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michaelangdonsslut · 4 months

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𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 // 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞

hey pookies! here's the first chapter of tales of the shadows ౨ৎ

please read the introduction post before reading this chapter!

hope u enjoy <3

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 : 1.5k

no warnings! (yet hehe)

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- 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐻𝑂𝑈𝑆𝐸 .

Riley Bennett felt the wind brushing her face faintly as she opened the window to her dad's car. It was a cloudy Wednesday morning when they finally decided to move all the way across the country.

Riley was a 17 year old troubled teenage girl who often struggled with fitting into her new surroundings.

They were a typical wealthy family from LA and had everything, so why did they decide to move to a small town in Massachusetts? This is what Riley has been wondering all the time ever since her dad talked about moving to Chesterfield. "I don't even know why we have to move here It's so cloudy and looks boring. I already miss LA and my friends.", Riley said nonchalantly looking at the window trying to look for anything interesting about this town. "Come on Riley don't be so grumpy, it can't be that bad!" her dad tried to reassure her but it didn't really work. She was going to miss LA and there was nothing they could say about it.

About 20 minutes later, they finally arrived in front of the house. It was a beautiful Victorian house, a mix of light pink and dark blue, and Riley couldn't help but admire the huge house in front of her. It looked so old and vintage, that house actually reminded her of Coraline, she loved this movie as a child. “ So what do we think ?” Mr Bennett looking smiled at Riley knowing how much she loved old fashioned houses. " This house is beautiful Peter, and look Riley there's a swing!", said Mrs. Bennett eagerly. "I'm not a little girl anymore mom I don't really care about that" , Riley said rolling her eyes as the family parked in the driveway. “And besides, this house looks kinda haunted.” Mrs. Bennett scoffed taking her sunglasses off. After some time, they finally get out of the car and start grabbing their stuff from the car boot when a lady approaches them. "Hello, I'm Dina the real estate agent! I'm here to show you around the house" A huge smile was plastered on her face as if she was happy someone was finally interested in this house.

" Oh hello! I'm Peter Bennett and this is my wife Marie " they both shake Dina's hand, her smile never leaving her face. " It's really nice to meet you. Oh and I suppose this is your beautiful little sweetheart ", she says as she walks over to Riley; " Uh yeah. I'm Riley. " Dina shakes Riley's hand and Riley can't help but find her a bit... eccentric .

“ All right, I’ll show you the inside of the house right now !” Mrs. Bennett smiled eagerly looking at her husband with stars in her eyes.

The family stepped into the foyer, greeted by the grandeur of a bygone era. High ceilings adorned with intricate molding loomed overhead, while a majestic staircase beckoned from the center of the room. Sunlight filtered through stained glass windows, casting a warm, ethereal glow. Dina, with a practiced smile, gestured towards the sprawling rooms adorned with ornate details - antique chandeliers, mahogany wainscoting, and a fireplace steeped in history. A sense of both elegance and mystery enveloped them as they took in the timeless beauty of their potential new home.

"This house is goddamn beautiful. We're taking it!" , said Ms. Bennett eagerly with a huge smile of anticipation.

"Yes, this house sure is beautiful although I must mention, it comes with a bit of a past." Dina seemed unsure and anxious, but she kept going; " full disclosure requires that I tell you about what happened to the previews owners.

“Jesus, don’t tell me they died in this house did they?” Mrs. Bennett turned around to look over at Dina with a concerned look plastered on her face. "Yes actually, both of them died here. Murder-suicide. I sold them the house too. They were the sweetest couple. You never really know what happens behind those walls I guess.

"That explains why this house is half the price of every other house in neighborhood I guess." Mr Bennett sighted, crossing his arms.

“Where did it happen?” Riley asked curiously.

“In the attic.”

Riley pauses for a second, a smirk forming on her face as she decides to speak up; “ We’re taking it.”

After the initial excitement of choosing their new home, the Bennett family embarked on the task of settling into their Victorian mansion. As they unloaded boxes and furniture from the moving truck, Riley couldn't contain her curiosity about the attic. She'd always been drawn to mysteries and the thought of living in a house with a dark past only fueled her intrigue.

Once they finished moving the essentials into the house, Riley dashed up the grand staircase, eager to explore every nook and cranny. She pushed open the attic door, the creaking hinges echoing in the vast space. The attic was dimly lit, dust particles dancing in the sunlight that filtered through the small windows. Old trunks and forgotten relics littered the space, each one holding a piece of history.

Riley's eyes widened with excitement as she imagined all the stories hidden within these walls. She spent hours rummaging through the forgotten treasures, uncovering vintage clothing, dusty books, and antique toys. Despite the tragic events that occurred here, Riley felt a strange sense of belonging, as if the house welcomed her with open arms.

As the days passed, the Bennett family settled into their new life in Chesterfield. Riley's room became her sanctuary, a reflection of her eclectic personality. She adorned the walls with vintage posters and fairy lights, transforming the space into a cozy retreat. She spent hours scouring antique shops and thrift stores, searching for unique pieces to add to her collection.

One afternoon, while exploring the local flea market, Riley stumbled upon a mysterious key hidden amongst a pile of trinkets. Intrigued, she purchased it for a few dollars, wondering what secrets it might unlock. When she returned home, Riley headed straight for the attic, her heart pounding with excitement.

She searched every nook and cranny until she found a small locked chest hidden beneath a pile of old newspapers. With trembling hands, she inserted the key into the rusty lock, the mechanism clicking open with a satisfying sound. Inside, she discovered a collection of letters tied with a faded ribbon.

As Riley read through the letters, she uncovered the tragic love story of the previous owners. Their words painted a picture of a forbidden romance torn apart by societal expectations and family obligations. Riley felt a pang of sadness for the couple, their lives cut short by tragedy.

And as she looked out the attic window, watching the sun set over the sleepy town of Chesterfield, Riley saw a shadow lurking behind the trees, It was like someone was staring at her. She rubbed her eyes thinking she probably hallucinated, and just like that, the shadow was gone.

iii

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the sleepy town of Chesterfield, Riley found herself drawn to the attic once again. She climbed the stairs with a sense of anticipation, eager to lose herself in the stories of the past. But as she reached the top, she was met with an unexpected sight—a boy standing in the dimly lit space, his silhouette illuminated by the fading light.

"Who are you?" Riley asked, her heart racing with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

The boy turned to face her, his features obscured by the shadows. "I'm Andy," he said, his voice soft and haunting. "I live next door."

Riley took a step closer, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. Andy's appearance was striking, with tousled hair and dark brown eyes that seemed to hold a hint of sadness. He reminded her of a character from one of her favorite movies, mysterious and enigmatic.

"What are you doing up here?" Riley asked, her voice tinged with suspicion.

Andy shrugged, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Just exploring," he said. "I like to come up here and think."

Riley nodded, her curiosity piqued. She had always been drawn to people who were different, who didn't fit into the mold of society. And there was something about Andy that intrigued her, something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"Are you new here?" Andy asked, breaking the silence that had settled between them.

Riley nodded. "Yeah, my family just moved in a few weeks ago. What about you?"

Andy smiled wistfully. "I've lived here my whole life," he said. "But I've never really felt like I belong."

Riley understood the feeling all too well. She had spent her entire life searching for a place where she truly felt at home, a place where she could be herself without judgment.

"Well, you're not alone," Riley said, her voice soft but determined. "We can be outsiders together."

Andy's eyes sparkled with gratitude, and for the first time in a long time, Riley felt a sense of connection—a bond forged in the darkness of the attic.

"You should probably leave now tho, before my parents see you here and call the cops thinking you're here to rob us or something", she giggled slightly, looking at the boy right in front of her who's been smiling at her. It was like he was admiring her, feeling safe by her presence.

He got up and left the attic without saying a word to her, leaving the house so quietly It was like he was never there.

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a/n : idrk what to think of this but i truly hope y'all enjoyed this chapter, lmk if you wanna be in the taglist !!

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intensitystoner · 2 years

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Scribble for @sifkiweek

Day 2 - Time

~1600 words

His return goes unnoticed by Earth's defence mechanisms – it’s about the third time, after all. Sif alone is allowed the knowledge. And her curiosity – so she names it – quite swiftly wins over her desire to keep an angered distance. She manages no longer than a day in New Asgard, then she’s on the way to London with a morning flight.

He waits for her outside the airport leaning on a sleek dark vehicle, sporting a rich man’s attire and sunglasses, his hair only carelessly swept backwards, winding dark and shiny behind his ears. She keeps a straight face, like she had long been used to his capricious jumps between life and death. Her breaths are bent on betraying her as she walks up to the spot in a strictly regulated pace and taps the car’s engine hood as a greeting.

“A fine illusion,” she notes. “Did you obtain it in a local junk yard?”

“I can’t believe you hold me that cheap,” he complains.

She shrugs.

“It’s how most of us started out here, no need to be ashamed of it.”

Loki opens the front door for her and then hops in behind the wheel, meanwhile admitting somewhat bashfully:

“To tell the truth, I’ve been here for a while.”

The note makes her blood heat up a notch. She gazes out at the streets rushing by to hide any traitorous signs of insult. She shall remain as detached as she was left in the past two decades while he was busy destroying himself and some realms in numerous attempts. She was clearly indicated to be of no priority any more, her rather self-humbling attempts to contact him met firm rejection when he reappeared in Asgard as a convict. She can read a message well, and what reason would she have to forget it just now?

“Would you be interested in a late breakfast, or perhaps an early lunch?” he inquires breaking the stretching silence.

“I’ll get my own meal, thank you.”

“Understood. Street hot dog it is.”

“I hate that,” she breathes to the window with her thickest disinterest.

“Thank you,” Loki mutters with genuine relief in his tone, which steals an undesired smile onto her lips.

Giving up the sulk that she knows he’d easily counter and is only letting her keep up to appease her, she steals a glance at him from the corner of her eyes. He’s guiding the soft-humming earthen vehicle with the knack he has for any machines of the Universe, rolling the wheel with a loose palm like it’s unworthy of his touch. It’s his way of touching anything while in public, really. Sif remembers, even though she’d have plenty of reasons to forget. She is desperate to forget, in fact, especially now, while locked in a small space with the subject of her increasingly detailed memories, at least one for each knuckle on those long fingers.

She all but flees from the metal box when the car stops in a parking lot.

“Is this where you’ve been lurking around?” she asks to prevent the conversation from slipping out of her control.

“Indeed. Not the most appealing location, but a tad better than those huts in… New Asgard.” He utters the name with a short chuckle.

He guides her up to a loft with a view over the river: quite pleasant indeed.

"And yet," she notes with a glass of wine in her hand and a purposefully nurtured grudge in her eyes, "it's not the kind of grandeur that’s rightfully expectable from you. Where are the servants? The garages? The library wing?"

"Well, this complex does belong to me," he admits humbly, "as does 6 Chesterfield and Maughan Library. But you noted well that I'm trying to lay low; it's not my intention to stir the defence squads of Midgard just yet."

"What makes you assume they don't know you're here?" she inquires.

"I don't." He walks up to her and places his own glass on the windowsill. He speaks huskily, his eyes searching her face. "Would I have informed you if I did?"

She makes effort not to turn her gaze away: not to give in to the welling up shame that she has helped SHIELD out a few times, and that he knows. It was her rightful choice, as she doesn’t owe anyone anything.

He speaks through the silence while they face each other up close like this.

“I wish to stay.”

“Alas,” she fakes soft surprise. “the God of Mischief wasn’t welcome anywhere?”

“It’s not that. I’d want to be where you are.”

“Big words,” she breathes through her turmoil of doubt, sarcasm, joy, and some unnamed things.

“No, they aren’t. You’ve always been the world for me, Sif. You’re the wisdom that I lack. You’re a haven for my rampant mind. However, I've never been able to tell what truly resides in your heart. It’s terrifying… But I don’t want to… " His lips tighten as he falters for a moment. "I don’t want to run from it any longer. It’s high time to face you.”

She watches Silvertongue rummage through words. She interrupts before she’d think to stop herself.

“You had clear priorities. Remember? You’re the one who refused to see me. You went out of your way, Loki, to avoid having to talk with me.”

“Because, my dearest Sif, how would it fit your greatness to be the widowed mourner of a criminal, a fugitive, a usurper?” His hands move to hold her by the shoulders but cower halfway.

“What has changed now?” She demands mercilessly, with the torn-up ache of her heart.

“The Universe.”

She sees the Universe light up in his eyes while he utters the answer. And she knows what he means, as she has always known; unlike others, she's had a knack for deciphering the tangled half-truths forged by his clever tongue. It may have been, she guessed, due to her pinpointed attention on his slightest moves. He made her addicted very early on, to the feeling of having him in a way no one else did.

“I would have been there,” the words escape her on their own, her tone bends into accusation. “You should have trusted in me while you had the chance. Haven’t you seen me stand my ground through centuries of your self-abasement? Was I not worthy of being by your side at those times?”

His eyes close for the moment at the cruel word. There is no place for regret, however: she knows her case is lost since the dam broke. He has gained insight, into her very core, and he's going to play it as he likes. He'll use her before leaving her behind once again, and she'll feel rewarded.

"I did not honestly think you still had me in your heart after all this," he admits softly. "You serve Midgard now."

"To build relations, to earn a place here for our disheartened people."

"Have you never been asked to help them entrap me?"

Her suppressed breath is an attempt to contain her anger and pain.

"They wouldn't dare," she tells him in a tone low, and for once, he’s clueless about whether her contempt is for him or for the humans. It daunts him, as she does whenever something else obscures her from him. Because he is exposed to her, free for grazing or clawing or cutting in, whether she’s aware of it or not.

“How many times have I let you go?" she whispers into his silence. "How many times have I mourned you? Can you tell, or have you lost count by now?”

He doesn't answer, unless the vast world in his eyes counts as one, while he takes a last look before he retreats to the couch. He's got nothing else to offer. It's up to her now, and she lingers by the window in futile hope that her stirred emotions settle into something tangible.

After a lengthy silence, she leaves her glass as well and sits next to his comfortably settled form, seeking his reaction from the corner of his eyes, to see if this is all right. She knows she’s struggling with her own broken trust, but so does he. How long he will stay on this planet, she burns to know, but she also knows it will never be asked, let alone answered. So she scoots over and cuddles up to him wordlessly, unsmiling, legs hung over one of his thighs without requesting affordance. She feels an arm slide across her back in response, a hand ends up on her waist. Looks rest against each other, both questioning. He leans in then, his lips reach her hair around the temple, he remains like that for a while, breathing in her scent, listening inwards to the stir settling down from the contact. Their hands meet, her fingers softly hook into his palm atop her knees, their warmth is equal.

He lifts her hand, places a languid kiss on each of her fingernails.

“Would you marry me if I asked?” he asks them in a very personal whisper.

They say love is different for everyone. For her, it’s him, with a big, empty void all around him in the rest of the entire Universe. She has experienced sufficient time of both having and lacking, to learn by now which one is her path. So yes, she would. If he could ever prove he knew what he was asking. But only then. So she refuses to answer, braving the greatest menace she’s ever encountered: letting this coward slip away for good. (One more time couldn't hurt any bigger, could it?)

And it eases him visibly.

"I will earn your answer," he says into her eyes.

Though she feigns nonchalant routine while leaning in for a kiss, her smile eventually spreads against his captured lips.

#sifkiweek #sifki #da orky writing

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owensautodetailing · 2 years

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If you’re looking for a professional and reliable car detailing Richmond VA company, look no further than Owen’s Auto Detailing LLC. We’ll take care of your car so you can focus on enjoying the ride. Contact us today to schedule a consultation.

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wikifoxnews · 2 years

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Who was Austin Lee Edwards ( Ex-Virginia state trooper shot dead after kidnapping teen ) Wiki, Bio, Age, Crime, Arrest, Incident Details, Investigations and More Facts

Austin Lee Edwards Biography Austin Lee Edwards Wiki

A former Virginia state trooper allegedly kidnapped a California teen who was fishing online after killing her family, police say.

Authorities say Austin Lee Edwards, 28, traveled more than 2,500 miles across the country to Riverside to meet the teenager on Friday. Edwards then allegedly killed the girl's grandparents and mother, burned down their house and fled with the victim. San Bernardino County Sheriff's Department deputies located Edwards and fatally shot him in a drive-by shooting later that day, law enforcement said. The suspect in a triple homicide who died in a shootout with police was a former Virginia State Trooper assigned to patrol Henrico County. Police believe he drove across the country to meet a teenage girl before killing her family.https://t.co/j0Qm1RySMc — WTVR CBS 6 Richmond (@CBS6) November 28, 2022 The teenage victim found with Edwards was unharmed and taken into custody by the Riverside County Department of Social Services. Edwards, of North Chesterfield, Va., met the girl online and obtained her personal information by posing as someone else in a practice commonly known as "catfishing", the Riverside Police Department said. in a press release. How long the two communicated with each other is unclear.

Incident Details

The shocking incident began to unfold just after 11am on Friday when Riverside Police received a welfare check call about a young woman who 'looked distraught' as she was riding in a red Kia Soul in the 11200 block of Price Court. When officers responded, dispatchers were alerted to smoke and a possible fire at a few houses from which police had been called for social screening. Riverside firefighters discovered three adults lying outside the entrance and took them outside, where first responders "determined they were the victims of an apparent homicide," police said. Detectives later determined that the young woman described in the first emergency call lived in the house where the three people were found dead, police said.

Victim Identified

Bodies found in the burnt-out Riverside home have been identified as the grandparents and mother of the abducted teenager: Mark Winek, 69, his wife Sharie Winek, 65, and their 38-year-old daughter Brooke Winek . Police only revealed the cause of his death on Monday, but they believe Edwards drove across the country, parked his car in a neighbor's driveway, drove to the teenager's home and killed her family before meeting the girl. The cause of the fire is under investigation, but appears to have been "deliberately started", police said. It is not known whether the grandparents and mother were killed before the fire started. Riverside authorities distributed a description of Edwards' car to law enforcement, and hours later police located the car containing Edwards and the teen in Kelso, San Bernardino County. Edwards fired and was killed by deputies who returned fire, police said. Edwards was hired by the Virginia State Police and entered the Police Academy on July 6, 2021. He graduated as a private on January 21, 2022 and was assigned to Henrico County within the agency's Richmond division until taking over on October 28. Edwards also worked for the Washington County Sheriff's Department in Virginia, California authorities said. Riverside Police Commissioner Larry Gonzalez called the case "a terrifying new reminder of online predators preying on our children." At a Saturday vigil, friends and neighbors described the Wineks as a caring, loving family with a deep commitment to their community. "You couldn't ask for a better friend than Mark," Ron Smith, Mark Winek's friend of 30 years, told Mercury News. "There will be a hole in my heart that will be hard to fill." Read the full article

#ARSON #AUSTINLEEEDWARDS #CALIFORNIA #CATFISH #MURDERS #POLICESHOOTINGS #STATETROOPERS

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automatismoateo · 2 years

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Megachurch begs congregants to forgive pastor for soliciting sex from a minor: ‘We’re all sinners’. via /r/atheism

Megachurch begs congregants to forgive pastor for soliciting sex from a minor: ‘We’re all sinners’.

https://www.christianpost.com/news/church-asks-congregants-to-forgive-pastor-for-prostitution-arrest.html

The leadership team of Rock Church International cited Romans 3:23 Wednesday as they urged congregants to extend forgiveness to the Rev. John Blanchard in an announcement that he has “voluntarily stepped back as lead pastor and from all his ministerial duties” for the second time in just over a year following his arrest for solicitation of prostitution last fall.

“Under the guidance of our legal counsel, we cannot make a statement or comment concerning the accusations against Rev. John Blanchard at this time. We are all committed to walking in integrity and truth at Rock Church International and will continue to take steps to do so. Pastor Blanchard has voluntarily stepped back as lead pastor and from all his ministerial duties until this present situation is totally resolved,” the Apostolic church, which has a weekly attendance of more than 2,000,wrote in a statement published on its website.

“As followers of Christ, we must remember that redemption, salvation, grace, mercy, and healing are all gifts given to the children of God. Although everyone must address their own convictions and consequences, our assignment as believers is not to condemn, but to be agents of God’s love, healing, justice, and reconciliation,” they added. “(Romans 3:23 — ‘for all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God’). If we are to walk in eternity with Christ, our position must be one of truth, love, faith, mercy, justice, and forgiveness.”

Blanchard, 52, was among 17 men accused of solicitation of prostitution after an online sting operation by police on Oct. 29, 2021. The married father of two was charged with solicitation of prostitution of a minor and use of a vehicle to promote prostitution, both felonies. He was arrested at a hotel where he was supposed to meet a detective posing as a 17-year-old girl. He insisted that he wasn’t sure what would have happened had his plan materialized and he had intended to just talk.

Details of Blanchard’s arrest shared in documents online by attorney Tim Anderson show that he was texting with the detective posing as the 17-year-old girl prior to his arrest.

Police say Blanchard initiated the chat by responding to an advertisement presented as a 19-year-old girl on a website that “obtained pornographic images.”

“He asked if she was available in Richmond and I said I was. He asked where I was located and I stated near Chesterfield mall. He said he would GPS and that he was 23 minutes away and that he was picking up his car and would come about 2:30,” the investigator stated. “I asked what he wanted so I would know how much to tell him to bring. He said ‘hhr’ which represents a half hour and I quoted him $80. He asked if I was affiliated with law enforcement and I said I was not, and asked the same of him.”

In subsequent texts, the investigator asked the pastor what he wanted “so I would know he was bringing the money.”

“He responded ‘qv’ which in the sex for sale world represents a ‘quick visit,’” the officer explained.

Nearly half an hour later, the officer told Blanchard the price for what he wanted would be $70. When the officer asked him his age he claimed he was 40.

“At 1449 hours I told the unsub that I am 17 and if that’s not cool I would get it. He then stated he was close to the mall and asked where to go. I asked if he was ready for this ‘young tight kitty’ and he asked where I was. I asked if he had my cash and he said that he would ‘answer all questions when we meet up,’” the police report said.

Blanchard was later arrested at the hotel where he had planned his encounter. He was also forced to step away from leadership as a result of the arrest at the time.

After almost a year of legal maneuvering, the charges against Blanchard were withdrawn, or nolle prosequi, ahead of a criminal trial in October. Nolle prosequi means prosecutors could potentially bring those charges again.

In an Oct. 11 statement on Facebook, Rock Church officials announced that Blanchard was cleared of all charges by prosecutors from the Chesterfield County Courthouse.

“The prosecutor in a statement to the Court indicated that due to new information coming to light and lack of evidence, they will no longer be pursuing charges against Blanchard. This exoneration comes after nearly 11 months of delays and continuances. The defense attorney stated Tuesday that he was pleased with the outcome,” the church said.

“Pastor Blanchard has continually professed his complete innocence in this case. During this time, he stepped back from his pastoral duties at the Rock Church Int’l in Virginia Beach, Virginia, handing over the oversight of the congregation to Bishop Anne Gimenez and his wife, Pastor Robin Blanchard.”

Bishop Anne Gimenez, who is currently leading the church along with Blanchard’s wife, stated that the church always had faith in Blanchard’s innocence and that he would be reinstated.

“We have always believed in John’s innocence. His humility and submission to those over him during this time has been a testimony to his character. He has spent the time in fasting and prayer and has invested much of his time in his family and education. We anticipate his resumption of church duties in the near future,” she said.

The recent revelations of the court documents on the case by Anderson, however, appeared to have upended Blanchard’s return.

“After multiple court appearances I was advised that Blanchard and his attorney were working toward a resolution in this case that started with Blanchard attending counseling for sex offenders. ACA Michev advised me at one point that when Blanchard came to one hearing with evidence of attending said counseling, that Michev rejected it due to the counseling being done by another megachurch pastor, not at a location approved by the CA'S,” an officer report said.

“At Blanchard's latest court appearance, which I was excused from, the case was nolle prossed. This decision was authorized by CA Davenport due to lack of evidence.”

Anderson has continued questioning Chesterfield County Commonwealth's attorney Stacey Davenport’s decision to drop the case against Blanchard and in a statement to 13News Now, she explained that how the case against Blanchard was concluded doesn’t mean he isn’t guilty.

“The conclusion of a case by order of nolle prosequi does not have the same legal effect as a not guilty finding. I am unable to comment on the appropriateness of public statements made by other entities regarding this, or any other, case in which my office is involved,” she said.

“The cases from the Chesterfield Police Department’s October 2021 sting operation, which include this particular case, involved a Chesterfield detective posing as a 17-year-old online. The interaction between the detective and the defendant in each case was different. As a result, the evidence available for use in the prosecution of each case was different, and the outcome of each case was different. Some of the cases had sufficient evidence to support felony convictions, and some did not,” she added.

“As ministers of justice, prosecutors are required to individually evaluate the strength of the evidence provided by the police in each case. The legal standard required for an officer to obtain a warrant for arrest is merely probable cause. A prosecutor must have evidence that proves guilt beyond a reasonable doubt to support a conviction in a court of law and ethically cannot proceed with charges in a case where the evidence does not meet that standard.”

In their statement Wednesday, Rock Church noted that all of their members, especially their leaders, are held to a high standard of accountability and they were committed to honesty and integrity in the investigation of sexual misconduct.

“Rock Church encourages godly lifestyles by all of its members and leaders, in keeping with the tenets of the Bible. The Church condemns sexual immorality of any kind and in any form by its members and leaders and especially holds its leaders to a high standard of accountability on any lifestyle choices that could reflect negatively on the reputation of the Church or disparage the character of the Savior whom it purports to represent,” the church said.

“Rock Church is committed to honesty and integrity in dealing with charges or accusations of sexual misconduct or immorality among its leaders and will support any investigation arising from accusations of violation of this standard among its staff and leaders in an effort to find the truth and to protect its members, church families and their children, at all times.”

Submitted November 19, 2022 at 09:42PM by Leeming (From Reddit https://ift.tt/RvBGSrz)

#reddit

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exceldetailingsupplies · 2 years

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New car detailing in Chesterfield helps to protect the paint layer

Nothing compares to the appearance, sensation, and scent of a fresh new vehicle. Amazing features like gleaming paint, brand-new parts that don't show wear, and spotless wheels and rims may make an automobile look appealing. However, keeping your car in such excellent condition is nearly impossible, as driving will detract from its beauty. Even though it is impossible to keep your car in immaculate shape, there is a massive distinction between an ignored vehicle and one that has been thoroughly serviced. Regular car detailing services in Worksop, like standard vehicle service, is an important part of maintaining it in good shape.

The primary motive of new car detailing in Sheffield is to keep it looking like new. When a vehicle is washed and waxed, it looks wonderful and shine for a long time. An automobile will never look the same as it looked in the dealership, regular maintenance can assist to preserve its appeal. It is not tough to detail your car. Simple measures like venturing in wax can keep the paint on your car, and dressing plastics will guarantee that they look and sound as they should.

Grooming your vehicle is one of the most effective ways to safeguard your investment. Frequent cleaning and washing are essential if you want to receive the maximum money for your car. Servicing and washing your automobile properly show the client that you've looked after it and that it's worth it.

New Car detailing in Worksop can also entail the installation of accessories in addition to waxing, shining, and scrubbing. The service, similar to a standard car wash, cleans both the inside and outside of the automobile. But it goes far beyond that. Clay bar therapy, waxing, leather refreshment, stain eradication, and the wash are all part of a standard full-vehicle detailing procedure.

It might include extras like trim refinishing, engine washing, and any other treatments requested by the client. Because they're add-ons, the consumer has complete control over what they want to be performed on the car. Even a "simple" full vehicle detailing treatment will make the car look considerably nicer than it did before.

When looking for a service of new car detailing in Chesterfield, the issue is selecting one which will cover all of the necessary parts of finishing. Paint on your car is extremely fragile, and most professional detailing firms will clean, repair, and preserve the paint layer in a three-step procedure. The cleaning process entails rinsing and wiping the car thoroughly to remove the dirt or grease. The clear coat is then cleaned using a clay bar, which eliminates pollutants such as industrial debris, alloying elements, dirt, and asphalt. After that, the paint is polished to eliminate any twist lines and fine scrapes before being waxed to safeguard the paint and make it shine, if necessary. For availing quality services of new car detailing in Worksop, you can consider contacting Excel Detailing Supplies

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#car detailing services in Worksop #new car detailing in Sheffield #New Car detailing in Worksop #new car detailing in Chesterfield

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hockeyshitandstuff · 3 years

Text

Are you in town? - Matthew Tkachuk (part 1)

part two here

part three here

word count: 1860 words

TW: language, angst (?)

let me know if you want part two, I’m somehow still not sure

...

It was so hot that day. The movers were already gone, the place feeling empty without all the furniture. In a few hours, you'd be long gone, flying far away from Chesterfield.

Some small part of you felt sorry for selling your parents' house - the house you spent your whole childhood living in. But they moved out a few years ago and told you many times they didn't mind at all selling it.

Wiping the sweat off of your eyebrows you made your way through the blooming garden, trying to memorize every little detail. You remembered climbing this tree, you remembered the hole in the fence you made so the neighbour's dog could come play with you, you remembered the time capsule you and Matt buried here when you were fifteen.

Until now, you completely forgot about that. Even though you two didn't talk after he got drafted, it'd be a good idea to meet again since you might never see him again. You might be moving to Calgary but that city was so big it'd be a miracle to meet Matthew somewhere.

So you scrolled through your phone, praying he didn't change his number after all those years as you dialed it.

The phone rang twice before someone picked it up.

"Yes?"

Matthew's voice was so different since the last time you talked.

"Hey Matt, this is Y/N, I'm moving out today and I thought we could dig up the time capsule we buried at my place as kids before I leave. Are you in town?" It was off-season so you might get lucky.

"You are moving out already? But yeah, I can meet you in an hour if you have the time."

"Yes, I'll still be here, don't worry."

"Okay..." There was a moment of awkward silence, neither of you knew how to break it. Was it a bad idea? Of course you wouldn't be as good friends as you once were. But you didn't know it would be this... weird. He didn't say goodbye back when he left to Calgary and didn't answer to any of your calls or messages. What were you thinking? That he wanted to see you?

"So, where are you moving to?" Matt finally continued, making the conversation more bareable.

"Calgary, they offered me an amazing job there."

"Really? I've been there for a few years."

"I heard." Not from you, was what you didn't say. It seemed like he'd heard it nonetheless.

Silence. You hated how distant you've grown - once, a long time ago, you were best friends. You went together to kindergarden and since then you've been the best of best friends. But even after all you went through, you didn't know what to say.

"Nevermind, I have to get going. I'll be at your place at three, okay?"

"Okay. I'll meet you there."

As you hung up, sadness enveloped you. Maybe you shouldn't have called. Maybe it'd be better to never meet Matt again, to remember only the good old times.

But he might be already on his way and you wanted to say a proper goodbye before going far, far away.

You loved him once, you recalled. It broke your heart when he left without looking back.

It irritated you that you couldn't do the same as easily.

...

"Y/N?" a now familiar voice called, the sound of closing car doors echoing through the silent street.

Matt looked same as he did four years ago and still totally different. It was like staring at a stranger you could swear you've already seen before. The curly, those pretty grey-blue eyes and the crooked smile you remembered and thought about too often. He got taller and more mascular over the time he played hockey professionally.

"Hey," you said nervously, tucking your slightly trembling hands into the pockets of your shorts.

Again, that uncomfortable silence took place.

"How long is it?" Since you've last seen each other. Since he'd ignored your calls and messages. Since he'd left you crying as he left this town - as he left you.

"Five years," you said.

Regret flashed in those pretty eyes as he took you in. Did you look to him the same as you did the last time he saw you?

"I'm sorry I didn't call." That was it? After five fucking years of silence, this was his apology for everything. This was a mistake. You didn't think it through when you called him today. Just now you started remembering all the things he's done to you.

"That doesn't make it hurt less, does it?" You whipped around, going to the line of fruit trees where you left the two shovels you borrowed from the neighbour.

Matt's hand slightly gripped your elbow, stopping you in your tracks.

"I know that I made a bunch of wrong decisions before I left."

"I've been trying for 6 months to reach you before giving up completely. And you? You've been living the best version of your life anyone could ever imagine."

"That's not true and you know it." Matthew said and you wanted to leave right then, forget this stupid meeting.

"I do not." you hissed, trying to calm down your rising temper.

Matt sighed, not wanting to argue over this. So he made his way to the tree line, picked one shovel from the ground and started digging where he remembered the time capsule was.

You didn't help him dig it up. You were too lost in memories, clinging to the past as you thought of younger version of Matt.

The clang of metal on metal attracted your attention back to him. He grunted as he pulled up the metal box and laid it on the grass.

You ducked low next to him, dusting off the dirt of the box. It was an old, weirdly dented thing. Your eyes laid on the lock and you nearly sighed in annoyance just when Matt grabbed at his necklace, the key dangling from it. When you two buried the capsule, each of you got a key made for it. You had yours somewhere in the boxes that had already been shipped to your new apartment and Matt's... he didn't forget. He kept it through the years, guarding it and not losing it as you expected.

You didn't say anything, just patiently waited for him to open the box.

There was a letter inside, along with a bunch of things you thought of as long forgotten. Your bracelets of friendship, the colors faded already; a puck with which you and Matthew played your first hockey game together when you were six; so many polaroid photos with your faces on them; USB with a playlist you two always danced to.

Your eyes watered - how were you supposed to say goodbye to all of this?

Silently, you looked over all of the photos - you and Matt in the rink with small hockey sticks and skates, you and Matt sticking out your tongues colored blue with slushies, you and Matt, you and Matt, you and Matt...

Then Matthew's hand found yours, your fingers automatically intertwining with his. You started crying, first silently but then the sobs shook with your whole body.

"Come here," he murmured, hugging you. His body was so soft and warm, as if begging you to lean into his touch.

"How- how could you leave this all behind?" you mumbled between the sobs.

"It's not leaving if you don't say goodbye." Matt said, his fingers playing with yours.

"Then you are a fucking coward, Matthew."

Silence. He didn't argue with you on that, so you must have been right.

You stopped crying after a while, checking your watch while wiping your nose.

Shit. It was so late already - you had to call an uber to get you to the airport in the next hour or you'd be super late.

"I'll have to go," you said quietly, but Matt interrupted you.

"You are right," he tucked on the edge of his shirt, clearly nervous. He was nervous. "I was a coward. I thought that if I didn't say goodbye to you as I left, it'd hurt less. I was wrong and I was a fucking coward for not picking up your calls or replying to your messages because it would make it so real - that I was leaving and probably never coming back. But I want to make it all right again, I want to be a part of your life - if you will let me."

You thought about his offer and still, you couldn't answer. You weren't sure about letting him into your heart just for him to storm out again without a goodbye, leaving you behind, broken.

"Can I at least take you to the airport?" To that, you nodded, picking up the time capsule, putting all the items back in. Then you gave back the lent shovels to your neighbour and with a last glance at your house, you got into Matt's car.

...

On the way to the airport Matt played the playlist from the USB that was in the time capsule and the nostalgy hit you hard.

You remembered the lyrics, the melody; you remembered everything.

The drive was too short and you started panicking as the engine stopped.

Matthew helped you with your suitcase and went inside with you. The two of you stopped at the first gate.

"Here," he said, giving you a piece of paper. "It's my adress. Hopefully, you won't live so far away, so we could meet there if you wanted to."

You tucked it in your pocket without a word.

"Also, take this. I wrote it in ninth grade so don't think much of it. But I want you to read it, Y/N."

It was the letter from the time capsule, with your name on the blank envelope.

"I will." you promised.

The silence that followed wasn't awkward this time.

"I'll let you know my decision about what you said earlier. I just... I need some time."

Matt noded, giving you the space you so desperately needed.

"So, until we meet again - goodbye, Y/N."

"Goodbye, Matt."

...

The plane took off and you finally had the time to read the letter he gave you.

You immediately recognised his scrambled handwriting and you smiled at how messy it was before you started reading.

Dear Y/N,

I'm writing this in case I leave. Dad has been telling me for some time already that if I'll get drafted, I'll have to leave. He also said that if I'll be smart, I will never look back at my past.

I don't want you to be my past. I want you to be my present and my future.

He said I'll meet a lot of girls but I know that none of them is going to be like you.

So, I promise you, I will never say goodbye to you.

I love you,

Matt

With trembling fingers, you pulled out your phone, the tears already staining the screen.

That's why he never said goodbye. Because of this stupid letter and his stupid promise.

The phone rang once before he picked it up.

"Y/N? What is it?"

A ragged breath escaped you and you laughed and cried at the same time.

"I don't want you to be my past. I want you to be my present and my future."

"Oh, that was cheesy, wasn't it-"

"No, you dumbass. That's my answer."

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literate-lamb · 4 years

Text

Man of the House | prologue

Sam Wilson/fem!Reader, future dark!Bucky Barnes/fem!Reader

Of first meetings with your landlord and being enamoured with the hauntingly beautiful house. A new start.

► warnings(!): none for this chapter, eventual dubcon/noncon, eventual choking in future chapters. this is a dark fic.

a/n: I’m opening a taglist for this series, just hmu with an ask.

When people think of Fall, they can’t help but attribute it to the crispy coldness, the yellowing of leaves, or children in pumpkin patches. Young adults would probably think of the pumpkin spice lattes from cafes, or for the fans of the occult, All Hallow’s Eve’s approach comes to the mind. Just like the changing of leaves, for you, Fall reminds you of new beginnings. A fresh start.

The autumn wind chills as you huddled closer in your coat, trying to retain warmth. Your old car —a Studebaker Lark ‘63— parked on the curb of the road as you approached the house.

Ahead over you, in its Gothic Revival glory, sat a white wooden house. The drab grey sky made it seem more imposing in stature. The roof was a contrasting grey, steeply pitched with an arched gable. Delicate wooden trims decorated the front; nothing intricate but a simple design. Dirty windows entered your peripheral, the accumulated dust blurring them.

Taking everything in, the house seemed well-maintained, but the chipping of paint reminded you of its age.

Nevertheless, for a structure of such grandeur, it was astonishingly inexpensive. After hours of pouring over internet searches, you couldn’t believe your eyes when you stumbled upon it.

The house was a classic; with its architecture and size, you deemed it perfect. Located in a quieter part of Maryland, bordering DC; not too far from your place of employment, but far from the cacophonies of the city. This, you considered, was your fresh start.

Standing near the driveway was a greying gentleman; grey hair perfectly coiffed, crow’s feet in the corners of twinkling blue eyes. You assumed he’s in his 60’s or 70’s. He greeted you, his weathered face smiling, with a walking stick in hand, although he still seemed strong for his age.

“Good day, Mr Rogers,” you smiled, shaking his offered hand. “Thank you for meeting me today.”

“It’s a pleasure, dear,” he replied. “Let’s go in, shall we?”

Stepping onto the porch, you observed your surroundings. The rustling of trees by the wind was the most prominent of sound, if anything else, it was dead quiet. You could see other houses scattered in the distance, however no immediate neighbours were within vicinity.

The click of the front door unlocking pulled you. The inside was dark, the dusty windows permitting little light, while the floor was covered by a thin layer of dust.

Mr Rogers walked in first, pushing the door and held it open for you. You thanked him, pleased with his gentlemanly ways.

A hiss left you at the sudden switching of lights, attacking your eyes as they readjusted. You blinked a few times to take in the interior.

The hallway was long; cream coloured wallpaper hugged its sides, ending to a larger room in the distance. The walls were bare except for a few random antique mirrors. To your left, a stairway sits. It contrasts the walls; a rich, sturdy, mahogany. To your right, an entrance way opens up; silhouettes standing in the dim shadows.

“I apologize, it’s a bit dusty,” said Mr Rogers, sheepishly. “I try to clean it up at least once a month.”

“By yourself?” you ask, bewildered.

He chuckled, “No, with a cleaning company, dear.”

Telling you to follow him, Mr Rogers stepped into the entryway to your right, switching the lights on.

The silhouettes you saw earlier were of the furniture strewn about; chesterfield sofas, armchairs, and antique floor lamps crowding the room. A fireplace stood near another entrance, a large mirror erected over its mantle, reflecting the rays from the porch windows. It looked like a scene out of those classic films you used to love. If tidied properly, this would be the best reading spot, you thought.

“This is the parlour,” he announced, “Great for having guests over.”

“It’s beautiful,” you beamed.

Moving forward, Mr Rogers walked through the other entryway, leading to a dining room. From your vantage point, you could see this is the room the hallway ends up to.

Smacked in the middle, a sleek white marble dining table sits. Its length stretches across the room, sets of dining chairs accommodating tens of people. It looked ideal for hosting dinner parties.

The dining room was connected to the kitchen in the back, easing the transferring of food. When you stepped foot into the kitchen, you didn’t expect it to be extravagantly spacious. You smiled, envisioning yourself cooking meals in this kitchen.

“There are a few pots and pans under the cupboards if you ever want to use ‘em,” the older man says. “They were my wife’s”

Curious, you pressed, “Your wife, sir?”

“Yep, my wife, Peggy,” he smiled, eyes distant, lost in a different time, “Actually, she was the one who owned this house, or atleast, her family did. I inherited it after she passed away, felt it was too big to live by myself ya know?”

You hummed in understanding. He must have lived a fulfilling life with his wife, judging by the look. After a few seconds, he snapped out of it, composed himself, and marched on.

“This here leads to the back of the house,” he gestured to a door, the upper half a transparent window. You could see tall blades of grass and the dense trees swaying out back, reacting to the wind. “And this one’s the laundry room, the bathroom’s next to it,” he continued, opening a second door in the kitchen.

You both left the kitchen, entering the hallway through the dining room. As you passed, you noticed a set of stairs obscured under the main staircase. It was smaller, leading down under, ending where a thick black door stood in slight darkness.

“Uhm, Mr Rogers?” you asked, pausing. “What’s that room?”

The older man stopped, turning to look back.

“Oh, that’s the basement. Nothing exciting down there though, just a furnace and some tools. I’ll show you soon,” he seemed to ramble, before turning his back quickly. Without waiting for you, he started climbing the stairs, slowly, hand gripping the railings tightly, walking stick in the other.

That prompted an eyebrow raise from you, he almost seemed flustered. Shrugging it off, you followed.

“So, tell me, dear,” he started, “What brings you searching for a house in this area? It’s not exactly the most happening of places for youngsters.”

The question surprised you. Usually most landlords don’t bother to know such, especially of potential tenants. Their only concern being prompt payments, or you’re out.

“Um, I’m a vet, and I actually work closer here than if I live in the city,” you replied, “Plus, it beats the DC traffic.” Which was true, harrowing through traffic everyday was exhausting.

Mr Rogers chuckled in response.

The second floor was the same layout as the floor below; a long hallway with doors. You noticed there were even more mirrors on this floor. Come to think of it, there were mirrors in every room you’ve been in so far.

“There are three bedrooms and a bathroom on this floor,” —the man explains, opening a door— “And this is the master bedroom.”

It was spacious and regal, light blue walls with dark furniture occupied the room; a king-sized four poster, a vanity, and a large wardrobe stood next to a closet. On the furthest side, two stained glass doors stood, leading to a balcony overlooking the front yard. The colours from the glass reflected on the walls, giving allusions to crystalline shapes. You imagined how they’d reflect during sunset. It was perfect.

The tour commenced with Mr Rogers showing the other two bedrooms and bathroom. At the end of the hall, he led you to a wooden ladder that stood connected to a latch door in the ceiling.

“That’s the attic, nothing much but dust and some old furniture,” he pointed, “You can take a look at ‘em and see if they’re to your liking when you decide to move in.”

Heading down the stairs, the basement was the last place on the tour.

“So, how are you liking the place so far?” he asks, walking beside you.

Biting your lip, you chose your words carefully. “It’s beautiful, the furniture, the decor, and such big space as well,” you said, “Although I’m surprised that I’ll be getting all of this, especially with the price.”

The elder man picked up on your apprehension, “Ah, about that, I’ll discuss the details with you after we finish.” He took the lead, pushing the thick black door with his body. He was stronger than you expected.

A sense of foreboding was felt at first as the door creaked. After going further down the steps, it wasn’t as dark as you expected. Minimal light shone in through small windows on the upper walls, the glass separating the two worlds.

The dangling chain on the ceiling was pulled, flooding the space in light. Adjusting to the brightness, you could see it was dustier in the basement. Cobwebs hung in corners, entangling corpses with them. Thick dust covered the surface of shelves, as if a blizzard invaded. An even thicker silence settled, deafening to the core.

“Don’t you worry about that thing,” the man’s voice echoed, pointing to a furnace in the back, “Got that serviced this year, if anything happens just let me know.” Turning to the shelves, he seemed to inspect them for a few moments, eyes squinting. “And there’s a lot of tool boxes in here,” he gestured to the heavy shelves, pushed to the walls, “Feel free to use ‘em.”

Not wasting any time, Mr Rogers turned back towards the stairs. You followed suit, pulling the chain, basking the basement in darkness once more.

As you began to ascend, a sudden strong scent invaded your nostrils, wafting through like an uninvited guest. You gave another whiff. A musky scent, wild, and smoky, further reminding you of Fall.

Casting one last glance into the darkness, you shrugged it off, and closed the door. Must’ve been Mr Rogers’ faint cologne.

You observed the state of the porch as Mr Rogers locked the front door. The porch needed sweeping, you noted, stepping on a sea of dead leaves, their crunching audible.

Overlooking the lawn, you noticed a pair of blue eyes at the edge of the porch. A pair of white fluffy ears accompanied, flickering occasionally. You smiled, it seemed like you had a visitor.

Squatting down on the steps of the porch, you chittered, hoping to catch its attention. After a few seconds, a white blur zoomed in, scurrying then stopping abruptly at your feet. It mewled, wide blue eyes staring, demanding attention. You petted and scratched below its jaw, the creature emitting content purrs.

“Looks like she’s taken a liking to you,” voices Mr Rogers from behind, “She’s a stray, always coming ‘round.”

“I’m surprised, she’s very friendly,” you said, petting snowy fur.

Seconds pass, the cat’s purr the only sound.

“I’m sure you’ve been wondering regarding the rent,” he breaks the silence, taking a seat on the porch steps. “Why it’s so… well, cheap, for a fully furnished house like this.”

“Well… yeah, I actually almost thought it was a scam,” you replied, sheepish. “I had to actually see it for myself.”

The older gentleman laughed, “I don’t blame you, it sounds too good to be true.”

And indeed, it was. For a classic house like this, dating probably a century back, and fully furnished, something must be up. It was too good of a good bargain.

“Actually, there’s a reason why I put it that way,” he admits after a few beats. “Tell me, do you believe in ghosts, dear?”

You frowned, wondering where he’s going with this, “Can’t say I do.”

“Let me guess, atheist?”

“Agnostic.”

He smiles mirthlessly, “Well, I can’t say I believe in them either, but for the past years, I’ve been having trouble getting tenants to stay.” That piqued your curiosity.

“What do you mean, sir?” you pressed, intrigued.

“Past tenants have told me they’ve been… spooked while living in the house, like things disappearing and reappearing, or hearing footsteps and what not,” the man explains, “But I can’t say it’s true since it’s all peaceful whenever I stay here, or check up on maintenance. I’ve even had a friend stay here for a week, and nothing!"

Ah, the classic household haunting you’ve always seen in movies; missing items, heavy footsteps, the feeling of being watched. Sitting on the steps, you felt like a walking cliché; the stupid girl who goes into a large house knowing it’s haunted, wanting a taste of thrill. Yet, you can’t be bothered. You’ve always been a skeptic, a believer that science and logic can debunk these things.

“What I wanted to ask you is, would you still want to move here after all I’ve told you?” the older man asked. “I’d understand if you want to back out.”

His question shows how concerned he is about others, even if it’ll put a damper in his business. You felt lucky to have stumbled upon an honest and understanding landlord, not everyone had that privilege. But something felt off.

“I don’t understand, while I appreciate it, why do you need to disclose this, sir?” you ask, weirded out. “Isn’t it buyers beware?”

“It’s a part of the law to categorize it under ‘stigmatized’ property,” he replied. “Besides, I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if you didn’t know,” he chuckled, you joined him. “So, what about it, dear?”

Stroking the cat, you thought about it. You were never a believer of ghouls nor other other-worldly beings, and you weren’t going to start now. While the presence of ghosts could never be proven or denied, you believed that every occurrence has a logical explanation, even the paranormal. You weren’t about to let go of a wonderful place just because some ghost decided to move in as well. Stigmatized or not, you’ve found yourself a good deal. The perfect start.

“Don’t worry Mr Rogers, ghosts or no, nothing's gonna stop me from living in this house,” you smiled. He returned it.

Later, after much discussion and the exchange of handshakes, you left the house with a sense of relief. Pulling out of the driveway, you waved to the older gentleman, before speeding off.

A few metres ahead, checking in the rearview mirror, you saw Mr Rogers still standing in the driveway.

His smile never faltered.

The next day finds you working endlessly at the clinic, meeting furry patients left and right, tending to their dilemmas. The clinic was almost never vacant, the seats occupied always leaving behind fur. To you, it has always been a fulfilling job. Sometimes you’ll get scratched, or hissed at, but at the end of the day it was always worth the care.

Lunch came a bit later. Sighing, your shoulders relaxed. After attending to a cat that decided it needed to throw a hissy fit, you really needed a break. While shovelling food into your mouth, your phone suddenly rang; Sam Wilson flashing on the screen.

“Hi, baby,” you picked up.

“Hello, baby,” came the sultry voice on the other end. “How’s my girl doin’?”

“She’s doing fine, thank you for asking,” you teased. “Why’d you call? Did something happen?”

Muffled chuckles rang through the speakers, “No, nothing happened, just wanted to know how you’re doin’. Hey, how was the house? All good?”

“It was gorgeous! And fully-furnished too!” you replied, gleefully. “It was all antique, the master bedroom was my favourite,” and you continued telling him of everything, from the fancy parlour to the stained glass doors. Sam listened attentively, humming and responding at appropriate times. And this is why you loved him. He was always the talkative one out of you two, yet he never talked out of turn, always putting you first. “Oh, and I’ve found out why it’s so affordable.”

“Let me guess, someone died in that house?”

You chuckled, “Close, apparently it’s ‘haunted’, ooh,” you booed. “The landlord said he had never experienced it during all his years there, nor did his friend that apparently stayed there. So it makes you wonder, if it were just stories from people paranoid about living in an old house.”

“Sounds like it,” Sam hummed. “Can’t wait to have sleepovers at your new place now.”

You laughed, missing his dose of humour and his presence terribly. “I wished you were there with me.”

“I wished I had too, baby,” he murmured, “So when’s the moving date? Gotta put these bad boys into good use.” You heard him grunting, probably flexing his bicep from the other end. Sam’s antics always amused you. He was your happy pill.

“I told Mr Rogers —that’s the landlord— I’ll be moving in two weeks,” you explained. “Do you mind taking a day off to help me? Pretty please?”

“Anything for you, baby.”

#sam wilson x reader #bucky barnes x reader #dark fic #trope: haunted house AU #dark bucky barnes #horror #mystery #marvel fanfiction

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creepingsharia · 4 years

Text

A Month of Islam in America: July 2020

The jihad didn’t stop just because the government shut down your schools, your churches, your parks, and most every other aspect of your life. No, the jihad is a process. We start with some historical context for that ongoing process.

What is Islamization?

Islam: “It’s a creeping thing, one big, long war” (VIDEO)

The Battle of Hattin: Islam’s July 4 Triumph

Click any link below for more details and a link to the original source.

Jihad in America:

Arizona: Woman arrested at Phoenix airport en route to join al Qaeda

Georiga: Muslim gets 15 years for jihad plots on White House, Statue of Liberty, Washington Monument, Lincoln Memorial, and synagogue

Missouri: Bosnian Muslim Refugee Gets 8 Years for Providing Material Support to Islamic Terrorists

North Carolina: Man who wanted to join Islamic State (ISIS), use girlfriend’s “Buddy Pass” to aid jihad, gets 5 year sentence

Hawaii: Man who proclaimed allegiance to ISIS charged for threats to kill teachers and students, bomb police

Florida: Muslim woman who attacked cop left note declaring it was jihad for her jihadi brother - police shooting ruled justified

Minnesota: Lebanese immigrant gets 42 months for sending drone tech to Hizbollah

Florida: Lebanese Hizbollah narco-money launderer extradited to Miami

Islamic - Black Lives Matter - Antifa-related Jihad in America

New York: Muslim invaders call for “death to America”, “abolish the U.S. government” and incite violence against NYPD (VIDEOS)

Minnesota: Muslim Charged with Arson of St. Paul High School During BLM Riots

American convert to Islam runs Twitter poll on most ‘satisfying’ way to destroy Lincoln Memorial...using captured, non-Muslim slaves

Illinois: Muslim Democrat nominee who tweeted about watching assault of federal officer on repeat & “laughing every single time” drops out of race

Philadelphia: Black “liberation” groups demand release of Muslim who killed cop

Kentucky: 10 arrested for jewelery store burglary during BLM riots

Maine: Man arrested in drive-by shooting at police headquarters, assaulting a cop and an FBI agent

Michigan: Fugitive with Islamic face tattoo who escaped Virginia jail captured in Battle Creek

Previous monthly reports here.

Immigration Jihad also known as Hijra:

Texas: Illegal immigrants from Iran caught at Texas border; Iranians arrested for fraud & on FBI Most Wanted List

California: Syrian immigrant (refugee?) arrested after importing looted ancient Hercules mosaic

Virginia: Muslim arrested in home invasion robbed family, fled from and smashed cops... with his child in car

Rape Jihad:

Arizona: Muslim arrested for kidnapping, raping and trying to kill a woman in Gilroy

Fraud for Jihad:

Ohio: Muslim sentenced for illegal halal slaughterhouse and discharge of animals into waterways

Virginia: Four Muslims arrested in cigarette trafficking bust in Chesterfield

Terrorist Financing Targeting Center Sanctions Network of ISIS-Linked Financial Facilitators and Money Services Businesses

Mosque Jihad:

Illinois: Bolingbrook imam forced to resign over sexist, racist (n-word) social media posts

Turkey converting buildings to mosques across the U.S.

Government collusion with and failure to prevent jihad:

California: Muslim convicted in Mumbai Massacre granted early release due to coronavirus is rearrested, faces extradition to India

NYC: Conspirator in 1993 jihad plot to bomb NYC landmarks released to Manhattan homeless shelter

New York: Pakistani Muslim lawyer who fire-bombed NYPD vehicle is released on bail, again

California: Sentencing for man who plotted with, purchased guns for San Bernardino jihadis delayed to late October

Maryland: Obama judge delays trial, extends hospitalization for Muslim immigrant arrested prior to ISIS truck jihad attack at National Harbor

Joe Biden’s Jihad:

Biden Hires Islamic Supremacist as Islamic Influence Operations Target His Campaign

Joe Biden to speak to the nation’s largest Muslim [Brotherhood] American PAC

Muslim Brotherhood group gets Joe Biden to quote hadith calling for jihad against unbelievers (e.g., America)

VIDEO: Joe Biden Calls for Jihad against America Democrat

VIDEO: Joe Biden wishes “we taught more in our schools about the Islamic faith”

VIDEO: Joe Biden will end travel restrictions from Islamic terror hotspots (so-called ‘Muslim ban’) “on Day One”

Bonus: Stories of Muslim diversity we did not have time to post:

Virginia: Honor Killing? Ball Salim Ahmed Ball charged with murder of Reston woman in her home

Virginia: High School - Mohamed Aly - Student Charged for Double Homicide of Northwest Graduates

Virginia: Animal cruelty charges dropped, assault case against Mohamed Fahmy-Arape moves forward

Mohammed Nasim arrested after fatally striking woman then fleeing scene in Brooklyn

Colorado: Greeley police arrest Abdirahman Hussein Mohamed in aggravated robbery at Target

Victories? Or losses due to unregulated immigration (i.e., the Jihad Tax)?

Wyoming: Bill to ban female genital mutilation (FGM) passes despite pushback by radical trans activists

Massachusetts House passes bill to establish criminal and civil penalties for female genital mutilation (FGM)

Previous monthly reports here.

Please share this and other posts on your social media sites.

#Islam #Muslim #Sharia #Jihad #Legal #Law #Immigration #Mosque #News #Politics #Media #monthly

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acardetailingsite-blog · 5 years

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Essentials of Car Detailing

Car detailing is a process whereby thorough cleaning and restoration of the vehicle is done for the car to be sparkling clean. This is a procedure that gives the vehicle a new amazing look from inside out of the entire car and it is very important for car maintenance. When auto detailing is done professionally one can easily confuse it to a brand-new car since the tools used will do wonders to the vehicle thus leaving it sparkling clean. Read on to know more about this company services. A dirty car is a depressed car since its performance will always be poor and deteriorating but a clean car will stay healthy and its functionality will be effective. Auto detailing is deeper than the washing of the car as this is whereby the car is cleaned in detailed allowing the car to have a new better look. Car detailing is very important since it protects your car from damaging and also it adds value to your car this means you can sell your car at a good price even though it is an old car as the detailing makes the car look newer like it’s been in short term use. Auto detailing includes cleaning of fabric in the car, glass treatment, engine cleaning, tire dressing, floor/mat shampoo, custom wheel cleaning among other services and all these are done deeply and thoroughly. Car detailing is very essential as it helps in improving the functionality of the car. Comfort is very essential that’s why your car needs proper cleaning and have it done professionally as this way your car will have a new look thus improving safety even for yourself. Auto detail gives your car a reason to gain value as the more it looks new the better for sale and people should take advantage of that. Deep cleaning is important as it helps terminate the bad odor from the car. Professional auto detailing your car should be impressive after seeing the results as the reformation makes it look totally different thus giving it better looks than it was before. The transformation of the car after the detailing is always amazing. To improve gas mileage make sure you have auto detailing more often as this is one way of keeping the engine performance swift and effective. The engine offers less wind resistance improving its performance generally auto detailing is very important due to its magical results upon any vehicle that’s why people should be having their cars auto detailed more often for durable maintenance of the car.

Another thing that you need to know is that these companies also provide Chesterfield animal urine removal service.

Check out also this related link - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Auto_detailing

#car detailing

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californiadreaminghq · 5 years

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Oh good, you made it!

Did you guys know Ky was coming? They brought Anthony Doyle, The Stranded! And just on time! Grab a drink, find a spot, and make sure you finish everything on the checklist. The band is just getting started – you have 24 hours to send in your account! We’re so glad you’re here!

I. OUT OF THE STUDIO

NAME/ALIAS: Ky

AGE: 28

PRONOUNS: they

II. ON STAGE

DESIRED SKELETON: The Stranded

NAME: Anthony Doyle (Antonino Azzara)

FACE CLAIM: Luke Pasqualino

AGE: 27

OCCUPATION: Bassist with Violent Vale

III. INTERVIEW

Answer the following questions in your character’s voice:

If you could do anything in the world for a living, what would it be?

“What, if I didn’t have the band to look after?” That made him pause, it did. Shit. What would he do? Go back and help mum and dad with the shop? Even they didn’t want that. If they were being honest about it. “Fucked if I know,” Anthony flapped a hand, cigarette smoke curling after. He’d get on with it. Somehow. “Maybe a zoo?” He threw that out there, for the hell of it. “That’s what I went on about, when I was a kid. Working at the petting zoo, with the cockatoos and goats.” Not very rock and roll. But, then again - he’d got plenty of practice with wild animals, hadn’t he?

If you could travel anywhere, where would you go?

“New York was mint. Wouldn’t mind another stop off around there, sometime.” So long as he didn’t have to be running about keeping those muppets out of trouble. Those beloved muppets of his. Anthony took a thoughtful drag, considering his options. World was his oyster, innit? “Other than that, oh…those Galapagos Islands might do. See the big, fuck off tortoises. Darwin’s finches. And your cousins, mate,” he smirked at the iguana lazing down the chesterfield from him, dozy in the California heat. “Seems a relaxing sort of place.”

What is one thing that makes you different than anyone else?

“Out of this lot? I can cook. Properly, mind, like, real food. Vitamins, minerals. And I can press clothes. Do up a tie. Fix a button, change a tire…” he counted off on his fingers, knowing he’d run out. Violent Vale had a lot going for it, but. When it came to just being able to get shit done, the little things that kept life rolling along in some semblance of order, Anthony was the one who had to step up, often as not. “Tell time.” He rapped his watch, snuffing his cigarette. Not the first interview where he’d been the only bastard of the bunch to show up when the calendar said so. Wouldn’t be the last. “Don’t you worry, they’ll be along.” He wouldn’t promise shortly. Knew better.

IV. BACKSTAGE

Anthony - as his teachers at school quickly got to calling him, because Antonino was just too much of a mouthful, apparently - didn’t remember Italy, but his neighbors around Bristol never let him, or his hard-working parents, forget it. The Azzaras had left their mother country, and generations of family history, behind when Anthony was just shy of his second birthday; the future had looked too grim, in wartorn, bombed out Naples. Better to try their chances elsewhere. They got as far as England, and set about becoming as Bristolian as they could. Which, according to the locals, was never really enough. Still, they got on with it - it being a little chippy down in Temple Meads. Nothing special, but cod and potatoes paid the bills. Mostly. When the shop didn’t cover rent and such, or needed new windows and paint after the odd smash-up, Ant found ways to make ends meet. His mum and dad might frown on it, and fret, but he’d learned plenty of tricks from hanging about on the fringes. Met all sorts of interesting people, there. Fences, for one. With his clever fingers and fast feet, Anthony could make himself some good money when he needed it, pawning things he snuck off drunk tourists.

But only when he needed it. When his family needed it, more rightly. Picking pockets and sneaking unattended handbags wasn’t fun. It was risky, and he knew that. Anthony played smart, and took honest work over a quick buck, when he could find it. Was a band, a rock band, honest work? He wasn’t too sure about that, but Violent Vale wasn’t just a rock band. They were family too, childhood friends. The type who’d start your fights for you. Loyal to a fault, because they’d earned it, Anthony let himself get drawn into the dream and put those troublesome hands to better use on the bass.

They weren’t bad, neither. Not bad at all. A few gigs around town became more, became daytripping to Bath, became playing at this little festival over in Glastonbury, became a weekend over in London. Became fame. Soon, he didn’t have time to bus tables for his parents - and he didn’t even need to feel guilty about it, because the money was good. Stupid good. It only got better as Violent Vale got big, and bigger. They were riding a trend, all the way to the top. All the way to America. Mad, wasn’t it? New York City was a good time, a breath of fresh air. Well, fresh-ish. Unfortunately, it was too good of a time for some members of the band. As in England, Ant found himself acting the collie dog, shepherding his little lunatic gang around the city, trying to keep them in line and on schedule. It was a hell of a job. And, frankly, he needed to cut loose himself now and then. Now and then became too often, quickly. Predictable, wasn’t it? Those ties that bound were tight, after all. Anthony found himself dragged off course more than he should’ve been, through the clubs and rooftops and streets of the Big Apple. The bills piled up. The tabloids loved it. Their managers didn’t. Soon, it was decided - forcefully - that they’d be packing up, shipping out west. To California. Beaches, bikinis, big record labels. Sounded wicked.

So long as they got their shit in line. Ant pulled the band together for their own meeting, after management left to arrange the details. Los Angeles had to be different. More music, less party. Please? He was, well. Worried about them. The Vale were more than a headline, more than letters in lights. They were his mates, the best he had. He wasn’t trying to be a killjoy, here. Just wanted to see them survive stardom. They seemed to be listening, but… he knows them, these people of his. Not at all mollified, he threw back his gin and tonic, reclined that big American airline seat, and hoped for the best. He’s not out to change his friends, to be clear. He just… wishes they weren’t such a bloody mess. Until that day comes, though, Ant’ll be there to scrape the Vale off the floor and into the studio, anytime, everytime.

V. ENCORE

Let’s try some HEADCANONS.

He’s not a Tony. Don’t call him Tony. At least one of his bandmates - if not the whole mangy crew - has known Anthony long enough to remember when he was a weedy little late-bloomer, last boy at school to shoot up and fill out; those days left him with the unenviable nickname of Ant. It’s stuck, but whether he finds it aggravating or endearing really depends on the moment. Don’t try it if you’re not a proper, close friend. You’ve got to earn the right, yeah?

While he couldn’t say much for the Bristol school system, Ant’s an avid self-educator. He’s particularly keen on environmental subjects and history, and his letterbox is often packed with magazines like National Geographic, Time, and The Ecologist.

Anthony’s loving the California sunshine, honestly. He’s often found on the beaches, taking a morning swim - in water that’s not too bloody cold for that, what a wonder - or an evening run.

Given his love of animals, it comes as no surprise to most that Anthony’s very vegetarian. Unless he’s at home, with mum and dad. Then he eats what he’s given, and likes it. Obviously.

Anthony can speak Italian, but not much. His parents discouraged their first language at home; faced with the prejudices of working class Bristol, the Azzaras tried very, very hard to fit the mould of respectable, urban, English family. Mum and dad were understanding when he first took up a blandly British stage name - it could only help his chances. It was sensible, but… difficult, in a way Anthony can’t quite articulate. He doesn’t have a mother country to miss, not the way his parents do. All the same, his name, his skin, his face, have been held against him for as long as he can remember. He’s sensitive to the tensions of race and culture, and even if America’s problems with all that haven’t smashed any of his windows in, Ant can see them pretty plainly.

His first fresh-to-fame personal indulgence was buying up an iguana that caught his eye in a shop window, back in London. They weren’t taking proper care of it, right - all cramped up, with sad, fake vines, wilted lettuce. Couldn’t have that. Said iguana, now known as Dennis, as in, the Menace, now travels alongside the band - frequently creating a bit of a stir in transit. Nobody’s too fond of the idea of transporting live reptiles, as it turns out. Anthony’s turned his apartment in Los Angeles into a free-range reptile habitat for Dennis’s sake, complete with some lovely lush plants he takes diligent care of.

Anthony tries - and largely succeeds - at being the reasonable, sensible, presentable face of the Vale. But if you hit the right buttons, he’ll show you just what sort of British culture he picked up along the Bristol docks. Ant breaks up more fights than he starts, and when he does, he tends to break some faces along the way. Got a mean headbutt, in true hooligan style.

And of course, a PLAYLIST! Here’s some period-rightish tunes that brought Ant to life for me. There’s some appropriately hot-blooded fling type tracks, a lot of British rock of all stripes, some rebel yelling, and bangers to blow the roof off, in truly Violent Vale style.

Immigrant Song - Led Zeppelin

Baba O’Riley - The Who

Teenage Kicks - The Undertones

Jimmy Jazz - The Clash

Friends of Mine - Buzzcocks

Good Times Roll - The Cars

Hush - Deep Purple

Burning Down the House - Talking Heads

Demolition - The Kinks

Don’t Bring Me Down - Electric Light Orchestra

No More Heroes - The Stranglers

The Night Comes Down - Queen

God Save the Queen - Sex Pistols

Good Times Bad Times - Led Zeppelin

Don’t Mess Me Round - Buzzcocks

Under Pressure - Queen & David Bowie

I Know a Girl - The Undertones

Just What I Needed - The Cars

Money - Pink Floyd

Rebel Rebel - David Bowie

My Generation - The Who

Lola - The Kinks

I Told You So - The Undertones

Diamond Dogs - David Bowie

Wasted Life - Stiff Little Fingers

Real Cool Time - The Stooges

You’re All I’ve Got Tonight - The Cars

Ever Fallen In Love (With Someone You Shouldn’t’ve?) - Buzzcocks

Should I Stay Or Should I Go - The Clash

All Day and All of the Night - The Kinks

Keep Yourself Alive - Queen

#accepted

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heartsandmuses · 6 years

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Code Name: Armour

Universe: MCU-based AU

Rating: T (for language)

Summary: Being friends with benefits with Steve is great. Really, it is. But sometimes Tony wishes they were more than just that. (Or: the modern!no-powers!AU where Tony has a crush, Steve has a secret, and both of them are pining idiots.)

for the @capim-tinybang // inspired by @cat-solari‘s gorgeous art

It only occurred to Tony after he’d knocked on the door that maybe this wasn’t the kind of conversation to have at this time of night, on impulse and while slightly tipsy. But he needed the liquid confidence to even broach the subject, and Happy was already pulling away from the curb, throwing one last wave out the window of the town car as he headed back towards the Brooklyn Bridge.

Well, it was too late to back out now.

Tony tried to go over talking points in his head, tried to remember everything he wanted to say and string them into at least moderately cohesive sentences, but found himself distracted by how strangely, shockingly nervous he was.

It made sense, though — as full as his forty years on Earth had been, this was a pretty much unprecedented event in his life. He’d had fuck buddies before, sure, and he’d gone on more than a few dates… But Tony had never grown this attached to someone, had never actually wanted feelings to be involved.

At least not until he met Steve.

More than once, Tony found himself wondering what it would be like to actually date the guy: holding his hand from across the table at dinner, buying him a new set of expensive paints every time he complained about his old ones running out, discovering all the ways to coax that lovely blush to his cheeks and that bright, lopsided smile to his lips.

They’d only met a couple months ago, and slept together a handful of times since, but Christ, Tony was whipped.

The thing that gave him pause about attempting to ask Steve out sooner, though, was the fact that Steve seemed more than happy to keep things strictly casual between them. He always kept Tony at a distance, no matter how unintentionally; he never stayed the night. If it was a fear of commitment, Tony could definitely understand that, but it seemed like something else. Exactly what, though, he couldn’t quite figure out.

He tried the doorbell this time, then again after a minute had passed and no one answered. Tony had only been here once before, to quickly pick up a painting that he’d commissioned from Steve for Pepper’s birthday, and just when he stepped back to assess the dingy old brownstone, starting to wonder if he’d gotten the wrong one, the door finally opened.

Steve stood on the other side, in that blue button-up that brought out his eyes, and when he saw that it was Tony, blinked in surprise. “Hey,” he said, belatedly, and pulled the door closed ever-so-slightly, so just his face was visible. “Um, listen, now’s not really a good time to—”

“Oh, no,” Tony said, with a small chuckle and a shake of his head. “No, not here for a booty call. I was just, y’know. In the area. Thought I’d drop by, say hello.”

Steve just raised a brow, dubious.

“Okay, yeah, that was a lie,” Tony admitted, mouth suddenly dry. He could play it cool around millionaires and movie stars, but there was something about Steve that just made him melt into a big puddle of mush. “I, um. I actually came down here to ask you to dinner. Not tonight, obviously, it’s— Oh, God, it’s late, but, uh, I was thinking maybe this weekend—”

Thankfully, before he could ramble any more, Tony was effectively cut off by a resounding crash from somewhere deep in the brownstone, as if a piece of furniture had been knocked over. Whatever it was, Steve seemed more exasperated than concerned, and it didn’t take long for Tony to jump to the most logical conclusion.

“Oh. Sorry, I didn’t know you had someone over.” Tony was caught between wanting to take a step back and at the same time wanting to peer behind Steve’s broad frame to locate the source of the noise, and ended up merely swaying on his feet for a moment. “I can come back, if this is a bad time.”

It was stupid, pathetic, to feel so gutted at the thought of Steve fooling around with other people; although, in retrospect, it would shed some light on some of his more mysterious habits. Still, Tony was in no position to judge, not when he’d bedded half of Manhattan himself by the age of thirty.

And anyway, Steve was dismissing the idea entirely, with a simple wave of his hand.

Tony tried not to sigh in relief.

“No, I don’t— It’s not like that,” Steve argued lightly, gaze dropping to the ground as he struggled to find his next words. “Listen, Tony, there’s something I need to tell you.”

But before he even had the chance, there was a quick patter of bare feet over hardwood, and a little boy, probably around five years old, poked his head in the space between the doorframe and Steve’s hip, half-hidden behind Steve’s legs.

They had the same sandy blond hair, the same gentle blue eyes. Hell, they were even wearing matching outfits: those god-awful khakis Steve was so fond of, shirts tucked in and sleeves rolled to their elbows.

It didn’t take a genius to figure it out.

Tony sobered up immediately.

“You have a kid.”

There was just something about saying the words out loud that made everything click into place. Steve’s reluctance to share of some of the finer details of his personal life, the unwillingness to sleep over, the evasive responses to any suggestion of meeting up at his place. Out of all the reasons Tony had considered, this one hadn’t even made the list, and he couldn’t help but let out a relieved breath. Because sure, Steve having a kid was a pretty big deal — but it definitely wasn’t a deal-breaker.

Tony was great with kids.

Steve’s expression flitted through about twenty emotions in the span of five seconds — bashfulness, apology, determination — before settling on something close to surprise, probably by how well Tony was taking the news. “I do, yeah. This is my son, James,” he said, smoothing a hand over the boy’s silken hair. “James, this is my... friend, Tony.”

When Tony held out a hand, James grabbed onto his index finger with a tiny little fist, giving it a few firm shakes. “My daddy talks about you all the time, y’know,” he said, matter-of-fact. “Uncle Bucky says it’s ‘cause he’s got a crush on you.”

Tony smirked, glancing up at Steve, who was blushing a lovely shade of red. “Is that so?” he murmured, teasing.

“I think it’s about time you go to bed, Jamie,” Steve said pointedly.

James pouted. “You said we could play superheroes first,” he argued, turning those baby blue puppy-dog eyes on Tony. “Do you wanna play superheroes with me?”

“You don’t have to,” Steve told him, voice soft.

“Can I?” Tony jutted out his bottom lip, imitating James. “I mean, look at that face. How could I say no to that?”

“Very easily, once you get to know him. Are you sure?”

“Yeah, why not, I love kids. And superheroes, for that matter.”

Sharing one last look with James, Steve finally stepped back, pulling the door open a little wider and gesturing Tony inside. “Well, alright then,” he said, with a small smile. “Come on in.”

— — —

Playing superheroes, as it turned out, consisted mainly of piggybacking James around the house, running from Steve who was apparently playing the part of the villain, and coming up with ridiculous names and equally ridiculous powers on the spot.

Needless to say, Tony was having the time of his life.

“I’ll save you, Iron Man!” James yelled, unprompted, even though Tony was the one holding him protectively. He held his hand out, making tiny little pew-pew-pew sounds under his breath as Steve approached, shooting him with invisible repulsor beams.

Tony couldn’t help the fond laugh that escaped him.

— — —

After about half an hour of tucking James in, complete with a handful of bedtime stories, a thorough search for any monsters in the closet, and an Irish lullaby, Steve finally joined Tony on the couch in the living room, all but collapsing tiredly beside him.

“Munchkin finally asleep?”

“For now, yeah. All that running around must’ve tuckered him out.” Steve looked over at Tony, searching his expression, brows slightly furrowed, lips curled upward, like he was trying to piece together a puzzle, or perhaps read Tony’s thoughts. It took a moment before he found his next words. “I’m sorry. For not being entirely honest with you. I know that we — well, we weren’t serious or anything, but still, I should’ve at least told you about Jamie.”

“Hey,” Tony cut in, and before he knew what he was doing, he raised a hand to cup Steve’s cheek, thumb sweeping gently over the blush that was starting to rise under his palm. “It’s okay. If anything, it’s a relief. I mean, Christ, Steve, I was starting to think you were— I don’t know, a spy or something, the way you never stuck around or told me anything personal. Either that, or you turned into a pumpkin at midnight. Or you’re married.” He paused. “You aren’t married, are you?”

“No,” he said, with a small shake of his head. “Not married. Never have been.”

“Secret agent?”

“Nope, just a regular starving artist.” Steve huffed out a laugh, but his smile faltered somewhat as he admitted, “I don’t usually introduce Jamie to the people I’m… y’know. With. Not at first, at least — in case it doesn’t work out. He gets attached pretty easily.”

“Just James?”

“Well. So do I, sometimes.” Steve averted his gaze from Tony’s, picking at invisible fluff on the back of the worn chesterfield. “Listen, now that you know… I think it goes without saying that we’re a package deal. And kids are… a lot of work. A lot. Even a good kid like Jamie. So I completely understand if, uh, if you want to rescind your offer to dinner—”

Tony shut him up in the only way he knew how — he leaned in and pressed his lips to Steve’s. It wasn’t rushed and heated, like before; this time, the kiss was slower, softer, and when he finally pulled away, it was to rest their foreheads together, breathing each other in for a long moment. “I’ve been half in love with you for the better part of the past couple months. And of course I fell in love with Jamie the minute I met him,” he murmured. “I want this, Steve.”

“I want you too. So much,” Steve replied, smiling against Tony’s lips as he kissed him again. “Stay the night. Please.”

“Your son’s in the next room, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea—”

“Just to sleep,” he interjected gently. “Cuddle, maybe.”

“Well, we do need to make up for lost time.” Tony grinned as he stood from the couch, taking Steve’s hand to help him to his feet as well. He didn’t let go afterwards, just giving it a light squeeze as he nodded in the direction of the stairs. “Alright, sweetheart, lead the way.”

#capimtrb2018 #steve rogers #tony stark #stony #otp: put on the suit #ficlets #fics #my fics #my writing #mine #amy talks #capimtrb #i wrote like a million drafts of this i hope it turned out okay #au #superfamily #ish

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formerlyrunephoenix6769 · 5 years

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Shattered: Chapter 9

(AMELIE)

High up in the French Alps, Amelie carefully eased the light sports car round the airpin bend, navigating the twisting and turning roads that often gave way to sudden steep drops offering her breath taking views of the sweeping countryside of Annecy. As she eased the car down a sudden incline that looped back on itself, descending to the lush valley below, she tapped a perfectly manicured finger nail against the screen of her scroll,

“Angela, can you hear me?”

A voice like one of earlier Omnic models replied, accompanied by the tell-tale crackle of static feedback. As she continued to descend, the doctor’s voice began to come through clearer,

“… ould have come wit.. busy here.. accident..”

Crinkling her brow, the ballerina tapped the screen again in frustration,

“I cant hear you. The reception has always been crap up here. One second.”

Placing both hands on the wheel, she concentrated as a smaller car began to approach from the opposite direction. Normally this mountain pass would be backed up, a sluggish snail snaking down the mountainside but thankfully the busy season was beginning to wind down and the ‘pearl of the French Alps’ would return to its quiet and peaceful existence.

It had only been a few months since Overwatch’s great technological triumph had resulted in disaster, the highly specialised aircraft had phased out of existence and fallout around the accident was astronomical. Every newspaper and TV pundit speculated to the exact nature of the ‘Slipstream Incident’.

Was it an accident, or was it sabotage?

One publication had gone so far as to have a small tally, counting the number of days the pilot had been MIA. Others had reported every minute detail of the young woman’s stellar career in the RAF, hailing her an Omnic Crisis Hero cut down in her prime. A King’s Row street rat done good.

Nobody had known where the leak to the press had sprung from, but the speed and the intimate details of it fueled paranoia in the ranks of Overwatch.

In a bid to plug it, all none personal had been asked to leave the bases and all Senior Members had been recalled for the unforeseeable future in an attempt to enact damage control and not allow other agendas to fall by the way side.

All the while, no matter what they tried, Overwatch’s best and brightest couldn’t find the answers to the most burning question.

What had happened to Lena Oxton?

At the news that the higher ups were winding down the search and allocating resources elsewhere, Gerard had been beside himself. He had parted that Lena had told him that something hadn’t felt right but he had pushed her, brushing it off with bravado and schnapps. He talked of personnel claiming to have seen his protégé’s ghost on the base and the Gorilla had taken to cloistering himself in the hanger where the accident had occurred, not surfacing for days at a time.

In a bid to get to the bottom of it, Gerard had taken on yet another away mission that only served to drive the wedge further between him and his wife.

Amelie had admonished that she understood, but she felt that he was pushing himself, and Gerard had snapped uncharacteristically, demanding,

“What could you possibly know? You’re a dancer for christ’s sake! - ” He had taken to pacing, his eyes taking on a wild look, “- So you took a few classes. You have no fucking clue what this entails, that someone could have done this deliberately, snuck in and took one of our own, from right under our noses! -” In a rising rage, he had thrown his clothes in his mission bag, “- If it was me, I’d want my mates to get to the bottom of it and bring those fuckers responsible, to heel!-” He had poured himself a lavish dram of expensive whiskey as he continued on his angry tirade, “- If it happened to me, is that what you’d want, me to be left behind, forgotten? Why don’t you stick to what you know, Amelie, and let me get on with my job?”

Gerard’s dismissal had felt like a slap in the face. That he deemed her attempt at improving herself and taking an interest as nothing more than a flight of fancy that he indulged. Placating her rather than listening to her grievances or realizing that she was becoming increasingly unhappy.

That she did in fact know what it felt like to be constantly reminded that in a blink of an eye a loved one could be gone forever. That she lived it every time he walked out of that door without a backward glance, instantly forgotten.

He had spent the next few nights in his study on the chesterfield, whilst she had made arrangements to begin renovating her families ancestral home. With an appointment to keep with a surveyor, she had risen with the sun, leaving him a note before setting off on the long drive towards Chateau Guillard in the South of France.

Hitting the valley floor, her scroll crackled back to life,

“Amelie? Are you still there?”

Coming to a T junction in the valley floor, Amelie leaned forward checking both left and right,

“Oui, Angela, I’m still here.”

Her best friend continued,

“I was saying that I would have joined you, leibling, but everything is up in the air right now.” There came a pause of indecision, “-How long are you planning on staying for?”

Satisfied there was no on coming traffic, Amelie took the left turn that would gently snake along the lake side, away from the nearby village, and up through some trees towards the driveway that led the boathouse and only point of access to the grandiose Chateau,

“As long as it takes to make good headway on the renovations,” She gunned the engine, her beloved sports car purring as it began to eat up the tarmac with ease, “ It is far easier for me to co-ordinate from here than back in Paris.” In the distance she could make out the tip of the north bell tower, the rest of the property obscured by the hillside and heavy forest, adding sourly, “-I am ‘sticking to what I know’ and being a dutiful housewife.”

“Amelie, “ On the end of the line there came another pregnant pause, as if Angela was carefully choosing her words, “- I’m … I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that.”

Amelie sighed, maybe she was over reacting and choosing to quite literally run for the hills was petty, but she had no intentions of rattling round their Parisian home with Gerard’s words echoing off the walls, mocking her and calling out her already felt inadequacies, for however long his chosen mission took. And neither could she ignore the anger that during the long drive had fashioned itself into a dull rage sitting in the pit of her stomach. No, she would be much better off throwing herself into a project and far away from the continuous press cycle that didn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon.

“I don’t care what he meant, it’s the fact he said it in the first place.” Either side of the road the trees were struggling with their Spring plumage allowing shafts of morning sunlight to break through the branches dappling the road ahead, as Amelie pressed on, the speed of the car matching her mounting frustration, “-I’m sick and tired of being side lined, Angela. All I have ever done is support him and now I just feel like …. Like I’m being taken for granted.”

The ballerina slammed on the brakes so as not to over shoot her turn off. Peering through the rearview mirror, Amelie slowly reversed back before carefully easing the low sports car in between two beautifully sculptured gateposts with her family crest intricately engraved into their surface.

“I know he’s stressed and I might sound like a spoiled bitch but…. I need some time alone… I need time to figure out what I’m going to do with myself.”

As the car slid down along the smooth driveway, a break in the trees offered an unadulterated view of the sweeping turrets and stone verandas that made up her idyllic childhood home in the centre of the lake, Amelie pressed a button to roll down the window and let in the fresh spring mountain air. Far off in Switzerland, Angela’s voice full of concern filled the small sports car.

“What are you saying? …. Are you thinking about getting a divorce?”

“What? NO! God no… I’m furious, but I’m not ‘that’ furious…-” She continued to leisurely cruise along the driveway taking in the way the sunlight twinkled off the waters of the gargantuan lake that skirted her lands and the village that hugged its shoreline on the other side. “- I meant, what I’m going to do with my career, continue with ballet, or quit and find something else?”

The doctor asked, perplexed

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.. No.. Maybe? ..-” Gripping the steering wheel tight, Amelie took in a huge lung full of air, “-I need to clear my head.”

“How about this?” Another pause, “How about… I finish up here. Twist Jack’s arm into making an exception, and I come down an join you? End of this week, beginning of next week or when ever I can?”

Approaching the boat house, the French woman spied an unfamiliar green car parked to one side of the closed gate that would lead into the boatyard, and a white workman’s van on the other.

“Oui, that sounds perfect!” Slowing the car to a crawl, she peered out of the driver’s side window, as a man dressed in a suit, a hard hat and high vise jacket alighted from the car. Distractedly, she added, “Angela, I think the surveyors here early. I’ve got to go.”

“Alright leibling, I’ll call you as soon as I have news. Love you.”

Her scroll let out a high pitched whine,

“Love you too, cherie.”

Canceling the call, Amelie pulled the sports car up along side the man who waited patiently on the side of the drive way, clipboard in hand.

He broke into an easy smile,

“Ah, Mrs Lacroix, I presume?”

Leaning slightly out of the window, Amelie looked up returning his smile,

“Oui, oui, am I late?”

“No,-” He laughed, “I am early.”

Using her scroll, she typed in a code and waited for the gate to begin to painstakingly slowly slide back.

“Oh thankgod, traffic was a nightmare coming out of Paris.”

He gestured with the clipboard,

“Quite a difficult place to reach and surrounded by a lake no less. I can see why you asked for a surveyor.”

The gate slid back fully and Amelie carefully slid the sports car into the wide boatyard and into one of the waiting garages. In the rearview mirror, she watched as from the white workman’s van, two men got out wearing navy blue boiler suits and carrying work bags.

Unclipping her scroll from its snug on the dash board, she stashed it in her hand bag before pressing her thumbprint to the ignition starter and alighting from the car. In the early morning sun, the three men waited taking in their surroundings. Approaching her as she exited the garage, the surveyor asked,

“Would you have your I.d?” He pulled out a device from the depths of his pocket, “It’s so I can scan it and start the clock.”

The french woman blinked,

“Yes, of course.” Pulling out her purse she teased her national identity card from its snug, “There you go.”

Gently taking it from her outreached hand, the surveyor gave it the once over, inspecting the card and looking back at her, before swiping it along the device.

“It’s policy,-” He kindly offered, “Stops people like this lot,-” Tipping his head towards the workmen, “-Fudging the numbers.”

One of the workmen came to casually lean against the wall to the left of her,

“It’s a grand place you got here…” He slowly began to roll up his sleeves, “- Boats the only way to get there, right?”

Taking back her i.d card and slipping it back into her purse, Amelie nodded,

“Oui, I’ve been coming here since I was a child, so I handle the boat usually.” Turning her back, she leaned up to activate the garage doors and the locking mechanism. “- If you are worried about access, the village on the other side has a much wider marina and much larger boats for hire. The cost is of no object. I’ll get a good deal.”

The workman let out a whistle through his teeth,

“Lucky for some, eh?”

Amelie attempted to humbly wave him off,

“No, no. My relatives left me .. shall we say.. comfortable.”

He gave her a lopsided grin,

“Is it true you’re a Countess?”

Amelie crinkled her brow in confusion, stammering,

“What.. what ever gave you that idea?”

His workmate gave a mirthful shake of his head,

“What he means to say is. . When we heard of the job.. we.” He gestured with his hands, “- researched the place. It’s got a rich history.”

Rudely butting in, the first workman continued,

“So are you?”

She opened her mouth, gawping like a fish for a few moments taking in both their eager expressions, before laughing,

“I ,” She gestured to herself, “- am not a Countess per se. But… there is an old defunct title attached to the property , that would, if such things were important in this modern era…, make me a Countess.”

The first workman turned to his colleague,

“You owe me 5 bucks!”

“God damnit!”

With a small shake of her head at their antics, she finished checking that the security was locked down on her beloved car.

As she made her way across the courtyard, the three men followed close behind, nearly bumping into her when she stopped at the door that led into the boat house. Her fingers tapped danced lightly across the keypad, with a click the door opened and four entered the gloom. With a brittle bark of laughter, the surveyor patted his pockets,

“One sec, I forgot something. Be right back.”

The other began to rummage in his work bag. On the side wall, Amelie flipped open the electric box to activate the winch that would slowly lower the sleek looking speed boat into the murky water. She turned round, surprised to find the first workman so close. He shot her a grin as she sidled past him to the safe box where the speedboats ignition key was kept. The remaining workman flanked her on the other side, so close she could almost feel the breath on her skin, the tiny baby hairs on the back of her neck began to prickle as she hesitantly reached up a finger. Trying to keep the shake out of her voice, she shouted over the screeching of the winch,

“A little room gents.”

The second workman grinned at her wolfishly,

“Oh Amelie, where you’re going there is gonna be no room at all.”

He made a lunge at her. Instinctivly, she thrust up the heel of her palm connecting with his nose, as she has been taught to do in her self defense classes. He staggered back, gargling and cursing as the other workman grabbed her in a choke hold from behind. She tried to scrabble into her hand bag in an attempt wrap her fingers round the pepper spray she kept there. As she struggled to breath she remembered Ana Amari’s words, if ever grabbed by a bigger opponent relax into it and throw them off. Amelie dropped her hand bag, pushing back into him, using her strong legs from years of ballet throwing them both off balance. He staggered back, the sudden loss of opposing force adding to his momentum, crying out as he collided with one of many winch handles that aligned the wall. The loss of grip on her windpipe gave her much needed inches to turn her head and sink her teeth into his muscular arm, causing him to scream in agony. She kicked out with her feet at the nose busted workman, who dodged to one side, his feet knocking her handbag into the water.

“Get the fuck hold of her!” He yelled.

Trying to shake her off only caused Amelie to grind her teeth down, filling her mouth with flesh and the metallic taste of blood. He let go shoving her away from him. The surveyor came through the boathouse door for a split second distracting her. She didn’t see the south paw closed fist that collided with her jaw causing her to reel and her vision to blur.

“Go down, you fucking whore!”

A second swift punch hit hard in her gut knocking the wind out of her and caused her to collapse onto the wet stone floor.

She thought she heard the surveyor say,

“Dont break the merchandise!”

“Cunt broke my nose!”

“Yeah well the fucking bitch took a chunk out of my arm.”

Amelie spat the contents out of her mouth, trying to suck in huge lungfuls of air. If she could just get into the water maybe she could swim to the castle like she had plenty of times as a teenager or when the boat was out of gas. She made as if to crawl.

Someone caught her by the hair,

“No, you don’t.”

She felt a sharp prick in the back of her neck and she was left to flop on the slick flagstones. Someone turned off the winch, and the only sounds was the water lapping against the stone work.

“She’s a god damn wild cat. Thought you said she was a dancer?”

Her vision began to swim with black and purple dots and her tongue felt flaccid and swollen in her mouth. She attempted to move but her limbs refused to her obey her. The surveyor rolled her over onto her back, crouching down to inspect her.

“Ballerina, to be exact.”

Wiping his bloody nose on his sleeve, the workman with the broken nose peered over his shoulder,

“She’s a fucking ballerina??”

With soft, gentle fingers, the surveyor examined her jaw, turning her head this way and that, regarding her thoughtfully. As Amelie slipped into unconsciousness, she heard him say,

“She’s the wife of THE target, what else did you expect?”

https://formerlyrunephoenix6769.tumblr.com/post/182608876761/ithought-it-would-be-much-easier-to-make-a-post

Link to the whole “Shattered” universe and full story.

#overwatch #overwatch fanfiction #widowtracer fanfiction #widowmaker #widowtracer #tracemaker #amelie lacroix #tracer #lena oxton #pharmercy #pharah #fareeha amari #mercy #angela ziegler #formerlyrunephoenix6769 shattered #formerlyrunephoenix6769 overwatch fanfiction

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trans-rite · 6 years

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The Transgender Rite of Ancestor Elevation: 2018 List of Names

Below the cut, a list of names, organized by country, date of passing, and how they died (people have mixed feelings about the latter, we understand). Some include age and other notes as well, but that’s not consistent across the names. This year we made an effort to seek out information about the lives of our beloved dead, where reported, and quotes from loved ones.

Link to a shareable google document with photos

Christa Leigh Steele-Knudslien, United States

As of mid-October 2018, 22 homicides of trans Americans have been reported. The first known victim was Christa Leigh Steele-Knudslien, 42, of North Adams, Mass. The founder of the Miss Trans America and Miss Trans New England pageants, she was stabbed to death at her home January 5. Her husband, Mark S. Steele-Knudslien, 47, has been charged with her murder. He turned himself in to police the same night, saying he had done "something very bad," and describing details of the crime, but he pleaded not guilty the following week in Northern Berkshire District Court. He is awaiting trial.

Christa, 42, was a flamboyant and beloved transgender activist, founder of the Miss Trans New England beauty pageant and cofounder of the New England Trans United Pride March and Rally. She believed that being trans was something to celebrate. She was forever cajoling friends to try the higher heels, the shorter dress — “Show your legs, hon!” Her joy seemed boundless.

When Halloween came, Christa struck up a friendly decorating contest with Jennifer Serre, who lives across the street. They one-upped each other, Serre said, adding lights and signs and ghouls until Christa’s yard sported a guillotine, a fortune teller, a ghost, a clown, a girl hanging from a tree, a man dressed in black carrying a shovel, and a graveyard.

Viccky Gutierrez, United States

Viccky Gutierrez, 33, was stabbed to death at her home in Los Angeles January 10. Firefighters were called to a fire at the building early that day and discovered her body. Gutierrez, an immigrant from Honduras, was described as "a beautiful soul who was really nice to everyone and would offer any type of support when someone would need it" by friends who set up a crowdfunding page to raise money for funeral expenses. She was active in the L.A. trans community, working with the Los Angeles LGBT Center on Transgender Day of Remembrance events. A few days after her death, Los Angeles police arrested Kevyn Ramirez, 29. Police said he admitted to stabbing Gutierrez and setting the fire. He is charged with murder during the commission of an attempted robbery, plus two counts of arson, while police continue to try to determine his motive and whether the murder was a hate crime.

Viccky was a young trans Latina woman from Honduras, and a member of TransLatin@ Coalition’s Los Angeles organization. She often joined the team for their daily lunches, provided for free to anyone in need. Friends refer to her as “the nicest girl in the world,” whose “smile would give anyone comfort,” and “an inspiration for many of us.”

Zakaria Fry, United States

Zakaria Fry, 28, went missing from her home in Albuquerque, N.M., January 18, along with her housemate, Eugene Carroll Ray, 70. Their bodies were found February 19 in trash bins in a rural part of New Mexico; both had died of blunt force trauma to the head and face, police said. It is not clear exactly when they were killed. Albuquerque police arrested Charles Anthony Spiess, 27, who is also known by the name James Knight, February 27, and the next day he was charged with the murder of both Fry and Ray, along with a charge of tampering with evidence. Police said he may have lived with the victims for a time. “It's a massive case and there's a lot of connections there. But the main thing is we’re asking the public if they ever saw these three together,” Albuquerque Police Department public information officer Simon Drobik told the Albuquerque Journal. Friends of Fry's described her lovingly. “You were such a fun and positive person despite all the challenges you faced in life,” Tara Yvonne wrote on Facebook. “You were a brave, strong and inspirational woman. Your spirit lives on and you are missed by many. May you rest in peace.”

Celine Walker, United States

Celine Walker, 36, was found shot to death in a hotel room in Jacksonville, Fla., February 4. A friend, Naomi Michaels, wrote on Facebook that Walker “lived a low key life where she did whatever needed to be done in order for her to survive” and “was not a pageant girl” or a clubgoer. The Jacksonville Sheriff's Office misgendered and deadnamed her when reporting her death, with officials saying they do not identify people as transgender. Activists have called for a change in the policy, which may have delayed the investigation of the crime. No one has been arrested for her murder yet, and police have revealed no details of their investigation. Some friends suspect her murder was an anti-trans hate crime.

“Celine was not a pageant girl. She didn’t even enjoy going to gay clubs or events. She lived a low key life where she did whatever needed to be done in order for her to survive.”

Tonya Harvey, United States

Tonya Harvey, 35, was fatally shot on a dead-end street in Buffalo, N.Y., February 6. Social media posts by friends described Harvey, who sometimes went by the nickname “Kita,” as “sweet and loving” and “the black Cameron Diaz.” Police and the Erie County District Attorney's office are continuing to investigate her murder, including the possibility that it was a hate crime. Activists pointed out the widespread violence against trans people. “There is a very real epidemic of violence targeting the transgender community, particularly those who live at the intersection of transphobia, racism, and misogyny,” Damian Mordecai, executive director of the Pride Center of Western New York, told The Buffalo News.

Phylicia Mitchell, United States

Phylicia Mitchell, 45, died February 23 after being shot in the chest outside her home in Cleveland. She and partner Shane Mitchell had been together for about 30 years, ever since Phylicia fled her less-than-accepting family in Pittsburgh. They were not legally married, but they had an unofficial ceremony last May in which she took his last name. Phylicia earned a high school equivalency diploma and worked as a hairstylist, and Shane did odd jobs. Shane said their relationship endured and even became stronger through hard times, including periods of homelessness. “I miss her tremendously,” he told Cleveland's Plain Dealer. “That’s my soul mate. We went together everywhere. We did everything together. We always held hands on the bus. Years ago people didn’t respect that, but they do now.” In April, Cleveland police issued a warrant for the arrest of Gary Lamar Sanders, 36, in connection with Mitchell's death. He was placed on Ohio's Most Wanted List and was finally apprehendedby the U.S. Marshals Service in July in West Virginia, where he had been living for more than a month. He is charged with aggravated murder.

She will be remembered for her devotion to hair styling and being a loving and caring partner and friend, despite battling drug addiction for most of her life, her longtime partner said. "Everyone loved her," Mitchell said. "My nieces and nephews opened up to her so much. She was just so funny and kind."

Amia Tyrae Berryman, United States

Amia Tyrae Berryman, 28, was found shot to death at the Shades Motel in Baton Rouge, La., early in the morning of March 26. Police so far have no suspects and are continuing to investigate. Berryman's family declined to speak to local media.

Amia worked in home health care in Baton Rouge. A friend was quoted as saying “She didn’t have much support [from] family...so she made family with her peers in the LGBT community of Baton Rouge.” Another friend said, “Amia Tyrae R.I.P. you were such a sweet person with a big heart...rest well my friend.”

Sasha Wall, United States

Sasha Wall, 29, was found shot to death in her car along a rural road in Chesterfield County, S.C., the morning of April 1. She had been shot several times in the neck and shoulder. Police believe she knew her killer and that her death was likely the result of a domestic dispute. Wall, who lived in a mobile home near Pageland, S.C., was remembered fondly by friends on social media. On Facebook, Donovan Dunlap recalled taking photos of her, saying, “You stayed ready for the camera. I will miss you my beautiful sister. I cannot sleep. I hope they find who did this.”

Carla Patricia Flores-Pavon, United States

Carla Patricia Flores-Pavon was strangled to death in her Dallas apartment May 9. Police found her unconscious about 4 p.m. at her apartment, Dallas TV station KTVT reports. She was pronounced dead at a local hospital. A witness reportedly saw a man fleeing the scene. Dallas police said they do not believe her death was a hate crime. The are some discrepancies in the details about Flores-Pavon. KTVT listed her age as 26, but the Dallas Voice gave it as 18. Also, while police spelled her first name as Carla, her Facebook page spelled it Karla.“You were a good person,” her friend Gia York Herrera wrote on Facebook, also noting that the loss “hurts so much.” (This is a translation; the original post was in Spanish.) York Herrera added, “God give comfort to your family and friends” and “I send you a hug and a kiss as always.” Police arrested a suspect in Flores-Pavon’s murder, Jimmy Eugene Johnson II, 24, near Huntsville, Texas, May 17. Johnson, who was arrested during a traffic stop, had items from Flores-Pavon’s apartment in his car, so police believe his motive was robbery and not anti-transgender bias. He is charged with murder.

Unknown transgender woman, United States

Officers pulled what they said was the body of a black, transgender woman, approximately 5’3” and 130 pounds, from a river in Dallas on May 15th, 2018. The unidentified victim was wearing a black shirt and black scrub pants.

Nino Fortson, United States

Nino Fortson, a 36-year-old transgender man, was shot to death in Atlanta May 13. Fortson was involved in an argument with two men and two women on the street, The Atlanta Jounral-Constitution reports. A witness said he fired a small gun into the air but then walked away. But a few minutes later, the witness heard more gunshots and then saw him lying on the ground, as one of the other people involved in the dispute limped away. Fortson died shortly afterward at Grady Memorial Hospital. Initial media reports misgendered Fortson.

Many in Atlanta’s queer community learned of the death through a Facebook post on the profile of Kamaro Blahnik, father of the House of Blahnik, who referred to Fortson as “my son” and used both she/her and he/him pronouns to refer to Fortson. Blahnik said that Fortson was known for walking the “Butch Realness” category at balls.

Gigi Pierce, United States

Gigi Pierce, 28, was shot to death in Portland, Ore., the night of May 21. She was from Boise, Idaho, and it wasn't clear how long she had been in Portland. Sophia Grace Adler, 33, has been arrested and charged with Pierce's murder; she has pleaded not guilty. Witnesses and police said there had been an altercation between the two prior to the shooting. A friend remembered Pierce as someone “full of life, always trying to help somebody.”

Her friends recall her as vivacious and enthusiastic. But they also say she struggled with drug abuse and homelessness, living a difficult life that came to a sudden end last week.

"I don't know what demons she was trying to run away from, but she spent her entire life running," says her close friend and former boyfriend Jason Johnson, who knew Eugene-Pierce for more than a decade. "And it was a beautiful run filled with glitter and cocktails." "Gigi was a performer through and through," her friend Dallas Jackson Falls said in a statement last week. "Life was her stage, and those fortunate enough to know her were her audience. Granted, you never knew whether you were getting a drama, comedy or even, in some moments, an action-filled tragedy. That was the thing about her, you just never knew what you were going to get." Eugene-Pierce grew up in Boise, Idaho. Her sister, Nicole Emery, says Eugene-Pierce "treated my sister [Meghann] and I like princesses" and "never stood still."

Antash’a-English, United States

Antash’a English, 38, was shot to death in Jacksonville, Fla., June 1. On a city street, she was shot in the abdomen by someone firing from a vehicle. She died at a local hospital. “She was an unapologetic, bold, and loyal person,” friend Taliyah Smith told Firs Coast News, a program of stations WTLV and WJXX. English had won several pageants and performed regularly at local nightclub InCahoots. Police are continuing to investigate her murder.

On her Facebook page, English described herself as “a very independent transgendered woman ... who thrive[s] on being the best person I can be.” In May, just weeks before her death, English had shared a photo of herself with the caption, “I will no longer be a victim of discrimination. # Trans rights.”

Diamond Stephens, United States

Diamond Stephens, 39, was shot to death June 18 while driving home. She was shot in the back of the head, causing her van to crash into a house. She was not identified as transgender until a month later because police and local news outlets misgendered and deadnamed her. Police, who have yet to identify a suspect, say there may have been others in the car with her. Her family is devastated. “We are hurting really bad,” Stephens’s cousin Georgia Brown told Mississippi TV station WTOK. “I don’t really know what words to say other than we need God to help us and give us strength to make it through this situation and pray to God that whoever did this is found.”

Catalina Christina James, United States

Catalina Christina James was the third transgender woman murdered in Jacksonville this year, leading some to suspect a serial killer is at work. James, from Bishopville, S.C., was shot to death outside a Quality Inn and Suites motel June 24. The Jacksonville Sheriff's Office continued its practice of not using trans victims' preferred names. James's mother described her to First Coast News as the life of the party, with a love of travel and dancing.

Keisha Wells, United States

Keisha Wells, 58, was found dead in the parking lot of an apartment complex June 24 in Cleveland, the second trans woman murdered in the city this year. She had suffered a gunshot wound to the abdomen. Her best friend, Sheila Jones, described her to the Plain Dealer as "a tough cookie" but "the nicest person ever." Wells loved dressing up and frequenting nightclubs, Jones added. "(She) always loved the most expensive high heels and stilettos, the hats and (her) expensive sunglasses.”

Wells' aunt, Regina Spicer, said Wells loved to make everyone around her laugh. She said Wells, who family members referred to as "Pokey" and who was referred to by family as both Keisha and her birth name Maurice, also spoiled the dozen or so nieces and nephews. "Pokey was funny," Spicer said. "Pokey liked laughing and telling funny stories about people. But when (she) loved you and cared about you, (she) loved you."

Sasha Garden, United States

Sasha Garden, 27, was found dead at an Orlando apartment complex July 19.

Garden, an advocate for transgender women and outreach coordinator for the HIV and AIDS organization Miracle of Love, was a sex worker saving money to transition and become a hairstylist. Garden was known for an outgoing spirit. "She was a firecracker – very outspoken," said Montrese Williams, who houses transgender women involved in sex work, providing free condoms, water bottles, and HIV testing. "She didn’t hold her tongue for anyone or anybody. Her womanhood was one of those things she stood up for. She didn’t tolerate any disrespect at all."

“There’s a little bit of Sasha in all of us here today,” mourner Richard Sizemore said, according to the Sentinel. “Her adventure in this realm may be over ... but I have faith that on the next plane, she is somewhere where she’s perfect — and everybody knows it.”

Dejanay Stanton, United States

Dejanay Stanton, 24, was shot to death early in the morning of August 30 on the south side of Chicago. She was found in an alley, with a gunshot wound to her head, and pronounced dead at a nearby hospital. Police initially did not know her name and identified her as "Jane Doe," but friends who saw her photo on social media confirmed her identity as Dejanay Stanton.

“She was so sweet. Every time you saw her she had a smile on her face," said LaSaia Wade, executive director of Brave Space Alliance. “She was just trying to live her best life as a young girl.” Police have yet to make an arrest but are continuing to investigate.

The first thing you noticed about Dejanay Stanton is her hair. In one video, it was styled pin-straight and dark brown, though the sunlight teased it out to a golden sheen. As she twirled around on the grass, it cascaded past her hips and swished freely in the wind, almost like it had a life of its own. Other times, it would be crimped or in soft curls, in a bob with blonde tips or, toward the end of her life, dyed scarlet. “Everyone, no matter what their gender or sexuality, knew her,” Jones, 25, said. “She was loved and never did nothing to nobody. So it was a shock.”

Jones said Stanton never had a bad word to say about anyone and was a family-first person. She lived with her mother, step-dad and four siblings, and every day she told her mom she loved her. Whenever someone was short on money, she always paid for that person’s meal or drinks. “There was a sweet spirit about her,” Jones said. “Always inspirational or encouraging. She was always living life.” Stanton also loved to travel, Jones said. One of her favorite destinations was New York City, where she’d go shopping and restock her much-coveted wardrobe. “She was a girl who loved style,” Wade said. “She was trying to live her best life. It was like a breath of fresh air.”

Vontashia Bell, United States

Vontashia Bell, 18, suffered a fatal gunshot wound August 30 in Shreveport, La. She was found on the street early that morning and pronounced dead at a local hospital. Police and media misgendered her, but a Louisiana activist organization identified her correctly. Bell’s death “is a reminder of the current climate and national discourse on trans issues,” said the release from Louisiana Trans Advocates. “Dehumanizing language and actions lower the barriers to this kind of senseless violence.” The group called on city and state officials to condemn anti-trans discrimination and violence and to work against institutional racism. Police have yet to make an arrest but have asked the public for help in identifying a suspect.

Shantee Tucker, United States

Shantee Tucker, 30, was shot to death September 5 on a Philadelphia street by someone firing from inside a pickup truck. Witnesses had seen her arguing with the person in the truck just before she was shot, and police believe she knew her killer. The police also said they don't think the attack was motivated by her gender identity, but her friends and trans activists don't agree. Friends recalled Tucker, who worked in a beauty supply store, as a sincere and down-to-earth person.

Tucker had just celebrated a birthday.

London Moore, United States

London Moore, 20, was found shot to death September 8 in North Port, Fla. Her car was found the next day at a different location. Police said the crime was an isolated incident and that they believe she knew her killer, who remains at large.

On September 1, Moore posted on her Facebook that she was “going to give this whole love thing one more chance.”

“Wish me luck,” she added.

Ms Columbia, United States

Residents of Queens are reacting with shock and grief at the news that Miss Colombia, a colorfully attired Jackson Heights personality who was a fixture at LGBTQ Pride celebrations and other gatherings, was found dead in the waters off Jacob Riis Park in the early morning hours of October 4. Miss Colombia, aka Osvaldo Gomez, preferred male pronouns and was an attorney in his native Medellín, Colombia, arriving in the US in the 1970s fleeing persecution in his homeland, he stated in 2015 in the video documentary series “No Your City.” He was 64. At an evening vigil on October 5 in Jackson Heights, out gay City Councilmember Daniel Dromm of Jackson Height said Miss Colombia “was an iconic figure in the LGBT community and beyond. She was beloved by all who saw her in the streets, at parades, and in the neighborhood wearing her colorful outfits and a bird on her shoulder. Her cheerfulness and ability to bring a smile to the faces of all who met her will be missed by all New Yorkers. I remember marching with Miss Colombia at the first Queens Pride Parade and at other parades across the city, including the India Day Parade and the Chinese New Year Parade, among others. While life did not always treat Miss Colombia with all the respect she was due, New Yorkers will remember Miss Colombia as a hero to everyone. May Miss Colombia rest in peace.”

Nikki Janelle Enriquez, United States

Nikki Janelle Enriquez, 28, of Laredo, Texas, was found dead near Interstate 35 in south Texas September 15. She has been shot in the head. Juan David Ortiz, 35, an intelligence supervisor for the U.S. Border Patrol, is charged with murdering Enriquez and three other women. Police and prosecutors are calling the murders a serial killing spree in which Ortiz singled out sex workers. They have not ruled out the possibility that there are other victims. Enriquez, so far the only known transgender victim, was described by family members as “very outgoing,” “always smiling,” and “loved by the gay community.”

Ciara Minaj Carter Frazier, United States

Ciara Minaj Carter Frazier, 31, was stabbed to death in Chicago the night of October 3. She was found in the backyard of an abandoned house and pronounced dead at the scenc. Police believe her killer was a man she had been arguing with at the house, but they have yet to apprehend him. Her death came just over a month after the fatal shooting of transgender Chicagoan Deejay Stanton. “It feels like we are being targeted,” LaSaia Wade, executive director of Chicago trans organization Brave Space Alliance, told the Chicago Sun-Times. She knew Frazier through the local ball scene. “I’m frustrated and upset with the lack of cases turning around,” she continued. “There is a lack of [concern for] our safety from police.”

Jessie Sumlar, United States

On July 19, 30-year-old Jessie Sumlar was found stabbed to death in Jacksonville, Florida. According to loved ones, Sumlar regularly performed in drag and identified as queer. A friend writes: “I will miss you so much! I looked forward to seeing your beautiful smile! You were such a kind and thoughtful person. Rest with Jesus my beautiful Jessie! Youve impacted more lives with smiles and good purpose than you know. Ill never forget your warm touches on my shoulder and soft voice and how you ALWAYS spoke to everybody when you entered the room.”

Roxsana Hernandez, United States

Roxsana Hernandez died while in the custody of U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement after fleeing violence and discrimination in Honduras.

Hernandez recently petitioned for asylum after traveling as part of a caravan of migrants fleeing violence in Central America.

Roxana Hernández reportedly died from HIV-related complications following an alleged five-day detention in what’s known by immigrant rights groups as the “ice box” – Ice detention facilities notorious for their freezing temperatures.

Four months before joining the caravan, Hernandez said, she was walking home when MS-13 gang members started screaming "We don't want you in this neighborhood, you fucking faggot" at her before gang-raping her. "Four of them raped me and as a result I got HIV," Hernandez told BuzzFeed News. "Trans people in my neighborhood are killed and chopped into pieces, then dumped inside potato bags." Standing in front of a church in Puebla, Mexico, playing with a silver cross around her neck, Hernandez said that gangs had continued to threaten her and told her she had to leave the area where she lived in Honduras. "I didn't want to come to Mexico — I wanted to stay in Honduras but I couldn't," Hernandez said. "They kill trans people in Honduras. I'm scared of that." Hernandez said she was able to put some money together to head to Guatemala. Her plan was to return to the US, from which she had previously been deported three times. She had some family in the US but said they did not accept her because she was trans. From Guatemala she went to Mexico, where she eventually linked up with the caravan of 1,200 to 1,500 migrants heading north.

Mondragón said Hernandez had been sick when she turned herself in to US border authorities but was in good spirits. "She told me she loved me. She had courage, but was nervous at the thought of entering the US again," Mondragón said. "I'll remember her as a timid, respectful person, always giving the other girls advice and sharing her food."

Vanessa Campos, 36, a trans woman working as a prostitute, was shot dead on August 17 in Paris' bois de Boulogne. She was originally from Peru and had been living in Paris for two years. The police initially referred to her as a "male transvestite".

Local media reports said Ms Campos had been attempting to prevent one of her clients from being mugged before she was fatally shot in the chest.

“Vanesa was a very soft person,” says Rincon. “She was good at listening. After the death of her father back in Peru, Vanesa took on the role of breadwinner and she was still sending money home to her family.”

“When I went back to the forest a few weeks ago for the memorial, I saw how Vanesa and her friends had tried to make it safer to work,” Rincon says. She explains that the area is dark and isolated but the women had set up battery-operated lights, brought water bottles and made a makeshift shelter so they’d have privacy with clients and avoid being arrested under French exhibitionism laws frequently used to target sex workers. “Vanesa’s friends have to keep working there, in the place where she was murdered,” Rincon says. “It's now a communal cemetery, with candles and people going there to pray.”

Four unknown women, India

Following a false rumor that transgender women were kidnapping children for sex trafficking in Hyderabad, four transgender women were attacked by a mob on May 26, 2018. One of the women died. Local police issued an "Appeal to Public" saying that the rumors of criminal involvement by transgender women were "fake" and that the public should not "take law into your hands...so that innocents won't become a victim of those rumors anymore.

Naomi Hersi, United Kingdom

Naomi Hersi, 36, was found stabbed to death at Heathrow Palace in London at 10:30 on Sunday 18 March 2018. Jesse McDonald, 24, from Hounslow, has been charged with murder. A 17-year-old girl, who cannot be named for legal reasons, was released on bail after being charged with assisting an offender.

Naomi who lived in Mill Hill, north London, was described on social media as a “tennis lover, music junkie, film and tv addict”. She was of Somali origin who had lived in the United States before returning to the UK. One neighbour said: “She was fun to be around and a real character. She was into music and tennis. She was a nice person.” Another neighbour said: “Naomi was a flamboyant, lovely fun person. I think she had problems in her life but was well liked. We are devastated to lose a friend and neighbour.”

In April, a transgender woman was shot dead in Pakistan, making her the 56th trans person to be killed in the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa region in the last three years. Sheena, who lived in the Shewa area, was allegedly attacked by a group of armed men who beat her up and then shot her dead on Sunday night.

Sheena, Pakistan

Unknown woman, Pakistan

August: Police in Peshawar, Pakistan, have arrested two suspects in the killing and dismemberment of a transgender woman, with one found carrying a shopping bag containing the victim’s body parts. The victim, identified only as Nazo, was shot to death late Thursday, and her body was then “hacked to pieces,” Radio Free Europe reports, citing an interview that Police Superintendent Cantt Waseem Riaz gave to Pakistani media.

Unknown woman, Pakistan

September: A transgender woman in Pakistan has died after being set afire by four men when she resisted sexual assault. The men had taken the woman to an isolated area in the city of Sahiwal, in the eastern part of the nation last Thursday, The Times of India reports. She fought back when they tried to assault her, and then they set her on fire. She suffered burns on 80 percent of her body and died while being transported to a hospital.

Sheila, a transgender woman and sex worker, was shot in the streets of Tepic on March 14, 2018.

Yoselyn, Mexico

Yoselyn, a transgender woman and sex worker, was found beheaded inside the room of a short stay motel in Álamo, Veracruz on April 5, 2018. She was seen with a client who left before the corpse was found.

Gretchen Alina, Mexico

Gretchen Alina, a transgender woman and drag queen show performer was strangled to death in Monterrey on April 10, 2018. She performed as Lorena Hererra.

Yamileth Quintero, Mexico

Yamileth Quintero, a transgender woman and beauty queen was shot in Culiacan after an encounter with a man she had met online, May 24, 2018.

Nataly Briyth Sánchez, Mexico

Nataly Briyth Sánchez, an undocumented sex worker originally from Honduras, was murdered during a sexual encounter on June 19, 2018 in Tapachula. The client stabbed her to death after discovering that she was transgender.[285]

Katty, Mexico

Katty, a transgender woman and sex worker was shot by an unknown man at a nightclub in Yautepec de Zaragoza on June 27, 2018.[286]\

Chanel, Mexico

Chanel, a 45 year-old transexual sex worker, was shot in the streets of Toluca, July 18, 2018.

Alaska Contreras Ponce, Mexico

Alaska Contreras Ponce, 25, a transgender beauty queen and sex worker, was found dead with her neck sliced by barbed wire after gruesome torture in Martinez de la Torre, July 25, 2018.[288]

Juan C.M., Mexico

Juan C. M., a 24 year old transgender woman and local taxi driver, was found dead in Santa Maria Atzompa on August 12, 2018. Apparently, she had a gunshot wound.

Samuel Santolli, Mexico

Samuel Santolli, a transgender woman and sex worker, was stabbed to death by her lover, a Salvadorian gang member in Tapachula, May 26, 2018.[290]

Diego Armando Sanchez Medina, Mexico

Diego Armando Sanchez Medina, 32, a transgender woman and hairdresser, was shot 28 times by armed men in Guadalajara, August 27, 2018.[291]

Arturo, Mexico

April 27th, 2018: Arturo, a trans woman, was found in the entrance to a field Villa de los Belenes neighborhood of the municipality of Zapopan .

#names #troe2018 #violence #violence tw #transmisogyny #TDOR #ancestors

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