#earned enough from Louis to buy a house

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Runnin' Roughshod"

Pairing: Bucky x black female Reader

Rated: Explicit

Tags: civil war, westward expansion, homesteader Bucky, Black!Fem!Reader, slavery, historic AU, forbidden romance, interracial relationship, racism, period typical attitudes, brothel, prostitution

A Bucky x Black!fem!Reader historical AU fic that I decided to bullet point for funsies, and then wound up writing half of the damn thing that way 🙄

You're a slave living in 1860 Missouri, just outside of St. Louis.

You're the property of (and half-sister to) Master Lewis. Lucky for you, Master Lewis Senior is dead, and Lewis Jr.'s young bride Darcilla is kind and agreeable, with progressive notions that she brought along with her trousseau when she came from Maryland to wed Master Lewis.

Life is very good for you, compared to some others. You work in the house, as lady's maid to the new Mrs. Lewis (who insists you call her Ms. Darcy), and sometimes help in the shop in town.

The Lewis's own a handful of other slaves who help run their household and dressmaker's shop, but since the death of your mother you've had no family (well, except for Master Lewis, though nobody counts that). You do your work and keep to yourself. Sometimes you make a little money at the dress shop, which Mistress Darcy lets you keep behind her husband's back.

You save up every penny, but buying your own freedom is a far off dream. Your whole life, you've never seriously contemplated running away. It isn't worth the risk.

But when tensions in the county begin to rise and you hear rumors of secession, you grow worried. You begin to squirrel away what valuables you can, gain the trust of your mistress, and bide your time.

With the uncertainty of war brewing, Master Lewis announces his plans to move the family deeper south. You can no longer afford to wait. You have to get out now, before your one and only chance is lost forever.

Your money gets you as far as Topeka, where you're forced to stop until you can earn enough to join a wagon train out West. You find work at a saloon, serving drinks and making flirty conversation with the men who come in for a good time.

In the mornings, you begin to learn the piano from "Old Freddie," and during the occasional slow afternoon, Madame Lapierre, the French woman who governs the "upstairs" girls, will play a game of chess with you whilst she tries to make headway in convincing you to "expand your employment opportunities."

Topeka is Free-Soiler territory, but there's always the fear that Master Lewis might find you. And, on the verge of statehood, the Kansas territory has tipped into increasingly violent conflict between anti- and pro-slavery settlers. With conditions worsening and all out war looming on the horizon, you have no guarantee of safety there anymore.

Desperate to raise the funds to go West more quickly, you tell Madame that you're ready to start selling more than drinks and conversation. You become her newest "poppet" prepared to do whatever it takes to get out of town before your luck - and your freedom - run out.

You've never been with a man, but you know the rudimentary facts of life, and with a little help from the other girls and Madame, you prepare to become just another "sporting girl."

Your first afternoon on the job, a roughshod rider comes into town, seeking lodging, drink, and the sort of "company" that you're there to provide.

The white girls get first dibs on clients, but the roughshod asks for you to be sent up to his room. You wish he wouldn't have. Not because you want to put off the inevitable, but because now the other girls will be nasty to you. The man is handsome, and the girls were all eager to get their hands in his pockets.

You're shaking in your boots, but Madame gives you a shot of whiskey, a spritz of her genuine French perfume, and a tiny pewter snuff case for "wetting the way," (whatever that means). She tells you to put it in your bosom and use it "when the time is right."

Terrified but determined to see it through, you head upstairs to the roughshod's room.

It does not go as you expect. First, he demands to know if you're working there of your own free will. You admit that he is your very first client - which you regret doing, because his face goes even stonier when you do. He barks out orders at you, insisting that you leave the room at once and fetch him the house's tub.

He wants a bath - a hot one! - and with soap, and a towel!! You're very happy about that, because it costs a whole sixty-five cents more, and it will also mean extra time spent with you, which leaves you with even more money in your pocket at the end of the day. You're still nervous, but elated at the luck you're having on your very first client!

The other girls are stewing in the hall with jealously and make snide comments about your race and the man's preference for you. They refuse to help you prepare the bath, but you don't care one lick. That's just more time the roughshod will be paying to spend with you, while you haul bucket after bucket of boiled water up the stairs.

Madame catches you in the hallway and tells you not to mind the other girls. She's a bit drunk on sherry, and she jokes that at this rate, you'll probably only have to spread your legs for two or three minutes! (God, you hope so).

The man is filthy, and he's hurt - as though he's been in a fight or fallen from his horse. He asks you to help bathe him, and you get started with your heart in your throat. His manners are as rough as he is, but he isn't mean to you, and he doesn't try to grab you, which is a relief. With shaking hands, you proceed to wash him.

This is your first time touching a naked man's body, and you try not to look down into the bathwater as you wash him. You're embarrassed, but it's not just nerves; seeing and touching such a handsome man has you warming as though you've downed another three shots of whiskey.

You squirm and fight not to let the roughshod see your flusterment, as your belly tightens with the familiar, but never indulged, feelings of lust.

The roughshod stays in the bath until the water's gone gray and cold. You kneel beside the tub and wring out the cloth, but squeak when, all at once, the man heaves himself up to standing, the water streaming down his body and his ... his Johnson right at the level of your face!

He grunts and swings his leg out of the tub - exposing all of his manhood jostling around not even two feet from your face as he does so! You blush and look away, but you can feel him staring at you as he grabs up the towel and dries himself off.

Surely, you think, now he will ask you to take off your clothes and join him on the bed. You know only the basics of what goes where for the act, having witnessed clandestine coitus a time or two in your life. You wait, unable to look up at him, as you expect to hear his gruff voice order you about. And it does.

"Get up."

You stand, trembling. But what he says next isn't what you're expecting: "You know how to rub a man's muscles?"

You look up at him. He's got the towel in hand, making no effort to use it to cover himself. Then again, you think, why should he? You're just another painted poppet (or, soon to be). "R-rub what?" you stammer - quite idiotically. Of course, you know what muscles are. ... You're just not sure if he's using the word as a ... a euphemism.

He rolls his eyes and brings the towel up to dry his hair. "Knew I should'a asked for the China girl," he mutters.

You clear your throat and look steadfastly at his face. "You're hurt," you say, because you've seen every part of his body now, despite your efforts to keep your eyes trained North. And you know he's got bruises all on his legs and back and sides.

The roughshod nods and abandons the towel to the floor. "Yeah." He's not a talker, but you get the impression he's waiting to hear something from you.

You struggle to think of what that might be. "I ... have ... rubbed my mother's shoulders, when they hurt her. Um. And her feet?"

If you're not mistaken, the man's mouth twitches up the barest bit, beneath his beard. "Eh," he says, then turns around, presenting you with his - very manly - ass. "How bad can ya be?" He walks towards the bed, waving you along without looking back. "Well c'mere then."

He climbs up onto the room's bed and lies down, face in his arms. "What're you doing?" he grumps. "I said get over here."

Swallowing thickly, you hurry across the room. With his back turned, you have less trouble letting your eyes rove over his naked body. His back is broad and muscled, going from impossibly wide and tanned shoulders, tapering all the way down to his slim hips and his pale ass. His thighs are hairy and---no. You force your eyes true north again, looking at the bruises that you're increasingly starting to suspect came from a beating. "What happened to you?" you ask.

His head stays pillowed in the crooks of his arms. "Get up on the bed," he grunts. "Sit on my ass and I'll tell 'ya what to do."

Your eyes all but bug out of your head, when he tells you to straddle him. You do, your skirt rustling as you move and get up on him. You're hesitant to put your weight down, but he huffs and tells you to sit.

"Speck like you ain't gonna feel any more'n a feather. Sit."

He talks you through giving him - what he deems a "goddamn lousy" - massage. He grunts whenever you press on his bruises, pained, but once you get the hang of it, he at least goes quiet and doesn't complain anymore, so maybe you're not so horrible at it after all.

You rub his shoulders, his neck and back; your belly coiling tight once again, filling with a swooping feeling at having his warm skin and hard muscles underhand, at the feeling of his body held between your legs. You worry that he somehow knows how you're reacting, but you don't speak and neither does he.

When he eventually groans from pained-pleasure rather than pain, you can't help but smirk triumphantly. You keep expecting him to roll over and declare the massage over and demand for you to touch his Johnson, but that keeps not happening (though he does groan a little more).

You check the clock and see that it's now early evening. The light outside is almost gone. You worry that he's lost track of time and might refuse to pay for the hours he's spent with you, which will get your wages garnished.

So, tentatively, you slide your hands down to his thick waist, the swooping feeling intensifying at watching all the muscles in his back tense and shift underneath the skin.

"Why'd you stop?" he grunts.

"Are ... are you sure ..." You hesitate, not knowing how to seduce a man.

"Spit it out," he says, annoyed.

You lick your lips. "Well I just ... it's been awhile now and ... Are you sure this is all you want?"

"It feels good," he snaps, voice muffled in his arms. "That's what I'm payin' you for, ain't it?"

His uncharitable response should make you relieved, but instead it just leaves you worried and confused. Are you not seductive enough? Is he going to complain to Madame once he leaves here?

You need to speak up, take action, or else you may be in trouble. "Mister," you say, "I--"

"James," he grunts. "S'my name."

You pause, surprised that he wants you to use it, since he doesn't seem to like you very much. "James," you try again. "I want to make sure you're ... um ... getting your money's worth?"

He's silent and still, then drawls, "You don't sound too sure about that."

FOLKS THIS HAS BEEN OUT OF HAND FOR AWHILE NOW. LETS GO BACK TO AN ACTUAL FUCKING OUTLINE:

He has you lie down on the bed, and he regards you tenderly and seems like he's going to finally do it, but his face goes sour when you nervously reach your hand for his Johnson, and he tells you he doesn't need anything else.

"That's enough." He rolls away, comes back with a dollar bill, hands it over and gruffly tells you to go over to the mercantile and buy him a fresh shirt.

Relieved and yet somehow also terribly disappointed, you do so. When you return, his hair is tied back and he's got his pants on again.

You expect him to dismiss you, but he tells you he wants your company in the downstairs, too. He takes you down and the two of you eat and drink together at his behest. As it's now evening, the other poppets work on men nearby, shooting you jealous looks every so often.

James slowly opens up to you, engaging you in conversation over his dinner. You can't help but talk back, the conversation coming naturally and your shoulders relaxing. James is much more likeable after a whiskey or two, and the two of you even laugh and joke together. He decides to teach you a dice game, and the two of you have fun well into the evening, until he goes back up to bed -- alone.

Madame is drunk and very proud--because the roughshod actually pays for the entire time! In one fell swoop, you've made a handsome sum! You begin to hope that soon you'll be able to buy your way onto a wagon train and go West!

But the next day, your fortunes change.

A lawman shows up with none other than Mr. Brooks--Master Lewis' most trusted slave. Brooks tells the lawman that you are the one he's looking for. He has your papers to prove Mr. Lewis' ownership!

Being only tenuously free territory, the lawman has the say so on what happens to you. Just when it looks like he's going to hand you over to Brooks, the roughshod comes downstairs. He claims you're his property and that your name is Pearl. He has no proof, but says that's because he bought you from a 'chief down in Indian country' (the Oklahoma territory).

One of the white girls calls out that that's not true: you work there.

It seems that the lie won't work, but when the lawman asks Madame if that's true, Madame says your name is Pearl and you showed up with the roughshod the other day.

The marshal decides to trust the word of a white man over Mr. Brooks (who looks very angry indeed). He brandishes the papers and promises to come back with Master Lewis.

With no time to spare, you make haste. You have to leave town now, no matter the fact that you don't have the money to make it out West. You stuff your things in your bag and leave with the wages you've earned.

Outside, the roughshod grabs your arm and pulls you in. He demands you tell him the truth, since he stuck his neck out for you.

You confess everything--running away, your plan to set out West for San Francisco. You fear that he's had a change of heart and will take you to the lawman, but he gets stern-faced again and gruffly tells you to come with him back to his home with him.

You're confused, but he is bossy and all but forces you back to his homestead with him. There, he informs you that, after getting into a "scrape" with some locals himself, he has to leave. He offers to take you out West with him, and part ways in California.

You agree.

Sometime, months later, in California:

The country is at war, but it feels far away from where you are now, as do Master Lewis' chances of ever finding you again. James has hope that the North will win and slavery will be done away with, when the two of you arrive in San Francisco. You make him breakfast, and ask: "What now?"

He gets quiet for awhile. "Woman like you?" He says, chewing the last bite of a biscuit. "Sews, can play chess, hard worker, beautiful, and you cook like this?" He sticks his tongue in his cheek and looks away for a moment. When he looks back, there's false cheer in his eyes. "You're gonna make some man a fine wife someday."

You inhale deeply, fighting to keep the sting of that comment from getting to your eyes. "But not you?" you finally say, once you've gathered the breath - and the courage - to do so.

The false cheer bleeds to sadness, fond and regretful, and he shakes his head softly. "No Darlin'. Not me."

(spoiler alert: you wind up together with a happy ending anyway)

IM SORRY IT'S TWO AM WHY DID I DO THIS I NEED TO SLEEEEP 😩

(Will def be writing (more of) this fic in the future though!)

#historical au #marvel #mcu #bucky barnes #fanfiction #fanfic #sebastian stan #historical fiction #historical romance #forbidden love #forbidden romance #civil war #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #black reader #bucky barnes x black!reader #black fem reader #slavery tw #slavery in america #brothel au #outlaw bucky barnes #wild west #fic imagine #fic writing #fic idea #plot bunny #period typical racism #interracial couple

[cbrownjc]

A question about Armand : when did he acquire this extraordinary fortune I keep hearing about (in the books)? Did he earn it in the 20th century? Was he still wealthy when Louis met him in Paris (i assume not to the buy-an-island level)? How did he acquire his fortune?

Hey Anon,

Armand got massively wealthy sometime in the late-70s or early-80s (it was during the Devil's Minion timeline in the books.) And he got his wealth mainly via treasure hunting. Because of his mind and spell gift abilities, he was able to locate some Spanish Galleon ships that had sunk and raise them, claiming their treasures. He was also able to find some historical artifacts - statues and whatnot - and sell them to collectors/museums and such.

Before his time with Daniel, with Louis, and even before then, Armand wasn't massively wealthy. He'd spent the majority of his vampire life in an underground cult, which was completely against living among mortals, which is the only reason having massive wealth would be for (and the cult wanted to kill Lestat for doing it).

After the cult broke up, Armand went straight into his Théâtre des Vampires era. IIRC, Lestat left them some gold so they could operate, but all the vampires - including Armand - lived at the theater as a coven, so again, no need for massive wealth or anything.

Once that coven was destroyed, Armand and Louis traveled the world together. Maybe Louis paid for things, IDK, it never says. But more than likely, there was a lot of stealing from victims involved, too, as I don't think Armand would have had any qualms about doing such a thing.

Oh, at this time he did have a house in Paris renovated for him and Louis to live in, which I don't remember how he got. (Someone let me know, did it ever say where that house came from?) He and Louis never lived in it, though, and it remained shut up and maintained by mortals.

Anyway, after Armand and Louis broke up sometime around 1929, Armand spent the next 40 years or so squatting in Lestat's house, waiting for him to wake up, not living in any type of wealthy lifestyle. And then Daniel stumbled upon him around 1974 or so. After their cat and mouse chase stopped and Armand felt - though Daniel - that he'd learned enough about the modern world, Armand built his current wealth, as I described, via treasure hunting and such.

With that money, he also bought a lot of real estate (he loves real estate), including the fabulous Night Island and Trinity Gate.

#Armand #Interview with the Vampire #Queen of the Damned #The Devil's Minion #Devil's Minion #Daniel Molloy #louis de pointe du lac #book lore #ask #ask and answer

[boricuacherry-blog]

"Much of what we think we know about Holiday, however, is questionable, and over time accounts of her life have been bent to serve some other purpose than telling her story," John Szwed wrote in his 2015 book Billie Holiday: The Musician and the Myth.

At least a half a dozen biographies have set about separating the fact from fiction (even her FBI file was thin, Szwed notes), leading authors to wonder why more pages weren't devoted to her songs. Pretty much all studies of Holiday have agreed that her musicianship, as revered as she remains as a singer and entertainer, was woefully underrated in her day and for decades afterward.

But however unreliable a narrator Holiday may have been [for example, her parents were never married but she claimed they were in her autobiography], all the later work bloomed from the seed she planted with Lady Sings the Blues, for which she received a $3,500 advance and 65 percent of the proceeds, to her co-author and friend William Dufty's 35 percent. The book later inspired the 1972 film of the same name, starring Diana Ross. Andra Day starred in the film The United States vs. Billie Holiday, another film about Billie.

In 1939 she was introduced to Buddy Tate, the tall elegant saxophonist from Count Basie's band, and the two became an item. But when he realized the role alcohol and marijuana played in her life he told her, "Lady, you can't get high all the time, not every day."

In 1941, with her affair behind her, Billie married a small-time drug dealer named Jimmy Monroe and subsequently gravitated to opium for her highs. That all changed when heroin began to fill a void caused by the wartime shortage of opium. For awhile she used intermittently, but then succumbed to addiction, spending vast sums of money indulging herself and her former drugs runner Joe Guy - now her new boyfriend - in monumental highs.

She would go on to have a sordid relationship of violence with John Levy, a small-time nightclub owner, followed by marriage to Louis McKay. He had convinced her to marry him so he wouldn't be forced to testify in court. He'd already been buying property with her money, and putting it in his own name. This was all interspersed with brushes with the law. Yolande Bavan, a friend of Billie's, said that McKay had once spit at her. "She seemed to always be attracted to assholes." Holiday was also open about bisexuality, and dalliances with fellow women prisoners. Two women she was rumored to have had relations with were wealthy heiress Louise Crane and Tallulah Bankhead.

At 10 she was raped by a neighbor, who ended up only serving three months in jail for the crime. But Billie was oddly enough, punished too. She was sent to the House of the Good Shepherd for Colored Girls, a reform school. Her street-smart ways, from being on the streets of Baltimore at a young age, was not appreciated by the nuns. One nun, Billie claimed forced her to spend the night with the body of a dead girl to teach her a lesson.

In 1928 Billie and her mother moved to Harlem, where the jazz age was flourishing at that time. Billie and her mother Sadie earned income working in a brothel. The two of them were arrested for prostitution. Billie, who was only 14, claimed to be 21. She was sent to Welfare Island just off Manhattan, and here she spent 100 days in a workhouse for vagrant adults.

In Harlem there were a group of dancers, singers and comedians who would go performing from club to club for free, performing all night long. Billie would go from table to table singing the same song, but singing the chorus differently each time, teaching herself to improvise. One night while singing at a club, a young record producer, John Hammond, walked in. He'd never heard an improvising singer like Billie. Hammond teamed her up with Benny Goodman, and an 18-year-old cut her first record. People who encountered her described her as having a "don't care" attitude and speech casually laced with profanity.

"She had enough courage to play with the music," said Maya Angelou. "The beat is insistent - it says, 'follow me' - but she managed just to hang right behind it."

It was said she was a master at using pitch intonation as an interpretive element.

"She completely flattens out the melody - maybe the wrong word - more like, distills the melody to its essential line. Really underscoring the swinging rhythm and also, the language contour, so the punchline becomes highlighted, and it becomes like a little trumpet rhythmic riff she sings it on," said one listener. "Life is lived in that space between the notes, and that's what you hear."

The late Gunther Schuller, prolific on the subject of Billie Holiday, liked to say that her voice had "the reedy timber of an English horn." She modeled her phrasing after horn players. Others say they hear her sing like a sax.

Billie's mother borrowed large amounts of money from her daughter to fund a restaurant. But her mother wouldn't return a cent. This caused a rift.

Maya Angelou was performing one day, and she started by introducing the crowd to Billie, who was in the audience. They all popped up and applauded, but Billie didn't seem to notice their applause. This was also during a time when she was deep in her addiction. "Then I began to sing," said Angelou. "I sang an old blues song - 'Baby please don't go, baby please don't go, baby please don't go...back to New Orleans, they'll feed you rice and beans, worst you ever seen, baby pleeease don't go" - I sang one verse and she screamed, 'Shut that b**ch up! Shut up! You remind me of my mother! Shut up!' And she got up and ran into the toilet. So I left the stage and went in. She said, 'You know why all those people stood up when you mentioned my name? They wanted to see a black woman who'd been in trouble for drugs. That's the only reason they look at me.'"

A month later, completely emaciated, she collapsed. One hospital wouldn't take her, but they eventually found a hospital that would and found she was having liver failure. She eventually got better, but then was arrested again for possession, but she was hospitalized until she was stabilized enough to appear in court.

In the meantime, her husband Louis McKay, visited. "I saw Louis in her room," a friend said. "He had a Bible open in his hands, and she seemed to be moribund. He was doing the Protestant ritual - 'the lord is my Shephard, I shall not want and he maketh me lie down in green pastures' - so it scared me to death, because I thought, 'oh my god, it's too late,' and eventually he slammed the Bible shut, tiptoed down the hall and left. So I waited for a minute, tiptoed into the room, and at that point Billie opened one eye... and said, 'is he gone?' And I said, 'I think so.' And she sat up in bed and said, 'You know, I always been a religious b**ch, but if that dirty motherf**cker believes in God, I'm thinking it over.'"

Another friend recounted how she refused to eat mustard, that she couldn't stand the smell. When pressed, she revealed that she had used mustard to abort her pregnancy when she was younger, saying, "And that baby was all I ever wanted." Raised as a Catholic, Billie, according to at least one biography, may have seen her inability to conceive when she was married as divine retribution for having aborted a teenage pregnancy by sitting in a bathtub full of hot water and mustard.

#billie holiday

[theselfshippingwitch]

i literally just wrote this heyyy

ray/violet, some janine/egon, some ocs i have literally never mentioned before now, guaranteed diabetes at the ending, barely any proofreading

-

"This week is a nightmare."

"When this week is over, I'm buying you the biggest stuffed animal."

Violet and Ray walked up the driveway to their house. She practically dragged her feet across the pavement. It was just one of those days when nothing goes right. Deadlines were sneaking up on her, editor's notes were getting on her nerves, everything made her feel like the world was ganging up on her and the week would never end. Worst of all, she had barely any time to see Ray. This brief walk home with him was the reason why she declined a ride from her driver though she was completely exhausted. The only thing she held onto was once this week was over, the next had Valentine's Day.

She smiled at him. "You mean it, Ray?"

"I won't be able to fit it through your front door."

She giggled, reaching for his arm and leaning her head on his shoulder. "I can't wait."

-

That next Monday was the day before Valentine's Day. Violet sat in a downtown Manhattan restaurant at the top of a high rise with her personal assistant (and close friend) Steffi, Janine, and Layla, who had been hired by the Ghostbusters almost a year back. She, Violet, Janine, and Louis Tully made up what Violet and only Violet referred to as the "B-squad". Within that year, Layla had gone from the spoiled rich hotel heiress forced by her parents to get a job at her new accountant's second place of employment to being engaged to that accountant and estranged from her parents.

All of them had had an eventful year. For Violet, it ended with Ray finally proposing to her, right at midnight on New Year's Eve. For Janine, it saw the beginning of a suddenly fast-moving relationship with Egon, which now saw her planning a trip to Vegas that may or may not cumulate with her wedding. For Layla, it included discovering her parents are cult leaders. As for Steffi, she continued to refuse to be tied down to any woman, career first as always. However, tracking Violet's exploits as a famous best-selling author was eventful enough. Now, they raised their mimosas to the best year of their lives, and to things only getting better from here on in.

Meanwhile, Ray was frantically driving from store to store. Just his luck that the weekend had been incredibly busy and he had no time to shop for Violet's gifts until the day before Valentine's Day. He had promised Violet a giant teddy bear, and he hated to disappoint her, especially when he knew she deserved it after such a rough week. But, every store he went to was sold out or too expensive. It certainly didn't help that he was running short on cash, all the money he had earned that weekend going into repairs on Ecto-1, which was in rough shape after all the stress put on her. He managed to get all the other essential gifts - purple roses, a box of Violet's favorite chocolates, and a necklace with a heart-shaped stone of Onyx (a gem he knew meant protection, calming, and release of negative energies, three things he knew Violet needed lately). He settled finally on a regular size teddy bear, though reluctantly. He just hoped Violet wouldn't be too disappointed.

-

The next day, both Violet and Ray were busy once again. But, they had the evening free to be alone together. They agreed they wanted to stay home, so Ray cooked salmon for dinner, exchanged gifts (Violet got him a framed cel from Murray the Mantis, one of Ray's favorite cartoons, signed by the animator, who she met at a con) and they settled in to watch Cinderella (Violet's favorite "romantic" movie). As they cuddled on the couch, Ray turned to her. "Are you happy now, my moon goddess?"

Violet blushed at her pet name. "Of course I am. You're here."

"I'm only sorry I couldn't bring you a bigger teddy bear."

"You silly. You brought me the biggest, cuddliest, sweetest teddy bear in the whole world. My favorite teddy bear."

"I did?"

"Yeah," She nodded, and poked her finger into the center of the chest she was curled up into. "He's right here."

His face turned bright red, and he smiled so bashfully she couldn't help but kiss him.

#ghostbusters #the real ghostbusters #ray stantz #so yeah happy valentines day i love ray more than anything in the world

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Saturday 9 August 1834

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1

quiet night cutting nails and preparing another linen for cousin very fine morning F72° at 9 am - very hot in the night – breakfast at 9 –out at 11 35 A- and I with George and laquais de place (in landaulette and [pair]) chez Paturlet and compagnie Place St. Pierre no. 1  buying shawl for Miss W- of Cliff Hill and for Marian – then at a print shop or 2 and home at 2 ½ - A- had cold fowl – out again at 3 20 – bought plan of Lyons and at the musée from 4 20 to 5 – the silver shield found in the Rhone sold by the authorities of the city for a great price to government and gone to Paris – government wants the large picture, view of the taking of Lille by Louis 14 – but not to be sold unless for a large sum – the cabinet (a large handsome Noyer armoire) of 15,500 medals not to be seen but by express permission of the authorities of the city – 2 good pictures by Rubens and 1 or 2 by the old Italian masters, otherwise nothing very particular - from 5 to 5 25 in the musée of natural history in the same building (old convent of dames de St Pierre) this musée has made great acquisitions this year and is being newly done [?] - the mineralogical part all yet to place in the handsome Noyer armoires of 500 to 600fr. a piece - very fine fossil fish from the country of Dorset and several things from England - said I had chez Lafont mineralogist on the quai but found him too dear - for a smallish specimen of iron from Chessy asked 6/. because the mine of this iron Epuisé [épuisé] - asked 40/. for a quartz crystal very large and fine but not worth so much - from  the musée del histoire natural to the bank of Guerin and co. – got 1990/. for £75 exchange 25/20 - did not go out of the carriage - sent for someone to come to me - then to the Jardin des plantes – rather a nice pretty promenade for the people, overlooking from the top part great part of the city - then to Léonard Drivon, an ingenious velvet-weaver, the inventor of the means of weaving velvet 1 1/2 aune wide - began 8days ago and will finish in 8 months, 45 ells of this, vert émeraude, at 250/. l’aune for the King of England to his salon with - much interested - the weft is divided into toile which forms the piece and poile which stars up thro’ the toile, is cut, and forms the nap or velvet - the battant (beam) weights 150 lbs. the poile is raised on a brass wire round with a small grove in it on one side, and the 2 other sides flat and brought to an edge opposite the round part - this grove is by a lean forward of the beam brought to the top, and a small tool runs along and cuts the poile and thus forms the velours or nap - it takes 6 ½ ells of poile to make 1 ell of velvet - the man and his daughter (aetatis 16) have 50/. an ell for weaving and can weave an ell in a week - only invented the means of weaving velvet so wide, 5 years ago - was doing some for Charles X, but when he was déchée, his order countermanded - he had his frames to knock up and thus lost 4000fr. by the revolution - the négocians do not manufacture themselves - the workmen find loans and house room and everything for so much an ell - Leonard has all the workmen in this building, under him - and he has one ½ and they the other of what is paid for weaving - setting a frame to waistcoat piece of velours broché, costs 400/. or 500fr. so that in fact, the master workman does not gain enough - his wife upstairs (2 stories) with the people weaving these waistcoat pieces - she can earn 15/. a week having 9/. an ell for the piece she is doing - left A- downstairs with Leonard and went to see the waistcoat weaving  - the frames (the mechanism at the top, to form the pattern) very complex – Leonard is employed by M. Montera and co. rue des Feuillans – he deals in all sort of soierie – a great whole sale warehouse but will sell by retail - cheaper than the retail shop – A- and I will go and see - home again at 7 ½  dinner at 7 ¾ - A- much better today – wrote all the above of today till 12 tonight – very fine day – very hot – I am now sitting in my dressing gown in a state of solution - F72 ½° at 11 ¼ pm - A- in bed by 10 ½

[beasley02conradsen]

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[kessicasrps]

"Of course. That's a good idea and I want to make sure to keep you and our family safe," I say, referring to Haley. "I don't plan on telling Eleanor where we live and any meetings I have with Brooke, I think I am going to have in a neutral place at first until I can trust her to know where we live and not tell her mother," I say, hating that it felt like she was Eleanor's spy and informant but that's truly what it felt like right now. I continue to hold you close, smiling softly as I heard your words. "Okay, I will follow my dream only if you follow yours. But I think it's time we both start doing what is best for us and what we want to do. I have enough money saved up to financially support us and our daughter, too. I think it'd be good for her to see us following our dreams," I smile softly at you before blushing a bit as I heard your words. "I love you too, beautiful."

---

(skipping)

A year had passed and Haley was now six, and we were living together in a really nice house. Haley was being homeschooled online, and the cafe had been turned into my fashion studio and your music studio. I was at work, putting together some designs while Haley sat in my back office doing school since we couldn't stay at home and you were out taking care of the last few bits of your divorce. -J

"All right, now that we've got everything settled between you two, Eleanor, since you have caused more damage than Louis did, you will be paying him alimony for five years since you earned more money than he did, and with the amount you've earned, you are required to pay him $3,000 a year for the next five years, and he owes you nothing, and since there wasn't a prenup, Louis is entitled to half your earnings and he's entitled to all belongings that he purchased, now it's come down to the last thing that you've been putting off, custody of Brooke." -Lawyer

I bit my lip nervously, as I was hoping this wouldn't come down to this. "Look, I'm okay with giving him money, because I'll just get it replaced easily, but when it comes to my daughter, I'm just not willing to share, and she's even said so herself that she doesn't want to see Louis because he prefers Haley, according to her, and it's not our fault he wants to abandon us," I say rudely. "So how about, I keep full custody and he doesn't see Brooke at all, and I just pay him even more than what I'll be paying him and we just call this done? Besides, he's already got a restraining order against me, so why should my daughter be allowed around him?" I asked nervously as I looked at my lawyer. He knew the whole truth about Brooke and I was afraid of this blowing up. "Help? How do I keep him away from my daughter?" -E

I sighed as I rubbed my head. "We've gone over this Eleanor, you can't just buy him out of his, and if you don't want him around Brooke, you need to tell him the truth. He deserves to know the truth. Even Brooke knows the truth and he doesn't and money isn't going to buy your way out of this one, you can't continue to put this off. You're getting divorced, you knew he'd fight for custody, and from what you've told me, you need to tell him the truth," -Eleanor's Lawyer

"No! He doesn't need to know the truth, Brooke doesn't want to see him and that's that," I lied with a faint chuckle. -E

"Eleanor! Tell him now, or you're going to make this divorce way worse than it is, and even when you do tell him, it's going to blow up, so you might as well tell him," -Eleanor's Lawyer

__

I smile fondly at you, keeping our fingers intertwined and bringing our hands up to my lips before kissing gently over your knuckles. "Thank you, baby. You are the sweetest. You're a great actor, though. I love how good you were at acting like you didn't want me from the moment that you first met me," I tease you playfully, smirking back at you. "Well, we're alone now and you can kiss me any time you want, you know.. I didn't want to stop kissing you either. In fact, I would love to do more than just kiss you," I tease you, my mind stuck on what happened between us last night.

---

I kept you close to me as you kissed over my knuckles. "And you are the sweetest too, baby," I say honestly as I kissed all over your face. "And you are a wonderful actress," I tell you. "It was hard to not act like that but I managed," I chuckled softly as I pulled you onto my lap and I kissed you again. "I'd love nothing more than you kiss you, baby girl,"

#( & you're on your own kid rp ) #( & i'm falling in love again rp )

[swaggadiggs]

The Tragedy of Joshua Johnson

I laid in bed last night unable to sleep. I tossed and turned, for hours, trying to focus on falling asleep. My eyes closed and breathing slowly and deeply. Still, sleep never came. As I laid there, wrestling with the wake demon, searching endlessly for the sandman, I was frustrated with my inability to pass into the dreamland.

After four long hours I sat up in my bed, thinking about my son. Sad for what I had done, for what I had to do; for all that had happened. It was all just a blur now but still it resonated sharply enough to have an effect on me. The memories were still fresh enough to haunt me.

It was 1976, I was 21 years old, fresh out of college and I had just returned home to the family farm, bright-eyed and ready to take on the world. I knew I was gonna take this run down old farm of ours and turn things around; make a big success of things. I wanted to grow this farm into one of those mega-farms with all the fancy equipment. I’d get big new tractors, new cilos; new everything brand new and bigger and better; modern and fancy. Just imagine. Me, Louis Johnson, with a giant high-tech farm in this little town.

It was a shame my father wasn’t around to celebrate my graduation. He died about a year before. I knew he would have been so proud of me. Mama made sure I knew and understood that. She made up a lot for his absence when I came home. She met me with the biggest party I ever had. All the neighbors were there. I could have sworn she had invited the whole town. When I asked her about it she just grinned, looked away and said, “No, son. I can’t afford to feed the whole town.” Then she laughed a big bright laugh.

Still I was so happy. It was the greatest party I had ever had. Still, that level of happiness doesn’t last too long. Don’t get me wrong, I was happy to be home, back in the town where I grew up. Happy to see my Mama again, but the state of the farm, since my dad passed away, has gotten so bad. My mama tries to take care of things and she does the best she can, but there are just some things she can’t do. So I have to help out, and I’m glad to do it. I’ve mostly been working the fields and doing what I could. She often had to hire temporary farm hands to help with the major work, which became more and more often, and she was getting older. So Jorge and Rodrigo, come by about twice a week to take care of some of the heavy lifting and moving things around. They really like harvest time because they get more steady work from mama and the pay is a little better too after she finishes the market sales.  Although, It still wasn’t quite enough. The money she’d saved was running out. I knew I had to do something.

So I got a job. It wasn’t the best job in the world but in a town like this, you don’t have too many options. The job I found was very simple. I took a position down at the feed store. It consisted of tossing hay, and packing sacks of feed and whatever other grunt work that old man Wilson was getting too old to do. It was ok, I was able to help out with expenses on the farm and sometimes I had a little money left over for myself. I was even able to earn just enough to keep Jorge and Rodrigo coming around to help out. The perk of the job was that Mr. Wilson gave me a good discount on feed and seed when I needed to buy some.

Well, that was my home coming, and everything was fine, until the night we found him. Mama and I had just finished up dinner. She was cleaning the kitchen and I was sitting in my Daddy’s old chair watching a little TV before bed. Then I heard a noise out on the front porch. Mama heard it too. We both went to take a look. I urged Mama to stay behind, and I would check it out. She insisted on coming along since it was still her house.

She said, “I can check my own door, thank you very much.”

So to check the door, the both of us went. I looked through the peephole, while mama peered out the window next to the door. Neither of us saw anything. “Must have been a coon or some other animal, but it’s gone now,” I surmised. Ready to call it a fluke, we looked at each other, and then started to go back to what we were doing. Then we heard what sounded like a baby crying.

Quickly, I opened the door to find a baby in a basket. I was completely shocked to see such a thing. It was a little baby boy. I thought this kind of thing only happened in stories. I scooped up the little bundle, basket and all. I brought him into the house and set him on the kitchen table. Mama and I stared at him for what had to be an hour.

“What the hell are we gonna do with him?” Mama asked.

“Well, I suppose the first thing is to figure out how to feed him.” I answered. 

“Then what?” asked Mama.

“Well we have to do something, Mama,” I answered.

“We have to call the authorities,” said Mama, “That's what we have to do.”

“Okay, Mama, you’re right. We’ll make sure we get him fed, and then we'll make that call in the morning.” I replied.

We fed him and then got him cleaned up, and put him in a safe place to sleep. We both went to bed that night, both dumbfounded and excited. A new little life in the house, and of course, as you may have guessed, it was not a quiet night.

The next morning I woke up to find that the baby was gone. I was alarmed at first, but then I heard Mama talking to him, in that silly baby talk voice mothers always use. I went downstairs to find Mama playing with the baby.

“Hey, Mama.” I interrupted.

“You’re up, Honey?” she asked, flashing that big bright grin.

“Did you call them?” I asked.

Mama looked at me with sad but informing eyes, “Yeah, I did.”

I could see she was sad about seeing the little tyke go but she was right. It’s the right thing to do. She fell silent for a moment. She seemed to regret having made that call, but then after a minute or two, she snapped out of it. Then she put the baby down and said, “They should be here soon. We’d better get ready.”

“You okay, Mama?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine, it’s just that it’s been quite a few years since there was baby in this house, and well, that’s got me missin’ your dad,” she explained.

We both stood there for a moment, just looking at him, as he lay there completely oblivious to what’s going on.

A lady from Child Protective Services came by to interview us. We met her at the door. As she was walking up the steps to the porch she immediately introduced herself. Mrs. Roina Green was her name.

“Glad to meet you, Mrs. Green. Won’t you come in?” Mama greeted her. 

I offered Mrs. Green some coffee and a place to sit. She passed on the coffee. 

“So, I understand, by the information given to me, you reported that the child was left on your doorstep. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” I answered.

We explained what happened and how the baby just showed up on our doorstep. She was skeptical at first, thinking we might have kidnapped the baby.

“So I’m not sure I understand what you’re telling me.” she said. 

“What’s not to understand?” I asked.

“You’re telling me that someone just put their baby on your doorstep and disappeared without saying a word.”

From the start, she got on my nerves, sittin’ there all prim and proper, and looking down her nose at me because her glasses hung that low; and probably on purpose because she’d get to look at people that way. I was taken aback by her making accusations at me and Mama about where this child came from. She had some nerve. 

Anyway, we quickly dispelled that thought. I mean, who would kidnap a baby just to turn it over to C.P.S.?

“Do we look like kidnappers to you? Have there been any reports of a missing baby?”

“Okay, I believe you.” she relented. “Okay, we will have to do some paperwork and then get a list of potential fosters to receive the baby.”

I was absolutely floored by her suggestion. I thought maybe she’d make a file and then leave him with us. Wishful thinking I guess. Honestly I didn’t know the first thing about raising children, but I had Mama, we could work as a team while I learn.

I have to admit, I had grown attached to the little bugger in that short time. I hounded the lady about the kid. I was curious as to whether they had found the mother, or any of his family. She told me that they hadn’t found anyone yet. The trail was so cold that the mother couldn’t be found, I guess. There had been no new births reported by the hospital around the time the kid was presumed to have been born. She also told me that if Mama and I wanted to  take him in as his fosters, we could. I was so excited to hear that and I immediately agreed. I had forgotten to ask Mama about it, but judging from the look on her face the other morning when he was here, I was sure everything would be fine.

“Okay, shall we get the paperwork started?” asked the case worker.

So when they brought the little monkey back home, Mama was kinda upset that I hadn’t talked to her about it but when she finally looked that little wiggler in the face, she melted right there on the spot. I knew she had grown to like him too, just as fast as I did. We named him Joshua.

About four months passed and things were great. Joshua had grown so much. We had so much joy taking care of him, playing with him, watching him grow. Based on what they told us about his examination they estimated he was about three months old when we found him, so by now he would have been about seven months old. I proclaimed myself in the position of fatherhood, over the boy. As much as I enjoyed him as an infant, I couldn’t wait until he was old enough so I could take him fishing, exploring, and hunting; teach him how to farm and all that. You know, father-son stuff. We had a blast taking care of him and playing with him, loving him. Only, there was one thing that concerned us. One night, he was not himself. He became feverish, constantly crying, and throwing god awful fits. It just wasn’t like him. At first Mama thought it was collock.  He didn’t eat for most of the day.  Then all of a sudden, about four hours into his fit, he finally ate something. I would say at this point things were normal, But I will have you know that I was completely wrong about that. Now, his hunger was insatiable. I just couldn’t understand it for the life of me.  

This little fart ate and ate and ate. We became very concerned about feeding him too much so we stopped and his fits and crying became unbearable. So we  gave him a little bit more. Not too much but just a couple of spoonfuls more. He was quiet while his mouth was busy. 

“He doesn’t need any more to eat, Bubba!” Mama scolded me for feeding so much.

“Well heck, Mama? It’s the only thing keeping him quiet.” I replied. 

“He doesn’t know any better. He just needs his stomach to settle,” said Mama.

Then when he was done with that bit, up started the squalling and, Oh my God, the screaming was horrific. I was so loud, my ears began to ring like some alarm was going off in a tiny room. So I gave just a little bit more. A couple more spoonfuls, half loaded this time. I was sure this couldn’t be good for him. Still, like a champ, he powered down everything we shoved in his face.

“Man, look you go, little man,” I exclaimed. Forgetting about the sheer volume of it all, I sort of found myself cheering him on.

Then he puked. Projectile style as luck would have it. It got everywhere. Shot across the room like a little spew cannon. 

“You get to clean that up,” Mama laughed.

I guess I knew I shouldn’t have given him any more but the crying would not stop. My head couldn’t take it anymore. At least now he was quiet. I stood there looking at the mess I had to clean up, but I didn’t care. That little monster was quiet and I was happy about that. He looked happy too. Hell he was so happy he went right to sleep.

There was sweet silence then. I was so appreciative. I didn’t even mind having to clean up the mess. I whistled my way through it. 

A year had gone by and things were just dandy with Joshua. He was growing and learning. Every once and a while, he would have another one of his fits. In total, he had about three of those fits in the last year. However it’d gotten to where it doesn’t really bother me much anymore. I’d come to understand what to expect. It just scared me a little bit about those bouts of hunger he gets. Still most days are absolutely blissful. He was so smart, so energetic and a very good little boy. 

Mama passed away a few weeks after Joshua turned 5 years old. Josh and I were devastated, but we pressed on. It was just him and me now. I was about 27 years old by then. I had adopted Joshua by then but I was starting to long for companionship. So every other week or so, I would put my little Joshua in the care of a trusted neighbor and head to the local bar in hope of meeting someone. I didn’t have a whole lot of luck in that area. The women in these parts are far and few between, so to speak. Some were not attractive, some were not as sophisticated and I would prefer, and most were just not interested in me. 

By the time Joshua was ten, I found someone. Her name was Corina Kimble.  We became very close rather quickly. It just clicked, I guess. Joshua liked her too, he couldn’t stay out of her sight very long. Things got kinda serious between me and Corina rather quickly. I moved her in after about six months of dating. We immediately became a happy family. However it took some getting used to, when Corina first encountered one of Joshua’s fits. At first she was a bit concerned, but, after a couple of them, she was an old pro getting through it. That was a huge relief for me, since Joshua’s fits became more frequent. Not by much, but a little more frequent. Instead of two or three times in a year it was more like five or six. 

One night, though, things got a little hairy. Joshua started having one of his fits. This one was different. On this night, I noticed the moon was full. I’m not sure if there was a full moon every time, but I know that on this night, the moon was full. It was eerie and disorienting. Joshua was worse than ever. Not only did he have a fever, was irritable, and was the return of that insatiable hunger. He was really hard to handle. On two occasions, he bit both me and Corina whenever we tried to calm him. We had trouble keeping him in bed. He had developed a really filthy mouth. I didn’t pay it too much attention, it wasn’t something he did any other time. I was sure it was just the fit. 

Oddly enough, it lasted longer than usual. They lasted longer than a few hours before. This one lasted nearly until dawn. Corina wanted me to take him to see a doctor. I explained to her that he had seen several doctors, and none of them could explain why these fits happened. They said that he was physically fine. She countered by suggesting a psychiatrist.  I was livid that she could even suggest such a thing. 

“I am not taking my son to see a shrink like some little pansy kid that finds it hard to cope with life!” I shouted. 

“To ignore something like is just the same as child abuse.” Corina responded.

Although, I love my Joshua, and I love Corina, and it was that love that I had for the both of them, that allowed me to at least consider taking my son to see a shrink. So that’s what I did. I found a very reputable child psychologist in the next town. It was about an hour’s drive away.

After a few sessions, I was able to meet with the doctor, and she gave me a pretty good understanding of what Josua was going through. After about ten minutes of psychobabel I didn’t understand but the overall prognosis was that there was nothing really wrong with him. 

“A little bit of acting out,” she said, “but other than that, no real serious disorders or anything.” 

She basically told me that I had to be that strict parent whenever his fits arose. 

You couldn’t imagine the relief I felt when she told me that, but I was still a little on the fence about strict parenting. It wasn’t really my style, since it wasn’t the way my father raised me. Still, I felt more like I was in control. I guess it was more her straightening me out, instead of straightening him out.

I kept taking him to see her. I would have to admit that it was really good for him. His fits were far and few between. When he did have them, they were milder and more manageable. The doc’s sessions apparently consisted of behavioral modification exercises and stuff. Whatever she was doing, I was surely grateful.  

I married Corina about a year later. Now my son truly has a mom. At that point we were a true family. Joshua was ecstatic about it even though he was already calling her Mom, and she often introduced him as her son. They apparently had worked a deal between them to do such a thing. I guess they wanted to make me happy about a thing like that, and I was. Truth be told I was just happy that they got along and clicked. Unlike other step-parents and their step-children. Now, however, it was all official. Things were going great from that point on. Life was good. 

Three days leading up to Joshua’s 13th birthday, we had to take him to the emergency room. You see, he had another fit. I know I said that his fits had become far and few between but he still had them from time to time. For this fit, there was no exercise to help him. It was really bad. So much so that he had bitten a hole clean through his bottom lip. There was blood everywhere. 

At the emergency room, Corina and I had to answer a lot of questions as to how he got that hole in his lip.

“Oftentimes, when a child comes in with this type of injury it’s the child who has been struck by someone or something.” the nurse explained.

 I was furious that they could have back-handedly accused me or my wife of striking our precious child. “Lady, I need you and your doctors to take care of my baby boy and stop all these accusations you’re making.” was that I was thinking. Instead I kept my cool and answered all of their questions, because I knew the truth and truth can’t be faulted. They still wanted to keep him for observations, because of the fever he was spiking, it was quite high. Reluctantly, Corina and I agreed. We also provided them with the contact information to the Psychiatrist that Joshy was seeing, just so they could understand that this rather routine with us. 

“Mr. Johnson, we understand this could be routine for you, but we also want to make sure that his fever is not due to some kind of infection. It’s great that you’re getting him help emotionally but please let us give him the physical and medical help he may need.” explained the Doctor.

“OKay,” I said begrudgingly.  I reckon that was all I could do. I’m sure they would have had my son taken away if I refused anyway. So there you go. 

The next morning we got Joshy home. He had a lip full of stitches but other than that he was fine. The doctors had given him a clean bill of health. They couldn’t find anything physically wrong with him. Even a cat scan didn’t show anything wrong with him. 

From there we went on with life as usual. Joshua’s birthday came and went, we were happy as clams.

On his 17th birthday, Corina and I got him a car. A 64 Chevelle. It wasn’t much but it was a good way for him to get around, meet and do things with friends even though he didn’t have many. I was so proud that he was so happy. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for my boy. For a few weeks, things were fine. Joshua always let us know when he was going out, and where he was going. So responsible. Just another reason to be proud of my son. 

Then things began to change a bit. He did meet some new friends. They weren’t what I would call good people. They were necessarily bad, I don’t think I could say. Hell, I never seen them do anything wrong, but, you know when you don’t trust someone, you don’t trust them. Corina said I should give them some slack or whatever. Something about different generations and what not. I don’t know, this is something kinda new to me. 

One Joshua came home late. I had to admit, I was quite upset. I met him at the door. He was drunk, stumbling all over the place, slamming into everything in the room. To tell I was unhappy would be an understatement. I was more disappointed than anything, though. I could really get that mad at him. I remember when I was his age. I got him straightened up a bit and put him to be. “Well talk in the morning.”

That next morning, I heard him stumbling down the stairs. He was hungover and I’m sure head was pounding something serious. I had a bit of a mind to wrap on the table and rattle his brain a little bit, but I thought that would be cruel. So I invited him to sit down and have some of the breakfast his mother made for him. “You need to feed that pain, but first drink some water. You’ll feel better once you get hydrated.”

I let have a few bites of the wonderful breakfast his mom laid out for him before I began the conversation. 

“Okay, let’s talk about last night, son.” 

“It’s no big deal.” he said like it was no big deal.

“You don’t understand, son. I want to talk about your recent behavior. Not just last night,” I said to him. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it because you always get bent outta shape, whenever we have these little conversations about me and my friends.” he scoffed. 

I wasn’t appreciative of his attitude. This was not like him at all. We argued a bit, then he got up from the table and stormed outside. I jumped into his car and sped off. By then I was furious. I started after him, but Corina stopped me. 

“Maybe he’s having another fit, just differently,” she suggested. 

“Nah, he’s just being a little shit, er-teenager.” I answered.

“Either way, maybe try a little understanding.” Corina said. 

I took her advice and let it go for the moment. When Joshua got back home, he was calmer, and he actually got home on time and sober. So, when he came into the house, I looked at him as he looked at me. I just nodded him on to go to his room without questions, or fights. Maybe something I said actually sank in when he had time to think about it. 

So, there were a few more days or nights like that however. I wasn’t that cured of being a rebellious teen. Corina and I had to deal with it as it came. We got through it just like we did when he was a little one. We just had to make sure he was safe, but one night, He came home and there was blood on his clothes, little spots here and there. I asked him about it, but he wouldn’t budge on where it came from. I had become so secretive in those days. 

On his eighteenth birthday, he went out again with his friends, despite the fact that his mom and I had a great little birthday celebration planned for him. Corina made him a big beautiful cake, and I had a nice gift for him. Before we could start the festivities, he was out the door. Gone to celebrate with his friends. We were quite heartbroken that day. 

Just as I suspected, He came home drunk again, but something was different. He was different. He wreaked alcohol but he didn’t stagger or stumble. Instead, when he came into the house, He walked past his mom and me, like nothing. Like we were nothing. 

“Okay that’s it!” I shouted. 

He turned and looked at me, inviting me to do something, but at the same time, warning me to stay away. His breath was elevated, I could tell his fever spiked. I could feel the heat radiating off of him from where I was standing.

“Son, you okay?” I asked as my anger quickly turned to concern. 

“I’m fine, just tired.” he answered.

“Tired from what? Slipping on your mother and me when we had a nice birthday planned for you.” I reminded him.

“So it’s the guilt trip, now, huh dad?”

“No, no guilt trip. Just an expectation that maybe you would realize how you hurt your mother and me tonight.”

“Sounds like a guilt trip to me.”>>>

That night we fought and argued back and forth. It went until the sun came up. Everything that I was feeling about his behavior in recent days came out. Corina tried to calm us both down but we didn’t relent. We continued until the shoving started.  That’s when Corina jumped in between us. Neither of us wanted to hurt her. We really didn’t want to hurt each other, we let our emotions get the better of us. 

After a few minutes of angry heavy breathing, Joshua went to bed, and I wasn’t too far behind him. It wasn’t like us to be at each other’s throats like that but I didn’t understand what happened to my son. I couldn’t make heads or tales of it. It was like living with a stranger. 

The next few weeks were about the same, no worse, no better. We had our spats and this and that, mostly about his friends, and the late nights. He didn’t always come home drunk, but sometimes he just came home angry or agitated. He never wanted to talk about it. 

One evening, I had just finished my work in the fields. It had been a long day. A few pieces of equipment were in need of repair and some parts were needed but not wouldn’t be available for about a week. I was sitting out of the front porch just catching my breath. Then I heard the police sirens whirring from the road. I was a gang of them, one after another. They were in a big hurry somewhere, I wasn’t sure. The first thing that popped into my head was Joshua. I became very worried. I hadn’t seen him all day, and I didn’t know where he’d gone. Corina stepped out when she heard the noise.

“Was that the police?” she asked, worriedly.

“It was,” I answered.

“Joshua?”

“Don’t know. Hope not.” I leaned forward in my chair wrenching my hands. Corina came and sat down beside me. I took her hand and held it tight. “I’m sure he’s ok.”

About an hour went by and we heard nothing, and we hadn’t heard from our boy joe yet, but we tried to stay calm. Then headlights appeared in the drive. It was Joe Ferguson from the next farm over, coming over his old pickup.  I pulled up to the house, and jumped out of his truck. 

“Hey, neighbor.” 

“Joe.”

“Just stopped by to chit chat a bit. D’ya hear what happened?”

“Hear what?” Corina asked. 

“They found a body over at Shertz Lake.” he replied. 

“Who?”

“Can’t say,” he responded, “Unrecognizable, they say. Body was torn to shreds, like an animal attack.” 

I was ready to buy into it. “There’s nothing around that could do anything like that to a person.  “You sure you hear right, Joe? Nothing like that around here.”

“There used to be wild cats around here years and years ago. Until they all got hunted out.” Joe said.

“Yeah, maybe they weren’t all gone,” I thought outloud.

Joe came back with, “Yeah, maybe.”

We talked more for a couple of hours. The sun had gone down, and it was as dark as pitch. The only was coming from the lamp I had sitting on the table beside me. Then Joshua arrived, agitated as usual. The conversation instantly fell quiet as we watched get out of his car. 

“What’s everybody looking at?” Joshua asked. 

“Hey, Joshua, haya doin?” 

“Fine.” Josh answered, annoyed. Then he just walked by everybody and went inside the house. I was going to say something about his rudeness to Joe, but Corina stopped me. 

“Let him go. Just be glad he’s home and he’s okay.”

Joe was kind of confused about her comment so we explained to him what had been going on with Josh this past few months, and then about how we feared the worst when we heard the sirens. Joe was pretty understanding about it all. 

“I’m not offended. Hell, he’s just a kid.” said Joe. 

Joe hung around another hour or so, before he took off. Corina and I stayed out there a few minutes more than decided to go to bed. As we laid in bed we could hear through the walls, the conversation Jushua was having with one of his friends on the phone. I couldn’t really make out exactly what he was saying. I could only catch a few things, and they didn’t sound right to me. 

“What if they find out?” his voice murmured and reverberated through the wall. 

The next morning I tried to talk to him again about it. He was closed up as usual. Only this time without all the animosity. He was calm and actually quite polite. Still, so full of secrecy. I backed off saying, “okay, buddy. I get it, you’re eighteen now.” He looked up at me almost as if he knew what I was going to say next. I continued, “You’ve got your own life now, and that means you're a man now. So it’s time to be a man, get a job, and get your own place.”

It’s funny how when you challenge your semi-grown jobless kids with independence, they instantly turn into the most polite, apologetic, self repentant little angels. Of course, like the spineless jellyfish of dad I was, I relented and allowed him to stay. Back up to his room he went. In a way I was kind of relieved. Corine looked at me with a big cheshire cat type smile.

“You weren’t going to kick him out anyway.” she scoffed. 

“I guess not. I don’t know. I’m just glad it didn’t have to come to that.” I answered as she stroked my face. “Hopefully that little standoff might straighten him out.”

Things were fine for the next few months. He still went out with his friends, but not as often and not really any late nights. He seemed to fall back in line and respect my house rules. I was okay with that.

Joshua’s 19th birthday was coming up. Corina and I were planning something again for Josh but this time we made sure to tell him that we had plans. Didn’t want to have any repeats of the last birthday.

Then three days before the day, we found a note he’d left for us.

‘Dear Mom and dad,

I’m sorry to do this to you but Jake and Darrell invited me to go on a road trip for my birthday. I know you had special plans for me and I hate to miss it but they promised to take me to see some sights in the city. I want to celebrate my birthday with you too but I don’t want to miss out on seeing the city. I should be back the day after. Maybe we can celebrate then. I know it’s not the same but I figure a late celebration is better than none at all. Don’t you? I love you.

Joshua,’

Again I was disappointed, and Corina was devastated. Again. He was turning 19. Nothing really I could do. I consoled my wife that night and we made the best of it. The big day came and went, and we heard nothing from our boy the whole time.

The next he made it home like he promised. And we celebrated his birthday a day late. Though sadly, Corina’s heart just wasn’t in it that day. She just sort of went through the motions. She tried to smile but as she explained to me later on, it was hard to do because it just wasn’t the same if it was on the day. I could say I blamed her, but think she did a pretty good job getting through it all.

A few days later, Corina was picking up the dirty clothes in Joshua’s room for the laundry and she noticed a few pieces had blood on them. She told me about it and she wanted me to talk to him. She was worried. There had been a couple more strange murders in the area, since the last time. A few people have gone missing.  I can’t lie and say that I wasn’t nervous about the conversation I needed to have. The last time it didn’t go so well. We had finally got peace in our house. Most of all, I hated to think that there was any possibility that my son could have anything to do with the strange occurrences. 

He was working now, so I waited for him to get home from work. I needed to know everything was fine with him. When he came home, he was agitated and wired. His breathing was heavy, and he was feverish again. I thought, “Oh, you’re having one of your fits.”

“It’s not a fit, old man!” he shouted back at me.

“Yup.” I replied. “Go on, get up to your room and try to stay calm.”

As he trapsed up the stairs, I called out, “You hungry?”

“Fuck you!” he snapped. Then I heard his door slam.

“Yup, it’s a fit.” I thought to myself as I took a breath trying to let that filthy response wash over me. It was just him reacting to his fit. I knew that this was not the time to try to have a conversation with him.

Corina appeared at the top of the stairs, looking at me for confirmation that I had talked to him but I had to explain that it was no use when he’s having his fit. I promised her I would talk to him in the morning. We both went to bed.

During the night we heard Josh writhing in his bed and sometimes we heard him pounding on his mattress. He grunted and groaned. I got up to check on him. When I knocked on the door, ”Joshy, You okay?”

“Go away, I’m fine.”

I let him work through it as I have in the last few years. He seemed to get through it fine. Tomorrow, he’ll be right as rain. I went back to bed, but just before I did, I said a little prayer for him.

It was about 4:36 am, on a Tuesday morning. I was woken up by a police pounding on my door. They were looking for Joshua. I sent Corina to get but she came back down saying he wasn’t in his bed. We told this to the cop but the cop was just more aggravated about that. He said it was imperative that they find him. I asked him what he had done but then they clammed up and said they just wanted to ask him some questions. I knew that was bullshit.

I asked if a cop would spend that much time banging on someone’s door the way he did, just to ask some questions. 

“Who the hell did this Jack-a-mole think he was foolin,” I thought to myself. Still after all of that, I still worried that my boy was in trouble and, god forbid, my boy did something that aroused the law.

“Well if you see him, please give us a call, sir.” the cop said.

“Sure thing, officer.” I replied unconvincingly.

He left my porch and got back in his car, and I shut the door. Then I turned around to find Joshua standing at the top of the stairs. I looked up at him, inquisitively. He could tell by the look on my face that I was suspicious. Then he quickly disappeared to his room.

“Fine, son, but in the morning, we’re talking.” I yelled up at him.

Then the door slammed. I don’t really understand where I went wrong. I had given everything he could have asked for. Still, my son was seemingly unappreciative. I spent a few minutes pondering about that then I decided to turn in.

The next morning, there was another knock at the door. The cop had returned looking for Joshua. Luckily Josh wasn’t up yet so it was easy to say that he hadn’t come home yet. That pencil neck asshole wanted to check the house but I told him that he needed a warrant to get into my house. I’m not some undisciplined hippy fucker that hates cops. I love the cops, and I respect them, when they’re not coming after me and mine for no reason.

When the officer left, and I was sure he was long gone, I immediately went up-stairs, to wake Joshua up. We needed to have that talk. When I got to his room his door was left cracked open a bit, like he’s left it open for me. I guess he was waiting for me. I guess he was gonna make it easy to talk to him. I was definitely relieved that I wasn’t gonna have to struggle to get out of him what I needed to know. In fact, I was optimistic in the fact that I was gonna learn that he had done nothing.

Still, I knocked on the door, to announce to him that was available to talk, but there was no answer. Given the fact that his door was open, I took it upon myself to walk right in, only to find that  Joshua wasn’t even in the room.

“Joshy?” I called out, hoping he would answer from a different part of the house. There was no answer. I called out again, but still nothing. I went down stairs thinking maybe he didn’t hear me from the upper floor. So I went downstairs to the kitchen hoping to find him sitting at the breakfast table, wolfing down a third bowl of cereal. I didn’t find him there either. I called out again and still no answer from my son. My wife answered, however.

“He’s gone already.” she said.

She told me that he had gotten up earlier in the morning and left the house. She said he seemed to be in a hurry. I could help but think the worse by then. Reason being, If he hadn’t done anything, he wouldn’t be running.

“That’s it, that’s it!” I belted. “God knows I love my son, but he’s got to go.

Corina tried calming me down but there was no calming me down. I was furious, but more so, I was just tired of it all. We spend a third of our lives trying to raise our children to be the best individuals they can be. We sacrifice so much just to make sure they become upstanding functioning members of society and when they turn against you and all that you try to teach them. When they go out of their way to make sure you feel like you’ve failed, It’s a slap in the face.

All this, I convey to my wife, in one big unintelligible, “Roooaaar!”

All she could do was nod and say, “Ok.” A second later she added, “But promise me you won’t shut him out and refuse to see him when he comes around.”

“Okay.” I answered.

Three week went by and we hadn’t heard from  our boy.  Not a phone call, not a visit, not even a note left on the porch. We hadn’t heard him, and Corina was worried. I must admit, I was a little worried but my contempt for his attitude toward life and social responsibility was still high and heavy. I wouldn’t budge on my decision that he needed to be on his own.  At least until he’s learned some respect.

I went out to the barn that night. I had an urge to do something, so I decided to go out and do some cleaning. It hadn’t been cleaned in a while so I could kill two birds with one stone. I can burn off some extra energy and the barn gets an overdue clean up. I was sweeping the barn floor and as I made my way toward the back, I noticed the hay on the floor was getting strangely darker than it should have been given the time it was there. There was a smell too. It wasn’t your usual barn smell. It was the smell of rot, dead flesh. Normally I would dismiss it as maybe a rat or some other animal had died or something. That was my first thought. Still, I got curious and started looking around for the source of the smell. I looked around, all over the floor. I looked and searched, and looked some more. I didn’t find a single thing. Then just as I was about to give up and go back to my routine cleaning, I found it.

I damn near tripped over it. I looked closely at it but still wasn’t able to fully make out what I was seeing. The light wasn’t that great back there, so I leaned forward, squinting and straining my eyes, trying to build a visual picture of what was down there on the ground. I looked like bones, human bones from what I could tell. I charged toward the front of the barn and grabbed a shovel. I walked back to the pile of bones and scooped them up and carried them into the light so I could get a good look at them.

They were human bones alright. A few ribs, a femur and I think a couple radials. They all appeared to have teeth marks on them.  Strangely, no skull or teeth. I tried to think back, back to a time when I could remember hearing any strange noises coming from the barn. Maybe something that I dismissed as the animals being restless. Not a single memory came to mind. It was just uncanny. I couldn’t for the life of me, figure out where this mess could have come from. Then it hit me, like a freight train in the middle of the night. Joshua. This is what he’d been hiding. All this time, He’d been hiding the fact that he’d killed someone. I couldn’t bear it, knowing that my boy had done something like this. Drinking, okay, maybe a little getting high from time to time, okay; but this, this was beyond the line. I fell, instantly to my knees, weeping, and blubbering like some baby without a mother.  My son was a murderer.

I think about 15 minutes had gone by, until I managed to dry my face and suck up the last of my sobs and breathe steady breaths. I hoisted myself to my feet with the help of my shovel thinking, “Something’s gotta be done.”  I found myself digging a hold out in the field, the pile of bones beside me until I got the hole deep enough to toss the bones into and not be detected.  I truly despised what Joshua had done but I couldn’t just let his life end like this. I consoled myself with the thought that no one knows what happened to this poor soul. For all I know he could have stumbled into the barn, high on smack or something, and died there quietly. Unlikely but no one else would know anything different. So that’s the story if he ever got discovered, which was highly unlikely.

After I buried the remains of Mr. Whoever he was, I sat down on my front porch, drenched in sweat, tired and ready to pass out. I buried that shit deep. Corina came out to see about me and she brought me something nice and cold to drink. “Thank you babe,” as I received the cool glass in my hand.

“You look tired, Hun.” she said.

“I’m okay but this drink sure hit the spot,” I answered. Then she sat down next to me and we stared at the sunset.

In a strange way, I was at peace. I’m not sure if it was because of the fact that I once again-protected my son.

After that day, I went on about my days, as if nothing had happened. I didn’t tell Corina about what I had found in the barn. It would have killed her. I didn’t want her to hurt any more. It was bad enough Joshua vanished without a trace, and without a word, even to let us know he was still alive. No, I just kept that little secret to myself. It was Joshy and my little secret, that is if Joshua even had anything to do with it.

Three months had gone by since Joshy left. Not a word, and not a single sign of him. Then, like a ghost he showed up at our doorstep. He was skinny and poor as could be. I looked like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. Excitedly, I invited him in. With much trepidation he crossed the threshold of my front door. I did everything I could to make him feel welcomed and comfortable. He seemed to struggle with the treatment but he managed okay I guess.

I told him about the cops that were looking for him. I told him that they came around a couple more times after he left. “Those fuckers were really after you,” I said. He indicated that was the reason he stayed away for so long. He told me that he wasn’t sure he was going to come that night but something drew him here.

“I just felt like this was the place to be, right now,” he explained.

“Plus you were hungry and you have no money,” was what I wanted to say. I kept that comment to myself and instead replied,”Well the only thing that matters is that you’re here.”

He looked at me like he wanted to say something important. That look in his eyes, made me think of that pile of bones I found in the barn. I so badly wanted to ask him about it, but I couldn’t bring myself to mention it.

“You have to be hungry, I can tell,” said Corina as she entered the room with a tray carrying two plates piled with food.

Joshy reached up at the plate like a child after a piece of candy. It was absolutely the most adorable thing I had seen in a very long time. So I supposed I’d let him eat and enjoy his dinner before any conversation like the barn bones needed to be had.

After dinner was done, Corina was in the kitchen cleaning up. She was well out of earshot, so I figured it was time to bring up that awful subject.

“I found human bones in the barn,” I blurted.

He didn’t flinch, or in any other way, change his demeanor. I stared at him waiting for a reaction, but there was none. The only response that I got from him was, “Really?

I proceeded to tell him the whole story about the bones, and what I had done with him and every thought I had in between. Still he didn’t flinch.

“Some drunk or druggie, maybe?” he responded.

“Maybe,” I answered. “Could have been that, but there were marks on the bones.”

“Scavenging animals, I guess,” he offered.

“Likely so.” I accepted. Every response he gave to my every suggestion, just made complete sense and it was completely in line with my thoughts about the whole thing. I felt so much at ease with it all. I guess I worried for no reason.

He got very quiet after that. He just sat there staring at the floor. I watched him for a while, watching the carpet fade.

“Something the matter, son?” I asked. He didn’t respond. He was deep in thought about something. “Hey, there, son. You okay?”

He looked up at me with these eyes. I couldn’t figure out what he was thinking at this point. Honestly my head and been on such a rollercoaster ride, I didn’t know which way was up.

“Do you know what day it is?” he asked in a soft whispering voice.

“It’s Monday, son.” I answered.

“No, Dad.” he snapped. “Let me try to rephrase.”

I wasn’t sure where he was going but he was sure to let me know.

“Do you know what happens tonight?” He asked.

“No, son, what?” I answered. I was a little confused by the question. I could figure out what was happening that night that was of any significance. There were no sports events, no events in town, it wasn’t a holiday. Nothing came to mind. 

“What’s this all about, Joshy?” I pressed.

“It’s almost time, the sun’s nearly down and it’s almost time,” he answered. 

Confused, I looked at and then out the window at the crimson sky as the sun was setting. I noticed Joshy’s breath getting heavier. He started to get agitated and bothered. Then, I caught on. It finally hit me. He came home because he was about t>>>o have another fit. I guess by now he could feel it coming on. Well I was ready for it, hell I’d been through it many times before.  >>>>

Joshua started twitching. This was something new, but somehow I knew I could handle it. Then the snorting started. Also something new. I sat there staring at him as went through his convulsions, with his head writhing back and forth and rolling along his shoulders.

“Okay this was going to be a big one,” I thought.

Josh leaned forward and put his face in his hands. His very hairy hands. This was not a fit. It was something else. His twitch became more violent and his breathing even heavier. I thought at that point it couldn’t get any worse but there came the sound of bones crunching, and breaking.

“Oh God, Joshua, what is happening to you?” I cried.

Then through the window, was the glare of headlights. Someone had just pulled up in front of the house. This was definitely not the time to entertain visitors. 

“Joshy, we need to get you upstairs to your room.” I said.

I was like he didn’t even hear me. Nor could he hear the voices outside that called out to him. 

“Josh!”

There was a bunch of hootin’, and hollerin' going on out there. I knew then, it could only be those neerdowell friends of his. 

“Josh!” They called out for him again and again. I tried to urge Joshy to go upstairs to his room but he didn’t respond to me. “Josh, let’s go. Get upstairs, now!”

Nothing from Josh outside of him writhing and rolling on the ground. Everytime I looked at him, my heart nearly exploded. I couldn’t imagine the agony he was in. There was also terror as with each glance, there was more hair in places where there wasn’t supposed to be hair. 

The air filled with a stench, I’ve never smelled before. I wasn’t sure where it was coming from, but the more I watched my son going through whatever it was he was going through, the more I was convinced the smell was coming from my son. I wasn’t able to focus on that too long, there was still that little matter of the people on my front lawn. 

“Josh!” the voice called out. ”Get the fuck out here!”

“OKay, kiddo, I know you’re not in the best of shape, but we need to get you upstairs, now.” I muttered as I took him by the arm trying to help him upstairs. 

Then the door crashed open, and as I guessed, it was his friends breaking down my door. When I turned my attention from Josh and on to the front door, I was gripped with a very large hairy hand about the front of my shirt. Joshua grabbed me, lifted me up off my feet and tossed me across the room, like I was a piece of paper. 

“Oh yeah!” scream Joshua’s bum friend, Jake.

He stood there, breathing heavily and covered in hair, just like my Joshua. Also like Joshua, I could feel the heat radiating off of him. It was like I had two furnaces in my living room. 

“Why don’t you finish it, Josh? It’s what you’re supposed to do. It’s why you’re here.” Jake rambled. 

I jumped to my feet, and stepped between the two of them. “You leave my boy alone, Jake.” I ordered. At that moment, Jake stepped toward me and with one swipe, he knocked back on to the couch. 

“Finish it, Joshua!” Jake demanded. 

Then in stepped the others, Darryl and some other bastard I didn’t know. The two of them lumbered into the house, hairy and stinking to the high heavens. When Jake moved to attack me again, Joshua was all over him. The two began to fight and tussle all over the house. There was only the noise of furniture crashing and Corina screaming and angry growls of the two boys locked in deadly battle. 

After a minute or so it seemed Joshua was gaining the upper hand. Then the other two got in it. My boy was truly outnumbered.Still he continued to fight, biting and scratching. Punching and grabbing. Tossing and wrestling. I thought it would never end. All of my beautiful furniture and other things of value were completely destroyed. Smashed to bits.

Corina managed to avoid getting bumped into or somehow mixed up in the commotion, and she made it outside through the back door. There she waited for the outcome, whichever it may be. I, on the hand, got pinned in the corner of the room, unable to get out. Every time I tried to get out of that corner, the dog pile found its way right in front of me.

All I could do was just sit there and wait, with my eyes half closed and my face covered and protected by my arms and hands. The whole thing was so terrifying. Then I heard a loud crack. Joshua managed to pick Jake up, lifted him above his head and then brought him down onto the head of Darryl, the action breaking both Jake’s back and Darryl’s neck. The two of them dropped to the floor, lifeless and dead. The third hair bastard immediately stopped his pursuit of the fight, and ran out the door. 

Everything was quiet, now. Nothing was left in the house to make noise other than to crunch under foot. I got up from my useless hiding spot to check the condition of my home. I was devastated over all the breakage, but still I was relieved that it was all over and my son or whatever he was still alive. In that thought, I turned to my son to make sure he was really okay. His rage was still on full and hot. He began stomping and scratching at the walls. I didn’t recognize him now, he was so changed. His body and face full of hair, and face had changed its shape. For God’s sake, my son had a snout like a dog, and his eyes were big and black. He had pointy ears and body-wise, he stood about 7 feet hunched over. I really didn’t know what I was looking at, but it wasn’t my son. 

My heart fell to the floor and I was distraught because I knew at that point what I had to do. I reached into the gun closet, where I just happened to be standing next to. I grabbed my 12 gauge shotgun off the rack. Racked a round into the chamber and pointed the gun at my monster of a son. When he saw the barrel pointed directly at him and me standing behind it, his rage immediately calmed, and then turned to fear and sorrow. He hunched all the way down, lowering his head submissively. I knew he wasn’t going to fight me on this. Tears began to stream down my face unstoppably. 

I took a deep breath and sighed as he let out a weak whimper. The same sound you hear when a dog knows he’s done something bad. 

Corina came back into the house after hearing the noise fall to silence. I guess she figured it was safe to come back. When she entered the living room she was met with the sight of me holding a shotgun on my only son.

“No!” She cried trying to stop me from doing what I was about to do; but when she got right up beside me, she was able to see what I was actually intending to kill. She let out a horrible scream as she witnessed the beast that our baby boy had become. Her protest immediately turned to silent compliance as she backed away, with a face drenched in sorrow and tears. When Joshua saw that she stepped back and faded into the kitchen, he then slowly and gently scooted closer to the barrel of my shotgun, still whimpering but louder than before. It was as though he was giving me the green light to end his life. I knew, then, that he didn’t want to live like this. I knew that all the trouble and strife he gave me and recent years was his way of distancing himself from me and his mom; and that his coming home was for the purpose of this moment right here. So, woefully and trepidatiously I took sure aim, planting the barrel of my shotgun on my baby boy’s head, and in a loud, short Bang. The world went dark. The last thing I remember was the sound of my son’s body dropping onto the floor and my wife crying uncontrollably. 

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[rankinserup0]

Replica Taschen Fake Baggage Aus Deutschland

Browse eBay to find affordably priced Louis Vuitton purses and purses to create your signature look. I even have purchased purses from aaalouisvuittonsale.com 3 times never had an issue, all the time obtained all my purses!! The main distinction between a brand new and used Louis Vuitton purse is the condition. As always when buying a used bag, there may be some wear, so you might discover that the material is slightly light in areas and there could also be some scratching or tearing. Another distinction is that the interior of the Neverfull was recently up to date, so model-new luggage have totally different lining shades and extra inside pockets. One of the only problems I had was with the noise of the wheels; nevertheless, I can’t deduct points from the replica since this is also true of the genuine model. Hello Emily, I am glad you're pleased with your purchase, I attempt to give trustworthy advice on all of my evaluations. The Neverfull is available in three sizes , and could be worn as either a loose tote, or with its laces tightened as a chic but compact bag. The design of the bag has been just lately refined to incorporate a detachable zippered pouch. The bag is out there in all of the traditional canvas prints as nicely in vibrant Epi leather colours. I am sorry to listen to that it took you 7-eight days to obtain your bag, I received mines faster, to be honest, I suppose maybe that they had some stock availability issues maybe? For this evaluate, I additionally purchased a fake handbag by Louis Vuitton from their store. If you’re trying to buy a beautiful designer bag replica, but don’t fairly know who you possibly can trust along with your hard-earned cash… I extremely advocate the same seller I purchased from. Since my preliminary LV purchase, I’ve actually ordered one other bag and I can inform you I’m just as happy as before. These guys have restored my religion within the replica enterprise and I can not advocate them enough. If you could have any questions please feel free to leave them within the comments beneath! Here are the first causes I am satisfied with my LV bag! Tabs on the true LV bag are made in one piece; fakes might have a seam down the center. At Harper’s Bazaar’s site, you'll find tips about tips on how to avoid buying a fake designer bag and study what you can do to help unfold the message that fakes are never in style. BagBliss.com has a detailed resource of tips on how to spot a fake Louis Vuitton bag. Their web site has comparability photos of fake Louis Vuitton baggage alongside the actual ones. MyPoupette.com has a list of fake bag sellers on eBay that you should keep away from if you want an actual Louis Vuitton purse and never a fake one. There’s only one method to avoid shopping for a fake Louis Vuitton bag; buy it from the supply. Genuine LV products are sold through the exclusive distribution community of Louis Vuitton shops. https://phoenet.tw/wallet-purse-replica.html Because if you think about it, when it comes to materials, craftsmanship, labor, time and design, the originals which these replicas are primarily based on, don’t price that much money. What follows is my go-to information for locating the very best in replica handbags on the web. wikipedia wallets This guide will assist you to select the very best quality with out arousing suspicion. So I needed to get your ideas before I think about shopping for the same one. First and foremost, I love my replica from the new store I discovered as a result of it’s one of the best replica I’ve not only ever ordered… but ever seen! If you are a fan of the model, you most likely know a couple of issues about authentic Louis Vuitton purses and what units them aside from others. For one thing, every of them is completely made by hand with extraordinary consideration to element. Every stitch is ideal, and every materials used is durable enough to final for years. They are light-weight, snug, and provide you with the house and compartments you need for your whole issues. Pick your favourite brands among our new arrivals in replica purses, and get trouble free shipping to wherever you might be positioned. Regardless of the place you fit on this spectrum, this post will provide key ideas and steering on how to decide a great replica pockets to purchase. The authentic retail value is $1,790 USD and I bought it for around $250 from a replica bag vendor that I tried for the first time. The bag’s look from a distance is ok but the hardware is super light and fake trying, and the inside isn't good quality. Even though I have a few years of expertise purchasing replica luggage, shopping for replicas can still be hit or miss even for those of us with experience. However what sets aside a seasoned replica bag shopper from a beginner is that we take all of it in stride, and anticipate to get a bad apple every so often amongst our purchases. This specific replica bag I bought was a Gucci Ophidia within the chestnut color in the size small. So, be happy to contact us or visit our web site, to see the wonderful situation pre-owned Louis Vuitton handbags. But its design is a lot greater than just a good stability of contrasting supplies. Its design is fascinating as a result of it blends two very highly effective motifs. From the moment I first saw it I knew I needed to have it. Its bold and unique look, distinctive persona and understated appeal are only a few of the issues I adore concerning the Louis Vuitton Kimono Monogram Canvas bag. Inspired by some of the intriguing symbols from the land of the rising solar, this purse is a tribute to the traditional Japanese robe. Its design is an echo for simplistic beauty and eternal magnificence.

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[abbott88vad]

Replica Taschen Fake Bags Aus Deutschland

LV preferred to maintain things easy and relaxed with this one and it used a transversal snap hook as a closing system. This provides extra versatility and most entry to the content of the bag. When you want one thing fast you just grab it, no have to waste time unzipping the purse each time. At the within of the Louis Vuitton Kimono purse we discover a center zip compartment that's stitched to the edges of the bag and is non-detachable. This middle compartment is somewhat broad and flat. It can match issues like IDs, cards and telephones, but not very cumbersome gadgets. On one aspect of this compartment there is a black squared leather-based tab embossed with “Louis Vuitton Paris Made in France” wording written on three rows and in gold shade. One of the only issues I had was with the noise of the wheels; nevertheless, I can’t deduct factors from the replica since this is also true of the genuine version. Hello Emily, I am glad you are joyful together with your buy, I try to give sincere advice on all of my critiques. Founded in 1854 as a luxury trunk manufacturer, Louis Vuitton continues to provide luxurious and fashionable handbags. Those who want to exhibit their status while additionally being able to carry lots of possessions will recognize the Neverfull bag. wikipedia wallets Buying a replica pockets helps you perceive what you possibly can anticipate in terms of quality when purchasing replica designer goods. I am sorry to listen to that it took you 7-8 days to obtain your bag, I received mines sooner, to be honest, I assume maybe they'd some inventory availability problems maybe? For this evaluate, I also purchased a fake purse by Louis Vuitton from their store. If you’re trying to purchase a stunning designer bag replica, however don’t fairly know who you'll be able to trust with your exhausting-earned money… I extremely suggest the same seller I bought from. Since my preliminary LV purchase, I’ve truly ordered one other bag and I can inform you I’m simply as glad as earlier than. These guys have restored my faith within the replica enterprise and I can not advocate them enough. If you could have any questions please feel free to leave them in the feedback under! Here are the first reasons I am glad with my LV bag! Also, as a result of center inside compartment you possibly can’t put very cumbersome issues inside, but it still is has lots of room for all of your essential work stuff. I really have to say that this Louis Vuitton replica handbag enjoys flawless stitching. Just like on the genuine purse, it has black stitching both on the inside and outdoors. And surprisingly sufficient, the stitching is very well made. Because if you consider it, by way of supplies, craftsmanship, labor, time and design, the originals which these replicas are based on, don’t value that a lot cash. What follows is my go-to guide for finding the easiest in replica purses on the internet. This guide will allow you to pick the perfect quality without arousing suspicion. So I needed to get your ideas before I think about buying the identical one. First and foremost, I love my replica from the brand new shop I discovered because it’s the best replica I’ve not only ever ordered… but ever seen! If you're a fan of the model, you in all probability know a number of issues about authentic Louis Vuitton handbags and what units them aside from others. For one factor, each of them is totally made by hand with extraordinary consideration to element. Every sew is ideal, and every material used is durable enough to last for years. They are lightweight, comfortable, and give you the house and compartments you need for all your things. Pick your favourite brands amongst our new arrivals in replica purses, and get problem free shipping to wherever you are situated. This materials could be very delicate and supple, plus it has a very elegant look. The LV Kimono is an intriguingly graphic tote that steals the present with a magnetic combination of Monogram canvas and nice calf leather-based. Cals Media Lastly, slanted, uneven or sloppy again-and-forth stitching on the surface of the bag is an indication of a poorly made purse. If you've the identical concerns as me, I have one thing to say…I was completely incorrect. Not long ago, I finally determined to throw all caution to the wind and pay for the Horizon 55 replica Monogram Canvas luggage bag. Now, I’m extremely pleased and can't consider the standard of this fake Louis Vuitton (even though it was kind of expected with the price tag!).

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[beasley02conradsen]

Burberry Burberry B

LONDON — Burberry is taking retail in new instructions, building a digital replica of its flagship Ginza retailer in Tokyo and welcoming prospects to browse and shop the spring 2021 assortment. You have nice experience in buying reica goods and authentic and you weblog might be nice if only you presumably can share a bit of your data. I feel that we are begging you to provide us a clue with no solutions. Presenting orange numerals, scales, fingers and letters, the UK excessive-end copy watches present bigger Arabic numerals for three, 6, 9 and 12. Although the circumstances are made of metal, they effectively supply the cool and durable function with the black coating. There have been numerous very good and customary rolex replica GMT-Grasp Pepsi fashions since its inception. 2 chrono avenger Breitling watches006 is going to be a giant y Replicla watchesear for the digital way of life. Thirdly replica rolex watches are definitely basically the most efficient, useful and economical watches. Even when Rolex will enhance its watches' financial value, as lengthy as they hold their present customary throughout the quality and attention to detail in ending, it's going to remain in the Luxury objects class. The most effective place to indicate to earn cash for gold replica watches is an online gold buyer. I nonetheless can’t get over the half in the video the place all of the British Burberry craftsmen have been nervous about remaining unemployed for the rest of their lives after the factory was as a end result of close. This refined sling bag from Replica Burberry Handbags options a haymarket examine design with brown leather-based trim. This classic sling bag is lined in brown canvas with a zip high closure. Goldtoned hardware adds a classy end to this designer bag. Burberry introduces a new shape to their bag assortment this season in “The Sling”, a small primary bow-shape just big enough for all these necessities you simply cannot leave the house with out. Especially after I watched this documentary on Youtube in which it showed Burberry deciding to move their production from the UK (where they originated from – they're a British model for those of you who don’t know) to South Asia. As a enterprise determination this makes lots of sense because the homeowners of the company can now make their baggage for dirt low cost and luxuriate in maximum markups. However for the heritage of the model and by method of the posh radar it was an enormous mistake. Why would anybody in their right thoughts pay full worth for a Burberry purse when you ought to purchase a knockoff made in the same country, and more than likely in the same manufacturing unit for a a lot lower price? At least firms like Louis Vuitton, Chanel and so on. assemble their purses in Europe to give it that feeling of lux (even though lots of their parts come from China as well!). http://HTTPS://skel.io/BURBERRY-REPLICA.HTML I really feel like when I take a glance at the label of a purse and it says “made in China” when I pay over a thousand dollars for it, I truly have been ripped off in a way. If you need extra designs of replica Burberry baggage, go to DHgate’s website and enjoy purchasing on the top of the range designer bags that you will surely love. DHgate.com is simply one click on away to get ahold of your favourite products – all with the same high quality, however at a a lot affordable worth. The TB Bag series launched three kinds of lock shoulder bag, waist bag and envelope clutch, which are available in monochrome, two-color and printed designs. 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[korsholm27gotfredsen]

Designer Discreetlouis Vuitton Replica Baggage & Wallets

Waiting to see if they'll make it right or not. After examining this Louis Vuitton Neverfull MM Damier Canvas replica I have to say that it's a fairly respectable quality replica. It is created from excessive finish materials, the craftsmanship is well done, and it features the authentic logos and markings. The measurements and feel are pretty good and, frankly, it appears very good. All issues considered, it was fairly an excellent buying determination. replica designer wallet It doesn’t matter whether or not you’re looking for a fake Gucci bag or a Louis Vuitton replica. You have to be so good that anyone who just walked out of a Gucci or Louis Vuitton retailer in Beverly Hills or an upper-end shop in Paris wouldn’t know the distinction. That’s the kind of quality you ought to be taking pictures for. You have to read the guide under so yow will discover the last word high quality in knock-off Louis Vuitton designer bags on the web. Neverfull tote bag comes with an additional zipped pouch for an extra carry. If you are looking for a new classic crafted by Louis Vuitton, then City Streamer is the most effective decide. The new handbag is participating with its grained leather material and snakeskin design on the deal with. With its plain design, City Streamer LV copy purse is fairly straight-forward for its functionality as a handbag or as a shoulder bag. NéoNoé is a bucket bag that was crafted by Louis Vuitton which was initially made for transferring bottles of champagne. However hooked up to this luxurious collection a person attempting to own a Louis Vuitton bag will discover it exhausting on their wallet. Therefore consumers have to search out an alternate that may match the glam of Louis Vuitton luggage. We assembled a list of Cheap Louis Vuitton impressed bag from China for that reason. Hello Emily, I am glad you are pleased together with your buy, I try to give sincere recommendation on all of my reviews. I am sorry to listen to that it took you 7-eight days to obtain your bag, I received mines sooner, to be trustworthy, I suppose perhaps they'd some inventory availability problems maybe? For this evaluation, I additionally purchased a fake purse by Louis Vuitton from their store. If you’re looking to purchase a beautiful designer bag replica, however don’t fairly know who you can trust together with your exhausting-earned money… I extremely suggest the identical vendor I purchased from. Since my initial LV buy, I’ve actually ordered one other bag and I can tell you I’m just as happy as before. These guys have restored my faith in the replica business and I can't advocate them sufficient. If you have any questions please feel free to depart them in the comments under! Here are the primary reasons I am glad with my LV bag! Many of us strive to be able to afford a Designer Louis Vuitton Bag, something lovely to carry our belongings and convey with us in all places. If you are a fan of the brand, you most likely know a few things about genuine Louis Vuitton purses and what sets them except for others. For one thing, each of them is completely made by hand with extraordinary attention to element. Every sew is perfect, and each material used is sturdy enough to last for years. They are lightweight, snug, and give you the house and compartments you want for all your things. The key point of this blog is to level out variations you ought to be looking for between real and pretend baggage which you need to use while shopping usually. Never earlier than have I had such a optimistic expertise with a replica seller or an internet store as I did with LuxuryTastic. For starters, they’re not just resellers, but they manufacture their own replicas. I myself am a huge fan of Louis Vuitton and have been since I was slightly woman enjoying costume up with my mom’s cherished Louis bags. Hoisting her lovely luggage over my shoulder and spinning round in front of the full-length mirror in her bed room, I fell in love with the timeless magnificence and sophistication of these luggage. wikipedia wallets Every yr, Louis Vuitton tops the record of trending bags. The creations of Louis Vuitton inspire other designers to comply with LV’s street to notoriety and energy in the lux/style bag business. With hundreds of designer baggage, Louis Vuitton is and at all times might be main the glamorous race of bag designing. Get your low-cost Louis Vuitton impressed bags from China via DHgate.com. Louis Vuitton bags are by no means made in China.

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[gomezcullen8]

Top Quality Louis Vuitton Replica

If you’re seeking to buy a gorgeous designer bag replica, but don’t quite know who you'll be able to trust together with your onerous-earned cash… I extremely suggest the same seller I purchased from. Since my initial LV buy, I’ve truly ordered another bag and I can tell you I’m just as satisfied as earlier than. These guys have restored my religion within the replica business and I cannot advocate them enough. Get an thought of what a fake appears like in comparison to a real Louis Vuitton purse. You would want to check the other features of the bag, such as high quality of sewing, matching up of patterns, etc. as outlined within the article above. However, from the date code alone, it suggests the bag had a manufacturing date of the 18th week of 2015 and was made in France. You can discover used Louis Vuitton luggage for lower than model new ones, however these bags may also be quite expensive if they are uncommon or coveted by collectors. Vintage bags are old enough to have darker handles than their newer counterparts. replica wallet Deep-brown handles indicate that the purse is growing older appropriately. While this is right, there are other causes the handles are deep-brown. For example, if the bag was supposedly made in the Nineteen Nineties, then the handles should be a deep shade of brown. If you've any questions please be happy to go away them within the feedback under! wikipedia wallets Many of us attempt to be able to afford a Designer Louis Vuitton Bag, one thing stunning to carry our belongings and produce with us in all places. Indeed, it's referred to as Near-Field-Communication (“NFC”) tags which are against the infringing baggage. Louis Vuitton is repeatedly arising with designs outdoors of the traditional ones, so it’s good to know their luggage well. A great approach to familiarize yourself is to check their pictures on-line. Louis Vuitton additionally lists the retailers where their luggage could be purchased. The brand additionally limits online resellers, so be careful of purchasing bags over the internet. It’s good to know what genuine leather-based smells like so you possibly can easily set it other than synthetic ones. You ought to still look at different components, though, to verify it is real. The L will not have a short leg on high if the purse is authentic. If you see a really quick leg on top of the L, the purse is usually a fake. You will not see the L almost touching the O on a real Louis Vuitton purse. For one thing, each of them is totally made by hand with extraordinary attention to detail. Every sew is ideal, and each materials used is durable enough to last for years. They are light-weight, snug, and offer you the house and compartments you want for all of your issues. When you see the long-lasting LV emblem on a Louis Vuitton purse, you are instantly swept into a world of luxurious. As the gold normal of excessive fashion, Louis Vuitton’s lavish bags, wallets, totes, purses, and baggage function basic class, daring contrasts, and a timeless attraction like no different.

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[storiesofsvu]

Serendipitous Secrets & Surprises Ch 7

Warnings: language, sass, brief talk of SVU canon related issues.

SURPRISE!! I’m feeling generous so y’all get the next chapter today too....

You knocked on the door frame of Rita’s office and she barely glanced up long enough to notice it was you, her brow cocked in your general direction.

“You come to try and convince me not to do my job?”

“You know a regular greeting would be hello? Good morning? How are you?” You teased back, huffing out a laugh, “and no. Sonny’s stuck in court, I’ve got warrants for John. You flashed the papers in your free hand. “Plus Mom said none of you fucks have left your offices all day and I know for a fact the only one of you that cooks is Casey.” Rita laughed at that, waving you further into the office for you to dig out the proper take out container for her.

“Thank you.” She gave you a small smile, “but I wouldn’t stay if I were you. I’ve got a meeting with the Thompson’s in five, highly doubt they want to see anyone from the squad.”

“Ugh. You’re the worst.”

“So I’ve heard.” She smirked as you scooped up the bag of take out, “nice shoes.”

“Thanks.” You popped a heel up, “cute right?” Rita rolled her eyes at your antics as you left her office, finding Casey and Alex in Casey’s across the hall.

“I’m gonna hide in here until Fin swings back around.” You greeted, dropping a bag for the two of them on Casey’s desk, “figure I’m safe with the prosecutor on the Thompson case.”

They both laughed at that, thanking you for the meals before you darted through the rest of the firm, dropping off food along with warrants, pausing briefly to chat with Rafael now that he’d settled in, and stashing Pippa’s food in her mini fridge since she was at the court house.

“Fixed your food problem.” You teased, stepping into Liz’s office as she straighten herself out from bending over a filing cabinet.

“God, thank you.” Elizabeth took the bag from you.

“Oh don’t thank me, it’s all on your card.” That earned you a glare and she huffed out a sigh.

“My card, really? Your’s a little low after buying those shoes? Do I even want to know how much they cost?”

“First off, they were this morning’s anniversary gift, thank you very much. Secondly you’ve had me in Louis Vuitton since I was like, fourteen.”

“I needed my kid to look good,” she shrugged, sitting to open the take out. As she did so she gave you a solid once over.

“What?”

“How is it possible that you’re celebrating your ten year anniversary already?”

“Because I didn’t marry some douche bag of a man?” You suggested and she shot you another glare, snorting out a laugh.

“I’ll take that one. I guess I’m just surprised the two of you managed to make it work out.”

“Thank you?”

“Congratulations sweetheart, Happy Anniversary. Tell her I said so too.”

“Thanks. And she’s literally down the hall, tell her yourself.” You heard the ping announcing that someone had just entered the front door and your head shot towards the front of the firm, “I’ve gotta sneak back into Casey’s office before the Thompson’s get in here.”

“Go.” Liz nodded, “and since you put lunch on my card you may as well put your dinner on it too.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. You two deserve it, a decade together is worth celebrating and I haven’t gotten you anything otherwise.”

“Thanks Mom. Love you.” With a flash of a smile and her returned ‘I love you’ you darted back to Casey’s office, swinging the door at least halfway shut before dropping into a chair and scooping up your own lunch. You shot Alex a glare when you discovered she’d swiped your spring roll before you had a chance to get back, gently shoving at her arm.

“What? You snooze you lose.” She teased and you rolled your eyes.

“God I hate you sometimes.”

“Here.” Casey tossed you the small bag containing hers across the desk, “I’m probably only eating half of this anyway, I had that food from home earlier.”

“Bless you.” You gave her a smile and then shot Alex another glare that she chuckled at. “You get the Henderson’s sorted out?”

“Almost.” She replied over a bite of chicken, “they’re in a safe house, hopefully moved in a week or so, we’re just waiting on paperwork, making sure Thomas can get settled in a school as soon as possible, at this point they’re just thankful Bruce got locked up. They pass along their gratitude for that Waldorf stay by the way.”

“I hope they indulged in all the room service.”

“Your Dad really won’t notice?” Casey cocked a brow from across the desk at you and you shrugged.

“Probably not. I mean, he’ll think it was just me or Mom anyways. If becomes a concern I’ll just say I needed a little staycation. Better yet I’ll tell him it was me under protective custody and he’ll be all worried and apologetic instead of angry.”

“Does he still send those Tiffany’s gift cards when he feels guilty?” Alex asked and you laughed.

“Oh, he does, but now they’re accompanied by the fanciest bottles of scotch.”

“God you two…” Casey scoffed, “sometimes I wish I had rich parents.” Her comment brought sarcastic laughs from both you and Alex, but you spoke first.

“You serious? You’ve met my Mom, right?” You gestured toward Liz’s office, “she’s all about the tough love, you of all people should know that.”

“Okay…but maybe I deserved that suspension.” The redhead laughed back before Alex cut in.

“You didn’t and you know it.”

“Eh, I made a pretty good use of my time away.” Casey smirked across at you and you laughed before Alex spoke again.

“Yeah how long was that backpacking trip? Where were you guys again?”

“Argentina, Chile and Patagonia.” Casey replied, taking a swig of water, “it was, what? Around two months?”

“Six weeks?” Your brow scrunched, trying to think back that far, “I know it used up all my vacation time from Vice before I wrote my sergeant’s exam.”

“Just enough time to annoy your Mom.” Casey teased and you laughed.

“I think she was much more upset about the matching tattoos.”

“You never told her about the piercing did you?” The redhead smirked and you barked a laugh this time.

“Yeah, I’m sure that would’ve gone over great! Hey Mom, I ran off with the prosecutor you just suspended for two months, got matching tattoos and pierced a nipple on a whim.”

“I do believe it wasn’t a whim but a lost bet.”

“A bet you happened to lose as well.” You smirked back at her, “besides, it came out a couple weeks after I was home. Took a kick to the tit from a perp out in the field, nearly ripped it out. Twelve out of ten would not recommend.”

Both of the other women grimaced at the thought, Casey’s hand almost instinctively quickly cupped her own chest imagining just how much pain you must’ve been in. Though before either of you could tease her for it or address anything further there was an outburst of noise that drew your attention from behind Rita’s closed door. It sounded like shouting but you could tell it wasn’t Rita’s voice, plus, she rarely raised her voice to clients, especially on cases like this.

“That doesn’t sound good.” Alex commented and Casey huffed.

“She’s trying to get them to talk deals, but they want Jenna going down for murder.”

“What’s she offering?” You asked, brow cocked as you dug back into your take out.

“Nothing substantial yet.” The redhead shrugged, “I think she just wanted to get the point across that with the BPD being confirmed by doctors on both sides and Jenna doing much better on meds that an indictment for murder wouldn’t make it past the grand jury.”

Her statement was confirmed by Rita’s door swinging open, a very over agitated Mrs Thompson rushing through it, a string of arguments leaving her lips. You nearly instinctively shrunk in your chair, making sure your back was turned to the door, if she was already that wound up you didn’t need either of them coming for the Sergeant who would’ve technically arrested their son.

“Good luck with that one.” Alex commented over to the other lawyer.

“I mean…their son did die…” you half shrugged, gaining raised brows from the other women.

“Since when did you start working for the defence?” Alex teased and you hucked a pen at her.

“I’m not! I’m fully backing Jenna on this one, I’m just saying, they have a right to be upset. When you lose someone you always search for someone to blame. Without the ability to blame Jenna, I’m sure Mrs Thompson blames herself for not raising her son right, his bad acts fall back to her parenting going wrong.”

“You need to stop hanging out with Huang.” Casey laughed and you rolled your eyes, hearing the bell over the door ping again as the Thompson’s left. Leaning back in your chair you could see through Casey’s mainly open door straight into Rita’s office, who was at her desk pinching the bridge of her nose trying not to be overly annoyed.

“You have a ball in your ball bag?” You asked Casey without looking back at her.

“What?”

“Either give me a ball from your bag or I’m tossing the souvenir one on your desk and chances are you’ll never see it again.”

Casey grumbled, spinning her chair around as Alex’s eyes followed your gaze into the defence attorney’s office, cocking a brow at what she was sure you were about to do. Casey reluctantly handed you a ball and you skillfully tossed it across the hall, it bouncing off the front of Rita’s desk to grab her attention before rolling off under a chair in her office.

“What the fuck?” She looked up, calling through the open doors, somewhat unsurprised that it was you with a grin on your face looking back at her.

“Seems like you’re having a bit of trouble there Counsellor.” You called back, “what’d’ya say to assault one, no jail time. Community service, court mandated therapy and assurance she’ll stay on her meds?”

“Absolutely not. Man one! One to five years.”

“Man one means Jenna had intent to kill Zach, which she clearly didn’t. She was acting in self defence!”

“Okay, man two. Two years, then two years community service along with continued mandatory therapy, anger management and a public apology to the parents.” Rita called back and you huffed.

“Man two means she was aware that her recklessness could cause harm! She was trying to protect herself and wasn’t in her right brain, and a public apology to your rapists parents? That’s cold Calhoun.”

“If she wasn’t in the right mental state to be condemned for her actions, how do you explain her being in the right mental state to accuse Zach of rape?” Rita cocked a brow in your direction.

“If she wasn’t in the right mental state to accuse Zach how could she give proper consent for the sex in the first place?” You fired back and she sighed angrily.

“You’re not even her lawyer, why am I having this conversation with you?”

“Just doing what I can for my victim.” You smirked and even from the distance you could see her roll her eyes before you turned back to the desk, picking up your takeout. “What?” You asked Casey who’s brow was raised toward you.

“You know something…”

“I spent the last five days combing through adolescences social media’s, I’d rather not know half the shit I found out.” You replied, much quieter this time.

“What did you find?” Casey leant forward, more than interested now, especially since whatever deal Rita had tried to plea to the Thompson’s hand’t worked.

“I can’t confirm anything yet.” You dug your phone from your pocket, “the videos and pics are with TARU right now, making sure they’re authentic.” Swiftly scrolling through a few apps you clicked on what you needed, “but we’ve got a video of Zach bragging about fucking Jenna and his buddy all cocky about how she was begging him, meanwhile Zach basically insinuates that she was begging him to stop. There’s pics from that party, again, still need to clarify, which is why I didn’t bring you files. Might move a lot faster if we got a warrant for his phone…”

“Oh my God!” The outbursts came from both women and Rita’s head snapped up from across the hall, it didn’t take long before the baseball was (softly) thrown back into Casey’s office to interrupt your conversation.

“What the hell do you know?” She shouted.

“Can’t tell you that yet Counsellor, come on, you know better than that.” You called back, your hand managing to scoop up the baseball and pass it back to Casey.

“You know I’ll find out eventually.”

“Awe but this makes it so much more fucking fun.” Casey called back teasingly. A laugh broke out between the three of you that halted the minute Casey’s office door was pushed open fully by Liz, a stern look on her face all of you were oh too familiar with.

“Would you please stop yelling across my fucking firm?” You weren’t surprised when her gaze was directed mainly at you.

“Your firm?” You were certainly testing the boundaries, but feeling pushy today, sassing her back and she huffed out a sigh.

“Did you miss the sign above the door when your came in?”

“Okay but technically, if we go by that, technically, the firm is at least fourteen percent mine….my name is on the door.”

“Your middle name doesn’t count.” She cut back, “if you had changed your last name and followed Alex to Harvard like I wanted you to, then yes, but you chose to be a cop. Stop yelling, or get out. I’m on the phone with the damn Mayor.”

“Spoil sport.” You muttered under your breath. Though right as Liz shot you a glare your phone pinged, “ah, lucky for you, lunch is over, Fin’s outside. I’ll see you later.” You made the general call through the building as you swiftly gathered your things, meeting your Lieutenant outside.

Though your day was far from over, you not only had a little bit more social media digging to do (not to mention hassling TARU to get speedier on their results) but you knew there must’ve been a few new cases in this morning. And as much as Olivia had promised to let you off early tonight for your anniversary dinner, you knew exactly how busy things could get, and how often even the most important plans could get thrown out the window.

__________ @tbhidkwutimdoing @bisexualcrowley @natasha-danvers @ineedafinghug @veteranwerewolf95 @billiedeannovak @stardust-galaxies @laurenhope13 @randomthingssss @Farahs-faeling @imlike-so-gaydude @wannabe-fic-reader @gaylorrds @infiniteoddball @thatesqcrush @altsvu @disneyfan624 @svulife-rl @svushots @gay-ass-bitch @lesbianspacecowboy @delphineecormierr @venablemayfairgoode @whimsicallymad @mysticfalls01 @oliviaswifey @thatgaygiraffesquirrelgirl @Cloudymd @swimmingstudentchaos891 @1000spices @screenee @nocreditinthestraightworld @beccabarba @redlipstickandplaid @cmmndrwidw @bumblebear30 @enduringalexblake @denpine @molllss @solemnnova @lawandorderimagines @infernumlilith @yourtaletotell @australiancarisi @cerberus-spectre @whispered-tear-drops @snowsgay19 @michael-rooker @jj-arms @emskisworld

#Casey novak #rita calhoun #elizabeth donnelly #alex cabot #law and order svu #svu #serendipitous secrets and surprises

[philip-ks-dick]

Philip K. Dick, For Dummies.

I’ve been researching PK.D for a few years now, as he’s my father’s favourite author and I’ve been watching movie and show adaptations of his work for the longest time. I have personally only read the books listed, here’s the order (I think) you should read them in, based on difficulty level and the knowledge you need of the PKD canon to understand the books that follow. This is purely my opinion based on knowledge of the author. by philip-k’s-dick (lol)

Beginner. (These books and stories allow readers to explore Dick’s pet themes and stylistic quirks without falling too far down the rabbit hole)

The Short Stories: Over the course of his life, PKD wrote somewhere in the range of 150 short stories. Naturally, it would be silly of me to dump all of them on you at once, but undeniably, the shorter format allows the big ideas of Dick’s work to come through more clearly, and even the screwier stories conform to relatively coherent shape, making them an excellent jumping off point, especially for an author who wrote almost nonstop throughout his life.

My Favourites:

In The Days of Perky Pat - In this novel, survivors of a global thermonuclear war live in isolated enclaves in California, surviving off what they can scrounge from the wastes and supplies delivered from Mars. The older generation spend their leisure time playing with the eponymous doll in an escapist role-playing game that recalls life before the apocalypse — a way of life that is being quickly forgotten. At the story's climax, a couple from one isolated outpost of humanity plays a game against the dwellers of another outpost (who play the game with a doll similar to Perky Pat dubbed "Connie Companion") in deadly earnest. The survivors' shared enthusiasm for the Perky Pat doll and the creation of her accessories from vital supplies is a sort of mass delusion that prevents meaningful re-building of the shattered society. In stark contrast, the children of the survivors show absolutely no interest in the delusion and have begun adapting to their new life.

(Elements of the story were later incorporated into Dick's novel The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch, written in 1964 and published in 1965, in which a Perky Pat simulation game is induced by drugs and miniature models instead. Palmer Eldritch is not a continuation or sequel however.)

What the Dead Men Say - Death is followed by a period of 'half-life', a short amount of time which can be rationed out over long periods in which the dead can be revived—so that, potentially, they can 'live' on for a long time. When attempts to bring back important businessman Louis Sarapis fail, it's clearly more than mere negligence. Sure enough, Sarapis starts speaking from beyond the grave. From outer space, in fact. Yet no-one seems terribly bothered, other than those directly concerned in the plot mechanics. Eventually entire communications networks (phones, TV, radio) are blocked by Sarapis' broadcasts

(Philip's later novel Ubik is a continuation of What the Dead Men Say)

Autofac - Three men wait outside their settlement for an automated delivery truck. Five years earlier, during the Total Global Conflict, a network of hardened automatic factories ("autofacs") had been set up with cybernetic controls that determine what food and consumer goods to manufacture and deliver. Human input had been lost, and the men planned disruption to try to establish communication and take over control. They destroy the delivery, but the truck radios the autofac and unloads an identical replacement, then prevents them from reloading items. They act out being disgusted with the milk delivery and are given a complaints checklist. In a blank space, they write improvised semantic garble—"the product is thoroughly pizzled". The autofac sends a humanoid data collector that communicates on an oral basis, but is not capable of conceptual thought, and they are unable to persuade the network to shut down before it consumes all resources. Their next strategy sets neighbouring autofacs in competition with each other for rare resources and seemingly succeeds, but there is a hidden level

Beyond Lies The Wub - Peterson, a crew member of a spaceship loading up with food animals on Mars, buys an enormous pig-like creature known as a "wub" from a native just before departure. Franco, his captain, is worried about the extra weight but seems more concerned about its taste, as his ship is short of food. However, after takeoff, the crew realizes that the wub is a very intelligent creature, capable of telepathy and maybe even mind control.

Peterson and the wub spend time discussing mythological figures and the travels of Odysseus. Captain Franco, paranoid after an earlier confrontation with the Wub which left him temporarily paralyzed, bursts in and insists on killing and eating the wub. The crew becomes very much opposed to killing the sensitive creature after it makes a plea for understanding, but Franco still makes a meal out of him. At the dinner table, Captain Franco apologises for the "interruption" and resumes the earlier conversation between Peterson and the Wub - which now has apparently taken over the Captain's body

Human Is - Jill Herrick and her husband Lester are in the middle of an argument. Lester deflects his wife’s claim that he is “hideous” with cold indifference. He tells her that he will not allow their child in the house and will have him removed to government custody because he is interfering with his research. Before the distraught Jill can pass this onto their son Gus, Lester gets news that he will be taking a trip to Rexor IV. Despite Jill’s desire to go there and see the planet, Lester insists that he will go alone.

Later Jill tells her brother Frank and she is going to leave Lester. She explains how happy she has been with Lester gone and how he seems to be getting worse every year of their marriage. More cold and more “ruthless,” not to mention the incessant working.

Lester comes home a very different man. He praises Jill’s cooking and expresses disgust with his work on Rexor IV studying toxins. He says he prefers Terra and being home with his wife.

Jill reports these changes to Frank, while Lester is playing in the room with Gus. Frank has Lester brought to a lab for more studies under the guidance of the Federal Clearance agency. Before long they realize that Lester has had his body taken over by a Rexorian.

The Hanging Stranger - The protagonist, Ed Loyce, is a store owner who is disturbed when he sees a stranger hanging from a lamppost, but finds that other people consider the apparent lynching unremarkable.

He finds evidence that alien insects have taken over, manages to get out of town, talks to the police commissioner, who believes him, and after getting all the information about what Ed knows, explains that the body was hung to see if anyone reacted to it, anyone they didn't have control over. He then takes Ed outside and hangs him from a lamppost.

The Commuter - Ed Jacobson is a railway worker at Woking station. His life takes a turn for the worse when his son, Sam, begins experiencing psychotic episodes. When he is selling rail tickets at work, a young woman named Linda asks for a ticket to a destination called Macon Heights that is not listed on any map.

The Minority Report - In a future society, three mutants foresee all crime before it occurs. Plugged into a great machine, these "precogs" allow a division of the police called Precrime to arrest suspects before they can commit any actual crimes. When the head of Precrime, John Anderton, is himself predicted to murder a man whom he has never met, Anderton is convinced a great conspiracy is afoot

Full Books:

Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? - Rick Deckard, a bounty hunter for the San Francisco Police Department, is assigned to "retire" (kill) six androids of the new and highly intelligent Nexus-6 model which have recently escaped from Mars and traveled to Earth. These androids are made of organic matter so similar to a human's that only a posthumous "bone marrow analysis" can independently prove the difference, making them almost impossible to distinguish from real people. Deckard hopes this mission will earn him enough bounty money to buy a live animal to replace his lone electric sheep to comfort his depressed wife Iran. Deckard visits the Rosen Association's headquarters in Seattle to confirm the accuracy of the latest empathy test meant to identify incognito androids. Deckard suspects the test may not be capable of distinguishing the latest Nexus-6 models from genuine human beings, and it appears to give a false positive on his host in Seattle, Rachael Rosen, meaning the police have potentially been executing human beings. The Rosen Association attempts to blackmail Deckard to get him to drop the case, but Deckard retests Rachael and determines that Rachael is, indeed, an android, which she ultimately admits.

Clans of the Alphane Moon - War between Earth and insectoid-dominated Alpha III ended over a decade ago. (According to the novel, "Alphane" refers to the nearest star to our own system, Alpha Centauri). Some years after the end of hostilities, Earth intends to secure its now independent colony in the Alphane system, Alpha III M2. As a former satellite-based global psychiatric institution for colonists on other Alphane system worlds unable to cope with the stresses of colonisation, the inhabitants of Alpha III M2 have lived peacefully for years. But, under the pretence of a medical mission, Earth intends to take their colony back.

Against this background, Chuck Rittersdorf and his wife Mary are separating. Although they think they are going their separate ways, they soon find themselves together again on Alpha III M2. Mary travels there through government work, Chuck sees it as a chance to kill Mary using his remote control simulacrum. Along the way he is guided by his Ganymedean slime mould neighbour Lord Running Clam and Mary finds herself manipulated by the Alphane sympathiser, comedian Bunny Hentman.

The Man in the High Castle - In 1962, 15 years after Imperial Japan and Nazi Germany have won World War II, Robert "Bob" Childan owns an Americana antique shop in San Francisco, California (located in the Japanese-occupied Pacific States of America), which is most commonly frequented by the Japanese, who make a fetish of romanticized American cultural artifacts. Childan is contacted by Nobusuke Tagomi, a high-ranking Japanese trade official, who is seeking a gift to impress a visiting Swedish industrialist named Baynes. Childan's store is stocked in part with counterfeit antiques from the Wyndam-Matson Corporation, a metalworking company. Frank Frink (formerly Fink), a secretly Jewish-American veteran of World War II, has just been fired from the Wyndam-Matson factory, when he agrees to join a former co-worker to begin a handcrafted jewellery business. Meanwhile, Frink's ex-wife, Juliana, works as a judo instructor in Canon City, Colorado (in the neutral buffer zone of Mountain States), where she begins a sexual relationship with an Italian truck driver and ex-soldier, Joe Cinnadella. Throughout the book, many of these characters frequently make important decisions using prophetic messages they interpret from the I Ching, a Chinese cultural import. Many characters are also reading a widely banned yet extremely popular new novel, The Grasshopper Lies Heavy, which depicts an alternate history in which the Allies won World War II in 1945, a concept that amazes and intrigues its readers.

Frink reveals that the Wyndam-Matson Corporation has been supplying Childan with counterfeit antiques, which works to blackmail Wyndam-Matson for money to finance Frink's new jewelry venture. Tagomi and Baynes meet, but Baynes repeatedly delays any real business as they await an expected third party from Japan. Suddenly, the public receives news of the death of the Chancellor of Germany, Martin Bormann, after a short illness. Childan tentatively, on consignment, takes some of Frink's "authentic" new metalwork and attempts to curry favour with a Japanese client, who surprisingly considers Frink's jewelry immensely spiritually alive. Juliana and Joe take a road trip to Denver, Colorado and Joe impulsively decides they should go on a side-trip to meet the mysterious Hawthorne Abendsen, author of The Grasshopper Lies Heavy, who supposedly lives in a guarded fortress-like estate called the "High Castle" in Cheyenne, Wyoming. Soon, Joseph Goebbels is announced as the new German Chancellor.

Intermediate. (These are the books to pick up once you have the basics of what makes a PKD novel down. They’re obtuse enough to hit a little heavier, but don’t provide the full dose of surrealism Dick was capable of serving up. This is also good spot to jump in if you’ve experienced weird fiction before.)

Flow My Tears, The Policeman Said - The novel is set in a dystopian version of 1988, following a Second Civil War which led to the collapse of the United States' democratic institutions. The National Guard ("nats") and US police force ("pols") reestablished social order through instituting a dictatorship, with a "Director" at the apex, and police marshals and generals as operational commanders in the field. Resistance to the regime is largely confined to university campuses, where radicalized former university students eke out a desperate existence in subterranean kibbutzim. Recreational drug use is widespread, and the age of consent has been lowered to twelve. The black population has almost been rendered extinct. Most commuting is undertaken by personal aircraft, allowing great distances to be covered in little time.

The novel begins with the protagonist, Jason Taverner, a singer, hosting his weekly TV show which has an audience of 30 million viewers. His special guest is his girlfriend Heather Hart, also a singer. Both Hart and Taverner are "Sixes", members of an elite class of genetically engineered humans. While leaving the studio, Taverner is telephoned by a former lover, who asks him to pay her a visit. When Taverner arrives at her apartment, the former lover attacks him by throwing a parasitic life-form at him. Although he manages to remove most of the life-form, parts of it are left inside him. After being rescued by Hart, he is taken to a medical facility.

Waking up the following day in a seedy hotel with no identification, Taverner becomes worried, as failure to produce identification at one of the numerous police checkpoints would lead to imprisonment in a forced labor camp. Through a succession of phone calls made from the hotel to colleagues and friends who now claim not to know him, Taverner establishes that he is no longer recognized by the outside world. He soon manages to bribe the hotel's clerk into taking him to Kathy Nelson, a forger of government documents. However, Kathy reveals that both she and the clerk are police informants, and that the lobby clerk has placed a microscopic tracking device on him. She promises not to turn Taverner over to the police on the condition that he spend the night with her. Although he attempts to escape, Kathy confronts him again after he has successfully passed a police checkpoint using the forged identity cards. Feeling in her debt, he accompanies Kathy to her apartment block, where Inspector McNulty, Kathy's police handler, is waiting. McNulty has located Taverner via the tracking device the hotel lobby clerk placed on him, and instructs Taverner to come with him to the 469th Precinct police station so that further biometric identity checks can be performed.

Time out of Joint - Ragle Gumm lives in the year 1959 in a quiet American suburb. His unusual profession consists of repeatedly winning the cash prize in a local newspaper contest called "Where Will The Little Green Man Be Next?". Gumm's 1959 has some differences from ours: the Tucker car is in production, AM/FM radios are scarce to non-existent, and Marilyn Monroe is a complete unknown. As the novel opens, strange things begin to happen to Gumm. A soft-drink stand disappears, replaced by a small slip of paper with the words "SOFT-DRINK STAND" printed on it in block letters. Intriguing little pieces of the real 1959 turn up: a magazine article on Marilyn Monroe, a telephone book with non-operational exchanges listed and radios hidden away in someone else's house. People with no apparent connection to Gumm, including military pilots using aircraft transceivers, refer to him by name. Few other characters notice these or experience similar anomalies; the sole exception is Gumm's supposed brother-in-law, Victor "Vic" Nielson, in whom he confides. A neighborhood woman, Mrs. Keitelbein, invites him to a civil defense class where he sees a model of a futuristic underground military factory. He has the unshakeable feeling he's been inside that building many times before.

Confusion gradually mounts for Gumm. His neighbor Bill Black knows far more about these events than he admits, and, observing this, begins worrying: "Suppose Ragle [Gumm] is becoming sane again?" In fact, Gumm does become sane, and the deception surrounding him (erected to protect and exploit him) begins to unravel

Ubik - By the year 1992, humanity has colonized the Moon and psychic powers are common. The protagonist, Joe Chip, is a debt-ridden technician working for Runciter Associates, a "prudence organization" employing "inertials"—people with the ability to negate the powers of telepaths and "precogs"—to enforce the privacy of clients. The company is run by Glen Runciter, assisted by his deceased wife Ella who is kept in a state of "half-life", a form of cryonic suspension that allows the deceased limited consciousness and ability to communicate. While consulting with Ella, Runciter discovers that her consciousness is being invaded by another half-lifer named Jory Miller

Difficult. (This section comes with a caveat: within these novels you will encounter numerous hallucinations, drug trips, an entire trilogy about gnostic spirituality and mental illness, and more than a little unabashed nightmare fuel. It’s normal to get tangled up in what goes on in these books. It’s also normal to be weirded out. But with proper grounding, you’ll make it though with your faculties intact. Probably.)

The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch - The story begins in a future world where global temperatures have risen so high that in most of the world it is unsafe to be outside without special cooling gear during daylight hours. In a desperate bid to preserve humanity and ease population burdens on Earth, the UN has initiated a "draft" for colonizing the nearby planets, where conditions are so horrific and primitive that the unwilling colonists have fallen prey to a form of escapism involving the use of an illegal drug (Can-D) in concert with "layouts." Layouts are physical props intended to simulate a sort of alternative reality where life is easier than either the grim existence of the colonists in their marginal off-world colonies, or even Earth, where global warming has progressed to the point that Antarctica is prime vacation resort territory. The illegal drug Can-D allows people to "share" their experience of the "Perky Pat" (the name of the main female character in the simulated world) layouts. This "sharing" has caused a pseudo-religious cult or series of cults to grow up around the layouts and the use of the drug.

Up to the point where the novel begins, New York City-based Perky Pat (or P.P.) Layouts, Inc., has held a monopoly on this product, as well as on the illegal trade in the drug Can-D which makes the shared hallucinations possible.

The novel opens shortly after Barney Mayerson, P.P. Layouts' top precog, has received a "draft notice" from the UN for involuntary resettlement as a colonist on Mars. Mayerson is sleeping with his assistant, Roni Fugate, but remains conflicted about the divorce, which he himself initiated, from his first wife Emily, a ceramic pot artist. Meanwhile, Emily's second husband tries to sell her pot designs to P.P. Layouts as possible accessories for the Perky Pat virtual worlds—but Barney, recognizing them as Emily's, rejects them out of spite.

A Scanner Darkly - When performing his work as an undercover agent, Arctor goes by the name "Fred" and wears a "scramble suit" that conceals his identity from other officers. Then he is able to sit in a police facility and observe his housemates through "holo-scanners", audio-visual surveillance devices that are placed throughout the house. Arctor's use of the drug causes the two hemispheres of his brain to function independently or "compete". When Arctor sees himself in the videos saved by the scanners, he does not realize that it is him. Through a series of drug and psychological tests, Arctor's superiors at work discover that his addiction has made him incapable of performing his job as a narcotics agent. They do not know his identity because he wears the scramble suit, but when his police supervisor suggests to him that he might be Bob Arctor, he is confused and thinks it cannot be possible.

Donna takes Arctor to "New-Path", a rehabilitation clinic, just as Arctor begins to experience the symptoms of Substance D withdrawal. It is revealed that Donna has been a narcotics agent all along, working as part of a police operation to infiltrate New-Path and determine its funding source. Without his knowledge, Arctor has been selected to penetrate the organization. As part of the rehab program, Arctor is renamed "Bruce" and forced to participate in cruel group-dynamic games, intended to break the will of the patients

(If this one seems difficult to wrap your mind around, that's because its a fictionalized account of real events, and you may need to read about Philip's life at the time to understand the autobiographical nature of the book.)

The VALIS Trilogy

(Fictionalized account of religious experiences in PKD’s life.)

VALIS - In March, 1974, Horselover Fat (the alter-personality of Philip K. Dick) experiences visions of a pink beam of light that he calls Zebra and interprets as a theophany exposing hidden facts about the reality of our universe, and a group of others join him in researching these matters. One of their theories is that there is some kind of alien space probe in orbit around Earth, and that it is aiding them in their quest; it also aided the United States in disclosing the Watergate scandal and the resignation of Richard Nixon in August, 1974. Kevin turns his friends onto a film called Valis that contains obvious references to revelations identical to those that Horselover Fat has experienced, including what appears to be time dysfunction. The film is itself a fictional account of an alternative-universe version of Nixon ("Ferris F. Fremount") and his fall, engineered by a satellite called valis. (The plot of the fictitious film Valis was that of Dick's then-unpublished novel Radio Free Albemuth.) In seeking the film's makers, Kevin, Phil, Fat, and David—now calling themselves the Rhipidon Society—head to an estate owned by popular musician Eric Lampton and his wife Linda. They decide the goal that they have been led toward is Sophia Lampton, who is two-years old and the Messiah or incarnation of Holy Wisdom (Pistis Sophia) anticipated by some variants of Gnostic Christianity. In addition to healing Phil's schizophrenic personality split, she tells them that their conclusions about valis (which Fat had previously termed "Zebra") and reality are correct, and more importantly, that we should worship, not gods, but humanity. She dies two days later due to a laser accident caused by Brent Mini. Undeterred, Fat (who has now resurged) goes on a global search for the next incarnation of Sophia.

Dick also offers a rationalist explanation of his apparent theophany, acknowledging that it might have been visual and auditory hallucinations from either schizophrenia or drug addiction sequelae.

Characters:

Phil (Philip K. Dick): Narrator (first person), science fiction writer, author of Man in the High Castle, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, and Three Stigmata.

Horselover Fat: Narrator (third person), a schizophrenic modality of Phil himself. (Philip in Greek means "fond of horses"; dick is German for "fat".)

Gloria Knudson: Suicidal friend of Fat's who Fat is unable to save.

Kevin: Cynical friend of Fat's whose cat died running across the street, based on K. W. Jeter.

Sherri Solvig: Church-going friend of Fat's, eventually dies from lymphatic cancer.

David: Catholic friend of Fat's, based on Tim Powers.

Eric Lampton: Rock star, screenwriter, actor, a. k. a. "Mother Goose"; a fictionalised version of David Bowie.

Linda Lampton: Actress, wife of Eric Lampton.

Brent Mini: Electronic composer, a fictionalised version of Brian Eno.

Sophia Lampton: Two-year-old child (personalised incarnation of Holy Wisdom within some variants of Gnosticism), said to be the daughter of Linda Lampton and valis and the "Fifth Savior".

The Divine Invasion - After a fatal car accident on Earth, Herb Asher is placed into cryonic suspension as he waits for a spleen replacement. Clinically dead, Herb experiences lucid dreams while in suspended animation and relives the last six years of his life.

In the past, Herb lived as a recluse in an isolated dome on a remote planet in the binary star system, CY30-CY30B. Yah, a local divinity of the planet in exile from Earth, appears to Herb in a vision as a burning flame, and forces him to contact his sick female neighbor, Rybys Rommey, who happens to be terminally ill with multiple sclerosis and pregnant with Yah's child.

With the help of the immortal soul of Elijah, who takes the form of a wild beggar named Elias Tate, Herb agrees to become Rybys's legal husband and father of the unborn "savior". Together they plan to smuggle the six-month pregnant Rybys back to Earth, under the pretext of seeking help for Rybys' medical condition at a medical research facility. After being born in human form, Yah plans to confront the fallen angel Belial, who has ruled the Earth for 2000 years since the fall of Masada in the first century CE. Yah's powers, however, are limited by Belial's dominion on Earth, and the four of them must take extra precautions to avoid being detected by the forces of darkness.

Things do not go as planned. "Big Noodle", Earth's A.I. system, warns the ecclesiastical authorities in the Christian-Islamic church and Scientific Legate about the divine "invasion" and countermeasures are prepared. A number of failed attempts are made to destroy the unborn child, all of them thwarted by Elijah and Yah. After successfully making the interstellar journey back to Earth and narrowly avoiding a forced abortion, Rybys and Herb escape in the nick of time, only to be involved in a fatal taxi crash, probably due to the machinations of Belial. Rybys dies from her injuries sustained in the crash, and her unborn son Emmanuel (Yah in human form) suffers brain damage from the trauma but survives. Herb is critically injured and put into cryonic suspension until a spleen replacement can be found. Baby Emmanuel is placed into a synthetic womb, but Elias Tate manages to sneak Emmanuel out of the hospital before the church is able to kill him.

Six years pass. In a school for special children, Emmanuel meets Zina, a girl who also seems to have similar skills and talents, but acts as a surrogate teacher to Emmanuel. For four years, Zina helps Emmanuel regain his memory (the brain damage caused amnesia) and discover his true identity as Yah, creator of the universe.

When he's ready, Zina shows Emmanuel her own parallel universe. In this peaceful world, organized religion has little influence, Rybys Rommey is still alive and married to Herb Asher, and Belial is only a goat kid living in a petting zoo.

In an act of kindness, Zina and Emmanuel liberate the goat-creature from his cage, momentarily forgetting that the animal is Belial. The goat-creature finds Herb Asher and attempts to retain control of the world by possessing him and convincing him that Yahweh's creation is an ugly thing that should be shown for what it really is. Eventually Herb is saved by Linda Fox, a young singer whom he loves and who is his own personal Savior; she and the goat-creature meet and she kills it, defeating Belial. He finally discovers that this meeting happens over again for everyone in the world, and whether they choose Belial or their Savior decides if they find salvation.

Characters:

Herb Asher: audio engineer

Rybys Rommey: mother of Emmanuel, sick with MS

Yah: Yahweh

Elias Tate: Incarnation of Elijah

Emmanuel (Manny): Yah incarnated in human form

Zina Pallas: Shekhinah

Linda Fox: singer, songwriter, Yetzer Hatov

Belial: Yetzer Hara

Fulton Statler Harms: Chief prelate of the Christian-Islamic Church (C.I.C), Cardinal of the Roman Catholic Church

Nicholas Bulkowsky: Communist Party Chairman, Procurator maximus of the Scientific Legate

VALIS: agent of Yahweh, disinhibiting stimulus

The Transmigration of Timothy Archer - Set in the late 1960s and 1970s, the story describes the efforts of Episcopal Bishop Timothy Archer, who must cope with the theological and philosophical implications of the newly discovered Gnostic Zadokite scroll fragments. The character of Bishop Archer is loosely based on the controversial, iconoclastic Episcopal Bishop James Pike, who in 1969 died of exposure while exploring the Judean Desert near the Dead Sea in the West Bank.

As the novel opens, it is 1980. On the day that John Lennon is shot and killed, Angel Archer visits the houseboat of Edgar Barefoot, (a guru based on Alan Watts), and reflects on the lives of her deceased relatives. During the sixties, she was married to Jeff Archer, son of the Episcopal Bishop of California Timothy Archer. She introduced Kirsten Lundborg, a friend, to her father-in law, and the two began an affair. Kirsten has a son, Bill, from a previous relationship, who has schizophrenia, although he is knowledgeable as an automobile mechanic. Tim is already being investigated for his allegedly heretical views about the Holy Ghost.

Jeff commits suicide due to his romantic obsession with Kirsten. However, after poltergeist activity, he manifests to Tim and Kirsten at a seance, also attended by Angel. Angel is skeptical about the efficacy of astrology, and believes that the unfolding existential situation of Tim and Kirsten is akin to Friedrich Schiller's German Romanticism era masterpiece, the Wallenstein trilogy (insofar as their credulity reflects the loss of rational belief in contemporary consensual reality).

The three are told that Kirsten and Tim will die. As predicted, Kirsten loses her remission from cancer, and also commits suicide after a barbiturate overdose. Tim travels to Israel to investigate whether or not a psychotropic mushroom was associated with the resurrection, but his car stalls, he becomes disoriented, falls from a cliff, and dies in the desert.

On the houseboat, Angel is reunited with Bill, Kirsten's son who has schizophrenia. He claims to have Tim's reincarnated spirit within him, but is soon institutionalized. Angel agrees to care for Bill, in return for a rare record (Koto Music by Kimio Eto) that Edgar offers her.

The Transmigration of Timothy Archer is one of Dick's most overtly philosophical and intellectual works. While Dick's novels usually employ multiple narrators or an omniscient perspective, this story is told in the first person by a single narrator: Angel Archer, Bishop Archer's daughter-in-law.

Characters:

Angel Archer: Narrator, manager of a Berkeley record store, widow of Jeff Archer.

Timothy Archer: Bishop of California; father of the late Jeff Archer and father-in-law of Angel. Dies in Israel, searching for psychotropic mushroom connected with Zadokite sect. Based on James Albert Pike, Dick's personal friend, who was an American Episcopalian bishop.

Kirsten Lundborg: Timothy Archer's secretary and lover. Dies from barbiturate overdose after loss of remission from cancer.

Bill Lundborg: Kirsten's son who has schizophrenia, and who is obsessed with cars.

Edgar Barefoot: Houseboat guru, radio personality, lecturer. Based on Alan Watts.

Jeff Archer: Son of Timothy Archer, and deceased husband of Angel. A professional student who was romantically obsessed with Kirsten.

Thank you, if you read all of this. it took me six hours today to write this all 

#scifi #science fiction #philip k dick #electric dreams #blade runner #in the days of perky pat #what the dead men say #autofac #beyond lies the wub #human is #the hanging stranger #the commuter #minority report #do androids dream of electric sheep #clans of the alphane moon #the man in the high castle #flow my tears the policemen said #time out of joint #ubik #the three stigmata of palmer eldritch #a scanner darkly #valis #the valis trilogy

[scotianostra]

On September 5th 1750, the poet Robert Fergusson was born in the Canongate in Edinburgh.

He may have only lived for 24 years, the last of which was traumatic, but those short years not only inspired Scotland’s best-known bard Robert Burns and the writer Robert Louis Stevenson, it also paved the way for better treatment of people with mental health conditions thanks to the work of Doctor Andrew Duncan, a name many in Edinburgh will associate with the The Royal Edinburgh Hospital. The famous English writer Charles Dickens also visited Fergusson’s grave, mote on that later. 

Although still relatively unknown, Fergusson was one of the most influential writers of his time despite dying at the tender age of 24, I wonder how many of you have maybe posed at his statue outside Canongate Kirkyard, but paid little attention to who he was?

Fergusson was brought up initially in Edinburgh but then moved to Dundee where he attended high school before being matriculated to the St Andrews University in 1765.

After the death of his father and completing his studies, the responsibility for supporting his mother fell upon Fergusson and he moved back to Edinburgh, taking up a post as a copyist. This caused some friction with his uncle as Fergusson had essentially rejected the excepted professions of the time such as lawyer or going into the church as a priest.

There is plenty of reason to believe that the young Fergusson had started developing his poetic sensibilities whilst at St Andrews, including beginning work on a play about Scottish brave-heart William Wallace. Moving to Edinburgh allowed Fergusson to get to known the writers and other artistic talent in the city, and he mixed largely in bohemian circles, befriending William Woods who managed some of the theatres there.

At the time, he also became friends with opera singer Tenducci who was touring the country with his company. This was when Fergusson was asked to produce Scottish songs for the Edinburgh section of the tour and marked his first published work. Buoyed by his success he began to produce satirical and pastoral poems for the Weekly Review that was run by Walter Ruddiman.

His initial offerings were traditional poems but it wasn’t long before Fergusson began writing verses that were considered more ‘Scots’. In 1772 he published The Daft Days which drew a good deal of attention and from then on he would submit poems in both English and the Scots dialect. His popularity also grew and in 1773 a collection of his work was published by Ruddiman which sold well enough for Fergusson to earn some money from his artistic endeavours.

Fergusson wrote his most well-known work, Auld Reekie, about this time and was confident enough of success to arrange to publish it himself. It was intended to be part of a much longer poem and provides an engaging and masterful portrait of Edinburgh at the time.

Unfortunately, Fergusson also suffered from bouts of depression and, if any further work was done on the poem it was probably destroyed by him in one of his darker moments.

Fergusson became a member of the famous Cape Club that would regularly meet in a local hostelry in the city. Each member of the club had a name and characteristic attached to them and drawings from the time show Fergusson as ‘Mr Precentor’.

Towards the middle of 1773, despite his growing success and popularity, Fergusson’s work grew a little darker and included Poem to the Memory of John Cunningham where he wrote about his fears of suffering a similar fate and ending up in a mental institution or asylum.

At the end of 1774, Fergusson suffered from an injury to his head and, though details are sketchy, did indeed end up in the Edinburgh equivalent of Bedlam. Two weeks later he was dead, at the tender age of 24, and had been buried in an unmarked plot in the city cemetery.

Now that may have been the end to the story and our fine Edinburgh poet may well have disappeared into obscurity if it weren’t for Robert Burns arrived in Edinburgh in 1786, he made a pilgrimage to the Canongate kirkyard to pay his respects to the young man who had inspired his poetry and whose grave lay unmarked for 12 years since his death at the age of 24 in October 1774.

Had Robert Fergusson lived and written more than one slim volume of poems, Scotland might now have two national bards and celebrate Fergusson Night with a feast of his favourite seafood on September 5th, the date of the neglected poet’s birth in 1750.

Burns himself acknowledged it long ago, when he paid for the headstone that now marks Fergusson’s grave and composed a heartfelt inscription:

No sculptur’d marble here, nor pompus lay,

No story’d urn nor animated bust;

This simple stone directs pale Scotia’s way

To pour her sorrows o'er her poet’s dust.

When Charles Dickens went to see Robert Ferguson’s grave It was dusk,  he saw another grave stone and Ebenezer Scrogge Because it was dark, he thought his grave stone had mean man written on it But it read Meal man, meaning grain merchant, , , he thought how could a man be so mean, that they’d write it on his grave, the rest is history.

I touched upon Dr Andrew Duncan earlier he was Fergusson's doctor, and was moved by the poet's death, and he resolved to set up a hospital in the city which would look after the mentally ill with greater dignity and respect. Duncan launched a fundraising appeal in 1792, and eventually, in 1806, Parliament granted £2000 from estates forfeited during the Jacobite rebellion in 1745.

The money was used to buy a large house in Morningside with four acres of land, and the architect Robert Reid was commissioned to design a new building, which came to be called the East House.

Originally called the Edinburgh Lunatic Asylum, the hospital opened in 1813, initially for patients whose families could afford to pay. The West House, designed by William Burn, opened in 1842, for poor patients, and taking over the care of the city's Bedlam inmates in 1844. The West House was demolished in 1896, but the Royal Edinburgh Hospital remains. It includes the Andrew Duncan Clinic, opened in 1965.

I posted a bit of his epic poem Auld Reikie   last year so this year here is another of his famous works, The Daft-days, in which Auld Reikie takes a central role, it is the old nickname for Scotland's capital city. The Daft-Days is the old name given to the period from Christmas to Handsel Monday  because it is given over to celebration, merriment and excess, with many people having licence to act in frivolous or daft (mad) ways. It is still the primary period of national celebration in Scotland

The Daft-Days.

Now mirk December’s dowie face Glowrs owr the rigs wi sour grimace, While, thro’ his minimum of space, The bleer-ey’d sun, Wi blinkin light and stealing pace, His race doth run.

From naked groves nae birdie sings, To shepherd’s pipe nae hillock rings, The breeze nae od’rous flavour brings From Borean cave, And dwyning nature droops her wings, Wi visage grave.

Mankind but scanty pleasure glean Frae snawy hill or barren plain, Whan winter, ‘midst his nipping train, Wi frozen spear, Sends drift owr a’ his bleak domain, And guides the weir.

Auld Reikie! thou’rt the canty hole, A bield for many caldrife soul, Wha snugly at thine ingle loll, Baith warm and couth, While round they gar the bicker roll To weet their mouth.

When merry Yule-day comes, I trou, You’ll scantlins find a hungry mou; Sma are our cares, our stamacks fou O’ gusty gear, And kickshaws, strangers to our view, Sin fairn-year.

Ye browster wives, now busk ye braw, And fling your sorrows far awa; Then come and gie’s the tither blaw Of reaming ale, Mair precious than the well of Spa, Our hearts to heal.

Then, tho’ at odds wi a’ the warl’, Amang oursels we’ll never quarrel; Tho’ Discord gie a canker’d snarl To spoil our glee, As lang’s there’s pith into the barrel We’ll drink and ‘gree.

Fidlers, your pins in temper fix, And roset weel your fiddle-sticks; But banish vile Italian tricks Frae out your quorum, Not fortes wi pianos mix – Gie’s Tulloch Gorum.

For nought can cheer the heart sae weel As can a canty Highland reel; It even vivifies the heel To skip and dance: Lifeless is he wha canna feel Its influence.

Let mirth abound, let social cheer Invest the dawning of the year; Let blithesome innocence appear To crown our joy; Nor envy wi sarcastic sneer Our bliss destroy.

And thou, great god of Aqua Vitae! Wha sways the empire of this city, When fou we’re sometimes capernoity, Be thou prepar’d To hedge us frae that black banditti, The City Guard.

More on Fergusson and some of his poetry here https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poet/robert-fergusson/