#and david with an office job is jesus

[bugpov]

just casually found out that my moms firstborn son got devoured by the devil like how am i supposed to be quiet about this, revelations 12:5

[ww2yaoi]

Unfortunately, I don’t have anything official to post for @webgottweek because I’ve been sick (and unprepared), but here’s a scene from my still yet untitled webgott wip for the day 6 prompt: haircut. Enjoy!

Joe makes good on his offer to cut David’s hair a few days later. They take their leave after dinner while most of the guys are downstairs playing cards. Joe drags David’s desk chair from their room into the bathroom and sets it up in front of the sink. He lays out his comb and scissors as David watches from the doorway with his arms crossed, not entirely thrilled to be parting with his mop. He only agreed because Joe seemed so adamant about doing something nice for him, and the last thing David wants is to deny him the chance to feel useful, especially now that the war is over and most of the company is stuck in limbo.

“Not too short, okay?” David says as Joe pushes him down into the chair.

“Jesus Christ, Web,” Joe says, a cigarette dangling from his lips. “All the officers trust me with their hair, why can’t you?”

“Yeah, right, like you’d give Captain Speirs a bad haircut,” David says as Joe wraps a towel around his neck. “You know I won’t be able to do anything about it.”

“Would you shut up? I’m not going to give you a bad haircut. I wouldn’t risk my reputation like that.” Joe takes a drag of his cigarette then ashes it in a tray on the back of the toilet. “Now lean back.”

David huffs, but does as he’s told, tipping his head back into the sink. Joe runs the lukewarm water, drenches David’s head, then lathers his hair with soap. Admittedly, it feels good. The last time David washed his hair was over a week ago, seeing as their billet has limited showers and insufficient hot water to facilitate so many men bathing daily. Usually, David just jumps in the lake and lets it wash away the sweat and grime from drills and training exercises. He’ll probably never be as dirty as he was in Normandy or Holland ever again, and he thanks God for that.

Joe massages his fingers into David’s scalp and David nearly groans. Joe must see the contentment on David’s face because he smirks.

“Feels good, right?”

“Yes,” David says flatly.

Joe runs his fingers through David’s hair from root to tip, then rinses out the soap. The act is oddly intimate, Joe hovering over him, touching his head and maneuvering it from side to side, using his hands so deftly. David is completely at his mercy. He wonders if Joe washes the hair of every man that asks him for a trim, if the officers get to see Joe like this, get to feel his fingers on their scalps. David suddenly feels jealous, possessive, but he knows the feeling makes no sense, that Joe is just doing a job for extra pocket money.

Joe uses a spare towel to ring most of the water out of David’s hair, then beckons him to stand up. He moves the chair away from the sink so he has enough room to walk around it, then gets David to sit back down again. He proceeds to comb David’s hair, gently working out the knots and parting it where the strands naturally fall.

“Not too short,” David reminds Joe as he grabs his scissors.

“Don’t be a baby,” Joe says. “I’m only taking an inch off.”

David listens to the snip, snip, snip of the scissors as Joe begins cutting his hair, starting at the back, and the sound is unexpectedly relaxing, almost enough to raise goosebumps on his arms. He watches as the trimmings fall to the floor like dark feathers, interrupting the white tiles below. Joe alternates between combing his hair, measuring the sections with his fingers, and trimming them down. He works quickly and quietly, gently ushering David’s head back and forth and to the side wherever he needs it to go.

“Where did you learn how to do this?” David asks.

“My dad was a barber,” Joe explains as he moves around the chair to face David and work on the front ends of his hair. “I used to help him at the shop on weekends, sweeping up clippings, answering the phone, cleaning windows, that sort of thing. I would watch him and learned that way until eventually he let me practice on him, with mixed results.”

Joe smiles, seemingly at the memory. David likes listening to Joe talk about his family. His voice has a softer quality to it when he does it. David probably sounds the opposite when discussing his parents or his siblings. Usually when he speaks of them, he’s pissed off about something they said or did.

“Then when I dropped out of school as a teenager I would do odd jobs, including cutting hair,” Joe continues. “I got pretty good at it.”

“Wait, you dropped out of school?” David asks.

He tries not to sound too dismayed, but his face must betray him. Joe gives him a skeptical look.

“Does that offend your very being, Harvard?”

“No,” David insists. “I’m just shocked, is all. You’re so—”

The word ‘smart’ dries up in David’s mouth. Joe is looking right at him as he measures the front pieces of his hair to ensure the length is even. His eyebrows are raised.

“I just didn’t expect it,” David says.

“Yeah, well, there were a lot of mouths to feed in my house growing up,” Joe says. “I would’ve rathered my sisters stay in school than me.” Joe makes a few more cuts around David’s head. “What does your dad do?”

“Uh, he’s a businessman,” David says.

“Yeah? That’s vague. What kind of businessman?”

“I don’t know.” David tries to stifle the resentment in his voice. “He’s the vice president of a trade company. It’s one of those jobs where half of his time is spent going out to lunch.”

“Sounds like a sweet deal,” Joe says, setting down his scissors.

“It’s a nothing kind of job,” David admits. “At least cutting hair you’re doing something. Dealing with a bunch of sales projections and ass-kissers all day doesn’t do anyone any good, unless you’re some self-satisfied prick in a suit.”

Joe snickers. “Jesus, Web. What are you, a Stalinist?”

“No, I just think there are better things to do with your life.”

Joe grabs a towel and runs it over David’s hair to finish drying it. “So what do you want to do with your life? If we ever get out of here?”

“I don’t know,” David says. “Write.”

“Yeah? Sounds nice.”

Joe tosses the towel aside and grabs a bottle of something off the back of the toilet.

“What is that?” David asks.

“Hair oil,” Joe says.

“You’ve been carting hair oil around war-torn Europe?”

Joe smirks. “Only the best for my customers.”

He unscrews the cap, dabs some into the center of his palm, sets the bottle aside, then warms the oil up in his hands. It smells strong and musky, and David is reminded of the other night, of the oil that coated his cock and Joe’s fingers and his thighs. They have yet to fuck like that again. Their days have been so filled with training and drills that they’re both too exhausted by night’s end to do anything but fall asleep in the same bed.

At the same time, David thinks there must be some other reason. It must be because when they fucked on David’s birthday, it was his first time with a man. Admitting that must have put Joe off, made him believe he’ll turn out to be some lovelorn kid who will just grow attached. Or maybe, Joe is waiting for him to make the next move. Maybe Joe thinks he’s too chickenshit to do it.

Joe stoops down to eye level and passes his hands through David’s new haircut, adjusting a strand here and a strand there. David just stares at Joe as he focuses intently on his styling, combing David’s curls back with his fingers, following the waves as they naturally form. He brushes a stray hair behind David’s ear then smiles.

“Can I see it?” David asks.

“Not yet.” Joe reaches out and runs his thumb along David’s jaw. “Do you want me to shave you? You’re looking pretty stubbly.”

“I shaved this morning,” David says.

“Come on, Web. You’re the kind of guy that gets five o’clock shadow at noon,” Joe says. “Your haircut won’t look as good if I don’t shave you.”

“I can handle you with scissors around my head but I don’t know how I feel about you wielding a razor near my throat,” David deadpans.

“Oh, please. I’m a professional.” Joe straightens. “Let me get my shaving kit.”

He opens the bathroom door and slips out into the hallway. David is tempted to look at himself in the mirror while Joe is gone but unfortunately agrees that the end product will look better if he shaves. Joe returns a minute later anyway. He unrolls his kit on the toilet lid, takes the shaving brush, soaps it up and lathers the lower half of David’s face. Joe is even closer now than he was when he was cutting David’s hair, and he’s looking at him, really looking at him.

“You’re getting tan,” Joe says as he reaches for his razor.

“I like the sun,” David replies.

“Why the hell do you live on the upper East Coast then?”

David shrugs. “Victim of circumstance.”

Joe chuckles. He wipes down the blade of the straight razor with a towel.

“I’ve always wanted to move somewhere warm,” David confesses. “Like Florida or California.”

Joe’s eyes flicker at that. The change in his expression is nearly imperceptible, but something like curiosity, or maybe even recognition, passes over his face. It fades in an instant, then Joe is hovering the razor above David’s cheekbone.

“Okay, don’t move, unless you want me to cut you.”

David sits as still as possible as Joe glides the razor over his cheeks and down the immediate curve of his neck, pulling his skin taut with his thumb, then wiping the soap and stubble off the blade with the towel. If David was at Joe’s mercy before, he’s completely vulnerable now. Their conversation gets put on hold as Joe works the razor over David’s skin. His hands are very steady, which is at least reassuring. As far as David can tell, Joe has always had steady hands, along with an obedient trigger finger. At least, obedient to himself. He’s a much better shot than David ever was, and David can understand why. He’s precise.

Joe finishes shaving David with one last swipe over the ball of his jaw, and David feels like he can breathe full and deep again. Joe goes to the sink to wet the towel, then returns to wipe the remaining soap from David’s cheeks.

“Wait,” Joe says. He removes the other towel from David’s shoulders and fixes his hair one more time. “Okay, you can look now.”

David gets up from the chair and turns to face the mirror. His reflection greets him like a stranger he once saw on the street but swears he’s met before in a dream. He recognizes himself, obviously, but he looks more youthful, yet without being young somehow. He’s molted his old skin, the skin that became mottled and toughened by the war, and settled into a new one. He has colour in his cheeks for once, which look impossibly smooth, and his hair is maybe the most well-groomed he’s ever seen it, at least since the war started. Shorter, yes, but shiny and expertly coiffed into a wave off his forehead. David stares at himself. He feels clean, fresh, but most of all, he feels meticulously cared for.

“Well, do you like it?” Joe asks.

“Yeah, Joe, I do,” David says, turning to him and smiling. “I really like it. Thank you.”

Joe returns his grin and winks. “I knew you would, you nonbeliever,” he says. “You look like Carey fucking Grant.”

David laughs. “Do I?”

“Well, not really, but your hair does.” Joe looks down at all the clippings on the floor. “I need to find a broom.”

“I think there’s a broom closet in the hallway,” David says. “I’ll go check.”

He slips out of the bathroom and walks down to the end of the hall, opening a thin door beside the stairs. Thankfully, there’s a broom and dustpan inside, propped up against the wall. David grabs them both just as footsteps echo up the stairwell. Luz appears at the top, an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth.

“Ayy, Web. Looking spiffy,” he says. “What is this, the fucking Ritz?”

“Joe cut my hair,” David explains, fighting back a smile.

“Yeah, I can see that. Lookin’ good, kid.” Luz claps him on the shoulder. “I’ll have to get him to do me next.”

Luz disappears into his room a few doors over and David returns to the bathroom. Joe is sitting on the toilet lid and smoking the cigarette he ashed earlier. They clean up, collecting the clippings from the floor and throwing them in the dustbin. Joe gathers his tools and his shaving kit and they head back to their room, David carrying the chair.

David returns it to his desk then flops down on the bed, suddenly feeling very tired. He’s afraid to ruin his hair, but his head is too heavy to keep off the pillow. He closes his eyes and a few minutes later, he feels the mattress sink as Joe lies down beside him.

David cracks open an eye and sees that Joe is facing his direction, his head resting on the adjacent pillow, just looking at him in the lamplight.

“Inspecting your handiwork?” David asks.

Joe nods. “A little bit.”

“I feel like we should be going out somewhere,” David muses. “To a jazz club or something.”

“You like jazz clubs?”

“Not particularly. I just feel like it’s a waste. If I fall asleep I’m going to mess up my hair, and I’ll have to shave again in the morning.”

“Don’t be vain, Web,” Joe says.

“It’s not vanity. I want people to see your work.”

Joe laughs through his nose. “Well, I see it.”

“You and Luz.”

“Luz?”

“He saw me in the hallway. He said I looked spiffy.”

“And that ain’t enough for you?”

“Shut up.”

A beat passes, then Joe reaches out and strokes David’s cheek, his thumb tracing the smooth, clean-shaven line of his jaw back and forth, back and forth.

“My sisters would be obsessed with you.”

David smirks. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, they would want to have your babies,” Joe says. “Except that you’re a goy.”

“Ugh.” David makes a face. “I don’t want to think about your sisters that way.”

Joe laughs and the sound cuts through the quiet. David ignores him, too disturbed by the concept. He nuzzles further into Joe’s warm palm, feeling himself being pulled towards sleep. He wants to kiss Joe, but he doubts he has the energy to start anything right now. Instead, he shuts his eyes, his body growing heavier and heavier. Joe’s hand migrates to his hair, fixing it even as he verges on unconsciousness. He brushes a loose strand from David’s forehead, smoothes his sideburns down with his fingertips. David is nearly asleep when he hears it.

“Gut aussehend,” Joe mutters. “If only they knew, Web. If only they knew.”

[snowblossomreads]

Welcome Home

Pairing: Detective David Friedman x UnhingedFem!Reader

Summary: In where David receives an interesting letter from [Y/n] who has been missing for a while, only to return home to a surprise.

Tag(s)/Warning(s): Daddy Kink, Age Gap, Oral (M and F receiving), Just unhinged [Y/n] antics, Mentions of physical violence, Also angst??

A/N: SURPRISE SURPRISE LOOK WHOSE COME CRAWLING BACK. Me. Is she done with hiatus? Who knows we'll figure it out. BUT HERE IS SOME DADDY DAVE AND UNHINGED Y/N. Also is that LORE COMING IN? Yes it is. Enjoy now!.

P.S: Please ignore any mistakes this got out of HAND.

The amount of casework that had piled up on his desk, threatened to spill onto the ground, as one of the younger patrol cops tossed another folder on top of the existing pile.

"Got another one for ya Friedman," the youngster announced, only to receive a grunt of annoyance as a reply.  "Oh, also got this letter here too. It don't say whose it's from but it's got ya name on it."

That made his ears perk up, even if he didn't show it, as the kid walked away to deliver files to other folks. Letting out a grumble as he looked at all the work on his desk, he decided to ignore it all, more interested in the random letter that he went to pick up and investigate.

Sure enough, his name was written on it in swirly letters, just like the others, and he couldn't help but feel dread, and another feeling he didn't want to quite acknowledge. One that he wanted to yell at himself for feeling in the middle of the office in broad daylight.

'You gonna lose your job messing with this girl Friedman.'

Yet somehow, it didn't stop him from opening the letter, and being met with the same swirly handwriting. As cute as it was, there was nothing 'cute', about what was in the note.

"I miss you daddy~ All this running around sure got a girl tired when all she wants to do is be laid up with her favorite detective. There ain't no one out here that can do what you can for me, and I sure do miss how good you treat me."

He paused for a moment at that last sentence. Eyes narrowing, and thoughts brewing. Had she been with other people since she had been gone for nearly three months? Look, they were not an item, or anything like that. Fuck buddies at the most. Yet, there was a sting of annoyance at the thought of her doing anything with anyone but him.

'She really got you pussy whipped huh?'  

Rolling his eyes at himself, he looked up once more to make sure no one had come in while he was engrossed in the letter. Confirming that no one was paying him any mind, he went back to reading.

"I hope you've missed me too. I know how hard 'it' can get when you don't have this wet pussy, and tight ass to fuck when you need it. It's hard for me too, you know? My fingers don't feel nearly as good as yours do daddy. Can't even go as deep as yours can :(. You know a girl like me can only go so long without wanting a nice thick cock to stretch her out. What else was this pretty pussy for if I do say so myself?"

He paused again, this time, taking a deep breath, as his chest felt heavy and tight from the shallow breaths he didn't realize he had been taking while he read the letter. Granted, his chest wasn't the only thing that felt tight, as he shifted in his chair, uncomfortable at the pressure in between his legs. He thanked the lord that from the way his desk was oriented, no one could come up from behind him. 

But even so, he needed to calm his ass down unless he wanted to sport a hard-on in the middle of the precinct. Yet the urge to finish reading the letter felt more pressing, and from the way her handwriting devolved into messier scribbles, it seemed like she had probably been feeling the same as him.

Again, he looked around the space, and maybe it was his lucky day, but everyone seemed heads down doing casework and in no mood to pay attention to anything else around them. 

Jesus this girl had him doing some dumb shit. Knowing he should fold the letter up and finish it somewhere with more privacy, he did the exact opposite. 

"Something I think about every night, and every morning. Every minute actually. Can't help it, you know? Sometimes a girl just wants to be handcuffed and fucked dumb. You know that daddy~"

He did. Intimately. 

"Wish you were here right now, feel how wet I am just thinking about you fucking me. Id give you my ass too, I know how much you love stretching it while using my pussy. I love it to daddy. Any hole you want you can have long as you cum in it. Bet you're thinking about how much of a slut I am right now~"

She was right on the money, as he licked his lips, cleared his throat, and fixed his tie a little. He felt suffocated and it was 100 percent because of the filth she had written. 

Again. 

"It's true but only for you, only want you. Promise won't be long till I get back. We can do everything I told you we could. And more. Not that you don't fuck me dumb every time ~ Miss you. Hope these letters been keeping you warm, though I'm sure it's gonna feel much better to have me wrapped around you rather than your hand."

Love, 

Your Nightmare of a Slut <3

Closing the letter with a deep groan that sounded like a defeated sigh, Dave groaned a low, "fucking slut," under his breath, while trying to ignore his twitching cock that was trapped in his slacks.

It had been smutty letter after smutty letter since she had been gone, all of them sent to the office. He was sure it had raised some suspicion, but thankfully no one had gotten their head up their ass and opened them. 

That would be one hell of an awkward meeting with the chief, and he didn't need any more trouble after that whole Hornbeck thing from last year. Was she trying to get him fired or something? He only had a few more years in the slammer left before he could retire, and he would be pissed if he lost out on his pension because of it. 

'Can't blame it all on her. You ain't done nothin' to stop her from actin' like this.'

He sighed heavily, never having wanted to be home as bad as he wanted to right then. 

As soon as it hit 17:30, he was out of his chair and to his car. Barely saying a word to anyone, he bolted to the parking garage to get himself home; his mind still swirling with the words written in the letter that was tucked in his suit pocket.

He never sped so quickly in his life and as bad as it was, he was thankful for that one perk of being a cop. The chances of getting pulled over were slim to none. Which was great, because his cock was also trying to make itself known again as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

When the light turned green at the intersection he was sitting at, he gassed it.

The usual 20-minute drive became 10, before he was digging for his house keys in his pockets while jogging up the steps that lead to his front porch. Pulling the keys out and going to unlock it, he froze for a moment when the door knob gave before he had even turned the key. 

It was unlocked. 

Immediately he was on alert, as his danger senses began to tingle, and his hand was already reaching for the gun that was holstered to his side. Either he had forgotten to lock the door when he left that morning, which was not the case as he always checked twice. Or someone, who wasn't him, was in the house, and he wasn't about to just go in there without being ready for a confrontation.

Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself as he opened the door with one hand, the other holding his gun as he stepped into the sound of the front room television playing. 

The television he had turned off this morning.

What kind of burglar turns on someone's T.V. when they're robbing them?

"You hoo! Over here!" 

The sound of a very familiar voice rang out from the direction of his sofa which startled him, yet at the same time caused him to relax. Even if he was very irritated, as he clicked the safety back on his gun and placed it inside the holster he was wearing.

A growl left his throat, as he closed the door, taking his suit jacket off, along with the holster, and hanging it up roughly on the coat rack by the door. Once he was done, he stomped over to the sofa, and peered over it, only to find exactly who he knew it was.

Lounging on his sofa, wearing nothing but a silky low-cut sleeping gown that was already hiked up to her thighs, [Y/n] wore a cheeky grin on her painted lips as she knew good and well he was going to have words for her breaking into his house.

"Welcome home, daddy~." She cooed, waving at him in an attempt to get ahead of the scolding she was likely to be getting. "Wasn't expecting little ole me were you? But lemme tell ya, you sure are a nice sight for sore eyes." Her teasing was punctuated with a wink, as she sat up, only to turn and kneel on the sofa so that she could face him.

He was still scowling at her, brows furrowed and amber eyes shining with annoyance as he gruffly responded to her with a series of questions.

"Now how in the hell did you get up in here!? I could have shot you [Y/n]!  And matter of fact, just where the hell have you been all this time? Don't you tell me you've been out there doing some shady shit again?" 

Shady wasn't even half of it. But he didn't need to know any of that. Best to keep all the icky stuff to herself. Didn't need a man as fine as him, in every sense of the word, worrying about it.

"Oh you know I don't work and tell Dave. What's life all about if a girl can't have some secrets of her own." She responded. It was paired with a mischievous glint in her eyes that always meant trouble, and add the way her hand was wandering up his thigh, he already knew he was about to be pulled into it.

"Don't worry promise I was being good!"

"I look like some damn fool to you?" David barked, voice thick as he grabbed her hand with some force to stop her from going any further. "Anytime you go somewhere I know you're up to something. And that something is probably manslaughter so who was it this time?"

"What are you talking about? I ain't never hurt a fly in my life!"

"I ain't talking about no damn fly!"

A tiny huff left her lips, followed by a childish whine as she tried to snatch her hand back from the tight grip he had around it. Granted she did like the feel of it.

Maybe she ask him later if he could try it around her neck. 

"I didn't do annnnnythinng! Just wanted to get out of town for a bit, you know? It's too stuffy down here in the summer for me! Promise I was being good."

With the way he rolled his eyes at her, she knew he didn't believe a thing she said, yet, he easily gave up as there wasn't any way he could prove she had been up to something nefarious. Even though he knew her better than he had ever thought he would. 

Freeing her wandering hand, she beamed at him, face radiating joy while her eyes radiated hunger as she quickly made her way back to her prize. She didn't waste any time this go around as she skipped the wandering, and went straight to unbuckling his belt with such speed and accuracy, that in another world he probably laugh at the situation. 

But he didn't have time for that, because the moment she pulled both his pants and boxers past his hips with one go, her hand was already going to wrap around his cock that was already half hard. No doubt remnants from the smutty letter, courtesy of the woman in front of him.

"Fuckin' shit [Y/n]!" He hissed as she began to pump him hard and fast. The grip she had on his cock was just the right amount of tightness, and just the way she knew he liked it, as she licked and sucked at the weeping tip.

When the salty tang of his precum touched her lips, she could only let out a loud moan, which was more of a whine as she began to lick the thick head with hungry fervor. She had missed him, and she had missed this delicious cock of his. And from the way it stood to attention almost immediately when she pulled it out of its confines, she was sure he had also missed her attention.

"Fuck, mmm, you don't waste no time do you," he hissed as his head lolled back and an outstretched hand shot out to grip the back of the sofa to steady himself.

"Can't, missed you so much," she babbled manically before she was all but shoving his cock down her throat causing him to let out a loud string of expletives.

This only spurred her on even more, as she basked in the sound of his loud grunts, and deep groans that were dripping from his lips. Each moan, each sigh of her name, and each jerk of his hips towards her had that familiar coiling sensation in her stomach tightening and tightening it was absolutely addicting. 

"Mhmm, sure it wasn't, ugh shit, s-sure it wasn't my cock you missed doll?"

"Mish'dyouto!" She protested with a pout, though her words were all jumbled up as she didn't even try to pull away completely from him, too much in love with the weight of him and taste of him on her tongue. 

She had said it before and demonstrated it many times before, but she was weak when it came to him. How couldn't she be with a man like David? He may be the grumpiest soul alive, but that didn't take away from the charm he had. 

From the beautiful amber eyes, and hair peppered with greys, blondes, and browns. To that delicious stomach of his that showed a hint of a belly. And who could forget the cock that she was always ready to jump on when she had a chance?  She sure couldn't.

He was perfect, even if she wasn't.

Not caring to dwell on anything that wasn't part of making him come. [Y/n] squashed any negativity down swallowing around his cock, relaxing her throat as much as possible as she slid him down her throat. Down, down, down, until her nose was buried in his coarse pubic hair and she was swallowing around him. She widened her mouth as much as she could just before he began to thrust his hips wildly at the feeling of being fully engulfed in that wet heat. 

The sound of her throat being fucked, and his groans drove her crazy, and it wasn't long before her fingers were reaching into her underwear to stroke her already soaked pussy that was begging for him. 

"Thought you were, mmmm, tired of your fingers doll," David groaned as he watched her rub herself in desperation, "not big enough for that, ugh, slutty cunt of yours is it?"

They weren't, and she let out a pitiful whine for an answer as she pressed two fingers into herself. The digits slid in with ease, yet it barely did anything to relieve the fiery pressure that had been building inside of her. 

"Fuck! Oh christ!" David groaned loudly, his thrusts becoming messy and erratic with each passing moment. Telltale signs he was about to come. 

All the while, [Y/n] was basking in the way he was hitting the back of her throat, and how amazing he looked so disheveled as he fucked her mouth without care. Thank goodness she had taken him enough times to not worry about her gag relax going off. 

It only took a few more sloppily thrusts, and some well timed moans from her before, a shout of her name was ripped from him, and he was shoving, and holding her face against him as he emptied himself into her waiting mouth.

She drank every last drop of it too. Damn near almost choking on it the way the hot liquid just kept coming and coming. But being the slut she was for him, there wasn't a single second where she even thought about spilling a single drop of it. 

Feeling his cock begin to soften in her mouth after milking everything she could from him, she pulled away, her body buzzing as she licked him clean with a happy sigh. Feeling more than pleased with herself at the content groan that he let out, his large hand cupping the side of her cheeks gently. 

Once she deemed that her job was done, she gently nuzzled the side of his thigh before she looked up at him with eyes that pleaded for more.

"Dave please," she whined softly. Pulling away from him and hopping off the sofa. Only to walk around to him, and tug at the arm of the disheveled dress shirt he wore. 

"Want you, missed you."

Wrapping her arms around his shoulder, she leaned up to kiss his neck, before pulling him down a little so that their lips met in a bruising kiss.

He could taste the salty tang of himself mixed in with a sweetness that was hers as he kissed her, and all he could do, was press his lips harder against hers all the while her tongue traced at his thin lips. Memorizing each little crevice on the skin before he parted his lips, allowing her to do the exploring that she so loved to do between them.

Their tongues danced slowly and passionately as sighs filled the air and throaty whines left her lips. She was first to explore his mouth with a fervor she was known for before he was pushing her back. Dominating her in the kiss which she happily forfeited to him. 

It wasn't long before his hands found her sides that tensed the moment he touched her. Her body flinched away from him for a mere second. Not even long enough for someone to notice, but he did, and even if he hadn't noticed that, he did hear the little whimper that also left her lips which at first had him raise an eyebrow.

That sound wasn't the whimper of pleasure that he was used to hearing. No, it sounded different. Yet she didn't stop kissing him. Matter of fact her hands went up to his chest as she began to undo his shirt, more than ready to feel all of his skin on her.

Breaking the kiss, but not without leaving one last bruising one on her lips, David pulled back, which almost caused her to start to protest but she was quickly cut off by him.

"Naw, now stop that. You know I don't wanna hear any of that complain' now," he started, voice stern yet devoid of anger of any sort. "I've been at work all day and the last thing I want to do is fuck you on the sofa so we either do this on the bed or not at all."

Oh no, she couldn't have that. But also, she couldn't not tease him about it either.

"Your bones getting old or something detective? I mean last time, you ain’t seem to have no problem drilling me on this here sofa." She turned to stroke the back of the sofa, before giving it a pat for emphasis before looking back up at him with a sly expression that only had him rolling his eyes. 

God was she a menace. But if there was one thing he had learned, is that teasing her right back was a very effective means to trip her up. 

'Christ Friedman.'

Grabbing her jaw with one hand and squeezing it lightly, not enough to hurt her, even though he was sure she loved that, he continued his little scolding of her.

"You know with all that mouth you giving me it's sounding like you rather have your fingers for company than me [Y/n]. The door is right there if that's what you want."

Her eyes widened immediately at his words, and her lips drew themselves into a pout. And he knew he had her.

"Noooo! I'm sorry!" She cried, as her hands went up to grab his wrist as he let go of her. Instead of pulling away completely, he let her pull his hand to her cheek as she nuzzled the side of her face against his palm. "You know I'm not gonna complain about getting in your sheets. It's what I am here for you know!"

"Just for that?"

"And you too!"

A small smirk appeared on his lips, it was fleeting, but she grinned when she saw it. 

Oh, was he very much trapped in her spider web, as she led him through the hallway into the bedroom. 

Watching her flop on the bed once they were in, David went to undo his tie as he stalked up to her, throwing the fabric on the floor before he unbuttoned his shirt and discarded that as well.

[Y/n] had sat up by then, watching with a glint in her eyes as he stripped his shirt off leaving him naked. Her fingers itching already to touch him, but doing her best to ease that by reaching down to touch herself to ease the throbbing in her cunt that was screaming for him. 

Before she could even slip her digits between the thin fabric of her underwear and herself, David had already yanked her hand away from herself and pinned it to her side.

"No more of that," he growled, causing her to gasp, the rumble of his voice shooting straight down to her core, causing her to wiggle her lower half towards him, wanting him to just take care of the pressure that was coiled in her stomach.

"I've been without this cunt for too damn long [Y/n]. And then you send those letters. Not even letters, straight up smut you made up and you think I'm not about to fuck you dumb?" 

She wanted to tell him that was the point, but was distracted by him trailing kisses across her clavicle, and nipping at it before he moved down to where she wanted him to really be.

"D-Did you like them," she stuttered out as he began to kiss her thighs. Her legs spreading open for him on instinct to make sure he had all the room he needed. It seemed to spur him on, and the way his perpetual five o clock shadow rubbed against her as he sucked and nipped at her flesh, only had her breaths become shallower as he made his way up to where she wanted him to be.

"I thought you might get lonely, ah, wanted to make s-sure you had something to keep you entertained while I was gone daddy."

He had been entertained all right.

"Entertained huh?" he growled, as he pushed her nightgown up just below her lower stomach, the skin beneath peeking out a little.

He noticed a little discoloration on her stomach but didn't pay too much attention to it. Too busy with the task of ridding her of her soaked underwear, before he nuzzled her aching clit with that wonderful hooked nose of his. Her hips immediately canted upwards towards him, and a cry of pleasure flew from between her lips as he inhaled that heady scent of her before he let himself taste what he had been missing for months.

"Ahaa haaa! Yes right there daddy, r-right there!" She begged, as his tongue swirled around the bundle of nerves that set her on fire with each practiced flick of his tongue.

He alternated between giving the sensitive spot languid licks and sucking it as it swelled at the attention that it had been seeking for such a long time. Keeping her preoccupied with his talented mouth, he slowly dragged his digits up her thigh until they were joining him in pulling out whine after noisy whines from her lips. His tongue continued to dance around her clit as he slid two thick fingers into her cunt that sucked him into her with ease and urgency. 

The moan she let out was probably heard by his next door neighbors, but he couldn't give two shits. Not when he was ready to be balls deep in her as she began to grind her hips against his face furiously. 

"Ngggh, fuck! Oh fuck, Dave please!"  Her voice pitched higher and higher as he sucked on her while his fingers moved in and out of her soaked insides with both speed and precision. 

Each time he dragged his digits out of her, he made sure that he hooked them just right so that they would rub right against that spot at her entrance that had her practically shaking like a leaf. And he kept doing it, faster and faster, adding another finger next to the two and opening her up wider and it drove her insane as the coil in her stomach tightened and she could feel 

"Please what doll?" 

"Please, haa, please more gonna, ngggh! G-gonna come daddy, please."

"Mmmm if you gonna come then you better do it now." 

That was all she needed to hear before she let herself relax all the way. Let him bring him to that peak that her shaking and letting out a shriek of,

"Dave!"

Her shout became a strangled clipped noise as her legs stiffened, and her fingers clawed at the bed sheets as he continued to fuck her spasming pussy with digits that were drenched with her juices. Harder and faster just like she wanted it, her body stiffened even more, and the wet sounds coming from below her increased until,

"Fuck!"

She wasn't sure if she had said it or if he did or maybe it had been both of them. But what she did know, was that when she felt that gush of liquid from her pussy, she couldn't stop the cry that left her as the stiffness immediately released her and her limbs became uncontrollable for a moment. 

The spasming, the shaking, all of it happened at once and for a moment she wondered if she was dead because there was no way she could feel this good and still be alive. It was like pleasure had been injected directly into her veins, and it burned so good, better than she had ever imagined and she wanted more. 

Her mind was totally addled for a moment with the pleasure, even as David gave her cunt a few more licks, lapping up the juices that coated her thighs and her twitching cunt. Little sounds of pleasure involuntarily left her lips as he crawled on top of her, planting kisses down her neck, nibbling at sucking at it. He could feel her rolling her hips weakly beneath him and he chuckled against her neck.

Like her body was begging for more even without words and boy was he more than ready to give it to her. He had spent months fucking his hand while reading the letters she had sent him, wishing it was her cunt he was fucking. And he wasn't about to waste any more time as he let his hand roam down her front grabbing the hem of her dress and making a motion to pull it up so he could see all of her.

When he lifted himself off her though, the sight beneath him froze him in place and about knocked the wind out of him. What he was expecting to see was that soft skin that he had gotten well acclimated with. What he wasn't expecting was whatever he was staring at now in slight horror.

Her left side, from the middle of her belly almost to her lower back, was heavily discolored and severely bruised.

Like something or someone had repeatedly hit her in that area. From the looks of it, he wouldn't have been surprised if something had broken. And if not, how? But also, the pain. 

She couldn't have not been in pain with how large the area was. And suddenly it dawned on him. The flinching from earlier when he had grabbed her. He must have hurt her, and she just ignored it. But he couldn't now. 

"Dave?"

He hadn't realized how long he had frozen, not until her voice rang out and his eyes slowly drifted upwards to her. And whatever his face looked like, it must have startled her, because for a second, instead of that familiar look of lust that she always had around him, there was a true wide eye look of shock.

"Who did this to you?"

She looked down at herself and saw what she knew he was looking at. Her eyes lingered on the spot, or more accurately the area, before she shook her head and looked at him with a straight face. Looked at him like nothing was wrong, like this was a normal thing and at that moment he felt a large pit of emptiness and dread filling his stomach. 

"Mmm's nothing," she answered before settling back into the bed. "Now come on, don't you wanna do all those things I was talkin' about in them letters." Her fingers trailed up and down his arm and that smirk she was known for was back on her face. "Because I know I do~."

No he didn't.

How did she expect him to want to do anything with her in the state she was in? Maybe she could stomach it. He knew how she was; he would even indulge her from time to time. The spanking and leaving small bruises. But this wasn't him. He couldn't stomach this. Not when he had a strong inkling that whatever had caused the massive bruise was not consensual.

"No [Y/n] stop!" He growled, ripping his hand away from her with such force that she let out a startled yelp. Not because he had hurt her though. Not physically though. 

Yet it hurt him for some reason.

"I'm fine! I promise Dave please!" She pleaded, her hand going to reach for him as he moved away from her. "Just got in a bit of a mix up that's all. I sorted it all out don't gotta worry about it no more!" 

Moving off the bed and going to his closet to grab some clothes, anything to put a barrier between them, he reappeared with a robe wrapped around him a deep frown etched on his lips.

"Doll I know you get up to no good sometimes. No don't even try to act like that. We both know it's true," he continued as she tried to interrupt him with an argument but he wasn't having it. "But this, no this is different, what have you been up to since you've been gone [Y/n] I ain't gonna ask you again."

Like a deer in headlights, she froze. Her mind buzzed with any excuses she could give to him about where she had been and what she had been up to. Each lie less believable than the one before. 

"[Y/n]."

His voice was low, dangerous even and it was different from the way he spoke to her. He wasn't playing with her anymore. He may have been fucking her, indulging her whims that could get him into some deep shit if anyone found out. But if there was one thing Dave was good at, it was getting answers out of folks in whatever way he had to. Even if he did like them.

No wonder why the chief didn't have the balls to fire him after that scandal with the senator.  

She had to come clean to him. Or as clean as she could without giving herself away completely.

"He knew where someone I was looking for was at Dave," she admitted in a whisper. Barely loud enough for him to hear and not looking up at him. Too ashamed to do so, knowing what she had done was plain stupid. And all because she let her emotions run wild. "Said he could show me where and I went like a dummy. I was so caught up, that I didn't even realize what was happening till he dragged me out into the middle of nowhere."

"Who?"

There was a bite to his voice, a growl that existed just on the edge of it that had her sitting up a little straighter. His eyes were dark, not from lust, no that was long gone, they looked stormy, angry. It confused her, and even in her lamenting she felt a familiar buzz of arousal trying to come back even though the moment for any of that was long gone by now."

"Who what?"

"Who did this to you [Y/n]? And who the hell you out lookin' for that got you all beat up like this?"

"I can't," she blurted out shaking her head, eyes lowering, cowering away from the fire in his that burned her. "Can't tell you Dave I'm sorry…maybe one day, but not today you gotta trust me!"

Trust her?

He hadn't gotten this far in life or in his profession by trusting people easily. Everyone was looking to stab someone in the back, or bribe someone just so that they could climb the ranks. And lord knows he wasn't an angel either when it came to having to bribe people sometimes to get them to cooperate with a case. It was just something that came with the job. 

So, asking him to just trust her was not an easy thing. Yet considering everything she could have done to him at this point, which included murdering him, he felt like he did have to give it to her. 

He didn't trust her 100% but it sure was more than some of the people he worked with.

"Please."

Her voice was tiny, a far cry from the attitude and fire that she had no problem showing him and whoever had the bad luck of getting in her way. And it felt wrong.

Running a hand through his disheveled hair, he clicked his tongue before letting out a deep sigh that had been waiting to be released.

'Fine.'

Dropping his hand, he turned on his heel, almost out the door before she called out to him in confusion.

"W-where you goin'?" [Y/n] asked, as she began to scramble up from the bed with the intent to follow him.

Whipping around, he pointed at her and she froze in place.

"Stay."

He commanded sternly before he was out of the room leaving her dumbfounded and alone with her racing thoughts. 

There was an itch, the longer he was gone. A tingle in her fingers, the urge to claw at her skin that was crawling with anxiety, self-doubt, and distress. 

What had she done? Was he finally over her? Tired of whatever back alley situations she was getting herself into. What if he was calling backup to come and take her away and lock her up?  She'd deserve it, but this was not the way she thought this would have happened.

All these thoughts swirled in her head yet instead of spurring her into action like they would have, she just sat on the bed, staring at the door that he had left out of. Waiting for him and whatever he was about to do.

She could jump out of the window and make a run for it, but she sat until,

"So you do listen sometimes, come on doll."

His voice was so close to her, that it caused her to jump, not even realizing he had come back into the room and went to the side of the bed closest to her.

"Dave I'm sorry," she whispered, subdued and unlike herself as she let him help her off the bed. She followed him to wherever he was taking her as he led her out of the room with no questions.

If there was one person she trusted, it was him.

"Ain't got nothing to be sorry about," he replied, giving no real indication of how he was feeling as he brought her to the bathroom.

Wait why the bathroom?

Confusion settled in immediately as he led her into the slightly steamy bathroom. And it was still there as he brought her right up to the bath that was filled with hot water, and from the smell of it, some bath salts.

"Get in there and don't even think about running off when you done. Come straight back to the room alright?" 

Staring at the steaming bath and back at him with a dumbfounded expression, [Y/n] nodded. 

"Speechless? That's a first," he pointed out, amusement in his tone as he watched her stare at the bath with an unreadable expression. 

It made him wonder. Had anyone treated her this way before? Had he treated her this way before? A frown appeared on his features, as he leaned down and distracted himself by planting a soft kiss on her shoulder. 

"You gonna keep kissin' on me Detective and let the water get cold?"

He chuckled against her skin. There she was.

"Alright but don't go escaping you hear?

She turned to look at him, a wry smile that he had never seen before that caused his heart to hurt for some reason. 

"You know I won't."

"Mhmm," he hummed as he straightened up and left the bathroom. Closing the door behind him and leaving her by herself. 

Listening to his footsteps move away from the door, and knowing he was gone, [Y/n] felt her shoulders sag. The heavy weight that had been resting on it finally disappeared as she took off her clothes slowly and carefully. She did her best to not aggravate the large bruise that throbbed on and off during the day.

It wasn't as large as it had been though so that was progress. 

Stripped and free of her clothes, she took a few steps towards the tub and gingerly stepped in before slowly lowering herself into the water. The effects were immediate as she felt her muscles relax, and the ache from her side began to subside if only just a little.  

A sigh of relief left her lips as she let herself just relax. Knowing she was safe. And that David was right next door waiting for her. He was such a grumpy man. Yet he did this for her. Even after not telling him everything, he still cared enough to make sure she was okay and it made something in her chest tighten. 

From the first time they met he cared, and he hadn't changed after all those years. 

She was such a terrible person, she knew that. And it hurt to lie to him like this. He deserved to know the truth. But she wasn't ready, and she still hadn't finished what she had set out to do. So it would have to wait. She just hoped she wasn't dead in a gutter before it all could come out.

"Oh David Friedman," she murmured, a forlorn expression blanketing her features as she pulled her knees towards her chest. "You just don't know much of a mess I really am."

Letting out a small sigh, she let her head fall back against the edge of the tub, eyes squeezed shut tightly to hold back the tears that had been threatening to fall. 

She stayed in the tub for a while, tending to herself, and maybe putting some of his body wash in the water just so she could be surrounded by his scent. A mixture of coolness and spice that had her sinking in the tub, and blowing at the bubbles she had created.

By the time she had decided it was time to get out, the water was lukewarm and her skin was a bit pruny. But, she had felt so much better than she had been for the last few weeks as she wrapped herself in a fluffy towel he had laid out for her. 

Even if he was grumpy, and probably tired of her antics, he still was treated her kindly and she couldn't help but to smile at herself. 

Picking up her nightgown, which was a little wrinkled from everything she had just put it through, she slid it back on; forgoing any underwear, because those things were ruined and belonged in the trash. Which she tossed them in, as she left the bathroom and found herself standing at the threshold of the hallway and his bedroom. 

The lights had been turned out, and only the bedside lamp was on, as he sat in bed a book in hand as if everything earlier had not happened. He sure was good at compartmentalizing, wasn't he?

"Ain't it a little too early to be going to bed?" [Y/n] pointed out as she stepped into the room, getting his attention as he offered a little grunt as a response.

"With all the heart attacks you be giving me?" He asked, raising his eyebrow as we went to place the book he was reading on the bedside table. "It ain't never too early to call it a day."

"Aww come on don't act like that," she giggled, as she made her way to the bed, but only going so far as to stand at the edge of it, unsure of what she was supposed to do.

Seeing her hesitation, he pulled the blanket on her side down, inviting her to get in, and boy, he had never seen someone so happy. Her face lit up and she looked elated as she climbed onto the bed, grin and all while cozying up to his side quickly. A childlike excitement in her eyes as she looked up at him as if he was everything to her.

Another sigh, this time inaudible, left him.

"And don't you try to sneak out of here! If you ain't here when I wake up I'mma come find you."

"Is that a promise?" She grinned, only causing him to roll his eyes and shake his head. 

But there wasn't any real annoyance as she tucked herself into the warm sheets and nestled herself against his side. He hesitated for a moment before letting himself lay a hand on her shoulder. A purr left her lips at his touch, and she closed her eyes looking like the most comfortable woman alive.

"I'm serious [Y/n]."

"I know, I ain't going nowhere I promise," she whispered, drowsiness setting in surprisingly quick thanks to how safe she felt.

It didn't take more than 10 minutes before she was out like a light, her breathing evening out as she slept. All the while, David took several glances at her, making sure she was asleep before he let himself fully relax against the headboard.

He didn't know what the hell he was doing. Whatever it was, was probably not a good idea considering everything that had transpired, yet he couldn't not help her. She was a menace, full of attitude, and on the deranged side of things yet here she was sleeping like a little angel. Truly the duality of man, he thought as he closed his eyes, not really wanting to dwell longer on the extremely strange situation.

If he woke up dead the next morning, then so be it. He wouldn't have to deal with the mess he had on his hands, which he had also basically enabled. But with his luck, he probably wake up just fine. 

After all, he did trust her. 

A/N: : D shout out to @smilingformoney who supports my unhinged daddy dave thots. We love unhinged [Y/n] and I'm please to finally shell out some of her lore that has been in my brain.

Now go forth and leave comments LOL. They make me happy and it makes me want to write more :" D. Okay buh bye!

[invisibleicewands]

Michael Sheen: Prince Andrew, Port Talbot and why I quit Hollywood

When Michael Sheen had an idea for a dystopian TV series based in his home town of Port Talbot, in which riots erupt when the steel works close, he had no idea said works would actually close — a month before the show came to air. “Devastating,” he says, simply, of last month’s decision by Tata Steel to shut the plant’s two blast furnaces and put 2,800 jobs at risk.

“Those furnaces are part of our psyche,” he says. “When the Queen died we talked about how psychologically massive it was for the country because people couldn’t imagine life without her. The steel works are like that for Port Talbot.”

Sheen’s show — The Way — was never meant to be this serious. The BBC1 three-parter is directed by Sheen, was written by James Graham and has the montage king Adam Curtis on board as an executive producer. The plot revolves around a family who, when the steel works are closed by foreign investors, galvanise the town into a revolt that leads to the Welsh border being shut. Polemical, yes, but it has a lightness of touch. “A mix of sitcom and war film,” Sheen says, beaming.

But that was then. Now it has become the most febrile TV show since, well, Mr Bates vs the Post Office. “We wanted to get this out quickly,” Sheen says. With heavy surveillance, police clamping down on protesters and nods to Westminster abandoning parts of the country, the series could be thought of as a tad political. “The concern was if it was too close to an election the BBC would get nervous.”

I meet Sheen in London, where he is ensconced in the National Theatre rehearsing for his forthcoming starring role in Nye, a “fantasia” play based on the life of the NHS founder, Labour’s Aneurin “Nye” Bevan. He is dressed down, with stubble and messy hair, and is a terrific raconteur, with a lot to discuss. As well as The Way and Nye, this year the actor will also transform himself into Prince Andrew for a BBC adaptation of the Emily Maitlis Newsnight interview.

Sheen has played a rum bunch, from David Frost to Tony Blair and Chris Tarrant. And we will get to Bevan and Andrew, but first Wales, where Sheen, 55, was born in 1969 and, after a stint in Los Angeles, returned to a few years ago. He has settled outside Port Talbot with his partner, Anna Lundberg, a 30-year-old actress, and their two children. Sheen’s parents still live in the area, so the move was partly for family, but mostly to be a figurehead. The actor has been investing in local arts, charities and more, putting his money where his mouth is to such an extent that there is a mural of his face up on Forge Road.

“It’s home,” Sheen says, shrugging, when I ask why he abandoned his A-list life for southwest Wales. “I feel a deep connection to it.” The seed was sown in 2011 when he played Jesus in Port Talbot in an epic three-day staging of the Passion, starring many locals who were struggling with job cuts and the rising cost of living in their town. “Once you become aware of difficulties in the area you come from you don’t have to do anything,” he says, with a wry smile. “You can live somewhere else, visit family at Christmas and turn a blind eye to injustice. It doesn’t make you a bad person, but I’d seen something I couldn’t unsee. I had to apply myself, and I might not have the impact I’d like, but the one thing that I can say is that I’m doing stuff. I know I am — I’m paying for it!”

The Way is his latest idea to boost the area. The show, which was shot in Port Talbot last year, employed residents in front of and behind the camera. The extras in a scene in which fictional steel workers discuss possible strike action came from the works themselves. How strange they will feel watching it now. The director shakes his head. “It felt very present and crackling.”

One line in the show feels especially crucial: “The British don’t revolt, they grumble.” How revolutionary does Sheen think Britain is? “It happens in flare-ups,” he reasons. “You could say Brexit was a form of it and there is something in us that is frustrated and wants to vent. But these flare-ups get cracked down, so the idea of properly organised revolution is hard to imagine. Yet the more anger there is, the more fear about the cost of living crisis. Well, something’s got to give.”

I mention the Brecon Beacons. “Ah, yes, Bannau Brycheiniog,” Sheen says with a flourish. Last year he spearheaded the celebration of the renaming of the national park to Welsh, which led some to ponder whether Sheen might go further in the name of Welsh nationalism. Owen Williams, a member of the independence campaigners YesCymru, described him to me as “Nye Bevan via Che Guevara” and added that the actor might one day be head of state in an independent Wales.

Sheen bursts out laughing. “Right!” he booms. “Well, for a long time [the head of state] was either me or Huw Edwards, so I suppose that’s changed.” He laughs again. “Gosh. I don’t know what to say.” Has he, though, become a sort of icon for an independent Wales? “I’ve never actually spoken about independence,” he says. “The only thing I’ve said is that it’s worth a conversation. Talking about independence is a catalyst for other issues that need to be talked about. Shutting that conversation down is of no value at all. People say Wales couldn’t survive economically. Well, why not? And is that good? Is that a good reason to stay in the union?”

On a roll, he talks about how you can’t travel from north to south Wales by train without going into England because the rail network was set up to move stuff out of Wales, not round it. He mentions the collapse of local journalism and funding cuts to National Theatre Wales, and says these are the conversations he wants to have — but where in Wales are they taking place?

So, for Sheen, the discussion is about thinking of Wales as independent in identity, not necessarily as an independent state? “As a living entity,” he says, is how he wants people to think about his country. “It’s much more, for me, about exploring what that cultural identity of now is, rather than it being all about the past,” he says. “We had a great rugby team in the 1970s, but it’s not the 1970s anymore and, yes, male-voice choirs make us cry, but there are few left. Mines aren’t there either. All the things that are part of the cultural identity of Wales are to do with the past and, for me, it’s much more about exploring what is alive about Welsh identity now.”

You could easily forget that Sheen is an actor. He calls himself a “not for profit” thesp, meaning he funds social projects, from addiction to disability sports. “I juggle things more,” he says. “Also I have young kids again and I don’t want to be away much.”

Sheen has an empathetic face, a knack of making the difficult feel personable. And there are two big roles incoming — a relief to fans.

Which leads us to Prince Andrew. “Of course it does.” This year he plays the troubled duke in A Very Royal Scandal — a retelling of the Emily Maitlis fiasco with Ruth Wilson as the interviewer. Does the show go to Pizza Express in Woking? “No,” Sheen says, grinning. Why play the prince? He thinks about this a lot. “Inevitably you bring humanity to a character — that’s certainly what I try to do.” He pauses. “I don’t want people to say, ‘It was Sheen who got everybody behind Andrew again.’ But I also don’t want to do a hatchet job.”

So what is he trying to do? “Well, it is a story about privilege really,” he says. “And how easy it is for privilege to exploit. We’ve found a way of keeping the ambiguity, because, legally, you can’t show stuff that you cannot prove, but whether guilty or not, his privilege is a major factor in whatever exploitation was going on. Beyond the specifics of Andrew and Epstein, no matter who you are, privilege has the potential to exploit someone. For Andrew, it’s: ‘This girl is being brought to me and I don’t really care where she comes from, or how old she is, this is just what happens for people like me.’”

It must have been odd having the prince and Bevan — the worst and best of our ruling classes — in his head at the same time. What, if anything, links the men? “What is power and what can you do with it?” Sheen muses, which seems to speak to his position in Port Talbot too. Nye at the National portrays the Welsh politician on his deathbed, in an NHS hospital, moving through his memories while doped up on meds. Sheen wants the audience to think: “Is there a Bevan in politics now and, if not, why not?”

Which takes us back to The Way. At the start one rioter yells about wanting to “change everything” — he means politically, sociologically. However, assuming that changing everything is not possible, what is the one thing Sheen would change? “Something practical? Not ‘I want world peace’. I would create a people’s chamber as another branch of government — like the Lords, there’d be a House of People, representing their community. Our political system has become restrictive and nonrepresentational, so something to open that up would be good.”

The actor is a thousand miles from his old Hollywood life. “It’d take a lot for me to work in America again — my life is elsewhere.” It is in Port Talbot instead. “The last man on the battlefield” is how one MP describes the steel works in The Way, and Sheen is unsure what happens when that last man goes. “Some people say it’s to do with net zero aims,” he says about the closure. “Others blame Brexit. But, ultimately, the people of Port Talbot have been let down — and there is no easy answer about what comes next.”

[alittlepudge-neverhurtnobody]

kinktober #19

Invasive Vines 🌿 / Sweet Shop 🍭

“Candy’s possessed,” David announces, and Ben shakes his head. 

“Always has been.”

“What?” says Kristen, cocking her head, and Ben rolls his eyes. 

“You’ve never seen that meme? You have four meme-age daughters and you’ve never seen the astronaut meme?”

Kristen shrugs. Ben goes to pull it up on his phone.

Father Ignatius fills them in on the case; a candy shop in Brooklyn has reported an unusual increase in gluttony from its customers and employees. Apparently it’s not the only candy shop affected recently, either — just the only one devout enough to call the church.

“How do we know it’s demonic gluttony and not just kids pulling pranks for Halloween?” David asks, and Father Ignatius shrugs.

“How should I know? That’s your job. I know it feels like busy work, but if it really is something demonic, it would be good to get a jump on it before the holiday. I get enough parents asking about razor blades in apples and whether celebrating Halloween is un-Christian without adding demonic candy to the mix.”

“Razor blades in apples has never been a thing,” says Ben. “It’s like the hoax about people giving kids drugs in Halloween candy. No one is wasting their hard-earned drugs on trick-or-treaters.”

Sister Andrea falls in with them as they file out of his office as if she’d been part of the conversation the whole time. “Well, of course it would be candy eventually,” she says. “Why do you think I use marshmallows to catch demons? They’ll eat themselves sick on the stuff if they get the chance.”

“Do you?” asks Kristen with interest. “Use marshmallows?”

Sister Andrea nods. “For the smaller ones, yes.”

“Okay,” says Kristen, because sure, why not. “Please don’t ever tell my girls about that. We’d never get rid of the ants.”

She lets Ben sit shotgun as David drives them out to Brooklyn, her gaze flickering between the Halloween decorations adorning the blur of brownstones outside her window and the open bag of candy corn in the center console between the boys. 

“Where’d that come from?” she asks, leaning forward and crinkling the bag.

David shrugs. “One of the church volunteers leaves little baskets for everyone at the church. She never misses a holiday.”

“Huh,” says Kristen. She’s not much for candy corn, but there’s something irresistibly sweet about watching David and Ben throw back handfuls while they talk about the case and banter about who had the worst Halloween costume back in the day (Ben pulls up a picture of him and Karima as awkward teens, wearing the most half-hearted, ill-fitting generic Star Trek uniforms Kristen has ever seen: “Mom didn’t exactly get the memo on what they were supposed to look like.”)

When they pull up to the candy shop, the place looks worse for the wear. The front window has been smashed and covered over with brown paper scrawled with the words WE’RE OPEN!, and the doorknob looks like it’s been blown off with dynamite and recently replaced with a shiny new one. “Jesus,” says Ben, cradling the new knob in his hand, and David’s brow furrows. 

“Is Halloween that cutthroat these days?”

“Spend an hour at my house after trick-or-treating,” says Kristen over her shoulder. “It’ll make your war journalism career look like Goodnight Moon.”

Ben laughs and follows her in, and David shepherds them from behind. The shop owner explains that they’ve had problems recently with employees stealing sweets from the store in bulk, with customers coming back to demand more than they paid for with the sweaty, aggressive insistence of desperation, with break-ins faster than they can repair the front windows that leave the till and safe untouched, but the candy bins emptied.

“Is there one candy that seems to be more of an incentive than the others?” asks David, and the shop owner shrugs. 

“The frogs have been a target. So has the candy corn, the regular and the pumpkins.”

Kristen mouths The frogs have been a target to Ben over David’s shoulder. The air inside is warm and humid despite the October chill outside, and when she leans over one of the bins and picks up a gummy frog with a marshmallowy underside, it sticks unpleasantly to her fingers. 

“And do they share a manufacturer?” asks Ben, sweeping his gaze around the shop. “Could’ve been some sort of chemical additive accidentally mixed into certain batches that’s reacting with a common medication or something.”

“Sure, lots of them come from Wingate’s in Jersey,” says the shop owner dubiously, “but not all of the varieties from the same manufacturer are causing the problems. The jujubes are made there, too, and nobody’s touching those.”

“That’s because they’re jujubes,” says Ben under his breath. 

“I like jujubes,” Kristen protests in a whisper.

“We’ll look into it,” David overlaps, louder. “Please don’t hesitate to call us if anything further happens.”

“Honestly?” says Ben from the backseat when they’re safely ensconced in the car. “Ignatius is right, this does feel like busy work. It’s probably some local parenting group trying to make a statement about how addicted kids are to sugar these days.”

“Ooh, yeah, probably,” agrees Kristen. “That’d be a pretty savvy approach, actually. Call the church, call it evil, and bam, you’ve got a great excuse to toss your kid’s Halloween candy.”

“Yeah,” says Ben, leaning forward for another handful of candy corn. “Or to eat it all yourself.”

— 

The next day, both of the boys look under the weather. Ben’s brown skin looks a bit grayer than usual, and David’s forehead is beaded with sweat, even though St. Joseph’s Parish is notoriously drafty. They’re waiting for her on a bench in the church hall, Ben slumped lightly against David’s big body, 

“You guys good?” asks Kristen, setting her bag down beside David’s knee. “There a cold or something going around?”

David grimaces. “I’ve got some bad news about that candy corn.”

“Oh no,” says Kristen, her stomach dropping. “From the volunteer?”

Ben nods, pressing an arm to his own stomach. “Yep.”

“So, what?” she says, laying her palm first on David’s forehead, then Ben’s: they’re both a little damp, but not feverish. “Were you both just up snarfing candy corn all night?”

“Yeah, just about,” says David, eyes downcast. In his turtleneck and thick sweater, he looks less like a man of God and more like a New England college student trying to explain away a hangover. “I said Mass this morning, but I had Father Dement take over for me this evening. I feel awful.”

“Do we think it’s related to the case?” Kristen asks, patting both of their knees and squeezing herself in between them. “Like a sabotage attempt?”

“Nah,” says Ben, stifling a burp. “I think we just got caught in the crossfire. Wingate’s probably manufactures candy that’s sold all over the city. It’s gonna be a miserable Halloween for most of New York if we don’t figure this out.”

Kristen looks between them. “Do either of you really think you can survive a drive out to Brooklyn right now?”

David swallows hard. Ben shakes his head.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she says, resting a hand on each of their knees. “What do you say we go back to my place and regroup there? The girls will be in school for a few more hours, so it’ll be quiet.”

David nods gratefully. “I didn’t realize until today how badly a sugar coma would mix with church incense.”

“Why do I feel like maybe this is your doing?” Ben teases weakly as Kristen helps him to his feet. Beneath his t-shirt, she can see that he’s bloated, his stomach pressing against the thin fabric. David’s sweater is too thick for her to do the same, but now she wants to know. “Like you decided we needed a day to get mommed and slipped us wacky candy corn.”

“Oh, yes,” says Kristen, hauling up David next. He’s heavier, and when she puts a hand on his middle to steady herself, she gets the answer she’s craving: his stomach, too, feels hard and round beneath his clothing. “I’ve been playing the long game, dressing up as a little old lady and dropping off holiday gift baskets for everyone at church for years just to prepare for this moment because I think you guys aren’t getting enough days off.”

“Hmm,” says David, mock-suspicious. “I never said it was a little old lady.”

“They’re volunteers at the Catholic church,” quips Ben from Kristen’s other side. “The population skews heavily toward little old ladies.”

David laughs, then winces, palming at his belly. Kristen covers his hand with her own, and even though she’d never want him or Ben to be uncomfortable, there’s something thrilling about how big he feels, how packed full. She wants desperately to hear the sounds the two of them might make about it.

“So,” she says, hooking arms with them and leading them out to the car. “How long do you think before this candy thing goes viral?”

—

David and Ben are quiet on the drive back to Kristen’s. She keeps the heat off despite the chill, opens the windows to let in the rich, therapeutic wet-leaves-and-rain scent of fall, and she even resists the urge to crank up the radio and sing along when “Short Skirt/Long Jacket” comes on. 

She gets the boys set up on the couch, brings blankets and pillows, and digs up the green ginger tea she only ever pulls out when one of the girls is sick. She finds a half-empty, probably-flat bottle of ginger ale she clearly shoved to the back of the fridge months ago and forgot about and divides it among two glasses with ice, then pulls three mismatched mugs from the cabinet and pours tea. It takes two near disasters before she decides that she cannot cool-girl it up and walk out with all five cups at once.

“Need help?” calls David from the next room.

“Nope, I got it!” she yells back. “Just sit there and relax!”

She takes the ginger ale out first, then the tea. They’ve left room for her between them on the couch, and she slides in easily. “How’s that?” she asks, giving Ben’s stomach a little pat and David’s knee a squeeze. “I can get the heating pack from upstairs, too, if you want it.”

“Maybe later,” says David, wrapping an arm around Kristen as Ben starts on his tea. “I’ll just use your heat for now.”

“Mmm, fine by me.” She tucks her sock feet beneath her on the couch and gently massages his swollen belly. “You feeling any better?”

David catches a burp in his fist. “Not as nauseous. Just achy.”

She applies a bit of pressure with her hand, and David lets out a soft noise that would make her weak if she weren’t already curled on the couch. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “Yeah, there you go, baby. Let it all out.”

“Hey, can I get in on this?” asks Ben, shifting his weight so he’s canted more toward Kristen.

“Of course! I have two hands.” But she turns in his direction and gives him some attention, too, rubbing his belly and helping him push out a few uncomfortable burps. “Yeah, that’s it. Does that feel better?”

Ben sighs. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“I wonder how long it takes to detox from candy corn,” muses David, and then kicks out a laugh. “Another question I never asked myself until we started this job,”

“I feel dumb,” Ben grumbles into his mug. “This happens to people we assess, not to us.”

“That’s the universe putting us in our place,” says Kristen, sipping her own tea. “Just like my favorite Bible verse says: what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”

David rolls his eyes. “Yes, what book is that again?”

Kristen shoots him a winning smile, all bright teeth and fluttering eyelashes. “Uh, I think it’s The Book of I Have Four Daughters Who Love to Push My Buttons.”

“Hey,” says Ben suddenly. “Does candy corn have gelatin in it?”

Kristen raises an eyebrow. “Ew. Does it?”

David fishes his glasses from some heretofore-unseen pocket and perches them on the end of his nose. “Looks like it does,” he says after a moment of googling. “And those frog gummies probably would, too, right? With that marshmallow base?”

“Yeah!” says Kristen, crowding in. “Do you think it’s related to the pork thing? What was the name? Belmonte?”

David scrolls. “Of the company, yeah. Garcia was the guy who ran the farm we visited.”

“Right, with the son who got possessed,” Ben puts in. “Gelatin’s gotta come from somewhere, and Jersey’s close enough that the Garcia farm could be a viable source. And it would explain why only some of the candies were affected. The stuff without gelatin would be totally fine.”

“Score one for the jujubes,” says Kristen, and Ben pokes her gently.

“Hey!” she teases. “I don’t know why you’re picking on my taste when David once told us he genuinely enjoys the Eucharist wafers.”

“You know how I think you could enjoy those?” says Ben, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back. “Drop ’em into hot oil like everyone’s doing with those rice paper circles on VidTap so they puff up and get crunchy. Little salt, little hot sauce …”

“You can’t deep-fry the Body of Christ,” David protests, laughing. “Another group of words I never thought I’d say in that order.”

“But are they the Body of Christ before they’re consecrated, though?” asks Kristen, drawing her knees up to her chin and leaning on David. “I think you can just buy them in bulk online, unblessed.”

“Let’s find out,” says Ben, opening his phone. “Oh, yeah. You can get a thousand for under twenty bucks.”

“Nooo,” moans David, dropping his head into his hands. “I thought we were here to regroup, not blaspheme.”

“We already regrouped,” says Kristen brightly, kissing his cheek. She takes Ben’s free hand and brings it into her lap. “Now it’s time for blaspheming. And if all this talk about communion wafers is making you hungry, I’m sure I can scrounge up something …”

“No!” yelp David and Ben in unison, and Kristen grins. 

“Okay, okay. Just keep me posted. I wouldn’t want either of you going hungry.”

“I don’t think I’ll be hungry again until the weekend,” says David, leaning back on the couch and bringing his ginger ale to his lips.

Ben lets out a burp. “I dunno,” he says with a crooked smile. “I could probably be convinced a little sooner. I don’t have dinner plans tonight.”

“I’ve got chicken soup in the freezer,” says Kristen. “If I take it out now, it’ll have plenty of time to thaw. That all right?”

She ducks back into the kitchen, then gets a fresh kettle going and makes herself a little snack to eat while the water heats. When she goes out to the living room to collect mugs, Ben is bunched against David, a blanket pulled over their legs.

“Nap time?” she guesses, and they both nod. They look irresistibly cozy, and the kettle will wait, so instead she cuddles up to David’s other side and pulls the blanket over her own legs as well. Beneath the fleece, she finds David’s hands, laced over his belly, and then Ben’s, braced on David’s arm. When she dozes off, it’s to the slightly uneven rhythm of their breathing, to the warmth of their heat.

[killerandhealerqueen]

✨ weekend wip exposure club ✨

rules: post 7 sentences/a snippet of an unfinished work

@hyperbolicgrinch @theotherwhybietoldmeso Happy Weekend!

Please enjoy another snippet from my Newsies Musical Rewrite (the fic ain't fightin' me anymore, hallelujah praise jesus)

            “Look, fellas, the cops ain’t gonna care about a bunch of kids” he assured before he looked over at David.             “Right Davey?” he asked.  David blinked before he shook his head.             “I…don’t ask me, Jack.  I’m not a part of this” he argued.  Jack looked at him in shock.             “Not a part of this?  What you think the rest of us are just here on play time?” he snapped.  David groaned.             “No, that’s not—” he started before he sighed.             “Jack, I’m not a newsie.  I don’t understand your world” he explained.  Jack shook his head as he jumped off the stack of newspapers and walked over to him.             “Davey, you don’t have to understand my world to know that what Pulitzer is doing is wrong.  Just because we make pennies don’t give them the right to rub our noses in it” he hissed, just as David looked at him.             “Jack, it doesn’t matter.  You can’t strike.  You’re not a union” he argued.  Jack frowned.             “What if I says we is?” he asked.  David blinked, surprised by the question, before he huffed.             “Well, there’s a lot of stuff you gotta have in order to be a union.  Like…membership” he stated, causing Jack to frown before he motioned behind him to the rest of the newsies.             “What do you call these guys?” he asked.              “And officers” David continued.             “I nominate Jack president!” Crutchie exclaimed.             “Ah gee, I’m touched” Jack replied, his eyes never leaving David’s as he crossed his arms.             “Alright then, what about a statement of purpose?” he asked.  Jack scoffed.             “Yeah, must’ve left those in my other pants” he grumbled, just as Racetrack jumped up onto the stack of newspapers and looked at them.             “Um…what’s a statement of purpose?” he asked.             “A reason for forming a union” David replied, just as Jack looked at him.             “Well what reason do the trolley workers have?” he demanded.  David shrugged.             “I don’t know!  Uh…wages, work hours, safety on the job?” he replied.  Jack huffed.             “Well who don’t need that?” he exclaimed.  David sighed.             “Jack—” he started just as Jack looked at him.             “Hey, don’t you doctors have a union?” he asked.  David blinked before he shook his head.             “No…we don’t” he replied.  Jack hummed.             “Well, I bet if your father had a union, you wouldn’t need to be working at his shop” he mused, causing David to look at him with wide eyes before he took a step back, a mixture of hurt and anger in his eyes.             “That’s low, Jack Kelly” he hissed. 

Tagging: anyone who wants to play

[applbottmjeens]

Sgt. Annabelle "Gremlin" Pham

AKA: Annie (Graves), Belle, Kit, Grem, "GET THIS THING OFF OF ME!", "Little Monster" (Graves)

Blood type: O Positive

Age:

23 (Modern Warfare, 2019),

26 (Modern Warefare 2, 2022),

27 (Present, Modern Warfare 3, 2023)

Height: 4'11

Nationality: American

Ethnicity: Asian/Pacific Islander (Vietnamese + Filipino)

Languages Spoken: English, Tagalog, Vietnamese, Chinese, Spanish

Religion: Catholic

Marital Status: Single (MW1-2), Complicated (MW3)

Faceclaim: Janella Salvador

Family:

Isabella Reyes - Maternal grandmother (deceased)

Cpt. Francisco "Capitan Kiko" Delgado - Paternal grandfather (deceased)

Phạm Ngọc Anh - Paternal grandmother (alive)

Phạm Vinh Trường / Thomas Pham - Father (alive)

Phạm Vũ / David Pham - Uncle (alive)

Maria Soledad Pham née Delgado - Mother (alive)

Ryan Joseph "RJ" Pham - brother (alive)

-

CHILDREN (non canon)

Spc. Sylas Thomas "Tommy" Pham/ Phạm Teo Sỹ / "SAINT"/ (ACES AU)

Phillip Fernando Graves II / "Junior" / Ace (ACES AU)

Affiliates:

TASKFORCE 141:

BRAVO 0-6 / Cpt. John Price

WATCHER-1 / Kate Laswell

BRAVO 0-7 / Lt. Simon "Ghost" Riley

BRAVO 7-1 / Sgt. John "Soap" MacTavish

BRAVO 2-6 / Sgt. Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

ECHO 0-1 /Lt. Isobel "Medusa" Williams (@gipsyavnger)

ECHO 1-1 / Sgt. Maj. Hannah "Sparrow" Clayton (@revnah1406)

2ND COMMANDO REGIMENT : (@kaitaiga)

Alyssa "Aly" Martinez (@alypink)

TANGO 0-1 / Cpt. Lachlan Jones

LOS VAQUEROS:

TANGO 2-1 / Sgt. Damien Whitlock (what're YOU doing here?!)

Col. Alejandro Vargas, Sgt. Maj. Rodolfo Parra, Jesus "Chuy" Ordaz

SHADOW COMPANY (QUEEN OF HEARTS AU + MW3):

Comd. Phillip Graves, Ms Sgt. Shane Sparks (formerly), Rozlin "Rose" Helms (formerly). Velikan, SO. Marcus "Lerch" Ortega

Annabelle Pham was born in San Jose, California and raised in an Asian immigrant household in South San Francisco. Growing up working class, her parents encouraged her to pursue her education while also helping raise her sickly younger brother, RJ. Playing softball and being a bit of a rebel, despite her shortcomings, Annabelle had the opportunity to attend an Ivy league college on a partial scholarship, which she rejected after her father's restaurant was vandalized and robbed.

Rather than use the money for school, she pushed her family to use it to repair their restaurant. Annabelle would choose to attend a 2 year college in a CTE program since it was more affordable, working part time in her family's restaurant while she searched for new employment.

While job searching, she became curious about the recruiters office in her neighborhood, and next thing she knew, she was in the army (much to her mother and father's disappointment.)

At some point, then Private Annabelle "Kit" Pham would meet CIA Station Chief Kate Laswell while fighting alongside SAC/SOG officer Alex Keller. Impressed by the young woman's resolve and improvisation, Laswell would choose Anna as one of the three women she'd first suggest to join Taskforce 141 to John Price.

While hiding from enemy forces who'd kidnapped her in a foreign city, Annabelle's quick thinking kept her alive while her teammates were delayed on their rescue.

Anna got her callsign "Gremlin" from her unpredictable and unhinged behavior thanks to her fellow Sergeant Kyle "Gaz" Garrick. Hiding in walls, crawling in vents and ambushing enemies easily thanks to her small stature and the old fashioned element of surprise.

Smart, resourceful and good with her hands, she's a loyal friend and a cautious person whose instincts are good if they aren't clouded by her own feelings. Anna is a hopeless romantic who wears her heart on her sleeve, which can be a good and a bad thing...Especially when a certain Commander seeks to exploit it.

[warwickroyals]

beginning - previous - next

Mrs. Jennifer Ware is the communications secretary to Nicholas and his mother. David Schuyler, who's appeared before and has been mentioned several times, is private secretary to Nicholas/Tatiana and is one of Alex's Godparents. "The people upstairs" refers to the only people "above" Nicholas's office: Louis's household and staff.

[DOCTOR] Your Royal Highness, this is Grace. She and her mother have been staying at Amanda’s House for three months.

[ALEX] It’s very nice to meet you, Grace. You’ve got my daughter’s name. Well, half her name.

[GRACE] You have a daughter?

[ALEX] Yeah, she’s around your age, too.

[GRACE] Is she a princess?

[ALEX] No, she’s an ordinary girl.

[GRACE] Does she go to school?

[SCHUYLER] I don’t understand why he chose to bring her up like that.

[JENNIFER WARE] That isn’t even the worst part.

[ALEX] Maybe when you’re feeling better you can return to school.

[SCHUYLER] Jesus Christ, why would he . . . ? I’ve seen enough; turn it off.

[JENNIFER WARE] You know what I’m about to say, don’t you? I was just telling Julianne the other day, like, what is it? “Julie, Am I a fucking mute or something?”  I’ve said this so many times: Prince Alexander is not his brother—

[SCHUYLER] I know, I know—

[JENNIFR WARE] You cannot just throw him into the wild unprepared.

[JENNIFER WARE] He needs notes, Sky! In bullet points and bold or else he won’t fucking read them! He’ll just skim them on his way there and the next thing you know, we have a member of the royal family telling a little girl in palliative care that she’ll get better one day.

[SCHUYLER] Jen, it was an honest mistake.

[JENNIFER WARE] Maybe so, but The Charlatan purchased the rights to that clip yesterday afternoon. This morning they uploaded it to Facebook. Our little mistake sits at over seven-hundred-fifty-thousand views. Over fifty-kay comments, the vast majority of them derisive in nature.

[JENNIFER WARE] The reputation of our second-in-line is holding on by a thread. It’s just been free-falling ever since he left the Prime Minister’s daughter. Even in the press briefings I’ve noticed a change in . . . temperature. That’s why I’ve waylaid you before the meeting. This is too intimate to bring up in front of the others.

[JENNIFER WARE] Listen, I feel for you. You and him were friends. The rest of us were just his employees.

[SCHUYLER] I’ve been here since 6 a.m., whatever emotional pandering you’re about to do, please make it quick.

[JENNIFER WARE] Fine, I’ll summarize. You know those boys, you’ve known them since they were babies. Most people stay with the palace, what, five, six years? You’ve been here for fifteen.

[SCHULERY] There aren’t many opportunities outside the palace. The job market isn’t the best.

[JENNIFER WARE] Don’t bullshit me. You’d began the process of transitioning out back in 2017. Everyone knows what happened.

[SCHUYLER] The late Prince of Danforth’s death was an unprecedented crisis. The family needed me.

[JENNIFER WARE] Right. And they still need you. We’re representing the future King of Sunderland, we can’t have stories of dysfunction and incompetence going to print every Sunday.

[JENNIFER WARE] Talk to those boys. Not as a private secretary, but as a surrogate father.

[SCHUYLER] I doubt they consider me as such. Well, you’re all they have.

[JENNIFER WARE] God knows you give them more attention than your own child.

[SCHUYLER]  Yes, for all the good it does. Neither are keen on listening to my advice.

[JENNIFER WARE] That’s not what the people upstairs think. They think you were the one who pressured Prince Nicholas into seeing a therapist. Oh, and one last thing: they were also saw the little clip I just showed you. The meeting you set up between Prince Alexander and The King has been canceled. Like I said: these mistakes have consequences. Talk to those boys.

[SCHUYLER] Bastards.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

6 Marks of the Believers' Growth in Grace by J.C. Ryle

Let me take it for granted that we do not question the reality of growth in grace, and its vast importance. So far so good. But you now want to know how anyone may find out whether he is growing in grace or not?

I answer that question, in the first place, by observing that we are very poor judges of our own condition — and that bystanders often know us better than we know ourselves. But I answer further that there are undoubtedly certain great marks and signs of growth in grace — and that wherever you see these marks — you see a growing soul. I will now proceed to place some of these marks before you in order.

One mark of growth in grace, is increased HUMILITY. The man whose soul is growing, feels his own sinfulness and unworthiness more every year.

He is ready to say with Job, "I am vile!" And with Abraham, "I am dust and ashes!" And with Jacob, "I am not worthy of the least of all Your mercies!" And with David, "I am a worm!" And with Isaiah, "I am a man of unclean lips!"

And with Peter, "I am a sinful man, O Lord!" (Job 40:4; Genesis 18:27; 32:10; Psalm 22:6; Isaiah 6:5; Luke 5:8). The nearer he draws to God, and the more he sees of God's holiness and perfections — the more thoroughly is he sensible of his own countless sins and imperfections. The further he journeys in the way to Heaven — the more he understands what Paul meant when he says,

"I am not already perfect!" "I am not fit to be called an apostle!" "I am less than the least of all saints!" "I am the chief of sinners!" (Philippians 3:12; 1 Corinthians 15:9; Ephesians 3:8; 1 Timothy 1:15).

The riper he is for glory, the more, like the ripe corn — he hangs down his head. The brighter and clearer is his gospel light — the more he sees of the shortcomings and infirmities of his own heart. When first converted, he would tell you he saw but little of them — compared to what he sees now. Would anyone know whether he is growing in grace? Be sure that you look within for increased humility.

Another mark of growth in grace, is increased FAITH and LOVE towards our Lord Jesus Christ. The man whose soul is growing, finds more in Christ to rest upon every year, and rejoices more that he has such a Savior. No doubt he saw much in Him, when first he believed. His faith laid hold on the atonement of Christ, and gave him hope. But as he grows in grace, he sees a thousand things in Christ of which at first he never dreamed!

His love and power, His heart and His intentions, His offices as Substitute, Intercessor, Priest, Advocate, Physician, Shepherd and Friend

— unfold themselves to a growing soul in an unspeakable manner. In short, he discovers a suitableness in Christ to the needs of his soul, of which the half was once not known to him! Would anyone know if he is growing in grace? Then let him look within for increased knowledge of, and love to Christ.

Another mark of growth in grace, is increased HOLINESS of life and conduct. The man whose soul is growing, gets more dominion over sin, the world and the devil every year. He becomes more careful about… his temper, his words and his actions. He is more watchful over his conduct in every relation of life. He strives more to be conformed to the image of Christ in all things, and to follow Him as his example — as well as to trust in Him as his Savior. He is not content with old attainments and former grace. He forgets the things that are behind, and reaches forth unto those things which are before, making "Higher!" "Upward!" "Forward!" "Onward!" his continual motto (Philippians 3:13). On earth, he thirsts and longs to have a will more entirely in unison with God's will. In Heaven, the chief thing that he looks for, next to the presence of Christ — is complete separation from all sin. Would anyone know if he is growing in grace? Then let him look within for increased holiness.

Another mark of growth in grace, is increased SPIRITUALITY of taste and mind. The man whose soul is growing, takes more interest in spiritual things every year. He does not neglect his duty in the world. He discharges faithfully, diligently and conscientiously — every relation of life, whether at home or abroad. But the things he loves best are spiritual things. The amusements and recreations of the world, have a continually decreasing place in his heart. He does not condemn them as downright sinful, nor say that those who have anything to do with them are going to Hell. He only feels that they have a constantly diminishing hold on his own affections — and gradually seem smaller and more trifling in his eyes. Spiritual companions, spiritual occupations, spiritual conversation — are of ever-increasing value to him. Would anyone know if he is growing in grace? Then let him look within for increasing spirituality of taste.

Another mark of growth in grace, is increase in LOVE to others. The man whose soul is growing, is more full of love every year — of love to all men — but especially of love towards the brethren.

His love will show itself actively — in a growing disposition to do kindnesses, to take trouble for others, to be good-natured to everybody, to be generous, sympathizing, thoughtful, tender-hearted and considerate.

His love will show itself passively — in a growing disposition to be meek and patient towards all men, to put up with provocation and not stand upon his rights, to bear and forbear much rather than quarrel. A growing soul will try to put the best construction on other people's conduct, and to believe all things and hope all things, even to the end. There is no surer mark of backsliding and falling off in grace — than an increasing disposition to find fault, pick holes, and see weak points in others. Would anyone know if he is growing in grace? Then let him look within for increasing love to others.

One more mark of growth in grace, is increased ZEAL and diligence in trying to do good to souls. The man who is really growing, will take greater interest in the salvation of sinners every year. Missions at home and abroad, efforts of every kind to spread the gospel, attempts of any sort to increase gospel light and diminish gospel darkness — all these things will every year have a greater place in his attention.

He will not become "weary in well-doing," just because he does not see every effort succeed. He will not care less for the progress of Christ's cause on earth, as he grows older, though he will learn to expect less. He will just work on, whatever the result may be — giving, praying, speaking, visiting, according to his position — and count his work its own reward. One of the surest marks of spiritual decline — is a decreased interest about the souls of others, and the growth of Christ's kingdom. Would anyone know whether he is growing in grace? Then let him look within for increased concern about the salvation of souls.

Those high-flying religionists, whose only notion of Christianity is that of a state of perpetual joy and ecstasy, who tell you that they have got far beyond the region of conflict and soul-humiliation — such people no doubt will regard the marks I have laid down as "legal," "carnal" and "tending to bondage." I cannot help that. I call no man master in these things. I only wish my statements to be tried in the balance of Scripture.

And I firmly believe that what I have said is not only Scriptural — but agreeable to the experience of the most eminent saints in every age. Show me a man in whom the six marks I have mentioned can be found. He is the man who can give a satisfactory answer to the question: "Do we grow?" Such are the most trustworthy marks of growth in grace. Let us examine them carefully and consider what we ourselves know about them.

[cheeryconspiracy]

Got around to drawing my other listener insert :33 This time Angel! David is one of my biggest comfort characters in the history of. Well. Ever. So they ended up being VERY self inserty and self indulgent. Cringe is dead let me kiss the wolf. This guy is just as much a loser as Nastassia is they’re just so much more put together about it. I love them

Just like Nastassia, I’m putting my hcs abt them under the cut! I have. A lot for them. If you read I will kiss you on the mouth

- First one isn’t a headcanon I just wanna plug my playlist for them. Very normal.

Genderfluid! Evangeline uses all pronouns and doesn’t really care which ones you use to refer to her - hell switch it up in the same sentence he won’t bat an eye. They’ve also had top surgery!

They’re head of graphics at an indie video game company! A little office job that she absolutely ADORES. The company mainly focuses on romance oriented visual novels. Yes I have made the rest of the company too. I love them.

Being the head of graphics, Evangeline has a totally different work mode compared to his usual personality. At work he’s much more focused, strict, and even a little scary. Outside of work he’s cheerful and bubbly.

Club kid! They’re obsessed with 70s/80s disco fashion, incorporating it into their daily life wherever possible. They loooove going on nights out to the club. They often persuade David to tag along, not because he enjoys it, particularly, but because it means she gets scary dog privilege.

Old friends with baaabe! They’ve been close since before meeting their respective mates, and roomed together in college.

Was in a rock band in college! Baaabe was in the same band. Evangeline refuses to talk about it to the point where David doesn’t even know about it. They looked like this. College was also where he picked up the name Evangeline - it was just a stage name at the time, but he ended up growing attached.

Evangeline also met Michael in college. Their relationship was a constant hot and cold, on and off arrangement that never seemed to last. They never stayed split for more than a week, though. This arrangement lasted about 4 years before they finally split up for good. It was a very messy breakup.

Started leaning REALLY hard into the angel aesthetic after meeting David. She has no idea if his doting nickname was just a shortened version of her name or an actual nickname, but it did something to her. They have a pair of angel wing shaped earrings they wear absolutely EVERYWHERE, as well as an angel wings tattoo on their back. They’re dedicated to the bit.

Could easily wear contacts. Doesn’t want to.

Not actually as much of a flirt as they’re made out to be! When they met David, they were totally panicking. I would too if a jacked stranger way taller than me asked why I was stalking him! Their flirts that day were entirely improvised on the spot through panic.

That being said, they use the meeting story to their advantage. Full on dramatises it. “He asked why I was stalking him, but can you believe he was stalking me instead??” Type beat.

Owns a shit ton of cute pyjamas. Doesn’t wear them. David’s shirts are so much more comfortable.

Oh my god I looked at their height difference out of curiosity (w my headcanon height for David) JESUS CHRIST. Evangeline has to scale their fiancé like a tree if they want a kiss.

She was very close to rejecting David at first. Both of them had their reasons for being closed off to the idea of dating at the time, Evangeline’s being that they were still picking up the pieces of the mess that was their breakup with Michael. But he’s nothing if not impulsive! So she eventually said yes to a second date after ghosting David for like a week /hj

Buys THE most stupid but also well thought out gifts.

Not the best cook, but an amazing baker! Cakes, cookies, brownies, they can do it all! They usually make big batches for the solstice.

sends those werewolf memes to David. You know the ones.

Arranges pack karaoke at LEAST once a month. All the mates are invited too. It descends into chaos once Evangeline breaks out Heaven is a Place on Earth by Belinda Carlisle because she will not just sing it she will PERFORM it.

He has a really fancy signature and signs all of his Is with hearts

[itbeleeeee]

Spoilers for Bodyguard under the cut

"Great work, mate."

"It wasn't just you mate, we all fell for it."

"Thanks to you David... Some say you should get a medal. Others reckon you should be kicked off the force. We'll see... But first, David, there's something you need more than all of that."

And then they send him to therapy.

I'M SORRY. THAT IS HOW THIS ENDS. THAT. THAT??????? Holy fuck. We just spent an hour, traumatizing a man who was previously traumatized, being 100% convinced that he suited himself up with a bomb because he was the inside man the Whole Time when he 1) had a bloody head, how did he get that if he suited himself up? Why would he do that? For what reason 2) the police officers were convinced it was the one police lady, a day previous?

There is just so much buffoonery. Idk maybe I'm dumb and like the character or Richard Madden himself too much to have a clear head, but holy fucking shit the leaps and bounds these people have to go to convince themselves that Budd is the inside man are the sizes of goddamn football stadiums. And then they just... move on?????? Idk about everyone else but I would have sued ever officer that was in that park to the goddamn moon and back for emotional distress. Then spend that money on going to the Bahamas for a well-deserved vacation with the fam, and then therapy. After that? Look for a calm mind-numbing data-entry office job so I could spend the rest of my dull life in goddamn fucking peace.

Anyway Richard did an AMAZING job holy sweet mother of jesus that was so goddamn tense. His jaw muscles were working very hard and I respect the hell out of the guy---he absolutely deserved the Golden Globe he got for this, my god. You could really tell he was going through agony 90% of the time, and I totally understand never taking a job like this again. Nicely done homie.

[zooterchet]

Arab vs. Romalian (The Six Fingers)

Please note, I am an Arab and a Roma, but I was fed shrimp, ten days out of the hospital. Arab logic of Jewish Covenant, is impossible for me.

Moving forward.

Samson the Morningstar, was an Arab swordsman, that was of a line hunting courts; those "fletchers", lawyers, that contended in slave labor, having used slave masters to detain and plant, and then arrest and defraud, through schools of Chinese logic, however placed at the school attempting to hunt the most promising students, and then forgiving the common infantry to betray them; any forgiving, labeled as future teachers, on public incident, the "Hebrides", a Jewish swords technique out of five points; Panthers, Posse, Klan, Scots, and Bund.  The prisoners, the laborers, the doctors, the criminals, and the police.

Satan the Pharaoh, was the ancestor of Narmer, Nefertiti, and Moses, the three pointed palm of Egypt; he developed a culture, where any criminal product, was for free, with payment for risk, being the imbibed of purchase, not the selling of agent, also profiting; hence the highest organ, would be the guarantee of supply of good prohibited by own conspiracy, and therefore, any attempting to perform a fiction's trap, would be sabotaged, ones own slave owning agents of children, forcing a mass murder, a genocide.

Alexander the Great, had a family, that invented a stick to harvest apples.  It was turned into a great infantry phalanx, to run headlong into danger, while pointing apple sticks.

Hades the Great, was a Romalian psychologist, that got the entire Greek Army high on pot, in Babylon.  For years, the Greeks have claimed that Larry David, is Greek, instead of Arabian, a beggar's quarter.  They invented print letters, with the deity, the picture of a guy; therefore, if you're gay, you listen to the rules, thinking the picture is real, and you die.

Scipio Africanus, was a Roman politician, that wanted to stomp on Carthage, during the Third Punic War.  He had invented the sugar flute, a method of taking sucrose out of apples, and it was used on African sugar reeds, with captured Africans working labor.

Hamilcar Barca, had already devised a trap, where if you wanted to study overseas, you took the job if you wanted to have sex with another of the same gender (the sex, of birth).  For years, Wesley Snipes has defrauded slave owners, by pretending to be a character from media, arranged with a bullet threat, for stealing candybars or soda from pharmacies or colleges or stores or grocery unions or warehouses.  They invented rules for schools, given proper print of paper available; therefore, if you want to be a hero, you're evil, for trying to have sex with a teacher.

Jesus Christ, was a Nazarene pitfighter, that wanted a wines debt, a police authorization, and a sports athletics competition, for rich men, instead of slave war criminals fighting for freedom by proving they had been innocently accused and therefore would not be raped in prison, and instead become soldiers.  He had invented the mouth harp, a method of becoming a police officer, by worshipping a famous criminal, but not telling people as a police officer in uniform, only a civilian; hence obese women, would be expelled from society, for deliberately getting obese to harass smart women into prostitution.

Judas Iscariot, knew the entire game that Jesus was playing, to create an army for civilians to be in terror; special education, psychiatric wards, and prison incarceration, to justify the entire problem that Roman theater had created by performing children's plays, to boys and girls deprived of bacon, the Celtic proof of God, the hog, and given wine instead of ale as adults, the expulsion of bladder and liver into pathetic obselence, agreeing to any request between adults under wedlock, incapable of bearing children that understood money as investing to lose money in the short term, and gaining money in the long term, a support of the parents, from the children.

Adolf Hitler, was a Bavarian cartoonist, with monetary inheritance coming, a sheet of prints of work for the illiterate, those having been given turkey fowl as children, rumored to be "Islam", actually ignorant white people having raped Native Americans to be cowboys, on script of comic book draft, a "penny dreadful", produced for centuries by African slaves and impoverished, having raped or abused or gay sodomized Irish servants having expected a study degree and instead having been put in work programs as Abraham Lincoln's gigalo bondage slaves; Lincoln the blood of King Saul, of Iran, the most ruthless dictator in American history at having ranted and raved in public, then having blamed fish diets.  He took the pill bottle, and decided to reverse history, with Jews being the Army, too ignorant to function without swine, alcohol, cigarettes, marijuana, and candy, and having spread the myth to his victims, those spitting in food for the Army because of songs produced by the Wehrmacht, the German Army; therefore anyone having reported to a police station, the Gestapo, on anti-Semitism, would be killed.

Joseph Stalin, formed the Politburo, a preferential recruit's position, of secretaries holding notations and delegations, all over the world, through documentaries and historical fictions held and written by those whose families had abused the figure written about in question.  The Orgburo, the lower bodies of Politburo, handled political and corporate and industry appointments, through merit medals and awards; any lawsuit, placed in satellite state, overseas in a foreign country, as labor union, to record their own errors, and make them palpable to the public of the world; but only if having demanded job, and been listened to per fact, instead of having been rejected.  The individual rejecting, a hero, in Russian artwork, of the main country of labor provided.

Ted Bundy, formed NAMBLA, a system of children's gravitas based on informed tips to mothers, about boys already enrolled in NAMBLA; an anti-militant society, for lesbians to court men, the lesbians having sought adopted children to have sex with or masturbate to, inevitably trading to homosexual pimps in foreign countries, their lust for men actually a desire to remove their own poorly selected guidance, at having trusted a Rabbinical or Imam or Temple idolator, having refused the Church of Satan, a denomination of the Catholic Church to remove Liturgy, and replace it with Catechism, the Five Pentacle of the Catholic faith; Rome, Istanbul, Moscow, Damascus, and Cairo.  The center point, being Lisbon, Portugal, the expulsion of all those holding slaves, to hunt convicts as slave dealers, and any falsely anointed as convict, being a manager, a house boy; the term for a man betrayed by NAMBLA, but a female member, for being a romantic, a marriage; the woman then a transgender, a removal of her breasts and a pledge to Convent.

Richard Ramirez, formed the Merry Pranksters, a private detectives union of those holding Catechism and the Catholic faith to be sacred, as sorcerors, those performing feats and acts and legends of old, opposing any who sought a child to be diminuitive, and lied to the results of pornographies and common corruption of youth in games and stories.  Ramirez, was a major of his choice, having been toyed with by a proper pedophile, an influence man; an influence man, a diamonds broker out of Tehran, and having sided against America, by plying politics and fame and fortune, for slave wives, for Lutherans; the homosexual movements of Europe, called "Chinks" in China, "Lutherans" in Europe, "Muslims" in Arabia, and "Gays" in America.  Richard Ramirez, made artwork about diners and poverty sacred, not as a serial killer or anything menacing, but by the forced question to adults, about their children's safety, from authority figures outside the household.

[ramrodd]

Bible Prophecy #11 Did the Jesus Apocalypse Fail?

COMMENTARY:

Jesus's mission  to Jerusalem, the Whore of Babylon, as Messiah was the same as Jonah's to Nineveh, to prevent an apocalypse, That's why Jonah ran away from his task: he was like Netanyahu about Gaza and hated  Nineveh like Likud hates Palestinians. The difference, of course, was that Jesus of Nazareth, Messiah, loved Jerusalem and bet The Satan He could transform the Whore of Babylon to Mount Zion of Israel intellectually, rabbinically,,   Jesus was trying to  warn Jerusalem the way Jimmy Carter and Abdullah II of Jordan were trying to warn Israel of the bad karma being compounded by Netanyahu's bad faith in regards to the Oslo Accord and the  Likud as a terrorist organization that Israel needs to quell, Both Jesus and Josephus were pro-Pax Roman for reasons that came to embedded in Pauline Theology, given N.T. Wright's interpretation of Pauline Theology, the interpretation of Pauline Theology by either the Jesus Seminar or Pro-Life Calvinism is what created David Koresh, He was a product of Bill Bright's business model for Jesus, Inc and Campus Crusade for Christ, Jesus freaks like Bart Ehrman,  The Talking Cross represents the leap of faith Israel had to make from its theocratic limitations to the separation of chruch and state of the Roman Commonwealth generally understood in 33 CE, when the astrology says Jesus the Christ died and sent the events in the spiritual realm of Caiaphas's choice of terrorism over righteousness, set into motion, The Talking Cross became the Christian mechanism of the Roman Empire that crushed Eschatology as the critical path of the Bible narrative, going back to the Book of Job. From the perspective of the process theology of Cornelius, the divine purpose of the 66 books of the Biblical narrative set into motion in 3760 BCI with the composition of the Book of Job by Elohim the verb, The purpose of the narrative was to provide a reliable epistemological bridge between the social technology of Egypt to the Metaphysics of Apollo 11, with Genesis 15:5 the essential trajectory of the record, The 39 book trajectory of the Palestine Bible from the Book of Job to Isiah is the  experimentation in the optimal human swarm governance and God's choice is the separation of Chruch and State modeled by the Roman Empire with the subordinate administrative state of the Republic that emerged from the secular rule of law and the Italian Regiment of the Praetorian Guard, That's what the Talking Cross endorses in the role of the Centurion as the essential structure of True Warfare of Clausewitz. Jesus tries to introduce the principles of Pauline Theology into Israel with His periplectic ministry He conducted to bring his Disciples up to speed as process theology gurus for the Kingdom of God coming to the Kingdom of Heaven, Only, He discovered that the Roman centurions were already operating as the Archetype of the servant leader Jesus models  specifically with the foot washing ceremony in John, This is the mission0men0slef priorities of the commissioned officers of the US Infantry with a Ranger Tab. Jesus lost his wager with The Satan when He raised Lazarus and created a karmic debt that required fulfillment. That's why Jesus wept: He was the fulfillment. And the rest is history, Cornelius began to implement Pauline Theology with the production of the Gosple of Mark after his encounter with Peter, which would begin a relationship that lasted until both men died,  Paul was legitimately channeling Jesus as his Scribe and Ethical voice. Pauline Theology is the Jesus Judaism Jesus of Nazareth, Messiah, was peddling to Israel in order to prevent the apocalypse generated by the Whore of Babylon and the progenitors of Likud,, the Zealots. 70 CE was a self-inflicted wound and the Talking Cross was the terrible swift sword of karma. Like October

[wolint]

LABEL UNCLEAN

LABEL UNCLEAN

Acts 10:1-18

 

Labelling serves as a form of branding that facilitates product identification and informs our decision-making process regarding a product. Different products have different labels that help us make the right decisions.

People are labelled in much the same way as products. We’ve been labelled by some based on their perceptions of us, and similarly, we label others based on our perceptions of them.

God encourages us, though, to look beyond superficial labels and truly see each other as unique individuals with inherent dignity and worth. In 1 Samuel 16:7.

Peter, in his carnal mindset, labelled God’s creation as unclean. In response, God showed Peter a vision to prepare him for His plans for the conversion of the centurion and all of humanity.

Like Peter, we look at people and decide they are not qualified to hear and receive the gospel. We label them unclean and therefore not good enough for the gift of salvation. But we never know who is ready, willing, and open to the gospel.

It’s sometimes intentional, and sometimes not, but most often, we label people without ever uttering a word. Noah was a drunk, Jacob was a deceiver, Gideon was a scared coward, Samson was a womanizer, David was an adulterer and murderer, Elijah was suicidal, Jonah, the unnamed woman with the alabaster box was a sinner, Job was bankrupt, Moses was a murderer, and Paul was a religious terrorist.

Today, we label people as drug addicts, drunk, prostitutes, too many tattoos, other religions, race and much more. In our self-righteousness, we decide who deserves to hear the message of the cross, but Jesus said in Luke 5:32 that he came for these (the sinners).

There are no exemptions to the command in Matthew 28:19-20, the great commission is for all nations, all the peoples of the earth, regardless of who they are, where they are from, looks, profession, and race. God labelled them as His and they should be allowed to come to Christ.

But the voice spoke again: 'Do not call something unclean if God has made it clean, declares verse fifteen.

Peter finally understood the vision when he met the centurion and had to step into the office of a priest to offer salvation to the gathered group, an office which he conferred to us all according to 1 Peter 2:9, as royal priests whose responsibilities and duties is to bring the lost to salvation.

What God has cleaned; God first made the distinction between Jews and Gentiles here showing Peter and all believers that labels should not stop anyone from coming to Christ.

The Lord has pronounced all to be clean and in need of salvation, He has the right to do so. God has purposed that the gospel reaches the Gentiles also: what God has made clean, do not label unclean. Otherwise, we as Gentiles would never have received the gift of salvation and the command in Matthew 28:19 would go unfulfilled.

If we look around us, we will realise how many labels we have stuck on friends, families, and neighbours, because of who, what, and how they are, they are not likely to want to know and follow Christ. We labelled them, not the Lord.

We must learn and avoid labelling people superficially, even as we reject worldly labels. While the world may assign superficial labels based on appearance, status, or background, we should identify ourselves and others primarily by the labels given by God.

The four lepers at the city gate in 2 Kings 7:3, who were labelled unclean and unfit to live in a “clean, normal and acceptable society” were the ones the Lord used to bring salvation from famine to the Israelites.

We cannot label people as unfit for salvation and God’s kingdom. Despite our feelings and thoughts, we must act as priests and offer Christ to everyone.

PRAYER: Father, I overcome every demonic and evil labelling on me and by your mercy I chose not to label others in Jesus’ name. Amen.  

Shalom

WOMEN OF LIGHT INT PRAYER MIN.

[lindajenni]

feb 15

the unchangable in a changing world "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.  heb 13:8 changes often enters our life suddenly, unexpected.  when that happens it can be overwhelming, confusing, even terrifying.  we can go to bed at night to one reality and wake up to a completely different life.  change can make us feel lost and abandoned, like we’ve been tossed overboard in the midst of a storm.  we’re left reeling, trying to grab a hold of anything we can find that’s strong and stable.  we’re tempted to run from change, as though we could ever escape it. it's then we must be confident there is One thing that never changes - Jesus Christ.  as we all encounter major changes in our individual lives, and as the world around us continues to change, we need to anchor our trust in Him.  we need somewhere to stand when we wake up to news that a loved one has passed away, or our job is in jeopardy, or the last candidate we would want was elected into office.  the truth is, there is one thing that never changes, the one thing that stays the same: our unchanging God. the bible tells us that God never changes.  “for I the Lord do not change; therefore you, o children of Jacob, are not consumed.” mal 3:6  there is no transition, inconsistency, or change in our God.  the same God who spun this massive blue marble into space is the same One who met moses on mount sinai.  the same God who forgave david for his adultery is the one who crushed his own Son when Christ became sin at the cross for us.  "therefore consider the goodness and severity of God." rom 11:22 yesterday, today, and forever he is the God who is “gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.  the Lord is good to all, and his mercy is over all that he has made.” psa 145:8-9  but there is a "fullness" of sin and God may then release His hold upon you. because God never changes, his Word never changes.  all that He has said about Himself remains true forever.  everything He has told us about why and how the world came to be, about what’s wrong with the world, and about what He has done to save the world will never change.  no matter what anyone may say.  no matter how society seeks to change the laws of nature.  no matter who denies or defies God’s word, it remains firmly fixed.  “forever, o Lord, your Word is settled in heaven.” psa 119:89  “heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will by no means pass away.” matt 24:35 and because His Word never changes, His promises for us who believe remain true.  we will endure to inherit the promise. "for i am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord." rom 8:38–39 "and i am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ." phil 1:6 "fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." isa 41:10 His Word is our rock and anchor.  the unchanging nature of God and his unchangeable Word are real things on which we can stake our life.  it is a rock big enough and strong enough for us to build upon, and an anchor big enough and strong enough to hold our souls in the midst of life’s waves and storms. things will continue to change — in the world around us and in our lives.  some of those changes will feel like a tiny ripple, and others feel like a twenty-foot wave.  but no matter what changes we face, we need not fear.  we need not hide.  we need not despair.  our rock and anchor is our unchanging God, whose character and promises remain fixed forever.  now that's something to build on!

[agentnico]

The Book of Clarence (2024) review

This film may be 2024’s biggest box office flop thus far, but that doesn’t mean it won’t get cult status, and especially Benedict Cumberbatch’s entire role is destined to be a meme, trust me on that. Just you wait.

Plot: Struggling to find a better life, Clarence is captivated by the power of the rising Messiah and soon risks everything to carve a path to a divine existence.

Going into this movie I expected to be super offended by it. Look, I’m not overly religious myself, but I come from an orthodox family and have been raised as such, so naturally I do have certain beliefs, and do think a lot of what happened in the New Testament is true. So of course when this movie came about I had my trepidations, however after watching it I found myself not nearly as offended or shocked as I expected. For one they don’t go against the fact that Jesus is the true Messiah, and in fact encourage that fact. I mean of course there are some blasphemous aspects to it as one would expect - the final act is a twist on the Bible that I am certain is going to pee off more than a few Christians. But as a whole The Book of Clarence is its own thing that doesn’t’ mess a lot with religion. For the first two thirds especially it’s more about Clarence and his buddies going on this adventure through Jerusalem and getting up to various shenanigans, and basically this being a stoner-comedy set in AD. And I have to say that generally speaking I enjoyed it.

The whole thing is absurd for sure. I mean, the flick is produced by Jay-Z, which speaks volumes in itself. But it’s got a great soundtrack, the direction overall is good from Jeymes Samuel, though stylistically I think he outdid himself more in The Harder They Fall - that western was just so cool! The humour was good in parts but in others not so much. It kind of depended on who was delivering it. For this movie features an all-star ensemble cast, however the performances I must say were a mixed bag. LaKeith Stanfield I truly believe is one of Hollywood’s current greats, as previously everything I’ve seen him in impressed me. However here as Clarence I feel like he was holding himself back a little. Don’t get me wrong, he does an alright job overall, but it was not anything special. A lot of other characters pop in throughout, but only a few really left an impression. Alfre Woodard as Mother Mary had me in stitches delivering lines such as “I was minding my own virgin business just being a virgin”, and David Oyelowo as John the Baptist was overly expressive and gave some solid Will Smith-level slaps. James McAvoy too as Pontius Pilate was both dramatic in that you can tell he didn’t really want to crucify Clarence as he liked the guy, but also delivered some hysterical laugh-out-loud lines like “Once you die from drowning, you’ll be free to go. Proceed.” I actually wish McAvoy was in the film more - his character was so sarcastic - I loved it. And then there’s Benedict Cumberbatch. Okay, so Cumberbatch’s 5 minutes of screen time are all for this one specific gag, and I do admit it was amusing and the batch of cumber played it fashionably over-the-top, but also what the movie does with his character…. Okay, so it’s funny. Can’t deny that. It’s actually bloody hilarious, especially as it comes out of nowhere. But also like it is offensive to the Church. I imagine many audiences would have been angered by his role, however I enjoyed it, even if it was a waste of Benedict Cumberbatch’s talents. As for the rest of the cast, they are serviceable, but not particularly memorable.

The movie does drag in a few places, and the writing didn’t always play out the best. Again, when you had the stronger actors delivering the lines, the moments of dialogue were really funny and definitely boosted the comedic value of the scenes. However at other times you could really tell the script writing just wasn’t up to par and felt lazy as it slugged along. Also, I feel like the movie wasn’t too sure what it wanted to be. Like it starts with a scene of these dudes smoking weed whilst floating upside down and a lightbulb pops up above their head, then in another scene there’s a random 80’s/90’s techno dance number, and then at the end there’s this really dark crucifixion scene featuring realistic detail with dramatic music playing. It’s a jarring mood swing, that really made me wonder what this movie was trying to accomplish. Like is it trying to parody the Bible, but also at the same time taking it seriously? It’s a shift that doesn’t really mix, and as such the ending does fall flat.

I ended up enjoying The Book of Clarence way more than I expected, and the moments of comedy that hit really do hit. Like I can easily see in a future someone doing a reel of “Book of Clarence funniest scenes” on YouTube, as there truly are some solid moments of slapstick comedies and banterous dialogue wit. But the third act with the heavily dramatic serious mood swing does question what the movie is going for, and also it does overstay its welcome. I’d say this is an interesting, thought provoking experiment that has its ups and down, however is very much worthwhile checking out. But also Cumberbatch’s….. like what the actual hell??

Overall score: 5/10