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putschki1969 · 1 year

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Hi Puts!

How are you? Hope everything’s good!

I’ve been reading your past tutorials on how to get tickets to Japanese lives (thank you for amazing coverage btw I was so confused!), because I want to apply for tickets for Kajiura’s 30th anniversary lives.

Applying for FC right now (filling in the form with address etc). I kind of understand Japanese as I studied it before(although it’s gotten a bit rusty), but I don’t have an address and telephone there. I do have a few not close friends/ friends of friends who are in Japan right now, but I’m not sure if they will be willing to help if it’s too much of a fuss (and I wouldn’t want to bother them so much anyway!).

So I wanted to ask, if for example, I ask a friend to enter their telephone and address, will it be a one-time confirmation and they won’t have to do anything except help me with phone confirmation? Or will they continue to receive notifications etc on their phone afterwards, and will it be more than one time confirmation? Do I also have to be connected to them real-time for verification because the time zone difference is three hours between where I live and Japan so might be difficult? 🥲

I’m debating whether I should do everything myself with a help of somebody for address and telephone or just use proxy service for a fuss-free option (but it’s a bit pricey for me).

Also, if it’s not hard for you, could you please advise me if they accept foreign card payments?

Thank you so much!

Best wishes!

Hi there! I am good, thank you!

For the fan club you do need a Japanese address and phone number, however, there is no need to confirm anything so you can just take any random phone number. You do receive the occasional item (e.g. membership card, fan club magazine, etc) from the fan club so the Japanese address must be legit. I use a service called Tenso. They provide you with a Japanese address (including a stock phone number) and they ship packages overseas. Please note that they cannot make registrations, payments or purchases for you.

All fan clubs associated with YK and Kalafina accept foreign credit cards as payment method so at the very least, you do not have to worry about that.

Please be aware though that joining the fan club is only the first step. Getting tickets is much harder. Once you are a fan club member, you can take part in the fan club exclusive ticket lottery. Those lotteries are always held by authorised ticket agencies and rarely by the fan clubs themselves. In most cases, tickets are distributed by "e+" or "Lawson Ticket" but in case of the upcoming YKL #18 tour, "Lawson" seems to be the preferred ticket agency. I mostly have experience with "e+", I haven't gotten a ticket via "Lawson" in ages and don't even know if my account is still working but I guess everything I know about "e+" also applies to "Lawson". But please take this stuff with a grain of salt, I am by no means an expert in the matter.

For a few years now, all those ticket sites have required a registration with a Japanese phone number. That wasn't the case back in the day. Thankfully, the verification process via SMS/call is a one-time thing. The number itself may be required for log-ins etc but no further verification is required. As long as you don't use the digital ticket service/mobile app your friend won't be bothered again. I cannot remember how exactly things worked when I first registered on "e+" but I am pretty sure I was connected with my Japanese acquaintance in real time. It may or may not have been necessary to enter a code...

I am afraid you will be hard-pressed to find a proxy service that still offers to apply for, purchase and pick up tickets in Japan. They pretty much stopped offering that service when it became much more difficult to get a Japanese phone number and when Japanese ticket sites started having a bunch of stricter requirements.

As for payment methods, I am not 100% sure about "Lawson Ticket" but I know for a fact that almost none of the official ticket agencies accept foreign credit cards so you do have to rely on someone in Japan to handle your payments (either by registering their card in your account or by paying at the convenience store). Lawson does accept foreign credit cards for fan club membership fees (Keiko's fan club is paid via Lawson) so that gives me a tiny bit of hope that their ticket service also accepts them but right now I have no way of checking. As I mentioned before, it's been many, many years since I have last used Lawson for tickets. I've actually just tried to log in with all my old info and it doesn't seem to work anymore *sighs* Might have something to do with the fact that when I first registered on Lawson, they didn't have that phone number verification requirement. No idea to be honest but I guess it's proof that I am struggling just as much as everyone else. Oh well, I am not planning to take part in the fan club lottery anyways since we don't know any details about the guest vocalists yet and they also haven't announced any of the additional performances. I need to know more before committing to anything. I am aiming to take part in the general lottery which will most likely have more ticket site options than Lawson. This way I can apply using my e+ account.

I don't know if this was helpful at all. This stuff is tricky for me as well so unless I actually go through the process of applying for a ticket, I can't really give any good advice.

Wishing you a ton of luck!

#kalafina #reply #yuki kajiura #kajiura yuki #ykl vol 18 #e+#lawson ticket

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thisfunktional · 11 days

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#IFTTT #Blogger #anime #anime news #Entertainment #entertainment news #Home Entertainment #home entertainment news #recommended #TV #tv news

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thran-duils · 3 years

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I Crave Annihilation (P.2)

Title: I Crave Annihilation (Part Two) Summary: Fem!Reader x Mafia!Dark Tony Stark. Tony works for the reader’s very influential politician father moving guns and drugs. She starts flirting with him and he is returning the vibes. She moves into her own place out of her parent’s house and texts him to come save her from a house party. Smut ensues. Words: 3,450 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Smut, HUGE age difference, angst, violence, infidelity, possessive behavior

Part One || Part Three || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

“Who does this pussy belong to, baby?”

“You, sir!” you keened, your knuckles white grasping your blankets.

Tony slowed before laying a hard smack across your ass, drawing a cry from you. He kneaded at your ass roughly, groaning. You could feel him pulling your cheeks apart as he thrusted, a low hum leaving his mouth. He was definitely relishing in watching his cock moving in and out. He laid another hard smack and you whined for him.

“Such a good girl,” he husked, resuming his brutal pace.

<><><>

Tony left the bedroom, closing the door behind him. He smirked to himself, knowing he had worn Y/N out; she was going to be sore tomorrow. Just like how he liked to leave her so she remembered who she belonged to. Descending the stairs to the ground floor, he stopped seeing two girls sitting on the couch, looking pretty intoxicated, still holding drinks in their hands, Taco Bell wrappers spread out along the coffee table. They had not heard the girls come home; not a surprise considering how loud him and Y/N had been. He surmised they had been there for a while with the food and had been listening to him completely wreck Y/N upstairs.

He threw them a charming smirk and asked, “Roommates?”

“Yeah…” one said slowly, trying to hide the smile on her face. She was looking him over, taking in his tailored pants and pressed dress shirt.

“I wasn’t here. Right?” Tony responded, cocking his head in expectance. They both nodded and Tony winked, and he saw them both turn bashful in a second before he turned, opening the door and walking out.

As soon as he got outside, he pulled his phone out and texted Y/N.

Your roommates are downstairs. You might want to talk to them about keeping their lips sealed.

<><><>

You read the text and your eyes widened. You got dressed quickly and rushed out of your room but stopped at the top of the stairs. What were you going to say? You had been trying to keep this a secret for months.

Moving controlled down the stairs, you came to the bottom and turned to face the couch. They were both looking at you, bursting at the seams. Suddenly, they burst into laughter – the both of them – holding onto each other.

“Y/N! Do you have a sugar daddy?” Mara guffawed. She saw the look on your face, and she leaned forward, waving her hands in surrender. “No, no! I’m not judging! I’m just curious. He’s hot!”

“Oh my god, no wonder you don’t take guys home,” Lisa said. “Holy shit. He could beat the shit out of them if he ever caught you in bed with someone else.”

“How long were you guys here?” you asked uncertainly, worried about how much of it they had actually heard.

“Um… from the first ‘are you a dirty girl?’ I think?” Mara asked, snorting again. “And then every subsequent smack after that. How is your ass?”

“Oh, shut up,” you said as the two of them erupted into giggles again. “You can’t say anything!”

Lisa crowed, “Oh, it’s a secret! Oh okay.”

“I’m fucking serious,” you snapped, much to their amusement. “Now did you leave me any food or what?”

Mara laughed pointing at the bag, “Yeah. And I’m sure you’re absolutely famished.”

<><><>

Where are you?

You looked down at your phone, confusion coming on. You had told Tony what you were doing and where you were at when he had asked about an hour ago.

At the bar I told you.

I know, but where inside.

Are you here?

You know how much I don’t like people answering my questions with another question, baby.

I’m in the back.

Come to the front then.

Well, that answered your question well enough.

You made your way through the crowded back room, through the hall. You looked in the first front room and did not see him anywhere and you went through the doorway to the main front room where the bigger bar was set up. You spotted him and Steve sitting in a booth against the wall. He had told you that Steve was aware of your relationship, which had made you nervous, but Tony seemed to trust him, so you had to trust in that.

Sliding into the booth next to him, you asked, “What’s going on?”

“Figured we would swing by and see if you wanted to go out with us and Steve’s lady for the night.” Steve smirked at the comment. “Exclusive place.”

“You couldn’t have just texted me to get the answer?”

Tony simpered, “I wasn’t really looking to ask.”

Of course not. He was not the asking type.

“When are you going?”

“I’d prefer sooner rather than later. This bar is pretty… college-y.”

“I’m not entirely complaining,” Steve said finally speaking, his eyes wandering around the bar at all the people. His eyes lingered on one in particular and he winked at them, causing them to smile shyly.

“Can I get my drink then? Before we go?” you asked. “I was just about to.”

“If you move, I can go grab it for you,” Tony told you.

You shook your head, and he narrowed his eyes slightly. You quickly explained, “My friend owes me one. I bought the first round.”

“If you insist,” Tony said bringing his glass to his lips.

You tapped his arm before getting up again and walking through the tables to go back to the hall leading back to your table. You walked up to the table and your roommate, Mara, that was out with the small group asked you where your drink was. You eyed the line at the bar back here and frowned at how long it was.

“I’m gonna get but I wanna take that shot,” you said over the music to your friend, Gabriel. “Wanna come back up with me to the front bar? There’s less of a line up there surprisingly than the one back here.”

Mara was eyeing you knowingly, a smug smirk on her lips. You had been seeing Tony now for months since they had caught him leaving. You glared at her, willing her to stay quiet, as you grabbed your purse, and she held back a laugh.

Gabriel followed you up to the front bar and you shot a quick look in the direction of the booth to make sure they were still there. Tony was not looking at you but Steve was. Gabriel was talking to you and drew your attention away, your back to the booth now. The line went quickly and the two of you ordered your shots, took them, and left the glasses on the bar. You gave him a quick hug before parting ways.

Steve was getting up out of the booth, avoiding eye contact as he straightened out his leather jacket.

“I’ll be outside,” he said to Tony more than anything.

Tony finished off his drink and got up as well, his body brushing yours. He was peering down his nose at you and asked, “Anybody I gotta be worried about?”

“What?”

“The guy?” Tony asked.

“Yes, my friend.”

“’Friend’.”

You realized where this conversation was going and you sighed heavily, “Tony, don’t—”

“Don’t what?” he asked, a dangerous tone underlying.

“I promise you I mean it when I say a friend,” you told him, leaning into him. His expression was stern, and you grabbed the lapels of his jacket, to pull yourself closer, and said, “Trust me.”

Tony’s tongue ran across his lower lip and he finally said, “Don’t betray that trust, precious.”

Later outside the high-end club, Tony and you took a break from the atmosphere to mess around in the backseat of his car. Foreheads pressed together as you straddled him, low moans filling the space in the car until the two of you came tumbling down.

Tony pressed his nose at you to get you to move your face and his lips found yours, his hand at the back of your head holding you tight.

“I gotta go on a trip for a week overseas,” he murmured.

“Where?”

His eyes crinkled with a tickled smile, “You really think I can tell you that?”

Shrugging sheepishly, you said, “No, I guess not.”

He pecked your nose, “I’ll be back before you know it. Promise. And I’ll bring you something back.”

That perked you up much to his amusement.

<><><>

You were coming back from the pool house a month later when you saw Tony coming up the path. You faltered in your steps as he advanced. He barely broke stride as he grabbed your arm and began pulling you along with him.

“What are you doing?” you asked him alarmed, stumbling once as you worked to match his stride.

He did not answer.

He was drunk, that was apparent.

You had been out with your mum shopping and she had asked you to take the new towels out to the pool house. Tony was over watching a football game with some of the other men and you noticed he had caught sight of you walking from the hall to the kitchen. You had tried to ignore his stare as you disappeared again, heading out the door. You had turned him down earlier in the week about him coming over and he being his persistent self, had shown up at your place anyway, only to find you gone. He had called you and you had had barely any signal as you told him you were not there, you were up in the mountains with your friends. You had not told him you were going on a trip considering it had been decided on a whim and that had only irked him more. You had not spoken since you had gotten back.

It seemed he did not pick up on the hint to be subtle and let it be until a better time.

“Tony, we can’t—” you tried to plead. You were terrified someone was going to catch you here and he was too gone to either care or think of that. Even if you were in the pool house, someone could have seen you two sneak in.

“Tony, my mum sent me out here to put the towels out here. We had more things to put away inside! She’s gonna wonder where I’m at!”

He was still ignoring you, dragging you and he shoved you inside the bathroom.

“Tony!” you tried again.

“Be quiet!” Tony ordered you, turning you around forcibly. Your hands sprawled on the wall, your ass pressing into his pelvis. His breath was hot on your neck when he said, “You ready to apologize?”

“Apologize—”

“Avoiding me?” he growled.

“I’m not—” you said trying to turn around, but his grip flexed, forcing you to stay as you were.

“Don’t lie to me,” he snapped, hiking your dress up and shoving your thong aside to give him access. “How long have you been back?”

“A day—” you started to say but it was strangled in your throat as he began stroking your nub.

“A whole damn day and no text. No call,” he muttered angrily underneath his breath, working you up to get you ready for him. “Nothing to let me know you were back. That’s fucking naughty of you.” You ground against his fingers, biting your lip, whimpering. Upon hearing your arousal, he sneered, “You’re lucky I’m even taking the time to get you ready at all, precious.”

You felt and heard how wet you were getting – he knew how to play you like a fiddle.

Tony’s fingers disappeared and he kicked one of your legs out to spread you out further for him. Without much warning, he was pressing in roughly, his hands gripping at your hips. You moaned lowly as he stretched you out and let out a sudden cry as he pulled out and slammed back in. His thrusts were causing you to have to press your hands painfully into the wall to keep steady. He was not going easy at all.

One of his hands left your hip to wrap around your throat, holding your head back as he drove himself deeper. Your ass was clapping against his pelvis, mixing with the moans and his lewd taunting.

“You little slut, thinking you could hide from me,” he growled, giving a particularly hard thrust. “I thought I taught you better manners than that!”

“I’m sorry, sir,” you keened.

Tony only stalled to yank you away from the wall and whirl you around to the sink, bending you over it before resuming his brutal pace. Your fingers dug into the countertop, as you begged, “Please, please, please.”

“Please what?” Tony husked, his hips snapping.

He was driving deep, brushing your core with precision and you cried out again.

“Please fuck me, make me cum,” you whined in response, drawing a strangled laugh out of Tony.

“Just can’t fucking help yourself, can you?”

You heard the door open from behind the pair of you and your stomach dropped to your feet.

“What the hell is this?” you heard your mum exclaim.

Tony was out of you in a second, stuffing himself back in his pants. You craned your head around mortified, finding your mum staring at the two of you, disbelief splashed across her face.

Her gaze snapped to Tony, suddenly murderous. She slapped him across the face with all the strength she could muster and shrieked, “You absolute piece of fucking shit! She’s a child!”

Tony looked furious at her laying hands on him.

“Now, Rebecca,” Tony said loudly. She went to hit him again, but he was quick, and he pushed her to the wall as you rushed to push your dress down. He had her pinned there by her collarbone.

“Tony!” you pleaded, coming up towards them but he held his hand out, warning you to stay back.

You stopped, looking between the two of them wildly. Your mother only had eyes for him, trying to pull his hand away with no avail.

“Let me go!” your mum demanded, trying to push his hand away but your mother was a very small woman and Tony was so much larger than her. “Are you insane? Do you know what Damien—”

“Are you? Are you insane?” Tony asked dangerously, their noses brushing. She struggled again but he shoved her back again roughly and she finally stilled, glaring murderously at him. His voice was low, “You don’t want trouble with the mob. Running off and telling your husband is only going to cause that. If he loses his temper, they’ll take my side on this and all the power he’s got is going to be compromised because he’ll lose our support. How do you think you two would fare without that support, hmm?” He was searching your mother’s face, who was silent now. He scoffed when he saw she knew what he was saying was right. He dug his hand in again and she only flinched slightly, “And Y/N’s an adult, not a child, as you just so stupidly said. She can make her own fucking choices.”

“Let. Me. Go,” your mother said, enunciating every word. “I got the message.”

Tony only held on for a few more seconds before he pushed away from her. He tore his eyes away from her before saying to you, “I’ll text you later.”

He left the room, leaving the two of you standing there, staring at each other. The tension in the room could be cut with a knife and you hated the disappointed look on her face. Time seemed to expand into an eternity that the two of you were standing there before she finally spoke.

“How long?” your mother rasped out. You looked at the ground and you felt her gaze boring into you. She demanded louder, “How long, Y/N?”

“Since October,” you said weakly.

“Christ,” she half sobbed. “That’s almost a year, Y/N! What were you thinking?”

You shrugged helplessly, “I… we have a relationship.”

Your mother shook her head and snapped, “You can’t!”

“I love him!”

“Y/N, you don’t know what love is. He’s twice your age! He’s using you!”

“No, he’s not. You don’t know—”

“I know what I know!” your mother exclaimed, causing you to close your mouth. She looked heartbroken, her eyes watering. “I know, Y/N. I know men like him. I’ve dealt with them too! He’s taking your most formative years and weaving himself into them! You can’t let… you can’t let him do that. You can’t build yourself around him.”

“I’m not!”

“I don’t want you to see him.”

“I can make my own choices!” you said firmly.

She scoffed loudly, wiping away tears that had started to fall over. “What would your father think?” Your face screwed up in worry and you started to argue but she cut in forcibly, “I know! I know Y/N! That fucking… bastard is right. I won’t… I can’t say anything.” Her eyes met yours again and she shook her head. “Jesus, Y/N. I can’t look at you right now.”

Jaw clenched, you got the hint and stormed past her to leave and go home, irate and miserable at how the night had turned out.

<><><>

You had still continued to see Tony much to your mother’s disapproval. You meant it when you said you loved him, and you resented your mum telling you that you did not. But after seeing how he had treated her in the pool house, a small part of you was unsure now about the longevity and stability of the relationship. How could you stay together in secret like this forever, especially when he was ready to threaten anyone that tried to separate the two of you?

Unfortunately, you did not get the chance to make the decision for yourself.

“What happened?” you asked concerned, coming up to your mum quickly in their living room. You had come over to have dinner with them, but it did not look like dinner was going to be happening for a while or at all.

Your father was shouting into the phone on the patio, a few of his guys outside with him. There was fury and desperation in the air.

Your mum pulled you aside and said, “Something happened. I mean, obviously. sorry. Um,” she paused, stammering, as your father let out a slew of cuss words. “Um, your dad is trying to get control of the situation. Pull himself clear of it.”

“What situation?”

“There was a… police bust. Some of the men got arrested for… you know, it doesn’t matter what for. But, just let your father do his thing. Stay out of his way. It’s what I’m doing. How about you and me go out and grab food? It’s best for everyone to just let him be.” She paused and then added, “And honestly, this situation is best for you.”

The way she said that…

You knew who had been arrested.

Pulling away from her, you saw her start to say something else, but you turned abruptly, taking off down the hall towards the entrance way where you had left your purse. You dug through it clumsily before getting your phone out and dialing Tony.

His phone went straight to voicemail.

<><><>

~7 years later

You pulled up to your parent’s house seeing the copious amount of cars lined along the driveway. They were having their annual beginning of summer get together and as usual, you were invited as well as your closest friends, so you had people to hang out with. Some of your friends had already arrived, more than comfortable around your parents without you there.

The person that mattered the most to hang out with though was sitting in the passenger seat.

Your husband smiled at you and said, “I am very much ready for your mum’s crab cakes. Well.. you know, Willa’s crab cakes. Your mum just oversees the process.”

You snorted at this and said, “I know you are. And yes that is very true.”

It was hard to try to keep your heartbeat even now that you were here. You were going to have to face him. Tony and the others had just been released days before. You needed to steer clear of him after having ghosted him when he got arrested. You had been young, so young, and he had been sent to a different state for prison. It had been easy to make excuses and your mother had encouraged the excuses.

Your husband would shield you. You would make sure of that.

~~~

Forever tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld

#tony stark x reader #dark tony stark #dark!tony stark #dark marvel #dark marvel fic #mob tony stark #my shit

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stardancerluv · 3 years

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Punishments

Part One

Summary: Some agnst as been building in Reader. Tonight it explodes.

Note: The last bit I posted with Punishments was the inspiration for this. It turned into something different. In this I want to show how reader can be strong and still in touch with her emotions while being with Roman! Very angsty at parts.

Eyeing your reflection, turning you let your dress twirl. It made you smile. You wanted to look good. Tonight, you were not going to just be his good girl. You were so tired of just sitting there waiting and hoping Roman would come over. Lately, you had jot even been able to sit with him when he had a meeting. They were scattered around the club.

He had barely sat with you this week and even less last week. You had grown tired of this new wave of negotiations and deals he was making. You understood why he needed them. You also knew how great they were for his slice of Gotham.

Sitting alone at his table made you just feel like an accessory. You’d sit there and grow tired hoping, he’d come over for a brief word or look. Otherwise, no one ever approached you except the waiters to take the occasional order. You had not agreed to be his girl to be just bought off with presents and rolling around in bed.

When the two you were alone, sure he would share his victories. You were very proud of him. You knew, he was of your victories too.

So tonight, you had decided to make plans tonight with your friends. A few brought their boyfriends. You could only hope, Roman would come over and join you all. That you knew was hoping for too much.

You smoothed your stockings a final time before slipped into your heels. As a final touch, you spritzed on some perfume got you when he went to Europe to seal some overseas deals.

Once in the club for a moment, you faltered. Your friends had literally sat at the table next to his usual one, thankfully he wasn’t at it. After some hugs and squeals of delight you sat down with them.

You kept an eye out for Roman and Zsasz but didn’t spot either of them. Soon, the waitress came taking everyone’s orders. She also slipped you a note. Smiling you took it.

You opened it and some of your friends giggled.

Am I not having my lovely girl at my side tonight? Was all it said in Roman’s usual script. Looking around you didn’t spot him anywhere.

“Uh oh, someone got a love-note from Mr. Crime Lord.” You shot that one friend a look but everyone, lost themselves in giggles. You could only sigh.

“He was just wishing us a good night.” Folding, the note tucked it away in your purse.

“Will the famous Sionis, be joining us tonight?”

You shrugged and smiled. “Maybe?” You were relieved your words didn’t come out as a squeak. “He’s been very busy.”

“Right. Says the next star on the Rogue Wives of Gotham.” More giggles bubbled around you.

“Look, guys if I wanted to be the butt of jokes I would have hung out with the staff.” You sighed.

One spoke up. “The staff? You have staff now.”

More laughter, came from a few of them.

“Hey guys, come on. Let’s cut her some slack.” Your friend wrapped James wrapped an arm around you and gave you a squeeze. “They’re only jealous.” He whispered in your ear.

You nodded and smiled. “Thank you.”

“Didn’t we come here to have fun. Like dancing and drinking? I only see bad, corny jokes that could have come from a high schooler. So who’s dancing?” He suggested.

When they were distracted them, you snuck away. This was going to be tougher then you thought.

Honestly, at this point you barely into what was supposed to be your night and you couldn’t decide if this night out was worth it. You should have just faked a headache or something. But looking around, you couldn’t spot Roman anywhere.

Searching out the private ladies-room with a sigh, you went to freshen up. You were relieved no one was there. Only a few female guests that came to the club knew of this exclusive bathroom. With a fluff of your hair after a few moments, you walked out.

Moments later, you found yourself being snatched away. They were so fast, you couldn’t scream. But you felt the familiar feel of a gloved hand sliding over your mouth.

A dark snicker, filled your ear as he carried you to a shadowy hallway. Stopped when he reached the large mirror at the end of it. Despite the annoyance that prickled at you, seeing how the two of you looked, was incredibly erotic.

“Look at us baby.” His breath was warm on your throat.

He had managed to envelop you with himself; from the feel of his solid warmth and the scent of his aftershave caused a knot of desire grow in the pit of your stomach.

You watched in the mirror as his lips curling into a smirk, his eyes glinting behind you. It was almost too much. The longer he held you, the harder your heart began to beat and the more you wanted him. “My pretty girl.” He added close to our ear, then pressed a kiss on your jaw. You shivered in delight but then you were reminded of how upset you were and you managed to wiggle free.

You turned to face him. “What the hell was that all about?”

He threw his head back and laughed.

“Roman.” You tapped your foot.

As he tilted his head back the mirth dimmed till it disappeared from his eyes. “I could say the same thing about you.”

“What do you mean?” You crossed your arms in front of you.

“I wanted my girl would be at my side but she isn’t.”

“You have barely sat with me all week. I decided to have a night with my friends.”

“That’s great, I’m happy you have but you should have told me.” He pressed his lips together. “I would have canceled my meetings and perhaps let them see how charming,” He shrugged, continuing. “of a boyfriend I can be.”

“Make it happen.” You challenged, you ran your hands up his soft suit-jacket. You saw him waver where he stood. The longer it took him to answer you, the longer it hurt. “Don’t you want to make your baby happy?” You lightly pouted.

“I can’t just drop things. You know damn well, I have been meeting with some very bigger players this week. And I am tonight.”

“Great! Expand your territory or go meet them at the docks. See if I care.” Shit you almost immediately thought, you had not meant that, you immediately stepped back and looked down. “I I...I...” You tried to find the right words, you really did care. But you were very hurt and angry. You didn’t know how to tell him.

He slammed a hand on the mirror beside you, making you jump. “What did you fucking just say to me?”

“Roman, do you know how many times I felt like you could care less about me? Tonight, I wanted to feel needed, I wanted to be with some friends and be silly.” You pleaded, your emotions speaking. Your eyes met his, you shrank against the cool of the mirror as you saw blue flames.

“Fine go to those fucking friends who enjoy the perks of being with you or the ones I allow them to have.” He growled, leaning in you could feel his breath once again. His anger came off him in waves.

You had never been this mouthy. You felt sick with worry. “Romy,” You tried to soften things. Had you finally pushed Roman too far, you almost began to cry right there.

“Maybe you should take those ungrateful jerks to another club. I don’t know if I want them taking a table up in my establishment.”

You looked away, then pleading with your eyes, you met his fiery ones. Did he want you to leave too, you wondered. Your stomach was churning and before you knew what you were saying, everything you had been bottling up just came out. “I’ve grown tired of all the kisses on the cheek or the hand shakes while I sit there and you ignore me.” You cried.

“I am not ignoring you. It takes everything in me to not focus on you.” He rasped. “I only want my lips on you, damn it.”

“Certainly doesn’t feel like that to me.” Taking a breath, not sure if it would make you sick, but you spat the rest out. “Learn to not have me there tonight.” You finally said it so he wouldn’t have to. And you walked away.

“I will.” He barked. “Get out of my sight.”

You walked away but blinking you looked back, had he really just said that. Tears filled your eyes. You hurt so bad, you wanted to run to him, tell him how hurt you were; to say you were sorry. How you desperately wanted him to wrap you in his arms but he was gone.

You went up to the bar, you held up two fingers. “Two shots, Charlie. Please.” You ordered.

“Of what?”

“Roman’s favorite.” You desperately wanted to feel close to him.

He smiled. “Coming up.” Soon, he slid them in front of you.

You almost coughed up the first shot but you swallowed it down. You would never understand how he drank it. The second shot, was smoother and cut some of the ill feelings that churned in your stomach.

After, some looks from your friends which you ignored; you sat with them. Sipping at your drink that had been waiting for you, you tried to loose yourself into the conversations. You wrung your hands under the table. You debated, whether you should suggest leaving. But how could you do that.

“Is there any room for this club owner?” He chuckled. “Or should we grab a table in the VIP lounge?”

You looked up startled, there was Roman smiling that easy smile that always made you melt. At that moment, you felt like you could crumble right there. Some of your friends chuckled.

“Of course there’s room. Let, Y/N sit next to her man.” One said, you slid in so he could come to sit beside you.

A hush, came over the table as he sat down beside you, he placed his martini close to your empty glass. He gestured to the air and a waitress appeared.

His fingers, gently grazed your glass. He rose his eyebrows as he looked at you. “Want another?”

You nodded. “Yes, please.”

He smiled broadly as he looked at your friends. “You heard her. And bring us a bottle of champagne along with some glasses.”

Some of your friends tried to politely discourage him but you already knew that it would be at the table shortly.

“Don’t be silly. We all deserve something special.” He smiled broadly.

Conversations picked up once, it even flowed. You rested your hand on your thigh, so it would not shake. You kept on trying to catch Roman’s eye yet you noticed that he avoided it. Right as you thought, you could cry all over again you felt as Roman’s gloved hand slide over yours. He squeezed your hand, it made you relax.

******

The rest of the night had gone well. Everyone seemed happy. As you all soon stood and chatted before saying night, Roman had wrapped an arm around your middle. He held up his martini glass. “It has been great spending tonight with all of you.” He smiled broadly at your friends and finished his good bye to your friends before he nuzzled you.

“Meet me at the elevator.” Roman hissed in your ear, before pressing a kiss on your cheek. You shivered but nodded.

@darling-i-read-it @spn-obsessed-dean @vintagemichelle91 @xxxeatyourh3artoutxxx @ewanfuckingmcgregor @zodiyack @angel98624 @frenchgirlinlondon @nebulastarr @emyliabernstein @thepeachreads @itsknife2meetu @omghappilyuniquebouquetlove @nomnomnomnamja @poe-kadot26 @babydoll97 @hazel-nuss @vcat55 @feelthemadnessinside @johallzy @foreverhockeytrash @frostypenguinoz @starwarsslytherin @professionalclown @chogisss @shantellorraine @xxinvisiblexx @blondekel77 @saphic-susperia @drarrylov3r @i-cant-hear-you16 @deadlymistress24 @yesqueenofthelight @generallj

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izzymcfeegles · 4 years

Text

Regarding Sebastian Stan:

There's a lot of vemon in his fanbase right now. People are angry, hurt, disappointed, and upset.

Overall, I wouldn't call myself a stan or a fangirl. I'm a fan of his work. As somebody who recently got back into the MCU fandom, his performances have always stood out and he just seems like an overall chill, dude. As somebody who lives in the NYC metropolitan area and commutes to Manhattan, I was really impressed with his initial response to the terrifying early days of COVID, using his elevated platform to promote safety. It was much appreciated, especially during a time when NYC was quickly becoming epicentre and cases were rampant. It made me see him as a normal dude, not an out-of-touch celebrity. It made me feel like he had our backs. Maybe the problem lies in my assumptions.

The thing is, despite what Twitter and Insta stans may believe, none of us know Sebastian Stan. Like every public figure, we only know Sebastian Stan's brand. How he (and his PR team) chooses present himself in public and on social media. That being said, the Ibiza trip felt entirely off-brand, given what a lot of fans are used to.

When my Insta feed starts flooding with pictures of Sebastian on a yacht laying the PDA on thick with this woman, not wearing a mask while the being waited on by masked employees, being seen in a club, it rubbed me the wrong way. I'm not someone who typically follows celebrity gossip and under normal circumstances, none of this would bother me. The dude is a grown man and what he does is his business. However, we're not living in normal times. Him traveling overseas during a pandemic made him look like an idiot and a hypocrite. Like all of the goodwill he had built up was for nothing. Some people argue that Ibiza was "safe" at the time. The reality is that while cases in NY and Ibiza have gone down, the virus never went away and international travel is still extremely risky, hence why the EU rightfully banned travel from the U.S. (which raises some questions as to how he got there. Some people theorize his Romanian passport, but im not sure how that would factor in given he's a NY resident).

We can't get into his head and understand the rationale behind the complete 180 in his behavior. Some folks are speculating that it may be a PR stunt, and while I try not to be that cynical, I wouldn't be surprised to find if that were the case, given the nature of the photos and how they contradict his previous posts. If it is, I'm not sure what his agency is trying to accomplish. There is nothing cool, sexy, or glamorous about going about partying in exclusive places and pretending that the pandemic doesn't exist while the majority of the world is suffering. It was tone-deaf and made him look like a tool. Bad optics.

The "geisha pics" from the supposed girlfriend (we really dont know the true nature of their relationship and may never) were the straw that broke the camel's back for a lot of people. I don't think it's fair to put blame on Sebastian - I don't expect the dude to thoroughly vet everyone he meets (leave that to his PR team...) and I do think that it was a bit invasive to dig up that kind of dirt on somebody's supposed so (once again, we still don't know). However, the pictures are now out in the open and yes, they're bad.

As I'm white person it's not my job to tell people what they should or shouldn't be offended by. I do know that as a white person, even in 2018, I would never even consider reducing another person's culture to a cheap party outfit. Its totally unacceptable. And I can see how fans were hurt by being blocked by him for calling her out on it.

That being said, I couldn't help but be taken aback by how zealous the Twitter stans were in dragging him. What I saw were some legitimate points, heartfealt concern, but also insults and threats to leak his personal information. And a lot of women tearing each other down. Even going after Paul Walter Houser for standing up for his friend, which in this case, I honestly couldn't blame the guy. One of my friends in the Cobra Kai fandom had him on his podcast and he seems like an overall solid dude so I think it's only fair to consider his position.

All in all, do I believe the Sebastian Stan is a garbage human who needs to be canceled? No. As mentioned earlier, while we may not know him, his image has been pretty consistent over the years. Most people who have encountered him, including cast and crew have said positive things about him. I'd like to believe he is decent guy who is just making some really bad career moves right now. People go through periods in their lives where they poor choices. If all of this is his doing, I hope he really takes some time to reflect on all this and learn from it and ask himself if this is the image he wants to present. If this is all his agency, I'm hoping they're seeing the negative press and taking notes. If not, I hope he can find a way to get the hell out of there. This is the same agency that supposedly covered for Harvey Weinstein so forcing their clients into doing sleazy PR stunts wouldn't suprise me. Either way, this whole thing has been a shitshow. The mob mentality of the Twitter stans and the threats and harassment need to stop, but it doesn't change the fact his actions hurt alot of people. I don't want him to be "over," I just want him to be better.

#sebastian stan #cancel culture #stan culture #i did not expect to write a dissertation on this #this stuff usually doesn't bother me wtf

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wetsteve3 · 4 years

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1934 ISDT; ex-'Dad's Army' and 'George & Mildred' 1933 Brough Superior 1,096cc 11-50hp Combination Registration no. ATO 574 Frame no. 8/1251 Engine no. LTZ/Z 31972/SD• 1934 ISDT Gold Medal winner • One of only 308 built • Present family ownership since 1965 • Formerly on display at the London Motorcycle Museum • Offered for re-commissioning 'ATO 574' has an unusually rich history: not only did it appear in two hit TV series - 'Dad's Army' and 'George & Mildred' – it started life as a Brough Superior works entry for the 1934 International Six Days Trial (ISDT). A 1934 model manufactured in 1933, this machine is believed to be one of the earliest 11-50s extant. It is believed that this 11-50 was first used by the factory team. Previously carrying the works registration 'HP 2122', it was registered 'ATO 574' on 1st August 1934 and, attached to one of Brough's famous banking sidecars, was used by Freddie Stevenson to compete in the 1934 ISDT held in the Bavarian Alps. One of the most gruelling of motorcycle competitions, the ISDT tested competitors and their machines to the limits. Despite leaving the road and overturning the outfit, Stevenson came away with a coveted Gold Medal, demonstrating the abilities and durability of George Brough's rugged 11-50 workhorse. A photograph on file shows Stevenson astride the Brough at the Nottingham factory. By 1939, 'ATO 574' was owned by Brough Superior works frame builder Bill Oliver, and by October 1948 was in the ownership of William Eric Cousins of Croydon, Surrey. The accompanying old-style logbook (issued 1952) lists three further owners up to 2nd April 1965 when 'ATO 574' was registered to John Gibson Whale of Stanmore, Middlesex. Mr Whale then advertised the machine for sale in the Brough Superior Club newsletter of £50! In May 1965 the Brough was purchased (for £40!) by the late owner, who together with his father ran Stan Gilks Ltd, a motorcycle dealership in Ickenham, Middlesex (purchase receipt on file). The Gilks dealership would regularly loan classic cars and motorcycles to television production companies, which is how 'ATO 574' came to feature in 'Dad's Army'. It first appeared in this much-loved comedy series in 1971, featuring in the Christmas Special, 'Battle of the Giants' (Episode 40) which was first broadcast on Monday 27th December '71 at 7.00pm. In this famous episode Captain Mainwaring's Walmington-on-Sea Platoon takes part in an initiative test against their old rivals, the Eastgate Platoon. The contest is umpired by Warden Hodges, the Vicar, and the Verger using Hodges' Brough Superior 11-50. 'ATO 574' made its second 'Dad's Army' appearance the following year in Episode 52 - 'Round and Round Went the Great Big Wheel' - first broadcast on Friday 22nd December 1972 at 8.30pm. In this episode the Platoon is chosen for special duties (peeling potatoes, digging trenches, etc) during the test of a secret weapon (The Big Wheel), which runs amok. The Brough Superior is borrowed from a gardener by Private Walker and used by the Warden, Captain Mainwaring, and Private Pike to lure The Big Wheel into a trap to deactivate it, with Lance Corporal Jones hanging upside down over a bridge with the gardener's shears to chop off its aerial! In 2008 the cast and crew of 'Dad's Army' ('Granddad's Army') were reunited with 'ATO 574' and appeared in the Daily Mirror (press cutting on file). 'ATO 574' later featured in the TV series 'George & Mildred' (1976-1979), serving as George's primary transport and featuring in each episode's opening sequences. Some years later the machine was loaned to the London Motorcycle Museum. It is not known when it acquired the sidecar currently attached, though it was in place prior to the first TV appearance. The aforementioned documentation may be found in the accompanying history file together with Brough Club correspondence and newsletters, etc. Launched in 1933, the 1,096cc 11-50 was the largest Brough Superior to enter series production. In his book 'Brough Superior - The Complete Story', Peter Miller states: 'It (the 11-50) had been produced in response to requests from abroad, particularly from overseas police forces, for a machine with SS100 levels of performance but with the simplicity of the side valves and at a lower price.' Powered by a sidevalve v-twin (of unusual 60-degree configuration) supplied exclusively to the Nottingham factory by J A Prestwich, the 11-50 fitted into the Brough price range between the SS80 touring and SS100 super-sports models. Facilitating its sale abroad, the 11-50 featured sidecar mounts on both sides of the frame. It had been conceived as a long-legged, effortless tourer and was claimed by its maker to offer 85mph performance in solo form and pull a heavy sidecar at a comfortable 70mph; indeed, in the latter role it was one of the finest sidecar mounts of its day. Production lasted until 1939, by which time the 11-50 was the only JAP-powered machine in the Brough Superior range. Only 308 Brough Superior 11-50s were produced between 1933 and 1939. How many survive today is not known but it is likely to be significantly less than those manufactured. 'ATO 574' is offered in 'as last run' condition and will require some re-commissioning before returning to the road having been on static display at the London Motorcycle Museum for many years. As one would expect of a machine of this age, it has been serviced and maintained over the years, including several repaints; if anything, the resulting patina only adds to this TV icon's appeal

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outweek30 · 5 years

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Hong Kong: Still fighting archaic, British rule, Hong Kong's lesbians and gays see a clouded future in the impending shift of governments

The appalling position of gays and lesbians in [Hong Kong] is the result of a unique combination of historical and political factors.

In China, there are no laws against homosexuality or homosexual acts. Only with the advent of British colonial rule in the nineteenth century was Hong Kong saddled with the existing baggage of English law under which homosexual acts were criminal. Although British law changed in 1967, decriminalizing homosexual acts in private between consenting adults, reform has not reached Hong Kong where sodomy is still punishable by a maximum of life imprisonment. Homosexuals are also barred from working in the Hong Kong civil service.

[...]

The recent student uprisings in China and the brutal response of the Chinese government have accentuated the uncertainties and heightened the fears for all Hong Kong residents. Reports from the People's Republic of China indicate that the current political repression has already filtered down to non-political, nonconformist behaviors, such as openly gay activity.

[...]

With power vested in an appointed government, accompanied by a focus on escape, rather than on improving conditions locally, there is little motivation in Hong Kong for social or political activism. Moreover, the police keep secret files on homosexuals, raid gay bars, and have been acknowledged to engage in entrapment and bribery. Under such conditions, the risk of political activism is high and the surprise is not that there is so little, but that there is any at all.

[... The] Hong Kong police department [has] established a Special Investigation Unit (SIU), which deals exclusively with homosexuality. (One local lesbian refers to it as the "Peeping Tom Squad,") [...] Still, the issue moved ahead when the government asked its standing Law Reform Commission to look at possible changes in the law. In 1983, the Law Reform Commission recommended decriminalization of sexual acts between consenting adults in private. [But for] five years the government took no action at all on the recommendations of its own appointed commission. [...]

The only gay group making any political effort at all is the Hong Kong 10% Club which was founded in 1986 by Alan Li, 28, a native of Hong Kong who emigrated to Canada as a teenager. Now a resident of Toronto, and an activist there, Li returned to Hong Kong for a nine month visit, during which he was instrumental in the initial organization of the club and acted as its first chair.

Li was succeeded by Julian Chan, 26, a hair stylist[.] Chan, too, learned his liberated attitudes overseas, having lived for six months in London where he marched in a gay pride parade. Chan says that the 10% club has a mailing list of 40, about half of whom are active. [...]

Chan has made appearances on local television discussing the proposed law reform. He contrasts his approach with earlier efforts by activists he considers to be more confrontational. "We aim at a warm, healthy, positive image," he says, "a softer approach, more diplomatic. Maintaining face is very important to the Chinese, so it is cleverer not to make demands, but to tell them that we are Chinese, we are their brothers and sisters. It works. Chinese are more sentimental than Italians!"

Chan and Sam Sasha are the only two prominent gay leaders in Hong Kong willing to be named in the press. Sasha (a pen name) was the first to take up the cause there a decade ago. As with all the gay leadership in Hong Kong, he learned the spirit of liberation abroad. He studied at the University of Texas and was among those attending the historic meetings of gay and lesbian activists at the Carter White House.

Sasha returned to Hong Kong determined to advance the cause of lesbians and gays through education. He has written two books, one a history of homosexuality in China, the other providing basic information on homosexuality. He shares tidbits of Chinese history, such as the legend in which an ancient Chinese emperor shared a peach with a male lover. "Sharing a peach" is now a euphemism for a gay relationship.

[...]

Despite newly won support from such institutions as the Catholic and Anglican churches in Hong Kong, none of these leaders is optimistic about the prospects for.·reform of the sodomy laws. The future under the People's Republic is clouded. While there is no law there on the subject, laws on "hooliganism" have been used against gays. One expert at the University of Hong Kong says that, in China, homosexuality is considered an "offense against socialist morality."

For gay and lesbian westerners accustomed to more liberated ways, Hong Kong, under the British now or under the Chinese in the future, is an anomaly, The situation there puts in perspective our own history of oppression and the freedoms we now take for granted. "Sharing the peach" in China happens only at great risk.

— Arthur Lazere, OutWeek Magazine No. 15, October 1, 1989, p. 34.

#outweek #iissue 15 #lgbt history #hong kong #china #uk #homophobia #sodomy laws #hong kong 10% club #alan li #julian chan #sam sasha #feature #arther lazere

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hellospunkiebrewster · 6 years

Text

Flight Risk - Part VI

Author’s note: There’s a hundred million more things to be said in this chapter, but I didn’t want it to be a billion words long. Part VII will be dropping either tomorrow or Wednesday because of it. Thank you so much for sticking with me and if you need to catch up, here you go:

Prologue - Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV - Part V

Summary: The statements Liam recorded reach Cordonia and send the country into a complete whirlwind. The palace must deal with the unexpected effects of Liam’s declarations about them.

Perma-tags: @madaraism, @mfackenthal

Tags: @theroyalweisme, @viktoriapetit, @hopefulmoonobject, @captainkingliam, @captain-kingliamsqueen, @syltti78, @pbchoicesobsessed, @queencatherynerhys, @jamielea81, @bobasheebaby, @ranishajay, @blackcatkita, @jlouise88, @choiceswreckedme, @hamulau, @umccall71, @darley1101, @gardeningourmet, @ayo-minty-jess, @drakelover78, @jayjay879, @ehkw1989 (Please let me know if I missed anyone.)

The multiple statements that Liam recorded and released to the media played on Cordonian television and radio non-stop since their release. One statement for each day since the first one. The first one only scratched the surface, each subsequent one went into gory details about Constantine’s management of the crown’s finances, his manipulation of vulnerable nobles, and his meddling in the private affairs of his children. Liam even aired his own dirty laundry, maintaining a relationship with Lady Riley after his engagement to Madeleine, keeping it from the public, and supporting her in an investigation into the allegations. Regina had all but memorized them word for word. She found herself mouthing the words as he spoke them, as if they were a familiar song played on the radio in the background. Constantine had withdrawn entirely, feeling the pressure more than ever for him to explain himself and still he refused. The current climate painted him as the villain, the public saw him as enemy number one, and he knew his sons certainly felt that way.

Bastien’s contact had stopped notifying him when the new statements would go public. The television was now a permanent fixture in the suite, always tuned to CBC, always droning on about Liam’s statements. He varied the times of the statement releases, making them unable to preempt them. Correspondents flocked to New York City, hoping to be the ones to find him. Political analysts talked constantly about the meaning behind his words, behind his every gesture, and what it could mean for Cordonia. The public marveled at his bravery in being honest, how noble and sacrificing that was for his country. They adored his underdog love story and Riley was a press darling all through her time in Cordonia. Now he was polling off the charts, higher than thought possible. Crowds formed outside the palace and in the city square, calling for consequences for the King Father and begging for Liam to return.

A new hour starts on the CBC and with it the analysts and reporters start over with the same talking points they spoke on the hour previous. The hour starts with an excerpt from Liam’s latest statement, he’s clean shaven in the latest one, his hair in place:

‘When my father was king he saw fit to manipulate individuals in the nobility, in the guard, and members of the public. He had no regard for their feelings after the fact, once they’d realized what they’d done. Once others realized what they’d done. The actions of these people are something they will have to live with for the rest of their lives and unlike my father, they have a conscience.’

The analysts begin to again pick apart the statement. This one was the worst for Constantine. For generations before him, the crown lived extravagantly, an exclusive club for those lucky enough to be born into it. That lifestyle, those traditions, came with a cost. A high cost. It was to be expected Regina reconciles with herself. The public is now more aware of wealth disparity between themselves and the royals and it made them angry, but never like this. Manipulation, drawing innocent people into your schemes using information you might not even have, blackmail, the public found unforgivable. Regina could hear the dull roar of the chants outside even over the shrill urgency of the voices on the television, calling for them to leave, some calling for much worse.

Regina turns off the television, the drone of the crowd outside permeating the suite in it’s absence.

Madeleine is in the car on the way to Fydelia when her phone starts buzzing incessantly. Her mother, Kiara, Regina, Maxwell. Leo. She read the story pausing halfway through to listen to Liam’s statement. She could barely believe her ears. He was taking control of the situation, of the country, with just this brief statement. When she was first introduced to Liam, as her betrothed’s little brother, he seemed far too kind and sweet to be capable of something so bold and audacious. The family always knew he was the more level-headed of the two, but he was always quieter, always listening.

It appeared that he had been listening quite well all those years. She was almost proud.

Then the bitter taste of regret fills her mouth. She couldn’t be sure how she would weather this storm. After all the lying and manipulation, she couldn’t know what the public would think of her. There was so much more to the story than what he said in those few minutes. Could he, would he clear the air entirely?

Madeleine returns home still in shock that Liam had the balls to do it. He pulled the rug out from under the entire royal family, from under a good portion of the nobility. The public always valued honesty and selflessness. He had become a martyr in those short minutes, in those few paragraphs. She checks her messages for the first time since realizing something huge happened.

Kiara is in shock, worried not about the implications for her family but for the country for the world as a whole. She worried what it would do for Cordonia’s standing. Kiara’s family would be fine, they didn’t have a dog in this fight. Her father was never one to get wrapped up in the more shady dealings of Constantine’s even though they had once been good friends.

Her mother, obviously drunk in her message, seems ready to let it all burn to the ground. She could live comfortably off of champagne from the savings in one of their accounts alone.

Regina’s message is angry. She spits vile names at her step-son and dotes over an ailing Constantine, not expecting him to take any responsibility for his actions. Her words aren’t for Madeleine, they’re for herself, reassuring herself that what he’d done had been in the best interests of the country. That the people would see that. Madeleine was almost shocked she had the gall to leave her a message.

Maxwell sounds almost celebratory. Happy to have heard from his friends and that he could finally stop holding in this secret. The secret of everything that happened since the Coronation. Finally, Leo’s voice comes through, rich and deep.

‘I’m sure you’ve heard the news by now, Liam’s in New York. He married Riley. I guess we Rys brothers have something for Americans.’ There’s a short laugh in his pause and it makes her smile. He sighs.

‘Maddie, I don’t know how to reach them. My brother and Riley. If you do could you let me know? I think it’s important he and I speak. No one else in the world knows what he’s going through right now better than I do. Thanks, I guess. Please, let me know.’

The message started off awkward and a little joking, but his last words were sad and desperate. A slight crack in his voice. All these years and they had thought Leo had moved on from this world, but Cordonia’s hurt obviously still got to him too. He always made himself scarce, choosing to stay at home, to take care of his family. Madeleine now realized that maybe, it had been because it was a bit too painful to see his family, to see her, to see his country without him in the picture. He couldn’t hang around, to truly be supportive of his brother. Staying would always force them to recall what happened, to always question Liam. Staying would mean people would ask him his opinion. The station of being king was never for him, the schedules and rules, but Cordonia was still his home. It was still filled with people he loved.

She struggled so much against herself to not call him again. It was the middle of the night there. She was positive he was sleepless, hoping for any news, but she didn’t have anything to offer him.

They knew beyond a shadow of a doubt where Liam and Riley were. Each of the videos were traceable back to a block in Chinatown. Bastien quickly had the members of the security detail who were sent overseas stationed nearby. They reported back to him on their actions within the city, having a few opportunities to bring them in to the consulate. Bastien told them time and time again to stand down. Each day presented a new and difficult challenge for him, to make it look like he had been trying to bring Liam home when in reality he kind of wanted him to live life for a while. He didn’t think Liam could stay away much longer, he had unfinished business here. He wasn’t one to avoid it.

The phone ringing pulls him from his thoughts, it’s an American number. He braces himself for the voice he thinks he’ll hear on the other end of the line. He answers and it’s not him, it’s the other Rys brother.

“How can I help you Leo?”

“That’s one hell of welcome. It’s nice to talk to you too Bastien.” He pauses expecting some sort of small talk from him. He doesn’t have anything else to say. Leo sighs and continues, “You must know where they are by now Bastien, you have to, or at least how to reach them.”

“I know where they are, they haven’t been in contact with anyone since they left. The first thing we’d heard was Liam’s statement.” He shouldn’t be telling him this. The entire investigation was supposed to be completely under wraps, no one was to know besides the King Father, Queen Mother, his closest agents, and himself but this was getting out of hand.

“I want to speak to him, I’m the only person who has even the tiniest idea what he’s going through right now. He’s let all this out and it’s cathartic of course, but it’s destroying his home. Our home.” Bastien notes a hint of desperation in his voice.

“In Manhattan, Chinatown, somewhere in the area of Mott and Canal. That’s the closest we’ve been able to pinpoint.” He lied slightly. That information was highly confidential but he did give Leo an approximate location. Leo chuckles lightly on the other end of the line.

“I have a feeling you’re not telling me the whole story, but I’ll make do.”

He knows he can make do, Leo is the only person who had been able to shake him as his tail on multiple occasions. Bastien doesn’t answer, his eyes close and his head rolls back against his chair. The secrets, the investigation, this was all so exhausting when there was a perfectly good remedy to this, one that would continue the monarchy without the entire thing spinning out of control like this. Constantine’s cousin. His sons. Constantine was too proud to entertain the thought and he was supported blindly by Regina. Bastien rubs the bridge of his nose with his free hand as he continues to hold the phone wordlessly to his ear. Leo clears his throat on the other end of the line.

“Thank you.” He sounds as if he’s ready to say goodbye when something overtakes him. “Do you think I should come to Cordonia?”

Bastien pushes out a long exhale. “I’m not sure what good that would do now, without Liam here. Your presence will only remind people of your abdication, especially now, when there’s no one to throw your support behind. Since they refuse to move on.” Bastien takes a breath. “God knows why they like you so much.”

He can hear the smile in Leo’s voice when he responds, “They say it’s the eyes.” Another lull in the conversation, Bastien grins.

“Goodbye Bastien.”

Several days later he’d gotten word from one of his agents in the United States that Riley and Liam had left their apartment and got in a taxi headed to the airport. About an hour later, it was confirmed that they had purchased tickets at the airport to fly to Cordonia.

Liam feels only a slight lightening of his heart when the Cordonian airport comes into view. He wishes he knew what to expect at the gate. He is exhausted and completely spent from the past few days. This last week had been absolute insanity, throwing him from the highest of highs to the deepest lows constantly. He feels his shoulders ache with the stress they’re bearing. Riley’s slender hand had not left his since they left their apartment in Manhattan over twelve hours ago. She stole glances at him all flight, barely ate, worry and anxiety etched on her face. She wanted so badly to comfort him, to support this, but he could tell she didn’t know what would be coming to the both of them once their feet were firmly on the ground.

Her entire frame sagged with the weight of his decisions the closer their plane got to the gate. Every moment on the plane had been complete agony for her. She had been assaulted in this country, been told she was the one whose actions were in question. She was doubted and outright put through a hell that no other person involved in his life had been through. Every action, every word, every moment of hers was under a microscope from the very beginning. He hated to do it to her again. They would’ve been happy in New York if it weren’t for his father and Regina. He feels her hand squeeze his, as if she’s reminding herself why she’s subjecting herself to it all again.

The plane slides to a gentle stop and the familiar dings of the seatbelt light sound. There’s a flurry of clicks all around them as people rise to gather their things. Riley doesn’t move and neither does he, not until he knows she’s ready for this. He can hear her taking deep, measured breaths beside him, her hand still wrapped in his. People begin to file out of the plane, past them, not noticing them. Finally when it’s silent again, she speaks.

“Are you sure about this?” He’s heard her utter that question at least a hundred times. The first time, when he was only coming around to the idea of leaving the throne behind for her. Those times, her voice had been light with disbelief, like she was living in a dream. Surreal. Her words were heavy now. Somber. He can feel her eyes on the side of his face as he looks down at his lap.

“I don’t know.”

Silence again, before she speaks. She was always uncomfortable with silence. “In any case, I don’t think they’ll just turn the plane around and go back. So I guess we’ve got to get up.” He smiles in spite of himself. He can feel her shifting beside him and he looks at her. In an instant, her lips are on his and they tell him everything. He can feel her love for him, her support, her embrace, her complete, unwavering confidence in him, and some of her own self doubt. She pulls back.

“I love you.” She didn’t have to say it, he knows it in every tiny particle of his body that she does. Even in this singular painful moment. He’ll never tire of hearing it. She stands, still holding on to his hand. He wants to say something, anything, but there are no words for what he’s feeling. So incredibly grateful. Maybe. But it was so much more than that.

Outside of the plane at the gate it was a complete circus in the airport terminal. A crowd had gathered, people were cheering, screaming, the moment they came into view from the tunnel. Liam’s hand tightens around Riley’s before releasing it and putting his hand around her back, his hand resting on her hip, pulling her closer to him. Flashes blind them and shutters snap furiously. She looks at him in disbelief.

“We must’ve been spotted heading to the airport,” he says, so quiet in his complete shock. There’s a tiny gap in the action before someone shouts.

“Welcome home Your Majesty!”

“We love you Lady Riley!”

They make their way past the thickest part of the crowd before they’re greeted by Bastien and a couple members of the Royal Guard. Liam nods to Bastien, he figured if anyone got wind of their plans, it would be him. They’d be getting an escort to the palace, whether they wanted it or not. Bastien looked like he absolutely did not want to be there. One guard steps forward and grasps Liam’s free arm, pulling him from Riley’s side. He wrenches his arm from his grasp and in the exact same moment the other guard grabs the arm that had just been around Riley’s waist.

They could tell by Bastien’s eyes that his heart wasn’t in it any longer. His shoulders were slightly slumped from their usual place of confidence and authority. Sleeplessness was steeped in his eyes and his face bore the weight of the conflict inside of him. He’d sworn to serve, regardless of his feelings, but the cost had become too great.

“What am I being detained for?” he asks too tired to pull against the other guard’s grip on him.

“Sir, you’re being held as an enemy of the crown.”

“But I am the crown.”

#playchoices #play choices #the royal romance #trr #choices fanfiction #trr fanfic #trr au #flight risk #king liam #liam rys #madeleine #bastien #queen mother regina #king father constatine #leo rys #liam x mc #long post

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yahoonewsphotos · 6 years

Photo

John Moore's 'Undocumented': Immigration at and militarization of the U.S.-Mexico border

Since 2010, Getty Images special correspondent John Moore has focused on U.S. immigration, creating a comprehensive photographic record of undocumented immigration and the militarization of the U.S.-Mexico border.

With exclusive access to immigrants at all points of their journeys, ICE agents, border patrol agents, U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS) and dozens of NGOs here and abroad, Moore’s Undocumented (Powerhouse Books) is a deeply researched perspective of a complex issue.

For its broad scope and compassionate storytelling, Moore’s body of work is an essential record of U.S. immigration. Undocumented features essays and photos from Central America and Mexico about the journey north, the border and securing the frontier, life in a divided nation, and the experience of being detained and deported.

Undocumented also features several portrait series, including undocumented migrants, prisoners in immigration jails, and new American citizens.

John Moore is a special correspondent for Getty Images. He has taken photographs in 65 countries on six continents and was posted internationally for 17 years — first in Nicaragua, then India, South Africa, Mexico, Egypt and Pakistan. He returned to the U.S. in 2008.

Moore has won top awards throughout his career, including the 2005 Pulitzer Prize for Breaking News Photography, World Press Photo honors, the John Faber Award and the Robert Capa Gold Medal from the Overseas Press Club, Photographer of the Year from Pictures of the Year International, the NPPA and Sony World Photography Organization. Moore is a graduate of the University of Texas at Austin, where he studied radio, television and film. He lives with his family in Stamford, Conn.

Undocumented by John Moore will have its exhibition opening, book signing and a talk on May 1, 2018, at 7 p.m. at the Half King Photo Series. It will be led by Anna Van Lenten, curator of the Half King Photography Series. The exhibition will run until June 17. A limited number of signed book copies will be available for $50, with proceeds going to the Chris Hondros Fund (cash only).

Photography by John Moore/Getty Images

See more photos of ‘John Moore’s ‘Undocumented’ and our other slideshows on Yahoo News.

#john moore #undocumented #u.s.-mexican border #immigration #mexico #texas #photography #photojournalism #half king photo series

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mariocki · 3 months

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Roger Delgado makes a brief appearance as an unnamed but helpful Argentine diplomat, in Overseas Press Club - Exclusive!: Two Against the Kremlin (1.13, ABPC, 1957)

#fave spotting #roger delgado #overseas press club exclusive!#two against the kremlin #delgado!master #classic doctor who #doctor who #abpc #1957 #classic tv #a very pleasant surprise! i assumed i was all done with finding blorbos in OPCE but then up pops Rog for a little scene in the final episode #he's an embassy diplomat‚ which was kind of his stock in trade role before he fell into villain work #not much variation in images bc he's only onscreen for about 30 seconds to give Ralph Bellamy's US newspaperman some tips on #getting his family out of Moscow. I've mentioned in other OPCE posts that the veracity of the 'true stories' told is difficult to pin down #Bellamy is playing journalist Eddy Gilbert‚ a very real person‚ and the details of his marriage to a Russian ballet dancer‚ Tamara‚ and the #opposition they faced from Russian authorities is certainly true; their relationship was well known enough to have inspired a film‚ 1953's #Never Let Me Go starring Clark Gable as Gilmore and Gene Tierney as Tamara (albeit with names changed and some highly dramatic additions #to their story). how much is true of the rest of this tv ep is anyone's guess but it's certainly among the more believable #and there's nothing too objectionable (accounting for cold war era attitudes‚ i mean)

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putschki1969 · 3 years

Photo

KEIKO 2nd Album 「dew」 Store Specific Tokutens Details Revealed

Here are the sample images for the store specific tokutens! For overseas fans I recommend CDJapan, Amazon.co.jp and HMV International!

<Store specific tokutens> ■ Stores nationwide (incl. CDJapan) ・ Postcard [A] ■ TOWER RECORDS ・ Postcard [B] ■ HMV ・ Postcard [C] ■ TSUTAYA ・ Postcard [D] ■ Yamano Musical Instruments ・ Postcard [E] ■ Animate ・ Postcard [F] ■ Rakuten Books ・ Postcard [G] ■ Seven Net Shopping ・ Postcard [H] ■ Amazon.co.jp ・ Amazon.co.jp Limited Tokuten: Mega Jacket ※Be sure to order the product labeled as “特典付き"

<KEIKO FC tokutens> An official CD shop for members of KEIKO’s FC “Meat&Chocolate” will be launched! Everyone who orders KEIKO’s 2nd Album “dew” at the 「KEIKO Official Fan Club 肉とチョコレート CD・DVD OFFICIAL SHOP」will receive a member-only privilege. Depending on which version you purchase, you will get a dfferent tokuten.

① [AL + Blu-ray + Analog] Benefit: Original “making video” viewing rights; Preorder deadline: November 29, 2021 ② [AL + DVD] Benefit: 1 “off-shot photo” [A] (L size) ③ [AL] Benefit: 1 “off-shot photo” [B] (L size) (Source)

「KEIKO Live K005 ~11月の雨音~」 Venue Exclusive Album Sale

Customers who preorder the target products at the venue on the day of the live will receive an "original postcard with a message". In addition, you will be eligible to take part in a lottery which will be held on-site!! Winners will receive a "KEIKO Original WALL DECOR" (approx. 17 cm x 17 cm square size photo panel). (Source)

■ Target products Release date: 2021/12/8 2nd AL「dew」 ①【AL+Blu-ray+Analog】※First Press LE 　　AVCD-96875/B～C　9,020円 ②【AL+DVD】　　　　　　　AVCD-96876/B　4,950 ③【AL】　　AVCD-96877　3,300

■ Live venue benefits For each purchase of the target product ・ One "original postcard with message" ・ Lottery participation privilege: "KEIKO original WALL DECOR" ※ Postcards will be given to all purchasers. ※ After that, you can participate in the lottery. ※ The message on the postcard tokuten is printed ※ Live stream viewers will have the possibility to preorder from a designated link in order to receive the special postcard tokuten. Please note that you cannot participate in the lottery.

#kalafina #keiko #keiko news #dew #keiko 2nd album #store specific tokutens #already order the LE in the FC store and the BD version on Amazon #where to order the RE tho?#Tsutaya is so pretty #animate is super pretty too #I wonder if there will be another Tower Records release event?#I will wait to order the RE

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gemmasianpowellphotography · 3 years

Text

The Masked City - Research

12.10.2021

Andrew Kelly

Andrew Kelly (born in Melbourne, Australia) is a photographer currently based in New York City.

He has worked on assignment for Reuters, Getty Images, The New York Times and the Wall Street Journal and his images have been published nationally and globally.

Andrew covers a wide variety of assignments locally and globally.

Andrew has worked to create corporate imagery for McDonald’s, Microsoft, Ford Motor Company, Stolichnaya, T-Mobile, Citibank and many more.

Ballet dancer and performer Ashlee Montague of New York wears a gas mask while she dances in Times Square. Ms Montague and others took advantage of the largely vacated New York City landmarks to capture once in a lifetime imagery.

A member of the the New York National Guard clasps a pack of paper towel ahead of a disinfecting mission at Young Israel of New Rochelle synagogue. A member of the congregation tested positive for coronavirus on March 3, resulting in a shutdown of the center and a 1 mile exclusion zone surrounding it.

https://www.andrewkellyphoto.com/covid19-ny/uxzx2om7wiyie7zso1mlhg1nv84ejv

Kathleen Flynn

Kathleen Flynn is a New Orleans based photojournalist and documentary filmmaker, who focuses on stories of struggle and injustice. Flynn has spent nearly 20 years as a working journalist, including a decade at the Tampa Bay Times and three years at NOLA.com | The Times-Picayune. She has covered in-depth community news, veterans issues throughout the country, the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, the tsunami in Thailand, immigration in Mexico, post-conflict Liberia, India’s booming pharmaceutical industry, and the war in Afghanistan. Her work has been recognized with six regional Emmys, honors from the Overseas Press Club, World Press Photo, Pictures of the Year International, the Edward R. Murrow awards, the Nieman Foundation, the National Press Photographers Association's Best of Photojournalism, and with a Casey Medal, which was awarded for the nation's best reporting on children, youth and families. In 2019 the National Press Photographers Association awarded their Humanitarian Award to Flynn, for her career covering human rights issues and injustices. She is a member of Women Photograph.

Dana Clark, and her son 18 month old Mason, wait in line at City Hall as early voting begins for the presidential election in New Orleans, Louisiana, U.S., October 16, 2020. She had purchased the safety pod she is wearing to use in the classroom with her fifth-grade students, 'hoping to protect them'. (Reuters)

Alyson McClaran

Alyson is a Denver-based photographer and a Colorado native with a degree in photojournalism from MSU Denver. She has several photojournalism awards from her work; and bring the ability to recognize the moments you'll want to immortalize. After working for newspapers for five years across the state, she has gained experience in working in several different shooting conditions. Alyson loves story telling and documenting an event in a series of images.

https://imagesbyalyson.com/about

An image shot during the April 2020 rally in Denver, America where there was conflict again the ever growing pandemic restrictions. The sign the lady is holding quotes “Land of the free” part of the America national anthem yet at that time there was a “Stay at Home” order in place and this is mirrored by the stand off between the healthcare worker with the mask on standing boldly in front of the car.

https://edition.cnn.com/interactive/2021/03/world/coronavirus-pandemic-cnnphotos/

Dougie Wallace

Scottish photographer Dougie Wallace is internationally recognised for his long-term social documentary projects and a distinct direct style of expressive street photography. He has won prestigious awards, exhibited as a solo artist or in joint exhibits in world-renowned institutions and photographic festivals, authored a number of books, all critically acclaimed. London-based, his assignments and personal work take him around the world.

Don’t sweat it

The strapline (meant for a deodorant) would have been witty had the bus been full. Now the campaign has a new, darker meaning.

Makeup woman

‘Never mind the pandemic, I’ll put my face on.’ Caught in the early stages of lockdown, the social-distancing rules on buses stipulated middle door entry only. I quickly hopped on and off to get this image.

http://www.dougiewallace.com/bus-response

Dougie Wallace’s depictions of London through snapshots of its iconic red buses reveal how the city has coped with the Covid-19 lockdowns, and how it is struggling to get back on its feet.

https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/gallery/2020/nov/16/dougie-wallaces-bus-response-in-pictures

#the masked city #research

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glare-gryphon · 6 years

Note

May I put in a prompt? If you're totally burnt out on this verse, just ignore this. In the Negotiation-verse what would it be like if instead of the whole drugging and kidnapping business, they ended up sorting out the kiss and dating. Anakin has no idea his boyfriend is a serial killer. Could be serious, fluff, total crack or hell it could be Quin mocking Anakin about his hickies. I don't care.

This prompt has been sitting in my inbox for so long. I am almost ashamed.

Here u go.

Alternative

Negotiation-Verse

M/E, 2000 words.

A sharp rap at Anakin’s office door draws the detective’sattention away from the mountain of reports piled up on his desk. With no majorleads to chase at the moment, he’s been working on filling them out all morningand is grateful for whatever reprieve that the day can provide.

When he’d first become an officer, he couldn’t believe howmuch paperwork was involved in the day-to-day operations of a police station.He’d hated it then, and he still hates it now. Usually he tries to shove it offon Quinlan whenever he thinks he can get away with it, but Ventress has sweptVos away for some business conference she has to attend overseas and now Anakinis stuck catching up on both of their overdue reports. He supposes thatturnabout is fair play, no matter how much he would like to complain otherwise.

“Come in,” he calls, swiveling his office chair toward thedoor just in time for it to crack open, revealing one Coruscant Universityprofessor, Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“Is now a bad time?” Kenobi asks, leaning against thedoorframe with a wry smile on his lips, as though already predicting Anakin’sanswer.

“Never a bad time for you,” Anakin replies, moving files offhis desk in attempt to clear a place for Obi-Wan to sit while the other mancloses the door behind him. He doesn’t here the soft snick of the lock, caught up as he is in his work, but he doesnotice the smirk on Kenobi’s lips when the man settles into the space hecleared. “What brought you over this way, babe?”

Obi-Wan shrugs. “Had a class cancelled, and just wanted tosee you. I don’t need an excuse to do that, do I?”

“No, I suppose you don’t.”

Apparently satisfied, Obi-Wan turns his attention to thefiles on Anakin’s desk. While it is technically against the rules for Kenobi tobe thumbing through them as though they were magazines in the checkout lanes ofgrocery stores, Anakin doesn’t see any particular harm in it. His partner isdiscreet, and isn’t the type to go blabbing about the detective’s cases toanyone he knows. Not like their social life is particularly riveting anyways,with most of their friends connected to the police force by way of Anakin’semployment. Really, there was no one to gossip with who wasn’t already in theloop; while Obi-Wan was popular enough with his coworkers, he didn’t maintainany particularly close relationships with any of them.

“Why was your class cancelled?” Anakin asks as Obi-Wanshifts paperwork around, digging through them to find something that catcheshis interest. Most of what is on Anakin’s desk these days is common muggingsand break-ins. Tedious work, but essential toward keeping the generalpopulation of Coruscant safe. He sometimes thinks he would like something moreexciting, but the more rational part of him knows that there will plenty ofthat come the Christmas season. He should spend the off months luxuriating inpicking up petty thieves instead of internal organs.

A hum of satisfaction marks Obi-Wan having found somethinghe likes, and the man answers with his nose buried in the pages of the file.“Not enough students registered. Apparently my Survey of Shakespeare coursedoesn’t have quite the same draw as it used to.”

“Kids today have no respect for the classics,” Anakinreplies, not because he himself has any particular interest in the works of along-dead playwright, but because he knows Kenobi likes to grumble about thedecay of society and youths today.

Leaning over in his chair to get a view of the file hispartner is reading, Anakin is not particularly surprised to find the Negotiatorfile in the man’s hands once again. Since the start of their relationship, he’sshown a keen interest in following along with the case as Anakin attempts totrack down the most prolific serial killer prowling Coruscant’s streets. Thisis hardly uncommon; nearly everyone he’s ever met are curious about theNegotiator case, as high-profile as it is.

“Do you think you’re any closer to catching him?” Obi-Wanasks, drawing a picture from the disorder and holding it up to the light asthough to get a better look.

It’s of one of the latest cycle’s crime scenes, another ofAnakin’s not-quite brothers left brutalized and bared for the world to see. Thepattern has changed again, much to Anakin’s frustration. While before they knewthe Negotiator was luring his victims with sex, the seduction seems to havetrailed off entirely with his newest set of victims. In its place are drugs—thecheap kind, easy to get on the street and difficult to trace for their prolificnature—slipped into drinks at busy clubs with distracted bartenders.

The level of brutality in thesemurders had risen with the exclusion of sex, each victim bearing more of thebruising and evidence of assault only sporadically found in older victims. Thescenes themselves had changed as well, no longer as careful and precise as theyonce were. Not rushed, by any means, or sloppy. Not enough to leave evidencebehind. But Anakin, when he looked at the cuts and the gaping, open wounds,could tell that each one had not been given the same carefulconsideration they once might have received.

“Not really,” Anakin confesses, and Obi-Wan frowns as he draws another picturefrom the file. The Negotiator’s pattern had always been consistent, its onedrastic change clearly instigated by Anakin arrival on the case. What hadcaused this most recent change, he can’t quite figure out. There are a fewpieces, in the rush of his work, but they connect to nothing of significance.No events that Anakin can identify.

“Made a bit of a mess, didn’t it…” the man mutters distastefully, more to himselfthan to Anakin as he grimaces at the picture. It had been a mess, blood usuallydrained away left cool and tacky on the floor and of the county library. Limbshas been shelved neatly away with the books, the head and heart sitting on thelibrarian’s desk when police arrived. There was no note for Anakin, nor hadthere been one this whole cycle. He’s unsure whether or not this comes as arelief that the targeting has stopped, or as warning that his nemesis had begunto lose interest in their game.

“It was messier than usual.” Anakin informs his partner. “I told the guys—Ithink he had a workstation somewhere, and for whatever reason, he can’t getback to it as much anymore. He’s having to work on fly, and it’s not as cleanas it might have been otherwise,”

Obi-Wan hums thoughtfully, offering the younger man a wry smile as he replacesthe picture and sets the file aside. “Perhaps he has someone to go home to, atthe end of the night.”

Anakin chuckles at the jest. “Is there true love for serial killers?”

“There’s true love for anyone, if you look within the pages of literature,”Obi-Wan replies, leaning over to run his fingers through Anakin’s hair.“Princes and paupers, knights and beggars.”

Anakin doesn’t resist when his partner uses his grip on his hair to draw himover, leaning eagerly across the desk and into Obi-Wan’s space. “Cops andserial killers; you and me,” the man breathes, and pulls Anakin into a kissthat is anything but chaste.

Obi-Wan, he has come to find sincetheir initial encounter, is an excellent kisser. When they’re together, it’slike the world around them fades away, as cliché as it sounds. He never used tothink it a thing that could actually happen, but when it comes to Obi-Wan, hesupposes it makes sense. The man himself is almost a cliché at times, seeminglywalking straight out of Anakin’s teenage wet dreams. It’s easy to lose himselfin Kenobi—so much so that he almost doesn’t notice the man sliding off thedesk, shuffling around to where Anakin sits, until he’s upended from his chair.Until Kenobi is bending him over the flat of his desk, tugging his pants downand freeing Anakin’s achingly hard cock from the confines of his slacks.

Another cliché.

“You planned this,” Anakin accuses when he hears the distinctive sound of a capopening. He tries to turn around, but the hand at the base of skull, pinninghim to the desk, only presses harder to still the movement.

“More hoped than planned, really,” Obi-Wan replies calmly, even as Anakin bucksin surprise at the sensation of cool lube drizzled between his cheeks. “Iconfess that this has always been a fantasy of mine, and when you mentionedDetective Vos stepping out of the office for a few days, well… I am quite theopportunist, my dear.”

“You do know you’re supposed to discuss these things with your partner first,right?” Anakin grumbles, but still finds himself pressing back against theslick fingers that have begun to work him open. “What if somebody were to walkin? You’re not the only one in demand of my attention, you know.”

Obi-Wan curls his fingers in a way he knows Anakin likes, dragging a raggedmoan that the detective has to stifle with his fist when the man’s actions sendpleasure racing up his spine. “The door is locked; if you’re quiet, no one willever know what we’re up to.” He murmurs as leans forward, nipping at the shellof Anakin’s ear. His fingers slip from Anakin’s hole with a last stretch, thesound of a zipper being undone quickly following. “You can be quiet, can’t youdear? For me?”

Anakin nods rapidly; he can be good for Obi-Wan. As much as he’d protested, thethought of getting caught—or someone knowing—comes with an unexpected rush ofexcitement. He wouldn’t have thought himself and exhibitionist before Obi-Wancame along, but then, his new parter had proven himself talented in draggingparts of Anakin to the light that he hadn’t even known were tucked away.

“That’s a good boy.”

Breath coming in excited pants, Anakin adjusts his grip on the desk as Obi-Wanslicks himself up. He has to bite down on his lower lip as the man spreads hischeeks, the blunt head of his dick pressing up against Anakin’s stretched hole.The feeling of Obi-Wan pushing into him is a familiar sensation now, but heremembers what it was like the first time they made love. Remembers how nervoushe was, splayed out on the man’s bed. Remembers how gentle his partner hadbeen, as though Anakin would shatter if handled too roughly.

He is not always so gentle now, not that Anakin minds, and today is noexception. He gives Anakin time to adjust of course, aware of the length andgirth of his cock, but once Anakin pushes back against him in unspokenpermission, he quickly finds a pace that has the younger man’s hips biting intothe edge of the desk with every thrust, that keeps him pushing back and takingObi-Wan deeper simply to stop from sliding up into stacks of papers he hadn’tcleared aside when this encounter began.

One of Obi-Wan’s hands lays over his own as the man thrusts roughly into him,their fingers entwining, and Anakin realizes that his palm lays on the openNegotiator file that Obi-Wan had set aside. His eyes catch for a moment on thepale, bloodless faces of his unfortunate look-alikes, and something twisted inthe back of his mind wonders if they liked what the Negotiator gave them. Ifthey enjoyed being stretched and filled and taken the way he enjoys being underObi-Wan. If they regretted it in those moments before he killed them, or ifthey even had a chance to think about it.

When they’re done, clothes adjusted and Obi-Wan sweeping from the door with alast kiss goodbye, Anakin has to close the file and stow it away in a drawer ofthe desk he’d just been taken over. Must throw himself into the work despitethe lingering scents of sweat and sex, to keep his mind busy. Must think ofother things, despite the feeling of Obi-Wan’s cum leaking from him, because ifhe doesn’t, he can’t help but wonder what would happen if the Negotiator foundhim, and if he’d like it too.

#gryph fic #obikin #fic: negotiation

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woollenhulls · 6 years

Text

‘University Outfitters’

The intimate link between universities and tailoring makes sense for a number of reasons. When the modern tailored suit emerged, universities were places where aristocrats went to enjoy themselves, gentlemen to distinguish themselves, and men from humbler backgrounds to lay claim to a profession. From the perspective of the tailors, the university was a source of young men with the money, ambition and status anxiety to be excellent new customers. These factors persist.

The most celebrated example for menswear aficionados is Ivy style, that phenomenon of culture and canny marketing that took the New England prep of north eastern university campuses and turned it into a mainstream look of professional and social success.

I like penny loafers and button-down collars very much. I even quite like the notorious 'critter pants', so long as I don’t have to wear them. And of course the green quads and wood-panelled libraries make great backgrounds for look books.

At the same time, connecting a set of clothes to elite social and intellectual institutions can have downsides, especially if people feel that they are desirable because they are exclusive. When people on the internet celebrate Ivy style, a minority of them will end up talking less about the clothes and more about their irritation that Gant and Brooks Brothers are now marketing themselves to ‘the wrong sort of people’ or selling out to ‘the masses’ and therefore spoiling their heritage.

It’s a losing game trying to police definitions. It doesn’t help that plenty of the self-appointed arbiters of Ivy style never attended those universities---nor that most who do attend have no interest in sack suits and repp ties. But more than that, anxiety about what is and isn’t ‘part of the heritage’ doesn’t fit the spirit of the clothes---which are modest, casual things, with soft shoulders and collars and rough, easygoing cloth.

In fact, the appeal of Ivy at its height might have been that strange mix of conservative and casual, that adorned quite different figures: rich WASPs, jazz legends, a Roman Catholic President. Clothes, like education, can transform people, reinvent them, and change how others see and understand them. But both are also used to exclude and rank.

British universities have a very different sartorial history. They’ve never had a style distinct from the aristocrats, and subsequently the upper middle classes, who dominated them. And because it’s a small country with a tradition that students move away to study, no regional identity has attached itself to specific universities in such a striking way as prep in the northeastern United States. But the idea of a ‘university outfitter’ is still seductive.

(source)

Ede & Ravenscroft is the oldest tailor in London, and the one most closely tied to British universities. Ede is a robemaker, supplying gowns to lawyers and Oxbridge fellows, but also a major player in the more commercially significant gown rental business for students on graduation day. Rather than providing a style, though, these gowns are fundamentally costumes (professional costumes for the lawyers, special occasion costumes for the graduands).

Ede makes some fine suits, and clearly take their traditions seriously. As with so much British tailoring, the RTW and MTM is now manufactured overseas, although there is still an active bespoke operation. The RTW styling is still pretty successful, though: traditional British cuts without the stodgy complacency of those who believe all change is negative. They care about construction and fabric quality, but still offer suits at the more accessible end of their price bracket.

The summer collections in particular tend to make good use of colour---which isn’t always a British strong point.

(source)

The company remains an ‘outfitter’ in the sense that it sells specialised outfits for occasions with strict dress codes. I doubt it is the path to retail riches, but Ede will still sell you white tie or fit you for a top hat, as well as graduation gowns and legal wigs. Their window displays always find space for a few decidedly less modern garments.

A more cynical version of the “university outfitter” in Britain is Jack Wills, a fashion brand which for many years marketed itself using a (wholly invented) aristocratic, university heritage. The company sponsored polo games and anything tangentially related to Oxford or Cambridge. The ad copy plays on all the stereotypes of a particular kind of upper class British identity: rowing blazers, top hats, and the like. But unlike the Ivy brands, there’s no history. This is no J. Press or Yale Co-op. There are no old university clubs whose ties Jack Wills has always made, no famous professors or students it dressed in past generations.

The manufacturing is, in my experience, neither fabulous nor British. But while it may be in decline, the brand enjoyed a great deal of success from this kind of marketing.

In Elites, Race and Nationhood: The Branded Gentry, Daniel Smith argues that Jack Wills gives an identity to the upper middle class university students, and that it appeals to a certain idea of bourgeois comfort and ease---and suggests a time when going to the right kind of schools meant that you were set for life. (A portion of Smith’s work is available here.)

Now that this kind of student is competing with a much more diverse group of people in their university classes, and mixing with a much more diverse group socially, the argument goes, they need other ways of finding (and ideally marrying) the right kind of people. And this means joining the rowing team, attending every garden party, and wearing a lot of ‘university outfitters’ sweatpants.

Smith’s book is a serious analysis of university students’ relations to brands and to each other, formed through hours of discussion and observation, and I can’t do justice to it here. But one interesting point that Smith himself acknowledges is that the ‘outfitters to the gentry’ shtick can’t be the whole story because, after all, anybody can buy these things.

Here is the brand’s founder, Peter Williams, asserting its exclusivity:

“If you’re not our target customer, we actively want you to never have heard of us”

But I’ve never found this convincing. Even before the brand became watered down by selling through other retailers like department store Next, it was hardly selling a niche style: casualwear with stamped logos, denim, gilets and a few sports coats.

When you examine the clothes, the whole identity looks even more shaky. How exclusive can a hoodie really be, when it’s also basically the same as every other mass-produced hoodie? And does anyone believe, even unconsciously, that a mid-tier fashion brand founded in 1999 is dressing the gentry? This is premium mediocre at best.

These days, the brand still talks about ‘Britishness’ and heritage but less about the gentry and the university. Its ads (and clothes) now fix on hot teens in casual basics, rather than public school polo captains. Perhaps as it drifts from favour it pays to be a bit less alienating to the 51% of British teens who don’t apply to university. In any case, it’s pivoting away from Prep towards an imitation of American Apparel.

My sense is that the brand was never seriously competing to clothe the British elite (who were in any case more likely wearing designer clothes than ‘mall brands’), but it aimed at a wider, more transient, more aspirational group of people. People whose futures are not yet fixed by jobs and families of their own. University people, in fact.

The appetite was for clothing which said it was exclusive, at a time when universities in this country tried to insist that they weren’t. In other words, Jack Wills might capture a certain social experience and moment not because it ever was an outfitter to the gentry, but because it clearly wanted to be.

#editorial #ede and ravenscroft #jack wills #ivy style #brooks brothers #universities

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