’s comforting to feel the magic drop between them.

Tikki and Plagg help fly Nooroo to their makeshift beds.

“Marinette…I’m just so happy that everything went well. We can sleep in, take some days off, finally get on with planning our wedding in peace.”

“Bold of you to assume I don’t have everything planned.” Marinette boops Adrien’s nose.

“You’re right. I should’ve known better than thinking you weren’t gathering all the details in your head,” he smiles sweetly.

Marinette sighs, heart pounding over his smile that she fell in love with so long ago. Her best friend, her partner, her soulmate. It warms her to her core that everything will be okay. The look on his face confirms it for her. 

Adrien spins Marinette to face the other direction and nestles his chin on her shoulder.

They start stepping towards their room together in slow movements, hands clasped.

“In the morning, Fu will be here with the miracle box. He’ll help nurse Nooroo before our visit with Gabriel…” Marinette starts.

“..and then we’ll sleep. And then we’ll meet our friends at the bakery and tell them our decision, 7 pm,” Adrien finishes.

“Good kitty.”

“Are you still sure?” Adrien asks.

“Mhm. We deserve the break. It’s not forever.”

“We’d also be revealing our identities to them.”

“Only them. They have my trust.”

“Mine too.”

They finally make it to their bed. They notice Nooroo breathing softly in Tikki’s little bed.

“He’s sleeping.” Tikki pipes up.

“I can’t wait to get to know him. We’ll take good care of him.”

“Don’t I know it. He’ll be back to his old self in no time, especially with Tikki and I here,” Plagg comments.

“It’ll take some time Plagg. Nooroo has been through a lot,” Adrien tells his kwami.

Marinette and Adrien release each other to settle into their sides of the bed.

They snuggle up together right away.

Tikki and Plagg mean to congratulate their holders on their victory, but see that it can wait.

“I’m ready to knock out too. But first…” Plagg zooms into his cheese safe, while Tikki flies to her cookie stash.

Adrien presses his lips on Marinette’s softly and withdraws his face back, dreamily watching her. She returns a single kiss.

Right after, Marinette turns around, back facing Adrien. Still snuggled, they drifted off to sleep instantaneously.

“Well that was quick,” Plagg declares, chomping down on his cheese.

~~~

Part 2 in the works.

There’s something I have to mention. Firstly, I was a fool for working with Tumblr’s draft system without a backup copy. I posted this fic a week ago, and then somehow deleted the contents excluding the title while in edit mode on my phone. I was moping about losing this for a while. I simply couldn’t rewrite from scratch, something I already had written and was satisfied with. Luckily, I got on the computer I posted it from, and the page with all the words was still stored. Keep in mind that last week, I dejectedly deleted the original post as soon as I realized the words were gone. I hurriedly copy pasted and was able to save it now! My lucky stars. The original page/post never reloaded which is why my fic was still showing on the computer from before. Now I appreciate this more than ever. I was extremely disappointed when this fic had that incident as soon as I posted it, and not one person saw said post yet. Now it lives, so I’m posting this with optimism, instead of the pessimism that usually stays. :) 

#ml #miraculous ladybug #post reveal #adrienette #adrinette #ladynoir #lila new hawkmoth #juleka as tigress the tiger holder #rose as peacock #ml fic #ml fanfic #im so happy i didn't lose this #final battle

[sirro85-blog]

Humans are Space Orcs

Part 5

Kneeling on the floor of the shuttle beside Kovac's body Wolf ripped open the medical kit and pulled out the TPAK needles and looked at the laminate instructions. He couldn't hear Panther over the screaming in his own head. Grabbing the first of the needles he unscrewed the cap and pressed his fingers into Kovac's chest, counting ribs, pointing his finger at the appropriate site he put the needle against the skin and pushed, it punctured the skin and drove into the muscle, once it was secure he drew the needle out and made it safe, nothing happened he checked the instructions again. Tissue embolus, snatching up the syringe he drew air into it and connected it to the needle. He depressed the plunger and when he detached the syringe he was rewarded with a prolonged hiss of air. He repeated it on the other side of the ribcage.

Knickers who had been trying to ventilate Kovac looked up with relief as Kovac drew a shallow breath. He drew two shuddering breaths and his breathing again started getting shallower.

Becca stared at the shuttle as it landed, behind her susserations passed through the unit as the whisper repeated themselves. "Kovac is dead?" "Kovac is dead!" Kovac can't be dead" "Kovac isn't dead!" "Kovac is dead" "Kovac..." "The Major..." her hands shook and she fought the urge to vomit. Her mouth was dry, her eyes burned, she had a metallic taste in her mouth and the tip of her nose seemed to tingle.

The doors to the shuttle opened, Wolf stepped out, a bound and gagged Flet chained to him and Panther. Gray, Ocampo Hemming and Richards stepped out. Then came a stretcher, beside it was Petra pale and tired looking. On the other side was Knickers who was staring at the Major's face till she stepped aside to let Dana and Staff King assess him. Then she looked up till she found Becca's face in the crowd.

"Massive left sided pneumothorax with resultant lower right atelectasis, hypovolaemic, query 2 minute episode of apnoea, sats 97 on 15 litres" Petra rattled off as Frank ran alongside the trolley.

Becca could still hear Petra talking as the doors swung shut on the med-bay. Wolf appeared at her side and gently steered her away from the crowd of soldiers into the side room. She managed two more strides before her knees gave way. Wolf guided her into a chair as she opened her mouth to scream and no sound came out. Trembling violently she felt Wolf's arms wrap tightly around her.

How long she they stayed like that Becca didn't know, but eventually she looked up to see Sergeant Panther, Captains Dorman, and Gillespie sitting in the room, standing leaning against the wall were Sergeants Fluke and Webb. Becca realised she was squeezing Wolf's arm with both hands, her nails had dug deep enough to draw blood from his wrist. Her fingers ached as she unclenched them. Wordlessly Panther poured her a glass of rum and passed it across, Becca downed it in one.

The door opened and a sombre looking Dana walked in, she looked at Wolf and then Dorman before crossing to stand infront of Becca.

"He's stable, we've repaired his lung but during the surgery...His heart stopped, he was down for nearly a minute. We'll have to run some tests when, if he wakes up."

Becca nodded numbly and tried to speak, she cleared her throat and tried again. "Thank you Dana, where's Frank?"

"Draining his last bottle of Courvoisier XO, I don't think he liked the part where the Major died." Dana's tone sounded angry.

"The problem with being the sort of man that earns love and loyalty like Kovac is people get upset when you die on them." Dorman said calmly, "I keep telling him he should try being unlikable like me."

"Does that mean I'm in command as senior officer?" Asked Gillespie, he winked at Becca and then Panther, "I think I'll reinstate prima nocta."

"Alright but Panther would break you little man," Becca said with a half-smile.

The officers began to talk and laugh, Dorman sent out the sergeants to talk to the men.

"She blames herself," Wolf said looking after Panther, "he was shielding her when he took the bolt."

Two days later Staff Sergeant King was glaring at the Major as he blew into a tube, "until I discharge you I am your commanding officer, I am emperor, king, high priestess and the Lord thy God, you can charm me all you want you mangy Scotch git, you are recuperating properly and doing your exercises."

"I'd tell you to get your oral fixation examined Frank but if blowing on this tube ten times a day will make you happy I'll do it. I will not be waiting over a month to heal naturally, now give me the AHMs so I can get on with my plan or I'll convince Angie to sneak me some, you know she'll do it too, and she'll take Petra down with her."

"If you have any kidney function left when this is all over I'll be amazed. Once this is resolved, I want you to come in for physio and a full medical check up."

"Once this is done I'll even let you check my prostate," Kovac grinned again.

The following morning Kovac laid in his bed while his officers sat around the room, Kovac asked about the prisoner.

"She seems willing to listen to us, I think she believes we can be manipulated." Dorman answered.

"I get the impression she is a little startled by the effectiveness of our raid and her capture. Our success has her worried."

"A huge success if you discount the Major's little problems," said Becca with a sneer.

"Everyone makes a fuss, i got injured. Hardly a fault of the mission, overall it was a complete success." Kovac replied.

"A complete success!? You fucking died!"

"Everybody makes a fuss," Kovac responded drawing a laugh from the others, Becca scowled.

Humans have a strange tendency to react to situations at a seemingly disproportionate level, small splits to their skin or a small shock can leave them "literally dying" an example of hyperbole. Kovac needing to be resuscitated on the operating table meant he said the injuries he had sustained, weren't ones he would reccomend.

The only thing bigger than a human's flair for the dramatic is a human's ability to down play something.

Kovac entered the room where the hostage was held, she eyed him as he crossed the room and as he sat in a chair she spoke.

"Major Radovan Kovac, formerly of the United Nations Galactic Defence Force then of the Galactic Council Defence Force and now leader of the human mercenary unit known as the Dark Horses, born Glasgow, Scotland in the year..."

"Impressive, you're Lorastayil claimant to the position of heir to the throne of the Flet Imperium, current prisoner to Major Kovac and judging by the speed of your heart, terrified of me no matter how calm you pretend to be," Kovac interrupted.

"My heart rate?" Lorastayil asked.

"The clip on your nose is taking measurements for us," Kovac raised a hand to silence the Flet. "Listen Kitty, we had a plan, it was simple, we use you to get to the rest of the royals and then we take all four of you out, we slip away into the darkness and watch as the rest of the royals fall apart trying to claim the top spot on the rubble, it would work. Believe me, I know how to topple governments I've done it before and Wolf, he's done it even more than me.

You know Wolf, he's the one that makes your heart skip a beat every time he glares at you, he has that effect on people."

Lorastayil stayed silent but her eyes never left Kovac's face, "however," Kovac continued, "while I'm sure pulling our plan off correctly would have been an end to this I'm not sure we would have achieved it without some losses and I've already lost one soldier over this, I'm not prepared to have another die to keep me alive, ironically it took dying to formalize my thoughts on this."

"The Flet Imperium," began the Flet.

"Oh do be quiet, the "Imperium" is barely two systems across and the only reason you get to keep it is because nobody wants it, everytime you've gotten expansionist the GCDF has slapped you down with one hand. You're a rogue state and the royal family makes you an easy mark to the sort of units that Wolf and I used to run, if I didn't care about collateral damage I'd break your little civilisation to teach you a lesson."

The Flet glared at Kovac and the Major held her gaze, "I have a plan however, one that keeps you alive, keeps my soldiers alive and puts an end to this."

Struggling to contain her anger Lorastayil stayed quiet for a few seconds before asking, "and what is this clever plan?"

"You take me back to Venita all the way to your capitol Genetry, we walk into the Royal Palace and you give me over to the Queen as your prisoner, you earn your place as heir apparent and the royal family win public support, I'm executed and my men are left alone. Now my men won't be happy about this, but because I'll do this voluntarily it'll hopefully take the edge off enough that they don't seek revenge."

"You'd die willingly?" Lorastayil asked her tone doubtful.

"No, not willingly but I'll accept it, better me than one of my men, that's the trick of being in command, my duty is to them, my leadership is the service I give them." He gave a sigh, "do you accept?"

"I have a choice?"

"Of course, I could always torture you till you agree to my first plan and we break your civilisation, not much of a choice but a choice none the less."

Kovac couldn't have successfully moved Lorastayil onto a shuttle secretly without assistance from Wolf, it appeared that Wolf was fully informed of the plan because as Kovac boarded the Shuttle I witnessed the two pause, shake hands solemnly and then part with a nod. An interaction I had never seen between the two of them before.

Unlike the human home planet, the Flet planet of Venita had developed as almost entirely a rainforest, since industrialisation much of the planet's growth had been cut back but it still retained it's verdant appearance. Even the capitol city of Gentry had a lot of green spaces. And in the centre, shining in the sunlight was the Royal palace, it's direct translation to human would be "glass" although the building was built from quartz.

Kovac walked with his head held high, for all appearances enjoying the view of the rain wet building gleaming in the sunlight. Kovac looked out of place in the light, bright building, wearing dark military fatigues his booted feet rang loud as he walked down the hallway. Around him walked his guards, soft footed and silent, despite their height and mass being greater than the human's they seemed diminished by him, or perhaps that was only my perception.

They paused before the great door to the hall, Lorastayil suddenly intense as she stared at Kovac.

"Do you want to die human? You seem at great ease."

"No, no I don't, I wish this could have worked out another way." He looked around, "it's beautiful here," he remarked absently, "I don't want to die but none of us choose how we die, even those poor souls who take their own life do so as a symptom of a disease often as not, the only thing you get a choice over is how you face your death. I'll stand on my own two feet and look it in the eye thank you." He gestured to the door, "shall we?"

The Flet Imperium is a culture devoid of much of the trappings of power that other civilisations cultivate. Pomp and ceremony; grandiose displays of power and privilege are not seen in the Flet royal court. In brief order Lorastayil was welcomed back, Kovac introduced and sentenced to death.

Kovac grinned up at the Queen and with a sudden movement had darted past the two large Kitty's that were nominally his guards.

"You know, I have read something of your culture and your laws, something the humans have known for Millenia 'know your enemy' a concept not respected by your finer military minds." Kovac stopped several feet from the throne, his guards closed in but hesitated to restrain him.

"For example, I know that Flet instinct will always be to trust in your claws not your hand held weapons, which puts the two guarding me at a disadvantage, while they are still suppressing the urge to resort to claws, I can instinctively fight with anything, in my reach...ask me about a pineapple sometime." As if to illustrate this point Kovac moved.

He sprang to his left into the nearest guard knocking it off balance, he butted his forehead into the side of its jaw with enough force to cause rotation of the head, the Flet spilled it's weapon and stumbled back. Kovac snatched up the dropped power lance but knowing he lacked the appropriate number of limbs to fire the weapon didn't pause in his movement but instead threw it hard as he could at the second guard who was still fumbling with its own power lance. The Kitty stumbled back and Kovac followed up with a flying knee to it's sternum knocking it flat.

As suddenly as he had moved he was still again, Kovac spread his arms wide as more guards converged on him.

"You see when I say I know you, I know you, so when I say I demand trial by combat, I know you are obliged to meet my demand and decide my fate inside the 'ring' as it were."

The Queen watched Kovac and gave a silent yawn, the Flet equivalent of a smile. "You may think you know us Major, however the demand for trial by combat is only something I'm obliged to honour if you are a subject, and that little display was designed to provoke me, provoke my anger but not all Flet are slaves to their rage." She raised two arms and then with another silent yawn gestured at her guards, "kill him."

Kovac backed up quickly out of the semi-circle of approaching guards, Lorastayil was watching him as more guards entered. Kovac produced a small curved blade, seemingly from nowhere and looked at the Flet heir.

"You know I rather liked the idea of meeting death while standing, but what I think I've always known is I'm going to go out kicking and screaming and fighting all the way." He looked around at the guards who were raising their power lance and I saw his weight shift.

Shots rang out, not the muted pop of a power lance but the sharp crack of human rifles. Several of the Flet guards dropped to the ground, Kovac was already moving towards the nearest Flet when Captain Wolf led the assault on the rear of the guard unit. From my vantage point of multiple awarenesses I saw Captain Becca kneeling just inside the entrance to the hallway and taking aim at the Flet queen. Sergeant Panther flanked by Barbie and Buckets closed in on one of the heirs, rifle shots ringing out everywhere.

Kovac my have been wrong about the precise laws and customs of the Flet but he wasn't wrong about their instincts, caught by surprise many of the Kitty guards dropped their power lances, instinctively wanting to use their own claws when provoked. Those that held onto their weapons were still slow in responding with fire themselves.

Kovac had already attacked the two nearest Flet his karambit knife slashing open throats and major blood vessels as he burst through the circle.

Captain Dorman led his troop in through the side entrance and more shots echoed through the hall. Kovac grabbed Lorastayil and forced her against a wall, the larger being letting the smaller human manhandle her. Their frantic conversation lost to the gun battle.

Moments later the hall fell silent, as the last Flet fell, two humans were down but both were moving, Petra and Angie moved between them and Sergeant Webb organised a stretcher team. Captain Becca began shouting orders and Sergeant Panther led the soldiers of 2 Troop out of the great hall.

Wolf reached Kovac and looked down at the dead Lorastayil, "She declined my offer of peace," Kovac said with regret in his voice. Looking up at his captain Kovac gestured around, "I thought you understood my reasons for not doing something like this?"

Wolf pulled Kovac across the hall his men closing in around them, "Oh I did, but the idea that a man was willing to lay down his life for the protection of his soldiers, well I have this feeling that sort of man is the sort I'd like to keep alive."

In the distance explosions boomed out as Captain Gillespie's mortar unit laid down sporadic fire across the military barracks.

"Your men were in agreement when I told them what you planned, apart from Staff King, he says he's saved you enough recently and stayed behind."

They hurried onto the extraction ship and as Captain Dorman counted his men back on Kovac looked around at his soldiers, his expression unreadable.

Captain Becca approached him and the ship went silent as she reached him and then punched him in the face.

"You bastard! She screamed, I nearly lost you and the first thing you did in response was try and get yourself killed!?" She drew back her fist again but Wolf and Panther restrained her, men laughed and Kovac pinching his bleeding nose approached his officers.

The time for awkward thank yous was later, they were still in Flet space now.

"The Frell sent us pass codes they...happened to have," Dorman said to Kovac's unasked question. "Once we were inside their airspace they have almost no security."

"Major have we started another war? What will happen next?" Gillespie asked, loud enough for the soldiers to listen in.

"Maybe, but I don't think so, I think the political powers will enjoy the loss of a faction from their halls of power and I think that whoever finally claims the empty royal throne, they'll be slightly grateful to us for getting them there and if not...they'll think long and hard before they decide to fuck with the Dark Horses again."

The End.

#humans are space australians #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are weird #humans are space oddities #space faerie #space australia #space orcs #earth is a deathworld #this is why i call kovac daddy #kovac

[coeurdastronaute]

Essays in Existentialism: FtWD X

Previously on FtWD

The rain comes. The temperature drops until there is a chill that makes the storms a little more unbearable. But it comes, and Elyza resents it. Only after she settles down for a nap in the office of an old mechanic’s shop does she realize she misses the home they’d created on the jackup. She misses the feeling of floating, she misses the waves lulling her to sleep as they murmured against the pylons and boats. She misses the sound of the rain hitting the water. She misses the smell. She misses the feeling of salt, that little layer that seemed to accumulate on skin. She misses Alicia so much that she actually misses the home that was created out there.

It’s a full-time job preparing for the rescue. It’s a second full-time job providing for their growing camp as the winter settles in completely. But Elyza knows that despite her own skepticism about people, when she gets Alycia back, she will have to explain herself, and so she begrudgingly sticks around.

For weeks, she refrains from her baser impulses to kill every single biter she comes in contact with. For weeks, she rounds them up and takes them to the quarry, readying them for the attack, preparing for the chaos.

Just one more run, she decides as she tosses her bag in an old pick up truck, eager to go out and be away from the camp. Her cabin had been taken over. Trailers now littered the area. A fence went up, supplies were brought and stored. As if overnight, the camp grew from six to nine to twelve to fifteen to twenty-two, and she doesn’t know what else to do.

There’s too many people that aren’t her person.

“I’m heading out for a few days, to set the wires. We move soon,” Elyza grunts as she ties down a few supplies in back the truck.

Travis leans against the tailgate and nods to himself. She wants to pretend she doesn’t know him, but deep down she knows that he has something to say. She can practically taste it with the way he lingers bout as she works.

“That herd is big, but we’re not ready with the other parts yet,” he reminds her, twirling the ring on his finger absently as he things.

“We’re ready.”

“I want them back too, but we can’t risk the people we have--”

“We can, and we will,” she decides. “I’m not waiting another day. It’s been seventy-six already. Seventy-six days I haven't seen Alycia, and I’m not going to go another second if I can help it. And until I see her, every day is going to be preparing.”

“The people of this camp listen to you.”

“Do we have to do this?” Elyza groans as she opens the door to the truck. “I’m not waiting. I don't care if I have to do this alone.”

“People look to you.  You’re a leader.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this!” she snaps back. “I didn’t ask for her or for you or for people looking at me to keep them alive. I was just living my little life and it got all fucked up, so get off my fucking back already!”

Travis knew Elyza well enough to know that things were going to happen whether he wanted them or not. He also knew never to stand between her and what she wanted.

“Just give it a little more time,” he requested, knowing full well how difficult that actually was. “We have to do this the right way.”

“I’m going tomorrow.”

“You can’t do this alone.”

“I can and I will if you don’t tell everyone to be ready.”

Elyza climbs in the cab of the truck, ready to finish the rest of her mission for the day. She waits despite her need to go as Travis braces himself on the truck, his hands on the window.

“Alicia is going to be very impressed with what you’ve done here.”

“I’m not kidding, Travis.”

“I know,” he smiled and patted the truck. “Be safe out there.”

There was a tentative schedule that the prisoners soon took to with fake enthusiasm. For anyone who survived out in the real world, outside of the high, concrete walls of the base, Alicia was certain that it seemed like a paradise, a true sanctuary amidst an unrecognizable world.

But after being out in it, after seeing those people who survived and did things to survive, out in the real world, she knew that the compound didn’t run on pure goodness. She knew it had more to it, and she knew she had better out there.

Eyes open all of the time. That was how they survived. Alicia kept her mouth shut and ears open, learning all she could about everything, constantly plotting and planning her own escape. Every night, she opened a little notebook she kept lodged under the drawer in the desk in her room and she reviewed and wrote down everything.

She wouldn’t allow herself enough time to think about Elyza, or that fact that it was going on three months and there was no word from the outside or the girl of her dreams. FIrst they would get out. Then, she would find Elyza. It was a very short to-do list.

Alicia allowed herself a few minutes to think about Elyza as she walked around the center of the town. The large tree in the center while Anya kicked at some rocks beside her, brooding in her own austere way.

“And I really hate that fucking tree,” Anya muttered, flipping the knife in her hand a few more times.

For a second, Alicia looked up and searched over the giant, looming monument while children raced around the base of it. A few troops marched while their radios blared something she couldn’t quite catch.

“You hate everything here. But I still can’t get it,” Alicia observed. “You have walls. You have food.”

“You know what my father does to keep this. There has to be something better, right?

“Honestly, I’m not sure.”

“You had better.”

Alicia smiles to herself as she remembers the home they created. The only solace she finds is in the idea that perhaps it wouldn’t have held up, that perhaps it would have gone the way of everything else and been ruined.

“You’ve never told me about the tree.”

“It’s how my father cemented power,” Anya rolled her eyes and grit her teeth. “There was an attack, early on, before we realized things were bad. It was just after everything crashed and we hadn’t heard anything from the government for a few days.”

“Walkers?”

“Another group,” she shook her head. “Came in and tried to take everything. My dad rounded up some forces and beat them back. Used it to scare everyone. We put up the walls in record time, trained a guard, and turned this place into a hell that everyone swallows.”

“What changed for you?” Alicia asked, eyeing the names with a little more interest.”

“I saw what it takes to run this place. We’re the group now, that goes into places and takes and kills.”

Around them, troops sprinted by in pairs or groups, listening to their comms. Alicia watched while trying to look like she wasn’t watching.

“Something’s happening,” she observed, keeping it hushed, well below her breath.

It was there, right below the surface. Amidst all of the safety and security and ease of the day-to-day lull of the compound, with its playing children and doting parents, with its three meals per day and seemingly unlimited water, if anyone were brave enough to look, there was always something there. But as Alicia left Anya on her street to head to her house, she saw the soldiers and she knew.

The house was quiet, but it was the afternoon, and tat meant Aden was home, somewhere. At first, when they refused to be separated, they were looked at with suspicion. But low profiles and new members added continually made it easy to blend in eventually.

Aden played soccer with boys from his class. He read comics and complained and got caught smoking cigarettes down by the river. And as tough as he played it, part of him wanted to believe in the safety, though deep down, he couldn’t commit.

That was how Alicia knew where she would find him. Perhaps no one else loved Elyza as much as her, but Aden was incredibly close.

“Hey,” Alicia greeted the almost teenager, who somehow seemed to grow a few inches in a few weeks. “Anything on the radio?”

It was his smile that told her there was news and that it was good. He pulled the headphone off and let them slide to his neck.

“They lost the Farm.”

“Lost?”

“Someone took it and they’re threatening McKillen, and he called for all troops to the loading zone.”

“But no word as to who it is?” Alicia asked, moving toward the window and moving the curtain just enough to peak out on the street below.

“I think it’s Elyza. It has to be, right?”

The name wasn’t spoken, and Alicia wasn’t sure why it sounded different, to speak it out loud, but upon hearing it in Aden’s mouth, her heart constricted and she held her breath.

“Pack this thing up soon,” Alicia shook her head and retreated from the window. “Whoever it is, something is going to happen soon.”

Blood dried, sticky and grimy on cheeks and clothes. There were a few bruises and cuts, some definitely soreness that would come eventually, but there had been no casualties on their side, and the job was going well.

The gurgle and wailing and grunting of the dead outside the walls of the Farm complex became a white noise to the group inside. While the prisoners, tied up and bagged sat against the wall, the workers were called to assembly and anxiously watched the strange group of mercenaries who secured everything and wielded power with somehow more austere grace and justice than the alleged army wearing the flag and camo.

“Which one of you speaks for your group?”

No one stood up to talk with the person who looked like the leader. Her face and hair were matted with dark blood, her cheeks were hollow and her eyes were heavy. From the set of her jaw, she had an authority and a voice like she wasn’t from around there.

“We are not here to hurt you. We’re not here to kill anyone. We have people inside. Our home was attacked and destroyed by the Colony,” she stated simply. “From what we can tell, you are all not here voluntarily. Now I would like to speak with someone in charge of your future, because today, it has arrived.”

The rest of the invaders holstered their weapons save for the tall, lanky one guarding the prisoners whose chests rose and fell with the force of being so unsure about their next breath they greedily pulled in as much as possible.

The one who addressed them, she put her hand on her hip and rested the shotgun against her shoulder, casually waiting. She passively watched the murmuring, but remained patient in her pursuit.

It was only after a few minutes of quiet deliberation that a woman stood up. Deep into her forties, skin darkened by the labor, wrinkles forming down her cheeks and chin, she took a deep breath and met Elyza’s eyes.

“My son is in there,” she stated. “I do not know if he is alive or dead, but I won’t work for anyone ever again.”

“I don’t want you to work for me,” the leader smiled. “I want you to fight with me.”

“We give our lives for them, and for you, and then what?”

The challenge was fierce. The woman didn’t flinch at all with her words.

“When we get our people back, this, whatever is left, it’s yours.”

“You’ll just leave?” she asked, unsure of the trust required for the exercise.

“I had a home, and it was taken from me. I plan to get it back. I don’t want yours.”

There were more movements and a few nods from the people. They murmured a little more, and the woman who stood looked around at the rest of her own, and she leaned down to confer with another, speaking hurriedly and hushed.

It was only when she stood up again that everything hushed, and Elyza appreciated the authority and deference given to her, and that she chose it for herself.

“We will help you, but we will not spare any of them.”

“Hey, that’s up to you,” Elyza shrugged. “We get our people and this is all yours, dispense the justice you so desire.”

Travis gave her a look and she pretended to ignore it or at least not understand it. It almost surprised her that she had a language with him. For a moment she thought of when she’d been alone and didn’t have anyone. That would have been easier. Just look at what these people were about to get themselves into, all in the name of a home.

But Elyza understood because she was ready to tear the walls around the compound down brick by brick to get Alicia back.

“And what do we call you, you group of mercenary angels?”

“I kind of like the sound of that,” Elyza wagered as she thought it over. “My name is Elyza. This is my family. We’re good people who just want to go home.”

“Before the military take over was completed, we were The Farm. We hope to be again.”

“I hope so too,” she smiled.

“Do you have a plan?”

“Oh, yeah, we’ve got a plan.”

“Any good?”

“God no,” Elyza grinned. “But we’re going to do it anyway.”

Once more, the woman looked around at the rest of the people who grew slightly more tense at the small joke, that was oddly not a joke, though they weren’t quite sure.

“If we die, we at least die without chains.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Quietly, the crowd gathered in the house on the far end of Lake Street. The guards were busy enough with extra patrols and doubling defenses at the doors, so the influx of bodies went unnoticed to anyone but the small resistance that was forming.

Alicia took her spot near the head of the table in the packed dining room, overflowing into the living room. People they’d slowly begun to trust appeared and stoically joined the circle while Aden offered coffee and filled up cups as quickly as he could.

“Is this your people?” someone demanded rather gruffly. “I have family at the Farm. And my kid has to eat.”

“We can’t say for certain yet,” Madison shook her head. “But we think so.”

“And why is that?” another voice piped up.

“Because our group is the only one that can,” Alicia answered this time. “We were the closest group to you all before we were attacked and we were a good hundred miles away. This area is picked over and empty. We’ve been up and down the coasts. We’re all that was left.”

“But you can’t be sure.”

“No, we can’t. But we’ll get confirmat--”

“This place is safe. We can’t lose it in a battle. These walls are strong.”

“We don’t want anyone to lose their home. We just want to go home to ours,” she shook her head trying to calm the masses.

There was murmuring throughout, and Alicia looked around for help but got nothing except worried glances. She clenched her jaw and waited for the quiet.

“Now is our chance. While the troops are distracted, we arm ourselves and prepare. This is your home, and I don’t want to see it destroyed, but if I know Elyza, if I know our people, they will burn it to the ground to get us out.”

“That’s not reassuring,” a man grumbled, crossing his arms.

“I don’t want that. But I think we’re all here because we know McKillen is crazed and this military presence is just modern slavery. Why attack groups that are thriving? We had no need for anything and we were kidnapped and brought here under the guise of protection when we didn’t need any.”

“And we’re supposed to trade one master for another?”

“We just want to go home,” Madison put her hand on her daughter’s shoulder as she grew a bit red on her neck. “You can have this back. He took it from you, too. He took your families and broke them apart, forced labor and abuse. Don’t just help us get rid of this madman. Help us get your home back.”

The sounds of agreement mumbled around them and Alicia nodded to her mother.

“I doubt they’re expecting us to help, but maybe we can make this easy,” Alicia began. “We’ve been forming a plan for a while now, and we have more people, so it will work.”

“And what if it isn’t your people?”

For a moment, she nodded and looked up from the map of the compound that covered the dining room table. It was possible it was someone worse. It was possible that Elyza was dead or gone or worse. There weren’t certainties anymore and a Bruce Springsteen song on loop wasn’t the most damning evidence. But Alicia had her gut and she had unwavering faith in the pretty girl who had a family now.

“What could be worse than this?” she asked simply.

The woman who asked just nodded in agreement. And the rest of the group began listening as the plan unfolded.

[yes-i-write-fanfiction]

The Gift

WARNINGS: almost suicide mention (it’s faked and she doesn’t actually die or get injured from it), slight non-con, dub-con mention (past sexual assault is briefly talked about), depression, obsessive behaviour, angst, (not a tragic ending but not a very happy one I don’t think…)

Summary and Disclaimer: Okay, I haven’t had the chance to actually read any of the comics and my knowledge about these characters come from the wiki and of course these tumblrs :P I wanted to write a semi-continuation of the Yandere!Deadlock/Drift head canons which are so beautifully done and so inspiring.

Basically what you need to know is that this is an AU type of situation (based on my limited knowledge of the timelines) where Deadlock only recently became Drift again (within a human lifetime, I think is what I’m aiming for), but as a Decepticon, he had taken a bunch of humans prisoner aboard of ship with other Decepticons. He grows really attached and yandere-like to one human in particular and then after her apparent suicide, he defects. Fast forward a couple of years and he is on the LL with everyone else and is more or less accepted as Drift. But on board there are a group of humans who are sort of helping out/doing their own mission. They call on someone with a vast knowledge of alien flora and it turns out to be the supposedly dead obsession of Deadlock. And heavy angst ensues as Drift is forced to confront some of his most shocking and disgusting crimes as Deadlock. 

…

It wouldn’t make things right. Nothing could make this right, but he still wanted to try. No, he needed to try. Some masochistic part of him craved something of a reaction from her. Maybe, for closure, he reasoned. Or maybe, he was craving her attention again. He never seemed to get enough of that.

The former ‘con managed to find her alone. It wasn’t hard after he memorized her basic schedule and the common routes she took to get to places. 

He stepped in front of her. Predictably, she froze and then stared at him with those cautious eyes. 

“I have something for you.” He put down a box on the floor between them. 

She looked at it briefly and then back up to him.

Drift nudged the box closer to her. She began to walk backwards, eyes dodging around and looking for an exit. Quietly, he took a step away. “If you wish to leave, you m-”

She didn’t even wait for him to finish his sentence before she took off running down the hall. A stab of agony went through him. 

A part of him was furious with her, the old, possessive part that risked his reputation and status as a Decepticon. And a large part of him felt as though he was punched straight through his chassis. He deserved this- hell, he deserved more than this. He remembered every bruise, every word, every invasive touch- he remembered. 

Why would she accept a gift from him when the gifts he used to give her were laced with such heavy expectation? He used to buy her things that he thought she would like for so many reasons. The liar part of him reasoned that it was a sadistic form of torture- to make her feel like she was his object. To control her outward appearance was his way of claiming further ownership over her. 

But the real reason he bought them was far more fucked up. Deadlock wanted to have something of hers that she could only give willingly. He wanted her to voluntarily come to him, to join him while he slept, to smile at him with genuine kindness and to ask him about his day- how he was doing, all of these sickening things. He wanted to share his glories with her, to have her eyes shine with approval and admiration. Rather than seeing her wince when he talked about the success of his missions.

It was so easy to disturb her, and to see her tear up. That got old fast. And maybe that was why he had craved something else from her. 

For the most part, he had pretended not to notice her general disapproval and her glaring unhappiness. But he couldn’t ignore the fear and disappointment in her eyes when he returned to their- no, to his habsuite. “Did you miss me, pet?”

One time, she rolled her eyes and he got so mad. That was the time he starved her for three days. 

No food, just water. 

Back in the present, Drift stared at the elegantly wrapped box. It was supposed to be a peace offering. He plucked it up and on his way back to his room, he crushed the box with his servos. There could be no peace between them. He had done too much to her and as much as he wanted to have her securely in his grasp again, to hold her close to him- it was wrong. She would never want him. Ever.

The only moment he though she did was when- well, it was before she left. She figured out what he had wanted (what he still wanted). Really, it was only a matter of time. Drift tried to remember exactly what it was that set it off. 

Maybe, it was when he walked in and heard her sobbing. Not quietly either. She had been sobbing so loudly. It was a heartbreaking sound, and one that filled him with immediate concern and anger. Did someone hurt her? Was she in pain? 

He rushed across his habsuite and threw aside the coverings on her cage. “I’m here, I’m here,” He murmured to her. “What is it? What happened?” He had never heard the human sob like that before. It was so distressing.

A quick scan revealed that she had sustained no further damage from when he saw her last. Her ribs were bruised, yes, but those would heal given time. She was okay. 

Well, she was upset but she wasn’t hurt. Deadlock wasn’t sure what to do. On the one hand, he could have shouted at her and told her to stop, but on the other hand he was overcome with the insistent urge to draw her in close, to hold her and to have her in his arms. How come she had never done this before? What did it all mean? He held her close to him and made shushing noises.

She quieted and her breathing evened out.

After that, she began to do exactly what he wanted her to do. It was like she read his mind, saw into his guiltiest fantasies and accepted them, and accepted him. He hated to admit it, but seeing her slow smile got him through some of his tougher days. He could always look forward to coming into his habsuite and seeing her, talking to her, and holding her.

He got low at some points and made some pretty serious declarations, stroking her small body and promising that he would never allow anyone to hurt her. She needed him and she knew it. 

It was even more pathetic later on when he realized it was all an act. She played him so well and got him to deliver her means of salvation without even realizing it. A few plants, to liven up the place. Glass vials and a chemist’s station to occupy her time since she ‘always wanted to be a biologist.’ Oh, which planet was the ship docking on? One with an oxygen rich atmosphere and a few high tech colonies? She couldn’t see it, that’s okay. If he could just talk to her about it, that would be great. He was such an idiot. 

A fool in love. 

Finally someone accepted him, for all of his flaws and all of his confusion. They could see past that and they accepted him. It filled a hole that he never realized was there. It got him by and it made his life, all in all, better. 

It was a fragging lie. All of it.

Deadlock had been enraged when he discovered the means of apparent death. 

Suicide.

Drift remembered how he could have stared at her body for much longer than he did. He just held it instead and swiftly deposited on the planet that she had been so keen on seeing. Well, now she got to see it and be on it. He brought all of her stuff as well, as a little shrine to keep her company. He didn’t want to abandon her body but practical considerations had to be kept in mind. 

There was no time for a burial and a fire would draw too much attention. He left her on a rock formation, in front of a large body of water. A beautiful tomb for someone as beautiful as she was. 

And even that was a lie.

Drift nearly had a spark attack when he saw her. Actually, he thought that he was seeing a ghost.

“Getting her to work with us isn’t going to be easy, especially considering that Megatron is on board, but we need all the help we can get.” The human liaisons were recruiting people with interplanetary expertise, and she was one of them.

“Megatron destroy her home?” Someone guessed rather bluntly in the din of the meeting room. 

“She was held prisoner and tortured for seven months aboard one of his vessels.”

“How did she escape?” Another ‘bot asked.

Drift was frozen, staring at her image. 

The human’s expression changed from grim to one of astonishment. “It’s incredible, actually. She managed to get a hold of some alien flora and made this poison that slowed her heart down to near death. I guess the ‘cons were sentimental because they dropped a bunch of human stuff around her body when they got rid of her, and she used that to trade for some equipment and to call for help. The rest is history.”

She was alive. A part of him died when she died, and now she was alive.

And- oh Primus. He thought that the guilt was bad when she was dead, but now that she was back- oh no.

It was so much worse. 

..

Then, she was on board along with her Merry Men, as she liked to call the team of humans. Drift didn’t tell anyone. He couldn’t. Physically, it seemed he was unable to speak about her. He watched from the shadows, not daring to make his presence known.

One day, she caught him. 

Drift expected a lot of things as she opened up the supply closet to retrieve some more equipment. He expected her to scream, to start yelling, crying, or maybe to even run and call for help. Instead, she stared up at him with a calm expression. Her mouth was almost twisted into a smirk as she got what she needed and walked away.

Deadlock hated to be ignored. Drift had no choice. 

She knew that he was on board then, and worse, she recognized him. Why would she come on board if she knew he was there? Did she have no sense of self-preservation-? She faked her own death and risked actual death to get away from him. 

No. She had no sense of self-preservation left. That was gone a long time ago. 

The more she ignored his presence, the more obvious it got. That made things worse. Her role was of the utmost importance and Drift was an asset to have on field missions where stray Decepticons were involved. 

It was one thing when she refused to speak to him on the Lost Light, but it was another thing to have her ignore him during dangerous jaunts out onto alien planets. She refused to get into his alt mode to get back to the ship, making the humans have to change their partners mid mission. 

Everyone was irritated.

“This needs to stop, you can’t keep this up. It’s bad for morale.” One of the humans- her superior- scolded her. None of them knew. She kept it that way. 

The other human tried for a more diplomatic approach, “This planet is dangerous, these weapons are dangerous,” They gestured to the precarious load on the mech that had held all of the humans originally. “You can’t keep ignoring him.” They told her in a quieter tone, gesturing to the ex-con subtly.

She blinked as her expression morphed into one of surprise. “Oh man, you can see him too?”

Her superior snapped, “I am serious! You need to stop this behaviour at once, and step into his alt form, that is a command.”

“I would literally rather die.” She said losing her smirk.

That hurt Drift on so many levels and in so many ways. He understands hesitation and fear. He understands anger and vengeance. This is vengeance. 

“I get that you don’t like Decepticons. I don’t like them either. They destroyed my university, but you can’t go treating every former ‘con like the one who-”

One of the humans grabbed the officer. “Stop it.”

“What do you think you are doing?”

“We’ll find another way. Just. Stop. Talking.”

It wasn’t until they were back on the ship that the proverbial cat was let out of the bag. Drift wasn’t sure who figured it out or how.

Word of what she had said got around and people quickly put two and two together. She had preferred to die over being his pet. It was no question as to why. Even if the crew hadn’t seen her scars along her body- raking down her back and up between her thighs- they would have sympathized. He was recruited personally by Megatron for a reason. Deadlock was and always will be terrifying.

The marks on her body were made visible when she wore shorts or skirts. She had no qualms about showing them either, but any Cybertronian who saw them noted the possessive nature and significance of them. One liked to stroke cute things. One liked to mark things that they owned. 

They knew that she was claimed by someone awful- someone who was cruel and unusual. Someone who tortured her and as far as they could guess- it was in some very intimate ways. Bite marks on her shoulder were impossible to hide at the best of times and their size and shape gave a clue to their origin.  Whatever ‘con did this made a very public claim on her body. 

When they found out it was Deadlock who did this, there was a great outcry on the ship and the human in their eyes became something of a celebrity. She had been forced to stare at and work together with her abuser for months now. It was ludicrous for her to be expected to entrust her safety to the one who left scars all over her body, save for her face which had been left unmarred. It was easy to see why; she was a pretty little thing. 

Risking certain death to get away from the ‘con was sensible, even.

One of the Autobots said to him in a particularly nasty tone, “Good job, Decepticon. Do you even remember her?”

“Everyday.” He managed to admit when he managed the process of intaking air. 

Rung had been made aware of the troubling situation and was called in to try to soothe the boiling tensions. “It would be advisable to prevent further contact between the two.”

…

Her other form of vengeance started to show itself as the situation got more and more dangerous. She became as reckless as possible. It wasn’t hard given the perilous nature of her job; going down to alien planets, hunting mythical flora and other things to help the LL along with their given quest. 

To some, it seemed that she was showing that she wasn’t a coward despite the ‘easy way out’ she took. They were concerned that she would think that they would judge her for such an action. 

But the truth was only known to Drift. He had claimed her. He had gotten close to her and he got possessive. Only he could inflict any pain on her. And when she became his sole comfort- playing into his developing desires and dependence on her- he became even more possessive. Nothing and no one would hurt her.

He told her that time and time again. Deadlock whispered to her how he would destroy anyone who came near her, about how he would protect her because he always protects what is his. Then, he told her how much he loved her. She had begun to cry in his grip but she was smiling.

He thought that she loved him too. 

He thought that maybe Primus was smiling down on him and giving him a fragging break for once. He said that he would never let her go and that he would always keep her safe. 

That was not the intended plan.

Now, she actively threw herself into danger every chance she got, or so it seemed. Drift hated it. It claws at him. She had to know that this recklessness just made him want to scoop her up in his servos and hold her close to him and never, ever let her go. But, he can’t do that now, and she knew it.  After nearly killing herself by going into an insecure airlock, with only a thin piece of rope around her to save some random piece of equipment from being blasted into space, Drift’s expression mirrored everyone else’s. Shock and outrage. Why was she doing this? 

The smug look she gave Drift told him why. 

You can’t touch me.

________________________

Wow. WOW. I really enjoyed reading this one, it kept me on edge the entire time! I love how you made Drift still want her but he’s aware that she will never want him and he accepts that. It’s both heartbreaking and genius. And the way you wrote the reader, how she is full of spite and in need of revenge, it feels very believable and I enjoyed it that the victim finally got their revenge, even if by dangerous means. You did such a great job on this one and I hope you write even more. I look forward to reading whatever you send to me!

#submission #not mine #transformers imagine #MTMTE #transformers idw #drift #deadlock #yandere #angst

[newstfionline]

The Lure of a Better Life, Amid Cold and Darkness

Andrew Higgins, NY Times, Dec. 3, 2017

NORILSK, Russia--Blessed with a cornucopia of precious metals buried beneath a desert of snow, but so bereft of sunlight that nights in winter never end, Norilsk, 200 miles north of the Arctic Circle, is a place of brutal extremes. It is Russia’s coldest and most polluted industrial city, and its richest--at least when measured by the value of its vast deposits of palladium, a rare mineral used in cellphones that sells for more than $1,000 an ounce.

It is also dark. Starting about now, the sun stops rising, leaving Norilsk shrouded in the perpetual night of polar winter. This year that blackout began last Wednesday.

Built on the bones of slave prison laborers, Norilsk began as an outpost of Stalin’s Gulag, a place so harsh that, according to one estimate, of 650,000 prisoners who were sent here between 1935 and 1956, around 250,000 died from cold, starvation or overwork. But more than 80 years after Norilsk became part of the Gulag Archipelago, nobody really knows exactly how many people labored there in penal servitude or how many died.

The Norilsk camp system, known as Norillag, shut down in 1956, when Nikita Khrushchev began to dismantle the worst excesses of Stalinism. The legacy of repressive control, though, lives on in tight restrictions on access to city. All foreigners are barred from visiting without a permit from Russia’s Federal Security Service, the post-Soviet successor to the K.G.B.

“Norilsk is a unique city, it was put here by force,” said Alexander Kharitonov, owner of a printing house in the city. “It is like a survivor. If it had not been for Norilsk, there would have been another principle of life in the Arctic: You came, you worked, you froze--and you left.”

The residents of Norilsk have stayed, turning what until the 1930s had been an Arctic wilderness inhabited only by a scattering of indigenous peoples into an industrial city dotted with smoke-belching chimneys amid crumbling Soviet-era apartment blocks and the ruins of former prison barracks.

The population dropped sharply after the 1991 collapse of the Soviet Union, which sent the economy into a tailspin. It has risen again, along with Russia’s economic fortunes. Around 175,000 people now live year-round in Norilsk.

Beyond the city, which is 1,800 miles northeast of Moscow in northern Siberia, extends an endless, mostly uninhabited wilderness.

“Everything else is a vast wild land with a wild nature and no people,” said Vladimir Larin, a scientist who lives in Norilsk. “This is where the last wild mammoths died. When they dug the foundations of the buildings, they found the bones of mammoths.”

The bones of former prisoners also keep resurfacing, appearing each year when winter finally breaks in June and the melting snow carries to the surface these buried remains of the city’s grim and, in official accounts at least, still mostly smothered past.

Some residents are the descendants of former slave laborers who stayed on simply because it was too hard to leave a place so remote that locals refer to the rest of Russia as “the mainland.” There are no roads or railway lines connecting Norilsk to parts of Russia outside the Arctic. The only way to get in or out is by plane or by boat on the Arctic Ocean.

Many residents, however, came voluntarily, lured by the promise of relatively high salaries and steady work in the city’s metallurgical industry, a sprawling complex of mines and smelters owned by Norilsk Nickel. The business is a privatized former state company that is the world’s largest producer of palladium and also a major supplier of nickel, copper and other metals.

It is also one of the world’s biggest producers of pollution, turning an area twice the size of Rhode Island into a dead zone of lifeless tree trunks, mud and snow. At one point, the company belched more sulfur dioxide a year than all of France. It has since taken some steps to reduce its output of toxic waste but was last year blamed for turning the Daldykan, a river that runs by the plant, into a flow of red goo. Locals called it “blood river.”

The company gets its products to market through a port at Dudinka on the Yenisei River, the largest of three great Siberian rivers that flow north into the Arctic Ocean.

Dudinka, as well as providing Norilsk’s main outlet to the outside world, also offers a glimpse of the region’s past. The settlement’s natural history museum displays tents used by the four main indigenous peoples in the area. The biggest of these today are the Dolgans, a nomadic Turkic people that used to live off hunting and reindeer herding but were themselves herded into collective farms during the Soviet era.

There are now around 7,000 Dolgans, many of whom have given up their ancestors’ shamanistic beliefs in favor of Christianity. Smaller native groups include the Entsi, of which there are only around 227 left in the region, which is known as Taimyr.

Despite the horrendously harsh climate, choking pollution and absence of sunlight from late November until January, many residents are fiercely proud of Norilsk--and their own ability to survive in an environment that even the hardiest of Russians living elsewhere would find intolerable.

Last winter, temperatures plunged to minus 62 Celsius (minus 80 Fahrenheit), and early winter this year has also been unforgiving, with temperatures in November already falling to around minus 20 Celsius, about 4 below Fahrenheit.

The cold has spawned a booming freelance taxi business because it is too cold to walk even short distances. Taxis charge a fixed price of 100 rubles (about $1.70) to go anywhere in the city. There are also buses, but it is too cold to wait outside so passengers crowd into nearby shops to shelter until their bus arrives.

But even the bitter cold is for some a source of delight, with the frigid waters of Lake Dolgoye attracting swimmers who revel in the bracing experience of bathing in ice. “After bathing, I have the feeling that I have been on vacation for a week,” said Natalia Karpushkina, a 42-year-old who runs a local walrus club. The lake freezes only partially because of hot water pipes from a nearby power plant.

The city also has a large indoor swimming pool for those less keen on bathing in ice water.

Most of the work and leisure takes place indoors, particular in the winter period of perpetual darkness. Life inside became considerably less monotonous recently thanks to a long-awaited breakthrough: After decades of serving the digital economy by providing materials needed to make cellphones and computers, Norilsk got its first reliable internet service.

But even without the internet, it had replicated as best it could the amenities of a normal Russia city. The Norilsk College of Arts offers ballet lessons. Norilsk Greenhouse, a local company, grows cucumbers in heated shelters, while the Zaboi Bar offers revelers home brew and live music.

The bar’s 30-year-old manager, Anton Palukhin, who moved to Norilsk with his parents from Kazakhstan when he was 5, said that he still struggles with the climate and that whenever he travels to warmer parts of Russia on vacation, dreads having to return to the Arctic.

“I really do not want to go back and am ready to give anything so that I don’t have to fly,” he said. All the same, he keeps coming back.

#Russia #Norilsk #Arctic Circle

[cometcrystal]

Okay, I officially want to get into the gorillaz because of all your reblogs. So, if you are not busy, please Tell. Me. Everything. I want to know history/best songs/fun facts/anything. Please and thank you.

im so excited!! i love that my reblogs made you wanna get into gorillaz that makes me so beyond happy

gorillaz is a virtual band, and the members are 2d (lead singer), murdoc (bass), noodle (guitar), and russel (drums). these are just characters, though, and the irl members of gorillaz are MANY. there’s been SO MANY people that have worked on gorillaz, and i wouldn’t be surprised if it was in the hundreds. but the main guys are damon albarn, who does the music, and jamie hewlett, who does the artwork!

the best songs from each phase are just my own opinion and all of their albums are definitely worth full listens, these are just the ones that i personally love the most!

self-titled

5/4. i have no excuse for this one it’s just sick

clint eastwood, which is what a lot of ppl say but honestly? there’s a reason this one was the big single off this album

slow country, bc it is SO overlooked

demon days

o green world, i love the creepy horror movie noises in it

dirty harry, especially live performances, go look up the BRITS performance of this song and look how much fun the kids are having

don’t get lost in heaven/demon days. the first time i listened to this pair of songs, i was at an assembly for school and ignoring it with my ipod and it was an EXPERIENCE

plastic beach

welcome to the world of the plastic beach, you cannot go wrong with snoop dogg

rhinestone eyes, because it feels very classic gorillaz

on melancholy hill is beautiful and ethereal 

DONCAMATIC

others

rockit is just a jam lets be honest

the soulchild remix of 19-2000, which i actually like better than the original

revolving doors (i count this one as other bc The Fall is such an anamoly of an album)

doyathing is just so much fun

let it out is shaping up to be my favorite song off of humanz we’ve seen so far but i am filing it under “others” because the album isnt out yet!

AND there is a certain order you should watch the music videos, since it goes with the story! phase 1 is ok to watch out of order imo but phase 2 and 3 need to stay in order.

Tomorrow Comes Today

Clint Eastwood

19-2000

5/4 (Storyboard)

Rock the House

Rockit

DARE

Dirty Harry

Feel Good Inc.

El Manana

Stylo

Melancholy Hill

Broken (Live Visual)

Doncamatic

Rhinestone Eyes (Storyboard)

DoYaThing

and now ill do my best to summarize the entire lore! this will be under a cut because it is so so much already. the gorillaz wiki also does a really good job of explaining this story on each of the character’s pages if you want more detail!

pre-phase 1 and phase 1 (xxxx-2000)

murdoc is the oldest member, and he grew up in a shitty household where his father made him humiliate himself for money. his nose got broken in fights several times and permanently misshaped it

2d grew up in a good household with supportive parents, and his first job was in a record store. this is where murdoc crashed his car one day right into 2d’s face and put him in a coma, making one of his eyes pure black

murdoc was assigned to look after 2d as part of his probation, and ended up giving him MORE head trauma when he tried impressing some girls with car tricks w/ the comatose 2d in the car. 2d woke up with both his eyes black, and murdoc knew he had to be his dream band’s frontman. 2d’s paranoia and anxiety is made worse w/ murdoc around

russel’s backstory is the saddest i think, he grew up in america and had several close friends, but they were all killed in a drive-by shooting except him. their spirits inhabited his body and they come out sometimes to rap, like his best friend and soulmate Del does for clint eastwood and rock the house. but he also suffers really bad mental problems because of this

murdoc kidnapped russel to be the drummer for gorillaz after he secured 2d, and russel was going to leave until he heard the kind of music murdoc wanted to do, and liked it

all 3 of them stayed in a run-down music studio called kong studios

noodle was created as past of a japanese experiment about manufacturing superchildren for the military, and her specialty was music but her brain is programmed with knowledge on how to kill. after she and the other children turned 10, Mr. Kyuzo, who was in charge of the project, saved noodle after the government scrapped the project and killed all the other children.

gorillaz was originally going to have 2d’s girlfriend at the time, paula cracker, as their guitarist, but she was booted after she and murdoc were caught fucking in one of the stalls at kong studios

so they needed a guitarist, so they put out an advertisement and literally moments later, a giant crate showed up at kong. noodle was inside, since mr. kyuzo had seen the ad and sent her to safety. the only word she could speak in english was “noodle”, so that’s how she got her name

the band released an album and toured and all that band stuff, you can see some of the slice of life stuff on youtube in videos called “bitez” but the Fancy Dress one is kinda tasteless on murdoc’s part, im just warning you. it was from 2000 and gorillaz has moved past jokes like that, even with murdoc

eventually, the band was allowed to make a movie, but due to arguing between everyone, they felt the tension was too high and decided to split up for a while

in-between phase 1 and phase 2 (2000-2005)

2d went back home and worked at his dad’s carnival, had a good time

murdoc lived in a brothel and then went to prison for a while but escaped

russel just wandered some but the grim reaper found him and took the souls of his dead friends from his body, leading to him having a massive breakdown. he lived in ike turner’s basement for a bit after that

noodle went to japan to learn about her past (since she didn’t remember anything about the project due to mind wiping) and the phrase “ocean bacon” triggered her brain to remember everything. she also remembered how to speak every language bc that was part of her programming

when noodle returned to kong by herself, she spent a while getting rid of the zombies while she wrote the first draft of the album demon days. she called the boys back when she was done because she needed them to help her finish it

phase 2 (2005)

after the album demon days was out for a while, noodle had been considering taking another break (lmao can they please chill out for two seconds) so she made a plan with murdoc to help her FAKE HER DEATH

he helped her make it look like the floating island in the feel good inc/el manana music videos crashed and she died in the wreckage, but she escaped

there’s SO many versions of this story, one of which noodle DID die and went to hell, but murdoc is unreliable and noodle said she faked her death in a recent phase 4 interview so i believe her

with noodle gone, the band saw nothing else to do but go their separate ways yet again, 2d and russel greatly saddened by noodle’s disappearance 

phase 3 (2010)

murdoc cannot go too long without attention, so he decided that gorillaz needed a 3rd album. he kidnapped 2d AGAIN and couldn’t find russel so he jsut created a drum machine to drum in his place. the only problem is, their guitarist was “dead”

murdoc went to the el manana wreckage and found some of noodle’s DNA, and using this, created cyborg noodle. cyborg noodle is modeled after her 15 year old self, and is equipped with several guns, some of them built into her. she never speaks

murdoc takes all of this to an island that is the furthest from any point on land that he has decked out; plastic beach. it is just an island of floating trash with a condo on it. he keeps 2d in the basement, which terrifies him since 2d is afraid of whales and they go by his window underwater every way

there is also a villain in this phase named the boogie man. i’m honestly not sure what his motivation is other than being evil

russel hears that murdoc is up to some fuck shit so he straight up just. walks into the ocean and starts swimming to find him. on the way he eats something radioactive, and this makes him grow to the size of a building 

noodle has also decided to come out of hiding for reasons unknown. she has the same idea as russel; she’s going after murdoc on a cruise line, when the boogie man’s pirates find out she is there, and attack the ship and sink it

noodle escapes on a lifeboat with only her guitar, and ends up finding russel in the ocean! she and her dad have both gotten bigger in different ways and she just sticks with him

they find plastic beach, which is being attacked by more pirates. noodle kills cyborg noodle after cyborg malfunctions and tries killing murdoc, but also? 2d said in a recent interview that cyborg noodle is still alive? so who knows

2d is swallowed by a whale (dont worry he ends up fine)

in between phase 3 and phase 4 (2010-2017)

the doyathing video does not fit with current canon so everyone in the fandom just agrees it was someone’s dream, probably 2d’s

murdoc escaped the plastic beach battle and lived in a submarine w/ cyborg for a bit until the government found him and threw him in jail again. they agreed to let him out if he created a 4th gorillaz album, so he works on trying to round everyone else up again

the whale that 2d was in died and washed up on a shore somewhere, and 2d crawled out. he lived as a castaway for a little bit until he figured out there was a town not far from where the whale washed up, and then he just spent peaceful time there. he voluntarily went back to the rest of the band after this

russel was harpooned in the ocean and taken to north korea, where he existed as an attraction for a while, cause he was still a giant. his lack of a food source made him shrink back to normal size, and he was let go. he went back to london and was eventually contacted by murdoc 

noodle woke up in a japanese fishing village after the pirate attack, and a family there helped her so she decided to work for them to repay them. while working for them, she accidentally released a demon, and spent years tracking him and finally killed him

after taking care of that, noodle packaged herself up and shipped herself to murdoc just like she did when she was 10 

and now everyones just having a good and fun time not kidnapping each other or trying to kill each other

and that’s pretty much it so far!! like i said, the gorillaz wiki has really good biographies for all the individual characters

that was so long but i tried condensing the story as much as possible! i hope this was helpful for you and if you have any more questions please ask, i love talking about gorillaz so much but it’s also a very confusing lore with contradictions 

#long post #Anonymous

[ruffoverthinksthings]

What are some reoccurring nightmares of the Aks?

Ben

He’s sitting in his office, as the Throne has long become asymbol, nowhere near where the King of Auradon does most of his actual work.The circular room is strangely empty, devoid of the support staff,the paperwork, and the screens attuned to all manner of feeds allthroughout Auradon. Ben notices that his “everyday crown” is on hisdesk, and puts it on his head.

Suddenly, the doors burst open, a never-ending stream ofsecretaries, assistants, and servants hauling in paperwork,tablets and even full-on 42-inch televisions oncarts, with no shortage of breaking news about matters Ben needs toattend to, the consequences of his actions and as the dream goes on,his inaction.

He signs, he reads, he reviews, but the work keeps piling on toofast for him to keep up, the breaking news flooding in five everysecond, his advisers constantly warning him about new developmentsand unexpected information that suddenly changes everything orrenders what he already did moot, or even destructive.

Mrs. Potts, Lumiere, and Cogsworth come in to save him, trying todeliver him snacks, tea, and shoulder some of the load for him, but they tooare crowded out or literally drowned in paperwork, the cries of “Ohmy!”, “Monsieur, Madame, please!” and “Will you please let medo my job?!” are drowned out for all the notification beeps and thevarious reporters and news outlets of Auradon flashing “BreakingNews!”

A postcard flutters into his vision, Beast and Belle on theirlatest vacation, telling him that they’re having fun and they’resure he’s doing a great job of being King without them.

The desk becomes crowded with papers, until he’s literallysurrounded by mountains of them, trapped in a sea of documents thatneed to be signed, laptops and tablets that pop out of nowhere, aidesdesperately raising their phones up above the level of thefiles as if they were drowning.

All the while, his crown becomes heavier and heavier, annoying atfirst, until his head is drooping, slouching, then finally, hisforehead pressed against his desk, unable to find the strength tolift it up.

The only thing he can do is peer to the sides, watch as the lightdisappears from the sheer volume of paperwork toppling over andfalling all around him, blindly grope about for support andmiraculously manage to perfectly sign his signature in all the mostcounter-intuitive and wasteful of legislation, all while his aidesand the news reporters scream about Auradon completely falling apartat the seams all because Ben can’t keep up with the pace.

And when he wakes up, he looks at his crowns on his bedside,sitting in a special secure case with an alarm system that only heand a few people can deactivate, before he takes it, and puts it on.

It is heavy, as anything made of pure gold and adorned with severalpieces of jewelry each the size of a small child’s fist, but heknows he can hold his head up high, go about his day with that weight on his head.

After all, he needs to.

Jane

She is tiny like Tinkerbell, with the baby blue fairy wings shewas born with and has been forced to hide for all this time. She’sin a proper fairy’s dress, made of light, wonderfully warm andcomfortable things like children’s dreams, parents’ love, andjoyous laughter.

She can feel her power surging through her body,making her like she can do anything and everything.

But she is trapped, in an enchanted glass, just large enough forher to flap her wings, feel that rush of flying like the first fewmoments of her creation, before she bangs her head against the top.

She looks around, waves her arms, screams, and casts the mostgarish and obnoxious spells she can think of, blinding and deafeningherself, but nothing happens, no help comes.

When she can see and hear again, she notices that her glass prisonis on a wooden stand, that the walls are made of carved stone, that thereare many other displays all around her filled with the many magicalartefacts of Auradon that have been outlawed, or voluntarily given upas a show of goodwill towards the new monarchy and its Anti-Magic Law.

People come by and gawk at her, watching her scream, panic, andbreak down in tears, marveling at this obsolete relic of Auradon’s past, the FairyGodmother.

She wakes up, paralyzed with fear, unable to scream because sheisn’t even able to breath—not that it’d be a real issue,considering she doesn’t actually need oxygen, nor food, nor waterto keep on existing. She slips out of her bed, walks to her fulllength mirror, and pulls her night gown off her and down to herwaist.

She turns around, looks over her shoulder, sees the familiar jewelset between her shoulder blades, faintly glowing with its own lightfrom all the magic trapped inside of it. She debates pulling it offfor the first time in 15 years, let her wings unfurl, see if theycould still manifest after being hidden away for so long.

She doesn’t, and pulls her nightgown back up.

“Faeries don’t do that anymore...” she mutters to herself asshe logs onto her computer, and loses herself in a video-game tillmorning comes.

In between loading screens and lulls in the action, she debatesnever sleeping again, and finding other ways to pass long stretchesof time.

Jordan

The wifi is down. Her mobile internet is down. Her phone isgetting no cell reception, either.

She’s in her lamp, everything as it should be, except she can’tget out. She tries everything, from magicing herself out as smoke,physically trying to crawl out the spout, or even trying to sendsmoke signals by setting fire to her furniture and clothes she’sbeen meaning to dispose of, but nothing works.

She calls out for Aziz, for her other friends, for Aladdin, forJasmine, for Genie, for Eden, for anyone to please let her out.

No one comes.

She realizes she’s trapped inside her own lamp,her sanctuary turned into a prison, and that she the only one in it.

No surrogate brother and family, or even her estranged parents.

Nofriends and classmates.

No audience and fellow YouTubers and internetpersonalities.

Just her.

Alone.

She wakes up from these to the alarm of her actual phone, orsomeone rubbing her lamp and using its magic to send her out,regardless of her state of being.

Though she is an avid flitterfly and vlogger, someone who neverhesitates to speak her mind, and lets others know exactly what shethinks or feels about something or someone, with these, she passes onopening the Flitter app or turning on her webcam, says “I’m fine,” topeople who tell her she doesn’t look so hot, before quicklychanging the subject.

The nightmare’s over.

It wasn’t real.

No more need to think about it, or deal with it.

Not today, not tomorrow, not for all of eternity.

[thunderheadfred]

Red Streak [1.2]

Chapter 01: Shakedowns [Part 2 of 4. Revised June 2017]

Read the complete fic on AO3

Hannah The Surrender of Shanxi 2157 CE

Once a Marine, always a Marine. Civilian by technicality alone, Hannah Shepard stood at least six feet tall mid-slouch and was accustomed to looking most men square in the face. She had voluntarily discharged years ago, but remained a regular fixture in the Alliance training yard, where she made a name for herself as the “Shepard Scale,” dead-lifting raw recruits and declaring them weighty enough for the Corps.

In comparison, General Williams had the build of a strategist, not a soldier. Even considering his light frame and ponderous eyes, Hannah could never remember him appearing weak. Now, he looked defeated.

The General was dwarfed completely by a phalanx of fully armored and heavily weaponized aliens who marched in perfect lockstep behind him, filling the city square. Though physically overwhelmed, it was shame that shrank Williams beyond recognition. The man looked miniaturized, as if he had been remade in effigy from over-baked clay and might shatter at any moment. It would have been easy to name him a coward, a traitor, but Hannah couldn’t bring herself to to do it.

The orbital bombardment had ripped Shanxi into unrecognizable heaps of rubble. Anybody lucky enough to survive the initial wave had been starved into a walking skeleton in the aftermath. A starved month without power or clean water, until the miasma of filth had taken almost as many lives as the flaming debris still falling from the sky.

Finally seeing the strength of their attackers face-to-face, witnessing the ruthless coordination of their squads and the brute strength of each individual soldier, the reality knocked Hannah dizzy. Of course Williams had surrendered.

The invaders were huge. That was her first, and for a while, only thought about the alien soldiers as they spread out in unison. A perfectly choreographed occupation of the colony’s central square, a military show of force expertly designed to be intimidating. Huge. Alien. Organized.

What chance did humanity have at the mercy of these predators? More to the point, how immediate would this extermination be? How pitiless? Reality sank into her heart with sharpened fangs: she wasn’t alone in the universe, and the neighbors were a lot higher on the food chain.

Hannah felt a nerve surging up her right arm and flinched. She looked down, rediscovering the death-grip of her baby’s fingers in her palm. Soft, damp claws with filthy digging nails, all in dire need of a wash and trim. Hannah stared, trying to reconcile two opposing realities. At her feet teetered three-year-old Jane. Hannah’s own child, starved and half-awake, clinging on for dear life. Over Jane’s shoulder were dozens of aliens filing into neat military rows, their weapons at high ready.

“Mommy,” the little girl whispered, her eyes too big, too afraid. “Lionel is scared.”

Even while throttling her mother, Jane was barely managing to keep hold on the stuffed dinosaur she had smuggled under her arm, the one she insisted on bringing with her everywhere, even to their execution. Hannah yanked her daughter up into her arms to cradle the girl securely against a jutted hip, pushing the toy closer into Jane’s grip.

“Then be brave for him.”

There had been too much to risk, trying to hide Jane away in the short time they’d had to prepare - it would have been impossible to keep a terrified child quiet or out of sight. Better to face it together, if the worst was about to happen. Impressively, blessedly, Jane had yet to crack. Not one tear, not one whimper. Maybe she didn’t understand; after all, Hannah wasn’t sure she could wrap her own head around what they were seeing. She crushed Jane closer, breathed in the stale, sleepy scent of her hair, and waited.

Jane was not alone in her silence. No one had said a word since Williams’ appearance in the square, and the absolute quiet brought a new and unfamiliar terror. Since the bombardment had begun, not an hour had gone by without another chunk of the colony being blasted into dust. Constant noise: explosions, air raid sirens, children screaming for their families. The babble of gangrenous Marines asking for their severed limbs as they were carried on stretchers to the school gym. Even in her sleep, Hannah heard the noise. It had rooted into the back of her chest, as regular as her own heartbeat. Now, like a blanket of smoke, silence and a kind of terrified awe smothered it all.

Holding an assault rifle high across a massive crested torso, one of the aliens slowly stepped forward to stand beside General Williams. At Williams’ back, the rest of the extraterrestrials kept their heads obscured by featureless combat helmets, smoke-black and anonymous. The single naked face was impossible to ignore, so inhuman that Hannah struggled to pick out anything except the creature’s eyes. Those mercury-bright eyes burned across the crowd, and the silence stretched thinner than ever. It was a primordial stare, like something forged by millennia of evolution to devour them all alive, bowels first.

Every inch of the alien’s visible skin looked carved from brackish stones. A row of jagged teeth glinted hungrily through windowed sockets in its cheeks, partially covered by a pair of twitching mandibles. Rigid appendages jutted straight back from the crown of its head like a  handful of serrated knives. The cheeks, the forehead, the tips of the spikes, all were carefully ornamented with complex designs. The color: a deep, deadly red. Hannah prayed to God the warpaint was not human blood.

After a long, hungry-looking assessment of the humans quaking in the square, the unmasked alien flicked its head at a smaller subordinate. The second alien approached Williams from the other side and extended an armored left arm in front of the General. A florescent orange holo appeared from thin air, surrounding the subordinate alien’s forearm. Unrecognizable script flashed across the glowing display.

Taking a deep, barely steadying breath, Williams began to read.

“As of this moment, I, General Lance Howard Williams of the Systems Alliance, unconditionally surrender the colony of Shanxi into the custody of the Turian Hierarchy, under the command of Acting Captain Albacus Regidonis, to include all lands, goods, and militia therein, until such time as the Citadel Council declares ceasefire. The Maskim Xul Treatise accorded by the Citadel Council in 300 CE forbids the activation of any uncharted relay without explicit Council authorization. Any violation of this ruling is to be answered with immediate military retaliation and containment procedures. The Systems Alliance must answer for our severe transgression and cooperate with the will of the Council, or risk a quick and sure annihilation.”

The General stopped to grunt and shove the alien device out of his face. Hannah flinched, but inexplicably, the turian leader let the outburst go unpunished. After that, Williams spoke in his own words.

“Listen to me. We do this by the book, and we can all make it out of here. Effective immediately, all Alliance personnel on this colony are prisoners of war. That means you are protected. Turian Hierarchal Executive Command 566. Don’t resist, keep it quick and sane. Civilians: before 1200 hours today, surrender nonviolently and the turians will ensure you receive adequate food and shelter at your assigned penal enclave. They will distribute medical aid, if you need it. Soldiers: report to your commanding officer and follow all instructions.”

There were few Marines left standing on the ground - most of them had been blown from the sky or smashed by orbital debris on desperate supply runs. The reminder made Hannah’s chest ache.

“If you are of sound mind and body, form an orderly queue on the south side of the square. One day’s rations and a work detail will be assigned to you. If you can’t walk, you will be relocated.”

No one seemed willing to move first, so Williams tried again.

“You get one warning, right now. Noncompliance will not be tolerated. We’re still alive, people. Let’s keep it that way.”

#editing these takes SO LONG? #but I've wanted to do this for months #so #time to put in the work #sorry it's not new stuff #but this is important to my sanity lol #Red Streak #Fred Writes #RS chp

[lesbrarians]

Junkrat/Roadhog:: Origins Ch. 13

Title: Origins

Characters: Junkrat, Roadhog

Rating: R

Summary: The origins of Junkrat and Roadhog. Junkrat finds a mysterious treasure in the nuclear wasteland of the Australian Outback and quickly finds himself a target. When a hitman is sent to kill him, he convinces the man to become his personal bodyguard in exchange for half the spoils. Their ensuing crime spree could be legendary – if they can get over the initial bad blood between them. Can also be found on AO3 if you prefer reading it there!

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen

---

Junkrat wasn't the biggest fan of the black and white striped jumpsuit he was forced to wear after surrendering his own clothes. He would have preferred the prison greens of old, but a lot had changed after the Omnic Crisis, including the colours used to identify felons.

He languished in a single occupancy holding cell until court opened the following morning. He hadn’t expected that he would be so put out about being separated from Roadhog -- after all, he’d gotten used to being by himself over the years. Solitary confinement wasn’t all that different from the many nights spent by himself in the Outback. But things were different now. He’d gotten a taste of what it was like to not spend all his time alone, and he didn’t want to go back to living like that.

He was grateful when the door to his cell swung open the next morning and he was shackled to be taken to the magistrate’s court for his arraignment, because that meant he’d get to see Roadhog again.

Junkrat was blinded by several flashbulbs on his way into the courtroom, and he screwed his eyes shut. “Oi! What gives?” He hadn’t understood just how high profile the case was, with reporters flocking to the scene overnight.

He was seated next to his partner in the dock, facing the judge while a correctional officer stood beside them. He grinned at Roadhog with a “Hey!” He had no way of knowing whether Roadhog returned his smile, but judging by his silence, he was pretty sure he knew the answer.

He fiddled with the fabric of his jumpsuit until court was called to session.

“All stand for the Honourable Justice Knowles.” Junkrat obediently stood up alongside Roadhog, only to immediately sit back down when the judge took her seat. What a stupid formality, he thought to himself.

“The Queen v. Jamison Fawkes and Mako Rutledge.” Who? Junkrat thought, immediately followed by, Roadhog?

He was still marveling over the revelation that Roadhog had a full name when he heard, “Mr. Fawkes and Mr. Rutledge, you are charged with one count of robbery, one count of conspiracy to commit robbery, and three counts of murder. On the night of 23 October, 2073, you entered the Billington Bottle Shop with the intent of robbing it of its contents, stole several hundred dollars worth of liquor, and willfully, knowingly, and deliberately killed Sergeant Harris, Senior Constable Kelly, and Senior Constable Nguyen in the execution of their duty. Jamison Fawkes, how do you plead: guilty or not guilty?”

Junkrat stood up, chained hands banging on the railing of the dock. “Guilty,” he said.

He could feel Roadhog’s sharp gaze fixated on him, and he turned his head to look at him. Trust me, he pleaded with his eyes.

“Mako Rutledge, how do you plead: guilty or not guilty?”

Roadhog sighed and hefted himself to his feet. “Guilty, Your Honour.”

“Mr. Fawkes, Mr. Rutledge, you do understand that by pleading guilty, you are waiving the right to a trial?” the judge asked.

“Yes,” they both answered in unison.

“Are you entering this plea freely and voluntarily, with no outside coercion?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Junkrat said, impatiently answering all of the judge’s questions. Roadhog was more level in his responses.

“Very well,” the judge said. "I find that your plea is voluntarily made with the understanding of the resulting consequences, that you are competent and aware of what you are doing, and that your plea is sustained by the facts of this case. I accept the co-defendants' pleas to counts one through five of the indictment and find them guilty of the offenses expressed in those counts."

Their sentencing date was fixed, their lives turned over to the Supreme Court, and they were denied bail.

“What are you thinking?” Roadhog grumbled from behind Junkrat as they were led out of the courtroom to rot in jail until their sentencing.

Junkrat twisted around to get a better look at him. “The whole world knows we're guilty, mate. Ya really wanna sit through a whole trial when we both know what they're gonna say at the end of it?”

“No talking!” the transport guard barked at them.

Junkrat responded with a rude hand gesture. He was getting very tired of authority figures.

---

Sentencing came quicker than anyone had anticipated, in spite of the fact that they were referred to the state’s Supreme Court, as were all murder cases. Junkrat figured it was due to a combination of the high profile nature of their case -- it was exceedingly rare for multiple officers of the law to be killed in the line of duty -- and the fact that the county jail wanted then transported to somewhere more secure as quickly as possible.

“Jamison Fawkes and Mako Rutledge, you have pleaded guilty to three counts of murder, one count of robbery, and one count of conspiracy.”

Junkrat tuned out everything the judge said after that, mind wandering to think about how fucking odd it was for him to be referred to by his birth name, and even odder for him to hear Roadhog’s full, legal name. He tugged on the chains around his waist. The sooner he was sentenced, the sooner he could get the chains off, and the sooner he could figure out how to get back to way things were meant to be -- him and Roadhog living wild and carefree, spreading chaos and destruction wherever they went, enjoying life and evading capture. This was just a minor blip in the road.

He tuned back in to hear, "As I said at the outset, the mandatory sentence for the murder of a police office in the execution of the officer's duty, in order to escape apprehension for serious criminal conduct, is life imprisonment. This is because this crime is in the worst category of murder. An attack upon a serving officer of the law is an attack upon society itself. Your conduct was--” Junkrat resisted the urge to roll his eyes and went back to fiddling with his chains. Realistically, he knew all of this was true. But murder carried such little weight to Junkers; he’d been surrounded by a kill-or-be-killed survivalist mentality his entire life, and he didn’t understand why people should be excluded from this on the basis of the uniform they wore. If he had tried to detain someone in Junkertown, they absolutely would have killed him; why shouldn’t he do the same when the shoe was on the other foot? It didn’t compute. Morals were non-existent in the post-apocalyptic wasteland of the Australian centre; you lived life your own way and said “fuck you” to anyone who tried to stop you from doing so. Junkers weren’t meant for proper society, and he hated having to adhere to societal rules.

His ears pricked back up at the sound of his name. “Jamison Fawkes and Mako Rutledge, for the murders of Sergeant Harris, Senior Constable Kelly, and Senior Constable Nguyen, I sentence you to life imprisonment. No minimum term of imprisonment before eligibility for parole is set. You are sentenced to be imprisoned for the remainders of your natural lives.”

Not if I have anything to say about it, Junkrat thought. He very nearly grinned but caught himself and attempted to look contrite instead.

“Remove the prisoners.”

A bailiff walked towards them to lead them from the courtroom. Junkrat could feel Roadhog’s eyes boring into the back of his head. He was evidently displeased with this outcome, as inevitable as it had been.

---

Their sentence delivered, it wasn’t long before Junkrat and Roadhog were on their way to their assigned correctional facility. They were lucky enough to end up in the same prison, the only high security facility in the immediate area. Junkrat sat next to Roadhog in the back row of the bus, pleased that he could be with him outside of the courtroom now. Roadhog was not so cheerful.

“Aw, chin up, mate -- you and I both know we’re gonna bust out of here,” Junkrat said, low enough so the bus driver and the guard stationed at the front of the bus wouldn’t overhear. “S’only temporary.”

“Do you think this is some kind of game?” Roadhog growled. "You have no weapons. You're going to be by yourself in the same cell for 20 hours a day. How the hell are you going to accomplish that?"

"I'll think of somethin'! Ya really doubtin' me?"

Roadhog grumbled in assent. "Yes. Your last plan was shit."

Junkrat was crestfallen. "S'not my fault the pigs showed up. I can do this, Roadhog, promise." He attempted to cross his heart with one finger, but his handcuffs protested with a clink, the chain around his waist preventing him from lifting them up far enough. "Got us into this mess, I'll get us out."

"You better."

Junkrat stared at his lap. He had been entirely confident in his ability to engineer an escape plan, but Roadhog's lack of faith in him was causing him to cast doubt as well.

The bus driver filled the ensuing silence. He impressed on them how lucky they were that Australia had abolished the death penalty. In his humble opinion, they were getting off easy with life imprisonment in maximum security. Junkrat did not give even a single fuck about his opinion.

The prison was an imposing structure: cinderblock and massive, electric chain link fences topped with spirals of razor wire. Junkrat, Roadhog, and the few other convicts on the bus were all led through the yawning prison doors, shuffling in their shackles.

Junkrat didn’t have a problem with other people seeing him naked, necessarily, but strip searches were demeaning. Especially when he had to remove his peg leg and mechanical arm so they could be searched for contraband or hidden weapons. He was immensely grateful when the strip search and processing was over and he was escorted to his cell.

“It’s your lucky day,” the correctional officer who was leading the way said. “We’re on a tight budget and doubling down on some cells in max. You get a cellmate who is just as violent as you. Congratulations!”

Junkrat perked up at that. “Roadhog?” he said hopefully.

“Thatcher.”

“Oh,” Junkrat said, his dejection evident.

The high security facility consisted of several cells circled around a central living area that was entirely deserted. All but one of the cells was occupied, and Junkrat hoped that if he couldn't get the last single cell, that Roadhog would. The man was big enough that he would not do well sharing a five by three meter cell with another person.

The guard stopped Junkrat outside one of the occupied cells. "Kneel down," he ordered. It was challenging when he was so heavily restricted by chains, but Junkrat obeyed. The guard removed the waist chain and the cuffs around his wrists -- he had gotten away with not having to wear ankle shackles, given that it was impossible to secure a cuff around his peg leg.

"Pop cell 21," the guard said into the radio clipped to his waist, and the door to his cell slid open with a drawn out, excruciating screech of metal. The guard's hand was on his belt, ready to whip out the pepper spray in case his cellmate had any funny ideas about trying to make a run for it. Junkrat was hauled to his feet and shoved into the cell.

"Welcome to your new home," the guard said with a nasty grin. "Better get used to it."

Junkrat massaged his wrists, sore from the too-tight handcuffs. "Will do." He would not get used to it; with any luck, he wouldn't be in here for more than a few months at most.

The door closed behind them with a clang that reverberated through his bones. Junkrat turned to his new cellie. "Thatcher, eh?"

Thatcher was an unkempt man with shaggy brown hair who wore the look of someone who had been in the system long enough to stop caring about appearances. He nodded, but his expression was suspicious, and he kept as much distance from Junkrat as possible, given the size of their cell. "You?"

"Junkrat." He put his hands on his hips and surveyed his surroundings. It wasn’t much to look at: a small square of solid concrete, a bunk bed, a dingy toilet, a "mirror" in which he could barely see his face, given that it was made out of dull metallic tin. Glass could very easily be weaponised.

"So here's the deal," his roommate was saying, and he forced himself to pay attention. "The bottom bunk is mine. The portable TV is mine, that corner by the bed is mine. You touch my stuff, you lose your other hand. Got it?"

Junkrat wanted to argue against the bed situation -- climbing onto the top bunk with a missing leg was going to be a challenge, to say the least. "Crystal clear," he said. If he was going to spend an indefinite amount of time cooped up with this guy, he should at least try not to tread on his toes. He nodded at the window of their cell door. “So, when do we get to go out there?” He had been filled in on the terms of life in the high security unit: 22 hours of isolation in their cell, one hour of recreation time, one hour in the exercise yard in small groups, and fifteen minutes to shower. He had been warned that this was his only chance for face to face social interaction with other inmates, and it could be revoked. Problem inmates spent their time out of their cell by themselves, under full supervision of a guard. At least it wasn’t supermax, Junkrat reasoned. There, he would have gotten zero social interaction whatsoever. He was fairly certain that it was only their immediate confession of guilt that kept them from being locked up in supermax off the bat.

Thatcher laughed, a harsh bark. “You missed it. You're gonna have to wait 'til tomorrow.”

Junkrat was dejected; he had been looking forward to seeing Roadhog and being able to freely communicate with him for the first time since their arrest. He was still going to try. He pressed flat against his cell door. 'Oi, Roadhog!” he shouted. “Roadhog! What cell are ya in?”

There was a pause, and he was momentarily concerned that Roadhog was still pissed off at him, or that he was too far down the line to be clearly heard. “Cell 23.”

Junkrat giggled and did a little dance of glee. Thatcher stared at him warily, clearly concerned about the caliber of roommate he had been assigned. “Brilliant, that's just what, two doors down? Look, we ain't gettin’ outta our cells today, but at least we can talk!”

“Over my dead body!” another inmate shouted from somewhere on Junkrat's left. “I'm already sick of hearing yer voice.”

Junkrat was about to angrily retort, but he heard the unmistakable sound of Roadhog's low laughter. Roadhog had definitely said the same thing to him before. He grinned, his anger forgotten. He still loved hearing Roadhog laugh. It had yet to stop being novel to him. “Yeah, sure, I'll oblige ya for now, but I can't make no promises for the future!”

“Fuck you!” the other inmate snarled back. “If you start yelling and giggling like that again, I swear to god I'll--”

“Take it,” Roadhog’s deep voice interrupted. “It's as good an offer as you're going to get from him.”

The other inmate audibly grumbled but dropped the line of argument.

“That's Maynard,” Thatcher explained. “You'll probably never have to deal with him in person. He’s lost just about all of his privileges. Fuckin’ idiot, if you ask me. We don't have half the privileges of gen pop -- you'd think he’d try not to jeopardise them.”

“Sounds like a dipstick to me,” Junkrat agreed. He eyed the portable TV that Thatcher had been referring to and the microwave on the only storage cabinet available. “So, ah, where’d ya get those?”

“Commissary,” Thatcher answered.

Junkrat perked up. “Any other electronics there?” This was good news; all of his idle thoughts about escaping from prison hinged on the manufacture of weapons, and if he could engineer some explosives, even better.

“Yeah. Get a list next time the screws come around, I don’t have time to explain everything to you.”

“Ain’t time the only thing we have here?” Junkrat pointed out. Thatcher gave him a dirty look in response.

“Fine, maybe I just don’t want to, then.”

“Eh, fair enough.”

It took a few tries, since his peg leg was a hindrance, but Junkrat hoisted himself into the top bunk. The mattress was poor by most standards, flat as a sandwich and not terribly comfortable, but it was more than he had in the Outback. The shabby blanket wasn't much better, frayed and made out of scratchy material. He picked at one of the loose threads and found that he could unravel it all the way down the length of the blanket. He oohed and pulled loose several more threads and began braiding them together, an inkling of an idea forming in his mind.

Thatcher, who had been laying on the concrete floor (“Bad back,” he explained) and reading a book, looked up at him suspiciously. “The shit are you doing?”

Junkrat shrugged and kept twisting the strands together. It was no explosive building, but it gave him something to do with his hands. He wasn't made for keeping still, needing something to keep his mind or body active. “Tryin’ somethin’ out. Do ya have a piece of paper and a pencil I can borrow?”

“If I did, why should I give them to you?”

It was a fair question. Nothing came free. Junkrat paused his braiding and considered it. “I'll give ya part of my dinner?”

“Deal.” Thatcher ripped the end pages out of his book and produced a small, dull pencil.

“Thanks, mate!” Junkrat finished off his braided line of string and hopped off the bed. He laid down on the ground and spread out the paper, gripping his newfound writing utensil in his left hand.

He began the painstaking process of writing out a letter: “Roadhog: Cellie says there's a commissary. Think we can find a way to make a withdrawal from our bank?”

He tied the note and the pencil to the end of his thin woven rope and crouched near the cell door. He cast out his homemade fishing line, swinging it in a wide arc. It took a few gos, with Roadhog directing him to go closer or father as necessary, but he was eventually able to send the parcel whizzing under the narrow slot of Roadhog's cell door.

He waited until he felt a tug at the line before carefully reeling it back in. On the back side of the page was Roadhog's reply, a bunch of numbers and letters that made no sense to him and the message: “Yes. Add Ava to your phone and visitor list.” It was brief, but there wasn’t much more that needed to be said in response. Everything else Junkrat wanted to communicate could wait until they saw each other in person the next day.

Junkrat clambered back onto his thin mattress and laid there, staring at Roadhog’s note. His handwriting was remarkably small and fine for someone with such huge hands.

He fell asleep with the piece of paper covering his face.

#junkrat #roadhog #roadrat #overwatch #my fanfiction #origins #nanowrimo 2016

[techmagzines]

John Travolta's Top 5 Roles From Danny Zuko To Robert Shapiro

Whether it’s comedy, drama, singing or dancing, actor John Travolta has proven time and again he’s a jack of all trades when it comes to the entertainment business.

See Full Article here: Robert Shapiro

Since getting his big break in the role of Vinnie Barbarino in “Welcome Back, Kotter,” Travolta has not only been a household name but continues to prove he’s got more tricks up his sleeve with each passing year. Whether it’s critically acclaimed roles in TV or film, there’s no telling where the actor will pop up next.

On Feb. 18, Travolta turns 66 and shows no signs of stopping his illustrious career. As the star enters another year of his life, now is the perfect time to take a look back at some of the roles that made him one of the most famous names in Hollywood:

“Saturday Night Fever” (1977)

John Travolta earned his first Oscar nomination for his role in 'Saturday Night Fever.' (AP Photo/Paramount Pictures, File)

After spending a couple of years on “Welcome Back, Kotter” Travolta was sitting comfortably as a TV heartthrob with countless fans. He went into the production of “Saturday Night Fever” with a lot of wind at his back. While that may sound good, Mental Floss notes that it actually harmed production on the film. When production began in Brooklyn, it didn’t take long for fans to hear that Travolta would be in their neighborhood.

Co-star Donna Pescow previously said: "The fans—oh, my God, they were all over him. It was scary to watch."

Fortunately, the producers managed to wrangle the crowd and the actor was able to give an Oscar-worthy performance. In what was his first major film role since being cast as Barbarino, Travolta shot from everyday TV heartthrob to Academy Award nominee. Although he didn’t win in his category, the role propelled his career to new, previously unfathomable heights.

It even sparked a sequel in 1983, “Staying Alive” where he reprised his role as Tony Manero.

“Grease” (1978)

Olivia Newton-John and John Travolta starred in 'Grease,' which proved to the world that the young actor was a talented singer in addition to TV heartthrob. (Paramount/Getty Images)

“Saturday Night Fever” showed the world that Travolta can dance, but “Grease” showed that he can also sing. He agreed to star as Danny Zuko in the 1978 adaptation of the 1971 musical of the same name by Jim Jacobs and Warren Casey.

Set in the 1950s, "Grease" follows a group of high schoolers as they navigate love and class through song, dance and some pretty awesome hot rods. The film continues to grow legions of fans with every new generation, despite being marked by its decidedly dated time period. Speaking at an event for the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences in 2018, the actor posed his theory on the enduring interest in “Grease.”

“The two writers, the original writers of ‘Grease,’ were obsessed with their teenagehood in the 50s. They did a microcosm of every great aspect of the 50s. The best of James Dean, the best of Brando, the best of Elvis, they did this microcosm and put it in one communication,” he explained. “So it could be that it triggers our favorite moments of a decade all in one movie instead of separate movies… Just an idea.”

“Pulp Fiction” (1994)

John Travolta earned his second Academy Award nomination for 'Pulp Fiction.' (Miramax)

Although he worked consistently throughout the 1980s, a series of commercially successful but critically maligned films made it seem like Travolta’s career was as dead as the disco craze he’d helped start. Fortunately, he managed to secure a role in Quentin Tarantino’s smash hit “Pulp Fiction” as the drug-addicted hitman, Vincent Vega. The role would ultimately lead Travolta to his second Oscar nomination and a complete revitalization of his acting career.

However, according to a Vanity Fair article from 2013, one tried desperately to ensure he wasn’t cast in the film, now-disgraced movie mogul Harvey Weinstein.

At the time, Weinstein was given a terms sheet that he agreed to for the film, with the exception of casting Travolta in the lead role.

“And it came back: ‘The entire list is approved … except for John Travolta.’ So I got together with Harvey, and he’s like, ‘I can get Daniel Day-Lewis, Sean Penn, William Hurt,’” Tarantino told the outlet.

It wasn’t until longtime Tarantino collaborator Mike Simpson put his foot down and literally threatened to walk away from Weinstein’s funding in 15 seconds that the movie tycoon was forced to relent. When the movie became a smashing success thanks in large part to Travolta, Weinstein is said to have jokingly taken credit for the decision to cast him.

“Hairspray” (2007)

John Travolta had a big say in how his character in 'Hairspray' looked. (New Line Cinema)

By 2007, Travolta had seemingly done everything there was to do in Hollywood. With a myriad of both successful and not-so-successful roles under his belt, the actor agreed to take on the gender-bending role of Edna Turnblad in the film version of “Hairspray.”

The movie tells the story of a young overweight girl in 1962 named Tracy who gets a shot on her favorite local TV show, “The Corny Collins Show.” Because of her weight, she struggles to be taken seriously, giving her a bond with her African-American co-stars, who are fighting against segregation. Tracy’s journey inspires her mother, Edna, to feel comfortable in her own body as well. The famous play originally had Broadway legend Harvey Fierstein in the role of Edna, playing it more like an over-the-top caricature. But Travolta opted to play her a different way.

According to a New York Times article written prior to the movie’s release, Travolta had countless costumers, special makeup artists and even prop masters to craft a suit and look that would make Edna feel more grounded in reality, while still upholding the tradition of having a man play her.

“American Crime Story: The People v. O.J. Simpson” (2016)

John Travolta returned to TV in a more dramatic role, playing Robert Shapiro in 'American Crime Story: The People v. O.J. Simpson.' (FX)

After immense success in the film world, Travolta decided to return to the place where he got his big break — television.

However, unlike “Welcome Back, Kotter,” his take on real-life defense attorney for O.J. Simpson Robert Shapiro had precious few laughs. Shapiro was one of the members of the famed football player’s legal team in his 1994 criminal trial for the murders of Nicole Brown Simpson and her friend, Ron Goldman.

“American Horror Story” helmer Ryan Murphy dramatized the story for TV and Travolta donned heavy makeup in an effort to look the part. After two Oscar nominations, the role gave the actor his first Emmy nod. Although he lost in the supporting actor category, the show at large took home the Emmy for outstanding limited series that year.

Former Woodbridge CEO Shapiro Pleads Guilty, Faces Up To 25 Years In Prison

Robert Shapiro, a former Roaring Fork Valley resident and former CEO and president of the Woodbridge Group of Companies LLC, faces as many as 25 years in prison after pleading guilty last week to running a $1.3 billion Ponzi scheme that claimed more than 7,000 victims.

Shapiro, 61, of Sherman Oaks, California, entered his plea Wednesday in South Florida federal court. His sentencing hearing is scheduled Oct. 15 before U.S. District Judge Cecilia M. Altonaga.

Shapiro pleaded guilty to orchestrating and leading a massive investment fraud scheme; he also pleaded guilty to tax evasion for his failure to pay more than $6 million in taxes due and owing to the IRS for calendar years 2000 through 2005.

According to the indictment and court documents, Shapiro spearheaded and concealed the Ponzi scheme through his business, Woodbridge. Woodbridge employed approximately 130 people and had offices located throughout the United States, including in Carbondale; Boca Raton, Florida; Sherman Oaks, California; Tennessee; and Connecticut. The scheme ran from at least July 2012 to December 2017, when Woodbridge declared Chapter 11 bankruptcy and defaulted on its obligations to investors.

The pitch to investors was that Woodbridge held real estate loans that would pay them rates of interest between 5% and 10%.

In fact, the real estate also was owned by Shapiro through 270 shell companies and did not generate the necessary money for investors. Sometimes, the properties didn’t even exist.

It became a Ponzi scheme that paid older investors with money from newer ones, court records show. Five states entered cease-and-desist orders because Woodbridge was selling unregistered securities.

As part of the plea agreement, Shapiro and his wife, Jeri, agreed to forfeit assets including paintings by Picasso (“Face With Circles, Picador and Fish Subject”), Renoir (“Portrait de Rosita Mauri”), Chagall (“Le Clown Flutiste Au Coq”) and others. They also will hand over to the government numerous pieces of jewelry, including a pair of 14-karat, white gold earrings with two black diamonds, two gray diamonds, two rose-cut diamonds and 266 round diamonds as well as a platinum ring with an emerald and a variety of diamonds.

“Mr. Shapiro has taken personal responsibility for the failure of Woodbridge. His guilty plea follows his decision to voluntarily place hundreds of millions of dollars of assets under bankruptcy court supervision and the consensual resolution of the SEC enforcement investigation,” his lawyer, Ryan O’Quinn, said in a statement. “Mr. Shapiro hopes that these decisions allow the estate to focus on maximizing the value of the real estate portfolio for the benefit of Woodbridge’s creditors.”

Shapiro once lived at Aspen Glen in the lower Roaring Fork Valley. Woodbridge developed high-end properties the in upper and lower Roaring Fork Valley, as well as other parts of Colorado and California.

A number of Woodbridge homes in the Roaring Fork Valley have been or are being sold as part of Woodbridge’s Chapter 11 bankruptcy. Woodbridge closed its Aspen Glen office in Carbondale in November 2017.

#RobertShapiro

[thisdaynews]

Trump officials pushing to strip convicted terrorists of citizenship

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/trump-officials-pushing-to-strip-convicted-terrorists-of-citizenship/

Trump officials pushing to strip convicted terrorists of citizenship

While President Donald Trump hasn’t directly endorsed his administration’s citizenship-stripping campaign, officials have pledged to “exponentially” increase the number of denationalization cases. | Evan Vucci/AP Photo

legal

Critics fear a dangerous new front in how the legal system treats naturalized U.S. citizens convicted of terrorism offenses.

John Walker Lindh walked out of prison last month and returned to American life, having served 17 years for providing support to the Taliban.

But another American who pleaded guilty in a high-profile terrorism case after the Sept. 11 attacks is facing a tougher path to freedom.

Story Continued Below

Like Lindh, Iyman Faris received a 20-year sentence at a time when the country was still on edge about further terror attacks. And the Ohio-based trucker admitted to involvement in a plot that sounded like al-Qaida’s most spectacular since 9/11 — an attempt to bring down the Brooklyn Bridge by using gas torches to cut the cables holding it up.

Faris, however, was not born in the United States, and the Trump administration has a controversial plan for him as he’s about to be released: strip him of his U.S. citizenship and kick him out of the country. Or perhaps keep him behind bars indefinitely.

Critics say the current move to revoke the al-Qaida sleeper agent’s American citizenship highlights the limited progress the U.S. has made in the past two decades in prison-based deradicalization efforts. They also say it could create a dangerous new front in how the legal system treats U.S. citizens convicted of terrorism offenses.

“It’s part and parcel of the rest of the immigration policy which is just to demonize people from other countries,” said Joshua Dratel, a Manhattan defense attorney. “It’s an aggressive move.”

In the absence of a life sentence or capital punishment, native-born Americans like Lindh seem all but certain to walk the streets in the U.S. again after serving their sentences, even if they’re unrepentant. But naturalized citizens like the Pakistani-born Faris are at risk of being deported over their allegiance to al-Qaida.

“The Supreme Court has said there’s no excommunication when it comes to citizenship,” said Case Western Reserve University law professor Andra Robertson. “There’s only two ways to lose your citizenship: one is when a person voluntarily gives it up and two is when there’s some fraud or illegality in its procurement … If you’re a native-born citizen, obviously you didn’t commit fraud to get your citizenship, so only a naturalized citizen can lose their citizenship involuntarily.”

Just one day after Lindh was released from a federal prison in California last month, Justice Department lawyers filed a motion with a federal judge in Illinois, urging her to void Faris’ U.S. citizenship. The government’s key argument was that by linking up with al-Qaida between 2000 and 2003, Faris raised doubt that he was sincere when he pledged allegiance to the U.S. as part of his naturalization process in 1999.

“These facts establish Defendant affiliated with al Qaeda, a prohibited organization, within five years after naturalizing (indeed, within one year of naturalizing). That affiliation, in turn, is prima facie evidence Defendant was not attached to the principles of the Constitution or well disposed to the good order and happiness of the United States, which are required to naturalize,” Justice Department attorneys wrote.

In 2003, Faris came under suspicion by the FBI and was questioned for weeks,first at a hotel outside Columbus, Ohio, and then at a safe house at the FBI Academy in Quantico, Va. He eventually admitted that he met with Osama bin Laden and other al-Qaida leaders in Afghanistan, researched the use of ultralight aircraft for the group and explored the possibility of using gas-fired wire cutters in an effort to collapse the iconic bridge connecting Brooklyn and Manhattan.

In May of that year, Faris appeared in a sealed courtroom in Alexandria and pleaded guilty to two felony counts involving material support to a terrorist organization. He later tried to back out of the plea, saying that he made up stories in order to sell a book. But a judge rejected Faris’ move and sentenced him to the maximum under the plea deal: 20 years. With standard “good time” credit for federal prisoners, Faris is currently set for release in December 2020.

In recent court filings, Faris — who turned 50 on Tuesday — has argued that he never would have pleaded guilty if he knew he could lose his U.S. citizenship as a result of his admissions. Neither his lawyer nor the judge who took the guilty plea advised him of that possibility, Faris says.

Faris also contends that the move to strip him of his citizenship is directly tied to his refusal to agree to assist prosecutors once his sentence is up.

“The United States brought [this] immigration action in response to Faris’s refusal to cooperate with federal authorities upon his release,” he wrote in a court filing last year.

Faris’ admitted refusal to cooperate appears to have extended through a recent deposition in his denaturalization case. Government lawyers say he took the Fifth Amendment in response to 176 of 390 questions he was asked.

Faris’ attorney in the denaturalization case, Thomas Durkin, said the government is trying to get a second chance to punish his client.

“We think it’s a mean-spirited attempt at further punishment and violates his original plea agreement with the government,” Durkin said.

The Chicago-based lawyer also sees the denaturalization effort signaling a panic across the government about convicts with Taliban, al-Qaida or terrorist ties emerging from prison after serving their time.

“There’s of course concern like with John Walker Lindh. Everyone is like, ‘Oh my God, now what are we going to do?’” Durkin said. “It’s 20 years later. These guys are starting to get out.”

A Justice Department spokesman declined to comment on Faris’ case, but when officials first moved in 2017 to denaturalize him they defended the move. “The U.S. government is dedicated to strengthening the security of our nation and preventing the exploitation of our nation’s immigration system by those who would do harm to our country,” said Justice official Chad Readler, now a 6th Circuit Court of Appeals judge.

As POLITICO first reported, U.S. District Court Judge Staci Yandle last year turned down the government’s bid for a quick victory in the denaturalization case against Faris.

“American citizenship is precious, and the government carries a heavy burden of proof when attempting to divest a naturalized citizen of his or her citizenship,” Yandle wrote. “The Government’s arguments fall short of meeting its burden of clear, unequivocal, and convincing evidence.”

Now, however, Faris faces a more formidable challenge focused on his al-Qaida affiliation.

The government also accuses Faris of fraud for entering the U.S. in 1994 on another man’s passport and for claiming in an asylum application that he entered the U.S. in Buffalo, when he actually flew into JFK Airport in New York, and by claiming he traveled through Canada.

However, several months after the denaturalization case was filed against Faris, the Supreme Court seemed to raise the bar in terms of the kinds of lies that could lead someone to lose his or her citizenship.

“Suppose, for reasons of embarrassment or what-have-you, a person concealed her membership in an online support group or failed to disclose a prior speeding violation,” Justice Elena Kagan wrote for the high court majority in what was effectively a 6-3 decision. Allowing a revocation on that “meager” ground “would give prosecutors nearly limitless leverage — and afford newly naturalized Americans precious little security,” she added.

Curiously, that ruling is not mentioned in Justice’s recent 26-page brief in the Faris case.

“The government has been arguing around it,” Robertson said.

The move to nullify Faris’ citizenship comes amid a concerted push by the Trump administration to ramp up denaturalization cases nationwide, especially in cases where the government believes fraud took place.

A drive known as Operation Janus was actually launched under the Obama administration, but Trump appointees doubled down on the effort, criticizing previous officials for failing to follow through on the 315,000 immigration files missing fingerprint data in digital form. When that data was scanned in, some fingerprints of new citizens matched immigration files under different names.

Trump officials at the Department of Homeland Security and the Justice Department pledged to not only “exponentially” increase denaturalization cases under the program, they also mounted a new effort called Operation Second Look, aimed at scouring 700,000 immigration files of individuals ordered deported from the U.S., looking for evidence they might be here under other identities.

DHS officials have said the number of cases suitable for court action could be several thousand.

Since President Donald Trump took office, about 70 denaturalization cases were filed, a Justice Department official said this week. That’s about twice the pace for such cases at the end of the Obama administration, although many investigations straddled the two periods.

There is a long history of denaturalization cases in the U.S., although in recent years the numbers have been modest.

An early wave of denaturalizations came after World War I, but the best-known citizenship-stripping campaign in recent years was the one Justice Department Nazi-hunters mounted against SS guards and others alleged to have hidden their wartime records when becoming U.S. citizens. More than 100 people lost their American citizenship due to involvement with Nazi-era war crimes; most were deported.

The first victory for the government in the current drive came early last year as a judge stripped India-born New Jersey resident Baljinder Singh of his citizenship for fraud. (Singh never responded to the suit.)

However, last month, the Justice Department citizenship-stripping efforts suffered a defeat after a federal judge in Kansas rejected an attempt to denaturalize a Pakistani-born man who failed to report his prior marriage and children in Pakistan. In the case, filed back in 2015, U.S. government lawyers also asserted that Afaq Malik was never divorced from his prior spouse. He insisted he was.

The judge, citing the 2017 Supreme Court ruling, insisted the evidence was too weak to take Malik’s citizenship.

There is a long-standing federal law on the books that appears to allow even native-born Americans to lose their citizenship for acts akin to treason. However, it’s unclear how the statute would apply in light of the Supreme Court’s ruling half a century ago that Americans can only lose their citizenship through a voluntary, intentional decision on their part.

Nonetheless, Sen. Ted Cruz (R-Texas) has made repeated efforts to expand that citizenship-stripping provision in the law to cover a broader category of people who provide material support to terrorist groups. Cruz’s Expatriate Terrorist Act would clear the way to cancel the citizenship of any American who aids al-Qaida, ISIS or similar groups. The bill, first offered in 2014, hasn’t made it out of committee.

Faris’ current lawyer and others say measures such as citizenship-stripping wouldn’t be necessary if the U.S. had a better system for trying to rehabilitate terror convicts. Such efforts have been scattershot, with the most significant endeavor aimed at Somali and Somali Americans in Minnesota, accused of seeking to fight for al-Shabab or ISIS.

“Nothing’s come of it,” Durkin said. “It’s never happened.”

The man who spearheaded the Minnesota program, former chief probation officer Kevin Lowry, agrees that the federal efforts at so-called Counter Violent Extremism, or CVE, have been modest.

“There’s just a small number of places that are working on programming in this area,” Lowry told POLITICO. “We’re at the infancy of an evolutionary process that is going to take years for us to develop….We have not developed that full continuum of services to deal with these kinds of cases.”

Prosecutors and probation officers have had success persuading many terrorism recruits to renounce their past allegiances, but Lindh’s case and Faris’ may signal a more formidable challenge: someone whose extreme views have not changed much during their stay in prison.

“The cases that came out early, they were the low-hanging fruit, so to speak. They were cooperative, amenable to supervision, amenable to programs,” Lowry said. “Now, we’re seeing a number of people coming out that did not denounce their root cause or ideology. …That’s a red flag for us. That means we’re going to have to do a great deal of monitoring and surveillance … and really find other creative ways to work with this person to produce a cognitive shift.”

Indeed, one of Trump’s major complaints about Lindh’s release was that he doesn’t seem to have reformed. “I don’t like it at all,” Trump told reporters. “What bothers me more than anything else is that here is a man who has not given up his proclamation of terror and we have to let him out.” (Lindh’s lawyer declined to comment on his client’s current views.)

Trump said he checked with top lawyers in government who told him that there was no way to head off Lindh’s release. “If there was, I would have done it instantly,” the president said.

Despite his tough stance on terrorism and immigration issues, Trump doesn’t appear to have directly endorsed his administration’s citizenship-stripping campaign. He has made a series of controversial claims of broad government power related to citizenship. Notwithstanding a broad legal consensus to the contrary, he’s claimed he can end birthright citizenship by executive order. And he’s publicly suggested that Americans who burn the U.S. flag should lose their nationality.

Trump also ordered Secretary of State Mike Pompeo to bar from the U.S. Hoda Muthana, an American-born woman who joined ISIS and married one of the group’s fighters in Syria. Muthana wanted to return to the U.S., but the administration alleged she was never an American citizen because her father was still registered as a Yemeni diplomat when she was born in New Jersey in 1994.

More than a decade after Faris was sent to prison, the events surrounding his arrest and guilty plea have continued to be a focus of debate. Backers of the Bush administration’s “enhanced interrogation” program that included some tactics widely viewed as torture have long attributed the prosecution of Faris to information al-Qaida leader Khalid Sheikh Mohammed provided after being waterboarded.

But the so-called “torture report” released by the Senate Intelligence Committee in 2014 found that claims by the CIA and others that KSM’s statements led to Faris’ “identification” and “capture” were exaggerated. Faris came under scrutiny by the FBI back in 2001 and the U.S. government had incriminating information about him separate from KSM’s statements, although they significantly bolstered the case against Faris.

Citizenship also seems to have wound up as a bargaining chip of sorts in other terrorism-related cases after 9/11, like that of Yaser Hamdi, a dual U.S.-Saudi national captured in Afghanistan in 2001 after allegedly fighting alongside the Taliban. Hamdi’s parents were Saudis and he grew up there, but after he was transferred to Guantanamo Bay, officials realized he was born in Louisiana.

The Bush administration later put Hamdi in Navy brigs in the U.S., but after the Supreme Court ruled in 2004 that Hamdi was entitled to challenge his detention, officials cut a deal with Hamdi in which he was deported to Saudi Arabia and agreed to renounce his U.S. citizenship.

To critics like Faris’ attorney, the unusual denaturalization case against him is an indication of how the justice system has come to seek a degree of certainty when it comes to the terrorist threat that it never insists on for other kinds of crimes.

“It was a bad idea to promise the American public there would never be another terrorist attack,” Durkin said. “We don’t make that promise to people on the south or west side of Chicago, that no one will be shot on Memorial Day weekend. We kind of accept a certain amount of carnage will happen. … We just hope it’s nothing too much, but when it comes to terrorism we’ve promised it will never happen—‘not on my watch.’”

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[gyrlversion]

Chilling moment missing waitress is seen alive for the last time

Chilling CCTV footage captured the last time a missing waitress was seen alive before she was allegedly abducted by two Brits outside a Costa del Sol nightclub.

Multi-millionaire property developer’s son Westley Capper can be seen grabbing Agnese Klavina by the arm and pointing to his nearby Mercedes S63. 

Craig Porter, who is currently on trial at a court in Malaga over Agnese’s disappearance along with Capper, was already in the Merc with tinted windows parked outside Aqwa Mist in the upmarket holiday resort of Puerto Banus.

The footage, analysed in court on the second day of their trial, shows Porter leaving the nightspot in shorts and a vest top with doorman Siani Ousmane walking close behind him in long trousers and a T-shirt. 

Ousmane, who is accused of being an accessory to the Brits’ alleged crime by prosectors for Agnese’s family and not state prosecutors, is filmed opening the passenger door of the Merc so Porter can get in.

This CCTV footage shows the last time missing waitress Agnese Klavina was seen alive as she is led away from a celebrity night club in Costa del Sol by Westley Capper

Agnese, pictured, was last seen in the early hours of September 6, 2014. She was reported missing five days later when she stopped posting on social media

Capper’s friend Craig Porter, pictured, is also on trial at a court in Malaga over Agnese’s disappearance

The CCTV footage, obtained by police shortly after Agnese was reported missing five days after she left the club in the early hours of September 6, 2014, appears to show her trying to break free of Capper as he leads her towards the car.

Ousmane can be seen with his back turned towards the pair, and leaning into the vehicle to talk to Porter, as Capper talks with the missing girl and starts to escort her towards the car.

Other clubbers walk past them before they reach the Mercedes and at one point the overweight Brit can be seen putting his arm around her waist.

Latvian-born Agnese, who spent several years living in London before moving to Spain around six months before she disappeared, appears to get in the back seat herself after Ousmane opens the door for her.

The partygoer, wearing a white dress and carrying a matching large white handbag, can be clearly seen opening the back door of the vehicle after Capper seems to tip Ousmane before the doorman closes it on her again.

The two-minute long footage finishes with Capper getting into the driver’s side and leaving the nightclub car park as Ousmane, who described himself as the head of security at Aqwa Mist on the first day of the trial yesterday, goes back to work.

Porter and Capper, pictured in the white shirt, are facing up to 12 years in prison if convicted of a crime of unlawful detention. Doorman Siani Ousmane, also pictured, is accused of being an accessory to the crime

The footage appears to show her trying to break free of Capper as he leads her towards the car. Ousmane is seen holding open the door so she can get in

The British pair are facing up to 12 years in prison if convicted of a crime of unlawful detention.

State prosecutors said in an indictment that Essex-born Capper, 41, took advantage of the fact Agnese was drunk to lead her to his car and put her in before she was prevented from getting out and retained ‘against her will’.

They were told they faced prosecution over Agnese’s disappearance after a damning report from a specialist Madrid police team.

It endorsed the findings of an earlier local police report, which included the claims of a criminal psychologist who concluded Agnese’s facial expressions and body language showed she did not leave the club voluntarily.

The police report, crucial in the decision to prosecute Capper and Porter, described Agnese’s behaviour that night as that of a person ‘acting under the basic emotional response of fear’.

Private-school educated Capper, whose father John made his fortune from real estate, took the witness stand yesterday to deny any wrongdoing.

He admitted to trying to persuade Agnese to come back to his luxury home on an upmarket residential estate a 20-minute drive from the club to carry on partying.

But he insisted he dropped her off on the way – in high heels and around a 40 minute walk from where she was living – after she told him: ‘Stop here, I’ve changed my mind, I want to go home, this is where I live.’

Porter, 37, from Liverpool, told the court he was ‘drunk and tired’ and fell asleep on the journey to his friend’s house and only discovered Agnese was no longer with them when they got there.

The pair also denied boarding Capper’s boat four days later at Puerto de la Duquesa near Gibraltar with a large suitcase and carpet, and two other men who are not on trial, to dispose of her body at sea.

The pair have also denied boarding Capper’s boat four days later at Puerto de la Duquesa near Gibraltar with a large suitcase and carpet to dispose of her body at sea

Agnese, who was 30 when she disappeared, left her restaurant wages untouched in her bank account.

The kidnap trial heard yesterday her mobile phone stopped emitting a signal around five hours after she was last seen and her social media accounts, which she used regularly, have not been touched since the night she was in Aqwa Mist.

Today Agnese’s mother Daiga and sister Gunta were among witnesses who gave evidence.

They told the court they had travelled from Latvia to report her missing on September 11 after her ‘out of character’ disappearance.

Capper and Porter, who are being prosecuted by the Spanish state as well as lawyers acting for Agnese’s family, are pleading not guilty to a crime of unlawful detention.

Ousmane, who the lawyers for Agnese’s family want sentenced to eight years in prison if he is convicted of being an accessory to the Brits’ alleged crime, has also pleaded not guilty.

Their fate will be decided by three professional judges and not a jury.

The trial is due to last four days but is not expected to finish till the start of next month.

Capper is facing a separate manslaughter trial expected to take place later this year over the hit-and-run death of a mother-of-three on a zebra crossing in San Pedro near Marbella while high on alcohol and cocaine.

Bolivian immigrant Fatima Dorado was knocked down in in May 2016 and prosecutors in a pre-trial indictment have called for him to receive a two-and-a-half year prison sentence if convicted after a trial. No trial date has yet been set.

Father-of-four Porter was a passenger with him in the Bentley that hit Mrs Dorado but he is not facing prosecution. 

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[newssplashy]

Opinion: He fled a prison in Iceland. Now it's good to be back

REYKJAVIK, Iceland — It has been more than four months since thieves pulled off the biggest heist in the history of Iceland, and the police here still have no idea where the booty.

A breakthrough in the case seemed imminent in early February when authorities detained Sindri Stefansson, a 31-year-old man with a rap sheet that includes drug possession and burglary.

Even though he hadn’t been charged, let alone convicted, the media tagged him the “mastermind” of the crime, largely because he was held in prison longer than any of the 11 suspects who were questioned.

Then, like the computers, Stefansson disappeared. For the next five days he was an international fugitive.

After escaping from the prison — a feat that took surprisingly little effort, given the institution’s bare-minimum approach to security — he hopped a taxi to the country’s largest airport, where he boarded an early-morning flight to Stockholm. In a twist that seems borrowed from a cheesy caper film, the plane also carried Katrin Jakobsdottir, the prime minister of Iceland.

“We did not chat,” Stefansson said, calling from a prison near Amsterdam in his first interview since he was arrested two weeks ago in the Netherlands. Speaking by phone, he said he had worn a baseball cap and avoided the gaze of everyone on the plane. “I kept my head down as much as I could.”

After the recent rash of cryptocurrency-related crimes, many of them gunpoint stickups of people forced to empty their virtual wallets, a theft like this seemed all but inevitable. And Iceland is one of the world’s premier locations for mining operators, who are drawn to the country’s cheap electricity and chilly weather, which helps keep computers cool.

Stefansson would not discuss what the news media has named the Big Bitcoin Heist. Instead, he focused on his regret for having fled, a decision that, he said, he rued as soon as he landed in Sweden and realized that his mug shot was all over the media. “I did not eat and had a constant knot in the pit of my stomach,” he said. “I was disappointed in myself for making my family suffer, and nervous about being recognized.”

Detectives in Reykjavik would like to have a conversation of their own with Stefansson, and they will get the opportunity now that he has returned to Iceland, having been extradited Friday. He returned to a country riveted by his case. Calls have poured into a tip line with theories about where the computers are stored and, until recently, where Stefansson may be found.

“I can tell you the Icelandic public has been very interested,” Olafur Kjartansson, the lead police investigator, said. “I’m sitting in the public hot baths and friends and colleagues will say to me, ‘Did you find him?"’

The theft suggests that security at some of Iceland’s bitcoin mining operations has yet to catch up to the value of the commodity, now trading about $9,600 apiece. If the warehouse that was robbed was digging for gold instead of running an algorithm in a quest for cryptocurrency, odds are that the crime would have been trickier to pull off.

Then again, this is Iceland, a place that seems to presume its citizens will abide by the law. An astonishing amount of social trust is embedded in society, a phenomenon that is especially evident when looking at the country’s penal system.

Stefansson had been kept at Sogn, which is known as an open prison. Inmates live in their own rooms, which have flat-screen TVs, and talk on their own cellphones. During the day, inmates earn the equivalent of $4 an hour cooking, cleaning and maintaining a chicken coop.

“It’s a friendly atmosphere,” said Gudmundur Thoroddsson, a prisoner advocate who was recently released from Sogn. “There’s a good relationship with the guards. Never any fighting or arguing.”

The prison is at the foot of a treeless hill and looks more like a rural two-story home than a penitentiary. During a recent visit, the entrance road was blocked by the sort of gate used by pay-by-the-hour parking garages. The property, which includes a soccer field, is surrounded by wire fencing a few feet high.

Stefansson wouldn’t have needed a running start to jump it. The night he bolted, he started browsing for international flights on his cellphone at about 11, he said. After booking one under an assumed name, he opened his window and left. He claims that he walked a mile to Route 1, the road that rings the island, and hitchhiked 59 miles to Keflavik, a town near the airport. (The police maintain that an accomplice drove him.) From there, he called a cab.

Once in Stockholm, he traveled via train, taxi and ferry to Germany through Denmark. There he met “individuals” who drove him to Amsterdam. He enjoyed just three hours of freedom in the Dutch capital. Unbeknown to him, the local authorities had been quickly tipped off by two pedestrians with a cellphone photograph of a person they believed was the much-publicized wanted man. Soon after, an officer approached Stefansson and demanded identification.

“I was just walking when it happened,” he said.

The police in Iceland have said little about any evidence they have linking Stefansson to the computer theft. It was actually three separate thefts over the course of a few weeks, starting Dec. 5. One occurred at a compound near the airport, home to a handful of cryptocurrency mining warehouses leased to different companies. The warehouses look like hangars, though instead of containing jets these are densely packed with computers, numbered and neatly arranged on shelves. Giant fans hum noisily overhead.

“If you spent a day here, you would probably go deaf,” shouted Mia Molnar of Genesis Mining, which is based in Hong Kong and mines coins for Ethereum, a bitcoin rival.

She was giving a tour of Genesis’ warehouse and later, in a far quieter room, offered her best shot at explaining what all those computers are doing. The simplified version: They are engaged in a nonstop, worldwide race to process new transactions using cryptocurrencies, digital tokens that can be traded electronically. The task requires ever more powerful equipment. Success is rewarded, digitally and automatically, with a small batch of new coins.

Bitcoin and other virtual currencies have been viewed warily by some governments and criticized by environmentalists for consuming vast and increasing amounts of electricity. Genesis and its competitors, on the other hand, see a financial opportunity, one that has sent the value of their mining equipment soaring.

“I think a lot of companies have been more worried about hacks,” Molnar said. “Less about the hardware.”

The warehouse adjacent to Genesis’ is the one that was robbed. The lessee of that building, which appears to be under construction, has not been publicly identified. Through the police, the company has offered $60,000 to anyone who leads detectives to the stolen property.

At the same time, the police have been searching for the machines by studying the electrical grid for surges in use. They have also followed up on ideas provided by the public, including one from a psychic. So far, said Kjartansson, the police investigator, the search has been fruitless.

His hunch, based on the sophistication of the theft, is that the perpetrators worked with an overseas syndicate of organized crime. Nothing in Stefansson’s long record indicates international links of any kind. He has been convicted of possessing drugs and driving under the influence, and the grandest of his larcenies is the $2,000 he stole from slot machines in a Reykjavik bar.

He said that he had been sober for more than seven years and made apps and websites for a living. He minimized a recent arrest for growing marijuana as a “side business.” When he was arrested for the bitcoin robbery, Stefansson said, he was two days from restarting his life and moving to Spain with his wife and three children.

If Stefansson is ultimately charged with any heist-related crimes, his prison break won’t be one of them. In Iceland, it is not against the law to escape from prison. “Our system supposes that a person who has been deprived of his freedom will try to regain it,” said Jon Gunnlaugsson,a former judge on Iceland’s Supreme Court. “It’s the responsibility of prison authorities to keep him there.”

Further, it is unclear whether police had the right to continue holding Stefansson in prison in the first place. He was not under arrest at the time, because a judge’s order to keep him in custody had expired hours before his escape. In advance of a hearing to extend the custody order, police persuaded Stefansson to sign a document agreeing to stay in prison voluntarily.

He immediately decided the agreement was bogus. In an open letter published in an Icelandic daily while he was on the lam, he wrote that given the circumstances, he was genuinely surprised to find himself the subject of a manhunt.

Paradoxically, returning to the very place he was so eager to leave became one of Stefansson’s primary goals. At the prison near Amsterdam, he said, he was just a name and number, underfed and wary of his fellow inmates.

By comparison, he said, “Icelandic prisons are a hotel.”

This article originally appeared in The New York Times.

DAVID SEGAL © 2018 The New York Times

source https://www.newssplashy.com/2018/05/opinion-he-fled-prison-in-iceland-now.html

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