#Monty Banks

[mabusecaligari]

Monty Banks in Chasing Choo Choos (1927) - Joseph Henabery

[erstwhile-punk-guerito]

[davidhudson]

Monty Banks, July 18, 1897 – January 7, 1950.

[gatutor]

Stanley Lupino-Thelma Todd "Vaya niña" (You made me love you) 1933, de Monty Banks.

[hylfystt]

so do you think monty, sibella and phoebe eventually kill sibella's husband?

[undercoverpena]

him. he. joel.

joel miller x f!reader | joel miller masterlist

summary: you don't know his name. he doesn't know yours. yet.

wordcount: 1.5k warnings: PRE OUTBREAK. a suggestion of alcohol as they're in a bar, but never consumed. smut. unprotected sex with a stranger (at first). oral sex (m!receiving + f!receiving). no use of y/n. no age gap is specified (use your imagination, honey). jo spelling too, cause wrote this on my phone read on ao3

Your eyes land on his across the room.

Throat drying at first contact, feet glueing more to the insoles of your shoes as you focus on keeping your back straight—poised, unwilling to crack or bend. 

Especially when he seeks you out over random heads and remains there even when you pretend to look away.

You only see him here occasionally.

No routine, no plan—no arrangement in place, just a chance and encounter. 

As soon as you do, the two of you perform the same dance as the time before, circling and circling until the inevitable collision. 

He doesn’t know your name; you don’t know his.

But, you do know how his cock feels in your throat. You do know the way his stubble feels on the inside of your thighs—and the grunt he makes when he spills inside of you.

Just like how you know the way his lips feel when he’s zipping himself back up, giving you one last parting kiss before he’s through the door of the bathroom, supply closet or exiting out of the back of your car. 

Tonight, it’s another person's birthday. 

Ericsson’s maybe? Or a person called Monty—you’re not sure.

You’re just wondering how long it’ll take before the usual routine comes into play. 

Will he find you outside, head turned away under the twinkling, milky stars and a cloudless sky before he snaps your attention to him? Or, will his fingers, deft and thick, find your wrist—pull you into a dark corner and slant his mouth across yours to smother your gasp? 

Except tonight feels different, something in the air—it is all heavy, layering thick. Some part of you wondering if there are new rules to the game, ones not shared, not handed to you—more so when he breaks away from the rowdy celebrations and leans on the bar next to you. 

“Alone?”

“Aren’t I always?” 

He chews his tongue, the sleeves of his brown t-shirt clinging to his biceps—parts of the seam unthreaded, likely over-worn. 

“You taking me away from here or will we see if my lipstick is still on the mirror from last time?” 

All set to move, to slide from your usual bar stool, when he rests his palm on the back of it, caging you, keeping you there. All broad, wide, arms long, as you stare at him, enamoured, suddenly unsure why you don't just press your mouth to his here and now.

“You not like where y’sat?” he asks.

Doing so as though he can’t see the twinkle in your eyes or see the play-by-play movie you hope will happen tonight flicking in your pupils. As though he can't see how he'd struggle to slide a finger between your pressed-together thighs, never mind his hand.  

Moving your hand, you bring your glass closer, taking a sip of your Coke, ice clinking, straw remaining on your lip a second longer as his brown eyes dig a little deeper. 

“Maybe, I just think your face is worth sitting on.”

You hadn’t banked on going home with him. 

A shift, a noticeable change to the way things were. But, it thrilled you. Made the entire ride over an excited, uncomfortable mess as your underwear grew more ruined with every mile. 

He’d made it worth it.

Gave you a fucking throne to sit on as he worked his tongue inside you like he was as starved as you. He drew you to the edge, hanging you over it as he paused, cool breaths blown before his tongue did a circle, a square, and a letter on your clit that made your ears ring, vision blur and your thighs ache from trembling. 

Made you feel relief.

“All fours for me.” 

It's followed by a demand, an order. One you follow with a scramble. A bend of your back that has him calling you a good girl as he inches his cock in—making your fingers clench around his bedsheets. 

Your body welcomes him.

A blend of feeling good and too much all at once as you stretch around him. Feeling his palm on your spine, sliding down before moving over your hip. Words spoken, grunted into your skin that you’re barely able to discern as your breathing comes back to you, as you relax around him and let him bury himself to the hilt inside of you. 

“Y’can move.” 

And he does. 

Making your body illuminate, a full-on tremble as you course with electricity. Each drag making you see those same spots in your vision. Making you moan, whine, groan.

That is, until you hiss—a different one than when he pinches your ear lobe between his teeth or when he sucks on the skin of your neck a little more intensely than normal. 

You apologise. Tapping to move, finding he releases you, before you explain—Cramp. That’s all you offer. Fearful of crossing another boundary when you move, positioning yourself on your back and letting the low light from his bedside lamp shimmer over him. 

And fuck, is he handsome. Beautiful.

The sheen of sweat makes him glow, makes every inch of him quickly committed to memory. Doing so for as long as you let yourself give before you're yanking his mouth back to yours, panted against it when he slides his cock back, pushing all the way, feeling the fullness you crave in the weeks between seeing him. 

Because it’s a feeling you’d wait for. 

Practically growing parched before you see him again, salivating at the sight of his eyes and hardened stare.

It's a thing you suspect he feels too, virtually confessing it with each thrust, punctuating it, practically marking it on your walls as his arm rests in the space above your head, caging you, allowing him to watch everything that flicks across your face. 

It’s why when you wake up in an unfamiliar bed, in sheets that don’t smell like yours—a wish for his name begins burning there on the tip of your tongue now. All acidic—making a mark. 

It does so as you find your clothes—as you slip your legs inside your jeans and manage to throw on your blouse. 

It’s then you see the photos—stitch together the life your mystery man leads. Seeing that he has a kid, one with a beautiful smile—a child that looks half his and half someone you hope you don’t know. 

A sickness churning, flipping inside of you as you slide out of the bedroom, sneak down the staircase and spot the door you can escape through. 

It’s just, you know nothing about him. 

You don’t know that he likes his coffee black and that he barely eats breakfast. In the same way, you don’t know that he rises early, and he’s already waiting for you because he’d heard the sound of the wobbly floorboards. 

“Sneakin’ out?” 

“Sneaking implies I’m embarrassed.” 

Hand wrapped around a mug—making it look small, insignificant, he takes a sip. “You’re not?” 

“Should I be?” 

Shrugging, he takes another sip. 

You say goodbye. Let the place his name should be linger.

Then you close his door behind you. 

Fuck.

You learn his name is Joel.

Each of the four letters practically burnt into you when he handed them to you. Yet, you'd wished he'd seared them into your skin while his fingers held your chin.

Because then you could call it an accident.

But, he doesn't hand it to you that way. He gives it to you. Willingly. 

Just like he does with slithers of his past, his work, that he comes here with his brother, and then his kid’s name—Sarah. Explains it in as few words as possible. Better than sitting at home alone. Better company here. 

The latter almost makes your lips twitch into a smile. 

Joel gives you all of this on a different kind of night than you normally see him. You're working, for one. Pencil tapping against the book, the numbers make sense—the maths finding their rhythm.

But, even if that all makes sense, he doesn’t. 

Nothing about him adds up. An enigma, a confusion on two legs. Yet, you’re hooked—knew you were when you took him in the bathroom of the bar your friends own and got on your knees for him. When you unbuckled his belt and let it clang, tasting salt and pent-up frustration on your tongue as he filled your mouth with his release. He didn’t ask to see it, but you showed it to him anyway, earning an arrogant smirk before he’s helping you off the ground. 

You tell him yours, exchange him for it as you look down at the books—nudging receipts with the eraser end of your pencil before he leans his forearms on the edge of the bar next to you. 

“Already knew that.” 

Your head turns before your neck catches up. Eyes narrowed, lips parting in a question—except it never leaves your throat. 

“I asked about you.” 

Dropping your pencil, you fight the smile. The one desperate to carve on your face. “Why?” 

“Right thing to do.” 

Brow arching, you smirk—letting that free, allow it to spread up to your eyes as your body twists. 

“Y’think you’d wanna get outta here?”

“With you?” 

He runs his tongue over the front of his teeth, thumb circling his finger. “Think I owe you dinner.” 

Nodding, you close the book—pencil keeping your place, sliding it up, nodding to the person behind the bar before turning back to him.

“You did have dessert the last time we saw each other, Joel.”  

“I did. Should know better—I’m a dad.”

Resting your cheek on your palm, you roll your lips, and watch red rise up his neck as he waits for your answer. “Your shirt is inside out.” 

“Goddamn it.” 

You go with him anyway.

an: I HAVE NEVER WRITTEN PRE-OUTBREAK JOEL. so thank my circle friends because this all began with them, and a faceless man. and now here we are.

[resowrites]

Holy Grail - drabble.

Summary: Henry develops a fixation for a certain part of his pregnant wife’s body…

Pairings: AU!Henry Cavill x Wife!OC

Warnings: fluff, banter/British humour, sexy talk, language, dialogue heavy, nondescript OC body type/appearance, hastily written/lightly proofread.

WC: 635

A/N: My work must not be copied, reposted, or translated elsewhere. Likes, follows, reblogs and comments are thoroughly welcome and appreciated! Gifs/pics not my own. I hope you all enjoy and thanks for visiting!

Holy Grail - drabble.

"Whoa--"

"Henry, get out, I'm trying to get dry!" He quickly turned around as she grabbed the towel from the bed and clutched it to her chest.

"I'm sorry! I came in here to fetch Kal so I could give him his tea!" But the pooch was still fast asleep at the foot of their bed.

"Well you better get out of here before he wakes up, you know how protective of me he is at the moment."

"I know, the soppy git…"

"He's soppy?! You almost had a panic attack yesterday when you thought I ate shrimp! And he picked up following me into every room from you!"

"Yeah well at least I don't guard you when you're in the shower--"

"Well thank God for Kal, otherwise you'd be leering at me through the glass!"

"At least then I'd get a look at them! Come on, drop that towel, and lemme see if I can't tune in for the news and weather--"

"Out, now! I wanna get dry in peace."

"Then here, let me help…" Henry took a few steps forward only for her to dart under the bed so she could fetch something. "What the hell is the broom doing under there?!"

"I had to bring it up last night to squish a spider on the ceiling and now I'm going to use it to get rid of another pest."

"My lady may call me whatever she wishes. For she is beautiful, rich, and got huge… tracts of land!"

"That's it! I'm not enduring Monty Python quotes. You're banned from my presence the rest of the evening. Be gone!" She tried to jab with the broom only for him to dart out of the way.

"Aww come on, when was the last time we got to knock boots?"

"Last bloody night!"

"Then you should be warmed up by now!"

"God give me strength… anyway I thought you just wanted to cop a feel?"

"Well I'll take whatever I can get--"

"Yeah well by the time I'm finished with this broom, you'll be able to sweep the floor!"

"Charming, all I wanted was to enjoy the beauty of my pregnant wife! Honestly, it looks like you're holding up two ten-gallon hats--"

"God you belong on a bloody list… can't you go one night without being a pervert?"

"No, but I'll tell you what, you flash me lefty and I'll give you a hundred quid."

"A hundred quid?"

"Yeah, would you prefer cash or bank transfer?"

"Is that all you think I'm worth?!"

"Well, it's not like you're giving me a handful!"

"And how much would you pay for that? I was thinking of redoing the kitchen…"

"What? Why? I did a good job of the tiling!"

"Henry, two fell off just this morning!"

"Then let little Henry have a dance in your ballroom and I'll fix it for free!"

"Will you also disappear back downstairs?"

"God, you always want to get rid of me!"

"Yeah, cos you get on my sodding tits!"

"I bloody wish!" She looked up at the ceiling and prayed for guidance.

"Henry, give me one good reason why I should have sex with you tonight."

"I can do better than that, I can regale you with song."

"What?!" Henry cleared his throat.

"Every sperm is sacred, every sperm is great. If a sperm is wasted, God gets quite irate!" She perched on the edge of the bed with her head in her hands.

"I can't actually believe I'm having your child…"

"I can, especially after last night. Now get thee to bed, and let's go for round two--"

"Really? You're reciting Shakespeare now?"

"Well I thought that might do the trick--"

"Fat chance."

"Why not? I can leave the money on the bedside table--" she chucked a pillow at him.

To be updated on when I post please follow @resowrites and turn on post notifications.

@elizabetharegina @fanfictionaddiction99 @luclittlepond @caffeinatedfestivalsheep @summersong69 @ushijimbo @geralts-yenn @livesinfantasyland @jackjanira

[nevermoreconfessions]

Annabel was so hot for making Monty beg like that it broke me a little. Ascended to a new plane of existence with clear skin and full bank account. Moisturized, unbothered, in my lane. She should do it again

She should.

First, she's fine as hell. (Curvy, blonde, femme, evil? Yum.) She's just as gorgeous as Lenore, in my opinion —

Second, her wit and strategies elevate her to a new level. Her improvisation skills are extraordinary, second to none in the academy. She's the quickest to make a strategy, and on some level, it works.

Everything about her is delicious.

Annabel Lee, they can never make me hate you.

[homunculus-argument]

Actually that is probably my villain origin story. Like the "I was already a troubled child, but then The Thing happened, I survived, and now I use these cool powers for evil" -type. You fell into the vat of Weird Toad Chemicals and now you've got toad powers that you use to rob banks. You got blasted with your mom's Ghost Book when you were five and now you use spirits to pickpocket people on the city train. You were going to be a bad guy anyway but with the unusual gifts that you got for surviving these unusual circumstances, you're just better at it.

I am on this planet to annoy people, and I have a knack for saying supremely weird shit. It's a skill I've honed and cultivated over my life, but I would never have had these fabulous powers infested in me if it weren't for my regular early childhood exposure to Monty Python.

[noneorother]

Share your GOS2 bibliography with me

How crazy is it that season 2 has basically forced me to go back to university. I’ve done more reading and critical analysis and historical research than I have in years. I bite my thumb at you, Neil (affectionate).

And as I’m sure I’m not alone in this, I’d love to see your bibliography of all of the references or reading/watch lists. I’m sure to pick up a few good ones! I’ll go first.

Movies + TV Arrival - Denis Villeneuve Clue - Jonathan Lynn I Know Where I'm Going - Powell & Pressburger The Ball - Magnus Dennison and Katja Roberts Every Day - Michael Sucsy About Time - Richard Curtis The Red Shoes - Powell & Pressburger The Small Back Room - Powell & Pressburger The Tales of Hoffmann - Powell & Pressburger Stairway to Heaven - Powell & Pressburger Ill Met By Moonlight - Powell & Pressburger The League of Gentlemen's Apocalypse - Steve Bendelack Monty Python's Life of Brian - Terry Jones Monty Python and the Holy Grail - Terry Gilliam & Terry Jones The Twilight zone (The Arrival) Boris Sagal The Twilight zone (The Hitch-Hiker) - Alvin Ganzer Staged (Seasons 1 and 2) - Simon Evans & Phin Glynn Books The Crow Road - Iain Banks The Bridge - Iain Banks The Scholars of Night - John M. Ford Symbols of Sacred Science - René Guénon Catch-22 - Joseph Heller A Tale of Two Cities - Charles Dickens The Colour of Magic - Terry Pratchett Night Watch (Discworld) - Terry Pratchett Parlement of Foules - Geoffrey Chaucer The language of the birds - Farid ud-Din Attar Pride & Prejudice - Jane Austen Persuasion - Jane Austen Midnight Days - Neil Gaiman Negative Burn #11 - Neil Gaiman Chivalry - Neil Gaiman Other Les contes d'Hoffamann - opera, Jacques Offenbach Don Giovanni - opera, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart The Line, the Cross and the Curve - musical, Kate Bush The book of Enoch - Ethiopian Apocryphal trs. Rev. George Schodde, PhD

I'm sure there will be more... sigh. Spoiler alert: there are more! Donnie Darko - 2001, Richard Kelly Nothing Lasts Forever - 1984, Tom Schiller The Ghosts of Berkley Square - 1947, Vernon Sewell Brazil! - 1985, Terry Gilliam No Bed for Bacon - 1941, Caryl Brahms and S. J. Simon Don't, Mr Disraeli! - 1949, Caryl Brahms and S. J. Simon Murder Mysteries - Neil Gaiman The Man Who Was Thursday - 1908, GK Chesterton Small Gods - 1992, Terry Pratchett Ipomadon - Medieval - Trs. Richard Scott-Robinson

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Best and Worst of Both Worlds (part 18)

Tw: nothing much, also boring chapter its just some filler and introduction of another character, cause if its only between yves and monty its gonna get old quick . So i threw in a sacrifice side character

Part 19

Mr Jones nodded. The ride will take an hour. You hope Yves won't be grieving over that $200.

While waiting in traffic, you stared out of the window. Watching the planes in the distance roam in the air.

"Mx (name), I heard that you will be starting your semester orientation tomorrow."

You confirmed it, he asked which University you go to. You told him the name of your university.

"Ah, that is a prestigious university. My daughter received a scholarship to study there!" He bragged as a proud father.

"Her name is Evangeline, Do you by chance know her?"

You doubt so. The only person you hung around with is Yves, and you only started doing that after your exams.

"My daughter has a green thumb, she loves her plants and flowers. So much so, she pursued a degree in botany!"

You scratched the back of your neck. Evangeline Jones from Botany. She sounds familiar.

It isn't like you were a complete recluse. You did attend orientation and made a hoard of temporary friends. The friendships never seem to go anywhere, so you slowly fall out of touch with them. To the point that neither of you say hi to each other upon passing by.

You used to have a whole phonebook of contacts that gave you the illusion that you're popular, but you deleted almost all of them except for a select few group members. You think you have seen an "Evangeline Jones" before.

"But..." His smile fell. "My poor daughter is having a hard time fitting in. She would complain to my wife about how she barely has any friends."

You hummed in acknowledgement. You understand the feeling.

"She used to, but they were jealous of her and started spreading horrible rumors about my child. My daughter takes a lot from my wife, so she's naturally beautiful! It's just... such a shame she met the wrong group of people."

Wait a minute...

You asked if Evangeline is blonde.

"Yes! That's right, she has the most beautiful blonde hair. She got her blue eyes from my wife, her nose from me and lips from the of us."

Oh.

Poor girl. You never spoke much to her, but during the times you did, she was the sweetest, most soft spoken person you knew. There were rumors going on about her stealing someone's partner. You don't know how true it was, but you can say for certain she is beautiful.

You've seen her eating by herself at random outdoor places. But you've never cared to make contact.

She obviously cannot compare to Yves's levels, but she is definitely a lot higher than average.

"Say, how about this, Mx (name). The florist she works at is just a couple of steps away from this Ice cream parlor of yours. I know you're a kind soul and you two would be great friends! I bring you to meet her and I won't charge this trip. How does that sound?"

You shrugged. Why not? Less burden on Yves's bank account and you get to have a friend. So you agreed.

"Perfect! Trust me, Mx (name), you and Evangeline will be the bestest of friends! She will be the sweetest girl you've ever met!" Mr Jones was extremely happy. You guess it's because it hurts to see your own child being alienated by her peers. He is a good father, doing what he can to help her make friends.

Though, you don't know if this is the best way to do it. Perhaps to some other clients, it's considered unprofessional at best, perverse at worst. Maybe he could just tell that you're a normal student.

Or... it's probably because he heard you bawl your eyes out in front of Yves about how you didn't have friends.

Yeah, that's the most plausible reason. How embarrassing.

__

The glass door swung open and the bell struck against the frame. Alerting the person behind the counter that someone entered the store.

"Hi sweetie! There is someone I want you to meet."

"Oh! Hi Daddy! Who is it?" She was tending to a bucket of petunias. Evangeline stretched her neck to see who is trailing behind him.

You emerged behind his back and waved awkwardly.

Evangeline gave you the most dazzling smile as she greeted you.

"Hello, welcome to Nancy's florist. I think we've met before, haven't we?"

You told her yes, you met her from orientation.

"Ah! I remember now. It's nice to see you again, how are you?" She asked.

You replied that you're fine and returned the questions.

"Mm, Well. I'm nervous for tomorrow. You know, first day jitters." She giggled, but you could tell she is uncomfortable. Most likely wondering if you knew of the rumors.

"I see you two are well acquainted! That's good!" Her father gleefully remarked.

"How did you come across..." She tried to remember your name.

You refreshed her memory.

"(name)! Yes. How did you come across each other?"

"Well, Sir Yves hired me to become their chauffeur for the week."

Evangeline puts her work away and wipes her hands on a nearby hand cloth. She's only slightly taller than you are.

"That's great, daddy." She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. "Did... they request to come here?"

"Oh! No. They wanted to visit the Ice Cream parlour down the street. Say, sweetie. What if you take a break and get a bit more acquainted with them with some good ol' ice cream." He grinned.

Suddenly, horror consumed her expression.

She turned to you.

"I'm so sorry. My dad is- my dad was just trying to help me find some friends. He's always like this. This isn't the Ice cream shop, (name)."

You said that it's fine. It's near her florist anyways.

"There isn't an Ice Cream shop anywhere near here. The next one is a 15 minute drive away."

Oh.

You suck as maps then.

"Oh, it's fine. I'll drive both of you there."

"Daddy." She seethe through her clenched jaw.

"They're also looking for friends! I don't see the harm in introducing you to them."

You opened your mouth to say something but was cut off by Evangeline.

"You can't just do this to your clients! It's so unprofessional!"

"Mx (name) agreed to it!"

"That's because they're nice! What would Sir Yves think of this!?"

"I'm not charging him for this trip!"

"Then you are making a loss for my sake! You're wasting their time and yours, daddy! They wanted to go to an Ice Cream Shop, you brought them to a florist!"

"Come on! They're also looking to make friends, aren't you, Mx (name)?"

They both stared at you. You began freezing up under the pressure.

The bickering was interrupted when a customer entered the shop.

She greeted them albeit shakily and worked to serve them.

You left the building out of embarrassment.

__

In the end though, her father convinced to close up early for the day and go to that Ice Cream parlor with you.

He drove off after dropping you and his daughter.

"So... um." She fiddled with her ice cream spoon. Her strawberry flavored one is starting to melt and drip onto the plate under the cup.

You weren't paying attention because you're snarfing down the ice cream. It was the best you ever had. Since you have a fresh injection of five grand into your account, you can buy as much as your heart desires.

"What did you hear about me?" She asked. You stopped and looked at her. She's staring at you with a straight face.

You asked what she meant by that.

"You know..." She tried to vaguely gesture to something.

You told her you heard rumors of her sleeping with a taken man.

"There we go." She fell back into the comfortable chair and rolled her eyes. Her blonde hair, blue floral, off-the-shoulders sun dress fluttering along.

You asked if it was true.

"No. It wasn't. That was such a horrible thing, I would never do that! I... I didn't understand why she would tell such a lie." Evangeline had her sights downcast.

"Did you believe it, (name)?" She looked at you.

You had to wait a few minutes to recover from your brain freeze.

Once you're done, you told her you didn't pay attention. Or cared, you were struggling to pay your own rent and that occupied the entirety of your mind.

She looked relieved. "I'm sorry to hear that (name)."

You told her not to be, you managed to scrounge enough to pay for that month. You're in a much better position now, financially.

She gave you a polite smile. "Well, I'm glad to hear it."

There was an awkward silence between the two of you again.

"Umm. Are you ready for tomorrow?"

You said no.

"Yeah. Me neither."

Crickets again.

"What classes do you have?"

Your eyes widened. You forgot to choose your timetable!

"What!? You're supposed to do that two weeks ago!"

You logged into your student portal. Only to see that your timetable has been allocated.

Huh? You don't remember...

You checked your University email. It was almost like blowing metaphorical dust bunnies and cobwebs off. You have not opened it since the end of last semester.

You saw an email sent in by Yves two weeks ago.

"(name),

I assume you will be reading this a day before the beginning of your second semester.

I enrolled you in your required courses and allocated your classes for you. I gave you a few reminders prior to the deadline.

Please be mindful of your passwords. You wrote your login credentials on a piece of sticky note I found in your bag while cleaning. You also had your banking information and the PIN number of your debit card on it. I strongly recommend using a digital password manager, I will cover the monthly fee for you.

Well done on your exams. You have achieved exemplary results. You were being too harsh on yourself as you received a high distinction on each paper. I am very proud of you, (name).

Best of luck returning to academia. Come see me if you need additional support, be it emotional or financial. I will provide it in any way I can.

Love,

Yves"

That's right. You didn't even bother to check what you got for your exams. Fully believing that you're failing each subject, you just wanted to enjoy your holiday with Yves in peace. You didn't want to know.

You can't believe you got straight As though. It's crazy, all you did was cry in that exam.

"What's up?" She asked. You've been staring at your phone for a while.

You said nevermind, it's been settled. She also visibly relaxed.

"Thank goodness. Hey, I think we have the same class."

She pointed at your timetable.

That is interesting.

"We could meet up!" She clapped her hands in glee. "And we could go for lunch too, this is great!"

You matched her energy and cheered in the parlour. Attracting some eyes due to the rowdiness.

Both of you cower in shame and laughed it off.

The afternoon was spent awkwardly trying to make conversation with each other.

[the-paper-apricot]

Paul, Porter and "I love you"

The accepted explanation of the writing of the Wings hit 'Silly Love Songs', including that offered several times over the years by Paul McCartney himself, is that it was a riposte to criticism of his more sentimental love songs as light and insignificant.

I was getting slagged off for writing luv songs. You see, I’m looking at love not from the perspective of ‘boring old love’, I’m looking at it like when you get married and have a baby. That’s pretty strong: it’s something deeper.

Paul McCartney, from Club Sandwich N°47/48, Spring 1988 (cited here)

Although I've never seen this discussed anywhere, it's long seemed to me that there's another possible influence on the song. To my knowledge no one has ever asked Paul directly about this, so what follows remains just my headcanon. (If anyone knows something to the contrary, please let me know!)

Cole Porter, another preternaturally talented Gemini lefty.

While writing the songs destined for the musical Mexican Hayride (1944), Cole Porter was presented with a challenge by his close friend Monty Woolley. (Woolley was an American actor who you may remember in the delicious role of the Professor in the Christmassy classic film The Bishop's Wife.) Woolley reasoned that because Porter's songwriting mastery came in part from his unhackneyed, fresh lyrical ideas, he wouldn't be able to write a hit song with the simple, rather too obvious, repeated refrain of "I love you".

Monty Woolley with Cole Porter

It became a $25 wager, and Woolley also stipulated that his friend include reheated stale lines about spring and "birds on the wing". Porter duly wrote 'I Love You', which was the only standout in the show and in time topped the U.S. Hit Parade for several weeks, so he won his bet.

I would quite like to have been sort of a nineteen-twenties writer, 'cause I like that thing, you know. You know, up in top hat and tails and sort of coming on ... so, this kind of number, I like that thing. But, so this is just me doing it, and pretending I'm living in 1925.

Paul McCartney, talking about 'Honey Pie', interview with Radio Luxembourg, 1968

Melvyn Bragg: What's the longest you've ever worked over a song? 'Cause a lot of the lyrics, the more you read them, the more - and then they always read very straightforwardly and seamlessly, but when you read them again and again they're very complicated, and a lot of internal rhyming going on and a lot of extremely clever play. Does that - do you work on them quite hard? Do you go over them again and again? Paul: Well, you know I'm a fan of all that, the old-fashioned writing. You know, sort of Sammy Cahn's era, you know, Cole Porter, and I do like all that, when it comes off! I mean, I hate just silly rhymes, just, you know - but when it really comes off those are great little things in songwriting. So I was always aware of that from people like Cole Porter. So I'd always try and put something like that kinda thing in, sorta little internal rhymes, you were always going for that kinda thing. ... I can't explain it, you know, I've never been able to explain it, but it's like it comes in out of the blue. It sort of comes at you, you know, and - I'm sure the funnel that it's coming through's a lot to do with it, 'cause your little computer in here - my computer's sort of heard Billy Cotton Band Show going back there, you know and Cole Porter there, and this there and it's heard millions of influences through to Chuck Berry ...

from 'Paul McCartney: Songsmith' (The South Bank Show) January 1978

George Eells' book The Life That Late He Led: A Biography of Cole Porter was published in 1967 and remained the definitive life for about a decade. It mentions the 'I Love You' wager (p212), which became one of the better-known song origin anecdotes.

I have no idea if Paul McCartney knew this story. But I can imagine the professional challenge appealing to him, and perhaps especially tempting is the playful pairing of commercial reward with artistic defiance. 'Silly Love Songs', like 'I Love You' before it, was a big hit: Number 2 in the UK chart, and top of the Billboard chart in the States.

Did he dare himself to write a pop chorus that repeated the refrain "I love you", because Porter had done so? I dunno.* For what it's worth, I think the three melodic lines in the chorus of 'Silly Love Songs' exceed Porter's tune in both beauty and memorability.** (Although I do enjoy this sultry version recorded by Julie London.)

(*Just like I don't know if 'Why Don't We Do It In The Road' found any precedent in Porter's celebrated and racy-for-its-day song, 'Let's Do It, Let's Fall in Love'.)

(**But I mean, you'd expect me to say that, you know I've made paper dolls of him in his little Wings outfits tbf.)

[petrichor-idyllic]

MASTERLIST

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REQUESTS ARE CLOSED

THIS BLOG CONTAINS 18+ CONTENT. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT YOU CONSUME.

All of my writing and works can be found here. I write for several fandoms and mainly write 'x reader' but I also have my own characters.

Please refer to my rules before requesting.

Requests can be as detailed as you want, but give me the preferred pronouns for the one-shot, or I will default use they/them.

The characters and universes I write for are listed below - character names in bold already have fics written about them, but I write for all on this list.

○ FLUFF | □ SPICE | ● ANGST | ■ SMUT |• HEADCANONS

◇ FEM! READER | ☆ GN! READER | 《》 MASC! READER

OUTERBANKS

JJ MAYBANK | RAFE CAMERON | KIARA CARRERA | JOHN B. ROUTLEDGE | SARAH CAMERON | POPE HEYWARD

THE MAZE RUNNER

MULTI-CHARACTER

THOMAS | MINHO | NEWT | TERESA | FRYPAN | GALLY | BRENDA | ALBY

(NOTE: Newt is canonically gay, confirmed by the author of TMR: James Dashner. Therefore, I will only write Masc and Gender-neutral reader out of respect for the character.)

THE 100

CLARKE GRIFFIN | JOHN MURPHY | BELLAMY BLAKE | OCTAVIA BLAKE | FINN COLLINS | JASPER JORDAN | MONTY GREEN | RAVEN REYES | HARPER MCLNTYRE

(NOTE: I have only seen the first two seasons pls don't shout at me.)

THE MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE

(Please request characters for this, there are far too many to list.)

PETER PARKER

RORY CULKIN CHARACTERS

CHARLIE WALKER (Scream 4) | EURONYMOUS (Lords of Chaos) | GABRIEL (Gabriel 2014) | CLYDE (Electrik Children) | MIKE (5lbs of Pressure)

INDIVIDUAL CHARACTERS

(These are one-off characters I will write for and what they are from.)

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY | Call of Duty

RODRICK HEFFLEY | Diary of a Wimpy Kid

MARCUS LOPEZ ARGUELLO | Deadly Class

MY ORIGINAL CHARACTERS

CICADA: OUTER BANKS FANFIC IDEA

Mazz Introduction

THE MAZE RUNNER FANFIC IDEA

Vol and friends introduction

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

DID they ever find eclipse? Eclipse would definitely be traumatized after 15 years

They did. Once Monty knew the agency Moon has sold Eclipse through, Monty did a bit of undercover and went through Moon's bank files to find where the funds were coming from and showed up the next time Eclipse was being sold and used the money Moon had been getting from the auctions to buy Eclipse back, since it was the only way to really do it.

[gatutor]

Mae Marsh "Great guns" 1941, de Monty Banks.

[whumpster-fire]

Leading Thieves Say Millennials and Zoomers "Ruining the Crime Industry"

A variety of criminals have spoken out over the past few weeks, saying that crime just doesn't pay like it used to because Millennials and Gen-Z-ers are so broke, they have nothing of value to steal.

Stephen "Fingers" Gilligan, Pickpocket: Pickpocketing has been on the decline in America for a while, but it's getting ridiculous now. Nobody carries cash anymore, and even cards aren't paying out. The other day I stole a wallet with five debit cards, and all but one of them declined. The last one had just enough to buy a Sierra Mist from a vending machine. That was my second best score all week. The best was a $40 Olive Garden gift card and a crumpled, discolored $5 bill that I had to use archeological techniques to retrieve without it disintegrating in my hand.

Burt Crustman, Mugger: Man, nobody walks through dark alleys at night since the pandemic hit, and when they do? Jackshit. The only valuable anyone under 40's got on them these days is their phone. Admittedly lotsa people have $3000 phones, but you know what the market for fencing iPhones is like? It's shit! Everybody's buying new phones because their phone's the only nice thing they can afford!

Monty Derailleur, Bike Thief: Well the bike theft business would be going good, if people ever used the bikes they bought. The sales are high, but the fact of the matter is, the bike lanes around here are shitty or nonexistent, there's no room to take them on the bus, and there's no bike racks so everybody knows it's gonna get stolen.

Jerry Rigby, Car Thief: I don't know what you're talking about, Grand Theft Auto is booming. There's $75,000 pickups, $60,000 SUVs, $100,000 Teslas, and most people can't even afford to buy a used car legally so fencing's never been easier. The reason it's hard for those of us in the business is twofold. First, too many people living out of their cars. Second, the competition. You see a nice car parked somewhere, you gotta be on it like that, or the fucking illegal towing rackets will beat you to it. It's nearly impossible to make a living as an independent car thief.

Dwayne Pipe, Burglar: The only reason to be breaking and entering in the post-Pandemic years if to use somebody's shower. I swear to god, half the time when I break into a place, the only furniture is a mattress on the floor and a mid-sized computer monitor as a TV, and those are only good for scrap because with planned obsolescence the way it is, they have a life expectancy of about 6 weeks after theft. To be honest with you, I'm running a loss on most jobs. The only reason I haven't gone straight is because all the legal jobs pay jackshit too. That, and I really like replacing people's family photos with pictures of Nicholas Cage.

Brittlyghn McKannyck, Shoplifter: Shoplifting these days is a hobby, not a career. Half the time the stores are too understaffed to even stock the shelves, and if they're not, everything's locked up. I had to get a guy to unlock a magnetic tag on a box of Crispix the other day. If I didn't live with my parents, there's absolutely no way shoplifting full time would be viable.

Norman Gore, Master Hacker and Identity Thief: Scamming people out of their financial info or cracking passwords has never been easier, but the scores just aren't worth it. I keep getting into bank accounts that pending overdraft fees. It's pathetic. I have to leave the lights off so my hacker den's only lit by the monitors, and type on three or four keyboards at once to hack enough people to make ends meet.

Jack Gazebo, Digital Pirate: Oh my fucking God, people, stop paying for streaming! Learn to torrent! I'm telling you, man, this generation just doesn't have the technological literacy to pirate media.

Captain Tom Stillcutt, Analog Pirate: Let me tell ye something, matey, it be a sad day for piracy. No more galleons laden low with gold doubloons, rum, and exotic spices, nay, it be all scurvy container ships full o' mass produced plastic now. Me last prize was a forty foot container loaded full of over a hundred thousand Funko Pops, en route from the East Indies. The worst part of it was as the cap'n I gets a double share o' the booty, whether I want it or not. I've been makin' one walk the plank every day, and my cabin's still full of the blasted things. Shiver my timbers, I hate these damned Zoomers! At least the ones in me crew are happy.

Geraldo Cardamom IV, Gentleman Thief: The economy's just horrible for heists these days. Art heists? Jewelry theft? All the rich idiots are blowing their money on crypto, NFTs, and custom furniture from hipster woodworking YouTubers. Nobody just has a gallery in their house with priceless antiques in glass cases below a conveniently placed skylight, or millions of dollars in cash and gold bullion in vaults behind secret doors with seven different elaborate locking mechanisms anymore. Nobody secures their valuables with networks of criss crossing laser motion sensors. The only guys with that kind of money are assholes like Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk, and they don't have the sense of style for that. They just hire a bunch of assholes with guns.

Carmen San Diego, Legend: You must be joking, right? The reason I retired is because the infrastructure in this country is so dilapidated it's impossible to move it without it disintegrating. My last heist was "stealing" the World's Largest Pothole in Lansing, Michigan. I lifted the entire six lane wide, fifteen foot deep pothole out of the ground, disassembled it, and shipped it across the country to a warehouse in Las Vegas, then filled in the hole with pristine asphalt so it looked like it was never there. Nobody investigated. Nobody came after me. The city threw a parade in my honor. It didn't even take a month before my record holding pothole was dethroned by one in Cleveland, leaving me with nothing but a bunch of dirt, crumbling asphalt, and broken dreams. That's when I realized it was time to call it quits. Well, maybe the Bass Pro Shops Pyramid, but it already looks stupid enough in the middle of Tennessee that the only way stealing it would be funny is if I put it in the original Memphis.