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Private Landing (Lewis Hamilton) (9/15)

SUMMARY: In the high-speed world of Formula One, Lewis Hamilton subtly introduces a mysterious partner via Instagram after a slight mishap during an interview. Sparking media intrigue, everyone wants to know: who is the enigmatic figure that calls herself Mrs. Hamilton?

INSPO: this post

PAIRINGS: Sir Lewis Hamilton x Aurora "Rorie" Phillips-Hamilton (faceclaim is Justine Skye)

WARNINGS: drama, angst, sexual content, formula one b.s., pre-established relationship (with flashbacks). RATED M (18+)

TAGLIST: @queenshikongo3 @cocobutterqwueen @mauvecherie-writes @a-moment-captured @yeea-nah @lovebittenbyevans @alika-4466 @saintslewis @cherry2stems @liamundi @trinitoldyouso @scorpiobleue @certifiedlesbianbaddie @httpsserene @motheroffae @perfecttrashface @xoscar03 @saturnville @weetjy @pinkcatcus @lewlewlemon44 @cranberryjulce @chaoticcoffeequeen @vile-harlot @periodjosh @melanin-queen369 @destinyg237 @niahxo @purplelewlew @ffenthusiastt

A/N: Please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist. The headers/dividers are by @inklore

CHAPTER 9: New Horizons

Rorie stood in front of the full-length mirror, admiring the sleek Tommy Hilfiger outfit she was wearing for the promotional photoshoot. The partnership felt like a breath of fresh air amidst the recent turmoil. She smoothed down the crisp white blouse, tucked neatly into tailored navy trousers, a look that perfectly blended sophistication with her signature laid-back style.

"You look stunning, Rorie," the photographer called out. Rorie smiled, ready to face the cameras.

This shoot in the Culver City studio was the final piece of her campaign with Tommy Hilfiger. Most of the work had been done in New York a few weeks back - a whirlwind three days of shooting on the bustling streets of Manhattan, in Central Park, and atop a skyscraper with the city skyline as a backdrop. Those images had captured the essence of the brand's urban chic aesthetic, with Rorie as the perfect embodiment of modern, dynamic womanhood.

Today's shoot was for some additional lifestyle shots - casual moments that showed off the versatility of the collection. Rorie moved through a series of poses, from lounging on a minimalist sofa to standing by floor-to-ceiling windows, the soft California light adding a warm glow to each frame.

Between shots, Rorie chatted with the styling team, discussing the collection and her excitement about the partnership. It felt good to focus on her career, to have something positive to pour her energy into after the recent drama. And speaking of it, Deja finally managed to shut her mouth and stay off of social media.

That bitch needs her ass whooped...maybe I should've let KiKi drag her.

A couple of days ago, many of her good friends, KiKi being one of them, came to her defense and even threatened to hunt Deja down and let her reap the consequences of spreading lies, but as usual, Rorie was above the nonsense, and decided against it. Unfortunately, the damage from Deja was already done, and making things worse was not ideal, especially for her lawyers. A mixture of messages, ranging from support to vitriol continued to arrive daily in her comments and DM's, so much so that she had to disable both to safeguard her mental wellbeing.

All in all, work and home life was a welcomed - and needed - distraction from all of the bullshit.

"That's a wrap!" the director called out after a few hours. Rorie let out a small sigh of relief. As much as she enjoyed modeling, it was always intense work.

As she changed back into her own clothes, her phone buzzed with a message from Lewis:

Dinner with Fred Vasseur tonight. Big news. Love you.

Rorie's heart raced. She knew what this dinner could mean - a potential move to Ferrari for Lewis. It was exciting and terrifying all at once.

Later that evening, Rorie and Lewis arrived at Spago, Wolfgang Puck's flagship restaurant in Beverly Hills. As they approached the table, Fred Vasseur and his wife, Marie-Laure, stood to greet them.

"Lewis!" Fred exclaimed, embracing Lewis warmly and kissing him on both cheeks. "And the lovely Rorie," he continued, offering her the same warm greeting.

Marie-Laure followed suit, her elegant perfume wafting as she leaned in to kiss Rorie's cheeks. "It's wonderful to see you both," she said with a genuine smile.

As they settled into their seats, the sommelier approached, and after a brief consultation, Fred ordered a bottle of Château Margaux. "To celebrate old times and new beginnings," he said with a wink.

They then perused the menu, and the conversation flowed easily, touching on everything from Lewis's recent races to Rorie's upcoming partnership with Tommy Hilfiger.

"I can't wait to see some of the campaign photos," Marie-Laure commented. "You'll bring such vitality to the brand."

Rorie's cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment. "Thank you. It's been an exciting project to work on."

After their appetizers were cleared away, Fred leaned in, his eyes twinkling with excitement. "So, Lewis," he began, swirling his glass of wine. "How would you feel about wearing red in 2025?"

Lewis glanced at Rorie, who nodded encouragingly. She could see the spark of excitement in his eyes, but also a hint of hesitation.

"I've been thinking," Lewis began, his voice thoughtful. "I've been with Mercedes for so long, and Toto has been incredible. But we haven't been winning races or championships lately, and I'm not getting any younger."

Fred nodded understandingly. "We know it's a big decision, Lewis. But we believe Ferrari can give you the car to claim those additional World Driver's Championships before you retire."

Lewis leaned forward, his expression serious. "If I come to Ferrari, I want to do more than just drive. I want to implement DEI trainings, make the team more inclusive, like I did at Mercedes."

"Absolutely," Fred agreed enthusiastically. "We've been impressed by your work off the track as much as on it. Your vision aligns perfectly with where we want to take Ferrari."

Rorie watched the exchange with pride, seeing Lewis's passion for both racing and social change shine through.

"It's not just about the championships," Lewis continued. "It's about leaving a lasting impact on the sport and the team."

Marie-Laure smiled warmly. "And that's exactly why we want you, Lewis. Your influence extends far beyond the racetrack."

As the main course arrived, they delved deeper into the details - the contract terms, the vision for the future, and the potential impact Lewis could have on the team culture.

By the time dessert was served, the foundations of a deal were firmly in place. As they said their goodbyes, with promises to finalize everything in the coming weeks, Rorie felt a mix of emotions washing over her. This move would be huge for Lewis's career and his broader goals, opening up new opportunities and challenges.

The drive back to their Malibu home was quiet, the usual LA traffic surprisingly light. Lewis held Rorie's hand tightly as he navigated the nighttime streets, the city's lights twinkling around them. Despite the silence, Rorie could sense the nervous energy still bubbling within Lewis. His thumb absently traced circles on her hand, a telltale sign of his racing thoughts.

Once home, they relieved Nina and settled in the backyard, watching the waves crash against the beach in the distance. The rhythmic sound of the ocean provided a soothing backdrop to their conversation.

"It's a big change," Rorie said softly, breaking the silence.

Lewis nodded, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "It is. But it feels right, you know? A new challenge, a chance to make a real difference."

They talked about the potential move to Ferrari, the excitement and the apprehension intertwining in their words. The conversation then shifted to the ongoing situation with Deja.

"I still can't believe she did this," Lewis said, shaking his head.

Rorie sighed. "I know. And even though KiKi wants to fight Deja, she's still acting weird herself."

"What do you mean?"

"Tia told me that KiKi's back with her ex," Rorie replied hesitantly.

Lewis's brow furrowed. "Khalil?" When Rorie nodded, he let out a frustrated groan. "I thought she was done with him. What about Miles?"

Rorie leaned into Lewis's side. "Apparently, Miles was trying to move things into more serious territory, and KiKi got scared. Tia thinks it's because of her low self-esteem, and how Khalil never wanted to commit to her before."

"So she's falling back into old patterns," Lewis mused.

"Yeah. The girls and I are planning to talk to her about it. Kind of like an intervention, I guess."

Lewis chuckled softly. "Sounds intense. But necessary, probably."

Rorie nodded. "And... I think we both need to apologize to KiKi too. For placing suspicion on her. I feel so bad that we did that."

Lewis was quiet for a moment before agreeing. "You're right. We haven't been the best friends we could be." He pressed a kiss to his wife's temple. "Whatever comes next, we've got this," he murmured.

Rorie smiled, snuggling closer to him. "Together," she agreed, as the waves continued their endless dance with the shore.

The next few days went by quickly. With the Las Vegas Grand Prix approaching, Rorie found herself juggling preparations for an Almave pop-up bar during race weekend alongside her usual responsibilities. Managing multiple homes at once was proving to be a Herculean task. Their London house was undergoing renovations, with Lewis's brother Nicolas supervising the work. Her family was currently at their Colorado home, where she'd just hired a new housekeeper. The Monaco penthouse needed attention, and of course, there was their Malibu home to consider.

Rorie sighed as she thought about Luisa, their Malibu housekeeper, who'd been sick lately and rather short in their conversations. She made a mental note to send over a care package. As she juggled all these balls, along with her growing list of campaigns and ambassadorships, Rorie couldn't help but wish she were an octopus, with enough arms to handle everything at once.

"I really need to consider hiring a personal assistant," she muttered to herself as she confirmed yet another appointment.

Amidst all this, Rorie found solace in quiet moments at home with Lyric and Roscoe. Watching Lyric toddle after Roscoe, giggling with delight, Rorie felt content, which made her upcoming OB/GYN appointment all the more significant.

The day of the appointment soon arrived, and Rorie found herself in Dr. Chen's office. The waiting room was a vibrant space, with walls painted in soothing shades of blue and green. Colorful artwork adorned the walls, interspersed with framed photographs of smiling babies - all delivered by Dr. Chen herself. Soft background music and the gentle burble of a small fountain in the corner was a nice touch of calmness, and a refreshment station offered water, herbal teas, and fresh fruit, adding to the welcoming atmosphere.

In one corner, a play area was set up with soft foam mats and an array of toys. Lyric immediately gravitated towards it, joining a couple of other children in stacking blocks and rolling toy cars. Rorie and Lewis settled into the plush chairs, watching their son play.

"He's getting so big," Lewis murmured, a hint of wonder in his voice.

Rorie nodded, squeezing his hand. "Time flies, doesn't it?"

Lewis nodded, his eyes soft as he watched their son. "Do you think he's ready to be a big brother?"

Rorie considered for a moment. "I think so. He's been so gentle with younger kids at playgroup. We'll need to prepare him, though."

"Maybe we could start reading him books about being a big brother," Lewis suggested. "And involve him in setting up the nursery when the time comes."

"That's a great idea," Rorie agreed. "We should also make sure to give him extra attention, so he doesn't feel left out."

Their conversation was interrupted as a nurse in cheerful floral scrubs called their name. "Hamilton family?" she said with a warm smile.

Lewis stood, scooping up Lyric who protested leaving his new playmates. "Come on, little man," Lewis said, settling Lyric on his hip.

The nurse led them down a corridor lined with more baby photos and inspirational quotes about parenthood. "He's adorable," she commented, grinning at Lyric. "How old is he now?"

"Sixteen months," Rorie replied proudly.

"Oh, a big boy!" the nurse said, smiling at Lyric. "Are you being good to your Mommy and Daddy?"

"Say 'no'," Lewis joked, lightly pinching his son's cheek and causing the nurse to laugh.

They entered Dr. Chen's office, which was just as inviting as the waiting room. Soft, natural light filtered through gauzy curtains, and potted plants added a touch of nature to the space. The examination table was draped with a colorful, patterned cloth, making it look less clinical.

Dr. Chen greeted them warmly, her kind eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled. "How are we all doing today?" she asked, giving Lyric a little wave. As Rorie settled onto the examination table, Lewis sat nearby with Lyric on his lap. "And how have you been feeling, Rorie?"

"I've been feeling pretty good," Rorie replied. "A bit nauseous in the mornings, and I've had some weird cravings."

Dr. Chen nodded, making notes. "And you took a home pregnancy test, correct?"

"Yes, it was positive," Rorie confirmed, hope evident in her voice.

Dr. Chen began the ultrasound, and the room fell silent. Lewis held Rorie's hand tightly, his thumb tracing soothing circles on her skin. They both watched the screen intently, hope and anxiety mingling in the air.

As the minutes ticked by, Dr. Chen's brow furrowed in concentration. She moved the wand, checking different angles, her expression growing more concerned. Finally, she set down the wand with a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry," she said gently, "but I'm not detecting a heartbeat. It appears to have been a false positive."

Disbelief etched on her face. "But... I've been feeling nauseous. I've had cravings. I haven't had my period..."

Dr. Chen's voice was compassionate as she explained, "Sometimes, stress can mimic pregnancy symptoms. Given everything that's been happening in your life recently, it's possible that stress is the cause of these symptoms."

Rorie fell silent and her heart sank, tears welling up in her eyes as she processed the information. Lewis, sensing her withdrawal, spoke up. "What are our options moving forward, Dr. Chen?"

Dr. Chen's tone was gentle but optimistic as she replied, "We still have two embryos frozen from your previous IVF cycle. If you're ready, we could discuss trying IVF again."

She went on to explain the process in detail, outlining the steps, potential risks, and success rates. Throughout the explanation, she maintained a tone of gentle encouragement, emphasizing that there were still possibilities ahead.

As Dr. Chen finished speaking, she offered them a moment alone. "Take all the time you need," she said softly, before stepping out of the room.

In the quiet that followed, Lewis enveloped Rorie in a tight embrace, Lyric nestled between them. Rorie clung to him, still processing the news. As her initial shock began to subside, she looked down at Lyric, who was watching them with curious eyes. Tears began to fall freely down Rorie's cheeks, her body shaking with quiet sobs.

Lyric, sensing his mother's distress, reached out a tiny hand and placed it gently on Rorie's wet cheek. The innocent gesture of comfort broke something inside her.

"Oh, my sweet baby," Rorie whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. She pulled Lyric closer, crying into his soft curls. Between sobs, Rorie turned to Lewis. "I'm so sorry," she managed to say, her words muffled and broken.

Lewis shook his head, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. "It's okay, love. It's not your fault," he said softly, wrapping his arms around both Rorie and Lyric. "Remember what Dr. Chen said? These things happen, and we still have options." He pressed a kiss to her temple, his voice steady and reassuring. "I love you, Rorie. We'll get through this together, I promise."

Rorie nodded, unable to speak through her tears but drawing comfort from Lewis's words and the warmth of her family's embrace. Lyric, not fully understanding but instinctively offering comfort, snuggled closer to his mother.

In that moment, surrounded by the love of her husband and son, Rorie felt a glimmer of hope through her grief. The path ahead was uncertain, but she wasn't walking it alone.

As they prepared to leave, Rorie found her voice again. "Maybe we should take some time to think about the IVF," she said quietly. "We have a lot going on right now."

Lewis nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Of course, love. We'll take it one day at a time."

The neon lights of Las Vegas blazed against the night sky, casting a surreal glow over the city as it prepared for its inaugural Grand Prix. Lewis stood on the balcony of his suite at the Wynn, taking in the spectacle below. The energy was electric, but Lewis felt oddly disconnected from it all.

His mind wandered to Rorie, back in Colorado with Lyric. She had been withdrawn since their visit to Dr. Chen, the false positive pregnancy test hitting her harder than either of them had anticipated. Lewis had encouraged her to sit this race weekend out, to focus on her mental health, but her absence left a palpable void.

The news had been tough on him too. He'd allowed himself to imagine their family growing, Lyric becoming a big brother. But as Dr. Chen had gently reminded them, they still had options. Two frozen embryos waited, a possibility for the future. Yet, Lewis knew the decision to try again had to be Rorie's.

Shaking off his melancholy, Lewis headed down to the lobby where his best friend, Miles, was waiting. The Vegas strip was awash with Formula 1 fever. Billboards flashed with images of drivers, including the debut of Lewis's own Fortnite skin. Rorie's Tommy Hilfiger campaign was also debuting this weekend, her face gracing billboards throughout the city.

Lewis had reluctantly attended the Almave pop-up earlier, putting on a brave face for the cameras despite his heavy heart. Now, he and Miles made their way to Delilah, the Art Deco-inspired supper club within the Wynn.

As they settled into their booth, Miles studied his friend's face. "How's Rorie doing?"

Lewis paused, his fingers tracing the rim of his water glass. "It's been tough," he admitted. "She's withdrawn, barely talking. I don't know how to reach her sometimes."

"And how are you holding up?" Miles pressed gently.

Lewis's composure cracked, tears welling in his eyes. "I'm trying to be strong for her, but man, it's hard. We wanted this so badly."

Miles reached across the table, squeezing Lewis's shoulder supportively as his friend wiped away tears.

As their meal progressed, Lewis opened up more about the pressures he was facing - the lawsuit, Rorie's father reaching out, and the potential move to Ferrari.

"He says he's going to be here this weekend, and wants to talk again," Lewis said, his voice tight with frustration. "I just… I don't know how to handle all of this."

Miles listened intently, offering words of support and gentle advice. "Have you thought about going back to therapy?" he suggested. "It sounds like you're carrying a lot, bro."

Lewis shook his head. "I can't right now. I need to be there for Rorie, for Lyric. They need me to be strong."

Miles leaned forward, his expression serious. "Lewis, listen to me. You can't pour from an empty cup. You need to take care of yourself too. Rorie would want that."

As they were leaving the restaurant, a familiar face caught Lewis's eye. Deja stood near the bar, her gaze locking onto him.

"Lewis," she called out, her voice carrying a mix of anger and hurt.

Lewis tensed, his bodyguards immediately alert. "Deja, I have nothing to say to you."

"Of course you don't," she scoffed. "But I have plenty to say. Like how you're letting Rorie play the victim when she's the one who stole you from me."

Lewis's brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"New Orleans, 2017. All-Star weekend," Deja spat. "We met at the club, danced, kissed. You promised me we'd be together! You said I was special!"

Lewis shook his head, genuinely perplexed. "I'm sorry, but I don't remember. I was partying a lot back then. If we did hook up, I apologize, but it was just that - a hookup."

Deja's face contorted with rage. "Just a hookup? You know what, Lewis? I'm glad I met with The Sun's PI. The truth is finally coming out, and I couldn't be happier. You think you can just use people and forget about them?"

"Deja, I—" Lewis started, but she cut him off.

"No, you listen! You ruined my life, and now I'm going to return the favor. You and that bitch Rorie deserve each other! I'm going to make your life miserable!"

Lewis's bodyguards stepped in, creating a barrier between them as the situation escalated. "We need to go, sir," one of them urged.

As they hustled Lewis and Miles out of the restaurant, Deja's angry shouts echoed behind them. "You're a liar, Lewis Hamilton! This is just the beginning!"

In the elevator, Lewis leaned against the wall, his jaw clenched. "I can't believe this," he muttered, then slammed his fist against the elevator wall. "Damn it!"

Miles watched his friend, concern etched on his face. "Talk to me, bro. What's going through your head?"

Lewis ran a hand over his face, frustration evident in every movement. "I'm trying to make sense of it all. All-Star weekend 2017... that was a year before I even met Rorie. Why is Deja so hung up on this?" He paced the small space of the elevator. "I mean, I partied a lot back then, sure. But promising someone we'd be together? That doesn't sound like me, even at my wildest. I'm trying to remember that weekend, but it's all a blur."

Miles shrugged his shoulders. "The bitch is crazy, bro. Don't try to rationalize delusion."

Lewis shook his head, still trying to piece together fragments of memories. "But what if there's some truth to it? What if I did something I don't remember?"

"Look," Miles said firmly, placing both hands on Lewis's shoulders to stop his pacing. "Even if something did happen - which I doubt - it was years ago. You weren't with Rorie then. You didn't do anything wrong."

The elevator dinged as they reached their floor. As the doors opened, Lewis took a deep breath, his mind still racing. "You're right. I just... I hate that this is happening now, with everything else going on."

Miles nodded sympathetically. "I know, man. But we'll figure this out. One step at a time, remember?"

"One step at a time."

As they stepped out into the hallway, Lewis felt a mix of emotions - anger at Deja's accusations, confusion about the past, and a deep longing for Rorie and the simplicity of being with his family.

-------------------------------------------------------

This was not his weekend. At all.

Lewis stared at his phone, scrolling through the TMZ article that had somehow materialized overnight. The drama with Deja at Delilah had made its way to the gossip mill, complete with blurry photos and sensationalized headlines.

His dad had left several texts and voicemails, rightfully upset about what had happened. Lewis sighed, knowing he'd have to deal with that conversation soon. But for now, he was grateful that there were no messages from Rorie. The last thing she needed was this added stress.

His Twitter notifications were exploding, a mix of support and criticism flooding his mentions:

@F1Fan2023: "Lewis, stay strong! We know the truth is on your side. #TeamLH" @GossipQueen88: "First the lawsuit, now this? What's really going on with Lewis Hamilton? 👀" @RacingEnthusiast: "Focus on the track, Lewis. Let your driving do the talking. #LasVegasGP"

As he made his way to the paddock, Lewis tried to push the social media noise out of his mind. He had a race to focus on, after all. The Las Vegas strip was alive with fans crowding the streets and celebrities flocking to the various events.

Just as Lewis thought he might be able to lose himself in the pre-race routines, he spotted a familiar figure approaching. Martin, Rorie's father, was making his way through the paddock.

"This motherfucker," Lewis muttered under his breath, bracing himself for the encounter.

"Lewis," Martin called out, his voice tentative but determined. "I need to talk to you about Rorie. She's not answering my calls again."

Lewis exhaled heavily. "Martin, now is really not a good time."

"I know about the lawsuit," Martin pressed on. "I want to help. I have resources—"

"It's not just that," Lewis cut him off, then paused. He shouldn't be saying this, but the words tumbled out anyway. "We've been trying to have another baby. We just got some tough news from our OB/GYN. Rorie's… she's struggling right now."

Martin's face fell. "I'm so sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do?"

"Thanks, but no thanks," Lewis said, turning away.

"Lewis, wait," Martin called after him. "I know I've gone about this all wrong, but I genuinely want a relationship with Rorie and my grandson. Her half-siblings, they want to know her too."

Lewis paused, conflicting emotions battling within him. He understood the desire for family, but his priority was protecting Rorie and Lyric.

"Look, Martin," he said finally, turning back. "I hear you. But this has to be Rorie's decision. And right now, she needs space. Can you respect that?"

Martin nodded slowly, a mix of disappointment and understanding on his face. "I can. Just… tell her I'm here when she's ready?"

Lewis gave a curt nod before walking away, his mind already racing ahead to the challenges of the day. As he reached for his balaclava, his phone buzzed with a text from Julian in all caps:

CALL ME NOW.

Moving to the back of the garage for privacy, Lewis dialed Julian's number.

"Julian, what's going on?"

"Lewis, we've identified the inside source giving Deja information," Julian said, his voice tense. "It's Luisa."

"What the fuck, man?" Lewis exploded, lowering his voice as he glanced around. "This fucking weekend is cursed."

Shit, maybe I need to douse myself in holy water.

"It'll be okay, Lewis." Julian tried to calm him down. "I'm preparing to file a motion to have her arrested—"

"No, don't do that," Lewis cut in. "Luisa has two kids. We can't…"

"What do you want me to do then?" Julian asked, frustration evident in his voice. "This is serious, Lewis. She invaded your privacy."

Lewis took a deep breath. "I'll handle it after the race. For now, just… keep this under wraps, okay?"

As he ended the call, Lewis felt the weight of everything pressing down on him. Between the race, the media circus, and the family drama, this Vegas weekend was turning out to be more complicated than he could have ever imagined.

Lewis took a deep breath, trying to center himself amidst the chaos swirling around him. The garage buzzed with pre-race activity, mechanics fine-tuning the car, team members hurrying back and forth with last-minute adjustments.

He pulled on his balaclava, the familiar routine offering a small comfort. As he reached for his helmet, Toto approached, concern etched on his face.

"Lewis, are you alright?" Toto asked, his voice low. "I've heard about the... incident last night."

Lewis nodded, grateful for Toto's discretion. "I'm managing. Just focused on the race now."

Toto placed a supportive hand on Lewis's shoulder. "Remember, we're here for you. Whatever you need."

As Lewis made his way to the car, he caught sight of Fred Vasseur in the paddock. Their eyes met briefly, and Fred gave him a subtle nod of encouragement. The potential move to Ferrari suddenly felt like it belonged to a different lifetime.

Settling into the cockpit, Lewis allowed himself a moment of calm. The familiar smell of rubber and fuel, the snug fit of the seat – it all helped to ground him. Here, in this space, he was just a driver. No drama, no complications. Just him and the track.

The radio crackled to life. "Lewis, how are you feeling? Car okay?"

Bono's voice made the corners of Lewis' lips quirk into a small smile. Although the car was still shit, at least it was somewhat better than the current reality of his life.

"All good," Lewis responded, his voice steady. "Let's do this."

"Alright, mate, whenever you're ready."

He pulled out of the garage for the formation lap, revving his engine as his mind began to clear. The neon lights of Vegas, the drama with Deja, the situation with Luisa, even the heartache over the false pregnancy – it all faded into the background.

For now, there was only the race. The grip of the tires on asphalt and the thrill of pushing machine and man to their limits. As the lights went out and Lewis launched off the line, he felt a familiar surge of adrenaline.

Let's fucking go.

The crisp November air of Colorado bit at Rorie's cheeks as she stood on the balcony of their secluded home. The Rockies stretched out before her, their peaks already blanketed in snow, the evergreens dotting the landscape providing the only splashes of color against the white and gray backdrop. It was a view that usually brought her peace, but today, it felt more like a beautiful, wintry prison.

Lyric's laughter drifted from inside, where he was playing with Aaliyah. Rorie pulled her thick cardigan tighter around herself, grateful for her sister's presence; it provided a welcome distraction from the tumultuous thoughts swirling in her mind.

She glanced at her phone, notifications muted but the screen still lighting up periodically with incoming messages. The early sunset of late autumn had already painted the sky in deep purples and oranges. She knew she should check her messages, knew that Lewis was probably worried, but she couldn't bring herself to face the outside world just yet.

The news from Dr. Chen still felt raw, a constant ache in her chest. Each time she saw Lyric, bundled up in his winter clothes, a bittersweet mix of love and longing washed over her. He was growing so fast, and the thought that he might remain their only child brought a fresh wave of pain.

Rorie's eyes drifted to the mountain horizon again, where the first stars were beginning to appear in the clear, cold sky. She'd come here to find peace, to escape the pressure and drama that had been building back in L.A. But even here, in this beautiful winter sanctuary, she couldn't outrun her own thoughts.

Throughout the day, Rorie thought about her husband and his race in Vegas. When the final results came in, she felt a mix of emotions - pride in Lewis's efforts, but also disappointment at his P7 finish. Part of her felt guilty for not being there to support him, but another part was relieved to be away from the spotlight. The lawsuit, her biological father's attempts to reconnect, the constant scrutiny – it all felt overwhelming.

"Rorie?" Aaliyah's voice called from inside. "Lyric's asking for you. And it's getting cold out there!"

Taking a deep breath of the pine-scented air, Rorie turned from the view and headed back inside to the warmth of the house. As she scooped up her son, feeling his warmth through his soft sweater, she felt a small spark of hope ignite within her. Whatever challenges lay ahead, she had this – the love of her family, the strength she knew resided within her.

"Mama," Lyric babbled, patting her cheek.

"I'm here, baby," Rorie murmured, holding him close. "Mama's here."

She settled on the couch with Lyric, and Aaliyah joined them, draping a warm throw over their laps. Rorie allowed herself this moment of peace, surrounded by the love of her family and the quiet strength of the snow-covered mountains.

Rorie heard the soft murmur of voices from the kitchen. Her mother, Marian, and stepfather Greg were preparing dinner, the comforting aroma of homemade stew filling the air.

"How're you holding up, sweetie?" Aaliyah asked, settling beside them and tucking the throw around their legs.

Rorie sighed, bouncing Lyric gently on her knee. "I'm... managing. It's just a lot, you know?"

Aaliyah nodded sympathetically. "I can't even imagine. But we're all here for you, Ror. You know that, right?"

Before Rorie could respond, Marian entered the living room, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "Dinner's almost ready, girls. Rorie, honey, have you checked on Lewis?"

Rorie shook her head, a twinge of guilt passing through her. "Not yet, Mom. I just... I needed some time."

Marian sat down on the armchair across from them, her eyes filled with concern. "I understand, baby. But remember, you two are a team. Don't shut him out."

Greg appeared in the doorway, his tall frame filling the space. "Your mother's right, Rorie. And speaking of shutting people out, there were at least a dozen paparazzi camped outside our house this morning. Mrs. Weatherly said it's still a circus back there."

As much as she was nosy, Mrs. Weatherly, her parents' elderly neighbor, was still a good person and kept them updated about everything.

Rorie groaned, burying her face in Lyric's braids. "I'm so sorry you guys got dragged into this mess."

"Hey, none of that," Greg said firmly, moving to sit on the arm of Marian's chair. "We're family. Your battles are our battles."

"That's right," Marian added. "And we'll face them together, just like we always have."

Lyric, sensing the tension in the room, began to fuss. Rorie stood up, bouncing him gently. "Shh, it's okay, baby. Mama's got you."

As she paced the room, soothing Lyric, Aaliyah spoke up. "Have you thought about what you're going to do about... everything? The lawsuit, Martin trying to make contact..."

Rorie paused by the window, looking out at the snow-covered landscape. "Honestly? I don't know. It all feels so overwhelming sometimes."

"One step at a time, honey," Marian said softly. "You don't have to figure it all out at once."

Greg nodded in agreement. "And whatever you decide, we've got your back. All of us."

Rorie felt a lump form in her throat, touched by the unwavering support of her family. "Thanks, you guys. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Just then, the timer in the kitchen went off. "That'll be the cornbread," Greg said, standing up. "I'll go grab it."

As he left the room, Marian turned to Rorie. "Why don't you go freshen up before dinner? I'll take Lyric."

Rorie hesitated for a moment before handing Lyric over to her mother. As she headed upstairs, she paused at the landing, looking back at her family gathered in the living room. Despite everything, she felt a surge of gratitude.

In her room, Rorie finally picked up her phone. Several missed calls and messages from Lewis, all expressing love and concern. Taking a deep breath, she typed out a message:

I'm okay. We're okay. Call you later. Love you.

As she hit send, Rorie felt some of the weight lift from her shoulders. Rorie descended the stairs, and the rich aroma of Greg's famous cornbread filled the air, mingling with the hearty scent of the stew. The sound of Lyric's giggles echoed from the kitchen, bringing a small smile to her face.

She paused in the doorway, taking in the scene before her. Marian was at the stove, stirring the stew with one hand while balancing Lyric on her hip. Greg was carefully cutting the cornbread, while Aaliyah placed items in the dishwasher.

"There you are," Marian said, noticing Rorie. "Feel better?"

Rorie nodded, moving to take Lyric from her mother. "Yeah, I do. Thanks, Mom."

As they settled in the living room with bowls of steaming stew and plates of Greg's famous cornbread, Greg turned on the TV. The Broncos vs Vikings game was just starting.

"So, Aaliyah," Greg said between bites, "how's that new project at work going?"

As Aaliyah launched into a story about her latest architectural design, Rorie felt herself relaxing. The normalcy of family dinner and football was exactly what she needed.

Greg, ever the Eagles fan, watched the game intently despite neither team being his favorite. "You know," he said during a commercial break, "I'll watch any football game, but it's a bit more interesting now that Lewis is one of the Broncos' owners. Speaking of which, Rorie, does Lewis have any plans for trades? I've got some ideas..."

Rorie couldn't help but laugh, the first genuine chuckle she'd had in days. "Dad, you know Lewis doesn't really deal with trades and that kind of thing, right? But I'll be sure to pass along your suggestions."

Marian rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Greg, leave the poor man alone. I'm sure he's got enough on his plate without your armchair quarterback advice."

As they continued to eat and watch the game, Rorie felt a sense of normalcy wash over her. The warmth of the stew, the comfort of her family, and the familiar sounds of football commentary created a cocoon of safety, if only for a moment.

After dinner and the game, Rorie excused herself to put Lyric to bed. She carried him upstairs, and she could feel the weight of the day settling on her shoulders. In the nursery, she gently changed Lyric into his pajamas, humming softly as she did so.

"Time for sleep, my little love," she whispered, placing him in his crib. Lyric gazed up at her with heavy-lidded eyes, his tiny hand reaching out to grasp her finger.

As she tucked him in, she whispered, "Daddy did his best today, baby. We're always proud of him, aren't we?" Lyric mumbled something unintelligible in response, already drifting off to sleep. Rorie stood there for a moment, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, finding a moment of peace in the simple act of motherhood.

With Lyric settled, Rorie retreated to her room, closing the door softly behind her. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her phone for a long moment before finally dialing Lewis's number. Her heart raced as it rang once, twice...

He picked up on the second ring. "Hey, babe," his voice was tired but warm, instantly soothing her frayed nerves.

"Hi," Rorie said softly, curling up against the headboard. "Tough race today, huh?"

Lewis sighed, and she could almost see him running a hand over his face as he often did when frustrated. "Yeah, not our best. The car just didn't have the pace we needed. Felt like I was fighting it the whole time."

"You did your best, though. That's what matters," Rorie assured him.

"Thanks, love. But that's not even the half of it. Rorie, I need to tell you something, and it's... well, it's not good."

Rorie felt her stomach tighten. "What is it?"

He proceeded to recount his encounter with Deja at Delilah, describing the heated exchange and her claims about their supposed history. Rorie listened, her free hand clenching the bedsheet as Lewis spoke.

"She was yelling about how we met in New Orleans during All-Star weekend in 2017, saying I promised her things. I swear, Rorie, I don't remember any of it. If something did happen, it was just a hookup, nothing more."

Rorie took a deep breath, trying to process this information. "I believe you, Lewis. But why is she doing this now? After all this time?"

"I don't know," Lewis admitted, frustration evident in his voice. "She seems convinced that you 'stole' me from her or something. It's crazy, Rorie. We hadn't even met in 2017."

Rorie's mind raced. "Do you think she's just looking for attention? Or is there more to it?"

"I wish I knew. But there's more, and this... this is going to be hard to hear."

Rorie braced herself. "What is it?"

"Julian called me today. He found out who's been leaking information to Deja."

"Who?" Rorie asked, dreading the answer.

"It's Luisa," Lewis said, his voice heavy.

Rorie gasped, feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of her. "Our housekeeper? But why would she— How could she—"

"I don't know," Lewis cut in, his own voice tight with emotion. "I told Julian not to do anything drastic. We'll figure it out when I get back. I just can't believe someone we trusted would do this to us."

Rorie felt tears welling up in her eyes. "I trusted her with Lyric, Lewis. She's been in our home, with our son... Oh God, what if she—"

"Hey, hey," Lewis soothed, "Lyric is safe. He's there with you and your family. We'll sort this out, I promise. We'll make sure he stays safe."

Rorie nodded, even though Lewis couldn't see her, wiping away a stray tear. "You're right. He's safe. We're safe."

There was a pause before Lewis continued, "Oh, and there's one more thing. My parents are planning to come to Colorado. They want to be there for us, with everything that's going on."

Rorie felt a wave of emotion wash over her. "That's... that's really sweet of them. When are they coming?"

"They're trying to get flights for tomorrow. Is that okay? I know it's a lot with everything else..."

"No, it's perfect," Rorie said, surprising herself with how much she meant it. "I think having them here will help. Your mom always knows how to make things better."

Lewis chuckled softly. "That she does. How's Lyric doing?"

Rorie smiled, glancing at the baby monitor. "He's good. Missing his daddy, but good. He loved watching you race today. Kept pointing at the TV and saying 'Dada fast!'"

"I miss him too. Both of you. God, Rorie, I wish I was there with you right now."

"I know. Me too. But you'll be home soon, right?"

"Late tomorrow, I promise. Look, I know it's a lot to process. But we'll get through this together, okay? We always do. I love you, Rorie. You and Lyric are everything to me."

"We love you too," Rorie said, her voice thick with emotion. "Come home soon. We need you here."

"I will. Try to get some rest, okay? And Rorie?"

"Yeah?"

"We've got this. Together."

As they said their goodbyes, Rorie felt a mix of anxiety and determination. She lay back on the bed, her mind racing with everything Lewis had told her, but also feeling a glimmer of hope. Whatever came next, they would face it as a family. Rorie closed her eyes, taking deep breaths to calm herself. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but for now, she allowed herself to find comfort in the love of her husband and the peace of knowing their son slept safely nearby.

KiKi sat in her car, parked a few blocks away from the trendy café where Deja was holding court with a group of her friends. Her fingers tapped restlessly against the steering wheel as she watched Deja through the tinted windows. It was supposed to be a casual surveillance, but the longer KiKi sat there, the more her frustration simmered.

Deja had been a thorn in Rorie’s side for too long, and KiKi had been watching her closely, waiting for the right moment to strike. She’d seen Deja run her mouth to anyone who would listen, stirring up more drama, and generally making Rorie’s life hell. KiKi’s loyalty to Rorie ran deep, and the thought of Deja continuing to cause problems made her blood boil.

When Rorie had told her not to beat Deja’s ass, KiKi had nodded, promising to stay cool. But Rorie hadn’t said anything about not finding someone else to do it, and KiKi had taken that as a green light. Enter her cousin’s boyfriend’s sister, Nyla. Nyla was a wild card, known for handling business in a way that left no room for misunderstandings. KiKi had mentioned Deja’s antics to her in passing, and Nyla had practically volunteered for the job on the spot.

As KiKi sat there, her phone buzzed with a new message. She glanced down at the screen and saw it was from Nyla, who was already on the move:

On my way. Got the address. Bitch won’t know what hit her.

KiKi smirked, feeling a sense of satisfaction. Nyla wasn’t one to play around, and KiKi trusted her to send a clear message. Deja had been playing with fire, and it was time she got burned.

KiKi’s gaze shifted back to Deja, who was laughing loudly, oblivious to the storm heading her way. The woman sitting next to KiKi in the passenger seat, a friend of Nyla’s named Tasha, shifted slightly, adjusting her oversized sunglasses as she leaned back against the seat. Tasha was cool and composed, her sharp eyes hidden behind the dark lenses. Her long braids were neatly pulled back, and she wore a leather jacket that matched her tough, no-nonsense demeanor. Tasha didn’t say much, but when she did, her words carried weight.

"She doesn’t look like much," Tasha remarked, her voice low and steady. "You sure this is the right one?"

KiKi glanced at Tasha, a hint of annoyance in her tone. "Yeah, that’s her. Don’t let the cute face fool you—she��s a snake."

Tasha nodded slowly, taking another look at Deja. "Good thing Nyla doesn’t care what she looks like. She’ll get the job done."

"Damn right," KiKi muttered, her eyes narrowing as Deja tossed her hair and flashed a bright smile at something one of her friends said. "Rorie’s been through enough, and I’m sick of this bitch thinking she can just do whatever she wants."

Tasha didn’t respond, but KiKi could feel her quiet agreement. There was a certain satisfaction in knowing that they were about to put an end to Deja’s antics, or at least slow her down. Rorie deserved peace, and if it took a little roughing up to get it, so be it.

KiKi’s phone buzzed again, this time with a simple message:

In position. Ready when you are.

KiKi grinned, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. She fired off a quick reply:

Wait for her to leave. Don’t make a scene.

"Time to move," KiKi said, sliding her phone back into her pocket and starting the car. "Nyla’s got this."

Tasha nodded, her expression unreadable behind the sunglasses. As they drove away, leaving Deja to her fate, KiKi felt a sense of grim satisfaction. She hadn’t laid a finger on Deja, just as Rorie had asked, but she’d made sure the message would be delivered loud and clear.

KiKi’s car rolled smoothly out of the parking spot as she and Tasha headed away from the café. The sense of satisfaction in her chest grew with each passing second. Deja had no idea what was coming, and that was exactly how KiKi wanted it. But as much as she enjoyed the thought of Deja getting what she deserved, there was still work to be done. Loose ends needed to be tied up, and KiKi wasn’t about to let anything trace back to her or, more importantly, Rorie.

She drove to a more secluded area on the outskirts of the city, where Nyla had said she’d meet her after handling business. The rain had picked up again, the rhythmic drumming on the car roof only adding to the tension in the air. After about fifteen minutes, KiKi pulled into an abandoned lot, the dim streetlights casting long shadows over the wet asphalt. Nyla’s car was already there, parked under a flickering light. KiKi parked next to her, and she and Tasha stepped out, the cool night air biting at their skin.

Nyla was leaning against her car, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket. Her expression was calm, almost bored, as if she’d just finished running an errand instead of beating someone up in a parking lot, but there was a hard edge in her eyes that KiKi didn’t miss.

"Is it done?" KiKi asked as she approached, her voice low.

Nyla pushed off the car and nodded. "Yeah. the bitch didn’t even see it coming. Got her right as she was about to get into her car. Didn’t take much—she folded quick."

KiKi’s lips curled into a satisfied smile. "Good. And no one saw you?"

Nyla shrugged. "Even if they did, they won’t talk. But nah, it was clean. Just me, her, and the rain. She’s probably still trying to figure out what hit her."

Tasha chuckled quietly, pulling off her sunglasses now that they were out of the public eye. "Serves her right. Think she’ll back off?"

"She better," KiKi muttered, glancing at Nyla. "But just in case, we need to make sure this doesn’t trace back to us. No loose ends."

Nyla gave a small, dismissive wave. "Don’t worry about that. I made sure she didn’t know who I was. And if she tries to go to the cops, it’ll just look like she got into some random altercation. Ain’t nobody gonna believe her."

KiKi nodded, but her mind was already working through the possibilities, the what-ifs. She wasn’t one to leave anything to chance. "We’ll need to lay low for a bit, just to be safe. If anyone asks, we were nowhere near that café today."

Nyla smirked. "You’re paranoid, but I get it. Don’t worry. I’ve got an alibi, and I’m sure you two do too. We’re good."

KiKi sighed, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. Nyla was right—they were careful, and Deja was too rattled to put the pieces together, especially with the warning Nyla had delivered. Still, KiKi wasn’t one to let her guard down easily.

"Alright," KiKi said, glancing between Nyla and Tasha. "We’ll stick to the plan. If anything comes up, we handle it, but for now, we wait and see how she reacts."

Nyla nodded, pushing her hands deeper into her pockets. "Cool. You know how to reach me if you need anything else. But trust me, she’s not gonna be a problem anymore."

KiKi offered a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Thanks, Nyla. I owe you one."

Nyla shrugged, already heading back to her car with Tasha in tow. "Just doing what needed to be done. Catch you later."

KiKi got back into her car. The drive back to her hotel was silent, the satisfaction of the evening’s events mingling with the ever-present undercurrent of caution. KiKi knew they’d sent a message, but she also knew the game wasn’t over. Deja might be down, but she wasn’t out—and KiKi would be ready if she ever tried to come back for more.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[cissyenthusiast010155]

My Guardian Angel ~Broken!Rita Calhoun xFem Younger!Investigator!Reader (Liz Donnelly x Alex Cabot) feat. Rafael Barba & Olivia Benson

Summary— AU where Rita has an abusive husband, and one night, after he storms out, Rita calls Reader. Reader brings Rita to the person who helped her with her own haunted past, Elizabeth Donnelly. Alex, Barba, and Liv makes appearances. What does the night have in store for Rita and Reader…?

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: angst, a little fluff, dead dove: do not eat, implied abuse, implied sexual assault, implied abusive husband, comforting, crying, alcohol consumption, anxiety attacks, a little self destructive behavior, mentions to prostitution, SVU things, Elizabeth Donnelly, Alex Cabot, Rafael Barba, Olivia Benson, Liz and Alex are a bit of a power couple, gray ending, etc.

Enjoy (;

You didn’t know Rita Calhoun well. At least not originally. From the moment you did meet, you both couldn’t deny the connection between the two of you. You had always lived in coinciding worlds, she was a New York defense attorney, and you were an investigator for 1PP, occasionally lended out to SVU.

Originally, she was the lawyer whom you had hired for your idiot of a brother when he had been caught and charged with soliciting a prostitute. You had met with the high class woman on a couple of occasions, to discuss your brothers bail, probation, trial, payment, and anything else pertaining to his case.

You saw yourself intrigued by her elegant manner, high end fashion, and confidence. Soon you saw yourself get hooked to the tiny smiles and chuckles you managed to pull from her when in private. You found yourself fighting to make the woman laugh as much as you could, her laugh always seemed to make your day. And during the trial, your eyes were on her the entire time. You lived off those days outfits that Rita would strut into court in.

So when you checked your phone late Friday night, the last thing you expected to see what a very many handfuls of missed calls from Rita Calhoun. You saw that she had left a voicemail in the last call, so you pressed play.

“Heyyyy Y/N… S-sorry to be bothering you so I know it’s^^late… I… I just… I don’t know what to do, call me back k bye”

It was Rita alright, but something was very wrong. She had been stammering and hiccuping throughout the entire voicemail, and had broken into sobs by the end. She sounded like she’d been crying and drinking for far too long… Her sounds triggered memories of your own life, memories that you had gone to great lengths to bury.

You immediately called the woman back. The dial rang for a couple tones, then it shut off. You hit call again. The second time, she picked up. You heard a sniffle and then a choke sob.

“H-hey…” she practically whispered.

“Rita, Hi, is everything alright?”

“I…” She stammered, before the call went silent.

“Rita?” You asked, your concern growing.

“N-no” She whispered, then letting out another choked sob.

You took a deep breath and your instincts kicked in once more. You got Rita to give you her address and told her that you would be over as soon as possible. That night you broke the made the most traffic violations in your entire life.

You entered the house, the front door having been unlocked which was mildly concerning to you. You walked through the lavish, lofty apartment, until you found Rita curled up facing away from you in the living room on the floor with a full bottle of wine in her hand. Your heart sank and a lump came into your throat. You hated how normal and used to this sight you were. Because not too long ago, this had been you…

You dropped to the floor, immediately going to comfort the woman. You carefully removed the alcohol, setting it aside. Rita let out a choke sob, immediately curling up into your lap. As she turned to face you, you saw the massive black eye that she had. Your eyes scanned her entire body, finding more red, raw skin marks along her arms and some blue bruising on her neck. Your heart nearly broke as Rita sobbed into your lap.

“I—im s-sorry… I didn’t-didn’t know who t-to call…! It’s it’s stupid, nothing really—” Rita choked out, muffled as she cried into your chest.

You knew this behavior. You knew it all too well.

“Hey hey, it’s okay. I’m here Rita… It’s all going to be okay. Can I touch you, honey…? Would that be alright…?” You very gently asked the woman, coming a little closer to her, trying to show that you were no threat.

Rita nodded as her cries were muffled by her face being in the crook of your neck. She clung onto you like her life depended on it.

“Ok, good… you are doing so good for me, Rita. Take some deep breaths for me? Can you try to do that?” You comforted the woman, bringing your hands around to hold the woman in your lap.

You could hear Rita trying to take some deep breaths as she nodded, although her hiccups made it more difficult.

“Good, very good, Rita.” You praised, then bringing your hands to cup the woman’s cheeks and direct her scattered gaze to you.

“Now Rita this is important… I need you to come back to me and think, okay?”

A slow nod.

“Is he going to come back anytime soon…?” You softly asked.

Rita’s eyes widened and she began to panic at your question. Your hold on the woman only tightened and you insisted on her answer.

“I know you don’t want to think about it, but I need to know if you’re safe staying here Rita.” You explained firmly yet lovingly.

Rita took some more deep breaths before stammering,

“I… he he’s gone out… drinking…” she gulped, “Be back late…”

Her eyes were red and glossy, and they only panicked more at the idea of her husband returning. You rubbed her back and caressed her check in comfort.

“Ok. We need to get you to a hospital, Rita…” you gently said, knowing the possible outlast that your words might cause.

Rita practically jumped out of your lap and was quick to stand up and start pacing in the living room. Her fingers were red and raw and fidgeting. Her gaze scattered everywhere. You slowly stood up and tried to corner the woman into your embrace.

“No no no hospitals… hospitals means cops and that means court and no no—” Rita rambled, her thoughts spiraling more and more.

You grabbed the woman’s hands, clasping them in your own to ground the woman. Her sobbing gaze finally met yours once more.

“Okay. That’s okay. Rita, listen to me, is there anywhere you can go to stay for the time being…?” You softly asked.

Rita’s lip began to tremble and her knees buckled, her body falling into yours. Luckily, you managed to gently catch and carry the weight of the woman while she regained partial strength.

“N-not RAF—Rafael… he can’t know, no no no one…” Rita choked out in gasps.

When she wasn’t able to come up with any other options, your mind went to the person who had helped you.

“Okay okay, that’s okay, Rita. How about Elizabeth? You know Judge Donnelly? She’s a close friend and I know she can help…” you spoke with understanding and reassurance.

Rita looked up to you from collapsing in your arms and nodded slowly. But her eyes told you that she had sunken too far into her thoughts, that you would have to start making the decisions in her best interest until she came back to you.

You gently placed Rita back on the couch, quickly going to the kitchen to grab her a water, while you then ran around the place, trying to pack her a weekend back. After about 15 minutes, you had the bag in hand and you were leading the woman out of the house and into a cab. The entire cab ride, Rita was snuffling and silently sobbing in your shoulder.

Once you reached Liz’s brownstone, you violently knocked on the door, Rita protected being you and holding your hand. The door flew open but it wasn’t Liz, it was a blonde. Your eyes went wide and you gulped, suddenly regretting not having double checked with Liz beforehand.

“You’re Y/N, right…? I’m Alex.” The tall blonde spoke slowly yet confidently.

“Yes, um is Liz home?” You said, quickly getting to the point while trying to hide Rita behind you to the best of your ability.

But Liz had told you about Alex, she was sharp, didn’t miss a thing.

“Yea, she’s in the kitchen… Is that Calhoun…?” Alex hummed, leaning against the doorway.

You took a deep breath and brought Rita to stand next to you. Alex’s jaw dropped and she took a step back in shock.

“I just… we needed a safe place to go for the night and Liz always said her door was always open and I’m sorry if we intruded, I just can’t handle this, I mean I know Liz can handle it, and so I thought—” you rambled.

Before you could say another word, the blonde was pulling you and Rita into the brownstone, closing the door behind her and marching straight up to Liz in the kitchen.

“Is that our take-out, bunny…?” Liz hummed, while sipping some wine before her gaze met yours and then Rita’s disheveled state.

“Oh my god.” Liz immediately put her glass doing and rushed over to Rita, her hands wandering all over the woman, her gaze scouring the woman’s injuries, “Rita, Darling, what happened…??”

Rita’s lip trembled before more violent sobs came out. No coherent words were possible for the woman at this point, all she could do was embrace Liz and sob into her chest. Liz happily consoled the poor woman before her gaze meet yours along with the go bag.

“I’m sorry…” you mouthed, referring to breaking up her and Alex’s obvious night together.

“Hush now, you did the right thing, take Rita’s things to the first bedroom on the second floor.” Liz told you, waving off your unneeded apology.

You immediately nodded and went to go up the stairs. Then Luz turned to Alex.

“Go run a bath, warm not too hot.” Liz spoke firmly.

Alex was off to the master bathroom after a quick nod. When you both returned, you found Rita clung around Liz like a Koala, clinging on for dear life and continuing to sob in her chest. The sight brought flashbacks of the night you had stumbled up on Liz’s doorstep, in an eerily same condition as Rita…

Liz soothed Rita while guiding her to the master bathroom. The older blonde sent you a comforting gaze with a nod, telling you that she had it. You placed a hand on your heart and took a shattered breath, nodding slowly.

It was then that you noticed Alex coming up beside you. You turned your head to her slightly.

“I… I just didn’t know where else to go… I’m sorry if I ruined your night…” you breathed out.

Alex brought a hand to your shoulder and reassuringly squeezed your skin lightly. Her eyes twinkled with sympathy and care.

“Hey, it’s okay. You made the right call. And hey, I’m glad to finally meet you.” Alex sighed, “Can I get you anything…?”

You nodded and then sighed yourself.

“Tea maybe…? Or fuck some scotch now that I think about it…”

A deep chuckle reverberated throughout Alex’s chest as she nodded in agreement, going to the kitchen and pulling a bottle out of the liquor cabinet. She poured two glasses and handed you one of them.

“Thanks” you muttered.

Alex hummed an of course in response, before going to sit down in the classy living room. You sat across from her, sipping your scotch lightly. The blonde looked you dead in the eye, as she sighed.

“Liz told me a bit about you and that night.”

You gulped and struggled to maintain the intense eye contact. You knew that Liz and Alex were close, really close, however it still was hard to reconcile another person knowing something so vulnerable about you. But if Liz trusted Alex with it, so did you.

“Yea… I was and am still so grateful to Lizzie for all that she did for me…” you confessed.

“Lizzie…?” Alex chuckled dryly with a cock of an eyebrow.

“Yea…” you breathily chuckled, “Her and my dad worked together…”

Alex smiled lightly in understanding, nodding along, waving her hand in the air and prompting you to continue, knowing from what Liz had said that that wasn’t the whole story.

“Yeah they were colleagues, and so I saw Lizzie at events and she’d been at my childhood home a couple times… I’d always been pretty independent, both my parents working all the time, and me being the oldest led to me getting used to being on my own. And then my parents divorced, and I got even more alone…” you sighed.

Another wave of sympathy washed over Alex’s face, as she sipped her scotch and listened intently.

“I’m sorry. I definitely know the pains of divorced parents…” Alex sighed.

You smiled lightly and nodded, before continuing you tawdry tale,

“Anyways, Lizzie was one of the only people who reached out to me, to y’know check on me and stuff. She’s always been in my corner, and she’s practically filled the role of a mother ever since the divorce…” you spoke out softly.

You could tell that Alex knew most of this, and that she was waiting for the part about how this all connected to Rita, so you cut to the chase.

“Anyways, about two years ago, I meet and started to see this guy… Looking back, he was a lot like my father, and I should have recognized the warning signs earlier… But I didn’t. And I let it go on for an entire year… Until…” you sucked in a breath, “I wound up on Lizzie’s doorstep, heart broken and bruised…”

You saw Alex’s audible gulp at your last sentence. You saw how her hand tightly clutched her glass, her knuckles almost white. With a deep breath, she nodded and prompted you to continue with her hand once more.

“Anywho, Lizzie helped me get my shit together and throw him out of my place and my life. I’d taken his abuse for a whole year, and I’m still recovering to this day from the number he did on me…” You concluded your story.

Alex then stood up and came to sit next to you on the couch you inhabited. Her hand came to squeeze your shoulder reassuringly.

“I’m so sorry that you had to go through all of that…” Alex sighed, “I hear you, recovery takes time.”

You took a breathy, deep breath with a shaky nod, all the memories of your past coming up as you talked about it all. But her touch was soothing. It was then that Liz emerged from the hallway and came into the living room with a sigh. The older woman sat down next to you, a hand running up and down your thigh in reassurance.

“She’s okay, Rita is going to be fine.” Liz hummed, before stealing your glass of scotch and sipping away at it.

You didn’t mind the cheeky gesture, lord knows she needed the relaxation, merely humming and nodding in response.

“She’s in the bath, and she’s asking for you…” Liz spoke once more.

You sucked in a breath and nodded, starting to stand up. As you went to leave and find Rita in the master bath, you turned back towards Liz and Alex, who were now snuggling lovingly on the couch.

“Thank you Lizzie… Really, thank you.” You breathed out shakily.

Liz met your gaze, her eyes filled with love and care, and the older woman nodded.

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

You nodded lightly with a small smile, before turning around and making your way to find Rita. By the time you reached the bath, you found Rita passed out in the warm water, snoring lightly and peacefully. You noted how graceful and content Rita looked asleep. Coming up to the tub, you sat down next to the rim, and proceeded to tuck a stray hair behind Rita’s ear.

She must be exhausted… you thought. And your suspicions were confirmed as the woman continued to sleep until the water in the tub threatened to go cold. It was then that you gently nudged the brunette out from her slumber. She snorted lightly as her eyes fluttered open. Her gaze still looked shattered and sad, and her lip was still lightly trembling.

“Fuck I’m mm sorry, I must have fallen asleep—” Rita rambled in a quiet mumble.

“Hush, none of that. It’s completely alright…” you comforted the woman, raising your hand for her to stop.

Rita shut her mouth and blushed a little, then shivering in the now cold bath water.

“Thanks…” she whispered.

“Of course. Now let’s get you out and into something warm…” you hummed, grabbing a fluffy towel from the bathroom cabinet and then reaching your hand out towards Rita.

Rita happily took your hand, then climbing out of the tub, then you proceeded to wrap the woman up in the warm towel.

“M-my clothes…” Rita murmured, looking to the ground as fear lurched in the pit of her stomache at the idea of having to wear her bloodied clothing.

You gently rubbed her towel wrapped shoulders with a light smile.

“I grabbed some things before we left your place, the bag is on the toilet. It will have to do for now, until we figure out what to do…” you cooed caringly.

Rita blushed lightly and muttered a thank you. You told her it’s was the least that you could do, before giving her a kiss on the forehead and leaving her in the bathroom to go through the bag and change.

As you exited the room and walked back into the living room, you found Liz and Alex right where you had left them, with Alex curled up in Liz’s arms. Liz’s head popped up from her gaze on Alex back to you as you came into the living room and took a seat on an opposing couch, with a pondering look on your face.

“I know that look…” Liz hummed cheekily, taking another sip of your scotch, “What’s on your mind, kiddo?”

You bit your lip, pulling out your phone, before looking over to Liz.

“I was thinking about maybe calling Barba…” you mused aloud, your mind questioning on what to do next.

At this, Alex perked up to. Liz’s eyes widened and her expression was a knowing one, one that quickly understood your line of thought.

“I see… What did Rita say?” Liz hummed, placing the scotch back on the table and much to Alex’s delight starting to massage the young blonde’s shoulders.

You looked away from Liz at her words, and back to your phone.

“When I asked where she could go, she said not Rafael… I know that their friends, she’s mentioned him before… But he could help…” you sighed, inwardly conflicted.

Liz sighed at your admission. And she seemed to be in deep thought for a moment before she spoke,

“When you came to me, did I call anyone…?” The older woman asked you.

You bit your lip and sighed.

“No…”

“Exactly. Even though I wanted to… Probably would have called Liv, but I didn’t. Because you didn’t want me to.” Liz spoke,

You once again looked to the ground instead of meeting the older woman’s gaze.

“I’m not saying that Barba is a bad idea…” she slowly explained, “I think that it would be best if we ask Rita first.”

“Ask me what?” Rita’s timid voice echoed through the expansive living room and kitchen.

All three of your heads swiveled with extreme speed to the end of the hallway where the brunette stood. She padded her way through part of the kitchen and then into the living room. You immediately scooted over and lightly waved her over to come and sit. Rita did exactly that before repeating her question, more vocal this time.

“What did you want to ask me first?” The woman spoke.

Liz and Alex immediately eyed you, quirking their eyebrows and very clearly telling you that since this was your idea, you were the one who was going to say something. You gulped, turning your body more towards the group. Your gaze met Rita’s and you reached your hands out to grasp her left available hand and reassuringly squeeze it.

“I… We were talking about maybe calling Liv… or Barba…” you shakily breathed out, squeezing her hand lovingly while speaking to comfort the woman.

The same panic from earlier this night came rushing back to the woman’s gaze. But she was a little more collected now, and she seemed to handle the surge of emotions better this time around.

“I…” Rita stammered, “I don’t know…”

She slumped forward a bit and closed her eyes, a singular tear escaping her eyes. You immediately extended your arm and brought the brunette into your soft embrace.

“That’s okay. We can deal with all that later… How are you feeling…?” You gently spoke.

“Exhausted…” Rita choked out, “and stupid… like it’s all my fault…!”

The broken defense lawyer turned completely towards you, clinging to your frame as she began to cry into your shoulder. You gently caressed her back and shoulders reassuringly.

“That’s it, it’s going to be ok, Rita… It’s all going to be okay…” you soothed the woman.

“B-but how do you know that…?”

You sighed.

“Because… I’ve been through something eerily similar…”

At this, Rita pulled back and looked at you with eyes full of empathy.

“I’m so sorry…” she uttered, fully processing the words you had just spoken.

You smiled lightly and cupped Rita’s face.

“It’s okay… I’m past that now. Now I’m here for you… Now how about bed…?” You hummed caringly.

Rita nodded and hummed a soft thank you, before you guided the woman up and to one of Liz’s many guest bedrooms. You stayed with her until she was asleep, which didn’t take too long, but you stayed nonetheless, before then turning in for the night yourself in another guest room, which Liz had so kindly offered you.

~~

Rita spent the rest of the weekend at Liz’s. Liz and Alex were more than happy to host, and they graciously let you stay as well to keep an eye on the broken brunette.

Then come Monday morning, you were walking into the SVU squad room with Rita anxiously by your side. You grabbed her shaky hand and squeezed it reassuringly, as your other hand rapped on Captain Liv Benson’s office door. Neither of you expected Barba to swing the door open, and he sure as hell didn’t expect to see Rita.

Liv ushered you in, and Rafael could immediately sense something was wrong. Rafael simply closed the door behind you, not bothering to leave.

“Rita, Y/N, how can I help you?” Liv spoke.

Rita shuffled her feet and looked to the ground. You squeezed her hand again and whispered that it was going to be okay.

“Wait what is going on…?” Rafael cut in.

Liv sent Barba a warning glance for him to be quiet to let you or Rita speak. You gently looked towards the brunette, whose lip was now trembling.

“I… I was raped…” Rita shakily breathed out, as a small tear rolled down her left cheek.

~~~

Part 2 with a happy ending…? Or maybe something more angsty…? 😏

Alex Cabot Masterlist

Olivia Benson Masterlist

Rita Calhoun Masterlist ~Coming Soon (;

Elizabeth Donnelly Masterlist ~Coming Soon (;

Rafael Barba Masterlist ~Coming Soon (;

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this New York Times story:

The defense lawyer minced no words as he addressed a room full of plastic-industry executives. Prepare for a wave of lawsuits​ with​ potentially “astronomical” costs​. Speaking at a conference earlier this year, the lawyer, Brian Gross, said the coming litigation could “dwarf anything related to asbestos,” one of the most sprawling corporate-liability battles in United States history.

Mr. Gross was referring to PFAS, the “forever chemicals” that have emerged as one of the major pollution issues of our time. Used for decades in countless everyday objects — cosmetics, takeout containers, frying pans — PFAS have been linked to serious health risks including cancer. Last month the federal government said several types of PFAS must be removed from the drinking water of hundreds of millions of Americans.

“Do what you can, while you can, before you get sued,” Mr. Gross said at the February session, according to a recording of the event made by a participant and examined by The New York Times. “Review any marketing materials or other communications that you’ve had with your customers, with your suppliers, see whether there’s anything in those documents that’s problematic to your defense,” he said. “Weed out people and find the right witness to represent your company.”

A wide swath of the chemicals, plastics and related industries are gearing up to fight a surge in litigation related to PFAS, or per- and polyfluoroalkyl substances, a class of nearly 15,000 versatile synthetic chemicals linked to serious health problems.

PFAS chemicals have been detected almost everywhere scientists have looked: in drinking water, in rain falling over the Great Lakes, even in Antarctic snow. They are thought to be present in the blood of nearly every American. Researchers have linked exposure to PFAS to testicular and kidney cancers, developmental delays in children, decreased fertility, liver damage and thyroid disease. The man-made chemicals are so long-lasting that scientists haven’t been able to reliably identify how long it might take for them to break down.

PFAS-related lawsuits have already targeted manufacturers in the United States, including DuPont, its spinoff Chemours, and 3M. Last year, 3M agreed to pay at least $10 billion to water utilities across the United States that had sought compensation for cleanup costs. Thirty state attorneys general have also sued PFAS manufacturers, accusing the manufacturers of widespread contamination.

[jordanstark007]

Chapter Six

Alex Cabot / Amelia Chase

Watching two marines and two ADA’s book it down the halls of the DA’s office was obviously a disturbing sight, especially for the junior baby ADA’s. Not that Alex cared in that moment Jack McCoy and Arthur Branch could suck it.

When they got to the hospital they simply followed the line of detention officers that lined the halls, although Enzo and Casey didn’t miss the sight of Pam Adler in a bed of her own littered with more cuts and abrasions than either could count.

The issue was that the shiv had pierced her lung, and with the bacteria on the weapon Amelia was still at risk of infection. Sepsis was incredibly possible which is what lead to the group all pacing or sitting anxiously in the waiting room.

Alex finally broke, standing, “I’m going to talk to Pam Adler.” Casey caught her wrist as she walked past,

“Don’t do anything I have to prosecute you for.” The ADA nodded curtly, although the thought was tempting.

“Of course.”

Walking into Pam’s hospital room Alex could finally appreciate the injuries that Amelia had caused, the former lawyer glared at Alex, “Come to gloat councillor?”

Alex shook her head, “I came to ask why you did it.”

She shrugged, “Bitch was gonna take my parole of the table, and I had to shut her up.”

The ADA nodded, “Parole’s off the table and the DA’s office will be pressing charges for attempted murder, that’s another 20 years.”

Pam laughed although it didn’t last long as she winced, “She’a really got you following her like a lost puppy it’s impressive honestly, the great Alexandra Cabot in love with a criminal.”

Alex glared at the woman, “Ex-criminal who’s record will be expunged, I’m going to make this simple for you going after someone I love, bad idea because I will bury you until your chocking on dirt.”

“That a threat councillor?”

“A promise.”

When Amelia woke up Alex was at her bedside, a hand clutching hers, she was groggy the world spinning as she stared at the ceiling.

“I must be in heaven, because I’ve got an angel at my bedside.” Alex laughed hurriedly wiping away the tears,

“No your here, alive with me, Pam’s being charged with attempted murder and your hearing has been moved forward to next week.” Amelia nodded with a low groan,

“I love you Alexandra.” She feel to unconsciousness following that although Alex’s hand still gripped hers.

“Councillor your representating the defendant Amelia Chase.” Trevor nodded,

“Yes your honour.” The judge nodded,

“I understand have a motion.”

“I do, based on new exculpatory evidence, defense moves to vacate the sentence of Amelia Chase.” Judge Petrofsky nodded,

“People.” Alex stood,

“The people believe there has been a miscarriage of justice in this case your honour due to newly discovered evidence with the alleged victim admitting to wrongful accusal and disrupting a criminal investigation, and the murderer and her accomplice admitting to police that Amelia Chase had no part in the murder of Sydney Greene, as well as the sighed statement from a pyschologist stating that the defendant didn’t posses the mens rea to commit the crime due to her mental state. The people ask that both verdicts be vacated.” Judge Petrofsky nodded turning to look at Amelia, the woman still nursing her injuries,

“Ms Chase please rise.” It took a moment but she eventually managed it,

“On behalf of the state of New York and this court I’d like to apologise for the gross oversight of justice, and today it is my duty to vacate that conviction. You are free to go, bailiffs if you could remove the restraints.” Amelia sighed relieved,

“Thank you, your honour.”

Walking out of the prison toward the sisters the relief radiated from Amelia. She was free. And seeing Alex stood waiting for her, that brought about a peace she never thought she’d feel again.

“Hello gorgeous.” Alex smiled walking toward her wordlessly pulling her in for a kiss, it was deep and passionate although gentle to mind her injuries.

Breaking from the kiss Amelia smiled her arms wrapped around Alex, the lawyer speaking softly, “It feels good to do that without worrying about being caught.”

Amelia nodded feeling a large burden lift feeling Alex burrow into her arms, she revelled in the feeling of comfort. “I agree.”

Her first day as a free woman, she spent in bed with Alex wrapped around her, her fingers tracing the bare skin of the blonde, as they lounged in bed.

“The FBI approached me about working for them, before I was released, they reiterated the offer when I got out, I received the email an hour ago.” Alex looked up at Amelia her chin resting in her collarbone,

“Doing what?” Amelia pressed a kiss to Alex’s temple,

“I’d be working as a special agent, when they found out I got a confession out of one of their serial killers for the murder of 24 people, they extended the offer. I think I’m gonna take it.” Alex smiled pressing a kiss to Amelia’s collarbone,

“Does that mean I’m gonna lose you to San Francisco?” Amelia shook her head,

“There’s a task force being assembled here in New York of Agents, profilers, behavioural analysists, I just got you Alex I’m not ready to let go of you just yet.” Alex breathed a sigh of relief their lips meeting softly,

“Good because I’m not letting you go either.”

Alex would never admit it but seeing Amelia in her uniform, made her want to immediately rip it off. The badge, the gun, God did those do things to her.

“We still on for tonight?” Alex nodded as they danced around each other in the kitchen,

“Of course, I’ll meet you at the restaurant, 8pm.” They separated when Amelia dropped her off at the DA’s office a fleeting kiss before she hurried up the steps.

It seemed Alex had walked away from her blissful bubble of a week and weekend straight into the lions den when she entered her office to see Casey with a teasing smirk,

“So I didn’t hear of Amelia all week, or weekend, and you week off seemed to have coincidentally coincided with that, anything to say about that councillor?” Alex cocked a brow,

“I plead the 5th.” That made Casey snort a laugh,

“I also heard a rumour that your fucking an FBI agent, what do you have to say about that councillor?” Alex blushed a deep crimson crawling up her throat.

“Amelia received an offer to work for them, she took it, todays her first day.” Casey quirked a brow already pulling out her cell,

“And I’m now $50 dollars richer, Abi bet that she’d go straight back to Wall Street.” Alex giggled quietly setting down her briefcase,

“But in all seriousness SVU called, they gave up warning about the new case their prosecuting, a pedophile ring, seems like we’re going to be drowning in paperwork for the foreseeable.” Alex groaned but nodded regardless,

“Alright thanks for the heads up, I’ve got an arraignment in an hour call me if they get anything.” The red head nodded diligently, sauntering out of the office.

[beardedmrbean]

More charges against New York City Mayor Eric Adams are likely, and additional defendants are expected to be indicted, federal prosecutors said Wednesday.

Prosecutors made the disclosure during a hearing for Adams days after he was indicted on charges that he accepted about $100,000 worth of free or deeply discounted flights, hotel stays, meals and entertainment on international trips that he mostly took before he was elected mayor, when he was serving as Brooklyn’s borough president.

Prosecutors didn't say when the new charges or defendants may come, but noted they are moving quickly. It's not clear whether any additional defendants would be part of the Adams case or part of additional cases.

Prosecutors did not say when but moving quickly. They said they have several related investigations underway.

At Wednesday's hearing, the judge planned to set a trial date, offer some guidelines and address discovery, including the nature and volume of discovery. A protective order was agreed to regarding discovery material.

Adams gave a thumbs up to reporters on his way inside. Two people across the street were shouting at him to resign. Protesters held signs reading “Resign” and “Black Donald Trump” as they demanded Gov. Kathy Hochul “forcefully” remove Adams from office. She hasn't given any indication she plans to do that.

The mayor is due back in court on Halloween.

Prosecutors expect the trial to take about four weeks, including a week for the defense. Adams' attorney proposed a March trial.

Adams was indicted last week on charges he accepted about $100,000 worth of free or deeply discounted flights, hotel stays, meals and entertainment on international trips that he mostly took before he was elected mayor, when he was serving as Brooklyn's borough president.

Prosecutors say the travel perks were arranged by a senior Turkish diplomatic official in New York and Turkish businesspeople who wanted to gain influence with Adams. The indictment said Adams also conspired to receive illegal donations to his political campaigns from foreign sources who weren't allowed to give money to U.S. political candidates.

The indictment said that Adams reciprocated those gifts in 2021 by helping Turkey open a new diplomatic facility in the city despite concerns that had been raised by the Fire Department about whether the building could pass all of its required fire safety inspections.

Adams has denied knowingly accepting any illegal campaign contributions. He also said there was nothing improper about the trips he took abroad or the perks he received, and that any help he gave to Turkish officials regarding the diplomatic building was just routine “constituent services.” He has said helping people navigate the city's bureaucracy was part of his job.

A spokesperson for Turkey's Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Oncu Keceli, said in a statement that the country's missions in the U.S. and elsewhere operate according to international diplomatic rules and that "Our meddling in another country’s internal affairs is out of the question.”

The judge appointed to oversee Adams' trial, Dale Ho, could also on Monday potentially deal with a request by the mayor's lawyer to open an investigation into whether prosecutors with the U.S. attorney's office improperly leaked information to reporters about the investigation.

The court filing didn't cite any evidence that prosecutors broke grand jury rules, but it cited a string of news reports by The New York Times about instances where the investigation had burst into public view, like when FBI agents searched the home of one of Adams' chief fundraisers and when they stopped the mayor as he left a public event last November and seized his electronic devices.

It was unclear whether the court would schedule a trial in advance of New York's June mayoral primary, where Adams is likely to face several challengers.

[fictionadventurer]

The Shocking Redemption Arc of Chester Arthur

To my great pleasure, I get to tell you about Chester A. Arthur. If you don’t know his story, that’s a surprising statement, because most people don’t even recognize his name as one of the presidents. That’s a crying shame, because this guy has the most fascinating character arc of any president I’ve come across so far. He entered the presidency as a despicable, corrupt, conniving political lackey, and left it as--

Well, I’d best get on with the story.

Chester Arthur started out as an idealist. He was the son of an abolitionist Baptist minister, and though he dropped the religion in adulthood, he remained devoted to abolishing slavery. He became a lawyer with a New York firm that argued several civil rights case, and he rose to fame in 1854 when he served as the defense attorney for Elizabeth Jennings, the Northern version of Rosa Parks. Arthur’s victory in her case led to the desegregation of New York City’s public transportation.

During the Civil War, Arthur got an appointment as New York’s quartermaster general. After the war, Arthur returned to civilian life and became a Republican “party man” who worked behind the scenes to draw in voters, funding, and supporters. He and his wife Ellen (called Nell) both loved the finer things in life, which drove Arthur to do whatever he could to gain fame, wealth, and social status.

This is where I need to explain the spoils system. For the first hundred-plus years of American politics, all federal positions were filled by appointment. When a new president came into office, he could award government positions to his supporters--"to the victor go the spoils". Federal employees were required to donate money to the ruling party. There were no requirements for education or relevant experience. Any job could be filled by anyone with the right connections. If you think that sounds like a breeding ground for corruption and cronyism, you’d be absolutely right. By the 1870s, the system was getting extremely corrupt, and there was a growing push for reform.

But not by Chester Arthur. He owed his career to the spoils system. Through his work in the party, he became the right-hand man of Roscoe Conkling, New York’s senior senator and the state’s “political boss”. Conkling was a flamboyant showman, a magnetic politician, and a ruthless man. He had been a major supporter of Ulysses S. Grant’s presidential campaign, so Grant gave Conkling control over all the federal appointments in New York. Conkling used his power to fill positions with his friends and supporters, and he was brutal in attacking anyone who got in his way.

Because Chester Arthur was Conkling’s most loyal supporter, he got the best federal job in the country—Controller of the Port of New York. Before income tax, around 60-70% of federal funds came from the tariffs at this one port. The controller got a salary similar to the president’s, plus he was able to take a percentage of all the fines they levied. At the height of his power, Chester Arthur made $50,000 a year, which is a lot when the average skilled worker at the time made $500. (A rough estimate puts his salary at $1.3 million in today’s dollars.)

Arthur was living the high life. He racked up huge tailor bills. He had a gorgeously furnished house. His job allowed him to force his employees to donate a percentage of their salary to the Republican Party, which gave him even more power within the political machine. He bought huge amounts of wine and cigars that he handed out to people he was wining and dining for the good of the party. His wife resented that he was rarely home because of his political work, but Arthur loved the machine too much to stop.

After his 1876 election, President Rutherford B. Hayes desperately tried to reform the spoils system, but was blocked every step of the way by Roscoe Conkling. Finally, in 1878, Hayes managed to remove Arthur from his position as port controller, under suspicion of corruption, which allowed Arthur to spend more time working for New York’s political machine.

In January of 1880, Arthur was in Albany working for a political campaign when his wife caught pneumonia. By the time Arthur got home, Nell had fallen into a coma, and he wasn’t able to speak with her before she died. He felt guilty over her death, and especially the lack of closure caused by his devotion to politics. But instead of changing his ways, Arthur moved in with Conkling and became more devoted to politics than ever.

Which brings us to the 1880 Republican Convention. The Republican Party was split between two warring factions—the Stalwarts like Conkling who wanted to keep things the way they were, and the Half-Breeds who wanted civil service reform. President Hayes refused to seek re-election (partly because Conkling had made his life miserable) so these two factions somehow had to agree on a new candidate. Conkling supported a third term for Ulysses S. Grant. The Half-Breeds supported James G. Blaine of Maine—who happened to be Conkling’s mortal enemy.

James Garfield was there to nominate John Sherman—the Secretary of the Treasury and the younger brother of the famous Civil War general—and I can’t go any further in this story before I tell you a little bit about him. James Garfield is one of the most ridiculous overachievers in the realm of American politics. He was born into a dirt-poor farming family (he’s the last president ever to have been born in a log cabin). At sixteen, he left home to work on a canal boat, but quit after he nearly drowned, and his mother and brother scraped up enough money for him to go to school. His first year, he paid for his tuition by working as a school janitor. His second year, the school hired him to teach six classes (while he was still a student!) and then added two more because of how popular he was. By the time he was twenty-six, he was president of that same school. He became a lawyer and was elected to Ohio’s state legislature. During the Civil War, he became the youngest person to earn the rank of general. While fighting in the Civil War, his friends put his name in as a candidate for the US House of Representatives, and Garfield won even though he refused to campaign. He then served several terms in the House, where he became popular, but he refused to seek the presidency, because he’d watched several friends become warped by their presidential ambitions.

At the 1880 Republican Convention, Garfield was the more popular Ohio candidate, but insisted he was there only to nominate Sherman. At one point in his nominating speech, Garfield asked the audience, “Now, gentleman, what do we want?” To Garfield’s horror, one man shouted, “We want Garfield!”

Garfield remained loyal in nominating Sherman, but the spark had been lit. The voting went round after round after round for two days, with the votes being split between Grant, Blaine, and Sherman, with no one getting enough to win the nomination. Garfield got one vote in the third round. In the thirty-fourth round, Garfield suddenly got seventeen votes. Garfield stood to protest, saying no one had a right to vote for him since he hadn't consented, but the president of the convention--who was secretly thrilled because he liked Garfield more than any of the other candidates--told Garfield to sit down.

By the thirty-sixth vote, Garfield had won the nomination.

Now they had to choose a vice president. Several of the delegates got the idea to throw a bone to Roscoe Conkling. He was furious that Grant had lost the nomination, and he was vindictive. Conkling controlled New York’s political machine, so without him, the Republicans would lose New York, and without New York, they’d lose the election. He had to be placated. So the delegates nominated Chester Arthur, his right-hand man, as vice president.

Conkling told Arthur to refuse the nomination, but Arthur accepted, saying it was a greater honor than he had ever hoped to achieve. That's putting it mildly. The only position he’d ever held was port controller, and he’d been removed from that. Plenty of people thought nominating him was a horrible idea—a man like Chester Arthur only one step away from the presidency? But other people thought it was a shrewd political move—it would placate Conkling’s faction of the party, and Garfield was young and healthy and would rule in a time of peace. It wasn’t like there was any chance he’d die in office.

After Garfield was elected, Arthur immediately started causing problems. He all but openly boasted of buying votes in the election—which was not a great look when it had been a close race. He was completely on Conkling’s side in his war against Garfield. After Garfield appointed Levi Morton, a Stalwart, as Secretary of the Navy, Conkling sent Arthur and another lackey to drag Morton out of his sickbed--forcing him to drink a bracing mixture of quinine and brandy--and bring him to Conkling’s house to get chewed out, which caused Morton to resign. Conkling forced another Stalwart Cabinet nominee to resign on inauguration day.

Then Conkling went to war over the federal appointments. At first, Garfield placated him, appointing several of Conkling’s candidates. But then Garfield nominated Judge Robertson as Port Controller of New York Harbor. Conkling was livid. That was the prime federal position, a major source of Conkling’s power in the party, and Robertson was one of Conkling’s political enemies. In Conkling’s mind, Garfield had stabbed him in the back. Arthur agreed, and openly bad-mouthed the president to the press.

Conkling and the other New York senator resigned their Senate seats in protest—a dramatic political move. In those days, state legislatures voted for senators, and Conkling believed that since he controlled so many New York politicians, they’d easily get re-elected to their old seats. Unfortunately, the legislature was sick of being under Conkling’s thumb. The election became a drawn-out battle, and Chester Arthur went to Albany to help Conkling in his campaign.

While he was there, the unthinkable happened. On July 2, 1881, James Garfield was shot at a train station by Charles Guiteau, an insane office-seeker. Guiteau had come to the White House every day for months seeking an appointment under the spoils system. When that failed, he decided God wanted him to get Garfield out of the way so the spoils system could continue. After he shot the president, Giteau shouted, “I am a Stalwart, and Arthur will be president!”

As you can imagine, that made things really bad for Arthur. He’d just spent months fighting the president tooth and nail, and the assassin had mentioned his name. Plenty of people thought Arthur had something to do with the shooting. He and Conkling both needed police details to protect them from lynch mobs.

Arthur didn’t want to be president; in his mind, vice president was the perfect job—a position with a lot of political leverage, but no responsibility. He went to the White House hoping to convince Garfield that he had nothing to do with the shooting, but the doctors wouldn’t let him in the room. He managed to speak to the First Lady, where he got choked up with emotion and was observed to be in tears. A reporter later found him in the house where he was staying in Washington, and noted he'd obviously been weeping.

To Arthur’s relief, Garfield seemed to get better. The bullet had missed his spinal cord and all his major organs. If he’d been left alone, Garfield would have made a complete recovery. Unfortunately, his doctors repeatedly prodded the bullet wound with unsterilized instruments, and Garfield fell victim to a massive infection. He lingered for months, slowly starving and rotting to death.

Through all this, Arthur stayed in New York and refused to take up presidential duties; with so many people accusing him of the assassination, he didn’t want to make it look like he was preparing to usurp the throne.

It eventually became clear that the assassin had acted alone, which laid the rumors to rest, but no one wanted Arthur to be president. James Garfield had been a man of the people. The working class considered him one of their own, proof that anyone could rise from poverty and become president. He was an idealist, a champion of civil rights, a family man who lived modestly. For the first time since the Civil War, a president had been supported by both the north and the south, and the country had come together in grief. Chester Arthur was Garfield’s exact opposite—a conniving political lackey who’d become a millionaire through corruption.

James Garfield died on September 19th. To the American people, it looked like their worst nightmare had come true. Conkling’s lackey was in the White House, and now Conkling would rule the nation the same way he’d ruled New York.

Yet, to everyone’s surprise, President Chester Arthur became a completely different man. In one of his first speeches, he listed civil service reform as one of his top priorities—a shocking move for a man who’d become president through the spoils system. Soon after Arthur’s inauguration, Conkling demanded he name a new Controller of the Port of New York. Arthur angrily refused and called Conkling’s demand outrageous. Conkling stormed out in fury and never forgave Arthur. (Arthur did later risk his reputation to nominate Conkling for the Supreme Court, but Conkling, ever petty, refused the position.)

Arthur didn’t have a complete personality transplant. He still lived lavishly, hosting lots of state dinners. He still preferred the social duties of the presidency to actual government work, and he was a hopeless procrastinator. Always fastidious, Arthur refused to move in to the rotting, rat-infested White House until they fixed up the dump, and he ran up extravagant bills during the remodel.

Yet, as a president, he was...respectable. He worked for African-American civil rights. He started a major process of rebuilding and reforming the outdated and corrupt navy. He did sign the Chinese Exclusion Act, but he had vetoed an earlier, harsher version and only signed a much-reduced one (that probably would have been voted in anyway if he’d vetoed it). That remodel of the White House, even if it ran over-budget, was long overdue.

Most shocking of all was his unswerving devotion to civil service reform. He continued an investigation into a government postal scandal, even though everyone assumed he’d drop it. He voiced his continuing support for reform efforts. In 1883, Arthur signed the Pendleton Civil Service Reform Act. As written, the act required only 10% of federal jobs to be assigned based on merit, and even that required the president to take action to enforce it. People assumed that Arthur would sit back and do nothing, so the spoils system would remain in place. Yet Arthur immediately formed a commission to enact the reform, even appointing some of his old enemies. The man who’d benefited most from the spoils system became the one to finally destroy it.

How do we explain such a complete and sudden change? Part of it’s a matter of personality. If I can indulge in a bit of meta, Chester Arthur seems to be a textbook example of the sanguine-phlegmatic temperament—someone who wants to fit in with the crowd, to go with the flow. As a political lackey, this made him self-serving and amoral, but as president, the crowd he had to impress was the American people. After months of getting crucified in the press, with tons of articles saying what they didn’t want him to be, he’d have plenty of motivation to become what they did want him to be.

A more important motivation, though, was death. His wife’s death was likely the first shock that would make him step back and take stock of his political career. Garfield’s death had an even more profound influence on him. The spoils system had led a madman to murder a president in Arthur’s name; if anything could motivate a man to change the system, that would be it. Even more profound than that was his own death. Not long after entering the White House, Arthur was diagnosed with a fatal kidney disease. He hid the diagnosis during his term, but his actions in office were the actions of a man doomed to die, with a mind toward the legacy he’d leave behind.

Yet there’s another stranger, more mysterious influence that I’ve left to last because of how cool the story is. The day before his death, Chester Arthur—who’d become ashamed of his old life—asked a friend to burn the vast majority of his papers. Years later, among the papers that had been spared, his grandson uncovered a packet of twenty-three letters from a 31-year-old invalid named Julia Sand. Julia came from a family very interested in politics, and her illness meant that she spent a lot of time reading the newspapers, so she was familiar with Chester Arthur’s political career. In August of 1881, she sent Chester Arthur a letter that began, “The hours of Garfield's life are numbered—before this meets your eye, you may be President. The people are bowed in grief; but—do you realize it?--not so much because he is dying, as because you are his successor.” Over seven pages, Julia scolded Arthur for his corrupt ways, but assured him of her faith in his better nature, and urged him to reform. She sent letters over the next two years, full of encouragement and scolding and political advice. She called herself his “little dwarf”, because her lack of ties to him meant she could be completely honest with him.

There’s no evidence he ever answered her. But she did offer some rather specific political advice that he seems to have followed. And he did visit her once. In 1882, he stopped by her house in the presidential carriage, surprising her and her family (who had no idea she’d been writing to the president) with an hour-long visit. She seemed to grow more frustrated with his lack of answers after that, and no letter exists after 1883.

There’s no way to say what kind of effect the letters had on him. But amid all the turmoil after the assassination, it must have meant something to have one voice saying she believed in him. She was a voice from outside the Washington political machine, who could serve as a sort of conscience. The fact that those letters survived when so much else burned suggests he considered them worth saving.

No matter the reason, the truth remains that Arthur entered the presidency as an example of all that was dirty and loathsome in the political system, and he left it as a respectable man. In giving up his old ways, he sacrificed connections he’d spent years building. His old friends never forgave him, and his old opponents never quite trusted his reform, yet he did what he thought was right even if it meant he stood alone. In summing up his presidency, I don’t think I can do better than contemporary journalist Alexander McClure: “No man ever entered the Presidency so profoundly and widely distrusted as Chester Alan Arthur, and no one ever retired... more generally respected, alike by political friend and foe.” I think that deserves to be remembered.

[goncharov-propaganda-factory]

THE NEW YORK TIMES

Knotting "among most significant challenges to post-Vietnam America", scientists say

WASHINGTON, DC | August 3rd 1976

Hundreds of high school graduates suffered traumatic injury and PTSD in the jungles of southeast asia. For many, knotting is the only relief they can find. "I saw bodies piled up in ditches. I got shipped to firebase Charlie-29 with my best bud from back home. We were gonna cross the country on a road trip... now all i got of him is this picture," said Morwen Thistie, a 20-year old man who was among the last evacuated from Saigon during its fall to North Vietnamese forces last year. Morwen continued, "knotting's all I have. Everyone from my unit does. I guess it's kinda a shared experience, though that's kinda [expletive removed]". And Morwen is not alone in feeling angry. Across the country-- in rural and urban areas, Democratic and Republican, East and West Coast-- young men are calling for their elected representatives to take effective and humanitarian action to address the knotting crisis. "My clients, drafted into a war that brutalized and traumatized them for no benefit, are now being criminalized for knotting by the very government that allowed it in the first place. And frankly, that is shameful." reads the public statement of Kevin G. Auss, a lawyer working *pro bono* for a group of men suing the New York prosecutor over knotting charges. Auss, himself a former knotter, says that such a pathway is not only the moral option-- it's also the only feasible option. "If we don't address the knotting epidemic that we created, who knows where we'll be in ten years?" Auss said during our interview with him (see page A9 "knotting). The *Times* contacted the Department of Defense for this story, who declined to comment.

[hillaryisaboss]

On #PresidentsDay, remember & share what we could have had again — the Clinton Era:

—Surplus

—22 million new jobs

—4-balanced budgets due to the superb compromising ability of Bill Clinton

—7 million fewer Americans living in poverty

—Minimum wage up 20%

—Assault Weapons Ban

—Brady Handgun Violence Prevention Act

—Campaign Against Teen Pregnancy: all-time low abortion rates

—Office on Violence Against Women

—Violence Against Women Act

—Children’s Health Insurance Program: 8.9 million children insured

—Family and Medical Leave Act

—Incomes rising at all income levels

WATERGATE:

Youngest lawyer ever appointed to an impeachment trial. 26-year-old Yale Law graduate Hillary Rodham.

CHILDREN’S DEFENSE FUND:

Investigated African American juveniles being placed in South Carolina adult prisons, and posed as a racist housewife to expose segregation throughout schools in the South.

FIRST LADY OF ARKANSAS:

Hillary successfully reformed the entire K-12 Arkansas educational system, expanded healthcare for those in rural Arkansas, worked at the Arkansas Children’s Hospital Legal Services, and co-founded the Arkansas Advocates for Children and Families. First female partner of the Rose Law Firm.

The joke in Arkansas was that they “hired the wrong Clinton.”

FIRST LADY OF THE UNITED STATES:

Hillary spearheaded the Adoption and Safe Families Act, the Foster Care Independence Act, Office on Violence Against Women, the Campaign Against Teenage Pregnancy (lowering abortion and teenage pregnancy rates), and the Children’s Health Insurance Program — providing 8.9 million low-income children with healthcare access.

In 1994, Hillary proclaimed on the world stage in Beijing, China:

“If there is one message that echoes forth from this conference, let it be that human rights are women’s rights and women’s rights are human rights once and for all.”

TWO-TIME NEW YORK SENATOR:

Hillary secured 20 billion in federal funds to rebuild downtown New York City after 9/11. She also secured healthcare for 9/11 First Responders and expanded access to care for the National Guard, Reservists, and their families.

U.S. SECRETARY OF STATE:

Passed the first-ever U.N Resolution on gay rights (proclaiming: “human rights are gay rights and gay rights are human rights” on the world stage), and made it so trans Americans can legally change their gender on their passport. Hillary also rebuilt relations with every nation after the disastrous Bush Administration, traveling to 112 countries — more than any other Secretary of State. Our worldwide favorability rose 20% during Hillary’s tenure. Her primary focus was on women’s rights and health, bringing up issues such as forced abortion and maternal mortality rates. Hillary re-opened relations with Burma, enacted a ceasefire between Israel and Hamas, and killed Osama Bin Laden. She also was instrumental in putting together the Paris Climate Agreement, something Trump has since removed us from.

*Three-time popular vote winners

*Two-time White House occupants

Presided over our last great era — the pragmatic 1990s.

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game.”

The Clintons: two players that got actual results for the American people.

Vilified for playing the game and winning.

Haters have been hating since Arkansas.

Happy Presidents Day Bill & Hillary.

Made for the White House.

🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸

Should be in the Oval Office right now.

🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸

#3MillionMoreVotes

#TrumpIsIllegitimate

#StolenBy #Russia & #Comey

We were robbed.

2016 was stolen from the American people.

We should be outraged forever.

#PutinDestroyingUsFromTheInside

Don’t believe the Russian-bots when they lie and spread propaganda about the Clintons.

The Clintons are a good family that genuinely cares about the American people.

“There is nothing wrong with America that cannot be cured by what is right with America.” ~President Bill Clinton

❤️❤️❤️❤️💙💙💙💙

[warningsine]

RIO DE JANEIRO — Brazil's former President Jair Bolsonaro goes on trial Thursday, facing charges that he spread false information about Brazil's election system just months before he lost his reelection bid last October. He's also facing allegations that he abused his power to spread the misstatements.

The former far-right leader will be tried by a panel of seven judges in the country's electoral court system, so while he won't face criminal penalties, he could see his political career cut short. The sentence for such crimes is a ban on running for office for eight years.

The trial will be shown in its entirety on YouTube.

An opposing party in last year's presidential election brought the accusation to the electoral court, regarding a speech Bolsonaro gave to foreign diplomats in July 2022. In a nearly 50-minute presentation, Bolsonaro rehashed many of his previous attacks on Brazil's electronic voting system. He claimed, without providing evidence, that its electronic machines are vulnerable to hackers and prone to fraud.

Some of the foreign diplomats in attendance told the New York Times that Bolsonaro, who was trailing in the polls at the time, appeared to be preparing to challenge his inevitable defeat and discredit the vote before it even took place. He ultimately lost by the slimmest margin since Brazil returned to democracy in the 1980s. And while Bolsonaro never conceded defeat in the election, he didn't block the transfer of power, instead opting to leave the country for the United States two days before current President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva's Jan. 1 inauguration.

This is the one of 16 cases against Bolsonaro

Thursday's case is one of 16 that Bolsonaro is facing in Brazil's Superior Electoral Court. There are multiple civil and criminal cases, including one into his possible encouragement of attacks on the capital's government center by a mob of his supporters on Jan. 8.

"This is not the strongest case, but it is the first that is going to trial," says Malu Gaspar, a columnist with O Globo newspaper.

Prosecutors allege that Bolsonaro abused his power to try to influence voters with his criticisms of Brazil's elections. They say he used the government airwaves, the public broadcaster TV Brasil and social media to disseminate disinformation.

Lawyers for Bolsonaro have said the evidence is weak and that the diplomats the president was speaking to were all foreign citizens who can't even vote in Brazil.

NPR sought comment from one of Bolsonaro's lawyers, Tarcisio Vieira de Carvalho, but calls were not returned.

His supporters fear judicial overreach

Defense lawyer Karina Kufa, who has represented Bolsonaro in several other cases, but not this one, says the former president was just refuting claims by election officials that the machines worked flawlessly. "He did it to show other governments how the electronic ballot box actually works, because, according to him, only one version was shown," she told NPR. He was just giving his version, she says, which is not a crime.

She says the court is rushing this case and that a possible ban on Bolsonaro's future political eligibility is a dangerous overreach by the justices and "very worrying for our democracy." She also says the courts are removing other politicians, including mayors and governors, from office "for any reason."

President Lula has not commented directly on the case, but has openly criticized his political rival, accusing him of encouraging supporters to ransack the capital. But he said this week, before leaving on a state visit to Italy and France, that justice will be meted fairly.

"Everyone will have a chance to defend themselves. I want people to rest assured that we are going to investigate. They will be judged by the common justice and will go to jail if they have committed a crime. If not, people go back to living their lives in peace," he said.

Even if he's disqualified from office, he'll remain a strong political figure

If Bolsonaro were barred from running for office for eight years, that wouldn't mean he'd be out of politics completely, says Gaspar. "I think he is very strong; he is kind of a symbol on the right. And he is going to travel Brazil all year to attract mayors and governors and other politicians to his party," she says.

Bolsonaro is not required to be present at the proceedings and even has scheduled a rally in the conservative south of the country, to take place at the same time as the trial on Thursday.

But if barred from office, it will be very difficult for Bolsonaro to remain the leader of the right in Brazil, says Guilherme Casarões, a political scientist at the Getúlio Vargas Foundation in São Paulo.

"It's going to be even harder for him to sustain his position and to keep his supporting base together," he says.

And given Brazil's fractious and multiple political party system, Casarões says there are plenty of other politicians in the wings ready to fill the role of leader of the right.

A ruling may come quickly

The Superior Electoral Court has only three more sessions before it recesses for all of July. It could quickly rule in Bolsonaro's case since only a simple majority is needed to convict.

However, a single judge could ask for a review of the case, leading to a lengthy postponement. With 15 other cases before the court, including more accusations of coordinating misinformation campaigns and abuse of power, Bolsonaro's lawyers will be back before the justices soon enough.

[kylo-wrecked]

@ronmanmob :// { taking a sharp turn from the properly delightful, here }

— ☾ —

Ben's lips struggled between forming 'uh, well' and 'well, uh…' until finally, they came together in a soft, indeterminate line and trembled. 

He then said, "No," his eyes belying a deep-seated mortification he was only made aware of through his sense of looking across the table through Ron and into a mirror. It was as if, for a moment, the man on the other side had embodied, in mind and soul, one great, polished lens. That, combined with a rising, kicking urge to smash it, smash what was in the other man un-smashable, and Ben was very much like a cat confronted with its reflection. 

Once, ten or eleven years ago, during a late-night round of Cards Against Humanity, her wrist turned around a similarly cumbersome whisky glass of old moneyed cut crystal, Miss Marciela Hodgson, as she'd been calling herself all evening, casually remarked on prospective Mister Hodgson's proclivity for manual strangulation. Ben was the only one to comment on it, to lukewarm laughter. There being no safe way to engage in the act was, as it turned out, 'kind of the point?' 

"I'm, sadly, vanilla," Ben admitted with another weak effort at smiling. His pupils oscillated in their bedrock, illuminated briefly by amusement, anger, or a transmogrification of the two. "Is that normal? Too normal? Should I start sex therapy? I hear it really gets the, uh, juices flowing. But why spend the five hundred bucks an hour when we can keep asking each other the same questions right here for free?" 

Ben hesitated, himself leaning over the narrow pub stool of a table, batting at the idea of proffering Ron the whole canape platter of his ever-abundant misery. He even had a little bacon-wrapped hors d'oeuvre for a nigh perfect stranger, Ronald Kray: 'You know, if you sold this conversation, you could slap a solid leg on every chair in the place.' 

He wanted to say it so badly, even if it was a weak point, dumb, hostile, and erroneous, as the chairs were more than fine; they were leatherbound. One couldn't find a sturdier barstool this side of the Hudson that Ben could occupy in relative peace, firstly. And actually, if breathed for maybe five Mississippi seconds and did that thing where he was supposed to remove himself from the details, hadn't he been the one to ask and hence provoke the former? Who couldn't take the dick here, exactly? The guy who wanted to throw a chair across a room and could write it off later to little fanfare and no one's surprise? What was the joke? Who was the joke? And having sufficiently emasculated himself, there no longer seemed a reason to be so defensive. 

Lately, he'd been thinking of calling himself Anti-Hulk. Never before returning to New York had Ben been so put off by the things he shouldn't do or say. That he'd spoken at all candidly in Ron's presence seemed 'kind of cute' when he'd behaved much the same way with his mother, several lawyers, Snoke, and yes, even some sex partners, and, as it had turned out, a Malaysian kingpin, whom Ben truly had no idea about, apart from he'd maybe seen the farm from a motorbike mirror, and two drug task forces later, who could say? 

Still, Ben immediately took back to the relatively safe distance of his seat, relinquishing the emotional canapes with a "Sorry. Sorry, that's uh. My bad." 

"Years of vanilla therapy hasn't gone very far," he said, motioning to his person. "I'm just a taller drink now."

Maybe his real kink had always been masochism. 

[cimmcorg36]

Immigration Defense Lawyer

Empower your journey to legal residency with our dedicated Immigration Defense Lawyer. We navigate the complexities of immigration law, offering strategic defense against challenges. From visa issues to deportation threats, trust us to safeguard your rights and advocate for your immigration status. Experience peace of mind and expert guidance on your path to a secure and lawful future. Your immigration journey starts with us.

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | Street Smart (Schatzberg, 1987)

One could look at a lot of what goes down in this movie and dismiss it as unrealistic, but I found its tenuous relationship with reality easy to overlook for two reasons. One, because I don't give a shit. Realism is for suckers. Two, while some plot developments are arguably a little convenient for the movie to hold up as a great thriller, I think the movie is really aiming to skewer yuppie fantasies. This is one of a number of '80s movies that takes the vantage point of white, financially comfortable characters and has them thrust into an experience far removed from their complacent day to day lives. But compared to things like Doctor Detroit and Something Wild, where the instigating incidents are less than entirely voluntary on the part of the protagonists, here, the protagonist is more complicit in his fate.

You see, our hero is a hotshot reporter played by Christopher Reeve who's struggling to come up with a story that'll sufficiently entice both his editor, a wryly funny Andre Gregory, and the reading public. This being pre-cleanup hellhole New York, he proposes doing a profile piece on a pimp. But after hitting the streets and finding no leads, with a deadline fast encroaching, he solves his problem with the power of imagination. That's right, he completely makes up the story, filling it with colourful enough details that his editor and the public are completely charmed, and soon he's climbing the ladder of career success and getting his own TV news gig. Problem is, the story he wrote is awfully similar to an actual pimp played by Morgan Freeman, whose lawyer brings the two together as part of a defense against a second degree murder charge. Needless to say, things don't go as planned.

When they first tour the streets together, Reeve is first charmed then slowly intimidated as Freeman corrects his ideas about what it's like out there for a pimp, first through words, then through violence. Freeman suggests that Reeve's subject wouldn't survive a day out in the streets and jokes about getting one of those "TV broads" to work for him, but then wildly overreacts to losing a basketball game and then menaces one of his hookers that he suspects of holding out on him. Freeman carries with him the constant threat of violence, and while I'm not necessarily one to have moral concerns about using violence against women in what's essentially an entertainment, the fact that it's narratively justified here to feature it so heavily doesn't make the movie much easier to watch during such scenes.

Attempts to control the narrative don't go as planned. From the get go, Gregory excitedly reads from Reeve's piece, but then immediately suggests altering one of the juiciest quotes.

"It's wonderful! Listen. Listen to this! 'Although he doesn't vote and never has Tyrone has no modesty about his own political potential. If I was the president, he says, I could fix the world in 30 seconds. I sent everybody pussy and they don't have no time for trouble.' It's terrific. It's first rate. It's a real breakthrough! Let it change pussy for something else."

When Reeve has the bright idea to bring the two worlds together and invite Freeman and his associates to a party held by his magazine, the illusion that the two groups hit it off is immediately dispelled by Freeman's grievances about being patronized. ("You don't tell me how people react to me. I know what people are doing, no matter what they say. Cause I read minds, you dig?") While the movie is not the kind of bullet-pointed, focus-grouped progressive screed that you might get with this subject nowadays, I do think it's astute about the ways in which racist and classist assumptions can cause us to struggle with events that don't neatly fit the existing narrative.

Casting is the movie's secret weapon. Reeve is an interesting choice for the lead because he's someone who normally registers as entirely wholesome and nonthreatening (there's a fundamental decency to his portrayal of Superman that's kept his first two movies from being surpassed in the genre). And that quality makes it easy for us to see ourselves in his place, even when he's being a dipshit and making things worse for himself and everyone around him and then scheming to find a way out of this mess. But really, this is Freeman's show, and it's the kind of performance I've never seen him give anywhere else. Normally he's old, dignified, and talks... like... this... (pretend you're reading it in his usual voice). Here, he's sleazy, hard edged, with a quicksilver intelligence that's constantly underestimated by those around him. He's also terrifying in his capacity for violence, in a way that might seem mercurial if he didn't apply it with such precise timing. And there's also a pretty moving supporting performance by Kathy Baker as one of Freeman's hookers, someone who seems both streetwise and vulnerable, and navigates the hard edges of her life with her humanity in interesting ways. (I was gonna say that I previously enjoyed her in Frankie and Johnny, but realized I was actually thinking of Kate Nelligan, who despite their resemblance is a completely different person. I think we need to start tracking actors who look the same, because otherwise movies would get too confusing for dum dums like me.)

As a Cannon Films production, this brings to mind 52 Pick-Up, another film on the arguably more prestigious end of the Cannon spectrum (in that it feels like a real movie), but one that also carries a fair bit of sleaze and has great villainous performances (one here, two there). Like I said, the movie perhaps wraps up a bit too neatly, and there are some scenes that are pretty tough to sit through, but I think the performances and the central dynamic make this a really involving watch.

[thorgoodlaw]

Navigating Legal Complexities: How the Right Tax and Wage Attorney Can Protect Your Finances

In this blog, we’ll break down how a tax defense attorney can help in working with wage garnishment, payroll tax issues, and even criminal tax cases. We’ll also offer guidance on finding the best tax attorney NYC or criminal tax attorney near you, depending on your specific needs.

The Role of a Wage Garnishment Lawyer

Wage garnishment may seem to be a daunting experience for you. If your employer has been told to take out a specific part of your money due to a debt or tax situation, you really should not wait. A wage garnishment lawyer near you can:

First of all, carefully explore your financial condition and also check the legality of the garnishment.

Assist in talking to creditors and tax authorities to lessen or remove the garnishment.

Represent you in court to defend your wages.

When to Call a Payroll Tax Attorney

Many employers with payroll tax problems need attorneys that deal with these kinds of issues. Businesses that are noncompliant with payroll tax rules can face heavy fallout, even criminal charges. A payroll tax attorney will:

Assist in resolving tax discrepancies with the IRS or state tax agencies.

Avoiding payroll tax-related legal actions, for example, audits or wage garnishment are things that you can get help with.

To ensure you are compliant with the rules, which will curtail any problems in future, is the last way that we can help.

Defending Against Criminal Tax Charges

Facing criminal tax charges? It’s essential to get a criminal tax attorney near you involved immediately. Criminal tax issues can arise from:

Teeth issue

Shady or missing tax returns

Wrongly filed tax payments to payroll

A criminal tax lawyer is not easy to do, but through our support, you can fight back, get settlements, or we can even represent you in court to minimize the penalties, let alone the possibility of jail time.

Finding the Best Tax Attorney in NYC

If you’re in New York and need tax-related legal help, the search for the best tax lawyer NYC or best tax attorney NYC is vital. A top-notch lawyer will provide:

Legal help that includes advice, actions, or many other services covering the issue of wage garnishment of payroll tax collection or criminal tax issues.

On the one hand, with an attack over the institutions such as the IRS and state tax authorities, the attorney would make the suit as severe as possible, which would be quite a well-thought-out subtle move.

Utilize legal tactics that take into account the specific issues you would like to be addressed.

How a Tax Defense Lawyer Can Help

Hiring a tax defense lawyer can help give you peace of mind when you have to deal with the IRS. An attorney for tax defense can then advise you, for instance:

Protect your assets and income from aggressive IRS actions.

Negotiate favorable settlements and payment plans.

Represent you in court if necessary.

FAQs

1. When should I hire a payroll tax lawyer?

If you are a business person with some issue or in some way subjected to some penalty relating to payroll taxes then it is high time you sought a payroll tax lawyer to ensure compliance and avoid further penalties.

2. What are the consequences of not hiring a criminal tax lawyer?

If you’re facing criminal tax charges, failing to hire a criminal tax attorney may lead to fines, penalties and even imprisonment and should therefore not be encouraged by any company.

3. How can a tax defense attorney protect me?

A tax defense attorney can negotiate settlements, appear in court on your behalf and shield wages or assets from legal seizure by the IRS.

4. Who is the best tax attorney in NYC?

The best tax attorney NYC will have experience, expertise in local tax laws, and a strong track record of defending clients against IRS actions.

There is usually nothing wrong in knowing that one cannot be outwitted in court especially in period when ones financial or legal standing remains rather uncertain. This can range from wage garnishment, payroll taxes issue or a criminal tax case, thus the need to seek legal assistance from an tax defense lawyer can protect your finances and your future.

[worldofwardcraft]

The one-man crime wave.

September 9, 2024

Just like a Mafia boss, persistent scofflaw Donald Trump simply can't stop himself from committing crimes. He's already been adjudicated a rapist and sexual abuser as a result of the E. Jean Carroll defamation case. His personally owned company has been found guilty of business fraud. A New York jury found him guilty of 34 felony charges to illegally influence the 2016 election through a hush money payment to a porn actor. And he's under indictment in Georgia for election tampering. He's also been fined millions for operating a scam charity foundation and fake "Trump University."

Plus, he's being prosecuted in Florida for illegal retention of highly secret government documents. And while this case was erroneously dismissed by District Judge and Trump fangirl Aileen Cannon, it will no doubt be reinstated upon appeal to the 11th Circuit Court.

In addition, Special Counsel Jack Smith recently filed a superseding indictment that again accuses Trump of defying the peaceful transfer of power after the 2020 presidential election. This became necessary after the corrupt political hacks on the Supreme Court invented a special rule making Trump immune from prosecution for certain conduct alleged in last year's original indictment.

The new 36-page filing maintains the original four charges — including conspiracy to defraud the United States — but leaves out evidence the Court ruled inadmissible. Now, as former US Attorney Joyce Vance points out, trial judge Chutkan "will have to decide what, if anything more, she will remove based on the arguments Trump’s lawyers will make."

But despite his ongoing criminal prosecutions, Trump refuses to cease lawbreaking. Only weeks ago, he attended ceremonies at Arlington National Cemetery consisting of a wreath laying at the Tomb of the Unknowns and a memorial at a grave in section 60, which is reserved for recent US casualties. Naturally, he turned it all into a campaign event and posted a video of it on TikTok. Which is in direct violation of federal regulation 32 CFR 533.22 prohibiting political activity at Arlington. Reported The Washington Post:

It’s exactly what military officials tried to prevent. The use of the footage marked a flagrant violation of the law against partisan actions at military cemeteries, defense officials said.

Any other convicted felon who, while out on release awaiting sentencing, continues to commit crimes, would have his bail revoked forthwith and be immediately remanded to custody. But not Trump. As political blogger Jeff Tiedrich remarks, courts seem to think he's a "very special boy." He's also a very determined criminal.

[dankusner]

Judge Dismisses Classified Documents Case Against Donald Trump

Judge Aileen Cannon ruled that the entire case should be thrown out because the appointment of the special counsel who brought the case, Jack Smith, had violated the Constitution.

Her decision is sure to be appealed.

A federal judge dismissed in its entirety the classified documents case against former President Donald J. Trump on Monday, ruling that the appointment of the special counsel, Jack Smith, had violated the Constitution.

In a stunning ruling, the judge, Aileen M. Cannon, found that because Mr. Smith had not been named to the post of special counsel by the president or confirmed by the Senate, his appointment was in violation of the appointments clause of the Constitution.

The ruling by Judge Cannon, who was put on the bench by Mr. Trump, flew in the face of previous court decisions reaching back to the Watergate era that upheld the legality of the ways in which independent prosecutors have been named.

And in a single swoop, it removed a major legal threat against Mr. Trump on the first day of the Republican National Convention, where he is set to formally become the party’s nominee for president.

Mr. Smith’s team will almost certainly appeal the ruling by Judge Cannon throwing out the classified documents indictment, which charges Mr. Trump with illegally holding onto a trove of highly sensitive state secrets after he left office and then obstructing the government’s repeated efforts to retrieve them.

Trump has been saying he is redrafting Thursday's nomination speech to have a different tone after the attempt on his life this past weekend.

But if he doesn’t reference the dismissed case, it is hard to imagine that others in their speeches will not.

Judge Cannon’s ruling has no impact on Trump’s criminal conviction in Manhattan, which was brought by a local district attorney, not a special counsel.

However, Trump is seeking to have his Manhattan conviction thrown out for separate reasons related to the recent Supreme Court decision granting him immunity from prosecution for official actions he took as president.

Read the Ruling That Dismisses the Documents Case Against Trump

Judge Aileen Cannon ruled that the classified documents case against former president Donald J. Trump should be thrown out because the appointment of the special counsel violated the Constitution.

Trump had suggested in an interview with the New York Post after the assassination attempt that “we hear” the Justice Department might be preparing to drop the federal indictments against him.

That is not what happened here.

For those wondering how Judge Cannon’s decision will affect Trump’s other federal case — the one in which he stands accused of plotting to overturn the 2020 election — the short answer is: Let’s wait and see.

Trump’s lawyers in the election interference case will no doubt seek to use her ruling to kill that indictment, too.

But Smith’s team will surely appeal the ruling, setting up a showdown in the 11th Circuit Court of Appeals in Atlanta.

And the cases may run on separate tracks for a while until the Supreme Court renders its own decision on the issue.

Donald Trump celebrated the dismissal of the documents case in a post on his social media platform, Truth Social.

He argued that all the cases against him, criminal and civil, should be dismissed “as we move forward in Uniting our Nation” after the assassination attempt against him on Saturday in Pennsylvania.

Pulling back for a moment, Judge Cannon has made a host of highly unusual decisions in the classified documents case almost from the moment that she took control of it in June 2023.

She has granted a serious audience to some of Trump’s most far-fetched defense claims and has repeatedly scheduled hearings for issues that many, if not most, federal judges would have dealt with on the merits of written filings.

Even so, it’s fair to say that almost no one expected her to kill the documents case in quite this way at quite this moment.

If Judge Cannon’s reasoning were correct, the special counsel in the Russia investigation, Robert Mueller, was illegitimate, as were all the indictments and convictions from that inquiry.

(The Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia Circuit upheld Mueller’s appointment in a 2019 ruling. Judge Cannon argued that the appeals court’s ruling was unpersusive because it had simply accepted language in the Supreme Court’s Nixon tapes case without grappling with subsequent developments in the law.)

Judge Cannon’s technical reason for dismissing the case is that she found there was no federal statute governing the appointment of special counsels like Smith, which has been the practice for nearly 30 years.

She argued that allowing special counsels to operate under the authority and control of the attorney general was a violation of the Constitution’s separation of powers.

“If the political branches wish to grant the attorney general power to appoint Special Counsel Smith to investigate and prosecute this action with the full powers of a United States Attorney,” she wrote, “there is a valid means by which to do so.”

Judge Cannon’s ruling came exactly two weeks after Justice Clarence Thomas deeply questioned the constitutionality of Smith’s appointment in an odd concurrence in the Supreme Court’s landmark ruling granting Trump broad immunity against criminal prosecution.

Thomas included his expressions of doubt in his concurrence even though the question of Smith’s appointment was not under consideration by the court at all and had never been raised in the first place in the underlying immunity case.

Judge Cannon’s ruling will create a pathway for an appeal to the Supreme Court before the case can move forward — and, for that matter, for the special counsel, Jack Smith, to ask an appeals court to remove her. But it all may be moot since Judge Cannon’s previous delays have already all but ensured there could be no trial until after the 2024 election.

If Trump wins, as polls currently indicate is likely, he could use his power over the Justice Department to have it scuttle the case anyway.

The ruling is an attempt to roll back nearly 30 years of how special counsels, like Jack Smith, have gotten their jobs.

In short, special counsels are now governed by Justice Department regulations set by the discretion and through the statutory authority of the attorney general.

That has been the case since the Clinton administration, when the previous law governing independent prosecutors was allowed to lapse in the wake of the Whitewater investigations.

There was a consensus opinion at the time of the switch that special prosecutors needed to be independent enough to handle sensitive political investigations without undue influence from powerful politicians, but not so independent that they would encourage prosecutors to run amok and abuse their power.

The ruling by Judge Aileen Cannon throwing out Donald Trump’s classified documents case in its entirety this morning is stunning on several levels.

One, it flies in the face of previous court decisions upholding the validity of independent prosecutors reaching back to the Watergate era.

Two, its timing is remarkable, coming on the first day of the Republican National Convention where Trump will be formally named as his party’s presidential nominee.

Judge Eileen Cannon's decision to dismiss the case against Trump came on the first day of the Republican National Convention and two days after an attempt on Trump’s life.