antique gyms

My Father the Super Villain

And now the full version of Michael Wynters (Snart) finding out Len is Captain Cold, meeting Barry, and getting pulled into a mission against Zoom, first headcanoned by @horchatita, then stolen by me, @lisellevelvet, @coldtomyflash, and @xxxneweyesxxx, with a title from @wacheypena.

FYI, this thing in its entirety is over 10k. Well done, folks! Beta-ed slightly from the previous separate version that was HERE.

The original prompt:

I woke up today with a lot of feelings about Michael Snart growing up Michael Wynters, who just happens to have that parent with no interest in the PTA, who will sign all the forms you need but never chaperoned anything, for no reason other than “those mother hens freak me out,”  and will just pay for the whole box of fundraising chocolates himself. It’s nothing out of the ordinary and Michael is a bright kid who knows how to get back home after school by the time he’s eight (which is not to say his dad and aunt and uncle don’t watch from a safe distance most days).

So there are no warning signs from school, it’s just Michael’s dad isn’t involved is all, but his kid is happy and in good health so no one asks questions about it. It would all be fine if it weren’t that Michael is a bright kid, that he knows antique dealing and gym boxing don’t cause the kind of injuries his father treats every other week, that he understands the smaller things they own (watches, clothes, that perfectly realistic life size BB-8 he just got for Christmas) are out of the price range of the house they reside in, the car they drive.  

It’s just he knows his dad is a suspicious man but he raised a suspicious son who knows how to freeze frame a news clip online and stare at it side by side with a picture of his dad. And he’s not smiling like he is in Michael’s picture, his blue eyes aren’t shiny with amusement but covered under dark goggles, but it’s him. It’s him with that snarl on his face and those people cowering from him.

Michael hasn’t left his room in five hours and for all Lisa and Mick knock and threaten at the door it takes Len getting home to tell them that it’s simple, because Michael is a bright kid.

Keep reading

Finally visited the beautiful training space at Forteza Fitness, Chicago- where they have medieval sword combat, film stunt training, and a museum of antique Victorian gym equipment!

The black clothing is early female sportswear, once everyone worked out that woollen skirts weren’t the best to be training in!

The clubs were used by the militant Suffragettes in England back when they were fighting for their rights, and had to hide weapons on them because of frequent violent encounters with police. They hid these sturdy wooden clubs in the bustle of their dress.

anonymous asked:

Are you still taking prompts? I'm not sure, but if you are, some e/R would be lovely, coffee shop au? (or any equivalent. library au, bakery au, etc.)

The first time Grantaire meets the head of the local Local Business Association, he’s been up since three in the morning baking and he has flour all over his face. He knows this because Eponine polished up the glass display case for their baked goods when she came in at quarter to seven and he can see his reflection in it, and his reflection has white flour standing out on his face and hair.

“You’re the owner of Sticks and Scones,” the stranger across the counter informs him, like he doesn’t already know.

“I regret that situation every time my alarm wakes me up before dawn,” he says solemnly. “Can I ask who you are? And why Eponine fetched me out of the back and the holy ritual of the scones-are-baking mini-nap to see you?”

The stranger across the counter (who is, upon further examination, maybe the most beautiful single human being Grantaire has ever met and probably the second-grumpiest) holds out his hand to shake and doesn’t even flinch when he ends up with flour on his hand. “I’m Enjolras, and I own the Fair Trade grocery down the street, and I’m the head of the Local Business Association for the town, fighting to keep our main street locally owned. I thought I’d give you a few weeks to settle in before I came to speak to you.”

Grantaire turns plaintively to Eponine, who’s coaxing the coffee machine into producing sweet nectar. “You interrupted me for this?”

“Do you want to go back to sticking pans of pre-made shit in the oven at Starbucks?” she asks. “Because we can arrange that.”

“We have a very active downtown, and we’re trying to keep it that way,” Enjolras forges on. “We frequently have events, and rewards for shopping at multiple stores, and other arrangements to attract business to the area, and we hope that you’ll join us. It’s been a while since we had a bakery downtown, and we’re very glad to have you.”

Eponine elbows him, and Grantaire realizes he’s probably staring stupidly. “I’m just here to bake bread,” he says.

“If you’ll just listen to what I have to say, I promise you won’t regret the opportunity.”

Grantaire sighs and grabs a few of his best croissants out of the case, and a jar of peach-raspberry jam, hand-canned by him last summer, out of where they keep their condiments. “Sit down, we’ll have something to eat and you can tell me about your crusade to save the world one downtown at a time.”

An hour later, Enjolras has eaten two croissants with jam, one almond poppyseed muffin, and one savoury scone, all with increasing looks of surprise and muffled pornographic noises, and he and Grantaire have had no less than three arguments about corporate sponsorship, the future of the downtown, and how much harm discounts do businesses.

He expects Enjolras to leave in a snit, but instead when he’s ready to leave, he holds out his hand to shake again and smiles. “I’ll look forward to working with you, Grantaire.”

“You too,” says Grantaire, almost by accident, and sees him out the door, the shop bell tinkling as he goes.

It isn’t until he looks at the display case again that he realizes he never managed to brush the flour off his face.