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imaginesandinserts · 4 years

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Irreverent Pt. 54 - Anchor

Title: Irreverent Pt. 54 - Anchor

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~6K

A/N: Whoops on the posting schedule. Had a wedding, etc. and things just got away from me.

Irreverent Series Masterlist

It's cold in the warehouse, the drafty chill causing goosebumps to erupt under the leather jacket you still had on. You're seated in one of the metal chairs, eyes trained on the door. Your companion had his to the other side, watching the windows.

It had been over a day since you and Clyde had been taken outside the jazz club. In hindsight, it had been impulsive of you both to go along with the change in plan, and yet the fact that the club had blown up mere seconds after you stepped outside, had you feeling rather alright about your rashness. The two of you hadn't had a chance to recover from the blowback of the explosion, when you were being shoved and pushed at gunpoint into the back of a van, cloth covers thrown over both your heads.

They shouldn't have known that the two of you were undercover agents. But they had. You'd arrived and been led into another building and when the cloth had been torn off of your head, the face in front of you had your head reeling. It had been as though every fear you'd had about the assignment had suddenly manifested itself and you regretted having kept all of your suspicions from Clyde.

Erasmus Jansen had been an associate of your father's whom you'd met on a handful of occasions while traveling with him, at your home growing up, and then once more when your father had agreed to bring you in formally. In a split second decision, you called him Uncle Erasmus – banking on your father's relationship to him to offer you some protection, buy you some time and trust, imploring him to see the little girl who had ran into her father's office eager to show off her working Grand Adage, and not the federal agent who had been sent to stop him.

Your voice had harkened him to pause as recognition flitted into his eyes. Your eyes and the set of your mouth, so very much a reminder of your father. He'd brisked you away into another room where you had continued to bank on your father's reputation. You allowed Jansen to do most of the talking, as he revealed to you that your father had confided in him that he was working on getting agents into the higher echelons of each governmental agency. He had simply never guessed that one of those agents would be his own daughter. You thought it best not to dissuade him of that notion.

Things had progressed quickly after that as you acted almost entirely on instinct, working to ingratiate yourself to him and earn his trust. You'd shot Clyde, wordlessly imploring him to understand what you were doing and why, careful to aim for the thickest parts of the vest and avoid any critical areas.

You'd had to play along. For both of your sakes.

You still had a job to do.

All of your doubts and fears regarding this assignment were coming to life, and there were still two CIA operatives unaccounted for. Jansen had said that your father had been cultivating agents on the inside - that was confirmation enough for you that you and Clyde had been correct. There was a mole still somewhere within the Bureau. Someone who had been watching and waiting, feeding them information for years. Jansen had to know the identity of whomever it was, since he had assumed you were a mole who had never been utilized by your father. It wouldn't have been any surprise to you if your father had indeed even played into the idea that you were a plant. That you were his to command. That he owned you.

Now here you sat, waiting in the outer chamber of a warehouse in the outskirts of Philadelphia. The drive there had seemed vaguely familiar and as you'd driven past an old diner by the road, you're reminded of a trip you'd taken out here with John during your first year of training. Wind rushing around you, your hair tucked safely beneath a helmet, arms wrapped tightly around the firm torso in front of you as your fingers clung to the worn leather jacket. You'd stopped for food at that diner on the way back, after scoping out the property. It had been one of several on a list that you were working through on the weekends you both could spare. Ocean blue eyes and cherry pie. Milkshakes - chocolate for you and strawberry for him. Finding a song on the jukebox that had his shoulders moving along. Your laughter - both yours and his - lighting up that dusty old diner by the side of the road. It felt like a lifetime ago. A person ago.

The clanging of the door separating the outer chamber from the inner maze has you jolting towards it, as both you and Jansen's associate - whose name you'd come to learn was Ramos - moved forward to enter as Jansen's hand beckoned on in. It takes a second for your eyes to adjust to the lowered lighting as you look around. They'd established a temporary base here it seemed. You can see the outline of the ladder that you'd climbed down during your first visit, nearly six years prior. It had rattled and shook, the two of you shushing one another in the following silence. What had then been an empty space was now equipped with weapons. In the center you can see a cage – metal bars separating you from two shapes within. It is all so familiar. You should've known. You should've known then. You shouldn't have written it off as too horrific to be true.

As you draw closer, one of the two shapes moves. You watch, silently accepting the chair that Jansen had drawn out for you as he seated himself in the other one. It is only by the dim lighting inside and the beginnings of moonlight peaking through the high shutters that you can make out the shape as it moves closer. White knuckles gripping tightly onto the metal bars. A scuffed pant leg just barely visible in the darkness. You look up to meet the pale, glassy eyes of Agent Dean Novak, CIA.

*------------*

Emily watches from the corner of her eye as Hotch and Hawthorne pour over the documents they'd grabbed from the storage unit. The team had relocated to the office now that McKinney was aware they were working the case.

Hawthorne had arrived pretty quickly after Hotch had stepped out of the storage unit to call him. He'd been nice and polite to all of them, remembering their names despite her having a vague recollection of you never having gotten around to actually introducing them to him that night at the bar. Though she supposed her memory of that night was far from reliable.

None of them had known that Hotch really knew this guy and now here they were, sitting across from one another at the conference table, quietly comparing notes on anything of interest. It made sense that Hotch had called him in. He'd explained to them all, prior to Hawthorne's arrival, that the two of you had been researching your father's businesses together around the time you joined the Bureau. None of them had been surprised to hear that. Hotch had decided to call in the guy who knew all of this as well as you did. They could certainly use the help. The fact that he was also the closest thing you had to an ex besides Matthew, seemed not to matter.

"He called him Aaron," JJ whispers from beside her, catching Garcia's attention as well. Before Hawthorne had arrived, Garcia had already looked up everything there was to know about the guy. Clean record, upstanding citizen, wealthy family with dubious connections, but that wasn't exactly a surprise. Derek had been the one who knew the most about him, and even he knew very little. However, it didn't take a profiler to see that Hotch and Hawthorne had known each other beyond that casual hello at the bar with the rest of them. They'd shaken hands quickly when Hawthorne had arrived, all windswept hair and perfectly fitted suit, before Hotch had introduced him to the rest of the team.

Garcia had already declared him one of the most attractive human beings to ever exist within five minutes of his arrival, having blushed when he'd smiled at her in greeting, much to Morgan's annoyance. He'd shook all of their hands incredibly politely – soft, but not timid in the least. Confident in that self-assured manner where he had nothing to prove to anyone. He'd quickly rolled up his sleeves and dived in. His familiarity with your organizational system immediately paying off as he quickly reduced the number of boxes they had to sift through from the forty nine they'd carried out of the storage facility, down to merely ten. When asked how the two of you had had time to do all of this research in addition to your day jobs – him, logging over sixty hours a week at a major New York law firm, and you being in round the clock training – he'd merely shrugged. Somehow, the two of you had found the time. From that, Emily gathered that neither of you had had much of a life beyond this and each other throughout those two years.

The cavalry seated around the room, all of them searching for any way to find you. Emily knows that that hadn't been the case when she had been presumed dead. Instead, from subsequent conversations with Rossi and Morgan, she'd come to learn that her cavalry had consisted of exactly one, you. You, who had dedicated every spare moment to finding Doyle, avenging her death. Learning that hadn't exactly been a surprise. She'd known that Hotch was away and JJ reassigned. Morgan was busy running the team and Rossi was trying to keep everyone's head above water. You'd been all alone in your vengeance. It had led credence to the number of times she'd come close to dialing your number while hiding out in Paris. Out of everyone, you'd be the person to never stop.

Her eyes wander over once more to the two men seated at the adjacent table. Morgan was working through something with Garcia. Reid and JJ were still sifting through their respective boxes. Hotch and Hawthorne had split a box between them, both of them taking notes as they went through in long yellow legal pads. Both of their heads were bent in concentration, suit jackets long shed in favor of comfort. There was a half eaten sandwich in front of them both, which they'd only acquiesced to partake in under JJ's watchful eye – both abandoned once her back was turned. Hawthorne’s fingers tapped rhythmically against the table as he flipped through a thick folder. Hotch's thumb rubbed the outer edge of his index finger. Both of their legs bounced, the only outlet for the coiled energy within, kept hardly at bay.

Not for the first time, Emily finds herself praying – to who knew what – that they'd find you. If only so that she could see your reaction to these two men co-existing here, because of you.

*------------*

You and Jansen walk back into the outer chamber, leaving Ramos to guard over Novak and Cavanaugh, relieving one of the earlier guards to go walk the perimeter.

"They're the ones you and that other agent wanted to buy. I still have contacts with the Chinese if we want to get them off of our hands this week," he tells you, coming around to sit in one of the chairs off to the side.

You know he trusts you minimally at best right now. Shooting Clyde had been a test that you'd passed, having quickly walked over to him before Ramos could, pressing down into the part of the armpit that would help mimic a lack of pulse when checked. Ramos didn't know enough to ward against that, and Jansen had been busy taking a call. You'd willed Clyde to be passed out long enough from the force of the gunshots for you to get away with the first deception.

"Why the Chinese? Our Russian contacts have always been stronger and more responsive," you counter, tracking back to everything you'd learned from your father years prior. Jansen had to feel like you had a stake in this. You allow yourself to slip back into your old fate, just this once.

"Volkov died last year. It weakened our position with them and we haven't been able to make a new contact that's trustworthy enough."

You sigh, leaning back in the and forcing an air of ease about you. Jansen had to see you assume the role your father had once held in his life. It wouldn't be easy. Only once before had he seen you actually in the business prior to Julian's death. That too, alongside your father. However, your distinct advantage here, ironically, would be your last name. Jansen might have attempted to take over from your father, but your family name still carried weight. A certain respect in these circles that was earned by virtue of swift and calculated brutality.

"Who had been feeding you the names on the inside if it wasn't me?" you ask, side stepping the land mine that was Alexander Volkov. Jansen brought him up only due to your personal relationship with Volkov. After all, your father hadn't been able to brag enough about how you'd cultivated that particular contact for him as your first real project on the job. No one had made strides with the Russians the way you had. You'd spent the first part of your winter break senior year, in the Balkans, being firsthand witness to Volkov's methods. You'd shown no fear, however, and he'd respected that, agreeing to sit down and talk. Even now, the mere thought of the burly, intimidating Russian had your insides churning. It was no wonder that Jansen wouldn't take on any successor to Volkov. Successors in that business were created only through conquest.

"He's up in the Bureau. Sits in on the project meetings," Jansen answers, taking a swig from the flask he still carried with him. He offers it to you, but you shake your head. He wasn't giving you a name exactly, but that alright. If you got enough details, you could figure it out.

"What's in it for him?"

Jansen's face takes on a sinister quality as he takes another sip from the flask, his lips curling into a menacing grin that has your skin crawling. You're not about to like whatever he tells you next.

*------------*

Erasmus Jansen was the name that Garcia had been trying to hunt down in vain since they'd learned that he'd been the one to take you and Easter. Her computer dings, once more turning up empty. With a groan, she looks back at Emily in defeat.

"I can't do this," she wails. "He's mentioned in the Atlantis files and in some older CIA files on Y/N's father, but beyond that, on his own, there's nothing. No bank account, no physical address, not even a MySpace account. The man is a ghost."

Emily nods in sympathy before turning back to Hawthorne who was poring over yet another folder of real estate investments. "You're sure you don't remember anything at all about this guy?"

Hawthorne looks up apologetically, a frown marring his otherwise perfect face. Emily was pretty sure his was the face DaVinci had envisioned when he spoke of the golden ratio. "Sorry, no. Only met him while I was a kid and that too only in passing. Cap spent more time with her dad than Julian did so she knew all the players better." He sighs and comes around to where Emily and Garcia are sat, brainstorming through ways of potentially tracking you or Jansen. He leans against Garcia's table, one leg crossed over the other, arms holding up the rest of his weight against the table, and from her vantage point right in front of him, Emily can tell he's mentally combing through absolutely anything that could help. "The only thing she ever said about Jansen was that while he was great at execution, he wouldn't innovate. He'd rather have someone else in charge, which was why he stuck around her father for so long. On his own, he tends to flounder."

"We might be able to use that," Emily offers. "He'll stick to whatever is familiar and uncompromised."

Hawthorne nods, slowly agreeing with her. "Older properties that had other uses in the past. Places he feels comfortable." He's already walking back over to the files, sifting through until he finds one he's looking for. "Can you get aerial views of these?" He pushes a piece of paper with an address on it towards Garcia, who lights up at the opportunity to be able to do something she knows she can deliver on.

"Can I get an aerial shot?" Garcia scoffs as she types furiously, pounding at the keyboard with renewed fervor. "Give me a minute and I can get you a lot more than whatever Google Earth can manage."

Looking up, Emily can see a grin on Hawthorne's face as he watches Garcia continue her rant on exactly how much more she can find, how much better she is, could he please give her a real challenge next time because this ask was elementary at best.

Across the way, Hotch was talking to Rossi and Morgan about a profile they were creating for Jansen, leveraging the details of the Philadelphia bombing and what little Hawthorne had been able to add on. Emily's been surprised by how well Hotch had put himself back together after the video they'd all seen. The video that would likely haunt her for quite some time. Ever since Easter told him you were alive, the man had been single minded in finding you. While Rossi had mentioned looking into Easter's accusation – not out of any belief in it, but merely as a precautionary measure so they could be prepared – Hotch had brushed it aside, saying that would come later. Right then, he didn't want a single resource dedicated to anything besides getting you back. If she had ever doubted Hotch's dedication to you – which she never really had – the thought had no leg to stand on ever since he'd called in Hawthorne.

Hotch catches her gaze and quirks an eyebrow up in question – Do you have something? Emily shakes her head but offers him a small smile that he manages to return somehow. They were going to find you. No matter what.

*------------*

Jansen wanted to move both Novak and Cavanaugh to a secondary location. His paranoia was starting to catch up with him since no other buyers besides you and Clyde had reached out for the purchase, his calls to the Chinese going unanswered. Unbeknownst to him, you'd shut down his website prior to your meeting and he was now reaching out into the void, towards nothing.

He's been teetering a bit and you can see his natural instinct to follow your orders go up against that same paranoia that tells him to not trust you fully yet. You've tried to stall and calm him down and it has worked a bit but you're unsure how much longer you can continue to quell his instincts from working against you.

Your eyes meet Agent Novak's once again as you continue your silent attempt to communicate to him that you were safe. That you were there to help. Dot Dot Dash Dot. Dash Dot Dot Dot. Dot Dot. Aaron had forced you to learn morse code early on in your time with the team. He had told you it could come in handy at the most opportune of times. You'd spent a few weekends with him and Jack, learning the alphabet. Afterwards, you'd talked him into showing you some complicated knots, which he would only let you out of once you correctly tapped out your request to be released. In hindsight, you briefly wondered if he'd liked you even back then and gotten something more out of tying you up. Something to follow up on later.

You keep repeating your light taps, hoping that Agent Novak – the former Ranger – knew as much morse code as your Eagle Scout boyfriend and his equally nerdy and endearing son.

Dot Dot Dash Dot. Dash Dot Dot Dot. Dot Dot.

F. B. I.

Dot Dot Dash Dot. Dash Dot Dot Dot. Dot Dot.

By now, your email would have triggered the send to Penelope. With Clyde safe, you can only hope that Garcia would, given the circumstances, think to reach out to him. Jansen ordering you to shoot him had been the confirmation you had needed, to know that Easter himself wasn't the mole. Clyde might stand a chance at finding you on his own if Jansen and his lot weren't covering their internet traffic well enough, however you had far more faith in Garcia, despite the mere breadcrumbs you'd left behind. You hadn't known enough to leave behind more. However, together, the two parties should know enough to find you – Clyde had the profile you'd built on Jansen and his operation. Given everything you'd left for Garcia, the team would have all of the access to your old research. They would be able to isolate to local properties once they found the right folders that you'd left on top, and they'd be able to find you.

Aaron would be worried sick. You're already anticipating the lecture you're about to receive when you get back home. All about being more clear about your intentions and not leaving cryptic messages behind. It wouldn't matter that you'd try and fail to explain how you couldn't afford to be more clear for fear that someone else might also catch on. It wouldn't matter what you said to defend yourself. All he would see – all he would reiterate again and again – was that you left yourself open and vulnerable. He'd scoff at you insisting that you had faith in him, in the team. He'd rage against your insistence that this was the best way. The safest way.

Despite everything, in your head you don't hear the drum of your own doubts. Only his encouragement. His voice, which drowns out all of your fears. Reassurances that, soon, this too shall pass and you'll see him once again. He'd find you, no matter how enigmatic your clues might be. He'd find you.

He'd better find you before Jansen decided to ignore you and move.

*------------*

There's a gun in your hand once more. Thrust into it at the beginnings of sound from outside. Jansen's paranoia had kicked into full gear and Ramos had been deployed to scope out the perimeter. Nothing you said placated him any longer and you were wary of pushing your luck. He takes hold of Agent Cavanaugh, entrusting Novak to you. Both of their hands are wrapped behind their back, despite which, either one stood a decent chance at overpowering you had they been in a prime state. As it stood, Jansen had been pumping them both with something that made their reflexes slower and responses sluggish.

Your heart beats rapidly within your chest as you follow Jansen, with him leading Cavanaugh at gunpoint. Your hand is wrapped around Novak's arm, fingers tapping once more at that familiar pattern, regardless of whether or not the message is getting through. It is only as you turn the corner and meet Novak's eye, that you see that the glassy veneer to his eyes has lifted. Meeting yours, he offers an imperceptible nod – a flash of understanding. You're about to switch gears and take action, when Ramos rejoins the group and offers confirmation that there was indeed some movement outside. You're outgunned once more.

*------------*

Derek leads the group through the dark, his hand at the back of a SWAT agent. Hotch had put a tactical team on deck as soon as they'd made some leeway on potential locations you and two CIA operatives could be taken. This warehouse had been one of three locations isolated by Hawthorne as nearby options where someone could reasonably be held and were around back in the day. Prentiss, JJ, and Rossi were leading another team to an abandoned building in Virginia, while him, Reid, and Hotch had come to this other one on the outskirts of Philadelphia.

The third location had been ruled out – Garcia had determined that it had been the subject of an arson and triple homicide case from only a few weeks back. Local detectives had written it off as gang violence. None of them quite believed that given the circumstances, and so Garcia and Hawthorne were digging into it.

If anyone were to ask Derek what he thought of your ex paramour, he'd lie and say he hadn't much of an opinion. However, truth was, the guy had grown on Derek the last day or so. He'd come as soon as Hotch had called, likely having dropped whatever else he had going on. As a DA for the state of NY, Derek reckoned that hadn't been easy. He'd come quickly and while, yes, Derek was just a little annoyed at how Penelope blushed every single time the guy even looked her way, let alone called her Agent Garcia all nice and sweet, and asked her to look something up for him, Derek had to concede that he'd been helpful. He'd known exactly what to look for and all of them had been surprised by the sheer amount of research and area the two of you had covered in two years of looking into your father's businesses. Unfortunately, if Hawthorne was to be believed, the two of you had managed to only scratched the surface.

Regardless, as it stood, Derek could see how you and Hawthorne had worked, and he's a little relieved that not all of your exes were entirely trash. Even Hotch liked him. He might not have said anything, but Hotch had been a lot friendlier with the dude in only a day of working with him, than he'd been with Derek the entire first year. Prentiss had already chalked that up to you having a type – Older. Lawyer. Smart. Ambitious. You could be sure that Prentiss would give you crap for that later, though Derek had seen her eyes rake over Hawthorne about half a dozen times too.

In his ear, he can hear both Hotch and Reid taking their respective positions, with Reid just a few agents behind him. The infrared scanner had already revealed there were people inside - four men circling the perimeter with another five people closer to the center. One of those bodies was far smaller than the others, which led them to assume it was you.

*------------*

The sounds of gunfire have both Jansen and Ramos barreling quickly towards the back exit, Jansen leading and Ramos right behind you. You had no opportunity to duck away and take Agent Novak with you. You had to continue to bide your time and hope that whoever it was –the team or Clyde – would look carefully before they shot.

Down one hallway and the next. Through one door and then another. Quickly and quickly. Feet pounding against the concrete. Gun still weighing down your hand, the other still holding on to Agent Novak. Neither him nor Cavanaugh have put up much of a struggle, liking leaving it to you to take the lead. You pray that you'd about to run into a SWAT team. Once you're out in the open and you don't have Ramos right behind you. Maybe then. Then you'd have your chance.

"F.B.I. Stop where you are!"

Jansen comes to a screeching halt right in front of you, the pathway in front blocked by a tactical team. You recognized that voice. You'd recognize it anywhere.

From behind Agent Novak, you make eye contact with Derek and he wordlessly asks if you're alright. You offer him only a perfunctory acknowledgement, eyes trained quickly once more on Jansen and Ramos. Your main priority was ensuring that both Agents Novak and Cavanaugh were alright.

"Jansen, give it up. You're surrounded," Derek proclaims, gun trained at the man. From beside him, four SWAT agents and Reid emerge, all guns pointed towards the five of you in the center. Your eyes search for Aaron.

Jansen turns back towards you, his eyes wild like a caged animal. "Shoot him," he orders, his gun pressing harshly into Agent Cavanaugh's back.

You don't move. You don't say anything.

"Shoot him," he repeats himself. "Now." He shoves Cavanaugh aside, who stumbles and falls to the ground in his drugged state. Jansen's gun is now pointed past Novak and right at you. He hadn't failed to notice your hesitation to follow his orders.

Your eyes flit up to Agent Novak and then back towards Derek before landing on Jansen's crazed expression once more. You can tell then, that if you don't do as he says, he'll shoot you.

Derek and the SWAT agents will follow protocol. They won't try to take him down while he's got a gun trained on both you and Novak. No sudden movements from the group.

"Jansen. Give it up man. There's no way out for you here. Don't make things worse for yourself." Derek speaks calmly, making a show of lowering his weapon slowly. Behind you, you become aware of Ramos's presence, his gun is trained on you as well, both him and his boss watching you intensely as you continue to defy his direct order.

"I'm not going to shoot a federal agent in front of the F.B.I." you tell him, shaking your head, your heart leaping into your throat as you felt the jut of Ramos's rifle at your back. His boss had given him the order. If you turn out to be not what you claim, shoot her. Shoot her and worry about the rest later.

Your hand holds the gun firmly still, the other still anchored to Agent Novak, ready to shove him to the ground in case of gunfire.

Out of the corner of your eye you can make out Reid from behind the SWAT guys, his gun trained on Jansen. You know what he's thinking. He's assessed the room the same as you. Ramos's view was slightly obstructed as he was still behind you and Novak. If it was timed right and Reid took down Jansen before Ramos had the chance to react, you had the ghost of a possibility to shove both yourself and Novak to the ground while SWAT got Ramos. It had to be Jansen first. Jansen had a clear view of you all and Ramos going down wouldn't allow you enough time. It's the only play.

You feel your body coil, ready to move, waiting for Reid's shot.

Jansen's maniacal eyes are still trained on you. You can feel the nudge of Ramos's gun to your back, imploring you to follow orders.

From the corner of your eye, you catch a beam of red light bouncing off the wall right behind Ramos's head. Assurance that they have him. They have him if you can move fast enough.

Each second that the standoff lasts seems to last a lifetime. You become highly aware – of your own heartbeat, of Agent Novak's muscles tensing under your touch, of Reid's shoulders, tensed and ready to take the shot. You're waiting. Waiting for that telltale sign as his right shoulder will flex just barely. That sign that tells you that his finger is ready to pull the trigger. That's what you're waiting for.

One second.

Jansen shifts from one foot to the other.

Two seconds.

Ramos's gun catches the zipper on the back of your jacket.

Three seconds.

Derek opens his mouth to say something again.

Four seconds.

The beam of red flits across your eyes once more.

Five seconds.

You go down.

Your ears ring from the aftermath of the loud gunshots as you lie on top of Agent Novak on the concrete flooring. In front of you, Jansen was dead, having been hit by two shots, one to the back and another to the chest, his gun slipping from his hand and clattering to the floor. Behind you, Ramos had fallen – single gunshot to the head.

You're aware just barely of Derek helping up both you and Novak, taking the gun from your hands and reengaging the safety. You feel his hands on your arms and his eyes looking you over to make sure you're alright. There's some SWAT guys and paramedics around, making sure both CIA agents are doing well. Reid is still standing where he was when he'd shot Jansen, his arms hanging by his side. You're half expecting to see a shell shocked look on his face, but when you look past Derek and meet his eye, he only smiles at you and you know he's alright.

"Hey, you sure you're okay, Princess? You gotta talk to me here," Derek implores, shaking you just slightly to draw your attention back towards him.

"Yeah," you respond shakily. "Yeah I'm – " You break off, as you look beyond his shoulder and see a far too familiar figure making its way down the ladder, a rifle slung behind its back.

The world stops.

Next thing you know, you've broken away from Derek and taken off in a run. Through the haze of people in the space, past Reid, until you collide into Aaron's chest, his arms wrapping tight around you as he manages to lift you fully off the ground, your legs wrapping around his haphazardly.

Home. You're home.

Aaron can scarcely believe he's holding you, breathing you in – you're here, in his arms. You're real.

The familiar weight of you in his arms feels like a totem, his anchor to reality. It was his reward for never quite believing anything had happened to you. His grace for holding true to his faith in you.

His hand curls behind your back and to your neck, lifting your head that's buried into his shoulder. He needs to see your face. He needs to know he isn't imagining this.

You tilt back to meet his gaze and he can see your panic and relief mixed together, the honeysuckle sweetness of your reunion coating and soothing over the acrid burnt taste left behind by your long absence and the past few days of torment and uncertainty. He can feel the tears slipping down his face as he holds you tighter, closer, your body trembling in his arms, a deep sob working its way through, streaks of tears painting lines down your cheeks.

But you're here. You're here and he has you and that's all that matters as he feels your lips against his, causing his heart to wobble, your hands in his hair and around his shoulders, the wetness of your tears mixing together, no awareness of the surrounding world or the people awaiting the two of you. Screw people. People could wait.

You're here.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds reader insert #irreverentseries #hotch x you #hotch x reader

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veronicasvanitycc · 3 years

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This post is specifically for other CC creators. If you can/would make any of these items for the Sims community, I would lose my mind. Or if you know where they can already be found, please let me know! ❤ All credit of course will be given and you will be shared on my tumblr and patreon. I am also a member of TBS/DSC on facebook so you will be shared there as well when I post! If you see anything on the list that you would love to see in the S4 Community, reblog pleaseeeee!

If any of these items are found, I will update the list with a link for everyone. ❤

Lot Traits

Aquarium

Stripclub

Fraternity

Sorority

Dispensary

Psychologist

Elementary School

High School

Waterpark

Salon/Nail Salon

Tattoo Studio

Low Income Housing

Apartment Building

Bachelor Pad

Farm

Deco Sims

Sitting Santa (LP Photos)

Models

Male Strippers

Toddlers (Daycare)

Babies (LP Maternity Ward)

Gothic/Emo

Celebrities

Zoo Keepers/Amusement Park Workers/Disney Characters

Homeless

Casino/Resort Workers

Dentist/Psychologist

Basketball/Football Players

Teens (Prom/School/Having Fun etc)

Prison Inmates

Band "Geeks"

School Jocks

Cheerleaders

Tanning/Waxing Salon Clients

Tarot/Paranormal Sims (Tarot shop)

Fishing

Security

Maids

Singers

Church (Pastor/Choir/Confessional)

TSA/Airport Staff/Judge

Postal Workers

Edible Foods & Recipes

Beef & Cheddar Sandwich (Arbys)

Gyro

Baklava

Curly Fries

Chili Dogs

Spanakopita

Cheese Curds

Fried Okra

Garlic Parmesan Fries

Pulled Pork Sandwiches

Honey Walnut Shrimp (Panda Express)

Crab Rangoon

Teriyaki Chicken

Fried Cabbage W/ Bacon

Brisket/Cornbread/Collard Greens

Corn Dogs

Funnel Cake

Mushroom & Swiss Burger

Colesaw

Taco Platter/Rice/Beans

Chorizo/Egg/Cheese Burrito

Biscuits & Gravy (I thought I saw this released???)

Sweet Potatoes W/ Brown Sugar & Marshmallows

California Sushi Roll

Shrimp Tempura Sushi Roll

Philadelphia Sushi Roll

Chicken & Wild Rice Soup

Sloppy Joes & Chips

Mexican Red Rice

Toastadas & Ceviche

Taco Salad

Carne Asada Tacos

Birria Tacos W/ Consumme

Dolmades

Honey Biscuits (Churchs Chicken)

Dirty Rice (Bojangles/Cajun Style)

Souvlaki

Loukomades

Sub Sandwiches (Subway Build)

Bratwurst W/ Saurkraut

Carnitas W/ Red Rice

Waffle Fries (Chick Fil A)

Swedish Meatballs W/ Butter Noodles

French Dip Sandwich W/ Au Jus

Seafood Boil

Chicken Fries (Burger King)

Spicy Chicken Sandwich (Popeyes!!!!!!!!!❤)

Whopper Sandwich (Burger King)

Salt Fish & Cabbage

Jambalaya

Dumbo

Cobb Salad

Creamy Chicken Over Rice

Ackee & Salt Fish

Boiled Peanuts

Sweet Tea

Hushpuppies

Objects

Functionality is hard so decor items are are just as good!

Diving Cage (Decor/LP Use)

Waterslides (Is it possible to make other designs through necrodogs functional water slide?)

Earring Display Turnstyle (Claires Build)

Ear Pericing Gun

Earring Stud Stand (Choose your studs before you get your ears pierced lol)

Ear Cleaner

Tattoo Goo

Incense Tubes (Retail Style/Pick & Choose)

Aquarium Touch Pool (Anything works for this!)

Wall Candy Dispensers

Prison Visitor Phone (Anything for a visitation room)

Dunk Tank (Necrodog Fair Pack Add On?)

Whack a Mole

Tall Froyo Ice Cream Machine

Ring Toss (Necrodog Fair Pack Add On? Jcope?)

Goldfish Toss (Necrodog Fair Pack Add On? Jcope?)

Kiddie Coster (Necrodog Fair Pack Add On?)

Balloon Darts (Necrodog Fair Pack Add On? Jcope has one, but something not as circus related?)

Bumper Boats ( I am dyinggggg for this!!! Even if its decor only)

Cornhole Game (horseshoe toss style)

Snow Cone Machine (This would be dope to be functional!)

Coin Operated Rides (outside of stores)

Functional/Non Functional Casino Stuff/Games Etc

Wet Bar (Sims 3 Conversion?)

Freakshow Decor (Venice Beach Freakshow)

Bingo Ball Spinner/Cage/Caller? (What do you call it lol)

Bingo Cards

Plastic Surgeon Chair

Sol De Janeiro Stuff (I need!!!)

Fake Nails (Boxes for retail)

Body Jewelry Decor Displays

Store Signs

Del Taco

Whataburger

Bojangles

Burger King

Churchs Chicken

Jack In The Box

Culvers

Golden Corral

Cheesecake Factory

Cracker Barrel

In & Out

Dairy Queen

Raising Canes

A&W

Texas Roadhouse

Zaxbys

Carls Jr,

Captain D's

Bush's Chicken

Blockbuster

Seaworld

Disney World

Horrorland (Goosebumps Style)

Cascade

Ulta Beauty

Museum Of Death (LA Museum)

Claires

Shady Acres (Junky Sign/Trailer Park Build)

Jelly Belly

NFL Store

Spelman College (Britechester/Foxbury Text Override Mod)

Morehouse College (Britechester/Foxbury Text Override Mod)

Michael's (Craft store)

Hobby Lobby

Caesars Palace

Hells Kitchen

Party City

American Girl Dolls

"The Boardwalk" (Like the Santa Monica Pier Arch)

Charlotte Russe

Motel 6

Good Burger

Mondo Burger

Planned Parenthood

Sanrio

Rainforest Cafe

Universal Studios

If you know of any place I can find these items, please let me know!!! If they are used in any of my builds, I will give you that entire build early access as well as share you all over and probably obsess over you for the rest of my life. ❤ (creator or not) I am aware that this gives away my future ideas, but oh well. We can all win yall.

#s4 #ts4 #ts4cc #ts4requests #S4CC

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popanalysis99 · 3 years

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Dominique Dipierro: Analysis

Dominique “Dom” Dipierro is a character from Mr. Robot. She is an FBI agent who is assigned to solve the 5/9 case. She is shown to be a determined young woman who has noble goals in her heart and wants to solve the case. But she later sees that all of this isn’t an easy task and her obsession with solving the 5/9 case might affect her career and sanity. (Spoilers)

Early Life

Unlike Elliot and Darlene, Dom had a very good family life. She was born and raised in New Jersey. Her mother lives somewhere in Philadelphia. She has two brothers, one young named Joseph who has a son named Jaime and other older named Jerry.

Days before she graduated from law school, a girl that she was dating proposed to her, it caused Dom to leave and change careers to become an FBI agent.

Dom’s characterization

Dom is introduced as a friendly FBI agent who is assigned the 5/9 case. But outside her work, she is shown to be extremely lonely as she suffers from social anxiety. She is even shown to be very smart and assertive as like Elliot, she also looks at the worst in people, (more on that later). During her meeting with Whiterose (disguised as Minister Zhang), she mentions how much she is “disgusted and fascinated” with the selfish brutality of the world. She is even shown to have clear survival and markmanship skills twice when she ends up in a midst of two Dark Army shootouts and shoots the attackers before they kill themselves. Dom later believes that the Dark Army might be behind all of this, but her boss Santiago, who is the Dark Army mole, constantly stonewalls her investigation and gives excuses to not let her continue. She then crosses paths with Darlene after Cisco is killed. She brings her in and tries to connect with her to get some information and believes Darlene is special. She then shows her the FBI wall which then complies Darlene to become an informant.

Dom continues to investigate the case where she digs into more about the Dark Army with Darlene as her mole. She continues her search for Tyrell Wellick and the Dark Army. When the 71 buildings attack happen and Trenton and Mobley are framed for the attack, her investigation gets shut down. 3 weeks later, she meets Darlene for a night out and then invites her back to her apartment, where they both start to make out (the birth of Domlene). Little did she know that Darlene was doing that just to get her badge to get the credentials, but Dom catches her and arrests her, which then causes Santiago to kidnap both of them.

A Fall from Grace

tw: blood

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When Dom gets brought to an isolated barn along with Darlene and Elliot, she is taken outside by Irving where it’s first thought that he will axe her to death, but instead he axes Santiago instead. Irving informs her that she is the new mole to the Dark Army and threatens to have her family killed all the while axing Santiago’s body, which easily breaks Dom into a mess, causing her to comply. Despite all of this being the Dark Army’s fault, Dom blames Darlene for putting her in this position.

2 months later, we see Dom as a now weak willed, always paranoid and a fearful shell of her former self. She then meets her new handler Janice who threatens to kill her family in a graphic manner if she doesn’t follow orders. The Dom that we knew in the past 2 seasons is now gone. She spends almost the entire 4th season as nothing but a doormat for them. She even has a nightmare where she is drowned by a woman, just like what she told Angela back in Season 2.

Then she is asked to track down Darlene and told to kill her, which she is unable to do and causes her to cry again. When Darlene wakes up, she reminds her of that night and tells her that she genuinely loved it.

Then she tells Darlene to kill her instead as she has been feeling suicidal for months now and she has no other choice because she feels that her life puts everyone she loves in danger, before Janice enters and ties them up in restraints after Darlene wiped her phone to save herself from having her brains blown off (again!). After a bit of unnecessary black comedy from Janice, she then removes her tools to make it look like she will torture Darlene but instead stabs Dom in the chest, and then for no reason leaves her like this for a while. Janice then threatens to kill her family again and Dom cries and begs until Darlene gives in to give up Elliot’s location. When they are unable to find him, Janice decides to have Dom’s family executed which then leads to...

“Get a hold of yourself, dude.”

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We see that Dom finally got a hold of herself when she made a deal with the Lucky Irish B****d she interrogated earlier. He had the Dark Army soldiers killed and freed her family, and while Janice is distracted by the call, Dom removes the knife from her lung to slash one of the guys, take away his gun and shoot Janice and the thugs dead. She then frees herself and Darlene and tells him to find Elliot and take down the Deus Group.

Trying to find peace

Episode 10 sees her trying to run away from the Dark Army with Darlene. She still has a lot of reservations about the world until Darlene convinces her. She then tells Darlene that she can’t go and she doesn’t need her to go with her or anyone for that matter. And Darlene tells her that she holds onto a lot of things which is her flaw. When they leave each other, both of them immediately change their mind and cross paths. Darlene gets a panic attack and decides to take care of herself and Dom decides to let go and leave for Budapest.

Becoming Elliot’s shadow archetype.

While we applaud Dom for how she took down Janice, we can’t help but deny the fact that throughout the 4th season, she became Elliot’s shadow archetype. Elliot had dealt with so much physical, mental and emotional trauma throughout his whole life, even more so than Dom did. But notice in “shutdown-r” how Elliot and Dom deal with being held hostage by the Dark Army. Elliot was calm and collected and tried to look for a solution to get out of the situation, while Dom was shaking and quivering out of fear. Irving’s axing of Santiago left Dom a broken mess while Elliot showed that he was not gonna take anymore crap from them anymore. This is explored more into Season 4 when their lives were threatened by the Dark Army. Elliot is hardened and cold by the death of Angela and was more than determined to rain down doom upon Whiterose and the Dark Army while Dom was reduced to just being a fearful servant for them. Their gender roles are also flipped as Elliot takes on the role of a vengeful femme fatale who takes down mostly men, which we usually see in feminist revenge movies like Lady Snowblood, Promising Young Woman, Kill/Bill, MFA etc. He is basically the male version of the angry woman trope. It shows that despite all the pain and trauma he’s been through, Elliot is equipped to handle the Dark Army more so than Dom.

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Conclusion

While Dom was a good and nuanced LGBTQ character, she should’ve been a little more braver and stronger and she should’ve used her position as a mole to help Elliot and Darlene take down the Dark Army. But overall, she was good.

#character analysis #mr. robot #mr robot #dominique dipierro #analysis #hero analysis

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route22ny · 4 years

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This is a harrowing read, and in the end you may ask yourself, as I asked myself: how was the nation not protected from such criminality? Decades of organized crime involvement culminated in the most corrupt and dangerous president in American history, one who now presides over a reeling nation in the throes of a deadly pandemic.

We watch in horror and disbelief, daily, as he ineptly--or maliciously--mismanages the nation’s response to covid-19, contributing to a death toll expected to surpass that of the Vietnam War...twice. How did we get here?

This is must reading.

***

IN THE EARLY 1980s it was decided—by whom, and for what ultimate purpose, we can’t say for sure—that Donald John Trump would build a casino complex in Atlantic City, New Jersey—probably the most mobbed-up municipality in the state. Dealing with the mafia might have dissuaded some developers from pursuing a Boardwalk Empire, but not Trump. He was uniquely suited to forge ahead.

Donald’s father, the Queens real estate developer Fred Trump, had worked closely with Genovese-associated and -owned construction entities since building the Shore Haven development in 1947, when Donald was still in diapers (the first time around). Fred was an early mob adopter, the underworld equivalent of an investor who bought shares of Coca-Cola stock in 1919. The timelines is important to remember here. Organized crime did not exist in any meaningful way in the United States until Prohibition. Born in 1905, Fred Trump was just two years younger than Meyer Lansky, the gangster who more or less invented money laundering. Thus, Donald Trump is second generation mobbed-up.

When Donald first ventured from Queens to the pizzazzier borough of Manhattan in the seventies, he entered into a joint business deal with “Big” Paul Castellano, head of the Gambino syndicate, and Anthony “Fat Tony” Salerno, of the Genovese family he knew well through his father and their mutual lawyer Roy Cohn. As part of this arrangement, Trump agreed to buy concrete from a company operated jointly by the two families—and pay a hefty premium for the privilege. Only then, with double mob approval, could he move forward with the Trump Tower and Trump Plaza projects. (Among Cohn’s other clients at the time was Rupert Murdoch, whom he introduced to Trump in the seventies; you would be hard pressed to find three more atrocious human beings).

Atlantic City is in South Jersey, closer to Philadelphia than New York, so to build “his” casino, Trump needed to play ball with the Philly mob. That meant dealing with Nicodemo “Little Nicky” Scarfo, head of the most powerful mob family in Philadelphia. Land that Trump needed for his casino was owned by Salvie Testa and Frank Narducci, Jr.—hit men for Scarfo, collectively known around town as the Young Executioners (the nickname was not ironic). To help negotiate the deal, Trump hired Patrick McGahn, a Philly-based attorney known to have truck with the Scarfo family.

(The last name should sound familiar; Don McGahn, the former White House Counsel, is Patrick McGahn’s nephew. And Don McGahn is not the only Trump Administration hire with ties to the Philly mob. Among Little Nicky’s associates was one Jimmy “The Brute” DiNatale, whose daughter, Denise Fitzpatrick, is the mother of none other than Kellyanne Conway. A number of wiseguys paid their respects at DiNatale’s 1983 funeral. I don’t want to make the mistake of condemning Conway or Don McGahn for the sins of their relations. But given Trump’s OC background, it’s fair to question why he chose two children of mobbed-up families for his inner White House circle.)

Trump acquired the needed Atlantic City property at twice the market value: $1.1 million for a lot that sold for $195k five years before. But there were legal pratfalls, shady dealings, chicanery with the documents. The New Jersey Gaming Commission was investigating the matter, because casino owners could not, by law, associate with criminals. And most of Trump’s friends were crooks. It looked like Trump was in trouble—not only of losing his gaming license, but of criminal indictment.

And then, something miraculous happened. On 4 November 1986, Scarfo and eleven of his associates were indicted on charges that included loan sharking, extortion and conducting an illegal gambling business in a racketeering conspiracy. Prosecutors had tried for years to take down Little Nicky. And now, after all that time, they finally had their evidence. Not only that, but the investigation into Trump? It went away. Poof—as if it never existed.

A confidential informant, or “CI,” is a mole run by law enforcement within a criminal enterprise. Not a “rat,” whose treachery is well known to his comrades, but a craftier, more duplicitous breed of rodent. Crimes committed by the CI are overlooked, or allowed to continue unabated, in exchange for good intelligence—“treasure,” as Control calls it in Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy.

A fictional example of a CI is the Greek, a character on the show The Wire (spoiler ahead). Baltimore law enforcement piece together that the Greek is the head of a crime syndicate that deals in narcotics and human trafficking. But when they finally move to arrest him, the operation is kibboshed by the feds, for whom the Greek is a Confidential Informant. This is extremely frustrating for viewers of the show, who rightly regard the Greek as the cause of so much woe in West Baltimore.

In real life, there are two famous examples. The first is Whitey Bulger, the head of the so-called Winter Hill Gang, which operated for decades in Somerville, Massachusetts. In 1975, Bulger became a Confidential Informant for the FBI, handled by a corrupt agent named John Connolly. His intelligence helped take down a rival mob family in Providence, Rhode Island—a city notorious for the influence of organized crime. In exchange, Connolly allowed Bulger and his associates to operate with impunity. At least 19 people were killed by the Winter Hill Gang while the feds looked the other way. When the FBI finally realized its mistake, Connolly tipped off Bulger, who went on the lam for 16 years. He was finally arrested in 2011; by then he was in his eighties. He was killed in prison seven years later.

The second famous CI is Donald Trump’s former associate Felix Sater. Racketeering charges against him back in 1998 ended with a fine of just $25,000—a slap on the wrist. From then on, Sater become a top echelon confidential informant, feeding law enforcement intelligence of “a depth and breadth rarely seen,” as court filings show. “His cooperation has covered a stunning array of subject matter, ranging from sophisticated local and international criminal activity to matters involving the world’s most dangerous terrorists and rogue states.”

The winsome ex-con, still one of the more puzzling figures of Trump/Russia, “continuously worked with prosecutors and law enforcement agents to provide information crucial to the conviction of over 20 different individuals, including those responsible for committing massive financial fraud, members of La Cosa Nostra organized crime families and international cyber-criminals,” prosecutors claim. “Additionally, Sater provided the United States intelligence community with highly sensitive information in an effort to help the government combat terrorists and rogue states.”

His intelligence helped prosecutors break up the “Pump and Dump” and “Boiler Room” mob operations in the 1990s. He turned over useful information about the Genovese crime family (note: the same family Fred Trump fronted for), and provided ample dirt on international arms dealing (note: Jeffrey Epstein’s specialty). And his crowning achievement: he helped the United States track down Osama bin Laden (funny how the Russian mob knew where he was). Sater is proud of his CI work, and has talked it up the last few years, probably to counter his association with the mafiya, and with Trump.

We know about Bulger being a CI because his handler turned out to be crooked. We know about Sater being a CI because he outed himself prior to his sentencing in 2009—and because he keeps boasting about it. If Sater had not come forward, Loretta Lynch, the former Attorney General, would not have been legally permitted to reveal his status.

That’s the thing about Confidential Informants: they are confidential. The informant doesn’t want to be made as a mole, any more than law enforcement wants to burn a source. Both sides are bound to secrecy. It is the good guy version of omertà.

The only way to know for sure if Donald John Trump is a Confidential Informant is if he admits it himself (unlikely), or if law enforcement comes forward (illegal). But the circumstantial evidence is compelling. The pattern is: 1) Trump deals with mobsters as usual; 2) Law enforcement begins investigating Trump; 3) Mobsters suddenly get busted, while 4) investigation into Trump is scuttled. This happened three times that we know about. I’m not counting the first known instance of Trump providing information to prosecutors, concerning Cody and concrete, in the late 70s:

I can conceive of no scenario in which Trump was not a CI, and a top echelon one at that. He’s avoided indictment too many times. No one is that lucky.

Or, put another way: How can someone that lucky manage to run a fucking casino into the ground?

Salvatore Gravano, known as “Sammy the Bull,” was an underboss of the Gambino crime family. After the assassination of “Big” Paul Castellano in 1985—an audacious hit, done in broad daylight—John Gotti was installed as the figurehead capo. But in practice, the Bull was the one calling the shots. His territory? Manhattan. For as long as he was in power, any construction that took place in New York, New York had to be approved by Gravano. “I literally controlled Manhattan,” he told ABC News. He did a lot of business deals with Donald John Trump, and speaks of him fondly.

After his arrest on 11 December 1990, Gravano turned state’s evidence to help put away Gotti, his nominal boss. The lead prosecutor of the case? Robert Swan Mueller III. (This is why, when Trump found out Mueller was named Special Counsel, he collapsed into a chair and muttered, “I’m fucked.”)

We know that Gravano flipped on Gotti. But who flipped on Sammy the Bull?

On 19 July 1990, the Division of Gaming Enforcement (DGE) of the State of New Jersey opened an investigation into Donald John Trump, regarding the Trump Organization’s business dealings with Joseph Weichselbaum, a mob associate and embezzler who had been convicted not once, not twice, but three times. Trump hired Weichselbaum’s company to provide helicopter transportation to Atlantic City, conveying high rollers to and from New York. As a casino owner, Trump was prohibited by law to do any business with the serial felon. He not only continued to do so, but he went to bat for the guy, going so far as to write him a letter of recommendation. (There’s more bizarre stuff with Wiechselbaum, whose case wound up being initially tried by Trump’s sister, a federal judge, but I won’t get into it here).

Six months after the DGE opened its investigation, Gravano got pinched. And once again, as if by the wave of a magic wand, Trump’s legal troubles seemed to vanish.

It’s worth noting here that Sammy the Bull likes Trump personally, then and now, and seems not to blame him for ratting him out. There were likely others who informed on Gravano, too. But given the timing, the investigation against Trump, his disastrous finances at the time, and his long familiarity with federal prosecutors, it stands to reason that Trump, too, turned on his longtime business associate.

The Kurt & Courtney decade was unkind to Donald John Trump. The Bush I recession hit his businesses hard. Trump filed for bankruptcy protection for Trump Taj Mahal (1991) and Trump Plaza (1992). Again: our “lucky” guy had managed to go bust in the casino business. In between those bankruptcy filings, he lobbied Congress for tax relief for real estate developers, began phoning reporters claiming to be a publicist named John Barron, had an affair with a D-list actress named Marla Maples, and divorced his wife of 14 years, the mother of his kids Donald, Ivanka, and Eric: the former Ivana Zelníčková. (Sidenote: Ivana Trump’s father was a big wheel in Czechoslovakia’s Státní bezpečnost intelligence service; Miloš Zelníček helped raise his grandchildren, especially Don Jr., who speaks fluent Czech…but this is a subject for another dispatch).

Things were going south fast. Trump desperately needed a lifeline. He found one in Moscow.

The Soviet Union collapsed on Christmas Day 1991. What the West viewed as the triumph of capitalism over communism was really the subversion of a conventional superpower by the shadowy forces of transnational crime. The Cold War was not over; it just shifted modes of attack. In the early 90s, Russia invaded the United States—not with soldiers, but with mobsters.

The commander of this underworld incursion was a violent ex-con named Vyacheslav Ivankov, known as “Yaopnchik,” or “Little Japanese.” Hardened in the brutal Soviet prison system, Ivankov was a member of the vor y zakone, or thieves-in-law—the arm of the Russian mafiya that originated in the post-Second World War gulags. He was such a nasty, violent motherfucker that when it was necessary to rough someone up to extort them, he didn’t send in a subordinate—he did the job himself.

Ivankov arrived to the United States in 1992, ostensibly to work in the film industry. Even the new Russian government warned the FBI that he was up to no good. The feds lost sight of him almost immediately, even as he traveled from New York to Florida and everywhere in between, consolidating power, and displacing the Italian mob. (That brazen 1985 hit on “Big” Paul Castellano was instrumental in achieving this Vor hegemony, as the Gambino boss neither liked nor trusted the Russians). Per the testimony of Bob Levinson, the FBI’s foremost Russian mob expert:

Ivankov’s organization’s income was derived from a number of sources: his group was implicated by sources to have been involved in the “gasoline tax scam” whereby so-called “daisy-chains” of petroleum handling companies were established with the specific intention of defrauding governmental tax authorities using non-existent or ghost companies to pay the gasoline taxes due.

A primary source of the group’s funds was the collection of “krisha” or protection money from wealthy Russian and Eurasian businessmen operating between North America and the former Soviet republics. In addition, the Ivankov organization organized the collection of, in effect, a “street tax” from Russian-born and Eastern European criminals who were operating their illegal enterprises in North America. Ivankov organization members fanned out across the United States and Canada identifying and then approaching these criminals saying that each now had to contribute to an “obshak” (mutual benefit fund) being collected and organized by the Ivankov group.

In addition, Ivankov and other members of his organization settled business disputes for Russian and Eastern European businessmen operating between North America and the former Soviet Union, receiving in return a percentage of the amount in dispute, usually hundreds of thousands of dollars. Through his authority as a “thief-inlaw” and the head of a criminal organization, Ivankov was able to exercise a kind of informal power in the émigré business community tantamount to decisions made by formal, official courts of law. Those who went against the decisions made by Ivankov and his associates were usually met with violence, including beatings and/or murder.

As Little Japanese worked the States, Semion Mogilevich, the current head of the Russian mob, set up his base of operations in Budapest, Hungary, where he moved in 1992 with his Hungarian girlfriend. “The Brainy Don,” as he is called, soon acquired a bank in Russia, which allowed him access to the global financial system. Meyer Lanksy may have invented money laundering, but it was Mogilevich who took it to Hollywood, so to speak: Lansky wrote the book, and the Brainy Don made it into an international blockbuster. (Note: Levinson, the FBI agent, moved to Budapest around this time, to investigate Mogilevich more closely.)

For three fruitful years, Ivankov did his thing, laying the foundation for what would become the world’s pre-eminent organized crime operation—more S.P.E.C.T.R.E. than GoodFellas. He ran amok. Law enforcement had no idea where he was….until, one day in 1995, they found him living in a deluxe apartment at—you’re not gonna believe it—Trump Tower. And that was not the only Trump property he frequented: Ivankov was also a regular at the Trump Taj Mahal in Atlantic City. He was arrested in June of 1995, convicted, imprisoned, and deported to Russia in 2004 to face murder changes. Once home, he was promptly acquitted. He was gunned down in Moscow in 2009.

This monster was living in Trump’s building, gambling in Trump’s casino.

What was Donald John Trump doing in 1995? Failing tremendously. That was the year when he declared a loss of an unfathomable $916 million on his tax returns. It was also at this time that Trump Tower became a sort of Moscow on Fifth Avenue, with any number of Russian mobsters scooping up apartments—an arrangement that began in 1984, when the Russian mobster David Bogatin purchased five condos for $6 million. Trump Tower was one of just two buildings in all of New York City that allowed units to be purchased by shell companies. Why did Trump, virtually alone among New Yorkers, allow these fishy deals?

As the indefatigable Craig Unger writes in the Washington Post,

the shady Bogatin deal began a 35-year relationship between Trump and Russian organized crime. Mind you, this was a period during which the disintegration of the Soviet Union had opened a fire-hose-like torrent of hundreds of billions of dollars in flight capital from oligarchs, wealthy apparatchiks and mobsters in Russia and its satellites. And who better to launder so much money for the Russians than Trump — selling them multimillion-dollar condos at top dollar, with little or no apparent scrutiny of who was buying them.

Over the next three decades, dozens of lawyers, accountants, real estate agents, mortgage brokers and other white-collar professionals came together to facilitate such transactions on a massive scale. According to a BuzzFeed investigation, more than 1,300 condos, one-fifth of all Trump-branded condos sold in the United States since the 1980s, were shifted “in secretive, all-cash transactions that enable buyers to avoid legal scrutiny by shielding their finances and identities.”

Unger continues:

The Trump Organization has dismissed money laundering charges as unsubstantiated, and because it is so difficult to penetrate the shell companies that purchased these condos, it is almost impossible for reporters — or, for that matter, anyone without subpoena power — to determine how much money laundering by Russians went through Trump-branded properties. But Anders Aslund, a Swedish economist, put it this way to me: “Early on, Trump came to the conclusion that it is better to do business with crooks than with honest people. Crooks have two big advantages. First, they’re prepared to pay more money than honest people. And second, they will always lose if you sue them because they are known to be crooks.”

It is simply inconceivable that a creature of the underworld, a man who had extensive dealings with mob figures for his entire career, would, in a moment of dire need, be unaware that mobsters were buying his properties, using shell companies to conceal the origin of the dirty rubles.

It is also inconceivable that a mobbed-up real estate developer—a crook whom the government of Australia would not grant a gaming license because of his obvious mob connections; the subject of a 41-page initial investigation by the Department of Gaming Enforcement in the State of New Jersey that, taken together, is positively damning—could have avoided indictment for all these years unless he was covertly helping out law enforcement. Trump is a criminal, yes, but his crimes are not as heinous as Ivankov’s, or Gravano’s, or Scarfo’s. Prosecutors would happily toss a minnow like Trump back into the sea if it helped them catch the big fish.

Nothing about Trump’s term as president suggests he’s turned his back on organized crime. He hasn’t “gone legit.” His Twitter antagonists comprise a “Who’s Who” of the FBI’s Russian mob experts: Robert Mueller, Andrew McCabe, Bruce Ohr, Lisa Page. He has attacked the credibility of those who know what he really is. That is what made Trump’s attacks on Mueller so ironic. He impugned the former FBI director as corrupt, while depending on his incorruptibility to not reveal his (alleged) CI status.

To reiterate: we cannot know for sure if Trump was a CI unless he admits to being one (maybe Yamiche Alcindor can goad him into admitting it?), or if the federal prosecutors in the know break protocol to expose him.

As it stands, prominent G-men have given us clues. When McCabe was fired, he began his statement thus: “I have been an FBI Special Agent for over 21 years. I spent half of that time investigating Russian Organized Crime as a street agent and Supervisor in New York City.” The subtext there is that McCabe knows who Trump is.

In the excerpt of his book Higher Loyalty sent to the press, James Comey compared Trump to Gravano. “The [loyalty] demand was like Sammy the Bull’s Cosa Nostra induction ceremony—with Trump in the role of the family boss asking me if I have what it takes to be a ‘made man.’ ” Of all the famous mafiosos, why did Comey choose Gravano, a relatively obscure figure, as the comp? He wants us to dig into Gravano.

(Gravano himself was asked about the Comey pull-quote by Jerry Capeci of Gangland News; he said, “The country doesn’t need a bookworm as president, it needs a mob boss. You don’t need a Harvard graduate to deal with these people…[Putin, Kim, Xi] are real gangsters. You need a fucking gangster to deal with these people.” This seems to indicate that Sammy the Bull thinks Trump is a “mob boss” and a “fucking gangster.” Takes one to know one?)

Unless he thought it would help him avoid prison, Trump will never cop to being a Confidential Informant. We can only infer that he served that function by presenting the circumstantial evidence to support the hypothesis. But plenty of people can confirm or deny (rather than refuse to confirm or deny) Trump’s involvement. Bob Mueller, certainly, but every prosecutor too that dealt with Scarfo, Gravano, and Ivankov, and plenty of smaller cases besides.

When a Confidential Informant is deliberately fucking up the federal government’s response to a pandemic—when his willful negligence will cost hundreds of thousands if not millions of American lives—protocol must be sacrificed for the greater good. Is not the purpose of that law, of all laws, to protect the people from enemies foreign and domestic? And has not the COVID-19 response, or lack thereof, proven Trump to be an active enemy of the United States?

We don’t need more careful legalese. We don’t need more cryptic phrasings along the lines of “If we had had confidence that the president clearly did not commit a crime, we would have said so.” We need to hear, loud and clear, what the FBI knows. We need to be told, unequivocally, that Trump is an inveterate crook—a real crook; an actual criminal; not just a cute Twitter assertion—and, even more surprising, and contrary to all recent evidence, that he is capable of telling the truth when it serves him.

Notes:

This piece was written under the expert guidance of Lincoln’s Bible. If you don’t already do so, please follow her on Twitter, and check out her own mafiya reporting at Citjourno.

I encourage everyone to read the State of New Jersey Department of Gaming Enforcement investigation report on the allegations against Donald John Trump in the Wayne Barrett book Trump: The Deals and the Downfall.

The late Bob Levinson was the FBI’s best Russian mob fighter. His Ivankov testimony is also essential reading.

The photo at the top is the Greek, from The Wire—the best show in the history of television.

https://gregolear.substack.com/p/tinker-tailor-mobster-trump

#organized crime #long reads #trump #america is broken #greg olear

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sterileflcwer · 4 years

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Syncopate

Word Count: 1,545

Content Warning: N/A

『』

“Two people who are true friends are like two bodies with one soul.” - Chaim Potok

David Malter’s favorite composer was Sergei Rachmaninoff. After his wife had died, he had bought a record of the Philadelphia Orchestra playing some of Rachmaninoff’s concertos. Over the next few weeks, he had worn out the record with how he played it almost all hours of the day. If he was conscious and at home, he was playing the record without fail. He was sure that if Reuven had been old enough to protest the repetition of the record, he would have with little fail. Yet, the music somehow calmed the shattered David.

Rachamaninoff was also Reuven’s favorite composer. For his tenth birthday, David had brought home a Rachmaninoff record for his son. Instantly, the young boy absolutely adored it. Of course, it couldn’t replace his treasured toys and games. But, he immediately had a love for it. David, though somewhat naively, had promised to his son that he would one day take his son to see Rachmaninoff. He was just happy to see that this music that had comforted him at a dark time brought such joy to his son.

Years later, that record that Reuven had adored as a child played in his head once more. The rise and fall of the notes in Vocalise, the gentle vibrato of the singer’s voice, the sudden crescendos and decrescendos. He could hear it in Danny’s voice as he explained some psychological theory that sounded so beautiful falling from his lips. When Danny spoke so excitedly about something new he had read. He heard it simply in watching Danny while he poured over his beloved textbooks, the way his chest rose and fell and the repetitive actions he would make like thumbing sat the corner of the page so tenderly as if it was the skin of a lover.

Once, they had been standing together at the bathroom sink as they both got ready to go about their separate yet intertwined days. Reuven had been shaving, though somewhat carelessly rushing through the motions while Danny brushed his teeth. Occasionally, their eyes would meet in the mirror. Danny’s eyes were so clear. They looked like the lake that Reuven’s father would take him to as a kid, so still and almost unaffected by what was happening. He had bought their now terribly stained table cloth because the color, while somewhat off, reminded him of Danny's eyes when they first opened in the morning and were cast in that silvery haze of light. Reuven had been staring at Danny’s eyes when he nicked the soft skin on his jaw, the point where his jawbone made an angled line that connected to his ear. That’s when the pain registered and he finally looked away.

Danny let out a breath of a laugh before going to get a bandaid for Reuven, unsuccessfully hiding the smile that was desperately fighting its way onto his lips. If Reuven hadn’t been desperately snatched at the wax paper colored bandaid, he would have thought about how Danny’s lips were the color of a blush he had seen his father throw away once he was finally clearing out some of his mother’s belongings. Or the color of the dress of the only girl he had ever “dated” (his heart was never in it, he never could see anyone else in †he way he saw Danny) had worn on their last date.

That evening, Reuven had trudged through the door after a long day of classes. His dark hair, which he had recently allowed to grow past his ears, was all in a mess and his glasses seemed to sit crooked on his face. Danny, sitting at his usual perch at the kitchen table, looked up so serenely. Only a couple months ago had Reuven realized how swan-like Danny looked when he raised his head from his books like that. Similarly, Danny had noticed the way that Reuven’s lips formed certain words during his morning prayers and the ways his fingers flexed as he tied his tefillin. Or how he would almost wipe his black and wire framed glasses (a suggestion from Danny when he had followed Reuven to the optometrist) up instead of carefully readjusting them. Once, he had looked up from his book while Reuven was seemingly smashing on the typewriter that had been a twentieth birthday present from the sister of his late mother. He had quietly watched for a few minutes in, simply taking in Reuven’s profile and the way his shoulders slumped. For the first time in possibly years, he had noticed a new permanent thing on Reuven’s body. Danny noticed a dark mole, just at that sharp angle where his jaw started to flow up and form an ear.

It was the first time in a while where there had been something new and undiscovered about the other person. The last time had been a few months back, where their minds had slipped and neither had gotten groceries (though it was Reuven’s week to do so) and were absolutely starving. So, Reuven had suggested that they go to a food place just down the block that he and his father had frequented when he was a child. Without much of another option, Danny had somewhat hesitantly agreed. Eating out simply had never been a thing in Danny’s home, as Mama was always home to cook and his father had loyal followers that would willingly provide the Saunders with a meal if Mama had exhausted her recipes. Still, Reuven talked highly of the restaurant and Danny was sure that his partner would not mislead him for just a joke.

When they had arrived at the restaurant, Reuven had ordered first, reciting it off by heart much like Danny would recite a passage of Freud. Out of fear of embarrassment, Danny had simply ordered the same thing as Reuven. When they were walking back to the apartment, Danny noted how Reuven carried the white styrofoam container with a flat palm and lithe fingers spread on the bottom and his other hand rounded about the tin Coca-Cola can on the flat top. Meanwhile, Danny tried to tuck his container under his arm and carry his tin can soda in the hand farthest from Reuven. Just so his hand could possibly brush against Reuven. And when they got to the apartment, Danny was the one to open the door and keep it opened for Reueven with his foot. Reuven seemingly breezed past him, a slight smile on his features. Then, he smoothed the slightly crumpled tablecloth, attempting to make things seem nicer than they really were.

As the two started to eat, Danny carefully watched his boyfriend from across the table, copying his actions. Still, he constantly wiped his fingers on his napkin instead of just letting the oil sit. He hated how the grease felt on his fingers, even if Reuven didn’t seem to mind it too terribly. After a minute or so, Reuven noticed Danny’s movements.

“You realize you’re eating it wrong, right?” Reuven suggested, a rare, teeth showing, smile crossing his lips.

“How so?” Danny questioned, trying to keep a cool demeanor as though Reuven’s comment hadn’t bothered him.

“Well, first off, it’s just a burger. It’s not like matzah or babke,” he said, taking a hand off of his burger to gesture at it as though he were presenting it to Danny for the first time. “Think of it like a latke. But a lot less holy.”

Danny screwed up his face a bit, almost upset by Reuven’s teasing critique. Reflexively, he went to mess with an ear curl that was no longer there. With little to say and his features soured, their meal continued in silence.

In a way to almost proven Reuven wrong, Danny quickly scarfed the burger down, his expression still sour. When he went to throw the white styrofoam container in the trash bin, Reuven gently placed his hand on the stormy boy’s arm.

“Can I have your pickles?” he asked, a mischievous smile crossing his face. Almost immediately, Danny’s sour mood melted away and he let out a breath of a laugh as Reuven took the container out of his hands to take out the pickle slices. Then, when Reuven was finished with it, he took it to throw it in the bin.

Danny then stretched out on the loveseat in their adjoining and rather miniscule living room, grabbing one of his books from the coffee table nearby. He was easily buried in his book, something that always brought a grin to Reuven’s face. He quickly finished up his own meal before going to the old phonograph that his father had given them as somewhat of a housewarming present. While he filed through the various records they had collected, mainly ones Reuven had brought with him when they started to rent the small Brooklyn apartment. Danny peeked at Reuven over his book, questioning what he could be doing. Eventually, he plucked out a Gershwin record and put it on.

“Wanna dance?” he asked, holding a hand out to Danny.

“I prefer Glenn Miller,” Danny said almost flippantly without looking up to meet Reuven’s glance.

And that’s how Reuven found out that Danny’s favorite composer was not Rachmaninoff or Mendelsohnn or Irving Berlin, but Glenn Miller.

#danny saunders #reuven malter #the chosen #chaim potok #fanfic #fanfiction #deuven #danny saunders x reuven malter

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blackkudos · 4 years

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Dennis Rodman

Dennis Keith Rodman (born May 13, 1961) is an American retired professional basketball player. Rodman played for the Detroit Pistons, San Antonio Spurs, Chicago Bulls, Los Angeles Lakers, and Dallas Mavericks in the National Basketball Association (NBA). He was nicknamed "the Worm" and is famous for his fierce defensive and rebounding abilities.

Rodman played at the small forward position in his early years before becoming a power forward. He earned NBA All-Defensive First Team honors seven times and won the NBA Defensive Player of the Year Award twice. He also led the NBA in rebounds per game for a record seven consecutive years and won five NBA championships. His biography at NBA.com states that he is "arguably the best rebounding forward in NBA history". On April 1, 2011, the Pistons retired Rodman's No. 10 jersey, and he was inducted into the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame later that year.

Rodman experienced an unhappy childhood and was shy and introverted in his early years. After aborting a suicide attempt in 1993, he reinvented himself as a "bad boy" and became notorious for numerous controversial antics. He repeatedly dyed his hair in artificial colors, had many piercings and tattoos, and regularly disrupted games by clashing with opposing players and officials. He famously wore a wedding dress to promote his 1996 autobiography Bad As I Wanna Be. Rodman pursued a high-profile affair with singer Madonna and was briefly married to actress Carmen Electra. Rodman also attracted international attention for his visits to North Korea and his subsequent befriending of North Korean leader Kim Jong-un in 2013.

In addition to being a retired professional basketball player, Rodman is a retired part-time professional wrestler and actor. He was a member of the nWo and fought alongside Hulk Hogan at two Bash at the Beach events. In professional wrestling, Rodman was the first ever winner of the Celebrity Championship Wrestling tournament. He had his own TV show, The Rodman World Tour, and had lead roles in the action films Double Team (1997) and Simon Sez (1999). Both films were critically panned, with the former earning Rodman a triple Razzie Award. He appeared in several reality TV series and was the winner of the $222,000 main prize of the 2004 edition of Celebrity Mole.

Early life and college career

Rodman was born in Trenton, New Jersey, the son of Shirley and Philander Rodman, Jr., an Air Force enlisted member, who later fought in the Vietnam War. When he was young, his father left his family, eventually settling in the Philippines. Rodman has many brothers and sisters: according to his father, he has either 26 or 28 siblings on his father's side. However, Rodman himself has stated that he is the oldest of a total of 47 children.

After his father left, Shirley took many odd jobs to support the family, up to four at the same time. In his 1996 biography Bad As I Wanna Be, he expresses his feelings for his father: "I haven't seen my father in more than 30 years, so what's there to miss ... I just look at it like this: Some man brought me into this world. That doesn't mean I have a father". He would not meet his father again until 2012.

Rodman and his two sisters, Debra and Kim, grew up in the Oak Cliff section of Dallas, at the time one of the most impoverished areas of the city. Rodman was so attached to his mother that he refused to move when she sent him to a nursery when he was four years old. According to Rodman, his mom was more interested in his two sisters, who were both considered more talented than he was in basketball, and made him a laughing stock whenever he tagged along with them. He felt generally "overwhelmed" by the all-female household. Debra and Kim would go on to become All-Americans at Louisiana Tech and Stephen F. Austin, respectively. Debra won two national titles with the Lady Techsters.

While attending South Oak Cliff High School, Rodman was a gym class student of future Texas A&M basketball coach Gary Blair. Blair coached Rodman's sisters Debra and Kim, winning three state championships. However, Rodman was not considered an athletic standout. According to Rodman, he was "unable to hit a layup" and was listed in the high school basketball teams, but was either benched or cut from the squads. Measuring only 5 ft 6 in (1.68 m) as a freshman in high school, he also failed to make the football teams and was "totally devastated". After finishing school, Rodman worked as an overnight janitor at Dallas Fort Worth International Airport. He then experienced a sudden growth spurt from 5 ft 11 in (1.80 m) to 6 ft 7 in (2.01 m) and decided to try basketball again, despite becoming even more withdrawn because he felt odd in his own body.

A family friend tipped off the head coach of Cooke County College (now North Central Texas College) in Gainesville, Texas. In his single semester there, he averaged 17.6 points and 13.3 rebounds, before flunking out due to poor academic performance. After his short stint in Gainesville, he transferred to Southeastern Oklahoma State University, an NAIA school. There, Rodman was a three-time NAIA All-American and led the NAIA in rebounding twice (1985, 1986). In three seasons there (1983–1986), he averaged 25.7 points and 15.7 rebounds, led the NAIA in rebounding twice and registered a .637 field goal percentage. At the Portsmouth Invitational Tournament, a pre-draft camp for NBA hopefuls, he won Most Valuable Player honors and caught the attention of the Detroit Pistons.

During college Rodman worked at a summer youth basketball camp, where he befriended camper Byrne Rich, who was shy and withdrawn due to a hunting accident in which he mistakenly shot and killed his best friend. The two became almost inseparable and formed a close bond. Rich invited Rodman to his rural Oklahoma home; at first, Rodman was not well-received by the Riches because he was black. But the Riches were so grateful to him for bringing their son out of his shell that they were able to set aside their prejudices. Although Rodman had severe family and personal issues himself, he "adopted" the Riches as his own in 1982 and went from the city life to "driving a tractor and messing with cows". Though Rodman credited the Riches as his "surrogate family" that helped him through college, as of 2013 he had stopped communicating with the Rich family for reasons unknown to them.

Professional basketball career

Detroit Pistons1986–1989

Rodman made himself eligible for the 1986 NBA draft. He was drafted by the Detroit Pistons as the third pick in the second round (27th overall), joining the rugged team of coach Chuck Daly that was called "Bad Boys" for their hard-nosed approach to basketball. The squad featured Isiah Thomas and Joe Dumars at the guard positions, Adrian Dantley and Sidney Green at forward, and center Bill Laimbeer. Bench players who played more than 15 minutes per game were sixth man Vinnie Johnson and the backup forwards Rick Mahorn and John Salley. Rodman fit well into this ensemble, providing 6.5 points, 4.7 rebounds and some tough defense in 15.0 minutes of playing time per game.

Winning 52 games, the Pistons comfortably entered the 1987 playoffs. They swept the Washington Bullets and soundly beat the Atlanta Hawks in five games, but bowed out in seven matches against the archrival Boston Celtics in what was called one of the physically and mentally toughest series ever. Rodman feuded with Celtics guard Dennis Johnson and taunted Johnson in the closing seconds when he waved his right hand over his own head. When the Celtics took Game Seven, Johnson went back at Rodman in the last moments of the game and mimicked his taunting gesture.

After the loss, Rodman made headlines by directly accusing Celtics star Larry Bird of being overrated because he was white: "Larry Bird is overrated in a lot of areas. ... Why does he get so much publicity? Because he's white. You never hear about a black player being the greatest". Although teammate Thomas supported him, he endured harsh criticism, but avoided being called a racist because, according to him, his own girlfriend Anicka "Annie" Bakes was white.

In the following 1987–88 season, Rodman steadily improved his stats, averaging 11.6 points and 8.7 rebounds and starting in 32 of 82 regular season games. The Pistons fought their way into the 1988 NBA Finals, and took a 3–2 lead, but lost in seven games against the Los Angeles Lakers. In Game Six, the Pistons were down by one point with eight seconds to go; Dumars missed a shot, and Rodman just fell short of an offensive rebound and a putback which could have won the title. In Game Seven, L.A. led by 15 points in the fourth quarter, but Rodman's defense helped cut down the lead to six with 3:52 minutes to go and to two with one minute to go. But then, he fouled Magic Johnson, who hit a free throw, missed an ill-advised shot with 39 seconds to go, and the Pistons never recovered. In that year, he and his girlfriend Annie had a daughter they named Alexis.

Rodman remained a bench player during the 1988–89 season, averaging 9.0 points and 9.4 rebounds in 27 minutes, yet providing such effective defense that he was voted into the All-Defensive Team, the first of eight times in his career. He also began seeing more playing time after Adrian Dantley was traded at midseason to Dallas for Mark Aguirre. In that season, the Pistons finally vanquished their playoffs bane by sweeping the Boston Celtics, then winning in six games versus the Chicago Bulls—including scoring champion Michael Jordan—and easily defeating the Lakers 4–0 in the 1989 NBA Finals. Although he was hampered by back spasms, Rodman dominated the boards, grabbing 19 rebounds in Game 3 and providing tough interior defense.

1989–1993

In the 1989–90 season, Detroit lost perennial defensive forward Rick Mahorn when he was taken by the Minnesota Timberwolves in that year's expansion draft and ended up on the Philadelphia 76ers when the Pistons could not reacquire him. It was feared that the loss of Mahorn – average in talent, but high on hustle and widely considered a vital cog of the "Bad Boys" teams – would diminish the Pistons' spirit, but Rodman seamlessly took over his role. He went on to win his first big individual accolade. Averaging 8.8 points and 9.7 rebounds while starting in the last 43 regular season games, he established himself as the best defensive player in the game; during this period, the Pistons won 59 games, and Rodman was lauded by the NBA "for his defense and rebounding skills, which were unparalleled in the league". For his feats, he won the NBA Defensive Player of the Year Award; he also connected on a .595 field goal percentage, best in the league. In the 1990 playoffs, the Pistons beat the Bulls again, and in the 1990 NBA Finals, Detroit met the Portland Trail Blazers. Rodman suffered from an injured ankle and was often replaced by Mark Aguirre, but even without his defensive hustle, Detroit beat Portland in five games and claimed their second title.

During the 1990–91 season, Rodman finally established himself as the starting small forward of the Pistons. He played such strong defense that the NBA stated he "could shut down any opposing player, from point guard to center". After coming off the bench for most of his earlier years, he finally started in 77 of the 82 regular season games, averaged 8.2 points and 12.5 rebounds and won his second Defensive Player of the Year Award. In the 1991 playoffs, however, the Pistons were swept by the championship-winning Chicago Bulls in the Eastern Conference Finals.

It was in the 1991–92 season where Rodman made a remarkable leap in his rebounding, collecting an astounding 18.7 rebounds per game (1,530 in total), winning his first of seven consecutive rebounding crowns, along with scoring 9.8 points per game, and making his first All-NBA Team. His 1,530 rebounds (the most since Wilt Chamberlain's 1,572 in the 1971–1972 season) have never been surpassed since then; the best mark not set by Rodman is by Kevin Willis, who grabbed 1,258 boards that same season. Willis lamented that Rodman had an advantage in winning the rebounding title with his lack of offensive responsibilities. In a March 1992 game, Rodman totaled a career high 34 rebounds. However, the aging Pistons were eliminated by the up-and-coming New York Knicks in the first round of the 1992 playoffs.

Rodman experienced a tough loss when coach Chuck Daly, whom he had admired as a surrogate father, resigned in May; Rodman skipped the preseason camp and was fined $68,000. The following 1992–93 season was even more tumultuous. Rodman and Annie Bakes, the mother of his daughter Alexis, were divorcing after a short marriage, an experience which left him traumatized. The Pistons won only 40 games and missed the 1993 playoffs entirely. One night in February 1993, Rodman was found asleep in his car with a loaded rifle. Four years later in his biography As Bad As I Wanna Be, he confessed having thought about suicide and described that night as an epiphany: "I decided that instead [of killing myself] I was gonna kill the impostor that was leading Dennis Rodman to a place he didn't want to go ... So I just said, 'I'm going to live my life the way I want to live it and be happy doing it.' At that moment I tamed [sic] my whole life around. I killed the person I didn't want to be." The book was later adapted for a TV movie Bad As I Wanna Be: The Dennis Rodman Story. Although he had three years and $11.8 million remaining on his contract, Rodman demanded a trade. On October 1, 1993, the Pistons dealt him to the San Antonio Spurs.

San Antonio Spurs

In the 1993–94 season, Rodman joined a Spurs team that was built around perennial All-Star center David Robinson, with a supporting cast of forwards Dale Ellis, Willie Anderson and guard Vinny Del Negro. On the hardwood, Rodman now was played as a power forward and won his third straight rebounding title, averaging 17.3 boards per game, along with another All-Defensive Team call-up. Living up to his promise of killing the "shy imposter" and "being himself" instead, Rodman began to show first signs of unconventional behavior: before the first game, he shaved his hair and dyed it blonde, which was followed up by stints with red, purple, blue hair and a look inspired from the film Demolition Man. During the season, he headbutted Stacey King and John Stockton, refused to leave the hardwood once after being ejected, and had a highly publicized two-month affair with Madonna. The only player to whom Rodman related was reserve center Jack Haley, who earned his trust by not being shocked after a visit to a gay bar. However, despite a 55-win season, Rodman and the Spurs did not survive the first round of the 1994 playoffs and bowed out against the Utah Jazz in four games.

In the following 1994–95 season, Rodman clashed with the Spurs front office. He was suspended for the first three games, took a leave of absence on November 11, and was suspended again on December 7. He finally returned on December 10 after missing 19 games. After joining the team, he suffered a shoulder separation in a motorcycle accident, limiting his season to 49 games. Normally, he would not have qualified for any season records for missing so many games, but by grabbing 823 rebounds, he just surpassed the 800-rebound limit for listing players and won his fourth straight rebounding title by averaging 16.8 boards per game and made the All-NBA Team. In the 1995 playoffs, the 62-win Spurs with reigning NBA Most Valuable Player Award winner Robinson entered the Western Conference Finals and were considered favorites against the reigning champions Houston Rockets who had only won 47 games. It was thought that Rockets center Hakeem Olajuwon would have a hard time asserting himself versus Robinson and Rodman, who had both been voted into the NBA All-Defensive Teams. However, neither Robinson nor Rodman, who had disrupted a playoff game against the Lakers by sitting down on the court, could stop Olajuwon, who averaged 35.3 points against the elite defensive Spurs frontcourt, and helped eliminate the Spurs in six games.

Rodman admitted his frequent transgressions, but asserted that he lived his own life and thus a more honest life than most other people:

I just took the chance to be my own man ... I just said: "If you don't like it, kiss my ass." ... Most people around the country, or around the world, are basically working people who want to be free, who want to be themselves. They look at me and see someone trying to do that ... I'm the guy who's showing people, hey, it's all right to be different. And I think they feel: "Let's go and see this guy entertain us."

Chicago Bulls

Prior to the 1995–96 season, Rodman was traded to the Chicago Bulls of perennial scoring champion Michael Jordan for center Will Perdue to fill a large void at power forward left by Horace Grant, who left the Bulls prior to the 1994–95 season. Given Rodman could not use the 10 jersey as the Bulls had retired it for Bob Love, and the NBA denied him the reversion 01, Rodman instead picked the number 91, whose digits add up to 10. Although the trade for the already 34-year-old and volatile Rodman was considered a gamble at that time, the power forward quickly adapted to his new environment, helped by the fact that his best friend Jack Haley was also traded to the Bulls. Under coach Phil Jackson, he averaged 5.5 points and 14.9 rebounds per game, winning yet another rebounding title, and was part of the great Bulls team that won 72 of 82 regular season games, an NBA record at the time. About playing next to the iconic Jordan and co-star Scottie Pippen, Rodman said:

On the court, me and Michael are pretty calm and we can handle conversation. But as far as our lives go, I think he is moving in one direction and I'm going in the other. I mean, he's goin' north, I'm goin' south. And then you've got Scottie Pippen right in the middle. He's sort of the equator.

Although struggling with calf problems early in the season, Rodman grabbed 20 or more rebounds 11 times and had his first triple-double against the Philadelphia 76ers on January 16, 1996 scoring 10 points and adding 21 rebounds and 10 assists; by playing his trademark tough defense, he joined Jordan and Pippen in the All-NBA Defense First Team. Ever controversial, Rodman made negative headlines after a head butt of referee Ted Bernhardt during a game in New Jersey on March 16, 1996; he was suspended for six games and fined $20,000, a punishment that was criticized as too lenient by the local press.

In the 1996 playoffs, Rodman scored 7.5 points and grabbed 13.7 rebounds per game and had a large part in the six-game victory against the Seattle SuperSonics in the 1996 NBA Finals: in Game Two at home in the Bulls' United Center, he grabbed 20 rebounds, among them a record-tying 11 offensive boards, and in Game Six, again at the United Center, the power forward secured 19 rebounds and again 11 offensive boards, scored five points in a decisive 12–2 Bulls run, unnerved opposing power forward Shawn Kemp and caused Seattle coach George Karl to say: "As you evaluate the series, Dennis Rodman won two basketball games. We controlled Dennis Rodman for four games. But Game 2 and tonight, he was the reason they were successful." His two games with 11 offensive rebounds each tied the NBA Finals record of Elvin Hayes.

In the 1996–97 season, Rodman won his sixth rebounding title in a row with 16.7 boards per game, along with 5.7 points per game, but failed to rank another All-Defensive Team call-up. However, he made more headlines for his notorious behavior. On January 15, 1997, he was involved in an incident during a game against the Minnesota Timberwolves. After tripping over cameraman Eugene Amos, Rodman kicked Amos in the groin. Though he was not assessed a technical foul at the time, he ultimately paid Amos a $200,000 settlement, and the league suspended Rodman for 11 games without pay. Thus, he effectively lost $1 million. Missing another three games to suspensions, often getting technical fouls early in games and missing an additional 13 matches due to knee problems, Rodman was not as effective in the 1997 playoffs, in which the Bulls reached the 1997 NBA Finals against the Utah Jazz. He struggled to slow down Jazz power forward Karl Malone, but did his share to complete the six-game Bulls victory.

The regular season of the 1997–98 season ended with Rodman winning his seventh consecutive rebounding title with 15.0 boards per game, along with 4.7 points per game. He grabbed 20 or more rebounds 11 times, among them a 29-board outburst against the Atlanta Hawks and 15 offensive boards (along with ten defensive) versus the Los Angeles Clippers. Led by the aging Jordan and Rodman (respectively 35 and 37 years old), the Bulls reached the 1998 NBA Finals, again versus the Jazz. After playing strong defense on Malone in the first three games, he caused major consternation when he left his team prior to Game Four to go wrestling with Hulk Hogan. He was fined $20,000, but it was not even ten percent of what he earned with this stint. However, Rodman's on-court performance remained top-notch, again shutting down Malone in Game Four until the latter scored 39 points in a Jazz Game Five win, bringing the series to 3–2 from the Bulls perspective. In Game Six, Jordan hit the decisive basket after a memorable drive on Jazz forward Bryon Russell, the Bulls won their third title in a row and Rodman his fifth ring.

Rodman garnered as much publicity for his public antics. He dated Madonna and claimed she tried to conceive a child with him. Shortly after, Rodman famously wore a wedding dress to promote his autobiography Bad As I Wanna Be, claiming that he was bisexual and that he was marrying himself.

Twilight years

After the 1997–98 season, the Bulls started a massive rebuilding phase, largely at the behest of then-general manager Jerry Krause. Head coach Phil Jackson and several members of the team left via free agency or retirement, including Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippen, Steve Kerr, and Jud Buechler. Rodman was released by the Bulls on January 21, 1999, before the start of the lockout-shortened 1998–99 season. With his sister acting as his agent at the time, Rodman joined the Los Angeles Lakers, for a pro-rated salary for the remainder of the 1998–1999 season. With the Lakers he only played in 23 games and was released.

In the 1999–2000 season, the then-38-year-old power forward was signed by the Dallas Mavericks, meaning that Rodman returned to the place where he grew up. Dallas had won 10 of 13 before his arrival, but went just 4–9 until he was waived by the Mavericks. He played 12 games, received six technical fouls, was ejected twice, and served a one-game suspension. Despite averaging 14.3 rebounds per game, above his career average of 13.1, Rodman alienated the franchise with his erratic behavior and did not provide leadership to a team trying to qualify for their first playoffs in 10 years. Dallas guard Steve Nash commented that Rodman "never wanted to be [a Maverick]" and therefore was unmotivated.

Post-NBA career

After his NBA career, Rodman took a long break from basketball and concentrated on his film career and on wrestling.

After a longer hiatus, Rodman returned to play basketball for the Long Beach Jam of the newly formed American Basketball Association during the 2003–04 season, with hopes of being called up to the NBA midseason. While he did not get that wish that season, he did help the Jam win the ABA championship in their inaugural season. He also played in Mexico, with Fuerza Regia in 2004. In the following 2004–05 season, he signed with the ABA's Orange County Crush and the following season with the league's Tijuana Dragons. In November 2005, he played one match for Torpan Pojat of the Finland's basketball league, Korisliiga.

The return to the NBA never materialized, but on January 26, 2006, it was announced that Rodman had signed a one-game "experiment" deal for the UK basketball team Brighton Bears of the British Basketball League to play Guildford Heat on January 28 and went on to play three games for the Bears. In spring 2006, he played two exhibition games in the Philippines along with NBA ex-stars Darryl Dawkins, Kevin Willis, Calvin Murphy, Otis Birdsong and Alex English. On April 27, they defeated a team of former Philippine Basketball Association stars in Mandaue City, Cebu and Rodman scored five points and grabbed 18 rebounds. On May 1, 2006, Rodman's team played their second game and lost to the Philippine national basketball team 110–102 at the Araneta Coliseum, where he scored three points and recorded 16 rebounds.

On April 4, 2011, it was announced that Rodman would be inducted into the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame.

NBA career statistics

Regular seasonPlayoffs

Awards, records, and achievements

Legacy in basketball

From the beginning of his career Rodman was known for his defensive hustle, which was later accompanied by his rebounding prowess. In Detroit, he was mainly played as a small forward, and his usual assignment was to neutralize the opponent's best player; Rodman was so versatile that he could guard centers, forwards, or guards equally well and won two NBA Defensive Player of the Year Awards. From 1991 on, he established himself as one of the best rebounders of all time, averaging at least 15 rebounds per game in six of the next seven years. Playing power forward as member of the Spurs and the Bulls, he had a historical outburst in the 1996 NBA Finals: he twice snared 11 offensive rebounds, equalling an all-time NBA record. In addition, he had a career-high 34-rebound game on March 4, 1992. Rodman's rebounding prowess with Detroit and San Antonio was also aided by his decreased attention to defensive positioning and helping teammates on defense. Daly said Rodman was selfish about rebounding, but deemed him a hard worker and coachable. Rodman's defensive intensity returned while with Chicago.

On offense, Rodman's output was mediocre. He averaged 11.6 points per game in his second season, but his average steadily dropped: in the three championship seasons with the Bulls, he averaged five points per game and connected on less than half of his field goal attempts. His free throw shooting (lifetime average: .584) was considered a big liability: on December 29, 1997, Bubba Wells of the Dallas Mavericks committed six intentional fouls against him in only three minutes, setting the record for the fastest foul out in NBA history. The intention was to force him to attempt free throws, which in theory would mean frequent misses and easy ball possession without giving up too many points. However, this plan backfired, as Rodman hit 9 of the 12 attempts. This was Dallas coach Don Nelson's early version of what would later develop into the famous "Hack-a-Shaq" method that would be implemented against Shaquille O'Neal, Dwight Howard, and other poor free throw shooters.

In 14 NBA seasons, Rodman played in 911 games, scored 6,683 points, and grabbed 11,954 rebounds, translating to 7.3 points and 13.1 rebounds per game in only 31.7 minutes played per game. NBA.com lauds Rodman as "arguably the best rebounding forward in NBA history and one of the most recognized athletes in the world" but adds "enigmatic and individualistic, Rodman has caught the public eye for his ever-changing hair color, tattoos and, unorthodox lifestyle". On the hardwood, he was recognized as one of the most successful defensive players ever, winning the NBA championship five times in six NBA Finals appearances (1989, 1990, 1996–1998; only loss 1988), being crowned NBA Defensive Player of the Year twice (1990–1991) and making seven NBA All-Defensive First Teams (1989–1993, 1995–1996) and NBA All-Defensive Second Teams (1994). He additionally made two All-NBA Third Teams (1992, 1995), two NBA All-Star Teams (1990, 1992) and won seven straight rebounding crowns (1992–1998) and finally led the league once in field goal percentage (1989).

Rodman was recognized as the prototype bizarre player, stunning basketball fans with his artificial hair colors, numerous tattoos and body piercings, multiple verbal and physical assaults on officials, frequent ejections, and his tumultuous private life. He was ranked No. 48 on the 2009 revision of SLAM Magazine's Top 50 Players of All-Time. Metta World Peace played one year with the 91 jersey number in homage to Rodman, who he described as a player who he liked "on the court as a hustler, not when he kicked the cameraman."

Non-basketball awards

World Humanitarian Special Award, 2015. For his contributions into helping create peace and trying to unite North Korea and the USA.

Professional wrestling career

World Championship Wrestling (1997–1999)

Rodman took up his hobby of professional wrestling seriously and appeared on the edition of March 10 of Monday Nitro with his friend Hollywood Hulk Hogan in World Championship Wrestling (WCW). At the March 1997 Uncensored event, he appeared as a member of the nWo. His first match was at the July 1997 Bash at the Beach event, where he teamed with Hogan in a loss to Lex Luger and The Giant. At the August 1997 Road Wild event, Rodman appeared as the Impostor Sting hitting Luger with a baseball bat to help Hogan win the WCW World Heavyweight Championship.

After the 1997–98 season, where Rodman and the Chicago Bulls defeated Karl Malone and the Utah Jazz in the 1998 NBA Finals, Rodman and Malone squared off again, this time in a tag team match at the July 1998 Bash at the Beach event. He fought alongside Hulk Hogan, and Malone tagged along with Diamond Dallas Page. In a poorly received match, the two power forwards exchanged "rudimentary headlocks, slams and clotheslines" for 23 minutes. Rodman bested Malone again as he and Hogan picked up the win.

Rodman returned to WCW in 1999 and feuded with Randy Savage. This culminated in a match at Road Wild which Rodman lost.

i-Generation Superstars of Wrestling and retirement (2000)

On July 30, 2000, Rodman competed on the i-Generation Superstars of Wrestling Rodman Down Under pay-per-view event. He fought against i-Generation champion Curt Hennig in an Australian Outback match; Hennig won the match by disqualification. Following the match, Rodman refrained from wrestling at the top level and retired.

Hulk Hogan's Celebrity Championship Wrestling (2008)

Rodman came out of retirement to appear as a contestant on Hulk Hogan's Celebrity Championship Wrestling, broadcast on CMT. Rodman was the winner of the series, defeating other challengers such as Butterbean and Dustin Diamond.

Championships and accomplishments

Hulk Hogan's Celebrity Championship Wrestling

Celebrity Championship Wrestling tournament

Media appearances

In 1996, Rodman had his own MTV reality talk show called The Rodman World Tour, which featured him in a series of odd-ball situations. That same year, Rodman had two appearances in releases by rock band Pearl Jam. A Polaroid picture of Rodman's eyeball is on the cover of the album No Code, and "Black, Red, Yellow", B-side of its lead single "Hail, Hail", was written about Rodman and has him contribute a voice message.

A year later, he made his feature film debut in the action film Double Team alongside Jean-Claude Van Damme and Mickey Rourke. The film was critically panned and his performance earned him three Golden Raspberry Awards: Worst New Star, Worst Supporting Actor and Worst Screen Couple (shared with Van Damme). Rodman starred in Simon Sez, a 1999 action/comedy and co-starred with Tom Berenger in a 2000 action film about skydiving titled Cutaway. In 1998, he joined the cast of the syndicated TV show Special Ops Force, playing 'Deke' Reynolds, a flamboyant but skilled ex-Army helo pilot and demolitions expert.

In 2005, Rodman became the first man to pose naked for PETA's advertisement campaign "Rather Go Naked Than Wear Fur". That same year, Rodman traveled to Finland, at first, he was present at Sonkajärvi in July in a wife-carrying contest. However, he resigned from the contest due to health problems. Also in 2005, Rodman published his second autobiography, I Should Be Dead By Now; he promoted the book by sitting in a coffin.

Rodman became Commissioner of the Lingerie Football League in 2005.

Since his initial entry into acting, he has appeared in few acting roles outside of playing himself. Rodman has made an appearance in an episode of 3rd Rock from the Sun playing the character of himself, except being a fellow alien with the Solomon family. He voiced an animated version of himself in the Simpsons episode "Treehouse of Horror XVI".

Rodman has also appeared in several reality shows: in January 2006, Rodman appeared on the fourth version of Celebrity Big Brother in the UK, and on July 26, 2006, in the UK series Love Island as a houseguest contracted to stay for a week. Finally, he appeared on the show Celebrity Mole on ABC. He wound up winning the $222,000 grand prize.

In 2008, Rodman joined as a spokesman for a sports website OPENSports.com, the brainchild of Mike Levy, founder and former CEO of CBS Sportsline.com. Rodman also writes a blog and occasionally answers members' questions for OPEN Sports.

In 2009, he appeared as a contestant on Celebrity Apprentice. Throughout the season, each celebrity raised money for a charity of their choice; Rodman selected the Court Appointed Special Advocates of New Orleans. He was the fifth contestant eliminated, on March 29, 2009.

In 2013, he appeared again as a contestant on Celebrity Apprentice. He raised $20,000 for the Make-A-Wish Foundation and was the sixth contestant eliminated, on April 7, 2013.

In March 2013, Rodman arrived at the Vatican City during voting in the papal conclave for the selection of a new pope. The trip was organized by an Irish gambling company.

In July 2013, Rodman joined Premier Brands to launch and promote Bad Boy Vodka.

Rodman's visits to North Korea were depicted in the 2015 documentary film Dennis Rodman's Big Bang in Pyongyang.

In 2017, Rodman was featured on the alternative R&B/hip-hop duo Mansionz self-titled album Mansionz. He provides vocals on the single "Dennis Rodman" and uncredited vocals on "i'm thinking about horses".

Personal life

Family

Rodman married his first wife Annie Bakes in September 1992. They began dating in 1987, and their daughter Alexis Caitlyn was born in 1988. Their relationship was marred by infidelites and accusations of abuse. They divorced after 82 days.

On November 14, 1998, Rodman married model Carmen Electra at the Little Chapel of the Flowers in Las Vegas, Nevada. Nine days later, Rodman filed for an annulment claiming he was of "unsound mind" when they married. They reconciled, but Electra filed for divorce in April 1999. She later stated that it was an "occupational hazard" to be Rodman's girlfriend".

In 1999, Rodman met Michelle Moyer, with whom he had a son, Dennis Jr. ("D. J.", born April 25, 2001) and a daughter, Trinity. Moyer and Rodman married in 2003 on his 42nd birthday. Michelle Rodman filed for divorce in 2004, although the couple spent several years attempting to reconcile. The marriage was officially dissolved in 2012, when Michelle again petitioned the court to grant a divorce. It was reported that Rodman owed $860,376 in child and spousal support.

Rodman's son D. J. started playing college basketball for Washington State in 2019. His daughter, Trinity, signed to play for the Cougars women's soccer team starting in 2020.

Alcohol issues

Rodman entered an outpatient rehab center in Florida in May 2008. In May 2009, his behavior on Celebrity Apprentice led to an intervention which included Phil Jackson as well as Rodman's family and other friends. Rodman initially refused to enter rehabilitation because he wanted to attend the Celebrity Apprentice reunion show. In 2009, Rodman agreed to appear on the third season of Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew. Rodman remained a patient at the Pasadena Recovery Center for the 21-day treatment cycle. A week after completion he entered a sober-living facility in the Hollywood Hills, which was filmed for the second season of Sober House. During episode seven of Sober House, Rodman was shown being reunited with his mother Shirley, from whom he had been estranged for seven years. During this same visit Shirley also met Rodman's two children for the first time. On January 10, 2010, on the same day that Celebrity Rehab premiered, Rodman was removed from an Orange County, California restaurant for disruptive behavior. In March 2012, Rodman's financial advisor said, "In all honesty, Dennis, although a very sweet person, is an alcoholic. His sickness impacts his ability to get work."

On January 15, 2014, Rodman again entered a rehabilitation facility to seek treatment for alcohol abuse. This came on the heels of a well-publicized trip to North Korea where his agent, Darren Prince, reported he had been drinking heavily and to an extent "that none of us had seen before."

Legal troubles

Rodman has settled several lawsuits out of court for alleged sexual assault.

In August 1999, Rodman was arrested for public drunkenness and spent the night in jail after he got into an altercation at Woody's Wharf in Newport Beach, California. The charges were eventually dropped.

On November 5, 1999, Rodman and his then-wife, Carmen Electra, were charged with misdemeanor battery after police were notified of a domestic disturbance. Each posted a bail worth $2,500 and were released with a temporary restraining order placed on them. The charges were dropped the next month.

In December 1999, Rodman was arrested for drunk driving and driving without a valid driver's license. In July 2000, Rodman pleaded guilty to both charges and was ordered to pay $2,000 in fines as well as attend a three-month treatment program.

In 2002, he was arrested for interfering with police investigating a code violation at a restaurant he owned; the charges were eventually dropped. After settling down in Newport Beach, California, the police appeared over 70 times at his home because of loud parties. In early 2003, Rodman was arrested and charged with domestic violence at his home in Newport Beach for allegedly assaulting his then-fiancée.

In April 2004, Rodman pleaded nolo contendere to drunk driving in Las Vegas. He was fined $1,000 and ordered to serve 30 days of home detention. On April 30, 2008, Rodman was arrested following a domestic violence incident at a Los Angeles hotel. On June 24, 2008, he pleaded no contest to the misdemeanor spousal battery charges. He received three years of probation and was ordered to undergo one year of domestic violence counseling as well as 45 hours of community service, which were to involve some physical labor activities.

On November 21, 2016, Rodman was charged with causing a hit and run accident, lying to police, and driving without a license following an incident on Interstate 5 near Santa Ana, California, in July. In February 2017, Rodman pleaded guilty to the charges. He was sentenced to three years of probation and 30 hours of community service. He was also ordered to pay restitution and donate $500 to the Victim Witness Emergency Fund.

In January 2018, Rodman was arrested for driving under the influence in Newport Beach. He pleaded guilty to two misdemeanor charges and received three years of probation.

In May 2019, the Los Angeles Times reported that Newport Beach yoga studio owner Ali Shah accused Rodman of helping steal over $3,500 worth of items from the studio's reception area, including a 400-pound decorative geode. Rodman disputed the account, claiming the owner told him "Dennis, get anything you want." No charges had been filed at the time of reporting.

On October 18, 2019, Rodman was charged with misdemeanor battery after slapping a man at the Buddha Sky Bar in Delray Beach, Florida.

Politics

On July 24, 2015, Rodman publicly endorsed Donald Trump's 2016 presidential campaign. That same month, Rodman sent out an endorsement tweet, stating, "Donald Trump has been a great friend for many years. We don't need another politician, we need a businessman like Mr. Trump! Trump 2016." Rodman and then U.S. Presidential hopeful Trump had previously appeared together on Celebrity Apprentice.

North Korea visits

On February 26, 2013, Rodman made a trip to North Korea with Vice Media correspondent Ryan Duffy to host basketball exhibitions. He met North Korean leader Kim Jong-un. Rodman and his travel party were the first Americans to meet Kim. He later said that Kim was "a friend for life" and suggested that President Barack Obama "pick up the phone and call" Kim, since the two leaders were basketball fans. On May 7, after reading an article in The Seattle Times, Rodman sent out a tweet asking Kim to release American prisoner Kenneth Bae, who had been sentenced to 15 years of hard labor in North Korea. Kim released Bae the following year.

In July 2013, Rodman told Sports Illustrated: "My mission is to break the ice between hostile countries. Why it's been left to me to smooth things over, I don't know. Dennis Rodman, of all people. Keeping us safe is really not my job; it's the black guy's [Obama's] job. But I'll tell you this: If I don't finish in the top three for the next Nobel Peace Prize, something's seriously wrong." On September 3, 2013, Rodman flew to Pyongyang for another meeting with Kim Jong-un. He said that Kim has a daughter named Kim Ju-ae, and that he is a "great dad". He also noted that he planned to train the North Korean national basketball team. He stated that he is "trying to open Obama's and everyone's minds" and encouraged Obama to reach out to Kim Jong-un.

In December 2013, Rodman announced that he would visit North Korea again. He also said that he has plans to take a number of former NBA players with him for an exhibition basketball tour. According to Rory Scott, a spokesman for the exhibitions' sponsoring organization, Rodman planned to visit December 18–21 and train the North Korean team in preparation for January games. The games were scheduled for January 8 (Kim Jong-un's birthday) and January 10, 2014. Included on the U.S. exhibition team were Kenny Anderson, Cliff Robinson, Vin Baker, Craig Hodges, Doug Christie, Sleepy Floyd, Charles D. Smith, and four streetballers. Rodman departed from Beijing on January 6. Among his entourage was Irish media personality Matt Cooper, who had interviewed Rodman a number of times on the radio.

Rodman made comments on January 7, 2014 during a CNN interview implying that Kenneth Bae was at fault for his imprisonment. The remarks were widely reported in other media outlets and provoked a storm of criticism. Two days later, Rodman apologized for his comments, saying that he had been drinking and under pressure. He added that he "should know better than to make political statements". Some members of Congress, the NBA, and human rights groups suggested that Rodman had become a public relations stunt for the North Korean government. On May 2, 2016, Kenneth Bae credited Rodman with his early release. He said that Rodman's rant raised awareness of his case and that he wanted to thank him for his expedited release.

The Department of the Treasury is reportedly investigating whether Rodman broke the law by bringing Kim Jong-un thousands of dollars in luxury gifts on his 2014 trip to North Korea.

On June 13, 2017, Rodman returned to North Korea on what was initially described as a sports-related visit to the country. "My purpose is to go over there and try to see if I can keep bringing sports to North Korea," he said. He added that he hoped to accomplish "something that's pretty positive" during the visit. He met with national Olympic athletes and basketball players, viewed a men's basketball practice, and visited a state-run orphanage. He was not able to meet with Kim Jong Un, but met instead with the nation's Minister of Sports and gave him several gifts for Kim Jong Un, including two signed basketball jerseys, two soap sets, and a copy of Donald Trump's 1987 book The Art of the Deal. Other gifts believed to be intended for the leader's daughter included a Where's Waldo? book and a jigsaw puzzle of a mermaid.

Rodman posted a video on Twitter that was recorded before he left for the visit in which he and his agent describe the mission of the trip. "He's going to try to bring peace between both nations," said Rodman's agent Chris Volo, referring to the strained relations between North Korea and the United States. Rodman added, "That's the main reason why we're going. We're trying to bring everything together. If not, at least we tried." The visit was sponsored by the cryptocurrency company PotCoin.

Rodman's "hoops diplomacy" inspired the 20th Century Fox comedy Diplomats. Tim Story and Peter Chernin are set to produce the film, while Jonathan Abrams is reportedly writing the script.

Rodman visited North Korea again in June 2018. "I'm just happy to be a part of" the 2018 North Korea–United States summit, he said, "because I think I deserve it."

Presidential involvement suggested

The Washington Post raised the question of whether President Donald Trump sent Rodman on his 2017 visit to negotiate the release of several American prisoners of North Korea or to open a back channel for diplomatic communications. The U.S. State Department, White House officials, and Rodman all denied any official government involvement in the visit. Rodman, who publicly endorsed Trump during the 2016 presidential campaign, is a self-described longtime friend of the president and, as the article put it, "Trump and Kim's only mutual acquaintance." The Washington Post article stated, "Multiple people involved in unofficial talks with North Korea say that the Trump administration has been making overtures toward the Kim regime, including trying to set up a secret back channel to the North Korean leader using 'an associate of Trump's' rather than the usual lineup of North Korea experts and former officials who talk to Pyongyang's representatives."

When asked if he had spoken with Trump about the visit, Rodman replied, "Well, I'm pretty sure he's pretty much happy with the fact that I'm over here trying to accomplish something that we both need." Rodman publicly presented a copy of Trump's book, "The Art of the Deal" to North Korean officials, as a personal gift for Kim Jong Un. In a Twitter video posted by Rodman, his agent Chris Volo said, "He's the only person on the planet that has the uniqueness, the unbelievable privilege of being friends with President Trump and Marshal Kim Jong Un." Rodman went on to say in the video that he wanted to bring peace and "open doors between both countries."

Otto Warmbier, an American student held captive in North Korea for 17 months, was released to U.S. officials the same day as Rodman's visit to North Korea. Despite the timeline of the two events, the U.S. State Department, The White House, and Rodman all flatly denied any diplomatic connection or coordination between Rodman's visit and the U.S. government. The U.S. State Department said the release of Warmbier was negotiated and secured by high level U.S. diplomats including Joseph Yun, the State Department's special envoy on North Korea. Warmbier, who was in a nonresponsive coma throughout much of his imprisonment in North Korea, died days after being returned to his family in the U.S.

In an emotional interview with Michael Strahan of "Good Morning America", Rodman expressed sorrow for the death of Warmbier and said, "I was just so happy to see the kid released. Later that day, that's when we found out he was ill. No one knew that." He added that he wished to give "all the prayer and love" to the Warmbier family and had contacted them and hoped to meet with them personally.

Rodman's agent, Chris Volo, told ABC News that before they left for the 2017 trip, he had asked North Korean officials to release Warmbier as a symbol of good faith for any future sports-relations visits. "I asked on behalf of Dennis for his release three times," Volo said.

In December 2017, Columbia University professor of neurobiology Joseph Terwilliger, who has accompanied Rodman to North Korea, argued that "While I don't suspect that very many Americans would have chosen him to be an emissary or international goodwill ambassador, Dennis has had a long friendship with Mr. Trump and has also developed a very cordial friendship with Mr. Kim. In this tense climate, as we stand at a perilous crossing, Mr. Rodman's unique position as a friend to the leaders of both U.S. and North Korea could provide a much-needed bridge to help resolve the current nuclear standoff.

#05/13

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ghostbustermelanieking · 5 years

Text

postcards slipped under the door

Summary: Mulder finds his life disrupted when activity similar to the work of the New Spartans reappears nearly two years later.

note: this is a pine bluff variant sequel set in season 7. i got this idea last fall for a prompt that i never actually finished. i wrote a little bit of it and more or less left it behind, and then i couldn’t stop thinking about it, so i picked it back up and finished it.

warning up front for violence, deaths, references to major character death, and suicidal ideations.

---

It all starts with a postcard, because how the hell else is it going to start.

If he's being really accurate, it started two years ago when he spoke in Boston, since he got a mysterious phone call inviting him to take down the federal government. But he thought it was over two years ago. He'd thought he could leave it behind, forget about it.

Or, no, that's not true. He tried to tell himself it was over. Scully had always insisted it was over. But now, he doesn't think he ever really believed it. Somehow, he always knew the New Spartans would be back.

He just always thought they'd come for him. Not her. Never her. He never really thought it'd end like this.

---

Technically, calling them the New Spartans may be a little inaccurate. They apparently have a new name. But the flesh-eating biotoxin has shown up again, little spurts of activity up and down the East Coast. Mulder had noticed, of course, suspected that the government is up to its usual disgusting methods again, but Scully hadn't wanted him to look any further into it.

The first time he noted it was in the uneasy period between Scully's venture with the smoker and his trip to England, before things seemed to fall into place for them and everything seemed okay. She had simply fixed him with a scalding look that said everything when he told her he wanted to look into it. “Mulder, no,” she said immediately. “The last time you got mixed up in this stuff, you were almost killed. They tortured you, Mulder, they almost killed you, and whatever members of that group are left… they know you were a mole. If this is the same group, then digging into this could be incredibly dangerous. There's a good chance they could have held this grudge, and this is their attempt at revenge.”

If it'd been two years earlier, he might've fought back. He might've argued the point that innocent people could be dying and he might be the only one who can stop it. But the combined fear from memories of his time undercover, and fear at the thought of losing Scully (he had been angry at her, but now the anger had mostly faded into regret and apologies he didn't know how to say) was clogging his throat. He thought of the biotoxin eating away at flesh, gun metal at the back of his head, the pleading eyes of a stranger in a bank floor. The old, muted fear rose higher in his throat like bile. “This is very likely activity by our government, Scully,” he said quietly. The most he could bring himself to fight. “On innocent civilians. I can't just ignore it.”

“So pass the information on.” Scully was looking at the ground, but he could see her jaw clenched anxiously. He suddenly remembered the way she had hugged him when she had brought him back to his apartment, leaning over the center console, her fingers digging desperately into his shoulders. He remembered that it was hard on her, too. “This isn't your responsibility, Mulder. You've more than paid your dues here, and you should never have to go through that again.”

Her eyes were soft, pleading; the softest they'd been since this whole ordeal with the smoker. He couldn't find it in himself to say no. He couldn't bring himself to let her down again.

So he passed it on to Skinner. Every possible inkling of activity in the news or the crimes flowing into the Bureau that sounded vaguely like the New Spartans, he passed it on. And every time he passed it on, he got no response. He didn't know if they were investigating or not, and he tried not to care. He went to England, and he came back, and Scully came into his bedroom and slipped and the covers next to him, kissed him so hard that it would've knocked him off his feet if he'd been standing up. Things gradually became okay again. They went to North Carolina, and he almost died from tobacco beetles burrowing into his throat, and Scully stayed in his apartment with him while he recovered, stroking his hair and laying beside him on top of the comforter with her hand in his.

And then the biotoxin appeared in a government lab. Several employees gruesomely dead, suspicions on the rise. And that was when people began to pay attention to Mulder's claims.

---

He's gonna keep thinking about it. He's gonna play it over and over again in his head, like a wheel churning in water. It starts up again in the back of his mind, like a fucking movie he's not going to be able to turn off, and he swallows back nausea. He was hysterical last night, and he's sure he'll be hysterical tomorrow (he's cold, he can't get warm, he can almost hear Scully diagnosing him with shock), but tonight, he needs to focus.

He should've known that it would happen like this. He should've fucking known. It's his fault, just like he always suspected. His fucking mistake. The fucking New Spartans.

He drives, the fact of this situation hard and icy in his brain like a metal spike. He wants to vomit. He clenches his teeth and swallows it back and stares at the map on the seat beside him. The creased map he studied repeatedly last night before making a decision; he knows it like the back of his hand. He drives, his hands hard on the wheel, his mind solidly and singly determined. Replays the whole thing in his mind again.

---

Scully was the one who found the postcard. She'd been at his apartment for a solid two and a half weeks, she was practically living there, and she'd gotten up to get some coffee, and she saw the postcard stuffed under the crack.

She hadn't touched it. She'd called his name warily from the living room. When he came out, she was retrieving plastic gloves from under the sink. “Scully, what is it?” he asked, confused, his hair sticking up at the back and his eyes gritty with sleep. His mind wasn't completely awake yet.

“Someone sent you a postcard,” Scully said softly, pulling the gloves on. “No, no, no—don’t touch it,” she added quickly as he drew closer. “I'm afraid it might have the biotoxin on it.”

“Why would you—” He stopped cold in his tracks when he saw it. The symbol scribbled in Sharpie over the painted image of the Liberty Bell. The one he was unfamiliar with two years ago, when it may have been important, but one that he knew now, from reading files on August Bremer, who notably dropped off the grid right after the whole ordeal was over two years ago. Bremer's symbol, the one he used to leave at crime scenes years before he supposedly created the New Spartans. Mulder had thought that Bremer was something of an ally (as much of an ally as he could be when the government was supposedly behind the biotoxin in the first place), but the symbol had popped up again, in the labs where employees turned up dead. It was practically a confirmation of Bremer's involvement. And here it was on his doorstep.

“Bremer's symbol,” Scully said grimly, picking up the postcard in her gloved fingers.

“I thought Bremer was on my side,” Mulder said, his stomach suddenly churning with nauseousness. He didn't want to do this again. “He… he saved my life.” But he was thinking of the cavalier way that Bremer betrayed him when he could've let him walk away, killed that man in the bank even after he stopped Mulder from doing it, killed Haley and the gimp without blinking.

She turned the postcard over and pinched it between two fingers. Lifted her head and gave him a gentle, comforting look with just a tinge of fear in it. “It just looks like a street address,” she said softly, holding up the postcard so he could see the scrawl. “No city, but I think it's safe to assume that they mean Philadelphia.”

He rubbed a hand over his eyes, blinking hard. “Do you think it's some kind of trap?” he asked. “Or…”

“I don't know, Mulder. I honestly don't. Will you get me a Ziploc bag?” He retrieved it from the drawer and held it open for her so she could drop the postcard in. “It could be a trap...” she said gingerly, “or it could be information that the FBI could use. It could be an actual lead.”

“You think so?” he said with surprise, sealing the top of the bag.

“Think about it,” Scully said, peeling off her gloves and dropping them into the trash can. “Your last encounter with Bremer was when he let you go. The assumption was that he was working against his own group. He could still be undercover. He could be using this to reach out, to expose them.”

Mulder stared at the postcard through the plastic. “You think they're in Philadelphia?” he asked softly.

“I think something's in Philadelphia.” Scully finished disposing of the gloves and reached out to touch his shoulder. “I think we should pass this on immediately,” she added. “Your involvement doesn't necessarily have to go further than that.”

He was still looking at the postcard, feeling the slight weight of it dangling from his fingers. Thinking about that bank robbery, the man he was ordered to kill fearful and bleeding on the carpet in the last few moments of his life; the bone in his finger snapping like a twig, black fabric and stale air and the white-hot pain; gun metal grazing his ear and the gunshot not meant for him; the terror of hearing Scully's voice on that tape, thinking that they'd kill him and go for her. The innocent people who died painfully, the more that might still die. “Yeah,” he said, his fingers numb, his hands cold with sweat. “Yeah, I'll call Skinner.”

---

It didn't end at giving the postcard to Skinner. They had to take it to the lab to examine it, and Mulder and Scully had to explain their theory to Skinner, and then again to the leaders of the task force created to track down whoever used the biotoxin against the government employees, and then Mulder had to recount his time undercover to the task force. It went on and on until they finally conceded, finally agreed to send agents to the address in Philadelphia—apparently it was a warehouse, which would make sense for a home base or a storage facility of some kind—to check it out. But they weren't going to let Mulder go with them.

Scully looked astonished, at first, when he said he wanted to go, but she hid it well. He explained it over and over again—he knew the New Spartans, or whatever their name was now, better than anyone on that task force, he had firsthand fucking experience; it was him who Bremer supposedly wanted to contact, so it must be him who they wanted to come to the warehouse.

“And that's exactly why we can't let you go,” Skinner said in a hard voice. “Mulder, if they're gunning for you, we'd be playing right into it. We don't truly know Bremer's allegiance, or why he let you go in ‘98. It's too much of a risk to you and to the task force to let you go.”

He looked at Scully immediately, and she was nodding along. “It's too dangerous,” she said. “We still have no idea if that postcard had biotoxin on it or not, much less why Bremer sent it to you. If he's looking to hurt you somehow, it'd probably be in everyone's best interest if you weren't there.”

He looked between them helplessly—helpless to argue, after what he'd been through; helpless not to argue, when he knew what they were capable of. For some reason, Bremer had contacted him. For all he knew, he was all that was standing in between that biotoxin and innocent civilians. Was it possible that some of the men still carried grudges against him, that Haley had died but he'd gone free? He had thought the group was gone.

“You can work the case from here, Mulder,” Skinner said, a little kinder this time. “And Agent Scully can go to Philadelphia.”

He looked between them again, this time in disbelief, but Scully was nodding at that, too. “They don't know who I am,” she said. “But I've had… more access to your side of things than most people, as your partner. It makes sense.”

He wanted to protest that these people operated dirty and it was dangerous, but there were other people going, too. He wanted to insist that he wouldn't let her go alone, that they were partners and he was supposed to have her back and he fucking hated it when they did shit like this. “Sir, I can be more of an asset in the field,” he said quietly. “I can recognize their traps. I was this group, once.”

“You're too close to this case, Mulder,” said Skinner. “That's the end of it. We'll make sure you have active communication with the task force in Philadelphia.”

He should've argued. That's what he kept thinking, that he should've argued harder. It would've pissed Scully off, but he doesn't care about that. He'd do anything to have her pissed off and here, instead of the other way around.

But he didn't. Scully reached out and squeezed his arm comfortingly as they discussed details, right in front of Skinner, and he found he couldn't argue. Scully could take care of herself, he reminded himself; Scully could probably manage to stop whatever their plan is. He didn't want to let her go alone, but he knew neither one of them would budge. So he went along with it, even as nervousness ate away at him. He really had thought this was over.

---

They went down to their office in the space before the briefing. They were quiet on the walk to the elevator, standing shoulder to shoulder as they stepped inside, but as soon as the door closed, Scully's hand was on his back gently. “You okay?” she murmured, her voice soft with concern.

He worked his jaw back and forth, nodded carefully. “I… I really did think this all was over,” he said quietly. “And I never thought that… that I'd be sending you into the midst of it.”

He'd expected her to be angry that he was being protective, but her eyes softened as much as her voice. “You're not sending me,” she murmured. “I’m choosing to go. I want to end this, for you, and for everyone else that has been hurt by them.”

He exhaled deeply, his shoulders drooping. The elevator beeped, and the doors slid open as they reached the basement. “I wish I was going with you,” he whispered.

She rose on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, even as the doors slid closed again. “I'm glad you're not,” she said softly. “I saw what they did to you the first time; I don't want to give them the chance to do it again.”

That was the reason he didn't want her to go. He thought involuntarily of the gun at the back of his head, of Scully's cool fingers on his injured hand in the dark. He kissed the top of her head, holding her tight. “Be careful,” he mumbled into her hair, and she nodded. She squeezed him hard before slipping out of his embrace, pressing the Door Open button.

In the office, they gathered the file Mulder had put together on the New Spartans, which was really just photocopies of the information from the official New Spartans file, aside from some information that Mulder and Scully had added themselves. Scully gave him a small smile over the pile of files; he could see some mix of worry and affection in her eyes, reassurance.

He should be going instead of her, he had thought, over and over again; it was his case and his responsibility, and they had sent the postcard to him. It's what he'd thought then, and it's what he thinks now. It should've been him. But at the time, somehow, he was able to reassure himself that it'd be okay.

At the briefing, someone else was speaking about previous activity by the New Spartans. The postcard was blown up on the wall, the symbol enlarged. Mulder and Scully stood shoulder to shoulder in the back of the room, the way they usually did, until they were called up to add in their statements. Mulder summarized his experience undercover as briefly as he could, and the activity he'd been noticing, ending with the postcard. He skated over the details of Scully having found the postcard first, saying that he called her when he saw the symbol. The agents laid out the plan, and Mulder listened despite himself. He was thinking of Scully, thinking of making one last, pathetic bid to go with her; they were partners, after all. He tried to catch Skinner on the way out, and he shook his head tightly.

---

If there's any particular part he keeps playing and replaying, it's of his goodbye with Scully before they left. His last moments with Scully, ever. It makes him sick just to think about it, and he has to swallow hard and clench his jaw just to overcome the nausea, to keep driving.

She was about to get in the van, already dressed in tactical gear and not looking the happiest about it—it was a long drive to Philly. She tipped her head up to say goodbye to him, offering him a grim smile as if to reassure him. “If things go well, I'll be back tonight,” she offered, her voice soft so that none of the other agents would hear.

He'd touched her shoulder, squeezing it gently through the gear. “Call me when you get out,” he told her. “Or as soon as you get a chance.”

“I will.” She offered him a small smile. “This is all going to be over soon. Maybe even tonight.” She reached up to touch his arm, gently, her eyes soft. And then she turned around and went to the van. He thought about calling Be careful! after her again, but he didn't. He was thinking about her rule on public displays of affection, and he didn't want to embarrass her. So he just watched her go.

Now, he regrets not kissing her, not wrapping her up tight in his arms. He regrets every single thing he didn't say to her, not telling her that he loves her. Regrets not insisting that he go with her. Regrets not begging her not to go.

The images are too bright behind his eyes, of her face, her eyes, the way she looked at him. He pulls off sharply on the side of the road, buries his face in his hands, and lets himself cry.

---

He had tried to wait out news in the bullpen, but the wait was entirely too long, and he felt like people were watching him, wondering what he'd been through before with the New Spartans, wondering if he was up here waiting for news about his partner who he may or may not be fucking. He couldn't stand the pitying looks across the room from Skinner, so he slipped downstairs to their office and shut the door, read over the New Spartans file again and again. He couldn't figure out what was happening, why they wanted to talk to him. He flipped through photos of the places the symbol had been left, trying to find some kind of link, but he found nothing. Research on the address yielded nothing, either; it seemed to just be a perfectly normal, definitely abandoned warehouse. After a few hours, he trailed, restless, up to the bullpen.

He found several agents, including Skinner, crowded around a television turned to a news channel. He drew closer, his eyes narrowing in an attempt to see the screen, and his stomach seemed to drop out from beneath him when he saw the headline: Explosion at abandoned warehouse in Philadelphia. His breath left him, his limbs weakening, and he stumbled a few steps closer to the TV before Skinner saw him. He turned to Mulder immediately, his hands held out in some semblance of warning or comfort as he said, “Mulder, we don't have very much news yet, but we've been in touch with the leader of the task force, and he's saying that it looks like everyone got out…”

Mulder turned away, striding across the bullpen as he pulled out his cellphone with trembling hands. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest; it felt as if his ribs were splintering under the pressure. He hit 1 on his speed dial and listened to the rings, silently urging her to pick up, pick up, goddamnit Scully. But nothing happened. The phone just rang and rang until it clicked emptily to indicate that she hadn't answered. He let out a painful breath, pressing his palm flatly to his furrowed forehead. He tried to tell himself that it didn't mean anything, that she was fine, but he couldn't reassure himself. His stomach was churning; he felt as if he was going to throw up.

He turned back to Skinner, crossing the room again, as he tried Scully's number again. “She isn't picking up,” he said tightly, clutching the phone too hard. Some of the other agents were staring, but he didn't care; he stared at Skinner with a pleading sort of look.

“I'm sure it's fine, Mulder, she might not even have her phone with her…” Skinner started, but the phone began ringing before he could get the thought out. It felt like the cannons signaling an execution; it seemed to cut Mulder right to the soul.

Skinner, casting a weary look over the gathered agents, picked up. “Yes,” he said tightly, indicating he knew who it was. “Oh, I'm glad to hear from you… yes. What?” His jaw seemed to be tightening. “Goddamnit,” he said softly, inflections of emotion in his voice, and Mulder knew immediately what had happened. He didn't want to know it, but he knew it.

“Are you sure?” Skinner was asking, his voice full of his own grief. “Are you positive? Because I want you to be fucking sure before we deal with this.” Mulder couldn't breathe. He was nearly swaying on his feet, dizzy. He started across the room, reaching for the phone, but Skinner turned away, a hand held up. “Well, once everything is under control, I'd like you to fucking figure it out,” he said evenly before hanging up. He hung up the phone, hard. He paused, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Mulder couldn't breathe. His chest was tight, his throat was shut. He asked, so softly he could hardly believe it, “It's her, isn't it?”

Skinner rubbed his nose again, his eyes, the glasses bumping up on his forehead. He turned towards him, speaking carefully, beginning, “Mulder…”

“Was it her?” He was shouting now, his voice cracking. “Was she inside the warehouse?”

Skinner looked as if he didn't know what to say. “They… they haven't been able to find her…” he tried. “T-they… they think she was inside…”

Everything seemed to go red: a red sheen over his vision, tiny dots behind his eyes. A roaring in his ears. Everything was blank for a moment, a blank space in his mind. He shouted something. He didn't know what it was, but it made his throat hurt. The next thing he knew, he was charging at Skinner when someone caught him and held him back. Two other agents. Skinner was looking at him with some sort of acceptance, as if he'd known he would react this way. He was still shouting, his fingernails digging into the skin of the other agents, and he was finally able to make out the words; he was screaming, “Why did you send her instead of me?”

(Looking back, now, it was a nonsensical thing to shout. It wasn't Skinner's fault; Scully wouldn't have stayed back if she was told to because that wasn't the way Scully was. But still, it was the way he felt. It should've been him. He'd give anything for it to have been him.)

Skinner was shouting something too. He yelled, “I didn't have a choice, Agent Mulder!” and it sounded like he was crying. “I didn't have a fucking choice. Agent Scully would've been furious if I had sent you.”

Her name seemed to hit Mulder like a weight of bricks. He stunned away from the other agents as if he had been burned. He staggered towards the door as if he was drunk, broke into a run. He reached the bathroom just in time, hitting the ground so hard it felt as if his kneecaps cracked, and vomited hard into the toilet. He was shaking, shivering, and he was sobbing. It was hitting him, all at once, that he was never going to see her again.

He doesn't remember much more after that.

---

Skinner, he thinks, picked him up off the floor. Skinner drove him home, and Skinner, sounding inches away from his own breakdown, offered to sit with him. He refused, unable to look him in the eye. He went upstairs and deadbolted the door and fell into a heap on his empty bed, thinking that it was inevitable that he'd lose everyone important in his life, his mother and his sister and the love of his life. He curled into a ball on the bed, around the discarded t-shirt Scully had shed this morning. Pressed his nose to the collar and inhaled her scent and tried to pretend that she was here. Dissolved into sobs again, clutching the shirt to his chest like a child's blanket and thinking, again and again, that it should've been him, it should've been him. They were looking for him all along; why else had they sent him that postcard? They wanted to kill him. And he had sent her.

And he was stumbling to his feet and rushing to the bathroom, and he was retching again over the sink, dryly, shaking and shaking on the floor. He stumbled to his knees, nearly bent in two, his forehead against the cool of the porcelain. He felt as if he was splitting in two. He curled into a ball on the floor, his spine hitting the wall. He was crying again, the tears cold on his face. He stayed like that, curled into the smallest possible space, for a long time. He was thinking about Scully and thinking that maybe he shouldn't be; he was thinking about the way she looked the night before when they were falling asleep: curled on her side, over his arm that was slowly falling asleep, her hair falling across her face, her expression peaceful. He loves her so much; he loves her with everything in him. And sitting there then, scrunched up under his bathroom sink hugging his knees and sobbing so hard his throat hurt, he couldn't remember if he had ever told her.

---

He didn't know how long he had sat there, curled up on the bathroom floor, but when he finally got up, his knees ached. He shuffled slowly into the living room, thinking almost involuntarily of his gun sitting in his office. Just sitting there in the holster. He walked through his dimly lit living room, and that was when he saw it: another postcard shoved under his door, lying peacefully on his rug.

He went to it quickly, landing so fast and hard that his knees burned. It looked strangely bulky from where it lay on the floor, as if something was taped to the back of it. Greetings from Pennsylvania, it read, and the same symbol was scribbled in Sharpie over the front. Bremer's symbol.

He scooped it up immediately, cradling it in the palm of his hands, wondering too late if it had been sprayed with the biotoxin. He remembered Scully the morning before, holding up the postcard with gloved hands, and he winced. But he didn't feel any sting, any sensation that might've hinted his skin burning away. And besides that, this didn't seem important. This postcard may have come from the man who killed Scully.

He flipped it over and felt something flop away from the postcard. It was a map, he realized, folded up and taped to the back of the postcard. He yanked it off and unfolded it, smoothing out the creases. It was hard to make it out, but it looked like a map of the East Coast.

It looked like someone had outlined a route heading north from DC, into Pennsylvania, in bright red marker. Has written an address in smeared red letters, overtop a woodsy rural area drawn in green.

---

The map is sitting in his passenger seat now. He is driving; he has been for hours. He's following the route on the map. He has no idea where it goes, but he isn't sure that he cares. He's sure of one thing: it leads to the men who killed Scully, and he is determined as hell to find them. He's not going to let them get away with it this time, with all of the dirty work they've been doing, everything they've done. He's going to end it, once and for all.

He doesn't know what happens next. He doesn't want to think about what happens next. He doesn't want to think about the next day, or the day after that, or the years and years that may hollowly follow. He has no family left; they took his mother and his father and his sister and now they have taken Scully. (Someone might point out that the New New Spartans, or whatever the hell they're calling themselves now, aren't necessarily the same as these bastards that tore his family apart, but if Bremer was government and the men who took his sister were government, then they are one and the same to him.)

Maybe he'll go to Canada. Maybe he should've gone to Canada a long time ago, but that wouldn't work, would it, because they have a hand everywhere now. Maybe he'll go to the farthest reaches of the Earth, where no one can ever find him again, because he doesn't have anyone worth staying for at this point. If he even survives any of this, that is; he's almost to the point of not caring about that anymore. It should've been him yesterday.

He drives, as the sun sinks low in the sky, as the traffic slows to the point where he is very nearly the last person on the road. He drives until he begins to see signs for the exit, the one that whoever sent him the map—Bremer, he assumes—had started. His hands almost unnaturally steady, he exits at the appropriate moment. He is thinking of whoever has done this to Scully. He is thinking of gunpowder; he can almost taste it on the back of his tongue. He exits the highway smoothly, merging onto the quiet country road. He is gritting his teeth. He is trying not to cry. He is thinking about the map and about silly revenge that Scully would undoubtedly advise him against or scold him for, and he is thinking about Scully, and his eyes are burning. He has the address memorized, lodged solidly in the back of his head, and he scans the mailboxes for it until it lands on the correct one. He checks the map again just to be sure; he's in the right place.

He parks on the side of the road and climbs out of the car. He checks for his gun in his holster, a lump beneath the tail of his shirt. He thinks of Scully once again.

He begins to trudge up the dirt road winding up past the mailbox into the woods.

---

It's a long walk, through a surprisingly murky heat. It's heavy and cloaking in the air, and all uphill. His back is coated in sweat. He is exhausted and grieving, his eyes wet, his limbs loose, his mind back on Scully. He thinks this is why he doesn't hear the man coming up behind him, the dead leaves and twigs underfoot, until there's a click behind his head. The click of the safety being taken off a gun. Mulder freezes in place.

“Special Agent Fox Mulder,” a voice that is a little familiar—not too terribly familiar, but a little bit—intones from behind him. “I didn't think I'd hear from you again, after you killed my friend and ran off like a yellow coward to rat us out.”

The gimp, Mulder remembers, that bastard that Bremer shot. He must've told them that Mulder was the one who killed the guy, to maintain his cover. This guy must've been one of the men they robbed the bank with. Which means that he is in the right place.

Thoughts shoot through his mind of the innocent man that died in that bank, and of that gun to his head, and of Scully, Scully gone because of them. He moves on instinct, his hand shooting towards his gun, and the man grabs his arm and shoves him forward, pushing him into a tree. He grunts in pain as the bark bites into his cheek, as his head spins. The guy twists his arm behind his back, pulling it up sharply until Mulder is whimpering in pain, and snatches the gun from his holster, tossing it into the wood where it lands with a dull thump. The guy's gun presses against the back of Mulder's head as he yanks his arm up harder. “I am very glad you came back,” he breathes in Mulder's ear, pressing the muzzle of the gun hard against his skull. “I've been waiting for this for a long time.”

Mulder tries to steady his breath, bites back another whimper. “Was… was it you?” he growls. “Are you the one that made that bomb?’

The guy laughs, yanking him away from the tree and giving him a hard shove. “Walk that way, FBI man.”

“Did you make the goddamn bomb?” Mulder snarls, trying to turn around to look at the man. He shoves Mulder again, so hard he almost falls this time. He catches himself roughly on a tree trunk. “Are you the one who fucking killed her?” he nearly bellows.

“You fucking rat,” the guy growls, grabbing Mulder's shirt in his fists and pushing him along at a slogging pace. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“There was a bomb,” Mulder says slowly, unsteadily, “that went off at a warehouse in Philadelphia yesterday. A woman was in there. Was that you, you goddamn bastard?”

He is smacked with the muzzle of the gun, on the side of his scraped, bleeding face, so hard that his head spins and he sees a rush of stars. “You got a smart mouth, you know that?” the guy snaps. “I dunno how we didn't see right fucking through you from day one.”

“Was it you?” Mulder shouts, twisting in the guy's grasp, and he gets smacked across the face again. He stumbles forward dizzily, groaning, as the guy forces him to his knees, presses the gun against his head once more, and Mulder really is going to be sick again, he doesn't want to die this way but he doesn't know what he's going to do without her. He's nearly crying, shaking with fury, and he tries to turn around to face the asshole, but he's shoved around to face forward again.

“Whether it was or it wasn't,” the guy whispers with a sort of sick fucking glee, “it feels a little fair, doesn't it? You murdered my friend. You killed him in cold blood. So if I killed your little friend… that feels a little appropriate, doesn't it?”

Mulder takes a tremulous, furious breath. He hates this man with a burning passion, and he's angry and frightened and missing Scully so much, and he tries to get to his feet again, but he's shoved back down. The knees of his jeans are brown with mud. “I'll finish what Bremer shoulda finished two years ago,” the man mutters disapprovingly. “I'll show you what we do to rats around here, Special Agent Mulder.”

Mulder shuts his eyes, shaking and shaking, thinking that he should've fucking ignored those postcards, should've ignored the recruiter who came looking for him two years ago. Here he is again with a gun to his head, just like he was two years ago. All he wants is to see Scully again, and he thinks that maybe if that gun goes off, he will. But he doesn't want her to be dead, and he doesn't think he wants to die. He shuts his eyes and bites back a sob. He never should've gotten involved. All he wants is another chance.

For a moment, he thinks he is hallucinating, because he thinks he hears Scully's voice. And then he realizes that he is hearing Scully's voice—a high, panicked, “Mulder!” echoing through the trees. He opens his eyes and jerks his head to see two dark figures standing above them on a small ridge.

The guy with the gun mutters, “What the…” just as a gunshot is fired. Not by the asshole beside him. By one of the figures up on the hill. It hits the guy beside Mulder, who hits the ground with the same dull thump as the gun, and Mulder winces, scrambling away from the body without standing, without taking his eyes off of the figures on the hill. He's still quivering in place, tears in his eyes.

One is moving towards him, footsteps thudding over the dead leaves and sliding through the mud, stumbling as she approaches. As she draws closer, he can see who it is, and it's impossible, it's impossible. But he's always believed in impossibilities, and he sure as hell wants to believe this one.

Scully lands on her knees before him, her hands cuffed before her, reaching up awkwardly to touch his face. “Mulder?” she whispers nervously, her fingers hovering over the scrapes and bruises on the side of his face. “Are you okay?”

He can't breathe. His ribs have shrunk, everything is too tight. He cannot believe she's here. “Scully?” he murmurs, and she nods, her eyes full of tears. She lifts her cuffed hands and loops them around his neck in a makeshift hug; he wraps his arms around her tightly, tugging her into his lap, and presses his face into the side of her neck. “Oh my god,” he gasps, biting back sobs, his nose pressed to her pulse point. “Oh my god.” She is alive, she is alive. He presses a tender kiss to the side of her neck, under her jaw.

“I'm so sorry,” she chokes out. He draws back in astonishment and looks at her; her face is sheet-white and full of guilt.

“Sorry?” He ducks out of the circle of her arms, reaching out to push hair behind her ear. His vision is blurry with tears; he smiles shakily, pressing a hand to her cheek. “Scully, what the hell do you—”

“This is all very touching, Agent Mulder,” a voice says solemnly from behind them, “but I'm afraid we have some business.” The second figure has approached them, and Mulder can tell who it is now: August Bremer. He is standing over the two of them, his hands folded over his chest, and Mulder is suddenly reminded of the moment when he killed the gimp, just like this. Just like now. Scully is tense next to him, poised protectively on the ground.

“Did you do this?” Mulder snaps, a hand on Scully's shoulder. “Did you do—what the fuck is this, why the fuck do you have her cuffed?”

“You should be grateful, Agent Mulder,” he says solemnly, taking Scully by the arm and pulling her to her feet.

She swipes at her eyes, her face taking on a stony expression as she stumbles in place; Mulder gets to his feet and draws close to her in an instinctive, protective manner, a hand on her elbow as they step back from Bremer nearly in unison. His voice tinged with anger, still quivering with the tumult of emotions, he replies stiffly, “And why is that?”

“I've very likely saved both of your lives,” Bremer says, his expression blank.

It's tempting to trust him, considering the fact that he's saved Mulder's life twice now and apparently has kept Scully safe, but Mulder isn't ready to be that kind of trusting, not with Bremer. He's killed before without hesitation—the civilian in the bank, two of his own men, Haley and probably the people at the movie theater in Ohio. He told Haley that Mulder was working for the Feds without a second thought, even though they were apparently on the same side, and whatever's happening with Scully, she doesn't exactly seem to be with Bremer of her own free will. He's not very trusting of Bremer at the moment, all things considered. He draws closer to Scully and snaps, “How the hell have you saved our lives? From what it looks like to me, you put a bomb at the location you tried to lure me to and almost killed my partner! And now you've lured me here only to have a fucking gun put to my head?”

“Mulder…” Scully murmurs cautiously.

“If you'll remember, I just shot the man who was trying to kill you,” Bremer says coldly. “And I never intended for you to die in the bombing. Others certainly did, but I didn't. That was why I took your partner from the site. I desperately needed to talk to you, and I believed that was the best way to get your attention, by making your partner go missing.”

“You motherfucking bastard,” Mulder hisses.

“There is a hit out on you, Mr. Mulder. Many people who want you dead for trying to expose our activity. For the same reason those people died in a government lab.” Bremer's eyes narrow, looking them both over. “Our work has shifted in the past few years, Mr. Mulder, but our goal is essentially the same. We've been attempting to mobilize the biotoxin I know you're familiar with. To weaponize it further, essentially, and learn how to make it airborne. We'd been testing it, as I'm sure you guessed, in small waves up and down the East Coast. But one of the drones employed in the labs doing our work in changed his mind. Decided the work wasn't moral enough for him.” Bremer smiles wolfishly. “Do you understand what happened next, Mr. Mulder?”

He understands all too well. He squeezes Scully's elbow, her shoulder bumping against the side of his chest. His heart is pounding too fast, his head aching with fury.

“Once that was over with,” Bremer continues, “my superiors decided on damage control. And considering the whispers about a certain former member who was recognizing our activity and making reports to the FBI… your name made the short list, Mr. Mulder.”

Scully seems to stiffen at this, going rigid next to him. He still can't believe she's here, that she's okay, and all he wants is to get her out of here. To get out of here himself. He's annoyed with the entire thing, his anger thick in his throat. “Guess I win a medal then, huh?” he snaps. “So why am I not dead yet?”

“Mulder,” Scully whispers chidingly, taking a wobbling step closer to him. He rubs a thumb over her arm, resists the urge to hug her again. His eyes are still hurting from all of the crying he has done; his heart is still pounding too hard.

“You're not dead yet, Mr. Mulder, because I believe you might be an asset to us,” Bremer says simply. “The same way you were an asset earlier, even unintentionally.”

“How the hell could I have been a goddamn asset? I was a mole!”

“Put in place by one of my superiors.” Bremer grins dryly. “You weren't a mole, you were a pawn. And I believed you were more valuable alive than dead, whether it was a willing usefulness or not.”

“Go to hell,” Scully snaps, squaring her shoulders, standing nearly in front of him.

Bremer shrugs. “My intention was to fake your death in the bombing, but I think saving your partner gave me an even greater advantage. It got you here.”

“You're insane if you think I'll help you, after everything,” he says coldly. “My partner and I are going home.”

“You're insane,” Bremer says slowly, and lifts the corner of his shirt to reveal the butt of his gun, “if you think I'm giving you a choice.”

Scully's elbow presses into mulder's stomach as she steps even closer to him, her jaw set in a hard line. Bremer lets his shirt drop, crossing his arms. “We're at war, Mr. Mulder. I am giving you the chance to save yourself, and to save your partner. With what she knows, there is no way they will let her live.”

Mulder winces on instinct at that. He's already lost her so many times; last night, he'd thought he had lost her for good. He won't risk losing her again. She is standing right there, stiff and determined and protective despite the handcuffs, the bruises on her wrists and the small burns on her arms and face, the way she'd looked after Ruskin Dam. She must have been close to the explosion. He thinks that he would do anything for her, to keep her safe; he had thought he would never see her again.

He says, unflinchingly, “I'll stay.” Scully turns to him in astonishment, but he doesn't look at her. He's looking at Bremer. “I'll stay,” he says slowly, “if you let Scully go.”

“Mulder,” Scully hisses, shaking her head.

“You heard me before, didn't you?” Bremer says with amusement. “They'll kill her, too. They'll kill her if they find out she's alive.”

“You can't keep her here!” Mulder shouts, his fingers cradling the delicate bones of her elbow.

“I can keep her here.”

“Mulder, don't do this,” Scully whispers. “Please. Please don't do this.”

“Let her go,” Mulder says again. “If you want anything from me, you need to let her go. She has a life, and people think she is dead. Do you know what this is doing to her family?” His voice breaks as he speaks. Scully shakes her head, turning slightly to look at him. Her eyes are wide and pleading.

“Do you think I care?” Bremer asks coldly. “You're not in a position to be making requests. I've saved your life twice now, Mr. Mulder. You owe me. The both of you do.”

“Look, I am not going to let you…” he starts, but breaks it off when he sees someone moving through the trees. Someone standing on the ridge above them, moving through the woods. He freezes immediately, his heart pounding; Bremer clearly doesn't want him or Scully dead, but there is no indication that the other people here don't. He steps even closer to Scully, her shoulder bumping against his chest again. She looks at him again, nervousness and anger, meant for Bremer, mixing in her eyes.

“What… what the hell is going on?” Bremer snaps, noticing his uneasiness. “Is there someone…” He starts to turn around.

“Freeze!” a voice bellows from the ridge, and Mulder sees the figure on the hill raise a gun. “Hands in the air. August Bremer, you're under arrest.”

Mulder gasps out a sigh of relief, his hands on Scully's shoulders now as the agent stumbles down the hall towards Bremer, his gun aimed. Bremer is looking at him with something like admiration or shock. “So you really were a mole this time,” he says softly, as if impressed. “You realize that this will put an even bigger target on your back.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Scully says fiercely over her shoulder.

Mulder hadn't been involved in this, actually, he has no idea what they're doing here, but he doesn't care. “Handcuff key, he has a handcuff key,” he blurts to the agent cuffing Bremer and taking his weapon. He grabs Scully's hands almost earnestly. “We need that over here!”

“Mulder…” Scully whispers, her eyes watery and wide. He wraps his arms tightly around her, and she clutches at his shirt tightly. “Mulder, I'm so sorry,” she whispers, and he draws back to look at her in astonishment.

The agent tosses him the keys to the cuffs, and he fumbles to unlock them. “Scully,” he whispers, nearly stammering, “Scully, what are you talking about? What are you sorry for?”

She clenches her jaw to steady her chin, shakes her wrists hard as they're freed. “I tried to call you,” she says, “to… to tell you I was okay. I really wanted to call you.”

Her words hit him straight in the chest as he realizes what she is saying. That she is harkening back to an argument they had months ago, over her trip with the smoker, and he is so astonished he sways a little on his feet. “Scully…” he whispers.

“Bremer wouldn't let me. I swear, I insisted I needed to call you as soon as I figured out what happened… when I knew that you probably thought I was dead…”

As soon as he sees the agent turned away from them, moving Bremer down the road, he leans down and kisses Scully hard, fiercely. He's crying again, tears dripping down his face, and he kisses her again and again, rests his forehead against hers. “I don't care,” he breathes, cupping her face in his hands. “I don't care that you couldn't call me… Scully, you're here. I thought I'd lost you.”

She sniffles. She leans up to kiss his forehead, her hands clutching at his hair, his shirt. “I didn't want you to have to go through that,” she whispers. “I wanted you to know I was okay.”

“It's okay,” he whispers back. “It doesn't matter now.” He brushes a thumb over her lower lip, wipes a tear out of her eye. Smiles at her, kisses her cheek again, her temple, and presses his nose to her hair. He doesn't ever want to let her go.

“You could've gotten yourself killed,” she mutters furiously, cinching her arms tight around his waist, her cheek to his chest. “Jesus Christ, Mulder, that man had a gun to your head… and you were trying to bargain with Bremer to let me go…”

“Didn't have a choice.” He buries his fingers in her hair, holding her tight.

“You're an idiot, Mulder,” she says, and it sounds like she's about to cry, too.

They stand there for a long time, until Skinner finds them and guides them back to a car. He gives Scully a hug before letting them into the backseat. He doesn't say a word to Mulder about why he's here, or the fact that he probably tracked him here, but whatever Skinner is feeling about this whole situation, Mulder isn't going to complain. Skinner keeping tabs on him has probably saved them both.

They sit together in the back, silently. Scully uses a small first aid kit to put ointment and Band-Aids on his scraped cheek, her fingers cool on his cheek. When she's finished, she sags into his side, her head on his shoulder, and he wraps an arm around her. They curl together in a desperate sort of way, their bodies weak with relief.

---

Skinner takes them to a motel near Philadelphia. “We're going to sort things out,” he tells them, “think about getting you two to somewhere safe until things calm down, but I want you two to get some rest. You've been through a lot.”

They don't argue. Of course they don't argue. They go to the front desk and get one room. Scully clasps his hand in hers and passes the card Skinner had given them across the counter. They get a room quickly and slip down the breezeway to their room, Scully unlocking the door with her free hand. Mulder just holds onto her other hand, his fingers locked with hers. The adrenaline is beginning to wear off, and he's left with a sense of shock. Of shock and gratefulness and patched grief; he cannot believe she is here, and he's unbelievably thankful, but he feels like grief is still pushed in the back of his throat, like he hasn't shaken off the way he felt curled up on his bathroom floor the night before.

He lifts her hand as they slip into the room, pressing his lips to her bruised knuckles; she turns towards him and meets his eyes, her own wide and somber. He holds her gaze, his nose pressed in the space between her fingers. He feels his eyes growing damp.

She slips closer, rising on tiptoes to slip her arms around his neck. She kisses his cheek gently, clinging to him tight. “Come here,” she whispers, taking his hand.

They fall together onto the bed. She pulls him against her, his head falling to her shoulder, her arms around him. He seizes a handful of her shirt and doesn't let go. He is suddenly embarrassed of the night before, the way he clung to her t-shirt, cried helplessly on the bathroom; the grief was horrible, and he's sure Scully can understand that kind of grief—she’s experienced some form of his death more than once now—but it feels silly now, now that she is here and she was all right the whole time. He feels as if he should've known that she was okay, should've come for her sooner. He bends his head, lifting her hand from where it clutches at his side and kisses her bruised wrist. “I'm sorry, Scully,” he whispers, not for the first time. “They never would've taken you if it hadn't been for me.”

“Mulder, I was deep in the building when Bremer found me. He yanked me out the back just before the bomb went out. If I hadn't run into him, I probably still would've been inside when the bomb went off,” she says, and he shudders. She kisses the top of his head. “It doesn't matter,” she murmurs. “It’s not anyone's fault, okay? It was not your fault.”

“I didn't know what I was going to do,” he says, and he feels like he is going to cry again. “If I lost you… I didn't know what I would do.”

“I know. I know.” She presses her lips to his forehead, her hand heavy on the back of his neck. “I'm so sorry you had to go through that.” He sniffles, wiping his eyes, and presses his face into the side of her neck. She rubs a hand up and down his back. “Mulder,” she whispers, “I… I was worried when I saw you… with that man with the gun to your head… I thought he was going to shoot you. You… Mulder, why were you there?”

“I had to find them,” he mumbles into her skin. “I-I had to, Scully. I didn't have a choice.”

She makes a choked sound, her fingers knotted in his hair. “Oh, Mulder,” she whispers. “Oh, Mulder, I…”

“I'm sorry,” he blurts, interrupting her. He pulls away to meet her eyes, lets her wipe the tears from his cheeks. “I'm sorry, Scully, I just… I didn't know what else to do. I thought they'd killed you, and I-I couldn't stand it.”

“It's okay,” she whispers. “Mulder, I don't know that I would've done much better if I'd been in your place. I-it's just…” She bites her lower lip, wiping tears from his eyes again. “I don't want you to get yourself killed for me, okay?” she says gently. “If… if anything ever happens to me… I don't want you to get killed on some crazed revenge quest, okay?” He squeezes his eyes shut instinctively—the potential reality of everything that has happened is still too fresh, he can still remember what it feels like to lose her—and she presses her forehead to hers. “If anything ever happens to me…” she starts again, unsteady, “I want you to be okay.”

“Scully,” he says with a self-deprecating little chuckle. “Scully, please, don't talk about anything happening to you, okay? I-I can't go through that again.”

“Okay, okay.” She knots her fingers with his and squeezes, rubbing his knuckles with her thumb. “Just… please,” she whispers. “Please, try to promise me, Mulder.”

“I'll try,” he says, sniffling. He wipes his eyes, and then hers. “I'll try to promise, but Scully, I… I don't want to think about losing you. Not after this. I… I thought I'd never see you again.”

“Mulder, listen to me.” She presses a hand to his jaw, making him look at her. “You will never lose me,” she says solemnly. “Not if I can help it. I'm not going anywhere.”

He shuts his eyes again, brimming over with tears. He leans over and kisses her softly, her lips wet with tears. “I love you,” he whispers. “So much, Scully. Love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” she says, her voice thick. She leans her head against his. “Thanks for coming for me.”

“Always,” he tells her.

She curls up in his arms, and he holds her tight. He never wants to let go.

---

In the morning, Skinner arrives to escort them to some kind of safe house. They go together, their fingers intertwined between them. They're together and they're going to stay together, until this is all over.

#i dont know if i like this but oh well #its done #xf fanfic #i wrote this

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dwindledglow · 4 years

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001. MEET JORDAN

FULL NAME: jordan kade thompson. PREFERRED NAME: jordan. NICKNAME/S: jord and jordie. DATE OF BIRTH: december 17th, 1993. GENDER & PRONOUNS: cis male & he/his. ORIENTATION: hetero. RELIGION: atheist. RELATIONSHIP STATUS: married to alice thompson. OCCUPATION: music producer, songwriter and entrepreneur. RESIDENCE: in between soho, new york city and sag harbor, suffolk county.

002. CHECK JORDAN’S BACKGROUND

HOMETOWN: tallahassee, florida. NATIONALITY: american. ETHNIC BACKGROUND: afro-american. LINGUISTICS: english which is his native language and spanish and french in a fluent level. EDUCATION: he has graduated from high-school and attended cuny's john jay college of criminal justice where he did two years of criminology and criminal justice before having to drop out due to financial difficulties. CRIMINAL RECORD: clean. BIRTH ORDER: third. FATHER: tyler dajan brown, born on april 30th, 1965 in baltimore, maryland. his whereabouts, as well as living situation, are unknown to jordan but last he heard, he worked as a record store clerk in atlantic city, new jersey. MOTHER: nora jada thompson, born on august 4th, 1968 in st. petersburg, florida, currently residing in sagaponack, suffolk county. she is the owner of four restaurants - wabi-sabi, a japanese cuisine place in soho, new york city, 1946 house, a contemporary french-american cuisine place in miami beach, florida, magari, an italian cuisine place in dumbo, brooklyn and scusi, an italian cuisine restaurant in miami, florida. SISTER/S: alexandra kalla thompson, born on january 7th, 1999 in philadelphia, pennsylvania, currently residing in new york and working as a model and professional dancer. BROTHER/S: william bakari thompson, born on july 1st, 1987 in tallahassee, florida, currently residing in new york city and working as a personal trainer. carter kaluuya thompson, born on may 21st, 1991 in tallahassee, florida, currently residing in new york city and working as a publicist. SIGNIFICANT OTHER: alice thompson, née cooper. CHILDREN: maya anne thompson, born on october 19th, 2018 in southampton, new york. ivy ayana thompson, born on november 8th, 2019 in southampton, new york. OTHER RELEVANT FAMILY: amani robins thompson, née white, william’s wife thus sister-in-law. monique byers-thompson, carter’s wife thus sister-in-law. jada niaara thompson, carter & monique’s daughter, niece. bryson alexander hill, alexandra’s fiancé thus brother-in-law. apollo kade hill, alexandra & bryson’s son, nephew. EX/ES: isobel powell and jessica loyle. PETS: kovu and kopa, two pomskys and cookie, a pug.

003. GET UP CLOSE & PERSONAL

HEIGHT: 6′3″ or 192 cm. WEIGHT: between 177 lbs or 80 kg and 181 lbs or 82 kg. BODY BUILD: jordan has what's considered the ideal weight for his height. he has a fast metabolism so albeit not upkeeping any kind of strict diet or following a specific eating plan, it's hard for him to put on much weight. up until a few years ago — five or six — and following how he stopped regularly exercising / playing basketball, he had a, somewhat, thin figure but ever since he started working out again, he has managed to get some lean muscle. overall, he has a toned body with defined abs and muscular arms. EYE COLOR: dark, earthy brown. EYESIGHT: his eyesight has no problems. HAIR COLOR & STYLE: when the topic in question regards personal style, it's hard to describe jordan's seeing as it is ever-changing. he has dreads and, most of the time, that's the extent he'll go to with his hairstyle. every so often, he'll get tired of having his hair down and he'll go for pigtails — which is one of his favorites hair styles — or a ponytail. when he wants his hair completely out of his way, he'll section his hair and part it in two cornrows and on the rare, he wears half of his hair up and the other half down. DOMINANT HAND: right. NOTABLE PHYSICAL TRAITS: the most notable physical trait is, without a doubt, the unusual birthmark on his cheek. besides it, and despite not doing it nearly as often ( unless he's around people he loves ), his smile / laugh are another thing that distinguishes him. there's also his towering frame, his ever-changing hair styles and his chiselled features on top of it. SCARS AND MARKS: asides from your every day, average scars here and there, jordan has a two larger and notable ones : the first on the underside of his right arm courtesy of breaking his arm when he was a kid and the second on his left knee, the result of a surgery he had to be submitted to due to an injury he made when he used to play basketball. he has a distinguishing birthmark on his cheek but, other than that, and sans a few moles here and there, jordan has no other relevant marks. TATTOOS: he has the quote on your own and for yourself in morse code tattooed around his right wrist — reference —, a reminder to keep going, no matter what might happen in his life; on his left wrist, he has a W — reference — which is the initial of his older brother's name; he has the outline of new york's skyline, in white ink, tattooed on the inside of his right arm — reference. on the back of his left arm, he has the geographic coordinates to alexandra's — his younger sister — and jada's — his niece — birth places — reference. on his left ankle, he has excelsior tattooed in bold font, new york city's motto. on his ribcage, a little below his left pectoral, he has the sound wave of his mother saying i love you tattooed. there's the word saudara — meaning brother in indonesian and which he got along with his brother carter — on the right side of his ribcage. he has the quote to new memories tattooed on the inside of his left arm — reference — something he got shortly after he moved to bali. he has the word clarity on small, uppercase font on the right side his neck. on the back of his right upper arm, he has two hands — reference. he has the word power on the back of his left hand. there's the quote self consciousness is heavy along his right hip. on his left collarbone, he has the quote dum spiro spero which translates into while i breathe, i hope and on his right collarbone, he has the quote esse quam videri which translates into to be, rather than to seem. he has the quote and still i rise in bold, uppercase and small font on the back of his neck. on the back of his left ankle he has the word tallahassee in uppercase and bold font, representing the city he was born, and on the back of his right ankle, also in bold font, he has 1993, the year he was born in. for his and ally’s daughters, on the inside of his upper right arm, he has maya shaped to form a heart and, likewise, ivy on the inside of his upper left arm. additionally, he has the sentence ten planes in cursive, recalling when alice and him first started dating and he mentioned how he’d fly ten planes for her. PIERCINGS: he has two piercings on his left regular lobe. VOICECLAIM: daniel caesar. ACCENT & INTENSITY: jordan's accent is somewhat of a hybrid thing — it's not a strong and prominent new york accent but it's also not the closest to a philadelphia accent. growing up and just as he moved to new york, it was easy to place how there was a philly accent to his way of speaking... slowly but surely, it started to fade away and nowadays, he has more of a faint new york accent. ALLERGIES: none that he knows of. PHOBIAS & FEARS: trypophobia. MENTAL & PHYSICAL ILLNESSES: none so far. ALCOHOL USE: sometimes, mostly on social situations. SMOKING: yes, he’s been trying to reduce it but he still does smoke. NARCOTICS USE: if he's in the studio, completely stressed out and needing a way to get creativity flowing, he does smoke weed. INDULGENT FOOD: not very often. SPLURGE SPENDING: yes, sometimes. GAMBLING: no, never.

004. DIG DEEPER

CAN THEY DRIVE? yes, he can drive. CAN THEY COOK & BAKE? yes and yes. CAN THEY CHANGE A FLAT TIRE? yes. CAN THEY TIE A TIE? yes. CAN THEY SWIM? yes. CAN THEY RIDE A BICYCLE? yes. CAN THEY JUMP START A CAR? yes. CAN THEY BRAID HAIR? yes. CAN THEY PICK A LOCK? yes. EXTROVERTED OR INTROVERTED? extroverted. DISORGANIZED OR ORGANIZED? organized. CLOSE OR OPEN MINDED? open minded. CALM OR ANXIOUS? calm. PATIENT OR IMPATIENT? patient. OUTSPOKEN OR RESERVED? outspoken. LEADER OR FOLLOWER? leader, but willing to listen to others and compromise. OPTIMISTIC OR PESSIMISTIC? in-between. TRADITIONAL OR MODERN? modern. HARD-WORKING OR LAZY? hard-working. CULTURED OR UNCULTURED? cultured. LOYAL OR DISLOYAL? loyal. FAITHFUL OR UNFAITHFUL? faithful. NIGHT OWL OR EARLY BIRD? a mixture of both depending on the days. HEAVY OR LIGHT SLEEPER? not heavy, nor light. an in-between. COFFEE OR TEA? coffee. DAY OR NIGHT? night. TAKING BATHS OR SHOWERS? showers. COCA COLA OR PEPSI? coca-cola. CATS OR DOGS? dogs. NETFLIX OR CINEMA? cinema. SHOWS OR MOVIES? movies. LAPTOP OR GAMING CONSOLE? laptop. HEALTHY OR JUNK FOOD? healthy food. ICE CREAM OR FROZEN YOGURT? ice cream. PIZZA OR HAMBURGER? hamburger. LOLLIPOPS OR GUMMY WORMS? gummy worms. BEACH OR POOL? beach. SNOWBALLS FIGHTING OR ICESKATING? both. LITERATURE OR SCIENCE? literature. HISTORY OR ART? art. CHOCOLATE BARS OR COTTON CANDY? cotton candy. XBOX OR PLAYSTATION? playstation. FACE-TO-FACE OR PHONE INTERACTIONS? face-to-face interactions. DRAMA OR SCI-FI? drama. HORROR OR COMEDY? both.

005. JORDAN’S FAVORITES

FAVORITE ACTIVITY: songwriting. FAVORITE ANIMAL: panther. FAVORITE BOOK: he has no favorite book so far. FAVORITE COLOR/S: orange and blue. FAVORITE CUISINE: thai. FAVORITE DISH/ES: jollof rice, khao soi, nasi goreng and yum woon sen. FAVORITE DRINK/S: coffee, limeade and thai tea, patron and hennessy. FAVORITE FLOWER/S: chocolate cosmos. FAVORITE GEM: topaz. FAVORITE MOVIE: fences by denzel washington. FAVORITE SONG: like really by oddisee. FAVORITE SCENT/S: coffee, cinnamon, mint and citrus. FAVORITE SHOW/S: how to get away with murder is the only show he really follows and his all time favorite show is the fresh prince of bel air. FAVORITE SPORT/S & TEAM THEY SUPPORT: basketball, he supports philadelphia 76rs and miami heat, baseball, he supports new york yankees, american football, he supports philadelphia eagles, hockey, he supports philadelphia flyers and tampa bay lightning, soccer, he supports tottenham hotspur fc, barcelona fc and juventus fc, formula 1, he supports mercedes amg petronas, and the list continues — he loves sports. FAVORITE SEASON OF THE YEAR: fall. VACATION DESTINATION: sidi bou said, tunisia and bali, indonesia.

#── ✰. ┊ jordan : — HEADCANON. ❜

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floggingink · 6 years

Text

Riverdale, “Chapter Forty-Seven: Bizarrodale”

Jughead eats: QUICK SHOT OF BRUNCH

the print on Josie’s bomber jacket? confounding

“If there’s no wedding reception, it means the Gargoyle King has won.”

Ms. McCoy in bright blue? confounding

have Moose’s eyebrows gotten thicker? he...he fine

Cheryl’s sheaths: like a true gay icon, Cheryl wears both a satiny demi-cup bustier and a flannel in bed with Toni, who’s rocking a sort of cottony Aerie bralette

Hermione’s earrings look like divining rods, which makes sense

“dangerously unhinged,” in this day and age? UNHINGED?

Cheryl is “legacy” in Riverdale’s version of Smith College

Cheryl’s pins: in her droopy 1920’s lady-reporter tie, Cheryl has a pin that is probably a bee but is POSSIBLY a giant frightening moth like in the Silence of the Lambs poster

Moose’s hair is longer or something and he’s like? I don’t know but I’m a gay boy all of a sudden, like let me at All That

I like how he pauses but goes in for more kisses after Kevin tells him he wants to ask him something

he’s like…..so tall….and he has this a little mole on his cheek….

(RIP Midge)

I’m writing a scene where it’s gay.: you look me in my pale astigmatic eyes and tell me the little snitch canary “told you they were in here sir” smug Malfoy stool pigeon ISN’T a pillow queen and I’ll give you this money RIGHT NOW. THAT thin-lipped smirk? with THAT cleft chin? he’s a gay, your honor

Sexy, aesthetic Southside: oh fuck!!!! Sweet Pea has a VERY vulnerable, soft-masculinity speech about his heartspace and emotional boundaries and he’s so fluffy-haired and trying to be gentle with himself……….SWEET PEA……..

Best costume bit: don’t miss the two-second shot of a Prostitute in a turquoise pencil skirt and red velvet blazer and pearls AND GLASSES leading a man by the tie down the Maple Club hallway

“Damn good coffee”: also this jazz music and Cheryl’s short pantsuit

WHERE CAN I GET CHERYL’S MINI BACKPACK

The Blossom spawn: I know Penelope Blossom is not out here suggesting there are no lesbians in what I assume is a women’s college. I remember when I got into My Women’s College one of the nuns at my church was like, Ha ha! Don’t let the drug-dealing lesbians get you! and I was like, How do you already know the plot of Riverdale season 3? but then I was also like, Ma’am why did you join this monastery?

Fifth period is AP English: “THIS IS THE PRICE OF SALT.”

Lawyer McCoy is right, Ex-Sheriff Keller IS a snack and this bitch’s blood sugar is low

I love Sierra and Whatsit playing Lawyers in bed because it happens to be my thing too and I want to be there with them

Certified pedigree: his name’s Tom right? he’s SO HANDSOME. everyone is so handsome right now!!!!!!! (I’m ovulating)

this is the same fancy hotel room Jughead and Betty stayed in when he sort of proposed to her? this is just the upscale version of the sex bunker

Kevin eats when he’s stressed, as you will recall from the drive-in S1 episode

“an epaulette to cry on”

Cheryl’s hair: and Cheryl’s sleeves!!!!!!!

Sixth period is Intro to Film: “looking like a community theater production of The Talented Mr. Ripley” is the SECOND time handsome bicurious Tom Ripley has been name-dropped (also the drive-in S1 episode)

“I can’t go back to Fox Forest” is like the most tragic thing. HE CAN’T GO CRUISING AGAIN

“Oh, sullen, tenderhearted Kevin.”

Cheryl’s a chaos angel from hell: “RAPTUROUS”!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I like that Cheryl continues to use words like “whilst” and “amongst”

is Moose wearing a denim Henley? MOOSE?

the closed captioning renders it “O shutterbug of my dreams.” “O,” LIKE CHERYL IS SHAKESPEARE

I absolutely buy that Cheryl would ask if this was their first fight mid-fight

only Toni among us could wear that many necklaces at once

I did get a little confused when Toni confronts Cheryl in the bathroom, like at first it was about how you shouldn’t out people but then it was about her not being in the Serpents? let’s focus, ladies

The 2001 Josie and the Pussycats movie was a masterpiece: Josie’s commitment to keeping her eyeshadow coordinated with her jackets over her commitment to boys is aspirational

Every triangle has three corners, every triangle has three sides: I LOVE ARCHIE’S SIDE-EYE, LIKE………“SWEET PEA?”

Reggie on kneecapping: “Does that really happen?”

Reggie’s voice cracks me up. he’s just a big gorgeous squeezable side hustle dummy bro, so down for the ride, remember when he slugged Jughead? neither does he

REGGIE HONESTLY HONEST-TO-GOD IS JUST LIKE….RONNIE YO YOU NEED SOME MONEY?

“You can be my Baby Driver” uuuuuugggghghhhhhkkhhhhhhhhh REggggeieiee

“JUST PLEASE DON’T SCRATCH MY CAR” has more sexual energy than I think Archie has ever manufactured with anyone EXCEPT BETTY when they kissed that one time you know?????

why do you think Reggie is such a good doofus boyfriend while Archie was such a bad doofus boyfriend? is it because Archie tried to think for himself? or has Reggie just not been given the chance to fuck something up yet

I like Penelope bringing up Sierra and Tom getting married not to shade them but to just be like, They should be happy if they want. I was like, Damn, Penelope! You’re right!

“He is a vicious and petty god.”

lol oh yeah Hiram got shot

Gay?!: as has been discussed, Veronica is reading some classic lesbian pulp fiction for no other reason than I suppose she fucking likes it, and that is BDE

Summer + Blair = Veronica: Veronica would wear those shoes to baby drive

SOMEONE TAKE ME ON A “MAD SAPPHIC CAPER”

Archie > Dawson: Archie is a hot-or-cold boyfriend but he is an EXCELLENT beard!!!! GOOD, ARCHIE

I’ve seen Brick like thirty times: Reggie takes the same positive attitude towards getting shot and surviving that I hope I would have, which is “at least I can say I got shot”

Moose is like, out and THEREFORE dtf, as if they couldn’t have secretly been having sex this whole time

Toni conceded to Highsmith’s business formal dress code insofar as she wears a black vest over a plaid tie and that’s it

“WHOEVER YOU ARE, PLEASE BE CHILL.”

Veronica’s blue plaid coat SHOCKS me

Veronica was rich: Gladys admires Veronica and Reggie’s gumption showing up with only half the money

is it a coat or is it a miniskirt with a matching jacket?????

God bless jingle-jangle Moose: Moose is so excited that he just absolutely tells Cheryl he’s finally going to have sex. I know the show needs him to say it so Cheryl can tell him to BYOS, but it’s still cute of him, himself. is Moose kind of precious?

remember when Moose got gunned down in that car? Christ

HE BROUGHT A LITTLE RED CANDLE!!!!!

I love when people take off their whole belt, as if you can’t just undo it and still take your jeans off

dope deer skull! plus: everyone’s fucking

Mädchen Amick, MÄDCHEN AMICK: I’ve lost track a little bit of whether or not Alice KNOWS Betty and Jughead are literally/colloquially sleeping together in Betty’s bedroom, or are they taking advantage of her being gone?

The female gaze: Reggie’s chest is the new Archie’s chest

“NIGHT HAG”

“KEEP YOUR BOW CLOSE.”

Moose is MASSIVE like, do you see those arms?

Fwoopy hair is the best hair: HIS BEAUTIFUL FLIPPY HAIR ON THE PILLOW

Dilton Doiley Ethel Muggs The Gargoyle Children: the RROTC guy is Chris Cooper in American Beauty???

Gay.: Sierra was halfway right about “the jealousy thing”

even FP, conducting his interview in his flannel, is like, bruh

These students are legally children: his “Man, the Sisters did a number on you” feels like Riverdale’s version of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia’s “The Catholics really fucked you up”

Jughead doubts it: Jughead makes a good point. is there one costumes everyone keeps using or is it that easy to DIY your own Gargoyle King?

“UR-KING,” JUGHEAD, PLEASE

oh I can see Jughead about to be disillusioned by his family coming a mile away

Archie’s soft soft sweater? confounding

at least Moose isn’t moving to Toledo, am I right

CHERYL’S SLEEVES?????????

What damn high school in America: Cheryl’s girl gang is 100% Teddy girls and I love them

THE WHITE STRIPE ON REGGIE’S SWEATER and the little black birds on Veronica’s shirt!

Gladys & JB are already a more powerful duo than FP & Jughead could ever hope to be

ARCHIE ASKS HER IF HE COULD KISS HER. THAT’S VERY SEXY OF YOU, ARCHIE. GOOD, ARCHIE

wait Moose is moving to Glendale? SABRINA-GLENDALE? MOOSE WAIT A SECOND?

NEXT WEEK: Gladys tells Veronica to pray, OH BOY

#riverdale #commentary #tropes #i say

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chiseler · 6 years

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THE GREATEST FILM COMPOSER NO ONE’S EVER HEARD OF

Over the course of roughly two decades, from the early Fifties to the late Sixties, Herman Stein composed the music for nearly two hundred films and television shows. If you’re of a certain mindset, he wrote some of the most memorable music for some of the greatest films ever made, including Creature from the Black Lagoon and The Incredible Shrinking Man. You’d never know it, though, as he only received credit on about half a dozen of the pictures he worked on. Trying to find a complete filmography can be a daunting task. Even his IMDb page is sorely incomplete and rife with inaccuracies.

In the mid-Nineties, while planning to launch a small record label devoted to releasing soundtracks from forgotten sci-fi and horror films from the Forties and Fifties, David Schecter set himself the task of tracking down some of the composers who’d worked on those pictures. Fully understanding most of these composers would have been in their eighties or nineties, at the very least he would contact their families or estates in hopes of gaining access to their written scores. One of the first he tried to find was Herman Stein.

“I don’t remember where I found the information,” Schecter recalls. “But Herman Stein had apparently died in 1984. His obituary was in Variety. So I began placing calls around town to every Stein I could find. Given there are a lot of Jewish people in Hollywood, I think this took up about a month of my life. I left messages all over town saying, ‘If you are a child of Herman Stein, please call me back. I’m trying to find out where his archives are.’ Then I moved on to other composers. One day the phone rang and my wife Katy came up to me and her face was white, and she said ‘That dead guy is on the phone.’ And I said, ‘Which dead guy?’ And she said ‘Herman Stein.’”

When Schecter picked up the phone, Stein, who had a reputation for being a bit cantankerous, demanded to know why Schecter was trying to get in touch with him.

“I said, ‘You’re THE Herman Stein?’ And he said, ‘Yeah, but how could you have heard of me? No one’s heard of me.’ I explained that he had four cuts on that Dick Jacobs record, Themes from Horror Movies, from 1959, and I’d always loved his music. He seemed really suspicious and curmudgeonly. I explained we were thinking of starting a label and wanted to record some of his film music. He wanted to know what titles, and I told him his science fiction stuff—It Came from Outer Space, This Island Earth, Tarantula and on and on. And he said, ‘Why would you want to do that crap? Do my Westerns.’ And I said, ’Nobody cares about your Westerns.’ I mean, he scored dozens of these Audie Murphy Westerns, Rock Hudson Westerns, and you have to remember those were the prestige pictures back then. Those were the ones the composers were proud of. The science fiction stuff was just disposable. So I tried to convince him people still knew who the Creature from the Black Lagoon was, and he didn’t believe me.”

Upon leaving the movie business two decades earlier, Stein and his wife Anita retreated to their home in the Hollywood Hills. He didn’t go to the movies, he didn’t read about movies, and if one came on the television he’d snap it off. That was all part of his past life, and it didn’t interest him anymore. In fact, Schecter says, he was happy to hear about that Variety obituary, as it meant he had an excuse for not dealing with people anymore.

“I remember one thing that was really interesting to me and kind of put things in perspective,” says Schecter. “I told him I wanted to record some of the music from The Mole People, and he said, ’Did I do that picture?’ Even though every time that movie came on when I was growing up, whether it was five in the afternoon or four-thirty in the morning, I’d be up watching it. For Herman, it was a job he worked on for three ore four days in between a Ma and Pa Kettle movie and a swashbuckler, and that was it. And he probably only saw the part of the movie he scored—the opening scene. It would be like me asking you, ‘What did you do on July 17th, 1984?’ Chances are you have no idea, and Herman didn’t remember it at all. It made me realize I was coming from a very different perspective than the people who actually wrote that stuff. For them it was just product they were cranking out. It doesn’t mean they weren’t doing brilliant work, just that they didn’t obsess about this stuff.”

At the time Schecter contacted him, the only bits of Stein’s music to be recorded and released on an album appeared on that legendary 1959 Dick Jacobs record. Truth Be Told, it was a pretty shabby recording, performed by what was probably a seventeen-piece ensemble which, lacking a harp, substituted an organ instead. Schecter wanted to record his music properly and faithfully. As gruff as he was, it seems Stein still had some interest in the proposition.

“So he said he wanted to give me a test. I asked him what sort of test, and he said basically ‘to see if I can trust you with my music.’ I thought, oh boy, I’ve chosen the wrong composer. Bernard Herrmann had a reputation for being difficult, and Herman Stein was difficult in his own way. Anyway, he sent me a cassette with three pieces of music on it. The instructions were to listen to it, then call him up and talk to him about it. I had no idea what I was supposed to talk to him about, but I listened to it, then called him up and just gave him my two cents worth. Apparently, and I still don’t know to this day why, I passed the test with flying colors, and he said ‘Okay, tell me what you want and I’ll get it.’”

Stein began coming over to Schecter’s home with music, Schecter began releasing Stein’s scores on his Monstrous Movie Music label, and the two remained friends for the next dozen years, until Stein’s death at age 93.

Herman Stein, born in Philadelphia in 1915, had been an astounding child prodigy. He began playing piano at age two, and first performed with an orchestra at age six. In his teens he was selling compositions to jazz ensembles, orchestrating for the likes of Count Basie, and through his twenties was composing and arranging music for the radio.

“How he learned music was, he went to the library, and he’d look at the classical scores there. Just study them,” Schecter says. “He was entirely self-taught until he came to Hollywood, and he was already in his mid-thirties by then.”

After scoring an industrial film called Career for Two, Stein took a job with Universal’s music department in 1951. His first assignment involved arranging some classical pieces for the Boris Karloff picture The Strange Door. The first things he actually scored himself were a few musical cues for a 1952 Ozzie and Harriet vehicle, Here Come the Nelsons.

“Thing about Herman, he was…different,” Schecter admits. “He had a brilliant, brilliant mind. People talk about perfect pitch, but he said perfect pitch isn’t important. If you’re a composer what’s important is having relative pitch. He would hear everything orchestrally in his head before he wrote it. Most of the great composers couldn’t do that. They would sit at the piano, hit a note, write the note down, hit another note, and so on. Herman would just sit out in his car in the parking lot at Universal and write the scores out.{Fellow Universal film composer} Irving Gertz said he and Henry Mancini would walk by, and they could see Herman in the car transcribing the music he heard in his mind. They would just shake their heads. He was taught by Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco, who taught everyone in Hollywood how to score films—Jerry Goldsmith, John Williams, so many others. Castelnuovo-Tedesco taught Herman to think everything out before he wrote it, and to write his scores in ink. You see sketches written by other composers and they’re in pencil and there are a million cross-outs and erasures, and that was just normal. It’s like being a writer like you and I are, you need to edit things. Herman wrote things out in ink, and apparently did not need to change them.”

The other thing about Herman, Schecter says, was that he was, even into his eighties, something akin to a human computer.

“I remember one day when I was doing some research on something. Herman had all his cue sheets and musical manuscripts in a closet at his home in Hollywood. I called him up one night and asked him about a piece of music he’d written for a Western in 1954. And I said, ‘It’s a piece called ‘On to Socorro’ or something like that. I told him I was wondering about why he did something the way he did there. And he said ‘Hmm, let me think about that for a second.’ He went over to the piano, and all of a sudden I heard this full orchestral version coming out of the piano. He’s not just hitting the notes with one finger, he was playing with flourishes and everything. You could hear the brass the way he was playing. It was about a two minute piece, and he’d played it perfectly, so far as I could tell because I’d been watching the film version. He got done with it, and I asked how he’d found the music so quickly. He said ‘Didn’t—I did it from memory.’ I asked him when he’d last heard the music, and he said ‘Only at the recording session.’ He’d written literally thousands of pieces of music, he’d written this one back in 1954. It was performed once, put away in his closet, and that was it. But he could play every single nuance of it fifty years later. He could do that with anything he’d written.”

In the early Fifties, Joe Gershenson was the head of Universal’s music department, and his second in command was composer Milt Rosen. Stein, Irving Gertz, Henry Mancini and others were mere contract composers. When a new picture was finished, it was determined how much time was left before the scheduled release, and how much money was left in the budget for music. Then Rosen, a couple of the composers, and the music editor would get together for a screening.

“They would decide which parts needed music and which didn’t,” Schecter explained. “They’d be doing that with the music editor, who’d be writing all these things down. Then depending on how much time they had and what the budget was. They would decide which parts needed new music, because that would take more time given the composer would have to write it, as they’d have to derive parts for the orchestra to play. All that versus how much older music they could use, maybe re-writing it slightly, or just re-using it as is. I’m not talking about using original recordings. But the written music. They already had the scores and the parts there, and wouldn’t have to spend the money on the copyist, and they wouldn’t have to spend the time. Some films would be completely scored, others would be a mix of new and old music, some would have nothing but older music. Then one or more of the composers would rearrange that older music to make it fit with the new music.

“Let’s say a few composers—Mancini, Gertz and Stein—were working together on a picture like The Monolith Monsters. For some reason, Irving Gertz scored most of The Monolith Monsters. Eighty percent of it. Some of the music came from earlier pictures, but the majority of it was written for that picture. And The Deadly Mantis, too—they were both the same score, so to speak, written at the same time. But then there were a few pieces Mancini wrote. Maybe Irving was running out of time, or maybe he had to work on something else. I have no idea. But someone told Mancini ‘Here are your three pieces,’ and they’d give Herman his three pieces. Sometimes the composers would talk to each other, sometimes they would play each other the themes they were using, so they’d have some kind of continuity. Sometimes the scenes a certain composer would be writing were so discreet from what the other composers were doing—maybe they just had to do with a certain subplot—so they could score their own things and it wouldn’t conflict with the rest of the picture. That’s one of the appeals of the Universal scores from the Forties and Fifties—there’s so much musical material in them. It wasn’t just one composer writing a couple themes and then doing endless variations on them. You listen to Creature from the Black Lagoon, even though the Creature theme is in there, Hans Salter’s music sounds like Hans Salter, Herman Stein’s music sounds like Herman Stein. Henry Mancini’s music sounds like Henry Mancini. Then there’s some older music by Milt Rosen that sounds completely different because it came from other pictures. There’s also a cue by Robert Emmett Dolan from Mr. Peabody and the Mermaid, which had nothing to do with any of the other pictures that provided music. You end up with an incredible wealth of musical material from these grade-B horror films.”

In the end, however, particularly if there were multiple composers involved in scoring a picture, as music director it was Joe Gershenson who got the sole screen credit. This explains why Stein’s contributions went uncredited for roughly ninety-five percent of the films he worked on. So maybe it’s easy to comprehend why Stein would be a bit cantankerous.

“Herman was really something,” Schecter says. “Unfortunately he was his own worst enemy. He was a curmudgeon, and he had reason to be. Some really terrible things happened to him over his life that probably would have destroyed many a weaker man. So Herman could be bitter at times, and I understood that. But he was also very funny and incredibly smart. He should have done so much better in terms of his career, but again he was his own worst enemy. He was very opinionated, and very ethical. In Hollywood, there are not a lot of people with ethics, and Herman would call you on it. That’s why we got along so great, because I’m honest all the time, and Herman knew he could trust me. But he burned a lot of bridges, unfortunately. After the music department was taken down in 1958, Joe Gershenson wanted him to score John Huston’s Freud. I won’t tell you what Herman said, but it was very insulting to Gershenson . It was also very true, but he shouldn’t have said it. Gershenson told him, ‘you’re never gonna work on another film again,’ and Herman didn’t, except for {Roger Corman’s 1962 feature} The Intruder. Maybe that’s one of the reasons he liked The Intruder so much.

When the music department was dissolved, Stein, Irving Gertz, Hans Salter, Mancini and the others suddenly found themselves out of work. Gertz moved over to 20th Century Fox, and managed to bring a few others with him, including Stein. For the next decade, Stein would compose the music for TV shows like Lost in Space and Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea. A young Jerry Goldsmith, meanwhile, snagged his first high-profile job by scoring Freud back at Universal.

“Mancini was and unbelievably talented composer,” Schecter says. “Herman was also unbelievably talented. I think Herman could have had a much better career than he did. Mancini early on had the reputation for being the tunesmith. Whenever there was a song, they would ask Henry to write it, or they’d bring in one of their staff songwriters, or they would go to a freelance person. But Herman could write some really, really, beautiful melodies that he had hoped would be turned into a record so he could have a hit. But Universal didn’t allow him to do that. He got kinda bitter over that, and I can understand why, because I’ve heard some of his tunes. Just listen to ‘Sand Rock,’ the cue that opens It Came From Outer Space right after the main titles. Just absolutely gorgeous music, and you could have easily thrown lyrics on that and had a hit song, but they weren’t going to do that for Herman.”

Stein and his wife lived quietly for two decades, Herman focused on his commodities investments, until Schecter lured him back out into the world by calling attention to his music.

“It was both good and bad,” he says. “He always let you know how much you were putting him out, but you could tell how much he liked it beneath the rough exterior. When someone would call him up from a TV or radio show, he’d just light up. He felt he’d been forgotten, as a lot of these composers did. It was kind of difficult at the beginning. And I think there was a little resentment there—‘Oh NOW they’re discovering me, now that I’m too old to get jobs out of it.’ You can understand that, you don’t want to be recognized when you’re on your death bed, you want to be recognized when you can still produce. Herman was well aware of the career he could have had. I’m glad he lived long enough that I could show him books that make reference to him and his music.

“He still did amazing things,” Schecter went on. “To my mind he was the sound of 1950s science fiction. As wonderful as the other composers were. Herman was involved with a lot of the bigger, more important films. The scenes that he scored and the way he scored them, that’s what you think of when you think of the science fiction films of that era. One thing about Herman’s style that set it apart from the others, he could use dissonance to his advantage. He didn’t write atonal things like Alex North, where sometimes you don’t want to listen to them because they’re so harsh. But he could push the envelope, especially with the brass, to where it bordered on being dissonant, but it wasn’t. So he could create these sounds that sounded like horror and monsters, but were also fun to listen to. They didn’t repel you, they didn’t hurt your ear drums. I think that was his strength. You listen to the cue ‘Visitors from Space’ from It Came From Outer Space, and you can hear him pushing it so close to where it’s gonna hurt, but in the end it’s beautiful. You could probably slow dance to that piece, but it’s definitely strident. When you listen to all his music from all those movies, you say, ‘Yup, that’s 1950s horror.’”

by Jim Knipfel

#Jim Knipfel #The Chiseler #Herman Stein #The Creature From The Black Lagoon #It Came From Outer Space #Horror Music

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patriotsnet · 3 years

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How Many Republicans Are Running For President

New Post has been published on https://www.patriotsnet.com/how-many-republicans-are-running-for-president/

How Many Republicans Are Running For President

How Black Republicans Are Debunking The Myth Of A Voter Monolith

How GOP retirements are making the 2022 midterm elections a Trump referendum

African American politicians and activists on the right say theyve found support in the black community through dialogue

For Brad Mole, venturing into Republican politics didnt start with a sudden awakening to conservatism. It was his religious upbringing and way of life that brought him to the Republican party.

My faith pushed me more toward policies that better reflected my upbringing, he said. I began understanding that the teachings I was raised with were more reflected in a party that not many around me identified with.

The son of a preacher in the Lowcountry region of South Carolina, Mole is now taking his politics a giant leap forward, challenging the Democrat Joe Cunningham for his US congressional seat.

As analysts debunk the myth of the black voter monolith, some black Republicans are stepping forward to counter stereotypes and assert a political identity very different from the usual assumption that all black Americans are Democrats, especially in the era of Donald Trump.

As one of seven Republicans running for the seat, Mole credits his religious background for his motivations to join the crowded race. Those same traditions are often associated with centrist African American political leanings. But for black Americans like Mole, their conservatism leads some to question whether their political party and preferences actually match their worldview.

But hes not out to change minds; he wants rebuild a sense of community.

Political Primaries: How Are Candidates Nominated

Article two, section one of the United States Constitution discusses the procedures to be followed when electing the president of the United States, but it does not provide guidance for how to nominate a presidential candidate. Currently, candidates go through a series of state primaries and caucuses where, based on the number of votes they receive from the electorate, they are assigned a certain number of delegates who will vote for them at their party’s convention.

Earlier party conventions were raucous events, and delegates did not necessarily represent the electorate. Mrs. J.J. McCarthy describes her convention experience:

I can picture … the great Democratic convention of 1894 at the old coliseum in Omaha… right now I can hear the Hallelluiahs of the assembled. Oh how I wish I had back the youth and the enthusiasm I felt that night, I jumped on a chair and ask that by a rising vote the nomination be made unanimous, how the people yelled, how the packed gallories applauded, it cheers an old man now to think about it.

Politics played a big part in the life of this town years ago. Campaigns were hot, and there was always a big celebration afterwards. … Votes used to be bought — that is before the secret ballot was adopted. Some sold ’em pretty cheap. I remember one old fellow who sold out to one party for a dollar — then sold out to the other for the same price.

State Primaries And Caucuses For The Presidential Elections

State primaries are run by state and local governments. Voting happens through secret ballot.

Caucuses are private meetings run by political parties. Theyre held at the county, district, or precinct level. In most, participants divide themselves into groups according to the candidate they support. Undecided voters form their own group. Each group gives speeches supporting its candidate and tries to get others to join its group. At the end, the number of voters in each group determines how many delegates each candidate has won.

Both primaries and caucuses can be open,closed, or some hybrid of the two.

During an open primary or caucus, people can vote for a candidate of any political party.

During a closed primary or caucus, only voters registered with that party can take part and vote.

Semi-open and semi-closed primaries and caucuses are variations of the two main types.

Recommended Reading: How Many Seats Did Republicans Lose In The House

Affordable Care Act Lawsuit

See also: State Attorneys General Against the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act of 2010

Abbott was one of 13 state attorneys general who initiated a 2010 lawsuit challenging the constitutionality of the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act. The suit argued that the individual mandate fell outside of the federal governmentâs authority and that the requirement for state Medicaid expansion of coverage violated state sovereignty. The case was ultimately heard before the Supreme Court, which ruled to uphold the individual mandate as falling within Congressâ authority to levy taxes and struck down the Medicaid expansion as being unduly coercive in light of the withholding of funding that would result from noncompliance.

Sen Marco Rubio Of Florida

Like Cruz, Rubio would enter the 2024 presidential race with heightened name ID and experience from his 2016 run. One of Rubios biggest challenges, though, could be his fellow Floridians. If DeSantis and fellow Sen. Rick Scott run, there could be just one ticket out of Florida, a Republican strategist said.

Rubio, 49, is married to Jeanette Dousdebes and they have four children. He graduated from the University of Florida and University of Miami School of Law and was speaker of the Florida House of Representatives before running for U.S. Senate in 2010.

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Fragment Of Lincoln Speech To Kentuckians

A fragment of President Lincolnâs First Inaugural Address is attached to this speech intended for Kentuckians, indicating that it was prepared prior to his journey from Springfield to Washington. The assumption is that Lincoln either planned to receive a delegation from Kentucky during his stop in Cincinnati, or to make a quick excursion into his home state to deliver the speech. The speech itself confirms Lincolnâs belief that there was nothing he could say to appease the South without betraying the principles upon which he had been elected.

Abraham Lincoln. Speech intended for Kentuckians, February 1861. Holograph letter. Robert Todd Lincoln Papers, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress Digital ID # al0082p1, al0082p2

Bookmark this item: //www.loc.gov/exhibits/lincoln/the-run-for-president.html#obj23

Republican Nominee Shows Humility

William D. Kelley, a Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, attorney and judge, served as a delegate to the 1860 Republican National Convention in Chicago. Kelley joined Lincoln in Washington in 1861 as a Republican member of the U.S. House of Representatives, an office he continued to hold until his death in 1890. In responding to Kelleyâs offer to inscribe his two-volume work on international law to Lincoln, the Republican nominee for president showed that he had not lost sight of his humble origins.

Bookmark this item: //www.loc.gov/exhibits/lincoln/the-run-for-president.html#obj13

Read Also: Which Republicans Might Vote For Impeachment

Abraham Lincoln Replies To A Political Rival

Cassius Clay, an enthusiastic but undisciplined Kentucky abolitionist, thought he should be the next president of the United States. Clay would have settled for vice president, but he accepted the fact that the party needed an Eastern Democrat to balance the ticket. Aware that Clay lacked the necessary judgment to manage either office effectively, Lincoln sidestepped Clayâs direct solicitation for a prominent place in the possible future Republican administration.

Bookmark this item: //www.loc.gov/exhibits/lincoln/the-run-for-president.html#obj7

Primaries Were Beauty Contests

Donald Trump to decide on 2024 Presidential run| White House | Latest English News | World News

Eisenhower

When primaries did play a substantive role, it was instead through their function as beauty contests. Winning the 1952 New Hampshire primary let Dwight Eisenhower prove that rank-and-file Republicans, and not just party bosses, were more interested in picking a winner than in picking an orthodox conservative thus giving the establishment permission to do what it wanted and go with Ike.

But both of these examples were making a point to persuade party leaders, not a way to override their preferences.

The fundamental inefficacy of the primaries was driven home by the bitter 1968 Democratic nomination contest that ultimately went to Vice President Hubert Humphrey, who didn’t even enter any primary elections.

But the tumultuous, riot-scarred convention where it happened, followed by electoral defeat at the hands of Richard Nixon, spurred massive change.

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How To Become President Of The United States

The U.S. Constitution’s Requirements for a Presidential Candidate:

At least 35 years old

A natural born citizen of the United States

A resident of the United States for 14 years

Step 1: Primaries and Caucuses

There are many people who want to be president. Each of these people have their own ideas about how our government should work.; People with similar ideas belong to the same political party. This is where primaries and caucuses come in. Candidates from each political party campaign throughout the country to win the favor of their party members.

Caucus: In a caucus, party members select the best candidate through a series of discussions and votes.

Primary: In a primary, party members vote for the best candidate that will represent them in the general election.

Step 2: National Conventions

Each party holds a national convention to finalize the selection of one presidential nominee. At each convention, the presidential candidate chooses a running-mate .

Step 3: General Election

The presidential candidates campaign throughout the country in an attempt to win the support of the general population.

People in every state across the country vote for one president and one vice president. When people cast their vote, they are actually voting for a group of people known as electors.

Step 4: Electoral College

In the Electoral College system, each state gets a certain number of electors based on its total number of representatives in Congress.

Definitions:

You can;.

Road To The Nomination

Lincolnâs remarkable performance in a series of seven debates with Senator Douglas drew the attention of Republican Party leaders in New York and New England.;Invited East to speak, Lincoln delivered one of the best speeches of his career at Manhattanâs famous Cooper Union.;Horace Greeley immediately reproduced the speech in his widely read New York Tribune, and Lincoln began to be thought of as a potential presidential candidate. With the help of able advisors, Lincoln orchestrated a successful campaign for the 1860 Republican nomination for president.

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Campaign Buttons From 1860

In 1860, after the invention of the economical tintype process, candidatesâ images appeared on campaign buttons for the first time. The buttons shown here display a portrait of Lincoln on one side and an image of vice-presidential candidate Hannibal Hamlin on the reverse.

1 of 5

Abraham Lincoln and Hannibal Hamlin campaign buttons, 1860. Tintypes with metal casings. , Library of Congress Digital ID # ppmsca-19432

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Here Are The Republicans To Keep An Eye On For 2024

Republicans are paying extra attention to a number of Republican governors, senators, and former officials that might consider making a run for president in 2024.

The contenders come from various contingents of right-leaning thought, and will be fighting to capture parts of former President Donald Trumps base. Whichever Republican hopeful prevails will not only become the Republican Partys nominee, but also help determine the ideological trajectory of the Republican Party in the post-Trump era.

Vice President Mike Pence

Its not uncommon for vice presidents to follow up their stint as second-in-command with a run for president. Former President John Adams, the nations second president, was Americas first vice president under President George Washington. More recently, President Joe Biden became the 46th president four years after he ended his eight-year tenure as former President Barack Obamas vice president.

Vice President Mike Pence might decide to do the same, but Pences relationship with Trump seems to be severely tarnished after Pence did not contest the certification of the Electoral College results, as reported by The Hill.

Senator Ted Cruz

Texas Republican Sen. Ted Cruz could run for president again come 2024 after he defended his senate seat in 2018 from Democratic challenger Beto ORourke. Cruzs bid for the presidency in 2016 ended in failure as Trump captured the Republican Partys nomination.

Senator Josh Hawley

Governor Ron DeSantis

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Elites Still Matter Enormously In Primaries

George H.W. Bush

Just when journalists and political scientists were ready to proclaim the death of parties in favor of candidate-centered politics, the pendulum started to swing back.

Over the past 35 years, incumbent presidents have had zero problems obtaining renomination even presidents like George H.W. Bush and Bill Clinton who alienated substantial segments of the party base with ideological heterodoxy during their first term. Reagan and Clinton both passed the baton to their vice presidents without much trouble.

Insurgent candidates who caught fire with campaigns explicitly promising to shake up the party establishment Gary Hart in 1984, Pat Robertson in 1988, Jerry Brown in 1992, Pat Buchanan in 1996, John McCain and Bill Bradley in 2000, Howard Dean in 2004, Mike Huckabee in 2008, and Rick Santorum in 2012 repeatedly gained headlines and even won state primaries.

But while 1970s insurgents were able to use early wins to build momentum, post-Reagan insurgents were ground down by the sheer duration and expansiveness of primary campaigns.

Tactics that worked in relatively low-population, cheap states like Iowa and New Hampshire simply couldn’t scale without access to the broad networks of donors, campaign staff, and policy experts that establishment-backed candidates enjoyed.

It’s this “invisible primary” among party elites that truly matters.

Endorsements were better at predicting the outcome than polls, fundraising numbers, or media coverage.

Former Vice President Mike Pence

Historically, experience as Veep isnt a bad launching pad for the presidency. Six former vice presidents went on to become president, including, of course, President Joe Biden, and an additional five won their partys nomination. For 61-year-old Pence, though, the upside of his time as vice president is more of an open question.

Trumps 2020 pollster Tony Fabrizio found that if the former president doesnt run in the 2024 election, his supporters gravitate most to Pence, DeSantis and Sen. Ted Cruz of Texas, so there is plenty of support there. But on Jan. 6, when Pence announced Biden as the winner of the 2020 election, he complicated things.

Hes got this tricky position, said Steven Webster, and assistant professor of political science at Indiana University Bloomington. I think increasingly the base of the Republican Party is aligned with Donald Trump, and Mike Pence is really seen with hostility by Trumps base, simply for performing his constitutional duty on the 6th.

Pence appears to be well aware of the predicament. Earlier this month, he published an op-ed voicing his concern over supposed voting irregularities in the 2020 election, though he didnt mention any specifically. Trumps own administration said the election was the most secure in American history.

Pence and his wife, Karen, have three children. Pence is a former conservative radio host who served seven terms in the U.S. House before becoming governor of Indiana.

Also Check: Why Republicans Want To Repeal Aca

Lincolns Cooper Union Address

Lincolnâs debates with Stephen A. Douglas brought him to national attention, including an invitation to speak at Cooper Union in New York City. In one of the most carefully prepared speeches of his career, Abraham Lincoln argued that twenty-one signers of the United States Constitution believed that the federal government should exercise control over slavery in the territories. Hence, the position of the Republican Party on the westward expansion of slavery was not revolutionary, but instead was consistent with the wishes of the Founding Fathers. The speech is significant because it won Lincoln the support of Republican Party leaders in the East and led to his nomination as the partyâs presidential candidate.

Speech of Hon. Abraham Lincoln, in New York, in Vindication of the Policy of the Framers of the Constitution and the Principles of the Republican Party. Delivered in the Cooper Institute, Feb. 27th, 1860. Springfield, IL: Bailhache & Baker, 1860. Rare Book and Special Collections Division, Library of Congress Digital ID # al0047_1, al0047_2, al0047_3, al0047_4, al0047_5, al0047_6, al0047_7, al0047_8

Bookmark this item: //www.loc.gov/exhibits/lincoln/the-run-for-president.html#obj1

South Dakota Gov Kristi Noem

The GOP is still very much the ‘party of Donald Trump

Noem, 49, has seen her profile rise during the pandemic, and she also had a high-profile moment last summer when she hosted Trump at Mount Rushmore for the Fourth of July. Noem gifted Trump with a Mount Rushmore replica that included his face, and her growing connection with Trump fueled speculation that he was considering swapping her for Pence as his running mate. She reportedly visited Washington, D.C., weeks later to smooth things over with Pence, according to The New York Times.

Noem isnt one to back down from culture wars fights. She recently came under fire from social conservatives for not signing a bill she originally said she supported barring transgender athletes from competing in sports. Noem cited her concern that the state would be punished by the NCAA, but followed up last week with executive orders restricting transgender athletes in K-12 schools and colleges.

Noem also recently got in a Twitter fight with Lil Nas X over his limited-edition Satan Shoes. The rapper responded to her tweet by saying, ur a whole governor and u on here tweeting about the shoes. Noem fired back with a Bible verse from Matthew 16:26.

Like DeSantis, Noem has played up her states more hands-off approach to handling COVID-19, but the virus has devastated South Dakota. More than 1,900 people have died in the rural state, and it has the eighth-highest death rate per 100,000 people in the U.S., according to data compiled by Statista.

Read Also: Why Do Republicans Like Donald Trump

Cancellation Of State Caucuses Or Primaries

The Washington Examiner reported on December 19, 2018, that the South Carolina Republican Party had not ruled out forgoing a primary contest to protect Trump from any primary challengers. Party chairman Drew McKissick stated, “Considering the fact that the entire party supports the president, we’ll end up doing what’s in the president’s best interest.” On January 24, another Washington Examiner report indicated that the Kansas Republican Party was “likely” to scrap its presidential caucus to “save resources”.

In August 2019, the Associated Press reported that the Nevada Republican Party was also contemplating canceling their caucuses, with the state party spokesman, Keith Schipper, saying it “isn’t about any kind of conspiracy theory about protecting the president;… He’s going to be the nominee;… This is about protecting resources to make sure that the president wins in Nevada and that Republicans up and down the ballot win in 2020.”

Kansas, Nevada and South Carolina’s state committees officially voted on September 7, 2019, to cancel their caucus and primary. The Arizona state Republican Party indicated two days later that it will not hold a primary. These four were joined by the Alaska state Republican party on September 21, when its central committee announced they would not hold a presidential primary.

Virginia Republicans decided to allocate delegates at the state convention.

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stshyt · 3 years

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the numbers and overall driving experience put up here

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brulermag · 6 years

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An Immigrant Nation

I remember taking the Greyhound to Houston, Texas coming from New Jersey, and there was a long line. This was the third connection I'd made and I was exhausted. Carrying around a few bags, I listened to my music while I waited to check in. Suddenly, my headphones got caught on my jacket and snapped and I was visibly upset. The guy behind me who was Mexican, reached into his bag and without hesitation, handed me a pair of headphones. "There you go! I know how it is to be without music on these long rides." "Thank you so much!"

We proceeded to get on the bus and he sat next to me. "I'm heading back to Houston to see my wife. I've been gone for a while and I can't wait to see her." He pulled out a picture and said, "This is Kelly and my daughter Raye." This man seemed proud of his family and his eyes welled up when he spoke about them. His name was Guadalupe and he lived in Houston, Texas but was coming from Louisiana because of work there. He was undocumented and was trying to make a living for his family. Because Texas is predominantly Mexican-American, he said he was shunned by his own community because he could not afford paperwork and staying legally in this country.

"They say they are a community and help each other, but Mexicans who come here and have babies born here in the USA tell their kids to look and act white and to not speak Spanish. They don't ever tell you this but its true. They feel that it will give their children a better future to submit to White people rather than challenge the 'norm.' And then the ones that are newly undocumented, well they don't help much. Some people are very welcoming but my very own people have looked down on me. I don't expect people to help though, so I look for whatever work there is to support my family. This time around, it's in Louisiana. And pretty soon I'll move my family down here. Its hard because if I do the move and I lose my job because of ICE, or before I get my paperwork to be legal, I can be deported and what will happen of my family?" This was in 2000.

A few years later, I was a server at a very popular restaurant in Philadelphia and as I waited for patrons to come and dine, I stood next to one of the bus boys and talk to kill time. His name was Reimundo and he was an undocumented Mexican. He was super polite, soft spoken, well mannered and kind. He did everything with a smile and never asked questions. I asked him if he planned to go from bus boy to server because of his demeanor and professionalism.

He looked up and said, "I cannot." "How come?" I asked. "You'd be great!" As naive as I was, I asked those questions. I'm a Puerto Rican. We're American citizens. Born and raised in New Jersey. While I have faced racism I could never walk in the footsteps of Reimundo. I never had to move to a new place and learn a new language. In a place where they didn't want me. Where I don't really exist because I can't afford a visa/citizenship. That I would be giving myself away if I tried to apply because I was already in the country illegally...simply because I wanted a better life for myself and too often times my family. I can't even imagine how that feels. Where do I go? Where do I stay? What do I do? As Americans, we complain about a lot of things, but this is a whole other level.

If you're harassed or a victim of crime, who do you go to? Many undocumented people never see a doctor or a lawyer or a cop simply because they are afraid to be reported and taken away. Reimundo looked and me and said, "I begged for this job. I have friends who know the owner and they told him I was a hard worker. He liked me and here I am. I can't become a server. It's too suspicious." "So how long have you been in America?" "3 and a half years." "Did you come with your family?" "No. I came alone. My entire family is in Mexico. I came here for them. There was no jobs in Mexico. Nothing. My family was facing extreme poverty. My mother was getting sicker. I needed to do something. She told me not to come because she feared for my safety, but I would do anything for my mamita linda."

I didn't ask him how he got here because I felt like I was already being intrusive. But he told me anyway: "I ran. I ran and ran and it took a long time but I finally got over." He paused and walked over to a table to pour water. He came back and opened a small booklet he had in his back pocket. "This is my saint of a mother." "When was the last time you saw her? Does she come here to visit?" "I haven't seen my mother physically since I came here. 3 and a half years. And I miss them like crazy." "Don't you ever feel lonely and want to hug them? I know if it was me, I'd go crazy." "Well, yes of course! But I am here working hard for them. Every dime is for her and my brothers and sisters. I leave here and I go to my other job. I repeat. This is my life. I made this sacrifice for them. I don't regret it one bit."

With the hostility of The Trump Era almost 17 years later, you'd think being an illegal immigrant was the worst crime ever. But actually, early settlers of America were the first immigrants and basically claimed America for their own. There wasn't formal paperwork like there was to keep slaves or free them; there were no laws against them. And as they established their usurpation, they made their own laws according to land ownership and everything else. By the late 1800's, they sent for their families. It wasn't relatively easy to get on a boat and get here, because late 1800's immigrants faced racism themselves in America. But they eventually came over and made their place in every fiber of American History. Because of immigrants we have a melting pot of food, culture, jobs, education, art and everything else you can name of.

It seemed that if you were from Europe, America was a sure fire way to get ahead in life. But for Asians and existing African Americans this was not the case. There were rules in place during The Gold Rush of 1849. When The Chinese heard of these opportunities, they migrated to America but Americans weren't too happy about that. They put in place The Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 to exclude The Chinese from taking advantage of The Gold Rush. The opening of Ellis Island in 1892 was truly the first Federal Immigration Station. While Europeans struggled to make their place in America, they eventually fit right in by designating parts all over America where their like kind was. Laws favoring European countries for immigration ended in 1965 and allowed Asians and Latin Americans to make their way to America for a "Better Life."

But it wasn't a very good life for Latin Americans. They were stereotyped, made fun of in pop culture, were designated as "Lovers" and "Salsa Dancers" and were ridiculed for their accents. It's always been hard for Latin Americans to climb corporate ladders because a Latino was not seen as a formidable opponent in the business field. To this day, you can count on your fingers the number of Latinos who have won Oscars and in 60 years of The Grammys, very few Latinos have performed LIVE. In fact, you can count on your fingers how many have.

Latinos have been discounted in American History even when we make history in America. There have been limited views of immigrants and their descendants so how do we expect America to understand an illegal immigrant at all? It doesn't surprise me one bit when Middle American White People on The Right shake their finger at illegal immigrants. Those are the very people that employed them in fields, in the back of kitchens and everywhere else. As soon as a dictator like Trump stepped in and said they'd get tax breaks, they sold them out on a dime. That's the American way sometimes.

America is an Immigrant Nation. A rich, colorful nation that have borrowed from our customs, creativity, culture and the list goes on and on. I have to remind you that not every white person feels the same way many do about illegal or legal immigrants. And millions agree that we should be a country of opening our arms and welcoming all. But at the same time, they do need to be more vocal about it, especially during this time. These are the times where being white and vocal really matters. But do not mistake the rest of America and every race and ethnicity...WE do not need a white face to lead us; but we do not mind the allies.

Here are some reasons America should get off their moral high horse: Most of our cities, states and counties are named in Spanish, you just don't know it because white people butcher pronunciation of foreign language! All joking aside, some white people from the reddest of states live in counties that are either Spanish, Native American or of some foreign language. Remember America is rich in diversity even way before immigration became common. But that's another American History lesson on how The French, The British, The Spanish made their marks in America.

America is an Immigrant Nation. The most famous restaurants and foods white people absolutely love and frequent are Mexican Restaurants. In fact, they think every Latino in the world are Mexicans and think we all make mole and tacos. If we're in 2018 and most Americans didn't know Puerto Rico was part of The United States, you can imagine how immigrants of any nationality today are hesitant to come here.

And when we hear "We need things made in America again" these are from people who had no problem sending off their products to be made in China because it is cheaper. In fact, America has relied on China for a long time in terms of trade relations and everything else. Even Trump who co-signed on this slogan has his products made anywhere but America. And while some American companies boast they now make everything in America, its simply a fad and they will return to investing with The Chinese and everyone else. So where does this leave immigrants today?

Well, Trump is looking into keeping Illegal immigrants and probably legal ones from getting government benefits and government housing. He's trying to build a wall (which is really a verbal threat more than anything), he's bad mouthing immigrants of all kinds and he's trying to discredit ethnicity in general. He's stripping away sanctuary cities and wants Europeans to infiltrate Puerto Rico to boost the economy and migrate to America to replace immigrants. In other words, MORE WHITE FACES IS BETTER.

It all comes down to Trump's presidential victory and the true colors of a weak minority called White People; who will certainly do anything to destroy any race that isn't their own. Once a land of the free, America has become the most racist modern country in the world. Other countries laugh at us, our president and the policies. Trump is destroying everything with the help from half the country. But this doesn't kill the resilience of The American People (and by American People I mean those who aren't traitors); We will persevere, we will grow, we will continue to allow immigrants and we will celebrate every national and cultural tradition of ALL including white people.

America is an Immigrant Nation. Say it loud, hold it in your heart and cling to it. I leave you with this: O beautiful for spacious skies, For amber waves of grain, For purple mountain majesties Above the fruited plain! America! America! God shed His grace on thee And crown thy good with brotherhood From sea to shining sea! O beautiful for pilgrim feet, Whose stern, impassioned stress A thoroughfare for freedom beat Across the wilderness! America! America! God mend thine every flaw, Confirm thy soul in self-control, Thy liberty in law! O beautiful for heroes proved In liberating strife, Who more than self their country loved And mercy more than life! America! America! May God thy gold refine, Till all success be nobleness, And every gain divine! O beautiful for patriot dream That sees beyond the years Thine alabaster cities gleam Undimmed by human tears! America! America! God shed His grace on thee And crown thy good with brotherhood From sea to shining sea!

#An Immigrant Nation #America #USA #Immigrants

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