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stairnaheireann · 7 months

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#OTD in Irish History | 15 October:

1582 – Pope Gregory reforms the calendar introduced by Julius Caesar in 45BCE: 4 October is followed by 15 October. However, the reform will not be implemented in Britain and Ireland till 1752. 1690 – After taking Cork on 28 September, Marlbourough takes Kinsale for the Williamites, who now control Munster. 1763 – Birth of United Irish leader, Lord Edward Fitzgerald, at Carton House, Co…

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#irelandinspires #irishhistory #OTD #15 October #Co. Armagh #History #History of Ireland #Ireland #Irish Civil War #Irish History #John L. Sullivan #Josef Locke #Lough Neagh #Maghery #Northern Ireland Photography #Today in Irish History

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principiumindividuationis777 · 2 months

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A prime (entirely sober) John Lawrence Sullivan, world heavyweight champion of boxing, undisputed, from 1885 to 1892, and in practice, from 1882 to 1892, undefeated under London Prize Ring (bareknuckle) rules, may have been the most dominant boxer in history.

In 1883 and 1884, as de facto world champion, Sullivan won 16 fights, all by stoppage, never needing more than four rounds, all the more remarkable given that rounds were shorter under London Prize Ring rules, the rules of that era.

#John L. Sullivan #boxing #bareknuckle #photography #Victorian #black and white #Irish #Boston #mustache #muscular

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handeaux · 2 years

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Legendary Pugilist John L. Sullivan Won A Championship In A Cincinnati Bout

Off the top of your head, without consulting your phone, can you name any of today’s heavyweight boxing champions?

In 1890, everyone knew the name and fame of John L. Sullivan. He was a frequent visitor to Cincinnati and was easily the most famous celebrity of that era. “Jawn L.” was so famous, the people who shook his hand became celebrities themselves. "Let me shake the hand of the man who shook the hand of John L. Sullivan" became a Victorian catchphrase.

Sullivan is remembered as the first and the last. He was the first heavyweight champion of gloved boxing and is also recognized as the last heavyweight champion of bare-knuckle boxing. Sullivan was enormously successful, the first American athlete to earn more than $1 million in his lifetime. Depending on which boxing historian you consult, Sullivan may have earned the first heavyweight crown awarded under the Marquess of Queensberry Rules by winning a fight right here in Cincinnati.

That fight actually occurred just outside Cincinnati. Boxing, although enormously popular throughout the 1800s, was mostly illegal. When word got around that Sullivan was booked to take on Dominick McCaffrey at Chester Park out on Spring Grove Avenue, he was arrested on a warrant sworn by Cincinnati’s Law and Order League under an Ohio law prohibiting prizefighting. McCaffrey went into hiding at a roadhouse near the Zoological Gardens to escape a similar detention.

Sullivan was hauled into the courtroom of Judge Alex B. Huston and testified that he was indeed scheduled to fight McCaffrey, but only in a sparring demonstration. The dubious judge was eventually convinced on learning this “sparring” match would have both pugilists wearing gloves. Since almost all boxing up to then had been conducted under the bare-knuckles London Prize Ring Rules, Judge Huston agreed that the gloved bout did not constitute a real prizefight and could proceed.

Nearly 15,000 spectators packed the grounds and grandstand at Chester Park on 29 August 1885. Although it was later developed as an amusement resort, Chester Park at that time was basically a large horse-racing track. (“Chester” was the proprietor’s favorite horse.)

Sullivan and McCaffrey slogged through seven mostly indecisive rounds until the referee called the contest in Sullivan’s favor. Although many, including the Enquirer, objected to that decision, it was eventually agreed that Sullivan had fairly won on points, if not style. After pocketing $1,000 and a commemorative ring, McCaffrey conceded that Sullivan was the legitimate world champion – the first title achieved while wearing gloves.

Just four years later, Sullivan won the last title fight conducted without gloves, against Jake Kilrain in 1889. He finally lost his championship titles to “Gentleman” Jim Corbett in 1892. Throughout his career, Sullivan augmented his boxing earnings on the vaudeville circuit. Sullivan’s on-stage performances attracted quite a few feminine fans, including the “Jersey Lily,” Mrs. Lillie Langtry. As Al Thayer of the Cincinnati Enquirer related the incident in his 1894 book, “Ah There! Pickings from Lobby Chatter,” Mrs. Langtry and drama critic Mary H. Fiske, who wrote under the pen name “Giddy Gusher,” wangled their way into a private meeting with the champ through black-face comedian Lew Dockstader:

“Lew Dockstader told me a good story on John L. Sullivan, the other day, that has never been published. While the champion was in training for one of his matches, Mrs. Fiske, “The Giddy Gusher,” now deceased, told Lew she would like to go to his training quarters and take Mrs. Langtry with her, the latter being very desirous of seeing Sullivan. Lew and John were old friends and the latter said he would be glad to meet the ladies. On their arrival at the Sullivan quarters they were introduced, and, after shaking hands, the champion said: “Ladies, would you like to see me strip?” Of course he meant to show them his muscle, but the “Jersey Lily” was “not on” and she blushed to the roots of her hair. “The Gusher” winked at Lew and said: “We should be proud to.” And Sully stripped.”

For most of his career, Sullivan was a notorious drinker, and it was another stage performance that brought Sullivan and his appetite for demon rum to Cincinnati in 1891. The Cincinnati Enquirer (23 Apr 1891) tells the tale:

"John L. Sullivan made a spectacle of himself during the performance given by his company at the People's Theater last night that was not edifying. Among other things, he said he was drunk, and glad of it."

According to the newspaper, Sullivan was registered at the Gibson House but spent most of his time at Belle Curry's bordello on Broadway. Madam Curry might well have wished the big lug had confined himself to the Gibson, because Sullivan made a mess of her "resort." He kicked over a tray of glasses, beat up an employee named Fannie Frazier, demolished chairs and other furnishings.

Word of the champ's exploits reached Cincinnati Police Chief Philip Dietsch, who decided to take matters into his own hands. The Chief marched down to the People's Theater and confronted Sullivan.

"Sullivan," Chief Dietsch said, "you are a fine specimen of manhood. I wish I was as big and I would tackle you myself."

"You are a good sized little man yourself," said Sullivan, "but you will have to excuse me; I have been drinking."

The Chief agreed that Sullivan had been imbibing, a good deal.

"Well, I am not the worst fellow in the world," Sullivan said, "and I am not as bad as people say I am."

Chief Dietsch called it a draw and Sullivan continued to enjoy the freedom of the city. The Enquirer opined that Sullivan should appreciate the courtesy he was shown, but one imagines that Chief Dietsch was relieved not to engage in fisticuffs with the former heavyweight champion of the world.

#john l. sullivan #heavyweight boxing #chester park #lillie langtry #cincinnati sports

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untilthenexttee · 1 month

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Next Tee News - March 20th, 2024

In this edition of Next Tee News I look back at the 2024 Players Championship where history was made. Also, a plea from yours truly, a recap from the Epson Tour, Anthony Kim’s current handicap, and you may be able to help save a puppy. Until The Next Tee!! #fightandgrind #seeuonthenexttee

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boxcarwild · 2 years

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The definitive cast of Great Expectations.

John Mills as Pip (1946)

Holliday Grainger as Estella (2012)

Ray Winstone as Magwitch (2011)

Charlotte Rampling as Miss Havisham (1999)

Alec Guinness as Herbert Pocket (1946)

Shaun Dooley as Joe Gargery (2011)

Paul Ritter as Wemmick (2011)

Francis L Sullivan as Mr Jaggers (1946)

Matt Berry as Mr Pumblechoock (2022)

Sally Hawkins as Mrs Joe (2012)

#sally hawkins #matt berry #francis l sullivan #paul ritter #shaun dooley #alec guinness #charlotte rampling #ray winstone #holliday grainger #john mills #magwitch #miss havisham #charles dickens #great expectations #david lean

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badgaymovies · 2 years

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Double Wedding (1937)

Double Wedding by #RichardThorpe starring #WilliamPowell and #MyrnaLoy, "the chemistry of the stars overrides its flaws",

RICHARD THORPE Bil’s rating (out of 5): BBB USA, 1937. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. Screenplay by Jo Swerling, based on the play by Ferenc Molnar. Cinematography by William H. Daniels. Produced by Joseph L. Mankiewicz. Music by Edward Ward. Production Design by Cedric Gibbons, David S. Hall. Costume Design by Adrian. Film Editing by Frank Sullivan. Myrna Loy is proud of the control she exerts over every…

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onceuponatown · 4 months

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Paddy Ryan (1851-1900) was a professional heavyweight bare knuckle boxer and prizefighter who was a heavyweight champion once, but lost his title to John L. Sullivan. He was known as the Trojan Giant.

#boxing #pugilism #victorian #vintage sports

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milknhonies · 4 months

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The Negatives of Shooting People

Chapter 2 || MasterList || Chapter 4

Chapter Summary: A new job creates a new problem for August who decides he needs to remind you of his power. You let Lloyd inside, and he has an offer to make.

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Masturbation, Referenced Non-Con Events, Implied Illegal Weapon Arms Trading, Threats, Manipulation, Stalking Journalism.

Pairing: Kingpin!August Walker X F!reader

Word Count: 9.4k

Author Notes: in my mind and casting, Jude Driver is played by Adam Driver. Wesley Gibson is played by James McAvoy. Brandon Sullivan is played by Michael Fassbender. Katarina Vikander is played by Alicia Vikander.

Inspiring Song: "Woman." by Ke$ha.

10:23am Thursday 8th August 2024, Brisbane CBD.

“These photos Miss Y/L/N, they’re magnificent. I haven’t seen quality this good since…well…never really…When can you start?”

You grinned, sitting across from the head editor of one of the smaller local newpapers.

You knew you had to find a job quickly…you were sick of the employment agency and their unhelpful attitude. You knew if you were going to remain safe and take down the billionaire asshole, you needed to be the best version of yourself.

It had been a three days since you first met that monster... August Walker. And he had seemingly invaded your every thought. He was there in the back and front of your mind haunting and taunting you with his smirking lips and roguishly deep voice.

The gentleman who sat in front of you had no idea. That was something you were okay with, how could anyone know? No one knew. You hadn’t called or replied to any text messages Lloyd had sent.

You made a resume portfolio of your best photos you’d taken since your first camera your dad ever bought you. Both Polaroid and electronic. You still hadn’t forgotten that August had stolen one of your father’s cameras from the day he forced you to cum on the recliner chair.

You knew you were inexperienced in journalism…but your photography was a master skill unlike any other.

Your successful interview, you put it up to a great sense of confidence, as well.

“Right now if you’ll have me,” you winked. He was an older man of an older generation. Clearly he knew and was a deep fan of Australian banter that borderlines the aesthetics of flirtation. You were a young woman and he was an older man, the math was simple. Bat your lashes, pretend to be coy and then slide in with a sarcastic remark or sexual innuendo.

He laughed and leant over his desk. You shook your new bosses hand.

He liked that very much. ‘Of course he would, he’s practically old enough to be someone’s perverted uncle.’

“Oh most definitely…” he said biting his bottom lip, he was milking the banter.

He was a handsome even for a classic perverted elder fellow. John Luther was a grey fox so the ladies might say. You were sure that from now on never to truly trust a man…so when he winked back and looked down your shirt- at your chest, you smiled wider, ‘predictable men…he is going to be easy to manipulate…’

You had to thank August one day…if he hadn’t hurt and humiliated you the way he did…you would never have felt the rage of all women and the desire to use your assets to get what you wanted in this Man’s World.

You sat back a lit and lifted your chest as you gave a big happy sigh while watching Mr Luther continuously ogle your chest.

It sent a shiver even down your spine thinking about it…entering a villainess era…a femme fatale story….a tale of revenge and justice.

“I admire a woman with confidence,” he said sucking his teeth, his right hand slide down beneath his desk out of view. You had half a mind to assume he was palming his dick in his trousers.

“So how about I assign you your first assignment? See how you go? I’ll even let you choose…”

“Choose?” you asked with a faux coyness, fluttering your lashes.

“Well, we have a very interesting story idea in regards to the Woolloongabba Doggy Day care that just moved to East Brisbane, rumour has it that the business is understaffed for the amount of dogs they keep in care. And they only use half of the required sanitization required. A spread of kennel cough and many dogs having their ears ripped off by other larger dogs belonging to rich clients the owner of the doggy day care refuses to lose business towards.”

Oh dear, you noted, that sounded tragic….it’s a good thing you never had a pet as a kid. It would hurt too much to be in that position. Hearing a pet dog had its ear ripped off by savage untrained dogs.

“...And the other case?” You sweetly chirped.

His smile fell, “There’s a certain gentleman that’s running around allegedly smuggling drugs and arm deals…” he repeated, “’Allegedly’…”

He rolled back in his chair to reach for a folder on his bookshelf, flicking through it.

Your craning neck had time to catch the outline of his prick beneath his pants. ‘Oh yes...this man is putty in my hands.’ When he swivelled back, you dashed your eyes back to his desk trinkets and smiled at him.

“A bloke named August Walker selling to or buying from an old money American philanthropist Brandon Sullivan…”

‘No fucking way’….just your luck…

You were going to fucking take it no matter what….

Luther grimaced, “It’s a big task so I won’t judge you for not taking it. I’m just hoping to catch the sons of bitches at it. It would be a huge story for media not even those wankers at seven, nine or ten news could think to report.”

You reached over his desk to steal his pen and stick note pad. You took down the name he mentioned on a sticky note- Brandon Sullivan...you made sure to memorise it well.

“How about we even make those conniving morons at sky news jealous, sir?” You smirked and watched as the rockets soared in his eyes with his white tooth grin.

He laughed hard.

He wiped his hand down his chin, “I love a girl with ambition Miss Y/L/N. I’m sure you won’t disappoint me! The dead line for photos is in a week, he’s having some soiree on next Friday or something so it’s got to be before then because you’re never gonna be able to enter those clubs, chicky. Respectfully.”

You smile and shake his hand again, “Mr Luther, I swear…I’ll give you the best goddamn shots you’ve ever seen of that criminal.”

Now your man hunt had truly commenced, you smiled to yourself. Who knew that revenge could come so easily and quickly…

Luther gave you your own cubicle to work in. A place to hang and edit your photos. A place to file your evidence. He may have mentioned that the work they did in his agency was on par with the police but by no means legally police work. So if the cops arrived, you stayed hidden and kept your fucking mouth shut....

You had a job and began researching the bastards name again on your laptop, compiling the sources from Google and the notes from Luther’s folder files.

You discovered the following about August J. Walker.

He was born in New Jersey. He was twice your age and almost as old as your father. He had a plethora of connections in businesses from alcohol distillery to Chinese restaurant vendings. Actually you were confident that a restaurant he help partnership over had a familiar logo. You tapped your lip and wondered briefly if your father ever delivered there as a truck driver.

August was a fan of European and Asian based foods and sold it at his clubs. He owned over fifteen around the world. One of his biggest in Australia was The Lions Lounge, it was on the edge of Fortitude Valley. It was for the richest social elites of the country. The price of food alone was almost your weeks rent.

On the website of his club you could see information regarding the tightship of his security. It seemed supreme so there wasn’t a chance of you going to his club without a fat purse and invitation.

A party was coming up, a celebration for the ten year anniversary of its opening. A soiree with a “The roaring 1920s.” Theme. You scoffed at the cliché.

It was exclusively invite only, it was only on the website so that those who received a invitation could reply a rsvp. And with you fresh out of luck of an invite like Luther even said, there was little to no chance of clawing your way inside.

So...that’s when you had to resort to extra creativity. You held up the sticky note and smiled.

09:07am Wednesday 14th August 2024, Robertson Brisbane.

August Walker was a man with a craving to remain in power. He had fought tooth and nail to get where he was and for now he felt incredibly comfortable…he had enough money to buy the fucking country...he had the power to make politicians kneel and kiss his shoes if he demanded it. To the police, with his legal team, he was currently untouchable.

He could literally have any woman he wanted…but he wanted you. Since that night he first saw your photo, he starved. He had given you time to mourn. Now you were alone and he righteously believed you needed him.

Yet to his surprised pleasure, he liked the fight and push you tried to dish out on him. Your guts to go to the police sent blood to his cock. He hadn’t expected it. He believed you’d roll over and cry only. He never predicted you’d immediately leave the apartment before he could wish you a good morning or afternoon after leaving you drugged up. He snooped for hours in your father’s bedroom and yours. He’d flicked through your old school reports and photos. He tried tidying your mess and clutter, washing your vomit covered duvet and even had cigarette to pass the time.

So when he received that call from the police requesting his presence, instead of anger, he felt surprise. Not many could surprise him. But you did...

He pushed away from his desk and rubbed his eyes chuckling, you were definitely a tasty little thing.

It made his dick hard when he remembered you crying beneath him. He loved to fantasise your pathetic excuses and spitfire words. He only wished you’d push the boundary more. The more you fought, the sweeter the submission.

He pulled out his ‘other’ phone. His ‘business’ phone. The phone no police would ever know or see. He swiped his thumb across the screen and groaned at the sweet nude thing he took photos of the night you’d both met. Oh how pitifully adorable you were with your desperate pleas and confusion as the pill quickly broke down into your blood stream.

He wished he had a video of it. How he teased your phone away from you. How he mocked you. Half of it he imagined you probably didn’t remember. After all it wasn’t long that you were totally out of it, limp and softly snoring.

He liked how much control he had over you. Laying the strips over your hairy body and tearing it away to be baby smooth as he liked it. How delicate you looked as he rubbed the baby oil into your skin to settle any potential irritation. Perhaps it was sick of him to prefer you like this. He sighed, licking his bottom lip, staring at the photo he took of your freshly waxed pussy.

He had done sicker things to other people. But you were someone who didn’t deserve this. That is where the guilt lied. You didn’t deserve this and August Walker fucking new it deep in his bones.

He wasn’t shy of hurting innocence but your situation was different. This was personal.

So really could he hold it against you for going to the police? No... And besides...his false alibi had been solid... especially after the rape kit evidence had been tampered with, concluding as inconclusive...

Something about the thought of making you submit but never fully breaking, constantly challenging him- turned him on so much, he found it impossible to work. He slapped his phone down and chewed the inside of his cheek while he considered calling up Natalie, one of his go to escorts. His payable whores. She was expensive but she knew how to suck him off to completion quickly and he wanted to focus on work and finalising the details of his party in two days, not on you.

As fate would have it….he wouldn’t have a choice…the phone rang on his desk.

He pressed the reviewer to his ear and turned to look out the window.

“Walker.”

“It’s Gibson.”

He smiled and leaned back in his rolling chair, “Ah Wesley, yes, how are you mate?”

“You’ve got a little problem, sir,” he heard his public relation specialist sigh, “A tail.”

“Oh?”

“I’m sending the email now,” the click clack typing of the keyboard echoed in the headset Wesley wore,” It seems the paper has started to find better journalists…”

The email notification came in quickly. The ping from his monitor forced August to spin around in his chair. He pursed his lips and scrolled to click the link.

He hovered the mouse arrow down and noticed the collection of photos taken of him in the high class restaurants talking with a old underworld buddy of his. Some of the images however were incredibly exposing. His hand was shaking Brandons in one when he made a export deal with him, another photo showed August’s fingers touching a contract, his eyes looking at a phone Brandon was holding with images of guns. This was not good at all…

“What the fuck…” his hand pressed to his lips, he mused, “The photographer was smart, he knows how to pick a decent angle, Jesus what camera took this?” He clicked another photo, “These details…you can practically see every pore on Brandon’s bloody face…”

His mouth felt dry. He knew he needed to hire Natalie’s services now, the stressed building up had him tense. His erection had vanished, now it was a matter of pain in his shoulders and back.

He scrolled further and stared at the headlines jumping out. “Playboy or Pathological Criminal.”, “Party King or King Pin.”, “Australia’s own insider terrorist.”

His eyes widened at seeing the publishing office. John Fucking Luther & Co. News.

His jaw cracked with the tightness he clenched. No. He didn’t have time for this shit.

“She, sir,” The lackey corrected, “Newest of Luther’s flock. His word usually isn’t credible but this? This is going to be hard, expensive press to erase or cover up. Other news outlets are fighting over the rites.”

She...

He picked up a pen and clicked the button. Why was it even that important.

She...

She? His eyes sharpened. He looked closer at the photos on his screen. Something about the photo style reminded him of something earlier he had seen the previous week. So many….on a wall…beside a bed…filled with a captivating woman he defiled…but surely not you? Surely not you...

“What did you say?”

“Sir the cost to-”

He shook his head and sighed into the phone, cutting of the agent, “No, no, I meant the photographer. You said ‘she’? Luther? Are you sure this is real? His lot are the worst, always blurry or grainy if they’re lucky…who the fuck is this new photographer or editor or whoever the fuck is getting these images.”

“We can only assume,” Wesley mumbled, “You’ve had this little thing on your tail for the passed few days, she tries to be sneaky we’ve noted. We didn’t expect her to release decent pictures…we followed her back to the Luther office. The angles fit the locations we have caught her in.”

His thumb pressed hard against the pen.

“Show me this bitch,�� he growled under his breath.

Another email ping and a link later, your face filled the computer screen. Your eyes burned him right back…you were in a few photos. Some where you hid among a roof top, another you were hiding in a corner at the restaurant, and finally one where you were just in a park looking down at your camera probably going over the shots you’d taken.

“Want us to deal with her, sir?” he suddenly heard Wesley ask. Deal with her...Destroy her reputation...beat her up…sell her…or kill her....no…no...not his new puppy.

He blinked with bewilderment and hummed, “No...” He cleared his throat, “No, no thankyou, Wesley. I know this kid; don’t worry…” he smirked, “This is just a simple misunderstanding…bit of…play. Trust me.”

Oh how he could’ve whipped the skin from your back raw for this if you were anyone else...

“Sir, if you can’t get her to stop, if she’s going to keep doing this…” Gibson warned, “Anything more in depth- you’ll wind up in court or prison at the worst, the pigs aren’t taking the pay like they used to…”

August shook his head and sighed, “It wouldn’t be the first time Wesley. Ignore her. I’ll deal with it. She’s my responsibility.”

His public relations officer seemed to pause for a moment. As if he had something else to say but he knew better than to total talk back to August Walker.

“Alright sir, have a good evening,” August heard before he slapped the phone, hanging up.

He scooted closer to the screen and scrolled back at the photos you’d taken. He bit his lip and chuckled, shaking his head at your profiling photo, “You little-...you want to play this game? Fine, now it’s my turn.”

He began dialling up a new phone number. He held it back up to his ear and waited for the receiver to pick up.

“Jude mate, I’m gonna need you to develop some photos for me...oh yes,” he replied pinching the pen in his hand, “Red room style.”

06:19pm Wednesday 14th August 2024, Woolloongabba, Brisbane.

“Who needs a man? Huh!” You said to yourself testing out the new bolts and chain locks you installed on the front door. They rattled and locked. They didn’t budge when you jiggled the handle and pulled. You still had three more you planned to drill in.

You wiped the sweat off your forehead and grinned proudly. This is something your dad should have taught you how to do. Thankfully with the help of a YouTube tutorial and a bit of bravery you managed to take full control and ownership of your front door.

If your new landlord wanted to charge you for damages to his door, so be it, as long as this kept you protected from him while you slept at night that was all that mattered. He’d either have to pick every complicated lock, guess or, he’d have to hire the damn firefighting crew to use a battering ram.

When you opened the door again to test it a second time, a squeak of surprised popped from your lips. You clenched your dad’s power tool tightly.

A man in a black suit and black sunglasses stood outside the door with an large yellow envelope in his hand. He held it out to you silently. He looked ominous and familiar, he wore leather gloves…your eye widened, he was August’s driver.

You glanced between him and his hands. Every second was a risk you weren’t sure you could keep taking. You hesitantly pinched the bottom of his flat package and he let go. He pulled the edge of his sunglasses down his face, looking at the plethora of door locks.

‘What was his name again? Judea, Judas?’

He said quietly, “It might be better if you open it inside...” his eyes glanced at the door again before smirking, “Nice locks...pretty crappy if you think it’s going to stop him though.”

‘Him...August Walker...’

You stood still in shock. He gracefully spun on his heel and left. Your tongue caught in your throat…what the fuck was this?

The package was as thick as your hand.

You had to know it was from August…I mean who else could it be from? Especially since you speculated it was his driver that delivered it…especially since there was a massive cursive ‘A.J.W’ on the tab of the envelope.

You held your breath and walked hurriedly backwards inside.

Your teeth caught your upper lip. You slammed the door shut and locked all the locks before going to the couch, disposing the drill on the coffee table, and tearing open the envelope.

You pinched the top wide open and hovered your eyes inside. There was a white papery page ripped out from a note book. You pulled it out and unfolded it to read his handwritten warning.

“Careful Puppy, you’re lucky my men didn’t bite when they sniffed you out, sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. I think you need a break from your little hobby. So I’m going to remind you...I have copies of these. Scratch me again and I’ll bite back. Stay down or I will put you down.”

Your mouth became dry as your eyes raced over that one last line again.

‘Stay down or I will put you down.’

When you ‘put down’ an animal, it usually means death…your insides grew cold. You were confident this was a strict warning, not a threat but a promise, August walker was telling you to stop investigating or he would kill you…

Your hands shook uncontrollably. You wanted them to stop. Your body felt the reeling anxiety. You dumped the rest of the envelope over the counter. All the content spilled across the entire floor. A camera came clattering out. Your father’s camera in fact.

Inside were photos of you. A photo of you working in the editor office. A photo of you walking in the deli section at the underground Woolworths grocery store and photos of you sitting at the Queen street bus station, even the bus numbers showed up. The bus 200 via Carindale. Then at the bottom of the spread out deck of photos were the shots from the night he forced you to cum on the recliner and the night he had drugged you, naked on his bed.

Your teeth clenched hard.

You felt your eyes grow hot quickly with tears. You didn’t like how pathetic and helpless you appeared, covered in tape, and totally lost in the bliss of his sexual torture. You didn’t realise how sweaty it had made you until noticing the intense wet shimmer over your body in the photo, the hot light of the camera shone reflectively from your skin.

You closed your eyes and choked on a sob. He made his point loud and clear but it wasn’t fair. Why could he get away with all of this? You wanted to tear all the photos up one by one until they were tiny papers the size of your pinky nail.

But they sat in a piled collection on your coffee table.

Your hand cupped your mouth as you fought your wails. You clenched your teeth and stomped your foot.

You kept rereading his note. Memorising his handwriting. His Y’s had a straight tail that didn’t curve upward. It made you hate him twice as much as irrational that detail was.

August hadn’t come back since then. He had not made any personal contact since he cornered you in your father’s bedroom. It wasn’t the last time you saw him though…you saw him almost daily, but you confidently were sure he never saw you until now. You were gathering all the evidence possible to put him in the doghouse...

You pressed yourself against the wall and slid down it on your back until your bottom hit the floor.

Now what would you do? Take photos and write about abused animals instead? Always worrying about August coming into your home to take his revenge for the humiliation and defamation you brought to his name?

You settled your hands into your lap. Your heart was pounding. You could hear every awful thud.

Your phone came to life. Lloyds number ran across your screen.

‘Oh god, Lloyd. Sweet, wonderful Lloyd. Maybe he could help me.’

Hitting the green button, you picked up the phone and cleared your throat, “Hey, how are you?”

His voice was a cool balm, “I’m getting on alright. I thought I’d call and check up on you. You haven’t been very chatty over text is all. I still think you should move Y/N.”

Lloyd kept you as updated as he could. He said he interviewed August a few days ago and the excuse was laughable. August had lied about being at his club during the time he had been with you. He had staff members who could vouch for him, Lloyd suggested they’d been paid off and supposedly security footage, all which Lloyd assured must’ve been edited. It was comforting knowing out of everyone, Lloyd stayed true in his belief that you were a victim.

Another tear rolled down your face, your voice became shaky, “Yea...I think you’re right. Lloyd...things have been happening...and...can you- can you just come over please?”

You were breaking down hard and couldn’t stop the wave of anguish coming over you. The detective was compassionate and said softly, “Of course. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

When the phone disconnected you rubbed your face and flared your nostrils. Seeing the photos made you feel dirty, unclean. You decided a quick shower before Lloyd arrived might help you relax and calm down from the absolute panic attack creeping under your skin. You stood under the hot spray and tried to control your breathing.

And under the water your thoughts persisted to race. A particular question shot through you.

‘Why would he even send those to me?’ Your eyes shut. ‘Why’? If you were just some women, he liked to fuck and humiliate... ‘Then why didn’t he just come in and do it in person?’

It was like a pin had dropped. Your eyes flashed wide open, and you turned off the water. You scrubbed your face and got out of the shower, rushing to put your pyjamas on. You almost slipped on the tiles and hard wood.

You crashed to your knees at the coffee table and spread the photos around trying to find that one.

The one where you were sitting inside the editor building at your cubicle. It had been taken from a low angle on the street. A small laugh escaped you. If he sent you an image of you at the office he knew where you worked, and who you worked for…he had read your articles...a light laugh escaped your parting lips. Tears dripped from your eyes, not from grief or fear, oh no, it was relief. Now it made sense.

'Of course!' August had read your articles...and they- you chuckled; they frightened him!!! Yes, maybe not to the extent of full fear, but enough that he felt it fit and necessary to send these too you. He felt threatened. The articles were piling up on speculation against him now in the paper. You were walking a thin line between defamation and creative liberties in alleged speculations, but Mr Luther assured it was legal in the laws of journalism and gossip.

If August had copies of your lewd rape photos, if he published them…you didn’t care...what was the point in caring about that?

You knew humans could be animals. It didn’t matter what was seen. Anyone can masturbate to anything, even just a selfie – so an image of you cumming on the recliner chair was really nothing at the end of the day…sure you might lose your job but the confidence to get you there would be used in the future again. And it would be all worth it just to watch the cuffs slap over August’s wrist. Because even if he’d never go away, locked up for your abuse, you could at least drag him further down with as many criminal activity charges as possible.

You glanced at the note he wrote…maybe he didn’t even write this. If he really wanted you dead, you were sure you would be. This wasn’t a threat, this was a game. He was toying with you, clearly trying to scare you into stopping any investigations of his hidden underground work.

Little did he know, he had no idea that your rage and hunger for revenge was greater than your fear of him.

You pinched a photo to the light and smirked. If only a week ago, this poor defenceless girl knew how her life would change for good...her eyes the mirror of yours. You slapped it flat in the table and pinched your eyes. August was definitely no talent in taking photos.

You smiled recalling how Luther reacted to the first photo you brought him the third day of working...

02:36pm Thursday 8th August 2024, Brisbane CBD.

On the sticky note you’d written down a name Mr Luther had shared. You looked up that name, Brandon Sullivan, with deep dive searches and found very little of him…however he did have a single photo up on his Facebook, he was holding a gorgeous woman.

Once you had reversed search the woman’s face, Katarina Vikander, you could have peed with excitement. She was some Swedish ballet dancer and super model. She was Brandons girlfriend. And she was happy to share a dozen photos over all her social media platforms…and yes, Brandon clearly wasn’t a fan of his personal paparazzi, but there were hiccups in his cover ups.

Katarina had taken a selfie on a balcony; her sunglasses reflected her phone and Brandon coming out of their hotel bathroom.

Behind Katarina was a marina in the background. That area was very rich and popular and easy to find. You recognised the area only by chance. The were staying at the JW Marriot Gold Coast Resort and Spa. You could see the JW Marriot logo on a bath robe in a previous photo while she wore a creamy face mask with cucumber slices over her eyes.

Katarina seemed to have this obsession with a Americana aesthetic, her favourite artist was in her saved Instagram stories, Lana del Rey.

The caption of her post with Brandon hidden in the background under a broad brim hat said, “Sunny and happy with my love, he doesn’t like the seafood here, he wants ‘real truffles.’ **eyeroll emoji**”

You remembered how you sat back after seeing that and searched every restaurant in the area of the Gold Coast region and only one sold authentic truffle dishes…men are fickle and usually won’t try new things…he was clearly a man set in his ways if he wouldn’t let her post photos of him. or at least that was your theory and assumption about the almost non-existent Brandon Sullivan.

You went back and searched August. He had a decent amount of information, he was very private however, no named girlfriends or family. He was very business oriented….and what did you know? Two years ago on his LinkedIn profile you could see August had been at the opening of the same little truffle restaurant nearby where Katrina and Brandon were staying. You scrolled.

‘Looks like he was or still is an investor.’

It wasn’t solid evidence, and you didn’t know if August would be there to meet with them…so all it took, was a simple phone call…and the great skill of confidence with a stride of lying.

As the phone dialed, you selected a fake name. Your co-worker had a F.R.I.E.N.D.S coffee mug, and you stared at the dark drink stain…it’s dark colour making a perfect name.

When a staff member of the restaurant answered you hurriedly got through your plotted lie, “Hello? Yes, my name is…Jennifer Brown, I’m Mr August Walkers new assistant…listen his last employee was quite begrudged and threw out all the known appointments Mr Walker was to attend in the next three months. I’m pretty sure he has a table booked for your restaurant?”

The administrator paused. You hoped he wouldn’t ask you to repeat yourself or question you further, so you sarcastically joked, “He will murder me if I can’t find out, it’s very important.”

You prayed he’d bite the banter.

The administration clerk had a boyish tone, “Of course! Would you like me to look up the time and date of his reservation?”

You smirked and held back a cackle, you feigned a sweet joyful cry, “I would be grateful if you could be a dear, thank you so much!”

And that was how you found out the schedule and exact location of August Walker and his criminal associate.

09:45am Friday 9th August 2024, Coomera, Gold Coast.

Getting inside the restaurant wasn’t too hard. It had an open-door area with French doors. You made sure to wear a large sun hat and a plain dress. Your dad owned a small camera, about the size of an apple. You put it on a timer and leant to the floor, aiming the view finder at their table.

The entire time you swore you were sweating bullets. If August had seen you and confronted you, you probably would be chained to a pipe laying naked on a dirty mattress…maybe with those missing women you heard about on the news, Rachel, Stephanie, and Alison.

‘Why didn’t he keep me then? We did he return me back home? Did he kill those other girls?’ the more you thought too deeply on the topic, it made your skin crawl.

You clenched one of the forks, staring at the kingpin in the reflection. He looked to smug for a man that got off on harming women. You wished you could stab out his eyes with the prongs. And when the waiter came around to ask what you wanted to order, you held up the fork and requested a new one, apologising for “dropping it”.

You determined the camera had taken enough footage. You knew you’d need to make your escape when the waiter left to find you a new fork. Afterall- who can afford to pay for a cut of salmon with rocket leaves and white sauce for a hundred and thirteen fucking dollars?

You went straight home on the train and bus. You developed the photos in the bathroom sink. Hanging it up on the shower rails to set.

Those were the first photos you gave Mr. Luther.

The other times you took photos of Brandon and August were harder, a little more risky.

06:23am Saturday 10th August 2024, Coomera, Gold Coast.

You had staked outside of the hotel where Brandon stayed. Waiting across the street in a side street. It was cold and miserable. But you knew August would be down here. Darling Katarina had posted a photo of her shoes in an elevator, beside her feet were Brandons shoes, but his had a shine. You could see the blur of Augusts moustached face. Maybe it was a reach, except when the caption said, “Lions Lounge anyone? Don’t my heels look incredible! **love heart eyes emoji**”

You were dressed in rags, you clenched a juul stick you bought that morning, gagging on the watermelon flavour while you practiced your “Eshay” accent. You stared up at the windows trying to guess which room the three were in with the help of the ex-ballerinas photos.

A month ago, you would’ve thought doing something like this was insane and frankly unhealthy. But you a month ago had not been humiliated and manipulated, God knows what a woman will do once you’ve pissed her off…was it obsession? Most definitely, for revenge, for justice, for all the girls who fell for August and harmed by his reputation.

You waited…and you were right. Brandon and August walking out together. The sweet young woman was clinging to Brandon’s side with a wide girlish smile and love heart shaped sunglasses. Funnily enough, the car that picked them up just so happened to be driven by the same dark headed driver in the same black car that August took you in. You took a snapshot of the license plate and watched it drive through the somewhat slow traffic down the street. You walked and walked, keeping your eyes set on the license plate. While traffic rolled, you turned and noted there were a few empty taxis.

You took off the jumper that you cut a bunch of holes in and dumped it in a garbage bin before bending down and tapping on one of the taxi windows.

“Hey! Are you available to drive me?” You called to one of the taxi drivers that hadn’t noticed you until that second...his eyes widened with surprise before nodding, “quickly, traffic is slow, hop in!”

You slid directly into the passenger side, which on a normal day you’d never dare.

But today wasn’t a normal day. You sat up in your seat and scrolled the area with your eyes.

“So where are we headed today, ma’am?” The driver asked.

You pointed ahead with a cheeky smile, “See that black car? The fancy one.”

“The tesla?” He asked.

“My friends are in that car, so please follow it. They know the way.”

He peered at you curiously, you knew it was stupid. If you had friends rich enough for a tesla, they’d never leave you to find a taxi. But hey…money is money, the driver wouldn’t argue. He started the timer and to your satisfaction traffic picked up. When they zoomed through the street the taxi tried to keep up. They were driving to a quieter street with Western Europeanised cafe’s.

As they stopped and hoped out you quickly requested to the driver, “Do you mind going around the corner? I’m a little embarrassed.”

God, you hated to say it but you had to play the suddenly snobby cunt.

He didn’t care either way to your relief and parked around the corner, metres away from the two men.

You paid the driver handsomely with cash you managed to find in your old piggy bank back home and slid out of the cab. Your face carefully looked around the corner and you skirted back. August, Brandon and Katarina had decided to sit outside in the warm morning sunlight. It was just your luck! Quickly, you crossed the street away from the cafe. The more distance the better.

To your luck it was a block of units across from the cafe. You walked around the building and kept your head down. You came up behind in an alley and smiled at the long spiral stairs that went up to the roof top. The adrenaline extinguished all fear of heights and pushed you up until you stood out on a flat roof. You crossed the way and looked over the side.

‘Fuck’, you thought to yourself. ‘Would a police officer ever do this? Would Lloyd ever have the guts to do this?’

Probably not, there was lots of red tape involved in police investigations...but you were just a reporter...You were a photographic investigator and you amazed yourself at the lengths you were taking. You were eager to get these shots. This evidence.

You saw the pair of businessmen receiving a cup of tea and breakfast meals from the waitress. Getting down onto your tummy, you grabbed your camera and leant over the ledge to zoom in on the two.

The pumping blood roaring in your vein filled you with a mixture of fear, excitement and surprisingly…arousal.

Those were the photos that made it to the papers first.

06:35pm Wednesday 14th August 2024, Woolloongabba Brisbane.

As you reminisced on the evidential demise of August Walker, a knock at the door designed a bigger grin across your face. Lloyd had arrived. And no longer standing in a fit of sobs you welcome him cheerfully at the door.

He was wearing a black turtleneck and black slacks, totally out of uniform. Below his eye was a reddish spot. It was shining against his pale face. It wouldn’t surprise you if it was a bruise.

‘Many police are brutal and cruel but there’s no way Lloyd is one. He isn’t one of those cops...he must’ve been attacked by some bogan eshay or crackhead.’

His smile turned your knees to warm jelly. You felt shy like some first year highschooler being noticed by the seniors. He just had this glow around him.

“Hi Lloyd.”

“Hello there,” he said softly, his head cocked to the side, “Do you mind letting me in?” He asked.

‘Oh right.’

“Come- come in.”

You felt your face grow warm. You opened the door wider and looked out and down the hall. You held your breath and stood aside. The tall man slid passed you inside to your lounge room.

You took a massive breath in and exhaled. No one was waiting behind a corner or ready to catch you with the officer. You knew there were no security cameras and you doubted August would ever add any with his reputation.

Lloyd removed his leather shoes and placed them beside the door. His black socks glided over the hardwood.

You bit your lip…you looked back at the coffee table and quickly shut the door, bolting the locks after the detective entered your flat.

If August knew you were letting a detective inside, continuing to talk to one he could-…’Well, hold on...how would he know? He wouldn’t.’

“Woah, locked me in, what are you doing?” Lloyd gasped as he glanced over the metal mechanisms of your door. His eyes widened when you twisted the locks and shifted the small chains.

“I just...um. August Walker.... he’s kinda now...my new landlord and he probably will be getting keys soon and I....” your breath wavered. You paused and took a deep breath, “I needed to talk to you privately in person I think....”

His eyes didn’t grow any wider, but his pupils shrank. He pinched his dark pink lips. Sucking his teeth loudly he nodded slowly.

“That’s definitely a pickle you’ve been put into then, huh?”

You nodded back, pressing yourself against the door, sighing softly, “That’s not even the half of it Lloyd...”

His eyes raked up and down your body in surprise. You weren’t wearing your bra and your nipples were rock hard. Your pyjama bottoms were very short and little did you realise how much they were riding up your thighs.

You walked around him timidly to the coffee table.

“I got a new job, as a photographer journalist, no real experience required just my luck honestly,” you awkwardly laughed, “August um, he’s supposedly up to no good and I thought I could have a jab at him from a professional angle…”

You sat yourself in the recliner, while you invited him to sit opposite of you on the couch where he’d be able to properly look at all the photos.

He looked frightfully tired. His hair was dishevelled, and his shirt was stain with sweat. He had a nasty purple bruise on his knuckles that also matched the one under his eye.

You lifted your knees to your chest and worried about how much trouble this man was getting into as well as you. You wondered if it was like television shows where detectives mostly focus on the darkside of the force.

You gestured to the photos. You weren’t sure how he would react. He sat on the couch and peered across the coffee table, glancing over the images. It took him a few seconds before a gasp of shock ripped from his throat.

You tapped on the photos where you’d been stalked and seen taking photos of August, “Well, it shows he’s not one to have his photos taken...”

He was shaking his head. He couldn’t stop staring at the nude photos. And for a few seconds you relived that feeling of embarrassed humiliation.

You could see how his throat bobbed and his eyes flutter.

He leant forward on his knees and licked his lips.

“I...and here I had called you to check up on you and I was going to ask you for help Y/N, but god I don’t know if that’s gonna work now,” he sighed.

The detective ran a finger across your face in the lewd photos.

Your eyes narrowed, “Wh-what do you mean?”

There was a lengthy pause.

He chewed the inside of his cheek before asking, “How much do you hate what August did to you?”

You didn’t hesitate, “I’d kill him for what he’s done if I knew I wouldn’t go to prison…” you briefly looked down, “He…he came back like you said...”

Lloyd eyes glanced down too and he sighed, “Thought as much…let me guess…he threatened you?”

Your eyes fluttered closed, August had done more than just threaten you.

You nodded slowly, “He…he did…but he…is possessive, he kept saying I was his and I belong to him.” You pointed to the photo of you taped up on the recliner.

His brows pressed together, his eyes saddened. He clear his throat, “How long ago was that?”

Your mouth grew dry. You felt embarrassed telling Lloyd.

“The day of the report, after you brought me home.”

His eyes widened, his hand rubbed his parted lips, “So he ugh…he was here already?”

You nodded again, “The call you made… he was standing right here with a knife in his hand.”

“That’s why you have those deadbolts huh?” The officer rubbed his eyes and groaned, “Fuck. I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you call me after he left? I could’ve moved you, you could’ve stayed with me at least until I could put you into witness protection. Fuck!”

His swearing sent a shiver down your spine.

Your looked at your feet, you knew he wasn’t victim blaming, he just didn’t understand. You told Lloyd everything…confessed like he was your priest. You told him what August did with the vibrator despite it bringing you to tears again. You told him he was the new landlord and that’s why you installed the extra locks. You told him about your new job and you told him about the photos and how you were going to help however you could to put the bastard away.

You sat off the recliner and slid the photos back into the envelope.

“You’re very brave Y/N,” Lloyd whispered, he reached out and laid his warm hand on top of yours.

Your belly felt warm at the praise. You let him hold your fingers in his and rubbed his thumb over your skin. You stared at his blonde moustache and those bright clue eyes of his. You imagined his mouth scratching your lip if you only leant in closer...he was still as handsome as the day he patiently listened to you in the report.

Lloyd smiled softly.

God if you were a cat you would’ve been feral and in heat with how creative your imagination was getting.

Your eyes fluttered as your entire body warmed up.

“Y-You said you needed help with something?”

He smirked, letting go of your hand.

He claimed, “After what you’ve told me I’m confident you can do it...but you might not like it…”

“Try me,” you huffed, falling victim to his contagious grin.

“I have two tickets to August’s little Soiree at his club The Lions Lounge,” He started off, “My other sources have confirmed there is going to be some form of arms deal with some unsavoury company, illegal, unregistered weapons. August Walker is very good at knowing the law and requesting a warrant… but the sources I have are not substantial to the board to guarantee a warrant by that night and by that time Walker would’ve moved the weapons and sold them in a different location.”

You pieced it bit by bit.

“So you need to get inside the party, find the deal going down and bust them?”

“Exactly, that’s right! However the moment a single man waltzes to the front door it looks suspicious. I need a lady on the arm…and better yet…I need a distraction for Walker, if he sees me head on, I could be as good a shark chow.”

Your eyes lit up, it didn’t take a genius to realise he meant you. You would be the distraction. And you’d be damned before you put yourself in real danger again especially after the threat August had given you...your photos were taken in public, this would be in private. Anything could happen to you.

“No… that is too dangerous, Lloyd,” You stood up and paced the floor in front of Lloyd who was now also rising to follow you in your pacing. You walked around your kitchen and Lloyd put his hands on the bench beside you.

“Y/N…” he bent close in a whisper. You wouldn’t look at the detective. Fear was buzzing inside of you. You felt stupid about saying you’d do anything to take August Walker down now. You really wanted to just humiliate the man and call him up in prison one day and rub it in his face. But this? This was a game of cat and mouse and you didn’t want to be backed up into a corner again.

“I wouldn’t be asking you if this unless I had to...”

You bit back the whimper in your throat as Lloyd touched your shoulder gently.

“He let you live…he has a soft spot for you.”

‘He threatened to put me down.’

He turned you around and squeezed your arms while he pitched the plan, “What’ll happen is we enter the club, I find the dealers and you find Walker because he will be hosting the party, he will want to know why you’re there and you are going to tell him that…you wanted to see him.”

You rubbed your eyes angrily, “Why the fuck would I want to see him?!” your fingers felt moist, you’d been compelled to tears.

The kind eyed detective sucked his teeth, “I don’t know, make it up. Kiss him. Men don’t care about a thing once a pretty thing is kissing them.”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head. No, this wasn’t the Lloyd you had imagined.

“Oh,” you chuckled sourly, “So you’re pimping me out then?”

He gave you a dumbfounded look, “Call it whatever you want…you’ll be paid good money for your service and he’ll be arrested, in prison, unable to touch you. You can run away and move to wherever you want then.”

Your breath was shaky as you dared to ask, “How much?”

His left brow rose.

“How much would I be paid by the Queensland police or Australian defence department or whoever this is through?”

He sighed and gently laid a hand on your shoulder, “Around fifteen grand.”

Your breath escaped you. From near negatives to fifteen grand overnight? That much? For this job?! You were stunned…not sure if it was worth your life…but if it meant he only humiliate you one more time and you walked away with that much money…you’d do it.

You shook your head, “Fine, it’s this Friday night yea? His club is high-class and I don’t have clothes for that type of event.”

The tall man stood back and chuckled as he tug into his back pocket and retrieved his wallet. He pinched a wad of cash and slapped it in the benchtop. Your eyes widened, holy fuck it was a month or two in rent alone…

“Go buy some. But you have got to be ready. At Seven o’clock I’ll pick you up an hour before the event and we can refresh what we know before we line up.”

You glanced between him and the money and nodded….”Alright, let’s…let’s do this.”

He laughed and clapped his hand excitedly, he leant in and gave you a fat kiss on the cheek. Nothing romantic, just pure joy.

“Thankyou so much Y/N you are going to be hailed a hero, a legend in my books!” He marched back to the couch and grabbed his blazer.

“You are a special person and I’m honoured to have met you! Really honoured!” He said as he unlocked all your bolts. He swung the door open and slammed it behind him.

You sighed and fell back against your cold fridge.

You weren’t sure you could pull this off….but as your eyes looked over the cash, the corner of your lips lifted.

You shut your eyes and sighed…all that money, it made your blood pulse. You returned to the lounge room and sat in the recliner. You laid back, staring at the ceiling. Your hands crawled down, passed the waist band of your pyjama shorts and underwear. You touched yourself and sighed.

Your fingers rubbed delicately against your clit while you leant against the kitchen bench.

You tried to imagine someone...Lloyd…the detective. He had a warmth his face. Lloyd would never rape you though, he was good, he was honest…

You moaned softly, imagining his warm hands groping your skin and his lips kissing your skin.

Fingering yourself, in and out, in and out.

You were imagining Lloyd speaking to you. He was currently the most attractive man you’d made contact with in weeks...other than August who essentially raped you.

What kind words would Lloyd say? “I washed our clothes, finished the dishes, now come here and let me fuck you.” ‘Oh yea that’s fucking hot.’

You imagined he would be gentle and soft before using more strength in his hips. His lips would be soft and hot. He would protect you and play sexy policeman. You might not have been a fan of the justice system but you were confident Lloyd would fill in a police uniform very well.

So why did your body start to dry up?

You didn’t know what you were doing wrong. You were riding your fingers and teasing your clit…why couldn’t you cum? You felt weird doing this now. It was strange to think before you met August you could cum very easily, after your dad- well you hadn’t touched yourself because you weren’t thinking about sex for a while until the millionaire stepped into your life.

After the third time of unsuccessful release, you punched the arm of the chair and started searching sex toys on your phone.

You weren’t totally sure if the prices were worth it for a piece of painted pink silicone. And there were strange shapes you were amazed were even designed to fit into a human….‘a whole fist? Surely that’s satire,’ you thought, ‘it shouldn’t be possible. It would be like reverse birth?’

You settled on buying a “rabbit dildo with thrusting pleasure.” You rolled your eyes at the name. You slapped your phone down and sighed, rubbing your eyes.

The hour was late.

Your first paycheck would be coming in soon. It was the smell of a small victory.

10:33am Friday 16th August 2024, Queen Street Westfield Shopping centre, Brisbane.

“What should I wear…” you hummed as you flipped through the dresses. Some of these dresses cost the amount of a new iPhone. You bit your lip. ‘Maybe I can return them tomorrow and give Lloyd his money back?’

A sales clerk came up, “Need some help?” She was blonde, curvy and tall. A supermodel compared to your body. You blushed.

“I’m looking to wear something to one of the high end clubs like The Lion Lounge, he’s having a nineteen twenties theme soiree this evening?”

Her lips widened, “Well, we do have many suitable gowns and even pantsuits for that social class, what designer were you thinking?”

You balked and worried that she would see you sweat, “Oh…I um…I’ll be super frank…I have not a clue what I’m doing…it is my first time to something so spectacular.”

The clerk’s eyes softened, her lips pursed, “Well! Let me help you then! These gowns you’re looking at are definitely not old twenties glam worthy! Right this way!”

Your cheeks buzzed as you were led into a dressing room and made to try on multiple styles, designers and colours of dresses.

She asked if you were getting your nails done and gasped when you said you hadn’t thought about it.

She was like a fairy godmother. She went the extra mile to call up the other stores in the mall to book appointments. You hadn’t felt so pretty ever in your life until then

She appeared stunned by the cash you laid on her counter.

Your nails were french tips with a holographic clear coat. You received a quick arm and leg wax and eyebrow shaping. The makeup matched the entire outfit. Your dress clung to your best assets and shaped your body with a clutch purse and low heels to match. Your hair was gelled and hairsprayed down into finger waves. And a lather of pearls circled around your throat and wrists.

The long finger of your dress tickled your calfs down to your small kitten heels.

You looked incredible, it took your breath away to see the glow up….

Lloyd thought so too.

HELPLINES:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers. .

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

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chiefdirector · 1 month

Text

Planning | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

(Y/N) looked around the room, taking in the worried faces of her colleagues turned friends who had come at Tim’s request. Angela sat talking next to John, talking to both him and Nyla who stood next to the sofa. Lucy was sitting on the armchair with West leaning against the arm. Grey wasn’t there, (Y/N) knew that he couldn't be, but it hurt slightly to exclude the man, especially after all he had done for her.

She could feel her heart tug slightly at the sentiment that they had all agreed to come to help, even though it was a war Roaslind Dyer had decided to wage against the entire LAPD, he focus was on the officer in the Mid-Wilshire department, or at least they would be the start.

None of them knew what Tim had figured, but at his request, they had all decided to come of their own volition, to help both of the Bradford’s. People she had thought would brush her off and not accept her had all come with the intention to aid her the best she could.

Leaning against the doorway, (Y/N) watched as each and every one of her friends cast their eyes on Tim as he cleared his throat to bring their attention to him. “You all know why I asked you to come, mostly anyways…”

“What do you mean, ‘mostly’?” Nyla said, leaning forward in an almost defensive stance.

“What he means is that we have a development in the Dyer case.” (Y/N) stepped forward nudging Kojo away from her feet as she moved. She took a moment, as his hand wrapped around her own before she continued speaking. “We can’t operate at the station anymore.”

“Why not?” John asked gently, prompting either one of the Bradfords to continue.

Tim spoke up again. “Before you say that, we need to know if you're in or out. Because once we tell you, there is no going back, you will be liable for any and all actions. The LAPD won’t cover you.”

“The Hell you got into Bradford?” Nyla asked before taking a breath to stop a chain of expletives from falling from her tongue. “I mean I’m in but what the Hell is going on?”

Tim just nodded for a moment at Nyla’s words as the other cops in the room began to nod and verbalise their agreement. Angela stood as she agreed, wrapping (Y/N) in a hug as she whispered, “I’d follow you to the end of the earth. That’s what best friends are for.”

As Angela pulled away, she took (Y/N)’s hand from Tim, ignoring his small sound of offensive he let out as she dragged her back to the sofa. (Y/N) scoffed in amusement as Angela wedged her between her and John.

“So you’re all okay with this?” Tim clarified.

“Yes,” Nyla huffed, “Now get on with it. We don’t have all day, you know?”

Tim nodded as he put his hands in his hoodie’s pockets. “(Y/N) and I came to a realisation earlier today after she got back from the prison. It never made sense why (Y/N) was targeted by her, it wasn’t as if Dyer had a specific M.O which she fit, and it’s not like it was with Lucy…” He let his words trail off as he watched Chen’s reaction before continuing. “She had no reason except that she seemed like an easy target.”

“Target for what?” West asked.

“To get into the LAPD hivemind.” (Y/N) said, taking over from her husband. “She already had informants but they were all reluctant or vulnerable in some way. Sullivan was near retirement age, Armstrong had been made. Our guess is that she wanted to turn me into her newest pawn.”

“(Y/N), your old partner said this was about Tim. Then it was about you. They were trying to make us chase our tails.” Nyla spoke up again, moving closer to where the others were sitting. “Although, this still doesn't tell us what she intends to do.”

“The LAPD humiliated her, all of us in this room humiliated her. Someone like Rosalind Dyer isn’t the type just to stand back and take something like that. She needs to prove herself time and time again. She doesn’t like to lose, so she changed the game. She isn’t going after individuals anymore, she’s coming after all of us, the entire LAPD. And we’re just the warm-up round.”

—-----

It was near three am by the time Nyla, Angela and the others finally left. (Y/N) closed the door behind them, making sure to both lock and deadbolt the door shut. She rested her weight against the door, trying to push down the wave of emotion crashing into her. She closed her eyes, choosing to listen to the clinking of empty beer bottles as Tim tidied away the mess left over.

Taking a deep breath, (Y/N) pushed herself off the door and moved towards the bedroom with Kojo trailing sleepily behind her. It didn’t take long before she heard Tim shut off the lights to the rest of the room and shuffle towards the bedroom himself.

Neither of them spoke for a while, both enjoying the comfortable silence as they prepared for bed. They moved in sync, Tim tossing (Y/N) one of his tees and a pair of joggers to sleep in whilst she placed their phones on charge and set their alarms for the morning.

It was only when they had made their way into bed, (Y/N) leaning on Tim’s chest with Kojo snoring happily at their feet, did Tim finally break the silence.

“Thank you.” he murmured, barely above a whisper

(Y/N) looked at him perplexed as she responded with a tone that was just as soft. “For what?”

“For trusting me, all of us. I know it must have been hard.”

“Not as hard as it was to shut you out.” (Y/N) shuffled down in the sheets as she gathered her thoughts. “Do you think that this will work? Our plan, I mean.”

“I don't know.” Tim kissed (Y/N)’s head, “but if it doesn’t, we will try something else. We won’t let her win, I won’t let her win, baby. I promise you that.”

Masterlist

28 | Act Three

Tags: @xceafh @kmc1989 @buba424 @salty0cracker @iamasimpingh0e @malindacath @rookietrek @hufflepuffwhore13 @tessalynni @anaferreira-4 @starstruckchopshoptyphoon @alessiamargaux @rexit-mo

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford #tim bradford imagine #the rookie #the rookie imagine #the rookie x reader #chiefdirector #bottom of the river

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stairnaheireann · 10 months

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#OTD in 1889 – In the last official bare knuckle title fight ever held, heavyweight boxer, John L. Sullivan beats fellow Irishman Jack Kilrain in a world championship bout which lasts 75 rounds.

John L. Sullivan, the celebrated 19th century fist fighter embodied the spirit of a fighting Irishman. Sullivan left behind more than just a legacy of 40 wins, 2 draws and 1 loss. The Boston pugilist was a transformative figure who helped usher in a new period in ring fighting. He was the last bare-knuckle champion and also, arguably, the first heavy-weight titleholder of the gloved era. As a…

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#Bare Knuckle Fighting #Heavyweight Boxer #History #History of Ireland #Ireland #Irish History #Irish-American History #John L. Sullivan #Sports #Today in Irish History

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llovelymoonn · 10 months

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favourite poems of june

chase twichell the snow watcher: "hunger for something"

hester knibbe hungerpots (tr. jacquelyn pope)

jan beatty an eater, or swallowhole, is a reach of stream

sally wen mao the toll of the sea

peter everwine rain

rebecca lindenberg the logan notebooks: "poetic subjects"

john kinsella native cut wood deflects colonial hunger

katie peterson permission: "the truth is concrete"

linda hogan dark. sweet.: "innocence"

jános pilinszky (tr. george gömöri & clive wilmer) van gogh's prayer

david sullivan the day the beekeeper died: sulaymaniyah

sandra simonds you can't build a child

kari edwards bharat jiva: "ready to receive remains..."

george kalogeris rilke rereading hölderlin

philip nikolayev letters from aldenderry: "a midsummer's night stroll"

franz wright the raising of lazarus

erin belieu black box: "i heart your dog's head"

joseph brodsky collected poems in english, 1972-1999: "the hawk's cry in autumn"

jonathan galassi north street and other poems: "may"

stanley kunitz the collected poems of stanley kunitz: "end of summer"

robin blaser the holy forest: collected poems of robin blaser: "a bird in the house"

liu xia (tr. jennifer stern & ming di) empty chairs

wilfred owen exposure

mahogany l. browne this is the honey

diane lockward the uneaten carrots of atonement: "for the love of avocados"

peter balakian ozone journal: "here and now"

(tw: miscarriage) kathryn nuernberger rag & bone: "translations"

ailbhe ní ghearbhuigh conriocht ["werewolf"] (tr. billy ramsell)

craig arnold meditation on a grapefruit

anzhelina polonskaya (tr. andrew wachtel) to the ashes: "a few words about van gogh"

support me

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billiemilou · 1 year

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“And I think I ought to warn you that I took lessons from John L Sullivan himself.”

#doctor who #classic doctor who #jon pertwee #carnival of monsters #third doctor #kaart

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daisies-daydreams · 3 months

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Angel in Red - Pt. 2 (Jason Todd x F!Reader)

Image Source(s): Pexels & DC Comics

Pairing: Jason Todd x F!Reader Category: Angst Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Depictions of Gun/Knife Violence, Blood/Gore, Kidnapping, Attempted Murder, Swearing Word Count: 2.8k+

Summary: Your actions from last night have endangered you. Will you be able to make it out of the mafia’s grasp?

A/N: Pt. 2 of @maybethatfanfictionwriter's request. I hope you enjoy!

Pt. 1 <- -> Pt. 3 (WIP)

You took a deep breath as you walked back from the bathroom. You looked down at your phone as you took your seat, tilting your head when you noticed that it seemed to slightly change from where you left it. You peeked behind your shoulder to see Sullivan still in a meeting with Montoya. A lump swelled in your throat as you opened a new text from an unknown number.

“This is John, your driver. I’ll be waiting for you out front in a gray SUV”

You liked his message before Montoya suddenly stomped out of Sullivan’s office and slammed the door behind her. Her nostrils flared as she gritted her teeth.

“Are you alright?” you asked. She glanced over at you, her features softening as she sighed.

“Sullivan just re-assigned me. And I was this close in getting a major break on the Marchetti case!” she scoffed as she stared into his office, the police chief busying himself on his computer. You frowned.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized. Montoya sighed.

“Not your fault, (L/N). It just doesn’t make any sense to me…” she shook her head as she walked away. You bit the inside of your cheek as you tapped your pen against the desk. While you were relieved that Sullivan didn’t have Montoya killed, the fact still remained: your boss was working with a major crime syndicate. You looked up at the clock hanging on a nearby wall.

One more hour.

Minutes seemed to crawl by as you filed paperwork and did other various clerical tasks. Your palms were sweaty by the time five o’clock hit, your mind racing as you tried to remain calm. You sighed as you shut down your computer and grabbed your purse.

“(Y/N),” Sullivan called from his office. You tensed, your body shaking a little as you slowly turned around. He motioned towards himself with his index finger. You swallowed thickly as you shuffled inside his office.

“Yes, Chief Sullivan?” you asked as you gripped the strap of your purse. Your boss glanced over at his computer, then back to you, his gaze steely with a hint of suspicion.

“I noticed the date on this form is incorrect. Could you please change it for me?” he asked as he slid a police report over to you. You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded.

“Yes, sir. I’ll get it taken care of,” you said with a slightly nervous smile.

"Keep it together," you thought. He only grunted in reply as you shuffled out of his room and plopped yourself down at your desk. You quickly made the edit before stepping back inside.

“Thank you,” Sullivan said. You nodded and turned around. “Oh, and one more thing,” he added, his voice calm and slow. You held your breath as you heard him stand up and lumber towards you. You nearly squeaked when he held his hand out. “You forgot your umbrella here last night,” he said with a soft grin. You felt the tension in your chest relax as you took it from him.

“T-Thank you, sir,” you said. “Goodnight,” you added before shuffling your way down the hall. Almost there, just a bit further. Your heart glowed when you saw a gray SUV parked in front of the building. A thick sheet of rain drenched the cracked pavement before a sudden flash of lightning streaked across the sky. You shivered and opened your umbrella before stepping out, your heels clicking against the sidewalk as you made your way to the vehicle.

You opened the door and threw your purse and umbrella over as you grinned at the driver.

“Thanks again for picking me up,” you said as you climbed inside and shut the door behind you. “I’m sorry it took me a bit-” your eyes widened when you felt a cold blade held against your throat. Time seemed to slow down as you faintly heard the sound of the car doors locking while someone pulled a bag over your head.

“Drive!” a gruff voice behind you barked. The car lurched forward as you remained as still as a statue - your eyes wide and heart racing wildly. You hissed as someone roughly grabbed your arms and tightened a zip-tie around your wrists. You gasped when the man behind you dipped the tip of the knife between your clavicle.

"I say we kill the little bitch right now," a low, soft voice behind you lilted. You swallowed thickly as you felt him trace circles over your collarbone.

��You better not. The boss doesn’t want us to get the seats dirty,” the driver said, his voice deep and gravely. You shivered as you felt the knife disappear from your skin.

"Honestly, I wonder how you even made it into Marchetti's," a new voice sighed.

You couldn’t help the tears that fell down your burning cheeks as you desperately tried to think of something...anything to get out of this.

"Knock it off," the driver barked. The two men in the back settled down and shuffled in their seats. Your tears soaked the bottom of the sack as the space around you grew stuffier. You gasped when you heard something loud bang against the roof of the car.

"The hell was that?" one of the mobsters gawked. The sound of hail started to bang on top of the car before a roll of thunder cascaded down the streets of Gotham.

"Just the storm - don't be such a twat" the first voice taunted.

“Shut up, both of you. We’re almost there,” the driver said as the car slowed. The road grew bumpy as you kept your head low. Your heart sank as the car came to a slow stop.

"C'mon, princess," the second voice grunted into your ear as he popped the car seat out and roughly shoved you out of the car. You scowled and tried to flinch away, only to be hit on the back of your head. You yelped as he grabbed your wrists and dragged you through the cold, rainy night.

This was it - your forced footsteps bringing you closer to your demise. You heard the sound of a heavy door creak open before you were hastily shoved inside. The rain drummed on the roof above you as you heard the thud of their shoes surround your drenched form. You blinked as you heard the sound of a boat horn and seagulls squawking.

"The docks?" you murmured to yourself. You hissed in pain as a heavy boot swung into your stomach. You coughed and fell onto your side while the men around you laughed, their dark chuckles sending chills down your spine.

"Can you believe this is the bitch who nearly ratted out Sullivan?” one of the men teased as he kicked you again.

"Stop it!" you wheezed as a sharp pain ran through your side. Your heart stopped when you heard the click of a gun.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart…it’s almost over,” the first voice “comforted” in a venomous voice. You squeezed your eyes shut as you clenched your fists, your heart pounding inside your ears and drowning out any noise surrounding you. You waited for the split second pain that would shoot through your skull…but it never came. Instead, you heard the sound of gasping.

“What the fuck?!” one of the mobsters yelled before the sound of a punch being thrown echoed through the room.

“S-Shit, it’s Red Hood!” one of the other men stammered. Your jaw dropped as you laid on your side.

“What the fuck are you doing?! Shoot him!” the first voice barked. You yelped when the sound of gunshots rang out, followed by the sudden noise of more punches being thrown. You tried to scramble away from the chaos, your bag falling off of your head in the process. You blinked as the fight continued, men grunting and groaning while you squirmed behind a large crate. You panted as you sat yourself up, your head pounding while you snagged the tail of your restraints between your teeth.

The sound of something cracking made you flinch as you tightened the zip tie before holding your hands above your head. You squeezed your eyes shut before bringing your clenched fists into your stomach. You huffed as the tie suddenly snapped, another sharp wave of pain rolling through your abdomen. You gasped when one of the men suddenly flew over the crate and slammed against the wall, his gun sliding across the dirty warehouse floor and next to your feet.

You turned when you heard a new voice suddenly groan in pain.

“Thought you were so tough, huh?” the driver’s voice chuckled. You bit your lip as you gazed down at the gun gleaming beneath the red exit light. You slowly picked up the weapon before peeking around the corner. You gasped when you saw how huge the driver was: a hulking man who lumbered towards the vigilante crumpled on the floor. You furrowed your brows when you watched the driver kick Red Hood in the spine, the masked man grunting and writhing in pain.

“I’m afraid this is your last fight with the Marchetti’s,” the driver sneered as he aimed his gun at the vigilante’s head. You suddenly pulled your gun up and fired without a thought. The gunshot rang out through the large room as the driver yelped, the bullet grazing over his shoulder. You remained glued to the floor as you dropped the gun with a clatter.

The Red Hood quickly rolled over and shot the man in the arm, crimson spraying across the floor in a filthy splatter. You didn’t even hear yourself scream as the driver wailed in pain and clutched his arm. You trembled as you slowly sank to your knees, the masked man groaning as he slowly rolled back up and grabbed the mobster by the collar of his dark coat.

“Go tell Marchetti that I’m coming for him next,” he growled in a low, husky voice. The driver’s eyes grew wide before he quickly nodded. He scrambled out the door, his blood trickling across the pavement before he started the car and drove off.

You felt your heart drop into your stomach when the Red Hood turned his unreadable gaze towards you. Your chest felt unbearably tight as your knees shook.

“P-Please, don’t shoot me,” you sobbed as you shrank beneath his gaze. The muscular man before you rose to his feet as he silently stared you down. You flinched when you felt his shadow loom over you, his breathing ragged as he stood tall before you.

You blinked as he knelt down in front of you, his hands draped over his thighs. You recoiled as he reached his hand out, your breath shaky as he wiped a tear from your cheek.

“Are you alright?” he asked in a hushed voice. You blinked and raised your head ever so slightly. The sound of police sirens rang in the distance before you could reply. The masked man whipped his head around before raising to his feet. He grunted and held his lower back before turning back to you.

"Thank you...” he said in a gruff, albeit hesitant, tone. You nodded and felt your stomach twist into a sickening knot when you saw a body lying against the wall. You blinked and looked around when you noticed that he disappeared from the room. Your heart still pounded as several officers suddenly kicked the door open and filed into the building.

“HANDS UP! GCPD!” an officer barked. You instantly shot your hands in the air as they all pointed their guns at you.

Your eyes widened as Commissioner Gordon stepped through, his thick brows furrowed as he met your gaze. He slowly lowered his gun as all color drained from his face.

“(Y/N)?” he murmured.

----

Thank you for reading! ❤️

Taglist: @maybethatfanfictionwriter @depressesoespressorat @yuhhtricki999 @lavenderbabu @thedevax @famouscattale @spktrgantenk @zombieblogx @mrswhitethornbelikov @migueloharastruelove @galaxy-dusk @samanthashadowriley @theloneshadow24 @xxkay15xx @inspace1 @manlikemilesmyguy @ghostslynx @synamonthy @oharasfilipinawife @scaleniusrm @jotarossshark @acotarobbsessed @8xbygirl @catchmeupimgettingoutofhere @lyrasdrawer @spiderrinn @deans-spinster-witch @frogsdinohas-blog @oliverscoffee

Want to be a part of my taglist? Comment down below! (must be 18 or older - PLEASE INCLUDE YOUR AGE IN YOUR BIO!)

#jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd angst #jason todd #batfam #red hood x you #red hood angst #red hood x fem!reader #batfamily #red hood #red hood x y/n

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todaysdocument · 5 months

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Discharge Petition for H.R. 7152, the Civil Rights Act of 1964

Record Group 233: Records of the U.S. House of RepresentativesSeries: General Records

This item, H.R. 7152, the Civil Rights Act of 1964, faced strong opposition in the House Rules Committee. Howard Smith, Chairman of the committee, refused to schedule hearings for the bill. Emanuel Celler, Chairman of the Judiciary Committee, attempted to use this discharge petition to move the bill out of committee without holding hearings. The petition failed to gain the required majority of Congress (218 signatures), but forced Chairman Smith to schedule hearings.

88th CONGRESS. House of Representatives No. 5 Motion to Discharge a Committee from the Consideration of a RESOLUTION (State whether bill, joint resolution, or resolution) December 9, 1963 To the Clerk of the House of Representatives: Pursuant to Clause 4 of Rule XXVII (see rule on page 7), I EMANUEL CELLER (Name of Member), move to discharge to the Commitee on RULES (Committee) from the consideration of the RESOLUTION; H. Res. 574 entitled, a RESOLUTION PROVIDING FOR THE CONSIDERATION OF THE BILL (H. R. 7152) which was referred to said committee November 27, 1963 in support of which motion the undersigned Members of the House of Representatives affix their signatures, to wit: 1. Emanuel Celler 2. John J. Rooney 3. Seymour Halpern 4. James G Fulton 5. Thomas W Pelly 6. Robt N. C. Nix 7. Jeffery Cohelan 8. W A Barrett 9. William S. Mailiard 10. 11. Augustus F. Hawkins 12. Otis G. Pike 13. Benjamin S Rosenthal 14. Spark M Matsunaga 15. Frank M. Clark 16. William L Dawson 17. Melvin Price 18. John C. Kluczynski 19. Barratt O'Hara 20. George E. Shipley 21. Dan Rostenkowski 22. Ralph J. Rivers[page] 2 23. Everett G. Burkhalter 24. Robert L. Leggett 25. William L St Onge 26. Edward P. Boland 27. Winfield K. Denton 28. David J. Flood 29. 30. Lucian N. Nedzi 31. James Roosevelt 32. Henry C Reuss 33. Charles S. Joelson 34. Samuel N. Friedel 35. George M. Rhodes 36. William F. Ryan 37. Clarence D. Long 38. Charles C. Diggs Jr 39. Morris K. Udall 40. Wm J. Randall 41. 42. Donald M. Fraser 43. Joseph G. Minish 44. Edith Green 45. Neil Staebler 46. 47. Ralph R. Harding 48. Frank M. Karsten 49. 50. John H. Dent 51. John Brademas 52. John E. Moss 53. Jacob H. Gilbert 54. Leonor K. Sullivan 55. John F. Shelley 56. 57. Lionel Van Deerlin 58. Carlton R. Sickles 59. 60. Edward R. Finnegan 61. Julia Butler Hansen 62. Richard Bolling 63. Ken Heckler 64. Herman Toll 65. Ray J Madden 66. J Edward Roush 67. James A. Burke 68. Frank C. Osmers Jr 69. Adam Powell 70. 71. Fred Schwengel 72. Philip J. Philiben 73. Byron G. Rogers 74. John F. Baldwin 75. Joseph Karth 76. 77. Roland V. Libonati 78. John V. Lindsay 79. Stanley R. Tupper 80. Joseph M. McDade 81. Wm Broomfield 82. 83. 84. Robert J Corbett 85. 86. Craig Hosmer87. Robert N. Giaimo 88. Claude Pepper 89. William T Murphy 90. George H. Fallon 91. Hugh L. Carey 92. Robert T. Secrest 93. Harley O. Staggers 94. Thor C. Tollefson 95. Edward J. Patten 96. 97. Al Ullman 98. Bernard F. Grabowski 99. John A. Blatnik 100. 101. Florence P. Dwyer 102. Thomas L. ? 103. 104. Peter W. Rodino 105. Milton W. Glenn 106. Harlan Hagen 107. James A. Byrne 108. John M. Murphy 109. Henry B. Gonzalez 110. Arnold Olson 111. Harold D Donahue 112. Kenneth J. Gray 113. James C. Healey 114. Michael A Feighan 115. Thomas R. O'Neill 116. Alphonzo Bell 117. George M. Wallhauser 118. Richard S. Schweiker 119. 120. Albert Thomas 121. 122. Graham Purcell 123. Homer Thornberry 124. 125. Leo W. O'Brien 126. Thomas E. Morgan 127. Joseph M. Montoya 128. Leonard Farbstein 129. John S. Monagan 130. Brad Morse 131. Neil Smith 132. Harry R. Sheppard 133. Don Edwards 134. James G. O'Hara 135. 136. Fred B. Rooney 137. George E. Brown Jr. 138. 139. Edward R. Roybal 140. Harris. B McDowell jr. 141. Torbert H. McDonall 142. Edward A. Garmatz 143. Richard E. Lankford 144. Richard Fulton 145. Elizabeth Kee 146. James J. Delaney 147. Frank Thompson Jr 148. 149. Lester R. Johnson 150. Charles A. Buckley4 151. Richard T. Hanna 152. James Corman 153. Paul A Fino 154. Harold M. Ryan 155. Martha W. Griffiths 156. Adam E. Konski 157. Chas W. Wilson 158. Michael J. Kewan 160. Alex Brooks 161. Clark W. Thompson 162. John D. Gringell [?] 163. Thomas P. Gill 164. Edna F. Kelly 165. Eugene J. Keogh 166 John. B. Duncan 167. Elmer J. Dolland 168. Joe Caul 169. Arnold Olsen 170. Monte B. Fascell [?] 171. [not deciphered] 172. J. Dulek 173. Joe W. [undeciphered] 174. J. J. Pickle [Numbers 175 through 214 are blank]

#archivesgov #December 12 #1963 #civil rights #civil rights act of 1964 #1960s

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saydams · 1 month

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the usa senate passed the budget that banned all aid to UNRWA and Biden signed it.

the senators who voted for this budget (preventing usa from funding UNRWA) are under the readmore. if your senator is on this list, call (202) 224-3121 and demand they find another way of funding relief to palestine.

Tammy Baldwin Wis.

Richard Blumenthal Conn.

Cory Booker N.J.

John Boozman Ark.

Katie Britt Ala.

Sherrod Brown Ohio

Laphonza Butler Calif.

Maria Cantwell Wash.

S. Capito W.Va.

Benjamin L. Cardin Md.

Tom Carper Del.

Bob Casey Pa.

Bill Cassidy La.

Susan Collins Maine

Chris Coons Del.

John Cornyn Tex.

C. Cortez Masto Nev.

Tom Cotton Ark.

Kevin Cramer N.D.

Tammy Duckworth Ill.

Dick Durbin Ill.

Joni Ernst Iowa

John Fetterman Pa.

Deb Fischer Neb.

Kirsten Gillibrand N.Y.

Lindsey Graham S.C.

Chuck Grassley Iowa

M. Hassan N.H.

Martin Heinrich N.M.

John Hickenlooper Colo.

Mazie Hirono Hawaii

John Hoeven N.D.

Cindy Hyde-Smith Miss.

Tim Kaine Va.

Mark Kelly Ariz.

Angus King Maine

Amy Klobuchar Minn.

Ben Ray Luján N.M.

Joe Manchin III W.Va.

Edward J. Markey Mass.

Mitch McConnell Ky.

Robert Menendez N.J.

Jeff Merkley Ore.

Jerry Moran Kan.

Markwayne Mullin Okla.

Lisa Murkowski Alaska

Chris Murphy Conn.

Patty Murray Wash.

Jon Ossoff Ga.

Alex Padilla Calif.

Gary Peters Mich.

Jack Reed R.I.

Mitt Romney Utah

Jacky Rosen Nev.

Mike Rounds S.D.

Brian Schatz Hawaii

Charles E. Schumer N.Y.

Jeanne Shaheen N.H.

Kyrsten Sinema Ariz.

Tina Smith Minn.

Debbie Stabenow Mich.

Dan Sullivan Alaska

Jon Tester Mont.

John Thune S.D.

Thom Tillis N.C.

Chris Van Hollen Md.

Mark R. Warner Va.

Raphael G. Warnock Ga

Elizabeth Warren Mass.

Peter Welch Vt.

Sheldon Whitehouse R.I.

Roger Wicker Miss.

Ron Wyden Ore.

Todd Young Ind.

#usa politics #unwra #palestine #gaza #us politics

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