#‘it’s three am here in midtown west

[akasha-game]

Tourist Traps

Today we'll be visiting Unity City, the main overworld area of AKASHA.

There are three main divisions or districts or sections or whatever you call them: Uptown, Midtown, and Downtown. We'll be visiting Midtown today. I also get the feeling these names are a bit more literal than their usual meanings, given the inhabitants we've seen so far.

The first thing you'll see is the station. This connects back to the one in Subirb, which is the only way to get here, because there is no way in hell I am walking down the highway that far if I can avoid it, dammit!

The stations have platforms that teleport you back and forth. Apparently, it's new technology. I can only imagine the unforgettable experience of lining up to use this thing to go to work. Also, I really hope telefragging isn't a thing here.

Ahh, I can already feel the depression, claustrophobia, and noise pollution settling in. Isn't it great?

Right to the west is the most important place in Midtown: Dunk 'N Run. It sells life-sustaining coffee and tea, as well as a few other things which aren't coffee and tea, so I don't give a crap about them.

A lot of the roads are closed off due to construction. Whether this construction serves any infrastructural purpose or is just here to make my life more difficult is uncertain. Just like usual!

Apart from that, there are a couple other places of interest. Some office buildings are littered around.

They keep mentioning this "pest problem". I've seen the bugs and snakes, it's not that ba--

Yeah no okay never mind never mind NEVER MIND

Alright, so if you're one of those people who doesn't want to die slowly in an office or quickly in an alleyway, there are other places to visit, like Vista Tower. It's a hotel near the river, so let's head on over th--

Wait, what? What the hell is a--

Oh. Oh no.

I... I can't believe I'm saying this, but this is actually scarier than the sewer gator. I'm outta here!

[criticalbennifer]

Woman of the Year:  Jennifer Lopez

By: Brantley Bardin 

1999

Those eyes. Those curves. That mouth. And oh, the things that come out of it! Those are just a few reasons why we can't get Jennifer Lopez, the star of Out Of Sight, out of our minds.

She's just what you'd want her to be: sassy, street, gorgeous, good. Especially right now. That's because right now the woman who left the South Bronx at twenty-one to become an In Living Color "fly girl," the woman who tells it like it is and don't we like that ("Madonna? Do I think she's a great actress? No," she said to a reporter. "Gwyneth Paltrow? I don't remember anything she was in . . . I heard more about her and Brad Pitt than I ever did about her work."), and - okay, maybe most of all - the woman who brought curvy backsides front and center is stretched across a plush couch in her midtown New York split-level hotel suite while late-afternoon sun floods the room. Packed into a provocatively tight gray Gucci turtleneck sweater, black stretch pants, and high-heeled leather boots, the five-foot-five Bronx bombshell casually raises her right leg skyward, then oh-so-slowly pulls it to the tip of her nose. And, before you know it, there it is right now: She's doing a split for you. Maybe it's just a dancer's thing. Maybe she's shamelessly flirting. Who cares? How could we not make a vision like this our Woman of the Year? Say hello to Jennifer Lopez.

Jennifer had a big year. Most importantly, of course, there was Out of Sight, in which the twenty-eight-year-old actress kicked her way into George Clooney's trunk and America's collective fantasy. It was also the film that earned her the biggest payday ever for a Latina actress: $2 million. But there were other milestones that made Jennifer a unanimous choice: appearances in Sean "Puffy" Combs' "Been Around the World" video and Marc Anthony's "Te Conosco Bien" video; that eye-popping "Danger: Curves Ahead" entrance at the Academy Awards; a big fat modeling contract with L'Oreal; a Sony record deal for her forthcoming debut album of Latin soul; and, oh yeah, a divorce from her husband of one year, followed by unrelenting speculation about an affair with - oh, you read that too? - Puff Daddy.

So join Jennifer as the Empire State Building shimmers outside her hotel (she's been living here since her divorce) and she shimmies around her glamorous abode du jour. She may not be here tomorrow, you know - she "might just fly to Miami - that's the way I am." But right now she's all yours. So get it while you can.

Hey there, Miss Lopez.

Hey, you want a chocolate? I got a big box. It's from Jeffrey Katzenberg and,,. (gets up from the couch, opens a big red box, and gasps). Who eats this much chocolate, Jeffrey? Oh, wait, this is a chocolate covered Oreo. Can't frown on that, right? (straddles the couch and munches down)

Chocolates from Jeffrey Katzenberg and a room with a view - wow, that's not bad for a poor little Puerto Rican girl from the South Bronx.

It's funny. I went to Paris for the Versace show with my assistant Arlene, who I've known since I was seven, and they flew us there on the Concorde. At the airport a silver Mercedes picked us up. So we get in, and I put a tape of my new album in the tape deck, and we're sitting there, smiling ear to ear, and I said, "Look at us. We're two simple girls from the Bronx in a Mercedes in Paris with a guard and a driver, listening to my album on our way to our two bedroom suite!" I felt like Audrey Hepburn.

So did you always want to be rich and famous, Sabrina?

Always. Well, I always wanted to sing and dance and be in movies, but when you're little, you don't really understand what the "rich and famous" part is all about - it's just a catchphrase that means (points at imaginary screen) "I wanna be doing what they're doing up there." And ever since I was three that's how I was - I always felt all this drama inside of me.

So what was this drama mama's favorite movie back then?

West Side Story, which I've seen more than a hundred times and I'd watch right now, if I could. I loved that it was a musical and about Puerto Ricans and that they were living where I lived. I wanted to be Anita because I love to dance and she was Bernardo's girlfriend and he was so hot. (pauses) But then Maria was the star of the movie. So it was basically like, I gotta be Maria.

But Maria's so dull.

She's dull, but she's the star! (laughs)

And you're an ambitious girl.

And I've always said I was.

And you were raised in one of the poorest, most notorious neighborhoods in America.

Yeah, I remember the word "bills" from when I was two. And yeah, my two sisters and my morn and dad and I, we all lived in a small apartment that was cold in the winter and hot in the summer. But hey, there was always rice and beans.

So what made you think you could ditch the rice and beans to become a future Woman of the Year?

Well, first off, chicken cutlets and red beans and rice is still my favorite dish, (smiles) but I don't know - I just always wanted to achieve and be proud of myself.

Were you a major babe as a young Bronx girl?

I wasn't one of the hotter girls - my body hadn't developed much - but I was one of the cooler girls. Then in the tenth grade, I started dating my first boyfriend, and he made me feel like a hot babe. I stayed with him for almost nine years.

And is he the man who made the first touchdown with you?

Yeah. (sighs) I was seventeen.

How was it?

I don't know if anybody has a great first experience - I mean, at the time you're just two kids trying things out and nobody knows what they're doing. Later, it became much more exciting, (ponders a moment) But you know - really, I still feel like I'm learning. And I'm open to learning more. And I want my partner to be, too. (worked up now) There's always room for improvement, so do not get too comfortable!

And how many men have you not gotten too comfortable with?

I'm embarrassed, 'cause I'll sound so inexperienced, but, well, let's put it this way: I can count them on one hand.

Wow. So how important is xes in your life?

Oh God, I can see already that this is gonna be the kind of article that'll make my mother say "Why did you talk about xes so much!" (suddenly yells) Arlene! Come here! (Arlene trudges in) I want you to sit here while we talk about xes. Okay, go ahead, ask whatever. She knows me better than anybody, even my parents.

Um, okay. Arlene, were you the first person that Jennifer told about losing her virginity?

JENNIFER (immediately): No - I didn't tell anybody!

ARLENE (rolling her eyes): She was a geek.

JENNIFER: But Arlene, that was a secret of ours - we didn't tell anybody.

ARLENE (deadpan smile): That's so sweet. Goodbye, (she leaves)

Goodbye. Okay, Jennifer, now that you're all embarrassed, let me ask you this: One of your best movie lines was in U-Turn when you said to Sean Penn, "You don't know whether to fµck me or kill me." When was the last time you had to say that in real life?

(laughs) I'm not as insane as that girl, so I don't drive men to that point. Until after I leave them.

Got it. So when you're fed up with a guy, how does he know?

I'm a very patient person, but the minute I lose my patience I don't beat around the bush - I cut to the jugular and you're there with your head on the floor, still talking.

Sounds like one of your movies. Let's see... so far you've pushed Sean Penn off a cliff and tomahawked Nick Nolte in the chest [both in U-Turn], punched out Wesley Snipes [Money Tram], and shot George Clooney in the leg [Out of Sight]. That's a good track record!

But I did all those things out of love. (smiles sweetly)

Did you, now? So how does the little killer's tough love translate into real life?

It depends on how the guy's getting out of line. But I don't allow them to really get to doing me wrong, 'cause I don't stay in those types of relationships.

How easily do you fall in love?

Not very, but when I do, it's intense. A successful career is not happiness, and if you look for it to be, when it goes wrong you're gonna be sunk, you're gonna be sick, you're gonna be finished. So love is very important in my life - I need to give affection and make people feel good.

And your life has now become a constant stream of tabloid items about people you may or may not be making feel good. Thus far you've been paired with Tommy Mottola, Marc Anthony, and Puff Daddy. Which rumor isn't true that you most wish were?

I swear to God I don't read the tabloids much. I've even trained my family not to call me and tell me what the garbage is - because unless they're saying you're killing dogs in the stairway for some religious ritual, it's better not to know. So, I don't know - which one do you wish was true?

Well, the Tommy Mottola rumor would be nice, because then you could get in fights with Mariah Carey and be sleeping with the head of your record company.(aghast) Why would you want that? That is so sick!

You're the one who asked.

Well, it's not true, thank God!

Okay. Those are lovely diamond rings, though. Where did you buy them?

I didn't buy them - they were gifts, (whispers) From a friend.

Must be a pretty good friend.

I told you - I make people feel special.

Uh-huh. So tell me, what's your secret recipe for seduction?

(stretches out on couch in full coquette mode) One teaspoon of flirtiness, one teaspoon of laughter, and a cupful of uninhibitedness.

And is that why Puff Daddy got you that ring?

(aghast again) Why would you even say that!

Because you know that's what everybody thinks. And also because right now you're humping that pillow between your legs.

No, I'm not- this is the way I sleep! Look, Puff and I have hung out and been friends since we did our video, so people started making up all these rumors.

So you're not dating him?

(none too convincingly) No.

Fine. New subject: Why, at the height of your movie stardom, have you decided to make your singing debut? It didn't work for Don Johnson.

Because it's tough, challenging, and scary - all the stuff I love. And singing and dancing is where I started - and when I was doing Selena, she inspired me to pursue that part of me all over again. I mean, I do get vibes from people like "She's crazy to be going after this," and it is a risk, but I have the same mentality I had with the movies: If I would've held back on that

because I was scared and from the Bronx, I wouldn't be where I am today.

So, like Selena, are you aiming for the Astrodome?

Aren't we all?

What'll you do if the album flops?

Make another.

Go, baby. So what are your songs about?Mostly love and partying.

Quick - what's your party cocktail of choice?

I don't drink, smoke, or take drugs. Never even tried them. I'm too focused.

Wow, again. Okay: The record?

I cowrote three songs. One, "It Shoulda Never," is about a situation when you just feel like you should have never touched that person. You know? Not that you really regret it, because you love that person, too.

People will assume, of course, that this is about your ex-husband, Ojani Noa.

Well, let 'em think whatever they wanna think. I really don't give a sh!t.

Okay, then, let's talk about what you're scratching right now.

My butt? (laughs) It's funny - a lot of people have been asking me lately, "When did people start talking so much about your butt? When did this happen?"

Yeah, some people are famous for their breasts, but you, little one, are famous for your booty.

I think it started with Selena and all those tight pants. But you know, I don't have to be a size 2 to be sexy. I love my butt and I was never ashamed of it, and I guess not being ashamed of something like that, which is uncharacteristic of this society, made it become a focal point.

Yup. A journalist told me that Mark Wahlberg said his personal high point of the MTV Video Music Awards was when you took him into a bathroom and showed him - and I quote - your "bare rear end."

Marky must be trying to score some points with his friends back in his neighborhood, 'cause if you think I would go into a bathroom and show anybody my ass, you must be crazy! I'm gonna have to call that boy and slap him across the mouth!

I guess this means there'll be no Playboy spreads for you.

Hell no - I'm not planning on showing anybody but my gynecologist what I've got between my legs.

You're a pistol, Jennifer. Do you ever feel insecure?

When I'm not prepared. Which is almost never.

What do you think of the term "Latin spitfire"?

I don't know. I mean, what is a Latin spitfire? One of the things that Out of Sight did was make people see me in a different light, in a role that wasn't constantly saying I was Latin. I was just a strong woman opposite a man, and that's always been a goal of mine. Which is not to say that if a Latin role came along I'd turn it down, because I'm more than proud of my heritage.

What's it like now when you go home to that heritage?

Everybody's supportive, but some people are a little weirded out. They've seen you thirty feet big, you're in the papers, and people talk about you on TV, so now they think you're a different person. After five seconds they realize you're still normal.

And, like you say, you're good at making people feel good, aren't you?

Yeah, honey, that's what I do. (picks up her box) Would you like another chocolate? 

[christina-stark-skarlet-stileto]

Abandoned Day 6

Damian knelt next to the little form of his seven year old baby sister, and carefully picked her up. He had removed his mask and lowered his hood earlier, because he wanted to avoid freaking her out. His mask was black with gold accents, as was his hood. It was a bit daunting to a small child. His sister had collapsed in on herself, trying to appear smaller. His heart was breaking more every second.

"Hey, I know you don't know me yet, but my name is Damian, and I'm your brother. I'm not going to let them hurt you ever again, okay?" He vowed.

"You're my brother?" Amethyst asked with wide eyes and a small voice.

"Yes, little one, I am." He replied, hugging her closer to him.

"D-d-do I g-get to stay with you?" She asked him, her voice quivering.

"Yes, you do. Me and my soulmate and our family. I love you, so I'm going to protect you." He answered, wiping a tear from her eye. Just then the rest of the avengers walked into the jet.

"Masks off, guys. You're scaring her." Damian ordered."Amí, are you ready to meet them?" He asked.

"Yes, I think so." Amethyst replied, still clutching Damian to her.

"Ok, this is Christina, she is my soulmate." He said pointing to Christina as she removed her mask. "This is Peter, he is Christina's twin brother." He said pointing to Peter. "This is Leia, she is their little sister." "This is Tony, their Dad." "This is Aunt Carol. She is our biological Aunt." "This is Uncle Steve, Uncle Bruce, and Uncle Bucky." "This is Uncle Thor, another one of our biological uncles." "This is Aunt Natasha, and this is Kari, Peter's soulmate.""This is Rhodey, and this is Clint. Scott, Vision, and Wanda aren't on this mission." He explained,"Aunt Carol and I are going to train you. Now let's get home." He said. Once they arrived back home, Damian picked his sister up, and carried her inside. He reluctantly set her down once they got upstairs. Pepper found Amethyst a change of clothes, while the Avengers debriefed and changed. They found out what happened to her in their debrief. She had been abandoned by her adoptive parents, left on the street to fend for herself. A while later some kidnappers found her and took her. They beat her, didn't feed her often enough, and made her do all their work for them. This all happened because her adoptive parents didn't want her. They left a three year old abandoned on the streets to try to take care of herself. Damian got joint guardianship of her with Christina. Shield had worked it all out for them. Damian asked her if she wanted to go to school, and she agreed, so he enrolled her at Midtown, because he was going to be in the same building as her if he could help it. He started teaching her some of the basics, which she picked up on very quickly, learned addition and subtraction by the end of the week. She also learned how to read and write. She was afraid of being abandoned again, and she got scared whenever Damian left the building. Soon, Monday came. Damian and Christina drove Amethyst to school. They walked to the office and checked her in.

"Hello, I'm here to see Principal Morita." Damian told the secretary.

"Your name and the name of your child, please." The secretary said.

"My name is Damian West, and this is my sister Amethyst West." Damian replied.

"Wait one moment please. Mr. Morita, Damian West is here to see you." She said through the inter com. She listened for a few seconds.

"You may go in." The secretary said. Damian nodded and led Amethyst through the door to Principal Morita's office.

"Damian, what a pleasant surprise. How may I help you today?" The principal asked.

"I'm here to get my sister's schedule. I enrolled her last week." Damian replied.

"Ah yes, this must be Amethyst, then."

"Yes, she is. Amí, this is our principal." Damian told her.

"Hello Mr. Principal sir." Amethyst said, trying to be polite.

"Principal Morita is fine, young one." Morita replied to the little girl.

"Damian, are you showing her around today?" Morita asked.

"Yes, as long as it's okay with you, sir." Damian answered.

"It's fine, Damian, now here is her schedule. If the Thompson boy gives you any grief, don't fight him, and come get me please."

"Yes sir, and thank you so much for this," Damian replied.

"It's fine, Damian. Now get going, we don't want her to be late on her first day." Morita said. Damian nodded and left the room. Then looking at her schedule led Amethyst to her first class.

"This is your homeroom class, Amí. Are you ready for this?" He asked.

"I'm a little bit scared." Amethyst replied.

"That's ok. I'll be right there with you the whole time. Christina and I are your teacher's assistants, so we don't have to leave you often. Also, I got Aunt Natasha to teach your class." Damian said.

"Thanks Dami." Amethyst replied. Damian then opened the door. They walked to the front of the classroom and over to Natasha. She took Amethyst's hand,

"Class, this is Amethyst West. You all already know Damian and Christina. Let's get started with class. Amethyst, you can pick any of the open seats." Natasha gently told her niece. Amethyst nodded and chose a seat in the front row next to the assistant's table. Amethyst's schedule was a lot different from the other kids. She had class with the kids her age Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. She had class with Damian and Christina Tuesdays and Thursdays. This way, she wouldn't be separated from her brother, and have a full blown panic attack because she thought she was being abandoned again. Once Damian and Christina graduated again, they would become teacher's assistants to all of her teachers. This would keep them from being separated in public. They found that she was fine at home where she felt safe and he could do whatever he needed. At school, she felt varying levels of unsafe, so it was best to keep him in her line of sight. Damian made her feel safe. He made her feel safe enough to go to school and step out of her comfort zone.

[that-was-anticlimactic]

when Katara has period cramps she and Aang cuddle and he does Zuko’s little heat trick so Katara is just pressed against his side and absorbing the heat with her face buried in his shirt and Aang’s running his fingers through her hair and gentle forehead kisses thank you and goodnight

[girlactionfigure]

Peter Himmelman

 I am Jewish. I am a proud Jew. Make no mistake. My mother is Jewish, my father was Jewish, my wife and kids are Jewish, my brother and my sister are Jewish. I wear a yarmulke and tzitzit. I go to synagogue. And just as my forefathers have for 2700 years, I pray three times a day, (and many times in between) for the well-being of the land and people of Israel. 

Here’s an excerpt from a column by Bari Weiss: 

“Last Thursday,  pro-Palestinian protesters threw an explosive device into a crowd of Jews in New York’s Diamond District. On Wednesday, two men were attacked outside a bagel shop in midtown Manhattan. On Tuesday, at a sushi restaurant in West Hollywood, a group of men draped in keffiyehs asked the diners who were Jewish and then started beating them. Nearby, two cars festooned with Palestinian flags raced after an Orthodox man fleeing for his life.” 

It doesn’t stop there. 

“An American soccer player named Luca Lewis was cornered by a group of men in New York demanding to know if he was a Jew. Then there was the cluster of vehicles roaring through Jewish neighborhoods in North London carrying people screaming: “Fuck the Jews! Rape their daughters!” A rabbi, in a London suburb, was left hospitalized after being attacked by two teenagers. An “activist” in Vienna was heard shouting, ‘“Shove your Holocaust up your ass!”’

That's not half as bad as the crowd of young hipsters cheering him on. They were, frighteningly, mostly women. 

“A synagogue in Skokie was vandalized. 

A synagogue in Tucson was vandalized. 

A synagogue in Salt Lake was vandalized...”

Of course, not many people are mentioning this. Or at least not enough. To be Jewish is alas, not quite intersectional enough.

So what are the options, what is the solution to the vile reoccurrence of Jew-hatred? First, I'll tell you that it is not to fear or to simply complain. The solution is to come out of hiding. To be ready and able to defend oneself and one’s family, of course. 

But more, it is to act more Jewishly. To begin to observe Shabbat — or to observe it on a deeper level if one already observes Shabbat— to give charity, to start keeping kosher, to do acts of random loving-kindness, and to engender within oneself and others, a greater faith that things are good — right now, at this very moment. 

Ignorance is dangerous, but perhaps not so dangerous as negativity. 

Faith is the pinnacle of both emotions and the intellect. It is the keenest sort of vision, one that affords a person who has developed his or her faith, the ability to see past the mundane and into the sublime. Faith is a deep knowledge and a firm belief that we are a people, embraced with constancy, by the grace of the Almighty. 

Am Yisroel Chai.

As an addendum to this piece, written after reading the many thoughtful comments, let me add that my point isn’t about abolishing antisemitism (that is sadly, an inextinguishable evil.) It’s about becoming more involved Jewishly. The strength of our people has never, and will never lie in our shared oppression — but rather, it lies in our shared strength — an unbreakable unity that derives from shared history, shared pride, and shared hope in a better world.

[sonjaohno]

Democracy in America

Hello dear friends and family,

October is off to a crisp start and I've been busy squirreling away at the library. It's already been one month since I arrived, which makes it high time for some reflection. I've been working hard to come up with clever answers to the question of "what my impressions are" mainly because (and a list of so-called impressions follows):

I thought Finns were insecure, with their country branding workshops and whatnot, perennially worried about what other people (read: the Swedes) think of us, but I can tell you, Americans are worse. In all the years I've lived in Berlin, not once has a German person (nor a Berliner—these are two completely distinct groups of people) asked me to tell them what I "think" about their country, or what my "impressions" are. Maybe they know better than to ask. Maybe they really don't care. Americans, on the other hand (including New Yorkers, though a similar non-equivalence exists here), cannot get enough of foreigners' interpretations of their country. I think it's because they genuinely don't know what to think about their country themselves and are waiting for somebody to tell them what the hell is going on here. So, what are my impressions so far?

America is home to some really great things. So far, my top three list is i) cinnamon-flavored chewing gum ii) hazelnut-flavored filter coffee (a mystery but a delightful one) iii) pecan-pumpkin-spice-flavored filter coffee (again, I don't know who came up with this or what they do to make coffee taste like a Hallmark card but I fuckin love it) iv) ditto, snickerdoodles (both the word and the pastry). Oops, that's four.

There is, however, clearly something wrong with a country that has to keep toothpaste under lock and key at the drugstore. I mean, toothpaste is expensive here—$5.99 for a tube, are you kidding me?—but it's still not exactly a luxury item. I literally have to ring a bell at Duane Reed to get an employee to open the toothpaste safe for a tube of Colgate. I wondered about this out loud to a New Yorker, who told me it's because the Duane Reed I went to is located at a "minor transportation hub," in the corner of W 110th and Broadway, which presumably means that this ludicrously wealthy Upper West Side drugstore frequented mostly by Columbia students and faculty is some kind of a crime hotspot. I should probably start carrying a gun.

Americans are loud. I feel like shushing people all the time, which makes me feel like a bad person. If anyone asked me to, I'd be more than happy to provide instructions for adjusting the volume of one's speech to different situations. It'd go something like follows: i) When outdoors, use what you would consider an "indoors voice." ii) When indoors, use what you would consider a "library voice." iii) When in the library, shut the fuck up. Pretty simple, huh?

The American economy would collapse if people stopped living on takeaway meals and coffees. I have never seen people so comfortable dishing out $20-50 per day for food they don't like and coffee they don't need. I mean, I'm not even able to get out of bed without several cups of coffee in the morning but I'd find it really hard to justify a $10 daily budget for iced-mocha-swirly lattes and another $10 for dumplings, when you can just pack a sandwich. The number of students able to afford this kind of lifestyle is just astounding. (This is Columbia, I am aware that the people without trust funds constitute a minority.) I feel positively frugal with my leftover lunches and thermos bottle of coffee (this week it's Donut Shop Roast, which disappointingly does not taste like donuts).

Americans like to think of themselves as libertarians and are famously opposed to state-imposed regulation—but I've never felt as regulated and rule-bound as I have here. It's just that the rules aren't handed down by government officials but by the various enterprises, including private businesses and universities (the latter is included in the former but deserves a honorary mention of its own), who would rather impose elaborate codes of conduct than leave people to their common senses and be sued when something inevitably happens. As one particularly pointless example, I have to complete an online covid-symptom checklist every morning before I'm allowed to enter campus—a "Daily Attestation," it's called—where I solemnly swear that I did not have a cough or a sore throat that morning, either. The only conceivable purpose of this useless exercise is to ensure that if somebody does show up on campus sneezing and wheezing their viral particles around, Columbia can't sued for not having done everything in its power to prevent the virus from spreading. Airing out rooms, though, is strictly out of the question—presumably because it's against some other rule designed to stop students from committing suicide by jumping out a third-floor window. As a person who is physiologically unable to follow pointless rules, I find this kind of self-serving, counter-logical box ticking absolutely infuriating.

It's not all bad, though. Yesterday I went to a Japanese jazz speakeasy around Midtown. We had to stand in line for about an hour, between a group of 17-year-old musical theater majors and 27-year-old jazz enthusiasts. The former were bursting out in spontaneous, perfectly synchronized song every few minutes, the latter were debating scales or keys or some such—I'm telling you, it was like walking into a badly-written scene of Glee. It was worth it though. At one point, during a several-minute-long drum solo, I experienced what can only be described as a moment of pure transcendence. People were all around me were yelling over the music and gesticulating wildly and, for a few seconds, time compressed to something graspable; a thing crackling with energy. An oceanic feeling is, in the words of turn-of-the-century mystic Romain Rolland, “a spontaneous … feeling of the ‘eternal’ (which can very well not be eternal, but simply without perceptible limits, and like oceanic, as it were).” If eternity can be found in a midtown basement, Manhattan can’t be all bad. (Below a video clip I took discreetly when entering.)

P.s. A friend of mine said that I should write an Alexis de Tocqueville -type report about my time in America, which explains the title of this post. For the literary agents and non-fiction editors reading this blog (jk, apparently it's my mum and three of her friends who read these entries—hi!!!), you can email me at sonjaohno at gmail dot com for a book deal.

[brooklynmuseum]

The Brooklyn Museum mourns the loss of Dr. David C. Driskell, whose scholarship, teaching, and curatorial work were instrumental in defining the field of African American art history. His landmark, traveling exhibition Two Centuries of Black American Art, which made its final stop at the Brooklyn Museum in 1977, featured work by more than 200 artists and transformed the ways in which American museums framed and presented histories of African American art. An artist himself, his work was included in the Museum’s recent presentation of Soul of a Nation: Art in the Age of Black Power.

Reflecting on Two Centuries of Black American Art in 2009, Dr. Driskell recounted how he wanted to bring “patterns of exclusion, segregation, and racism to the attention of the art public. [. . .] But it was also about engaging the establishment in the rules of the canon, so as to say, ‘No, you haven't seen everything; you don't know everything. And here is a part of it that you should be seeing.’”

We are grateful to Dr. Driskell for his immeasurable contributions to the field of art history, and will continue to carry his scholarship and his lessons with us.

***

“When Dr. Driskell spoke at the Brooklyn Museum last year as part of the programming for Soul of a Nation, he told me backstage how he had been on our stage in the 60s with civil rights heroes such as James Baldwin. He was so happy to have returned and could not have been more full of grace. Dr. Driskell has left a profound mark on the Museum’s history. While we mourn his passing, we also celebrate the ways that he shaped a history of African American art and advanced both the field and our institutions with clarity and conviction.”

– Anne Pasternak, Shelby White and Leon Levy Director

“An artist, educator, art historian, and curator across at least five decades, Dr. Driskell’s impact was not only field defining but field generating. When we talk about the ongoing project that is the writing and presentation of black art history against its erasure and/or dismissal, we must keep close what it meant for scholars like Driskell who began this work with few blueprints, summoning the great courage and clarity necessary to name and advocate for the importance of black art history – in the face of so many cynics and detractors. I live with gratitude for that fortitude. It was my absolute honor to include Dr. Driskell in the Brooklyn presentation of Soul of a Nation, and an even bigger honor to meet him and to welcome him to the museum for an unforgettable conversation with Dr. Elizabeth Alexander in the fall of 2018. I will hold that memory close.”

– Ashley James, Associate Curator, Guggenheim Museum, and former Assistant Curator, Contemporary Art, Brooklyn Museum

Two Centuries of Black American Art, June 25, 1977 through September 05, 1977 (Image: Brooklyn Museum photograph, 1977)

“Dr. Driskell's 1977 exhibition Two Centuries of Black American Art intended to, in his words, engage "the establishment in the rules of the canon, so as to say, 'No, you haven't seen everything; you don't know everything. And here is a part of it that you should be seeing.'" Museums are still catching up to this proposition today, and we can all benefit from acknowledging how much there is to learn from each other. And we learned so much from him!

In the New York Times review of that exhibition, critic Hilton Kramer dispraised the show, asking "Is it black art or is it social history?" Dr. Driskell responded: "All art is social history; it's all made by human beings. And, consequently, it has its role in history."

Rest in power Dr. Driskell.”

– Carmen Hermo, Associate Curator, Elizabeth A. Sackler Center for Feminist Art

“When I was an undergrad art history student at the University of Maryland, I ran the student art gallery and while this was between the time when Dr. Driskell served as Chair of the Art Department and when he was named Distinguished Professor, he was always interested and supportive of the clique of young artists and future art historians who hung out at the West Gallery. His generosity made a real impression on me and every time he walked in the gallery I would become completely tongue-tied.”

– Catherine Morris, Sackler Senior Curator, Elizabeth A. Sackler Center for Feminist Art

“Although I never got to know Dr. David C. Driskell personally, I did have the opportunity to hear him speak several times. When I first began studying African American art in college, I understood that David Driskell was a pioneer in the field. But, when I tucked into seats in buzzing lectures hall to hear Dr. Driskell speak as a grad student or subsequently as a museum professional, I heard about conversations with Aaron Douglas or summer at Skowhegan--Dr. Driskell painted a picture of a life lived with the people that made up the history I was devoted to studying. With the passing of Dr. Driskell, a connection to the past has been irrevocably severed.”

– Dalila Scruggs, Fellowship Coordinator, Education

“David Driskell’s life took him from a one-room segregated schoolhouse in North Carolina to the White House. Under the Clinton administration, Driskell, acknowledged as a leading expert on African American Art, worked with Mrs. Clinton to acquire a great landscape by Henry Ossawa Tanner, who became the first Black artist to enter the White House collection. This is only one example of the many doors Driskell opened in his quest to tell a more truthful and complete story of American history and culture.”

– Eugenie Tsai, John and Barbara Vogelstein Senior Curator, Contemporary Art

“I did not have the opportunity to meet Dr. David C. Driskell, but I fondly recall seeing him speak at a CASVA symposium, The African American Art World in 20th-Century Washington, D.C., at the National Gallery of Art in 2017. There, he participated in a panel discussion with other artists (moderated by Ruth Fine) regarding the city’s impact on his own artistic development. He spoke with such passion about James A. Porter and the legacy of his teaching at Howard University.

Driskell has also left an indelible imprint on the Brooklyn Museum and its own exhibition program, most recently with his inclusion in Soul of a Nation: Art in the Age of Black Power. In 1976, he curated Two Centuries of Black American Art, which opened at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art in 1976 and subsequently traveled to the Brooklyn Museum in 1977. In this groundbreaking exhibition and publication, he defined the “evolution of a black aesthetic” and called attention to such important eighteenth- and nineteenth-century artists as Joshua Johnson, Robert S. Duncanson, and Henry Ossawa Tanner, among many others. Driskell has significantly shaped my own thinking on American art and, in my own research, I am reminded of his rediscovery of the landscape painter Edward Mitchell Bannister who, after his death in 1901, remained largely forgotten.

Edward Mitchell Bannister (American, 1828-1901). Untitled (Cow Herd in Pastoral Landscape), 1877. Oil on linen canvas. Brooklyn Museum Brooklyn Museum Fund for African American Art, 2016.10

A tireless advocate for Black artists, Driskell led the charge in redefining the mainstream art historical canon. He forever changed the discipline and paved the way for so many, and for that I am grateful.”

– Margarita Karasoulas, Assistant Curator of American Art

Clips from Two Centuries of Black American Art, Los Angeles County Museum of Art © Pyramid Films, 1976. Brooklyn Museum Archives.

“One of the greatest treasures in the Brooklyn Museum Archives are the five videos that document the Symposium Afro-American Art: Form, Content, and Direction that occurred on June 24th and 25th, 1977 that was organized by David Driskell, the Schomburg Center, and Brooklyn Museum Staff in conjunction with the Two Centuries of Black American Art exhibition. In the afternoon of the first day, Romare Bearden, Selma Burke, Jacob Lawrence, John Rhoden, Ernest Crichlow, Vincent Smith, Bob Blackburn, Roy De Cavara, Valerie Maynard, and William T. Williams talked on stage for three hours about their artistic practices within the context of twentieth-century art traditions. It’s staggering to think of all those brilliant artists in conversation together—watching the footage, hearing the artists in their own words is profoundly moving.

When researchers are looking into the exhibition or are curious about the Museum’s history of exhibiting Black Artists, I’m always excited to share the material produced for, by, and of the exhibition. The archival material includes visitor comment books, the press kit, 22 folders of correspondence, the film produced for the exhibition, and the aforementioned symposium videos. The programming built around the exhibition was legendary, and the breadth is rarely seen today: seven artist studio visits (Howardena Pindell!), six supplemental exhibitions at other venues (The Abstract Continuum at Just Above Midtown Gallery!), twenty-two gallery talks (Dr. Rosalind Jeffries on the Harlem Renaissance!), dance performances (Sounds in Motion Dance Company!), concerts, and the list goes on. Driskell’s vision had a deep seismic effect on the art world. The people brought together at these events and programs, the knowledge shared, learned, and passed on to subsequent generations, none of this can be quantifiably measured or completely comprehended, especially from a remove, but its incredible magnitude can be felt when conducting research into the exhibition. Dozens of researchers have come to look into this history, and I look forward to welcoming future visitors to the Archives to learn more about David Driskell, hopefully inspiring them to perpetuate his monumental legacy.”

– Molly Seegers, Museum Archivist

[matchweare297]

Millionaire Matchmaking Near Good Hope

Posted on: December 19, 2017 in

Millionaire Matchmaking Near Good Hope Ga

Millionaire Matchmaking Near Good Hope

Millionaire Matchmaking Near Good Hope Quotes

Millionaire Matchmaking Near Good Hope Al

Millionaire Matchmaking Near Good Hope Village

Whether you’re new to – or a native of – Atlanta and seeking great places to meet singles, have we got a list for you:

Regent Cocktail Club

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If you’re in your late 20s-late 40s and either are – or are looking for – a successful, well-dressed gentleman, try the Regent Cocktail Club on a Friday or Saturday night. Located above American Cut restaurant, in the Shops of Buckhead, this cocktail bar and lounge transports you to the 1940s. Trendy and financially stable people hang out here, so make sure you look the part.

Cafe Intermezzo

Experience the charm of a 300-year-old European coffeehouse. With three locations, you and your friends can enjoy a pastry, cappuccino, and a fancy cocktail or glass of wine in Alpharetta, Midtown, and Dunwoody.

Ormsby’s

Located in West Midtown, this stylish speakeasy brings in a younger crowd – and gets busy Fridays around 8. Join singles in their 20s and 30s at the bar and bocce ball courts in the back.

Yebo Beach/Ski Haus

This chic and airy South African restaurant is inside a renovated Buckhead house – and a great place to land attractive singles. You’ll find attractive women in their early-to-late 40s and handsome 50-something executives. Sit at the bar, order rosé or a Manhattan, and engage with the other singles around you.

Ladybird Grove and Mess Hall

Located in Atlanta’s historic Old Fourth Ward, this is the first outdoor-oriented bar and restaurant to open along the BeltLine. Go early on a Saturday or Sunday, grab a seat outside, and hangout. Feel free to bring your dog (or borrow one from a friend?) – they’re always a good conversation starter.

St. Regis Bar

If you want to experience a luxurious-but-relaxed atmosphere in Buckhead, then this is the spot for you. The men and women you’ll find are – or are trying to become – wealthy. In their 30s and up, they come for a nice glass of wine or late-night cocktails. Aiming to pick someone up? Dress upscale, exude quiet confidence, and put your best face forward – that means look your best! And be open to someone approaching you. (It’s practically on the menu…)

Atlas Restaurant

An upscale hotel restaurant next-door to the St. Regis, you can enjoy artfully plated American food made made from seasonal ingredients, delicious cocktails, and a good nightlife scene with wealthy people.

Chops Bar

Millionaire Matchmaking Near Good Hope Ga

While it attracts men and women late 30s and up, older wealthy men are always hanging around the bar at this old-school chophouse with a warm darkwood dining room. It’s likely you’ll catch them sporting Brooks Brothers suits, drinking the best bourbon, and enjoying a stellar steak. Women who know the type of men who hang out there dress to impress with high heels, tight dresses, and blown-out hair. If you want to be clear about your desire to pick someone up or to be picked up, head to Chops, Atlas, or The St. Regis Bar.

Kaleidoscope

Located on Brookhaven’s Dresden Drive, this comfortable neighborhood joint offers an international, eclectic menu. You’ll find – and want to join – others drinking beer at the bar, watching a game, and embracing a bottomless brunch. Bring your appetite for great food and great fun!

JCT Kitchen

Updated Southern fare, a hip space with late-night live music, and an upstairs bar with skyline view – this is one of the best singles spot to hangout. It gets pretty busy during happy hours on weeknights.

Barcelona

Tantalizing tapas, or shareable plates, with a large wine selection, and two locations, West Midtown and the busier Inman Park. Instead of sitting at a table, choose the bustling bar to the left of the restaurant. Strike up a conversation by asking someone what wine they are drinking and if you should get it – or by offering a taste of one of your tasty tapas.

Local Three

A cool place with a warm atmosphere, it’s a great place to meet good-looking 50-something executives while enjoying its New American fare, creative cocktails, and handcrafted furniture.

Six Feet Under Pub and Fish House

If you consider yourself “an average Joe” or “plain Jane” looking for a mate, this joint is a comfy, kitchy seafood spot with craft beers on tap and popular rooftop bar completed with skyline vistas.

Sound Table

Open from 7pm-2:30 am, this industrial space in Edgewood starts as a normal bar that serves small plates and cocktails, morphs into a dance club later in the night.

Cypress Pint and Plate

A relaxed Midtown tavern with a patio, you’ll enjoy tasting its rotating lineup of beers on tap paired with hearty American grub. If you’re looking for a man, head there on “Beer Geek” Tuesdays. They also have trivia nights on Wednesdays.

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Let’s Connect

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Phone: 1-786-206-4101

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Kelleher International – Florida Office West Palm Beach, FL 33401

[smarchit]

Flash Dance pt 2

Edit: this is ch 2 of the fic that was formerly known as “A Little Distraction”

"Y-you don't know me," Maxwell stammered. "Please, this really isn't what it looks like."

He was more than well aware of what this could do to his image. Imagine if word got out that Maxwell Lord was a pervert? Stocks would drop faster than he could imagine. And his pride? Well, it would be nonexistent. He wasn't a pervert, but that isn't how his investors would see it. 

"Mr. Lord, may we discuss this in my office?"

He was stunned when she turned on her heel and walked into the studio. He glanced at his watch and shook his head before he followed her inside.

The ladies were still in the middle of warm ups and stretches when he passed. He heard them whispering his name. They recognized him. Everyone did. Everyone knew who he was. 

The young woman shut the door to her office when he joined her. She perched at the corner of her desk and gestured to one of the vibrantly patterned chairs in front of her. 

Her position was one Maxwell was familiar with. Being on the receiving end of that look was incredibly uncomfortable and he realized this is what employees and investors see all the time from him. He swallowed nervously as he took a seat before her. 

"You sent me a pretty sizable check," she replied, tucking one leg beneath her. "So now what, are you scoping out the property? What are you gonna put here? Tanning salon for your cronies? I'm surprised you came down here yourself. Don't you guys have like, a scout or something?"

Maxwell looked up at her, shocked. "It's not-- it isn't like that, really," he said. He was mentally kicking himself. He'd had this whole suave speech planned and everything. Flash that dazzling smile. But honestly, this was not the reaction he usually got from people when he gave them a check of that size. He had never been met with hostility as thanks for cash. 

She scowled and crossed her arms over her chest. "Mr. Lord, I don't know what you're up to, but know this: I am not getting rid of this property. I'm not interested in selling."

Maxwell dug his nails into his palms as he stared up at her from his seat in the chair. He suddenly became aware that he did not like to be in this submissive position. 

He shot out of his seat like it had burned him. Honestly, he was more surprised by her abrasive personality than anything. What had he expected her to be like? Not this callous woman before him, for sure. He could be angry too, make no mistake.

"Listen here, sweetheart," he grumbled, his face dangerously close to hers. "I'm not interested in buying your little studio."

"So you were just feeling generous then?" she scoffed. She brought her fists up in a gesture that mirrored his from television. "Want us to 'achieve greatness' or whatever? Can't have a business on your block tank? Bad for your image?"

Maxwell was floored by how forward she was with the whole deal. "It isn't like that. Please. I..."

She scoffed and pushed herself off her desk. She drew herself up to her full height, which wasn't much, compared to Maxwell. 

Instinctively, he puffed out his chest. It was a move that worked in previous business transactions several times before. He didn't come here to intimidate anyone.

She squared her shoulders and put her hands on her hips. The gesture pushed her chest forward slightly, on full display for him.

Maxwell glanced down and then swallowed thickly. 

"I just heard your business might not be doing well," he mumbled. "I'm not interested in buying this building - or any building."

"I never knew Maxwell Lord to be a charitable man," she muttered as she jutted her hip to the side. "What's the catch?"

He held up one hand to dismiss any thoughts she might have. If there was one thing he disliked, it was assumptions about him. He knew people had plenty, and if he could stop them when they came to light, well, he did everything he could.

"No catch. I just... got stuck in traffic right outside the other day. I saw you in the window and, uh... my driver. He got to talking about how his sister went here. Told me it might be struggling."

The young woman eyed him suspiciously, her own eyes searching his, trying desperately to find a lie. Satisfied when she deemed him to be telling the truth, she gave a nonchalant shrug.

"And if we aren't? You want your money back or something?"

"Keep it. Renovate the place or something if you want."

Maxwell grabbed the cup carrier and pastry bag and turned to go without another word. As he stormed out of the studio, he wasn't sure if the thumping in his ears was due to the loud bass of the aerobics music or from his own heartbeat in his ear drums. 

What a fucking embarrassment that was, Lord. 

It was nearly a month later before he saw her again. Three separate corporate dinners, two major board (bored) meetings, and one uneventful trip to Gotham until he saw her. 

Maxwell was on a Wednesday afternoon lunch meeting with a few board members at some bistro on Fifth. He was not paying attention to a single thing that had been said after his second whiskey neat, the mindless drivel of big business that was just so fucking boring. He hated the way they talked about their attractive young interns and the secretaries they hired and then slept with behind the backs of their wives. The secret double lives they left. 

It all sickened him. 

He was clenching and unclenching his fist on his thigh, trying to think of either an excuse to get up and leave or a good reason to punch Mitchel Sandusky in the side of the head when he saw her. 

She was seated with another young woman at the little Mediterranean bistro across the street where he was currently trying not to die in. 

Maxwell felt his throat close up just a tiny bit and he gave a cough to try and distract himself. He couldn't believe it. Their first meeting hadn't exactly gone the way he had wanted it to and, while he was almost certain she didn't want to see him again, he was still thrilled with the prospect of how close she was to him. 

If he could just get out of here...

"Gentlemen," he said, mortified with the slight waver in his voice, "I should--"

"You still have that ancient hag secretary of yours, Lord? What was her name? Katherine?"

"Karen," he said tersely.

"She must be real sweet in the sheets if you keep her around, eh, Maxwell?" joked Brian Taylor, some young money douchebag from out west. He made a repulsive squealing noise that caused Young, one of his partners, to snort water through his nose.

"She's the only one I found competent enough not to fuck up my busy schedule," Maxwell snapped. "And she's not ancient. She's, like, forty. Her birthday was like, a month ago."

"Well, I wouldn't want to have to look at her all day," muttered Gavin Oren, a tech CEO from midtown. "I can fix her up with a good plastic surgeon. He only gets a little handsy with his female clientele."

Maxwell felt bile rise in his throat. He really needed to get out of here before he killed someone.

The young waitress came over, blessedly, and Maxwell took that as his cue and excuse to leave. He paid his bill, muttered some half-assed bullshit excuse about having to check on a project, and headed towards the door. 

Through the curtains, he could still see the dance instructor and her friend seated at the table across the street. 

He quickly made a dash for the crosswalk and half-jogged across the road to where she was seated. Before he approached the table, he glanced in the window of a nearby jewelry store, fixed his hair and adjusted his tie. 

"-- with Robbie? Gross, no!" squealed the dancer's friend between sips of her diet Coke. "I'd rather choke!"

"Mary Beth, really? He's like, a lawyer now, right?"

"Yeah, but he-- can we help you?"

Both girls turned to face Maxwell as he stood over their table. He swallowed thickly and looked down at the young woman he'd only barely spoken with.

"Can we talk?"

Mary Beth scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Look, Janine, I gotta go anyway. Frito is done at the groomers. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

The dark-haired woman gathered her jacket and bag and scooted around Maxwell and down the street.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot," Maxwell said bluntly.

"Yeah, I think we did too," she said coolly. She took a drink from her glass and gestured wordlessly at the now unoccupied chair across from her.

"You wanna explain to me why you sent me a check that big? And don't give me that excuse that you heard my studio is failing or whatever," she said, crossing her arms.

"I just... saw you through the window and I thought you were pretty..."

She let out a bark of laughter and raised her eyebrows at him. "And you thought what? You'd write me a check to try and win me over or something? I really can't believe you'd think I could be won over so easily. I'm not like that. It takes more than money or gifts or... whatever, okay?"

"It isn't like that? Please. Look, can we, I don't know, start over?"

She sighed and chewed on her lip. "Fine. But I don't want any of your put-on horseshit I see on TV. Just two people, got it?"

Maxwell tensed for a moment and then nodded. "Fine." He stuck out his hand for her to shake. "Maxwell Lord."

"Janine Reeder." She said softly as she took his hand. 

He glanced at her hand when she shook it. Plastic bracelets, one thin band on her finger, chipped pink nail polish. So very different than other hands he'd shaken over the years. It felt more fucking genuine than any interaction ever in his entire life. 

[thatesqcrush]

First Dates & Christmas Kisses

Rafael Barba x Reader.

CW: None

AN: Prompt #6 (Nutcracker) from the @thefanficfaerie Christmas OTP challenge found here. A continuation from Candygram Wishes.

Tags: @theenchantedgalleryofstories @madpanda75 @ottosuricato @delia26 @dreila03 @sass-and-suspenders @glimmerglittergirl @melsquared79 @zoeykaytesmom @mommakat32 @garturbo @southern-magnolia @niyashell @tropes-and-tales @imjustreallynosy @whyissvuruiningmylovelife @sweetsummertime99 @evee87 @scarletsoldierrr @kscarlett1 @cesarofangirl78 @redlipstickandplaid - anyone else just ask. 

You smashed the garlic on the cutting board, before scooping it into the pot, with some of the onion you had finely diced moments earlier. They hit the pan with a satisfying sizzle and you wiped your hands on the towel that hung off the oven handle. You turned to look at the recipe card given to you by Sonny, when your phone began to buzz and vibrate against the counter. You lowered the heat on your stove, lest the garlic begin to burn and you checked your phone. 

It was Rafael. 

You bit your lip and felt your heart quicken. After the impromptu Chinese dinner date that also served as a study session with him, you hadn’t seen Rafael since. Sure, you and he exchanged the occasional greeting, but nothing ever live. You worried you two were venturing into the friend zone, but like in the song, Señorita, friends don’t know how each other tastes - and you and Rafael spent a good part of that study session making out like teenagers. And at the same time, you knew from Sonny and Olivia that the Evie Barnes case was being reopened on appeal. Sonny was helping Rafael with the case in particular as he had knowledge from having been a detective on the matter. 

[Rafael, 6:45 PM]: I know it’s last minute, but are you free for dinner? 

Your eyes swept against your kitchen. Pasta was boiling and cans of crushed tomatoes beckoned to be opened. You then looked down at your own appearance: an over-sized shirt and leggings, feet in fuzzy slippers. You quickly typed your response, inviting him over to dinner at your apartment. You watched three bubbles appear, then disappear and reappear. Rafael agreed and said he’d be there soon. You knew Rafael lived downtown - even if he took a car to your place in midtown, you had at least thirty minutes to change.

[Y/N, 6:48 PM]: See you then. Can’t wait. 

***

You left your hair up, and changed into dark denim and a muted grey cashmere sweater, which you had been gifted just Christmas prior. A dab of concealer, a swipe of gloss and a few strokes of mascara and you were ready. The pasta had finished cooking and the sauce was simmering. You opened up a bottle of the 2013 Borolo Mosconi Vigna Ped and set it out to breathe.  

And you waited. 

An hour later, with no Rafael in sight, and him unresponsive to your follow-up text, you wondered if you had misread the situation entirely. You sniffed the bottle of Borolo - it had opened up beautifully. You debated drinking it straight from the bottle, but decided against it and grabbed a stemless wine glass from your cabinet. You sat on the couch with the glass of wine. The silence was nearly deafening. You decided you would have a glass, or two, and then put the food away. 

You debated texting Sonny to see if he had heard or seen Rafael, but also decided against it. Part of you did worry if Rafael was even okay. You were mid-way from pouring a third glass when your phone buzzed. 

[Rafael, 8:15 PM]: I am on my way up - I will explain. I am sorry. 

Sighing, you got up to unlock your door and you leaned against the door-frame, waiting once more. You heard the elevator ding from down the hall, and you knew that was him. Sure enough, the handsome prosecutor appeared in your hallway, a worn look decorated his face.

“I am so sorry,” Rafael apologized, his ears flushing pink. “I went home to change and got an alert that there was an accident on the West Side Highway, so I decided to take the 4 when we got stuck in a tunnel. I had no service.”

You immediately felt sympathetic. “That is just awful. I have been there. But you’re here now, and that is what counts.”

Rafael nodded, his eyes raking in your form. His eyes landed on the exposed slope of your neck, and he recalled how he peppered it with kisses, and how receptive you were. “You look lovely,” he managed to choke out as he tried to gather himself. 

“Thank you. You look quite debonair yourself,” you replied with a wink. You opened the door further, to let him walk past. “Wine?”

“Please,” Rafael replied. You moved to walk past him, when Rafael grabbed your hand, stopping you. You gave him a quizzical look when he pulled you close to him. An “oh” had barely left your lips, when Rafael dipped his mouth to yours. The kiss was initially chaste, before it inevitably became open mouthed. Rafael’s tongue swept your bottom lip, seeking entrance to which you did not deny. Rafael tasted like mint and cinnamon, his cologne overwhelmed your olfactory senses. The combination plus his firm grip on your hips was sending you into overdrive, making you lightheaded. The two glasses of wine on an empty stomach were also not helping. 

Rafael broke the kiss but you kept your hands on his forearms in an attempt to steady yourself. You stared into each other’s eyes - his green eyes were bright and enchanting; you thought you could get lost in them forever. Your eyes managed to catch a hint of pink that was his tongue when he licked his lips and you felt a fire pool in your belly. A stray tendril of hair fell across your face, and Rafael gently tucked it behind your ear. 

“I will get the wine,” you managed to squeak out, while trying to remain composed.

Rafael followed you into the kitchen, and took in the sight of food you had made.

He cursed inwardly. “I ruined dinner,” he noted, an apologetic lilt in his voice.

You shrugged while cringing. “Technically...the pasta is cold. I can reheat but it’s never the same.” You handed him the glass and he sniffed it, inhaling the tannins before taking a large gulp.

“No,” Rafael replied, after swallowing. “I want to make it up to you. I’ll help you clean up and we’ll go out. I will make a call.”

“Don’t tell Sonny we didn’t eat what I made. He had given me this recipe and if he finds out I wasted pasta, he will have me arrested and arraigned,” you replied to which Rafael guffawed in response.

***

You and Rafael were generously accommodated at La Grenouille, an intimate French restaurant. You both skipped over main courses, focusing on appetizers of black olive palmitos, pike dumplings, and cold canapés and then dessert, where you shared dark chocolate mousse with a raspberry coulis. More wine was had. You weren’t completely buzzed, but you were relaxed. You complained about your studying and shared your continued anxiety. Rafael shared what he could about the Barnes case. Other first date exchanges were had: you told him about changing careers, he told you about going up in the Bronx. You both had a mutual affinity for jazz and blues music.

After, you and Rafael walked hand-in-hand through Rockefeller Center. Despite the lateness of the evening, the city was still very much alive and busy. There was still a crowd by the Rockefeller Christmas tree.  The railing around the rink was flanked by nutcrackers, that we’re at least 12 feet tall. Each one was a different color - blues, gold, red and green. You imagined the nutcrackers were protecting the tree and the tourists alike. You stopped to look over the railing to watch people skate. Rafael stood behind you, and enveloped his arms around you. You leaned into his embrace, your back to his chest. The December wind was icy, and it sent a shiver up your spine. All it served was to have Rafael bring you closer to him.

“Tonight was lovely,” you murmured. Rafael hummed his agreement, while nuzzling your neck. “We should do it again.” You turned slightly to face him, but Rafael shifted you, so you faced him head on.

“I couldn’t agree more,” he murmured, his eyes searching yours once more. Rocking onto the balls of your feet, you leaned up and with one gloved hand on the back of his neck, you pulled Rafael into a kiss. Breathlessly, you broke the kiss and looked around. You gasped and smiled at what was fluttering around you. “It’s snowing.”

Rafael looked up - snowflakes coated his long lashes - before he looked back at you.

“Come on,” you grabbed Rafael’s hand, leading him away.

“Where are we going?” Rafael questioned, his brows furrowed.

“Back to my place. We may not have had dinner there, but you can bet I’ll be making you breakfast.”

FIN.

[thedemonconstantine]

Drake & Hunter: Thief’s Alley

(For @secondbestdetective​:)

It has been months since Hunter left his dismal home back in London, but by now, the concept of Time meant little to the boy. His physical body might have just turned thirteen, but his consciousness had spent days in the Dreaming, months in Feywild and years in Hell. It was no wonder when he left Zatanna’s tutelage in Shadowcrest, he had completely lost track of time.

Hunter stopped checking his watch or tying his shoelaces. He stopped running to catch the bus or use his skateboard. He even stopped talking to Yoyo, and with neglect the owl guardian reverted to its original form, which Hunter kept safe in his backpack. Sometimes he stopped to eat, but now that too was rare.

The money he took from London was running low, yet the boy could not find it in himself to bother. After all, magic always seemed to take care of him, for better or for worse. So he walked and walked, and he kept walking with no aim in mind or purpose at heart, and he let the magic lead him where it wanted him to go.

Three steps took him from Pettsburg to Uptown North City Park. Another three steps took him through Midtown. The final three steps brought him to West Harlow in Gotham, and that was where his magic stopped. Hunter watched the sun begin to set at Harlow Park. He looked over the railing into the park lake, and caught a glimpse of his own reflection. It was then when he realised he was truly alone once more.

Hunter opened his wallet. Nine dollars was hardly enough for a motel stay in Gotham. He then saw a homeless old lady begging for supper as he walked out of the park. Without a second thought, he dropped all nine into her bowl. The moment those notes touched the chipped bowl, the old lady looked up with a gummy smile.

“A gewd coupla ‘ta fer yeh kindness, O’ Magus, yeh generous as daylight, yeh be, me boy!”

Hunter’s eyes widened, then he drew back with a curse. “Not again! Stop! Stop it, stop it, all of you! I am not your boy, and I’m not a mage! I’m not doing anything!”

“Aye, far from my boy yeh be, but a magus yeh are! Hark, feast yeh eyes, boy, see wha’ yeh done!” The wall behind the old lady opened to an arched alleyway, and from within, a few incorporeal street urchins stumbled out, laughing as they reached down for the old lady’s bowl. Each took a dollar out of it, and upon touching the note, they gained solidity.

“Now these ‘uns here, these be me boys!” She laughed, watching them pick at Hunter’s notes until there were none left, but nine boys dressed like chimney sweeps with ruddy noses and skinned knees and they ran off in all directions of Gotham City.

“Okay, whatever. All I did was give you all of my bloody cash. Whatever that is, is not my business. I’m leaving.” Said Hunter, and he did.

The very next day, news report that thefts in the city had gone up by 300%.

[markharmonparadise]

Football 5/16/2019 9:59:00 AM

Mark Harmon Named 2019 NFF Gold Medal Recipient

On Dec. 10, the NFF will present its highest honor to Harmon in recognition of his roots as a football scholar-athlete and subsequent accomplishments as a leader in the field of entertainment. IRVING, Texas (May 16, 2019) – The National Football Foundation (NFF) & College Hall of Fame announced today that former UCLA quarterback Mark Harmon has been named the 2019 recipient of the NFF Gold Medal in recognition of his exceptional accomplishments, unblemished reputation and for reflecting the values of amateur football. He will be honored for his achievements during the 62nd NFF Annual Awards Dinner on Dec. 10 at the New York Hilton Midtown in New York City, which will also celebrate the 150th anniversary of college Football.

"As we prepare to celebrate the 150th anniversary of college football, Mark Harmon captures exactly what we hope to inspire in future generations of young football players, making him the perfect recipient for the NFF's highest honor," said NFF President & CEO Steve Hatchell. "An NFF National Scholar-Athlete at UCLA in the early 1970s, Mark took that same relentless drive to succeed, applying it to his career as an actor and unequivocally becoming one of the most successful stars of his generation. He has earned this honor many times over, and we are extremely proud to add his name to the esteemed list of past NFF Gold Medal recipients."

The highest and most prestigious award presented by the National Football Foundation, the Gold Medal recognizes an outstanding American who has demonstrated integrity and honesty; achieved significant career success; and has reflected the basic values of those who have excelled in amateur sport, particularly football. First presented to President Dwight D. Eisenhower at the NFF Annual Awards Dinner in 1958, the Gold Medal boasts an impressive list of past recipients, including seven presidents, four generals, three admirals, one Supreme Court Justice, 29 corporate CEOs and chairmen, actor John Wayne and baseball immortal Jackie Robinson. Harmon will become the 65th recipient of the NFF Gold Medal. (See below for the full list of past recipients.)

"Having achieved the highest levels of success, Mark Harmon has always remained humble and focused on the things that really matter in life, which is hard work, perseverance and teamwork," said NFF Awards Committee Chairman Jack Ford. "His success on the gridiron as a student-athlete and his subsequent icon status in film and television make him exceptionally well-qualified as our 2019 Gold Medal recipient. We look forward to welcoming him back to the NFF's stage in December, poetically 46 years after his being honored as an NFF National Scholar-Athlete during an event when another famous actor, John Wayne, accepted the NFF Gold Medal."

Harmon was born and raised in Southern California; the son of actress Elyse Knox and Heisman Trophy winner Tom Harmon, a 1954 College Football Hall of Fame inductee from Michigan. He attended The Harvard School (now known as Harvard-Westlake) in Los Angeles, playing football, baseball and rugby. On the gridiron, he mostly took the field as a running back and safety, only appearing in four games at quarterback. He broke his elbow as a junior, and did not play varsity football as a senior. 

Not recruited out of high school, Harmon headed to Pierce Junior College in Woodland Hills, California, and he quarterbacked the team to a 7-2 record in 1971, earning All-America laurels. His performance earned him multiple scholarship offers, including Oklahoma in an effort led by Barry Switzer, the offensive coordinator at the time and a future College Football Hall of Fame coach, to recruit him. Harmon opted to stay in his hometown of Los Angeles, playing for UCLA head coach Pepper Rodgers and assistant coaches Homer Smith, Lynn Stiles and Terry Donahue, also a future College Football Hall of Fame coach.

Playing alongside future College Football Hall of Fame inductees Randy Cross and John Sciarra, Harmon helped orchestrate a UCLA turnaround, quarterbacking the Bruins, which had finished 2-7-1 at eighth-place in the Pac-8 in 1971, to a combined 17-5 record in 1972 and 1973. In his first game ever as a Bruin, which opened the 1972 season, Harmon led an underdog UCLA to a dramatic 20-17 win against two-time defending national champion Nebraska, snapping the Huskers' 32-game-unbeaten streak.   A Wishbone-T quarterback who could run, pass, fake and mix plays, Harmon rushed for more yards and touchdowns than he did passing, amassing 1,504 yards rushing and 14 touchdowns versus passing for 845 yards and 9 touchdowns during his tenure in Westwood. The offensive coordinator Homer Smith's wishbone offense forced Harmon to make multiple decisions in very short time periods, distributing the ball to running backs Kermit Johnson and James McAlister. The combination created the top running game in the nation in 1973, and UCLA set school records for total yards gained (4,403), average yards per game (400) and rushing touchdowns (56).   A Communications major who aspired to become a doctor, Harmon excelled in the UCLA classrooms, carrying a 3.45 GPA and graduating cum laude. His accomplishments earned him Second Team CoSIDA Academic All-America honors as well as an NFF National Scholar-Athlete Award, which led to his trip to New York City where he was honored at the NFF Annual Awards Dinner the same night that John Wayne accepted the NFF Gold Medal.   "In today's society, the scholar-athlete is indeed a rare breed," Harmon said in responding for the NFF Scholar-Athlete Class in 1973. "Not only does he excel on the field, but he competes in the classroom as well…. As we gather here tonight to pay our respects to the men who made the great American game of football what it is today, we hope that one day in the future some of us from the Class of '74 might be fortunate enough to carry on the great tradition that has been passed down by the distinguished men in this room. If we do, it is because our universities gave us the chance and the game of football has given us the principles."   After UCLA, Harmon declined professional football offers to instead pursue acting. He worked in advertising, as a shoe company rep and as a carpenter between acting gigs and appearing in Coors beer commercials. His hard work eventually paid off with a big break on NBC's St. Elsewhere and the leading role of Dr. Robert Caldwell. His success continued on NBC's police drama Reasonable Doubts starring as detective Dickey Cobb and CBS's Chicago Hope where he appeared as Dr. Jack McNeil.   He also had memorable arcs on the hit shows Moonlighting and The West Wing before landing the lead role of Leroy Jethro Gibbs, a special agent with the Naval Criminal Investigative Service, on CBS' global favorite NCIS series, which has become part of television history, approaching its 400th episode and recently inking a deal for its 17th season. The most-watched-scripted show on American television today and consistently ranked among the five highest-rated TV shows each year, NCIS is a TV juggernaut, attracting more than 15 million viewers each week throughout most of its run.   In 2011, Harmon became an executive producer on NCIS, and in 2014 an idea he co-developed became the spinoff NCIS: New Orleans which premiered on CBS with Harmon as an executive producer alongside Gary Glasberg. His big-screen credits include Freaky Friday, Wyatt Earp, The Presidio, Summer School and Stealing Home. He has worked with Elizabeth Taylor, Michael Caine, Sean Connery, Jamie Lee Curtis, Jodie Foster, Allison Janney, Karl Malden, Patricia Arquette and Denzel Washington among countless other Hollywood notables.   Harmon has received numerous accolades and award nominations during his career, including being honored with a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame on Oct. 1, 2012, but he has always remained humble with an appreciation for the efforts of others. Quietly giving back, Harmon's charitable work includes Saving Bristol Bay, Stand Up To Cancer, Ronald McDonald House Charities, Kids Wish Network, Clothes Off Our Back, Entertainment Industry Foundation, Oklahoma Kidz Charities Foundation, Oklahoma City Indian Clinic and The Children's Center OKC.   From his time as a quarterback at UCLA until now, as an executive producer and star of the CBS hit series NCIS, Harmon has always treated teammates and production crews with familial respect and loyalty. "I look at the show as a team," Harmon said during a previous interview. "I've always been a team guy. I'm not in [acting] for the personal part of this, and I wasn't as an athlete either. It's about the work and we all work together."   Harmon will be honored during the 62nd NFF Annual Awards Dinner on Dec. 10 at the New York Hilton Midtown in New York City. Harmon will accept his award alongside the yet-to-be-announced recipients of the NFF Outstanding Contribution to Amateur Football Award, NFF John L. Toner Award for excellence in athletics administration and NFF Chris Schenkel Award for excellence in broadcasting.   In addition to the presentation of the NFF Major Awards, the 62nd NFF Annual Awards Dinner will provide the stage for the induction of the 2019 College Football Hall of Fame Class; the presentation of the 2019 NFF National Scholar-Athlete Awards; and the bestowing of the 30th NFF William V. Campbell Trophy® to the nation's top football scholar-athlete.   The 2019 College Football Hall of Fame Class includes Terrell Buckley (Florida State), Rickey Dixon (Oklahoma), London Fletcher (John Carroll [OH]), Jacob Green (Texas A&M), Torry Holt (North Carolina State), Raghib "Rocket" Ismail (Notre Dame), Darren McFadden (Arkansas), Jake Plummer (Arizona State), Troy Polamalu (Southern California), Joe Thomas (Wisconsin), Lorenzo White (Michigan State), Patrick Willis (Mississippi), Vince Young (Texas) and coaches Dennis Erickson (Idaho, Wyoming, Washington State, Miami [FL], Oregon State, Arizona State) and Joe Taylor (Howard, Virginia Union, Hampton, Florida A&M).   On Oct. 30, the NFF will announce the members of the 2019 NFF National Scholar-Athlete Class, who will vie as finalists for The William V. Campbell Trophy®. They will be honored at the NFF Annual Awards Dinner on Dec. 10, where one will be named the recipient of the Campbell Trophy® as the nation's top football scholar-athlete.   For ticket information at the 62nd NFF Annual Awards Dinner, please contact Will Rudd at 972.556.1000 or wrudd@footballfoundation.com.

Recipients of the NFF Gold Medal include:

2019 – Mark Harmon 2018 – Aaron Feis 2018 – Jason Seaman 2016 – Archie Manning 2015 – Dr. Condoleezza Rice 2014 – Dr. Tom G. Catena 2014 – George M. Weiss 2013 – Roger Goodell 2012 – Roscoe C. Brown, Jr. 2011 – Robert M. Gates 2009 – Bill Bowerman 2009 – Phil Knight 2008 – Sen. John Glenn 2007 – Gen. Pete Dawkins 2007 – Roger Staubach 2006 – Bobby Bowden 2006 – Joseph V. Paterno  2005 – Jon F. Hanson 2004 – William V. Campbell 2003 – Gen. Tommy R. Franks 2002 – George Steinbrenner III 2001 – Billy Joe "Red" McCombs 2000 – F.M. Kirby 1999 – Keith Jackson 1998 – John H. McConnell 1997 – Jackie Robinson 1996 – Eugene F. Corrigan 1995 – Harold Alfond 1994 – Thomas S. Murphy 1993 – Gen. Norman Schwarzkopf 1992 – Donald R. Keough 1991 – Pres. George H. Bush 1990 – Adm. Thomas H. Moorer 1989 – Paul Brown 1988 – Clinton E. Frank 1987 – Gen. Charles R. Meyer 1986 – William H. Morton 1985 – William I. Spencer 1984 – John F. McGillicuddy 1983 – Sen. Jack Kemp 1982 – Silver Anniversary (All Past Honorees Recognized) 1981 – Justin W. Dart 1980 – Walter J. Zable 1979 – Adm. William P. Lawrence 1978 – Vincent dePaul Draddy 1977 – Gen. Louis H. Wilson 1976 – Edgar B. Speer 1975 – David Packard 1974 – Gerald B. Zornow 1973 – John Wayne 1972 – Pres. Gerald R. Ford 1971 – Pres. Ronald W. Reagan 1970 – Adm. Thomas J. Hamilton 1969 – Pres. Richard M. Nixon 1968 – Chester J. LaRoche 1967 – Frederick L. Hovde 1966 – Earl H. "Red" Blaik  1965 – Juan T. Trippe 1964 – Donold B. Lourie 1963 – Roger M. Blough 1962 – Byron "Whizzer" White 1961 – Pres. John F. Kennedy 1960 – Pres. Herbert C. Hoover 1960 – Amos Alonzo Stagg 1959 – Gen. Douglas A. MacArthur 1958 – Pres. Dwight D. Eisenhower

[thelocdbella]

How I Improved My Business

One day, while scrolling through social media, I came across West Street and immediately felt compelled to inquire about a work-study program. This video above was captured in 2015 during a photography session by Jimi Sweet, the studio’s owner/manager. I remember I was still trying to figure out the whole photography thing while working as a Reservationist in Midtown. I had no “formal” training, no professional gear and all I had were willing friends who wanted to be my models. Little did I know, that opportunity would then lead me down the road to where I am now with a thriving business and working alongside my epic Ma-tographer, Amy Anaiz.

***

Unfortunately, my dad passed that year and I became a recluse. I gave up my work-study, photography and not long after, met Amy, who I now consider my own personal mentor and sister (despite me calling her “Ma”). Haha! Over the last three years, I’ve managed to take my business off overwhelm and into autopilot because of the lessons and skills I’ve learned while working during my time at West Street and creating with Amy. If there’s one thing I’ve learned while having a mentor is that it’s okay to share your resources and anything you believe can help someone else without overextending to exhaustion. So here I am, ready to share with you the processes and applications I use on a daily to keep my business up and running and still have the time to do other important things.

Resources

I know you’re here for one thing, so I’m not going to keep you long. Below, you’ll find the applications I use. Let’s keep it real though! Although there are some good deals in signing up with these links, there are some that are affiliate links. What does that mean? It means I will be compensated if you make a purchase after clicking on my links. I just needed to be transparent with you so you can make the best decision for you and your business.

TAVE:

I’ve been using Tave since January 2020 at the suggestion by a friend. Note, they are not a wedding photographer, but rather a wedding planner. What is Tave? It is an application that helps in keeping me organized in so many ways. It allows me to have everything in one place. I’m talking about contracts, emails, invoices, payment processing, workflow lists, calendars, questionnaires, and quotes. And guess how much I am paying per month? A whopping $25 per month for all of that. I remember when I first started, I had an app for everything. I had an app for taking payments, one for workflows, one for calendars, my email app, and an app for invoices. Then I’d head over to Microsoft Word to draft up contracts and questionnaires. Not only is Tave saving me money, it’s saving me time; literally and figuratively. By the click of a button, I’ve created a workflow for one client and all I have to do is press send. No extra drafting of things, going back and forth between different apps. If you decide to try it, you can do so for 60 days by signing up HERE. I know! You’re welcome!

PIXIESET:

I remember finding Pixieset years ago and I am still using it. If you are a photographer, it is the coolest and most modern way of sharing photos with your clients. The presentation is gorgeous and not to mention, they have different templates you can choose from for delivery. Oh! Did you know that you can attach a printing lab to your galleries and if a client decides to order images, it goes directly to the lab? Yes! If they order prints, the lab will send it directly to them. You do nothing. Like I’ve been saying, I’m all about saving time because TIME is MONEY! Most recently, they’ve added Pixieset Website where you’re able to build your site without having to upload new images. You can do that with the images you already have in your collections. The site templates are CHIC, MODERN, SIMPLE, and easy to navigate. So not only are we saving time, we are doing it while looking poppin! OKURR!! Check out Pixieset and tell me what you think!

SQUARE:

I know, I know! You use PayPal and there’s nothing wrong with it. However, I am a big fan of Square for features such as the ability to create marketing campaigns specific for social media and/or newsletters. I’ve been able to create specialized coupon codes and a loyalty program for my trusted clients. If you’re a business with employees, you are able to use their payroll and timecard options within the app. Not to mention, their mobile app is extremely efficient. You’re able to send invoices, set appointments through online booking, and create gift cards for your holiday marketing strategies if you’re into that sort of thing. What I love most about Square is that I’ve been able to connect it to my Tave system to collect payments and these payments I can immediately transfer to my bank account or debit card for less than a 2% fee.

FLODESK:

Alright, so I’m gonna be a little honest with you. I’ve been neglecting my newsletter for roughly… 2 years. I know! That’s a long-ass time! It’s not what you think, I promise. See what had happened was, I had MailChimp right? And it was so tedious to manage that I just gave up on it. Then my internet BB, Chasing Denisse, mentioned Flodesk on her story once and I went to check that baby out! Look here, Bellas, Flodesk is the truth! Simple and easy to use. The templates are sexy AF! I was able to create and send out my first newsletter last month in under 30 mins. When you sign up HERE (I say when, because you will dump MailChimp LOL!), you’ll get 50% off your subscription.

CREATIVE MARKET:

Now, what’s the point of building a website, setting up payment processing and creating a whole workflow if your branding and look is non-existent. That’s why I love Creative Market. It’s an online space where you can purchase anything from presets or actions for your photos, social media templates, and website templates to help with the look of your business. I’ll go on and on, but there’s no need when you can look for yourself. You can buy me a latte when you’re done.

CREATIVE LIVE:

Now, over the winter break, I’ve been spending 1-2 days per week watching online courses I’ve purchased/been gifted and learning from webinars to help with improving my business. I was introduced to Creative Live by Jimi years ago and have been hooked ever since. I’ve learned about lighting, posing, photography skills I can improve on to make my portraits pop and even small marketing details to take my business from basic to bougie. With Creative Live, you can attend the class the day of, watch a replay or purchase to watch at your leisure. That’s not to say I don’t learn and get hands-on experience working with Amy, but when I’m not shooting with her or my own weddings/sessions, I need to make sure I’m keeping my skills sharp and improving as I go.

With that said, go out and be bad AF. Don’t play small. Take it one day at a time and continuously work on improving not just your business, but yourself. I hope these apps (if you decide to try) assist in enhancing your systems and allocate more time to spend time with friends and family.

What apps do you normally use to streamline your business daily?

xoxo,

Bella

PS: You can check out my revamped site and let me know what you think. It’s exciting to see!

[yungfuckfacemcgee]

After many many months I FINALLY finished this Westallen fanfic that has now morphed into a 74,500 word behemoth

It’s called Everything in Existence. It’s a no powers, meet-cute AU that is basically just the novelized movie I’m waiting for Netflix to cast Candice Patton in. Here is the first chapter (I’m gonna post it on AO3) I hope you like it because I like it and this is the first big, real-ish thing I’ve written and I am proud.

Chapter 1

“…so, I guess, what I’m trying to say is it’s not you, it’s me. And I know people say this all the time, but, I really hope we can stay friends.” 

“Are you serious, Iris?” 

Okay, so maybe she shouldn’t have done this while they were lying in bed together after another night of sub-par sex. But Iris West couldn’t take it anymore: every second of their “relationship” felt like a knife scraping a dinner plate. At the time, she thought it made sense to finally agree to be exclusive with Scott after a month of casual post-work hookups. Their relationship made sense on paper. They were the two hot, young, Black reporters in the office. He was good looking, smart, nice, and he was almost as good at his job as she was at hers. It was logical. But the longer they stayed together, the clearer her image of Scott became. What she initially thought was kindness turned out to be charm; she could see it in the way he would suck up to their editors or all of his patronizing interactions with the new hires. On more than one occasion she caught him checking himself out in the mirror; looking back on it Scott never looked at her with the same appreciation. And she could’ve set all of that aside, she really could’ve, if he hadn’t fucked with her at work. He took her idea for a new feature to their misogynistic, asshole of a boss. Scott got his ticket to the office's inner circle and left Iris behind writing listicles with 21-year-old interns fresh out of undergrad. 

He was staring at her expectantly, apparently waiting for an answer. 

“Yeah I am, Scott,” she said. “This isn’t working for me anymore.” 

“Wow” he scoffed, offended. He started getting out of bed and redressing, angrily pulling on his raw denim jeans. 

“You know everyone at the office always said you were kind of a bitch but I saw past that.” “Excuse me?” Iris asked, her eyebrows shooting up in shock. Any semblance of Scott’s nice guy act evaporated as soon as his feet hit the floor. She sat up in her bed, watching as he collected the few belongings he had in her apartment, stuffing them into his monogrammed leather overnight bag. Even though they’d been together for nearly half a year Scott never left more than a stick of deodorant or an extra pair of socks at her place. Truthfully, Iris never wanted him to.

“Wasted all my time giving you this ‘exclusive’ shit,” he muttered to himself as he took his watch from the nightstand. “You’re not the only hot girl who wanted me, you know. I had so many opportunities, sweetheart. Okay? I could’ve been sleeping with white women.” Who even says that? “Get the fuck out of my apartment, Scott!” Iris yelled as he flung open her bedroom door. She got up to follow him through the living room, “and you know what? I take it back! I DON’T want to stay friends!” And with that she slammed the door.

“Morning sunshine.” “Fuck!” Iris grabbed her chest. She hadn’t noticed her roommate, Linda, sitting in the kitchen while she was chasing Scott out. 

“So I take it you finally gave Scott ‘the talk’?” Linda asked over her morning paper. 

The two girls had met Linda’s first night living in the city, through a mutual friend who invited a group of them out to a bar with fifty cent jello shots. Iris left early without saying goodbye, feeling a blackout coming on. At 4 a.m. a wasted Linda was pounding on her door, saying “I wanted to make sure you made it home” before pushing past her, into her shoebox of an apartment, throwing up blue into her toilet, and passing out on her bed. They’d been best friends ever since. 

“Mmmhhhh,” Iris moaned in the affirmative as she flopped face first on to their old couch. “Sorry, honey. At least you don’t have to deal with that dickhead anymore. You know I never liked him.” For as long as they’d known each other, it felt as though Linda was constantly saying I told you so. It occasionally ignited standoffs that never lasted more than a couple days, and more often than not got resolved with apology tequila and kitchen karaoke. 

Iris peeled herself off the couch and straightened out her disheveled hair. 

“You’re right. He’s a dick. And I’m glad to be done with him.” She sat for a second, mulling it over before forcefully flopping back down. “But now I have to see him at work on Mondayyyyy. Lindaaaaa. What am I gonna do?” “Hon,” Linda said, sitting on the couch. Iris went boneless, half her body slid to the floor. “Iris, listen to me” Linda grabbed her by the shoulders, “you’re gonna go into your room. You’re gonna clean yourself up and get dressed.” Iris leaned into her friend, starting to feel comforted as Linda smoothed down her hair. “And then you and I are gonna go to trap-yoga.” “What?!” Iris pulled away to look at the traitor. “Exercise is not what I need right now, Lin! My heart is broken! I need to wallow and eat junk food and stay on the couch.” She shot puppy dog eyes at her friend. “No bitch. You didn’t even like Scott!” Linda exclaimed. Iris cringed at that, but she knew that Linda was right. Screaming at him now was the most emotion she ever felt in that relationship. Go figure. “Iris, you need to get up and move. You wasted five and a half months on that jerk for what? Some mediocre sex?” 

“It wasn’t that bad” Iris said. “Girl. I share a wall with you. All I ever heard was Scott grunting and hyping himself up.” “Dude!”

“What was the longest it ever lasted? Five minutes?”

“I–” Iris started but shut her mouth, having to agree with Linda, and no longer feeling the need to defend Scott.

“That’s what I thought. So go get your little yoga pants on, we’re leaving in 20.”

——

Two hours later, Iris was splayed out on the floor of a dance studio in Midtown, trying to catch her breath while the rest of the class went on with their Saturdays. She tries to make it to the gym a couple times a week (if she were being honest with herself it was more like a couple times a month) but that was just absurd. She could barely touch her toes on a good day, how could she be expected to add dancing to that? At least the music was good. 

“What…the…fuck” Iris panted to Linda as she came to sit beside her with two bottles of water and a towel. Linda, of course, had barely broken a sweat so the towel was for Iris. 

“A couple times there Mari and I thought you were gonna throw up,” she replied, pulling Iris up into a sitting position.

Their mutual friend, Mariana taught the class. Mari (as her friends called her) was  a curvy woman with a blonde afro. Part time trainer, part time back up dancer, she had aspirations of becoming the next Rosie Perez. Linda met her a while back taking one of her other dance/exercise classes and decided the three of them had to be friends. The decision was cemented the first time the trio went out and all ended up dancing on tables and laughing until they couldn’t breathe. 

Mari finished talking to one of her clients (a middle aged white woman in a coordinated Lululemon outfit) with a fake smile that immediately dropped as she came to sit with the girls. 

“Ay díos, this woman always wanting to talk to me about some new diet and her son’s gluten intolerance. Christ!” she sat with a huff. “Lin, you looked great. Iris…at least you didn’t throw up.” She flashed a sympathetic smile. 

“Okay,” Linda said redirecting the conversation, “phase one of Mission: Iris Reclaims Her Time in which she sweats out her anger and does her annual workout—” 

“Hey!”

“—complete. On to phase two: we’re all going out tonight.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that guys.” It was only 2pm and Iris was already sweaty and exhausted, she was pretty much done for the day.

“Iris, mama, we’re taking you out!” Mari interrupted, in an aggressively friendly tone. “And not to one of our usual places, we’re getting on the train and we are going downtown–”

Iris let out a groan. 

“ –and you have absolutely no say in the matter” Linda finished.

“But—” Iris tried.

“Dude, you need to go celebrate your freedom! It’s been half a year! Haven’t you already wasted enough of your time doing nothing?” Linda and Mari watched as she contemplated their words.

If it were anyone else Iris would have told them to fuck off and leave her alone, but these were her girls; she trusted their judgment the majority of the time. Besides she knew from experience that they wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Okay fine.” She gave in. “But you two are buying my drinks all night.” 

“Yes!” Linda rejoiced, “This is going to be the best night ever!” 

——

  “This is the worst night ever” Linda sighed. 

Linda and Iris met up with Mari at some swanky club on the Lower East Side after a pregame at their apartment. Apparently, Mari met a couple guys in line who gave her a few pulls from their flask. When they finally managed to get to the front she was a shade past too drunk, falling off her ridiculously tall heels she exclusively wore for clubbing. Iris and Linda loved the girl, but this wasn’t the first time (and it certainly wouldn’t be the last) that they would have to play party mom. They’d hold it against her but every time it happened she was genuinely remorseful — besides she did her fair share of emotionally/physically/spiritually-responsible friend duties so no one was in debt to anyone as far as they could see. They consoled Mari, assuring her that she hadn’t ruined the night, and put her in a cab across the bridge back to her roommate who, by this point, knew the drill. 

It started to rain by the time they successfully got her in the car and tipped the driver extra to make sure she got home safely. Rather than waiting in line for another hour, the two decided to leave. They walked around the unfamiliar neighborhood, searching the block for someplace dry to figure out plan b. They happened upon a grimy, all-night pizza place first and made a break for it.  Each ordered a slice — pepperoni for Iris, plain cheese for Linda — and they claimed a table by the window away from the groups of loud, underage college kids, completely soaked from the rain and obviously wasted on cheap liquor. 

“Really, Lin, it’s fine. You guys still got me out of the house for the night” Iris tried to assure her friend that the outing wasn’t a total flop. 

“No, it’s not fine. Look at us! We look hot! I’m not letting this go to waste.” An idea dawned on her face making Iris nervous. She abandoned her slice on its paper plate and reached into her bag. “Here.” Linda pulled two lollipops from her clutch. She offered one to Iris. “Lauren gave these to me last week. Welcome to phase 3 of Mission: Iris Reclaims Her Time, baby.” 

Now, Linda and Iris weren’t stoners by any stretch of the imagination. But they were two young women living in a big city, paying rent that was way too high, working stressful jobs that paid them way too little, and taking anxiety inducing public transit every goddamn day. Once in a while booze just didn’t cut it.

“Weirdo, stoner Lauren who lives down the hall?” Iris asked, somewhat shocked though not entirely surprised. Lauren was an aloof, surfer-looking girl who lived in their building and who, against all logic, Linda had a huge crush on. Iris imagined that Lauren got lost on the way to the beach one day and wandered around until she somehow found herself living in the city, miles from the ocean and selling drugs out of a loft that her parents paid for. She had long, wavy hair the color of sand, and always greeted Iris with a zen smile. 

“Yup,” Linda responded nonchalantly.

Iris took a lollipop from her “And why were you with weirdo stoner Lauren who lives down the hall?”

“Oh…you know…” Linda squirmed on the receiving end of Iris’ growing smirk and finally gave up trying to think up some half-assed excuse. “Just shut up and eat it.”

They unwrapped their edibles and held them in a toast. “Cheers,” Linda began, “to my best friend who finally vagged up…” Iris cringed as Linda only got louder. “…who finally VAGGED up, dumped that loser Scott and got her life back. In Beyoncé’s name we pray, Amen.”

“Amen,” Iris agreed. “How long until these kick in anyway?” “A couple of hours I think.” The college kids were getting rowdier. They were like drunk toddlers – screaming, laughing, falling down and blurting out the most random things. Iris watched them, jealous of the hangover free mornings they would have the next day, and suddenly felt too old to stay any longer. “Hey, why don’t we check out that bar across the street? I’ve seen three groups of hot guys go in since we got here.” “I like where your head’s at, West! Let’s go.” Linda grabbed Iris’ hand, forgetting their half-eaten slices, and pulled her across the street, nearly getting them killed by an oncoming cab. 

——

Linda was off with a tall finance bro with a cute butt and Iris was figuring out a way to get out of a dry conversation with some guy about the app he developed. Every time she tried to interrupt him, he cut her off with a new question that he would just answer for himself. 

“Well, this has been really gre– ”, Iris tried. Again. 

“What’s your favorite TV show? Mine’s definitely Narcos, I just think the story structure is so sophisticated, you know? It really transcends language, I think, you know? I just feel like…” 

Iris zoned out. She started looking around the bar for Linda to shoot her the please come pretend to be my overprotective girlfriend so we can go home look, but she couldn’t find her in the crowd of twenty somethings. As she looked around she took in the atmosphere of the place. She noticed how the bar was decorated like a library with beat-up leather arm chairs scattered around, an illuminated globe sitting on the floor by the bathrooms, and a bookshelf on the wall behind the counter — half-filled with drinks, half-filled with actual books. The place was crowed, but no more so than any other Lower East Side bar on a Saturday night.

She started to turn her attention back to app boy, Tom? Or maybe he said Todd?   Iris had no idea what he was talking about at this point. She was about to try, yet again, to escape when the bartender leaned over. 

“Excuse me, miss?” She looked up at him. He was a white guy with floppy brown hair and a little bit of scruff. He had on a worn-out flannel over a Led Zeppelin t-shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows like it was 2010. 

“Miss?” He said again. She met his eyes and focused on what he was saying. “Hi, sorry to interrupt, but there was a problem with your card. I need you to come to the register at the other end of the bar so we can sort it out.”

“My card?” She asked confused, “but I didn’t…” Iris trailed off as she saw him widening his eyes at her, looking between her and Tom/dd. 

“Oh! Right! My card!” She turned back towards Mr. Talksalot, “I’m so sorry, but I have to go deal with this. Have a lovely night.” “I can wait for you to figure it out.” 

“Don’t!” Iris yelled a little too eagerly over her shoulder as she followed her flannel-ed white knight to the opposite end of the bar. He was lean, with broad shoulders, like a swimmer. 

“That guy wouldn’t stop talking! Why do guys like that always think they’re the most interesting thing in the world? Thank you so much…” Iris trailed off, realizing she didn’t know his name. 

“Barry. And because guys like that are douchebags. So, what are you drinking tonight…?”

“Iris, I’m Iris. Um, whiskey, neat.” She answered. He pushed at his sleeves even though they hadn’t slipped from their fixed position on his forearms.

“Iris the badass,” he said with smirk. Her stomach fluttered at that. She noticed him pause for a second, his eyes fixed to the counter. 

“Um,” he faltered then regained his composure, taking out a tumbler and filling it with the well drink, “yeah I saw you get that look on your face.” He slid Iris her glass. 

“What look?” she asked taking a sip.   

“That look. The one that says this guy can’t take a hint and I can’t find my friends anywhere.” He smiled a little and she looked down at the drink, her fingers fiddling with the glass. 

“So you were watching me?” She hadn’t intended for it to sound that flirty but once it was out of her mouth she decided to roll with it. 

The question clearly surprised him. He looked at her, flustered for a moment, before shaking it off and clearing discarded pint glasses off the bar. She tried not to let that hurt her pride too much and finished off her drink. 

Barry turned back to her, looking like he was about to say something until he noticed her empty glass. 

“Wow.” He stated. “Rough night?”

Starting to loosen up and feel that familiar warm buzz that came with finishing her second drink she responded, “I’m supposed to be here with my best friend celebrating, as a matter of fact.”

“Oh, congratulations. What are we celebrating?” he asked, leaning on the bar. His arms looked strong.

“We are celebrating my break-up!” She announced. 

“Oh. I’m sorry, Iris,” he said as he stood up straighter. Her name sounded good coming out of his mouth. 

“You’re sweet, but really I’m okay. He was just some asshole I work with.” A stupid, vain, asshole who ironed his jeans. Who does that?

“Where do you work?”

“I write for that website Snub,” she said begrudgingly. Admittedly it wasn’t a bad job, but Iris started there so young — it was the only real, paid writing gig she ever had. After Scott screwed her over she started thinking maybe she’d been there a few years too long. 

“Very cool.” Barry said. She couldn’t gauge by his reaction if he knew what Snub was. She kind of hoped he didn’t. “Wait a second,” he bent down and brought up two 

glasses, “if we’re going to make this a proper celebration we need shots.” 

At the mention of shots Iris raised her hands in protest. 

“That sounds nice, but my wallet can’t handle $17 drinks.” Living in the city Iris and Linda figured they could either order shots when they went out or pay their rent, but not both. A couple times the drinks won.

“No worries,” he told her as he poured the tequila and slid a glass to her, “these are on the house.”

“That’s really, really nice, but I can’t let you do that. Wouldn’t your manager or the owner or whatever be pissed?”

“Nah. I mean he’s a major asshole but I don’t think he’d mind giving some congratulatory shots to a beautiful woman.” 

Normally a line like that from some dude in a bar would come off as skeezy and insincere and Iris would blow him off. But coming from him it felt genuine, like he honestly thought she was beautiful. For the first time in a while Iris wasn’t quite sure how to react. 

“Ehrm,” he interrupted her stupor, grabbing the back of his neck with one hand and raising his glass with the other. “Here’s to… here’s to…” 

“The future?” She offered questioningly.

“Yeah. Here’s to the future. May this be the first drink of many towards forgetting your ex.”

“I’ll drink to that.” 

They clinked their glasses and knocked back their shots, Barry wincing after his while desperately reaching for a slice of lime. 

“Punk,” Iris teased. 

He smiled back at her and for a moment the din of the crowed bar faded to the background. She looked at his face, dusted with freckles. Only his left cheek had a dimple which she had the strange urge to poke.

“There you are!” She felt Linda’s hand on her shoulder. Just like that her moment with the cute bartender was over and she was thrown back into reality. 

“I’ve been looking for you forever!” Linda shouted a bit too loudly to Iris. 

“Yeah right, Lin!” She shouted back. She turned to introduce her new friend but he was already gone. For a second she wondered if it was even real. She couldn’t lie, she was a little disappointed.

“How are you feeling?” Linda grabbed Iris’ face and studied her eyes. “Has it hit you yet?”

“I don’t think so,” she replied through her smushed cheeks. Truth be told Iris had completely forgotten they took edibles earlier, otherwise she definitely would have turned down those shots. 

“How ‘bout you?” She asked, though as Linda began to separate the individual strands of Iris’ hair she was certain of the answer. 

“Alright, pretty girl, time to go home.”

“Whattt, noooooo. I feel great, Iris. Have I ever told you how soft your hair is, dude?”

“Okay let’s go.” Iris responded. 

She thought about leaving her number for Barry as she closed out her tab but then Linda started to touch other people’s hair so she rushed to get her out of there. 

Just as Iris began to think her’s must have been a dud, the high hit her. It was like being frozen in a giant jello mold; it seemed like the entire world slowed down while her brain raced at a million miles a minute. One second she was washing her face and the next she was thinking about how the faucet was like a teeny tiny waterfall, making her feel like a giant. The minute a 5’4” girl starts calling herself a giant, it’s a wrap. 

She fell asleep that night feeling like a rowboat on the ocean caught in a whirlpool. She dreamt vividly of pepperoni pizza and bartenders with green eyes and floppy hair. 

——

The next morning Iris woke up in Linda’s bed, the TV still on, reheated Chinese leftovers, and, now, very melted ice cream surrounding them. She grabbed her phone from the night stand, checking the time and making sure she didn’t send any regrettable texts — as she’d been known to do on more than one occasion. She saw a text from Mari:

Mari 9:43am

> Sorry I ruined the mission :( 

> I don’t know what happened! Those guys were really hot!

> AND THEY WERE DOMINICAN. You KNOW I don’t act right around Dominican men!!

> Buy you and sleeping beauty brunch to make it up???

Iris 10:46am

> You didn’t ruin anything! I’m just happy you got home safe 

> Girl you were MESSED UP

>But I’ll never say no to free brunch. Let me try to wake up the monster give me an hour

She put her phone aside and rolled over to face Linda who had a puddle of drool on her pillow. 

“Gross,” Iris whispered. She cleared her throat, “wakey, wakey”. She started gently poking Linda’s face. 

“Ughhhh,” Linda groaned as she came to, “What?” 

“It’s almost 11 and Mari’s buying us brunch. Time to get up.”

“Five more minutes, mom,” Linda bargained.

“Sorry, kiddo, but the bottomless mimosas are calling your name. Listen: ‘Lindaaa, Lindaa, come drink us Lindaaa’,” Iris whispered into her friend’s face as Linda half-heartedly attempted to swat her away. 

“Coffeee,” Linda whined as Iris got out of bed and began to clear away the remnants of their late-night feast. 

“There’s coffee at brunch, so get your ass up,” she emphasized as she smacked her through the thick layer of blankets, “and let’s go!”

“You’re so mean to me!” Linda called out as Iris left her bedroom, but she could hear the covers drawing back and Linda’s feet hitting the wood floor. 

As she was getting ready she thought about the bartender again. Iris thought about his stupid brown hair and, really, who has that many freckles? He was pretty cute and he made her laugh. He was definitely flirting with her, right? Or had she just projected on to him in her cross-faded haze? And why was she still thinking about him? She usually didn’t get hung up on pale white guys, especially ones that looked like they were in Mumford & Sons. She shook it off, telling herself to forget about Barry, and that she’d probably never see him again. 

——

They met at their secret Sunday brunch spot, the only place without a line out the door. To the average person it was a nondescript, touristy diner, but Jitters had the best bottomless brunch, the best coffee, and, not to mention, the best prices in the entire city. They met there whenever they needed to catch up or when they needed the best hangover breakfast any of them had ever had. 

They slid into their usual booth towards the back. Mari immediately began rattling off her apologies while Linda, sunglasses still on, laid her head on the table until their coffee cups were filled. After Iris assured Mari no one was upset, and Linda had two cups of coffee, they filled the others in on their nights. 

Mari talked about her Dominicans who gave her a flask of rum. Linda reported back on her finance bro. It turns out while Iris was marooned with Tom/Todd (“Can we just call him T Money”, Linda offered), Linda was making out with Bro, getting familiar with his butt, until they got into a fight about fetishizing Asian women. 

“And then he said he’d been waiting for a hot Asian chick like me to show up the entire night.”

“Gross,” “Yikes,” Iris and Mari said simultaneously. 

“Then he had the audacity to say I was being too sensitive when I called him on it,” Linda spat out with disgust, then immediately clutched her head with a wince at her volume.

“That motherfucker,” Mari responded, pounding her balled fist on the table. 

“Why the hell do people think that’s okay? Like, seriously, don’t they see how patronizing it is?” Iris said. 

“Exactly! So I spilled the rest of the drink he bought in his lap before I found our girl sitting alone at the bar.” 

“Alone?” Mari asked, turning her attention from Linda to Iris.

“Actually, the bartender kind of saved me from the dude who wouldn’t let me leave.” 

Mari and Linda exchanged a brief look before turning their attention to Iris with matching smirks on their faces. 

“What!?” Iris asked from behind her coffee mug.

“Would this bartender happen to be good looking?” Linda asked while lightly nudging her arm. 

Iris looked down at her eggs, pushing them around with her fork.

“I mean, he wasn’t ugly.” 

“Oooh, girl. Did you guys talk?” Mari asked. 

“I thanked him for getting me away from–“ 

“–T money,” Mari interrupted.

“…from T money…and then I told him I was there with Linda celebrating a break-up and he kinda bought me a drink.”

Mari and Linda looked at each other in disbelief. 

“BIIIITTTTTCCCCHHHHHH!” A startled busboy turned around at Linda’s deep exclamation.

“Oh my god, Linda there are children here.”

“That’s not my problem. You’re telling me you sat here and listened to me whine about some racist asshole and you weren’t even going to mention this fucking superhero you met last night?” Linda was practically bouncing up and down in her seat.

“I don’t know about superhero, he was just a good dude.”

“What’s the difference, babe?” Mari chimed in.

“Either way, we didn’t exchange numbers and I doubt I’ll see him again.”

“Wait, what was the name of the bar you guys ended up at?” Mari asked. 

“Um…” Iris said.

“Dude I couldn’t even remember my name this morning” Linda added.

“Christ.”

“Well, there wasn’t a lot of time to notice with Linda almost getting us killed crossing the street!” Iris said. 

“What!?” Mari asked.

“Are we alive? Yes. So everything’s fine and Iris is being dramatic.”

“Mhmm,” Iris rolled her eyes at Linda.

They finished their food and eventually reached the bottom of those mimosas. After a short yet loud argument, Iris and Linda convinced Mari to let them pay their parts of the check. When Iris went into her wallet to get her card she realized it was missing. 

“Fuck me,” she exclaimed, exasperated. 

“Language, dear!” Linda joked. “What’s wrong?”

“My credit card’s gone!”

“Where was the last place you used it? Retrace your steps,” Mari offered. 

“Well, Lin and I took the train back, and I used cash for the pizza,” Iris rattled off. 

“Wait, didn’t we use your card to open the tab when we got to the bar?” Linda asked, hardly trying to keep the excitement out of her voice. 

“We don’t even know the name of the bar!” Iris protested. 

“It’s Sunday, we have all day to retrace our steps and reunite you with your hero. Commencing phase 4 of Mission: Iris Gets Rebound Dick.” 

“What happened to Iris Reclaims Her Time?”

“Plans change, just go with it,” Mari said, the two of them already rushing out the door.

Iris rolled her eyes but if she had to be honest with herself, she couldn’t deny that she was a little bit thrilled at the idea of seeing Barry again.

“Wait you guys! We still have to pay!” Iris yelled after them.

[auspicious-lilana]

Ultimate Spiderman (Peter Parker x Stark! OC x Sam alexander x Danny Rand)

Summary: When people hear 'Maya Stark' everyone would think about the perfect, smart. good looking, rich, student body president of Midtown High.Nobody but her childhood friend Peter Parker AKA Spider-Man and her new team of heroes. Ava, Sam, Danny, and Luke AKA  white tiger, Nova, Iron fist, and Power Man knows about her secret of being Queen's very own Mistress, soon to be ULTIMATE Mistress

Part 1 

“I know you're out there you wall-crawling menace! It is the duty of every New Yorker to report the actions of these masked miscreants. So listen up: As long as J. Jonah Jameson is CEO of Daily Bugle Communications, I won't rest until New York has seen the last of Spider-Man!”  I rolled my eyes as the mentioned spiderman webbed the screen Jonah’s face was just on. 

______________________________________________________________________________

 Other kids I know start their day with orange juice. Us? We- well not Mistress- get yelled at by a 100-foot tall cranky pants. Where’s a little love for the spider-guy? I'm down here with Mistress everyday trying the best we can at this hero routine. It's not easy to learn the ropes by yourself-expect Mistress who gets trained by Mr.Iron Man- Let's face it, introduction to super heroing isn't a high school elective. Speaking of school, I still have to pick a cake for Aunt May before first period. Then its hang time with our best pals MJ and Harry. And maybe a nap between classes.  But first we gotta save that cop from a skidding car.

______________________________________________________________________________

I was quick to act and quickly sent a force field to stop the car from crashing into the bakery. Oh, I knew fully well Pe- Spiderman had to pick up that cake for Aunt May. 

“I’m starting to think Jameson is wrong about you two, spider, Mistress!” 

“Spread the word Chief!” Spidey yelled back from the building he was gripping on to and I floated beside before we landed down a roof to see Trapster.

“Heya bug brain and the wicked witch of the west, I knew that had to draw you two out” 

“Nice to see you too Trapster” I replied sarcastically rolling my eyes. We’ve been heroes here in Queens for about a year and we fought this guy THREE times already, All being a complete fail. Let's skip forward all the gross stuff (yes I mean the slime thing, that is one thing I don’t ever want to mention AGAIN) 

“This is when I leave the Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man note? Can I borrow a pen?” The Villain's eyes widen in terror but no spidey/magic sense? This is new. I said before the both of us paused the show.

______________________________________________________________________________

Let us explain the whole spidey sense or Magic sense for Mistress thing. 

It's like an early warning system that kicks in whenever there's a danger to happen.

And maybe it's on blink 

______________________________________________________________________________

Spiderman began knocking on his head. 

“Hello? This thing on?” I facepalmed at his ridiculous strategy. If there is no spidey/magic sense and the Villain is in terror it only means one thing...

“Spider-Man, Mistress” S.H.I.E.L.D. of course. We turned around to see Nick Fury stepping out of his helicarrier. Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. That's the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division. Or as Spider-Man would put it, The super spies.

“You super spies make an appointment to sneak up on hardworking superheroes?” I mentally sighed as I didn’t want to seem unprofessional and ruin the whole great magic Sorceress image but really Spider-Man? Really? 

“Kid” Nick pointed at the mess Spiderman had done-yes spiderman cause I went off somewhere to do an errand while he took care of it- in the process of stopping Trapster. “We got to talk. No one's saying you stop the bad guy but look around you. Is this the way Captain America would've done it? Cap could have stopped Trapster within 5 seconds. You took 3 minutes. With lots of collateral damage.”  Yeah, Uncle Steve would’ve finished this job in 5 seconds, exactly why I was trained by him. It could’ve been faster if I had joined in but Spidey-boy here would’ve been regretting big time later. 

“We-”

“You mean you, I took no part in this” 

“Fine. I do a good job!” 

“For a clueless rookie” 

“Yeah- huh?” I shook my head at my partner. Don’t take this the wrong way! I knew Peter since I first started school and I love him and all- as a friend- but even I can be done with his idiotic ways. 

“Look, everyone starts out clueless. Even Iron Man back when he was a novice. But he learned. Eventually. What would you say if I can help turn eventually into right now for Spider-Man and Mistress?”  I’m not surprised Dad was a novice once since he cracks jokes in battles right now but he knows when to be serious, and when to be not...also cause I may or may not witnessed his first mess-up when he tried out his suit back when I was what? 6? 7?

“Heh. I knew it. You want me to buy a line of self-help books. Not interested. Besides, I'm tapped out till payday so if we're all done here I'm gonna…” 

“I’m serious, Peter Parker, Maya Stark”  you may not see but I raised my eyebrow under my mask before Spiderman or now Peter turned to him confused. 

“You know?”  If that isn’t the stupidest thing to ask a super spy then I might as well go shave my hair. 

“Everything. Super spy, remember?”   

______________________________________________________________________________

Don’t tell me another flashback

You know it, Maya. Anyways Growing up with Uncle Ben and Aunt May,and being friends with Maya was a pretty typical childhood. Until the radioactive spider bite and Maya getting kissed by some butterfly that had potion on it. After came the powers and that terrible night I-

We. Peter. We. 

Right WE lost Uncle Ben. That was when we made a promise to do something good with the hand of fate dealt us. Things  I wouldn't joke about even if I knew how.

Which brings us to what we are now

____________________________________________________________________________

“With great power comes great responsibility. Good words from a good man” I looked down. Even if Uncle Ben wasn’t really my Uncle, he still treated me like I was his niece whenever I came over to Peter’s. 

“Uncle Ben was the best,” I saw Spiderman look away glaring at the sidewalk. 

“It's been what? A year now?” 

 “It would’ve been his birthday today” I sadly mentioned as I looked down at my brown boots that seemed more interesting at the moment. 

“You two honored it doing what you do. Now I'm offering you the chance to do better. To really learn about responsibility.” 

“Translation?” Spidey asked growing curious I'm guessing since he’s now looking at Nick. 

“I want to S.H.I.E.L.D. train you to be a better Spider-Man and Mistress. The Ultimate Spider-Man and Mistress”

 “And how Ultimate is Ultimate?” I saw Trapster running away behind Nick but before I could do anything Nick had shot his gun high hitting a pole which knocks down on Trapster knocking him out.

 “That Ultimate”

“Sweet”

 “Cool,” Soon Peter’s phone rang and he checked to see it was MJ calling. 

“Seems I got to put my Ultimate phone into Ultimate vibrate, hehe” 

“Your tech needs to upgrade” Nick placed a new web shooter on Peter’s wrist. “S.H.I.E.L.D. tech guys developed this next-gen web shooter”

 “Too big, too clunky” Nick stuck his hand out. “I didn’t say no”  That obviously meant he liked it but had too much of an ego to admit it.

“With your talent and my training, you can learn to be a better heroes. The next Cap, the next Iron Man, one of the greats” I’m pretty used to people saying  I would be the next Iron Man or Tony Stark since I am his only daughter or family but I can tell by the way Peter’s eyes shined, he was more than honored to hear it but again hid it with a ‘cool’ act. 

“Thanks for the offer, but I'm not allowed to talk to strangers. Have a nice life okay. Cool?”  Peter swung away as Nick and I shook our heads.

“Teenagers” 

“Correction. Teenage boys” Nick nodded before turning to me.

“How about you kid?” 

“I’m in. I guess, seeing how dad would try to get me to agree with the offer either way so I can follow his footsteps to become an avenger of the next generation” 

“Good choice. Let's go” 

“Wait. now?” 

“Yes.” 

“But I need to get this cake to peter” I brought the cake out from a place I kept it in during the fight with Trapster. 

“I’ll get Coulson to pass it to him after his classes” 

“Wait a sec” I quickly did a summoning spell getting paper and pen and wrote a note for him. “Give him this too” 

“Okay. we must get going now” I nodded as I boarded the Helicarrier.

***

Peter unlocked his locker to see a note drop out. He looked at it confused before opening it. 

Hey, Peter! 

I won't be coming to school today as I decided I would say yes to Nick’s offer (Don't worry I’m only checking it out! I won't join till you want to as well!) make sure to pick up Uncle Ben’s cake from Principal Coulson! Your welcome!

-Maya S. 

Peter thought about the note a bit taken aback Maya would agree to do something without him, but then again she is Iron Man's daughter. It was in her blood to do this! 

“Peter. I've been calling you all morning. Where have you been? And where’s Maya?” MJ stood by his locker with a notebook in hand as Peter smiled at her. Peter thought about Nick’s offer before making up a lie.

“Uh, the bus broke down? And Maya’s home sick” 

______________________________________________________________________________

I hate to lie to MJ. ever since we were kids nobody’s been a better friend than MJ...well except Maya though. Like the time we were 5 the two of us ran away together and tried to get Maya to do it too but her dad had security on her, also, we weren't allowed to cross streets so we just walked up and down the driveway. When we were 12 we decided to finally get serious, Mistake! 

______________________________________________________________________________

“That sucks, anyways I wanted to show you this” MJ showed her a video of Jameson. 

“ It is the duty of every New Yorker to report the actions of these masked miscreants. Especially that ticking time-bomb called ``Spider-Man.”  

“Doesn’t that jerk ever shut up? And don't you find it weird he hates Spiderman but doesn’t complain about Mistress?” 

“This ‘jerk’ is going to someday give this journalism student her first job, and besides, I think it’s because Mistress is cleaner with her messes and less talkative too.” Is she saying I talk a lot?

“You want to work for Jameson? Total nightmare” 

“That's what it takes. Jameson's the biggest game in town. Kids have to be realistic Petey. We can't all be like Harry or Maya. “  As soon as Harry was mentioned Harry was seen coming towards them.

______________________________________________________________________________

Meet Harry Osborn.  I love Harry. Everyone loves harry, even Maya does. He’s rich(as well as Maya), He’s handsome (Maya also has equal good looks)  but most importantly he’s been a friend to me when I need it. 

Since that day we met, we’ve been best friends forever. Well that’s life here in Midtown. It’s okay

______________________________________________________________________________

I sensed my spidey sense before I heard the voice of the one person I never liked. 

“Hey Puny Parker!” let me rephrase myself. Life here in Midtown is okay, except for one drawback. “Its locker knocker time! This time there won’t be no Stark hottie to save you this time!”

______________________________________________________________________________

 If Tony Stark were ever to hear this I swear this guy would be swimming with killer sharks or even worse. And the guy’s name is Flash, Flash Thompson the Sasquatch sized football player. There's always this rigid consistency to our relationship.  

Just once I’d like to turn it around instead of always once again being locked in my own locker.

______________________________________________________________________________

I somehow stayed in my locker till the janitor opened it to see me again before he started rambling on how I should stand up for myself and how he in my age did this and that while I awkwardly walked away. 

Soon Harry and I were at lunch as the lunch lady winked at him before he uncomfortably dragged us away as he awkwardly smiled at the lunch lady.

“Dude, Locker knocker time again? Thompson is such a tool” 

“That's the worst thing that happens to me today. I'm coming out ahead.”  I was about to eat before my senses went off. Remember the spidey/magic sense me and Maya talked about? Well, this time it's kicking up a storm.  An explosion happened behind me as we all fell back and the frightful four-well three at the moment- came in while holding up the principal. 

“Attention students. Your principal has something to tell you.”  Wizard exclaimed as he levitated the principal in front of him.

“ Students. Your attention, please. Your school is now under the control of, of…” The principal trailed off not knowing who they were. 

“The Frightful four” Thundra finished off.

“Uh, there’s only three of you” MJ awkwardly pointed out. 

“Quiet!” Wizard yelled and threw the principal into the wall in frustration. 

______________________________________________________________________________

These guys are bad news. Wizard, master of high tech gadgets. Klaw, the villain made of living sound. Thundra, ruthless warrior women from an alternate future timeline...Don’t ask. And Trapster- oh wait Maya and I already captured him. 

______________________________________________________________________________

“Before the Trapster was captured, he learned Spider-Man and maybe Mistress as well attends this school.  And unless they give themselves up, we'll tear this place down brick by brick.” Wizard explained.

“Yeah!” A student yelled. 

“We’re serious” The kid quickly shut his mouth in fear. 

“Klaw. So who is our mysterious wall-crawler and cold witch? A teacher? A student? A cafeteria lady? They seem reluctant to talk. Klaw, make them listen to reason.”   

“STOP IT!” I yelled angry as everyone got it by a sound wave. 

“Peter no!” MJ pulled me back but I pulled away.

“Heh. Definitely not Spider-Man or Mistress” 

“I’ll crush the runt” Thundra volunteered. 

“ Don't crush him, make an example of him,”  Wizard said as Klaw sent the sound waves at him making Peter fall back yelling in pain as he gripped his ears tight. Harry held back MJ so she wouldn’t get hurt. 

“Shut it down! I’ll talk!” Peter yelled. Klaw stopped and Peter got up and saw his lunch. 

“Listen up. Everyone needs to hear this. Food Fight!” Peter quickly threw food at Wizard, soon everyone began throwing food at them as Peter took the opportunity to hide behind a pillar and took off his shirt to reveal his suit. “This is nuts. How do they know? How did they find me?” Peter saw the tracker on his arm and took it out and smashed it. “Fury was right, I have a lot to learn about responsibility,”  Peter said to himself before placing on his mask and coming out from hiding to see Klaw pointing his sound laser arm at a group of kids. “Dude! Don’t point that thing! It might go off!” Klaw looked at Spiderman as he shot a web onto his arm so it can hit Klaw making him dizzy from sound waves. “It really stinks to be you today. Actually, it probably stinks to be you every day. Then again it could be me. I haven't washed this suit in a week.”

*** 

Maya was walking around the Base with Nick Fury touring her around the helicarrier. She had already placed her cloak down since this whole base was filled with secret agents, who would spill her identity?  “Here’s where we keep weapons and gadgets inspired by you.” Nick Fury said as she looked at the different things that were being tested. Cloaks filled with weapons that can be used at anytime. masks with built in lasers. An invisibility cloak. All similar to hers but different sorts of upgrades and such. 

“Maya Stark, meet Dr.Curt Conner. Dr.Curt Conner, meet Maya Stark” I nodded at Dr. Curt Conner as I saw a missing arm? he soon pushed down his arm and stuck it out for me to shake with a grin as I shaked his hand.

“It’s nice to meet the daughter of a genius like Stark. Makes me wonder if you’ve inherited those genes” 

“She had. How do you think she’d be able to help build the Iron Man suit Mr.Stark is using now and have a much higher IQ then a lot of her scientists” 

“Would you ever be in interest of working with us?” Dr.Curt asked as I politely shook my head. 

“I’m made for the field. As much as I love too, I have a good reputation of Mistress to uphold.” 

“Yes, yes. I’ve seen you fight, your a good one.”

“She’s obviously the better Stark” Fury said, I’m guessing he’s not much of a fan of Dad. 

“Have she taken the entrance simulation yet?” 

“She’s just about to” 

***

Peter quickly changed back to normal and ran into the cafeteria from the lockers -one of them having Flash in them- to see MJ holding an unconscious Harry.

“Oh, this is all my fault.” Peter looked up from Harry to see Mr.Osborn. “Mr. Osborn. I'm sorry” Mr.Osborn picked up Harry, scowling. 

“Why apologize Peter? What could you have possibly done?”  Mr.Osborn left with Peter looking down guilty. ‘I wish Maya was here, maybe then She could’ve helped protect him and...clean up my mess once again…’

Soon Peter got home to aunt May cooking. “Peter!” 

“Hey Aunt May” 

“Are you okay? I heard there was trouble at your school” 

______________________________________________________________________________

I know what you're thinking: Spider-Man lives at home with his doting old aunt? Loser. Think again. My aunt is pretty cool. She works all day. Then Monday night she's at yoga. Tuesday, it's French cooking. Thursday it's bowling. Her full schedule lets me come and go as I please. Of course I have to keep the Spidey stuff on the down low. There's no way she'd approve of her little Petey mixing it up with super villains. At least it’s easier for Maya. Her dad already knows about her secret as well as mines so she doesn’t sneak around.

______________________________________________________________________________

“yes, Aunt May, Those psychos never touched me” I wish I could say the same for Harry.

“You know what. If we had Norman Osborn or Tony Stark's money, I would put you in private school immediately.”

“Yeah, that’d be sweet. Hey when’s dinner?” 

“It's almost ready, put the candles on the cake”

“Cake?” 

“Yeah, the one right there on the counter” Aunt May pointed to the boxed cake. I chuckled and smiled. Maya once again cleans up my mess. I went up to my room and sat down after a nice dinner and cake. It was weird not to eat with Maya since she comes EVERY night..she must be training hard to become what Fury promised huh? Ultimate Mistress... Nice ring to it. I looked back at at the picture of me and Maya from where we were in science camp when we were 11. You’re always there to clean up after me Maya. Not once have I ever returned the countless favors you had done for me… maybe it's time to change that. I nodded to myself and changed into Spider-Man and gone out to the S.H.I.E.L.D helicarrier that up in the air. Okay, let's do this. Put out the welcome mat S.H.I.E.L.D. Spidey's come a callin. Fury's right. With his help, I can do better. I'm done with this one-sided duo loser routine. It's time for me to step up and show the big boys and Maya what the Ultimate Spider-Man can do. I shot my web up high for it to backfire and not reach the Helicarrier...Great. I began falling as I brought out Fury’s web shooter he gave me. Fury's tech boys better be on their game or I'm street pizza. Whoa! Yeah! Okay, not too clunky. I thought to myself as I gripped onto the Helicarrier.  

“Intruder alert. Intruder Alert” Lasers came out from the Helicarrier and began blasting me as I dodged them while holding onto the steel wall of the Helicarrier.

“Whoa! What is this? Blast the Spider-Man and win a panda?” I started webbing all of them before I lost my footing and fell. I quickly shot another web and got myself up there again but on top of the Helicarrier instead. 

“Intruder Alert. Intruder Alert” Then out of nowhere, all the laser targeted me… I was cornered. Then out of nowhere, all the laser targeted me… I was cornered.  I turned to my side to see Nick Fury, who turned off the security system with a press of a button. I quickly took off my mask and saluted. “Your friendly neighborhood Ultimate Spider-Man reporting for duty sir!““ Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D. Spider-Man. Hope you survive the experience. “ Nick Fury said as he walked off leaving Peter there standing awkwardly. “Uhh, to be continued?” 

[johnfkennedyjunior]

The Last week of JFK Jr, a timeline.

Here's an incomplete list of the events that occurred during the last week of J&C. I compiled it using books and this thread.

Monday, July 12:

Morning: Carolyn was at the Vineyard with Carole Radziwill, and Holly. 

Later on she heads out to the airport to return to NYC with Efigenio Pinheiro.

John flew from Martha’s Vineyard to Toronto to meet with Keith Stein. Once in Toronto, Stein drove John north to his offices in Aurora, Ontario. 

John and his co-pilot flew back to NYC later on Monday night.

Tuesday, July 13:

Night: John showed up at a British advertising agency party in downtown Manhattan. Only stayed for forty minutes.

Wednesday, July 14:

Morning: JFK Jr was still in CAM Walker.

John called Empire Executive car and Limousine service of Manhattan to pick them up at home and deliver them to Paramount Plaza Building, where George maintained office space on the 41st floor.

John and Carolyn held a breakfast reception at George for the executive board of the Robin Hood foundation.

Following the breakfast, Carolyn went shopping at Bergdorf Goodman, then picked up her sister Lauren at the midtown Manhattan office of Morgan Stanley Dean Witter. 

1:30 p.m: Carolyn and Lauren were dropped off at the Stanhope Hotel. John joined his wife and sister-in-law for lunch in the hotel cafe M.

After lunch, John returned to George offices and dealt with financial papers.

He also spoke to Caroline over the phone.

Richard Blow overheard John's conversation with Carolyn, which lasted five minutes. He was only able to make out the following, "Well, Goddammit, Carolyn, you're the reason I was up at three o' clock last night!" 

4 p.m: John received a call from Janet Reno’s office to discuss an upcoming interview with Reno for George magazine.

5 p.m: John telephoned Jacques Lowe, and recounted details of his latest altercation with Carolyn. He told Lowe that he intended to spend the next night or two at the Stanhope Hotel.

8 p.m : John returned to the Stanhope after work, and checked into room 1511. 

Ordered light supper from room service, and ate while watching the evening news on television.

Several hours later John received a visit from Julie Baker. She stayed with John and watched a video until 12:30 a.m. She then left, but insisted she join John for breakfast the next morning. .   

John and his cousin Chris Lawford cruised West Village that night, having dinner then checked out some parties.

Thursday, July 15:

8 a.m: John had breakfast with Julie Baker at the Stanhope dining room, Cafe M.

After breakfast, John taxied to Lenox hill Hospital and his CAM Walker removed, he was given a walking cane, and a new pair of lightweight metal crutches.

10:30 a.m: He left the hospital and went to the North Moore apt for a change of clothes, and packed a weekend bag to take back with him to the hotel.

Afterwards, he stopped at Kennedy family offices on 500 Fifth avenue to retrieve his quarterly financial statement, and  bumped into cousin Chris K. Lawford. According to Lawford, John had lost his crutches was dragging his broken foot. 

Early afternoon: He had lunch with publisher Peter Jay Russo to discuss the future of George. They lunched at San Domenico on Central Park South. They lunched in his usual booth. At one point, he hobbled over on his injured ankle to hug and kiss Diane Sawyer and chat with her lunch companions, Leslie Stahl and Peggy Noonan. He told them he wasn’t letting his crutches slow him down. Restaurant co-owner Marisa May says he was in a great mood. He thanked her for always protecting his privacy. “Remember, I brought Carolyn [Bessette] here before anyone knew,” he said. “I hope to bring the whole family soon.”  

Afternoon at George: John called the edit staff into the conference room for a meeting. Then John met with the George business staff.

Later that afternoon, John showed up at La Palestra,he put in a two-hour workout, says a source, and handed studio owner Pat Manocchia a set of keys to his loft, so Manocchia could spend the weekend.

Met with Gary Ginsberg and both were driven to Yankee Stadium to watch a Yankee/Braves game.

After the game John, and Gary ate a ‘midnight snack’, and shared a car home, during which both discussed Jack Kliger, and Anthony Radziwill's sickness, John also told Gary he was ready to fly again.

After the game, John returned to his North Moore apartment to spend time with Carolyn.

Shortly after 1 a.m and by 2.am: John instructed the driver to head south on 5th avenue, because he would be staying at the Stanhope Hotel.  Friday, July 16:

9 a.m: John checked out of the Stanhope Hotel, and ate breakfast at the hotel Carlyle on Madison avenue.

10 a.m: John came into George offices, and began discussing the upcoming Rob Lowe cover. 

John also attended a meeting with Jack Kliger at the George office to discuss the future of the magazine.

John told Rosemarie Terenzio that Carolyn didn’t want to attend Rory’s wedding. Terenzio was able to convince Carolyn to attend the wedding, and told Carolyn to go shopping for a dress.

Carolyn spent nearly 2 hours in the afternoon shopping at Saks Fifth avenue for a dress with a friend.

John returned to the Stanhope to collect his papers.

At about noon, John received a telephone call from Brian Calcagne, director of sales for Air Bound Aviation. Calcagne asked John if he was planning on flying the Saratoga later that day. Confirming the flight, John asked the caller to have the aircraft ready for departure by early evening.

John then got a call from Robert Merena, a flight instructor who wanted to know if Kennedy needed somebody to accompany him to Martha’s Vineyard. John told the instructor he wanted to fly the plane himself.

1 p.m: John went to lunch with Richard Blow at the Trionfo, John was still using crutches even though his cast was off. He ordered salad, chicken in white wine sauce, and peppermint tea.

After lunch with Richard, John returned to George offices.

3 p.m: John placed a phone call to William Noonan, to cancel a dinner appointment the two had set up for later on Friday night.

5:00 p.m: John went into Richard’s office to ask him about publishing a poem in the magazine, both of them thought it was a bad idea, and John returned to his office, phoned New York literary agent Sterling Lord, and John let him know the poem won’t be published.John also wrote a rejection letter and sent it to them.  

5:30 p.m: John was on the phone with Lauren Bessette and agreed to meet her at 6:30 p.m in front of his office building. 

John informed Rosemarie Terenzio he was going to work out, then head off for the weekend.

Rosemarie Terenzio reminded John to meet Lauren in the lobby at 6:30.p.m

He then checked the Weather Service International’s aviation website to determine the weather conditions for Martha’s Vineyard.

6:30 p.m: John left George offices and went to meet Lauren.

6:45 p.m: Carolyn was seated in the back of a Lincoln Town Car en route to Essex County airport.

8:25 p.m: Carolyn called Carole Radziwill and told her “We’re getting a late start, I’ll call you in the morning.”

8:38 p.m: Tower at Essex County airport cleared John for takeoff.

9:24: John flew over Westerly, Rhode Island.

9:39 p.m: John radioed the airport and said he was 13 miles from the airport and 10 miles from the coast.

9:40 pm : John’s plane descent rate eventually exceeded 4,700 fpm (53 mph). The target's last radar position was recorded at 2140:34 at an altitude of 1,100 feet."