#White Grand Cherokee

[ausetkmt]

At President Trump's rally in Tampa last week, a familiar face made it back in the national news. Maurice Symonette, also known as Michael the Black Man, was front and center in a crowd hurling invective at CNN reporter Jim Acosta, waving a "Blacks for Trump" sign.

Symonette has been a regular at Trump rallies all over Florida and as far away as Arizona. Just last month, he popped up at the U.S. border to appear in a video with disgraced sheriff-turned-pardoned-Senate-candidate Joe Arpaio.

All that national exposure raises an obvious question: Who is paying the bills for Symonette, a former member of Miami's murderous Yahweh ben Yahweh cult, to represent "Blacks for Trump" at Trump rallies? 

Since Blacks for Trump isn't a registered political organization with the Florida Division of Elections or the Federal Election Commission, there are no public records of any donations funding the group's operations.

It seems unlikely Symonette is fronting the cash for his travel himself because he filed for bankruptcy this past May. In federal court records, he reports that he's unemployed, generates no income, and has $0 in the bank. He also says four banks have staked claims on $2.9 million worth of property around Dade County. 

So how is he getting to Arizona and Tampa to stand behind Trump on national TV?  Reached on his cell phone, Symonette declined to discuss his group's financing. "You guys are horrible racists," he said. "You are lawbreakers and you're mean... God is going to punish you horribly."

Throughout the '80s, Symonette — then known as Maurice Woodside — was a devoted follower of Yahweh ben Yahweh, a charismatic preacher who wore white robes and called himself the Messiah.

Federal prosecutors later accused Yahweh, whose real name was Hulon Mitchell Jr., of ordering his followers to murder at least 14 people, including random white vagrants who were massacred as an initiation rite.

Symonette was charged in federal court along with Mitchell and 15 other followers in 1990; while the cult's leader was later convicted of 14 charges of murder conspiracy and served nearly two decades in prison, Symonette and six other cult members were acquitted.

In the decades since, Symonette has been charged with crimes including grand theft auto, carrying a weapon onto an airplane, and threatening a police officer, but has never been convicted. (He does have a pending case on a municipal ordinance charge in Hollywood after police showed up to a really loud party he threw.)

Since Trump's election, Symonette has carved out an unlikely new niche as one of President Trump's most visible African-American supporters. He has a knack for getting prime placement directly behind Trump and has handed out hundreds of his "Blacks for Trump" signs.

They advertise his website, which is full of conspiracy theories about Cherokees running the U.S. banking system. (Really.)

Symonette was even featured at a Miami Trump rally that prosecutors later alleged had been funded by Russian nationals looking to disrupt the election.

Symonette filed for Chapter 7 bankruptcy on May 16, listing Washington Mutual, Homecomings Financial, HSBC Bank, and Indymac Bank as his creditors; each institution laid claim to one of four houses. Three are in North Miami-Dade County, and one is near Kendall.

In court docs, his only listed assets are clothing, watches, various household items, and a pool table. He does say that his live-in girlfriend, whom he doesn't identify by name, provides him with $2,000 per month.

Could that money from his significant other cover Blacks for Trump's various trips around the country to support the president on TV? Symonette wouldn't discuss that with a New Times reporter. 

Instead, he spoke at length about his belief that the banking system is corrupt. He added that "Trump being the president is the greatest blessing we have ever had."

In his bankruptcy case, he's repeated those allegations about the banking system being crooked to Judge Laurel M. Isicoff. He's also repeatedly sought to change hearings that overlapped with Trump events. Symonette suggested the scheduling conflicts are a sinister plot to keep him away from the spotlight at Trump rallies.

"Creditors know that I have a rally in Arizona on July 25 and deliberately set the hearing on that date to cause me and my musical band to miss the performance and the rally with the bus we rented," he wrote in a motion filed the same morning as the Phoenix rally. "The creditors overheard that at the house we are disputing... and set that hearing on the same date just to harm me."

That motion was denied, as was another he filed on July 30, just before Trump's Tampa rally. "As founder of Blacks for Trump, (I) have rented vans to go to Trump's rally. We need to make the country aware how the banks (FOREIGNERS FROM THE EAST) are illegally taking WHITE AND BLACK PEOPLE'S houses away."

Maurice Symonette's story is baffling, to put it mildly. Symonette, who also goes by the name Michael the Black Man, somehow went from being part of the murderous Yahweh ben Yahweh cult to getting acquitted of murder charges himself to being a staple at Donald Trump's presidential rallies all over the country. Even among the rogue's gallery of rodeo clowns and Bond villains who make up Trump's core cadre of supporters, Symonette might legitimately be the weirdest person hovering around Trumpworld

.

After Michael the Black Man turned up at a Tampa-area Trump rally last week and led anti-press chants, it's worth taking note of all the bizarre places he's materialized since becoming a prominent Trump supporter:

1. At the original October 2016 Trump rally where he first popped up on TV:

Conservative Twitter is abuzz this afternoon with a trending hashtag: #BlacksForTrump. The spark is clear: Thousands have retweeted photos from Trump's rally in Lakeland, Florida, this afternoon showing a small group standing directly behind the Donald while enthusiastically waving "Blacks for Trump" signs. "Blacks are for Trump and the left can't stand it," writes @LawlessPirate, with another pic of the sign-waving man wearing a shirt reading "Trump & Republicans Are Not Racist." So who is this new face of Trump's elusive black support? He's none other than Michael the Black Man, also known as Maurice Woodside or Michael Symonette, who has made waves in Miami in recent years with protests against the Democratic Party and rallies for the GOP. He's also a former member of the murderous Yahweh ben Yahweh cult, which was led by the charismatic preacher Hulon Mitchell Jr., who was charged by the feds in 1990 with conspiracy in killings that included a gruesome beheading in the Everglades. Michael, along with 15 other Yahweh followers, was charged for allegedly conspiring in two murders; his brother, who was also in the cult, told jurors that Michael had helped beat one man who was later killed and stuck a sharpened stick into another man's eyeball. But jurors found Michael (and six other Yahweh followers) innocent. They sent Mitchell away for 20 years in the federal pen. In the years that followed, Michael changed his last name to Symonette, made a career as a musician, started a radio station in Miami, and then reinvented himself as Michael the Black Man, an anti-gay, anti-liberal preacher with a golden instinct for getting on TV at GOP events. He's planned events with Rick Santorum and gotten cable news play for bashing Obama. Since 1997, he's been charged with grand theft auto, carrying a weapon onto an airplane and threatening a police officer, but never convicted in any of those cases. 

2. At a Trump rally in Bayfront Park in Miami just before the election: 3. At a rally allegedly organized with the help of Russian agents:

A federal grand jury filed charges against 13 Russian nationals [in February 2018] for allegedly stealing identities, wiring money overseas, and staging a small series of flash mobs to help tip the 2016 election in Donald Trump's favor. It's unclear whether the social media campaign had any actual impact on voting, but the FBI alleges Russian money indeed affected one small group of Miamians who unknowingly used Russian cash to pay for supplies for an unnamed rally the September before the presidential election. There still seem to be online traces of that Moscow-funded rally. Only one publicized, pro-Trump rally appears to have taken place in the Miami area — #LatinosConTrump in Doral at 1 p.m. September 11, 2016. The event was pitched as an "anti-media" protest outside the town's Univision offices. The national group Latinos With Trump created flyers for the rally and noted that virtually all of Miami's most prominent pro-Trump groups — Cubans 4 Trump, Hispanas for Trump, Latinas for Trump, and the official Miami Trump Volunteers — would attend.

4. At a 2017 Trump rally in Phoenix, per the Washington Post:

And so it was Tuesday night before a crowd of Trump supporters in Phoenix who had come to watch another show. There was the president, whipping up the wildly cheering crowd, and then there was Michael the Black Man, chanting just beyond Trump’s right shoulder in that trademark T-shirt. The presence of Michael — variously known as Michael Symonette, Maurice Woodside and Mikael Israel — has inspired not only trending Twitter hashtags but a great deal of curiosity and Google searches. Internet sleuths find the man’s bizarre URL, an easily accessible gateway to his strange and checkered past. The radical fringe activist from Miami once belonged to a violent black supremacist religious cult, and he runs a handful of amateur, unintelligible conspiracy websites. He has called Barack Obama “The Beast” and Hillary Clinton a Ku Klux Klan member. Oprah Winfrey, he says, is the devil. Most curiously, in the 1990s, he was charged, then acquitted, with conspiracy to commit two murders.

5. With noted racist Sheriff Joe Arpaio at the U.S.-Mexico border just last week:

Via our sister paper Phoenix New Times:

Former sheriff Joe Arpaio filmed a video at the U.S.-Mexico border with a former Florida cult member who goes by the name Michael the Black Man. In the video posted on Thursday, Michael has his arm around Arpaio as the ousted former sheriff promotes his improbable race for Arizona's open Senate seat during a visit to the border fence in Naco, Arizona. Michael was a follower of the Yahweh ben Yahweh cult, a black-supremacist religious sect in Florida. In 1990, the feds charged Michael and over a dozen fellow cult members with conspiracy related to brutal murders in Florida. Alongside Arpaio and Michael in the video is an independent Senate candidate in Massachusetts, Shiva Ayyadurai, who shared the live video on Twitter. Born in India, Ayyadurai is a scientist and MIT graduate who claims that he invented email. He began his Senate campaign as a Republican before switching to run as an independent. Ayyadurai’s campaign uses the slogan, “Defeat #FakeIndian Elizabeth Warren,” as a derogatory jab at his Democratic opponent. “First of all, I’m from Massachusetts, so of course I’m supporting this great guy,” Arpaio says of Ayyadurai in the video. “He’s gonna win.” Michael says, “We’re at the border right here, between Arizona and Mexico.” He turns to Arpaio to ask if he has anything to say to the camera. The aging former sheriff brings up his law enforcement background. “It’s great to see the border again; I haven’t seen it in a while,” Arpaio says. 

If you've got any info on who's paying Symonette's travel bills to Trump rallies, email [email protected] or [email protected]

For a second, Donald Trump seemed to be backing off his vitriolic attacks on the free press. After five journalists were massacred at the Annapolis Capital Gazette, Trump briefly toned down his slurs. He even invited New York Times publisher A.G. Sulzburger to the White House to clear the air. But it didn't last.

Trump quickly returned to his Stalinist, enemies-of-the-people label for journalists and then lied about his meeting with Sulzburger to insist that truthful reporting is "fake news." Those insults have a real effect, and that fact was never frighteningly clearer than at Trump's rally last night in Tampa, where an unhinged-looking mob screamed insults and waved middle fingers at journalists, particularly CNN's chief White House correspondent, Jim Acosta.

The scene left many political watchers deeply shaken, including Acosta:

Just a sample of the sad scene we faced at the Trump rally in Tampa. I’m very worried that the hostility whipped up by Trump and some in conservative media will result in somebody getting hurt. We should not treat our fellow Americans this way. The press is not the enemy. pic.twitter.com/IhSRw5Ui3R— Jim Acosta (@Acosta) August 1, 2018

But most national press watchers didn't notice who was right at the center of that mob hurling invective at Acosta and his colleagues: Yep, it was Michael the Black Man, AKA Maurice Symonette, a former member of Miami's murderous Yahweh ben Yawheh cult who once faced charges of conspiring in the group's murders.

That's him with his instantly recognizable "Blacks for Trump" sign:

.@Acosta is trying to do a stand-up at #trumptampa and the crowd is booing and chanting “CNN sucks” behind him. pic.twitter.com/XiULajB1Li— Emily L. Mahoney (@mahoneysthename) July 31, 2018

Symonette has been a mainstay at Florida Trump rallies and over the past year has popped up at other Trump-linked events around the nation. Just last week, he flew to Arizona to film a video at the border with disgraced former sheriff Joe Arpaio. Trump's staff regularly gives Symonette front-and-center seats where he waves his black-and-white sign on national television.

Here's some background on Symonette from New Times' earlier reporting on him:

He's also a former member of the murderous Yahweh ben Yahweh cult, which was led by the charismatic preacher Hulon Mitchell Jr., who was charged by the feds in 1990 with conspiracy in killings that included a gruesome beheading in the Everglades. Michael, along with 15 other Yahweh followers, was charged for allegedly conspiring in two murders; his brother, who was also in the cult, told jurors that Michael had helped beat one man who was later killed and stuck a sharpened stick into another man's eyeball. But jurors found Michael (and six other Yahweh followers) innocent. They sent Mitchell away for 20 years in the federal pen. In the years that followed, he changed his last name to Symonette, made a career as a musician, started a radio station in Miami and then re-invented himself as Michael the Black Man, an anti-gay, anti-liberal preacher with a golden instinct for getting on TV at GOP events. He's planned events with Rick Santorum and gotten cable news play for bashing Obama. Since 1997, he's been charged with grand theft auto, carrying a weapon onto an airplane and threatening a police officer, but never convicted in any of those cases. 

In other words, he's exactly the kind of guy you might not want to drive into a blind rage at journalists who are just trying to do their jobs. Yet there he was in Tampa, right in the middle of the crowd screaming at Acosta — who, incidentally, took time to talk to the crowds who were so angry with him:

After each live shot, @Acosta would walk down and politely talk to the people who just heckled him. He talked to one group for at least 15 minutes. pic.twitter.com/J26nlxfD6k— Christopher Heath (@CHeathWFTV) August 1, 2018

There are two safe bets on this topic going forward: Trump won't stop throwing insults at the media, and wherever the president is whipping up that anger, Michael the Black Man will probably be there with his signs, happily taking the bait.

#Ex-Cult Member Behind “Blacks for Trump” Is Bankrupt #So Who's Paying for His Trump Rally Trips? #blacks for trump cult #blacks for trump #lies #Black Lies Matter too #Black Lives Matter

[trivialbob]

The Good, the bad, and the Ugly

The Good - For Christmas Sheila signed me up for Surly Brewing's Bottle Project. Four times a year I get a limited edition beer. I love limited edition beers.

This week I went to the large brewery and restaurant to pick up the first bottle. There was also a metal water bottle for me. A lot of people there for the same reason. Surly also had a small tasting event for us.

We got to try a sample of what's in that bottle: North, a barleywine ale aged in fernet barrels. Very good.

Then we sampled Tattersall distillery's amaro and fernet, two bitter, aromatic spirits. I liked each, but probably not enough to buy a 750ml bottle of either.

The Bad - Last night I opened the dishwasher to put in a final glass. I peered inside to admire my handiwork before pressing the start button. Nothing caps off the end of my day like starting the dishwasher, then going to bed while it works, and I sleep.

Some people don't care how they load a dishwasher. But I do. I like to imagine things get more clean when the plates are aligned, pieces of silverware all face the same direction, and cups and mugs are thoughtfully placed at an angle where they don't accumulate water if the bottoms are concave.

Feng shui matters in appliances too.

My wife, standing behind me, watched. Earlier, she had turned one plate around. Two plates now faced each other. A good host doesn't seat a left-handed person to the right of a right-handed person. Their elbows will bump. Always something to think about. And plates shouldn't face each other in the dishwasher because... well, just because.

She laughed as I corrected the placement. Then I started the machine and retired to the guest room for the night.

The Ugly - Friends of ours parked a vehicle in our driveway while they were in Mexico for a few weeks. We live not far from the airport and don't mind dropping off people so they don't have to pay for parking. Last night I picked up the couple in their own vehicle.

It's a 29-year-old Jeep Grand Cherokee. At one time this was a very nice, expensive SUV with leather seats, automatic climate control, and other luxury features. The paint had been white, I think.

Today it's their winter beater.

Before I could drive to MSP I had to jump start the Jeep for the second time. I had run it the day before, to make sure it would start, after jump starting it the first time.

To unlock the hood I pulled on Vice Grip pliers that were permanently affixed to a cable under the dashboard.

Once the Jeep was running, it was loud. The exhaust system apparently was vacationing in Mexico too, leaving me with a deep rumbling, rusty Jeep.

Driving along I-494 made me think the road was covered in ice. It was just the Jeep. The right side tires were not in agreement with the left side ones, or the front with the back either. Like four kids fighting in the back seat, except I couldn't hear them over the sound of the exhaust. The power steering didn't work either. Driving in a straight line required two hands at all times and much concentration. What an ingenious way to keep a person from texting while driving.

At the cell phone lot I waited briefly while our friends collected luggage and went through customs. There was no way I was going to shut off the Jeep, for fear it wouldn't start again. So I sat next to two unfortunate drivers who surely could hear and feel the Jeep's exhaust. While stationary, I began to smell that exhaust too. Only my sense of sight was spared from it. Had I seen the toxic gas inside the Jeep I probably would have simply abandoned the vehicle where it was parked.

Finally I picked up the couple in the arrivals section. Traffic was pretty bad. After they were belted in, I tried to leave but was blocked all around. An officer directing traffic must have been tired of the sound, smell, and sight of that Jeep.

He--and I'm not exaggerating--stopped two lanes of traffic, made another car move forward, and directed me to get the Jeep into the far left lane so I could leave. I waved to him in thanks. H probably rolled his eyes.

On the way to my house I good-naturedly remarked about the condition of the Jeep. The wife of the couple laughed, then asked: "You're not writing about this on your blog, are you?"

Of course not.

#The worst vehicle I've ever driven #dishwasher feng shui #beer snob

[c0ffee-gh0ul]

Cars that I think each Shameless character would drive

Ian: Silver 2005 Toyota Camry

Mickey: Blue 2000 Jeep Grand Cherokee

Fiona: Red 2001 Honda CR-V

Lip: Green 1997 Honda Civic

Debbie: Tan 2005 Cadillac DeVille

Carl: honestly he only drives the police car

Kev: White 1998 Ford Explorer

V: Blue 2007 Hyundai Elantra

Svetlana: Yellow 2005 Nissan Xterra

Mandy: Blue 1992 Cadillac Fleetwood (which I think is exactly the car she actually drives in some scenes)

IMAGES PROVIDED ARE NOT MINE, CREDIT AND RIGHTS TO ALL ORIGINAL OWNERS!

#shameless #shameless us #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #fiona gallagher #lip gallagher #debbie gallagher #carl gallagher #kevin ball #veronica fisher #mandy milkovich #svetlana yevgenivna

[iftheshoef1tz]

Howl

Summary: When Azriel suspects that werewolves are behind the disappearance of his brother, he turns to the only werewolf expert he knows. Unfortunately for Azriel, Eris might be the werewolf he's been looking for.

I'M BACK.

Special thanks to @yanny-77, @houseofhurricane, @poisonivy206, and @queercontrarian for being my beta team (bc i am the alpha), and of course I can't leave out my French-speaking Albany queen, @ablogofbipanic. Takes a village, etc etc. Cover art painted by the wonderful delight that is @krem-does-stuff.

In this fic, Azriel is Native American from the Cherokee Nation; I have done my best to be as respectful of this heritage as possible. Please let me know if there are ways I can improve.

Also, about the child abuse tag - it is mostly restrained to this chapter, but both Eris and Azriel are abused on page by their respective fathers. If this is triggering for you, you can skip to chapter one and you’ll still be able to understand what’s going on. Take care of yourselves!

Prologue

“Boy, come here.” Grand-mere’s voice is gravelly, the jagged way the words leave her sounding like it might be tearing up the inside of her throat. “Maintenant.”

Eris is seven. Old enough to understand the pull of the moon, the way it whispers and sings in his blood and bones. Not anywhere as old as Grand-mere, with her rheumy eyes, nearly white with blindness, and her paper-thin skin that makes him wonder if he could cut her by just breathing too close to her.

This room is her death room, and he knows he has been summoned to pay his respects.

#azris #howl #eris vanserra #acotar #fanfiction #azris intensifies #azriel #werewolves #witches #i wrote this with my pussy ur welcome

[wakandamama]

I got a bit of a loaded question, sis. And if it's inappropriate you can tell me, but you said you're Black and Cherokee, so I thought you might have a good perspective.

Do you have any suggested authors, books, or articles behind what seems to be this lack of Black and Indigenous solidarity? I was scrolling this morning and I saw this post that literally was two seconds from dropping a slur (the dogwhistles were horns) and I'm like ... well damn. White Supremacy works terrible wonders, bc I would think the circumstances that brought our groups together would cause some sort of solidarity, so I'm always blown away when I see stuff like that. With other groups I'm familiar with the reasons behind it, but I don't want to assume things for this one.

Sure thing! I'm also gonna annotate this with my own story and learned knowledge of the struggles I've encountered while trying to expand the understand of my identity at the end.

This awesome article by Amber Starks

All these articles by Alaina E. Roberts she amazing at inner community discussion on this topic along with just being an amazing scholar and writer

This Guardian article by Caleb Gayle (another amazing scholar and author, just anything he's written on the topic will do but this article really helped me understand why I had issues connecting) that explores a case study of a Black family aving to fight for a claim to their indigenous identity with certain tribes that want to erase their history of participating in the chattel slavery of Black people

Also Gayle's book We Refuse to Forget

The book Untangling a Red, White, and Black Heritage by Darnella Davis

The Book Blood Politics by Circe Sturm

All of Zora Neal Hurston's black anthropology films they are free on YouTube or through her foundation site and the Black Film Archive

This article by Rebecca Nagle that explores the history of Cherokee confederates and the community slow acknowledgement and atonement for them

This blog post leads to many other articles and interviews with other Black Natives and their experiences in different tribes

This Kyle Mays interview about the re-establishment of Cherokee Freedmans status (hey that's me) and it impact

These npr articles 1 2 about The fight for tribal rights of Cherokee Freedmans

kararoselles, choctawchickasawfreedmen, and faithcampos on tik tok are incredible too

---

Okay so boom, me personally I am both Cherokee Freedman and by Blood quantum (ick) am Cherokee. However I claim my rights though the Dawes Rolls my great- grandfather enrolled too after emancipation because his father (and 2 aunts) were Cherokee slaves. I only really started connect with the native part of my identity recently (like 3 years)

Growing up I was told a lot of the family stories and raised to do a lot of old school practices that are crossed with being Black and being Cherokee. You drop me off in prairie land or a river side I'm surviving, (I hate it but I can process a deer) I grew up weaving baskets/wicker and doing beading, I know a lot of family recipes that now that I've expanded my knowledge are meals that are mixed between traditional Native American foods and AA cooking. My great-grandfather helped build Grand Lake in OK. My family is even prominently buried in and care takers for 2 Freedman Cemeteries.

But I was always taught that was just part of my and my family's Blackness. I have no living family that aren't Black in some way. Being Native American was an afterthought because of the generational racial trauma. Multiple of my full blood grandmas weren't allowed to have their grandchildren at their homes or on their land because they were Black. My mother often told me stories that her grandmother would sneak them to her home and land to learn how to forage, everytime they left she would cut her hair off to give to them because there was always the threat that they were going to get reported and her rights would be stripped. One of my ancestors is lost because he was a runaway slave from the Cherokee slave trade, many were denied status at some point

It's a lot and it didn't help that when I learned about this side of me and tired to reach out to the Native American club in my school. The Cherokee people there started being very racist to me and dismissed me. It jaded me, it pissed me off, I am still bitter and will probably be until I die.

Because a lot of the problems I advocated for (such as local climate change, environmental degradation, contaminated water, land stealing, food deserts, ect.) We're movements spearheaded by Native Americans in my area. I was denied say or acknowledgement because my issues were "Black issues". If someone told you "Hey this white rancher who had only been here 12 years is illegal trying to destroy a Native American cemetery so he had more graze land for his cows" the trial authority would be on that. But no, since the cemetery is Black Cherokees and Freedman they don't want to claim jurisdiction to help my family save it.

But, I do recognize that there has been a long and important history of Native and Black solidarity from social justice to environmental things. To just the clear fact that Native American people had everything stolen from them by white supremacy while Black Americans were stolen people brought here. Just as there was chattel slavery of Black people in certain major tribes, there were many that protected and supported escaping slaves. That history and cross culture is mine, I've made it one of my side missions to learn more about my Native side's culture, reconnects as some of my older family members are (mostly through folklore learning and connecting the things I was raised to do to Cherokee practices, participating in tribal news/votes ect.) But I haven't got the energy to connect with the people yet, I haven't gone to any in person Circles or powwows. I've only met other Black Cherokees with the intention to have community and friendship with.

Unfortunately but not surprising, the cause of a lack of solidarity comes down to white supremacy and global antiblackness. But I think that is the cause for a lack of ALL POC solidarity with Black people, especially in America.

------

And for the hoteps that are gonna find this post and try to be fucking weird on it.

NO! BLACK PEOPLE (THOSE DESCENDANTS OF THE SURVIVORS OF THE MIDDLE PASSAGE SLAVE TRADE, DEMOGRAPHICALLY CATEGORIZED AS AFRICAN AMERICANS TODAY, MAJORITY OF US) ARE NOT THE ORIGINAL NATIVE AMERICANS OR OTHER INDIGENOUS PEOPLES TO THE AMERICAS

Do NOT be a fucking weirdo and deny the legacy of survival, tragedy, perseverance, and love that our ancestors went through in the past to lead to your lineage of today. I am a special and blessed case to have the family records, story keeping, and DNA testing available to claim my indigenous identity that is directly linked in through my Black identity.

DO NOT BE WEIRD ON THIS POST, THOSE STONE HEADS WITH THICK LIPS ARE NOT WHAT YOU HAVE BEEN MISLED TO THINK THEY ARE. CHEROKEE NATION WAS A DICK BEFORE HOPKINS WAS ELECTED. PLEASE RESEARCH YOUR LINEAGE BEFORE YOU HOP ON MY POST BECAUSE I WILL EMBARRASS YOU WITH THE RECEIPTS OF MINE

#black people #black culture #Black History #indigenous culture #indigenous people #black rights #indigenous rights #indigenous history #sources #afro indigenous #i believe im solidarity but now that 7/10 times POC Solidarity is a myth #unfortunately antiblackness makes the world go round

[writer-darling]

Folie à Deux

READ PART 1 HERE

Rating: T - TEENS (13+)

Pairing: Marcus Pike (The Mentalist, 2008) x GN!Reader

Warnings: Gender neutral reader. Pre-established relationship. Post-breakup. Whole lotta angst. Cursing. Mentions of being drunk. Love confessions. Crying. Marcus done goofed big time and he knows it. Reader is stubborn but still loves him. Lotta groveling. Poor Marcus gets ragged on but tbh he kinda deserves it. Teresa Lisbon slander. Both Marcus and Reader are touch-starved (it’s my favorite trope, leave me alone). If there are any that I missed, please inbox me to let me know and I will add them in :)

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary!: Inspired by Pedro’s “For All the Lovesick Mad Sad Geniuses” monologue for The 24 Hours Plays channel on Youtube

******

You wish you could say that you stormed your way into his apartment, guns blazing, and demanded to talk to him. In reality, you almost chickened out halfway to his place. But you knew that if you didn’t go now, you’d absolutely never go again. And you needed to see him. You needed to talk to him. You park behind his Grand Jeep Cherokee and take a second to calm the nerves in your gut. His lights are off and you begin to think maybe he’s asleep already. Oh well.  

You step out of the car, walk across the small lawn, and knock on his door. Waiting a couple of minutes, there’s no sign of him being inside. That doesn’t stop you from knocking again.

“Oh, I’ve been looking for that shirt.” That’s the first thing out of his mouth when he opens the door, his eyes fixated on your torso before meeting your eyes. You roll them in response to his nonchalance and push your way past him into the house.

“What the hell kind of game are you playing, Marcus?” His dark brows draw together in confusion as he closes the door behind you both as you turn to face each other.

“I’m, um, not-not playing a game. I just missed you.” He admits. He’s still buzzed, but his speech pattern is a little more stable and he doesn’t look as crazed as he did in the video. Still, you know it’s from tonight. He’s wearing the same white t-shirt with the red bullseye and his facial hair is as long and unkempt as it was then.

“You miss me?” You ask, scoffing.

“Is that really so hard to believe?” He asks, his hands in his grey sweatpants’ pockets. 

“Uh yeah, considering you’re the one who broke up with me.” You reply, your eyes turning to slits as you give him your nasiest death glare. He grimaces, looking down.

“I-I know, honey I’m sorry. I should have never-”

“Don’t call me that.” You cut him off, the pet name just feeling like salt on the wound. After not hearing it for so long, it stings, sitting like acid in the back of your mouth. He nods, rubbing the back of his neck nervously and glancing up at you.

“Right, um sorry. Force of habit.”

“Why did you send me this video? To mess with me?” You ask. You hold your phone up to him with the text thread open. 

“What? No, of course not. I um, I just thought that uh maybe I could… Jesus, I don’t know, get all my feelings out without bothering you. You made it clear on the day we broke up you never wanted to see me again, and I stayed away. But I- fuck, I just missed you so much. I… I needed to see you. I knew if I sent that video, you would come.” He moves closer and you take a step back, even placing a palm up to warn him to stay away. He respects that and moves back again, even as his eyes lock with yours, pleading with you. You sigh and run a hand through your hair, pacing in place. He continues on, watching as you move in a small circle back and forth.

“It’s pathetic, I know. But, I just-” He swallows, unable to stop himself from taking another, smaller step towards you. “Really fucking missed you.” You scoff.

“You’re right: it is pathetic.” You respond, stopping in your tracks with venom in your voice. He doesn’t argue. You sigh, running a hand down your face. “I shouldn’t have come here, I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.” You take a step towards the door but he moves, not towards you but placing half of himself between you and the door.

“But you came. You’re here. Please, don’t go.” He pleads, still keeping distance between you two but you notice his body twitching with the urge to cross the room towards you. You cross your arms over your chest defensively in response to that.

“Marcus-”

“Breaking up was a mistake. I never, uh, never-never meant to hurt you, I never meant for things to turn out like this between us. I-I- shit - I was a fucking idiot to ever break up with you, and I’m sorry for everything.” He looks like he’s about to drop to his knees and your heart tugs at the sight. You’re silent for a few moments, letting the pause linger between you two.

“What about Teresa?” You ask. He’s shaking his head.

“It’s-It’s over. She never wanted me, and I knew it the moment I tried to make it work with her again..” He insists, but he can tell you don’t believe him “I knew she was only playing me. But I still fell for it. I wanted to believe that she cared about me like I used to care about her but uh, I guess she didn’t. And-And I tried to love her like before, but I couldn’t. I knew I wanted you.” His eyes flick up to your again. “I ended it months ago, I swear.”

“Swearing isn’t gonna just fix things, Marcus. Neither is some drunk excuse to see me.” You respond.

“Then what will? Tell me, please, Christ I-I’ll do anything.” 

“Anything? Gee, why don’t you pay for my next $100-dollar-an-hour therapy session?? Or uh I know, how about giving me the last ten miserable months of my life back??” Your tone is cruelly sardonic, but you don’t care. You’ve been through hell for almost a year and he never once tried to reach out until now. He still doesn’t argue, just gives you those same sad eyes, and that makes you angrier. “You broke my fucking heart, Marcus. And what’s worse is: you did it for your fucking ex.” The ex that practically used him as a rebound. The ex that broke his heart and then threw it away at the last possible second like yesterday’s garbage. No tears come this time, and you’re glad for it. You don’t want him to see you cry.

“I know I did, and I’m more sorry than you’ll ever know. So, let me make it up to you. Let me show you that I won’t ever make that mistake again.” He tentatively approaches you, his eyes searching you for any sign that you still want him to stay away. You don’t though, your resolve lessening, and that gives him courage. He places his hands on your upper arms, still moving as slowly as he can. When you don’t push him or step away, one corner of his mouth turns up into a small smile. “I’m an idiot and an asshole and I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

“No, you don’t.” You say, but the anger in your voice is gone, visible shivers going down your back from his touch. He brightens up a bit at that, a hopeful glimmer in his eye.

“I know… Stay, please? Even if it's just for tonight? Please?” He asks again. He uses your ultimate weakness, rubbing open-palmed from your elbows up to your shoulders. You shiver again, the warmth of his hands making you lose your focus, even making you shut your eyes. Damn, you really had missed him. “Please, honey, stay with me. Let me make it all up to you.” 

You shouldn’t do this. Giving him another chance would destroy you, wouldn’t it? And, shit what does this say about you?? Going back to an ex just like him. It’s stupid, pointless! But ever since stepping into his place, since even seeing him, you’ve been itching with the urge to touch him too. To be near him again. He waits as you think, his eyes scanning your body language, your face, for any inclination to what you’re thinking. Finally, you make your decision. You open your eyes and meet his gaze. 

“You can start by taking a shower because you smell like a fucking liquor store.” You respond, stepping away from him. Your tone isn’t angry or cruel, just serious. Your body immediately misses him. He grins wide, and immediately turns to go, not even giving you time to change your mind. That doesn't stop you from speaking up though, "Marcus?"

"Yes?" He asks, looking at you from over his shoulder.

"The facial hair looks good on you." His grin returns, wider this time, and he goes.

 Your attention zeroes in on him the moment you hear the shower shut off. When he exits the bathroom after a few more minutes, he’s sobered up and smelling like his tea tree oil shampoo. You’ve been sitting on the couch, waiting for him. You’re exhausted now, this rollercoaster of emotions draining you more than you could’ve expected.  

“Better?” He asks, making you take a good look at him. The healthy post-shower flush gives his skin a glowing rosiness, his hair is slicked back, water droplets plopping down the fabric of the dark blue t-shirt he’s wearing. His brown eyes are no longer glassy or red-rimmed, making him look more alert. He’s kept the facial hair, though it’s trimmed and neat now, making him look less disheveled. Your eyes can’t stop themselves from travelling down further, taking in the planes and angles of his body. The urge to touch him again overtakes you and he notices, smirking a little. You avert your eyes, sighing and standing up. 

“It’ll do for now.” You respond. You walk over to his linens closet and open it up, grabbing some extra blankets and one of the extra pillows he has in there. He stays quiet, until you begin spreading one of the blankets out on the couch.

“What are you doing?” He asks as he watches you..

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m setting up the couch so I can get some sleep.”

“What?? No, absolutely not. Go to the bedroom. I’ll sleep on the couch.” He says, making a grab for the other blanket.

“Marcus-”

“Go.” He says, his voice soft but unwavering as he meets your eyes. You give him a long look but he just smiles, nodding in encouragement towards the bedroom. “C’mon, for me, hon.” You reluctantly let the blanket go, into his hands. You’re too tired to argue anymore. You take a few steps towards the bedroom, but pause when the scent of him wafts over to you from the open bathroom. You turn to look at him over your shoulder.

“Come to bed with me.” It’s not a question, and he doesn’t have to be told twice, immediately walking over. 

“Are you sure?” He asks. You decide to be honest, shaking your head as you grab his hand in yours and guide him to the bedroom.

“No.” You give him a tentative smile and he returns it, nodding and following along quietly.

There’s a brief moment before fully waking up that makes you think this is another dream. Another perfect subconscious scenario where you wake up in Marcuses’ arms and you’re perfectly happy. Right before there’s literally a rude awakening and you’re forced to ignore the hollow sadness in your chest for the rest of the day. But this time, it doesn’t come. His warmth doesn’t melt away as your mind pulls you from your fantastical refuge. The tears don’t suddenly flow from your eyes as you take in your surroundings. Your heart doesn’t skip and stutter when you realize you’re alone and lonely as ever. 

Instead, the arms around you pull you closer once he feels you shift. The wispy strands of his hair tickle your jaw from where his face is tucked into your neck. His breathing is even and warm against your skin, while his chest is even warmer against your back. Now, tears do come, but this time for an entirely different reason. You try to keep quiet, to keep him from waking up, but you know you fail when he lets out a groggy, gruff, “Honey, what’s wrong?” He releases you to let you turn in his embrace. He’s alert now, and he grabs your face in his hands, wiping the tears that prick the edges of your vision.

“Nothing, I’m-I’m fine, actually.” You let out a soft, disbelieving chuckle. “For the first time in a long… I’m fine.” You admit. His worried expression softens and he kisses your forehead. You decide to change the subject, embarrassed by how much crying you’ve done in the last 72 hours. “How did you sleep?” You ask him, sniffling a bit.

“The best I’ve slept all year.” He replies. You can tell he means it too. You nod quietly, smiling and he smiles back. “You wanna get up yet?” You shrug, enjoying this too much but wondering what he has in mind. He’s always thinking ahead.

“What’s your plan exactly?” You ask. He hums pensively and lets out a relaxed exhale. 

“Consider this my offer, for now: I want to take you to Betty’s Breakfast, come home, and spend all day making this whole mess up to you. I’ll buy you flowers on the way home. I’ll cook for us both. And I’ll shower you with affection.” His offer is tempting. You pretend to mull it over for just a beat too long, and he smiles again.

“It’s gonna take more than one day, you know?” You say, meeting his eyes.

“I know; I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if that’s what it takes.” He swears. You laugh softly again and he grabs one of your hands, bringing your palm up to his jaw. You cradle his cheek, staying quiet. He pauses, his gaze flicking down to your lips before returning to your eyes. You give a soft nod and he moves, kissing you first. You kiss him back, melting into him. It might take days, or weeks, or months, but you know Marcus will make it up to you. And you look forward to letting him.

******

I’ll be 100% honest and say: I did not expect this story to get as much traction as it has been. However, I am very glad for it because it proves Marcus P is a highly underrated Pedro character who deserves so much more hype. I know I racked on him here but hey, c’mon, he kinda deserved it. I left the bedroom makeup stuff up to interpretation, which I don’t usually do, but I liked the ambiguity of it. It gives you folks a chance to decide what you think might have happened. Anyway, thanks a million for reading, hope you enjoyed, and see you in the next one!

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[thewidowsghost]

Seeing the Beauty (Piper Mclean x Fem!Reader) - Chapter 3

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After a morning of storm spirits, goat men, best friends talking to horses, and flying boyfriends, Piper should've been losing her mind, but instead, all she feels is dread.

It's starting, she thinks. Just like the dream said.

Piper stands in the back of the chariot with Leo, (Y/n), and Jason, while Butch handles the reins, and Annabeth adjusts a bronze navigation device. They rise over the Grand Canyon and head east, icy wind rippling straight through Piper's jacket. Behind them, more storm clouds are gathering.

The chariot lurches and bumps. There are no seat belts and the back is wide open, so Piper wonders if Jason would catch her again if she fell. That was probably the most disturbing part of the morning - not that he could fly, but that Jason had held her and didn't know who she was.

All semester, she'd worked on a relationship, trying to get Jason to notice her as more than a friend. Finally, she had gotten the big dope to kiss her. The last few weeks had been the best of her life. And then, three nights ago, the dream had ruined everything - that horrible voice, giving her horrible news. She hadn't told anyone about it, not Jason, or (Y/n), her best friend.

Now, she doesn't even have them. It's like someone had wiped their memories, and she is stuck in the worst "do over" of all time. Piper wants to scream. Jason stands right next to her: those sky blue eyes, close-cropped blond hair, that cute little scar on his upper lip. His face is kind and gentle, but always a little sad. And he just stares at the horizon, not even noticing her.

Meanwhile, Leo is being annoying, as usual. "This is so cool!" He spits a pegasus feather out of his mouth. "Where are we going?"

"A safe place," Annabeth replies. "The only safe place for kids like us. Camp Half-Blood."

"Half-Blood?" Piper is immediately on guard. She hated that word. She'd been called a half-blood too many times—half Cherokee, half white—and it was never a compliment. "Is that some kind of bad joke?"

"She means we're demigods," (Y/n) replies, and Annabeth looks over her shoulder at her. There is a slight gleam in the gray eyes, as though Annabeth was surprised that something inherently intelligent had come from (Y/n)'s mouth.

Jason hums his agreement. "Half god, half mortal."

Annabeth looks at Jason now. "You seem to know a lot, Jason. But, yes, demigods. My mom is Athena, goddess of wisdom. Butch here is the son of Iris, the rainbow goddess."

Leo chokes. "Your mom is a rainbow goddess?"

"Got a problem with that?" Butch grunts in reference to Leo's question.

"No, no," Leo says. "Rainbows. Very macho."

"Buch is our best equestrian," Annabeth says, and she seems to be holding something back. "He gets along great with the pegasi."

"Rainbows, ponies," Leo mutters.

"I'm gonna toss you off this chariot," Butch warns.

"Demigods," Piper says. "You mean you think you're . . . you think we're -"

Lightning flashes. The chariot shudders, and Jason yells, "Left wheel's on fire!"

Piper steps back. Sure enough, the wheel is burning, white flames lapping up the side of the chariot.

The wind roars. Piper glances behind them and sees dark shapes forming in the clouds, more storm spirits spiraling towards the chariot - except these look more like horses than angels.

Piper starts to say, "Why are they -"

"Anemoi come in different shapes," Annabeth replies. "Sometimes human, sometimes stallions, depending on how chaotic they are. Hold on. This is going to get rough."

Butch flicks the reins. The pegasi put on a burst of speed, and the chariot blurs. Piper's stomach crawls into her throat. Her vision goes black, and when it comes back to normal, they are in a totally different place.

A cold gray ocean stretches out to the left. Snow-covered fields, roads, and forests spread to the right. Directly below them is a green valley, like an island of springtime, rimmed with snowy hills on three sides and water to the north. Piper sees a cluster of buildings like ancient Greek temples, a big blue mansion, ball courts, a lake, and a climbing wall that seems to be on fire. But before she can really process all she is seeing, their wheels come off and the chariot drops out of the sky.

Annabeth and Butch try to maintain control. The pegasi labor to hold the chariot in a flight pattern, but they seem exhausted from their burst of speed, and bearing the chariot and the weight of six people is just too much for the horses.

"The lake," Annabeth yells. "Aim for the lake!"

Piper remembers something her dad had once told her, about hitting water from high up being as bad as hitting cement.

And then - BOOM!

The biggest shock is the cold. She is underwater, so disoriented that she doesn't know which way is up.

She just has time to think: This would be a stupid way to die.Then faces appear in the green murk - girls with long black hair and glowing yellow eyes. They smile at her, grab her shoulders, and haul her up.

They toss her, gasping and shivering, onto the shore. Nearby, Butch stands in the lake, cutting the wrecked harnesses off the pegasi. Fortunately, the horses look okay, but they are flapping their wings and splashing water everywhere. Jason, Leo, and Annabeth are already on shore, surrounded by kids giving them blankets and asking questions. Somebody takes Piper by the arms and helps her stand. Apparently kids fell into the lake a lot, because a detail of campers ran up with big bronze leaf blower - looking things and blasts Piper with hot air; and in about two seconds her clothes are dry.

There are at least twenty campters milling around - the youngest nine, the oldest college age, eighteen or nineteen - and all of them are wearing orange t-shirts like (Y/n)'s and Annabeth's. Piper looks back at the water and sees the strange girls just below the surface, their hair floating in the current. They wave like, toodle-oo, and disappear into the depths. A second later, the wreckage of the chariot is tossed from the lake and lands nearby with a wet crunch.

"Annabeth!" a guy with a bow and quiver on his back pushes through the crowd. "I said you could borrow the chariot, not destroy it."

"Will, I'm sorry," Annabeth sighs. "I'll get it fixed, I promise."

Will scowls at his broken chariot. Then he sizes up Piper, Leo, and Jason. "These are the ones? Way older than thirteen. Why haven't they been claimed already?"

"Claimed?" echoes Leo.

Before Annabeth can explain, Will says, "Any sign of Percy or -"

Will stops as a wave ripples across the lake, though it didn't seem to come from anywhere.

Piper stares at the water, and a figure emerges from the water, their clothes completely dry.

"This is really fuckin' cool," (Y/n) says, staring down at her dry clothes.

The campers suddenly break out into a fit of whispering, as though they recognized (Y/n), but before they can say anything aloud, another girl steps forward - tall, Asian, dark hair in ringlets, plenty of jewelry, and perfect makeup. Somehow, the girl managed to make jeans and an orange t-shirt look glamorous - but then, if Piper admitted to herself, (Y/n) could also make jeans and a t-shirt - Piper cuts off her own thoughts. The girl glances at Leo, fixes her eyes on Jason like he might be worthy of her attention, then curls her lip at Piper as if she was a week-old burrito that had just been pulled out of a dumpster. Piper knows this girl's type - she'd dealt with a lot of girls like this at the Wilderness School, and every other stupid school her father had sent her to. Piper knows at once that they are going to be enemies.

"Well," the girl says. "I hope they're worth the trouble."

Leo snorts. "Gee, thanks. What are we, your new pets?"

"No kidding," (Y/n) replies, meeting the girl's gaze. "How about some answers before you start judging us - like, what is this place, why are we here, how long do we have to stay?"

Piper has the same questions, but a wave of anxiety surges over her. Worth the trouble? If only they knew about her dream. They have no idea.

"(Y/n)," Annabet says, "I promise we'll answer your questions. And Drew -" she frowns at the glamorous girl - "all demigods are worth saving. But I'll admit, the trip didn't accomplish what I hoped."

"Hey," Piper protests, "we didn't ask to be brought here."

Drew sniffs. "And nobody wants you, hon. Does your hair always look like a dead badger?"

Piper steps forward, ready to smack her, but Annebth says, "Piper, stop," and (Y/n) glowers silently at Drew.

Piper does stop. She isn't scared of Drew, but Annabeth doesn't seem like someone Piper would want for an enemy.

"We need to make our new arrivals feel welcome," Annabeth says, with another pointed look at Drew. "We'll assign them each a guide, and give them a tour of camp. Hopefully by tonight, Piper, Leo, and Jason will be claimed."

(Y/n) turns to Annabeth, looking surprised. "Have I been claimed before?"

"Can someone tell me what claimed means?" Piper asks.

Before anyone can answer, there is suddenly a collective gasp, and the campers back away. At first, Piper thinks she'd done something wrong. Then she realizes that their faces are bathed in a strange red light. Piper turns and almost forgets how to breathe.

Floating over Leo's head is a blazing holographic image - a fiery hammer.

"That," Annbeth says, "is claiming."

"What'd I do?" Leo backs toward the lake. Then he glances up and yelps. "Is my hair on fire?" He ducks, but the symbol follows him, bobbing and weaving so it looks like he was trying to write something in flames with his head.

"This can't be good," Butch mutters. "The curse -"

"Butch, shut up," Annabeth interrupts. "Leo, you've just been claimed—"

"By a god," Jason interjects. "That's the symbol of Vulcan, isn't it?"

All eyes turn to him.

"Jason," Annabeth says carefully, "how did you know that?"

"I'm not sure."

"Vulcan?" Leo demands. "I don't even LIKE Star Trek. What are you talking about?"

"Vulcan is the Roman name for Hephaestus," Annabeth replies, "the god of blacksmiths and fire."

The fiery hammer gades, but Leo keeps swatting the air like he is afraid it is following him. "The god of what? Who?"

Annabeth turns to the guy with the bow. "Will, would you take Leo, give him a tour? Introduce him to his bunk-mates in Cabin Nine."

"Sure, Annabeth."

"Come on, Mr. Spock, I'll explain everything." Will puts a hand on his shoulder and steers him off towards the cabins.

Annabeth turns her attention back to Jason. Usually Piper didn't like it when other girls checked out her boyfriend, but Annabeth doesn't seem to care that he is a good-looking guy. She studies him more like he's a complicated blueprint. Finally she says, "Hold out your arm."

Piper sees what she is looking at, and her eyes widen.

Jason had taken off his windbreaker after his dip in the lake, leaving his arms bare, and on the inside of his right forearm is a tattoo. How had Piper never noticed it before? She'd looked at Jason's arms a million times. The tattoo couldn't have just appeared, but it's darkly etched, impossible to miss: a dozen straight lines like a barcode, and over that an eagle with the letters SPQR.

"I've never seen marks like this," Annabeth says. "Where did you get them?"

Jason shakes his head. "I'm getting really tired of saying this, but I don't know."

The other campers push forward, trying to get a look at Jason's tattoo. The marks seem to bother them a lot - almost like a declaration of war.

"They look burned into your skin," Annabeth noticed.

"They were," Jason said. Then he winces as if his head is aching. "I mean . . . I think so. I don't remember."

No one says anything. It was clear the campers see Annabeth as the leader - they seemed to be waiting for her verdict.

"He needs to go straight to Chiron," Annabeth decides. "Drew, would you—"

"Absolutely." Drew laces her arm through Jason's. "This way, sweetie. I'll introduce you to our director. He's . . . an interesting guy." She flashes Piper a smug look and leads Jason toward the big blue house on the hill.

The crowd begins to disperse, until only Annabeth, (Y/n), and Piper are left.

"Who's Chiron?" Piper asks. "Is Jason in some kind of trouble?"

Annabeth hesitates. "Good question, Piper. Come on, I'll give you a tour. We need to talk." Then Annabeth turns to (Y/n), who was looking around at the cabins. "Cabin Three," Annabeth tells (Y/n), who nods, as though she'd been about to say the words herself.

The black pegasus - Blackjack - trots over to (Y/n) and nuzzles her cheek.

"Okay, man," (Y/n) says to the horse. "Blackjack wants me to follow."

"Go ahead," Annabeth looks amused. "He knows where to take you."

(Y/n) waves to Piper and Annabeth and jogs after the jet black pegasus.

"Will she be okay?" Piper asks Annabeth.

"With Blackjack? Of course," Annbeth replies. "He's loyal only to (Y/n) and Per -" Annabeth cuts herself off.

Piper didn't know who this Percy person was, but he seemed to be a big deal around here.

. . .

Piper soon realizes that Annabeth's heart isn't in the tour.

She talks all about the amazing stuff the camp offers - magic archery, pegasus riding, the lava wall, fighting monsters - but she shows no excitement, as if her mind is elsewhere. She points out the open-air dining pavilion that overlooks Long Island Sound - Yes, Long Island, New York; they'd traveled that far on the chariot. Annabeth explains how Camp Half-Blood is mostly a summer camp, but some kids stayed here year-round, and they'd added so many campers it is always crowded now, even in winter.

Piper wonders who runs the camp, and how they'd known Piper and her friends belonged here. I wonder if I'd have to stay full time, or if I'd be good at any of the activities, Piper wonders. Could you flunk out of monster fighting? A million questions bubble in her head, but given Annabeth's mood, she decides to keep quiet.

As they climb up a hill at the edge of camp, Piper turns and gets an amazing view of the valley - a big stretch of woods to the northwest, a beautiful beach, the creek, the canoe lake, lush green fields, and the whole layout of the cabins - a bizarre assortment of buildings arranged like a Greek omega, with a loop of cabins around a central green, and two wings sticking out the bottom on either side. Piper counts twenty cabins in all. One glows golden, another silver. One has grass on the roof. Another is bright red with barbed wire trenches. One cabin is black with fiery green torches out front.

All of it seems like a different world from the snowy hills and fields outside.

"The valley is protected from mortal eyes," Annabeth explains. "As you can see, the weather is controlled, too. Each cabin represents a Greek god - a place for that god's children to live." She looks at Piper, as though she's trying to judge how Piper was taking the news.

"You're saying Mom was a goddess?" Piper wonders aloud.

Annabeth nods. "You're taking this awfully calmly."

Piper can't tell Annabeth why. She can't admit that this just confirmed some weird feelings she'd had for years, arguments she'd had with her father about why there were no photos of Mom in the house, and why Dad would never tell her exactly how or why her mom had left them. But mostly, the dream had warned her this was coming. Soon they will find you, demigod, the voice had rumbled. When they do, follow our directions. Cooperate, and your father might live.

. . .

(Y/n) follows Blackjack through the rows of cabins until the pegasus stops in front of a low, long and solid cabin, with all the windows facing the sea.

Go on in, boss, Blackjack whinnies, nosing (Y/n) through the door.

Inside the cabin, six empty bunkbeds line the wall between two doors - (Y/n) guesses they were rooms - and another door - maybe a bathroom. The walls glow like abalone, a few fish-horses - hippocampi, the word comes to (Y/n) - hanging from the ceiling, and a fountain made of dark sea-rock in the corner.

On one of the doors, written in bronze is the name (Y/n), so (Y/n) walks over, pushing the door open.

One of the walls seemed to be windows, but (Y/n) knew that they couldn't be there - there were no visible windows other than the ones off the main room. (Y/n) studies the coast of Long Island Sound through the windows, but then she catches sight of a reading nook in the corner of the room. (Y/n) lets out a murmur of appreciation at the massive bookshelf and reading nook in a corner of the room. She walks over, studying a few of the tiles: something called Heartstopper - Volume 1, a massive series titled The Ranger's Apprentice, a book called One of Us is Lying, and a ton of other books that (Y/n) thinks she'd love to read - or reread.

On the wall across from the windows, there is a wall of photos - her and a dark-haired boy with sea-green eyes, (Y/n) guesses that that must be her twin brother, Percy; her, Annabeth, Percy, and a scrawny guy with a wispy goatee - Grover, the name comes to her - and they look about twelve; and a ton others.

Word Count: 3001 words

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[oysters-aint-for-me]

deal or no deal is one of THE most perfect encapsulations of US culture during the early aughts/the george w. bush era. these are notes for an essay i probably will never have time to right:

first of all let me say that i only watch this show when i’m taking care of my grandmother, because she watches the game show network. i don’t really understand how it works, but what i can say (for context) is that it involves contestants picking certain suitcases with different amounts of money, and after you open a suitcase, you can’t win that amount of money anymore. there is a “banker” who offers you a certain amount of money if you agree to stop playing; the algorithm for determining the amount offered is mysterious, but the offer is generally less than the highest value left in the unopened cases.

okay, on to the notes:

the sheer spectacle - one contestant i saw recently mentioned having been in a boy band or something? not a big one. but they choreographed a whole ass boyband dance to tell the contestant the offer the banker made.

the scantily clad models - while of course US society is still incredibly sexist and misogynistic, i don’t think this would fly quite as well if it happened today

the MONEY - the amounts of money in about 2/3 of the cases are high enough to significantly help the average person, but the game is played in such a way that suddenly $10,000 seems like nothing. $10,000 is a shameful amount to win. if the banker offers you $5,000, that’s considered insulting. $5,000 is like...that is NOTHING to sneeze at. but the contestants are encouraged to do exactly that!

the level of product placement: it’s just fucking hilarious. today, generally, game shows are either more and less subtle than it was in the early aughts. today it’s either obvious, like, “this show is sponsored by...” or it’s like, they HAVE the product onstage, but they don’t necessarily say the name of the brand. but today it’s like “well, reverend jeremy, let’s watch a video your parishioners sent you, using the Sony LTD Supermax Tinycam, which they sent to us using Verizon’s Mega Broadband High Speed Internet 2000X, generously provided by the McDonald’s Corporation & Rush Limbaugh Foundation for Faithful Americans!” then the video is like, one adorable Black child, wearing ill-fitting clothes and missing a tooth (to highlight the Poverty of course) saying “I wuv you wevewend jewemy!” and the contestant and the audience are all sobbing and howie goes “gosh, that was moving. thanks, Sony, Verizon, McDonald’s, and Rush Limbaugh!”

the patriotism: if anyone is EVER a veteran or a troop, they get a standing ovation from the audience. generally this kind of thing ages poorly. i just watched an episode where they had on a guy who recently rescued someone who had fallen into the subway tracks. i guess he got an award from the white house for it? they played audio of someone giving him the award and he said something like “there has to be something said for a country if they can produce citizens like this guy.” i thought “i know this voice, i don’t know who it is, but i know i don’t trust them.” it was george w. bush. there was also footage of donald trump congratulating him, and various NBC anchors who have since been accused of sexual harassment. also in the audience was a dog who saved his owner by dialing 911 when he (the owner) was having a seizure. and then when the same contestant’s game went on into the next episode, they had on a (all-male) troop of marines to stand next to the models. btw - the subway hero did not win $1,000,000, but he DID win a brand new Jeep Grand Cherokee generously provided by Chrysler

the faceless “banker” - psychologically suggestive of how US-centric capitalism wants US citizens to see banks, i think. something faceless, voiceless, in the shadows, all-powerful, all-knowing, unquestionable in judgment, no room for protest or reaction. you just take what the banker gives you, and if you don’t, if you take a chance on something and end up losing, the banker will punish you, and that’s just the way it goes.

the unabashed audience manipulation through increased pauses, heightened suspense w/ lighting and music, inviting the contestant’s families and friends on, audience shouting.

contestants are “the deserving poor” - people who have lost a lot of money due to accidents or illness or disasters, people have always been poor but who have done something heroic or admirable. this makes you want them to win. this makes it very sad when they don’t win. never do you think “they could just GIVE them the money though...” because that’s not the GAME and in AMERICA you HAVE to play the FUCKING GAME because while you may be “the deserving poor,” we need to have RULES to figure out who deserves to WIN.

“wacky” contestants - i feel embarrassed for the contestants because they have clearly been riled up by something. i don’t know how else to explain it except that they all somehow end up acting like michael scott getting WAY too into a game of charades.

the weak liberalism of the early aughts - once kermit was a guest because it was green week on NBC. the model’s dresses were made out of recycled parachutes. ...ok.

[ladylooch]

What kind of car does every au drive

I see timo in something sporty

And idk but Lexie gives me white minivan vibes (hey she has a lot of kids)

Lexi has a Jeep Grand Cherokee or GMC Acadia, but let me tell you, Nico was pushing the minivan! He's secretly always wanted one but he couldn't exactly roll up to devs games in his mini van.... He has a reputation to uphold here.

Emma floats between an Audi and a Mercedes, depending on if they are in the U.S. or Switzerland.

Timo has a million different Mercedes'. Emma gets annoyed with him because he wants a sporty car, but then forgets how many children he pumped into. her.

Sam always has the newest model of Range Rover. It was her dream car growing up.

Kevin always has some kind of Porsche.

#when aus collide

[myhauntedsalem]

Hauntings at the Historical McBride House

The relatively small town of Fort Gibson, Oklahoma is nestled between the county lines of Muskogee and Cherokee counties. It is a peaceful place, with small town families and respectable upbringings. But this quiet landmark of true Americana is shadowed by the eerie haunting of the Historical McBride House.

Built in 1895, the Historical McBride House was once the grand home of Dr. McBride, a local physician. McBride had the home-built in a very particular manner, inspecting and scrutinizing each and every board and nail that went into it.

Dr. McBride loved his home. It meant everything to him. He threw lavish parties that went on into the wee hours of the night, serving the finest foods and ensuring every guest was gratuitously accommodated.

It would seem the doctor enjoyed his in-home forays so much that, even in death, he chose not to give them up.

In 1982, the McBride House was purchased by current owners Chris and Cindy Black. When they first moved in, they started to notice a few strange things around the home. One night, they assumed they must have left the television set turned on. It sounded as if there was a party going on downstairs – voices, laughter, the distinct ‘clink’ of Champaign glasses, that sort of thing. Heading downstairs to turn off the television, it went to dead silence. The TV was off, lights off, there was no one in sight.

It became quickly apparent that the Black family was not alone in the home. After 25 years living in the haunted Historical McBride House, Cindy claims to know each of its ghosts very well. She even documented her phenomenal story in the recently published book ‘Ghosts of the McBride House’.

The McBride House ghost first is that of Dr. McBride himself. Cindy Black believes that the good doctor simply has no desire to leave his beloved home and lavish lifestyle. McBride is, for obvious reasons, assumed to be responsible for the incessant late-night parties that can be heard downstairs as late as 2 o’clock in the morning.

There is a Victorian Lady who appears now and again donning all white clothing. This particular apparition does not just haunt the Historical McBride House, but also the old army hospital across the street.

Two children, a small boy and girl, are also known to materialize in the McBride House. Perhaps these are the ghosts that enjoy scaring guests of the home by sitting on their beds at night and sometimes shaking them. Guests have also reported the whispers of disembodied voices speaking directly into their ears as they try to sleep.

Cindy insists that the ghosts haunting the Historical McBride House are not mean or vengeful in any way. In fact, she almost paints a picture of a playful atmosphere, stating that they like to have fun with the living in mischievous, sometimes even comical ways.

Apparently the ghosts like to take things from the Black family as well as guests of the home. We’re not talking about moving a loaf of bread that has been sitting on the counter for a few hours, but things people are actually using at the time. You turn your back for one instant and when you turn around again, whatever you were just working with could be gone. These things tend to turn up in strange places later on, but certainly nowhere a person of sound mind would have placed them.

Mrs. Black was terribly frightened of the McBride House ghosts when her and her husband first purchased the property, but now they seem to be little more than co-ed residents that the family has simply gotten used to over the years.

#Hauntings at the Historical McBride House #haunted locations #paranormal #ghost and hauntings #ghost and spirits #mcbride house #haunted salem #myhauntedsalem

[ausetkmt]

A Florida judge is considering whether authorities should add hate crime charges against two of three men who allegedly chased a Black man into an alley and killed him.

Authorities found a 39-year-old Black man shot to death behind a dumpster at 6:45 a.m. on Tuesday, May 2 in Jacksonville, Florida. Two days later, police announced they’d arrested Ryan Christopher Nichols, 19, Daniel James DeGuardia, 18, and Holden Emery Dodson, 21, according to First Coast News.

Circuit Court Judge Kim Sadler said DeGuardia and Dodson’s charges could be upgraded to a hate crime.

“I’m not the state, it’s up to them, of course, what charges they bring,” Sadler told First Coast News. “But it was just a bunch of white guys chasing a Black guy and I didn’t see any reason for it.”

A hate crime charge would mean harsher penalties, according to Florida law. For instance, a second-degree felony would be upgraded to a first-degree felony.

The identity of the deceased Black man has not been released.

What happened?

Surveillance footage of the are showed a Jeep Grand Cherokee arriving near 100 North Julia Street and parking around 2:25 a.m. Three white men exit the vehicle and begin walking. Twenty minutes later, the Black victim is seen being chased by the men as he flees behind a dumpster. Moments later, the three white men return to the jeep and speed off.

Another video near a 7-Eleven revealed the license plate of the vehicle. Authorites tracked it to alleged accomplice DeGuardia’s mother’s home. DeGuardia allegedly reported his 9mm Glock as lost that night.

According to First Coast News, authorities also reported a 36-year-old Black woman had been shot and killed. Her body was found in a vehicle in the area of Boulevard and West 22nd Street. The Sheriff’s Office doesn’t believe the two homicides are related.

Anyone with information contact the Sheriff’s Office at [phone] or First Coast Crime Stoppers at [phone] (845-TIPS) to remain anonymous and be eligible for rewards. Or email [email protected] or [email protected].

Florida has a long history of hate crimes

The local Sheriff’s Office said that while the investigation is ongoing, there is “no information at this time” leading them to believe the attack was a hate crime. Notably, police officers around the nation are not obligated to report hate crimes to the FBI’s federal database.

Florida has a long history of hate crimes, however, in the form of racial terror lynchings.

At least 319 lynchings of Black people took place in Florida between 1877 and 1950, according to data from the Equal Justice Initiative. The state accounted for the 6th highest number of racial terror lynching during that period.

In Duval County, where Jacksonville resides, EJI documented eight lynchings during that period. One county over, in St. John’s County, where the three suspects all had previous addresses, one lynching reportedly took place.

In recent years, Florida has become a hot-bed of anti-Black sentiment through the passage of laws targeting Black history and limiting the political power of Black residents. The shooting adds to a deadly toll taking place around the country.

More Americans fell victim to gun violence in 2021 (48,830) than any previous year on record, according to Pew Research Center. Guns are also the leading cause of death for children and teens, Pew found.

#hate crimes #florida #florida travel warning #3 Florida white men kill Black man #judge says possible hate crime

[morosefrogs]

Suna Rintarou fanfic- Chapters 1 & 2

Chapter one: Grumpy Beginnings

𝔾𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕦𝕚𝕥𝕠𝕦𝕤. Gratuitous was the only word to describe your life. Full of unfortunate circumstances; nothing was ever in your favor. However, you still managed to stay positive, no matter what your predicament may be. That was until you hit your breaking point.

"Moving,"

May seem like something you could grow accustomed to, right? Wrong. You were leaving everything behind. Your friends, your family, your life. Everything happed so fast. You were happy in your relationship of three years, then he ran off and cheated on you. Then you started having problems with your family and your financial situation, then you were moving.

You decided on a whim that you were going to move and transfer schools. You didn't feel like there was anything left for you there.

Currently, you were attending Shiratorizawa Academy. A private high school in Sendai, the capital of Miyagi Prefecture. It was extremely difficult to get into this school; most students get accepted to study at this school, only if they're hard studiers or through sport scholarships.

You played for the girls volleyball team. You were more of a martial arts kind of girl, but volleyball seemed to be the more 'glorified' sport for Shiratorizawa Academy. However, the girls VB team didn't get very much attention for the main reason that the boys team were always the center of attention.

Reason for that being mainly because of the girls gawking at the, very attractive, volleyball players.

You were middle blocker for your team, and even though you were considered short for your position, it didn't matter. Your size never stopped you from doing anything. You were incredibly fast and analytic. While also being middle blocker for your team, you were also captain.

Needless to say, you weren't too pleased with your current situation, but you tried your best to find the positives. You kept trying to convince yourself that starting a new was always healthy and it is great that you're moving out of your parents house to live with your aunt.

As you were driving by, you noticed your new school. Inarizaki High. Inarizaki High is a high school in Hyōgo Prefecture. You took note of how large the high school was.

"Woah," You audibly gasped.

You turned your focus back onto the road and continued driving.

"In 500 feet, turn left," the GPS device spoke.

"Your destination is on your right,"

Finally, you reached your aunts house. You'd always been closer to your aunt than you were your mom. Your mom was emotionally distant and your dad was never home due to work. Your older brother had moved out two years ago and left to move back to America.

You were born and raised in America, California for twelve years before you moved to Japan for your fathers job.

You parked your white Jeep Grand Cherokee, grabbed your bags, and made your decent into your aunts house. Your aunt wasn't home, she was at the hospital. Your aunt worked as a nurse so she texted you and told you that she'd placed a copy of the house key under a potted plant diagonal to her front door.

Chapter Two: Unexpected Encounters

With the weight of your bags in hand, you crouched down and found the key as your aunt had described. Unlocking the door, you stepped into the unfamiliar surroundings of your new home. It felt strange to be in a place that was so different from what you were used to. You sighed, reminding yourself that change could be a good thing.

Over the next few days, you settled into your new routine. You attended your first day of classes at Inarizaki High and introduced yourself to your new teammates on the girls' volleyball team. Everyone seemed friendly enough, but you still missed the familiarity of your old life. Despite that, you pushed forward, determined to make the best of your new circumstances.

One afternoon after practice, as you were walking home from school, you decided to take a different route to explore your new neighborhood. The sun was starting to set, casting a warm golden glow over the streets. As you turned a corner, you suddenly found yourself face-to-face with a tall figure.

"Watch out!" The person exclaimed, grabbing your arm to steady you.

Startled, you looked up to see a boy with sharp eyes and a stern expression. He had a presence that demanded attention, and you couldn't help but feel a bit taken aback.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his tone softer now.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for catching me," you replied, a little flustered.

He nodded, his gaze still intense. "Be more careful next time."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there slightly bewildered. Who was that guy? And why did he seem so grumpy?

Days turned into weeks, and you continued to navigate your new life. Volleyball practices were intense, and you found yourself working harder than ever to prove your worth to the team. Your analytical mind and quick reflexes earned you the respect of your teammates, and you gradually began to feel like you belonged.

One day, as you were leaving the gym after practice, you spotted the same boy from before sitting on a bench, scribbling in a notebook. You hesitated for a moment before approaching him.

"Hey," you said, trying to sound casual.

He glanced up, his expression unchanging. "What do you want?"

"Just wanted to say thanks again for helping me that day," you replied, a small smile playing on your lips.

He gave a curt nod. "No need to thank me. Just be more aware of your surroundings."

You chuckled, finding his bluntness oddly amusing. "Got it. By the way, I'm [Your Name]. I just transferred here."

He closed his notebook and looked at you more directly. "Suna Rintarou."

Suna Rintarou. So that was his name. The more you talked to him, the more you realized that his grumpy exterior wasn't the whole story. He was straightforward and honest, and you found yourself enjoying his company more than you would've expected.

As the weeks went on, you and Suna spent more time together. He would often join you after volleyball practice, and the two of you would walk home together. You learned that he was on the boys' volleyball team, and he had a reputation for being a strong and reliable wing spiker.

One day, as you were sitting in the park together, watching the sunset, Suna spoke up.

"You know, you're not as annoying as I thought you'd be," he said, his lips twitching into a hint of a smile.

You laughed. "Gee, thanks. I'm glad I could meet your expectations."

He chuckled softly, his eyes still fixed on the horizon. "It's just... I'm used to people being overly dramatic or fake. You're refreshingly genuine."

A warmth spread through you at his words. Maybe this unexpected encounter with Suna was a silver lining in the midst of all the changes in your life. It was as if you had found a kindred spirit in this grumpy, yet surprisingly sincere, boy.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, you realized that sometimes, even the grumpiest of beginnings could lead to something unexpectedly beautiful.

#haikyuu!! #suna x reader #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintarou #x yn #x reader #original fanfic

[identifying-cars-in-posts]

i have a ‘95 grand cherokee (unsurprising) and theyre becoming rarer and rarer on the roads and its devastatingggg. all the older jeeps i see are either cherokees (cute lil fellas who i DO really like) or ‘96 onward and its so sad. i see maybe 1-2 ‘95 generations a month? fewer depending on how often im leaving the house lol. and i KNOW its because theyre mediocre these days due to the age but god. my autism. i love them so much. my favorites are the black w gold trim but mine is white w black siding :3

those first gen grand cherokees are awesome. i know rust just eats them and that’s i think part of why they’re disappearing, but every time i see one it makes me smile. i have an ‘01 cherokee and she’s my baby, even if she drains my wallet and won’t stop breaking these days when she’s running she’s the best, so i’m very partial to those 90s jeeps. that first gen pre-facelift grand cherokee is great, i hope yours continues to treat you well

#not a car id #asks #beanly

[brainrattlers]

Play It Cool - Tyson Jost (36/n)

Pairing: Tyson Jost x OFC (AJ)

Word Count: 2891

Chapter 35 can be found at https://at.tumblr.com/brainrattlers/play-it-cool-tyson-jost-35n/l1n6k0ggp18i

Start from the beginning at https://at.tumblr.com/brainrattlers/play-it-cool-tyson-jost-1n/p7no8u1hzuza

Warnings: hmm. AJ's sick, taking meds so if you have a bad aversion to NyQuil, maybe take a pass? I don't even think there are bad words in this chapter.

Author's Notes: Short chapter, I've been under the weather, so just got some fluff today. Will get back to hockey goodness in the next chapter! For some reason, tags have not been working, so if you'd like to be directly tagged in my posts (since they're not coming up in tag searches? And Tumblr's support is failing me in solving this issue), hmu in the comments!

***

So that New Year's kiss may have happened on January 4th, but Tyson made it one hundred percent worth it. Texting from the airport, he made sure that AJ would indeed be at the hotel in about an hour.

Tyson: Not to ruin the surprise, but… you’ll be there, right?

AJ: Yep, what are you up to, Jost?

Tyson smiled, he secretly loved it when AJ called him that. She knew he was up to something, and he loved the fact it was getting to her in a fun way. Plotting little things to cause some harmless mystery and mischief, and of course making AJ smile and laugh was his favorite.

Finding his Grand Cherokee in the parking lot, Tyson hit the road, finding himself at the grocery store near the hotel before heading home. Stopping in, he picked out a few things he jotted down on his phone notepad earlier on the flight from DC. Strolling down the candy aisle with his small basket, he also threw a package of Justin’s PB Cups in for himself. Looking at his basket, everything from the list was in there, and made his way to the checkouts, and out the door.

After parking, and coming up the elevator, Tyson stood outside of their door, pulling things from the bag, including cups and sparkling cider. Inside, AJ could hear the rustling of the plastic bags and Tyson chuckling from the hallway as he texted his fiancée just inside.

Tyson: Hey babe, open the door in 10 seconds.

Tyson: 5, 4, 3, 2…

AJ opened the door, whispering “1.”

Grabbing Tyson’s face, AJ kissed him with abandon. It had been nearly a week since they’d physically been in each others’ presence. She pulled him inside, hands on the still on the sides of his face. Finding the counter next to them, Tyson was able to put the cups and bottle in his hand down on it, dropping the bag (thankfully without breakable items in it) onto the floor.  Lips melting into each other’s, the two caught up on all the kisses missed in the last week, and more than made up for the kiss missed days earlier at midnight. After a few minutes, the pair were left with dazed smiles AJ looked up into Tyson’s eyes.

“Happy New Year, Eggo. Here’s to spending this year, and many more, together.” Tyson’s eyes twinkled as he kissed AJ again. 

Breaking the embrace, Tyson went back to the kitchen counter, grabbing the sparkling apple cider and plastic champagne glasses, pouring each a glass. Before doling them out, he grabbed drastically marked down party hats and noisemakers from the grocery bag. Putting a hat on AJ and himself, he put a horn in his mouth and honked at AJ. The horn in AJ’s lips unfurled and squeaked in Tyson’s direction, leaving them both giggling, sipping on the sparkling juice.

Grabbing the extra blanket that AJ had on the bed, she headed for the sofa as Tyson clicked around on Netflix to find something to watch. She shivered under the fleece as she curled up next to him. The opening scenes of White Noise started, and the two watched intently, trying to figure out what was going on. 

As much of an Adam Driver fan AJ is, she was unable to stay awake and fell asleep shortly after the first half hour of the movie. And as the movie went on, Tyson wasn’t faring much better in the keeping awake department. The thing that woke AJ up was the song of the final credits, as she’s also a bit LCD Soundsystem fan. 

Attempting to bounce her head to the beat, it started pounding, leaving AJ shivering. Breathing in deep, her nose was clogged and she snuffled, waking Tyson instantly. Rubbing his eyes, he suddenly looked concerned.

“You feeling okay, babe?” 

AJ scrunched her eyes and sniffled loudly, wincing as she tried to stretch her arms over her head.

“I’ve been kinda tired the last day or so, I hope I’m not getting sick.”

Tyson put the back of his hand on AJ’s forehead.

“Oh no, you’re burning up. I think you’re past the getting sick level,” Tyson suddenly went into nurse mode, getting up off the sofa, “You stay put, I got this.”

“Damn it, I was working on scheduling *sniffle* places for us to go look at to live in.” AJ was more concerned about making it to the appointments.

Returning from the kitchen, large glass of water and a couple Tylenol in hand, Tyson shushed her. 

“Right now that doesn’t matter, we can find our place when you get better. Here, take these to start, and drink that whole glass of water. Gotta keep you hydrated, yeah?” Tyson gave a soft smile as he had AJ sit up to take the meds and sip on the cool water. “Will you be okay if I run back out to grab a few things from the store?”

AJ cleared her throat, nodding. Trying to not be a wimp, she attempted to get up but sat down quickly again. She motioned toward the bedroom.

“Can you grab my pillow?” Her voice was tiny.

“Of course, you stay put,” Tyson had AJ lift her head to put the pillow underneath it and tucking the blanket in around here, “I’ll be right back. Text me if you need anything, okay? Or if you want something from the store?”

“Sprite? And orange juice?”

“Of course, Eggo. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Tyson leaned down, kissing AJ’s feverish forehead.

Tyson made the quickest trip back to the same grocery store he was just at hours earlier. Grabbing a cart this time, he made his way up and down aisles, while texting his grandma.

Tyson: Hey Grandma, what’s the recipe for your chicken soup? AJ is sick, and yours always made me feel better.

A few minutes later he got a list of ingredients off his phone, they were in his cart, along with liquid NyQuil (Tyson remembered that AJ couldn’t swallow the capsules), tea, Sprite and orange juice. Tyson picked up a few other things too that he thought would make AJ more comfortable, the things that made him feel better when he was home sick. His last stop in the store was the floral counter, where he found the perfect plant for her, picking out a pot in her favorite color as well.

Rushing back home, the door was opened as silently as possible, with Tyson putting the bags on the counter. Peeking over, he found AJ snoring loudly as her nose was severely clogged. Without clanging the pots as much as he could muster, a pot of broth and shredded rotisserie chicken simmered on the one-burner stove in their small home. It wasn’t 100% his grandma’s recipe, but it was going to be as close as he could get in the time/space crunch he was working with. Tasting the broth, he added a little more garlic, and some extra spices from the cupboard. 

With a coughing fit, AJ woke up, looking around at the living room, not remembering she fell asleep there. Quickly, her nose, albeit stuffed up, smelled something delicious coming from the space behind her in the kitchen. Tyson jumped up, looking around the corner from the table to make sure AJ was alright. Once knowing she was good, he offered to help her get to the table as dinner was almost ready.

AJ sat down, still wrapped up in the blanket as two bowls of chicken noodle soup were ladeled up. Looking at the breakfast bar, a small green and white mottled leaf plant in a bright red ceramic pot caught her eye. Amused, Tyson smirked, pointing at the plant.

“I saw it and thought of you. I think it’s a… pothos? It’s a Snow Queen, according to the tag. And with everything you’ve been through in the last two months, you’re MY Snow Queen.” 

The smile that graced AJ’s face from the explanation warmed Tyson’s heart. Twice now AJ had given up most of her plants when moving to a new place, so he was hoping he could help start a new collection for their new place in Buffalo.

“Now, eat up... It isn’t quite the recipe, but pretty close. Grandma Emily sends her love and hopes you feel better soon.”

Taking a slurp of the broth and a noodle, AJ closed her eyes, letting the hot liquid ease down her throat. She appreciated that the carrots were soft. Even more appreciated is the fact that Tyson skipped the celery that is often found in chicken and noodles all together, as it’s a veg that AJ refuses to eat. Slowly, the bowl of soup in front of her disappeared, helping her shivers disappear a bit as well. 

Once their bowls were empty (Tyson might have had a second one), AJ attempted to get up and grab both of them, heading to the sink.

“Huh uh, you go either to the couch or bed… I got this,” Tyson gently took the bowls from AJ’s hands, “You need to rest.”

“But you cooked, I need to do the dishes,” AJ squeaked out.

Tyson put the bowls and silverware on the counter next to the sink, “Not this time. Next time, when I’m sick, you can cook and do the dishes while I rest, you know? I got you babe, you’re benched the rest of the  night.” 

AJ frowned, but then chuckled at his choice of words. Finding her way back to the chaise part of the sofa, she propped herself up with her pillow to help with her cough and congestion. Tyson looked over the counter to see her clicking on something on Hulu, starting an episode. The opening credits hadn’t even started, and the snores from her stuffy nose were already happening as he filled the sink with hot water to wash the dishes. He let her doze as he finished up.

Looking at his watch, Tyson grabbed a bottle from the bag of groceries that still sat on the end of the counter from earlier.  Popping off the little plastic shot glass, he eyeballed the red syrupy liquid that came out until it was at the top line.

“Hey baby girl, I need you to wake up,” Tyson gingerly touched AJ’s arm, “C’mon, it’s medicine time.”

AJ grumbled and opened her eyes, sensing the vile red liquid in the shot glass was not indeed a tasty shot. Finally awake enough, the cup was put in her fingers and then turned her lip up at it in a cringe, knowing how bad it was going to taste. But getting up the courage, she attempted to shoot it as fast as possible, taking it in two gulps. The horrific taste left her gagging slightly.

“IT IS SOOO BAD, ewwww,” AJ was being a little overdramatic, flailing a bit. She got quiet, thinking about something for a few minutes, forgetting the taste that was still lingering in her mouth. “Do you want me to sleep on the sofa? I don’t want to get you sick babe.”

To be honest, she probably already had exposed him with that make-up New Year’s kiss. 

Tyson thought about it as well, coming to the same conclusion. “I want you to sleep where you’ll feel most comfortable, where you’ll actually get rest. If that’s the sofa where you can prop yourself up, sleep there. If you want to sleep in bed, by all means.”

“But you need your rest too… you’re the one that has to play Saturday, and practice, and…” AJ got quiet, and started staring at a spot on the floor, although nothing was there.

The NyQuil was hitting, and Tyson could tell.

“Even if you choose the bed, I’m staying there with you. I think you’re going to be pretty out of it here quick anyway.” Tyson smiled as AJ completely zoned out, intensely looking at seemingly nothing.

Leaving AJ in her cold medicine-induced trance, he took the few moments to grab a pair of pajama pants and a tanktop for AJ. Before he had her decide where she wanted to crash for the night, he made sure she was comfy in what clothes he picked out. Eventually, AJ indicated she wanted to sleep in bed, requesting a pile of pillows to keep her head up and hopefully not coughing all night. She was still coherent enough she was worried that Tyson wouldn’t get any sleep, but he had one more trick up his sleeve, or rather, in the bag in the kitchen.

While not his favorite scent, it was something that always helped him when he was younger and struggling with a cold. Opening the little blue jar, he scrunched his nose at the smell as his fingers swept up a dollop of VapoRub and smeared it on AJ’s exposed skin above her collar of her top, and put a little just under her nose. The goo was already doing it’s thing as her nose started to run a bit, and she didn’t feel like coughing. An extra box of lotioned tissues was put on her nightstand to make sure her nose wasn’t going to get all red and cracked from blowing it too much.

Tyson really had thought of everything.

AJ was out like a light, and a groggy mess come morning. Tyson was up early, getting ready for the morning’s practice, when he heard AJ honking while blowing her nose in the other room. Peeking in, he noticed that she had a little more color to her face (that wasn’t the dark circles under her eyes). She caught him checking in, and noticed how tired HE looked.

“Please tell me I didn’t keep you up all night?” AJ croaked out, throat dry from sleeping with her mouth open to breathe as her nose was still stuffy.

“Naw, I ended up sleeping on the sofa after you kinda starfished in bed. We have this giant king size bed here and you may be tiny, but… yeah. You kinda took over.” Tyson smiled and chuckled, just happy that she did get some sleep. “I just wasn’t used to the sofa, that’s all. I’ll be fine with a nap after practice. You feel like some more soup for breakfast? I can heat you up a bowl if you’d like.”

With a nod, Tyson jumped up and grabbed a bowl and the extra soup from the fridge, heating it up as he finished his own bowl of cereal. AJ made her way slowly to the little dining table, sitting down and rubbing her head. A glass of water and shot of DayQuil was already waiting for her. She had been single so long prior to Tyson coming into her life, she couldn’t even remember the last time she had someone to take care of her when she felt crummy, and despite the obvious feeling ill, she felt mentally better knowing someone was looking out for her.

Bowl of soup in front of her, Tyson kissed AJ’s forehead while putting the spoon on the wooden table.

“Well you don’t feel like a raging inferno this morning,” He kissed her forehead again just because, “feeling better at least?”

She truly was, although not one-hundred percent. But was happy that at least her eyes and ears didn’t feel like she was cooking from the inside out. The soup felt amazing, helping her face and throat hurt less.

“I’ll be back in a few hours. Rest! And stay hydrated, your OJ and Sprite are in the fridge. Text me if you need anything.” Tyson put on his backpack and blew a kiss from the doorway.

Finishing up her soup, AJ put on the latest season of Letterkenny and grabbed a big glass, filling it half and half between the soda and juice. Settling in on the sofa, she sipped the drink and laughed at the jokes. A text from Laura came in asking how she was feeling - Tyson obviously said something to Grandma Emily and word likely spread. The two chatted back and forth a few minutes until sleep took hold after the warmth of the soup and blanket lulled her to sleep.

Not knowing what he was going to come back to, but figuring from the lack of texts, Tyson was quiet as a mouse once home from practice and again the grocery store. When AJ had emerged on the other side of her migraines, she always craved a handful of things, so he figured this would be no different and picked them up. Leaning down over the arm of the sofa, the back of his hand grazed her forehead again, making sure the fever never came back. She stirred slightly, but was out like a light again. He took advantage and snagged about an hour’s worth of nap time in bed, without her sprawling limbs taking up the space.

Until they weren’t, because that’s exactly what woke him up. But AJ’s limbs weren’t sprawling, they were curling up into him, wrapping around his torso. She smelled a bit of another shot of DayQuil and some VapoRub, but he didn’t care. The fact she got up, took some more meds, and willingly climbed into bed were signs she was on the up and up.

Chapter 37 is posted! https://at.tumblr.com/brainrattlers/play-it-cool-tyson-jost-37n/hxfl33gkhrv2

#Tyson Jost #Josty #Buffalo Sabres #Play It Cool #NHL #Tyson Jost x OFC

[imeverywoman420]

Ariana grande should race fake as a jeff the killer colored white girl in your middle school class that claims shes actually a cherokee princess because her great great great great grandfather was a tribal chief

[merrock]

MERROCK'S BIG SUMMER BASH

TIME: July 2nd through 9th.

LOCATION: Downtown Merrock.

The biggest summer party in town... happening now! Join us downtown for a fun week of all things summer, whether you want to come eat, laugh, dance, sing, buy things, enjoy the deals, or just have a great time with your friends and family here in Merrock!

FOOD & DRINK -- baked goods by Clementine, themed picnic baskets by Taste (Elise), fresh blueberries & blueberry lemonade from Newman Family Farm (Kellan), pizza tent sponsored by Pizza Thyme, walking tacos from Paco’s, various cook-out locations for citizens (bring your own burgers!), green tea refreshers (and other options) from What’s the Tea?, fish & chips from & Chips, delicious gelato from Sea Breeze, milkshakes from The Creamery, various food trucks parked downtown & much more!

GOODS TO BUY --  wooden yard games for sale by Creekside (Cage),  massive flower sale tent by Lavendar Lane (Nari), arts & crafts at various booths downtown, farmer’s market stall, antique stand by Polished Brass, summer clothing sale tent sponsored by Bella’s, huge candy display by Cassidy’s, buy some art supplies & art by Mandy!

THINGS TO DO -- gem mining with Universal Rocks (Amina), slip ‘n slides set up in Cityview Park, water battle with fire company (nightly @ 5PM), lawn games set up in the park, sidewalk chalk art displays (and do your own!) outside the local businesses, petting zoo sponsored by Animal Sanctuary, face painting, yoga & pilates lessons in the park from Breathe In, kid center with games and activities (Jamie).

& ALL THE REST -- Jeep Grand Cherokee giveaway by Bardales Inc. (Rafael), pick-a-pop by White Heron Wellness (Livvy), raffle to win passes to The Color Wine (Miranda).

We have a number of performances to keep your toes tapping this week, and when we say that there’s something for everyone, we truly mean it!

July 2nd -- local rock ‘n roll band.

July 3rd -- Evan Parker & band.

July 4th -- 80s cover band.

July 5th -- Merrock High School Band & Choir.

July 6th -- Damien Graham.

July 7th -- 40s through 70s cover band.

July 8th -- Chetan Gupta.

July 9th -- 90s and 00s cover band.

The event runs all week long, which means you have plenty of time to come down and have a blast! Don't forget that on July 4th, there will be fireworks out over the water, so bring along a chair and enjoy!

MOD NOTE: as usual, threads can be started any time between July 2nd 9th, and you're allowed to write them out as long as you want after that -- but please don't start them after the 9th. Anything you'd like the Times to share should be tagged with #merrocksocial! For food, craft and other stands, please don’t be afraid to use your imagination outside of what’s listed, but do remember to keep it in the small town vibes realm!

#merrockevent