#never thought I would romanticize Massachusetts | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

talesfromthepayload · 4 years

Text

The Fall (Part Three)

A/N: Soooooo I really decided to just post this part because I was sick of staring at it. There’s going to be a lot of world building used, considering there’s not a whole lot to go off of. You might also notice some video game logic bent to fit more properly into the world. Again, this work is entirely self indulgent, and I pulled a lot of inspiration from Tony Stark. Also, again, this work will have romantic themes with three different characters before the inevitable split in the story, where you’re welcome to read whichever ending you so desire.

Jack had a lot to think about.

Being the Strike Commander of Overwatch, most days he didn’t even have time to ponder his own thoughts. Ana had suggested he take more time to himself, but he couldn’t justify just up and leaving for hours at a time, so he made his compromise in the form of you. He would be training you in the mornings, which might not sound like a break to most, but it was a step in the right direction.

The base was mostly quiet around this time, nearly five in the morning, and it was far more relaxing than the normal chatter and conversation that echoed through the halls during the day. He let out a sigh, stretching his stiff muscles in preparation. He hadn’t been getting enough sleep lately, but he knew that neither had Gabriel.

Thoughts of his friend brought a frown to his face. The two of them had always had their own opinions, but lately they’d been at each other’s throats. He should try to schedule something so they could relax and have a normal friendship for one night.

“Please tell me training comes with breakfast?” Your voice was lower than normal, filled with sleep still, but the bags under your eyes told him you didn’t get much of it.

“I’m guessing you didn’t sleep much?” He inquired, though he knew the answer.

You shook your head, lifting your arms wide into the air as you stretched. You were in the standard issue Overwatch sweatpants, same as him, but instead of wearing the shirt that went with it, you were in just a sports bra. Your wrist housed that same little watch device you were wearing the previous day.

“Never been one for sleep,” you admitted, though there was a decidedly haunted look in your eyes.

It surprised him, if he were being honest. You seemed so young, like the world hadn’t left you scarred yet, but the look you held just then made a different statement. Once again, he found himself wishing to know more.

“Gabriel wasn’t too hard on you, was he?” He joked, hoping to lighten the mood.

One corner of your lips curled up.

“If anything I was too hard on him,” you laughed.

Jack definitely didn’t doubt that. You were quick witted, and he had one hell of a feeling that you didn’t take any shit from Gabe.

“I figured we’d start with a lesson in rank and etiquette,” he said after a short pause, leading you towards a more comfortable, and private, lounge. “Then we’ll start on physical training.”

“Well, Strike Commander,” you emphasized the title, “I’m a quick study.”

He breathed out a laugh.

“I don’t doubt it.” He took a seat opposite you and powered up his holopad so you could see the information as well. “How well do you know the chain of command?”

You leaned back, letting yourself relax comfortably before bothering to answer.

“Not at all,” you replied, shrugging. Then, with a mischievous twinkle, you added: “We could make it a tad more interesting.”

He didn’t shoot down your idea right away, but left it open ended for you to continue if you so chose. You did.

“Every question I answer correctly, I get to ask you one.”

There was a challenge in the gentle furrow of your brow, and boy did he want to rise to it.

“Fine,” he conceded, “But you have to answer too.”

You sucked in a breath and chewed on your lip thoughtfully, an action that was way too tantalizing for the early morning.

“Okay, deal.”

“Overwatch chain of command,” he restated, “What is it?”

There was a hint of that Strike Commander voice back into his tone, but he was surprisingly playful.

“Strike Commander,” you answered, pausing thoughtfully.

“Is that all you’ve got?” He asked after a momentary pause.

You held your hands up in surrender.

“I’m trying to remember from when I was looking at everyone’s files,” you muttered almost unconsciously.

He made a noise, one of both surprise and indignance.

“You shouldn’t make a habit of hacking into the database.”

The smile that took over your lips could only be defined as sultry. You looked up from beneath your lashes, quirking a brow.

“I suggest better security then.”

He opened his mouth to retort, though with what he wasn’t entirely sure. You beat him to it.

“Next are the commanders, then the heads of fields, captains, and lieutenants.”

He closed his lips, offering a grunt of affirmation and not commenting as he awaited your question. You didn’t make him wait for long.

“Where are you from?” The question was basic and straightforward.

He was genuinely surprised by the one you chose. Most people would delve further into his personal life, or even his career. Instead, you went for a question that was fairly easy to find the answer to on your own.

“Indiana,” he replied, leaning forward to meet your stare. “You’re telling me you hacked into Overwatch and found all of our secret operations but not my birthplace?”

You released a breath, splaying your hands out as you did so.

“I looked at files on Overwatch and Blackwatch, but I figured I’d rather learn personal details from the man himself.”

He ran his tongue along his teeth. It was so hard to decipher you. Despite having more information than most people, and far more than you should’ve, you kept personal details private.

“What about you?”

Your eyes crinkled up the smallest bit, and he knew you were reliving fond memories in your mind’s eye. He often romanticized memories of his home too, even though deep down he knew he’d never be happy there again.

“Massachusetts,” you relented, meeting his gaze with something less intense and more playful. “Right outside of Boston.”

“Long way from home,” he commented. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but he couldn’t really imagine you being the kind of person that was content to stay in one place.

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back, a soft laugh warming the air around you.

“Overwatch divisions?” He questioned, trying not the uplifting tunes of your laughter linger for too long.

You were back to pulling your lip into your mouth as you thought. Jack nearly pinched himself at the thoughts running through his mind at such an innocent gesture. Gabriel had been right about one thing: he needed to loosen up and get laid. He was getting wound up way too easily.

“Engineering,” you started gently, “Medical, strike teams, and…” you dragged the word out with a dramatic wink, “covert ops.”

He nodded, fighting back the smirk that threatened to appear.

It was odd, having someone who wasn’t already familiar with the inner workings of Overwatch converse with him. Almost everyone he talked to nowadays were overly interested in every small facet of Overwatch.

“Why Overwatch?”

Your question was simple, but there was a genuine curiosity in your eyes. He swallowed, and despite better judgment telling him he should stick to the same story he always did, he found himself talking.

“I wanted to help people,” he said, voice faraway as he remembered the early days of the Omnic Crisis.

He was so young then, naive of how the world worked, just wanting to make a difference. It was his duty, as well as his privilege to help those who needed it. Until it wasn’t.

“And then there was nothing else.” It was a hard admission, and he couldn’t quite meet your eyes. “War was all I knew, so I kept fighting. Never stopped.”

There was a weight that rested itself upon his shoulders, the whole world throwing itself in his hands.

A smaller, warmer weight settled upon his hand, and his shining blue eyes moved up to meet your gaze. There was a sort of understanding passing between the two of you, and he couldn’t quite grasp why. Nothing in your file suggested that you should be a kindred spirit, but the look in your eyes made him very aware of the fact that you were.

“Your turn,” he reminded you gently, making no move to pull his hand away.

You relaxed into the contact as you thought about your answer. The roguish looks and troublesome smiles faded. There was something so much deeper that caused you such pain, yet he couldn’t decode it.

“My dad used to be my hero.” The suddenness of your voice after a long period of silence nearly startled him. “He was special ops for the US Army, 151st.”

“Battle of New York,” Jack muttered, the name ringing a bell.

You nodded gently.

During the Omnic Crisis, there had been many different locations hit. The United States were lucky enough to be spared in most places, but it hit New York City hard. For six weeks the city was unreachable. Many people thought it’d never be recovered, but one division of soldiers managed to sweep through and reclaim the city in three nights. Jack had met a few of the members involved, even recruited some, but a great deal of them ended up sacrificing their lives.

They were war heroes.

More confusion came with your statement. Why in the world would you keep something like that off of your record?

“I wanted to be just like him,” you continued, “Or at least someone he would be proud of.”

“Where is he?”

It was all Jack could ask. He didn’t know you well enough to try and delve further into the past. A safe option, he realized.

“Dead.”

There was a bitterness on your tongue, like the words themselves were poison. Despite the questions he wanted to ask, he didn’t. It was something you’d tell him later, or not at all, but not something he could demand.

“I thought basic training was like,” you gestured vaguely in the air around you, finally removing your hand from his, “exercise.”

The frown that had wanted to show at the loss of contact was replaced with a wry grin.

“It is,” he conceded, “but you also need to know procedures. Do you even know who to salute?”

The morning carried on in much the same manner. He had learned a lot of small details about the person you were through your answers, but it was very obvious that you kept a lot close to your chest. He did his best not to pry, and you respected the unspoken boundary as well.

Even through the strenuous fitness regime that Jack had laid out for you, you continued with the playful attitude. It was very obvious that you were winded, and exhausted, but the joviality never faded.

As the few hours he’d carved out of the day to focus on your training came to an end, he found himself looking forward to the next one.

You, however, were not.

Yes, spending time with Jack had been nice. He was good company. You’d found yourself really warming up to him, just as you had to a few others in the facility already. The conversations came easily, and despite the big reputation, he was a genuine man.

You didn’t like all of the running he made you do though.

Sure, you understood it was necessary and all that, but the man was built like a friggin truck and he expected you to keep up. Your wit wasn’t lost to exhaustion, and the jokes were a never ending stream of thinly veiled complaints.

Still, after you finished, you gave him a sweet smile and a promise you’d be back there bright and early the next day.

As soon as you were free from your morning obligation, you nearly sprinted to the cafeteria. It was still early enough for some recruits to be just getting their breakfast, and you hopped in line with them. If your sudden appearance made them question anything, they didn’t voice it. Once you piled your plate with as much food as you could hope to eat, you found a familiar silhouette tucked far into the back corner of the room.

Deciding it was your best option, you took a seat at the same table.

“Sorry for attacking you,” you tried, sheepishly.

The man leveled you with a stare. He wasn’t eating, just waiting, and it seemed you interrupted his time to do so. He didn’t look particularly hostile, but was in no way friendly either.

“Likewise,” was his short reply.

You decided it wasn’t anything personal and began digging into your food, letting silence permeate the air between the two of you. Genji was his name, if you remembered correctly. (And you most certainly did. You were a genius, after all.) He was another Blackwatch agent. When you’d been snooping around Overwatch’s files, you’d found a fair bit of data in regards to his cybernetic enhancements.

You’d made it about halfway through your meal when a low whistle sounded right by your ear.

“Fancy meetin’ you here,” the smooth drawl of Jesse McCree practically vibrated through his chest.

“Morning, cowboy,” you greeted, a smile finding its place on your lips.

He sat beside you with his own mountain of food, looking positively delighted to have found you when he did.

“So darlin’,” the look he gave you was anything but innocent, “What brings you to Blackwatch?”

“My genius intellect and devilish charm,” you quipped, adding a wink to lament the idea.

McCree’s laugh was hearty and loud. He laughed with his whole body, and you found it absolutely infectious.

“Are you joining us for trainin’ today?”

He looked hopeful, and before you could grant him with an answer, another body sat itself at the table.

“She doesn’t have much of a choice in the matter,” the voice grumbled, belonging to one tired looking commander.

You clicked your mouth shut with a sheepish smile.

“Guess Gabe answered that one for me,” you relented, toying with your watch.

“How come she doesn’t get in trouble for not calling you by your rank?” McCree whined, stabbing his fork extra hard into his breakfast.

“She will,” Gabriel promised darkly.

“Kinky,” you practically purred, leaning forward to meet his eyes.

Once more, Jesse laughed. His arm slung across your back as he pulled you into him.

“I think you and I are gonna get along just fine, darlin’.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, pulling away to regain some amount of dignity.

“I’m never going to have time to finish my thesis,” you complained, taking a final bite of your food.

Your eyes had been far too big for your mouth, and there was no way in hell you could finish it.

“I thought you finished your degree already,” Gabriel asked with a raised brow.

“Well,” you drawled excitedly, “Yes and no.”

“Yes and no?” McCree echoed, bumping your shoulder.

“I have three PhDs, I’m just working on my fourth.”

“That wasn’t on your file,” Gabriel grunted.

“Holy hell,” McCree commented.

Even Genji looked a fair bit surprised. Your question of education had always been a bit of a touchy subject. Truth be told, you’d only stayed in school for as long as you had and continued your education because you didn’t know what you wanted to do. Before the offer of Overwatch, nothing felt particularly fulfilling.

“We all have our hobbies,” you flashed a smile, tucking your downtrodden thoughts into the back of your mind.

“Does that mean I get to see the suit?” Jesse inquired, brows waggling.

Your gaze moved from Jesse to Genji. Genji feigned disinterest, but you could see the way he angled his body closer, like he was invested in the conversation even if he didn’t want to be. Then you looked at Gabriel. He was all hard edges and stern looks.

“Oh, honey,” the smile tugging at your lips was downright sinful, and two of the three men before you drank it in, “You can’t handle it.”

McCree practically snorted, clapping his hand on your back as he did so. Gabriel, however, held your gaze, brows raised in a challenge you weren’t quite sure you posed.

“What about you, six shooter,” you patted the holster Jesse kept his gun in, “You sure you don’t want an upgrade?”

“Peacekeeper is as good as it gets,” he stated proudly.

You puffed out a breath. By your standards, his precious gun was a fair bit outdated. You wanted to help Overwatch in every facet, but you had a feeling that too many of them were attached to their current weaponry to accept an upgrade.

“And you,” you nodded your head towards Gabriel, then added as an afterthought, “sir?”

His eyes flashed at your use of the title, though you couldn’t quite place whether it was annoyance or amusement. You decided the latter from the wry smile that pulled at his lips.

“Impress me,” he muttered, “and then we’ll talk.”

His voice was low, almost as if concerned others were listening in, yet oddly comforting. You turned to the last member of the Blackwatch trio with a hopeful plea.

“Ninja boy?”

“I have my own weapons.”

You didn’t miss the hint of aggression in his tone, nor did you miss the sharp look Gabriel shot him. A bit of a spitfire, then. You wondered why, or even who he was, really. Despite having access to every single one of Overwatch’s secrets at your disposal, you didn’t care to use the information to learn about the people you surrounded yourself with. If they wanted to tell you something, they would, otherwise they were free to their own privacy.

“Maybe I should go see Torbjorn again today,” you suggested to Gabriel. “He would appreciate my offer.”

Gabriel scoffed.

The day prior, Gabriel had actually taken you on the tour he promised. You’d been wide eyed running through the facility, taking in everything they had to offer. Few places impressed you as much as the engineering labs. You could spend your whole lifetime there and never be bored. Torbjorn Lindholm, as well as his friend Reinhardt Wilhelm, had been there to greet you. They were very friendly, and very receptive of the ideas you shared in the short time you had before Gabriel dragged you off to continue familiarizing yourself with the base.

“You’d never leave,” he commented dryly.

You waggled your brows.

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“Ya couldn’t see my charming face anymore,” Jesse gave you a smolder that you were sure had swayed the hearts and minds of many people before you.

He was met with a leisure shrug and flick of your wrist.

“Oh no, how would I ever survive that?” You drawled sarcastically.

The cowboy in front of you looked offended, and the expression he was toying with was somewhere between childish and affronted.

“Let’s get to training before you hurt his ego more,” Gabriel chuckled lowly, ushering the three of you out of the cafeteria.

You used the short walk to the Blackwatch training facility as an opportunity to scope out more of the base, as well as the little group you walked with. Gabriel walked with a stance that demanded respect, and you could tell he got it from the salutes of recruits you walked by. McCree moved confidently, but lazily. He looked like he had all the time in the world, and knew damn well nobody would tell him otherwise.

Genji was more guarded. You didn’t miss the way his eyes flit to the various people in the hall. He was on edge, like everyone was a threat. Your heart went out to him then, because you had a good feeling something happened to make him so jaded and cautious.

The amount of people lingering nearby dwindled the closer you got to the Blackwatch facility. There was nobody at your actual destination, and a part of you was thankful for the quiet. It was easier for you to concentrate.

The training facility itself was large, four towering walls enclosing a space with maneuverable terrain. A massive window spanned one side, overlooking a portion of the quieter side of the Swiss base. The rising sun lit the room with warm rays, highlighting the various training bots that could be used.

“Jack’s going to be doing your standard weapons training,” Gabriel mentioned as Jesse and Genji spread out on the mats, obviously familiar with the area. “I figured you’d be more comfortable if you worked on the suit with us.”

You hummed noncommittally, wide eyes scanning the vast expanse of the training room. You’d never been afforded a luxury quite like this. Your excitement wasn’t far off the levels it’d been upon your discovery of the engineering labs. The university had been backing your research during your time there, but they had a pretty strict budget. Overwatch, it seemed, didn’t.

“If that’s all it takes to amaze you, darlin’, you should see my-”

McCree was abruptly interrupted by a quick strike from Genji. The cyborg ninja held nothing back either, nearly taking the cowboy off his feet in one hit.

Jesse was fast to defend himself, the two of them passing blows back and forth.

“Quite a team you got, commander.”

You said it with as much cheek as you could, and you didn’t miss the raised brow of one Gabriel Reyes. That grumpy exterior of his really wasn’t fooling you one bit.

“Ready for round two?” He asked in reply, not waiting for you as he assumed a fighting stance.

You smirked, pressing the button on your watch to activate your suit. The nanotech crawled up and down your arm, encompassing your body with a sleek titanium layer as it did so. The helmet dropped and clicked into place, lighting up with the information from your self made UI.

Genji and McCree had stopped sparring to investigate as you resumed a more defensive position.

“Again?” Gabriel huffed.

“She looks cooler than you,” McCree mentioned to Genji, elbowing him as he did so.

Your eyes swivelled towards the pair just in time to see Genji shove him to the side. An error in judgement on your part, as Gabriel took the momentary distraction to rush in.

Sparring with the commander of Blackwatch wasn’t something you would consider fun in any sense. He was undeniably strong, unbelievably fast, and he played dirty. Despite you being suited up, you were still fairly evenly matched without the use of the repulsor beams.

It was both frustrating and refreshing.

On one hand, you did want an opportunity to show off a bit. Your suits were some of the most important work you’d ever done, and they were impressive. Getting beaten repeatedly by Gabriel Reyes did not make them look remotely advanced.

On the other, it did give you a chance to really evaluate some improvements in hand-to-hand: both for yourself and the suit.

Eventually, however, you couldn’t take the repeated failures. You were ready to go out on a win, so naturally, you played dirtier.

As you lunged forward, you disengaged the back of the suit, allowing the armor to fly towards the commander. You, during the engagement, slipped behind him and moved in for the attack. Unfortunately, Gabriel Reyes was much smarter than you gave him credit for.

“I’m not falling for that twice,” he deadpanned, turning to meet your blow.

You stepped back in surprise, exhaling in relief when the titanium arm of your suit stopped his fist short.

Upon your departure as the primary pilot, the UI you designed took over the controls. It used a complex processing system to determine attack patterns and defenses that best supported you. Though the technology was something you’d only recently begun to tinker with, it had advanced a great deal, and was actively engaging Reyes.

Some might call it cheating when you, too, joined in the spar, but you called it fair. He was a super soldier after all, and he’d had decades of training in all different types of fighting.

“You really are Blackwatch material,” Gabriel conceded, backing off from the suit.

He watched with open curiosity as the nanotech dissolved back into the form of your watch, leaving nothing in its absence.

“I am pretty impressive,” you agreed, stretching out as you did so.

Gabriel didn’t look particularly pleased with you, despite claiming you were “Blackwatch material”.

“You hesitate too much,” he finally commented, leveling you with a serious stare.

You cocked your head to the side.

“Hesitate?” You repeated, not quite sure what he was insinuating. As far as you were concerned, you’d given him a run for his money.

“Hesitate,” he said another time, confirming you heard him correctly. “It’s kill or be killed on the field, and you’re spending far too long deciding on how to strike.”

The amusement slipped from your face as his eyes darkened. Surely he didn’t mean…?

“Blackwatch doesn’t really…” You paused, the furrow in your brow growing. “I mean, you guys aren’t assassins, right?”

Your gaze had moved from the tense commander to the two Blackwatch agents, hoping they’d laugh it off and say it was a joke. Overwatch wasn’t a judge, jury, and executioner. Surely, even something as off the grid as Blackwatch wouldn’t actually be killing people, right? The files you’d read had never mentioned killing.

McCree rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, puffing a breath through his teeth. Genji, however, remained unmoving by your suggestion.

“It’s a choice we have to make sometimes,” Gabriel grunted, not sounding particularly pleased with the action, but not really seeming guilty either.

Your entire body turned towards him.

“So you-you what? You want me to kill someone?”

You’d nearly stumbled over the word ‘kill’ like it was poison itself, and not just a long list of words you’d become familiar with in your life.

“You need to be prepared to,” he warned, not bothering to sugarcoat it.

Realistically, you knew combat was going to be a necessity if you decided to join. But fighting in a war was a little different than murdering in cold blood. Blackwatch was supposed to be the intel collectors. They were the undercover operations, not the assassins.

“I’m not,” you paused, spitting the word out, “killing anybody.”

“Hey now,” Jesse interrupted, cutting off the commander before he had a chance to interject. “Why don’t I show you some of the places our old antisocial, stick-in-the-mud commander doesn’t know about?”

You opened your mouth to vent your frustrations, but McCree beat you to it.

“Could be good for you, gettin’ a chance to really find your feet here.”

Your pride wanted you to speak up, but you weren’t entirely sure what you would say. An argument was obviously not on the table, as Gabriel had been rather blunt. He wasn’t the person to talk to about that particular topic, so you decided it best if you shelf the subject for the moment.

Perhaps Jack would be the better person to talk to about it.

You clenched your jaw and nodded your head, excusing yourself from the room to follow the click of Jesse’s spurs. You weren’t quite sure where he was taking you, and you didn’t bother to ask him.

Had you made the right decision by jumping headlong into an organization you didn’t know nearly as much about as you thought you did?

Even if you had, you weren’t going to let your oversight slide so easily.

Your frown went unnoticed as McCree pointed out every room and their function as you passed.

Tonight, you decided, you would find every dirty secret Overwatch had ever tried to hide. Good or bad, you needed to know just what the hell you’d gotten yourself into.

#soldier 76 x reader #jesse mccree x reader #reaper x reader #gabriel reyes x reader #jack morrison x reader #jack morrison imagine #soldier 76 imagine #jesse mccree imagine #reaper imagine #gabriel reyes imagine #overwatch imagine #overwatch x reader #this is gonna be a wild ride #so strap in kiddos #because we're going on an emotional rollercoaster

57 notes · View notes

thefolliesofmen · 3 years

Text

History in the Making - Panel Discussion

Hi folks! Today I was honored to be a part of Concordia’s History in the Making Conference and speak on the making of meaning through Death Tourism. As not everyone was able to attend, or just prefer learning in a different format that isn’t Zoom, I figured I could at least share my slides and speakers notes here for posterity.

As these are speaking notes, please excuse if I do not catch every grammar or spelling mistake, but I hope you enjoy them nonetheless.

Today I am going to be going through how meaning is made at Death Tourism sites, and how that meaning changes over time. To do this, I am first going to explore some brief definitions of death tourism, the history of it, and how it is viewed by the general public. So please buckle up and join me as we go on a speed run through three prominent dark tourism sites – particularly what they are, how they qualify, and how meaning is made around them through the perspective of thanatourism. The site we will be using are Pompeii, Salem, and Chernobyl.

In my introduction alone, I used a mired of terms interchangeably. Death Tourism, Dark Tourism, Thanatourism, and just for funsies I am going to throw another one in there, Disaster Tourism. Some scholars will separate all these terms to represent specific aspects of the field, the site in particular, and the intentions behind the visitors themselves. Foley and Lennon are often credited with coining the term “Dark Tourism” and have defined it as a “product of the circumstances of the late modern world.” Intent is something that will come up often during my talk, as it is hard to concretely define a field like tourism that has so much to do with the intentions of the people taking part in it as well as the people presenting the history. Today, I will be using these terms fairly interchangeably. A definition to start us off: Dark Tourism taps into the macabre, secret, and shunned interests of humans; the world we create; and the one we leave behind.

The Macabre The Secret The Shunned Creation and Destruction Are real and valid reasons for someone to visit a site I said before that the intention of the visitor is a hot topic when trying to figure out how to define this field. Most of us have probably been to Death Tourism sites and have never really thought about, because it fit into a different category in our mind. The image here is a graveyard, which makes sense on the surface to count as death tourism especially if you are visiting it for a reason outside of knowing someone who is buried there – this cemetery in particular is Old Burial Hill Cemetery in Salem Massachusetts and would be a hotspot for that, as it was a filming location for Hocus Pocus, Old Burial Hill Cemetery in Salem Massachusetts. Dark Tourism deals largely with the commercialization of sites associated with large amounts of human suffering and death. Commercialization can happen in a variety of ways, whether it be through charging admission to a specific site, merchandise and materials relating to the event, or economic benefits that are by-products of the sites being visited, such as surrounding towns gaining revenue from hotel rentals, meals, etc.

Since the enlightenment, European and North American cultures have taken a strict stance on separating the dead from the living. Death occurs in buildings, cities, countries removed from us and we only see the sanitized version – the more removed we are from something with our engagement with death the better it is. That isn’t a hard and fast rule however, because the distance from the death and disaster in question can be spatial or temporal in nature, as long as there is some kind of way in which you can convince yourself that all this death and destruction happened to an Other. Caitlyn Doughty, a mortician who found notoriety through her YouTube Channel Ask a Mortician has done some research on what she refers to as the “witch to kitsch factor”, that being how much time has to pass before it is socially acceptable to take tragedy and make it into a thing of entertainment? My argument here however is that, the meaning that a dark tourism site creates and is created unto it has both to do with the temporal separation between the entertainment and the tragedy, but also the spatial and cognitive space between the two. I know I am probably preaching to the choir when I say that history permeates pop culture, and the line between tragedy and entertainment can be seen here. Pompeii occurred close to 2,000 years ago and is now a 13 years old Doctor Who Episode wherein even an Alien that alters many historic events, even this could not be stopped. Salem Witch Trials took place over 300 years ago, and the Halloween edge of kitschy witches have taken over the narrative of Salem, as the town has gained even more infamy in recent years due to the popularity that Disney has continued to experienced in the 26 years since its release. Chernobyl occurred 35 years ago. It is most recently a 2019 somber but still drama packed mini-series on HBO exploring the disaster and aftermath. These are not the first nor are they the last instances of Pompeii, Salem, and Chernobyl influencing popular culture.

The temporal and spatial separation that I just spoke of is what Foucault would use in the argument that dark tourism sites are examples of Heterotopias. That, and the Othering.

These dark tourism sites are marginal spaces, that are infused with the juxtaposition of sameness and contradictions. Foucault breaks down what a Heterotopia is through examining its:

Precise and determined function within a society, but can still have multiple functions

The power to Juxtapose the incompatible

A break with traditional time

Presupposition of opening and closing the isolation and penetration

Illusions of real spaces that create and Other

Each of these criteria hit on the combined need for things relating to death and destruction to be both intimate to our experience of the world, but also separate from us in a way in which we can walk away from them afterwards and cease to think about it. Dark Tourism is assumed to be an escapist pastime in which we as humans can displace our fears of death, decay, destruction, and general apocalyptic fears onto this physical place – particularly because of its seemingly socially acceptable mode in which we can grapple with these kinds of topics. I said before that it was after the Enlightenment that death became removed from our day to day life. But before that? It was common and fashionable to interact with death on ones down time – morgue tours in Paris were all the rage, with some people even asking to be locked in the display room with the unknown corpses to scare their friends and other visitors.

Death has been removed from us, and so these romanticized ideas of escapism and morbid contemplations are the simplistic and incomplete theories as to why people are drawn to Thanatourism.

Now don’t get me wrong, while I say that these theories are simplistic and incomplete – I am not denying that they have some merit and nuggets of truth and wisdom to them. We come back to intent. Why people engage in Disaster Tourism does not interest me so much as what their interaction with the field tells us about our own society. We make meaning out of everything, that is who we are as academics but also who we are as a general species. But how do we make meaning out of sites and events through the lens of dark tourism? I believe that the reasons we are so fascinated with these sites, outside of just general morbid curiosity (pun intended) – for starters, our fascination with these places, I posture, has to do with our false yet engrained belief that we are no longer experiencing such death and suffering anymore. This all happened in another time, in another place, to another group of people. Our fascination shows our ignorance. We think, Pompeii happened so long ago, it is more of a story than anything. We think, Salem will never happen again, we are past the time of believing that witches walk among us. We think, Chernobyl was the fault of the Soviets, we are a democracy. We don’t think – that this could happen again and is still happening.

I have mentioned Pompeii, Salem, and Chernobyl quite a bit now – lets get into how they are case studies for us making meaning out of dark tourism sites. First up: Pompeii The eruption of Mount Vesuvius and subsequent destruction of Pompeii and Herculaneum was first recorded in the letters of Pliny the Younger to Tacitus. On October 24th 79 AD,pumice stones and ash started pouring down onto the city, killing part of the population before those who were unable to escape were buried by the hot volcanic ash and burned alive by pyroclastic flow. By the end of the day, the city was buried in six to seven meters of debris, and it remained as such until its re-discovery in the seventeenth century. During his tenure as the lead archaeologists working to recover Pompeii from 1863-1875, Giuseppe Fiorelli is credited with not only the Fiorelli process of pouring plaster of Paris into cavities in the ash to discover what created those cavities – but he was also a driving force behind excavations being done on the city from the top down, rather than the streets first to further pillage the homes that were uncovered.

Pompeii is a special case when it comes to tourism of Roman ruins. To Victorian and Edwardian tourists – Pompeii was a disappointment to finally see. Mary Beard discusses how to these visitors, the depictions of Pompeii in art and literature, outshone the real ruins. From the beginning of tourists coming to the site though, it was always known that what they were coming to see and what would shock them the most, were the casts of the bodies that had been excavated were front and center as soon as you entered the site along the aptly named Street of Tombs. For most of its history, Pompeii has existed on this marginal plane, being both a city of the living and of the dead. Rome as a whole has always been plagued by the stereotypes and ideals placed upon it by people outside of Italy’s borders – namely it being an eternal city that should be temporally static, anchored in its own heritage – and Pompeii has been subject to the same expectations in many respects. has been constructed many times since its unearthing. First, through its own use as a city, and then during the Romantic period as a theme park for tourists, and even in the modern era as a place of education and where “the processes of historical discovery are laid bare”. The overall shift in identity for Pompeii was its change from a city of the living, where people went about their daily lives, to a city of the dead populated by corpses and ruins, now being re-populated annually by millions of tourists. Because Pompeii is a ruin, empty of life, and so far removed from the present reality in terms of time, it is very easy to project meaning onto – both meaning for itself and meaning for the visitors.

One of the darkest moments in American history was the Salem Witch Trials of 1692. The “largest and most lethal witch hunt in American history” began in Salem Village (now Danvers, Massachusetts) when several young girls, including Elizabeth Parris, who was the daughter of the town minister Samuel Parris, began to experience “fits” that had no discernable cause other than what the town doctor declared to be bewitchment. While the accusers themselves and many of the “witches” they targeted lived in Salem Village, the Town of Salem was where the hangings took place, with the first ones occurring in the fall of 1692 when Sarah Good, Elizabeth Hose, Susannah Martin, Rebecca Nurse, and Sarah Wildes were executed. From the Fall of 1692 to the summer of 1693, there were 20 executions, 19 of which were hangings and one pressing.

Salem is a place of societal ruin. The entire community turned on itself, before coming to the confusing conclusion in 1702 of the magistrates declaring the trials that were held unlawful, and decreeing that the good names of the victims be restored. I mentioned that Salem Village is now know as Danvers Massachusetts and while Salem and Salem Village, share the terrible history, Salem Village works hard to separate itself from the narrative, as seen by it renaming itself to Danvers in 1752. It desperately wants to be removed from the story of the witch trials, when arguably it has more geographic claim to the narrative than Salem itself. Danvers has gone about making visiting any sites within its border nearly impossible. Homes and buildings related to the trials that remain in situ have continued housing families and businesses, memorials have little to no parking available, and heavy traffic on the roads makes it difficult to visit them as a pedestrian, meaning only a specialized tourist who was bound and determined to see the locations would make the Herculean effort to find them. For Salem, the buildings that it claims connections to the trials have either been moved or demolished in the time since the witch trials, and key places like the exact location of the gallows have ended up being lost to memory. The markers that denote the locations also denote their own inaccuracy and obscure the events that took place during the trials – thus disappointing tourists when they learn of the deception. Salem capitalizes on a false authenticity of place It is not through education that Salem profits off of its dark history, but through the kitsch-based fascination of pirates and witches existing in one of the oldest colonial ports. The Salem Police Department logo even contains a witch motif. With souvenirs, dungeon experiences, and large events such as a Witch’s Walk, Salem revises the tragedy in its history in a way that romanticizes and idealizes it, similar to the way that Disney movies present history. There was a monument erected to the victims of the witch trials in 2017. It stands apart from the rest of the city in aesthetic and in placement, silent and innocuous that it can be missed: it does not loudly advertise its existence like the rest of Salem. It works in the way that dark tourism sites overall do, in the fashion of “visitors deciding the meaning”. By being ambiguous in its specific design, it allows for the tourist to see what they think is fitting for a monument, whether that be the gallows, a jail, or a ruined building.

Chernobyl to this day still has the reputation for being the world’s worst nuclear accident. Through a surge of energy to Reactor #4, the unit caught fire on April 26th, 1986, leading to its rupture and explosion later that same day. As people fled and were evacuated from their homes, with instructions to leave everything behind as they were promised they would be able to return in a few days, Pripyat, the closet town to the reactor, was re-born as a ghost town. Across the Ukraine, Belarus, and Russia, an estimated 200,000 people have died due to radiation exposure, and an even greater number of people suffer from ongoing health conditions. As expected, the argument for the inclusion of Chernobyl in these case studies is that it represents a man-made ruin through the folly of trust in technology.

With Chernobyl, it is important to remember that it took place against the backdrop of the Cold War. The USSR and America both had agendas that they were trying to further in their coverage or lack there of, of the reactor blowing. Seeking any advantages they could claim in exposing or concealing the situation, inflating or deflating the numbers of people harmed. It wasn’t until 2011 when Ukraine finally allowed tours to take place through Pripyat, before this it was only illegal tours led by members of the surrounding communities or family members of those impacted by the exodus. The tourists have a wide range of reactions to the site – expressing indifference to the history, excitement about the danger that they perceive, and some individuals even schadenfreude, pleasure of witnessing the misfortunes of others. For dark tourism concerns, it’s authentic for being in situ, adding the aura of the place to the experiences and representing death in a more immediate way. Chernobyl is prime for the romanticization treatment of media due to being within the living memory and located in Eastern Europe, a place that is already seen and depicted as a foreign Other to many, adding to the forbidden allure of visiting. With the rise of social media, the number of tours to Chernobyl see spikes in the fall and winter, when the nature around the abandoned ruins is dying and decaying as well, lending itself to the desired aesthetic for people to show off that they visited. “Chernobyl is both real and imagined,” where one can go explore and tell others about later – but it is also staged. Knowing that people are drawn in by the heterotopic binaries of the real and the contrived, items within Chernobyl and Pripyat are posed to illicit the maximum emotional impact when photographed, the creations of juxtapositions within a juxtaposition itself.

Death Tourism deals with sites of ruin, that are explicit reminders of the circle of life and death being indiscriminate. Tragedy has happened here, and it will happen again. Someone was here before, and someone will be here after, until one day in which there will no longer be an after for humans to inhabit. The meanings of these sites and those who visit them is continually in flux, and relates largely to the society that is taking note at the time. But how we make meaning of these sites tells us about our current society, whether we like what we are hearing or not. It is romantic to think that we only travel to dark tourist sites because we are contemplating our own mortality, but it is ignorant to forget that history is a spiral – events will happen again if not in the same circumstances. Witches are replaced by minorities and religious groups that we don’t want to understand. Natural Disasters like Vesuvius are happening more and more as we continue to ignore climate change. Chernobyl will not stay the worst nuclear accident in mans history for very long, as every year we outpace ourselves in technological advancements. A hopeful part of me wants to think that we are participating in Dark Tourism because we want to learn from our mistakes, but the way history is presented to the visitors, both intentionally and unintentionally and interpreted, seems to always come back to schadenfreude. Death has been removed from us for so long that we seek it as a macabre pleasure, one that society doesn’t allow us to have – and that’s fine, but only when it is the death and suffering of someone else, somewhere else, sometime else. Our fascination stems from ignorance, but not from wanting to learn from our mistakes, but from a place of relief that it wasn’t us. ________________________________________________________________ I hope you enjoyed this! I know the writing isn’t as high quality as a paper traditionally would be, but if there seems to be interest I can do future posts breaking down each site further <3 Thanks!

5 notes · View notes

letterboxd · 3 years

Photo

Together, Alone.

Together Together writer and director Nikole Beckwith talks to Ella Kemp about platonic love, pragmatic pregnancy, melancholic comedy and being inspired by Magnolia’s rain of frogs.

“The three of us were having our own platonic love affairs while we were making the film, which was very, very cool.” —Nikole Beckwith on working with Ed Helms and Patti Harrison

Back before vaccinations began, when we were still looking for glimmers of hope, the virtual 2021 Sundance Film Festival delivered us an abundance of joy: the family dramedy CODA, Questlove’s extraordinary piece of history, Summer of Soul, the delightful Sesame Street documentary and some precious smaller stories, too. One of those is the low-key revolutionary Together Together, Nikole Beckwith’s “visual representation of a warm hug”.

A platonic love story about surrogacy and solo parenting, Together Together stars Ed Helms as Matt, a single man in his forties who desperately wants to be a father. Interviewing women to carry his baby, he chooses twenty-something Anna, played by Patti Harrison, who completely nails her first feature leading role (she has previously appeared in A Simple Favor and Raya and the Last Dragon).

Over the nine months that follow, the pair boundary-shift as they navigate their unconventional relationship. They’re not together-together, but the bond between them is real, and strong. “Matt and Anna are loners, but they’re comfortable and functional in that space,” Beckwith explains. “And part of their connection is recognizing and respecting that in each other.”

Ed Helms and Patti Harrison in ‘Together Together’.

Flipping the narrative on surrogacy stories, Together Together encourages audiences to think about family in a new way. “Matt is in this strange middle zone,” Beckwith explains. “He’s not part of a community with a ton of children, and he’s not out partying at bars or living the child-free life. So the key to moving out of that space is taking matters into his own hands and redefining his future, and his idea of and desire for parenthood comes from himself—not from wistful fantasies romanticizing the idea of having kids.”

Anna’s story is just as clearly drawn: positive, rational, generous. “The last thing I wanted was to see her looking at children, with her hand on her belly, thinking ‘How am I going to give this up?’,” the filmmaker says. “I think that’s a really dominant way into surrogacy stories, but surrogacy is positive, it’s additive, and Anna knows herself. She knows what she’s capable of.” It’s a rare depiction of pregnancy on screen. “When a woman becomes pregnant, they’re not completely eclipsed by that fact. It doesn’t become their primary identity. So Anna is being very pragmatic about that experience.”

Together Together embraces “alone-ness” in a reassuring way, especially coming after a year in which many of us have experienced solitude involuntarily. Originally from Newburyport, Massachusetts, Beckwith spends a lot of time alone, but is firm that loneliness and solitude are not the same thing. Her story about the ambiguous spaces we inhabit when we don’t have a partner has its roots in real-life relationships.

“We just couldn’t get enough of each other,” Beckwith says of one male friend who changed her life when she moved to New York, far away from the small town she had grown up in. “I was just totally electrified and excited by them, and it was so hard for me to figure out that we were falling in platonic love. I hadn’t realized that was a kind of love you could fall in and just thought, ‘how beautiful’.”

The timelessness of non-romantic relationships is reflected in the film’s wondrous piano score, “a strange, poetic stream of consciousness” composed by Alex Somers, who also scored Captain Fantastic and Honey Boy. It is a hat-tip to Nora Ephron’s films, “those two-hander relationship movies in which the score is largely piano standard,” Beckwith explains. “We didn’t want it to sound old, while still having a whiff of nostalgia, while still feeling new, but in a timeless way instead of an overtly modern way.”

Beckwith looked for inspiration in all the right places. She nods to the dynamic between Melissa McCarthy, Kristen Wiig and Maya Rudolph in Bridesmaids as a depiction of platonic love that set the bar for Together Together. For examples of a middle-aged man who oscillates between being alone and lonely, Bill Murray’s performance in Sofia Coppola’s Lost in Translation led the way. And in terms of the first film to light a fuse in her moviemaking brain, she has Paul Thomas Anderson to thank.

“I had a pretty incredible experience watching Magnolia when it was in theaters,” she remembers of the filmmaker’s 1999 emotional epic. "When the frogs fell from the sky, I was like, ‘So you can do anything?’ And then every time William H. Macy turns on his car radio and Gabrielle’s ‘Dreams’ comes on, for some reason that opened a pocket in my mind which was like, ‘These are decisions that somebody is making.’ And that was the first moment, with those two scenes, that I realized movies are made.

“I hadn’t ever thought of the rubber-to-the-road aspects of movies coming from someone specific. Being from a small town, I’d never seen a movie like that before. Those two moments really kind of made me think about it in a new way—it was very cool.”

Writer-director Nikole Beckwith.

Just as Anderson has brought dramatic nuance out of renowned comic actors (most notably, Adam Sandler in Punch Drunk Love), Together Together also asks us to adjust our expectations of our modern-day comedy heroes. It is packed to the rafters with American indie comedy stars (Tig Notaro, Anna Konkle, Sufe Bradshaw, Julio Torres, Jo Firestone and many more), but plays for laughs only where it feels right. The tone is held throughout by Harrison and Helms, who were, says Beckwith, “grounded and present”.

Leave your memories of Helms as office nerd Andy Bernard at the door, and expect a softer Harrison than the acerbic comedy titan who greets you on Instagram or the TV show Shrill. It was a shot in the dark that such potent chemistry would materialize. “I mean, what is chemistry?” Beckwith says, when asked about the electric feeling her leads emanate. “It’s an elusive magic—you can’t invent it, you can’t count it. It just is or it isn’t, and we were so lucky that it was.”

“They’re both such gifted comedians that there was no doubt in my mind that we could take the things that fuel the stuff we know them for, and just switch it around,” says Beckwith. “I think in order to be a truly terrific comedian you have to be holding hands with all the difficult, melancholy things about being alive, because that’s where comedy comes from and that’s what it relates to—and that’s why it’s so ubiquitous. We need it.”

Related content

Selome’s list of indie pregnancy dramedies that de-center the nuclear family

Melissa’s list of films about daddy issues, single dads/fathers, being a dad/father, grandfathers

Follow Ella on Letterboxd

‘Together Together’ is in limited US theatrical release from April 23, and on VOD from May 11, via Bleecker Street.

#together together #ed helms #patti harrison #directed by women #female director #female film directors #nikole beckwith #nicole beckwith #comedy #pregnancy #surrogacy #surrogate #solo parenting #films about pregnancy #julio torres #jo firestone #tig notaro #comedy film

3 notes · View notes

introvertllux · 4 years

Text

Peace in Normalcy: Chapter One

(The chapter is told from Prue’s point of view. Anytime, that you see italicized words, that means Prue is speaking via her internal monologue).

Genre: Romance, Drama, Comedy, Comedy-Drama

Warnings: 18+, depictions of mental health, mental disorders, depression, suicide, and sexual abuse. (Please do not read, if you may be triggered).

*Any depictions of mental health are based on MY PERSONAL EXPERIENCES. Please do not think I’m making fun or or mocking anyone, again these experiences are based on what I have seen and, or been through myself. Also, I am not intending to romanticize mental health or disorders in anyway. Lastly, If you do decided to read this story I am very thankful and I hope you enjoy it. : )

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Prue's P.O.V

(Picture of Prue)

Friday, September 27, 2019

Isn’t funny how in an instant- and with a snap of your fingers your life can turn completely upside-down. I mean really think about it. One day you’re just doing your average daily routine, completely minding your own business. Then next thing you know, something happens- and incident. Imagine that said incident happens at your job of all places and you end up in a place like this. Who would’ve known, huh? Who would’ve known that one incident, no one mistake could make you end up in the nuthouse? Not, me.

"Prue! Time to go!" I heard a voice yell in the distance from behind me. I ignored the voice as I laid down on the grassy field of the psychiatric hospital’s courtyard.

(Psychiatric Hospital Courtyard)

I kind of like it out here. It brings me peace. I can breathe some fresh air and get away from it all. The meds, the therapist, and the patients. Being out here was as close to freedom as I was going to get for a while. But, to tell you the truth I’ve grown to like this place, the institution as a whole wasn’t so bad, when I really think about. The meds keep me stable, I guess. The therapist actually treats me like a normal human being, and I can relate to the other patients. This place was sort of like a sanctuary for me. For the first time in a long time I feel like I belong. For the first time in my life I actually feel like I fit in. I think I’ve made up my mind. Yeah… I’ve definitely did. I’m never leaving. Never.

The shouting of my name continued as heavy footsteps began to approach me. I sighed softly.

I must have visitors. Well, more like a visitor, most likely my sister, Mallory. She was the only one that has visited me during this whole ordeal.

The footsteps came to a halt as the figure hovered over me, blocking my view of the sun. I wasn't surprised to see a male orderly; they always came to pick up people either for medicine or a visitor.

"You have a visitor. Come on." He said.

I stood up and brushed the tiny pieces of grass off of my pants and followed the male orderly back inside. As I walked, I couldn't help wondering why my sister was visiting me. She normally would visit me every two months on a Saturday. But she visited three weeks ago and today is Friday.

After walking for a couple minutes, I noticed the route we were taking would lead us back to my room. Usually, visitors we not permitted to go to a patient's room unless-

I heard a loud squeal followed by "Prue! Surprise!". I walked around the orderly and stared into my wide-open door. To my slight surprise was my sister, Mallory quickly packing two large black suitcases.

(Picture of Mallory)

Yeah, just as I suspected. She was here to pick me up early. But why?

I stepped into the room as the orderly shut the door behind him. I stared at my sister as she continued to pack my things.

"Um?" I questioned quietly with a slightly raised brow.

"I know. I know what you're thinking. I'm back. Again. But this time I'm back for you. I was able to work something out with the courts. I’ve been going back and forth with them for months. They said they would monitor you and if you showcased good behavior and improvement within your counseling sessions, they would let you out early. Don’t you want to come home?” She said as she continued to pack my things.

I was ordered on a plea deal to stay here for a year, but it's only been nine months. And, I don’t know do I want to go home? Wasn’t I just fine with staying her the rest of my natural born life, just a few minutes ago?

Mallory cleared her throat and spoke after a few moments of silence, "Uh, I guess you would probably want to pack your own things, huh?" She chuckled softly after she paused her actions. "I'm sorry, I just got a little excited you know, my little sister is finally coming home!" She shouted and giggled.

I moved around her and started to finishing packing what was left of my clothes. "You know, I bet you're really excited to get away from all of this." she said waving her hands around the room. "To finally get back to some normalcy." She said.

I paused and flinched slightly at the word normalcy.

Normalcy? Back to normal?

I began to zone out, getting into my own head.

"I'm sorry, did I-did I say something wrong?" She asked as she began to panic.

"No. No, you didn't it's fine." I said a bit dazed. I quickly snapped out of it and continued to hurriedly pack my last article of clothing.

"Are you sure? I- "She said worriedly.

"I said you're fine Mallory. It's fine. I'm fine. We're good." I said as I slammed the top of my suitcase down and zipped it up quickly.

She nodded her head slightly. "Well, if you're all set to go, let’s get going." Mallory said as she grabbed one suitcase and I grabbed the other.

As we exited the room and I looked back slightly at the room I called mine for the last nine months. I then turned my body forward and walked down the hallway, following slowly behind my sister. I look my time walking so that I could get one last look at all the décor and rooms that I sent the last months several months in doing arts and crafts, eating lunch, playing with board games, yoga, participating in group therapy, and individual therapy. As strange as my sister may think this place it, this was my normalcy for nine months and I was about to be pulled from it before I was ready.

A few moments had past and we made to her car. It was a 2019 Volkswagen Beetle. Was it cute. Sure. Practical? Absolutely not. This care had to be one of the tiniest cars to ever exist. There’s barely enough room to fit both of these suitcases. As my sister thought about this “dilemma”, I gently tugged on the passenger, signaling her to unlock it. Seconds later I heard the sound of the car door unlocking followed by two high-pitched beeps. I then proceed to move the car seat forward, I figured I didn’t need that much space considering I was on 5’2. I then eased the large suitcase into the backseat. As soon as I finished, I looked behind me see that Mallory had managed to squeeze the other suitcase into the tiny trunk.

(Mallory’s car)

I then went to sit down in the passenger's seat. I began to position myself to accommodate to the lack of space. Once I got comfortable, I buckled my seatbelt. and buckled up. Mallory then opened the driver's side got in, buckled up and started the drive home.

As we began the journey back home, I contemplated whether or not to look out the window. To be honest looking reminding me of the path I took to get here in the first place. I didn’t want to think about it. I just didn’t want to think at all. I just wanted to shut down for a minute or two. I decided that trying sleep will help me just disappear for a few hours.

I as I began to drift off, Mallory began to play some music. Which I was glad for. For some reason, music has always helped me sleep and get through just about anything ever since I was little.

I woke up to the sound of tapping. I squinted out the car window to see Mallory rapidly tapping on the window. I groaned as I slowly unbuckled my seatbelt and sluggishly began to make my way out of the car.

"We're home! Well, my house. It looks different since the last time you’ve seen it!” She said excitedly. I just blinked slowly trying to process everything that was happening.

“I thought you'd be more comfortable at my house before you go to mom and dad's house. Don't worry about your stuff we can get it later." She said.

She locked the car door and began to shuffle through her key rings to get the key to the front door. The house looked very different from the outside. It had a more modern look, which I wasn't surprised at Mallory is an interior decorator after all and she happens to be very good at her job.

(Mallory and Jahmal’s house)

"Welcome to Casa la Jones." She said dramatically as she flicked the house lights on.

Yeah, remember when I said she happens to be very good at her job? Yeah well, I meant to add she can sometimes be a little too good at her job. It was like Kim Kardashian meets the middle of Massachusetts.

"So, what do you think. It's nice, right?" She said grinning brightly.

"Uh, yeah. It's very nice." I said feeling slightly overwhelmed by grandiose it was.

I looked around the house and noticed that it was quiet, too quiet. Where was Jamal?

I rubbed my tired eyes and yawned as I ask, "So, where is Jamal?"

"Oh, Jamal I told him to go hang out with Leslie and David. You remember them, right? Two of our old friends from college." She said quickly. "I wanted us to have a sister night." She added she walked toward the kitchen.

I followed her into the kitchen and took a seat at one of the barstools.

(Mallory and Jahmal’s kitchen)

"Leslie and David?" I asked as I eyed her. She laughed lightly, "You probably don't remember them, huh?"

No kidding we're ten years apart. If you meet them in college, then that means I was definitely learning how to multiply fractions in the fifth grade.

“You were only like what, nine when I brought them home with me during spring break. But yeah, they became really good friends of ours towards the end of college. Then you know, you eventually went away to college, so you guys never really got to know each other." She said quickly again.

"Anyway, I made your favorite. Chicken Parm." She said as she walked towards the refrigerator.

Chicken Parmesan?! I hate chicken parmesan (and it's actually her favorite). The tomato sauce always gives me extremely bad acid-reflex. My favorite meal is Chicken Alfredo, but I will still eat her meal because she thought about me, sort of.

After Mallory placed our food in the microwave, she leaned over the kitchen island.

"So, I know you normally sleep in the basement when you stay but... it's being occupied at the moment. But good news you can have the guess room. I remolded it as well. You remember where it is right?"

I didn't even bother to question who or what was taking over the basement. I just nodded my head. As we continued to wait, for our food to warm up Mallory began to hum. I began to analyze the new interior of the kitchen. I started to get anxiety looking at all the changes that not only happened to her house but even the growth between her and her friends that came to know as just the people who “needed somewhere to crash for spring break. And now the basement, the room I always stayed in is now preoccupied. When did everything change? I was only gone for nine months; how can things change this much!?

"Prue? Prue? Hello? Are you okay? Speak to me." Mallory said as she made way over to me and grabbed my shoulders.

"I'm fine. I just- I just was thinking about something." I said trying to end the conversation.

Mallory nodded her head and turned her attention to the microwave as it beeped loudly. Mallory began to plate the food and grab glasses. She poured herself some wine.

"So, I only have white wine right now but-." I cut her off and spoke with a tight face, trying to contain myself. "Mallory. I don't drink remember. Frist off, I hate alcohol. Plus, the medication. I'm on medication remember." I said through slightly gritted teeth.

She placed the bottle down on the countertop. "You're right. How could I, forget. I'll get you some, uh water." She said as she turned on the faucet and filled the glass halfway.

Mallory then grabbed the two plates carefully and placed one in front of me and the other at the head of the island. She then went back and grabbed the drinks.

After a few moments of eating, Mallory cleared her throat. "So, Prue. Before you go to mom and dad's house, I just wanted to talk to you about somethings." I ignored her as I continued to pick at my food, trying to avoid as much tomato sauce as possible.

"You know, now that you’re home there's some rules that you have to follow. It was a deal we made in order for the courts to agree to let you out early." She said softly.

I slammed my hands down on the countertop. "Can we not talk about this right now! "I yelled.

"Prue." She said gently trying to rapidly diffuse the situation.

"No, don't Prue me. Nine months! I haven't been home in nine months and all you want to do is remind me that something is wrong with me! Why can't I just come back, eat some food and sleep in a nice warm bed!" I yelled as tears began to form in my eyes.

Mallory looked at me sympathetically. "I-I'm not reminding you or even saying- "She started to say before I interrupted her.

"But you are. The face-expression you're making is the same one you had the day I got sent away, and the same one mom and dad had on too. And you know what, it's the same one they will have on tomorrow. That's exactly why I don't want to go there tomorrow!" I said as I got up from the barstool.

"Prue. Please." Mallory said with her hands up in surrender. "Oh my God!” I screamed as I backed away and spread my arms out wide. “You see! You see! You're still making that face and now- now you have your hands up. Like you’re scared. You think I'm going to do something don't you, that I might try and hurt you! You're calling me crazy and you don't even have to say it!" I yelled as tears began to stream down my face rapidly.

"Prue, I never said you were crazy. I just. I'm just trying to help. If you don't follow these rules, then you have to go back." She said still standing defensively.

I let out an agonizing scream. "Good, great! Then I'll be back where I belong with the crazy people, right?” I said as I gripped the sides of my face tightly.

I then took quickly grabbed my plate of Chicken Parmesan and smashed it onto the floor, "And I hate Chicken Parmesan, it gives me acid-reflex. You should fucking know that by now!" I exhaustedly screamed one last time as I ran up the stairs and slammed the guest room door.

Hours had past and the house remained quiet. The sun had gone down and it was so dark out that the sky had looked pitch black. I looked over at the digital clock in the room and saw the time. The clock read 12:32 AM. I tried to go back to sleep. Normally, it was never easy for me to fall asleep sue to me feeling anxious all the time, but right now the nausea I was feeling due to my acid-reflex acting up only aided in my lack of sleep.

I let out a groan as I held my stomach tightly. I squeezed my eyes shut hoping that the pain would go away or subside in at least the slightest way. Unfortunately, nothing was working. The only other possible solution I could think of was to take a walk. Usually, I take walks to get my mind off of things if music wasn’t an option or if I just needed some fresh air. Before I went to the hospital, I would walk around with my music and let it guide me. But, since that's not an option I guess I will let my feet be my guide this time.

I got up from the soft bed and tied my sneakers. I grabbed my jacket and slipped it around the pink pajamas my sister had left out for me. I stood up too quickly and fell back down. I felt a wave of nausea hit me. I took a deep breath and tried again, this time getting up carefully and slowly.

I walked quietly out of the room closing the door gently. I slowly crept down the hallway and down the staircase. I then slipped passed the kitchen and exited out of the front door careful not to slam the door too hard. I wasn't too worried about the door, since I knew it had an instant lock.

I began walking down the cul-de-sac styled neighborhood. I gripped the sides of my jacket as the cold air made me shiver slightly. I kept stopping to take deep breaths to try and stop my waves nausea that came every couple of minutes. I kept walking for a few minutes until I couldn't take it anymore. I felt too sick. I need to sit down.

I looked around me to see if I could spot somewhere to sit. I decided to sit on the curb in front of a random house. I felt dizzy and my head began to pound. Before I knew it, I had vomited.

"Fuck!" I yelled as some landed on my pajama shirt and jacket. I quickly covered my mouth as I notice my voiced had echoed. I looked around to see if anyone in the neighborhood had heard me. I closed my eyes and sighed in relief as I saw no sign of active neighbors.

"Hello? Whose out there?1" I heard a voice yell.

Damn It.

I began to panic as I saw a house light flick on. I then heard the sound of curtains aggressively sliding open. I still stood there, like a deer in headlights.

"I'm calling the cops!" The older male voice threatened.

I began to run as quickly as I could down the street as I saw more house lights begin to turn on. I started to feel dizzy again and my head was pounding even more. There was nowhere to hide so I decided to sit beside a small shrub on the sidewalk.

What felt like 15 minutes had gone by and I thought for sure I was off the hook until I then heard police sirens in the distance getting closer and closer by the second. I groaned, placing my head in my hands.

The sirens came to a stop. I heard footsteps approach me and the sound of a very familiar voice.

"I've gotten calls from all over the neighborhood, something about a nutcase screaming throughout the neighborhood and waking them up. That wouldn't happen to be you, would it?" The office asked smugly.

I just groaned in pain and annoyance. The officer walked closer to me.

"So, now you've got nothing to say, huh? Typical." He asked as he waved a flashlight on me. I groaned again, not wanting to look up at him.

"Look at me." He said sternly. I dreaded this moment.

I lifted my head up and placed my left arm in front of my face to try and block the bright light radiating from the flashlight,

I then heard laughter, followed by "Oh! Oh! You’re kidding! This must be my lucky day! Prue? Prue- Prudence Walker. Is that really you? They said you were getting out today but never did I think, I'd find you roaming the streets. Less than 12 hours back and you're already losing your shit again, huh?" He said laughing.

“Can’t say I’m surprised.” He said waving the flashlight around.

I groaned again as I began to wrap my arms around my waist, hunching over slightly. "J-just take me back to my sisters' Taylor.

(Picture of Officer Taylor Miller)

"That's Office Miller to you. And why should I? I could just arrest you and have you shipped right back to that psych-ward." He said smirking.

I didn't say anything to him. I just gave him a pleading looking, hoping that he would find some kindness in his black heart to just take me back to my sister's house.

He laughed again and grabbed my arm roughly, he pushed me into the back of the police cruiser and proceeded to drive off. Fifteen minutes had gone by and we arrived in front of my sisters' house. He opened the door and I walked out quickly trying to move past him.

"Not a chance." he said as he gripped my right arm tightly. He dragged me to the front door of the house and immediately proceed to bang loudly on it.

We waited a few seconds, before the door opened widely.

"Prue!" Mallory yelled exasperatedly as her eyes grew wide instantly.

"I found her just roaming the streets. The neighbors called. You've gotten keep an eye on her. I can let her off with a warning this time." He said fakely, pretending to care as he let go of my arm.

"Get inside, please." She said exhaustedly.

As I walked inside, I heard Mallory say, "Thanks Tay, I swear it won't happen again. I owe you one."

I door then slammed shut.

"I-I just can't right now. We will talk in the morning." She said, in a very and disappointed and exhausted tone.

I went straight upstairs and tried to get some sleep trying to avoid thinking about the many conversations that awaited me tomorrow.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Links to:

Chapter 2

Masterpost

25 notes · View notes

regalgorgon · 4 years

Text

The people that are siding with the authorities here and blaming the protesters for the rioters and being overall racist need to crack open their history books. I’m sorry the public school system failed you. If my family reads this and gets offended? I’m not sorry. I’m angry. And I’m disappointed that I have to explain why anarchy is important for the historic change you so adamantly are against.

BPOC (black people of color) have had to fought for their rights since the day they were born in America. Never has a day gone by where they have felt safe. This is something they should be talking about- but you’re not listening. Many of you are color blind and tone deaf because of your own feelings. How dare anyone paint the white man in any light beyond benevolent and good? How dare anyone identify themselves as anything other than a human being? You have a lofty dream, one that is often misplaced to absolve your guilt. You are talking over and invalidating the very lives who have to even say that they matter; that Black Lives Matter. Now this isn’t say no other life matters. That’s not what that is saying. And immediately responding with All Lives Matter just proves how ignorant you are, and there is zero excuse for it in this day and age. It is not up to me to educate you on why that is such a dumb thing to say. Saying a group of people matter does not erase that everyone else matters. Just that they still have to still fight for their life to mean something. Be happy you don’t need a movement for this. And it’s at this point where pictures won’t change your mind, nor an analogy. Just know you’re siding with the racists on this one, even if you don’t see race. And often enough, it’s white people that say they don’t see color and that it’s them, not you, that are causing the problem. Which is a whole other can of worms that I’m too angry and exhausted to educate you on as it’s not my job.

Moving on to what I can educate you on.

Many of you are disgusted by anarchy and rioters. Sure, I am too. To an extent. What do you think the American Revolution was? The American Civil War? Unrest at a government that kept failing them and taking advantage of them. See anything familiar? Our history books paints the United States of America as this benevolent country full of free will and freedom of religion. Many of you forget that, and that’s just sad. You prefer your bipartisan politics and to call anyone you don’t agree with whatever opposite your party is as though that’s suppose to be some amazing, cool comeback. No, it’s just inflammatory. It does nothing to the discussion like.. at all. Tell me when has it ever changed anyone’s mind when you did? Never? I thought so.

If you don’t remember what the American Revolution was, let me remind you how it started. Open your history books to the

Boston Massacre (Colonial resistance that led to violence in 1770, when British soldiers opened fire on a mob of colonists, killing five men- sound familiar? Like the police shooting on riots? People are actually being hurt and one’s in critical condition in case you’re stuck in your Facebook bubble and CNN while ignoring everything else),

the Boston Tea Party (December 1773, when a band of Bostonians dressed as Mohawk Indians boarded British ships and dumped 342 chests of tea into Boston Harbor- you know, people using another group of people’s struggles to mask their identities so they can get away with it like cowards),

and the Intolerable or Coercive Acts (designed to reassert imperial authority in Massachusetts- I really hope I don’t to explain the real life parallels with this one).

Hey I guess those field trips weren’t just a waste of your money after all. So does this mean you were with the Brits on this one? Because that’s the side you’re choosing. You’re choosing the side that’s against governmental and systemic change. But let’s move on.

The American Civil War. You know, the north vs. the south. The Union vs. the Confederate. All because of slaves. I sure hope the public educate system didn’t fail you so much you don’t know who the first and last slaves in America were. The very same people being shot and killed by authority in the streets. The ones that still have to fight to be seen as people worthy to live. People worthy of equality. The fact white men have had to give equality and basic human rights in the first place was intolerable as it is for everyone in this country to just live freely (you know, much like how other countries have worked and still worked that you condemn). But the job isn’t done. Guess who won that war? I’ll give you a hint: not the dumb fucking flag you still see to this day. And if you’re mad you’re being called a racist for flying it, kind of consider why being for-slavery is a little fucking racist and admit you’re wrong.

Moving on to Segregation. The most recent act of anarchy in this country to give these men and women their rights to just live free with basic HUMAN rights, and not being shot down in the street like a rabid animal for no reason. And you know what? Rosa Parks sitting in that bus was considered a hostile action by the authorities then. The sit-ins? Considered anarchy and hostility. The mere thought of existing was offensive and made white people unsettled.

And all it took was one man’s murder to make people see that peace still would get their people killed. But Dr. Martin Luther King Jr’s death changed America did it not?

Historically, America has seen gatherings and the unified force of only white-passing people to be considered acceptable. You love to watch movies about the Italian Mafia. About the Irish and Romani (gypsies, for people that can only remember or designate a group of people by their derogatory slur). You romanticize them and compare them. But you fail to forget this country’s history with them, and why they had to organize in the first fucking place.

You forget that the very founding fathers and people of this country fought against their government time and time again. And the one time black people did peacefully protest, despite all the violence displayed against them, they still were attacked and criticized. And some did become violent, but they were the loud minority while peace was the ultimate goal.

You all talk about being a true American. You’re not a true American if you agree with all the past civil unrest and anarchy and wars that made America the one you grew up with and will grow old with, but not what’s happening right now. What’s happening right now is tame compared to what our history has gone through. So why do you only want to see one side? The side that benefits your blindness and inability to want change? There is so much more to say, but I’m tired. I’m angry. And I’m upset with any of you that think they know what being an American is and take pride in your false ideology because it only benefits you. You see violence because that’s ALL you want to see. And all you want to believe. When there are people peacefully assembling and are still being attacked by authority and profiled. You want to only see the times the police are nice, and the times when the rioters are the ones causing trouble. You don’t want to see the people that desperately want change that stop them and discourage it and are standing or marching peacefully and suddenly become attacked and their rights destroyed.

What side are you on?

#black lives matter #blm #police brutality #anarchy

14 notes · View notes

ambitionsource · 4 years

Note

First question: do you have more details on the family lives and back stories of the techies that you could tell us (or we will see)?

i can definitely talk about my fave crew of misfits! i’ll say i don’t think we’ll see much more detail about any of these family dynamics during ep runtimes, just because there’s already so much we’re trying to fit in and not enough time in the world (even tho yes we technically make the rules and can do whatever lol, but es and i do try to adhere to as realistic a tv structure as possible! it feels tighter structured that way)

so quickly i’ll just address dylan and asher, who are not as much mysteries as the other four techie tots just bc we’ve spent a little more time with them. i’m going to be exploring and introducing more of their family and those dynamics throughout the course of the dasher fic, so hopefully after a while they’ll feel as familiar as the rest of the front nine does in terms of their home lives. the short version is that asher is part of a nuclear family and is relatively well-off (they live comfortably, let’s say, given that his dad is an architect and his mom a tenured professor), and he gets along well with his sister lily. dylan lives with his dad and younger brother grant, and his mom passed away from cancer when he was about 6 - 7. his brother has resentment / a bit of a rivalry towards him that is pretty one-sided, but they do get along all things considered. dylan is very close with his dad. their family is firmly middle class and this doesn’t change until dylan starts bringing in substantial youtube coin at the end of high school.

jade is upper middle class and takes pride i think in leading a relatively average, calm life. she was raised by both parents, who are still together, and have a pretty stable marriage although they’re not the most romantic duo. this is where jade gets a lot of her realism from, not as prone towards romanticism or dreaminess even though she does like romance and would like to experience it one day (and can’t help but romanticize nigel). she is a middle child, with one older brother (ethan, 2 years older) and two younger brothers, jacob (3 years younder) and cody (6 years younger). this is part of why she is able to deal with the techie boys so well. overall she gets along very well with her family, and she’s lucky that her parents are highly supportive of her ambitions. her mother in particular loves her talents, because she’ll often make clothing items for her as gifts and then she can tell her friends when they ask about it that it’s “a one of a kind.” they’re definitely proud of her!

nate, as previously discussed, is low income. he lives with both parents but hardly sees his dad because he’s always out late working and exhausted when he gets home. he has two younger siblings, who he has a good relationship with but can often get sick of because of how often he’s asked to help babysit + entertain them when he’s a teenage boy and just wants to be doing whatever on his own time. so he’ll grumble a lot about his family, but he really does love them at the end of the day (despite mixed feelings about his dad, even though he knows how much he has to work isn’t his fault). because of having less disposable income, nate is the most money conscious of the techies for reasons other than being obsessive by nature (like asher). he in some ways thinks of himself as a hack in the aaa system (sort of like lucas, although not at all the same), because although he did have lots of interest in audio mixing and sound design and applied because of that, a major part of him applied to aaa just to see if he could get in and on scholarship. he never thought he actually would get in. although he’d never admit it, being admitted to aaa and meeting the techies was a very grounding and confidence-boosting moment in his life and helped put him on the right path for the future.

jeff is the second most secure financially of the techies after asher, though not too far ahead of jade. he is the youngest of three children, both already in college, though during S1 his sister was a senior at quincy high. his parents are arguably the most stable and truly romantic of all the techie parental units, giving him a realistic yet optimistic understanding of what a relationship is supposed to look like. his father has shares in a local community theater in brooklyn, and he’s highly involved in it, so jeff has been growing up around that world since he was a toddler. his siblings both had stints as actors in the local productions, and while jeff was never personally interested in performing, he loved hanging around the sets and observing the technicians. he started shadowing in the technician’s booth in middle school for extra credit + community service, but his mom noticed he had a real interest and knack for it, so it was her idea to research arts school and put him on track towards aaa. jeff is also the techie who has the best balance between aaa life and his former friends and community, as his main friend group is still predominantly his middle school friends which allows him a healthy detachment and outlet from the chaos of aaa that’s always ongoing.

dave, even to the rest of the techies, is a bit of a mystery. not in a purposeful way, like lucas, but simply because that’s how he is. he’s about dylan’s level of income, living with his mother in a cozy apartment in brooklyn. his parents are divorced, as they split when he was in elementary school, but the dynamic is amicable. his father was the more wealthy of the two, and his child support payments are what really keep the two of them afloat, but it never occurs to dave to grow bitter thinking about how he could give them more (as the other techies might be inclined to do). as far as dave is concerned, it is what it is. he spends weekends / vacations often with his dad in massachusetts where he now is settled down. although his home is far from the most lavish or exciting locale, the techie tots will hang out at his place relatively frequently, second to the orlandos as the go-to hangout spot. this is because there’s a den room that they can basically take over, and dave’s mom is usually home late because of work so they can kind of take run of the place. dave’s den is also the place the group of them will go if they wanna take some risks, like smoke weed now and then. although dave’s mom is still sort of distant from the group of them (not an agreed upon Group Dad, like randall orlando), she’s friendly with all of them and is always welcome to seeing them around when she comes home. dave’s presence at aaa is as much of a mystery as anything else -- he’s a great guitar player, and has always had a penchant for building and piecing things together, but no one can get a clear read on why he decided to apply to aaa, or what his application was like, or what he’s hoping to get out of the place. as dave once said, “sometimes, you just gotta go with it.”

-- Maggie

#i love them... i fully adore them #techie crew #nate martinez #dave williams #jeff monroe #jade beamon #ambition quarantine 2020 #lorelaisrorys #answered

6 notes · View notes

imnothinginparticular · 4 years

Text

#finishedbooks The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne. With dwindling reading options from the library, figured why not? Published in 1850, the story is set in the mid 1600s at the Puritan Massachusetts Bay Colony. It tells of a woman who conceives a daughter through an affair and is publicly shamed. She refuses to name the father and struggles to raise her daughter maintaining some dignity before devolving into a predictable plot twist revealing the father to be the town minister. I guess social shunning was theme but the romanticism blunted any depth for such a claim. I had went into both Edgar Allen Poe and Herman Melville with the same expectations but was blown away by their orginality and imperative, but this is devoid of both. And if you look around to France with Balzac or Russia with Turgenev and just after Zola and Stendhal, and Tolstoy and Dostoevsky (respectively) the triviality of this is really blatent. I think America just had to back something and guess Melville and Poe were too far ahead of their time so they went with this to say this is American literature. The prose is so pretentious and most of the time he digresses to point out something he wrote a sentence prior to highlight its significance. It was like it was written by that privileged kid in class who was always told he was going to succeed but needed the approval of everyone and wrote what he thought people would like as he really never had anything to say. Literature for its own sake really with flaccid characters and lots of ornamentation via its prose that did nothing to express the atmosphere or further the story. Reminded me of America's love of Gone with the Wind, racist implications aside, it was just a romantic film that held no truths. Ya that one crane shot was cinematic and "frankly my dear I don't give a damn" iconic but it was a rather basic film as this was a basic book with a lot of embellishment that said nothing.

#finishedbooks

1 note · View note

austennerdita2533 · 5 years

Text

To my fellow PJo-loving anon:

Here’s the New Year’s drabble I told you I’d try to take a stab at all those days ago. So sorry it’s taken me so long to finish, but 2019 has been bumpy for me so far. Plus I kept reconfiguring this because I’ve never written Dawson’s Creek/PJo fic before and was looking for a way to merge the idea in my head with the words I put on the page, something I never manage to fully achieve. I’m never happy haha. Alas, therein lies my endless writer struggle.

Anyway, this is pure fluff with a very-much-alive Jen--just as you asked. :)

Also here: (A03)

I hope you like it, sweets!

xx Ashlee Bree

Always Remember Us (Quipping) This Way

“It’ll never work, Pace,” she said as she sipped a hot toddy from her chair by the bonfire. Peering out at the creek instead of at his crunching approach, the sky starless but with air brisk enough to flake the lapping waves of the cape with snow if it so desired, Joey felt the drink’s warmth soothe the chill in her mittened hands before it spread to her bones with a shiver she’d never catch. “Whatever you’re planning, I admire the effort, I really do…”

“I sense a major but coming. Dawson, Jen, Jack, Dougie—” he corralled as amusement, firelight, and perhaps one too many merry whiskeys danced in his eyes. “Don’t you hear the major but lurking in my wife’s next words?”

“Sure do, little brother.”

“She told me but was her favorite conjunction once,” Jack said with a tip of his beer and a hiccup.

Amused, Jen exhaled. Shook her head. “Sometimes I forget how much I miss you people.”

Gathered around the flames with good friends, warm blankets, and a combination of new and old memories, this group of twenty-somethings wouldn’t trade a laidback small town holiday in Capeside for anything more extravagant tonight. This was comfort at its finest. This was fun amid freezing Massachusetts wind and temperatures cold enough to give them frostbite. This was quality family time.

“Your ingenuity’s unmatched at the moment, however misguided it might be. I’ll give you that much,” Joey said as she hugged her knees and scowled in vain at the ‘something’ hidden beneath her husband’s coat while her friends laughed. All of them seemingly in on the same joke.

“I’ll take that back-handed compliment and raise you a nod in thanks,” Pacey fired back.

She regarded him with an arched brow as he neared, pointing.

“Don’t think I’m not onto you, by the way. I know that scheming look of yours all too well.”

“You know,” hand wagging, his tongue slid out over his bottom lip, “it’s not nice to accuse my face of things. What’s an innocent guy supposed to think?”

“Innocent? You?” Joey waved him off. Sighed long and well. Then she toasted with Dougie before taking another large swig from her mug. “Please, you haven’t been innocent since we were seven and you tried to trick me into eating a bucket of sand so I could protect myself from the Loch Ness Cronster who lurked beneath the Leery’s dock,” she said.

“Wow.” With a hand over his heart, he feigned stumbling backwards as if she’d shot him. “I can’t believe you’re still holding that against me. What is this, the second grade?”

Shrugging, “Potters are serious grudge-holders.”

“Notorious in your case,” Pacey added under his breath.

“Hey! Those are fighting words. Put up your dukes.”

“I told you she wouldn’t fall for any of your end of the year games this time, man,” Dawson called out with a hearty chuckle, Jen looking on by his side. Her red knitted head rested against his shoulder while one arm curled around his middle and her lips lifted in a quiet smile. Observant as always.

“I suppose we’ll have to see about that now, won’t we?”

Looking up, Joey’s eyes narrowed in challenge, “Oh, bite me Pacey.”

He halted before her then, head cocked and knees stooping so he could pull her to her feet in one smooth motion. He spun her toward him with ease, thanks to their ballroom dance lessons all those years ago. It seemed time and trust and love had finally taught them how to move in sync. Or at least had kept them from bruising the hell out of each other’s toes now that they could anticipate each other’s steps better. (Sometimes, anyway. Yeah, sometimes was still the most accurate word.)

“Whoever said anything about biting, Potter?” he whispered against the shell of her ear.

“Nice try, Fred Astaire—but no.”

“How are you objecting already?” She tried to push against his chest with fisted mittens but Pacey reeled her closer by the scarf strings. “You don’t even know what I’m about to do,” he said.

“Don’t I?”

“I promised you, remember?” An arm slunk around her waist. It held her firm against his chest where she belonged. “No pranks to herald in the New Year.”

“Oh, really?” Joey crossed her arms, playful, a little smirk forming at the corner of her mouth. “Then empty your pockets.”

Appearing affronted for a moment, but only a moment, Pacey scratched a thumb across his chin as if in thought before he reached into his coat with that grin of his widening until it was on full display. It was the cheeky one, too. Not the regular obnoxious one he wielded for sarcastic purposes or provoking alone because he knew it drove her mad, and boy, did it ever! (The number of married years under their belts did nothing to appease how much he still plucked at the nerves under her skin at times). This grin, though…this one he flashed only when some kind of raucous surprise or sweeping unexpectedness was on the horizon, and much to her eye-rolling chagrin, it usually was.

“This is how romanticism dies, I’ll have you know,” he said with a low grumble.

Joey pulled back.

“Why? You mean because I’m loath to accept that -” she swatted above them “ - that thing as a lousy substitute?”

“Yep.”

She humphed.

“Keats would be disappointed in you, my lady.”

Caught somewhere between a snort and a scoff, she gaped up at the no-longer-hidden item in Pacey’s hand before offering him a wry smile and wrapping her arms around his neck. Then she pressed their foreheads together, cupped his face in her palms. “Says the man who’s currently dangling a stalk of produce above our heads like it’s the most sentimental gesture in the history of sentimental gestures,” she pointed out.

“Come on, Jo. It’s romantic.”

“Mmm…debatable,” she said with a cute scrunch of her nose, with a shrug that caused their hips to bump. “Especially considering it’s celery you’ve pilfered from the fridge, which you then tied with a little red bow before presenting it to me.”

“That’s only because I’m conscious of how every detail matters, you see.”

“It does have green leaves, Joey. That’s festive, right?” Jen cut in at the first stroke of twelve. “Also, it’s fibrous in a non-poisonous way, so there’s that added benefit.”

“Yeah,” Jack laughed, Dougie’s hand on his knee. “It’s not like anybody here cares if the leaves are brown and wilting off the damn thing already.”

“Besides, it’s not as if we don’t all know Pacey completely ripped off this whole idea from Jacob Goldman with his broccoli mistletoe in Grumpy Old Men, anyway. So I think we can safely chalk up this amorous whim to borrowed creativity and an unspecified amount of liquor,” Dawson added in that philosophical tone of his, but with a face which was as free of jealousy as it was unencumbered by any mulling forehead lines.

“Don’t forget love, Leery,” said the borrower in question before he leaned in to kiss his sharp-tongued, big-brown-eyed girl. Their lips met just before the final midnight chime. “You know it’s about true love above all else with me.”

It always was.

Since Dawson was liable to see the film angle in everything, therefore, big or small, it was no surprise to the rest of them later on to learn that he’d found Pacey and Joey’s impromptu kiss beneath a shriveled stalk of celery in the last seconds of 2008 to be an inspiring slice of life for him. In his own words, or as he’d dubbed it in the bonus features of the Season 4 DVD, it was thereafter known as—

An absurd moment of affection, humor, and storytelling possibility.

#anonymous #dawson's creek #pjo drabbles #pacey and joey #ashlee bree's writing endeavors

13 notes · View notes

biofunmy · 5 years

Text

Was Michelle Carter inspired by Lea Michele?

Remember Michelle Carter?

In 2014, the 17-year-old Plainville, Massachusetts, girl made national headlines when police discovered alarming text messages to her boyfriend, 18-year-old Conrad Roy, seemingly encouraging him to kill himself. The case only got knottier as more details emerged about the young couple, who both struggled with depression and met in person only a few times, playing out most of their relationship through endless scrawls of texts.

The ensuing trial is the subject of a two-part HBO documentary, “I Love You, Now Die: The Commonwealth v. Michelle Carter,” premiering Tuesday (8 EDT/PDT), which wrestles with the question of whether Carter, now serving a 2½-year sentence for involuntary manslaughter, should be held responsible for Roy’s death.

Michelle Carter (Photo: HBO)

One of the more bizarre details to come out of the new film is that many of Carter’s texts – to Roy, as well as her friends – were taken directly from “Glee.” Fox’s musical series starred Lea Michele and the late Cory Monteith, who were an on- and offscreen couple until his death of an accidental overdose in July 2013. The show paid tribute to Monteith and his character, Finn, with an episode that October – the same month Carter began texting Roy dialogue from “Glee” that she passed off as her own, about how he’d be going to a better place and she could learn to live without him.

After Roy’s death, many of Carter’s texts to classmates were also lifted from “Glee” and interviews with Michele about grief. We chat with “I Love You” director Erin Lee Carr about the strange discovery.

Question: Was Michelle’s “Glee” obsession something you learned about when the case was in the news, or during the process of making the film?

Erin Lee Carr: It was really under-reported, actually. There’s a journalist, Jesse Barron, who is featured heavily in our project who was running the text messages against pop-culture references because he was just like, “There’s something going on here.” So it was reported in Esquire in a long-form piece but went under the radar for some weird reason. We thought it was a perfect rabbit hole to really get into, and it’s such a visual part of the story, switching from (clips of) Lea Michele to Michelle Carter.

Rachel (Lea Michele, left) and Finn (Cory Monteith) on “Glee.” (Photo: Adam Rose, Fox)

Q: What did you find most troubling about the way Michelle would lift dialogue directly from “Glee” and use it in text messages to her friends?

Carr: As a young teenager I was obsessed with “Buffy the Vampire Slayer.” I would recite it ad nauseam, but I never participated in grabbing dialogue from a show or an interview and using it as my own. So for me, it was the clearest example that Michelle Carter was living in a different reality. One of the scarier parts was that Lea Michele’s on-camera and real-life boyfriend died due to a drug overdose and it basically set this plan in motion. When Lea Michele’s boyfriend died, she was able to grieve, and everybody looked up to her and said, “You’re doing such a good job.” Potentially, I’m not certain, but what if Michelle Carter was like, “Maybe that could be me.”

Q: Lea Michele told Ellen DeGeneres she felt like the “luckiest girl in the world” dating Cory Monteith, and he was “the greatest man.” Michelle later used that almost verbatim when talking about Conrad, writing, “He was the greatest man I ever knew and I literally lived every day feeling like the luckiest girl in the world.” What do you think that says about the way she blurred the line between fiction and reality, or romanticized Conrad’s death?

Carr: It made me feel a lot of anxiety making something about her, because we’re talking about her guilt or her innocence. And here she is saying, “He was my person” and eliciting sympathy from people. It made me question her motives when he died. Was she sad for him, his family, herself? Or was there a secret amount of relief that now she could enact this romantic fantasy of the grieving girlfriend? It was baffling. Also that she could be somebody who is in school, that goes to camp, that adults feel respected by. She had this exterior where she was able to be this quote-unquote “normal” teenage girl in front of other people and then she harbored these very weird, dark fantasies about being Lea Michele through her texting partner/boyfriend, Conrad, dying.

Michelle Carter (Photo: HBO)

Q: Apart from “Glee,” what other pieces of pop culture did Michelle pull quotes from and pass off as her own?

Carr: There were country songs. Taylor Swift. Definitely “The Fault in Our Stars.” Lea Michele music videos and talk-show interviews. It really felt centered around Lea Michele.

Q: Carter’s defense team argued that she suffered from “involuntary intoxication” from antidepressants and wasn’t fully cognizant of what she was doing. How much of a part do you think that had in this?

Carr: I believe there were psychiatric issues at play here, but more for Conrad as a result of the meds. Michelle Carter was taking 5 milligrams of Celexa, as reported in the court evidence. That is a really, really small amount. So while she could potentially have side effects, it really felt like (psychiatrist) Peter Breggin created this terminology of “involuntary intoxication” because her family could not reckon with what she had done, so they basically had this defense of “the meds made her do it.” So for me, it’s always been less about meds, and more about loneliness and neediness and wanting attention. Is it a motive to kill someone? I don’t think so. I think we’re dealing with two incredibly troubled people that unfortunately met at the worst possible moment.

Read or Share this story: http://bit.ly/2xSmjPn

Sahred From Source link TV and Movies

from WordPress http://bit.ly/2JFVsvH via IFTTT

#IFTTT #WordPress

0 notes

findingmyami · 7 years

Text

The long road that leads to you (and the end of this post).

When I was 25 years of age, one day before my wedding, I discovered I was pregnant. It was a shock, which is not to say it wasn’t planned. I had been told that, due to a recent emergency surgery removing an ovary and fallopian tube, it would take me longer than the average bear to conceive. This turned out to be categorically untrue and and my one ovary continued to be a powerhouse that has since helped create two more beautiful, healthy beings.

After taking in the fact that my body was capable of such a thing, the reality of my new life set in. Despite the overwhelming joy felt by our family, I felt alone in my journey. As far as my friends went, I was a pioneer on the family frontier: first to buy a house, get married, and have a baby. I felt old before my time. The loneliness was palpable.

I consider myself an introvert. The energy I need to expend in order to socialize effectively leaves me depleted. I recharge alone. But a village is not built by hanging out with your dogs and watching Bethany Getting Married (my pregnant brain is not sharp enough to take in complicated story lines). I needed to put myself out there. How?

Enter Meetup.com. The modern age is really quite a thing. Technology divides us and isolates us but also brings us together, in the most practical of ways. Meet people who share your interests! But of course! How did our parents do this? Who cares?! I’m so happy to have these tools at my disposal, I can hardly take the time to romanticize the way our forebears playdated.

As a good friend advised me before we moved to Miami, “Say yes to everything.” And then of course, show up. That is the tricky part, and also the most crucial. I forgot how hard it is. Here I am, almost 7 years after my first baby, having to make myself vulnerable all over again. That’s how community is built. You say yes, you show up, you bare your soul, and then you love your butt off.

6 years ago, with a new baby, I showed up and showed up and showed up. It takes a long time to find your people.

Some were too far. I traveled many miles from my home for a lot of events because I didn’t think I would find my people close to home. Spoiler alert: I was wrong.

Some were too different. Different is amazing and necessary, don’t get me wrong. I don’t care about your economic status, or where you live, or what you wear. I care about what’s in your heart and what you are willing to show. As I’ve grown to know myself, I know I need people who wear their heart on their sleeve, at least once in a while. Life is too short to pretend to be who others want us to be, and to not share our truths. If we can’t be real together, I just ain’t got time for that.

So I continued to make plans, and sit through discomfort and sometimes boredom. I listened and I shared. And it happened. I found my people. I hit the mom friend JACKPOT.

Meetup.com. That old gem. Tom and I once used it to meet fellow husky owners. If you have an interest, no matter how weird, there are people out there who want to discuss it and share it with you. I found my zany, enthusiastic, loveably weird dog people. My mom people had to be out there, too.

The Church Hill Meetup was a couple of towns over, in the highfalutin community of Norwell, Massachusetts. My hopes were not high. However, I have had great luck in church basements before (friends of Bill W. will understand) so I braced myself and entered with an open heart.

Stacey radiated love and kindness. I had never met anyone like her. She was practicing service and she didn’t even need to. I only do service because I need it to stay alive and sane. There are people who do service because it’s right and good. Incredible!

My first thought was, Wow. Followed by, why? Why would someone like her want to be friends with me? Middle school self esteem rears its ugly head again! I was very pregnant with Lou Lou, flanked by my little Delia who was close in age with Stacey’s son, Nolan. I met kindness with kindness and opened myself up to love.

Emily came on the scene soon thereafter. Her kids’ names alone told me she was my kind of gal. Here was someone who knew who she was. She was unapologetic. She was interesting, fun and so, extremely funny. I’ve been hooked ever since.

I am thinking of these two friends especially today because they left Miami days ago, visiting me, as part of a surprise birthday gift schemed with my husband, and I am still bursting with gratitude over the whole darn thing. We shared some meals, some tears and so much laughter. The memories will get me through many of the lonely days that inevitably come with living in a new place.

Friends are not just company or therapy, although those things are great. To me, it’s about having witnesses to our lives. I am existing in this crazy world, raising little people, doing the next right thing, and there are people who acknowledge this and appreciate it. It’s validating and life affirming. My greatest fear in moving to Miami, was that this would cease to happen. And in turn, it’s almost as if I would cease to be. My feelings, my baby’s milestones, my first grader’s travails, my preschooler’s first friend, my marriage, decorating our beautiful home, leaping into new adventures- would all these things be happening in a vacuum?

Now I feel certain that my friends and I are imprinted on each other in ways that defy distance. I’m so glad that I showed up, and they showed up, and we all continue show up (even if it takes a plane ride and a sketchy Lyft driver!) and that we all took a chance on each other.

#friendship #truelove #momdating #momsquad #momlife #tribe

1 note · View note

suiciderealestate · 5 years

Text

Twitch

Lately I wonder if it matters which medium I use to record my thoughts. If I write something by hand in my journal, it becomes more personal and tangible but both jeopardized and romanticized by the very fact that my words are bound to a destructible object. Conversely, I wonder every day if the poems, essays and journal entries I have added to this website will be lost to a sudden shift in corporate consciousness, the decision to terminate a web domain that has become the repository for so many people’s thoughts, their predilections, mirrors of themselves wrought of disparate but similar things. It has been more than three months since I have uploaded anything to Tumblr. Though Tumblr is primarily used as a place to upload and share images, I have always used it predominantly to share articulations of my thoughts. For some reason lately words have been elusive to me, and though much more is happening in my life, it sometimes feels like the landscape of my mind better reflects the yawning plains of Kansas. I left Kansas to escape a monolithic life, but in New York I have often reduced myself to a monolith of empty drunkenness as my mind quietly unravels. For a long time, I wanted to be a writer, a journalist, somebody who transforms the written word into a sword or a hypnotic dance. But lately literature, journaling and even journalism have lost their luster. Whether the loss is impermanent remains to be seen. Everywhere I’ve lived I’ve been a different person. In Chicago, I was an average writer and an average photographer with radical sensibilities. In Washington D.C. I was a copy editor and a decent writer on the verge of throwing myself off the roof of 25 Massachusetts Ave., but hardly a photographer at all. In Kansas I was an excellent writer and a casual but enthusiastic photographer. And in Nashville, I was scarcely either of those things, but maybe that’s because Nashville, even in the midst of rapid change, feels like a suffocating, stifling dose of redundancy. Even the nature of my work changes as I go from place to place. But if the things I create through words and images and whatever else are ripples upon the surface of this aqueous karma, then I hope the Universe accepts my appeal that in New York I may realize myself fully as both a photographer and a writer. I find that I hardly have the energy or attention span for either, but taking pictures of New York nightlife has at least given me some kind of creative cliff to cling to. Still, I can’t decide if this is the right choice for me. Should I stay or should I go? The famous question immortalized by The Clash plagues me every day. And more important still, if I do write, what is the most important medium through which to record my thoughts? Does it matter at all what I say or where I keep them anymore? In today’s modern world obsessed by fast content relentlessly purveyed through social media, a dedication to literature and poetry is gravely on the decline. Even in myself, I feel the symptoms of the modern age. I am hardly ever able to concentrate on what I’m reading, hardly ever able to concentrate on what I am writing, hardly ever able to concentrate on who I am and who it is I actually want to be. As both a consumer and producer of written texts, I am glacially slow and far from prodigious. Yet I feel in myself the truth that I am a vessel of karma constantly in flux, and that ripples from distant eons may not yet have found their way into my being. Through the fermentation of my body and spirit, I might find in myself the literary prodigy I have always hoped would be born. To be told relentlessly that I have a talent and not be able to birth anything of substance through it is a terrible malady. It sometimes feels as if this writer’s block wrought of indecision is simply a kind of creative sterility. As I write about these faults, it could be argued that this in and of itself is a type of creation. But it is a redundant, self-involved kind of creativity. Though I live in a world that often resembles fantasy, I am so completely obsessed with things that are real. As Oscar Wilde once said in an 1889 essay titled ‘The Decay of Lying,’ “Life imitates art far more than art imitates life.” The same sentiment was famously repeated by Lana Del Rey in her song ‘Gods and Monsters.’ Indeed, journalism and creative nonfiction and documentary photography and documentary filmmaking are all things bound predictably by reality, but through the human lens we find that the stuff of our wildest imaginations suffuses everything around us, and further that even our imaginations themselves are animated and based on figments of truth informed and manifested by the extension of an omnipresent universal agency. The real and the unreal are intertwined in a seamless tapestry, a continuum, and the experience of the human mind is only subject to different layers of perception that inevitably lead to and depart from singularity. Regardless, my aversion to fantasy for fantasy’s sake through the genres of fiction across various mediums has probably been engendered by my commitment to removing the veil of the world that hides just below the surface and scintillates in the symbolism of ubiquitous synchronicity. In creating I don’t always see the purpose of what I’ve made until it’s already completed, but upon its completion I realize what I was trying to say, what something else was perhaps trying to express through me. In that inverted realization of my creative intention, I see the truth in Wilde’s anti-mimesis, that art is an essential element of universal manifestation at once inherent to and transcendent of human agency. But it is through our interaction and resultant collaboration with the universe that an artist can find his ascendance. The only question then, another born of redundancy and indecision, is what medium is best to express this collaboration in a way that produces a more resonant emotional impact and thereby a greater karmic splash on the planet that accords with contemporary expectations for convenient consumption. But even still, there is something to be said of creation for creation’s sake, to make something knowing full well that you may never be recognized at all and moving forward anyway, proceeding not because you create for clout but because you make to feel alive, to feel some semblance of meaning, to observe the arbitrary nature of eternity and carve into it a more vivid image of the illusion. And so, though I desire some consistency in my manner of spreading these breadcrumbs, I admit that between the pros and cons of recording my thoughts in an inconspicuous little black book and a mostly defunct web domain there isn’t much difference. The pieces are all there to be seen or not seen, but the important thing, more simply, is that they exist in the shadow of a promise that one day they will not, because even the loudest echoes, the most potent waves, recede into nothingness. And so, I suppose I shall continue to spread these bread crumbs aimlessly in hopes that the chaos will one day be made clear, if only for a fleeting moment.

0 notes

eachdayisasitcomes · 7 years

Text

february 11 2017

My name is Meghan Rose Lewis. I am a woman, 18 years old, with blonde hair. The ends are lighter than the roots, and my eyes are brown like my father’s. I live in Massachusetts, which at this time of year will freeze your bones if you stay in one place too long. I like to write, I like to get my thoughts down; it helps. Sometimes people call things that are therapeutic for them cathartic. Catharsis can take on many forms. Tonight this is it’s form, on a blog only my eyes have ever seen. On a blog that nags me, a blog that ironically enough was last posted on this day two years ago. There’s something, someone rather, that is paining me- it started two days ago (well in four minutes it’ll be three days ago). And all Ive been able to do is have headaches, and cry, and stay up late, and not be hungry enough to eat, and curse their nae, and curse myself, and hate the very hands that held me and hate the very hands that type this. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry tonight, because what’s the use in crying over someone that doesn’t know you’re crying for them, over them, because you love them. Yes this someone is the same someone i wrote about exactly two years ago today on an extremely happier note. I’m sure I’ll remember this ordeal pretty vividly so I’m not going to explain it. Only for the sake of myself down the line. But, I still need my catharsis and that’s why I’m here.

Except I don’t know what to talk about, I feel so numb. God I hate that word. Numb it rhymes with dumb and it is dumb. Numb. Why would you take such a poetic phrase and squeeze into one dumb word. I’ve lost all feeling, My nerves no longer work, I can’t sense pain.

But wait I can so maybe I’m not numb. No, I am very much alive (a reference to my MCR days back when I was 12 and idolized Gerard Way, who wrote that on his neck at a concert once). I’m alive but it’s almost like it hurts to breath. It’s almost reminds me of running on Attleboro’s turf for my explosion practices in mid March when there was still snow on the ground. You’re coughing, nose running, cramps in your gut seizing your body, throat so dry, heart beating so unbelievably fast. But.

I also feel like I’m standing still. Like I’m in the center of some courtyard and all of the sudden walls, the sides of brick buildings, all four around you just crash. And it seems to go on forever. Like you can follow every single falling brick with your eyes, like you can remember the shapes that the puffs of dusty broken bricks make, just as you used to see shapes in clouds on old days where the sky was blue. Now just imagine those four buildings were your love, your best friend, your trust, and you heart. Fuck this is melodramatic.

I don’t really care though, and I don't feel any better but at least for the past fifteen or so minutes I’ve been distracted.

You know what I wish?

I wish there was a way to see the inside of peoples souls. I know everyone says it’s the heart that stores your love, appreciation, care, basically all your feelings for people you find important to you. And i do use the heart in a metaphorical sense, but I believe every emotion, feeling, sense of being, sense of reality remains in the soul. And that’s why I wish you could see inside of them to see intentions, and to see how someone really truly views you, and what you mean to them, or even how you play into their reality. Maybe that’s why the soul is so elusive, cause it knows that if it gets caught and the person that sees it didn’t like what they saw the soul, or more precisely the person in which the soul lies, will be removed from the soul seer’s life. This is sounding very confusing and science fiction-y and I’m super sorry in advanced. I don’t think there is anyone in my life with a bad soul, I think like any organ or living being it can get sick though, infected. People do shitty things, terrible things in the name of love and those things corrupt a soul and slither in and out like snakes.

I’m hoping that my friend doesn’t ask about the situation I talked about previously. I really don’t want to share, but at the same tie I do. i want to be free of this ordeal. i told myself i wasn’t going to cry but now I’m starting.

When I was nine years old I entered puberty. A disgusting stage of life where your body smells, you face gets this weird thing called acne and you gain weight you didn’t know you gained until seven years later when someone shows you pictures. But yeah i started this stage pretty young in life. And I honestly think thats when my brain chemicals got fucked up and I think that’s when i started to develop depression and insecurities that were sad beyond measure. But the point is these things started almost ten years ago, and in ten years I have gone through two clinical depressions, countless anxiety attacks, three therapists, many refills of Prozac, and a lot of fucking tears. Poor me, right meg? no. this isn’t sympathy, fuck if I wanted sympathy I’d romanticize the shit out of this (crying at night makes me feel like a wilted flower and cue the single tear lol) this is just a time line of my happiness. I don’t think my happiness has been here longer than a year since then. And when i say happiness I mean this secure sense of self, of love, or laughter, of general goodness. Happiness doesn’t mean sadness never comes, no it can show up but its fleeting. It’s like dropping your pencil at school quick, its like shutting the lights off. But no since I was nine i’ve been trying to be happy again. I have been doing my best. I have tried to surround myself with people who support me and shit like tat. But it’s like no matter how close I get it comes crashing down (to seem more on this feeling reread paragraph 4). And i have no one but myself to blame. People may have done things but its ultimately my fault for letting them in close enough to crumble part of me away. I half believe that last sentence, because I do also believe what has recently happened to me, or what i recently found out, I did not deserve it. I want to believe my worth but when people.. what’s the word.. obliterate it, you feel like you’ve been worthless our whole life. Fuck this is so corny. I don’t know self. don't know what I did in a past life, don’t know why i let people get close to me, don’t know why people lie to me, especially a person you loved more deeply than anyone.

I really don’t want to stop typing, this is pretty good.

People do fucked up things, but it’s all in the way they fight for them, or the lack of fighting. I hope my someone believes I’m worth fighting for. and If he doesn’t then should I feel bad? Should I feel like I am too worthless to fight for to unworthy of love? Or should I realize that I am better than what I received? I hope it’s the last one. but I’m afraid I’ll turn on myself and feel worthless and unworthy. Does it make sense to say worthless and unworthy in one sentence?

Well let’s end this on a good note.

I like my middle name. Rose. I think it makes a great first name. I wonder what it means, lemme go check... it says “ Originally a Norman form of a Germanic name, which was composed of the elements hrod "fame" and heid "kind, sort, type". The Normans introduced it to England in the forms Roese and Rohese.” well Meghan (which means pearl in welsh, and possibly brave warrior in celtic or irish, and strong and capable in anglo-saxon) and rose go pretty well together. I don’t think my parents intended on this though. but yeah

My name is Meghan Rose

I am a Pearl, brave, strong, an capable, and a rose so famous, and kind, and I am glad to be myself. And I want to be happy, celebrated, and confident. told myself I wasn’t going to cry. I want to live up to my name.

maybe I’ll be back here soon.

1 note · View note

flightandsurvival · 5 years

Text

To pass the time.

Let’s start with you: How are you?: I am feeling very under the weather. Yesterday afternoon I started to notice some post-nasal drip and by bedtime I had to chug nyquil to get to sleep because swallowing hurt me. Woke up to a tender throat, stuffy and runny nose, and a sinus headache... so things could be better, but they could also be worse.

What motivates you to get up every day?: Sunlight. If there is no sun, there is no motivation and it’s the biggest struggle to roll myself out of bed.

Do you have a true best friend?: I don’t have a “best friend” because I have a handful of best friends... whom I trust wholeheartedly. I think limiting my love to just one “best friend” would be a waste of my affections.

Do you see yourself as a sensitive person?: Yes, absolutely.

Have you been upset recently?: Nope. I’ve been really good lately.

Do you still leave/receive voicemails?: Yes... I want to make sure that people know that I have called and that its not a huge emergency but I want to touch base. I don’t call others often though...

Do you live in your hometown?: No.

Are you a festive person? Do you enjoy holidays?: I’m not super festive, I both love and loathe holidays. I’ve got complicated relationships with all of my immediate family, with the exception of my dad.

Did you/Will you attend college?: I attended Queens College and am enrolled in the University of New England presently for my masters.

How many alarm clocks do you use?: My phone.

Do you consider yourself to be an open-minded person?: Absolutely.

Do you eat fruit?: All the time.

What is your favorite subject to learn about?: Psychology, psychopathology, trauma.

How many meals a day do you typically eat?: It depends... I often forget breakfast.

Music, eh?

Have you seen any live shows?: Yes.

Name three of your favorite bands/artists…: Lizzo, Demi Lovato, The Avett Brothers.

How big of a role does music play in your life?: I am always listening to music.

Can you play any instruments?: Nope.

You’re feeling down - do you listen to sad music or happy? Both, either.

If you’ve ever been to a concert, how old were you and who did you see?: I’ve seen NoName, All Time Low (more than once), We The Kings, Hey Monday, Underoath, LIGHTS, Lake Street Dive, Xavier Rudd, Trevor Hall, Highly Suspect, Ashlee Simpson, and a handful of others. Do you prefer music to be meaningful and deep, or purely for dancing/fun?: Either. Depends on my mood. Is there a song or artist that you secretly enjoy, but don’t want to enjoy?: Taylor Swift. The bish makes catchy music.

If you could only listen to music from one decade, which would you choose?: 90′s. Has your parents taste in music in any way affected what you like?: Definitely. My dad has always been a downloader of music and movies, he would have a very eclectic selection and I had full access. You’re looking for some new music - what’s your preferred way to discover?: Through the “other artists you may like” section of apple music or listening to different playlists. Do you still own any CD’s/records/tapes?: Not on purpose. Do you ever hear a new song on tv that you like and find it?: Yes. Speaking of television… (look at that smooth transition!) Do you watch a lot of television? Whether that be shows, news, movies etc.: I watch a lot of netflix and hulu. Do you watch the news?: No. What about the weather channel?: No. What’s your favorite holiday movie?: I’m not sure. Elf maybe. What hooks you to a television show? Light and funny or really dark and intense. How do you feel about adult cartoons?: They’re alright. Not my preferred genre. Talk shows - boring or entertaining?: Can be entertaining when I’m bored out of my mind... but overall boring. Do you prefer cable, satellite or streaming?: Streaming. Have you come across any new shows you like this year?: The Act. Super fucked up, super intense, and super thought-provoking. Do you still watch shows that you grew up watching?: No. What about movies that you grew up with?: No. Are you subscribed to any streaming services?: Hulu. Reality shows - entertaining or horrifying?: Entertainingly horrifying. Vanderpump Rules is a must watch. What is the first movie you ever saw in a cinema?: I don’t recall. Let’s talk about what you don’t discuss at Sunday brunch Do you identify with any organized religion?: I would say I lean heavily toward Buddhism. If so - is it how you were raised, or have you found your own?: I was raised without an ounce of religion discussed. I had friends who went to church but if they asked me what religion my family was I wouldn’t have known the answer. My mom grew up Jehovah's Witness and subsequently did not want to push religion on to her children in any way. My dad is super atheist and never directly discussed religion with me. Do you think that marijuana should be legalized?: Absolutely. It’s less destructive than alcohol. It can be used for SO MANY things. Marijuana is good. If so, would that be for medical use only, or recreational?: Both. Medical cards are expensive af and they have to be renewed every year. Pay 200+ every year for medical access (plus the cost of the weed) or just buy recreational without that 200+ yearly fee... Pro-life or pro-choice?: Incredibly pro-choice. I do not know if I would get an abortion myself, I’ve never been in that spot, but I do know its not a single bit of my goddamn business if someone has an abortion. I am truly a supporter though, my sister had had two abortions and if she hadn’t those children would have been all sorts of fucked up because she was on all sort of drugs. Have you ever protested or been on strike?: I have done Women’s marches and I also stood outside a planned parenthood to escort women into the clinic and shield them from the insane and really mean pro-life protesters. Is gun control necessary or no?: That shouldn’t even be a question... do people get shot needlessly or no? Are you happy with the political state where you reside?: I am perfectly happy with Massachusetts and their political state (well, everything can improve in one way or another...). I am not, however, proud of the political state of my country. Our president is a huge baby and the people, in general, are so extremely divided and on really chaotic ends of the political spectrum right now. Have you read the book 13 Reasons Why or watched the show?: Yes and yes. Should shows like this be available to everyone or could it be a trigger?: I think that this isn’t an easy answer. I believe that the making it available for public consumption did a really good thing for society- shed light on suicide and all of the contributing factors as well as emphasizing how confusing and messy the lives of young people can get, regardless if we see it or not. However, it was also something that was triggering for some people and it did borderline romanticize suicide without really hitting home that if you kill yourself you don’t get to see how much others care and you don’t get to see how hard others will fight for you. Okay, let’s simmer down. Back to happy things. Do you like animals?: Yes. If so, do you have any pets?: Dog and cat. What is your favorite day of the week and why?: I don’t have one really because I have a revolving schedule and classwork due regularly. Do you have a favorite season?: Fall. How do you enjoy nice scents? Uhh... breathing? Do you live in a large city or small town?: Medium town. Are you happy with that or would you like to change it?: I think it’s fine. Do you have any children?: No human children. Are there any colors that you think compliment you?: Orange, yellow, blue. Do you enjoy cleaning or find it to be a chore?: I enjoy it for the most part. What is your absolute favorite food?: Sushi.

If you were any color, what would you be?: Lavender. Do you spend a lot of time on social networks?: No, I have cut down immensely. I deleted FB and I limit myself to 2 hours per day.

#me #about me #personal #survey #questionnaire

0 notes

graceivers · 7 years

Text

Review #48 - Ruined

Ruined Author: Tracy Wolff Genre: Billionaires & CEOs, Contemporary Romance, Workplace Romance Rating: ★★ Recommendation: not worth it; once was enough Summary: To outrun the demons of her past, Chloe Girard is focused on impressing at her internship at Frost Industries. The CEO of the company takes a quick liking to her after a chance encounter, and once they get together, he can’t let her go.

Female Lead: I genuinely did not understand how Chloe was seemingly so bright academically and yet genuinely so dumb when it came to her relationship with Ethan. This girl got a full scholarship to some fancy private school in Massachusetts (WHICH ONE, WOLFF, WHICH ONE?), got a fancy internship at Frost Industries, miraculously made a breakthrough in her INTERNSHIP WORK that helped the company on a big case, and had genuine plans to attend law school. Wolff tried so hard in the beginning to bang the idea that Chloe was self-sufficient and independent and strong and stubborn and in control over our heads, and yet when it came to Ethan, Chloe had zero resolve in staying away. Sure, she put up a big fight here and there, but in the end, she was too entranced by their apparently amazing and intense and undeniable chemistry and need for each other. Everything was so unnecessarily romanticized in Chloe’s perspective, and considering that was the entire book, it got old and irritating quickly. I mean, did she hear herself? There was so much unnecessary garnish and flourish when she talked herself into thinking certain ways—when Wolff wrote some outlandish explanations and excuses as to why Chloe could still love Ethan despite him being slightly attached to the most traumatic experience of Chloe’s life. Girl, you are so much better than that. Male Lead: Ethan was slightly perplexing. There was gentle Ethan who was caring and considerate of Chloe. There were moments where he gave without expecting anything in return, where he didn’t push her for what he sensed she wasn’t ready to give. Then there was the typical billionaire/CEO Ethan who was attractive and charming in that forbidden and elusive way that lured Chloe into his arms and life. But then there was Ethan who made mistakes, didn’t learn from his mistakes, and continued to make the same mistakes. He said he never wanted to hurt Chloe, and yet he did when he continued to keep things from her that were relevant to her. Communication, people. Communication is important. You would think that Ethan would’ve learned that after the first time, but nope. And then as the story/books went on and on, Ethan also got more and more controlling and possessive. Was that part of the supposed alpha appeal? Yeah, probably. But the juxtaposition between that and previously established gentle side was… perplexing to me. Different facets to a complicated man? Sure. But for some reason, I had a difficult time putting it all together into the one character. Plot & Writing: I don’t get these billionaire/CEO stories sometimes. I mean, I clearly see the appeal because I keep going back to these stories and characters, but good God, why aren’t they written any better? Why do these types of stories always go like this? If it’s not some typical and cliched boss and his assistant, it’s what we get in the Ethan Frost series: unassuming girl catches the attention of the billionaire/CEO and their supposed connection is just too strong and deep and intense for them to completely quit each other despite the fact that one of them is at least partly the cause of the other’s suffering.

Let me get some logistics out of the way. Ruined is the first book of a trilogy about Ethan and Chloe’s relationship. There’s technically a fourth book in the series, but the leads in that one are different, though obviously characters we have met in the original trilogy. I finished Ruined and read half of the second book, Addicted, before I stopped halfway and skimmed/abandoned because I had had enough. I doubt whatever I missed in the second book or the entire third book will make a difference in my review, so I’m saving myself some time and energy and not reading them.

Regarding Wolff’s writing style, let’s just say it was rather long. What the author basically did was like freeze frame on a moment and then drag it out as much as possible with inner thoughts and reflection that didn’t always stay relevant to the moment. That was basically the hallmark of the entire book/series and not in a good way. Wolff’s writing at times became very long-winded. There was a lot more inner monologue/introspection than dialogue. Now, as a writer for fun, I am guilty of that too. But the way Wolff froze moments in time so Chloe could have these long-winded reflections became painstaking and annoying. Oh, and then there were just sex scenes in the wrong places. Like Chloe’s guttural reaction when she found out about how Ethan was related to her traumatic past, she was so rightfully furious and out of control; and yet, it suddenly turned into a sex scene! I didn’t get it. And then the sex they had in the rain in public at that dinner party thing in the second book where Chloe again wasn’t speaking to Ethan and wasn’t in a good place with him? Yep, didn’t get that either.

Speaking of Ethan and Chloe’s relationship… If it wasn’t clear how I felt about it in the character’s section, let me clarify here. Again, Wolff really tried her best to sell the relationship as too strong and undeniable for them to be separated. And though I honestly bought it at times in the first book, that supposed deep love was not reason enough for me to believe in the ensuing breakups and reunions between these two. Again, the drawn-out explanations became too much, and those excuses ultimately seemed lame and unbelievable—like Chloe was trying to arguing herself into still loving and staying with Ethan when she knew it wasn’t a good idea. And then! You realize that they’ve only known each other for two weeks that span the entire first book? That fact sure put a even bigger damper in the believability of their relationship.

And then… I feel like I must address the whole belly chain thing. First of all, when the thing first appeared and was mentioned, I didn’t even know what it was. Like I literally searched ‘Tiffany’s chain’ on the web trying to figure out what the heck Wolff was talking about because it wasn’t a necklace and it wasn’t a bracelet; it wasn’t even an anklet or whatever because it was mentioned to be near Chloe’s hip. And then, BAM. BELLY CHAIN. AND I WAS LIKE… WHAT? WHAT IS THAT? WHAT IN THE HELL IS A BELLY CHAIN? IS THIS FOR REAL? DO PEOPLE ACTUALLY MAKE THESE THINGS? DOES TIFFANY’S ACTUALLY MAKE THESE THINGS? DO PEOPLE ACTUALLY WEAR THESE THINGS? IS THIS FASHIONABLE? I was genuinely confused out of my damn mind. And then! The belly chain was mentioned everywhere, all the damn time. AND AGAIN. CHLOE TRYING TO RATIONALIZE AND ROMANTICIZE EVERYTHING AND SAYING RIDICULOUS AND HONEST TO GOD DUMB THINGS ABOUT HOW THE CHAIN GROUNDS HER AND LINKS HER TO ETHAN AND MAKES HER FEEL SAFE AND SECURE. Woman, no. NO. Chloe was all like, “Don’t call it a collar,” in the second book, and Ethan’s literal response to that was, “That’s exactly what it is and you and I both know it.” HA. HA!

And that was when I stopped reading. No further explanation should be needed as to why I stopped there. Oh, but briefly and very randomly, this wasn’t put in the college category even though Chloe was like a twenty-year-old college student because there was no school mentioned really at all. Similarly, this was not put in the lawyers category because despite interning with law department at Frost Industries, Chloe was a twenty-year-old college student and not a lawyer or even in law school. Favorite Part(s): The first chapter of Ruined, where it was predictable and you knew the guy behind the counter giving Chloe a hard time was fortunately or unfortunately Ethan. I actually really enjoyed that interaction between them two. I also really did love the moment Ethan realized Chloe hadn’t eaten anything and was hungry and instantly dropped their little standoff/fight/banter to give her not only what she wanted but an extra helping. If only the book could’ve stayed in that nice bubble… Final Thoughts: Billionaire/CEO romances, how you’ve failed me again. Ruined and the rest of the trilogy was very predictable, but that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part was feeling like Wolff didn’t know what to do with her characters—that she made Ethan and Chloe’s quick and undying love for each other seemingly solve all their major problems when it didn’t and shouldn’t have. Will I continue to read books with billionaire/CEO characters? Yes. Do I recommend Ruined/this trilogy? No.

#book: ruined #author: tracy wolff #genre: billionaires & ceos #genre: contemporary romance #genre: workplace romance

0 notes