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mariacallous · 10 months ago

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FIRST SOCIALITE (HUSBAND): “I can’t read this thing!” (Tossing aside Truman Capote’s magazine excerpt from his forthcoming novel Answered Prayers.)

SECOND SOCIALITE (WIFE): “But darling, you must read all of it. If you don’t, we won’t have anything to talk to anybody about.”

The above exchange actually occurred, but as often happens with popular hot controversies, the principals prefer not to be identified, even after telling the tale on themselves. The social stakes are too high. Being on the wrong side in one of these tempests in a teabag could be fatal. What if Kitty Miller never invites you again … or “Swifty” Lazar hangs up on you … or the Bill Paleys hear you didn’t step over the line at what has now become the Smart Set’s own Alamo? Or what if Truman Capote prevails and comes out on top? What if he writes a sequel that tells even more?

Staying alive and well in society means never zigging when you should zag.

“Whoever gossips to you will gossip of you,” goes the old Spanish proverb, and this one came home to roost for the International Set’s crème de la crème with the publication in the November Esquire of Capote’s “La Côte Basque 1965” — the “tail” of the long-awaited “kite” called Answered Prayers that is the writer’s next major work of fiction.

Society’s sacred monsters at the top have been in a state of shock ever since. Never have you heard such gnashing of teeth, such cries for revenge, such shouts of betrayal and screams of outrage. Well, anyway, not since Marcel Proust flattered his way into the salons of the Faubourg St. Germain and then retired to a cork-lined room to create a masterpiece, recalling the details of the Baron de Montesquiou’s “preciosities” and rendering him into the “Baron de Charlus,” setting down the vivid details of a world of le gratin where the rich see only one another.

What did Capote write that so enraged so many? Oh, just everything he ever heard whispered, shouted, or bruited about — the same kind of stories that have been wafting among the fine French furniture crowd since Maury Paul first saw the Blue Book dining out on Thursday and coined the phrase “Cafe Society.”

“La Côte Basque 1965” is a 13,000-word story about a luncheon between “Lady Ina Coolbirth,” a 40-ish multiple divorcée on the rebound from an affair with a Rothschild, and the innocent narrator, “Jonesy,” at Henri Soule’s exclusive Manhattan restaurant. While drinking Champagne and eating a soufflé Furstenberg, “Lady Ina” gossips about the International Set, telling one “no-no” after another on one and all, including herself. Capote has peopled his story with real persons, using their real names as well as with a number of other real persons, using fake names. The most shocking of “Lady Ina’s” send-ups are the stories about Cole Porter putting the make on an Italian waiter called “Dixie,” the one about “the governor’s wife” and her sordid sexual put-down of the climbing Jewish tycoon “Sidney Dillon,” and the histoire of trashy “Ann Hopkins,” who tricked a blue blood into marriage, then murdered him after he got the goods on her and threatened divorce.

Other naughty things in the story are the opening dirty joke … the bad breath of Arturo (Lopez Wilshaw) … the duchess of Windsor never picking up a check … Maureen Stapleton’s nervous collapse … Carol Matthau’s dirty mouth … Princess Margaret’s dislike of “poufs” … Gloria Vanderbilt’s failure to recognize her first husband … Oona O’Neill fluffing off the boyish J.D. Salinger … Joe Kennedy having his way with an 18-year-old school chum of his daughter’s … “Sidney Dillon” and his womanizing and social climbing .. . “Cleo Dillon” loving only herself .. how the famous TV comic “Bobby Baxter” goes off with a hooker and his pushy wife, “Jane,” has the last laugh … the weird young movie cutie who marries the son, then the father, only to find herself divorced because of a German shepherd … Lee Radziwill coming off better looking than Jackie Kennedy, who resembles “a female impersonator” … the love affairs of “Lady Ina,” how much she needs a man, and her envy of the domestic bliss of two attractive lesbians who reside in Santa Fe, “the dyke capital of the United States.”

Capote insists that the gossipmongering central character, “Lady Ina Coolbirth,” is strictly an invention — but friends of Lady (“Slim”) Keith, Pamela Harriman, Carol Portago, and Fleur Cowles are all nevertheless incensed. “Well,” sniffs Truman, “let them all martyr and identify themselves if they like … let them hang from the cross claiming they’re hurt … those who want to say they are models, that’s up to them!”

Other characters in “LCB ’65” are so thinly disguised as to be seen through tissue paper clearly — among them “Ann Hopkins,” undoubtedly representing Mrs. William Woodward Jr., who killed herself on October 10, seven days before Esquire hit the stands, and “the governor’s wife,” said to be the late Marie Harriman.

Many other names were dropped, some in passing, some to devastating effect. John Hersey has said that “the final test of a work of art is not whether it has beauty, but whether it has power.” But try telling that to the friends of the late Cole Porter, or Maureen Stapleton, Elsie Woodward, Josh and Nedda Logan, Johnny Carson, “Babe” Paley and her powerful husband, Bill. (I remarked to Truman that I didn’t know that his now ex-friend Mr. Paley had ever been an “adviser to presidents,” as “Sidney Dillon” is described in the piece. Truman just grinned and said, “I didn’t either.”)

Everybody written about in “LCB ‘65” has been guessed and second-guessed at with little or no concession to Capote’s own thesis — that this is a fictionalized version of a world he knows very well.

For years Capote has been society’s adored and adorable resident intellect and court jester. In a world where parties are still often “given against someone” … where bitchery, snobbery, and hauteur are still prized right along with poise, manners, and money … where the merits of plastic surgeons are argued in the same way the religious used to argue theology — gossip has always been the great staple, the glue holding beleaguered life-styles and sinking social values together. But it’s one thing to tell the nastiest story in the world to all your 50 best friends; it’s another to see it set down in cold Century Expanded type.

Capote has always been the gossip’s gossip nonpareil. He has been leaving them laughing and quaffing blanc de blanc with the best of them, ever since he came of age as an enfant terrible pet of the rich after Other Voices, Other Rooms catapulted him to fame in 1948. He has sailed on their yachts, masterminded their love affairs, and been such a focal insider that his Black and White Ball for publisher Kay Graham is still remembered as one of society’s best parties.

When the gorgeous women of the world’s tycoons and power brokers sat down to spoon up soufflé with Capote, or when Truman tickled the risibilities of the powerful tycoons themselves with his outrageous tidbits and fascinating possibilities, he was always the brightest, most entertaining little imp imaginable. Oh yes, of course, he was — well, everyone knew, “queer.” But in such an amusing classy way — in the manner of the great Italian count who remonstrated with an English lord for snobbery, saying, “My dear fellow, when your ancestors were still painting themselves blue, mine were already homosexual!” You know, that sort of thing. And then, of course, didn’t that more or less make dear “Tru” all the more manageable and “safe”?

Society always thought it had something on Capote, in the same way the French le gratin had Proust’s desperate desire to belong, his suspected inversion, and his Jewishness on him. What’s more, society believed Truman to be a lightweight climber who aspired to stay in its good graces. (Snorts Truman, “Yes, they have always made that mistake about me! Why, if anybody was ever at the center of that world, it was me, so who is rejecting whom in this?” Summoning up an echo of Beau Brummell’s “In society stay for just as long as it takes to make an impression. After that — go!,” Truman continues: “I mean I can create any kind of social world I want, anywhere I want!”)

It seems simply never to have occurred to many people that the writer’s goddess might turn out to be not “Babe” Paley, but Truman’s own muse. He was, after all, so seductive, so naughty, so charming. He knew everything about everybody and — what’s more — had total recall. But now, the same people who listened so delightedly and told tales out of school find themselves hoist by their own windiness. There they are, splashed through the pages of Esquire like hollandaise that has missed the asparagus. God! And that ain’t all — there’s more to come. It is all going to be bound between hard covers into a book. A book!

Capote, meanwhile, is also a literary name. The almost universal acclaim for In Cold Blood lifted his reputation from that of a poetic mannerist into the pantheon of American belles lettres. So the Establishment world that reads and writes has also joined the hue and cry. The question whether Capote has indeed ruined his reputation by stooping to writing gossip, as opposed to whether he is only doing the same kind of work attempted by ether famous writers in the past, will be argued for a long time. There seems to be no such thing as an indifferent opinion of “LCB ’65.”

Feuds and furors flash and die in these media-mad days, but the roar over Capote’s roman á clef vignettes, observed and recorded in explicit detail, rages on. “LCB ’65” was a one-shot last November, but its reverberating ripples still lash both coasts.

(Capote yelps: “When I was in New York a few weeks ago everybody was falling all over themselves being nice to me. The machinations going on behind the back of the people who are in the book you wouldn’t believe. Most of the attackers are just pilot fish, trying to outdo one another in being vicious in their sycophancy. They all want to stay in my favor but maintain a great front of animosity.”)

Capote rushed back to California from New York to finish up another 30,000-word installment for May publication. The reaction to “LCB ‘65” inspired him to crank that up to 40,000 words, and now, he says the literary Establishment can sit around waiting for their turn. They are “on” next, and then there’ll be four more magazine assaults before Answered Prayers appears in hardcover.

Dissenters to what one social Don Quixote calls “Capote’s character assassination in the guise of art” have been pellucidly vocal: “Disgusting! It’s disgusting!” says society’s favorite extra man, real-estate investor Jerome Zipkin, shooting his immaculate French cuffs. “Truman is ruined. He will no longer be received socially anywhere. What’s more — those who receive him will no longer be received.”

Patrick O’Higgins, a writer and pal of Elsie Woodward — the mother-in-law of the late suicide, Ann Woodward — is himself one of the more exquisite tale-tellers of this same world, but he says: “Truman’s gone downhill. People think, ‘What a shame that a great talent should be reduced to writing gossip.’ Some people are really hurt because they’ve been kind to him. The Paleys were always so fond of him. But Elsie hasn’t been hurt. She didn’t even read the piece. She couldn’t care less. All she’ll say is ‘Je ne le connais pas!’ — isn’t that perfect?”

Columnist Jack O’Brian: “He knows what will sell in this market … he’s Jackie Susann with an education.”

Writer Wyatt Cooper, husband of Gloria Vanderbilt: “I hate talking when my feelings are negative. It isn’t constructive. I’m very fond of Truman. We used to have lunch, gossip, and it was fun. But lately it wasn’t. His viciousness ceased to make it fun. I even talked to him about it two years ago and he thanked me later for caring. I think this destroys all the things he has built up. He can’t really pretend to sneer at these people in the Jet Set. He worked too hard to be ‘in’ himself. Of course Gloria is offended! He made Carol Matthau come out tough and bright, but has Gloria looking vapid and dumb, in a very unfair way.”

Wyatt, who collaborated with Truman on a television project and has known him for years, continues in his “more in sorrow than in anger” vein: “I had always wanted Truman to write a truthful, non-idealized version of his painful and strange childhood as an outsider. It could have been great. But, you know, he has always had a love-hate for all these beautiful women he has been close to. His mother was an alcoholic and killed herself, and children of alcoholic mothers often end up attacking women. Truman would like to be glamorous and beautiful. He has often acted out fantasies of his own by telling his women friends how to act, who to have love affairs with, by manipulating them. Now he has his ultimate revenge, by making them ridiculous in print.”

Gloria Vanderbilt: “I have never seen it and have heard enough about it to know I don’t want to.”

Director Peter Glenville: “Ignoble, utterly ignoble!”

Esquire’s own media critic, Nora Ephron, who didn’t even like the mild version of reminiscence and revelation dished out by Brendan Gill in Here at The New Yorker: “There has always been a disparity between Capote’s fiction and the public personality, and now finally the two have come together and the public personality has won.”

William and “Babe” Paley are said to have now instructed their distinguished relatives to the effect that longtime pal Capote is persona non grata. And society’s favorite current story is of how Truman phoned Paley to ask what he thought of “LCB ’65.” Paley reportedly said, “Well, I started it and dropped off to sleep and when I woke up, they’d thrown it out.” (Zing!) When Capote protested that it was important that Paley read it, his old friend said wearily, “Truman, my wife [get that — “my wife,” not “your friend Babe”] is ill. I really haven’t time for it.” (Zowie!)

Truman found Wyatt Cooper unable to lunch with him when he was in New York over the holidays. (Cooper: “How could I — out of loyalty to Gloria. She says she’ll spit at him if she sees him.”) And Capote tells of being “cut” in Quo-Vadis by “a pitiful old society woman I often took about in Paris because I felt so sorry for her. No, don’t mention her name — it’s too sad.”

Mrs. Josh Logan was said to be so incensed she rushed across a crowded room to call Dotson Rader a “traitor” just because he also writes for Esquire. Nedda Logan informed Dotson that “that dirty little toad is never coming to my parties again.” (Some dialogue in “LCB ’65” refers to a Logan soirée: “‘How was it?’ — ‘Marvelous. If you have never been to a party before.’”)

Then there are the artful diplomats, like those two brilliants who’ve won fame straddling the fine line between practicing journalism and personal social acceptance among the Upper Crust — yes, fashion’s elegant Diana Vreeland, as well as that friend-of-the-“400” (sometimes now referred to derisively as “the 4,000”) Aileen (“Suzy”) Mehle. Told that Truman wanted to know why she had never written so much as a word in her syndicated society column about the only subject consuming “her crowd” since November, Suzy says: “Why? Why, there’s nothing for me to write. Truman’s done it all himself!”

And Mrs. Vreeland (rising high above the smoke of controversy just as a perfect hostess ignores a cigarette in the butter) dismisses the gaudy gossip, the sex scandals, the barely concealed identities, the homosexual revelations, the obscenity, the accusations of murder, and the matter of whether or not Capote has been “antisemitic,” “anti-gay,” and/or “disloyal” to friends and playmates, by putting one unerring finger on just what she considers important. “Yes — yes! The paragraph on the fresh vegetables and their size is really unique in the article. It’s a ravishing statement on the rich!”

Then there are the happy cynics like Emlyn Williams, distinguished Welsh actor-writer: “It was terrible, just awful, but it was so funny-riveting. I couldn’t help laughing.”

Then there are the defenders of Art. Rust Hills, a former fiction editor: “Fascinating stuff. Yes, of course, it’s okay he published it all. I think the artist does have a supreme right to use any material. Remember, life is short but art is long” … Painter David Gibbs: “Oh, don’t be absurd — all art is revolution! Why can’t people get that through their heads? This is brilliant stuff!” … Dotson Rader: “Marvelous, beautiful writing. It’s unimportant whether it’s true or not, since it is presented as fiction. Truman was always treated by these people as a kind of curiosity, expected to do his act. That was humiliation coming from people who had no qualifications other than being rich and social. Everybody in the world has been telling Truman their deepest confidences for years and he never said he wouldn’t use them.” … Geraldine Stutz, a woman of fastidious opinions: “It’s only a scandal to a small insular world; most people won’t know, and couldn’t care less about who might be who. What counts is that it is a wonderful piece of writing and an extraordinary re-creation of the tone and texture of those days in that world” … C. Z. Guest: “Everyone knows the man’s a professional and they told him those things anyway. He’s a dear friend of mine, but I wouldn’t discuss very private matters with him. I don’t even know who those fictional people are.”

Screenwriter Joel Schumacher, himself one of the Beautiful People: “If Truman had written a glittering vision of society, he’d have been termed an ass-kisser and his work a piece of crap by these same people. They always want some candy-ass lie written about themselves. This same world thinks it supports art and artists, but never understands that all a writer has is his experience. These people feel a good press is owed them. Why? In the fame-and-fortune game, whether it’s society, show business, big business, or politics, everybody lives on a plane of incomparable elitism, more money, more privilege than others. So why are they so shocked when somebody tells even a slightly unattractive truth about them?”

So, speaking of Beautiful People, the night before flying to Los Angeles to interview Capote I’m at Pearl’s with seven of them (or what I call semi-B.P.s, in that most of these work hard yet are still “social” enough to be written about and invited everywhere). After the lemon chicken has been served and Pearl has stopped clucking over us, the question goes: “What’s the one thing each of you would like to know from Capote?” They told me.

In this gathering, these youthful realists were amused and entertained by Capote’s daring. Most of them thought the writing was important. Only one of the seven Beauties completely disapproved of the piece. This Frito-colored hair and the women with was the most “social” — by whatever terms — person there; also the richest: a person who found “LCB ’65” “disgusting, unnecessary, mean, bitchy, Truman, like some Napoleon on spiteful, disloyal, and not even very well written.”

General laughter and the retort: “We’re sorry you can’t express yourself more definitely.” But such dissenting opinions were in the majority in the weeks to come. And always, the final clincher by Capote’s detractors was that this hideous, disloyal, tasteless thing the writer had done was bad enough in all its aspects, but its chief minuses were that it was “boring” and “wasn’t even well written.”

A society that habitually enfolds ennui and stinging cultural criticism around its shoulders like a familiar sable wrap could make such pronouncements and still not talk about anything else for two solid months.

Beverly Hills: La Côte Basque 1965 may have been a place, as Esquire noted, “where the plat du jour is seated somewhere in sight,” but La Scala, late 1975, is a place where Henri Soule probably wouldn’t have sent his enemy Harry Cohn. La Scala’s food is indifferent and its service based on benign neglect, yet it offers a carelessly cultivated charm and ambience of New York–in–California. Once inside, out of the relentless 73-degree sunshine, away from the gas-fed fire burning in the Beverly Hills Hotel lobby, away from the denim-tailored suntanned men with Frito-colored hair and the women with smart-looking Mark Cross–type bags that read “Bullshit,” a person can almost imagine being in New York.

Truman, like some Napoleon on Elba yearning for the East (I fancy), suggests we meet here. He has a day off from his acting role as the portly eccentric who lures facsimiles of the world’s most famous detectives to his mansion for sinister purposes in Neil Simon’s movie Murder by Death.

Enter reporter, tape recorder cocked, to find Truman talking with the departing screenwriter Peter Viertel. We slide into a booth and Truman, looking more and more like a diabolical version of the character actor Victor Moore, says nix to the recorder. “I’ll have more to say if you don’t use it.” I protest that I haven’t his fabled total recall. “Oh, you’ll do all right. You’ll see, you’ll get a better story this way.”

Already the interview is out of my hands into the subtle control of Capote. Only around Truman do I ever feel a real kinship with those glamorous women like C-Z, Jackie, Lee, Gloria, Carol, Slim, Babe, Kay, Fleur, Pamela, etc. He inspires a compelling intimacy. I begin to tell him everything. I spurt confidences, betray my instincts, and allow myself to be drawn out. For each question I ask, Truman asks two. “Seductive” is how one longtime friend described Capote, and she is right. I cling to the edge of the table to keep it from turning completely.

Then he orders a double Russian vodka with no ice and a tall orange juice on the side. Oh well, that makes me feel better. If he’s going to drink like that, I’ll be okay. (When the interview ends, two double vodkas, a half-bottle of red wine, and four J&Bs on the rocks later, Truman is as fit as ever and I am still in his power.)

Truman answers the questions put by Pearl’s diners. He punctuates his softly drawled, easily imitated, and widely recognized vocal mannerism with bursts of irrepressible laughter. And some amazed and genuine outrage. He begins most of his sentences with a drawn-out “W-e-e-e-l-l-l…”

WHY DID HE DO IT? WHY GO QUITE SO FAR? asked the retailer.

“Why did I do it? Why? I have lived a life of observation. I’ve been working on this book for years, collecting. Anybody who mixes with a certain kind of writer ought to realize they’re in danger. [Chuckle.] I don’t feel I betrayed anybody. This is a mere nothing, a drop in the bucket. To think what I could have done in that chapter. My whole point was to prove gossip can be literature. I’ve been seriously writing this for three and a half years. I told everybody what I was doing. I discussed it on TV. Why has it come as such a great big surprise?”

IS THERE REALLY MORE COMING, OR IS THIS ALL? THEY SAY YOU CAN’T FINISH THE BOOK, asked the fashion arbiter.

“This thing was only a chapter. My God, what will happen when ‘Unspoiled Monsters’ comes out? [Don’t you like that title?] I’ve never before heard it suggested that this wasn’t part of a whole book. Even my ‘Mojave,’ published in Esquire before this, was part of Answered Prayers, though we didn’t publicize it as such. ‘La Côte Basque 1965’ is certainly no short story. Of course it’s a book! [Exasperation.] Lord, I have a lot to say, baby! I haven’t even begun to say it, though the book is 80 percent written.”

IS IT TRUE YOU ARE DYING OF CANCER? asked the art dealer.

“Irving Mansfield likes to go around telling everybody I’m dying of cancer, but I’m well now. Oh, that reminds me of a story.”

Truman cocks his platinum head so I get a good view of his flat baby-pink ears, which seem to have come in a child’s size and never grown.

“When Jackie Susann died, the Times called me for a quote. I was reminded of a judge who once ruled against Father Divine in some property dispute. Later the judge dropped dead of a heart attack and when they asked Father Divine to comment, he said, ‘I hated to do it, but …’ “

Capote explodes with roars of laughter that rumble up out of his ample belly into a series of hah-hah-hahs. “So I just told the Times, ‘I hated to do it, but …’”

DID YOU WRITE THIS JUST TO MAKE MONEY AND TO SOCK AWAY SOMETHING FOR A LOVER, AS THEY SAY? asked the producer’s wife.

“I have never in my life done anything just for money. I’ve never had any reason to. Why would I need money? My God, I made over $3 million from In Cold Blood and I haven’t spent it. I sure haven’t made any money out of ‘La Côte Basque 1965.’ That’s absolutely cracky! You know you don’t make money from magazines.

“As for my personal life, I don’t care what anyone says or writes about me personally. I have been a public exhibit all my life. So let them go ahead and make me a monster. I was a beautiful little boy, you know, and everybody had me — men, women, dogs, and fire hydrants. I did it with everybody. I didn’t slow down until I was 19, and then I became very circumspect. But everybody knows where everybody else is sexually. There are no secrets, and that’s why I don’t understand the shocked response to ‘La Côte Basque 1965.’ What is all this business? Are these people living in some other medieval century? I’d never sue anyone for anything, but I’ve been lied about my whole life. I’m just surprised they don’t hire a hit man.”

We stop to order. Truman has steak sliced thin as prosciutto, special mayonnaise, fettuccine Alfredo, and Brie. He is emphatic that he won’t be driven out of New York or sell his U.N. Plaza apartment. (“No, no. that’s not so.”) Nor has he bought a house in Topanga Canyon. (“I guess they think that because that’s where the Manson family lived and I’m a monster, too.”) I notice a slight tremor to Truman’s tiny hands as he lifts his glass and feel a pang for his strain.

WERE YOU TAKING REVENGE FOR ALL THOSE YEARS IN SOCIETY, LIKE A PET DWARF KICKING THE ROYALS IN THE SHIN AT LAST? asked the WWD biggie.

“I didn’t mean anything vengeful, not even remotely. And I’m disappointed in these people, with all their pretensions for reading, art, theater, and culture that they’re so stupid and can’t see it as a work of art. This book is a serious work of art — if you don’t see it as that, then you don’t see it as anything. I’ve always done good things. Would I actually sit down and write about something like that as a joke, as revenge?”

I ask, “But didn’t it really occur to you that you’d be called a traitor and disloyal for publishing this specific kind of work, using people’s names?”

Truman sighs: “Well, it is true nobody likes what you write about them. Even those I was sympathetic to in In Cold Blood didn’t like themselves in print. Loyalty wasn’t the question, but on the other hand, I don’t care. I really don’t. If that’s the mentality — tant pis … I haven’t lost a single friend I’d want to keep in any event. These people saying these things weren’t friends of mine to begin with. Nedda Logan has always hated me, ever since I published that Brando piece in The New Yorker. What do the Logans have to do with anything, just because they once gave a party for Princess Margaret, who everyone knows is a terrible bore!”

IS IT TRUE ESQUIRE LAWYERS SHOWED THE “ANN HOPKINS” PART TO ANN WOODWARD FOR LEGAL CLEARANCE AND, RECOGNIZING HERSELF, SHE KILLED HERSELF? asked the designer.

“The most vicious thing about all this is that story! It’s absolutely untrue that Esquire showed her the copy. That’s ridiculous. Of course nobody showed it to her, as it would have been tantamount to admitting it was about her. I never let anybody read it in toto, and that’s why it was impossible for her to have seen or heard of it. The manuscript was kept in a bank vault. I was very careful with it; sometimes I let a few people read part of it with me sitting there. The new portion, ‘Unspoiled Monsters,’ I’ve never shown to anybody. This book wanders in all directions. It’s not just about the ‘Côte Basque’ people, and my God, of course I’m not taking out after Babe Paley in the next part. She isn’t even mentioned. How do these things get started? The book is really about ‘Kate McCloud.’ And nobody but me knows who she is, and nobody is going to know.”

I tell Truman that Elsie Woodward herself does not feel Ann committed suicide for any reason having to do with him. He says, “You see …. “

DON’T YOU CARE THAT ALL THESE PEOPLE ARE GOING TO CLOSE THEIR DOORS TO YOU? asked the play producer.

“Well, in the first place, I don’t think all these people will. I maintain the people who are really mad are the ones left out. Jean vanden Heuvel said, ‘I hope it isn’t true I’m not going to be in by name. “La Côte Basque” was delicious and I hereby propose myself for another section.’

“Look, I’m not using Proust as a model because what I’m doing is in the latter half of the 20th century as an American. But if someone like Proust were here now and an American, he’d be writing about this world. People say the language is filthy. I think that’s the way people talk and think now — exactly. I think it’s beautifully written. This thing about me never being invited again just shows such an ignorance of human nature that I can’t believe it. People don’t understand how their own minds work. No matter what happens, you have to respect somebody because he is an artist, if you have any pretensions to culture. There’s a fantastic ingratitude in America toward its artists. I mean, you do marvelous things and they just …

“Well, France is loyal to its artists, England to its artists, even Russia to its artists [chuckle], when they are dead. No other country treats its creative people like we do. Here they wait for you to fail. They love it. If people think I’m just a bitch, then I surely am 100 percent misunderstood. I consider myself a fine artist. I drove down here from working in British Columbia to start work on the movie and found the world had exploded. This place has been in the same uproar as New York.”

I say that maybe people in Hollywood are afraid they’ll be next.

Truman laughs. “Oh, they’ll get theirs!”

He turns serious: “Look, my life has been dominated by my own levels of taste in art, especially the art of narrative prose writing, wherein my particular art lies. I have never compromised that. I may have compromised other things in my life, personally, emotionally, or whatnot, but never that. This book, this whole thing, has been the ultimate of my art. You have to be true to your work. I’ve always said there’s no such thing as writing down. Writers always do the best they can.”

We go out into the sunshine. I take a good look at Truman and am infected perhaps by his own line describing Henri Soulé as “pink and glazed as a marzipan pig.” We walk toward the Beverly Wilshire while I think only in food clichés. I note Truman’s new butter-colored moccasins … his apricot-yogurt sweater … his Champagne lick of hair … the strawberry-colored heels of his tiny French carroty hands … his pale raspberry-tinted sunglasses … his soft Cardin hat with its gingerbread texture. l’m relieved to see that he is wearing an ordinary unappetizing pair of trousers that make him look as if he has been hit in the ass with a shovel.

Truman carries his current overweight bulge before him like some defrocked Santa Claus. He gives several autographs en route. He tries to buy a denim vest covered with pockets, discovers that an expensive camera comes with it, and shrugs, “They should give it to me.” At the hotel we fall into the El Padrino bar and Truman asks for a telephone. Disturbed by reports of Diana Vreeland’s displeasure, he dials her direct.

He calls her “darling,” “angel,” “precious one,” and tells her twice that he loves her. He hangs up triumphant and exclaims: “She says it’s the only important and interesting thing she has ever read about the rich!”

Burbank, Stage 15: I am watching Truman “act.” He stands on a step ladder reading Murder by Death lines in a singularly hideous dining-room set. Peter Sellers, Elsa Lanchester, and Timmy Coco play the scene with him. As far as one can see, Capote makes no effort to “act” but simply plays himself. When the heavy chandelier falls, smashing the table and almost causing serious injuries, Capote quips: “The ghosts of Gore Vidal and of Jackie Susann, no doubt.”

In his mobile dressing room, I ask about this acting bit: “Oh, I just thought it would be fun to do something different and I really liked the script. It’s going to be a good movie. I probably won’t act again. It was just for a change from working on the book, and I knew I didn’t have time to take a vacation. How am I as an actor? [Chuckles.] Let’s see, just say, ‘What Billie Holiday is to jazz … what Mae West is to tits … what Gucci is to loafers … what Schlumberger is to enamel bracelets … what Cartier is to tank watches … what Guerlain is to perfume … what Roederer is to Champagne … what Chekhov is to the short story … what Seconal is to sleeping pills … what King Kong is to penises, Truman Capote is to the great god Thespis!”

Truman is suddenly struck by an idea. “My agent Mr. Irving Lazar has given several parties of late and didn’t invite me. So maybe you’re right. Maybe I am a social outcast. Tell you what — call him up and ask about it!”

I’m reluctant, but Truman pays no attention to me. He gets Lazar’s phone number, he dials, and hands me the telephone. I give my message to the secretary, who says “Swifty” will call back. When I hang up, Truman is exasperated. “No, that’s not what I want you to say.” He re-coaches me in my lines. Before Lazar can return the call, Truman is called to the set. When the call comes through I tell Lazar that his client is now a social outcast and ask if this applies in Hollywood, since Truman has not been invited to Lazar’s parties.

Lazar says, grimly, “I wouldn’t have any comment about that.”

Floundering, I say, “You wouldn’t have any comment?”

Lazar: “No.”

I stumble, “Okay, well, I’ll tell Mr. Capote what you said.”

Lazar’s voice rises. “I didn’t tell you to tell Mr. Capote anything.”

“Yes, I know,” I reply, weakly, “and I will tell him that you say you have no comment.”

Lazar screams: “I don’t want you to tell Mr. Capote I said anything. Dammit, I knew I shouldn’t have taken this call!” (Slam.)

Truman loves it. He roars over having discomfited the agent of Richard M. Nixon. Two weeks later he calls New York to ask what people are saying now. I sense that he is anxious. He speaks bitterly of what he calls “the ‘walkers’ … my vociferous critics … what do they have to do with me … with my work?”

Soon it comes out that now the Paleys, the Whitneys, Gloria Vanderbilt, Mike and Jan Cowles, others who were indeed real friends, have drawn the line against Truman. Unlike the Baron de Montesquiou writing to Proust for reassurance that he is not the model for “Baron de Charlus,” Lady Keith does not get in touch with Capote at all. No, she has gone on a trip to the South Pacific with — the Irving Lazars.

Where does all this leave our hero? “Well, I won’t retire to my cork-lined room yet,” says Truman. “I’m just going to a Palm Springs spa to take off 20 pounds before a college lecture tour. Then I’ll drop the other shoe.”

I remind him that nobody can really judge a literary work for 50 years. “This won’t even be dated in 50 years!” says Truman with a bulldog tenacity.

Then I tell him the story of how Gertrude Stein, with all her artistic pretensions, didn’t like the portrait Picasso painted of her and made the classic hick comment: “But it doesn’t look like me!”

Picasso then said, “But it will!”

Truman applauds. He says, “You know. I’m beginning to think what’s happening now is better than the book!”

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orthodoxydaily · 5 months ago

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Saints&Reading: Saturday, June 15, 2024

june 2_june 15

SAINT NICEPHORUS THE CONFESSOR OF CONSTANTINOPLE (820)

Saint Nikephoros (Nikēphóros) was a dignitary at the court of the Empress Irene (797-802). After embracing monasticism, he became widely known for his piety. He assumed the Patriarchal Throne of Constantinople in 806 and became a zealous defender of the holy Icons. In 815, the Iconoclast Emperor Leo the Armenian (813-820) exiled him to Prokonnis, where he fell asleep in the Lord in 828.

Saint Nikephoros left behind three writings against Iconoclasm.

HIEROMARTYR ERASMUS OF OCHRID, WHO REPOSED IN PEACE, AND 20,000 MARTYRS WITH HIM (303)

"This saint was born in Antioch and lived in the reigns of Diocletian and Maximian. He lived in strict asceticism on Mount Lebanon, and was endowed by God with great wonderworking gifts. As a bishop, he set out to preach the Gospel. Arriving at the city of Ochrid, he restored the son of a man called Anastasius to life by his prayers, and baptised him. At this time, Erazmus baptised many other pagans and tore down the idolatrous altar in Ochrid. For this he was denounced to the Emperor Maximian, who was at that time staying in Illyria. The Emperor brought him before the copper image of Zeus, and ordered him to bring sacrifices and worship the idol. St Erazmus, by his power, caused a terrible dragon to come out of the statue, which terrified all the people. The saint then worked another wonder, and the dragon died. Then the saint preached Christ and baptised 20,000 souls. The furious Emperor commanded that all 20,000 be beheaded, and put Erazmus to harsh torture, before throwing him into prison. But an angel of God appeared to him, as once to the Apostle Peter, and led him out of the prison. After that, this servant of God went to Campania, where he preached the Gospel to the people, then returned again to the town of Hermelia, where he withdrew to a cave and lived in asceticism for the rest of his days. At the time of his death, he prostrated three times towards the East and, with upraised hands, prayed to God to forgive and give eternal life to all those who would, with faith, call upon his name. At the end of his prayer, a voice was heard from heaven: 'Let it be as thou hast asked, My little healer Erazmus!' The saint looked up once more to heaven with great joy and saw a wreath of glory descending upon him, and a choir of angels, prophets, apostles and martyrs waiting to receive his holy soul. He finally cried: 'Lord, receive my spirit!', and breathed his last, in about the year 303. The cave and chapel of St Erazmus stand to this day not far from Ochrid, and from there is proclaimed to this day the great power of the man of God, Erazmus the hieromartyr." (Prologue) Note: St Erazmus is commemorated on May 4th in the Slavonic Menaion, but St Nikolai Velomirovich gives today as the date on which he was been commemorated in Ochrid "from time immemorial".

ACTS 20:7-12

7 Now on the first day of the week, when the disciples came together to break bread, Paul, ready to depart the next day, spoke to them and continued his message until midnight. 8 There were many lamps in the upper room where they were gathered together. 9 And in a window sat a certain young man named Eutychus, who was sinking into a deep sleep. He was overcome by sleep; and as Paul continued speaking, he fell down from the third story and was taken up dead. 10 But Paul went down, fell on him, and embracing him said, "Do not trouble yourselves, for his life is in him." 11 Now when he had come up, had broken bread and eaten, and talked a long while, even till daybreak, he departed. 12 And they brought the young man in alive, and they were not a little comforted.

JOHN 14:10-21

10 Do you not believe that I am in the Father, and the Father in Me? The words that I speak to you I do not speak on My own authority; but the Father who dwells in Me does the works. 11 Believe Me that I am in the Father and the Father in Me, or else believe Me for the sake of the works themselves. 12 Most assuredly, I say to you, he who believes in Me, the works that I do he will do also; and greater works than these he will do, because I go to My Father. 13 And whatever you ask in My name, that I will do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son. 14 If you ask anything in My name, I will do it. 15 If you love Me, keep My commandments. 16 And I will pray the Father, and He will give you another Helper, that He may abide with you forever- 17 the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees Him nor knows Him; but you know Him, for He dwells with you and will be in you. 18 I will not leave you orphans; I will come to you. 19 A little while longer and the world will see Me no more, but you will see Me. Because I live, you will live also. 20 At that day you will know that I am in My Father, and you in Me, and I in you. 21 He who has My commandments and keeps them, it is he who loves Me. And he who loves Me will be loved by My Father, and I will love him and manifest Myself to him.

#orthodoxy #orthodoxchristianity #easternorthodoxchurch #originofchristianity #spirituality #holyscriptures #gospel #bible #wisdom #faith #saints

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viola-halogen · 2 years ago

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12 Days of Thanktival — Day 2: On Holiday/Mistletoe

—

[AO3 link]

Relationships: The Captain/Lieutenant Havers

Characters: The Captain, Lieutenant Havers, Original Characters

—

Summary: The Captain invites Havers to spend Christmas with his family, meaning that they have to work twice as hard to keep their relationship a secret.

A/N: *squints at the Captain* what was your life like behind the title? What were you like when you weren’t at war?

(Also feat. my stubborn insistence that the Captain’s name is actually Robert)

—

Away From Watching Eyes

“Are you sure it’s okay for me to be spending Christmas with your family?” Havers asked yet again as they walked up the drive of the Captain’s parents’ house. “It’s not too late to change your mind, you know, I know how hectic family Christmases can get, and I really wouldn’t want to intrude…”

“Not at all,” the Captain said. “Mum’s always worrying about me not having enough of a social life. She’ll just be thrilled to hear that I have a good friend. Trust me, in her last letter she sounded like she couldn’t wait to meet you.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about—her thinking I’m your friend.”

The Captain sighed. He wanted to reach out and take Havers’ hand, to reassure him that everything would be fine. But he didn’t dare. Even on this seemingly empty suburban street, who knew who might be watching? Instead he halted, turning to face his partner. “We don’t… we don’t have… to do this. If… if you don’t want to. I can tell them something came up, a family emergency, or…”

“No. I want to do this.” Havers plastered a smile onto his face and strode forward, shoving the Captain in the shoulder as if they were two school friends engaging in friendly banter.

“Right. Um, I should warn you, my brother and his kids will most likely be here already,” the Captain said. “It might get a bit… hectic, as you put it.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Havers said. The Captain gave him a reassuring smile, then reached up and knocked on the door.

They waited quite some time before there was a response, almost long enough that the Captain started to worry that no one was home. But then the door swung open, and his mum was grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him into a sweeping hug.

“Merry Christmas, Robbie!” she cried. “How was your journey? Was the train crowded? I know what it can be like travelling on Christmas Eve. Oh, and you must be William!” she cried, striding past the Captain to shake hands with Havers. “It’s so good to finally meet you! Robbie’s told me so much about you! All of it good, don’t worry.”

“I, uh…” Havers stammered, and the Captain reached out to tap his mum on the shoulder.

“Oh, pardon me,” she said, stepping back. “It’s just my Robbie always seems so lonely, so you don’t know how pleased I am that he finally has a friend as good as you!” She leaned over and pinched the Captain’s cheek. He glanced over at Havers and saw him smiling faintly, and felt his cheeks turn red.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs…” Havers said.

“Please, call me Joan. Oh, and this is my husband, Paul,” she said, and the Captain turned to see his dad standing in the doorway.

“Nice to meet you, son,” he said, nodding in Havers’ direction. The Captain let out a breath. His dad’s measured greeting was like stepping on solid ground again after the earthquake that was his mum.

“Uncle Robert! Uncle Robert!” A voice cried, and then his two nieces came barrelling towards them. The Captain laughed and bent down, picking up little Rebecca in his arms and spinning her around.

“Good to see you, kiddo,” he said. “How’s school going?”

“Good,” she said. “I came first in the spelling bee and won a ruler.”

“Well done you,” the Captain said. He looked over and met Havers’ eyes—his partner was staring at him with a barely concealed glow of affection. Luckily no one was paying enough attention to him to notice it.

“Havers, these are my nieces, Anne and Rebecca,” the Captain said. “Girls, this is my friend Havers. He’s going to be staying with us over Christmas.”

Anne gave Havers a polite smile, and Rebecca wriggled to be let down. The Captain’s mum turned to the rest of the family then. “Why don’t we let the boys come in and put their luggage down?” she said. “They’ve had a long journey, and I’m sure they’d both like to sit down with a nice cup of tea.”

And so everyone made their way inside. “Your family seems great,” Havers said as the two of them stopped in the hallway to take off their shoes and put down their suitcases.

“They can be a lot, I know,” the Captain said.

“I’m seeing a whole other side of you right now,” Havers said. “Who knew my strict, uptight Captain had a heart after all?”

They made their way through to the living room, where the Captain’s older brother Michael and his wife Lucy were sitting. More introductions were made, and then the Captain’s mum emerged from the kitchen.

“How do you like your tea, William?” she asked.

“However’s fine. I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Oh, you should see how Robbie gets with his tea,” she laughed. “He has to have it just right, and he won’t hear what anyone else has to say on the matter.”

“Oh, believe me, I know,” Havers said, and the others began to laugh. Normally the Captain would have been offended at being mocked, but seeing Havers laughing along with them, he couldn’t help but smile.

~~~

The next morning, the Captain woke up to find Havers already half-dressed and standing near his bed. The girls were in the spare room, so a mattress had been put up for Havers in the Captain’s old bedroom. He glanced over at the clock on the wall, then gave a start as he realised what time it was.

“Good Lord—I can’t believe how much I’ve overslept—why didn’t you wake me up?” He threw back the covers and sat up.

“Relax,” Havers said with a smile, offering the Captain a hand. “You deserve a lie-in. It’s Christmas.”

The Captain took Havers’ hand, and allowed himself to be pulled close by the man he loved. “Besides,” Havers said. “I couldn’t bear to wake you. It was the most relaxed I’ve ever seen you look. Merry Christmas, my love.” He pressed a kiss to the Captain’s lips.

They got dressed and made their way downstairs, where Christmas Day was already in full swing. As they entered the kitchen they were stopped by Lucy, who was hanging a sprig of mistletoe in the doorway.

“Morning, sleepyheads,” she said when she saw them. “I finally persuaded Michael to let me put this up. So if you’re thinking about bringing any cute girls home, now’s the time.”

The Captain went into a fit of awkward coughing, but Havers, with remarkable composure, slapped him on the back and said, “I don’t think Joan and Paul could cope with hosting any more people today.”

“Yeah, probably best not to,” Lucy agreed, and turned to head back into the kitchen. As soon as her back was turned, the Captain saw Havers’ eyes flick up towards the mistletoe now hanging from the doorframe. He reached out and discreetly touched Havers on the arm.

“We can’t,” he whispered as quietly as he could. “My family are right there.”

“I know,” Havers whispered back. “Still… I just wish we could.”

The Captain smiled sadly. He longed, more than anything, to be able to take Havers in his arms and kiss him under the mistletoe, not caring who might see. But they couldn’t afford to dream of things like that. Squeezing Havers’ elbow, he stepped in front of him and went into the kitchen.

The world they walked into was even more hectic than their arrival yesterday had been. Lucy was attempting to set the table, as the Captain’s mum got breakfast ready. His dad sat reading the newspaper, and behind him the radio was playing Christmas Carols. Anne and Rebecca were everywhere, running about and screaming, very nearly causing their mum to drop a stack of plates she was carrying, before turning their attention to trying to get their grandfather to wear a paper chain around his neck.

“What do you think of the decorations, William?” The Captain’s mum called. “They’re all homemade this year, out of things we had to hand. We’re doing our bit to support the war effort.”

“They look lovely,” Havers said.

At that moment, Michael came running into the kitchen in his dressing gown. “I think I saw some snow in the distance,” he said. Anne and Rebecca gasped with excitement, their previous energy tripling immediately.

“Where! Show us!”

“Is it going to snow here?”

“I want to see the snow, dad!”

“I don’t know,” Michael said. “But you can see it best from our bedroom window.”

“Let’s all go have a look,” the Captain’s mum said, turning away from the stove.

“Oh, we’ll stay here,” Havers offered quickly. “Uh… someone should keep an eye on the toast, make sure it doesn’t burn. Robbie and I don’t mind, do we?”

“No, no of course not.” The Captain cleared his throat.

“Alright then. Come on, everyone,” the Captain’s mum said.

“Yay!” the girls cheered, as one by one everyone else filed out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

As soon as the last person had disappeared, Havers turned to smile at the Captain. “No one’s right there now,” he said.

The Captain grinned, crossing the room to stand in front of Havers. Taking the Captain’s hand, Havers pulled him towards the door so that they were both standing underneath the mistletoe.

“I’m almost concerned about how easily you pulled that off,” the Captain said. “I would have made a right fool of myself.”

Havers laughed. “I’m sorry it can’t be like this in front of your family,” he said. “But I still think we deserve this moment.”

The Captain nodded. “Merry Christmas, William,” he said. Then he wrapped his arms around Havers’ neck, before leaning in and kissing him.

#bbc ghosts #bbc ghosts fanfic #bbc ghosts captain #lieutenant havers #12 days of thanktival

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bills-bible-basics · 6 months ago

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PERSECUTION OF THE FIRST CENTURY CHURCH -- KJV (King James Version) Bible Verse List Visit https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/ to see more. "But before all these, they shall lay their hands on you, and persecute you, delivering you up to the synagogues, and into prisons, being brought before kings and rulers for my name's sake. And it shall turn to you for a testimony. Settle it therefore in your hearts, not to meditate before what ye shall answer: For I will give you a mouth and wisdom, which all your adversaries shall not be able to gainsay nor resist. And ye shall be betrayed both by parents, and brethren, and kinsfolks, and friends; and some of you shall they cause to be put to death. And ye shall be hated of all men for my name's sake. But there shall not an hair of your head perish. In your patience possess ye your souls." Luke 21:12-19, KJV "If the world hate you, ye know that it hated me before it hated you. If ye were of the world, the world would love his own: but because ye are not of the world, but I have chosen you out of the world, therefore the world hateth you. Remember the word that I said unto you, The servant is not greater than his lord. If they have persecuted me, they will also persecute you; if they have kept my saying, they will keep yours also. But all these things will they do unto you for my name's sake, because they know not him that sent me." John 15:18-21, KJV "Then the high priest rose up, and all they that were with him, (which is the sect of the Sadducees,) and were filled with indignation, And laid their hands on the apostles, and put them in the common prison." Acts 5:17-18, KJV "When they [the Jews] heard these things, they were cut to the heart, and they gnashed on him [Stephen] with their teeth. But he, being full of the Holy Ghost, looked up stedfastly into heaven, and saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing on the right hand of God, And said, Behold, I see the heavens opened, and the Son of man standing on the right hand of God. Then they cried out with a loud voice, and stopped their ears, and ran upon him with one accord, And cast him out of the city, and stoned him: and the witnesses laid down their clothes at a young man's feet, whose name was Saul. And they stoned Stephen, calling upon God, and saying, Lord Jesus, receive my spirit. And he kneeled down, and cried with a loud voice, Lord, lay not this sin to their charge. And when he had said this, he fell asleep. And Saul was consenting unto his death. And at that time there was a great persecution against the church which was at Jerusalem; and they were all scattered abroad throughout the regions of Judaea and Samaria, except the apostles. And devout men carried Stephen to his burial, and made great lamentation over him. As for Saul, he made havock of the church, entering into every house, and haling men and women committed them to prison." Acts 7:54-8:1-3, KJV "Now about that time Herod the king stretched forth his hands to vex certain of the church. And he killed James the brother of John with the sword. And because he saw it pleased the Jews, he proceeded further to take Peter also. (Then were the days of unleavened bread.) And when he had apprehended him, he put him in prison, and delivered him to four quaternions of soldiers to keep him; intending after Easter to bring him forth to the people." Acts 12:1-4, KJV "And when her masters saw that the hope of their gains was gone, they caught Paul and Silas, and drew them into the marketplace unto the rulers, And brought them to the magistrates, saying, These men, being Jews, do exceedingly trouble our city, And teach customs, which are not lawful for us to receive, neither to observe, being Romans. And the multitude rose up together against them: and the magistrates rent off their clothes, and commanded to beat them. And when they had laid many stripes upon them, they cast them into prison, charging the jailor to keep them safely: Who, having received such a charge, thrust them into the inner prison, and made their feet fast in the stocks." Acts 16:19-24, KJV "For we have found this man a pestilent fellow, and a mover of sedition among all the Jews throughout the world, and a ringleader of the sect of the Nazarenes:" Acts 24:5, KJV "I verily thought with myself, that I ought to do many things contrary to the name of Jesus of Nazareth. Which thing I also did in Jerusalem: and many of the saints did I shut up in prison, having received authority from the chief priests; and when they were put to death, I gave my voice against them. And I punished them oft in every synagogue, and compelled them to blaspheme; and being exceedingly mad against them, I persecuted them even unto strange cities." Acts 26:9-11, KJV "For I think that God hath set forth us the apostles last, as it were appointed to death: for we are made a spectacle unto the world, and to angels, and to men. We are fools for Christ's sake, but ye are wise in Christ; we are weak, but ye are strong; ye are honourable, but we are despised. Even unto this present hour we both hunger, and thirst, and are naked, and are buffeted, and have no certain dwellingplace; And labour, working with our own hands: being reviled, we bless; being persecuted, we suffer it: Being defamed, we intreat: we are made as the filth of the world, and are the offscouring of all things unto this day." 1 Corinthians 4:9-13, KJV "But in all things approving ourselves as the ministers of God, in much patience, in afflictions, in necessities, in distresses, In stripes, in imprisonments, in tumults, in labours, in watchings, in fastings;" 2 Corinthians 6:4-5, KJV "Are they ministers of Christ? (I speak as a fool) I am more; in labours more abundant, in stripes above measure, in prisons more frequent, in deaths oft. Of the Jews five times received I forty stripes save one. Thrice was I beaten with rods, once was I stoned, thrice I suffered shipwreck, a night and a day I have been in the deep; In journeyings often, in perils of waters, in perils of robbers, in perils by mine own countrymen, in perils by the heathen, in perils in the city, in perils in the wilderness, in perils in the sea, in perils among false brethren; In weariness and painfulness, in watchings often, in hunger and thirst, in fastings often, in cold and nakedness." 2 Corinthians 11:23-27, KJV "Yea, and all that will live godly in Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution." 2 Timothy 3:12, KJV "I know thy works, and where thou dwellest, even where Satan’s seat is: and thou holdest fast my name, and hast not denied my faith, even in those days wherein Antipas was my faithful martyr, who was slain among you, where Satan dwelleth." Revelation 2:13, KJV "And when he had opened the fifth seal, I saw under the altar the souls of them that were slain for the word of God, and for the testimony which they held: And they cried with a loud voice, saying, How long, O Lord, holy and true, dost thou not judge and avenge our blood on them that dwell on the earth? And white robes were given unto every one of them; and it was said unto them, that they should rest yet for a little season, until their fellowservants also and their brethren, that should be killed as they were, should be fulfilled." Revelation 6:9-11, KJV "And in her was found the blood of prophets, and of saints, and of all that were slain upon the earth." Revelation 18:24, KJV "And I saw thrones, and they sat upon them, and judgment was given unto them: and I saw the souls of them that were beheaded for the witness of Jesus, and for the word of God, and which had not worshipped the beast, neither his image, neither had received his mark upon their foreheads, or in their hands; and they lived and reigned with Christ a thousand years." Revelation 20:4, KJV If you would like more info regarding the origin of these KJV Bible verse lists, go to https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/. Thank-you! https://www.billkochman.com/Blog/index.php/persecution-of-the-first-century-church-kjv-king-james-version-bible-verse-list/?feed_id=172107&PERSECUTION%20OF%20THE%20FIRST%20CENTURY%20CHURCH%20--%20KJV%20%28King%20James%20Version%29%20Bible%20Verse%20List

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princeofgod-2021 · 1 year ago

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LIGHT OF LIFE 405

John 1:4

UNDERSTANDING PROPHETIC MANDATES 39: TYPES OF PROPHECY 5

Amo 3:7 CERTAINLY, THE ALMIGHTY LORD DOESN'T DO ANYTHING UNLESS HE FIRST REVEALS HIS SECRET TO HIS SERVANTS THE PROPHETS. GW

There are two (2) aspects of Prophetic Mandate picturing Individual Experiences, which are:

1. Prophecy of your INSTRUCTIONS, telling you what you are to do for God.

This is the real Mandate for which we all must give accounts to the Lord.

1Ki 13:2 He cried out against the altar with the LORD’S message, “O altar, altar! This is what the LORD has said, ‘Look, A SON NAMED JOSIAH WILL BE BORN TO THE DAVIDIC DYNASTY. HE WILL SACRIFICE ON YOU THE PRIESTS OF THE HIGH PLACES WHO OFFER SACRIFICES ON YOU. HUMAN BONES WILL BE BURNED ON YOU.’” NET

Josiah didn’t even know of the Prophecy until he started LIVING it directly. It was confirmed to him after he had started carrying out the “assignment”.

2Ki 23:17-18 and he asked, "Whose grave is that?" Some people who lived nearby answered, "IT BELONGS TO THE PROPHET FROM JUDAH WHO TOLD WHAT WOULD HAPPEN TO THIS ALTAR." JOSIAH REPLIED, "THEN LEAVE IT ALONE. Don't dig up his bones." So they did not disturb his bones or the bones of the old prophet from Israel who had also been buried there. CEV

2. Prophecy of the CHALLENGES, Opposition and warfare that will come your way, especially to stop you from carrying out your Divine Mandate.

This is what Peter was told by Jesus Himself.

The good and advisable thing is that the Prophecy indicates that Peter will “spread out his hands” and not resist them at all; he will go with them in fulfillment of God’s desire.

This is great!

Joh 21:18 Peter, listen, when you were younger you made your own choices and you went where you pleased. But one day when you are old, OTHERS WILL TIE YOU UP AND ESCORT YOU WHERE YOU WOULD NOT CHOOSE TO GO—AND YOU WILL SPREAD OUT YOUR ARMS.” TPT

The “Right Spirit” is to readily embrace your “Cross” and go with these Challenges that relate to your calling.

God promised to show Paul what he’d suffer for the Gospel’s sake and it was evident that Paul saw those oppositions and he faced them with confidence in the God that sent him.

2Co 1:8-9 For, brothers, WE WOULD NOT HAVE YOU IGNORANT OF OUR TROUBLE WHICH CAME TO US IN ASIA, THAT WE WERE PRESSED OUT OF MEASURE, ABOVE STRENGTH; SO MUCH SO THAT WE DESPAIRED EVEN OF LIFE. But we had the sentence of death in ourselves, so that we should not trust in ourselves, but in God who raises the dead; MKJV

It is likely that God will reveal to you both the INSTRUCTIONS & OPPOSITIONS entrenched in your overall Mandate, and you will have confirmations that will ensure you of its authenticity.

1Co 16:9 There is a real opportunity here for great and worthwhile work, EVEN THOUGH THERE ARE MANY OPPONENTS. GNB

Sometimes, you are not sure of the magnitude of trials and opposition you will face on your way.

Paul had such inspiration, yet he pressed on with his Mandate.

Act 20:22-23 And now I am BEING COMPELLED BY THE HOLY SPIRIT TO GO to Jerusalem, WITHOUT REALLY KNOWING WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO ME THERE. Yet I know that the Holy Spirit warns me in town after town, saying, ‘CHAINS AND AFFLICTIONS ARE PREPARED FOR YOU.’ NET

Incidentally, in the very next chapter, Paul’s uncertainty was answered by Prophet Agabus.

He now knew the kind of trial that was waiting for his in Jerusalem. It was imprisonment!

Act 21:10 -11 And while we were waiting there for some days, a certain prophet, named Agabus, came down from Judaea. And he came to us, and took the band of Paul's clothing, and putting it round his feet and hands, said, The Holy Spirit says these words, So will the Jews do to the man who is the owner of this band, and they will give him up into the hands of the Gentiles. BBE

The important thing is that Paul was undeterred by the negative feedback because he had been COMPELLED by the Holy Spirit in Acts 20:22.

Hence his boldness with those who tried to make him change his mind.

Act 21:12-13 WHEN WE HEARD THIS, WE AND THE OTHERS THERE BEGGED PAUL NOT TO GO TO JERUSALEM. But he answered, "What are you doing, crying like this and breaking my heart? I AM READY NOT ONLY TO BE TIED UP IN JERUSALEM BUT EVEN TO DIE THERE for the sake of the Lord Jesus." GNB

The INSTRUCTION and the OPPOSITION are all intrinsic parts of the Mandate, but the ultimate is the Instruction.

Don’t let the suffering scare you to abandon the Calling.

Besides, God has actually provided for us all the POWER to withstand the Opposition of any magnitude.

2Ti 1:7-8 For God will never give you the spirit of fear, but THE HOLY SPIRIT WHO GIVES YOU MIGHTY POWER, love, and self-control. So never be ashamed of the testimony of our Lord, nor be embarrassed over my imprisonment, BUT OVERCOME EVERY EVIL BY THE REVELATION OF THE POWER OF GOD! TPT

No opposition from hell will ever make you give up your Mandate for God, IN JESUS NAME.

Come back on Friday, for more of this insightful and enlightening Sub-Subtopic.

Keep Shinning!

Brother Prince

Wednesday, September 13, 2023

08055125517; 08023904307

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noeticprayer · 2 years ago

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Epistle Reading

The Reading is from Acts of the Apostles 18:22-28

IN THOSE DAYS, when Paul had landed at Caesarea, he went up and greeted the church, and then went down to Antioch. After spending some time there he departed and went from place to place through the region of Galatia and Phrygia, strengthening all the disciples. Now a Jew named Apollos, a native of Alexandria, came to Ephesos. He was an eloquent man, well versed in the scriptures. He had been instructed in the way of the Lord; and being fervent in the spirit, he spoke and taught accurately the things concerning Jesus, though he knew only the baptism of John. He began to speak boldly in the synagogue; but when Priscilla and Aquila heard him, they took him and expounded to him the way of God more accurately. And when he wished to cross to Achaia, the brethren encouraged him, and wrote to the disciples to receive him. When he arrived, he greatly helped those who through grace had believed, for he powerfully confuted the Jews in public, showing by the scriptures that the Christ was Jesus.

Gospel Reading

The Reading is from the Gospel According to John 12:36-47

The Lord said to the Jews who came to him, "While you have the light, believe in the light, that you may become sons of light. When Jesus had said this, he departed and hid himself from them. Though he had done so many signs before them, yet they did not believe in him; it was that the word spoken by the prophet Isaiah might be fulfilled: "Lord, who has believed our report, and to whom has the arm of the Lord been revealed?" Therefore they could not believe. For Isaiah again said, "He has blinded their eyes and hardened their heart, lest they should see with their eyes and perceive with their heart, and turn for me to heal them." Isaiah said this because he saw his glory and spoke of him. Nevertheless, many even of the authorities believed in him, but for fear of the Pharisees they did not confess it, lest they should be put out of the synagogue: for they loved the praise of men more than the praise of God.

And Jesus cried out and said, "He who believes in me, believes not in me but in him who sent me. And he who sees me sees him who sent me. I have come as light into the world, that whoever believes in me may not remain in darkness. If any one hears my sayings and does not keep them, I do not judge him; for I did not come to judge the world but to save the world."

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itsyourchoicedevotionals · 2 years ago

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Beloved Child

“Then a voice came from heaven, “You are My beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” Mark 1:11NKJV

As natural as breathing, we all want to hear from our parents, especially from God, ‘you’re my beloved child.’ Most of us never hear those words from anyone. Hence, we’re incapable of hearing, we’re ‘beloved of God.’ Years ago, I took part in a group therapy. The men’s cries were twofold, “My dad didn’t love me.” And “No matter what I did, I couldn’t please my dad.”

Man’s greatest desire is for a relationship with their father. God foretold the preaching of Elijah, aka John the Baptist in Malachi 4:6NLT “His preaching will turn the hearts of fathers to their children, and the hearts of children to their fathers.” John’s sermons aimed at our deep need for a relationship with Abba Father, see Romans 8:15.

Notice, BEFORE Jesus did any works, God said, “You are My beloved Son…” No need to perform, only to exist. To society today, the concept of being loved solely because of our existence is beyond reason. Our imaginations almost can’t grasp this concept.

Truth: before we do anything right, God loved and wanted us —BEFORE… Romans 5:8NLT “…God showed His great love for us by sending Christ to die for us while we were still sinners.”

God’s love doesn’t stop there. Jesus took every punishment for every imaginable and unimaginable sin. The moment we believe and receive Jesus Christ as Lord, we are changed into His ‘beloved child.’ “For He made Him who knew no sin to be sin for us, that we might become the righteousness of God in Him.” 2Corinthians 5:21NKJV

Initially after being saved I was under the firm conviction, salvation was kept by my works: —How much I could do for God: —If I could keep myself under control or not. Paul blew that lie apart when he wrote Ephesians 2:8-9NKJV “For by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God…not of works…” God’s salvation gift of Christ’s redemption covers us with grace. Works become results of reciprocal love.

Working out of our love for Jesus enhances Him to others. Jesus shines when we’re acting more like He and Father God. John 5:19NLT “I tell you the truth, the Son can do nothing by Himself. He does only what He sees the Father doing. Whatever the Father does, the Son also does.” Everything Jesus saw the Father doing, was what He did. Through faith we’re capable of doing the same.

From Matthew 1 to John 21:25, we read Jesus’ deeds: healing the sick, preaching the good news, casting out demons, raising the dead, loving the unlovely, discipling believers, etc. These are the works we can do also. Jesus empowered His disciples in Luke 9:1-2NKJV “…gave them power and authority over all demons, and to cure diseases…to preach the kingdom of God and to heal the sick.” This empowerment is still available for us, His current day disciples.

To be the ‘beloved child,’ we only have to believe and receive Jesus as Lord. Immediately upon making that choice, we’re chosen, forgiven and empowered. What are you doing and what will you do with your empowerment? It’s your choice. You choose.

PRAYER: Lord God, we choose to believe Your Word, believe we’re Your ‘beloved children,’ and believe we’re empowered.’ Give us the faith to use this empowerment in our role of the ‘beloved Son’s bride, in the name of Jesus Christ I pray.

#Jesus Christ #lord of lords #Word of God #Holy Spirit #God #it's your choice #devotional #beloved #child #empowered #grace #works #before #unimaginable #sin #receive #love #hope #faith

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desiringparadise · 3 years ago

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Kid/teenager Liam tidbits according to old news articles

He used to be called Wills by other kids and he hated it. Paul Walsh, who went to the same school, “reveals Liam was taunted by other kids about his nickname. He hated it, but the only time I ever saw Wills cry was when he started school and a kid hit him over the head with a mallet. After that he toughened up a bit. He was never actually the ringleader but was always involved in everything. He used to get really embarrassed when he was in the choir - he certainly wasn't a better singer than anyone else. I never got to know Noel, but Liam always said he hated him.” x

Thomas Gallagher: "They [Noel and Liam] always fought. Liam would call Noel's girlfriends lesbians and Noel would mock Liam for having a teddy bear.They even fought over the only guitar in the house - although Liam could never play it.” x

“[At their old house] In one storeroom Liam has scrawled, "Liam is smooth" on the wall - and outside he has drawn a love heart filled with the name of a childhood sweetheart.” x

Thomas Gallagher made him write lines ‘My dad is nice to me’, when Liam’s teacher told Thomas that his writing needed to improve. “Then [Liam] scribbled it out and written underneath, ‘Is he eck. I hate my dad’. [...] But Tommy just laughs it off, "Cheeky sod" he says. "Liam was always a handful. [...] You'd never have a dull moment with our Liam - but who'd want a son who just sat in the corner. [...] Liam was my favourite by a hundred miles. He was very ill when he was born. He had a skin rash and he cried all the time. It was all over his body, his head, everywhere bleeding. From when he was first born to when he was about eight months old.” x

He’s pierced his ears once. An old friend, Anthony Walsh, recalls,"We used earrings we'd nicked from our mams. We got two ice cubes, froze our ears and stabbed the earrings through. We had to wear plasters on our ears after that to cover them up." x

He lost his virginity at 16 years in his living room to a girl called Angela Crozier, also 16, also from Burnage. "We went back to his house. His mum was upstairs in bed. His oldest brother, Paul, was upstairs as well. We knew we had to be quiet, and were in such a rush we didn't have time to take our clothes off”. They once did it at a public park. x

He was nicknamed Doley because he was never off the dole. x

He didn’t used to be a great drinker. “ He liked lager but after two pints he was bladdered.“ x

#liam gallagher #oasis #i got to digging and couldn't stop lol #my stuff #news archieve

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redhoodieone · 4 years ago

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Fucking Perfect

A/N: Hey, y’all!!! Here’s another fic that was actually a request from @jasontoddslut. I hope you all enjoy!

WARNINGS: Language, violence, and smut!

It wasn’t that late. With a DVD and a large free pepperoni pizza in hand (the pizza was actually a “thank you” from a local pizza owner after Jason saved his life), Jason couldn’t help but keep smiling underneath his red helmet as he drove to his and Danielle’s home. They were supposed to have a night in; no distractions, no interruptions, and no patrolling, for him at least.

But Bruce had called him for help last minute around 9:00 because Joker decided to break out of Arkham Asylum with every other inmate, from Harley Quinn to Scarecrow. To say the mission was bizarre as hell wouldn’t be exaggerating. Jason and Dick laughed their asses off the entire night because it was like a high school reunion for all of Gotham’s villains. Even Bruce couldn’t help but grin a little when he saw the Riddler and Penguin link arms and skip down the street behind Bane, Two Face, Mr. Freeze, and Killer Croc.

It was one hilarious but memorable sight.

But now all Jason could think about was getting back home to Danielle as he speeds down the streets on his bike from Arkham while holding the box of pizza and DVD. Just thinking about a hot shower, cuddling with Danielle on the couch under a fluffy blanket, and just falling asleep in the comfort of their home makes him consider giving up the vigilante life sometimes.

He wondered what his life would be like not being everyone’s hero.

No more subtle or dangerous injuries. Staying in bed the entire night. Having the ability to go here and there and do everything normal like others. Maybe even settling down somewhere in the countryside, where he can finally retain his own property, perhaps build himself his own auto salvage business where he’ll specialize in fixing and rebuilding expensive, fast cars and bikes.

Having something to call his own has always been a secret dream of his. Only Y/N knows all that.

Jason could just see it now: waking up early to see the beautiful sunrise from the safety on the ground, arm wrapped protectively around his wife, who would be pregnant with their child...

He initially tenses up at that particular thought. Jason has never even spoken about his desire to have kids. Hell, he has always boasted about hating kids; often complaining about them being bratty, loud, and just being unbearable little shits.

Jason even pretends to despise Dick and Barbara’s five-year-old son, Tommy, just because he enjoys pissing them off. But in all honesty, Jason loves his nephew and knows damn well that if anything were to happen to Tommy...Jason would fucking kill them in a heartbeat.

Fuck, even Barbara gets on Jason’s ass about when he’s finally going to settle down and have kids of his own. She and Dick make the normal, perfect life look easy. They were brave and strong enough to walk away from the vigilante life, only promising Bruce that they’ll help him every now and then and only for big emergencies.

Jason couldn’t believe it at first. Dick and Barbara just happily moved to a safe, typical suburban but luxurious home far away from Gotham. They made it look so effortless and picture-perfect.

With Dick and Barbara gone, all Jason has is Tim and Damian around. Which isn’t much considering they have their own lives.

And Jason used to have Y/N, his best friend.

Before Jason’s thoughts could consume him more, he pulls up to the private parking garage at his penthouse. After he parks his bike, he climbs off and removes his red helmet; quickly inhaling air after sweating so much. Holding the helmet underneath his left arm, he carries the pizza and DVD and heads to the elevator.

He sighs heavily; his back hurts like fuck after being thrown around a lot from Killer Croc. He wonders if it would be completely sexist or just entirely fucked up if he asks Danielle for a backrub.

We’ve been together for two years. She knows my line of work, and if she really loves me, she’ll give me an all-body massage...and besides...this is the first time I’m asking for one anyways, he thinks to himself.

The elevator dings and opens for him; revealing the private floor that is his, courtesy of Bruce. If it weren’t for Bruce, Jason wouldn’t have the luxury of such a private and quiet place to call home. Bruce owns the entire building, mostly business associates and employees live and stay here anyways.

Jason walks to the door and opens it; is actually quite stunned that it’s unlocked. Mostly because he’s OCD about that, even if this floor and this entire building is private, Jason still likes to take precaution.

The guy fucking grew up on the streets and has seen and done bad things. Really bad. But he’s not like that anymore. Oh, no he’s not. Now, Jason lives by his new principles, but that doesn’t mean he’s not a badass anymore or is violent by nature. He is still Jason Todd.

Stepping inside his penthouse, Jason kicks the front door shut with his heavy boot and sets the pizza and DVD on the entryway table. He puts his helmet back on and quickly pulls a gun from his thigh holster. Jason takes this seriously, just as with any mission or recon.

He quietly goes down the hallway, immediately notices their bedroom door is cracked open and a light is on. He raises his gun and says...

Fuck it. I’m going in with my gun. Hope this all ends well with no blood.

Jason kicks open the bedroom door and has the most fucked up, perfect view of his girlfriend, Danielle, in bed with another man; a man who is on top of her, fucking her underneath the covers, IN THEIR BED!!!!!

Danielle gasps in surprise. “Jason! What-what are you doing home so early?!” she panics. She sits up and pushes the man off of her. Her tits are on display, after the blanket falls from her chest.

The male brunette is shocked at seeing Jason. The naked man uses the sheet to hide his lower body. Jason thinks this guy is a fucking tool. He’s shaking badly, and he’s sputtering like an idiot.

“Oh, oh God! This is Jason? You’re with fucking Red Hood? Oh, my God...OH, MY GOD! This guy is gonna kill me, Dani! He-he has a fucking gun in his hand! I’m gonna fucking die!” the man cries out.

“SHUT YOUR GODDAMN FUCKING MOUTH, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!” Jason yells from underneath his helmet. The voice changer that’s built into his helmet makes him sound more dark...even demonic. But Jason could care less about anything and everything right now. All he can think about is beating the shit out of this guy. “WHO THE FUCK IS THIS?!”

Danielle runs a hand through her messy long red hair, and sniffles. She’s actually...crying?

“This is Paul-”

“Don’t fucking tell him my name! Jesus Christ! Are you trying to get me killed?!”

Jason aims his gun and shoots near Paul’s head. The loud, piercing sound fills the room. The bullet hits the wall, but nonetheless scares the shit out of Paul.

Paul covers his eyes and cries. “Of fuck...please don’t kill me. Oh God, please don’t...”

Jason removes his helmet in anger and throws it down. His green eyes are already red-rimmed. He won’t admit he’s crying...God no...his allergies must be acting up.

“So, what the fuck, Dani? You’re seriously sleeping with someone else?” Jason asks, rhetorically of course. “In our house...underneath our covers...in our bed?!”

“Jason, please. I-I didn’t want you to find out this way,” Dani says.

“But you wanted me to find out?” Jason snaps, suddenly moves closer to the bed. Paul moves backwards away from him. “You wanted me to find out, but just not this way? JESUS CHRIST, DANI! What the fuck were you thinking?! Why the hell would you do this to me, after everything we’ve fucking been through!”

“Because you weren’t here! You weren’t here tonight!” Dani yells.

“What the hell does that mean? You decided to cheat on me because I WASN’T HERE TONIGHT?!”

Paul slowly stands up with the sheet. “Maybe I should leave...” he mumbles.

“How about I show you the way out, BUDDY?!” Jason spits out. He grabs Paul’s throat and drags him across the bedroom.

“DON’T HURT HIM! PLEASE DON’T HURT HIM, JASON!” Dani cries out.

Jason was seeing red. He couldn’t see or think straight at all. With a huff, Jason slams Paul down to the floor and drops down to beat the fucking shit out of Paul. His fist keeps coming down hard and fast, and he definitely ignores Paul crying, pleading for him to stop. Jason even ignores the sight of a lot of blood and bones cracking underneath his punches.

“STOP IT! JASON, STOP HURTING HIM, PLEASE!” Dani screams in horror, pulling Jason back by grabbing his leather jacket.

When Jason finally stops, he realizes Paul’s face is almost disfigured because of the blood and swelling, but he doesn’t care. At all.

Jason shoves Dani away from him and glares down at Paul. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Paul. You’re not going to open your fucking mouth. You’re not going to tell anyone about my home. You’re not going to tell anyone about me. Your injuries? You’re going to tell everyone you got your pansy, white ass jumped in an alley and that you obviously lost the fight. And you’re going to walk out of here naked. You’re not going to look at Dani, not talk to her, not even think about her, you’re just going leave. NOW.”

“B-but what about my-my clothes?” Paul stutters.

Jason quickly collects all of Paul’s clothes and opens his bedroom window. He pulls out his lighter and lights the clothes on fire. Jason drops them over the railing. “You don’t need them. After fucking my girlfriend in my home and in my bed, you bet your homewrecking sweet ass that you’ll be walking home in nothing but shame and remorse. Now, get the fuck out of my house before I break your legs next.”

“Yes sir. I’m sorry, sir. No one will ever know about this,” Paul rambles on as he struggles to stand up. Once he does, he quickly leaves the bedroom but not before mumbling. “Why couldn’t she date Green Lantern or-or Batman. Wait! Not Batman! Anyone but Batman and Red Hood!”

As the front door slams shut, Jason turns to face his naked girlfriend, Dani. He feels his chest tighten, causing a pain he hasn’t felt since he was a kid and lost his mother and home. He wants to cry in front of her, maybe even scream at her, but all the anger he felt before is gone now. Jason’s only left with a sense of sadness and he doesn’t even know what to do about it.

The silence is killing them. He’s no fool. He can see she’s trying to hold herself together but is failing immensely because she’s looking up at him with those sad, puppy dog eyes.

But a thought quickly crosses his mind: only Y/N’s puppy dog eyes make him give into her. Every time. Y/N’s Y/C/E eyes weakens him, and he always wants to please her when she looks at him.

But Dani’s eyes don’t. There’s no sense of comfort and warmth in them like Y/N’s.

“I’m...I’m so sorry, Jay,” Dani begins.

“Don’t call me that. You don’t get to call me that anymore,” Jason interrupts angrily. He doesn’t even know why she’s apologizing. He knows he can’t forgive her. He won’t forgive her.

Dani scoffs. “You can’t seriously be pissed off at me. You’ve fucking cheated before. You’ve slept around like Bruce does. You can’t fucking hold this against me! I gave you a chance!”

“You’re forgetting that I used to do that!” Jason yells. He runs a hand through his messy dark hair and growls under his breath. He needs someone to calm him down. He needs someone to tell him everything’s going to be all right. He needs the comfort and warmth only one person has: Y/N. Jason realizes he needs her now more than ever, and that scares him a bit. “I haven’t done any of that shit since we’ve been together. The second I realized that I was in love with you, I changed. I changed because I wanted to be with you! And you bringing up my past to try to justify your actions is fucking wrong, Dani.”

“Cry me a fucking river, Jason,” Dani spits out.

“Nope. Not this time. Get the fuck out of my house.”

Dani doesn’t put up a fight. She gets dressed, packs a bag of her things, and tells Jason she’ll be back for the rest later. She does glance at him one last time before she walks out though.

“The thing is...I needed my boyfriend, not a hero.”

The door slams shut, leaving Jason frozen in place. The silence is deadly; he can feel his thoughts racing and screaming loud in his head.

He needs Y/N.

Jason needs his best friend.

Tears force themselves out his eyes as he calls Y/N.

“Hello?”

Jason pauses, and he wonders if he’s making a mistake. Maybe she won’t come. He hasn’t been a particularly good friend to her lately. “Y/N, I need you. I...need you, please...”

“I’m on my way.”

Jason knew he was in deep shit after he finished off a new bottle of whiskey before Y/N came over. He couldn’t help himself. After he hanged up with her, he ripped off his costume and stripped down to nothing but his white Calvin Klein boxer briefs. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, even after lowering the thermostat to 62 degrees.

Perhaps the end of his real first serious relationship was suffocating him mentally and physically. He’s never lived with a girlfriend before either.

He was about to open a new bottle of whiskey just as the front door opens and closes.

“Jason?” Y/N calls out.

Jason whips around fast and grins. He’s buzzed, but not quite drunk yet. “Y/N!”

Y/N is stunned to see Jason in nothing but his underwear as he runs to her and embraces her hard. She stumbles back a bit, but he captures her easily to steady her and holds her tightly to his chest.

“You’re soaked...and cold,”

“It’s raining outside like it always does,” Y/N giggles and gently pushes Jason back a bit. “Let me take off my coat and get warmed up.”

Jason allows her, watches intently when Y/N takes off her raincoat. She’s wearing her black and red plaid pajama pants and a Metallica t-shirt he’s positive she stole from him. She kicks off her booties and displays her light blue fuzzy socks he adores.

Jason knew Y/N had to have been in bed when he called, but she came anyway. She always comes to him because she’s always there for him.

She’s always been here for me, hasn’t she? Why haven’t I seen it before? He thinks to himself.

Y/N smiles softly and reaches a hand out to Jason. He takes it, almost hypnotized by how he does anything she wants. She leads them to the couch, but not before she sees the pizza box and DVD on the entryway table. She raises an eyebrow at him.

“That...was my failed attempt at romance tonight,” Jason admits sheepishly.

Y/N shakes her head, but still smiles. “It doesn’t have to go to waste. We can eat the pizza and watch the movie, right? I mean...only if you want to, of course,” she says.

“Only with you, sweetheart.”

Y/N releases his hand and quickly grabs the pizza and movie. She meets him in the living room where Jason’s already sitting down. She smiles and puts the DVD on. But before she sits beside him, she heads over to the kitchen. She returns with two cans of soda and napkins.

Jason looks down when her soft, small hand reaches out to him...only to take away the unopened bottle of whiskey. “No more tonight...please.”

He can’t help but nod his head. She’s right, he’s had enough to drink. He can’t numb his feelings and thoughts anymore. That’s why when Jason starts crying, he doesn’t feel embarrassment or anything. Y/N’s seen him at his best and worst; and she’s still here no matter what.

The movie is playing, but they’re not watching it. Jason can’t even hear it. When he looks up to see why, he can only see Y/N looking at him.

She doesn’t ask why he’s crying. Jason knows Y/N’s caring nature is all about comfort and understanding. That’s why he doesn’t move or say anything when she scoots closer to hug him. The second she wraps her arms around his neck, he cries freely. He embraces her; allows her scent of cinnamon and sandalwood calm him down.

Jesus Christ...has she always smelled so good? Fuck...this perfume is making me hard right now. Jason shamelessly thinks to himself.

“It’s okay, Jay. What you’re feeling right now, it’s not forever. You won’t feel like this again anytime soon. I promise,” Y/N whispers. She runs her hand through his hair. “I’ll always be here for you. Always and forever.”

Jason opens his eyes and pulls back to see Y/N. Clarity finally hits him. His heart beats faster when he looks down to her soft lips and back up to those puppy dog eyes, that he loves so much. She looks back at him with the same intensity, he wonders if she recognizes what he’s just realized.

“You’ve always been mine, haven’t you?” Jason whispers.

Y/N smiles as she runs both her hands up and down Jason’s chest. “It took you long enough to see it,” she answers.

“I’m a fucking idiot,” he says, nodding his head in agreement.

“No, no you just made a mistake and now you’re going to give me what we both deserve,” Y/N says softly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Jason finally kisses Y/N. He wanted to slam his lips against hers, but he knew she deserved better than that. He takes his time and allows their mouths to move together, so they can really feel each other. But the second Y/N opens her mouth for more, Jason can’t say no and deny her that.

He tastes her as thoroughly as he can, but he wants more. He pulls away and asks her with his eyes. When she nods her head, he gently pushes her back onto the couch and climbs on top of her so their pelvis’ touch appropriately.

“I would take you to my bed, but I have to burn it because it’s seriously fucked up, doll,” Jason says in between his kisses. “Another man’s cum is stained all over my blankets...in case that’s not clear enough, Dani cheated on me.”

Y/N caresses Jason’s cheek and gently smiles at him. He was expecting her to cuss about Dani or get uncomfortable about talking about what happened, but Y/N did neither of those things. Her eyes said it all.

“It’s okay,” Y/N whispers. She leans up a bit to kiss him. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Jason closes his eyes and sighs. Y/N was here, and she’s not going anywhere. And that’s all his heart needs to move forward.

When he opens his eyes, Y/N sits up a bit to take off her t-shirt. She’s braless. Jason’s sharp intake of breath is evident when he can’t take his emerald, green eyes off her perfect tits. Jason helps her remove her pajama pants, along with her panties and socks.

His cock is painfully hard in his underwear. Seeing Y/N’s naked body underneath his is giving him all sorts of naughty ideas, but he knows what he really needs right now.

Y/N knows, too. She bites her bottom lip and pushes down Jason’s underwear, revealing his hard cock. She briefly takes in how thick his dick is and how delicious the precum is smeared across the head.

“I promise I’ll take my time learning what you taste like and what makes you cum. I just...I just need to feel...” Jason struggles out, but when Y/N touches his chest, he inhales deeply. “I need to feel warm. I need to feel...you.”

Y/N nods and looks deep into Jason’s eyes. “Feel me, Jay. I want you to feel all of me.”

Jason bravely pushes his cock inside Y/N’s pussy. He closes his eyes and breathes hard. She was everything he was hoping for. He loved the way her walls were tight, warm, and wet. He lowers his forehead to hers and he bathes in the way she moans. Jason pulls back a bit to look down at her; he smiles at the way she bites her bottom lip and throws her head back.

“Fuck...Jay move, please,” Y/N moans.

He’s more than thrilled to do her request, especially when she moans out his nickname only she can call him.

Jason moves his hips. His cock shifts in and out of her steadily before he thrusts deeper. Y/N wraps her arms around him and meets his thrusts so his cock can hit her g-spot. Jason was proud at that moment for having a cock shaped well enough to hit Y/N’s g-spot; he desperately wants to make her cum so hard.

“Oh, fuck...you feel so good, princess. Do you like taking my cock like this?” Jason moans out.

Y/N moans and wraps her legs around Jason’s waist. “Y-yes! Your cock is so big. Please go harder. I-I want to cum!” Y/N cries out.

“Fuck yeah, I’ll fuck you harder! I want you to cum with me! I want to feel you cum on this big cock!” he’s panting, he’s giving her everything she wants.

Jason fucks her harder, slams his hips against Y/N’s body. He’s already on the verge of cumming, but he can’t help it. Y/N’s moans are affecting him. Her tight heat is hitting him harder than ever. He knows this’ll be over any second, but he promised her he’ll take his time when they do it again...maybe for round two tonight.

He lowers a hand to rub her engorged clit as he thrusts faster. He’s so close. He’s so close to a hot release and he wants her to cum with him.

“Cum with me, princess. I want to feel you cum so hard,” Jason pants out, his thrusts are crazy and uneven.

Y/N raises her hips so Jason thrusts five times to make her orgasm. She cries out his name. She cums hard and all over his cock. Her walls tighten around him, and she’s sure her body goes into shock. When Y/N looks up with lustful, hazy eyes, she sees Jason’s face contorted in amazement at her.

More than satisfied, Y/N pinches her own nipples and bites her bottom lip. She wants Jason to cum now.

“Cum in me, Jay. Fill me up with your hot, delicious cum. Mmm...I can’t wait to taste it. I want to suck your big, hard cock next,” Y/N says seductively.

Jason’s face adorably scrunches up as his release hits him. He thrusts a few more times, cumming hard like she did, spurting every drop of his cum inside her. His moans drive her wild. He breathes heavily and continues to ride out his orgasm until he has nothing left to spill inside.

He pulls out and drops beside her, but quickly holds her so she doesn’t fall off the couch.

Because just imagine getting a concussion after having an orgasm.

Y/N hums in the afterglow of sex with Jason. She rests her head on his chest as he rubs her back. He kisses her forehead softly. He feels more than okay now but knows there will be plenty to talk about after the sexy haze fades.

Thoughts of living in the countryside flash into his mind. Watching that sunrise, with Y/N’s in his arms, and she’s carrying their child in her womb.

That perfect life appears real now. His dream doesn’t seem impossible to achieve. With Y/N there, everything seems possible.

“Are you okay now?” Y/N asks softly.

Jason grins and looks down at her. He doesn’t quite know what to say but figures he should try.

“With you in my arms, I’m fucking perfect, princess.”

#dc comics #batman #red hood #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x reader smut #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x y/n smut

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mscoyditch · 2 years ago

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"Paul Poiret, the self proclaimed, King of Fashion.

The story of Paul Poiret is one of a working class son, who used his natural charisma to gain entry into some of the most exclusive ateliers in Paris and eventually became one of the twentieth century’s great couturiers. But it’s also a cautionary tale about a man who refused to adapt to changing times and styles after WWII due to his arrogance and finally ended penniless and bitter, his once-great label long forgotten.

Paul Poiret is born 20 April, 1879 as the son of a cloth merchant, in Paris’s working-class quartier of Les Halles. As a young boy he is sent to apprentice with an umbrella manufacturer, where he gathers “the scraps of silk left over after the umbrella patterns had been cut,” and uses them “to dress a little wooden doll that his sister . . . had given him.”

Still a teenager, Poiret takes his sketches to Madeleine Chéruit, a prominent dressmaker, who purchases a dozen from him. He continues to sell his drawings to major Parisian couture houses, till he is hired by Jacques Doucet, one of the capital’s most prominent couturiers. Poiret is only nineteen years old at the time. Beginning as a junior assistant, he is soon promoted to head of the tailoring department. His debut design for Doucet, a red wool cloak with a reverse gray crepe-de-chine lining, receives 400 orders from customers.

After two years of mandatory military service (1914-1918), he returns to Paris and is hired by House of Worth, once founded by Charles Worth, but now taken over by his sons. Instead of working on the luxurious eveningwear the House is famous for, Poiret is put in charge of the less glamorous and more practical items. Gaston Worth, the business manager, referred to Poiret’s division as the “Department of Fried Potatoes.” His ideas and designs are not appreciated by the clients. One of his “fried potatoes,” a cloak made from black wool and cut along straight lines like the kimono, proved too simple for one of Worth’s royal clients, the Russian princess Bariatinsky, who on seeing it cried, “What horror; with us, when there are low fellows who run after our sledges and annoy us, we have their heads cut off, and we put them in sacks just like that.”

At twenty-four (Poiret has a tireless self-confidence, despite his experiences at the House of Worth) he breaks out on his own and after borrowing funds from his mother, opens his own shop on Rue Auber. Its flashy window displays attract attention and he makes his name with the controversial kimono coat. Looking to both antique and regional dress types, most notably to the Greek chiton, the Japanese kimono, and the North African and Middle Eastern caftan, Poiret advocated fashions cut along straight lines and constructed of rectangles.

In 1905 Poiret marries childhood friend Denise, with whom he’ll go on to have five children. “She was extremely simple,” he later will say, “and all those who have admired her since I made her my wife would certainly not have chosen her in the state in which I found her.” Denise Poiret will eventually become his artistic director as well as muse, wearing his designs as they travel around Europe together and winning a reputation as a trendsetter. (A fact her husband will later take credit for: “I had a designer’s eye, and I saw her hidden graces.”)

Years later, Denise Poiret is described as:

“the woman who had inspired the feminine silhouette of this century”

Poiret’s process of design through draping is the source of fashion’s modern forms. It introduced clothing that hung from the shoulders and facilitated a multiplicity of possibilities. Poiret exploited its fullest potential by launching, in quick succession, a series of designs that were startling in their simplicity and originality. From 1906 to 1911, he presented garments that promoted a high-waisted Directoire Revival silhouette. Different versions appeared in two limited-edition albums, Paul Iribe’s Les robes de Paul Poiret (1908) and Georges Lepape’s Les choses de Paul Poiret (1911).

Every decade has its fortune-teller, a designer who, above all others, is able to divine and define the desires of women. In the 1910s, this oracle of fashion was Paul Poiret, known in America as “The King of Fashion.” In Paris, he was simply Le Magnifique, after Süleyman the Magnificent, a suitable nickname for a couturier who, alongside the great influence of Sergei Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes, employed the language of orientalism to develop the romantic and theatrical possibilities of clothing. Like his artistic confrere Léon Bakst, Poiret’s exoticized tendencies were expressed through his use of vivid color coordinations and mysterious silhouettes such as his iconic “lampshade” tunic, “Kymono” coat and his “harem” trousers, or pantaloons. However, these orientalist fantasies (or, rather, fantasies of the Orient) have served to decline from Poiret’s more enduring innovations, namely his technical and marketing achievements. Poiret effectively established the canon of modern dress and developed the blueprint of the modern fashion industry. Such was his vision that Poiret not only changed the course of costume history but also steered it in the direction of modern design history..

Anecdote: Lady Asquith, wife of British Prime Minister H. H. Asquith, invites Poiret to show gowns at 10 Downing Street. Stories of half-nude models running amok at the prime minister’s residence cause a furor in the press and the resulting scandal almost forces Asquith to resign...

Paul Poiret on Tour with his Collections: Historians consider Poiret the first haute couturier to have taken his collections on tour in Europe and America. He visited Berlin in 1910, and the next year went on a six-week trek (in a chauffeured car) to Moscow, St. Petersburg, Warsaw, Vienna, Frankfurt, Berlin, and Bucharest—where he was arrested for not having a proper permit. Poiret’s arrival in New York in 1913 was prefaced by an open letter from John Cardinal Farley warning against the temptations offered by “the demon fashion.”

https://agnautacouture.com/2014/04/06/paul-poiret-le-magnifique-part-2/

https://agnautacouture.com/2014/05/11/paul-poiret-pictures-of-garments-accessoires-part-3/".

> Philip Pradere > Vintage Fashion uncovered

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vampiredecay · 3 years ago

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I Can Hear Your Heart Beat (Part 1)

A/N: heyo! this is the first part of a two parter, in celebration of hitting a little over 50 followers! this was a prompt/suggestion from @n3on-lights , thank you again so much!! originally this was going to be one part, but i realized i was at 3k words and only half way done with the story, lol. so part two will be out soon! in the mean time, hope you enjoy this first half!

rating: teen

wordcount: 3,139

warnings/notes: swearing, descriptions of being in pain, half vamp!michael, human!lost boys, the boys turn back to human, implied minor character death, goodbye max, poly!lost boys, lost boys x michael

summary: after convincing sam that he wasn't going to kill him, michael raced to the hotel to seek answers about what he was becoming. little does he know, sam has his own plans up his sleeve, leaving the boys human for the first time in years, and michael still stuck as half vampire.

“Sammy, please!” Michael cried out, hanging onto the phone cord for dear life, hoping to whatever god out there was merciful enough to put some sense into his little brother's head. Sam just stared, debating if he should really let his brother in or not. He was floating outside his bedroom window like a freak, and he tried to eat him! But when Sam looked at him, at his older brother, he could see that he looked terrified. He's hardly ever seen Michael genuinely afraid, and he looks so human, despite the obvious circumstances. So, Sam takes a deep breath and walks over to the window, unlocking it and opening it for Michael to crawl through.

Michael counts his blessings as he drops onto the floor, takes in huge amounts of air that he doesn't really need. Sam sinks down to the floor next to him, and Michael grabs hold of him, wrapping his arms around him like he'll start flying away again. Sam tries not to squirm too much.

"What's goin on, Mike?" Sam whispers, his voice refusing to go any higher. Michael is shaking slightly, breathing heavily, so Sam tries again, "What did those bikers do to you?"

That gets a reaction out of him, a low growling sound from deep in his throat. Michael can hear Sam's heartbeat quicken and he has to swallow thickly. "I don't know, Sam. But I'll sort it out, okay?"

"But what about mom-" Sam tries, but Michael cuts him off, frantic, "Just- just don't tell her anything, okay? You gotta trust me, Sammy."

Sam wants to argue, this was way bigger than getting a bad grade on a test, or getting into a fight in school. His gut reaction was to tell his mom, because he knew she would try and make it okay again. But he also trusted his brother. Plus, he had more experience with these guys, so Sam nodded, deciding Michael had it covered. “Okay. I trust you.”

Michael let out a sigh of relief, but it was short lived once they heard their moms car screeching to a halt outside of the house. The boys frantically got up, looking at each other with wide eyes. “I gotta go, Sam. Distract mom for me, yeah?” There wasn’t any time to debate, so Sam just nodded and sprinted down the stairs. He didn't know how Michael was going to sneak out, but at this rate, he didn’t want to know.

When he got down stairs, the blond teen could hear his mom calling his name, and when the front door opened, he could see his mom looking worried like crazy. “Oh, Sam!” she said once she saw him, she sounded exhausted. “You scared me half to death!”

Sam felt guilt start to stir in his chest, he didn’t mean to make his mom worry so much. And the fact that he had to lie now didn’t help matters at all. “I’m okay, mom. I was reading a horror comic and I thought I saw someone outside my window- but I just got carried away, that's all.”

Lucy stared at her son, trying to understand the excuse he was feeding her. She squinted her eyes at him. “You got carried away by a comic book?”

Sam tried not to flinch, he knew it sounded like bullshit, but it was the best he could come up with on the fly. “It was a scary comic mom. I’m sorry.”

The look on his mom's face made it clear she was frustrated. She couldn’t believe how her boys were acting, like she didn’t raise them better. “You know, I’ve just about had it with the both of you, you know that?” Sam nodded his head and looked down at his feet, and she almost forgave him then. But then her eyes landed on the kitchen, and her frustration flared up all over again. “What is this mess?”

Sam looked over to where his mom was talking about, and saw the spilt milk and open fridge door. God damnit, Mike. He tried telling her that it wasn’t his fault, but she wasn’t listening, not that he could blame her at this point. When he was done cleaning up the floor, Sam raced up to his room, pausing to see that Michael had long gone. Wasting no more time, he launched himself on his bed and called the Frog brothers again.

It took a few rings, but eventually, Edgar had answered the call. “What?” he asked, short and coarse. Sam rushed to answer, “Guys, it's me again.”

Edgar sighed from over the phone, “What, Sam? We told you to stake your brother, what more do you want?”

“Look guys, Michael and I talked, he’s going to try and talk to the vamps that got him, but there has to be something more that we can do!”

There was some vague conversation that Sam couldn’t hear, then Alan was speaking, “Do you know if he made his first kill? Can he still walk in sunlight?”

“No, he hasn’t killed anyone, and yes, he can still walk in sunlight.” Sam said, “That means he’s only half shit sucker, right?”

Alan grumbled into the phone, like he didn’t want to be entertaining this idea at all. “Yes, so technically, if you kill the head vampire, all half vampires would return to being human.” Sam was ready to celebrate, he was about to say something like “hell yeah!”, but then Alan asked something that made him cut the celebration short. “Does your brother know who the head vampire is?”

“Uh,” Sam mumbled, "No, I don't think so."

"We can't screw around anymore, Sam." Edgar said, taking the phone back. "Kill your brother, or we'll be forced to do it for you "

"Wait, no!" Sam shouted, desperate to think of something that would help. "We just gotta find the head vampire, right? We-" as he was talking, Sam suddenly thought of something. "Actually, I might know who the head vampire is."

"What?" Edgar asked, voice high and tight. "Well, this all started when my mom started working at Max's video store."

He could hear both the Frogs groaning. "Wait guys, hear me out! He doesn't come in till after dark, he has a dog that's always growling at people, and I read that vampires have hell hounds as companions!"

"Well duh, but-" Edgar started, but Sam cut him off. "If my mom is dating the head vampire, you guys can nail him and save Santa Carla!"

The Frogs were silent for a few seconds, so Sam tacked on "Truth, justice, and the American way triumphs, thanks to you two."

That seemed to convince them, because after a few more seconds, Edgar said "Alright, we'll check Max out. Tonight. Get ready, we'll come get you in ten minutes."

Sam froze, mouth open wide against the phone. "Tonight? Can't we wait until tomorrow?"

"This was your idea, Sam." Alan said, more rustling could be heard from the background. "If Max is clean, we're coming for your brother and his friends tomorrow. Be ready." Before Sam could say anything more, they hung up the phone.

When Michael got to the hotel, it was dark and quiet. There weren't as many candles lit, making shadows dance and flicker against the walls, and the only sounds Michael could hear were drops of water bouncing around the cave.

"David?" Michael called out, walking further into the hotel. The place was eerie now, without the boys there, dancing and laughing and joking around. "David? Anyone here?"

Where the hell were they? Michael was getting agitated, a hot irritation settling under his skin as he looked around the cave. If they weren't even here, he didn't know what he was going to do. Michael needed answers, he needed to know what the hell was happening to him.

"I'm not fucking around." The brunette said to the air. "I want answers, and I want them now!"

Silence. Michael snarled at nothing and turned around to stomp towards the exit, but then he heard an all too familiar voice echoing out the cave.

"I'm right here, Michael."

David was standing at the entrance, Dwayne, Paul and Marko lurking behind him. The platinum blond gave a wide smirk as he walked down into the cave, eyeing the angry halfling. “What’s going on?”

“What the hell did you do to me?” Michael demanded, walking right up to David and getting into his face. David cocked an eyebrow as the rest of the boys surrounded him, whispering and laughing. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Cut the bullshit! I’m hungry, I’m in pain, I was floating on the goddamn ceiling-”

“Woah,” Paul interrupted, sounding amazed, “You got there already? It took me a while-” Marko kicked Paul’s leg before he could continue, making the blond rocker yelp loudly. David cleared his throat and suddenly looked deadly serious. “You drank from the bottle, Michael. You’re one of us now.”

“But what the hell does that mean?” Michael was starting to feel drained, he was so tired of going around in circles, and it feels like he hasn’t gotten proper sleep in weeks. “What the fuck was in that bottle that makes me float off the ground and makes me want to eat my brother?”

The boys all looked at each other like they were having a silent conversation.

“Take it easy, man.” Dwayne said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. He was smiling like nothing was off or weird about this situation at all. “You’ll get the hang of it. Just go with the flow.”

Michael was about to ask what he’d “get the hang of”, but Marko spoke before he could. “It’s getting late, you should probably go home.” The way he spoke and the look he gave had an air of finality, like fighting would get him nowhere. This had been a huge waste of time.

“Fine.” Michael spit, shoving past David roughly as he walked towards the entrance. He would have to find answers some other way. As much as he hated it, he might have to resort to Sam’s weird friends. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but they seemed to be the only other ones who knew anything about-

“Wait!” Paul called out, making Michael stop in his tracks. He turned around and looked at Paul, who had a weird look on his face. His eyebrows were scrunched down and he held a hand to his middle. “Do you guys feel that?”

The others looked confused, but soon their faces contorted into concern and agitation. Marko’s hand shot to Paul's arm, gripping like his life depended on it, while Dwayne and David held onto each other, as if keeping each other from falling. Marko was panting, “What the fu-”

Suddenly, Markos words were cut off by a loud screeching sound. Michael nearly jumped out of his skin as the boys started shouting and screaming, falling to the ground hard. The halfling stared at them in shock.

“What happened?! What's wrong?!” Michael asked frantically, panicked, running back over and crouching over the pile of writhing bodies. No one could answer, the only sounds coming from them were grunts and whimpers of pain. Michael could only stand and watch, horrified that he had no idea what was going on.

After what felt like an eternity, the screaming stopped. The boys stopped convulsing on the ground, completely still and silent, like they passed out. The silence was deafening now. Michael slowly walked over to David, breathing heavily, anxious out of his mind. He placed a gentle hand to his cheek, finding him surprisingly warm. He checked his pulse, then, and found a shallow, but steady heart beat. Michael then checked the other boys and found the same warmth and beat. The teen sighed in relief, they were all alive, at least. They seemed to be out cold, though, and Michael knew that he needed to move them from the cold hard ground.

One by one, he moved each of the boys to a chair or couch, trying to make them as comfortable as possible. Michael looked around, but didn’t find any stashed food or water, so he decided to hurry out and get them something to eat when they woke up. He didn’t know if they would be hungry or not, but it would be worth the try.

Michael sped on his bike to the nearest convenience store and grabbed a basket, stuffing it with random chips and snacks. He also grabbed a few bottles of water and threw it in the basket. When he went up to the counter to pay, the cashier gave him an odd look, but he just smiled awkwardly. The total almost drained his wallet, which hurt, but there were more important things to worry about right now.

The trip back to the hotel was a bit of a pain in the ass, but he managed to get there in one piece. He parked his bike and hauled the food and water down into the cave, and when he was in the main lobby, he was startled to see that the boys were awake. They were all huddled around each other, holding and touching in whatever way they could. All of them wore similar shocked, concerned and disturbed expressions on their faces. It almost felt wrong to intrude on them, but he accidentally made a noise and alerted the boys to his presence.

“Michael?” David called out, but his voice was smaller, less sure. Michael immediately walked over to them, setting the bag down as he squatted next to the couch they were all piled in.

“Hey, are you guys okay? What the hell happened?” As he talked, Michael pulled out bottles of water and handed them out to each of the boys. They snatched the bottles out of his hands and opened them like they haven’t drank water in years, guzzling down the liquid and getting it all over themselves in the process.

“Woah, guys, slow down-” But they didn’t listen, not even if they started choking and coughing. When the waters were drained, Paul crawled over everyone to grab the bag full of snacks and dig through it.

“Michael.” David said, looking intensely at his face, studying every inch he could look at. He grabbed at Michaels arm and pulled him closer. “Do you feel any different? Did you change back?”

The brunette stared at him, bewildered. “Change? No, I feel the same as before.”

David's eyes widened, and Paul stopped tearing into a bag of potato chips, mouth gaping. “Wait, he’s still half? How’s that possible?”

Marko and Dwayne gave each other a disbelieving look, and Michael scrunched up his face in confusion. “Half what? What are you guys talking about?”

No one said anything for a long moment. David sighed and ran his hands through his spiked hair. “I guess we have no choice but to tell you.”

Michael watched as David sat up straighter, a pained look on his face, like his whole body ached. He looked uncomfortable as he said, “We were vampires, Michael. And you’re one, too. Half, anyway. You still haven’t made your first kill.”

So many thoughts and questions flooded Michaels mind at that moment. His first reaction was to call David crazy, but he remembered what it felt like to fly out his bedroom window, how painfully hungry he was and how loud he could hear Sam's heartbeat, even from the bathroom. His reflection in the mirror was fading and weak. Michael couldn’t fuckin believe this.

Michael stood up so fast he felt lightheaded. “So- you’re telling me,” He started, pacing in front of the couch. The rest of the boys were no longer paying attention, too busy devouring the snacks from the bag, but David was watching him walk back and forth. “That I’m a half vampire. An actual, honest to god vampire. That’s just fuckin great!” Michael shouted, and David winced at the sound.

“Wait.” The halfling stopped pacing and turned back to the platinum blond. “What do you mean you were a vampire?”

David blew air through his nose like an angry bull. He shifted around in his seat before answering, “We have a master. Or, I guess we did. If the vampire that turned you dies, you turn back into a human.”

“Which must be why Michael hasn’t turned back.” Dwayne chimed in suddenly, still chewing loudly on chips. Michael was lost at this point, which must have been clear on his face, cause Marko pitched in with, “You drank David’s blood from the bottle, not Max’s. David didn’t die, just turned back into a human. So, therefore, you can’t go back to being human.”

Michael didn’t know which fact he hated more, that his mom's dorky (now ex, he supposed) boyfriend was a head vampire, or that he drank actual blood. A lot of it, if he remembered properly. He groaned loudly and sank to the floor, head in his hands. “So you’re saying I'm stuck like this?”

“Well…” Paul started, but didn’t get to finish. David interrupted, irritation clear in his voice. “We don’t know. We don’t know jack shit.”

The tension was thick in the air. Michael had no idea what they were going to do now. Living in a sunken hotel may have been okay when they were vampires, but it’s not gonna fly being human. He knew he couldn’t just leave them here. Michael sighed and stood back up, walking over to the entrance. It was still dark out, but he figured it was going to be morning soon. He walked back down and stood in front of the boys.

“Look, we’ll figure out how to change me back,” David huffed at that, looking less than amused. Michael rolled his eyes. “But until then, you guys are basically homeless. Why don’t you come stay with me for a few days?”

The boys froze. They looked at each other, and they looked at Michael, wondering if this was some kind of joke. They had lived in that cave so long it felt like forever, they couldn’t imagine leaving what they considered their home.

“What about your mom? And your brother?” David asked, knowing that it couldn’t be that easy, right? Surely Michaels family would bitch about them being there. But Michael didn’t look bothered. “Sam can be an ass, but he’ll deal. And my mom wouldn’t kick you guys out.”

David was still hesitant. He still didn’t want to believe he was human again, after all these years. It hurts to even think about it. He felt a nudge against his shoulder, and when he looked over, he saw Marko, shrugging his shoulders.

“What do we have left to lose?”

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orthodoxydaily · 1 year ago

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SAINTS&READING : Friday, August 4, 2023

august 4_July 22

THE HOLY MYRH-BEARER EQUAL-UNTO-THE-APOSTLES MARY MAGDALENE ( 1st c.)

Mary Magdalene was one of the myrrh-bearing women and “equal to the apostles”. She was born in the town of Magdala along the shore of Lake Gennesaret and was from the tribe of Issachar. She was tormented by seven evil spirits from which the Lord Jesus freed her and made her whole. She was a faithful follower and servant of the Lord during His earthly life. Mary Magdalene stood beneath the Cross on Golgotha and grieved bitterly and mourned with the All-Holy Birth-giver of God. After the death of the Lord she visited His sepulchre three times. When the Lord resurrected she saw Him on two occasions: once alone and the other time with the other myrrh-bearing women.

[While it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the sepulchre (tomb) carrying the ointments. (For this reason the Church calls her “Myrrh-bearer”.) Coming close she saw that the large stone that had been placed at the entrance of the tomb had been rolled away. She thought that perhaps someone had already come and taken the Body to another place. Hurrying back to Jerusalem she told the apostles Peter and John: “They have taken away the Lord out of the sepulchre, ‘and we know not where they have laid Him.” Together with them she went again to the tomb and stood there weeping. When they had left she stooped down and looked into the sepulchre. There she saw two angels who asked why she was crying. She told them and then, turning around, she saw Jesus, but in her grief she did not recognize Him, and thinking -He was the gardener, e reason for her weeping. It was only then He said her name: “Mary!” that she recognized Him as her beloved Lord. Not believing her own ears, she cried out with joy, [Rabboni] “Master! Then quickly following his His instructions, she ran quickly to announce the good news to the disciples: “Christ is risen!” (Because she was the other time with the other myrrh-bearing women.

She traveled to Rome and appeared before Tiberias Caesar and presenting him with a red colored egg, greeted him with the words: “Christ is Risen!” At the same time, she accused Pilate before Caesar for his unjust condemnation of the Lord Jesus. Caesar accepted her accusation and transferred Pilate from Jerusalem to Gaul where, this unjust judge, in disfavor with the emperor, died of a dread disease. After that, Mary Magdalene returned from Rome [and having passed through all of Italy and France, along with Egypt, Phoenicia, Syria and Pamphylia preaching Christ, she returned to Jerusalem, where she stayed for a period of time with the Theotokos. She returned] to Ephesus to St. John the Theologian whom she assisted in the work of preaching the Gospel. With great love toward the resurrected Lord, and with great zeal, she proclaimed the Holy Gospel to the world as a true apostle of Christ. She died peacefully in Ephesus and, according to tradition, was buried in the same cave in which seven youths were miraculously put to sleep for hundreds of years and, after that, were brought to life and then died (August 4). The relics of St. Mary Magdalene were later transferred to Constantinople. There is a Russian Orthodox convent dedicated to St. Mary Magdalene near the Garden of Gethsemane.

Source: Saint Sophia Orthodox Cathedral , Washington DC

SAINT WANDREGISILUS (Gaul_668)

St.Wandregisel, Church of St. Vincent-de-Paul, Clichy

The son of Walchisus, a kinsman of Pepin of Landen,[2] he was born around 605, near Verdun in the region then known as Austrasia. He was educated at the Frankish court in Metz.

Wandregisel was part of a group of young courtiers including Audoin and Didier of Cahors who served Dagobert I, but in 629 he retired from court to become a monk at Montfaucon under the guidance of Saint Balderic. Wandregisel had received the tonsure without the permission normally required for a courtier, and was summoned to court to explain this apparent oversight. Dagobert then approved his request.[3]

Wandregisel soon withdrew to live as a hermit in complete solitude at Saint-Ursanne in the Jura.[2] Wandregisel adhered to the principles of Columbanus and his disciple Saint Ursicinus, who had founded several monasteries in the region. In 635, Wandregisel spent some time at the monastery of Saint Columban at Bobbio in northern Italy.[1] From there, he wished to travel to Ireland, but by 642 got only as far as the abbey of Romainmôtier,[5] which lay on the banks of the river Isère in the Tarentaise Valley.

Wandregisel was ordained, and then founded Fontenelle Abbey in Normandy,[1] on land obtained from Erchinoald through the influence of his friend Archbishop Audoin of Rouen. Fontenelle followed the rule of Saint Columbanus, and the abbey became an important center of learning. Near the abbey's ruins lies the village of Saint-Wandrille-Rançon.

Wandregisel died on July 22, 668

During the Viking invasions, Wandregisel's relics were dispersed to various locations and shared between various churches, including the abbey of Saint-Pierre-au-Mont-Blandin in Ghent (now in Belgium). Wandregisel's cult was celebrated in England prior to the Norman Conquest of 1066.[1]

In the 19th century one of his relics remained: his skull was found in Liège. It was brought back to the Abbey, when the new church was dedicated in 1967. It can be seen today in a modern reliquary.

1 CORINTHIANS 9:2-12

2 If I am not an apostle to others, yet doubtless I am to you. For you are the seal of my apostleship in the Lord.3 My defense to those who examine me is this: 4 Do we have no right to eat and drink? 5 Do we have no right to take along a believing wife, as do the other apostles, the brothers of the Lord, and Cephas? 6 Or is it only Barnabas and I who have no right to refrain from working? 7 Who ever goes to war at his own expense? Who plants a vineyard and does not eat of its fruit? Or who tends a flock and does not drink of the milk of the flock? 8 Do I say these things as a mere man? Or does the law not say the same also? 9 For it is written in the law of Moses, "You shall not muzzle an ox while it treads out the grain." Is it oxen God is concerned about? 10 Or does He say it altogether for our sakes? For our sakes, no doubt, this is written, that he who plows should plow in hope, and he who threshes in hope should be partaker of his hope.11If We have sown spiritual things for you, is it a great thing if we reap your material things? 12 If others are partakers of this right over you, are we not even more? Nevertheless, we have not used this right but endure all things lest we hinder the gospel of Christ.

LUKE 8:1-3

1 It came to pass, afterward, that He went through every city and village, preaching and bringing the glad tidings of the kingdom of God. And the twelve were with Him, 2 and certain women who had been healed of evil spirits and infirmities-Mary called Magdalene, out of whom had come seven demons, 3 and Joanna the wife of Chuza, Herod's steward, and Susanna, and many others who provided for Him from their substance.

#orthodoxy #orthodoxchristianity #easternorthodoxchurch #originofchristianity #spirituality #holyscriptures #bible #gospel #saints #apostles #myrrhbearer

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cultofbeatles · 5 years ago

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beginners guide to the beatles

made one of these a long time ago but i'm surprised by how short it was. so here we go again. doing it right this time lol.

pov: you told a bad joke and now the beatles are judging you.

john winston lennon. later in his life known as john winston ono lennon.

born on october 9, 1940

i believe in astrology bc how does john just happen to be a libra

when john was four he started living with his aunt mimi who acted more as his mother figure

his mother, julia, remarried and would visit him quite a bit.

it was julia who taught john how to play banjo and piano. and she bought his first guitar.

they both had a deep love for music and rock n roll

he never really thought of her as his mother but more as a cool friend i suppose

aunt mimi was more rough on him and did the disciplining

his father was never really present growing up and his uncle passed away when he was young

he thought he was a curse for the men in his family

he had five half siblings. two of them, julia and jacqueline, he was pretty close to. the other three he barely knew.

fashion icon.

hated school but loved art

very early on he was insecure with himself

teachers always shit on him and said he would go nowhere in life

he met paul at a church fete on july 6, 1957

paul taught him how to play guitar properly.

once told paul that he didnt know how paul carried on after his mother died bc he just didn't think he could do it

john’s mother died from being hit by an off duty policemen. john was seventeen at the time.

he took her death really hard and became a bit of a recluse.

first serious relationship was with cynthia (we stan her)

once cynthia cut her hair short and he didn't talk to her for two days.

hate men. kill all men.

when he asked her to dance at a party she turned him down saying that she was engaged, and so he said “well i didn't ask you to fucking marry me, did i?”

slapped her once bc he was drunk and another boy was talking to her.

only time her hit her.

read cynthia’s books about john pls. i beg.

once a psychic told him that he would be shot in the states.

founder of the beatles and also came up with the name.

instruments he could play: guitar, harmonica, rhythm guitar, banjo, keyboard, piano, saxophone, bass guitar, and a little drums.

main songwriter in the beatles along with paul.

was more open minded to change in the beatles music.

was insecure in his relationship with paul after a while bc he thought he only needed him for songwriting.

would bitch about paul all day long but the second anyone else said something about him he’d be on their ass.

had a lot of issues and needed a good hug.

suffered from eating disorders, drug addictions, depression, insecurities, and questioned his sexuality bc of the time.

was super open minded and ahead of his time in many instances.

once he was called “the fat beatle” and after that he stopped eating as much.

truly loved his first son, julian lennon, and would buy him presents all the time bc he was excited to see him play with them.

“your famous ex husband”

he enjoyed playing monopoly.

he once claimed that he saw a ufo.

he had written three books but he always wanted to write a children's book.

the last song he ever performed in front of a live audience was “i saw her standing there.” with elton john.

he was afraid of the dark.

found out later in his life that he was dyslexic.

was also legally blind without glasses.

never could catch a break huh.

said that his best lyric ever was “all you need is love” i agree.

the first time yoko and john met was not at her art exhibit but actually when she approached him about giving away songs for free.

wanted to write a musical with paul.

once a friend dared him to masturbate ten times in one day and he managed to do it nine times.

would hold circle jerks with paul and a few other friends.

just dudes being dudes.

went on a holiday with brian epstein, who was gay, and told some people afterward that they did certain sexual things. but we will never know for sure.

yoko says that john was bisexual.

once in an interview he said that he would of married a rich man or woman if he wasn't in the beatles.

hated his voice on records. would always ask for effects on his voice for final recordings.

made a film with yoko where it was just his penis going from flaccid to erect for fifteen minutes in slow motion.

only beatle not to of become a vegetarian while he was alive.

murdered on december 8, 1980.

gave his autograph earlier in the day to the man who would murder him.

died at the age of 40.

“all my loving” was played while he was at the hospital.

and its spooky bc a lot of times in interviews he would say “when i'm 40..”

and it’s sad bc he was finally becoming who he truly wanted to be.

honorable john moments that i love:

“thanks for the purpler hearts” he says while receiving the silver heart

“you are the first person from liverpool that i've ever seen” “great”

eric lennon on my mind today

this come together performance where he messed up the lyrics lol

that interview where paul was sick and john keep checking on him

john lennon speaking nothing but facts

when he said that he could see the beatles going separate ways but that they'd always come back together.

SHUT UP

“shut up while he’s talking..”

this interview breaks my heart sometimes

and this interview is great as well

sir james paul mccartney

born on june 18, 1942

if you ever have spare time just check out this man’s natal chart.

idk how he’s still alive with his chart tbh.

he has a younger brother named mike and a step sister named ruth.

his dad thought he was the ugliest baby he’d ever seen when he was born.

when he was young paul would kill frogs in a way to prepare himself for the war if he ever was drafted.

the first instrument he ever learned to play was the trumpet.

I don't even want to list every instrument this man can play but trust me when I say it’s a lot.

but for the beatles he mainly did bass, vocals, and piano. sometimes playing the guitar and the drums.

the beatles was just paul moving really, really fast.

he lost his mother when he was 14 due to surgery for breast cancer.

never really learned how to cope well with loss of a loved one tbh.

had the cutest chubby cheeks as a kid tbh

met john and was accepted into his band

sometimes they'd ditch school together and either work on music or would visit art galleries.

went to paris with john and john bought him all the banana milkshakes that he wanted.

connected over their love and admiration for music, and bc they had both lost their mothers.

had a girlfriend’s mom who he would make comb his leg hairs.

was an ass to his first girlfriend.

kill all men again.

almost had to marry his girlfriend dot bc she was pregnant, but she ended up losing the baby.

was the one who introduced george harrison to john.

practically despised pete best and stuart stutcliffe bc they were bringing the group down.

got arrested along with pete best bc they lit a condom on fire in hamburg.

still felt awful and a little guilty when stuart died suddenly.

main force behind the beatles imo.

without him we’d have not as much beatles music as we do.

was dating jane asher throughout majority of the sixties.

when they first met they talked about syrup and paul fell in love.

they broke things off after she walked in on him sleeping with another woman though.

directed magical mystery tour and it was amazing and I don't care what anyone says ok?

when john divorced cynthia he was the only one not scared of john and went against his wishes of not speaking to cynthia.

was a little controlling at times.

has a good heart though.

mal evans had to drive him home once after a beatles sessions bc he was crying so hard.

was talking about getting the band back to touring when john said he was leaving the group.

everyone kind of turned against him when the beatles were breaking up and i hate it.

he just wanted what was best for the band.

married linda and had a nice little farm.

we love that story.

linda i'm free thursday if you want to hang out pls.

started up the whole “no meat monday” thing where you don't eat monday on mondays

food meat. not the other kind of meat.

children: james mccartney, stella mccartney, heather mccartney, mary mccartney, and beatrice mccartney.

rip martha.

WINGS!!

he lost linda in 1998 due to cancer.

cried for a whole year bc of it.

still has dreams about john and says they're nice.

wrote a sad song about john called “here today.”

really loved john. like..he truly, genuinely did.

want someone to love me like paul does john.

“think of me every now and then old friend.”

honorable paul moments:

his story about george’s dad

“john? he was beautiful. very beautiful.”

humpty dumpty rap

another story about him and george.

his google search video that I watch every week

this

george harrison

born: February 24, 1943

or at least we think

bc he use to say that his birthday was february 25, but later started saying it february 24.

why can't we change our birthdays its not like we picked it

he was the youngest child.

baby of the family and of the beatles awwww

two older brothers named harry and peter. one older sister named louise.

when george’s mom was pregnant with him she’d play sitar music.

his mom was super supportive of his career choice

when he was 16 he worked as an electricians apprentice.

his dad kind of hoped he would start a family business out of it.

george said nah

would ride the bus opposite way of his house just to spend time with paul

headbutted a kid bc he didn't think they were worthy of paul’s friendship

was brought into the band bc of paul insisting to john

would follow john around like a lost puppy when he first met him

once had an eight hour erection. don't ask me how idk he said it.

was 17 when he lost his virginity and the other band members were in the room watching and cheered him when he finished

most sex craved beatle tbh

once walked into a girls dressing room and asked if they could stand there so he could masturbate

he was the first beatle to go to america

got a black eye for defending ringo once

would make john and paul take turns sharing rooms with ringo when he first joined the band so that he felt more welcomed

when ringo left during the white album and then came back george decorated the studio with flowers for him

during the beatles first recording session he told george martin that he didn't like his tie

became a vegetarian at 22

favorite candy was jelly beans and purple was his favorite color

used the phrase “grotty” in the hard days night movie, hated it, but everyone else picked up on the slang

met his first wife, pattie boyd, on the set of a hard days night

was turned down by her at first

they married in 1966

wouldn't let her do modeling stuff and was kind of an ass

a stylish couple but not the best image for a healthy relationship

got into eastern religion around 1965

during the Hamburg days he would eat chicken on stage

had an affair with ringo’s first wife maureen

got a divorce from pattie in 1977

in 1978 he married olivia who he stayed with until his death and had one son with. dhani.

was the first beatle to hit a number one single and album.

was buddies with led zeppelin

inspired their “rain song”

smashed a piece of cake on john bonham’s head and then was thrown into the pool by him

he financed and produced films. had a production company.

tom petty said that george never shut up once you started talking to him

but he was often referred to as “the quiet beatle”

formed another band called the traveling wilburys

he’d answer questions online in the 2000′s and it’s the cutest thing ever and his answers break my heart too.

“what do you miss most about john lennon?” “john lennon.”

in 1999 a schizophrenic person broke into his house and stabbed him 40 times

thank god olivia was there bc she was the only braincell in the room

had to get a part of his lung taken out

died november 29, 2001 from lung cancer

ashes were scattered into the ganges river

honorable george moments:

this interview he did with ringo

“i'm sad bc i can't play guitars with john anymore. but i did that...i know we’ll meet again some day.”

when he invented reaction videos

“the wind was blowing.” “..blowing my girl?”

“what kind of girl do you like?” “john’s wife.”

sir richard starkey aka ringo starr

born on july 7, 1940

oldest member in the group

has no siblings

naturally was left handed but his grandma thought it was bad luck so he writes right handed, and plays drums with a right handed kit

but does everything else left handed

when he was 6 he fell into a two month coma

was a very sick child

when he was 13 he was in the hosiptal for tuberculosis and formed a hospital band

grew up poor

loves and looked up to his stepfather a lot

his step father bought him his first drum kit in 1957

wasn't that great in school bc he missed so much of it from being so sick

he worked for a britain railway for a while

also served drinks on a day boat for a job

loves dancing

Rory storm and the hurricanes

got his nickname from all the rings he would wear

replaced pete best as the beatles drummer

dealt with people hating him for a bit bc they liked pete more

had to style his hair in a bowl cut to be in the band and i'm still mad at them for making him do that shit

ringo i'm so sorry

george martin didn't really like his drumming and had a session drummer come in for the first album

in 1964 he had tonsillitis, pharyngitis, and high fever all at once and had to be in the hospital for a bit.

was worried the beatles would replace him for good

he’s a cancer don't worry

was the first beatle to try weed

drummers always go first huh

married his first wife, maureen, in 1965

she kissed paul, ringo, and george.

what a champ

honeymoon was ruined by reporters

was really insecure in his relationship and needed a lot of reassurance

had a great relationship with pretty much all the beatles

but a great one with john

john felt his most relaxed when he was with ringo

was once in a movie with roger daltrey

divorced maureen in 1975

his wife now is barbara bach who he married in 1981

had alcohol problems

once gotten so drunk that he beat barbara so badly that he thought he killed her

put himself into rehab after that

barbara lowkey looks like jan from the office

children: zak, lee, and jason

zak is the drummer for the band the who

peace and love

but don't send me fan mail anymore

peace and love

ringo starr and the allstar band (starting 1981)

was the narrator for thomas the tank engine

will play at paul’s concerts sometimes now for fun

mad bc he came on stage during paul’s last concert show and it was on my birthday and I couldn't go to it

honorable ringo moments:

“do you want me to come with you?”

stupid barbara walters

talking about paul

giving us a little dance

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lukecastellandeservedbetter · 4 years ago

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12. The Mom Interlude

a/n: this is a different pace, a different sort of fic. But I think it’s important, y’know? The action will pick up next fic.

Read the others!: Masterlist

Sally was baking.

Again.

She had given all the cookies from before to Leo and Luke. Not that she minded. Paul was off at a teachers convention this weekend, which left her alone in the apartment.

The apartment itself was not very big. It had limited square footage, and had to be kept in a particular order. It didn’t take very long for the place to seem cluttered and messy. The couch made it a little difficult to navigate through the living room with the new coffee table, and she had to be careful when she was taking the laundry to the rooms because the hallway was narrow, and if she moved the wrong way with the basket in her arms, the pictures could be knocked off the wall. In the kitchen, she had mastered the art of cleaning as she went when she cooked or baked anything, as well as the skill of stacking dishes. The table usually doubled as a desk for various degrees of homework, so they had a little shelf area that was always strewn with papers. It had been a stretch when Paul moved in with Sally and Percy, and Sally had to do some real rearranging in order to accommodate Luke. Sometimes, she felt like she was going to go crazy, living with so many people in such close quarters.

With Percy and Luke gone, the apartment felt too big now.

Sally was washing dishes, a little lost in thought while she waited for the timer on the last batch of chocolate chip cookies.

She may have been wary about allowing the young man who spent nearly four years trying to kill her son to move in with them, but when she actually met Luke, she saw what Percy had meant when he had Iris-Messaged to ask her if it would be okay.

Luke just needs someone who cares about him.

Percy had given Sally the basic rundown about Luke, and his behaviour. What happened to Thalia, what happened with his mom, how long he had been at camp, his quest. From what Sally could tell, Luke had just been a kid who was angry and upset and manipulated by someone who had thousands of years to figure out how to get people to do what he wants.

It hadn’t taken very long for Luke to feel like a second son. He was respectful, quiet, and a hard worker. He insisted on paying Sally back for the clothes and monthly transit pass she had purchased for him. Sometimes, she found Percy at the table with Luke, quietly explaining something to the older demigod. On those nights, she would be brutally reminded that Luke had run away at such a young age, he didn’t understand a lot of school concepts. And Percy might not be the most diligent student, but he was patient when he explained them.

She smiled at the memory of Luke and Percy realizing that geometry could be used for swordplay and battle strategies. They must’ve sat there for an hour, a real feat for two demigods with ADHD and Dyslexia, mapping out ten different strategies together.

The timer went and Sally shut off the water, drying her hands and put on her oven mitts, pulling the cookies out of the oven when the buzzer sounded.

She shut the oven door and rushed over, just in case it was Percy, or Luke, or even Annabeth or Rachel, just, anyone with more information. Luke hadn’t given her a time frame, he merely told her soon.

She pressed the speak button. “Hello?” She said quickly, trying not to sound excited.

“Uh, hi, sorry, is this the Jackson residence?” An unfamiliar woman’s voice came through the speaker.

Sally furrowed her eyebrows. “It’s Blofis actually, may I ask who is speaking?” She said slowly, glancing over at the celestial bronze sword Luke and Percy had insisted they leave with her and Paul in case of emergencies.

“Oh, sorry, I must’ve got the wrong address from Chiron, I’m so sorry,” The woman apologized profusely.

“Chiron?” Sally repeated, an image of the kind centaur flashed through her mind. “From Long Island?” She asked, still a little uneasy.

“From Camp, yes,” The woman answered, a little more quiet. “He told me I could find my son here.”

“Son?” Sally was bewildered at the statement.

“Yes, my son, Luke. My name is May Castellan.” The woman told her.

Sally stared at the receiver for a moment. May Castellan? How had she managed to get all the way here? From what Percy had told her, Luke’s mom was nearly incoherent in Connecticut, having been driven out of her mind by the curse on the Oracle of Delphi.

“Hello, are you still there?” The woman claiming to be May Castellan spoke up again.

“Yes, yes, sorry. Let me buzz you in.” Sally was pulled out of her reeling mind and buzzed her in, putting on a pot of coffee.

It was quiet. And awkward. The two women sat at the table, coffees in hand and cookies on the table as the seconds ticked by.

“So… you’re Luke’s mom then,” Sally said, looking down at the picture May had brought as proof of a young Luke and her.

She almost didn’t recognize it as Luke, without the scar, but his eyes were the same, and his blonde hair.

It was enough proof for her.

“Yes, is he here?” She asked curiously.

“I, uh, no, he isn’t.” Sally told her. “He’s off on a quest.”

“A quest?” May repeated, leaning back in her chair.

Sally nodded. “He’s going to save my son, Percy, and bring him home.” She explained.

May was quiet for a moment. “And how long is that going to take?” She asked.

Sally sighed. “I don’t know,” She admitted. “Luke told me they would be back soon. That’s all I know.”

“When were you talking to Luke?” May asked, perking up a little bit.

“Last night,” She told her honestly. “He stopped in with another camper and-”

“He was here?” May demanded, standing up. “Then he shouldn’t be far away, right? Is there a way to contact him? Can you bring him back, just for a minute?” She asked frantically.

“May,” Sally stood up, gently taking her hand and sitting her down again. “Demigods can’t use phones, it attracts monsters. And we can’t Iris-message them, we can only accept.”

“Maybe you can’t, but I-”

“Have the sight?” Sally guessed. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that.”

May got quiet and sipped her coffee, eyeing the cookies. “Luke likes chocolate chip cookies.” She mumbled. “I always burnt them.”

Sally watched the woman worriedly. “May, I don’t mean to be rude, but the last I heard, you were under a curse from the Oracle. How did you get here?”

May sighed, like she had been expecting this question. “One day I woke up. There were sandwiches and cookies and juice boxes all over the kitchen. I… it’s murky. Time kind of just, blended together. I have a couple memories, one of Luke coming home, except he was older. He looked like his dad.” She paused. “And then his dad did show up, and he caught me up on a lot of it. He said Luke was safe. And put me in contact with Chiron.” She sighed, swirling the coffee in her mug. “Luke hates me, doesn’t he?”

“We’ll be safe, don’t worry mom.”

It echoed in Sally’s mind. She sighed and took one of the cookies off the plate. “I don’t think he does,” She told her softly. “I don’t mean to sound harsh, but if you were under the curse, I’m not sure Luke knows the real you enough to hate you.”

May took a shaky breath and looked back down at her coffee. “I thought if I took on the Oracle, it would be easier on him. I could be in his world more.”

Sally’s heart ached for the woman in front of her. “I know.” She whispered. “Why don’t you leave your number with me? When Luke comes home, I’ll have him give you a call. Or maybe we could drive out to Connecticut?” Sally offered. “He was studying for his learners permit before all of this, it might be good practice for him.”

May nodded slowly and stood, collecting her jacket. “Thank you Sally, for… everything. For this. For looking after my boy. For accepting him into your home. For giving him a chance.” She said as she wrote her number on the paper Sally had placed in front of her. “If you talk to him… can you tell him I’m sorry. And I miss him. And I love him.” She begged.

Sally nodded with a kind smile, walking May to the door. “Have a safe drive home May,” Sally told her.

May nodded and shook her hand before heading out of the apartment and down the hall.

Sally closed the door and took a seat in the chair Percy had occupied when he and Luke were reviewing the battle plans and sipped her coffee, staring at the chair across from her, eating another cookie thoughtlessly before her shoulders slumped forward.

And Sally cried for the boys whom she missed very much, and wished she could hug them one more time.

#Luke Castellan's Second Chance #luke castellan #percy jackson #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #pjo #hoo #Heroes of Olympus #May Castellan #Sally Jackson

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