#nypd memorial run result

[zooterchet]

The War on Terror ("Chet")

Enhancement Drug Record:

CIA Gamers: "Gulch" LSD. Warren Foundation: Mexican Psilocybin. DEA Mississippi: "Blue" Psilocybin. Marlboro PD: "Cholo" Chronic Marijuana. Van Meter Skulls: "Blue Cheer" Vincebus Eruptum. CIA Orchard Hill: "Paisley" Muhijideen Psilocybin. Taunton MI-6: "Oolong" Wellbutrin. UMass-Amherst PD: "Sample Sheet" Chloroxipin. AFROTC Mental Health Police Station: Zyprexa. Norton Behavioral FBI Checkin: Abilify. Boston Chinese Triads: PCP laced marijuana. PLO Dr. Federman: "Rat Poison" Seraquel. IRA Dr. Killian O'Connell: "Hazelnut Concentrate" Trilophon/Perphenzanine. Marvel Comics Jim Shooter "Dr. Golden": "GHB" Respiradone. Russian Orthodoxy Boston: Depocate. Kennedy Foundation: Invega.

Confinement Record:

Taunton Behavioral Clinic: MI-6 Cipher Ritual, "ZAIN", and Wellbutrin, applied. Identified as homicidal, karate.

UMass-Amherst Mental Health Services: Assigned Skulls CIA psychiatrist, and political science psychologist, professor of literature (Nautical History, British and New England, East Seas Shipping Specialty). Police Chief Barbara O'Connor, brought on as advisor specialist. Chloroxopin, Zyprexa, applied. Identified as top film and literature candidate, historian Ghandhian.

Norton Rehabilitation Ward: FBI staff files given to merchant staff Slavic, assigned Abilify. Identified as drug user in natural state, cleared of charges given drug use with Jenna Williamson, in highschool, by externa (unlinked use of drugs in different social circles).

Coolie Dickinson Hospital: Given one week layover with MI-6 staffer councilor, Venezualan Army adjunct. Individuals having resulted in incarceration identified, among Hell's Angels Harvard, and warrants issued, through British Navy, office of "Rick Moranis", real name John "Logan" Waders. Retroactive withdrawal from second sophomore semester, cleared, on virtue of service to State of Massachusetts, captures or surveillance of Fugitive Slave Law Rockefeller Center, NYPD RCMP unit, linked to sales of Fentanyl intended for Rhode Island People's Center (Fascista International, Est. 1498). Identified as rapid recovery, ablative to antisocial and sociopathic disorders, natural criminal while law abiding; success of Hopkinton program noted, forwarded to office of Senator Barack Hussein Obama.

Federman and O'Connell: Identified as carrying both al-Saffah, compatible with Seraquel, and Hugh O'Neill, compatible with Trilophon. Staged into Seraquel, arranged for John Phillips, Boston PD, to take over Triads with financial data on M3, grant given to Sayed Adnan to escape prosecution in trial, name changed to "Jeffrey Lange"; CIA status restored, to family, since Iranian transfer of hostage, by Alice O'Neill, RCMP SIS. PCP hit, for Puerto Rican Mexica bloodline, given,to stage into Trilophon, theoretically dynamic #2, Wadi Hadid, tested on Carlos the Jackal, failure. Identified as having a father unaware of Nazi culture, despite abiding by it; investigation to father, Michael Charlebois, and ties to United Arab Emirates, begun.

START Program: Tested to see if able to quit marijuana, in favor of liquor and cigarettes. Full memory test complete of NA and AA and Scientology programs, from study at home dormitory over summer school, however proper hours and times and locations and paperwork study given and cleared, by START program submission and staff. Given access to Lutheran CIA dealer, back in Hopkinton, for a two hour road test, one way, then the other, to run an eighth of marijuana, to a waiting undercover officer, in Samuel dormitory. Cleared for Gotham project, COINTELPRO IDF. Identified as high functioning polygot, modeled on "Buster" from "Arrested Development".

Arbor-Fuller Dual Diagnosis Ward: Committed for dependence on marijuana and Seraquel, tested on full spectrum in AA programs with intended demise from MI-6 planned, as well as cross in to infiltrate CIA from Rhode Island PD, as well as attempted assassination from Attleboro residents having been rejected from marijuana smoking in congregant group with addicts active in the Spanish Mob, through Jenna Williamson. "That Fateful Lightning", historical fiction of Ulysses S. Grant, consumed, to select "Leaving Las Vegas", to cross Rhode Island PD, into MI-6 hit, getting Detective John Willie, crushed in a car compactor, as David Charlebois, UMass-Amherst PD. Identified as KIA, real name, Tiago Rodriguez; name struck from wall, of Judi Dench's hookups. "He had the sexual maturity of a Navy SEAL, Your Majesty".

Brockton-McClean Hospital: Distress call after Fentanyl poisoning, suspected to be Matthew Lennox, actually IDF phone taps from Boulevard Pizza, results in dozens of American intelligence and MI-6 operatives meeting on hospital, with FSU monitor Sean Peters, drafted State Police, through self, with phone number given to Boston Police, clearing as a Police Sergeant; return to duty, on M3 MUSH, as a journalist and FBI agent, returned to home bearing, after a decade on the street, jumped by FSU for being a pot dealer on the side. Identified as heterosexual, producing semen, reported by room mate, Dr. Golden, real name, "Jim Shooter".

Middleboro-McClean Hospital: Three visits, on standard commitment, three months coming down from a Thorazine hot shot ordered by Obama, and one final week to get life back together, after Dr. Golden got sued for being under influence of Korean Mafia, out of Taliesein Games and the Israeli Defense Forces, through Dogg the Bounty Hunter, attempting to prevent Daniel Monahan from taking power as a bail bonds man, however a person of colour; Korean-Viet, a high blood from the Korean Conflict, one leader per side, both military commanders, Kim Sung-il and Jynghman Rhee, a trapped CIA and a USMC irregular. Identified as Jim Madison by genetic build, Presidential Freemasonic Lodge of Langley, West Virginia.

Pembroke Military Hospital: Interred for three days, did one extra day due to courts being in process. Identified through as CIA coordinator, age 17, behind modification to federal healthcare legislation, and used as escaped. Visited by British MI-6 mercenary, Har Rosen, and met Andre Berube, real name, Andre Beatman, the CIA mercenary running the entire MUSH program from a lockup cell, after having been homeless. Met Steven "The Rifleman" Flemmi, and cured his Alzheimer's temporarily, getting the blessing to be a Boston Mafiaso. Identified as permanently shellshocked, took drop from college at declaration of Irish Republican Army ties, joining Winter Hill's future, instead of taking Marvel Cinematic Universe. Too long gone, with comics, and the Chamber of Commerce, the FBI Forensics Division.

SIS Field Team:

NSA: Charlebois, Smuggler. FBI: Ahlquist, Forensics. CIA: Daignault, Sharpshooter. NPC: Gagnon, Game Theory. IDF: Monahan, Bail Bonds.

MI-6 Team:

RCMP: Alex Fleming, Undercover Narcotics. Haverhill: Joshua Moen, Street Informant. Germany: Ellen Page, Film Deputy.

COBRA:

Steve-O, Lennox, Brick Remby, Cassie-Leigh, Stephy Tomasic, Jessica Bailey, Mike Hsu, Ahlquist, Larry Hama, Kara Daignault, Tom the Bagger, Jenna Williamson.

CIA:

Sayed Adnan, Roland Spencer, Christiano Marisco, Will Morgan Jr., Alexandra Rhzanova nee Gaetano.

The Chamber of Commerce (Department of Commerce Comics; DC Comics):

DC Comics, was formed as "The Crime Syndicate of America", by a Popalzai Afghan hog butcher, and pistol champion, aliased "Lucky Luciano", real name changed for successful act under provisions by Royal Canadian Mounted Patrol.

A child, is raised in creche care, in an advanced scholastic town, with a mother that's been caught in public as a NATO agent. He's placed as the opposite of his mother's profession, to specialize in ameloriating the condition least suspected by town.

Each unit recommendation, is contradictory a common media character, where the polyface, has a tradition in print, therefore the villain; nameless, of course, in terms of actual reference, their case references gathered through other report.

They are locked into a five set compartmentalized logic, non-sequenced, in research, to perform a set of field actions on a free report and then report to a printer's station, of any type, under American provisional codes of law, not title, however Italian Papist Catholic, a Laety's rank called an "Archangel", a "Morningstar"; the Turkish code of the spy jannissary, a playwright spy.

I've written for Batman, I've been modeled as 007, I've inspired Brian Herbert's House Corrino and Butlerian Jihad trilogy, I've been given the mission as "Neo" in The Matrix, and I've been featured as several Hasbro toys (Megatron, Gen1, Beast Wars, Hannibal: Reborn, COBRA, GI Joe Comics, among others).

I used Brookline Theater, in Boston's Metrowest, as my field set, after 9/11 and the World Trade Center attacks, the "fiasco" as I termed it in my paper after the attacks, for junior year English, having witnessed them live on television. "Confessions of a Dangerous Mind", the act film, "Adaptation", the technique writ, and "Fidel", the cover alias. See those movies, they're fun.

Personal Log:

I've been Irish Catholic, an O'Neill Druid (Solomon's line, cousins with Radu, U'Niall, Baldwin IV, The Witch of Endor, Prince Consort Philip, and the King of Jordan), my entire life.

When my mother mistook me as gay, for being initiated as a Rabbi (a ritual stolen from the Druids, to make us murderers of pedophiles, the homosexuals), and masturbating to pornography of black women receiving rim jobs from white men with Jewish perms (an old shot of Michelle Obama, her stewardess days for the CIA's sorority union she was in), she killed herself.

After the War on Terror began, I happened to read Herman Wouks "The Hope", about likening the Israeli military and struggles, to National Socialist Germany, however smaller and harder hitting, like a spear, an elite unit. Disillusioned after they thought I was gay and sided with Iran, the Leibman Program an Iranian spy program claiming Israel, I supported corporate America's takeover of the Ku Klux Klan (Jewish unions), Scottish Clans (British unions), Posse (Slavic unions), Panthers (criminal unions), and Nazis (labor unions), to remove Iran from politics, and support Barack Hussein Obama for President, was a bass line chop given to Ryan Lewis in Van Meter, my Air Force ROTC dormitory for airbase deployment training as officer's staff. The cadence appeared in "Thrift Shop", by Mackelmore and Ryan Lewis, forcing corporate America and MTV, on Barack Obama, ending the Jannissary (the homosexual) and the Rabbi (the fraudster), as a tradition, in America.

I have a long record of Warren Foundation narcotics cocktails, from our friend Elizabeth Warren, our state legislator behind vice and prostitution, and psychiatric medicines and paperwork movements against corrupt cops serving Lutheran and Anglican orders. Rumors remain of me being "French", for being Palestinian Arab (Charlebois, the Italian-Arab term for "bad luck", a disgratzia, a Canadian cop family) and "Frog" for being Danish-Druid (Paradis, the Boston Irish term for "Chinese crow", a moltisani, a royal family in hiding in Boston).

After the contract heist of DC Comics brands, FBI forensics, by the Israeli Defense Forces, however with the help of the Congressional Budget Office, through UMass-Amherst AFROTC and the police undercover unit (Mental Health Services), Israel has been destroyed, and Trump has bombed Iran, through a mathematical integer false positive in the "Gotham" television show, the takeover of the Boston Police Department by New York Fire Department SWAT, abolition of slavery and removal of contract fraud debt, through the IRS, through SWAT scion, David Masouz, fully trained at multiple Sandhurst military and martial arts, Boston's new protector.

I'm happy to have provided work for Gears of War, Grand Theft Auto 6, Cyberpunk 2077, Arkham Asylum, Epic Rap Battles of History, Assassin's Creed, Super Mario Odyssey, Left 4 Dead, and Dead by Daylight, all stories of the original Mossad, the one we had in the 19th century, the fight between the Haganah, the Jewish MI-6, that you know as Marvel, and the Sicilian Mafia, the Roman Lodge, that you know as the Skull and Bones.

I'm a Skull, 1/16th Iroquois.

[letsperaltiago]

write your story on my heart: come on and make your mark

In the safety of his mom's hoodie Mac Santiago-Peralta quickly learns that his parents are quite alright if not his favorite people in this big, scary world.

or

the skin to skin-contact oneshot no one asked for 🤔

read on ao3

“One last push! You’re doing so good, honey.”

The second his powerhouse of a wife delivers her last push, fully welcoming the newest addition to their family into the world and the safety of his auntie Roro’s hands, Jake feels his entire cosmos shift and turn upside down. It’s a transition, a feeling he thought the million hours of googling and studying parenting books had prepared him for, only now realising that there is no such thing as being prepared for this very moment.

No book, binder, higher power or even the tangled depth of some Reddit-forum he’d once found could possibly have prepared him for the immense, indescribable joy he experiences rushing through every cell of his body when he hears the first, notably loud cries of his son.

Loud cries are a good sign: it means he has strong lungs, Jake remembers.

“Jake,” he’s snapped out of his reverie by the sound of Amy’s breathy whimpers. Surely she’s more than exhausted after pushing a human out of her. “He’s-” she interrupts herself when she heaves resulting in her knocking her head back against the pillow to gain a breath, meanwhile her eyes search Jake’s face for some kind of conclusion.

The strong urge to take care of them both at the same time, his son and his wife, is tearing him in two separate directions. Although he does quickly settle on turning to Amy. He knows and trusts that his newborn is safe in Rosa and, he shudders a bit at the thought, he has to admit, the fire-fighters care when he sees said glorified EMT is checking his son’s condition.

One last time, he comes to realise this will be, he immerses himself in the feeling of being just the two of them; to have eyes only for her because soon, even though he doesn’t mind one bit, his heart will officially be shared with someone else.

“Yeah, he’s here, babe. He’s here,” he lets out in an euphoric mixture of a breath, smile and sniffle as he leans in to kiss his wife’s forehead. Beneath his touch he can feel her trembling from the adrenaline, still very much red and sweaty but oh, how she’s never been more beautiful to him, and although it’s a very close second, not even clad in white on their wedding day.

His lips stay plastered there for a few seconds but somehow feels like an eternity put into slow-motion. Yes, he knows he could be attending so many other, more useful, matters, but there’s no resisting the overwhelming pride he’s currently feeling knowing his incredible wife once again, this time more than ever, has proven to be the superhero he’s always known her to be.

“You did it,” he exclaims joyously through the cry threatening to crawl up and out of his throat once his lips slip off of her skin. From his new vantage point, having pulled back the slightest, he can tell she’s crying along to the sound of their son’s furious wails, and he can’t blame her. It’s paradoxical: somehow the most beautiful and heartbreaking sound he’s ever heard.

“You’re so incredible, Ames,” the words come spilling out of his moth hopped up on adrenaline which results in them stumbling over each other but he doesn’t care. She needs to know how amazing she is.

As intimate as an interrogation room containing their best friend and some random firefighter can be, their moment runs out the second the firefighter lets them know that their baby is perfectly healthy and gently places him stomach down, wailing at the top of his lungs, on Amy’s still heaving chest. Alongside this the two freshly baked parents stare in disbelief: they created this little and so very wanted human who’s now finally, after 9 months of pregnancy and even longer time spent wanting and trying, screaming into the soft fabric of Amy’s hoodie.  

Amy’s hand are immediately drawn in, rushing to cup the tiny being in her hands, one supporting his bottom meanwhile the other his head. It’s all so much: the soft surface of his skin, the vibration coming from his screaming, and more importantly healthy, lungs resonate against hers making everything that more and finally completely real. Every ultrasound scanning, all the fluttering kicks from inside her womb and even the contractions: this kind of real beats everything prior to this moment.  Her son is really here, in flesh and blood, resting against her chest instead of bundled up inside her womb.

“He’s amazing,” she lets out with a sob as she attempts to study Mac’s every feature.

“He sure is,” Jake is quick to chime in placing a hand on his son’s back before leaning in to kiss the tiny head tenderly, of course keeping in mind the fragility of a newborn’s skull, something all the baby books have told him about. He then looks backs to his wife and kisses her lips.

Her crying almost sabotages her ability to kiss him back, but she stables herself just enough by moving a hand to rest on her husband’s cheek and then it hits her like never before that she’s currently, right then and there, holding her entire world in her hands: Jake in one and their son in the other.

McClane Santiago-Peralta. Mac.

He’s a perfect 9 pounds and 21 inches, they’re later told at the hospital; he’s soft, pink and brand new; he’s here and he’s their son.

Caught up in what feels like her life’s biggest whirlwind of a moment, kissing her husband and holding her screaming newborn, she faintly make out Rosa and the firefighter telling them they’re going to leave them alone for a while to go meet the incoming ambulance and and actual EMTs.

Jake and Amy pull apart as the door closes and encapsulates their new little family of three in the interrogation room.

“I love you so much, Jake,” she smiles both with her lips and deep brown eyes which radiate so much joy through the tears that it makes Jake shed a tear too when he tell her “I love you too. So much.”

Their attention shifts back to Mac quietly whimpering for attention having only been partly soothed by his mother’s hold and is still very much upset with the fact he’s been thrown right into such a big, bright world without warning.

“And I love you too, my baby Mac,” she coos in addition to her declaration of love as she lets go of Jake’s face to hold her still naked, probably very hungry and cold son even closer.

Although Amy without a doubt had the birthing suite Hitchcock and Scully had built her to thank for making the birth surmountable, it wasn’t exactly destined to do what it was doing right now meaning that a lack of heat was noticeable.

“Shhh, yes, I know,” she strokes the top of his head in an attempt to comfort the whimpering bundle, “it’s all so big and scary out here, but we’ll make sure you’re okay. We got you.”

Mac’s cries have definitely quieted down, lost momentum, since first appearing in their world just minutes ago but he’s still very clearly voicing discontent and Amy can feel her brand new mom-heart bleed. She mentally turns over every page of every baby book she’s ever read furiously trying to find a solution to her son’s crying and discomfort.

“Your mom’s right, bud. No need to cry. We’re here with you,” Jake bends over the gap between him and the stretcher, down to his son’s eye level as if it’ll convince him to calm down only to comprehend that a newborn probably doesn’t care about his father’s promises. Mac is a man of actions not words.

“Jake,” Amy whimpers hit by realisation, so suddenly set on one thing and one thing only and it of course immediately gains her her husband’s full attention. “Help me put him on my chest.”

A look of confusion dawns on Jake as they share a look, Amy’s eyes pleading for him to understand.

“But Ames, that’s where he already is?”

“No, like on my actual chest. Skin to skin-contact, Jake.”

It comes out matter of factly and memories of many textbook pictures of cute, tiny babies lying against their mother’s bare chest right after birth come rushing back to Jake instantly replacing his confusion.

“Oh yes, that, right! Of course.”

She briefly pauses to think although its hard when her train of thoughts is very much controlled by the worry growing within her every time Mac lets out another loud whine or cry. At least he’s on top of something soft, she thinks in an attempt to reassure herself when looking down at him and her now very messy, gooey NYPD-hoodie and then, all out of the blue, it hits her: the messy but soft and warm NYPD-hoodie. Beneath it she’s only wearing her maternity bra (she’d started wearing them already months ago once her boobs had grown too big for her regulars once: also they were way more comfortable) so surely her idea was worth the try.

“He could probably fit into my hoodie,” she wonders or rather declares out loud. Her son needs somewhere warm and safe, so, regular procedure be damned.

“I mean,” Jake studies the features of the grey piece of clothing, “it’s quite big and if you just tug down the neck whole he could probably fit in there with you.”

So they give it a try.

While Jake momentarily takes possession of his son, immediately tearing up again at the very surreal feeling of holding life, which he’s created, for the first time, Amy unclasps and removes her soft bra. In terms of the last step she tugs open, as wide as physically possible, the neck hole of her hoodie to welcome her son. It’s not pretty nor graceful but the hoodie is indeed really big (especially now that Mac is no longer in her womb) and together they manage to carefully place him to rest against his mother’s skin and under the soft material of the hoodie, only his head, under Amy’s, emerging from the neck hole. They hold their breaths for a second, both internally begging for their invention to be enough to soothe their son completely.

Amy instantly feels better knowing she’s sharing her bodily heat with her son, and, even more rewarding is the fact that it also seems to pay off: after a few more whimpers, slowly fading into barely audible sniffles, a silence lastly settles over them.

From where he’s resting chest to chest, skin to skin, with his mother, Mac finally, for the first time in his life, seems fully content and settles for dozing off as the easiest way to handle being completely knocked out by the intensity of being born.

Jake and Amy exchange a surprised, having feared the worst outcome since today already had followed a certain chaotic discourse, but ecstatic look as all there is left to be heard is the sound of approaching ambulance sirens.

“This feels incredible,” she speaks quietly in an attempt to not disrupt her son’s newfound state of peace, checking on him once more to make sure he’s not being squished by her chin, and although this time there’s fabric creating a barrier between her palms and his skin, she allows her fingers to fall into a sweeping motion across the tiny frame.  

“It looks incredible,” Jake whispers back not believing his own eyes because the scene currently playing out in front of him sure can’t be real. It’s too good, something he years ago wouldn’t even dare to dream of, and although he doesn’t want to be that person, he wants to live in the present, Jake can’t fight the urge to grab his phone and snap a picture, just one that he can make his lock screen picture the second he has a minute to do so. For now he figures it’s enough and puts his phone back into his pocket allowing him to lean in and join his wife in caressing their son.  

“Always told you you look crazy good in hoodies,” he smirks knowingly thinking of all the times he’s told her this only to be met by disagreement and dismissive comments before pecking her temple tasting small beads of sweat, salt, on his lips.

“Even now covered in placenta?” her exhausted eyes manage to throw him a teasing look ahead of redirecting to admiring Mac’s beautiful, finally peaceful being. Jake’s eyes trail behind, staying on her with the most loving look when he utters, “especially now covered in placenta,” before following her lead and looking at Mac.

The sirens from before have faded, disappeared, letting the new parents know that the ambulance must’ve reached the precinct. Despite this fact, they forget and enjoy the quiet before the storm, their first peaceful moment as a family.

All in all Mac seems pleased with his new favorite spot on his mom’s chest. Even as she holds him a bit tighter, securing him to her chest when she’s wheeled out of the integration room by a newly arrived EMT, Jake right beside her to make sure they’re alright every step of the way, Mac doesn’t budge; even in the ambulance when one of her hands leaves his back to hold Jake’s while the sirens make an encore, Mac stays quiet.

This might not be his mother’s womb but he knows he’s home.

[wumblr]

wait, Bloomberg bad? i don't keep up with politics because i'm still a year away from voting age, but he sounded Very Cool from his ads. (i know that's the point but still)

is this a joke? this is a joke, right? is someone paying you to say this?

here are my quick general tips:

install adblock!! nobody needs to see ads. it’s 2020. they’ll rot your brain

don’t vote for the billionaire

i don’t wanna go off on a list of specifically why he’s bad because i’ll probably miss something crucial, but here’s a few: 

he was the mayor who initiated new york’s “stop and frisk,” in which nypd questioned black new yorkers literally 500,000 times per year, eventually culminating in eric garner’s death by police strangulation in broad daylight on the street, which ended “stop and frisk”

decades of allegations of sexist comments in the workplace… still runs a workplace (if memory serves, when one of his employees told him she was pregnant he told her to “kill it” and said “wow, fourteen,” implying he was keeping an exact count of how many of his employees requested maternity leave… he said something like “these computers can even perform blowjobs, which should put a lot of you girls out of work.” aside from being very offensive, from a technical standpoint this is also laughably bad, and terrifying! like, did he say that about windows vista, or)

he spent $350,000,000 to get 0% in the iowa caucus. he did worse than andrew yang and tom steyer. probably because he did not show up or try to campaign in iowa at all (is that normal? idk). in the new hampshire results, he isn’t even listed, so i guess he must be grouped in the 1.5% that went to “other candidates” (i think this means he got less than 9 votes, because somebody with 9 votes is listed). i mean come on, even vermin supreme has already won the new hampshire libertarian nomination. roque de la fuente runs every election and he got 12 votes. marianne williamson got 95 and she’s already dropped out

anyway i think we should keep letting him think he’s a viable candidate so he wastes more of his money on his campaign. let’s all scam him out of money for “online campaign services,” since he thinks computers are so talented

[fountaintheatre]

By Terri Roberts

June is Pride month, a time of Mardi Gras-like celebration for the LGBTQ+ community that’s highlighted locally by the annual L.A. Pride Festival and Parade. The first Pride march, held June 28, 1970, was established to mark the one-year anniversary of the now infamous Stonewall uprising – an event widely seen as the launch pad for the modern gay rights movement. Fifty years later, it has become an annual, exuberant, not-to-be-missed event. (Note: The highly anticipated 50th anniversary celebration has been postponed due to COVID-19 concerns. More info)

The trouble that ignited a revolution started at 1:20am on June 28, 1969, when NYPD officers raided the Stonewall Inn in Greenwich Village. Such raids were all too common at the Mafia-owned bar. But this night was different. On this night, the chronically marginalized, too-often dehumanized gay population who were drinking inside had had enough. On this night, they stood up and fought back. On this night, and in the nights and days and years that followed, gay men and women not only found their pride, they wore it boldly and shouted it out loudly for all the world to hear.

Today at 4pm, the Fountain is gathering together the casts of two of its most highly acclaimed productions – Daniel’s Husband (2018) and The Normal Heart (2013) – for a celebration not only of Pride month, but of the recent historic Supreme Court ruling that protects the civil rights of gay and transgender workers, and to honor the life of writer/activist/Normal Heart playwright Larry Kramer. Viewers can watch live on Zoom, Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, and on our website at http://www.fountaintheatre.com. The recording will also be posted and can be watched at a later date.

Fountain producing director Simon Levy directed both productions, and cast veteran actors Tim Cummings and Bill Brochtrup as lovers in both stories, each of which was centered on a different pivotal moment in the gay rights movement. The Normal Heart is Kramer’s clarion call to action against the emerging AIDS crisis in the mid-1980s. In it, Ned Weeks (Cummings) is a gay journalist and activist whose fight against the mysterious unnamed scourge running rampant through the gay community turns deeply personal when his lover, Felix (Brochtrup), a New York Times fashion writer, contracts the deadly disease. In Daniel’s Husband, Brochtrup is the eponymous Daniel, a successful architect who longs to be married to his partner of seven years, Mitchell, a marriage-phobic writer of gay romance novels that make him, as he says, “the 21st century gay equivalent of Barbara Cartland.”

Said Levy of the two actors, “After working with, and loving the work of, Bill Brochtrup and Tim Cummings in The Normal Heart, I consciously searched for another project for us. And when I read Daniel’s Husband, I knew I’d found our play and that they would be perfect for it.”

Both shows held a personal appeal to Levy, who spent many years living in San Francisco and working on the long-running, kitschy musical revue, Beach Blanket Babylon.

“When I had the opportunity to get the rights to The Normal Heart I grabbed them,” he explained, “because I wanted to pay a personal tribute to all the friends and colleagues I lost in San Francisco during the heyday of the AIDS crisis. Especially (performer) Bill Kendall of Beach Blanket Babylon, who was a good friend and co-worker, and someone I took the entire journey with. The show was a dedication to his memory, as well as (creator) Steve Silver, and so many others.

“When I read Daniel’s Husband I fell in love with it and knew it was right for the Fountain and L.A.’s gay community. Not only because it dealt with gay marriage, but because of its universal theme of loving and caring for one another. I wanted the production to be a reminder to hold on tight to each other, especially in these toxic political times, because we never know how long someone will be in our life. To live with regret is horrible, so love NOW!”

Both productions received passionate, widespread critical acclaim and extended runs. Audience reaction to both shows was deep and visceral. Many patrons saw both, and there were many who saw each play multiple times. It was also not uncommon for them to come back with friends and family members who they felt compelled to have experience the show.

The teeming post-show gatherings are something Levy remembers fondly.

“(I loved) seeing how deeply moved audiences were by both shows, and how they would congregate outside on the sidewalk afterwards to talk with the actors and share their stories of losing loved ones, or fighting to make gay marriage legal. I also loved the ‘love board’ that allowed people to pay tribute to the memory of loved ones and those they love now.”

The ‘love board’ was a giant, paper-covered plywood board that stood at the theatre’s double doors during The Normal Heart. On it, people would write love notes to, and about, the men and women who were no longer here with them. There were also expressions of gratitude and love for those who were still by their side. It was a powerful, cathartic act, and the paper was oft replaced during the extended run of the show.

In a LA Times interview from October 2, 2013, Levy made a comment about The Normal Heart and the AIDS crisis that now seems prophetic when taken in context of today’s COVID pandemic.

“People have fallen asleep again…Millions of people are dying from AIDS every year. But no one’s talking about it anymore. We’re all pretending that it’s yesterday’s illness.”

His resulting message to the public? “Don’t politicize pandemics! Be kind to each other. Love each other. We’re all in this together.”

Celebrate Pride with us and join us for the cast reunions of Daniel’s Husband and The Normal Heart today at 4pm. Watch on Zoom, Facebook, Twitter, YouTube or on our website.

Join the party! Daniel’s Husband & The Normal Heart company reunion today @ 4pm By Terri Roberts June is Pride month, a time of Mardi Gras-like celebration for the LGBTQ+ community that’s highlighted locally by the annual…

[chiseler]

“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

[lovemesomerafael]

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.

[peraltasames]

until the night turns into morning

Amy has a bad day and realizes even the worst days aren't quite as bad with Jake Peralta.

Notes: canon divergent, set post-2x21 (det dave majors) but before johnny and dora. jake supports amy so much and i have a lot of feelings about it. based on the song new york by ed sheeran

read on ao3

Usually, after a particularly bad day, Amy will go home immediately after work, run herself a hot bath and read one of her favourite books. The familiarity of the words and the effortlessness of comprehending them soothe her brain until she begins to forget about her troubles.

Tonight, though, she only makes it a couple blocks from the precinct before she’s parking her car again, almost in a trance as she walks across the street and into Shaw’s.

She doesn’t want to read. She wants to drink.

“Heisler, please,” she says in a gravelly voice, muttering a quick “thank you” to the bartender and heading off to the darkest, quietest corner of the bar.

Unfortunately, the corner booth, her envisioned destination for at least two or three more drinks, is occupied (even more unfortunately, by her coworkers).

“Amy, hey!”

She knows the moment she hears Boyle’s voice that it’s too late to down her drink and head elsewhere. Her colleagues, her friends, would never allow her to drink alone on a Friday night.

“Hey, guys.” She plasters on a fake smile, begrudgingly sitting next to Gina, across from Rosa and Charles.

“You seem a little down in the dumps, did the stationery store close?”

She doesn’t have the energy to reply to Gina’s snark (the last thing she needs is to think about losing Quills and Things), taking another long sip of her drink.

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” she mumbles, setting the already half-empty drink down in front of her. “Actually, guys, I should probably just go home.”

“Whatever’s wrong, it might help to be with people who care about you,” Charles suggests with an encouraging grin, raising his beer.

As much as she appreciates the support, she really doesn’t feel like seeing any more looks of sympathy like the one Holt gave her half an hour ago after getting off the phone with the chief.

“Thanks, Charles, but I should really-“

“Hey, Santiago!” The unmistakeable voice from over her shoulder makes her freeze in place. Of course, it was foolish to think that he wouldn’t be here on a Friday with all of their other coworkers, but given her disaster of a day, she thought maybe the universe would cut her some slack. No such luck. “Did Holt find out if you got the task force?”

She stares down at her lap to avoid the looks of comprehension from her friends as they piece the situation together, to avoid Jake’s faded smile as he meets Charles’ gaze and everyone is now acutely aware of her failure.

“They decided to give it to Kyle Gregory.”

Jake is speechless for a second (a rare occurrence) and she hopes and prays that maybe he’ll just drop it and start talking about one of his cases or his ranking of the Die Hard saga. Of course, he won’t do those things, because completely notwithstanding her own will, he is probably her best friend. He cares about her and supports her - it’s the very reason that when she proposed her task force idea to the chief with Holt’s support and he said he would strongly consider her to take the lead on it, her first instinct was to call Jake and enthusiastically ramble to him in the hallway outside the chief’s office for twenty minutes.

“You are way more qualified than him.” Rosa breaks the silence, looking slightly more pissed than normal.

“Yeah, and the chief’s a sexist jerk,” Gina pipes in, “he calls me sweetheart when he calls for Holt. I usually transfer his call to Hitchcock instead.”

Amy cracks a small smile at her friends’ benevolent remarks, but it’s nothing she didn’t already know, nothing that really eases the dull ache in her heart. She knows all about the bigotry that runs deep in the NYPD, but it doesn’t make it any easier when things like this continue to happen.

Jake slides into the spot next to her, the booth now crowded enough that his thigh is touching hers, even when she shifts closer to Gina to make room for him. She doesn’t know if it’s the physical contact or the soft smile or him sliding his own beer that he just bought over to her and drinking from the one that was probably meant for Charles instead, but she feels a little bit warmer inside.

The warm feeling grows ever so slightly as she sits back silently and listens to Rosa and Gina rant about the patriarchy while Charles and Jake nod and mutter agreements, occasionally getting up to get another round of drinks.

She isn’t sure how many hours pass, but eventually she has enough to drink that she can feel herself getting caught up in her own irrational thoughts of not being good enough and never reaching her goals. It must show in her face, because Gina pauses during a story about herself to ask if Amy’s okay in a rare, genuine tone and Jake’s hand inconspicuously grabs hers where it rests on her lap.

“It’s just not fair,” Amy mumbles in response to Gina’s question.

“It’s not fair,” Jake agrees, squeezing her hand (god, she hopes the blush creeping on her face can be blamed on the six beers she just had). “You’ll show ‘em when you’re the youngest captain in the history of the NYPD though, right Ames?”

Amy’s brain shifts its focus from disappointment and anger to replaying Jake’s sentence on an incessant loop, breaking it down into facts: he listens to her goals, he believes in her, he called her “Ames” again…

She really doesn’t know if it’s just the alcohol or a result of every emotion of the past year since he told her he wanted something to happen between them and promptly disappeared for six months, but being with Jake - just Jake, despite how grateful she is for the support of her friends - is now her number one priority.

“Can we go somewhere?” Her lips are close to his ear as she whispers the question, trying to avoid being overheard.

Something flashes in his eyes and she’s worried for a moment that he’s misinterpreted what she wants - she doesn’t even know what she wants -but he just nods wordlessly and smiles.

“Wait here, I’ll go pay the tab.”

They make their exit as discreetly as possible, Jake muttering some halfhearted excuse about them splitting a cab even though everyone in their group knows they live in opposite directions from the bar.

The warm breeze of the mid-summer night embraces her as she steps out of the doors, Jake’s hand firmly placed on her upper back keeping her steady.

“Do you want me to take you home?” he offers, attempting to hail a cab as they approach the street. “Or we can get something to eat, are you hungry? You haven’t eaten since lunch, right?”

It’s true, and she tries not to overanalyze how closely he pays attention to her. He’s a detective, it’s in his nature…right?

“Not hungry,” she murmurs, following his lead as he opens the back door of the first taxi that pulls over, sliding in next to her.

“Where to?”

Jake looks blankly at her while the driver taps his fingers impatiently against the wheel.

“Can we just…” She thinks for a moment. She doesn’t want to go home yet - home means being alone and letting her thoughts consume her. At two o’clock in the morning, though, she isn’t really sure where else to go.

“Just drive around for a bit, please,” Jake tells the driver.

She looks over Jake, but unlike her typical stolen glances and quiet longing, she lets her eyes linger on him: brown hair, a little messy, not much more so than normal; a dark grey t-shirt, navy blue hoodie, black jeans, white sneakers; the lights of the city reflected in deep brown eyes, still looking at her; lips slightly parted, lips that she’s been dying to feel on her own for months, years probably-

“What are you thinking about?”

She gulps, diverting her gaze elsewhere. “I…I love this song.”

It’s not a complete lie. The Cyndi Lauper song playing in poor quality through the cab’s radio brings back fond memories of her mother cooking dinner with the sound of her record player flowing softly from the next room. It brings her a feeling of security and warmth that only grows when Jake begins to sing along dramatically, completely off-key, basking in the eighties cheesiness.

“If you’re lost you can look and you will find me…time after time!”

“Jake, you’re ridiculous,” she says, a grin spreading across her face of its own accord.

“C’mon, Santiago, don’t leave me hanging…” he says as the song builds to the final chorus, his hand falling against her leg. “If you fall, I will catch you, I’ll be waiting…”

“Time after time,” she joins in, harmonizing terribly with him and creating a sound that makes the cab driver wince a little, a genuine laugh rising in her chest for the first time all day.

Both of them laughing out loud, she clumsily drops her head to his shoulder and lets it stay there. After a few moments of comfortable silence, she feels his arm wrap around her shoulders and tug her entire body closer, her right leg crossing over her left one and resting on his.

The fact that this is the most intimate they’ve ever been is not lost on her, the weight of his arm around her pulling her down to earth and sobering her up more than the glass of water he made her drink before they left (he’s always taking care of her in some small way, it seems).

Nobody else in the world could find her when she’s broken and make her feel more whole than she has in her entire life. Nobody else in the world is like him.

“Hey, Jake?”

“Yeah?” His breath, smelling of beer and mints, is hot against her cheek as he speaks.

“Today sucked. But…you made it a lot better, so, thank you” she murmurs. “You’re the best.” She doesn’t add partner or friend or colleague, they’re past the point of pretending that’s all he is to her.

She smiles as she says it, waiting to see the astounded look on his face before burying her face in his shoulder again. He grips her even tighter, and her heart nearly jumps out of her chest when he kisses the top of her head. This is uncharted territory.

A few more old, familiar songs play as they drive through the streets of Brooklyn, which are gradually emptying as most people find their way home. When she starts to think about how high of a cost they’re racking up on the meter, she casually gives the driver her address, remaining placid in Jake’s arms until they park.

He pays the driver despite her protests - New York cab fares are a nightmare and he already spent enough on drinks - and slips his hand into hers as soon as he closes the car door behind him.

“I’m just gonna walk to Charles’ and crash there,” he says, gesturing in the general direction of their friend’s apartment, only a few blocks east. “But, um, call me if you need anything, okay? Like, if you want to talk or go see a movie or egg the chief’s house or-“

He staggers backwards a little bit as she grabs his face and presses her lips firmly against his, which quickly part and kiss her back with equal fervor. His hands slide around her back and pull her into him as she runs hers through his hair like she’s wanted to for longer than she cares to admit.

They separate much more slowly than they came together, his eyes still closed when hers open, their arms still wrapped around each other.

“Don’t go to Boyle’s,” she breathes, hands resting lightly on his chest.

He nods slowly, a million emotions passing over his face as he holds her gaze with the same intensity.

“Okay.”

They walk up the steps to her apartment with joined hands. It’s not his first time here, but it’s certainly his first time here at three in the morning after she’s kissed him passionately and officially abandoned any attempt to conceal her feelings for him.

She pours them each a glass of water and passes one to him, taking hers into the bedroom so she can change out of the pantsuit she’s been in for way too many hours and try to wrap her head around the events of the last few minutes. She pulls on tiny silk pajama shorts and a black tank top, only slightly sexier than what she may normally sleep in, because freaking Jake is in her kitchen at three in the morning. She would be flat-out lying if she said this exact scenario hadn’t occurred in her dreams, paralyzing her with guilt while she was still dating Teddy and making her terribly uncomfortable a few different mornings at work. She even dreamt about him last week after coming home from a date with one of the most attractive, charismatic men in the NYPD. Dave Majors was charming and intelligent, but unfortunately had the same critical flaw as every other man she’s dated recently - he isn’t Jake Peralta.

“Amy.” His voice is a little steadier than before as he walks over to meet her when she re-enters the kitchen and gently grabs her waist. Some combination of him being much taller than her now that her heels are off and his loving stare makes her melt against him. “I know you’ve had a really tough day, and you’ve had a few drinks, so if all of this is just, you know-“

“Jake,” she cuts him off, surprising even herself with her certainty. “I like you. I’ve liked you for…a long time. This is real.”

He exhales and flashes her a relieved smile, his eyes shining even in the dim light of her kitchen.

“Is this okay?” he asks, bowing his head down so their noses are almost touching. His thumbs brush the small strip of skin exposed between her top and shorts.

She kisses him instead of wasting their time with words, her lips a little softer and less urgent this time as they move against his. This kiss doesn’t just appease her burning desire for him, it sets an entirely new fire in her soul that she hopes never goes out. It electrifies every inch of her body.

She kisses him until she loses all concept of time, only aware of the fact that she is kissing him, and until her body can no longer keep up with her desire to continue kissing him for the rest of her life. She lets out a small yawn as they separate.

“Am I boring you already, Santiago?” The teasing is very typical, the awestruck grin and lips a little red from kissing her so much are not.

“I’ve been up for twenty-four hours.”

“You wanna go to bed, then?” he suggests casually, like them going to bed together is an everyday occurrence.

She smiles again - she never imagined today would end with so much smiling - and pecks his lips one more time before dragging him to her bedroom. It feels even more natural than she expected when she climbs into bed with him next to her and he flings an arm around her waist. They fit together so perfectly that part of her thinks this whole thing is bigger than the two of them, that this was bound to happen eventually.

Very soon, the sun will creep through her curtains and shine on her sleeping figure, still tightly wrapped around his. She will be dreaming of him, not of her fears of failure or lack of approval. When she wakes several hours later, she will talk to him about those things and he will listen and stroke her back, and then he will kiss her because they finally, finally get to do that. Tomorrow, the world will be brighter.

[katmstanton]

Fatherhood - Ch. 30

After a few fluffy chapters with “Fresh Start” I felt you guys needed some tears and angst again. Sorry for toying with your emotions as you read both! This one is a bit longer than normal as I did not want to cut it in half. 

Tags: @madpanda75 @mrsrafaelbarba @obfuscateyummy @sweetsummertime99 @julie-yard @esparza-army @dreila03 @ctfarhan @surrealdiaries @tiredrainbi @lyssa1385 @theoofoof @msnyc @imagine-rafaelbarba

Chapter 30:

“Mr. Barba, it’s good to see you again. Please, come in.” Dr. Miles stated as he allowed Rafael to enter his office for their weekly therapy session.

Langan had made sure Rafael had seen Dr. Miles immediately after the court hearing to help get the services started. Rafael agreed but only after Langan and Carisi discussed with him that if he wanted to fight for Jake to return to his and Olivia’s care at the next court hearing the following month he needed to show the court he had complied and did it timely and actively.

“Hmph.” Rafael grunted as he made his way into the dimly lit office before taking a seat in the loveseat opposite Dr. Miles.

As he sat he felt the air leave him once again. He knew what the doctor was going to want to discuss with him and he did not know if he had it in him or even if he wanted to open old wounds.

“Rafael, we have seen each other for what.. 3 or 4 weeks now? Why don’t we move to something a bit deeper?” Dr. Miles started as Rafael let out the remaining breathes he held.

“Tell me about your father.”

Rafael shuddered at the question and his already grumbly mood became worse as he twiddled his hands. He stayed still for what felt like an hour but he knew it only to be a mere few seconds.

Dr. Miles did not say or do anything during that time and instead watched him. He hated being watched like this, hated having to reopen wounds he had sealed so well with books and sarcasm.

In the end he took a shaky breath before speaking. He knew if he didn’t talk and didn’t participate it would mean the worst for Jake and he refused to allow that to happen.

“Mi padre era mi padre. He is not someone I allow take up my life. At least not anymore.” Rafael stated shortly.

“I would object, wouldn’t you? I would argue he has and still does “take up” your life. I want you to think about a memory you have of him and tell me what you feel.”

Rafael didn’t say anything and instead fiddled with his hands once again before allowing his mind to think back to his childhood. To the memories he had tried so hard to forget and never remember.

“Mami hice el equipo de debate!” Rafael exclaimed excitedly as he ran into the kitchen from school.

He had just started middle school and while he had Alex and Eddie to run the streets with he was far too eager to start working to become the next Judge.

It wasn’t until he turned the corner towards the living room that he saw it. The look on his mother’s face as his father stood over her with a hand out like he had just slapped her across the face.

“Debate team? Are you a wimp?” His father started as he turned towards him.

“Ningún hijo mío estará en un equipo de debate. Es hora de que te pongas de pie.”

His breath caught as he remembered just how his father’s ring felt across his face and how the welts and scabs from the belt left marks on his back and hip that he still had to this day.

“What do you feel, Rafael?”

“Fear. Sadness…” Rafael started as he kept his eyes shut trying to think of a happy memory to change the subject with no avail.

“Go on.”

“Anger. I am angry. No, I am furious. I was just a kid. A kid who had to watch his mother get beat and a kid who still has the welts and marks to this day.” Rafael stated through clenched teeth as his eyes stayed shut.

“Do you ever find that this anger boils over and causes harm to others?”

When Dr. Miles spoke Rafael’s eyes snapped open and with a glare filled with fire he eyed the doctor down before he spoke through clenched teeth.

“I am not my father. I would never lay a hand on my mother, on Olivia, on any woman. I would never allow my children to know the feeling of a belt or the feeling of their father’s anger and resentment towards them. I would rather die than put a hand on Jake and Noah.”

“I never said you would, Rafael. I only asked if your anger boils over and causes harm. You are the one who inferred I meant physical harm. Think about your words, your actions. Have you ever done or said something out of anger without thinking?”

Rafael knew what Dr. Miles was referring to and as he thought back to the first time he met Ms. Fields and Jake at his apartment.

“Our judge has ruled that Jacob is able to stay with you while the paternity test and legal paperwork is completed in order to officially transfer custody to you. That is, if you wanted him to stay here. If not, he will go back upstate with me and return to the group home.”  

Barba’s head snapped up at her with a look of pure hatred and vengeance. There was no way he would force Jacob back to a group home and back into a world of being an orphan. Whether or not Jacob was his biologically he knew Jacob deserved more in life than being bounced between homes and orphanages.

“He will stay here.”

Barba stared at her with fire in his eyes and all she could do was nod in agreement.

“The next availability for a DNA test isn't for another month -“

“-I’ll get it done here by Monday.” He interjected her.

“Mr. Barba, I know you are anxious to know the results but there is a process and we are not able to get it done before the scheduled time.” Ms. Fields replied getting annoyed at his attitude.

“Ms. Fields, I am the ADA for Manhattan. I work with the NYPD, FBI, and Homeland Security everyday. I do not need a lecture in government bureaucracy. I live it everyday.”

He knew he had been a bit angry at the situation and knew he tended to allow his words to cut people at their core. It was his speciality, always had been. It was how he worked his way to the ADA’s office and how he held such a high record as a lawyer. He knew exactly what to say and when to say it to cut the deepest.

He sighed as he replayed the exchange and the rest of the visit to Dr. Miles.

He spoke of how angry he was at finding out about Jake and that he never even knew about him.

He spoke of how Ms. Fields had made him angry by how she kept talking about money and costs when it came to Jake’s basis needs.

He spoke about how his heart shattered that evening as he sat in the quiet of the apartment listening to Jake move around in the night as he found himself not only as an individual but also as someone who was at yet another home.

“Rafael, you have come a long way since the days you remember when you think of your father. You have grown into a man who is more worried about a boy he didn’t even know was his or not than about allowing the anger take control and lash out. Although, you did say and do some things, you did not allow the anger to fully take over.”

As Dr. Miles spoke Rafael watched his thumbs as he twiddled with them for the hundredth time since entering the office that day.

It was something he did when he was nervous or when he was upset and had no idea when he started. The earliest memory of doing such was as a kid when he heard his father yelling or punching things.

“Rafael, I do not believe you have a true anger management problem.” Dr. Miles stated and Rafael’s eyes snapped to his in surprise.

Up until that point in his life many had attempted to label him “angry” when he had to discuss his father. His mother tried to get him to see someone after his passing but after one session he refused to go back.

The doctor had inferred he desired the chaos and that the reason why his father’s coma was hard on him was because he did not want to leave that time of his life. He had politely told the therapist to leave him alone as he spit words to him in spanish as he walked out, never to return.

Now, sitting in front of Dr. Miles, he was telling the same stories and working through the same issues and he had finally found someone who saw him as himself and not his father.

“You don’t?”

“No.” Dr. Miles stated as he sat his notepad beside him before leaning towards Rafael.

“Rafael, I believe, while yes you have a temper, you actually are suffering from a form of PTSD due to the abuse your father did to you as a child.”

“That’s crazy. I haven’t been to war or anything.” Rafael started to say before Dr. Miles cut him off.

“Rafael, I have been watching you at every session. Watching as you fiddle with your hands and how you react to certain things. Do you know what I have observed?”

He didn’t wait for an answer before continuing.

“You are calm and while you don’t want to be here you do participate. You talk about Jake, Olivia, and Noah and the struggles you deal with everyday. You talk about how losing Jake made you feel. You have even discussed the passing of your grandmother. However, it is only the mention and discussion of your father or the idea of abuse that you get upset or angry. It is only during those times you fiddle with your hands and twitch. You become very anxious during those times.”

As he spoke Rafael could feel the weight being lifted off him. He did not know why but all he knew is that while Dr. Miles spoke and talked to him he felt his body relax and he felt something lift of his shoulders that had been there all his life. He finally felt okay with who he was and the anxiety he never let anyone see.

Rafael didn’t say anything as Dr. Miles continued to talk to him. He stayed quiet and listened to everything he was being told.

In the end, he and Dr. Miles agreed to meet the following week and during which time Rafael would try something new to help with his stress and anxiety when it flared.

The two discussed sudoku or puzzles as a way to allow his very Type-A brain to do something productive while also allowing it to relax. Dr. Miles had also ordered, much to Rafael’s disagreement, he cut back to only 1 or 2 cups of coffee a day and try to not have any on the weekends.

“Thank you, Dr. Miles.” Rafael stated as he went to leave.

The two men shared a slight smile as they shook hands and as Rafael walked out the office he felt something new building inside him, something different. He felt calmness

[anachroniisms-archived]

Hi all! I’m Rey and I’m here with Andrea!

The TL;DR version is:  ex-U.S. marshal who was just a little too trigger happy so she got put on time-out. Now she’s a journalist. Andy’s an old west gunslinger who’s been born into a different era. Above all she’s about putting bad guys behind bars and protecting good people; she’s a hunter. She’s here to kill detain Madden Coyle. And maybe a few others.

I’m always looking for plots and connections! Andy grew up in Valdez so I think there’s potential? Also you can read her super extra bio below. Feel free to hit me up here or on discord at the_revati#8487

THE HUNTER -

⋆ ◦ ° ☾ stella maeve + cisfemale + she/her — have you seen andrea shepard around? this thirty one year old known as the hunter has been hanging out at valdez town square a lot recently. they are a civilian that works as a/n ex -u.s, marshal turned journalist, and they feel vindictive about the gangs. a heteroflexible scorpio, they are tenacious + resourceful, as well as judgmental + destructive. gunpowder, lioness, bruised knuckles × rey. twenty-one+. she/her. PST. × (Madden Coyle’s connection)

tw: death, murder, self- mutilation  

BACKSTORY

Her father was a Voloshyn and that meant he was a significant part of the Ukrainian mafia that owned a small corner of the world. His family? They didn’t live in this corner. Though born in Odessa, Ukraine, Andrea was raised by her mother Alice Shepard in the town of Valdez, Colorado. Alice had grown up in Valdez and though she’d spent most of her life in New York working as an art curator when motherhood struck, she decided that returning home - far, far, far away from Odessa - was the best choice for the children. Mikhail was her first born, but her daughter Andrea was born two minutes later. When they were older, Alice would tell them they came into this world holding hands.

Valdez was a decent enough place to grow up. Like any town, it had its dark underbelly. Alice did her best to keep both Mikhail and Andrea away from it, but the two grew up a part of the town as much as anyone else. It’s where Andrea picked her first fight, had her first kiss, got drunk for the first time. And Mikhail? He was her best friend.

For the most part, Andrea and Mikhail didn’t see their father. The holidays were the exception and dinners were always silent when Alexi Voloshyn sat at the head of the table.  There was a shock in this pattern when the twins turned 11. Summer break rolled around and, all of a sudden, Mikhail was whisked off with Alexi to spend the summer in Odessa. Ever summer after that was the same. Mikhail would leave in the dead of night and Andrea would get left behind. It became increasingly obvious before long that Alexi was grooming Mikhail to step into his shoes with the mafia. The young girl grew increasingly bitter about this tradition with the passing of each halcyon season. Mikhail would return just in time for school to start with nothing but a “It was fine” as a reply to Andrea’s “Well? How was it?”  

It’s not that Andrea wanted her own hand in the criminal underworld of Europe - she was too young to understand that - she just wanted to be taken as seriously as her brother. She began to act out as a cry for attention - but all attempts went ignored. A stray comment from Alexi about marrying her off one Christmas dinner set off the final fuse. Andrea was 15 and at peak teenage rebellion. Without blinking, she grabbed the carving knife from the ham in front of her, and cut off her own ring finger. She tried not to cry when she did it and felt immensely betrayed by the three tears that managed to leak out during the act. The entire thing was very much a ‘fuck you’ to the path that had been laid out for her. It was very much supposed to be a ‘fuck you’ to her father. He wanted her to get married? Fuck that. Ring finger? Gone. Now she could never get married.

Instead of reacting with anger or fury, her father simply looked at this act of defiance and laughed. In her 15 years it was probably the first time Andrea heard such a sound. It was a warm, accepting laugh. As the family doctor stitched and patched her up, Alexi finally conceded that Andrea could join them in Odessa next summer. The young woman learned that acts of self-destruction as loyalty held a certain sort of esteem in her father’s eyes.

Sure enough, Andrea went to the Port of Odessa the next summer. It’s where she learned how to fire a gun, worked as a hired hand on a ship, saw her first dead body. She’d been brought along but it was Mikhail that Alexi continuously sent into the fray. It was Mikhail that went on the ride alongs and once again it was Andrea that was left behind. You’d think a father would be more precious with the life of his son but, again, acts of self-destruction as loyalty held a certain sort of esteem in Alexi’s eyes. One cold night, a deal went south and shots were fired. Andrea heard about it from one of her father’s friends the next morning. She heard that while Mikhail’s body had been found, Alexi’s was conveniently missing. Whispers floated that her father had managed to flee the scene. Any sadness Andrea had for her brother was swept away with the resounding notion that her father was a fucking coward.

Andrea returned home to Alice alone. The two boarded up Alice’s childhood home and moved to New York. That was Andrea’s tipping point. At her mother’s insistence she applied to colleges in New York and wound up settling on pursuing a political science degree at Columbia. There was an intense irony to the fact that Andrea was quickly falling into a path carved out for law enforcement, but the second she noticed it, she leaned into it. It was another ‘fuck you’ to the memory of her father. More than that, she had a knack for it in a way that she a knack for nothing else.

Andrea joined the NYPD fresh out of college and quickly climbed the ladder to the rank of deputy sheriff. In the police department, she finally found the family she’d been searching for. In Sheriff William Kolstad, she found the brother she had lost. Alas, Sheriff Kolstad was a good man and good men don’t last long on the force.

Only a few months into her time with the PD, Kolstad was murdered in cold blood. The incident turned Andy’s vision red. She was 21 and full of fire. She hadn’t been able to do anything about her brother... but for William? She’d find it in her track down whomever was responsible.

Madden Coyle, eighteen years old was found guilty and placed on death row for the murder of an on duty police officer in cold blood. Andrea didn’t blink an eye. The loss of Kolstad left her affected and, in the same way she handled her brother’s death, she decided that packing up and moving was the right way to cope with things. She asked to be relocated and, as a result, was shipped off the Glynco, Georgia to become a firearms instructor at the U.S. Marshal’s training center.

She was in Georgia when she heard that Coyle had gotten out on a technicality. She heard of the ruling by way of a ping to her cellphone in the middle of class and the young woman came to a full stop at the mere sight of it. It possibly right then that Andrea decided to transition from an instructor to marshal.

During her time with the Marshal’s service, Andrea was assigned to several different field offices across the U.S. She gained a reputation for being trigger happy and was thus stationed in increasingly remote stations. Alice passed during Andrea’s time in the Fairbanks office and due to poor weather conditions it was a week before Andrea got the news. Alice had left Andrea the house in Valdez, Colorado.

Her life continued in other ways. During the day she would do her job, and at the night she would come back to the husband she’d met during her time on the NYPD. For a while, life was right. When Andrea caught whiff that Alexi Voloshyn was making the journey from the Port of Odessa to the Port of New Orleans, Andrea caught the first flight she could to Louisiana. 

Cut to: two weeks later. Andrea. Run out of New Orleans by the Ukrainian mob for publicly killing Alexi Voloshyn. Out of a desire to avoid scandal and a fear for her safety, her Chief Deputy decided that it was time for Andrea to take a sabbatical. It was time for her to go home.

Andrea had no interest in hanging up her badge. She fucking despised the thought of it. She was ready to contest, she was ready to fight back. But as fate would have it, Andrea caught word through the grapevine that Madden Coyle was based in Valdez, Colorado. Any protests to the suggestion died in her throat. She took the sabbatical, left her gun and her badge, and made her way back home. She intended on going alone, deciding that she’d make the trip, handle Coyle, come back. To her surprise, her husband was looking for a change as well and so Andrea and her husband into the old estate her mother left for her. 

Valdez came with its own obstacles. The gangs infested the town and Andrea did her best to stay above it. When her partner strayed, Andrea kicked him out and never looked back. For her, it was as simple at that. Andrea had a rigid view for most things. While others saw the world in shades of grey, she saw it in shades of black and white. 

Now, Andrea lives alone with the occasional roommate that comes and goes. She keeps most of the estate boarded up and only really uses the parts she needs. To keep herself from going stir-crazy, she has taken up a part-time job as a freelance journalist. Old habits die hard though - hunting is in her bones. She plans on cleaning up this town. 

PERSONALITY / OTHER

an old-west gunslinger born into a different era

trigger happy

deep seeded anger towards the criminal underworld of this city. All about putting bad people behind bars and protecting good people.

holds a mother-fucking grudge like no other. See: 10 year vendetta against Madden Coyle.

methodology: shoot it before it shoots me.

honestly, if she wasn’t wearing a badge “back in the day” she’d be pretty close becoming an outlaw herself. She walks a dangerous line but shhhh we don’t talk about that

is no-nonsense

If you missed it in her bio, she’s missing her ring finger. She cut it off herself cause she didn’t want to get married. Ever. She always wears a glove on her left hand. 

forgets to eat. Survives on a diet of scotch and gummy bears.

has two facial expressions: scowling or smiling slyly

is angry. Always. Keeps it bottled up. Always.

crime never sleeps and neither does she.

likes crossword puzzles

plays the saxophone and the piano. A fan of jazz music.  

“I think she had fun, once” - the gas-station lady

also has a goldfish that she keeps forgetting to feed it’s a wonder it’s still alive.

“Call me Andy.”

WANTED CONNECTIONS 

I’m down to get creative with any of these! Also, I love angst???

Housemate - There is too much room in her parents estate for her live there alone. Andy’s put up a “for rent” sign with the intention of renting out one of the rooms to another Valdez citizen. (taken)  

Former friends, exes, frenemies - Maybe she lost touch with them, maybe she didn’t. If your character grew up in Valdez, there’s the chance they knew each other. Maybe they had sleepovers, maybe they were childhood enemies, maybe they dated. Bonus points if they lead lifestyles she disapproves of now! (open)

Siblings - Andy and Mikhail were Alice and Alexi’s oldest, but that doesn’t mean they couldn’t have had other younger siblings. Also open to having Alexi have had other affairs. (open)

The Hunted - they’ve crossed paths in the past and she’s got a vendetta against them (open)

Ex-husband - He joined the criminal underworld. She left him. Simple as that. (open)

Co-worker - Other “journalist” friends. (open)

And literally anything else. 

[brookstonalmanac]

Events 9.11

9 – Battle of the Teutoburg Forest ends, where the Roman Empire suffers the greatest defeat of its history and the Rhine being established as the border between the Empire and the so-called barbarians for the next four hundred years. 1185 – Isaac II Angelos kills Stephen Hagiochristophorites and then appeals to the people, resulting in the revolt that deposes Andronikos I Komnenos and places Isaac on the throne of the Byzantine Empire. 1226 – The first recorded instance of the Catholic practice of perpetual Eucharistic adoration formally begins in Avignon, France. 1297 – Battle of Stirling Bridge: Scots jointly led by William Wallace and Andrew Moray defeat the English. 1390 – Lithuanian Civil War (1389–92): The Teutonic Knights begin a five-week siege of Vilnius. 1541 – Santiago, Chile, is besieged by indigenous warriors, led by Michimalonco, to free eight indigenous chiefs held captive by the Spaniards. However, the Spaniards decapitated them and rolled their heads on the main square, horrifying the indigenous warriors, and subsequently ending the attack. 1565 – Ottoman forces retreat from Malta ending the Great Siege of Malta. 1609 – Henry Hudson arrives on Manhattan Island and meets the indigenous people living there. 1649 – Siege of Drogheda ends: Oliver Cromwell's Parliamentarian troops take the town and execute its garrison. 1683 – Battle of Vienna: Coalition forces, including the famous winged Hussars, led by Polish King John III Sobieski lift the siege laid by Ottoman forces. 1697 – Battle of Zenta: a major engagement in the Great Turkish War (1683–1699) and one of the most decisive defeats in Ottoman history. 1708 – Charles XII of Sweden stops his march to conquer Moscow outside Smolensk, marking the turning point in the Great Northern War. The army is defeated nine months later in the Battle of Poltava, and the Swedish Empire ceases to be a major power. 1709 – Battle of Malplaquet: Great Britain, Netherlands, and Austria fight against France. 1714 – Siege of Barcelona: Barcelona, capital city of Catalonia, surrenders to Spanish and French Bourbon armies in the War of the Spanish Succession. 1758 – Battle of Saint Cast: France repels British invasion during the Seven Years' War. 1775 – Benedict Arnold's expedition to Quebec leaves Cambridge, Massachusetts. 1776 – British–American peace conference on Staten Island fails to stop nascent American Revolutionary War. 1777 – American Revolutionary War: Battle of Brandywine: The British celebrate a major victory in Chester County, Pennsylvania. 1780 – American Revolutionary War: Sugarloaf Massacre: A small detachment of militia from Northampton County are attacked by Native Americans and Loyalists near Little Nescopeck Creek. 1786 – The beginning of the Annapolis Convention. 1789 – Alexander Hamilton is appointed the first United States Secretary of the Treasury. 1792 – The Hope Diamond is stolen along with other French crown jewels when six men break into the house where they are stored. 1800 – The Maltese National Congress Battalions are disbanded by British Civil Commissioner Alexander Ball. 1802 – France annexes the Kingdom of Piedmont. 1803 – Battle of Delhi, during the Second Anglo-Maratha War, between British troops under General Lake, and Marathas of Scindia's army under General Louis Bourquin. 1813 – War of 1812: British troops arrive in Mount Vernon and prepare to march to and invade Washington, D.C. 1814 – War of 1812: The climax of the Battle of Plattsburgh, a major United States victory in the war. 1826 – Captain William Morgan, an ex-freemason is arrested in Batavia, New York for debt after declaring that he would publish The Mysteries of Free Masonry, a book against Freemasonry. This sets into motion the events that led to his mysterious disappearance. 1829 – An expedition led by Isidro Barradas at Tampico, sent by the Spanish crown to retake Mexico, surrenders at the Battle of Tampico, marking the effective end of Mexico's campaign for independence. 1830 – Anti-Masonic Party convention; one of the first American political party conventions. 1836 – The Riograndense Republic is proclaimed by rebels after defeating Empire of Brazil's troops in the Battle of Seival, during the Ragamuffin War. 1851 – Christiana Resistance: Escaped slaves led by William Parker fight off and kill a slave owner who, with a federal marshal and an armed party, sought to seize three of his former slaves in Christiana, Pennsylvania, thereby creating a cause célèbre between slavery proponents and abolitionists. 1852 – Outbreak of Revolution of September 11 resulting in the State of Buenos Aires declaring independence as a Republic. 1857 – The Mountain Meadows massacre: Mormon settlers and Paiutes massacre 120 pioneers at Mountain Meadows, Utah. 1881 – In the Swiss state of Glarus, a rockslide buries parts of the village of Elm, destroying 83 buildings and killing 115 people. 1897 – After months of pursuit, generals of Menelik II of Ethiopia capture Gaki Sherocho, the last king of the Kaffa. 1903 – The first race at the Milwaukee Mile in West Allis, Wisconsin is held. It is the oldest major speedway in the world. 1905 – The Ninth Avenue derailment occurs in New York City, killing 13. 1914 – World War I: Australia invades German New Guinea, defeating a German contingent at the Battle of Bita Paka. 1914 – The Second Period of Russification: The teaching of the Russian language and Russian history in Finnish schools was ordered to be considerably increased as part of the forced Russification program in Finland run by Tsar Nicholas II. 1916 – The Quebec Bridge's central span collapses, killing 11 men. The bridge previously collapsed completely on August 29, 1907. 1919 – United States Marine Corps invades Honduras. 1921 – Nahalal, the first moshav in Palestine, is settled as part of a Zionist plan of creating a Jewish state, later to be Israel. 1922 – The Treaty of Kars is ratified in Yerevan, Armenia. 1941 – Construction begins on The Pentagon. 1941 – Charles Lindbergh's Des Moines Speech accusing the British, Jews and FDR's administration of pressing for war with Germany. 1943 – World War II: German troops occupy Corsica and Kosovo-Metohija ending the Italian occupation of Corsica. 1944 – World War II: The Western Allied invasion of Germany begins near the city of Aachen. 1944 – World War II: RAF bombing raid on Darmstadt and the following firestorm kill 11,500. 1945 – World War II: Australian 9th Division forces liberate the Japanese-run Batu Lintang camp, a POW and civilian internment camp on the island of Borneo. 1954 – Hurricane Edna hits New England (United States) as a Category 2 hurricane, causing significant damage and 29 deaths. 1961 – Hurricane Carla strikes the Texas coast as a Category 4 hurricane, the second strongest storm ever to hit the state. 1965 – Indo-Pakistani War: The Indian Army captures the town of Burki, just southeast of Lahore. 1967 – China's People's Liberation Army (PLA) launched an attack on Indian posts at Nathu La, Sikkim, India, which resulted in military clashes. 1968 – Air France Flight 1611 crashes off Nice, France, killing 89 passengers and six crew. 1970 – The Dawson's Field hijackers release 88 of their hostages. The remaining hostages, mostly Jews and Israeli citizens, are held until September 25. 1971 – The Egyptian Constitution becomes official. 1972 – The San Francisco Bay Area Rapid Transit system begins passenger service. 1973 – A coup in Chile, headed by General Augusto Pinochet, topples the democratically elected president Salvador Allende. Pinochet exercises dictatorial power until ousted in a referendum in 1988, staying in power until 1990. 1973 – JAT Airways Flight 769 crashes into the Maganik mountain range while on approach to Titograd Airport, killing 35 passengers and six crew. 1974 – Eastern Air Lines Flight 212 crashes in Charlotte, North Carolina, killing 69 passengers and two crew. 1976 – A bomb planted by a Croatian terrorist, Zvonko Bušić, is found at New York's Grand Central Terminal; one NYPD officer is killed trying to defuse it. 1980 – A new constitution of Chile is established under the influence of then Chilean dictator Augusto Pinochet, which is subject to controversy in Chile today. 1982 – The international forces that were guaranteeing the safety of Palestinian refugees following Israel's 1982 Invasion of Lebanon leave Beirut. Five days later, several thousand refugees are massacred in the Sabra and Shatila refugee camps by Phalange forces. 1989 – Hungary announces that the East German refugees who had been housed in temporary camps were free to leave for West Germany. 1991 – Continental Express Flight 2574 crashes in Colorado County, Texas, near Eagle Lake, killing 11 passengers and three crew. 1992 – Hurricane Iniki, one of the most damaging hurricanes in United States history, devastates the Hawaiian Islands of Kauai and Oahu. 1997 – NASA's Mars Global Surveyor reaches Mars. 1997 – After a nationwide referendum, Scotland votes to establish a devolved parliament within the United Kingdom. 2001 – The September 11 attacks, a series of coordinated terrorist attacks killing 2,977 people using four aircraft hijacked by 19 members of al-Qaeda. Two aircraft crash into the World Trade Center in New York City, a third crashes into The Pentagon in Arlington County, Virginia, and a fourth into a field near Shanksville, Pennsylvania. 2007 – Russia tests the largest conventional weapon ever, the Father of All Bombs. 2008 – A major Channel Tunnel fire breaks out on a freight train, resulting in the closure of part of the tunnel for six months. 2011 – The National September 11 Memorial & Museum opens on the 10th anniversary of the September 11 attacks. 2012 – A total of 315 people are killed in two garment factory fires in Pakistan. 2012 – The U.S. embassy in Benghazi, Libya is attacked, resulting in four deaths. 2015 – A crane collapses onto the Masjid al-Haram mosque in Saudi Arabia, killing 111 people and injuring 394 others.

[xtruss]

Monuments to America’s Racist History Toppled Amid Mass Protests

Confederate monuments celebrating the United States' racist history are coming down in several states after being targeted by protesters over the past week.

— June 4, 2020 | DemocracyNow.Org

Monuments celebrating the nation’s racist history are coming down in several states after being targeted by protesters over the past week. On Wednesday, the city of Philadelphia removed a statue of the city’s former racist police chief and mayor, Frank Rizzo, just days after protesters attempted to topple it and light it on fire. Philadelphia Mayor Jim Kenney said, “The statue represented bigotry, hatred, and oppression for too many people, for too long.”

In Virginia, Governor Ralph Northam is expected to order the removal today of a statue of Confederate General Robert E. Lee from the state Capitol grounds in Richmond after it was vandalized during the protests.

In Birmingham, Alabama, protesters toppled a statue of Confederate officer Charles Linn and vandalized a monument known as the Confederate Sailors and Soldiers Monument. Following the action, Birmingham Mayor Randall Woodfin ordered the rest of the statue to be removed.

In Nashville, Tennessee, protesters toppled a statue of Edward Carmack, a racist politician and newspaper publisher who incited violence against Ida B. Wells for her reporting on lynchings.

Three Other Officers Involved in George Floyd’s Killing Charged and Arrested

Minnesota Attorney General Keith Ellison has filed charges against all four Minneapolis police officers involved in last week’s killing of George Floyd, which sparked ongoing nationwide protests. A charge of second-degree murder was added against officer Derek Chauvin, who was already facing a third-degree murder charge for kneeling on Floyd’s neck for eight minutes and 46 seconds while Floyd pleaded for his life. The other three officers present were charged with aiding and abetting the murder. Chauvin was arrested last week. The other three officers — Thomas Lane, Alexander Kueng and Tou Thao — are now in custody. Keith Ellison, Minnesota’s first African American attorney general, announced the charges on Wednesday afternoon.

Attorney General Keith Ellison: “Let me be honest here. I mean, our country has had — has underprosecuted these matters, in Minnesota and throughout the country. And so I think the trust is a result of historically not holding people who are public guardians accountable for their behavior in situations where we should have.”

A memorial service will be held today for George Floyd in Minneapolis. On Wednesday, his son Quincy Mason Floyd welcomed the charges against the officers.

Quincy Mason Floyd: “I am happy that all the officers have been arrested. My father should not have been killed like this. We deserve justice. That’s all I have to say.”

200+ New York Mayoral Staffers Demand “Radical Change,” Police Budget Cuts

Mayor Bill de Blasio holds a media availability at New York City Hall on Wednesday, June 3. (Ed Reed/Mayoral Photography Office)

Two-hundred thirty-six current and former staffers for Mayor de Blasio signed an open letter calling on him to live up to the promises of reform that initially drew them to work for him. Read about the effort here. Below is the full text of the document:

An Open Letter to Mayor Bill de Blasio

We are former and current de Blasio Administration staffers.

We came to the Mayor’s Office from different places and walks of life, but we all shared a common goal: to work for a fairer, more just New York City.

None of us joined the de Blasio Administration believing this mayor would be radical on criminal justice policy. That was apparent from the moment he hired Bill Bratton to be his police commissioner. But we saw in Bill de Blasio a chance for real change.

He made his opposition to “Stop and Frisk” a pillar of his run for the mayoralty. He spoke passionately about his duty as a parent to make New York City safer for his Black son and daughter. He called for cuts to the City’s jail population, and for the closure of Rikers Island.

It was our hope that these words were a starting place. That we could push the Administration further to reform New York City’s racist criminal legal system. That together we could create real, lasting change for a City and police department that have failed Black and brown New Yorkers, generation after generation.

Our time in the Mayor’s Office showed us that the change we had hoped for, and fought for, might never come.

We saw up close the Administration’s unwillingness to challenge the abuses of the NYPD—the Mayor’s refusal to fire Daniel Pantaleo for choking the life out of Eric Garner, the continuation of the failed “Broken Windows” policing strategy that criminalizes our Black and brown communities, the rejection of even basic accountability measures like making information public about police officers accused of misconduct.

We saw how, while crime rates are at record lows, the Administration has continued to pour money into the NYPD budget—which is now almost $1 billion larger than when de Blasio took office—heightening the over-policing of Black and brown communities.

We saw how the Mayor refused to end the use of solitary confinement, which took the lives of New Yorkers like Kalief Browder and Layleen Polanco, in the City’s jails.

We saw the aggressive push for the construction of new borough-based jails, at a cost of $9 billion, despite activists’ cries to invest that money in jobs and alternatives to incarceration.

The chasm between Mayor de Blasio’s promise to reform the criminal legal system and the actions of his Administration has only widened in the past year.

De Blasio expanded the City’s cooperation with Immigration and Customs Enforcement, which wages war on our immigrant communities.

He joined with police and prosecutors as they demonized the progressive bail and discovery reforms that activists and advocates spent years lobbying for in Albany.

He sat by as thousands of our fellow New Yorkers remained locked in cages on Rikers Island, while a deadly virus raged inside its jails.

And these past long days, as New Yorkers have taken to the streets demanding an end to the racist policing that humiliates, maims, and kills Black New Yorkers, he stood with the very police who perpetrate that violence.

Many of us marched at these protests. We’ve all seen the images and read the stories. Crowds of cops swarming over a single protestor, raining down blows with their batons. Protestors rammed with police cars. A rampaging cop throwing a protester to the curb, sending her to the hospital with seizures. A cop drawing his gun and pointing it into a crowd. A cop macing a defenseless young man with his hands in the air. Cops covering their badges so they could act with utter impunity.

What was the Mayor’s response? He said that the NYPD had “acted appropriately.” That police had “shown a lot of restraint.” That he “was not going to blame” officers who were trying to deal with an “impossible situation.”

And while the Mayor did attempt to walk back some of his comments on Sunday morning, by Tuesday he had implemented an 8:00 PM citywide curfew, an unprecedented attempt to silence New Yorkers’ cries for justice.

We have joined together in writing this letter because we could not remain silent while the Administration we served allows the NYPD to turn our City into an occupied territory. Our former boss might not hear the cries for justice from Black and brown New Yorkers, but we do.

We are demanding radical change from the Mayor, who is on the brink of losing all legitimacy in the eyes of New Yorkers.

1. Reduce the NYPD operating budget by $1 billion in Fiscal Year 2021, and reallocate that money to essential social services, including housing support and rental relief, food assistance, and health care, in alignment with the demands of the NYC Budget Justice campaign.

2. Immediately fire all NYPD officers found to have used excessive force—or to have covered their badges—at protests.

3. Release the names and official disciplinary records of all NYPD personnel who have been accused of using excessive force, covering their badge numbers, or other misconduct.

4. Appoint an independent commission, in the vein of the Knapp and Mollen Commissions, composed of civil rights attorneys, journalists, and activists, including abolitionist organizers, to investigate the response of the Mayor’s Office and the NYPD to the May and June 2020 protests against police violence.

We are also calling upon all former and current staffers of conscience to stand with us in our call for change.

We all chose to serve for a better New York. Stand with us now and demand justice—for George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Tony McDade, and Ahmaud Arbery. For Eric and Erica Garner. And for all Black and brown New Yorkers.

Signed,

Aarati Cohly, Aaron Ghitelman, Aaron S., Abdul Hafiz, Abe E., Abigail Cook-Mack, Aileen Almanzar, Aisha Pasha (Public Engagement Unit), Alacia Lauer (Mayor’s Office of Criminal Justice), Alejandro Cintron (Mayor’s Office of Immigrant Affairs), Alex F. (Public Engagement Unit), Alex Washington, Alexandra R., Alexis H., Alyssa Lott, Amanda Clarke, Amen Ra Mashariki, Amrita Dasgupta, Amy Furman (Mayor’s Office of Recovery and Resiliency), Andrea H., Andrew Schustek, Angela Sherpa, Angela Lascala-Gruenewald, Angela Terry, Angie Carpio (Mayor’s Office of Criminal Justice), Anthi Markatos, Anthony Jackson (Mayor’s Office of Creative Communications), Arelis Hernandez, Ariel L., Ashe Mcgovern, Ashley C., Ashley Dinzey (Gracie Mansion), Ashley Putnam (NYC Office of Workforce Development), Audrey Crabtree-Hannigan (Office of Research & Media Analysis), Ayesha D., Ayesha I., Ben Kantor, Ben Sarle (Mayor’s Press Office), Benita Miller, Benjamin Mandel (Mayor’s Office of Sustainability), Bianca Guerrero (Mayor’s Office of Policy and Planning), Brad Raimondo (de Blasio for Mayor 2017), Brandon G. Brandon West (Mayor’s Office of Management and Budget), Brandt Hamilton (Mayor’s Office of Speechwriting), Brian Erickson (Mayor’s Office of Housing Recovery Operations), Brian Johnson (Mayor’s Office of Management and Budget), Bridgit Donnelly, Camara Cooper (Mayor’s Office of Immigrant Affairs), Cara F., Carly Fleming (Public Engagement Unit) Carlyn Cowen (Mayor’s Office of Contract Services), Catherine Almonte, Cathy Pasion (Mayor’s Office of Sustainability), Chai Jindasurat (Mayor’s Office of Management and Budget), Charlette Renault-Caragianes, Christopher Collins-McNeil (Mayor’s Office of Intergovernmental Affairs), Colin Stayna-Wynter, Cristina Gonzalez (Mayor’s Office of Appointments), Cristine K. (Mayor’s Office of Immigrant Affairs), Curtis Cravens (Mayor’s Office of Recovery and Resiliency), Daniel B., Daniel Backman, Daniel Edelman, Darren Martin, David Vincent Rodriguez (Mayor’s Office of Immigrant Affairs), Deena Patel, Diana G., Dina Rybak, Dina Simon, Dorothy Suchkova (Mayor’s Office of Criminal Justice), Douglas Nam Le (Climate Policy and Programs), Eden T., Elisa Gahng, Elizabeth Olguin, Ellen P., Elvin Garcia (Mayor’s Community Affairs Unit), Emily Apple, Emily Preuss, Emnet Almedom (Mayor’s Office of Economic Opportunity), Eric G., Erika Lindsey, Esai Ramirez (Mayor’s Office of Immigrant Affairs) Essence Franklin (Mayor’s Office for Economic Opportunity), Esther Rosario, Eve Grassfield (Office of the Deputy Mayor for Strategic Policy Initiatives), Ezra Cukor (CCHR), Felicia H., Frances Chapman, Gabriela Martins (NYC Census 2020), Gagan Kaur, Giulianna S., Gloria Medina (Mayor’s Office of Immigrant Affairs), Gwendolyn Litvak, Hanif Yazdi (Mayor’s Office of Immigrant Affairs), Hannah Shaw (Mayor’s Office for Economic Opportunity), Harrison N., Helen Ho, Hermanoschy Bernard, Hina Naveed (Mayor’s Office of Immigrant Affairs), Ian Hanson, Ifeoma Ike (Young Men’s Initiative), Irina Tavera (NYC Census 2020), Jacqlene Moran (Mayor’s Office of Recovery and Resiliency), Jacqueline Crossan, James N., Janie K., Jasmine Fernandez, Jason Spear (Young Men’s Initiative), Jean Bae, Jen Samawat (Office of the First Lady of New York City), Jenna Tatum (NYC Mayor’s Office of Sustainability), Jennifer Scaife (Mayor’s Office of Criminal Justice), Jennings Louis, Jeremiah Cedeño (NYC Census 2020), Jerry Bruno, Jessica Woolford (Mayor’s Office of Immigrant Affairs), Jesús Alejandro C., Joi Rae, Jonathan Soto, Joseph Desimone (de Blasio for Mayor 2013), Joshua C., Juana Silverio, Julie Kim (NYC Census), Julie W., June Glover, Karen Coronel (Mayor’s Office of Appointments), Kate Bernyk, Kate Van Tassel, Katerín Fernández (Office of the Deputy Mayor for Health and Human Services), Katie Unger, Kimberly P., Kristen Grennan, Kunchok Dolma (Mayor’s Office of Immigrant Affairs), Lacey Tauber, Leah R., Leigh Shapiro, Lexi I., Lilly L., Lily K., Lindsay F. (Mayor’s Office of Operations), Lindsay Mollineaux (Mayor’s Office of Data Analytics), Lindsay Scola

— New York Daily News | By Shant Shahrigian | June 03, 2020

— Shant Shahrigian covers politics for the Daily News. He was previously an assistant city editor for the paper, and has also worked for outlets from the hyperlocal Riverdale Press to Germany’s international broadcaster, Deutsche Welle.

[recoveryoutloud]

black lives matter, always.

TRIGGER WARNING | Covered in this post:

police brutality

murder, abuse, assault

racism

Hi.

I haven’t been writing recently, but I’ve found myself drawn to the keyboard recently with a duty to use my platform, no matter how small, to speak up about what has been happening in the world.

I will forever stand by the side of the black community.

I will forever condemn the police and the judiciary system for the incessant and atrocious racism that runs through its very core.

I will never let anyone tell me, or anyone else, that Derek Chauvin was not a murderer.

Before I really get into this, I need to preface: I am an asian woman. I recognise that even as a person of colour, I benefit from privileges that aren’t afforded to black people purely because of my skin colour (I am not black). I am far from perfect and have definitely caught myself unintentionally feeding into racist biases that our society has cultivated over centuries. But I keep learning and correcting my mistakes, and that is what we have to keep doing within ourselves, our homes and our communities.

Now, I would like to again acknowledge that I still have a lot to learn about the injustices that black people face and I am in no way educated enough to be telling anyone what is and isn’t right (other than the blatant racism that has not ceased to plague our world), so please do not take my words as hard facts and do your own research. I also do not want to speak over black voices, but I do want to amplify them. Please share your experiences and call me out if I have made any errors.

For those of you who are sat quietly behind your screens, reluctant to comment on the issue at hand, shame on you. Silence is compliance. Silence in violence. The black community does not need you to sit complacently and watch as their friends and family be consistently targeted and assaulted by police. They need you to speak up, to stand up and to fight. If you are not using your platform, no matter how big or small, then what are you really doing? I understand that one does not need to share what they are doing in order to prove that they are helping, but right now (and always) there is strength in numbers. Let’s call out systematic racism and hold cops accountable. Let’s use our voices and this real estate on social media to actively seek change.

George Floyd did not resist arrest, he did not do anything even remotely violent or suggestive of violence. George Floyd was an innocent man, a father, suffocated and murdered by a white police officer while his three colleagues watched George die. When someone puts their knee on top of your neck and directs all their weight onto that knee, pinning you down onto the ground for eight minutes and 46 seconds, that is murder. That is a restraint and technique that shows the intent of murder. No matter what a preliminary autopsy says, no matter if they are trying to blame George for his own murder, his death was no accident. Derek Chauvin worked alongside George Floyd for 17 years, yet felt no remorse when he suffocated an innocent man. Derek Chauvin has been accused on numerous accounts (12) of police brutality. He shot Leroy Martinez in 2011, Ira Latrell Toles in 2008, Wayne Reyes, and three other people while chasing a car in 2005. In no way is this man worthy of a third degree charge. Raise the degree. This was not manslaughter, this was pure, intentional, brutal murder committed by a heartless, racist white man. There are no ways to excuse Chauvin’s actions. Give him a life sentence.

It does not stop there. George Floyd’s murder was the tipping point in the Black Lives Matter movement over the past couple of years. With dozens more killed and wrongfully arrested purely on the basis of their dark skin colour, and we must not forget their names. What is evident here is how White America has disguised the old-fashioned discrimination they claimed to have fixed (or at least improved) after the Civil Rights movement has just morphed into a sneaky form of discrete discrimination that is simply swept under the rug by government officials and society. No longer can I, as an ally, stand down. 

In the recent protests, the media has spun the story to make it appear as if looting and chaos was the result of the BLM movement, was the result of the actions of black people. NO. I do not understand how you can turn a blind eye to the hundreds of videos from the protests showing the instigation of violence by police officers, but beat and shoot a man to death while he was jogging (Ahmaud Arbery). Jared Campbell pepper sprayed a 10 year old girl. Another cop forcefully took off a woman’s hijab during the protest. Countless other cops were caught on tape telling each other to illegally turn off their cameras so they could get away with violence. Videos circulated of peaceful protestors sitting on the road before a swarm of police in protective gear fired tear gas into their faces and beat them down onto the ground, shooting rubber bullets when necessary. Live streams captured many, predominantly black people being assaulted by police officers both verbally and physically while they walked the march. NYPD ran into a group of protestors with their vehicle. And still, you say not all cops are bad?

All cops benefit from the same racist system, and if 100 cops are bystanders while 10 abuse their power to reflect their racist prejudices, you have 110 bad cops. All cops are bastards.

Please, if you are a citizen of the United States over the age of 18, vote Trump out. Trump’s tweet announcing that he authorised the military to shoot down protestors was a direct quote from a lynching campaign in 1968, proving that genocide is being cultivated within the walls of the White House. Do not let this bigoted, fascist, KKK supporter rule your country for another 4 years. Enough is enough.

Black Lives Matter.

On another note, with Pride month starting today, it is important that we continue to spread the message of the BLM movement. Don’t ignore the pleads of the black community, a community who built the gay rights movement and led the stonewall riots, just so you can party. Marsha P. Johnson and Storme Delarverie, a trans woman and a lesbian respectively, gave us (the LGBTQ+ community) our rights. So pay some respect and keep the memory of those brutally murdered by the racist justice system going.

Say their names: George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, Tony McDade, Tamir Rice, Trayvon Martin, Oscar Grant, Eric Garner, Philando Castile, Samuel Dubose, Sandra Bland, Walter Scott, Terrence Crutcher, Eric Garner, Philando Castile, Samuel Dubose, Sean Reed, Michael Brown, Stephon Clark, Dante Parker, Anthony Baez AND SO MANY MORE.

Black Lives Matter.

[ursafilms]

Southern Manhattan Suffers Historic Drop in IQ- Continued

“Mister Davenport? I’m Detective Cooper.”

Officers Murkowski and Lee deposited Roger into an interrogation room, which contained a single window that looked out over the surrounding harbor of southern Manhattan. He sat at a bare metal table that had two loops at either end. Roger assumed these were for handcuffs. The chair underneath him, wooden with a thin burgundy colored cushion, however, was secured to the table by a bicycle lock. It did not allow Roger to shift its position.

Cooper, as Groucho Marx might have described him, stood well over four feet tall. Actually, Roger estimated his height at around 5’6” and the detective carried about 200 pounds on a large, but overburdened frame. He had a well-chewed toothpick in his mouth, which he laid down on the edge of the table away from Roger when he introduced himself.

“Now, Mister Davenport, why don’t we get off to a rousing good start, and you tell me how you knew about the murder on Theater Alley,” said Cooper as he took another wooden chair from a corner of the room and sat. Roger swore he heard the chair groan under the weight of the detective.

“I told you,” said Roger. “I saw the images of the killing on Google Earth.”

“Yes, I remember. You also told me your name was Mike Williams. Sounds like there were two lies that evening.” Admonished Cooper.

“Am I under arrest, detective?” asked Roger.

“No, but we do take things like this very seriously, and your unwillingness to provide a real name, for whatever reason . . . let’s just say that makes my antenna go up.”

Cooper rested both of his beefy hands on the table; interlaced the fingers; and thumped his thumbs together.

“Did you look at the screen capture I turned over to you?” asked Roger.

“I gave it to IT, and they’re checking it out for authenticity.” Replied Cooper. “It is very easy to fake things in photographs nowadays. Don’t you agree, Mister Davenport?”

Roger pushed back from the table, and met the detective’s eyes.

“What are you saying, detective? That I fabricated the screen grab of a murder? I didn’t have time to fake it. Your IT person took it off my phone because I emailed it to myself.”

Cooper drummed his thumbs faster and locked eyes with Roger, who finally lost the staring contest and looked away.

“What do you do for a living, Mister Davenport?” Asked Cooper, his voice clear and direct.

“I’m a senior creative director at Tip of the Spear. You know that,” he replied.

“And would you say you have expertise in the area of photo retouching?”

“I would – hey, hold on one second. First of all I explained how your IT person got it from me, and the authentication tools today are exceptional, especially at police stations.”

“Exactly,” said Cooper.

“I don’t like where this is going, detective. Why don’t we just wait for the results,” said Roger. “And then we’ll see.”

“We have the results,” said Cooper. “And they’re inconclusive. Sort of like a biopsy result. We just can’t tell if the cancer is malignant or not.”

“I’m not sure that was the best analogy.” Offered Roger.

“But you know what I mean, Mister Davenport?”

“Sadly, I’ve not been the recipient of an inconclusive cancer diagnosis,” said Roger. “Or had a relative or family friend have to go through that, so, no, I don’t know what you mean, and that screen capture? Not doctored.”

“You say so. My IT guy says it’s inconclusive, and that’s what I’m working with.”

“Maybe your guy should get better at his job,” said Roger.

Cooper coughed and restrained himself from laughing.

“You know something, Mister Davenport,” he said. “I’ve been hearing that around here a lot lately. I’ll suggest it to the IT department. I’m sure that will help your case. Now, let’s talk about Memorial Day.”

“Fine, but I won’t be changing my story.”

Cooper queried Roger for about 30 minutes before he literally threw up his hands, which Roger found soothing since it meant the detective would stop obsessively tapping his thumbs together. Cooper moved his bulk out of the chair and charged out of the interrogation room. He made it obvious that Roger would be kept inside for some time by slowly locking and unlocking the door and testing it twice. He stormed away down the hallway.

Roger spent the next five hours in the room, and got his release just as the sun broke the horizon on southern Manhattan.

***

The police officer at the front gave Roger back his cell phone, wallet, loose change and keys, along with a handkerchief. A habit he acquired from his father. Roger always carried one.

He walked out of The Gotham Police Precinct, a newly renovated building situated between Old Slip and Governeur. Roger worked his way north back towards John Street, but decided to stop at an early morning breakfast place at the intersection of Maiden Lane and Water Street.

After he sat down at a table for two, he turned on his phone, which fortunately still had about 35% battery life showing on the screen. His news feed popped up.

Body found inside Louise Nevelson Plaza.                    

Roger sat two blocks from Louise Nevelson Plaza. He ran out of the café just as the exasperated waitress appeared at his table to take his order.

“Geez, you should wait untilI bring the food,” she laughed.

He stopped running a block from the park. Roger looked around the area. He slowed to a walk and redirected his approach to the park, looking for as much cover as possible.

He walked several blocks further north and east until he passed out of his neighborhood and arrived at a French café in SoHo called Balthazar. Roger again sat a two-top and

ordered a café Americano and some pastry. He waited until he had finished the coffee before pulling his cell phone out of his pocket.

The waiter came by. Roger ordered another Americano.

The auto-feed on the screen still showed the same headline. Roger double-clicked on the notification and punched in his password. The full article, nothing more than a couple paragraphs, opened.

The NYPD, during standard patrol, stumbled on the body of a young woman shortly before dawn in Louise Nevelson Plaza. The park is in lower Manhattan.

The woman, whose identity is being withheld pending notification of next of kin, had been stabbed multiple times.

Anyone with any information should contact the NYPD immediately.

Nothing regarding the previous murder appeared in the article. Nor any mention of a possible connection to it. Standard Journalistic Operating Procedure. ]Anything even remotely smacking of a serial killer is an invitation to panic in New York City. The police would avoid that at all costs and make that clear to news outlets.

“But they were, or are, connected,” he said loud enough to draw the waiter’s attention. He waved them off.

He finished breakfast and walked to Louise Nevelson Plaza to look around.

***

Detective Cooper ended his shift just before Roger exited the Gotham Police Precinct. He took the subway home to his apartment on Arthur Avenue in the Bronx. He didn’t notice until he got home his cell phone battery had died. It had been more than two hours since Roger’s release by the time he walked through the lobby door of his building.

He sighed when he saw the black screen, and searched the apartment for his charger. He looked everywhere. He had taken it into the office with him, and had no backup in his apartment.

“Damn technology,” he said aloud.

***

Roger returned to the site of the second murder. He walked the perimeter of Louise Nevelson. The police and crime scene unit were clustered around a clump of trees in the middle of the park. Roger’s screen grab showed the murder took place right at the Maiden Lane and Gold Street intersection, and near recently arrived backhoes, barriers and dumpsters.

The killer had moved the body from the safety of cover to a place more exposed and easier to find. Just as the killer had done on Theater Alley, the site of the first murder.

Roger made a deliberate 360 degree turn and observed the abundant construction work around the park, another similarity between the two murders. When the police presence had thinned out, he noticed the trees where they were working not to be sparse at all, but rather low to the ground and clustered. The body could be hidden there, but more exposed than under a dumpster or backhoe, which would obscure it. This killer seemed intent on leaving more clues than he needed by putting the body out in the “open.”

“The murderer is trying to fool the police with false clues,” he said.

Roger moved towards the cluster of trees. Someone put a hand on his shoulder. Roger jumped.

“I am so sorry.” Came the stentorian tone. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

“It’s okay,” said Roger. He closed his eyes before he turned. He opened them. “At least you’re not Detective Cooper.”

In front of him stood a priest. Black shirt, white color, black pants and shoes. His height average, and the Father looked a bit on the heavy side, but more athletic than fat.

“I’m sorry, Father,” he stuttered. “Just nervous over these killings.”

“Killings?” He asked. “Oh, you’re referring to the one about a month ago over on Theater Alley? Yes, tragic. The loss of young life. Isn’t it?”

The conversation stopped as both men looked, not at each other, but at the taped off sections of Louise Nevelson Park.

“By the way,” said the Priest. “I’m PastorDavid Jones, and I’m a Lutheran Minister. I am not a Catholic Priest. Are you Catholic?”

“Un, no,” said Roger. “I’m not really religious.”

“Understood,” said Pastor Jones. “Did you know the victim, or victims?”

“No,” said Roger. “I just live very close by, essentially between the two of them. I consider it my neighborhood, and, well, uh – “

“Also understood,” said Jones. “Let us hope the police catch this horrible person, whoever he may be.”

Another halt in the conversation, this one longer. Roger interrupted the silence.

“Did you know the victim?” asked Roger.

“One of them, sadly.” Answered Pastor Jones. “The poor soul up on Theater Alley. She attended my church.”

“Oh.” Offered Roger. “Well then, my condolences for your loss, and let us hope the police are close to finding the killer.”

“Thank you, Mister?” He asked.

“Uh, Davenport. Roger Davenport.”

“You’ll have to excuse me, I must go and attend to my duties at the church, Mister Davenport,” said Pastor Jones. “I hope you will forgive me.”

“Of course.”

David Jones walked away from the scene, but stopped after only a few steps. He headed back to Roger, who imagined the Pastor as an undercover police officer about to cuff him any minute. Roger turned and move in the other direction.

“Mister Davenport! Wait!”

Roger stopped, but did not face the Pastor.

“Mister Davenport?”

Roger faced Pastor Jones and put his hands, wrists upright, in front of him. The Pastor looked down and then up. His face had a quizzical look.

“I, uh - ,” stammered Jones. “What are you doing?”

Roger put his hands down.

“Sorry, Pastor,” he said. “Force of habit?”

“No need to explain,” said Jones. “I wanted to see if you’d like to speak with one of my parishioners, a reporter for The New York Times. The paper assigned the murder on Theater alley to this member of my congregation. I have to assume this killing will be added to the assignment? Perhaps you’ll find some solace, or at least some information, that may help you?”

“I appreciate it, but – “

“Please Mister Davenport.” Continued Pastor Jones. “It is my job to assist those in need. You are evidently in need.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Pastor. I’m not interested in attending church,” he protested.

“That’s not a requirement for you to provide me an email or phone number or both. I’ll have the reporter get in touch with you, and you can decide as to whether or not you’d like to continue with a meeting or something.”

Roger cleared his throat and exhaled. He met the Pastor’s glance. He reached into his wallet and handed David Jones his business card.

“Thank you, Mister Davenport,” he said, a smile appearing on his face. “I believe you’ll find this a positive in your life.”

“Alright, Pastor Jones.” Roger said. “Let us hope so. I could use some of that positive stuff in my life right now.”

“Tip of the Spear?” Asked Jones, perusing Roger’s card. “How did you come up with that? That is a very unique name for an advertising agency.”

Jones let himself laugh out loud, a booming expression of mirth, and so much so that Roger found that he too laughed . . . for the first time in weeks, if not months.

“Yes, I get that a lot.”

Pastor Jones put his hand on Roger’s shoulder. The two men exchanged pleasantries; shook hands; and left the scene of Murder #2.

[justsomebucky]

Flashes (Part 3)

Summary: Soulmate AU. “The fault, dear Brutus is not in our stars, / But in ourselves, that we are underlings.” - William Shakespeare (Julius Caesar)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2,012

Warnings: language, fluff, angst, it’s actually kind of optimistic???

A/N: Well, I did it…at least I tried. The lovely @minervaem challenged me (sort of) to do an angsty story. I’m warning you now, it’s not gonna be pretty.

Reader has her first flash, and stumbles upon some intriguing information...

Part 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

This is really freaking weird.

That was your first thought when the flash started, and it wasn't an exaggeration. While Natasha had always described her flash scenes as having radiant colors, your first flash wasn't quite so dazzling. 

Everything was very surreal and hazy, as if there was a filter over your eyes that muted each color. You were still standing on a street in New York City, but you didn’t recognize it at all, nor did you understand its significance. Shadows and shade covered most of the street.

You squinted, scanning every direction for any hint or clue as to what you were meant to be witnessing. There was a whole lot of no one and nothing in particular. What good is a flash if it doesn’t actually help you?

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a slight movement – one of the shadows seemed to move ever-so-slightly. You turned your body slowly, focusing on the corner and mentally pleading with your brain to tell your soulmate to just freaking show himself already.

As if someone heard your thoughts, the silhouette of a person came into view. Your breath caught in your throat as you realized that you were staring at a man in an all-black suit…or was it a uniform? You studied his form carefully, raptly tracing every detail and mapping them in your memory.  

Yeah, it was definitely a uniform. 

The hard lines of his clothing showed off his muscular arms, broad chest and shoulders, a fit waist, a pair of thick thighs…

You tried to move closer but found that your feet were fixed in place. You were voiceless when you tried to call out to him. Natasha had always described herself in more of an observer role, having previously mentioned that she couldn’t interact with Clint, but you tried anyways for your own piece of mind.

Well, this sure as hell didn’t seem fair. There was actual man candy standing in front of you, and you couldn’t even interact with him. Shouldn't you get some kind of special deal because you missed out on flashes for so long? Some kind of two-for-one special? You deserved extra-long, extra-detailed flashes for all you'd been through.

The man shifted, placing his hands in his pockets as he turned his attention to something or someone you couldn’t see. As he turned, you noticed a small badge on the sleeve of his shirt. 

 NYPD.

Much to your dismay, your flash ended as abruptly as it started, leaving you dazed on the sidewalk in the light of day.

So, your soulmate was a police officer?

Natasha was going to be so freaking jealous! 

You longed to go back and see him again, or see what else you could figure out. Now you understood all the smiles Nat wore when she was having a vision; there was no other feeling like it in the world.

Since you finally had a flash, it meant your soulmate was alive and nearby. You were so overwhelmed by the mere idea of him that you collapsed to your knees right there on the sidewalk. All your life, you’d been told you were incomplete, but you’d never quite believed them until now.

You buried your face in your hands and wept for yourself, for your soulmate, but most of all, out of sheer relief.

Once you picked yourself up off the pavement and managed to calm down, you called Natasha.

You let her speak first, knowing that she was probably bursting at the seams to tell you about her progress. She informed you that she was still waiting for Clint to come out of a meeting after having two more flashes in the last three hours. According to her, if she didn’t see his face in the next twenty minutes, she was going to go into the board room and drag him out by his ‘sexy arms.’

“So anyways, what’s new? Did you find that Vision guy yet? Get any wackadoo mojo going?”

“Nope. He went out of business or into hiding or something.”

“Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry.” Nat’s motherly voice was in full force. “I know you really wanted this to work. What are you going to do now?”

It was now or never. “Well…I, uh…I had a flash anyways…about five minutes ago.”

There was a brief pause of what you presumed to be stunned silence, and you bit your lip, waiting for the fallout.

"OHMYGODYOUHADAFLASH?" she shrieked. “Really? You’re sure? You’re not in some weird café where a hippie named Sunflower slipped you something, RIGHT?”

You cringed, pulling the phone away from your ear to try to spare your hearing. "Yes, I had an actual flash. It was...it was incredible, Nat."

“This is crazy! I am so excited for you! Who did you see? Were they hot? Wealthy?”

“It was a man. I didn’t see his face, but I saw his uniform,” you supplied, finally letting yourself feel excitement alongside your relief. “He’s with the NYPD.”

“Ooooooh! I could totally see you marrying a sexy cop.”

“I have to find him first, Nat,” you reminded her, a small smile gracing your lips. “And since this is a huge city with a ton of police officers, I’m not exactly sure where to start.”

“Well, start in the freaking city, of course! We can think this through.”

“I don’t know. It was different for you. You had a lot more to go off of when we searched for Clint’s name and photo.”

“It’ll be all right, Y/N. Reason it out like you always do. Your little impromptu trip must have finally triggered the connection, but I wonder why the distance was a factor. Maybe there’s more to his story than we could have ever guessed.”

“Maybe.”

Natasha was silent for a moment, but you knew she was still on the line because you heard people talking in the background. "Start with injuries," she suggested finally.

"Injuries? Like a head injury?"

"Yeah, like...he was MIA for over a decade, right? Something had to happen to make your connection weaker, to make it go silent for that long."

Nat made a damn good point. "I guess I could try the public library," you mused. "Maybe they have access to old newspaper archives.”

"It's a start, isn't it? Better than going to every police station until you have more flashes. Let me know what you find out, okay?"

"You got it. Thanks, Nat.”

“By the way, Y/N…” Natasha’s voice was wobbly now. You could tell she was emotional now that your news had sunken in. “I’m so freaking happy for you. You deserve love more than anyone I’ve ever known.”

You were a woman on a mission. 

Now that you’d seen him, knew he was real, knew he was within reach, you’d be damned if you were going to let a silly thing like knowing absolutely nothing else about him stop you. Nat was right; there had to be a reason for his prolonged absence, and it was probably the key to figuring out who the heck he was.

The public library was easy enough to find, and they did offer guest passes to use the internet. A man with a very important-looking library badge handed you a pass, then politely told you that you had thirty minutes of free internet usage.

You had thirty freakin’ minutes to narrow down the search for your soulmate.

No pressure.

The first newspaper archive pursuit yielded way too many results, so you narrowed your search.

You were able to get it down to six major results that were within the time frame between what should have been your flash age and now. Five of the police officers listed had died as a result of their injuries, and of the two who were still alive, one was a woman. Since you had seen your soulmate already, you ruled her out. 

That left one profile. Your stomach was churning, your nerves completely frayed as you clicked on the last news link. 

"Sergeant James 'Bucky' Buchanan Barnes, NYPD," you whispered to yourself, scrolling down slowly. “A Profile in Courage.”

The article stated that when he was thirteen, Bucky was the only survivor of a car accident that killed his parents. A drunk driver had crossed the center lane on a highway and hit the family’s sedan head-on. 

Doctors put him in a medically induced coma to try to save his life after significant brain swelling was detected. Once he regained consciousness, it took nearly two years for him to fully recover his mobility, followed by several more years of extensive physical therapy.

Eventually, he was released to the custody of a neighbor, Mrs. Sarah Rogers. She had been designated as his legal guardian in the event of his parents’ death. Her son, Steve, had gone with his adopted brother Bucky to police academy.

Well, that answered at least two of your questions.

Bucky had obviously either been incapacitated due to the coma during his flash age, or his injuries had been too extensive to allow any connection to occur at the time.

He also was able to have a great job with the police department, no questions asked, because he had clearly received an official medical exemption to the soulmate status laws.

Your heart ached for him. You wondered if he went into law enforcement because of that life-altering car accident. You wondered…

The article went on for a while, detailing his education, his time at the academy, and the event that caused him to get a commendation in the first place.

Nearly a year ago, Bucky single-handedly saved a woman and two of her neighbors in Brooklyn. The perp was the woman’s own abusive husband. He’d been drinking, and had come home and tried to kill her. She managed to get away by hitting him with a frying pan and running to the next apartment over for protection.

Lucky for everyone, the neighbors had heard him shouting the moment he came home, and had already called the police. Bucky was in the area, so he responded to the call quickly.  That night, he took a bullet in the shoulder to take the man down, disarm him, and get him in handcuffs. 

Sergeant Barnes sounded too good to be true. 

When you scrolled to the bottom of the page, there was a picture of Bucky shaking hands with the mayor with a bright smile on his face. He had the best smile, with little laugh lines and a mischievous gleam in his blue eyes.

Damn, you were lucky.

It amazed you, too, because you’d never considered yourself lucky like this before, never thought you’d been given the best of anything. But Bucky…

You were absolutely head over heels in love with Bucky Barnes. You were the epitome of the heart eyes emoji at this point, and you didn’t even mind it. It was stronger than anything you’d ever felt for anyone before, and for that, you were grateful.

God, how many times had you sat around wishing for this? The endless longing, the tears, the discrimination, the lonely nights…all of that would soon be distant memories, leaving room for new memories you would make with Bucky, if he’d have you.

If Natasha could see you now, she’d be thrilled, but she would also be sure to get a dig or two in, considering how much you’d teased her about Clint.

Hopefully you'd measure up to his standards, too, at least enough to deserve a man like him. After all, he had turned tragedy into triumph. You...well, you did the best you could with the circumstances you were given. That’s what soulmate connections were supposed to do, though, weren’t they? Your soulmate was supposed to make you want to be your best self, and help you achieve that through your partnership.

There was no way that you were going to let your insecurities keep you from meeting him. Both of you had waited far too long for this connection.

It was time to meet your soulmate.

Part 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

PERMA TAGS: @sprinkleofhappinessuniverse @minaphobia @amrita31199 @aenna-4 @ailynalonso15 @psingh97 @sofiadiaz04 @mirkwood---princess @lilasiannerd @coffeeismylife28 @capdanrogers @melissalovesmusicyay @hollycornish @northscorpio @gallifreyansass @ancchor @vaisabu @alurea-actually @hailey-a-s @buckyswinterchildren @cleanslates @minervaem @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @winterboobaer @kjs-s @hardcorehippos @jay-birdbitchez @rchlnwtn @seeyainanotherlifebrotha @aeillo @whyisbuckyso @crownie-sr @neverbeforgotten @givemethatgold @notsoprettykitty @punk-rock-princess-626 @dracsgirl @giannastoico @cosmic-avenger @rockintensse @angelicshinigami @heytherepartner @simplyme8308 @ria132love @dolthiac @feelmyroarrrr @assbutt-son-of-a-bitch @johnmurphys-sass @wishingtobelost @nolaimagines @decemberftw @imamoose @kcsavege4134 @indominusregina @kittthekat @smkunz613 @actual-bucky-barnes-trash @miss-jessi29

Story Tags: None this time! only one part left, sorry!

[brookstonalmanac]

Events 9.11

9 – Battle of the Teutoburg Forest ends, where the Roman Empire suffers the greatest defeat of its history and the Rhine being established as the border between the Empire and the so-called barbarians for the next four hundred years. 1185 – Isaac II Angelos kills Stephen Hagiochristophorites and then appeals to the people, resulting in the revolt that deposes Andronikos I Komnenos and places Isaac on the throne of the Byzantine Empire. 1226 – The first recorded instance of the Catholic practice of perpetual Eucharistic adoration formally begins in Avignon, France. 1297 – Battle of Stirling Bridge: Scots jointly led by William Wallace and Andrew Moray defeat the English. 1390 – Lithuanian Civil War (1389–92): The Teutonic Knights begin a five-week siege of Vilnius. 1541 – Santiago, Chile, is besieged by indigenous warriors, led by Michimalonco, to free eight indigenous chiefs held captive by the Spaniards. However, the Spaniards decapitated them and rolled their heads on the main square, horrifying the indigenous warriors, and subsequently ending the attack. 1565 – Ottoman forces retreat from Malta ending the Great Siege of Malta. 1609 – Henry Hudson discovers Manhattan Island and the indigenous people living there. 1649 – Siege of Drogheda ends: Oliver Cromwell's Parliamentarian troops take the town and execute its garrison. 1683 – Battle of Vienna: Coalition forces, including the famous winged Hussars, led by Polish King John III Sobieski lift the siege laid by Ottoman forces. 1697 – Battle of Zenta: a major engagement in the Great Turkish War (1683–1699) and one of the most decisive defeats in Ottoman history. 1708 – Charles XII of Sweden stops his march to conquer Moscow outside Smolensk, marking the turning point in the Great Northern War. The army is defeated nine months later in the Battle of Poltava, and the Swedish Empire ceases to be a major power. 1709 – Battle of Malplaquet: Great Britain, Netherlands and Austria fight against France. 1714 – Siege of Barcelona: Barcelona, capital city of Catalonia, surrenders to Spanish and French Bourbon armies in the War of the Spanish Succession. 1758 – Battle of Saint Cast: France repels British invasion during the Seven Years' War. 1775 – Benedict Arnold's expedition to Quebec leaves Cambridge, Massachusetts. 1776 – British–American peace conference on Staten Island fails to stop nascent American Revolutionary War. 1777 – American Revolutionary War: Battle of Brandywine: The British celebrate a major victory in Chester County, Pennsylvania. 1780 – American Revolutionary War: Sugarloaf Massacre: A small detachment of militia from Northampton County are attacked by Native Americans and Loyalists near Little Nescopeck Creek. 1786 – The beginning of the Annapolis Convention. 1789 – Alexander Hamilton is appointed the first United States Secretary of the Treasury. 1792 – The Hope Diamond is stolen along with other French crown jewels when six men break into the house where they are stored. 1800 – The Maltese National Congress Battalions are disbanded by British Civil Commissioner Alexander Ball. 1802 – France annexes the Kingdom of Piedmont. 1803 – Battle of Delhi, during the Second Anglo-Maratha War, between British troops under General Lake, and Marathas of Scindia's army under General Louis Bourquin. 1813 – War of 1812: British troops arrive in Mount Vernon and prepare to march to and invade Washington, D.C.. 1814 – War of 1812: The climax of the Battle of Plattsburgh, a major United States victory in the war. 1826 – Captain William Morgan, an ex-freemason is arrested in Batavia, New York for debt after declaring that he would publish The Mysteries of Free Masonry, a book against Freemasonry. This sets into motion the events that lead to his mysterious disappearance. 1829 – Surrender of the expedition led by Isidro Barradas at Tampico, sent by the Spanish crown to retake Mexico. This was the consummation of Mexico's campaign for independence. 1830 – Anti-Masonic Party convention; one of the first American political party conventions. 1836 – The Riograndense Republic is proclaimed by rebels after defeating Empire of Brazil's troops in the Battle of Seival, during the Ragamuffin War. 1851 – Christiana Resistance: Escaped slaves led by William Parker fight off and kill a slave owner who, with a federal marshal and an armed party, sought to seize three of his former slaves in Christiana, Pennsylvania, thereby creating a cause célèbre between slavery proponents and abolitionists. 1852 – Outbreak of Revolution of September 11 resulting in the State of Buenos Aires declaring independence as a Republic. 1857 – The Mountain Meadows massacre: Mormon settlers and Paiutes massacre 120 pioneers at Mountain Meadows, Utah. 1897 – After months of pursuit, generals of Menelik II of Ethiopia capture Gaki Sherocho, the last king of Kaffa, bringing an end to that ancient kingdom. 1903 – The first race at the Milwaukee Mile in West Allis, Wisconsin is held. It is the oldest major speedway in the world. 1905 – The Ninth Avenue derailment occurs in New York City, killing 13. 1914 – World War I: Australia invades German New Guinea, defeating a German contingent at the Battle of Bita Paka. 1916 – The Quebec Bridge's central span collapses, killing 11 men. The bridge previously collapsed completely on August 29, 1907. 1919 – United States Marine Corps invades Honduras. 1921 – Nahalal, the first moshav in Palestine, is settled as part of a Zionist plan of creating a Jewish state, later to be Israel. 1922 – The Treaty of Kars is ratified in Yerevan, Armenia. 1941 – Charles Lindbergh's Des Moines Speech accusing the British, Jews and FDR's administration of pressing for war with Germany. 1943 – World War II: German troops occupy Corsica and Kosovo-Metohija ending the Italian occupation of Corsica. 1944 – World War II: The Western Allied invasion of Germany begins near the city of Aachen. 1944 – World War II: RAF bombing raid on Darmstadt and the following firestorm kill 11,500. 1945 – World War II: Australian 9th Division forces liberate the Japanese-run Batu Lintang camp, a POW and civilian internment camp on the island of Borneo. 1950 – Korean War: President Harry S. Truman approved military operations north of the 38th parallel. 1954 – Hurricane Edna hits New England as a Category 2 hurricane, causing significant damage and 29 deaths. 1961 – Hurricane Carla strikes the Texas coast as a Category 4 hurricane, the second strongest storm ever to hit the state. 1965 – Indo-Pakistani War: The Indian Army captures the town of Burki, just southeast of Lahore. 1967 – China's People's Liberation Army (PLA) launched an attack on Indian posts at Nathu La, Sikkim, India, which resulted a military clashes. 1968 – Air France Flight 1611 crashes off Nice, France, killing 89 passengers and six crew. 1970 – The Dawson's Field hijackers release 88 of their hostages. The remaining hostages, mostly Jews and Israeli citizens, are held until September 25. 1971 – The Egyptian Constitution becomes official. 1972 – The San Francisco Bay Area Rapid Transit system begins passenger service. 1973 – A coup in Chile headed by General Augusto Pinochet topples the democratically elected president Salvador Allende. Pinochet exercises dictatorial power until ousted in a referendum in 1988, staying in power until 1990. 1973 – JAT Airways Flight 769 crashes into the Maganik mountain range while on approach to Titograd Airport, killing 35 passengers and six crew. 1974 – Eastern Air Lines Flight 212 crashes in Charlotte, North Carolina, killing 69 passengers and two crew. 1976 – A bomb planted by a Croatian terrorist, Zvonko Bušić, is found at New York's Grand Central Terminal; one NYPD officer is killed trying to defuse it. 1980 – A new constitution of Chile is established under the influence of then Chilean dictator Augusto Pinochet, which is subject to controversy in Chile today. 1982 – The international forces that were guaranteeing the safety of Palestinian refugees following Israel's 1982 Invasion of Lebanon leave Beirut. Five days later, several thousand refugees are massacred in the Sabra and Shatila refugee camps by Phalange forces. 1989 – Hungary announces that the East German refugees who had been housed in temporary camps were free to leave for West Germany. 1991 – Continental Express Flight 2574 crashes in Colorado County, Texas, near Eagle Lake, killing 11 passengers and three crew. 1992 – Hurricane Iniki, one of the most damaging hurricanes in United States history, devastates the Hawaiian islands of Kauai and Oahu. 1997 – NASA's Mars Global Surveyor reaches Mars. 1997 – After a nationwide referendum, Scotland votes to establish a devolved parliament within the United Kingdom. 2001 – The September 11 attacks, a series of coordinated terrorist attacks killing 2,977 people using four aircraft hijacked by 19 members of al-Qaeda. Two aircraft crash into the World Trade Center in New York City, a third crashes into The Pentagon in Arlington County, Virginia, and a fourth into a field near Shanksville, Pennsylvania. 2007 – Russia tests the largest conventional weapon ever, the Father of All Bombs. 2008 – A major Channel Tunnel fire breaks out on a freight train, resulting in the closure of part of the tunnel for six months. 2011 – The National September 11 Memorial & Museum opens on the 10th anniversary of the September 11 attacks. 2012 – A total of 315 people are killed in two garment factory fires in Pakistan. 2012 – The U.S. embassy in Benghazi, Libya is attacked, resulting in four deaths. 2015 – A crane collapses onto the Masjid al-Haram mosque in Saudi Arabia, killing 111 people and injuring 394 others.