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prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years

Text

Secret Santa

For @thatesqcrush’s Holiday Bingo!

Warnings: MANY. NSFW. Sexual assault (explicit about the immediate aftermath), trauma, angst, insecurity, eventually fluff.

Today my brain really wanted emotionally fragile traumatized Barba who has a crush on reader but doesn’t know if they’ll ever see him as anything but broken now. Also it’s Christmas.

Follow-ups: Te Quiero, Just Hold Me

Rafael Barba x Reader

3,000 words

Your ideal boyfriend would feed you chocolate like grapes in one of those ancient Greek paintings.

It was just an offhand remark you’d made at the bar one night in response to Rollins’s tipsy line of questioning about the perfect man. ADA Barba didn’t usually go out to socialize with the SVU squad, but he knew you were going to be there, so he went, too.

And not just any chocolate—no. Real, seventy-percent dark chocolate, single-origin beans. You preferred the fruity undertones of Madagascar cocoa, but were interested in exploring.

That was why Barba was carrying a box of expensive chocolate under his arm that night as he walked toward the 16th Precinct. He only agreed to participate in the SVU’s Secret Santa hoping he might get you, and was thrilled when he did. After a little trading. He knew Sonny would want Rollins, so it was easy to shuffle a few names around without making his own intentions obvious.

He bought a sampler box of fair-trade cocoas from around the world. The tag included a joke about feeding them to you, if you wanted. This year, Barba promised himself, he was going to admit his feelings for you.

Maybe it was foolish. You could have anyone. Why would you choose the cranky old lawyer? But he saw the approving way your eyes caught on him sometimes, when you didn’t think he was looking. The eternal pessimist in him said you just enjoyed his colorful ties, but it was enough to give him hope. The starved optimist whispered promises in his ear that this Christmas, he wouldn’t have to be alone.

Maybe this was the year he would fall asleep with a warm body tangled pleasantly around his as snow fell over the city.

That was what he was thinking about when it happened. The theoretical conversation with you distracted him from his surroundings, turning his cheeks pink from more than the early December chill. He didn’t hear the footsteps behind him until there was a sharp pain at the back of his head.

The box of chocolates slipped from his hands as he hit the ground, and rolled into the gutter. The flirtatious tag soaked with half-frozen slush until the ink blurred and ran.

***

When Barba didn’t make it to the Secret Santa exchange, you worried. But only a little. Olivia was sure he was just running late. Barba was always getting caught up with something or other, either being dragged into a meeting, or simply letting his social life slide in favor of working late.

When Liv’s call went to voicemail, you really started to worry. At least enough to call his office and find out he left for the night over an hour ago.

That nagging worry was confirmed the more you tried to find him, and turned into terror as it became an investigation. The ADA was missing. Security camera footage from a local bodega showed him being struck over the head with a bat and dragged into a van by three suspects.

One of them was identified as Jeremy Jones, a man whom Barba had tried to convict for a series of brutal rapes against closeted gay men. Ultimately, he was charged with manslaughter for the death of one of his victims. He served only half of a paltry six-year sentence and was released on good behavior that week. Apparently, Jones held a particular grudge against the openly bi prosecutor who tried to convict him of a hate crime. And he had made a few friends in prison.

The manhunt lasted three days, and the entire time you felt sick. Every hour—every minute—you didn’t find him was another minute god knows what was happening to Barba. If he was even still alive.

Only one of Jones’s victims had died, you tried to calm yourself. Of a heart attack. Barba was strong. But Jones wasn’t acting alone this time.

You felt sick.

After three days and a shootout with the NYPD, you found where Jones and his gang were hiding out.

You were the first one to discover the basement door, to kick it open.

You found Barba handcuffed to a bed, naked and beaten. His wrist was a horrible red-purple bruise where the metal dug in. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, though he seemed to be conscious. You radioed in for help and rushed to him, holding his head up, praying he was responsive. He yelped at the touch, recoiling from it. The cuffs rattled on the metal headboard.

“It’s OK. Shh. Rafael. It’s me,” you soothed, sitting at the corner of the bed beside him. “It’s the NYPD. We got them. You’re safe now. OK? They’re gone. The paramedics are already on the way.”

His eyes cleared, focused on you for just a moment. He seemed to recognize you—to understand what was happening. His mouth opened and almost made words, but only a dry rattle came out. His lips were swollen, and cracked with dehydration. Tears started rolling down his face, then. Dark, coppery dried blood covered the inside of his legs, pooled on the mattress, and bright red fresh blood streamed down over it.

He’d been missing for three days. Three whole days.

It was bad. He was in bad shape. You prayed the paramedics would get there soon. For the quick-witted prosecutor to be rendered unable to speak, his hair disheveled and plastered to his head with blood and fluids… For anyone to have done this to him… You tried to stay calm to help him be calm, but you were boiling over with rage and guilt.

It was your fault for not finding him sooner. For not being a better detective. For not worrying the second he was late.

Heavy footsteps pounded down the basement stairs and every muscle in his exhausted body went rigid. His free hand clung to you, nails digging into the skin of your palm.

“It’s just the paramedics.” You covered his hand with your own, squeezing. “They’re going to help you. I’ll be right here. You’re going to be OK, do you understand?”—his eyes were so blank and unfocused you weren’t sure that he did—“We found you, and… and you’re going to be OK now. We’re going to fix this.” Your voice was shaking.

It was a good thing the paramedics came in and took over before you started crying. The way his hand tightly held yours, not wanting to let go, wrenched your heart, and you needed to take a few minutes before you could be a detective again.

***

Barba was in the hospital for a week before being released. You went to see him, but were told he wasn’t taking visitors.

A week before Christmas, he reported to work.

A whole group from the 16th Precinct went down to 1 Hogan Place to welcome him back. He looked at home in his office, where he was supposed to be. His suit was as sharp (and loud) as ever. His hair was made without a strand out of place. You were relieved to see he was himself again. But his eyes were still haunted, and he flinched when Sonny knocked too loudly on the door frame.

He gave a weary smile, thanked everyone for their support, and sent everyone away except Liv.

Including you.

Your heart sank at the blow-off. You knew he’d weaseled half the precinct into trading Secret Santas until he got you. That had to mean you were special to him, the same way he was special to you.

Barba meant… more than you’d like to admit. It started so small you barely noticed it—that you were more inclined to go to events if Barba was also going. That you were always on his side during controversial cases, and even when you disagreed, you were more inclined to hear out his opinion than if he were anyone else. Then Rollins had a few tequila shots and started talking boys, and how the perfect man didn’t exist.

When you thought about the perfect man, only one person came to mind.

And you hadn’t had a chance to talk to him.

You knew he was going through something difficult, but that was why you wanted to be there for him. You wanted so badly to be part of his inner circle, like Liv—one of the people he leaned on instead of sending away.

You tried his office again the next day, by yourself. He avoided you, claiming he was busy with backlogged paperwork. The day after that, he legitimately wasn’t there—at the hospital for a follow-up—but never returned the message you left with Carmen.

On Christmas Eve, you tried again during lunch break. The lights were on in his office, but Carmen said he wasn’t there, sympathy in her eyes. He was there. You both knew it. He just didn’t want to see you. That night, you left him in peace. He would be spending Nochebuena with his mother, and you had plans of your own.

But on Christmas morning, you knew he wouldn’t be working all day. Neither were you.

You sent him a text and said you were coming over. He never responded, but an hour later, you knocked on his apartment door, anyway.

Footsteps slowly approached the door. A shadow fell over the peephole, and you grinned nervously, giving a little wave. The deadbolt slid open, then the door chain, and finally it opened to a tense lawyer, well dressed even on his day off in a cashmere sweater and chinos. Dark circles ringed his eyes from lack of sleep.

“Detective. H-hey. It’s not a good time. I’m… busy.” The flush in his cheeks rose, and he seemed eager to retreat back inside.

“You owe me a Christmas present!” you blurted out. It was juvenile. You knew the moment you opened your mouth it sounded like something a toddler would say, but at least it stopped him from closing the door on you.

He blinked. His chin tipped up just slightly in that haughty way that always preceded a cutting bit of sarcasm. “…Excuse me, I what?”

“It’s Christmas. You were my Secret Santa. So you owe me a gift.”

Realization dawned over him, along with the memory of everything that had happened the night he was meant to give you your present. His face fell.

“I… I’m sorry. I lost it.”

His eyes took on a dull, far away look, and you instantly regretted bringing it up. Of course that would be a painful memory. Fuck.

“It’s OK!” you took a step toward him, and he took one quickly back. Shit, you shouldn’t have done that, you scolded yourself. His face grew hotter, and he seemed humiliated with himself. “I-I mean… for the gift. All I want is to talk to you. For a minute. That would be plenty of a gift, if you could spare it. I just want to know how you’re doing.”

“I wish everyone would stop asking me that,” he snapped.

“Well, I haven’t had the chance yet. It feels like you’ve been avoiding me. I just wanted to know if… if we’re OK.”

He paused. He didn’t answer immediately, but his expression softened. “I… I haven’t been…” He sighed, and ran his fingers through his hair. His jaw kept working, lips reshaping themselves of the cusp of words, as if he were trying to continue, but couldn’t find the right ones. The words that would make sense, and explain everything—that would click together like a jigsaw puzzle and make everything better.

“I just thought that we were… friends. And… I was worried about you… And now I’m worried you’re pushing me away. I know we’re not as close as you and Olivia… but…” Your head hung low. “Did I do something wrong?”

Barba turned away. He wrapped a hand over his face, fingers shielding his eyes from you. “I know you were the one who found me,” he groaned miserably. “I didn’t want you to see me like that. You of all people… Because now you’ll never be able to look at me without part of you always seeing me… like that. Like a victim.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is, and you know it!” he snarled, surprising you with the sudden rise in volume.

He was seething, hurting, and you wanted to reassure him that you would never see him as less because of what was done to him. You laid a hand on his arm to comfort him, and he jerked away.

“Stop that! See? You’re doing it. Treating me like I’m… broken.” His whole body seemed to deflate, to shrink into itself. “It’s too late,” he croaked, a wistful smile cruelly turning the corner of his lip. “I’m never going to be whole in your eyes now.”

“Of course you are,” you said gently.

He gave a sharp, nasal huff. “Not like—ugh, never mind.”

“Not like what?”

His eyes met yours—green and turbulent as the ocean. There was a harrowed desperation in the creases of his forehead, the little wrinkles under his eyes deepening. “Like someone you could… Forget it!” He looked away, blinking rapidly.

“Barba… did you want to… Do you like…?”

You had a hopeful spark, an idea of what he was trying to say, what was bothering him, but you were afraid to say it and be proven wrong. You searched his face, inching closer. He looked horrified, like you were calling him out rather than hoping for it to be true—rifling through the sock drawer of his emotions.

No. You had to be the open one. He had too much to worry about already. You had to take the risk with your feelings.

“What I mean is… Please stop me if I’m out of line, but, Barba… no, Rafael… I like you. I’ve wanted to tell you for a while, but I kept hoping you’d say it first, in case I was imagining things and you didn’t feel the same way. Then you disappeared, and…” Your breath caught in a tightening throat. “I thought I’d lost you forever. When we found you alive… Whatever you think changed with how I see you, all I was thinking was how happy I was you were alive. And that I’d get another chance to tell you how much I care about you.” Tears were rolling down your cheeks by the end, drying your eyes on your sleeves to no avail.

He had turned completely toward you at some point during your confession, no longer half-hiding his face. Some of the remaining distance between you had disappeared, too. His hands softly came up to press your upper arms. Even through your puffy winter coat, you could feel how big and strong they were. His haunted green eyes searched you closely, looking for any sign you weren’t serious. That this wasn’t real. That maybe it was just pity. But you could swear there was a hint in them, too, of a stunned, timid sort of hope.

You swallowed, meeting his deep gaze. “And I really want to kiss you now… if that would be alright.”

“I… I’d like that.”

Though he trembled slightly, his breathing was soft and steady as you leaned toward him. The kiss was gentle and easy, starting with foreheads touching, noses brushing against each other. Then lips, delicately ghosting over each other. His were still healing, tender where they were split. You let him close the final micron of distance, pressing the warm fullness of his lips against yours. His hand caressed the side of your face, and his thumb delicately brushed the hair at your temple.

“Can we go slow?” he breathed as he pulled away, though not far. He kept his hand on your face, the other about your waist. “I know I just said I’m not broken…”

“But you need time. I understand. Trust me.”

The corners of his eyes wrinkled in a melancholy smile as he stroked the side of your face longingly.

“I’m comfortable with whatever pace you want to set. Whether it’s holding hands, or… just talking. So long as I can keep spending time with you. I missed you. That’s all I need to be happy—just getting to be around my favorite counselor.”

He leaned in and kissed your forehead. “You know… you’re my favorite detective.”

“Oh yeah?” you challenged, grinning. “What about Liv?”

“She’s a lieutenant.”

“Ack! Got me on a technicality!”

“There’s no such thing as a technicality in law,” Barba smirked, playfully smug.

You snorted. Cheeky bastard.

“Can I kiss you again?”

“Rafael, you can kiss me as many times as you like.”

His mouth melded against yours more confidently this time. More insistent, and yet more vulnerable, a soft groan reverberating in his throat. Just once, his lips parted yours, and his tongue darted out, tasting the opening of your lips before retreating shyly back. You let him lead, and didn’t push for more. You meant it when you said just being near him, part of his world, was enough.

He invited you inside.

If this was to make up for your gift, he owed you more than just a minute of conversation, he said, smiling. For the rest of the day, Barba turned his tidy, tiny Manhattan flat into a cozy winter refuge, complete with hot cocoa (spiked with spiced rum, of course), warm throw blankets, and an endless marathon of holiday movies to watch while snuggling on the couch.

It was the best Christmas you could remember, especially when, before the sun had even begun to set, Barba fell asleep holding you. The worry lines carved into his face smoothed out as he breathed steadily. He looked so peaceful, you didn’t mind being trapped on the couch until he woke up.

Maybe, you thought, those dark circles could start to fade.

#Rafael Barba #Rafael Barba x Reader #thatesqcrush holiday bingo #trauma #angst #hurt/comfort #gender-neutral reader #my writing

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all-that-tmnt-jazz · 3 years

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I thought of this idea and was curious if you’d be able to do head cannons on it because your writing is amazing— how would the turtles react to having a human S/O that can turn into a mutant whenever they please?

Ooh I like this one!!

Warnings: Swearing.

Incarnation: Bayverse

Extra Info: The mutant the reader can turn into will be different for each turtle- don’t worry, I’ll explain each one.

Leo:

So, your mutation never really came up in conversation

However, it only came up because you had (accidentally) been dragged into a fight with the Foot Clan

You and Leo had been on a date when Donnie had reported Foot Clan activity not far from your apartment

He tried to convince you to lock yourself inside, but you figured it would be a good time to reveal yourself

So, you managed to be dragged into the fight a few blocks away, joined by Raph, Donnie, and Mikey

You watch the boys struggle. You want to help, but you also want to wait for the perfect time

So you wait until you’re being cornered by four Foot Clan soldiers, and the brothers are busy

Perfect.

One of the Foot Clan soldiers tries to throw a small knife at you…

And you caught it.

“Shouldn’t have done that.”

You throw the knife back and hit the soldier

Using the distraction, you turn

The next time the soldiers look at you, wings have sprouted from your back, your eyes have gotten much larger, talons had grown from your fingertips and through your shoes, and your legs had gotten longer to a scary extent.

You are a half-human half-owl mutant.

“It’s showtime.”

You jumped off of the ground and immediately grabbed two of the three soldiers that had tried to attack you

You flew up above the city, not afraid to press your talons into their skin

You unashamedly flung the two Foot Clan soldiers into the Hudson, then watched them struggle as the current pulled them

You went back to the alleyway where the turtles were, watching from far above as they were continuing to fight the Foot Clan soldiers.

It was like they didn’t notice.

You dove down into the alley and pulled up at the last second, grabbing Foot Clan soldiers as you went.

You dropped them into the Hudson as well

You went back to the turtles, who had retreated to the rooftops to converse about what jus happened.

You were able to grab Leo and brought him many, many blocks away, and he was fighting the entire time

You put him down and landed in front of him- it was weird being taller than him for once…

You turned back, and he gasped.

“Y/N… That was… You?”

You nodded.

“I figured I should tell you at some point but it never came up in conversation.”

He just looked at you, unsure of what to think

He pulled you to his plastron and held you, then pulled your chin up gently

“You’re fucking amazing.”

Raph:

Raph always noticed you looking at him

Especially since oftentimes, you would be looking sad

You knew you had to tell him at some point, but it hurt your heart too much

You had gotten cursed and your lifespan became elongated

Also known as semi-immortal

And Raph was not

You’re body has been 18 for years, but you’re actually nearing your 30s

That was why you had been so against getting into a relationship

You denied him every time he asked you, until the day he turned 19- just to be sure

That was three years ago, and you started seeing signs that he wanted to propose

And you were proven right, one night at dinner

It was just you and him at the Lair- he had talked his brothers into leaving him behind while going on patrol this night

Things were going well, yes, but you knew the reason why he wanted to be alone with you

“Y/N, I’ve loved you for years. I want to be your for the rest of my life, if you’ll let me be in the rest of yours.”

You started crying.

He smiled, thinking they were happy tears

“Raph, I… I don’t know.”

His face dropped, but he nodded

“It’s okay, Darling. You aren’t ready, and I shouldn’t-”

“I’m not mortal, Raph.”

There was a long silence between you two

You tried to stop crying

“I’m semi-immortal, Raph. I… I got cursed years ago. I stop aging and will die eventually, just later than you because my life span will be longer… Much longer… Maybe even by centuries, I don’t know…”

He just stared at you, confused, and almost hurt

The only noise was your crying

You didn’t know what to do

Raph kneeled on the ground in front of you, all possible hurt gone from his face

“Y/N, how old are you really?”

“Um… 29. I’ve been physically 18 for-”

“11 years?” Raph asked you, shocked.

You could only nod.

“That’s why you kept saying no- it felt wrong to you.”

You nodded again.

He hugged you. You tensed, but soon relaxed into him when you realized he wouldn’t be letting go

“Is there anything you can control?”

“I… Just… Yeah.”

“May I ask what it is?”

You hiccupped- you had a bad feeling of where this was going.

“Age manipulation…”

“What?”

“Age manipulation. I can accelerate or reverse the age of organisms and non-living objects…”

You knew the lightbulb went off in his head the moment you said it

He let go of the hug, but remained holding your shoulders

“Raph, I know what your thinking, but no! It can backfire and you-”

“I don’t care-”

“You could forget memories, people, places. You could forget your brothers, even me!”

There’s another long silence

You see the light drain slowly from his eyes

You shrugged his hands from your shoulders and put your face in your hands

“I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have let it come this far…”

He hugged you again, pulling you off of your chair to put you in his lap

“You’re worth that risk, Y/N.”

“Raph, your brothers-”

“I can’t forget them- I have too many scars and too many memories to forget those assholes.”

You chuckled dryly.

“I’m sorry for not telling you.”

“It’s okay. You were scared… I know it’s easy to be scared when you have such a big secret to hide.”

You nodded against his plastron and snuggled as close as you could

“I love you, Raph,” you tell him. “I really do.”

“I love you forever.”

You smiled- genuinely.

“Then, yes.”

“Yes?” he asked. “What do you mean?”

“To your proposal. I’m saying yes.”

He held you even tighter

Donnie:

Despite loving Donnie with your whole heart, it was hard to be around him while he was in his lab

He had so many thoughts running through his head, it was hard to keep track

So, you often spent your time in the kitchen, talking to you deceased mother

You possess telepathic powers, and you are also a necromancer

You can hear thoughts and speak to the dead after a freak accident you witnessed in your mother’s lab years ago

It was the accident that killed her, but you didn’t know that until your father told you to prepare for her funeral

That was five years before you met Donnie

You were 17 when you met him four years ago, and had been dating for three of them.

You had been able to control it when you were 17, but then when you met Donnie, you had to re-learn

You had never met someone who thinks so much, and so loudly

You can listen to the thoughts of his brothers, too, and you find Leo’s is the most entertaining

(You’ve never heard him physically swear, but his mind is like a sailor)

But Donnie’s is the one who overwhelms you.

“Y/N, you need to tell him,” you mother says to you. “I can tell he’s starting to feel bad- you keep leaving without explanation.”

“I know, Ma. I just-”

“Y/N, who are you talking to?”

You’re heart stopped for a moment. You slowly looked at the doorway, where Donnie loomed

He was totally confused

Thoughts ran through his head

Are they okay? Is something wrong? Maybe they’re just talking to themself. Yeah-

“You’re wrong.” you say to him.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I know. I still heard what you were thinking.”

“I’m sorry- you heard what I was thinking?”

You glanced at your mother, who had moved to stand next to Donnie

She nodded before disappearing

“I possess telepathic powers, and I’m a necromancer. I was talking to my mom- about telling you, actually.”

Donnie looks at you, shocked

His thoughts were louder than ever and were moving faster than you had ever heard

You covered your ears and closed your eyes- like that would help

He noticed this, and realization

They way I think is like someone screaming in your ear as loud as possible?

He thinks, knowing you were listening

“Yeah. I… I’m sorry,” you whisper, not moving

He approached you, but you didn’t see.

That’s why you leave the lab so suddenly sometimes? It gets overwhelming?

You nod.

He gently removes your hands from your ears and you finally look up at him

He smiles at you, almost guilty

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Don. You can’t help it.”

He takes you into his arms and holds you close

“Thank you for telling me, Y/N. Is there anything I can do?”

Mikey:

Okay, your mutation isn’t too spectacular

But it’s a mutation nonetheless

You were a test subject of the first recreation of mutagen that Shredder ordered Sacks and Stockman to make

But the Shredder and Sacks soon realized you wanted to rebel

Besides, your body was having different effects than they had hoped

So, they released you

And you went to the police

But did they believe you? No.

But a few years later, you saw Shredder fall. You saw Sacks get arrested.

Oh, now the NYPD listens

And when the man who “saved New York” was revealed, you immediately could tell he didn’t

“The Falcon” was a fake- you were surprised that everyone believe his story

Then two more years go by, and Shredder escapes prison, and then a “threat from the sky” tried to attack

But it was stopped- supposedly by “The Falcon” again

But this time, you knew it couldn’t have been him

A week after the incident, you saw a police escort heading toward Lower Manhattan

So, you followed.

Well, hitched a ride on the back of one of the trucks- which was easy in your mutant form

You hid when they stopped, then followed the path the officers made to a boat

In your mutant form, they let you onto the boat without question

Then, you saw the things that actually saved the city, proving your point

They were four turtle-human mutants- like yourself, but different animals. Obviously.

As the boat started to leave the docks, you approached the turtles, only you knowing that you shared their status as mutants

The one wearing an orange bandana immediately started cooing at you, picking you up off of the ground

“What a cute kitty… Leo, can we keep it?” he asked the turtle with the blue bandana

“We don’t know where it’s been, Mikey,” Leo had said.

So the one holding me is Mikey…

Mikey holds you the entire boat ride- and you don’t like to mention that you loved the way he pet you

Yup. you are a house cat. Specifically, a calico Turkish Angora

So, you followed Mikey off of the boat, and he kept smiling down at you as he walked

You soon realized you were at the Statue of Liberty

You saw that most- if not the entire police force of New York was gathered, as well as the Falcon, a woman from Channel Six named April, and some Ragamuffin Hockey Player-Turned-Police Officer

Then you saw Chief Vincent standing at a podium as she started speaking about the turtles who stood next to her

She thanked them for their bravery and service to this city and gave them Keys to the City

After a while of talking, she approached them to have a small group conversation for a moment

Then, she let them into the Statue of Liberty, and let them go into the statue’s torch

You followed them, of course

After the turtle’s celebration amongst themselves, you made your presence known by rubbing against Mikey’s leg

He squatted and greeted you, petting you

You soon backed away, though, and walked to the other side of the torch

You knew he followed, so, before he caught up, you turned into your human form

When he saw you, he screamed

The others immediately rushed over, and were shocked

“Hi. I’m the cat you were petting earlier,” you said- rather casually

“How? You’re a- person!” Donatello said- you had heard Chief Vincent say his name

“Yeah, I’m a person who got screwed over by Sacks and Stockman. I got mutated just before he got arrested.”

There was a long silence.

“Prove it,” Raphael demanded.

You turned into your mutant form and sat. You licked your paw, then looked up at Raphael, who had gone pale

All of them had gone pale, really, except Mikey

“Woah- you’re kinda like us, then?” Mikey asked.

You turned back and agreed.

“Awesome, dude!”

That was nearly five years ago now. Now, you and Mikey are dating, and have been for three and a half years

You never knew you’d meet your best friends because of the mutation you had wanted so badly to hate

#tmnt #tmnt headcanons #tmnt bayverse #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #tmnt leonardo #tmnt leo #tmnt raphael #tmnt raph #tmnt doantello #tmnt donnie #tmnt x reader #tmnt x mutant reader #tmnt april o'neil #tmnt casey jones #tmnt vernon fenwick #tmnt bayverse the falcon

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jess-rewatches-prodigalson · 3 years

Text

The Last Weekend (S2, E13)

It’s been a trip fam. Hopefully, it continues for a third season. Thanks for sticking with me this far.

My time-stamped thoughts for this episode are below. As always I reference Malcolm’s mental health. A lot. So if that’s going to be a trigger for you, don’t keep reading.

SPOILERS AHEAD:

0:19 - That taxidermy is creepy af.

0:25 - Ok. But like, this is amazing. Look at Malcolm. He’s confused, annoyed, and a little pissed off but he doesn’t actually look scared. He just woke up in a strange place tied to a chair and the last thing he remembers is telling his father to run. He knows his serial killer father kidnapped him but he’s not scared because there’s a part of Malcolm that is so so desperate for Martin to love him. Malcolm is NOT okay. His reaction to being kidnapped by his serial killer father is evidence of that. This dude is not in a good mental place. I'm here for it. This is bad.

0:40 - Groggy, annoyed, and sassy Malcolm is adorable.

0:51 - This is a woman who thinks not telling the NYPD about that Capshaw phone call killed her son. She doesn’t know where Malcolm is right now or if he’s alive. BUT Jessica knows Martin has Malcolm and therefore - Malcolm is not safe. The guilt and fear is oozing from Jessica and I want to hug her. :( <3

1:13 - Again. Malcolm is in danger. Why doesn’t Ainsley seem to be worried? At all?!? This girl’s lack of empathy is genuinely concerning. If my brother was abducted by our abusive father I would be a wreck.

1:25 - “Don’t get cocky.” HA. What a great line. Although, it’s really sad to see how desperate Ainsley is for some attention from her mother. Although, I do love the contrast between this line and the line from 1x3: "You watch my reports?" "Not with the sound on". Jessica really is growing as a parent. I love that for her.

1:31 - “Capshaw is claiming Malcolm was Dad’s accomplice.” WHY ISN'T AINSLEY UPSET ABOUT THIS. SHE’S ACTING LIKE IT’S JUST SOME JUICY GOSSIP. BE ANGRY GIRL. BE SCARED. BE UPSET. THIS IS YOUR BROTHER. At least Jessica is pissed and scared about it.

1:46 - “Cruel eyes.” Has Capshaw ever looked at Malcolm? That boy has the sweetest eyes ever. They’re a gorgeous shade of blue, wide, and expressive. Never cruel. Often fearful. ALSO the fact that Capshaw looks at the window (where she knows Malcolm’s friends are standing) when she says this INFURIATES ME. I want this woman dead. She is the spawn of Satan and you can't change my mind.

1:50 - The way Dani looks at Gil when he says, “You buying this?” is wonderful. This girl is scandalized at the idea that Gil might be buying Capshaw’s story. This girl is team Malcolm and I love her for it. She's so offended at the idea that Gil - the man who's known Malcolm since he was 10 years old - might think Malcolm is a bad guy. <3 <3

1:52 - “Our boy’s crazy, but not that crazy.” <3 <3 <3 Every time JT calls Malcolm “our boy” or “our guy” my heart explodes. I love the evolution of their relationship so so so much. <3 Also JT is giving off major big brother vibes to Dani and Malcolm this episode and I LOVE IT. <3

1:54 - “Good. We all know she’s lying. Problem is we’re the only ones.” This whole scene. *CHEF’S KISS* Seriously, protective!Dani, protective!JT, and protective!Gil in the same scene?!? All going to bat for Malcolm? I’m in love. This is the found family content I’m here for. ALSO look at GIL. This man is so so pissed that someone is trying to paint his surrogate son as the bad guy. Gil is a good man but someone is threatening his family and that means he’s going to break his own rules. <3 I’m here for it. This is the kind of inner turmoil I subscribed to this show for.

2:02 - "Good morning sleepyhead." I have thoughts. 1) If Martin truly cared about Malcolm why didn't he restrain Malcolm on one of those twin beds (where he could actually sleep) instead of tying him to a chair?!?! 2) Look at how hard Martin is trying to act like Malcolm's friend (not even a good friend). He's not acting like Malcolm's dad. A dad or a good friend wouldn't leave a guy who just suffered from an embolism alone and tied to a chair. They'd take him to a hospital, obviously that was out of the question here. So for the sake of this comparison, a good friend/dad would have put Malcolm on the bed, gotten some warm blankets for him, made sure water was close by, and stayed with him until he woke up - to you know, MAKE SURE HE'S STILL BREATHING?!?! BUT not Martin, this dude just waltzes into the room and delivers a mildly condescending yet cheery rendition of "good morning sleepyhead" almost as though Malcolm's unconscious state was a burden to Martin. Even though Malcolm was unconscious because MARTIN DRUGGED HIM (also not good!Dad behaviour).

2:04 - "You drugged me?!?" This breaks my heart. After everything, Malcolm is still surprised (and rightfully annoyed) that his father drugged him. Malcolm knows that Martin is a bad man. He knows Martin has drugged him before. He knows he shouldn't trust Martin but after everything there's still a part of Malcolm desperate to believe that Martin loves him. PLUS one of the last memories Malcolm has before he woke up in this motel is of Martin saving his life. Malcolm was giving in to the "maybe Dad really does love me" mentality. It's heartbreaking and I want to give Malcolm a hug.

2:23 - I find this whole exchange so upsetting yet interesting. Both Malcolm and Martin are being openly hostile to each other. Usually, Malcolm is civil to Martin but right now, Martin is NOT chained to a wall and Malcolm is acting like an argumentative and whiny teenager (and rightfully so but still not a safe move). Martin is matching Malcolm’s mood. Martin is engaging in Malcolm’s frustration with an off-putting amount of cheer. I honestly believe Martin is just ecstatic that he’s been given an opportunity to ‘be a father’ again. There’s also a part of me that is completely convinced that Martin was already hatching his plan to have Malcolm kill him. Why would he do that? My answer: 1) Martin doesn’t want to go back to prison, 2) To finally get revenge on Malcolm for turning him in in 1998, 3) he’s a predatory psychopath and he saw an opportunity to screw with someone, 4) Martin is pissed off that Malcolm keeps trying to distance himself from Martin. Martin see’s it as betrayal and he wants to make Malcolm suffer.

2:25 - THIS. IS. AMAZING. The way Malcolm immediately panics and tries to escape Martin when the switchblade comes out is incredible. You can see Malcolm’s perspective shift. We actually see it flip back and forth all episode. Half the time, Malcolm is a little boy desperately trying to convince himself that Martin has changed and that Martin loves him. The other half of the time, Malcolm is a logical and educated adult who knows Martin is a dangerous killer who is trying to manipulate him. It’s such a compelling dichotomy.

2:44 - “We are the victims here Malcolm.” I absolutely believe that Martin believes this statement. HOWEVER, I also think he’s using the situation to his advantage in an attempt to sway Malcolm’s trust in him.

2:52 - “You’re in a pickle.” This infuriates me. Martin does NOT love or care about Malcolm. What Martin does love - is what Malcolm does for him. ie. Providing him a connection to the real world (visiting him in prison), giving him an outlet for his attention-seeking needs, giving him a plaything to manipulate. Martin views Malcolm as a pet NOT a person and NOT a son. That kills me.

2:55 - “I need to call Gil.” <3 <3 This is absolutely beautiful and terrifyingly stupid. Beautiful because Malcolm is in trouble and his knee-jerk reaction is “Gil can help. I trust Gil. Gil loves me. He’ll listen. He’ll help.” <3 <3 So precious. It’s scary though because it’s no secret that Martin views Gil as a threat to his family. This will make Martin more determined to manipulate Malcolm. Because again, Martin views everything as possessions. He doesn’t actually love Malcolm, Ainsley, and Jessica. He loves the idea of them and what he can do with them. He doesn’t actually care about them though. He only cares about their wellbeing to the extent of how it will affect him. (SIDE NOTE: I’m honestly crushed that we didn’t get a proper Gil+Martin face off during this finale.)

2:58 - “Gil’s great and all.” This man speaketh from his ass. He hates Gil. This is some damn fine manipulation. He’s interaction with Malcolm in a way he knows Malcolm will have a positive reaction. I respect it. It also makes my blood boil (out of love for Malcolm).

3:05 - “Who would you believe?” This hurts. Look at how absolutely crushed Malcolm looks. Malcolm knows no one will believe him. Why would they? He’s the son of a serial killer with well documented mental health issues and well documented issues with rule-following. It’s common knowledge that he’s an intense and weird dude. And it’s all Martin’s fault.

3:07 - “Can we talk?” I’m impressed. First, Martin complements the man he knows Malcolm respects more than anything. Then, he appeals to Malcolm’s insecurities and fears of being ‘The Surgeon’s son’. He does it all calmly, in a comforting tone of voice. This is manipulation at its finest.

3:17 - “You look ridiculous.” This is Malcolm fully aware that Martin just tried to manipulate him. It still hurt Malcolm because those fears about no one believing him are completely rational and a very logical outcome of the scenario but at least Malcolm is aware of Martin’s game.

3:30 - “I’m Clare.” .....Clare = Claremont. Did Martin do that subconsciously or is he aware? I can totally see him accidentally picking that name because after 20 years he’s begun to define himself as a part of the Claremont institution. He’s almost trying to maintain that link to the life he’s become accustom to.

3:35 - “Too insane.” Holy shit. Malcolm sassing Martin is 1) hilarious but 2) super scary because I just keep waiting for Martin to snap and hurt Malcolm for his “disrespectful and ungrateful behaviour”. Malcolm really has no fear in this scene and I’m scared for what that means for his mental state. It’s not good. That much I know.

3:45 - “I’m not your friend.” This broke my heart. Malcolm is so upset as he delivers this little outburst. He can see that Martin is trying to act like his friend instead of a loving father. It’s killing the little boy inside of Malcolm. It’s also frustrating for Malcolm because he wants so badly to do the right thing (turn Martin in) but he also just wants his dad to act like a real dad.

3:55 - The fear in Malcolm’s eyes when Martin brings the knife back out. <3 Gorgeous.

4:00 - The trepidation in Malcolm’s face as Martin cuts him loose. <3 ALSO, “I didn’t kill you. That’s gotta count for something.” why the hell should that count for something now? Martin tried to kill a 10 year old Malcolm. That should be the end. Any FATHER who tries to kill his 10 year old son (no matter what the kid may have done) is a garbage human and that child should never be told he has to forgive, trust, or have a relationship with his father. On some level Malcolm knows this BUT he’s also desperately trying to convince himself that Martin is a changed man.

4:12 - WTF Ainsley? This scene genuinely makes me believe Ainsley has been somehow involved in this whole prison break scheme. Or at least, she’s been in contact with Martin since the escape.

4:43 - “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Okay. Fine. Ainsley is finally showing a bit of fear here. But is it because of the Woodsman? Something tells me Martin has gotten into Ainsley’s head and Ainsely genuinely believes that Malcolm is safe with Martin. The Woodsman changes things though. Maybe the Woodsman was a variable Ainsley wasn’t expecting or didn’t plan with Martin.

5:00 - “Why are we in Vermont?” First of all - there’s something precious about the way this line was delivered. Secondly, why is Malcolm eating? Doesn’t most food make him sick (1x1)? This is a high stress situation - presumably he’d be too nauseous/stressed to eat right now.

5:15 - “That dream’s as dead as your 23 victims.” hahahaha ZING. This line actually hurts though. It’s not just Martin’s dream that’s dead. Malcolm’s is too. Presumably Malcolm has a fantasy somewhere in the back of his mind where he’s happily married with children. Hell, maybe his children visit their grandparents every weekend for Sunday brunch? But Malcolm probably doesn’t actually think he can have kids or a spouse because he’s terrified of what kind of a father and husband he’d be. That’s Martin’s fault. Martin has doomed Malcolm to avoid the deep, meaningful relationships in life that Malcolm clearly craves.

5:25 - “I’m absolutely right” The anger in Malcolm’s voice is incredible and concerning. On one hand, it’s great that he’s being honest with Martin. He’s making Martin work for his trust and he’s communicating that Martin ruined certain aspects of Malcolm’s life. On the other hand, this boy has no sense of self-preservation. He’s provoking a predatory psychopath. He’s almost begging Martin to hurt him. I’m terrified at what that means for Malcolm’s mental health.

5:35 - “Don’t you ever think it’s possible that I changed?” Look at Martin’s big stupid face. He doesn’t believe that he’s changed. He’s just trying to manipulate Malcolm. Martin doesn’t view Malcolm as a son. Just as a plaything.

5:55 - “You want to find a missing woman. That’s your brilliant plan?” It’s an excellent plan. It’s a plan Martin knows Malcolm won’t be able to deny. Martin has observed Malcolm’s obsession with understanding serial killers for 23 years. Martin has watched Malcolm torture himself to save the victims of serial killers. Martin knows this is the one plan that will (at least temporarily) stop Malcolm from turning him in. Malcolm’s need to help other people is stronger than his need to help himself. So again, Martin is a shitty father.

6:19 - “I worked the Woodsman case at the bureau for years.” Of course he did. $100 bucks says Martin knew that and he planned this out before his escape. Capshaw was an inconvenient hiccup in the plan but he was always going to kidnap Malcolm and try to manipulate Malcolm into becoming his partner in crime.

6:42 - “Someone who’s not going to call Gil Arroyo the first chance he gets.” Damn. Martin feels threatened by Gil’s relationship with Malcolm. Which is why an escaped!Martin and Gil showdown would’ve made my year.

6:46 - How convenient that Jeannie is from New York.

6:52 - “But we could save her. Together.” Ugh. This breaks my heart. You can see that Malcolm knows Martin is manipulating him. You can also see that this is an offer Malcolm can’t deny. Saving people and finding/understanding killers is what keeps Malcolm sane. PLUS he desperately wants to spend time with the ‘nice’ version of his dad. The one he remembers from 1998. Malcolm is eating out of the palm of Martin’s hand and it’s so so so upsetting.

7:01 - Why does Gary look so much like Deputy Crutchfield? It’s the moustache.

7:10 - “This is my partner. Cameron.” UGh. I’m going to throw up. 1) Malcolm’s startled expression melts my heart. This boy does not want to be Martin’s partner in any sense of the word. 2) Was Martin implying that Cameron is Clare’s sexual partner? The hand around Malcolm’s shoulders made it feel that way to me.

7:15 - Ugh. :( The way Malcolm looks at the hand on his shoulder. :( You can see how conflicted he feels. He likes the gentle, fatherly physical affection from Martin but he knows that Martin is a killer and this is an act. You can see that Malcolm knows this is all a hoax but you can also see how desperately Malcolm wants to believe in it.

7:45 - OMG. This is a man who hasn’t been in public for a very long time. This is not socially acceptable behaviour and Malcolm looks so embarrassed and scared (that someone will recognize the serial killer making loud noises of pleasure over his pancakes).

7:55 - I love that Malcolm isn’t eating. It aligns with Malcolm’s canonical eating problems. Kudos for the rare plot consistency.

8:13 - “I suppose I’m a little bisexual.” Ugh. Shut up Martin. You absolute moron. You’re not bisexual. You’re just a manipulative nutcase. It does make me wonder though, is this Martin’s way of trying to bond with Malcolm? Like maybe (whether it’s true or not) Martin thinks Malcolm might not be straight and he’s trying to have a father-son coming out of the closet moment? .....it sounds like a reach even in my head but here I am with this theory.

8:39 - The fact that Martin is such a verbal feminist throughout this show is so off putting to me. He’s a serial killer. He has no issues MURDERING people for FUN. Yet somehow it feels like I’m supposed to respect him more than the average man because he believes women are people with rights? Nah. It makes me hate him more because I don’t thinks he’s an actual feminist. I think he’s acting. He’s trying to appeal to what will make him seem more likeable. I think it’s a tactic he uses to soften Malcolm to his manipulation.

8:48 - “I worked this case for years. Almost lost my mind over it.”........okay so I want more details on this. Did the FBI take him off the case? Did he stop working the case because he was fired? Did Gil watch Malcolm become consumed by the case and beg him to take himself off the case?

8:52 - “I called every number at the FBI. You wanted nothing to do with me.” I hate Martin. He’s trying to blame Malcolm. He’s suggesting that more women could have been saved from the Woodsman if Malcolm hadn’t been ignoring Martin while he worked for the FBI. Martin is actually implying that the Woodsman could have been caught years ago if Malcolm wasn’t such a bad son.

8:57 - “...such anger issues. Still do.” I’m going to punch him. I hate Martin. He’s mentally torturing our mental-fragile baby and he’s having fun doing it. Malcolm looks absolutely wrecked and my heart is shattering. Someone needs to give Malcolm a hug. Yesterday.

8:59 - This moment has been giffed but damn is it worth pointing out again. The way Malcolm is self-soothing with his left hand while his right hand shakes is gorgeous. It really shows the depth of Malcolm’s inner conflict. I’m in love with this moment. Give Tom Payne an Emmy. Please.

9:13 - “There’s no time, my boy.” Every word that comes out of Martin’s mouth is calculated and manipulative. He has Malcolm exactly where he wants him and I hate it.

10:05 - I’m 90% sure Martin already knows who the Woodsman is. He’s just playing dumb so he can screw with Malcolm’s head for longer.

10:17 - YES MALCOLM. Stand up to Martin. I love it. It also makes me worry about Malcolm’s mental health but I think we can all agree that Malcolm’s been on a downward spiral for months. At this point, our boy is not going to start improving his mental state until he hits rock bottom.

10:19 - Martin actually looks shocked when Malcolm demands he earn his trust. Like it never occurred to him that Malcolm might be willing to rebuild the trust to begin with.

10:30 - This whole scene between Gil and Ruiz is genuinely one of my top scenes of this episode (maybe even of the season). “The media will crucify him” “You might as well issue a shoot on sight order” “This isn’t a joke” “He has his demons but he’s not his father.” “I’ll stake my career on it.” This is one of the purest Papa!Gil scenes of the season and Malcolm isn’t even present. I love how Gil is literally willing to put his entire career on the line for Malcolm. I love how Gil is fighting for Malcolm in a public setting. Look at how the whole precinct watches the exchange. Gil is putting himself on the line in front of an entire precinct of people who respect him out of love for Malcolm. <3 <3 <3

10:47 - “If he’s still alive.” If. Gil is terrified. Gil is losing hope. This isn’t like Watkins. Gil knows how desperately Malcolm wants Martin’s love and Gil knows that compromises Malcolm’s ability to profile his way out of a dangerous situation. Gil knows that Martin will kill Malcolm. Maybe not today, this week, or this year but it’s part of Martin’s plan. Gil knows that even if Martin doesn’t kill Malcolm - he’s capable of taking Malcolm away forever. Maybe by going on the run but maybe just because he tormented Malcolm to the point where Malcolm regresses to the scared 10-year old that Gil worked so hard to help. Gil knows Malcolm won’t survive that kind of trauma again. At least not mentally. Gil is terrified and I’m in awe.

11:05 - “C’mon kid. Where the hell are you?” Hear that? It’s my heart shattering into a million pieces because this is the type of father Malcolm deserves. The fatherly concern Gil has for Malcolm is everything to me.

11:20 - “Damn his daughter’s smoking.” hahahaha the irony.

11:24 - Why am I so shocked and delighted that Malcolm has an NYPD ID? <3 It makes perfect sense that he’d have one but now I have these headcanons of Gil taking Malcolm around to the accounting office, and the administration offices to get him set up at the NYPD and my heart can’t handle how cute it is.

12:12 - “You brought egg salad.” Ugh. These guys are so artificially in love and it grosses me out.

12:54 - See what I mean? Crutchfield looks like Gary from the motel. I can’t unsee it.

13:12 - Look another moment where Gil is CLEARLY thinking “this family I swear” hahahaha this man is so done with life today

13:44 - “I know that look Jess.” <3 Aww....they’re practically married. <3 Jokes aside, this is amazing. Jessica respects Gil and she stops her plans when she notices the look on Gil’s face. She knows he’s not trying to control her - he’s trying to protect her and her children. He loves them and he’s trying to lighten her load.

15:00 - “It’s your Lieutenant.” there’s a split second when you can see the hope, confusion, and fear clouding Malcolm’s face. For just a moment he thinks Gil is on the phone. Then the deputy says “Clare” and Malcolm’s expression transforms into one of annoyance and disgust.

15:20 - “I didn’t have a credit card.” BAHAHAHAHAHA can we all just agree that talking about porn with your adult children is gross?

15:27 - This. Is. The. Worst. Thing. That. Could. Happen. The headline says “Son of Martin Whitly” and then later we find out Malcolm BRIGHT is on a wanted poster. Malcolm’s privacy from the press has been compromised. His life has been compromised. Nothing will ever be the same. This is bad for Malcolm’s already fragile mental health. His flimsy sense of safety has been forcibly removed and the public is going to crucify him again. Just for being Martin Whitly’s son. People are going to Google him. They’re going to find out he went to Harvard, that he was fired from the FBI, that he has mental health problems (although, Ainsley already exposed that).

15:52 - Damn. It should be illegal for someone’s wanted picture to be that attractive (and I say that as an asexual).

16:00 - “You need a minute?” I love LOVE this interaction between JT and Dani. You can see that JT is a little unsure of how to talk to Dani because he loves her like a little sister and he knows she loves Bright. It’s adorable. <3 Big brother JT is my favourite JT.

16:17 - “I like the guy.” UGH. I’m going to go sob in the corner. <3 <3 This line is AMAZING for two (2) reasons. 1) JT is admitting that he likes Malcolm. The bromance is real and I’m here for it. 2) This is JT subtly telling Dani that he knows she likes Bright as more than a friend and it’s not a bad thing. Malcolm isn’t a bad person and he can understand why she’s attracted to the annoying little dude. <3

16:35 - Why is Ainsley working with Dani and JT? Does she actually want to find them? I still think she’s somehow involved in this.

16:48 - “Did you steal this truck?!?” Good boy Malcolm. Don’t trust him.

17:05 - Martin’s biggest mistake: he underestimated how devoted Malcolm is to his ‘mission’. He wasn’t able to manipulate and subdue Malcolm as quickly as he would’ve liked and now his plan is unravelling because Malcolm is snapping out of his ‘Martin might be good’ trance.

17:19 - “I’m calling Gil. I should’ve known.” <3 I have no words. Just joy.

17:45 - “I do not want my son getting killed because of it.” LIES. Martin tried to kill Malcolm because of it when Malcolm was 10 years old. Martin didn’t care when Malcolm was bullied, shunned, and literally locked in a closet because of Martin. Martin didn’t care that the weight of his crimes destroyed his son’s childhood and continued mental health. Martin. Doesn’t. Care. The problem? Malcolm so so desperately wants to believe that Martin cares about him. You can convince yourself of almost anything if you want to badly enough.

18:13 - Annnnnd Martin’s plan is back on. He’s lied his way back into Malcolm’s tentative good graces and the manipulation is still in full force.

18:18 - The parallel that Martin is going on a stakeout with Malcolm right now and the fact that Gil used to take Malcolm on stakeouts as a kid is overwhelming. Do you think Martin knew about those stakeouts? Is this Martin’s way of trying to prove to Malcolm that he’s a better father than Gil?

18:33 - I DO NOT LIKE THIS. I DO NOT LIKE THIS. I DO NOT LIKE THIS. Capshaw is crazy and I don’t like her alone with my queen Jessica. #stressed

18:37 - “Believe me, I understand.” Ugh. Someone (preferably Gil) hug Jessica. This woman has been repressing her emotions for too long. :(

18:56 - Ooooooooohhhhhh Capshaw just made the biggest mistake of her life. This woman is actively trying to convince the world that Malcolm is just like Martin Whitly and then she said as much to his mother’s FACE. I’m here for the lady fight. Say what you want, but vicious girl fights are so much more entertaining than dudes who just hit each other.

19:29 - Bitch. Jessica regularly mixes pills with alcohol. Research your victim, moron. This isn’t going to work.

19:56 - “You. Always you.” .....isn’t that what Malcolm said to Eve? Ew. ALSO the way Martin dismisses Malcolm’s admittance is very upsetting. If he wanted to prove that he’s a good father he should really pretend to care. At least a little.

20:25 - As far as Martin is concerned, this is a victory. His son trusts him enough to let him out of the car - unsupervised. Martin’s plan is working (as far as Martin knows anyways. Malcolm is still definitely conflicted).

20:43 - I love that Malcolm keeps calling for “Martin”. Not “Dad”. Not “Dr. Whitly” (that would be bad on account of the manhunt). Just “Martin”. This goes back to Malcolm not knowing who “Martin” is to him He’s still trying to figure it out. Hell, he only resorts to calling him “Clare” when he thinks it’s the only way Martin will get back in the truck.

21:15 - “What the hell is he doing?” EXCELLENT question. Seriously - did this moron not recognize the Surgeon and his son? There’s a literal manhunt for these two right now. It’s all over the news. It was playing on the precinct TV only a few hours ago. WHY DID CRUTCHFIELD NOT CALL ANYONE ABOUT THEIR IDENTITIES?!? Isn’t it protocol to call the NYPD about this or a hotline? I’m sure it said as much on the wanted flyers and the news.

22:05 - I’m honestly so stressed that Jessica is tipsy and drugged right now.

22:35 - “Back then I wasn’t a good judge of character. Now I can sniff them out a mile away.” UGH. This honestly gives me PTSD. My mom says the same thing. She married an abusive man and now she claims she’s self-aware and is an excellent judge of character (spoiler alert: she’s not). My mom is about as good at it as Jessica. I mean, anyone remember Endicott? Or Eve?

23:06 - “What was that Jessie?” OMG. I hate Capshaw more with each passing moment.

23:16. - GIL. OH THANK GOD. JESSICA IS GOING TO BE OKAY. EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE OKAY. JESSICA DIDN’T GO LONE RANGER ON THIS.

23:34 - Is that a picture of baby Malcolm on the mantle? <3 So cute. <3

24:10 - This bitch is going to jail for a looooonnnng time. Gil Arroyo and Jessica Whitly just heard her admit to torturing their son. She’s going to suffer. I’m happy about it.

24:28 - “Daddy. Daddy.” My heart is breaking. This is a real insecurity that Jessica has about Malcolm. She feels like she’s not enough for Malcolm. That’s why he keeps visiting Martin. That’s why Malcolm was so attached to Gil and Jackie as a kid (and now). Jessica feels inadequate as a mother. That probably contributes to how she emotionally neglects Ainsley. She’s afraid of trying and failing to be enough for both of her children. So she denies herself the possibility of failure by throwing the match.

25:07 - Jessica and Malcolm studying Krav Maga together. Headcannon accepted. My heart swells at the thought.

26:12 - Anyone else think it’s interesting that the picture of baby Ainsley was smashed over Jessica’s head. It just feels too convenient. It has to be some sort of hidden message. Does it mean that Ainsley’s the one who is going to destroy the family? Does it mean Ainsley’s working with Capshaw (or Martin)? It has to mean something. Right?!?

26:34 - “I meant for her sake.” I love Gil. He’s not threatened by the fact that Jessica is a badass. Hell, he thinks it hot. Weak men are intimidated by strong women. Gil’s a keeper.

26:46 - WHUMP. <3

27:15 - This wasn’t part of Martin’s plan but I do genuinely think Martin’s not nearly as scared as he’s acting.

27:38 - Why doesn’t JT introduce Ainsley? Because she’s not law enforcement and she’s not technically supposed to be there?

27:56 - Damn. Ainsley is desperate for attention from anyone. I bet you that’s why she became a reporter. People have to listen to you when your face is on their TV reporting the news.

29:41 - JT is triggered. :( This is PTSD. The last time a gun was pointed at him it was extremely traumatic “I’m a father. I’m a good man and I am not a threat to you.” :( Someone hug him.

29:57 - “But she is.” <3 DAMN. Badass!Dani for the win. <3

30:34 - “Predatory psychopath married an emotionally compromised enabler.” Is this a comment on Jessica and Martin’s marriage? Jessica didn’t consciously enable Martin but her rich lifestyle and the things she was willing to overlook to maintain appearances definitely gave Martin more leeway than he should have had.

30:48 - “You haven’t been in my league for decades.” Yep. Now Martin wants to kill Don. He didn’t need Malcolm to beg him to hurt Don. Martin was already chomping at the bit.

32:00 - “NO.” Malcolm’s not his father. Even now he doesn’t want anyone to get hurt. He tries to protect everyone from physical harm. Even serial killers. That’s a good man.

32:30 - I hated this speech from Ainsley. It felt....artificial? I just can’t see Ainsley actually believing that her Mother is light, kind, and good when she clearly resents her Mother for paying so much attention to Malcolm and neglecting her. This whole speech just felt really out of character to me. It felt like Ainsley was pulling a Malcolm - saying whatever she needed to get the suspect to confess to the truth.

33:43 - “I can’t. Not anymore.” Bullshit. Martin clearly wants to hurt this guy. He just refuses to do it until Malcolm begs. Also, it feels like the show is trying to suggest that this is Malcolm giving into the ‘darkness’ that Ainsley was referring to. I disagree. This is typical Malcolm - consumed by the need to save a victim and solve the case. This is the guy who chopped off a guy’s hand to save his life, the guy who tried to infiltrate a cult to save Andi, the guy who tried climbed out of an elevator shaft to arrest a serial killer. Malcolm just doesn’t care about himself and his mental health isn’t doing so great. That doesn’t mean he’s becoming a killer. He’s not ‘going dark’.

34:40 - “Please. I’m asking as your son.” This wrecked me. 1) Malcolm looks so utterly destroyed here. Anguish is all over his face. You can see him grasping at straws because he’s so desperate to save Jeannie. He’s willing to compromise the idea that his Dad may have changed. Malcolm knows Martin hasn’t changed but asking him to do this will make it real and kill Malcolm’s desperate fantasy of a bio-dad who loves him. 2) Martin is a piece of shit. You can see how utterly delighted he is when Malcolm begs and refers to himself as Martin’s son. Martin views Malcolm as a possession and it delights him to hear Malcolm confirm that possession (”I’m asking as you son.”)

35:00 - Okay. His hand isn’t shaking but look at him. You can’t tell me he’s enjoying this. He looks terrified, guilty, nauseous and I don’t think it’s because he’s suddenly realizing that he and Martin are the same. I think it’s because he just compromised his moral code to save a total stranger. He somehow found it in himself to favour a Jeannie over Don. Yes - Don is a serial killer. Yes - Jeannie is his victim. So, yeah - picking Jeannie over Don is logical but does that make it right? That’s what Malcolm is struggling with. That AND the fact that he just asked his Dad to hurt someone - the screaming is probably bringing back suppressed childhood PTSD from that camping trip in the woods.

35:13 - Another crazy theory for why Malcolm’s hand isn’t shaking. Have you ever been so so so scared/stressed/anxious that you felt nothing? Seriously - it’s like your brain just shuts down everything but life support and your body goes on autopilot. I honestly think that could be happening to Malcolm as a way to cope with the stress.

35:20 - This is Martin pretending to be tormented and I HATE HIM FOR IT. He’s playing with our broken boy and I despise him for it. Hasn’t Malcolm suffered enough?!?!

36:04 - Something tells me that Don’s testimony will be vital to clearing Malcolm’s name next season (yes, I’m in complete denial that this show is cancelled).

37:03 - This hurts. Martin is comforting Jeannie and it’s bringing back childhood memories for Malcolm. Memories of a Dad who used to read him bedtime stories and tuck him into bed at night. Memories that are tainted with the knowledge that Martin is a serial killer. Look at how sad Malcolm is. He’s fully accepting that Martin hasn’t changed and that he never will. He’s letting go of the desperate hope that Martin might love him the way he remembers as a child. He’s remembering that the love he experienced as a child was all a hoax on Martin’s part to begin with.

37:07 - WHEN DID MALCOLM GET A PHONE??!?! WTF.

37:14 - “The bad man is gone now.” Except he’s not. He’s always been here. He didn’t change. He just tried to be cleverer than his son. It failed.

37:52 - Do you know what would have made this scene even more powerful? A flashback to the phone call baby Malcolm made to 911 in 1998.

38:08 - NOW Martin is Dr.Whitly because Malcolm has fully accepted that Martin = The Surgeon = Dr. Whitly. They’re all the same and they all suck.

38:33 - “Maybe I need to work on that.” <3 <3 Yes, get sober sweetheart. Your dependance on alcohol and pills is not healthy.

38:45 - This Gillica moment will live forever in my heart. I swear I’ve never shipped to people so hard while fully wanting them to be my parents.

38:51 - OMG. Of fucking course it’s Edrisa. <3 hahahahaha

39:29 - The fact that Malcolm gave Jeannie his jacket is so cute to me. Just more proof that Malcolm’s a good guy.

39:57 - Looks like the Claremont cardio program is lacking. (I’m so mean).

40:08 - I love this whole exchange between Martin and Malcolm. 1) I fully believe that Martin is genuinely upset that Malcolm turned him in (the dude doesn’t want to go back to prison - fair enough). 2) Malcolm just looks so broken as he listens to his father rant. You can see how bad Malcolm feels for turning his own father over to the cops. Again. The guilt is consuming Malcolm. Very bad for his flimsy mental health.

40:22 - “You made me become him again.” Okay. Stay in your lane Martin. Let’s not victim blame here. You’re a monster. You’ve been manipulating Malcolm all day and you’re still at it. You wanted to hurt Don but you want to hurt Malcolm more.

41:11 - “This world isn’t for you.” My heart is shattering. You can hear the pain in Malcolm’s voice. This isn’t a conversation anyone should have to have with a parents. Especially not when you’re already wracked with guilt and mental health issues that you’re not coping with.

41:20 - “Dad. Listen to me. I’m trying to save you.” THIS. THIS is the show. For two years we’ve watched Malcolm try to empathize and understand killers because he’s desperate to save his father and alleviate his guilt for turning Martin in.

42:00 - “I was a good father. But you, you were never a good son.” ...............this is bad. Shit. This. Is. Bad. This is going to torment Malcolm for the rest of his life. He is going to constantly question “should I have been nicer to Ainsley? Should I have been more obedient? Should I have shown more of an interest in medicine? Would that have stopped that from killing? Did he kill because I wasn’t a good enough son?” Logically Malcolm will know none of that is true but it won’t matter because pain isn’t always logical.

42:26 - 1) Damn. This family is stabby. 2) holy shit holy shit holy shit. 3) I’m shook. I fully expected it but I’m still shook. It was self defence but that won’t matter. Sure, there’s a 90% chance that Malcolm won’t suffer legally for this but there’s a 100% chance this is going to ruin Malcolm’s life. The guilt is going to swallow him whole. His mental health is going. to reach an all time low. The media will crucify him. No one will look at him the same. He won’t be able to go anywhere without people making assumptions about him. He’s going to be transported back to 1998 - this time with more trauma. It’s not going to be good (and I’m ecstatic at the thought of it because I’m an emotional whump whore).

42:40 - His hand’s not shaking. I honestly think it’s because he’s in shock because Malcolm still looks like hell. He’s dissociating. If this triggers a mute!Malcolm episode I’m going to be the most excited person in the world.

42:46 - “I was right. We’re the same.” This was Martin’s master plan. He knew once he escaped Claremont there was no going back. He didn’t want to go back to prison so he found a way to get himself killed (I’m assuming this kills Martin because that’s a lot of blood). No only did he plan to either 1) be on the run forever or 2) die trying - he made sure that he could torment Malcolm as much as possible along the way. This sentence is going to destroy Malcolm. That sentence has been his greatest fear for 23 years. Now he thinks it’s true. It doesn’t matter that he stabbed out of self-defence. Fear isn’t logical. This is a big problem.

43:12 - “Bright? What did you do?!?” ..................It’s been 3 days and I still can’t handle this sentence. You can see the shock on Dani’s face and the fear in Malcolm’s eyes. He looks like a cornered animal. He thinks she’s going to arrest him - he knows she has to. He thinks he just ruined his chances at a happy ending with Dani. He’s realizing all at once just how bad his life is about to get. AND DANI - she doesn’t believe he’s a killer but that doesn’t mean she’s not scared for him. The dude looks like he’s in the middle of a mental breakdown plus the legal issues - it’s not going to be a good day.

I CAN’T BELIEVE THE SEASON ENDED LIKE THIS. I HATE IT. I LOVE IT. I’M CONFLICTED. I HAVE SO MANY FEELINGS. I WANT CLOSURE AND THIS JUST GAVE ME MORE QUESTIONS. UGH. THANK GOD FOR AO3.

I sincerely hope another network picks us up for a third season - I’ll be back if they do. If not - thanks for hanging out with me. I’ve had fun and this show will always have home in my heart.

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fandompitfalls · 3 years

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Prodigal Son and why Living Shouldn't Be Controversial

Originally posted 1/27/2021

After my last post I wasn’t sure what I would write about. Several of my upcoming posts are research intensive and potentially controversial so as far as I’ve gotten on them was to put them in my book for blog post ideas and that’s about it.

And then Season Two of Prodigal Son aired. So what am I doing? A research (not so intensive) and potentially controversial post. At least I’m on brand.

For those who don’t really know the show: In its second season Prodigal Son is the story of ex-FBI profiler Malcolm Bright who was fired for his risk-taking habits and came back to the NYPD at the request of Captain Gil Arroyo. Malcolm Bright is also Malcolm Whitly, the son of the influential and extremely wealthy Whitley family. The Patriarch of the Whitly family, Dr. Martin Whitly, a convicted serial killer known as “the Surgeon”, is currently in a secure psychiatric facility. His son Malcolm put him there. Malcolm now works for the NYPD under Gil’s team that includes Detectives JT Tarmel, and Detective Dani Powell and Medical Examiner Edrisa Tanaka. While not solving crimes, Malcom must deal with his tenacious television reporter sister Ainsley Whitly and their wealthy, hovering mother Jessica Whitly. As well as his father who is trying to make his way back into his family’s life via Malcolm by assisting via telephone with certain cases.

Except for the Whitly’s (who while wealthy are probably not very good role models), the entire main cast is made up of people of color: Filipino, Black, Asian. While the first season was introductions to everyone and dealing with Malcolm’s lost memories regarding his father, the father/ son dynamic, cultivating a loyal fanbase and potentially starting some ships both purposefully and accidentally (I’m looking at you Brightwell and Maldrisa shippers), this second season started off with a bang. Something that might have been relegated to a side plot, I feel, had become larger than this season’s overarching plot and will end up and absolutely deserved to be in equal standing.

In the first season, we are introduced to JT, the by the book detective who doesn’t like Bright in the beginning but by the end of the first season, they’re…okay. We also meet JT frankly adorable wife Tally and discover that he’s going to be a dad.

In season two, months have passed, and JT is acting Captain while Gil is out on medical leave. He brings Bright in on a case involving a justice killer. At the end while back up is being sent to Bright’s apartment for the final conflict, Dani rushes up while backup is on its way and JT is right behind her. He arrives moments before the back up and when they arrive, he directs them up to the apartment. What happens instead is something we’ve all seen on the news this past summer. The first cop that arrives tackles JT and presses him against the wall, baton at his throat telling him to stop resisting. The terror in JT’s eyes is startling as he realized that these officers, the one holding him and the other five who have their guns trained on him are not going to let him explain that he’s a cop. It isn’t until Dani runs out holding her badge and Malcom following close behind, both of them yelling to stand down, that he’s a cop does the office let go of JT and step back. Back at the station, Gil is furious and wants to take it to I.A., but JT insists it won’t do any good and he needs to think about it. He has a family now and he doesn’t want the retaliation. The scene ends with Gil, Dani and Bright supporting his decision and telling him they have his back. JT is emotional and for good reason. The people who are supposed to be working with him just tried to kill him.

Episode two didn’t let up; in the middle of a chase, Gil tells JT to call for back up and what happens is enraging. As JT calls on his police issued walkie for backup, the person manning the other end tells him that the line if for police use only and uses the term “boy” before disconnecting. Later, it shows JT and Dani standing outside the office watching Gil yell at the dispatch for not sending officers for a potential hostile situation. JT decides to not file a report mentioning that he has a family to worry about and he must work with these people. It is harassment and emotional terrorism at its worst.

In the first episode this season, Dani and Bright are talking and Dani mentions the institutionalized racism she’s been dealing with. With this show being categorized as a police procedural, showing this sort of dangerous institutional racism within the police force is both tricky and important. While police shows have mentioned an episode or two of racism within the force, it’s usually an episode and the one bad cop is taken to task by the white Captain and the entire thing is brushed over. The good thing about this show is so far, all the people in power we’ve seen on the force have been people of color. It also makes it harder to pull the “white savior” role as Bright, while on the team, has no real standing with the NYPD and could be kicked off cases in a heartbeat. Jessica, with all of her wealth and ties (or not, make up your mind Jess) to Gil, can’t really do anything expect throw money at the issue. The brunt of the conflict will lie between Gil and his team facing the police force including these cops who “are just doing their job” and the veil of secrecy that lies within the Thin Blue Line. It’s not something that can be erased in a five-episode arc and I really hope it’s not. The racism within the department has been established, it can’t be erased with the firing of the cop who attacked JT and it can’t be addressed with the Commissioner coming in to make everyone go to training to make it all magically go away.

The showrunners spent the entire first season introducing us and making us love these characters and given the current climate of the world, this was a bold and correct decision, one that needed to be addressed. I know there is talk on message board stating that this season is too “political”. Black Lives Matter, is not political, institutionalized racism within the police force is not political. Men and women of color that are on police forces are risking their lives to do good and make streets safer and do not deserve to wonder if they’re going to take “friendly” fire from one of their own. This year we’ve heard too many stories of officers who were threatened out of uniform and officers who spoke up only to be removed from duty. This isn’t a new thing. Nobody should be murdered for living their lives, for sleeping, for complying with proper police requests.

Personally, as a white person, watching these scenes hurt. Watching JT’s reactions hurt. Hearing someone who was supposed to have his back use a term that has racist undertones when said as it was, made me furious. Which is what it’s supposed to do. But this is also a dangerous road the showrunners are taking. There is no clean and easy way out of this, to have it discussed and “fixed” isn’t reasonable nor believable anymore, to ignore it after three episodes isn’t doing it justice. I don’t know how this will turn out, but it absolutely needs to be addressed this season. To the extent of having it a plot equal to Malcom’s covering up a murder and hiding the body without getting caught.

If you want more information or want to get involved, please look at the websites linked. It shouldn’t take a television show to spread awareness, but if it does, so much the better. People are starting to get involved with activism because media and it’s good (sometimes). Television should start a conversation, that’s when it’s working best.

#FPBlog #Prodigal Son #racial tension #televison #blog

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96thdayofrage · 3 years

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Even among the hundreds of videos capturing the violent police response to Black Lives Matter protests last year, this one stood out.

A muscular male officer, in a navy blue shirt with “NYPD” across the back, lunged at a young demonstrator, shoving her several feet and sending her crashing to the ground on a street in Brooklyn.

In a video shot by a reporter and shared widely on social media, the woman, Dounya Zayer, can be seen clutching her head and writhing in pain after she tumbles to the asphalt.

The mayor called the officer’s actions “absolutely unacceptable,” the police commissioner said internal affairs was investigating and, 11 days after the incident, the district attorney announced criminal charges against the officer, Vincent D’Andraia.

Zayer, 21, went on to file a lawsuit alleging that D’Andraia had violated her right to free speech, and last month, the city’s Law Department, which almost always represents officers sued for on-the-job actions, told D’Andraia it wouldn’t defend him in court.

It looked like the city was cutting the cop loose, a step rarely taken in the hundreds of lawsuits filed every year against NYPD officers. But while a city lawyer won’t be representing D’Andraia in court, it turns out New Yorkers are still paying the law firm that is representing him in the case.

That’s because every year, the city treasury effectively bankrolls a union-controlled legal defense fund for officers. The little-known fund is financed in part by a direct city contribution of nearly $2 million a year that is expressly intended to pay for lawyers in civil cases like D’Andraia’s, where the Law Department has decided an officer’s conduct is essentially indefensible. Or, as the police union’s legal plan puts it, “when the City of New York fails or otherwise refuses to provide a legal defense.”

The money isn’t supposed to be used by the union, the Police Benevolent Association, “in any action directly or indirectly adverse to the interests of the City,” according to a 1985 letter memorializing the deal that established the annual taxpayer contribution. But the agreement doesn’t define those “interests,” and the city is typically a co-defendant in such cases, as it is in the lawsuit by Zayer. So even as the city might distance itself from an officer, it could still argue that the government’s legal interests are best served by its employee having robust legal representation.

“It’s not bad public policy to invest and make sure that all sides have adequate representation,” said Zachary Carter, who ran the Law Department from 2014 to 2019.

But critics say that subsidizing such defenses could undercut police accountability by sending a message to officers that the city will back them no matter what.

“The bottom line is this is scandalous,” said Joel Berger, a lawyer who specializes in police abuse cases and who, in the 1990s, served as a senior official in the Law Department who decided when the city should withdraw representation of officers. “It was a sweetheart deal with the union and it should never have been agreed to.”

Neither the mayor’s office nor the Law Department would address detailed questions from ProPublica about the fund, including how the city squares paying for the defense of officers it won’t represent with the provision stipulating that the money not be used for any purpose “adverse to the interests of the City.”

The Legal Services Fund of the Police Benevolent Association has in recent years paid for the representation of an NYPD officer accused in a lawsuit of slamming a 75-year-old man with Parkinson’s disease against the hood of a car after the man talked back to the cop, and has paid to defend another officer who court papers charge tackled an unarmed, chronically ill, 4-foot-8-inch, 85-pound man and shocked him with a stun gun.

The message to officers, said Zayer’s lawyer, Tahanie Aboushi, is that the city will help shield them from some of the consequences of even their most egregious conduct.

“Maybe you’re going to be disciplined,” said Aboushi, who is a candidate in the race to be the next Manhattan district attorney, “but getting a lawyer, paying for a lawyer, understanding the accountability that comes from a lawsuit — they’re completely insulated from that.”

It is the sort of protection that, in the last few decades, has proliferated in police labor agreements across the country, often negotiated behind closed doors, with little attention paid to the public policy implications.

But in the reckoning that has followed George Floyd’s killing, many Americans are rethinking how the country is policed and unions are facing particularly pointed questions, not just in Minnesota or in New York, but also in city halls, in state legislatures and at negotiating tables across the country.

“There is a whole set of what I’ve labeled ‘special privileges’ that employees in other contexts don’t enjoy,” said Samuel Walker, an emeritus professor of criminal justice at the University of Nebraska at Omaha and a national expert on police accountability. “It’s been a very secretive development, and the lack of any organized opposition until just recently has kept it secret.”

The violent police response to many Black Lives Matter demonstrations across the country in the weeks after Floyd’s death only intensified calls for sweeping changes in American policing.

In New York, the furor after Floyd’s death pushed through the long-sought repeal of a state law that made police disciplinary records secret. And last month, the city beat back a legal challenge by the PBA and other unions that had sought to block the release of those records.

But Mayor Bill de Blasio, who campaigned as a champion of police reform, has been criticized for his embrace of the NYPD, particularly during the Black Lives Matter demonstrations. As he prepares to leave office at the end of the year, many of the leading candidates to succeed him have promised a new approach to policing.

Still, it’s a long way from the campaign stump to the negotiating table, and even after the events of the last year, the police unions — and the power and protections entrenched in their contracts — will pose a formidable test for the next mayor. The PBA’s contract expired in 2017 and will remain in force until a new one is approved, so it will almost certainly fall to the new administration to negotiate the next labor deal and to decide whether to take on sacred cows like the legal defense fund.

ProPublica pieced together the origins of the defense fund by reviewing tax records, studying labor agreements and examining other city documents obtained through the Freedom of Information Law.

Like anyone charged with a serious crime, an officer facing criminal prosecution has a right to a defense lawyer. But the deal establishing the city’s contribution to the fund was specifically designed to pay for defending officers in civil litigation, where an officer could face a substantial monetary judgment.

The deal, struck by the then-police union head and the city’s top labor negotiator, created what has become an annual taxpayer contribution that amounts to $75 per officer. The legal services fund takes in another $3.7 million every year from the union’s health and welfare fund, a city-funded entity that provides health insurance and other employee benefits. That portion of the defense fund can be used for legal representation, too, though not in those lawsuits where the city has said it will not represent the officers.

All told, the defense fund takes in about $5.5 million a year, which the PBA pays to the Manhattan law firm of Worth, Longworth & London to represent officers, tax filings show.

A spokesman for the PBA, which represents about 25,000 rank-and-file officers, didn’t respond to detailed questions about the fund.

While the PBA was the first to secure the city contribution, the annual $75-per-member taxpayer funding for civil defense has been replicated in the contracts that cover thousands of NYPD sergeants, lieutenants and captains.

The union representing the 9,000 jail guards who run the violence-plagued Rikers Island complex and other city jails secured a $75-per-member city contribution to their defense fund as well. Correction officers are frequently sued over allegations of prisoner abuse and neglect in New York City, suits that have led to multimillion-dollar settlements and, in recent years, a federal investigation and monitoring agreement. And the union representing jail wardens, deputy wardens and assistant deputy wardens gets a $189-per-member contribution for civil defense, according to their contract.

New York City’s mayoral primaries are on June 22, and de Blasio’s staunch support for the NYPD has made police accountability a key issue in the race to succeed him, especially among candidates with their own ties to oversight and reform of the department.

Candidate Maya Wiley, once a close adviser to de Blasio and later the chair of the city’s police oversight board, said she would renegotiate the police union contract to ensure better accountability. A Wiley spokesperson said the taxpayer money going to officers’ civil defense should go to gun violence prevention or “a dozen other, better ways to ensure public safety.”

Another mayoral candidate, Comptroller Scott Stringer, plays a key role in police accountability, reviewing and approving every settlement reached in civil cases brought against police officers. But a campaign spokesman said Stringer wasn’t familiar with the defense fund provision of the PBA’s contract and that his policy staff was now looking into it. Mayoral hopeful Eric Adams was for many years a prominent reform voice within the NYPD, rising to the rank of captain and co-founding the group 100 Blacks in Law Enforcement Who Care. But Adams, now the Brooklyn borough president, didn’t respond to questions.

In New York, the rare rollback of police union protections has typically come only when a case of police brutality seized the public conscience and compelled political leaders to act. Even then it can take years.

For decades, NYPD officers involved in shootings or other incidents of potential wrongdoing had two full days to consult with lawyers before being questioned by internal affairs investigators. But after officers sodomized a Haitain immigrant with a stick in the bathroom of a Brooklyn police station in 1997, the so-called 48-hour rule emerged as a key obstacle in the investigation.

In negotiations to settle his lawsuit against the city and the police union, the man, Abner Louima, and his lawyers called for the rule to be scrapped. It wasn’t until 2002, during labor negotiations with the police union, that city officials moved to extract the provision from the agreement, asserting that the police commissioner had broad authority to oversee disciplinary matters. That prompted a yearslong legal battle, which the union ultimately lost in 2006.

Removing a union benefit that has been renewed for decades is possible, but it’s hard to do, said Victor Kovner, who served as the city’s chief lawyer under Mayor David Dinkins in the early 1990s. “And hard doesn’t begin to suggest how challenging it would be,” he said.

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creepingsharia · 4 years

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A Month of Islam in America: July 2020

The jihad didn’t stop just because the government shut down your schools, your churches, your parks, and most every other aspect of your life. No, the jihad is a process. We start with some historical context for that ongoing process.

What is Islamization?

Islam: “It’s a creeping thing, one big, long war” (VIDEO)

The Battle of Hattin: Islam’s July 4 Triumph

Click any link below for more details and a link to the original source.

Jihad in America:

Arizona: Woman arrested at Phoenix airport en route to join al Qaeda

Georiga: Muslim gets 15 years for jihad plots on White House, Statue of Liberty, Washington Monument, Lincoln Memorial, and synagogue

Missouri: Bosnian Muslim Refugee Gets 8 Years for Providing Material Support to Islamic Terrorists

North Carolina: Man who wanted to join Islamic State (ISIS), use girlfriend’s “Buddy Pass” to aid jihad, gets 5 year sentence

Hawaii: Man who proclaimed allegiance to ISIS charged for threats to kill teachers and students, bomb police

Florida: Muslim woman who attacked cop left note declaring it was jihad for her jihadi brother - police shooting ruled justified

Minnesota: Lebanese immigrant gets 42 months for sending drone tech to Hizbollah

Florida: Lebanese Hizbollah narco-money launderer extradited to Miami

Islamic - Black Lives Matter - Antifa-related Jihad in America

New York: Muslim invaders call for “death to America”, “abolish the U.S. government” and incite violence against NYPD (VIDEOS)

Minnesota: Muslim Charged with Arson of St. Paul High School During BLM Riots

American convert to Islam runs Twitter poll on most ‘satisfying’ way to destroy Lincoln Memorial...using captured, non-Muslim slaves

Illinois: Muslim Democrat nominee who tweeted about watching assault of federal officer on repeat & “laughing every single time” drops out of race

Philadelphia: Black “liberation” groups demand release of Muslim who killed cop

Kentucky: 10 arrested for jewelery store burglary during BLM riots

Maine: Man arrested in drive-by shooting at police headquarters, assaulting a cop and an FBI agent

Michigan: Fugitive with Islamic face tattoo who escaped Virginia jail captured in Battle Creek

Previous monthly reports here.

Immigration Jihad also known as Hijra:

Texas: Illegal immigrants from Iran caught at Texas border; Iranians arrested for fraud & on FBI Most Wanted List

California: Syrian immigrant (refugee?) arrested after importing looted ancient Hercules mosaic

Virginia: Muslim arrested in home invasion robbed family, fled from and smashed cops... with his child in car

Rape Jihad:

Arizona: Muslim arrested for kidnapping, raping and trying to kill a woman in Gilroy

Fraud for Jihad:

Ohio: Muslim sentenced for illegal halal slaughterhouse and discharge of animals into waterways

Virginia: Four Muslims arrested in cigarette trafficking bust in Chesterfield

Terrorist Financing Targeting Center Sanctions Network of ISIS-Linked Financial Facilitators and Money Services Businesses

Mosque Jihad:

Illinois: Bolingbrook imam forced to resign over sexist, racist (n-word) social media posts

Turkey converting buildings to mosques across the U.S.

Government collusion with and failure to prevent jihad:

California: Muslim convicted in Mumbai Massacre granted early release due to coronavirus is rearrested, faces extradition to India

NYC: Conspirator in 1993 jihad plot to bomb NYC landmarks released to Manhattan homeless shelter

New York: Pakistani Muslim lawyer who fire-bombed NYPD vehicle is released on bail, again

California: Sentencing for man who plotted with, purchased guns for San Bernardino jihadis delayed to late October

Maryland: Obama judge delays trial, extends hospitalization for Muslim immigrant arrested prior to ISIS truck jihad attack at National Harbor

Joe Biden’s Jihad:

Biden Hires Islamic Supremacist as Islamic Influence Operations Target His Campaign

Joe Biden to speak to the nation’s largest Muslim [Brotherhood] American PAC

Muslim Brotherhood group gets Joe Biden to quote hadith calling for jihad against unbelievers (e.g., America)

VIDEO: Joe Biden Calls for Jihad against America Democrat

VIDEO: Joe Biden wishes “we taught more in our schools about the Islamic faith”

VIDEO: Joe Biden will end travel restrictions from Islamic terror hotspots (so-called ‘Muslim ban’) “on Day One”

Bonus: Stories of Muslim diversity we did not have time to post:

Virginia: Honor Killing? Ball Salim Ahmed Ball charged with murder of Reston woman in her home

Virginia: High School - Mohamed Aly - Student Charged for Double Homicide of Northwest Graduates

Virginia: Animal cruelty charges dropped, assault case against Mohamed Fahmy-Arape moves forward

Mohammed Nasim arrested after fatally striking woman then fleeing scene in Brooklyn

Colorado: Greeley police arrest Abdirahman Hussein Mohamed in aggravated robbery at Target

Victories? Or losses due to unregulated immigration (i.e., the Jihad Tax)?

Wyoming: Bill to ban female genital mutilation (FGM) passes despite pushback by radical trans activists

Massachusetts House passes bill to establish criminal and civil penalties for female genital mutilation (FGM)

Previous monthly reports here.

Please share this and other posts on your social media sites.

#Islam #Muslim #Sharia #Jihad #Legal #Law #Immigration #Mosque #News #Politics #Media #monthly

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aquaticalay · 4 years

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Centurion .Chapter Seven.

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Sequel to For Something Greater

Summary: (Y/n) is an active duty Navy SEAL Commander, the first and only woman to ever become a SEAL. After successfully stopping a genocide with the help of the Avengers, she becomes a bridge between the military and the earth's mightiest heroes. But even as her relationship with Bucky grows, she decides not to tell him about the nightmares and trauma that haunt her. Both their secrets begin to unravel when Bucky accidentally stumbles upon a piece of dangerous information about (Y/n) that she must never find out about.

Genre: Action, Drama, Romance

Warning/s for the series: cursing, violence, death, eventual smut, PTSD

Warning/s for the chapter: mentions of PTSD, violence, death

Word count: 3.4k

Note: The plot is heavily inspired by the song 'in the dark' by Bring Me The Horizon, and 'Mercy' by Muse. So yeah, go listen to it if you want to :))) I'll post a new chapter every two days.

Let me know if you want to be in the taglist!

(Taglist will be reblogged)

THIS IS A SEQUEL TO 'FOR SOMETHING GREATER.' IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THAT, THE MASTERLIST IS IN MY BIO.

TRIGGER WARNING! THIS SERIES REVOLVES AROUND POST-TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER. (Including, but not limited to: anxiety/panic attacks, extreme mood swings , nightmares, intrusive thoughts, insomnia, irritability, hypervigilance, and hyperarousal)

Bucky had told you he was going to get back in a few hours— maybe an hour or two. The reason it would take so long was because a few military personnel from the US Navy and Marine Corps Reserve in Brooklyn had just teamed up with the NYPD to question him. They think this is a high level military threat, and they were right to think so. With Sam reported missing, you were betting every military base in not only in America, but all around the globe, was on high alert.

You couldn't wait for Bucky any longer. You had to see for yourself that he was okay.

You put on a dark green jacket and cargo pants, as well as taking your silver SEAL trident pin with you. You also put on Bucky's dog tags. Not only because you might need it, but for comfort, too.

You passed the avengers in their meeting room, as they called for an emergency meeting. You could not hear anything from the soundproof room.

You didn't want to disturb them, so you told Friday where you were going.

"Friday?" you called, "When the meeting is done, tell them I'm going to see Bucky."

"Will do," the AI confirmed.

You went down the basement got in a car.

When you drove out, you noticed that everyone on the street looked distressed. They stopped in their tracks to look at the breaking news from TV stores on the streets and in cafès. A lot of them were frantically calling family members and loved ones to make sure they were okay.

Suddenly, a horrible memory flooded over you.

You've only ever seen this kind collective grieving once in your life.

You must've been twelve or thirteen when the planes crashed into the twin towers. It happened a few years after your parents were killed by suicide bombers in Iraq.

You were already under foster care in New York, under Aisha. You were walking to school then, when your old Nokia phone buzzed and rang with dozens of messages.

Come home

Emergency

You read the texts from your foster mother.

Sensing distress, you ran back to her apartment, where she was looking at the TV in horror. What you saw on was the most disturbing thing a child had to see.

Live footage of planes crashing through towers, people jumping to their deaths and hit by debris while they try to run for their lives. It was bloody and violent, but you can't look away. You were reminded too much of the reports of your parent's death.

You cried for hours and hours on end that night, curled into Aisha's arms for comfort. Aisha was deaf— she could not hear your howling grief, but she could feel the vibrations of your sobs, humming from your chest and throughout your small, fragile body.

After that day, Aisha got the worst of it.

As a veiled muslim woman, she had to fight prejudice for the rest of her life.

It wasn't fair, you knew, that a whole group of people had to face the consequences of something they didn't do, just because a tiny population who identified as they did were led astray. You remember seeing Aisha come home from the mosque one day, her eyes bruised badly, blotchy and swelling ugly purple. Her hijab was messy and torn apart at the edges. It was clear someone had attacked her.

What happened? you signed worriedly, moving your fingers in American Sign Language. Tears started sting down your chin. She had forced a smile and replied, signing, It's nothing. She took you to bed that night, convincing you that it was nothing she couldn't take.

You were suddenly reminded again, why you wanted to serve and join the Navy SEALs Because you wanted to stop anyone from doing anymore harm. You did it for your parents, who died in Iraq, and for Aisha, who had to endure years of hatred for something she didn't do; something that millions of innocent people had to go through just because of their religious background, and how the majority sees them. It was unfair.

A noble purpose, but you ended up with blood on your hands along the way. Unintentional, but blood, thick and red, nonetheless.

The grieving people you were seeing right now was somewhat similar, people scared for their lives and bracing in case of a second attack. You didn't blame them, the missile took out two entire New Jersey blocks, after all, with fires creeping up to surrounding buildings.

Your short daze was cut off when your phone rang. Connected to the bluetooth speaker, you hit a button on the console to take the call.

"Hello?" You answered, your attention divided between steering the car and talking to whoever was on the other end of the line.

"(L/n)?" Said a familiar voice, "This is Tanaka. Naomi Tanaka."

You find yourself relieved at the sound of your old friend. "What's going on?" You asked, preparing for the worst.

"Your squadron told me you were in New York," she said, "I'm glad you're okay. Command might need you in Seattle in a few days. But for now, stay grounded. The airspace isn't safe."

You nodded unconsciously, "Okay. Anything else?"

"No, not really," she said, "just stay alert. And answer your calĺs."

"Yes Ma'am," you told her. You hung the call up soon after, diverting all your attention back on the road in front of you.

You arrived at Nick Fury's apartment block half an hour later, or at least whatever was left of it. The block was completely destroyed, going up in flames. The firefighters were still trying to contain the raging fire. The NYPD was evacuating nearby civilians, and you could see reporters, journalists, and news media vans all around, crowding as far as the eye can see. People were shouting and screeching, body bags on the streets waiting to be transported to the morgue, the injured victims being carried into ambulances.

There were 24 confirmed dead when you last saw the news thirty minutes ago, but from the looks of it, the numbers mist have risen. You estimated 40, maybe 50 dead, including bodies of children too small to fit into the big black bags. Sadly, from the looks of the current situation, the casualty rate was only getting higher and higher.

You got out of your car, walking quickly to the site. You flinched as you saw a fireman carry a wounded young man. His scream of pain echoed in your head as half his face was burned off, boiling red and almost inhuman.

Breathe, you thought to yourself.

As you were about to cross the police line and near the missile crash, an officer stopped you. "Miss," he shouted, "I don't care about your news story. Journalists stay behind the line, okay?"

"I'm not a journalist," you pulled your trident pin out of your pocket, "I'm with the navy." You showed the glinting silver pin and he came closer to inspect it.

You pulled Bucky's dog tag from under your shirt, "and I'm here to see Sergeant James Barnes."

He fiddled with it until he was sure it was authentic, then he gave them back to you. "Come with me, Miss."

You walked three blocks down with him and made a turn to a crowded corner.

It was an NYPD office. It wasn't big, but wasn't small,either. The front of it was packed with reporters, trying to get a peek inside.

"Sergeant Barnes is being interrogated by a detective in there. There are Marines and few Navy sailors, too, I think," said the cop.

You nodded in gratitude, "Thank you."

He went back to his post, walking the other way. You had to mutter a few "excuse me"s and "coming through"s and you had to push through the crowds of reporters.

You finally made the front of the line and stepped up the short flight of stairs, where two marines stood by the door. You knew they were marines by their service dress uniform– a dull green dress coat and pants with a beige shirt and tie underneath.

One of them saw you step closer and put a hand out to stop you in your tracks, "I'm sorry Ma'am, you're not allowed inside."

Once again, you were forced to show them their trident pin. "Relax, jarheads," you played it a bit coyly with the nickname, "I'm a sailor."

They nodded, letting you pass. They did not question you, or say another word.

Inside the NYPD station was a few other marines and sailors, wearing khaki shirts and black pants. Two Marines were wearing their cammies, and a sailor was wearing their Navy Working Uniform.

You counted five sailors and eight marines in total, including the ones up front.

Police officers were also walking around in circles, trying to respond to civilian needs as best as they could, dispatching units and ambulances. You kept your trident pin up so no one would ask your identification.

"Commander (L/n)!" called a voice, and you turned to the side. You saw and recognized Lieutenant Garrows, one of the people who had trained you during your early days in the Navy bootcamp.

"Lieutenant," you smiled, shaking his hand. He was five inches taller than you, his working uniform complimenting his dark complexion. He must've been in his early sixties now, a few years short of retirement, "I need to know where James Barnes is, sir."

Even though you spot a little doubt in his expression, he lead you in front of an interrogation room, where the halls were dimly lit. It was a one way mirror. You could see Bucky being asked questions by a detective, but you weren't sure if he could see you. The room was heavily soundproofed, which meant you couldn't hear anything.

Still, you were relieved to see him safe. His human arm was only a little scorched by the heat and a couple patches burned through his tactical uniform, but he would get by.

It was hard to know if his heightened vision could see through the glass, but when you saw Bucky smile to the side, just a little, you knew he could. You returned the smile, giving only a slight tug on the edge of your mouth. You could thank the supersoldier serum for that.

"Hm," said Lieutenant Garrows, eyebrows furrowing in curiosity, "He seems happy to see you."

You let out a small laugh. Garrows was like a second father to you and Naomi Tanaka in the Navy bootcamp. He was the most disciplined trainer when necessary, but an all-round nice guy that you's get drinks with during downtime. You hated that your reunion was the byproduct of a tragedy, but you were grateful he was here. If you remembered anything about him, it was that he was an extremely skilled sharpshooter, which also meant he had an equally sharp pair of eyes. No matter how small the gesture had been, his trained eye had spotted Bucky's smile.

"Yeah," you nodded, fondness seeping out of your voice.

If he wanted to ask, he did not. An honorable man like Garrows would not want to delve into your personal life. That was none of his business.

"Well, I gotta do some paperwork," he said, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Stay here as long as you'd like to, Commander."

You nodded wordlessly, and he left you there to watch the soundless conversation. Though your early years with Aisha made you pretty good at lip reading, Bucky's facial hair made him particularly hard to read. On the other hand, the detective was clean shaven, with the exception of the slight stubble around his chin.

'Do you know whose apartment was it?' You read the detective's lips. You saw Bucky shook his head, probably telling him that he didn't.

He was maintaining the lie. Yours, to be exact, covering up your tracks.

'Then why were you there?' You read his lips again.

Bucky replied with a string of words quickly that was too hard for you to make out.

Whatever he said was enough to satisfy the detective. He nodded, writing a few notes before offering his hand to Bucky to shake. 'Thank you for your cooperation, Sergeant Barnes,' you read his mouth. Bucky nodded, and both him and the detective head out the room

When the detective opened the door, he looked at you, wondering who you were. He did not ask anything, keeping his head down.

Bucky was behind him, and when he saw you, he gave you a short kiss to your temple, and squeezed your hand once tightly before letting go.

"Hey, you," he muttered, a taint of sadness in his voice, "Sam, he—" He started to say, but you shook your head. "Not here," you told him, "In the car."

You and Bucky had managed to evade reporters, since they were too busy covering the crash site. The fires were starting to ease, but the bodies were beginning to pile up.

You entered your car, Bucky on the passenger seat.

"Sam," he finally breathed out, nothing to hide anymore, "this human figure, they had a fireproof suit and mask. They were specifically targeting Sam," there was distress in his cracked voice, which broke your heart. "The figure didn't want me. They looked like they knew exactly what they were doing. I– why not me?" He asked with a slightly shaking tone.

"It's not your fault," you told him firmly, "we'll find him together, like we always do, okay?"

Hesitantly, he nodded. He was calmed down by your presence, and in turn, you were, too.

"What did you say to the detective, anyway?" You asked.

"Told him part of the truth," he said, "That an NYPD officer requested assistance when he found a weird breaking and entering report. I didn't tell him it was Nick Fury's, or that we were there this morning." He took a deep breath, "The only weird thing is that they told me they have no record of which officer requested assistance."

You furrowed your eyebrows, "Are they launching an investigation?"

Bucky nodded, "The case will be investigated by the government."

You sighed in frustration, nearly growling, "then we have to figure it out before they do. You know they wouldn't tell us if they found anything, right? Hell, even when I found Mercy 21, they wouldn't tell me a single goddamn thing about her reports. I found her. I at least deserve to know! but they wouldn't tell me shit!" You gripped the steering wheel until your knuckles were red, your voice getting louder and laced with anger, "Hydra took so much from me," your mind recalled of your fallen comrades, killed by King-Carver. "And from you, too, James. Project Mercy and Petrov might as well be the last bit of Hydra still roaming free. We deserve to know," you repeated this point, "They can't keep us in the dark like that, and at this point I'm willing to take matters into my own hands."

Bucky look at you worriedly. He had lost Sam, he wasn't going to lose you, too. "It's too dangerous. We don't even know it's Petrov."

You frowned, disappointed at his words. Suddenly, your voice softened, straining, "I have to take the chance— I can't rest until I know Hydra is completely off the face of the earth. I can't even sleep well, James." Your tone was breathy and desperate, clinging on to whatever energy you had left.

Bucky looked taken aback. Were you really not resting well? Why didn't you tell him before? Did you not trust him enough?

"Doll, I—" he started to say gently, but your phone rang through the bluetooth audio, cutting him off abruptly.

You answered it with the push of a button, motioning him to stay quiet.

"Hello?" You called.

"(L/n)," you heard the voice you had talked to earlier that night. "Are you alone?" Tanaka asked.

You lifted an eyebrow and glanced at Bucky, who remained quiet. "Yes," you lied.

"Good," she said, "We managed to track a bomber plane, most likely the one who launched the missile. We intercepted the signal, and it looks like they're heading to Kaunas, Lithuania. Airmen wanted to take them down, but there's a good chance Sam Wilson is in there."

Both your posture and Bucky's straightened, eyes wide in shock. That was an impressively quick find.

"What's the next move?" You asked, clearing your throat

"Black squadron will collect intel," she confirmed, "Your squa— white squadron will be sent there in an assault and rescue operation after the plans are cleared, understood?"

"What about the Avengers?" You asked, looking at Bucky from the corner of your eyes, "They will be expected to be searching for Wilson, too."

"I have contacted Clint Barton," Tanaka said, "He said the Avengers agreed to stand down on this one, as written on the council. The council states that as long as they haven't agreed to the terms, whoever response first has full control of the situation. Besides, they agreed because they know you will be leading the operation. They trust you, (L/n). From what I can tell, after the King-Carver incident, they consider you one of them."

You gulped, swallowing a stream of guilt down your throat. They trusted you that much, huh?

"When will we be deployed?" You asked.

"Four days," Tanaka said.

"Yes, Ma'am," it was the last thing you said before hanging up.

"Four days…" Bucky muttered, his voice calculating.

"You know Sam may not have that much time, right?" Your chest heaved and fell in panic, "And you heard where the plane is going, right? This is the confirmation we need. This is Petrov!"

You saw the look in Bucky's eyes, and knew you were right. He also knew the Avengers trusted you and your squadron too much, and that they weren't going against the government again. They didn't have enough intel on this operation, nor were they willing to sacrifice more than they have.

Because last time, the sokovia accords broke them apart, eventually being one of the reasons why half the population of the universe were turned to dust. Even if they made it right in the end, they were risking way too much.

He also knew that Sam might not have that kind of time.

"We have to get there, the sooner the better," you tried to convince him.

"Alright," Bucky nodded, and this time there was no hesitation in his voice, "Get some good sleep tonight, we go tomorrow at dawn." He rested a hand on your thigh, the slightest grin on his face, "and remember, if you have bad dreams, I'll fight them off with my bare hands, doll."

You felt a sense of comfort roll over you. You believed him.

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meret118 · 4 years

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A federal judge put new restrictions on how the police can use force on protesters in Denver

Trump Orders Withdrawal Of National Guard In D.C. As Anti-Racism Protests Continue

A New Mexico police officer was charged with involuntary manslaughter after using a neck restraint that killed a man during a traffic stop

Two NYPD Officers Were Suspended After Their Violent Actions Against Protesters Were Caught On Video. In one video, an officer was seen pushing a woman to the ground, and in another, an officer was caught pepper spraying a protester after pulling down his face mask.

Dare we believe that this time will be different?

Man who aimed bow and arrow at Salt Lake City protesters charged with three felonies

A man who threatened Queens protesters with a bladed claw weapon and tried to run them down with his SUV has been arrested and charged, report says

Another One: Confederate Statue Brought Down Under Cover of Darkness

The protests are growing larger, calmer, and more community-oriented

Trump’s #BabyGate protective fence is being turned into a massive memorial wall supporting Black Lives Matter

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krystabel02 · 4 years

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Complicated: Raphael x OC x Spencer Reid - Chapter 1

Authors Note: This is the first story I’m actually posting that I created on my own. I hope you all enjoy this.

Masterlist

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It's dark. Everywhere she looked and turned, there was nothing but darkness. Then out of nowhere, a particular turtle appeared in front of her, seemingly out of nowhere. The same turtle Angel fell in love with months ago, the same one who stole her heart, and inevitably, the same one who shattered it. She felt her blood run cold, her heart seemingly skipping a beat. There was nothing Angel could say or do. All she could do was stare at the turtle in front of her. The turtle glared at Angel before pulling out his sai. He made his way over to Angel. She wanted to move, but she couldn't. Once he was close enough, the turtle held the sai up, bringing it down to stab her.

Angel sat up in her bed, panting. Her body covered in sweat, and her heart racing. She couldn't do anything but sit there as the silent tears ran down her face. Eventually, Angel let her head fall into her hands as she cried.

Every night it was the same nightmare. Time and time again, Angel had continued to experience this over and over. It mentally drained her and made her feel as though she was hopeless. Angel quickly shook those thoughts out of her head.

No. Not again.

It had been six months since Angel and Raphael broke up, and six months since she left. Of course, a couple of weeks after she left, she received repeated phone calls and text from Raphael. It was so severe that Angel had to change her number to get Raph to stop. Angel wrapped her arms around herself as she took a deep breath. Looking over at the time, she decided to go ahead and get ready for work. Angel made her way into her bathroom to shower and get herself prepared for the day.

After making sure the water was the perfect temperature, she stripped her clothes off and stepped into the shower. Angel stood under the water for a good five minutes, letting the warm water run down her body as she closed her eyes. A shower was what Angel needed, especially after the nightmare she had. She almost didn't realize how long she was in the shower, but once she did, Angel had stepped out and dried herself off. Wrapping the towel around her, Angel makes her way back to her room and pulled out a pair of black pants and a black tee, as well as a black belt and a couple of socks.

Angel stepped out to her living room towards her coffee table. She bends down, grabbing a gun holster and hooking it to her belt where she could easily and quickly draw her gun, after grabbing her credentials and badge. Clipping the badge to her shirt, Angel couldn't help but let her mind think about the nightmare she had. What did it mean, and more importantly, why was she still thinking of Raph. It's been six months since they broke up, and Angel should be over him. He certainly was over her. It brought painful memories whenever Angel thought about how he left her for his ex-girlfriend. Angel didn't want to even imagine what they were doing right now. In her heart, she knew it would break her, and there was no time for that. She had her new life now, a new job, a new place. Yet, with all this change, Angel had also built a wall around her heart. She didn't want, no, she wouldn't be able to handle it if it was broken again. Angel shook her head gently before she a cup of coffee and walked out the door. Making sure her door was locked, Angel makes her way out of the apartment complex towards her car.

It took about 30 minutes, but Angel eventually arrived at the FBI headquarters in Quantico. Stepping out of the car, Angel takes a deep breath and closing her eyes, she enjoys the beautiful weather outside. After a couple moments, she makes her way into the building towards the elevator, pressing the button for the 6th floor. It took a few minutes, but eventually, the doors to the elevator open and Angel makes her way out of the elevator. She walked into the bullpen of the Behavioral Analysis Unit.

There, sitting at his desk, was Spencer Reid. Spencer was the first agent she informally met on her first day, and she was lying if she didn't mention he was the most intriguing. Unlike most guys who have a very macho attitude, Spencer was the complete opposite. He was socially-awkward and often stuttered, but he was absolutely brilliant. A genius in straightforward terms.

Spencer had three Ph.D.'s in mathematics, chemistry, and engineering, as well as two BA in psychology and sociology. What's more impressive was he has an IQ of 187, eidetic memory and can read 20,000 words per minute. If Angel hadn't seen this with her own eyes, she would have never believed it. Despite Spencer being socially-awkward, the two had actually become close friends. They both connected through their love of books, Doctor Who, and of course, coffee. During the time they have known each other, they've gone on multiple coffee dates where all the conversation was about was the most recent book they've read or the latest Doctor Who episode.

Spencer looked up from his file and smiled at Angel. It was apparent he had developed a bit of a crush on her. How could anyone not? She was clearly gorgeous, but she also was smart, kind, courageous. The list went on and on. While Spencer really liked Angel, he knew she wasn't ready for a relationship right now. They didn't talk much about her ex-boyfriend, but enough to see that she wasn't available to date anyone at the moment. It didn't matter, Spencer was willing to wait for her.

"Angel, hey. Did you see the new episode last night?" Spencer asked as he stood from his desk, walking over towards Angel.

Angel smiled, letting a small laugh escape her lips before shaking her head. "Unfortunately, no. I was on the phone with my parents last night and ended up missing it." Angel said, laughing as she put her bag down next to her desk and her coffee cup on top of the coaster sitting in the top right corner of her desk.

Spencer faked a gasp, his left hand going up to his chest as he let out a laugh. "Angel, how dare you. You have disgraced the name of Doctor Who." He joked before letting out another laugh, leaning against a desk opposite of Angel before noticing that she looked tired, and almost as if she was crying. "Angel, is everything alright? You look like you've been crying recently." Spencer asked, his voice immediately lowering, his eyes full of concern.

Angel mentally cursed to herself. Of course, Spencer would notice. She works with profilers who see every little thing about behaviors. Angel sighed, biting the bottom of her lip. Of course, she had told Spencer about the nightmare and described it, but it still wasn't easy to admit it. ".....I had the same nightmare again last night," Angel eventually admitted as she looked up at Spencer, her eyes casting so many emotions. Pain. Sadness. Anger, a little bit. Angel hated that she still thought of Raph, especially after seven months.

Spencer sighed as he walked over, gently pulling her into a hug. A gesture he'd done so many times, it felt natural. All he wanted to do was protect her. But how can one possibly protect someone from nightmares? It was impossible. He may not be able to stop them, but he can at least bring some comfort to the woman he was in love with. "I'm sorry, Angel. Is there anything I can do to help? Maybe a Doctor Who session with popcorn and your favorite candy?" Spencer asked before pulling away, looking her in her deep brown eyes.

Angel looked Spencer in the eyes before letting a sigh out, then she smiled at him. "A Doctor Who session sounds amazing, Spence," Angel said as she pulled away, grabbing her coffee and taking a sip.

Spencer and Angel eventually sat down at their appropriate desks, filling out paperwork as the rest of their team made their way in. Not even five minutes after their Unit Chief showed up, Emily walked out of her office, holding up a file and motioning to the briefing room. "Guys, we've got a case. Meet in the briefing room." Emily said in a firm tone as she walked towards the room.

Spencer and Angel both nodded before standing up and making their way as well. They took their usual seats next to each other at a round table with a screen in front, showing the crime scene photos. One by one, the team filed in. First, Rossi, then JJ, Lewis, Simmons, Alvez, and Garcia.

Garcia takes her usual place standing next to the screen with her remote in hand. "All right, my furry friends, pack your bags because you are headed to the Big Apple. NYPD is reporting 3 bodies of female victims, ages 20-25, and brunettes. The bodies were all found in alleyways next to garbage bins. They had no clothes on, and there were multiple stab wounds to the chest and genital areas, however no signs of sexual assault. Our first victim is Victoria Duncan, a 22-year old college student. She had just moved to New York about 6 months ago but was reported missing three weeks ago when she didn't show up for her psychology class for a few days straight. Professors say she was a great kid who wouldn't miss school unless there was a reason. Next, we have 20-year old Madeline Nelson. She worked as a waitress at a local diner, and she was reported missing about a week after Victoria when she didn't show up for her shift at work. One of her co-workers went to her apartment only to find she wasn't there, and that's when she called police. Our latest victim is 24-year old Jessie Malcolm. She worked at an insurance company, a typical 9-5 job. She was reported missing last week after she also missed her shift at work. Police say there are no obvious ways their paths would have crossed. They all lived in different parts of the city, hung out at different places, even had different banks. There's no sign that any of the ladies even knew each other." Garcia said as she showed all the victim's pictures of their face, bodies after death as well as the dumpsites.

No matter how many dead bodies Angel has seen, they always managed to creep her out to some sense of the word. Though, she never let it bother her. Angel looked over the crime scene photos of the bodies, looking for any signs of restraints. "Garcia, is there anyone who's gone missing recently that fits the description of our victims?" Spencer asked as he looked up, leaning back in his chair slightly.

Garcia shook her head softly before responding to Spencer, "Not yet, but I will double-check and let you know."

Emily nodded before looking to the team. "Alright, if this unsub has a schedule, we've got a few days before he finds his next victim. Wheels up in 30." The team nodded in unison before standing up, grabbing their files, and heading to their desks to grab their go-bag and equipment.

Angel couldn't help but let her mind wander. New York City. The same place she left seven months ago, and the same place that her first love lived at. She prayed to whatever god was up there that she didn't run into Raphael. With her bad luck, though, She probably would.

No matter. It doesn't matter if Angel does see Raph again, she's going for her job, and that's that. Whether she was ready or not, she knew she needed to prepare herself to see him again if the time comes.

#tmnt x oc #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid angst #tmnt angst #tmntcrossover

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msjr0119 · 5 years

Text

Hold On

Part 3- Last Hurrah

Nobody got injured at the Homecoming ball, they all get separated into different safe houses- for safety.

Riley and Drake had confirmed that they had feelings for each other, however Drake believed Riley should be with Liam. Heartbroken, she moves back to New York. Only keeping in touch with Hana, Maxwell and Olivia.

Riley meets lawyer, Nate Cooper and begins a relationship with him. In Cordonia, Drake begins to court Kiara.

Nine months after Riley had left Cordonia- there is a reunion, but not the reunion the friends had hoped for.

*Characters belong to Pixelberry*

If you are under 18 please do not read this series. If you do you are consenting that you are over the age.

Series warnings: Suicide, domestic abuse, swearing, stabbing. If any of these triggers affect you do not read!

Tags- @annekebbphotography @burnsoslow @butindeed @drakesensworld @ladyangel70 @kingliam2019 @bbrandy2002 @bascmve01 @drakewalker04 @pedudley @captain-kingliamsqueen @duchessemersynwalker @insideamirage @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @kozabaji @texaskitten30 @ibldw-main @kimmiedoo5 @dangerouseggseagleartisan @gnatbrain @walker7519

**Riley’s POV part 2 and present time**

*******

Riley arrived at the “safe” accommodation, not knowing what to do with herself. Did she regret, reporting Nate to the police? No. But also yes. Yes because she felt if she continued to run would he find her? Take it out on her again? But again no, because she thought it would help prevent any more harm to other woman.

Feeling alone, she sat on the edge of her bed twirling her hair, staring at the same spot on the wall in a tranced gaze. Talking about her miscarriage to the detective, made her think about Cordonia. The only ones who knew that she was pregnant , were Hana and Max. They had convinced her to tell Drake the truth. She was close to contacting him- that was until Max ‘accidentally slipped’ that Drake was now in a relationship with Kiara. Slowly she pulled out the scan of her unborn baby- I’m so sorry, I’ll always love you. What was the point she thought? She had lost everything, other than some friends- she felt that they could live without her and her constant fuck ups. After a while, she came to the conclusion of regretting ever going to Cordonia in the first place.

She decided to attempt to drink the pain away- reaching for a bottle of white wine. One bottle turned into two easily- in an instant. The pain was still there- it was unbearable. In her drunk state of mind, she realised one person needed an overdue apology- Leo.

“Hi, Leo. I just want to apologise for what has happened in the last few months. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it. And I’m sorry for any pain it caused you. You and Beth meant the world to me and I hope you both have a lovely future together. I’ll miss you both. I’ll love each and everyone of you- tell the rest of them that I’m sorry too, you’ll know who I’m referring to. Ri x”

That was the last text she sent to any of her closest friends, she turned her phone off. She didn’t want to read the response. Slowly, she drifted off to sleep, still grasping onto the wine glass- the liquid spilling down her.

Riley later woke up at 4am the following morning- due to the nightmares involving everything that had happened; the social season, Drake, Liam and Nate. Her head was spinning, her body shaking, uncontrollable sweating.

Getting dressed, she decided to go for a walk to clear her head. It would be quiet- as it was only early hours. The only people that could and would be around would be dog walkers, she believed.

Arriving near the river, she heard the birds tweet awaking the city, the water flowing creating a tranquil atmosphere. Thoughts running through her head- the distant memories. Riley had lost the spunk she once had; now feeling hopeless, tearful and overwhelmed by all negative thoughts. All the men she had given her heart to, failed her- making her lose trust and feel unwanted. Since the abuse from Nate she neglected her personal appearance- I am not the woman people know anymore.

*****

I walked towards the river bank, not really knowing why I was here? It was calling me- like a magnet. This was my last hurrah as Bebe Rexha would sing, some of the lyrics of the song related to my life.

“I’m done with the drinking” - no matter how much i drink there is still the pain lingering, stabbing my body constantly, as if I’m a voodoo doll.

“ I’m done with the smoking” -smoking apparently calms stress, not for me. I’d have to have a cigarette one after the other and there would still be stress and pain in between.

“I’m done with the heartache”- I can’t take anymore heartache, I am fully broken and are not fixable now.

“I’m done with the demons”- the demons in my head that are telling me I’m worthless, all the mistakes I’ve made. Seems like the devil has been encouraging my life to fuck up.

“Can’t wait to be normal right after this weekend”- I hoped everything would get better, but no the shitstorm continued. I would never be my normal self again.

“I’m done with the drama I’m fixing my karma”-I tried, nothing was fixing it, I need out.

“Maybe tomorrow I won’t feel this pain, last hurrah”- only one way to stop this all continuous pain, I’m a coward, I’m selfish, I won’t feel any pain anymore.

I took my shoes off, and sat on the edge of the muddy riverbank, taking in the last memory of the beautiful scenery surrounding me. Pulling my purse out of my bag, I stared longingly at the black and white picture- my baby. Raising the picture to my mouth, I kissed it- mommy is coming to be with you angel, I’m sorry, I’ll see you soon and protect you and love you like I should have loved you in this world.

Leaving all my possessions on the side of the riverbank as if they were lost property, I timidly walked over to the water. Dipping my toes into the ice cold flowing water, sent a shock through my body. Could I do this, I thought? Having second doubts, I looked up to the beautiful sunrise, looking around making sure no one was there. I had to jump- no more second chances, no more time to doubt. It was no or never. My heart jumped out of my skin as I entered the water. I gave up. I’m sorry.

******

Olivia was still sat with her friend, she didn’t know long she had been there. Time seemed to disappear in a flash. Thoughts ran through the duchess’s head. Riley always spoke on the phone as if her life was good- no drama now she was back in her city. There was a knock at the door, she let go of her friends cold hand and kissed her forehead expecting it to be the others. As she turned around, Leo pulled her in for a tight hug- he knew Olivia didn’t ‘do hugs’ and was shocked when she returned it.

“Liv, she’s going to be okay. I’m sorry. I should have contacted you all right away. I... I think I was the last one she text. It was a goodbye text to us all.”

Olivia raised her eyebrows, Leo showed her the text, looking at Riley then back at Liv with sorrow in his eyes.

“What has gone off Leo? Why is she apologising to you?”

“Liv, did you read all the article?”

“No! Why would I? I read the important bits, we all packed and came straight away behind your brothers back!”

“Olivia, you missed out the important part by the sounds of it. Look...”

No foul play is suspected at this time, however Detective David McDonald has requested if any other witnesses could come forward. The previous day before this tragic incident, Miss Brooks had reported her ex partner to NYPD for domestic abuse. It is known that the well spoke about Lawyer, Nate Cooper had abused the victim for months, including hospitalising her on more than one occasion. Leo Rhys, a friend of Miss Brooks also became a victim to Mr Cooper’s violent outbursts. The man is currently in custody with the Boston Police Force.

“No one messes with Olivia Nevrakis or her friends and gets away with it! I’m going to fucking kill him! Leo, stay with Riley and the others. I’m going to Boston!”

#theroyalromance #choices trr #olivia x mc #leo rhys #riley brooks

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kindledspiritsbooks · 4 years

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My Month in Books: December 2019

The Queen of Nothing - Holly Black

Power is much easier to acquire than it is to hold onto. Jude learned this lesson when she released her control over the wicked king, Cardan, in exchange for immeasurable power. Now as the exiled mortal Queen of Faerie, Jude is powerless and left reeling from Cardan’s betrayal. She bides her time determined to reclaim everything he took from her. Opportunity arrives in the form of her deceptive twin sister, Taryn, whose mortal life is in peril. Jude must risk venturing back into the treacherous Faerie Court, and confront her lingering feelings for Cardan, if she wishes to save her sister. But Elfhame is not as she left it. War is brewing. As Jude slips deep within enemy lines she becomes ensnared in the conflict’s bloody politics. And, when a dormant yet powerful curse is unleashed, panic spreads throughout the land, forcing her to choose between her ambition and her humanity…

Red at the Bone by Jacqueline Woodson

Moving forward and backward in time, Jacqueline Woodson's taut and powerful new novel uncovers the role that history and community have played in the experiences, decisions, and relationships of these families, and in the life of the new child. As the book opens in 2001, it is the evening of sixteen-year-old Melody's coming of age ceremony in her grandparents' Brooklyn brownstone. Watched lovingly by her relatives and friends, making her entrance to the music of Prince, she wears a special custom-made dress. But the event is not without poignancy. Sixteen years earlier, that very dress was measured and sewn for a different wearer: Melody's mother, for her own ceremony-- a celebration that ultimately never took place. Unfurling the history of Melody's parents and grandparents to show how they all arrived at this moment, Woodson considers not just their ambitions and successes but also the costs, the tolls they've paid for striving to overcome expectations and escape the pull of history. As it explores sexual desire and identity, ambition, gentrification, education, class and status, and the life-altering facts of parenthood, Red at the Bone most strikingly looks at the ways in which young people must so often make long-lasting decisions about their lives--even before they have begun to figure out who they are and what they want to be.

Katherine by Anya Seton

This classic romance novel tells the true story of the love affair that changed history—that of Katherine Swynford and John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, the ancestors of most of the British royal family. Set in the vibrant 14th century of Chaucer and the Black Death, the story features knights fighting in battle, serfs struggling in poverty, and the magnificent Plantagenets—Edward III, the Black Prince, and Richard II—who ruled despotically over a court rotten with intrigue. Within this era of danger and romance, John of Gaunt, the king’s son, falls passionately in love with the already married Katherine. Their well-documented affair and love persist through decades of war, adultery, murder, loneliness, and redemption. This epic novel of conflict, cruelty, and untamable love has become a classic since its first publication in 1954.

Dark Places by Gillian Flynn

Libby Day was seven when her mother and two sisters were murdered in “The Satan Sacrifice" of Kinnakee, Kansas. She survived—and famously testified that her fifteen-year-old brother, Ben, was the killer. Twenty-five years later, the Kill Club—a secret secret society obsessed with notorious crimes—locates Libby and pumps her for details. They hope to discover proof that may free Ben. Libby hopes to turn a profit off her tragic history: She’ll reconnect with the players from that night and report her findings to the club—for a fee. As Libby’s search takes her from shabby Missouri strip clubs to abandoned Oklahoma tourist towns, the unimaginable truth emerges, and Libby finds herself right back where she started—on the run from a killer.

House of Salt and Sorrow by Erin A. Craig

Annaleigh lives a sheltered life at Highmoor, a manor by the sea, with her sisters, their father, and stepmother. Once they were twelve, but loneliness fills the grand halls now that four of the girls' lives have been cut short. Each death was more tragic than the last—the plague, a plummeting fall, a drowning, a slippery plunge—and there are whispers throughout the surrounding villages that the family is cursed by the gods. Disturbed by a series of ghostly visions, Annaleigh becomes increasingly suspicious that the deaths were no accidents. Her sisters have been sneaking out every night to attend glittering balls, dancing until dawn in silk gowns and shimmering slippers, and Annaleigh isn't sure whether to try to stop them or to join their forbidden trysts. Because who—or what—are they really dancing with? When Annaleigh's involvement with a mysterious stranger who has secrets of his own intensifies, it's a race to unravel the darkness that has fallen over her family—before it claims her next.

Ask Again, Yes by Mary Beth Keane

A profoundly moving novel about two neighboring families in a suburban town, the bond between their children, a tragedy that reverberates over four decades, the daily intimacies of marriage, and the power of forgiveness. Francis Gleeson and Brian Stanhope, two rookie cops in the NYPD, live next door to each other outside the city. What happens behind closed doors in both houses—the loneliness of Francis’s wife, Lena, and the instability of Brian’s wife, Anne—sets the stage for the explosive events to come. Ask Again, Yes is a deeply affecting exploration of the lifelong friendship and love that blossoms between Francis and Lena’s daughter, Kate, and Brian and Anne’s son, Peter. Luminous, heartbreaking, and redemptive, Ask Again, Yes reveals the way childhood memories change when viewed from the distance of adulthood—villains lose their menace and those who appeared innocent seem less so. Kate and Peter’s love story, while tested by echoes from the past, is marked by tenderness, generosity, and grace.

Well Met by Jen DeLuca

All's faire in love and war for two sworn enemies who indulge in a harmless flirtation in a laugh-out-loud rom-com from debut author, Jen DeLuca. Emily knew there would be strings attached when she relocated to the small town of Willow Creek, Maryland, for the summer to help her sister recover from an accident, but who could anticipate getting roped into volunteering for the local Renaissance Faire alongside her teenaged niece? Or that the irritating and inscrutable schoolteacher in charge of the volunteers would be so annoying that she finds it impossible to stop thinking about him? The faire is Simon's family legacy and from the start he makes clear he doesn't have time for Emily's lighthearted approach to life, her oddball Shakespeare conspiracy theories, or her endless suggestions for new acts to shake things up. Yet on the faire grounds he becomes a different person, flirting freely with Emily when she's in her revealing wench's costume. But is this attraction real, or just part of the characters they're portraying? This summer was only ever supposed to be a pit stop on the way to somewhere else for Emily, but soon she can't seem to shake the fantasy of establishing something more with Simon, or a permanent home of her own in Willow Creek.

Oh My God, What a Complete Aisling by Emer McLysaght and Sarah Breen

Aisling is twenty-eight and she’s a complete ... Aisling. She lives at home in Ballygobbard (or Ballygobackwards, as some gas tickets call it) with her parents and commutes to her good job at PensionsPlus in Dublin.

Aisling goes out every Saturday night with her best friend Majella, who is a bit of a hames (she’s lost two phones already this year – Aisling has never lost a phone).

Aisling spends two nights a week at her boyfriend John’s. He’s from down home and was kiss number seventeen at her twenty-first.

But Aisling wants more. She wants the ring on her finger. She wants the hen with the willy straws. She wants out of her parents’ house, although she’d miss Mammy turning on the electric blanket like clockwork and Daddy taking her car 'out for a spin' and bringing it back full of petrol.

When a week in Tenerife with John doesn’t end with the expected engagement, Aisling calls a halt to things and soon she has surprised herself and everyone else by agreeing to move into a three-bed in Portobello with stylish Sadhbh from HR and her friend, the mysterious Elaine.

Newly single and relocated to the big city, life is about to change utterly for this wonderful, strong, surprising and funny girl, who just happens to be a complete Aisling.

Emer McLysaght and Sarah Breen, the creators of the much-loved Aisling character and the popular Facebook page 'Oh My God, What a Complete Aisling', bring Aisling to life in their novel about the quintessential country girl in the big smoke.

The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern

Far beneath the surface of the earth, upon the shores of the Starless Sea, there is a labyrinthine collection of tunnels and rooms filled with stories. The entryways that lead to this sanctuary are often hidden, sometimes on forest floors, sometimes in private homes, sometimes in plain sight. But those who seek will find. Their doors have been waiting for them. Zachary Ezra Rawlins is searching for his door, though he does not know it. He follows a silent siren song, an inexplicable knowledge that he is meant for another place. When he discovers a mysterious book in the stacks of his campus library he begins to read, entranced by tales of lovelorn prisoners, lost cities, and nameless acolytes. Suddenly a turn of the page brings Zachary to a story from his own childhood impossibly written in this book that is older than he is. A bee, a key, and a sword emblazoned on the book lead Zachary to two people who will change the course of his life: Mirabel, a fierce, pink-haired painter, and Dorian, a handsome, barefoot man with shifting alliances. These strangers guide Zachary through masquerade party dances and whispered back room stories to the headquarters of a secret society where doorknobs hang from ribbons, and finally through a door conjured from paint to the place he has always yearned for. Amid twisting tunnels filled with books, gilded ballrooms, and wine-dark shores Zachary falls into an intoxicating world soaked in romance and mystery. But a battle is raging over the fate of this place and though there are those who would willingly sacrifice everything to protect it, there are just as many intent on its destruction. As Zachary, Mirabel, and Dorian venture deeper into the space and its histories and myths, searching for answers and each other, a timeless love story unspools, casting a spell of pirates, painters, lovers, liars, and ships that sail upon a Starless Sea.

The Swallows by Lisa Lutz

What do you love? What do you hate? What do you want? It starts with this simple writing prompt from Alex Witt, Stonebridge Academy's new creative writing teacher. When the students' answers raise disturbing questions of their own, Ms. Witt knows there's more going on the school than the faculty wants to see. She soon learns about The Ten--the students at the top of the school's social hierarchy--as well as their connection to something called The Darkroom. Ms. Witt can't remain a passive observer. She finds the few girls who've started to question the school's "boys will be boys" attitude and incites a resistance that quickly becomes a movement. But just as it gains momentum, she also attracts the attention of an unknown enemy who knows a little too much about her--including what brought her to Stonebridge in the first place. Meanwhile, Gemma, a defiant senior, has been plotting her attack for years, waiting for the right moment. Shy loner Norman hates his role in the Darkroom, but can't find the courage to fight back until he makes an unlikely alliance. And then there's Finn Ford, an English teacher with a shady reputation who keeps one eye on his literary ambitions and one on Ms. Witt. As the school's secrets begin to trickle out, a boys-versus-girls skirmish turns into an all-out war, with deeply personal--and potentially fatal--consequences for everyone involved. Lisa Lutz's blistering, timely tale shows us what can happen when silence wins out over decency for too long--and why the scariest threat of all might be the idea that sooner or later, girls will be girls.

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chiseler · 4 years

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“All I Know Is That First, You’ve Got to Get Mad.”

I thought I was in an unusually, even inexplicably good mood during the pandemic. That whole pre-apocalyptic vibe just set my toes to tapping. Who the hell knew things would get this wildly entertaining? I don’t know why, but the thought of cop cars ablaze just makes me a little giddy.

Wait, I take that back. I know exactly why.

I’m writing this on a Sunday morning following the third night of violent protests in New York and every other major city in the country—a night in which, among other things, an NYPD SUV intentionally plowed into a group of protesters in Brooklyn and an upstate woman was booked on federal attempted murder charges for throwing a Molotov Cocktail at a police cruiser full of cops. I suspect by the time this runs, the protests will have either burned themselves out or been crushed under the boot heel of State power. If I’m mistaken about that and things are still rolling merrily along, well then shut my mouth for being a pessimist. And if all I write here is old news by the time you read it, I apologize, though it’s worth repeating.

The mistake everyone in the media made when reporting on the spreading violence was insisting all the carnage was in direct reaction to the murder of George Floyd by four Minneapolis cops.

WRONG! WRONG! WRONG!

Do you honestly think the riots in goddamn Des Moimnes and Salt Lake City had anything to do with George Floyd? Bullshit. The Flloyd murder was merely the immediate excuse, the long-overdue spark that ignited a pile of dry kindling that had been growing for the past thirty years. It was a perfectly predictable, inevitable reaction when so many contributing factors came together in one instant.

At the same time, you have government officials from the president to the mayor of New York blaming the violence on the proverbial “outside agitators,” from Antifa to white nationalists to Russian troll bots, refusing to believe unaffiliated American citizens are capable of torching cop cars and looting chain stores on their own say-so because some black guy had been killed.

WRONG! WRONG! WRONG!

The question isn’t one of extremist rabblerousers—the question is, why doesn’t it happen more often?

How many unarmed black civilians had been murdered by cops and former cops over the three months prior to George Floyd? Now stretch that idea back a ways: how many had been murdered by cops and former cops since Ferguson? I’ll give you a moment to go look up the numbers.

Okay, how have people reacted to police violence over the course of the six years since the unrest in Ferguson? Just as they’ve been brainwashed to do, they’ve held peaceful protest marches and made a lot of speeches demanding this and that, vague concepts like “Justice” and “Peace.”. Now if you’re feeling really ambitious, go back to the end of the L.A. riots and add up the numbers, the incidents of cops killing and brutalizing the innocent between then and now. That’s an awful lot of peaceful, righteous protest marches and way too many ad hoc sidewalk memorials to count. And what changed as a result? Nothin!. The cops continued to go about their business the way they always have since the mid-nineteenth century, when they were nothing but a State-sanctioned street gang. And they’re going to continue behaving that way because nobody has the yarbles to try and make them do anything differently.

So it’s easy to imagine the mounting frustration and anger, right? People were protesting peacefully, making speeches just like they were supposed to, they were doing this every week somewhere in the country, it seems, and it had accomplished absolutely bupkis. It’s also easy to imagine these same people starting to think, after all those futile years with no improvements to point at for all their efforts, that maybe a little direct action might be more effective.

But a growing nationwide anti-cop sentiment finally reaching the breaking point was hardly the only factor at play in the recent hullabaloo.

Add to that a pandemic lockdown that had been going on for three months. People were a little stir crazy and bored. The frustration had built up, and some kind of release was necessary.

Add to that tens of millions out of work, people with no income, no insurance and no clue when they might conceivably reclaim either. Not only did they have too much time on their hands, they were pissed at the government doctors and scientists who recommended the lockdown, the fucking state politicians who ordered it, the bosses who laid them off, and their goddamn whining families who kept wanting to eat.

Add to that the burning gut rage fellt by roughly half the country directed at an administration overseen by a dangerous buffoon who seemed to take great delight in tossing out daily affronts to everything that seemed right and simply decent, and the inability of anyone to stop him. America was fast sliding toward despotism, and no one who could have and should have put an end to it was doing anything apart from wringing theier hands. That led to a dismay and anger that had been growing exponentially for three and a half years.

There was an awful lot of free-floating rage out there with no sense of direction. All of the above factors boil down to a single, very simple reality: people feel impotent (because they are), and they’re fucking pissed about it. You get a few thousand pissed, impotent people together in one place, and interesting things are going to happen.

So put all those factors together, right? Murderous cops, the lockdown, the new Depression and an administration that didn’t give a good goddamn. Then add to that not only a handy trigger in the form of the George Floyd video and, best of all, a stretch of some really nice weather, and there you have it—an eruption of collective cathartic rage at the whole fucking system. We need one of those every twenty or thirty years. It’s good for the spirit.

Thomas Jefferson, as we all recall, believed that given its very nature, the young country would witness a political revolution of, by, and for the people every twenty years ore so. I guess he was partly right, though instead of actual revolutions with long-term effects, we just riot fore a week or so, smash windows, loot stores and torch cars, then call it a day. Of course since Jeffereson’s time the system has been reorganized in such a way that this is all we’re capable of doing.

On the downside, though, it’s not going to accomplish anything. In fact it’s going to backfire, because it always has and always will. Nothing’s going to alter cop behavior, because nothing’s going to change the psychological makeup of those no-necked thugs who decide they want to become cops. In fact, it’s only going to bolster the contempt most cops feel for anyone who’s not a cop, and the standard paranoid fantasy held dear by most police officers that they’re the real victims.

On top of that, there’s going to be a crackdown from not only an already delusional administration, but the courts and state and local officials, all of whom will enact new limitations on protests and public gatherings to ensure nothing like this ever gets so out of hand again. This is why every time it happens, the reaction from those in power guarantees it’ll happen again down the line, while pushing the country yet further from Jefferson’s ideal.

Yeah, I do get a little jingly-jangly feeling inside when I hear about young women throwing Molotov Cocktails at cop cars in NYC. But if you want to play with the power structure, you’ve got to remember the power structure plays really, really rough, and things are about to get far worse than they were a week ago. Sorry, but it’s true. Sure was fun while it lasted though.

Now I just have to wait another thirty years until it happens again. In the meantime, I think I’ll go pull out my old Feederz records and give them a spin.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4OvI1WIoc9w

by Jim Knipfel

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lovemesomerafael · 5 years

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El Amor Todo Lo Puede Chapter 51: Adrift In The Wasteland

Source: Barbaoutfits

Chapters 1-50

************* Important Note **************** Just a reminder: The happy ending for Rafael and Laura was in the last chapter. If you can’t live with a different ending, please accept my most sincere thanks for reading and take my advice: don’t read further.

*********************************

Rafael took a long, satisfying drink of coffee that was probably a little hotter than was good for him, but he didn’t want to wait. He felt good. He’d just won a trial that was the beginning of the end for a hate group that had intended to bomb the Mayor’s office. The three defendants he’d tried were all going to prison for years, which did not bode well for the other five people indicted in connection with the plot. It wasn’t the whole group, but it was a start.

He had to smile to himself, now that this first trial was successfully over. He would never have admitted it, but he’d been concerned about what Laura would say if he botched a trial based on evidence it had taken her and Carisi a month undercover to gather. Of course, the FBI’s Joint Terrorism Task Force had been working on the case for much, much longer. But he wasn’t concerned about answering to the Joint Terrorism Task Force.

Rafael had never liked Laura going undercover. It was dangerous, unpredictable work without a net. He trusted her ability to think on her feet and defend herself if she had to – which she had, on more than one occasion. But he didn’t trust the situations the detectives put themselves into, and he damn sure didn’t trust the suspects.

But this assignment – working with the Joint Terrorism Task Force – had been by far the worst. He had hated the danger to her, he had hated their inability to communicate and, if he was being honest, he had hated having their home life disrupted. He didn’t mind long, irregular hours. He did mind sleeping alone for weeks at a time.

That actually caused him to smile into his coffee cup even more than he already had been. There had been a time when sleeping alone had been a point of pride with him. Now, after celebrating three anniversaries with Laura, he barely recognized his life or his priorities, and he wondered how he had survived the long, lonely years before she came into his life. That thought reminded him of the time, over a year ago now, when he had thought he would lose her to a bullet aimed at him. Once her hair had grown back, she hadn’t thought much about it. But he had. The anguish he’d felt then was a big part of why he had such a hard time when she went undercover now.

At least this assignment was over. He remembered the night she had come home. He had been laying on their bed, still in his dress shirt and slacks, reviewing reports on the case while Laura took a shower. He had just begun to feel the weight of responsibility for getting indictments and convictions after all the investigative work. But as Laura came out of the bathroom, her hair freshly dried and a short, silky robe loosely tied around her waist, he decided that responsibility could definitely wait at least another night. From her mischievous grin, and the way she crawled onto the bed and began kissing him, she’d missed him as much as he’d missed her.

“Let’s never do that again,” he said against her lips as he pulled the robe from her body.

“Amen,” she agreed.

“You have no idea how much I missed you.”

“Then why aren’t you helping me get these clothes off of you? I can’t get you naked fast enough...”

“We’ve been over this.”

“I swear, Harvard, if you say the word ‘structure’, I will…”

“Yes?” The smirk on his face was as enticing, and had the same effect on her, as the very first day they’d met.

“Probably do whatever you ask me to,” she sighed, smiling up at him. “Like always.”

Carmen came into Rafael’s office with a package, interrupting a very nice memory of what had happened afterward.

“This was just hand-delivered,” she said, holding the box out to him. “It’s heavy.”

Curious, Rafael took the package from her and began to open it. Carmen stayed by his desk, just to see what was inside.

They never felt a thing when it exploded.

***********

When Fin was very small, his Gran had lived in a building in the projects. He’d loved that building. He’d been too young to even see that the building was a ruin; to him, the building was a place where his Moms knew everyone and they all loved him, and where his Gran waited to spoil him with baking and overflowing love. And then, in the first tragedy of his young life, his Gran had died and, shortly thereafter, the building had been condemned. He’d watched in horrified fascination as the building had been gutted, first emptied of his Gran and all the people who had always smiled at him and made him feel welcome, then stripped of everything of any value. It had become an empty, sad, unbearably lonely shell echoing with the sounds of the lives that had once been lived there.

That building was the only thing Fin could think of that remotely came close to the way Laura looked. Her expression had been one of stunned horror since that very first, cursed moment in Liv’s office, and that hadn’t changed. But now there was absolutely nothing behind her eyes. He felt sure that if he could look inside of her, she’d be entirely hollow. Maybe with a freezing cold wind blowing a few scattered ashes around. Laura Parker was gone. She’d just… flickered out. He had watched it happen the moment she had finally accepted that Olivia was telling her the truth about the bombing.

And Rafael’s death.

Fin hated hysterics. He was the first to run the other way when someone got emotional. Especially when he, himself, was also feeling the full weight of that emotion. But now, today, he would have given everything he had to see his partner shed even one tear or, better yet, fly into a howling, sobbing, keening lamentation with an all-engulfing tsunami of tears. He wanted her to scream and rage and destroy things, hurl vile words and swear vengeance. Or even just weep a little. He just wanted her to do anything to let him know that she was still in there somewhere.

As it was, it looked like the squad had lost both of them. Rafael was dead, and Laura was… gone.

Fin was the only one who could get near her. With anyone else, everyone else, she was grim and silent, just gazing through them with that lost, broken stare, as though they were ghosts. Or she was. Only Fin could get a response from her, whispered and vague though it might be. She would say ‘yes’, or ‘no’, or ‘OK’. ‘I don’t know’ was beyond her; even saying that many words was too much effort. If he asked her something she couldn’t answer, she just remained silent, looking confused and indescribably lonely.

He had absolutely no fucking idea what he was supposed to do. Fin had thought that, once they’d become desperate enough to fly him out for a day, Dr. Charles would take over. He was the trauma expert. He was her psychiatrist. He was the one who had helped her reclaim herself after she’d endured an attack so vicious and devastating she still had night terrors as a result. Nothing. She hadn’t seen or heard Dr. Charles any more than she could see or hear her parents, or her brothers, or her friends. The best that Dr. Charles had been able to tell them was that there was a name for her condition – catatonia – and that she would probably find her way back. Probably.

In the meantime, the people who loved her kept her alive. They put food into her hand and told her to eat it. They held articles of clothing up to her and told her to put them on. Her mother led her into the shower and bathed her. They led her to her bed and told her to lie down. She would stare blindly at the ceiling until, at some point, her body’s basic needs would take over and she would sleep.

The only time she was remotely responsive was when she was asleep, and her family could only imagine what kind of hellscape she was responding to then. She moaned and thrashed, called out in terror, and would eventually wake herself up with her screams.

For whatever reason, that was the part that her older brother Steve found absolutely intolerable. He refused to leave her alone at night, and had moved into her apartment with her rather than stay in a hotel, as originally planned. Once he did, the rest of the family followed suit. It was the first time in many years that all five of them had lived together. Steve slept in a chair next to his little sister’s bed, ready to spring up whenever she screamed, which happened several times a night. When it did, he talked to her until she was calm enough to lay back down. Even as she shouted and screamed through the nightmares, she never said a word. And even then, she didn’t cry.

***************

The bomb had damaged two floors of the D.A.’s office building at One Hogan Place. It was a miracle there had been only two deaths, although quite a few people had been injured, some of them severely. All of them were expected to survive. Only Rafael and Carmen had not.

The FBI combed the wreckage and gathered evidence, although everyone knew who was responsible for the explosion. The remaining members of the group had decided to go through with the bombing, they’d just chosen a different target.

Randolph had pushed the plan to bomb Barba’s office, and he got wood every time he thought about it. Not only did they get rid of him, but they had also struck back at Kevin and Susie White – apparently really some fucking NYPD detectives named Carisi and Parker. Randolph very much enjoyed thinking about their pain at losing their husband and friend.

So far, Randolph had been able to keep entirely under the radar. No one in law enforcement had any idea he was the group’s leader. Most people in the group didn’t even know that.

********

“It’s fucked up, Pete. She just sits there. Doesn’t do anything, doesn’t talk. Except when she’s screaming at night, of course, which is the most fucked-up thing I’ve ever seen.”

Carol Parker looked up from what she was doing in the kitchen. “Steven, I don’t disagree with you, but can we please have a little variation in descriptions?”

“Sorry, Mom, but damn!”

Carol gave Steve a sympathetic look. This was a nightmare for all of them and, truth be told, she wouldn’t mind using a few choice descriptions herself. But she knew Peter Stone was having a rough time not being here in New York with Laura, and she didn’t think it would help having Steve’s feverish narration in his head.

“No, still only her partner,” Steve answered whatever Peter had asked. “The doc said they sometimes do that, latch onto one person they trust. But we’re talkin’ about ‘yes’ and ‘no’. It’s not like even he’s gettin’ conversation out of her. Today she, like, touched his arm, and you’d’a thought it was the fuckin’ Second Coming. It was the first spontaneous thing we’ve seen her do. Except, of course, the screaming…”

Steve listened some more.

“I don’t think so, dude. But don’t feel bad. They tried takin’ her to church, see if that would do something, but apparently she’s not even talkin’ to Jesus right now.” It was a weak joke, but he needed it.

“So, anyway, I called to tell you the funeral’s Friday. The Moms talked about it, and they have to go ahead, even though my sister’s a fuckin’ zombie. I mean, how long are they supposed to wait?”

At the other end of the phone, Peter asked another question.

“Who the fuck knows?” Steve answered. “Her partner told her the funeral’s Friday and she said ‘OK’. No way to know whether she even knew what he was talkin’ about.”

Carol could hear a very faint, tinny sound as Peter’s voice came through Steve’s phone as he held it to his ear.

“I know, right? It’s not like I got to know the guy very well, but he was really cool, and he for sure had her number. I’m still tryin’ to wrap my head around the whole thing. And my sister bein’ a fuckin’ vegetable is not helping.”

There was another pause while Peter said something.

“Yeah, bro, text me your flight. We’ll pick you up. Just… be ready. It’s hard lookin’ at her like this.”

*************

Some of her friends had made the oblique suggestion that Lucia Barba should be angry with her daughter-in-law for making her do all the work. Lucia didn’t see it that way. Rafi was hers. Always had been. Although it hurt worse than Lucia had known anything could, she was constantly remembering him as a baby, and a chubby little toddler extraordinarily pleased with himself when he learned to walk, and all through his life where he had been a constant source of comfort and happiness and overwhelming pride. Rafi was hers. They had a huge family, on both her side and Rafi’s father’s, but there had always been an element of the two of them together against the world, even when Mateo had been alive. Of course, Lucia had recognized the sizzling connection between her son and Laura, and the deep love that had even then already begun to grow, and she’d made sure it did. But she hadn’t done it for Laura, much as she liked her. She’d done it for Rafi. Because he was hers and, despite his stubborn insistence that he didn’t, he had wanted a wife. And Lucia had wanted him to have someone to take care of him. Her Rafi. Hers.

So making his funeral arrangements was something that Lucia, and no one else, should be doing. In the three years Rafi and Laura had been married, Lucia had become very close to Laura’s mother, and she appreciated that friendship more than ever right now. Carol understood. She had her own child to worry about, and all she had done was offer – once – to assist with the arrangements on Laura’s behalf. When Lucia had explained that this last opportunity to care for Rafi belonged to her alone, Carol had burst into tears born of her complete understanding. It was how she would feel if one of her own children had died.

Lucia was, of course, concerned about Laura. But that was a very distant second to the jagged, burning agony of losing Rafi. So she let Carol take care of Laura. One day, when Laura began to be able to tolerate feeling her own loss, she and Lucia would spend all the time in the world grieving together. Their losses had a lot in common; they’d both loved Rafi above all else. But Lucia selfishly appreciated that Laura was staying out of it for a while. Everyone wanted to comfort the widow; she’d be the center of attention. But Lucia knew that her loss was by far the greater.

*************

Rafael’s funeral was held at the church where he was baptized. The church where he had encountered God throughout most of his life, had received all of the sacraments, and had been an altar boy. Lucia had thought about St. Augustine’s, where Rafi had married his Laura and had occasionally attended Mass. But this was Rafi’s spiritual home, and this is where he would have chosen to be committed to his God had anyone known to ask him.

So many people had made the trip to the Bronx for Rafael’s funeral that there was a bit of a panic about there being enough space. But people had crowded together and made it work. Everyone watched Laura, wondering how she would appear. Naturally, one of the main questions people asked one another was how she was holding up. Those who didn’t already know learned from the general hubbub in the church that she wasn’t.

She sat between her mother and Rafael’s, blinking blankly and wearing that same shocked, devastated expression behind the filmy black veil Carol had decided she should wear. Carol wasn’t going to bother with makeup, and she understood the curiosity that would cause everyone to want to get a look at Laura’s face. Because her daughter wasn’t able to protect her own privacy right now, Carol had decided to do it for her by simply reverting to the old-fashioned tactic of having her wear a veil.

There didn’t seem to be a face in the church that didn’t wear some variation of Laura’s expression, anyway. The SVU squad, Olivia Benson in particular, looked blasted. Captain Tucker kept an arm around Olivia and had armed himself with all the tissues he could fit into the pockets of his suit. Fin didn’t do much to try to hide his tears, and Carisi and Rollins wept openly. Rafael’s friends and colleagues from the D.A.’s office were more discreet about their feelings, but then they had only know Rafael Barba’s prickly, snarky public persona. They had liked and respected him, but he wasn’t family to them as he was to the SVU squad. Rafael’s immense family, men and women alike, wore their grief plainly.

Peter Stone had declined the invitation to sit in the front pew with the family, but had staked out a place two rows behind them, where he could see Laura’s face. He watched her the entire time, a hideous snarl of emotions making him feel sick as it slithered around inside him. What he really wanted to do was go to her, pick her up and carry her away from this disaster, somewhere he could protect and care for her forever. The idea that she was in pain so overwhelming it had shut her down completely broke Peter’s heart. One of the emotions in the snarl was guilt. Guilt that his sorrow for Rafael Barba’s murder could only be that of a near-total stranger being saddened by a tragedy, whereas he felt a towering sorrow for Laura’s loss. He hadn’t been able to hold back tears any more than anyone else at the funeral, but all his tears were for Laura.

Maggie Lockwood was glad that she had called Peter and arranged for them to fly out together. She was a mess. She hadn’t known Rafael, having met him only once, but she and Laura had been extremely close since they met in Nursing school. Which meant that Maggie had been there when Peter and Laura met, and throughout their whole relationship. She knew Peter very well, and she knew what he must be feeling. It had been a very good idea to be on the same flight, so that they could share their mutual grief for what had happened to Laura. Not that Peter was particularly forthcoming about his feelings, of course, but Maggie didn’t need him to be. She could plainly see that he was as much a mess on the inside as she was on the outside.

Hank Voight had come from Chicago with Trudy Platt and her husband Randall McHolland, along with Kim Burgess and Kevin Atwater. Voight was going to be there for Parker no matter what. While Trudy didn’t love Laura as a daughter the way Voight did, she still felt she had to be there, and Randall – Mouch to his squad – had volunteered to go to represent the firefighters of Station 51. The Intelligence team had all wanted to be there for her, and had settled for pulling together enough money to send Kim and Kevin, who had been closest to Parker. Their grief was evident on all of their faces.

*****************

It had been an impulse born of cruelty for Randolph to stake out the funeral. He couldn’t help it. He wanted more of the glorious high he got thinking about how much pain he had caused. He wanted more confirmation of his immense power, and the fact that it was his to wield without consequence. He was invisible. Untouchable. And he loved seeing all the tears as people shuffled out of the church. He had especially been eager to see the widow’s grief. He was pissed that the little bitch had worn a veil so he couldn’t see her face, but he got a great deal of satisfaction seeing her being led around like a blind person.

She wasn’t blind. She was bewildered, and terrified, and in agony beyond endurance, but she wasn’t blind. She saw him. Something changed behind her veil.

*******************

The gathering in the hall next to the church was attended by just about everyone who came to the funeral. Lucia had stood alone at the door, a one-woman receiving line, and to her it felt right. Laura was nearby, at a table with her family and a few other people, but in no condition to do anything as complex as receive condolences. When people asked, Lucia tactfully told them that she was having a hard time, and just wasn’t up to talking to anyone.

The few people who tried to speak to Laura didn’t stay long. They would touch her on the shoulder or the hand and murmur their sympathy but, receiving no acknowledgement, would awkwardly step away. Laura’s family gracefully acknowledged their kindness while she simply sat, looking apparently into oblivion. The family had decided that she should be at the gathering for a little while, so that they could tell her she had been there. After that, Steve and Peter would take her home.

Until Hank Voight stepped up to her, and she saw him.

At first, she moved so slowly that those at the table didn’t even notice it happening. But as Hank introduced himself to her family, Laura looked up at him. When he leaned down to speak to her, he found that she looked him in the eye. It was perhaps less disconcerting to him than it would have been to anyone who had been with her over the past days, because he was used to her acknowledging him when he spoke to her. But he was aware of her condition and so recognized that something was happening.

He knelt down on the floor so that he was eye-to-eye with her and waited as she slowly, fumblingly, pulled the veil up from her face. She looked like a wraith, if wraiths themselves could be haunted.

“Hank,” she rasped.

“I’m here. I had to be here for you.”

“You could do it. You would help me.”

He had no idea what she meant, but he would do anything for her, so he just looked into her eyes and waited.

“Randolph. His name is Randolph.”

Hank looked up, scanning the table for a clue. He instantly saw the recognition in Carisi’s face.

“You know what she’s talking about?”

“Yeah, I do,” Carisi answered, looking around. “Maybe we should… go somewhere.”

Trying to swim back to the surface was painful and frightening for Laura, and it was a difficult, arduous task made more difficult by the fact that she didn’t want to get there. She would much have preferred staying where she’d been, where there was no sound, and no feelings, and she could watch the world from a million miles away. She knew what was waiting for her in that world. But she had to go back, now that she knew who had killed Rafael.

#law & order svu #law & order: special victims unit #rafael barba #raul esparza #chicago pd #chicago fire #chicago med #chicago justice #fin tutuola #hank voight

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