#the bellevue press

[garadinervi]

Ursula K. Le Guin, Travelling, (poetry postcard), The Bellevue Press, Binghamton, NY, 1977, Printed by Stuart McCarty II, and from a set edited by Jack Dunn [Between the Covers, Gloucester City, NJ. © Estate of Ursula K. Le Guin / The Ursula K. Le Guin Foundation]

[expendablemudge]

SEASONS OF PURGATORY, English-language debut story collection from exiled Iranian author

Winding down #NationalTranslationMonth with a 4* story collection translated from Farsi, set in the war-torn Iran of the recent past: SEASONS OF PURGATORY by award-winner SHAHRIYAR MANDANIPOUR via @bellevuepress.

My #BookRecommendation is here:

[rqgnarok]

leave a light on - nolan price

prequel for love you better now, but can be read individually

fandom: law & order, law & order special victims unit

wc: 4,735

warnings: canon presence of injuries, blood, violence, weapons, and hospitals. female reader.

summary: nolan's wife gets shot. he tries and fails to deal with that.

author's note below! masterlist / ko-fi / ao3

Nolan misses Liv’s call thrice before he calls for a recess.

The first two he’s stuck cross-examining a witness and doesn’t realize she’s trying to reach him until the third time she calls. He can’t answer– Judge MacNamara is lenient but not enough for Nolan to take a call in the middle of the day– but it goes to voicemail and his screen lights up with Liv’s other calls, constant and insistent.

He immediately knows it’s bad. And he immediately knows it’s about you.

His chest constricts with his panic, breath catching and refusing to enter his lungs as his brain catches up to the situation. The courtroom is suddenly too small and suffocating, his tie a noose around his neck.

It takes McNamara calling his name several times and the DA snidely wondering if the defense needs a minute for Nolan to somewhat snap out of it, pressing on Liv’s contact before the judge finishes adjourning for the day.

“Nolan,” she says, shaky. 

Not Price, which is what he’d expect from his wife’s coworker. They’re all friends, sure, but during work hours they fall into the habit of keeping each other at arm’s length. Not right now, for some reason, and Nolan is tiptoeing the line between fine and about to crumble on the courthouse steps from a knock-out panic attack. 

“What happened?” Because something must’ve happened. You have one of the most dangerous jobs out there, life-endangering experiences being the norm and coming home not-dead being a good day. But if Liv is calling– if Liv is calling and you aren’t…

Nolan has been psyching himself up for this day since you first told him about joining the police academy. He’s still somehow not ready. 

He will never be ready for this. 

Olivia hesitates for a second too long and Nolan’s fear gets the best of him. “Olivia. What happened?”

Her voice cracks when she says your name. Nolan grips his briefcase so tightly on the way to the hospital that his hand goes numb, nails digging into the skin of his palm until it’s red and tender. 

The knot of anxiety in his belly doesn’t unclench despite the quick, easy ride to Bellevue. New York traffic seems to be doing him a favor, but it isn’t the physical distance he’s worried about. That one he’s able to cross but there’s nothing he can do if his wife is… if you…

Nolan finds himself amidst a sea of NYPD blue as soon as he steps into the reception, talking over each other as they watch over one of their injured own. None of them are familiar faces and his vision tunnels, the sound of his heartbeat in his ears drowning out doctors, officers, and detectives. 

Suddenly, the sea of people parts. Olivia is in his line of sight and it gives Nolan something to focus on rather than the never-ending possibilities of what he’s facing here. She looks disheveled, shirt askew and vest still halfway on; hair out of place and expression haunted, but no blood. There’s no blood on her and it's an important distinction for Nolan to make when she seizes his free hand in hers.

“Nolan,” she says, and her voice sounds like static, just like it did on the phone. It isn’t the line but Nolan’s brain filled with noise, like cotton in his ears. “Nolan, are you okay?”

“What happened?” he asks now in person. Liv hadn’t explained, not really. She only told him that you were hurt and they were taking you to Bellevue. You should come too, she’d said, and should had sounded more like need, which did nothing to soothe Nolan’s raising hackles.

His breath stutters. Nolan knows what happened but can’t comprehend it. He’s still holding onto his fucking briefcase and his hands won’t stop shaking. 

Liv only blinks at him, mouth open and no words coming out. “Liv. What happened?”

“We were chasing a suspect via foot,” and Nick’s there, too, by Liv’s side, like an apparition Nolan’s broken mind has conjured. His brows are furrowed, jaw tense. “We caught him mid-rape and separated to cover more ground. No one had mentioned a gun during their disclosures, he wasn’t supposed to be armed.”

“She caught up to him first,” Liv continues, shaking her head. “He– Shots went off but we didn’t know– he must’ve known we were onto him. Got his hands on a gun after the first wave of assaults.”

Nolan bites the inside of his cheek. He tastes blood, thinks of his wife. Stops.  

“She was alone for two minutes tops,” Nolan wonders if Liv thinks she’s being reassuring. “She’d been shot, we called a bus right away.”

“Where?” Nolan asks tightly.

Liv stares, uncomprehending. Nick answers, “What?”

“Where, where in her body was she shot, how–” he struggles for a full breath and only comes out half successful. “How bad is it?”

Silence. 

“Did you– did you not see her?” he wonders, biting. Nolan turns back and forth between his wife’s coworkers, losing his patience. “Were you there, was she– Jesus, Liv, how bad is it?”

“The bullet hit her chest,” Nick says, and Nolan loses all fiery, defensive passion right then and there. His own heart stops for a second, or at least that’s what it feels like when his chest is engulfed by a pressing ache that numbs him all over. 

“They took her straight to surgery,” Amaro continues when Nolan finds no answer to that. “Liv rode with her in the ambulance but there wasn’t– it’s in their hands now. They’re taking care of her, pal, okay?”  He reaches to touch Nolan’s shoulder, shake him a little. “She’s getting help.”

Where was the help when she was alone chasing a fucking criminal, where the hell were you, huh he wants to say; wants to shout and curse and make a scene, but the words get stuck in his throat and in the next blink he finds himself seated in the waiting room, still surrounded by cops.

God, Nolan thinks, pressing his fingers to his tightly closed lids. When in all your years together could he have seen this coming? The pretty girl in a law course elective that outsmarted half of the senior class still in his life decades later, bleeding out a couple rooms over and threatening to take his heart with her six feet under. 

He remembers running into you after that final exam outside the lecture hall. He’d been catching his breath on a bench when suddenly you were there too, smiling as you crouched against the opposite wall, elbows on your knees. You’d nodded. “How’d you do?”

Nolan had stuttered back, flustered in your presence, “I’m, uh, not flushing out yet, I hope.”

“You don’t sound too sure.”

“Ask me after I’ve slept some 12 hours,” he’d sighed, messing nervously with his hair. “Things usually seem less dire by then.”

“Would some coffee do the trick?” and Nolan hadn’t known it then, but you’d been nervous too. After all, you’d offered him what would be the first day of the rest of your lives together. No easy feat, but you’d seen something in him that deemed him worthy of you. 

“Coffee can work,” Nolan, young and eager, had said slowly. He couldn’t stop grinning, high with lack of sleep and your attention on him. “You’re buying?”

“It’s only fair,” you’d shrugged, but there was something giddy about your expression that still appears in your features these days, bright and young. “You look like you’re about to drop dead.”

“And I still seem like worthy company?”

“I think we can pull a few good hours out of you yet,” a few hours, a few years; Nolan will be as sleepless as he was then on his wedding day out of pure excitement. You’ll have spent the night before the ceremony talking on the phone while in separate rooms since your friends were sentimental little fucks and wouldn’t let him even kiss you goodbye before the big day. 

He’d described the few hours apart as agony in his vows, had made the crowd laugh and you cry with the sentiment, and now he wishes he hadn’t. He shouldn’t have said a damned thing, shouldn’t have manifested any sort of agony into your lives because now the illusion cuts off sharply and he’s back in the waiting room, a nurse calling your name while he fiddles with his wedding ring, staring blankly into the hallway. 

Liv’s still there for some reason, as are some other officers and Amaro, while the others hunt down the man who landed you here. Munch had snapped at the Captain when he told him he couldn’t stay. Fin had to lead Amanda out by the shoulders, too stricken to walk out herself. 

Liv and Amaro stand but it takes Nolan a few moments to return to himself. She tells them, gently, that you’re out of surgery. “She lost a lot of blood, but only some of the bullet’s fragments hit her heart. It was touch and go but the doctor was able to extract all of them.”

Nolan’s lungs open up and he breathes his first full breath since Liv called. He must make a sound, because the attention in the room shifts to him, suffocating and inquisitive. His vision blurs for a second, heartbeat pumping in his ears.

“She’s extremely lucky,” she continues, looking right at Nolan, like it's supposed be comforting. Like that’s what luck means, almost-but-not-quite bleeding out while your heart had to be stitched up back together. “Most people with injuries like this don’t even make it past the ambulance.”

Nolan closes his eyes in anguish. He presses his closed fists against his forehead, elbows on his knees, back hunched. It’s almost like he’s trying to disappear into himself, but the image of an ambulance opening its doors to his flatlining wife refuses to leave him.  

“There’s still a long way to go,” she continues, softer, realizing she’s hit a nerve. She turns to Liv and Nick, who are paying rapt attention even as Nick walks close to him to put a hand on Nolan’s shoulder, firm and steady. “She won’t wake up anytime soon. Her body needs rest and to recuperate from the most acute injuries. And the doctor would like to talk about next steps once she does.”

Next steps, Nolan thinks. The only next steps he’s aware of are those that lead to your room. Olivia and Amaro trail behind him and the nurse like a couple of guard dogs, standing alert for any sign of Nolan backing out or collapsing into his grief.

He just might. He feels queasy, nauseous with exhaustion and worry. But then he sees you, and nothing else matters. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, devastated, walking to your bed. “Oh, honey.”

Despite his eagerness to touch you, Nolan flails when you’re finally within arms reach. You look asleep for one blissful, hopeful moment, but then Nolan blinks and the light settles; the ashiness of your skin, the uncomfortable placing of your body, the blank expression devoid of dreams or nightmares or consciousness. 

He’d usually be embarrassed to have witnesses to such a personal display of affection, but not even Liv and Nick standing at the door can stop Nolan from carefully cupping your face in his hands and kissing the apple of your cheek, lingering and gentle. He’s afraid of touching the rest of you, of jostling you too badly. But the steady noise of your heart rate monitor is a constant, loud reminder that you won’t fall apart that easily.

Liv and Nick linger behind him, talking quietly amongst themselves in sharp whispers. It might or might not be an argument. Nolan would kick them out if he could gather the energy to care. 

Benson eventually takes a few apprehensive steps into the room, seemingly having lost whatever fight she and her partner were having. 

“We’re on our way out,” she murmurs. “There’s a lead on our guy and Cragen’s calling us all back to the precinct. But if there’s anything…”

She trails off. Nolan doesn’t answer, studies instead the bridge of your nose and the shape of your brows, tries to count your eyelashes and catalog the bruises on your face. Liv sighs defeatedly and reaches for him.  

“Whatever you need,” Liv says firmly with a hand on his arm. Still, her steady presence is undermined by the way she keeps looking at you like you’re already in a coffin. For that, Nolan wants her out, can’t stand her even if she rode with you to the hospital and kept you semi-conscious until the doctors took you off her hands. “We’re here for you, alright? All of us, Nolan. I’m serious.”

“Thanks,” he says, monotone, voice rough and cracked from swallowing down his panic and tears. He clears his throat but it does little to help. “Thank you, Liv. For everything.”

Her lips tighten in an unpleased line, but she nods and leaves the room with one last pat to his arm. He’s being ungrateful, he knows. Liv’s the one who found you, who held your hand in the ambulance before they drove you off to surgery. Nolan owes Benson his life.

The thought alone makes him so nauseous he has to clench his eyes shut, breathing shallowly. God, what would he have done? What will he do, if something happens to you? You aren’t out of the woods yet and if something goes wrong, if your body decides to cave in, if the wound gets infected, if there’s something they didn’t catch, if, if, if, if–

He lifts his head and catches his wife’s face, lax and motionless. Once again, the panic settles. He hasn’t gotten the chance to let it unfold the way it needs to. 

“I finally got you on your own,” Nolan says, soft, careful not to disturb the semblance of peace in the room.You don’t answer, no matter how badly Nolan wants you to. “You’re very popular. A tough one to find these days, you know.”

You weren’t even supposed to be in today. Cragen had called mere hours after you’d gone to bed and Nolan had done his best to stay up while you got ready to go. You’d kneeled next to his side of the bed and Nolan had leaned in to kiss you without thought, an automatic notion he wishes he’d paid more attention to now. 

I’ll call you when I can, you’d nudged your nose against his temple before pressing a kiss there. Nolan had already been half asleep at that point. I love you.

Love you, Nolan mumbled, eyes closed, jutting his chin forward blindly. One more. 

He continues as if you had replied. “You’ve got half of the NYPD out there waiting on you. The nurses are rioting, but I don’t think anyone’ll leave until you wake up.”

Nolan’s voice loses the battle, it breaks right at the end of his sentence and so does his composure, eyes burning with tears that for some goddamned reason just won’t fall.

“Please,” he begs to the sky, to God, to no one. “Please, please, please. Wake up.”

He presses his forehead to his wife’s limp hand maybe a little too harshly. Even if your skin is cold and your grip nonexistent, the touch has him sobbing dryly.

An hour ago you were in surgery, out of reach and sight even if you were already getting help.

Three hours ago you were bleeding out in some alleyway in Queens, struggling for your radio to call for help. 

Twelve hours ago you were kissing him goodbye, smiling against his mouth despite the dark nature of the case because Nolan kept pulling you in for one more kiss.

One more, one more, one more, his pleads now. Wake up and give me one more, sweetheart, come on.

“Please, honey,” he whispers, wet and nasal with emotion. “I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready yet, I didn’t– I don’t–”

The words don’t come. Nolan chokes, holds your hand in his own. Breathes, breathes, and breathes. 

Days keep piling up. You don’t wake up and Nolan doesn’t cry. God knows why, but he can’t, his body on automatic while he solely focuses on your condition. The nurses know him by name and he makes record time to the apartment and back for showers and quick naps, some food for the little appetite he has. 

He doesn’t even think to be offended when he’s placed on indefinite leave at work. Nolan can’t bring himself to care, he would’ve stacked up every sick day and vacation time available to stay at your side as much as he could anyway. 

The squad offers to stand guard almost daily, which Nolan appreciates, but his object permanence has gone to shit. Whenever he doesn’t have eyes on you his panic rises again like a tidal wave, never quite crashing but dwindling when he sits in that Godawful chair next to your bed. His hand settles your ankle or arm or somewhere he can easily look for your pulse, weak but steady, and it keeps him wearily calm.

It’s desperate, he knows, and more than a little pathetic, but Nolan feels like he’s allowed. Until you wake up to tell him he’s been worrying over nothing he will do as he pleases.

He talks to you. Liv and Amaro have caught him more than once speaking quietly into the lull of the hospital room, holding your hand and drawing soothing motions with his thumb against your skin.

Mom drove into the steps again. The ones in the driveway? They were already loose from last time and now she has Dad driving through every Home Depot in North Carolina to find the right tile to replace them. 

Jill sends her best. Last time I saw her she was talking my ear off about her kid’s college fund. Apparently her husband lost half of it during Tuesday night with the boys, whatever that means.

Munch says he owes you 20 bucks from the Giants game from two weeks ago? Which is weird, because you haven’t watched a full game since, like, ‘08. Not like you’re missing anything, but still, your accuracy to outsmart Munch in his own line of work is pretty outstanding. 

It helps, though barely. Whenever he ventures over what you’ll do once you’re awake the illusion breaks and so does Nolan’s composure. He trails off, feeling foolish, the weight of his delusion pressing against his chest.    

“It’s not silly,” Munch tells him during one of his visits, the book he’s been reading to you resting on his lap. “You’re talking to your wife. If I’d done more of that back in my day then maybe I’d still be married.”

“Which time?” Nolan asks, his lips tingling with the almost want to smile.

Munch points at him, managing a smirk himself. “Exactly.”

He’s so sure it calms Nolan more than you’d expect. So far he’s the only other person who talks about you like you’re still alive and thus, the only one who doesn’t make an indomable rage wash over Nolan whenever they’re in the same room. 

He’s the one with him when you wake. You do so in a panic, waking Nolan up from his uncomfortable nap next to your bed. It’s a sudden flail after another as your heart rate monitor goes crazy and you don’t answer any call of your name, terrified and in pain.

It’s awful. Nolan doesn’t think he’ll ever forget how you almost tear your stitches mid panic while doctors and nurses gather around and kick him out with quick accuracy. There’s nothing he can do to help and he knows it, but he’s never supposed to be in a position in which he can’t help you.

He’s doomed to watch from a glass window, helpless, as you suffer without anyone to reach out to.  

She woke up but had to be sedated, a nurse tells him after, it’s normal for patients to be unaware of their surroundings after waking up from long periods of unconsciousness. We still haven’t been able to determine neurological damage, so we’ll have to wait until it wears off. 

“Kid, kid, hey,” Munch says, alarmed after coming back from the cafeteria with two coffees and finding Nolan sitting outside your room, crying into his knees. “What’s wrong, what happened? I was gone fifteen minutes–”

Nolan tries to explain but the words get caught up in his throat, his grief taking over his sense of logic. She woke up, he meant to say. She woke up and she didn’t know where she was and I stood by like an idiot watching her suffer. 

After he’s talked down from a panic attack he says, a mere croak. “She woke up. They don’t know–” his breath hitches “–but she woke up.”

Munch sighs, visibly relieved as he squats next to Nolan, cupping the back of his neck. “Good. That’s good, hey– Nolan. That’s good, okay? That’s one step closer to getting her back. This is good.”

He repeats those words to himself like a mantra. This is good, this is good, this is good, and doesn’t dare to close his eyes for something other than blinking until you’re conscious. It’s hours later, deep into the night when you open your eyes again, groggy and disoriented, blinking into the dark hospital room. 

“Honey,” he says, quiet and so, so relieved. You don’t appear to hear him and a flash of fear seizes his heart. He presses the button and calls for a nurse, edging closer to the bed. Nolan says your name, filled with trepidation. “Hey, honey, you with me?”

Arduously slowly, you follow the sound of his voice. You blink at him, gulping and saying, dry as the Sahara. “Nole.”

It’s the most glorious thing he’s ever heard. The smile that pulls at his mouth feels odd on his face, like he’s forgotten how to show joy. How to feel it. He goes to touch your face, hands shaky and reverent. “Yeah. Yeah, sweetheart, it’s me.”

He offers you a drink and grips your hand all through the nurse’s examination, which you pass with flying colors. While she’s tinkering with your IV, you ask him, “Bellevue?”

“Yeah,” he says grimly, thumb rubbing soothing motions against your skin, trying to infuse some warmth. 

“Shot?” you wonder next.

Nolan hesitates. “You don’t remember?”

“Guessin’,” you slur, tired, blinks getting longer each time you close your eyes. 

The nurse pipes up then with the same explanations she’s given Nolan the past few weeks: the bullet to your heart, the long-lasting surgery, the even longer coma. You nod in all the right places but your head rests against the pillow and your expression is vacant, like you’ll forget all about it by the next time you wake up.

“Anyone… else?” you ask.

“No,” Nolan responds, watching some tension fall off your frame when he confirms this. He wishes he felt the same, though a selfish part of him would’ve preferred it to be someone else in this hospital bed instead of you; Liv or Amaro, Rollins or even Fin. It’s true, even if the thought is followed by guilt. “No, everyone’s fine, honey. Working their asses off and worried out of their minds, but okay. It’s just you.”

You hum and then promptly fall back asleep, breaths settling into an even rhythm. It’s then that his eyes water and his tears fall on the scratchy hospital sheets where you lay.  Oh, Nolan thinks, almost surprised by them. So this is what it takes.  

The next time he looks up, hours later, is because you’re reaching to touch his face, tender and shaky. He snaps to attention like a soldier called to the front lines, but there’s no trouble chasing after you, no bad thing happening for once. You’re both okay, safe in your hospital room while nurses and doctors and visitors keep passing by just outside the door.

“You haven’t slept,” you croak out as you drop your hand from where you’d been gently pressing at the bags under Nolan’s eyes, tired from that simple movement. Your chest rises and falls with breaths that are a little too labored, but your eyes are fixed on your husband, worried. “Nole.”

It almost makes him smile: how you worry about other people while you lie with a hole in your heart on a hospital bed. Nolan would laugh if he were sure the sound wouldn’t dwindle into sobbing. There’s nothing funny about this. Nothing.

“‘m alright,” he promises, croaky and wet from previous cries. You’re still a little too out of it, but your face contorts in weak disbelief. You don’t believe him for a moment. He amends: “I will be. And so will you. You’re gonna be okay, honey.”

happy new year!!! i wanted to start the year giving you a little something after being so absent the last couple of months and i've had this piece in my drafts for ages! it was originally waaay longer but i thought i'd end it on a happy note and maybe make a part two if anyone's interested?

anyway! i hope you guys enjoy what has become one of my favorite pairings to write and i hope you had a good time last night and a great 2024! thank you for reading!

<3

[allthecanadianpolitics]

Construction on the Île-aux-Tourtes Bridge is being partially blamed for the closure of the only grocery store in Sainte-Anne-de-Bellevue, putting people in the Montreal suburb in a bind.

“Well, the local people with no cars are in trouble,” says resident Valerie Brecknock.

Owners Claude McSween and his wife Lory Vansteene of the Marché Ami announced Saturday morning that they will close later this month, for good. They say they’re too upset to speak publicly about the issue now, and in a press release they blamed economic conditions.

“Despite numerous sacrifices, both financial and personal, the current economic context as well as operational costs unfortunately do not allow us to continue our activity,” they write. “Several elements have worked against us and considerably affected the volume of our sales, in particular the closure of the Île-aux-Tourtes Bridge.” [...]

Continue Reading.

Tagging: @newsfromstolenland, @vague-humanoid

[dk-thrive]

nothing needs to be too much of an effort at this point, not anymore, just living itself is enough, it's plenty enough, enough of an effort

You don't have to be accomplishing anything, take it easy, there is no need to strive or contend, you're under no obligation to achieve something spectacular in your life, that's pure hubris, no one is judging you out there, very few people in the world actually are thinking anything at all about you, which is a relief, just breathe, take it easy, this sadness will pass, it will abate, no it won't but you'll have to learn to live with it yet again anyway, take it easy, try not to be thinking about anything for a second, concentrate on your breathing, stifle a sob if you must, take it easy, you don't have to be productive with your time, life is too short for that, breathe, in and out, just breathe, you don't have to beat yourself up for not filling your time with more important pursuits and undertakings of some creative character, don't be hard on yourself, of course you'll be missing them all like crazy, that goes without saying, without saying, saying, but take it easy, just breathe, it gets late earlier and earlier these days, keep standing right there breathing, it's all right, take it easy, you don't have to be learning foreign languages for God's sakes or mastering the art of a handstand or juggling five tennis balls at once or losing a lot of weight, it's perfectly fine that you won't ever be starring in the NBA or dancing any major or minor ballet parts on the Mariinsky stage, granted that was an unfortunate thing to think or say, but the word is not a sparrow, take it easy, admittedly you won't ever see St. Petersburg again, so what, it's is not the end of the world, just accept it, generally accept everything without questioning, that's the way the old cookie crumbles, nothing needs to be too much of an effort at this point, not anymore, just living itself is enough, it's plenty enough, enough of an effort, if something's eating you ignore it, the time of your being hungry yourself is behind you, you don't have to start and finish a novel, the new "War and Peace" or "Moby Dick," nor can you cure cancer, the world has no such expectations from you, just be quietly thankful for having had those beautiful people in your life, just breathe, take it easy, still being here at this point is plenty enough, even though it doesn't feel that way, them's the breaks, take it easy, you don't have to relive your entire past in your mind, there can be no satisfactory closures in life, especially not ones supposed to be arrived at under pressure from yourself, life is not about that, it's not about anything, take it easy, you've had your turn in this word, be grateful, that should be enough, just breathe, remember them with gratitude, your heart doesn't need to be heavy with regret, life passes very quickly indeed, any child knows that, sometimes too quickly and sometimes not quickly enough, take it easy, that was a silly thing to think or say, breathe, you don't have to do anything now, just be there, just stay here, just breathe, in and out, standing by the window, looking out with unseeing eyes, have a potato chip or something, why not, survive, breathe, be, that should be more than enough.

— Mikhail Iossel, “Love Like Water, Love Like Fire." (Bellevue Literary Press, 2021) (via Alive on All Channels)

[mariacallous]

Jake Sullivan, the US National Security Adviser, stated that for Ukraine to gain NATO membership, it must implement necessary reforms and meet specific security conditions.

Sullivan reported that during a press conference on board of the presidential plane Air Force One, the Voice of America outlet reports. 

The adviser recalled the position of the USA, voiced during the NATO summit in Washington in July of 2024.

"There is still work to be done to get there, including reforms and security conditions. So, the question is how to build a bridge from where we are now to Ukraine's possible membership in NATO. And the answer to this question was the results of the summit in Washington, including the institutionalization of the security support apparatus for Ukraine," Sullivan said, adding that President Biden is trying to make support for Ukraine long-term.

Sullivan stated that Russia’s war in Ukraine will be among the key issues that President Joe Biden will discuss with allies during his visit to Germany on Thursday.

"The four leaders of Germany, France, Great Britain and the United States will meet to discuss two issues in particular: first, the war in Ukraine and the way forward, especially in light of the fact that they have all had the opportunity to speak personally with President Zelenskyy over the past few weeks and heard from him about how he sees things going,” Sullivan said.

Sullivan reported that the meeting of the Ukraine Defense Contact Group in the Ramstein format will be held in November at the level of leaders in a virtual format. He did not specify the date of the meeting.

Joe Biden has already arrived in Berlin and has met the German President Frank-Walter Steinmeier at Bellevue Palace in Berlin on Friday morning, October 18.

[spicysix]

「eddie munson X gn!reader • roadtrip!AU」

3k words | prev | masterlist | ao3 warnings: all the touristy informations were taken from this amazing video. if stuff changed between 1980, when the video was made, and '86, well, we'll ignore that! songs of the chapter: the last in line - dio • the first day in august - carole king author's note: it's over :( i had the best time writing this fic, it's my baby, has been my main focus since the beginning of this year and i'm so very proud of having written, posted and finished it. thank you so much to everyone who liked, reblogged and commented. this fic means the world to me. love you all and see you soon!

Friday, August 1

Eddie took you to Seattle.

As you and him had gone to sleep early the day before, after all the activity tired you out, you both woke up naturally before the sun had even risen. Eddie thought it was a good idea to go ahead and get going to your next destination so you could arrive extra early and enjoy the day better.

He was saying that based on the thought that you’d move on after that, head to another new place; but the minute you passed Bellevue and crossed the first bridge to Mercer Island, the soft drizzle cleaning the dusty van and cooling the weather, you looked at Eddie and his face seemed different. He had a new glow to his eyes that you hadn’t seen before so far, a smile was slowly pulling his lips upwards as he stared at the city around him in awe.

And you just knew, somehow.

He wasn’t going anywhere after that.

He drove around for a good while before finding a neighborhood that didn’t look so expensive and a motel that you could afford with the rest of your government money. You still had a nice portion of it, but you knew his was running out, and the prospect of staying in Seattle indefinitely just grew with that. The drizzle had stopped by the time you found a place to stay, and the two of you took turns showering before deciding to go out and see more of the city.

He wanted to explore by foot again and you couldn’t say no to his big pleading eyes so you agreed. The motel reception offered tourist brochure guides just like the one in Sioux did, so you grabbed one on your way out. You and Eddie walked some blocks hand in hand before getting in the first bus headed downtown, and you memorized the number so you’d know how to get back later. Seattle was the biggest city you’ve been to so far in the trip, and the chances of getting lost were higher so you had to pay attention. It wouldn’t stop you from encouraging Eddie’s exploring, though.

You walked around a few more blocks before deciding to follow the brochure’s hint of getting a monorail ride. The monorail made no stops as it was a short ride to the Space Needle, and you and Eddie weren’t the only tourists on it, pointing at the windows to the pretty views of downtown Seattle.

Of course, you caught the elevator to the top of the Space Needle, embracing your tourist selves, and almost lost track of time at the observation deck. The weather had cleared out completely, and you marveled at the almost perfect view of Mount Rainier. It felt like the clouds left as you arrived just so you were able to see it.

“I’ve been to Chicago and Indy, and I know they’re both bigger, but this looks huge,” he said as you were staring at the buildings. You asked him when he’s been to those cities. “I went to Indy last year, a concert. And Wayne took me to Chicago on his last work trip as a truck driver before he settled at the plant when I started living with him.”

You hummed at his answer. “My grandma took me to Chicago too. The month before she passed away. It makes me have mixed feelings about the city because it was so weird and twice as heartbreaking how well she was during our trip, and how fast she got sick and died. But it’s also the place where I made a lot of my happiest memories with her.”

Eddie didn’t answer you, and you honestly didn’t expect him to. But he stepped closer to you and his shoulder pressed to yours as he intertwined your pinky finger with his. He smiled at you, a sweet comforting thing, and you rested your head against his shoulder as the two of you watched the city for a few more minutes.

Eddie wanted to visit the Science Center after you left the Space Needle, so you headed there next and occupied the last bit of your morning. The ticket fees weren’t cheap, but there were so many interesting exhibits inside that it paid off. Eddie was jiggling with excitement, and you walked behind him at all times as he admired and contemplated everything. He couldn’t get you tickets to the planetarium, but you promised him that you’d go another day, and he looked radiant — maybe catching the undertone that you’d be staying in Seattle longer.

You left the museum headed east until you ended up at a park at the southernmost point of Lake Union. You wandered around and there was a huge History museum, the ticket fees cheaper than the Science Center ones and Eddie actually liked History more than he liked Science, so you convinced him to get inside that one too.

And, what a great idea that was.

The Museum’s core exhibit was a full, detailed story of Seattle and you watched closely as Eddie got enthralled with everything about The Emerald City. As he read and learned about the Fire of 1889, and how so many things were destroyed and rebuilt, he touched the scars on his jaw, and you understood how that story got to him personally. Someone passing by saw it, saw him, and his scars, and stared openly and rudely. Eddie was too engrossed still reading the exhibit’s panels to realize he was being stared at, but you glared at them from behind Eddie’s back until they left.

The Museum visit took up the first couple of hours of your afternoon, and you left it and started searching for a place for a late lunch. Eddie told you all about what he had learned, retold you everything the exhibit taught him about Seattle, and you honestly weren’t as enamored with it as he was, but you didn’t mind him rambling about it for hours. Actually, for as long as he wanted to talk, you would happily listen. You might’ve not been that much enamored by Seattle, but you were definitely growing enamored with Eddie Munson.

Your belly swirled by that thought alone.

After some good walking, you ended up closer to the bay and found a place to eat, somewhere with Seattle specialties. It was a small restaurant, not as expansive as the ones by the docks, and you and Eddie tried a few different options of fish, salmons specially, he even tried a sample of oysters.

You left the restaurant and walked towards the waterfront, to the docks and the pier, and Eddie looked amazed to see the bay. You wanted to take him further west, to the sea, watch his reaction to the ocean — but you figured you’d have plenty of time in the future to get there.

The touristy attractions in that area were all alluring, and you chose and paid for a ferry tour. It lasted a little bit over an hour and took you to Bainbridge Island and back. Eddie kept growing mesmerized by the hour, observing the water, the other ferries, the people. And you kept observing him.

A few seagulls surrounded the pier as you returned, and Eddie looked amazed even by them as if he was under a love spell for everything about Seattle.

“Thought you were terrified of all kinds of wildlife?” you teased him, poking him with your elbow and he cackled.

“Guess I lost my fear of many things in the last ten days,” he answered when he finished laughing, throwing his arm around your shoulder as he pulled you back downtown.

You went to a local coffee shop, a funny looking logo that Eddie explained to you, with all his fantasy knowledge, was a two-tailed siren. Got your coffees to go, sat on a bench in a random park and kept people-watching in silence as you drank your beverages.

Eddie spoke up after a few minutes. “I don’t want to go back,” he admitted.

You turned to look at him, but he kept looking forward. The fingers of his free hand were pulling at a loose thread in his jeans, his feet tapping repeatedly. You knew he was nervous. At your reaction, maybe? You almost thought it was funny.

Didn’t he know you’d follow him anywhere by now?

You placed your free hand on top of his, stopping him from ruining his pants further.

“Then you don’t go back,” you assured him.

You almost said we, but all of a sudden you were hit by a wave of uncertainty if he wanted you with him. You didn’t want to assume, or impose, bother him with your complications. So you just comforted him, put your bad thoughts aside.

He smiled widely at you, though, so your chest felt less constricted.

“I’ve always wanted to leave Hawkins, but even more so after Spring Break.” He looked around again, contemplating the buildings. “I feel like I get to start over now.”

You nodded, hummed, and tightened your grip on his leg, rested your head on his shoulder. He let out a deep, relieved sigh, and you were content to be there with him, even if it didn’t last forever. It had been good enough. It had been amazing.

Once you were done with your coffees, you went back to walking around. Eddie acted as if he had never left his house before, and you thought it would become annoying at some point, but his happiness was contagious. You couldn’t be mad at him for finally feeling free. It was the whole idea behind his runaway plan in the first place, wasn’t it? The road trip had no destination, but Eddie arrived at his own destination anyway.

He dragged you inside a bakery for a dessert treat, dragged you inside a bookstore for a new fantasy novel now that he’d have time to read one, dragged you into a quirky little shop for a tiny rainbow pin he promptly attached to the collar of his battle jacket, dragged you to a guy selling postcards — you’d have a lot to tell your friends on your next stop at a post office, you thought.

He dragged you to a new record store. “Think we need more tapes,” he said, and you laughed at his enthusiasm. Neither of you needed new tapes, definitely. Your collection was big enough, but once again you couldn’t deny him.

There was a good number of different tapes there, new music for both of you to discover and enjoy. Eddie, almost completely out of the shell he had created after March, made friends with the other shoppers and the metalhead employee. You stood back and listened to their conversations.

“You’re going to The Central tonight?” the worker asked one of the shoppers leaning on the counter, a friend of his it seemed. “That band you liked will be playing again, I heard.”

The guy seemed excited by it and turned to talk to Eddie about it as the worker rang Eddie’s tapes. “You should go check it out. Those guys are a crazy thing, never heard anything like it.”

“As if punk and metal were smashed together and came out better somehow,” the worker added and his friend nodded, laughing.

He wrote down the place and time to the tavern gig and handed the note to Eddie with his bag full of tapes.

“I’ll see you there,” Eddie said as you both left the store.

You looked at the note over his arm and told him you’d probably have the time to go back to the motel and get ready before coming back for the gig. He agreed and asked a passerby about the bus, you provided him the number, and the local told you where you should catch it.

It wasn’t too long before you were back in your rented room, taking turns showering and getting dressed. Eddie really spruced himself up, found an eyeliner at the bottom of his bag, a beautiful leather jacket and amazing combat boots. He looked so confident, radiant. Gleaming bright, and you were a mere spectator to all of his blinding glow.

You got your best accessories and clothes to wear too, not to stay too far behind him as you dressed to the nines.

The receptionist at the motel called you a cab and when you arrived at the Central Tavern, there was a little crowd of people already waiting in line to get inside. Good thing you and Eddie both had fake IDs to show the bouncer, and you drank a couple of beers before the band went up the stage.

Not even two minutes into their music, you saw it happen. You thought you’d seen the last of that sparkle in Eddie’s eyes, you thought you’d seen the peak of it, but he kept surprising you. It had happened first when you crossed the bridge that morning, it had happened again in the History Museum, but neither of those times it was shining as bright as it did when Eddie felt the music.

The songs were, one after another, gloomy, melancholic, desperate, bitter. The lyrics told of running, of being hunted, of crying and screaming, of pleading and criticizing, of trying and failing, of trying and flying and leaving and feeling free. The words, the heavy basslines, the loud drums and the slashing guitar solos — they all ran through your ears and straight to your gut.

Eddie’s eyes were glued to the band and your eyes were glued to him.

His mouth was hanging open in awe, a few tears wetting his cheeks as the songs kept playing, his hand grasping yours in the tightest of grips, he was almost shaking.

You knew it, then.

You knew he had found whatever it was that he’d been searching for.

Eddie was truly, undoubtedly, unquestionably at home.

The gig ended and he clapped the loudest. Went ahead and talked to the musicians for a good while. You backed away to the bar again, watched him in his element.

When he got back to you he was smiling wide and his eyes were still wet. He was overwhelmed with emotions and you smiled as he hugged you tight for a couple of minutes before gripping your hand again and pulling you towards the door.

“Wanna walk a bit,” he said.

“Aren’t you tired?” you asked, your own feet aching a little from all the walking you’d done through the day. He just shrugged, still smiling.

He was silent as you walked to the waterfront again, north until you reached the piers. The last few ferries of the night were the only thing you could see in the water, tiny little things in their slow paces. It was beautiful, you could admit it.

Your head was spinning.

You could feel he had something to say, was preparing for it, and you were afraid of what it could be. At the end of the pier, Eddie leaned against the metallic fence and stared ahead at the water, still quiet. You were trying to give him the time to process his emotions, cause you knew he just had what was probably a huge realization, but your mind was spiraling.

“I want to stay here,” he finally said after what felt like hours of silence.

“Do you want me to go back?” you asked immediately. His head snapped to face you so fast you were afraid he sprained his neck.

“What?” he asked, searching for something in your eyes. You could feel them burning.

“Do you want me to go back?” you repeated.

Do you want me to leave you?

Or do you want me to stay with you?

Where do you want me? Point me to wherever, and I’ll follow.

“We gotta talk, right?” you asked instead. “We don’t wanna complicate it, right, so we gotta talk. I’m talking, I’m asking: do you want me to go back to Hawkins?”

Eddie stared at you for a long minute. “Why would I want that? Do you want to go?”

You shook your head furiously. “I don’t want to go. I want to give you space if you want it, to settle in, to find yourself.”

His eyes softened. He turned to face you fully, and you mirrored him. He grabbed your hand again, cupped your jaw and caressed your cheeks.

“I don’t want space. I want you.” He smiled and wiped away the lonely tear that escaped your eye. “Nothing with you, nothing about you is complicated. There’s no complicating this, no complicating us. We’re as simple as breathing. You make it so. I’m so glad you invaded my van and came with me, baby. You’ve no idea how glad I am. We’ve been through so much, we’ve come so far and I’m not talking just about all the miles we’ve traveled.”

You let out a wet laugh. The knot in your chest loosened and you couldn’t hold in a sob. He smiled wider, knowing it was happy crying. He brought you closer, touched his forehead to yours.

“We had so many adventures and experiences and I feel- I know there’s still so much waiting for us out there,” he pointed to the city to your side, before grabbing your hand again. You didn’t take your eyes off of him, though. “The whole world is ours now, it can start right here, and I want you with me. Our adventure just began.”

“There’s many more to come, right?” you asked.

“Many more to come, baby,” he answered, leaned in to kiss you, smiling against your lips and you knew it, then. You knew you had found whatever it was that you’d been searching for.

You were truly, undoubtedly, unquestionably at home.

Eddie was your home.

You couldn’t wait for all your tomorrows with him.

taglist: @amira0303 @rupsmorge @wyverntatty @inourtownofhawkins

[finishinglinepress]

FLP CHAPBOOK OF THE DAY: Stronger Than Salmon by Carol Shamon

On SALE now! Pre-order Price Guarantee: https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/stronger-than-salmon-by-carol-shamon/

Stronger Than Salmon is an unflinching collection of #poetry that explores #life’s strongest tugs and pulls – #family, #aging, love, loss, and self-discovery. Shamon’s honesty in examining and facing life’s currents invites the reader to join her journey for truth. A journey that eventually leads to wonder and belonging.

Carol Shamon has been writing poetry since the age of nine. This collection stands out in its simplicity of chosen words to convey big emotions related to topics such as death, divorce, mental illness, and life itself. Shamon began having her poetry published when she was attending college at the University of Northern Colorado. While keeping up with journal writing, she took a break from publishing while she created and owned a successful talent agency for 35 years. Now she’s writing and publishing as fast as she can with several poems and two zines recently published as well as a memoir in the works.

PRAISE FOR Stronger Than Salmon by Carol Shamon

Carol Shamon‘s poems have the luminous yet penetrating quality of truth. Her poems reveal the depths of motherhood and marriage, love, and self-knowledge– each one a door, as she says, “to those we have loved and feared.” Reading these carefully crafted poems, we catch a glimpse of our own search for truth, seen more clearly through her unflinching eyes.

–Marcy Llamas Senese, PhD, Writing Consultant, The Perfect Pen

It is thought that the word “salmon” is derived from the Latin salmo or salire, which means “to leap”; in this cycle of poems, the author casts several theme lines: family, aging, prejudice, secrets and even magic, to name a few, so as to let the reader in on the inner strength required to get through this life, and the return to one’s source – Home, as it were.

“I tell myself that I need to remember all I am” guides Shamon’s leap of faith into the unknown of multiple losses, each with their own sets of challenges, and the personal triumph of survival in which the reader will ultimately share. —

–Robt O’Sullivan, editor (San Diego Poetry Annual) and publisher (Escondido Arts Partnership’s Summation anthologies)

What a joy and privilege it is to read poet Carol Shamon’s collection of poetry.

The seeming simplicity of Shamon’s words bring the reader to profound insights on life, death, and the dance we make that separates these two doors. Throughout these poems it’s as if we, the reader, walk with her as we are introduced to important friends, family members and experiences along the way. She reveals in the most intimate, yet almost communal way, heartfelt details with her readers. Let us hope she brings more books forth for our emotional, poetic, and artistic pleasure.

–Pat Andrus is a former Artist-In-Residence for the state of Washington, a long-time English instructor at Bellevue College. Pat is the author of three collections of poetry, the most recent titled Fragments of the Universe (Blue Vortex Publishers).

Please share/please repost #flpauthor #preorder #AwesomeCoverArt #poetry #chapbook #read #poems #life

[bearterritory]

12 Talented Transfers Bolster Cal Football

Golden Bears Solidify 2023 Roster with Experienced Veterans

BERKELEY – The California football team has officially added a dozen players to its roster since the end of spring football with the signings of QB Luke Bottari (Utah), WR Taj Davis (Washington), RB King Doerue (Purdue), WR Marquez Dortch (Mississippi State), QB Ben Finley (North Carolina State), RB Isaiah Ifanse (San Jose State/Montana State), OL Barrett Miller (Stanford), P Thomas Lee (Cal Poly), DB Patrick McMorris (San Diego State), DB Marcus Scott II (Missouri), OL Matthew Wycoff (Texas A&M), and OLB Tidiane Jalloh (Independence Community College)

Below are highlights on each of the signees:   Luke Bottari – QB, 5-10, 205, R-Jr., 5th Collegiate Season San Mateo, CA (Utah/College of San Mateo/Serra HS) – Completed 338-of-550 passes for 4,673 yards with a school career-record 46 touchdowns and 13 interceptions for a quarterback rating of 155.7 at College of San Mateo – Named the Northern California Player of the Year while adding All-State honors as a 2019 freshman – Led Serra High School to its first state title as a 2017 prep junior   Taj Davis – WR, 6-1, 205, R-Jr., 5th Collegiate Season Upland, CA (Washington/Upland HS) – Played in 24 games with 10 starts in his final two seasons as a 2021 redshirt freshman and 2022 sophomore at Washington – Contributed two-year career totals of 47 receptions, 606 yards receiving and four touchdown catches, while also playing on special teams and adding six tackles all as a 2022 sophomore – Ranked as the nation's No. 54 wide receiver according to Rivals in the 2019 high school recruiting class

King Doerue – RB, 5-10, 205, R-Jr., 5th Collegiate Season Amarillo, TX (Purdue/Tascosa HS) – Played in 32 games with 16 starts in four seasons at Purdue from 2019-22 – Rushed 309 times for 1,145 yards and 10 touchdowns, while adding 47 receptions, 381 yards receiving and three touchdown catches   Marquez Dortch – WR, 6-0, 170, R-Fr., 2nd Collegiate Season Lucedale, MS (Mississippi State/George County HS) – Played in one game and recorded one reception for one yard in a single campaign at Mississippi State in 2022 but did not use a season of collegiate eligibility – A consensus four-star recruit in the 2021 class who was ranked the nation's No. 24 wide receiver by 247Sports

Ben Finley – QB, 6-3, 205, R-So., 4th Collegiate Season Phoenix, AZ (North Carolina State/Paradise Valley HS) – Played in eight games at NC State with two starts over three campaigns, completing 83-of-152 passes for 912 yards with four touchdown tosses – Led the Wolfpack to a 30-27 double-overtime win at No. 18 North Carolina as a 2022 redshirt freshman in his first career start in North Carolina State's regular-season finale, connecting on 27-of-40 passes for 271 yards with two touchdowns and no interceptions   Isaiah Ifanse – RB, 5-9, 205, R-Sr., 6th Collegiate Season Bellevue, WA (San Jose State/Montana State/Bellevue HS) – Played in 40 games in four seasons at Montana State (2018-19, 2021-22) and finished as the school's all-time leading rusher with 3,742 yards and scored 25 touchdowns on the ground to rank sixth on Montana State's all-time list on 630 carries for a program that posted a 43-14 overall record, made the FCS Playoffs each season including a trip to the title game during his 2021 junior campaign, and won a share of the Big Sky title as a 2022 senior – Became Montana State's first All-American running back since 1982 (second-team AFCS, Associated Press, Hero Sports, Stats Perform) and All-Big Sky running back since 2011 as a junior in 2021, when he established a single-season school-record with 1,623 yards rushing and scored 10 touchdowns on the ground on 280 carries that were the second most in school history

Barrett Miller – OL, 6-5, 315, Sr., 5th Collegiate Season Aurora, CO (Stanford/Eaglecrest HS) – Played in 38 games with 30 starts (26 at left guard and four at right guard) over four seasons at Stanford from 2019-22 including all 18 starts possible during both his COVID-shortened 2020 and 2021 sophomore seasons – A four-star recruit in the prep class of 2019 according to 247Sports

Thomas Lee, P, 5-11, 185, R-Sr., 6th Collegiate Season San Ramon, CA (Cal Poly/Dougherty Valley HS) – A member of the Cal Poly football program for his final three years – Became the team's starting punter for the final nine games of his 2022 senior season and punted 31 times for 1,152 yards (37.2 ypp) – Finished his career with 33 punts for 1208 yards (36.6 ypp) with his 2 longest punts for 56 yards   Patrick McMorris, DB, 6-0, 210, Sr., 5th Collegiate Season Santa Ana, CA (San Diego State/Santa Ana HS/Godinez Fundamental HS) – Played in 42 games with 27 starts at San Diego State from 2019-22 and contributed 162 tackles, 6.5 tackles for loss (-14 yards), five interceptions that he returned for 61 yards, 15 pass breakups, 20 passes defended and two fumble recoveries, including one that he returned 30 yards for his lone career touchdown – Earned first-team All-Mountain West Conference as both a 2021 sophomore and 2022 junior to become just the second San Diego State safety to pick up spots on two All-MWC first-team squads – A team captain as a 2022 junior who was named the preseason Mountain West Co-Defensive Player of the Year and also was a member of preseason first-team All-MWC teams by four publications, as well as on watch lists for the Senior Bowl and for the Chuck Bednarik Award and Bronko Nagurski Award given to the nation's top defensive player – Listed as a four-star transfer by 247Sports

Marcus Scott II – DB, 6-0, 180, R-Fr., 2nd Collegiate Season Houston, TX (Missouri/Conroe HS/College Park HS) – Did not see any game action or use a season of collegiate eligibility as a 2022 true freshman at Missouri – Totaled 55 tackles, four interceptions, 18 pass breakups, three forced fumbles and two fumble recoveries as a prep during his 2020 junior at College Park High School and 2021 senior campaign at Conroe High School, while picking up three touchdowns in his career on a pick six, a 75-yard scoop and score, and an onside kick that he returned 65 yards – A four-star recruit of Rivals both in the 2023 transfer portal class and 2022 high school class, while also being listed as the No. 34 cornerback coming out of high school   Matthew Wykoff – OL, 6-6, 330, R-So., 3rd Collegiate Season Magnolia, TX (Texas A&M/Magnolia HS) – Played in 16 games with nine starts over two campaigns as a 2021 true freshman and 2022 redshirt freshman at Texas A&M – Earned a spot on the SEC's All-Freshman squad – Ranked as the No. 34 offensive tackle in the 2021 recruiting class according to Rivals

Tidiane Jalloh, OLB, 6-5, 270, So., 2nd Collegiate Season Toulon, France (Independence Community College) – Contributed eight tackles with 0.5 tackles for loss (-2 yards) in six games off the bench as a 2022 true freshman in his first season of American football –Ranked as the nation's No. 9 defensive lineman in the 2023 junior college recruiting class by 247Sports Composite  

[nebradfem]

11 weeks. You have only 11 weeks to suspect you're pregnant, take a home test, get a blood test to confirm, and then try to get an appointment at one of two providers in the entire state. You get one little extra week, as a treat, if you want to undergo a much more invasive and painful surgical abortion.

A reminder that this is all intentional. All of it. The violent intimidation towards women's healthcare providers, the overloading of the few clinics left, the lack of support and resources available for pre-natal testing, the brutal limitations placed on women who are already in one of the most vulnerable positions they'll be subjected to in their lives.

They intentionally set up these roadblocks. If you want to get an abortion: you need to have a regular period, access to pregnancy testing, access to transportation, access to enough money to pay for everything, etc. They don't see women as anything more than "proud wives and mothers". These monsters cry with joy in front of cameras when they talk about eventually enacting full bans with no exceptions, so just imagine how reprehensible they are in private.

[virtualmemoriespodcast]

Episode 551 - Jerome Charyn

"The word is far more real than the world": Jerome Charyn rejoins the show to celebrate his new novel, RAVAGE & SON (Bellevue Literary Press), a fantastic noir about the Lower East Side in 1913. We talk about his love for the LES and the Bintel Briefs in The Forward, why he wanted to write a Jewish Jekyll & Hyde story, and how adopting a cat changed the course of this amazing novel. We also get into life on the page, the music of the sentence, and the self-revelation of writing, why so many of his characters attend Harvard, the holiness of books and why he reads so little of others' books nowadays, treating writing as an apprenticeship rather than a career, and how he got overwhelmed for a year after writing in Abe Lincoln's voice. Plus we discuss his reverence of Joyce Carol Oates and Cormac McCarthy (and ambivalence toward Henry James, who makes an appearance in Ravage & Son), the reason so many of his characters attend Harvard, the sense of being transported by the ballet performances of Allegra Kent, how it felt to write a character who's in love with destruction, why gender fluidity is essential to human nature, and the one advantage to living long enough: understanding that nothing remains and everything disappears. Follow Jerome on Twitter, and listen to our 2019, 2021, and 2022 conversations • More info at our site • Support The Virtual Memories Show via Patreon or Paypal and via our Substack

Check out the new episode of The Virtual Memories Show

[emmaklee]

risograph print via bellevue press

[darkwavedreams]

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖆𝖕𝖕𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖘𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖞'𝖘 𝖇𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝖋𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖓𝖉

breana bellevue had always been a light in shelley’s life. she was warmth and laughter, the kind of friend who grabbed your hand and pulled you into her world without hesitation. when no one else had given shelley a second glance, breana had chosen her—not out of pity, but out of genuine belief that shelley was someone worth knowing.

but now breana was gone.

it had been weeks since anyone had seen her. weeks since her bright laugh had echoed through the halls, since her confident footsteps had turned heads wherever she went. the absence felt wrong, like a song that stopped mid-chorus. no one knew where she was, and the rumors swirled like smoke: she’d run away. she’d moved without telling anyone. she’d been taken. that she died. shelley couldn’t bring herself to believe any of them.

the last time she’d seen breana was like any other day, though it stood sharper in her memory now. breana had grabbed her hand as they walked, like she always did, chattering about something funny she’d seen online. her laughter had been easy, her energy boundless. she’d even leaned close, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “you know we’re gonna get out of here someday, right? just you and me. no more rules, no more drama. just… life.”

and shelley had smiled, because breana’s confidence always made things feel possible, even if shelley couldn’t see how. but now, with every passing day of silence, that promise felt farther away.

pamela, of course, was milking the situation for all it was worth. “it’s sad, isn’t it?” she said one day, her voice dripping with fake concern. “but, like… i always said breana was a little too trusting. she probably got herself into trouble. or, i don’t know, maybe she just wanted a clean break. some people are just good at disappearing.”

shelley’s stomach twisted, the implication clear. pamela was already writing shelley out of breana’s life—already painting her as someone breana had left behind. it made her furious. it made her sick. but more than anything, it made her scared.

because what if pamela was right?

at night, the silence pressed down harder. shelley couldn’t stop thinking about breana—about the last time she saw her, about the way her hand had felt in hers, warm and certain. about the laugh she hadn’t known would be the last. and worse, shelley couldn’t shake the guilt that clawed at her chest. what if she hadn’t pulled back? what if she’d been there more? what if breana had needed her and shelley hadn’t noticed?

sometimes, shelley dreamed about her. vivid, startling dreams where breana appeared like nothing had happened, her smile wide, her hand outstretched. “come on, shelley,” she’d say, her voice echoing like it came from a far-off place. “you’re gonna miss it.”

shelley would reach for her, but no matter how fast she moved, she could never quite catch up. breana would drift further and further away until she faded into the shadows, leaving shelley with nothing but the aching void of her absence.

the dreams weren’t enough. the memories weren’t enough. shelley needed answers. but every time she thought about asking, about looking for them, the fear would creep in. what if the truth was worse than the unknown? what if breana was gone for good?

what if shelley was already too late?

[privmu]

WESTON

PARENT NAMES: Jude and Molly Weston are separating

HOMETOWN: Bellevue Hill, New South Wales, Australia

PATTERNS: N/A

OTHER: Open to adopted siblings but not half siblings. Brody was the only sibling that grew up in the States long term with his father, the rest of the Weston’s spent their childhoods with their mom travelling around the world with Australia as a homebase. Jude Weston has a gambling problem that he manages to keep out of the press but has caused personal and financial problems over the years.

Background

Jude Weston always knew he wanted to be an actor, and after having a couple of seasons long stint in Neighbours in his late teens his career exploded. He was offered several roles in Australia and while he took as many as he could, Jude knew the career he wanted lay Stateside and so when producers approached him to play the lead character in the movie Mission Impossible, he practically snatched their hand off. From then on, Jude became Hollywood’s next go to guy for action movie roles, winning award after award including two Oscars, and establishing himself as “softer than he looks” amongst his fanbase. He married Molly Hartman, his lovely and not at all famous wife, and was lauded for his humility and “down to earth”-ness in marrying a civilian. Molly worked as a Foreign Service Officer and works in countries all over the world, very rarely in once place for very long but loving her work very much. Jude recently did a stint in the newest Mission Impossible movie of the franchise and had an affair with his co-star. He’s in the process of divorcing his wife of over 20 years. Rumours have flown about him being gay.

[sock-to-the-third]

Sometimes Amazing Things Happen:

Heartbreak and Hope on the Bellevue Hospital Psychiatric Prison Ward

By Elizabeth Ford, MD

It’s an intense book at times but I enjoyed it for the length I got through (191 out of 243 pages).

Chapter Six: Mama Gizzly [pg56]

My favorite people Dr Ford focused on was Kevin, a teenager. It focuses primarily on his need to speak to his mother but the singular telephone plus the friction with the guards making one person’s anxiety percieved as a threat by the guard.

Quote: pg20

Dr Ford describes the Detox Unit. A fella will sober up but the hope is that they’ll go into long term rehab. Some sign an AMA (against Medical advise). Dr Ford explains the risk of leaving but a common reply is…

“Nah, I’m good. […] I’ll just grab another drink when I get out. That will stop the shakes.”

Peter [pg73-79]

“I worked out an arrangement with a psychologist at Riker’s Island to see [Peter] three times a week and focus on very in-the-moment skills for him, like thinking twice before he starts yelling an obscenity at an officer. The therapy and attention worked for awhile, but Peter had a huge out burst the day after the psychologist went on vacation, and he ended up back at Bellevue” [pg74].

The part about the vacation and then getting sent back hit me. Also the lengths that other people in prison at Rikkers did to get sent to Bellevue for a break from it.

Side note: guards

Ex. pg66,81

The guards are a tight knit group. Aggrevate one, you make an enemy of all of them. Also, there are unspoken rules that you aren’t aware of until you cross them. (Ex. The red button to get into the Ward. Don’t press it, just wait)

Chapter 10: A Mother’s Love

Jamel/Steven has schizophrenia, believes some of the delusions, doesn’t believe he’s ill, refuses all medication.

What really got me was how long it took since Steven didn’t trust doctors so Dr Ford had to convince his mother, Sarah, to that Steven needs Clozapine “…the magic wonder of psychosis, but […] a tiny fraction of patients who take it develop a dangerous reduction in white blood cells.”

So Dr Ford goes through the long process of convincing Sarah (who’s African American like her son, very understandable not trusting docs either) and eventually convinces her. Then convinces Steven.

It’s light night and day. Steven had violent outbursts before, yelling racial ephiphets, then goes a 180 and is appologizing, behavior improves etc on the new drug.

Everyone’s happy.

Then the white blood cell count drops. Steven is pissed, so is his mom.

Just utterly devestating.

Later on: self-unaliving

Not getting into it. Upsetting to read but something I want to look into the causes of why, especially for marginalized groups in prison.

Take aways

I need to do more research on this part. This book’s scope is on the periphery of mental health in prison. It feels like getting it straight from the source would be more productive. Dr Ford gives some interesting insights but it also feels like, in some parts, there’s bad -on-the-back vibe where it feels like some of the details are taken in a nicer light.

Thank again, I got no evidence of that so yeah.

Also, since this is from the perspective of a white doc, I’d love to get docs of other perspectives and people in prison who are a variety of skin color and how that affects their experience.

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