#and that he lives within driving distance so he can visit me during the summer | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bright-eyes-strawberry-lies · 3 years

Text

Mrs. Chase is a fucking saint. She should be offered immortality for putting up with all the shit she does. In no particular order, here's some things Mrs. Chase just has to live with.

On their wedding night, Frederick confesses he's a virgin. But yes, Annabeth is his biological daughter. It's complicated. No, he won't explain further.

Speaking the name of Annabeth's mother will summon her so it's better if Mrs. Chase just doesn't know at all.

Her new stepdaughter is suddenly having frequent nightmares about spiders for no apparent reason and keeps saying there are cobwebs on her.

Strange people keep attacking Annabeth and Mrs. Chase's sons, but especially Annabeth, with alarming frequency. It's scaring Bobby and Matthew but if she keeps the kids separate, only Annabeth is a target.

WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE AND WHY DO THEY KEEP ATTACKING HER STEPDAUGHTER?

Mrs. Chase has no clue what's going on and now her stepdaughter is talking about monsters and weird shit and Frederick do something about this. Frederick does not do anything about this.

Seriously why are these people going after Annabeth? Is it a trafficking ring? Did her mysterious mother who has not been named and is in no photographs put a hit out on her own daughter? WHAT IS HAPPENING?!

Annabeth ran away. Frederick does not file a police report.

Months (or years) later, they begin to get letters in the mail from Long Island saying that Annabeth is at some camp. Frederick asks her to come home.

Annabeth hates all of them and wants them all to die, including her father. She will not come home.

She does come home and the random attacks by random people start all over again but this time Annabeth has a dagger and SHE'S KILLING PEOPLE.

FREDERICK, I SAW THAT DAGGER! WHAT IS GOING ON? WHERE IS SHE HIDING THE BODIES? FREDERICK, DO SOMETHING.

Annabeth runs away again. Frederick still refuses to file a police report.

Annabeth decides to live with them again and this time they're driving up to the camp but they aren't allowed to actually visit the camp and see what kind of place it is. For some reason they can't seem to move past the giant pine tree and the valley is covered in fog.

"My mother gave me this cap," Annabeth says about the Yankee's cap. She doesn't let anyone near it. She won't tell Mrs. Chase what her mother's name is or when she saw this woman.

Sometimes Mrs. Chase cannot find Annabeth. She was right there.

A boy Annabeth's age and an older girl from Annabeth's mysterious camp come and pick her up for something but no one is saying what. Their eyes are shattered and almost seem to glow from within. Frederick doesn't ask where Annabeth is going or when she'll be back.

The same kids, plus one more who has a bow and arrow on her back, come back a while later to inform them that Annabeth is in terrible danger. They talk about battles like they were there. They say that they need to borrow the Chase's car.

Frederick agrees. Mrs. Chase calls the insurance company. By the time she's off the phone, Frederick tells her that he's going to take his plane out for a while. Just for a short flight. It has nothing to do with Annabeth. He has a belt of bronze bullets slung over his shoulder.

Frederick comes back. His plane has been damaged. The bullets are missing. He says Annabeth is fine. Annabeth does not come back for several more days.

She has a streak of white in her hair when she gets home.

Annabeth and her father get into fights about moving to California.

Even more people in California want to attack Annabeth. By now, Mrs. Chase has accepted that this is her life. She becomes a wine mom. She still doesn't know what Annabeth does with the bodies.

Annabeth runs away again several times. She comes back after a few days. There are tickets to New York stuffed in her shorts pockets. During summer, she goes back to New York to go to the camp. She laughs at the suggestion of attending a different camp in California.

Mrs. Chase does not know where the money for all these plane tickets is coming from. At this point, it's probably better not to ask.

A handsome young man with a scar on his face comes to the door asking for Annabeth. They sort of have the same facial structure but when asked if he's somehow related to Annabeth, he just sighs. Which isn't a no. He's carrying a sword. He and Annabeth fight when he asks her to run away with him. Shockingly, Annabeth refuses to run away for the first time in her life. He tells Annabeth to kill him. Shockingly, Annabeth refuses to kill someone for the first time in her life. The young man leaves. Mrs. Chase never sees him again.

When Mrs. Chase asks Frederick about the young man, he just tells her that he's one of Annabeth's mother's people. This does not clear anything up.

Annabeth's boyfriend - the one with the shattered eyes who asked to borrow the car - has disappeared under mysterious circumstances. No one is sure if he's dead or just missing. Annabeth refuses to come home when summer is over. It's been over a year since she's been home.

When Annabeth does finally come home, she looks like a walking corpse.

Frederick and Annabeth fly to Boston to look for Annabeth's cousin because he's apparently in danger. Magnus dies under mysterious circumstances and Frederick attends the funeral. Annabeth does not fly home with him because she is apparently doing important things with Magnus. Who is dead. Frederick, he's dead, what is she doing with him?

Annabeth finishes school and moves back to California (with her boyfriend who barely looks like a person anymore and no one should have eyes that broken) because apparently there is a camp there that she can live full-time at and it also has a college. The family can't visit her there because their type aren't allowed.

Mrs. Chase wonders if Annabeth is a white supremist or in a cult or both. The attacks on Bobby and Matthew have stopped completely. Frederick still writes letters to Annabeth but he doesn't see her even though she's within driving distance. His letters occasionally mention Magnus, the aforementioned dead cousin, who has somehow opened up a homeless shelter for teenagers called Chase Space despite being dead and only sixteen.

A search reveals no information about Chase Space's owners. The phone just rings endlessly when you dial the number. There is no listed address.

Mrs. Chase sits on a chair and stares into her wine glass. "This is fine," she says.

#mrs chase #frederick chase #annabeth chase #magnus chase #percy jackson series #pjo #riordanverse #long post

648 notes · View notes

woniepop · 3 years

Text

feel special ༉‧₊˚✧

➜ the three times you didn’t want to be Karl’s best friend any more and the one time you weren’t

Pairing: Karl Jacob’s x Fem!Reader

Genre: fluff, best friends to lovers au, enemies to lovers au

Warnings: Mentions of bullying, cursing

Word Count: 2.0k words

a/n: hi everyone! this is my first time writing for a mcyt streamer, but unfortunately I will not be writing works for more streamers anytime soon. This is for my lovely friend basil Ly and losingvienna’s follower event, which you should definitely check out of you are in to mcyt streamers!!

I highly recommend checking @basilly and @losingvienna out if you haven’t already!!

Ever since you met Karl, you’ve hated everything about him. He was sweet, he was caring, he was everything you’ve ever wanted in anyone. From the moment he stepped foot in your kindergarten your life had become a living hell. He was great! You on the other hand, had never felt more miserable in your life. It had never occurred to you that being different was a bad thing, but apparently, to your whole kindergarten class of 26 kids, it was terrible. But, somehow, amidst the screaming kids and the poorly colored art projects, Karl only saw you.

Your fellow kindergarten classmates stared at you, perhaps a bit too judgingly, as you sat down in your seat. Feeling super excited to come to school today, your grandma has recently gotten you your very own pink sundress, equipped with a pink satin ribbon to tie a cute little bow in the back. You wanted your classmates to like you, so you had to be the prettiest you could ever be.

“Why are you wearing a dress to school? Do you think you’re a princess?” one of the children say, rather, shout across the room. And with that, the whole class starts laughing, except you.

“What? Are you trying to impress someone?”

“OOO Y/N HAS A CRUSH!”

“I bet it’s Karl”

“Of course it is. She just wants to daaaaaaate him, doesn’t she?”

With tears welling up in your eyes and boogers dripping down your nose, you quickly stand up just to take the hall pass and run to the nearest bathroom. It was humiliating, feeling like you had tried so hard to make friends just to get laughed at. It felt terrible.

You were NOT excited for your first day of high school. Why would you be? It was just another year of “light hearted” jokes about you and how you were “so different.” Settling with a seat in the back, you tilt your head down only for the teacher to walk in right after.

“Good morning, students! Welcome to your first day of Freshman Year! I’m sure you’re all very excited for these next four years, but before that why don’t we all introduce ourselves to each other!” The teacher says, in a high pitch, peppy voice. You had stopped listening to her after that. You already knew what was going to happen, you were going to be paired up with some immature male football player looking for a tall, hot, and blonde cheerleader girlfriend, then he was going to say something stupid like, “Girls like you aren’t really my type.” No shit you weren’t his type. It happened every year. Feeling a light tap on your shoulder, you force your head up, preparing yourself for the dreadful introduction.

“Hi! I believe we’re partners for the All About Me project. May I sit here?” he says, pointing to the chair beside you. He, as in Karl Jacobs. The Karl Jacobs. The man, the myth, the legend, the boy that filled your entire life with “She just wants to date Karl. She’s such an attention whore.” With that, your eyes widen. You weren’t expecting him, nor were you ever this mad about anything in your life. You didn’t want to know anything about him, let alone do a whole project learning about him.

“Yeah, you can sit there.” You answer through clenched teeth.

��Thanks! I’m pretty sure we’re not going to be able to finish this within the period considering there are like 30 questions, so did you want to work on this in the library after school?” he asks.

“Sure.” You say promptly, not even bothering to make eye contact with him.

“I believe we went to the same elementary school, but I haven’t really gotten the chance to talk to you, so I’m glad we got to be partners for this project. I’m excited to get to know you.” He says, a glint of hope in his eyes. You hated it. Was he actually being nice? To you?

The rest of the period would have been answering all the questions on the list, but instead you guys had been side tracked, going off topic and talking about anything and everything. Putting aside your hatred for the boy, Karl seemed like a genuinely nice person. You had learned he loved gaming, which he was surprised you had a knack for as well.

“Well, Y/n, I’m sorry we couldn’t get a lot done this period. But, I’ll see you at the library later, and maybe we can even try out that new game you talked about tonight.” He says, standing up out of his chair and leaving the classroom. Maybe today wouldn’t be too bad after all.

ONE “Move!” you say, playfully shoving Karl off of you. It was the summer before your senior year, and you would have never guessed that you, Y/n L/n, would be spending your whole high school career with the boy you loathed most, Karl Jacobs. If there was ever anything you'd ever looked forward to, it was spending every Friday night with Karl Jacobs. That fateful day at the library was the start of the best tradition ever known to man.

“But we’re watching a movie!” Karl exclaims.

“So? You don’t need to watch it while squishing me half to death.”

“What do you mean? Have you ever heard of CUDDLING?”

“Cuddling has never consisted of MURDER.”

It was always like this. Every Friday night Karl would come to your house, your mom would gush at how handsome he was while she set a plate down of whatever food he wanted, and him telling her that she was the best cook ever. This is what you’ve always wanted, right? You had a best friend, who accepted you as you were, and you him. Despite always having heartwarming and laughter filled moments with your best friend, your heart hurt. A lot. Maybe the moment was just too heartwarming, or maybe this was the universe telling you that you didn’t want to be his friend anymore.

TWO “Hey, Karl!” she says. Ah, yes. Her. Karl’s childhood crush since what? Fourth grade?

“Oh, um, Hi!” He replies. There it was. That dreadful pain in your chest that only grew bigger as she sat down right next to him, disregarding the fact that you were sitting right there. The way she twirled her long blonde hair, the way she leaned over to show all of her cleavage, the way she wore skirts so short you could almost see her underwear, and the way it made your blood boil and your heart hurt until you couldn’t handle it anymore. You wanted to walk away so bad, but as Karl’s best friend you should support him in his romantic interests, even if you didn’t like them.

“So… I’m sure you’ve heard already. I broke up with my boyfriend.” she says, tracing her finger up and down his arm, making him noticeably very nervous.

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. If you ever need anyone to talk to, I’m always here.” You hear him say. Of course he was always here. He was there for everyone, and he would never try to exclude anyone from his kindness.

“I broke up with him because of you!”

“W-what”

“I want to be with you, silly!” she says. And with that, you felt your whole world go black and white. Did you hear her correctly? She wanted to be with him?

“I- I’m sorry, I can’t be with you.”

“WHAT?!? BUT I BROKE UP WITH MY BOYFRIEND JUST TO BE WITH YOU!”

“Well I’m sorry, but I love someone else. You should’ve consulted me before you threw away your relationship.”

Did you hear HIM correctly? He loves someone? You couldn’t take it anymore and excused yourself. Yet again, you ran to the bathroom feeling the same pain in your chest only 10 times worse. You didn’t want to be Karl’s friend anymore. Not like this.

THREE “I can’t believe you’re moving to California, Y/n” Karl says as he pushes his hair back, sighing in disbelief. “You’re really going to leave me?” He continues, tears welling up in his eyes as he turns to look at you with his signature puppy eyes.

“I have to! It’s always been my dream to go to college there!” You reply, feeling guilty for leaving behind everything for your dream.

“But I’ll miss you!” he says, fully knowing facetime exists, and you would always visit him during breaks.

“I’ll miss you too! But, I need to do this. Can you stay strong? For me?” you ask, cupping his face with your left hand. You had gone on one of your late night drives again, parking in an empty parking lot as you have deep late night conversations. Today’s topic happened to be college, and while it had been always known you were moving across the country after high school, the day was coming closer and it all felt too real.

As Karl leans his face into your hand, he lets out a yawn. “I guess it’s time to go back then.” you say.

“No, I don’t want to. I have to spend every second with you until you leave.” he whines. You wanted to as well, but then, there it was. The stinging in the back of your heart. You were tired of it. You hated feeling this way. You didn’t want to be Karl’s friend anymore.

THE END The warm summer air blew past you as you and Karl sit atop your roof, staring into the distance in the comfortable silence that was there from the moment Karl got to your house. Neither of you had spoken a word but neither of you cared. You just wanted to be with him. What would’ve made the night perfect was if you weren’t getting on the plane the very next morning, moving across the country.

Building up as much courage as you could, you said the three words you’ve been wanting to say ever since you had become friends. You were leaving, but before that you wanted more than anything else to let him know this. “I love you.” You say, causing his eyes to go wide. You… loved him? That was impossible.

“Yeah, I love you too.” He says casually.

“No. I love you more than in a friendly way.” You reply.

“Really? Why?” He asks in disbelief.

“I don’t know. Maybe it was because you were my first friend, but it’s definitely because you’re you. I’ve been bullied almost my whole life, and you know that. But, no matter how the world brings me down, and even when hurtful words stab me, I can smile again. Because you’re there.” You say, tears rolling down your face. You pause, before continuing on about how much he means to you. “I mean, my whole life, one moment I feel like I’m nothing at all. Like no one would notice if I were gone. But then you came! And I was so happy. Or maybe it’s cause you make me feel loved. But when I’m with you, I feel so special.”

And with that, Karl makes no hesitation in cupping your cheeks, silently wiping away your tears. In that moment, he decides that he doesn't want to be your friend anymore either. Leaning in, he whispers, “I love you too.” before he crashes his lips onto yours.

#karl jacobs #karl jacobs x reader #karl jacobs fic #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt fluff #mcyt angst #karl x reader #karl fluff #karl jacobs fluff #mcyt x reader #best friends to lovers #enemies to lovers #mcyt au #mcytumblr #mcyt fic

342 notes · View notes

got-svt · 3 years

Text

pairing: seventeen x reader genre: fluff, angst

updates: ???

warning; this is just me indulging in some of my favorite tropes and cliches because I can’t get enough of them

during the course of our lives, we meet thousands of people, creating either a seconds long moment or memories that last a lifetime. some of them you’ll have the opportunity to know beyond their names and faces, some you may even grow to love. unfortunately, not all of them have the luxury of staying in your life forever.

seventeen as all the boys you’ve loved and lost.

lee chan as the childhood best friend. he’s the one you grew up next to, who lived in the house directly in front of yours. the one you’ll forever associate with popsicles on the sidewalk, bike rides at dawn, seesaws and swings at sunset. and you wish you could trap yourself within the memories, to never escape the hold of childhood innocence. but, just like everyone else, both of you eventually had to grow up.

yoon jeonghan as the academic rival. he’s the one that had you wondering how could you be so similar to someone, yet so different? he knew how to push your buttons and make a competition of everything, whether it was sports, academics, or extracurriculars. he was the one that made steam come out of your ears and blood rush to your cheeks. but even you had to admit there was a certain rush that came with it, too bad he transferred schools just before senior year.

vernon chwe as the first love. he’s the one who woke up thirty minutes earlier in the morning just so he could walk with you to school. it was the kind of love that felt more like a friendship, but neither of you would have had it any other way. filled with inside jokes, skating in the park, sneaking out after curfew. all smiles, messy kisses, and badly belting out songs in the car. unfortunately, both of you also knew your relationship would never last past graduation day.

xu minghao as the boy you met at summer art camp. he’s the one you were hesitant to approach at first. it wasn’t until you were tasked to critique each other’s works that you really got to know him. after that it was all marshmallows around a campfire, swimming in the lake, drawing in the fields, and paint that never seemed to leave either of your skin. as much as you wanted it to last forever, summer had to end and he never promised to keep in touch.

joshua hong as the university campus crush. he’s the one who seemed too good to be true. whose smile could break a million hearts, but you knew better than to fall for it. you saw him studying in the library, walking the halls, relaxing in the quad, always surrounded by a crowd of adoring fans — all vying for his attention. what a shame you never found out that you were the one who managed to catch his eye.

boo seungkwan as the classmate you tutor. he’s the one who pretended to struggle in chemistry just so he could get closer to you. soon enough quiet afternoons in the library ended with nights at a karaoke bar, singing your hearts out to hits from the 2000s. you always knew he liked you. he never knew you liked him back, and your newfound friendship became much too valuable to risk. as the semester drew to a close, so did chances of a relationship.

wen junhui as the barista at your favorite cafe. he’s the one who spelled your name right on the first try and remembered your order by the third visit. the only one who greeted you with a smile as you entered the door — not a forced, practiced smile, but a genuine one. his voice was as soothing as the cups of tea he made on nights you couldn’t sleep. however, you could never recall a time you saw him outside the cafe.

kwon soonyoung as the dance partner. he was the teaching assistant in your social dancing class. the butterflies in your stomach went wild each time he laughed off you stepping on his feet, when you felt how tightly he grasped your hand in his, whenever he looked into your eyes. for some reason, you thought he had fallen for you just as you had for him. that idea was crushed when you saw him dancing with somebody else, their bodies in sync the way yours and his could never be.

jeon wonwoo as the college sweetheart. he’s the one you mistakenly thought would last. you remember all the early morning coffee runs and late night drives, cramming sessions in the library, holding hands underneath the table, dancing in the rain, his sweaters smelling like him, lazy sundays talking about the future. it was the kind of love you fought for, but fate had different plans.

kim mingyu as the next door neighbor. living on your own would’ve been dreadful had he not been there. did you need an extra cup of sugar for some cookies? he’ll bring one over and even bake with you. are you going away for a trip? don’t worry he’ll water your plants and feed your fish, making sure they’re the healthiest they can be. something broke? he’s more than willing to fix it himself or call someone who can if he’s unable to. which is why you wish he never moved away, leaving you with nothing but a letter and a quieter apartment.

choi seungcheol as the coworker. your first job was a nightmare, but he was the one who made everything much more tolerable. he made sure you ate properly, never overworked yourself to the point of exhaustion, offered you a ride home when it was too late to take the bus, sent you a smile during early morning meetings. he became your rock during some of the toughest months of your life, what a shame he had to be transferred somewhere else.

lee seokmin as the one that got away. he should’ve been it. hadn’t it been for the timing, the distance, every other little circumstance that eventually built up to be too much. you could’ve had it all. you loved each other and for the longest time you swore it would be enough. but with his life in the spotlight and yours out of it, the end was almost inevitable. maybe in another life things could be different, but neither of you would ever get the chance to know.

lee jihoon as the endgame. he’s the one you met much later on in life, but little did either of you know that your paths were always meant to cross. he’s always been there, waiting in the sidelines. he attended the class after yours, entered the cafe just as you were about to leave, lived in the apartment three floors above you, worked in the building located a couple of streets from your office. the reason why every single heartache eventually became worth it, because they all lead to him — the one who ended up staying.

[taglist is open for the entire series or specific member/s ! just send in an ask or a dm]

note; this will be bulleted scenarios bec i feel like it would be the most feasible for me to do with the other wips i have for this blog. ren — i hear you ask — if you have a ton of wips, why start another series? listen, my brain decided to fart out this idea at three in the morning and what was i supposed to do? say no? ajhsskh and it’s february wc is the month of ~love~ so no better time than this one ig? again,, no update schedule for this one but chan’s will most likely be up on his bday (not sure on vernon’s and seokmin’s that depends on how quickly i can crank these out shdjasn) ! <33

358 notes · View notes

swan-of-sunrise · 3 years

Text

Specs and the Flyboy (Chapter Seventeen)

Summary: (Y/N) and Jack follow up on a new lead and make a startling new discovery.

Pairing: Jack Thompson X Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: Thank you all so much for reading! I hope that you enjoy!

Chapter Seventeen Kent, England (Previous Chapter)

“Now I remember why I enjoy living in Los Angeles.” (Y/N) grumbled, switching on the windshield wipers and squinting through the down-pouring of rain. “Don’t you just hate the rain sometimes?”

Jack shrugged beside her, his nose buried in a large map as he replied, “Yeah, I guess so. This rain’s pretty tame compared to the stuff we got in the Pacific, though; that was like takin’ a hot shower in the middle of a humid summer. Definitely not something I missed when I shipped back home.”

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “You’re right, that sounds a whole lot worse. How much farther until the turnoff?”

“It should be coming up in less than a mile-urgh, sorry, kilometer, and it should be somewhere on your left.”

They continued driving through the rain, the comfortable silence between them only permeated by the sounds of the rental car’s radio signal cutting in and out. Their visit to the SFC had been more fruitful than either of them predicted it would; for one, they managed to steal an entire classified file detailing Michael Carter’s undercover mission within Hydra and for another, that file contained not one but two hidden messages. One was in the form of a code while the other had been written in invisible ink; as it turned out, the final code from ‘M. Carter’s’ file that had stumped (Y/N) for so long was actually a cypher for the code on their newly-acquired file. It had taken (Y/N) nearly a week of staring at various number and letter sequences to crack it, only to be left with straightforward coordinates that led directly to Gravesend, Kent.

Unfortunately, the invisible message hadn’t been quite as useful to them; (Y/N) and a slightly-disgusted Jack had used a candle to heat the urine-covered page and reveal a paragraph of code but no matter what she tried, she couldn’t decode it. She and Jack had poured over all her translation journals and brainstormed every possible style of code but it looked like nothing she’d ever seen before; the code didn’t even resemble any of the ones Michael had invented to conceal his intel. Maybe Peggy and I can work on it together once we return to the States, she thought with an inward sigh, frustrated that she couldn’t use the skills she’d spent years honing and perfecting to help further their case.

“You’re kinda quiet over there, Specs. Everything okay?”

Glancing over at the man beside her, (Y/N) nodded and gave him a fleeting smile before turning her attention back to the road, feeling her face beginning to warm at his concerned tone. “Just lost in thought, that’s all.”

Something had shifted between her and Jack after she’d confided in him about Freddie’s death; he’d been more considerate and thoughtful whenever they spoke, a far cry from the smug and self-assured man she’d first met all those months ago, and for nearly a week now they’d slept together in the same bed. They’d often joke that it was because their hotel suite was too drafty but (Y/N) knew that it was really because sharing a bed had resulted in the best sleep either of them had experienced in a long while. When their unspoken arrangement had first begun, she’d warned herself not to get used to it but she’d failed spectacularly in that regard; as much as she wanted to solve the case for Peggy’s sake, she was dreading the day when Jack would inevitably return to his old life as Chief of the New York SSR and she’d be left alone once again.

“You sure you’re okay? You’ve got that little line between your eyebrows that you only get whenever you’re worried ‘bout something.” (Y/N) looked over at him in surprise and he merely shrugged. “It’s another one of your tells, Specs, along with fidgeting your hands.”

“Geez, remind me never to play poker with you.” She chuckled to herself before looking back at the road. “I was just thinking about these coordinates. Why would Michael bother coding the coordinates of a small town like Gravesend?

Her partner shrugged beside her. “I’ve got no idea, but that’s why we’ve come prepared for anything.” He patted the shoulder holster that was hidden underneath his navy-colored raincoat; her own gun was tucked into her clutch, alongside her various lock-picking tools, her tube of 103-Forget Me Not lipstick and the camera-pen Howard had lent her before they’d left Los Angeles.

In no time, they reached the small town of Gravesend and the heavy rain had thankfully lightened to a faint drizzle as she parked the car. There weren’t many people outside but just to be on the safe side, (Y/N) and Jack walked arm-in-arm down the sidewalk, looking every part the happily married couple; their cover allowed them to easily observe and investigate the town without drawing suspicion, and to keep up appearances, they engaged in small talk as they walked but their focus was entirely on their reconnaissance…well, almost entirely.

“I’m serious, Flyboy, I think it’s very sweet that you call your grandmother ‘Gam-Gam!’” (Y/N) insisted, watching as her partner’s blush deepened. The nickname had slipped out when he’d made an offhand comment about one of the houses looking like his grandmother’s, much to his embarrassment and her amusement. “Listen, would it make you feel better if you knew that I have a special nickname for my grandmother? If I tell you what it is, though, you’d better not blabber to anyone else in the office about it…”

Jack raised a challenging brow at her. “Okay, then. What do you call your grandmother?”

“I call her ‘Ram’, because when I was little I couldn’t pronounce certain letters very well.” Her own face flushed as Jack’s azure eyes twinkled with amusement. “There, are you happy now?”

“Yeah, pretty much. I just…” He trailed off, his expression growing serious as he nodded his head towards something in the distance. “I think we just found out why these coordinates are important, Specs.”

Furrowing her brow in confusion, (Y/N) followed his line of sight and nearly gasped aloud at what she saw; at the end of the street stood a sign that read ‘Attwell Airfield’ and an arrow pointing towards the right. “Well, I’ll be damned…” She looked up at Jack and quirked her brow. “How do you feel about a little snooping around?”

“You took the words right outta my mouth.”

When they were sure that no one was looking their way, (Y/N) and Jack made their way down the end of the road and turned right; they walked down the road for several meters before they came across a small path that led off into a line of trees and bushes. Exchanging a look, they followed the path and slowly made their way through the vegetation towards the direction of the airfield.

“Strange that an airfield was never mentioned in any of the files we got on Thomas Attwell,” Jack commented, his eyes scanning their surroundings for any signs of trouble. “You think it’s new?”

“It’s possible. If I were heading the new Secret Empire, I’d certainly want a private means of traveling.” Shrugging, (Y/N) ducked underneath a low-hanging tree branch and glanced over at her partner walking beside her. “It’s also possible that it’s been around for a while now. Thomas Attwell’s brother was an R.A.F. pilot during the war, remember? It could be family-owned, like the orangery back in Los Angeles.”

They continued their trek through the forest of trees, soon reaching the edge of the vegetation; careful to conceal themselves behind the trunk of a wide tree, they examined the airfield; it was on the small side, similar to descriptions she’d heard of the one Howard owned in New Jersey. The airfield’s hangar was only a few dozen meters away from the tree line but from their spot, it was impossible to see if any planes were situated inside of it.

Just as (Y/N) opened her mouth to suggest they get a closer look, two men dressed in tactical gear and holding rifles rounded both corners of the hangar; they passed by each other right in front of the building’s back door and disappeared around each corner. When she looked over at Jack, he was alternating between looking down at his wristwatch and back up at the corners the two guards had appeared from; without glancing away from his task, her partner quietly asked, “How fast can you pick a lock?”

“Between two and five minutes, depending on the type of lock.”

He nodded. “That’ll have to do. When I give the signal, follow my lead.”

The two of them waited with bated breath until finally, the guards appeared around the corners again. They remained still as the two guards disappeared from view, only moving when Jack motioned with his hand to go; they quietly hurried to the hangar’s back door, and (Y/N) knelt down in front of it to determine which tools she’d need while Jack kept watch beside her with his gun at the ready. It was a sturdier lock than the one she’d picked at Fieldman Family Orangery – obviously she’d need to use something better than a hairpin – but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. Hurriedly rifling through her crowded purse, she selected the appropriate tools and quickly went about picking the lock, her brow furrowed in deep concentration. After a tense minute or two, the door unlocked with a faint click; since she knew that their time was running out, she jumped to her feet and followed Jack through the doorway, careful to close the door shut behind them.

“Storage room,” Jack lowly stated, his gun at the ready as they crept between rows of plane components and mechanic’s tools; careful not to make any noise, (Y/N) pulled her gun and camera pen out of her clutch before cramming it into her raincoat’s pocket. “This way.”

He led them through the storage room and through an open doorway into a larger, less cluttered space; the cavernous room was nearly empty save for a row of large wooden crates, the sides of which were stamped with the familiar horse-and-vine symbol of the new Secret Empire. Once they made their way over to the crates, Jack holstered his gun and carefully pried the lid off of one of them.

“Looks like we’ve finally found all that stolen gold.” (Y/N) glanced up from the stacked and marked gold bars, meeting her partner’s gaze with a raised brow; he nodded and watched as she used the camera pen to take several pictures, replacing the lid while she tucked the camera pen into her other pocket.

The sound of approaching footsteps forced the two of them to hastily drop behind the crate, and they both held their breaths as a man called out, “Okay, this is the last of it; you guys go grab the others while I let the boss know we’re about done loading the plane.”

“C’mon, let’s move.” Jack quietly spoke as the voices and footsteps faded away, and they both hurried across the large room to a set of metal stairs; since they couldn’t go the same way the voices were coming from, they immediately climbed the stairs and ducked into the room behind the windowed door. When it was clear that they were alone, they lowered their guns and took in their surroundings; the room was on the smaller side, with a desk pushed against one wall laden with various radio equipment and papers, and across from it was a massive window. “All clear; looks like a radio room.”

Already reaching into her pocket for her camera pen, (Y/N) tiptoed to the desk and examined the papers strewn across its surface; there were several telegrams and documents but what instantly drew her attention was a marked map, the edges of which were filled in with sequences of random numbers.

“They’re loading it into a cargo plane,” She looked over to where Jack stood by the windows and met his concerned gaze. “All that gold’s gonna be headed somewhere real soon and I’d bet anything it’s going to Leviathan. We need to find out exactly where that plane’s going, fast.”

Careful not to disturb any of the papers too much, (Y/N) began snapping photographs of them with the camera pen. She was in the middle of taking a photograph of the unusual map when all of a sudden, the sound of a gunshot echoed throughout the hangar and was soon punctuated by the shattering of the radio room’s window, causing her entire body to freeze up in shock.

“Get down!” Jack shouted out and before she could even think to move, he tackled her to the floor and covered her body with his own as more gunshots rang out and glass rained down on them. Raising his head a few inches, her partner’s eyes frantically searched hers and his free hand shot up to shield her face from more shattering glass. “Are you hit?”

“I’m fine, but we need to go!” They both crawled over to the window once he rolled off of her, mindful of the glass while they both clutched their guns in their hands. Their backs were pressed against the wall and gunshots continued to ring out as (Y/N) got an idea. “You go back around to the hangar while I draw their fire!”

Jack didn’t look too happy about it but since there was no time to argue he nodded, keeping low to the ground as he made his way to the radio room’s door. She moved so that she stood beside the broken window and waited until Jack left the room to peek around the window’s edge and opening fire, managing to hit two guards before she was forced to duck for cover.

“Dammit, these guys just don’t quit.” (Y/N) grumbled to herself, darting around to fire off a couple more shots and moving back just in time to avoid the fresh barrage of bullets. She didn’t dare look, but she heard the sounds of a scuffle breaking out in the hangar below and assumed that it was Jack taking care of the guards. He certainly took his time there, she thought as she finally released the breath she’d been holding.

“Well, you’re certainly not who I expected to see.” Whirling around, (Y/N) raised her gun at the smirking dark-haired woman standing in the open doorway; the woman’s brow rose, seemingly unperturbed by the gun pointed directly at her chest. “That’s too bad, I’d hoped that Peggy and I would get a chance to catch up.”

A chill went down (Y/N)’s spine at her words and her fingers tightened around the handle of her gun. “Dottie Underwood. So, it’s true, you’ve begun working for the Secret Empire.”

Dottie smirked. “Begun? Oh, honey, we’ve been friendly for quite a while now, ever since they commissioned me to steal from a New York bank’s safety deposit box.”

“The Arena Club pin? The Secret Empire was behind that?”

The Russian spy rolled her eyes in obvious exasperation. “Yes, that’s what I just said. You SSR types are pretty dense, aren’t you?”

“Not dense, just very thorough.” (Y/N) held her gun higher. “Dorothy Underwood, you’re under arrest.” With a quirk of her brow, Dottie took a step forward. “If you take another step, I won’t hesitate to shoot you.”

“Do you wanna hear a secret, Agent (Y/L/N)? You’re all out of bullets.”

Squeezing the trigger of her gun, (Y/N)’s eyes widened in surprise when it only made a faint click. Dottie took full advantage of her shock, kicking the gun out of her hand and striking her hard in the stomach with her heeled shoe; (Y/N) flew backwards and landed hard on her back, and she scrambled to her feet as the Russian assassin moved in for another attack. (Y/N) blocked her punch and yanked her down before kneeing her in the torso. Recovering quickly, Dottie backhanded her face and grabbed her arm, flipping her over her shoulder and onto her back once again.

The wind was instantly knocked out of (Y/N)’s lungs and while she laid their coughing, Dottie stood over her with a taunting smirk on her face. “You’re too easy; Peggy would’ve at least made it a challenge.”

“We’ve got Thompson, Underwood, time to go!”

(Y/N)’s eyes darted over to the radio from where the familiar voice of Thomas Attwell had emitted, fear clutching at her chest as Dottie sighed in disappointment. “It’s been swell, Agent (Y/L/N), but I have a plane to catch.”

With a swift kick to (Y/N)’s side, the Russian assassin snatched up the papers on the desk and quickly fled the room; (Y/N) struggled to get to her feet and once she finally managed it, she clutched her stomach and limped over to the radio room’s broken window. There was a large cargo plane at the opposite end of the hangar, and she watched as Dottie strode up its extended ramp beside Attwell, who was carrying an unconscious Jack Thompson over his shoulder.

“No!”

Ignoring the pain of her injuries, (Y/N) hurried out of the radio room and down the metal stairs, stopping for a brief moment to grab one of the dead guard’s rifles before staggering into the hangar. The plane’s ramp had closed and it was already taxing down the runway; she aimed the rifle at one of the plane’s wheels and fired, cursing when the shot missed. In desperation, (Y/N) ran through the hangar as fast as she could but she was too late, for the plane had already taken off by the time she reached the hangar’s opening.

“Jack…Jack…” (Y/N) gasped out, her vision blurring with tears as she watched the plane disappear into the clouds; she felt something brush her foot and when she looked down, she recognized it as Jack’s fedora. Reaching down, she gently picked it up and after staring at it for several moments, she finally allowed herself to cry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: That ending though...wow. I’m sorry for the cliffhanger but I had to! Thank you guys so much for reading! If you haven’t checked it out yet, I created a Spotify playlist for this series and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/21pWY7OiMFj8LaYpxhtVtW

Chapter Eighteen

“Specs and the Flyboy” Masterlist

Tagging: @nnon-it-up @fluffymadamina @remmyswritings @ourstarsailor @darkusangelus @josis-teacup @marvel-jackt-loki-buck @yeetyeetchickenmeat @sameoldbaby @theserenityspace @seeing-but-not-observing @supervoldejaygent @momc95 @brooke0297 @kinda-c0nfused @outoftheregular @mads-weasley

#jack thompson x reader #agent carter #jack thompson #peggy carter #daniel sousa #howard stark #dottie underwood #michael carter #marvel cinematic universe #strategic scientific reserve

89 notes · View notes

lazaefair · 4 years

Text

Has anyone done the Disney Princess AU yet

Part 1 - written by me, @poemsingreenink, and @iwritesometimes

poemsingreenink: Like, if anyone has big, soft innocent eyes it's Marwan who I swear to god looks near happy tears in most intense scenes. I at one point during Aladdin in theaters thought "You know Jafar's maybe just not had a great life. He's really having a day here." BECAUSE OF HIS BIG SOFT EYES.

lazaefair: LUCA MARINELLI HIMSELF SAID IT

sarah: HOWWWWW DID HE EVEN GET CAST AS JAFAR LIKE THOSE ARE DISNEY PRINCESS EYES

lazaefair: I...I need somone to draw Joe in a Disney Princess dress

sarah: but WHICH PRINCESS i feel like belle's off the shoulder gold ballgown has promise

lazaefair: Ariel’s pink gown would really drive the point home, though Although you’re right, Belle is a literate, dreamy brunette who loves poetry, so she’s closer as an archetype

sarah: i'll be honest: i was mostly thinking of getting his shoulders nude

lazaefair: Nicky is Ariel. Big blue eyes, otherworldly, utterly uncivilized.

sarah: YES

So imagine: Prince Yusuf, who had a giant statue of himself gifted to him on his birthday, and who hates it because his best friend (and immortal general of the army) Andromache is NEVER GOING TO LET HIM LIVE IT DOWN.

Also imagine: feral merman siren Nicolò who bites off fishheads and communicates through weird clicking noises, when he’s not singing men to their deaths. He’s not one of those useless pretty koi mermaids, no. He’s a motherfucking creature of the deep. Lamp eyes that are used to distract fish prey. Claws and pale fins and an intense stare and fangs.

Now imagine: Prince Yusuf going overboard in the storm that hits his royal yacht. Struggling, swept away, half-drowned and losing hope fast when an unearthly song fills the air, low and sweet and compelling. He’s swimming towards the singing before he realizes it, delirious, until something closes around his ankle and drags him under. The thing under the water kills him quickly.

And then kills him again, when it doesn’t take. After the third killing, Nicolò’s on his way to being well and truly mystified (“Okay, don't panic. They all die eventually, maybe...maybe I’ll just need to do it again?”) and gives up after the fourth and fifth killing. He drags his (attempted) prey to a little sheltered island he knows about, kills it one last time just to make sure, and then watches, resigned, as the flesh heals up and the lungs push water out until it’s coughing its way back to undeniable life.

“You rescued me,” is the first thing Yusuf says to him. “Your song – it is the song of my heart. My soul.”

Nicolò...has no idea what to do with this, coughs awkwardly in reply, and leaves before he can think too hard about the warmth in his chest answering to the warmth in the human’s expressive, grateful eyes.

(He doesn’t tell Yusuf the truth about their bloody first meeting until years later. It’s too goddamn embarrassing, to be perfectly honest.)

Of course he comes back within a day, almost shamefully quickly. Unable to help being fascinated by this gorgeous, well-spoken, kind and generous human who cannot die. He starts bringing things to Yusuf: at first just fish, then interesting-shaped fragments of rock and coral, and then bits of treasure he’s collected over the years, just to hear what new poetic turn of phrase Yusuf will spout on the spot when he’s given something.

“...this is my family crest on this treasure chest, Nicolò. How strange.”

“It is the chest you said your great-great-grandfather lost,” Nicolò says, the words coming out dry and halting from long years of disuse. Watching Yusuf’s hands as he traces the elaborate lines engraved on the lid, now blurred with rust and coral.

“That’s amazing. Truly. I am at a loss for words,” Yusuf says, smiling.

“No, you aren’t,” Nicolò says, and keeps watching so he can see the moment when the smile turns into a laugh.

Another day, he brings to Yusuf what Booker had told him was called a ‘dinglehopper’ and was what humans used to keep their hair in order, as they did not have the ocean to spread it out like beautiful seaweed in the waves. Yusuf takes it, mouth twitching in a way that makes Nicolò doubt the accuracy of Booker’s explanation. Yet Yusuf does not correct him, but in fact solemnly thanks him before offering the dinglehopper back and asking him to help untangle his riot of curls.

And so it goes. Days pass. Fascination becomes infatuation, turns to desire and then into love, until neither can imagine living without the other, and yet—

Eventually, Nicolò has to give Yusuf up. The prince is too noble and good to just abandon his people indefinitely. And because Nicolò loves him, he goes out and once more lures a ship in with his song, but not to dash it to pieces on jagged rocks this time. He leads them to the island. Watches from a distance as the astonished shouting begins, then back-pounding hugs and joyous celebration as Yusuf boards the ship and sails away. Watches Yusuf turn back more than once to scan the beach, clearly looking for Nicolò, but Nicolò does not follow. Instead, he watches until the ship is lost to his sight and he cannot feel the ship’s current or smell, and then he dives deep and goes to visit Merrick.

Meanwhile, Yusuf arrives back at the capital, where his other best friend, Quỳnh (immortal admiral of the navy) feels terribly guilty about the prince going overboard on his birthday. Which is why she uncharacteristically doesn’t give him shit when he comes back babbling nonsense about mermaids. Or when he spends the next few weeks moping around, writing mermaid poetry and drawing mermaid pictures.

To be fair to him, the particular mermaid he sketches over and over does look pretty striking. Otherworldly and all that. Good cheekbones. Nice pearly scales. “Fucking...giant anglerfish eyes,” Quỳnh mutters while she and Andy look over the latest pile of sketches Yusuf’s left abandoned on a library table. “Our prince has been fucking bewitched by a fucking fish.”

“Mm,” Andy agrees.

So when Nicolò arrives at the palace one fine summer’s day – naked, his fangs smoothed away to look perfectly human, a giant emerald in one hand and a silver fork in the other – and walking, on legs, it causes a bit of an uproar.

“You still smell like the sea,” Yusuf says hoarsely into Nicolò’s neck, the two of them wrapped around each other as closely as two bodies can be.

“Oh, fuck,” Andy says, lowering her axe. Quỳnh looks more closely at the dirty naked wild man their prince is embracing as if his life depends on it. Angular face. Skin encrusted with salt. Absolutely enormous piercing blue eyes. Naked, did we mention naked.

“Oh, fuck,” Quỳnh says.

“You get them separated,” Andy says. “I’ll go...get them a bath.”

The price Nicolò paid for his new human shape:

His siren song.

His immortality.

What he gets in return:

Yusuf teaching him what a dinglehopper is actually called, and what humans actually use it for.

Yusuf teaching him how to read and write his native tongue, and a few other tongues besides.

Yusuf reading poetry to him or sketching next to him on long lazy afternoons in the gardens.

The immense pleasure of intimidating the fuck out of any remaining would-be suitors for Yusuf’s hand in marriage who are still hanging around the palace for some reason.

“I am Nicolò di Genova,” Nicolò replies to the marquis’s indignant demands – predator’s smile still frightening even without endless rows of needle-sharp teeth. “You have seven days to leave this place forever. Get your affairs in order.”

Friendship with Andy and Quỳnh.

“Holy shit. Did he just—”

“—stab the marquis with a fork, at dinner, in front of the entire court? Yep.”

“...”

“New best friend.”

“Obviously.”

Yusuf writing poetry about him and to him. Nicolò likes them all. He wouldn't know a good human poem from a bad human poem, but nothing Yusuf touches could be bad, so ergo it's good.

Sightseeing throughout the kingdom with Yusuf’s strong, gentle fingers twined around his.

Yusuf breathing blissful curses into Nicolò’s ear, exactly like he used to do on their island, as they move together on his enormous bed.

Yusuf. Yusuf. Yusuf.

(Booker is also there. He insisted on being turned human, too, and coming along to make sure Nicolò doesn’t totally fuck this up, but he’s really mainly there for the entertainment. And the booze. Andy asks him at one point about losing his immortality. He shrugs. “Look, if we die, we die,” he says, then offers Andy another pour of fine French brandy. The two of them get along famously.)

It’s all going great until one night on the beach, while they’re walking along hand-in-hand under the stars and idly discussing human and merfolk constellations. Someone approaches them, dressed splendidly and moving with arrogant grace. He is also angular, also fair-haired, also possessed of unsettling eyes. And he has Nicolò’s siren song, gently humming from the shell that adorns his neck.

“Merrick,” Nicolò hisses as Yusuf’s eyes grow glazed and blank, and he tightens his hand on Yusuf’s, afraid for the first time. “Our deal—”

“He can’t bear the idea of living forever without you, can he? And so he hasn’t proposed,” Merrick says, smiling cruelly. “You’ve missed your chance. He’s mine.” And he extends his hand out to Yusuf—

Who stirs, suddenly, and turns to Nicolò. “Limpid, or shimmering?”

“What?”

“Shimmering,” Yusuf decides, peering into Nicolò’s eyes. “Yes. Limpid would be too pretentious, I think.”

And that’s pretty much that – we don’t actually get the plot with Merrick the Sea Witch because Yusuf only has eyes for one weird-looking white guy. Also, his one artistic failing is that he's tone deaf.

They do eventually kill Merrick because true love wins out and we are all about those happy endings, Grimm’s can suck it, etcetera, so Nicolò gets his immortality and his siren song back. He’s also back to being a merman, but Yusuf does not care. “I could paint your beautiful tail for the rest of my life, my love, and still fail to capture the luminous iridescence of you,” he murmurs, stroking said tail with tender fingers. The last person to touch Nicolò’s tail got his hand bitten off. Here and now, Nicolò runs his claws through Yusuf’s hair, clicking deep and happy in his throat.

(“This is weird, right?” Quỳnh asks from where she and Andy are busy scraping evil kraken guts off their armor, a prudent distance down the beach from the lovers. “I’m not the only one who thinks it’s weird?”

Andy says nothing, just offers Quỳnh the rest of her bottle of vodka. This is why Quỳnh loves her so.)

(The wedding is a nightmare, at least according to the palace chef charged with cooking the wedding feast. “What is this, this, abomination? What in heaven’s name have you brought into my kitchen!”

“Tubeworm,” Booker says. “Considered a fine delicacy among our people. Don’t worry about it.”)

#the old guard #joe x nicky #immortal husbands #kaysanova #disney princess au #by lazaefair

149 notes · View notes

nathanieldorsky · 3 years

Text

Interview with Jerome Hiler and Nathaniel Dorsky, May 2021, Leeds, U.K. to accompany an outdoor screening hosted by Will Rose

WR The screening of your work in Leeds will be outdoors in a field at Meanwood Valley Urban Farm. It will be dark of course, but the films will be set against the backdrop of the city and accompanied by the sound of the outdoor environment. I’m interested in how these local conditions might affect your work. What do you think about this, and have you ever screened your work outdoors?

ND When Jerome and I were in our early twenties we would leave New York City for a summer evening at my parents’ house where there was a backyard bordering a forest. We would have outdoor screenings using two projectors and enjoy the superimposed images and their many chance occurrences. San Francisco does not have windless warm evenings and the summer nights are particularly cold, so the inspiration to do this type of screening does not come naturally. But this summer, with the Covid crises restricting our social and screening lives, we had two screenings for six people each on the backyard patio of filmmaker Scott Stark. We were all dressed for a winter sleigh ride and masked with distance between seating. I showed three films I had made so far during the lockdown, one of which, Temple Sleep, you will see this evening. What was particularly lovely were the swaying tree shadows on the screen from the surrounding window lights going off and on. The film felt like it was floating within a larger cinema.

JH Of course, silent films are extremely vulnerable to ambiance, yet there are always margins, and some are larger or smaller so it’s impossible to predict what is too distracting or not. Every screening is a law unto itself. No two are alike – even when there’s an immediate repeat screening. When I send my films out to be rented, they’re like children old enough to be on their own. I wish them luck. That’s about all I can do. Back in 1964 I roomed with Gregory Markopoulos and we were always trying to find some spacious outdoor setting for a night time screening. It never came about, but I feel now that I saw the beginning of an idea that eventually led to his Temenos events in Greece.[1]

WR You have each largely kept your personal filmmaking practice separate from your ‘day jobs’ (Jerome as a carpenter and documentary director, Nathaniel as a film editor) – to what extent did/does your daily work influence or affect the films you make, and vice versa?

ND As an editor one has to be very strict sometimes with a client for their own good … you witness the naked self-deceptions … so when you are working on your own film you almost laugh when this dialogue takes place all within yourself … you see the importance of not deceiving yourself … you see the way you fib to yourself …

JH It has been some time since I worked as a carpenter. The work was all-engrossing and I hardly had a chance to have my films affect that particular work. However, the money I made certainly allowed me to make films. When I was young, I admired the filmmakers who had day jobs that supported their work. I also worked on documentary films and there it was a case of my personal films influencing my documentary style.

WR Your work is very much concerned with the act of filming in the moment – an idea which also seems to extend to the way you would like your films to be experienced. I’m curious about the role history and memory play into this presentness. When you film somewhere, is the history of that place important to you? And are your own memories of that place important to the way you respond to it in the moment with your camera?

ND For me it is the presences and dissonances of light that guide my camera into the world. Generally I am not trying to evoke a place, but in the film Temple Sleep I shifted in that direction; in this case seeing a series of fly casting practice pools as the flooded ruin of an ancient temple of the past.

JH I generally wander at random. Driving in my car – particularly in places that I don’t know, hoping to get lost. I will react to a location. I don’t set out to make a statement, rather I learn and am tutored by the film as it develops. My film has more to say to me in the long run than the reverse. All art works seem to be self-portraits.

WR I understand that you often show your work to friends in private salon screenings. Until relatively recently this was the only situation that Jerome’s work would be presented in. Can you tell me more about these private screenings? And when you make your work, is it is useful to have a particular viewer (someone you know) in mind? 

JH Now that I’m shown publicly, I’m often asked why I “withheld” my work. But, as far as I was concerned, I was sharing my work as much as I could. Living in San Francisco, I was ensconced in such a vibrant and busy film scene with many visiting filmmakers coming through and showing their work. There were many impromptu screenings at different people’s homes. For my part, I would create tailor-made “films” from my camera original to suit the person or people who were attending that night. Then, I would dismantle the reel and re-purpose material for another occasion. This process of using original film resulted in much loss over the years. But, as for making a finished film, I had not found a voice and my attempts, I feared, might be pretentious. Suddenly, I was asked to be in a film show and I quickly finished a film in progress. In this way, I had found my very casual voice.

WR You have been life-partners since the mid-1960s and make films principally for each other. Can you tell me more about how your work converges and diverges?

ND Jerome taught me half the things that I know. His earliest filmmaking awakened me to the open glories of self-symbol montage, that a film is something in itself! Jerome is a bit more the painter and I, a bit more the poet.

WR During the pandemic I have increasingly had the urge to be somewhere that I don’t recognise. I was fascinated to find out that your work is almost entirely filmed within a very small radius of your home in San Francisco. Why is this the case?

ND This is an exaggeration … although it is true that many of my films are shot in walking distance from my apartment. But I would often in normal times go downtown with my camera in a car, park and walk around in a variety of neighbourhoods and environments. I could no longer shoot street or human scenes as if the Covid was not happening. The real issue is that when you travel and shoot footage the footage is seldom as good as something you shot that you are very familiar with. When it’s familiar you have to work harder to make it touch something in the psyche … but a new place is all awe and seduction of the new but the footage one might take there is often not really so interesting as cinema. I have some travel films I’ve made on Kodachrome and have occasionally shown them in my apartment and once publicly at Anthology Film Archives. They looked gorgeous with the original camera Kodachrome going through the projector – now that is a heart stopper.

WR You both have a close affinity to poetry and have found ways to create an equivalent sensation using the medium of film. Nathaniel, I showed your work in Leeds a few years ago in the presence of a very wonderful local poet. Without any prior knowledge, he appreciated it instantly as the filmic equivalent of a poem. Is there some intrinsic essence you can identify which makes film poetic?

ND When film can create for the viewer feelings and intuitions, associations and discoveries, things that cannot be directly said, then it has poetic qualities. Not the false poetry of sentimental narrative, but the sharp present alert quality of light and the screen.  JH I think my films are more akin to music than poetry. Some musicians can tell me what tempos and dance forms my works employ. My subject matter is so truly personal that I doubt anyone else could follow a “narrative.” Though, I have heard a viewer’s re-telling of my film that was both true and sidesplittingly hilarious. You might wonder, “Do I have no regard for my viewer?” Actually, I hope that there is always something for the mind of the viewer to engage with along with the feeling that what you see and feel is, indeed, the heart of the film. The film is really yours. I remember, over so many years, tedious post-film discussions where a viewer stated their reaction and asked the filmmaker, “Was that intentional?” My answer would be: If that’s what you saw, yes, it was.

WR The way light, weather and vegetation are measures of seasonal change is important in almost all your work. How do the seasons play a role in structuring the way you make films?

ND Like poets for many thousands of years, the change of seasons stirs the soul, awakening primordial feelings of birth, death and desire and the need to “sing” of such things.

WR The pandemic has put a temporary stop to public screenings of work that necessitates film projection. This screening of your work in Leeds is a gentle re-connection with a type of art that has been in hibernation. What has been your response to the last year? Have you worried for the future of your art form?

ND I just kept on shooting and vaguely wondering what damage the Covid crises would have on handmade films in public arenas. Luckily my film lab was allowed to stay open as an essential business … I could not agree more … and Eastman stayed open for purchasing raw stock. I found it very difficult to make a film during this crises – though I ended up making six … many quite short as the world had become smaller. I spent weeks at various places in Golden Gate park, a half block from my apartment. After three weeks or so ideas for making films in those locations took place and manifested. It was hard photographing things with this ominous lurking presence, but I found a way by relating to the oppression and trying to make films that were a purification for the impending claustrophobia.

JH This is a very good question. The issue of impermanence has arisen most powerfully this past year. I find myself at an advanced age. I read complaints that my films are impossible to see outside of the larger venues in film capitals. My attention, as usual, has been on the making of films and not at all on their exhibition. I have never felt that video was akin to film. For me, it did not present itself as a substitute. I am considering, very seriously, transferring my films to a digital format. I do dislike the light of digital projectors, but I have to face the fact that loyalty to my first love is taking too large a toll on my work’s appearance on any screen at all.

[1]. Temenos is the name filmmaker Gregory Markopoulos gave to a remote outdoor screening site in the Peloponnese region of Greece. Markopoulos spent the last decade of his life working on Eniaios, an epic, 80-hour film cycle created exclusively for projection at this site. The next presentation screening will take place there in summer 2022. See: www.thetemenos.org

3 Films by Nathaniel Dorsky and Jerome Hiler | Outdoor Screening, Fri, 21 May 2021, Leeds, U.K. link

#Nathaniel Dorsky #Jerome Hiler #interview #william rose

6 notes · View notes

rustandyearnings · 3 years

Text

How This Ends

Loan Tran

Two weeks into quarantine I read an article in The Atlantic titled, “How the Pandemic Will End.” It still felt wildly early to make any predictions about the future and the course of the virus. It has been now over a year that I have been trying to write a response to what I read, not because of any substantial disagreement but I foresaw then what I know now to be true, that after nearly a year of pandemic life: none of this simply ends.

There are no numbers and statistics, CDC guidelines, or even well thought out epidemiological reports that captures the depth of what it means that over 2.75 million people have died from COVID-19; over half a million of them alone in the U.S. We have witnessed a year that has made everything that was terrible before, much, much worse. And we know how we got here—especially being in the belly of the beast— we know all too well what regimes of power are capable of in their commitment to greed and profit. If you are like me or if you love people like me, you may know too that the world has come to an end many times before. What is different about this ending? If anything?

It was mid-March. My partner and I were on our way to the beach for her birthday. During our drive, we got news that the airports were starting to shut down and we were uncertain of the rumors about the National Guard being deployed to ensure compliance with stay-at-home orders. The beach was still there, and still sweet as always. We celebrated her the way we love each other; we ate delicious food, we laughed. She made her family’s shrimp: Lee Adam’s Shrimp. Which is comical, she says, because this was the only dish he would ever cook, and he got it named after him. Meanwhile, the family functioned because of women who made everything else possible. Such is our lives.

The Atlantic Ocean on the coast of North Carolina in mid-March is wind-swept, vast, very quiet. The sand becomes these large mountains to be trekked over before the water meets your eyeline. But once you see it, you know exactly where the ocean departs the sky. It was terribly cold. Yet, I was grateful to be by the water as our world began to shake us into conference calls and organizing meetings. Within just a few short hours of our Governor declaring lock down, we had formed the United for Survival and Beyond coalition. And knowing the year we were going to have and coming out of years of pavement pounding work, we were already exhausted. Deeper than the exhaustion is the truth that we must stick together, and we must find a way to continue on, especially now, with the cards so clear on the table: some of us will live and some of us will die. And there will be no logic to the madness.

The political work is instinctual to me; it makes sense in any crisis to bring together as many people as possible to understand a situation and to then take action. But the political work is also sometimes slow moving, even when we are all speeding and incredibly busy. So, I did other work that I felt, by my own standards, was more tangible. Like organizing a group chat of the queers I know who need medication on a regular basis. Or joining the local Mutual Aid Groups (and then promptly leaving all of the groups, which was simply a matter of exiting the Signal threads). Making a phone tree that was unreasonably the size of a phone book itself was an early action, too. And of course, cooking. There have been gallons upon gallons of pho. And gumbo. And at least 1,000 meatballs. Anything to attempt at satiating what I knew would become a growing hunger inside of me for a normalcy that still has not yet returned.

Things were deteriorating quickly all around me. By March’s end, my mom and I are on hold with her retirement company. She wants to get her money out of her account before the stock market steals it all away. This economic system routinely comes tumbling down for her; and often does it too line the pockets of the already ultra-wealthy. She has earned her retirement from working at the same alterations shop for over 20 years. She is paid for the time it takes to hand sew sequins onto wedding gowns that cost more than her year’s entire salary. She makes the inseam of your boutique jeans go from 32” to 30” with you never knowing the difference. She helps make people feel good, never questioning their own frivolousness in paying someone else to replace a missing button on their jacket. Her job has treated her well. This pandemic was beginning to test it as she’s filed for unemployment, without assistance from her bosses. The alliances that had shaped her life up until this point were beginning to fall apart, as is the case for so many of us.

It would become easier in the summer, but even then, the sweaty walks and the sitting outside in the beating sun just to eat a meal with someone who I wasn’t also sleeping with most nights began to tire me. I was unsatisfiable. I am lucky to have eaten many good meals, celebrate even more pandemic birthdays, and have extra money to keep supporting my parents’ and sister’s bills in between our socially distanced visits. Things would seem relatively calm for some weeks, when I felt like the weather wasn’t badgering on me. Which is to also say, that when things felt turbulent, it really just meant I was incredibly sad.

As I’ve been writing this piece in my mind, mulling over—as I usually do—which details feel relevant enough to evidence in words, the world around us has danced to the precipice of something new and back again. In between it all, I have had some of the most elaborate dreams of my life, the dreams at the heart of how I wish life could be.

I am home in Viet Nam. The sky is a dreamy pink, small stripes of orange and some residual blue as the sun sets and the moon takes over. I am sitting by the water and before me stretches a few miles of the bay. On the other side, mountains: spotted gray from granite and green from trees. I think to myself, “this is beautiful” and I take out my phone so I don’t forget what this looks like. My mom is here with me and it is quiet and perfect. Standing in line waiting to buy coffee from a street vendor, I think to myself, “wow, I get to be here,”; there are children and their parents who look my kin weaving around my stillness on the side of the road. I smile at someone I clock to be like me: a little odd, short haired, sweet looking in the face, stern and tough but kind in spirit. Then I wake up. It’s a dream. And all I know is that it’s a beautiful, perfect dream.

While time stretched and I could dream and I could travel in my mind, buoyed by my memories, telling stories that after the 3rd or 4th re-telling feels almost untrue, time also pulled me back to reality. To the everyday where I had few answers for the big question of: what now?

So what of time now? What is its worth? And what is worth it? I wear a watch every day still and I check my calendar still. And I still want Fridays to feel how Fridays are supposed to feel, still: they should release me. I still want to wake up slow on a Sunday, my favorite day, still. Things feel numbered and open all at once. Do I measure the worth of my life in this way or that? Do I consider tragedy to be where we start or is it having a witness to it that makes the clock run? Do I count the pints of soup I have made? What about the distance between us? There have been more cardinals than usual, but I’m really not counting. I do miss the children in the streets and the laughter beaming from their hands. Making sense of quiet and calling this place, my ever-growing city of just nearly 270,000 people, a ghost town seems a little defeatist; some days it seems just right, and some days it feels like an opening: to stop counting the time.

There is a slowness of this period that I have come to appreciate, even as it frustrates me. The slowness to remember and reconsider and re-learn the basic unit of relating: care; to care for each other and to care for ourselves. And we are being subject to the realities of care’s absence: there are millions of people—while they toil and make our world turn, even against the heaviest measures of despair—are disregarded as undeserving of housing, of health(care), of food, of life itself.

These systems of violence and domination continue to evolve, as showcased by this next phase of neoliberalism, with its elite colors and sloganeering. Coca-Cola racial justice investments and Nike’s you can do it to end racism and NFL’s $250,000,000 check to shut it (what, exactly?) down. Our task is more urgent than ever, yet there is still, simply this: you and I making a road where perhaps previously there was not, where perhaps previously there were, and it had been bombed or torn apart.

I am on the eve of my second pandemic birthday. And between the last time I dared contemplate how this ends and this moment now, there have been attempted coups and multiple mass shootings; there have been more vaccines distributed in the 1st world and essentially none for our sisters, brothers, and kin to the global south. Schools in my city are reopening and the people who suffer are made to blame each other.

A pandemic of this kind, through which a virus has served as the vehicle sounding the sirens of human plight, has the potential to lure us towards conclusions about the ever-deepening crises of white supremacy, patriarchy, and capitalism that will be regretful for us in the long-term. Namely, while it is true many things are outside of our control, like how a virus may mutate or transmit, there is so much more that is within our control.

We have witnessed that even in the middle of a pandemic, our people have risen up across the globe to declare that there must be another way to live. What deserves to be said again and again is that on one hand there is the science of this pandemic and the science of greed which profits on sickness; on the other is clear the science of solidarity; the science of organizing; the science of returning people back to each other; a sense of attention, a regard for care, an interest in ourselves and each other and the planet as people and places worthy of a world different than what centuries of violence and domination have conditioned and forced us toward.

At last, I do not know what the end of this pandemic means. But it seems to the hopeful, revolutionary optimist in me, that we have tried our raggedy best this year. I have appreciated more than ever our attempts at an honesty we may not have been willing to demonstrate. It seems to me that I haven’t been the only one to lie about how much I don’t know. And if you are looking for a script right now, about how to be, or how to cope, or how to regard yourself as belonging to those around you who do not look like you or speak like you or understand as you understand, I hope you’ll remember that there is no one else to make the future but us if we are to see ourselves in it.

I am embarrassed by my desperate need for things to return to normal. I am so desperate that I lay awake at night: wanting something I know I cannot have and the intelligent part of me knows that if I could have it, it would not be good for me or the people I love. The desperation is also a grief, fear, fatigue. But I also lay awake some nights taking audit of my gratitude; that beside me is my lover deep in restful sleep, that somehow in the morning our hands always find each other; and when we get out of bed, to make breakfast, or step outside: there is another day that affords me the time to learn how to be more human, and perhaps that is what this is worth. And those of us who still have it in us, and even those of us who feel that we have lost it, we must help this situation by becoming more and more human, as that is the only way I would want this to end.

This piece is dedicated to my dear friends who have kept me this year, in particular Zaina, Mindy, Margo, and Nadeen. It is also dedicated to our beloved Elandria (E) Williams, may they continue to rest in piece and know that we are taking their mandate for us to care, seriously. It is dedicated to the best pandemic pal and partner I could have ever asked for, who has also vowed to return the favor next pandemic, Chantelle. This is dedicated to the streets, to the uprisings, to all people everywhere who believe life doesn’t have to be this way, that we are so much more—these people include city workers, educators, youth and students, organizers, healthcare workers, and more. Thanks for the example of your lives.

4 notes · View notes

probably-eating-poptarts · 4 years

Text

New Blood | Chapter 2

Tensions rise and plans are made

Universe: Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning

Pairing: Thomas Hewitt x OC

Word count: 1,980

| Chapter 1 |

A/N: This chapter was honestly so hard to write considering the fact that, like… nothing interesting happens 😂 But I felt it ended where it needed to end, and I have ideas already set for where I want this story to go, so stay tuned! (@tentacles-and-coffee, would you like sum tag? 👀)

Chapter song: Bad Moon Rising - Creedence Clearwater Revival

✧༝┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉༝✧

That night was chaos at the Hewitt house.

“What the hell were you thinkin’, Ma? That bitch should be on Tommy’s choppin’ block, not off runnin’ your damn errands!”

“Now Charlie, you oughta know by now we can’t just kill off every single person that comes through; someone’s gonna catch on eventually–”

“It’s Hoyt, goddammit! Hoyt!”

A bony, long-fingered fist slammed into the worn butcher block table with enough force to topple one of the cloudy old mason jars spaced around at each place setting, and spittle flew from pooched, cracked lips. Luda Mae threw her hands up in exasperation before stomping into the kitchen, fed up with her son’s tantrums.

She returned a moment later, setting down a casserole dish fresh out of the stove. “That was a good girl, I just know it. She was just passin’ through and there wasn’t no reason at all to do away with her! Besides, her granddaddy is old John Elwood and you know he and his kin would come snoopin’ around if she up and disappeared!”

Hoyt spat carelessly onto the scuffed hardwood and curled his lip in a mockery of a smile. “You just jealous, Mama?” he wheedled. “Sad that you ain’t had no little bitch to gussy up, huh? Is that it?”

“That’s enough, now!” She snapped, her tone booking no room for further argument. “You won’t lay a single finger on that girl if I have anything to say about it, so just hush up and eat your supper.”

The old woman sat herself in her chair with a sense of finality, staring down her eldest child as if daring him to open his mouth again. Luda Mae had given her boy a lot of slack after his return from the war, and she loved him dearly despite the attitude he liked to give her these days, but at some point a mother just has to put her foot down.

The two locked eyes for several tense moments before Hoyt sucked sourly at his teeth and called over his shoulder, “C’mon in here, Tommy, and let’s eat.”

From the shadows of the hallway a looming shape moved; dim light from the dining room spilling over the burly, hulking form of the youngest Hewitt as he ducked under the doorway to enter the room. He had been patiently awaiting his adopted brother’s permission to join the rest of the family as always, but he found his thoughts distracted from his meal tonight with the topic of their discussion. Who was this girl, and why was Mama so taken up with her? Would she just end up like everyone else who found themselves on the receiving end of the infamous Hewitt hospitality?

He could tell that Mama was none at all happy with that prospect, and he found himself struggling with the uncomfortable possibility of having to choose between the wishes of his mother and the demands of his sibling. Cross as he could be sometimes, Charlie (Hoyt, Tommy reminded himself) had always been the one to give Thomas direction in his days following the collapse of the slaughterhouse; who to kill, who to detain, who to hobble for his… ‘personal enjoyment’.

But if his brother commanded him to kill this stranger, and then Mama told him not to… What would he do?

Shaking off the unanswerable conundrum for now, Thomas tucked into his meal with his usual gusto and decided he would just cross that bridge if or when he ever came to it. For now, supper was hot and the evening was still young yet…

“Thanks again, Bobby. I’ll tell Opa you said hello!”

Addie waved farewell to the bearded man and folded the small stack of paperwork he’d just finished filling out neatly as she made her way back towards her truck and now-empty trailer, hauling herself into the driver’s seat before cranking the engine and pulling out of the livestock pavilion.

Just a ways down the road - right where Luda Mae said it would be - a tiny little tea shop sat tucked away on the downtown strip between a record store and a newly refurbished post office. Addie had to drive almost half a mile more to find parking that accommodated the size of her rig, but she enjoyed the walk nonetheless as she made her way back past quaint storefronts and other folks out for a morning stroll.

The shop itself was cozy, if not slightly disorganized on the inside, but the rather eccentric older woman behind the desk knew exactly where everything was when Addie explained what she was after. When she finally left the store nearly a half hour later - the small silver bells above the door tinkling a merry goodbye over her head - she had two boxes of green tea and a little novelty tea strainer she’d been… somewhat coerced into buying all tucked away in a little paper bag under her arm.

From there it was just one quick stop by Luda Mae’s place, and then she’d be on her way home. The trek out always took much longer since she made extra stops at other farms to pick up livestock, but if she played her cards right, she’d probably make it back to Elwood Dairy by suppertime.

Someone at the pavilion had even managed to fix her radio, so with the windows cranked down and CCR blasting over the speakers, it was only just before noon when she found the little turnoff and rolled into the diner’s parking lot.

Roiling thunderclouds were gathering as Addie made her way across the asphalt towards the rickety front steps, and she paused for just a moment to study the looming darkness reaching out across the restless treetops in the distance.

“Looks like we’ll be in for a pretty nasty summer storm,” came Luda Mae’s voice from just behind the porch door. She pushed the screen open with her elbow and waved Addie inside, ushering her towards one of the antique tables where a porcelain teapot and mismatched teacups sat waiting.

The two women chatted amicably for a while as the tea Addie had acquired steeped; watching the broiling noon sun slowly and mercifully fade away beneath the creeping shadows of the oncoming storm cell.

“So do you stay with Old John up there at the dairy?” Luda inquired.

“Yes ma’am,” Addie replied, “Ever since I was a kid.”

“What about your folks? Do y’all all live on the property together?”

The younger girl pursed her lips and looked down into her cup, swirling the dark contents within.

“M’not really sure where my biological father is,” she finally confessed. “And my mom signed over custody to my grandparents when I was about six, so I’ve been with them almost my whole life. She comes around now and again, but we don’t really see her all that often.”

Her shoulders lifted and fell in a quick, nonchalant shrug. “Besides, growing up on the farm was really nice; and with Oma being sick lately, I came back from college to help out more.”

Luda Mae perked up. Sweet, well-spoken, and educated? “What were you schoolin’ for, then?”

“Well I finished my degree a couple years ago, actually.” The hint of pride in her tone was hard to hide. “I was really just taking extra courses during the fall before I left campus.”

Before she could elaborate the screen flew open with a sharp thwack, accompanied by a growling roll of thunder. Well-worn snakeskin boots thumped heavily against the dusty hardwood floor, announcing the arrival of the scowling sheriff Addie had seen briefly during her previous visit.

“Mama,” he nodded in greeting to the older woman, his sharp, beady gaze boring into Addie so coarsely that an instinctive shiver of apprehension tumbled down her spine.

“Hoyt! Come on in, honey; let me get you something to drink and introduce you to Miss Adeline Elwood, old John’s grandbaby.” As she spoke, Luda Mae tottered up from the table and pulled out a glass coke bottle from the old cooler by the register, popping the cap off on the attached bottle jack before passing it to her son.

The seemingly permanent frown he sported turned a fraction more sour, just for a moment, before breaking into a fractured grin - as if he had forgotten the art of smiling properly. “Pleasure’s all mine, ma’am.”

Both Hewitts joined Addie at the table, chair legs scraping as bodies settled into comfortable positions.

“So you mean to tell me ain’t nobody out here drivin’ that rig of yours?” Hoyt asked her with an air of haughty surprise. “We ain’t used to seein’ decent womenfolk around these parts all by themselves, y’know.”

Addie hid her clenched teeth behind a sociable smile. “Yep, it’s just me. Been hauling cattle by myself for a few years now since my Opa is staying home more often.”

The sheriff whistled low and reclined comfortably against the back of his chair. “Yeah, word spread fast when miz Rosie got sick. How’s she been holding up these days, hm?”

“About as well as can be expected,” Addie replied with a cock of her left shoulder. “We’re all just taking things one day at a time.”

He nodded sagely and took a swig of his drink, still watching her every move like a hawk zeroing in on an unsuspecting mouse.

“Now, you never got around to tellin’ me what you were upstate studying,” Luda Mae interjected with a gentle pat on the younger woman’s arm. “Such a bright young thing, aren’t ya dear?”

Clearing her throat, Addie fiddled with the excess of her ponytail before taking a brief sip of tea long since gone tepid. The wiry old coot was starting to make her rather tense. “I got my degree in animal science over at TAMU two years ago, and I’d been taking some agricultural classes right before I came back home to help around the farm.”

“Sciences, huh?” Hoyt sucked on the dip between his teeth. “Awful high aspirations for such, ah… lovely young lady such as yerself, dontcha think?”

Addie leveled him with a rather icy stare.

“Well that may be so, but since veterinary options tend to be rather limited around these parts, I figured I may as well learn how to do it myself.” She hit him then with her coyest, most femininely charming smile. “Sometimes a lady’s gotta help herself if there’s no man around to do it for her.”

With a sly wink to seal the deal, she pushed off from the table and tipped her head to both Hewitts in turn. “The tea was lovely Miss Mae, but I really ought to be headed on home, now.”

“Oh please, sweetheart, don’t go botherin’ with all that ‘Miss’ stuff.” The older woman began to gather their empty china. “Luda Mae will do just fine now.”

Nodding her understanding, Addie swapped final goodbyes and stepped back into the oppressive Texas heat, barely deterred by the flagging breeze pulling the surging storm cell ever closer.

“You drive careful now, y’hear?” Luda Mae called from beyond the screen. Hoyt stood at her shoulder - an ominous figure looming within his mother’s shadow - and he crooked his fingers at her in a little wave as he smiled that rusted out grin around the wad of tobacco always present within the rotting crease of his lips.

Ingrained southern manners had the young woman returning that broken-doll gesture with the barest tilt of her head in acknowledgment, and she clambered quickly into the confines of her truck cab where she felt a modicum of safety behind thick glass and sturdy American steel. She wasn’t going to outrun this beast of a downpour, but she was ready to get as much of a headstart as she could.

Things were looking to get nasty very quickly.

#the texas chainsaw massacre #TCM #Tommy Hewitt x OC #uh ohhh #that's what we call FORESHADOWING ppl #dun dun duuuuun #also i'm BACK #bay-BEE #Thomas Hewitt #New Blood #NB TCM

13 notes · View notes

arlocedwards · 4 years

Text

╰ ✧ HARRY STYLES. MUSE NINE. PANSEXUAL ❞ say hello to the s club’s very own ARLO EDWARDS! a TWENTY-FOUR YEAR OLD, CISMALE that goes by HE/HIM pronouns. i heard they were voted BEST SHOULDER TO CRY ON in high school, which says a lot about them because they’re very IDEALISTIC and INTUITIVE, but watch out for their DETACHED and DESTRUCTIVE side as well. i hope they’re ready to take a break from being a MUSICIAN and finally get this summer started! ( kt / 24 / pst / she/her )

hiya! i am kt &+ underneath the read more is some info about my bb, arlo. ** insert clown emoji but make him yee-haw **

trigger warning : death .

NAME: arlo cornelius edwards. GENDER: cismale. PRONOUNS: he, him. AGE: twenty-four ( 24 ). BIRTHDAY: february 14th. ZODIAC: aquarius !! HOMETOWN: kent, england. ORIENTATION: pansexual OCCUPATION: drummer. LANGUAGES SPOKEN: english & french. FACECLAIM: harry styles ~ currently featuring long hair. :’-)

kt’s note: I KNOW THIS IS SO LONG, SO IF YOU DON’T READ IT, I WILL NOT GET OFFENDED.

but, just read this so y’know what you’re getting yourself into when interactions open : death tw: arlo will be joining this summers reunion coming from his parents home, post-funeral, trying to escape boxing up his brothers stuff and wanting to not be pitied. :’-( my boy is going through it, so his typical behavior and personality is gonna be v muted for a while.

ᴀʀʟᴏ'ꜱ ʙᴀᴄᴋɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ

arlo was born in kent, england. i know what you’re wondering, and yes, he does have an accent. :’-) his family moved to new york when he was five years old because arlo’s father was offered a high level position within his company.

arlo was born into a loving family, him being the middle child. he has two supportive parents, sasha edwards (his mother), & carter edwards (his father). there are two years separating him from both his older brother and younger sister. his older brother ( now deceased ) was named holden edwards, and his little sister is named ivy edwards. his older brother can be imagined as eric matthews from boy meets world ( at the end of the day, they were bffs ) & his little sister is quite literally cher horowitz from clueless mixed w/ a splash of bianca stratford from 10 things i hate about you ( they are polar opposites which makes for a fun dynamic !! )

growing up, arlo enjoyed playing all types of sports - there truly wasn’t anything that he wasn’t really good at, and that’s simply because he’s always been such a competitive individual. he would go home and practice a skill or trick for hours in order to be able to come back the next day and whoop everyone’s asses. he will fight you over board games and make alliances in monopoly to mess w/ you.

his interest in taking up an instrument kicked in when he was seven years old. he and his dad were driving back from a hockey game together late at night, and his dad played him the song moby dick by led zeppelin & he knew it was something that he wanted to pursue bc “john bonham was a genius.” ~ arlo vc. and so his dad gifted him a drum set on his eighth birthday !! :’-) soft. but over the years he was exposed to other instruments and can also play the guitar, piano, and he has a nice set of pipes !! harry styles being his vc as well ~ makes it easy. he really wants to learn the saxophone tho??? don’t get him started - he will go on and on and on.

throughout highschoool ; arlo was a v dedicated student. although he’s a bit reckless and loved to goof off, he was always acing classes and applying himself. he genuinely cares for others, you could’ve seen his ass volunteering at a soup kitchen with his mom on sundays and what not! just soft things.

until now - now anti-soft. hard things. sdgjdjgd okay, so, arlo is A Mess™️. and i say that with so much love in my bones. arlo is the type of friend that is honest, and all about tough love when it’s needed. he doesn’t mind getting into a fight or two if he knows its worth the outcome he’s envisioned. he will tell you when you’re fucking up, and if you’re throwing a punch as a result - catch him leaning into it. this ties in l8r !!

he’s just a bit desperate to feel against following the death of his brother & also post-break up with shanley? ( which give me one hot sec and i’ll go into those v soon ) but overall he just wants to feel like himself again, y’know ?? don’t we all. amen & what not. to break it down, he just feels so intensely that he ends up numbing himself in the aftermath of it all, and he’s sadly willing to put himself into harms way in order to get a bit of that - happiness / pain, it doesn’t matter to him as long as he no longer feels numb. so, if ya see him with some scrapes and stitches ~ MIND YA BUSINESS.

arlo’s lurve life : woo ! okay, welcome back -- let’s get into it. so shanley and arlo dated throughout hs and into their first year of college, for a whopping five years together before they broke up. god if you’ve made it this far, i applaud you...but hmu and let me know your fav color, okay? like and comment below ?? subscribe ?? thx. OKAY BACK TO BUSINESS. in case you’re wondering who broke up with who, gosh so nosy, let me just tell you ‘twas arlo. he did it, we can unfollow his ass now. BUT ~ he didn’t want to ? y’know. he felt like due to the long distance, she was missing out on college experiences and her waiting by the phone for him to call was just sad, and he felt guilty. he wanted her to enjoy her time and felt as if he was weighing her down. although he did try make an effort to fix this doing by visiting her that weekend at her university in chicago, but when he came across her with friends he felt stupid and bailed back to cali again. a couple months later he called her, hoping to apologize for his poor judgement and admit to his mistake of ending the relationship, but she wasn’t the one who answered the phone. arlo assumed the random guy who answered was shanley’s new boyfriend (although , he was shanley’s roommates boyfriend but my sad dumb ass boi didn’t know ). arlo only assumed the voice belonged to shan’s bf bc he swears the voice distinctly said “coming, babe!” ( although he did, just not to shanley) and ever since arlo’s been a bit jaded when it comes to romance. shanley called him back later that day, and arlo shrugged her off bc he was jealous af and drunk - claiming he “butt dialed her and it wouldn’t happen again.” :’-( since then they haven’t been in contact.

he was so in love with shanley, and despite him being the one to end things, he’s never fully gotten over her. he’s definitely hooked up with other people, but my boy is not the committing type after that relationship.

after high school, arlo attended stanford university, as they offer one of the best criminal law programs across the nation. wahoo ! yahtzee !

after graduating college, arlo moved to san francisco & moved in with ali !! they have a nice little place overlooking the golden gate bridge w/ quality acoustics for their creative music projects. / also where he currently lives !! :’-) we love a bromance.

while in san francisco, arlo attended university to continue on pursuing his law degree and after two years was able to graduate with his juris doctor.

TRIGGER WARNING : DEATH / CAR ACCIDENT / DRUNK DRIVING. the death of his brother is very recent, like four weeks ago recent. arlo and his brother were road tripping across the states back to their family home in NY to visit their parents, when a drunk driver struck the driver side of their vehicle, which on impact killed his brother. arlo has survivors guilt as a result from the accident. he and his brother had switched seats a couple minutes prior to the collision, after arlo had asked to switch with him in order to rest for a bit. :’-( miraculously, arlo was unscathed in the greater scheme of all things injury-based. he’s entering the villa w/ a couple broken ribs, broken left arm and scrapes/cuts. so plz sign his cast.

post-break up with shanley, they had some type of unspoken agreement of trading off years of who gets to attend the summer( aka who has custody of the sclub ) and so last year, arlo did not attend. however, this year, they somehow got their info wrong about who was going / not going, so they have found themselves here at the same time. this being the first time they’ve seen each other since holidays during their first year of college previous to their break up. so get ready for some spice.

last summer, since arlo wasn’t attending the sclub reunion, he was taking the california state bar exam. which is only offered twice a year - he opted for the one in july and passed! :’-) he spent some time after the exam in europe with hastrid. <3

however, arlo will be joining this summers reunion coming from his parents home, post-funeral, trying to escape boxing up his brothers stuff and wanting to not be pitied. :’-( my boy is going through it, so his typical behavior and personality is gonna be v muted for a while.

ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ

overall : arlo truly strives to be kind, and genuinely wants for everyone to get along. treat people with kindness and the like. he has the best of intentions, but often times that can get a bit muddled with the way he goes about things due to his chaotic energy. he will do anything to lighten a dark mood, and will sacrifice / throw himself under the bus if its needed. however, he also is the type to cause the dark mood depending on the day.

however rn, with his current state of mind, arlo is just going through the motions. numbing himself with unhealthy outlets and has a different type of mentality. definitely engaging in a bit of the more chaotic activities, as well as leaving everyone alone to their own vices as well. whereas his typical behavior would be more so attempting to lead them onto a better path if it meant well for their overall wellbeing.

habits : smoking cigarettes ( ali likely nags him bc they aren’t herbal ) . staying up into the early hours of the morning, and yet somehow still an early riser ( hence, he drinks an absurd amount of coffee ). yeah, hence. - get it, from the house bunny? sdjfkngdg any who, he’s in a phase of numbing via alcohol and drugs rn.

personality type : INTP - T / THE LOGICIAN

moral alignment : chaotic good

tarot card : the hermit ( currently )

character inspo : connor walsh from how to get away with murder, jess mariano from gilmore girls, & ambrose spellman from chilling adventures of sabrina ( literally his #1 ranked personality match on a quiz i took ) !! so, we have that ! and also a heavy sprinkle of seth cohen from the o.c.

ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ

the album ‘fine line’ by golden child, harry styles in this case will be used as a hc for arlo. arlo wrote and recorded the album - all songs included, with his muse being shanley over the course of the last couple of years. he’s just kind of been sitting on the entire thing, never really feeling it was the right time to release his work/side solo project...but later this summer, he may just leak it. :’-)

arlo is a vegetarian ! he has been since his freshman year of high school.

those who inspire him : roger taylor, mick jagger, alex van halen, john bonham.

LUNA : ali and arlo co-founded the band with friends edie dorn and guy perkins in junior high. playing gigs where they could as often as possible. arlo was on lead vocals, ali as lead guitarist, edie on bass, and guy on drums. although when it came down to recording and what not they seemed to bounce around when it came to other instruments - v experimental. the band took off in college, prior to something strange and over the years they’ve produced numerous albums and have won a couple awards.

red roses are his Thing™️ ; fans of the band will walk up and hand him them. i think that’s soft. and i am here for it.

he loves fancy wine ~ he’s cultured.

fun fact : dirty dancing is v much so a sharlo movie. they used to practice and be able to successfully pull of the jump & lift dance move literally just for fun / bc they wanted to. after nailing the lift, they learned the entire dance - i can't. dfjkgndjkg SOFT.

arlo has all of harry’s tattoos !! makes it simpler, might add more along the way !! stay tuned, folks !!

also the ‘ h & s ‘ rings that will be seen in photographs later on are for his brother, holden, and bbg, shanley </3

arlo is a gucci enthusiast - having much of his closet filled with staple pieces over the years. to further his love for the brand, he was recently asked to be in an upcoming campaign for the fall season - he’s v jazzed about it.

ᴏᴘᴇɴ ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ

𝖌𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖎𝖓𝖋𝖑𝖚𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊 ( open connection ) : with arlo being a bit chaotic in nature, he needs somebody that is likely going to steer him clear from all the ideas that’ll bring him to the brink of disaster. he’s impulsive and in that desperate attempt to feel again, he’s very likely to bring a bit of mayhem upon himself. so while they may constantly worrying and attempting to talk his ideas down, he’s trying to get them to go along with his plan. it may be rare that he actually takes their advice, but when he does it seems to be for the best.

𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖞 𝖋𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖓𝖉 / 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖋𝖎𝖉𝖆𝖓𝖙 ( open connection ) : these two know how to have a good time together. despite the amount of alcohol they are throwing back and the shenanigans they find themselves in as a result, this is a time where they also find themselves confiding in one another. if you look at their camera rolls, it’s likely they have tons of embracing and unflattering videos and pics of one another, in between their sob-worthy confessionals and venting/rants. these two trust one another, and although they love getting wreckT together, they find themselves discussing very raw and personal details.

open to other connection you may have in mind! :’-) LMK!!!! <3 i love me some chemistry !!!

ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ( featured on arlo’s connections page here !! )

𝖋𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖘 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖇𝖊𝖓𝖊𝖋𝖎𝖙𝖘 ( taken - simon peralta ) : these two went through rough break ups of their own, and a rebound didn’t sound too bad to either of them at the time things started. it may not occur all the time, but they sometimes still find themselves offering up to one another. this occurred more frequently then any of arlo’s one night stands, obvi, but it never surpassed anything other than the physical aspect of their relationship. the nature of their relationship outside of the bedroom can go either way !!! :’-)

𝖆 𝖇𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖘 ( taken - ali mallick ) : as if living together for the past two years wasn’t enough, ali & arlo are also roommates every summer that arlo attends the sclub reunions. these two are always laughing, and saying some ridiculous ish. you’ll likely hear loud jam sessions and howling laughter / the occasional excited shouting back and forth from their room in the late hours. they are truly nothing but a good time and tbh, they know it. that and the fact that they have the best hair in the villa. djfgnjkdfg FIGHT ME !!

𝖍𝖎𝖌𝖍 𝖘𝖈𝖍𝖔𝖔𝖑 𝖘𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖘 ( taken - shanley evans ) : these two began their relationship in their freshman year of high school - spending five years together before breaking up in their freshman year of college. * cries in sharlo * they were the “it” couple, no pennywise included … unless ? anyways, everyone thought that they were going to get married, and arlo was v much in love / thinking shanley was his romantic soulmate. yet when they did break up everyone was shookith - even the birds and the bees.

𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖞 𝖜𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖗𝖔𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖘 𝖇𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖘 ( taken - ali mallick , willow finch , sirena rose ) : these four formed something strange. arlo is the drummer of the group, and also writes some songs for the group. they’ve blown up over the years and are a quite successful group.

𝖛 𝖘𝖎𝖇𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖌-𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖕 ( taken - sirena rose / willow finch ) : these two have a love/hate relationship, very sibling like filled with pranks, competition, teasing and playful banter. however, when it comes down to it they have so much love and respect for one another. they know that no matter what happens they will always have one anothers back and be supportive of the other. pure relationship.

𝖗𝖎𝖉𝖊 𝖔𝖗 𝖉𝖎𝖊 ( taken - delilah jacobs ) : ride or dies ! need i say more ?? these two have one anothers backs despite anything and everything going on otherwise. they play in to one anothers antics and enjoy one anothers presence as they can likely be seen dragging one another across town and causing a bit of mayhem together. you can catch them in their beautiful, bitch #1 & #2 tee's.

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖔𝖙𝖎𝖈 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖕𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖔𝖓 ( taken - ramona verdez ) : it would be wrong to say one is the more likely the bad influence over the other, although arlo may just be. these two find themselves bounding into, well hell, ( i guess??? ) together. playing on one anothers impulsiveness and if one ends up in the back of a police car, the other is handcuffed to them. and yet despite the length of their potential injuries, they find themselves thinking of something crazier to subject them to the next time around. with arlo having his law degree, he’s always able to squeeze them out of trouble before it gets too serious, so trust - it’s ok !!

𝖚𝖓𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊𝖑𝖞 𝖋𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖘 / 𝖕𝖔𝖑𝖆𝖗 𝖔𝖕𝖕𝖔𝖘𝖎𝖙𝖊𝖘 ( taken - izzy de la rosa ) : these two may have ran in the same circle, but were complete opposites when it came down to their personalities / styles / perhaps even humor, so it was expected for them to stand their distance. however despite the odds, they just clicked !! opposites attract and what not, ya dig?? somehow their dynamic just works and they have a lot of fun together by introducing new things to one another.

#( ❛ ᴀʀʟᴏ ᴇᴅᴡᴀʀᴅꜱ | ɪɴᴛʀᴏ . )#so long - whewwww!#if you read all of this.....i owe you all of my love #schq:intro

14 notes · View notes

daughterofanarcissistwoman · 4 years

Text

So how do you know if your mom was a narcissist?

Here are the some of the signs.

She’s the center of the universe and everything in your family revolves around what she wants. My mom decided everything— what clothes we would wear, who we could be friends with, what activities we would participate in, what we should enjoy doing, eating, reading, watching on TV, and on and on. She controlled the purse strings despite not earning any money or working outside the home, and she was a real tight wad.

You felt invisible. In my family, both of my narcissistic parents saw their children as clones of themselves or their spouse. Our dreams, wants and needs were not recognized or validated. In order to be loved, we had to do and like everything that our same gender parent did or liked or recommended, because their narrative was that we were exactly like them. To this day, the stories that our parents tell about our childhood doesn’t sound at all familiar. For example, for years my mother told a story about how I wanted a horse when I was a girl. I never wanted a horse. I was afraid of horses and I was allergic. In fact, it was my mother who proposed that I should get a little pony several times. I wasn’t interested. I wanted an aquarium with seahorses like a friend of mine had. I even researched the care of seahorses and picked out their names—Napoleon and Josephine. After months of talking about an aquarium, my dad got me a small aquarium with goldfish— which was fine! Because I never wanted horses. And of all the stories she could have told about my childhood, I never understood why my mom was so fixated on my wanting horses, but she told this story at least once a year — always with me in the room. I denied it every time— and every time she insisted it was true. When she was in her 80s, and dying, she even told her hospice nurses that I always wanted a horse. I felt erased, for lack of a better word, as if I never existed, and this imaginary child who always wanted a horse existed in my place.

She doesn’t listen to you. I am quiet. I didn’t notice until I was an adult that my parents dominated conversations. I began to realize that was probably why I am so quiet. They talked for hours, without letting anyone get a word in, and I am not exaggerating. I timed it once -- over three hours with my husband and me just nodding our heads. It would have gone on longer if I hadn’t cut them off. This was at a time when I had some major things going on in my life, and they were the kinds of things family talked about. It was this that led me on a quest to find out why my parents weren’t interested in anything that happened to me—good or bad. We couldn’t talk about things that mattered, because if it didn’t involve them, it didn’t matter. I was used to this as a child, but when I became a parent, their lack of interest in my life hurt. I realized just how dysfunctional and devastatingly empty my relationship with my parents actually was, compared to my relationship with my children and my husband’s relationship with his parents.

She didn’t respect boundaries. My mom went through my stuff, used my things, kept them, ruined them, and gave my things away to other people without asking me. She also volunteered me for things I didn’t want to do. For example, she gave my beloved collection of Dr. Seuss books to my cousin when I was a little girl. When I was twelve, she volunteered me to take care of a neighbor boy for the summer without asking me. Worse, she arranged it so that this boy’s mother would pay her, and I never saw a cent of the money I made babysitting. This was a forty hour a week commitment! When I got married, my husband and I left our wedding gifts at my parent’s house while we were on our honeymoon. When we got back, I learned that she had unwrapped everything, looked, then rewrapped our gifts so I wouldn’t know. But she just couldn’t contain herself and had to brag about her cleverness in rewrapping the gifts afterwards. It was a big joke to her. To this day, I don’t know if she kept some of our gifts for herself or not— but I assume she did. My parents moved out of state after we had been married several years. When they moved away, they expected to be able to visit and stay at our house indefinitely— which ended up being months sometimes. Often my mother took objects from our home when she left. I would only realize later that she had taken these items when I went to visit her in her home, and saw my bowl, windchimes, books, family pictures, etc. Occasionally, she took my things and gave them to my brother.

Gaslighting. Though she admitted to opening my wedding gifts at the time, years later she totally denied it and said I was making it up. I must have imagined it, she said. She would never do such a thing. She also never admitted to taking things from me. She insisted I told her she could borrow these things. I probably would have let her borrow them if she had asked, but she didn’t. Much of my childhood has been misremembered or imagined according to both of my parents. I have brought up some of the events on this list over the years, but they only denied everything. In most cases. I’ve let it go, because it’s a waste of time. They won’t admit anything. They get offended and accuse me of imagining it.

She couldn’t control her temper. My mother took offense easily and you never knew what might set her off. Her temper tantrums were monumental and legendary within our family. When she flew into a rage, it was scary. She would scream, swear, slam doors, mock you, and call you names. There are too many to recount here, but one of my earliest memories is of her throwing food at my dad and him ducking to avoid being hit. She also had total meltdowns in public with onlookers.

She criticized you constantly. My mom often told me that I was ugly, sassy and whiney, and that I was stupid. If I cried during the verbal abuse, she would mimic my crying and tell me how ugly I was when I cried, or she threatened to really give me something to cry about. When I was little, I didn’t get regular baths—because it is a parent’s job to bathe their children or to teach them that bathing is required—which didn’t happen in my case. She often told me that I stunk. She said she wished she never had me. She wished I was a boy. She compared me to my brother, my cousins and her friend’s children, and I always came up short in some way. Even after I became an adult, the criticism continued. She would notice that I was getting wrinkles or that I had put on a few pounds, or that the color I was wearing made my skin sallow. When I was an adult, her criticism was always couched in what she thought of as helpful advice, but it was meant to hurt.

You were neglected. In my case, the neglect was subtle. We usually had clean clothes to wear and were fed—not nutritious foods, but we weren’t starving. We weren’t poor, but I remember eating crackers for breakfast because there was nothing else to eat. It wasn’t unusual to run out of food and toothpaste. I often went to school hungry. My dad made a good income, so it wasn’t because they couldn’t afford food. It was because buying food wasn’t as much of a priority as buying alcohol and cigarettes. Where we lived you could only buy alcohol at the liquor store and it closed early on Fridays. My parents made a weekly trip to the liquor store to stock up on the booze on Fridays because that was my dad’s payday—and it was always a rush to get there before 5pm. A grocery store was in that same strip mall. As an adult it is hard for me to understand why we often ran out of cereal midweek, or toothpaste, but never gin or vodka. We had a second car and Mom didn’t work outside the home. The grocery store was within walking distance. Also, our parents left my brother and me home alone as young as eight and three while they went out drinking. Three is the earliest I remember, but they might have left us home alone younger if we were asleep, for all I know.

You felt unsafe or responsible for your own safety. Something I will never forget is watching my mother vacuum the carpet, moving a chair and finding a burn hole in the carpet about the size of a dinner plate underneath the chair, with a cigarette butt in the middle of it. Why the chair didn’t catch on fire and burn the house down was a mystery, but it apparently burnt itself out. My dad was a three pack a day chain smoker and it was clear that he fell asleep while drinking with a cigarette in his hand at some point during the previous week. Beyond that, there were too numerous to count times that my dad drove us while drunk and times he abandoned the family to go drinking. One time in particular, I remember being with a friend at a fair at closing time. We were about ten, and too young to be left alone at a fair at night. Dad had dropped us off and was supposed to pick us up. A security guard tried to kick us out and finally tracked Dad down at a nearby bar after I suggested he might be there. This isn’t a “mom” story, but it could have been, because moms who are narcissists can be equally neglectful, putting their children in danger, which begs the question --- Since my mother knew my dad was an alcoholic, why did she allow him to take two little girls to the fair, knowing that he would disappear into a bar somewhere while we hit the tilt-o-whirl? Remember SHE was the one who decided everything that happened in our family. If it was that obvious to me where he went when I was only ten, shouldn’t it have been obvious to my mom that he would spend hours in a bar, and then drive us home while intoxicated?

You felt unloved. My mom never told me she loved me until I was an adult and she overheard my mother-in-law telling me she loved me. Then— if my parents happened to be around when my in-laws were around, she would say she loved me in front of my in-laws, as we said good-bye. But she never said it when we were alone— and not ever when I was a child. She didn’t hug me, read to me, play with me, or cuddle with me when I was little. Her “loving” was conditional on having an audience.

You received no encouragement of any kind. My behavior was largely ignored—good or bad. I don’t recall ever being noticed for a job well done, good grades, winning a spelling bee, doing well at a piano recital, or anything positive. Mostly, I was left unsupervised. By the time I was a teenager, I started becoming promiscuous, drinking alcohol and taking drugs. I began stealing from stores. I gave up trying to please my parents, because none of the good things I ever did got any recognition. Not that I could have articulated it that way as a child, but looking back, I know that’s how I felt. Unfortunately, none of the bad things I did were noticed either.

You were made to feel like a burden. Everything I ever wanted was too expensive. My clothes and school supplies were too expensive; my shoes were too expensive; going anywhere was too expensive. My glasses were too expensive. Medical and dental care was too expensive. Because I heard this so often, one time I commented to my mother, that if she and Dad didn’t buy alcohol and cigarettes all the time, they could probably afford some of these other necessities our family needed. I was nine, and I was truly trying to be helpful, thinking that maybe they had not thought of this. She slapped my face.

You witnessed cruelty. We had a little dog, a mutt, and when we moved away, we had to leave our dog with my uncle. A few weeks later, after we got settled in our new home, my uncle sent our dog to us by train— which took about a week. But the entire time the dog was away from us was about six weeks beginning to end. Within the first week of the dog coming to us in our new home, she peed on the carpet. To be sure, it is frustrating when an animal pees on your carpet, but this dog was really stressed after spending so much time in a different home with my uncle, and then traveling across the country alone by train to a new home. I watched my mother literally throw our dog about ten feet outside onto a cement patio while screaming, “Your days are numbered, little bitch!” The dog limped around the rest of that night. The next day, our dog was put down. Mom told us the dog had become sick and the vet recommended putting her down. I never believed my mom, because of what I saw. We had several cats disappear over the years too. They always “ran off” while we were in school. The one cat my mother “loved” was left to fend off raccoons and wild animals outside during the winter, while my parents traveled for months at a time after retirement. They basically abandoned it. If I could have caught the cat, I would have taken it in. I tried but it was scared and hiding somewhere.

She lied. To make herself (and the rest of the family) look good, she told her friends lies about us. For example, she told them I was a concert pianist. She told them I had a good career and was management level. She told them my son was gifted and that he got a scholarship to a competitive university— “a full ride!” She used to keep this piece of pottery that she bought on her windowsill, and she told them that I made it. There was always just enough truth to whatever lie she told that it could seem plausible to others— if they didn’t think too hard or look too closely. For example, I did play the piano as a child but wasn’t a concert pianist. My son did go to college but didn’t get a scholarship and he wasn’t a genius. I did take an art class and learned how to use a kiln, but not how to throw pots. I worked part-time. I wasn’t in management. The lies were endless. I didn’t even know about some of these lies until after she died.

More lies. She told a bunch of weird little lies that had no point, such as the horse story, but also being able to get from point A to point B in record time—which was impossible unless she took a helicopter. When presented with facts, she would become enraged. The only reason I used this lie as an example was because it was so easy to prove wrong, and it was so ridiculous and pointless. Showing her the facts in black and white led to a three-hour tirade and meltdown.

Everyone loves her. One of the more frustrating things about having narcissistic parents is that they are the most charming people— in public. Most everyone loved my parents, especially my mother. They had many friends and threw many parties. But the friendships were all mostly superficial. A normal friendship, for them, would begin with them being impressed with someone who had more money, more success, more status, intelligence, humor and creativity. . . than they, and that person could do no wrong. This was Mom’s infatuation phase. Eventually the bubble burst. Then the ugly phase began, which entailed vicious gossip and complaints behind their backs, while Dad continued to enjoy their company and drinking with them. This second phase sometimes lasted decades. A few of their friends “ghosted” them over the years. They just disappeared never to be heard from again. Mom would imagine all these wild, elaborate stories about what might have happened to them. More than once, she was certain different friends must have died in plane crashes. But that wasn’t the case, because I Googled them and it turned out they were still around. Knowing how my parents were, I am sure that some people caught on that she was a pathological liar, and a gossip with with a really bad temper, and that he had a drinking problem, or that they were both the most self-absorbed people anyone could ever meet. The bigger surprise to me is that most of their friends remained true to the end, and never knew how much my mother couldn’t stand them.

https://www.quora.com/How-do-you-know-if-your-mother-is-a-narcissist/answers/174878844?ch=10&share=c2fb4810&srid=C7yPi

#narcissistic mother #narcissistic abuse #covert narcissist #cptsd

9 notes · View notes

dougrobyngoold · 4 years

Text

March Madness - Tucson, AZ

The above picture was taken from one of the cafeterias at University Hospital in Tucson, where I had breakfast while Doug was in surgery. I think the surgery lasted a couple of hours, the surgeon talked to me after the surgery - all went well and the atrial fibrillation should stop. After a one-night stay, Doug was sent on his way. We were grateful to have the surgery over with and to be on the road to recovery. Activities were limited for a week, then Doug was free to resume normal activities. Onward we go!

A week after his surgery, Doug was back on the golf course, awesome!

HOWE TIME FLIES

About 10 days after Doug’s surgery, our friends Art and Donna Howe came to visit us. It was their first time in Tucson, so we planned a whirlwind tour to give them a little taste of desert living.

On their first day in town, we headed south to the Titan Missile Museum, we managed to arrive in time to sign up for a tour (they fill up fast!) We have been on the tour three times now, we still love it. I would recommend a visit when you are in the area, it is just off I-19, about a 30 minute drive from downtown Tucson. After the museum, we drove further south to Tubac. We wandered around town, taking in a few of the artisan shops and some of the local artwork:

One of multiple painted javelinas in the village of Tubac.

Donna made a new friend in Tubac.

After a lunch stop at one of the local restaurants, we meandered back through the village for a little more exploring. Getting our fill of Tubac, we continued southward to the Santa Cruz Spice Company. We did a little spice shopping and then made our final stop of the day at the Tumacacori National Historic Park. It was a gorgeous spring day, which made for some fantastic photo ops at the mission.

Look at those spring flowers and the magnificent sky!

We stopped at the tortilla and beans stand inside the park - yummy!

Crystal-clear day, the Santa Rita Mountains in the distance.

The craftsmanship on the buildings is amazing.

This moth was on one of the sidewalks at the mission, such pretty markings!

What a fun-filled day! We headed back to our trailer for dinner and games. More adventures planned for tomorrow!

We filled the morning of the second day with a trip to Barrio Bread, a short walk along Pantano Wash, and then lunch on our patio. We went out to Saguaro National Park East to show them a crested saguaro on the Loma Verde Trail and for a sunset from Javelina Rocks. We ended the day with a trip to El Molinito for take-out and then went to the Arizona Beer House to enjoy our food and a few brews.

Day 3 - we headed to downtown Tucson. We walked along the Turquoise Trail, checking out the history of the area. We enjoyed adult beverages at The Congress Hotel Bloody Mary Bar and even found some ice cream for Art! We ended the day at the trailer, perfect weather for outdoor entertaining!

Day 4 - after a breakfast of sausage gravy & biscuits (vegan-style), we went to the range to whack a few golf balls around. We love the driving range at Fred Enke - the view of the Catalina Mountains is wonderful!

After golf, we made our way out to the Desert Museum. At this point, we were experiencing a mild shut-down and a few restrictions due to Covid-related concerns. A few of the exhibits at the Museum were closed and they were not doing the Raptor shows. However, we ran into a family on our way into the museum and they gave us 4 free passes. We had a great time wandering around the museum, it is always beautiful out there.

Brittle brush was blooming and the views to the west were spectacular!

Caught the javelinas during naptime.

March is usually a great time to visit the museum, the temperatures aren’t too hot and the cactus are starting to bloom. We were not disappointed:

We completed our exploration of the Desert Museum and made the long drive back to our place. Happy hour, dinner, and then more games wrapped up our final night with the Howes. We are so happy that they finally came for a visit, we hope they will make it an annual thing!

Thanks for coming to see us!

COVID INTERRUPTUS

The week following our friends visit things became more serious around the Covid virus. Restaurants and indoor spaces were closed down and we were forced to limit our activities with friends here in the park. Luckily, outdoor activities were a good option for us - we took lots of walks and bike rides. The weather was gorgeous and the flowers were blooming.

Pretty blooms along Pantano Wash during one of my many walks.

More desert colors!

Some evenings the sky just explodes around here, we feel pretty lucky to be in a place where we can be outside enjoying nature most of the time.

Photos from our 15 mile walk along Pantano Wash - the weather was cool, but we didn’t get wet, just a little wind-blown!

A nice rattler I came across on a bike ride up Harrison Greenway - yikes!

I was very grateful for my new e-bike, lots of great rides along the bike path here in town. Kept me from going stir crazy!

TANQUE VERDE RIDGE HIKE

During March Doug started training for his planned 2022 trip on the Continental Divide Trail (CDT). The CDT runs 3100 miles from the border of Mexico to the border of Canada, staying within 50 miles of the Continental Divide along its course. He is doing 3 consecutive days a week of 15+ miles each day with his backpack, just to see how his body holds up. Friday and Saturday he does his miles along the Pantano River Park path, then on Sundays he does an actual hike. I am joining him for 2 of those 3 days, my feet need a day off! Today we hiked around 16 miles on the Tanque Verde Ridge Trail. The hike is fairly steep and I think it is an understatement that my toes were REALLY happy to be done with the descent. Pretty sure I am going to need a few recovery days after this hike! In spite of the physical discomfort, it was a beautiful day in the desert and things were blooming along the ridge and Doug grilled us Beyond Meat burgers for dinner. Perfect end to the day!

REALITY HITS

By the end of March, we had come to the conclusion that our trip to Europe for this summer was going to have to be canceled. We had reservations to fly to England on May 9th and had planned to be over there until some time in August. Our plan had been to stay at AirBnBs, we were very disappointed to have to cancel all our plans, but Europe was closed down due to the spread of the Covid virus and things here in the United States were not looking any better. A large portion of our Canadian friends here in the RV park had already headed north, due to recommendations from their government. Social gatherings were frowned upon and we were doing our best to follow all of the social distancing guidelines in place. We decided that our best option is to stay in Tucson for the time being, as many RV parks and campgrounds are closed in the U.S. at this point due to Covid. We feel fortunate to have a place where we can wait this out. Guess we will just have to hang around for a few more Tucson sunsets.

#Tucson #Howe visit #Arizona hikes #Arizona

2 notes · View notes

renycluggs-blog · 3 years

Text

The Joy of Lake LBJ Houses for Sale

Are you seeking Lake LBJ homes for sale? With more than 20 lakes in Pickens county, finding the ideal home that matches your requirements can be a challenge. But thanks to the real estate listings now on the market, anyone in Pickens or perhaps out of state can easily find homes that match their requirements. Let's look at several options...

Perhaps the most popular style of Lake LBJ homes for sale is situated across the Bluffs Creek Waterfront. These homes are built on the conventional waterfront property lines of the lake and run along the Bluffs Creek waterline. There are a couple of neighborhoods to choose from: Lake LBJ Village, including houses on either the marina or even the Bluffs Creek Waterfront, and Lake LBJ Stations, which will be a newer development which connects the 2 bodies of water together along with marina and outlying property.

The majority of these Lake LBJ homes are constructed of hardiplank siding, which makes them very weatherproof. In the summer, these houses will need to be coated with a color canopy or large umbrella to shield from sunlight. Otherwise, the timber will start to fade and discolor. Another wonderful characteristic of those prefabricated houses is that they are designed so the drives possess a raised oval layout. This makes it effortless to access the most important residence from the outside deck or terrace.

A number of the Lake LBJ Real Estate homes for sale are situated on private, waterfront home that was initially owned by a man who created the lake. Now these properties have been sold by real estate agents as a revenue producing investment prospect. If you reside on the water, you'll love owning one of those homes. If you love the atmosphere and convenience of lakefront property, then that is the perfect investment alternative for you.

When I first looked in the Lake LBJ houses for sale, I didn't even realize that the construction was on Lake Huron. There were no indications, no landscaping, and no hint what sort of house it had been. It looked so eerily like the Lake Como real estate on the island of Lake Maggiore. My first assumption was that this home must be a vacation home. But when I visited it, I realized it was really a two hundred and sixty plus acre lakefront real estate.

Once I visited the house, I immediately started to research the history of this family that possessed it. During my study, I quickly noticed that this particular address matched the actual estate listing photos for the entire vacation home. The home had recently been acquired by a young couple that had been in the market for a residence. They had been eager to sell, but were hesitant because they were not sure if their budget would cover the buy or if they should even consider another home on the lake.

So, during my trip to Lake LBJI asked the couple if they intended to reside in the waterfront house or when they were looking into leasing the property. Surprisingly, they both answered"no" to this question. They did, but share with me that they enjoyed the calm atmosphere, along with the abundance of nature surrounding the house to the lake. Lake LBJ is located on the beautiful St. Clair Lake, so it just made sense that the couple would love to enjoy the lakefront homes around the lake also. I noticed that the interior of the house offered opinions of the lake, its surrounding trees, and wildlife. When we discussed the possibility of having an inside view listing, the lady on the phone said that she dwelt in precisely the same place as our customer, so she could give us an concept of the views offered in the region.

In addition to having opinions of the lake and surrounding scene, I learned that the Lake LBJ homes for sale offered views of the surrounding neighborhood. Lots of the homes for sale in Lake LBJ were assembled on the Heritage Walk, which includes walking paths, nature preserves, playgrounds, as well as wooded areas. Utilizing our detailed property filters, we were able to determine multiple fitting lakefront homes within walking distance of the Heritage Walk. This enabled us to narrow down our search into those homes with the finest views, the many open floor plans, along with the best quality of construction.

After we had identified that the perfect Lake LBJ homes for sale, we now set out to see them . My husband and I drove Clearwater Landing to have a peek at one of the houses around the lake. We were impressed with the home and knew right away that this will be an excellent fit for our loved ones. The house had previously been owned by our own grandparents, and we had visited several of the prior owners' homes. We were attracted into the rustic, yet elegant ranch home on the water, that matched our instant vision of just what a lakefront home should feel like.

After getting the view of the house and seeing how lovely it was, we made an appointment to see another of the homes for sale in Lake LBJ. While we were there, we still noticed that the previous owner had added a fresh deck and a large gazebo, both of which were perfect for entertaining our children. The accession of the decks and gazebo provided us with an excellent action area for our loved ones to enjoy for several years to come. The current owner of the home, a retiree, informed me that he had initially bought the house for his wife as an investment, however he had decided to make it more family oriented shortly thereafter.

When we abandoned the Lake LBJ homes for sale in the bay, we all knew we had found a stone. This bay area is one of the most scenic regions of Houston, or even the entire state. The natural surroundings, the scene, the quiet and peace were very inviting. Besides the two lovely lakes as well as the amazing views from every angle, the house had lately undergone a significant makeover, with many updates and updates. The house was a fantastic spot for the families to be while living in Texas, and it was a real pleasure to spend some time in and to genuinely enjoy.

1 note · View note

sgnjae · 4 years

Text

WASSUP EVERYONE ! ✖ ◞

this intro is embarrassingly late, but hello! faye here ❤ i wanted to introduce y’all to my wannabe casanova ◞ nam jaewon but really he just goes by jae. he’s a sohopmore majoring in business administration and he like? oddly doesn’t hate it :) he’s also minoring photography and local fuckboi cinth member ✌ i kinda fell behind schedule and didn’t get time to throw together a bio or a plots page ( rip ) but i will place some information under the cut so we can get some stuff going. so hit the LIKE button and i’ll hop into the ims for plotting.

also a little fyi, i’ll be slow with messages/threads until wednesday due to some personal/medical things - so bear with me. usually i’m like slow, but not that slow, but forgive me pls edit: also have a discord + krp twitter for plotting if that’s easier!

THE NEED TO KNOW ✖ ◞

fist off, his profile page is here for all the tiny details

nam jaewon, 20, born in seoul to JANG JURA & NAM JISEOK

literally the definition of the perfectly family for awhile; his parents were high school sweethearts and led pretty normal lives. they had normal, average paying jobs so jaewon had mostly everything he wanted within reason.

( TW ILLNESS & DEATH ) his grandfather grew ill, but didn’t really have anyone to take care of him back in the states. so jaewon’s father decided to take his family to california where he could keep a close eye on his father as his conditioned worsened. however, jaewon’s mother decided to stay in seoul and work on her career despite his father’s pleas. jaewon and his father moved to LOS ANGELES in 2008, and his grandfather died in the summer of 2012. ( END TW )

needless to say, love was not powerful enough to overcome the distance between his parents. while jaewon, who adopted the name JAE during his time in america bc it was annoying how everyone failed to correctly pronounce his name, and his father visited during every break - the relationship between the couple was strained. his father used the money he earned doing construction in the area on jae, but sent most of it back to sk to his wife. he always saw his dad put forth the effort to make the relationship work, but wasn’t convinced he saw the same energy from his mother.

( TW SUBSTANCE ABUSE, MENTIONS OF ABUSE ) his mother admitted to an affair over the phone, deciding she wanted to end the marriage even when his father expressed the desire for them to work it out. they divorced in 2014 & his father barely put the bottle down since. the man was rarely aggressive with jae, only when he was really deep in self-pity. but jae never showed any resented for his father, rather for his mother whom he felt had abandoned their family for a new one.

( TW CONT., DEATH ) drunk driving is what took his father from him at the end of his third year of high school ( early 2017 ), and jae 100% blamed his mother. forced to uproot his life and pack his things back to seoul, he lived with his mother and her new husband’s family in GANGNAM. ( END TW )

so with all this new money his mother has so conveniently married into, jae is enrolled in a private school for his last year of high school and begins grooming to take over his step-father’s business. they make a bunch of the medical machinery/equipment for big hospitals around the world and he doesn’t trust his daughters to take over so yay :)

enrolled in seongnam, funded by his mother/step-father and we’re pretty much caught up

THE EXTRA BITS ✖ ◞

personality wise he’s generally pretty easy to hang around. he’s not really short tempered and rarely serious, so he’s literally acting stupid 97% of the time.

he’s just naturally smart??? so he doesn’t really study??? and people are confused because he acts like he doesn’t give a fuck about school ( but he really cares a lot about his grades )

he had plans to go to ucla after high school and wanted to join a frat with all of his friends back in the states BUT THAT DIDN’T REALLY HAPPEN LMAO so that’s really why he joined cinth. that and the partying ofc

he acts like he’s some sort of sex god around the guys but really he’s painfully inexperienced. he’s literally had sex approximately one (1) time at a party when he was heavily intoxicated during his last year of high school and it was so Bad. he may or may not have puked afterwards.

but if you asked him, he’s at least already sex 4 times that week. and it’s only tuesday ;)

picked up photography that stems from his mother’s love bc she would send him pretty pictures she took all the time while he was living in the states. and business admin. is pretty boring most of the time so he picked up photography as a minor bc fuck it

basic basketball boi who also pretty much has fins in the water. he’s fast af

has two step-sisters, OH HYEWON (POSSIBLE CONNECTION) & OH HYEMI (16), and he’s kinda got a strained relationship with both??? he’s definitely closer to hyemi bc she’s less of a cunt and then there’s hyewon who hates his guts

has one half sister, OH JAEKYUNG (1), who he loves and will babysit often

his mom has also made a bit of a name out of herself esp after marrying OH INSIK, who graciously funded her photography business. now she photographs a lot of celebrity weddings and shit like that

#✖･ﾟ ━━ OUT OF CHEESE .#{ * ok now i'm going to answer all of my ims asdfghj }

6 notes · View notes

paullicino · 5 years

Text

Point Roberts

Taken from and generously funded by my Patreon.

“Who else is doing a landing?” asked the customs officer. Someone put their hand up as well as me. Someone else had just had their documents completed. Another person responded affirmatively to every single question asked, including the one about landing, because she was either confused or just wanted to beat the queue.

There wasn’t much of a queue to beat. The waiting room of the border crossing was the size of a living room. On the other side of a broad counter, half a dozen Canadian immigration officers sat around desks, quietly typing away as if they were doing any other job in the world.

* * *

A landing is a formal arrival in Canada. It marks your change of immigration status. Of course, to arrive in Canada, a person must first be outside of Canada. Fortunately, even though Canada is the second-largest country in the world, I was pretty near the edge of it.

I was near a very weird edge of it.

But before I tell you about Point Roberts, I should probably tell you about the corner of British Columbia called the Lower Mainland. Vancouver and its surrounding settlements are all within twenty miles of the United States, making a trip to a different country a very quick, even spontaneous affair. If you’re a Canadian, you can even cross this border without being photographed, fingerprinted or interviewed. Then, suddenly, you’re in the land of Different.

And the land of Different presents all sorts of possibilities, possibilities with substantial economic considerations. Gasoline is much cheaper. Electronics often are, too. International shipping and distribution are no longer relevant, as you become the importer of your own goods. And, in Washington State, firearms are readily available and long guns can be bought by American citizens without need of any permit, or by “non-immigrant aliens” if they spend a hundred and fifty dollars getting a state ID, a hunting license and an Alien Firearms License.

If I stayed in Washington State and got those documents could buy this Barratt rifle that takes bullets half an inch in diameter and which can hit targets almost two miles away. I just called the gun shop to check. They said yes.

The economic pull of the United States pulls Lower Mainlanders south a lot. They order packages to special shipping centers just across the border, then rush back with them. They fill up their cars. They head to shopping malls and department stores. They find everything that’s Different.

This can sometimes create weird problems for distribution. Why even bother to try to sell your product in the Lower Mainland when so many of the customers there are going to come to your country to get it? Why even ship it?

Americans are pulled the other way by the relative strength of their dollar. Right now, those dollars stretch 33% further. They drive up to eat, to camp, to study and to buy medications, including insulin. For someone in Seattle, it’s an easy day trip. For someone closer, it’s barely an afternoon.

As a European, I know that there’s a different version of this strange symbiosis in so many places. Scandinavia has its jokes about who is buying alcohol from which country. British travellers head to France for cheap wine and cigarettes. Italy and France... argue about fashion.

Weird things happen at borders. Weird things. It’s a weird thing to divide the world so arbitrarily and it creates weird behaviours. You walk a short distance and reality is suddenly different. Or you are different. Or both.

* * *

All this contributes to Point Roberts being a weird, weird corner of the world. History is geography, particularly if Britain is involved and, in a classically British move, the Oregon Treaty of 1846 drew a big and broad line across western North America at the 49th Parallel. It divided the continent between the UK and the US. Broad strokes are rarely wise and not only were there some subsequent arguments over who owned which islands (during which a pig was tragically killed), there was also the issue of a piece of land two miles long, jutting south out of Canada.

It’s ours, said the United States. We’re keeping it. They filled it up with soldiers and it became a stopping-off point for travellers headed elsewhere. It would be a little over fifty years before settlers had permission to make their homes there and then the 20th Century would see a gradual influx of immigrants from… Canada.

Point Roberts is full of Canadians. Not completely, but significantly. They own holiday homes. They own boats. They are visiting to collect packages. They are visiting to buy gasoline. They are visiting for the summer. Meanwhile, the Americans there have no hospital, no dentist, no public transport and no high school. They have a lighthouse. They have an airfield. They have a single border crossing through which all traffic must come and go. They assume you’ll have a car.

I walked across it, but not before a man on a bicycle beat me to it, pedalling off into the United States to never be seen again. A sign told pedestrians to follow little painted footprints up to an office door and a man inside asked why I was visiting his country. I had to tell him that I wasn’t and to kick me out.

* * *

Flagpoling is the act of leaving Canada and returning to validate a new visa or, in my case, Permanent Residence documents. I could, in theory, also book an appointment somewhere in Canada to validate my documents but the waiting time for this is long and if you want to be seen within sixty days you must classify as urgent.

People flagpole at the US border all the time. They flagpole at Peace Arch, the fancy monument between British Columbia and Washington. They flagpole at Niagara Falls. They flagpole at Lewiston, Ontario or Sault Ste Marie.

The thing is, all those border crossings are busy. They’re full of tourists and travellers and guards and security. In Point Roberts, one bored man in an office stamped my passport, gave it back to me and told me to walk back around the small building he worked in to the other small building that the Canadians worked in. His colleagues talked about a party that was happening later.

I looked south. A long, bare road ran all the way down to the sea. There were no barriers anywhere. I could just… walk off. The man continued to be bored. Do you need to escort me, I asked him?

“Do you need to be escorted?” he asked. “Are you a danger?”

I walked out. I was in the United States and there was nothing between me and the rest of it. There was, I guess, a chance for the bored man to pursue me if I dashed south. There was also only two miles of land for me to flee too. The range of a high caliber rifle round.

There were hardly any cars. There were hardly any people. There was hardly any anything, just like there never has been.

* * *

I re-entered the United States later that day and I can tell you that Point Roberts has a thousand residents, three places to eat, a couple of gas stations, no sidewalks and a shitty fisherman statue that looks like a budget Gandalf. Most license plates I saw were Canadian. The most developed and impressive structure is a marina. There were hardly any shops. There were hardly any facilities. There was hardly any anything, not even that cyclist, just roads leading into trees and quiet, sleeping houses.

A few more of those are being built. I bet they’ll be sold to Canadians.

While I was there, the sun went down. It plunged into the Pacific and the sky was all dark grey clouds and the distant yellow mottling of tankers, ferries and island towns. I saw a working lighthouse, which I have never before seen in my life, and I discovered it was little more than scaffolding and a lamp. I didn’t care. I’d never seen a lighthouse in person before.

I’d been sick that morning. I hadn’t slept much because I had been expecting to go to Point Roberts, which I’d never done before, to flagpole, which I’d never done before, then hopefully complete my Permanent Residence process, which I’d never done before. When I’d started that process, I was told it might take as little as six to nine months. It had been more than two years and I had received two rejection letters, as well as an email from my lawyer saying this was a big mistake.

My mind had turned everything over and then my stomach had decided to do that, too.

* * *

But as I had crossed straight back into Canada after that flagpoling, nothing at all was happening. Everyone, everywhere was bored. A Canadian border guard asked my why I was entering his country. He scribbled “PR” on a slip of yellow paper that was mostly full of questions about what firearms I might have, maybe which states they were from or what licenses I held.

British Columbia is weird not only because of its ongoing economic symbiosis with Washington State, nor because of the curious exclave of Point Roberts, but also because it cuts off Alaska from the rest of the US. A lot of people like to hunt in Alaska. A lot of people try to bring their guns from other parts of the United States into Alaska through British Columbia. British Columbia doesn’t really like this but it does allow it if those guns and their method of transport fit very, very specific criteria.

It’s the complete opposite to asking for ninety days residence and a twenty dollar hunting license.

Once again, I could apparently have just walked off, back into Canada, but instead I ended up in that living room-sized waiting area. A family sat to my left. Someone who did nothing but read a book the entire time sat to my right. A picture of the Queen of England was mounted dead ahead. That probably wasn’t necessary.

The officer asking who else was landing left the room and she was replaced by a grumpy man who called me up. I showed him what documents I had and he asked me what visa I had with me. I listed the items I’d been posted.

“I can see what you have,” he said. “I don’t need you to tell me what I can already see.” But I didn’t have anything else. Nobody had issued me anything the last time I’d entered Canada and nobody had really cared after hearing that I was waiting for these Permanent Residence documents to arrive, the ones I was laying out now.

The grumpy man made me sign and initial my papers, stating that I hadn’t suddenly committed crimes and forgotten to tell them or got married and forgotten to tell them or had children and forgotten to tell them and yes yes everything was spelled correctly. He took the papers away and joined the other people who were typing quietly at their desks.

A balding man walking in and asked everyone in the room if they’d been seen by an officer. Everyone said yes. “You’re all waiting so patiently?” He asked. “Thank you!”

He walked out.

For some reason, I took a picture of myself. I took it to see if I was suddenly different, but found no signs of this. The Queen stared at me. I sat there in silence. There was no noise and no smell and no movement. I played Peggle nervously on my phone, because at the US border they don’t like you to have your phone out. Nobody here gave a damn. A large TV showed soundless sports recaps.

The grumpy man called my name. He had stapled one of my documents into my passport on what was the shonkiest, most ramshackle way. It was infinitely folded. He had signed and dated it. I will never forget his name.

He gave me a piece of paper with numbers to call to register for health care and social security. My Permanent Resident card would be mailed to me and reach me hopefully two to three weeks after my landing date of September 21st, 2019.

I stood there.

“Do you have any questions?” he asked.

“Is that it?”

He looked up at the room. “Who’s next?”

#America #Canada #Permanent Residence #Point Roberts #weird borders #immigration

15 notes · View notes

applevalleylakeohio · 4 years

Text

Is Apple Valley Lake Open to the Public?

You've heard about this beautiful place called Apple Valley Lake, a premier tourist destination at the heart of Knox County, Ohio. But before you pack your bags for a vacation, you might be wondering, 'Is Apple Valley Lake open to the public?'

Apple Valley Lake, Ohio is a private community that welcomes tourists, travellers, and families looking for a vacation home. You can either stay at Apple Valley as a guest of the property owner or rent out a lovely home to experience luxurious lakefront living.

However, in order to use the facilities such as the camping area, community center, clubhouse, lake and beaches, you have to be a property owner or be accompanied by a property owner as a guest. For the immediate family of the property owner, guest passes can be purchased so they don’t have to be with the property owner while using the facilities.

"What are some of the amenities available for property owners and their guests?"

Some facilities available for the use of property owners and their guests are:

Private Lake - Apple Valley Lake is crystal clear and has an average depth of 30 feet. It is one of the few lakes in the area with no horsepower limit.

Private Beaches - three private beaches can be found on Apple Valley Lake: King Beach, Davis Beach and Sutton Beach. All of them are equipped with picnic facilities, kiddie playground, and a beach house with restrooms and changing facilities.

Bennett Park - a private park with a picnic shelter, playground and fishing pond and a vast grassy terrain perfect for family bonding moments, and as a venue for family gatherings and occasions.

Floral Valley - a community center with an indoor pool, a lobby area with TV and fireplace, a kitchen, a small meeting room, and a large banquet area for social events.

Clubhouse - a two-story building located on the east side of the lake which is a popular venue for wedding receptions, family reunions, parties and other events. The clubhouse also houses the outdoor pool and fitness center.

Apple Valley Marina - a full service facility where pontoons and non-power boats may be rented, and new as well as previously owned boats, trailers, boat lifts and engines can be purchased.

Campers' Village - A vast area which provides all the necessities for campers, including electric and water hookups, as well as facilities such as playground with shaded seating, basketball court, horseshoe pit, a laundry room, two bath houses and a picnic shelter complete with grills.

Property owners and their guests can enjoy fishing on the lake as well as other recreational activities such as water skiing and leisure boating. Click here for more information on the amenities in Apple Valley Lake.

"If I’m not yet a property owner or don’t know anyone who owns property at Apple Valley Lake, can I still spend my vacation there?"

Yes, you can definitely spend your vacation in Apple Valley Lake and enjoy the beauty of lakefront living. Some homes in Apple Valley Lake are available for rent. Click here to see a list of available homes to choose from for your vacation.

If you rent a lakefront home, you can sit on the dock and let your senses experience Apple Valley Lake or swim by the dock and create fun-filled memories.

Apple Valley is also nearby a gorgeous seasonal golf-course that is open to the public. The Apple Valley Golf course is known for being one of the finest in Central Ohio.

You can also take the scenic route and drive leisurely to some interesting sights near Apple Valley Lake. Whether you’re a water sports enthusiast, nature lover or history buff, there’s something for almost everyone.

"What are some must-see places near Apple Valley Lake that are open to the public?"

In addition to the picturesque and amazingly clear lake and beaches, Apple Valley is within a short driving distance of these other popular tourist attractions:

Honey Run Park - A secret treasure in the heart of Knox County, it is a vast 2-acre property which includes a mesmerizing 25-foot high waterfall. Take a hike from the waterfall to the Kokosing River and marvel at the spectacular blackhand sandstone cliffs and boulders.

Knox County Hellbender Preserve - A sanctuary for the “Eastern Hellbender” -- Ohio’s largest amphibian, this 15-acre site covers the Buckeye Grove Loop Trail. Geocaching enthusiasts will love this preserve.

Ariel Foundation Park - This stunning 250-acre site was previously a glass-making factory, adaptively reused to create a unique park with architectural ruins, lakes, observation tower, walking trails, steel sculptures, and a museum.

Roscoe Village - This unique historic community allows visitors to step back in time and relive the 1830’s, a time when the canal system changed the course of Ohio history.

Kokosing Valley Camp and Canoe - designated as Ohio’s first state water trail, it combines a campground and canoe livery in one location. In addition to kayaks, canoes and tubes ready for use, the site also features other facilities such as a heated swimming pool, a unique golf driving range, and a beautifully landscaped 9-hole miniature golf course.

Knox County Historical Society - a museum that showcases the rich history of Knox County, with exhibits about business and industry, notable personalities, kitchen and household memorabilia, means of communication, and early forms of transportation.

Mohican State Park - a 1,110-acre property adjacent to the Mohican state forest, Mohican State Park offers a unique wilderness experience with the striking Clearfork Gorge, hemlock forest and scenic Mohican River, as well as luxurious accommodations and complete camping facilities.

Mansfield Snow Trails - the Ski Capital of Ohio, this 80-acre commercial ski resort is the first in Ohio. Complete with all the amenities you need for skiing or tubing, Mansfield Snow Trails also offers ski lessons for children and beginners.

Kokosing Gap Trail - offering miles of awesome flora and wildlife, Kokosing Gap Trail is a paved, 14-mile recreational trail built on a former Pennsylvania Railroad line. It features the 0-6-0 locomotive and Chesapeake & Ohio Caboose #90776, along with a rotary park playground.

Brown Family Environmental Center - a 500-acre preserve located in the Kokosing River valley of central Ohio, to conserve natural diversity and engage people of all ages with nature.

Kokosing Nature Preserve - located in the picturesque countryside of Gambier, Ohio, The Kokosing Nature Preserve consists of twenty-three acres of restored prairies and woodlands. It is a perfect place for picnics and leisurely walks.

Wolf Run Park - Enjoy 260 acres of rolling topography and contiguous open space featuring nearly ten miles of hiking trails, woodlands, a pond and other natural features. Wolf Run Park is the perfect place to relax and have fun. There’s something for each member of the family, including a kids bouldering area, a fishing area and a nearly two-acre “bark park” for your canine babies.