#feds out of portland

[oldguardleatherdog]

Today's Wall O'Text: We've got just under two months to get the first things done.

Timothy Snyder is an American historian whose book On Tyranny made him a household name in 2017, followed this year by On Freedom. His take on what we need to do this time around to mount an effective resistance to Trump's insane agenda is urgent and essential:

Start now. We can get a lot done between now and the Inauguration on January 20th.

Here are excerpts from Snyder's interview in the Rolling Stone article linked above where he describes ways ordinary people can take meaningful steps right now to lay the groundwork for stopping Trump's agenda in its tracks:

~~~~~

[From the article, emphasis added:]

“You can’t despair,” he tells Rolling Stone. “Because that’s what they want. They want you to think that it’s hopeless. It’s never hopeless.”

Snyder’s first rule in On Tyranny is “don’t obey in advance.” He emphasizes that Americans opposed to Trump’s designs should take stock, and action, now. “The period of November, December, January, becomes very important,” he says.

For normal people, Snyder insists the key is “to get out in protest” — now and through the inauguration. The understandable impulse of “keeping your head in,” Snyder says will only embolden Trump’s reactionary team.

“You’re giving them even more confidence that they’re gonna be able to do what they want in January.” What’s demanded of activists in this moment is to “deflate that confidence,” Snyder says, and you do that by “showing that you’re not afraid, by cooperating with your neighbors, and by organizing.”

Snyder emphasizes a lesson of the “Wall of Moms” in Portland, Oregon, in late summer 2020, who helped drive up the political cost and terrible optics for Trump’s most heavy-handed crackdown on public dissent. Launching tear gas at Black Lives Matter protesters looked different on TV when the feds were brutalizing a wall of white mothers in gold shirts, locking arms at the front of the crowd. “It’s about corporeal politics,” Snyder says. “Getting your body out where there are other bodies — with people who are maybe not like you or maybe less privileged than you.”

Here, Snyder insists, is where the American public has its most important, and perhaps most challenging role to play. “The Trump-Vance initiatives can only work by getting the population involved — and basically corrupting us,” he says. Snyder argues that even Americans who might share anger with Trump about immigration may yet be recruited to block the border camps promised by Stephen Miller. 

“That’s the kind of active thinking that folks have to do — am I going to become the kind of person who takes part in this sort of thing? Am I going to become the kind of person who denounces my neighbors because they are not documented?”

“If Their Rights Are on the Line, My Rights Are on the Line”

A key to resisting authoritarianism, Snyder says, is standing up for the rights of the least powerful first. “If protest comes down to the people who are protesting only because they have to, then you always lose,” he says. “It has to be people who are one, two, three, four, even five steps away from being directly affected who show solidarity — and who also show pragmatism and wisdom by getting out early. 

“If you’re more privileged, you should be thinking, ‘What can I do for the least privileged people?’” he says. “If their rights are on the line, my rights are on the line. That’s not just a moral position. It’s actually, politically, 100 percent correct.” 

In the meantime, Snyder advises, America’s system of federalism offers hope for democracy at the state and local level. “Many things are going to be terrible. But controlling the federal government doesn’t mean you’re controlling everything,” he says. He exhorts Americans to support the institutions closest to them that uphold democratic norms — “whether that means some civil society organization, or state government, or a local mayor” — and collectively try to strengthen those bodies.

[End article text.]

~~~~~

[sailorholly]

Strictly Business Pt 1

Summary: Spencer wants to gain sexual experience before asking his out his dream date. You just want a way to release stress. What could go wrong?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x F. BAU Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of crime scenes/cases. Friends with benefits. Eventual smut.

W/C: 1.5K

You roll your eyes at Officer Brewer. The handsome cop came on pretty strong with his cheesy pickup lines. Each one was more inappropriate than the last. It’s not that you didn’t find him attractive, but in your five years at the BAU, you had learned not to hook up with the officers you were assisting.

You had only been with the team three months when you were called in to help Portland’s local police on a case. Deputy Julian Lopez had been assigned to assist you on the field and you quickly fell for him. It took six weeks to catch the unsub. During that time, you and Julian were sneaking around, having a secret relationship.

You were heartbroken to learn he had been using you for information he fed to the media to make himself look like the sole hero on the case. What made it worse was the scolding Hotch gave you. You should have known better.

You and your favorite coworker, Spencer were on your way out of the small police station to see the medical examiner. A jogger had stumbled across two bodies in the woods on their daily route. The two of you were going to see if you could find any similarities between them.

“Hey beanpole, take care of my girl for me.” Brewer called out to Reid, winking at you in a way that made bile rise in your throat. “You don’t actually like that guy, do you?” Spencer asked once you left. “No way! I just flirt with him to make sure he cooperates with us.”

Spencer took his plump bottom lip between his teeth. You watched the innocent act wondering what it would feel like to have his teeth sink into your lip like that. You were attracted to Spencer, there was no denying that. It was purely sexual though. You knew the kind of hectic life JJ and Will had. You wanted no part of that.

You didn’t understand why there wasn’t a pile of women at his feet at all times. But so many thought he was too awkward or talked too much. You found it endearing when he shared the information his brain retained from reading something only once.

The two of you were closest to each other out of everyone on the team. You read together on the way home from cases. You would let him look at the latest book you were reading. He would finish it in three minutes, then continue with his own. Once you had finished, he would discuss it with you. You loved that about him.

You mostly read smutty romance, and you looked forward to the blush that would flood his cheeks when he read a particularly spicy scene. Sometimes he would clear his throat and shift in his seat. Those were your favorite moments. You spent most of your spare time together watching movies, you were teaching him how to cook and he taught you how to play chess. You paled in comparison to his skills, but he enjoyed playing with you.

When you returned to the police station, Spencer started giving statistics about the unsub. You watched as he scrunched his nose when he got to a part he found particularly interesting. You were practically drooling when he started talking with his hands. You couldn’t help thinking of what they would feel like against your skin.

You squeeze your thighs together trying to suppress the throb in your panties. Most everyone hated when he went off on a tangent, spilling every detail he knew about something, but not you. You never interrupted him once he started. You thought it was incredibly sexy how much endless information was stored in that brilliant mind under his messy curls.

After four long days, the case was finally solved. Morgan had captured the unsub when he went back to visit the crime scene. The whole team and the local police went out to the closest dive bar to celebrate. You were three shots in when Officer Brewer asked you to dance.

You decided it wouldn’t hurt, and you felt a little bad for shamelessly flirting with him all week. To your surprise, he was a great dancer. He spun and dipped you like a professional. When the song ended, you both walked over to the large booth both of your coworkers had settled in. Brewer placed his hands on your hips pulling you tightly against his body. He pointed at Spencer. “That’s how you woo a lady, Einstein. I’ve seen how you look at her. Just know she’s in good hands. She will be sleeping with a real man. She’ll be screaming my name tonight.”

You quickly remove his hands from your body. One glance at Spencer was enough for you to know that the jab had hurt him. Luckily, Brewer wouldn’t be able to tell. But you could read Spencer like a book. You grabbed the nearest drink off the table, splashing it in his face.

“You pompous ass! I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last man on Earth. For your information, Spencer is more of a man than you’ll ever be. He’s the perfect lover. He knows the female anatomy like you know your ABC’s. He can spell out Webster’s Dictionary in its entirety with his tongue when he goes down on me. He’s incredible.”

Spencer looks at you in disbelief. His brown eyes widen as he takes in what just happened. You take his hand in yours. “I’m ready to go.” He stands and walks out with you. You go back to the hotel spending the rest of the night watching rom coms on TV.

When you were back home, everyone was talking about what you said at the bar. Most importantly, you had to explain to Hotch that you and Spencer were not involved. He didn’t want to deal with all of the paperwork or the drama if it didn’t work out.

Penelope, Emily, and JJ cornered you by the coffee wanting every dirty detail of your hookup with Spencer. They were understanding when you explained you made it all up to defend him. Rossi seemed amused by the gossip. When you tried to set the record straight, he said “What you kids do behind closed doors is your business.”

Morgan was a different story entirely. He greeted Spencer with a high five. “My man! You could have told me. You and Y/N, huh? I’ve seen you two all cuddled up after cases. I should’ve guessed.” Despite Spencer denying anything between you, Derek couldn’t be convinced otherwise.

A few weeks passed, the gossip had been long forgotten with all the cases you had been working on. Your first free weekend, Rossi invited everyone to his house for a cooking lesson. The wine was flowing, even Spencer had a few glasses.

He was chatting with Derek about some girl he met through his Dr Who fan club. Spencer described her as his dream girl, but he was nervous to ask her out. Derek slapped him playfully on the back. “At least you’re not a virgin anymore, Pretty Boy. You should have plenty of confidence with the ladies now.”

Spencer’s face fell. He stormed out of the house. You followed after him, concerned for your friend. “Hey, what’s wrong?” You catch up to him, sitting on the step beside him. “I’m just tired of all the comments on my personal life. Just because I don’t have a different girl in my bed every night doesn’t mean I’m a virgin. Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, anything.” You reply laying your head on his shoulder. “Why did you say all that stuff at the bar?” He places his head on top of yours. His mop of messy brown hair flowing down your cheek. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I was just trying to stand up for you. I wasn’t going to let anyone talk to you like that.”

“I know that. I meant… Never mind.” He lifts his head and scoots over, distancing himself from you. “What is it? You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” He sighs looking everywhere but at you. “Why did you say I was a perfect lover and that thing about the dictionary?”

“It just kinda came out. I guess I said it because that’s what I always imagined it would be like.” Finally he looks at you. “You’ve imagined doing that with me?” His voice raises several octaves when he asks. You nod your head in response. You could tell the conversation was taking an awkward turn so you change the subject.

“So tell me about this dream girl. You’ve been keeping secrets!” He smiles sheepishly. “Her name’s Chloe. She’s brilliant. We like a lot of the same things. She speaks three languages. I want to ask her out on a date, but all that stuff Morgan said is messing with my head. What if I’m not enough for her? I’ve only been with one woman. I’m not exactly skilled in that department.”

He swallows hard, self doubt sketched all over his soft features. “I would like to have more experience before I take her out. So I can be more confident.” “I have a crazy idea. You can say no if you want. But what if we slept together? You want more experience and I haven’t been with anyone in a long time. It would be great practice for you since we are comfortable with each other. I would tell you what you need to improve on. And it would be a good stress reliever for me. What do you think?”

Spencer studies your face carefully looking for any signs of this being a cruel joke. When he is certain you meant it, he answers. “What about our friendship? I don’t want to mess this up.” He gestures between you.

“Of course we will still be friends. It’s not like we are going to fall in love. Think of it as a business transaction. We won’t let emotions get in the way. It will be strictly business.”

“No feelings?” He asks reaching his outstretched pinky towards you. “No feelings.” You confirm hooking your pinky with his.

Part Two

Tags (if you want to be added let me know)

@cindylynn @potter-puff007 @multifandom-worlds @mochie85

[flemingsfreckles]

Replacement pt. 1

Jessie Fleming x Reader (enemies to lovers)

Synopsis: Jessie transfers to your team in Portland, while everyone else seems to be thrilled about her transfer, you see the girl as a threat to your position and playing time with the team.

Warnings: cursing

WC: 2.4K (this is just set up, the other parts will be longer)

A/N: this is a LONG overdue series I started writing when Jessie first transferred to Portland, I just have had some serious writers block with it. But I’ve finally been able to get some of it down. It is enemies to lovers, so it will be rough and angsty at the start but give it some time :)

Everyone had seen the rumors flying around. You heard the whispers of your teammates at training yesterday afternoon after they had all seen the supposed transfer news. Just like any other fan or team, you all loved the speculation. Your teammates loved it even more when it surrounded bringing a big name on to your team for once instead of Gotham like everyone else. Janine and Christine spent most of their practice trying to dodge questions about their fellow Canadian teammate, not giving away any details of what they did or didn’t know.

You couldn’t lie, you often fed into the spectacle of transfer rumors, chatting with your team about where people might be headed. Something about this transfer rubbed you the wrong way. Maybe it was because you felt threatened. You were a midfielder as well. If you’re being honest with yourself, your first season in the league, fresh out of college, had not gone to plan.

Being drafted second you were expected to perform well, and the transition into the NWSL from the NCAA had been anything but smooth. You had a few minor injuries, a strain here and there, with the addition of a minor concussion. You ended up with an overall disappointing season. It wasn’t due to your lack of effort, you pushed yourself as hard if not harder than most players, it just hadn’t yet paid off.

Jessies arrival meant you’d likely be finding yourself sitting on the bench more and more often. They were bringing in someone who could actually help the team. They were bringing in your replacement in the form of an incredibly skilled and experienced midfielder.

You tried to remember that they were just rumors, she wasn’t confirmed to being transferring. What small hope you had was quickly diminished when you got the team message from staff asking that you all arrive to practice 20 minutes early for a “quick meeting”.

So when you walked into the meeting room, slouching in your seat next to Sam and Janine with a huff, they both turned to look at you. They had both taken you under their wing when you joined the team, being your first friends in Portland. They would come over when you were injured, helping take you to and from training, and helping you get acquainted with the city.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of their bed, damn.” Janine looked at you with wide eyes. It was uncharacteristic behavior being so cranky, even with how poorly your season was last year, you were typically upbeat, trying to make your teammates laugh, keeping practice lighthearted.

“Shut it Beckie.” You muttered in her direction. Sam looked at you, wide eyes before slowly turning to face forward not wanting to get on your bad side. Your coach walking in shortly after, not giving Janine the chance to respond. You’re not sure she would have even had something to say as she just stared at you, mouth open at the fact that you had just talked back to her.

“Alright, quiet down everyone,” your coach held his hands up. “I’m sure everyone has already seen the rumors floating around our club. We hadn’t planned to announce it until she was actually here to introduce herself but as of a couple hours ago, we have officially agreed to terms with and will be welcoming another Canadian,” he shoots a look at Janine and Sinc, “Jessie Fleming will be joining us.” A couple of whoops and hollers scattered across the room. “She’ll be starting with us at practice in two days. I expect, as you all have with our other transfers and signings, that you welcome her to Portland.”

While the rest of the team seemed to be thrilled at the idea of Fleming joining the team, you dodged every conversation you could about her.

Thankfully training was short, with the season just beginning you were completing fitness testing, getting both benchmarks for the season and learning how well everyone had kept up with their fitness during the off season. After warming up, everyone ran the well known and well dreaded “beep test”. It may be dreaded to most, but as a midfielder you had some of the best cardio fitness. It was days like this where your confidence rose, feeling comfortable through the test, nothing to worry about except running.

By the end of the test, you were one of the only players still running, your lungs were burning with each breath you took, the lactic acid building up in your thighs and calves. You finally dropped to your knees, unable to run any further. You found yourself kneeling next to Janine before rolling over to sit. Placing your head between your knees you breathed, listening to your teammates around you also panting, some coughing, some cursing the test for existing. You laid back fully putting up one leg straight in the air. A smile crept across your face, something about the burning of your lungs and your legs nearly cramping felt so good, a small reminder of your hard work.

“You mind helping me stretch?” Reaching out an arm you smack Janine next to you. Easily convinced, she stands up moving over to you placing herself to hold the foot in the air. She gently begins to press it toward your chest, your hamstring straining as she pushes your leg further.

“You’re fucking crazy for smiling after that test.” Janine rolling her eyes at you, a small cough coming out after as she can still feel her lungs burning. “I can’t believe I’m going to have to deal with two of you now.”

“What does that mean? Two of us?” You send her a pointed look before laying back letting your head fall back against the grass. Janine drops your leg, grabbing the other one before repeating the stretching motion.

“It means, I’ll now have to deal with you and Jessie running circles around me and the rest of this team. Literally circles.” She huffs.

“Right.” You felt the smile drop from your face, you had been able to forget about your replacement’s arrival. Janine noticed instantaneous change in your emotions at the mention of Jessie. She made a mental note to check in with you later, not while you were still on the sidelines of the pitch with the entire team.

Once everyone cooled down from the test, you stretched more, before heading into the locker room. You grab a protein bar and electrolytes from the shelf before hopping into the ice bath. Janine follows you, hopping in as well, making a comment about how cold it was as she shivers.

“Hey, I know we usually go for coffee after practice. We can still do that, it's just that I had offered to help Jessie unpack. She got in last night and didn’t really get settled. I’m supposed to meet her at her new place in about an hour, so I won't be able to stay for too long. It’ll have to be more of a grab and go kind of thing.” Janine looks at you, you both standing in the ice cold water, your shirts held up to avoid getting them wet.

Part of you is annoyed at her. You two always grabbed coffee, it was an unspoken activity, occasionally another teammate or two tagging along. You two would get coffee, you’d vent to each other, chat about the tv shows you were watching, Janine would talk about her wedding. It was something Janine started with you when you were new to the team, she was doing it to make you feel comfortable at the start and it quickly developed into a genuine friendship. Now Jessie was going to replace you at work and in Janine’s life too.

“Just go to hers, it's all good. We can skip this week.” You try not to sound upset, already feeling replaced by Jessie’s arrival in the form of losing your coffee “date”.

“Sorry, I would have said something sooner but with the transfer not public yet, I just didn’t want to get her in trouble or anything.” She pauses for a moment. “Actually, why don't you come with me to Jessie’s? I really think you two will get on well, plus it’ll be a good way to introduce you two.”

“Oh, no, I wouldn't want to just show up, I mean I don't know her and unpacking her stuff would be a little personal, it just probably isn't the best time for me to meet her.” Coming up with the best excuse you could come up with without flat out telling Janine that you don't want to meet one of her favorite people. You had heard plenty about Jessie before from Janine, only before it didn’t bother you. Before it was just hearing about one of Janine’s best friends, now it had a different sting when she was brought up. Now she was talking about the girl coming to take your spot.

“Alright, well I’m still grabbing coffee because I thought we’d be going and I promised Jessie I’d bring her one. Come with me at least then we can split?” You know Janine has zero negative intentions, she still was trying to have your usual coffee while also being an incredible friend and going to help Jessie move in.

“Fine, twist my arm.” You add sarcasm into your sentence, it wasn’t too hard to get you to go get a coffee, it was one of your favorite drinks, you spent way to much time and money on it, even having your own espresso machine at home with a bean grinder and all. Janine always joked that you could just run your own coffee shop out of your apartment for extra money.

You get to the coffee shop, when you walk in the barista gives you a wave, you and Janine were frequent visitors, the baristas all knew you and your orders.

“Are we getting the usual ladies?” The girl behind the counter asks, already starting to punch in the order on her screen.

“I am, but can we get them to-go, thank you.” You tell her. She puts in the order for your cold brew with caramel foam.

“I am, but I’m also going to add another drink, can I just get a latte with the lavender syrup please.”

On a normal day, if you weren’t in such an upset and negative mood you would’ve mocking the way Janine says syrup, but you don’t. You also mentally gag at the coffee she ordered for Jessie, lavender tasted like old lady soap. You mentally added it to the list of reasons to avoid the new transfer. It was childish what you were doing but you didn’t care.

You reach to get your card out, Janine beats you to it tapping her card on the register. “Janine, no.” It was your turn to pay, the two of you alternated.

“Please it’s the least I can do given I’m ditching you today.” She shoots you a sympathetic look.

“Alright.” You rolls your eyes at her as you hear your name called from the other end of the counter where your drink was placed.

You grab your drink and turn to walk out of the shop. The shop wasn’t too far from your apartment, a couple of blocks, and you figured you could walk so Janine didn’t have to drop you off at your house before heading to Jessie’s.

“Hey, where are you running off to, I’ll drive you.”

“Oh, no I’m good, I don’t want to make your trip longer.” You also had enough social interaction for today, a short walk alone wouldn’t be the worst thing.

“Well Jessie’s new place is just across the street from yours, so I’ll be going that way anyway.”

Of course Jessie moved in right across the street, out of all the apartment buildings in Portland of course she found herself the closest one, besides literally being in your building.

Janine grabs hers and Jessie’s drinks and you both walk back to her car. The two of you chat again, complaining about the weather and how it couldn’t make up its mind if it’s was winter or spring yet. You both coo over a dog walking down the street and for a second the conversation is light, it feels normal again. Until Janine brings up Jessie again.

“Hey, would you mind if I give Jess your number? I just figured I’d maybe be nice, you guys live across the street from each other, if she needed anything while she’s still moving in, store or food recommendations, you could help.”

You wanted to say no. But the girl was going to end up with your number anyway, you had to be teammates, you’d have to be cordial with her, you couldn’t let your own pride be a problem for the team.

“Yeah, that’s fine I guess.” Your mood deflated, the words coming out of your mouth with a heavy sigh at the end, making it obvious you weren’t thrilled about the suggestion for her to have your number.

“Are you alright? You’ve seemed weird all day. Is it because of Jessie?”

“Why would it be because of her?” You ask, knowing damn well that your behavior was exactly her fault.

“I don’t know, just when she gets brought up, you seem to get annoyed.”

“No I don’t.” Your answer is quick, you get defensive. Unfortunately your defensive behavior likely tells Janine that it is in fact Jessie who’s on your nerves.

“Oh, I know what it is!” She slaps her hand over to your thigh, giving you a small smack.

“What?”

“You’re worried I’m going to start doing things with Jessie instead of you! You’re jealous!” Her tone is playful, she’s teasing you.

“I’m not jealous.” You cross your arms in the passenger seat, pouring like a toddler.

“Good, but if you were, you have no reason to be, yes she’s my friend, but so are you, our coffee dates will still go on, we’ll still hang out, you have nothing to worry about.”

“I wasn’t worried.” You say as Janine pulls up in front of your building. You climb out of the car, thanking her for the ride.

“You’re welcome, I'll always love you, she’ll never come between us!” She yells out the window making a slightly embarrassing scene, bypassers not knowing the joke she’s making. You turn back, shaking your head at her as you laugh.

“Love ya Janine, bye.” You wave at her and enter your building.

You get inside and go about the rest of your day, laundry, cleaning, a rather mundane but somewhat relaxing evening.

It’s when you’re crawling into bed that you receive two messages from an unknown number.

Unknown: Hi, this is Jessie, Janine gave me your number. She said you lived in the area.

Unknown: Sorry, Jessie Fleming, I should’ve clarified. Don’t feel obligated to text me, just Janine insisted I reach out.

You ignore the messages, you have a quick thought of blocking her number, but you know that’s not realistic. You’d have to see her in a few days and be her teammate you can’t block her phone. At least the girl gave you the permission to ignore her.

So that’s what you did. You closed your phone, putting it on silent and snuggled into bed, putting on whatever was showing on National Geographic at this hour and falling asleep shortly after.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Oh to be a fly next to Daniel when he received the news about her pregnancy

His Best Man || DR3 {Daniel’s Reaction}

A/N: quick 700 words written on my phone 💕 F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Daniel’s Reaction

Daniel wouldn’t normally have his phone with him when he was meant to be listening to the debrief. His entire concentration should have been on the technicians reading the data from the free practice he had just completed. But since you hadn’t been feeling the best you decided to stay home instead of going to the paddock, and it had left him feeling a little unsettled. He missed your company.

Like a teenager in class, he had his phone on his lap hidden under the table and the moment it lit up he snatched it. His thumb froze over the green icon as his brain registered the name on the screen wasn’t yours.

“Excuse me, guys, I need to take this,” he interrupted as he abruptly stood up and left the room. He and James hadn’t spoken since the phone call in Portland nearly two months ago and if the biometric monitor was still attached from the practice it would have caught the sudden spike in his heart rate.

For a second Daniel thought about letting the call go to voicemail but he wasn’t a coward, so he took a deep breath and answered the call. “Hello, mate, it’s been a while,” he greeted with a confidence he didn’t feel.

Immediately James’ laugh set him on edge and he closed the door to his driver room since there were still a lot of people loitering around. “Tends to happen when you fuck someone’s wife.”

“Ex-wife, which tends to happen when you’re a cheating piece of shit,” Daniel shot back.

“Hmm, I don’t remember signing any court documents.”

Daniel was usually patient by nature but his patience for this man had run out on the side of a highway in Perth. “Why did you call me, James?”

“I just thought we could celebrate the wonderful news together, since my wife is pregnant. I’m assuming you’re the father but considering she’s a whore, who knows?”

“Shut your fucking mouth, James,” Daniel growled as his hands threatened to crush the phone with the grip he had. “You don’t talk about her like that, ever, you understand!”

“That she’s a whore or that she’s pregnant? Because both are true.”

“You’re a fucking liar, and she can’t have kids, she already told me.”

James’ laugh sent Daniel’s stomach dropping and a cold fissure running down his spine. “Who's the liar now…”

The phone went dead before he could respond and he stared at his phone as it returned to his home screen. The image was one of his favourites, though every photo of you was technically a favourite, this one was perfect. You weren’t even paying attention to the camera as he snapped the shot, all of your focus was on the tiny joey cradled in your arms as you bottle fed it.

He already knew about your fertility struggles, it was no secret, but it was clear you would have been a great mother had you been given the chance. It was why he was struggling so much to digest James’ words. You wouldn’t have lied about that, he couldn’t believe it.

Needing the reassurance only you could provide, he tied the arms of his race suit around his waist and started to run. It wasn’t far to his apartment block from the paddock but it felt longer as he sprinted full pelt through the busy streets.

Daniel hadn’t even thought to bring his keys and after a few attempts at knocking loudly he went back to the front desk to borrow a spare one. The knots in his stomach had twisted into a noose by the time he unlocked the door and walked into the silent apartment.

Sweat beaded on his forehead and ran down his spine as he heard a soft sob come from the bathroom. The sound penetrated his heart and spurred him to close the distance in a mad dash to fix whatever had caused you pain but he never expected to find you the way he did. Pregnancy tests littered the floor, three bold plus signs staring him in the face as he stumbled back against the wall and let it take his weight and he slid down to the floor.

“You said you couldn’t have kids.”

[mostlysignssomeportents]

An excerpt from The Bezzle

I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me next in SALT LAKE CITY (Feb 21, Weller Book Works) and SAN DIEGO (Feb 22, Mysterious Galaxy). After that, it's LA, Seattle, Portland, Phoenix and more!

Today, I'm bringing you part one of an excerpt from Chapter 14 of The Bezzle, my next novel, which drops on Feb 20. It's an ice-cold revenge technothriller starring Martin Hench, a two-fisted forensic accountant specialized in high-tech fraud:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

Hench is the Zelig of high-tech fraud, a character who's spent 40 years in Silicon Valley unwinding every tortured scheme hatched by tech-bros who view the spreadsheet as a teleporter that whisks other peoples' money into their own bank-accounts. This setup is allowing me to write a whole string of these books, each of which unwinds a different scam from tech's past, present and future, starting with last year's Red Team Blues (now in paperback!), a novel that whose high-intensity thriller plotline is also a masterclass in why cryptocurrency is a scam:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865854/redteamblues

Turning financial scams into entertainment is important work. Finance's most devastating defense is the Shield Of Boringness (h/t Dana Clare) – tactically deployed complexity designed to induce the state that finance bros call "MEGO" ("my eyes glaze over"). By combining jargon and obfuscation, the most monstrous criminals of our age have been able to repeatedly bring our civilization to the brink of collapse (remember 2008?) and then spin their way out of it.

Turning these schemes into entertainment is hard, necessary work, because it incinerates the respectable suit and tie and leaves the naked dishonesty of the finance sector on display for all to see. In The Big Short, they recruited Margot Robbie to explain synthetic CDOs from a bubble-bath. And John Oliver does this every week on Last Week Tonight, coming up with endlessly imaginative stunts and gags to flense the bullshit, laying the scam economy open to the bone.

This was my inspiration for the Hench novels (I've written and sold three of these, of which The Bezzle is number two; I've got at least two more planned). Could I use the same narrative tactics I used to explain mass surveillance, cryptography and infosec in the Little Brother books to turn scams into entertainment, and entertainment into the necessary, informed outrage that might precipitate change?

The main storyline in The Bezzle concerns one of the most gruesome scams in today's America: prison-tech, which sees America's vast army of prisoners being stripped of letters, calls, in-person visits, parcels, libraries and continuing ed in favor of cheap tablets that bilk prisoners and their families of eye-watering sums for every click they make:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/14/minnesota-nice/#shitty-technology-adoption-curve

But each Hench novel has a variety of side-quests that work to expose different kinds of financial chicanery. The Bezzle also contains explainers on the workings of MLMs/Ponzis (and how Gerry Ford and Betsy DeVos's father-in-law legalized one of the most destructive forces in America) and the way that oligarchs, foreign and domestic, use Real Estate Investment Trusts to hide their money and destroy our cities.

And there's a subplot about music-royalty theft, a form of pernicious wage theft that is present up and down the music industry supply-chain. This is a subject that came up a lot when Rebecca Giblin and I were researching and writing Chokepoint Capitalism, our 2022 book about creative labor markets:

https://chokepointcapitalism.com/

Two of the standout cases from that research formed the nucleus of the subplot in The Bezzle, the case of Leonard Cohen's batshit manager who stole millions from him and then went to prison for stalking him, leaving him virtually penniless and forced to keep touring to keep himself fed:

https://www.theguardian.com/music/2012/apr/19/leonard-cohen-former-manager-jailed

The other was George Clinton, whose manager forged his signature on a royalty assignment, then used the stolen money to defend himself against Clinton's attempts to wrestle his rights back and even to sue Clinton for defamation for writing about the caper in his memoir:

https://www.musicconnection.com/the-legal-beat-george-clinton-wins-defamation-case/

That's the tale that this excerpt – which I'll be serializing in six parts over the coming week – tells, in fictionalized form. It's not Margot Robbie in a bubble-bath, it's not a John Oliver monologue, but I think it's pretty goddamned good.

I'm leaving for a long, multi-city, multi-country, multi-continent tour with The Bezzle next Wednesday, starting with an event at Weller Bookworks in Salt Lake City on the 21st:

https://www.wellerbookworks.com/event/store-cory-doctorow-feb-21-630-pm

I'll in be in San Diego on the 22nd at Mysterious Galaxy:

https://www.mystgalaxy.com/22224Doctorow

And then it's on to LA (with Adam Conover), Seattle (with Neal Stephenson), Portland, Phoenix and beyond:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/16/narrative-capitalism/#bezzle-tour

I hope you'll come out for the tour (and bring your friends)!

Between 1972 and 1978, Steve Soul (a.k.a. Stefon Magner) had a string of sixteen Billboard Hot 100 singles, one of which cracked the Top 10 and won him an appearance on Soul Train. He is largely forgotten today, except by hip-­hop producers who prize his tracks as a source of deep, funky grooves. They sampled the hell out of him, not least because his rights were controlled by Inglewood Jams, a clearinghouse for obscure funk tracks that charged less than half of what the Big Three labels extracted for each sample license.

Even at that lower rate, those license payments would have set Stefon up for a comfortable retirement, especially when added to his Social Security and the disability check from Dodgers Stadium, where he cleaned floors for more than a decade before he fell down a beer-­slicked bleacher and cracked two of his lumbar discs. But Stefon didn’t get a dime. His former manager, Chuy Flores, forged his signature on a copyright assignment in 1976. Stefon didn’t discover this fact until 1979, because Chuy kept cutting him royalty checks, even as Stefon’s band broke up and those royalties trickled off. In Stefon’s telling, the band broke up because the rest of the act—­especially the three-­piece rhythm section of two percussionists and a beautiful bass player with a natural afro and a wild, infectious hip-­wiggle while she played—­were too coked up to make it to rehearsal, making their performances into shambling wreckages and their studio sessions into vicious bickerfests. To hear the band tell of it, Stefon had bad LSD (“Lead Singer Disease”) and decided he didn’t need the rest of them. One thing they all agreed on: there was no way Stefon would have signed over the band’s earnings to Chuy, who was little more than a glorified bookkeeper, with Stefon hustling all their bookings and even ordering taxis to his bandmates’ houses to make sure they showed up at the studio or the club on time. Stefon remembered October of ’79 well. He’d been waiting with dread for the envelope from Chuy. The previous royalty check, in July, had been under $250. The previous quarter’s had been over $1,000. This quarter’s might have zero. Stefon needed the money. His 1972 Ford Galaxie needed a new transmission. He couldn’t keep driving it in first.

The envelope arrived late, the day before Halloween, and for a brief moment, Stefon was overcome by an incredible, unbelieving elation: Chuy’s laboriously typewritten royalty statement ended with the miraculous figure of $7,421.16. Seven thousand dollars! It was more than two years’ royalties, all in one go! He could fix the Galaxie’s transmission and get the ragtop patched, and still have money left over for his back rent, his bar tab, his child support, and a fine steak dinner, and even then, he’d end the month with money in his savings account.

But there was no check in the envelope. Stefon shook the envelope, carefully unfolded the royalty statement to ensure that there was no check stapled to its back, went downstairs to the apartment building lobby and rechecked his mailbox.

Finally, he called Chuy.

“Chuy, man, you forgot to put a check in the envelope.”

“I didn’t forget, Steve. Read the paperwork again. You gotta send me a check.”

“What the fuck? That’s not funny, Chuy.”

“I ain’t joking, Steve. I been advancing you royalties for more than three years, but you haven’t earned nothing new since then—­no new recordings. I can’t afford to carry you no more.”

“Say what?”

Chuy explained it to him like he was a toddler. “Remember when you signed over your royalties to me in ’76? Every dime I’ve sent you since then was an advance on your future recordings, only you haven’t had none of those, so I’m cutting you off and calling in your note. I’m sorry, Steve, but I ain’t a charity. You don’t work, you don’t earn. This is America, brother. No free lunches.”

“After I did what in ’76?”

“Steve, in 1976 you signed over all your royalties to me. We agreed, man! I can’t believe you don’t remember this! You came over to my spot and I told you how it was and you said you needed money to cover the extra horns for the studio session on Fight Fire with Water. I told you I’d cover them and you’d sign over all your royalties to me.”

Stefon was briefly speechless. Chuy had paid the sidemen on that session, but that was because Chuy owed him a thousand bucks for a string of private parties they’d played for some of Chuy’s cronies. Chuy had been stiffing him for months and Stefon had agreed to swap the session fees for the horn players in exchange for wiping out the debt, which had been getting in the way of their professional relationship.

“Chuy, you know it didn’t happen that way. What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about when you signed over all your royalties to me. And you know what? I don’t like your tone. I’ve carried your ass for years now, sent you all that money out of my own pocket, and now you gotta pay up. My generosity’s run out. When you gonna send me a check?”

Of course, it was a gambit. It put Stefon on tilt, got him to say a lot of ill-­advised things over the phone, which Chuy secretly recorded. It also prompted Stefon to take a swing at Chuy, which Chuy dived on, shamming that he’d had a soft-­tissue injury in his neck, bringing suit for damages and pressing an aggravated-­assault charge.

He dropped all that once Stefon agreed not to keep on with any claims about the forged signature; Stefon went on to become a good husband, a good father, and a hard worker. And if cleaning floors at Dodgers Stadium wasn’t what he’d dreamed of when he was headlining on Soul Train, at least he never missed a game, and his boy came most weekends and watched with him. Stefon’s supervisor didn’t care.

But the stolen royalties ate at him, especially when he started hearing his licks every time he turned on the radio. His voice, even. Chuy Flores had a fully paid-­off three-­bedroom in Eagle Rock and two cars and two ex-­wives and three kids he was paying child support on, and Stefon sometimes drove past Chuy Flores’s house to look at his fancy palm trees all wrapped up in strings of Christmas lights and think about who paid for them.

ETA: Here's part two!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/17/the-steve-soul-caper/#lead-singer-disease

[aimeedaisies]

The Princess Royal’s Official Engagements in May 2024

01/05 On behalf of The King, held an Investiture at Buckingham Palace. 🎖️

As President of the City and Guilds of London Institute, attended The Princess Royal Training Awards Alumni Skills Summit at Guildhall. 🏆

With Sir Tim As Patron of the Whitley Fund for Nature, attended the Annual Whitley Awards Ceremony at the Royal Geographical Society. 🦋

02/05 With Sir Tim Named a Great Western Railway Intercity Express Train ‘HRH The Princess Royal’ at Paddington Railway Station. 🚉

Unofficial With Sir Tim Attended day two of the Royal Windsor Horse Show. 🐎

03/05 With Sir Tim Departed the UK from Stansted Airport for Canada and arrived at Vancouver International Airport

HRH, as Commodore-in-Chief of the Royal Canadian Navy (Pacific Fleet), with Sir Tim, carried out engagements in Vancouver;

Attended the Commissioning Ceremony for HMCS MAX BERNAYS at North Vancouver Burrard Drydock, before attending a Reception onboard. ⛴️ 🇨🇦

Attended a Dinner onboard HMCS MAX BERNAYS at sea. 🍽️

04/05 HRH, as Commodore-in-Chief of the Royal Canadian Navy (Pacific Fleet), with Sir Tim, carried out engagements in Victoria;

Toured HMCS Max Bernays at sea. 🌊

Visited Esquimalt Military Family Resource Centre at the Canadian Forces Base Esquimalt. 👪🪖

As President of the Commonwealth War Graves Commission, visited God’s Acre Cemetery and laid a wreath at the Memorial. 🌹

Visited the Maritime Museum of British Columbia Archive. 📜⚓️

Her Royal Highness afterwards visited Fed Urban Agriculture Society Urban Farm, 395 Harbour Road. 🌾

Attended a Reception given by the Lieutenant Governor of British Columbia (the Hon Janet Austin) at Government House. 🥂

Attended a Dinner given by the Lieutenant Governor of British Columbia at Government House. 🍽️

05/05 HRH, as Commodore-in-Chief of the Royal Canadian Navy (Pacific Fleet), with Sir Tim, carried out engagements in Victoria;

Visited Government House Gardens. 🪴⛲️

Attended the Battle of the Atlantic Memorial Parade at the Parliament Building and laid a wreath at the Cenotaph before taking the salute at the march past of Canadian Armed Forces Veterans, Serving Personnel and Cadets. 🫡

Attended a Royal Victoria Yacht Club Youth Dinghy Regatta. 🛥️

As Patron of the Canadian Therapeutic Riding Association, visited Victoria Therapeutic Riding Association. 🐎

Departed Vancouver International Airport for the United Kingdom. 🇨🇦✈️🇬🇧

06/05 Arrived at Heathrow Airport from Canada 🇨🇦✈️🇬🇧

08/05 Hosted a garden party at Buckingham Palace alongside The King and Queen, The Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh and The Duke and Duchess of Gloucester. 🍃☀️🪴

As Patron of the Woolf Institute, attended a Reception, followed by a Dinner, to launch the Randeree End of Life Programme. 🥂🍽️

09/05 As Patron of the Royal Navy and Royal Marines Charity, visited the Headquarters at HMS Excellent in Portsmouth. ⚓️

As Patron of the Women’s Royal Naval Service Benevolent Trust, attended the Annual Presentation and Reception at the National Museum of the Royal Navy. 🏛️

As Patron of the Association of Wrens, opened the new Headquarters Building at Lanyard House, HM Naval Base. 🫡

With Sir Tim As Patron of the National Museum of the Royal Navy, visited the HMS Victory Conservation Project at HM Naval Base ⚓️

With Sir Tim As Patron of the National Museum of the Royal Navy, attended the HMS Victory Conservation Project Dinner onboard HMS Victory at HM Naval Base. ⚓️🍽️

10/05 As Patron of Catch22, visited Greater Manchester Victims’ Services at Greater Manchester Police Headquarters. 👮

Visited the East Manchester Community Boat Project at Portland Basin Museum Marina in Ashton-Under-Lyne to mark its 30th Anniversary. 🛥️🎂

11/05 unofficial With Sir Tim Went to Badminton Horse Trials to cheer on Zara Tindall in her Cross Country stage of the three day event. 🏇🏼

13/05 Visited Stonehaven Open Air Swimming Pool to mark its 90th Anniversary. 🏊‍♀️🍾🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

As Admiral of the Sea Cadet Corps and Marine Society and Sea Cadets, opened Stonehaven and District New Headquarters. ⚓️🫡 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

14/05 With Sir Tim As Patron of the United Kingdom Sailing Academy held a Founders’ Club Luncheon at St James’s Palace. ⛵️

As Chancellor of the University of London, attended the King’s Centre for Military Health Research Conference. 👩‍⚕️

With Sir Tim As Patron of the Wellington Trust, attended a Dinner onboard HMS WELLINGTON (mto mark the Ship’s Ninetieth Anniversary. ⚓️🥂

15/05 As Court Member of the Fishmongers’ Company, visited Glenarm Organic Salmon Fish Farm, off Glenarm Harbour in Ballymena. 🍣🚤

As Court Member of the Fishmongers’ Company, attended a Luncheon at Glenarm Castle. 🐟🍽️🏰

16/05 As Royal Patron of the National Coastwatch Institution, visited Bembridge Station, followed by a Reception at Brading Haven Yacht Club in Ryde, Isle of Wight. 🔍🌊

As President, Royal Yachting Association, opened the Sea View Yacht Club's Training Centre in Seaview, Isle of Wight. 🛥️

17/05 With Sir Tim Hosted the annual Not Forgotten Association garden party at Buckingham Palace. 🫖🍰☀️

20/05 unofficial Departed from RAF Brize Norton for Norway and landed at Oslo Gardermoen Airport. 🇬🇧✈️🇳🇴

21/05 As Patron of the Anglo-Norwegian Resistance Commemoration Project, visited the Norwegian Industrial Workers Museum in Vemork, Norway. 🔨⚙️🇳🇴

As Patron of the Anglo-Norwegian Resistance Commemoration Project, received a briefing on the sinking of DF Hydro at Mael Station in Telemark, Norway. 🏭🇳🇴

Attended a Reception given by His Majesty’s Ambassador to the Kingdom of Norway at the Residence in Oslo. 🥂🇳🇴🇬🇧

22/05 As President of the Commonwealth War Graves Commission, visited Vestre Gravlund Cemetery and laid a wreath on the memorial. 🪦

As Patron of the Anglo-Norwegian Resistance Commemoration Project, visited the Linge Club and attended a Reception at Akershus Fortress, Oslo. 🇳🇴🇬🇧

As Patron of the Anglo-Norwegian Resistance Commemoration Project, visited the Norwegian Shipowners’ Mutual War Risks Insurance Association. 🪖🇳🇴

As Patron of the Anglo-Norwegian Resistance Commemoration Project, with The Crown Prince of Norway, visited the Norwegian Resistance Museum, Akershus Fortress. 🏰 🇳🇴

unofficial Departed from Oslo Gardermoen Airport and landed at RAF Brize Norton . 🇬🇧✈️🇳🇴

23/05 As Patron of the Hornet Services Sailing Club, visited the club for their 60th anniversary. ⛵️🎂

Opened the Army Sailing Association Offshore Centre in Gosport. ⛵️

With Sir Tim & Duke of Kent Held a Garden Party at Buckingham Palace to celebrate the Royal National Lifeboat Institution's 200th anniversary. 🛟☕️

With Sir Tim Visited the Royal Horticultural Society Chelsea Flower Show at the Royal Hospital Chelsea. 🌸🌺🌼💐

24/05 Opened the Admiral Lord Cochrane Room at the Royal United Services Institute in Whitehall, London. 🔐

Sometime in May unofficial Sir Tim, as Chair of Trustees, attended the Science Museum Groups annual dinner

Total official engagements for Anne in May: 53

2024 total so far: 224

Total official engagements accompanied by Tim in May: 23

2024 total so far: 55

FYI - due to certain royal family members being off ill/in recovery I won't be posting everyone's engagement counts out of respect, I am continuing to count them and release the totals at the end of the year.

[leguin]

i was thinking something similar last night after watching that video - reminded me of when the group of moms (wall of moms? idr) started coming out to protests when the feds showed up in portland in 2020. one of them was one of my coworkers, and when we talked after her first night out she seemed really shaken by what she'd experienced - the violence by the cops unfiltered in a way that race, gender, and class had previously softened in her interactions with them. no idea if that was this professor's experience, but i think there is something...interesting about the fact that experience seemingly becoming more and more widespread over the last 4 years.

[genieofthebooks]

hello!! i hope you’re doing well and if youre not taking requests, pls ignore this: can i request a george karim x reader where either one of them is sick and a little delirious & they confess to the person taking care of them? and maybe by the end they realise the other person got sick too haha

Love

Pairing: George Karim x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of illness, fluff, Reader shipping Locklyle, Reader calling George Love even though they are not together yet. Kissing. Reader is beautiful/pretty yet insecure so doea not believe it. (You lot are beautiful)

You and Lucy were sat at 35 Portland Row's kitchen table with cups of tea in your hands, chatting mindlessly about anything and everything when a mess of brown curls and orange shirts tumbled into the kitchen nearly walking into the door, his glasses crooked on his face, slightly falling down his nose. His face was glowing but not in the good way. The bespectacled clumsy mess slumped down on the chair without a word. You and Lucy looked at each other in concern because normally he would have made a sarcastic comment but he was just sat there staring at the table cloth.

You gently placed your tea onto the table and stood up, careful to not make any loud noise, you cautiously walked over to the boy currently slumped on the table and pressed the back of your hand against his forehead and then the back of his neck. you were behind him trying to measure how well he is but all George could think about was that your hands were very comforting, so he leaned backwards until the back of his head hit your chest.

You combed your fingers through his curls, soothing him through his shivers. Deciding that he was too ill to function today, you slung his arm over your shoulder and gently coaxed him out of the seat, convincing him to lean all his weight on you. "C'mon love, let's get you back to bed"

He weakly tried to protest, pathetically pushing your hand away. "No. No. I-I have to'm work" he mumbled out, his words slurring together, You just shook your head at him exasperated. Knowing he would research himself to his own death if he could.

"Love, you can't speak properly and if I was not holding onto you, you would collapse in a heap on the floor. So bed with you" You ordered as quietly as you could as to not provoke George's headache. Lucy was laughing into her mug of tea as you were trying to convince george to rest and at your orderly tone but also the sight of you trying to drag a boy taller than you out of the kitchen.

Slowly but surely, you had made it outside of the kitchen. However, you still had an entire flight of stairs to go up, and George was practically falling asleep on your shoulder. For a second you considered leaving him on the sofa in the main room but that would be cruel so you guided him up the stairs by his hands trying not to miss a step as you were walking backwards.

"Y/n, what are you doing to poor George?" Lockwood questioned as he walked out of his own room, seeing you cautiously drag a very ill looking George up the stairs.

"He is ill and is taking the day off as he can barely function. So don't run off to complete the case until George is well and done with the research. " You ordered Lockwood, giving him a pointed look who just jokingly saluted at you.

"Yes Ma'am"

"Lucy's in the kitchen, by the way," you whispered to him once you had finally gotten George on the landing. Giving Lockwood a cheeky smile, desperately wanting the two to give in to their feelings which however, was mutual with Lockwood fed up of the dance you were doing with George.

Once again, taking your place at the sick boy's side, you gently shepherded him into his bedroom. You pulled his orange flannel off his back leaving him in his orange shirt and black jeans when he fell out of you hold and landed on his bed in a slump.

You moved his legs from on the floor onto his bed and coverd him with a blanket, just as you were about to turn and go back and get some medicine, he grabbed onto your wrist. "No Stay." He mumbled, his eyes half lidded.

"Love, I will be right back I just need to get something" You softly answered him but that only caused him to strengthen his grip on you until he pulled you down on top of him.

He nuzzled his head into the crevice of your neck soaking in the warmth of your body. His warm breath tickling your collarbone and his hands snaked their way around your waist trapping you in his grasp. "Stay" he mumbled into your shoulder and because he was weirdly strong he managed to trap you so you couldn't get out of his grasp even if you wanted to.

All that could be heard in the room was the two of you's breathing until it was broken by George. "You are so beautiful" Your breath stopped out of shock when you heard the comment and for a second you thought you must have misheard as you would never describe yourself as beautiful. Tears sprung at your eyes thinking it was a cruel joke and wanted to get out of there as fast as you could but you were trapped in his arms.

"Okay, Georgie you are clearly delirious and don't mean a thing you are saying." You started to wriggle to try and get out of his arms but he only clutched you tighter, causing you to give up.

"I wish you were mine. Do you know how right the world would be if I woke up every morning knowing that you were mine. It has killed me seeing your beautiful face everyday without being able to kiss you or hug you." George continued his confession where by the end of it you were smiling to yourself.

His arms dropped away from your waist, freeing you and when you clambered out of his grasp you were met with a peaceful expression on his face. You leant down to kiss his forehead before sneaking down to the kitchen to get medicine and some tea for him.

It had been a few days since George's love confession which if you were not feeling like death itself, you would be mulling over what he said and if he meant it but you were currently trying not to fall asleep on the kitchen table because your whole body was fatigued and your head was pounding.

George walked into the kitchen searching for you as he felt better but he stopped short at your slumped frame on the kitchen table. Like what you did a few days ago he pressed his hand to the back of your neck to check your temperature, you shivered at the cool touch of his hand. He chuckled softly at you before pulling you into his arms, as you were shorter than him he did not have to struggle with dragging you up the stairs but instead picked you up bridal style and kissed your forehead when you curled into him. "I guess it is my turn to take care of you now, darling"

His comment was met with your weak hand to his face trying to shove it but because of your exhaustion it only slightly nudged his glasses to the side. "You got me ill" you mumbled into his bright orange shirt, barely making any sense before feeling him gently lower you onto his bed.

"But you love me" he cheeked back, caressing your hair to lull you to sleep.

Sorry if it is not the best and the fact that it took ages to arrive, I got really busy with school. Sorry if George's characterisation was a bit off.

[rohan-will-answer]

Life update! This is going to be a looooong post! Lots of things have changed!

So about a year ago, ***** and I broke up (I'm keeping his name out of this). It was a long time coming but ultimately it was what we both needed. Everything fell apart. We were polyamorous for the majority of our relationship - but we were bad at it. I hated it for a long time before I finally became more comfortable. When I did feel more comfortable, ***** felt more insecure and closed us off again, with the intention of opening things back up later. But basically, I fucked up and caused the breakup.

I met someone, Marek, and developed feelings quickly. I fell for them hard and told ***** how I felt. ***** forbade me from talking to Marek, but I continued to indirectly talk to them through posts I made about them on the app we met on. I would post about them, they would post about me, and eventually, ***** found the posts and ended the relationship.

I was devastated at first and was overwhelmed by the guilt. Losing the person I was with for over 8 years was awful. But then I started to process the things that happened over the course of that relationship and realized it was beyond unhealthy for both of us. Neither of us were fully to blame for that toxicity. We fed off each other. The relationship was deeply codependent and had so many issues that honestly, it should have ended years before it did. But the codependency kept us together. It was bad.

BUT!!!!

Now life is amazing! Marek and I started actually dating and they are beyond a doubt the best thing that's ever happened to me. The relationship is healthy. Everything feels good and I am deeply in love. We communicate well, our interests and desires in life align, I feel safe with them and never doubt their love for me. They are perfection in human form. I've never met anyone I vibe with so well, genuinely. We will have been together for a year on September 1st! (｡💚▽🩷｡)

Since the breakup, my mental health has improved significantly! I feel joy these days! I am far more stable, my confidence has improved drastically, I have finally met myself, I'm healing my inner child, and I'm far more independent than I ever have been. Marek supports me and makes me feel like I can do anything. I fully believe I was being held back by my last relationship because of the previously mentioned codependency. I wish ***** the best, but I'm happy we aren't together anymore. We both deserve better than what we got from each other.

Some smaller things than a massive relationship change:

I now live in a geodesic dome

I have become completely and utterly OBSESSED with Kirby

My hair is green

My sense of fashion has become super maximalist and colorful

I have control over my eating disorder and I'm finally at a healthy weight

I went to Scotland

I have made friends in the Portland area

I was officially diagnosed with borderline personality disorder which has made therapy far more effective for me

I have fallen deeper into my hobbies

I have a massive plant collection now. 57 plants to be precise.

SO MANY GOOD THINGS.

Overall, life has been really, really good in the past year. I'm truly happy now. I never thought I'd get to this point, but here I am! I'm thriving!

(ﾉ⊙ヮ⊙)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

My happiness shines through and I am so grateful. (~￣▽￣)~

Also here are some (not all) of my plants!!

[maraschinomerry]

You Are My Sunshine

Pairings: George Karim x gn!reader

Summary: sunshine x grumpy, based off this tiktok audio (the sunshine character needs comfort and surprises everyone when they go to the grump, who is equally surprised when they find themself hugging back)

Content: not-quite-enemies to friends, heavily implied previous non-con from another character and a non-graphic second attempt, emotional hurt/comfort

A/N: cheesiest title ever but the second I heard that tiktok audio I knew I wanted to write this for George, it reminded me so much of the way he seemed with Lucy until they bonded over pizza (but maybe a little played up to fully fit the grump persona)

Word count: 3.3k

Taglist: @neewtmas @marinalor (taglist is open if anyone wants to be added!)

George knew you were going to be infuriating from the moment you set foot on the doorstep of 35 Portland Row.

He opened the door after the shrill bell echoed down the hall, to be met by your beaming face. Had he not been taken aback by how cute you were, he'd have closed it straight away.

"Hello!" you greeted him cheerily. "I'm here about the job - I'm (name), what's your name?"

Good grief, you were lively. One of the only perks of agent work was that everyone else was as sharp-tongued and hardened as he was, yet here you were with all the enthusiasm and energy of a puppy in a park. Still, no point being rude until you'd proven how unprepared you were. Then he could be smug about it too. "George."

"Nice to meet you, George. May I come in?" You'd noted his surliness, but it didn't phase you. Having tried everywhere else, you really needed this interview to go well. Normally by now you'd be thoroughly fed up with the rejection, it was bad enough the first time but the fourth was just upsetting, but you forced yourself to remain positive for a good first impression.

George led you silently into a cosy living room, where a boy and girl were chatting away in hushed voices on one of the sofas.

"Another candidate," George muttered as he sank into an armchair and buried his head in a comic. The other boy rose from the sofa and offered his hand. You shook it gratefully. "Anthony Lockwood," he introduced himself before gesturing to the girl, who waved briefly. "Lucy Carlyle, and I hope George had the good sense to give you his name."

You nodded and introduced yourself in return. They seemed an odd bunch - younger than you'd expected, with no sign of adult supervision, and simultaneously welcoming and closed off. Especially George, who hadn't so much as looked at you since you'd entered the room.

"I'm afraid I don't have any references to show, I had to leave my previous agency rather quickly after an incident, but I have a CV and my grade certificates to look over if you'd like," you explained, holding out a plain white folder to Lockwood. He rifled through it, noting aloud that you'd just finished at Rotwell, and you could have sworn George rolled his eyes over the top of his comic.

Lockwood laid the folder on the table. "Interesting stuff, but if you don't mind I'd like to give you a couple of tests." Hold on. The advert didn't say anything about that. Lucy must have sensed your alarm and been through something similar, as she offered you a reassuring smile. You wondered how long she'd been with the agency, how recently she'd done these 'tests'.

The tests came in the form of objects, covered by tea towels and unveiled one by one with dramatic flair. You were particularly intrigued by a jar of swampy green liquid containing a skull. Excitement crept into your voice when you realised it was a ghost jar, something you'd longed to see for years with no success, but it abruptly jolted to shock when the skull developed an almost-face and shot you a chilling grin. You struggled to regain your composure. George had lowered his comic now, watching you disdainfully, so you relaxed out of spite and resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow in challenge. No, it wasn't necessary, you were in a good mood and being polite. You needed the job.

The rest of the tests were a breeze. The taller boy, Lockwood, certainly seemed pleased with your results. As he opened his mouth to congratulate you, however, George finally spoke.

"Lockwood. A word."

The rest of you looked at him, and he glowered back. Lucy stood, smiling at you again. "Why don't I take you through to the kitchen, (name), since George appears to have neglected to offer you any tea." You followed her out of the room, the atmosphere behind you souring by the second.

As soon as you were out of earshot, George rounded on his friend. "You're not seriously thinking of hiring them." It was a statement, not a question.

"Why not? They did well, don't you think?"

"Sure, but try and tell me you're not going to get sick to death of them spewing sunshine everywhere they go within the first two weeks." Lockwood chuckled, mentally filing 'spewing sunshine' away with 'braying gallery for bellends' on the list of his favourite George-isms. George misinterpreted the laughter as denial, and threw up his hands in defeat. "Fine, go ahead, but I'm calling it now. Two. Weeks."

—

You settled into Lockwood & Co. remarkably quickly, flying through the first two weeks. Lucy had bonded with you immediately, your cheerful demeanour bringing back her softer side, and even Lockwood found himself warming to you. The only person who steadfastly kept you at arms length was George. He was civil enough, having gradually come to terms with the fact that you were probably there to stay, but he never initiated conversations and ended the ones you started as soon as possible. Even in group moments round the dining table, he seemed immune where your presence began to make the others more animated. He had your back on cases as much as the other two, you couldn't deny that, but you were still wary around him. As the weeks went on and he was forced to acknowledge you more, he took to calling you 'sunshine' - never in a fun, playful way though, always "hold on, sunshine" when he was shooting down your optimism or "come on, sunshine" when you were forced to pair up and he automatically took the lead. If it had been anyone else calling you that it would have been sweet, but from him it left a bitter taste in your mouth.

—

"I think George hates me," you announced.

It was well over a month, nearly two in fact, into your employment, and you were sprawled on Lucy's floor as she lay above you on the bed painting her nails. She leaned over at your words, hair falling all around and casting a web of shadows across her face.

"What makes you say that?" she frowned.

"Oh, come off it, Luce, it's obvious. He still treats me like an interloper, barely registers my existence and when he does he never treats me like a real person, just calls me 'sunshine' like it's some horrible thing. If anything it's him that's the problem for being such a…" you trailed off as you struggled to think of the right analogy. "A storm cloud!"

Lucy giggled. "It's the hair, isn't it?" You laughed too, picturing his black curls as a dark cloud ready to burst.

The bedframe creaked as Lucy got up, moving to join you on the floor. Her nails, half finished, had been abandoned. "He doesn't hate you though, he's just not a people person at the best of times and I think he's got so used to being on the same page as me and Lockwood that not being able to figure you out has blown his little puzzle-loving mind. Not that that's any excuse."

You nodded. It made sense, but still didn't make you feel any better.

"Do you want me to talk to him?" she asked. You appreciated the offer, but it was better if you did it yourself. More mature, for one, and a chance to prove you weren't as one-dimensional as he must think.

—

As you expected, you found George in the library. He was curled up in his favourite armchair, one book open in his lap and another on the table beside him alongside a mug of tea. The gentle glow of the lamplight washed him in golden hues, emphasising his curls and the smattering of freckles across his cheeks. He glanced up behind his glasses at the creak of the door to see you lingering on the threshold, shifting uncomfortably. Although you were fully dressed, your anxious demeanour and lack of pretense made you seem more exposed than he'd seen you before.

"Mind if I join you?"

"Not exactly like I can stop you."

"Well no, but I still wanted to be decent and ask. I'm not a dick."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

You sighed. You couldn't resist having a jab at him, fed up with the way he'd been treating you, but getting him on the offensive wasn't particularly conducive to making him like you.

"It means you've been resentful or outright horrible to me since the second you set eyes on me and I don't understand what I could possibly have done to make you hate me so much."

George frowned, putting the book down and giving you his full attention for perhaps the first time ever. "I don't hate you." Lucy had said as much too, but that didn't mean you believed him. "And it's not anything you've done. I just…" His fingers played absent-mindedly with a small tear in the fabric of the armchair as he tried to find the words. You waited patiently. "I don't get how you can be in a job like this and still be so naive."

Something in you twitched, and you felt your blood start to boil. "I am not naive."

"Oh really?" His voice grew sharper. "So it's not naive to live a life in which any one of us could die or get permanently ghost-locked any given night, and still act like everything's rosy and we'll be saved through the power of friendship and happy thoughts? How can you think like that?"

"Because I have to!" The words exploded out of you, startling yourself almost as much as they did George, whose eyes widened as his mouth closed. You tried desperately to claw the words, the feelings, back in, but it was too late. Resigned, you sank into the other armchair, George's eyes on you the whole time.

"I've always been quite cheerful," you began, voice barely above a whisper like the outburst had drained all your energy. "When I was going through my training at Rotwell, it was my optimism that kept the rest of the team sane, because we all knew that if even I gave up then there was no hope for any of us. But my team leader, Miles, he thought I was naive too. Innocent. He… he took advantage." Your breath hitched, and you fought the urge to cry. Across from you, George unknowingly shifted forward in his chair, closing the gap between you a little. "After a while I could barely be in the same building as him without being afraid of what he was going to try. So I left. That's how I ended up here."

"I still don't understand, though," George said quietly. "How do you go through that and come out more upbeat than ever?"

You gave him a wobbly smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "Because if I don't, that means he wins. And I refuse to let him take that away from me."

George was silent, but he nodded a little in understanding. Naivety he couldn't abide, doing it to be annoying was, well, annoying, but spiteful positivity he couldn't help but respect. Plus, it occurred to him that this was possibly the first time you'd opened up to anyone about your experience, to him of all people despite how he'd treated you. He watched you intently, grappling with the fact that you had suddenly become a much more complex person than he'd first believed.

You squirmed under George's intense gaze. It felt good to get that awful memory off your chest, but weird that of the whole agency it had been him you'd told first. He was utterly unreadable in that moment, face unexpectedly soft and yet with a hardness behind his eyes that you couldn't be sure wasn't still directed at you. You cleared your throat nervously, wiping a stray tear away with the side of your hand.

"Anyway, um, I should probably get to bed. Prepare for the case tomorrow. Good night, George." You got up hastily, moving to the door.

"Good night, sunshine." You froze. There was no malice in the word at all this time. When you turned in shock, you saw he had picked up his book again. It almost covered the lower half of his face, but just over the top of it you could see the corners of his lips turned up in a smile as he watched you leave.

—

The case was going well, you thought. It was an incredibly old house, all wood panelling and decorative columns, huge oil paintings and plush velvet upholstery. Lockwood and Lucy had ventured up the grand spiral staircase, leaving you alone downstairs with George, and after last night you felt a little more confident being around him, though he was still difficult to read at times.

"How about I head through to the kitchen and you handle the lounge?" he suggested. That was new; normally it would be an instruction with no room for input. You nodded, taking the door on your left.

The room was large but stuffy, a thick layer of dust coating what would once have been an opulent social area. Faded leaf print paper covered the top half of the walls, separated from the ornate oak panels below by a picture rail. At the far end of the room, the empty fireplace was surrounded by marble and a metal grate. The navy blue sofas were almost grey now, having not been covered to defend against the cruel onslaught of time, and likewise for the long oval coffee table in the centre. You scanned the room with your torch, looking for anything that could be a source. A rustle came from the hallway behind you; you were surprised George had finished so quickly.

"Fancy seeing you here, sweetheart."

The deep voice behind you sent a shiver down your spine. You turned on legs of jelly, one hand drifting to your rapier as you willed your expression to remain as neutral as possible.

"Miles. What are you doing here?"

The older boy stepped into the room with a lecherous grin. He looked exactly as he did two months ago. Just seeing him made your stomach turn. "My team is on a case up the road, and when I heard your little agency," he said the words with a sneer, "was in town, I felt it would be rude not to pay you a visit. You left me without saying goodbye, after all."

Everything you'd been through with him flashed across your mind, and you struggled to keep your voice from shaking. You glanced at where he blocked the doorway, your only exit. "You didn't deserve a goodbye," you said as confidently as you could.

"Oh come on now, baby, after everything I did for you?" He was moving closer, and you found yourself gripping your rapier tighter as you stumbled away.

"Don't come any closer, Miles, or I swear-"

He laughed, a wicked sound that rattled from his chest. He didn't stop moving. "Or what?" You felt the backs of your knees collide with the table, the impact buckling them and tipping you backwards until your shoulder blades collided painfully with the wood and a cloud of dust billowed around you. Still Miles advanced, pinning you down with a hand across your throat. You scrabbled feebly at his sides. He pressed down harder, spots dancing across your eyes as you gasped for air that wouldn't come. His other hand snaked down your body, unaffected by the way you clawed at it. "Look at you, silly little thing. You couldn't do anything then, what's going to stop me now?"

"I am," came a familiar voice from the doorway.

The hand left your throat and breath rushed back into your lungs. You sat up, coughing. As the room swam back into focus, you were met by George, backing Miles into the wall with his rapier brandished and a dark look on his face.

Despite being at the end of a very sharp blade, Miles still managed to look smug. "You their new boyfriend? Good luck with that."

"No," George almost snarled. "I'm their friend, which is far more than you can say. You're nothing more than a trespasser."

By this point Lockwood and Lucy had heard the kerfuffle and made their way downstairs, having located the source in record time; as soon as they saw George with his rapier drawn, they burst into the room with their own in hand. Wordlessly, Lucy positioned herself a little further back, her body between you and Miles, while Lockwood went shoulder to shoulder with George. A flash of recognition crossed his face (he did know the higher-ups from most agencies in the area, after all) and his jaw set.

"You need to leave," he stated dryly. "This isn't your case, and you aren't welcome here." While George was more than competent with a rapier, Lockwood's reputation preceded him, and his added confidence and unwavering blade made Miles gulp. He moved cautiously to the door, George on his heels to make sure he left. The older boy shot you one final glance, a vicious wink, before he disappeared. You collapsed against the table with relief.

Immediately, Lucy and Lockwood sheathed their rapiers. "Are you okay?" they asked in near unison. You weren't sure you could give an honest answer: blood was thundering in your ears, your lungs were still frantically trying to replace the air that had been pushed out, your knees and shoulders hurt and your neck was definitely going to bruise. Your vision began to blur with tears, but through them you registered the vibrant orange of George's outfit as he returned. The dam of emotions broke. You surged forward. Lucy opened her arms for a hug. Lockwood held out a hand for you to settle into his shoulder. George dropped his arms to his side in statuesque shock as you barrelled into him.

The others snapped their attention to George, and he blinked back in surprise. He glanced down to where your hair merged into his shirt, face buried in his chest as sobs wracked your body, arms wrapped around his waist under his open plaid shirt. He threw Lucy a panicked look - she was your best friend, shouldn't you have gone to her for comfort? Lucy simply nodded pointedly to you. Slowly, slowly, George brought his arms up and placed them delicately around your injured shoulders. The second you felt the contact, you melted further into him and he tightened the embrace. Lockwood and Lucy continued to stare, dumbfounded, and George felt something blossom in his chest. He was secretly honoured that you'd gone to him - maybe it was just because you'd told him exactly what had happened between you and Miles, but he hadn't expected that to be enough to change your frustration overnight. Whatever the reason, it had certainly changed how he felt about you. In that moment, as he brought a hand up to stroke your hair, he knew that he'd do anything it took to protect you, to prove to you that he was glad to have you on the team, to work to be worthy of being the person you trusted with all your emotions and secrets the way you had with this. And he was never, ever, going to let anyone make you feel the way Miles had, vulnerable and afraid, or the way he had, like you had to justify the way you chose to be brave and be yourself. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head as he reached around his back to tangle his fingers in yours.

"Come on sunshine, let's get you home."

He didn't let you go the entire way back to Portland Row.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Family Reunion

Fandom: Trials of Apollo Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Apollo, Lee, Will, Michael, Cabin Seven Apollo-as-Lester wakes up for the first time in Cabin Seven. Having children older than him is just plain wrong, thanks. TOApril day 11 - First Meeting! This is set in the aftermath of an AU of mine that I haven't yet written, and for the sake of avoiding spoiling the whole premise of that AU before I do write and post it, there is a distinct lack of explanation hanging around, oops.

Apollo jerked awake, his breathing shallow and rapid while his weak, mortal body trembled and sweated in a broadcast of distress to anyone in the vicinity – and any hope that his immediate vicinity was, in fact, vacant of company was immediately dashed into tiny pieces by the gentle touch on his forehead.

It was cool, which meant that either they ran cold or Apollo was running hot (and yes, Apollo was always hot, in both senses of the word, but Lester was not, a fact he was still struggling to come to terms with).  Apollo did not consider that a good sign, although the gentleness of the touch at least suggested it was no-one meaning immediate harm.

“Can you open your eyes?” they asked – a familiar voice, and while the identity of the owner currently escaped Apollo (an alarming fact, given Apollo wasn’t used to forgetting sounds, or anything at all), he was reasonably confident that it belonged to a male.  “Blink once for yes.”

There was a wryness to the voice, a thread that might be light-hearted at the joke.

“What if I cannot?” he asked, cringing at the raspy slur that came out of his mouth.

“Well, you can always just tell me that,” his companion pointed out, and Apollo might feel half-deaf but he could still tell there was a new note to the voice – one associated with relief.  “But given I know you’re awake, I’d rather you at least tried before giving up.”

Rather annoyingly, he had a point – and Apollo was also getting rather fed up with not being able to place the owner of the voice by aural clues alone.  He knew he knew that voice.

His eyes resisted opening, perhaps basking in the chance to be lazy for the first time since crash landing in a dumpster and becoming the servant of one Meg McCaffrey, but his companion had more or less asked nicely, so Apollo persevered until his eyelids cracked open and he could make some sense of his surroundings.

The elegant ceiling was the first thing to catch his attention, simple but homely.  It was also vaguely familiar, a feeling that increased as more of the cabin – because that was clearly what he was in – came into focus.  Plain white walls, simple wooden bunk beds, and wide windows with heart-achingly familiar yellow flowers blooming along the sills.

“Curse of Delos,” he rasped, digging a clumsy elbow into the soft material beneath him until he could force his unwilling sack of mortal flesh into something resembling a sitting position, although perhaps a pathetic recline would be a more accurate description.

“Your flowers,” his companion agreed.  “They’ve grown here for as long as I can remember.”

Finally, Apollo’s sight landed on the companion in question.  A young man, tragically older than Lester’s body by a couple of years, with short, honey blond hair and eyes closer to green than blue was perched on the edge of the cot he had awoken in.  His face was thin and drawn, a little too much to be strictly healthy, and there was dark shading around his eyes as though his eyelids had forgotten how not to have bags.

It was a sight that made Apollo’s already aching body ache a little bit more, because it was wrong.  So much of it was wrong, more wrong than right, although he’d seen those eyes before, set into the face of a first chair violinist in the Portland Symphony Orchestra.

“Lee,” he said, the name escaping him in as a breath.  His son – and the fact that his body was physically younger than that of his son’s was one of the things that was so, so, wrong – gave him a glimmer of a smile, tired and weary but a twitch of the corner of his mouth nonetheless.

“Hi, Dad,” he said.  “It’s good to see you again.”

Apollo couldn’t help the scoff that wrestled its way out of his choked up throat, because how could anything be nice about his current situation.  “Is it?” he asked despondently.

“Yes,” Lee said without hesitation.  “Don’t get me wrong, it’s not great that you’re mortal now, but I’ll take that over not knowing.”

He didn’t specify what he didn’t what to not know, but even Apollo’s patchy mortal memory could put together enough of the pieces that he couldn’t really argue that point.

Or perhaps more importantly, that arguing that point would only drag Lee’s mental state down further, and his son didn’t need to suffer any more.

He pushed himself up further, internally grumbling at his reluctant body as it begrudgingly obeyed.  Lee’s hand dropped from his forehead, but settled on his arm instead, a cool touch to Apollo’s forearm.  His son had thick, soft wrist warmers on each wrist, the flicker of gold barely visible beneath the long sleeves of his hoodie.  Had he always liked those?  Apollo couldn’t remember.

Instead of letting on just how many holes his memory seemed to have, enough to make his mind a fully functional sieve, no doubt, he turned his thoughts elsewhere.  “Where’s Meg?”

The smile that crept across Lee’s face was fond.  “Making friends,” he said.  “Connor’s going to need an eyepatch for a few days, and Sherman’s going to be walking with a limp for a while after that kick to the crotch.”  He sounded amused.

Apollo couldn’t say he was surprised, given his brief but intense crash course in the consequences of spending time in the personal space of Meg McCaffrey, but he had to ask.  “Making friends?”

Lee’s smile grew.  “Michael was the same when he was her age,” he said.  “And she’s Kayla’s age.  Either those three are going to tear each other to pieces, or become a gremlin trio.  They’ll be fine.”

He seemed wholly unconcerned at the prospect of Meg potentially tearing apart other demigods – or other demigods tearing Meg apart.  Then again, the necklace around his neck was laden with beads, reminding Apollo that Lee was as close as an expert to camp dynamics as any demigod.

The cabin door crept open and quiet feet pattered across the floor, accelerating the closer they got to him until there was another blond young man in his eyeline, this one still a teenager, although still too close to Apollo’s mortal age for comfort.  “You’re awake!” he said, his hands immediately reaching for Apollo’s head.  “How are you feeling?  I tried to heal you, but-”

“Take a breath, Will,” Lee interrupted him gently, the hand that wasn’t still resting on Apollo’s arm coming to wrap around his younger brother’s shoulders.  “He can’t answer you if you’re still talking.”  Will – his hair had the exact same curl around the ears that that Texan country singer had had, this was her son – obediently silenced, and Apollo found himself the recipient of twin expectant looks.

If he hadn’t already known the two of them were brothers, he would’ve realised then.  Lee’s eyes were greener than Will’s pure blue, and of course he was about five years older, but the look was identical.

“I ache,” he admitted, his voice whining pathetically.  “I have acne and flab.”

“Welcome to mortal teenagerhood,” Lee said wryly, as Will gaped.  “Will, want to give him the rundown?”

“Swollen nose but not broken,” Apollo’s younger son – and Olympus he was not going to be getting used to this teenage son being a similar age to his body, let alone the son that looked to be more or less out of his teenager years and into full adulthood being obviously older – reported.  “Your ribs were cracked but are healing well, and your vital signs are all good for a mortal.”  His voice broke on the last word, and to Apollo’s alarm, his eyes started to dampen.  “I gave you nectar,” he admitted, his voice shaking.  “I didn’t know- your lips started smoking-”

Lee tugged him closer, rubbing his hand along Will’s arm.  “We didn’t know,” he assured him quietly, but that didn’t stop Will’s lip from quivering.  “It’s not your fault.”

Apollo distantly hoped that that explained his fire-and-brimstone-esque nightmare.

“I take it Meg didn’t think to tell you,” he said instead, and got a fond head shake from Lee.

“I think she was too busy screeching at us to remember to give medical critical information,” he said.  “Connor and Sherman winding her up didn’t help.”

“She’s waiting outside,” Will added.  “Along with everyone else.”

As if on cue, the door slammed open, the person responsible clearly not particularly caring that Apollo might have still been passed out.  It was exactly the sort of behaviour Apollo thought Meg would be capable of, but while the height of the figure was about right, the black hair was too long, and there was a distinct lack of glinty rhinestone glasses.

They were also, unmistakably, another boy.

In his wake trailed several other figures, all taller but something told Apollo they were all younger, too.  It might have been the impressive collection of beads around his neck, or – and Apollo was going to persuade himself it was the second option – his memory wasn’t so terrible that he didn’t recognise more of his children, even if some of the newcomers were also the same age or older than his Lester-body.

It took him longer than he liked to put names to faces, but at least they did come, before he had to face the awkwardness of admitting he’d forgotten any of his children.  The two African-American boys, both in their early teens and blessedly younger than Apollo’s current state still, were Elias and Austin – Elias with the long locs, and Austin with the intricate cornrows – while the third boy, the one with a permanent limp and a strangely-dangling jacket sleeve, to say nothing of the trio of slashing scars across one side of his face, was Nathan.  The older girl, liberally freckled with her hair dangling in brown bunches, was Joy, and he was pretty certain the youngest of the group with hair the colour of Greek fire was Kayla.

Then there was the oldest teenager at the head of the pack, striding forwards with all the confidence of someone that was going to get his answers, regardless of anyone else’s wishes – or Apollo’s injuries.

Michael came to a stop next to Will, flanking his younger brother and just about in arm’s reach of Lee if the young man chose to reach out any further, and Apollo found himself fixed with an unimpressed look.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

[oblivious-idiot]

Late night collisions

Summary: You and George had many things in common, one of them being your love for sleeping in oversized t-shirts. Little did you know how much Lockwood and Lucy would speculate.

AN: This is for @lockmad - for helping me with inspiration <3

Warnings: fluff, teasing, kissing/making out, George isn't good at Uno,

Word count: 1.6k

Pairings: George Karim x fem!Reader

You and George had become pretty close since you moved into 35 Portland Row six months ago, but you'd known each other longer than that, back to when George used to work for Fittes and you worked for another small agency. The two of you shared a few different habits, you were both avid researchers, you both got fed up of Lockwood and Lucy's obliviousness to each other, but you both had a habit of sleeping in oversized t-shirts. The two of you had a tendency to find each other in the middle of the night, either bumping into each other in the hall or finding the other in the library, your tired states usually leading to pointless conversations or falling asleep on each other on the couch.

It's funny really, you can remember the day, or should you say night, like it was yesterday. The two of you had bumped into each other during the early hours of the morning to go to the bathroom, leaving you slightly flustered when you saw one another with similar sized t-shirts.

"Oh, sorry!" You say as you bump into George, not seeing him as you were rubbing your tired eyes "No, no, you're okay" George replies softly, his hands bracing your shoulders to keep you steady. You notice that his curly hair is sticking out in every directions - more than usual, and he wasn't wearing his glasses, which made you smile when you realised how cute he looked, all sleepy and disheveled. "What?" George teased, still being able to see your smile, although a little blurry "It's nothing, your hair is just a but unruly tonight, I'm not used to it is all" "Oh come off it y/n, you've seen me half asleep more times than I can count" George said softly, inching towards you so he could see you better without his glasses. He lightly brushed a strand of your hair out the side of your face, your breath hitched as his fingertips made contact with your skin "You should get some sleep, it's late" and before you knew it, he waddled off to the bathroom and left you alone in the dark.

On one of those many late nights, you found George in the library working away on old cases, his cheeks burning red when he saw your sleepy state "Hey Georgie, can't sleep?" you ask as you sip the glass of water in your hand "yeah, you know what it's like, I get carried away" he says as you sit down in the chair next to him, curling your legs to the side of your body on the chair. You sat with George for a little while reading a book to keep him company, before he turned around to look at you "Hey y/n, what do you make of this. There was an old country house in Oxford that had all but been abandoned when a party was disrupted by a large haunting. The house was build on the outskirts of an old graveyard that had been moved, but a few of the party members died from the hauntings" you sat up as he explained and listened to the case "well, it sounds an awful like they didn't move all the bodies from the ground before building the house, and so the Visitors got angry from the large presence of the living. Does it say what Types they were?" "No, but from the descriptions it has to be Type Twos. I would suspect Changers and Wraiths, from how brutal the outcome was and how little people survived."

The two of you ended up chatting into the early hours, though neither of you would admit how sleep deprived or delirious you were starting to get. You had suggested to George that you should play a game, to take your mind of thinking about the case he had told you about, so he searched the bookshelves until he came across a red pack of cards - Uno. The two of you sat on the floor to play, you daren't tell George how you had too much practice from playing it while growing up, slowly enraging him as you kept winning round after round. "Oh come on now y/n, you've got to be cheating" He complained, which only made you giggle and bring your hand to your chest in playful hurt "I don't know how you dare! You're just a sore loser George" but after a few more rounds he still hadn't won once, so instinctly he leaned over to you and tried to take a peak at your cards "George! I'm not cheating!" you cry, pushing him back while keeping the cards close to your chest "I don't believe you, I always win against Lockwood" he retaliated, which made you laugh "that's because Lockwood is awful at card ga-" you began to say but George leapt for your cards, causing you to jump up onto to your feet away from his reach.

"You're not getting my cards George" you manage to muster, you cheeks growing red from laughter as he jumps up to meet you "I just want to know how you keep winning! Where are you putting all your cards?" "I don't have them George, that's the point!" Somehow you hadn't quite noticed how the two of your had become so close, practically within arms reach of one another. You felt his breath on your face, the heat tingling your cheeks. George looked at you, a fiery intensity in his eyes you hadn't seen before, even when he was genuinely mad at you, but this was different. Before you could think, his lips were on yours, his arms pulling you closer to him, only breathing for air when your bodies collided. Without realising, you had dropped the once precious cards from your grasp and threw your arms around his neck, your fingers finding their way to George's hair to ground you in the moment.

What neither of the two of you noticed, was from all the arguing and commotion you made, Lockwood had woken and come down to see what was wrong. When he saw the two of you tangled together, he slowly backed out of the library and headed back upstairs, simply chuckling to himself "it took them long enough".

A few days past since your evening with George, and as far as you were aware no-one else knew it happened, especially not Lockwood as he daren't bring it up in conversation. It was laundry day, you couldn't put off doing the washing any longer, you were quite literally out of all your clothes.

After you took a shower, you sneaked into George's room in your towel. Luckily he wasn't there, you couldn't face him seeing you like this, so you hurried over to his dresser and pulled out one of his oversized t-shirts, certain he wouldn't mind you borrowing one. After changing and drying your hair the best you could, you collected your dirty laundry into a basket and waddled downstairs.

It was quite late in the morning, imagining all your housemates were either out or in the library, so you were surprised you when you saw all three of them in the kitchen discussing a case over eggs and bacon. "Morning y/n. So as I was saying George..." Lockwood says without looking in your direction, but when all he hears is a soft giggle coming from Lucy next to him, his eyes shoot up to meet you. He didn't quite twig what was wrong at first, until he saw George pink in the face and jaw literally dropped "morning all... any spare breakfast?" you manage to ask, your face equally as red as George's. "You haven't been sneaking into George's room in the middle of the night again, have you y/n?" Lucy asked through giggles, gesturing to your outfit which consisted of purely George's t-shirt "I-, I, no I was just borrowing it-" "I don't know what you're getting at Lucy, nothing happened-" George quickly adds, almost stuttering on his words "oh yeah, because it's definitely just laundry day" Lucy winks to you, making your cheeks grow even redder.

"Now now children, no need to shame George and y/n for their commotion the other night" Lockwood finally says with a cheeky grin, which makes everyone whip their heads to look at him "Lockwood!" all three of you cry in a mixture of disgust and surprise. "Lockwood, I swear if you don't shut up" George grumbles, which just makes both Lockwood and Lucy laugh "Oh come on Georgie, me and Luce have been calling it for weeks!" he says, standing up and downing the rest of his tea in one "Alright Luce, where's your purse, you owe me a tenner" and with that the two of them finally dragged themselves out of the kitchen, leaving you alone with George.

After quickly running down the basement and putting your clothes into the washer, you make your way back up to the kitchen, where George is distracting himself making you breakfast. "Sorry about stealing your shirt, I didn't think you'd mind" you say softly as you make yourself a tea, but George just gives you a cheeky smile in return, trying to hide his boyish excitement "It's fine, really. It suits you actually, I just didn't think I'd be seeing you wear one so soon" he teases and you push him away playfully "Shut up George, don't start thinking it'll happen again soon". After serving up your breakfast he pulls you over to the table, he hand softly cupping your cheek as you rest against the table "I hope that wasn't a promise y/n" he smiles before pulling you into a passionate kiss.

[teaandransacking]

I NEEEEDDDD vulnerable lockwood😭 just him having a really bad day mentally and on top of that a case gone wrong and he just lets it all out to reader ☹️ (why do i think that he’d be a rly pretty crier)

Words: 600 ~ Content: angst, comfort.

Portland Row is quiet when you arrive home. The sound of the door shutting behind you seems very loud.

“Lucy?” You call. “George? Lockwood?”

A sound from upstairs catches your attention. You listen for a moment.

It sounds a bit like… a sob?

You stuff your rapier in the holder in the hallway and take the stairs to the library two at a time.

Too late, you forget to knock.

Anthony Lockwood sits in his habitual wingchair in the library. When you see him here, he’s usually the picture of gentlemanly repose, reading the paper with a steaming cup of Earl Grey before him on the little occasional table. 

Today the scene is very different.

He’s hunched over, elbows on his thighs, head in his hands, bent almost double, sobs wracking him. His shoulders shudder as he cries.

You must make some sound of shock, because he looks up, and even with red-rimmed eyes, he’s gorgeous.

He swipes at his face. “Oh. Hello.”

“Don’t oh, hello me.” You cross quickly to him, kneel at his feet, reaching up to gently wipe the tracks of tears from his cheeks, and he lets you, quiet and biddable.

You gaze into his soft, sad eyes, and you know immediately what happened. 

“You went to see that client, didn’t you. We all told you to wait!” 

He sighs. “I didn’t want them to go elsewhere while we dawdled. We’re spread too thin at the moment.” The ghost of a smile tugs at his mouth. “Imagine that. Me complaining about the agency being too successful.”

You don’t smile back. “What happened?”

He swallows. “The clients are a couple with a young son. Dark hair, mischievous type. They’ve got a haunting and the wife’s worried that she and her husband are the targets, and they have no other family, so-”

“So if they did die, the boy would be alone,” you finish. “Like you were. Oh, Lockwood-”

“I had to get out of there. I fed them some bollocks about needing a second consultant with me.” His voice cracks. “I was stupid, going on my own.”

“Yeah, you were.” You cup his cheek. “Never again, promise?”

“Promise.” 

Your gazes meet and hold.

“Do you want me to go?” You whisper.

“No. No, never.” His hand slides into your hair. “I can’t think of anyone I want with me now more than you.”

Your eyes dart to the chair and then his lap. “Think there’s room in that big chair for us both?”

A real smile kisses his lips then, and he shifts backwards in the big armchair. “I think we could give it a good go.”

You kick off your shoes and you climb into his lap, and his arms come tight around you. You settle your head on his shoulder, and snuggle in, and you both stay that way for a very long time, until Lucy and George get back and find you, and you all go down to the kitchen for tea.

Lockwood sets his chair very close to yours, and you’re very glad that he’s let you find a little chink in his armour.

Lockwood and Co masterlist

[cursedluver]

i hate doing this and being transparent bc I feel like it looks like I’m just admitting I’m not good at business. but i Think i am!! but Life happens and I used my safety net (savings) and my shop became my safety net. i have one dayjob now and looking for another, but I love doing the shop and I want to make it big again someday.

IMAGE ID: a tired creature surrounded by different sections of text that says:

“cursedluver is PAUSING TRACKED SHIPPING

I INTEND FOR THIS TO BE TEMPORARY!

IM OUT OF:

- BUSINESS
CARDS

- THANK YOU CARDS

- SHIPPING LABELS

moving, mental health, and using shop profits to keep my head above water, have set me back to a much earlier state of my business. when i was hungry, the money i made from my shop fed me. I'm not making enough profit these days to add fun things to orders- someday I will get back to this!

the shop isn't making enough to be my main source of income RIGHT NOW- but I still want to keep it up and get back to where I was someday. thanks for sticking around. all orders still help me buy groceries and stuff.

I SHOULD be tabling at portland pride!!!!!!!!”

[goodluckclove]

Anyone who's read Blind Trust will know the basics of how a Lover's Knot is essentially a prison meant to take two overwhelmingly powerful birthrights and combine them into one identity too contended to cause much trouble.

This is unnerving for Scott and Edgar, who are very much two separate human beings. So as Migration Patterns winds down the question lingers - what would a real Lover's Knot look like? One that developed the way it was supposed to?

Cases have existed before but they have no interest in making themselves known. Luckily, there's a living Lover's Knot killing time right adjacent to Bluerose in Portland, Oregon!

Meet Aleph Null!

Both of these people are Aleph Null. They use any pronouns since they are a cis man and a cis woman. They also don't really care enough about other people to worry about how they get referred to. They met as children and developed together until their psyches eventually merged, erasing their previous identities and creating Aleph - the name they ended up choosing for themselves.

Aleph is 124 years old, but appears to be in their mid-thirties. Their hair is not naturally greyed, but they dye it grey out of respect for their age. They live in the penthouse of the Benton Hotel in downtown Portland and enjoy a life of luxury funded by a long-time career in art forgery. In between auctions and big sales they're also known to steal from ATMs and run other smaller, less-involved scams.

They are deeply active in the kink scene of Portland, despite being romantically faithful to one very boring man. Aleph is unhinged, intoxicated - definitely a semi-immortal up to try anything once. They only cared about themselves until they met Roderick from the Stamp Museum, and now they only care about themselves and Roderick.

This is Rod. He's like 31 and he's the manager of a small stamp museum in a dead mall. He's truly passionate about old stamps and history as a whole. Most people find him deeply boring but Aleph thinks he is the most interesting and sexually virile man they have ever met. When Aleph is done closing up the Stamp Museum that he works at for minimum wage, alongside people who space out when he starts to talk, he takes the Max back home to the Benton where he is immediately ravished by his dual-bodied lover and then fed room service and champagne.

Yeah Scott and Edgar are in for the existential crisis of their lives.

[bullet-prooflove]

A quick round up of updates on the blog including new characters added to the ASK LIST and a list of fics that went out last week:

New Fics:

Beyond Paradise:

The Last of the Summer Wine (NSFW) - Archie brings you a bottle of your fav wine as a thank you gift.

Chicago Med:

Fourth of July - Mitch and Marley 2.0 have a lot more in common than you realise.

The First Time (NSFW) - Jack reveals his secret during your first time together.

Coffee & Cake - Connor knows how to cheer you up. 

Familes - Sean meets your family for the first time.

Cobra Kai:

Letting Go - It takes you leaving for Terry to realise he needs to make a change.

Criminal Minds:

How You Need It (NSFW) - Luke hasn't been paying you enough attention.

FBI:

Jack - Stuart discovers that he fathered a child with Nina.

FBI - Most Wanted:

Love Letters - Clinton finds your love letter in his bag.

Haven:

Love Note - You wake up to a note from Dwight the morning after.

The List - Duke makes a list of the reasons you should stay with him.

Come Home - Duke travels to Nova Scotia to bring you home.

Law & Order:

How High - You say jump, Nick asks how high.

Law & Order SVU:

POLY!AU - Mike Duarte, Joe Velasco, Terry Bruno X Reader

Day to Day - How it works in the day to day

Various HCs - A variation of HCs for the Poly

NCIS:

How We Met & How Alden Finds Out About Kris

All The Federales Say... - Alden tells you about what happened to Bonnie.

Portland - You and Alden take some time off to recalibrate after Bonnie.

Grief - Nick tries to be there for you after the discovery of your sister's body.

NCIS Hawaii:

Ophelia!Series: Part Three: Ohana - Charlie goe to Joe to get help.

NCIS - New Orleans:

Ro - Dwayne starts to see you in a different light.

The Rookies - Feds:

Not The Way That I Love You - Brendon cancels his wedding.

SOA:

Reverence (NSFW) - Kozik treats you the way you deserve.

Unburied - You're forced to make a choice when one of your secrets becomes unburied. (Chibs x Reader)

Top Gun Maverick:

Love Me In Red (NSFW) - Beau has always loved you in red.

Yellowstone:

Wishes - Ryan wishes things were different between the two of you.

The Next Step - Travis asks you to take the next step in the relationship.