#paul aging beautifully of course

[eighthwholove]

Paul McGann + various magazine covers over the years.

Radio Times (1986, 1987, & 1996)

The Face (1987)

Gay Times (1987)

GQ (1989)

Doctor Who: The Movie Special (1996)

Doctor Who Magazine (1996, 2012, & 2014)

Dreamwatch (1996)

Starburst (1996)

Time Out (2009)

[nyrasproblm]

I'm not the only one - 4

Leto Atreides x reader, Paul Atreides x reader (platonic), Jessica Atreides x reader (platonic)

Word Count: 1,3K

Warning: Kinda angst, age difference, mention of drinking alcohol, arranged marriage, mention of infidelity (I think)

series masterlist | next chapter

Moving your toes uneasily, you continued your reading attentively, even forgetting to keep your back straight. Since the heated argument with Leto during the last dinner, you hadn't left your quarters, you preferred to stay quiet and away from the eyes of the duke's servants and men.

The only people you spoke to more often now were Raja and Dania, your servants, since they had to attend to you and were in your quarters almost always. You didn't give Jessica and Paul any opportunity to talk to you, even though you now actually had some duties as duchess.

Your duties as duchess were limited to speaking and taking charge of the governess and servants and answering some letters. The letters that did not contain very important matters, of course, you had to answer them and they were then taken to the duke to be analyzed and if they were satisfactory then they would be sent. Well, at least you kept busy.

Your plans to be mentat with Thufir Hawat were also put aside, you didn't want to get in the poor man's way and he didn't want to risk being discovered.

As the days went by you became more and more quiet, speaking only as necessary to your maids and nothing more. It felt good to keep your thoughts to yourself, like you did on your home planet. You hadn't spoken to Leto in a few days, but his words were still present in your mind, you still felt bad.

Sighing, you looked up and looked around the room, your rooms were fancy without a doubt. Everything was very symmetrical, the walls, the bed built on a small platform that rose a few inches off the floor, the thick rug on the floor. There were several elements that you liked about Arrakeen Palace: the neutral colors of the plain walls, the beautifully carved artwork on the walls, the way everything seemed to fit well into this environment. It gave a certain feeling of comfort, somehow.

You placed the book on the gray stone table and leaned back in the upholstered chair, before you could get up a knock was heard on the door.

"Come in."

You automatically broke into a wide smile when you saw that it was Thufir Hawat. Quickly standing up and approaching him in long strides, you wrapped the short man in a tight hug. He had the same friendly features as always.

"Thufir Hawat, good to see you again."

"I say the same, Duchess." He smiled, stretching his sappho-stained lips. "The Duke sent me here to summon you for today's council."

Your smile gradually faded and your face formed a confused expression.

"The counsil? But I've never participated before." you questioned.

"Apparently the Duke wants you to fully occupy your position as Duchess." he stated.

You were still unsure about leaving the safety of your quarters, but you knew you couldn't get away from it any longer.

"Well, to the council then.”

The council room wasn't that big, but it had a long dark stone table, with a few chairs arranged around it. Like the rest of the Palace, the room was symmetrical and minimalist, with few details, but it had a rectangular window that gave a view of the city outside on one of the walls.

Thufir guided you to a chair near the head and pulled it for you to sit down, you thanked him quietly and he walked around the table to sit facing you. You knew it was indiscreet to stare at people blatantly, so you turned your head slightly and quickly looked around the room. Sitting at the table were also Duncan Idaho, the master swordsman, Gurney Halleck, the warmaster, and a few other men you didn't know.

You turned your head when you heard the doors opening again, seeing Paul and Leto walk in together, exchanging soft smiles with each other. Everyone stood up formally and you did the same, waiting for the Duke's signal to sit down again.

A shiver came over you when you realized that Leto was going to sit at the end of the table, next to you. He walked over and signaled everyone to sit down again.

Your mental confusion increased with every minute of that meeting, Leto and his men talked about politics, the spice, the Fremen and relations with other great houses, but you had no opportunity to speak or give your opinion at any time. The time you wasted here could have been used to continue your duties or to read a book.

"Remain seated, I want to talk to you." Leto said in a low voice at the end of the meeting, when everyone else was leaving.

You remained sitting upright, chin slightly raised and features neutral as you waited patiently for you two to be alone. Leto turned to you, still sitting in the chair, and sighed. It was the first time since the wedding ceremony that you were so close to him, he seemed more tired now.

"I want to apologize to you most sincerely." he began in a calm voice. "I let my problems get bigger and took them out on alcohol, and consequently, on you."

Remaining silent, you chose to just nod, which gave him the opportunity to continue talking.

"Jessica advised me to try to make our coexistence more pleasant, for you and me. She said we should spend more time together, but I hope you understand that I don't have much free time." he continued.

Just as quickly as you cheered up, you withered again. He was apologizing because Jessica had told him to, he was telling you to spend more time together because Jessica had suggested it. You twisted your fingers under the table.

"Yes, sir, I understand that."

Leto nodded and cleared his throat.

"I hope we have dinner together tonight then.”

As much as Leto was willing to apologize to you and spend more time with you influenced by Lady Jessica, you were satisfied in a way, he now acted more leniently, even though he couldn't spend much time with you through occupations as duke.

You started leaving your quarters more and went back to seeing Paul and Lady Jessica, your relationship with both of them also improved, you sometimes welcomed Jessica into your rooms after dinner, she would comb your hair for you to sleep.

"I think you're getting along well with your husband now." she said cautiously as she ran the brush repeatedly through the length of your hair.

"I think so, he said he wants to make our relationship better for both of us." you replied as you kept your gaze on your hands resting in your lap.

She stopped brushing and you frowned, turning to her.

"Everything is fine?"

"Yes, yes, all right." She nodded and placed the brush on the dresser again. "I must go, good night, my dear."

Dinners with everyone present were also held again. Tonight everyone was around the table eating in silence, the atmosphere seemed strange so you preferred to remain silent.

You didn't exactly know the reason for the strange atmosphere, but Leto distanced himself again a few days ago, but not as much as before, so you also kept yourself busy with other things. Lady Jessica was acting strangely lately, she practically ran away from your presence, always ignoring you when you tried to call her to your quarters after dinner and other things.

Clearing your throat, you decided to break the silence.

"Paul, how's your training going?"

"It's going very well, but it's more difficult because of the heat." he smiled widely. "I've been to the desert a few times, to see the harvesters, I wanted you to go with me but mom says you're busy with your chores."

"I've been a little busy, yes, but I'd love to go with you sometime." you replied and the boy seemed to light up.

"That's great, I asked mom to go but the doctor said it's not recommended for her to expose herself to heat because of her pregnancy."

Your spine froze and you turned your head to the other two occupants of the table, seeing them as frozen as you were.

"Are you pregnant?" you ask in a low voice to Jessica.

[mitochondriaandbunnies]

Miami Vice S1E8: No Exit

Bruce Willis plays one of the sleaziest villains in all of Vice, directed by David Soul.

One of my favorite early episodes-- this is definitely a good candidate for trying to convince someone to watch Miami Vice. Fair warning that it’s fairly upsetting!

While Paul Michael Glaser (Starsky) directs 3 episodes of Vice, David Soul (Hutch) only did this one. PMG’s episodes are brisk, sarcastic, and laden with visual metaphor. This episode from Soul is dark, contemplative, and artistically spare. Both directors, however, use music absolutely beautifully, and seem to understand the almost visceral connection between Sonny and Rico, even this early in the series. It’s a shame we never got another Soul episode, but this one is damn good.

I love that Tubbs mentions that he is scared of machine guns, because it’s something that sets him apart from the other men in the department. He’s willing to admit his weaknesses and fear and isn’t as wrapped up in the I’m-the-toughest-cop-here machismo bullshit. His ability to be a little more honest with himself is almost certainly a protective factor in terms of why he doesn’t crash and burn quite as badly as the other characters over the course of the show.

Poor Lester the bug man. Lester is one of those early Vice characters who was clearly intended to be recurring, but he mostly spends the beginning of this episode trying to explain how his tools work while Tubbs is like “shut up I’m creepily looking at ladies through a telescope” again. Jesus, Tubbs.

Sonny and Rico are so fucking mean to Paul, the FBI agent who is supposed to be going undercover. Sonny jokes that the guy “must’ve taken drama in high school” and Rico patronizingly says that he “thinks they’ll handle it.” Then they proceed to send Rico, who has like 3 months of inconsistent undercover work under his belt, and whose Jamaican accent occasionally sounds Transylvanian, to do the job instead. Great work, boys.

God. Just-- the way Sonny is simultaneously truly, genuinely, and deeply concerned about Rita and wants to get her out of Tony’s grasp, and yet in the next breath he’s utterly manipulating her so Vice can use her. “Can you do that, Rita?,” he asks her, looking desperate and mournful, “Can you buy us some time?” It’s so goddamn bald-faced. You wonder if he justifies it to himself-- he has to make her do this to save her-- or if he just goes home hating himself that night because he knows what a bastard he was for even asking.

The sequence that follows is utterly wrenching. Tony offers Rita earrings, and when she doesn’t react with the level of excitement (fawning?) he was hoping for, he slowly stalks her down the spare, white hall and then slaps her so hard she falls to the ground. It’s a repetition of the same slow, white-backgrounded violence from the interrogation scene in Calderone’s Return pt. 2; it’s shot and framed like Tony is a horror movie monster; it’s set to the tinkly, synthy, shmaltzy strains of Stay with Me by Teddy Pendergrass. The intentional musical mismatch makes it all the more painful to watch; the age-old excuse that abuse comes from love or the fear of losing the victim’s affection falls apart when a love song is juxtaposed with such stark violence.

I think it’s very telling that Sonny’s call to Rita after he witnesses this (and, rightly, blames himself for it happening) is shot with him standing in almost exactly the same way at the exact same kind of payphone as when he calls Caroline in the pilot. In both cases, he’s calling theoretically to offer some kind of support or reassurance, but in actuality appears to need reassurance himself. He wants Caroline’s confirmation that she did love him once; he wants Rita’s forgiveness. Sonny’s ongoing issue with women comes from the same place as his issues with his self-esteem; he sees himself as a hired weapon at worst and a protector of the innocent at best. When he fails to protect someone, especially a woman or a child, his self-image starts to collapse. He doesn’t believe he’s good for anything else-- so in S1, he asks those he’s failed for reassurance that he is still a good protector. In later seasons, he just believes he really isn’t good for anything.

Sonny: Well, time for you to go to jail / Tony: No one can ever make me go to jail / Random government agent: Yeah uhh so we use him for proxy wars in the Southern Hemisphere, you know how it is with the US government and guns and cocaine and something something contras, so uh, yeah, he can go free

....but Miami Vice definitely is just about speedboats, right

I consider the ending of this to be the most classic/the “ur” Miami Vice Freeze Frame ending. It’s perfect, because like. Yeah, sure, there could be a denouement, but... why bother? There’s nothing that can be said that hasn’t already been said, and nothing that can fix what has happened that wouldn’t utterly undermine the themes of the story. It just sucks! The system is corrupt! They failed because they were set up to fail! You can’t fix the justice system from inside the justice system! This is the theme of the series in one abrupt freeze!

Okay. Okay. So. If Don Johnson is to be believed, he got Bruce Willis either the role or the audition for the role here. And he knew him because Bruce Willis was a waiter at a restaurant he liked. Not to put my tinfoil hat on or anything, but I find it utterly hilarious that Phillip Michael Thomas and not Don “hey boss, I need you to give a job to this hot talented waiter I know” Johnson has a scene here where he and Bruce Willis feel each other up in a men’s room. Look up photos of DJ and Bruce Willis from the 80′s. Look at DJ’s face and tell me I’m wrong.

[talonabraxas]

The Three Pillars of Kashmir Shaivism Any philosophy is based on certain guiding principles or pillars and Kashmir Shaivism has them too. The three main pillars which form the basis of these teachings are as follows. Supreme Unity of the Self: it is a popular saying that well begun is already half done and so is the case with spiritual journey too. Kashmir Shaivism believes that if you start your journey considering yourself as a helpless or worthless wreck, you will lose a lot of ground even though ultimately you might still reach somewhere. So this philosophy tells from the very beginning to have full faith in yourself, despite your limitations and weaknesses since you are a part of that Supreme Power and hence are one with that Force. Not only you but everyone and everything around you is just a reflection of the Divine so if you think about yourself and your relationship with others along those lines, you will see a new energy and charisma in your personality and your relationships, apart from the subtle spiritual progress. Totality of Human Personality: this principle of Kashmir Shaivism simply asks you to accept yourself and others in the current state of being without expecting anyone to be perfect. Everyone has shortcomings and if we focus on them, we will surely be creating a lot of problems for others and self. Moreover diversity is the rule of nature and no two people or even objects are alike so comparison of merits and demerits is useless and the acceptance in totality is the second principle of this path. Divine Grace: normally we must have heard the axiom that –Knowledge is Power- which is quite true in the material world especially in the current information age, but then Lord Shiva says in the Shiva Sutra – Knowledge is Bondage. Of course this has a totally different context and signifies that when we keep depending on our intellect, understanding and knowledge we cannot comprehend the Supreme which is above and beyond all knowledge. Hence it is the Divine Grace which is necessary to reach that ultimate goal rather than knowledge which could be used as a tool in the initial journey but has to be left later on. Hence we can see how beautifully the principles of Kashmir Shaivism have the essence of spirituality embodied in few simple lines. It can also be seen how these principles can be applied in our everyday lives in a very normal fashion and hence we can progress materially in this world also apart from making progress at the subtle spiritual level. However this post barely touches on the surface of the profound teachings of Kashmir Shaivism. In our later articles we will learn more about the path. The Triadic Heart of Siva: Kaula Tantricism of Abhinavagupta in the Non-dual Shaivism of KashmirBook by Paul E. Muller-Ortega https://www.laurelhovde.com/Design/The-Triadic-Heart-of-Siva.pdf?fbclid=IwAR306PG7EB12aO9RfdXzVP8E321_il3eTd8QTq2H-sG4M8qA9v_y987ZiBM

[disappointingyet]

These are my favourite films released in the UK in 2022 – as far as I can tell (it’s getting increasingly hard to work out what snuck out when. Taken as a whole, the list looks a bit Nordic, a bit gloomy, short on action. I’ve put together a round-up of some of the other movies I saw this year, including the critics’ favourite and at least one notorious turkey. And, as ever, there was a lot I didn’t see, because I didn’t get around to it or because I didn’t want to. Specifically, I should mention Top Gun: Maverick, which by most accounts is an excellent piece of film-making – but going to watch a sequel to a film I found excruciatingly dull and full of unappealing characters seemed kind of perverse. And The Banshees of Inisherin:  Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri is unforgivable racist trash, I didn’t like In Bruges (or his brother’s film Calvary for that matter), so I’m not willing to give Camberwell’s Martin McDonagh another chance.

Anyway, on to the list (and do let me know what you think I might have enjoyed but missed).

1. Licorice Pizza 

Paul Thomas Anderson in fun mode, telling the story of an entrepreneurial teen in early 1970s LA. It’s beautifully specific, and rather than making cheap and obvious jokes  based on stereotypes of the era, it builds punchlines from history. Contains (words I never anticipated writing) a cameo from Bradley Cooper that’s just gobsmacking.

Full review here

2. Hytti nro 6 (Compartment No6)

This is a Finnish train movie set in super-bleak post-Soviet Russia. So yes, you will feel cold and uncomfortable just watching it. Our mismatched travellers are a Finnish mature student exiting a relationship with a Moscow-based academic and a young Russian miner. The question, of course, is how these two will find common ground, but this film – with moments of sharp humour and excellent observation – avoids the obvious and earns your time and patience.

Full review here

3. Verdens Verste Menneske (The Worst Person In The World)

I remain baffled by the title, which does come from a line in the film, but sets off all sorts of false expectations. The central character is no monster (nor, despite what one of the other leads tells her, a particular good person), just a typical contemporary female lead, struggling to find something fulfilling to do as her twenties and early thirties drift past her while dealing with the inadequacy of men, whether as relatives or partners. This is told in 14 sharply written chapters. In particular, the one in which two strangers at a party play at testing what they can do without technically cheating on their partners is great film-making. One quibble and a question: the film sympathises a bit too much with the I’m-just-saying-it-as-I-see-it comix writer dude, and can a bookshop assistant and a barista really afford a flat like that in central Oslo?

(MUBI)

4. White Noise

Middle-aged angst, teen angst, fear-of-the-apocalypse angst, married angst, it’s-the’80s angst, American consumer angst, academic rivalry angst… all these angsts and more are explored in Noah Baumbach’s dark comedy, adapted from a novel by Don DeLillo. Adam Driver and Greta Gerwig play the couple who know that in many ways they should be happy, but of course that just amplifies their misery. Baumbach does a fine job of recreating the 1980s and manages several switches in scale that could have easily tipped the film off balance. Make sure you stay for the closing credit sequence, which is great although it does make hard to actually read who the key grip or the catering company were. 

(Netflix)

5. Bergman Island 

A filmmaking couple go to Ingmar Bergman’s old stomping ground to get some writing done. All does not go smoothly. Much less heavy-going than that makes it sound, and at least as reminiscent of Richard Linklater’s Before trilogy as it is of Bergman. I found it captivating.

Full review here

(MUBI)

6. Emily The Criminal 

Pleasingly spare, low-budget gig economy and scam economy LA thriller that makes superior use of Audrey Plaza's particular screen presence and vibe. Firmly recommended.

Full review here

7. Les Olympiades, Paris 13e (Paris 13th District)

Shot in very lovely black & white, this is essentially a sweet comedy-drama about the romantic misadventures of a trio of young(ish) Parisians, although it was marketed as something a bit edgier than it really is. Director Jacques Audiard is best known for male-centric crime movies, but maybe the co-writing credit for Céline Sciamma (Portrait Of A Lady On Fire, Petite Maman) gives a better steer on what this is like. 

(MUBI)

8. Madres Paralelas 

I’ve been mostly underwhelmed by Almodóvar’s recent run of what could be called anti-melodramas: stories of wild coincidences and personal tragedies told in numb, mostly humour-free fashion. Madres Paralelas worked better for me: he makes an odd choice of framing the central narrative with a very different one involving the same characters. It’s jarring, but I think it ultimately makes its own kind of sense.

Full review here 

9/10. Bodies Bodies Bodies/Triangle Of Sadness

I wasn’t expecting to be repeatedly reminded in 2022 of Very Bad Things, a (not very good) 1998 comedy starring Christian Slater and Cameron Diaz that’s like The Hangover only with a high body count. These films are both vastly superior to VBT, but echo its rapidly escalating nastiness. Both involve the privileged classes placed in situations of extreme discomfort, although the politics of Triangle Of Sadness are more explicit and (it feels) more central to the film than those of Bodies Bodies Bodies.

In BBB, a bunch of twentysomethings gather in big, isolated house just as a storm is approaching. They start playing bodies bodies bodies (known in my time as murder in the dark), only… well, you can guess. There’s a strong 1990s vibe to this, especially the way the movie seems to feel about its characters, while being very 2020s in its casting, the sex lives of the characters and the woman worried her podcast (‘a podcast takes a lot of work!’) isn’t getting any respect from her friends. I really enjoyed this.

If you have seen Ruben Østlund’s Force Majeure or The Square, you’ll know to expect fairly broad satire and the lives of the pampered going very wrong in Triangle Of Sadness. (If you haven’t seen any of them, start with Force Majeure, which is the best of the trio.) TOS ups the stakes on Force Majeure’s ski resort by putting its characters on a luxury yacht. There’s a deceptively low-key beginning in which we’re introduced to Yaya (the late Charlbi Dean) and Carl (Harris Dickinson), models in a relationship driven - at least for her - by the potential for Instagram influencer synergy. The intensity builds when they bag a free holiday on the yacht, where Østlund attempts to outdo The Square’s much-discussed party scene. At which point, it’s fair to say that as much as Jean Luc Godard’s Week End and assorted Buñuel films, this is indebted to American gross-out movies. Subtle this film is not, but if you have a strong stomach and a taste for comedy that’s grotesque and openly political, this is a blast.

11. Competencia Oficial (Official Competition)

Take the title of the movie itself plus that of the film-within-the-film – Rivalry – and you’ve got the theme of this Spanish comedy. An aging billionaire decides to fund a potentially prize-winning film in an attempt to cement his legacy. He’s advised to hire the talented-but-eccentric Lola (Penelope Cruz) to direct and she casts a very serious theatrical type (Oscar Martinez) and a mainstream movie star who has houses in LA and St Tropez (Antonio Banderas).  The two actors, inevitably, clash over their contrasting lifestyles and approaches to their craft, with Lola’s interventions pushing up the tension. The film is essentially a three-hander, as the trio rehearse the film in the vast, empty, marble spaces of the rich dude’s foundation. 

It stays more on the leash than I was expecting – there are multiple opportunities for things to get unhinged that the film doesn’t take (or mostly). I did properly laugh a fair number of times, and with Almodóvar seemingly sworn off comedies for good, this does a decent job of filling that void.

[disticfiction]

"What are you doing up, Brother Paul?" Philip asked, lifiting his candle. "It's past the middle of the night. Trouble sleeping?"

Paul sighed, his face noticeably flushed. "I was just..." He gripped his belt, his teeth clenching. "I ... I need it, Philip."

Philip cocked his head. Curious, he adjusted the candle again, pointing it lower. In response, Paul rolled up his robe ever so slightly, up to his knees, and then it became clear. The poor man was suffering. Philip gasped as the light shimmered off the trail of fluids dripping down the old monk's legs. Another episode. They were growing more and more frequent.

"You were supposed to be resting, Paul. After what Tom did to you today, I thought that would've been enough."

"I know," he huffed, his eyes heavy. "But it won't stop throbbing. Please. Philip, please."

Philip waved his hand, assuredly. "It's alright, it's alright. Of course, I'll do everything I can. I'm just ... surprised you're able to walk. Let's go somewhere private."

"The cathedral." Paul snapped.

The good Prior wasn't able to get another word out before the older man grabbed his arm and yanked him down the hallway. It was then that Philip truly understood the severity of the situation. Paul was a kind, patient, gentle servant of God, but in his desperation he clung to Philip so hard it almost hurt. Though Philip's assertion was correct; the old man could barely walk. He limped, even with the help of his cane, but forced himself to speed to the entrance of the church.

"H-hurry," he begged, shaking Philip for the keys.

He obliged, unlocking the door with haste, and luckily no one was around to see them. Once opened, Paul rushed inside, like a cat sprinting through a tiny crack. He knew exactly where to go. As he headed for the alter and laid down, Philip lit a few candles before joining him.

"Alright. Let's see what's going on with--"

Philip covered his mouth, trying to conceal his shock. Paul's hole was beat red, flexing, and wet. It was still lose, beautifully so, but slightly tighter than when Tom finished with him. Regardless, his discomfort was palpable. Philip wasn't sure why his lust had returned after such a thorough fucking, but he was eager to help him. He needed relief.

"Philip?" the old man asked, sensing his friend's pity.

"Oh, Paul. If this happens again, please don't hesitate to come to my room. Or Tom's. Or even Ellen or Milius'. We couldn't bear it if you allowed yourself to ache like this all night."

"I ... I didn't want to be a bother."

"Nonsense. You never have been and you never will be." It did Paul wonders to hear such kind words. "Now," he said, setting his candle aside. "Let's see what I can do."

"Yes, please!" he shrieked, spreading his legs wider. "Please, Philip!"

Carefully, the Prior slipped two fingers inside, and immediately Paul's wrinkled walls clamped down, tightly. He was soaked, moaning loudly as his warmth sucked Philip deeper. It was almost worrisome. Paul was convulsing inside and out, sweating and on edge. It was as if he'd lost all control, his hole needy and impatient.

"Paul, are you--?"

"More!" the old man cried. "Please, Philip! Stretch it!"

Philip bit his lip. He was pretty loose, and he probably couldn't feel two fingers very well. Happily, he added a third and began to thrust, hard.

"Oh! Y-yes! That's it!"

"You like that?" Philip teased, curving his digits to caress every weak point.

"Augh! Yes! More!"

In truth, Philip loved spoiling Paul. He'd always been good to him, even in his terrible teenage years. The patience Paul exhibited was divine, and now he could finally repay him for all that nurturing. His clit stood at attention, wiggling back and forth and begging to be abused, and with a smile, Philip gave it what it wanted. With a chuckle, he pinched it between his thumb and forefinger and rubbed it with a fervent passion.

That was it.

Paul screamed, his voice weak and airy, but filled with pleasure. He bucked his hips as best he could--as much as his age would allow--meeting Philip's thrusts with great enthusiasm. Together they kept the perfect rhythm, and soon he came, arching back and collapsing onto the stone, fighting to catch his breath.

"Well done, Paul. Just relax."

Philip kept his fingers in for a while, riding the aftershocks and milking Paul's orgasm, but when he tried to pull out, the old monk shook his head.

"No! W-wait!" He spread his gape further, his expression dire. "More. Please."

"More?"

"Yes. Just one more."

"Paul--"

"Stretch it more! Please. It ... it feels so good."

"Paul, if it stretch it anymore, it might break."

"Good! Yes, break it! Break my hole the same way Tom did!"

"Paul, your hole--"

"Can take it!" he cried, his voice nearly a whisper. "Please, Paul. I'm begging you!"

"Alright, alright. Of course."

He pulled out, and a long line of slick followed, sticking to his fingers. He'd never seen Paul in such a state, and for a moment he wondered if he should wake Tom to finish him off. He looked to the entrance of the chapel, then back at Paul's open cunt. Tom was all the way on the other side of the compound and Paul was losing himself. He needed release as soon as possible, and it needed to be gritty, violent. Large.

"Paul," Philip said, leaning in. "I'm going to try something rather unorthodox, but you'll have to trust me."

Paul nodded, exhausted. "Of course I trust you, Philip."

He smiled, then curled his fingers into a fist. Paul watched, his pupils constricting. He was excited. Scared, but excited. He knew Philip would never hurt him, so he folded his knees, giving the Prior full access.

"Are you ready?" Philip asked, touching Paul's swollen crease.

"Yes," he breathed, closing his eyes. "I'm ready."

Philip nodded, then began twisting his wrist. It worked. His whole hand was slipping in. Paul groaned, his hole spreading slowly but easily. He still hadn't recovered from his session with Tom, but that was a benefit. Philip's knuckles bumped his walls, brushing against them and making the old man yelp.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes!" Paul wept. "D-deeper! Keep going!"

It was impressive. A new feeling for both of them. Philip's own hole began to throb as he delved deeper, focusing on Paul's face. His cheeks, usually pale and weathered, were hot and glowing. His mouth hung open, his moans low but lyrical. Drool rolled down his chin, his brow furling as he screamed. It wasn't a pained scream, though, but one of delightful abandonment.

"It's in!" Philip yelled, amazed. He stared intently, Paul's lips squeezing his upper arm. "My God, Paul. It's all the way in!"

Paul's lips were pursed together, but he responded with a euphoric murmur, selling his glee. They were both uncertain, both inexperienced, but Philip wanted to soothe his tension. Rustling up some courage, he slowly pulled out, then thrust back in, and Paul howled, the first stroke making his head spin. It was unlike anything either of them had ever felt. He was so full.

"M-more," Paul gasped, his nails digging into his thighs. "Please! Ugh!"

Philip thust a bit faster, blushing as his own fluids dripped down his legs. It reminded him of Tom, of his ridiculous size. He felt proud, knowing he had a way to make Paul feel just as good as Tom could. He knew he had to be careful; after all, Paul wasn't a young man, but he listened to his body. He upped the pace, hitting Paul's end and earning a feverish howl.

"Philip! I-I'm going to--!"

"Cum!" he cheered. "Cum on my fist!"

He did, his cries echoing through the church, so loudly Philip was worried someone might hear. He had no idea Paul could clench so tightly, his walls beating against his skin, his heart pumping wildly. It didn't take long to reach his zenith, but the orgasm that tore the old man was intense. Angelic. He gushed, drenching Philip's sleeve, each stream spurting less and less as he continued to thrust. It seemed so unnatural, the better part of a man's arm buried inside his pussy, but Paul couldn't resist. A crazed smile stretched across his face as he trembled, the ache that plagued him finally subsiding with the glorious ecstasy.

"I'm going to take it out now," Philip warned.

With affection, he pat Paul's leg as he extracted, his twitching hole unfolding around the bulbous fist. Every inch that pulled out made Paul whimper. He felt it. He felt all of it.

"Uh ... augh!"

"I know. I'm almost out."

It was a gradual process. With the way his cunt kept palpitating, Philip didn't want to yank his hand out too quickly, but Paul enjoyed it, cumming one last time before the end. That one was the last straw. Overdone and unnecessary, but glorious. Once empty, he laid back, his vision blurred and head reeling. He was truly spent, his chest heaving. Philip didn't say a word, he simply stared at the fresh gape, slightly bigger than before, and even more beautiful.

"My hole..." Paul mumbled, barely coherent.

"It's ruined. It's so bad, Paul."

"Is it ... is it staying open on its own?"

"Yes. Can't you feel it?"

Paul panted as he faded in and out. "Y-yes. I feel it. Thank you, Philip," he wisped. "Thank you."

"You're most welcome, Brother Paul. Now, rest for a time, then let's get you back to bed. We'll show this to Tom in the morning."

[haroldgross]

New Post has been published on Harold Gross: The 5a.m. Critic

New Post has been published on https://literaryends.com/hgblog/wonka/

Wonka

[3 stars]

Where to begin with this one? It is a perfectly entertaining distraction. It even manages to stand on its own while still building on the world you probably already knew from it’s 1971 original adaptation, or it’s later Charlie and the Chocolate Factory remake.

But prequels are always tricky. We know a good deal of what can and cannot happen in the story because we know what comes next. Wonka walks a fine line of showing us the young man that becomes the somewhat jaded middle-aged factory owner in the original movie. But, on top of that, Paul King and Simon Farnaby wanted to embrace more of the Roald Dahl of it all… and they managed to nicely. And yes, I’m aware of the irony that Dahl wrote the ’71 script and yet this was still brought more of his style to the screen than that did in many ways.

This presentation of our favorite chocolatier in this prequel is closer to Mathilda in style than the classic Willy Wonka. While I’d usually cheer on that sensibility it makes for an odd cognitive clash. One that is bridged at the very end with the one song you can never forget once you’ve heard it…and, in the process, imbues it with new meaning.

However, that final song is two-edged as it reminds you just how unforgettable the original movie was and how the new songs and music aren’t quite at that caliber. They’re fine, they’re sweet, but they are wholly forgettable despite the solid performances and effort. And the overall story is lacking in comparison, in part because there really isn’t much of one. There are antics and unsurprising setbacks, but it isn’t like we don’t know Wonka wins in the end. Also, unlike the first film, there just isn’t a lot of heart to it all.

That said, Timothée Chalamet (Dune) does deliver a beautifully balanced performance that constantly teeters between potential despair and uncrushable optimism. The child story in Wonka is a bit darker than Charlie’s, with Calah Lane navigating a path out of her circumstances thanks to the arrival of Chalamet. And they’re surrounded by a motley band of others in similar circumstances who come together to win the day (was there ever any doubt?).

There is also no dearth of bad guys. But it’s Olivia Colman (Secret Invasion) and Tom Davis (Free Fire) who really take the cake (and shillings) from it all. It isn’t to knock the other actors, they’re all fine, but these two had more depth and story than the rest. And then there is the neutral-ish character played by Hugh Grant (Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves) who stole every scene he was in.

Ultimately, watching this part of the story just wanted to make me watch the original again more than anything else. (Which, of course, I did.) I don’t know if I need to return to this prequel world again, however well it was done. It’s pretty and it’s distracting, and there are some clever plot devices, but it didn’t make an indelible mark on my soul the way the 1971 classic did. Perhaps it was trying too hard? Or perhaps it simply ended way too soon in Wonka’s story; completing its journey at the opening of the factory rather than his rise to fame and the closing of the factory before Charlie arrives on the scene. Or maybe we just needed to meet the Wonka that was willing to tell all his secrets, but only to another child? But, all that said, I also don’t feel my time was wasted visiting it the once. Nor would yours be.

Where to watch

[denimbex1986]

'Most of the pre-publicity around All of Us Strangers has focused on the fact that it co-stars Andrew Scott and Paul Mescal as lonely men who fall in love. And they are both superb in it, two fine actors working in seamless synchronicity. But there’s a lot more to Andrew Haigh’s film than that.

All of Us Strangers (16, 105mins) It’s loosely based on Taichi Yamada’s 1987 novel Strangers, in which a middle-aged man was haunted by the ghosts of his parents. But Haigh has altered and personalised the story’s focus considerably, introducing a gay theme and transposing the tale to modern-day London. Adam (Scott) lives alone in a newly built high-rise apartment block that seems to be almost empty.

He’s trying to write a screenplay inspired by his relationship with his parents, who died in a car crash when he was 12. It’s not going well, and Adam spends most of his time staring out the window at the city below, eating day-old takeaways, playing ’80s pop music and, worst of all, watching daytime television – an unerringly reliable indicator of existential angst.

Adam’s spiral of despair is interrupted one night by a banging on his door. It’s Harry (Mescal), a rare neighbour, who introduces himself clumsily and asks if he can come in. As he’s clutching a half-empty bottle of sake, and is clearly drunk, Adam politely declines, but the encounter sets something rolling in his mind. He pulls out a box of childhood mementoes, and stares long and hard at faded photos of his mum and dad. Then he takes a train to the suburb of Croydon to visit the old house where they lived.

To his surprise, it’s exactly as he remembers it, and when he knocks on the door, his parents (Claire Foy, Jamie Bell) are home.

They’re exactly the age they were when last he saw them, younger in fact than Adam is now, but welcome him in as though nothing in the least is the matter, sit him down for a drink, ask him how he’s been. He is of course overjoyed, but many questions occur. “Is this real?” he asks his mother at one point. “Does it feel real?” she cryptically replies.

Adam begins visiting the house whenever he can, and meanwhile has begun a tentative relationship with Harry, a shy young fellow with problems of his own. “I don’t see my father much,” he mutters, hinting at a parental failure to accept his orientation. But he and Adam have an instant understanding, and in a series of beautifully orchestrated sequences, consummate a growing bond.

If Adam is to fall in love, you feel, he’ll have to move beyond a gnawing grief he has never adequately processed. Off he goes to the suburbs again, to break the news to his mother that he’s gay. Her reaction is of its time. “It’s a lonely life,” she tells him.

“Yeah, people don’t really think that anymore,” he snaps back at her.

“And what about that horrible disease?” She’s referring to Aids, the ’80s scourge, and struggles to comprehend Adam’s assurance that things have moved on in all sorts of ways since her time. His father is not so surprised – “you never could throw a ball!” – but regrets not having done something about the fact that Adam was bullied at school.

Is Adam imagining the tearful reconciliation his mind needs to happen, or are these ‘ghosts’ really there? We’re never quite sure, and meanwhile Harry seems, if anything, even more damaged by childhood rejections and inner torment than Adam is.

Ghost stories are a huge tradition in Japan, not so much in glum post-Brexit Britain, and in transposing Taichi Yamada’s story, Andrew Haigh has set himself a huge challenge. He blends the love story and possible supernatural encounters beautifully, making the appearance of Adam’s parents feel so natural we hardly bother to question it. Claire Foy and Jamie Bell are very good as Adam’s cosy and inoffensively conservative 1980s parents, who struggle manfully to accommodate the news that their only son is “a homosexual”.

As for Scott and Mescal, their scenes together attain almost transcendental levels of subtle and unspoken understanding, and express the risk and pain involved in exposing oneself to love.'

[dtothe4th]

world of bugs book 2

in this world of bugs after the evil tyrant king kingsbug was taken down and C&B returned to the glorious kingdom they came bearing wonderful news: the paul of yggdrasil was to be used to rejuvenate the bugs of the world. they placed the bucket in the center of the kingdom and cultivated a large garden around it. the garden of eden. the two built a lovely shack in the garden and life sprang forth from bakersbug’s fingers of croissant food. they were able to sustain the entire kingdom with their power and cobblersbug delivered each and every day. it was backbreaking and tiring work because she had to fly like all day long even early in the morning. when she would get home she could curl up in bakersbug’s arms and snore so quietly and beautifully and bakersbug would kiss her on the forehead. while cobblersbug was out bakersbug would tend to the garden and trim the hedges and water the plants with yggdrasil’s pail, however the water level never seemed to go down. additionally, it did not have the same powers of granting beautiful augmentations to the bugspeople like it did to cobblersbug and bakersbug. at yggdrasil the king had been holding onto the directions to the cave and when he was sucked under and turned into life force the map was gone with him. C&B couldn't give the people the directions to the cave even if they wanted to and they honestly really didn't want to. the bug kingdom was going beautifully well now with nearly infinite resources if all kinds. of course now that the bugs were back and even those whose carapace was used to build houses are back, there was a lack of resources in the building department. over the many centuries and eons of kingsbug’s rule the bugs he created had begun ti have softer and softer bodies because they had less life force, but when the golden life force rays from the stars and yggdrasil and kingsbug’s golden liquid body had splashed upon them the bugs born later into the kingdom’s history did not suddenly gain a carapace they didn't have to begin with: merely the original bugs and their immediate descendants did, which caused a large hierarchy. this was kept in check by the basically gods of this realm, bakersbug and cobblersbug, being slimy softbugs and they provided all the water and food they could ever need so there was no reason for an uprising.

however as the centuries passed tensions rose and eventually the couple disappeared. nobody knew where they had gone, bo trace of them existed anymore and nowhere could food be found. the paul of yggdrasil still existed of course but at this point a tree had grown through it and the paul itself was no longer. it was instead now a mini fountain of yggdrasil without the same power granting abilities as the original. a few bugs of the hard carapace shell were determined to take control of the garden: they had been the founders of the original kingdom, they deserved to lead and had the knowledge to feed an entire company but the softbugs disagreed. they said that the carapacian bugs’ harsh ways must've been what allowed kingsbug to rise up all those millennia ago. remember him? he was real bad. a certain sect of bugs in the center of the spectrum formed, those born after the king had come into power but before the era directly previous to this current era of prosperity. they had thick skin, not carapace nor soft slime, it could not block sharp blows but did well against blunt blows. of this sect one rose to the top: the crochetsbug. she was a wonderful speaker and was able to rule a crowd with nothing but a word. she held onto a relic of a last age, she said, a large purple rod with a hooked end. it stood many times taller than herself but she weilded it with such dexterity as if it were a part of her own body. she would swing around on the thing and scurry fo the top, falling down and making a scene as her thick skin prevented any damage. she was wildly popular to both the carapacian shells and softbugs, because she was neither of them. she decided that they must lead an expedition out to find the source of the yggdrasil’s pail. they had no direction at all as a group without yggdrasil’s guiding light. she selected seersbug, a three eyed slimy guy of the softbugs, a creature who claimed to have studied the star patterns of the old days since nowadays the stars have shifted so much. they picked up the work of an ancient bug philosopher, philosphersbug, who tracked each star meticulously. they had apparently lived in the land now occupied by the kingdom king long before the kingdom took place and died even before any of the carapacian bugs had been born. nobody knew what they looked like or what they did other than sit in a shack and look at the stars. Hell they might not even be a bug, perhaps they were an even older being. either way seersbug translated these ancient scrolls and spent centuries learning their language in order to chart the stars, and believed that in some way they spoke to them. the stars themselves. now that they had gone golden after kingsbug's rapture they were singing sweet songs into their ear that encouraged them to go. while not on the same level of crochetsbug’s popularity they had been gaining cult noteriety in the bugkingdom underground, hosting weekly meetings in the sewer even though they weren't like, illegal or anything it just felt cooler in the sewer. most of their followers were softbugs but recently even a few of the carapacian bugs had been listening to their beliefs.

the other bug crochetsbug had selected was hammersbug, who despite his name loved to cool. He was one of the bugs that shedded his name in place of a true passion. of course he still kept a hammer in his toolkit of cooking supplies just in case he needed to construct or destroy anything but he mostly just cooked. now of course after bakersbug returned with their fingers of croissant and infinite food, hammersbug was kind of a little pissed, y'know just being brought back to life, realizing your purpose is different than the one you were assigned at birth, and committing to it only to have literally everything invalidated right in front of you. however he soon came to realize that his talents weren't in fact useless: other people were also getting a little bored of the croissants, of course they still accepted them from cobblersbug when she flew around and handed them out, but they stockpiled them as kinda an MRE thing where they would only eat them in times of need. hammersbug opened a series of successful restaurants, mostly cooking up the remains of various animals that fell throughout the kingdom over the years but also delving into some of the classics like dewdrop tea and banana pudding. eventually he worked up the courage to go to bakersbug’s cabin one day and ask them for a recipe: of course they gave him the recipe to their famous apple pie tiny edition, the same exact dinner that they ate with cobblersbug and the wicked kingsbug. hammersbug put his own twist on it, adding paprika and cumin and marketing it as the wicket king’s final meal.. people ate that shit up, metaphorically and physically. he mostly served the upper class carapacian bugs but even some of the softbugs had recognized his prowess and ability for cooking many delicious items. every day the menu was new and that kept them all so excited and happy. finally, crochetssbug had her team. she wished to set off as soon as possible, and hoped to appoint someone in charge of keeping the peace in her wake, of course it had to be a middle generation bug who could mediate between the sides…. in the end, she chose washeranddryersbug for their ability to speak to a crowd; much like her own. she had been training washeranddryersbug in the art of public relations for the past couple hundred years and she was finally ready to let them fly. she set up a relay system with washeranddryersbug: a flare created by inventorsbug would be shot into the air high and sky in event of cobblersbug and or bakersbug returning… Or the finding of their corpse… that would be a green or orange flare, respectively. if a war were to break out, that would be a red flare. seersbug would always have one of their three eyes focused back towards the kingdom of bugs to be checking for these flares and crochetsbug gave washeranddryersbug a pat on the head for good luck for today: history’s second trio has set out in search of yggdrasil’s cave in the stars above.

[lesfeldickbiblestudy]

  Through the Bible with Les Feldick LESSON 3 * PART 1 * BOOK 57 Water and Blood I John 5:1-7 As you know our television program started in Genesis about 13 years ago, and we’ve come all the way up now to these little letters of John and Jude; and we’re also going to hit part of Revelation, since it’s also mostly Jewish. After that we’ll probably go back into areas that we haven’t covered before, such as the Psalms, Proverbs, and Isaiah, but anyway, we’re going to keep going until the Lord comes, we hope! And we trust that that won’t be that much longer, as I feel God is about ready to wrap it all up. But before doing that, He will remove the true believers from the earth in what we call the Rapture of the Church, that is found so beautifully described in I Thessalonians 4:13-18. You know people get surprised; they’ll call and they’ll say "Well how long do you really think it’ll be?" Well, of course, we can’t put any timetable on it. But I say, "You know I’ll be surprised if it’s not within five years." And that shakes them up. Boy, they think that’s a short period of time. Well, day in and day out I think it’s going to be today! But as fast as the world is falling apart, it would almost seem as though the Lord’s coming is so close. But also remember that "with the Lord a day is a thousand years, and a thousand years as a day,"and that’s why we can’t set a time on it. As we begin today’s lesson, we’ll begin with I John chapter 5. We’ll start right at verse 1 and what do you know? Repetition. Same song, second verse, it’s all the same here in John’s writing to the Jews. John’s message is still the Kingdom Gospel, and that salvation message was, "Believing that Jesus was the Christ, the Son of the living God!" Where the salvation message for us today in the Body of Christ is, "Believe in your heart that Jesus is the Son of God, and that He died for our sins, was buried and rose from the dead." I Corinthians 15:1-4. So notice those differences as we study together. I John 5:1 "Whosoever believeth that Jesus is the Christ is born of God: and every one that loveth him that begat loveth him also that is begotten of him." In other words, what John is saying here is that if you truly love the Lord Jesus Christ, then you’re also going to love the other person that loves the Lord Jesus Christ, which is part and parcel of John’s Gospel. But as I pointed out in our last taping session, John is not writing to the Church Age believer, he’s writing to Jews. And, oh, that may shake a few up; but on the other hand, our response from listeners, since James, has just been phenomenal; how they’re seeing exactly what we’re saying (that these little epistles were primarily written to Jewish believers). And I don’t make any apology for that. These little epistles of James and Peter and John and Jude and on into the book of Revelation are Jewish because of an agreement that they once made with Paul. And I’m again going to repeat that over and over - as the Scripture does - so I guess that gives me authority to do it. So let’s just look at it now. Come back with me to Galatians chapter 2, a verse that I’ll use over and over whenever I make the point that these Scriptures which are written by these Jewish writers have nothing really to do with the Church Age, the Gentiles. But they have everything to do with the Nation of Israel and their Kingdom economy. Now when I say their Kingdom economy, I’m speaking of the fact that all the Old Testament from Genesis 12 is looking forward to the day when God the Son, the Messiah, the Redeemer of Israel would set up an earthly Kingdom with His capital in Jerusalem and every Jew that would go into that Kingdom would of course, be a believer. They would have the promises of the New Covenant. They wouldn’t have to learn them, they wouldn’t have to study them, it would just naturally come on them. And then according to the Old Testament, these believing Jews were to evangelize the pagan Gentiles. They were to be a light to the Gentile world.

But, by virtue of Israel’s dropping the ball, and not believing and receiving the Kingdom, and crucifying their King, now that whole scenario has changed where there will be no unbelievers in the Kingdom. So Israel won’t have the opportunity of being a light to the world because they’ve missed it. But we do know the 144,000 Jews will pick that ball up during the 7-year Tribulation period, and many will be saved. But, nevertheless, to show that all this is written to Jewish believers, you come back to Galatians chapter 2 and this Jerusalem counsel. And like I always tell my classes in Oklahoma, I’m not getting senile. I’m not repeating because I can’t remember what I’ve said, but I do it for emphasis because the Scripture does. And you just have to keep hammering it and hammering it before the majority of people see it. Now a few will see it just that quick. Some of you here know what I’m talking about. Others it takes a little longer. Some it just almost takes forever because the longer they’ve been brainwashed in something the longer and the harder it is to come away from it. But here we are now for the umpteenth time showing in this counsel in Jerusalem, this meeting between Paul and Barnabas, who had come up to Jerusalem now from their Gentile ministry there in Syria, and this meeting is between James and Peter and John primarily, to settle the question, "Do Paul’s converts have to become adherents of Israel’s Law?" And these believing Jewish people said "Yes they do, You have to be circumcised, you have to keep Moses’ Law." Acts 15:1-5. And Paul kept saying, "No they don’t! We’re not under Law, we’re under Grace." So this argument went back and forth. And now you’ve got to remember, this has been for a period of almost 15 years already that there’s been this dilemma, "Do Paul’s converts have to keep Israel’s Law?" Well, it finally comes to a head then in about 51-52 AD and that’s the Jerusalem counsel that we look at over and over again in Acts 15 and Galatians 2. Acts is Luke’s account. Galatians is Paul’s account. And we might as well go back to verse 1. We’ve got time enough. Galatians 2:1 "Then fourteen years after (that is after Paul’s Damascus conversion experience) I went up again to Jerusalem with Barnabas, and took Titus with me also." Now you remember Barnabas became his co-worker up there in Antioch, and they also took Titus, a Greek, with them. Galatians 2:2a "And I went up by revelation,.…" In other words, the Lord instructed Paul that now it was time to go and confront the Jerusalem church about these people who are undermining his Gentile ministry. "Paul you’ve got to go up and confront the Twelve." Galatians 2:2b "…and communicated unto them that gospel…." (of salvation) Now emphasize the word ‘that’ because that indicates it was different than what Peter, James and John were used to. So he comes up to them and he shows them or he communicated unto them "that gospel." Galatians 2:2c "…which I preach among the Gentiles, but privately to them which were of reputation, lest by any means I should run, or had run, in vain." And then privately, I imagine in a separate anteroom, I think it was with the Twelve and Paul and Barnabas by themselves. In other words, he had to get this settled with the Twelve because they were the ones in authority. They were the ones that could put an end to it, or they were the ones that could just run roughshod over Paul and Barnabas and say, "We’re going to continue to tell your Gentiles what we’ve been telling them." So it was paramount to meet with the Twelve. All right, now then verse 4. Galatians 2:4 "And that because of false brethren unawares (secretly) brought in, who came in privily (secretly) to spy out our liberty (contrary to law) which we have in Christ Jesus, that they might bring us into bondage:" Now you always have to remember that when Paul speaks of the Law that’s his word for it, it was bondage. They weren’t free to do as they pleased. If they picked up sticks on the Sabbath day, it was what? Death.

And the same way with a lot of other mundane failures. It was death. It was bondage. All right, verse 5. Galatians 2:5 "To whom (that is to the Twelve, the leaders of the Jerusalem church) we gave place by subjection, no, not for an hour; that the truth of the gospel might continue with you." In other words they were pressing Paul to give in. "Give in Paul, you should know that these people have to be circumcised and keep the Law of Moses." But Paul said, "No they don’t." And he didn’t give in, "Not for an hour so that the truth of the Gospel might continue with you." All right, now you know how I teach. I jump around a lot. Here’s where we’re going to have to jump. Keep your hand in here; we’re going to come back. Now back up to the left a few pages to I Corinthians 15 and, again, for the hundredth time we’re going to show this as clearly as Scripture can make it. This is Paul’s Gospel of salvation. I Corinthians 15:1-4. Now anybody that’s been under my teaching very long knows these verses by memory just because of the constant repetition of them. But this is Paul’s Gospel. And I was just reading something again yesterday on how to be saved. And you know what? Not even a mention of Paul’s Gospel. Not a mention. Why? Well, when you find out tell me! I can’t figure it out, unless people are just blinded. People just totally ignore it but here’s Paul’s Gospel, and how we are saved. I Corinthians 15:1a "Moreover, brethren, (so he’s writing to Gentile believers at Corinth and he’s writing to you and I in this Church Age) I declare unto you the gospel…." Now the reason I’m doing this early this afternoon is because I’m going to refer to it probably a few more times before the afternoon is over. I Corinthians 15:1b-2a "...I declare unto you the gospel (singular - exclusive) which I preached unto you, which also ye have received, and wherein ye stand; (by faith) 2. By which also ye are saved,…."Now plain English! It’s this Gospel that saves people and nothing but! I’ve got people in this room who know what I’m talking about. You went years thinking you were saved and you’d never heard this Gospel, but the minute you hear it, then you suddenly realize, that wasn’t what I believed. But the moment you believe in your heart THIS Gospel then God moves in and you’re a different person. You don’t have to grovel in repentance. And you don’t have to go down an aisle. You don’t have to get baptized. You don’t have to speak in tongues. You don’t have to give ten percent of your money. YOU JUST BELIEVE THE GOSPEL. And then God will take care of all these other things. I Corinthians 15:2-3a "By which also ye are saved, if ye keep in memory what I preached unto you, unless ye have believed in vain. (in other words, you’ve got to understand this simple Gospel. And here it comes) 3. For I delivered unto you.…" Why does he use the pronoun ‘I’? Because it began with Paul. It was part of his revelation of the mysteries that had been kept secret since the Ages began. I Corinthians 15:3a "For I delivered unto you first of all that which I also received,.…" From where? From the ascended Lord in Heaven! That’s what Paul is always referring to, the revelations that he received from the Ascended Lord. Now that’s because it was after the work of the cross had been finished. Peter and the Eleven couldn’t hear things like that because they were in front of the cross. But now on this side of the cross, it’s the revelations that God has given to this Apostle of Grace. I Corinthians 15:3b-4 "…that which I also received, (here it comes) how that Christ died for our sins according to the scriptures; (it had been foretold) 4. And that he was buried, (He was really dead. He was in the tomb three days and three nights.) and that he rose again the third day according to the scriptures:" The Old Testament spoke of all of this, but in such veiled language nobody knew what it was talking about. And that’s why Peter, as we saw in our program several month’s back, said the Old Testament prophets did what? "They searched diligently.

"They knew there was something that they weren’t catching. But it was in such veiled language, God didn’t intend them to. But when He revealed it to this Apostle, it was as plain as the noonday sun that salvation would now be based on believing that Christ died, was buried and rose from the dead. That’s Paul’s Gospel! All right, while we’re in Corinthians, just back up a few pages to Romans chapter 2. Now for those of you who have been listening to me for years and years, you’re going to say, "Well isn’t he going to ever get off this track?" No! Because today we’re going to have a whole bunch of new people that have never heard this before. We had the sweetest letter day before yesterday. A lady from Florida wrote, and said, "I’m 92 years old. Been in church all my life. I’ve learned more the last six-months than in the previous 91 years." We hear that over and over, so we have to keep repeating it for the benefit of those who are just now hearing it for the first time. For those of you who have heard it now for ten, fifteen years, just feast on it like you do plain old "meat and potatoes." Do you ever get tired of that? No. We’ve got a couple of ladies - a mother and daughter that are at almost every seminar wherever we are. I don’t care whether it’s Ohio, Carolina, Indiana, Minnesota – there they are. And I asked the mother of the two here I think last fall in Minnesota, I said, "Mary, don’t you get tired of hearing me say basically the same thing?" She said, "Do you get tired of meat and potatoes?" Well, she asked the wrong guy that! Never! So we’re going to keep repeating these things for the benefit of new listeners. Here Paul writes: Romans 2:16 "In the day (judgment day) when God shall judge the secrets of men by Jesus Christ (He’s going to be the judge at the Great White Throne, but what will be mankind’s plumbline?) according to my gospel." Do you see that? I dare say that the vast majority of the people in Christendom don’t know this verse is in the Bible. And if they do they sure won’t admit it. But read it again. "In the day (at judgment day, when the lost will come before Jesus Christ the Judge) and he will judge the secrets of men by Jesus Christ according to my gospel." That’s why I went to I Corinthians 15:1-4 a few minutes ago so everybody knows without a shadow of a doubt what Paul means when he says, "My Gospel? That Christ died for you. He was buried and He arose from the dead the third day!" That’s what we must believe in our hearts to get to heaven. I just read an interesting article in one of our major news magazines. And the guy was pointing out this very thing – how many masses of Christendom believe that Christ died. But they don’t believe that He rose from the dead. But they claim to be born again. And he says, Are they? And he made the same point that I have over the years, how many people are basing their salvation on the fact that they went forward to "take Jesus into their hearts." Now that’s not the Gospel. And he made the same point. That doesn’t even touch the Gospel of salvation! It’s a result of it! But that’s not the Gospel. Jerry asked me a question a few years ago. He’d been to a funeral of a dear lady that he’d known all his life. And he was quite sure that she’d never heard "this Gospel" and Jerry, as good hearted as he is, said, "Les do you suppose God will bend the rules just a little bit and let that poor lady in?" Well, knowing Jerry that was a logical question. But will He? I don’t think so. God is absolute! He’s laid it out in His Word just as plain as day and mankind is not going to tweak His nose like a little kid does on the lap of Santa Claus. It’s not going to happen. And that’s why I feel duty bound to just keep hammering away at this very thing – you have to be saved by believing Paul’s Gospel. Nothing less. Nothing more. Okay, now I can come back to Galatians chapter 2 and at that Jerusalem counsel in 52 AD. Now use a little arithmetic. Pentecost was 29 AD. Paul begins his

ministry at about 40 AD, so here we are 10-12 years after Paul has been out there amongst the Gentile Roman Empire establishing these little Gentile churches. But the Judaisers had been undermining all these folks with the demand for legalism. Circumcision. Keeping the Commandments. And Paul is now confronting the folks in Jerusalem. Galatians 2:6a "But of these who seemed to be somewhat, (now I’m sure that that’s a side reference to the Twelve) (whatsoever they were, it maketh no matter to me: God accepts no man’s person)" In other words, just because they were one of the Twelve, that didn’t cut any extra mustard with God. What God looks at is the heart. Galatians 2:6b "...for they who seemed to be somewhat in conference added nothing to me:" In other words, when they started comparing their theology, and in their discourse (their arguing) when the Twelve suddenly realized that they could not add one Biblical truth to Paul’s revelation. But on the other hand, see? Galatians 2:7 "But contrariwise, when they saw (and suddenly realized) that the gospel of the uncircumcision (the Gospel of the Gentile, the Gospel of Grace) was committed unto me, (now I do this for emphasis, he’s making a comparison here…that as the gospel of the Gentile under Grace was revealed to Paul, even) as the gospel of the circumcision (which is the Gospel of the Kingdom as Jesus called it in the Gospels) was unto Peter." Now that’s why people are beginning to see my ministry. They’re seeing the difference between Israel and the Gentile church. They’re seeing the difference between the Kingdom economy and the Body of Christ. They’re beginning to see the difference between Peter’s Apostleship and Paul’s. And it just thrills us to see that people are finally seeing it! It’s not gobbledy-gook. I’m not twisting. I’m just leaving everything exactly as it sits. No interpretation to it whatsoever. And so as the Gospel of the Uncircumcision (Gentiles) was committed to Paul, the Gospel of the Circumcision (Israel and the Jew) was committed to Peter. Now this is all Holy Spirit inspired. Every word that Paul wrote is just as much the Word of God as what Moses wrote in the Torah. Or what the others wrote in the Gospels. This is ALL the inspired Word of God. Galatians 2:8 "(For he that wrought effectually in Peter to the apostleship of the circumcision, (Israel. There’s no Gentiles in the ‘Circumcision.’ That’s Israel) the same (God) was mighty in me toward the Gentiles:)" See that constant separating? That’s what Paul meant when he said, "rightly dividing the Word of Truth." What’s given for Israel is Israel’s. What’s given to the Church is ours. Now granted both can learn from some of these things. We can learn from that which was written to Israel and I’m sure Jews can learn from what’s written to us, but they were still written to two totally different groups of people. All right, now read on. Verse 9. Here’s the verse that I always use now to back up my teaching that these little Jewish epistles in the back of our New Testament are all directed to Israel, because of this agreement. And an agreement is an agreement between two gentlemen. And if one of them breaks it, then it’s no longer a ‘gentlemen’s agreement.’ And these men were men of integrity. I cannot see Peter, James and John making this kind of a deal with Paul and then turn around and even by the Holy Spirit’s leading, write to the Gentile world; it just cannot happen. Galatians 2:9 "When James, Cephas, (Peter) and John, who seemed to be pillars, (and they were at one time, of the Jerusalem Church) perceived (or understood) the grace that was given unto me, they gave to me and Barnabas (now here it comes, watch it. Don’t just gloss over it) the right hands of fellowship; (they shook hands) that we (Paul and Barnabas) should go unto to the heathen (the Gentiles, the uncircumcised) and they (James, Peter, and John) unto to the circumcision." Israel. The Jew. Now can you make it any plainer? I don’t see how anybody can.

It was a gentlemen’s agreement. And James and Peter and John said, "Okay Paul, you win. We are now understanding, that you are God’s delegated Apostle for the Gentile (Romans 11:13) and we are to keep our business with Israel." You know I’ve got all kinds of proof back in the book of Acts that those twelve men never attempted to go into the Gentile world. My favorite is in the house of Cornelius. My, under ordinary circumstances, when Peter saw that all of a sudden God was going to save Gentiles like He did those several Romans in the house of Cornelius, he shouldn’t have even bothered to go back to Jerusalem. He should have just sent a messenger boy back to Jerusalem and said, "Hey fellows, God is saving Gentiles! I’m out of here. You won’t see me for a while." But does he? No. He goes right back to Jerusalem. Takes a kick in the seat of the pants for having gone into the house of a bunch of Gentiles and stays in Jerusalem! Now that’s what the Book makes so plain. And yet the vast majority of Christendom refuses to see it. Well, I’ll keep banging away at it and banging away at it as our letters keep coming in saying, "I’m finally seeing it for the first time. I’m seeing it that God is sending Paul to the Gentiles with the Gospel of Grace, calling out for the Body of Christ." Peter and the others are still maintaining the hope of Israel, which of course, that gate’s going to drop, and did in 70 AD, because Israel refuses to believe it. Well anyway, I’ve only got a minute left. Didn’t expect to spend the whole half-hour on that but it’s so easy to do when you get into the Gospel of salvation! All right, back to I John for a moment then. I John chapter 5 and again we’ll just read those first three verses and, as I read, I want you (as well as all of you out in our television audience) to see if there’s any language in here that smacks of Paul, and his message of faith in the death, burial, and resurrection for salvation. And I’ll warn you ahead of time. You’re not going to find it. But you can look. I John 5:1-3 "Whosoever believeth that Jesus is the Christ is born of God: (Not a word about the cross. Not a word about the shed blood. Not a word about the resurrection.) and every one that loveth him that begat loveth him also that is begotten of him. 2. By this we know that we love the children of God, when we love God, and keep his commandments. 3. For this is the love of God, that we keep his commandments: and his commandments are not grievous." Anything about the cross? Do you see a word in there that He died for you and that He rose from the dead? I don’t. And you know what, you can go back to James 1:1 and go all the way through Jude and you won’t find it. Because these are Jewish writers and they are writing under the Jewish system of Law and the Kingdom Gospel and they have no understanding of Paul’s revelations of this Gospel of the Grace of God.

[pennylanefics]

Beautiful Night - Jonathan Kent

a/n: this is a future au, after college and all that, so around the ages of 24/25 :) i just had an image in my head and it turned into this ❤️

•••

“Can you believe we’re going to be sister-in-laws?” Sarah says as you two lay on the queen sized bed in the Parisian hotel room. The two boys surprised you both with a trip to Paris to celebrate you getting your dream job and Sarah being promoted at work.

“I know, it’s crazy how far we’ve all come,” you say quietly, almost to yourself.

Not long ago, Jordan proposed to Sarah on a laid-back date in the backyard of the Kent family farm. Tonight, Jonathan proposed to you outside of the Louvre, with the pyramid lit up so beautifully behind you. It was a super romantic proposal, all thanks to Sarah, who helped him set it up.

“Jonathan is really in love with you, it’s so sweet,” she tells you. “He was so nervous about proposing. He wanted to do something grand, something you would remember. And he knows how much you wanted to travel here.”

“It was a really memorable night,” you smile to yourself, sitting up. “Thank you for helping him plan it.”

“Of course, anything for you two. You’re perfect for each other, so you deserved a perfect moment.” Just then, the Kent twins barged into the room, laughing and hugging each other.

“Hey Sarah,” Jordan greets his fiance. “I got us some room service, since the restaurant we wanted to go to was booked up.”

“Ugh yes, I’m starving,” she groans dramatically. Everyone laughs and the two of them leave the room.

Jonathan steps closer to where you are now sitting up and pulls you to stand with him.

“My gorgeous fiance,” he whispers, kissing you sweetly while his arms circled your waist. “I can't believe you’re all mine.”

“I can’t either. I love you so much, Jonathan.”

He leans in for another kiss, but this time, he pushes you back to lay down on the bed, a giggle escaping your lips and mixing with his.

“You wanna order some room service as well? Just relax for the night?” He questions. You nod in response and after one more kiss, he gets off of you and picks up the phone.

After ordering everything you wanted, he joins you on the bed as you flip through channels, finally finding an old French movie you loved.

You curl into Jonathan’s side and sigh happily. Your left hand raises to examine the ring on your finger, even though you’ve been doing it all night; you couldn’t get enough of it.

“It’s so beautiful,” you say in awe of the diamond jewelry. It was a simple yet elegant oval ring with a pave diamond band.

“My mom helped me pick it out. She was so excited when I told her I was thinking about proposing to you.”

“When did you start thinking about it?” Jonathan grabs your hand and messes with the ring, a small smile on his face.

“For a long time. Ever since we started college, I knew I wanted to marry you. But I knew you would want to wait after we graduated, which I was okay with. But you know, Jordan had to go and screw everything up.” The tone of his voice suddenly changes and there’s a tinge of resentment in it.

You knew what this was about. He has always been a little jealous of Jordan, and even though he loves his brother and wants the best for him, sometimes, it’s hard having a life of his own and not being compared to him.

When Jordan proposed, Jonathan had already been looking for rings by himself and close to asking his mom for help. But since Jordan recently did so, it was overshadowed that he was wanting to propose to you because he truly loves you, and not because Jordan did so and he was jealous.

This was something he was open about with you. Jordan was the first and only to get powers, he was the first to get a long-time girlfriend, after Eliza broke up with him when they moved, and he was the first to propose.

“You know, we could get married earlier than they do,” Jonathan suggests.

“Babe, please don’t do this,” you sigh, resting your head against his shoulder.

“Do what? He’s always the first with everything, why would it be so bad if we got married first? I mean, our anniversary is in seven months, we could do it on that day. So that we don’t have so many anniversaries and we can keep the one?”

“Actually,” you sit up, staring down at him, “that’s not too bad of an idea. Not because you want to get married before him and show him up, but I wouldn’t mind getting married that day.”

“So, you wanna get married in seven months?” He confirms. You let out a soft sigh.

“Not for the reasons you want, but for the sole reason of keeping our anniversary,” you clarify. He shrugs his shoulders and cups your cheeks.

“All I care about is marrying you,” he whispers. “And to be honest, I was thinking about that in a very jealous and selfish way, but now, I really want to do this for us.”

“Good, because envy’s not a good color on you.”

“Sometimes, it’s not easy being in the shadows of Superboy, in terms of family and close friends. They’re so used to Jordan accomplishing everything and-”

“You know he could be listening in on you,” you warn.

“We’ve already fought about this,” he says nonchalantly. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion and you jerk away from him a little.

“What?”

“Yeah. When I told him I was proposing and needed to talk to Sarah about helping, he asked if I was doing so because he did. I got angry and lashed out because I was so sick of being accused of everything I do is because I wanna be just like him.”

“I’m sorry, babe. Did he understand what you were trying to say?”

“I think so. He gets that I’ve always been kind of pushed aside for him since we were in high school, after moving to Smallville.”

“It’ll be okay, Jon. Once we move to the city, I think things will get better.” Jonathan smiles warmly at you and hugs you into his side.

“I love you so damn much, and I can’t wait to marry you.”

Those seven months flew by, and on your anniversary, you two got married in a small, intimate ceremony back in Smallville, followed by a reception in the Kent family barn, which was cleaned out and set up so beautifully, with the help of Clark.

“I’ve never been so in love,” Jonathan whispers to you as you two slow dance by yourselves, surrounded by close friends and family, Beautiful Night by Paul McCartney playing through the speakers. “You make me incredibly happy.”

“You’re the love of my life, Jonathan. I can’t wait for the rest of our lives.”

“It’s a beautiful night for love, baby,” he sings along a little to the song, making you giggle.

“Just like the night we got engaged,” you grin.

“God, I will never forget that day,” he replies dreamily. Being in Paris, with a view of the lit up city right out your window, chocolate-covered strawberries and champagne, leading to a passionate night and entwined limbs as you soaked in the events.

“Well we can relive it on our honeymoon,” you whisper in his ear, a shiver running down his spine after your breath hits his ear.

“Fucking bet on it,” he laughs.

[chicagosfinest2021]

I'm not saying that the concept of a monogamous marriage is totally wrong/bad but. . .

I wonder sometimes if TV, movies, advertisements and magazines actually started glamourizing happily single women living functional and fulfilling lives the same way they glamourized weddings, and having a traditional nuclear family. . .if more women would openly admit to preferring former over the latter?

One of my favorite TV shows over the last few years has been "Being Mary Jane" (starring Gabrielle Union). I'm re-watching it now because I couldn't remember how the series ended. And for those of you who haven't seen it, the show follows the life of a beautiful, accomplished African-American female news anchor, Pauletta Patterson (Mary Jane Paul is her professional name). She works/lives in Atlanta, Georgia (later NYC) is intelligent, bilingual, a hard-worker, has the wardrobe, the money, the gorgeous house, the flashy car, a loving (albeit occasionally dysfunctional) family, and her homegirl/producer Kara always has her back, even when MJ is way out of line.

Now despite having so many beautiful things going on in her life, Mary Jane is constantly thinking about the future and moving onto bigger and better, both with her professional career and her personal life, which is totally normal right? But of course every relatable character must be beautifully flawed and MJ is no exception.

Throughout Mary Jane/Pauletta's up's and downs in her personal and professional life the one thing (to me) that seemed to be her biggest "flaw" was her obsession with trying to find her "Black unicorn" and have kids; all of this was only exacerbated by the fact that she is slowly approaching age 40. Now the fact that MJ wanted the man, the kids, the house, the car, the white picket fence, etc, wasn't so much the problem as it was HOW she tried to "rationalize" obtaining all these things. Not to mention she was always concerned about how her situation was not unique and how she didn't want to fall into the "trap" of so many other Black women who were apparently "destined to be alone".

Now Mary Jane, like myself and many other Black women reading this, is a hypergamous woman who is only interested in entertaining high value and high achieving men like herself. She is only interested in men who can match her in wits, her interests, as well as men who are financially stable. No problems there.

The problem was even though MJ had all these good intentions and plenty of men who were on her level and willing to give her what she wanted. . .she routinely throughout the series found ways to sabotage perfectly good relationships with these men, because she was just so obsessed with the idea that if she did NOT find a man to settle down with and COULDN'T have a child that she would never truly achieve happiness. Some of her offenses included: stealing her partner's sperm, attempting to buy a home and move in with a man that she knew was already married with two kids, ending a relationship with an older, wealthy and accomplished gentleman because he wasn't interested in having a baby with her on HER timeline and wanted to take things slow, cheating on a man who genuinely loved her with a man who was previously her sworn enemy and (possibly the worse offense of them all IMO), betraying her BEST friend in order to continue her secret liaison with said former sworn enemy.

I'm saying all this to say that in my opinion, I feel that a lot of women, especially Black women have been conditioned to believe that our self-worth and very womanhood is dependent on our ability to find a husband and have children. Again, nothing wrong with that on the surface. But as G. Union's character Mary Jane admitted herself in one episode, she couldn't tell if she wanted marriage and motherhood because SHE truly wanted it, or because she felt like she had been trained to *supposed* to want it (or as she put it "feeling like a trained seal"). And to be completely honest I'd actually found myself asking that same question when I was still in college.

There is still in 2021 a negative stigma around women who remain unmarried past a certain age. And while people are more inclined to be sympathetic towards women who are childless (i.e., do not have children but are open to it or would definitely like children in the future), women who are child-free by choice (i.e., neither have nor want children) are seen as social pariahs in a lot of circles. And needless to say Black women are often seen as the bottom of the barrel when it comes to desirability and as such are often scrutinized harsher than other women when it comes to us having a harder time landing a partner who is worthy of us. Which is why I think so many Black women feel like they're racing against the clock and trying to prove to their friends, family, peers and society as a whole that "we can have it all too!"

Now I realize that as high value and hypergamous women, the obvious motivation for many of us is to seek out financially stable, generous men that can provide, spoil us, satisfy us emotionally (and even sexually) and whom with we can eventually enter a loving, monogamous, mutually beneficial marriage and start a family. But is it possible to still want hypergamous relationships but not necessarily have marriage and/or motherhood as the end goal? Instead of setting her sights on "settling down", is it still possible or even acceptable for a woman to have multiple beneficial yet meaningful relationships with men over the course of her lifetime and still achieve love, luxury, and happiness without being "tied down"? It's true that many would argue that having a legal marriage would provide that needed level of financial security that a woman wouldn't be able to have otherwise. But some would also argue that even marriage to a high earning man with many financial assets at his wife's disposal would still come with risks and consequences of it's own. And if you're not interested in kids anyway, would marriage even still be necessary?

For many women being someone's wife is very important to them and has always been a goal, whether they want the title simply as a status symbol or because they truly believe in everlasting love between two people. But at what cost? Where do we draw the line? Are marriage and motherhood institutions we feel obligated to have a part in (out of social pressure) or are we truly passionate about having that lifestyle because it will bring us personal fulfillment? At what point does one cross over from being "determined and hopeful" to being a full out "Pick Me"? How many of us can admit that we feel or have felt pressure to make certain life decisions based off what is considered socially acceptable?

Thoughts??

[rosyfingereddawnn]

heart of gold (chapter one)

pairing: robert plant x florence bennett (oc)

warnings: domestic abuse, misogyny, description of (past) injury, just... absolute fuckery

words: 3.3k

summary: trapped in a loveless marriage to a powerful man, florence bennett lives every day in despair. after a chance encounter with a golden-haired actor, florence finds that her life will never be the same again.

author’s note: so. this is a nice little period piece, because what else am i gonna do with the history degree i'm studying for. please note that the views of one mr. bennett (and friends) are not my own. hope you enjoy :) feedback, as always, is appreciated!

masterlist

playlist

------

Nightgown swaying in the soft breeze of a crisp fall morning, Florence stands outside the door of the ornate music room. Notes of beautiful melancholy and bitter hope filter softly through the wooden door, slightly ajar, a broken barrier to the outside world.

Looking through the small crack, Florence gazes upon the face of her friend and confidante, John Paul Jones. Too enthralled in his playing to notice the distraction, he never lets up, heavenly melodies echoing against the marble walls.

John was rather short, thin, with straight tawny hair that framed his strong jaw, softening his face. His stormy gray eyes and high cheekbones give the immediate impression of royalty, of which he was not. A lowly servant of the master of the gorgeous manor, Mr. Allen Bennett, John’s time was divided between his seemingly never-ending list of chores and his music.

An orphan from an early age, John was adopted into the local church and took what little knowledge of the piano that remained from his childhood and put it to good use. Listening to the man playing now, it is apparent that he had kept this skill sharp.

“That is a beautiful song, John,” Florence giggles, a beaming smile on her face at the sight of her friend sitting at the sleek grand piano. “I would appreciate you teaching me to play this well, though I know that my lovely husband would rather die than to see me touch a single key on this beautiful instrument. The bloody bastard.”

“Ah, what lovely words from a lovely woman… Florence, I don’t necessarily disagree with you, but I’m not sure we should be insulting your husband in such an open space.”

“John, my dear friend, I do apologize for my sharp tongue, but I believe it is warranted,” Florence says, taking a seat beside John, smoothing her lace nightgown. John’s fingers still press softly on the piano keys, as he plays a simple tune. “I’ve seen the way he treats you and the servants. As much as I wish to change this for you and the others, I am powerless. This is the only way I may hope to keep my sanity.”

“Very well,” John says, a soft laugh punctuating the end of his sentence. “Though I hope, for your sake, that he doesn’t catch wind of this, or else we are both in trouble!”

“John, pardon me, but I do need to take Florence off your hands for now.”

John’s hands pause, the room falling into silence.

A soft voice belonging to one James Page filters through the open door, interrupting the moment between the two friends. A lean man of average height, with a shock of long midnight curls and eyes a kaleidoscope of colour, James Page is yet another servant indebted to the cruel Mr. Bennett. Whereas John tends to steer clear of the man, and subsequently, punishment, James witnesses Bennett’s anger much too often. Unwilling to submit to Bennett’s furious dictatorship, he often receives the brunt of the man’s mistreatment.

Upon entering the music room, a dark bruise is visible, blossoming on the man’s eye, surely another ‘reward’ for his defiance. James sends the pair a shy smile, and with twin looks of concern, John and Florence take in the state of their friend.

“James! My goodness, your eye looksー”

“It’s nothing, John.”

“Nothing? That certainly looks likeー”

“It is nothing that hasn’t happened before. Please leave it, Florence.”

“A-Alright… What did you need, James?” Florence says, absentmindedly twiddling her fingers, a nervous habit of hers.

“Well, my friend, a certain someone is going to be requesting your presence very soon. I thought it best to warn you ahead of time, so you can prepare.”

With a smile thrown to John over her shoulder, Florence bounds over to her raven-haired friend, hooking an arm through his. James, comfortable with the casual touch of the woman, leads her to her room with a final wave to John.

Navigating through the maze of grand halls of the manor, the wealth of the owner is more noticeable. Shades of red and gold flirt with rich browns, lit by immense crystal chandeliers. Priceless paintings adorn the walls, trapped, much like the lady of the house, in embellished shining frames, just expensive enough to throw shadows on the pain and suffering that happens under the surface.

Not yet rid of the worry that James’s beaten appearance had brought her, Florence unlinks their arms. Ensuring the door to her bedroom is shut, she pulls James closer to her with a hand on his elbow. Her other hand flies to his face, assessing the damage done to it.

“James, I am aware that you do not wish to submit to my husband. That is your choice to make. I will stand by you, always.”

“I appreciate this, my friend.”

“But you must be careful. You don’t know what he is capable of, and neither do I,” says Florence, a grave look of concern gracing her features. “James, I need you here with John and I, not 6 feet underground in an unmarked grave. I know it is not in your nature, but please do try and be careful?”

“I will try,” James’ hand raises, landing in his long dark hair. Raking his nails across his scalp, his lips lift into a crooked smirk. “Though this is an interesting development.”

“Pardon me?”

“The wife of the madman has a heart. And I thought this trope was only found in the books shelved in that gigantic library of yours.” James’ chuckle echoes across the grand hallway. Usually filled with suffocating silence, the halls of the manor serve as another reminder of the terror that fills its occupants. “Now, I understand that you have afternoon tea with Mr. Bennett and his mother, so I will leave you to prepare.”

And with that, the stubborn servant is gone with a click of the closing door.

Minutes later, Florence, finally dressed in a ruffled scarlet dress, a sunhat perched on her head, reaches out to turn the doorknob.

A second too slow.

The door is opened from the other side, and the woman is met with the face of her husband, mouth contorted into a permanent frown.

Allen Bennett was a short, burly man, with close-cropped hair and dark eyes. What he lacked in height he made up for in power and prestige, swindling people out of their money in back alley deals at night, and running the city as mayor by day. This man is not to be crossed, and he knows it. Everybody does.

Gazing at his wife with disinterest, he scoffs, immediately glimpsing the beautiful dress she is wearing. His eyes almost glow in their anger.

“Hm. I thought I had told you that dress looks atrocious on you before. Take it off right this instant. You are not a whore, my love, so you will not dress like one.”

“Yes, dear.”

“Wonderful. I expect you in the foyer in 20 minutes, not a minute later. We must attend a meeting with my mother. I am sure you have been notified of this.”

“Yes, dear.”

With a quick peck on the lips of his wife, Mr. Bennett is gone, and the unfortunate Ms. Bennett feels as though she can finally breathe again. Changing into a sky blue number, she is struck by the thought that this cannot last forever. This treatment of the servants and of Florence herself. The control this vile man has over everyone. The unhappiness and unease he supplies wherever he goes.

This simply cannot last, can it?

-------------------

“Florence. Are you listening, dearie?” A grating, sickly sweet voice breaks the woman from her reverie, a storm in her sea of dreams. Florence takes a sip of her tea and smiles apologetically at the older woman across from her. The woman, satisfied once more, launches into a tedious story about her shopping excursion the day before. Feigning delight at the tale, Florence’s eyes travel around the sun-lit tearoom, with its gleaming surfaces and tall, gold-lined ceilings. Truly a beautiful creation.

“... And, my son, as I was exiting the shop on St. Thomas’s Street, you know the one…” Florence catches the eyes of her husband, glaringly angry as per usual, and at this, she realizes the older woman had paused in her story once more, shooting her an irate scowl.

“Mrs. Bennett, I must apologize for my inattention. My mind was indeed elsewhere, I am terribly sorry.”

“It’s quite alright, girl. Does my son deal with this offensive daydreaming as well? If he does, we must fix this immediately!” Mrs. Bennett titters, cigarette dangling precariously from her lips.

“Mother, it’s quite alright. You mustn't worry about this,” Allen says, leering at his wife as though she was a prize to be won. “My wife knows her place. At least I do hope she does…” The mother and son erupt into giddy laughter at the horrible joke, Florence following uncomfortably, quivering smile creasing her face.

“My goodness,”  Mrs. Bennett wipes her eyes of phantom tears with a lily white handkerchief. The woman takes a drag of her cigarette, and huffs a plume of smoke in Florence’s face. “How old are you now, dearie?”

“A month ago, I reached my 23rd birthday. Allen bought a beautifully crafted sapphire bracelet for the occasion.”

“So thoughtful, my son. You are of age, of course. May I ask when you two are planning to conceive?”

“Well, as of this moment, we were notー”

“You may still be… young, but the only use you are to us, my dear, is to create a wonderful child,” Mrs. Bennett, eyes scrunched up in mock kindness, takes the young woman’s hands from across the table and strokes her thumb across the elegant wrist. “I know you would be a very capable mother. As a result of this, I am expecting a lovely grandson or daughter to call my own.”

“O-of course… Thank you for your counsel, Mrs. Bennett.”

“My pleasure, dear. Now, my son, where was I…?” The woman says, launching into her story once more. “Ah, yes…”

Florence, try as she had, could not take her mind off of the words of the matriarch. As a young girl, she had wished to be a writer, a musician, maybe. What she had not planned for was a truly unhappy marriage to an evil man, doomed to the static life of a housewife. She had loved Allen once. In the beginning. He had supported her and her dreams, and she had loved him in return. She had loved his humour, and his chivalry. His treatment of others. This was but a ruse, of course.

A year after their courting had transformed into a union, Allen Bennett had changed. Florence had finally met the man behind the mask of charisma and kindness. She had gotten too close, and now she is stuck, like a bird with a shattered wing, unable to escape.

“Thank you for a lovely time, Mother, as always,” says Allen, placing twin kisses on her heavily rouged cheeks. “Come now, Florence, we must return home immediately.”

“Thank you Ms. Bennett, for your advice and hospitality. We must do this again sometime.”

“Lovely idea, dearie. Hopefully, the next time I will be able to finish my story without you nodding off!” Ms. Bennett drawls, smirk hanging off her lips like the fancy cigarettes she so often smokes.

Formalities over and done with, the couple step out into the fresh afternoon air and into the waiting carriage that had brought them. Once inside, Mr. Bennett shoots out a strong hand, clutching his wife’s arm in a bruising grip. She lets out a surprised gasp, caught off guard by the sudden pain dealt to her by the man.

“Florence, Florence, Florence… What on God’s green earth will we do with you?” says the man, squeezing harder with each repetition of his wife’s name. “You are incapable of paying attention. You can only dream of meeting my mother’s expectations, the way you have acted today.”

“Allen, I am tryingー”

“You are not trying hard enough! You never have! Why I married a whore like you, I have no idea.”

The vice grip on Florence’s arm grows ever stronger, and she feels wretched anger in her heart, climbing up her throat. With a gaze of fire, she retaliates. “Allen, let go of me! I have done nothing wrong, and as a reward I receive your anger and a bruise to boot!”

Gazing into Allen’s eyes, Florence is confused, frightened even, at the horrible amusement dancing in them. Quick as lighting, before she could even register the action, the woman feels a sharp pain grace her cheek, and, with growing horror, she witnesses Allen’s raised hand begin to lower.

“My dear, you must know your place in this house,” whispers Allen in a venomous tone, bringing his wife ever-closer to him. “You will stay quiet and obedient. There is no other option for you, I’m afraid. Alright?”

“Y-yes.”

“Lovely. Tonight, we must attend a play at the theatre you love so much. This is an important appearance, very good for business. Please do try not to ruin it.”

Florence nods minutely, pressing her palm to her burning cheek. A crimson streak spoils the otherwise pristine white of her glove. She had forgotten that Allen wore rings.

“You will not speak to anyone. You will appear happy and in love, the image of a perfect wife. You will dress in your best garments,” Allen rattles off, smugness dripping from his features. He’s proud of this; proud of the power he holds over her. The power he holds over everyone. “That is all I ask of you. A list of tasks that someone as useless as you could complete with ease. Is that clear?”

“Yes, dear.”

-------------------

“Flo—”

“John, I—”

“My Goodness, your cheek! What happened?” The dulcet voice of one John Paul Jones rang through the quiet of the hall. Florence, caught in her attempt to make it to her room unnoticed, deflates and faces her friend.

“John… I’m sorry, but I do not have time to talk right now,” Florence rushes out, face pinched as she checks the time on the ornate grandfather clock in the corner of the foyer. Must have costed a million, though it meant nothing to Allen, of course. “I am attending a performance at the theatre with Mr. Bennett, and time is… of the essence, I’m afraid.”

“I understand, I truly do, but Florence… was this Mr. Bennett’s doing? You must tell me what happened.” John gestures to the woman’s cheek, which is tinted red from the force used against her.

Sighing, Florence takes John’s hand and leads him into her room, once again the door is shut and promptly locked. She takes a seat on the immaculately-made bed and gestures for her longtime friend to follow suit. John sits, smoothing out his work-wrinkled shirt, and looks down at Florence expectantly.

Taking the man’s hand, she looks into his gemstone eyes, and recounts the story of what had transpired early that day.

“After all that had happened, I was, in my opinion, justifiably angry, so I took a page, pardon the pun, out of James’ book. It seems that my beloved was not a fan of this particular chapter, and he made that quite clear.”

“And the cut? The blood on your glove?”

“I had forgotten that Allen had the propensity to wear rings,” Florence whispers with an acerbic giggle, eyes pained and downcast now. “I doubt that I will be forgetting this anytime soon.”

John meets the woman’s gaze, and notices the beginning of tears brimming her eyes. He takes Florence’s hand in his, a silent offer of comfort that she would never refuse.

“John, as much as I adore your company,” says Florence with a peal of wet laughter. He knows Florence is avoiding the subject, but he lets her. She’ll talk to him, eventually. “I must get dressed for the performance. Hopefully, after we return, I could witness some of your incredible talent on the piano?”

“Of course, of course!” John exclaims, standing now, as, once again, he gently takes hold of Florence’s hands, now rid of the soiled glove. “But Florence, before I leave… Please be careful. James and I, we couldn’t bear to see further pain come to you. Please, for us, be cautious.”

“I will do my best, John. Thank you.”

John presses a quick kiss to Florence’s cheek in passing, and exits the room, and the woman is left alone again. Slipping on a lovely ensemble painted lilac and silver, the woman lets her thoughts wander.

She’s been alone quite often lately, after all. Her only friends in the house are John and James after all, the other servants too frightened by the man she married. Florence certainly does not blame them. She can’t say that she minds the solitude either, if it gets her away from Allen.

The intricately paneled door opens with a sharp click, and Allen waltzes in, leering at his wife, as if the thoughts drifting through her mind were audible to the man.

“Ah, Florence. I am glad that you've finally learned to dress yourself. Thank God himself for that.”

Florence, cheek still stinging from the blow dealt to it earlier, has only the mind to nod and smile as warmly as she can manage. This is taken as permission by Bennett, who caresses his wife’s uninjured cheek with the tips of his fingers, as if he thought her to be precious. Florence bristles at the touch, a string of rather unladylike words at the ready, but she holds her tongue, remembering her promise to John. She would be cautious, act like the perfect wife. She would be safe.

“Come now, my love,” whispers Allen, into his wife’s ear, beckoning her closer with a finger under her chin. “We have a show to attend.”

Palm outstretched towards his wife, Allen helps Florence into the waiting carriage, uncharacteristically gentle, as he always is in public. Public image means everything, and Allen Bennett is picture-perfect in that respect.

“My love, I remember how you love the theatre. I do hope this play captures your attention.”

“As do I, dear,” Florence says, voice wavering ever-so-slightly under the scrutiny of her husband. “Though I do not know if I have knowledge of this particular play.”

“I believe it’s called ‘The Voysey Inheritance’. It details the scandals of a family thought to be perfect, polite and proper. Interesting, is it not?” At that, Allen has pasted on a cheshire grin.

Sounds familiar, Florence thinks, silently cursing her husband and his monstrous greed. If only she had known, walking into this. Known about the sides, dangerous, that he hadn’t shown until it was too late. Until she was trapped.

Finding their seats, the couple take in the gorgeous marble pillars and the ruby, velvetine seats. The shining wood of the stage is visible from the upper flights, where elite folk like Sir Bennett make themselves at home. The massive carmine curtains remain closed, shielding the growing audience from the scenes that are set to come to life. Florence has always loved the beauty of this theatre, and, though it has been years since she has last stepped foot inside of it, she is charmed anew.

The lights of the theatre dim, signalling the start of the show. Florence grins into the still darkness, excitement for the performance growing. Casting her eyes to the stage below, she puts aside her worries. She completely forgets about the vile man sitting next to her, mind filling with the orchestral opening music of the play. She is home.

The curtains open slowly, and Florence loses her breath. There, on stage, is the most beautiful man Florence has ever laid eyes on. She cannot focus on the words flowing from his thin lips, for she is distracted by the halo of golden curls surrounding the man. His romanesque nose is prominent and his eyes, stormy skies in an ocean of blue, are captivating. His curls, spun silk, bounce across his broad shoulders, as he commands the stage. The actor’s luxurious suit glints navy in the blinding lights on him, accentuating his muscled body. He is not phased in the slightest by the attention firmly placed on him. Completely in his element.

He enchants her, as though he was a wizard, and she, the poor soul under his spell. A snake charmer that she’s read about in books found in the gigantesque manor library, and her, the sin-riddled reptile under his control. He is forbidden fruit, and she wants a taste.

The performer is ethereal, and Florence cannot take her eyes off of him. She must find out who he is, somehow.

------

taglist: @jimmys-zeppelin @salixfragilis @timetraveller4 @earthfire-75 @thatiloveyouso @jonesyjonesyjonesy @jimmypages @kyunisixx (let me know if you want to be added!)

[melancholic-pigeon]

Too Short For Ao3 Fic #3? 4?

SO this is the extended edition of the bonus wip I did with Sally's birthday. The overall fic it belongs to is Extremely Smutty, so I went in and revised out the brief references and I'm posting the family-centric g-rated stuff for anyone who wants that but not the smut! Cough.

Also, I felt bad about missing WIP Wednesday again. Lolsob.

Percy rouses at around eleven PM to a sketch of himself on Jason's pillow. There's a note on the other side. 

I wanted to wake you up to say goodbye, but you looked so comfy I didn't have the heart to. your mom's presents are in the bag by my desk. say hi to everyone for me. I'll call tomorrow anyway.

love you to the moon and back.

-J. ❤

Complete with a little red heart. He doesn't even care that the doodle of him next to it, burritoed in a pile of blankets, includes a little spot of drool— he can tell by the rest of his cartoony, ballpoint features that Jason put it in because he thinks it's cute.

(And by the fact that he's said so, several times.)

Percy gathers up his junk. The cornflower blue sweatshirt he steals goes halfway down his fingers. He's come to accept that at six foot three and counting, Jason is the taller of them and always will be— barring some sort of horrible wood-chipper accident or curse from a grumpy deity. 

Fortunately, there's something about looking up to meet someone's eyes that Percy finds incredibly attractive. He has since Annabeth outgrew him for the first time in eighth grade. 

He heads out in his own jeans and the boxers he packed and the sweatshirt that smells like cinnamon. Once he boards the train, he stands with his arm around a pole and the other holding the bag against his chest, and tries to stay casual and keep the grin off his face.

It's almost midnight when he gets home. His mom, of course, is still awake, so he heads into the living room to greet her.

"My other half says hello."

There's a pile of presents on the coffee table. He puts the bag with the rest of them and sits down, kissing her cheek.

"He didn't have to get me anything." She closes her book and eyes the bag with a fond sigh. "How is he?" 

Percy's the same way she is, always happy to do favors and give gifts, but feeling pretty awkward about receiving them. Jason's even worse, the three of them in an ongoing and circular competition to never let any of it go reciprocated. 

"Working too hard, as always. Pulling As and winning games and barely sleeping to do it. His stepmother's up his ass and his father's a bully, so, you know, news at eleven." He leans his head onto her shoulder. "That's why he gives you stuff. He's trying to show you how much he appreciates you." 

She sighs, and Percy knows it's because she's just as frustrated by the whole thing as he is. 

"He knows I appreciate him too, I hope." 

"Without a doubt." Percy smiles at her, watching as she goes a little pink and smiles back. "You have a talent for making him feel appreciated." 

"He treats my baby like a prince," she says softly. "That's why I appreciate him so much in the first place. How could I do anything else?"

Percy turns his face into her shirt collar, another futile attempt to hide his goofy expression, 

"He really does, doesn't he?"

Holding doors, pulling out chairs, offering an arm on unsteady streets. Jason's never laid his coat over a puddle, but Percy's pretty sure he would, if the option presented itself. 

His mom starts playing with his hair, her fingers light and familiar.

"I'm just happy you're happy, sweetheart."

He knows that feeling too. 

Half asleep from the petting, Percy lets himself be a little babyish. It's after midnight now, which means it's her birthday, and he knows that sometimes she misses when he was Estelle's age and little enough to curl up in her lap. He's way too big for that now, obviously, but he can still slide down the couch and rest his head there. 

"You too, Mama." 

She looks at him, her eyes misty with emotion and almost green in the light.

She's smiling, too. 

She smiles a lot, these days.

—

In the morning, Paul makes coffee while Estelle helps unwrap the avalanche of presents. She's at the age where ripping paper makes her squeal with hysterical laughter, which worms its way into Percy's heart and melts it into pudding. 

Several of them are from Percy's friends, including a handbound book of original recipes from Leo, a lovely silver bracelet inset with mother-of-pearl that Beckendorf made himself, and a huge sheathed knife with a matching decorative handle from Clarisse. The last one makes his mom snort as she gets up to put it on the bookshelf, out of reach of curious toddler hands. 

"Decorative. Sure." 

"I bet she'd teach you how to use it if you asked." 

"I know how to use a bowie knife, dear. Your father and I used to catch and cook our own fish when we went camping."

"Which reminds me, he still hasn't taken me out," Paul cuts in, frowning. "I've been saving up dad jokes and embarrassing stories for four years."

"I'll bug him about it the next time we talk," Percy promises. "It's probably the ADHD." 

"Do you want me to bug you about bugging him?" 

"If you haven't set something up by blueback season, yeah." 

Percy and Paul went in on a pound of jasmine tea, which his mom reaches for next. She immediately asks for a cup— it's one of two days out of the entire year where she lets other people wait on her, for a change, and even that took a lot of cajoling. 

Paul makes the tea, since Percy usually scalds the leaves and it turns out tasting like grass. She probably wouldn't complain anyway, but it's her birthday, and she deserves to have the best tea that can be made in their kitchen. 

"Is the last bag from Jason?" Paul sets the mug on a coaster in the middle of the coffee table, and Percy scoops the baby into his lap so she doesn't try to grab it. She mashes her tiny hand against his cheek.

"And Thalia. I'm not sure if they went in on stuff or he just packed them both in one bag to make it easy." 

Either is a possibility. He watches as his mom reaches in and pulls out a large wrapped frame, Thalia's spiky handwriting answering the question. 

Whatever's inside, it makes her shut her eyes and exhale deeply through her nose. 

"Please pass on that I am absolutely furious."

She turns the frame around. An autographed vinyl EP of Sign O' the Times by Prince— one of the albums Percy grew up on, though she skipped a number of the songs when he was little. Thalia must have spent a fortune on it. 

"That woman is incredible," Paul breathes, lightly touching the glass. "How does she get this stuff?" 

"See!"

"She has friends in high places." Percy grins as Estelle reaches for the album, and holds her over the glass so she can touch it too. "She's also really good at barter chains."

His mother shakes her head, but he can tell how delighted she is— the two of them have spent hours animatedly talking about music, Thalia hanging on every word and groaning with jealousy over the concerts his mom went to in the eighties. 

"I know exactly where I'm going to put it." 

Thalia got her a turntable for her fortieth birthday last year, as well as a full set of replacements for every worn-out record in their collection— and had the originals framed too, since they had sentimental value. They're currently occupying the better part of two walls of his mom's study. 

There's a blank spot by her bookshelf, right underneath the first copy, that the autographed album will fit into perfectly. Percy grins. 

"I'll hang it up for you later."

She doesn't argue. There's only Jason's left, his careful print written out across the same paper Thalia used. The crinkling draws Estelle's attention, and she gleefully reaches over to help tear it off.

Their mom gasps at what's inside and puts a hand to her mouth, her eyes going bright.

It's a watercolor portrait of Percy and Estelle, laughing by the shoreline. She's dressed in a little bucket hat, a ruffled swimsuit patterned to look like a clownfish and the coolest shades in the world— sparkly blue frames shaped like seashells that he kind of wishes he could get in his size. He's in a wetsuit, having spent the morning surfing, and he's holding onto her hands so she can jump at the waves. In the distant background is the Montauk lighthouse.

It's beautifully done, like everything else Jason's ever put to paper, but Percy's never choked up like this over one of them.

"You remember that, Beluga? That was on my birthday, when you came and visited me and Jason at the beach."

"Beach?" she asks, expectant. Paul bursts into laughter, sounding as rough-voiced as Percy feels.

"You're your mother's daughter, sweet pea."

"Beach!" Estelle insists. Percy noses her pudgy cheek.

"It's too cold to swim, baby." His mom's eyes are sparkling, still a little teary. He can see Estelle in the smile on her face. "But we could go for a walk and visit." 

"Brunch first." Paul kisses her— Percy averts his eyes, wrinkling his nose at his sister to make her giggle again— and gets up, heading back into the kitchen. 

It's a lovely way to spend a late morning. Pale blue araucana eggs courtesy of Grover's new hens, a blueberry coffee cake from Nico by a fantastic hole in the wall in Hell's Kitchen, Paul's signature home fries made with blue potatoes and seasoned to perfection; all of it delicious.

Jason calls while Percy's doing the dishes. After his deep, resonant performance of the happy birthday song, the five of them chat on speakerphone for a little while, though he has to excuse himself pretty quickly to keep banging through his reading. 

"Maybe next year," Percy sighs. His mom puts her hand on his hip, then crouches down to help Estelle with her light-up sneakers. 

"He's always welcome for a rain check."

"He's always welcome, period," Paul adds. For the second time, Percy gets dangerously close to sniffling. 

Montauk is a little far for a day trip, so they head to Brighton Beach instead. Estelle's shrimpy legs get tuckered out more quickly than the grownups' do, so Percy ends up carrying her on his hip, snuggled into his jacket to block the chilly breeze. She points at seagulls, shouting triumphantly every time. 

"More bird!"

"That's right. A whole flock of 'em."

They watch for a while as the gulls fight over a discarded pizza crust. Then Percy feels an arm around his back and a head against his shoulder.

"I don't know how I got so lucky," his mother murmurs, barely audible over the rushing of the waves.

Percy's eyes sting. 

For most of his life, her birthdays had been spent without fanfare. He was rarely actually there for them anyway, and Gabe complained so much it was easier to just ignore the day and focus on survival instead. 

She'd been triaging like that since before she even met his dad, keeping herself afloat when nobody seemed to care if she drowned. It would have been easy to lie down and give up. Percy's pretty sure he would have, in her place. 

He turns to hug her with the obligatory proclamation of a Stella Sandwich. He catches Paul's eye over her shoulder, and gets a wide, sentimental grin in response. 

"Luck's got nothing to do with it," Percy tells her, leaning his cheek against the top of her head while his sister wriggles with delight between them. 

"Listen to our son," Paul adds. "He's very wise, as you raised him to be. This is all on you, honey." 

Within moments, she's surrounded by her whole family on all sides, and Percy has another arm around his back, and he's getting a little choked up over it all. 

When she first started dating Paul, back when Percy was still in middle school, she'd spent weeks all aflutter. It was the happiest he'd ever seen her at the time. They'd sit outside and work on her car together, and she'd slip into song like a grease-stained fairytale princess without even thinking about it. 

Seeing them interact is like cool water on a burn, Paul's devoted kindness soothing a lifetime of sitting back and watching people treat her like dirt. He worships her, just like she deserves and long overdue.

"I love you," she says, tearful and muffled in someone's shoulder. "All of you, more than anything." 

"Love Mama," Estelle replies, and that's it— Percy's blubbering.

It'll never undo the damage, but it's about time she got a chance to heal and thrive. 

-here in our bed, chapter 7, ~6200 words

[blackberry-gingham]

Uhh I’m so soft for this concept😔💖 like how each lad would react to reader singing one of their songs

Oh my gosh, yaaaas 🥺🥺 I did some little headcannons for this, I hope that's alright!

George

So first off, I could see the reader like practicing playing guitar and trying to learn it and all, right?

Like, it's such a huge part of George's life, you want to understand it a little more!

Plus let's be real, playing an instrument is pretty cool, so... lol

But of course it needs to be a surprise bc you don't want him to hear you while you're still bad at it djdjsjs

You're practicing "Here Comes the Sun", singing along softly to George's voice

Things are going great!

... Until that same old cord combo trips you up

You cringe at the sour note you've just struck, followed by a frustrated groan

No matter what you can't seem to get it right, and you've been trying for ages!!

Ruminating in your thoughts you let the record go on and try to think of what you could do differently

At least George wasn't here for that

"Why'd you stop singing love?"

Shi-

Cue an awkward, stumbling explanation from you about your mission to learn guitar, and how it's not working out so far

George just smiles, he's so touched that you'd take the time to try and do something like this for him

"Nonsense, you just need a teacher"

Your face lights up at that, and he struts into the room

He walks over to the record, picks up the needle and holds it for a moment as he turns back to you

"But only if I can hear that pretty voice again"

He smirks teasingly, but you laugh and give your word

Finally he resents the record, pulls up a stool behind you, and guides your hands from behind you through the trouble spots while you sing along soft as an angel in his ear

You end up going through that song quite a few more times, just for good measure ;)

John

Ok I'm trying to think of something sweet for John, but honestly? The first thing that pops into my mind when I imagine this scenario is you two causing each other mischief lmao

Like John loves music and the Beatles and all, obviously, but when that's your ENTIRE LIFE it's nice to get away sometimes you know?

Of course, that down time is what he'd expect to get at home with you, but I really feel like any true SO of John's would be as much of a trolling master as he is

So yeah, basically, you're a TERROR with singing his songs

Like, when he's having some downtime, maybe a book or some tea, here you come out of literally nowhere

"COME ON COME ON COME ON BABAAAAY, TwiST aNd ShOUt"

Or when he's brushing his teeth before bed

"AAaaAAAaAaAAAahHHHH SO YOU SAY YOU WANT A REVOLUTIO-ON"

At first he's annoyed, but after a while he catches on and returns the favor

Basically it's an all out singing war in yous guy's house lmao

The only difference is, John has his voice and a guitar so you're in trouble luhv 😌

Like you're having some self care time in your room and he slams the door open like an absolute mad man, whips out his guitar, strumming with fervor, and just-

"SO tHiS Is ChRiSTmaAAAAS"

It's all fun and games tho!

You see, the secret he won't tell you is that he can't get enough of your voice, no matter how "bad" of a singer you think you are

So even though you're usually just messing, it gives him a sense of pride and fulfilment hearing that you care enough to remember and sing all his songs back to him

Even if you're a little shit sometimes <3

Paul

For Paul, I feel like reader would be just SUPER SHY singing for/around him

I mean... He's THE Paul McCartney, you know? Like his songs are amazing and you're afraid to ruin them with your out of practice singing

(which would totally not be the case, btw)

And yet... You just can't help yourself!

His love songs are so sweet and silly, they just put a smile on your face and make you think of him

One day you're lost in your chores of the day and start singing a quiet and sweet rendition of Love Me Do

Paul is just a few feet away doing the dishes

It takes him a moment, but once he picks up on your voice he turns off the water and stops what he's doing to listen

You're voice is gorgeous and he immediately wonders why you don't sing more often

Before long he can't hold in his glee any longer and he whips around and bursts into song with you, adding his voice to yours as you start the next verse

You freeze upon realising what you've been doing, and even worse, at having been caught

But, to your surprise, Paul motions for you to keep going

As he should!!

And when you're still not sure, he dances his way over to you and takes your hands in his wet and soapy ones, then gives you a spin

The chores are soon forgotten as you both dance in the kitchen, laughing and singing a perfect harmony as you finish the song together

Paul looks at you with eyes full of wonder

"That was amazing love! Ya' know any others?"

??? Of course you do lol ??

The two of you move this party to the living room and sing along to a whole records worth of his songs, Paul praising your voice all the while

Ringo

For Ringo I could see just some super soft stuff leading up to you singing

Like maybe it's been a long day of recording for him or he's just feeling a bit frustrated bc the other lads get to sing all these songs, amd he feels left out!

Or even worse, like maybe he's just not as talented as the others!! :(

So yeah, to start the two of you would be spending a chill evening in bed while all that's going on in his head

You're cozied up against a throne of pillows and Ringo has his head nestled on your lap

It's a little strange to see him feeling down, he's usually always so smiley and happy

If only there was something you could do to cheer him up...

As you sit there, petting his hair, and idea comes to you

You start humming "I Wanna be Your Man" and look to see if he notices

"Do you know this one love? It's one of my favorites"

Ringo looks up at you curiously, listening intently

You add in the lyrics soon enough in a soothing, slow cover

"Oh, that old song?"

You earn a little smile from him and he sits up

"Mhm!" You smile back, happy to see Ring more like himself

Now that his spirits are beginning to rise, you add a little layer of humour and alter your voice to try and match his deeper one like it is on the record

He laughs but you don't stop, you even give him an encouraging nudge to sing along with you

And of course he does!!

Which thankfully frees you up to go back to your normal voice as the two of you sing a few more verses together

Your voices blend beautifully, complimenting one another as you weave them together

Suddenly, Ringo gives you a kiss and then laughs his familiar, goofy laugh

"Lovely voice like that, maybe we should get you in there to record some songs"

You humbly decline of course, but Ringo replies

"If you say so, but... How about one more?"

He cuddles back into your lap, looking up at you hopefully with his big puppy like eyes

How can you say no?

You resume stroking his hair and launch into a playful rendition of "Honey Don't"

And Ringo, loves it

[introvertguide]

Saving Private Ryan (1998); AFI #71

The next film on the list is one of the best films of any genre, Saving Private Ryan (1998). This is what I consider the best war film of all time despite how overwhelming it is to watch. Maybe it is because it is so difficult to watch, since the movie was nominated for 11 Academy Awards and received five trophies. Because of the ensemble cast and almost complete lack of women, the film was never going to garner much in the way of acting awards. Like the soldiers who they hoped to portray, these actors shouldn’t have expected much individual recognition. This movie affected me greatly, and I would like to delve into that after going through the story line.

MAJOR SPOILER WARNING!!! BECAUSE OF THE NATURE OF THE FILM, EVERYTHING THAT COULD POSSIBLY BE REVEALED AS FAR AS PLOT IS GIVEN AWAY BELOW!!! 

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In the present day, an elderly man visits the Normandy Cemetery with his family. At a tombstone, he falls to his knees in anguish. The establishing shots showing the mass of grave stones is overwhelming from the get-go. The movie transitions from the graveyard to a landing boat at the battle of Normandy. Be prepared because it is about to get rough.

On the morning of June 6, 1944, American soldiers land at Omaha Beach as part of the Normandy invasion. Everything goes bad immediately as machine guns and mortars literally tear the landing soldiers to shreds. Soldiers are screaming for their mothers as they die on the beach. There is no going back into the ocean so the soldiers have run into the machine gun fire. Captain John H. Miller (Tom Hanks) of the 2nd Ranger Battalion leads a breakout from the beach that makes it through to the German encampment. It is about 15 minutes of carnage and nobody will blame you if you want to forward through this until the action cools down. Elsewhere on the beach, a dead soldier lies face-down in the bloody surf; his pack is stenciled Ryan, S. It is at this point I would recommend taking a breather if you need one.

Continuing on, we are shifted to Washington, D.C., at the War Department (keep an eye out for Bryan Cranston with one arm), where General George C. Marshall learns that three of the four sons of the Ryan family were killed in action within a short time of one another. Daniel Ryan in New Guinea shortly before D-Day, Sean Ryan at Omaha Beach, and Peter Ryan at Utah Beach: all dead with letters arriving the same day for their mother. The fourth son, James Francis Ryan, is with the 101st Airborne Division somewhere in Normandy. After reading Abraham Lincoln's Bixby letter, which is meant to comfort grieving parents, aloud, Marshall orders Ryan found and brought home.

Three days after D-Day, Miller receives orders to find Ryan and bring him back. He chooses seven men from his company for the job—T/Sgt. Mike Horvath (Tom Sizemore), Privates First Class Richard Reiben (Edward Burns) and Adrian Caparzo (Vin Diesel), Privates Stanley Mellish (Adam Goldberg) and Daniel Jackson (Barry Pepper), T/4 medic Irwin Wade (Giovanni Ribisi) and T/5 Timothy Upham (Jeremy Davies), an interpreter from the 29th Infantry Division. The group moves out to Neuville where they meet a squad of the 101st engaged against the enemy and both Ted Danson and Paul Giamatti show up. THe group searching for Ryan bump into a stranded French family who try to give over their children but a German sniper breaks up the party. Caparzo is killed by a German sniper, who is then killed by Jackson (who makes the most amazing shot that legends are made of). They locate a Private James Ryan (Nathan Fillion), only to learn that he is James Frederick Ryan. On the point of giving up, the Captain starts asking random passing soldiers and learns that Ryan is defending an important bridge in Ramelle.

Near Ramelle, Miller decides to neutralize a German machine gun position at a derelict radar station, despite his men's misgivings. It does not go well and the medic, Wade, is killed in the process. They take a German soldier that they name Steamboat Willie (Joerg Stadler) who gives up willingly and pleads for his life. The men are angry and want to kill the soldier since they can’t take any extras, so, at Upham's urging, Miller frees the surviving German soldier. Losing confidence in Miller's leadership, Reiben declares his intention to desert, prompting a confrontation with Horvath, who threatens to shoot him. Miller defuses the standoff by disclosing his civilian career as a high school English teacher in a small Pennsylvania town.

At Ramelle, they find Ryan (Matt Damon) among a small group of paratroopers preparing to defend the key bridge against an imminent German attack. Miller tells Ryan that his brothers are dead, and that he was ordered to bring him home. Ryan is distressed about his brothers, but is unwilling to leave his post. Miller combines his unit with the paratroopers in defense of the bridge. He devises a plan to ambush the enemy with two .30-caliber machine guns, Molotov cocktails, anti-tank mines, and improvised satchel charges made from socks. It is basically suicide so the bridge is wired to explode in case it can’t be held. 

Now is a time to take a breather if you need one because it is about to get bad again. Elements of the 2nd SS Panzer Division arrive with two Tiger tanks and two Marder tank destroyers, all protected by infantry. The small American group holds off the force the best they can, Although they inflict heavy damage on the Germans, nearly all of the paratroopers, along with Jackson, Mellish and Horvath, are killed. It turns out that Steamboat Willie joined the group and he personally kills Mellish with a Nazi youth knife (it is horrible) and shoots Miller Captain Miller as he attempts to blow up the bridge. Miller crawls to retrieve the bridge detonator, and fires ineffectually but defiantly with his pistol at an oncoming tank. As the tank reaches the bridge, an American P-51 Mustang flies overhead and destroys the tank, after which American armored units arrive to rout the remaining Germans. With the Germans in full retreat, Upham emerges from hiding and shoots Steamboat Willie dead, having witnessed him shooting Miller, but allows his fellow soldiers to flee.

Miller tells Ryan to “earn this” before dying from his injuries. As the scene transitions to the present, Ryan is revealed to be the veteran from the beginning of the film, and is standing in front of Miller's grave expressing his gratitude for the sacrifices Miller and his unit made in the past. Ryan asks his wife if he was worthy of such sacrifice, to which she replies that he is. The final scene shows Ryan saluting Miller's grave and fades to the American flag gently waving in the breeze.

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I really have a hard time getting through this film without pausing and taking a breather. I saw the film in the theater when I was 18, so my friends and I were all around the age that these soldiers would have been that rushed that beach and retook France. It was truly terrifying. Now I am old and have back issues, so I wouldn’t be put on a front line, but the kids that I work with and care for would be the exact age to be caught in a draft and that scares me even more. The creative ways in which man finds to kill one another is the greatest threat to humanity. 

The first two times I saw the film, I did not realize that it was the same German soldier that the group had captured who eventually killed many of the group we were following. It really changes the message in the end. I had thought that Captain Miller had showed his humanity showing mercy, but it turns out that this mercy is misplaced. Now it seems like Spielberg is saying that neither humanity, nor religion, nor innocence, nor skill, nor even intelligence can save a man in the heat of battle. The only way to live is to watch the back of your group and protect each other like family.

There was a little bit of a travesty that occurred at the Academy in early 1999, because this film lost out in the Best Picture category to Shakespeare in Love. This is the same year that also saw Saving Private Ryan, The Truman Show, Life is Beautiful, Elizabeth, and The Thin Red Line. There had to be something behind that because I wouldn’t consider the winner even in the top 5. Shakespeare in Love is considered one of the worst Best Picture winners along with Crash and The Artist. Oscars are not everything and this movie is one of the best examples of this.

When I say that some of the scenes from this movie are difficult, I really do mean it. There was a hotline set up for people who have PTSD that was triggered by the film. One of the actual members of the 101st Airborne, Major Richard Winters, was consulted about the occurrences surrounding the attack. He said that it brought up many memories that he had worked hard to suppress because he had been taught that war veterans couldn’t express the psychological pain of battle. He also said that it was an important film that revealed what war was really like.

On Veteran’s Day in 2001 and 2004, ABC aired the film uncut with limited commercial interruptions. Living in California, I was able to watch the film on both of those occasions and remember getting my girlfriend at the time to watch in 2004. The film has become like a memorial to Americans lost in the European Campaign during WW2, so I treat viewing as a badge of honor and understanding, no matter how difficult it is to watch.

This film is a pretty easy answer when it comes to the standard questions for the most part. Does this film belong on the AFI top 100? Of course. It is the new benchmark for which all American war films will be judged. It is historically accurate, it is beautifully shot and directed, and it leaves a lasting impression far longer than just about any movie I have seen. Would I recommend it? This one has an age warning. It is not appropriate for young children because the first and last battle scenes are nightmare fuel. Even worse, they are apparently very realistic. It is hard to recommend something that is so scarring, but it will keep people for glorifying battle. It is horrific and should be avoided as much as possible. And that is a lesson that I believe this movie teaches better than any other. So please give this movie a watch and feel free to take a break if you need it.