Brian Gougeon started counting the purple spots on his legs in the spring of 1987. He consulted a doctor in Chicago about it, just as he did a few weeks later when thrush reappeared on his tongue and tonsils. If the doctor was piecing together a diagnosis, either he wasn’t telling him or Gougeon chose not to tell his friends.

It had been months since we last spoke. He had stopped returning my phone calls, saying long-distance bills were outside his budget. Instead he answered via ornately decorated postcards, devoid of personal news. Then, just after his birthday in July, Susan Wild, a mutual friend from college, called to say he’d been admitted to the Illinois Masonic hospital with pneumonia and toxoplasmosis. “He asked me to come help him get to the hospital,” she said. “He wanted to take a shower first, but didn’t have the strength—he’s so thin, David, I had to help him. He was embarrassed and apologizing the whole time. When we got to the ER, they ran tests and diagnosed pneumonia. They put him in the AIDS ward.”

I had been waiting for, and dreading, and hoping against, this moment since AIDS first surfaced, when we were invincible twenty-two-year-olds, chain-smoking and reading the Times with Ray-Bans balanced smugly on our noses. I wanted to race to see him, but Wild said Gougeon had requested privacy. The toxoplasmosis left him somewhat confused. But he did want my advice. She read from a list of his lab results, a portrait in acronyms and ratios. He was very sick. I answered what I could and promised to research the rest. Most pressing was whether he should take AZT, which the physician had ordered. Given his low CD4 count and the high doses of pentamidine, I said I thought it was a good idea.

“He’s going to need money,” I added. He could be hospitalized for months, and unless he had savings he risked losing his apartment. I offered to pass a hat among his friends in New York and she accepted reluctantly, not focused on anything so long term. I spent the next week planning a gathering of his New York friends. The work gave me a feeling of usefulness. That Saturday, three dozen people convened at my apartment with small sums of cash in envelopes, a little over $800 in total. Someone brought a bulky camcorder and we wished Brian a speedy recovery through the newest technology.

When the videocassette arrived in Chicago along with the emergency funds, Susan Wild called to say he wouldn’t be watching it. “I guess he’s blind,” she said. “It happened so quickly. He was talking to his mother yesterday and said, ‘Norma’—he calls her Norma—‘Norma, would you turn on the light? We shouldn’t have to sit here in the dark.’ But of course, it was the middle of the day. Sunlight was streaming in. When they figured out what had happened, and that the blindness was irreversible, he was really scared. He said to Norma, ‘I’m a blind artist. What good is a blind artist?’ And she said to him, ‘Sculpture, honey. You could be a great sculptor.’ By the time I talked to him, he had already begun to adjust a little, and I just cried.”

His jar of AZT, delayed by shortages and high demand, arrived almost two weeks later. By then he was in no condition to take it, having slipped into a coma from which he never returned. He was twenty-eight when he died.

That call from Wild was the most devastating of my life. I’d spent six years gathering esoteric information, investigating every medical lead, ingratiating myself to scientists, doctors, activists, and patients. None of it made a bit of difference. Nurses gave Wild the chance to bequeath his unused AZT to a recipient of her choosing, but she suggested they just give it to the next person in need.

The Roman Catholic service was private. Norma Gougeon laid her second-youngest son to rest at the Holy Cross Cemetery in Alpena, Michigan, with six of his brothers as pallbearers. She kept the cause of death a secret from her priest and the local paper, attuned to the possible consequences. A memorial gathering for his friends in Chicago would take place in a few weeks.

I was back at ACT UP a Monday or two later. Like a wedding chapel or a movie theater, it was a place where you could cry without causing alarm. A man sitting to my left silently rested a hand on my rocking shoulder for a few moments. I was grateful for the stranger’s gesture.

—  David France, How to Survive a Plague: The Inside Story of How Citizens and Science Tamed AIDS (2016), Pt. 3, Ch. 3

Old Catholic Cemetery, Marquette, MI. Today, the forest has reclaimed the old cemetery property off Pioneer Road. Gradually, while some of the bodies were left behind, all the gravestones were removed. Across the street from the former Brookridge Estate, on the corner of County Road 553 and Pioneer Road, is a patch of woods where once the Old Catholic Cemetery existed. It became the burial place for Marquette’s Catholics in 1861. Prior to that, Catholics had been buried on the property where the cathedral now stands. The new cemetery would within fifty years become the Old Catholic Cemetery. By the early 1900s, the new Holy Cross Cemetery off Wright Street opened, and between 1912 and 1925, some 165 Catholics’ remains were transferred from the old cemetery to the new one, although not all the bodies were removed.

If you want to say “Hey” to a suffragette tonight

Bronx, NY: Woodlawn Cemetery: Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Carrie Chapman Catt, Mary Garrett Hay, and Alva Vanderbilt Belmont.  They ask you put your stickers on the posters, not the graves.  Posters will stay up through Sunday.

Rochester, NY: Mount Hope Cemetery: Susan B. Anthony.  Open until 9pm.

Fayetteville, NY: Fayetteville Cemetery: Matilda Gage

Cinnaminson, NJ: Westfield Friends Burial Ground: Alice Paul

Philadelphia, PA: Fairhill Burial Ground: Lucretia Mott

Chicago, IL: Oakwoods Cemetery: Ida B. Wells

Battle Creek, MI: Oak Hills Cemetery Crematorium: Sojourner Truth

Buffalo, NY: Forest Lawn Cemetery: Shirley Chisholm.  (Not a suffragette, but worth visiting today for her historic run for the presidency) 

Washington, DC: Congressional Cemetery: Belva Lockwood

Brooklyn, NY: Holy Cross Cemetery: Lucy Burns

Lewis, NY: Lewis Cemetery: Inez Milholland

Boston, MA: Forest Hill Cemetery: Lucy Stone

Council Bluffs, IA: Fairview Cemetery: Amelia Bloomer

Madison: WI: Forest Hill Cemetery: Belle Case La Follette 

Argonia, KS: Argonia Cemetery: Susanna Salter

Mount Pleasant, IA: Forest Home Cemetery: Arabella Mansfield

Cold Spring Harbor, NY: St John’s Churchyard: Rosalie Jones

St. Louis, MO: Bellefontaine Cemetery: Christine Orrick Fordyce, Virginia L Minor and Phoebe Wilson Couzins

Norwalk, CT: Riverside Cemetery: Helena Hill Weed and Elsie Hill Levitt

Bozeman, MT: Sunset Hills: Mary Long-Alderson

Missoula MT: Missoula Cemetery: Jeannette Rankin

Niota, TN: Niolta Cemetery: Febb Ensminger Burn

Cornish City, NH: Chase Cemetery: Juliet Barrett Rublee

Jacksonville, FL: Evergreen Cemetery: Grace Wilbur Trout

Westbury, NY: Cemetery of the Holy Rood: “Unsinkable” Molly Brown

Cleveland Heights, OH: Lake View Cemetery: Belle Sherwin

Craftsbury, VT: Craftsbury Common Cemetery: Caroline Burnham Kilgore

Hazelhurst, MS: Shelton Cemetery: Burnita Shelton Matthews

Albuquerque, NM: Fairview Memorial Park: Ruth Hanna McCormick

List is being updated with new names and locations as they are found.

Indestructible part 3

Hi again! Can you do one with Bucky And Steve where the the reader was their best friend before the war and they both thought she was dead. One day the avengers have a mission to find this person that’s with hydra who kills anyone she wants or just doesn’t like, she has like super strength, can teleport and they took away her humanity so she has no emotions. They find her but she hurts them all and leaves before they can catch her, Bucky and Steve notice it’s her and they try to find any way to bring her back, sorry if it doesn’t make sense and its a bit long - @itssssxxlillian

Tagged: @redheadromanoff, @a-girl-who-loves-disney, @shamvictoria11

Part 1, Part 2

A/N- The third and final part, thanks to everyone who’s been keeping up with the story <3

Originally posted by ariesw1493

You teleported to the other side of the country where you had a small safe house, not even Hydra knew about it. Something about those two Avengers made you feel weird, they made you feel. You hadn’t felt any emotions for as long as you could remember but now you felt doubt, uneasy, confused.

There was an answer out there. There had to be.

Not getting back in touch with Hydra you loaded up an old laptop and went on the internet and searched for the Avengers. Lots of information came up, who they were, what they were doing, a mess a while back with something called the Accords.

Going on a sort of fan site you found out who the last two were. Captain America and The Winter Soldier, the latter you knew of. The Winter Soldier had been an asset of Hydra’s, almost as deadly as you so you heard but you had never met him, now he was part of the Avengers so no wonder you were out of cryo more frequently than you had before.

Captain America, also Steve Rogers, had an exhibit at the Smithsonian museum. Figuring that was the safest place to gather any extra credible information you made that your next stop. You changed into civilian clothes and teleported to the bathroom of the museum and walked out.

The exhibit had been out for a few years already but there was still a steady stream of visitors, it seemed the glamour of being an Avenger and from the 40’s hadn’t worn off yet. Walking around you could see lots of screens playing interviews from people who knew Steve way back when and large blacks with information written on them, one of which caught your eye.

Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, best friends since childhood, were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield. Before their rise to glory as howling commandos they had a close friendship with their other childhood friend, Y/N Y/L/N, who tragically went missing and was never found just two years before Rogers joined the war. Y/N’s disappearance is speculated to be one of their driving factors in making so much progress in pushing back the enemy…

The plaque went on to share some more information about what the boys did in the war and had a video playing some footage of them laughing but you couldn’t focus. That name, Y/N Y/L/N, it seemed so familiar. But why?

You turned around to keep looking and stopped dead in your tracks. There was another glass plaque, smaller than the rest and tucked away from most of the exhibit.

The Disappearance Of Y/N Y/L/N

Y/N Y/L/N was the best friend of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes throughout their childhood. Y/L/N lived on the same apartment block as Rogers and accounts state that they were always seen together.

‘It was all so tragic, she was a lovely girl and went missing so suddenly, the neighbourhood was in a state for weeks’ - a statement from Y/N’s neighbour.

As popularity surrounding Captain America grew amongst the states many people began to look into the case of Y/L/N’s disappearance in the search for answers. Sadly, nothing conclusive was ever found. Y/N Y/L/N still remains missing to this day and was presumed dead in 1941 after several months of searching. Y/N is buried in Holy Cross cemetery in Brooklyn, New York.

Below that was an old black and white picture with a face you knew, a face you knew all too well. It was you.

Your heart raced frantically as you stared at the photo, you looked younger and happier but it was definitely you. The photo was cropped so it was just you but you could see that you were with two other people who you assumed would have been Steve and Bucky.

Pushing through the crowd you began hyperventilating, how was that possible? Well you knew it was very possible, they had been taking you out of cryo since the 1950’s and you were already an adult at that point. Meaning there was no doubt that that was definitely you.

Y/N Y/L/N, that was your name. It felt foreign after decades of being referred to as ‘Cobra’ but it also felt right. Like coming home after being on an extended holiday.

When you were out of the crowd you teleported back to your safe house and paced around as you thought. You couldn’t remember anything from before Hydra, you remembered the first time they woke you out of cryo and began to train you in fighting. Back then you hadn’t protested, you hadn’t questioned what they were doing, you were a blank slate that they had moulded into what you were now. Was anything you thought even your own or was it all just Hydra?

A quick search on the internet told you about all the things Hydra had done, kills listed that you recognised were done by your own hands. Up until now you had no problem killing people, Hydra had convinced you they were doing it for the greater good anyway so there was no problem in it.

Now as you researched further into all the kills you had done, the people and their lives you felt guilty. You hadn’t felt guilty before, you hadn’t felt anything. What was wrong with you? Earlier today you had been ready to receive another list of people to kill in cold blood and now you were being overwhelmed with emotions.

It was the Avengers fault. Steve and Bucky’s fault, you had been fine until then and now this was happening to you. You couldn’t go back to Hydra now and it wasn’t safe outside because the Avengers would be tracking you again by now. You were stuck here to wallow in these new emotions and try and think of what to do.

“She’s alive,” Steve said in disbelief and stared at the table. They had gotten back about an hour ago and they had all been quiet since the return. “She’s been alive all this time and we didn’t know. We stopped looking for her,” he said guiltily.

“We thought she was dead,” Bucky reasoned, in the past two years he had regained a lot of his memories, both good and bad ones. “We couldn’t have known.”

“You said you saw her,” Steve remembered, “When you first got taken by Hydra. You said you saw her but then she was gone.”

Bucky nodded, he had hazy memories of his time being drugged but he did remember telling Steve that he had seen her. “I didn’t believe you, I thought it was the drugs,” Steve admitted.

“Half of me thought it was too, we can’t change the past but we can help her now.”

“Well that should be easy,” Tony said and strutted into the room. “Seeing as none of you ragtag 1940s people can stay dead I thought I’d offer my help. You said she can teleport? Well I’ve got FRIDAY scanning across most of America for any unusual magnetic field bubbles to see if we can pinpoint where she’s jumping too.”

“How do we know she won’t just kill us if we find her?” Sam asked, “She’s easily able to.”

“Because she could have killed us back then and she didn’t,” Bucky told him, “At first and with you guys she was just having fun, she could have killed you if she wanted but it was more fun to taunt you. When we recognised her I saw that she was scared, well, not scared, but she dropped her confidence. It stopped being fun so she should have killed us right then but she didn’t. Which means she isn’t going to.”

“How can you be so sure?” Tony asked.

“I just can.”

“Mr. Stark I’m detecting an irregular magnetic field occurrence two hours from here,” FRIDAY’s voice sounded over the intercom.

“Let’s go,” Steve said standing up.

“You better hope you’re right, Barnes,” Tony said as they left to go get suited up.

You heard a commotion outside your apartment block and dread set in your stomach. It was a quiet area as it was so you knew it meant trouble, a quick peek out a window told you all you needed to know.

The Avengers were here for you.

Yes, you could easily teleport away before they even got to you but what was the point when they would just find you again anyway. You would just let them take you and do what they want, jail you or kill you it didn’t matter, you deserved it.

Whilst they were getting ready to storm in and get you, you put on your shoes and grabbed your jacket calmly. You heard a knock on the door and answered it, Steve was there with Natasha and both looked shocked that you had answered the door.

“You need to come with us,” Natasha said smoothly.

You nodded and held out your hands which Natasha cuffed and the two led you out of the apartment block and into the back of a van.

Back at the Avengers tower you were in a small metal interrogation room. You distantly remembered being in a similar situation before but couldn’t pinpoint it, in the room was a mirror that you knew was a one way window and you were waiting for someone to come in and make you confess to everything.

After a long wait someone opened the door and sat across from you. You hadn’t seen him before but he had brown hair and seemed very calm, “I’m Dr. Banner and I’m here to evaluate you,” he explained. “You don’t have to give us any information you don’t want.”

You nodded in understanding but knew that you would tell them everything anyway, there was no going back.

“Okay, let’s start easy. What’s your name?”

You paused, ‘Cobra’ was on the tip of your tongue but then you remembered the museum. “Y/N Y/L/N,” you said hesitantly.

“What was your code name?”


“You worked for Hydra?”


“When did you first start working for them?”

“In the early 1950’s.”

“Do you remember anything from before then.”

You shook your head, “No.”

“Do you know anything about your past previous to Hydra.”

“I went missing in 1941, until then I lived in Brooklyn and I was born in 1917. I was friends with Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes.”

“How do you know that?”

“I read about it in a museum.”

He hummed and scribbled down some notes, you could see what he wrote and he only wrote your answers down. You wondered what he really thought of you.

“What about your time in Hydra. Did they hurt you?”

“No, I didn’t give them reason to. They pushed me hard in training but they didn’t hurt me, not like I know they did to others.”

“Which others?”

“Other assets,” you shrugged, “I never met them.”

“What abilities do you have?” he asked, leaning forward.

“I can teleport and I have super strength.”

“How did you get them?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, you knew your powers were nothing ordinary but you couldn’t for the life of you remember how you got them. The only logical way was, “Hydra gave them to me, I guess.”

Banner started scribbling down, you read what he was writing and it was a whole bunch of science jargon that you didn’t understand so you looked away. “We’ll need to take some blood samples if that’s alright?”

You nodded and held out your arm and he took a vial of your blood. It awoke a short blurry memory of having blood taken while being strapped down, a feeling of fear washed over you and you pushed it to the side. You kept on remembering short fuzzy memories but nothing conclusive, nothing that could tell you anything about who you used to be.

“Thank you, that will be all for today.”

Banner walked round to the other room where all the Avengers had been watching the two of you. “So what your verdict?” Tony asked.

Bruce shrugged, “Honestly, I don’t know. Hydra didn’t torture her like they did Bucky, I have no idea how they were keeping her under control.”

“Why would they electrocute you?” Tony asked Bucky.

“If I started to remember or got out of line,” Bucky said quietly.

“So that must mean she wasn’t remembering. Whatever they did wiped her completely clean and they just made her theirs, there was nothing left for her to remember,” Bruce mused.

“Do you think she’ll ever regain her memories?” Steve asked apprehensively.

“Possibly, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

Over an hour later the door opened and in walked Steve, he wasn’t in his suit and looked rather deflated as he sat across from you. “I don’t suppose you remember me?”

“I know who you are but I don’t remember you,” you told him quietly.

Steve sighed, “It’s fine, I suspected it. I just came to tell you that we’re going to help you, we’re going to get your memories back and move on from Hydra.”

“You’re not putting me in jail?”

“You were being controlled, it’s not you at fault it’s Hydra,” Steve explained.

You shook your head, “Sure they shaped me at first but after that it was all me. I didn’t have to kill any of the people I did in the past two year but I did anyway, for fun, because I didn’t care about them.”

“But that’s not who you are. Hydra made you into a different person,” Steve reasoned. “Look, we’re all guilty. Bucky may be the only one who can truly understand what you’re going through, sure, people tried to capture him at first but we moved on. I won’t let anybody lock you up for what you did when you weren’t in your own mind.”

You nodded, “Okay,” you whispered. You didn’t deserve it, you know you didn’t, but you were all for self preservation so you would take whatever the Avengers were going to give you.


A/N- so once again this ending seems a little unfinished so I might post an epilogue thing about a year down the line in a day or two to wrap it up.

She Gave So Much

Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader
Warnings: Emotional, little fluff, some strong language, mention of death
Word count: 2846 words
Song: Storm - Lifehouse
Summary: Reader pays a visit to the final resting place of her sister for the first time since her death. It hits her her hard, but Dean shows up to support her. Set somewhere Season 2.
A/N: Fourth imagine already! I wrote this a while ago and originally it were two different chapters which I merged. I hope you like it, let me know! English is not my first language, so feedback and reviews would be great! 

Originally posted by bbalthazarr

With reluctance you enter the grounds of the Holy Cross Cemetery in San Diego, California. A deep breath passes your lips as the car passes through through the gate and turn down the radio. It almost seems if your blue 69’ Camaro spurs softer, not wanting to disturb the peace on this final resting place. It always surprises you how peaceful graveyards are during the day. Most of the time you visit them at night to dig up a body to salt and burn, during those dark hours it’s about the last place you’d want to be. But under these clear skies the green hills seems like what most people would picture heaven to be. Different stones, crosses and statues indicate the resting places of ones who were lost. Angels watching over them, warm and comforting words on marble. And hundreds, hundreds of names. 

Keep reading

Visiting Sharon Tate’s grave, Sunday, September 29th, 2013. It was a warm afternoon, quiet; it was a surprise to find it without any flowers or mementos I see around the likes of other famous graves, like Marilyn’s or Tyrone Powers.. No Sharon Tate, along with her unborn baby Paul,her sister Patricia, and her mother Gladys were together, quiet and by themselves, and I was glad to find them.
The top left picture is me, after saying a few words of thanks and hellos, the right picture is me lightly touching the marker and feeling the warmth from the sun across her name, and the bottom one is a curious pic my camera must have taken without me knowing it, but clearly capturing her name..

With so much love and respect to the memory and legacy of the incredible Sharon Tate..You are so loved, and never ever forgotten.


#ClassicMovies & More - Bloggers visit #HolyCrossCemetery to see the final resting places of their favorite classic movie stars… Rita Hayworth, Ann Miller, John Ford, Bela Lugosi and others…

Laura & Doug, Kellee Pratt Aurora Desmond & of course Classic Movie Hub…