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ask-de-writer · 1 year

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SUBMARINE! 1812 an Alternate History

Chapter 6 : KRAKEN

(Part 1 of 5)

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

5462 words

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KRAKEN-

Anchors were dropped with a rattle of heavy chain, followed by the hiss of heavy cable through the hause-pipes as the hooks sought and found purchase in the bottom of Hampton Roads. We were home at last.

The seaman beside me was precariously standing on the rail of the Maryland, one hand on a line for balance, the other waving enthusiastically at the small boats approaching from shore. “I got me more than two thousand gold Continentals in prize money to blow,” he confided to me. “I’d ha’ stayed out longer, iffin’ I was the Commodore. We chewed ‘em up and spit ‘em out so good.”

“Indeed we did, though I was one of those who said that we should return,” I replied.

“So why’d we come back? You got the inside skinny?”

“Only part of it. If it helps any, even Commodore Marks shared your view. We had two attack boats damaged in loading accidents there at the last. Shark lost her mast and a tackle failure caused Polliwog serious damage to rudder and diving planes. We had not the facilities to refit the Shark. Still, we were willing to continue, with altered raising tackle. There was something in that last messenger packet’s dispatches that changed The Commodore’s mind. What that was I do not know.”

“What’s up? Green Jackets in boats is turnin’ back the harbor boats...” The shrill of the bosun’s pipe sounding assembly interrupted him. He leapt nimbly down to the deck and ran aft with the rest of the crew. Commodore Marks was standing on the poop deck, ready to address the crew.

“Men,” he cried, “you have done what no nation has ever done before. You have humbled the Beast of Britain on her home seas. Even the least among you has enough prize money to buy a decent farm. Our holds bear a secret and that secret is the rocket, nothing else. If any man or woman questions you about other weapons or even the submarine boats, what do you do?”

There was a pregnant pause, followed by one man saying, “Report ‘em!” Suddenly the whole crew caught it. “Report ‘em!” they thundered as one.

“That’s right! Report ‘em! There are no submarine boats! Anyone who says that there are is a liar! An arrested liar at that! It’s rockets that sent the Brits to the bottom! Is every man here clear on that?”

“Aye, Sir!” they responded.

“Signal man! Clear the boats to approach us! Bosun Harding has the harbor duty assignments. Those not on harbor duty may go ashore and God go with you.”

Bosun Harding read off a dozen names and was met by as many groans of disappointment.

The many small boats swarmed like a gaggle of geese about our ships. Many were carrying liveried servants from great houses, and at least as many more were carrying ladies. They all were bearing invitations to come to parties being held in the honor of our deed. The servants wanted officers, or at least the highest ranking men that they could get for their master’s “rocket parties.”

The ladies were mostly less discriminating. They were there to invite any man that they could get to come to their ‘parties.’ Some of those parties were very private and some were open invitations from the brothels of Norfolk.

One boat cut through the swarm and all made way for it. It bore the ensign of the Office of the President of the Continental Congress. Riding stiffly erect, in his fine coat of green broadcloth with red and gold trim, was the President’s personal aide, my grandfather, Tall Bear. He had three eagle feathers in his braid. The bosun piped him aboard.

In spite of his age, he climbed the ladder easily and swiftly gained the deck. That he saw me in his brief glance about the deck, I was sure, but he went straight to the Commodore and they went into his cabin. Whatever the discussion was, it was brief. They emerged moments later, and he strode gravely across the deck to me.

He looked me up and down, quietly. “You have done well. We have read every dispatch and all of your letters too. It would appear that all of your devices have done as well or better in real action than we had hoped.

“Your mother, Sun on the Cloud, misses you. Also your sister, Cornflower, wishes you to meet her new husband.” Here he at last grinned and clapped me on the arm and thrust a letter into my hand. “Harvest Moon wants to see you, too. Most urgently. When are you two going to settle down together?”

“I don’t know, Grandfather. When the war permits. I, too, wish to see the forests and lakes of home. I will come home as soon as I can find the time. I have missed you all.”

“It will have to wait a bit longer. I bear an invitation from your Uncle, President Arnold. All of the principal officers and you submariners are to go to Philadelphia for a special reception at the Presidential Mansion. Something big is in the wind. That is all that I can say about it here.”

“May I come with you, Grandfather?”

“I fear not, Tecumsah. I have a number of errands to accomplish yet. I will not get back in time to be at the fete. Smollet will be there.”

“Mister Smollet! I haven’t seen him for ages! What is new from his workshops?”

“I cannot say. I am sure that he will tell you himself. You two always did understand each other better than any two men ought. Now, I must go.” With that, he strode across the deck to the ladder and the bosun piped him off the ship.

To be continued

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cu1tofdionysus · 3 months

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TRAVELING DELPHI: Woodstock, NY

(See above link for all pictures)

Schools out for summer and I need a strong drink in the wilderness to recover. Junior year is intense. In the city, there are so many places to go for a breath of fresh air. Just a short car, bus, or train ride and you could be away from the humid hustling and bustling. Some can go to the Hamptons, if they can’t they might get a weekend AirBnb near the Rockaways or something. Some go upstate, some go to the shores of dirty Jerz to gamble or bake to a crisp. I chose to go to Woodstock, New York. In my head, it’s synonymous with the legendary 1969 Woodstock festival. I love a place where something happened. I love a live music venue.

Most of Woodstock’s whole thing is that it has the bohemian art culture of the city, only in the woods. Bob Dylan owned a house here. I learned about the Hudson River school in history class, landscape painters in the Hudson valley that invented a new art movement in the mid 1800s. In 1903, Ralph Whitehead founded Byrdcliffe colony in Woodstock, intended to be a utopian art colony. My roommate got into their summer residency. Hi Sonia! We missed our exit on the highway. Don't do that, because if you do, you’ll have to spend 30 more minutes driving to the next one.

The decoy main attraction is the Woodstock festival grounds, which are an hour away in Bethel, New York. The real main attraction is Tinker St, the Lower East Side of Woodstock, (main street), nestled at the end of a large hill. It is lined with pinterest board boutiques, cafes, a few restaurants and churches and places to buy incense or expensive tie-dye. After Tinker St it’s green. Ancient trees, winding roads, wildflowers, hidden homes, cottage homes with long and twisting driveways. A sign in someone’s yard says: “KEEP WOODSTOCK WILD. SAY NO TO OVERDEVELOPMENT!” We swerved often, narrowly avoiding mini squirrels darting across the road. I registered a bit later that they were chipmunks. Cute!!!! RIP to the ones we passed, already flattened

PEARL MOON

Our first time stretching our legs from the 3 hr car ride and our first time eating that day. Pearl Moon has a pretty string light patio, can’t miss it from the road. The inside has a stage with gold curtains for live music. The walls are painted with rich teal paint. Our waitress and hostess were both very friendly and attentive in a way that initially threw me— were not in NYC anymore! I got a $30 burger in front of me swiftly. The $30 made it less enjoyable, but it was good, and the hot toddy my boyfriend got was strong. His duck quesadilla was unique. Go there for dinner instead of lunch, when there's music. They have some drag events too.

TINKER ST SHOPS

We perused in and out of a bookshop, some spiritual shops, gift shops, smoke shops, antique stores, consignment stores, home goods stores. Most of them had the owner behind the register.

Bookstore- The Golden Notebook

Ice cream- Sweet Dreams Organic Ice Cream

Vintage shop- Rock City Vintage

Record store- Woodstock Music Shop

Antiques- Woodstock Way Hotel – There’s a little shop owned by the same people directly in front of the hotel.

Free Gallery- Woodstock Artists Association & Museum

AIRBNB

Our lodging was right on Tinker street, perfect location, but hidden behind a bigger house with a garden. But we didn’t read the full description. It turns out our yellow cottage is more like a guest house attached to a main house. Our host runs “authentic writing workshops'' out of her main house. Even though the house was a bit closer for comfort than we were used to— no Midnight drives, headlines too bright— we never saw the host. The place was too sweet — studio sized, sunny, surrounded by wildflowers. Adorable mugs, quilts, a rocking chair, sky light. A nice queen bed to finally fuck where your roommates cant hear. We couldn’t take our trash outside because of the bears. We only had a kitchenette, so no cooking. Sleeping in such a quiet place took a couple nights to get used to, we heard the screaming of a fox and music lofting over from the bar across the street. We were also getting some kind of allergy sickness, ushering in summer, so we had tea in green mugs with fortunes on the tags at 3am.

LEVON HELM STUDIOS

My boyfriend, a musician, wanted to go to the Levon Helm Studios show for our first night. Levon Helm was a famous drummer, and Levon Studios is a tricked out barn. Its main attraction is their midnight rambles, where Helm's daughter, other extended family and invited guests put on a Midnight tribute. They didn’t have one tonight, so we’re seeing John Moreland, a big guy from Texas with sailor type tattoos and an old soul.

The stage was a nice red rug laid out over an elevated sector of the floor. Helm Studios Shows are acoustic. The stage wasn’t much but a few guitars, some harmonicas and vintage looking light bulbs in funky modern industrial stand up lands. But it was beautiful and intimate.

John Moreland could make anything sound good. His voice is warm and full and raspy. His opening was Ken Pomeroy, a folk singer who was about my age (22.) Her vibrato danced sweetly through our ears as she sang and told stories about what her songs were about.

The con? The crowd was a double edged sword. Mirroring the town's general population, I was one of very few young people there, one of an even smaller number of people of color. It was a lot of people over 60, music enthusiasts eager to listen, so much that the stillness and quietness dragged after a while. Some people brought their babies and toddlers though it was getting late for a farm town. Another con, Levon Helm doesn’t serve alcohol, and we didn’t know that, so we didn’t bring any. We had to resort to smoking in the car beforehand, which didn’t feel too good around a bunch of old white people. I could hear the couple behind me talking about my tattoos. They didn’t have any, but the man was once thinking about getting a cross.

It was before midnight, but too late to get food after, something I’m not used to. We had to drive to the McDonalds in the neighboring town, which made me really sick later.

EUPHORIA YOGA

Not sure if it was the leftover salad from Pearl Moon or the Mickey D’s but I got super sick from 3-5AM. I took the car out to try and watch the sunrise. Pulled into the parking lot of Euphoria Yoga and The Station bar, just across the street from AirBnb. Euphoria is a yellow two story house turned yoga studio. Station bar is a neighborhood bar housed in the remains of an old train station. I am very dumb and know nothing about terrains and tires. The dirt parking lot turned to mud with the night rain. I got the car stuck. We had to wait for a cleaning lady for one of the stores opening to help us maneuver the tires of my bf’s audi in a crazy way, to get us unstuck. We fell back asleep and slept through our morning level 1 yoga class. I regret missing it. Book a $20 yoga class and get reconnected.

SWIMMING HOLE

I’m from Texas, where it gets hot in April. In New York it doesn’t get hot until after memorial day. I figured this would be a summer weekend trip, so I ordered a silver bikini for the swimming holes. A lot of them were closed until the aforementioned memorial day. The weather was wet and rainy and foggy and muddy. We drove about 10 minutes away from Tinker St to find a hidden stream safe to swim in, but it was ice cold water.

TINKER ST TACO

Google reviews lie. I so wanted to like this place. It was an indoor/outdoor situation overlooking a stream, like a lot of the set-ups in this town. The owners' three fluffy adorable dogs were present and available for petting. Both employees were kind, one of them was wearing a bandana around his neck and a boater hat. Go here for drinks and great vibes, not so much for food. The tacos were… not good. Cold and warm at the same time. But the reviews were raving! Perhaps this has something to do with the lack of POC in the area.

MONASTERY

My streak of bad luck continues. We drove all the way up the hill passing grand lush trees and deer and chipmunks, to the Buddisht Monastery. Lines of Tibetan flags are strung on every tree. People are mountain watching near the parking lot. The monastery is a gorgeous white stone building with bronze roof panels and ornate window panes. A lot of the monks were converts, a lot of them were caucasian. These woodstock hippies are something. It’s open to the public and even available to tour. I donated three dollars for a candle to be lit in my name, for happiness. I got kicked out for wearing shorts that were not that short with a baggy cardigan, so it felt like I got kicked out for being a harlot.

CHURCH OF TRANSFIGURATION

The monastery is at the tip top of the hill, nothing neighboring it, but the nearest plot belongs to the Church of Transfiguration. A black, hand built, wooden, single-room church stands in an overgrown lot, built in 1891. You can’t go in it, but you can smoke weed in front of it sitting in your car, if you get kicked out of the Buddhist Monastery. Come, smoke weed as you are.

CUCINA

We have reservations at Cucina, a fancy Italian spot inside, yes, an old yellow house. We sit on the veranda, warm bulbs twinkle above our heads. Both pasta dishes were fire, the best meal of the trip. Our waitress was young and cool, which gets me thinking, where do all these hip young people hang out?

TINKER ST TAVERN

There weren’t many 20-somethings at Tinker St Tavern, either, but they were the most I’ve seen in one place. One girl had a leather jacket, “QUESTION AUTHORITY” scrawled across the shoulders. The bar is owned by the same people who own Do or Dive in Bed-Stuy. Both bars have a retro dive meets honky tonk vibe, pool table, repurposed old fluorescent signs. There was a girl band playing, composed of a bunch of rockstar moms who put their own spin on Tom Petty, called The Tom Pettys. They were all wearing tight pants and sunglasses and top hats. Two big dogs were behind the bar. at some point hopped up, leaned on the counter and looked like he was the bartender.

ALISON

Now, this is a place for lunch/ brunch. Inside an old house. This place, casualish Italian/ American, looks like the set of Practical Magic. Steak and eggs were yummy. Pesto sandwiches were so good we tried to make our own later. Not overpriced.

SAUGERTIES LIGHTHOUSE

Last stop! If you’re in the area long enough, it might be worth checking out Saugerties, the bigger neighboring town. We stopped by to walk the lighthouse trail, which, yeah, leads to an old lighthouse. Bring shoes you can get muddy and make sure the tide isn’t high. Apparently, you can rent it out for the weekend or tour, but we didn’t do that, and it was still nice to see. A lot of them were…….closed until Memorial Day. Next time :(

#travel #woodstock

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757offers · 5 months

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seotask99 · 7 months

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sellyourhouse2 · 1 year

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saintmeghanmarkle · 1 year

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If you are Harry and Meghan and you werent invited to the biggest party of the year where an absurd amount of celebrities were invited to for THE Annual 4th of July White Party.... I think that would be the cherry on top of failing Quarter 3. by u/Sonialove8

If you are Harry and Meghan and you weren’t invited to the biggest party of the year where an absurd amount of celebrities were invited to for THE Annual 4th of July White Party.... I think that would be the cherry on top of failing Quarter 3. H and MM have been snubbed from A-list party of all time? An absurdly insane guest list of famous people were in attendance. I know we shouldn’t be surprised…. But it’s still all a little fascinating, buying the Olive Garden didn’t get you into a party and your “duke and duchess” of Montecito. Only thing that would have sweetened the deal if the Countess Luan was here at the party lol. I’m sure with a little digging we could figure out if she’s attended before. Michael Rubin White Party 2023 took place on July 4th at his Hamptons house located on Dune Road in Bridgehampton, New York.The invitations to celebrities went out in the form of custom bottles of Jay-Z’s Ace of Spades champagne.NFL PlayersTom BradyMicah ParsonsJoe BurrowDamar HamlinCJ StroudOdell Beckham JrDavante AdamsDez BryantNBA PlayersKyle KuzmaDevin BookerJames HardenKevin DurantJoel EmbiidJJ RedickDonovan MitchellTobias HarrisTyrese MaxeyGrant WilliamsLorenzo McCloudCorey GambleInternational AthletesKylian MbappéBusinessman/BusinesswomanRobert KraftAlexandre ArnaultTina KnowlesSteve StouteJune AmbroseWill MakrisWill RoushJosh OstrovskyMark IaconoSinger/RapperJack HarlowJustin BieberBeyonceJay-ZJennifer LopezTravis ScottSwizz BeatzKelly RowlandDixie D'AmelioJustine SkyeCoi LerayMeek MillLil BabyQuavoNeyoUsherFabolousLil DurkFrench MontanaKenny ChesneyEbony RileyElla MaiASAP FergTravis BennettActors/ActressBen AffleckJonathan ChebanCorey GambleCamila MendesLeonardo DiCaprioMichael St PierreLily CheeModelsEmily RatajkowskiWinnie HarlowAlan TischLori HarveyJustine SkyeHailey BieberCamille FishelSabrina JalesComedianKevin HartDruskiTiffany HaddishInternet PersonalitiesKim KardashianKendall JennerJames CordenLala AnthonyLisa RamosTaylor RooksTim WeatherspoonRuggo da DonCyn RalphJonny RoxxEniko HartCharli D'AmelioPhotographersAlex SubersLenny SantiagoShareif ZiyadatDJZack BiaDJ KhaledChase BFamily Members Of CelebritiesLeslie LopezViolet AffleckJillian Petrone MakrisKylie RubinAnother week of plates flying …. post link: https://ift.tt/7EdVBTY author: Sonialove8 submitted: July 07, 2023 at 06:32AM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit

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hamptonroadspowerwashing12 · 2 years

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hamptonroadshousebuyers · 2 months

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kelleah-meah · 2 years

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My Goals for the Year of the Rabbit

So now that the "real" new year is finally upon us, I feel like I can actually capture some real plans for the forthcoming trip around the sun. Although, truth be told, I have been struggling a bit this month, so I really needed that buffer to get my thoughts together and assess what I may and may not be able to accomplish this year.

Last year was not at all what I hoped it would be, and if I'm honest, this year is looking to be quite a doozy thanks to some serious health issues I'm currently dealing with. So it's hard to make any realistic plans.

But at the same time, I don't feel like my real self if I don't make any plans at all. I need that semblance of structure if I hope to maintain my sanity, if you will. So here we are. Or should I say ... here it goes.

Here are my resolutions/plans/goals for 2023 or the Year of the Rabbit ...

Become more comfortable appearing on camera (photos and video) 🎥��

2. Join a writer’s group or writer’s circle ✍🏽

3. Sign up for life insurance 🛟

4. Set up a budget that allows me to pay down my credit card debt substantially 💳

✅ 5. Have necessary surgery 🩺🩻😷

6. Reorganize home office (purge file cabinet, buy new desk, etc.) 🖥️🗂️🗄️

7. Create an exercise regimen that I can follow before and after I finish recovery from surgery (the goal is to lose 10-15 lbs. and exercise 3-4x per week) 🤸🏽🚴🏋️

8. Improve my conversational Spanish through local weekly newspapers, apps and TV shows 🇪🇦

9. Continue shadow work and art therapy projects 🧘🏽🖌️🎨

10. Set aside “Me Time” for 1 hour each week for self-care activities (coloring book, journaling, jigsaw puzzle time, dancing around the house, reading a book or fanfiction, scrapbooking, etc.) 🕊️

11. Plan for multi-day vacation trip in 2024 (Montreal, Boston, or elsewhere) 🧳

12. Take a one-day road trip to Princeton, the Hamptons, Cape May, or Salem, MA 🚙

13. Build a 72-hr emergency kit 🦺

And this year's overall theme:

Do Less. Live More.

#lunar new year #year of the rabbit #2023 #plans for 2023

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patriciagreen844 · 2 years

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The Time frame

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The Closing Process

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uphomebuyers · 3 years

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We buy houses in Hampton Roads and the neighboring areas. Contact us to sell your home fast and walk with cash in hand. There are no commissions or fees required.

#We buy houses in Hampton Roads

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saleintothe90s · 3 years

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441. Daily Press, November 1, 1984

Ok, so here’s the thing, for some reason ProQuest doesn’t have any issues of my local newspaper for the tail end of 1983. So I’ll have to go back and cover 1983 in January. Maybe this was a good mistake -- November 1, 1984 was a beast of a newspaper, full of ads, and the food section and the neighbors section!

The Bowditch Ford logo always annoyed me from a design perspective. It looks like someone’s 12 year old kid drew the logo, and an adult drew the king.

I can’t help but wonder if Zola retired so quickly after the 1984 Olympics because of the bumping incident with Mary Decker. I mentioned it before in one of my Favorite Commercial posts (of all places!). However, her retirement was short lived, she returned to the Olympics, competing for South Africa in 1992.

aw, wedding hat!

Maybe because I watch Adam-12 every day after work, but I’m getting big Adam-12 vibes from this troupe of “Angels” who watched over a neighborhood in Newport News on Halloween.

The Dalkon Shield was a IUD like device that was discontinued due to harmful side effects from bacteria getting into the string. It looks like a scary ladybug attached to a string.

A&N’s ads looked pretty much like this up until the time they shut down in 2008.

I didn’t know we had Bradlees in Hampton back in 1984! Bradlees is just a store I don’t remember, because it left the Hampton Roads area back around 1989 when I was only six. It wasn’t a store my family frequented, like Sears of Kmart. I like that our local bus company, Pentran makes a special stop at Bradlees on Mondays through Saturdays.

‘Yall know Company Man on Youtube? He needs to do a vid on the rise and fall of GNC. If you’ve been to a dead mall in the last 20 years, you know GNC because its the only store there along with Bath & Body Works. Walls and walls of protein powder and supplements that haven’t been touched in 5 years. The GNC of 1984 actually had real food like Tuna and raisins, yogurt and prunes. It’s kinda funny to think about going to the mall to buy tuna and peanut butter.

I hope Jim Fuhs the lasagna making fireman is still with us today.

I’m thinking that Farm Fresh used to be a lot larger back in the day, or they sold a lot less food. The Mr. T doll and Montgomery Moose!

There has to be a catch on that $99 computer.

Fae, the baby with the baboon heart died a couple of weeks after this article.

This was back when we flew too close to the sun and thought we could cook anything including roast, cakes, and muffins in the microwave.

Here is the commercial for the E.T. Vitamins. Mr. Big reminds me of that episode of King of the Hill where Hank and the boys kidnap Dale’s new lawnmower. It wasn’t that episode, oops. Yall know the scene.

~Mr. Big~

well...i investigated where the Shoney’s once was in Hampton. It’s some dump for construction vehicles-- I think the restaurant was long torn down, but look:

they kept the sign! You can see the “S” a little.

There was a York Steak House at Newmarket North Mall?!

Ok, Beautyland. Good thing people didn’t care too much about copyright back in 1984.

#old newspapers #1984 #hampton virginia #newport news virginia #newport news #hampton #daily press #york steak house #bradlees #shoney's #e.t.#radio shack #farm fresh #gnc #dalkon shield #halloween #pugeot

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lupismaris · 3 years

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sorry you’re feeling so crappy 😔 i hope you feel better soon!!

if you’re feeling up to it, maybe silverflinthamiltons on a lake or beach vacation?

SILVERFLINTHAM LAKESIDE HOLIDAY PART 1 with a surprise! and another segment to follow because this is them arriving to the lake!

(this got long so most of it will be under the cut.)

***

It was summer.

Summer meant blistering asphalt and bags of trash stewing on the curb each morning. Hazy sunlight blinding the street, dark cavernous pockets of shade where the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees, but the air stayed stale and suffocating all the same. It meant too many people and too much noise and parties in the park that never seemed to end, one just replacing another in an endless cycle of hedonism, and bottles of chilled wine and cheap beer sweating on the fountain walls. It meant long dinners and longer lunches, ice cream trucks and Italian ice carts on opposite corners of the street carrying on an old world rivalry. It meant golds and blues and lush greens wherever your eyes happened to fall, be it on a back alley garden or storefront window display.

Silver loved summer.

He loved the warmth and the sprawling picnics and the baring of skin and the feral energy of a child free from school amplified to suit a city of millions and the heady summer storms that shook the glittering skyline in a kind of holy cleanse. He loved the summer fruits and the sweet aperitifs and the old school white linen shirts and open fire hydrants flooding the streets and the neon lights reflecting in the puddles left behind, still evaporating in the hot night, giving the whole world an ethereal glow.

Though he had to admit it was always better spent on a beach with a frosted drink and not a goddamn thing to do. But, if a beach couldn’t be procured, a big, cool, well air conditioned house that was paid for by someone else was an excellent alternative. His sister’s condo in Chelsea for instance was an excellent place to waste away a summer on parties and sun bathing and a private pool that no one else seemed to have the time to use. He had spent several summers with Max that way, even once the Rangers had become part of the picture, if Silver was on the east coast for the summer, he would drop in and waste away a while.

Now though, it looked like summers were going to be spent in Brooklyn, in the big cool townhouse that Thomas had paid for, with the truly miraculously internal air con that was always kept at a balmy 65 degrees from May to October, and with very little to do outside of whatever suited his fancy on any given day. Oh and sex, a lot of sex. This would be the first summer in a very long time where he could not only allow himself a libido, but he could also satiate it.

Silver was thoroughly content with the new circumstances.

He was less content however, with how the summer months, or maybe just the summer months in the city, seemed to bring out the worst in people as frequently as it did the best.

Flint, for example, did not handle summers as well as Silver did. In part it was due to the heat and the sun and the weird smells coming off the steamy side walks, and Silver understood Flint’s frustration with all that, he truly did. But summer also meant more tourists and more people going out for a good time, more people starting brawls in bars and fights in the street and parties spilling over from one bar to the next, or worse packs of bigots making the rounds and harassing whomever they find, everything the working class service folks of the city dreaded- in short, Flint’s stress levels seemed to just rise with the temperature. And considering an average day in July might easily crack 100, Silver was starting to get a tad worried.

“Is it like this every summer?” Silver had asked one Friday morning in June.

The kitchen was soft with the morning sunlight, Thomas in his silk night shirt and robe as he perused the menu for the cafe on the corner, Silver fixing them each an espresso.

“To a point yes. You know how James is about control,” Thomas said with a fond smile, “when he’s at his best he can combat every threat to his sovereignty without so much as flinching. But the summer gets to him, makes him a bit of a wolf in a cage, so to speak.”

“Was he worse in Manhattan?” the buildings sometimes reminded Silver of a cell block, the slivers of sunlight cutting through as hot as cattle prods.

“Much. Hal has tried talking him into not working as much in the summer, but you know how he is, can’t be told anything once he’s got his mind made up. Not to mention he’s never been good at simply existing. There always has to be purpose in it, work to be done, fields to plow and what not.”

Silver huffed a laugh and brought Thomas’ espresso over, feeling a sense of warmth at the notion that he and Thomas were able to share this, to share flint and all his eccentricities.

“I’m sure a man as clever as you thought of some way to keep his blood pressure down, hm?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. Thomas took the espresso cup without looking away from the menu. He set it aside and pulled Silver in, kissing him sweetly in thanks. Ah, that was also a nice thing to share with Thomas, Silver reminded himself.

“Oh I came up with a few ideas, pet. How about we order breakfast, and I’ll tell you about them.”

By Friday, the three of them were packed into Flint’s old Range Rover heading upstate for two weeks of holiday bliss. It had taken multiple phone calls to Gates to make sure the bar would in fact be alright while Flint was gone and to make sure he barred Flint from being within a dozen yards of The Walrus once it closed on Thursday night. It had also taken coaxing, convincing, bartering, and eventually outright bribery with sex to get Flint to stop scowling about the idea of being away from his “ship” for longer than a weekend. There had been other phone calls as well, placed by Thomas in the early hours of the morning when he thought he was the only one awake. When asked about them he just waved the questions away with a mild, “oh just a little extra surprise for James thats all” and Silver did his best to trust him.

It was a five hour drive from the house in Brooklyn to the house on Lake Cayuga that Thomas had purchased during his recovery, to he and Flint would have a quiet place to heal and make up for lost time without the strain of the city grating on them. Silver had never been upstate, his various clients had always preferred houses in the Hamptons, but from the photos it was a cozy little cottage style house right on the shore, a couple bedrooms, an airy kitchen, lush garden, and a private pier that stretched out into the lake. There was also apparently a boat, a little hybrid sailboat of polished wood and deep blue paint, the name Ariel written in careful golden script. Silver wanted to ask whether Flint had bought it or built it, because he was the kind of high strung man to just build a boat from scratch instead of buying one or scheduling extra therapy. But the scowl on his face as they tucked the suitcases into the trunk told him it wasn’t worth the teasing. Not yet anyway.

Flint insisted on driving the whole five hours himself, scowling silently behind the wheel as he drove them through miles of lush farmland, leaving Thomas and Silver to chat about what they might do once they get settled in. There was plenty of hiking, though Thomas was worried the gorges might be tricky for Silver’s regular prosthetic, ample water falls and countless parks to explore. Lots of quaint small towns with seafood shacks and local fare and more wineries than even Thomas knew what to do with. And of course, most importantly, there was the lake.

Flint kept his silence till the last hour of the ride, the scowl firmly set on his jaw. Silver and Thomas had switched seats so Thomas could stretch out and nap in the back seats, leaving Silver to try and coax a smile out of his partner. Not that he had to do much. As the car climbed yet another rolling hill, Silver watched the horizon, his hand in Flint’s, trying to figure out whether the deep blue streak that had suddenly appeared was a dark patch of sky.

It wasn’t, for the record.

Silver frowned and turned to Flint, planning to ask if it was the lake and exactly how big was said lake- but the question died well before he could even open his mouth.

The scowl was gone, dropped from Flint’s face and replaced by the softest look of wonder Silver had ever seen on the man, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, making his mustache twitch. It was as if something had hooked its line into Flint’s chest and was slowly reeling him in, his whole body sitting straighter, the tension in his shoulders bleeding out until he was leaning into the steering wheel. His hand even held tighter to Silver’s, an unconscious need to keep himself tethered maybe, or to keep Silver close.

“Is that the lake?” Silver managed to ask with a soft smile of his own.

“Yeah. We’ll be at the cabin in half an hour.”

They got there in twenty minutes, not that anyone was actually counting.

The lake stretched out before them, a sea of deep blues and aquamarines, glittering with the hot late June sunlight that danced across it’s surface. It’s shores were patched with wildflowers and thick thatches of wood, little clusters of cabins and boat houses, who’s owners were out skipping across the surface like dragon flies on their small boats and kayaks. The afternoon air was hazy and sweet, the whole scene a postcard from the mythical summers of memory that everyone aspired to, bird song and the low hum of the radio escorting them along the final stretch of route 90. Flint pulled them down a narrow side road, passing a few comfortably sized homes with ample space between them, until they reached the dead end of the street, and the little cottage Silver had seen in the photos, with the shadow of the pier dark across the water, and the Ariel waiting like a loyal dog in her berth.

“Oh good,” Thomas said with a yawn, finally pulling himself back into a sitting position and stretching, as Flint pulled the car into the drive alongside what looked like a rental car. “I was starting to think we were lost.”

Silver looked back at him, ready to tease about old men and naps, but Thomas was looking down at his phone, his fingers quickly switching on the stop watch. “Thomas what-”

The range rover lurched to a sudden stop as Flint hit the brakes and Silver had to cling to the seat to keep himself upright. Thomas seemed completely unfazed, draped across the back seat in his half buttoned linen shirt and designer sunglasses, watching with an air of fond expectation as Flint threw on the parking brake and booked it from the car, leaving the engine running.

“What the fuck is he doing?” Silver asked.

Thomas laughed and reached around the driver’s seat to shut the car off. “Exactly what I expected him to do, though I’ll admit I expected him to at least properly stop the car first.”

“What? Thomas- oh my god he’s going in the lake?” Silver asked, watching as Flint cleared the back fence and striped off his shirt, leaving it on the lawn as he kept moving towards the pier. His boots, socks, and jeans followed, barely breaking his quick stride to strip them off.

“Last time it took him a whole ten minutes to get into the water,” Thomas said, helping Silver, who was too busy staring in shock at the sight of his stern and stoic partner racing across the back patio like a child, from the car. “He might clear five minutes this time.”

A few more quick strides and Flint dove from the end of the pier, breaking the surface of the lake with a thunderous sound and disappearing into the blue.

“He’s in the lake,” Silver said.

Thomas hooked their arms together, the two of them walking leisurely across the lawn. “Every visit, the first thing he does is go to the water. It’s even more dramatic when it’s the ocean, maybe I’ll book us a house on the coast next month.”

“More dramatic than stripping down to his boxers in the back yard?” he asked.

The back lawn of the house was a mix of a large patio and and a short green, with a fire pit and a grill, a small dining table and some cozy chairs, and what silver hoped was a hot tub. A woman was stretched out on one of the long beach chairs in a deep green bikini, her dark hair cut short and a magazine across her lap, though she was watching the water, where Flint had just resurfaced for a moment before diving again.

“Miranda?” Silver called, aware that Thomas was beaming behind him but not at all surprised to see his ex wife. That explained the phone calls, and the rental car out front.

“I believe our husband is in the lake my dears,” Miranda called with a laugh, getting up to come greet them. “God he’s like a little boy at a swimming hole.”

“I’d ask how you got here but that seems almost silly,” Silver said, letting her pull him into a tight hug. They had taken to each other from the first, which had left Thomas and Flint a little uneasy. Miranda’s humor matched his, her wit sharp and familiar, and Silver had learned very quickly why Flint and Thomas were both still in love with her. He wasn’t far from it himself.

“Thomas called, said James needed an intervention,” She said, letting him go to kiss Thomas hello and hug him tight. “I’m on break from teaching this summer and the fall concert season hasn’t started yet, could I come out and join you for a couple weeks? Which was a silly question, I was buying a ticket the moment he suggested it.”

Thomas kissed the top of her head, smiling brightly. “I had hoped you might be his surprise before he jumped in the lake, I’m sorry my dear.”

Silver watched them, feeling a bit dizzy. They were were a perfect pair, Miranda dark and elegant under Thomas’ arm, the cool dusk sky to Thomas’ golden hour sun.

“Don’t be, I’ll go down to him, maybe join him in the water for a bit.” She kissed his cheek, then Silver’s. “There’s some snacks laid out in the kitchen and dinner will be delivered in a couple hours, why don’t you get the bags inside and then come join us. Maybe we can even take Ariel out before dinner.”

“Oh now there’s an idea,” Thomas agreed, moving to go back and fetch the bags from the car. “Tell our husband we’ll join you in a moment. If you can manage to get him up for air.”

Miranda laughed, a bright sunny sound that always reminded Silver of how she played piano, and made her way down to the pier. He watched as she sat down on the edge of the pier, as the surface of the water broke and Flint emerged, staring up at her in shock. Silver heard her laughing, saw her reach out and watched as Flint reached up and pulled her into the lake with a joyful shout of her name. They were lost for a moment to the water, kicking up waves as Flint held her tight and danced them around, clumsy and free. Behind him Silver could hear Thomas laughing, felt his hand as it came to rest warm and sure on his lower back, pulling him in close, as he said something about wishing they’d gotten that on film.

For Silver, it was one of those moments where suddenly he remembered what all those old love songs were written about. He understood it.

And it was finally his.

#my fic #black sails modern au #silverflinthamilton #jamie's fic prompt fills #@halewoods #john silver #james flint #thomas hamilton #miranda hamilton #i truly love this one and am already working on the next segment which will i hope be smutty as well as soft and sappy

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emilydocument · 3 years

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Having a car in New York is a sin and you’re punished for it every day. 6AM the alarm goes off and I’m up and out into the cold to resentfully drive my car around the block looking for available parking on the side without street cleaning. All the other cursed car-owners are up too, in my rear view. We honk at each other, roll our eyes, throw up our hands. The smart people got up at 5AM.

Regardless, I got two parking tickets this week. And a fine for not wearing my seatbelt while parking. I’m drained of money. The devil laughs. I have to laugh.

I try and use my car for the only thing it’s good for: escaping the city on the weekend. I’ve wanted to go to Montauk for some time, inspired by a hazy memory of visiting in high school with an old and long-gone friend, and something special and singular about the rocky end to New York. In my mind, the air is salty, the water a rich navy. LL Bean catalogue vibe.

To get to Montauk you have to pass through Long Island’s sprawl of big box stores and then at some point you cross into the start of the Hamptons, stretches of pastel farm land with the occasional random giant modern art sculpture. The construction is suddenly clean and small and tasteful. I pay for gas (another car punishment) at “Hamptons gas”, a tiny gas station made of wood clapboard where everything is wiped down. Grotesque.

Being in the Hamptons also feels like (is?) a sin. Everything is so manicured, communicating a disgust with dirt, namely the dirt of the city and lower classes. It’s utopia, constructed to look nice from every angle. Here, no visible consequences of exploitation: decay, pain, struggle etc. I am stopped at a red light where on the sidewalk, a man is screaming at his tween son for doing something. The son is not behaving like a man, goofs off too much, never listens, apparently, and he is looking up to the sky with the wide, tolerating eyes of a child being disciplined. He looks around, anywhere but at his flailing father. The costs reveal themselves in private moments.

Eventually, Montauk unfolds from behind roads that snake through woods. You arrive at the top of a hill, and immediately see the ocean in the distance. It’s bluer than I remembered. It is an isolated place, somewhere you have to work to get to, so it selects for small crowds and quiet. The parking is free since I arrived so late (the trip took 2 hours, and I burned through every playlist). It’s 5PM and car sickness mounts.

I brought my camera. Immediately, I want to photograph everything and swallow this memory, wrap myself around it. I spin around capturing the panorama: lighthouse, ocean, rocks, sage green and soft sea grass, the seagulls with their black webbed feet, dipping into the water. I like the families everywhere. We all have our cameras out, all hungry to capture.

There is a specialness about the water there. It feels like the edge of the world, the kind of water you see in a different country where the Atlantic expands. Everything is darker than a regular beach because of the grey rocky shoreline. I walk along it until I reach a secluded piece of driftwood. It’s long and white, clean too, as if carved. I sit there for a while. I hadn’t dressed for the wind and hold my arms around myself.

I stay for the sunset, and the clouds turn pink against the dimming sky. Sometimes, when you are experiencing something profound you want to be witnessed. If someone was here, you could share a memory with them, and the fleeting thing suddenly starts to spread itself out and grow important, durable, a permanent part of something being built up. Instead, I have a camera. I set it on the driftwood and start to film, and then walk out towards the ocean. I turn and wave. When I check the video later, I am out of focus, a yellow blur in the distance. The camera chose to focus on the blades of grass instead, on their gentle dance in the wind.

I realize I haven’t eaten at all, and stop for dinner at a drive-in (which now means someone begrudgingly brings your baggie of food to your car window). I eat a mushy Cesar salad wrap and those seasoned waffle fries you get at the state fair. I always regret the things I buy.

On days like this, I let the loneliness reign. I’m trying to let myself feel more, and also open myself up to things that could bring floods of pain with them. A small act is this road trip, extended time alone.

One long term practice is going on dates again. A few days in, I can feel myself growing dizzy and sick at the feelings dating unearths. I am sensitive to heartbreak, which some people pathologize as “anxious attachment”. I know that I don’t want to feel so split open all the time, that I want to feel “secure” and not bogged down by desire. I am trying not to repress the difficulty of the process, but to let it arrive as a hideous monster and then grow weaker and weaker, less and less real with every appearance.

There are beautiful, interesting people everywhere, especially in this city. I am grateful to get to sit with others, our chins in our hands. We are sharing what we know, at least for now. How nice, a conversation under strung up lights, the backyard of a bar. We talk of international childhoods, the day job, weird and seedy parts of the internet. How sweet, a walk between midnight row houses, arm in arm, heading towards a basement, the music you choose to play someone new.

It’s the periods after and between, when you are washed ashore to the reality and monotony of regular life, when you find yourself all alone again, where the real effort happens. You think about the dates, about new crushes and glowing memories. Chores, another night with your book, a penciled in chat with old friends, a tired day of work. It’s here that I must find a better way of existing, “being”, finding projects that make thoughts expansive and not exclusive, that make me a part of life instead of an observer. I want to be surprised more, flow more, to feel awake, to be able to survive the feeling of the desired just outside of your reach. To get better, all I can come up with is to keep trying the next thing that is nagging you, to return to things that you’re pretty sure you love, or that you are afraid to investigate. Keep nothing hidden away: you are the opposite of the Hamptons.

You’re lonely? You want more and better? You used to be bad? Okay. Drag it out into the daylight and train your eyes directly on the truth. Sob, scream, throw up, whatever you have to do. Let this be a place to start from. Try again. Trip, fall, uncover again and again. And maybe sell your car.

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