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winedarkthoughts · 8 months ago

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house of addams (1)

— 🌖 pairing: ot7 x fem.reader

— 🕷️ genre: mystery, angst + fluff + smut

— 🗝️ word count: 4.3k

— 🍄 summary: hired to look into the mysterious deaths, disappearances, and disturbances in the small town of Farrow's End, you soon meet a certain gang of oddballs who help you connect the dots. and NO, you are NOT taking a liking to them.

— ☕ content warnings: private investigator!reader, cozy small town mystery/addams family vibes, botanist!yoongi, magical absurdity, bookshop owner!namjoon, barista!jin

— 🕸️ a/n: first chapter! directly influenced by this fic on ao3 by tinyratthief, which is loosely based on the addams family.

series m.list/schedule → next chapter

chpt. 1: new digs

september 16, 2004

If this job has taught you one thing, it’s that the laws of truth can and will be bent by anyone with enough concentrated effort. People come to you to find very specific truths; birth parents, cheating spouses, the details of shady business deals.

But if this job has taught you one thing, it's that the truth will also reveal itself to anyone with enough concentrated effort.

Though, there's always a handful of cases that force you to delve deep into things you’d rather leave buried. Like the person in Oregon who didn't show up in any photographs. Or the small town in Maryland with the strange, centuries-old secret society.

You’ve seen sides of human nature that have left you cynical, distrusting. Some have called you “dead inside,” but you’re not here to brag. Naturally, you are excellent at your job.

And when the Mayor of Farrow’s End, a sleepy town with enough missing persons cases to warrant a Netflix documentary, contacted you about a possible case, you accepted almost instantly.

Even her first correspondence and initial offer were strange. She stated a preference to discuss the finer details in person and in person only, which to you immediately suggested that the entire investigation would be a matter of confidentiality.

You were proven right when you met with her a week later. And while being proven right is usually one of your favorite things, you didn’t exactly expect this.

The offer: investigative services regarding (but not limited to) local missing persons/homicides, ecological disturbances, environmental chemical imbalances. etc.

In exchange for: monthly salary, rent support, covered business expenses.

And above all, everything must remain off the books.

The salary along with the rent support is very generous considering what you're used to, but you don’t tell the Mayor that. You do inform her that, while you wear many hats, you are not an ecologist, nor a chemist.

Mayor Summerbee, a middle-aged Asian woman with a sweet smile and even warmer eyes, informs you that you will have access to the local University’s college of natural sciences. She gives you the contact information for one Min Yoongi, a botanist who works in the school's research department.

Then she gives you the contact information for one Kim Taehyung, the town coroner and pathologist. Apparently, both of them will be available for consultation.

She is eager, maybe even desperate, smiling at you with an urgent sheen in her eyes.

When you accept her offer, shaking her hand with your usual firm grip, she seems to exhale in relief.

You move to Farrow’s End by the end of the week. It’s not as if you have much to move, just a trunkful of books and a handful of duffel bags. You’ve always moved around for work, and even if you didn’t, staying in one place for too long makes you nervous.

Your bags hit the pavement beside your boots as you survey your new home. It's a small, quaint house. The paint is faded but the architectural structure is sturdy. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, kitchen, living room. The whole place is in a slight state of disrepair, but you can't complain.

You spend the next day cleaning and unpacking, which doesn't take long since you leave most of your books in the trunk. You're exploring the town by the end of the afternoon.

The town square, though full of shops and businesses, is nearly barren. A few civilians putter around, their faces weathered and reflective of the gloom in the air. They stare at you as you pass by, a cocktail of curiosity and slight suspicion.

The next thing you notice is the posters. They're everywhere, on the crumbling brick walls, stuck on lampposts, taped to the windows, all displaying a variety of subjects. Events at the University, local night markets, antiques for sale.

But there are a few that stick out. THERE'S SOMETHING IN THE LAKE! Sign the petition to restrict land access →

HAVING STRANGE DREAMS? You're not alone, contact a psychic today!

BEWARE! DO NOT FEED LOCAL WILDLIFE.

Though, what's more strange to you is what you don't see. There are barely any missing person posters, and the few that you do see appear to have been ripped away.

Work begins now, you think to yourself as you snap some photos of several posters, flapping in the cold wind.

You pop into the general store to pick up some essentials, and the store clerk immediately recognizes that you're not a local.

He asks where you're from, you reply with the standard answer: a city not too far but not too close. He asks what you're doing here, you reply with the standard answer: you're a journalist. You add in the suggestion that you're working with the University about a story, and he doesn't question any further.

You're not sure if it's because he takes the hint or because he loses interest.

During the drive home, you notice something looming in the distance. Atop the highest hill is a dark house, with spires and towers rising from the tops of spindly trees. Even from here, you can see that the architecture is old and ornate, almost ancient in a hypnotic way. You're fairly certain you can see a murder of crows circling above.

An unusual feeling hangs around the house, like there's some kind of aura surrounding it. Welcoming some, yet blocking others.

Very strange indeed.

You spend the rest of the night huddled next to the fireplace, using the flickering orange light to skim over newspaper clippings.

No, the house does not have a heating system. But you don't mind too much, you have plenty of wood and warm clothes.

Five missing and three dead in the last year. Local law enforcement has done everything they could with what they had to work with, which apparently wasn't much. Scattered locations, no visible connection between the victims, and an alarming lack of evidence.

Eyelids heavy, you leave the papers scattered across the floor and head to bed, already looking forward to tomorrow's first coffee.

september 17, 2004

The University appears to be just as old as the rest of the town. Original wood, aged stone, curved iron accents. The brick walkway is slick with morning rain, and the sky is swirling with fog.

Perfect weather, it makes you ready to get to work.

The directory stated that Min Yoongi would be in Montgomery Hall, the natural sciences building, either in the greenhouse or in one of the labs, according to the TA you talked to earlier on the phone.

It takes some wandering, but what you like about this place is that people don't seem to notice your presence as much as they do in town. Out there, you're an easily identifiable outsider. Here, you're just another passerby with a purpose.

You find him in one of the lab rooms, tucked into a little nook that's encased with plastic sheeting, dotted with beads of moisture. The small space is crowded with greenery, big pots of tall plants with fanning leaves, draping vines from wall planters, seedlings in little trays.

Through the condensation dripping down the plastic walls, you can see that he's spraying the plants down with water, wearing a classic white coat.

You're indulging in your bad habit again. Your footsteps are notoriously quiet (you've been told), and you (apparently) have a tendency to sneak up on people and observe them for several minutes before they notice that you are there.

But it's a skill you delight in.

The man is of average height, thin, black hair, delicate features. You notice that the soles of his boots are caked with mud, and his skin is dewy from the humidifiers pumping moisture into the room.

"You already know my opinion on this," you hear him say, muffled by the spray of the water.

For a moment, you think he's talking to you, that he's rejecting your case before you've even presented it to him. But he isn't facing you, and his tone is decidedly casual, like he's talking to an old friend.

"It's bad for the others, anyway," he continues. "Don't wiggle your trigger hairs at me like that."

A pause, the water flow stops. Then a sigh of defeat.

"Fine, one puff. Then you quit pouting, got it?"

There's the sound of shuffling, then the fwick of a lighter being ignited.

Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you step forward to peer through the slit in the plastic sheeting.

There's a Venus fly trap on one of the shelves, and between the jaws of one of the trap mouths, is a lit cigarette.

The man's head piques up when you enter his field of vision. Eyes widening, he looks like a cat that's been caught off guard.

He looks between you and the plant several times. You're fairly certain you see the tip of the cigarette glow ember, as if the plant were actually inhaling.

The man snatches the cigarette away and crushes it beneath the wet sole of his boot.

"Nasty habit," he finally says with a nervous chuckle. An awkward, straight-mouthed smile crosses his face, making his cheeks puff out slightly.

"Min Yoongi?" you ask.

"Yes, ma'am," he responds politely.

"I'm ______," you say, holding out a hand to shake.

He shuffles forward, his cold slim fingers meeting yours.

"Ah, the mayor mentioned that you'd be around."

That throws you a bit, because from what you've gathered about this case, you assumed that the mayor didn't want to be associated with it.

"Yes, would you mind filling me in on some of the ecological disturbances that have been going on in town?"

It's as if the question sends ants crawling down his spine. His neutral smile dissipates into an anxious twitch of his lips. He turns the hose back on and resumes spritzing the plants.

"What do you want to know?" he asks, a new tension in his voice.

Odd.

"Well," you start, "The mayor tells me that locals have been complaining about strange mushrooms invading their yards, increased acidity in their soil. Would you know anything about that?"

His eyebrows are knitted as he dampens the leaves of a spiraling fern.

"Mushrooms are really just the fruit of fungi, they bloom like flowers when the conditions are just right. Moisture, shade, an abundance of organic material, stuff like that. When it comes to the acidity, there's a variety of factors. All the rainfall recently leads to leaching, and the increased use of fertilizers causes nitrification. It's pretty standard."

You raise an eyebrow. He's deflecting.

"People have been saying that these mushrooms have been particularly hard to get rid of."

Yoongi 's brows furrow as if he's thinking hard.

"Fungi are tricky like that. We don't know much about them, really. They're their own class of life form. It could be a particularly stubborn strain."

"There's also been some unusual plant growth, creeping vines or the like. Very resistant to herbicides, apparently."

He pauses, considers it.

"Hmm," he mutters, the nozzle of the hose going lax in his hand.

“Also,” you continue, trying to further engage his curiosity. “There's been several cases of strange root rot?”

You add a questioning tone to your voice, gauging his reaction. Apparently, he hasn’t heard about it, because he looks up at you with the same question in his eyes.

“Root rot? In household plants?” he asks.

“No, in residencies.”

Yoongi stares at you for a moment, and you can tell he’s intrigued.

“I would benefit a lot from your knowledge, if I could just bring you a few samples, maybe go out and do some fieldwork—”

“You wouldn’t like working with me,” Yoongi interrupts. “I’m very…particular.”

You have a feeling the word is meant as a substitute for something else.

“Wonderful, so am I,” you reply, digging one of the many notebooks out of your bag. Flipping to the calendar, you click open your open your pen and start scribbling.

“Mornings are best, get the most out of the daylight. Make sure to bring your equipment and something to write on, and a camera if you have one.”

“Wait, I just don’t know if I’m going to be much use to you,” Yoongi says a little nervously, sticking his hands in his pockets.

You pause your scribbling to look at him. He’s pale in the fluorescent light, but not just physically. He has pale mannerisms and pale expressions, the countenance of a person that doesn’t feel as if they belong.

You know the feeling well.

“Coffee is always on me. How do you like it?” you say instead.

“Does Wednesday work?”

september 18, 2004

Three dead and five missing in less than six months. First, Michael Bradley, aged forty-two. Cause of death: chronic poisoning/exposure to toxic chemicals. He was found in his garage surrounded by household cleaners and herbicides. Apparently he’d been trying to get rid of the same strange mushrooms in his yard.

For now, all you have to work with is what they’ve published in the newspapers, and it seems that all that's come out of it is a public service announcement warning homeowners to be careful around toxic chemicals. His wife, Mary Bradley, hasn't commented on the circumstances of her husband’s death. And no one else has inquired any further into the matter.

Until today, obviously. Mrs. Bradley didn't answer her phone, and when you knocked on her door earlier this morning, she seemed less than pleased.

You opened with the standard introduction: I'm a journalist working on a story, would you mind consenting to an interview? Mrs. Bradley narrowed her eyes and scanned you up and down with barely concealed suspicion.

She asked what a journalist would find interesting about a common, accidental death in a small town. Apparently, the citizens of Farrow's End are very perceptive to outsiders.

You mentioned that fact that although Bradley's death appeared accidental, it's not common for people to die at the hands of household chemicals from prolonged exposure. Chronic poisoning is rarely without symptoms, why didn't he go to hospital?

She didn't have anything to say to that. You asked if she'd be comfortable divulging some of the details of his death, maybe even giving you access to the autopsy report. But she just grimaced at the mention, insisting that she had nothing to say about the matter and that you should leave right away.

She slammed the door in your face, but luckily it wasn't the first time people have resisted your questions. Unfortunately, a significant part of your job involves being a pain in the ass.

You linger in the front yard, where it's impossible not to notice the gnarled tree stumps and large rings of mushrooms scattered across the lawn.

You're not a mycologist by any means, but even you can tell that these mushrooms are strange. They seem to be multicolored, red and orange and brown, changing depending on the light like a hologram, but without any of the shine. They aren't bulb-shaped like many other mushrooms, but twist in tendrils this way and that, stretching.

And a smell hangs about them. You can't really describe it, something like damp and musk and old meat. Standing there, breathing them in, for too long makes your head spin.

And the trees, or rather, what's left of them. Nothing but stumps now, but you can tell that they were old when they were cut down. There's that same multi-colored effect to them, except it runs in veins throughout the tree's bark, spiraling into the rings.

You'll have to ask Yoongi about it.

Curiosity nips at you like a non-venomous snake even after you're home. It's not deadly, but it sure as hell is annoying.

What kind of disease infects fungi and trees? Why would the mayor care about privately investigating such a thing? And a thousand other questions.

You shove your boots on and enter back into the chill. You remember seeing a bookstore in town.

The Magic Shop: Books and Oddities

The front window glows with warm light, crowded with displayed volumes and curiosities (a stuffed raven, a jar of yellowing teeth, insects encased in amber).

The door swings open with the ring of a bell. Someone calls out "Welcome in," in a deep-velvet voice.

The smell of parchment and aged leather envelopes you like a familiar hug. You can't help pausing in the doorway and inhaling deeply. No matter what city you're in, places like this always feel like home.

It's everything that a bookstore should be: crowded, mysterious, and slightly dusty. The shelves are tightly grouped and arranged like a labyrinth few are privy to, and stacks—no, towers—of books occupy every corner.

You enter into the space, feet padding on the braided rugs, eyes drinking in the details. There are labels on the shelves, haphazardly spaced. They start normal enough: gardening, self-help, adventure.

But then you realize that they branch off into even more labels, or rather sub-labels. There's nocturnal gardening, gardening under the influence, Faerie gardens and goblin gardens. Each labeled sub-genre branches into even more specific sub-categories, creating a seemingly endless array of subjects.

You could explore this place for hours. In fact, you intend to over the course of your stay in Farrow's End.

You spend an indeterminate amount of time exploring all the labels and categories. The shelves twist this way and that, creating little nooks where the occasional armchair is tucked into.

Eventually, you come to a more open area with a wide-sprawling desk. The man sitting behind it is tall and tan, glasses perched on his nose, with short chestnut hair that shifts golden in the candlelight.

He's deeply focused on the book in his hands: A Comprehensive Guide to Navigating Parallel Universes and Pocket Dimensions.

Typically, you hate to bother people in a bookstore, especially if they're already reading. It's supposed to be a space for quiet reflection, for self-exploration and uninterrupted browsing. But you still have a job to do, and it's clear that you won't be able to navigate the complicated system yourself. At least, not in a concise period of time.

So you square your shoulders and prepare yourself to address the (handsome, you notice) man at the counter.

"Excuse me," you begin in a hushed voice.

The man's head whips up, as if he completely forgot there was another person here.

"Yes?" He says in that same deep voice, friendly and eager. "Do you need help finding something?" It sounds like he can't quite believe the fact. This place must not get many customers.

"Yes, if you don't mind."

His face lights up as if nothing would delight him more.

"Do you have anything on unusual mushrooms?" you ask.

The man sets down his book and slips out from behind the desk. "Hmm..." he mumbles to himself, expertly weaving between the shelves while you hurry to catch up.

"Let's see here..." he says, passing a wall draped with vines from a hanging planter, like the ones in Yoongi's lab, you notice.

"Fungi," he mutters, fingertips ghosting over the shelves. The sections under Fungi are vast and wide-ranging. Poisons & Antidotes, Moss & Lichens, Carnivorous, Aberrations.

He pauses at that last one, eyes flitting between the volumes.

"Anything specific?" he asks.

You debate on how much to disclose, but with the several cases of strange fungi in people's yards, it's probably common small town knowledge by now.

"Anything about an unusual fungus with...tendrils?" You can't help the hesitation, you're not sure if it's a common feature among mushrooms.

Apparently, it's not as unusual as you thought, because the man only nods and shifts his attention to one of the lower shelves. His slim fingers finally land on an old cloth-bound book with a red toadstool on the spine. There's no title on the cover, but the man seems to be familiar with it.

"Here you go," he says, handing it to you. "I think you'll find what you're looking for in this one."

He says it with the confidence of someone who's read every book in the building front to back. A very specific part of your brain tells you that this fact is almost certainly true.

"Thank you very much," you say, turning the book over in your hands.

"My pleasure," he replies, and means it.

"How much?"

He guides you back to the counter and rings it up for a very good price.

You're itching to ask questions, but you're not sure where to start.

The man places the book into a brown paper bag printed with Magic Shop Books and Oddities and hands it to you with a warm smile.

You lose your nerve and take the bag in silence. Then, as if he could smell the fragmented thoughts darting around in your skull, he says, "Be careful in the woods."

You look at him. There's the same friendly smile, but now with a hint of good-natured curiosity.

"If you're going mushroom hunting, I mean," he adds.

You stare at him for perhaps too long.

"Thanks," you say, dropping a generous tip into the jar next to the register.

"Hope to see you again," he calls out as you exit through the front door.

A moth to flame, bees to honey. Insert: you to coffee shops with perfect ambient lighting. You spot it just as you're leaving the narrow alley that leads to the bookshop.

Turning the corner onto a cobblestone walkway, you catch sight of the cafe windows, slick with the recent rain. But from what you can see through the glass, it looks like a warm, cozy place.

Glancing at the front door, you notice an OPEN sign, even though it's quite late. You're opening the door and stepping inside before you're even conscious of it.

The interior reflects the same aged aesthetic as the exterior, dark wood and brick and brass accents. But the kitchen area houses clean chrome appliances, and there are shelves stacked with white dishes behind them. Golden light warms a glass case fully stocked with a manner of pastries, breads, and other nibbles, all of which still seem to be steaming hot.

You immediately decide that you like this place.

"Good evening," a pleasant voice calls, though you can't yet identify the speaker.

The smell of steam and freshly-ground coffee beans becomes richer as you approach the counter. You can hear someone puttering around in the back room.

You glance at the menu's wide selection, and when you look back at the counter, a man is standing right in front of you.

You don't scare easily, but it's enough to make you jump a little.

"What can I get you?" the man asks cheerfully. He's tall and slim, wearing a white button-up and black slacks under an apron. Brown hair, dark eyes, and a full smiling mouth.

You order a coffee and a pastry.

"What time do you close?" you ask, wanting to sit down and enjoy the atmosphere but also not wanting to be the asshole that settles in just before closing.

"On Wednesdays we close at noon, otherwise we're open twenty-four hours," he replies, sounding delighted by rather than annoyed by the fact.

A twenty-four hour coffee shop? You really like this place.

He must see your eyebrows raise in surprise, because then he proudly adds, "Only one in town."

Pleasantly surprised, you look around the shop to assess the seating options. There are booths tucked along the walls, a few tables and chairs, and a few plush-looking armchairs near the windows.

"Please, have a seat and make yourself at home. I enjoy the company," the man says as he makes your drink.

You take him up on it, settling into one of the chairs by the frosted glass of the window. It's then that you take a closer look at the book the shop owner recommended.

A fraying cloth-bound cover, a red toadstool instead of a title. Inside, a table of contents. First, a bit of basic mycology, which you greatly benefit from. Immediately after, a range of mutations, circumstances, and environmental factors that caused the direct disturbance to said mycology.

You get lost in it quite easily, sipping your drink (which is expertly brewed) and nibbling your pastry (which is almost too delicious for words). You know that you'll be spending a considerable amount of time here throughout your stay in Farrow's End.

The book cites several case studies, all suggesting that a new strain of fungus is not only spreading rapidly, but infecting all other strains it has access to.

You read on, only momentarily distracted by the occasional customers that enter into the establishment. Like the group of students, most likely from the University, who order a large batch of espresso to-go. Or the old man who orders a sandwich and black coffee and sits outside despite the late-night chill.

You don't realize it, but you read on until the early morning. The first few faint, pale rays of sunlight stretch across your current page through the window, and you jerk to attention when you realize what time it is.

Not that you have somewhere in particular to be today. But you've always liked to get a jump on things early on in the investigation. And you have better luck getting interviews during the day.

You had no idea that time was passing so quickly. This place seems to have an air of particular tranquility, the kind that only a handful of coffee shops are able to achieve. It's the feeling of finding a quiet place after being overstimulated for hours.

You take your dishes to the counter, drop a tip into the jar, and step into the morning chill.

Exhaustion sets in on the journey home, and you crash moments after your head hits the pillow.

The dreams start that night.

a/n: thanks so much for reading!! love to hear any of ur thoughts 👉👈

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#bts ot7 #ot7 x reader #bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts mystery #bts x fem!reader #bts series #bts f #bts fic #bts angst #bts fluff

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creatchie8 · 17 days ago

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The First Daughter

Summary: Hopelessly in love with the agent assigned to protect you, you devise a plan to reveal his true feelings

Pairing: Secret Service!Robert Floyd/First Daughter!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Minors DNI! Oral (F receiving), alcohol consumption

A/N: I got obsessed watching the 2004 film, First Daughter, and took lots of inspo from that movie. I'd love to have him sworn to protect me ;) (Not proofread, I wrote this speedy fast)

Word Count: 3,500ish

The two of you had been playing eye tag the whole night.

And with every sip of the red wine you took, the more bold you became. Your cheeks felt warm as the alcohol slowly made your body buzz with excitement, ankles wobbling just a bit on the dancefloor in your red-bottomed heels. The orchestra that was hired played absolutely magnificently, the music changing between jazz and waltz, filling the (already full) large ballroom.

Marvelous gold chandeliers basked everything in a soft, warm glow. The regality of it all took you back in time, you imagine this is what it would look like if you were a princess in the 1920s. The paintings of your forefathers adorned the walls along with rich brown velvet curtains, a perfect contrast to the light walls and columns.

It was the second New Years with your mother as President, the first with Agent Robert Floyd by your side.

Robert was younger- mid thirties, some modest Navy man looking to change his career path when he got assigned to you after completing his training at the JJRTC in South Laurel, Maryland. He was incredibly unassuming, following you around quietly as you went about your day at Harvard or home.

How you ended up here at your mother’s party in DC trying to get a reaction out of the man, you don’t know. Maybe you were delusional, somehow you had convinced yourself that he felt something for you (love or lust, you didn’t know). It was the man’s job for god sakes, to follow you around and make you feel safe. You were not special to him in any way.

Within the last five months though, it felt like one of those steamy romance slow burn books you are always hearing about on social media. Lately, his gaze lingered longer than it should have when the two of you were in private. He opened up more, responding in detail when you would ask him questions about his life instead of the short one word answers he used to give before analyzing your surroundings again.

His voice was soft when he spoke to you, his hand finding your lower back like it was his own personal polar star when the crowd around you thickened. It was like the longer he was assigned to you the more his shell melted. Robert of course had time away from you, even as your agent he must eat and sleep. But when he would return and replace whoever was watching you before, he would ask to be caught up on when he was away.

No agent had ever had interest in you like that before.

You were probably just incredibly horny, being the President’s daughter doesn't get you much action, or at least not the kind you want. And you knew it was bad to want Robert Floyd, but somehow that made you desire him even more.

The dress you were wearing tonight may or may not have been picked out with your agent in mind. Floor length and velvety black, the soft fabric smooth against your middle. A neckline that was perfectly flattering of your chest, a simple necklace sitting on top of your collarbones delicately but also working to help draw eyes to your cleavage. Surely modest enough for the gathering but eye catching for sure.

He was stationed near a pair of opened doors, pressed against the wall in a neat black and white tuxedo, a metal american flag pinned neatly on his left lapel. It was standard dress for every agent that was there, but to you Robert stood out as by far the most handsome one. Light brown hair combed perfectly to the side. His blue eyes scanned the crowd in a zig-zag motion, stuttering and stopping on you when you were in view, his unique glasses glinting in the light.

The whole night you had been inching closer, using the excuse of mingling to hop from table to table (intermittently being taken to the dance floor by your father or some diplomat's son) and closer to his door. At one point you looked up from where you were leaning on a table, catching his eyes.

A few times tonight that had already happened only for him to look away swiftly, his Adam's apple bobbing as he straightened his shoulders. But this time he held your gaze, almost defensively as his brows furrowed the tiniest bit. He probably assumed you would take one for the team and back down first this time. But that second glass of wine you were halfway done with was leaving you valiant, his determination causing the side of your mouth to tick up the tiniest bit.

The muscles in his jaw twitched as he admitted a silent defeat, flicking his eyes elsewhere.

Never a rude host, you turned your attention back to the guest you were chatting with, letting her finish her story before politely excusing yourself elsewhere. With your clutch in hand and your wine abandoned at the table, you set off to the open door. With this newfound confidence you strut (albeit somewhat off balance) like you had every intention in the world to just leave for the bathroom and come back with no ulterior motive.

But you like to think Robert knew you like the back of his hand, watching him bring his right arm up, speaking into the microphone in his sleeve. An agent still had not relieved him as you passed by, eyes forward even though in your peripheral you noticed his head turn to you.

It wasn't until your heels hit the magnificent marble staircase that you heard his footsteps following you, echoing through the hall. Your left hand grabbed the front of the dress, hiking it well above your ankles as you climbed the stairs. Shockingly, there was no one loitering in this part of the building. Passing by a grandfather clock on the opposite wall you squint to make out the thin arms, concluding that it was in fact, almost midnight. The smell of pine lingered outside the ballroom, drifting into almost nothing the further you got.

You had already passed by two bathrooms as you led Robert on a wild goose chase through the building, trying to find the perfect spot. He was beyond patient with you, finally caught up and only a few short steps behind.

When you finally found what room you were looking for, you stopped short, letting his muscular body bump into yours before spinning around. Robert looked mortified, already stuttering beginnings of apologies as you grabbed the lapels of his jacket, thumb accidentally turning the pin askew before pulling him into the empty room (with remarkable force you might add).

In a whirlwind of moving bodies you suddenly found yourself back against the closed door, that same mortified look on his face as he stood there trapped in the room. In the shuffle you had dropped your clutch near your feet, the beaded satchel slumped against the dark mahogany floor.

The room was simple, a pool table in the center and a few chairs nestled close to the unlit fireplace. There was a bookcase somewhere in the room, hidden by the veil of darkness. The moonlight showed through two good sized windows on the wall facing you, his back illuminated by the light.

“I thought you needed to go to the bathroom.” He stated, clearly confused as his brows furrow. You could barely see his face and it might've been the alcohol but you were falling hard.

“I changed my mind.” You crossed your arms, body heavy against the great door.

“You wanted to play…” He turned towards the pool table then back to you, “pool?” His eyes continue to search the room, mapping out his surroundings like he always does.

Huffing at his lack of interest in you, you get straight to the point, “Robert, do you think I’m attractive?” It comes out brattier than you intend and you close your mouth with an audible click.

“What?” His attention is back to you in an instant, eyes wide behind his glasses.

“I asked, do you think I’m attractive?” Repeating yourself, biting your bottom lip hard at your own boldness. It takes a few seconds for him to respond to you, opening and closing his mouth a few times while he processes your question.

“Y-You're incapacitated, please let me help you back downstairs.” He says calmly, but you can see right through it. The mask he is putting on causes you to roll your eyes dramatically. Robert steps forward, hands outstretched to presumably grab your shoulders so it's easier to guide you back to your parents. The action makes your stomach light up in excitement, your first reaction is pushing yourself off the door and away from his reach, further into the room.

“I am anything but ‘incapacitated’. I’m tipsy.” You declare matter of factly, cheeks burning in the warm room. Now your back was to the window, your positions switched.

“That still falls under the definition of incapacitated.”

“I think you're attractive.” Your voice was suddenly much quieter, now toe to toe with a man visibly sweating bullets. “I've thought about it since I met you-” The sober part of you shuts your mouth, a nonsense love confession pushing against your teeth. He refused to respond, still as a statue sans his blue eyes tracing your face.

“Why were we playing eye tag from the moment the party started?” You press, determined to not back down until your question was answered.

“My job is to look after you.” A very real explanation to your question. The opposite of what you want.

“Is it your job to clench your teeth when I dance with other guys?” Just the mere mention of it has his upper lip twitching, and you know you've got your answer. You look up at him through mascaraed eyelashes, sweaty hands reaching up (surprisingly more shaky than you thought) to clutch at his black lapels.

You would've thought he’d stop you, it would be easy in your impaired state to grab your wrists and haul you down to the party in a cloud of shame. But he watched as you focused on his pin, pinching it between your forefinger and thumb to adjust it.

You don't process that he’s moved his hand up until he is brushing the hair out of your face that escaped your modest updo. His fingertips are gentle, and you begin to worry that this is the end before it has even begun, that he’s about to open his mouth and let you down easy. Pressing your hands firmly against his warm chest you weakly try to push back, the fear of rejection drenching your whole body.

He caught you unexpectedly by the shoulders, fingers wrapping around your bare upper biceps. Holding you close firmly, you gave up pushing away and dropped your arms to your side. Robert was searching your eyes before letting a long sigh out his nose.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that-” You close your eyes and tilt your head back to the ceiling, “I guess I am a little incapacitated.” Placing emphasis on the word to lighten the mood, not wanting to look at him to save yourself from embarrassment.

You were aware of everything on your body with your eyes closed. The tickle of your hair on your neck, the way your dress hugged your body, you could even feel the way your heels teetered on the hardwood. Worst of all, you felt his warm, calloused hands smoothing down your naked arms.

Then you felt one of his hands leave your arm, trailing up and up to your neck and cradling the back of your skull. Robert pulled your head up but still you kept your eyes closed.

“You don’t understand what you’re asking." A quiet waltz played from the floor below, accompanying his words that stung like rubbing alcohol in a cut. Your eyes snap open in an instant, rapidly blinking to clear them from the blurriness. You could barely think coherent thoughts between his hand still on the back of your neck and his painful words.

“I do know what I’m asking-” You exclaimed defiantly, “and I’m not stupid-”

“I never said you were stupid.” He cut you off abruptly, his warm breath fanned across your face in short puffs. You clenched your fists by your sides, your body itchy with annoyance.

“Robert. I swear to god if you interrupt me aga-”

And then he kissed you. And all you could do was rip yourself away from him in vexation, opening your mouth to hiss something at him about fucking interupting you again.

As you stumbled back you realized something. He was looking back at you like you had sprouted a third ear, and the disbelief in his eyes made you want to go search for a mirror to see if you actually did.

“Oh.” You touched your lips, desire starting a low buzz beneath your skin. He had kissed you. And it felt good.

“Yeah.” Robert said, almost sheepishly.

“Ohh-” Was all you could get out before he was on you again, his hands connecting with your waist while yours cupped his cheeks and jaw, pulling him closer.

It was frantic and messy, you felt light headed by the lack of oxygen. Your lipgloss had smeared all over your lips and his, the soft vanilla flavor all you could taste when you licked into his open mouth. Warmth blossomed in your chest as his hands sank lower to cup your ass through your dress, his lips migrating from yours to your jaw, leaving a light trail of saliva in their path.

Hands trailing up to rest against the nape of his neck, the short hair tickling your palms as you bit your bottom lip, stifling whines as his lips worked against the sensitive parts of your neck. It was too much yet not enough as his hands roamed over your body and yet managed to miss everywhere you needed him the most.

“S-Stop teasing me.” You managed to pant out, a gasp leaving your kiss-swollen lips as Robert’s cold glasses pressed into your neck. You grab his hand from where it was resting under your breast, walking backwards blindly in search of the pool table. Your other arm was outstretched behind you, acting as a buffer in case you trip and fall.

Robert stumbled along like an obedient dog, reaching up with his unoccupied hand to yank the earpiece from his ear so it just dangled from his button up collar. When your bum hit the pool table he lifted you up and set you upon the edge with no hesitation, making butterflies kick up in your stomach. You were still in awe over his strength that you didn't even realize he had delicately slipped your straps from your shoulders and his hands were behind your back, pinching your zipper.

“May I?” He asked softly, awaiting your response. He was absolutely gorgeous, the moonlight illuminated only one side of his face. His hair was tousled and his lips were red from the kisses. Fine lines carefully etched into his features, the only sign of his age.

Your stomach flipped as you nodded, inhaling a deep breath through your nose as he invaded your space, slotting himself between your thighs. Robert looked over your shoulder and pressed a few soft kisses there as he carefully unzipped your dress. Your hands drifted up and grasped at his belt, the silver metal burning your fingertips with cold as you clumsily fought with it.

His lips returned to your mouth as he slowly pulled the dress down over your breasts, urging your hands away from his now unzipped slacks and through the arm holes of your dress. Although the air was warm to your cheeks and back, it made goosebumps rise along your chest, nipples perking up as the top fell to your lap.

You hardly noticed his lips leaving yours until you felt him push on your left shoulder, guiding you back so you were propped up on your elbows on the deep green baize. A protest died in your throat as his lips wrapped around a nipple, his warm tongue lapping at the stiff peak. A startled cry left your mouth as you felt his hand tweak your other nipple, pinching and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

You let your head drop back as his mouth switched to your other nipple, his fingers pinching the other. The black dress still was around your legs, thighs straining the fabric as you silently begged for him to touch your now aching core. You lifted up a heeled foot, pressing one of his thighs closer to your center.

Robert takes the hint, much to your relief and slips his hands down your body. You can feel every callous, every fingernail as he presses them into your soft skin and eventually grips his fists into the dress gathered near your knees.

You try to focus on the ceiling, which looked like it stretched miles above the both of you, crown molding decorating the edges and hand painted vines adorned the flat space between.

Slowly, just as Robert lifts your knees up and over his shoulders and sinks to the ground, you lower yourself flat against the green, arms outstretched above your head.

Your lower half was bare, save for the midnight black dress pooling around your waist. Robert’s breath huffed against your clothed core, drawing your attention back to him.

“Fuck…” You hear him whisper hoarsely. And only then can you feel his fingers drawing your panties to the side, a sharp gust of cold air drifting over your dripping pussy. The praise heats your cheeks, a swell of shyness bubbles within your chest. The panties are placed over your core and Robert presses his face against the silky black fabric, startling you.

You start to sit up on your elbows again, a moan caught in your throat as you watch him bury his nose and mouth in the damp silk, taking a deep inhale with his eyes closed. Savoring your smell as he mouths against you. It was tortuous, his blunt fingernails digging into the meat of your thighs. His cheeks are red, his groans vibrating against you as his glasses begin to fog.

“Please, Robert. I can’t-” Is all you can get out before he is ripping your panties to the side and licking you whole. With that one motion your thighs are already quivering on either side of his head. His flush trails down to his neck, hiding under the tight collar of his button up.

Your stomach tightens as the tip of his tongue circles your clit, sucking it into his mouth and savoring it like a piece of hard candy. With your mouth open, all you can do is stare with blurry eyes. Robert was consuming you like a man starved, his ministrations relaxing your muscles and turning you into jello before him.

“Robert, I-” You begin, outstretching your arm to grasp at his hair.

“Hmmm?” He hums, his mouth still working against you, jaw clenching as you attempt to push him back. Robert looked up at you through long eyelashes, eyes glazed over as if he was the one getting the most pleasure out of it.

“Please more- oh god do not stop.” You were not above begging. And thank god because that was all it took to convince him. At once he returned to your needy pussy, his right hand slipping from the top of your thigh to your juncture. His middle finger prodded at your entrance, slipping in with little resistance.

Back arching, you drop down to rest fully on the soft baize. Gasping as he managed to press another finger in. They were big, stretching you. The sensation bites but is quickly soothed as he curls them, beckoning an orgasm out of your body.

Your chest heaves as your body tightens, moaning nonsense as you get closer and closer. The man between your legs doubling his efforts as if you had told him you were almost there.

And then your body snaps. It’s like submerging yourself in a warm bath, you cannot breathe, in fear you might drown in the water. But weightless nonetheless.

He rises to his feet, and you are still boneless on the table. Pussy pulsing, only to be covered up again by your wet panties. The feeling is terribly uncomfortable, drawing a whine from your chest.

Even more shockingly, you do not even get a moment to revel in the afterglow before he is pulling you up by your elbow.

“Hey! What are you doing?” You huff in half hearted annoyance as he is already pulling your straps up and attempting to zip your dress.

“It is almost midnight-” He finishes zipping up your dress, “I suggest we go celebrate it with your guests.”

You blink and look up at him, reaching up and fixing his hair as a soft smile graces his features. Your cheeks heat as you remember the party downstairs, how only the two of you know that his face was between your legs just moments ago.

“Y-Yes.” You clear your throat and adjust your straps, offering him your hand, “I suppose we should.”

#lewis pullman #lewis pullman characters #robert bob floyd x reader #robert floyd x reader #robert bob floyd #robert bob floyd fic #robert bob floyd smut #bob floyd fic #bob floyd x reader #bob fucks #bob floyd #bob floyd smut #bob floyd x female reader #bob floyd x you

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hometoursandotherstuff · 10 months ago

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I thought that this 1882 Victorian in Oakland, Maryland was going to be amazing, b/c the exterior looks so nice, but the 7bd, 3ba home was done by a flipper who either ran out of money or just said "screw it." Asking $300K. The buyer will have to finish the house.

They put a lot of money into the exterior, but gave up on some of the interior. They didn't even dust the stairs.

They left some original features, which is a good thing, like this fireplace, and it's the only one. They also went with the popular gray color scheme.

The bath got a modular shower, a new pedestal sink, and drywall.

The kitchen redo- typical flipper white shaker cabinets. The fridge fits, so why the board on the side?

Those would be the original service stairs on the left.

I'm so confused, but I think that this is the dining room.

This is a horror. They gave up on the floor, didn't refinish the stairs and put up gray paneling.

The bedrooms are all gray and the floors are in various conditions.

This looks like a bath and hallway to the attic.

New bath.

The rest of the money went to finishing the attic.

It's huge and the best space in the house.

Love the turret room.

There's a full bath up here, too.

The stairs will need some sort of protective finish.

The patio needs some work and the garden is overgrown, but there's a brick barbecue. Can't tell if it's useable.

It's a large house for the price.

He put on a new roof that must've cost several thousand. The lot is .04 acre.

https://www.oldhouses.com/35977

#victorian houses #old house dreams #houses #house tours #home tour

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kemetic-dreams · 1 year ago

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Simbi water spirits are revered in Hoodoo originating from Central African spiritual practices. When Africans were enslaved in the United States, they blended African spiritual beliefs with Christian baptismal practices. Enslaved African Americans prayed to Simbi water spirits during their baptismal services. In 1998, in a historic house in Annapolis, Maryland called the Brice House archaeologists unearthed Hoodoo artifacts inside the house that linked to the Kongo people. These artifacts are the continued practice of the Kongo's minkisi and nkisi culture in the United States brought over by enslaved Africans. For example, archeologists found artifacts used by enslaved African Americans to control spirits by housing spirits inside caches or nkisi bundles. These spirits inside objects were placed in secret locations to protect an area or bring harm to slaveholders. "In their physical manifestations, minkisi (nkisi) are sacred objects that embody spiritual beings and generally take the form of a container such as a gourd, pot, bag, or snail shell. Medicines that provide the minkisi with power, such as chalk, nuts, plants, soil, stones, and charcoal, are placed in the container." Nkisi bundles were found in other plantations in Virginia and Maryland. For example, nkisi bundles were found for the purpose of healing or misfortune. Archeologists found objects believed by the enslaved African American population in Virginia and Maryland to have spiritual power, such as coins, crystals, roots, fingernail clippings, crab claws, beads, iron, bones, and other items assembled together inside a bundle to conjure a specific result for either protection or healing. These items were hidden inside slaves' dwellings. These practices were concealed from slaveholders.

In Darrow, Louisiana at the Ashland-Belle Helene Plantation historians and archeologists unearthed Kongo and Central African practices inside slave cabins. Enslaved Africans in Louisiana conjured the spirits of Kongo ancestors and water spirits by using seashells. Other charms were found in several slave cabins, such as silver coins, beads, polished stones, bones, and were made into necklaces or worn in their pockets for protection. These artifacts provided examples of African rituals at Ashland Plantation. Slaveholders tried to stop African practices among their slaves, but enslaved African Americans disguised their rituals by using American materials and applying an African interpretation to them and hiding the charms in their pockets and making them into necklaces concealing these practices from their slaveholders. In Talbot County, Maryland at the Wye House plantation where Frederick Douglass was enslaved in his youth, Kongo related artifacts were found. Enslaved African Americans created items to ward off evil spirits by creating a Hoodoo bundle near the entrances to chimneys which was believed to be where spirits enter. The Hoodoo bundle contained pieces of iron and a horse shoe. Enslaved African Americans put eyelets on shoes and boots to trap spirits. Archaeologists also found small carved wooden faces. The wooden carvings had two faces carved into them on both sides which were interpreted to mean an African American conjurer who was a two-headed doctor. Two-headed doctors in Hoodoo means a conjurer who can see into the future and has knowledge about spirits and things unknown.

At Levi Jordan Plantation in Brazoria, Texas near the Gulf Coast, researchers suggests the plantation owner Levi Jordan may have transported captive Africans from Cuba back to his plantation in Texas. These captive Africans practiced a Bantu-Kongo religion in Cuba, and researchers excavated Kongo related artifacts at the site. For example, archeologists found in one of the cabins called the "curer's cabin" remains of an nkisi nkondi with iron wedges driven into the figure to activate its spirit. Researchers found a Kongo bilongo which enslaved African Americans created using materials from white porcelain creating a doll figure. In the western section of the cabin they found iron kettles and iron chain fragments. Researchers suggests the western section of the cabin was an altar to the Kongo spirit Zarabanda

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tacky-jack-with-a-hat · 7 months ago

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*Wakes up from an 100 year sleep to give you random wttt headcannons*

•Maryland goes by she/they pronouns but will accept she/her. She's inconsistent on what she identifies as but usually it's between genderfluid and bigender.

•Utah is a well meaning parent but struggles with unlearning the internalised bigotry he was raised with (as in he was either taught the wrong information or was shielded from complex topics). He's willing to learn from and for his kids but he gets confused quite often.

•Arkansas regularly wears diamonds (irl Arkansas naturally has diamonds) and he will sparkle next to a lamp.

(More under cut)

•The states that rarely get any screentime are just busy doing bizarre side quests irrelevant to being a state (think like Max Fosh actually trying to teach a rat to make ratatouille) while everyone else has no idea what is going on.

•Over their lifetime States accidentally reveal their immortality to the towns they try to assimilate to. When this happens they have to desperately try to relocate and Gov has to scrub their info from the records. This has gotten harder bc of social media and at least 18 states have gotten doxxed or doxxed themselves repeatedly.

•California easily falls for fads and scams and gets made fun of by the other states for it... Only for those same states to ignore his warnings and fall for the same scams a few months later.

•Gov used to have a suggestion box he would read aloud at the table...

•New Jersey can't eat gluten. He will steal food from Cali as he also doesn't eat gluten.

•In the State House they have a board to make note of the chores in the house as well as posters to advertise special events and services the other states are offering.

•Florida struggles with reading so he replaces the labels on most things with stickers with different colours and letters to the detriment to everyone else who needs the labels because only Florida knows what the "alligator-with-a-machine-gun" sticker means. He knows that he could just leave the labels on and put the sticker on top, but why would he miss out on pissing people off?

•The state's and gov try to keep Mother Nature in the dark about the location of the statehouse to avoid being confronted... Unknown to them Nature already knows where they live and they're actually living on borrowed time.

•Hawaii was the one who told Mother Nature and has been avoiding the statehouse and table meetings out of respect (and sometimes love) for her.

•Loui befriended too many ghosts and now the statehouse is haunted. Stuff breaks, lights flicker, doors open by themselves and Loui is drunkenly tries to communicate to the states that the ghosts aren't hostile they're just having a ghost rave.

#wttt #welcome to the table

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militantinremission · 5 months ago

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Kamala Harris 4 President: Is She ready 4 Prime Time?

Joe Biden has literally slipped on a banana peel. Following his dismal performance at the 1st Presidential Debate, he has made a series of blunders that now has him under a microscope. It's gotten so bad, that folks are criticizing the way he walks up the stairs of Air Force One... Biden made several appearances to shore up his Social Capital, but few were effective. From his interview w/ George Stephanopoulos, to his 'Big Boy NATO Summit' to his telephone interview on MSNBC's 'Morning Joe'; Joe Biden has raised more questions than providing answers. An increasing number of Congressional Democrats, Elites, & Big Money Donors- from Chuck Schumer, to Jeffrey Katzenberg, George Clooney & Rob Reiner are asking him to step down. Political Pundits across many platforms have expressed publicly how Joe Biden is weakening Congressional Democrats running for Re-Election.

Biden has been adamant about staying in Office, but has recently said that he's open to discussion. Black Politicians & Democratic Shills like Whoopi Goldberg, Roland Martin, Symone Sanders, D.L. Hughley & Joy Reid continue to Circle the Wagon, but hardcore Biden advocates like Joe Scarborough & Van Jones have admitted that his Poll #s are damaging the overall Democratic Party. The Question being asked is: if Joe Biden steps down, WHO is capable of defeating Donald Trump in the General Election? California Governor Gavin Newsome, Michigan Governor Gretchen Whitmer, Illinois Governor J. B. Pritzker, Pennsylvania Governor Josh Shapiro, & Maryland Governor Wes Moore have been tossed around; but none of them have enough National Recognition to compete against Trump. 'The View's' Sunny Hostin has stated that Black Women will abandon the Democratic Party if Kamala Harris is not chosen as the heir apparent, but is Kamala Harris 'Presidential Material'?

Presidential Politics IS a Blood Sport. When a Candidate runs for POTUS, their Record of Service is on full display. There is a reason why Kamala Harris hasn't been mentioned before now. Many assume that she is being left out because of her Race, but Political Pundits admit that NO ONE really likes her. Kamala has wore several hats during her Political Career, but she has few accomplishments to tout for her Years of Service. As District Attorney of San Francisco, Attorney General of California, & U.S. Senate Member, Kamala Harris has been detrimental to Black Californians. Her Record is one of disenfranchisement & incarceration of Blackfolk. Harris, Nancy Pelosi, & Dianne Feinstein share responsibility for the Current State of Black America in The Bay Area. She was originally touted as the '1st South Asian (i.e. Indian) American Woman elected into the U.S. Senate', but has somehow been mysteriously transformed into a 'Black Woman'.

For The Record, Kamala Harris is neither Afrikan American or Black. Her Mother is Brahmin & her Father is Brahmin & Irish Jamaican; her Father's Irish side were Slaveholders. She was born in Oakland & later relocated to Berkeley, after her parents separated. Kamala was bused to a predominantly White Elementary School, before her Mother relocated to an affluent Community in Montreal. She attended Junior High & High School in Montreal before returning to America, to attend Howard University. THIS is where Kamala's 'Black Experience' begins. Rumor has it that she became a Sweetheart of Kappa Alpha Psi Fraternity Inc. (a Kappa Diamond) & later pledged Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority Inc. Post Grad, Kamala returned to The Bay Area, where she became associated w/ Democratic Party Power Broker & former San Francisco Mayor Willie Brown. The former Mayor positioned Kamala on a couple of Commissions (that paid $400K over 5Yrs) & her 1st run to become San Francisco District Attorney.

Kamala Harris has been very fortunate during her Political Career, but her tenure as Vice President has exposed her flaws. She's had a revolving door of Staffers that cite factions & infighting w/i her Camp. Harris has been described as crass & vulgar towards her Staff- dropping F- bombs & denigrating them during Meetings. Former Speech Writers say they were confounded by her inability to follow Scripts. Aside from Abortion Rights, no one can point to an Issue that Harris has championed w/ consistency. Her tenure as Vice President has been compared w/ Dan Quayle's. Joe Biden put Kamala in charge of the Southern Border, but he was forced to issue an Executive Order; to clean up her inability to stop the flood of Illegal Immigrants coming from All Four Corners of The World. Kamala Harris is not known for promoting Pet Policy Projects, like Al Gore or Michelle Obama; She's better known for:

Wearing Chuck Taylors w/ Pearls

Putting hot sauce on her Collard Greens & washing them in the bathtub (???)

Cos Playing Black Americans &

Cackling when she's flummoxed

Currently, Kamala Harris is a weaker opponent against Donald Trump, than Joe Biden. She's only being considered, because the Biden- Harris Campaign Fund can't be accessed if another group of Candidates are selected. Somewhere between $100M- $300M is at stake. A DNC Super PAC is withholding another $90M in anticipation of Biden stepping down. Michelle Obama's name has been tossed around as a potential Candidate for POTUS, but she has said on several occasions that she's NOT interested. I would be surprised if she changed her mind. Personally, I don't think ANY MAN can beat Donald Trump & the only Woman that could give Trump a Real Fight, is Tulsi Gabbard. She's a Generational Candidate that has the pedigree of Military Service, plus the Political & Social Capital needed to get Voters to the Voting Booths. Tulsi is far from being 'The Perfect Candidate', but People can visualize her having meaningful discussions w/ World Leaders. By contrast, Kamala Harris looks like a cartoon character on The World Stage; few actually believe that she can command the respect of Vladimir Putin, Xi Jinping, & EU Leaders.

At this point, Democrats are in a No Win situation. Joe Biden campaigned in 2020 as a One Term President, but now he dares ANYONE to take him on at the Democratic National Convention. His selfishness & egocentrism has damaged the Democratic Party's chance of holding on to The White House. He says that he wouldn't have chosen Kamala Harris to be his VP if she wasn't capable of being President, but We KNOW that he only chose her because Black Women DEMANDED a Black Female Running Mate, in return for their vote. Ironically, Kamala doesn't fill that slot figuratively or literally. She let Black Women know early in her 2020 Campaign that she wasn't going to do ANYTHING SPECIFICALLY for Black Americans. Like Joe Biden, Harris offered a 'Lift Act' that promised Blackfolk more of the same 'Rising Tide' Democratic jargon. Despite this, roughly 86% of Black Americans supported the Biden- Harris Ticket; hoping this Administration would reward their loyalty & support w/ Real Policy.

Like Joe Biden, Kamala Harris NEEDS the Black Vote to win the General Election. The Problem is, Democrats have NO INTENTION of offering anything tangible to Black America. Despite the Doom & Gloom scenarios being pushed by Democratic Shills, an increasing number of Black Americans are refusing to vote Blue w/o getting something tangible in return. Democratic Elites thought they could play 'Chicken' w/ Blackfolk, but are beginning to realize how serious We are. Black Democratic Shills have been trying to corral The Black Vote, but they don't have the same influence that they held in previous years. Kamala Harris didn't help her Cause, when she said: 'We all know about the 20 Acres & a Mule'... Her casual disregard of Black Specific Issues rivals Joe Biden's. The Fact that Democrats have been forced to admit Biden's physical & mental decline will set The Party back at least 4 Years.

As I said before, Black America sits in the Catbird Seat! The rest of the Country may dread a 2nd Trump Presidency, but it's just 'Another Day in The Life' for Us. Our Ancestors survived 8 Years of Woodrow Wilson & over 50 Years of J. Edgar Hoover. We KNOW what a Dictator looks like. We also know that Every City will burn before We comply w/ The Heritage Foundation's 'Wish List' known as Project 2025. We just have to Get On Code & Stand Our Ground. Unlike the Millions of Colonists that occupy This Land, We're INDIGENOUS & have a Spiritual Connection to it; Millennia of Blood & Bones in The Soil. Unlike the newcomers, Perseverance is in Our Genetic Memory. Donald Trump is just the Latest 'Flavor of The Month'... We already survived a Trump Administration.

The acknowledgement of Joe Biden's decline puts Democrats in a bad position so late into the Election Season. It's not even clear if Dems can take him off The Ballot in several States. The fact that Kamala Harris cannot make a seamless transition into The Oval Office is creating a Civil War w/i The Party. I heard someone classify this 'War' as a battle between Black Shills & White Donors; The Shills want Biden to Stay, while The Donors want him to Resign. If Kamala Harris was truly 'Ready for Primetime', Sunny Hostin wouldn't have to say anything- EVERYONE would be on The Same Page.

-Ultimately, Money Talks.

#CivilWar #TrojanHorse #Time4NewBlood #Plutocracy #Kakistocracy #OnCode #NoTangiblesNoVote

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randomfoggytiger · 11 months ago

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"You Up For Joining Us?"

A Part II to my first Bill Scully POV fic here; and dedicated, again, to @baronessblixen for poking the Muse back into writing mode~.

*****

Bill had arranged it with Dana ahead of time: Dad’s first mates guarding the perimeters while Charlie, Hessa, and the kids stood inflexibly in the middle.

As usual, their mom slipped away from the rules, tying her trembling bereavement to Dana's strength; and Tara drifted closer to him, burrowing tighter into his grip until Bill pulled her against his shoulder.

Charlie’s grief hissed out in great huffs of air, Dana’s voice cut the silence with undetectable questions, and their mother's answers wavered, distant and dismayed.

“Bill, don’t you let go,” Tara whispered, both aware he was the one trembling.

And all Bill could think about was Melissa, taking the long route home over the vast, watery grave of the late Captain Scully.

*****

The house was quiet: Dana had left immediately after the service to work, face closed and lips sealed; Maggie had slipped from room to room until she sealed herself away to cry; and Charlie had wrangled his rich blood wife and two sons into the car to revisit old Maryland Scully haunts.

“I should call Melissa,” Bill rasped, rubbing a hand across his eyes, wondering if his father would already have done so. So many “done so”s still to learn.

“I’ll give her a ring if she doesn't check in by five.” Tara plopped a husband-sized mug of childhood memories and cinnamon sticks on his side of the couch and pulled a wife-sized chair up next to him. “Why don’t you put your feet up, Sweetie? I made Mom’s apple cider you love.”

“How do you always know what to do?”

“Because I have you captured between… what did Dana say were the ribs right on top of the heart?”

“I can’t remember.” He sank down next to her, mood softening despite the Charlie-shaped headache throbbing between his eyes. “Did you get to talk to her?”

“Mm, no. She was… I think she wanted to be left alone. She had her face on, y’know?”

“Angry? At you? What'd she say?”

“Nothing! She wasn’t... she was, y’know, withdrawn. Quiet. So, I left her alone.”

The couch, Bill realized, was comfortable; and he slipped his dress shoes off to half sit, half recline along the length of it. That, and the drink was good. “There’s something a little extra in this, Honey. What’d you put?”

“Dad’s ashes.”

Both of them snapped up at Charlie’s voice, his towering torso and knitted brows appearing in the doorway a second later. “I’m driving Hessa and the kids back to the hotel. We still doing the photo albums later?” The pretense was hollow: everyone knew he and the wife would find and excuse and be out before it got too dark.

Bill wondered why Charlie still bothered. “Yeah, if Mom’s up for it.”

“Great. See you guys then.” The torso and scowl slid away, light steps tripping over themselves down the hall and out the slammed door after a few customary noises.

“Just couldn’t keep it to himself, could he? Had to spread it to everyone else.”

Tara sighed and reached for one of his cinnamon sticks. Both knew they were hers, anyway.

*****

A few weeks after the police and FBI and press had turned his sister’s apartment upside down, Bill walked in and was nearly crushed by his mother’s fierce hug and flashing, determined eyes.

“Dana will be back soon, and you know how fastidious she is about her apartment. I want this place ready for her when she gets here.”

“Mom--”

“And we won’t argue about it, William Scully, especially when there’s work to be done.”

They worked until the moon streamed through the garishly taped window, sporadically reflecting off of tiny, bloodied specks of glass previously concealed in the carpet.

“Hidden in plain sight,” his mother had muttered; and Bill quickly distracted her with Melissa's spotty news and his and Tara’s five-year plan: a child hopefully by next year, or an incumbent relocation to better technology in California.

He didn’t tell her no one expected Dana to return, and that he and Tara decided to name their first daughter after his lost sister.

*****

Melissa picked up on his fourth attempt.

“Billy, is something up? Mom called, but I’m usually not at this number--”

“Melissa, Dana’s back.”

“Day’s back? Where’d they find her? Is she okay?”

“She’s in a coma.” The seconds hand ticked louder and louder in his ears. “Look, Melissa, I know you hate hospitals, but Mom needs you there."

“Of course. I’ll join you three as soon as I can. Is Charlie with you? Tara, Hessa?”

“It’s just Mom.”

More silence, then a pitying, “Oh, Bill….”

“Can’t be helped, so keep an eye on them for me, Missy-- and leave the woowoo talk out. Mom’s got enough on her plate as it is.”

“I’ve got a bus to catch and a flight plan to figure out, so I'll be unreachable for a bit. And don’t call Mom because it’ll be quicker for me to get there. Love you, call you soon.”

“Love you, Miss.”

*****

Melissa was back in California, wiling the hours away with tea and toffees for Tara until night fell and the latter went to bed. Bill found her stuffed in the corner of their temporary love seat, plucking contemplatively at the cheap threads poking from its arm.

“Burning the midnight oil? That’s more Dana’s style.”

She smiled warmly and leaned over to yank the pathetic thrift store cushion from Bill’s designated indent. “I haven’t had a talk with her like that for years. Now, she’s so…. She used to have such free-flowing energy, but she’s blocked all the paths off into their own, separate loops instead of connecting them back together. Like us." Melissa locked eyes, rebukingly shaking her head at the Scully stubbornness. "We just got her back, but we're all no different than we were right before Dad died.”

“Well, what do you suggest I do? Ditch Tara and fly across the country on the hope that Dana or Charlie will clear their schedules and meet up? Between the Navy and Tara’s treatments, I don’t have time to iron out the family problems; and all you’ve gotten them to admit is that Dana wishes she had more time for us, and Charlie only remembers we exist once or twice a year."

Melissa slowly nodded, blinking once, twice, in silence.

“Missy? Is there something wrong?”

“Mom had a dream again.”

He scoffed and looked at the ceiling in disbelief. “I don’t want to hear this.”

“It’s important, Bill. Mom had a dream like the one before Dana disappeared, only… she didn’t see who was in danger or why. And she’s frightened to death-- afraid it’ll happen all over again. And even if she were to tell Dana, Day's so closed off she won't even listen to her inner voice anymore."

“Men and women put their lives on the line of duty every day, Miss, and nothing bad happens. The nut that took Dana lucked out on a one-in-a-million chance; and it won’t happen again no matter how many guys she puts away. If Dana wants to waste her second chance on the field and her superiors greenlight her antics, then there’s nothing I or you or Mom or even Charlie can do to change her mind.”

Melissa fiddled with her fingers, spacey and distant. “It’s not just that, Billy. I’ve had a feeling, lately.” She returned to the present, studying his face for a long moment before clutching, desperately, at his arm. “And it feels permanent.”

The irrational conviction in her eyes was both moving and goading. “Then feel this, Missy: a year from now, Mom’ll only be having nightmares about the baby crawling around this rat trap apartment until a house on base opens up. Dana will take just enough time off to visit for the holidays, Tara might dye her hair red again to fit into the Scully family Christmas photo, and we’ll all pretend you aren’t handing off hosting duties to your roommate while secretly keeping your niece to yourself.”

Melissa was charmed, if not relieved. “With our luck, it’ll be another boy. Besides, you and Tara want one, anyway.” Elbowing him playfully in the gut, she scooted over and shoved the pillow against his shoulder. Voice softening, she wistfully added, “But if it were a girl, I’d be devoted to her. We Scully women have so few people to look out for us.”

*****

There was no Christmas, no baby, and no warning; only another somber gathering, one less family member, and a gray, lifeless inscription:

MELISSA

SCULLY

BELOVED SISTER

AND DAUGHTER

1962-1995

*****

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

Tagging @today-in-fic~

#txf #fic #Bill Scully POV #Part II #“You Up For Joining Us?��#Bill Scully #Tara Scully #Melissa Scully #Scully #Maggie Scully #Charlie Scully #I don't know WHY I made Charlie bitter #bitter Charlie isn't my favorite flavor #but... he just became that way?#I dunno #maybe he's misunderstood #and ALSO this is from Bill's POV after all #randomfoggytiger's fic

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ottpopfic · 8 months ago

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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

Abigail River:

The first child of Hades since Nico and Hazel, born hundreds of years in the future from the story. Katie (as a goddess) grants her her favor in exchange for a quest

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 Bonzai’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, she does a large chunk of the food processing from the roof garden

#notes #lettie thatcher #katie di solace #colton brown #solangelo

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mattieesmith31 · 3 months ago

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elitecardprocessing-blog · 7 months ago

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posttexasstressdisorder · 9 months ago

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As United States Postal Service letter carriers face increasing violence and assaults on the job, the police officers who could protect them have been sidelined by the government, a new Raw Story investigation revealed.

With letter carrier robberies skyrocketing by 543 percent between 2019 and 2022, the issue has spurred a bipartisan group of Congress members to introduce legislation aimed at providing more secure mailbox equipment and better protecting letter carriers.

Rep. Brian Fitzpatrick (R-PA), who introduced the Protect our Letter Carriers Act last week, said Raw Story's investigation should urge Congress to turn the bill into law.

“The concerns highlighted in this story only increase the urgency needed in Congress to pass the bipartisan Protect our Letter Carriers Act," Fitzpatrick said in a statement to Raw Story. "The United States Postal Service must have the resources to update its outdated arrow keys and harden mailboxes. We must also increase the prosecution and lengthen sentences of individuals arrested for assaulting and robbing letter carriers. I will do whatever is necessary to work with my colleagues on both sides of the aisle to pass this crucial piece of legislation.”

A 2020 statute reinterpretation by the Postal Service curtailed uniformed postal police officers' ability to patrol the streets where mail crimes typically occur, restricting them to working on postal property such as post offices and distribution centers. Meanwhile, the number of postal police officers overall has shrunk from a high of more than 2,600 in the 1970s to about 450 officers today.

In a phone interview with Raw Story, Del. Eleanor Holmes Norton (D-DC) said mail theft is "rampant" in her district and is an issue she's heard about across the country from her colleagues. Postal police officers aren't currently "doing any good being confined to postal property," Norton said.

"The spike in mail crime only reinforces my notion that we need to have postal police go wherever the crime is," Norton said.

If postal police officers began patrolling the streets again, there would be "a better chance of restricting crimes for the Postal Service," said Norton, who is a co-sponsor of the House version of the Postal Police Reform Act alongside Reps. Andrew Garbarino (R-NY), Ken Calvert (R-CA) and Bill Pascrell (D-NJ).

Calvert himself lost nearly $10,000 in campaign cash last year because of mail theft, Raw Story first reported.

"I think the bill has a good chance of passing not only because of what we're experiencing in the district but because this issue is nationwide," Norton said.

There's a Senate version of the Postal Police Reform Act, as well, introduced by Sens. Dick Durbin (D-IL) and Susan Collins (R-ME), along with 10 other co-sponsors, including Sen. Ben Cardin (D-MD).

“Postal carriers routinely deliver lifelines to Marylanders and others across the country. They should not be left vulnerable to dangerous situations that leave them and mail recipients in potential danger – from theft and the lost items," Cardin told Raw Story in a statement. "This is a growing problem that Congress should address, preferably in partnership with the USPS.”

Read Raw Story's full investigation: Letter carriers face bullets and beatings while postal service sidelines police

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moonlight26posts-blog · 1 month ago

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In Calvert Co., MD: 🍁 Urgent 2nd Rescue Plea: Star's Wish for a Forever Family 🍁 - Calvert County Animal Shelter - Maryland.

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Star, a stunning 3-year-old, 96lb Akita, has been waiting patiently at the shelter for 55 days—far too long for a girl with so much love to give. With the holidays fast approaching, Star dreams of leaving the shelter behind and curling up in a warm, loving home where she can truly shine.

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the-peculiar-bi-tch · 1 year ago

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CW: extreme transphobia, political violence, Don't Say Gay, trans genocide, 2024 election

I was made aware today of the GOP's "Mandate for Leadership" document today, which is a giant policy wishlist for conservatives and business execs for the first 180 days of a Republican presidential election victory in 2024. What they want is beyond extreme. This article from Dame Magazine covers it, and I'll put it below the break because it really is as bad as the CW makes it out to be. tldr, conservatives quite literally want all trans people locked up or dead, if you're an adult in the U.S. and can vote, vote blue no matter who. idc what arguments you make, you vote blue to stop this from happening.

Conservatives are trying to build off the anti-woke culture war that has proven broadly unpopular and has shot the leg off DeSantis' campaign. Some of the biggest conservatives policy orgs and think tanks are pushing this and it is the most threatening, unconstitutional shit imaginable.

They are fully embracing the "unitary executive theory", where the president has total power over the executive department and its agencies (anything labelled "Department," the EPA, etc) with no Congressional oversight whatsoever. It's a ridiculous, flatly illegal doctrine to try and act within, but conservatives have shown they do not care about the law and are going to do whatever the hell they want if they can. They want to use this total power over the executive branch to politically influence the Department of Justice (DOJ) and the courts into prosecuting political enemies (revenge for grand juries charging Trump with well over 100 felonies over crimes he provably committed) and forcing blue states to turn over all trans people they are sheltering for prosecution. Prosecution of what? Anything. Sex crimes applied to trans people existing in public, whether in person or online, because "what if a minor sees this perversion?"

States like California and Maryland have enacted safe harbor laws, meaning any trans people fleeing a red state, say, Texas, will not be extradited back to Texas for wearing makeup around a child. It means that these states will not recognize efforts by other states to essentially kidnap trans people. This document shows that conservatives want to use a political DOJ to threaten district attorneys in those states into turning over any and all trans people they're harboring. Stuff like this would be made way easier with KOSA (Kids Online Safety Act, S.1409), requiring Internet service providers to share a lot for personal data with the federal government. The Republican Senator who introduced it, Blackburn, has said it would be used to target trans people. While I have reached out to both my senators about this and Warnock and Ossoff have both told me they are no votes, it's still far too widely supported in the Senate. (Btw fuck Sen. Blumenthal, he's been on this anti-privacy bent for years and I hope he gets primaried and made completely irrelevant just for introducing this bill.)

What does this mean for trans people in 2024? Simple. If you value trans rights, and you are eligible to vote in the U.S., vote for the Democratic Party.

Greens stand less of a chance in defeating any Republican presidential nominee than I stand swimming across the Pacific. 2024 cannot be a "I don't like either party" election, it cannot be a "both sides" election because while I curse Blumenthal and other Democrats for going along with stuff like KOSA, they are not actively genocidal and many rail against the attacks people like DeSantis and MTG have levied against us. This cannot be a "let's just do a revolution" election cycle because yeah you're just going to organize a proletarian revolution in 400 days, overthrow the U.S. government, and install a functioning proletarian-focused queer-protecting government without it immediately backfiring from any number of potential fuckups that come with revolution.

Vote Democrat. Tell your friends to vote Democrat. Vote down the ballot. Phone bank, canvas, hell join a campaign. I made calls in 2020 with a nonprofit to get out votes for GA senate runoffs, those orgs were vital in those campaigns. When it comes to political pragmatism for this issue, the 2024 presidential election is the best way to affect the change we want.

Trans people cannot have our rights stripped this completely from us because a few hundred thousand people in a few key states go "oh yeah I like cornell west, my vote doesn't matter anyways so what's the harm voting third-party?"

“Pornography, manifested today in the omnipresent propagation of transgender ideology and sexualization of children, for instance, is not a political Gordian knot inextricably binding up disparate claims about free speech, property rights, sexual liberation, and child welfare. It has no claim to First Amendment protection. Its purveyors are child predators and misogynistic exploiters of women. Their product is as addictive as any illicit drug and as psychologically destructive as any crime. Pornography should be outlawed. The people who produce and distribute it should be imprisoned. Educators and public librarians who purvey it should be classed as registered sex offenders. And telecommunications and technology firms that facilitate its spread should be shuttered.”

There's your fucking harm.

#politics #us politics #trans genocide #don't say gay #christofascists #vote blue no matter who

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