#'this is a song that people play in their cars outside the courthouse after they get their walking papers'

[findusinaweek]

the Mountain Goats - ‘No Children’ (Jazz version from Jordan Lake Sessions)

[sunnysidevans]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 | 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 - 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

Summary: Everyone goes through stages in life, meeting new people, falling in love, getting married , having children. Some people think it won’t happen to them but maybe fate hadn’t lead you in the right direction. 

Warnings: ANGST ANGST ANGST , TW: slight sexual harassment , fighting , language , 18+ reccomended 

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

PREVIOUS STAGE | THE STAGES MASTERLIST

READERS POINT OF VIEW

THREE MONTHS AFTER FIRST DATE

The sound of your alarm woke you up on the cold Monday morning. You groaned as you rolled over and hit the off button on the top, with a sigh you sat up, rubbing your eyes with a yawn, as you were waking up you grabbed your phone from the charger on the bedside table, with a smile you opened the text from Chris “CHRIS: Good morning beautiful! I hope you have a great day today, call me maybe at lunch time?” you smiled as you read the text and sent him a quick reply which was soon interrupted by Zeus, ready for his morning run around the yard. After having a cup of coffee and making your way out of the shower and many clothes tossed to the side, you were finally ready to leave for the day. Making your way out the house you made sure to give Zeus a kiss to the head and a scratch behind the ears and making sure all toys were out from under any furniture, “okay buddy, I love you. Maybe you can have your buddy over later, maybeeee” you said with a smile as you shut the door behind you and make your way to your vehicle to start the dreaded Monday morning.

Driving into work you danced in your seat to the song playing on the radio, humming along softly you pulled into the parking garage attached to the office, being met with Casey. “You made it today” he smirked as he watched you get out of the vehicle, you turned to face him after fixing your skirt, tilting your head you sighed “what does that mean?” you asked as you grabbed your bags from the back seat as you watched him walk past you “well I mean, I figured you spent your weekend with your new boyfriend you can't stop raving about '' he said as the door closed behind him. You made your way into the office, with a sigh you set your things down at your desk and sat down, you couldn’t imagine why Casey made that comment? You shook your head, pushing the thoughts aside and got to work, grabbing all the papers you needed to start the day and get everything done for the long Monday. “(Y/L/N)!” Casey yelled from his office, you got up quickly making your way into the office, standing in front of him “yes?” you asked, adjusting the jacket you had on “well, if you aren’t too busy, I would like you to come to court with me today” he asked looking at you as you nodded quickly “no not at all! Of course I will!” you smiled excitedly, as he nodded “okay, good”.

Leaving the office, you completely lost track of the time,time hitting around 1 pm, having no clue you had just checked your phone with a text “CHRIS: I hope you’re okay, you didn’t text, just checking in, we gotta talk tonight” you sighed, shoving your phone in your purse, what could you possibly need to talk about? You sat in the back of the courtroom taking notes as Casey began the case, you followed along intently on the case as the intern you were but being first hand was exciting for you. “You did great!” you complimented Casey, following him out of the courtroom, holding both your notebook and bag you looked at him “I mean I knew the evidence was there but my god that was like an episode of Law and Order or something!” you laughed following to the car as he laughed in response “see kid, stick with me you can do that everyday of your life if you wanted” he grinned, holding the door open for you as you nodded in thank you before you felt a hand on your butt, gasping you turned and looked at him with shock on your face “What the hell!?” you turned away from him watching his face “oh don’t act like you didn’t like it” he shrugged as you looked over his face “Oh I did not ‘like it’” you put in quotes “I for sure did not appreciate that at all! You are my boss, what the hell” you shook your head, tossing his things in the passenger seat “oh like your boyfriend doesn’t mind, you clearly haven’t gotten much” he rolled his eyes in response to you, you scoffed turning  back to him “I will be going back to the office alone, and do not be surprised if i switch attorneys” you slammed the car door behind you walking away quickly.

Making it back to the office you walked inside quickly, ignoring the many glances from the other women in the office, making your way to your desk you grabbed your things quickly, as Nina made her way to your desk with a whisper “honey..” she whispered looking at you picking up your things. You turned to her with a slight sniffle “yeah?” you asked looking at her “are you okay? Oh honey” she whispered, giving you a hug, no one in the office had a clue that your own mentor groped you in a courthouse parking garage. You gave her a quick hug back as you whispered a soft goodbye and made your way out of the office and to your car. Once you made it to your car you sat back and cried softly, the tears streaming down your cheeks as your cheeks stained from your so called waterproof mascara. Starting the car you made your way home, sniffles and sighs the whole way, pulling into the driveway you sighed, grabbing your car keys and purse making your way inside. You made it inside and within seconds Zeus was beside you jumping up on your legs, you crouched down petting behind his ears and giving him a much needed hug, with a huff he rested his head on your shoulder.

After a few hours of sitting in your own pity on the couch with zeus you decided it was time to get off the couch and make something to eat. As you were standing in the kitchen you were scrolling through your phone, attempting to find a recipe or something to slightly interest you in making something for dinner, as you shouldn’t order takeout but it was in the cards. You looked through  a couple food blogs before coming across a tweet on your feed “OMG CHRIS IS IN LONDON OMG” you read the tweet a few times before continuing your investigation into the tweet. Taking the phone with you, you let Zeus back in from outside as you read through the tweets while you leaned against the door. You looked around with a scoff and pushed your hair back, you couldn’t be mad he was a grown man, but like london? You grabbed the phone quickly before dialing chris’s number quickly as you paced around the kitchen in the sweats and sweatshirt you borrowed from chris’s closet. You pulled the sleeves over your hands as you bit on your nails, waiting for the phone to pick up.

After a few short minutes the phone line clicked,signaling he had picked up and with a groan followed by “hello?” you sighed “chris” you snapped, probably louder than you should’ve as you expected him to be just waking up or sleeping from the time zones, “oh hey” he sighed again as you heard him adjusting in the bed “so uh, what did you want to talk about?” you asked as you thought logically, maybe it was a slip, maybe he didn’t mean to not tell you. “Oh I don’t remember now babe” he yawned loudly on the other end of the phone as you bit your lip “was it I don’t know… maybe the fact your in fucking london?!” you snapped over the phone as you looked around the kitchen, cringing at the fact you raised your voice at him, you heard the sigh as he sat up “oh yeah” he sighed “i’m so sorry I got on a flight and made it our here, it happened so fast I’m really sorry” you could hear the tiredness in his voice as he spoke, you felt horrible “okay but as your so called girlfriend you should’ve told me chris” you sighed pushing your hair back again. He sighed “yeah probably” he sighed as you groaned “yeah probably?” you mocked him over the phone as you sighed again “chris its fucking london! We had fucking plans this weekend!” you groaned “you could’ve even sent me a fucking text but no I find out my boyfriend is in fucking london over a god damn tweet” you yelled, zeus’s ears perked up at the raise of your voice “well maybe if my girlfriend” chris put emphases on the word “returned my phone calls and my texts we wouldn’t be in this mess now would we?” he sassed back. You laughed over the phone “you do realize I don’t sit and make movies right? I don’t have time to be accessible to my phone at your beckon call chris!” you yelled back as you could hear him adjust in the bed with a laugh “that's rich, but yet you're mad that I didn’t answer the phone and tell you i was in london?” he yelled back “seriously (Y/N) !” he finished with a sigh “you are upset im in london”. You shook your head knowing he couldn’t see it “No! I’m mad I didn’t even get a text that you were leaving the fucking count-” a knock interuptted your yelling as you sighed with a laugh as you heard him get out of bed. “Hold on” he said over the phone as he went to answer the door, you heard the door open and a “Hey Chris!”, a voice awfully femanine for being a buddy. You laughed and shook your head, ending the phone call there, you probably shouldn’t have ended on bad terms with the fight, was it dumb? Maybe. You sighed, starting to sob as you slid down and sat on the kitchen floor, the emotions of the day adding up for the day, flowing, you didn’t know what was going to happen with your life anymore, career or love wise.

-

TAGLIST: @onetwo3000​ | @memoriesat30 | @denise1605 | @angrybirdcr @hopefulbonkvoidland | @tessa-bl | @patzammit | @uniquebeautyqueen | @cocomel0613​

[pagesandmagic]

folklore || the 1

description: she left the outer banks two years ago and now she’s coming back for the summer. they haven’t seen each other since she skipped town without telling him. they’ve both hurt each other, so how do they come back from heartbreak?

warnings: slight swearing, angst, S L O W B U R N. 

series based on songs from the album ‘folklore’ by taylor swift.

author’s note: i haven’t wrote any kind of series in YEARS so this is going to be a challenge, but i’m so up for it. s/o to tay for coming out with the most beautiful album ever. (also thank you for your support of everything i’m doing lately. holy crap it means so much.)

 Part Two (this is me trying) | Part Three (mad woman)

JJ. 

he knew she was on her way back to the outer banks.

it had been two years since he saw her face. he hadn't heard her voice in 24 months. 730 days. 17,520 hours. 1,051,200 minutes. it was the longest he had gone without speaking to her since they were ten. 

now, at the age of 20, he was feeling a hole in his heart that he had never felt before. there were so many moments of wanting to call her, drop everything and go to her.

he knew that photography was her dream and that she couldn’t have turned down the offer to travel the country with a popular wedding photographer, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt any less when she left. 

she left without a word to him, instead telling the other pogues the day before she skipped town. in so many ways, his world came crashing down in front of him. but he knew he didn’t deserve a goodbye. he hurt her in the same way, if not more.

her. 

the car ride to the outer banks was a long one. after finishing her last wedding of the spring, she decided to take the summer off after working every day for almost two years. she missed her family and the friends who became her family. 

she kept in touch with the people closest to her, sarah, john b, pope and kiara. they were the ones who encouraged her to chase her dreams, but not to forget where she had come from. they were the reason she was making the 15 hour drive back to her hometown. spending the summer back in the place she grew up would be both wonderful and terrifying all at the same time. 

she missed her friends more than anything, but terrifying because for the first time in all of her 19 years, her life was going impeccably well. she said yes to an opportunity that allowed her to live outside of the outer banks and chase a dream that she had had since she was little. her entire life had been filled with “no’s” and playing it safe, but for the first time her life was fulfilling. 

but the outer banks was home. she missed the salty smell of the beach and the heat of the north carolina coast. she missed the chateau and drinking with the pogues into the morning. she missed the simplicity that came with living on a little island and was ready to spend a summer living a quieter life. 

she felt a pit in the bottom of her stomach, thinking about the one reason she almost didn't come back. jj maybank.

jj. 

he was sitting at the edge of the dock, his feet dangling into the cool water. a chill ran down his spine, from the temperature and at the thought of seeing her tomorrow. what was he going to say? should he say anything at all? everyone was home from college for the summer and would be at the chateau waiting for her. they would spent the day on the water, just like old times. except this was nothing like the old times. 

everything had changed. college was just the beginning of the end. he could feel it in his bones. it seemed like sarah and john b were on a fast track for marriage. with all the impulsive things they had done in the past, jj was sure they would “accidentally” end up in a courthouse someday or john b would propose with a fucking ring pop out of spontaneity. 

kie and pope had an "on and off" relationship, almost every week. most of their friends couldn't keep up. kie would spend a few months traveling, then visit pope for a few months, long distance took it's toll on them, but they were making it work. 

so he was the only one left. the only one waking up alone. the only one that stuck around in the obx. he wanted so desperately to get out for good, to leave and never come back. but what was he going to do? it's not like he was set up for success. there was always one road block after another preventing him from leaving. so he just stayed, worked his ass off to bring the chateau back to life and fix up the place that he now called home. hoping that one day it would all pay off. wondering each day if one thing had been different, would everything be different? 

her. 

she had just crossed the border into north carolina when her phone lit up. 

can't wait to see you tomorrow, Fin! 

of course, sarah would be the one to text her first. a smile grew across her face reading the nickname her friends had given her in middle school. it's what most people in her life had now called her, and it just stuck. she honestly couldn't remember where it came from, but it felt good to be a part of something familiar again.

she had been pretty nervous about seeing her friends, knowing that she had dropped the move on them suddenly, unexpectedly. it definitely wasn't fair to them but she needed out of the outer banks. it was hard to live there. reliving the pain that made her want to leave in the first place. seeing jj everyday dug the dagger in her heart a little deeper. 

they were good together. like really good. the most shaping points of their lives were spent together. she remembered the night they spent together the summer before their sophomore year of high school. 

the pogues had left for a party at the boneyard, but she decided to stay back at the chateau because of a headache. jj stayed with her in order to avoid the possibility of seeing the touron he had just had a one night stand with. 

they set up camp in the living room, jj beat her three times at mario kart and she beat him the last round. he offered her a blunt and she said no, too nervous that the volleyball team would do a random drug test before school started. instead she spent the night letting the vodka burn down her throat as jj filled the room with smoke. 

they had been going on four years of friendship and she was by far the closest to him. if jj was there, so was she. most days, they seemed like a package deal. each of the pogues had begun to notice and questioned them almost daily. 

two hours into their night, she wasn't sure if it was the buzz she had from the alcohol or the way that jj was intently staring at her as she drank, but the words escaped her mouth without any second guess. "have you ever thought about us?" all jj did was nod. soon enough, their mouths collided in a mess of weed and alcohol and their bodies felt as if they melted together. and that was the beginning. 

from that night on, they were inseparable for almost three years. spending days on the hms pogue, drinking too late, eating at the wreck, visiting the drive in theater, riding jj's bike around the island. those three years were the best of her life. he pulled her walls down, gave her a reason to keep moving forward. they dreamed of traveling the world together, getting out of the outer banks for good. she thought he was the one. the one who would be her person for life. the one she would grow old with. the one she would create a life with. 

that's not something you can throw away overnight. but he did.  

[96thdayofrage]

How White Violence Turned a Peaceful Civil Rights Demonstration Into Mayhem

Winfred Rembert on Protesting in the Jim Crow South and Getting Arrested

It was 1961 or 1962. I was working in Jeff’s poolroom. One day I was surprised to see all these Black folk, especially adult Black men, coming in the poolroom. They were all sitting around, having a meeting and talking about civil rights. I never heard people talking about civil rights before. They were NAACP people, though I didn’t know it at the time. I thought they were coming in there to shoot pool, but, lo and behold, they were talking about civil rights. It turned out, if I got it right, that Buddy Perkins, the funeral home director, was the headman of the NAACP in Cuthbert. Jeff was some kind of official too, and Jeff’s poolroom became the meeting place for talking about ideas, businesses, and civil rights.

Black people in Cuthbert had to sacrifice to make a change. In the 1950s, Ben Shorter Sr. was president of a voters’ league in Randolph County. The authorities in Randolph County would not let Black people vote. I remember Mama talking about wanting to vote, and it was obvious that she was afraid. Ben Shorter and some other folks from Cuthbert—Ulysses Davis and Charlie Will Thornton—worked with an NAACP lawyer named Dan Duke to get Blacks onto the voting rolls. As Ben Sr.’s son Wesley tells it, “During the time my father was meeting with a lawyer from Atlanta, they would meet at our house. The lights would be turned out and they would meet in the back room. There were people outside for protection because of threats by the Ku Klux Klan and others.”

The voters’ league was successful in court, but after that Ben Shorter lost his job as a mechanic. Charlie Will Thornton lost her job as a schoolteacher. Ben was also the leader of a swing band that had been very popular in our part of the South since the early 30s.

Wesley’s brother, Ben Shorter Jr., told me that when his father played in some White places, they couldn’t come through the front. He talked about how they all had to come through the back to set up, and how he sat there in this chair waiting on his dad to get through playing. After the voting rights case, it was several years before Ben Sr. was able to get gigs in Cuthbert again.

Ulysses Davis’s granddaughter, Naomi Jenkins, lives in Cuthbert today. She remembers sitting on her grandfather’s knee in the Albany law offices of C.B. King. “Somebody could threaten your life or threaten your livelihood. It just so happened that my grandfather was a carpenter, so he was able to maintain. You shouldn’t have to die for things to be equal and fair, but people died. You should not have had to lose your source of income, but people did. It was very very difficult. The fear was greater than you could ever imagine. Charlie Will. She is my hero. She was very outspoken. She was never able to teach again in Randolph County, simply because of her stand on equal rights.”

*

I had never been to a demonstration or a sit-in. It was all new to me. The NAACP guys talked about how, if you go to the marches, you’d get in the fetal position to keep from getting kicked in the stomach and to keep the dogs from biting you. They taught us to cover our heads if the police were beating on you with those billy clubs, and to fall on the children to protect them. Those were the conversations. My buddies Charlie Brookins and Eddie C. Howard came by the meetings too. Their parents didn’t want them to get involved, so they had to slip out of the house. Charlie says there was no way his parents would have allowed him to go to the demonstrations that were going on in Albany. “It was real dangerous back in those times. White people had guns and they were killing Black people in those marches, far more than you would ever think about or that you saw or heard in the news. It was unbelievable. Stuff you read about in a book is on the good side. My mama would have killed me if I had left and went over to Albany.”

Later on, at the meetings, people talked about Americus. Americus was a tough one. They had this terrible sheriff named Fred Chappell. He was a mean monster. He was above the law. He was the law. He was worse than Bull Connor, the commissioner of public safety in Birmingham who attacked the Freedom Riders. This guy wouldn’t bend. This sheriff was kicking Black folks’ butts every chance he got, hitting them upside the head with his nightstick and giving orders to turn the fire hose on. Back then they would deputize just anybody that was White and give them a badge, and I’d be willing to bet that some of those people wearing the badge and turning on the hose were Ku Klux Klan.

I heard about the demonstrations in Americus in the early days of the Americus movement, and sometimes I would ride over there in a car with guys from Cuthbert and we would sit around in a place on Cotton Avenue called the Bryant Pool Hall. We would play pool and listen to people talk about strategy and what was happening. In 1962, SNCC (the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee) started a voter registration drive. Americus had a population of 13,000. Over half of the people were Black, but there were only 300 Black people on the voting rolls. Sam Mahone was a high school student at the time. I didn’t know him back then. I met him in Albany in 2010. He talks about how he escorted people to the courthouse to register.

One day, when he was 17 years old, he took ten people down to the courthouse. Sam was standing across the hallway from the registrar’s office, waiting until each person had a chance to register, when Sheriff Chappell attacked him from behind. “I didn’t hear him coming or anything. He knocked me down, literally, with a fist to the back of my neck. I immediately curled into a fetal position, as we were trained to do, to protect our most vulnerable parts, like our head and our midsection, and he commenced kicking me.”

People who witnessed what the sheriff did would go back and tell others what had happened. Some people who were standing in line even left the courthouse without registering. As Sam tells it, “There was intimidation from the moment you walked into the courthouse, not just from the sheriff but all the Whites who held office there. They were just menacing people who came in there. They did not want Black people to vote.”

People got arrested for trying to buy tickets at the “White” window of the movie theater. The demonstrations got bigger after that. The police brought in dogs and burned demonstrators with electric cattle prods. After the civil rights bill passed, in 1964, there were confrontations over segregated restaurants and a swimming pool. Some SNCC workers, including Sam Mahone, were beaten with tire irons and baseball bats by a White mob after they were refused service at the Hasty House restaurant.

Now you had a lot of people in Cuthbert who were afraid to demonstrate. They didn’t want to jeopardize their families or businesses. They didn’t want to take a chance on losing any of that. They would come to the meetings, but they wouldn’t go to the marches. And you had this other group that would put their life on the line. It turned out that was the group I fell into. I was a young boy, 19 years old, in 1965. There were 15 to 20 of us ready to go. We got into a big gray bus that looked like it used to be a school bus and we rode to Americus, which was about 45 miles away. We gathered at the Bryant Pool Hall there on Cotton Avenue. Cotton Avenue was a Black street, with all Black businesses—Black clothing stores, Black poolrooms, Black restaurants, Black funeral home. It’s the main drag for Black folks who hang out in Americus. It was familiar to me because I frequented the place when I thought I was a good pool player.

People were gathering around there from Americus and every which way, too many people to fit into the poolroom, so some were standing around on Cotton Avenue. The leaders say where we’re going to march, and they told us what our strategy was. The strategy was to obey orders—when the authorities say move on, then we move on. We marched from Cotton Avenue down to the main street in Americus. Cotton Avenue ends right at the main street downtown. That’s where we went. It was a peaceful demonstration. People carried signs. The police were there, and the fire department, but they didn’t intervene. People sang freedom songs like “We Shall Overcome.”

Even though it was peaceful, the demonstration was scary. Angry-faced White folks were standing around with their weapons. It was like they were just waiting to jump us. They had guns and axe handles, and we had nothing to fight back with, not even a stick. I had never participated in anything like that, and I wasn’t really demonstrating like I was supposed to. I wasn’t up front, ready to take a beating. I was holding back, somewhere in the middle of the crowd. I was more watching than anything. I didn’t want to take a chance on getting bit by a dog or hit with a billy club. But while I was there, and afterward, I thought about it and decided that if I was going to go, I might as well get out front. So, the next time I went, I didn’t hold back. I jumped off the bus and started yelling, “Come on, y’all. Let’s do this!”

A big crowd was gathering. People came in together, from every which way. This time, the strategy was that when they ask us to move on, we won’t, because we want to get our point across. We want to integrate. We started marching down the street, singing and demonstrating. It was a slow march, just nice and slow, so we know we’re going to get into a confrontation. I’m talking about when they come and ask you to move on, and you don’t move on. You might slightly move on, but you don’t move to the pace that they want you to move.

The first thing they bring out is their dogs, holding them back some, but they are threatening you. I really didn’t want to get bit by those dogs. Then here come the fire department with the hoses. A lot of people get hurt when they turn the fire hoses on you, and I’m pretty sure people got hurt that day, but all that was a little farther down the street. I was up at the other end where the dogs were.

What happened next is that some civilian White folk showed up with shotguns. No uniforms. Some used their guns as billy clubs and were hitting people. Then a gunshot went off and everybody started running and scattering. It was mayhem. I started running too. I knew a little bit about Americus, so I knew where to run. I didn’t wait for anybody to run with. I ran down an alley that was just big enough to drive a car down. It was a small alley off Cotton Avenue, just north of West Forsyth Street, right in the center of Americus. There were a few cars parked here and there. I ran down that alley, and when I stopped to catch a breath, I looked back and saw these two White men coming with shotguns. They didn’t have those shotguns just to shoot squirrels, I’m telling you. They weren’t playing. It happened there was a car sitting there, and I saw the keys sitting in it. Folks left the keys in the car back in the day. I jumped in and took off.

I took that car and drove it to Cuthbert. While I’m driving, I’m thinking to myself, What am I going to do? I didn’t know whether to ditch the car in Cuthbert or to keep driving it, or where to go or who to tell. I was worried about staying alive. That’s what I was thinking about most. I took those folks’ car and I thought I was going to get killed when the police caught me. One thing you just don’t do in Georgia is steal. You can kill somebody and you won’t get as much time in jail as you would if you took something from White folks. White folks in Georgia don’t like for you to take things from them.

You know how you might think one thing and you do another? I was thinking about getting rid of the car, but then the more I rode around in it, I’m saying to myself, Let me keep it for a while. I asked Duck whether he’d like to take a ride in the car. I was riding around in it just for the hell of it. It was something to do. The next thing I knew, the police were riding behind me. If I got it right, my friend Jimmy Greene was in the car with me. I said, “Jimmy, you want to get out? Because I’m going to keep going. I’m taking them for a chase.” Even though I knew I was going to jail, I didn’t want to give up. I wanted the police to have to earn their money. After all the abuse I’d seen them put Black folks through my whole life, I didn’t want to make it easy for them. That’s another reason why I think they hated me so. I gave them problems. They’re used to telling a Black man to stop or come back, and he’ll do that. They actually thought I would stop. I didn’t.

Jimmy got out, and I gave the police a chase until I ran the car in a ditch. Then I ran like hell. I was running and running and running until I got tired and climbed up a tree. A little while later, here they come with the most sorry-ass country hound I’d ever seen. I was up the tree and the dog was sniffing around underneath it. Nobody saw me and they left.

They probably went back there and talked to Jimmy. He might have told them it was me driving the car. People will talk when they think they’re going to get in trouble. Some time after that, I was sleeping in an old raggedy car in Cuthbert. The police came and shined a flashlight through the window. They said, “Oooooh Shiiiiit. Look what we got! We got Winfred.” They were really happy to get me.

The police roughed me up and locked me in the calaboose. A couple days later, the sheriff showed up and took me to the county jail. The cook in the jail, Minnie Cooper, told me that Buddy Perkins had been up there looking for me, like he had done before. But they wouldn’t let me out. I never saw Perkins’s face that day. I was in too deep. I don’t know whether they told Perkins I was there or not. But there was nothing he could do; they weren’t going to let him have me.

Weeks went by and I sat in jail. Poonk’s sister, Yolanda Carter, yelled up to the window of my cell from the street. She wanted to know whether I was going to get out. She had to scream to talk to me. That girl got a lot of nerve. The police tried to run her away and she come right back.

I thought about my family, about Mama and all the things she tried to teach me about surviving in a White world, and I knew that old lady was worried about me. I was a young Black man with no structure in his life headed down a path with no good end. I could see that. I remembered men in prison stripes working by the side of the road in Cuthbert. I expected to end up there too, I just didn’t know how long it would be before they sent me to prison.

Excerpted from Chasing Me to My Grave: An Artist’s Memoir of the Jim Crow South. Used with the permission of the publisher, Bloomsbury Publishing. Text copyright © 2021 by Winfred Rembert and Erin I. Kelly. Artwork copyright © 2021 by Winfred Rembert/Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.

[chiseler]

The House of D

As one of his final acts in office, Mayor Jimmy Walker broke ground in 1932 for the New York City House of Detention for Women, built on the site of the old Jefferson Market jail in Greenwich Village and colloquially known as the House of D. According to sociologist Sara Harris’ Hellhole (on John Waters’ list of recommended reading), It was intended as a model of prison reform. Opened in 1934, the twelve-story monolith of brownish brick with art deco flourishes loomed behind the old Jefferson Market courthouse on Sixth Avenue, looking more like a stylish if somewhat cheerless apartment building than a prison. Windows were meshed instead of barred, and the one sign on its exterior merely gave the address, “Number Ten Greenwich Avenue.” There were toilets and hot and cold running water in all four hundred cells, and it was going to focus on rehabilitating its inmates – prostitutes, vagrants, alcoholics and/or drug addicts – rather than merely punishing them. From the start the reality was at variance with the intentions, and the facility quickly became infamous as a combination of Bedlam and Bastille. Within a decade it was chronically overcrowded with a volatile mix of inmates: women who couldn’t make bail awaiting trials that were sometimes months off, women already convicted and serving time, alcoholics and addicts, the mentally ill, violent lesbian tops, street gang girls, hookers and other lifelong multiple offenders, and teenagers spending their first nights behind bars. Tougher, more experienced prisoners brutalized and sexually assaulted the weak and inexperienced. So, of course, did the staff. The halls rang with the howls of inmates suffering the agonies of drug or alcohol withdrawal. There were cockroaches and mice in the cells and worms in the food. Village lesbians called it the Country Club and the Snake Pit. The IWW organizer Elizabeth Gurley Flynn did time in the House of D, as did accused spy Ethel Rosenberg and Warhol shooter Valerie Solanas. In 1957, Dorothy Day, founder of the Catholic Worker movement, spent thirty days there for staying on the street during a civil defense air raid drill. Her ban-the-bomb supporters picketed outside every day from noon to two; the Times called them “possibly the most peaceful pickets in the city.”

Despite its bland exterior, the House of D made its presence very known in the neighborhood through the daily ritual of inmates yelling out the windows or down from the exercise area on the roof to the boyfriends, girlfriends, dealers and pimps perpetually loitering on the Greenwich Avenue sidewalk – a carnivalesque Village tradition for almost forty years. Waters first caught the spectacle in the early 1960s. “It was amazing. No one can ever imagine what that was like. All the hookers would be screaming out the windows, ‘Hey Jimbo!’ And all the pimps would be down on the sidewalk yelling stuff.” Writer and film producer Jeremiah Newton initially encountered it at around the same time. “It was this huge, monolithic building, looking like the building the Morlocks dragged the Time Machine into, and the girls were always yelling down, screaming obscenities and throwing things out the window. It was the biggest building there. I sat on a stoop watching the people walk by. I’d never seen anything quite like it before.” The Village writer Grace Paley lived near the facility in the 1950s and 1960s, and walked her kids past it regularly. She wrote that “we would often have to thread our way through whole families calling up – bellowing, screaming up to the third, seventh, tenth floor, to figures, shadows behind bars and screened windows, How you feeling? Here’s Glena. She got big. Mami mami, you like my dress? We gettin you out baby. New lawyer come by.”

Women arrested at antiwar rallies during the Vietnam era found themselves locked up in the House of D with the hookers, junkies, crazies and butch lesbians. On Saturday, February 20 1965, two eighteen-year-old college students, Lisa Goldrosen of Bard and Andrea Dworkin of Bennington, were arrested during an antiwar protest at the UN and sent to the House of D. There, they later testified, they were brutally mistreated and humiliated by male doctors “examining” them for venereal diseases, and forced constantly to fend off the rough advances of other inmates. They were not allowed to use a telephone until Monday. That March, the New York Post ran an exposé based on their testimony. They didn’t experience anything other women hadn’t for thirty years by then, but in the 1960s those other inmates were overwhelmingly poor black and Hispanic women. Dworkin and Goldrosen were white, middle-class college coeds. As so often happens, that’s what it took to generate public outrage.

When Grace Paley herself was arrested at another war protest some months later, she was detained in the facility. Conditions had slightly improved in light of the outcry the Post had stirred up. Paley had been arrested before at antiwar protests, but it had always resulted in at worst overnight stays. This time a judge threw the book at her and gave her six days. “He thought I was old enough to know better,” she later wrote, “a forty-five year old woman, a mother and teacher. I ought to be too busy to waste time on causes I couldn’t possibly understand.” At least she could look out her cell window and watch her kids walking to school.

In October 1970, Angela Davis was arrested in the Howard Johnson Motor Lodge at Eighth Avenue and Fifty-First Street and taken to the House of D. It was not her first time in Greenwich Village. She was born in 1944 in Birmingham, Alabama, where her father was a car mechanic and her mother was a teacher and a civil rights activist. They lived in a black neighborhood called Dynamite Hill because the Klan had firebombed so many homes there. With help from the American Friends, she and her mother moved to New York, where her mother studied for her Masters at NYU while Angela attended Elisabeth Irwin High School in the Village. She went on to study philosophy at Brandeis, the Sorbonne, and at the University of California, earning her Ph.D. One of her teachers was Herbert Marcuse. By the late 1960s she was an avowed Communist, a member of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee and affiliated with the Black Panthers. She lectured in philosophy at UCLA until 1969, when her Communist and radical affiliations got her fired.

In August of 1970 a black teen named Jonathan Jackson took over a Marin County courtroom and demanded the release of his older brother, Panther member George Jackson, from nearby Soledad prison. He took the judge, the district attorney and three jurors hostage. In the attempted getaway, Jackson, the judge and one other person were shot and killed. When police discovered that Davis, who knew George Jackson, was the registered owner of Jonathan’s weapon, she was charged as an accomplice to murder, a capital crime in California. She fled the state, which put her on the FBI’s most wanted list. A beautiful twenty-six-year-old with a huge and magnificent Afro, she became a global pop star of the revolution a la Che Guevara. When the FBI arrested her she’d spent a few days walking openly in Times Square, unrecognized because she’d slicked down the Afro and dressed like an office worker.

Within thirty minutes of her being locked up in the House of D a crowd of protesters began to gather outside the monolith, chanting; prisoners stood in their windows and chanted along, their fists raised. The NYPD sent a Tactical Defense Force unit – riot police – and House of D officials turned off all the lights inside, hoping to quiet things down. Instead, women set small fires in their cells, and demonstrators cheered the flickerings in the windows. They dispersed without major incident. Placed in isolation, Davis went on a ten-day hunger strike. She spent nine weeks in the facility while fighting extradition to California, where, she was quite convinced, she’d be convicted and put to death. In fact she would be acquitted of all charges in a San Francisco courtroom in 1972, after spending eighteen months behind bars.

Davis was the facility’s last celebrity tenant. Through the 1950s and 1960s, Greenwich Village civic and neighborhood groups had constantly called for the facility to be removed to some location more appropriate, which is to say far away from where they lived and walked their children to school. More liberal souls in the neighborhood thought it should stay, fearing that if the women were shifted to some more isolated location they might be all the more easily mistreated. Before he wrote the hit Broadway musicals Hello, Dolly! and La Cage aux Folles, Villager Jerry Herman wrote a satirical revue called Parade, which included a song about the House of D controversy:

Don’t tear down the House of Detention

Keep her and shield her from all who wish her harm

Don’t tear down the House of Detention

Cornerstone of Greenwich Village charm…

So I say fie, fie to the cynic

Know that there’s love in these hallowed walls of brown

There’s love in the laundry, there’s love in the showers,

There’s love in the clinic

'Twas built with love, my lovely house in town

Save the tramp, the pusher and the souse

Would you trade love for an apartment house?

Dworkin and Goldrosen’s testimony before a commission studying conditions at the House of D helped lead to its being shut down in 1971. Inmates were moved to a new facility on Rikers Island. After some debate about possible new uses for the Village monolith, it was simply torn down in 1973. The site is now a small, fenced-in garden. In 1974 Tom Eyen’s spoofy play Women Behind Bars, set in the House of D in the 1950s, premiered. John Waters’ star Divine performed in a later production.

by John Strausbaugh

[the--blackdahlia]

5 Times

Title: 5 Times

Summary:  4 Times Motley Crue tried to kill themselves, and 1 time they did

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts. Language

1-Nikki

Seventeen years old. No money, no job, no family, no home. That’s exactly the way every kid wants to finish of their childhood, right? Being unloved, broke, and hungry, sitting on the curb outside of a bar and watching the drunks go by.

Frank Feranna, no, Nikki Sixx, would’ve done anything to not be in that situation right then.

He had a knife burning a hole in his pocket. He had cut his arm before. He still had the scar to prove it. How else was he supposed to get away from that mother of his? And he was not about to go back to it. But the only way he could see on getting out of his situation was at the sharp end of a switchblade knife. He pulled the item out of his pocket and stared at it. It almost seemed to glow under the flickering street lights. He closed his eyes, trying to find something in him that wanted to fight, wanted to live.

“Hey kid,” A voice called out from the entrance of the bar right behind Nikki. He turned to see a man standing there. “What are you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be at home?”

“I guess,” Nikki grumbled. The man took a step towards him.

“Jesus, you’re a fucking skeleton,” He looked Nikki up and down. “I tell you what. I need an extra hand. The Hollywood Vampires are here tonight and I’m a man down. You help me out, and I’ll let you eat whatever you want when they leave.”

“What?” Nikki asked, a little confused.

“Come on. You look like you could use a burger and I need help. What do you say?”

Nikki looked down at the knife and slid it back into his pocket before getting up and following the man into the Rainbow, where he spent the night serving the Hollywood Vampires and their guests, and eating until he couldn’t eat another bite.

2-Mick

What fucking good is a guitarist with ankylosing spondylitis? No fucking good, in Mick’s opinion. What was he going to do? Sit on a stool and strum while everyone else in his band got to run around and have fun? No fucking way. He wasn’t going to be some invalid.

But the depression that came with the diagnosis was starting to take a toll on him. He could already feel it slowly destroying him. And he honestly wanted to destroy himself before it had a chance to.

Vodka dulled the pain, but only for a little bit. Pills helped, but got the same results. He couldn’t handle the short term pain management anymore. It was starting to get so bad, he decided the best way to handle it was to do both at once. It would either kill him or help him, either he would take right then. He stared at the mound of pills in his hand and the bottle of clear liquid in his hand.

There was a knock at his bedroom door then. He cringed, thinking it was her, but a small voice accompanied the knock.

“Daddy?” Les’s voice could be heard through the door. “Are you awake?”

Mick took a deep breath and deposited the pills back into the bottle before going to the door.

“Hey Les,” Mick crouched down in front of him. “What’s up?”

“Daddy, can you read me a story?” He held the book out to his dad, which caused a smile to spread on Mick’s face.

“Sure thing kid. Want to help me read to Stormy?” Les nodded excitedly and took Mick’s hand, going to his baby sister’s room to help daddy read to her like a good big brother.

3-Vince

He didn’t sleep. The nightmares of what he had done kept him awake. He had killed someone, injured two others. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see Razzle’s mangled body, the twisted metal of the car, he could smell the booze, and it all made him so sick. So he didn’t sleep until his body physically wouldn’t let him go on anymore.

It all came to a head during Theater of Pain. Nikki and Tommy were two busy who could snort the most lines, and Mick was trying to pass off his vodka as water. No one seemed to notice how fake his smiles were, how tired he was. As long as he put on a good fucking show, who cared? The fans sure didn’t, Doc didn’t, the other people in the band didn’t. As long as he belted out the songs right, signed some autographs, and banged a few chicks, no one gave two shits about him.

That’s why he was sitting in his dressing room, staring at the wall. That’s why he was thinking about the ways that he could end it. Because he should’ve died that night. He was the one that was drinking and driving, and he was the only one who walked away from it. How the fuck did he get to live when Razzle died? Beth had left him and taken the kids with her. He had court appointed sobriety tests until his probation was up. And no one fucking cared. They all drank in front of him, smoked and snorted in front of him, and partied it up while he was having to stay sober and sing the same shitty songs over and over again. If it wasn’t for Home Sweet Home, the album would’ve blown hard core.

He held his head in his hands. What was he supposed to do? His marriage was over. His kids only saw him a couple times a month, and the band that he had once loved, he now hated. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, all because of his big fuck up.

“Yo, fucker, it’s time to go!” Tommy called out.

“Come out and play Vinnie!” Nikki’s voice echoed. He was sure that Mick was out there, shaking his head at the two idiots.

“Vince! Come on man let’s go!” Tommy hit the door. Vince sighed and shook his head before getting up and opening the door. “Bout fucking time dude! Let’s go!” Tommy and Nikki took off down the hallway. Mick snagged Vince’s arm.

“I know that look,” He told him. “I know what you’re going through.”

“I’m fine Mick. Promise.” Vince lied. Mick shook his head.

“You know where my dressing room and hotel room is every stop. Don’t go through this alone,” He squeezed Vince’s shoulder before walking after Tommy and Nikki, Vince following up the parade.

Maybe someone did care after all…

4-Tommy

He was twenty-three. At twenty-three, he should’ve been getting drunk, playing music, and having the time of his life. Not standing in a courthouse getting a marriage annulled. He thought all his relationships would end up like his parents did. A proposal within hours of knowing each other, two kids, and a loving, lasting relationship. His parents didn’t fight, they didn’t resent each other.

Why was he so broken that he couldn’t find that?

He honestly thought Eliane was going to be the one. He followed everything exactly how his dad did, yet here he was, just a couple short months after tying the knot with her, he was separating from her.

“Fuck!” Tommy screamed out before he started throwing everything in his hotel room that wasn’t bolted down. Mattress, TV, lamps. It all went as far as he could throw them. He felt like his world was coming to an end. Why had it come to this? Why couldn’t he just have a moment of happiness?

He sank to the floor, surrounded by his mess. He wanted to go to sleep and not wake up. He wanted to just disappear. If he already screwed up marriage by twenty-three, what was he supposed to do next in life?

“T-Bone!” Nikki called as he came through Tommy’s door before stopping dead in his tracks. “Dude, what the fuck happened in here?”

“Go away Nikki,” Tommy mumbled, pulling his legs to his chest.

“Shit, what’s wrong?” Nikki sat on the floor by Tommy. “Hey, it’s me we’re talking about. You can’t hide things from me, you know that, right?” He nudged him with his elbow.

“I’m divorced,” Tommy whispered. “I screwed up and I’m divorced.”

“I don’t think this marriage falling apart was all your fault man,” Nikki told him. “I mean, you guys only knew each other a week, right?”

“My parents only knew each other a day,” Tommy grumbled.

“And you’re not your parents dude,” Nikki stood up and pulled Tommy to his feet. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“I don’t want…”

“No. We’re going out and that’s final.” Nikki stated before pulling Tommy to every strip club in town. By the end of the night, Tommy was feeling better. At least, a little bit. He leaned against Nikki as they stumbled back to their hotel.

“Hey Nik?” Tommy slurred.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t ever let me marry a pornstar again,” To which Nikki just laughed.

5-Motley Crue

White walls, large windows, support groups, therapy. It all fucking sucked. But it was needed. They had taken the role of the Bad Boys of Rock way too far, and it almost cost them. They needed this, despite what Vince said. This was the second time he had gone through it, and it wasn’t any better the second time around. He wouldn’t have gone through with it if Tommy didn’t have to be such a follower. Anything Nikki did, Tommy wanted to do. And Tommy convinced Mick, which left Vince. And he was not about to be the asshole who said no to rehab just because he didn’t want to.

But a couple months after they walked through the doors, bodies tired, hair greasy, and more drugs than blood in their system, they walked back out those doors, leaving behind a heroin addict, a cokehead, and two alcoholics in their wake.

They killed their old selves to start anew, and this was the first time, they all actually went through with it.

Forever Tags: @anathewierdo @dekahg @marvel-af-imagines @feelmyroarrrr @nanie5 @imboredsueme @gemini0410 @aiaranradnay @babypink224221 @mogarukes @xxwarhawk @sandlee44 @shatteredabby @caswinchester2000 @supernaturalwincestsblog @lauravic @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @teller258316 @horrorpxnk @tommyleeownsme

Motley Crue Tags: @primal-screamer @waywardprincess666 @twistnet @saint-of-los-angeles @vader-kai @motleyfuckingcruee @sharon6713 @kawennote09 @2dead2function @nikkisixxwiththebass @iamtiber-andtiberismusic @jayprettymuchomw @charlyallise @you-know-im-a-dreamer @sweet-dreams-on-butterfly-wings @estxxmotley @arianareirg @the-normal-potato @nikki-sixxtynine @jjjjjjjoshdun @just-a-normal-fangirl18 @stella20131991 @tarahell @wowilovenikkisixx @i-want-to-shoot-myself @motleycrueee @sams-serialkiller-fetish @getbackhonkycatt @are-you-reddie54321 @flamencodiva @lesliethegroupie @deacyduck @scarecrowmax @major-tom-is-a-junky @anyasthoughts @bandaids-not-groupies

[phoenixmakeswords]

Broken Wings And Dragon Dreams Chapter 6

So this is the beginning of the end. Kinda sad about it. No trigger warnings for this chapter, outside of two brief mentions of racism towards the end.

[[READ MORE]]

Aaron motions for me to sit next to him at the table. Kai keeps glaring at Eirnin irritably, which is nothing new. The plan is for us to hang out and play games. I don’t think it will be that simple, though. Not with the way Kai acts. How Eirnin can be so calm is beyond me; I’m not the one Kai has a problem with but his behavior still has me on edge.

“You alright, boyo?” Eirnin asks, bumping my elbow with theirs.

“Shoulder. Wing. Whatever it is.”

“You don’t have to play if you don’t want to,” Aaron reminds me gently.

“I want to.”

Just because I’m frustrated by my disability and still sore from getting the crap knocked out of me again doesn’t mean I don’t want to spend time with people.

“Are you gonna deal or not, Fae?” Kai snarks.

“Are you gonna be bad-tempered all night, wolf?” Eirnin arches a manicured brow in warning. I can almost feel the waves of magic rippling from them.

“Kai, don’t push them.” Aaron sounds mildly concerned. “I know it’s close to the full moon, but be nice.”

“What are they gonna do? Turn me a funny color?” Kai’s voice turns cruel as he turns to Eirnin.

“Try me, boyo, and see.” Their slight Irish accent becomes more pronounced. Their eyes—glamoured an electric blue—sparkle dangerously, reminding me of lightning flashes.

I’ve never seen Eirnin go off and I don’t want to. They’re well within their rights to turn Kai into a fly or something.

“Either chill out or leave, Kai. You’re not gonna bully them.” Aaron’s voice has gone from concern to irritation.

“Side with them. You always do,” Kai spits, storming out. I flinch when he slams the door.

My heart jackhammers in my chest. I dig my nails into my thighs as the terror and panic hit. I’m on the verge of a panic attack.

“Hey. Hey. Leo, it’s not like before, okay? No one is gonna put their hands on you. Nobody. You’re safe,” Aaron murmurs, squeezing my forearm gently.

“Uh-huh.” I exhale shakily.

“You okay, boyo?” Eirnin asks, touching my good shoulder gently.

I nod jerkily.

“Thank you. He would have kept going.” There’s bitterness in their voice.

“I know. And I know he’s a mess around the full moon, but he’s always a monster when it comes to you.” Aaron has gone from squeezing to rubbing my arm gently. It helps. He helps.

“Oh, no, no, no. You did not just say that.”

We were supposed to play games and hang out. So far, all we’ve managed to do is spat.

“What?”

“You’re not one of us, right?”

Aaron nods slowly. He looks apprehensive.

“So it’s kinda like—If a straight person called you queer, you’d be offended, right? Because it’s a slur then. Whereas, if Leo or I called you that, it would be okay because we’re part of the same community. Does that make sense?” Eirnin doesn’t sound angry. Which is surprising in a way after Kai.

“So I need to not do that.”

“Right.”

“Feel free to call my father one, though. Even without being a shifter, he’s a monster,” I mumble.

I flinch when Eirnin stretches. I know they won’t strike me, but the sudden movement startles me.

“I won’t hurt you, boyo. Do you want to call it quits on a game night?”

“I think it might be a better idea if we did. As upset as Leo is, I don’t wanna add more stress to him or push him more,” Aaron replies.

I offer Aaron a grateful smile.

“I’ll head out then. Hey, you ever want holes poked in you, hit me up.” Eirnin squeezes my good shoulder lightly on their way out.

“See you Wednesday.” Aaron hasn’t stopped the gentle way he’s rubbing my arm. I wish he wouldn’t be this nice; it makes it hard to not love him.

He guides me carefully to the couch.

“I’m sorry about Kai,” he murmurs.

“It’s fine. I overreacted.”

“No. Kai is a butt. He triggered you. He was mean to Eirnin. Besides, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“Have I done something wrong?” I sink against the back of the couch defensively.

“No, you’re fine. I know what you said before. And I thought about it. Do you really still love me?”

“Yeah. You were the only guy I ever wanted.” I manage a sad smile.

“You still willing to have a sexless relationship?” He toys uneasily with his ring.

He’s changed a bit in five years. I don’t know how I missed it before. Like the black ink, standing out in contrast to his beige skin, just barely peeking out under the edge of his sleeve. The almost-always present worry in his dark eyes. There’s other changes I can’t quite put my finger on. He’s not fifteen anymore.

“I’ll make it work.”

“I thought about it. And I’m willing to have an open relationship if we try again. If it would make it easier.”

“What’s that gonna do to you?”

He simply shakes his head.

“It’s not worth it. I love you. I loved you when you came out and I love you now.”

“My last relationship broke up because I wasn’t willing to put out. I want you to be happy. And if that means an open relationship, which I’m not entirely okay with, then that’s what I’ll do. You said you liked Eirnin. I can talk to them about it if you want.”

“Could we at least try before we decide to go with an option you’re not okay with? I was happy before.”

“Thank you. Is tomorrow okay?” He smiles uncertainly. Like he thinks I’m messing with him.

“Whenever you want.”

“We can go to the Harvest Festival if you want. I don’t know how you feel.”

“I’m still pretty sore. As long as we take it slow, I should be fine.”

Besides, I’m not turning down the chance to be with him.

It feels like fall outside. The cool, crisp air makes me want to snuggle with Aaron under a blanket. I wish the leaves would start turning, but they’re still vibrantly green.

I reach tentatively for his hand. We’ve never been able to do this. We always had to hide because of my dad.

“Your hands are like ice,” he remarks as we start down the sidewalk.

“Sorry. So, how’s your family?” I haven’t heard him talk about his family since we reunited. I haven’t asked either, though. I’m not sure why but I haven’t.

“They’re okay. Rosa has her own restaurant. Authentic Mexican food. Like Abuela’s tamales. She’s making them really proud. Making me really proud. I mean, my big sister is making a name for herself here. It’s kinda a big deal.”

“Your grandma makes the best tamales. It’s a very big deal and you should be proud. I’m proud of her and I’ve only met Rosa twice.” I beam at him. I love his family.

“I’ll tell her you said that. Might leave out the dragon bit. I don’t want her to have a heart attack. I was actually worried about introducing you to them.”

“Yeah, the dragon thing is a bit much. Why?”

“Because my family didn’t come here legally. Because I got the windshield busted out of my truck because I’m Mexican. Because people here are racist bigots. I was afraid you would do something to get my family deported.”

“I remember when that happened. The truck thing. Have you had more things like that happen? Aaron, I would never do that.”

“Yeah. It’s not great. At the time, I didn’t know that.”

“I’m sorry. I have one more question for right now. What’s the tattoo?”

“I’m never changing who I am. It’s an Imagine Dragons lyric. Kai did it for me.”

“I like it.”

“I’m glad I found you. I liked flipping houses with Bryce and his friends. That was the whole plan. Flip it, make easy cash, wait for the next one. I’m not doing it anymore.”

“I am too. I have more questions.”

“You’re full of them today.” He smiles teasingly. I love how his eyes look in the sunlight. They remind me of warm honey in the light.

“You have pretty eyes. How did you get started doing tattoos?”

“Thank you. I always wanted to do something with art. And tattoos fascinated me. I like it.”

The sound of the festival has begun to hit my ears. We’re still a couple blocks away but close enough I can see the brick courthouse. A band is playing somewhere on the square.

“I remember you drawing a lot. I really thought you would do something with music. Or at least with your voice.”

“I don’t sing much anymore.” He smiles sadly. The Aaron I knew before loved singing. He had a beautiful voice.

“You don’t?” I never thought I would see the day he didn’t sing.

“No. After you left, after I got kicked out of chorus, I don’t do more than sing in the car.”

“Wait. What happened with chorus?”

He was kinda a star in chorus. He usually got the solo. He was incredible. He and I had talked about him trying out for American Idol after graduation. So this is a bit of a shock.

“I got into a fight. And kicked out. He was being racist and I defended myself. You had just left. I was hurting. He didn’t get in trouble. I got suspended. I haven’t had the same passion since.” He runs a hand through his short-cropped hair. I recognize this gesture. He’s uncomfortable.

“You shouldn’t have gotten in trouble. I loved when you would sing.”

“Yeah?” He actually stops to stare at me.

“You have a beautiful voice. Your singing made me—It felt like home.”

I remember the night after our first date. The first night I slept at his house. I remember the way he held me close and how safe I felt. I remember the smell of s’mores on his breath as he sang Take Me to Church quietly. The smokiness of his voice reminded me of the smokiness of the marshmallows.

“I never knew that.” The words come as a whisper.

“It’s one of my favorite things.” I squeeze his hand gently.

I didn’t realize how many people would be at the festival but it’s packed with people. There are vendors scattered about the square. A band on stage playing covers of classic rock songs.

“Do you wanna go?” Aaron asks, surprising me.

“We just got here.”

We haven’t moved yet. We’re still trying to decide where to go first.

“I know but your dad is over by the cider stand.”

I follow Aaron’s gaze. He’s not wrong. It makes me a tiny bit happy to see my dad’s busted up from our fight. It’s a perverse sort of pleasure. Recognition flickers in his eyes before he turns and walks away.

I’m finally free. Or he’s faking me out. But I think it might be over, I think, watching him leave.

For the first time since I came out, for the first time in five years, I can breathe freely. I am free to love the man holding my hand.

Taglist: @vnsmiles

[pluckyredhead]

Daredevil 101: Daredevil...Exposed!

We’re back to Bendis starting with Daredevil #26 in 2001, and he’ll have the reins for a good long while. Most of this run will be drawn by Alex Maleev.

We start with Fisk - who as you’ll remember from the Echo plotline, is now blind - being annoyed by Sammy Silke, the son of a crime boss from Chicago who is sort of on loan to the Kingpin’s organization at the moment:

Yeah, Fisk, that’s what we call an indication to get the heck out of dodge. Oh well!

Yeah so Fisk gets stabbed a lot and dies. (Well. “Dies.”) Sorry, Fisk.

Meanwhile, what’s Matt up to?

So this speech bubble thing...*sigh* This is a very Bendis thing, this “talking heads with tons of speech balloons” thing. I always feel like when I complain about too much text on a page, people are going to think I don’t like...reading words. And I do like reading words! I read so many books, you guys.

But comics are meant to be a marriage of pictures and words, and this is not that. The art is supposed to carry the story forward. This, meanwhile, is the equivalent of going to see a movie but getting a still photograph with a voiceover instead. Bendis does many things well, but this “stylistic quirk” of his always feels more like he’s refusing to edit down than anything else.

Anyway, Matt and Foggy win the case, it’s all great, everyone loves them, but the minute they step outside the courthouse and into a car:

That guy at the center? He’s a meta. Luckily, our boys survive:

I love Matt frantically trying to get to Foggy and I love Foggy being like “I’m fine, go get ‘em, tiger.” Also because of this scene I always think of Daredevil when I hear “Baby I Love Your Way” and - this is a true story - one time I was sitting in a cafe and this song was playing and then the door opened and Charlie Cox walked in. Swear to God!

Matt suits up and tracks down the meta, but all he’ll say is that there’s a hit out on Matt Murdock. Unsure of what to do, Matt goes to visit Foggy at the hospital (TAKE SOME NOTES, MCU MATT), only to get bowled over by a visit from Foggy’s mom:

So I guess the Nelsons abruptly became Jewish for one issue? And Anna flew all the way from Ohio because her son broke his arm after visiting him all of twice in like the 15-20 years before that?

Anyway yeah Anna’s wildly out of character but I’m including this scene because a) I love Foggy’s irritated reaction which is very in keeping with the personality Bendis is honing for him, and b) Anna’s reaction here, and specifically her reaction to Matt, might offer some hints as to why we haven’t seen any of Foggy’s relatives since this 17-year-old comic.

So why is all of this happening? Let’s flash back to before the attack on Fisk, before the bombing, to when Sammy Silke first arrived in New York:

This is Fisk’s son Richard. Yes, SON. He hasn’t appeared in any Daredevil stories before, but he’s been in Spider-Man stuff as both villain and anti-hero, alternately called the Schemer, the Rose, and BLOOD ROSE, which I cannot get over, that is hilarious to me.

Anyway these days the life has clearly gone out of him and he barely responds to Sammy’s overtures. Huh.

Back to the present. Matt receives a hilarious explanatory note:

Oh, Elektra. You are fabulously unhelpful and I love you. Also signing your name like that is so extra I can’t even deal.

Back in the past, Silke asks Fisk for a favor. See, Silke’s dad wants an annoying lawyer offed:

Now, as far as most people know, Matt’s a good lawyer, but there’s no reason that he should be under the Kingpin’s protection. So Silke gets curious.

Another time jump - now we’re after the bombing at the courthouse but before Fisk’s stabbing. Daredevil goes to the person most likely to put out a bounty on Matt Murdock:

Fisk doesn’t always call Matt “Matthew” BUT HE SHOULD, it’s delightful. (Similarly, Matt should always call Fisk “Wilson,” or maybe “Willie” when he’s being sassy.) Anyway now Matt knows Fisk didn’t call the hit, and Fisk knows that there’s dissent within his organization.

Jump forward to after Fisk’s stabbing. He’s not actually dead, but he’s barely clinging to life. And one of the people still loyal to him called in Vanessa, who is estranged from him but also not at all pleased by this development. She flies in from Europe to handle things:

Well, that’s not good.

Pre-Fisk’s stabbing. Matt talks to Ben to see if he knows who might have put out the contract. Ben drags him all around the block:

Hahaha oh Matt. You horny dumbo.

Two weeks ago. Richard Fisk tells Sammy Silke why Matt Murdock is off limits:

Yeah, so sometime between Born Again and now, someone figured out that Matt is Daredevil, and now pretty much everyone in Fisk’s inner circle knows. But they’re all good soldiers, so they pretend they don’t know, and Fisk doesn’t know they know.

Silke thinks that’s ridiculous, and a sign of the Kingpin’s weakness - his father would never let a known superhero live. So he and Richard decide to convince Fisk’s men to kill him so that they can take over. Richard doesn’t take much convincing:

Flash forward to now. Vanessa may have tried to protect her son from Fisk’s abuse, but she is not about to forgive him for this:

There is so little Vanessa in the comics, at least on the Daredevil side of things, and I wish I knew more, but I love how (when she’s not, um, a captive of sewer people) she always just exudes power.

Anyway, she makes a hard call:

Bye, Richard! And everyone else involved in the hit!

As his co-conspirators start dropping like flies, Sammy Silke panics:

With no help coming from Papa Silke, Sammy makes a desperate decision and goes to the FBI:

Well, shit.

The FBI guys are basically like “Cool, we don’t care, you’re still going to jail,” but they do call in their boss to discuss this bombshell:

I want to cosplay as this guy. Just wander around a convention center biting my lip and holding up those two photos. It doesn’t even have to be during a comic con.

As the FBI digs into this allegation, they find increasingly weird stuff in Matt’s background: He has a SHIELD file. He dated a famous assassin who died in his arms. All of the financial stuff that went down during Born Again. It seems like this could be actually legit...

But the director still doesn’t want to act on it:

(Yes, one of them actually sat there and doodled a Daredevil costume over Matt’s face.)

So everything’s okay, right? Well, not exactly. See, FBI Guy #1 is pretty deep in debt, and he knows this information is worth something to someone...so he goes to a tabloid. And the next morning when Foggy stops at the newsstand:

Next up: the fallout.

[canaryatlaw]

alright, I’m tired so let’s write. Today was overall pretty good, some stupid insecurity worrying on my part, but overall good. I woke up to my alarm at 10:55, got ready and caught the bus, took the bus to the train to the DV courthouse. I sat and worked on my legal drafting assignment for probably about 10 minutes or so before getting summoned to take over a case from the morning shift that hadn’t made it to court before they broke for lunch. they tend to give me the more complicated cases because I know what I’m doing and I’ve handled a lot of crazy cases, especially when there are kids involved because they know that’s my thing. So I was picked to take over the case, even though there were like 5 other volunteers waiting for assignments. Most of the paperwork was filled out, and it was a super long affidavit stretching back years and years of just awful abuse. I mean, I’ve seen a hell of a lot at this job, but there are still some fuckers that manage to make me indignant, especially when they’re threatening children- often their own children. I won’t get into details, but basically the husband (they’re separated but not official divorced) would regularly threaten to kill all five of their kids, and referred to their one son as his “gay ass son” and that he would “punch the girl out of him” and the kid is like, six. So yeah, that got me kinda pissed. There was soooo much abuse documented though that I had no doubt the order would get granted, so having that assurance is always good. We just keep hitting little speed bumps that would cause a bit of a delay, so we wound up waiting for a while and filed our paperwork around 2 or so. She had with her her 8 month old daughter, who was just the cutest little thing. They don’t want kids in the courtroom, so they had me go in and hand in the paperwork while she waited outside with the baby, and then when the case was called I got her and took over watching the baby. She was very well-behaved, didn’t cry or anything, so that was good. It was kind of annoying that I couldn’t hear what was going on in court just because I like knowing that, but soon enough she came back out with a bit of a confusing answer- they hadn’t actually processed the case yet, but sent her back with a note saying she needed to refile it under another case number- basically this whole big procedural mess about consolidating cases in parentage, divorce, and DV court. Apparently there were a few parentage cases going on between the different kids and a divorce was filed at one point, so basically we were under the impression we were supposed to file it under the earliest case, but then they decided they wanted one of the 2017 case numbers, so we had to go talk to the clerk’s office and fix that. I wasn’t mad really, I was more so just thoroughly annoyed because we had already spent so much time waiting. I’ve been mad at the results of court before and that is an entirely different feeling, lol. So after a little while we went back up to court and did the same thing again, when I came out the baby was sleeping, but after a little while she woke up and was good at first, but then she started crying and I was trying to get her out of her car seat so I could hold her, but the front part of it was pulled down so far I was having issues pulling her out, but thankfully at that point mom came back out and took care of it. The order was granted of course, not that I had any doubt it would be. It’s nice knowing that you have a slam dunk case every so often, it’s definitely not an every case thing but occasionally you’ll get one that you know is gonna get granted, and that’s pretty satisfying. So we came back down and did some quick debriefing, then I headed out. Took the train to the bus, which was super crowded because it was rush hour. I had taken the same bus home over the summer, but I had gotten on the bus further south than I was now so the bus wouldn’t be crowded yet and I could have my seat in the back and then watch it all crowd like crazy as it went north, but now I was getting on it further north and well, it was quite crowded. But I made it home a little before six, and decided I was going to eat some of the veggies I had in my fridge before they go bad. I had bought some kale with the intention of making kale chips, something I literally have not done since 2013 when I was in my kale obsessed phase (I go through phases where I’ll be really into one food and eat it constantly and then one day just stop and move on) when I was eating like, a head of kale a day, lol. So did that, and made a salad kit thing I had in the fridge, so lettuce and kale (plus some other stuff of course) and sad down to watch the flash. Another meh episode in my book, largely thanks to its focus on Ralph, who I am sooooooo bored of. With the whole wanting to kill DeVoe thing, but it being to protect the team, like was that supposed to be character development?? If so, it was pretty crappy development. The rest of the episode didn’t really do much for me, the ending fight scenes were cool but that was about it. Moving on though, I did love the Black Lightning season finale, and I’m sad their season is over now, because 13 episodes definitely isn’t enough. I’m glad Tobias wasn’t taken down and that we’ll see him again, because there’s definitely more story there. The scene with the whole family going to fight and defend themselves though, that was lit (pun intended, obviously). one of my tweets was “lol at them being like ‘WE ARE NOT PREPARED FOR BLACK LIGHTNING, PLEASE LET US LEAVE” and the official show account retweeted it so it has a hundred something likes now and like sixty retweets, lol. I thought it was clever. I love Anissa, she’s my girl, I’m totally with her on the whole we need to use our powers and skills to help and save people, but I also really liked Jennifer in this episode as she was figuring out how to use her powers and really just kicking so much ass, it was wonderful. I keep feeling bad for Lynn though, because we know this isn't what she wanted for Jefferson, much less for her two daughters, but they don’t really have a choice at this point. But yeah, I liked the episode a lot, my one complaint is that the season was too short to fully develop the plot line, and I think a few more episodes could’ve let them flesh it out a lot more and make the ASA more of a proper villain (though I will never be able to look at that acronym and not think it stands for “assistant state’s attorney”). The Pierce family just kicks so much ass, and I can’t wait to see what they do with a *hopefully* full season next year. When that finished I watched Rise since that had just aired. After tonight I can watch it live since BL is over. Decent episode, Auli’i’s voice on Momma Who Bore Me is just perfect, it seriously gave me chills and like, it’s such a good pick because the song was originally sung by Lea Michele, who also headlined Glee, which is arguably a major influencing force on the show. The teacher (I don’t even know his fucking name) tends to grate on me because he reminds me so much of Schuester, who I really did not like lol. What they did do well in this episode is contrast how important theatre is to kids and the major influence it has on their lives versus the lack of importance the adults in their life place on it, saying it’s “just a play” when to the kids it’s so much more than that. Like, looking back at the shows I was in in high school, I know they weren’t good, we weren't putting up flawless productions by a long shot, but being able to have that artistic expression, not to mention making up pretty much my entire friend group, really meant the world to me and I really don’t know if I would’ve survived high school without them, so that hit pretty close to home for me. When I finished that I decided to watch The Resident from the other night. Also a pretty good episode, I liked the whole professor seeing “ghosts” storyline, it was well done and I loved Mina’s interactions with her and the effect it had on the professor. The Lily plot was all very sad of course, and I know they’re probably just gonna amp it up from here, so there will be plenty more where that came from. When it was over I watched Jimmy Kimmel for a little before starting to get ready for bed and here I am. It’s past 1 and I’m pretty tired, so I’m gonna call it a night here. PT in the morning then my normal Wednesday classes, should be good. But yeah, that’s it. Goodnight darlings. Hope you had a lovely evening.

[5hfanfiction]

Galaxies (Chapter 1 The future)

Summary

Lauren is a successful Lawyer who had everything at the age of 28, but she had no one to share her success with. Until sudden turn of events led her to choose between the past and the present.

(I’m bad at summaries)

—————————-

A deep sigh escaped Lauren’s plump lips as she hurriedly escaped the confines of the exuberant room she had called her battleground. Pushing through the double oak doors, a blinding bright light greeted her causing her to flinch.

“Ms. Jauregui, how does it feel to win the biggest case of the year?” a man from the crowd asked, shoving a device near her mouth. Four security guards rushed towards Lauren and her team, helping them as they pushed through the crowded corridor of the courthouse.

Winning a $1.5 Billion lawsuit was exhilarating, after hearing the 5-4 decision from Judge Morrison, Lauren had to stop her inner childish self from running towards the misogynistic defense attorney and shoving her womanly victory in his worn out throat; but instead she sent him a snarky smirk causing a disheveled look on his face-Lauren’s Internal organs celebrated, that asshole saw it coming.

It took 3 years to close the intellectual property case, representing the plaintiff; Lauren’s client filed a lawsuit against their competing company which was causing them to lose millions of dollars. Her client claimed their Interface and API’s were deliberately copied and the competing tech company patterned their products from them.

It was brain wrecking; representing a tech company was a repeat of high school calculus, hearing technical jargons gave Lauren continuous migraines. Lauren was a product of Harvard law, it should be a walk in a park for her, and to no one’s surprise; it was —after a few weeks of thorough research. If she hadn’t passed Harvard law, she could have considered becoming a hacker, after all Mr. Robot got her hooked.

Exiting the courthouse, Lauren turned to her assistant who was walking alongside of her and instructed the petite girl to give a brief statement to the press. Lauren hurriedly brushed passed the crowd of reporters scattered outside the courthouse, leaving her team behind to handle the press; she walked down the wide and long staircase instantly seeing her driver waiting for her at the end with her black armored Lexus. Her driver held the door open waiting for her to get in.

Hearing the door shut, she released, yet gain, a deep sigh, it was a mix of exhaustion and relief; damn those reporters were persistent she thought to herself. “Take me back to my loft, Matt”, she instructed her driver as they pulled out of the courthouse.

—

The drive towards Lauren’s loft was silent, but after the legal banters and closing statements in the courtroom, not to mention the deafening chatters and shouts of the reporters, silence was the form of celebration she had needed. 

The car came to a complete stop in front of an old luxurious Italianate building situated in Tribeca. The ambiance reminded her of London; it was a quiet neighborhood, an ingredient to her sanity.

“Congratulations on winning your case, Ms. Jauregui”, the doorman greeted, as she entered the confines of the luxurious building. The old man, probably in his mid-50’s, had been holding the door for her since she’d moved in. He could have been doing the same job for years, but his genuine smile never faltered. Despite the simplicity of his work, Lauren could see the contentment on his eyes every single day he had greeted her, and it amazed her how people like him, who were living the simplest lives, can genuinely be happy. She might not know what his life was behind closed doors, but for what mask he was putting up, it was something she had always admired and envied.

“Thanks, Brent. Always a gentleman” Lauren nodded politely, as she quickly rushed towards the elevator at the end of the Venetian styled lobby.

The high security keyed elevator opened into her outstanding foyer area leading to the grand proportions of the main living space of her loft. Her eyes were met with the dramatic and light filled brick ceiling, a large skylight with steel beams beneath it and extra-tall bulletproof windows providing open views of Manhattan. It was her dream to live in a fancy penthouse, or every ones dream. But it wasn’t a home.

Being a high profile lawyer equates to having higher risk of getting herself killed. She horridly ate death treats for breakfast; but she was used to it. She made sure her family was secure, and having a police officer as a best friend, she was safe as she’ll ever be.

She had moved in three years ago, it came with the job at the biggest law firm in the country. It was a sure shot, having passed Harvard Law with flying colors and not to mention outstanding recommendations from her professors; she had the job before even getting her diploma.

She had everything becoming a partner at 26, a year after Harvard, and now the case which was considered one of the biggest cases in the corporate world. It gave her not just a free pass on her career, but given the state of her bank account, she can quit her job and still live through 300 years. At 28 she had it all—well, that’s what people thought. Unfortunately, she had no one to share it with, romantically, that is.

Plopping down her couch, her ears were invaded by a familiar tone; she fiddled through her purse to find the source playing a 1985 pop song. She held the device and a smile immediately crept in her face after seeing the name on the screen. “Don’t you Forget about me, Don’t don’t don’t don’t don’t you Forget about me" She sang the chorus along with her phone, as she’d always done, before swiping to the right.

"Hey, Mani” She said with a hint of excitement in her voice. She removed her blazer causing her to press the phone between her ear and shoulder blade. “What’s up?”

“First off, you look stunning on TV, you are all over the news girl” Normani, Lauren’s older best friend, said excitedly, causing her to release a soft chuckle. It was times like this, Lauren was grateful that she had someone to check up on her from time to time.

“Oh shut up!” Lauren held the device with her right hand after freeing herself from the tight clothing. She positioned herself comfortably lifting both her feet off the ground, stretching it on her expensive couch. “Why’d you call?”

“I have great news” her best friend said playfully.

“What is it, oh my god! Is it what I think it is?!” Lauren asked squealing causing her best friend to chuckle on the other line.

“Yes, I finally got a Brazilian wax” Lauren’s jaw dropped and she choked on her saliva.

“What the fuck Normani?! You called me just to parade your hairless mush. You hot, Babe. But we talked about this, I aint into incest.” Both girls laughed. It was their usual playful banter, having been friends for years they’re practically sister’s from different wombs. “Seriously, what’s up?”

“You will not believe this, I found the girl!” Lauren’s face tightened from the wide grin that immediately crept on to her face, her bright mood was suddenly elated. She swung her legs off the couch, causing her to sit upright.

“Seriously, What, Where, When, How?!! Oh fuck, Normani! What’s her Name?! What should I wear?! She shouted losing all the maturity she had, she sounded like a teenage girl gushing towards her best friend over a boy crush, but well for her, it was a girl crush.

"Woah, Lo! We are not in a courthouse, now I know why they call you a shark” Her best friend joked, causing her to chuckle. Well her best friend was right, she was an outstanding lawyer, grilling people was her forte, and to be in the current state she was in was really something no one would actually believe. But it was her best friend, she was comfortable with the ebony skinned girl she had new all her life.

“Oh stop it, Mani! Just answer the question!” She said with a hint of urgency.

“Questionssss, that was too many. But I’d answer the where part, she’ll be at The Stream Tonight at 11. I’ll be at your house at 8, we’ll be there at 10, and you’re welcome”. Lauren jumped up off the couch from what she had heard out of excitement.

“You are the best,I fucking love you” She squealed.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know. I have to go, I have a meeting in a few minutes”

“Okay, see you at 8 don’t be fucking late”

“And Lauren, her name is Lucy. Love you too. Bye!” Normani said hanging up the phone before the younger girl could respond. Lauren tossed the device on the couch and did a celebratory dance. She had never felt giddy for a long time.

“Lucy.” She mumbled to herself. Hearing the mystery girl’s name for the first time, she felt every hair on her body rise from the electric current driven by her pounding heart. It was a foreign feeling, after being single for 7 years; she had honestly given up hope on the dating department, until the specific night she laid eyes on the brown eyed girl. Lucy.

Lauren had never been thankful for her Friday night routines with her best friend. Since both of them were away from their families —and well, they were hella single; they both made sure to see each other every Friday to keep them both sane, it was tradition for both of them.

When Normani was transferred to work for the NYPD, the police officer had lived at Lauren’s penthouse for two years. Due to Normani’s promotion, causing her to work late hours, she decided to get her own apartment a few blocks from her precinct. After then, every Friday was a choice between going to the movies, staying in at Lauren’s penthouse for a classic Netflix and literally just chill, or a night out at Clark’s; and with all luck in the world, that specific Friday night three weeks ago, they’d chosen the latter.

It was open mic at Clark’s, when they encountered Lucy. Both girls sat on their usual corner booth; Lauren had taken the seat facing the stage.

Taking a sip of her scotch, Lauren listened intently on Normani’s ranting about a case the older girl was working on, when suddenly the most amazing sound blessed Lauren’s ear. Her eyes immediately searched for the source of the heavenly voice, landing one of the most beautiful creatures she had ever laid eyes on and when she thought the sight couldn’t be more beautiful, a set of brown eyes met her green ones.

She swore her heart stopped that instant, she was sure she was taken into a bright and cloudy atmosphere -heaven. Everything around her disappeared, except the girl with the angelic voice. The girl was art; her long wavy brown her perfectly dangling on her shoulders, the perfect lighting illuminated her brown dreamy eyes, and her perfect full lips were inviting, Lauren swore she wanted a taste of it.

Lauren’s heart pounded ferociously in her chest, causing her breath to hitch; damn the brown eyed girl was breath taking. But it ended soon as it started. A sudden vibration surged from Lauren’s pocket causing her body to undergo shock, as if someone used a defibrillator on her and set it up to the highest voltage; she was brought back to life.

It was her work phone, she had never felt so irritated in her life, seeing the name of the caller on the bright screen, she knew she had to take it; it was a call from her boss. Cursing all the heavens, Lauren’s boss demanded her to go back to the firm for an emergency meeting. She hurriedly grabbed her things and apologized to Normani.

They walked out the pub together since the older girl was also exhausted, and decided to call it a night. But before stepping out, Lauren took one last glance at the heavenly creature still on stage finishing the song, and to Lauren’s surprise, the girl’s majestic brown eyes were still intently on her -and in that moment, Lauren knew she had to see the mystery girl again.

The next day, Lauren returned to Clark’s hoping to get the name of the girl, but to her dismay, no one knew the brown eyed girl. She only had the girl’s initials, L.V, which was what was indicated on the list of performers the night before. Lauren dragged Normani, spending three consecutive Fridays at Clark’s hoping to get a glimpse of her dream girl, she felt her heart shatter every time she walked out of the pub with no sign of the girl. It was a lost cause -until a few seconds ago.

After hearing the exciting news from her best friend, Lauren ran towards her kitchen and fixed herself the usual vegan dinner. She settled in on a Aglio El Olio, without the parmesan cheese of course, pairing it with a bottle of white wine. She nestled down on her large dining table and she slowly devoured her masterpiece. The overpowering garlic blended with a kick of red pepper harmonized well with the aromatic fruity alcoholic drink. It was how she spent most of her nights in her big loft, alone.

Lauren stormed towards her room to prepare for the awaited event after cleaning up the kitchen. The excitement can’t seem to die down, her pulse rate equated to running 20 miles, but the dread was equally overwhelming. The strong desire of seeing the magical creature mixed with the pessimistic thoughts were consuming her mind, causing a head- banging confusion.

She wanted to see her, but she was beyond frightened of all the possibilities. “What if she’s straight? Or she’s in a relationship? Or even worse, married? Is it even possible to be afraid of losing her before even having her? These strong thoughts were consuming Lauren’s being. She had to take a quick cold shower before she goes completely crazy.

Headed toward her walk-in closet, Lauren saw a text message from her best friend informing her that the older girl was on her way. It was already 15 minutes past 7, signalling Lauren that she only had 45 minutes to prepare, causing her to panic.

After tossing clothes all over her closet, she opted on wearing a black motorcycle jacket covering her grey tank top, black skinny ripped jeans, black laced boots and a pair of sunglasses to finish off her bad ass look. She wore light make up that still extenuated her most powerful asset, her piercing green orbs.

She stood in front of her huge full body mirror, situated inside of her walk in cabinet, checking herself out before the buzz from the intercom startled her. She checked the tablet hanging on the side where she was standing, projecting the camera from the elevator. The sight of her best friend on the small screen made her rush towards the security panel situated in her bedroom just above the night stand and pressed a key with the security codes letting the elevator open.

"Bitch, let’s go” Lauren heard her best friend shout from her living room causing her to scramble down the spiral staircase.

“Woah, someone’s getting laid tonight” Normani said, causing Lauren to blush as the older girl gave her a once over “I’d tots tap that ass tonight, if Miss Lucy Loo wouldn’t”

“Oh shut up, big ass, you don’t look bad yourself” eyeing her best friend who was wearing a tight black dress that hugged the older girl’s intoxicating body.

-

The girls decided to take Lauren’s black armored Lexus LX 570. Matt drove both of them to a small pub situated in one of the quietest streets in Manhattan. Walking inside, both girls were met by a chilling vibe; the aesthetics of the place was food for the eyes — the blue dim lighting; candid black and white framed photographs hanged on the patterned bricks. Their nostrils were met by a less intoxicating smell compared to other places that sold alcoholic beverages mostly because smoking was not allowed inside the confines of the pub, and secondly there are less drunk people. It was the kind of place Lauren and Normani preferred.

With her heart almost bursting from her chest, Lauren sat with Normani on a table just in front of the stage, getting a better view of the reason they chose to drive halfway across the city. Lauren rubbed her sweaty palms continuously on her jeans, anxiously waiting for the brown eyed girl to appear on the stage.

In an instant her wild pumping heart stopped, skipping a beat, when her green eyes was met with a gaze, a gaze she had waited for what felt like eternity. There she is, the girl Lauren searched thoroughly for the past 3 weeks sitting in front of her with a guitar on the brown eyed girl’s lap.

As Lucy started to strum the guitar, Lauren recognized the tune and when she thought the feeling on her chest wouldn’t get anymore wilder; Lucy started singing while looking intently at her green eyes.

There are no words to paint a picture of you girl

Your eyes and those curves

“Did she just say girl?! Omg she’s gay” Normani said leaning in to Lauren across the table her eyes widened on what she had heard. “And girl she’s starring at you!”

“Shut up! I can’t hear her with your loud mouth!” Lauren said glaring at her best friend. She can feel the warmth instantly spreading across her face. Thankfully, the lights were too dim to see her face turn into tomato.

Lauren listened intently, taking all the of the song— the raspiness of the brown eyed girl’s voice, the way the brown eyed girl never left Lauren’s gaze, even giving the her girl a wink; if Lauren wasn’t too oblivious, she would have thought that Lucy was singing the song for her. But then Lauren was single for too long, she had forgotten how to flirt.

Sure she had gone on dates, but all of which ended up rather weirdly; no one had called her back after the first date. After the last girl she’d gone on a date with, which was 4 years ago when she was still finishing Law school, she promised herself to never go on a date again.

Lauren’s self-esteem went downhill, on the dating department, that is. She never figured out why all the girls she’d spend time with just plain talking and opening up, never had the audacity to reach out to her. Well she tried to ask some of them out again, but to no avail, she had never received a text back.

So after all the worthless efforts, Lauren promised herself that she’d never open up to people again; she became emotionally distant. But she never really became alone, she had become the queen on the sack, she’d hook up with random girls she’d pick up in a bar or from a cafe, but never had any emotional connection with them.

She’d never taken anyone home-it was there place or a cheap hotel and she never gave them her name; that was Lauren’s rule. After all she opened up her heart again when it was completely shattered by her first love; only to be rejected by those girls she had opened up to.

Lauren’s past was something she held on to; she had become more protected, but seeing the brown eyed girl might have melted her steel heart. On that very night Lauren wanted to give her heart another opportunity, and she had chosen the girl who was singing in front of her.

After playing five songs, Lucy had walked off the stage towards the back disappearing from Lauren’s sight. Lauren waited for Lucy to appear again as her best friend was constantly teasing her and forcing her to go backstage to see the girl.

Lauren was too scared, and she wasn’t ready. She hated herself for being too afraid; a completely opposite side of her from what she was on court —a shark that could put anyone on their knees. But tonight she was acting like a thirteen year old girl who was too shy to talk to her crush; she was hopeless.

The night went on without any trace of Lucy; Lauren internally cursed herself for being too weak to do the first move. Unfortunately Normani needed to go to the precinct because a lead from her big murder case had shown up. Deciding to also call it a night, Lauren dragged herself out with a heavy heart trailing behind Normani. Stepping outside the pub, Lauren was met with the cold wind of New York causing her to shiver—she forgot her jacket inside. She cursed herself internally for her stupidity, but when she was about to turn around, she felt a warm hand on her shoulder causing her to stiffen from the voice that came after.

“Hey, uhh I think you forgot this” it came from a voice that Lauren immediately recognized, if her singing voice was angelic, damn her speaking voice was sexy causing Lauren’s spine to shiver. Taking all the strength she can muster, Lauren turned around meeting Lucy’s gaze. Lauren was awestricken; Lucy was more beautiful up close. Lucy stretched out her arm with the hand that was holding Lauren’s jacket, offering the piece of material to the green eyed brunette.

Lauren stood there frozen; staring at Lucy with her jaw dropped. All her built in confidence was taken from her, she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her. She was speechless and embarrassed, how can her body betray her now. Move damn it. Say something. And as if on cue, her best friend cleared her throat to awaken Lauren from her trance. She quickly averted her eyes from the brown eyed girls gaze and settled it on the pavement.

“Uh, I got it” Normani said, grabbing the jacket from Lucy’s grasp “Thank you for this; my friend seems to have a speech problem tonight, probably because of the alcohol she had taken in”

“No problem, I’d never seen you here before but you two look familiar” Lucy said chuckling, switching her gaze between Normani and Lauren.

“It’s our first time here, we actually saw you three weeks ago at Clark’s. We heard you had a gig here tonight so we figured we go, check it out. She’s actually a fan of yours.” Normani said as she tapped Lauren on the shoulder as a sign of gesture, causing the green eyed girl to blush at embarrassment. “Right, Lauren?”

Lauren stood in her place, still frozen on what she heard from her best friend’s mouth. She felt even more embarrassed, more heat settled on her face, and she just wanted to curse her best friend for putting her on the spot. But from the small ounce of alcohol in her system, she mustered all her courage and uttered the first few words since she had been in the presence of the girl in front of her. It was now or never; she had waited 7 years for this opportunity. Damn it Lauren, go for it.

“Uhh, yeah, quite a voice you have there..” removing gaze from the pavement and slowly meeting the brown eyes she was longing to see again. A small smile crept on her face “And thank you for returning my jacket, this is actually my favorite one”

“You’re welcome….” Lucy held out her hand in front of Lauren, still keeping and intense gaze on the green eyed girl

“Lauren” Lifting up her arm to shake the brown eyed girl’s hand, Lauren felt a bolt of electricity once the palm of her hand met Lucy’s. It was a soft handshake, Lauren’s pulse quicken from the innocent contact.

She started imagining how it felt to have Lucy’s soft hand intertwined into hers, she imagined the brown eyed girls long and slender fingers touch her places that could send her to another universe. With all her thoughts in her mind —she had zoned out; not realizing that she was still holding the brown eyed girls hand. Until she heard her name being called out awakening her from her (day)nightdream.

“ehem.. hello earth to Lauren” Normani said waving her hand in front of her best friend. The green eyed girl finally realized that she held Lucy’s hand longer than a hand shake, making her remove her hand frantically. Lucy chuckled in amusement on Lauren’s silly reaction. Wait is Lucy finding her adorable?

“I uhhhh, sorry I just got lost in your eyes ­—” Normani’s jaw dropped at what she had heard, Lauren froze again realizing what she had just said. But upon scanning the brown eyed girl’s face, she saw Lucy’s face redden and a sweet smile crept on the brown eyed girl’s face. “Did I just say that out loud?”

“You have pretty eyes too, Lauren.” Lucy said softly with a smile, causing the green eyed girl to shiver on the sweetness of the brown eyed girl’s voice. Damn, she was cute and sexy at the same time. “Too bad you’re already leaving; I guess I’ll see you guys around.”

Lucy gave Lauren a wink and nodded at Normani before turning on her heels to return the pub. The green eyed girl was speechless, she was in a state of shock, did Lucy just flirt with her and she even sent a wink. Was she dreaming? But before she zoned out again, Normani slapped her arm causing her to wince in pain.

“Oww! What the hell, Mani!” Lauren rubbed the affected area and sent a deathful glare at her best friend “What was that for? Have you forgotten how strong you are?! Fuck that hurt!”

“You are fucking stupid, go after her dumbass! This is your chance, I don’t’ want to see you moping around and doing googly eyes again. Now you can do something about it! You’ve waited 3 weeks to see her again, and you’re just standing there like a fucking mute! If you don’t go after her I swear I'll—”

“Fine! Fuck you don’t have to hit me, you go ahead. I’ll run after her, wish me luck.” Lauren sighed in defeat.

“I just want you to be happy again Lo. It’s been 7 years. You deserve to fall in love again. I have a good feeling about her Lo.” Normani said softly, grabbing Lauren’s hand, causing the green eyed girl to look at her best friend loving eyes. “Go get your girl”

Lauren nodded squeezing her best friend for assurance. She said her goodbye to her best friend and promised to give the older girl a call afterwards, but before leaving, her best friend threatened to give her a smack in the face if she chickened out. She turned on her heels after Normani’s cab sped up and slowly drifted from her line of sight. She released a deep sigh and swallowed deeply before walking inside the small pub.

Once she was inside, she instantly scanned the dim lit pub and her eyes landed on the familiar figure’s sexy side view. She saw the girl leaning at the bar counter across from her while intently watching the performer on stage. Lauren mustered all her remaining courage and sauntered towards the girl, lucky for her the brown eyed girl was pre-occupied, not noticing the green eyed girl was already behind her.

“Come here often?” Lauren said with a husky tone. Apparently the brown eyed girl did not budge and continued listening to the performance, ignoring the green eyed girl. She slowly leaned towards the girl, causing her lips to be inches away from Lucy’s ear. “I said, do you come here often?”

Lauren saw the Lucy’s body stiffened from the proximity, as if she was about to rip the flirt’s head off “Look pal, no answer means I’m not -” Lucy was cut off after turning around, her tense state suddenly softened after meeting the green eyed girls gaze. “Oh! I’m sorry. You scared me! I thought you were someone else. I thought you’d left already?” Lucy said with her hands on her chest.

“Yeah, I was about to. But I wanted to thank you for returning my Jacket, did I mention this was my favorite?” gesturing at her faux leather motorcycle jacket. “I want to treat you for Lunch of dinner sometime, you know as a thank you gift.” Lauren said with her famous smirk. Damn she’s smooth.

“Are you asking me on a date??” Lucy chuckled, causing the Lauren to blush and stiffen.

“I uh, no.. As I said, it’s for returning my Jacket, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Lauren mumbled.

“Oh, too bad. I was hoping it would be one.” Lucy said with a wink.

Lauren felt heat enveloped her body as she had just realized their close proximity; their faces were just inches apart. Her nostrils were invaded by a mix of cherry scent and what appears to be a hint of vodka. Her eyes landed on the brown eyed girl’s plumped lips, causing her to unconsciously bite her own. Her heart was pounding ferociously on her chest; she immediately took a step back before she could pounce on the girl in front of her.

“I uh, sorry” Lauren said shoving both her fidgeting hands on her back jean pocket. She took a deep breath and swallowed the remaining saliva on her mouth causing it to dry up. She repeated a chant on her head Lauren you can do this. This is it. She might be it, Lauren. “Yeah, uh, I want to take you out on a date if that’s okay with you.”

Lauren clenched the cloth on her back Jean pocket, preparing for the worst. She had all the possible scenarios played on her mind; all of which were heartbreaking. She was afraid of being rejected again. But in that moment, Lauren knew it was her only chance, so she just had to suck it up.

Both of them stood there, never leaving each other’s gaze. The eye contact was intense, Lucy had yet to respond, but Lauren’s heart was already anticipating another ache. But before Lauren could remove her gaze and run away from embarrassment, the brown eyed girl sent her a warm smile.

“I really want to go on a date with you but…” Lauren’s heart sank after hearing the “but” her eyes immediately left the brown eyed girl’s gaze landing on the floor, but before she was about to go on self-loathing she felt a warm hand on her shoulder and immediately lifted her eyes to meet the piercing brown orbs. “Hey, no. It’s not like that I swear. I just have to go somewhere for a month, I actually got signed last week and I’ll be recording my first EP in LA. I’ll be leaving tomorrow morning.”

“Oh. That’s great! Congratulations, I guess I won’t see you around here after you become a big pop star” Lauren said feigning a smile, her heart broke on what she heard, but she was genuinely happy for the girl.

“Hey! No, you’ll see more of me after I get back from L.A” Lucy said playfully. “That is if you want to, but the night is still early. I’m free until tomorrow morning.” She said hinting on the green eyed girl.

As if on cue, Lauren stood up straight, an Idea popped up in her head. She cleared her throat playfully, and ran a hand through her hair “So uh, I know we just met but can I take you on a date tonight? Well, I can’t take you on a fancy date since it’s almost midnight but I know a diner just a few blocks from here. I’m uh.. vegan so most of their specialties are vegan foods but I think their fries are good and they have milkshakes even it’s kinda a vegan milk shake but uh we can go to a non vegan diner but I don’t think I can eat anything there but—”

Lauren was cut off when she felt a moist warmth feeling on her cheeks, Lucy’s lips. She felt her face heat up from the abrupt gesture. “You’re cute when you rumble, the vegan milk shake sounds good to me, and I need to cut down my carbs and fat intake anyway”

“Am I rambling? Sorry about that” Lauren chuckled, she slowly grabbed Lucy’s wrist “Let’s get out of here”

-

The night went as magical as Lauren had imagined. Both of them ended up talking for hours. Lucy opened up about her adventures as a struggling runaway teen artist who ended up in New York. Lauren learned that the older girl was 18 when she left home, immediately after graduating high school. Apparently Lucy’s parents weren’t fond of the idea of their only daughter going to Juilliard for a Music scholarship; she was given an ultimatum, either she accepts her Business scholarship at Yale or her parent’s would cut her off, apparently she had chosen the latter. Lucy had managed to pull off working 2 jobs to support her daily needs and due to her immense musical talent—advance piano, guitar and singing skill; she managed to get a full ride at Julliard. Lucy’s life story just made Lauren fall for her, faster than younger girl anticipated.

They decided to stay at the diner for hours, since Lauren was a regular, the owner really did not mind her staying for longer. It was past 3 in the morning when they decided to call it a night since Lucy had an early flight and the older girl still needed to pack a few things before heading to LA. Lauren insisted to drop Lucy off at her apartment in Queens, which across the city, but the green eyed girl every single available second they both have to spend in each other’s presence.

Matt picked them up from the diner. The ride to Lucy’s apartment was silent, but it was far from uncomfortable. Both girls were cuddled together at the back of Lauren’s car, Lucy’s head rested on Lauren’s shoulder, while the younger girl’s hand rested on Lucy’s thigh; it wasn’t sexual. It was the kind of state you’d share with someone you knew for a long time, someone you trust with all your deep secrets, someone you’d probably call at 3 in the morning- It was comfortable. Though both of them knew each other for a few hours, 3 hours was enough for them to realize, their bond was something special.

The car stopped at an old building, it was a typical New York bricked building, not as fancy as Lauren’s, but it was simple. Lauren decided to walk Lucy at her apartment door, to give her a proper end of the date gesture.

“I had fun” Lucy said stopping in front of a blue wooden door, which appears to be the door to her apartment. “Thank you for tonight, so this is me.” Gesturing the door behind her.

“Yeah, me too.” Lauren turned to face the girl that was alongside of her, now both their bodies facing each other. “It wasn’t the famous Jauregui date, but I promise to take you on one once you get back”

“Oh, famous Jauregui date huh” Lucy slowly placed both her hands on Lauren’s shoulder, causing the green eyed girl to move closer. “I’d like the sound of that”

Green and brown eyes lost in each other’s gaze. Lauren’s heart was close to bursting out of her chest, heat was radiating from her body, and her eyes flickered from the intensity of the moment. She unconsciously wet her chapped lips, when her eyes landed on the older girl’s lips. In that instant, Lauren slowly leaned in closing the gap between them. Lauren’s heart stopped at the initial contact, it was a delicate brush that made Lauren’s heart even more frantic.

She pulled back after what feels like a lifetime, but in reality it was a 2 second peck, but before she could lean back, Lucy’s hands found its way to Lauren’s neck, pulling her closer, this time it was for a fiery and passionate kiss. Lauren’s hand steadied on the older girl’s waist as both of them where lost in the each other’s mouth.

It was a hungry kiss, full of passion but it was not intended to be sexual. It was innocent yet passionate, and it made Lauren’s stomach feel happy churns. The kiss flooded Lauren’s mind and it reminded her of her first kiss with the girl who broke her heart 7 years ago. “This can’t be happening” Lauren thought to herself, she was kissing a wonderful girl and her thoughts were again flooded by her ex fiancé.

Lauren can’t seem to brush the thought out of her head, she pulled back to break the kiss as both of them gasped for air. Lauren felt a pang in her chest, every time she tried to be happy she would be reminded of the person who broke her. She needed to clear her head.

“I should go” Lauren mumbled taking a step back from the girl in front of her “Call me?”

“Yeah, I will” Lucy replied, looking intently on the green eyed girl’s eyes as if re-assuring her that she will indeed call her. “I’ll see you soon, thanks for tonight” Lucy planted a sweet kiss on Lauren’s cheek before entering her apartment.

“It started as a magical night, but ended yet again with the thought of her” Lauren thought to herself

-

The weekend had gone by and Lauren’s was back on her oversized office-It was the third largest in the firm, considering the Largest was the CEO’s followed by the VP’s. She was engrossed on tons of paper work from small corporate cases to big ones, which the easier cases can be handled by junior lawyers, but she wanted to scan every case they had just to make sure the firm was on the right track. She was meticulous, a trait that made her sling her way to the top. No one questioned her ability.

“Come in”. Lauren heard a knock on the glass door; she still had not averted her eyes from the paper in front of her indicating Wartmart case. She heard the door open.

“Ms. Jauregui, I know you don’t want to be disturbed but Mr. Carlson wants you in his office at 11” Rosie, her assistant, said nervously as the petite girl popped her head on Lauren’s glass door.

“What does he want?” She said with a hint of irritation.

“I don’t know Ms. Jauregui, I was just informed by his assistant”

“Damn it. I have a meeting with the Farson’s, tell Jim to handle them” Laren scoffed dropping the paper she was holding, sending a deathly glare at her assistant.

Her assistant nodded and frantically shut the door behind her. Lauren was intimidating when it comes to professional aspects of her career. She had to be, if she wanted to be taken seriously that is.

After 45 pages, Lauren prepared for the anticipated meeting with the CEO. Brent Carlson was a middle aged man who took over the firm after the previous CEO unexpectedly died from a heart attack. Brent was like a father to Lauren, but the green eyed girl was still nervous in the presence of the old man; if Lauren was scary, the man was terrifying.

The CEO’s office was located at the top floor of the building. Lauren’s pulse was rapid as she sauntered her way towards the receptionist after getting off the elevator. She was quickly met by a smiley woman who was probably on her mid-30’s’; Lauren knew immediately that the CEO had yet again replaced his old assistant. No one really can stand the old man’s ruthless attitude.

“Ms. Jauregui?” The woman greeted with a genuine smile. Lauren gave the blonde woman a nod in response. “He’s expecting you, you can go in” The woman said as she pointed towards the door behind them. The woman assisted the younger girl knocking on the wooden door before opening it “Ms. Jauregui is here to see you, sir”

“Let her in” Lauren heard the man’s voice causing her shiver from the familiar tone. The woman stepped aside still holding the door open gesturing the green eyed girl to go in.

Entering the familiar office, her sight was greeted by a man perched on his desk. When the man felt Lauren’s presence, he immediately laid the paper he was holding on his desk. He stood up to greet Lauren with a nod.

“Lauren, please take a sit” the old man said gesturing the one person leather couch on his office’s living space. He then went around his desk towards his minibar where his decanter set sat. “You want anything to drink, a scotch perhaps?” The old man offered, lifting a glass and pouring what appears to be an expensive scotch.

“No, I’m good, thank you” Lauren politely declined.

“So, first I want to congratulate you on your big win yesterday. The board is quite happy on the win. We are getting bigger cases because of that”. The man said, taking a seat on the leather couch across Lauren.

“Well, I’d learned from the best” Lauren complimented, smiling at the old man,

“You are very polite” So, I presume you are wondering why I had summoned you here on a short notice?“ Lauren nodded gesturing the man to continue "Well, I will just cut to the chase then. We want you to represent the firm for a tour Lauren.”

Lauren’s eyebrow furrowed in curiosity “A tour for what?”

“It’s actually a tour for a charity event, and it’s for 3 months” Lauren’s body stiffened after what she had heard “Before you decline and argue about the offer, the board wants you on this tour Lauren, they emphasized the benefit it has for the firm” he added, taking a sip of his scotch.

“So I guess I don’t have any say on this, do I?” Lauren sighed in defeat. “You can just say it, Mr. Carlson, I pretty much don’t have a choice” Lauren said standing up as she walked towards the old man’s mini bar to fix herself a glass, she needed one. “Can I at least know what this tour is about, and 3 months? I still have active cases on my table”

“We got that covered, Jerry would take your place while you’re gone” The man countered with apprehension, he knew Lauren was not fond of Jerry. He was an ass, but he was a decent Lawyer.

“What? Jerry’s just a junior attorney! He can’t handle the Watmart case.” Lauren’s knuckles turned pale from gripping the bottle of scotch, before she could break it, she lifted a glass and fixed herself a caramel colored drink.

“Well, the board decided we needed a new partner.” The man said, pausing for a few minutes befor continuing “And they also want a senior one.” He added, turning to the green eyed girl who was still standing near the minibar. “Once you get back from the trip, they want to promote you to senior partner.” Lauren’s jaw dropped in disbelief, almost dropping the glass she was holding.

“And about the trip, you’ll be doing talks in universities around the world; the board said you’d be perfect for it. You’ll represent all the lawyer’s in the U.S and will be joined by other young successful professionals. I asked my assistant to send it to Rosie. Just ask your assistant for the other details.” He said giving a small smile to the green eyed girl who was still in shock after hearing her new promotion.

“I’m sorry” Lauren downed the drink on her hand. “That was a lot to take in, Mr. Carlson” she confessed, causing the old man to chuckle.

“Please, Lauren. How many times have I asked you to call me Brent?” He reassured.

“Sorry Brent, I’ll go ahead then.” Lauren said before setting the empty glass down on the table near the minibar.

“And Lauren, you can take the day off. You’ll be flying to London tomorrow to start the tour” Lauren’s jaw dropped yet again, stopping halfway from her trip towards the door, meeting the old man’s amused gaze.

“What?!” She shouted. “I’m sorry” She immediately regretted after remembering he was still her boss.

“Yes, sorry did I forget to mention that?” Lauren nodded frantically “Then you should probably start packing” he chuckled.

-

Lauren walked towards the receptionist in the middle of the classy hotel lobby, it wasn’t as fancy as her building but it was good enough considering she was in for a charity event. She had her purse on hand and a backpack, her other luggage was taken care off by the bell hop who greeted her at the front of the hotel. After the long flight and not to mention the sudden events that transpired in the past few days, her body was beyond exhausted.

Normani dropped Lauren off at the airport, and Lauren had called Lucy to inform her situation. Lauren and Lucy kept in touch over the weekend, as Lucy had promised to call Lauren after the intimate night. They had been all over each other’s inbox’s, voice mails, and call logs over the past 3 day. It would be harder now considering Lauren was out of the country, but they promised to keep in touch.

Lauren checked in and got her room card. On her way to her room, she rode the elevator which was the across the Lobby, she passed by a group of people probably also in the process of checking in, they might be in the same charity event as her.

Pressing the lit up number 8 on the elevator panel, Lauren can’t stop thinking about her room partner. She was informed by the coordinator that they would be given a tour partner, who would also be staying in the same room with them for the rest of the tour. She wondered what profession her partner had, or if she was messy. She might be staying with a serial killer and she wouldn’t know until her body is thrown in the middle of an ocean somewhere across the globe.

Her grueling thoughts stopped when the elevator doors opened. She easily found her way towards room number “805”. Closing the door behind her, she saw a pair of sneakers already at the door. She slipped her shoes off before entering, she heard the shower running as she passed by the bathroom.

She was met by a small area with two queen sized beds. She wasn’t expecting anything fancy, due to the fact that it was for a charity event, but she wasn’t really that comfortable in sharing the same room with a complete stranger, they should have gotten a room with two separate bedrooms.

Lauren sighed in defeat; she saw her luggage neatly placed on her side, the side near the balcony. She internally cringed when she saw her roommate’s side of the room, she saw clothes thrown on the bed and luggage remain opened and scattered on the floor. It was like tornado hit the room, but only the side of the stranger’s bed. “This is going to be harder than I thought”. Lauren mumbled.

As if on cue, Lauren heard the bathroom door open, she put in the fakest smile she can muster, anticipating to see the disorganized inconsiderate person she’d be spending three months with. Might as well accept it, she hated conflict anyway.

But boy she was in for the ride of her life. Lauren froze with her jaw dropped along with her purse after seeing the familiar figure across from her. She knew that body from inside and out, she wasn’t mistaken.

The woman, who recently got out of the bathroom, was startled on the loud tump caused by Lauren’s fallen purse. Her brown eyes immediately landed on the green eyes staring at her in complete shock. She was also taken by surprise covering her mouth with both hands; it was like seeing a ghost, a ghost from the past. Lauren’s eyes grew wider; the woman dropped the towel after covering her mouth, exposing her naked body.

The person Lauren never thought she would see again, after destroying her seven years ago, was right in front of her, naked. What a perfect reunion.

“Camila?..”

A/N

Hi, this is actually my first fic and the first shit I’ve ever written in my life. Someone suggested that I should start with fan-fiction to enhance my writing skills. I’m actually preparing for law school and English is only my second language.

I’m not a camren shipper IRL, but I’m a lowkey fan of 5h and I’m hella gay so I chose to write an AU of them.

I’m too lazy to proof read so sorry for the errors and incorrect grammars. 

CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM IS HIGHLY APPRECIATED. Thank you :)

I’m an annon writer and you can reach me @ my anon tumblr account -https://subatomicgalaxy.tumblr.com/ and I also posted this on whattpad: subatomicgalaxy thank you :D

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AP Visits Immigration Courts Across US, Finds Nonstop Chaos

LUMPKIN, Ga. — In a locked, guarded courtroom in a compound surrounded by razor wire, Immigration Judge Jerome Rothschild waits — and stalls.

A Spanish interpreter is running late because of a flat tire. Rothschild tells the five immigrants before him that he’ll take a break before the proceedings even start. His hope: to delay just long enough so these immigrants won’t have to sit by, uncomprehendingly, as their futures are decided.

“We are, untypically, without an interpreter,” Rothschild tells a lawyer who enters the courtroom at the Stewart Detention Center after driving down from Atlanta, about 140 miles away.

In its disorder, this is, in fact, a typical day in the chaotic, crowded and confusing U.S. immigration court system of which Rothschild’s courtroom is just one small outpost.

Shrouded in secrecy, the immigration courts run by the U.S. Department of Justice have been dysfunctional for years and have only gotten worse. A surge in the arrival of asylum seekers and the Trump administration’s crackdown on the Southwest border and illegal immigration have pushed more people into deportation proceedings, swelling the court’s docket to 1 million cases.

“It is just a cumbersome, huge system, and yet administration upon administration comes in here and tries to use the system for their own purposes,” says Immigration Judge Amiena Khan in New York City, speaking in her role as vice president of the National Association of Immigration Judges.

‘You Can’t Turn the Titanic Around’

“And in every instance, the system doesn’t change on a dime, because you can’t turn the Titanic around.”

The Associated Press visited immigration courts in 11 different cities more than two dozen times during a 10-day period in late fall. In courts from Boston to San Diego, reporters observed scores of hearings that illustrated how crushing caseloads and shifting policies have landed the courts in unprecedented turmoil:

Chasing efficiency, immigration judges double- and triple-book hearings that can’t possibly be completed, leading to numerous cancellations. Immigrants get new court dates, but not for years.

Young children are everywhere and sit on the floor or stand or cry in cramped courtrooms. Many immigrants don’t know how to fill out forms, get records translated or present a case.

Frequent changes in the law and rules for how judges manage their dockets make it impossible to know what the future holds when immigrants finally have their day in court. Paper files are often misplaced, and interpreters are often missing.

In Georgia, the interpreter assigned to Rothschild’s courtroom ends up making it to work, but the hearing sputters moments later when a lawyer for a Mexican man isn’t available when Rothschild calls her to appear by phone. Rothschild is placed on hold, and a bouncy beat overlaid with synthesizers fills the room.

He moves on to other cases — a Peruvian asylum seeker, a Cuban man seeking bond — and punts the missing lawyer’s case to the afternoon session.

This time, she’s there when he calls, and apologizes for not being available earlier, explaining through a hacking cough she’s been sick.

But by now the interpreter has moved on to another courtroom, putting Rothschild in what he describes as the “uneasy position” of holding court for someone who can’t understand what’s going on.

“I hate for a guy to leave a hearing having no idea what happened,” he says, and asks the lawyer to relay the results of the proceedings to her client in Spanish.

After some discussion, the lawyer agrees to withdraw the man’s bond petition and refile once she can show he’s been here longer than the government believes, which could help his chances.

For now, the man returns to detention.

___

In a federal building in downtown Manhattan, the docket lists stretch to a second page outside the immigration courtrooms. Crowds of people wait in the hallways for their turn to see a judge, murmuring to each other and their lawyers, pressing up against the wall to let others through.

“It’s been more difficult to get my client’s case heard than to litigate [it]. It’s kind of crazy.” —attorney W. Paul Alvarez

Security guards pass through and chastise them to stay to the side and keep walkways clear.

Immigration judges hear 30, or 50, or close to 90 cases a day. When they assign future court dates, immigrants are asked to come back in February or March — of 2023.

The country’s biggest immigration caseload is in New York City, spread over three different buildings. One in 10 immigration court cases are conducted there, according to Syracuse University’s Transactional Records Access Clearinghouse.

On average, cases on the country’s immigration docket have been churning through the courts for nearly two years. Many immigrants have been waiting much longer, especially those who aren’t held in detention facilities.

With so many cases, immigrants are often double- and triple-booked for hearings. That can turn immigration court into a high-stakes game of musical chairs, where being the odd man out has far-reaching consequences.

Rubelio Sagastume-Cardona has waited two years for a New York judge to consider whether he should get a green card.

The Guatemalan had a hearing date in May but got bumped by another case. On this day, he finds himself competing for his space on Judge Khan’s calendar with someone else’s case — a space Sagastume-Cardona only nabbed because his lawyer switched him with another client, who now must wait until 2023 for a hearing.

“It’s been more difficult to get my client’s case heard than to litigate” it, says his attorney, W. Paul Alvarez. “It’s kind of crazy.”

The protracted delays are agonizing for many immigrants and their relatives, who grapple anxiously with the uncertainty of what will happen to their loved ones — and when.

Hope and Joy Are Tempered by Uncertainty

And it isn’t confined to New York. In myriad courtrooms, similar scenes play out as immigrants and their lawyers jockey for space on too-cramped calendars.

Courts in San Francisco and Los Angeles each have more than 60,000 cases. And cases have been pending an average of more than two years in courts from Arlington, Virginia to Omaha, Nebraska, according to TRAC.

In Boston, Audencio Lopez applied for asylum seven years ago. The 39-year-old left a Guatemalan farming town to cross the border illegally as a teenager in 1997 and soon found a job at a landscaping company where he still works, maintaining the grounds at area schools. But it was just this past November that he headed to the imposing Boston courthouse to learn his fate.

He brings his wife and three children into the courtroom, including a baby girl who munches on Cheerios while sitting on her mother’s lap until his case is called.

Lopez tells the judge about his devout Christianity and Bible studies, his kids’ education at a charter school and dreams of going to college, his fear of having to move his children to a dangerous place they’ve never been.

He’s hoping to stay in the country under a provision for immigrants who have lived in the country more than a decade and have American children who would suffer if they were they gone.

After about an hour of questioning, Judge Lincoln Jalelian tells Lopez he’ll take the case under advisement. The government attorney says she won’t oppose granting Lopez a visa due to his “exemplary” record and community service, which means he’ll likely be able to stay.

But even as he dreams of his family’s future in America, Lopez admits the hope and joy are tempered by uncertainty because his wife’s status is still unresolved. She applied separately for asylum five years ago and has yet to have her immigration court hearing.

“It’s a good first step,” Lopez says a week later. He praises God, “but we hope He can show us another miracle.”

___

A toddler’s gleeful screams fill the immigration courtroom in a Salt Lake City suburb as he plays with toy cars while his mother waits for her turn to go before the judge.

Ninety minutes later, the boy is restless, and the 32-year-old woman from Honduras is still waiting. She pulls out her phone, opens YouTube and plays children’s songs in Spanish to calm his cries.

There are many children in the immigration courts, though the courts are hardly a place for kids.

In Chicago, a plastic box of well-worn books in English and Spanish sits in the corner of the court waiting room. But the chairs don’t move and there are no changing tables in the bathrooms, leading a mom to change her newborn’s diaper on a narrow counter between sinks.

Many children have immigration cases of their own. AP reporters saw appearances by children as young as 3. They sit on wooden benches with their parents, grandparents or foster families.

Teenagers scroll through smartphones; a toddler with a superheroes backpack swings his tiny, sneakered feet.

There are also American-born kids tagging along with immigrant parents the government seeks to deport.

The number of children in these courts has swelled since the Obama administration and continues to grow under Trump, with border arrests — many of them children and families — soaring in May to a 13-year high.

Mejia Was Barely a Teen When an MS-13 Gang Member Pressured Her to Be His Girlfriend

Now, nearly one in 10 cases in the immigration courts is a child who came to the country without parents, court data shows. Since September 2018, another 118,000 cases involving parents and children were placed in fast-tracked proceedings aimed at deciding cases in a year.

The administration aggressively tried to slow the arrival of young migrants by separating families — a policy that was later reversed — and tightening rules for relatives to get them out of detention. But thousands still arrive each month and end up in immigration courts — sometimes, into adulthood.

Now 20, Veronica Mejia, says she was barely a teen when a classmate who belonged to the MS-13 gang pressured her to be his girlfriend. After being assaulted and harassed by gang members, she moved to live with her adult sister in a new city and her family later decided to send her north.

Veronica Mejia left El Salvador as a young teen and has now lived a third of her life in the United States.

And it took her that long to get her day in a Los Angeles immigration court.

Now 20, Mejia raises her right hand and vows to tell the truth. She says she was barely a teen when a classmate who belonged to the MS-13 gang pressured her to be his girlfriend. After being assaulted and harassed by gang members, she moved to live with her adult sister in a new city and her family later decided to send her north.

Six years later, she has a job in a California warehouse, a boyfriend and an 8-month-old daughter with chubby cheeks and pierced ears waiting down the hall.

Related Story: Trump Immigration Policies Inflict Lasting Harm, Democrat Says

Immigration Judge Ashley Tabaddor in Los Angeles asks why she didn’t stay with her sister. The government lawyer questions Mejia’s credibility.

The hearing ends, and Tabaddor takes a five-minute break. Mejia sits and waits in the courtroom, tears streaming down her face.

When Tabaddor returns, she says she believes Mejia. But she says she doesn’t qualify for asylum under the law and issues an order for her to return to El Salvador.

Mejia walks down the hall with her lawyer. Her boyfriend hands her the baby.

“We’re going to appeal,” she says, sitting down to nurse the wide-eyed infant. “For her — how am I going to leave her here?”

___

A piece of toast with jam sits on the desk in Tabaddor’s office, half-eaten from the morning’s breakfast though it is nearly lunchtime.

On her computer, there are eight color-coded dashboards showing how close she is to meeting goals set by the Department of Justice for the country’s 440 immigration judges. Like many, she’s nowhere near completing the annual case completion target, and her dashboard is a deep red.

“So far, everyone has told us they’re failing the measure,” says Tabaddor, speaking in her capacity as president of the immigration judges’ union.

While they wear black robes and preside over hearings, immigration judges are employees of the Department of Justice and don’t have the same power or autonomy as criminal court judges.

The Trump administration has made that clear, issuing new quotas and rules for the judges and placing them under tight scrutiny in a push to move cases more quickly through the clogged courts.

The measures have pitted the judges against the agency in a full-on fight. The judges’ union has called for the courts to be made independent and free of government influence. In turn, the Department has asked federal labor authorities to put an end to the union.

“All of this is frankly psychological warfare,” Tabaddor says. “I’ve had so many people say, “I have a mortgage; I have a child who needs braces. I don’t want to fight.’”

In the immigration courts, the friction has taken its toll. Judges are overbooking calendars to try to meet quotas, while the Trump administration has limited their ability to manage dockets as they see fit, adding to the mounting backlog.

The Entire Effort Is a Quest for Efficiency

Officials also issued rulings making it tougher for immigrants fleeing gangs or domestic violence to win asylum, leading to more denials and potentially more appeals.

In a glass building overlooking the Potomac River from Fall Church, Virginia, officials at the Department’s Executive Office of Immigration Review try to find ways to stay ahead of the ever-growing backlog.

They’re adding interpreters in Spanish and Mandarin, judges and clerks. They’ve started special centers to handle video hearings for immigrants on the U.S.-Mexico border, while smaller cities like Boise, Idaho, that were once served by traveling judges are now video-only.

There’s so much chaos it’s hard to keep track. At times, an interpreter is missing, or stumbles over dialects or local slang. Video systems fail.

They’re moving to an electronic system to try to put an end to the heaps of paper files hoisted in and out of courtrooms.

The entire effort is a quest for efficiency, though director James McHenry acknowledges “we’re still getting outpaced” by new cases.

The agency hopes tightening the system can make proceedings more efficient, while remaining fair to all. “We are trying to break down the false dichotomy between fair and efficient,” he says.

The attorneys for Immigration and Customs Enforcement tasked with upholding the country’s immigration laws also feel the crunch. Their numbers haven’t changed even as the docket has swelled, says Tracy Short, the agency’s principal legal adviser.

They’re in court four days a week with caseloads that have doubled from a decade ago, leaving minimal time to prep for hearings.

“I feel like I’m already stretching them to the breaking point,” says Wen-Ting Cheng, who oversees the agency’s 100 trial attorneys in New York.

___

The disorder stretches well beyond the bustling courts of the country’s cities. A lawyer takes a red eye from Los Angeles to Houston, then flies to Louisiana, rents a car and drives for an hour to reach a remote detention facility.

Michael Navas Gomez, a political activist from Nicaragua, is wearing a jail jumpsuit, and ready for his day in court after being detained five months. He and attorney Joshua Greer watch a video monitor for their hearing before an immigration judge who sits 1,000 miles away in Miami, Florida, along with the government’s attorney.

But the stack of documents recounting how Navas Gomez was captured, beaten and burned by pro-government forces is missing. The judge searches for the files while Navas Gomez’s lawyer scrambles to get them sent again so the judge can read them.

The system requires careful choreography among judges, lawyers and language interpreters. Immigration attorneys travel long distances to reach remote courts and follow clients shuffled to different detention facilities, while interpreters crisscross the country to provide translation to immigrants when and where they need it.

There’s so much chaos it’s hard to keep track. At times, an interpreter is missing, or stumbles over dialects or local slang. Video systems fail.

And there are papers everywhere — except, sometimes, where they are supposed to be.

Adding to the problem is that many immigrants don’t have lawyers, and there’s no requirement for the government to provide any for them. So oftentimes, immigrants wind up arguing their cases on their own in an incredibly complex area of law.

Not All Are so Fortunate

At the facility in Lumpkin, Georgia, most attorneys’ offices are hours away from the town, which has more detainees than residents. Immigrants have no access to email or fax machines and the phones don’t always work. When they do, immigrants must pay for expensive calls to relatives to ask for help finding records to back up their cases.

And that’s also the case in other detention facilities like the Louisiana one where Navas Gomez has his hearing.

The 30-year-old is lucky to have a lawyer who gets a detention officer to scan and email his files in time. The judge steps out to read them, and his hearing goes ahead.

Navas Gomez tells the judge how his captors scalded him with boiling water, leaving a scar, and released him days later in a remote sugarcane field. The judge agrees to consider his case, and nearly a month later, he is granted asylum and leaves the detention center a free man.

“It was truly beautiful, thank God,” he says weeks later, living in Los Angeles.

Not all are so fortunate. At the Stewart facility in Georgia, a Honduran man who wants to apply for asylum isn’t sure he’ll be able to get the documents he will need to make his case. His mother fled to Costa Rica, and his daughter is here with him.

He asks the judge if there’s way for him to let the court know if he decides before his next hearing that he’d rather just be deported.

Judge Jeffrey Nance tells him he can request deportation by putting a note in a box by the facility’s cafeteria, and he’ll call the man back to court.

The man nods and returns to take his seat in the gallery, his cheeks damp with tears.

___

The stakes are high for those vying to remain in the country. Some want to stay under a provision that opens the door for those without legal papers who have American relatives.

Others, who arrived recently, are seeking asylum to protect them from violence or persecution.

Those hearings are especially daunting, and most asylum seekers don’t win.

The rest are mostly slated for deportation and often have little chance of being able to stay legally in the United States — at least for now.

Their fate often depends on the luck of the draw in a system with extreme disparities from judge to judge. There are judges who reject 99 percent of asylum cases before them; others approve more than 90 percent, according to Syracuse University’s Transactional Records Access Clearinghouse.

The Trump administration last year started forcing some asylum seekers to wait in Mexico until the day of their hearings, and families often stay in ramshackle border cities for weeks with their children, with virtually no shot at finding a lawyer. Many of them appear in tent courtrooms on the border that are closed to the public and difficult for lawyers to access.

In El Paso, Texas, immigrants waiting in Mexico show up on the border before dawn and are loaded U.S. government vans and driven to a downtown federal building for their hearings. They appear in courtrooms so crowded the government has barred observers from attending, and immigration detention guards patrol the hallways and escort immigrants on trips to the bathroom.

Immigration Judge Lee O’Connor, who hears these cases in San Diego, snaps at a Honduran mom whose infant bangs on audio devices in court and warns a Salvadoran woman she’ll be at a disadvantage without a lawyer.

“I can’t defend myself because I don’t know anything about the law,” she tells him, sobbing.

Wondering What Went Wrong

Miguel Borrayo, a 40-year-old mechanic who sits before an immigration judge in a courtroom outside Salt Lake City, tried to find a lawyer to help him argue he should be allowed to stay in the country with his American children, despite lacking legal papers.

But he was told it would cost up to $8,000, and he didn’t have a strong case.

So he goes it alone.

Borrayo tells the judge he never had any trouble with the law since slipping across the border from Mexico in 1997 until he turned his car into a McDonald’s parking lot on a family outing for ice cream and came close to a man who was passing by.

The man was an immigration agent. Shortly after pulling into the drive-thru, Borrayo was arrested.

But Immigration Judge Philip Truman spends little time on how Borrayo ended up in his courtroom. He asks about the immigrant’s two teenage children.

Borrayo tells Truman they are both healthy and good students. His 16-year-old daughter dreams of someday becoming a veterinarian. His 13-year-old son wants to become a mechanic, like his dad.

His wife, the teens’ mother, works part-time so she can care for them.

Article Source

[bloomingtonsolidaritynetwor-blog]

Who Will Survive in America?

CW: Racism, Gaslighting, Police Brutality

The following is a testimonial by a former IU student who requested that BSN help share his story. As the reader will learn, Daven Patton has been the recipient of extreme discrimination, intimidation, harassment, and gaslighting. His story helps to demonstrate the lived reality of oppressed people in Bloomington and the U.S. more broadly. Bloomington and Indiana University are not immune to the racism and classism engrained in the very fabric of our society despite what local leaders and revisionist historians might lead us to believe. These issues have always been here and the rapid development and speculation in the housing market has only led to an increased militarized police presence designed to secure the gap between the wealthy and the poor and oppressed. Please read, share, and discuss Daven’s story so that we can begin to build a counter-narrative to the rosy picture of the idyllic liberal town that is sold to attract investors while the stories of people’s suffering and resistance are lost or forgotten. Please also consider reaching out to BSN to find out how you can help support Daven

March 3, 2016, my junior year of college at Indiana University, I left a box outside of the Student Center building with a tongue-in-cheek note attached: “Call the bomb squad, because this shit is mind blowing,” along with a reference to the Kanye West song “Who Will Survive in America?” scribbled on the outside. My only hope was that someone would curiously open it and be inspired in the same way I was. The box was filled with books. My intent was not a hoax, a replica, or a prank; it was simply a box of books. Little did I know Student Center employees would soon report the box to authorities as a “suspicious package”, and later that night, guns drawn and in full tactical gear, my house would be raided by IU Police. By the end of the day, I had been accused of inciting “terroristic mischief” because of a box of library books.

I remember clearly the night my room was stormed by IUPD. I had gone to a Lil Wayne concert at assembly hall wearing my brand new “Yeezy 2020” shirt; I had completely forgot about the books. I had no idea that the IUPD had called in the IED disposal unit from the Indiana State Police department for the “suspicious package”; no one at the concert knew, either. The school didn’t think the box was a threat and didn’t send out a safety alert. I left an old I.D in the box in case someone wanted to return the books to me. On the shuttle ride back home from  Assembly Hall to Linden Hall no one was talking about a “suspicious package” or “terroristic mischief” on campus; they were talking about how good the concert was. The Student Center is right across the street from my apartment, and there was no way to tell that the I.E.D disposal unit was there that night. When I made it back to my apartment, I played Fallout 4 for a couple of hours and then took a shower to get ready to go to bed. While I was still drying off I suddenly heard yelling in my apartment hallway. It was the IUPD. I walked out of my room naked with my hands up to see a squad of all white, aggressive officers pointing rifles at me and screaming. My roommates also had guns pointed at them and were lead out into the hallway at gunpoint by the IUPD. Still naked, I surrendered peacefully. The IUPD double-cuffed me and sat me in my kitchen. They wouldn’t even allow me to get dressed.

Handcuffed and nude in my kitchen, I asked them why they were there. They said to search my apartment. I then asked to see the search and arrest warrant. The officers hesitated at first, but then put a copy on the table and I quickly picked it up. Once I saw what was on the search warrant I realized what was going on. I saw that they were looking for my “Yeezy 2020” shirt (I found out later in the police report they described Kanye West, 21-time Grammy winning hip hop artist, as a stereotypical ”heavy set black man”), some more clothes, and strangely a “weapon of mass destruction”. The officers also took a picture of my “Hands up Don’t Shoot” calendar I had got from a protest in Ferguson which they described as “evidence”. I also had a newspaper taped to my window which I got from the same Ferguson protest that said “Who Killed Sandra Bland?* This GODDAM System! We Need REVOLUTION—NOTHING LESS” which you could see from the street if you walked past my apartment.

The IUPD used the search warrant as an excuse to rummage through me and my roommate’s apartment. The IUPD took miscellaneous items from my room like tape, my balaclava, some bucket hats, and a small, novelty pocket book I got from Urban Outfitters called Insults and Comebacks. I jokingly told them that if they search hard enough they might also find some anthrax. The IUPD also confiscated some prescription Ibuprofen(Tylenol) from one of my roommates(because it was his girlfriend’s) and a small amount of marijuana from another roommate of mine. He wasn’t home at the time but the IUPD cited him later. Most of the items the IUPD took were not on the search warrant.

One of the officers finally gave me some boxers to put on and one of my shirts and then took me away. An officer put me in one of the squad cars and then went to go talk to another officer. While I was in the car over the police radio I heard a cop say “You get that n***er yet?”.  

I was already afraid, but when I heard that I began to fear for my life.The arrest already seemed unusual, but now it was obvious it was motivated by racial animus. I know once the police found out I was black from the I.D card I left in the box, they classified the box as a “bomb threat” so that they could arrest me. Unfortunately I wasn’t simply arrested, first the cops took me on a joyride.

First I was taken to the IUPD station, then to the hospital, then to jail. At the IUPD station the officers tried to interrogate me without reading my rights or allowing me to have a lawyer present. As soon as they walked me into the interrogation room I saw a camera and made sure that I clearly stated to the camera that my miranda rights weren’t read. The officers tried to coerce me into talking to them, but instead I started making fun of them. After a while the cops stopped trying to interrogate me and called me a “danger to myself and others” as an excuse to take me to hospital. Before they took me to the hospital they took me outside in the early spring cold and stood me by the squad car in nothing but my boxers while they wore their warm police jackets.

When I was at the hospital they handcuffed me to the hospital bed. There were more officers at the hospital than were at my apartment when I was arrested. There I was given a forced blood draw, and later that night they attempted to inject me with an unknown sedative despite hospital staff saying I was being “intentionally difficult” to the officers.  I refused and started yelling my objection to taking the shot. After they saw concerned people starting to leave their hospital rooms to see what was going on they gave up on the shot. They then took me to Monroe County Jail where I has held all weekend.

When I got out on March 6th I had found out that my face was all over the news saying that I was accused of “terroristic mischief” and that the cops had lied about what the box really said. The cops lied to the media to assassinate my character and to cover up their illegal search and seizure of my apartment. I told the school that the IUPD violated my civil rights, that I wanted video tapes from the incident, and asked the University questions like “Why wasn’t a campus safety alert sent out if the police claimed there to be a ‘bomb threat’?”, “If the police ‘believed’ a weapon of mass destruction was on campus later in the night then why wasn’t Linden Hall evacuated? Why wasn't the IED disposal unit from the Indiana State Police on campus at the time when I was arrested if the police claimed there was a “weapon of mass destruction?”, and “why wasn’t anyone told about the alleged “weapon of mass destruction?”. The school responded by detaining me again and again taking me to the hospital for a 72 hour psychiatric hold because the cops said I was a “threat to myself and others”, but in reality this was an attempt at gaslighting me. and the school used this as a pretext to retaliate against me by summarily suspending me because of my allegations of police misconduct.

I spent the next year fighting the malicious charges of “terroristic mischief” and another retaliatory charge of “intimidation” because I called the Monroe County Courthouse asking for video tapes and accusing the IUPD of violating my 4th amendment rights. All of the charges were meritless and were eventually dropped. I also spent time recovering from the trauma the IUPD caused me, studying political theory, economics, and philosophy, and in November of 2017 I decided to fight back against the school and file a Clery Act Complaint with the Department of Education. The Clery Act is a federal statute enforced by the D.O.E’s Financial Student Aid Office that deals with sexual assault and campus security.  I am alleging multiple violations of the Clery Act. One for not sending out a safety alert for what the IUPD claimed was a “bomb threat,” and another for the IUPD lying about “Weapons of Mass Destruction” to obtain a search warrant and not following protocol. The D.O.E followed up with me in January of 2018 to let me know my complaint was filed and I have been working with the D.O.E ever since. My complaint serves two purposes:

1). Improve Campus Safety

2). Substantiate my allegations of Police Misconduct(Perjury)

In March of 2018 the school retaliated against me as a “whistleblower” under the Clery Act by denying my petition for reinstatement and used the PTSD the University Police caused me as an excuse despite my evidence of police misconduct, me providing a letter from my therapist saying I have recovered from the trauma without them asking, and me improving campus safety by filing a Clery Complaint. I again felt like the University was trying to gaslight me. Because the University used a discriminatory reason to deny my petition for readmission the D.O.E Office of Civil Rights opened an investigation into unlawful discrimination. Little did I know that the University police also started targeting me again around this time because of my accusations of police misconduct and me filing complaints against the school with the D.O.E.

Then in June of 2018 the University again retaliated against me for standing up for my civil rights by again falsely arresting me on bogus and meritless charges of “intimidation”. The University used numerous emails I had sent them about the D.O.E, and various related topics in my reinstatement letter such as the war on terrorism, censorship, state violence, police misconduct, anti-fascism, white supremacy, mental health, black power, and revolutionary socialism as a politically motivated excuse to arrest me for bringing them under investigation. In the e-mails that IU cited, I make it clear I was intentionally sending them inflammatory, radical left wing topics and articles to mock their politically motivated crimes against me. The same e-mails that University officials call “threats” contradict them and prove that there is no wrongdoing on my part.

As a result of these numerous e-mails the University used one e-mai in particular containing a song from Kanye West’s new album as the pretext to arrest me the second time. The song is the first song on Kanye’s new album “I Thought about Killing You”. The song title is the title of the email and with an explicit link to the song in the title. The intent was to make fun of the IUPD for making up “threats”, which the University in turn ironically did. You did not even need to open up the email to see that the title of the email is a song as gmail (University email accounts are powered by google) allows you to see the first part of the email without opening it. The cover art on Kanye’s new album says “I hate being bipolar and its awesome” which I thought was a perfect coincidence, because I am a Kanye West fan, he is open about his “disability”, and the University is currently under investigation for disability discrimination. The e-mails debunk the University’s motivations as further politically motivated harassment and intimidation and prove my innocence. The University is trying to keep the “terroristic mischief” incident secret and censor me so I have decided to make the emails public. I will not back down to political suppression and repression by the school and am well within my constitutional and federally protected rights. I am also a strong believer of openness and transparency. My arrest was retaliatory and I can prove there is direct causation between my D.O.E complaints, my allegations of police misconduct, and my online activism.

You can find the link to the emails here:

https://drive.google.com/open?id=1ruXAD_jvD2Pi-ZcAuAdydtFqRVjcQxmS

The IUPD tried labeling me a “terrorist” as an excuse to try stripping me of my civil rights and the University’s actions have been unconstitutional starting with police officers committing perjury to accuse me of “terroristic mischief” and then violating my 1st amendment rights for trolling them about the D.O.E investigation. Standing up for your civil rights is not a crime and I will not be silenced by the University. Civil rights activist Julian Bond once said “an American can be black and an American can dissent, but no American had better compound these two crimes” and I unapologetically dissent to the American system built on inequality and systemic racism and am unapologetically black. If the University did not want me to file a Clery Complaint against them then they shouldn’t have classified a box of books as “suspicious package” and as a “bomb threat”; they shouldn’t have lied about a “weapon of mass destruction” in Union Street, and if the University didn’t want to be investigated for unlawful discrimination then the University shouldn’t have violated my civil rights. Indiana University is a public college and has no right to attempt to censor criticism and radical viewpoints. IU is mandated by the federal government to obey federal statutes and antidiscrimination laws like every other institution that accepts federal financial aid funding. The college on one hand pays lip service to “inclusion”, “tolerance”, and “diversity” and on the other engages in extreme discrimination and retaliates against victims of police misconduct. The corruption of the University’s administration runs deep and the University’s “progressivism” is nothing more but white supremacy with a smile.  IU’s racism is institutional and systemic. From the covert racism of officials in the administration using discriminatory seemingly neutral policy, practices, and procedures that have a disproportionate adverse effect on members of a protected classes to the overt racism of the overly militaristic state violence of the IUPD. I will not let the University and University officials intimidate me and stop me from exercising my constitutional and federally protected rights and I cannot, as a man of good conscience, be afraid to speak up or back down from the oppression and malice displayed by the University and the IUPD.

“If, in the present chaotic and shameful struggle for existence, when organized society offers a premium on greed, cruelty, and deceit, men can be found who stand aloof and almost alone in their determination to work for good” - Lucy Parsons

I am asking other people of moral and good conscience aid me and show solidarity with me in not only my personal struggle but also the collective struggle against classism,racism, and all other forms of discrimination.

-t

[oselatra]

24 hours in Mountain View

The folk music capital of the world.

24 HOURS

IN

Mountain View

The fold music capital of the world.

Mountain View, the seat of Stone County, is a small Ozark town — population 2,876 — that holds some of the biggest folk music events in the state and the country. Each year, in April, it hosts the Arkansas Folk Festival, which is attended by tens of thousands, according to estimates. In November, the Bluegrass Festival stretches over a weekend and brings in the crowds. All year long, the Ozark Folk Center hosts musical performances throughout the day; there's more music on the town square at night. Around any corner you might catch someone fiddling. They might be playing "Tennessee Stud" or "The Battle of New Orleans," two of the 6,000-plus folk songs written by Mountain View native Jimmy Driftwood. After becoming famous, Driftwood continued to reside, in part, in Mountain View and advocate for it. His love for folk music helped put Mountain View on the map — surprising residents by securing $2.1 million from Congress to established the Folk Center. But if you're not in the mood for Ozark Mountain music, stay for the mountains and the rivers that run through them. Driftwood wouldn't mind: He became an environmental activist later in life, helping secure national designations to protect the Buffalo River and Blanchard Springs Caverns.

Grab some breakfast in town (likely right beside your bed)

In a town like Mountain View, built to accommodate tourists, lodging is available near the center of town. Wildflower Bed and Breakfast, at 100 W. Washington St., and The Inn at Mountain View, 307 W. Washington St., offer great spots for those looking for a bed and breakfast. (Country Oaks Bed and Breakfast is farther out of town at 17221 State Highway 9, but if you're yearning for a B&B it fits the bill.) For people who want to be as close to the action as possible, there are the Ozark Folk Center State Park Cabins. If you decide you want to eat out, PJ's Rainbow Cafe on the square is a classic dinner spot that will acclimate you to the cozy feel of Mountain View. Either way: Don't rush! You should relax, walk around the square, drink some coffee and enjoy the day.

Music time

All right, you've spent more than 15 minutes in Mountain View without any music (unless you're playing folk classics out of your iPhone speaker for all to hear). We should probably remedy that! Head over to the Ozark Folk Center for a show. Each day the center hosts music at 10:15 a.m., 11:15 a.m., 12:15 p.m., 1:45 p.m., 2:45 p.m. and 3:45 p.m. Can't find a time (somehow) in that a schedule? There are evening concerts, too, at 6 p.m. and 7 p.m. Daytime performances are in the Outdoor Music Pavilion or White Oak Theater and evening shows are in the Large Auditorium on Thursdays through Saturdays. Afterward, right down the hill, you can drive over to the Dulcimer Shoppe. If you're desperate to buy top quality dulcimers, this is the spot. But, if you're just someone interested by the whole thing, they'll be making the instruments and let you watch. The Mountain View Music shop is another local spot where you can buy an instrument, but you also might be inclined to just wander as a neophyte; often they have people playing on the porch.

Wandering the square

If you've seen the show and then been to the music shops, you might still have a little bit before lunch, so do some antiquing. The town square is small but somehow has about four antique/resale shops. There is Rainbow Antique Mall, which is a large and sprawling home to many random items (all cheap and interesting, from odd lamps to weird bobbleheads). Beside that is For Mother Earth, home to a great section of used books and tons of tie-dye shirts. There's also Nancy's Antiques & Gifts and J & J Antique Stuff and Sanders Town Square Antiques, all around that area. For some reason, Mountain View has a good amount of old stuff worth selling.

Lunch on the river

Get in the car and head a bit out of town for Anglers White River Resort, which is along the White River. It will be hard to miss it: Anglers is not only a restaurant but also an RV Park, a gas station, and an outdoor store; signs litter the highway as you approach. The best part about the restaurant is that you can sit outside and look at the river as you eat. If you're here, nothing to order but catfish.

Blanchard Springs Caverns

Since you're a bit out of town now, steer over another 10 minutes farther into the woods to the Blanchard Springs Caverns. It's a beautiful (and the only nationally protected) cave system, home to glistening rock formations. Do not worry: There are some intense versions of cave exploring offered, but if you're more squeamish there is also a calm half-mile or so hike that is guided. On the half-mile hike it is hard to feel claustraphobic: The caverns are huge. The more ambitious explorers have to call ahead to book a trip on the Wild Cave Tour of undeveloped parts of the caverns (go to recreation.gov or call 877-444-6777).

Dinner and dessert

Unless the woods were so enticing you decided to stay and become a hunter-gatherer, you'll be hungry for someone else's cooking again. So head back to town to Kin Folks BBQ. It's got cheap and great eats. When you bite in, though, don't explain your love with any cursing: multiple printed out signs say that no profanity is allowed. (Also, to be frank, there are some signs about being against political correctness that are not the best. Maybe order to go and eat outside? The porch is nice.) The BBQ plate is simple, with pork and two sides for around $7. The ribs are a bit more expensive, in the $12 to $15 range, but worth it. Either way: Save room! It's got delicious ice cream — you can even get it on the top of a slice of pie or in a milkshake. The experience will leave you full, very full.

Another show?

Yes! You need more music. Perhaps you're going to head back to the Ozark Folk Center for one of the evening performances, but there are others options, too. Check out a great website, mountain-view-music-scene.com, for local options. There is the Gospel Opry, 208 School Ave., which has shows every Thursday, Friday and Saturday in the Old School Gym. Usually audience participation is encouraged, so get ready to belt those old gospel tunes you remember from childhood. Then there is Jimmy Driftwood Barn at 19775 state Highway 5 N, which has shows many evenings. (You might be wondering why, if Driftwood created the Folk Center, there is another music venue. In the mid-'70s there was a rift and Driftwood was kicked out of his own creation. So, he and some friends set up a shack to play music. Viola: Jimmy Driftwood Barn.) When the weather's good, you'll find folks jamming on the courthouse square.

Tired of music? Let's do a movie

The Stone Drive-In Theater plays movies when it gets dark. I mean this literally: Its Facebook page tells customers, "Movie starts at dark!" You pull in and pay, tune your radio to the correct frequency and enjoy the classic drive-in experience. $5 will get anyone in over the age of 12 and $2 for kids age 6 to 11. If it's raining? The movie still plays. So, drive on over.

Spend the night or drive home

Either grab some shut-eye in the B&B or book it back to Little Rock, talking all the way about what a joy Mountain View was.

24 hours in Mountain View

[junker-town]

'Air Bud' is good

20 years later, a fresh look at the classic film.

I’ve never seen Air Bud. Think about how weird that is: The movie came out in 1997. I was eight, the perfect age to see a movie about a dog that plays basketball. Everybody saw Air Bud. Everybody loved Air Bud. The Air Bud franchise was to children in the ’90s as the 50 Shades of Gray franchise is to suburban moms now, just with more sports and no sex stuff.

And yet, I missed it. I blame this on the fact that I’m an only child whose parents are more into Proust than they are Disney movies (they’re very smart and wonderful people). But because I didn’t have cable or siblings to tell me what was cool, I grew up watching PBS and not knowing the lyrics to the Spice Girls’ songs. My 1990s cultural blindspots still haunt me. Case in point: Kel Mitchell went to Super Bowl media night as his Good Burger character, and I got mercilessly roasted when I asked my colleagues who the guy in the fast food uniform was.

I’m telling you this to explain why I’m sitting at my desk watching Air Bud in the SB Nation offices at 4:25 pm on a Thursday. This year marks the 20th anniversary of the film’s release, the NBA trade deadline is over, the Oscars are this weekend. I felt like only way I could create content of dubious quality honoring all three momentous occasions at once was to finally watch Air Bud and blog my experience.

I also want to see if you guys have been right this whole time. Is Air Bud as good as everyone’s been saying it is for the past 20 years? Let’s find out.

HERE WE GO!

The movie opens on an idyllic country road, and, oh my god, what is happening? A giant wooden clown head is cresting over a hill. It’s perched on top of a pickup truck driven by a guy dressed as a clown.

I’m confused. Is this a horror film or a movie for children? Is Air Bud actually the prequel to Saw? Has everyone has been lying to me about this movie a part of some sick, elaborate prank?

Things start to make more sense when I see a dog in the back of the pickup truck. I’m pretty sure it’s Air Bud himself, dressed up as a clown.

It turns out that Bad Clown Dude performs at kid’s birthday parties, and Air Bud is his sidekick who does tricks with balls. Bad Clown Dude is a real dick. He beats Air Bud and decides to take the dog to the pound after things go awry at the party. I hate this man with my entire being.

Fortunately, the gate of the pickup truck is down, so Air Bud’s crate — with Air bud locked in it — falls out the back. Trucks are screaming by as he’s trapped in the middle of the road, and then he gets hit by a car.

I mean, not, like, badly, but hard enough so that his crate topples over and he pops out. I know I’m not supposed to laugh right now, but a dog in a clown suit is pretty funny. The mom driving the SUV that hit him is like, “Huh, hit a dog, whoops,” and then keeps driving.

What kind of monster hits a dog and doesn’t stop to save it?

We can tell that her son Josh — who’s sitting up front because no one gave a damn about air bags in the 1990s and we all turned out okay, okay? — is the main character by the way the camera lingers on his face. He longingly watches Air Bud trot down the road behind the car.

Josh and his family have just moved to Fernville, Washington to be near his mom’s relatives after his dad passed away. A shot of Josh in his empty room holding a box of stuff shows us how lonely and sad he is. In the kitchen, Josh’s mom is on the phone having conversation that clearly isn’t relevant to the plot but intrigues me, because I hear her say, “I understand that Bolivia didn’t get the napkins, and Venezuela did?”

“Napkins” is definitely code for “cocaine.” Josh’s mom is an international drug lord.

Drug Dealer Mom hangs up on whatever cartel runner she was talking to and asks Josh how school was. Josh says his first line of the whole movie: “It sucks.”

School does, indeed, suck; Josh tries to sign up for the basketball team, but the asshole coach makes him be the manager instead. I feel bad for the kid, but things start looking up when he finds a magical basketball court behind his house. It’s on the edge of a beautiful lake surrounded by mountains, and it’s a good thing Drug Dealer Mom is a kingpin, because otherwise this family wouldn’t be able to afford such prime real estate.

There are bits and pieces of a clown suit strewn about the court. We hear barking from the bushes. And then ****SPOILER ALERT**** Air Bud shows up! He eats a pudding cup that must’ve fallen out of Josh’s backpack. Pudding can’t be good for dogs, but Air Bud is dirty and hungry, so we aren’t supposed to care.

Josh picks up a basketball and tosses it to Air Bud. Because he’s a trained clown dog, Air Bud can balls out, and the two pals have the time of their lives playing together. I start laughing because it’s so delightful, but I’m also tearing up, because it’s very moving to see Josh finally make a friend.

I’m starting to understand why everyone loves this movie so much.

Josh brings Air Bud home. Air Bud eats Spaghetti-Os in the bathroom, and I will honestly be shocked if this dog is alive in ten minutes given all the crap this boy has fed it. There are five open cans of Spaghetti-Os on the ground. The poor animal is going to have to get his stomach pumped.

Josh is wearing a suit of old time-y rain gear. He gives Air Bud a bath and brushes his teeth.

Drug Dealer Mom comes home from dealing drugs and gets pissed when Air Bud spills paint all over the house. But she lets Josh keep the dog, because if she didn’t, the movie would be over.

Now we’re at the school gym, where Josh meets a kind, older man who works as a janitor there, because what would a ’90s movie be without a non-threatening black man whose backstory is developed just enough — but not more — to serve the narrative needs of the white protagonist? It turns out that this guy was a great basketball player for the Knicks, and I’m like, “Uh, why would a former NBA player now be working as a janitor at a middle school in Washington state as opposed to sipping margaritas in Tulum or hosting a show on ESPN?”

But I let it go, because I start wondering what happened to Josh in real life. What if Josh is hot now?

He is. I just Googled him. Check out how hot Josh is.

He’s over-groomed, but the man looks good. This is not a Haley Joel Osment situation.

Things are getting better for Josh. Buddy (that’s what Josh calls Air Bud) performs basketball tricks during halftime after Josh makes the team. Josh even has a friend, this kid with an aggressive bowl cut who carries around an orange peel that Scotty Pippen once threw away, as well as a piece of chewed-up gum that Dennis Rodman once spit out. I don’t know where he’s getting all this famous trash. The boys put it in their socks for good luck.

The asshole coach ends up getting fired when the principal catches him pelting Trash Kid with basketballs in a dark gym. This feels a little heavy for a children’s movie, but it works as a plot device, because it means that the basketball-great-turned-janitor can take over the team as Good Coach and preach the beauty of teamwork.

The inevitable Scary Moment Where Everything Could Fall Apart comes when Bad Clown Dude shows up to reclaim Air Bud. Josh steals Air Bud back, but worries that he’s just going to get taken again. So he hops a ferry with the dog and goes to an island.

“Go on Buddy, you’re free now,” Josh says, crying, as he makes Buddy leave him. I feel this sharp pain in my chest. Buddy hops into the water, whining as he watches Josh get carried away.

I’m softly crying. I’m glad I didn’t watch this movie when I was little because I don’t know that I could’ve handled heartbreak at such an early age.

Josh is back at school playing basketball. I’m still broken up over the fact that he left his goddamn dog on a goddamn island. But then we hear barking and — could it be?! — BUDDY RETURNS! Thank god I only had to suffer like that for seven minutes.

Josh’s team only has four players on the court because one just got hurt. There’s no rule that dogs can’t play basketball, so Buddy, wearing little doggie basketball shoes and an adorable doggie jersey, checks in. I’m laughing and crying again as I watch Josh and Buddy win the game.

It’s 6 p.m. now, and the office is emptying out.

I breathe a sigh of relief knowing there are only 15 minutes left and more truly bad shit can’t happen. But there’s going to be some slightly bad shit, because Bad Clown Dude shows up again.

Drug Dealer Mom says something along the lines of, “Hell no, you’re not taking my dog!” Bad Clown Dude goes, “I’LL SEE YOU IN COURT!” Donald Trump plagiarized Air Bud.

I guess legal fees don’t matter when you’re Drug Dealer Mom and want to be sure your kid doesn’t lose his dog, because here we are, in court. Thankfully, Good Coach shows up and saves the day; it turns out that he used to be the old, curmudgeonly judge’s favorite player.

Good Coach proposes that Buddy choose who he wants to belong to. After a few suspenseful pump-fakes, Air Bud obviously chooses Josh, jumping up to give him a hug. The movie ends with a huge crowd cheering outside the courthouse.

Hulu asks me if I want to watch Homeward Bound II: Lost in San Francisco. Yes, Hulu, that’s literally all I want, but it would be weird to stay in the office until 9 p.m. watching another kid’s movie about dogs, and I’m emotionally exhausted, so I go home.

THE VERDICT:

Air Bud is good. I love Air Bud. I think I probably would’ve questioned less — why is Josh wearing foul weather gear to take a bath with his dog? Why are bullies in ’90s movies always chewing gum? Why do the feds never show up to investigate Drug Dealer Mom? — if I’d seen this as a kid.

But I’m glad I didn’t. Watching it now reminded me what it felt like to be a child. It brought me back to the days when all I worried about was if my crush would pick me to be on his soccer team at recess and if there was a new episode of Wishbone that night. When a new set of baseball cards could bring infinite happiness.

Air Bud stands the test of time. It’s a cinematic masterpiece that gave me a respite from being an adult almost two hours. What could be better than that?