#visit portland maine

[muttball]

Lobsters love Guinness

"Bull Feeney's is an authentic Irish pub and restaurant serving scratch-made pub fare complemented by 14 local craft and 7 premium imported drafts as well as Maine’s most extensive whiskey selection with 105 single malt Scotch, 9 blended Scotch, 43 Irish, 41 Bourbon, 5 Rye, 6 American, 3 Canadian, 1 French and 4 Japanese whiskies." However, Bull Feeney's, named after film director John Ford who played football for Portland High, nicknamed the 'Bull, has closed its doors after 21 years serving the Portland, Maine Irish.

[cozylittleartblog]

here comes the boy ~ hello boy ✨

cleaned up a couple of the vash doodles i did while learning to draw him :)

[magenta-fantasies-illustrations]

Visit the official website to learn more about Outcasts of the Rift, sign up for the newsletter, follow the Kickstarter preview page and wishlist Outcasts of the Rift on Steam!

On Sunday ONLY, from 9:30 AM-11:30 AM, I will be hosting a live demo of Outcasts of the Rift in the game room at Furcationland! I may be able to keep my game set up for longer like I did last year, but I can’t guarantee that.

I won’t be hosting a raffle at Furcationland, but I may display my folder of concept art if I have the space.

[aropride]

guy baffled by the concept of big cities bc he grew up in a rural area and can name the Big Cities hes been in on one hand

[mostlysignssomeportents]

An excerpt from The Bezzle

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

https://chokepointcapitalism.com/

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, he called Chuy.

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

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

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

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

“Say what?”

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

“After I did what in ’76?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ETA: Here's part two!

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

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

[rebelliousstories]

The Other Hexenbiest

Relationship: Sean Renard x Reader, (past) Sean Renard x Adalind Schade

Fandom: Grimm

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Brief Strong Language, Mentions of Fertility and Fertility Issues

Word Count: 1,896

Main Masterlist: Here

Grimm Masterlist: Here

Summary: Adalind has come back into the storyline yet again. But what happens when she finds out that her favorite zauberbiest no longer is interested?

Soon he was so in love with the witch’s daughter that he could think of nothing else. He lived by the light of her eyes and gladly did whatever she asked.

“Hello Sean.” That was a voice he never wanted to hear again, not after all she had done.

“Adalind. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He kept an eye on the door to his office in the precinct.

“I just wanted to tell you that I’m planning a trip home. Feel like revisiting past acquaintances.” She droned on, trying to make her voice sound innocent and appealing.

“The last thing I want is to see you right now. Enjoy your visit home.” With that, Sean hung up the phone. He let out a deep breath and leaned back in his chair while trying to think of the reason the woman would call. That was until he was interrupted by Nick coming into his office.

“Captain, we got a case.” Behind Burkhardt was Griffin with a case file and a worried look.

“Bring it in.”

~

Meanwhile, across town, a woman was making her way into the exotic spice and tea shop that was in the heart of Portland. In her hands was a list, and a smile on her face. It had taken a long time to get to where she was, but she was happy. In a happy place, with a happy relationship, and a good reputation. Walking in, she was met with a Fuchsbau behind the counter.

“Welcome in. Something I can help you with?” The woman was cheerful, which only put the woman in a better mood.

“Yes actually. You wouldn’t happen to have these ingredients would you? I need them for something special for my lover.” She explained, handing over the list to the Fuchsbau behind the counter. Scanning the list, the other woman looked to her with a mischievous tint to her eyes.

“This is for a fertility spell, right?” The Fuchsbau’s question was answered with a definitive nod.

“Yes. My husband and I are having some issues. We’re hoping it’s nothing, but figured we would give it a try as it’s an easier spell.” She replied, feeling nervous about coming in. However she was put at ease when the woman across the counter stuck out her hand.

“I’m Rosalee.” Shaking her hand, the woman supplied her own name.

“Feel free to look around the shop while I get these ingredients for you.” Rosalee flitted around said shop and collected different spices and herbs. The woman walked around at a leisurely pace as she tried to stay out of the Fuchsbau’s way. Her eyes scanned over all the different jars, and felt like a kid in a candy store. This was definitely going to be her new go to shop. The shrill ringing of her phone broke her from her daze, and she reached into her pocket to only be met with her lovely husband’s photo from their wedding day.

“Sean, hello dear.” She breathed, feeling relief at hearing his voice.

“Hello darling. I was just letting you know that I am leaving the precinct now and I’ll be home shortly. Where are you?” He asked, moving some things around on his desk which she could hear.

“I’m just grabbing some ingredients. I’ll be home soon. Maybe even before you,” came her tease. Her husband chuckled over the other end of the line.

“I would appreciate that with the day I have had. What do you say to Italian for dinner?” Renard opened the car door and dropped himself down into his seat.

“As long as we can have dessert at the cupcake shop across the road.” His wife responded, leaning against the counter and choosing to ignore the Fuchsbau’s coy looks sent her way.

“Anything you want, darling.” Sean confirmed, relaxing into the car seat.

“Okay. Well, I’m almost done at the shop. I’ll be on my way home soon to get ready.” Digging around in her jacket, the woman found her wallet and waited while Rosalee bagged up everything she requested.

“I will see you at home, darling. I love you.” His comforting words caused a smile to pop up on the woman’s face.

“Love you too, dear.” They said their goodbyes and hung up the phone to be stored away. She knew that she had a dopey lovesick smile on her face, but she just could not help it.

“Alright. What’s my damage?” She asked the Fuchsbau, opening her wallet to retrieve her money.

~

Sean made it to the condo and happily walked inside his home. He noticed that there was an extra pair of shoes by the front door, one he did not recognize, and immediately drew his firearm. Clearing the foyer, he made is way to clear the living room and kitchen. Both of them were good, so he moved on to his bedroom. When he got there, Renard let out a deep sigh and holstered his weapon.

“Careful Sean. People could get here with that thing.” Adalind teased, sitting with her legs draped over one another on his bed. The bed he shared with his wife.

“What are you doing here Adalind?” He snipped, feeling on edge and cautious about what she was up to.

“Can’t a girl just want to catch up with an old friend? Remember how many memories we made right here?” She trailed a hand over the silken sheets that she was sitting atop.

“I don’t particularly care to remember.” Sean was losing his patience with this Hexenbiest.

“Oh don’t be like that Sean. And don’t think I haven’t noticed it.” Adalind leveled a bored glare at the man standing in front of her. His face was neutral, but she only took that as confused silence.

“The other Hexenbiest that is here. Who is she?” Her tone was clipped, feeling anger and jealousy boil to the surface.

“None of your business.” Sean replied quickly, but Adalind just stood to her feet and made her way to him. She dragged her hands over his chest, and played with his tie as she gazed up at him with her best doe eyes.

“Oh, but it is my business,” her hands parted ways. One stayed on his chest, pulling the tie from its place and messing with his shirt buttons. While the other one trailed up to his face and tickled her nails over his skin. “So who is she?”

“My wife. Happy?” Sean studied the blonde woman’s face, which went from jealous, to fury, to faux happiness.

“So glad to hear you could find your true love. But, let’s be honest, I was the original blueprint that she knocked off. You always were predictable in bedmate choices, Sean.” Adalind dropped her voice down at the end. The sound of the door opening drew both of their attentions away from one another.

“Sean? Dear, are you home?” He heard his wife call out. Footsteps grew closer to the bedroom as she looked through the condo.

“You need to leave.” Sean growled at the Hexenbiest in front of him, but she only grew a wide Cheshire Cat smile in return.

“Dearest, are you here? I saw your car in your spot and figured-”

The sight the greeted her was not a welcomed one. On her bed, was Sean. Except he was on top of a beautiful blonde in full lip lock on their bed. Broken out of his trance, Sean tried to push himself up off of the bed. He was not even sure how he got there in the fast of a time frame.

“Darling, don’t. Please. Just wait a second.” But it was too late. She was his messed up tie and shirt, and her lipgloss on his lips. The blonde sat up in the bed, and looked at home there. However Mrs. Renard was looking back and forth between both the woman and her husband.

“What is wrong with you, Sean?” She whispered, feeling the tears well up in her eyes. As much as she tried to push the man away, her husband kept overpowering her and grabbing her hands.

“It’s not what you think. That’s what Adalind wants you to think.” When he said the Hexenbiest’s name, she paused.

“That’s Adalind?” She whimpered, looking over to the blonde who just looked bored. Once the sadness left, all that was rage. Without her will, her woge came fully to the surface. The deformity of her face shocked Adalind. It looked as if it was starting to reverse as it was not as severe as a Hexenbiest of her age should have been.

“Oh, I see. Taking pity on a Hexenbiest who doesn’t even use her magic the way she is supposed to.” Adalind smirked, her voice dropping down and venomous.

“Get out of my house.” The woged woman growled. It only resulted in Adalind producing a woge as well; she was challenging a Hexenbiest in her own territory, and that took guts. But Mrs. Renard was not one to be pushed around so easily. Getting in the blonde’s face, she continued to assert dominance over her dominion. Adalind conceded, and receded back into herself. The other woman followed suit, and leveled a glare at the woman who only held a playful smirk.

“Good seeing you, Sean. Come see me when you get tired of the fake Hexenbiest.” She took one last look up and down at the man, before she left out the front door. Once they heard the door close, the woman collapsed right as Sean wrapped his arms around her.

“Come here,” he cooed as she sobbed. “You’re okay. It’s okay. I’m so sorry you had to see that. I love you so much.”

Her cries wracked her body as they continued. All the frustration, confusion, and upset that she had felt in the last few minutes, and all of the feelings in between came rushing out. Through out it all, her husband held her close in a tight embrace. Sean kept his arms around her as a ring of strength which she clung to like a raft when lost at sea. As her sobs died down, the Renard’s stayed locked in their embrace through the rough time.

“You’re okay. We’re okay. I love you, darling.” Sean’s deep voice resonated through her sniffles. It took a minute, but eventually her cries did die down enough to communicate with her husband.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what is wrong with me.” She whispered, burrowing in to her husband’s chest.

“No need to apologize. I should be the one apologizing.” He pressed a kiss to her head, and pulled away to look at her face. Wiping away her tears, she smiled as she looked at his face.

“Are you alright?” Sean asked his wife, running a hand over her hair to smooth it.

“Yeah. I’m okay,” her finger trailed over the makeup that was left over his lips. “If I see some other hexen-bitch kiss you, I may have to go back on my oath.”

“Oh so is it just another Hexenbiest or just another woman you have a problem with?” Sean teased, happily accepting his wife wiping the gloss off of him. She launched herself into his arms and planted her lips on his in an eager kiss. One that ensured that Sean remembered just which Hexenbiest he belonged to.

[sunshine-theseus]

Cyclones | Christine Sinclair x Reader

Words: 3k

Summary: cyclones and cancelled flights eventually lead to good things.

Warnings: natural disaster?, fake injury. Let me know if I missed anything

“Are you sure you’re okay?” the voice crackles through my phone speaker, the shotty connection barely giving me time to talk to my best friend.

“I have my candles and torches, the tub and my water bottles are full, everything is inside or tied down. The only devasting loss so far is my leftover curry I had to throw out.” The torrential rain hasn’t let up since it arrived last night, but it isn’t helping the sweltering heat that will only worsen with no power. The second of which I fear I may lose any moment.

“This isn’t my first rodeo Chris, I’ll be okay.”

“But what if this is the one time you aren’t? I can’t spend my retirement vacation without my best friend. I’ll end up mourning you instead.”

“Why the fuck would y-” my phone dies and everything else in my house goes with it. I didn’t realise I had such little charge, but the newly found lack of airflow through my house is my number one issue.

A cyclone hasn’t hit my little coastal town in years, but the universe has conveniently chosen the day I’m supposed to fly out to join Christine, to hit. The Australian heat is wasting no time and as the rain carries on, I lay down on the tiles to find relief. I originally planned to turn my generator on, but eventually decide to keep everything off, it’s been a while since I’ve properly disconnected.

I gather books I’m yet to read, candles and snacks from the cupboard and sit down at my desk. I’m an hour into reading The Iliad when my cat jumps up and starts meowing and pawing at the pictures that are carefully placed on or around my desk. The main focus seems to be the two polaroid images in the same frame, of Christine and I from when we first played each other at the 2003 world cup, and from her retirement match a month ago.

We’d never met before 2003, but both sported the number 12 and thought a jersey swap would be cool. We became close friends rather quickly but only played each other at big tournaments until we both signed for the Portland Thorns in 2013.

I think that’s when I first knew I had a crush on her, but 10 years into a friendship is a rather odd time to confess to your best friend you like them, so I never mentioned it. We’ve both dated multiple people since then, but nothing ever sticks.

Then, 4 years ago, I retired after one too many ACL injuries. At 34 it was probably time for me anyway, and I always knew I’d never play for as long as Christine. After my official retirement, I moved back to Cairns, now a professional sports psychologist. I love being home, but it was missing something, or someone. Within the first month I put up every memento, gift or picture I had that reminds me of Chris, who Scout has also grown to love.

“I miss her too buddy. Maybe she should come visit us so she can see you huh?” I scratch her chin as she leans into my hand affectionately.

I spend the rest of the day and the next, reading and playing around on my violin. The doors and window are all shut to keep the rain from flying in but I’m so desperate to open them to feel some sort of relief from the sauna I’ve created.

It’s around 4pm on the 3rd day that the rain slows, and another few hours until fans begin to spin again and lights flicker on. I scramble for my aircon remote before rushing to plug in my phone, desperate to speak to someone other than my cat.

It takes a few minutes, the battery slowly whirring to life, but I can’t even swipe to put in my password before a rather excessive amount of notification begin to make their way through. There are messages from friends and family asking if I’m safe, others are simple social media notifications, but the majority seem to be made up by a certain, newly retired striker.

13 missed calls

58 messages

I can’t suppress the smile that slides onto my face and the red tint that warms my cheeks as I think about how worried she was. That’s what friends do right? Worry when you might get eaten up by a natural disaster.

And I quickly figure I should call her and let her know I have power again and am in fact not dead. And I do just that.

“YOU’RE OKAY. YOU’RE BACK.” I move the phone aware from my ear as she screams down the line, but I laugh none the less.

“I’m alive, nothing is damaged, the rain has stopped, everything is back in business.”

“I can’t wait to see you. Get your ass on the next plane I swear.”

“I don’t think there’ll be a plane on a route to Canada for at least a few days. The world hates us Sincy.” A groan I’ve grown familiar with sounds over the speaker, and I can picture her falling back dramatically in her chair.

“I promise as soon as I can I’ll be on that flight out of here. Scout will be chilling with my neighbours, and we’ll be chilling on the beach with some gin.”

“Good. First flight out, I expect you on it.”

~~~~~

The first flight route heading to Vancouver turns out to be 4 days after the cyclone passed. So far two of those days have gone and I’m trying to fill my time, Christine seemed to drop off everyone’s radar and that left me with very little to do.

I’m loading up The Sims 4 for the first time in months when a knock rattles against my door. While confused, not expecting anyone or anything, I sneak toward the door, peaking my head around the wall to get a glance of who it could be. That’s when I see a very familiar face, looking around in a stupor.

“Christine?” I stand in the doorway looking quite the mess with a dumbfound look on my face. My hair in a knotty bun, glasses resting crookedly on my nose, shirt 3 sizes too big (perhaps one of Christine’s I stole a few visits ago) and bike shorts. Anything more and I’d be dying from the heat.

“Surprise! No flights were leaving for a while but some were coming in, so I thought why not go to the ultimate vacation destination.” Despite what would be nearly a full 24-hours of travel, she looks rather adorable. Her own hoodie must be a few sizes bigger and her curls rest over her shoulders, a rare sight. Her headphones rest around her neck and her bags are almost toppling over behind her.

I shake off my surprise and start running, jumping into her arms and nearly tackle her to the ground.

“I can’t believe you’re here! What the fuck, oh my god, holy shit. There’s so much to show you, very little to do. I don’t have a spare room. I’ll sleep on the couch, take my room. Oh, let’s get your bags in, you’re probably exhausted.” I squeeze between her and the lattice work that makes the short hallway outside my door and grab her rather large duffle bag and suitcase.

I take them to my bedroom, which thankfully had been tidied up recently, and tuck them neatly in the corner. Her footsteps signal that she’s following me and I quickly wipe my sweaty palms on my shirt before turning toward her.

“It gets super hot so the aircon remote is on the bedside table, or you can open the window, but Scout likes to jump out of it sometimes. Speaking of, she’s here somewhere, you’ll hear her before you see her. Also free-range of like the kitchen and stuff. There’s an ensui-” Christine cuts my rambling off with a tap to the back of my knee with her foot. Said knee buckles and I fall forward, into her arms.

“What the fuck Sincy?”

“You’re rambling.”

“Sorry. It’s just the first time you’ve been here. In my house. In my hometown. Ever.”

“And I’m excited. I’m sorry for springing it on you, I don’t actually have to stay here I can get a hotel.”

“No! No I want you to stay here. It’s just I’m usually the one making the trip, I’m not a very good host.”

“You’ll be fine. I’m down for anything and everything. After a very long nap.”

~~~~~

I waited until a reasonable hour to wake Christine up the next day.

“What the fuck is this? Do you put tar on your toast?”

“You’re telling me, all the times you’ve visited Australia, even during the world cup, you’ve never tried Vegemite? Christine… come on.” I push the plate toward her.

“No. You can’t make me eat that.” She pushes it away.

“Please, just one bite. You’re staying with me you gotta try stuff. You’re on vacation, you’re trying new things.”

“If you even try to bring a shoe with beer near me, I’m hopping on the next flight out.”

“I promise a shoey is completely off limits. That shit is nasty. But I’m going to take you to a cricket game and snorkelling on the reef, and Harley’s Crocodile Farm. The point is I have a list. Now try the ‘mite Chris.” The plate slides back toward her and she hesitantly takes a bite. A pleasantly surprised look flashes across her face.

“I’ll give you the point. This is good.”

“Oh! Mary, Mary Fowler that is, is back  for Christmas. Do you want to have a beach day with her and her family? Play beach cricket and soccer?”

“For sure.”

“Oh make sure to have thongs. Your feet will thank me.”

“If you said that sentence to me 20 years ago, I possibly would have slapped you.” I giggle but make my way to grab togs and pack a beach bag.

When we arrive, the promised burning sand is what greets us, rather than the young Australian who I’ve grown somewhat close with. The sun beams down, in great comparison to the previous week, and I make sure to push more sunscreen into Christine’s hands.

“Dude how do you survive here.” A bead of sweat rolls down the side of her face and I just smile, slip my thongs off and lead the way to try and find the Fowlers.

When we do eventually find them, Christine is desperate to slip into the water, and I set up our towels beside Mary, who watches over her own family’s things as she soaks up the sun.

“In all my years of knowing you, and that is almost all my life, you’ve never been this happy. And you won’t even admit your feelings to the person who makes you this happy. You giggled when you called telling me she surprised you. Giggled Y/n.”

“I- I don���t know what to do Maz. I know I like her; I have for years. I just always figured it’d go away once I moved after retiring and seeing her significantly less but if anything, it’s worse.” I flop back against the towel covered sand and Mary joins me, resting a hand on my arm.

“Maybe you should just confess. I can’t say I know she likes you back, but the chances are high.” I glance toward the water and let a soft smile grace my lips as I watch Christine play with Louise and Ciara. Maybe confessing wouldn’t be such a terrible idea.

~~~~~

A few hours later, the sun is lower in the sky and the water laps at my feet as I retrieve the soccer ball. I throw it back into play and run along the sand. The ball ends up at my feet and I begin the run back to my team’s goal, I’m about to make a pass to Caoimhin when Christine makes a tackle and takes my feet out from underneath me.

I let out a scream and clutch my knee. The sand sticks to my skin as I writhe in pain, and I feel a hand gently touch my shoulder.

“Fuck fuck fuck it hurts.”

“Holy shit I’m sorry I didn’t mean to make a tackle. Oh god we need to call the ambulance.” Christine rolls me onto my back, and I scrunch my eyes in pain. She stands up to grab her phone when I stick my leg out and trip her, making her fall beside me.

“What the fuck!?.” I start to giggle as I watch Christine’s face morph from fear to shock.

“You little shit! You faked it?”

“Uhh yeah, you were playing dirty Sinclair.” I poke her in the side as I stand and offer her a hand. As she stands back up, I remember how much she towers over me and blush.

Not long after, Mary and her family head back home, and before the sun begins to set, I get some fish and chips for Chris and me to share. As I sit back on the sand, the sun begins dipping below the horizon, casting pinks and oranges across the sky. The light shines on Chris and for a moment I forget I’m staring. Her blue eyes are clouded by the golden hues but still as beautiful as they have always been. Her hair is wet from the salty water, curling as it dries.

I only stop when she bumps her shoulder against mine, holding a chip toward me expectantly.

“You’re staring.”

“Sorry.” The now familiar heat spreads over my cheeks as I tuck my knees up to my chest, resting my chin on them.

“What’s running through that pretty little head of yours?” I take a moment to contemplate if I should tell her the truth.

“I… I’ve just missed playing, especially with you. I haven’t felt anything close to how I felt on the pitch, and I was forced out because of a stupid ACL injury. It’s been so long.” She wraps an arm around me and pulls me into her side. My head falls to her shoulder and her’s falls on top of mine.

“You deserved a better ending.” We both reach for the chips, hands grazing against each other. I drop the chip and rest my hand on my lap, palm facing upward. Christine’s fingers trace the lines on my palm before slipping her fingers between mine and interlocking our hands.

Nothing is said as we watch the sun rest behind the water. The sound of waves crashing on the sand nearly lulls me to sleep but Christine slowly slips from beside me and stands up. I follow suit, grabbing the fish and chips and heading to the car.

“I’d say this was a rather successful first day. Wouldn’t you?” I ask as I sit on the edge of the bed, drying off my freshly washed hair.

It’s silent for a moment and I turn to look at the Canadian.

“Chris?” her vacant stare refocuses, and she smiles.

“Absolutely.” I smile back and stand up, about to head out to go to sleep.

“Wait.” I stop at the door and wait for her to continue.

“Do you want to sleep here? I mean you don’t have to if you don’t want. Or we can put like pillows between us or something. Or-” I run and jump onto the bed, rolling onto my side to face Christine.

“Thank you for coming. I’m excited to show you everything I love. Today is only one of many.”

“I’d do anything for you. And I was thinking… what if I made this stay a little more… permanent? Well not permanent maybe just extended. Or permanent if you want. Or neither at all.”

“Yes! Yes, yes absolutely 100% I want that definitely. Please stay.” I only now notice how close together we are. I can feel her breath against my cheek, her leg brushing against my own.

Her fingers brush against my forehead and cheek as she moves a piece of hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ear. I inch closer, eyes flickering between her own eyes and her lips.

“Are you going to kiss me or do I have to kiss you.” Her lips ghost mine as she jokes, but I don’t allow myself to overthink it as I close the gap between us.

Her lips are as soft as expected, and sweet. I can feel her smile as she kisses me back and I wind an arm around her waist.

“I’ve wanted to do that for 10 years.” I whisper.

“Do not tell me I wasted 10 years of my life thinking you didn’t like me back.” I let out a rather pathetic laugh and my head falls forward, forehead resting against Christine’s.

“Well now is as good a time as any to make up for all the lost time.”

~~~~~

Our hands swing between us as I lead her down the esplanade. The bright rainbow lights of the ferris wheel that never left, reflect off every surface as we approach. The carriages lurch to a stop and we’re ushered on by the teenager at the counter.

“This is possibly the cheesiest thing you’ve done. If we stop at the top, I will start laughing.”

“No! Stop, it’s going to be cute, okay? And a little cliché.” I knock my foot against her’s as we stare out the window, looking out across the water and the mountains, in awe of the stars that twinkle above us.

As predicted, we come to a stop right at the top, and I smile as Christine starts laughing.

“I’d do anything to make you smile, including cheesy ass shit like this.” I slide across to her and she pulls me into her side.

“I love you.” I kiss each of her cheeks before kissing her lips.

“I’ll love you forever.”

“Is it odd I’m glad you retired? I just don’t know if this would have happened if you did.” She smiles and kisses me on the forehead, and we continue to watch the landscape as we make the decent.

@Y/N_Y/L

@Y/N_Y/L I will love you until the end of time. 20 years of knowing you, 1 year of getting to let you know I love you. Chris, you’ll always be my number 1 @c_sinc12.

[amtrak-official]

hi, i was just wondering if there is a train that runs from burlington up to maine

I am thinking about visiting friends there in the summer and don't want to drive (gas money, eck).

It is possible to get from Burlington to Maine, but you need to transfer in New York and Boston. The route would be: Ethan Allen Express to NYC then Northeast Regional to Boston then take the T (Boston Metro) from the South Station to North Station where you can take the Downeastern to Portland Maine

[masonmcgregorx]

Bug Lighthouse, Portland Maine

[heavencasteel420]

Terrible early 2000s stoner comedy AU called Weed College (a very dubious pun on Reed College in Portland, Oregon, where the story isn’t even set, probably). Details:

Argyle is a gentle soul who owns a head shop on the main drag of a college town. He lets his friend Eddie play music there sometimes, which proves to be a mistake when Eddie incurs the wrath of conservative Christian frat boy Jason by sabotaging his anti-abortion Christian haunted house on Halloween. Jason and his frat buddies vow to have the head shop closed down.

Jonathan, a stressed-out scholarship student, also works at the shop. He’s worried that his type-A longterm girlfriend Nancy will find out he smokes weed, and also that her douchey ex Steve, also Jason’s frat bro, is trying to persuade her to break up with him. Steve is trying to do this, in fact, and he does so by revealing in front of both of them that Jonathan smokes weed. Nancy is not impressed by this maneuver. She’s like, “Jonathan…I also smoke weed” and takes out a BIG JOINT. They embrace and Steve is moved. “May I try some weed?” he asks, and they say yes. The weed turns him all the way nice and they have a threesome. Also he defects and helps take down the frat.

Robin, a musically and linguistically talented lesbian who just started at college, abruptly goes from lonely closeted girl to (excuse my language) total pussy magnet. Her fun and flirty energy wreaks havoc on Jason’s frat’s sister house, because every girl gradually either wants to sleep with her or hang out with her or at least dress like her. She is literally just trying to study for her Russian final for most of the movie but life keeps happening.

Eddie finds out that Chrissy, Jason’s sweet girlfriend, is a total weirdo who feels stifled by all the conservative Christianity. They fall in love, which brings Jason’s rage to a fever pitch.

At one point, Argyle’s goth girlfriend Eden’s Mormon family visits, so she had to put on preppy girl drag and he has to disguise the head shop as an off-brand Hallmark Store.

[oblivious-idiot]

Marker Mayhem

Lockwood and Co Appreciation Week: Day One - Favourite Main Trio Character Summary: You find Lockwood asleep in the living room from waiting up for you but your delirious state gets a bit carried away with your permanent marker.

AN: This is for day one of the Lockwood and Co Appreciation Week! Lockwood is probably my favourite character but only by a smidge haha. I love how he can be so protective of George and Lucy while also being a reckless dickhead lol. Pairings: Anthony Lockwood x Reader

Word count: 800~

Warnings: just some fluff and hysterical laughter

When arriving back home to 35 Portland Row it was late in the evening and way past curfew. You'd spent the past few days up north visiting your family but you train back to London was delayed, meaning you got home much later than expected. You made sure to enter the house as quietly as you could so you wouldn't wake any of your housemates, knowing they all could do with as much undisturbed rest as possible.

Once you had taken all your stuff back up to your room and gotten changed you headed back downstairs to make yourself a cup of tea, only to notice the living room light dimly glowing from underneath the door. Slowly opening the door, your tired eyes fell upon the sleeping body of your best friend - and crush, Anthony Lockwood. His body had slightly slid down in his armchair, a magazine sprawled across his chest which he'd clearly tried to read to keep himself awake, drool starting to form on the edge of his mouth. You couldn't help but quietly giggle at his sleepy state and you decided that you should probably get him up to bed. But first you had another idea in mind.

You scoured the kitchen draws until you came across what you were looking for, a permanent marker. He was going to absolutely hate you for this but you were starting to get delirious from your long day that you simply didn't care, it was going to be too funny. Plus, when were you going to get another chance like this again? Lockwood looked like he never slept so it was probably unlikely.

Creeping back into the living room where Lockwood was softly snoring in his chair, you uncapped the pen in your hands with a mischievous grin on your lips. Suppressing your laughter, you slowly and softly drew on Lockwood's face - first just an intricate moustache, but then you moved on to horns and other squiggles around his eyes and chin. What's more, Lockwood smarted to smile when you drew around his lips and temple, which made your face so red from holding in your sniggers. Once you were happy with your completed work you stepped out of the room to get yourself a drink of water and let yourself breathe steady, letting your face turn back to a normal colour.

It was getting late and you realised it was probably due time to wake Lockwood up so he could get some actual rest. "Hey Anthony, it's time to go to bed" you say to him softly as you stroked his hair, making him slowly wake up as he stretched out his arms, looking at you once he opened his eyes. "Oh you're back, thank goodness I was getting worried..." he looked around the dark room and then back to your face "what time is it?" giving you a puzzled look. "Way past your bedtime, come on let's go upstairs" you say as you pull him up from his chair. You lead Lockwood upstairs into his room, guiding him to his bed and away from his mirror so he didn't have time to see the drawings on his face.

The next morning you were in the kitchen with George and Lucy before Lockwood had woken up, but the next thing you heard was Lockwood's voice shouting from within his room "whAT THE-" and then rapid footsteps racing down the stairs. George and Lucy exchanged confused glances while you remembered what happened last night. Suddenly Lockwood swung the kitchen door open, still wearing his clothes from the night before and his face covered in slightly smudged pen "Alright, which one of you three did this!?" his voice mildly angry, breaking halfway through his sentence, eyes darting between the three of you in the room.

George and Lucy both broke down into laughter as soon as Lockwood came in the room "oh I thought it was something serious" Lucy said through snorted laughter, "it suits you quite well actually, really brings out your eyes" George adds in with a smirk. You were trying so hard to not laugh, your artwork looking so much more funny the day after, but because of your suppressed laughter Lockwood shot you a look "it was you.." "I'm sorry, I was really tired, I don't even remember doing it" you held up your hands in defence, laughter escaping your lips. "You don't remember!? Y/n look at my face!" he said, clearly in disbelief "I waited up for you to come home, I was worried, and this is what I get in return??" Lockwood continued, but you couldn't meet his eyes, you couldn't take him seriously looking like that. "I- I'm sorry" you force out amongst your hysterical giggles "I'll help you clean up, I promise" "I would bloody well hope so." Lockwood finally heaved out, finally letting himself laugh about the whole situation.

[muttball]

The Maine Lobsteman

Sculptor Victor Kahill of Portland was commissioned to create the Maine Lobsterman with Maine’s participation in the 1939 New York World’s Fair, as a commemoration of Mainers who have dedicated their lives to fishing. See publicartportland.

[ratsoh-writes]

WELCOME TO THE GOLDEN FLOWER FESTIVAL!

For those of you who don’t know, this is an RP event taking place from today (tuesday) to Saturday evening! I’ll be answering replies whenever I’m online! The setting will be one of ebotts biggest celebrations, the golden flower festival, a spring celebration of the arts and culture of ebott!

This year is extra special! The festival is being held all around Portland, a city next to the ocean full of docks. Normally any sort of trade and skipping ships dock there, but they’re being redirected to all the smaller seaside towns for these few days. And it’s also the first major festival that’s completely hadal accessible! All the shopping and events will take place on the docks and beaches around the ocean. Many ships have also volunteered as spots to host events.

This year’s art theme will be blacksmithing. All the art contests and shows will center around metal works.

Activities to do:

Visit the shops of course! Artists and artisans of all kinds fight for a booth in this fair, so there will be all kinds of goodies!

What’s a fair without fair games? Of course there will be many booths looking to rip you off for the chance to win a cheap stuffed animal! So much fun!

Also this fair is literally on the beach, so find a clearer spot and enjoy the sand and water! Because of how many aquatic monsters will be around, fishing with any sort of hook or nets are strictly prohibited in Portland for the week.

See the art show! There’s four sections being judged: small works, large works, weapons and machines! All got blacksmiths and metalworkers of course!

Visit seaweed mall! While it’s not as big as the metta mall in hotland, it is a nice mall and was the first one built in ebott. Seaweed mall is special for selling brands from outside of ebott. So it’s mostly catered to humans but most brands are slowly making monster geared items too!

There’s gonna be a school play on one of the navy ships docked about the story of ambassador frisk when they first fell underground. It has two showings, a day apart. Ambassador frisk has no comments about the play lol

There’s also gonna be a cosplay contest on the same ship at different times. Ebotts first comic con group paid some serious gold to advertise this and are hoping to draw out more fans for the con coming up in may. No theme, just show up as a character you love.

The royals presiding over this festival will be King, Summer, Olympia, Titanic (and to a lesser extent, toriel miss and asgore) so there’s a small chance to run into them.

The biggest show will be a meet and greet with some of ebotts biggest stars! The big three: mettaton, napstablook and fallentron (or felltron) will be the main guests, but there’s also a chance to run into Goldentron (fellswap gold) and silverblook (swapfell) throughout the festival.

[magenta-fantasies-illustrations]

Visit the official website to learn more about Outcasts of the Rift, sign up for the newsletter, follow the Kickstarter preview page and wishlist Outcasts of the Rift on Steam!

This Saturday, I will be demoing in the gaming room at Kids Con in South Portland, ME! This is my last convention of the year.

It has been a busy past few weeks for me, so I’m relieved I don’t have to travel far or prepare much.

[evolutionsvoid]

I have the opportunity to go to Portland, Oregon this August and was curious if any folk around here know good places to visit around the city. Never been over that way before, but super excited. My main goal is to hit up a lot of natural areas/parks and also eat a whole lot of food. I like pretty much any cuisine and am interested in what the city has to offer. So if anyone has any suggestions, feel free to share!

[bleghablah]

I truly had such a unique experience going to a new doctor today.

I'm no stranger to seeing new doctors, having spent the past seven years being a trans person living a stones throw from the main Mormon temple in Salt Lake City, Utah and having spent most of those years job hopping, insurance hopping, and sometimes paying out of pocket, I've seen a lot of new doctors, and id describe my overall relationship to the medical field as "adversarial" on the best of days.

I saw a new doctor in Portland today, a task that's been growing more and more immediate as my stockpile of estrogen has been dwindling, and I think it's the first time I could describe a doctor's visit as... positive? I showed up, ready not for a fight, but to stand my ground, doing my usual shit like emphasizing explicitly on the intake form about wanting to continue taking the dose of hormones that I've been on for four years, and leaving any portion of the paper asking about drug use blank.

the good doctors in salt lake City do nothing for you but write a prescription, they don't have the time or the mental energy to check your hormone levels or ask how things are going, or remember your name from one room to the next, they are the proud owners of a ballpoint pen and a prescription pad, and it's on you to do the work figuring out your own transition. the bad doctors in salt lake city have an agenda in prescribing your hormones, they'll say things like "the half life of estrogen is two weeks so you should half your dose," or say "I know this is what you've taken for years, but i want to cut you back to a negligible dose so we can establish your baselines." they're required by whatever organization they're with to appear supportive, but they know nothing, refuse to learn anything, and want one fewer tranny in this world.

this new doctor was different, though. she clicked her ballpoint pen and gave me what I wanted first thing... but then she talked to me? she asked about my transition and discussed what I wanted to see and asked where I've been with it. she put in lab orders for STD testing without the word "slut" hanging unsaid in the room, and oh my god having a beer after work sometimes didn't merit a lecture.

Getting the fuck out of Salt Lake City was the best thing I've ever done.