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[perezcalhounlawfl]

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[wildmoonworld]

Good Girl

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x reader

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: alcohol, cussing, unprotected sex (WRAP IT), oral sex, MINORS STAY AWAY!!

Summary: Your best friends brother had always been attractive to you. You thought it would be fun to be friends with benefits, catching feelings was never the plan. How long will you let him mentally and emotionally damage you?

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He was your best friends brother, twin brother should I say. Josh and you have been best friends for a couples years now. You met him through mutual friends from a party you had attended, Josh was this bubbly person. You were instantly intrigued by his sense of humor and the way he carried himself so confidently and free. Since meeting Josh, you both had spent countless nights hanging out at the local bars and some nights you would stay with him to escape your dreadful roommates.

One night, Josh invited you out to The Heritage. A local bar in the middle of town, it was a go to for you both. Interacting with the locals and enjoying the god awful karaoke from the highly intoxicated regulars.

“Jake is on his way over.” Josh leans in front of you to speak to Daniel. Shaking his head, Daniel leans over to Sam on the other side of him to continue the conversation they were having.  

You had only seen pictures of Jake, he was very attractive. Very much your type, long brown hair, mustache and pretty brown eyes. Jake had joined the military right out of high school, from what you had known he was freshly retired and divorced. Jake had married a woman while stationed in Florida, not even a year of dating they were married and had a child on the way. Which you didn’t mind, you had a thing for the Dads that were worth a damn. From what you had heard from Josh, he was an incredibly amazing father.

An hour goes by, Jake walks through the door. Behind him was of course a female, or so Josh likes to call it ‘His flavor of the week’. Sitting around a table, Jake walks over greeting the boys. He reaches over the table motioning to shake your hand, upon shaking his hand the two of you make eye contact and don’t break away for a few seconds. The woman he brought with him, intrudes the moment you have with Jake by asking for him to buy her a drink. Being the player he is, he does exactly that but making sure he flirts with the bartender as he’s ordering his drinks.

“Your brother is hot, like extremely attractive.” you say leaning into Josh.

“So, are you saying I’m hot?” he replies jokingly.

“He’s your twin. Of course I think you’re attractive, Josh.” You reply, rolling your eyes as you nudge an elbow into his side.

“You’re my best friend, so I could never look at you in that way. But…” you trail off, looking over to Jake as he’s working the DJ booth to select the next song.

“I do want a taste of him.” You follow, Josh turns his head quickly.

“Don’t you even think about it, Y/N!” Josh basically screams into your ear. Leaning back, covering your ear because his drunk ass was so loud. You laugh at his response, knowing damn well you could make it happen.

 

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It was December, Josh invited you to this haunted attraction. This was the only haunted attraction that was open for the month of December, for a Christmas Haunt. You and Josh went every year, this year he decided to invite Jake. This might be your shot to start something, you might regret. You rode with Josh, upon arriving he pulls into a parking spot next to a white Tahoe. Looking over, you see Jake sitting in the driver’s side. You would have never pictured him to be driving a Tahoe, but being the guy he was it kind of made sense. Hopping out of the car, you walk to the front of Josh’s car waiting for him to meet you. Jake walks up beside you, he places a hand on the small of your back.

“Hey bud!” he says, his smile is beautiful.

“What’s up!” you respond, looking up at him to meet his eyes.

Josh walks around to you both, cocking his eyebrows and making eye contact with you. You smile and start to walk towards the ticket booth, the boys are following behind you. While waiting in line, you all are having conversations about anything and everything. The line moved up and you’re beside Jake, he pulls his phone from his pocket and his lock screen lights up. You look over and notice it is a picture of him and his son Reed.

“He looks just like you.” you say, smiling up at him.

“You think so?” he asks, smiling down at his phone. He opens up his phone to his gallery, clicking on pictures of Reed on facetime. You shake your head to reassure him, you meant what you said.

“He lives in Florida with his mom. I get him every other month.” He responds.

“I’m sure that is hard on you.” You reply, looking at him to make eye contact. He meets your gaze, this look wasn’t a normal look. It was like you were able to read his thoughts. The only thing you could read is that he could have ripped your clothes off right there in line. Your entire body got hot, you pressed your thighs together to tame the tension that was begging for him. Neither of you break the eye contact until Josh snaps his fingers in between the two of you.

“NO, negative, not gonna happen.” waving his finger between Jake and yourself. Rolling your eyes, you nudge him to step closer to the door.

Stepping into the room where the workers would give you a back story of what has happened to Santa’s workshop. The room was dark, there was a man dressed as a bloody elf. You had been there every year, so you knew how everything worked. Something was going to pop out from the door that was next to Josh, He was always the first to go and you were behind him. Jake was tagging along, so he was behind you. As the bloody elf was telling his story, your adrenalin starts to kick in and you reach your hand back grabbing Jakes pants leg. You didn’t realize you did so, until it was time to start the walk through. Snatching your hand away, you reach to hold Josh’s, as always. Upon entering the run down ‘Reindeer Hut’, Josh is pulling you through as he was scared of the chainsaw noise you heard from behind you. Turning to look behind you Jake was nowhere, letting go of Josh’s hand you retrace your steps and see Jake waving his hands in front of him trying to see where to walk. You quickly grab his hand and guide him the rest of the way through the hut, not really being able to see yourself you begin to walk slower. Jake is directly behind you, so close your back is against his front half. His hands are on your hips, you can feel his print on your ass. You were definitely not moving away from how close you two were. After finally getting out of the hut, you both find Josh who was waiting for you guys outside. Walking back to your cars, you all are laughing about things that had happened inside. You all headed home for the night.

 

A couple days go by after hanging out with Jake and Josh, one morning you woke up to a couple messages from Josh and a random number. It was never surprising to get messages from him at like six in the morning.

Josh🤍

“Jake asked for your number.”

“I gave him your number, said he had a question about an event that was happening downtown.”

Unknown Number

“Hey love”

“Hope you don’t mind me asking Josh for your number.”

Jake didn’t want to ask you any question, you know exactly what he is looking for. And maybe, you were looking for the same thing. Your phone begins to ring, the picture of Josh pissing in a bush at a random party you had gone to a few months ago appears on your screen. You answer.

“Josh, you realize you have given me the golden ticket to fucking your brother.” you say, with your phone against your ear. Throwing back the covers, you slip out of bed and head into the bathroom.

“YOU ARE ON SPEAKER, Y/N” Josh responds, you hear laughing in the background.

“The golden ticket, huh?” you hear Jake in the background.

“Oh my god, Josh you know better than to do that shit.” you response, pulling your panties back up after using the bathroom.

Later that day, you get a message from Jake.

Jake❤️‍🔥

“Want to be friends?”

You

“I would like that!”

Couple hours pass by, it’s pretty late by the time you get another message from him.

Jake❤️‍🔥

“I want to see you, I’ll be staying at Daniels tonight. Would want you come over?”

You

“Let me get dressed and I’ll be over.”

Quickly, you jump out of bed and slip on some sweatpants and hoodie. You practically run to the car and head to Danny’s house. When you finally arrive, Jake is sitting in his car waiting for you. You get out of your car and walk up to his, he gets out and greets you with a hug and a kiss on the head. ‘Friends’ don’t just place intimate kisses on the tops of your head, intimate that is exactly how it felt. He reaches in his pocket and grabs the spare key that Danny had given him, Jake comes to town quite often and he lets him stay with him while he is in town. Entering the house, you leave your shoes by the door as you normally do and follow Jake down the hall to the spare bedroom. You were pretty familiar with Danny’s house, being you have gone to many parties that he has thrown and you always ended up in the spare bedroom while Josh would take the couch. Jake closes the door behind him and starts taking his clothes off until he is in his boxers, he walks over to the side of the bed pulls back the covers and slips into the bed. You begin to take your clothes off, down to your lacey black bra and panties. Jakes eyes never leave your site, taking in every curve of your body and details of the tattoos that you have. You slip into the bed next to him.

“How was your night out?” you ask, laying your head on his chest. You were able to smell the whiskey that was on his breath.  

“It was great, it’s even better now.” he replies, pulling you closer so that your leg is resting on top of his. He begins tracing circles on your lower back.

“So, you have always had a thing for me, huh?” he follows, peering down at you to make eye contact.

“I guess you could say that. Or whatever you want to call it.” You respond, looking up at him.

He leans in and places a sweet kiss on your lips. His lips are intoxicating, from that moment you knew he wasn’t going to be a good addiction. Slightly opening your mouth to allow his tongue to slip into your mouth, his mustache brushes across the tip of your nose making you giggle. He pulls back and his hands begin to wonder your body. His touch felt sweet and caring, you were terrified of this outcome you knew that was ahead. You weren’t the one to catch feelings so quickly, but with Jake it was different.

He sits up, placing himself between your legs. He leans in again, crashing his lips into yours again. This time it was more intense, breathing through your nose you buck your hips into his feeling is rock, hard length against your clothed heat. Reaching down between your legs, he starts to circle your swollen clit with his fingers through the fabric of your panties. Not pulling away from your lips, you moan into his mouth. You sit up lightly to unhook your bra, still not breaking away from his lips. Slipping your arms through the straps and throwing it onto the ground. A moan escapes his lips, pulling away from your center his hand reaches up to gently squeeze your tits. His kisses begin to wonder down your neck onto your chest, placing wet kisses around your nipple. He begins to suck and nibble your perfectly hardened nipple, the other is in between his pointer finger and thumb, twisting and gently rubbing making sure the other gets the attention it needs.

“Please…Jake, I need It.” you mumble under your moans, he places a finger over your lips. You part them to allow his fingers in, you begin to suck his fingers. Unlatching from your tit, he sits up to take in the view of how horny you are for him.

“Good girl…” he says softly, the way he called you good girl radiated through your entire body.

This was the name for only him to use.  

Pulling his fingers from your mouth, sliding them down your chin and your torso until they reached the hem of your panties. He pulls them down and tosses them onto the floor, sitting up you slide his boxers down and he kicks them towards the end of the bed. Rolling over onto your stomach, propping yourself on your knees, arching your back to where your face is in the pillows. His hands are on your hips, seeing you in that position makes him whine for you. You feel his breath on your center, his tongue licks a stride from your clit to the top of your ass. Making you hum sweet moans into the quiet room.

“Fuck, baby. You taste amazing.” He groans, with his hand on your ass and the other around his cock. He runs himself through your soaking wet folds. The tip is finally at your entrance, easing himself into you with a long stroke. You both moan as a relief of pleasure. Thrusting in and out of you, picking up the pace.

“Jake…Oh. My. God.” You say, hardly being able to catch your breath from him pounding into you faster and faster. He reaches up to the neap of your neck and wraps his hand within your hair to pull you back to his shoulder.

“You’re such a good girl for me.” He whispers into your ear, his breath is staggered. The headboard started knocking on the wall. On the other side of that wall you could hear movement for a slight second. He stops.

“Let’s not wake the sleeping beauty next door.” He whispers, you giggle at his statement. Listening for the movement to stop, you hear shuffling footsteps outside of the door and then the bathroom door shuts.

“He’s kind of drunk.” He says through a muffled laugh. His cock never went limp, waiting for Danny to go back to his bedroom to go back to sleep. You heard the bathroom door open.

“Jake?” Danny calls out.

“Yeah bud, just get back to sleep.” Jake responses with a laugh.

“Is Y/N here?” Danny asked slurring his words.

“Yeah, she’s here Daniel. Make sure to drink your water that’s beside your bed.”

Danny never responded. Shuffling back to his bedroom, finally you heard his bedroom door close. The movement stopped, Jake continued. He pulls out and lays down beside you, pulling you on top of him where you’re straddling his center. Takin his length into your hand and hovering to lower yourself onto him, you take a moment to adjust to his length again. Slowly you start to bounce, moving your hips in a back and forth motion. His hands run up the sides of your body, to cup your tits, squeezing and rubbing your nipples between his fingers.

“Look at you go…” he says watching your every move. Picking up the pace, you can feel his cock pulsate inside of you. He was on the edge of his climax and you were eager to hear how he sounded, working your hips faster to quicken the sweet relief you wanted inside of you.

“Fuckkk…you’re…so beautiful.” he moans, his breath his heavy. Hearing him sound so desperate for you made you so weak, your climax hits as soon as his is over. Releasing your juices all over him, wrapping his arms around you, he pulls you down on top of him. His softened cock, pulls out of you and you roll over to lay beside him. You look over to him and give him a slight smile, closing your eyes for a second. He pulls you closer to him and places a kiss on the top of your head.

“Good girl.” He whispers

The way he called you good girl, made you tingle. You had been called good girl before, but coming from his perfectly plump lips. It sent chills down your entire body. You knew that, no one else would ever be able to call you that, besides him. And you knew, this wasn’t the last time you were going to see him. He was trouble…sweet, sweet trouble. Laying on his chest and listening to his heartbeat, this is a place you knew you wanted to be all the time.

Eventually, you fell asleep to the sound of a heart that would end up being so toxic in the end.

Part 2

#gvf #greta van fleet #gretavanfleet #jake kiszka #jake gvf #danny wagner #daniel wagner #danny gvf #danny wagner gvf #josh kiszka

[weywookitswestwood]

HEYYO I FINISHED MY VIV CHARACTER ANALYSIS/BIO/HCS!! +18

(UPDATE: I added a few more hcs cuz I forgot to add them. I might remember more so expect the list to get a little longer)

Just putting a few content warnings out there before you go on scrollin’, there are some nsfw hcs down below so if you’re under 18, you’re in the wrong place. Also there is some mentions of family em*tional *buse and trauma so please skip if you don’t wanna read. Anyways, please enjoy~

Full name: Viviano Westwood (wasn’t born with a middle name)

Nicknames: Westwood, V, Viv, Vivi(don’t ever call him this, he’ll get mad), Vivikins(Or this), Big Guy/Fella/Lug, Vivano, Vibiano, Fabiano, Steve, Eastwood, Winwood, Jarhead(on second thought, only refer to him as either Westwood, V, or Viv)

Stand: Planet Waves (DISC)

Birthday: July 31st, 1983

Zodiac: Boar

Age: 28

Height: 6’1 (186 cm)

Nationality: American (Mostly of English and a bit of Italian descent)

Occupation: G. D. St. Prison guard

Personality: Large and in charge… sort of. Values brawn over brains. Not meaning he’s stupid, he’s just a simple man. Lacks in direction, both figuratively and literally. Because of his physical strength and his simple nature, he gets treated like an ox, whether it be from his parents or his job. Due to his upbringing, he has difficulty opening up or being sentimental. Instead, he copes through anger such as punching walls or snapping at people. He sees crying or being vulnerable as signs of weakness, another result from his upbringing. Likes to antagonize weak targets or criminals to make himself feel better. He claims he turned to the justice system because he wanted to keep evil people locked up for good from the public. That could be true, BUT others around him know there’s more to it than the reason he gives. Behind this mask, he’s an insecure and lonely man. Doesn’t have a spouse or kids or pets. He can be sociable, but doesn’t have any close friends. His love life is zero to none. He relishes in the heat of the moment, but once the discussion of marriage or starting a family is brought up, he’s out the door. Despite his flaws, he’s strong, resilient and yearns for excitement in his life. Perhaps being with the right people, he can find himself underneath that cold exterior and be a nicer, happier guy.

Favorite musician: Earth, Wind, & Fire, The Marshall Tucker Band(he’s a closeted country fan), and not a fan of the singer but he likes Fantasy by Mariah Carey

Favorite book: Playboy magazine

Favorite food: Anything SPICY

Background: Viviano was born in 1983 in Texas to a military veteran father and a hairdresser mother. From the time he was in diapers to 12 years of age, he lived a strict military lifestyle. No, his father wasn’t physical towards Viviano, but their relationship was better described as a “drill sergeant and cadet” dynamic than a “father and son” one. Basically this meant raising Viv how to be a “man” like teaching him how to use a gun at 4 years old and berating him if he began to cry. If there was one thing Viviano feared the most… it was his father. He had a close relationship to his mother, even being labeled a “momma’s boy” by his dad.

By 12, his parents divorced and he chose to go with his mother to Florida, not before his father called him a “disappointment”. For seven years, Viviano lived with his mom in Port Orange, Florida, being enrolled in junior high. While not as bad as his father and at times would be overly affectionate, his mom did boss him around. He was a growing boy after all, he was able to reach and physically do things that she couldn’t. At school, teachers looked down at him as a strong, yet intellectually incompetent boy, who could care less about his grades. Not only that, he needed to boss someone like how his parents bossed him, so he made a name for himself as a bully. He would continue to pick on classmates all through high school until his grades were so abysmal he had to be held back in his senior year and didn’t graduate until the year 2002 when he was about 19. Both of his parents were ashamed of this news.

After graduating high school, he tried to join the military but after three months of boot camp, he left. His father called him a “lost cause”. It was the most humiliating moment of his life. He got a job at a Miami customs house and was there for years until he was let go. He wouldn’t tell anyone why but supposedly it was due to his temper. At 25, he got a job as a prison guard at the Green Dolphin State Prison.

Random headcanons: (Warning: some are sfw/nsfw)

SFW:

-Has a bit of a gambling addiction

-Only child

-Not the best driver, gets worked up if he misses his turn

-Mf doesn’t wear socks (I know I bring this up constantly as a joke but this is canon)

-His mom cuts his hair

-Overheats easily, he’s always warm to the touch not even an ice bath will cool him down

-Big sports fan, especially football and baseball, his favorite teams are the Dallas Cowboys and the Miami Marlins, respectively

-Has a really bad habit of cracking his knuckles

-Has naturally long eyelashes

-Doesn’t really have any talents besides bench pressing and being strong

-He can be self conscious about trivial things like being insecure about the size of his hands (he’s afraid of having small hands)

-Accidentally punched his grandma in the chest after tickling him too hard (she was okay just had to go to the hospital for a small fracture in her ribcage)

-Misses living in Texas

-He had a bit of a Texan accent growing up, it’s mostly gone but it’ll randomly come up when his voice cracks

-Sucks at flirting

-Doesn’t have a filter

NSFW:

-Not a virgin

-If you ask him who he’s into, he would say women but secretly, he’s a bit curious if ya catch my drift

-Doesn’t really have a type as long as the woman is of age, consenting, and isn’t a bitchy hag

-Likes being the dominant one when it comes to… ahem, the bed

-He likes to make anything into a “battle”; sex, play wrestling, tickle fights, etc. he’ll do whatever it takes to make his partner submit (psst hey you, yeah you, there’s a way to beat him, he’s super ticklish on his belly, ribs, and feet, get him in one of his death spots, he’ll be sobbing for mercy)

-Frequently gets hard ons, even in the most inconvenient of times (at work)

-Likes to be on top, but is nice enough to be a service top too

-Loves a partner who’s either a switch or just as domineering as he is

-One of his kinks is bondage, loves the idea of cuffing up his partner and letting his hands roam all over their body

-Can see him being a foot guy (dunno why, just cuz I guess); prefers to give than to receive because he’s ticklish but will be okay receiving it if his partner really wants to; but he loves foot jobs

-His favorite thing (I’m sorry everyone)… is CBT; any chance his partner is grabbing or crushing him down there, he’s on cloud nine (this part was honestly painful to write)

-Loves oral, receiving that is (but he likes to give as well)

[reasonandempathy]

Why is the American Left so Anti-Saudia but they say nothing about Iran?

I always found it weird how much the Left seems to dislike Saudi Arabia and highlight its human rights abuses and why the alliance is against American national interest. This is far back as Michael Moore’s documentary Fahreneit 9/11, Vox who did a special on weapons sales to Saudis, Morning Joe which kept calling MBS a butcher, The View after Biden’s visit and Krystal Ball on Breaking Points.

Interestingly these same people always go at pains to say why US should seek peace with Iran and how the government does not represent the American people. When Trump was sabre rattling Iran they said he’d start WW3. It took until the hijab protest angle for them to cover Iran critically. Even Egypt who is an American vassal under El-Sisi gets criticised all the time including by Vox/MSNBC but when the Muslim Brotherhood got in power after the Arab Spring, which is against all sorts of progressive causes, they were never really criticised.

I always get frustrated by how people throw everything to the Left of Trump as "the Left".

Joe Scarborough is nobody's Leftist. He was a far-right wing congressman from Florida in the 90s and voted to impeach Clinton in 98. MSNBC has routinely fired left-wing and Muslim dissenters to the Mainstream Washington politics (which is center-right), and to this day is filled with center and right-wing talking points. You think the Left would have Raytheon War Privateers talking up Israel in itss slow-rolling genocide without criticism?

That being said, I would significantly advise OP read a book, or talk to a leftist. Preferably in real life. The concept of "The Left doesn't criticize Iran or Muslim Brotherhood" is somewhat divorced from the broader reality and context. Saudi Arabia and Egypt are American allies and their actions are things that the US Government directly or indirectly supports.

Saudi Arabia is a US ally, so the left is critical of that close relationship and the supplying of arms such as fighter jets to such a brutal regime (currently engaged in a devastating war in Yemen using American weapons). In contrast, the US has huge tensions with Iran, so the call from the left is "do not escalate this to war." In both instances the intent is the same: to reduce the threat of war.

Try to say what you're saying directly and in descriptive language and it falls apart at face value.

"The left-wing has no criticism of anti-democratic Theocratic states." Center-left criticism of the Muslim Brotherhood has been around for a long, long time. It's easily google-able.

Or how about: "Why does the Left criticize an American vassal state with a puppet in charge?"

Bringing up the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt just speaks to how little attention you pay to the Country. The Muslim Brotherhood hasn't been in power there since 2013 when a military junta took over and threw thousands of them in jail.

#left-wing #muslim brotherhood #politics #original content #international relations #saudi arabia #MBS #Iran

[prettyplumpkitty]

I had a crazy childhood.

Parents divorced in ‘83 (both were military; they met in Texas) Dad stayed in Florida to finish his degree. I moved with my mom back to her hometown of Toledo, Ohio. We lived with my grandparents at times and also my aunt, who had a son just barely a year older than me.

We were two peas in a pod. We did everything together. My first best friend. We never fought. We loved each other fiercely. Our dads were both physically absent but I had a relationship with mine…he called every weekend, visited, took me to see his family when possible, vacations etc. My cousin’s father was an abusive alcoholic who was in & out of jail.

Despite our closeness as children, we didn’t see each other much as adults. I moved to Tennessee when I was 19 and then to Pennsylvania when I was 27. My aunt & her kids were NOTORIOUS about never traveling, never leaving Toledo.

The last time I saw him was 4 years ago, when my stepdad tragically passed away in a motorcycle accident. He had two kids of his own & a lady (their mom) who I honestly didn’t much care for. I interpret vibes & energy and hers was all wrong. In any event, I knew he was a drinker. We had partied together a few times when I was able to visit throughout my twenties and he always went HARD.

I guess his drinking had gotten progressively worse. His lady threw him out in January and he was living with my aunt, just spiraling. I knew it was bad but you never know how bad until it’s too late.

I got the call last Monday that he had passed away suddenly. Heartbroken doesn’t even cover it.

He was the first person I truly loved, other than my parents. We were so excited to grow up. Most of our playtimes together were envisioning what our futures would be like. It hurts me so much to know how bad he was hurting.

My twins accompanied me this past weekend to visit with my aunt in Toledo & my mom who had traveled from Indiana to be with her. There was no funeral, no memorial even. He will be cremated and that’s that. Hard stuff.

Weirdly, we were on our way to a park on Lake Erie one morning when we got detoured away…instead, I drove my boys to my old catholic school & past my grandparents house, and past the house I lived in with my cousins and mom and aunt & through all the old neighborhood…I haven’t been back to these places in probably 30 years….it was surreal.

It was so beautiful, so cathartic to visit these places and hold my memories of my cousin.

Hold your people close. Don’t be afraid to say I love you. I need you.

Take care friends.

#personal #kitty times #kitty things #tw: death #tw: alcholism

[hotforharrison]

I kind of want to see if I can write later -- I have a few longer WIPs that I haven't touched in months that I've always intended to finish.

My ex-husband is spending this week in Florida with his girlfriend at a resort where she's having a work conference, and that's rough because I seriously, seriously doubt I'll hear from him at all.

I don't typically hear from him any time he's with her, during the entire weekends he's been gone. (He's still here some during the week as he's moving his stuff, and she's adjusting to having him moving in to a space she considers fully hers after a bitter divorce left her with nothing.)

Anyway, maybe it would ease some of the heartbreak if I lost myself in a love (or love adjacent) story of my own making, the happy ending that I very much hope I'll be able to find someday.

I know I owe him nothing now that I'm his nothing, but I promised him that I wouldn't meet any fuckboys on Tinder for the time being because that wouldn't make anything better right now.

(And I've honestly never had anything good come from meeting dating site fuckboys -- I met some while he was in the military and deployed. It just emphasized that sex is better for me with a partner who knows me and actually cares about me as a person and my pleasure, not just a guy looking for some convenient hole to get off in.)

[loiladadiani]

Grand Duchess Maria Pavlovna (the Younger; 1890 - 1958) and her brother Grand Duke Dmitry Pavlovich (1891 - 1942)

Grand Duchess Maria Pavlovna and her brother, Grand Duke Dmitry Pavlovich, children of Grand Duke Pavel Alexandrovich and Grand Duchess Alexandra Georgevna, did not have happy lives. Their mother died giving birth to Dmitry. Several years later, their father married morganatically and was banished from Russia by Tzar Nicholas II, who did not permit him to take his children with him.

Maria and Dmitry were raised by their uncle, Grand Duke Sergei Alexandrovich, and his wife Grand Duchess Elizabeth Feodorovna. Unfortunately, Grand Duke Sergei was murdered and their aunt Elizabeth, the only mother Dmitry had known, decided to take the veil. She arranged a marriage to a Swedish Prince for young Marie and made sure Dmitry started his military education. Unfortunately, later Dmitry became famous for his participation in the murder of Rasputin.

Brother and sister remained very attached to each other all through their peripatetic lives although their relationship was at times rocky. After leaving Russia, Dmitry drifted through Persia, London, Paris, and the United States, his life plagued by depression and tuberculosis. He had a relationship with Coco Chanel and married and divorced a wealthy American socialite. His only child became the major of Palm Beach in Florida (where some of his descendants still reside.)

Marie was the most resilient of the two. When she divorced her first husband; the child she had with him stayed at the Swedish Court (although she saw him from time to time.) She re-married, had another child who died, and divorced her second husband as well. She worked in couture, as a consultant for a high-end store, as a photographer, and wrote for fashion magazines. She also authored two books about her experiences (The Education of a Princess, and  A Princess in Exile) that were very successful (they are very interesting and worth reading.)

Toward the end of her life, Marie went to live with her son and died by his side. Dmitry died in Sweden, while in a sanatorium taking care of his tuberculosis. His nephew made sure that his body was interred next to his sister's.

And as I have said before...all roads, or at least many lead to Phillip, Duke of Edinburgh. Marie and Dmitry were his first cousins on his mother's side.

Photographs: 1 and 2: Dmitry Pavlovich and his sister Maria Pavlovna 3. Dimitry and Maria with their father, Grand Duke Pavel Alexandrovich

#russian history #romanov dynasty #romanov family #Grand Duchess Maria Pavlovna #Grand Duke Dmitry Pasvlovich #Grand Duke Pavel Alexandrovich

[thewolfwarriors]

Florida!HTTYD Book AU

(specifically Florida Panhandle! AU) 

Like Hiccup, I too grew up around an archipelago of islands full of venomous and dangerous reptiles! (Had a couple of close calls too!) I went kayaking, boating, hiking, fishing, you name it! Unfortunately, growing up in Florida meant I had to deal with Floridians. So, again, like Hiccup, I ran into lots of...characters.

This idea started off from me making a joke to my brother about how Madguts would be a Trump supporter and drive a Ford ages ago. Then it all went downhill from there. (Honestly, I could write a whole post on Florida!Madguts alone.) Someone in the reblogs of one of my posts also wished for it. This one goes to y’all.

Incoming cursed-as-hell long-ish post:

Main Characters:

Hiccup - from a military family, can't go in the military because he can't pass any of the boot camps, works with his friend Fishlegs, obsessed with Marine Biology, scored 6s on the FCAT every year,

Fishlegs - Works at Publix, Wafflehouse, Coram's, Whataburger, etc., almost dies regularly from horse and yellow fly bites,

Stoick - giant, fat beach dad vibes, retired vet, always wears a big polo or Ron Jon Surf Shack Shirts with polarized sunglasses on, boomer Facebook profile, Corona beers, Margaritaville, drives a pontoon called the Fat Penguin, sold his old sail boat the Peregrine Falcon to Humungous Hotshot,

Baggybum - Marines, never takes off his raybans, goes hunting constantly, camo jackets, guns guns guns, Bass Pro Shop

(Basically, Stoick loves saltwater and Baggy loves freshwater)

Snotlout - Military brat, sports scholarships, ROTC, loves the beach, riding four-wheelers and going mudding, 

Bertha - school bus driver, ROLL TIDE, "You might be a redneck if...", Basically just Nanny-Maw, “plaid shirts with the sleeves ripped off” lesbian vibes, Blue Ribbon or Busch beer I can’t decide

Camicazi - loves the mud, always doing dangerous stunts on whatever motorized equipment she can get her hands on, constantly catching frogs/possums/snakes and brings them inside

Others:

Madguts - definitely wears a MAGA hat, drives a Full-Size Heavy-Duty 2022 Super Duty F-450 King Ranch® Pickup (tailgates EVERYONE), spits tobacco, hot boxes his trailer on a regular basis, runs a crime ring in the boondocks(drugs, dog fights, or simply selling stolen goods), divorced 4 times, Rob Zombie, meth, breeds Pitbulls,

Gumboil - also spits tobacco, Malboros, always rides shotgun with Madguts in his Full-Size Heavy-Duty 2022 Super Duty F-450 King Ranch® Pickup, Alabama Crimson Tide merch, has like 14 trucks he swears he's gonna sell and turn around in his yard, always speaks in inappropriate countryisms

Needless to say, but they're both huge gun enthusiasts and drink Bud.

Thuggory - listens to Butt Rock and Pop Country, Y'all Means All, camo and plaid long sleeves, well fitted Levi's, does everything with his Dad

Humungous Hotshot - Lives on the Peregrine Falcon, “#saltlife”, hooked on fishing, Hooters, sandles with socks underneath, Hawaiian shirts, GOLF, Panama Jack,

Tantrum - not even from Florida, prefers to be in the Keys, comes up to the Panhandle with Humungous so he can see his friends, "#beachbabe", This Video, Ed Hardy

Gobber the Belch - Thunderbeach, drives Harley’s, drives to Alabama to buy illegal fireworks, scary Wafflehouse chef, also Snotlout and Hiccup’s football coach/history teacher

#httyd headcanon #httyd books #httyd #how to train your dragon #Httyd how to train your dragon #how to train your dragon books #floridians #httyd memes #httyd modern au #httyd modern

[otoso]

A proud history reblog

In a handwritten letter to himself, dated December 13, 1990, Specialist Alan Rogers, a twenty-three-year-old African-American chaplain’s assistant, grappled with the issue of fear as he prepared for his first combat tour.

Rogers was an unusually soft-spoken and cerebral enlistee—voted “most intellectual” in high-school class, Rogers went on to a distinguished military career. After earning two Kuwait Liberation medals with the 8th Battalion, 43rd Air Defense Artillery, which provided Patriot-missile support against Saddam Hussein’s Soviet-made Scuds.

He returned home and on a R.O.T.C. scholarship at the University of Florida, earned his bachelor’s degree in Religion.

He pursued a second master’s in policy management at Georgetown, part of an élite Defense Department internship program offered to twenty captains across the services. It included an assignment to the Pentagon—in Rogers’s case, as a special assistant to the Deputy Secretary of Defense, Gordon England. [Then], he worked at the Pentagon as the lead biometrics officer in Army Intelligence — “the stuff that you see on ‘C.S.I.: Miami,’ ” as one of his friends put it.

After he began his third tour in Iraq, he took note of the weather in Baghdad, which wasn’t so different from Florida’s, and declared, “This is an ideal time to be here.”

Rogers was sitting in the right rear seat of an armored Humvee, in East Baghdad, on a routine morning patrol, as it passed a guardrail concealing an I.E.D. The force of the explosion blew straight through the vehicle, knocking an Iraqi interpreter, in the left seat, into the street. The interpreter and an American gunner who was standing beside Rogers in the Humvee were injured. Rogers died instantly. He was forty.

An obituary in the Gainesville Sun mentioned that Rogers was divorced and a Baptist minister - news to many of his friends at the Washington, D.C. chapter of American Veterans for Equal Rights (AVER) formerly Gay, Lesbian, and Bisexual Veterans of America. The minister claim was accurate — Rogers’s troops on Team Stiletto called him the Preacher, on account of his frequent sermon like pep talks, Before his burial at Arlington National Cemetery, a “homegoing service” was held for his casket at the Ebenezer Baptist Church in Starke, Florida, where he was ordained in 1995. Governor Charlie Crist ordered the flags at the statehouse flown at half-mast for the occasion.

The mention of a divorce was not accurate; it may have been a story some acquaintances passed on to explain why Rogers did not have a wife or a girlfriend. “We made a statement that he was married to the Army,” one longtime friend told.

As word of Rogers’s death spread in the gay community, some began to wonder if he might not qualify as the first known gay casualty of the Iraq war. Opponents of the military’s policy, noting his impeccable résumé, and his work with the Deputy Secretary of Defense, saw in Rogers a transformative figure and began soliciting media coverage...

READ ARTICLE FOR THE FULL STORY

#black history #black men #lgbt pride #memorial day #black gay pride #pride

[isa-ah]

big long bluhhgg under the cut lol <3

idk i woke up in my feeilngs this morning so i figure its worth like. talking about i guess. i havent really gone over this again in a couple years so like. yknow. my life story or whatever

so my mom was a kid when she got pregnant and bc of that my grandma took over raising me & even as my mom grew up and moved out i staid put bc as far as i was concerned, my grandparents were my real parents. my mom went on to marry a guy and have two other kids, who she treats like her only kids lol she has her family unit, i have mine, fine. whatever.

when i was a little tiny thing my grandfather was a truck driver. hed only be home once in a blue moon but hed always bring back the coolest little things for me from his buddies and travels. (he had a LOT of stories, about long haul truck driving, being a shrimper til his boat capsized and he nearly froze to death, being stationed in okinawa, all the way back to being raised by an incredibly abusive drunk who ended up blowing his brains out. he used to get all starry eyed in a way id never see him otherwise when hed talk about how cool his dad was, taking him as a young boy to all the local bars. hm.)

my grandmother had a plethora of stories to the same. her parents were both prisoners of war; my great grandmother would tell me about eating snails off the toilets for nourishment while she was in the concentration camps, and my great grandfather idealized the american soldiers that liberated them so greatly he ripped his family up and moved to america the moment they were freed. they would eat hamburgers and hot dogs for dinner nearly every night "like a real american family." they had two kids together- my grandma, and her little brother.

her father enlisted in the american military when they landed here and so she was an army brat. she never got to set down roots really, and was deeply bullied by her peers and beaten to the point of having scars to show me in her late fifties. shed detail the horrible things he did to her, and how it pushed her to sitting in a bathtub alone one night, trying to slit her wrists when a warmth brushed up her back and asked gently against her ear; who do you think will have to clean this up? and after realizing it would be her little brother, she picked herself up and marched on.

(its funny. at one of my lowest points i had nearly the same experience.)

her father would go on to cheat on her pregnant mother, accusing her of infidelity and abandoning her with the baby, my grandma and her brother, and marrying another woman the moment the divorce finalized. the children he would go on to sire with her would create a wide rift in my family of in-fightng and nastiness, as his children believed without doubt that my grandmothers little sister was a bastard and not one of his own.

(at my grandmothers funeral, her sister would confront their ancient ninety-something father, lost almost entirely to his alzheimers as he clung to his wife and cried, with a DNA test proving she was always his daughter. it was really bad.)

my family is known for that in fighting now. the hedrics vs the brodeurs vs the nothern virginia family vs the florida family vs the- on and on and on. always fighting, bickering, cutting people off at the arm. nastiness. its how i was raised, to be angry and cruel, and its difficult to maintain sometimes.

so on we go- my grandfather developed diabetes too severe to keep trucking, and so he lost his job. he sat down in his recliner in front of the TV when he got home from work for the last time and in that recliner he sat til the day he died. nearly twenty years, and id say he left the house maybe a dozen times. no friends, no trips, only attending holidays that were hosted in our tiny home and only speaking to people who were there to visit my grandmother. he would wake up around 9pm and the sound of his tv would blare through the wall of my bedroom until nearly 4pm when hed toddle off to bed. i still cant sleep in silence.

my grandmothers diagnosis wasnt far behind; breast cancer. likely from some hormones shed taken decades prior before the effects of such things had been seen. she was scared, but she was strong, and her best friend moved down from massy to live a couple minutes up the road and help us on the daily. his name was jimmy blackbar, but we always called him jimmy black bear because he was a huge man with a frothy mane of black hair. from then on, we did everything as a unit; every errand, every outing, he even joined my karate dojo when i was forced to learn self defense following the abduction of a local girl.

and on life went. doctors appointments, whispered conversations, attending every susan g komen for the cure event in a wide radius around where we lived. we volunteered relentlessly; my grandmother wearing the "survivor" shirts, and me, a tiny thing in third or fourth grade, pushing her wheelchair and wearing the "caretaker" shirt. jimmy always in tow.

there came a week where we hadnt heard from jimmy in a few days and so, upon leaving the dojo to head home, as we passed his house i asked if we could check on him. my grandmother placated me, saying a man needs his space, and clearly he did bc he hadnt been at practice. just let him rest.

now, that was fair enough. while we did nearly everything together- even spending the autumn in massy with his mother once, arguably one of the most beautiful memories i have as my grandmother and i fed the koi out back then laid in a hammock for hours staring up at the orange and yellow canopy above- he had an explosive temper and had lost it frequently on the both of us. i loved him, but god he could be scary, and hed whip shit at you if he was particularly hot. maybe that was all he needed then, a little space.

a week later my mom picked me up from elementary school and burst into tears in the parking lot. "its jimmy, baby. his heart stopped."

hed had an aneurism and they found him face down on the floor of his bathroom. hed been laying there like that for days, clinging to life; hed been laying there, even, when we drove past a few days prior. i never forgot that.

life went on. it felt empty without him, and i started living up to that caretaker role more and more. heavy lifting, picking, moving; echoed even in my late twenties with my crippling sciatica. every doctors appointment, medication change, every cup of coffee. i was on call.

"jo-bear." "lucy." "goose." "trouble." "brat."

like clockwork, eternally being called up. can you do the dishes? laundry? sweep, mop? can you get this for me? can you help me? can you get my meds? and the less enjoyable; my shingles are flaring, can you put this on there? my drainage tubes are clogged, can you help me flush them? my port needs to be accessed, can you administer this?

why, you ask, would a 13 year old be well versed in clearing, accessing, and administering to a port in their grandmothers chest? well, easy. the nurses we paid to drive well out into the boonies to do it for us said it was too far. it fucked up their schedules. it was a waste of gas. and so they looked around at our home, tiny, with only a woodstove for heating, nicotine dripping down the walls and bare cabinets and pantry, and then they looked at me and asked; do you want to know how to do this instead? and dutiful, because i was a caregiver, because thats what everyone told me, i learned.

being poor is hard. being poor and sick is impossible. the cost of chemo, radiation, insulin, the gas to drive back and forth nearly five hours round trip to visit the hospitals, the doctors- we would only go grocery shopping once a month. my grandmother got social security and my grandfather got disability. wed bundle up what money we could and drive out to the nearest city to buy staples in bulk and pray. it meant i spent most of my childhood eating cereal for meals, or scraping together mayo on bread, or just outright nursing ketchup. i honestly can only remember maybe three instances of my grandmother cooking for me, cooking her special mac n cheese, and my mother told me years later that she always wondered how i got enough to eat.

the local food bank helped, i guess. a small church in town would gather the things the stores were about to throw away, like expired or moldy produce and bread, and then lay it out on the tables and have us all stand around them with our hands at the ready. theyd count down, then call "go!" and we would scramble to gather up anything we could reach to take home. it only happened once a month, so we tried to make the best of it.

after years of battling, my grandmother finally got the formal title of "remission." shed done it! it wasnt easy; there was mishap after mishap, infections, complications, her chest was a mutilated plane of ridges and folds that had at one point burst open and sprayed blood across the bathroom mirror as she screamed my name and sobbed for my grandfather. but finally, she was in remission.

for a few months, anyway. she began to grow uneasy, asking doctors for advice, for scans, because she could feel it encroaching. they all told her she had no insurance and was just paranoid from her battle. it took her months to finally find a doctor that took her seriously enough to humor a scan, and by then the cancer was everywhere. her ribs, her spine, her skull; it was everywhere.

the only person who took the news harder than her was my grandfather. he didnt want to watch her die, so he decided to do everything in his power short of killing himself to make sure he died first. his insulin shots were regular, but his sugar intake was not. he refused physical therapy, stopped going to his doctors appointments, and left our house to smell like the decomposition of human flesh as his feet began to rot.

"rot" sounds like a strong word. the decay was really happening; dry and wet gangreen, his toe coming off in my grandmothers hand at the lightest tug, and an extended hospital stay in which he was deeply deeply lucky not to succumb to sepsis. it was bad. but he was alive.

my mental health had at this point deteriorated to such a point i wasnt sleeping anymore. my grandmother was put on ambien, and as such began sundowning; wandering the house like a brittle confused ghost of a woman. she had dropped weight as she went back on chemo, rapidly dipping from 300lbs down to nearly scraping the bottom of 100lbs. she was shaped like a paper doll by then, wide from the front but she would turn to the side and disappear. i could hold my elbows around her. her head was bald and her feet were cold. she had a soft spot on the top of her skull that malformed her head where the radiation had eaten away the bone alongside the cancer. the knot on her forehead persisted.

she would never recall what she did at night, and while at the time i was indignant- i wasnt sleeping because she would call in a slurred haze to cancel taxis that werent due for several more hours but she thought had never shown up at all for doctors appointments she needed; she would fumble with the locks trying to wander out into the snow in the middle of the night, confused; she would yell my aunts name at me and berate me for trying to coax her back to bed; she would pull down what meager things we had in the kitchen and slurry them, ruin them, then blame me come morning; or, worst of all, she would simply find a place to stand. at the oven, by the small yellow light of its hood, staring into space for hours unresponsive- how dare she not remember how hard i had to work, how tired i was trying to keep her safe, and blame me for it too? it wasnt until reflection years later that i realized her denial was probably born of fear.

the ambien was my own waking nightmare, but it wasnt the worst of it. with my grandfathers rotten feet and my grandmothers mindless stumbling, falls were frequent. i had to be alert. i had to be ready. i never know when one of them would fall wrong and crack their head open on a corner. the mental image is as potent to me now as it was as a child, terrified in the half second of bone chilling silence that would come between the staggering of someones steps and the thundering peels of a body clattering sprawled across the floor. id be up and out of my room in a heartbeat to help, lifting people bigger than myself on pure adrenaline alone back to their seats so i could assess them.

the emergency squad, as you can imagine, was well acquainted with us. most falls had to be documented at least, hospitalized at worst, and so they would begin to come out every few months- then weeks- then days. they knew all of our pets by name. they regarded me with warm sadness. i think they must have said something to my grandfather, as in the thick of it hed tried to pack me up and throw me out. "this isnt a place for children," but if i left theyd have no one left. who would pick them up? check their medication? call the doctors, the emergency line, the taxis? who would make their coffee?

and so stubbornly i staid. i was a caregiver, after all, i was trained by the nurses and professionals who couldnt be bothered. i had to stay. i had to stay. i had to stay.

i stopped spending time with any of my friends beyond taylor. i stopped sleeping over with family. i stopped making day trips. eventually, around 13, i dropped out of school entirely.

i was falling asleep at my desk every day, horrified every bus ride home that id walk in to blood and gore and death. i was too distracted to learn anything and too afraid to really enjoy myself anyway. school wasnt an escape anymore when i was needed so desperately at home.

and so i stopped leaving the house really altogether, unless it was to go somewhere with them or to visit taylor (my rock). id thought at the time that her mother was my saving grace, the only adult in the world who understood me, who would drop everything to help me. i found out later that she hated me, and only did it to martyr herself to her peers and daughter.

as my grandmothers health declined over my teenage years, my grandfather became more erratic. he would throw fits, thundering around the house, slamming shit and crying, yelling at me because, "i'm dying too! im dying and nobody CARES! im dying and no one will even MISS ME!" as i sobbed and tried to reassure him. "my WIFE is DYING and theres NOTHING I CAN DO!"

and at the other end of things, my grandmother; wailing behind locked doors that my grandfather didnt love her anymore, that she was hideous, mutilated, she wasnt a woman anymore nevermind a human at all. i would lay against the door and beg her to unlock it so i could hug her, hold her, promise her that wasnt true. she never did let me in.

and so on life went. winters were always the hardest; we only had a woodstove, so my room was nearly perpetually the outdoor temperature. id sleep bundled in layers, wearing three pairs of socks to try to keep the frigid ache out of my feet, bundled up right up to a hat and hood over my head buried under three blankets to try to keep in some of the heat. it only worked so well when i was up and down all night anyway, looking after them. my grandmother was so withered she hardly produced her own heat anymore, and my grandfather had lost all feeling in his feet; often, hed find, they were resting against the broad side of the fireplace and burning, or the dogs were chewing on them. it was bleak.

now, throughout all of this i had tried my best to stay positive. id been raised in a southern baptist church that i had, at the height of my faith, been visiting four or five times a week. if anyone was going to help me save my grandparents, to be a good caregiver, it would be god right? even if no one else on the planet gave a shit, at least he would, right? at least, so long as i was good, and pure, and holy. no drugs, no alcohol, no self exploration, no expressions of sexuality- nothing. i did absolutely nothing, but try to focus on being a good christian and taking care of my grandparents.

at least, until the tension between my desperate dysphoria and my faith hit a breaking point when a gay couple joined our church and the pastor threw his sermon out the window to preach hellfire and death to faggots. they left in tears in the middle of the sermon and i was spun out and listless thereafter.

i dont honestly remember much from the time i dropped out until nearly 18. i was accused often and loudly of being a drug addicted whore, a liar, a slut, of being inappropriate with my grandfather, with my brothers, entirely baselessly, all thrown at me as a confused and hurt child by my family. it was my first real point of contention with my identity. while id gotten away with looking entirely ambiguous and using male names, male haircuts, male clothes, male interests and male friends to soothe my permeating wrongness at being called a girl, puberty was not kind to me. and with the unease over my gender and sexuality with seemingly no out (as who in a small christian town would have informed me of trans mens existence?), and with the deeply seeded feeling of utter failure as a caregiver whos patients were dying in front of them, and with the loss of my faith that had taught me near lethal levels of self hatred, i had no idea who i was anymore. no name felt right. no role. no place. i was nothing and no one.

and then my grandma died.

it wasnt a surprise. shed been declared "dying" twice before, and had survived. and while shed finally been moved to live with her son as he was right up the road from the hospital a good two and a half hours from us, and had been formally enrolled in hospice, and had withered into the skeletal apparition of a woman, i dont know how serious any of us could take the finality of her, once more, being declared "dying." she wouldnt live to see sunday. it was wednesday.

we went to visit her that day. she lay near motionless in bed, her voice soft and airy. id felt sick, nauseous, unsure of what to even do with myself. i laid with her. i held her. i told her how much i loved her. but the reality of it just kept bouncing off of me. i said my goodbyes, temporarily, until we visited again on saturday- i told her wed be back soon. and i walked out to the living room.

my mom and uncle talked a while longer, and so a good fifteen minutes had elapsed before we turned to actually leave. from her room down the hall i heard her calling. "i love you." and i was so exhausted, so callous in that moment, that from the living room i called back, "i love you too!" rather than taking that opportunity to see her one last time. we were coming back after all.

well. we didnt make it in time.

my grandfather had been hospitalized for the last week or so nearby, and his visit the night before ours hed told her gently, kindly, that she didnt have to keep holding on. it was okay to let go. wed be okay. and so she had, only a few hours after he left. i never got to see her again- she was cremated too soon after.

i have never, never forgiven myself for that. for not going back to see her when she called to me. i had no idea then what it would mean for her to truly die. to never see her, hear her, speak to her, hold her again. never. i didnt know any better.

my grandfather didnt find out until twelve hours later. my grandmother died november fourth, 2014, at around 4am. we visited him in the hospital as a family that same day, around 4pm, after wed all figured out what to say. when he saw us walk in the door, grim and pale and together, hed started hitching as if to vomit or sob or both before anyone had said a word.

after they told him he screamed at us, berated us, why would we wait so long to tell him? why wasnt he there for her? why didnt we call? and as he screamed his kids left one by one until it was only me at his bedside as he broke down. i held him in my arms as he wracked sobs and spit and sweat into the crook of my neck and clutched my shirt like he was a dying man himself.

i spent hours in bed with him, and every nurse, and every doctor who came through to check on us thereafter, and every aid at the nursing home he was sent to recover in received the same monotone greeting; "my name is roland brodeur, and my wife is dead."

i was alone for the week after. i didnt know what to think, or feel. relief, more than anything, at the time. it hd been so hard for so long to try to keep her together, keep myself together, keep our family together; no longer did i need to be up every night to make sure she wasnt hurt. no more wailing and vommitting in the bathroom. no more port flushes, or bandages, or wigs, or hair chunks in the food, or laughter, or her smokers cough, or the way shed say my name, or,

my grandfather successfully broke himself out of that nursing home three times in the week thereafter. only once did he reach the street without falling, and while he had no idea how to get home, he began walking anyway. they caught him, of course, but he was discharged soon after.

and so it was the two of us. wed never been exceedingly close, but without my grandmothers boisterous personality to fill the quiet crevices we began to spend more time together. it was slow; her memorial service was very very hard on us as i, 17, had tried to play host to people twice or thrice my age, and hed refused to come then changed his mind too late and missed it entirely; but we began to spend nearly all of our time together in the living room.

finally, for the first time in my life, he began to take his health seriously. she was dead, and he was alive, and i was still here. so our diets shifted, and he began attending his doctors appointments and bringing home small items for his physical therapy. we were going to be okay.

i turned 18 that december. the holidays were solemn; i was driven out to my aunts where my grandfather had promised to soon follow, but he never showed up. i spent christmas crying to myself, surrounded by family, and he spent it alone in our tiny rotting house.

come new years eve, he, taylor and i sat around trying to enjoy ourselves. this would be a fresh start. this would be a clean late. a month out from her death, maybe we could recover. taylor went to bed, he staid at his post in front of the tv, and i found things to occupy myself until i got tired enough to sleep. (it was hard, sleeping).

come 4am, i crossed the hall to get ready for bed and to say my goodnights to my grandfather. even at a distance though, i could tell something was wrong. he was pallid, sweaty, head hung and eyes glazed. i rushed to his side, turning on nearly every light in the house in the process, trying to get his attention.

he replied in garbled quiet syllables. i called my mom. she told me she was coming. he had a seizure. i called the emergency squad.

and so i staid there, kneeling in front of him and holding his hand, promising over and over again that i was here, im here, im here, im here, theyre coming and im here, its okay, im here.

they arrived nearly simultaneously; bursting through the front door to see what was wrong. over the course of their visit they realized his sugars were off the charts and pumped some insulin into him. as the levels came down he came back to himself, his vision and speech clearing until he was shrugging off their concerns and even cracking a joke. the tension began to ease. hes okay.

and then he had another seizure.

there was a beat of absolute silence before he sucked in a breath and the medic in front of him dropped to his knees to check on him. he was okay. a little out of it, but responsive. thank god.

and then he had another seizure.

and this time, the breath didnt follow. the medics voice pitched up as he repeated his name over and over again, calling him, checking his pulse, his pupils, and as a flurry of yelling began my mom started screaming at me to go to my room. i was gutted, breathless, silent, staring at my grandfathers limp body as the medics swarmed back through the front door and began using the paddles to try to bring him back.

i did relent to my mothers keening, stumbling numb back to my bedroom to where taylor somehow slept peacefully. heavy with grief already weighing in my chest, i crawled up her body and fell face down and sobbing into her stomach. i didnt know what else to do.

the ambulance took him to be air lifted. they did everything they could. he was dead before he ever left our property, though.

the image that still stands out to me was of my mother. it had been with my grandmother too- id been sleeping on her couch as she paced through the living room, crying quietly into the phone, and as i woke up, i knew. and here to, she was on her knees on the living room floor, sobbing and begging god not to take both of her parents so soon. i held her while she cried and told her it would be okay, even if i didnt believe it myself.

its a long drive from so far out in the sticks to reach the hospital. the wait seemed even longer once we were there. they stuck us in a quiet side room, isolated, seemingly endlessly. my mother and i had been crying on and off but taylor had remained stony faced and strong for me. it was only when i looked to her, feeling nothing but coldness in my soul and whispered, "i dont want to be an orphan." that a single tear rolled down her cheek and nothing else.

i think in all the time this happened, taylor was the only person who ever held me.

when the doctor finally arrived, it was with the news we all expected. "im sorry," as he handed my mom a box of tissues, "we did everything we could. he was dead long before he arrived here."

he lead us to see my grandfathers body. it was surreal, to see him laying there, tinted purple and bruised all over. his eyelids were ruddy, and the hand id been clutching hours previous was like ice. his skin still somehow pliant, while his joints had begun to stiffen. i just stood there and held it for what felt like hours. my mother told me later he looked like he was smiling, but i never saw it.

and so. on life goes. my mom drove taylor and i back to my empty terrible little home and dropped us off. we milled around, exhausted, but sleepless. she helped me rearrange the furniture to put less of an emphasis on my grandparents favorite places to sit, as they were plainly visible from my bedroom doorway and the torment was endless as my head turned to smile at them every time i left to use the bathroom. it was awful. when taylor had to leave, i was just left there, alone.

i had failed as a caregiver. i had failed as a grandchild. i had failed as their youngest. i had no one in the world in that moment. that winter was bitter, and i couldnt bring myself to be present enough to keep the woodstove lit. the animals and i all froze for it, but i could barely climb out of bed. no heat, no cable, nothing to comfort me left beyond my own meager devices. i had the first two hobbit movies on dvd and so i stuck them into my xbox and they played nonstop on loop for months. it was the only way to fill the silence. the only voices i could listen to. i dont remember eating a single thing. my family just left me there. i was no ones responsibility, and so i would be no ones burden. as an adult i learned they all felt so guilty over what id been put through they didnt want to face what i would have become after that.

it was in this time the nightmares really began. there was one, one specific nightmare, in which i was in my house in the dead of night with nothing but pitch black outside, and i would run door to door trying to keep them locked and the horrible cruel things outside at bay. i never did see them, whatever i was desperately trying to hide from, but it was omnipresent and i was terrified of it.

at every turn the doors would again be unlocked and open. the latches would give at the lightest tug. the darkness would seep through the cracks. the only variables were my grandparents, like props- sometimes they were there in the living room, unresponsive to me as they stared into the television. sometimes only one of them. sometimes i was alone. but over and over again i had this nightmare, every single time i fell asleep. regardless of the time of day, of if i was sleeping or napping or just resting my eyes, i had this nightmare. and i had it for nearly three and a half years thereafter. sleep deprivation was my only solace from it, driven to such an extent that i began having prolonged hallucinations and severe paranoia.

my only solace was after the pipes froze and burst in our little cement basement. they couldnt justify leaving me there much longer, so my aunt told me- just another two weeks. if i staid in the house she would come to get me to move in with her. at that point i was so happy just to have an out that i begged my neighbor to periodically stop in on the remaining animals in the house so i could go stay with taylor until it was time to move.

my aunt called me LIVID when she found out. she berated me at the top of her lungs for disobeying her. maybe that should have been a red flag, but i was so consumed in my own self blame for my grandparents death that i assumed she was right to feel that way.

i got little say in what was kept when we went back to clean the house out after. in fact, i got almost nothing of my grandparents. to this day, all i have is my grandmothers favorite hoodie. somewhere in the process, the cleaning solutions we had been using must have gotten in my eye because the pain was bad, and the effects would be lasting.

living with my aunt was a nightmare. she was unyeilding; scolding and punishing me for not getting out of bed because the infection in my eyes was so bad i couldnt see and it hurt to have any light hit them. insisting it was my fault i was left nearly half blind, and that my lack of recovery was because i wasnt trying hard enough. (i was told later i had had severe chemical burns and infection that have left my corneas riddled in holes and craters, and severely light sensitive. all of it could have been fixed with a single doctors visit in the worst of it.)

and on it went; i had no time to grieve, as she forced me out the door and into terrible fulltime jobs. they became my only reprieve from her, as any time i was home i had a chore list of no less than four hours worth of cleaning that she would accuse me up and down of lying about on the daily. shed gaslight me, set traps, pull gotchas, until i began to believe her. i genuinely thought i was making up the hours id spend working on cleaning, that i was a lazy liar, and that i deserved the slow recession of any right to food in the house she imposed.

my most beloathed of chores was dishes. every night after dinner, of which i was allowed to eat less and less until not at all, i would have to come down to clean up after the families meals. her pampered chef knives were her prized possessions, and her rules for cleaning them were strenuous. the closest ive ever come to killing myself was standing in that kitchen, over her sink, with one of her favorite knives pressed into my wrist as the depths of sorrow and grief id had to pave over to maintain what she wanted me to do began to crumble.

the only thing that stopped me was the gentle realization that if i killed myself here, the first person to see it would be one of my younger cousins. that that would be something he would never be able to forget or move on from. its the only thing that stopped me.

i would go on to climb the railing of an overpass at around 1am in the dead of a december night. i was bitterly cold, having no winter jacket, a two hour walk from home, being punished by my aunt because the job shed hoisted upon me had kept me later than she felt like coming to get me. so i had no choice but to walk on broken feet after nearly twelve hours of standing, with no winter clothes to deal with the whipping icy winds, and no street lights or sidewalks to follow. i couldnt do it anymore. i was so tired, in so much pain, with only blame and alienation from my family. i just wanted to die and be done with it.

two rungs from flipping my legs over the railing, movement caught my eye. at the far end of the dark overpass was the vaguely visible outline of a golden retriever whos owner was walking it down the long road i had to walk to get home. and i thought, maybe, if i could pet that dog, maybe i could keep going. maybe id be okay. the road was across a wide flat area, prepared for development that had yet to start, so the visibility was a near quarter mile in the moonlight. and so.. slowly.. i stepped down and began to trudge on.

yet, when i reached the end of the overpass, they were nowhere to be seen. there was nowhere to go, mind you, but forward; there were cliffs to either side of the overpass that went down into the highway, and then this single stretch of road forward with no trees or houses for the duration. they had simply vanished. i still dont really know what happened.

and on i trudged. nothing else to do but survive day to day under my aunts open hostility. i wasnt allowed to eat family meals, no, but then rules came about keeping my own food in the house. it would be doled out to my cousins and uncle if i dared to, and food in my bedroom was prohibited. the best i could do was hide a few cereal bars between my mattress and the wall for the days i couldnt eat at work. it was miserable.

"just get over it. youre bumming everyone else out." told to me, six months after the death of both of my parents. no one had asked me if i was okay in that time. no one had held me. no one had told me it wasnt my fault. taylor was the only silver lining i had. she was always there for me at a moments notice, she kept me sane, and god i love her so much. i dont think i would have survived it without her.

i managed to scrape by until i met Lo, the man im due to marry next month. this was nearly seven years ago now, but i still remember the nervous jitters the first time i packed a bag and bought a train ticket to make my first solo journey from virginia all the way down to florida to meet in person. id go on to make the 20 hour trip frequently, falling into his arms and having the brightest points of my life, only to be left sobbing and wracked with fear the morning of my return to my aunts home. it was hell. but i was starting to find reasons to pull through.

even if my aunt had outed me as trans and gay while i was visiting him, effectively burning my bridges with most of my family behind my back and then lying to my face about it for weeks after. my mother wouldnt look me in the eye. my extended family has never once spoken to me since. my own brothers wont come to my wedding because im a faggot, rooted in the reaction my mom had to this and how its grown nasty and dehumanizing since.

(i have a very strong feeling that the majority of the years i spent this way are locked up tight in an alter who hasnt fronted in years. i frequently broke down over depersonalization and being convinced i truly wasnt myself then, in a way i have not felt since. i really cant remember most specifics, but the cadence alone would give it away, i think. at the time i was too afraid to face it head on and define what was happening to me, but in retrospect im nearly positive.)

and so on i trudged. my aunts aggressions would gradually grow over time, until a night where id let my guard down around my brothers visiting us and shed gotten me by the nick of my hoodie and dragged me down my the throat to hiss and growl and snarl nasty things to me over an argument wed had days prior. shed blocked me from the internet and ignored my very existence in the elapsing days. it all came to a head with this interaction, a nasty game of parroting that i was lucky to have her, that i love her, that im grateful she forgives me for the things i do, and punctuated with a hug i was forced to initiate. when i told my coworkers the next morning, in tears, i was told if she put her hands on me once shed do it again. i told my mom the next day i needed her to come get me right now.

the day we went back to get my possessions was the last day i ever spoke to my aunt. she was purple in the face, veins stood out against her forehead and screaming wrathful nasty things at my sobbing mother about me as i tried to gather my things- thrown into a haphazard corner of the garage after id pleaded with her to just leave my room untouched and let me organize and gather my belongings.

my mother hyperventilated on the drive home, and told me through gritted teeth that shes worried my aunt may have been abusing me. i told her exactly what she had done to me, and she had to pull over to stomach it. a week later she told me my aunt was trying to get in touch and i should go ahead and give her a call. (the betrayal and fear i felt in that moment was rivaled only by my mom freely inviting her over to visit without warning me first.)

my mother would ask often when i was planning on moving out. she didnt want me there, that was plainly clear, and the raw edges of my recent outing didnt help. i was given a mattress on the floor in the kitchen, in plain view of everyone at all times, covered in ants with the cat box beside my pillow. my only reprieves were times i spent with taylor or lo, anywhere i could find to be that wasnt her home.

lo was already planning a move with his mother to phoenix by this time, as neither of them could afford a place of their own, and so i was invited along. i dont think ive ever said yes to something so quickly in my life.

phoenix ill elapse; i spent two years making a three hour commute to a job that did horrific things to my mental and physical health. my sciatica was so aggressively hurt by the ways in which i begged my managers for accessibility that they refused that i would often collapse off of numb lightning struck legs, scattering anything i was carrying. my longest shift worked there began at 4am and ended at 12:30am. twenty and a half hours. i got two thirty minute breaks, a single compensated meal, and had to work the next day.

tensions with los mother, a deeply traumatized neuro divergent woman who wasnt aware of any of the above, finally hit a fever pitch and over the course of a week we were rendered homeless, sleeping on taylors floor. while her mother welcomed us in with open arms, her nastiness was prevalent and constant. bitter and put upon by our very existence under her roof. we were kicked out later so her transphobic boyfriend would be more comfortable coming over to visit.

from there we landed a disgusting single room in a frat house in maryland that hadnt been properly cleaned in the years preceding our arrival. it was so bad we left within a month to move in with who would later turn out to be an absolute psychopath of a woman in a slightly nicer house. after a year of trying my best to be friends with her she turned on us, blew up our living arrangement, called the cops on us, got the wifi cut for a week, took all the locks off our front door so we couldnt lock her out & eventually got us evicted entirely. why? because i asked her to buy some food for her cats because in the weeks she hadnt been home and id been taking care of all of her animals (not that shed asked me to) theyd run out of kibble.

and that rounds us out to now. los mom drove up to get us, two years out from phoenix and a lot of self discovery later, were now out here in the sticks of alabama. lo and i have been together nearly seven years now and were slotted to get married next month, so life really has begun to look up for me, but man. sometimes its all just so fuckin much. i went through so fuckin much and for what? yknow? my family is still shit. i dont speak to my aunt, my mother and brothers refused to come to my wedding, my grandparents and jimmy are still dead, and so my entire world has been condensed down to a handful of friends- taylor, elliot, ofc my fiance- and really nothing else. i dont really feel like i have any family anymore. its a grieving process still, to accept that, loss after loss like that, but it gets a little easier every day.

& anyway if youve ever wondered why i have a system, i think it oughtta make a little more sense now. lol.

#in which isaiah spends 3 hours writing out the most boring story youve ever read in your life #if you have any triggers theyre probably in there somewhere! watch out lol! #fuck knows if this is even accurate my memories and perceptions of my life are absolutely fucked #did you know cptsd eats holes in your brain and ruin things like memory and comprehension #on top of having segmented alters that carry so much of it themselves like. man. idk #thats rough buddy! lol

[thenukacolachallenge]

Some snippets about Dee Davis, my Stranger Things OC:

-She's a military brat. Her dad is active duty and as a result, her family rarely stayed in one location for longer than a year and a half at the absolute most. She’s lived in loads of places as a result, including Texas, California, Arizona, New Mexico, Florida, South Carolina, and more. She even lived on-base in Japan for a very brief amount of time, but she was a toddler and doesn’t remember a lot of it. Because of the constant moving, she doesn’t put much stock into cliques and popularity drama in the schools she goes to, calling that sort of thing “the pipe dreams of people who peak in these years”.

-She's not really close with either of her parents, even before the divorce. Her mom is a well-meaning but chronically-unable-to-get-her-life-together old hippie, who still calls Dee by her birth name, Dawn, despite Dee's insistence on disliking the name. She's also, surprisingly, more strict than Dee's father, who despite being a military parent, is pretty absent at home. It's part of the reason why she chooses to stay with her father after the divorce: yeah, he's never around, and when he is, he's not paying attention, but that's how she likes things.

-On the other hand, her older brother Danny is her closest friend. He’s about three years older than her, and they bicker and fight as siblings do, but when push comes to shove, they always have each other’s backs. Danny is a black belt in karate, and taught her how to fight. He also loves punk rock and gets her into more obscure and hardcore music. Unlike Dee, however, Danny is a total extrovert, and always has a large group of friends wherever the family moves, although he makes sure to include Dee on the friend shenanigans. He also loves to play music, and taught Dee to play bass guitar solely so they could have jam sessions no matter where the family moved. When Danny decides to stay with their mom after the divorce, Dee becomes even more reserved than before, having lost constant contact with her best friend outside of phone calls and holiday visits. And when Danny comes to visit Hawkins, she’s usually the one bailing him out of Hawkins PD lockup, since dad’s always working or sleeping.

-She’s a pretty severe introvert, typically only talking a lot when in one-on-one conversation with people. When in crowds, she tends to not speak unless spoken to, usually answering in one-word phrases and burying her head in either a book she’s reading, or a notebook she’s writing or drawing in. She keeps to herself for the most part, doesn’t really involve herself with extracurricular activities, keeps her head down, does her schoolwork, and gives off a specific air of “good but quiet kid”. it’s mostly a front. she’s just as much of a troublemaker and just as irritable and vulgar as her punk older brother, but she’s a lot sneakier than he is, having learned how not to get caught from all his failures. She’s small enough to get into really confined spaces, she’s been practicing picking locks since she was in middle school, and she’s FAST, which means she can get away from any crime scenes easily. She also smokes(weed and cigarettes), drinks, and knows how to pickpocket, although she doesn’t do the latter often. People are almost always surprised by how much of a vulgar delinquent she is, when they find out.

-Because of the chaos of her home life, between her mother’s constant forgetting of bills, her dad’s absentee status, and Danny’s constantly getting into trouble, she tends to be the most organized of any group she finds herself in, because SOMEONE has to step up and do the damn thing. She tends to take care of most of the household chores and cooking at home, even after the divorce(mostly bc her dad can’t cook for shit and his “cleaning” is half-assed at best). She also keeps meticulous notes in class, as well for her writing and drawing, even developing a reputation as “the girl to go to if you missed class and need the notes” in her later years at Hawkins High. In fact, the only reason she and Robin know each other prior to the events of s3 is because Dee gave her copies of all her biology notes while Robin was out for a week with the flu. After she finds out about the Upside Down and the unusual events plaguing Hawkins, she begins to sort of “interview” everyone she met at the Battle of Starcourt Mall, chronicling everything she can think to, just in case They come back again. it comes in handy during the events of s4.

-When she first moves to Hawkins, she has a very disheveled appearance. most of her clothing is old hand-me-downs from Danny, so she wears a lot of oversized tees, old worn denim jeans with the hems rolled up, old scuffed and worn boots, and doesn’t do anything nice to her hair, either pulling it up into a ponytail or wearing it in a side braid. Some kids start to pick on her for her appearance and standoffish and quiet attitude, but when Carol Perkins decides to dump an entire carton of chocolate milk over her head in the lunchroom, and subsequently ends up with a broken nose for her trouble, people learn to stay out of Dee’s way if they don’t want to end up the same way.

-Carol’s boyfriend, Tommy H., tries to get back at Dee for breaking Carol’s nose. Nobody but Dee and Tommy know about this, since Tommy loses the fight, badly.

-As she gets older and starts doing part-time work, she gets money to buy her own clothes, but it still tends to be very nondescript clothing. simple tees, a flannel over top, still rocking jeans with the cuffs rolled up(although slightly more form-fitting), and either plain converse or boots. She ends up getting a shag cut in the spring of ‘85 as well, and starts wearing makeup even. She’s still not big into fashion, but she also buys some fishnets and mini skirts, although she’d never wear that sort of thing to school. those types of outfits mostly get worn when she’s visiting Danny in Indianapolis and sneaking out to punk shows.

-Her first real friend in town is Eddie “The Freak” Munson, since she smokes a lot of weed(blame Danny for getting her into it so young). They meet by complete accident when Eddie goes out to his picnic table in the woods for a sale(during the summer before the events of s1), and instead finds Dee reading a book while smoking from a custom made glass pipe she picked up during her time in California. He tries to get her attention and accidentally scares the shit out of her, causing her to cough like crazy off the hit she’s taking. She recovers fairly quickly and plans to immediately run, before Eddie explains why he’s there and what the picnic table is usually used for. He ends up becoming her plug, and they meet up once a month after that point, at first out in the woods, but eventually they start hanging at Eddie’s trailer or in the Davis family basement, smoking(and sometimes drinking) and playfully dogging each other’s music tastes and behavior. Dee relishes in giving Eddie shit for constantly walking on the cafeteria table. (”Were you raised in a fucking BARN, Munson? People EAT there! Don’t walk on the table with your gross dirty shoes!”) Eddie makes fun of the fact that she listens to Top 40 pop, even though she listens to all sorts of genres. (”Duran Duran, Davis? You think this is good music?” “Eat shit, Munson, we can’t all listen to 8-minute guitar solos all the goddamn time.”)

-She puts on a hard and uncaring exterior, but she’s secretly a huge softie, even though she’d deny it with her dying breath. She hates to see people get hurt unless they deserve it, and when Will Byers goes missing she immediately signs up for search parties. Even though she’s never met the kid, she cries all night when his “body” is discovered, as well as at Benny Hammond’s “suicide”. She’s also present at the Battle of Starcourt Mall, and even though she actively dislikes Billy Hargrove, watching him be ripped to shreds by the Mind Flayer traumatizes her pretty hard. She has nightmares about it for months.

-After the events of s3, she becomes pretty close friends with most of the Party, especially the Scoops Troop, since she was with them for most of it. She teases Steve along with Robin about his love life(and he does the same back to her when she lets slip that she’s got a crush on Eddie due to the truth serum), she’s close with Robin bc her brother Danny is gay, and she also becomes close with Dustin and ESPECIALLY Erica(she loves the kid’s attitude, thinks she’s hilarious, and knows she’s going places in life). When Dustin, Mike, and Lucas enter high school and get drafted into Hellfire Club by Eddie, she constantly gets onto Munson for “being too hard on them”. He doesn’t know what all they’ve been through, of course, but she always chides him if she sees him being overly aggressive to them. She’s less close to Nancy and Jonathan, but she admires Jonathan’s tenacity and Nancy’s quick thinking and excellent pattern spotting. She’s also one of the few people Max still talks to on a regular basis, and Max is the only one outside of Steve and Robin who know how close Dee is to Eddie(since she’s ALWAYS at his place by the events of s4).

-i probably have more i’ll add onto this later but the well is dry for now, if you read all of this i am kissing you on the mouth(platonically)

#OC: Dee Davis #i have BRAINROT yall

[perezcalhounlawfl]

#Florida divorce attorney #family law attorney in Florida #Florida business law attorney #divorce attorney Winter Park #divorce attorney Winter Park fl #military divorce attorney in Florida #Florida postnuptial agreement

[outoftowninac]

AS HUSBANDS GO

1931

As Husbands Go is a three-act play by Rachel Crothers. It was originally produced by John Golden and staged by the author. 

The play takes place at a café in Paris and the living-room in the Lingard House, ten miles from Dubuque, Iowa. 

While in Paris, a widow from Iowa and her younger married neighbor, discover alluring gentlemen. The widow is attracted to an elderly boulevardier, while the neighbor is smitten with a handsome (and younger) English author. Instead of souvenirs, the ladies daringly bring the men back home to Iowa.  

“If all husbands were as gallant as Charles Lingard in Rachel Crothers’ comedy... divorce courts could go out of business; that is, provided all wives were as delightfully tractable as pretty Lucile Lingard.” ~ BROOKLYN LIFE

For the world premiere, Golden chose Brandt’s Boulevard Theatre in Jackson Heights NY.  It opened for a week’s stay on February 23, 1931. 

The play premiered on Broadway at (fittingly) the John Golden Theatre on March 5, 1931. This was the first of three venues named for the producer. Located on 58th street, it stopped presenting live theatre in 1936 and was demolished in 1985. The third theatre named for Golden is now known as the Bernard Jacobs.

“If a smiling lady should be found dancing in the streets in Fifty-eighth Street, to be specific, with laurel and bay leaves in her hair, that would be Rachel Crothers. For the second time in three years she has taken advantage of John Golden's adventurous generosity and produced a hit in his name when he was no closer to it than Palm Beach, Florida. Ticket brokers, I'm told, are willing to buy all the seats the Golden office will sell for the next several weeks of ‘As Husband Go’, so sure are they that it is to be listed among the hits.”

Mantle is referring to the fact that Golden was seldom in Manhattan. In January 1931 he purchased the play from Havana, and was in Palm Beach when it finally opened. 

On May 4, 1931 Gloria Holden replaced Lily Cahill as Lucile Lingard. Cahill left the role suddenly for undisclosed reasons. Golden heard Holden on radio and signed her to make her Broadway debut. 

The show’s 100th performance (a matinee on May 23rd) coincided with a military air show, so Golden moved the curtain time to 3:15pm to prevent audiences being distracted by the roar of aircraft motors. 

At the same time in Los Angeles, producer E.E. Clive had presented a West Coast company of As Husbands Go. Clive would also produce the Broadway revival in 1933.

In late June 1931, Golden invested in some new-fangled technology - air cooling!  Perhaps theatres would now be able to operate year-round?  Cool!  

After Independence Day, the play started to advertise “last weeks” and closed on July 11th. Golden had agreed to the play becoming one of the Theatre Guild’s subscription series. This was a consortium of cities nationwide that would share the same plays. One of those cities was Atlantic City. 

Coincidentally, Clive’s California company wrapped up its run on September 12th, just as the Theatre Guild tour was preparing to launch. The production was integral in selling the play to Hollywood. 

After a summer break, the play re-opened in Atlantic City at Nixon’s Apollo Theatre on the Boardwalk on September 28, 1931.   

A new production, under the guidance of producers O.E. Wee and Jules J. Leventhal in mid-January. Again, Crothers provided direction. Wee and Leventhal were known as “W & L: The Revivers” with six productions in a short period of time - all revivals. Simultaneously, the play had been sold to stock and regional producers, virtually flooding the nation with Husbands!

In January 1933, the play returned to Broadway at the Forrest Theatre, today known as the Eugene O’Neill. Remarkably, both the original Broadway production and the Broadway revival ran the same number of performances: 148. 

In 1934, a film version was released. The screenplay was written by S.N. Behrman, Sonya Levien, and Fred Niblo Jr. and starred Warner Baxter as the titular Husband. 

The film had its world premiere at the famous Steel Pier Theatre in Atlantic City on December 3, 1933, nearly two months before its general release in late January 1934.  

#As Husbands Go #Rachel Crothers #1931 #Broadway #Atlantic City #Broadway Play #Broadway Theatre #Nixon's Apollo Theatre #John Golden

[cathygeha]

REVIEW

The Deepest Kill by Lisa Black

Locard Institute #3

Was it really an accident…or was it murder? That is what Martin Post needs to know about his recently deceased daughter SO he calls in the Locard Institute experts to find out.

What I liked:

* Dr. Ellie Carr: left FBI to work for Locard Institute, crime scene analyst, scientist, divorced, and from previous books know that she purchased a house, took in a rescue dog not mentioned in this book so wonder who is watching it, had a difficult backstory

* Dr. Rachel Davies: assistant director of Locard Institute, bright, single parent to deceased sister’s toddler, counts on her mother for childcare, left job as medical examiner to work at Locard Institute, divorced

* The plot, pacing, setting in Florida, writing – plenty of twists and turns

* The forensic information I learned and how it tied into this case

* FBI agents Michael Tyler and Luis Alvarez who were in the last book and showed up again in this one – wondering if perhaps Michael is interested in Ellie

* Thinking about wealth and how it motivated some in this story

* Wondering if or when Ellie might l earn more about how her mother died and what if any impact it will have on her

* Having a feeling I knew who the murderer was when that person showed up and then being validated at the end of the story

* The title of the book and how it tied into the story

What I didn’t like:

* Who and what I was meant not to like

* The reasoning behind the murderers decision to kill…such a waste…

* The ending…though it completes the story, would have liked to have one more chapter, I think

Did I enjoy this book? Yes

Would I read more in this series? Yes

Thank you to NetGalley and Kensington Books for the ARC this is my honest review.

4-5 Stars

BLURB

A riveting thriller that puts the New York Times bestselling author squarely in the same league as Patricia Cornwell and Jefferson Bass, the Locard Institute Thriller series draws on Lisa Black’s real-life scientific expertise and her skill in crafting complex and dynamic female characters, as two female forensic experts team up to solve the deadliest and most devious crimes. For software pioneer Martin Post, the third richest man in America, his private compound on the Florida coast is a sunny no-man’s-land separating his family from the rest of the world. Now, expert forensic analysts Ellie Carr and Rachael Davies of the renowned Locard Institute have been summoned to its dark side. Martin’s pregnant daughter, Ashley, had ventured on a day trip in her motorboat into the Gulf, only to wash up dead on a nearby shore. Although the local coroner determined her death was an accident, Ellie and Rachael soon confirm Martin’s gravest fear: His daughter was murdered. Was it a kidnapping gone wrong? Or something even more brutal? Ashley and her husband, Greg, had been working working with Martin on a revolutionary new defense initiative for the US military – could espionage have played a part in her death? Martin believes Greg is behind the murder, and the spoiled charmer does set off Rachel’s deception radar. If the widower didn’t kill Ashley himself, why isn’t he more upset that she’s dead? Drawn into the Posts’ increasingly dangerous family dynamic, Ellie and Rachael must work hard and fast to discover what secrets are buried at the heart of the crime. Because the churning waters of the Gulf are getting rougher. And soon, Ellie and Rachael themselves will be in danger of getting crushed in their depths.

#Lisa Black #Locard Institute Thriller 3 #Kensington Books #NetGalley #Murder Mystery #Forensic Murder Mystery #Fiction #Whodunnit #Crime

[brookston]

Holidays 2.23

Holidays

Adria Asteroid Day

Armed Forces Day (Tajikistan)

Asian Corpsetwt Day [Every 23rd]

Bart Simpson Day

Billygoat Day (French Republic)

Curling Is Cool Day (Canada)

Defender of the Fatherland Day (Russia)

Defender of the Fatherland Day and Armed Forces Day (Belarus)

Diesel Engine Day

Easy Divorce Day

Ember Day

Emily Blunt Day

Emperor Naruhito Day (Japan)

ENA Day

Give FFA Day

Gutenberg Bible Day

Homeland Defenders’ Day (Kyrgzstan)

Inconvenience Yourself Day

International Day of Action Against US & NATO Military Bases

International Day of Mercury Control Commitment

International Dog Biscuit Appreciation Day

Mashramani (a.k.a. Mash Festival or Guyanese Republic Day; Guyana)

Meteni (Latvia)

Motherland Defenders’ Day (Russia, Transdniestria)

Mount Fuji Day (Japan)

National Aviation Day (Canada)

National Casbah Day (Algiers)

National Day (Brunei)

National Helplines Awareness Day (UK)

National Hospitality Workers Appreciation Day

National Rationalization Day

National Rudy Day

National Tile Day

National Wear Blue for FFA

Pebbles Day

Pinocchio Day

Play Tennis Day

Printed Book Day

Quiet Day

Red Army Day (former USSR)

Shropshire Day (UK)

Student Press Freedom Day

Vaudeville Day

Vitamin Day

Wear Your Favorite Hockey Jersey Day

Work Your Proper Hours Day [Varies]

World Peace and Understanding Day

World Rotary Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

Banana Bread Day

Imperial Stout Day

Jamaican Patty Day (Canada)

Tootsie Roll Day

4th & Last Friday in February

Fry Day (Pastafarian; Fritism) [Every Friday]

International Stand Up to Bullying Day [Last Friday] (Also 3rd Friday in Nov)

Katsuyama Sagicho begins (Japan) [Last Friday]

National CSA Day (Small Farm Central) [Last Friday]

National Girl Scout Cookie Weekend begins [Last Friday thru Sunday]

National Skip the Straw Day [4th Friday]

Texas Cowboy Poetry Gathering begins [Last Friday]

Thank a Resident Day [4th Friday]

Yukon Heritage Day (Canada) [Last Friday]

Independence & Related Days

Evanland (Declared; 2016) [unrecognized]

February Revolution Day (Russia; 1917)

Mashramani (a.k.a. Republic Day: Proclamation of Co-Operative Republic; Guyana; 1970)

Mississippi Re-Admitted to the Union (1870)

Ondo State Day (Ondo, Nigeria)

Sayville (a.k.a. Dominion of Sayville; Declared; 2020) [unrecognized]

Festivals Beginning February 23, 2024

Belgrade International Film Festival (Belgrade, Serbia) [thru 3.3]

Florida Gourd Festival (Melbourne, Florida) [thru 2.25]

The Joy of Sake (Honolulu, Hawaii)

Latvian Book Fair (Rigo, Latvia) [thru 2.25]

Sandestin Gumbo Festival (Destin, Florida) [thru 2.24]

St. Petersburg Seafood & Music Festival (St. Petersburg, Florida) [thru 2.25]

Virginia Wine Expo (Richmond, Virginia) [thru 3.3]

Yanshui Beehive Fireworks Festival (Tainan, Taiwan) [thru 2.24]

Feast Days

Alexander Akimetes (Christian; Saint)

Boisil, Prior of Melross (Christian; Saint)

Celebrate Vaccines Day (Pastafarian)

Day of Ebisu (Japanese God of Fortune)

Dositheus, Monk of Palestine (Christian; Saint)

Feast of Friends (Pagan)

Festival of the Boundary Markers (Ancient Rome)

Franz von Stuck (Artology)

George Frederic Watts (Artology)

Herb Garden Planting Day (Starza Pagan Book of Days)

Kazimir Malevich Watts (Artology)

Lola and Tamir (Muppetism)

Milburga of Shropshire (Christian; Saint)

Monty Python Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Ovid (Positivist; Saint)

Peter Damian (Christian; Saint)

Polycarp of Smyrna (Christian; Saint)

Remember the Almo Day (Pastafarian)

Serenus the Gardener (Christian; Martyr)

The Terminalia (Festival of Boundaries; also End of Old Roman Year Festival)

Tom Wesselmann (Artology)

W.E.B. DuBois (Writerism)

Willigis (Christian; Saint)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Tomobiki (友引 Japan) [Good luck all day, except at noon.]

Unfortunate Day (Pagan) [13 of 57]

Premieres

All’s Well That Ends Well (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1940)

Annihilation (Film; 2018)

Apple & Onion (Animated TV Series; 2018)

The Band Concert (Disney Cartoon; 1935)

Bend Sinister, by Vladimir Nabokov (Novel; 1947)

Caviar (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1930)

DC Showcase: The Spectre (WB Cartoon; 2010)

Even Cowgirls Get the Blues, by Tom Robbins (Novel; 1976)

FanMail, by TLC (Album; 1999)

Foxy by Proxy (WB MM Cartoon; 1952)

Game Night (Film; 2018)

Go Fly a Kit (WB MM Cartoon; 1957)

Harper (Film; 1966)

Henderson the Rain King, by Saul Bellow (Novel; 1959)

Interjections (Grammar Rock Cartoon; Schoolhouse Rock; 1974)

Justice League: Crisis on Two Earths (WB Animated Film; 2010)

Land of Black Gold, by Hergé (Graphic Novel; 1950) [Tintin #15]

Last Bus to Woodstock, by Colin Dexter (Novel; 1975)

The Last Straw (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1934)

Les Sylphides, by Frédéric Chopin (Ballet; 1907)

Man of Tin (Phantasies Cartoon; 1940)

Pinocchio (Animated Disney Film; 1940)

Public Speaking (Documentary Film; 2011)

The Saint in Miami, by Leslie Charteris (Novel; 1940) [Saint #23]

Scenes from a Mall (Film; 1991)

Scooby-Doo! The Sword and the Scoop (WB Animated Film; 2021)

The Slim Shady LP, by Eminem (Album; 1999)

Things Fall Apart, by The Roots (Album; 1999)

This Land Is Your Land, written by Woody Guthrie (Song; 1940)

Trainspotting (Film; 1996)

Today’s Name Days

Raffaela, Romana (Austria)

Grozdan, Polikarp, Romana (Croatia)

Svatopluk (Czech Republic)

Papias (Denmark)

Lehar, Leho, Lehto (Estonia)

Aslak (Finland)

Lazare (France)

Polyk, Raffaela, Romana (Germany)

Polychronis, Polykarpos (Greece)

Alfréd (Hungary)

Livio, Policarpo, Renzo, Romana, Romina, Sereno, Teo (Italy)

Almants, Haralds (Latvia)

Butvilė, Gantautas, Romana, Severinas (Lithuania)

Torstein, Torunn (Norway)

Bądzimir, Damian, Florentyn, Łazarz, Piotr, Roma, Romana, Seweryn (Poland)

Policarp (Romania)

Anna, Valentina (Russia)

Roman (Slovakia)

Policarpo (Spain)

Torsten, Torun (Sweden)

Boswell, Gloria, Gloriana, Glory, Reilley, Riley, Rylan, Rylee, Ryleigh, Ryley, Rylie (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 54 of 2024; 312 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 5 of week 8 of 2024

Celtic Tree Calendar: Nuin (Ash) [Day 6 of 28]

Chinese: Month 1 (Bing-Yin), Day 14 (Ding-Si)

Chinese Year of the: Dragon 4722 (until January 29, 2025)

Hebrew: 14 Adair I 5784

Islamic: 13 Sha’ban 1445

J Cal: 24 Grey; Threesday [24 of 30]

Julian: 10 February 2024

Moon: 99%: Waxing Gibbous

Positivist: 26 Homer (2nd Month) [Ovid]

Runic Half Month: Sigel (Sun) [Day 15 of 15]

Season: Winter (Day 65 of 89)

Week: 3rd Week of February

Zodiac: Pisces (Day 5 of 30)

#calendar #Holidays

[brookstonalmanac]

Holidays 2.23

Holidays

Adria Asteroid Day

Armed Forces Day (Tajikistan)

Asian Corpsetwt Day [Every 23rd]

Bart Simpson Day

Billygoat Day (French Republic)

Curling Is Cool Day (Canada)

Defender of the Fatherland Day (Russia)

Defender of the Fatherland Day and Armed Forces Day (Belarus)

Diesel Engine Day

Easy Divorce Day

Ember Day

Emily Blunt Day

Emperor Naruhito Day (Japan)

ENA Day

Give FFA Day

Gutenberg Bible Day

Homeland Defenders’ Day (Kyrgzstan)

Inconvenience Yourself Day

International Day of Action Against US & NATO Military Bases

International Day of Mercury Control Commitment

International Dog Biscuit Appreciation Day

Mashramani (a.k.a. Mash Festival or Guyanese Republic Day; Guyana)

Meteni (Latvia)

Motherland Defenders’ Day (Russia, Transdniestria)

Mount Fuji Day (Japan)

National Aviation Day (Canada)

National Casbah Day (Algiers)

National Day (Brunei)

National Helplines Awareness Day (UK)

National Hospitality Workers Appreciation Day

National Rationalization Day

National Rudy Day

National Tile Day

National Wear Blue for FFA

Pebbles Day

Pinocchio Day

Play Tennis Day

Printed Book Day

Quiet Day

Red Army Day (former USSR)

Shropshire Day (UK)

Student Press Freedom Day

Vaudeville Day

Vitamin Day

Wear Your Favorite Hockey Jersey Day

Work Your Proper Hours Day [Varies]

World Peace and Understanding Day

World Rotary Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

Banana Bread Day

Imperial Stout Day

Jamaican Patty Day (Canada)

Tootsie Roll Day

4th & Last Friday in February

Fry Day (Pastafarian; Fritism) [Every Friday]

International Stand Up to Bullying Day [Last Friday] (Also 3rd Friday in Nov)

Katsuyama Sagicho begins (Japan) [Last Friday]

National CSA Day (Small Farm Central) [Last Friday]

National Girl Scout Cookie Weekend begins [Last Friday thru Sunday]

National Skip the Straw Day [4th Friday]

Texas Cowboy Poetry Gathering begins [Last Friday]

Thank a Resident Day [4th Friday]

Yukon Heritage Day (Canada) [Last Friday]

Independence & Related Days

Evanland (Declared; 2016) [unrecognized]

February Revolution Day (Russia; 1917)

Mashramani (a.k.a. Republic Day: Proclamation of Co-Operative Republic; Guyana; 1970)

Mississippi Re-Admitted to the Union (1870)

Ondo State Day (Ondo, Nigeria)

Sayville (a.k.a. Dominion of Sayville; Declared; 2020) [unrecognized]

Festivals Beginning February 23, 2024

Belgrade International Film Festival (Belgrade, Serbia) [thru 3.3]

Florida Gourd Festival (Melbourne, Florida) [thru 2.25]

The Joy of Sake (Honolulu, Hawaii)

Latvian Book Fair (Rigo, Latvia) [thru 2.25]

Sandestin Gumbo Festival (Destin, Florida) [thru 2.24]

St. Petersburg Seafood & Music Festival (St. Petersburg, Florida) [thru 2.25]

Virginia Wine Expo (Richmond, Virginia) [thru 3.3]

Yanshui Beehive Fireworks Festival (Tainan, Taiwan) [thru 2.24]

Feast Days

Alexander Akimetes (Christian; Saint)

Boisil, Prior of Melross (Christian; Saint)

Celebrate Vaccines Day (Pastafarian)

Day of Ebisu (Japanese God of Fortune)

Dositheus, Monk of Palestine (Christian; Saint)

Feast of Friends (Pagan)

Festival of the Boundary Markers (Ancient Rome)

Franz von Stuck (Artology)

George Frederic Watts (Artology)

Herb Garden Planting Day (Starza Pagan Book of Days)

Kazimir Malevich Watts (Artology)

Lola and Tamir (Muppetism)

Milburga of Shropshire (Christian; Saint)

Monty Python Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Ovid (Positivist; Saint)

Peter Damian (Christian; Saint)

Polycarp of Smyrna (Christian; Saint)

Remember the Almo Day (Pastafarian)

Serenus the Gardener (Christian; Martyr)

The Terminalia (Festival of Boundaries; also End of Old Roman Year Festival)

Tom Wesselmann (Artology)

W.E.B. DuBois (Writerism)

Willigis (Christian; Saint)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Tomobiki (友引 Japan) [Good luck all day, except at noon.]

Unfortunate Day (Pagan) [13 of 57]

Premieres

All’s Well That Ends Well (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1940)

Annihilation (Film; 2018)

Apple & Onion (Animated TV Series; 2018)

The Band Concert (Disney Cartoon; 1935)

Bend Sinister, by Vladimir Nabokov (Novel; 1947)

Caviar (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1930)

DC Showcase: The Spectre (WB Cartoon; 2010)

Even Cowgirls Get the Blues, by Tom Robbins (Novel; 1976)

FanMail, by TLC (Album; 1999)

Foxy by Proxy (WB MM Cartoon; 1952)

Game Night (Film; 2018)

Go Fly a Kit (WB MM Cartoon; 1957)

Harper (Film; 1966)

Henderson the Rain King, by Saul Bellow (Novel; 1959)

Interjections (Grammar Rock Cartoon; Schoolhouse Rock; 1974)

Justice League: Crisis on Two Earths (WB Animated Film; 2010)

Land of Black Gold, by Hergé (Graphic Novel; 1950) [Tintin #15]

Last Bus to Woodstock, by Colin Dexter (Novel; 1975)

The Last Straw (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1934)

Les Sylphides, by Frédéric Chopin (Ballet; 1907)

Man of Tin (Phantasies Cartoon; 1940)

Pinocchio (Animated Disney Film; 1940)

Public Speaking (Documentary Film; 2011)

The Saint in Miami, by Leslie Charteris (Novel; 1940) [Saint #23]

Scenes from a Mall (Film; 1991)

Scooby-Doo! The Sword and the Scoop (WB Animated Film; 2021)

The Slim Shady LP, by Eminem (Album; 1999)

Things Fall Apart, by The Roots (Album; 1999)

This Land Is Your Land, written by Woody Guthrie (Song; 1940)

Trainspotting (Film; 1996)

Today’s Name Days

Raffaela, Romana (Austria)

Grozdan, Polikarp, Romana (Croatia)

Svatopluk (Czech Republic)

Papias (Denmark)

Lehar, Leho, Lehto (Estonia)

Aslak (Finland)

Lazare (France)

Polyk, Raffaela, Romana (Germany)

Polychronis, Polykarpos (Greece)

Alfréd (Hungary)

Livio, Policarpo, Renzo, Romana, Romina, Sereno, Teo (Italy)

Almants, Haralds (Latvia)

Butvilė, Gantautas, Romana, Severinas (Lithuania)

Torstein, Torunn (Norway)

Bądzimir, Damian, Florentyn, Łazarz, Piotr, Roma, Romana, Seweryn (Poland)

Policarp (Romania)

Anna, Valentina (Russia)

Roman (Slovakia)

Policarpo (Spain)

Torsten, Torun (Sweden)

Boswell, Gloria, Gloriana, Glory, Reilley, Riley, Rylan, Rylee, Ryleigh, Ryley, Rylie (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 54 of 2024; 312 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 5 of week 8 of 2024

Celtic Tree Calendar: Nuin (Ash) [Day 6 of 28]

Chinese: Month 1 (Bing-Yin), Day 14 (Ding-Si)

Chinese Year of the: Dragon 4722 (until January 29, 2025)

Hebrew: 14 Adair I 5784

Islamic: 13 Sha’ban 1445

J Cal: 24 Grey; Threesday [24 of 30]

Julian: 10 February 2024

Moon: 99%: Waxing Gibbous

Positivist: 26 Homer (2nd Month) [Ovid]

Runic Half Month: Sigel (Sun) [Day 15 of 15]

Season: Winter (Day 65 of 89)

Week: 3rd Week of February

Zodiac: Pisces (Day 5 of 30)

#Holidays