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reasonsforhope · 4 months ago

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"A small group of activists assembled before dawn on a recent day in a South L.A. parking lot preparing to patrol the neighborhood. The gathering was not unlike what you see when police congregate in a parking lot preparing for a raid.

Only this time, the target was federal immigration agents.

The activists were from the Community Self Defense Coalition, which fights for immigrant rights. They were armed with two-way radios, bullhorns, and were trained to spot undercover vehicles from U.S Immigration and Customs Enforcement or the Department of Homeland Security.

The coalition formed in the wake of the second election of President Donald Trump and includes groups from across Los Angeles. They say their aim is to find ICE agents, alert the community to their presence using bullhorns, and drive them out of neighborhoods.

“They’re on our land. This is our territory,” said Ron Gochez of Unión del Barrio, which is part of the coalition. “Whatever they do here, they have to know they are going to meet an organized resistance.

“There is nowhere, there is no alleyway, no little corner of our city anywhere where an ICE raid can happen where we won’t know about it almost immediately,” he said.

An ICE spokesperson confirmed in a statement that agents have aborted at least one enforcement action “due to safety concerns brought on by protesters/bystanders.” The spokesperson declined to give his name “due to a heightened security risk to ICE employees.” ...

Tracking ICE

Last week, a high school history teacher, an ethnic studies instructor and a youth program leader were among the activists in South L.A. Nine people in three cars rolled into the darkened streets looking for ICE agents.

“We drive the streets of our neighborhood looking for anything suspicious,” said Gochez, a 43-year-old father and high school history teacher. "We start early in the morning because we know this is when ICE starts their operations.”

Gochez is a member of Unión del Barrio, one of the members of the coalition.

Unión del Barrio started the patrols in 2020 during a Biden Administration crackdown on unauthorized immigrants. The organization restarted the patrols over the past few weeks in response to the second Trump Administration.

On Wednesday, Gochez’s two-way radio crackled with the sound of a colleague checking in from another car on patrol.

“Copy. We are on Jefferson and Trinity. All clear,” she announced.

They looked for ICE vehicles – typically with heavily tinted windows, usually on an American made sedan or SUV, almost always with a cage in the back seat for detainees. Sometimes, the cars are parked sideways on a street in front of their target or grouped together in a grocery store parking lot.

Gochez said he and the other activists try to catch ICE agents in those lots as they gather before a raid.

“We try to catch them at that stage — that way we’re able to affect their plan and at the same time, we start alerting the community.”

When they find federal agents, they go into publicity mode.

“We go live on social media,” Gochez said. “We use our megaphone to alert the immediate community that ICE is present.”

In a recent Facebook Live post, Gochez can be seen speaking into a bullhorn across the street from where ICE agents appear to be conducting a raid.

“Everybody in this community, if you can hear me please do not come outside if you are undocumented,” he says on the video. “We have terrorists in our community.”

He implores people who are documented to come outside and support the protest.

Enforcing law vs defending community

Later, L.A. police officers confronted Gochez.

“We’re not interfering,” he told them.

“Yes you are,” responded an LAPD officer, who forced Gochez and the other protestors down the street.

The participation of city police officers appeared to violate L.A.’s sanctuary cities law, which prohibits police from cooperating or assisting ICE agents...

ICE backs off

As part of the coalition, Unión del Barrio has trained people from more than 50 other organizations to engage in similar patrols, including The National Lawyers Guild, Jewish Voice for Peace and The Peoples Struggle San Fernando Valley, according to Gochez.

It's unclear how many conduct regular patrols like Unión del Barrio does.

Gochez estimates his and other groups have intercepted ICE on about a dozen occasions. He said in some cases, ICE has backed off of a raid because of Unión del Barrio’s presence.

Cardona said ICE agents called off the raid when they were called out at the Target. “That one day, we knew we prevented several people from being detained and deported, their lives being uprooted.” ...

Union del Barrio urges people to use a text thread or to have some sort of a phone tree to alert each other about the presence of ICE in their neighborhoods. The group also has a hotline people can call if they spot ICE.

“We get calls from Uber drivers. We get calls from street vendors. We get calls from business owners and just everyday normal people who support the work that we do,” said Gochez, who refers to ICE detentions and arrests as the “kidnappings.”

“It is a kidnapping – no different from when they kidnapped Native Americans during the Indian Removal Act,” Gochez declared.

He said many of the calls to the coalition are false alarms, involving local agencies, like LAPD or the county Sheriff’s Department, conducting their own undercover operations. But the coalition is focused on the actions of federal immigration agents.

A new tactic

Experts said the tactic of patrolling for ICE is relatively new.

Mirian Martinez-Aranda, an associate professor of sociology at U.C. Irvine, said it lets members of immigrant communities know they are not alone.

“It's a new form in which immigrant communities and their supporters are finding a way to protect each other and to stand up for what's unfair and cruel,” Martinez-Aranda told LAist.

-via LAist, March 17, 2025

#united states #us politics #north america #immigration #deportation #immigrants #mass deportations #protests #la migra #resistance #fight back #activism #ice #ice raids #good news #hope

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justjensenanddean · 23 days ago

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Countdown article on the upcoming edition of TV Guide.

With a title like Countdown, Jensen Ackles' incredibly welcome return to series TV had better be packing the explosive twists. "You will get them," promises showrunner Derek Haas. "And by the time we get to the climax, it gets even more literal."

That's saying a lot given that Prime Video's new thriller-a pulse- pounding, guns-blazing homage to '80s hit films such as Lethal Weapon, Die Hard and Tango & Cash about a covert task force racing to save L.A. from catastrophe is surprising from the get-go. Within the first 10 minutes we get a big-name cameo, an OMG! ground-chase sequence that ends tragically for a Homeland Security officer and a wisecracking Ackles in prison garb. It's clear this show is here for a good time, not a grim time.

"The last 20 years of television- not in a bad way-[has embraced] the sort of dark sensibility where if you have a detective, it's like they're so haunted by the job, they drink and all of these things," assesses Haas, who, among other credits, cocreated Chicago Fire and codeveloped Chicago P.D. and Chicago Med. This new series, he says, is the opposite: a classic popcorn entertainment with cheeky heroes, smart dialogue and practical stunts galore. "I just like the fun vibe of those old movies."

Luckily, he had a kindred spirit in Ackles. The actor was quick to sign on as nonchalant LAPD homicide officer Mark Meachum after hearing how Countdown's adrenalized action and smart-ass heroics were embedded in his own DNA by 15 seasons as Supernatural's demon hunting Dean Winchester.

Haas' charter was to "create this character around Ackles, who'd have fit perfectly in the world of Die Hard. He's such a great actor; you can't match his energy, and he's genuinely hilarious." "I certainly knew Derek's pedigree," admits Ackles, adding that the two "hit it off right away" after realizing they'd both grown up in north Texas. "Then I got a clear sense of what he wanted to do. I was like, 'Oh, this is not only in my old wheelhouse, it's the stuff I grew up being attracted to."

"And it's not just Ackles' Meachum saving the day. In the series opener, he's teamed with a colorful cadre handpicked by an old pal, Special Agent Nathan Blythe (Euphoria's Eric Dane). Among them: FBI-ers Evan Shepherd (Violett Beane) and Keyonte Bell (Elliot Knight), DEA pro Amber Oliveras (Jessica Camacho) and narcotics transfer Lucas Finau (Uli Latukefu). The idea for this off-the-books Avengers-like team capable of witty banter and badassery, Haas confesses, was inspired by a technical adviser on Chicago P.D. who had told him that the government often recruits experts from various branches for task forces.

"I thought this whole world was really interesting, the idea that they're all-stars, that you could have these rebel personalities in each department put into a squad led by somebody who is very good at his job," Haas says. So while the team mission is life-or-death, their methods are lightened by gallows humor. And, this being TV, plenty of character development.

"You really get a sense of who these people are," agrees Ackles. "Not just together as the team, but individually. That lets the audience invest in the characters and not just the story."

There was a similar investment off camera. Haas brought in two consultants and the cast went through gun training. Camacho spoke to "many different law-enforcement agents and officers," went on a ride-along and sat in with a task force. "Every day they're facing high stakes and have to be on high alert," she marvels. "It creates this deep embedded sense of camaraderie between them and their partners." Much like the ties that formed during Countdown's long days and many night shoots in L.A., apparently. "There was a disgusting amount of chemistry that was formed very quickly off set that lends itself to on-set chemistry," says Ackles.

"The cast members and Derek watched the first three episodes," recalls Camacho of a key bonding moment. "We were screaming with joy. It was so exciting. We're like, 'Oh my God, Derek, this is a ride!' Will viewers be just as clocked in to Countdown? "I think they're going to be shocked a few times through the course of 13 episodes," teases Haas. "They're not going to be happy with me several times." But mostly, they'll be getting hours of pleasure.

Countdown premieres Wednesday June 25 on Prime Video.

credits for the scan: cloexbrosluvr

#Jensen Ackles #Mark Meachum #Countdown #Derek Haas #Eric Dane #Nathan Blythe #Jessica Camacho #Amber Oliveras #Elliot Knight #Keyonte Bell #Uli Latukefu #Luke Finau #Violett Beane #Evan Shepherd #S1: Countdown #*

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weirdgenetic-fuckup · 3 months ago

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Could you do something with either 1999 James or like SKOM James where he’s touring and couldn’t bring reader with him, calls reader one night just to hear her voice to get himself off before telling her how to touch herself?

A/n: There's just something about James saying puss/pussy that makes me want to find him and choke on his cock

Warnings: Smut, masturbation, auralism (new word alert: getting turned on by the sound of someone's voice *cough cough me when Slash sings*), sexual fantasies, sexualising readers body (it says somewhere that reader has big tits too but like talking about readers body jiggling as they work out), fingering (f receiving), if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

Part 2

You were making yourself breakfast when the phone rang and you picked it up. A collect call meant it was James, so you accepted because he would pay for it when he got home anyway.

"Jamie?" You spoke. "How are you, you're in Japan right now, right?" You asked, doing the mental maths in your head, if it was nine in the morning in L.A. where you lived it should be roughly two in the morning there, why he was calling so late you had no idea. Well, concerts could go late, you supposed, but why call now?

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm in Tokyo." He said, voice shaky and the words were forced out fast. "Listen, I'm, uh, in- I'm busy, I need you to talk." He mumbled, you could hear a faint rustling in the background but didn't pay any mind to it.

"It's late there, Jamie, you should be sleeping," you said, ever the worry wart for your dumbass boyfriend, "you can call me tomorrow."

"No!" James yelled, making you jump. "No, I-I can't, ngh- just-just talk to me now." He said through gritted teeth, glaring at the phone in his hand as he waited for you to say something, his other hand moving vigorously over his achingly hard cock.

You started to realize what he was doing, a small smirk spreading over your face at the situation you found yourself in. "Oh, well, I just woke up not too long ago... slept in that Motorhead shirt of yours, you know, the one with the skull?" James groaned over the call, making you giggle. You often wore his shirts, and he loved it, mostly he loved fucking your brains out with you in them.

Hearing his grunts and groans only encouraged you to keep going. "I'm wearing those panties you like, the maroonish lacey ones, you know which ones I'm talking about?"

"Mhm, I know." He mumbled, breathing getting heavier. He slowed his thrusts, closing his eyes and letting you paint him a picture.

"Yeah, they're pretty." You said, scrambling your eggs. "I woke up this morning and my thighs were all sticky, must've had a pretty good dream of you." A low groan left him, picturing his cum smeared between your thighs instead of your own need.

James heard the sizzling of your cooking, the pop of the butter in the pan. "What's that?" He asked curiously. "What're you doing?"

"Oh, that's just my pretty pussy, so hot it's sizzling just for you, Jamie." You said with a nuclear amount of sarcasm, but hearing you say 'pussy' still got him going. "I'm making eggs because it's morning, need my protein if I'm gonna go on a run."

"Please-" he sputtered out, "talk to me, tell me more." He pleaded, getting desperate as his hand moved faster. "Please, m'so close, make you cum after, just- fuck." You couldn't deny that hearing him getting off to your voice over the phone was hot, and you could feel your pulse in your clit, pressing your thighs together to soothe the dull ache forming between your legs.

You kept pushing your eggs around, they were almost done. "Think I'm gonna steal another shirt of yours, might put pants on-" James grunted at that, while he loved picturing your ass jiggle as you ran that was for his eyes and his eyes alone, "You're just thinking about my tits, though, huh? Thinking of them bouncing up and down as I go... fucking pervert."

James hummed in agreement. "Yes, I am, I'm a pervert just for you, sweetheart." He stated, hips bucking up into his hand as he got closer. "Just-just a little more, can you do that?"

You chuckled and nodded, not that he could see it. "Yeah, I can talk a little more... let's see..." You trailed, pausing just to hear him whine. "I might have to skip out on my run, stay home... I'm just so hot already, I might have to take my clothes off... at least I know where the security camera's are, I'll be sure to avoid sitting in front of those and spreading my legs... can't have any pesky visitors watching me touch myself without my big, strong man to come protect me... too bad he's not hear to bend me over and double my weight, huh?"

James's groans got louder and louder as you spoke, you could hear the slick sound of him using his pre-cum as lube on his angry red cock. The sounds he made when he came to the thought of you touching yourself. "Hah-! Fuck- ah- oh god..." You could picture him now, all flushed and tired, cumming dripping down his chest. "Sweetheart." He called, swallowing thickly between heavy breaths.

"Yes, Jamie?" You asked, taking your finished eggs off the burner.

"Go find one of those security camera's." He ordered, getting off the bed and digging through his bags to find his laptop so he could pull up the live footage.

"Why?" You asked, only slightly confused.

"Because you're going to sit there, and I'm going to watch your tiny little fingers work so fucking hard to get you off and get you nowhere, right?" He asked. "Because you're so small, need my fingers to get you off, can't even think about cumming without something stretching you out, right?"

Your eyes widened slightly but you followed his instructions to find a camera. "If you're good I'll let you grab a toy, otherwise you can sit there and work your pretty puss into nothing trying to get off without me."

#metal #metallica #heavy metal #metallica smut #metallica imagines #metallica rp #metallica fanfiction #metallica x reader #james hetfield #james hetfield smut #james hetfield x reader #james hetfield imagine #james hetfield fanfiction #james hetfield x you

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starshideurfics · 1 year ago

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Thirsty Thursday - Buzzed

steddie, omegaverse, modern AU, Eddie got out of Hawkins and got famous

Most days it’s easy to pretend. Steve and Robin share a house and a workplace and most of a life in Indianapolis. He can usually forget how he and Eddie almost had something.

But that was before Eddie moved to L.A. to try doing something with his music, found his way into playing a busker in an indie film that miraculously got oscar buzz, and suddenly he’s a household name, booking tons of projects.

And Steve is happy for him!

Really!

He is.

It’s just… He misses having Eddie around. How excitable and goofy he can be, but also having a thoughtful alpha to hang out with other than Robin.

Not to mention his campfire scent and the way his callused fingers feel against Steve’s skin.

They still talk occasionally, texting mostly, little check-ins every couple months, but Steve hasn’t seen Eddie in-person in at least five years.

That’s why it’s easy to pretend. Steve’s old friend, Eddie, and Eddie Munson, alpha movie star, are two different people.

Steve’s crush can exist between the pages of magazines and on internet gossip sites.

He can moon over the pics from Eddie’s photoshoots that he has saved on his phone in private. Can keep his fantasies contained in his nest as he imagines his fingers sliding into short curls.

At least until he gets a call from Dustin on an unassuming Friday night. Steve and Robin are already nearly through a bottle of wine, kicking their feet up after a long week of teaching, when Steve’s phone rings.

“Eddie’s next movie is shooting in Chicago,” Dustin starts.

“And he’s flying out early so he can stop in Indy for a week. I may have told him he should skip the hotel and stay in your guest room.”

“Dustin!”

“What? You’ve got one of the mattresses from the podcast ads in there! It’s comfy! And that way he doesn’t have to deal with paps!”

“Can you just say paparazzi like a normal person?” Steve sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “But it should be fine. When does he get in?”

“Next weekend.”

“Dustin!”

“I only just found out! El and I are driving down in a week, and Mike and Will are only able to skype in.”

He doesn’t mention Lucas and Max, since they also live in Indy; Dustin and El are likely staying with them.

Robin elbows Steve and hisses for him to put the call on speaker, getting caught up as Steve has a private crisis at the thought of finally seeing Eddie again.

To make matters worse, his totally not stalkerish web alert for Eddie’s name pings after he hangs up with Dustin. A new photo shoot.

Eddie’s curls are gone, buzzed down to his scalp; Steve mourns for a fraction of a second.

Then he needs to squeeze his thighs together.

The wanting that he’s been squashing down for the better part of a decade comes back in full force, strong enough that Robin asks if his cycle is early and he’s going into heat.

Blushing, but knowing he can’t keep a secret from her to save his life, he shows her his phone.

“All I can see is how noticeable his ears are now,” Robin says with a judging look and a shrug. “And I am never going to buy Eddie as a tough guy, but I guess I can understand what you omegas see in him.”

“Rooooob!” Steve whines, indignant.

“Steeeeeve!” she teases back.

“I just… Fuck, I need to get laid.”

“I’m sure Eddie would if you asked him nicely.”

“Rob!”

“He looks like he could hold you down, get you to stop stressing so much.”

“Robin… I can’t think about that.”

“Sure you can.”

“I can’t.”

“You can, and you know why: The bulk of the conversations Eddie and I still have are about you. He always asks me how you are, what you’re up to, at least once a month.”

Steve’s taken aback by that. “What?”

“Yeah. He usually asks if you’re seeing anyone. Tries to sneak it in. Like I’m not going to notice.”

She raises a single eyebrow, and Steve feels intensely confused. “Then how come he doesn’t ask me? Or talk to me more?” He tips back the last of his wine and pulls his legs up tight to his chest.

“Because you’re both idiots,” Robin says, voice warm and full of love as she hugs him.

A week later, a car with dark tinted windows pulls up in Robin and Steve’s driveway.

Eddie has a baseball hat and sunglasses on as he gets out, the disguise barely enough obscure his features, but even if it were better, Steve would still recognize him by his posture.

Robin is out running errands and picking up dinner, but mostly giving Steve an hour of privacy. A chance to say something before either of them can get stuck inside their heads and fuck it up.

“Hey, Stevie,” Eddie says with a smile as he pulls off his sunglasses in the entryway.

“Hey yourself,” Steve replies, pulling Eddie in for a hug, ready to make it quick, only for Eddie to hold on tight and press his nose to Steve’s neck. A purr rumbles from his chest.

Steve reaches up and pulls the hat from Eddie’s head, letting it fall to the ground.

He rubs his fingers over the stubble of the alpha’s hair, keeping him pressed close to the bonding gland at his neck, his scent crying out for Eddie to claim him.

Soft lips ghost against Steve’s neck. “I missed you,” Eddie whispers.

“Missed you, too.”

Steve kisses the side of Eddie’s head, the only part he can reach, lips pressed to the velvet of his shorn hair. Then it’s like his brain suddenly catches up with him. “Sorry! We- I didn’t-”

Eddie presses a single finger to Steve’s lips, finally pulling back to look in his eyes.

Without his curls, Eddie’s gaze is somehow more intense, dark chocolate looking into Steve’s heart. “Don’t apologize, puppy. You have nothing to apologize for, not to me.”

“Eddie…”

“I’m the one who ran away, who’s been hiding instead of alpha-ing up and telling you.”

“Telling me what?” Steve asks, lower lip trembling.

“That even after all this time, I can’t get your scent out of my nose. That I still dream about you every night. That I work so much to keep from going insane missing you. That I sh-”

Steve cuts him off with a kiss.

Eddie doesn’t waste any more time, just picks Steve up, their lips still connected, and carries him to the nearest bedroom—fortunately Steve’s—and drops him on the bed. Getting out of their clothes doesn’t take long; they’ve both waited long enough.

And Robin will be home soon.

Part 2

Now expanded into a full fic! Read here

#steddie #omegaverse #fanfiction #alpha eddie munson #omega steve harrington #ficlet #thisty thursday #stranger things fic

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laurfilijames · 4 days ago

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Eyes On You

Part 1

Pairing: Detective Charlie Waldo x female reader

Words: 3.9k

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Swearing. Stalking. Mentions of assault and rape. Vomiting.

Summary: Your whole world turns upside down when you begin to feel like you're being followed, but no one is taking you seriously until the handsome man you ran into earlier in the week turns out to be a detective who does. As the threat escalates and your suspicions of being stalked turn into reality, he steps in to protect you.

A/N: I'm still incredibly proud of this story and have decided to post it on here instead of only having it available on AO3, thanks to the incredible support I've been receiving here lately 💗

*Please note you do not have to have watched Last Looks in order to enjoy this fic and that the reader is not given any physical descriptions aside from having hair despite photo used in moodboard.

---

It was nothing, you told yourself, letting out a deep breath as you put your foot on the gas to gently accelerate after the stoplight turned from red to green, doing your best to believe that having seen the same black pickup truck for the third time this week was just a coincidence. But L.A. was a big city, and having seen this truck near your house, work and the grocery store was starting to make your mind race.

The windows were all blacked out and the truck was lifted, making it easy for you to pick it out amongst all the other vehicles wherever you went, but you hadn’t ever been close enough to get the license plate.

You reminded yourself that you were strong, working out at the gym four times a week, and were always aware of your surroundings wherever you went and whatever you did; years of living alone and constant warnings from your Dad to never let your guard down making you cautious and untrusting and not ready to take any shit from anyone, but something about this didn't sit right in your gut.

You heard on the news and from multiple friends that someone had been assaulting women in your neighbourhood, having even raped and nearly killed one, so your alertness was more heightened than usual, and ever since you noticed this truck repeatedly, you found yourself looking over your shoulder constantly.

“Hey!” Stacy called, grabbing your arm at the same time, making you jump and whip around with your fists ready to throw a hit, only to realize it was your best friend.

“Jesus fucking Christ!”

“Were you going to punch me? What the hell is wrong with you?” she laughed, looking you over with concern as you worked to settle your heart rate.

You covered your face with your hands, shaking your head. “Fuck I’m sorry! It’s just–”

“What?” she asked, the worry in her voice genuine.

“No, it’s nothing, sorry. I’m fine, I promise.”

“Okay…well at least I know better than to sneak up on you again! Come on, I’m desperate for a coffee, I’ve been sleeping like shit lately.”

You took a deep breath as you hit the lock button on your keyfob, glancing up and down the street you were parallel parked on for any more signs of the black truck before following Stacy across the road to the cafe.

It was still prominent on your mind as you ordered your coffee and found an empty table outside on the patio, but the warm, morning sun was comforting on your face and you felt the tension in your shoulders melt away.

Spending time with Stacy always helped you feel better about anything too, her bubbly personality and ability to put you at ease working the same as it always did even though the topic of the serial attacks came up in your conversation.

“Just be careful, please? There’s so many fucking creeps around…” you muttered, glaring at a man who eye-fucked both of you as he passed by on the sidewalk.

“Oh, don’t worry, Jackson threatens to murder anyone who looks at me wrong. That guy–” she thumbed to the scumbag over her shoulder, “would be buried six feet under already if he was here.”

You laughed into your mug, shaking your head, only to take notice of the next person walking into the cafe over the rim of your drink.

You practically choked on your coffee, quickly grabbing a napkin to wipe your mouth as Stacy followed your stare and pivoted in her chair, her confusion quickly switching to a look of approval.

“Holy shit, that’s hot.”

You simply nodded in response, your eyes still locked on the tall man with the confident walk, his short, blond hair and bright blue eyes captivating even from where you sat. The way his pants hugged his ass didn't go unnoticed, highlighted by how his dress shirt was tucked into them, and you were able to tell he worked out, your mind wandering to filthy images of his toned body despite his professional attire.

“Well, looks like you need a refill,” Stacy prompted, basically pushing you from your chair and ushering you inside. “And I’ll take a muffin!”

You tucked your hair behind your ear as you entered the line, just one person between you and this gorgeous man, the sound of his voice as he ordered a large, black coffee to go making you clench.

He tipped the barista and thanked them with a smile, turning to leave when he took notice of you, his smile growing bigger as he tilted his head curiously at you.

You licked your lips before returning his smile, your heart pounding in your chest as a wave of heat flushed over you from head to toe.

When he finally walked away, you placed your order, remembering a muffin for Stacy, and glanced toward the exit one more time where you caught him taking one last look over his shoulder before stepping through the door.

It was dark by the time you left the gym, the absence of the sun making your sweat cool your skin even faster, but when you caught the black truck parked at the end of the lot out of the corner of your eye, an icy shiver ran down your spine.

You stopped in your tracks, taking a good look at it, and did your best to continue to walk as calmly as you could to your car, not wanting to make it seem like you were scared shitless.

Your hand shook as you unlocked your door and got in, the click of the lock engaging loud in your ears after you quickly hit the button, the engine starting with a low rumble.

It was too far away to see the plate, and when you reversed out of your spot, you dared yourself to drive close enough to it to check.

Your phone was on your lap with the camera already open and ready to snap a photo, but as soon as you approached, the truck took off and peeled out of the parking lot, too quick for you to do anything.

“Fuck!” you hissed, disappointed that you still didn’t have anything concrete on this creep who you now were absolutely certain was following you.

You tapped your steering wheel, deciding what your next move was, and drove down the road toward another gym, wanting to sign up somewhere different considering this person knew where you were working out on top of everything else you did.

Charlie leaned back in his chair as he read over a report, sighing out as he pursed his lips, trying to concentrate on what he was reading, but the conversation at the desk behind him was distracting his focus.

He paused, moving the pages down toward his lap as he glared over at the two detectives talking, and then held them back up to his sightline again, shaking his head.

Willing himself to ignore them, he reread the same paragraph for the third time before slamming the pages down on his desk.

“Alright, that’s enough. How the fuck don’t you knuckleheads have a lead on this creep?” he barked, standing from his chair.

The two detectives looked at him with shocked expressions, the one opening and then closing his mouth again when he had nothing to say.

“Huh?” he asked, raising his arms before letting them fall at his side. “Come on, this guy’s been out on the loose for…what? Three weeks now? And more women are reporting assaults. What the fuck are you doing?”

“There’s just no hard evidence…”

“Whenever we think we have someone, it comes up empty.”

Charlie laughed and shook his head, turning back to his desk. “Jesus Christ. L.A’s finest, everyone.”

“Take it easy, Waldo.”

The stern warning came from behind, making Charlie turn around to face the Chief.

He nodded and cast his eyes back to the stacks of paperwork on his desk, accepting that he couldn’t press it any further, given it wasn’t even his case.

It was something you always did anyway – double checking every lock on your doors – but lately it had become obsessive, and as you made your way up your stairs to go to bed, you stopped midway and trotted back down, checking the front door before you quickly scooted through to the kitchen to check the patio door that led to the backyard.

The lights were already turned off inside and out, and as you passed by the kitchen window over the sink to get to the patio door, you swore you saw a figure standing in your yard.

You stopped, swallowing the lump in your throat, your eyes darting to the door to see that it was in fact locked, but it gave you no relief. You kept your stare fixed on the shadowy resemblance of a man as you blindly felt behind you, your hand finally finding the knife block where you pulled your sharpest one from it.

The buzz of your phone in your other hand made you yelp, startling you so much that it fumbled out of your fingers and fell to the floor, and by the time you picked it up and answered it, hearing Stacy’s voice on the other end, the figure you swore you saw was gone.

“Are you okay?” she immediately asked, hearing the panic in your ‘hello’.

“Uhhh…yeah, I think? Fuck, I don’t know. I– I think I just saw someone standing in my backyard…” you explained, moving through your house to every window, checking if you were able to see anything else.

“Are you serious? Do you want me to come over? I can get Jackson to send one of the guys–”

“No, no, I’ll be fine, I think this whole thing just has me so freaked out that I’m seeing things,” you assured, both for her and yourself.

“You’re really worrying me,” Stacy admitted on the other end, and you felt tears sting at your eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be okay,” you swore, willing yourself to believe it. “Did you call for something?” you asked, changing the subject as you still loomed in the dark, staring out your living room window beside the curtains.

“Oh, yeah! You’re going to that new gym right? Did you want to meet tomorrow when you're done? I’ll be in the area after work.”

“Yeah, that’d be great, I can get a post-workout cocktail,” you joked, but you knew with how you were feeling lately you would need more than just endorphins to take the edge off.

You ended your call with Stacy, continuing to survey the front of your house, and after another minute, decided you were being ridiculous and put the knife away, pushing down all your fear as you finally went to bed.

At first you weren’t sure if it was in your dream or not, but your eyes flashed open, hearing another dull bang that made your heart stop.

You held your breath and kept still, waiting to hear it again, and when you did, you bolted out of bed and reached for your phone on your nightstand, dialling 9-1, just needing to hit another 1 if necessary as you crept to the doorway.

With nothing to defend yourself with, you decided to flick on as many lights as you could in hopes alerting whoever was trying to do whatever would spook and leave, and when you didn’t hear anything else after a few minutes, you allowed yourself to finally break down and sob.

It was close to three in the morning when you finally composed yourself enough to get in your car and drive to the police station, deciding to file a report.

“So, you believe you’re being followed?” the officer repeated, making you let out an exasperated sigh.

“Yes!”

“But, you don’t have a plate on the truck you keep seeing, or any idea who this person could be?”

You shook your head, feeling equally embarrassed and frustrated that this cop didn’t seem to be taking you seriously.

“No…”

“Well, Miss, I’m afraid all we can do is take this down until something else comes up.”

“Or until I’m the next one walking in here bloodied and bruised, or worse!” you snapped, rubbing your hand over your head.

The officer sighed and gave you a pitied look. “Is there somewhere else you can stay in the meantime?”

You nodded and accepted defeat, cursing yourself for even bothering coming there in the first place, and turned to walk out.

“Miss, give us a call if you notice anything else,” he advised loudly through the plexiglass partition.

“Yeah, if I’m not dead!” you quipped, half tempted to give him the finger as you left through the automatic doors.

Starting at the new gym was kind of refreshing, seeing a new set of faces each time you were there, and feeling a sense of ease that there was a high chance whoever was stalking you didn’t know you had switched.

You were on the stairmaster, aimlessly scrolling through a used car website, feeling half-tempted to trade your car in for something different as a dramatic precaution, when you glanced up to see a face that wasn’t yet familiar, but had been wanting to see again.

The gorgeous guy from the cafe was walking through to the change room, a duffle bag in his hand, and you watched as he waved to a friend and greeted him, clasping hands with the guy cooling down on the treadmill as he passed.

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow, Martinez,” he said, and as he noticed you, his smile faded slightly to something more amused.

His blue eyes were mesmerizing, and you had to be careful to remember to move your feet at the correct pace, worried you would miss a step and trip on the machine that kept revolving under you.

You swear you moaned when he gave the subtlest of nods as he walked by you, a sort of appeased look playing on his perfect face, and you were certain he was liking what he saw.

Your time doing cardio after your workout ended up being twice as long as usual, unable to peel yourself away as you looked out on Hot Guy moving around on the floor as he went through his routine, continuing to step aimlessly as if you were in a trance. Watching his muscles flex and work beneath his sweat-soaked t-shirt was captivating, and if someone asked you your name right now you probably wouldn't be able to answer correctly.

Losing sight of him through the machines, you decided you'd had enough and finally hit the red button, the belt slowing to a stop that brought you back down to the floor. You grabbed your towel and stepped off, going to get the spray bottle of disinfectant when your shaky legs caused you to stumble, sending you crashing into someone walking by.

“Oh my god, I'm so sorry!” you blurted, righting yourself by gripping their forearm and twisting to see who you were embarrassing yourself in front of.

Hot Guy.

His blue eyes sparkled and the lines surrounding them all scrunched up as his bright smile reached them.

“It’s fine, I'm happy I was here,” he chuckled, his voice as seductive as you remembered it being.

Realizing you were still holding onto him, you quickly let go, smoothing your hand over your hair as you tried to collect yourself.

“Again, I'm sorry!” you repeated, knowing you must look like a complete idiot, but nothing about his body language or expression indicated that's what he thought of you.

“It's all good,” he assured, giving you that same amused look you'd seen twice now that made you feel like you were on fire.

You went to turn away, wanting to get to the change room and spare yourself another scene when you felt his hand gently touch your elbow.

“Don't forget this.” He held your water bottle in his other hand that you had completely forgotten about, and you couldn't help but notice how small it looked with his fingers wrapped around it.

“Oh, thanks,” you stuttered, taking it from him.

“No problem. Have a good day.” He sent you off with a wink, and everything in you prayed the universe would push you two together again.

A couple of days had passed and things seemed to have quieted down; no sign of that black truck or any indication you had a stalker, but you weren't trusting it, that sick feeling washing over you every time you just about managed to forget about it.

You had been to the gym twice since running into Hot Guy there, hoping you would again but with no luck, and it almost made you laugh at how badly you were wanting to see one man while praying a different one would leave you alone and unharmed.

You had just finished cleaning up the kitchen after making yourself dinner, eating as soon as you got home from work with the plan to go to the gym as soon as possible before losing motivation and daylight that helped you feel more comfortable leaving the house, when your phone vibrated with a text. Then another. And another.

You unlocked your screen, seeing an unfamiliar number, and opened the message to reveal three photos of you, each of which looked like they were snapped today.

Your heart fell into your gut, your hands shaking as a sharp gasp shot from your mouth.

One was of you at work through a window, captured from what had to be the park beside the building. You opened the second one and zoomed in, seeing a view of yourself getting into your car that morning, the shot taken from just down the street, but it was the third one that made you run to the sink and throw up, the simple, yet effective picture of your living room from the viewpoint of your couch where you sat each night letting you know this guy had made it into your house while you were at work.

Taking nothing with you other than your phone and your purse, you bolted out the door and locked it quickly, like it even mattered, and ran to your car, hardly able to think but knowing you needed to get to the police station.

The precinct was only five minutes away, but the drive felt like an eternity, your panic not settling a bit as you drove in a daze without really concentrating on how you even got there.

“Okay, but he was in my house!” you stressed, the urgency of your situation clearly not getting through to the second officer you were now speaking to.

“And you're sure you locked the door when you left?”

“Oh my god,” you muttered under your breath. “Yes. Why is no one taking this seriously? This guy knows where I work, and now has broken into my fucking house!”

“Okay, Miss, I understand, I–”

“What's going on here?”

When the man was cut off by someone else, you looked up from where you had hung your head in your hands, shocked to see Hot Guy in a suit standing behind the other officer.

Your face must've done a very obvious switch from defeated to happily surprised, because he smiled at you curiously, giving you a wave.

“Hey.”

“Uhh, hi,” you replied, blinking in shock.

“It's fine, Waldo, I've got it–”

“I'm being stalked,” you interrupted, Hot Guy focused on you anyway rather than the officer beside him. “And it seems no one is doing anything about it. He broke into my house today…”

You passed your phone through the small opening in the protective glass for him to take, once again distracted by his hands as he scrolled through the photos you were sent.

“I’ll take this case over, Rogers. Roger?” he quipped, a smile tugging at his lips as he found his own play on the man's name humourous.

You found yourself smiling too, watching this ‘Waldo’ hold his gaze on Rogers as he handed the folder with your report in it over to him.

“Waldo, you've got enough on your plate, man.”

“It's fine, something needs to be done.”

His eyes were now fixed on you as he was speaking, and you swore you were about to say you were fine when he asked, “Are you alright?”

“Umm,” you paused, trying to find a word that could accurately sum up how you felt. “Terrified, honestly.”

“Yeah, rightfully so,” he sympathized, a genuinity in his voice.

You looked at him curiously, the shock of seeing him again a distraction from everything that was happening.

“I'm starting to think you're the one stalking me,” you joked, surprising yourself at making light of your situation, blaming the adrenaline and frenzy of it all.

Waldo huffed and raised his eyebrows, a smirk tugging at his perfectly pink lips.

“We do keep running into each other, don't we?”

You grinned before biting your lip, trying to collect yourself, completely unsure what to say next and feeling thankful when he spoke again.

“Well, unfortunately I don't have much time for extracurriculars, let alone stalking someone, and that's definitely not a way I'd be letting a beautiful woman know I’m interested in her.”

His smile remained and it reached his eyes, and for a second you thought how you might not mind having someone break into your house if they looked like him.

Before anymore inappropriate thoughts crossed your mind or came out of your mouth, you straightened yourself and let out a deep breath.

“So, what do I do now?” you asked, remembering the gravity of your problem and why you were there.

“I'll have to come by to take a look around and go over everything with you. Now, if that's okay?”

You nodded, “Of course, the sooner the better.”

Waldo escorted you out to the parking lot, wanting to look at your car first before going to your house.

“You haven't noticed anything with your car?” he asked, kneeling beside the front driver's side wheel as he swept his hand around the inner fender.

You shook your head, trying to recall anything unusual.

“No. And I did check for a tracker but couldn't find anything.”

He hummed, moving to the next wheel where he checked all around it the same way.

After going over most of the car and coming up with nothing, you thought he was finished but laughed when he laid on the filthy ground beside it and started to shimmy his body as far under it as he could.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Making sure there isn't a tracker…” he mumbled, his tone a bit blunt and obvious.

He grunted a couple of times, still trying to reach and search every nook and cranny, his long legs the only part of him showing, and you couldn't help but notice how well his dress pants fit him and how this position accentuated what was a large bulge between them.

Waldo crawled back out, his shirt covered in dirt, and held up a small, black device in his grease-stained hand, a satisfied look on his face.

“Holy shit,” you breathed, stunned.

“I'm gonna run this in for evidence, and then we can go,” he explained. “Don't leave without me, you're not going anywhere alone.”

The authority in his command made you squirm where you stood, the insane mix of arousal and fear making you dizzy, the prospect of this man being the one to protect you causing you to hope he would look after you in more ways than one.

---

Taglist:

@dailydragon08 @thedreadandthefugitivemind @glassgulls @littlenosoul

@maggotzombie @rmwarn90 @paintlavillered @stealfromthedevil

@kmc1989 @justreblogginfics @spaghettificationandpretzels @whatever-lmaoo

@steviebbboi @charethcutestory02 @daryldixonpls @puffins-muffins

#charlie waldo #last looks #charlie waldo x reader #charlie waldo x female reader #charlie hunnam #charlie hunnam characters

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la-alert · 6 months ago

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Please like this post to receive an individual plot twist during the evacuation. Plot twists will be sent out this evening.

#l.a. alert #l.a. alerts

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911actually · 3 months ago

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‘9-1-1’ Showrunner On That Helicopter Chase & ‘Apocalypse Now’ Connection That Wasn’t To Be

SPOILER ALERT: The story includes details about Episode 815 of ABC’s 9-1-1, “Lab Rats.“ On a typical 9-1-1 episode, this would’ve been a centerpiece — a chase involving three helicopters around Downtown Los Angeles skyscrapers that ends with a landing on the field of the L.A. Coliseum. But the April 17 episode of ABC’s firefighter drama, “Lab Rats,” was far from typical, marking the exit of star and executive producer Peter Krause. So the impressive stunt was overshadowed by Station 118 Captain Bobby Nash (Krause) dying just minutes later at an underground lab where a fire had triggered the release of a deadly virus.

READ THE FULL ARTICLE HERE

#911 abc #911 spoilers #911 | interview #911 s8 | press #source: deadline #tim minear

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fluentmoviequoter · 1 year ago

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Lockdown

Pairing: David "Deacon" Kay x fem!reporter!reader

Summary: While covering a court hearing, you get taken hostage with your favorite S.W.A.T. sergeant.

Warnings: spoilers for S.W.A.T. 4x16 "Lockdown"; angst, fluff!!, reader is flirty

Word Count: 2.8k+ words

A/N: This is one of my top 5 favorite episodes and I'm actually planning another rewrite with one of the others! I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think! (And thank you for telling me how good this episode is, you were 100% right about how good Deacon looked @katamcauley!)

S.W.A.T. Masterlists | Deacon Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

“Here’s your next assignment,” your editor says, laying a paper on your desk. “Civilian is suing the LAPD for damages, and the case is going to court tomorrow.”

“North L.A. County Courthouse?” you ask.

“Yes.” She sighs before adding, “And I already checked. Your favorite distraction isn’t set to testify tomorrow.”

“Boo. Can I have a different assignment?”

You bat your eyelashes as you ask, but she laughs and walks away without answering. Shaking your head, you begin reviewing the facts of the case. Covering court hearings is neither the best nor worst part of your job, but at least you get a break from the office for an hour or two.

✯✯✯✯✯

“So legal affairs confirmed that the defense attorney only needs us as rebuttal witnesses. Should be out of here in no time,” Deacon tells Hondo as they sign in after surrendering their weapons at the courthouse entrance.

“Yeah, okay, Deac,” Hondo answers sarcastically. “When was the last time you got out of court in no time?”

“Today would be the first.”

“Exactly. And it becomes less likely if your friend is working today.”

Deacon rolls his eyes but doesn’t deny it.

“You know, I got to be honest, man, a civilian gets injured in a raid, and the officer who broke down the door admits he was at fault? I’m just not sure how I feel about being called in to testify on behalf of the city,” Hondo states as he walks through the metal detector.

“It’s not anything we haven’t done dozens of times before,” Deacon argues.

“S.W.A.T. was just there for support.”

As Deacon and Hondo near the courtroom door, someone calls, “Sergeants… Tony Jacobs, assistant city attorney. Thanks for coming in early. I know it’s a pain.”

“Eh, it’s not a problem,” Hondo replies, shaking Tony’s hand. “Beats dealing with the morning rush. Hey, listen, you seem to have a good amount of testimony for this case already. Why do you need us?”

“Cut right to the chase, huh? Well, frankly, what this woman is asking for in damages is excessive. Testimony from two S.W.A.T. sergeants could go a long way in the court. Just follow my lead on the stand. We’ll be out of here in a jiff. Our courtroom’s on the third floor.”

✯✯✯✯✯

After finding the courtroom, you sit and sigh in relief. You somehow managed to pick your most uncomfortable pair of shoes today, so you’re glad to sit in the courtroom for a while. Leaning over your notebook and taking a few quick notes, you don’t hear the door open.

Deacon and Hondo enter the courtroom, and Hondo sees you first.

“And he’s gone,” he hums as Deacon notices you.

Someone says your name and the underlying teasing tone alerts you to Sergeant David ‘Deacon’ Kay’s presence behind you. Smiling, you turn to greet him.

“Hello, Sarge,” you say, looking up at him. “You clean up nice.”

Deacon shakes his head before muttering, “So do you.”

“Are you testifying?”

Deacon glances toward the door, where Hondo is talking to the assistant city attorney. “That’s… to be determined.”

“Well, I hope you are because then I don’t have to take very good notes.”

“Why is that?”

“Because,” you whisper, leaning toward him, “it’s a conflict of interest.”

“You’re a journalist,” Deacon says, “I don’t think that applies to you.”

“My editor will beg to differ. If you’re testifying I may spend too long describing your big, brown, puppy dog eyes or how great you look in your suit.”

“Okay,” Deacon interjects, chuckling as he raises his hands. “Easy, Casanova.”

“I can’t help it Sergeant Kay,” you reply, fanning yourself for effect.

Hondo calls him over, and Deacon taps your arm as he says, “See you.”

“Promise?”

He chuckles again as he nods, turning away from you. Looking down, you wish you had chosen a different pair of shoes.

✯✯✯✯✯

“I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was having second thoughts about testifying,” Hondo states.

“What’s the problem?” Jacobs asks.

“Feels like you’re using S.W.A.T.’s reputation to score points that you can’t get any other way.”

“I’m not asking you to lie, Sergeant.”

“I’m not sure I’m down to be used like that.”

“You’re kidding. You spring this on me right now? You’re a public servant, same as me. We both have obligations to the city.”

“No, we have obligations to the citizens, not the city.”

Jacobs steps away as Deacon approaches.

“You serious about this?” Deacon asks.

“I’m serious, Deacon. I’m just about done with ‘business as usual’ these days.”

Hondo turns to look into the courtroom, but Deacon’s gaze strays to you. You’re the “friend” Hondo referred to, and you and your editor know how you feel about him. If only you could find a way to tell each other.

✯✯✯✯✯

The bailiff walks out of the courtroom, and you turn to watch him exit, your eyes catching Deacon’s as he looks over, too. Deacon and Hondo stand quickly.

“Those are gunshots,” Hondo announces. “Sounds like downstairs.”

Judge Vang presses the alarm on her desk before announcing, “Everyone, stay where you are. This is an active shooter alarm.”

The door closes, and Deacon rushes to it, trying to open it before saying, “It’s locked, won’t budge.”

“Deac,” you call. “The panel on the wall controls the automatic door locks.”

“Your Honor, open that door right now,” Hondo demands.

You walk to Deacon’s side, murmuring, “She can’t do anything to override the lock after pressing the alarm.”

“We have a protocol, Sergeant,” Judge Vang replies. “This is my courtroom. I’m responsible for the lives in it.”

“And we’re responsible for the ones out there!” Hondo says.

Deacon taps your arm, nodding at you before returning his attention to the panel.

Hondo calls Luca, explaining, “Deac and I are locked down in a courtroom on the third floor. Active shooter protocol. The security system’s turned this place in a panic room, and we are stuck without firearms. What’d you find out about the shooters?”

Hondo walks to your side as Deacon pops the control panel open.

“Deac, we got four armed inmates downstairs. Sounds like a barricade situation. Luca, they make any demands?”

“There hasn’t been contact yet,” Luca answers.

Tan reads off their IDs, and you unconsciously lean closer to Deacon.

“We’re flying blind here, Luca,” Hondo says. “Listen, you’re senior man on-site. You are in charge now. The team is in your hands.”

Hondo ends the call, and Deacon continues working on the panel, glancing over at you when you take a deep breath.

The panel beeps as something clicks, and Deacon asks Hondo to try the door.

“You got it, Deac, it’s open,” Hondo whispers.

“Don’t go out there unarmed,” Judge Vange implores.

“We are not doing anybody any good locked in here.”

“I know you’re S.W.A.T. but there’s safety protocols for a reason. It’s best if we all stay put,” Jacobs adds.

“Listen,” Deacon says, stepping away from you. “The two of us are gonna go get the lay of the land. We’ll be back.”

“We will be back,” Hondo promises.

You grab Deacon’s bicep before he can open the door. “Do not get hurt out there,” you demand quietly.

Deacon raises his hand to cover yours where it rests on his arm. “I promise to come back for you. Nothing will happen to me because I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll knock three times, okay?”

You nod, releasing him and waiting by the door, kicking your shoes off as you impatiently away his return.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Sounds like they’re headed our way, taking hostages,” Hondo says as he and Deacon enter the stairwell.

“They’re desperate,” Deacon adds. “That means they’re dangerous.”

“No one’s safe, we’ve gotta evacuate.”

They enter a hallway as Deacon says, “There’s got to be a fire escape or some way out of here.”

“Deac, check the windows… A building covered in windows and none of them open.”

✯✯✯✯✯

You pace before the door, ignoring the whispers of the other people in the courtroom. Deacon is taking too long, and when he gets back, maybe you should tell him that your flirting isn’t an act, that you really mean it.

✯✯✯✯✯

After the third knock ends, you slowly push the door open, releasing a relieved sigh when Deacon steps inside. He pulls you into a quick hug before announcing, “We’ve got an exit plan. We found a set of windows on the other side of the floor.”

“No way,” Jacobs argues. “We’ll be sitting ducks out there. We’re better off here.”

“Listen to me, all of you,” Hondo calls. “The gunmen are breaking into rooms and taking hostages. They’re gonna be up here very soon. We cannot stay. You’ve got to trust us.”

“No way, I’m not going,” Jacobs replies.

“You’re making a mistake. Come on, let’s go,” Deacon says, ushering people toward the door.

As Deacon leads, you look him over, glad to see he looks exactly the same as when he left. It took getting trapped in a courtroom with him to admit that your obnoxious flirtations are a disguise for how much he truly affects you and how much you care for and adore him.

“I got ya,” Deacon promises as his hand slips into yours, leading you through the empty hallways.

He directs you to the window, bringing up the end of the line. When it’s your turn to jump onto the rescue pad, you stop and push back against Deacon, where his hand rests on your back.

“You aren’t jumping,” you accuse.

“Not yet,” he answers. “We need to help the other hostages.”

“Then I’m not leaving either.”

Deacon looks at Hondo, who only shrugs. He’s not getting in the middle of whatever you and Deacon have going on.

“I know this courthouse better than either of you,” you point out. “I can help.”

“You can stay on one condition,” Deacon answers severely. “Do exactly what I say when I say. If I tell you to run or hide or come back here and jump, you do it.”

You nod, taking Deacon’s hand as you whisper, “I promise.”

“Let’s go then,” Hondo says, pointing back to the window.

“Where are your shoes?” Deacon asks quietly as his hand moves to your lower back.

“I left them in the courtroom,” you answer as if it’s obvious.

✯✯✯✯✯

Running down the stairs behind Deacon, you press your hand to his back as Hondo signals for you to stop. Someone is shooting below you, and you’re glad to be with Deacon.

“We got to go back,” Hondo says.

“Tan’s texting,” Deacon alerts, walking further into an empty room to call him. “We heard gunshots. They firing at you guys?” he asks.

“No, not at us, just the rescue bag,” Luca answers.

Deacon looks over at you, knowing that his only choice now is to keep you close and safe.

“They’re rounding people up in here,” Hondo states. “It looks like all four of these guys are armed now.”

As Deacon and Hondo listen to the deputy explain where the key to the weapon locker is, you trace your eyes over Deacon’s face, letting his very presence keep you calm.

“That’s two floors down,” Hondo muses.

“Won’t be easy with them patrolling,” Deacon agrees.

“We just need time to get our guns, Luca.”

Deacon ends the call, wrapping his arm around you to lead the way.

✯✯✯✯✯

Deacon keeps you between him and Hondo, but after you enter the deputy’s office, he pushes you behind him as he looks through the drawers.

“Hey, that’s our courtroom upstairs,” Deacon points out, looking at the camera monitors. “There’s Jacobs.”

“Deacon,” Hondo breathes out, watching the men take Jacobs. “We should’ve tried harder to get him to come with us.”

“Hey, we didn’t have time. And listen, you deciding not to testify, that wasn’t exactly fair to him.”

“What, that wasn’t fair to Jacobs?” Hondo repeats incredulously. “What about the plaintiff? A city attorney shouldn’t be allowed to take a case and reassign it to bend justice.”

“All right, do some of these guys care more about winning than justice? Yeah,” Deacon admits. “But we got to work within the system.”

“We can’t do that anymore, Deac. What do you think?”

You point to yourself in question, surprised to be pulled into the conversation. Luckily, before you can reply, Deacon finds the key and pulls you into his side as he leads you out.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Door’s busted, they beat us here,” Deacon whispers, an arm extended over your waist as he keeps you against the wall.

“Be careful, they might still be in there,” Hondo warns.

You enter between them, sighing when you see the damage done.

“They have our guns.”

“Tan says Diaz knows we’re here,” Deacon says, looking at his phone.

Adrian Diaz yells, “Harrelson, Kay! We know you fools are down here. If you give up now, we won’t kill you.”

“Deac, give me your phone,” Hondo requests. “Give it to me.”

“Really going to make a call right now, Hondo?” you ask lightly.

Hondo slides the phone into his sock, tugging his pant leg over it. He points at you and then at the ceiling.

“Okay,” Deacon answers, nodding as he pulls you to the desk.

Deacon stands on the desk, pushing a ceiling tile up and over. Hondo helps you onto the desk, and then Deacon lifts you up into the ceiling, following shortly behind you.

His hand finds yours as you wait in the dark, holding you gently. You listen as Hondo is taken away, and after a moment of silence, Deacon slides the ceiling tile away. He grips the rafter, lowering slowly and silently onto the desk below. Turning, he raises your hands, grabbing your hips and lowering you gently.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his hands holding you firmly.

Nodding, you let him help you from the desk before following him.

✯✯✯✯✯

Standing beside him, you listen as Deacon calls his team, holding his hand in both of yours.

“Hey, it’s Deacon. Hondo’s been taken,” he reports. “Well, I managed to hide. Hondo gave himself up so we both wouldn’t get caught. We made it to the gun locker, but it was empty. They beat us to it. They were calling for us by name. Not sure how they knew we were here… They took Hondo to courtroom 1, first floor with the other hostages. Listen, I know Diaz set up a deadline. How much time we got? Tell me you guys have a plan… Wait a second, I remember three stairwells…”

You tune him out, preferring to focus on the feeling of him beside you rather than the danger of the situation. Looking down at his hand, you wonder if you’ll get to tell him.

✯✯✯✯✯

“They’re bringing my team in a helicopter,” Deacon whispers, waiting in a stairwell.

“And then what?” you reply.

“Remember your promise.”

You nod, squeezing Deacon’s hand. You trust him, and you will do anything and everything he tells you. Deacon releases your hand kindly, whispering for you to wait as he goes up the stairs.

“We’re good. It’s Deac,” Street whispers.

Deacon gestures for you to join him on the next landing.

“Hey. You all right?” someone asks.

“I’m good,” Deacon answers.

He puts a bulletproof vest over your head before pulling his own on.

“Stay here.”

“But,” you begin, trailing off when Deacon cups your face in his hands.

“I will come back for you, every time. But I need you to stay here so I know you’re safe.”

You nod, mouthing, “I trust you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

The door bangs open, hitting the wall behind it. You look around the corner slowly, rushing toward Deacon when you see him. He extends his hands, passing you your shoes. Taking them, you immediately drop them as you wrap your arms over Deacon’s shoulders and pull yourself as close as possible to him.

“Thank you for coming back. For keeping me safe,” you say against his neck.

“I’ll always come back for you,” he reminds you, his grip tight around your waist. “Will you let me take you to dinner for your bravery?”

Smiling, you pull back and counter, “Let me make you dinner for saving my life.”

“Good food and good company? Maybe I should save you more often.”

“Or you could just ask me on a date. Everyone else can see that I have a huge crush on you.”

“Let’s see how dinner goes first,” Deacon jokes.

“You’re not very good at this.”

“Then teach me your ways, Casanova,” Deacon replies, leaning forward to catch your lips.

Sighing against him, you’re glad you got this assignment and finally found the courage to admit how you feel about him to yourself. Now you must find a way to tell Deacon how you feel, though you think this kiss is a good start.

#david deacon kay x reader #deacon kay x reader #david kay x reader #david deacon kay #deacon kay #swat cbs #fem!reader

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persefolli · 1 year ago

Text

𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐌

𝐊𝐚��𝐦𝐚 𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞

𝐂𝐨𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝

𝐀/𝐧: 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬, 𝐈 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐡

“So you want me to take my ass all the way down to California to capture this guy for 500 caps. You've lost it.”

“A thousand.”

You tilted your head and inspected the photo

“15 hundred.”

The fat man groaned and rolled his eyes, “Fine.”

You folded the paper and slipped it in your back pocket.

It had been about a decade since you woke up. You were a long way from California. What was once left of Oregon was filled with sandy terrains. Sweat dripped from every exposed part of your body and for miles there was nothing but dunes. It was crazy how much a nuke can alter a landscape, back a couple hundred years ago the Pacific Northwest had grass and tree filled mountains with lush rivers. Now everything reminded you of a Frank Herbert book.

The longer you walked the more you accepted that you weren’t gonna find a shelter for the night. Slowing down, the fatigue caught up to you and you fell to your knees, face down into the earth.

“Emergency alert system has been activated, this is a national emergency. All broadcast and cable systems shall transmit this emergency action notification message.”

You sat with your mouth hung open along with your team as you were getting ready for another shoot. Before you could even think of calling Cooper, armed men bursted into the room, shooting every living thing in sight. You screamed loudly and dropped to the floor, but was grabbed by one of the soldiers and dragged out of the filming studio.

You stumbled barefoot behind the soldier, then paused.

Everyone fell silent and the world stopped.

The familiar mushroom cloud that was only shown in demonstrations was stretching beyond the skyscrapers of L.A.

“We have to go now!” One of them yelled and dragged you to a bunker shaped building. One you’d always thought was a set but apparently not. They shoved you in, and you stood in your robe, alongside other girls you recognized as Cola girls.

Soldiers guarded the door as they motioned for the doors to be closed. "W-wait." You walked up to one of the guards. "My....boyfriend is supposed to be bringing my lunch he...he has to be driving up the hills by now can't we wait?!"

"No. We're closing this vault now!"

"I never signed up to be here! I want out. Now!"

"Have you fucking lost it?" One of the soldiers pushed your shoulder. "We're gonna be skinned dry if you don't move the fuck back now!"

"I won't be-"

The guard raised his gun and clocked you right in the face.

You woke up to a dog licking your nose and whimpering. You opened your eyes to see you were at a gas station, or what once was. Sitting up you looked at the german shepherd that sat and began wagging his tail. "Hey you." You smiled and pet the dog.

"She's awake? Great!"

A man came trudging from the gas station in an abnormally large backpack and a severed head.

You instinctively reached for your gun but realized you’d been stripped of all your items. The man shook his head and you scowled at him. You averted your eyes to the severed head and the man rolled his eyes.

"Oh this?" He raised the head. "Long story."

You stood and wiped your hands on your pants. "Where is my stuff?"

"I have it. Put away. Safe."

"Thanks but I'll be needing it back."

The man didn't move and he cleared his throat. "I am Thaddeus. Squire of the Brotherhood-"

“Ah, ah, ah, listen,” You interrupted him. “You seem like a knightly man and all but I need my bags."

"Listen. I found you. A woman alone in the wasteland. And as a sworn protector I must take you back to-"

"The Brotherhood?"

"Yes."

You stared at him for a moment before sighing deeply and cracking your knuckles. "No."

"What?" Thaddeus nervously chuckled.

"I'm not going. You can't make me."

"I mean....physically I can but....."

"Oh can you?"

Thaddeus sighed and dropped his backpack along with the head. He began skipping on his feet and rolling his neck. "I usually don't mean to use force on a woman but you've left me no choice." He lunged at you but you quickly jabbed his throat which caused him to grab his neck and wheeze. He fell back onto the ground and groaned.

You took the chance to raid his backpack and get your things out of there. You then paused and picked up the head.

"This worth money?"

Thaddeus panted on the ground, unmoving.

"Gonna assume yes." You clicked your tongue and began walking towards what seemed like a small city in the distance.

“...blood pressure of 120/80, heart rate of 72 bpm….” The male's voice faded as you fluttered your eyes.

“Where the fuck am I?” You moved your mouth to speak but nothing came out.

Doctors and nurses moved around you and eventually helped you sit up. “Y/N…Y/N L/N.”

A man in a suit and briefcase smiled and stood at the edge of your hospital bed. “You must be confused.” He smiled. “Let me explain some things. Get you situated.”

You looked around and realized how strange it was to be in a hospital after nuclear bombs had dropped. You reached up and grabbed your head.

“209 years ago you signed on to be a Cola girl for Nuka-Cola! Well, Vault-tec is the mother company of Nuka-Cola. You only served out a few months of your contract and now you need to serve out at least 14 more years-”

“Fifteen years? You just said it's been 209!”

“Yes. We preserved you during cryosleep so you can finish the rest of your contract.”

“I want out. Hit me with a firestorm of lawyers I don't care.”

The man in the suit began laughing and shook his head. “You don't understand sweetheart. There is no law there is no…way out.” He nodded. “Vault-tec runs things now. So how about you get washed up and you can get ready for the photoshoot later.”

You made it to this place called ‘Filly’. It was a few miles from the hills, or what used to be. You were a good distance away from Santa Barbara, you and Cooper's favorite place. Cooper. You bit the inside of your cheeks everytime you found yourself thinking of him. Imagining how close he was to the bunker before they shut the doors. The guilt ate you up day by day.

There was a singular store in Filly, to which you walked in and sat the head on the counter of the old lady’s shop. “Who’s looking for this and for how much?” You nodded at her.

“What’s a lady like you doing carrying around-” You pulled your jacket pocket back and flashed the gun, not to scare her, but to show her there were female bounty hunters that passed through California.

“You can give it to Vault-tec….or I can try and get you connected with Moldaver.”

“Get me the Moldaver guy.”

The lady nodded and began flipping through the book. The bell on the door rang notifying everyone that someone had entered.

“Also,” You started. “You seen this man?”

The woman let her glasses fall and nodded behind you. Surely it was the man on the sketch.

“He hang ‘round here a lot?”

“Stays right in that hotel across from here, sits his creepy ass outside everyday all day till he gets drunk and disappears to god knows where.”

You watched him through the glass door as he walked over to the motel. “I think I’ll be staying here for a while.”

𝐀/𝐍: 𝐋𝐨𝐥 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐭.

You’d never taken this much time to wrap up one of your bounties and send them off to get your money, but this Ghoul guy was one of the most difficult to get alone. The lady in the store was right about him sitting on the front porch of the motel everyday just staring at people.

When you walked out of your motel you made sure to keep a bandana on your face so he wouldn’t notice how much you lurked around. The plan was to wait until he got drunk and stumbled off, knock him out, tie him up, then rent one of the trucks and drag him to the Oregon border but this was one of the first times you actually felt nervous about capturing one of your bounties.

The Ghoul had gotten into a bar fight a few days back, and he ended up blasting the whole structure with his explosive bullets so half of Filly was exposed to the dusty wasteland. The townspeople didn’t like that so they vandalized his motel. But he didn't care, the next day he just sat right back out on the porch.

“Sweetheart.” He called to you once.

“Get me some tomatah’s yeah?” He threw you a few caps.

You nodded and kept an eye on him while you bought a bag of cherry tomatoes from him. He had that southern accent. Cooper used to speak just like him. You handed him the remainder of caps and the bag of cherry tomatoes. You left him alone after he gave you a thank you and a wicked smile.

Frustrated with your progress, you decided to focus on more important matters. The convenience store lady was able to get you a meeting with Moldaver’s people not too far from here. The morning after the cherry tomato incident, you set out of Filly, walking towards a place called Shady Sands.

You treaded on a desire path, one that walked on the edge of the crater of where a small city once stood. You stopped seeing a standing billboard. A Nuka-Cola billboard, and the Cola girl that happened to be on there was you. You furrowed your eyebrows and drew your gun quickly, blasting a hole right where your face was plastered, replacing it with the blue sky.

You hated yourself for signing that contract, you hated doing photoshoots all the time, and you hated that you didn’t do more to save Cooper that fateful day.

Whatever, that was hundreds of years ago.

A few miles from Shady Sands was an abandoned school, and you knew Moldaver was there based on the sets of footsteps that were in the ground that led to the entrance. Inside, you saw two armed guards standing beside a woman with long black hair. You narrowed your eyes and scanned your surroundings, making sure you weren’t falling for any traps.

“Heard you were looking for a head.” You held up the severed head.

The woman smiled, standing and walking forward to inspect it. “Nice to see another woman in the industry.”

You said nothing and rocked on your heels. “What’s so special about it?”

The woman sighed, “Cold fusion, can basically power up New York City without actual electricity. It's a complicated concept.”

You nodded, “So…how much is it worth?”

“I got 10 thousand caps for you.”

“Ten thousand?!”

“Well that was the bounty, and you brought it right to me.” She narrowed her eyes at you. “Everyone’s been looking for this head and you just have it. And you don’t care that you're just handing it over.”

“I don’t have much to care about anymore…not really.” You shrugged.

Moldaver recognized the look in your eyes. The look that told the same story a thousand ways, that you had lost everything.

“It’s getting dark. Take your caps and go.”

“Wait!” You stopped her and pulled out the bounty for The Ghoul. “Why is this thing wanted?”

Moldaver narrowed her eyes and looked at the photo closely. “Oh him! Just a pain in the ass.” You were surprised at the reason he was wanted so badly, but whatever, you needed the money, but not so much anymore after turning in the head for thousands of caps.

After the meeting you hiked back to Filly, thinking of all the different ways you would spend the money tonight, maybe a bigger room, or a couple of drinks, but you were shocked to come back and see people scurrying around and yelling. You went through the tunnel and saw The Ghoul in the midst of the chaos grunting and punching the ground. You drew your gun, assuming he’d gone feral, but he was just drunk, and upset.

“Who shot the board? Who did it! Come out right fucking now!” He snarled.

You raised an eyebrow and approached slowly, drawing your gun. The older lady from the store grabbed your arm to stop you, shaking her head. “He has explosive bullets.” She reminded you, pointing to a large hole in Filly’s infrastructure, where the bar once was.

“I got this.” You reassured her.

The Ghoul looked up at you and heaved as you got closer to him. “The fuck do you want. You know who did it?”

You silently stared at him as he jerked, waiting on an answer. You jumped hearing him yell. “I won’t stop! til I find out who shot my baby’s face!” He yelled.

“That was my face you dipshit.” You tugged down your bandana and his pupils dilated. He visibly calmed down and dropped his arms in disbelief. He was still on his knees, so you held the gun to his head. “Dead or Alive. I think I'm just gonna take you now.” You said.

“Oh Y/n….Y/n.” He grabbed at your jeans. “This can’t-....how?”

“Stop moving!”

“Wait!” He exclaimed. “It's me! It’s me, baby. It's Cooper!”

You furrowed your eyebrows and tilted your head in confusion, scanning his face over again. How could you have not made the connection. The voice, the mannerisms, even down to the way he dressed. “It’s me, baby. We had a dog named Roosevelt, a house in hidden hills, and you have a birthmark on your right asscheek.” He panted. “You always covered it before a shoot because you didn’t like how bright it was.”

You dropped the gun, stumbling back in disbelief. Over 200 years later. The man that was the cause of your coldness, was now here in front of you. You dropped your gun and began crying, sniffling and shaking your head in shock. You’d been hunting your own man all these months, ready to kill him. You dropped to your knees and cradled his face. He began to cry as well, dryly since his ducts had been burnt out long ago, and he nuzzled his face in your neck. His arms wrapped around your waist and squeezed you close to him. “That board….That’s all I had left of you.” He whispered. “I tried going home and finding a picture I just couldn’t-”

“Shhh.” You rubbed up his neck and the back of his head.

The two of you situated in the middle of a chaotic filly, holding one another in shock and love.

You reached in your pocket and raised the bounty paper in the air, letting it fly off into the dust beyond.

#fallout #fallout series #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard fic #the ghoul x reader fluff #the ghoul x reader #persefolliwrites #persefolli

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karmaismyfriend · 10 days ago

Note

I don’t understand. They are not legally married so how can it be fraud for green card? Probably she was never even able to apply for it.

Let’s make this real simple for the delulu crowd still clinging to the fantasy:

She can’t apply for a green card.

Because… spoiler alert:

She’s not legally married to him.

Not in the U.S., not in Portugal, not in Narnia.

No license.

No filing.

No spousal petition.

No. Legal. Standing.

Which means? No green card. No immigration benefits. No case.

What you’re watching isn’t a marriage.

It’s a PR stunt straight out of Old Hollywood — except back then they at least had ✨glamour✨ and convincing chemistry.

This?

This is the Z-list reboot of a tired publicity tactic the industry quietly buried decades ago.

But apparently Hollywood’s stuck in a time loop where yacht girls still think fake “marriages” and vague pap walks are the secret to a Netflix franchise or a Dior contract.

Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but clout marriages only work when people believe them.

And the only thing being shipped here is desperation.

She’s been parked in Portugal for months not in Boston, not in L.A., not even pretending to share a zip code with the man she’s allegedly “married” to.

So again, for the people in the back:

No marriage = no green card.

No cohabitation = no USCIS credibility.

No receipts = no relevance.

This is immigration fraud and it’s career fraud.

And it’s aging like milk in the July sun.

#fuck around and find out #chris evans shitshow #chris evans pr #worst pr ever.#fuck caa #fuck narrative pr #declined immigration #lying to a government department #deported #hahaha

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posttexasstressdisorder · 25 days ago

Text

California News

Hundreds of Marines mobilizing to Los Angeles

by: Travis Schlepp

Posted: Jun 9, 2025 / 01:50 PM PDT

Updated: Jun 9, 2025 / 03:43 PM PDT

Hundreds of U.S. Marines stationed at the Marine Corps Air Ground Combat Center in Twentynine Palms are being mobilized to Los Angeles.

Approximately 700 Marines are being activated to respond to the Los Angeles area after anti-ICE protests grew violent Sunday night, as originally reported by CNN and later confirmed to KTLA.

A senior official told Nexstar’s NewsNation that 500 active-duty Marines would be deployed to L.A. to “help protect federal agents and buildings.”

A release by the Department of Defense issued after that initial report confirmed that the number of Marines being deployed was even higher, with as many as 700 being mobilized to help federal agents in L.A.

“U.S. Northern Command has activated the Marine infantry battalion that was placed in an alert status over the weekend,” the release from the U.S. Northern Command of the DoD reads. “2nd Battalion, 7th Marines, 1st Marine Division will seamlessly integrate with the Title 10 forces under Task Force 51 who are protecting federal personnel and federal property in the greater Los Angeles area.”

CNN Pentagon correspondent Natasha Bertrand described the move as a “significant escalation of the president’s use of the military as a show of force against these protesters.”Thousands of demonstrators are seen outside the Federal Building in Los Angeles on June 9, 2025. (KTLA)

Bertrand said it’s unclear what role the Marines will serve when they arrive in L.A.

“The rules of engagement, we are told, are still being finalized. The Department of Defense lawyers are looking at the kind of rules of engagement these Marines will have as they encounter protesters possibly on the streets of Los Angeles,” Bertrand said.

The decision to deploy Marines to L.A. comes as city and state leaders have repeatedly pushed back on the federal government exerting force and assuming administrative control over military operations in the city without consulting them.

Both California Gov. Gavin Newsom and Los Angeles Mayor Karen Bass have called the deployment of the National Guard into the city as an unnecessary escalation and an act of political theater.

Bass held a press conference Sunday night in which she blamed President Donal Trump for needlessly increasing tensions in the city, as demonstrators took to the street to protest immigration enforcement operations taking place at various locations in Los Angeles.

“What we’re seeing in Los Angeles is chaos that is provoked by the administration,” Bass said in the Sunday press conference. “This is about another agenda, this isn’t about public safety.”

On Monday, Newsom’s Office filed a lawsuit against the Trump administration seeking the return of command for the California National Guard back to the governor.

Also on Monday, Trump voiced his support for the California governor to be arrested, although on what charges were not immediately clear.

“I think his primary crime is running for governor, because he’s done such a bad job,” Trump told reporters Monday afternoon in Washington, D.C.

Commenting on the president’s decision to mobilize the Marines, Newsom wrote on social media:

“U.S. Marines have served honorably across multiple wars in defense of democracy. They are heroes. They shouldn’t be deployed on American soil facing their own countrymen to fulfill the deranged fantasy of a dictatorial President. This is un-American.”

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mariacallous · 13 days ago

Text

On Tuesday, June 17th, Nancy Urizar was at her job working in the fund-raising department of a Jesuit boys’ high school in the Los Angeles neighborhood of Watts when her phone rang. “It was just a normal day for me,” she said. “It was twelve, and I had just come back from lunch.” On the other end of the line was her father’s landlord. Some friends of her dad’s had come over, the landlord told her, and they were asking for her phone number. Since June 6th, when two significant raids on undocumented immigrants in Los Angeles marked the beginning of an escalation of operations by Immigrations and Customs Enforcement, it has been a time of fear and anxiety. “She didn’t want to open the door because she was scared,” Urizar told me. But the friends turned out to be colleagues of her father, Francisco Urizar, who worked delivering Mission-brand products, including tortillas, to local grocery stores. “She was, like, I have your dad’s friends and they’re saying that they saw—I think, on the news or on social media—that there was a video, and it was my dad that got taken,” Urizar said. “I’m, like, in shock. I’m, like, stop playing this joke on me. It’s not funny.”

The video was recorded by a bystander at a Food 4 Less grocery store in the city of Pico Rivera in eastern L.A. County at nine-thirty that morning. It shows a parked yellow box truck with a homemade-looking paint job, next to which stands a group of immigration agents dressed in camouflage, helmets, and flack jackets, and holding what appear to be rifles. They wear neck buffs pulled up to hide their faces, sunglasses, and gloves, and are laden with tactical gear, as if in a combat zone and not a suburban parking lot. Francisco Urizar has been interrupted mid-delivery and, flanked by two of the agents, waits next to a dolly stacked with boxes of food. As the person recording comes closer to the scene, some bystanders shout out advice: “¡No diga nada!” (“Don’t say anything!”); “¡Hasta que tiene un lawyer presente no diga nada!” (“Until you have a lawyer present don’t say anything!”) Francisco wears a blue baseball cap and has a mustache. As the agents lead him to the back seat of a white Customs and Border Protection S.U.V., he glances back anxiously at his truck and the tortillas. “Fucked up, man, la migra,” the person recording says, as he walks closer and zooms in. Other bystanders have harsher words for the agents. “I hope you guys are fucking happy! Go home, fuck your wives,” a woman yells at them. “And you, too, fucking Captain Underpants. You think you’re fucking happy about the little uniform you got going on?” Then the video ends.

I had first seen an Instagram post about Francisco Urizar’s detention on the account of an immigrant-advocacy group called Siempre Unidos L.A., less than two hours after it was reported to have happened. Since June 6th, videos of masked federal agents detaining immigrants across Los Angeles County have been appearing on social media every day. Under state law, the Los Angeles Police Department and other local law-enforcement agencies are limited from assisting federal immigration enforcement, and many municipal governments, having declared themselves sanctuary cities, claim to be in the dark about the time and location of specific federal immigration actions. (In a response to a request for comment, the Department of Homeland Security said that it had alerted the L.A.P.D. two days before beginning the ICE operation in L.A. However, an L.A.P.D. spokesperson said that the department does not receive advance or real-time information about specific raids.) As such, the videos, often captured by bystanders and then aggregated by activist groups or local-news accounts, have become a primary record of what is going on; the federal government is not offering detailed information about where people are taken. One organization, the Coalition for Humane Immigrant Rights, estimates that between five and six hundred people have been detained in the greater Los Angeles area since June 6th. The estimate is “not scientific,” Jorge-Mario Cabrera, the organization’s communications director, told me, adding, “Our approximation is based on the numbers of folks who get reported by the public, the media, and people who call our hotline.” The ICE agents knock on doors, but they have also been detaining people at L.A. bus stops, gas stations, car washes, food trucks, Walmarts, and Home Depots.

After Urizar told the landlord to share her phone number, her father’s colleagues called her and asked if she had a set of keys to his truck, which was still sitting in the loading zone of the grocery store. She didn’t. Unsure of what to do, she left work and called her younger sister, Francis, as she drove fourteen miles to the Food 4 Less. When Urizar arrived, Francis was already there, crying. Urizar, who is thirty years old, felt a responsibility to keep it together.

Urizar told me this the next morning over a waffle at Pancake Corner, a diner in South Gate, the city in southern L.A. County where she lives. She had been up since five in the morning, she said, and looked fatigued but calm. She told me that she had turned to her Christian faith to sustain her through the crisis. “I’m holding on to God’s word,” she said. “Whatever is God’s will, it’s going to be good, and it’s going to be his will, and that gives me peace, that gives me hope, and, honestly, that’s the thing that’s calming me down.” We waited until a server wearing a uniform poured us coffees, and then Urizar talked about her father.

Francisco Urizar, who is sixty-four years old, came to the United States from Guatemala more than thirty years ago, she told me, fleeing the civil war and looking to earn money to support four children left behind in his native country. After arriving, he met Nancy’s mother, who is from Honduras, and had two more children, Nancy first, and then Francis two years later.

“He had a drinking problem when I was younger,” Urizar said. “So he had a domestic-violence report, and we were separated.” (The case was later dismissed.) Because of her parents’ custody arrangement, from the age of eight until she was eighteen Urizar saw her father only once a week. But after her parents’ marriage ended, she said, he turned his life around. “He just solely focussed on working,” she said. “Working to clean his record, working to sustain his family in Guatemala and to sustain us—he’s just been working all his life. And now he lives by himself, has no wife, has no other kids, and he just has me and my sister here.” She had no idea if her father was targeted because her mother had once sought a restraining order or if he was racially profiled, as some of those stopped by immigration agents in recent days appear to have been. (The Department of Homeland Security told me in a written statement, “DHS enforcement operations are highly targeted, and officers do their due diligence.” It also said, “Any claims that individuals have been ‘targeted’ by law enforcement because of their skin color are disgusting and categorically FALSE.”)

“He made mistakes,” she said, “but they’re old mistakes, like twenty-plus-years-old mistakes.” And while she said that he may not have been a good husband, she considered him a devoted father. “I’ve always loved my dad,” she told me. “He’s, like, a great dad, he’s the best dad, and I’m not just saying that because he’s my dad, but he’s such a good dad. Like, everything I have is because of my dad.”

In Los Angeles in recent weeks, a popular phrase has been revived on protest signs and social-media posts: “Solo el pueblo salva al pueblo,” or, “only the people can save the people.” In L.A., although the city and county law-enforcement agencies are restricted from assisting ICE, they are not working to actively impede the federal agents, either. Local groups and nonprofits have taken on the task of not only documenting the raids but also teaching people how to protect themselves. The most prominent of these is the Community Self-Defense Coalition, a network of more than sixty advocacy groups, including Black Men Build, the Harriet Tubman Center for Social Justice, and the local chapter of Jewish Voice for Peace. It was formed in February, in the early days of the second Trump Administration, after documents leaked to the L.A. Times indicated plans for a “large scale” immigration enforcement action in the city.

At six in the morning last Saturday, Ron Gochez, a teacher at a public high school, got in the front passenger seat of an S.U.V. parked outside a laundromat in Los Angeles’s South Central neighborhood. Gochez is an organizer for Unión del Barrio, a nonpartisan political group that is part of the Community Self-Defense Coalition and advocates for the rights of Mexican Americans and other people of Latin American descent. (The driver, a volunteer in a medical mask, asked not to be identified.) “Welcome to South Central Los Angeles,” Gochez said, as we rolled out of the parking lot, passing a street sign that had been graffitied with the words “Dump Trump.” “That’s how our community feels,” Gochez said. The two were part of the Unión del Barrio community patrol, whose aim is to monitor—and warn the neighborhood about—the presence of federal agents. During the past two weeks, the patrol had been sending cars out every morning.

A few minutes earlier, a dozen volunteers, mostly women, had gathered in a circle in the parking lot; most wore black pants and green hoodies printed with the profile of a Mexica eagle warrior, the Unión del Barrio emblem. The group had distributed walkie-talkies and placed magnets on their cars which bore the Unión insignia and read “PROTECTING COMMUNITIES FROM ICE & POLICE TERROR” in English and Spanish. There were also flyers to inform residents of numbers to call if they saw vehicles characteristic of those traditionally dispatched by ICE: U.S.-made models such as Ford Explorers or Chevy Tahoes with ultra-dark tinted windows, police gates separating the front seats from the back, and, at times, dealership placards or no license plates.

In the course of the next hour, we zigzagged through the blocks of South Central, a densely populated and predominantly Latino neighborhood just south of downtown L.A. We alternated between residential streets and commercial ones, with car garages, restaurants, and barber shops. With the exception of a few Mexican bakeries, most of the businesses were closed. Gochez and the driver looked for particular tells: parking in the neighborhood is scarce so the agents’ vehicles are often double-parked; their car engines are frequently running. If the community patrollers come across a suspicious vehicle, they’ll try to get the driver to crack open the window; then, if the people inside the car won’t confirm their identities, the patrol will try to see if they’re wearing any badges. They will monitor a suspicious vehicle from a distance until it leaves the area.

If the patrollers can confirm the presence of ICE agents, they will post alerts on social media, or drive through nearby streets with a megaphone telling people to stay inside and not answer the door if they are at risk. Most days they have no encounters, but Gochez takes solace in knowing that the agents must be aware that the neighborhood is watching them. That morning, there were no confirmed sightings of ICE, only a white Ford Transit van with tinted windows that had eventually left the neighborhood. The same could not be said for the rest of Los Angeles. Unión del Barrio, which has more than three hundred thousand followers on Facebook and ninety thousand on Instagram, maintains a tip line and receives hundreds of messages and calls every day. “If we had ten people taking calls it wouldn’t be enough,” Gochez said.

On June 7th, the Trump Administration deployed the California National Guard to Los Angeles, followed the next week by seven hundred U.S. marines, announcing that they would protect ICE. (When asked if the military had been aiding ICE in its operations, the Department of Defense referred me to a June 9th press release that described the military’s local mission as “protecting federal personnel and federal property in the greater Los Angeles area.”) The F.B.I. and federal marshals, among other agencies, have also been deputized to assist in detaining undocumented immigrants. Under these circumstances, registering the presence of ICE and C.B.P. vehicles, agents, and detentions has become something of a local sport, at times an overzealous one—I saw one TikTok of a woman in the city of El Monte painting inspirational quotes on her car, a white Dodge Durango with tinted windows, after people kept mistaking her for a Fed.

The public reaction to the presence of the ICE agents is often hostile. One morning, I followed a Unión del Barrio alert to an Army Reserve center in the city of Bell, which, that morning, immigration agents were using as a staging area. A veritable hive of officials with covered faces was loading into a fleet of American-made vehicles with temporary license plates and dark windows, and rolling out into the city for their day of work. Outside, helpless to stop them, someone pulled up and simply leaned on his horn. Others tried to block the driveway with their cars, but the agents had another exit. One person shouted profanities. In the video of Nancy Urizar’s father, the anger of the strangers observing what was happening in the parking lot is also palpable. “Fuck every single one of you motherfuckers,” one person says. “Fuck every single one of you.” The protests against ICE in Los Angeles have been nearly continuous since June 6th, including outside hotels suspected of lodging agents; Pico Rivera erupted in protest the night of Francisco Urizar’s detention.

The videos of detentions posted by bystanders, which are usually time-stamped, are often similar: they tend to show men in camouflage and tactical gear, their faces obscured by neck buffs, detaining primarily Latino men. Many of the videos seemed to have been filmed in the Gateway Cities, a patchwork of small municipalities situated along L.A. County’s southeastern border, where two million people live in mostly working- and middle-class neighborhoods. The detained person is often familiar to the person recording, who might identify him as a fruit vender, or the guy who sits with his dog on a particular bench. As the person is detained, the one recording will sometimes try to get his name, before he is lost in the system.

In one video, verified by the local news site L.A. Taco, Jason Devora, the owner of a food stand called Jason’s Tacos, in East L.A., narrates as he arrives at his business after it was raided and several people were detained. In the video, the meat for the tacos al pastor still turns on the abandoned trompo. “This is not a joke—they just took all my employees,” Devora can be heard saying. “It’s crazy.” (L.A. Taco, which covers local news as well as L.A.’s taco scene, has also reported on the shutdowns of some of the city’s most beloved food trucks and street stands, and of children taking over the restaurants of their parents, as workers stay home out of fear.) Another video circulating last week showed immigration agents attempting to detain a U.S. citizen named Brian Gavidia as he was walking home. (Gavidia was released.)

Some legal observers describe what is happening as “disappearances,” with days passing before detainees show up in any public government record, at which point they may already be held out of state. “With some—based on the reports that we’re getting—we can’t do much, as they have already been deported or been sent to Texas,” Cabrera, of the Coalition for Humane Immigrant Rights, told me, adding that the organization had received thousands of calls since June 6th. “Some we just don’t know where they’re at—we keep getting reports that folks are missing.”

Through the CLEAN Carwash Worker Center, an advocacy organization that works with car-wash workers and other immigrant laborers, I was connected with a woman who works selling flowers with her brother. (Because of her own immigration status she requested that I not use her name.) She is forty-five years old and immigrated to the United States from Oaxaca, Mexico, in 1999; her brother followed more than a decade later. She told me that on Monday, June 9th, in the L.A. neighborhood of Inglewood, her brother went out to buy tortillas and cheese and never came home. “We had no news of him for several days and couldn’t find him,” she told me in Spanish.

Desperate for information, she and her nineteen-year-old daughter distributed letters to houses nearby that had home-security cameras, asking if anyone had footage of him. Someone soon responded. In the security video she received, which is time-stamped shortly after ten in the morning, the camera records a driveway, empty sidewalks, and the lawns of single-family homes. Two agents—both unmasked and dressed in plainclothes, one with a vest labelled “police”—hold the arms of a third man, presumably the brother, whose hands are cuffed in front of him. The agents sit the man down on the sidewalk until, within seconds, an unmarked white van with darkened windows arrives. The driver and two agents put the man into the back seat and then drive away.

On Thursday, June 12th, she finally had contact with her brother. She learned that he was at the Adelanto ICE Processing Center., in Adelanto, California—a two-hour drive from Los Angeles—where many people detained in the recent raids are being held. Her brother had been the primary breadwinner for her and her three children. “He practically put his whole life to one side to be with me and my children,” she said, crying. “Now I feel impotent that I can’t help him, because when I needed him he was with me.”

Christopher Ortiz, another family member of a detained person, told me that, on Friday, June 6th, when federal agents raided Ambiance Apparel, a clothes wholesaler in L.A.’s fashion district where his father, José, worked, José had called Ortiz’s sister to tell her that a raid was under way. After a call to her father went to voice mail, she had rushed there in time to see him and other employees being taken away. It was not until the following Monday that they had any contact with their father, a three-minute phone call during which he told Ortiz’s sister that he was being held at Adelanto and asked after his cats. When they finally managed to meet with him at Adelanto, it was by ignoring guidance that proved incorrect about when they would be able to visit.

José, who immigrated to the United States from Guanajuato, Mexico, has lived here for thirty years. I asked Ortiz how he felt about the protests that had erupted in downtown L.A. following the raid on Ambiance Apparel. “I would say I was just very, just really focussed on trying to get my father back or at least get in contact with him,” he said. “But I would say I think I would have felt crazy if this happened and everyone and everything just kept going like it’s nothing.”

When Nancy Urizar arrived at the parking lot of the Food 4 Less, she told me, she had been showered with assistance by strangers. Bystanders had already loaded the boxes of food back inside her father’s truck. It turned out the keys had been handed over to a grocery-store security guard, who gave them to Francis. Francisco’s colleagues met Urizar at the grocery store. One of them told her that he would take over the route until they had more information, so that Francisco would not lose his clients, and volunteered to return the truck to the lot where it was stored.

“That was a blessing, and, after that, just a lot of people started coming up to me, hugging me, praying for me, just telling me kind words,” Urizar told me. “They drove by, or they had seen the videos, and I’m crying and they’re telling me all these things. I just felt so much support from the Latino community, you know? It was so beautiful.” She spoke with one young woman, the daughter of a truck driver who delivered tortillas for another brand. The woman told Urizar and Francis that she had taken over her father’s business since the ICE raids had escalated, so that he could be safe at home. “She’s probably twenty-five—she seemed really young,” Urizar said. “And she was, like, I’m the one driving the truck, I’m the one unloading tortillas and, like, stocking everything in the market. Like, because my dad’s an immigrant, you know, and she’s tiny, tiny, skinny, and she’s, like, I’m so sorry, and she’s crying with us, she’s hugging us.”

Francisco owned the truck he was driving on the day authorities took him in. When he was given a phone call from detention later that day, his first fear was about the truck, his livelihood, and so he called a colleague to ask him to go retrieve it. Before they were cut off, the colleague was able to reassure him it had all been taken care of, and also that his daughters knew he had been taken in. Francisco did not know where he was, only that it had taken a long time to get there. That, as of the time of our meeting, had been the only moment of contact. Urizar said that she had no idea where her father was being detained, although she suspected Adelanto. After our breakfast, Urizar told me that she was going to start calling lawyers. People had been sending her many referrals. “Right now, I’m just asking God for wisdom and direction,” she said.

On June 15th, Donald Trump declared that the raids that have been happening in Los Angeles will soon be happening in New York and Chicago—what he called, in a post on Truth Social, “the core of the Democrat Power Center.” Republicans have also shown a willingness to go after immigrant-advocacy organizations. Unión del Barrio and the Coalition for Humane Immigrant Rights have both received cease-and-desist letters from the Missouri senator Josh Hawley, who is the chair of the Senate Subcommittee on Crime and Counterterrorism, suggesting that the organizations had “provided logistical support and financial resources” to protesters engaged in “disruptive actions” and demanding that they preserve relevant records, including internal communications, financial documents, and “media or public relations strategies.” (Both organizations have denied involvement in illegal activity.) Chris Newman, the legal director and general counsel of the National Day Laborer Organizing Network, which is assisting dozens of day laborers who have been targeted by immigration authorities in the city in recent days, described the current moment as a turning point. He told me that after the recent fires in Los Angeles, when immigrant laborers were on the front lines of the cleanup effort, an appreciation for their work has grown. “Going forward, we are going to see the city really unifying around the most vulnerable people,” he said. He thought that politicians nationally should pay attention to what is going on in Los Angeles: “My hope is that Washington is now following a lead set by California, mostly by people on the streets.”

In Francisco’s three decades of living in the United States, Urizar said, he often tried to get residency. She told me that his work permit had only recently expired and that he paid taxes. He had spent many years, and many thousands of dollars in attorney fees, trying to secure permanent status, but without success. As he entered his mid-sixties, he had begun thinking about going back to Guatemala. “He just kind of felt like giving up and just going back on his own—you know, that reason, of, like, ‘I’ll just go back, and I guess I can’t come back.’ ” Nancy had recently got married and was more independent; Francisco was still helping out Francis, and working to finish paying off his car. Urizar said that he had discussed saving money for retirement, since immigrants who aren’t lawful permanent residents or under other select designations are restricted from collecting Social Security benefits in the U.S., even if they have paid into the system. He had not seen his mother, who is now in her nineties, for more than thirty years, or his children living in Guatemala. Urizar prayed that he would be released and allowed to leave the country on his own terms. “I don’t want to think about it, but I think the smartest and the wisest thing to do is to prepare for what can be next, like, what’s gonna happen with his bills, or what’s gonna happen with his business,” she said. “That’s all gonna fall on me.” Nancy Urizar had never gone to Guatemala, she said, “because he told me the first time he wanted me to experience it was with him.”

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