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thetomorrowshow · 6 months

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a stuffed deer

empires superpowers au masterlist (currently out of date)

this story takes place about one year after the end of ‘poisoned rats’.

cw: past abuse, religious trauma, referenced past death, deadnaming/misgendering of a character (but the person isn’t really doing it out of mailce, and said character is dead)

The closer they get, the more anxious Scott becomes. His hands grip tighter on the steering wheel, he checks his mirrors more often, he glances over at Jimmy every couple of seconds.

This is fine. This is normal, even. He knows what he’s doing. He’s done far more terrifying things than this. He’s nearly died several times, he’s graduated college, he’s been a superhero for years.

He can face his birth parents.

He’s been talking to Nora about it for several months, and he’s come to the conclusion that he needs closure. Not about himself—he fully understands their feelings for him, and made peace with them long ago. No, he’s here for closure on Xornoth.

In the last minutes before their death, Xornoth had declared themself to be Scott’s sibling. As far as he knows, he’d been an only child. If what Xornoth said was true, that puts Scott in charge of any and all of their possessions currently being held by the city. Not that he wants them, but the mayor had asked him to pursue any leads he found on Xornoth’s next of kin and, even though it had taken him an entire year and a half, he finally feels ready to pursue the only one he’s ever had.

Jimmy’s fiddling with the radio next to him, switching between gospel and country. There’s not much else that comes through out here, and they’re going through a dead zone for their data plan, so Jimmy eventually just turns it off and sits back, not-so-subtly watching Scott. Scott resolutely keeps his eyes on the road.

They pass the exit for Milford. If Jimmy’s feeling all right after the visit, maybe they can stop by there, visit the library and community college and homeless shelter.

Half an hour until Briarsville. Scott shifts in his seat, taps the steering wheel lightly.

“What did you think of that motel breakfast?” Jimmy breaks the silence. “I thought it was decent—waffles are always good, at least. But I wouldn’t have touched those sausages with a ten foot pole.”

Scott had only eaten a slice of toast with some watery coffee, too nervous already to have any faith in his stomach. “Not the worst I’ve ever had,” he offers. Jimmy’s just trying to help him relax. He can humor his attempts.

“Well, yeah. I can remember a time when I would’ve killed for a motel breakfast—literally.” Jimmy chuckles nervously, tugs on his seatbelt. “Um—how much longer?”

“Half an hour,” says Scott too quickly. He checks the radio clock, then his rearview mirror. They’re almost there. His heart is really beginning to jump now.

The car is quiet again until they reach exit 42. Briarsville.

Jimmy straightens up, looks between Scott and the town that they’re pulling into. It looks like any run-of-the-mill midwest town, Scott knows. Even the Order of Heaven private school isn’t much of an indicator of anything abnormal.

“We can turn around, you know,” Jimmy says softly. Of course he’d noticed the nerves. Scott’s knuckles have turned white around the wheel, his back is ramrod straight, he’s barely spoken all morning. Jimmy’s not an idiot, and he’s more observant than most people know.

Scott forces himself to relax. “No. I need to do this.”

Jimmy nods and doesn’t argue him any further. That’s something that Scott will always love about Jimmy: he understands. He sees that this is important for Scott and would never try to keep him from it.

And then he’s turning onto Bloomfield Avenue, and he thinks that maybe Jimmy’s right. Maybe he ought to turn back now and cut his losses.

It’s still his last name printed above the door of the house three houses down. The welcome mat is that ugly, waterlogged brown thing that it had been before he’d left. His parents still live here.

Scott pulls into the driveway, then freezes.

“What if we just went home?” he says, voice pitched an octave higher than normal. “We can stop by the country music museum. Or the Appalachian one, I heard it’s—”

“Scott,” interrupts Jimmy. “Normally I would be fine with that, but you just told me you have to do this.” He takes one of Scott’s hands, runs his thumb over his knuckles. “This is important to you. I don’t want you to be kicking yourself for the rest of your life because you got all the way here only to turn back.”

Scott takes in a deep breath, holds it, and lets it out. Then again. Jimmy’s right. Jimmy’s absolutely right. “Yeah,” he whispers.

“And,” Jimmy continues, “if they try to hurt you in any way, I will kill them.”

“You’ve got to stop saying that about everyone we talk to.”

“Hey, I’m just really good at making things look like an accident. Some might even say it’s a superpower.”

“Jimmy.”

“Just saying.”

Scott laughs, kisses his boyfriend on the cheek. He’s ready now. He can go in.

He pulls the key out of the ignition and hops out, then circles round to offer his hand to Jimmy and help him up. Jimmy stops to grab his cane out of the backseat, then gestures encouragingly for Scott to lead the way.

Right. He has to actually go up to the door.

It’s the longest walk of his life, Scott thinks. Even the walk across the stage at graduation hadn’t been this long. But seconds yet seemingly hours later, he’s in front of the door, hand poised to knock.

He swallows, then bites the bullet.

Rat-tat-tat-tat.

It’s only a couple of moments before the door swings open, and his mother is standing before him.

She looks much the same, but changed. Her hair, once grey at the temples, is nearly completely grey with only a few streaks of its former blond. There are a few new lines in her face, only serving to add to the sallowness, the laugh lines he’d once known long-faded. Her hairstyle is the same as ever, her classic Christian mom fashion sense not any different. He takes in all of this, then properly meets her eyes.

“Hello, Mother,” he says, a shiver running up his spine.

She doesn’t say anything at first, eyes passing over Scott to examine Jimmy briefly, sizing him up like a bird of prey. Then she steps aside, pulling the door open wider.

“You’d better come in, hadn’t you,” she says, and the resignation lacing her tone is somehow so much better than the anger he’d expected yet so much worse.

The living room is different. There’s a new couch, pushed up against the wall opposite where it used to be. The easy chair is the same, but also tilted weird and there’s a coffee table for some reason when all it does is take up space. But Scott keeps his complaints to himself and steadies Jimmy as he lowers himself onto the couch, propping his cane up against the coffee table, then sits beside him.

His mother looks at the two of them with something unreadable in her expression, before leaving the room. She returns moments later with two glasses of water.

It’s a test, and Scott doesn’t know if she’s set it up like this or if he set it up for himself, but he takes the water from her hand and sends a little burst of freezing air to chill it, eyes trained on hers the entire time. She doesn’t react.

Jimmy takes his water with a muttered thank you, then she sits down in the easy chair across from them, crossing one leg over the other as she waits for Scott to break the silence.

He takes a sip of his now-cool water (Jimmy passes his own over and Scott forms some of the water into an ice cube before handing it back), takes a deep breath, and speaks.

“Is Dad home? Because—”

“He’s dead,” his mother interrupts. Scott blinks.

Two for two, his mind unhelpfully supplies.

Is he supposed to mourn an unloved parent? Is he supposed to mourn someone he used to care very deeply about, but proved that they didn’t care for him?

He’s not sure how to feel.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Jimmy says beside him. “That must be terrible.”

“How long?” is all Scott can manage.

“Nearly two years, now,” she replies. “Heart attack while at work.” She clicks her tongue. “I was always telling him to lay off the salt, stop working so hard. Guess he suffered the consequences.”

Scott’s really not sure how to feel. The last memory of his birth father he has is of his face closing off, declaring himself to have no son, and banishing Scott from the house. Would he have liked to reconcile? Is parting easier with his last words being unforgivable?

“I’m so sorry, Mrs—”

“Heidi,” his mother corrects Jimmy, and Jimmy amends his words.

“I’m so sorry, Heidi. I can only imagine the pain.”

That’s the first thing to incite emotion in Scott, because Jimmy can’t only imagine that sort of pain. Jimmy’s lived through the death of loved ones without a house to live in afterwards or a community to support him. Jimmy’s had it worse off. Jimmy shouldn’t have to be placating his terrible excuse for a mother.

He must be getting tense, because Jimmy’s hand runs comfortingly along his knee, and Scott can almost feel the love and support that Jimmy imbues the touch with.

Heidi’s eyes follow the movement, and after a moment, she says gruffly, “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

Right. This could go very badly.

“Mother, this is Jimmy, my boyfriend,” Scott says stiffly, before adding, “as in, romantic partner. We kiss. Each other.”

Her nose wrinkles in disgust. “Are you a gay now, then?”

Scott stares her down. “And if I am?” he challenges. “What are you going to do, kick me out again?”

She stares back for a long moment, a moment during which Scott’s certain she is going to kick them out—then she chuckles, shakes her head.

“You always were a bit sassy,” she says. “I ought to have known, really. But that can be said for a lot of things.”

“Speaking of things that ought to have been known. . . .” Jimmy hints, nudging at Scott. Scott nods, takes a deep breath, and forces out the question that’s been on his mind for so long.

“Did I . . . did you have any children before me?”

Heidi looks away suddenly, toward the TV. Her expression gives away absolutely nothing. “I thought that was Noah,” she says eventually. “His voice was already starting to change when he left.”

“Sorry—Noah?”

She looks back at him. “Your brother. He was fourteen when we noticed he was one of them. You were so young, I’m not surprised you don’t remember.”

Right, because it’s such a normal thing to destroy every trace of your child’s existence and raise the other to believe he never had a sibling.

But that means—

“I’ve seen the two of you on the news,” his mother continues. “Your father, too. He regretted what he did, Scott, after he saw how good your heart was.”

“So he just wanted to send me to conversion therapy instead, huh,” Scott mutters. “And that’s so much better.”

Heidi sighs. “We did what we thought we had to do, for both of you. We always hoped you would repent and come back.”

Scott wants to scream. He wants to scream and yell and freeze the entire house, because that may be the most insensitive thing he’s ever heard and his own mother is supposed to love him unconditionally, not act like this!

His hands are shaking. He doesn’t even notice until Jimmy eases the glass from his grip and rubs his arm. He needs to calm down.

But he can’t bear to look at the woman’s face for a moment longer.

“I think we’ll be going,” Scott says icily, moving to stand. Heidi stands as well, taking their glasses, then pauses on her way back to the kitchen.

“We donated your things,” she says, “but not all of it. Do you want any of what’s left?”

And as much as Scott wants to get out of here, he knows he needs to see whatever it is his mother decided to keep. So, after an encouraging squeeze from Jimmy, Scott follows her into the attic.

There’s only two things in the attic—two small trash bags, leaning against a wall to the side. With a nod from Heidi, Scott opens one of them up.

His monogrammed bible is on top. He has no interest in that. His Boy Scout pins and kerchief are here as well, more stuff he doesn’t care about. His birth certificate, which he does set aside (he already has a copy of it that he’d requested from the government, but it can never hurt to have the original), and a small photo album, which he sets aside as well. At the very bottom of the bag is his plush turtle, scruffy and old.

That he pulls to his chest, burying his nose into it. It smells pretty musty, which makes sense. It probably hasn’t been out of this attic in a decade.

It brings back feelings, looking at it. Not memories, not exactly, but feelings of a simpler time. Feelings from some vague past, where he had no troubles and his only concern was getting to school on time.

And more feelings. Feelings of deception, of hate, of guilt. The feeling of his world being flipped upside down and this plushie not being near enough to anchor it.

He wants to set it with his birth certificate and the photos, but it holds so much of this place that he’s not so sure.

He sets the turtle to the side and looks in the other bag.

Much the same stuff, and at first he inexplicably thinks this is an exact replica for some odd reason—but the name monogrammed onto this bible is not his.

Scott weighs it in his hands for a moment, then sets that aside.

There’s no photo album, but the same boy scout items and a birth certificate. There’s a plushie here too, though, a floppy deer, one of the antlers torn off and the hole it left carefully sewn shut. The fur is wearing thin in places, the beads for eyes have lost their shine.

It’s well-loved, as loved as Scott’s turtle, and for some reason, that makes him want to cry.

He’s not sure what to do with it. He still hasn’t really processed what his mother confirmed downstairs.

This stuffed deer belonged to the sibling he never met.

This stuffed deer belonged to Xornoth.

Can he take it?

Does he want to take it?

He sets it aside next to his turtle. At the bottom of the bag, there’s one last thing—a photograph, bent at the corner.

It’s older than any in the photo album, and Scott knows instantly that the child in the photo isn’t him. It’s a small child with a mop of dark blond hair, maybe three years old, wearing little red overalls and a white sweater, sitting on a push-bike and smiling up at the camera.

He can’t quite force his brain to make the connection. This child, so happy and young, grew up to be Xornoth. This toddler tried to take over the world.

He can process it later, he supposes, and he upends one of the bags to make sure there’s nothing else (there isn’t, so few of what once were his possessions leftover), then stuffs both his turtle and the deer in it, along with his birth certificate. He hikes the bag over his shoulder and picks up the photo of—of the child—and the photo album, before holding both out to his mother.

“Do you want any of these?” he asks brusquely. She takes the loose photo, then waves off the album.

“I’ve kept some of yours downstairs,” she says dismissively. “This is my only picture of Noah, though.”

Scott leaves the attic without another word, photo album chucked into the bag over his shoulder. He meets back up with Jimmy in the living room, who looks up from his phone with a questioning glance.

Scott sets down the bag, pulls out the turtle plushie. “This was mine growing up,” he says. Jimmy’s face immediately softens and he coos, reaching out for it. Scott hands it over, then removes the second stuffed animal.

This one he holds farther from Jimmy, because he’s still not sure if he wants to take it with him, despite the strange sense that he owes it to his lost sibling. “This,” he says carefully, “belonged to Xornoth.”

Jimmy’s face goes carefully neutral, and his hands still. “Oh,” he manages, and Scott can hear the change in his exhales as he immediately kicks into breathing exercises.

“We don’t have to take it if you aren’t okay with that,” Scott is quick to reassure. “We can leave it here, that’s fine. I’m sure my mother would appreciate it.”

“Why—why do you want it?”

That’s harder to answer, because Scott hasn’t figured out why yet. He’ll know when he comes across the answer, he’s certain, but it hasn’t made itself known to him in the five minutes that he’s known of his sibling’s existence.

“I don’t know,” he says eventually. He stares at the deer, at the faded pattern of its coat. “There’s some reason I want it, but I’m not sure what that is, yet.”

A little color has already returned to Jimmy’s face, and he doesn’t stutter when he speaks. “Is it part of your closure?”

He doesn’t know how, but Jimmy’s right. He nods. This is, in some way and fashion, a very important part of making peace with his sibling’s identity in his head.

“Then take it,” says Jimmy, handing back the turtle. He stands, slowly, supporting himself with his cane.

But it’ll hurt you, Scott wants to say. It’s clear that Jimmy doesn’t like the idea of taking this deer plushie home, doesn’t like the idea of it being in their house.

“Don’t worry about me, yeah?” Jimmy says, as if he can hear Scott’s thoughts. He smiles weakly, squeezes Scott’s arm. “I’ll be fine. This is about you.”

They leave with a quick goodbye, no attempts on either side to set up further contact. Scott just throws his things into the backseat with Jimmy’s cane, then drives away.

It’s just a week later when Scott drives out of the city to a park.

It’s a quiet park, just some trails and benches through the trees, and Scott stops at one of these trees and digs with the shovel he’d brought from home.

He digs alone, in the quiet shade of the trees, a light breeze rustling through them. And when he’s finished the job, a small pile of dirt beside him, he lays a shoebox containing a small stuffed deer in the little hole he’s dug.

He scrapes the dirt back over it with his shovel, pats it down a bit, and stands there. Just . . . stares.

Then, silently, Scott turns away and heads home.

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rosemaryrockor · 2 years

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so seemingly the only yt channel that housed the english translation for the entirety of the 2001 Christmas audioplay, Jól í Latabæ, got terminated and i cant find it anywhere else. and chris crow has been radio silent for the past year.

thankfully, my best friend didnt have the focus for watching it, so days prior i committed the entire translation to a google doc. cheers

all translation credits, obviously, to chris crow and the ever-mysterious Fiverr Kristófer, abolutely recc this blogpost abt the translations

#Lazytown #Latibær #Jól í Latabæ #better viewed on desktop but its Tolerable on mobile #again it was just a personal project. so imagine my surprise #peter.txt

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misspeppermint2003 · 1 year

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#lazytown #fandom questions #fandom #character quiz #quizzes #favourite characters

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bugmeeku · 4 months

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Doodles again

#my art #lazytown #stephanie splitz #stephanie meanswell #bessie busybody #milford meanswell #mayor meanswell #jujitsu kaisen #gojo satoru #satoru gojo

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coolgirl32 · 5 months

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Ok so it's been a while since I made a 100% wolf fanfic but I'm also going to write a 100% wolf theory mostly on Hotspur and flashheart and on their parents also there's going to be a bonus on something you didn't know about my OCS so enjoy

Ok ok so my theory is that why Hotspur hates dogs so much is because he was either bitten by a dog or he was friends with one and then they betrayed him and that's why he said you can't trust a dog also I think Hotspur and flashheart's father was abusive to Hotspur and not flashheart because his father always probably saw him as a failure and was abusive but was also high howler and also mayor of Milford I'm guessing their mom was a kind woman that loved both her sons also I want to know where those two are like are they in London are they retired or something I don't know also I'm hoping we get to know more about Freddy's mom because there's so much mystery to her and there's also so much mystery to Freddy's aunt hotspur's wife now they may be divorced or they could be separated

Bonus

Did you know that Jacqulyn lost her husband George when her daughter Abby was just a baby also George is also Maggie's older brother and also Jacqulyn's mom is actually the queen of the monster realm and Jacqulyn is technically still a princess so when Jacqulyn married flashheart she became his Luna also did you know that Rachel's boyfriend is one of the Doom wolves apparently his name is Johnny also Rachel loves wearing a musical note necklace that her father gave her on her 12th birthday before he died

All right so I'm hoping all of you are satisfied with this also if you have any requests don't be afraid to ask also please do not copyright after my work or anybody else's work please and thank you and have a lovely day also have a lovely Thanksgiving Christmas and New years Eve

#100%wolffanfic #100% wolf

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bananaphone---t · 2 years

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LazyTown (According to Urban Dictionary) [Pt. 3/3]

Robbie Rotten

Mayor Meanswell

Ms. Busybody

#lazy town #robbie rotten #robbie rotten lazy town #mayor meanswell #milford meanswell #mayor milford meanswell lazy town #miss busybody #bessie busybody #bessie busybody lazy town #urban dictionary #wtf even are some of these lmao

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missmomentss · 1 year

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Alternate headcanons inspired by @yutyus

Alternates we’re created the same way Adam and Eve were. What I mean is that they were created from dust. “Gabriel” or what I refer to him as Alternate Lucifer. Stole this concept from God.

Alternates were around the moment humanity was created dating back their existence to the creation of the universe.

Records of alternates date back to time of cavemen were people passed it off as just stories of them encountering other tribes and humans.

When the bible was being written down a lot of the people witnessed this creatures and referred to them as “demons” or “abominations of God” due to how very common they would visit churches and lurer children away from their parents.(The bible spreaded most of the word about alternates)

During the late 14 to 16th century alternates made their way to young inspiring artists,poets and priests. Who struggled a lot with depression. When the word got out about this creatures. Harming and mostly attack young men and women. People blamed it on witchcraft in which was later debunked by a fellow priest who some say associated with dark arts or the gift of God

This said “priest” was no ordinary priest but a healer of some sort that would preach about the word and how to protect themselves from this threat. Most of what he told them was bs and only made it easier for the alternates to attack the citizens more. Did I mention that he was an amazing artist and would paint eerie pictures of “demons” in order to scare off the threat,but only made it so that threat could enter the victims homes more easily. One day a woman spied on this priest and saw his true identity. The woman died mysteriously after, but many other women were inspired to continued here mission into finding out who this guy was.

Cut to the 18 to late 1900s we’re the ancestor of that said lady that died trying to find out the identity of that priest. Created a secret Organization called Society of the Supernatural Dedicated to individuals that posed as humans but were evil beings (think the men in black but women are hunting down alternate instead of aliens) This group of women believe that the this priest was a spy that worked with the alternates and still theorized that something like him could exist. Many of the women were able to prove the existence of them and believed that they came in different shapes and sizes.

The first recorded evidence of a “Tulpa” aka a Type 4 alternate was in 1925 were a single mother and her daughter lived alone. One night the child was drawing a picture of her imaginary friend and was snatched by something in a mirror that same night. The mother was deemed insane by the public. To confirm she wasn’t crazy herself she witnessed her reflection in the mirror to have almost a mind of its own and needed to found out who to tell this too. That’s when the Society of the Supernatural found out about this case they quickly took her in as there own.The woman’s name is Dorothea Milford. Who later referred to these beings as Mirror Snatchers. In fact in the 1930s incidents that were similar to Dorothea’s started popping up. Not enough word was spread and the mayor covered up the cases say that the women were lying.

Now skipping to 1960 we’re a young African American woman by the name Florence Palmer.Decided to take over Society of the Supernatural. She was lucky enough succeed in the task of finding out who this priest was. After her congregation she was walking home when she saw a very beautiful man with blonde hair and brown eyes. He walked up to her and ask if she was interested in having coffee with him. The more they spend time with each other the more Florence knew something was off to a point where she could feel fear emanating from her body. Florence wrote down and even studied this man in hopes that when she died her children would stay clear of this “entity”. She passed away mysteriously in 1970.

Florence son Sylvester Palmer moved to Mandela County after hearing about reports of the alternates and decided to work alongside the mayor. To create a Secret organization know as the “United States Department of Temporal Phenomena” later making the announcement about the alternates. Many on board don’t know who Sylvester is or what his mother did but he did his part in finding out more about alternates without dying.Some believe he is one of the 3% that can survive M.A.D

#the mandela catalogue #lore #fav #tmc writing #headcanons

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cupcraft · 9 months

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when schlatt outlawed mayor meanswell he automatically inherited the milford name and thought it was lame and shortened it to mayor milf

Honestly I support this this is so funny.

#tea.cups #ask #LMAOO

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beardedmrbean · 1 year

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A borough councilperson was fatally shot in New Jersey this week, authorities have confirmed, marking the state's second attack in seven days where an act of gun violence resulted in the death of a local elected official.

Russell Heller, 51, was a council member in the township of Milford, near the border of New Jersey and Pennsylvania. He was shot around 7 a.m. on Wednesday morning in the parking lot of the PSE&G Central Division headquarters building in Somerset, where Heller had worked as a supervisor for 11 years.

Officers were dispatched to the facility on a 911 call, the Franklin Township Police Department said in a news release. When they arrived, the responding officers found Heller had suffered a gunshot wound and already succumbed to his injuries. He was pronounced dead at the scene by emergency medical personnel, according to the police department.

An investigation into the deadly shooting led law enforcement to identify 58-year-old Gary Curtis, of Washington township, as the suspected gunman. Curtis, a former employee at PSE&G, was found dead several hours later from an apparent self-inflicted gunshot wound, authorities said. Officers discovered the suspect's body inside his car, which was traced to a parking lot in the neighboring township.

"The investigation remains on-going to determine motive," wrote the Franklin Township police department in their release describing the shooting. "Preliminary investigation has revealed that the shooting was an isolated incident and Mr. Heller was the intended target."

The prosecutor's office in Somerset County said in a statement Thursday morning that the deadly shooting was not politically motivated, CBS New York reported.

"Investigators have confirmed that Mr. Heller was a Republican Councilman for Milford Borough (Hunterdon County)," the statement read, according to CBS New York. "The investigation has revealed that the shooting of Mr. Heller was not politically connected with his elected office or political affiliation."

Heller's death came exactly one week after Eunice Dwumfour, a borough councilwoman in Sayreville was shot to death in a car parked outside of her home on the evening of Feb. 1. Dwumfour, 30, was the first Black person elected to office in the township on the state's eastern edge.

At a memorial held in her honor this week, Sayreville Mayor Victoria Kilpatrick praised her former colleague and friend as a figure who "broke through that glass ceiling" and "confidently, with class and dignity, walked proudly to her seat on the dais in her signature sparkling high heels." Police have yet to arrest a suspect in Dwumfour's killing.

Political leaders in New Jersey reacted on social media Wednesday to news of the deadly shooting that killed Heller, echoing similar sentiments shared in response to Dwumfour's murder that acknowledged it as a devastating consequence of gun violence in the area.

"Early this morning, a deadly shooting took place outside of a PSE&G facility in Franklin Township. Our thoughts and prayers are with Russell Heller's family and friends in the wake of this tragic act of gun violence," wrote New Jersey Governor Phil Murphy in a tweet on Wednesday. The governor had reposted a message shared by PSE&G.

"We are heartbroken at the tragic death of Russell Heller, senior distribution supervisor at PSE&G," the company wrote, describing Heller as "an admired employee" of more than 11 years.

"He will be sorely missed by all, and our thoughts are with his family at this difficult time," said PSE&G. "This event is tragic and disturbing, and we are offering support to our employees as they process this. We are cooperating with law enforcement with respect to their investigation."

New Jersey Rep. Tom Kean, whose district includes parts of Somerset County, where Franklin township is located, praised Heller in another message shared on Twitter after his death.

"I am shocked and saddened by the tragic murder of Milford Councilman Russell Heller," the congressman wrote. "Russell was an outstanding public servant who proudly represented the river town he loved. My prayers are with his family and the Milford community."

_______________

For the record he was also a republican, so that's 2 murdered in less than a week in NJ both republicans.

#nunyas news

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