#the most of any city in the WORLD now other than Boston and New York

[idsb]

How funny it is that 3 weeks ago all I wanted to do was leave this place and now that I’ve set everything in motion to make that happen, I can’t think of anything worse than having to prematurely leave it behind 🥴

[strangeswift]

happy happy birthday @astrobei !! as my gift to you, please enjoy some modern au college jancy (ft. byler)

If you told fifteen-year-old Jonathan Byers that one day he’d be taking time off of his busy schedule as an NYU Student and part time photography intern to get on a plane to Boston to visit his girlfriend, Nancy Wheeler, he probably would have fainted on sight. 

(Well, he probably wouldn’t have believed you, but if somehow he had, there would’ve been a high likelihood of him fainting on sight.)

The truth was, Jonathan’s life was kind of perfect now, as far as he was concerned. Most importantly, the world hadn’t ended, which was a pretty major concern a few years ago. 

His mom and Hopper were married now, and Hop was ten times the father Lonnie had ever been. It’d been a little bit of an adjustment at first, accepting Hopper into the family, but easier than you’d expect. Hopper had already been there for them for years, so it didn’t feel all that different.

El was living at home in Hawkins, commuting to Community College, which would’ve been Jonathan’s worst nightmare, but El seemed to be more than happy with the arrangement. Jonathan thought she might’ve been making up for lost time a bit, living at home with mom and Hop. Having a mom and a dad, a stable home. She definitely deserved it.

Will was finally happy, which had been Jonathan’s main concern in life for pretty much as long as he could remember. He was going to school for art in California and sharing a dorm with Mike, which he’d been pretty stoked about. Jonathan wasn’t entirely sure about the nature of their relationship these days, though he had his suspicions, but he knew Will was happy, and that was what mattered. Not to say that he and Nancy hadn’t tried to do some investigation on the matter, because they absolutely had. Call it journalistic instinct.

He and Nancy were better than ever these days, despite the distance. The fantastic thing about government hush money is that it’s not only good for tuition to your dream school, it can also be used for frequent air travel. Boston was only about an hour from New York City by plane, so they took turns visiting. Jonathan liked visiting Nancy, if only for the fact that she lived in a one bedroom apartment with no roommates. Glorious privacy. 

They’d just arrived back at said apartment after dinner with a few of Nancy’s friends from school, who Jonathan thought were nice, if a little high-strung. As soon as they entered the bubble of Nancy’s apartment, Jonathan gently grabbed her face and kissed her, slowly walking her back against the closed door.

She pulled back and laughed at him, her eyes filled with adoration. “What was that for?”

“I missed you,” he said sincerely.

She scoffed playfully. “We’ve been together for hours already.”

Jonathan pressed a kiss to her forehead, then to each of her cheeks, and finally connected their lips again. “Missed you,” he repeated.

She looked up at him through her eyelashes and her cheeks flushed bright pink. “I missed you too,” she murmured.

---

One bottle of red wine later, they ended up on the couch, Nancy wrapped up in Jonathan’s arms as he ran a hand through her hair. 

He was-- Okay, he was a little buzzed. He’d always been a bit of a lightweight. (The alcoholic genes did absolutely nothing for him.) Nancy was even worse off.

So there they were, a little tipsy, tangled together and staring into each other's eyes, just because they could.

“Have you talked to Will lately?” Nancy asked suddenly.

Jonathan nodded. “He texted me earlier.”

“Have you collected any more intel?” Nancy asked curiously, leaning forward. 

Jonathan could smell the wine on her breath. He took a moment to find it funny that she was referring to prying for information on their little brothers and their possible romantic relationship (probable romantic relationship) as collecting intel.

“No,” Jonathan said, “I haven’t asked him about it in a while, he got all touchy last time,” he frowned.

“Mike won’t tell me shit,” Nancy complained, “he won’t even pick up the damn phone.”

“I should call Will,” Jonathan announced, and Nancy nodded earnestly.

He shimmied a little so that he could retrieve his phone from his back pocket, then settled back into place. Nancy watched intently as Jonathan called Will and put it on speaker. They both listened to the phone ring, and Jonathan held a finger to his lips, gesturing for Nancy to stay quiet. She giggled and nodded.

“Jonathan? Is everything okay?” Will’s groggy voice came over the phone.

“Oh. Were you sleeping?” Jonathan asked.

Will huffed. “Yeah, Jonathan. It's midnight. Are you drunk? You sound drunk.”

The existence of time zones suddenly dawned on Jonathan and he felt like an idiot. “A little, yeah. I’m not used to you being on California time. Sorry,” he said.

“It’s fine,” Will said through a yawn.

Jonathan was about to apologize again and let Will go back to sleep, when he heard a voice in the background grumble, “Who is it?” and Will quietly answer, “Shh. Just Jonathan.”

Jonathan’s eyes widened and he looked excitedly at Nancy. She grinned back at him.

“You settling into the dorms okay?” Jonathan asked.

“Uh… Yeah?” Will responded, obviously wondering why the conversation was still happening.

“You and Mike got separate bedrooms, didn’t you?” Jonathan asked, biting back a smug grin.

After a pause, Will said, “Yeah,” his tone clipped, “We got lucky.”

Jonathan and Nancy exchanged another look.

“Cool,” Jonathan said, “And you’re in bed now?”

“Yeah, Jonathan, it’s midnight, I was sleeping,” Will said, “Listen, I can call you in the morning if that’s okay?”

“Sure, buddy,” Jonathan said.

“Okay, I’ll--”

“Just out of curiosity though, who’s in bed with you right now?” Jonathan asked abruptly.

Will coughed. “What?”

Jonathan heard a distant “What is it?”

“Nobody is. I’m alone,” Will insisted.

Nancy rolled her eyes and Jonathan held in a laugh. “You know, you can tell me if you met someone out there,” he said, “I’m happy for you. Seems a little fast though, you’ve been there… what? A week?”

“I haven’t met anyone! Jesus, Jonathan,” Will said.

With that, Jonathan noticed Nancy was also on her phone, and he furrowed his brow in confusion, until he saw Calling Mike on the screen. The next thing he heard was a ringtone coming through the other end of the phone, followed by a loud groan.

“Hey!” Nancy said, “He sent me to voicemail.”

“Is that Nancy?” Will asked, “What the hell Jonathan?”

“Maybe,” Jonathan answered sheepishly.

There was some shuffling on the line, then Mike’s very tired voice came through the phone loud and clear. “Hey, Jonathan and Nancy. Great job, you caught us, we’re going back to sleep now. Fuck you and goodnight.”

Before Jonathan could respond, the call ended. He locked eyes with Nancy who looked similarly bemused.

“Case closed,” she said with a shrug, erupting into giggles.

“Case closed,” Jonathan echoed. He couldn’t help but recall a few years back, watching the two of them through a rear-view mirror in the Nevada desert.

He was really, really happy. And a little wine drunk, but mostly happy.

[final-girl96]

Ageless Secrets Chapter One

August 2007

It's been almost two years since the outbreak. The government, now known as FEDRA, finally had quarantine zones that people could go to. They had them set up a year after the outbreak happened. The QZs were in a lot of the major cities, New York, Pittsburgh, Philadelphia, they were all over the place. Right now we were making our way to Boston. We tried getting in the one in Detroit, going all the way back home but it was clear it wouldn't happen as soon as we got there. The road to the QZ was backed up for miles. So we turned around and headed for the one in Ohio but that too was out of the question.

We then decided to just keep going. There was supposed to be one in Boston that wasn't even finished yet. We figured if we could get there early we could be one of the first to get in. But it was rough being out on the road. Supplies were hard to come by, no place was safe, we had to worry about raiders. This was a new world and the old world rules didn't apply anymore. People would kill you for whatever you had.

Eventually, we met up with other survivors. You know what they say, safety in numbers and all that jazz. We turned into those people that we would hide from. It's what we had to do to survive. It's that kind of world now that you kill or be killed. Hiding wasn't always an option. We car jacked, stole, killed, and left people for dead. I am nineteen now and I've been through too much for my age. I used to be scared all the time. I let Tess handle everything. But after A while those hopes and dreams that this whole outbreak would eventually be over vanished.

Cordyceps, that's what the sickness was, it's a fungus. At one point it only affected things like ants. It would attach itself to the ant and eventually make its way to its brain and take control. It used to never be able to survive in the human body with how high our body temperature was. But it adapted. There are three known stages of infection as of now.

Runners: The first and most common stage, occurring within hours or days of infection. They are still human in appearance, but lose control of their faculties and sprint you. Kind of like Andy had done.

Stalkers: The second stage, where the infected show physical signs of the infection, such as spores growing from their head and body. They are also more agile than runners. They like to stay in darker places and they like to follow you. They've been infected for at least two weeks and remain that way until about a year before going to the next stage.

Clickers: The third stage, where the infected become blood-hungry husks. They can't see you because of the fungus overing their face. But they have impeccable hearing and make this creepy ass clicking noise. They've been infected for a least a year or two.

You have to be careful no matter what with the infected, but they seem to like the dark more than being out in the day light. The dwell in builds where it's dark. You always need to so a sweep, being as quiet as possible when you go into a house or building to loat or stay in. You always need to be careful of any spores in the air. The Cordyceps isn't just inside the infected, it also grows around any that have been sitting somewhere for a while. The spores alone can infected you, so wearing a gas mask is the best option in those situation.

A few weeks ago we met two men, brothers. Joel, the oldest and his younger brother Tommy. Tommy was thirty-two, the same age as Tess and Joel was thirty-six or would be soon according to Tommy. Everything happened on Joel birthday, September twenty-sixth. I won't sit here and pretend that I didn't find Joel attractive the second I laid eyes on him. But he didn't pay any attention to me. Why would he? I'm a nineteen year old girl.

Joel didn't trust very easily either, not as easily as Tommy did. Tommy warmed up to Tess and I pretty quick. He the more reasonable one of the two. Joel and Tess had a lot in common, she wasn't very trusting either. I mean, I don't trust people anymore but I'm not as bad as Tess is. I would have trusted Joel in a heartbeat even after he put a gun to my head.

Yup, that's right, Joel had a gun to my head when we first ran into them. They thought we were trying to rob them and we thought they were trying to rob us. To be fair we were going to rob them and they were going to do the same to us. Tess had her gun trained on Joel, daring him to pull the trigger. Tommy was the voice of reason. He's the one that convince both of the to lower their weapons and talk. Tommy came up with the idea to band together all while Joel still had a hold of me.

“Let's put our guns down and talk about this. Joel, come on, she's just a kid.” I scoffed at that, “I'm fucking nineteen, asshole.” Tess glared at me. “Yn, shut up!” I rolled my eyes at her and let out a long sigh. “Joel, please, lower your gun,” Tommy pleaded. Only when Tess lowered hers, holding a hand up in surrender did Joel lower his gun. “Are you going to let go of me? I'm not one that likes physical contact all that much.”

It had all been quite thrilling and terrifying. When Joel finally let me go, he pushed me towards my sister, almost causing me to fall. “Fucking asshole!” Tess had grabbed me and pulled me behind her, telling me to shut up. They made a deal that we would all work together. But that doesn't mean we trust each other fully. Joel was cold towards us, at least he was to me. He got along with Tess more than he got along with me. I was ignored anytime I tried to pitch in ideas.

Tess forced me to stay back when they went to raid people. She acted like I never killed someone. I had killed more people than I'd like to admit. I'm nineteen and have killed men and women. You didn't see too many children anymore. For a while Tess couldn't even look at a kid. She could hardly look at me. I hated that she would make me hang back a lot, but I also understood why she did It.

“Alright, yn, you–” I cut her off with a roll of my eyes. “Yeah, yeah, stay here. Stay out of sight. Don't come out unless I tell you to. You're no help to us. You're useless. You'll just be in the way and get yourself or someone else killed. Blah blah blah.” She let out a heavy sigh, “Please don't start your shit. I just want you to be safe.”

“Whatever, Tess, just go.” I turned around and walked back into the building we had been sitting in for the past three hours. Joel and Tess were watching a group of men across the way. Tommy didn't seem to want to be a part of it but he was doing what we had to do to survive. “I'll stay back with her, keep an eye out from here.” I groaned, rolling my eyes back and stormed off. “I don't need a babysitter!”

“Keep your damn voice down!” Joel hissed at me. I spun around and gave him the finger, "Shove it up your ass!” His jaw clenched and he started after me. “Joel,” Tommy warned. “Yn, please, stop your damn attitude!” Tess said sternly. “Look here little girl–” That pissed me off even more. I know I was acting like a child, but I was getting sick of them treating me like I was unable to do anything.

“Little girl! Little fucking girl! Really? Go fuck yourself, Joel. All of you can go fuck yourself. You all act like I can't take care of myself. You act like I'm nothing but a burden to you. I'm so sick and tired of it. You always thought you were better than me Tess, just because you're older. You always have to be in charge. You're not the only one whole has been having a hard fucking time! I'm not a little girl anymore. I can take care of myself.”

[omegaremix]

June 14, 2018.

OK. Show’s over. Cold Cave says good night and Warsaw clears out. Everyone go home. I head to the ‘G’ subway line to get to Court Square but, lucky me, the line is shut down for repairs. The MTA / LIRR in New York City and on Long Island respectively is a necessary evil which tells you to go fuck yourself on a daily basis. Now what? Good thing there a free shuttle bus that takes us right to Court Square which takes me to the ‘E’ line all the way to Jamaica station. What does Tropic Of Cancer’s “More Alone” have to do with any of this? It’s what was playing on my iPod Classic (160GB) on the shuttle route to Court Square, a mode of transportation I haven’t taken since last decade when my ex- Yenny and I took to Rochester to see Projekt Revolution.

Part Two. “Osiris Rises” was what came on next when boarding the ‘E’ line to the Jamaica stop. The ‘E’ was the most exhaustive subway ride I ever taken at 10 separate stops over 45 minutes to get to where I needed to. Subway rides are also where you meet and chatter with random people, such as one young lady who was to get off halfway. Imagine Lorde but without make-up, shorter with curves and wider-than-normal hips; straight shoulder-length honey hair wearing a pink ringer tee and a knee-length denim skirt. I’m truly experiencing a dream in the real world where things could have and may have been possible but never would be, but for once it is. We talked about how impatient we were taking a tiring ride to our respective destinations. Her complexion was a little unique and nothing I seen before from from the opposite sex on an every day basis, hence why I kept glancing at her to figure her out. She dispersed the ‘E’ line before I did and that was it. She was now a memory attached to all of the night’s events, and someone I will never ever see again.

I hung on and finally made it to the Jamaica stop but realized that this station wasn’t familiar to me? I was supposed to get off on Sutphin Blvd., the booth operator told me. I hop on the ‘E’ line again going the opposite way, sitting inside a near empty car on a 15-minute standstill. That’s when “She-Women Of The SS” came on the randomizer. The eerie but colorful two-bit electronic bleeps slowly creep in, filling up the otherwise silent scene as I waited for the subway cars to close doors and shift on. One stop the other way and it’s Sutphin Blvd. to walk to the real Jamaica stop home. I look at my watch: it’s 12:35 AM. I look at the take-off, my train leaves at 12:36 AM. Time to hustle my ass upstairs. I board the Jamaica train with about one minute to spare, stealing it like Jacob Ellsbury stealing home plate. Had I missed the Jamaica bolt, I’d be fucked, because I had to be at work by 9:45 AM.

Jamaica to Deer Park. Why Deer Park? Because it’s a $4.00 difference between that station and Brentwood. The Long Island Railroad (LIRR) prices its’ tickets according to zones. Now you know why commuters roll the dice to find a parking spot during sunshine hours. I sit down and at first it’s quiet. I’m on the right-hand side mid-car, facing and riding east. For the first half of the ride my music is turned up. Earphones pushed in and I normally don’t care about what’s around me. Melody’s Echo Chamber’s “Cross My Heart” plays. (Don’t ask me why other than the answer is that I’m auditioning for future radio broadcasts. With my history, I wouldn’t be caught dead with something like it.) I turn it down, half-hear, and look up to see some 50-something Long Island stereotype complete with a loud drawling Boston / Brooklyn / Jersey-bred accent. It’s the worst linguistic amalgam I could imagine. She’s waving her phone around blasting Hall & Oates and showing everyone in vicinity her friend’s wedding photos, like anyone cares. You guessed it: it’s drunk hour on the train. Everyone’s sitting helpless watching this loud donkey and she didn’t give a fuck what people thought of her, but someone else gave it a try.

This 20 year-old kid was fed up and wasn’t having it. He yelled at her to stop and said his piece of mind; b-bombs, expletives, four-letter words and all. We now have a squabble. It got everyone’s attention including our star of the show. He laid it down on her thick. A back-and-forth ensued and eventually two other friends of hers jumped in, even “apologizing” to him for her behavior but gave her a pass because “it’s drunk hour and it’s expected”. Civility flies out the window and now we got a shouting match. Both sides called bullshit and held mirrors on each other in the ultimate race to see who’s more righteous. The drunk lady then spat her wad of gum at the kid and everyone gasped. The charming young man quivered in shock that she spat her gum at him, but he still kept going. Two more stops to go; him and his crew said “fuck this”, got out of their seats and waited to get off the train. She still was mouthing off all the way home, threatening to call her husband up to meet them at their stop. But, at least she said “goodbye” and “have a good night!” to everyone else not involved.

Welcome to Long Island.

[musette22]

Obviously, 2022 was a shitshow in many regards. Lots of bad stuff happened, particularly in the world in general, and in my personal life, too. Nevertheless!

I’d like to take a minute to acknowledge the good things that happened in my life as well, because while they don’t won’t make the bad things any better, the good things matter, too – they’re just easier to forget 🙃

So because I love making lists, I made a list! And then debated whether or not to post it on here or to just keep it to myself and my loved ones, but eh, what’s the harm in sharing? Most of you won’t be interested in reading about all this of course, but maybe some of you are, and maybe it’ll remind someone else of the good things that happened in their life as well. Who knows.

So, here goes (I’ll start off with some fandom things and put the more personal stuff & some pics under the cut):

Most importantly (lol) (no but really): I finally saw Chris in the flesh this year, at the Lightyear premiere in London, on his birthday. AAAHHH 😭💙🌟

Sebastian was nominated for an Emmy and a Golden Globe this year!!! 🏆

Both our boys had a highly successful 2022 and we got so much amazing content from both of them ✨️

I made some wonderful new fandom friends (you know who you are) who made this year infinitely better, and this fandom gained a ton of incredibly talented authors and artists whose beautiful writing I got to enjoy. Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart, for making my own & many people's lives a little (a lot) better 💘

I wrote a few fics that I’m really proud of this year (even if I’d have liked to have written more) and I'd like to think I’ve grown and improved as a writer compared to last year✍️🏻

I got another Stucky tattoo ❤️

I met up with some very awesome fandom pals in real life, twice! @ohhsodebonair & @puppypeter - I love you to bits 🥰💫

I got to go back to some of my absolute favourite cities in the world in 2022. I went to London (and Oxford) twice this year, and I saw some of my best friends again for the first time since moving back to the Netherlands/since the pandemic, which was absolutely wonderful 🇬🇧

I went back to Italy, for the first time in years and spent a couple of glorious weeks in Florence and Venice in springtime, drinking wine and revisiting all my fave spots from when I used to go there a lot as an art history student 🇮🇹

I went back to New York in the autumn and also got to see beautiful Boston for the first time, and had an amazing vacation there which included a few other first times as well (first time seeing Harvard, first time seeing the Phantom of the Opera on stage, first time visiting Madison Square Garden, first visit to the MoMA and seeing Starry Night etc.) 🇺🇸

I’ve been self-employed for a few years now, and this year was a considerably better one for my business than last year (I put in the hours too, maybe a little too many hours, but it did yield results) 🪙

I spent lots of time with my friends and their little ones and got to see them grow and turn into amazing little people 🥺💖

I got back on track with running and am back to doing weekly 10ks now 🏃🏻‍♀️

I started doing Duolingo again for Italian and it went way better than expected (all that stuff I learned during all those language courses over the years is still there somewhere!) 🦉💚

I figured out some really complicated stuff this year (health stuff and financial stuff) and I’m quite proud of myself for persevering until I had the answers I needed 💪🏻

There were several moments this year, particularly in the last month or so, where I looked back at a situation that had occurred previously and realised how much I had learned from it, and that I handle similar situations differently now. Call that growth, I guess 😌🌱

Alright, that’s the gist of it, I think! If anyone else would like to share their highlights too, I’d love to read about them!! 💗 And here's to 2023: maybe it bring us all more good stuff than bad stuff! 🙏🏻💫

And because I can't help myself, a little collage of some of my favourite pics/moments from this year 🥰

[lucienballard]

Bob George in the ARC NYC stacks. Photograph: unknown/ARC NYC ...

‘No one else is saving it’: the fight to protect a historic music collection ...

It all started in a loft in Tribeca, New York, long before it was a trendy neighbourhood. “I had 47,000 records and nobody wanted them,” recalls Bob George, who had just published a discography of punk and new wave music. “That led a lot of people coming to me and saying you have to save this stuff; no one else is saving it. That got the ball rolling in my loft in what is now fashionable Tribeca, which was an incredibly unfashionable war zone in 1974 when I was first there.”

George turned his record collection into the ARChive of Contemporary Music (Arc) in 1985 with co-founder David Wheeler. The non-profit music library and research centre now contains more than 3m sound recordings or over 90m songs, making it one of the biggest popular music collections in the world. Donors and board members have included David Bowie, Jonathan Demme, Lou Reed, Martin Scorsese and Paul Simon.

The Arc is not open to the public but has been a vital resource for film-makers, writers and researchers ranging from Ken Burns looking for a song for his series Baseball to the new Grammy Hall of Fame and Museum in Los Angeles needing cover art for its inducted recordings. Now, however, this unique treasure trove is under existential threat.

The Arc cannot remain at its current Hudson Valley premises indefinitely and is in need of a new and bigger home. “We have to move and we don’t know when we’ll have to move and the collection is really at risk because it’s all on pallets,” says George, who dreams of a patron like James Smithson, the British scientist who left his estate to the US to found the Smithsonian Institution. “We’re looking for someone to help us buy a very wonderful property or for us to build a new building on vacant land in upstate New York.”

After growing up in Youngstown, Ohio, George moved to New York in 1974 as a visual arts student and started collecting records as a DJ. In 1981 he released Laurie Anderson’s first single, O Superman, which sold nearly a million copies worldwide and made it to number on the UK singles chart. He was a guest on John Peel’s beloved BBC radio show, sneaking in little-known records from New York, and took music to European broadcasters too. People kept giving him records that other collections turned down.

Some of the 18,000 recordings in the Keith Richards Blues Collection. Photograph: Arc NYC

“I was doing the book and then doing Peel shows and it accidentally became this large collection that nobody wanted. They kept saying, oh, we collect classical, we collect Broadway, we collect ethnic music. I said, well, I have funk, reggae, African and hip-hop and they said, oh, no, we don’t collect any of that. Forty years later, I say, you put all those together and that’s what music has become.”

The simple goal of the archive, which has always had a peripatetic existence, is preservation. “We have no interest in quality,” George cheerfully admits. “It started that way from the very beginning because there’s no way to tell what’s valuable in the future. Everybody brings their own criteria and tastes to things in their own time. But the future is quite different, as we hope.”

The archive has never received aid from any city, state or federal organisation but its scale gives the Library of Congress a run for its money. It has absorbed major collections from musicians and fans and is home to most of Rolling Stone Keith Richards’ extensive blues inventory.

George dispatched two semi-trailers to a condemned house in Boston sinking under the weight of Jeep Holland’s set of more than 125,000 recordings and over 2,500 signed albums from the likes of the Stones, Jimi Hendrix, Bob Marley and the Sex Pistols. “Going towards the bathroom, he has a gas stove, the pilot light is on, there are records in the oven. It was just a storage space ... His car had become so full of records that he abandoned it and rented a car.”

George has made repeat trips to countries such as Brazil, Cambodia, Colombia, Cuba, Japan, Jordan, Laos and Thailand. The Arc contains Demme’s personal collection of Haitian albums. More than 150,000 pieces of world music have been catalogued; there are plenty more to do. “We’ve tried to get as much of that material as possible so that collection is just fabulous.”

The Arc preserves copies of every recording in all known formats. It has electronically catalogued more than 400,000 sound recordings and digitised 200,000 with the Internet Archive – more than any other public university or private library in America. It also contains more than 3m pieces of material including photos, videos, DVDs, books, magazines, press kits, sheet music, ephemera and memorabilia.

The late Andy Rourke of the Smiths at Arc looking at Smiths records he had never seen. Photograph: Arc NYC

George says: “We catalogued 105,000 singles just recently; we have another 200,000 or 300,000 to go. This is the first way a band at one time got their feet in the water. They put out one or two or three singles. If they did hits, they got the chance to do an album and so much of this material does not exist on LP or CD. Little by little more of it might be streaming because of YouTube, as people can get away with murder on YouTube, which is great, but YouTube will disappear. Everything commercial will disappear.”

Among those who have turned to the archive is the Oscar-winning director Ang Lee, who wanted records by the singer Bert Sommer for his film Taking Woodstock. “The archive is amazing because we don’t know what we have until somebody needs it. We’ve been into the stacks and we found five LPs by Bert Sommer. For me, it’s like I have no idea who this guy is and what he did; he’s sort of a folkie. For Quincy Jones, we just sent him a list of the 8,000 things that he’s either produced or on.

“Research was how we basically stayed alive along with the largesse of the rock stars or celebrities that we had hooked up with. The idea was never to open to the public but that’s what we want to do now. I don’t think it’s untrue that we’re one of the largest in the world and that we want to make that available. We’ve tried to save two copies so there will always be a listening copy and then that would then become a listening library.”

George hopes the new archive will be open to students, educators, historians, musicians, authors, journalists and the general public. An anonymous donor has come forward with a million dollars to help realise that dream but more money is urgently needed. One possible new home is an abandoned IBM campus spanning 34 acres, although that would cost $8-10m. George is considering partnering with an upstate university and has plans to offer residencies for scholars.

“People could come in and produce a work, and that would go out into the world. It could be a blog, essay, tape, compilation, new recording, whatever. We’re really quite un-academic. I’m against it somewhat and I’d like people to have ideas and bring those ideas and put them back into the world as opposed to making it an interactive experience for everybody. I don’t want to be Disney World. It’s nice to have seminars. It’s nice to have listening parties. It’s nice to have dances.”

source

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

The Last Great American Mystery

At 5:00 PM on the 27th of September, 1992, the sky over the town of Winesburg, Ohio went dark. Not just a little. Not just dusk -- a sudden, complete, total power outage. No streetlights, no lights at all -- a few emergency lights, a few porch lights, just that. A few dim gas lanterns, at most. Not even the glow from the TV screens inside the few few remaining houses in town, not even the moon, which still hung low in the night sky, casting faint shadows on the town's empty streets and sidewalks and deserted intersections. A complete loss of light, like the light was simply going out. Everyone in town -- the people who had come to the annual festival in Winesburg, those who had just stayed in town, the visitors in town -- went absolutely dark.

The town of Winesburg was about 70 miles north of the Ohio-Michigan border, on the road which runs northwest-southeast through the midst of the Ohio Piedmont, a rolling plain of high-altitude, deeply-curtained mountains and old deciduous forest. It was a fairly small town -- fewer than 2,000 people -- one of the smaller and more remote towns in the Ohio Piedmont. Its only real claims to fame were that it was the site of the Piedmont College and that for a brief time, in the fifties, it had one of the highest per capita rates of population growth in the world. And that it was the site of an annual festival, the largest festival of its kind in North America, which drew some 100,000 attendees every year, from across the Piedmont and from beyond -- and from beyond the Piedmont -- people who lived hundreds and hundreds of miles away, in places such as Boston and New York and San Francisco. It was, the local newspaper, the Winesburg Pulse, ran a banner headline in its issue of the 28th of September, the day of the blackout, to announce: THE LAST GREAT AMERICAN MYSTERY! The Pulse also reported that the blackout had lasted more than ten hours, at one point lasting a full twenty-four, before it had been finally brought under control after dawn the next day.

Most towns in the Piedmont were not so lucky as Winesburg. Most people drove into Winesburg from the outside world, rather than coming from within the town itself -- and Winesburg's small size, combined with the town's proximity to other towns, made it hard to coordinate any sort of response. The nearest larger town was about fifty miles west -- Cleveland -- and on the next day, the 29th of September, some 1,600 miles away, it was already mid-afternoon. Cleveland would be waking up soon after dawn, and the sun would rise in the morning, and the whole of the Piedmont, from New York to Boston, would still be in the sunlight -- a bright, open, beautiful world -- as soon as the sun set that night. By noon, the sun would already be up for the people there -- by that point, a full forty-four hours earlier in Cleveland -- the sun would be on the Piedmont -- and the people of Winesburg would still be dark, a few hundred thousand miles away.

Many other towns did, however, have a little bit of an early start on this problem. Some early, half-conscious recognition that perhaps something was happening, a few people at around 2:00 AM began to make their way south from town, along the main north-south through-route, toward the nearest highway, where they encountered the highway patrol. The highway patrolmen were puzzled by their findings. The blackout seemed to have begun at around 6:00 PM that day, and now it was still almost exactly 6:00 PM the following morning, but it seemed to the highway patrolmen that something was very wrong with their watches.

Some of the highway patrolmen were also baffled by the blackout. The highway patrolmen had the advantage of being far from any cities; in Winesburg and in Winesburg alone, on that night and that morning, the people were still awake. There were no people at night and the highways at night were empty.

Some of the other highway patrolmen, however, on that September morning, noticed something else: that they were not being nearly as successful in getting people to report the blackout as they had been in the previous years. There was something odd about the way that people on that day were acting. They were not acting the way they should have been acting -- they were behaving strangely, even unnaturally, even bizarrely. This was the most unnatural thing about it all, to the highway patrolmen. But even among the bizarre, unnatural, and otherwise odd people -- the ones who had gotten out of bed very early that morning (and so had not slept through the night) and who were walking north on the road alone -- some of these people reported the blackouts to the highway patrolmen, while others did not report them. The ones who reported the blackouts said that they had not been there when they should have been; the ones who did not report them said they had not been there when they should have been. (This was why the highway patrolmen took a statement, on that September morning, from the local veterinarian, a man named Dr. Henry Raynor.)

The most unusual thing, it seems, was that, in this town that was otherwise so small and otherwise so ordinary and ordinary-looking, this town -- this small town in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of one of the most sparsely populated areas of the US -- there had been no blackouts in this town, not even at all at night, not even at night that the highway patrolmen were out on that morning of the 29th -- before this night. This town, this town was normally so empty, this town was normally so uninteresting, this town -- and on the evening of September the 26th, a week before, this town had been quite alive, and there had been music and dancing and dancing and dancing and laughing and playing of banjos and fiddles and singing and singing and singing. There had been parties and music, music and parties, parties and music, a town that was -- just like other towns -- but a town different, a town strange -- a town in the middle of nowhere, among the mountains and pines, with its only 1,400 inhabitants, a town where people were strange and unusual and a little odd, and there was so much music, and there were so many people, and the night before, there had been an enormous, an enormous, an enormous, an enormous party in town, and the town was so alive and the party was so large and so loud, it had spilled out over the hills, and there were people everywhere, and there was music all night and music all night and music all night.

But there had been no music and no music that night, because this town had been dead. And this was not a death by violence -- there was no fighting, no fighting that night -- this was not a slow death from old age or natural causes or something, there was no fire, no floods or accidents or sickness, but this town was dying, and it was dying from something else -- it was dying. In the morning light, people would see it and they would be afraid. But at night, when you were out of town -- when you were far from town and the lights of town were gone -- you wouldn't see it. You wouldn't hear it either. It was a town that was dying

[principiumindividuationis777]

"Toll Road Ahead" (Noir/Crime Fiction)

[If anyone likes this story and thinks maybe they could illustrate it, I would give full credit]

"Toll Road Ahead"

Chapter I

Larry Shaughnessy drove a prison van in New York City, just as the town was descending into an abyss from which it would never really recover, and Shaughnessy knew it better than anyone. Who knew better than a man who drove prisoners to the State of New York's worst prisons?

The year was 1968. It was too cold for hippies. This day, rain was falling, but many days it was snow. Heaven help the people without homes. Larry would put away some of the ones who put them there: The dealers, but he got more than his share of the addicts too, sad cases, no easy answers.

Of course, life was never easy for Shaughnessy. Born in 1929 in the rural parts of County Galway, Ireland (then a Dominion of the United Kingdom), his family had the unfortunate timing of moving to the USA, to Boston, Massachusetts, specifically, in the depths of the Great Depression, which, Larry contended, was "inflicted" by New York City on Boston.

Shaughnessy tried to remember his childhood, even as he heard the curses of the men he was driving to a bitter destination. Larry's father could never control his drinking, and his mother, angry at her husband, Larry's father, treated her son with contempt. He could never forget the day she locked him in the basement, yelling, "You should have been a girl!"

To prove himself, Larry almost ended up, in his early years, much like the men he would later send to prison, bitter at the world, fighting and drinking, though he had sworn off alcohol for good in 1953, when he married.

In Marriage, Larry hoped, he would find stability. A bit of Freud would have done him some good, though, as he married a woman not unlike his mother, a woman with deep psychological problems caused, in turn, by her father, leading her to run off with another man within a year, and the Catholic Church annulled the Marriage, as no Marriage.

It was then, in the winter of 1954, that he moved to New York City, not because he hoped for a brighter future there, but simply to escape. Was it all a mistake, he wondered? Could he go back, maybe even to Ireland?

Chapter II

Shaughnessy had no friends of the human kind, nor, in his view of mankind, did he want any. Criminals, of course, and the liberal-minded, hated him, seeing him as a tool of oppression. His boss was almost as bad as the criminals, forever berating him for minor matters, simultaneously telling him to make deadlines and to drive more slowly and cautiously, mutually exclusive goals.

What few friends he had were in Boston, but they had moved on by now. Most of the time, his unwanted company was the criminal population, in the current instance, two addicts who had resorted to armed robbery: One, named Carl, was cursing with rage at Shaughnessy, trying to spit at him, and doing likewise towards the other convict, called Mike, but Mike was weeping and trembling, evidently suffering withdrawal symptoms.

For all the trouble that such men gave him, Shaughnessy understood their desire to escape. Out of the wagon and into the rain they went, shackled and guarded, before an ominous structure of tons of metal and concrete, their home for some years.

At the end of a long shift, he shuffled slowly into his overpriced apartment, high above the zoo of a city. Another thorn in Larry's side was the landlord, Billy Macklin, who treated his tenants, Larry thought, with rather less respect than Larry treated his pet parrot, whom he considered his only friend: "Mirror", Larry called him.

It would be easier to sleep with his old boozing ways, he thought, but then, he did not want to end up like his dad, so fifteen years on, he kept his pledge.

"Evicted! Out on the street!" said Mirror the parrot, repeating something he heard from Macklin to one of Larry's unfortunate neighbors. Under Macklin's terms, Shaughnessy had to pay extra rent to have his parrot, which, of course, meant more hours of work.

Chapter III

Morning: The time Larry Shaughnessy loathed the most. Every morning, Shaughnessy wondered why he bothered. He was still with the Church, but part of him did not believe, or had trouble believing, that human beings were somehow special beings. Better to be a simple creature like Mirror, he often thought.

Today was an eventful one at work: Jerry "Wolfman" Steppe, snarling and biting, was thrown with great difficulty, requiring seven or eight burly guards for the task, into the van. Shaughnessy did not read the papers, believing them full of lies, but even he knew who Steppe was: A burglar by trade, his savage, animalistic attacks on residents made him the talk of New York, no easy matter considering the mayhem and greed that were the norm.

The van started towards its destination, but somehow, Steppe had gotten loose, and, with a razor blade, offed two of the guards on the spot, knocked out a third with a well-placed right hand, and the fourth found a way to hurl himself from a moving vehicle, sustaining injuries but more fearful of Wolfman than of the rough landing.

Shaughnessy could have stopped the vehicle, but instead, to try to prevent Steppe from escaping, he drove faster and weaved side to side. Jerry Steppe, however, changed his demeanor entirely, suddenly becoming quite rational.

"I'm not mad, you know," said Steppe.

Shaughnessy gave no answer.

"We, my friends and I, are building up a little gang in Boston, and you would be a fine addition. We could get you a position like this in Massachusetts, and you could let one of us 'accidentally' escape now and then, for generous consideration in your pocket."

Chapter IV

Jerry Steppe was retried on a procedural technicality, and in the retrial, acquitted, but before this, after a day even more hectic than usual, Shaughnessy, having gotten Steppe to his appointed destination, trudged up the stairs to his apartment, utterly exhausted.

The next day was Saturday, but Larry had no plans. He spoke to his parrot, having no other company: For over a decade, every telephone call he had made had been part of his work.

"Some gang wants me in Boston. I want to go to Boston, maybe, but not as a criminal."

"Boston…" was Mirror's only reply.

"I won't take the offer, but maybe this is a sign, if there even are signs, to go back."

Larry thought about pretending to take the offer, as a way of securing the arrest of these Boston gangsters, but then, Shaughnessy did not trust Hoover or the FBI either, and their cooperation would be essential, of course, in any such scheme.

Just then, a newspaper was thrust under Larry's door. Though he had ordered nothing of the kind, his eye caught the headline, and he read of a corruption scandal, the taking of bribes among some fellow prison van drivers in New York, much like the arrangement suggested by Steppe, evidently part of a network all over the Northeast.

"Oh, that's just great… now these press vultures will make us all out to be crooked, and my boss will fire some innocent drivers just for window dressing."

"Window…" mimicked Mirror.

Chapter V

Larry Shaughnessy spent most of the weekend sleeping, tired from the week and having nothing better to do. The next weekend, though, after another week of much the same mayhem, he approached Kevin Welden, a private detective who wanted, for his own purposes, to gain information on the Irish mob in the Northeast. Together, Shaughnessy and Welden hatched a plan to infiltrate the Irish mob in Boston.

By the end of 1968, Shaughnessy very cheerfully quit his New York job, instead accepting the Massachusetts position arranged for him by the Irish gangsters forming a presence in Boston. The only trace of his New York life Shaughnessy took with him was Mirror the parrot.

John "Shemp" Doolin, so nicknamed for his resemblance to the comedian, was Shaughnessy's contact with the rising Irish mob. The first escape from a prison van was to be arranged in two weeks, Doolin explained, and Shaughnessy was to receive $10,000 for every member of the outfit whose freedom he arranged.

Contacting Welden, he soon discovered, however, that it was never Welden's intention to report the matter to the police, but rather, Kevin Welden was playing the oh-so-dangerous game of blackmailing a criminal syndicate.

Shaughnessy's already weak faith in humanity declined yet more when he discovered that Marky Morris, a friend of his from childhood, now sold narcotics in Boston, but was being shaken down for a percentage of his money by Shemp Doolin.

Larry had burned his bridges in New York, and now, he had either to go through with helping criminals escape or leave Boston. That left only one idea in Shaughnessy's mind: Return to Ireland.

Chapter VI

By February of 1969, Larry was back in County Galway for the first time since he was four. He vaguely remembered the beautiful scenery, and let Mirror, his parrot, fly around in his new country.

After a few months, Shaughnessy managed to convince the Republic of Ireland's government to let him drive a prison vehicle, just as he had in New York City and in Boston.

Late in 1969, however, the Ulster Volunteer Force, loyalists amidst Northern Ireland's Troubles, set off explosives in several locations in Dublin. Shaughnessy would, from one of these explosions, spend the rest of his life with a wooden peg for a left leg.

As he lay in hospital, Larry, wishing Mirror were allowed in the hospital, was approached by the Irish Republican Army, who, because he was the victim of a UVF attack, assumed that Shaughnessy would join their cause, and visited the hospital, pretending to staff to be relatives, to make him an offer not unlike that made by Wolfman Steppe, this time suggesting that he move to Northern Ireland, drive prison vans there, then release IRA.

People were no better in Ireland, thought Larry. Everywhere, people were bad.

Chapter VII

In early 1970, Shaughnessy, noting that the criminals in Ireland were rather tame compared to those in New York, was approached at his home by three men, with distinctly Cockney accents.

"We got work for you, Shaughnessy. We 'ave our own ways of knowing about the underworld, you understand, and 'ow you kept Wolfman in the lorry with your driving was impressive. If you could do that, you could drive for us."

"Drive for you where?"

"We have something planned. Let's say all the best art in London, best by price I mean, is going missing soon. Make the Great Train Robbery look like beggary. We three, me and Dicey and Moore, we 'ave all it planned out 'cept for the driver. That's where you fit in. I know, Irishman, you don't want to give up a respectable reputation, so instead of 25 percent, 'ow about 40, then it's 20 three ways for the rest of us? We couldn't do without the driver, after all."

Shaughnessy looked hard at them, and his peculiar response was, "Give my regards to the Queen."

Having closed the door in the men's faces, Larry, drifting off to sleep, mumbled to Mirror that he thought these men were "British agents or police" suspicious of him because the IRA approached him.

"Why would they know so much about a one-legged man's luck in New York? They're James Bond faking that Mary Poppins talk."

"Poppins…" picked up Mirror.

Chapter VIII

For the next few months, even as he drove prison transport, Shaughnessy believed he was being followed. By which side, he wondered? If those supposed thieves were British agents, the IRA might suspect him of being a traitor to their cause, as they would see it, while the British might be still after him. Then again, maybe someone was trying to help a prisoner escape for some other reason.

Though his boss, Ehan Barsky, told Shaughnessy that he was paranoid and offered to refer him to a psychologist, Shaughnessy knew better. He had, by now, even the license number of the same vehicle he had seen three times in a week, going the same route as he was. Barsky said it was probably just someone who took the same route.

"They were three different routes to three different prisons, Mr. Barsky."

After a day of hauling in some rather violent men, Shaughnessy once again found a newspaper had been slipped under his door, just as in New York, without him asking for it. He laughed ruefully at the lead article.

If the paper was right, a massive London art robbery had occurred. Not only that, but it was thought that it was tied to the IRA and some "ordinary thieves from Boston in the States". The only part Larry had right was that the men were pretending to be British.

That evening, the ever reclusive Shaughnessy, now having a fair idea who was following him, read Schopenhauer while listening to an old record of Joe Meek's "Telstar".

Chapter IX

A rare day off, though stuck in Dublin, not in Galway, thought Shaughnessy. With just the one leg, he felt that his good leg, the right one, needed the circulation of walks, but his mind wandered and he wandered into a side of Dublin he had not seen, which reminded him almost of New York.

Shaughnessy thought his eyes deceived him, but no, there was a man of six foot two on the corner of the street, in a woman's dress, accosting motorists. Reminded too much of New York, he turned back on the same street, only to encounter a middle-aged woman screaming at him.

"You're trying to steal my girls. Nobody takes 'em on this street but me, Joe!"

This woman, dressed rather like an unkempt harlequin, and with pupils looking all wrong, kicked Larry in the leg, but in the wooden one, which was concealed. The thud of the fake leg evidently frightened her, because off she ran, perhaps still looking for "Joe".

That one ugly street brought Shaughnessy up to date: Dublin was becoming like every other city. Providence, Shaughnessy thought, had forsaken Dublin as New York was forsaken long ago. He wanted to live in rural Ireland, the better part, he thought, not in this. If he was to be followed about and encounter these types even on leave, he might as well move back to America, then retire to County Galway.

Thus, by 1971, Larry Shaughnessy was back in Boston, but with the strong sense, once again, that his travels from Dublin to New York Boston had been monitored each step of the way.

"I know too much about some secret doings. It all started with Wolfman," Larry said to Mirror, before mumbling and falling asleep.

"Wolfman…" the parrot replied, before mimicking Larry's snoring.

Chapter X

By this time, Shemp Doolin had taken over the Boston outfit that had once approached Larry Shaughnessy, and tired of being followed, Shaughnessy, with no family and nothing to lose, decided to risk it all and confront Doolin.

He had several rough encounters with Doolin's underlings, one of which required Larry to bring back his considerable boxing skills, learned, not in rings, but in the forties on these same streets. An uppercut, and down went some nameless muscle, but this seemed to impress the Irish mob in a positive way. Now, contrary to what Shaughnessy expected, Doolin wanted to welcome back Larry to their old city.

"You're been doing well for yourself, Mr. Doolin."

"Please, call me Shemp," replied Doolin, leaning back in a plush office.

"I know you arranged the heist in London. I'll bet it was you who put those papers under the door, first to convince me to join you, tell me the prison van business had no future, then to show me I was wrong about those guys working for Britain, right?"

"Smart as well as tough. You're our kind of man, Larry. Look, I know that Wolfman put a lot of people off. We needed him to make a name for ourselves, but then, well, he got too… gruesome for us."

"Took him out, eh?" asked Shaughnessy.

"As he would have done to us."

"I suppose you gave most of that art money to the IRA, right?"

"Better than 80 percent," replied Shemp.

"Then I want 10 percent of it, since you still have that much."

Doolin thought over the matter, rubbing his hand against his not quite shaven face.

"I like you, Larry, and you're Irish, but you gotta do one job for us, and on my word, the boys will stop following you."

"I won't do the dirty stuff. You know that."

"Yeah. Of course not," Shemp continued, "But you wouldn't mind ridding a neighborhood of a guy that deals to kids, would you?"

"I won't go as far as murder, if that's what you mean," replied Shaughnessy.

"No need to… two in the legs and he'll leave Boston."

"And go to New York, I suppose?"

"The big rotten apple, yeah," Shemp agreed.

Larry Shaughnessy asked around, and yes, the man whose photograph Doolin gave him, one Harvey Beckham, did indeed deal to kids, among his other hateful deeds. Shaughnessy did not like working with criminals, but then, he was doing Boston a favor, and once the deed was done, Beckham, having recovered physically, went to New York, as the Irish predicted.

One obstacle faced Shaughnessy is his escape, however: A toll booth. He had been so focused on the unusual assignment that he had forgotten his wallet, and in the circumstances, did not want authorities to take too much interest in him. Taking a deep breath, Larry thought it over, and realized that he had a car on loan from gangsters. Maybe they stashed money in the car, and sure enough, there was a $100 bill under the back seat.

Looked at rather strangely by the woman at the booth, she nevertheless found change for the hundred. The next day, being no thief, Larry gave $100, this time in tens, to Shemp Doolin, recounting his close call on the toll road.

Epilogue: Larry Shaughnessy, now affluent, moved to a cottage in rural County Galway, in early retirement, taking Mirror the parrot with him, of course. Hoping Mirror would outlive him, Larry found a worthy neighbor, he considered, who would take care of Mirror, according to the terms of Larry Shaughnessy's will and testament, if the bird did outlive him.

[newstfionline]

Sunday, February 18, 2024

The Case for Spending Way More on Babies (The Atlantic) There’s a strong case that Congress should be spending way more money on kids. As a general point, the United States, despite being the richest society Earth has ever known, tolerates astonishingly high rates of child poverty. Kids are two or three times as likely to grow up in poverty in the United States as they are in most of our rich-country peers. That is a direct consequence of the United States spending such a small share of its GDP on family benefits such as public child care, home visits, and payments to new parents—a smaller share than all other OECD countries except Turkey, Costa Rica, and Mexico. The country is also an outlier in lacking a comprehensive paid-family-leave program and child care for kids 5 and under.

Hefty fines, penalties will rock Trump family’s business and fortune (Washington Post) For more than 100 years, since Donald Trump’s grandfather started buying land in New York City, the Trump family has run a real estate business in New York. Barring a successful legal appeal of Friday’s decision by a New York Supreme Court judge, that could change. In his ruling on a months-long civil trial brought against Trump and his business by New York Attorney General Letitia James (D), Justice Arthur F. Engoron prohibited Trump from serving as an officer or director of any New York firm for three years. He barred Trump’s elder sons, Donald Trump Jr. and Eric Trump, from doing so for two years. “There is no one at the financial helm. There’s no CFO, no controller, and now you don’t have Eric Trump, Donald Trump Jr. or Donald Sr. running it,” said Boston College law professor Brian Quinn. After finding that Trump Organization executives had engaged in years of fraud by inflating their property values to get better insurance and tax rates, Engoron ordered that the company operate under the close eye of two overseers to ensure compliance with financial reporting obligations. In other words, Trump can remain the owner, but he has lost control.

To fight dengue epidemic, health agents in Brazil scour junkyards and roofs for mosquitos (AP) The small team of state public health workers slalomed between auto parts strewn across a Rio de Janeiro junkyard, looking for standing water where mosquitoes might have laid their eggs. They were part of nationwide efforts to curtail a surge in Brazil of the mosquito-borne illness of dengue fever during the country’s key tourist season that runs through the end of February. Earlier in the month, just days before Rio kicked of its world-famous Carnival festivities, the city joined several states and the country’s capital in declaring a public health epidemic over this year’s greater-than-normal number of cases of dengue. So far this year, Brazil has recorded 512,000 cases nationwide, including both confirmed and likely cases—nearly four times more than those registered in the same period a year ago.

Avdiivka, Longtime Stronghold for Ukraine, Falls to Russians (NYT) Ukraine ordered the complete withdrawal from the ruined city of Avdiivka in eastern Ukraine before dawn on Saturday, surrendering a city that had been a military stronghold for the better part of a decade, in the face of withering Russian bombardment and relentless assault. The fall of Avdiivka, a city that used to be home to some 30,000 people but is now a smoking ruin, is the first major gain Russian forces have achieved since May of last year. In recent weeks, Russian forces have been pressing the attack across nearly the entire length of the 600-mile long front. Oleksandr Tarnavskyi, the head of Ukraine’s forces in the south, said there had been no choice but to withdraw, given the Russian advantage in firepower and the number of soldiers they were willing to throw into the battle.

Israel Was Behind Attacks on Major Gas Pipelines in Iran, Officials Say (NYT) Israel carried out covert attacks on two major gas pipelines inside Iran this week, disrupting the flow of heat and cooking gas to provinces with millions of people, according to two Western officials and a military strategist affiliated with Iran’s Revolutionary Guards Corps. The strikes represent a notable shift in the shadow war that Israel and Iran have been waging by air, land, sea and cyberattack for years. Israel has long targeted military and nuclear sites inside Iran—and assassinated Iranian nuclear scientists and commanders—both inside and outside of the country. Israel has also waged cyberattacks to disable servers belonging to the oil ministry, causing turmoil at gas stations nationwide. But blowing up part of the country’s energy infrastructure, relied on by industries, factories and millions of civilians, marked an escalation in the covert war and appeared to open a new frontier, officials and analysts said.

ICJ declines new protections for Rafah despite ‘perilous situation’ in city (Washington Post) The International Court of Justice on Friday declined South Africa’s request to introduce additional safeguards for Palestinians ahead of Israel’s planned offensive in the southern city of Rafah, where an estimated 1.4 million Palestinians are seeking refuge from Israeli bombardment. In its response to a Feb. 12 request from South Africa, the ICJ said the “perilous situation” in Rafah required Israel to abide by its previous ruling last month, which included taking “all measures within its power” to prevent the crime of genocide and to allow more aid into Gaza. South Africa is pursuing a case against Israel in the ICJ, alleging it is committing and failing to prevent genocide in Gaza, accusations that Israel denies. A verdict on the question of genocide could take years. The situation in Rafah is becoming increasingly dire, the U.N. Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA) said in its most recent update, with people “desperate, hungry, and terrified” ahead of the expected attack. OCHA said that the number of aid trucks allowed to enter the Gaza Strip had declined over the past week, with only 20 entering on Thursday.

US diplomats warn of lasting anti-American sentiment in Middle East (ABC News) The State Department has received multiple warnings from its posts in the Middle East during recent weeks about the lasting impact from U.S. messaging on the conflict in Gaza, triggering a meeting in Washington with intelligence agencies to evaluate the fallout, according to internal communications reviewed by ABC News and officials familiar with the matter. One cable from the American mission in Morocco said that former collaborators in the country asserted that the U.S. had become “toxic” because the administration’s support for Israel after Hamas’ Oct. 7 attack had been widely perceived as a “blank check for the Israeli response.” An enduring hit to U.S. popularity in the Middle East could have extensive implications for American diplomacy. Some State Department officials say it may take a generation to rebuild U.S. standing in some countries.

Thousands homeless after DR Congo's worst floods in sixty years (Reuters) In a makeshift camp for people displaced by floods in Democratic Republic of Congo, father-of-three Cyprien Seka anxiously watched his baby nap on the floor of a crowded tent and wondered if it would ever be safe to return home. Torrential rains swelled the Congo river to its highest level in over 60 years in late December and forced around 500,000 people to flee the rising waters. "It's been almost a month since we left our homes because of the flooding... We are suffering," Seka said at the camp on the grounds of a Catholic church on the outskirts of capital Kinshasa. Like many others, Seka's family lost almost all their possessions in the rush to escape. Sixteen of Congo's 26 provinces are grappling with the fallout from the floods, which killed at least 221 people, damaged tens of thousands of homes, and exposed already vulnerable communities to increased risk of malaria and typhoid

Nigeria’s Capital Blames Rickshaws for Crime (Bloomberg) In Nigeria’s capital city of Abuja, rickshaws are essential for getting around absent a working public transit system. But officials are planning to ban the three-wheelers, citing their role as getaway vehicles in a crime and kidnapping crisis that’s engulfed Nigeria’s second-richest city. The rickety vehicles struggle to climb the city’s hills at a maximum speed of just 43 miles per hour. And rickshaw drivers who have come to the capital to escape poverty say the government is making them scapegoats for its own inability to protect residents.

[holidayspackagesglh]

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For those captivated by the allure of the West Coast, a USA tour package could take you to the sun-soaked beaches of California. Bask in the glitz of Los Angeles as you stroll down the Hollywood Walk of Fame and relax on the glamorous beaches of Santa Monica. Continue your journey up the breathtaking Pacific Coast Highway to San Francisco, where the Golden Gate Bridge awaits. No West Coast adventure would be complete without a stop in Las Vegas, the city that never sleeps.

Natural Wonders and National Parks

The United States boasts an abundance of natural wonders, and your USA tour package from India can lead you to some of the most awe-inspiring national parks. Marvel at the grandeur of the Grand Canyon, hike through the lush forests of Yellowstone, and be captivated by the unique rock formations in Arches National Park. An adventure through these pristine landscapes will leave you with memories to last a lifetime.

Cultural Immersion and Culinary Delights

One of the most rewarding aspects of any international journey is the opportunity to immerse yourself in a new culture. Your USA tour package from India could include visits to iconic museums like the Smithsonian in Washington D.C., the Getty Center in Los Angeles, or the Art Institute of Chicago. And let's not forget the culinary delights - from deep-dish pizza in Chicago to soul food in the South, every region offers a unique gastronomic experience.

Book Your USA Tour Package from India Today

With the world becoming more connected than ever, booking your USA tour package from India is just a few clicks away. Whether you're a first-time traveler or a seasoned globetrotter, the United States promises an adventure that will leave you mesmerized.

So why wait? Indulge in the allure of America and make your travel dreams a reality. Book your USA tour package from India today and get ready to create unforgettable memories in the land of the free and the home of the brave.

In conclusion, the United States offers a tapestry of experiences that cater to every type of traveler. From the bustling streets of its iconic cities to the tranquility of its national parks, the USA is a destination that will capture your heart. And with convenient tour packages from India, your journey to this captivating country has never been more accessible. Don't miss out on the adventure of a lifetime - book your USA tour package from India now.

Must Read : European Extravaganza: Handpicked Tour Packages Specially for Indians

[madewithonerib]

3.] Success & Sex-Oriented Culture

Over top of Corinth was a mountain & on the top of the mountain was a Temple of Aphrodite; and every single night 1K Temple prostitutes came on down into the city to ply their wares.

     It was the most success-oriented, & sex-      obsessed city, these were corinthianizers      no rules. Nobody came to Corinth to live      —nobody came there to have a life.

     They came to make it, they came to do

Now if you don't see any parallels between Corinth & NYC—you're a tourist all right, and I'm glad you're here. But now you know

This is absolutely true, you go to other cities of this country, you go to Boston or Philadelphia, there's a tradition, there's an aristocracy.

The people go there to live.

People don't come to New York to live.

     People come here to make it, they come      here to do. When Paul came to Corinth he      was beaten, he had a bad time in Athens      and he'd been beaten up actually almost      within an inch of his life in Philippi.

And he was so low that GOD had to come to him in Acts 18:9 & particularly appear to him & say I am going to show you that I'm still with you & I'm going to do a major work. I'm going to plant a Church in the biggest baddest wooliest city in the world.

………………………………………………………………… I'm going to show you the Gospel can change anybody. …………………………………………………………………

   •  I am going to give you a bunch of converts.    •  I'm going to give you a Church in this place

3.1] The Power of the Gospel

The last place in the world you'd think people would turn to the LORD. I'm going to I'm going to take Corinthianizers and you know in the early part of this book 1 Corinthians, Paul writes something that's pretty interesting..

Paul was extremely amazed.

     I think the Church at Corinth was a unique      Church in his Ministry — because it was a      sign to him the Gospel can change anybody

And at one point he writes in CH6 & he's making a long list: adulterers, idol worshipers, homosexual, prostitutes, greedy thieves, drunkards, & then he says “such were many of you”

     but you were sanctified, you were      justified by the Name of our LORD      JESUS CHRIST & in the SPIRIT of our      GOD & FATHER.

What Paul is saying is the Corinthian Christians are not bourgeois, straight arrow moral people—these were people who had done every [sinful] thing.

     They had been everywhere & when they      became Christians, the Corinthian Church      was unique in Paul's Ministry—because      when corinthianizers become Christians

     When this kind of person becomes a      Christian, you get one of the oddest      things & that is Churches that are more      brilliant than the other Churches

     And more troubled, & that's exactly      what you have in Corinth—& if you      want to understand that..

All you have to do is look at CH 13:1-3, which you have printed there.

You've got a picture of the Corinthian Church.

Better Than Miracles P1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9 | Timothy J. Keller [1 Corinthians 13:1-3]

[nickerson-insurance-agency]

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[midnightswithdearkatytspb]

Mob bucky/seb or mob chris/andy recs??

Updated 07/04/21 ✨ = Just Added

To be added please tag me in your future works!

Hey Anon! I’m so glad you asked this because Mob/Mafia! Any version of those boys is my favorite. In my previous fic recs I recommended...

If love was an option by @mianorth » Bucky Barnes x Reader — Part 1 🦋 Part 2 🦋 Part 3

Good Little Wife & Good Little Girl by @donutloverxo » Mob!Andy Barber x Reader – A little dark and it has some really good smut in it.

Blackmail by @stargazingfangirl18 » Soft!DarkMafia Andy Barber x Female Reader — You were just doing it to protect your family, at least that’s what you kept telling yourself, especially once you started to like it. (One-Shot)

Blow Sweet and Thick by @angrythingstarlight » Mafia!Bucky x Reader — Bucky is having a bad day, you can help him feel good. (Part of Mafia Monday’s)

Run To You by @bestofbucky » Mob!Boss Bucky x Reader — Mob boss Bucky Barnes hires you to be his bodyguard. (Series)

Can’t Run, Can’t Hide by @angrythingstarlight » Dark!MafiaBucky Barnes x Reader — When you get noticed by the infamous mob boss, you flee. But Bucky doesn’t like to be denied anything and he’s coming for you. (One-shot)

Six Feet | Ch.1 ⚰️ Ch.2 by @queenoftheworldisdead » Dark Mob!Steve x Reader + Dark Mob!Bucky x Reader — Your family’s small funeral home comes into financial trouble. In desperation your father finds the most unlikely solution to solve his financial problems. | (Short Series)

Bankrupt by @mypoisonedvine » dark!40’s!Mob!Stucky x Reader — Your husband’s gambling addiction quickly got him in hot water with the mob, and you by extension. When some debt collectors come by to settle what is owed, you realize that you have a lot more to worry about than money problems.

Partition by @angrythingstarlight » Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader — Bucky comforts you after a bad day, and your boss learns why no one messes with his girl. —> Part 2: Let Me Show You — You wanted to know what your mobster boyfriend did, lucky for you he’s more into the show then tell.

Say the word and it’s yours by @angrythingstarlight » Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Reader — Your mobster boyfriend rescues you from a long, boring day at work. Bucky always said, “ask and its yours”

Lost Without You by @angrythingstarlight » Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Reader — Bucky Barnes would be lost with you. You’re his everything and he plans on spending Valentine’s Day proving it to you.

All Dressed In White by @angrythingstarlight » Dark!Mafia Bucky Barnes x Reader — You were going to marry someone else, Bucky won’t let that happen. You belong to him now and forever. Till Death Do You Part.

Thick As Thieves by @angrythingstarlight » Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Reader x Mafia!Steve Rogers — The only thing the Mafia hates as much as snitches are thieves. And you’re planning on stealing from Bucky and Steve, what happens if you get caught?

Won’t Let You Go by @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay » Mob!Bucky Barnes x OFC!Kori — Kori met Bucky in one of his clubs, out to get shit-faced with a couple of friends to forget about her worries and maybe take home a guy to further rid herself of her numerous frustrations. Little did she know that the one-night stand with Bucky would turn into so much more than that.

Tell Me What You Want by @angrythingstarlight » Mafia!Steve Rogers x Reader; Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Reader — Your mob boyfriend, is none other than Steve Rogers and he is willing to get you whatever you wanted, all you have to do is ask. And be careful what you ask for because he’s going to give it to you over and over again.

To Have & To Hold by @slyyywriting » Bucky Barnes x Mob Boss!Reader — Bucky is trying his best to provide and care for his daughter who just entered first grade. Everything was alright until she asks why everyone else seems to have a mom except for her. You’re just a plain mob boss who wants to turn a new leaf. Challenges arise when the world refuses to let you take a softer, non-violent route. A little girl helps you navigate a compromise.(series)

✨ Mob!Sugar Daddy!Stucky Moodboard by @brattycherubwrites » Mob!Stucky x Reader

✨ Laced Around Your Throat by @angrythingstarlight » Mafia!Steve x Reader, Mafia!Bucky x Reader — Your Mob boyfriend knows that the only thing that looks even better than his hand around your throat is his custom made necklace. You’re his girl and the world needs to know it.

✨ Hidden Gems by @jtargaryen18 » Mob!Steve Rogers x Mob!Daughter Reader — Your father is the head of one of the most powerful crime families in Boston but he’s protected you from that life. In your quiet home outside the city, you’ve been cared for and protected. When the desires of a more powerful man with the will to dominate bursts into your life, all your illusions are shattered as he comes to claim what is his.

Necessary Arrangements by @stargazingfangirl18 » Andy Barber x Fem!Reader, Ari Levinson x (Different) Fem! Reader ft. Ransom Drysdale » One of my favorite series, chapters are decent sized and the smut is so good!

Hugs My Love by @thatfuckingweirdo » Mobster!Bucky Barnes x Reader — You just really need a hug, and Bucky is the only one you want it from.

my old man is a tough man, but he got a soul as sweet as blood red jam by @cloudystevie » Mob Boss!Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader — steve gives you what you want… kind of.

Brooklyn Wars by @world-of-aus » Stucky x Reader

Petals and Bullets by @revengingbarnes » Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader (One of my all time favorites series)

I would check out @sinner-as-saint’s Masterlist they have quite a few Mob!Bucky series and one-shots that I have loved in the past.

Special by @buckycuddlebuddy » Bucky Barnes x Reader — this one-shot is really hot.

Love, Honor, and Obey by @constantwriter85 » Bucky Barnes — This one is good and I need to catch up on.

Mafioso by @captain-barnes-writes » Bucky Barnes x Reader — Please do yourself a favor and read.

Lipstick and Crayons by @oneoftheprettynerds » Dark!Steve Rogers x Reader - In Progress

A really good DarkMob!Steve Drabble called Please Hurt Me by @gotnofucks *chefs kiss*

The Mobster’s Little Girl by @smutsonian » Steve Rogers x Reader

off to the races 🐻 off to the races 2 by @harryspet » Soft!Dark Steve Rogers x Reader

The Ignorant Beauty & the Beast by @mysterioh » Steve Rogers x Reader – With 21 parts sadly it hasn’t been updated in 8 months, it’s one of my favorite Mob!Steve Roger fics out there. *Thanks to @inactivewhore I found out this story was moved to AO3 and is now called where angels fear to tread it was last updated on 13/11/20*

What It Takes by @cherienymphe » Bucky Barnes x Reader — You left Bucky once you found out who he really is. The one thing you thought would guarantee your safety ends up sealing your fate.

Welcome Home by @punani » Chris Evans x Black!Reader — He’s been away for awhile, but he knows that his girl’s loyalty to him knows no bounds. Knows she’s been waiting for him after her adamancy in telling him there was no other option. It’s only right to make the reunion a memorable one. | So, so, so, so freaking good!

These are what I found on Tumblr that I plan on reading.

Handmaid by @extremelyblackandwhite » Sebastian Stan x ingenue!Reader — y/n works as a handmaid for the daughter of an influential mob leader who is promised to the new boss of the most powerful mob family in new york, sebastian.

AO3 Website Reccomendations

Satellite Heart » Stucky x Reader — You used to be Steve and Bucky's girl. Then they fucking left without saying goodbye. Little did they know, you were pregnant. But life went on. You raised your Talia to the best of your ability. But one day, everything goes to shit. Now your boys are back in your life. And they're not planning on leaving anytime soon.

Little Fox A/B/O Series » Soft!Dark Bucky Barnes x Soft!Dark Natasha Romanoff x OFC! & Peter Parker x Soft!Dark Tony Stark — So I can’t stress this enough you need to read the tags for this series and I kept getting confused as I read this story as to how old Violet Mason is. But this series takes you on a roller coaster, I like it, my cousin didn’t finish it, I need to catch up.

Pelmeni *finished* » Stucky x Reader — James Bucky Barnes has a good life, as a member of a powerful organized crime syndicate. His best friend Steve is a member too and his literal partner in crime. Bucky's got a problem though. You. His longtime love and secret girlfriend. Unfortunately, your father is his boss and has plans for you that involve normal life. Steve has a problem too. Steve wants in on your relationship and more than the semi-regular/occasional steamy threesomes. You don't have a problem, you're just busy with a big mob wedding coming up, which means a big celebration, that you're busy catering for.

Dying For This Love » Dark!Bucky x Reader — That was before. When you were Bucky’s girl. Now, you have a score to settle. That’s why you’re wearing Bucky’s favorite red satin dress, the one with the cuts that reach right up to the tops of your thighs, the tennis necklace he gifted you for your anniversary, and are fresh off of a mani/pedi and hair appointment. He’s going to regret the day he fucked with you. | This one is intense and a tad bit dark, but the smut is good.

off to the races » Steve Rogers x Reader — In which you call the kingpin your Daddy.

The Mobster’s Little Girl » Steve Rogers x Reader — what happens when the big bad mobster gets blackmailed by your father to marry you? (kind of fluffy kind of not. kinda dark kinda not.)

Brooklyn Sweethearts » Dark!Stucky x Reader — Bucky and Steve had always been meant to keep her safe and happy. As far as anyone else was concerned, that was their sole reason for being alive. Unfortunately, the things that kept her safe were not always the things that kept her happy. Lately, she was making it pretty damn hard for them to compromise. | Probably one of my all time favorite Mafia!Stucky stories I have ever read, just sadly it also hasn’t been updated in like 8 months and I keep hoping it will get updated.

Hot Doll » Skinny!MobBoss Steve Rogers x Reader — Steve Rogers is on the rise in the New York underground as you’re trying to keep your own place there. | Dark and good!

Doctor Doctor » Steve Rogers x PlusSize! Reader — (1940 Mobster AU!) You're a war widow down on her luck; and the King of Brooklyn, Steve Rogers, takes notice. | Another one of my favorites. A little bit dark as well.

The Widow » Dark!MobBoss x Reader — It’s the 1920s and everyone’s having a roaring time but you. | Trust me it’s just dark enough.

Those are just some on AO3, I would just go through Mafia AU tag and go to filter and click Avengers or Captain America.

[emerald-chaos]

Touchdown

*gif not mine, credit goes to the owner*

I just want to take a moment to say thank you for the love on my last fic! It made my lil ole heart swell to see that peopled enjoyed it enough to leave a like or reblog.

This is just something special I had in my arsenal that I wrote for a friend a few months ago. I touched it up a bit and added a few things here and there. It all started when we were talking about how much we loved when Chris' accent got heavier after he'd been drinking, and well, I couldn't help myself lol. I hope you enjoy the fluff! xoxo

I apologize for any grammatical errors, I tried to proof-read but am also a little exhausted lol.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Word Count: 2844

Warnings: I don't think there's anyway? Mentions of being drunk/drinking alcohol, cursing, and illusions to sexy times, but that's about it.

You hadn’t noticed how furiously your knee was bouncing up and down until the person sitting next to you on the subway got up to move seats once the train squealed to a stop. You sighed and ran your hands down the front of your thighs. Normally being a little late didn’t bother you as much, but tonight you were meeting him.

You flipped your wrist over to check your watch. 8:30pm. In all honesty, it had probably been only thirty seconds later than when you checked it the last time. Another deep sigh escaped from your lips as you started to become hyper aware of the train remaining still at the current stop. What could possibly be taking so long? You knew he wouldn’t care if you were running late, but the time the two of you had together already felt so minuscule. You wanted to capitalize on every second you could.

The train began moving again and you slumped back into your seat, feeling only a small amount of relief. It was becoming painfully apparent that you needed to try and relax. You could feel the sweat building up on your body, the sting on your palms from where your fingernails were pressing in with a vengeance moments ago, and you could hear your heart thumping in your ears. Your hand dug around in your purse for a few moments before finding the small case you were looking for. Opening it, you slipped your headphones into your ears and let your head rest on the window behind you as music intertwined with your thoughts.

Once upon a time, you made fun of people who decided to go to grad school. What kind of a clown would spend thousands of MORE dollars and go BACK to school?? Not to mention the stress of the assignments, the due dates - it was not for you...or so you thought.

Now here you are, a regular booboo the fool.

NYU’s graduate program for design and merchandising wasn’t necessarily part of your 5-year plan, but when the opportunity landed in front of you it was difficult to pass up. NYU was a school you had only dreamt of attending back in high school. When you were a senior in high school you were able to tour the campus and fell in love immediately. Hours upon hours were spent researching grants, scholarships, and all sorts of ways to try to make it happen. However, the dream ended as most teenage dreams do - crushed. There was no way you or your parents could afford the loans that it would surely wrack up to attend the out of state university, and there was no way you could ask your parents take on that kind of debt just so you could go to college. UMass was the way to go - close to home and familiar. Not to mention you were able to obtain several scholarships and grants that helped bring down the cost tremendously. Little did you know, boring ole UMass would bring you one of the most important things in your life.

Applying for graduate school wasn’t an easy decision and one you couldn’t really take all the credit for. A smile crept across your face as you reminisced on the night you nervously brought up the idea to your long-term boyfriend.

“I think you should do it,”

“I know, right?” you scoffed, “it’s insane, why would I do something so stup...wait, what? You do?”

“Of course I do. This is something you love and that you’re passionate about. Do you know how many hours of my life were spent listening to you ramble about NYU?” he questioned with a grin.

“It will open up so many doors for you. We can make things work,” a chuckle escaped from those beautiful lips as he saw your dumbfounded expression. He wrapped his fingers around your waist and pulled you close, “What? Did you expect me to forbid it? Cmon, baby, what kind of guy do you take me for?”

You didn’t have a lot of wins in your life, but you did have Chris.

When you got accepted, he took off a week from work to drive you 3 and a half hours south to help get you settled and moved into your temporary new home. The two of you ate a disgusting amount of pizza, moved a ridiculous amount of heavy furniture in the middle of a summer heat wave, and enjoyed each other’s company before the long-distance thing would set in. Chris spent that week encouraging you every step of the way, talking you off the ledge when you were convinced you had made the wrong decision, and made sure to help you christen every possible surface of your new place in the most deliciously sinful way.

You bit your lip slightly at the thought and a warm feeling spread across your face. Chris was one of the most incredible people you had met in this world. Kind, caring, funny, intelligent, passionate, and god was he sexy. The connection the two of you had was scary at first, but now you just couldn’t imagine spending your life with anyone else.

The robotic voice came over the loud-speaker in the subway car and you were rudely ripped back to reality as it pulled into your stop. You hurriedly scooped up your bag and jogged off the train.

It had been a promise between the two of you when you moved that there would be equal effort when it came to visiting and keeping in contact while having good, open communication. Long distance was hard but the two of you were determined to make it work. FaceTime calls, hours upon hours of texting, and even as far as writing the occasional letter back and forth (because your boyfriend was a hopeless romantic and you loved it so much). This weekend was your turn to come home to visit, and of course your last class had to go longer than anticipated. Fuckin’ Tiffany and her stupid ass questions.

The muscles of your calves burned as you kept up your hurried pace, weaving through the crowds of people gathered on sidewalks outside of various clubs and restaurants. It was a weekend night and the Patriots were playing, which meant the city was more alive than usual. New York was it's own beast, but it was a different type of hustle and bustle. Nights like these made your heart ache for home - the thick Massachusetts accents, the rowdy voices of bar patrons arguing about the game, the hugs shared between family members as they parted after dinner, and the faint smell of nicotine and alcohol that hung in the air.

As the neon sign that hung in the pub window came in to view you felt your heart dip down into your stomach. Last weekend’s visit had to be cancelled due to some stuff coming up with Chris’ work and a surprise assignment for you, so you hadn’t seen your boyfriend in 2 weeks. With a deep breath you swung open the door and scanned the crowd for him. He told you that he would be there promptly at 7:15pm for pregame shenanigans with his friends - which actually translated to how many pitchers of beer could they suck down before kick off.

“Aw, come ON! That is such a bullshit call!”

You heard him before you saw him. Of course. A grin spread across your lips as you shook your head. The thought of leaving to avoid secondhand embarrassment crossed your mind briefly before you picked up your feet and made your way through the crowd toward the sound. A room full of people from New England and you would still recognize that voice anywhere.

Everyone else seemed to fade away as you saw the outline of the tall, dark haired man standing at the bar. The slight freckles that spattered the back of his neck, the Brady jersey that he spent WAY too much money customizing, and the signature backward ball cap were ingrained in your subconscious memory. Not to mention if you didn’t recognize his outline or his voice, you would definitely recognize that ass anywhere.

You loved how passionate he got about sports and the way his Boston accent seemed to get thicker with each beer he consumed. Growing up in the area, you wouldn't think the accent would send a tingle down your spine the way it does, but it was different - it was Chris. Not to mention the sparkle in his eye when he would watch his favorite team or the way he would get in to arguments whenever someone tried to say something negative about them. You loved your big, handsome, over-sized toddler man so damn much.

A light tap on his shoulder made him whip around, his slightly opened mouth from his interrupted conversation curved upwards into a wicked grin as he made the connection of who was finally standing in front of him.

“Hey there, handsome. I don’t see a ring on your finger. You single?” You grinned, feeling your entire body fill with warmth as Chris leaned back and grabbed his chest as he erupted in laughter.

“Nah, nah, nah, unfortunately for you I am taken” he responded as he snaked his arms around your waist, sliding his hands into your back pockets as he pulled you into his figure.

“That is too bad,” you tsk'd, running a finger down his toned bicep, “she’s one lucky girl.”

“I think I’m the lucky one,” he grinned. He leaned down to meet your lips in a kiss. You sighed into it, allowing your body to mold itself so perfectly into his. The taste of beer on his lips and the smell of his cologne was intoxicating - it was home. You immediately allowed him entrance as you felt his tongue glide along your bottom lip. Your body felt small in his strong grip and you couldn’t help but laugh a bit as he gave your ass a firm squeeze. Normally, this type of bold, public display of affection would make you cringe away but at this point you were lost in Chris that you had absolutely no shame. Each time the two of you embraced had always felt like the first. Your heart still fluttered and your knees still got weak, like you were a 16 year old being kissed for the first time.

In the middle of your reunion moment, however, something happened in the game that made the entire bar erupt in boo’s and curses. Chris lifted his lips from yours to look over his shoulder and inspect what he had missed. You laughed and shook your head as you pushed him back towards his friends and took a seat in the bar stool he had been standing behind initially. His large hands found a natural place on your shoulders. While his eyes remained glued on the TV he began applying a moderate amount of pressure to your neck and shoulders. You didn’t realize how much your body craved that touch, his touch, until you immediately melted back into him.

The bartender slid a beer in front of you with a wink and you mouthed your thanks. You felt a twinge in your heart as you looked around, taking in the atmosphere of the bar. This was a typical weekend night for the two of you whenever you were living together. Football, drinks, pub food, and friends. If it wasn’t this pub it was your living room, just a couple blocks away. You didn’t even mind that it was your first night back and you weren’t alone, spending it immediately wrapped up in your satin sheets. The atmosphere, the people - it was so warm and familiar that you really wouldn’t rather be doing anything else. Plus, being wrapped up together in the sheets was sure to follow.

“I missed you,” hummed a pair of lips as they placed a kiss on the shell of your ear. A shiver shot down your spine at the sensation of his warm breath fanning over your neck. You reached up a hand and connected it to the nape of his neck.

“I missed you too,” you replied, turning your head to plant a kiss on his stubbled cheek.

His arms changed position as he wrapped them in front of your shoulders and crossed them, resting his chin on the top of your head. Your hand absentmindedly rubbed his forearms as you nursed your beer and placed your focus onto the game for the first time tonight.

The laughter seemed to escape from your chest naturally and effortlessly the entire night, as it always had a habit of doing when Chris was around. The camaraderie between him and his buddies during a game was something you’d grown to enjoy over the years. Chris’ competitive nature and the way his jaw clenched when something wasn’t going the way he wanted was always kinda...hot. All of his friends were huge assholes, but in the best way. It was always entertaining to hear them jab at each other and do what they could to rile someone up. They were the life of every party you had ever attended and they had a way of making a boring night a lot more interesting.

Thankfully (for the integrity of the bar) the Pats won the game with a surprise touchdown in the last 30 seconds of the game. Chris, being the guy he is, bought a final round for his friends and a nearby group they had been going back and forth with all night. You couldn’t help but laugh as he drunkenly leaned across the counter and slurred his order to the bartender.

“I need a round for m’friends and for these assholes over here who thought Tom Brady was anything but a winner!” the group started yelling in protest and he simply waved them off and started sliding beers down the bar.

The group eventually moved to a bigger round top so everyone could shoot the shit and banter about the outcome of the game. You were tucked into Chris’ side, hands intertwined as he was passionately discussing the importance of Brady’s legacy with a stranger who made the mistake of stopping to talk to him. Your eyes followed the motion of your thumb as it traced small circles onto the back of his. Your other hand under your chin, holding up the weight of your head as your exhaustion started to catch up with you. Chris, although slightly drunk, picked up on your body language and raised your hand to his lips for a kiss.

“Alright, fellas,” he said as he stood up from his seat, pulling you up with him, “the lady and I are gonna call it a night. See you boys next weekend”.

“Chris, we don’t have to go,” you began to protest as he tucked his jacket around your shoulders.

“Mm, ‘course we do,” he replied with a soft smile, “you’re so tired, baby. I can see it in those beautiful eyes”.

You could feel your cheeks turn a light shade of pink as you rolled your eyes at his attempt at laying it on thick. After what felt like a proper 10 minute goodbye session, the group said their final goodbyes, hugs included, and you walked out of the pub hand in hand.

The walk home was filled with the sounds of cars passing by and conversation of what each other had missed in the week prior. Small talk typically felt like such a chore, but with Chris every conversation came naturally. Even when he had absolutely no idea what you were talking about, he would listen intently and ask all the questions as if it was the most interesting conversation in the world.

The lock on the apartment door clicked as you pushed it open and entered. You smiled as you stopped into the middle of the living room, taking in the home you missed so dearly. A soft tapping of toenails against the hardwood made your heart soar as you met the eyes of your sweet pup, Dodger. A squeal left your lips as you squatted down to give love to the sweet boy. Chris always made fun of you when you came home, saying that you always seemed to miss Dodger more than you did him and I mean, he wasn’t entirely wrong about that statement.

Once again lost in your own world, you didn’t even notice Chris leaned up against the wall watching you with a smile.

“Oh my god,” you gushed, standing up, “do you like...like me or something?”

Chris grinned as he crossed the room and caught your belt loop with his finger, pulling you into him slowly.

“Yeah,” his voice had dropped down an octave, “you could say that”.

“Mm,” your tongue swiped across your lower lip and you wrapped your arms around his neck, “care to show me how much?”

The look in his eyes made your core burn. The tension building between you two became too much to handle as you crashed your lips into his. The kisses were messy and you could feel the sense of urgency between you two. His beard scratched against the column of your throat with a delicious burn as he left wet kisses across your jaw and down the side of your neck. Chris’ hands found their way back into the ass pockets of your jeans as he started walking you back towards the direction of the bedroom.

Soon, there was a trail of clothes leading to your bedroom and you felt very sorry for your neighbors. It had been a long time, but Chris always had a way of welcoming you home.

[spacecasewriter13]

When the Lights Go on Again by @spacecasewriter13

Story synopsis: It is May of 1946, over a year after his fall from the Hydra train and losing his left arm, and James "Bucky" Barnes is struggling to adjust. Working as an analyst at the New York City SSR branch, Bucky tries to put the war and all of its sorted memories behind him. However, try as he might he is plagued by thoughts of Magdalene "Maggie" Ramirez, a Women's Army Corps (WAC) Corporal he met in London and hasn't spoken to since before his fall in January of 1945. Little does he know that Maggie, in her struggle to put the war behind her, has moved to the city and looking for a job with the New York Bell Telephone Company as a switchboard operator. Now, by sheer dumb luck, they are reunited as they both fight come to terms with what they were to one another during the war, and work to figure out how to move forward in a world that was unprepared to deal with the consequences of war in the unsteady peace.

Chapter 13: Half Agony, Half Hope

Chapter summary: After a tumultuous 4th of July Maggie makes a decision which forces Bucky to respond in kind, while Bucky deals with his own myriad of emotions with the revelation the SSR is sending Steve and Carter to London.

Excerpt:

“What are you reading over there, Ramirez?” Emilia called from her bunk.

“The Three Musketeers.”

“Still?”

“It IS in French, and Dumas wasn’t exactly succinct.” She called back without looking up from the page. A small French-English dictionary propped open on her lap alongside the book to assist with the advanced or tricker vocabulary.

“You’re reading it with that handsome Sergeant, aren’t you?”

“Is my answer going to make its rounds on the gossip circuit, Baker?”

“Everyone KNOWS you’re stepping out with him, even if you won’t give us details.”

“I like my privacy. But if you must know, Yes. We sit and read Dumas to one another Saturday morning after we have breakfast.”

Emilia made a face.

“What’s that for? I thought you’d be proud of me and my romantic ventures.”

“THAT is hardly romantic, Ramirez.”

“Picky picky. Cut me some slack, all right? I grew up in Sleepy little Taunton. You can’t expect too much out of me. Not all of us can be from the bustling city of Boston.” Maggie stifled a giggle. “And what could be more romantic than reading a story of swashbuckling heroes?”

“This is London Ramirez. There are other things, more interesting things, you could be out doing.”

“L’amour est la plus égoïste de toutes les passions.”

Emilia wrinkled her nose. “Love is the most selfish of the passions?” She translated.

“Yes. That’s what I’ve been able to make of it. Why the sour puss?”

“Your pronunciation is wretched.”

“Well, it can’t be that bad if you were able to understand me.”

You sound like a Portuguese-Mexican American tourist.”

“In any other context, I very well would be,” Maggie answered before adding, “You should count yourself lucky, Emilia Baker, that I adore you as I do. If anyone else made a comment like that, I would’ve punched their lights out.”

“My mother is french. I grew up speaking french.”

‘Not like some of these finishing school girls.’ She didn’t say it, but Maggie could see it in her expression.

“So I take it your pronunciation is the real deal.”

“Oh. Positively provincial, but anything is better than Parisienne French.”

Maggie snorted, “you’d know better than I. But as luck would have it, our hero D’Artagnan is from Gascony.”

“Oh so is Cyrano de Bergerac.” Emilia added helpfully. “My mother is from Reims, so still the north of France compared to Gascony in the south, but I do appreciate a southern boy.”

“Which is, of course, why your Johnny is from Springfield, Mass. As far south in the state as you can get.”

“Yes, Yes.” Emilia stuck her tongue out but then laughed. “But we’re getting off-topic, My mother read Dumas to me and my sisters growing up, all of his works really, so I am familiar with D’Artagnan and the three Musketeers.”

“Oh. So I should read aloud to you!”

“And have you butcher my mother’s language? “Emilia shook her head. Rising, she crossed the barrack and, in a motion, scooped up her book and dictionary. “No. I will read to you instead. Move, so I can sit with you.”

Maggie must have made a face because Emilia laughed, “Come now, Corporal, we both know that there is room enough for two. Put your head in my lap, close your eyes, and let me read to you.”

“How romantic,” Maggie rolled her eyes.

“I would even take you dancing, my dear, if you weren’t such a shut-in.”

“And who’s to say my GI doesn’t take me dancing? We have to do something in the hours between dawn and when I have to report.”

“YOU need to be more creative.”

“I’m sure you could provide me with an education.”

“Yes. So are you going to let me sit down and put your head in my lap or not, pet?”

“Yes, yes, all right.”

Maggie allowed Emilia onto her bunk, and they adjusted until they were both comfortable—or as comfortable as they could be crammed on a standard issue bunk. Then Emilia began to read the book in one hand, the other hand gently stroking Maggie’s face and neck, fingers playing with the baby hairs on the back of her neck.

Her voice was soothing, lyrical almost as she read, and despite doing her best to focus on what she was saying, so she could translate as they went along, Maggie found that she was starting to nod off.

Then, there was the wailing of air raid sirens, and Maggie started to jerk into an upright position but was stopped by Emilia’s firm hand.

“Emilia—“

“Shh. We’re okay.”

The sirens continued.

“Emilia, we really should—“

“It’ll be okay. We’re safe.”

“I think—“

Maggie jerked awake, Daniel’s alarm clock blaring from the room over. It was silenced with a heavy hand, and the apartment fell silent.

To continue reading please visit Ao3

[mednerds]

Who has died from Covid-19 in the U.S.?

The virus was unsparing.

Across the country, more than 28 million people have contracted the coronavirus, and over 500,000 have died. That’s the highest Covid-19 toll of any country and more than the coronavirus deaths in Italy, Germany, Australia, Japan, the UK, Canada, and France combined. It exceeds the US death toll in World War II.

It’s also an underestimate, and doesn’t account for all the people impacted by loss. If every American who died has left nine people grieving, as one study suggested, there are now more than 4 million Americans who have lost a loved one to the pandemic.

Death at this scale is difficult to comprehend, or visualize. To get a clearer sense of the shifting burden of Covid-19 deaths over time, Vox analyzed coronavirus mortality by age, region, and race from the past year, based on data from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and Johns Hopkins University.

We found that while Covid-19 spared no group, it impacted certain populations more than others. Throughout the pandemic, people of color have consistently been disproportionately sickened and killed by the virus. They also died young: Of Covid-19 deaths in people under the age of 45, more than 40 percent were Hispanic and about a quarter were Black.

But what started as a health emergency concentrated in travelers, urban minority communities, and other crowded places (such as nursing homes and prisons) fanned out into rural areas of the country, leading to a surge in deaths among white people, too.

In the deaths, we saw how an “infectious disease became a universal issue,” said Boston University School of Public Health dean Sandro Galea. The extraordinary loss of life was also preventable, said Virginia Commonwealth University’s Steven Woolf, and a grim marker of “how poorly the US handled the pandemic.”

By the winter of 2020, the virus was spreading broadly in every state, and largely by people younger than 50. Still, disparities in lives lost have persisted.

A trend at the start of the US outbreak has held: People of color have died of Covid-19 at much higher rates — double the rate of white people overall in 2020. But over the course of the year, the share of Covid-19 deaths among white people grew, while the share among Black and Hispanic people decreased.

In absolute terms, the death rate among white people rose significantly, while the rate among people of color dropped slightly. This was a trend we found in communities across America as Covid-19 spread.

Experts attribute the change to the evolving geography of the virus — a result of the failure by states and the federal government to curtail transmission.

At the start of the US outbreak, coronavirus cases — and deaths — were concentrated in a few cities, which have large numbers of people of color who are more likely to do essential work. “The impact of Covid-19 was limited to New York, and to a lesser extent Detroit and New Orleans,” said Dartmouth health economist Jonathan Skinner, “and in particular among people who had to commute by public transportation to service-sector jobs.”  

Many Black and Hispanic people soon contracted the virus and died at very high rates — an estimated 118,000 in 2020 overall.

By October, some of the most sparsely populated areas of the country — Wyoming, the Dakotas, Nebraska — were grappling with America’s worst outbreaks. The relative share of deaths among white people started rising.

“The politics of 2020 led governors in [these] parts of the country to be less aggressive in dealing with the virus or actively discourage public health safeguards,” Woolf said.

At the same time, more states adopted face-mask orders and other safety measures. Mask mandates helped bring case numbers down, and may have saved the lives of some essential workers.

The result: In August, Black people died at 2.5 times the rate of white people. By November, the rate was 2.2. In early February, it was 1.5.

But minorities were disproportionately affected by the virus in every month of 2020. They were also much more likely to die young.

Of people who died of Covid-19 between the ages of 35 and 44, nearly half were Hispanic and a quarter were Black.

“We would have otherwise expected them to live decades,” said Julia Raifman, an assistant professor at Boston University School of Public Health.

Of people over age 85 who died of Covid-19, 80 percent were white. Of those who died between the ages of 35 and 44, only 20 percent were white.

The data also reveals that regardless of race or geography, there is one group that has consistently experienced an extraordinarily high risk of death: the elderly. Age remains the greatest predictor overall of who lives after infection with the coronavirus and who dies.

Nearly half of all 2020 Covid-19 deaths were of people age 80 or older. If you include people age 60 or older, the share of deaths reaches almost 90 percent. 

With confirmed cases, the picture looks very different: Younger people, ages 20 to 59, are somewhat overrepresented.

In March through May, people age 80 and older had the most confirmed cases per capita (although testing for much of this time was limited). By June, that burden shifted to younger people.

That seems to be the pattern of the pandemic, how SARS-CoV-2 went from being a distant threat in China to a global tragedy: People who thought they wouldn’t be impacted, or who couldn’t protect themselves, passed the virus on, and on, and on.

They were enabled by a White House that denied science and downplayed the severity of the disease — and states that acted too slowly, politicizing public health instead of protecting it.

The pandemic isn’t over. It’s not far-fetched to suggest the American death toll could rise to 750,000 or 1 million this year.

To prevent more needless suffering, we need to heed the lesson of the Covid-19 deaths in 2020: “The health haves cannot keep ignoring the health have-nots,” Sandro Galea said. “Because everyone is susceptible to Covid, the fact [that] higher-risk groups exist makes everybody vulnerable.”

Source: VOX. Updated: Feb 22, 2021.