#casern

[bygoneplaces]

[scruffybread]

GRAFFITI in an abandoned casern I’m not a fan of graffiti in abandoned buildings, and never have I even considered taking pictures of it. But this one somehow got to me. //2014 

[bygoneplaces]

We found this bar in what once was a belgian casern. Stairs behind the counter lead to a wine cellar.

[bygoneplaces]

3

[bygoneplaces]

In the barracks of a belgian casern in NRW, Germany

[bygoneplaces]

Bowling alley in the basement of a belgian caserns social room, NRW, Germany

[ottawaserjantes]

[hotwing-sauce]

If you're still taking prompts, could you do number eight with Casey and Vern? If you're doing reader inserts, could you use Casey? Please and thank you.

"You're running away?" Vern asked, his shadowed figure appearing in their shared bedroom. Casey flinched away from the almost casual way the words slipped from Vern's lips. Like he'd practised them in the mirror for this very moment. "You don't understand. You can't." Casey told him, trying to keep his voice cold. Trying to fight down the urge to cry and keep it from his voice. "Oh, no. I understand. It's the kitchen, isn't it?" Vern stood up from the wall. "I mean, I was thinking of repainting it blue; the white is just kind of depressing. If I didn't have a lease I'd probably run away from it too." "Vern, just stop--""No, Casey. You stop." Vern made his way to where Casey stood, slow and empty of aggression. Turning his head a scant inch, Casey could see the tired, empty way that Vern's shoulders slumped down, like a crooked shelf. He swore inwardly. What was he doing? A hand laid itself on Casey's shoulder. "You aren't running away from us, Casey. You can leave and you can stay but you aren't going to run away, alright? Because the Jones I know isn't a coward who'd do something like that." A broken sob left Casey's lips and he was turning and falling into the older man, fingers digging into the cotton of his shirt.