JUSTICE FOR CASEY GOODSON

I love swagless bisexual men

I have no faith in a proper investigation.

#SayHerName  #SadieRobertsJoseph

mob au: the visit 

It’s a perfect Sunday morning by the pool, and Annabeth can’t help but be mesmerized by the shine of her engagement ring. It twinkles with a shade of blue she’s only seen before in Caribbean waters and she thinks the pool should be ashamed for even trying to keep up.

She sits at a table covered in a gorgeous breakfast spread with the local paper in hand as her fiancé swims his usual laps in the background, her ring distracting her from the article on changes to downtown parking meters.

Percy pops out of the pool, his trunks hanging low on his hips, as he begins to dry himself off with his favorite shark towel and Annabeth catches herself biting her bottom lip while watching him. Charles clears his throat as he holds up a cell phone and Annabeth shakes her head to clear it of her impure thoughts.

“It’s the warden,” Charles says, handing her the phone.

Her mood changes and her eyes narrow as she takes the phone and brings it up to her ear.

“Warden Kampe, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

Percy pops a few blueberries in his mouth as he raises his eyebrows at Annabeth and mouths “you ok?” Annabeth forces a smile and winks at him, making him relax a bit as he takes a sip of orange juice and sits across from his love.

“I can be there in twenty minutes, warden.”

Annabeth stands, guilt washing over her face. “I’m sorry, baby, I have to-’”

“Work,” Percy finishes for her. “I have some photos to edit anyway.” He stands to meet her and wraps an arm around her waist, placing a playful kiss to her lips. “I’ll be here waiting for you when you’re done.”

Annabeth smiles against Percy’s mouth and kisses him back, her fingers curling into the hair at the back of his head. “I won’t be too long, I promise.”

She walks into the house and changes into her standard grey blouse and black pencil skirt, accompanied by her favorite pair of black heels. Gathering her curls up into a high ponytail, she watches as a couple of stray curls fall to frame her face. Lastly, she applies a dark shade of red lipstick, which her mother had always said was a woman’s greatest ally in their line of business. Lipstick sends a message, she had told Annabeth one night while braiding her hair. It draws men’s eyes and keeps them distracted, leaving you all the time in the world to do what needs to be done.  

As she steps outside with all of her armor on, she finds Charles waiting with the car door open, his face serious as if he’s anticipating some big show down. Annabeth pats him on the arm as she passes him.

“Don’t look so glum, Charles. This is gonna be fun.”

Charles shakes his head as he closes the door after her. “Poor son of a bitch,” he laughs to himself.

finish on ao3

On twitter I’m seeing dozens of threads from Black activists warning people against burnout, giving all sorts of useful tips about preventing and managing it for the sake of a long-term, sustainable effort.

On tumblr I’m seeing a hell of a lot of young white kids yelling at anyone who actually follows those steps, and acting like burnout is a moral falling rather than a well-proven psychological phenomenon.

Be careful who you get your information from. Don’t let guilt lead you to make choices that will harm both you and the movement.

The Olympic Tribune 

Leaving Los Angeles had never been in Piper’s plan, but a torrid affair with an actor and a classic car taking a nose dive into a swimming pool had chased her across the country to seek refuge.

Being out of a proper big city had been a hard transition at first, but after six months, Piper felt she was finally getting into a groove. Her apartment wasn’t far from downtown, a simple studio that she rented from a nice old lady, and she had finally perfected her morning routine: A bagel from Demeter’s Dough Bakery, a coffee from Hestia’s Hearth Cafe, and on the odd morning when she actually woke up on time, it included a walk through a small park in the neighborhood to say hello to the swans.

The Coeus building, which stood twelve stories tall and had a panoramic view of the city, was home to The Olympic Tribune, a well respected paper in the great state of New York. Founded the same year as the city of Olympic Harbor, the paper had always been a paragon of journalistic integrity, which is part of what attracted Piper to it so much. Well, that and the fact that they were the only paper out of twelve she applied to who called her back.  

The paper was housed on the building’s top floor, the editor’s office taking up the south east corner and facing the city’s namesake harbor which was dotted with the countless ships that used it daily.  

“This story is big,” Piper said as she looked out at the water, her arms crossed. “And I have a reliable source, the info is good.”

“Piper,” the editor began. “I respect your instincts, but you’re not here to be an investigative journalist.”

“Investigative journalist is a bit of an oxymoron, don’t you think, Lee?”

Lee Fletcher, who had been editor at the paper for ten years, rolled his eyes and joined Piper at the window. “Believe me when I say this story is not worth it, Piper.”

“So you admit there is a story there,” she said mischievously.

“The only thing I’m admitting is that you’re out of bounds.”  

“You sound scared,” she said, her tone inquisitive.

“And you sound naive,” Lee said, turning to her. “A story like this will never get printed in this paper. So do yourself a favor and drop it before you get dropped.”

“Are you saying you’re gonna fire me?” she asked, her tone playful as she tugged on his tie.

“No,” he said, pulling his tie from her hand. “I’m saying you’re new here, and there’s things about this city you don’t know yet.”

“Well then why don’t you enlighten me.”

Lee shook his head and sat back down in his brown leather chair, keeping his eyes on the city’s landscape as he began to squeeze the life out of a stress ball. “There’s a gallery opening Saturday night and the who’s-who of the city will all be there. Pick up your press pass from Mitchell, and grab a photographer to go with you. I’d recommend Lacy, she’s great with the blue bloods.”

“So what I’m hearing you say is keep covering my beat and bring you this mob story once I’ve got more of the info vetted.”

“Piper,” he said in a warning tone.

Piper walked briskly out of the office, waving to Lee as she went. “Great talk, boss!”

continue on ao3

im gonna say it, and if youre white you do not get to comment, but in regards to that j-siper pocahontas au and the people in the comments of that post calling op out for whitewashing piper, i feel like we are focusing on the wrong thing here. just a little bit. the au itself is fucking abhorrent because it puts piper in the position of a girl, pocahontas, who was barely a teenager when she was kidnapped, sexually assaulted, married to a man against her will, and in the end, she died extremely young, and very far away from her home and family. disney took that story and romanticized the fuck out of it, to the point where it is unrecognizable. this movie perpetuates violence against native women. stop fucking making pocahontas j-siper aus.

since i have not seen anybody share information on this here, please pay attention to the philippines right now and provide any support you can. if this bill passes, people's basic rights to free speech will be taken from them.

anyone seeing this from the ph, please stay safe and stay strong. these are scary times.

Fuck ICE

That judge who asked young children if they even knew what a lawyer was and then continued to proceed on their cases is a piece of shit and I hope he rots slowly while alive, he should have refused, what a pathetic evil motherfucker who actually spoke to these children face to face and still proceeded to treat them like criminals and send them off to god knows what kinda awful shit, I hope that sick fuck gets a very slow painful disease

All the takes are correct and yet they also miss the point. Yes, it was insane for the Democrats to think they could win by running a soulless candidate, without a shred of progressive policy vision, pursuing endorsements from neocon war-hawks everybody hates, while arming and funding a genocide, and belittling and crushing those who have enough morality to protest it. It is enraging that the Democrats are so smug and blind to this. But these are all just symptoms. The deeper reality is that liberalism has failed, liberalism is dead, and people urgently need to wake up to this fact and respond accordingly. It is a defunct ideology that cannot offer any meaningful solutions to our social and ecological crises and it must be abandoned. Democrats have proven over and over again that they cannot accept even basic steps like public healthcare, affordable housing, and a public job guarantee - things that would dramatically improve the material, social and political conditions of the working classes. And they cannot accept a public finance strategy that would steer production away from fossil fuels and toward green transition to give us a shot at a liveable future. Why? Because these things run against the objectives of capital accumulation. And for liberals capital is sacrosanct. They will do whatever it takes to ensure elite accumulation, it is their only consistent commitment. At home, they suppress and demonize progressive and socialist tendencies. Abroad, they engage in endless wars and violence to suppress input prices in the global South and prevent any possibility of sovereign economic development. The Democrats have done all this purposefully and knowingly, for my whole life, not as some kind of "mistake" but in full consciousness that it is in the interests of capital. And because liberalism cannot address our crises, and because it crushes socialist alternatives, it inevitably paves the way for right-wing populism. They know this pattern, and yet they risk it every time - this election being only the most recent example. They did it in 2016, when they actively crushed the Sanders campaign and sent Trump to the White House. They do it because ultimately they (and I mean the liberal ruling class here) don't really mind if fascists take power, so long as the latter too ensure the conditions for capital accumulation. They 100% prefer this to the possibility of a socialist alternative. So, progressives have to face reality. The dream of "converting" the Democratic party is dead. This is now a fact and it must be accepted. The only option is to build a mass-based movement that can reclaim the working classes and mobilize a political vehicle that can integrate disparate progressive struggles into a unified and formidable political force and achieve substantive transformation. This will take real work, actual organizing, but it must be done and that process must begin now.

Jason Hickel

4. “You’re not exactly known for your great ideas", 43. “Do you believe in fairytales?” & 33. “This definitely has the potential to be catastrophic" please 😘😘😘

this is for u babie. inside jokes ONLY <3

Every great director takes an acting class or two, Annabeth. Maybe performing on stage will help you connect better with your actors. 

So that’s a big fucking lie.

If anything, Annabeth has even less patience for actors who struggle with direction. Her instructions are far clearer than this bumbling buffoon and he’s putting together a fairly coherent play. It makes no sense to her, then, that her direction is generally considered harsh and difficult across the school. If the acting students would just do as they’re told, they’d be signing photos of themselves for fans and she’d be on her way to Cannes right now. She’s an artist, god damn it, and she should be allowed some frustration when her idiotic cast insists on moving out of the frame or in front of the strobes despite a thousand blocking rehearsals. Honestly, if she were an actor on her own set, half her problems would be gone by now.

“Can we get Cinderella to centre stage?” The director calls and Annabeth stalks up to the centre, her arms crossed over her chest. “Great. Now, enter Prince Charming.”

Travis Stoll stumbles clumsily onto stage, wearing a goofy grin and a lopsided plastic crown, just as the director calls for the music to start. Travis is careful in the way he holds Annabeth’s waist- his palm rests just a little over her hipbone and his fingers spread out over the small of her back. His other hand holds hers so tenderly she almost can't believe he’s the same guy who, only ten minutes ago, knocked over the set department’s blue paint all across the stage.

“And action!”

Annabeth lets him lead her and marvels, a little, at ust how easily he twirls and dips and lifts her as they glide smoothly across the stage. They hit every spot that’s been blocked and somewhere overhead, she can hear the lighting crew scramble to keep up with them. Their director, some idiot called Matt Sloan, finally calls for them to cut and Travis drops her hands easily, taking a step away from her and breathing a little heavily. Annabeth finds herself doing the same thing- her cheeks feel hot under his gaze.

“Okay, that was great- Annabeth, you’re still a little faster than Travis so it looks like you’re leading him. Slow down. I’m going to have a chat with the sound team and we can take it from the stepsisters’ shoes scene, yeah?” Matt calls and Travis scratches the back of his neck, his cheeks a bright red.

She can’t bring herself to blame him, really; their waltz is the crux of the entire show. They’re expected to be light on their feet and heavy in their emotions and Annabeth appreciates that it is difficult for an actor to slip in and out of character. In this moment, she’s expected to be Annabeth- act, walk and talk like Annabeth Chase would- but her brain is still stuck in Cinderella’s- and she doesn’t mean it to be, but she’s a little bit in love with Travis Stoll right now. (She’ll kill you if you told anyone that.)

 Read on AO3