#orlando retreat

[trendspostneel]

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[iguessthisisanewobsession]

Ghostwriter was really asking for soup time at this point.

He had apologized for his first Christmas truce before, last year he even convinced Clockwork to help him make a copy of the original work he had ruined.

So why in god’s gracious earth did he wake up to Amity Park being in a hallmark movie.

Danny glared as the people milled about the center of town like they haven’t since the portal opening.

It was unnerving, the only thing really missing from the equation was some out of town love interest or something.

“Hey, excuse me.”

Tall and built with black hair and blue eyes.

Oh you got to be-

~~~~~~~~~~~

Dick tried to make himself look more charming as the guy he approached turned around.

When he heard that the justice league were getting concerning calls about a town In Illinois, he saw an out from the Christmas gala.

Sure Dick enjoyed the season, but the fact that he has to spend a large amount of the winter season putting up a front as the perfect firstborn was not something he wanted to do unless he had to.

That being said, the town was a bit unnerving. He hadn’t seen anything supernatural per say but the constant cheer is something he had only ever seen on the silver screen of his home. He had tried to approach several different people only to be met with seasons greetings and promptly ignored when as they ran off to do whatever small towns do for the holidays.

This guy at least wasn’t plastering a smile on his face.

“Hey, excuse me I’m new in town and looking around, my name is-“

“Let me guess, Rupert or Orlando or some shit.”

“What?”

“Well it has to be pompous and annoying. It’s kind of a trend and shit last time I checked.”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about man I just wanted to ask-“

The man snorted as he left, throwing over his shoulder with a large amount of snark,

“For a tour around town? A place to stay? A friendly face? Sorry man, man but I’m not interested. The town square is full, ask someone else I have a date with a caffeine addiction.”

Dick watched a bit stupefied as the guy weaves into the ground and out of his eyesight.

“Well he seemed charming.”

Dick raised his phone to the earpiece and sighed,

“Yeah well, he’s the first person who didn’t sound like they weren’t on a script so far. I didn’t even know that midwesterners took Christmas so seriously. How long until you reach town Jay?”

I’m reaching midtown just about now. It looks like Santa took a shit on every-“

There was a sudden squeal of tires as the line cut.

Oh no.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jason gasped as he tried to calm his breath glancing at the guy he almost hit on his bike.

Jesus Christ that was close.

“Shit man are you alright?”

“Peachy. Always liked pancakes and all that.”

~~~~~~~

Danny felt a blush hit him as the behemoth of a guy let out a snort. It was embarrassing that he didn’t notice the guy until he almost became a smear, the dude was built like a tank and wearing a red helmet.

“I shouldn’t’ve taken that turn that quickly.. sometimes forget I’m not at home.”

“Oh yeah? Where’s home for you?”

“Gotham if you believe that.”

“Explains why you drive like you’re chased by death.”

“You have no idea..”

He took off his helmet with another snort and shake of the head. A white wisp in a sea of black shook out while mirthful blue eyes met his.

Crap..

“Name’s Jason. You are?”

“Nunya,”

The guy raised a brow mildly confused.

“Pardon?”

“Nunyabusinessbye!”

Danny took off before he was done with the sentence. He could feel eyes on his retreat for the second time today.

‘Jesus, smooth recovery Fenton.’

~~~~~~~~

Tim rubbed his eyes as he listened to his older brothers bicker over the coms.

He couldn’t understand the issue with the surveillance! All the cameras and mics are properly functioning but for some reason everything is corrupted and it’s driving Tim up a wall!

A break, Tim needed a break from this Airbnb and something caffeinated.

~~~~~~~~

‘Just ten minutes, ten minutes and he could get his drink, he could rant to his friends on the group chat afterwards and wait out the story. ‘

And with as much bravo as any tired young adult, he entered the shop.

Danny almost left the cafe as he heard another unfamiliar voice bellow out.

“What do you mean you don’t have coffee, it’s a coffee shop!”

Blue eyes, black hair, surprisingly smaller than the first two and eye bags that could rival Danny some nights.

Danny was done.

Fuck the treaty this was war.

[manorpunk]

3️⃣

History only makes sense in retrospect. 

Take, for example, the decade-long period of the French Revolution, or the decades between World War I and World War II. A decade is like a blip to the casual historian, a mere moment, so short it was nearly one-dimensional, like a line separating the before from the after. Those who lived through it, however, must have spent years wondering each morning whether their current government and/or life would still exist by lunchtime, and even when the dust finally settles, that’s not really a feeling that one can easily forget. People can only draw neat, dispassionate little lines around such events when they no longer live in its shadow, and the shadow of the Polycrisis still loomed menacingly over the American League.

There were some who were eager to move on, who would say that progress is always disruptive - the old must be dismantled to make way for the new. Others would say that it was one thing to have a controlled demolition, and an entirely separate thing to wake up one day to find that your electricity and plumbing were no longer working, and the government was not going to help you because its existence was tenuous at best, and all of the sub-contracted third-party subsidiaries who actually did the work of repairing power grids refused to take responsibility with your piddly little suburb because they were too busy trying to keep the lights on in places that ‘actually mattered.’ 

The causes of the Polycrisis were many and varied, hence the name, but a certain pattern had emerged in retrospect - climate change caused natural disasters, natural disasters destroyed infrastructure, destroyed infrastructure caused economic collapse, economic collapse caused political collapse. Casual historians might note how that pattern echoed the fall of most empires going back to the fall of Rome. But it was never supposed to happen to America. The blessed antipodes were not supposed to be like everywhere else. They were supposed to be where the lights always stayed on. Always.

Well, sometimes.

As the US federal government shrank, retreated, and finally collapsed, new states sprang up soon after. New England, Tidewater, and the Free Imperial New York drew their lines along the east coast; Cascadia created itself and formed a personal union with the Californian Commonwealth on the west coast after the Jefferson Rebellion was put down; and the Texaplex Megapole asserted its authority over Texas and neighboring states promising protection against Norteño incursions. The Great Lakes Republic formed shortly and reluctantly afterwards, becoming a sprawling Germany-esque collection of mid-sized cities jockeying against one another.

The rest of America, its vast and abandoned plains, its hollowed-out mountains and sinking coasts, became ‘the manors,’ places where power had devolved down to the newest class of rural gentry: fast food franchisees, car dealerships, beverage distributors, and the like. They were small-business tyrants and petite-bourgeoise corporate middlemen who had spent their lives wishing for the government to hurry up and collapse already so that they could live out their fantasies of being petty kings, bandit chiefs, and lords of the manor (hence the name). They would not give up their fantasies without a bitter and bloody fight.

Also, Orlando had become the microstate of Disneystadt, the Founderist equivalent of Vatican City.

Also, the western side of Appalachia was now a khaganate.

Perhaps one day people would see it as something like the French Revolution or interwar period, as a goofy but brief period of liminal turmoil wedged between two separate worlds. Here is how some of her contemporaries saw it:

“They elected fucking Spongebob president,” said Cornelius Mammon, the pale and wraithlike governor of New England, seated at one end of a long semicircular table, lined with chairs along its curve, all facing a gigantic wall-mounted screen on the far end of the room. ‘Old money’ seemed inadequate to describe the austere and sunken appearance of Cornelius; he was more like undead money. 

On the one hand, New England was populous, urbanized, relatively geographically sensible, united by a distinct and storied culture, and had been poised to shrug off the Polycrisis and carry on as normal. On the other hand, Boston and Philadelphia.

“Here I thought things were going to get back to normal,” Cornelius continued hoarily, “and now she’s going to rename the White House to ‘the Fun Zone.’ This is why democracy was a mistake.”

“Normal?” Young Oldman, governor of the Tidewater region, scoffed. He had a calculated plain appearance, revealing little about himself. Even his skin was a beige ‘off-white’ color that made people guess whether he was biracial or Middle Eastern or just a white guy with a tan. Ruling over the former head of the imperial American government and its intelligence apparatus, Young had learned to play it so close to the vest you’d need a seam ripper to get any answers out of him. He always kept his mouth shut.

Well, sometimes.

“Would that Sunny were some unwelcome intrusion of oddness into an otherwise august body. Have you seen the other nut bars we’ve been packed in here with?” Young jabbed a thumb at his neighbor, Vinny Vidivici, mayor of Free Imperial New York, who looked like a clogged shower drain that had gained sentience and put on a suit.

“You folks ever been to New York? We exchange money for goods and services there. Greatest fuckin city in the world baby,” Vinny said.

Young nodded and silently daydreamed about hunting him for sport.

“Personally, I think Sunny is just some GLN cabalist with a voice modulator,” said Johann van Gekkehuis, the pasty, gravelly-voiced, flannel-wearing governor of the Great Lakes Republic, with a bushy copper beard and a receding hairline, “have you ever seen her and Harold in the same room?”

“Yes,” said Young. Just because he played it close to the vest didn’t mean he couldn’t mess with people, and Johann was easy to mess with.

Johann had made his bones as a podcaster and had a natural talent for disguising all manner of conspiracy theories and ostensibly playful bigotry as good old-fashioned hard-nosed socialism. But being a conspiracy theorist wasn’t fun anymore. There was no point. The globalist puppet-masters didn’t hide in shadowy backrooms. They had HR departments, they had newsletters, they sent spam emails demonstrating the ways they controlled and surveilled every moment of your life, and that was so much more demoralizing than keeping it secret.

Behind Johann paced a meticulously handsome black man in a crisp navy blue suit, his eyes hidden behind a large pair of shades. He nodded to himself as he walked and talked into his headset. He was Michael McCoy, governor of the Piedmont region. Piedmont, encompassing the eastern half of Georgia and the Carolinas, was one of the newer states, and its constituents had carried the extra burden of rebuilding and reorienting themselves after the race war. They finished what the Northerners had started and then abandoned, two hundred years ago almost exactly, Northerners who decided they would let millions of black people linger as third-class citizens rather than hang even a few openly seditious gentlemen. But not Michael McCoy. Enough with being respectable, enough with being nonviolent, enough with taking the high road. Michael McCoy wanted blood.

That was a lie - Michael McCoy was an agricultural manager who rose to prominence shortly after the bloodshed had ended thanks to a series of excellent ad campaigns and his public image as a squeaky-clean family man. He simply enjoyed a victory lap as much as the next guy. And maybe wanted a little blood.

“Listen,” Michael said into his headpiece, “I’m not saying we need the change to be permanent. I just want it to be called ‘N[redacted]land’ for like a couple hours, then it can go back to being Piedmont. We don’t even have to tell anyone else about it.”

(Certain words have been redacted in the interest of not saying them. If you wish to see racial slurs, they can be unlocked by submitting proof of relevant ancestry to your local department of reclamation).

He listened through his earpiece, then scowled. “Why? I’ll tell you why - because then Sunny would have to say it on camera, and that would be fucking hilarious. See? You laughed, you get it. You want to know what would happen. It’s - listen, just - yeah - no - if - alright, alright, fine,” he sighed, “no name change. It’s staying as Piedmont. Y’all pussies.”

The atmosphere of general grumbling was interrupted by a choir of air horns blaring the opening bars to the Star Spangled Banner. The massive screen at the far end of the room turned itself on, revealing a towering Sunny Roosevelt with a long red dress and a thin, fuming smile.

“Hi! Wow. I heard all of that,” she said.

Michael McCoy took off his headset and looked up. “Miss Roosevelt, I have an urgent request-“

“No. Let’s get a few things straight here-” Sunny began.

“No, let’s you get something straight,” Cornelius fumed, jabbing a bony finger at her and half-standing up, “you have no power over us. You’re a fucking mascot, and we are the directors of-”

“Michael, slap him,” Sunny said.

Michael turned, grinned, and dutifully slapped Cornelius across the face in one smooth unhesitating motion. Cornelius was stunned into silence, looking between the two of them, not sure who to fume at. Young bit back a smile. Sunny pounced on the momentary silence.

“Okay, thing one - people actually like mascots. They do not like a bunch of rich old ghouls who are three minutes away from eating each other alive. Thing two - I’m so much more than a mascot. I’m a widely-beloved celebrity with millions of psycho-sexually obsessed followers hanging on my every word. So, what do you think that means for the next person who pisses me off?”

Nobody said a word, but as they pondered the threat of a weaponized legion of John Hinckleys, there was the sound of several sphincters involuntarily clenching (for the curious, it sounded a little like jumping on a rubber mat).

“That’s what I thought. You see this?” Sunny pointed at her own face, “this is Angry Sunny. You get Angry Sunny because you weren’t niceys to me. If you are niceys to me, you get Happy Sunny, and you want Happy Sunny. Happy Sunny will get you re-elected. Angry Sunny will kill you. Am I understood?”

There was a nervous, shifting silence as the east coast branch of Neo-Congress began to digest their new situation, except for Michael, who was hoping he would get to slap someone again.

“Am I understood?” she barked.

There were guilty, mumbled agreements. That would have to do for now. Sunny snapped her fingers. Her red dress became shorter and frillier. A blue collar lined with white stars appeared on her shoulders. Even the lines of her face became softer and more youthful. Happy Sunny clasped her hands together and smiled radiantly.

“That’s great! I’m so glad we got that little whoopsie-doodle figured out, and I’m sure it won’t happen again. I’m looking forward to working with all of you towards our common goal of making America… well, extant again.” 

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

Trumps of the Tropics: Brazil’s Far Right Plots Its Return

As president of Brazil, Jair Bolsonaro was often called the Trump of the Tropics, an association the Bolsonaro family actively cultivated. From the moment he was elected in 2018, he loudly celebrated the United States — in his first year in office, he even saluted the U.S. flag — but he saved his most intense loyalty for one American. When he met President Trump at the United Nations in 2019, he told him: “I love you.”

Before assuming power, Bolsonaro was an anti-democratic ideologue and former military man with a decades-long career in politics; Trump was a real estate developer and a media personality. But over the six years that Bolsonaro drove the news cycles in Latin America’s largest nation, he gave journalists a long list of reasons to equate the two men. Both made a show of praising authoritarian leaders, past and present, and liked to style themselves as defenders of law and order while acting as if the rules didn’t apply to them. Both formed an alliance with the religious right late in their careers and enlisted their sons to help push their respective agendas. Both frequently took to Twitter to attack their enemies, troll traditional media and rile up their supporters. And both retreated to Florida when things got tough.

For decades, the Brazilian right had looked to the United States, and when Donald Trump began to transform the rules of political discourse, it took note. “We learned to have the courage to speak up,” says Damares Alves, an evangelical pastor who served as Bolsonaro’s minister of human rights, families and women. “We began to be more incisive on the question of abortion. We learned we could be more direct about the question of arming the population. We realized we could take a tougher stand against the left-wing transformation taking place across our continent.”

As president, Bolsonaro seemed eager to import as much of the MAGA movement to Brazil as possible. So when Trump supporters attacked the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6, 2021, to protest a “stolen” election, many Brazilians worried that Bolsonaro supporters might try something similar. That’s exactly what happened. On Jan. 1, 2023, when Bolsonaro’s opponent, Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, leader of the left-wing Workers’ Party, took office, Bolsonaro skipped the ceremony, holing up instead in the Orlando suburbs, at the home of a mixed-martial-arts fighter. For weeks, Bolsonaristas had been camping out around the country, under banners calling for an “intervention.” In an echo of Jan. 6, they chose Jan. 8 to occupy and attack government buildings in the capital, Brasília, even though the transition had already taken place and the buildings were largely empty. Military police officers arrested more than 1,000 people, and Lula quickly reasserted control of the country.

Bolsonaro, like Trump, now faces a host of criminal charges for trying to impede democratic elections. Trump has been convicted in one case, but only Bolsonaro has been deemed ineligible to run for president. In June 2023, Brazil’s electoral court ruled that his attacks on the voting system disqualified him from running for any political office until 2030. He is now facing hundreds of other court cases. In February of this year, authorities confiscated his passport after arresting several former aides accused of plotting a coup, making another escape to Florida impossible. Bolsonaro took refuge for two nights in the Hungarian Embassy in São Paulo, perhaps hoping to leverage his relationship with Prime Minister Viktor Orban (one of many friends he shares with Trump) if flight became necessary.

While Bolsonaro is barred from the political arena — at least for now — the movement that he unleashed is very much alive. Bolsonaristasdid well in the election that he lost, demonstrating that the movement was bigger than the man, and they now have real power at federal and state levels. Because congressional politics in Brazil are byzantine — there are 23 parties in Congress, and members can shift allegiances quickly — it would be difficult for Lula to govern even if Bolsonaro’s right-wing Liberal Party were not the largest party in the legislature. As things stand, the Bolsonaristas routinely complicate things for Lula, as they try to pull the country back to the far right.

In 2023, Bolsonaro’s allies began working to create a kind of Bolsonarismo sem Bolsonaro, or Bolsonaro-style politics without Bolsonaro. In interviews in the capital late last year, a rough philosophical and tactical division emerged. One group wants to show that it is moderating its positions and committed to responsibly governing the country; another is doubling down on the kind of fiery rhetoric that drives engagement online and reproduces tropes familiar to observers of right-wing media in the United States.

Continue reading.

[andromedism]

top 5 macden moments?

Thank you for allowing me to think about this even more than usual. ❤️

1. It will always be the RPG handoff in “Tends Bar.” That look on Dennis’ face when he realizes Mac got him a gift, that rare moment of openness and vulnerability. Watched this as it aired back in 2017, and during this part, I jumped out a window and was killed instantly and I’m actually a ghost telling this to you now.

2. Their blowout fight in “Mac Bangs Dennis’ Mom.” Imagine me sitting on my couch tenting my hands together like Mr. Burns from The Simpsons and saying “mm yesss yesss good good” when I watch this scene.

3. I am a sucker for Hugh Honey and Vic Vinager. If I’m reading a fic where they come up, I yell and rip my shirt off like the hulk. I have no shirts anymore. I’ve had to cut holes in reusable grocery bags and wear them. I just got a corner office at work, and immediately bought this art print of them to put up because it’s a canon event in my life to do this.

4. We do have an American hero in the house tonight. A strong man, a brave man. He's the kind of man who knows exactly who he is. He doesn't hide under a toupee. He faces his challenges, instead of just retreating to the sewers...nude to forage for rings and coins. Or to the toilets. Or to a life filled with rats. He's the kind of man who gives me the courage to do an amazing double jackknife twist, which I did. Most of you people wouldn't even attempt that. I did it. And to go down on Chrissy Orlando on the trampoline later, on the very same night, which I also did. And I licked her assh*le a little bit. It was pretty good. It was all right. It wasn't great. But it was fine. And I knew that it was gonna be fine because this guy would be here to catch me if I faltered. Yeah. The world is a safer place when he's around. ♪ Did you ever know that you're my hero? Cause you are the wind Beneath my wings. ♪ Thank you. Thanks.

5. Thought about the “Dennis Gets Divorced” boy toy scene for too long and now mascara is dripping down my face (I’m not wearing mascara).

Honorable Mentions:

The little shrug and smile they exchange at the end of MADBU gets me every time. It’s like a scene from a Nora Ephron film. Why would they do that to me, personally?

This should probably be in the top five, and it’s still fresh so I haven’t figured out where to rank it yet, but they shared a bed in “Inflates.” They did that. Them. Woof.

DDL’s “Um...there's really no easy way to say this, but, um, Mac and I aren't just friends. He's actually my, uh...” “Lover.” “Partner” still goes hard. That’s ao3 dialogue right there.

[angstyaches]

Hi!I love your fics so much and I saw your request things and thought maybe you could do Donnacha or Henry with an upset stomach that pushes them to the edge? Like they have to go go go all day long and it makes them like super overwhelmed but it ends all fluffy with the other character comforting them with belly rubs or a hot shower or smth?? Only do this if you want ofc!! Just a an idea! Ok bye!!

I was so sure that this hadn't been in my inbox for too long, but then I realised my original draft is named 'henry sickfic june' lmao thank you for the lovely request and for your patience, anon 🖤

CW: anxiety, depression, bad self talk, chronic pain, job interview scenario, death mention, emeto, stomach noises, platonic caretaking, belly rubs.

Word Count: 4,000+

___

Henry woke up feeling far too rested. 

Not a good sign.  

Even before he’d untangled his thoughts from the hazy dream he’d been having – the details were already retreating, but he was certain that Orlando Bloom had been somewhat involved – he knew in his bones that he had slept through his alarms. 

Cold spikes of adrenaline flipped him onto his back, joints protesting, so he could reach for his phone and his glasses. He pressed the glasses to his face and read the time on the screen. The taste of bile crept into his dry mouth. 

“Oh, fuck.”  

He scrubbed a hand over his face. He hadn’t shaved in ages, and his stubble was just short of a full-fledged beard at this rate. He’d intended to shave this morning, before sitting down to do a remote job interview that had been scheduled for one hour and forty-three minutes ago. 

Well. The company may as well have received written confirmation that he was no longer interested.  

Woops.  

He supposed he could call them up now and apologise for running late, and maybe they’d give him another shot –  

Henry’s stomach instantly turned at the idea, and he had to swallow very measuredly to avoid choking on a mouthful of bile. 

He had another interview lined up for later that afternoon, in case interview number one fell flat. Which it technically hadn’t. Now everything depended on the second – only – interview, a thought that had his stomach twisting again as soon as he had it. He almost regretted that he hadn’t managed to sleep through that appointment, too; at least then it would have been out of his hands. 

Henry hauled himself out of bed, grabbed his cane, and headed down the hallway for a quick, lukewarm shower. He thought about his day as he worked the grease out of his hair and the sheet-marks out of his face; his failure to make his first meeting of the day clawed at him, clinging to his skin despite the running water. As much as he’d been dreading the human interaction, he needed work – for the sense of purpose as much as the financial compensation. 

But... mostly the financial compensation. 

Digging through his clothes, he realised that the first thing he’d needed to do that morning was stick a bundle of his laundry into the washer-dryer, so he would have a decent shirt to wear for his interviews. Well, interview singular now. He dragged his laundry basket to the kitchen and filled the machine. His hip and back started aching with the effort of crouching, and head spun with urgency, frustration, and the overall unpleasantness of waking up to instant panic. His hair – now long enough to lick the neckline of his sweater – dripped cold water into his clothes. 

Alright. The dry cycle would be finished a measly fifteen minutes before he’d need a shirt. He’d really needed to wake up with that first alarm, but... it was fine. This was fine. 

While the washing machine hummed to life and water trickled into the drum, Henry gingerly righted himself, fingers working into the tension in his hip. Tears stabbed at the backs of his eyeballs and his jaws sat tense, but there was no sense in letting the pain steal his focus when he had things to be doing. 

He eyed the cupboards and considered dragging something out for a breakfast/lunch hybrid, but he felt his stomach do a queasy little backflip at the thought.  

He slinked back to his room, his heart thumping like he’d run a marathon, and lowered himself into his desk chair. 

___ 

Henry tried tapping around on Reddit to kill the time, but the constraints of both his laundry and his upcoming interview made it impossible for him to get absorbed in anything other than watching the time. His eyes skimmed over words and paragraphs without really taking anything in, and what little information his brain did let in only made him confused and angry. His mind was locked up tight, sealing itself up in fear of forgetting what he was supposed to do later. 

He typed the name of the company he’d be interviewing with later into a search engine. Maybe if he convinced himself he was being productive, his brain would give him a break. 

Light stabbed his eyes and Henry almost physically recoiled when their website appeared on-screen. No wonder they were looking to hire a web designer. The thing looked like it’d been created by a thirteen-year-old in 2004, despite the fact that the About Us portion stated that the company had been established in 2016.  

Henry was ready to click away from the site again – any longer in front of that wall of neon yellow and headers written in Bradley Hand, and he’d trigger a migraine – when a twinge of hunger sent his stomach into a spiraling churn.  

“Oh, great, now you’re hungry,” Henry murmured, gliding a hand over his belly.  

As indignant as he was about having to move, he was a little grateful to be given a task. He pulled himself out of the desk chair with a resigned sigh. After making himself a milky cup of coffee and a sandwich, using the last slice of cheese in the fridge, he hobbled over to the living room couch.  

He thought about turning the TV on, but the remote was out of immediate reach, so that decision was made for him. He ate in silence. 

He took a few bites of his sandwich that didn’t really taste... like anything. He hadn’t had anything to drink, since he’d woken late and in such a panic; maybe it was his dry mouth that was stopping his taste buds from doing their job. He took his coffee mug firmly by the handle and gulped down a few mouthfuls, stopping when the bitterness clung to the back of his throat. Not his best move, he thought with a shudder. He managed a few more bites and, unable to force himself to eat the crusts when his appetite was already so poor, called it there. 

___ 

Henry’s belly roiled. He could feel a panicky sheen of sweat gathering under his clothes. and his voice trembled throughout the meeting, It was so hard to sort through his dizzy thoughts that he struggled to answer the most basic of questions; what were his qualifications, what previous work was he the proudest of, what had he struggled with in the past and how had he overcome that struggle. 

“Thank you for allowing me to get to know you, Mr. Wilde,” the interviewer said now, smiling at him through the screen. “Your qualifications and experience are probably the most outstanding of all of our candidates so far. But I am just curious; what it is that interested you about this particular project?”  

Henry swallowed thickly. Despite this very immediate emergency situation, all he could think about was how Lucy would have passed away from second-hand embarrassment if she ever found out that the extent of his research on this company hadn’t gone beyond a brief skim of their website. 

He mumbled something about potential, even though all he could think about was the potential of him taking a nap directly after this interview ended. To his left, his bed lay beneath the armfuls of clothing that he’d moved out of his webcam’s line of sight, yet it seemed to peer out at him with a warm, tempting gaze. He could call it a day here, and hope she’d hire him based on his credentials alone. 

A warm, sickly belch crawled up his throat. He managed to stifle and muffle it, but his fist jerked towards his lips out of instinct, his cheeks puffing out slightly. The air settled back into his stomach with an acidic slosh, and he eyed his interviewer carefully. 

“Excuse me, sorry,” he mumbled. 

She blinked, regarding him with a hint of distaste, but moved along. “So, if we were to hire you for this project, where would you begin?” 

Henry cleared his throat, removing his fist. He was becoming irritated now; it felt as though she were tricking him into giving her instructions for whatever sap she hired, be it him or somebody else. But sometimes, you just had to jump through hoops to get ahead. Or stay afloat. 

“Well...” He cleared his throat. “I think I would begin by implementing some basic changes to the optics of the company’s home page. It’s the first impression of your company that many customers will get, so I feel it’s important to provide a good visual impact.” 

“Visual.” The interviewer – shame curdled in Henry’s gut as he realised he’d already forgotten her name – raised an eyebrow. “This project doesn’t concern any graphic work.” 

Catastrophe bloomed amidst the existing unease in Henry’s belly. He could let himself off the hook for not knowing the company inside-out, but not knowing the details of the position he was applying for was a whole other level of unpreparedness. The Lucy in his head was slapping her forehead and shaking her head, disowning him. 

“But you’ve intrigued me,” the interviewer said. “What optics are you referring to?” 

If you want my input, hire me, Henry wanted to snap at her. 

“Well, there are some scenarios where websites such as your current one would lend a certain retrospective, nostalgic charm,” Henry said, adjusting his glasses with a shaky hand, “but since I have no reason to believe that this was the intention here, the current website makes your company appear out of touch, and the previous designer seem like an incompetent amateur.” 

With a deep nod of her head, the interviewer looked down at the notepad she’d been clutching since the call had begun. She tucked a nonexistent strand of stray hair behind her ear. “The previous designer was my deceased partner.” 

Henry’s throat froze over. 

“But I thank you for your feedback on her competence, Mr. Wilde, or... lack thereof, as it would seem.” Her eyes widened as she jotted something down. Her sudden lack of eye contact seemed intentional. “That’s all I need from you right now.” 

Henry fidgeted in his desk chair. He’d done such a great job of not fidgeting until that point. An apology danced on the tip of his tongue, but all that came out when he opened his mouth was, “Alright.” 

“Thank you for your time.” The interviewer didn’t even off a ‘we’ll be in touch’ before she ended the video call and vanished from his screen. 

Henry sat back in his chair, flung his glasses across his keyboard, and groaned loudly into his palms. When the groan didn’t seem like enough, he allowed himself something a little closer to a scream – why not? He was home alone, and the downstairs lot had been unoccupied ever since they’d moved in.  

The sound turned over painfully in his throat and made his eyes water. His insides felt like they were shrinking under the weight of failure, uselessness, despair, and hopelessness, and his shoulders crumpled inwards until his head was resting on the edge of his desk. 

It felt like forever before a sob finally tore loose, and with it came the sickly belch he’d swallowed on the video call, only this time, it came with interest. His stomach was churning wildly, feeling full to the brim with acidic mush. 

Jesus Christ, he hadn’t even said sorry for his remark, or thanked the interviewer for taking the time to speak with him –  

Vision blurry, Henry’s hands scrambled to find the metal bin he usually filled with sticky notes and chocolate wrappers and noodle cups. He shifted his chair forward in the search, jamming one of the wheels against his own foot. He yanked the bin into his lap as his stomach muscles imploded.  

No, he thought, tossing the bin back to the floor. Puking in his bin would mean washing it later, and Henry didn’t trust his energy levels to be up for an extra task after all of this.  

He gripped the edge of his desk, flinching to his feet and setting his stationery holders rattling. His hip seized up as he straightened, and if that wasn’t bad enough, a spike of tension pierced his temples. He staggered into the hallway and towards the bathroom, and, mercifully, made it to the toilet bowl before his stomach could really get going. 

The pressure at the base of his oesophagus felt like too much laundry being pushed into a washing machine drum at one time. It took far too long for him to retch up even the tiniest splatter of burning-hot bile; the liquid ejected from his stomach probably amounted to less than the liquid he’d squeezed out of his eyes.  

Still, his body seemed satisfied with that for now. The nausea retreated, leaving only that stubborn pain in his belly and the matching pain left behind by the clenching in his throat. 

He sank to the floor, knuckles pale and jutting as he gripped the toilet seat with both hands. He forced up a burp that was pressing at the base of his ribs, grimacing and desperate for relief, but it only brought that hot, heavy feeling back. His stomach burbled. His hip ached. His goosebump-ridden body shuddered. His heart curdled into a lump of despair that sat at the back of his throat. 

He belched again, and this time, up came his sandwich. 

___ 

“Henry, it’s Flatmate Friday,” Donnacha called through the door, as drily as he might have said that it was raining outside.  

Henry groaned quietly into his pillow. Flatmate Friday generally involved pizza delivery and a nostalgic movie or two, while three people sat crushed together on the couch and the fourth either took up residence on the floor or on a dining chair. 

“Hen, you alive in there?” Donnacha asked. “More importantly, are you decent?” 

Knowing he wouldn’t be able to convince Donnacha not to come into his room, Henry gave in to the inevitable. He tugged the duvet out of the way of his mouth and called out, “Yes.” 

“Look,” Donnacha sighed as he breezed into the room. His eyes lingered on the mess of clothing that lay between the door and the bed, but only for a few seconds. “I know Lucy brought you your slices last week, but I don’t agree with that! I’m sorry if it sounds harsh, or whatever, but the point of Flatmate Fridays is... you know. Hanging out with your flatmates on a Friday. If I can be civil with Payton in the spirit of Flatmate Friday, then you can at least manage the ten paces it takes from here to the couch...” 

There was a brief flash of silence. 

“Jesus, Hen,” Donnacha said softly. Ha shimmied around the clothes mountain. His weight tipped one side of the mattress, creating a slope that pulled Henry’s legs towards the warmth of Donnacha’s back. “What’s going on? Bad day?” 

Henry shrugged. 

“Those... those new meds messing you up?” There was a soft, sympathetic melody to Donnacha’s voice now. He wove his fingertips into the fluffy mess of Henry’s hair.  

The gesture took him so much by surprise that tears sprang to Henry’s eyes, almost as uncontrollably as vomit. 

“Hen,” Donnacha exclaimed in a whisper, as though Henry had done something outrageous by tearing up. “What’s up? This is scary. Please tell me.” 

“I... fucked up so many times today,” Henry said numbly. It all felt so... inconsequential now that he was trying to summarise it for someone who wasn’t there. Someone who didn’t share his headspace. Someone who could smile and shrug and tell him to try again another day.  

Someone who, sweet as he was, didn’t understand.  

“What do you mean?” The sympathetic edge left Donnacha’s voice, leaving only disbelief. Genuine disbelief that Henry could have fucked anything up because Henry was older, Henry was smarter, Henry never left the apartment so when would he even have the opportunity to fuck anything up? 

“I-I woke up feeling like shit, and then I missed one job interview, and I really... really wanted that one.” He hadn’t admitted it to himself earlier, but now it hit him like a rock to the gut, that the interview he’d missed had meant so much more to him than the other one. “A-and then, I spectacularly fucked up the second one –” 

“It can’t have been that bad.” 

“I insulted the interviewer’s dead partner.” 

Donnacha’s lips hovered apart, wordless. Yeah, that’s what I thought, Henry wanted to spit. 

“And then I-I completely shut down for the rest of the day... I’m behind on my current deadlines –”  

“Hey, it’s okay,” Donnacha said. 

He didn’t even realise he’d started heaving with sobs until he felt Donnacha’s hands trying to still his shuddering shoulders. He leaned into his arms, the mattress rolling his legs and his torso closer to Donnacha’s weight as the larger boy edged a little closer. 

“And you’ve just been lying here all by yourself? Why didn’t you call out to any of us when we got home?” 

A small, bitter voice in Henry’s head wanted to snap, Why didn’t any of you think to check on me? but he knew that was unfair. Most days, he was fine, but still didn’t like having his flatmates entering his personal space without an invitation. 

“Why didn’t you tell me... tell us you had interviews this week?” Donnacha wondered. His eyes darted across Henry’s face, as though he thought he had a better chance of finding an answer in his pores and his eyeballs than of getting an answer verbally. “You don’t need to keep all this shit to yourself.” 

Henry shrugged. He honestly wasn’t sure. Part of him had wanted to avoid Career Guidance Lucy and her sporadic seminars on interview skills. Part of him had dreaded the inevitable words of encouragement that Donnacha and Payton would no doubt have offered him, making it feel like an even bigger deal, an even more profound failure, when he didn’t get the jobs. He’d wanted to secure a new gig in secret, and mention it casually to his flatmates after the fact.  

Anything else was just asking for too much attention, building up too many expectations... 

A weak gurgle broke the silence, and Henry instinctively covered his stomach with his palm. Donnacha’s eyes followed the movement. A second later, there was a deeper sound, a hollow grumble that Henry felt tickle at the back of his throat. 

“Have you eaten today?” 

“Yes. I’m not hungry,” he added, already knowing that Donnacha was going to suggest, once again, that he join the others for pizza and Flatmate Friday. It was just unfortunate that his belly decided to rumble for a third time. 

“Somehow, I think you're lying to me.” 

“No - you don’t get it,” Henry sighed. Noting that Donnacha had left the door ajar and that Lucy was just down the hallway in the living area, he lowered his voice and leaned a little closer to Donnacha’s shoulder. “After my second interview... my only interview, in the end,” Henry growled, kicking his past self yet again, “I felt so sick to my stomach that I threw up my lunch.” 

Donnacha looked positively wounded with sympathy. Henry wondered how the hell he managed it.  

“Hen...” Donnacha’s hand pushed gently into Henry’s hair again. 

It was all Henry could do not to whimper and melt into the touch. He settled for letting his eyes flutter shut. He didn’t deserve the tingling pleasure that was flowing from Donnacha’s fingertips into his skull, softening the sparking, frayed edges of his nerves.  

“I’ll bring you your slices, if you want them.” 

Henry shook his head. He might have been trembling with emotion now, rather than nausea, but he still didn’t feel up to putting anything in his stomach.  

“I’ll bring mine, too. We can hang out in here, watch our own movie.”  

“No,” he choked out, pulling away from Donnacha’s hand and resting his head on the pillow again.  

“Just give me one minute.” Donnacha didn’t hesitate another second before getting up from the bed and tackling the obstacle course that was Henry’s bedroom floor one more time. 

Henry buried his face in his pillow, part of him hoping that Donnacha would somehow change his mind while he was out there and not come back. Part of him felt extremely cold and hollow at the thought of him changing his mind and not coming back. 

These feelings were confusing. Henry didn’t like it when feelings were confusing. Maybe that was what prompted him to groan in displeasure when Donnacha returned, carrying a plate laden with at least five slices of pepperoni pizza. The smell made Henry’s stomach growl with hunger that felt a lot like nausea, or... nausea that felt a lot like hunger. 

“You can’t be in here,” Henry muttered as Donnacha leaned over the mess to prop the plate on the edge of Henry’s desk. 

“Ah, ah,” Donnacha sang, darting from the room again. This time, he came back with his laptop, which he propped on Henry’s desk chair – after removing a few pairs of underwear that had been tossed onto it. “What were you saying?” 

Henry sighed and pushed himself up onto his side. That spike of agony still trailed from the outside of his eye socket to the centre of his brain. He couldn’t allow his mind to drift anywhere near the memories of the day without feeling the shame turn over in his belly. But he had to admit, Donnacha’s presence was a lot like a hot cup of tea on a chilly day. 

“It’s Flatmate Friday.” Henry waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the living area. “Flatmate bonding and whatnot.” 

“You’re my flatmate, too,” Donnacha pointed out. He looked away from his laptop and glanced about the room, no doubt analysing the mixture of washed and unwashed laundry littering the floor. “And I have a feeling I’ve... we’ve all been neglecting you a little bit.” 

Henry’s empty, knotted stomach attempted to do a little flip. “You sound like Lu.” 

Looking slightly pleased with himself, Donnacha gave a shrug. “Maybe she’s a good influence on me. Only Fools and Horses?” 

“Sure.” Henry didn’t particularly care for the 80s sitcom, but it always seemed to draw a chuckle or two out of Donnacha.  

Donnacha positioned himself at the lower half of Henry’s bed, one leg crossed under the opposite knee while his foot trailed off the side. It was a long way for him to reach to grab a slice of pizza from the place, but he did so heroically with only a tiny exhalation of strain. Henry took his pillow and pressed it to the back wall, forcing himself to sit upright even though it made his head spin and his bones feel like jelly.  

After five minutes of staring numbly at the laptop screen and listening to Donnacha chew not one but two slices of pizza, the spinning and the weakness started to pass, and the shifting in Henry’s stomach felt less like a natural disaster waiting to happen and more like an empty plea for sustenance. He gingerly reached for a slice of the pizza, and was oddly relieved when Donnacha didn’t make a big deal out of it; he just leaned around Henry and grabbed a third slice for himself. 

A few bites in, and Henry’s mind started to wander. Sleeping in, not feeling motivated enough, insulting the work of a dead person, lazily forgetting social etiquette – 

The spices in the pepperoni and the tanginess of the tomato sauce drained away until the next bite of pizza felt like a mouthful of cardboard. 

Henry chewed painfully  leaning over to place the half-eaten slice back at the edge of the plate. Chewing was an ordeal almost as unpleasant as that afternoon’s bout of dry-heaving, which he had no desire to repeat. 

He brushed the crumbs from his fingers onto the plaid fabric of his pyjamas pants, making a note to change them before bed, and sank back against the pillow. Dough and cheese and sauce sloshed around in his stomach, and he started to lift a hand to rub at it, but a large, protective one made it there first. 

Donnacha didn’t even look away from the screen as he rubbed his hand back and forth. “Doing okay?” 

“I think so,” Henry murmured, flinching as his stomach squelched under Donnacha’s palm and then began to settle into a gentler churning motion. He wondered if Donnacha had any idea the effect he was having. 

And then Donnacha laughed out loud at an on-screen joke that Henry just didn’t get, and Henry had to fight just to keep his eye-rolling subtle. 

[ottpopfic]

Original Character Cast

Trio:

Katie di Solace (Kathleen Maria Fiodoir): 

THE CHILD. Adopted by Will and Nico di Solace at 8, after Nico finds her covered in mud in a swamp nature preserve in southern Maryland. Has Traumatic Selective Mutism until age 12/13, her PTSD makes her feel like she needs to hide. Daughter of Hephestus, inherited more of the magic side of making and specializes in miniatures, jewelry, and enchantments. Fluent in Italian, Spanish, and ASL from her speech therapy plan, good at languages. Was ‘a gift’, originally made of wood and copper but it wore off. Brave almost to a fault but not when it comes to girls, a strong sense of justice and the sword to back it. Year rounder from the age of 12 on.

On The Gods: Her perception of the gods is very skewed, as both of her adopted grandfathers are very active in her life. Had more protection than other demigods because of who she is, uses it to her full advantage. Empathetic to monsters and spirits, sees them as people first

In the Trio: Holds all the magic smarts, and knows all the people. Out of her depth when it comes to mortals and how that world works but is amazing at demigod stuff.

Description: Ends up 5’7. Scots Irish Greek, but her Greek shows more. Bio family immigrated similarly to Frank's, but went through Scotland and then Ireland instead of China. Deep olive skin tone, big dark round eyes, dark brown hair with 3a curl pattern. Slim compact build. Her knees are switched so she needs to wear knee braces and sometimes use a cane.

Likes: making shit, Sify novels (especially the trashy paperbacks but shhhh), giving stitches, sword fighting, dope rocks, experimental enchanting, bones, eating bugs, explosives 

Can not drive, should not drive, passenger princess with a demon horse

Love language: Gifts

Fatal Flaw: Caretaker

Colton Elaine Brown: 

Katie's best friend and QP (even though they never sit down and have that convo). Son of Hermes, the fastest runner at camp. Same age as her, meet at 9. Trans and bi, mostly Cuban with a bit of black. Bio dad is an extremely autistic man who drives school buses in Florida, he's not always verbal. Colton's stepdad is a middle-school English teacher. Is from downtown Orlando Florida and only spends the summer at CHB. 

On The Gods: Pretty spooked by the gods and magic in general, will avoid it if he can

In the Trio: Holds all the street smarts. Katie’s Annabeth, the trio's mortal compass and bullshit meter. Great call of character, if he calls ‘retreat’ both Katie and Lettie will listen and follow. The driver always, the one to keep both of the space cases from wandering off. 

Description: Never gets taller than 5’5. Short black hair with a 4a curl. Built like a runner, slim shoulders. Looks very Cuban but his black side comes out in his skin tone and his nose. Was on hormone blockers as he came out at 5 so never had to have top surgery

Likes: Transformers, Ninja Turtles, comics, track, traveling and exploring, climbing shit he shouldn't 

Can drive, should drive, very good at driving. Gets nervous when other people drive

Love language: Acts of Service 

Fatal Flaw: Secret Keeper

Lettie Thatcher: 

Katie's partner, lesbian, half a year older than her met at 13. Daughter of Demeter, strong Sappo parallels. Super strong physically even for a demigod, encyclopedic knowledge of medical plants good at memorization, hyperlexic. Very much a person in her own head, is perceived as quiet but is very observant and perceptive of everything around her, especially people. Bio mom was poet laureate for GA for a time and wrote a poem about grain and it wooed Demeter. Is from Savannah GA, lives there fall and winter lives at CHB spring and summer.

On The Gods: A pretty neutral take on larger gods, can befriend any nature spirit, especially dryads

In the Trio: Holds all the people smarts. Steller constitution, literally a ‘punch druid’ she's their tank.

Description: Tall and broad. Wide shoulders, wide hips, massive arms, ends up 5’10. Blond hair with a 3c curl pattern. Tons of freckles, gets them instead of burning. Thin nose, bright blue eyes, pink undertones 

Likes: reading poetry and short works, bare-knuckle boxing, herb gardening, people watching, good BBQ (none of that camp grill crap with the store bought bbq sauce), trees and talking to them, eating dirt

Can drive, should not drive, gets distracted by plants growing on the side of the road

Love language: Time

Fatal Flaw: Trust

Trio Powers Breakdown

Katie's Cabin Siblings

Ricky:

Specializes in armor, one year older than Katie. Goes by Dick sometimes (says it's fine because one of Robins is named Dick, only his cabin siblings can tease him with it)

Ruby:

NOT A REDHEAD. One year younger than Katie. Gets Project Possession worst out of all her siblings. She and Katie are the only year-rounder girls in their cabin so they are close. Best at the 'soft goods' part of their craft, leather worker

Simon Pidra:

El Salvadorian. Two years older than Katie. Head Counselor of Hephaestus Cabin by the end. Best carpenter in their cabin. He and Katie butt heads a lot as they are the two sides of the Hephaestus spectrum both in stature and skill set. But when they team up they're unstoppable. They have a very ‘only I can fight them’ relationship, they keep each other grounded. His bi awakening was sword fighting class with Nico, Katie hates this. Simon and Alex end up together

Atticus (Gus) Steel:

Five years younger than Katie. Has a sister younger than him in Apollo (Jackie) and they're pretty sure their younger sibling is also a demigod but is too young for camp. Explodes a torpedo that injures Katie when he’s ten. Can both fuse and defuse any bomb

Cousins:

Michael (Mikey) Jackson:

Eldest Jackson, eight years younger than Katie, is absolutely a little goblin a menace to society. He's like one of those puppies who are too smart for their own good and figures out how to unlatch the baby gate and open the fridge and just cause havoc. Impossible to keep out of water, if there is so much as a dixie cup of liquid he will find it and then somehow become damp. He's fist-fighting bullies, he's climbing out of third-story windows, he's running from the cops, he's giving his parents new forms of anxiety they didn't know existed. Once he goes to camp and can let some of it out he gets better, but elementary school was an affair

Lina Sally Jackson:

Middle Jackson child, named after the architect Lina Bo Bardi, is ten years younger than Katie. The most calculating eyes you have ever seen on a child, a prank streak to rival god. If the Jackson kids get in trouble it's her fault but no one will ever know because of how well her (and only her) tracks are covered. Her family knows she did it, whatever it is, but no one can ever prove it. If her brother is the too-smart puppy she is that cat that sits on the counter and knocks the treats down so the dog will open them

Mako Jackson:

Twelve years younger than Katie, fraternal twin. Went through a nonbinary streak during grade school that they halfway changed their mind on, solidly a they/them for about ten years but later goes by all pronouns and just doesn't care about gender but leans more fem (agender). Puts the ‘H’ in ADHD, the kid practically vibrates. Best at sword fighting of the four, a total jock. Goes straight for the kneecaps first, both verbally and physically, and asks questions later. Very indigent, will always speak their mind

Charles (Charlie) Jackson:

Twelve years younger than Katie, fraternal twin. Katie teaches him fiber crafts and he takes off, that kid is always making something his backpack is just full of yarn. The calmest of the four, just like a chill dude (its the yarn). Also kinda quiet but only in comparison to the others, he is dubbed the youngest by his siblings but the rents refuse to say which twin is older (it's actually Charlie). The most Athena of the siblings, the only sibling to solidly show relation to one godly grandparent over the other

(Bao) Bowen (Bo) Zhang:

 Nine years younger than Katie

(Jin) Chyann (Chy) Zhang:

Eleven years younger than Katie

Ashland (Ash) Underwood:

Satyr, eight years younger than Katie. Permanently the baby because of how satyra age, all of the cousins are very protective of them.

Other Demigods:

Jacqueline (Jackie) Ray Steel:

Gus’s younger sister (by two years). Has healing powers and is fascinated by blood. Becomes an apprentice under Will and Alex. Has some kind of blood-bending phlebotomist power

Draco Steel:

Jackie and Gus’s younger brother (4 years younger than Jackie, 6 years younger than Gus) unclaimed

Alex Vlahos:

Will’s head apprentice since they were 13, child of Apollo, they will take over when Will retires. Nonbinary, two years older than Katie. Japanese and Greek, kinda built like a swimmer. Becomes close to the di Solaces because of their position in the infirmary, and acts like an older sibling to Katie when she's younger. Katie has a lot of respect for them. Simon and Alex end up together

August: 

Friend of Katie’s, daughter of Hecate, one year older than her. Both like sci-fi novels. Dies in a quest Katie helped prep for (when Katie is 14)

Justin:

Son of Nike, Katie kicks his ass his first week because he tried to play macho and broke Colton’s nose. They make up when he starts dating August, the other person to die on that quest  (when Katie is 14)

Richard Gibson:

Son of Athena, in his mid-50s and the year-round school teacher for the kids at camp. Used to teach high school Social Studies in Colorado, the second person the Stolls recruited for The Program after Will. Kids call him 'Mr.G' or 'Mr.Gibs', wears hair in a ponytail

Marigold:

Daughter of Hecate, two older older than Katie. Specializes in magical tattoos. The one who always puts on anime during movie night

Oliver:

Son of Iris, plays the base, the same age as Katie. Pretty chill dude with a slight 'little shit middle child' streak, has an older mortal sister and younger mortal brother back home. One of the kids who is a Year Rounder because he wants to be. The third person in the quest where Justing and August die, loses his left leg in the escape

Liliana:

Daughter of Apollo, two years younger than Katie. Master acoustic guitar player, who writes lots of folk and country music. Has a crush on Ruby

Rose and Myrtle (the Aphrodite twins)

Twin daughters of Aphrodite, the youngest kids at camp until the Steels three years younger than Katie. Very quiet girls for a long time, twin telepathy to the max. they end up with a very successful hair and makeup makeover YouTube channel (Property Brothers style) that gets turned into a Netflix show

Carlos:

Colton’s future husband, is bi and Mexican. Roman, a descendent of Epona, meets Colton during his second time in the Olympics (Colton in track and Carlos in equestrian, their rooms were next to each other). Emotionally intelligent, has four horses (each is named after a cookie. Oreo, Snickerdoodle, Chocolate Chip (Chippie), Oatmeal Raisin (Raisin)). Thinks Hazel is the coolest, a little bit of hero worship there because of Airen, works with and is heir to the Roman Calvary (their family runs the stables)

Rosa:

Carlos’s older sister, aromantic. Also works with and is heir to the Roman Calvary

Katie's Bio Family:

Christopher (Chris) Fiodoir:

Katie’s bio dad, the second oldest of five. Has a goatee and a mullet ponytail, Katie looks a lot like him, especially in the eyes. Props Master for a theater in Washington DC. Died brutally in front of Katie by being ripped to shreds and eaten by Cyclops

Maria Fiodoir:

Katie's bio grandmother and priestess of Athena. Master fiber artist and last living bio family Katie remembers. Katie is her spitting image. Taught Katie to sew and other fiber crafts when she would stay over during hard tech weeks. Would have groomed Katie as next to hold the vigil, was already starting to when her son died

Kathy (Katherine) Fiodoir:

Katie's great aunt, her grandmother's sister, they were raised as twins. A gift to the family made from fiber craft by Athena. Was pressured into becoming the single maiden priestess to Athena, to single-handedly keep the family vigil. Ended up getting in so deep she wove herself into the vigil tapestry on the family loom

Olive Fiodoir (Tanner):

Katie’s aunt. Her dad's youngest sibling and only sister. No one’s sure how human she is, but her gender was prompted by Athena so that there would still be a maiden to take up the vigil. Is somewhat sensitive to magic because of this. Olive rejected her birthright, married, and had a son

Original Mortals:

Oscar Brown:

Colton’s human dad. A nonverbal autistic man, special interest in buses. Drives a school bus, is the best at driving school buses, how he caught the eye of Hermies. The man is barely verbal but he has the most rizz of anyone in the series 

Elane Brown:

Colton’s Abuelita, all around badass woman. Immigrated to America from Cuba with nothing but her nonverbal gay autistic son. Opened a hair salon in Orlando Florida where she employs women who are immigrating with their children alone, huge autism advocates, and all-around badass. Colton kept her name as his middle name, he thinks she’s the best

Grace Thatcher: 

Lettie’s human mom. Poet, teaches poetry and creative writing at SCAD. Poet Laurent for GA at one time, wrote a poem about wheat that wooed Dameator. Very crunchy and hippy, but a good mom. Homeschooled Lettie, her homeschooling made it so Lettie can spend half of the year at camp (spring and summer). 

Olivia:

Katie’s frienemie from when she was in mortal school. Cheated in the science fair so badly that Katie’s powers over scale manifested for the first time, combined with Leo, and exploded her paper mache volcano in her face. Lost her eyebrows in the explosion, they never grew back right.

Martha (Mars):

Colton’s high school girlfriend, is also in track. They break up before college right after Colton qualifies for the Olympics

Others:

George the Real Human Skull:

A real human skull that is Katie's main comfort item. Was a garment worker during the Gilded Age of NYC, and now gets slept with by an adolescent demigod 

Skeletor:

Katie's borse (bone horse). Gift from Hades for her thirteenth birthday, can breathe fire out his nose. Carnivore, hates everyone but Katie, Reyna, and Hazel and shows this by trying to eat them. Has to live in Hades's stables because of how much he loves to murder but Katie has a whistle to summon him

Janet:

Katie and Nico’s ghost secretary, takes calls and does bureaucratic and paper-pushing things for them on the Otherworld side. From the 1970s, died from a drug overdose and is working off some time for a better afterlife. Huge gossip

The Bonsai’s:

A dryad biker gang that have bonsaied their trees into their sidecars. Because they are bonsais many of there limbs are disfigured so they all have at least one prosthetic. Lettie is friends with them

Cirro:

A cloud nymph that lives at the waystation. A soft-spoken woman who loves to cook, decided to join a few days before they found Katie. Her and Calypso are close

[barbie-estereotipica]

Gatsby's adventure retreat in Orlando Florida ✨⛱️

[fairfieldthinkspace]

“The future belonged to the showy and the promiscuous”: Why the 21st Century Loves Edith Wharton

Emily J. Orlando

E. Gerald Corrigan Chair in the Humanities & Social Sciences and Professor of English

Fairfield University

Photo: John Singer Sargent, Sybil Frances Grey, later Lady Eden 1905.

If ever there were a good time to read the American writer Edith Wharton (1862-1937), who published over forty books across four decades, it’s now. Since the Wharton revival of the late 20th century, when directors were adapting (the Pulitzer-Prize winning) The Age of Innocence, Ethan Frome, The Buccaneers, and The House of Mirth, her star has continued to rise. As I yesterday prepared to teach The Custom of the Country, which many have called Wharton’s greatest novel, a friend texted me Sofia Coppola’s article on the surprising appeal of its social-climbing heroine. Coppola is developing Undine Spragg’s story for Apple TV. A kind of Gilded Age Material Girl, Undine has been ready for her close-up for years.

Coppola joins an impressive roster of contemporary admirers of Wharton that includes Roxane Gay, Laura Bush, Lisa Lucas, Peggy Noonan, Jennifer Egan, Stephin Merritt, Claire Messud, Meg Wolitzer, Mindy Kaling, Doug Hughes, Brandon Taylor, Ta-Nehisi Coates, Ali Benjamin, Vendela Vida, Ottessa Moshfegh, and Kristin Hannah. At a time when publishing houses are compelled to scale back, new editions of Wharton’s books are appearing in print with introductions by Coppola, Egan, and Taylor.

Photo: Sofia Coppola.

Those who think they don’t know Wharton might be surprised to learn they do. A reverence for Wharton’s writings informs Sex and the City (whose pilot welcomes us to “the Age of Un-Innocence”), Gossip Girl, Downtown Abbey (whose “Lady Edith” suggests a nod to Wharton), and HBO’s The Gilded Age which, like Downton, is created by the Wharton-appreciating Julian Fellowes. His Bertha and George, after all, are named for the power couple from The House of Mirth.  

But why Wharton? Why now? Perhaps it’s because for all its new technologies, conveniences, and modes of travel and communication, our own “Gilded Age” is a lot like hers. For the post-war and post-flu-epidemic climate that engendered The Age of Innocence is not far removed from our post-COVID-19 reality. In both historical moments, citizens of the world have witnessed a retreat into conservativism and a rise of white supremacy. Fringe groups like the “Proud Boys” and “QAnon” and deniers of everything from the coronavirus to climate change and Sandy Hook are invited to the table in the name of free speech, and here Wharton’s distrust of false narratives resonates particularly well. Post-9/11 calls for patriotism and the alignment of the American flag with one political party harken back to Wharton’s poignant questioning, in a 1919 letter, of the compulsion to profess national allegiance:

how much longer are we going to think it necessary to be “American” before (or in contradistinction to) being cultivated, being enlightened, being humane, & having the same intellectual discipline as other civilized countries?[i]

Her cosmopolitan critique of nationalist fervor remains instructive to us today.

Edith Wharton seems to have foreseen the excesses, obsessions, and spectacles of our current moment. The scandals documented in Wharton’s narratives serve as harbingers of the sensations that flash across our hand-held screens. Jeffrey Epstein’s sex trafficking touches on the same nerve as the sexual exploitation of minors in Wharton’s Summer (1917) and The Children (1928). The quid pro quo run-in between Wharton’s Lily Bart and Gus Trenor looks uncomfortably forward to Harvey Weinstein and #MeToo. The rise to power of Donald Trump would not surprise Edith Wharton.

Photo: “Vanity,” by Auguste Toulmouche, circa 1870.

Wharton’s tenacious Undine Spragg—as horrifying to progressive era readers as she is admired by Generation Z—can be conceived of as the original social media influencer conscious of her brand. For Undine and her creator know that “the future belonged to the showy and the promiscuous”[ii] and that the turn-of-the-century “world where conspicuousness passed for distinction”[iii] foreshadows our own. Wharton would describe Undine in terms we might use for a “Real Housewife of Park Avenue”: “If only everyone would do as she wished she would never be unreasonable” (162). Undine’s world encourages her to aspire to the rank of trophy wife and the sexual double standard dictating that “genius is of small use to a woman who does not know how to do her hair”[iv] would apply to Wharton herself who, on the 150th anniversary of her birth, would be assessed by a male novelist in terms of how she sizes up to Grace Kelly or Jackie Kennedy.[v]  The writer who would declare, in her wildly popular interior design manual The Decoration of Houses, privacy “one of the first requisites of civilized life”[vi] would be appalled by what is broadcast across social media. Wharton also would’ve anticipated the racism directed at Meghan Markle and why granting Oprah an interview would not help relations with her spouse’s family. Children forcibly separated from families due to morally dubious immigration policies echo the plight of war refugees for whose welfare Edith Wharton labored, while the distrust of the cultural other echoes the writer’s own complicated nationalist allegiances.[vii]  

Ten years ago, Lev Raphael took the temperature of Wharton studies declaring in the Huffington Post: “Edith Wharton is hot.” She is now positively on fire. I offer below a short excerpt from the introduction to The Bloomsbury Handbook to Edith Wharton, which appears in print today.

                                                           *********************

The image gracing the cover of The Bloomsbury Handbook to Edith Wharton, capturing a scene on the terrace of Edith Wharton’s French home, reflects the cultural work that this book takes as its task. The writer is in her element: she cradles in her lap her beloved dogs, she sits outdoors at a well-appointed property she lovingly transformed, she surrounds herself with fashionably dressed cosmopolitans, and she smiles. The moment validates an idea expressed in The Age of Innocence: that “the air of ideas is the only air worth breathing.” As host, Wharton, by this point an internationally acclaimed artist, has brought together representatives of an admiring generation from diverse backgrounds that would outlive and perhaps learn from her. That sunlit terrace is doing something we hope this book will do: provide a foundation for future conversations with Edith Wharton at the center.

Photo: Edith Wharton publicity shot.

Around the time this photograph was taken, Wharton would reflect in A Backward Glance that “[t]he world is a welter and has always been one; but though all the cranks and the theorists cannot master the old floundering monster, . . . here and there a saint or a genius suddenly sends a little ray through the fog, and helps humanity to stumble on, and perhaps up” (379). Wharton’s writings arguably send a ray and help humanity stumble on and up in our own Gilded Age. It is the aim of this collection of essays, produced by leaders in the field at a time of global crisis, to make a meaningful contribution to the scholarship on and dialogue about the work of Edith Wharton and to open up new possibilities for understanding and embracing a writer whose corpus is as enormous as it is resonant. To borrow from Wharton’s preface to her anthology The Book of the Homeless (1916), in which she conceives of her volume, as she so often does, as a house: “You will see from the names of the builders what a gallant piece of architecture it is. . . . So I efface myself from the threshold and ask you to walk in.”[viii]

Emily J. Orlando is the E. Gerald Corrigan Chair in the Humanities & Social Sciences and Professor of English at Fairfield University. She is the author of Edith Wharton and the Visual Arts and editor of The Bloomsbury Handbook to Edith Wharton. She is currently preparing for publication a new edition of Edith Wharton’s first book, The Decoration of Houses.

[i]Lewis, Letters, 424.

[ii]Edith Wharton, The Custom of the Country, New York, Penguin, 2006, 117.

[iii]Edith Wharton, The House of Mirth, ed. Elizabeth Ammons, 2nd Norton Critical ed. (New York: Norton, 2018), 186.

[iv]Edith Wharton, The Touchstone, in Wharton, Edith, Collected Stories, 1891-1910, ed. Maureen Howard (New York: Library of America, 2001), 170.

[v]Jonathan Franzen, “A rooting interest: Edith Wharton and the problem of sympathy,” The New Yorker, February 5, 2012.

[vi] Edith Wharton and Ogden Codman, Jr., The Decoration of Houses (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1897), 22.

[vii]See Melanie Dawson, “The Limits of Cosmopolitan Experience in Wharton’s The Buccaneers.” Legacy 31.2 (2014): 258-80. Print.

[viii]Edith Wharton, Preface to The Book of the Homeless (Le Livre des Sans-foyer) (New York, Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1916), xxiv-xxv.

[magicaltrash]

Per the official website, "Disney Dreamlight Valley is a hybrid between a life-sim and an adventure game rich with quests, exploration, and engaging activities featuring Disney and Pixar friends, both old and new. Once an idyllic land, Dreamlight Valley was a place where Disney and Pixar characters lived in harmony -- until the Forgetting. Night Thorns grew across the land and severed the wonderful memories tied to this magical place. With nowhere else to go, the hopeless inhabitants of Dreamlight Valley retreated behind locked doors in the Dream Castle." Oh, and did I mention that this virtual kingdom has trash cans? Released earlier this year, these New Orleans Square-style cans as part of their Pride of the Valley content update with a function to create your own theme park. // Disney Dreamlight Valley, 2023 [Source: Twenty Something in Orlando. Used by Permission.]

[jaywritesrps]

Everything I hear and see about Ashlyn makes it seem like she's not a great person. Like, she couldn't even tell her wife of however many years that she was divorcing her??? And she took off proud mom from her instagram bio when she left her wife? Sophia, girl, of all the women in the world...

It's because she isn't. I was starting to like her again when I saw Marta, the most lovable and carefree person in the woso world, ignoring Ashlyn's comments and posting pictures with Ali's in FIFA's the best. It was when I decided to use my journalist's skills to find out more about what was going on in the woso backstage.

The story I heard from some friends in woso world is far worse than what went to public. Like, no wonder nearly everyone in that universe don't want anything to do with her and I believe the story it's true cause I heard a lot of personal sources who are connected to six different teams and USSF, and especially the sources connected to the NWSL teams, they told pretty much the same story, some with more details than other, but overall it was the same story.

Since Ali told part of it, I can share some here. The thing is when they talked about their relationship in early 2023, Ali and Ash agreed to wait until the season was over to decide on what to do about their relationship. Ashlyn never said she wanted out, so to Ali's side, this meant as "let's figure our shit out", when to Ashlyn's side this meant "we are going to divorce".

My source from USSF said that there was rumors on Pride around Ashlyn infidelity since early 2021, so they think that might be one of the reasons they went to NY/NJ at the end of the season, while my source from Orlando said that never heard about those rumors, although some players and team crew took very personally their departure to Gotham FC, not to a point to see Ashlyn as ungrateful, but also not more as willing to defend her as they were before - and I will highlight that she said Ashlyn nominally, not them, they, the couple or Ashlyn and Ali.

Also my source connected to Gotham told me, that the whole story Ashlyn said in her statement of "we were together to keep contracts" and yada yada yada is BS to the public, cause they never really talked about the commercial part until september when the rumors around Ashlyn and Sophia started, cause it was when the Gotham Player's conscientiously ignored her in EA's Party. Even until then she never really communicated to her wife she wanted the divorce. It's why Ali really thought they were going to sit down and talk, cause how can you say you are married to a horrible person and schedule a couple trip to Mexico? (Remember that trip Ali made with Kyle at the end of the season? It supposed to be a family cruise, but she changed to a couple's retreat in July as a way for them to fix their marriage.)

It's why I strong believe that Ashlyn was leading Sophia and Ali on, it doesn't matter if it was intentional or not, but this is a big red flag for a person. Like one of my sources said that Ashlyn probably was trying to keep both relationships and choose the one who was more profitable to her at the end, I wasn't sold on this belief, but I am now after the restaurant's story from deux moi and how Sophia is working to clean Ashlyn's image to the public, even though most of her fans doesn't want anything to do with her. (Personal gossip here: A group of friend of mine are attending at SXSW cause Lucy Lawless was going to be there and Fallout panel and told me that a rumor running around is that they had an open spot and they pulled a panel about women's sport just to fit Ashlyn in and keep Sophia as their speaker, but no one really wanted it or care enough about it. They said they are going to attend on it today if they have nothing better to do.)

And Honestly, I am happy Sophia is happy, but ffs man, like if half of the stuff I heard is true, I really hope Sophia is helping her to growing up as person, because I still don't see this ending well to Sophia.

[laresearchette]

Saturday, February 24, 2024 Canadian TV Listings (Times Eastern)

WHERE CAN I FIND THOSE PREMIERES?: SENSE AND SENSIBILITY (W Network) 8:00pm

NEW TO AMAZON PRIME CANADA/CBC GEM/CRAVE TV/DISNEY + STAR/NETFLIX CANADA:

AMAZON PRIME CANADA THE HOLDOVERS

CRAVE TV GUS THE ITSY BITSY KNIGHT (Season 1)

NETFLIX CANADA THE 30TH ANNUAL SCREEN ACTORS GUILD AWARDS — Netflix Live Event

ROCK PAPER SCISSORS (YTV) 10:00am (SERIES PREMIERE): When Scissors runs out of money, he tries to become a janitor but discovers that the job involves way more skill than he initially thought; Rock and Paper try to motivate Scissors in an unusual way.

NHL HOCKEY (SN360) 12:00pm: Blues vs. Red Wings (TSN2) 2:00pm: Habs vs. Devils (SN360) 3:00pm: Rangers vs. Flyers (City TV/SNPacific) 7:00pm: Bruins vs. Canucks (CBC/SN) 7:00pm: Leafs vs. Avalanche (SN1) 7:00pm: Knights vs. Sens (CBC/SN) 10:00pm: Flames vs. Oilers

MLB SPRING TRAINING (SN) 1:00pm: Phillies vs. Jays

CURLING (TSN) 2:00pm: 2024 Scotties Tournament of Hearts: Page Playoff (TSN) 5:00pm: Curling Day in Canada (TSN/TSN3) 8:00pm: 2024 Scotties Tournament of Hearts: Page Playoff (TSN4/TSN5) 9:30pm: 2024 Scotties Tournament of Hearts: Page Playoff

PWHL HOCKEY (SN1) 2:30pm: Ottawa vs. Montreal

MLS SOCCER (TSN4/TSN5) 7:00pm: Orlando vs. CF Montreal

W5 (CTV) 7:00pm: Who's at Your Door?; Who Is Dillon Brooks?: "W5" investigates companies that allegedly trick homeowners into signing long-term contracts for items they don't need; why a Canadian is the most-hated man in the NBA.

UFC MMA (SN360) 8:00pm: Moreno vs. Royval 2 - Prelims (SN1/SN360) 10:00pm: Moreno vs. Royval 2

AURORA TEAGARDEN MYSTERIES: SOMETHING NEW (CTV) 8:00pm: Young Aurora Teagarden returns home to Lawrenceton to pursue her post-graduate degree but soon finds herself embroiled in a mystery involving her friend's fiance.

LOVE AT FIRST LIE (Lifetime Canada) 8:00pm: Kate is looking for the perfect match online when she swipes and meets Walker, a jet-setting art dealer. After Kate falls for the dashing dealer, she learns that he is a hustler who cons women out of their money.

SNOW SCHOOL (Nat Geo Wild) 8:00pm: When every day is a snow day, school is always in session; a baby walrus gets a swim lesson from Mom; young stoats' playtime teaches them how to hunt; otter pups take a slide and learn to avoid predators; owlets practice leaving the nest.

THE HAPPINESS PLAYBOOK (Super Channel Heart & Home) 8:00pm: Journalist Amy goes under cover at a happiness retreat run by the handsome Paul. Sparks fly between the two, but when Amy learns Paul is the secret son of a wealthy investor, she must choose between a career-making story and her growing feelings.

NBA BASKETBALL (TSN2) 8:30pm: Celtics vs. Knicks

THANKSGIVING (Crave) 9:00pm: An axe-wielding maniac terrorizes residents of Plymouth, Mass., after a Black Friday riot ends in tragedy. Picking off victims one by one, the seemingly random revenge killings soon become part of a larger, sinister plan.

DEAD MAN'S HAND (Starz Canada) 9:00pm: A gunslinger teams up with a marshal to save his kidnapped wife from a ruthless mayor and his private army.

WOLVES OF WAR (Super Channel Fuse) 9:00pm: During World War II, a decorated British officer leads Allied commandos across enemy lines to rescue an American scientist held hostage by the Nazis.

JUDAS AND THE BLACK MESSIAH (CTV) 12:35am: Offered a plea deal by the FBI, William O'Neal infiltrates the Illinois chapter of the Black Panther Party to gather intelligence on Chairman Fred Hampton.

[sunshineandrosesnoraincamemyway]

Please tell me your plan for preparing for missions!

Like I said, I have felt a call to missions since I was eight. When I was twelve my camp counselor was a super awesome person who also felt called to missions and she was very encouraging (she's actually going overseas to be a full time missionary later this month.) Having her as my counselor made me take my calling more serious, so going into sixth grade I made the following plan.

Get very familiar with the Bible. See how many times I could read it all the way through before my fifteenth birthday. (My fifteenth birthday I was a week away from finishing my ninth time through the Bible) Currently I'm at seventeen times through the Bible and instead of speed reading the it I'm spending time studying and understanding it.

Similarly, read missionary biographies, study Church history, and theology to get a grasp on how God has worked throughout history. I wanted to know how other Christians worship and what differences in theology were presenting us in a bad light to the world

Go to every church event that I could so that I can hear the Bible being taught as much as possible. DNOW, camps, retreats, etc. Hear the Word taught and discuss it with others.

Serve at every event I can. VBS, camp, Sunday morning, etc. Being a missionary is serving others and sharing the Gospel while doing so.

Go on as many mission trips as possible to see what missions looks like in a wide variety of contexts. Covid messed this one up the most of any of these, but I was still able to go on several local trips, a trip to Orlando FL, a trip where in a very refugee heavy area, and an international mission trip. I'm now preparing to go on another trip later this month and working with the missions staff at my church to figure out a year long mission trip to go on for my gap year.

Learn about as many unreached people groups as I can and spend time every day praying for them

pray for missionaries, pastors, church planters, Bible translators, and the persecuted Church on a daily basis

Learn as many skills as I can so that when I am a missionary I have a wider range of skills available to open doors for conversation

Looking back, I'm amazed that I had the wisdom to create such a detailed and thorough plan. I haven't perfectly done everything on the list, and some things have been added since I first came up with it, but overall it's a plan that has served me well and I have prepared myself well for whatever the next step is and whatever training will come through that.

[xblueoceanfloor]

Unless you've been living under a rock—one without a WiFi connection or an eager, pop culture-loving book club—you're probably aware that Britney Spears just released her tell-all memoir. While The Woman In Me offers a behind-the-scene look at the star's most iconic moments (and, yes, many bombshells), we were very surprised to hear that Spears and NSYNC's Justin Timberlake weren't just love-struck teens: They lived together.

In the book, Spears reveals that the two cohabitated in Orlando during the early aughts, referring to their love nest as "a gorgeous, airy two-story house with a tile roof and a swimming pool out back."

Naturally, as people who spend a fair amount of time thinking about celebrity real-estate, we were desperate to know more about the house. After spending time sleuthing, we learned that Timberlake purchased a Florida retreat for $1.3 million back in 1999. Nestled in Bay Hill, a gated community within Orlando, the two-story, 5,430-square-foot home boasts a tiled roof and a pool out back. (Are you thinking what we're thinking?) We even found the above video tour of what we believe to have been Spears and Timberlake's abode.

That said, a lot has changed since the couple (allegedly) lived there. According to WESH 2, a local news outlet, Timberlake sold the home in 2006 for $2 million—making a $700,000 profit. Most recently, the home was listed for $3.4 million in March 2022, only to be sold for $3.2 million a month later. WESH 2 claims the property has undergone renovation since Timberlake sold his home, so it's unclear exactly what the suspected space was like while Spears lived there. But, if the property's most recent listing is any indication, it's certainly luxurious.

Currently, the 1.06-acre lot is decked out to the nines with a 12-hole putting green, built-in barbecue area, and a saltwater pool. Of course, the home's interiors are equally impressive, thanks to a two-story living room, his and hers closets in the primary suite, as well as a butler's pantry that double as a temperature-controlled wine cellar. While we can't be 100 percent sure this is where Britney and Justin whiled away their youths, we are confident it could be a piece of her real-estate history.

[orlando-living]

Living in Orlando: Embrace the Magic of Central Florida

Smack in the heart of the Sunshine State, Orlando stands as a vibrant hub of culture, entertainment, and opportunity. From its world-renowned theme parks to its diverse neighborhoods and thriving economy, living in Orlando offers residents a unique blend of excitement, convenience, and charm.

Endless Entertainment: One of the biggest draws of living in Orlando is its unparalleled access to world-class entertainment. With iconic attractions like Walt Disney World Resort, Universal Orlando Resort, and SeaWorld Orlando just a stone's throw away, residents can immerse themselves in a magical world of fantasy and adventure whenever they please. From thrilling rides and captivating shows to immersive experiences and enchanting parades, there's something for everyone to enjoy in Orlando's theme park paradise.

Diverse Neighborhoods: Beyond its famous attractions, Orlando is home to a diverse array of neighborhoods, each with its own unique character and charm. From the historic streets of Thornton Park to the bustling energy of Downtown Orlando and the suburban tranquility of Lake Nona, residents can find the perfect place to call home to suit their lifestyle and preferences. Whether you're seeking a vibrant urban scene, a family-friendly enclave, or a peaceful retreat, Orlando has a neighborhood to match.

Thriving Economy: As one of the fastest-growing cities in the United States, Orlando boasts a thriving economy driven by tourism, technology, healthcare, and more. With a robust job market, low unemployment rates, and a favorable business climate, Orlando offers ample opportunities for career growth and advancement. Whether you're launching a startup, pursuing a career in hospitality, or seeking employment in the thriving healthcare industry, Orlando provides a fertile ground for success.

Outdoor Adventures: Beyond its urban attractions, Orlando is surrounded by natural beauty and outdoor adventures waiting to be explored. From scenic parks and nature preserves to sparkling lakes and lush gardens, residents can enjoy a variety of outdoor activities year-round. Whether you're hiking along the trails of Wekiwa Springs State Park, kayaking on the tranquil waters of Lake Eola, or picnicking in the shade of a sprawling oak tree, Orlando offers endless opportunities to connect with nature and enjoy the great outdoors.

Cultural Delights: In addition to its theme parks and natural attractions, Orlando is home to a thriving cultural scene that celebrates diversity and creativity. From world-class museums and galleries to theaters, concert venues, and festivals, residents can immerse themselves in a rich tapestry of art, music, and culture. Whether you're attending a Broadway show at the Dr. Phillips Center for the Performing Arts or exploring the vibrant street art scene in the Mills 50 District, Orlando offers a cultural experience like no other.

Living in Orlando offers residents a truly magical experience filled with excitement, opportunity, and adventure. With its world-class attractions, diverse neighborhoods, thriving economy, outdoor adventures, and vibrant cultural scene, Orlando captures the imagination and hearts of all who call it home. Whether you're a lifelong resident or considering a move to the City Beautiful, Orlando invites you to embrace the magic and make unforgettable memories in the heart of Central Florida.