#window replacement in Washington | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ruewrote · 1 month ago

Text

𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑔𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑟𝑖𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑒.

PAIRING: ghostface!joshwashington x fem!reader WARNINGS: obsession, breaking in and entering, no use of y/n GENRE: dark romance SONG INSPIRATION: heartbeat by childish gambino WORD COUNT: 2k

navigation | ask | josh washington masterlist

the city’s familiar hum drifted through the windows of your apartment, a constant murmur that usually comforted you. tonight though? it was drowned out by the pounding of your heart, louder than the traffic outside. you sat curled up on the couch, trying to focus on a movie, but your mind kept drifting back to the unsettling feeling that had been gnawing at you for weeks.

at first, it was subtle. small things you couldn��t quite explain. the sense of being watched when you walked down the street. strange calls in the middle of the night that hung up the moment you answered them. then, you began noticing changes in your apartment. things out of place. your doors slightly ajar when you were sure you’d closed them

and then came the messages.

the first one had been just a picture, your apartment building, taken from across the street. the second was a shot of you, taken through your window while you were inside, unaware. you tried to tell yourself it was just a sick prank, but deep down, you knew better. someone was watching you.

your phone buzzed, making you jump. glancing down at the screen, your stomach twisting as you saw the notification. another unknown number. you didn’t want to answer, but you knew you couldn’t ignore it.

taking a deep breath, you pick up.

“hello?” your voice was steady, but your hand trembled slightly.

silence greeted you at first. then, a voice. low and distorted in your ear.

“you shouldn’t leave your curtains open like that. i can see everything.”

your heart stopped. the voice was unfamiliar, masked by some kind of device that made it impossible to recognize. but the words made your blood run cold. you glanced toward the windows, the curtains drawn, but it didn’t matter. you felt exposed, vulnerable.

“who is this?” you demanded, trying to keep your voice firm, though the tremor of fear betrayed you.

the voice chuckled, slow and deliberate. “you’ve been asking the wrong questions. it’s not who i am… it’s when i’ll come for you.”

you swallowed hard, backing away from the window, scanning the room. “this isn’t funny,” you said, the quiver in your voice made it clear you didn’t believe your own words.

“oh, it’s no joke,” the voice replied smoothly. “i’ve been watching you for a long time. waiting for the right moment. you never even seemed to notice.”

the air felt thick, like it was pressing down on you, making it harder to breathe. you gripped your phone tighter, your mind racing trying to find some kind of explanation. “what do you want from me?”

another chuckle, darker this time. “i just want you to listen. i want you to understand that you’re mine. no one else gets to have you.”

you stumbled back, your hand gripping the edge of the kitchen counter to steady yourself.

“you’re insane,” you whispered.

“no,” the voice replied, a soft menace threading through. “i’m just patient and i’m finally done waiting.”

pounding at the door made you drop the phone in shock. you spun around, staring at the entrance to your apartment, your pulse quickening. the knock came again, slower and more deliberate, like whoever was on the other side knew you were too scared to answer.

without thinking, you grabbed the phone off the floor, your hands shaking as you dialed the police. but before you could even hit send, another message appeared on the screen, a photo of your door, taken from the hallway. the same door now rattling as the knocks turned more aggressive.

“i told you i’d be close,” the voice hissed through the phone, as if reading your thoughts.

you clutched the phone to your chest, backing away from the door. it was locked, but you knew that wouldn’t stop him for long. panic surged through you as the knocks stopped, replaced by a chilling silence. the calm before the storm.

your phone buzzed again, a text this time. you stared down at it, dread settling in the pit of your stomach as you read the message:

let me in, or i’ll let myself in.

you swallowed hard, your eyes darting to the window. fifth floor. no fire escape. there was no way out.

then, the door clicked.

your blood froze as you heard the subtle sound of the lock turning, the doorknob twisting slowly. you had locked it, you were sure of it. but now it was opening, inch by inch. and then, through the crack of the door, you saw it, pale white and expressionless. the mask.

they stepped inside, closing the door behind them with a slow, deliberate movement. they were tall, dressed in black, their gloved hands resting calmly at their sides. they didn’t speak, just stood there, the mask tilting slightly as whoever it was regarded you, as though you were the prey they’d finally caught.

your breath came in shallow gasps as you backed away, your mind racing for a plan. you grabbed a kitchen knife from the counter, holding it in front of you with trembling hands.

“stay back!” you shouted, though the fear in your voice was unmistakable.

the masked figure tilted their head again, then slowly reached up to the mask. for a moment, you thought they were going to lunge, but instead, they pulled the mask off in one fluid motion, revealing the face beneath.

it was josh.

your heart thundered in your chest when the realisation crashed down on you. your friend. someone you’d trusted, laughed with, shared countless moments with, was standing in front of you, twisted by something dark.

josh smiled, but it wasn’t the familiar, friendly smile you knew. it was something darker, more menacing. “surprised?”

you shook your head, trying to make sense of what you were seeing. “josh… why?”

he stepped closer, ignoring the knife you held between you. “why? because i’ve always wanted you and you never saw it. never saw me. but now… you don’t have a choice.”

you stumbled back, your mind reeling, your grip on the knife faltering. “this isn’t you,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself.

josh’s smile widened. “oh, it’s me. the real me. and i’ve been planning this for a long time.”

he lunged suddenly, and you swung the knife, but he grabbed your wrist with force, yanking the blade from your hand and tossing it aside like it was nothing. his face was inches from yours now, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered:

“no one else gets to have you, no one but me.”

your breath came out in shallow gasps as josh’s grip tightened around your wrist. his touch was too rough, too possessive, as he pulled you closer. there was something in his eyes, something disturbingly calm.

“josh, stop,” you choked out, your voice trembling, barely being able to hold back the tears. you didn’t want to believe this was the same person you had once felt a connection with, the one who made you laugh and feel safe.

his face was inches from yours now, his eyes dark with obsession. the familiar warmth that once made you feel safe was long gone, replaced by something colder, more dangerous.

“you don’t get it,” he said softly, almost as if explaining something simple to a child. “i’ve been waiting for this. for you. no one else gets you like i do.”

you shook your head, pulling at your trapped wrist. “you’re not thinking straight,” you tried to reason with him, desperation creeping into your voice. “this… this isn’t you.”

he laughed, a low, humourless sound that sent chills down your spine. “this is the real me,” he said, tilting his head. “i’ve just been hiding it. but you… you’ve always been the one i couldn’t hide from.”

you had to get out of here, had to get away from him. but he was so close, his hold on you unrelenting.

“i won’t hurt you,” he whispered, his voice turning soft again, almost affectionate. “i would never hurt you. but if you try to leave… if you run…” his eyes darkened, his expression hardening for just a second. “i can’t let that happen.”

josh’s grip tightened as you winced in pain, struggling to pull away. but no matter how much you tried, his strength overpowered you. you needed to think, to act before it was too late. the knife lay on the floor, just out of reach, glinting mockingly under the dim kitchen light.

“josh, you’re scaring me,” you whispered, your voice shaking with a mix of terror and desperation. “please, just stop. we can talk about this.”

he tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. “you don’t understand,” he said softly, as if talking to a frightened child. “there’s nothing to talk about. it’s already decided. you belong with me.”

you took another cautious step back, searching for anything that could help you escape. but he was quick, lunging forward again, catching you by the waist and pinning you against the wall. the air left your lungs as you collided, the cold surface pressing into your back.

you gasped, you could feel his breath on your skin, it taking every ounce of willpower to keep your composure. “josh, don’t do this,” you pleaded, struggling against his hold.

he leaned closer, his voice a whisper. “you can’t run from me. you’re mine now.”

with that, he pressed his body against yours and for a fleeting moment, you caught a glimpse of the boy you once knew. but the flicker of familiarity vanished just as quickly, replaced by the overwhelming dread of what he had become. you had to escape, before it was too late.

summoning every ounce of strength, you pushed against him, twisting your body just enough to create a sliver of space. “josh, please!” you cried, desperation lacing your voice. “you can still walk away!”

his expression hardened, a mix of anger and confusion flashing across his face. for an instant, it felt like he was fighting against the darkness that had taken hold of him. “you don’t understand!” he shouted, the intensity in his voice causing you to flinch. “i’ve waited too long for this!”

in that moment, you realised you couldn’t reason with him. as he leaned in, ready to press his advantage, you kicked hard at his knee, feeling it buckle beneath you. he stumbled back, surprise etched across his features.

taking your chance, you dashed past him, racing toward the door. you fumbled with the lock, your hands shaking, heart pounding as adrenaline rushed through you. you could hear him recovering, his footsteps echoing behind you. the door clicked open just as you felt his hand graze your shoulder.

“stop!” he shouted, but you didn’t look back. you burst through the door and into the dimly lit hallway, sprinting toward the stairs. the weight of his presence lifting with every stride.

you charged down the steps, the cold air rushing around you as you burst out into the night. the city lights blurred around you and the familiar sounds of traffic and laughter filled your ears, grounding you.

your lungs burned as you ran, you didn’t stop until you reached the street, gasping for breath. you turned to look back at the building, he wouldn’t follow you out here, not with so many eyes watching.

but the safety of the crowd didn’t quiet the storm of dread brewing in your chest. you’d escaped him this time, but the knowledge that he was still out there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for another opportunity to strike, gnawed at you. you could feel the weight of his gaze, a ghostly presence that would haunt your every step.

with shaking hands, you pulled out your phone and dialled 911, your voice steadying as you explained everything. but even as you spoke, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the night wasn’t truly over.

josh would never let you go.

not now, not ever.

comments and reblogs are appreciated ♡

455 notes · View notes

viceroywrites · 3 months ago

Text

the way i have this whole story for gravity falls (stan x reader x ford) and am so tempted to write it but i need to finish my other wips

so i'll just dump it out here (some of this is also somewhat inspired by the swooning over stans dating sim)

edit: i ended up making it! interested in reading? click here for the masterlist.

pretty much the premise is that you are dating ford during the time that he's deep into his research into gravity falls. you become uncomfortable seeing how bill takes over his body and the havoc bill causes when he's in ford's body and after seeing what happened to fiddleford when entering the portal, give him an ultimatum: cut ties with bill or you're done.

of course, ford chooses his research. ford chooses bill.

you can't get over him, and after countless nights of tears, you appeal to fiddleford to let you use his memory gun to erase the memory of ford from your mind.

and he does.

you move back home, confused on how you ended up in a small town in oregon but fiddleford makes up a story, saying you were an old friend, visiting him while he was doing research. you lead a normal life free of the paranormal for many years. you sometimes have dreams, visions of a face that should be familiar but you can't seem to make it out.

planning out a roadtrip through the pacific northwest, you find yourself in explicably drawn to the town of gravity falls and figure you might as well check it out since it's on the way through your drive up to washington, you figure why not.

your car ends up dying on you, the battery giving out almost five miles out of town. as you're on the phone trying to map to the nearest towing company, a gruff voice calls out, asking if you need a hand.

you look up to see stan, his window rolled down and his arm dangling out the side of the car.

why does he look familiar? you think to yourself as you put down your phone.

"yeah if you have jumper cables, i just need to get my car running to get to the next town and hopefully get a replacement battery." you say.

"of course, i have jumper cables, kid - look at my car, you think i haven't been stranded out here myself." stan chuckles, making a effortless u turn with one hand before pulling his car close to yours.

you pop the hood of your car, giving stan access to hook up the jumper cables. you both stand in silence while stan attaches the cables to your car before stan's voice cuts through, "so uh, what brings you out here? you just driving through?"

you almost chuckle at his awkwardness, "sort of. i'm doing a whole road trip through the pacific northwest. i was gonna check out this town ahead, gravity falls."

stan blinks, expecting you to just be passing through the town. his lips spread into a grin, pulling out a business card from his leather jacket. "well, if you're stopping by, you gotta check out the mystery shack! one stop shop for mysterious oddities!"

you take the business card with a giant question mark on the front. you look up at stan, almost feeling like this is a con but as your car starts up to life, you figure you might as well check out what sounds like a tourist trap to appease the man who just helped you.

after driving your car to the mystery shack, you get a tour from stan himself, who shares that he used to be the former owner. as you walk around the building, it almost feels like home, like you've been here before.

talk about deja vu.

little did you know that you would run into the man that you once loved as you rounded the corner, finishing the tour. ford was outside fiddling with a new device with his back turned to you and stan elbows you in the arm, "that's my poindexter brother, ford. he's always working on a some geeky invention."

"you know i can hear you, stanley?" ford sighs, turning around to face you two.

he freezes, seeing the woman that left him all those years ago. "y/n?" he calls out to you.

you blink, stan staring at the two of you in confusion and you tilt your head, confused yourself, "sorry... have we met before? how do you know my name?"

#gravity falls #stanford pines #stanley pines #gravity falls fanfiction #stanford x reader #stanley pines x reader #gravity falls x reader

1K notes · View notes

buryustogether · 1 year ago

Text

lilac - chapter 1

miguel o’hara x f!reader

summary: the father of one of your students is acting rather strangely - but when he smiles at you, you can’t help but forget your own name.

wc: 6k

warnings/tags: mentions of blood and violence, swearing, pining, stripping, strip club, sex workers, sexual fantasy, smut, thigh riding, fingering, oral (f! receiving), pet names, dom!miguel, single father!miguel, teacher!stripper!reader

author’s note: set in the universe where miguel replaces his father!variant with himself. ps - planning on turning this into a series/full fic.

New York

Earth - 9193

Since you could remember, the sky above the city, flecked with struggling stars and choking on itself over clouds of smog like cigarette smoke, had been deep purple. Some called it violet. Others named it plum. They were trying to make a prettier picture of an ugly reality, desperately ignoring the real world that held them captive. The purple held every soul in this city on a taut leash; each time someone was given a little slack, they wandered too far and discovered that, really, they hadn’t ever wanted to stray in the first place. Car bombings every week. Shootings. Back alley guttings. Innocence all but a foreign language to the citizens of New York.

You wished with every bit of you that one day you’d be able to escape and see the real color of the sky. Because deep down you knew, wanted to believe, wished and prayed… that it was not this shade of dark.

Your classroom was one of the only lit rooms here in Washington Elementary School, a beacon through dimly-lit hallways and the even dimmer streets outside your windows. A long, silent exhale managed to escape your lips as you continued to grade your third graders’ spelling tests, using a pink pen to correct their mistakes instead of a red one. You figured it was less harsh, more inviting to be open to learning from where they first failed. Your back was beginning to cramp from sitting in these damn little-kid chairs, your knees practically hugged to your chest due to how low to the floor you were. You would have been at your desk - hell, you would have been home getting ready for your second job right about now - had it not been for the young girl sitting across the table from you.

Gabriella O’Hara was, in your opinion, one of the most intelligent children you’d had the pleasure of teaching. She was quick and clever and friendly, not to mention, captain of her little soccer team funded by the taxes of PTA parents and the grumbling millionaires of the city. She was a frequent flier on your good-behavior list, and her name had made a home for itself on the principal’s honor roll long before she’d landed in your class.

She was a sweetheart, to say the least. She had been raised well by her father - who, uncharacteristically, had been a no show when it came time for pick up two hours ago.

Glancing up from your papers, you smiled gently at Gabriella as she scribbled along her homework page. “Briella, honey,” you said and leaned your chin in your hand. “Why don’t you check to see if your dad texted at all.”

Obediently, Gabriella dug her phone - a little flip-type, despite there being hundreds of smartphones out these days - and clicked the button to scroll through her recent texts. You watched as her face fell, thick brows and full lips pulling downward. “Nothing,” she said and placed her phone back. She looked to you, and it was obvious from the way she squirmed in her seat that her nervous stomach was starting to get the better of her. “I’m kind of scared, Miss Y/N. My daddy’s never late.”

Setting down your pink pen, you reached across the table and placed a hand on her small forearm. You’d stayed late before when parents were late for pick up, or they forgot, or they were too stoned out of their minds to bother, but you had to admit, you were rather worried, as well. Her father had never been late once, not even by five minutes. So two hours was, really, something to bat an eye at. “I’m sure everything’s fine,” you assured her and offered a gentle smile. “He probably just got held up at work. Maybe his phone died.” Your gaze flickered briefly to the windows behind her, strung across with colorful drawings and decorations, as a number of wailing police cars zipped past. When she started to follow your eyes, you added quickly, “I bet he’s on his way right now. Why don’t you finish up your homework so you can have the rest of the evening free when you get home.”

As she went back to her work, you found yourself tapping your fingernail against the table, your gaze stuck to an empty corner across the room. Miguel O’Hara was nothing but punctual, not just to everyday events like after-school pick up, but to every single thing he did. Soccer practice and games. Parent-teacher conferences. Hell, you wouldn’t put it past him to be an hour early to that fancy job of his at Alchemax every Monday through Friday. He was a perfectionist, signing every grade card check and permission slip with the neatest signature you’d ever seen. And it was a feat to marvel at, considering he was a single father.

Once, at a soccer practice, you’d heard from a few of the mothers who had nothing better to do than gossip that he’d moved himself and Gabriella over from Queens years ago when he was hired as a geneticist. Her mother had apparently left them when she was born, and he’d done everything from that moment on for the good of his little girl.

You weren’t afraid to admit to yourself he was, by far, the best-looking man you’d ever laid eyes on. Cheekbones placed high on his face, wide, broad shoulders, a sinewy frame that nearly challenged the doorframes he walked through. He was friendly, sure. But that was all you knew. You’d never been able to get close enough to know much else. An enigma to your curious mind, Miguel was nothing short of a puzzle that you desperately wanted to put together and see the bigger picture for yourself.

Shaking your head slightly, you forced yourself to wind back into the present. God, you needed to get a fucking grip. Crushing on the father of one of your students? Fucking pathetic. You had a boyfriend, for God’s sake.

You had just begun to grade your papers again, nearing the end of your stack, when there came the sounds of footsteps pounding against the tile floor of the hallway outside. They were jogging, approaching your room at an alarming rate. You stood, thinking it was the janitor having locked himself out of his closet again, and prepared to fetch your keys when a much different - yet no less welcome - figure filled the doorway.

“Hi, daddy,” said Gabriella as Miguel O’Hara entered your classroom.

You looked up, lips parted as you took him in. God, he was stunning. Somewhere around six feet with dark, somewhat-tamed hair that matched his tan skin and the thick brows sitting above his sloped eyes, he stood with a chest that rose and caved rapidly, like he’d run through the entire school searching for your room. Which he shouldn’t have - he knew the classroom his own daughter was in. Didn’t he?

“Oh, baby,” Miguel said and rounded the table so quickly you could have blinked and missed it. He hauled her up into his arms like she was nothing but a sack of flour and hugged her tight to his chest, almost like he was trying to mold the feeling of her to himself. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I lost track of time. I’m so sorry.” As if just realizing you were in the room, watching the pair with a small smile, he set his daughter back down and pulled her backpack from the back of her chair. “Pack up your things, okay? We’ll go home in just a minute.”

He approached you where you stood beside your desk loading your purse, and you swore your heart skipped a beat as he towered over you. Thick, corded muscles and a frame that made your stomach churn excitedly, he was the perfect picture of a fucking masterpiece. “Hi,” he said in a low tone, meant for you to hear and not Gabriella. “I’m so sorry for keeping you here. Time got away from me, and when I got here, the front doors were locked.” He took a breath. “Thank you. For watching her, I mean.”

Forcing your heart to calm its thundering in the confines of your chest, you grinned up at him brightly. “It’s not a problem, Mister O’Hara. I was happy to.” You decided to say nothing about the fact that it was unlike him to lose track of time. He wore a watch that you recognized as one of the latest, expensive versions that were magnetic, not electric, so it was incapable of stopping. How exactly did time get away from a man who revolved around it? “I’m sure she’s going to crash when you get home, anyway. She had a big day.”

Miguel blinked a few times and placed a hand on his hip, jutting it out slightly. Fuck, you wished he wouldn’t do that. “Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm. We had a soccer scrimmage against one of the other classes today and she pulled the winning goal. Then there was the assembly over fire safety, but I’m sure you saw that in the handout last week.”

His lips remained parted for a long moment as his dark, umber gaze traveled across the stack of next week’s announcement handouts. “Right,” he said after a moment or two. “Right. Do, uh… do you think I could have another one of those? For this week. And maybe next week’s, too. Has that been sent home already?”

Giving him a rather crooked smile, you opened a drawer in your desk and produced the light green paper with last week’s announcements. Then you stacked it beneath next week’s and extended it toward his hulking frame. “Sorry if this seems a little… personal, Mister O’Hara,” you said as he took the papers, “but are you feeling alright? I really don’t mean any offense, but you seem a little… off.”

Tilting his head slightly, Miguel seemed to hesitate, fumbling with his answer in his head. He was frozen for a brief moment before your attentions were drawn across the classroom, where Gabriella zipped up her backpack and began to trudge toward the door. “I’m alright,” he said as he turned back to you. “I just, uh… I hit my head this morning. Been a little out of sorts, but I’ll be alright.”

“Daddy,” whined Gabriella under her breath. “I’m tired.”

“Okay, princesa,” he said and met her at your door. After slinging her backpack over his own shoulder and taking her hand, he glanced back at you. “Thank you again…” You watched as his eyes flickered to your name written across the whiteboard. “...Miss Y/N.”

“You’re welcome, Mister O’Hara.” A few more words sat on your tongue, desperately trying to fight against your lips and jump out before the moment escaped. You tried to fight them down, but eventually they won the battle and spilled forth. “And - and you can just call me Y/N.”

Miguel stared at you for a moment, and you thought briefly that you had crossed a line you had been unable to see. Then he smiled gently, his full lips spreading into a gentle grin. He opened his mouth to say something in return before Gabriella pulled him out the door and into the hallway. You listened as their voices and the sounds of their footsteps grew quieter before silencing, then turned away and finished gathering your things.

On your way out of the building, while slipping through the front doors, you noticed the steel bolt lock keeping them shut after dark had been snapped entirely in two - as if someone had pulled on the door hard enough to break the lock on their own.

You figured it to have been a couple students who got their hands on their parents’ bolt cutters and made a mental note to ask the janitor for a replacement.

Once you got to your car and flipped the engine, you took a breath and glanced at yourself in the mirror. In that breath, you willed yourself to switch into the alternate persona you took on after the school days, after the sun had set and the night really came alive from its demented, hungover state during the lightest hours. You pushed your students into the back of your mind, your plans for tomorrow and upcoming projects and due dates into the recesses of your brain. You shoved back thoughts of Miguel O’Hara and everything about how much you wanted to fucking reverse time so that he could smile at you like he had tonight all over again.

It was time to really work, now.

The Menagerie was a club on the northeast side of the Financial District, where the warehouse fires and muggings weren’t quite as common. Police forces cruised through here more often than, say, Harlem or Queens; the people who ran the city had to keep their most well-paid workers protected and thriving, right? Who else would steal from the hands of the poor and throw it all away the first chance they got?

Thrumming, thundering music like a pulse, like the club itself was alive with the blood of money and alcohol pumping through it, pounded from speakers and shook the walls in their very foundations. Neon lights like jilted, water-colored sunlight shone from corners along the ceilings, creating shadows like both nightmares and dreams along the walls and the faces of the patrons. The bar was overflowing. Security was chasing their own tails. The place was packed. Everyone who was anyone wanted to get into The Menagerie, because between its four walls and roof, you could be anyone you wanted to be.

It was law in this gilded cage that everyone was to wear a mask, its paint and diamonds and ribbons designed to depict animals. Security wore the full-bodied faces of lions. Bartenders and servers played dress-up with rimmed eye gaps as raccoons. Guests were allowed to pick a mask ranging from creatures that roamed the sky to those that crawled the earth. And the girls - the girls were exotic, majestic things that no one would mistake for anything else. They were tigresses and peacocks, they were arctic foxes and lynxes, any animal that had long since gone missing or extinct in this world of yours. Why go searching for the real thing, when they could come here and find the women?

The Menagerie was not a club. It was a cage, for animals so desperate to get out they had bent the bars in an attempt to escape.

Staring at yourself in the mirror of the dressing room, you gingerly affixed the golden mask to your face so that it would stay spread across your features while you danced and entertained. The hard, fake porcelain covered your forehead and nose, leaving your mouth free for the lips and tongues that would attempt to claim yours as their own. Orange and gold butterfly wings blossomed from the center of the mask, disguising you as the endangered insect everyone else seemed to have forgotten about; the Monarch. Fluttering and beautiful upon the wind, never easy to catch.

That was, unless they flew right into a spider’s web.

To your left, a few of the other girls were perfecting their makeup and adjusting their outfits - what little outfits you all had. Zara, known throughout the club as the Panther, caught your eye in the mirror and flashed you a sharp smile.

“You seem quiet tonight,” she said and ran a stick of gloss over her lips. She examined herself close in her handheld. “Something on your mind?”

A few of the other girls tried to inconspicuously listen in, able to sniff out gossip from miles away. Perhaps in here, you all were a little bit more animal than human, after all.

Forcing yourself to smile gently, you waved a ring-garnished hand in Zara’s direction and turned back to your reflection. You hardly recognized yourself like this, despite seeing this version of you all week long. You hoped you never did recognize it. “Oh, it’s nothing,” you brushed off.

Across the dressing room, Shawna, the Owl, tisked her tongue and hummed from deep in her throat. “You know you’re an awful liar, girl,” she said from where she sat scrolling through her phone. “We all noticed when you came in an hour later than you do. Something happen tonight?”

Well, fuck. Now everyone was waiting for your answer, waiting to see if it was worth listening into or not.

Pursing your lips in an attempt to show that it was no big deal, despite how much your stomach and your heart and your brain screamed that it wasn’t, you shrugged a shoulder and tried to avoid their gazes. “Nothing too big,” you replied and began to absentmindedly twist the ribbon keeping your mask in place. “Just… had a student stay a little later. Her dad lost track of time.”

“It couldn’t be that Alchemax hunk you’ve been telling us about.”

Fuck - you really learned to keep your cards closer to your chest.

Your silence must have been enough for them to connect the pieces, because a few of them tittered and giggled. A newer girl, who was still earning her way up to being on stage, piped up. “Have you ever talked to him?” she asked. “I mean, besides school-related stuff. Find out if he’s attached?”

“Absolutely not,” you forced out and stood to straighten out your costume. Your breasts were barely covered by the flimsy top and your ass hung out of the bottoms, both orange and black and white, like a monarch butterfly’s designs. Gold fishnet stockings lined your legs, leading down to a set of heels that had taken weeks to not tip over in. You were supposed to wear a cape, a gown-like train, but it was stepped on too much for you to bother with it. “He’s not there to cruise teachers, he’s just trying to help his kid through the third grade.”

“More than you could’ve asked from my dad,” Zara puffed.

God, you thought, yours, too. And your mother, while you were at it. They’d never come to meetings and games and plays like Miguel did. Hell, they hardly ever even remembered to pick you up from school on their good days.

Gabriella really had hit the father lottery.

Shawna shrugged her shoulders as she rose from her seat and picked up her own mask. “Even if that’s all he’s there for,” she said, then pulled the owl-designed porcelain over her face and fixed you with a stare through the eye holes, “doesn’t have to hold you back from at least trying.”

Her words rang in your ears as you carried on with your work that evening. They stuck with you as you danced for drooling men and women who oggled at you from behind their masks, as you ran your fingers down arms to chase bigger tips, as you followed a man who paid top dollar for a private dance.

Her words rattled like bells in your head as you mindlessly ground yourself against your customer, allowing yourself to get lost in your own imagination while you willed yourself to work. You shut your eyes behind your mask and let yourself fall into a dangerous little scenario you cooked up just for yourself.

You imagined not your boyfriend, who was out there in the city somewhere playing with his stupid fucking band to a crowd of three, not of any celebrity crush or model, but of Miguel O’Hara. You imagined him beneath you instead of some man whose breath smelled like expensive alcohol. You thought of him, and his hulking frame, and his powerful thighs you had found yourself staring at anytime he entered your line of sight.

Mind running away with this little fantasy of yours, you ground yourself a little harder against the lap beneath you, pushed your chest further against the chest parallel to yours. In your head, Miguel let out a huffy breath and rested those large hands of his on your hips, slowly but surely guiding your movements until you were riding his thigh. You tried to imagine, so intensely and desperately, how such an event would go.

He would gently, but firmly, help move your hips so that your exposed clit rubbed perfectly against the rough fabric of his jeans. You would keen and arch your back into him, hands running over his sinewy shoulders, as he hitched his leg and sent a powerful jolt of pleasure running through you and right to your core.

“You like that, pretty girl?” he would murmur in your ear, lips brushing along the shell before his tongue, warm and soft and pink and wet, licked against your lobe. “Ride, querida. ‘Til I say you’re done, and then I’ll show you how a real man fucks.”

You would grind your hips against his leg, moaning aloud and unabashedly when he tensed his corded muscle so that you’d have something to hump into. His hands, wide and spread, would wander along your bare back, memorizing the skin there like it was his and his alone, and he would dip his head to attach his lips to your nipple. He’d suck the nub into a hardened bud, then kiss and lick and nibble the skin around it until it was marred with love marks that would darken the following morning, and then he’d switch and give the other one the same kind of attention.

“Miguel,” you’d whimper in a certain kind of tone, and suddenly you’d be on the bed, pulled to the edge so that the globes of your ass hung off and when he kneeled he had access to your cunt bared for him.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he would say as he pressed open-mouthed kisses up and up your inner thighs, getting closer to where you needed him most. “All for me and me alone. Isn’t that right, bebe?”

You wouldn’t be able to give him a clear answer at first, not when he would lick a long, wet stripe up the center of your folds and up to your clit. He would expertly find that little bundle of nerves, wrapping his lips around it and fondling with his tongue until you couldn’t do anything but sigh and moan and card your fingers through his dark hair to pull him closer. He would suck on your sweet spot for a while, alternating between licking stripes and adorning it with kisses, before he would slowly drag his long, thick fingers toward your sopping folds.

But he would stop just short.

“Say it,” he would tell you, dark, impenetrable gaze fixated on you from where he kneeled between your legs like a devout believer praying to his one and only love - his goddess. When you would whine and cry from the pausing of his ministrations, he would take his mouth, his wonderful, hot breath, away from your aching cunt. He would cock his head, allowing a bit of hair to fall across his face. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to, chica.”

“Miguel,” you would say again, because, really, that was all you could think of to say. “Miguel, please… need you, please…”

He would pull his fingers from your heat, gaze stony and immovable as a mountain standing tall in the midst of a storm. God, not even that could sway him. “Tell me,” he would demand again, this time in a low baritone that made your cunt clench around nothing because goddammit, even his fucking voice could send you into heat like a damn dog. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to. Now.”

“You,” would come the small, high-pitched answer, tumbling from your lips without another thought that did not involve him. “You, Miguel. Belongs to you. All for you, no one else.” You would babble, desperate to reach your climax before he let you fall back down that incline so, so cruelly, yet so, so deliciously. “Please, Miguel, need you. Need your fingers, anything. Just fuck me, please, handsome, fuck me ‘til I can’t remember my own name.”

He would tilt his head even further, like a predator toying with the prey he’d been chasing after for miles upon miles, before placing a gentle, feather-light kiss upon the inside of your thigh. “That’s my girl,” he would say, then attack your clit with his full, thick lips, plunge two of his fingers into your heat, and begin to fuck you into oblivion.

The sound of his fingers constantly edging in and out of your dripping pussy, so wet you could feel your arousal dripping down your thighs and your ass, would pull the most wonderful and pornographic-sounding moans and whimpers and whines of his name from your throat. Your own slick would coat his digits like honey, so sweet that for a moment he would stop his assault on your divine bundle of nerves and crane his neck to lick up a bit of it from where it dripped down your ass. The flat of his muscle would raise goosebumps along your skin as you cried out for him, one hand gripping his hair and the other buried into the sheets of the bed.

“Miguel,” you would cry and begin to rock your hips to meet the thrusts of his fingers, practically humping his face. He would take it like it was his last meal, returning to his sucking and licking and circling of your clit to send bolt after bolt of pleasure and heaven and everything else in between. “Miguel, Miguel, Miguel…!”

“That’s it,” he would murmur between licks through your soaked folds, feeling as your slick dripped down his wrist. “Say my name, bebe, tell them who’s making you feel this fucking good.”

He would angle his fingers then at just the right angle, his fingertips hitting that perfect, fucking perfect spot deep inside you. Stars would dance in your vision as your mouth would open in a silent scream, unable to get anything out but a tiny wail of heavenly pleasure. You would swear you’d never felt this goddamn good in your life, like you would gladly trade everything in the whole world just to stay here forever. His pace would pick up, aiming for that spot inside of you, and he’d lap at your cunt in a feverish craze, like it was the only thing that would save him from losing his mind.

All too soon, your thighs would begin to tremble and you would feel that beautiful, familiar coil tightening and winding deep within your soul. “Miguel,” you would cry out for the whole world to hear. “Miguel, m’close, I’m so close!”

“Come on, pretty bebe,” he would say between your thighs that would try to wrap around his head in a feeble attempt to pull him closer. “Cum f’me. I want it. All of it.”

His words would send a shockwave of pleasure through you, one that would white out your vision so intensely you would have thought he’d killed you and sent you on your way to the pearly white gates, and you’d have been okay with that. He continued to work you through your orgasm, his pace slowing but never stopping, his mouth pressing hot, wet kisses along your thighs, your hips, your naval.

“Good girl. Good fucking girl. Taking it so well, all for me. Look so pretty all laid out like this, like I could just eat you up. Would you like that, hmm? You want me to just devour you ‘til you’re left shaking and crying my name?”

“Miguel. Miguel, Miguel, Miguel…!”

“...My name’s not Miguel.”

Your eyes flashed open, suddenly brought back to the real world, pulled away from your fantasy. Through the holes in your monarch mask, you looked down to find your customer staring up at you with wide eyes and popping a boner put there by your mindless rocking against his hips. Feeling your cheeks flush, you slipped off of him and consciously tugged your outfit lower over your ass.

You pursed your lips, attempting to hide how mortified you were. “...That’s going to be another twenty bucks.”

It wasn’t until around one in the morning when you got home to your little apartment squished in a dilapidated little building wedged between two office towers because the landlord had refused to sell the place when they steamrolled the others ten years ago. The lights were off when you slipped inside, and a little piece of yourself inside wilted.

At once, you threw up a wall and dismissed that sinking feeling. Of course he wasn’t going to wait up for you. He’d had a show tonight, and he had another one tomorrow. He was tired.

Not nearly as fucking tired as you, though.

After wiping off your makeup and pulling off the fake little diamonds stuck on your temples, after changing into your pajamas and brushing your teeth, and after pinning a new drawing from one of your students on the fridge despite the fact you knew they’d never see it, you tiptoed back to the cramped little bedroom. You poked your head inside. Ferris, your boyfriend of six months, was spread out across the entire mattress, snoring gently into the fabric of the crumpled sheets.

You swallowed thick. You didn’t want to disturb him. He needed his rest.

You grabbed your phone charger from the wall and your pillow from beneath his arm, then slid on your socks back into the tiny living room. Plopping yourself down on the couch and plugging in your phone, you rolled yourself onto your side and stared at the dark screen. Willing something to happen. Something to come up, someone to reach out.

Because in reality, though you would rather throw yourself off the Brooklyn Bridge than admit it… you had never felt so alone.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #spiderman #across the spiderverse #into the spider verse #sony spiderverse #spiderman atsv #atsv miguel

3K notes · View notes

hometoursandotherstuff · 18 days ago

Text

This stunning 1905 mansion in Chicago, IL is not in the best neighborhood, East Garfield Park, but someone who lives in Chicago said that it's not bad enough to warrant such a LOW price. Someone has applied to buy it, and it's only been on the market for 18 days, but they are still showing it in case the deal falls thru. 6bds, 3.5ba, 5,832 sq ft, $485k. FYI: Systemic disinvestment in communities like Austin, East Garfield Park and West Garfield Park has led to population loss and gentrification over the years.

Look at this entrance. The millwork is phenomenal, the floors are original, and that burled wood! Plus, look at the brass railings.

Isn't this original working fireplace magnificent? Look at the arch and the mosaics.

It needs a little cleaning, polish, and it will be stunning. The lighting is also original.

The foyer. You know, call me crazy, but it can't be that bad of a neighborhood if no one broke into those original glass doors.

Just look at these arches. Wainscoting, too. The floors are original.

This dining room! The tile floor, built-ins, fireplace, and that raised nook. Just wow. It's being sold as-is, but hey. All it needs is some cleaning up, it's all original.

Isn't this different? I wonder what this is. Maybe a stage for a small chamber music ensemble to entertain the guests?

The kitchen was redone at some point, but it's not terrible. (It's the same footprint, maybe the tile is original, counters are marble.) You can work with it.

This large room has a gorgeous fireplace, built-in shelving and leaded glass windows.

Check out the home office shelving and fireplace. Even the original mirror is intact.

The wood is so dry- it really needs some oil and maybe a coat or two of preservative.

This home deserves some TLC. Looks like they replaced some walls here. This is nice and light- beautiful fireplace and built-ins.

Oh, I love this big, vintage bath. This is amazing.

The bedrooms are very large.

This bath looks like it has a black marble sink. Not bad at all.

Looks like they put some shelving around this fireplace.

The attic level is finished. There's a fireplace up here, too, and look at the arches.

This bath is in good condition.

Someone started to finish the basement, so there's so much potential here.

Porte cochere.

They don't show any gardens, but the lot is 9,375 sq ft.

The street doesn't look that bad- nice big front porch. The 2 story coach house in the back can be an apt., guest house, or art studio. I think it's a steal.

History: The home was built by a gambler-

https://www.redfin.com/IL/Chicago/3234-W-Washington-Blvd-60624/home/13261182

#mansions chicago #mansions #houses #house tours #home tour #historical homes #homes under $500k

206 notes · View notes

3liza · 2 years ago

Text

i hate landlords so much i can't even bring myself to open the text message from my landlord i KNOW is telling me that he doesn't give a shit about how much heat we lose through our single glazed, totally uninsulated windows even though there's a subsidy program for window replacement in Washington state. i just woke up, saw the first few words of his reply, and instantly got insanely angry

#blog

1K notes · View notes

irrevocableloves · 1 year ago

Text

violent delights

twilight rewrite! edward cullen x fem!witch!reader

chapter one: the city of forks welcomes you

masterlist ౨ৎ chapter two

summary: y/n swan has lived in forks all of her life, but when she takes her summer-long vacation to california to visit her mother, she returns to a strange new family accompanying her small town.

warnings: swearing, angst

words: 1.8k

a/n: this has been in my drafts for so so long and tbh i haven't written a fanfic since i was 12... and i'm fr 22, but i've ran out of twilight fanfics to read (i've been waiting weeks for one specific one to update and i'm going crazy)... so anyways !! hope you enjoy !!

Opening my eyes, I was greeted with the trees of Forks, Washington. After an almost four hour drive, I could sense that I was nearing my home as the city was nowhere to be found. Instead it was replaced with deep green trees, dim skies, and the small shops that swept by as my dad drove.

I liked Forks, more than I probably should. Everyone here, mostly the kids, sulked about big bright cities where the sun would actually make an appearance. They longed for the liveliness that Forks had never given them.

But me? I secretly adored the quietness of it all. But of course, I had a disadvantage. Every summer I bathed in the sun rays of California, visited the busy cities, the warm beaches, and the overall liveliness that was craved from everyone else. But I was drained. Normally, it would be the opposite from any other person, but I always loved the cold. Ever since I was a kid, my little brain was wired to believe that Forks was almost like Christmas every single day of the year. So, rain, snow, or even ice (even with the ungodly amount of times I've slipped) never had me in too big of a rut.

With my mom back in California, though I loved her to death, was an absolute headache most of the time. And unlike my dad, she hovered. But, it wasn't her fault. The summer is the only time she had me, the rest were reserved with Charlie, which had resulted in this summer's mishaps: she begged me to stay longer. One would think that school would be an easy get out, but she knew the first month was nothing but dry introductions, syllabi, and effortless assignments. It was partly my fault. I was never one to turn her down, perhaps it was guilt because maybe she and I felt deep down that I favored my father more because who could ever turn down a chance to live in the perfect bustling city of San Francisco over Forks.

So I stayed. But now, it's the beginning of October. Thankfully, I was able to get in contact with the school in order to get all of my classes in order, as well as the help of my best friend, Angela, who emailed me all of the assignments. Jessica on the other hand, filled me in on all of the gossip. Her phone calls consisted of talks about her massive crush on Mike as well as the new and "totally weird" (as Jessica put it) family. "Suuupperrr pale, but weirdly GORGEOUS. I mean this Edward guy, he's wow. I swear if Mike doesn't make a move soon... I wonder if I could make him jealous?" The conversations were mostly one-sided, always either complaining about Mike's obliviousness or never catching that new guy's attention.

Now that I knew I was caught up on everything to do with school, all I wanted was to bury myself in bed and prepare for an alarm that hasn't been set in months.

I awoke to the sound of a car honking outside my window, assuming it was nothing, I settled back into my pillows, throwing my purple duvet back over your head for hopefully another thirty minutes of sleep.

"Y/N/N!" I heard my dad's voice accompanied by one of his famously loud whistles from outside of my window. That's when I finally got up and peered over with squinting eyes to see my father coming out of a car that most definitely wasn't his squad car.

Once my vision settled, I saw a green Volkswagen beetle parked in the driveway. No fucking way. I sprinted down the stairs and flung the front door open to see my father with a wide grin, gesturing the keys in front of my face.

"For me? You're joking?" I said in complete shock.

"You want me to be joking? Cause if so I can just bring this right back to Billy and let him sell it to some other geezer."

"No! No! No! I mean... Thank you, dad. Oh my god, how did you guys even find this?"

"Well, consider it a late birthday present. Billy and Jacob found it back in May for your birthday and decided to fix it up for ya, free of charge, but I paid 'em of course."

"Thanks dad and how about we invite Billy and Jacob over sometime and I'll cook? As a thank you?"

"You bet."

Once I parked in front of the school, my group of friends welcomed me with open arms, with Angela and Jessica squealing about how much they missed you and the boys, mostly just Mike, trying to awkwardly hug me.

I knew Mike had a crush on me, since third grade to be exact, which only made it worse for my friendship with Jessica, which made it worse for Lauren, Jessica's bestest friend to have an even better reason to despise me.

The first four classes: English, Government, Trigonometry, and French were surprisingly a breeze thanks to the assignments either Angela or the teachers sent over while I was away.

While at lunch, a new, unfamiliar bunch emerged from the cafeteria doors. They were beautiful... and also extremely pale even for Forks. So, this was the family Jessica was practically drooling over?

"Who are they?" I questioned anyways.

Jessica leans in, being careful to whisper, "It's the family I was telling you about. Dr. and Mrs. Cullen's foster kids. They all moved down here from Alaska like last month."

I studied the first girl who walked in, bleached blonde hair, almost black eyes that were almost unsettling, she wore a thin grey coat and a knitted white scarf that matched her icy skin, and a necklace with a large charm that looked to be a family crest of some sort.

"The blonde girl, Rosalie, and the big dark-haired guy, Emmett..." Jessica continued.

More of the family gathered in slowly, the blonde was linking hands with a man with jet black hair, with the same family crest residing on his wrist.

"... they're a thing. I'm not even sure that's legal." Jessica grimaced.

Angela piped in, "Jess, they're not actually related."

"But they live together and all wear that weird creepy crest like some sort of cult. And the little dark haired girl, Alice, she's really weird..."

Despite Jessica's remarks, Alice was the one who caught my eye the most so far and not in a negative way. She reminded me of a fairy almost with her pixie-like hair cut, her style, and the way she carried herself, which was pretty whimsical in a way. Her arms were locked with a man beside her, bleached blonde just as Rosalie was.

"... she's with Jasper, the blonde who looks like he's in pain" Jessica continued on, "I mean, Dr. Cullen's like this foster dad slash match maker."

"Maybe he'll adopt me." Angela giggled.

The last Cullen to enter, I assumed it was Edward, the man Jessica claimed to be weirdly gorgeous and 'wow'. 'Wow' was the perfect word to explain how I felt as he strode down the cafeteria. I couldn't keep your eyes off of him, even as he went past your table, I was oddly captivated by his presence. He had a lanky body, matched with the same pale skin as his siblings, bronze hair and striking smirk. You could've sworn he heard Jessica's whispered remarks from across the cafeteria.

"He's totally gorgeous, obviously. But apparently, no one here is good enough for him. Like I care." She does. "Anyway, don't waste your time."

"I wasn't planning on it." I looked away before his eyes could find mine and once I did, I felt as if holes were practically burned at the back of my head. Was he staring?

Out of curiosity, I peered over my shoulder, quickly glancing, seeing his eyes on mine and quickly turning my eyes back, slowly hiding behind my hair.

Before I walked into Biology, I shuffled through my backpack to look for the assignments I'd done in your time away, settling them in my hands as I walked through the door.

Greeting Mr. Banner, I handed him my completed assignments that were neatly put together with a paper clip.

"Finally nice to see you Miss Y/L/N, how was your summer?" Being great at biology put you at an advantage, not only for assignments, but because Mr. Banner didn't question much about my month long disappearance, but I couldn't say the same about PE...

"It was good, thank you."

"Well that's great, I'm glad! And I appreciate your completed assignments, not even people attending have it all quite done like you have!" He rambled. "So! Your seat... There's a seating chart, but there should be an empty seat I left for you...,yes! Right there, next to Mr. Cullen." Mr. Banner pointed to the right side of the classroom to the seat next to the Cullen boy.

Edward's eyes once again felt as if they burned through my own, staring at me as if you had wronged him in some way. The hatred in his eyes was well aware, but for what reason?

With each step I took, the more disgust in his features appeared, almost as if he was holding his breath. Did I stink or something? I attempted not to smell myself to see if perhaps I had raging body odor or even a bad breath that radiated from across the classroom. No one else seemed to have an issue besides him.

Once I was sat, I heard him mutter into a cough, but I only made eye contact with his beading black eyes and said nothing at all. He only pushed the microscope towards me slowly, being careful to not come any closer to me as if he would catch something.

I sighed loudly, making my annoyance well known. He only just tensed.

Throughout the entirety of the class, the tension continued. I even considered going up to Mr. Banner and asking to switch seats with someone, but that only sparked the possibility of Mike forcing Eric to switch seats and I honestly couldn't figure out which would be worse. So, I decided to suffer through the entire hour and perhaps learn to suffer the entire year partnered with a man who could hardly even look me in the eye without being utterly disgusted.

At first I was hurt, but the hurt swiftly turned into annoyance once the partner sessions began. He didn't even consult with me, rather he just scribbled as fast as he could, only of what he was able to see through the microscope, only handing it to me after to check his answers. All correct, surprisingly.

Staring at the clock, I was counting down the time until the bell. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Edward had gotten up, practically running out of the classroom before the bell had officially rung.

next chapter

taglist ₊˚⊹♡

#violent delights #edward cullen #edward cullen x reader #edward cullen x you #edward cullen x y/n #twilight #twilight rewrite #twilight fanfiction #edward cullen fanfiction #robert pattinson #robert pattinson x reader #violent delights fanfiction #violent delights fanfic

213 notes · View notes

infamousbrad · 25 days ago

Text

Somebody other than me cares!

For only the second time in the last decade or more, my personal obsession is in the news and I'm incredibly excited. "Below the fold," in old newspaper jargon, but at least somebody's trying to do something and some newspapers noticed. When you're as starved for validation as I am, it only takes that much attention to excite me.

Amudalat Ajasa and Carolyn Van Houten, "Lead paint upended this boy’s life. Now the EPA is trying to eliminate the threat. The Environmental Protection Agency is about to issue strict limits on lead dust, which poses a threat to millions of children across the United States," Washington Post. Oct 19, 2024 (non-paywall link)

Lead was used as a paint additive from Victorian times up until the late 1970s for a couple of reasons. It made a bright white pigment that didn't fade quickly, it was shiny, and most importantly to the Victorians, it tolerated harsh cleaning chemicals well, which they thought was important to reducing the spread of disease.

(On a local note for here in St. Louis MO USA, it also almost single-handedly propped up the local economy in this town for that whole century, thanks to the huge lead mines south of town and our ability to export products to the whole world via our port on the Mississippi river. Almost all of the abandoned factory and warehouse buildings down here in South St. Louis are contaminated former lead-paint businesses.)

Lead paint though has an even bigger problem than lead pipes, though: over time, it starts shedding lead dust, and children are incredibly vulnerable to lead dust, breathing it in and/or swallowing it. And it takes very little lead dust to permanently damage a growing mind, destroying the parts of the brain that control impulses and the ones that down-regulate emotions.

This is why lead paint was outlawed in the late 1970s. But there was no law requiring it to be removed from (frankly, nearly all) surfaces. Instead, there was a voluntary lead abatement program, and even it only applied to residential property. Homeowners and apartment owners could borrow money from the nearest S&L, pay contractors to rip out and replace all the lead-dust tainted windows, carpets, plaster walls, and so forth and replace them with clean new vinyl-clad or latex-painted bits. They could then submit the receipts with their taxes and get a 100% refundable tax credit.

But they weren't able to make it mandatory because of intense lobbying by openly-racist slumlords, who didn't want to lead abate their properties even it was free because that's telling them what to do with their property, who didn't think their black tenants "deserved" refurbished apartments. That's also why it's illegal to disclose, in sales or in rental contracts, that your property has been through lead abatement; doing so is "unfair" to those '70s slumlords.

And besides, Reagan canceled the whole program halfway though his first term. To bend over backwards to be fair to Reagan, they weren't still getting many applications; everybody who was going to do so voluntarily already had. (Free money for home improvements has that effect.)

About a decade ago, a Reuters reporter used FOIA to demand state health departments turn over their records on childhood lead testing. Almost half of them don't keep any. Most only track it at the state level or maybe county level. Missouri's one of the only states that tracks it to the census-tract level, tracks where kids who are lead poisoned live to within a couple of blocks. And the map of apartments that didn't go through lead abatement, here in Missouri, perfectly maps onto the homicide data.

As someone who was pretty badly lead poisoned as a teenager myself, and as someone who's spent most of his life living in or near lead-poisoned apartments, I'm obsessed with this and ever since the Reuters article came out I've been begging every politician or candidate I interact with to bring back the late '70s lead abatement tax credit and this time make it mandatory to test before selling or leasing a home. Even when St. Louis, with its nominally, mostly progressive mayor got huge uncommitted funds dumped on her, from ARPA and from the Rams-relocation-fraud settlement, I couldn't get any politician to care about this. Their constituents weren't demanding it, so it couldn't be done.

The Washington Post reported, today, that the US Environmental Protection Agency has proposed a rule to do just that. No tax credit provision, so they're being fought tooth and nail by people who don't want to make property sellers and landlords pay for it out of pocket, but the proposed rule is on the docket, potentially to take effect mid next year. Somebody other than me noticed. Somebody other than me cares.

If you are like the average person (to my distress) the main thing you want to know is "what can I do to protect myself or my kids?"

This is a shitty way to think because let me tell you, if your kid grows up on the same block as a lead-poisoned kid, your kid is going to grow up with C-PTSD from the resulting violence. Your kids aren't safe until everybody's kids are safe.

I didn't convince you? You've given up on keeping everybody else's kids safe, too?

If you have a painted surface anywhere on your property that existed prior to 1976, you should assume that there is lead paint on it. Older chain-link fences almost certainly. Wooden single-pane windows, 100% likely. If you have plaster, instead of drywall, interior walls in your house, then neither the walls nor the floorboards nor the carpets are safe. They will tell you these surfaces can be rendered safe by painting over them with latex paint; anybody who tells you this is whistling past the graveyard.

Do not have or raise kids in a house or apartment like that. Either abate the lead or move. Yes, even if it's more expensive; the alternative is to raise a child who may never work and has a high likelihood of spending most of their life in and out of jail.

If it's too late for that, and your child is already lead poisoned, don't give up hope entirely, but understand that the interventions that show promise for such kids are hard to find and aren't 100% reliable.

The most important thing you can do is investigate the concept of "trauma-informed schools," and demand, as part of your child's IEP, that his teacher and any associated staff get trauma-informed schooling trained. (Your kid will not be the only one who benefits.)

Children with profoundly impaired impulse control and/or profoundly impaired emotional down-regulation skills can be taught to do better, but that requires that they be given the extra time it will take them to do so, and the privacy, and the calm quiet space, especially when they're very young and just learning. Their brains don't do this naturally, so they don't do them quickly; hold them to the same standard of behavior as everybody else but until they spend a decade or more practicing and grow up more, after you remind them, give them enough time to obey.

But believe me when I tell you this: lead abatement and behavioral education are cheaper and better than prison.

#lead poisoning #lead abatement #epa #environmental protection agency #washington post

12 notes · View notes

gamma-rae-bursts · 1 year ago

Text

Persuasion

Pairing: Alex Blake x Fem!Reader

Warnings: slight alcohol consumption ig

Genre: pure fluff

Word Count: 1800+

A/N: Last day of the bingo!! This fic covers the "flower petals" square. For the purpose of this fic Ethan is alive and well, Alex deserves to be happy. Absolutely UNEDITED. Enjoy!

It was going to be perfect; you had no doubts about it.

You’ve spent weeks planning this evening, making sure everything would go according to the plan and it just so happened that the universe aligned itself with your plans. Alex didn’t get called away on another case, promising you she’d return home right when her workday was over. Ethan was spending the week with his dad, and although you’d love nothing more than having the little boy included in this special moment, knowing him well enough you were sure he wouldn’t be able to contain his excitement and keep the secret. He was 8 after all.

It was your day off at Georgetown. Most Fridays you opted to work from home as you didn’t teach any classes, but this time you took an extra precaution of actually booking the day off to make sure you didn’t get called in any meetings with your students.

The morning was reserved for a trip to the farmer’s market. You picked up a few ingredients necessary for the dinner you have planned. A few aubergines, butternut squash, asparagus and fresh strawberries, the rest could be found at home. You were walking down the busy alleys, the sun shining through the clouds filled the city with warmth unusual for this time of year, but you didn’t complain, stopping by another stand to pick out a gorgeous assortment of red, white and pink peonies, one of Alex’s favourite flowers.

Strolling down the streets of Washington DC, you made a few more stops on your way home.

You stopped by a frequented by you and Alex wine cellar, picking up a few bottles of Pinot Noir, after asking the seller countless number of times whether he’s absolutely certain that the wine will pair well with the dinner you have planned.

The last stop was Cartier, were you finally got to pick up the ring you customised a few weeks prior. The golden band was adorned with diamonds, a beautiful tear-shaped stone in the middle. It was pretty simple, classy for that matter, and in your opinion absolutely perfect for Alex.

You made your way back home, after unpacking the shopping you immediately got to work. You pulled out all the decorations you have stashed them deep inside your closet when Alex was away on cases, starting with setting the table, a white tablecloth covered the wooden furniture, flowing off of the edges just right. You put a set of golden candle holders in the middle, placing the candles in their corresponding spots. You attached a few strings of warm lights to the window curtains, hoping they would enhance the atmosphere of the evening.

After that, you finally got to assembling the peony bouquets, taking out a few flowers to lay them on the table. The rest went into decorative vases you placed in the vicinity of the table, replacing previously given to you by your girlfriend irises. Although as a result of time (and your forgetfulness when it came to keeping flowers alive), the bouquets were rather dried out, you didn’t throw them away, but moved them to your bedroom. For an unknown to you reason Alex was adamant on keeping them until they were fully dry, then getting rid of them herself.

After the whole setup was finished, you started with preparing the main course: Butternut Squash Ravioli with Seared Chicken, handmaking the pasta that was to be filled with a butternut squash and ricotta filling, a recipe Rossi provided you with after your endless begging and pleading for it. When the raviolis were done (you did check with the Italian man whether the pasta was properly shaped), ready to be cooked right before the linguists planned arrival, you set them aside to start working on the dessert, cheesecake filled strawberries. You set those aside in the fridge and with a little time to spare you got to making the starter, an Aubergine Tartar.

With all the food either ready or ready to be cooked when the time comes, you started on getting yourself ready. You took a quick shower, after which, feeling refreshed and ready, you got to putting your makeup on. You decided on a natural eyeshadow, enhanced by your eyeliner and red lipstick. The clothing of your choice was a little black dress, one of Alex’s favourites, one that hugged your curves perfectly in all the right places. You put on a pair of black heels, a pearl necklace and matching to it earrings.

Looking at the time, you were certain the linguist might walk through the door any minute now, so you rushed to light up the candles and turn on the window lights, dimming all other lighting in the room. You put on Alex’s favourite playlist, one full of classics, setting the atmosphere perfect for what was about to come.

The last thing to be done was placing the ring in a case you prepared yourself. You opted for something more personalised than a simple box. You got one of Alex’s favourite novels, the one she would never admit is one of her favourites, Persuasion by Jane Austen. You carefully cut a heart shape through the pages up to page 148, where you highlighted the words “I”, “love” and “you” and hung the ring on a piece of ribbon so that it would sit amongst the highlighted text, although now thinking about it you were worried that you might give her a heart attack, so you made a mental note to reassure the brunette that her beloved copy is still safe and sound on her bookshelf. You decorated the book with a red ribbon, tying in in a perfect bow that sat right in the centre of the cover.

You placed the book on the table next to the couch, making it easy to reach when the moment for you to gift it to your hopefully soon-to-be fiancé would come.

Just as you were done setting everything up you heard the familiar sound of clattering keys outside of your apartment. You quickly rushed away from the small table, heading towards the kitchen. Just as Alex entered the apartment you managed to open the wine you purchased earlier today and pour some for the two of you, leaving the glasses on the kitchen island.

“Welcome home.” you said heading towards the older woman. God was she ever so beautiful, you must admit you had a soft spot for all her suits, and despite the tiring workday behind her she still looked as stunning as ever.

She softly smiled at you, taking her coat and shoes off before heading deeper into the apartment. You placed a gentle kiss on her cheek before taking her hand in yours

“Is there something I’m forgetting?” she questioned taking in the surroundings, the room was lit by the dimmed light coming from the fairy lights hung on the curtains, accompanied by the warm light of the candles. “I’m pretty sure our anniversary isn’t until February?”

“Can’t a girl treat her girlfriend to a nice dinner after a long day at work?” you replied with a sly smile, picking up the wine glasses and handing one to Alex.

“I guess she can.” The linguist replied, placing a kiss on your cheek.

“Come, you relax and I’ll have the food plated.”

Alex did just as you asked, taking a seat at the table, you served the starter and took your seat as well. The two of you chatted over the food, Alex catching you up on all the recent cases as well as the typical BAU “drama”. You laughed together while you served her the main course, now definitely knowing you’ve fully exposed your cooking skills and there was no way back.

“I have a feeling there is more to this than just an after-work dinner?” she asked with a smile plastered across her face.

“You’d be right about that my love.” You giggled as you stood up from your seat. “Seen right through me, wouldn’t expect any less from a profiler.” You added with a grin, walking towards the little table the novel was resting on. You took the book in your hands, heading back towards the linguist who was still sitting at the table. “I got you a little something,”

She took the book in her hands, carefully examining the cover, tracing her fingers over the indented feathers scattered across it. She gently untied the ribbon, taking in the beauty of the limited edition of the novel when she whispered “How did you find it?”

“I have my sources.” you replied with the utmost adoration for the woman sitting in front of you. “I think you should open it.”

Alex did just as you asked, her eyes widening at what was hidden inside. “I-… are you-“ She looked up from the book to see you down on one knee right in front of her.

��Alex Blake, will you marry me?”

“Oh my god.” she whispered, still not fully believing what was happening. “Yes, god yes!” she added, cupping your cheeks in her hands and placing one of the softest yet most passionate kisses on your lips.

You giggled into the kiss, wrapping your arms around her waist and pulling her even closer to you. When you finally pulled away you could see her eyes glistening with tears of happiness, you untangled the ring from the ribbon that was holding it, sliding it onto her finger.

She carefully wiped the stray tears that escaped her eyes, her face still painted with that beautiful smile of hers, when she spoke again. “Give me one moment.” Alex said before she ran off to your bedroom.

The woman came back holding what looked like a glass vase filled with something you couldn’t quite recognise and a little black box. She walked up to you, setting the items on the table in front of you.

Looking up at you, she took one of your hands into her embrace. “I um… These are the petals from all the flowers we’ve ever gotten for each other, you’ve been always asking me why I’m so adamant on getting rid of them myself so I think it’s time to give you an answer now.” The older woman chuckled slightly as she kept explaining. “From our first date I knew I want to spend the rest of my life with you, I thought this will be a nice addition, the petals representing the whole length of our relationship being thrown down as we walk down the aisle.”

“Alex… I-“ it was time for you to start tearing up, the smile not leaving your face.

“Now I know you beat me to it,” she whispered, picking up the small black box off the table “But will you marry me?”

The tears were now freely falling down your cheeks as you looked in her beautiful hazel eyes. “God, you know I will!”

It was now Alex’s turn to slide the ring onto your finger. Although this wasn’t exactly the turn of events you expected you couldn’t be happier. You get to spend the rest of your life with her by your side after all.

taglist:

@nightmarish-fae @storiesofsvu @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @venromanova @geekyandgay98 @lisaannwalterstan @maybe-a-humanbean @bratty-subby-girly @desperate-gay @emilynissangtr

join my taglist here!

#raeswritingbingo #alex blake #alex blake x reader #criminal minds

116 notes · View notes

dcmetroglass · 2 years ago

Text

Revitalize Your Home with Expert Window Replacement Services in Washington by DC Metro Glass

Dcmetroglass is your go-to expert for window replacement in Washington, DC. We understand the importance of having high-quality windows that not only enhance the beauty of your home but also provide energy efficiency, noise reduction, and security. Our team of experienced professionals is dedicated to providing top-notch window replacement services that meet your specific needs and budget. We work with a variety of window styles, materials, and brands to ensure that you get the perfect fit for your home. Trust us to deliver exceptional workmanship and customer service every time. Contact us today to schedule your window replacement consultation.

#window replacement washington

2 notes · View notes

energyexteriorsnwx · 1 year ago

Text

☀️ Beat the Heat with Our Summer Specials! Get 15% off ALL Milgard Windows and Doors! 💥🚪 Upgrade your home with Energy Exteriors NW and enjoy 15% off on ALL Milgard windows and doors! Choose from a wide range of stylish options. ✅ Nail Fin Installation ✅ 12 months of ZERO interest financing available Contact us today and take advantage of this limited-time offer!

#energy exteriors nw #vinyl clad wood windows #washington doors and windows #aspyre collection by james hardie #quality windows and doors #james hardie soffit panels #energy exteriors #aluminum front door #window replacement bothell wa #hardie architectural panels #hardie shingle #hardie architectural collection #fiberglass sliding patio doors #fiberglass sliding windows #hardie aspyre #aluminum clad wood windows #james hardie aspyre #hardie board porch ceiling #washington window and door

0 notes

energyexteriorsnw · 1 year ago

Text

Choosing Therma-Tru fiberglass entry doors from Energy Exteriors NW offers homeowners a multitude of benefits.

#quality windows and doors #hardie shingles siding #washington window and door #energy exteriors nw #aluminum clad wood windows #hardie architectural panels #hardie vertical siding #hardie soffit #vinyl window company near me #window and door replacement

0 notes

ruewrote · 1 month ago

Text

𝑠𝑢𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑚𝑒.

PAIRING: josh washington x fem!reader WARNINGS: reunion, no use of y/n GENRE: angsty fluff SONG INSPIRATION: little bit by lykke li WORD COUNT: 1.4k REQUESTED: yes

navigation | ask | josh washington masterlist

the mountain had changed you.

the person you were a year ago, carefree and full of warmth, had died alongside hannah on that cold, snowy night. but instead of a clean death, you’d been forced to keep breathing, keep fighting, as the mountain swallowed you whole. the stranger had found you in the woods, broken and lost, but not beyond repair.

he patched you up, told you the truth about the wendigos, about the curse that haunted these mountains.

then he taught you to fight.

at first, you resisted. the idea of hunting those monsters, the creatures who had once been human, sickened you. but soon, survival became everything. you had no choice. so, you learned how to track them, how to trap them, how to kill them. you learned how to handle the heavy flamethrower, how to stay calm even when your heart wanted to race out of control. the wendigos were fast, stronger than anything you had ever faced, but you became stronger too. the stranger showed you where to strike, how to stay one step ahead, how to use the terrain to your advantage.

the first time you killed one, it shook you to your core. but over time, you grew harder. the terror became familiar, and the blood on your hands just another part of who you were now.

the scars you bore told the story of every battle. your skin was littered with them—long, jagged ones where claws had grazed you, puckered burns from close encounters with the fire. your muscles had grown lean and tough, your reflexes sharper than they’d ever been. the girl you once were was long gone, replaced by someone stronger, someone who could face the horrors of the mountain and live to tell the tale. but even after all that, there was one thing you hadn’t faced.

josh.

that’s why you were here now, standing at the edge of the tree line, watching the lodge from the shadows. the firelight flickered through the windows, casting warmth over the faces of people you once called friends. they laughed, talked, acted like everything was normal. sam, chris, mike—none of them knew the truth about the mountain. none of them understood what they had unleashed when they pranked hannah that night. but you did.

and then, you saw him.

he stood apart from the others, staring blankly into the fire, his face gaunt and his eyes hollow. the sight of him made your chest tighten with a strange mix of longing and dread. he looked like he hadn’t slept in days, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. you’d imagined this moment a thousand times over the past year, but nothing could have prepared you for the reality of it.

you didn’t mean to make a sound, but the branch snapped underfoot, loud in the quiet night.

josh’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto yours through the dark. his brow furrowed, confusion clouding his features as he squinted into the trees. “who’s there?”

your heart pounded in your chest, your breath freezing in your lungs. this was it. there was no turning back now.

you stepped out from the shadows, your body tense with a mixture of fear and hope. “josh…”

his body went rigid, disbelief flashing across his face. “no,” he breathed, his voice barely audible. “no, you… you’re not real.”

you took a shaky breath, the words catching in your throat. “i’m real, josh. i’m right here.”

he stumbled forward, his eyes wide with shock as he closed the distance between you. his hands trembled as they reached out to touch you, as if he was afraid you would vanish into thin air. when his fingers brushed against your skin, the dam broke. josh pulled you into his arms with a desperate force, his body shaking as he clung to you like a lifeline.

“i thought you were dead,” he whispered, his voice ragged with emotion. “i thought i lost you.”

you wrapped your arms around him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours for the first time in what felt like an eternity. “i thought i lost you too.”

for a long moment, you stayed like that, holding each other in the cold. but even in his embrace, you couldn’t shake the heaviness pressing down on you. the past year had changed both of you, twisted you into different versions of the people you used to be. you’d fought monsters, bled, and survived things no one should have to survive. and he… you could see the darkness in his eyes, the madness gnawing at him from the inside.

you pulled back slightly, searching his face. “why are you here, josh? what are you doing?”

josh met your eyes, his face twisted with grief and anger. “they left them. they left hannah and beth to die out there. we both know it.”

you bit your lip, the words caught in your throat. he didn’t know. he didn’t understand what had really happened to the twins. what had happened to you. he wasn’t just angry, he was drowning in his own guilt, and he was blind to the truth.

“josh… there’s something i need to tell you,” you said softly, stepping back, reaching for the sleeve of your jacket.

his brow furrowed in confusion, but he watched as you tug the fabric up, revealing the long, jagged scars that ran along your arm. his breath caught in his throat as his eyes moved over the raised lines of flesh, the burns and cuts that told the story of your survival.

“what… what is this?” his voice was barely a whisper, his fingers ghosting over the marks on your skin.

“these are from the things that live up here, josh,” you said, your voice trembling with the weight of the truth you were about to share. “they’re not just legends. there’s something on this mountain, something old, something hungry. they’re called wendigos.”

his face paled, and he took a shaky step back. “wendigos? what are you talking about?”

you took a deep breath, gathering your courage. “hannah didn’t just die, josh. after the fall… she turned into one. i’ve been hunting them with a stranger i've met here. we’ve been fighting to stop them, but the wendigos… they’re relentless. they’re what’s out there, in the woods. they’re why i survived.”

josh stared at you, his eyes wide with disbelief. “no… no, that’s not possible. that can’t be…”

“it is, josh. i know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true.” you lifted your other sleeve, revealing more scars, more proof of the battles you had fought. “this is what happened to me while i was out there. i didn’t just survive, i fought. i killed them. i’ve been living with this nightmare for the past year.”

his hands shook as he ran them through his hair, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “hannah… became one of them?” his voice cracked, the words almost too much for him to say.

you nodded, tears stinging at your eyes. “she didn’t mean to. it’s the curse, josh. the mountain… it’s cursed. when you resort to cannibalism, you turn. that’s what happened to her. she tried to survive, just like i did, but it… changed her.”

for a moment, he was silent, the weight of the truth crashing down on him. you watched as the pain twisted his face, as the horror of it all settled deep in his bones.

“i brought them here… to punish them,” he whispered, his voice hollow. “but it was never them, was it? it was the mountain.”

“it’s the wendigos,” you said softly, stepping closer and placing a hand on his arm. “but that doesn’t mean you have to go through with this. we can stop it, josh. together.”

he looked up at you, his eyes filled with anguish. “i didn’t know. i didn’t know any of this.”

“i know,” you whispered, gently squeezing his arm. “but now you do. and we can fix this. we can fight back. you don’t have to carry this burden alone anymore.”

for the first time in what felt like forever, josh’s body seemed to relax. the tension in his shoulders eased, and the wild look in his eyes began to fade. he didn’t have all the answers, and neither did you. but in that moment, standing together on the cursed mountain that had torn your lives apart, you knew one thing for certain.

you weren’t alone anymore.

comments and reblogs are appreciated ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

@writing-fanics changed the ending hope this was okay :)

354 notes · View notes

dreaminginthedeepsouth · 10 months ago

Text

Nick Anderson

* * * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

January 6, 2024

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

JAN 7, 2024

Today, three years to the day after the January 6, 2021, attack on the U.S. Capitol to prevent the counting of the electoral ballots that would make Democrat Joe Biden president, officers from the Federal Bureau of Investigation arrested three fugitives wanted in connection with that attack.

Siblings Jonathan and Olivia Pollock, whose family owns Rapture Guns and Knives, described on its Facebook page as a “christian owned Gun and Knife store” in Lakeland, Florida, and Joseph Hutchinson III, who once worked there, are suspected of some of the worst violence of January 6. The FBI had offered a $30,000 reward for “Jonny” Pollock, while the other two had been arrested but removed their ankle bracelets in March 2023 and fled.

Family members of the fugitives and of other Lakeland residents arrested for their involvement in the January 6 attack on the Capitol insist their relatives are innocent, framed by a government eager to undermine their way of life. The Pollock family has gone so far as to erect a monument “in honor of the ones who lost their lives on January 6, 2021.”

But it does not honor the law enforcement officers who were killed or injured. It honors the insurrectionists: Ashli Babbitt, shot by a law enforcement officer as she tried to break into the House Chamber through a smashed window (her family today sued the government for $30 million for wrongful death), and three others, one who died of a stroke; one of a heart attack, and one of an amphetamine overdose.

The monument in Lakeland, Florida, is a stark contrast to the one President Biden visited yesterday in Pennsylvania. Valley Forge National Park is the site of the six-month winter encampment of the Continental Army in the hard winter of 1777–1778. After the British army captured the city of Philadelphia in September 1777, General George Washington settled 12,000 people of his army about 18 miles to the northwest.

There the army almost fell apart. Supply chains were broken as the British captured food or it spoiled in transit to the soldiers, and wartime inflation meant the Continental Congress did not appropriate enough money for food and clothing. Hunger and disease stalked the camp, but even worse was the lack of clothing. More than 1,000 soldiers died, and about eight or ten deserted every day. Washington warned the president of the Continental Congress that the men were close to mutiny.

Even if they didn’t quit, they weren’t very well organized for an army charged with resisting one of the greatest military forces on the globe. The different units had been trained with different field manuals, making it hard to coordinate movements, and a group of army officers were working with congressmen to replace Washington, complaining about how he was prosecuting the war.

By February 1778, though, things were falling into place. A delegation from the Continental Congress had visited Valley Forge and understood that the lack of supplies made the army, and thus the country, truly vulnerable, and they set out to reform the supply department. Then a newly arrived Prussian officer, Baron Friedrich von Steuben, drilled the soldiers into unity and better morale. And then, in May, the soldiers learned that France had signed a treaty with the American states in February, lending money, matériel, and men to the cause of American independence. When the soldiers broke camp in June, they marched out ready to take on the British at the Battle of Monmouth, where their new training paid off as they held their own against the British soldiers.

The January 6 insurrectionists were fond of claiming they were echoing these American revolutionaries who created the new nation in the 1770s. The right-wing Proud Boys’ strategic plan for taking over buildings in the Capitol complex on January 6 was titled: “1776 Returns,” and even more famously, newly elected representative Lauren Boebert (R-CO) wrote on January 5, 2021: “Remember these next 48 hours. These are some of the most important days in American history.” On January 6, she wrote: “Today is 1776.”

Trump has repeatedly called those January 6 insurrectionists “patriots.”

Biden yesterday called Trump out for “trying to steal history the same way he tried to steal the election.”

Indeed. The insurrectionists at the Capitol were not patriots. They were trying to overthrow the government in order to take away the right at the center of American democracy: our right to determine our own destiny. Commemorating them as heroes is the 21st century’s version of erecting Confederate statues.

The January 6th insurrectionists were nothing like the community at Valley Forge, made up of people who had offered up their lives to support a government pledged, however imperfectly in that era, to expanding that right. When faced with hunger, disease, and discord, that community—which was made up not just of a remarkably diverse set of soldiers from all 13 colonies, including Black and Indigenous men, but also of their families and the workers, enslaved and free, who came with them—worked together to build a force that could establish a nation based in the idea of freedom.

The people at the Capitol on January 6 who followed in the footsteps of those who were living in the Valley Forge encampment 246 years ago were not the rioters. They were the people who defended our right to live under a government in which we have a say: those like the staffers who delayed their evacuation of the Capitol to save the endangered electoral ballots, and like U.S. Capitol Police officers Eugene Goodman, Harry Dunn, Caroline Edwards, and Aquilino Gonell and Metropolitan Police officer Michael Fanone, along with the more than 140 officers injured that day.

Fanone, whom rioters beat and tasered, giving him a traumatic brain injury and a heart attack, yesterday told Emily Ngo, Jeff Coltin, and Nick Reisman of Politico: “I think it’s important that every institution in this country, every American, take the responsibility of upholding democracy seriously. And everyone needs to be doing everything that they can to ensure that a.) Donald Trump does not succeed and b.) the MAGA movement is extinguished.”

Unlike the violence of the January 6th insurrectionists, the experience of the people at Valley Forge is etched deep into our national identity as a symbol of the sacrifice and struggle Americans have made to preserve and renew democracy. It is so central to who we are that we have commemorated it in myths and monuments and have projected into the future that its meaning will always remain at the heart of America. According to The Star Trek Encyclopedia, the Federation Excelsior-class starship USS Valley Forge will still be fighting in the 24th century… against the Dominion empire.

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

#Valley Forge #American Revolution #American history #history #Letters From An American #Heather Cox Richardson #January 6th Anniversary #sedition #seditious conspiracy #Civil War #The confederacy

36 notes · View notes