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reasonsforhope · 8 months

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On the outskirts of Austin, Texas, what began as a fringe experiment has quickly become central to the city’s efforts to reduce homelessness. To Justin Tyler Jr., it is home.

Mr. Tyler, 41, lives in Community First! Village, which aims to be a model of permanent affordable housing for people who are chronically homeless. In the fall of 2022, he joined nearly 400 residents of the village, moving into one of its typical digs: a 200-square-foot, one-room tiny house furnished with a kitchenette, a bed and a recliner.

The village is a self-contained, 51-acre community in a sparsely populated area just outside Austin. Stepping onto its grounds feels like entering another realm.

Eclectic tiny homes are clustered around shared outdoor kitchens, and neat rows of recreational vehicles and manufactured homes line looping cul-de-sacs.

There are chicken coops, two vegetable gardens, a convenience store, art and jewelry studios, a medical clinic and a chapel.

Roads run throughout, but residents mainly get around on foot or on an eight-passenger golf cart that makes regular stops around the property.

Mr. Tyler chose a home with a cobalt-blue door and a small patio in the oldest part of the village, where residents’ cactus and rock gardens created a “funky, hippie vibe” that appealed to him. He arrived in rough shape, struggling with alcoholism, his feet inflamed by gout, with severe back pain from nearly 10 years of sleeping in public parks, in vehicles and on street benches.

At first, he kept to himself. He locked his door and slept. He visited the clinic and started taking medication. After a month or so, he ventured out to meet his neighbors.

“For a while there, I just didn’t want to be seen and known,” he said. “Now I prefer it.”

Between communal meals and movie screenings, Mr. Tyler also works at the village, preparing homes for the dozen or more people who move there each month.

In the next few years, Community First is poised to grow to nearly 2,000 homes across three locations, which would make it by far the nation’s largest project of this kind, big enough to permanently house about half of Austin’s chronically homeless population.

Tiny-home villages for people who have been homeless have existed on a small scale for several decades, but have recently become a popular approach to addressing surging homelessness. Since 2019, the number of these villages across the country has nearly quadrupled, to 124 from 34, with dozens more coming, according to a census by Yetimoni Kpeebi, a researcher at Missouri State University.

Mandy Chapman Semple, a consultant who has helped cities like Houston transform their homelessness systems, said the growth of these villages reflects a need to replace inexpensive housing that was once widely available in the form of mobile home parks and single room occupancy units, and is rapidly being lost. But she said they are a highly imperfect solution.

“I think where we’re challenged is that ‘tiny home’ has taken on a spectrum of definitions,” said Chapman Semple. Many of those definitions fall short of housing standards, often lacking basic amenities like heat and indoor plumbing, which she said limits their ability to meet the needs of the population they intend to serve.

But Community First is pushing the tiny home model to a much larger scale. While most of its homes lack bathrooms and kitchens, its leaders see that as a necessary trade-off to be able to creatively and affordably house the growing number of people living on Austin’s streets. And unlike most other villages, many of which provide temporary emergency shelter in structures that can resemble tool sheds, Community First has been thoughtfully designed with homey spaces where people with some of the highest needs can stay for good. No other tiny home village has attempted to permanently house as many people.

Austin’s homelessness rate has been rapidly worsening, and the city’s response has whipped back and forth... In October [2023], the official estimate put the number of people living without shelter at 5,530, a 125 percent increase from two years earlier. Some of that rise is the result of better outreach, but officials acknowledged that more people have become homeless. City leaders vowed to build more housing, but that effort has been slowed by construction delays and resistance from residents.

Meanwhile, outside the city limits, Community First has been building fast. [Note from below the read more: It's outside city limits because the lack of zoning laws keeps more well-off Austin residents from blocking the project, as they did earlier attempts to build inside the city.] In a mere eight years, this once-modest project has grown into a sprawling community that the city is turning to as a desperately needed source of affordable housing. The village has now drawn hundreds of millions of dollars from public and private sources and given rise to similar initiatives across the country.

This rapid growth has come despite significant challenges. And some question whether a community on the outskirts of town with relaxed housing standards is a suitable way to meet the needs of people coming out of chronic homelessness. The next few years will be a test of whether these issues will be addressed or amplified as the village expands to five times its current size.

-via New York Times, January 8, 2024. Article continues below (at length!)

The community versus Community First

For Alan Graham, the expansion of Community First is just the latest stage in a long-evolving project. In the late 1990s, Mr. Graham, then a real estate developer, attended a Catholic men’s retreat that deepened his faith and inspired him to get more involved with his church. Soon after, he began delivering meals as a church volunteer to people living on Austin’s streets.

In 1998, Mr. Graham, now 67, became a founder of Mobile Loaves and Fishes, a nonprofit that has since amassed a fleet of vehicles that make daily rounds to deliver food and clothing to Austin’s homeless...

Talking to people like Mr. Johnston [a homeless Austin resident who Graham had befriended], Mr. Graham came to feel that housing alone was not enough for people who had been chronically homeless, the official term for those who have been homeless for years or repeatedly and have physical or mental disabilities, including substance-use disorders. About a third of the homeless population fits this description, and they are often estranged from family and other networks.

In 2006, Mr. Graham pitched an idea to Austin’s mayor: Create an R.V. park for people coming out of chronic homelessness. It would have about 150 homes, supportive services and easy access to public transportation. Most importantly, it would help to replace the “profound, catastrophic loss of family” he believed was at the root of the problem with a close-knit and supportive community.

The City Council voted unanimously in 2008 to lease Mr. Graham a 17-acre plot of city-owned land to make his vision a reality. Getting the council members on board, he said, turned out to be the easy part.

When residents near the intended site learned of the plan, they were outraged. They feared the development would reduce their property values and invite crime. One meeting to discuss the plan with the neighborhood grew so heated that Mr. Graham was escorted to his car by the police. Not a single one of the 52 community members in attendance voted in favor of the project.

After plans for the city-owned lot fell apart and other proposed locations faced similar resistance, Mr. Graham gave up on trying to build the development within city limits.

In 2012, he instead acquired a plot of land in a part of Travis County just northeast of Austin. It was far from public transportation and other services, but it had one big advantage: The county’s lack of zoning laws limited the power of neighbors to stop it.

Mr. Graham raised $20 million and began to build. In late 2015, Mr. Johnston left the R.V. park he had been living in and became the second person to move into the new village. It grew rapidly. In just two years, Mr. Graham bought an adjacent property, nearly doubling the village’s size to 51 acres and making room for hundreds more residents.

And then in the fall of 2022, he broke ground on the largest expansion yet: Adding two more sites to the village, expanding it by 127 acres to include nearly 2,000 homes.

“No one ever really did what they first did, and no one’s ever done what they’re about to do,” said Mark Hilbelink, the director of Sunrise Navigation Center, Austin’s largest homeless-services provider. “So there’s a little bit of excitement but also probably a little bit of trepidation about, ‘How do we do this right?’”

What it takes to make a village

Since he moved into Community First eight years ago, Mr. Johnston has found the stability that eluded him for so long. Most mornings, he wakes up early in his R.V., feeds his scruffy adopted terrier, Amos, and walks a few minutes down a quiet road to the village garden, where neat rows of carrots, leeks, beets and arugula await his attention.

Mr. Johnston worked in fast-food restaurants for most of his life, but he learned how to garden at the village. He now works full time cultivating produce for a weekly market that is free to residents.

“Once I got here, I said, This is where I’m going to spend pretty much my entire life now,” Mr. Johnston said.

Everyone at the village pays rent, which averages about $385 a month. The tiny homes that make up two-thirds of the dwellings go for slightly lower, but have no indoor plumbing; their residents use communal bathhouses and kitchens. The rest of the units are R.V.s and manufactured homes with their own bathrooms and kitchens.

Like Mr. Johnston, many residents have jobs in the village, created to offer residents flexible opportunities to earn some income. Last year, they earned a combined $1.5 million working as gardeners, landscapers, custodians, artists, jewelry makers and more, paid out by Mobile Loaves and Fishes.

Ute Dittemer, 66, faced a daily struggle for survival during a decade on the streets before moving into Community First five years ago with her husband. Now she supports herself by painting and molding figures out of clay at the village art house, augmented by her husband’s $800 monthly retirement income. A few years ago, a clay chess set she made sold for $10,000 at an auction. She used the money to buy her first car.

“I’m glad that we are not in a low-income-housing apartment complex,” she said. “We’ve got all this green out here, air to breathe.”

A small number of residents have jobs off-site, and a city bus makes hourly stops at the village 13 times a day to help people commute into town.

But about four out of five residents live on government benefits like disability or Social Security. Their incomes average $900 a month, making even tiny homes impossible to afford without help, Mr. Graham said.

“Essentially 100 percent of the people that move into this village will have to be subsidized for the rest of their lives,” he said.

For about $25,000 a year, Mr. Graham’s organization subsidizes one person’s housing at the village. (Services like primary health care and addiction counseling are provided by other organizations.) So far, that has been paid for entirely by private donations and in small part from collecting rent.

This would not be possible, Mr. Graham said, without a highly successful fund-raising operation that taps big Austin philanthropists. To build the next two expansions, Mr. Graham set a $225 million fund-raising goal, about $150 million of which has already been obtained from the Michael and Susan Dell Foundation, the founder of the Patrón Spirits Company, Hill Country Bible Church and others.

Support goes beyond monetary donations. A large land grant came from the philanthropic arm of Tito’s Handmade Vodka, and Alamo Drafthouse, an Austin-based cinema chain, donated an outdoor amphitheater for movie screenings. Top architectural firms competed for the chance to design energy-efficient tiny homes free of charge. And every week, hundreds of volunteers come to help with landscaping and gardening or to serve free meals.

Around 55 residents, including 15 children, live in the village as “missionals” — unpaid neighbors generally motivated by their Christian faith to be part of the community.

All missionals undergo a monthslong “discernment process” before they can move in. They pay to live in R.V.s and manufactured homes distinguished by an “M” in the front window. Their presence in the community is meant to guard against the pitfalls of concentrated poverty and trauma.

“Missionals are our guardian angels,” said Blair Racine, a 69-year-old resident with a white beard that hangs to his chest. “They’re people we can always call. They’re always there for us.”

After moving into the village in 2018, Mr. Racine spent two years isolated in his R.V. because of a painful eye condition. But after an effective treatment, he became so social that he was nicknamed the Mayor. Missional residents drive him to get his medication once a week, he said. To their children he is Uncle Blair.

Though the village is open to people of any religious background, it is run by Christians, and public spaces are adorned with paintings of Jesus on the cross and other biblical scenes. The application to live in the community outlines a set of “core values” that refer to God and the Bible. But Mr. Graham said there is no proselytizing and people do not have to be sober or seek treatment to live there.

Mr. Graham lives in a 399-square-foot manufactured home in the middle of the village with his wife, Tricia Graham, who works as the community’s “head of neighbor care.” He said they do not have any illusions about solving the underlying mental-health and substance-use problems many residents live with, and that is not their goal.

“This is absolutely not nirvana,” Mr. Graham said. “And we want people to understand the beauty and the complexity of what we do. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else on the face of the planet than right here in the middle of this, but you’re not fixing these things.” ...

From an experiment to a model

Community First has already inspired spinoffs, with some tweaks. In 2018, Nate Schlueter, who previously worked with the village’s jobs program, opened Eden Village in his hometown, Springfield, Mo. Unlike in Community First, every home in Eden Village is identical and has its own bathroom and kitchen. Mr. Schlueter’s model has spread to 12 different cities with every village limited to 50 homes or fewer.

“Not every city is Austin, Texas,” Mr. Schlueter said. “We don’t want to build a large-scale village. And if the root cause of homelessness is a loss of family, and community is something that can duplicate that safety net to some extent, to have smaller villages to me seemed like a stronger community safety net. Everybody would know each other.”

The rapid growth of Community First has challenged that ideal. In recent years, some of the original missional residents and staff members have left, finding it harder to support the number of people moving into the village. Steven Hebbard, who lived and worked at the village since its inception, left in 2019 when he said it shifted from a “tiny-town dynamic” where he knew everyone’s name to something that felt more like a city, straining the supportive culture that helped people succeed.

Mobile Loaves and Fishes said more staff members had recently been hired to help new residents adjust, but Mr. Graham noted that there was a limit to what any housing provider could do without violating people’s privacy and autonomy.

Despite these concerns, the organization, which had been run entirely on private money, has recently drawn public support. In January 2023, Travis County gave Mobile Loaves and Fishes $35 million in American Rescue Plan Act funds to build 640 units as part of its expansion.

Then four months later came a significant surprise: The U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development approved the use of federal housing vouchers, which subsidize part or all of a low-income resident’s rent, for the village’s tiny homes. This will make running the village much more financially sustainable, Mr. Graham said, and may make it a more replicable blueprint for other places.

“That’s a big deal for us, and it’s a big deal on a national basis,” Mr. Graham said. “It’s a recognition that this model, managed the way that this model is, has a role in the system.”

Usually, the government considers homes without indoor plumbing to be substandard, but, in this case, it made an exception by applying the housing standards it uses for single-room-occupancy units. The village still did not meet the required ratio of bathrooms per person, but at the request of Travis County and the City of Austin’s housing officials, who cited Austin’s “severe lack of affordable housing” that made it impossible for some homeless people with vouchers to find anywhere else to live, HUD waived its usual requirements.

In the waiver, a HUD staffer wrote that Mr. Graham told HUD officials over the phone that the proportion of in-unit bathrooms “has not been an issue.” But in conversations with The Times, other homeless-service providers in Austin and some village residents said the lack of in-unit bathrooms is one of the biggest problems people have with living there. It also makes the villages less accessible to people with certain disabilities and health issues that are relatively common among the chronically homeless....

Mr. Graham said that with a doctor’s note, people could secure an R.V. or manufactured home at the village, although those are in short supply and have a long waiting list. He said the village’s use of tiny homes allowed them to build at a fraction of the usual cost when few other options existed, and helps ensure residents aren’t isolated in their units, reinforcing the village’s communal ethos.

“If somebody wants to live in a tiny home they ought to have the choice,” Mr. Graham said, “and if they are poor we ought to respect their civil right to live in that place and be subsidized to live there.” But he conceded that for some people, “this might not be the model.”

“Nobody can be everything for everyone,” he said.

By the spring of 2025, Mr. Graham hopes to begin moving people into the next phase of the village, across the street from the current property. The darker visions some once predicted of an impoverished community on the outskirts of town overtaken by drugs and violence have not come to pass. Instead, the village has permanently housed hundreds of people and earned the approval and financial backing of the city, the county and the federal government. But for the model to truly meet the scale of the challenge in Austin and beyond, Chapman Semple said, the compromises that led to Community First in its current incarnation will have to be reckoned with.

“We can build smaller villages that can be fully integrated into the community, that can have access to amenities within the community that we all need to live, including jobs and groceries,” Chapman Semple said. “If it’s a wonderful model then we should be embracing and fighting for its inclusion within our community.”

-via New York Times, January 8, 2024

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ghoststyles · 5 months

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Meet Me In Augusta

A quick little check-in for Fairway to Heaven ❤️ inspired by my beefy hunky man at the Masters 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

SMUT. FLUFF. That’s all.

———————————————————————————

When Briar and Harry first got together, she thought she’d won the lottery. A doting, strong boyfriend who puts her needs above his own. He cares for her dog as much as she does, gets along with her family members, and donates to charity regularly. It’s like the heavens handmade him. And yes, the reverse is true on Harry’s part. She’s his dream girl, and the bloody best thing to ever happen to him. But, where he’d truly won the lottery differs slightly:

He won tickets to the Masters.

It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity to attend one of the four major golf tournaments, and when Harry entered his name in the lottery system the year before, he never thought he’d see the day where his bucket list item would be checked off.

Briar is lounging on Harry’s couch, watching old episodes of Real Housewives (NY, obviously) with Gus at her feet and a bowl of popcorn and M&Ms beside her when she hears a completely manly and dignified shriek from Harry’s office. Sitting up in alarm, she opens her mouth to yell back to him, to make sure he’s okay, just as the heavy oak double doors swing open. Shirtless and in his Calvin Klein boxer briefs and socks, Harry sprints down the hall, phone in hand as he leaps over the back of the sofa to stand beside her.

“What on Earth! Harry, you’re scaring me! Is there a mouse? Where are your clothes?” Briar screams, jumping up to crouch on the sofa and cocooning herself in her blanket in case there’s a spider clinging to him.

Harry is laughing maniacally, and every so often an oh my god leaving his mouth. He nods to whomever he’s talking to on the phone as if they can see him before thanking them and hanging up.

He drops the phone, eyes wide and meeting hers. Grabbing her shoulders, he all but tackles her back to the sofa, signaling Gus to bark at him for hurting his mom. They’re on the settee part of the sofa, Harry’s arms wrapped around her, preventing her from moving, even if she wanted to.

“Harry! Tell me what’s going on right now!” Briar’s shrill voice finally brings him back to Earth.

He peppers kisses on her neck before shouting in her ear, “I’M GOING TO THE MASTERS!”

She doesn’t respond, not because she’s not supportive of his enthusiasm, but because she has no idea what that is. Feigning a smile, she replies, “wow, baby, that’s great!”

Craning his neck, his brows furrow when he meets her gaze, a clear indicator she’s confused.

“Birdie, do you know what the Masters is?”

“Mmmm, is it like MasterChef?”

Harry squawks out a laugh, shaking his head, “No, my love. The Masters is one of the big four golf tournaments for the PGA. When you win, you earn a green jacket and become a member of Augusta National in Georgia. And then you get to plan a celebration dinner. Plus, you win like, $3,000,000.”

“Ohhhh, okay, yes. Uncle Patrick has gone to that, I think. He didn’t win, though.”

Harry’s brows furrow even more, a bewildered look gracing his features, “We’ll come back to that later. I have a lot of questions. But, you enter a lottery to win tickets and I won! Otherwise, tickets are almost a million dollars.”

“A million dollars!? The course better be made of solid gold. I can’t even believe the stuff people spend their money on sometimes.”

“Tiger Woods will be there. He hasn’t played in a few years because of injuries. Baby, I could be near Tiger!” he smacks her ass, eliciting a yelp.

He hops up from his spot on the sofa as he looks outside with the biggest smile on his face, running his hands through his not-so-there curls on his head. He’d shaved it a few months ago impulsively; that was a crisis Briar never thought she’d see the other side of. But his peach fuzzy head grew on her.

“When is it?”

“Second weekend in April. Are you doing anything?”

“Me? Why wouldn’t you take Niall?”

“He and Lydia already have a wedding that weekend back in Ireland. I already asked him.”

“So, I’m your second choice!?” Briar smacks the sofa cushion beside her, faking offense.

Harry rolls his eyes, “You didn’t even know what it was five minutes ago, brat.”

She parrots his eye rolling, leaning down to snuggle Gus. They’re quiet for a moment, letting Harry soak in the news.

“Wait, why don’t you have clothes on?”

“Oh, I stripped them off as they were telling me I got the tickets. I was just too excited,” he responds casually, as if the answer is obvious.

———————————————————————————

So the pair is in Augusta, Georgia, watching Harry’s childhood dream come true. The problem? No phones allowed.

To maintain their traditional values, Augusta National banned the use of cellphones. Briar’s lovely boyfriend failed to remind her of this fact until they were in the back of an Uber heading to the course.

“No phones!? I wanted to document this whole experience for you!” She whines, gently squeezing his wrist.

“Thanks for wanting to do that, Birdie, but it’s okay. My generation isn’t addicted to their phones. We like to live in the moment.”

“Oh my god,” she snorts, punching him lightly. If anyone is on their phone too much, it’s Harry. His entire day is determined by solving the New York Times Connections puzzle. What do you MEAN the theme was ice cream flavors without the last letter?

“What if we get separated? How will I find you?”

“Did you pack your leash?” Harry smirks, waiting for her to smack him again.

“H! Quiet,” she snarls, trying not to look if the driver is listening. “Fine. Do they collect the phones or do they just kick you out if they see it?”

“I think they kick you out and you’re not allowed back, ever. There’s also no running. It’s hilarious. When everyone is trying to follow around the big names, it turns into a speed walking competition to try and beat them to the hole.”

She hums, looking out the window at the gorgeous scenery. She hasn’t spent much time down south, but this trip has changed her opinion of this part of the country. They’ve had beautiful dinners at night on patios and taken walks on historic grounds.

“Good news is, the food and drinks are super cheap, and I think you have some French 75’s calling your name.”

“Yesss!”

The Uber turns, the beautiful gates to the course opening as they pull in. The white building before them is gorgeous and neatly kept, embodying the prestige of the entire event. For a moment, she thinks Harry is tearing up. Harry snaps a photo of the two of them in front of the building to send to Niall and Patrick.

He grabs her hand and squeezes gently as he flashes their credentials to the security guard.

“Lead the way, baby,” Briar whispers, linking her arm with his as they stand outside the car, taking it all in.

Like a kid in a candy store, Harry drags her by the wrist, slaloming through the crowds of people as they all try to make it to the entrance.

Harry looks fucking good today. He’s donning a navy blue sweater on top of a cobalt blue golf shirt. His taupe pinstripe pants are pressed perfectly. His fingers are decked out in rings of all different finishes, and his Prada sunglasses fit his scruffy face perfectly.

The finishing touch, his shoes, are what has Briar giggling to herself. His black Hoka sneakers are throwing off the whole vibe. She tried to change his mind as they packed, but we’ll be walking a lot, and I don’t want my plantar fasciitis to come back!

To make the occasion even more special, Briar let Harry pick out her outfits. She knew he’d pick out her lavender sports dress, a classic piece she whips out when they play on weekends so he’s frustrated and thrown off his game. She’s 3 for 4 on this strategy.

Harry loves the way it cuts at Briar’s strong thighs, and shows a little bit of her back. To elevate the look, she tied a white Hermes scarf around her neck just like Daphne! Her shoes are white Vince Camuto sneakers with no support. She knows she can’t whine later if her feet hurt, in fear of hearing a relentless, I told you so!

Before examining his choices in her suitcase, she zeros in on the lack of underwear and bras. She knows he also picked her floor length, black bodycon dress. He’s really pushing the limits of voyeurism with these picks.

They finally make it past security, thankful they didn’t confiscate her purse, a gift from Harry that is just a smidgen too large for their rules. He leads them to the main clubhouse to grab their first drinks of the day, and maybe even a breakfast sandwich.

They start off with mimosas to ease into the day drinking, because Harry is too fucking old for daydrinking and Briar is a menace when she drinks when the sun is up. By their third round, Harry is full on fangirling as all the players buzz around him. He’s allowed to fangirl all he wants, but when she wants to gush about One Direction for a minute, he covers his ears. Eyeroll.

Briar snaps out of her brattiness, deciding she needs some food in her stomach. As they’re gathered on the 8th hole, she starts to “koala” him, as he so lovingly calls it. She wraps her arms around him from behind, laying her chin on his bicep.

“What’s wrong, Birdie? Hungry?”

Briar lightly bites his arm, looking up to meet his sideways gaze. Part of her hates how well he knows her. She slides her hands in his front pockets, making him wiggle uncomfortably.

“Be good,” he says lowly so only they can hear.

“Okay, Daddy,” she says sweetly, smiling up at him. “But yes, I’m hungry.”

Briar can feel him hesitate, clearly conflicted in what to do next.

“Okay, baby, but,” he pauses. “Tiger is at this hole next, and I’d really like to see it.”

Briar slumps, making a slight hmmph sound. She knows better, and knows how important this is to him, so she shakes it off.

“It’s alright, I can go back to the clubhouse by myself. Will you stay here so I don’t lose you?”

“Of course,” he leans down to gently peck her lips, before his head whips around as Tiger arrives at the tee box just a few feet from them, sending the crowd into a chaotic roar. She reluctantly lets go of his waist, crossing her arms over herself as she walks away.

The crowd has only increased as they arrived, and she’s honestly overwhelmed. A staff member nearby can sense her unsettled demeanor, so he asks if she’d like a ride back to the building.

She smiles at him, “Yes, that’d be lovely! Thank you so much.”

Trey, the worker, doesn't say much, but Briar isn’t one for awkward silences. She tells him about Harry, Wynnewood, and how this is a lifelong dream for him to be here. He nods along, visibly recoiling after finding out Briar isn’t single. She hops off the cart as they approach the doors, and waves a friendly goodbye.

Perusing the snack bar, her eyes are bigger than her stomach. She grabs grapes, potato chips, a turkey sandwich, and even a pudding cup. A nice man helps her condense her items into a cardboard box for carrying. She grabs a fresh squeezed lemonade to finish off her deliciously simple lunch.

Slightly tipsy and overly giddy, she finds a bench to start eating. It’s amazing the different walks of life at this event; the die-hards who don’t care about the glamor of it all, and the ones that are here only as a status symbol. It’s honestly nice not having her phone; she’s a little more in touch with her surroundings.

Taking small bites of her sandwich, she’s startled when another man approaches her on the bench.

“Pardon me, miss. Are you Miss Barlowe?”

Taken back, she nods as she swallows her bite, “Yes, can I help you?”

“Mr. Styles is on the line over there,” he points to the hilariously old fashioned phone stand, where 3 mossy green phones hang on the wooden stand. “He just wanted to make sure you were doing alright.”

Briar smiles, patting her mouth with her napkin and rising to her feet, “Thank you so much. Do I have to do anything to connect to the call?”

“Just press # and it should connect. I’ll be right over there if you have trouble.”

She laughs to herself as she approaches and presses the ‘#’ just as he said, “Hello?”

“What are you wearing right now?”

“Who is this?” She plays along.

“Your handsome, charming boyfriend,” he muses.

“I have a few of those, so you’re going to have to narrow it down,” she fakes a sultry tone.

“Briar – come on, you know I don’t like those jokes,” he mutters.

She laughs, twirling the curly phone cord around in her hand, “I feel like Carrie Bradshaw with this phone, talking to one of my boyfriends.”

“Are you insinuating I’m Mr. Big? I’m Aidan at the very least. The good guy.”

“Of course you’re Aidan. But instead, we get married.”

“Yeah, y’wanna marry me?” Harry can’t contain his grin as he looks around to see if anyone can hear him. “I won’t say yes until you come back here and get down on one knee, Briar.”

“In your dreams, Styles. Why’d ya call anyway? I’m just sitting here eating my sandwich.”

“Just missed you. Tiger got a birdie on this hole, so it made me think of you.”

“Aw, you’re cute. You’re the first place boyfriend today. You were in third yesterday, for reference.”

“Glad to hear that. Finish up your lunch and come find me. I’m gonna go to the 17th hole to try and catch Justin Rose. He’s an old friend from home.”

“Okay, I’ll come find you. Love.”

“Love.”

Briar hangs up the phone, the butterflies in her stomach buzzing. Since returning home from California, she’s never felt so secure in their relationship. He’s balancing fatherhood, work and their everyday life with ease.

Readjusting her skirt, she walks back over to the bench, mouthing a thank you to the worker who let her know Harry was calling. She sips on her lemonade, the ice rattling as she finishes the cup. Tossing the remnants of her meal in the trash, she spots the beverage cart girl. Briar smiles as she approaches her, requesting another French 75 and a Casamigos on the rocks for her lover.

The 17th hole is a hell of a lot closer to the clubhouse, but swarmed with people. It’s going to be a needle in a haystack to find him. Briar scrunches her brows, scanning all the kinda old white men with brown hair. Where is her old man?

Panic sets in for a moment, until she feels two hands on her waist, lifting her off the ground slightly and kissing her neck where it meets her shoulder.. She squeals, reaching for her skirt to make sure nothing is showing. He didn’t pack her any underwear, after all!

“There y’are, Birdie. Wish I brought your leash to drag my cute puppy around. Make everyone jealous.”

“They’d think you need to be sent to jail, actually. Were you able to focus in my absence?”

“Yeah, but I missed your hundred questions and commentary. Is that for me?” he asks, pointing to his drink.

“Yes, but you made me spill it on my shirt,” she frowns, her gaze traveling down to the beads of liquid wicking off the fabric on her chest.

Without a second thought, Harry leans down, pressing his mouth to just over Briar’s nipple to suck up the dribbled liquid. Her eyes widened, in disbelief he just did that. She grips the back of his hair, pulling him out of her bosom.

“H! What the hell are you doing? We’re in public!”

“Mm, I know. I’m so hard right now. And thirsty. Saw an opportunity,” he smirks, his grip now around the back of her neck. “Wanna take you to the clubhouse and fuck you dumb.”

“Harryyy,” Briar whines again. Little does he know all he has to do is slip her skort to the side to reveal her soaking wet pussy. She does her best to drag her six foot tall boyfriend to the treeline, hiding themselves from prying eyes.

“Let’s go. We’ll find somewhere safe. Daddy needs you to do a favor for him,” he says low in her ear, his tongue touching her earlobe. “Did I tell you how happy I am that you came with me?”

“I’m happy you invited me,” she places a gentle kiss on his lips. “Love seeing you happy.”

———————————————————————————

The lovey dovey talk is how Briar got HOODWINKED into sucking her boyfriend’s cock in an administrator’s office at Augusta National Golf Course at the biggest event of the year. The door locked, thankfully, but the amount of foot traffic outside the door has Briar’s head spinning, even more than when his tip touches the back of her throat.

Harry lets out a guttural moan, “Oh my – fuck! Such a good fucking girl.”

Briar is pulling out her signature moves; cupping his balls with one hand, tweaking his shaft with the other when her mouth doesn’t cover it, and swirling her tongue along the ridge of his bright red, plump cockhead.

Briar bats her eyelashes and pulls off just as he gives his sign of completion; his left thigh muscle twitching. Harry’s eyes shoot open as he grips the desk to prevent himself from falling over. He was so, so close.

Before he can speak, Briar stands, pushing him to half lie on the desktop, opening his belt and pants wider. She climbs on the desk to straddle him, staring down at him deviously.

“Wanna ride you, Daddy,” she whispers in his ear. She sits back up, pulling her skort to the side to show him her pussy, spasming and begging to be touched. He reaches out to touch her, but she bats his hand away, instead placing her hand around his neck firmly. “Nope. No touching.”

Harry snorts, knowing anytime she’s tried to be in charge, she fails miserably. He knows she’ll be howling for his help in a few minutes. His smug look is wiped clean as she grips his cock again to line him up with her dripping hole. They moan in unison when he pushes through the tight opening as she squeezes him for good measure.

Briar bounces lightly, the skin of their thighs slapping together. She could listen to the sounds their bodies make for the rest of her life. He bottoms out a few times, puffs of air escaping his nose as he struggles to not cum immediately.

She starts to rub at her clit, her free hand coming up to tweak her nipple. His eyes are closed again, so she takes her middle and ring finger that are rubbing and sticks them past his lips. He moans, lapping up the wetness from her fingertips and choking on them a bit. She smiles before bringing the fingers back to her center and continuing to rub.

“Oh my god, baby. You taste so good,” Harry whines. “Want you to come. Then I’ll come in your little pussy. Don’t know how you’ll hold it all in there.”

Briar cries out, seconds away from tumbling over the edge. She leans forward, gripping the desk above his head. They’re making extreme eye contact now, the tension between them palpable.

“I’m cumming, Daddy. I’m cumming. Your cock feels so big in my pussy,” she cries out as Harry feels a tiniest bit of wetness expelled from where their bodies meet. She twitches, barely able to hold herself up. He sits up on the desk to support her and begins thrusting up into her with his hands wrapped delicately around her body, fingertips digging into the plushy skin of her ass and waist. He captures her lips in a deep kiss, her breath stuttering when he rams himself back into her.

The two remain intertwined, reality hitting them when Briar utters words he never thought he’d hear from her.

“Fuck me, Daddy. Fill me up. Make me yours. Wanna have your babies,” she fires off things he can’t even comprehend. “Want you to make me a mommy. Fuck – want it so bad. Fill me up, please!”

Harry’s breath is knocked out of him as he throttles upward, his tip colliding with her cervix every time. As he topples over the edge, he buries himself in her pussy – his eternal resting place, he’s decided he’ll request in his will – and releases his full load into her. He drops backwards, beginning her down to lie on top of him, his pants now hanging around his ankles.

“Oh my fucking GOD, baby. So fucking good for me,” he says into her ear, a shiver running down his spine.

“Love you, Daddy,” she says quietly, her ear pressed to his chest so she can hear his heartbeat racing.

“Love you so fucking much, Birdie,” Harry sighs, petting her back.

Harry smiles to himself. The diamond ring he has in his bag at the hotel is going to make an appearance even sooner than expected.

He’s sure of it.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles #harry styles imagine #Harry styles smut #dom!harry #daddy!harry #agegapfic #Harry Styles golf #golfrry #one direction imagine #daddy!h #fth h #fairway to heaven #harry styles x oc

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beyondthesefourwalls · 2 years

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Remember You Even When I Don't (11-Epilogue)

Summary: A training accident, the doctor had told him. A nasty one that led him here, laying in a hospital bed with a splitting headache and an inability to remember the woman sitting beside him. What he did know, though, was that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and you felt important to him. That, as it turns out, would become an understatement.

Words: 2.2K

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw/Reader (no use of y/n, so can be read as unnamed oc)

Warnings: angst, hospitals, memory loss, language, suggestive themes, smut

Notes: The end of an era! I hope you all enjoy.

A special shoutout to @roosterforme and @mak-32. Em is the one who encouraged me to make the one shot this was originally supposed to be into a full length story, and without these two constantly encouraging me, I promise this wouldn't be half the story that it turned out to be. Love ya, ladies!

-------

As it turns out, your first wedding had been a quick, private affair. The judgment the two of you received from moving as quickly as you did had made you decide early on in your engagement that a big, pompous wedding wasn’t for you. And really, you didn’t care about any of that anyway. The rumblings of a potential deployment or change of station had you moving even quicker and on a Wednesday afternoon in late summer, the two of you were married by a justice of the peace on the National Mall in DC, the Washington Monument in the background. You had wild flowers threaded through your hair and a lacy white dress and there were tourists in the background of almost all of your pictures. Despite all of that, it was still categorized as one of the best days of his life, but the second time would be different.

Bradley wanted you to have everything you ever wanted this time, but you had been insistent that there was no need for a grand event. Wedding venues with short notice were hard to come by in San Diego and you didn’t want to get married on the beach. When Mav had suggested his hanger, you had lit up at the idea. The next few months had been a whirlwind of ordering catering and finding flowers, constructing arches and finding tables and chairs to rent and stringing twinkle lights from the ceiling - so, so many twinkle lights. But it had all been worth it once he saw the awe on your face as you walked around the open space the night before your vow renewal. The hanger was almost unrecognizable, and even though the ring was already on your finger, he couldn’t wait to marry you here tomorrow.

You don’t sleep apart the night before, but he leaves early that morning to meet Mav and the rest of the guys from the Dagger Squad. You’ll be spending the morning with Nat and Coyote’s wife and a few of your other close girlfriends, and the kiss he gives you in the doorway to the garage is long and slow.

“We’re getting married today,” you whisper against his lips.

“Again.”

You laugh at his response, getting lost in his kiss. His phone dings in his pocket and he knows it’s the groupchat asking where he is, not for the first time. He pulls away from you reluctantly.

With a sigh, he slips his ring off his finger and hands it to you. Your nose crinkles in protest, but you do the same with yours. He sees how you flex your fingers the moment you do, not used to being without them.

“I still don’t get why you want to exchange rings again,” you mutter without any heat. Bradley kisses your forehead, lifting your left hand to his and then placing a kiss to your ringless finger. You shiver despite yourself and he smiles.

“Because I want to enjoy putting it back on you, Pumpkin.”

There’s really nothing you can say to that, but you roll your eyes fondly anyway, pressing forward for one more kiss.

The morning and early afternoon go by quickly. He plays a round of golf with the guys and then they all help him with ensuring his surprise for you is completely good to go for the next day. He steps back at one point, watching as his friends, his family, work and laugh together, genuinely happy to be here for this day, for him and the two of you, and feels his heart swell. Sometimes it’s still hard to believe that this is his life.

He doesn’t wear his dress whites like he did the first time. Instead, as afternoon fades away and guests start arriving, he changes into the blue suit you had told him was your favorite. He forgoes the tie, leaving the top button of his white shirt undone, and the early spring sun is just starting to set as he takes his place at the end of the makeshift aisle. His breath catches in his throat when you finally appear at the other end.

It feels like it takes you forever to make it to him, but when your hand finally slips into his, the nervous energy that had been building in the last hour fades back into the normal excitement he always feels in your presence.

“Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi,” you whisper right back, the moment just for the two of you, “fancy seeing you here.”

“Isn't it? You come here often?”

Your smile tugs into something of a smirk, and your eyes flash with mischief, “Just twice now,” you say, “hoping we don’t have to do this again anytime soon if we can help it.”

Bradley can’t help the laugh that he lets out, uncaring of all the people watching them from their seats, waiting for them to get started. He likes that you’re in a place where you can tease him about this now.

“I’m not going to make a habit of this,” he assures you. You squeeze his hands, and he knows that combined with the bright smile on your face, it’s your way of saying that even if he did, you’d be there at the end of the aisle walking toward him every time.

The officiant clears his throat, asking if you were ready to begin. As the man starts the ceremony, you send Bradley a wink, and he bites the inside of his cheek to stop the giddy laughter bubbling in him at how damn happy he is to be here.

He doesn’t take his eyes away from you the entire time, wanting every single moment ingrained in his brain forever; every smile, every word, every tear, everything. He doesn’t make it through the vows without crying, and neither do you, but you hold his hand the whole time and wipe away some of his tears with the pad of your thumb. When it’s your turn to speak, he thinks his heart is going to burst out of his chest as you read the words you had written to him.

When it comes time to slip your ring back on your finger, it feels like you’re completely alone out here on this runway. He doesn’t exactly remember doing this before and it feels like the first time and he vows that no matter what happens, he’ll never, ever forget it.

You’re both practically vibrating after that, a smile so wide his cheeks are starting to hurt that’s reflected on your face, too, and he doesn’t hesitate when he’s finally given permission to kiss you. He dips you as the small crowd cheers loudly in the background. He can barely kiss you because of how much the two of you are smiling, but you more than make do.

“I love you,” he promises, an oath he’ll never break. You caress his face as he holds you.

“I love you too. Every part of you, sweetheart.”

—---------

He wakes you up early the next morning. Your face crinkles in protest and you move to burrow back under the safety and warmth of your blankets. With a soft, fond laugh, Bradley pulls the covers away from you completely.

“Baby,” you groan, “it’s not even light outside yet. We barely even just fell asleep.”

You’re right. It had been almost midnight when the two of you finally slipped away from the reception, the party still going strong. It was after two when you finally went to sleep, both of you basking in the afterglow and pressed against one another, and it was only nearing five now. “I know,” he says, rubbing your bare hip gently, “but you gotta wake up. I have a surprise for you.”

You crack an eye open at that and he chuckles again. “What kind of surprise?”

“Get up and I’ll show you. Dress comfy. You can sleep on the way.”

“On the way?”

He winks at you, standing from the bed and walking toward the door, already dressed and ready to go. You call after him, wanting to know where you’re going, but he makes his way down the stairs without a word; he knows the curiosity will keep you awake and moving.

You join him in the kitchen a few minutes later, dressed in leggings and your favorite oversized Eagles sweatshirt. He’s struck for a moment, remembering how beautiful you were to him that first day in the hospital in the same outfit, when he didn’t remember you but he knew you. It seemed like so long ago and it blew him away how far you’ve come together in just six months.

You fall back asleep almost as soon as he pulls out of the driveway, tucked against his side in the Bronco. Music plays quietly from the radio but it’s the sound of your breathing that really keeps him company during the drive back to the hanger in the desert. You stir awake when he puts the vehicle in park, looking around with tired, bleary eyes.

“Are we here to clean up?” you ask through a yawn as Bradley helps you out, closing the door behind you. He shakes his head, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as you walk toward the building. He stops right before the runway becomes visible, looking down at you.

“I thought maybe we could watch the sunrise together.”

You raise an eyebrow, looking at him skeptically. “We couldn’t do that from our backyard?”

A grin tugs at his lips and he shakes his head. “Not from the clouds, we can’t.”

You only look confused for a moment before realization hits you and you gasp loudly, suddenly looking wide awake. “It’s ready?”

“It’s ready,” he confirms. “What do you say, Pumpkin? Want to be the very first passenger?”

He laughs when instead of responding with words, you squeal and grab his hand, taking off running toward the other side of the building. His newly finished, flight-ready Cessna is there waiting in the lightning of the early morning. He was starting to see the faintest hint of orange in the skyline and knew time was of the essence.

He helped you into the aircraft carefully and climbed in behind you. He went through the necessities easily, knowing that Mav had already done all the mandatory preflight checks when he brought the plane out before dawn.

He slips your headset on you with a fond smile, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb. He double checks your seatbelt one more time, stealing a kiss before straightening in his seat.

“You ready?” He asks. You nod rapidly. With a deep breath, he begins to ease the four seater forward. Within moments, the two of you are airborne, leveling out with the clouds. The sky is beginning to streak with pinks and shades of orange and hearing you gasp in awe at the view from this high up is added to his list of favorite things, all alongside other memories of or with you.

“Do me a favor?” he asks after a few minutes of silence. You pull away from watching the sky out of the window, turning your head toward him instead.

“Anything.”

He’s already smiling, so excited to show you. “Look inside your wedding band for me.”

Your eyebrows knit together, but you follow his request anyway, slipping the jewelry off your finger and holding it close to your face to look on the inner surface. You let out a small gasp when you see words that hadn’t been there before.

You turn it as you read, the inscription taking up almost the entire surface of the inside of the ring he had originally given you years ago. He had managed to find someone to do a same day service to make sure it was done and ready from the time he left the house yesterday to the time he said I do in the evening, and the extra charge was worth the way your lips parted and your eyes filled with tears.

“Do you like it?” he asks, wanting that validation even though your eyes, always so expressive, conveyed just how much you did. Instead of answering right away, you leaned over, straining against your seatbelt to press a quick kiss to his lips, mindful of the fact that he was still flying the plane.

“I love it. I love you.”

You study the ring again, pinching it between your thumb and pointer finger of both hands to avoid dropping it, treating it like it’s something precious because he knows that, just as he views his, to you it is.

He had accepted that he may never get all of his memories back. He may live with tingles in his brain and flashes of remembrance, living with unknown gaps for the rest of his life. It had frustrated him at first, but he had made peace with it. He knew that no matter what, you’d be here beside him, filling in what he was missing and making brand new memories along the way. Because if there was one thing he was certain of, it was the way he felt about you; it wasn’t something he had ever been able to truly forget. He planned on making sure you knew that every single day, and if he was ever not there to tell you, the words resting against your finger would do it for him.

Remember you always, love you twice.

-----

Series Masterlist :: Spin Off One Shots :: Main Masterlist

Notes: What a journey this has been!! I can't tell you how much I appreciate every single person who has commented, reblogged, or liked this little story of mine. I hope it was everything that you wanted it to be. I'm so sad that we're already at the epilogue, but I'm so excited at potentially writing more for these two! I have a few one shots in the works for their story before Bradley's accident. If there's anything specific you'd like to see, please feel free to drop in my asks or inbox.

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 3 months

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LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

June 27, 2024

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

JUN 28, 2024

Tonight was the first debate between President Joe Biden and presumptive Republican presidential nominee Donald Trump, and by far the most striking thing about the debate was the overwhelming focus among pundits immediately afterward about Biden’s appearance and soft, hoarse voice as he rattled off statistics and events. Virtually unmentioned was the fact that Trump lied and rambled incoherently, ignored questions to say whatever he wanted; refused to acknowledge the events of January 6, 2021; and refused to commit to accepting the result of the 2024 presidential election, finally saying he would accept it only if it met his standards for fairness.

Immediately after the debate, there were calls for Biden to drop out of the race, but aside from the fact that the only time a presidential candidate has ever done that—in 1968—it threw the race into utter confusion and the president’s party lost, Biden needed to demonstrate that his mental capacity is strong in order to push back on the Republicans’ insistence that he is incapable of being president. That, he did, thoroughly. Biden began with a weak start but hit his stride as the evening wore on. Indeed, he covered his bases too thoroughly, listing the many accomplishments of his administration in such a hurry that he was sometimes hard to understand.

In contrast, Trump came out strong but faded and became less coherent over time. His entire performance was either lies or rambling non-sequiturs. He lied so incessantly throughout the evening that it took CNN fact-checker Daniel Dale almost three minutes, speaking quickly, to get through the list.

Trump said that some Democratic states allow people to execute babies after they’re born and that every legal scholar wanted Roe v. Wade overturned—both fantastical lies. He said that the deficit is at its highest level ever and that the U.S. trade deficit is at its highest ever: both of those things happened during his administration. He lied that there were no terrorist attacks during his presidency; there were many. He said that Biden wants to quadruple people’s taxes—this is “pure fiction,” according to Dale—and lied that his tax cuts paid for themselves; they have, in fact, added trillions of dollars to the national debt.

Dale went on: Trump lied that the U.S. has provided more aid to Ukraine than Europe has when it’s the other way around, and he was off by close to $100 billion when he named the amount the U.S. has provided to Ukraine. He was off by millions when he talked about how many migrants have crossed the border under Biden, and falsely claimed that some of Biden’s policies—like funding historically Black colleges and universities (HBCUs) and reducing the price of insulin to $35 a month—were his own accomplishments.

There is no point in going on, because virtually everything he said was a lie. As Jake Lahut of the Daily Beast recorded, he also was all over the map. “On January 6,” Trump said, “we had a great border.” To explain how he would combat opioid addiction, he veered off into talking points about immigration and said his administration “bought the best dog.” He boasted about acing a cognitive test and that he had just recently won two golf club tournaments without mentioning that they were at his own golf courses. “To do that, you have to be quite smart and you have to be able to hit the ball a long way,” he said. “I can do it.”

As Lahut recorded, Trump said this: “Clean water and air. We had it. We had the H2O best numbers ever, and we were using all forms of energy during my 4 years. Best environmental numbers ever, they gave me the statistic [sic.] before I walked on stage actually.”

Trump also directly accused Biden of his own failings and claimed Biden’s own strengths, saying, for example, that Biden, who has enacted the most sweeping legislation of any president since at least Lyndon Johnson, couldn’t get anything done while he, who accomplished only tax cuts, was more effective. He responded to the calling out of his own criminal convictions by saying that Biden “could be a convicted felon,” and falsely stating: “This man is a criminal.” And, repeatedly, Trump called America a “failing nation” and described it as a hellscape.

It went on and on, and that was the point. This was not a debate. It was Trump using a technique that actually has a formal name, the Gish gallop, although I suspect he comes by it naturally. It’s a rhetorical technique in which someone throws out a fast string of lies, non-sequiturs, and specious arguments, so many that it is impossible to fact-check or rebut them in the amount of time it took to say them. Trying to figure out how to respond makes the opponent look confused, because they don’t know where to start grappling with the flood that has just hit them.

It is a form of gaslighting, and it is especially effective on someone with a stutter, as Biden has. It is similar to what Trump did to Biden during a debate in 2020. In that case, though, the lack of muting on the mics left Biden simply saying: “Will you shut up, man?” a comment that resonated with the audience. Giving Biden the enforced space to answer by killing the mic of the person not speaking tonight actually made the technique more effective.

There are ways to combat the Gish gallop—by calling it out for what it is, among other ways—but Biden retreated to trying to give the three pieces of evidence that established his own credentials on the point at hand. His command of those points was notable, but the difference between how he sounded at the debate and how he sounded on stage at a rally in Raleigh, North Carolina, just an hour afterward suggested that the technique worked on him.

That’s not ideal, but as Monique Pressley put it, “The proof of Biden’s ability to run the country is the fact that he is running it. Successfully. Not a debate performance against a pathological lying sociopath.”

A much bigger deal is what it says that the television media and pundits so completely bought into Trump’s performance. They appear to have accepted Trump’s framing of the event—that he is dominant—so fully that the fact Trump unleashed a flood of lies and non-sequiturs simply didn’t register. And, since the format established that the CNN journalists running the debate did not challenge anything either candidate said, and Dale’s fact-checking spot came long after the debate ended, the takeaway of the event was a focus on Biden’s age rather than on Trump’s inability to tell the truth or form a coherent thought.

At the end of the evening, pundits were calling not for Trump—a man liable for sexual assault and business fraud, convicted of 34 felonies, under three other indictments, who lied pathologically—to step down, but for Biden to step down…because he looked and sounded old. At 81, Biden is indeed old, but that does not distinguish him much from Trump, who is 78 and whose inability to answer a question should raise concerns about his mental acuity.

About the effect of tonight’s events, former Republican operative Stuart Stevens warned: “Don’t day trade politics. It’s a sucker’s game. A guy from Queens out on bail bragged about overturning Roe v. Wade, said in public he didn’t have sex with a porn star, defended tax cuts for billionaires, defended Jan. 6th. and called America the worst country in the world. That guy isn’t going to win this race.”

Trump will clearly have pleased his base tonight, but Stevens is right to urge people to take a longer view. It’s not clear whether Trump or Biden picked up or lost votes; different polls gave the win to each, and it’s far too early to know how that will shake out over time.

Of far more lasting importance than this one night is the clear evidence that stage performance has trumped substance in political coverage in our era. Nine years after Trump launched his first campaign, the media continues to let him call the shots.

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

#Letters From An american #Heather Cox Richarson #political #election 2024 #Atlanta debate #political debate

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golfupnorth · 27 days

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🏌️‍♂️ Celebrate National Golf Month! 🏌️‍♀️ There's nothing like the feeling of a perfect swing or a well-played round. Let's make the most of these summer days by spending more time on the course. Share your best golf memories! #NationalGolfMonth #GolfMemories #SummerGolf

#Golf Up North #National Golf Month #Summer Golf #Golf Memories

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harmonyludwig · 5 months

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After watching the first two interactions of the 12th Doctor & Missy I was thinking about something.

Missy drastically changed all of her pronouns and referred to herself as "Time Lady" & "Mistress".

From the 13th Doctor & Missy we know that Gallifreyans can change genders while regenerating. That brings several ideas...

1. Gallifreyans with a gender they like most. Like, someone who was a women 5 regenerations and then became a man and is extremely bickery about it.

2. Non binary Gallifreyans. Before the regeneration, 9 said he could have no head, or 2 heads. That means there were cases of not just changing genders, but species. So what about Gallifreyans changing into "humans" with no genitalia? Like, is it a Time Lady or a Time Lord? Wrong! It's a Time Maniac!

3. No gender related... Basically nothing on Gallifrey is gender related. Except maybe clothes and interests (cue to Missy saying slaying a Dalek is Time Ladies golf). Because at any point anyone can die and change genders. How are you not gonna let a lady inside a men pub when she was the one to establish it? Before she died of heart failure.

4. Marriage will be 100% built on love. I mean, how can you marry someone when you know they can change any minute? Only if you love them so much you don't care.

5. Not about genders. Age restriction. How would it work?? Do they also have a not drinking before x years? Do they have elderly homes for people on their 12th life? If one life lasts about 1000 - 1500 years (11th Doctor spent 800 years alone after the Ponds accident, and then about 300 years on Trenzalore.), people can live up to 18000 years!

6. Conservative Gallifreyans. In Japan we already have problems with the aging nation and a lot of rules benefitting the old, now think if the old generation loves to 18000 years.

7. Child birth. If their pregnancy is like ours , 9 months, and let's say about a child a year... Gallifrey would be over populated.

Update: I have checked "looms". First off, oof. Second, that brings even more questions.

You may add more

#the doctor #doctor who #missy doctor who #missy #12th doctor #11th doctor #gallifrey #gallifreyan #shitpost #seriously think about it #THEY LIVE FOR SOOO LONG #the gotta have rules

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justinspoliticalcorner · 23 days

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Dean Obeidallah at The Dean's Report:

Donald Trump’s idea of being patriotic is not about supporting the United States. It’s about supporting those who help him. That’s why Trump has long praised and defended the Jan 6 terrorists who were helping him attempt to remain in power despite losing the 2020 election. Now Trump is taking this support to a new level by welcoming to his exclusive country club in New Jersey an awards show called the “J6 Awards Gala” created to honor those who attacked the Capitol—including those who brutally beat police officers. This is akin to Osama Bin Laden holding an awards event four years after 9/11 to honor those who waged that terrorist attack. And it’s just as vile and anti-American.

The website for this Sept. 5 event--organized by the Stand in the Gap Foundation--boasts that Trump has been invited to speak—although reports are he’s not expected to attend. But the event website notes other visible Trump allies will be speaking including Rudy Guiliani and former advisor Peter Navarro—who was released in July from prison after serving three months for refusing to comply with the House Jan 6 committee’s investigation. It's no surprise that this event is being held at one of Trump’s marquee properties given his track record. The GOP’s 2024 presidential nominee has hailed the attackers as “patriots” and vowed to pardon those convicted of crimes— including those “who assaulted officers.” And last year—to little media attention--he spoke at a fundraiser at this very Trump golf course in support of the Jan 6 insurrectionists. Trump has even kicked off campaign rallies with an announcer asking the crowd to “please rise for the horribly and unfairly treated January 6 hostages” followed by a recording of the national anthem performed by people incarcerated in connection with the attack. Indeed, it’s these Jan 6 prisoners who sang that song--which Trump lent his voice to--who will be honored at the upcoming event at Trump’s golf course.

[...] In addition, the organizer of this J6 awards ceremony is Sarah McAbee, the wife of Ronald Colton McAbee, a former sheriff’s deputy who was sentenced to nearly six years in prison for assaulting police officers on Jan. 6. As DOJ detailed, McAbee despicably held down another police officer who had been “knocked to the ground, kicked, and stripped of his baton by other rioters” enabling the crowd to viciously beat him. As a result, “the officer sustained physical injuries, including a head laceration, concussion, elbow injury, bruising, and bodily abrasions.” These are just some of the Jan 6 attackers expected to be honored at Trump National Golf Club in New Jersey. Interestingly, the country club’s website explains that for large events like weddings or galas, organizers need to contact the club management to utilize a “membership sponsored program.” Did Trump sponsor this event? Did he waive this requirement? It’s unclear but one thing is certain: Trump has not denounced the event, called for it be canceled or demanded his photo be removed for the website promoting the “J6 Awards Gala.” At this point, even if Trump were pressured and ultimately denounced the J6 awards gala, it would ring hollow given his record of praising and defending the attackers. These are Trump’s people and Jan 6 was his attack. As the House Jan 6 committee’s final report summed up well, “the central cause of January 6th was one man, former President Donald Trump, whom many others followed,” adding, “None of the events of January 6th would have happened without him.”

At the Trump National Golf Club in Bedminster, NJ, Donald Trump is set to welcome the domestic terrorist-honoring J6 Awards Gala on September 5th.

Trump himself is invited to speak but currently isn’t confirmed; however, Peter Navarro, Bo Loudon, Colby Covington, and Rudy Giuliani are just a few of the confirmed speakers.

#Donald Trump #Capitol Insurrection #J6 Awards Gala #Domestic Terrorism #Stand In The Gap Foundation #Rudy Giuliani #Peter Navarro #Trump National Golf Club #Bedminster New Jersey #Bo Loudon #Colby Covington

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mybeingthere · 1 year

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Snow time; Downhill all the way!

Louis Wain (1860-1939)

"At the turn of the century, Louis Wain became a household name as ‘The Man Who Drew Cats’. His drawings of cats appeared in periodicals and his own annuals and then, increasingly on prints and postcards. While his early work was already distinctive, in a gently humorous way, the onset of schizophrenia gradually transformed his style, making it bright, highly patterned and apparently in keeping with Jazz Age Modernism.

Louis Wain was born in London on 5 August 1860. His father was a textile salesman and his mother designed carpets and church fabrics. A sickly child, he was educated at the Orchard Street Boys and Infant School, South Hackney, and at St Joseph’s Academy, Kennington. He trained at the West London School of Art (1877-80), remaining there as an assistant master until 1882. From his father’s death in 1880, he had to support first his mother and five younger sisters and soon after a sick wife. He supplemented his income by working as a freelance illustrator (initially influenced by Caldecott and May), and in 1882 he joined the staff of the Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News. He began to make his name with humorous cat drawings, primarily in the Illustrated London News, the staff of which he joined in 1886. He was the first to work consistently within the convention of depicting clothed and standing animals. His anthropomorphic vision of the world soon brought him much fame and as a result he was elected President of the National Cat Club in 1891. However, he was not a good businessman, and in 1907 he may have been sued for debt. In the same year, he moved to the United States to make a new start, producing strip cartoons for the New York American (1907-10). Back in England, he experimented with animation in 1917, in the films, The Golfing Cat and The Hunter and the Dog. After the death of his sister Caroline in the same year, he began to suffer a mental decline, becoming a schizophrenic, as his work clearly revealed. ‘His cats became frenzied and jagged, sometimes disappearing into kaleidoscopic shapes’ (Frances Spalding). When, in 1925, he was found in the paupers’ ward of Middlesex County Asylum, an appeal was launched on his behalf, and he was transferred to a comfortable room with his paints in the Bethlem Royal Hospital, Southwark. The appeal reached twice the target sum in a month, a sign of the public’s continuing affection. He died in the Middlesex County Asylum, Napsbury, near St Albans, on 4 July 1939.

Chris Beetles Gallery

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misfitwashere · 3 months

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June 27, 2024

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

JUN 28

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#debate #biden #trump

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captainjonnitkessler · 1 year

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I want to be clear that I am NOT an expert in trade unions: My experience is limited to the IBEW and I’ve only been a member for four years. That being said:

My experience thus far is that 99% of being in one is the same obnoxious bureaucratic bullshit as national politics on a smaller scale. Everyone loves to bitch about the administration: It’s corrupt, they’re just giving themselves raises for doing nothing, the business manager is doing his “recruiting” exclusively in the bar, the negotiators are licking the contractors’ boots, we inexplicably voted to give the golf club ten thousand fucking dollars, they don’t actually care about us, they’re just sitting on their asses doing politics while we work to support them. And then you ask “so are you going to meetings and voting?” and the answer is always “hell no, I’m not giving up an evening a month to go listen to a bunch of bullshit”.

Obviously I 100% support forming and joining unions, they offer way more protection and support than non-union workplaces, and they’re a powerful force for labor rights. Just . . . remember they’re just made up of all of your coworkers, including the ones you hate, and they require the involvement of the membership to actually function. It’s a lot of compromising and politicking and bullshitting, it’s not a magic bullet to fix labor problems. Half the time I can’t even agree with my coworkers on what the problems ARE, much less how to fix them!

#i can't even blame the administration for the golf club thing that was a membership vote and i'm STILL MAD ABOUT IT #but i'm also angling for my union to pay me to go to a women in construction conference in december so what can i say #anyway i just feel like a lot of the 'FUCK neoliberals WORKERS RISE UP' people would be disgusted if they actually attended any of my union #meetings #like i'm not happy about it either! we should be doing more wildcat strikes and sympathy actions #but here we are #construction #labor rights

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dontmeantobepoliticalbut · 3 months

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Donald Trump rushed to distance himself from the Republicans’ highly controversial Project 2025 Friday, calling parts of it “ridiculous and abysmal.”

The ex-president used his Truth Social platform to disavow the platform, drawn up by the Heritage Foundation, which offers a 900-page preview of how the most powerful think-tank in the conservative movement wants him to govern. He acted three days after the man who drew it up told Steve Bannon’s War Room podcast, “We are in the process of the second American Revolution, which will remain bloodless if the left allows it to be.”

Among Project 2025’s most controversial–and potentially electorally costly–plans are restricting access to contraception; using the Centers for Disease Control (CDC) for heightened “abortion surveillance”; and revoking a Department of Defense policy funding travel for abortion. It calls the line-up of policies “Restoring the Family as the Centerpiece of American Life.”

But Trump posted on his platform, “I know nothing about Project 2025. I have no idea who is behind it. I disagree with some of the things they’re saying and some of the things they’re saying are absolutely ridiculous and abysmal. Anything they do, I wish them luck, but I have nothing to do with them.”

The move suggests that Trump’s aides are concerned that Democrats have been able to insert Project 2025 into the public mind and associate Trump with its most radical ideas, at a time when the Republican Party should be on the front foot. Trump has had a poll boost from the crisis in Joe Biden’s presidency caused by his stumbling debate performance, but there are concerns in his campaign that a focus on abortion policy would give Democrats a potent weapon.

Democrats pounced on Trump’s statement on Friday, using it as an opportunity to continue to try and tie the two together.

“Donald Trump and Project 2025 are one big MAGA operation, coordinating on an extreme blueprint to rip away freedoms and undermine democracy — and they’ve made it clear themselves,” a DNC spokesperson said, adding: “Trump can’t hide his ties to the dangerous, unhinged MAGA loyalists at Project 2025, and the American people will stop them at the ballot box in November.”

The Heritage Foundation tried to pre-empt any Republican fallout from Trump’s disavowal, saying in a statement on Friday the group doesn’t speak for any presidential candidate.

“We are a coalition of more than 110 conservative groups advocating policy & personnel recommendations for the next conservative president,” the group’s Project 2025 X account posted. “But it is ultimately up to that president, who we believe will be President Trump, to decide which recommendations to implement.”

Trying to throw Project 2025 overboard matches recent rhetoric from Trump on abortion, where he has attempted to navigate between his base’s fundamentalist anti-abortion position and the reality that there is wide popular support for pro-choice policies. Notably, on Tuesday, the Trump campaign released a version of its plans for the party platform at the Republican National Convention this month without making any mention of abortion. At the same time, Trump has tried to claim that “everybody” wanted Roe v. Wade overturned and abortion policy returned to the states. And his promise of a clear abortion policy has been coming for many months; it was, for example, due “on Monday morning” according to a Sunday April 8 post on Truth Social.

Project 2025 was created by Kevin Roberts, the Heritage Foundation’s president, who was lambasted this week as “a coward” by MSNBC’s Joe Reid for his veiled threat of bloodshed. “He’ll be at a country club somewhere, golfing, while the real violent people, the armed people, the Proud Boys types, do the actual dirty work,” she said on her show, The Reid Out.

Other aspects of Project 2025 include making it possible for Trump and his aides to fire tens of thousands of government workers by ending their protection from political interference. The idea is based on claims that a “deep state” is trying to prevent Republicans enacting their policies, but it would then allow Trumpworld to stuff their followers into government positions.

Trump’s claim that “I know nothing” of the people drawing up Project 2025 echoes his long history of denying that he knows people with whom an association might be damaging. Among those he has denied knowledge of are white supremacist David Duke; the Proud Boys; never-Trumper George Conway whose wife Kellyanne was his campaign manager; jailed 2016 campaign aide George Papadopoulos, whom he had previously called “excellent”; and most expensively of all, E. Jean Carroll. Despite being adjudicated to have sexually assaulted her by a New York jury, he has continued to claim not to know the former advice columnist, to whom he has been ordered to pay $83.3 million in damages for defaming on top of $5 million for the sexual assault.

#us politics #news #republicans #conservatives #donald trump #gop #trump administration #alt right #2024 #2024 elections #project 2025 #the daily beast #heritage foundation #truth social

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