#so we all know how paul refused to help bill with his daughter in the beginning but then goes with him to save her plays out

[pinazee]

Paul protec

Emma protec

Emma and paul protec

Paul no protec 😔

[inamindfarfaraway]

The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals Pitch Meeting

[Should be experienced imagining the voice and acting of Ryan George, who is linked to above.]

Producer Guy: So, you have a musical for me?

Screenwriter Guy: Yes sir, I do. It’s called The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals because the main character, Paul Matthews, doesn’t like musicals.

PD: He doesn’t?

SG: No, he can’t stand them. Watching one is his own personal hell. And that isn’t a throwaway quirk, it comes up several times and is integral to the plot.

PD: Isn’t the protagonist typically meant to be relatable to the audience?

SG: Yeah.

PD: And won’t the audience be full of people who like musicals?

SG: Yeah.

PG: Bit of a weird choice, but okay then. So other than the musical thing, what’s Paul like?

SG: Oh, not much.

PG: What?

SG: Yeah, he’s the most average, boring, white middle-class American everyman you can imagine. No desires, ambitions or hobbies; he never expresses much passion for anything except things he doesn’t like. He has an office job at a company that’s so generic, I didn’t even think of what it does. He’s not particularly nice either. Like, when his best friend Bill asks him to help him reconnect with his teenage daughter Alice, he refuses to avoid his own discomfort despite having nothing else to do. And when his other friend Charlotte right next to him is clearly upset because she’s in a miserable marriage to a neglectful, cheating husband, he doesn’t bother to comfort her.

PG: Isn’t the protagonist typically meant to be likeable and interesting?

SG: Yeah, but we’re not gonna do that I decided. So another important character is Emma Perkins, this barista Paul has a crush on. She’s the only reason he keeps going to this crappy café.

PG: And what’s her deal? Is she kind and friendly to balance out Paul being so apathetic?

SG: No, she’s also rude, but she has better reasons for it. She hates her job and has really annoying, mean coworkers her boss favours over her, who just won’t shut up about how great musical theatre is. They all love it so much that there’s a new rule that if they get tipped, they have to perform a whole song and dance routine.

PG: But working for every tip negates the point of a tip!

SG: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Like I said, it's a crappy café.

PG: I gotta say, though, you’re presenting musical fans in quite a negative light there. They are the people whose money we want.

SG: (aside) You haven’t seen anything yet. Anyway, Emma and Paul bond over not liking things and people - it’s cute. But then at the end of the day, a meteor crashes down in a big storm and lands right in the town’s theatre, which is putting on a musical. And the meteor turns out to have evil alien life inside it!

PG: Oh my God. What happens to everyone in that theatre?

SG: Well, it’s offstage, but we find out later that the alien works by taking over your body like a virus and killing you to use you as a vessel for its hive mind. So that probably happens to most of the people. Bill and Alice get out okay, but a lot of people are dead now.

PG: This escalated very quickly!

SG: Yeah, this show does that. It’s a horror comedy; it’s like a sitcom where anyone could brutally die. But here’s the thing: the alien hive mind makes the Infected sing and dance like they’re in a musical, so all the fun, catchy songs are actually it controlling people’s corpses. That’s how everyone knows the lyrics and can move in time to music nobody’s playing. You only hear the music if you’re Infected. And it spreads really fast, so this mindless musical obsession could literally destroy humanity!

PG: That’s so dark and tonally dissonant. But I have concerns about the villain essentially being a living musical, in a musical. Won’t that kinda alienate the audience? As in ‘make them not like it’, not ‘make them aliens’.

SG: No, it’ll be fun. The first song after the intro is very entertaining. There’s this really funny part with a silly, crazy homeless guy.

PG: Ah, yes. Making fun of the homeless and mentally ill is tight!

SG: Not what I… (moving on) and, and, we can cleverly parody musical tropes. For example, Paul’s boss tries to get him to sing an “I Want” song because the Hive want him to be the protagonist of their ‘musical’, but he doesn’t want anything so he’s a terrible protagonist.

PG: Oh, that was on purpose! I thought you were just a bad writer.

SG: Yeah, no, I’m setting up an arc. So the Hive take over most of the town - which is on a island and the bridge gets pulled up, so there’s no way off - including Emma’s café. But she escapes with Paul and they meet his friends from work, plus this obnoxious asshole Charlotte’s cheating with called Ted, who's the worst. But then the Infected police show up, including Charlotte’s husband Sam. She begs him to snap him out of it ‘cause she still loves him, but he pulls a gun on her.

PG: Oh no.

SG: Fortunately, Ted knocks him out.

PG: Oh, good.

SG: But he hits him too hard and his brain falls out!

PG: Wait, even putting aside how unlikely it is that his flesh and skull were broken open wide enough that his whole brain could fall out, isn’t the brain… attached? That’s a very implausible injury.

SG: I’m gonna need you to get all the way off my back about that.

PG: Well, okay then.

SG: So Charlotte has a mental breakdown and Emma suggests they go to her biology professor, Henry Hidgens. He’s an eccentric doomsday survivalist who somehow predicted this exact incredibly specific apocalyptic situation and has a huge house with top-notch security. And he's a biologist, so he might be able to study the alien infection if they bring him Sam.

PG: It’ll be hard to get there safely with the town swarming with alien zombies, especially carrying a dead man.

SG: Actually, it’ll be super easy, barely an inconvenience.

PG: Oh, really?

SG: That part just happens offstage.

PG: So they get to shelter?

SG: They do, so they start to relax for a bit. Except Charlotte, she’s dying inside and stays with her tied-up dead husband. Bill and Ted have this funny argument where Bill threatens to kick Ted’s head, which, you know, is a stupid threat.

PG: It is?

SG: Yeah, because you’d have to kick really high and most people can’t do that.

PG: I thought you would just push the person to the ground with your arms and then kick their head. Most people can do that.

SG: True.

PG: And it would be highly effective. You could kill someone that way.

SG: (getting an idea) You could, couldn’t you? (writes that down)

PG: What are you writing?

SG: Nevermind. Emma and Paul have a nice heart-to-heart where she reveals her backstory. Turns out she had a sister, Jane, who lived a great life, dream job, true love, kid, everything, while Emma left home at eighteen and travelled around being aimless and irresponsible. But then last year Jane died and that’s why Emma came back and is studying, to try to do something with her life now that Jane can’t anymore.

PG: Aw, that’s sad.

SG: Even a zany horror sitcom has its serious moments. So she and Paul bond some more, until Charlotte and Sam burst in.

PG: Wait, what?

SG: The Hive made her think he’d come back to life and manipulated her into letting him go. Then he just killed her.

PG: Dick move.

SG: Massive dick move! So now Ted gets beaten up by the possessed corpse of the woman he loves, after the last things he said to her were mean because he’s the worst. Fortunately, Hidgens kills the zombies.

PG: Oh, good.

SG: But Alice calls Bill and she’s under attack at her school!

PG: Oh no.

SG: If Bill goes to save her alone he’ll almost definitely die. But Paul volunteers to go with him.

PG: So he won’t be nice to his friends in everyday life, but he will risk his life for them?

SG: Precisely, this is really bringing out his inner hero. But when they get there, Alice is already Infected. She sings a whole song about what a terrible father Bill is and he's so guilty that he failed her that he tries to kill himself with the gun they brought. Fortunately, Paul takes the gun off him.

PG: Oh, good.

SG: But he drops it on the ground, so Alice just shoots Bill herself.

PG: Oh my God! Why did he let go of the gun? That was a very poor decision!

SG: Extremely poor, yes. Alice nearly kills Paul too, but the army rescue him. Specifically this secret special unit that I made up called PEIP that deals with supernatural stuff like magic and aliens that most people don't know about. They're ordered to kill everyone to keep the weird stuff secret, but the leader, General John MacNamara, is a good person so he doesn't do that.

PG: So he lets Paul live?

SG: He does, and he sends a helicopter to take him and Emma off the island.

PG: Paul tells him about Emma?

SG: Uh-huh. He realizes that he's in love and finally does want something: to be with her.

PG: Cool, cool, cool.

SG: Meanwhile, Hidgens and Emma are studying the Infected. Emma theorizes that if the brain of the Hive is in the meteor, they could take out all of them by destroying it.

PG: Is that true?

SG: There's no reason it couldn't be! But Hidgens changes his mind about the Hive being evil, knocks Emma out and ties her and Ted up. Then he opens his house's gates because he wants the Hive to get in.

PG: Why does he think the Hive isn't evil?

SG: Well, he's thinking that since humans are so immoral and harmful we're killing the planet and each other constantly anyway, but the Hive will bring peace and harmony. And he loves musicals.

PG: Oh, he does?

SG: Yeah, he's even written his own awful one, and he plays a song he wrote and composed to lure the Infected inside. He's willing to die and doom humanity for his twisted, irrational love of musical theatre.

PG: Really slamming your audience again. Hey, why wasn't he at the musical the theatre just put on?

SG: I don't know.

PG: Fair enough.

SG: So Paul comes back, frees Emma and Ted and they escape, but General MacNamara kills Ted because the soldiers are Infected now!

PG: And this is all onstage?

SG: Yes.

PG: Then it's gonna be hard to get past a division of fit, armed zombie soldiers who can survive not even having brains in their heads.

SG: No, it isn't. Emma shoots MacNamara in the shoulder and that makes him just give up.

PG: What about all the other soldiers?

SG: Please ignore them.

PG: Okay.

SG: So Paul and Emma get to the helicopter and think they've made it, but the pilot is Emma's mean coworker from earlier and makes them crash.

PG: Why is she Emma's coworker and not just the army pilot, if the Hive got there first?

SG: Because.

PG: That works. Are they okay after the crash?

SG: Paul is, but Emma's too hurt to walk. Paul says they should find a boat -

PG: Wait. There are boats? Or does Paul just think there might be?

SG: I have more notes on this town and it has a boating society, so there are boats.

PG: Then why haven't the Infected got in the boats and gone to mainland? Shouldn't they have done that by now?

SG:

SG: ...You're right. I didn't think about the implications. Oh my God, I didn't think about it!

PG: Whoops!

SG: Whoopsie! So anyway, Emma tells him her theory and he goes to blow up the meteor with a grenade.

PG: But then he could die, and right when he actually cares about something. That is heroic. Do he and Emma have a touching maybe-last goodbye?

SG: Kinda. They try to kiss, but she coughs up blood in his face. The Hive knows Paul is coming and lets him in order to infect him. He does his best to resist its control, but it makes him sing and dance and have an existential crisis.

PG: Oh no.

SG: But at the last possible moment, he pulls the pin, blows up the meteor and saves the day!

PG: Wow, wow, wow. Wow.

SG: So we cut to two weeks later. Everyone else in the town is dead, but Emma was saved by the army reinforcements and she's getting out of hospital on the mainland and ready to start a new life.

PG: Well, at least she survived and the Hive is defeated. That's what Paul wanted. But it's still a shame he died.

SG: That's what Emma thinks... until he walks in!

PG: (excited) What?

SG: Yeah, he's okay and he gives her this soft smile and she's the happiest we've ever seen her and they hug.

PG: That's such a sweet ending. After everything they've been through, getting to be happy together feels earned, and I really have warmed up to them both.

SG: And then Paul starts singing.

[Beat. Producer Guy's relieved expression turns to confusion, shock, sorrow and horror as he processes that information and its implications. He stares at Screenwriter Guy, betrayed.]

PG: But that means he's... (SG nods, proud of himself) and Emma's theory was wrong, and... (SG nods again) the Hive is on the mainland now, so the entire world is... (SG nods again) oh, a very depressing ending!

SG: Set to a very cheerful song! The cast even stay in-character for the bows; the Infected bow while Emma screams and cries and begs the audience for help before being dragged away. So what do you think?

PG: That ending will haunt my dreams. But as creative as the premise is and as emotional as it gets later on, I don't know if this will be that big of a hit. The tone changes so fast and jarringly, the main characters aren't that likeable at first and it all just seems pretty niche. And it spends so much time mocking its own genre and audience. I can see it becoming a cult classic, but I don’t think you’ll be able to launch a series with it or anything.

[rainbowchip2003]

“and you’re ugly, just like your mom”

for @misslivvie !

word count: 1646

november 2nd, 2019

10:25am

*third person*

it was a typical morning in casablanca plaza. all of the staff had gathered in, and were going through their opening routines. in wild side inkorporated, it was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. vince is always the last to show up, so it was just the tattoo artists for now. luna was making today’s playlist, while billy scribbled a design on some scrap paper. lennon, a nonbinary newbie, sanitized their station.

“what day is it?” billy asked lennon. 

“saturday.” they confirmed as they checked the clock. billy’s eyes drifted to the side in realization, while luna ran a hand through her multicolored mane.

“oh, shit.” she whispered.

“what?”

“we never told you this, but vince brings his daughter to work on the first saturday of each month!” lennon chuckled at the mental picture of the two hiding from a little kid.

“i’m sure it’s nothing to worry about?” the rookie giggled once more.

“imagine veruca salt but, like, maybe 5% less stable.” just then, vince came in with his daughter, liesl, ready for a new day at the tattoo parlor. liesl had her mom’s auburn waves, and her dad’s smile. she stared at her tablet, ears covered by a pair of lol surprise headphones. liesl even had a small, glittery purse shaped like a unicorn!

“morning!” vince waved before taking off his leather jacket, and helping liesl with her pink coat.

“good morning, vince!” the artists chimed in nearly perfect unison. the ginger never looked up from whatever was on her screen.

“...and liesl.” luna muttered. lennon took the opportunity to introduce themselves; they bent down to her level, and put on their friendliest voice.

“nice to meet you, leisl!” they said with a warm grin.

“...hi.” liesl greeted. unlike most children her age, she seemed unfazed by their punk appearance.

“i don’t think we’ve met; my name is lennon!” lennon put out their hand to shake, which she accepted.

“lemon?” the little girl asked.

“no, lennon, with an “n”.” they laughed it off, it was a common mistake.

“daddy, how much longer until the shops open?” liesl already started her whining kick.

“riiight about…” vince looked at the giant clock on the wall, only seconds away from opening time. “now!” at last, it finally struck 10:30, and casablanca plaza was officially open!! “here’s $20, go crazy.” vince handed her three $5 bills, and five singles. 

liesl let out a cheer as she ran out the door. whether her father was being sarcastic was a mystery; but alas, she took his word as gospel. in vince’s eyes, $20 was nothing; but to any six year old, it was winning the lottery! ironically, there was a patch on vince’s jacket that read “greatest father in the galaxy” under liesl’s birthdate.

she blended in with the first flood of shoppers just fine. liesl only gets to visit casablanca once a month, so she has to make the most of every trip. how does she do so, you ask? nothing much, she just makes people’s day a living hell. no one questions vince on why he lets his young daughter run around unsupervised. 

liesl’s first stop was thunderbolt coffeehouse, where she has her own signature drink. the beverage in question is 6oz of water mixed with the tiniest splash of white chocolate syrup. because it’s basically nothing, liesl only had to pay a dollar. having just opened, tommy was the only person in the store.

“good morning, liesl! the usual?” he adjusted his burgundy visor with a lightning bolt sewed on it.

“you know it!” she left a dollar on the counter to pay. tommy prepared liesl’s first of many mall treats. behind the display case, liesl noticed some brown and orange squares sitting atop a doily. “what are those?”

“pumpkin cheesecake bars.”

“i want one!” she demanded as she tapped the sneeze guard.

“you’re only allowed your special drink.” tommy said softly, yet firmly: “ ‘cause you nearly bought the place out, remember?” he referred to her first visit, where she blew all her money on thunderbolt fare, and didn’t finish most of it.

“can’t you make one exception for your favorite customer?” even liesl’s best puppy eyes weren’t charming enough for him!

“i’m afraid not.” luckily, tommy has more patience for her than anyone else in the mall.

“you’re so inconsiderate!” leisl scoffed as she folded her arms.

“it’s just what your dad told me-” tommy sighed.

“and you’re ugly, just like your mom.”

“sorry to hear that, have a free cheesecake bar.” he forked over the seasonal goodie, knowing mr. simmons would freak if he caught him. but hey, if it’ll get the twerp to zip it! she swallowed one bite of the pumpkin bar, and shoved it into her purse.

on her way to poisonous novelties, she saw that dee, her youth group leader, was here! she went over to his little cart, where he handed out pamphlets promoting the church.

“hi, mr. snider!” she doesn’t often see him anywhere other than the chapel.

“hi, liesl!” although she was the problem child of dee’s youth group, he still treated her with the same amount of respect as anyone else. “excited for service? as a belated halloween treat, we’re watching wishbone in the legend of sleepy hollow!”

“never heard of it.” liesl shrugged.

“i used to watch wishbone as a kid; i think you’ll like it.”

“are you giving out zebra cakes, or oatmeal pies after?” part of the only reason she even bothered going to service was because of the snacks dee would hand out.

“popcorn!” 

“ooh, i can’t wait!” “i’ll see you tomorrow!” dee waved to her, and went back to work. if only dee knew how she treated everyone else....

she went up the escalator, and ran into the candy store so fast, she didn’t notice bobby sitting behind the counter! her main priority was getting as many sweets as she could while staying within her budget.

“did you have a fun halloween?” he attempted to make some friendly small talk.

“yeah, i went as butterbean!” she boasted as she got a paper bag, “my costume had shoes, and wings, and even a wig!”

“that’s so cool!” bobby started to approach the young girl. “i, uh, was barney, the purple dinosaur!” he lied. the poisonous novelties gang actually went as steel panther, with him as lexxi. leisl was barely listening, as she wasted no time shoving random stuff to the bag. “don’t you still have halloween candy?”

“traded most of it.” suddenly, liesl reached into the container of marshmallow bananas, and started picking out the fluffiest ones with her bare hands! 

“can you not-”

“nobody eats these anyway!”

“you didn’t use the tongs, so you have to pay for that entire thing!” he wished he could be as intimidating and strong as bret, but didn’t have the confidence.

“how much?” at this point, liesl found it was best to accept her fate.

“$15.”

“can i keep them?” she asked as she handed bobby some wadded up dollars. his lips widened into an almost taunting smile, and just shook his head no.

liesl made her way to the foodcourt; she had just enough money for a basket of cheese fries. she topped the greasy goodness with ketchup, regular and lite mayo, and barbeque sauce. she walked to kiss kosmetics, on the other side of the mall, as she ate. liesl stood outside the door to find vinnie texting, while paul helped a customer match their foundation.

“you need to finish that before you go inside!” vinnie exclaimed, setting down his phone. the basket wobbled in her hand as she carried it with only four fingers. 

“i’ll be careful, i promise!” as predicted, liesl tripped over nothing and fell face first. she dropped the unholy sauce with a side of fries onto the once pristine white tiles. liesl rolled onto her back on the floor, and whined like she was half her age.

“if you think you’re getting out of here scottfree, you are sorely mistaken!” although paul didn’t have kids, he went full dad mode!

“i do what i want!!” liesl stamped her feet in exasperation. she made such a scene that someone started to leave!

“i’m calling your dad!” paul had both parents on speed dial, just in case. saturday used to be his favorite day of the week, but thanks to her, it’s thursday!

“get to cleaning.” vinnie rested some napkins and a spray bottle of tile cleaner on her stomach.

liesl dragged herself up and hastily began to pick up her mess.

“yeah, vince? this is paul; you’ll never believe what your daughter did today!” the tantruming redhead slammed the bottle on the floor. “we keep telling her not to come in with food, and she did anyway! she dropped whatever she was eating, and now she’s refusing to clean up.”

“i’m getting grounded for falling?” liesl threw her head back.

“you don’t think i know about what happened at the candy store?”

“what’d she do?” vince asked on the other line.

“i got a text from bobby saying that she took out all the marshmallow bananas with her hands. your wife needs to pick her up before she causes any more chaos.” 

“put her on.” paul came out, and brought the phone to her ear. “liesl, what did i tell you about manners?!” 

“there weren’t any signs…”

“you don’t need signs, you need common sense!” paul rolled his eyes.

“you march to the parlor, get your jacket, and you’re getting in mom’s car without a fight, do you hear me?!” 

“yes, daddy…” she sniffled. “bye, guys.” leisl hung her head as she left the store pathetically sobbing.

“good riddance!” paul sighed in relief, more than proud of himself for successfully setting the little brat straight.

[bckysa-blog]

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[rockandrollstorytime]

Rock and Roll Storytime #5: Brian Jones and His Five(?) Children

While I will absolutely admit to being infatuated with dead rock stars, that doesn’t mean I’m going to give them a pass for everything they’ve ever done. Take for example, Brian Jones. While I think he is quite cute and an extraordinarily talented musician, there’s the fact that he was also abusive towards women, and he was never really involved in the lives of any of the multiple children he sired.

Hell, he was so bad in regards to having responsible sex, we don’t even know how many children he had for sure.

What I’m going to do with this is tell you how his five confirmed children came into the world and maybe even talk about some of the speculated ones this time. 

Confirmed:

1. Barry David Corbett (aka Simon): So, let’s face it, Brian started out young, being just seventeen when he got his then girlfriend, Valerie Corbett pregnant (sources vary as to whether she was fourteen or seventeen when this happened). What’s important to remember is that the adults of Brian’s generation heavily disapproved of teenage pregnancy (some of it owing to how we used to be a lot more religious), and if Call the Midwife is anything to go by (great show by the way), it was usually the parents who would determine whether a teenage mother was able to keep her unborn child. Most often, it seems, the child would be given up for adoption, though it seems that sometimes, a shotgun wedding would be initiated, and in rarer cases, the grandparents would bring the child up under the impression that the mother was actually an older sister, whilst they posed as the biological parents (think Jack Nicholson). Reportedly, Brian encouraged Valerie to get an abortion, which, mind you was illegal at the time, but she refused. She gave birth to little Barry on May 29, 1960, and he was subsequently adopted out and renamed Simon. Reportedly, he eventually found out that Brian was his father in 2004, and by then, he was married with two kids of his own.

2. Unknown (Known as Belinda or Carol depending on the source): within months of getting Valerie pregnant, Brian was at it again. In this instance, he met a woman only known as Angelique at a dance and the two had a one-night-stand. As it turns out, the 23-year-old was married and had been going through a rough patch with her husband. When she turned up pregnant, she and her husband ultimately decided to keep the baby, and on August 4, 1960, Brian’s only known daughter was born. According to Bill Wyman, Brian never knew about his eldest daughter’s birth, and in a similar vein, the subject of Brian Jones was taboo in Belinda’s household, given the pain it caused both her parents (which is also the reason we don’t know her real name). Bill’s book Stone Alone, states that she realized that her father wasn’t her biological father when she was six, and that she realized Brian was her father when she was fifteen after her brother brought home a Rolling Stones record (Through the Past Darkly, Big Hits Vol. 2). In talking to Belinda, Bill also discovered that she had temporal lobe epilepsy, which to the pair of them, explained Brian’s hypochondriac tendencies, as well as some of his behaviors (for instance, Bill said that in about a minute, Brian would go from being fully engaged in a conversation to being completely disengaged). While the truth of the matter is, we’ll never know for sure whether or not Brian had epilepsy (because we knew jackshit about mental health back in the day), I personally think it’s an interesting explanation for Brian’s health problems, and that theory might even shine a light on what might have happened the night he drowned.

3. Julian Mark Andrews: Surely, Brian was living the “Sex, drugs, and rock and roll” lifestyle well before he became a rock star. After returning to Cheltenham after the scandal that was him getting Valerie pregnant, Brian began dating 15-year-old Pat Andrews. When she was sixteen, she fell pregnant with his child, and by her own admission, she was so naive about childbirth that she didn’t even realize she was pregnant until her sister marched her into the doctor’s office. On October 22, 1961, she gave birth to Julian Mark, named after Julian “Cannonball” Adderley. By all accounts, on the day Mark was born, Brian sold four of his records (his most prized possessions) in order to buy flowers for Pat and clothes for his newborn son. He was even involved in their lives for a while, but sadly, this arrangement wouldn’t last. For one thing, Brian was very promiscuous, and he was never good at the whole “fidelity” thing. Another possible explanation is that one time, when Pat and Mark came to spend a day with Brian after he became famous, his manager, Andrew Loog Oldham, started bitching about how Brian shouldn’t be seen as a “family man” (even though Bill Wyman was married and had a young son). Apparently, Andrew wanted to market Brian as a hot young bachelor that the fangirls would have no qualms squeeing over. In either case, Brian soon cut all ties with Pat. In addition, according to Paul Trynka, Mick Jagger once made a drunken pass at Pat (she rejected his advances), and Mick apparently bragged to Brian that they’d had a drunken fling. According to Pat, Brian never gave her a chance to explain her side of the story, and that was around the time Brian cut all ties. In 1966, she sued Brian for child support, and when Brian failed to show up to court, the very pissed-off judge awarded Pat the maximum sum allowed at the time: £2.50 a week for Mark as well as another  £78 to cover Pat’s court costs and confinement expenses. After Brian’s death though, the payments stopped coming in. On a side-note: Laura Jackson’s book states that Mark has no memories of his father.

4. Julian Brian Lawrence Leitch: Before anyone says anything, yes Brian has two sons named Julian, and allegedly, he wanted all of his sons to be named after Cannonball Adderley. In 1964, Brian had been dating a 17-year-old Linda Lawrence for two years. She subsequently gave birth to his third son on July 23, 1964. Reportedly, he was involved for a brief while whilst he lived with Linda and her parents, but then he was kicked out after it became clear that he had no intentions of marrying Linda. She came forward against Brian with a paternity suit in 1965, and ultimately, she received a £1,000 settlement. In October 1970, she married Brian’s friend and fellow musician Donovan Leitch (simply known as Donovan in most parts) who later taught Julian to play guitar. For the curious, there are clips of him online singing “Sympathy for the Devil,” and he later became the father of Joolz Leitch Jones, who like his father, grandfather, and step-grandfather, is a musician.

5. Paul Molloy (John Maynard): This one is an utter doozy even when you take into account the usual low standards surrounding any given rock star and his/her children. This story starts with Brian dating 19-year-old Dawn Molloy on and off again throughout 1964 (while he was still seeing Linda, mind you), and her eventually becoming pregnant. At around this time, Brian was ordered by Andrew to never contact her again. Subsequently, Andrew, in a case of severely misguided damage control, essentially coerced Dawn into signing a non-disclosure agreement, which stated that the matter was now closed and she would never go to the public or press about the child being Brian’s (the whole thing was witnessed by Mick Jagger). In exchange for her silence, she would be awarded £700. Her parents were not supportive of her during her pregnancy, and she was sent to a home for unmarried, expectant mothers, where, on March 24, 1965, she gave birth to Paul. Soon after, she was forced to give up her son for adoption, and told that she would never be able to see him again (those of you who’ve seen the film Philomena or Call the Midwife will probably get an idea of what I’ve been describing). Paul was renamed John, and while he did know that he was adopted, he did, at least, know he was loved. Some thirty years later, John, having married and had three kids of his own, went looking for his birth family, and was eventually able to find his birth mother and information about his late birth father. Mother and son have both spoken about their experiences since; Dawn wrote a book entitled Not Fade Away, and John spoke to the Daily Mail, where he said of Brian, “First, I'd probably hit him for what he did to Dawn. Then I'd brush him down and ask him if he wanted a coffee. I'd like to chat with him. To get to know him and for him to get to know me. He'd like me, I know he would. I'd want him to be proud of me. To be honest, I'd just want him to be my dad.”

Unconfirmed/Rumored:

-Marlon Richards: For a while, people suspected that Marlon was actually Brian’s son for a while because when he was little, he was blond and had a cherubic face, though I could argue that this came more from his mother, Anita Pallenberg. Even if I could already dispute the idea that Marlon is Brian’s son, given how Brian and Anita’s relationship came to a legendarily messy finish in 1967, there’s also the fact that Marlon grew up to look exactly like Keith. Still, figured I might as well debunk this old rumor.

-Timmy Faithless: This one comes straight from Australian tabloids in which it is claimed his mother, Loriann (the article will make sure you remember she was a Satanist, which doesn’t matter to me, but whatever), conceived after a Melbourne concert. As with anything in the tabloids though, I tend to doubt the veracity of such claims (it might help if we had Brian’s DNA on file, but last I checked, police don’t really have a good reason to dig up Brian’s skeleton).

-Anna Wohlin claimed to have been carrying Brian’s child, but miscarried shortly after his death, likely due to the high stress and duress caused by the situation. However, I personally think she’s a bit of an unreliable witness, so I’ll just leave that to conjecture.

-Barbara Wolf: In 2019, she came out of the woodworks to allege that Brian was her father and that he was murdered by Frank Thorogood (she is not the only one of Brian’s children to believe he was murdered). Once again though, considering this story seems to have originated in a tabloid, I’ll just sit over here being my highly skeptical self.

-David Lars “Cannonball” Brandstone: Claimed to be writing a book about his dad set for release in 2008. Once again though, I find myself sorely doubting his claims about Brian (some of the details he gives in his interview are a bit... suspect to say the least).

If there’s anything to be taken away from what you just read, it’s that sometimes, people are going to be irresponsible as hell when it comes to... relations. As someone who has experienced something similar to what Brian’s children went through (teenage mother, absent father), I can certainly say that, while I respect Brian’s musical ability, I simply cannot condone his behavior in any of these cases. I know that it was a different time, but still, the fact that he got so many women pregnant and subsequently abandoned them is simply inexcusable.

Thank god for contraception and better sex ed. 

Sources: Brian Jones: The Making of the Rolling Stones by Paul Trynka Brian Jones: The Untold Life and Mysterious Death of a Legend by Laura Jackson 27: A History of the 27 Club through the Lives of Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain, and Amy Winehouse by Howard Sounes Stone Alone by Bill Wyman https://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1353783/Being-Brian-Joness-son-greatest-thing-happened-me.html http://www.angelfire.com/rock3/sixtiesfish/kidsweb/kids.html https://iorr.org/talk/read.php?1,2325726,2325735 http://www.angelfire.com/rock3/sixtiesfish/brianjones_son.html https://ultimateclassicrock.com/the-rolling-stones-children/ https://www.earcandymag.com/foundationstonebook-2.htm https://www.mirror.co.uk/3am/celebrity-news/daughter-rolling-stones-wild-child-17479033 https://born-late.blogspot.com/2011/09/legend-of-girl-child-linda.html https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brian_Jones#Early_life_and_children https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j8OANZg8_iE

[oh-theatre]

Sycamore High: A Better Day (Chapter 17)

A/N: Ok so I know that it started out angsty but I hope I gave yall a nice break towards the end

summary: A month passes at the events of the last chapter.

words: 2,261

warnings: Funerals, mentions of death, shouting

Ao3 Link

A month later...

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Tommy asks leaning into Ted as they stand outside the venue. Ted interlaces his fingers with Tommy and nods making their way in. Chad and Henry trailing behind politely, giving the pair some space. They walk into the reception area instantly ushered outside. Ted freezes as the cool air hits him. Tommy feels his jaw drop slightly. 4 rows of chairs are placed neatly in the garden, an aisle scattered with rose petals down the middle. Purple hydrangeas are placed delicately throughout with a bouquet placed beautifully upon the coffin. The coffin, which is closed until the funeral begins, is atop a white platform. It sits in the center, with a photo of Ted's mother to one side surrounded by a flower frame and a stand to speak on the other side. Chad approaches placing a reassuring hand on Ted's shoulder, he looks up gratefully. 

“Why don't we go sit down?” he offers, Ted nods and allows Tommy to lead him to one of the front seats. He glances quickly at the platform before taking a seat next to Tommy. He lets his head fall softly on to Tommy's shoulder who fully embraces him stroking his forehead lovingly. 

“Its beautiful Ted” Tommy whispers examining his surroundings “You did amazing, I’m sure your mother would have loved it” Ted sniffles and sits up looking at Ted.

“She would've liked you” He says choking back the soft tears forming. Tommy smiles sweetly and nods. Tommy takes his thumb and wipes away the tears on Ted's face. Ted looks around “Purple hydrangeas were her favorite…” Tommy squeezes his hand, rubbing his palm comfortingly. A soft shuffling of feet pulls the pair's attention. Ted stands quickly staring at his friend. 

“Ted…” Paul barely manages, feeling his own voice falter. He moves towards his friend pulling him into a hug, Ted immediately returns the embrace, he looks up spotting Emma. She stands to the side with Charlotte both dressed in black dresses. He pulls away and the groups stand awkwardly, Ted feels a twinge of disappointment not seeing Bill. Chad and Henry come besides the group, everyone takes their respective seats. Music begins softly as more people filed in, Ted's mother was a popular person. Friends of all types flooded in ranging from co-workers to past high-school friends. Ted, followed by Tommy, stood and greeted everyone politely. Tommy stayed as support carefully followed by Paul. Ted pauses as a shy Bill makes his way into the garden. They both draw sharp breaths eyes meeting, Bill approaches. He moves slowly weaving his way through other concerned friends. He stood face to face with Ted, Paul and Tommy shuffle awkwardly behind them. 

“Bill..” Ted finally manages. He keeps a steady beat, taking deep breaths. He stares back at the boy he once recognized as his best friend. Bill instinctively moves back, rubbing his arm awkwardly. 

“I'm sorry for...your loss” He recites curtly before quickly moving alone and taking a seat. Ted hopes he will look back, take a second glance at his broken friend. Ted shuts his eyes desperate for a border between the admittance of sadness and the reality standing in front of him. Tommy notices quickly grabbing Ted's hand, rubbing his arm comfortingly. The last few people make it in and the boys take their places once more. The funeral begins, as a man opens the coffin. People line up to say their farewells Ted stays frozen in his seat. Chad and Henry pay their respects vowing silently to take care of her son. Paul, Emma, and Charlotte do the same, with Paul thanking her for being there for him in his own time. Ted watches as Bill whispers something to Ted's mother, he wipes away a tear and sits back down. Ted still stays frozen, clutching onto the seat below him. 

“Ted? Are you ok?” Tommy asks, cursing himself knowing how stupid his question sounds. Ted turns to him pure fear in his eyes, he goes to get up but falls back weakly. Tommy catches him as Chad and Henry come over kneeling in front of the pair.

“Ted, if you are not ready, don't worry” Chad speaks softly. Ted looks to him and nods, he appreciates them, he does but he just can't. Tommy offers to go with him, Chad and Henry do the same but he can't. 

“Ted?” A voice speaks, Ted looks up as his eyes meet with Bills. The boy stands there with an outstretched arm. Ted takes it curiously and stands in front of Bill. He feels weak once more but Bills strong grasp stabilizes him. “I've got you, I've got you” He repeats, they leave the shocked group and make their way to the platform. Bill positions them in front of the chorus never letting go of his friend. “Take all the time you need… ok?” He assures, Ted nods and finally sees her. 

~~~

“Lovely service”

“My condolences”

“I'm sorry for your loss”

“She was an amazing woman”

Ted listened to each response dutifully, nodding and thanking everyone for each. Tommy stood by his side the entire time, watching everyone leave until finally, it was just Ted, Chad, Henry, Paul, Tommy, and Bill. The group sat awkwardly waiting for something to happen. Bill stands finally everyone looked towards him.

“I...I have to go…” Ted stands ready to say his piece as Bill looks at him guiltily. “I’m sorry I shouldn't be here” He starts to go but Ted grabs his arm to stop him. 

“Please don't go” Ted begs, everyone watches. Bill stares pained before pulling his arm away. 

“I'm leaving” Bill says curtly. He makes his way further, Ted goes to sit but runs after him. He follows him into the pouring rain outside the venue. The sudden rain hits Ted's face he searches frantically for Bill spotting him and shouting his name. He runs down the stairs and stands in front of his friend. “Ted go back inside! You're going to get sick”

“No! You can't just go” Ted shouts through the thunderous downpour.  

“Yes, I can!” Bill pulls away again, agitation fills the boys. The rest of the group races out and watches the scene unfold “What is your problem! Let me leave!” Bill shouts. Ted grabs him firmly.

“I just want my friend back!” A pained voice shouts through the rain

“Well, he’s gone!” Was the simple angry response that left the two shatter. Bill glares and storms off, disappearing into the cold gloomy day. Ted collapses feeling water seep into his clothes, he sobs uncontrollably feeling his entire body shake. Tommy rushes down the stairs throwing himself onto Ted embracing the broken boy. Ted cries into him, all Paul can do is watch. 

~~~

“You alright dear?” Emma sighs placing her jacket on to a chair as she returns home. Her mom stands in the kitchen stirring a cup of tea, staring lovingly at her daughter. Emma slugs over to her and sits on one of the stools letting out a small groan. Emma's mother pushes some loose hair away from her eyes. “How was the funeral?” Emma frowns recalling the dismal morning she had just experienced. 

“It was beautiful but awful” She admits, her mother nods squeezing her hand. “I just hate funerals” 

“I know Emmi” Her mother coos, she sets her cup down moving around the counter to her daughter, pulling her into a side hug. She leans on her mother's shoulders huffing. “I hate them too, especially after…” She pauses contemplating sadly

“I miss her mom” Emma lamented “I miss her so much”

“I know… me too” They take a moment to sit in silence together before pulling away and wiping away both of their tears. She perks up and bounces back to her tea. “But let's not think about that right now, ok?” Emma nods lightening her mood as well, “Why don't I make you a cup of tea, we make some popcorn and watch a movie?” Emma smiles at the idea and goes to set up blankets and a move in the living room. 

~~~

Monday morning came too fast for any of the student's likings. Chad and Henry insisted that Ted needn't return to school yet but he refused.

“I just want to go back to normal” He explains eating freshly-made waffles, courtesy of Henry. “Everything happened, the funeral happened, Bill...I don't even know but that's done now. I don't want to be holed up for the rest of my life, I can't.” Chad nods understanding as he hands the teen a packed lunch. Ted mouths a very grateful thank you, having learned to absolutely love the food the two professors cooked for him. 

“Ok but just call or text or come find us if you need anything, ok?” Chad pleads, Ted nods stuffing another bite of sweetness into his mouth. “Want an early ride to school? You can hang out with me in the auditorium while I go over some stuff” Chad offers, Ted goes to answer but feels a light buzz in his pocket. He holds up a finger to Chad and goes for his phone. Chad nods brightly and takes Ted's empty plate cleaning it. 

FU: Hey, picking you up in 10. 

Ted can't help but smile, already excited to see his friend. He turns back to Chad who is now chattering away with Henry.

“As much as I appreciate it, seems like I've got a ride” Ted says showing him the message. Chad smiles before ushering the teen to get his final things ready for class. “Alright I’m going,” He says holding up his hands defensively.

“And remember to make up your bed!” Chad calls out, Henry hits him slightly, to which Chad simply shrugs. Ted does just that grabbing his things and heading back to the kitchen. “Bye bud! See you in class” Chad calls out as Ted waves goodbye to the two professors. He heads downstairs to wait in the reception area. He feels another buzz and quickly grabs his phone.

HC: Good morning! How are you feeling today?

Ted smiles sweetly at the text and wastes no time responding

SB: Better today

HC: Promise?

SB: Promise.

Ted's heart flutters at the sudden flood of happy heart emojis from the boy on the other line. He laughs to himself, receiving another text from Paul. He grabs his things and heads out jumping into the passenger seat. He instinctively looks back to greet Bill but is met with Charlotte and Emma napping softly. He sighs before turning back to Paul. Paul pulls out of the parking lot but nods understandingly at his friend.

“I did the same thing, I asked him a question but...he wasn't there” Paul whispers, cautious not to wake the tired girls in the back. Ted nods going back to his texts as the car glides smoothly across the road. 

SB: I miss Bill

HC: I know dear, have you talked yet?

SB: No, he won't respond to my texts

HC: Take it slow, you both need time, maybe try talking to him this morning during class?

SB: Yeah, yeah I’ll try…

Ted sends his own abundance of heart emojis, causing his partner to send back a laughing one. The boys continue their conversation in a much more lighthearted manner. Paul pulls into a drive-through ordering four coffees and one hot chocolate. And they continue on to school with the girls in the back much more awake. They park at school getting out chattering about events. Charlotte and Emma debate what the musicals might be while Emma and Ted discuss the latest gossip around the school. 

“Hey, you!” A bright voice calls from around the school entrance. Ted perks up and excuses himself from the conversation walking over to Tommy who stands idly by the school holding out a comforting hand which Ted takes promptly. Ted plants a quick kiss on his cheek, causing Tommy to flush a light pink. Emma mimics smooching noises behind them, the group laughs making their way inside. Ted pulls Tommy back, handing him the hot chocolate he got. Tommy smiles radiantly taking it in a heartbeat. “Thank you, dear, you didn't have to!” He says taking a sip from the delicious drink. 

“Ah, but I wanted to” Ted replies as they continue walking, hands interlaced ignoring whispering looks from their peers “You have very low blood sugar after all” Ted chimes nonchalantly. Tommy stops smiling bigger than ever. “What?” Ted laughs staring at the boys face. Tommy kisses Ted on the lips briskly.

“You remembered” He coos and giggles at Ted's deep crimson blush. He rolls his eyes playfully dragging his boyfriend to the auditorium. They arrive outside the door, Ted's friends pile in but the young couple stays out. “Call, text or find me if you need anything ok?” His tone more serious now. Ted nods gratefully squeezing Tommy's hand before making his way into the auditorium joining his friends. He sits down joining into a heated debate about which musical is the best out of the three chosen. They continue until a certain clearing of the throat pulls them in.

“Children please settle down” Chad groans as the excitement in the auditorium dies down, he sighs thankful “Today we are going to focus on preparing audition songs and monologues for the musical” The group of students gasps, Chad smiles smugly “Oh I'm sorry… did I forget to mention? Everyone enrolled in this class is required to audition”

[kadtherine]

Your daughter's dead. This is not your daughter. I'm not your girl anymore.

Voices and words echoed in Bill's mind, each trying to be louder than the other. Each trying to convince him of something he didn't want to believe. Ted had told him that his daughter was dead and yet, here she stood. Paul had told him that she wasn't his daughter but then again, Paul had also told him that he wasn't at fault when he clearly was – thisisyourfaulthisisyourfaulthisisyourfault. Bill was vaguely aware that the singing had stopped, that Paul had a hand wrapped around his forearm and that the rifle Professor Hidgens had given them was in Alice's hands.

Judging by the way his grasp tightened, Paul had noticed it too. Bill's gaze drifted from the weapon to Alice, the latter staring back at him with dull eyes. He swallowed around the lump in his throat as he stared back into her green, seemingly lifeless, eyes – your daughter's dead – and tried not to let his panic show. He didn't grimace at her lack of hesitation as Alice lifted the rifle at eye-level without flinching. He didn't move when Paul tried to drag him back, his pleas falling on deaf ears. Instead, he focused on his daughter and the fact that she hadn't shot either of them.

Bill didn't really know what to expect apart from the singing. Both Sam and Charlotte had gleefully toyed with them before being shot by Hidgens. Unlike them, Alice was eerily quiet and silent. Bill found himself thanking God that none of her organs had been ripped out, her body intact – at least, for what he could see. Alice seemed frozen in a trance and Bill didn't know how to get through her– this is your fault. There were only a few things a night out to see Mamma Mia could fix.

There were fewer things they could do in a week per month – did you know that I wanted to live with you – and there wasn't much he knew about his daughter.  This is not your daughter, Paul's words echoed in his mind, this isn't your daughter. Would Bill even be able to know the difference? After all, he had already missed a lot. Bill rubbed his nose, pushing back tears as he allowed Paul to drag him back, eyes still fixed on Alice. That was when he saw it. He saw Alice blink.

Bill saw Alice blink and was reminded of a headstrong little girl refusing to lose staring contests to whomever she locked eyes with. He remembered her green eyes lighting up whenever she'd win, bouncing on the ball of her feet and giggling. You lost, she'd say, twirling in her flowing skirts, I remained the undefeated champion. He saw Alice blink and tell himself that his daughter  was still there. You lost, Bill thought, a small smile forming on his face, she remained the undefeated champion.

Bill dug his feet into the floor, halting Paul as he tried to pry his fingers off his arm. The latter turned around with a frown when Bill went to take a step forward.  

“Bill, what are you doing? We gotta go-”

Bill shook off his hand and took another step forward. “No, I'm not going anywhere without my daughter.”

“Bill, come on-”

“We crossed this entire town with the intention of saving Alice,” he interrupted again, turning around to meet Paul's eyes. Paul stared back at him, his brow furrowed and gaze drifting back to Alice every two seconds. Bill sighed, squeezing his shoulder. “Now, I can't thank you enough for coming with me and I'll totally understand if you decided to go back . But I'm not leaving my daughter.”

Not again, the thought went unheard and yet, the words seemed to echo around the room. Clearing his throat, Bill gave Paul's shoulder a squeeze before he let his hand slide off. To his surprise – and relief -  he didn't walk away, nor did he try to grab and drag him away again. Instead, Paul's gaze focused on something behind Bill. Or rather, someone. Letting out a breath, Bill slowly turned on his heels, his eyes locking on Alice.

“Alice,” he licked his lips, raising his hands to show that he meant no harm, “I know you're in there and I know you're mad-”

“She's gone,” Alice retorted, her tone flat as she clicked off the safety, “you were too late. As always.”

Gritting his teeth, Bill leveled a glare at her. “I'm not talking to you,” he spat, “I'm talking to my daughter. You lost, by the way,” he added as an after-thought.

The corner of his mouth twitched up in a half-smile when he saw her roll her eyes, her fingers twitching around the rifle. There it was. A familiar emotion that wasn't indifference or blatant ignorance. Billy allowed himself to hope and took a couple steps toward Alice, vaguely aware of Paul following him.

“You haven't shot any of us, either,” Bill said, hoping he sounded more confident that he felt. He swallowed a cry of pain when Paul elbowed his side.

Alice tilted her head to the side. “That could be arranged.”

“You haven't shot any of us,” he repeated, slowly closing the distance, “you could've shot us at any moment but you didn't. Something's keeping you from doing it. Someone  who's much stronger than you. Much stronger than me. Which is why you chose her, right?” Bill shrugged, “I mean, why wouldn't you?”

Bill noticed her white knuckles, her bent knees and clenched jaw. He noticed more about his daughter in the last five minutes than he had in the last five years. The opportunity was here and he'd be damned if he didn't do anything about it.

“Alice, sweetheart; I know you're in there. I know you're mad at me. You've got every right to be mad, cause I fucked up. I fucked up hard and you might never forgive me for. I'm not asking for your forgiveness,” Bill felt the back of his eyes burn and swallowed a wave of tears, “I don't have the right to ask you for anything. I just need you to know that I see you. I see you as the strong, smart and stubborn young woman that you are. And I know that you're too stubborn to let some kind of alien force take control of your body. I know you can fight it. After all, you're the undefeated champion.”

The barrel of the rifle was pointed to his chest, way too close for comfort. Bill didn't pay it much mind – there wasn't much he could if Alice decided to fire – and instead, focused on the small crease between her eyebrows and the anguish shining in her eyes. Her mouth contorted from a smirk to a grimace, to a snarl. She shook her head, muttering under her breath. As if talking to her self. Bill heard her take a sharp inhale of air, her head bent down. He tentatively reached out a hand and laid it on the weapon, lowering it so the barrel was facing the floor.

Alice collapsed on the floor when he went to touch her shoulder.

Both Bill and Paul knelt in front of her, the latter keeping his distance while he reached for the rifle. Alice's breath came out in shaky exhales, her fingers pulling at her hair as she rocked back and forth. Billy went to brush her hair out of her face before he thought better of it and retrated his hand.

“Alice? Alice, if you can hear me, you need to calm down, babe.”

She shook her head, her body trembling with sobs. “I can't-”

“Yeah, you can,” Paul intervened, sliding next to him, weapon slung over his shoulder. “You're breathing away too quickly, you're gonna black out if you don't calm down.”

Usually, Bill would've berated Paul for his bluntness but sensitivity didn't seem to be appropriate for that particular situation. Without thinking, he took one of Alice's hands in his and placed into on his chest, taking exaggerate breaths. Next to him, Paul began to do the same, surely hoping that Alice would mimic them. Her hand clenched around the fabric of his shirt and Bill had to fight the urge to flinch back

“It won't go away,” she whimpered, gasping for air. She looked up, green eyes wide and shining with unshed tears. “It won't go, it won't leave me alone. I can't get it to leave me alone.”

Bill's heart broke as he listened to her cry. He covered her hand with his and squeezed. “Yes, you can, Alice. Come on, babe. I need you to breathe. In,” Bill took an exaggerated gulp of air, holding it in ten seconds before slowly pushing it out of his nose, “And out. Feel how my chest is rising? Yeah? Come on, your turn: in...and out.”

Alice closed her eyes, her head falling forward, and Bill felt his heart drop at his seemingly unconscious daughter. He gave her hand a squeeze, letting out a quiet sob of relief when she squeezed back. Bill could hear her mumble to herself, frowning when he noticed that her eyes weren’t fully closed but staring at the hand resting on her lap. Following her gaze, Bill realized that she was counting on trembling fingers before inhaling.

“That’s it, Alice. You’re doing great.”

Her brow furrowed, Alice blinked at her hand, counting backward before she breathed out. Clenching her hand into a fist, she looked back up to meet Bill’s gaze. He braced himself as she blinked a couple of times, afraid he’d see the same blankness as before. To his relief, they were not. Much to his concern, they were red and one pupil was bigger than the other. While they were no physical sign of injury, Bill hadn’t worried about the possibility of her having a concussion. Which, from the look of it, was extremely probable.  

Alice slowly pulled her hand from his grasp and cradled it to her chest, her eyes narrowed in confusion. “Dad?”

“Hey, kiddo,” Bill cleared his throat, running a hand over his face. “How are you feelin’?

“My head is killing me,” Alice muttered, “I’m tired too. Is that Uncle Paul?”

Bill and Paul exchanged a look, the latter nodding. “Yeah. He helped me get here.”

“Did you eat, drink anything?” Paul asked, “That’s how they got the customers at Beanie’s. Put some of that weird blue shit in their coffee,” he added when met with Bill’s confused look.

Alice shook her head before she groaned, a grimace on her face. “I don’t think so, I can’t rememb-” she suddenly gasped, causing both men to flinch back. Her eyes widened, gaze darting from Bill to Paul, as she pushed herself backward until her back hit the hall. “You shouldn’t be here. You need to go, it’s not safe. For either of you.”

Bill thought she saw her gaze linger on Paul before she focused on her attention on her fingers, as if anticipating another panic attack. Holding out a hand behind him, Bill slowly slid on the floor, grimacing when Alice flinched back, the back of her head hitting the wall. As she looked up at him with teary, scared eyes, Bill felt his heart break once more.

“We shouldn’t be there, none of us,” he corrected, his tone not leaving any room for discussion. “And I’m not leaving you. Not again.”

Sniffing, Alice wiped a tear with the back of her hand. Bill reached forward and brushed her hair out of her face, smiling when she didn’t flinch back. Alice went to open her mouth before her eyes widened, her jaw clenching. She covered her mouth with both of her hands, dry heaving. She, at least, had the decency to wait until Paul had pulled him back by the collar before throwing up the side. They both watched, in disgust and horror, as Alice emptied the contains of her stomach on the floor. Bill almost started to dry heave as well when he saw her pull a familiar blue golb out of her mouth.

He tried not to stare at the bright atrocity as he placed his arms under Alice’s armpits and dragged her backward, the latter coughing out yellow bile. Bill wrapped his arms around Alice, his chin resting on his head and her hands wrapped around his forearms. He watched, weary, Paul walk toward the small glob.

“Paul,” Bill hissed, frowning when Paul jumped at the sound of his name, as if snapping out of a trance.

He looked back at the two and let out a weak chuckle. “Sorry. I guess that,” he pointed to the blob with the rifle, “explains a lot of stuff,” he cleared his throat, “Come on, we should get out of here before they realize something’s wrong.”

Swinging the rifle behind his back, Paul walked to the door and cracked it. He put his foot in the doorway and slipped out of the room, looking down the hall.

“Okay, coast’s clear,” Paul announced, “we need to move.”

Nodding, Bill got up to his feet, dragging Alice up. She winced at the sudden movement, her head falling against his shoulder. It took one look at her to know that she wouldn't be able to take more than two steps out before she'd faint. Bill placed one arm behind her back and another under her knees, cradling her to his chest. He felt a lump from his throat when Alice wrapped both of her arms around her neck.

Bill cleared his throat and looked up at Paul. “Let's get the fuck out of here."

[sunflowerseedsandscience]

D’Un Nouvel Oeil- Chapter Six

Previous Chapters: One | Two | Three | Four | Five

ORADOUR-SUR-GLANE, HAUTE-VIENNE, FRANCE JANUARY 1944

For nearly a year, at the beginning of her twenties, Dana Scully had lived in terror at the idea of becoming an orphan.

Her mother's illness had come on suddenly- on Monday, she'd been hale and healthy, single-handedly managing both the Cafe Pequod and the farm, and by Friday, she'd been too weak to write to her daughter in Paris. Scully had received a letter from her mother's neighbor, instead, summoning her home from medical school, and she'd come immediately to assess her condition. When it had become apparent that Maggie would require long-term care, she had sent letters to her brothers, who were living in America, and to her sister, who was living in Greece with a man she had met while traveling through Europe.

Bill had written that he couldn't possibly leave his naval posting, because he could not honestly tell his commander that no one else was available to care for his mother. As to her suggestion that he send Charlie, newly graduated from high school and with no definite plans for his future, absolutely not. What would be the point in paying for Charlie to travel all the way to France when Dana was there already, primed and equipped with more than enough medical training to nurse her mother far better than Charlie ever could?

"The family has indulged your ridiculous idea of being a doctor long enough," Bill had written, "but now, it's time for you to shoulder your share of the responsibility and make the same sacrifices that the rest of us have made." What, exactly, those sacrifices were, Bill had neglected to mention. She couldn't say how taking their youngest brother and running off to America, leaving the running of the family business to their mother, qualifies as a sacrifice, but she'd known Bill well enough to know that writing back would be useless.

Melissa had not even bothered with a response.

So Scully, with less than a year left until the completion of her medical degree, had returned to Paris just long enough to gather her belongings and withdraw from school. She had hired two local men, one to manage the cafe and one as a dishwasher, allowing the manager to rent the upstairs flat, and she had moved into the farmhouse with her mother.

Maggie's condition had been touch and go for awhile, and Scully had lived in daily fear of losing her, of being left essentially alone in the world. Her father had been gone for years, her siblings were so distant and unreliable, and for those first months Scully had floundered, trying to cope with overseeing the farm, the cafe, and her mother's care. The man she'd hired to manage the cafe had, at first, refused to take her seriously, making decisions without her input until finally, she'd threatened to replace him.

When Maggie's health had returned, Scully had briefly nurtured the hope of returning to school, of finishing her medical degree and finally becoming a doctor. With someone managing the cafe, and the farm employing enough hands that Maggie wouldn't have to do any of the physical labor, it didn't seem unreasonable that she might be able to leave long enough to complete the required classes. She could even come straight back to Oradour-sur-Glane when she'd finished and be a doctor there, so that she could help her mother, should she need it again.

But then had come the war.

When her dishwasher had been called up, Scully had been able to replace him relatively easily... but when the manager had left to go to war, a replacement hadn't been quite so readily available. Scully had taken it over, telling herself that it was only temporary, that the war would end soon, the men would come home, and she could resume her studies.

Instead, the Occupation had begun... and once it had, Scully had no longer felt safe leaving her mother alone. She had moved into the flat above the cafe, resigning herself to learning as much of her remaining studies as she could from whatever books she could find. When the replacement dishwasher had suddenly disappeared from town with no indication he'd be returning, Scully hadn't bothered hiring a new one. She'd received a letter from Melissa, saying that she was travelling further east, trying to find a place the war had not yet touched, and Scully hadn't even been able to bring herself to be angry.

By then, she'd learned: the only person in the world that she can really and truly count on is herself.

And now... now, Mulder wants her to trust him. To let him in. To let him help. And she wants to, she really does.

She's just not completely sure she remembers how.

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

"Do you think there's any way you can handle the morning milking yourself tomorrow, Maman? Scully asks Maggie, as they finish Saturday morning's work at the farm. Maggie raises her eyebrows at her daughter.

"You have somewhere you need to be?" Maggie asks, and for a moment, Scully worries her mother can see right through her.

"No," she says, "I'm just exhausted, that's all. I think I may just skip Mass and try and get a good night's sleep, for once." Maggie looks stern.

"I can have Paul do your share of the milking," she says, referring to one of her farm hands, "but I don't see why you need to miss Mass, as well." Scully sighs.

"Maman, I've been up until nearly three in the morning for the past three nights running," she says. "Between the work at the cafe, the work here, and the... other things I'm responsible for, I can't remember the last morning I woke up feeling the slightest bit rested." She's not lying about any of this, at least, and Maggie's face softens somewhat.

"You do far too much, Dana," her mother admonishes her. "I thought that maybe now, with Fox helping you, maybe you would be able to stop spreading yourself quite so thin." Scully thinks of Mulder, of the real reason she's planning on skipping Mass.

Spreading myself, indeed, she thinks, and instantly goes red. Her mother looks concerned.

"Darling, you're flushed," Maggie says. She puts a hand on her daughter's forehead. "Are you all right?"

"Fine, Maman," Scully insists, brushing her mother's hand aside. Her mother looks at her critically a moment longer, then shrugs and returns to her work.

"Perhaps a little extra sleep wouldn't be the worst thing for you," she admits. "I'll tell the priest you weren't feeling well." Scully smiles, relieved. Her stomach twinges with the tiniest bit of guilt- both her mother and the priest would be heartbroken if they knew her true plans for this evening- but she quells it immediately.

She's been alone for so long. Not lonely, of course. Never lonely... or so she's told herself, repeatedly, during long nights in her empty flat, the abundance of unoccupied space in her too-large bed seeming to mock her. She's always believed strongly that loneliness is a choice, that being content to be alone is a sign of strength, not weakness, and for a long time, she has been content... but now, a day that she doesn't see Mulder, doesn't speak to him, doesn't flush with warmth from head to toe at the way he smiles at her, seems to be a day that's somehow not complete.

It's not a level of dependence she's comfortable with... but whenever she tries to take a step back, Mulder takes another step forward, and she's finding it harder and harder to keep him at arm's length.

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

He's begun heading to the kitchen during the last hour of every evening, getting a head start on the dishwashing, cleaning, and food preparation that used to keep her downstairs well after closing. She continually tells him that he doesn't have to, that she can handle the work herself, that she can do it after he leaves, but he insists on continuing.

"My motives are purely selfish, Scully," he reassures her. "The less you have to do before bed, the later I can stay, right?"

"I suppose that's true," she agrees cautiously.

"So really, I'm doing it for myself," he says. "An hour washing dishes now means an extra hours with my hands on those-" he nods at her breasts- "later. Completely selfish." She swats at him with a dishrag on her way back to the dining room, but she's laughing.

She does that a lot more often, these days.

Tonight, as she's finishing tending to the evening's final customers, she feels as though her entire midriff is full of butterflies. It's not nerves, exactly- she knows he's not going to turn her down. No, this is purely excitement, anticipation for what she's almost certain is going to be something amazing. Mulder sets her on fire with the simplest and most chaste of touches; she can't wait to see what kind of sparks they throw off when he's finally given free rein.

When the last customer has been shepherded out into the cold January night, Scully returns to the kitchen and hangs up her apron. For a moment, she contents herself with merely watching Mulder as he finishes drying the evening's dishes, appreciating the firm, clean lines of his body, his long legs, his muscled forearms under the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt. As he finishes, he catches her looking, and she smiles coyly at him.

"What? he asks. "What's that look for?"

"I spoke to my mother this morning," she says. "I arranged for a farm hand to help her with Sunday morning's chores again." Mulder sets the last clean mug on its shelf and turns to her.

"Oh?"

"Mm-hmm." She nods. "And I told her I've been tired... and not to expect me at mass tomorrow morning." She can't stop the playful smile that spreads over her face, and Mulder answers it readily.

"And what did you have planned?" he asks. She crosses the room, never breaking eye contact, and leans against his chest. She can feel his heartbeat thudding at a gallop where she's touching him.

"Why don't we go upstairs," she whispers, "and maybe you'll find out?" She draws away from him with difficulty, already craving his touch, and walks towards the stairs.

He takes her by the arm and pulls her back against him, suddenly and roughly. His lips cover hers, his tongue delving deeply into her mouth, and when he slides one strong arm under her and lifts her up, she can't suppress a cry of surprise. At the sound she makes he looks as though he's going to put her down, but she can't have that, and so she encircles him tightly in her legs and kisses him again. Before she has time to think about it, she's going positively feral on him, scratching at his scalp and grinding her hips against him, desperate for more contact. Already he's hard and hot underneath her, and she wants to get at him so badly she doesn't know how she's going to wait for him to take off his clothes.

Suddenly he breaks away from her, and she whimpers in protest as he tries to still the rocking of her hips

"Scully," he gasps, "if you don't stop that, we're never going to make it upstairs." She doesn't care. She kisses her way back along his chin towards his ear, then whispers into it, loving the way he shudders against her.

"Going upstairs was just a suggestion, Mulder," she says. "You can feel free to ignore it, if you'd like." As badly as she wants to resume seeking friction from his stiff member where it's pressing against her, she waits to see what he'll do.

For a moment, he's perfectly still, and she can see him running over the options in his mind: the floor? The butcher's block? The counter? Watching him, she feels her entire mouth go dry, and she licks her lips. That simply motion seems to set Mulder off, and with a groan, he strides across the kitchen and presses her up against the wall. There's a dull thunk as her head smacks into the boards behind her, but if there's any pain, she's completely unaware of it. She moans into his mouth as he kisses her again, her hands beating his to his belt buckle, which she undoes at top speed. She makes quick work of his button fly and uses both her hands and feet to shove his pants to the kitchen floor. She yanks at the bottom of her skirt, rucking it up and out of the way, and as she does, she feels the hand not cupping her bottom snaking its way up and under her blouse. Oh, yes, she thinks, as he strokes her breast, just this side of rough, nothing gentle in his touch at all. She presses her chest against him with a sigh, and he rewards her with a sharp pinch of her nipple that sets off a flood of wetness between her legs.

Scully locates the slit in the front of Mulder's boxer shorts and takes his cock firmly in her hand. He goes almost totally still as she draws him out- he's scarcely breathing- and privately, she thrills at the sheer size of him. She can't possibly wait another moment, and she can tell by the wild look in his eyes that neither can he, and so she spreads her legs wider, bracing her feet against him, and positions him, taking him by the hip and pulling him towards her until she's positively, achingly full of every last inch of him. He presses his forehead to hers, overwhelmed, and as badly as she wants him to move, now, she allows him this moment.

When at last he begins the smooth liquid slide in and out of her, his rhythm is slow, languid, unhurried. It's delicious, certainly... but right now, she's already nearly halfway there, and a sense of urgency hums through her limbs like electricity. There will be time for sweetness and slow caresses later, but now, this first time, it's not what she needs. And he must sense it, somehow, just by looking at her, because he speeds up. She whimpers gratefully into his neck, tasting his sweat, and clutches tightly at him. He's still holding back, though, and so she urges him on.

"Harder," she whispers. He draws back, looking into her face for reassurance that she means it, that she wants it, and she answers him with the tiniest of nods. He slides one hand between the back of her head and the wall, cushioning her, and sets up a bone-jarring, spine-rattling pace, slamming her against the wall again and again, the steady thud-thud-thud of her back against the wood and the wet slap-slap-slap of their bodies filling the entire kitchen. That's all it takes to send her flying, climaxing so hard she nearly blacks out, crying out his name as the wave overtakes her. Dimly she's aware that he's coming as well, bellowing into her neck.

Standing is suddenly too much for him, and she feels her back sliding along the wall as they drop slowly to the tiled floor. She curls her body against him and concentrates on getting her breath back, not quite aware that he's speaking... until she realizes that he's apologizing.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "This wasn't how I intended this to be." She shakes her head against his neck, still too weak to lift it.

"Mulder, don't you dare apologize," she says firmly. "I don't see how anything could possibly have been better than that. That was incredible." She feels him smiling against the top of her head and she snuggles closer... until a sudden, loud knock at the kitchen door makes her jump out of her skin. She jerks away from him and stands on legs that are still incredibly unsteady, hastily straightening her blouse and her skirt. Underneath, she can feel his seed dripping down her leg, and even in the midst of her fright, of wondering who's at her door at this hour, she suddenly realizes: they hadn't used a condom. Shit.

"Are you expecting anyone?" Mulder asks, his voice low. Scully shakes her head. Mulder's got his pants buckled, though his shirt is still untucked, and he's retrieved his pistol from the kitchen counter where he'd left it earlier. But as he's advancing on the door, a familiar shout comes from the other side.

"Scully," yells Frohike, "open up, it's us!" Scully motions to Mulder to lower the gun.

"It's all right, they're some of my contacts, they're safe," she assures him, crossing the kitchen. "I wasn't expecting them tonight, though." She opens the door, revealing not just Frohike, but Byers and Langly, as well. They troop into the kitchen, one after the other, and Scully closes and locks the door behind them. She turns back, ready to introduce him to Mulder... and finds that all three of them are gaping at him in total shock.

"Mulder?" Frohike's voice is squeaky with surprise, and Scully whips her head around to look at him.

"You know each other?" she asks. "How?"

"Oxford," says Mulder. "They were two years ahead of me. Frohike sort of adopted me as a long-lost little brother." Scully tries to think back. She'd known they'd gone to Oxford, but now she tries to remember whether any of the odd trio have ever mentioned exactly what years they had attended school. She draws a blank. They haven't exactly exchanged many personal details; it's all in the nature of the operation. Scully doesn't even know the names of some of the men who deliver refugees and supplies to her.

"We used to print a newspaper," Langly tells her, "and Mulder helped us distribute it sometimes."

"I don't know if you could call it a newspaper," Mulder intones. "It was a monthly five pages of nonsense refuting everything the actual school paper printed."

"Hey, somebody had to call the Cherwell out for printing nonstop lies," insists Frohike. Scully shakes her head slowly, a smile spreading over her face. Now that it's clear that there's no danger, the knot in her stomach has loosened, and her playful mood is returning.

"Mulder, you helped produce an underground newspaper?" she teases him, and he ducks his head.

"'Produce' is overstating things a bit," says Mulder. "All I did was occasionally drop a stack of them in the common room when nobody was paying attention, in exchange for Frohike buying me drinks at the pub later that night."

"Mulder is your new source in the German army?" asks Byers, and Scully nods.

"That's right," says Scully. Frohike beams and tries to clap Mulder on the shoulder, which he can't quite reach, and settles for thumping him mid-back.

"Good man," he says. "Always knew you were a troublemaker at heart. We taught you well."

"I'm assuming you're with Dutch-Paris, then?" asks Mulder.

"For the past two years," confirms Frohike. "Trust the Dutch to do what the French can't. No offense intended, of course," he says as an aside to Scully. She sighs and shakes her head- it's a long-standing joke between them, and she knows he's not insulting her.

"As much as I hate to break up the reunion," she says, "I need to know: what are you three doing here? Has something happened?" She desperately hopes not- aside from not wanting to spoil the mood of the evening, she's in no fit state to tend to anyone just now.

"We've got a group hiding off of the road a few miles north of town," says Byers. "We know it's risky, breaking curfew, but we were careful, and we need to move fast. It's cold and we need to get the little ones someplace warm. We came to find out if it's safe to bring them to your mother's for a few days, and we need you to help us arrange transportation for them." Scully lets out a relieved breath. This, she can handle. She won't even need to leave the kitchen.

"How many? And where are you taking them next?"

"A mother and three children. We only need to get them to Limoges," says Langly. "Our contact there is making identification papers for them, and then we're getting them on a train south. We had a truck arranged already, but they never showed up at the last meeting point." Scully thinks for a moment. There's no reason that she can think of why her mother shouldn't be able to help out- none of her current employees are living on the farm, and as long as Maggie is made aware of the family's presence before she leaves for mass, she'll be able to hide them in the house or in one of the outbuildings. Sighing inwardly, she realizes she'll need to go to church in the morning, to go to confession, to talk to the priest and make arrangements.

"Take them to my mother's and put them in the barn," she tells Frohike. "Wait until daylight to knock on my mother's door. She'll feed them and give them a room. I'll make the arrangements first thing in the morning and send word to my mother as soon as everything is set up." She turns to Mulder. "I'm sorry, Mulder, but it looks like I'm going to need to go to mass tomorrow morning after all."

"Why would he care about that?" asks Langly, confused. Byers digs his elbow into Langly's side. "What?" When no explanation is forthcoming, he frowns at Mulder and Scully... and then, suddenly, he seems to get it, and gives them both a decidedly lecherous grin. Scully decides that's the signal to send them off.

"All right, time to go," she states. She pushes Langly roughly back towards the door. Byers sighs, shaking his head.

"As you can see, he's about as mature as he was the last time you saw him," he says. "I've done what I can, but when you're already working with damaged raw materials...." He shrugs, and Mulder laughs.

"I take it I'll be seeing the three of you again?" he asks, and Frohike nods, grinning.

"Count on it," he says. He bows to Scully. "Mademoiselle Scully, a pleasure, as always." Scully responds only by pushing him out of the door; she's had quite enough of Frohike's charms for one evening. She closes the door, throws the bolt, and turns, leaning against it, eyes closed.

"Of course you know each other," she says. "They told me they met at Oxford and it never even crossed my mind that they might have been there at the same time as you." She shakes her head. "I didn't mean to announce our relationship to them like that. I'm sorry." Mulder looks anything but. His smile is warm and tender as he walks towards her, sliding his arms around her and pulling her close.

"Don't be," he reassures her. "You think I'm anything other than proud to call a woman like you my own?"

"Is that what I am?" she asks. "Your own?" In the past, the very idea would have rankled and raised her hackles... but somehow, when Mulder says it, all it does is make her melt.

"I'd like to think so," he murmurs, touching his forehead gently to hers, "but ultimately, I think you get the final say." And that's exactly why I don't mind when he says it, she thinks to herself. Because he would never assume it without my permission.

"You know what my answer is," she says. "I'm yours. Absolutely and completely." And as if to prove it she kisses him deeply, passionately, and then draws back. "And I think it's time for you to take me upstairs now."

---------

She leads him to her bedroom, where they stretch out languidly on her bed, kissing softly, slowly, all sense of urgency gone, replaced by a soothing warmth. He removes her shirt and camisole almost reverently, kissing each new inch of skin as he discovers it, and when he bends his head to take her nipple in his mouth, she moans and gasps. Once he's moved his attention to her skirt, divesting her of that, as well, she sits up.

"If I'm going to be naked, you are, too," she says, and he's more than agreeable to the idea. She rids him of his jacket, just as she had that first night she'd cared for him on her sofa, and he rips off his undershirt. Her eyes roam over the expanse of his muscled chest, and she likes the view, wants to see more of it. She's got his belt undone in seconds flat.

"You're awfully adept at that," he remarks... and for a moment she's scared, for the first time tonight. She's never led him to believe that she'd been a virgin... but, then, he'd never asked. She meets his eyes, her stomach clenched, but he's smiling.

"I was nervous you'd be upset that you weren't my first," she admits.

"Scully," he says gently, "who you've been with and what you've done before we met, that's your business. I don't care. All I care about is that you're here with me now." As he gazes at her, cupping her cheek in his hand, she sees something shifting in the depths of his eyes. "Scully," he says, "I love you."

It's too much. She can't meet his eyes anymore. She's not surprised, not really- she's known that he's smitten- but she hadn't expected him to admit it. She grasps about for something to say, something to lighten the serious mood.

"My mother told me never to believe anything a man tells you with his clothes off," she says, nodding at his bare chest.

"Hey, I've still got my pants on, haven't I? So I'm at least half-dressed." She chuckles, relieved he's going along with her, instead of being offended that she didn't immediately say it back.

"Does that mean it's only half-true?" she asks.

"No, Scully," he promises. "It's completely true. I'm in love with you. I've never felt this way about anyone before in my life."

"Neither have I," she whispers. The words are out almost before she can stop them.

"Really?" She nods. She can't quite bring herself to meet his eyes, to let him see the tears she's struggling to hold back. This is the part she's never been good at: the letting go, the letting in, the opening of her heart to another person.

Gentle fingers touch under her chin, bringing her head up to meet his gaze. In his eyes she finds nothing but naked adoration, understanding... and a tiny bit of fear. She realizes that he doesn't know, isn't sure how she feels, and she can't leave him in suspense another moment.

"I love you too, Mulder," she says. His eyes flood with tears and he gathers her to him, holding her close and rocking her back and forth.

When Scully finally sleeps, hours later, curled in Mulder's arms under the warmth of the feather duvet, she feels, for the first time, as if the bed is no longer too large.

Next Chapter  >

[stanpitman]

The characters don't have elaborate, outlandish clothes (for most part), and are expertly voiced. Shake off the shadows.

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[travelingtheusa]

TEXAS

30 Jan 2019 (Wed) – We packed up and left Abilene around 10 a.m.  We drove over 200 miles to Seminole, right on the border between Texas and New Mexico. During the drive, we went past miles of oil pumps slowly rising and falling as they pull the oil out of the earth. We went past a very large oil field, and at times, could even smell petroleum in the air.  The place we are staying has about ten cabins and ten campsites. All but one of the campsites was taken and all the cabins were rented by workers in the oil fields.  The sites and cabins are all in a line right next to the main highway.  The traffic noise was very loud all night long.  On the other side of the row of campsites were a large field plowed under and a large refinery in the distance.  There was a tower with a flame burning on top.  That always seems to me to be a big waste of fuel.  The place stunk of petroleum.

     After we got set up, we drove over the border to Hobbs, NM for dinner.  We ate at the Cattle Baron Steak & Seafood House.  The food was OK but not as good as other places we’ve been to.

     Bonnie had diarrhea today.  We fed her a can of salmon and mackerel for breakfast.  It didn’t sit well with her.  She’s been doing so well with the limited ingredient foods.  Apparently, fish is not good for her.

 29 Jan 2019 (Tue) – We disconnected the water hose last night because it was projected to drop below freezing.  I put the water pump on this morning and jumped into the shower.  Just as I began to rinse the shampoo out of my hair, the pump quit working.  I’m standing there with soap suds streaming down my face hollering for Paul.  He threw on his coat and ran out to reconnect the hose only to find the faucet still frozen. I then had to take two bottles of drinking water to finish rinsing off my hair and body.  That was quite a shower!

     We drove into Abilene today and toured Frontier Texas!.  It was a unique museum that told the history of how Texas was settled.  There was a recounting of Indian settlement, Indian on Indian wars, white settlers, Indian on white wars, buffalo hunting, and outlaw activities.  Stations throughout the museum had hologram-like pictures of different personalities who told stories of what they personally experienced.  Of all the museums we have toured during our five and a half years on the road, Frontier Texas! is among the best.

     Next we went to lunch at the Hickory Street Café. It was located in a historical house. We both had chicken salad on a croissant.  I also got a broccoli and parmesan soup but it was more like a flour paste.

     After lunch, we drove back into town to tour the Grace Museum.  The building was originally built as the Hotel Grace, named after the owner’s daughter. The hotel was sold in the early 1940s but the town began to degrade shortly thereafter as people moved away. It was renamed the Drake Hotel and operated until 1970.  Then it was abandoned for 15 years.  Like all these historical buildings, it was taken over, renovated, and opened as a museum. The first floor had some art and sculptures on display.  The second floor had a children’s area that was kind of fun to play around.  The third floor had a photo exhibit of the city’s architect and an area that showed what a 1920, 1928 and 1948 kitchen and parlor looked like.  It reminded us of the G.E. Carousel of Progress in Disney World.  They need to compare those kitchens to one from today.

     As we were walking back to the truck, we spotted the Paramount Theater down the street.  The woman at the Visitor’s Center in Frontier Texas! had mentioned it.  The theater was opened in 1930 and has been beautifully restored to its previous grandeur.  There was a large stage and all the chairs were upholstered in red velvet.  There was an upper mezzanine and a bar lounge downstairs in the basement.

 28 Jan 2019 (Mon) – We sent into the Elks Lodge at 10 a.m. to see if our mail had shown up yet.  The secretary had a chip on her shoulder a mile wide and was on some kind of power trip.  She came in and just walked past us; didn’t acknowledge us at all.  Then she disappeared for over 20 minutes.  She came back and walked into the office without saying anything to us – again.  We went to the door of the office – which was locked – and knocked.  She answered with a pissed off look on her face.  When we asked if any mail had arrived, she walked outside to look in the mail box.  This was just a show because the mail had not come yet.  The mail had been forwarded from Escapees almost two weeks ago.  They had sent two envelopes.  Only one arrived.  That one was given to us by someone else who was in the office at the time Paul asked for it.  He took it out of a box sitting in the office.  When we later asked about the box, the secretary said that was just garbage. She refused to look.

     So, with an envelope missing, we said goodbye and left Dallas at 10:45 a.m.  It was a 5-hour drive to Abilene.  I called the VFW RV Park to make a reservation but the number was busy, busy, busy.  I finally went online to search for another number.  I got another phone number and when I tried the number, I got another campground just down the road from the VFW RV Park.  It is called Phil’s Boys Estates.  The man who answered said they had some RV sites available.  Knowing the VFW Park was probably full, we made a reservation and drove to Phil’s Boys.

     They are in the process of establishing a mobile home park.  There is a large area with electrical and water lines being run.  Along the side and back fence are sites for RVs to back in. A few single width mobile homes have been placed in the front of the gated park.  We have full hookups but no laundry facilities and Wifi.

      After getting set up, we drove into town to do the laundry.  We waited in the truck while it washed, then ran out for dinner while the clothes were in the dryer.  We went to a Mexican restaurant called Abuelo’s.  It was an upper end style restaurant.  The chips came with three salsas.  The plates were huge; more like platters.  The plates were so hot that I actually got a second degree burn blister on my arm when I accidentally brushed against the plate.  The food was way more than we could eat.  We ate half and took the rest home.

 27 Jan 2019 (Sun) – We drove to Bass Pro Shop today to have lunch in Islamadora Fish Company.  It is amazing that Bass Pro Shop is basically a department store and has so much in it.  We wandered around they had were red wines.  We were annoyed with the lady’s attitude anyway so we left.  We saw some model homes on the way back to the camper and stopped to tour them.  They were 4,000 to 5,000 SF and sold for around $450,000.  They would probably cost $700,000 to $800,000 back in New York.

     We then stopped at Kroeger to pick up groceries and at PetCo to get some pet food, then returned home.

26 Jan 2019 (Sat) – We drove to the Frontiers of Flight Museum.  It was smaller than most plane museums but interesting.  A section was devoted to the story of Southwest Airlines.  It was fascinating to read about their struggle to establish a route in Texas then across the nation and finally, internationally. There were some very interesting aircraft to examine and read about.  The original Apollo 7 command module was on display as well.  

     After the museum, we had lunch at the Lake House. It turned out to be a bar and café. It was near White Rock Lake.  We couldn’t see any water inside by the bar but there was a deck outside where they probably could see the lake.

     Next, we drove to the Dallas Arboretum.  The home once belonged to a wealthy couple and sat on 44 acres.  The gardens were beautiful.  The house was open for touring.  It’s always fun to see how the rich folks live.  

25 Jan 2019 (Fri) – My time in New York went SOOOO fast!  Wow.  I didn’t get a chance to see several people I wanted to see – my brother, Dennis, my friends at the American Legion and at church.  Interestingly, my sister, Susan, and I saw each other almost every day.  

     The first night, Susan picked me up at the airport and I spent the night at her house. She bought a Tesla two months ago and still had her old car which she lent to me for the five days I was in town. That helped to save me hundreds of dollars.  The plan had been to go to the New York Botanical Gardens to see the Christmas display but a cold snap rolled in and the day was too miserable to drive into Brooklyn.  Instead, we drove to Travis & Sam’s house and visited with them.  Susan left and I stayed with them for four nights.  I saw the oncologist and had a lymph node drainage massage.  I also gave Travis & Sam and Miranda and Kenny a chance to go for the night while I was there.  

      On Thursday, I reported to the airport at 10 a.m. to fly back to Dallas.  Susan and her husband, Bill, drove to the airport to pick up their car.  We said goodbye and they left.  As I waited for my plane, the weather deteriorated steadily. A line of thunderstorms was rolling in from the south and creating wind shears.  After my flight was delayed repeatedly, causing me now miss my connection in Baltimore, I went down to the counter and got my flight rescheduled for the next day.  Then Susan drove an hour back to the airport from the Hamptons and took me back to her house for the night.  She drove me back to the airport the next day.  That was a lot of driving on her part and was very grateful for her help.

[itsfinancethings]

October 26, 2019 at 07:00AM

On September 30, 1970, a reporter asked Janis Joplin to explain her fearless sexuality. “It seems to bother a lot of women’s lib people that you’re kind of so upfront sexually,” Village Voice writer Howard Smith told her. Joplin, by then accustomed to such criticism, responded: “I’m representing everything they said they want.… It’s sort of like: you are what you settle for.… You’re only as much as you settle for. If you don’t settle for that and you keep fighting it, you know, you’ll end up anything you want to be… I’m just doing what I wanted to and what feels right and not settling for bullshit and it worked. How can they be mad at that?”

Janis made it sound as if fighting the urge to settle was the most natural thing to her. But deep down inside there had always been the yearning for doing exactly that: getting the house, the white picket fence and the husband. They had been the middle-class hopes of her mother, Dorothy, who herself had fought hard for a life of stability in 1950s Port Arthur, Texas. Janis, her mother’s daughter, was often tormented about leaving that white picket fence behind. “I keep pushing so hard the dream/I keep tryin’ to make it right/Through another lonely day,” she sang in “Kozmic Blues.”

She was born a misfit—a tomboy, a painter, a girl who didn’t accept arbitrary boundaries, a girl with a big voice—but she never stopped wanting to belong. That’s why, years later at the age of 25, it had been so daring of her to leave behind the band that had launched her, Big Brother and the Holding Company. She had joined the group in San Francisco in June 1966 and two months later they were bunking communally in Marin County. Despite technical shortcomings as musicians, they were a dynamic live band with a solid following, and they correctly saw in Janis the element that would elevate them to status similar to their Haight-Ashbury scene-mates Jefferson Airplane and the Grateful Dead. Sure enough, Big Brother and the Holding Company broke big in June 1967 at the Monterey Pop Festival, signing with Dylan’s manager Albert Grossman, who secured a lucrative deal for them with Columbia Records.

But Joplin was beginning to feel again that part of her that would not settle. Her ambition ratcheted up. She looked more to her heroes Nina Simone and Etta James. Rather than shriek over Big Brother’s blaring psychedelic “freak rock,” Joplin longed to work her voice with more nuance, and explore soul and other musical genres; she envisioned keyboards, a horn section, more sophisticated tunes. In remarkable letters she wrote her parents, she explained, “I have to find the best musicians in the world & get together & work. There’ll be a whole lot of pressure because of the ‘vibes’ created by my leaving Big Brother & also by just how big I am now. So we’ve got to be just super when we start playing—but we will be.” To New York Times reporter Michael Lydon, she admitted: “I’m scared. I think, ‘It’s so close. Can I make it?’ If I fail, I’ll fail in front of the whole world. If I miss, I’ll never have a second chance on nothing. But I gotta risk it. I never hold back…” Anyone who really knew her would not have been surprised by her leap of faith. As a roughhousing tomboy in Port Arthur, she’d exhibited a fierce will not unlike that of her father, Seth, who led a double life as a Texaco engineer by day, and a cerebral bookworm and atheist by night. He and Dorothy adored their daughter, but their showdowns were legend—Janis refusing to do what she was told, damn the consequences. With adolescence came compulsive risk-taking; she was the female “mascot” among a group of outlier intellectual boys, a role that helped set a bold Joplin in motion.

Unlike her father, Joplin would not hide her defiance. She vocally opposed segregation in her high school, which made her a target of bullies and racists. She sought out the hard-to-find music of Lead Belly and Bessie Smith, sneaking out to juke joints with boys, and was accused of sleeping with her male companions. At 17, after a midnight ramble in New Orleans, she crashed her father’s car. She would soothe the shame with alcohol, the first drug on which she became dependent. And then she’d do it all again.

Joplin found temporary solace in traveling, which she’d been introduced to by Kerouac’s On the Road, a game-changer for her. Her first taste of freedom came at 19, when she briefly lived like a beatnik in Venice Beach, California, then hitchhiked alone to San Francisco, before hightailing it back to Texas. She soon cultivated an ardent following of fellow college students in Austin, who clamored to hear her sing blues, country, and folk with her first group, the Waller Creek Boys.

Forever restless, Joplin hitchhiked for the second time to San Francisco the day after her 20th birthday in 1963. Already writing songs and accompanying herself on an autoharp, she floored audiences in the Bay Area, gaining confidence and vocal skill, gig by gig. But after spending the summer of ’64 in New York’s Lower East Side, where she learned to play 12-string guitar, Joplin became addicted to methamphetamines. She returned to Port Arthur yet again, sobered up at the Joplin homestead, and attempted to renounce her life as an artist. But she could not resist opportunities to perform in Houston and Austin clubs, where her voice manifested ever more powerfully, an uncorked siren calling her away from the life of dutiful commuter student and sociology major at Beaumont’s Lamar Tech. At age 23, after sharing a bill in Austin with the 13th Floor Elevators, she split town for Haight-Ashbury yet again. When she wrote her parents to give them her whereabouts, she promised to stay clean.

In just over a year, she achieved much of what she thought she wanted, but chafed at the constraints of Big Brother. As she turned to heroin to soften anxiety and fears of rejection, her urge to rebel—even within the parameters of the counterculture—could not be reined in. “I’ve been doing it for 26 years,” she told the New York Times in 1969, conflating her age and her lifelong iconoclasm, “and all the people who were trying to compromise me are now coming to me, man. You better not compromise yourself, it’s all you got.… I’m a goddamn living example of that…. People aren’t supposed to be like me, sing like me, make out like me, drink like me, live like me, but now they’re paying me $50,000 a year for me to be like me. That’s what I hope I mean to those kids out there… that they can be themselves and win. You just have to start thinking that way, being that righteous with yourself, and you’ve won already.”

Joplin’s great champion Ellen Willis, a rare female rock critic of the era, worried for post-Big Brother Janis in the pages of The New Yorker. “Did Big Brother perhaps give her more than we realized?” she wrote. As often happens with performers, Joplin had to learn in public, so the initial answer to this question was a resounding maybe. Only three months after assembling her back-up players, Joplin was still finding her way, which showed in her two-night stand at New York’s Fillmore East. Joplin didn’t fall back on her usual over-the-top performance techniques, but modulated herself, doing the “kind of things that milk you rather than hammer you,” she said. Willis was one of the few critics who seemed to get it.

Rolling Stone’s Paul Nelson resolutely panned the shows, describing Joplin as “The Judy Garland of Rock” who “strangled the songs to death.” Six weeks later, when she performed back in San Francisco at Bill Graham’s Winterland, her “people” did not call for an encore—a first on her own turf. Afterwards in the dressing room, journalist John Bowers noted, “She is pale, as if in shock, saying, ‘San Francisco’s changed, man. Where are my people? They used to be so wild. I know I sang well! I know I did!’” One of her earliest fans, esteemed jazz critic Ralph J. Gleason, advised her in his San Francisco Chronicle column to “scrap this band and go right back to being a member of Big Brother if they’ll have her.”

Hurt but undaunted, Joplin continued to pursue her musical vision. She recorded her debut solo album, I Got Dem Ol’ Kozmic Blues Again Mama!, its title alluding to a persistent existential dread her father had called “the Saturday night swindle.” She’d written new songs including “One Good Man,” a Bessie Smith blues update. Other material ranged from her adaptation of the Chantels’ “Maybe,” a favorite from her teen years, and Rodgers and Hart’s “Little Girl Blue,” inspired by the 1959 Nina Simone recording of the song. (Simone would later applaud Joplin’s version.)

The album debuted on Billboard on October 11, 1969, remained there for 28 weeks and gradually moved up to #5. Joplin’s aching original “Kozmic Blues” just missed the Top 40, hitting #41. Reviews were lukewarm, with Joplin, again, being taken to task—by male critics—for being “bent on becoming Aretha Franklin” and dumping Big Brother. An exception was an insightful Village Voice piece by Johanna Schier (later Johanna Hall, coauthor of the Pearl track, “Half Moon”), who wrote that Joplin “was singing stronger and better… The top of her range is more solid and her vocal control is maturing… She breaks through into greatness by anyone’s standards.” Backed by her Kozmic Blues Band, she would play the biggest venues of her career to date, including a sold-out concert on December 19 at Madison Square Garden.

Bettmann ArchiveJanis Joplin and her final group, the Full Tilt Boogie Band, perform at the Festival for Peace at Shea Stadium in August 1970.

The first year of her brief solo flight, Joplin headlined Woodstock, performing an hour-long set in the middle of the night, singing until her voice gave out. She made her debut on The Ed Sullivan Show and The Dick Cavett Show, appeared on the cover of Newsweek (the cover line: “The Rebirth of the Blues”), and toured Europe for the first time, a series of concerts garnering rapturous responses. At London’s Royal Albert Hall, she’d even managed to roust a sold-out, normally staid audience from their seats.

Joplin remained peripatetic, musically speaking, and driven. She’d learned to play and sing Kris Kristofferson’s “Me and Bobby McGee,” and the song opened new doors. Joplin sought a smaller, rootsier-sounding unit to bring it, and other material, to life. She would christen this group Full Tilt Boogie. With them, she would mature as a bandleader and co-producer of her recorded output, all gloriously evident on her final album, Pearl, and in footage of Joplin and Full Tilt Boogie’s live performances. Following her death during the Pearl sessions, on October 4, 1970, “Me and Bobby McGee” topped the charts for two weeks, and Pearl became the most commercially successful album of her career. Despite her kozmic blues and the critics’ initial discouragement, Joplin, of course, had refused to settle for anything less than traveling the road her music took her.

[nolimitsongrace]

The Key to Working Miracles

How to Receive a Miracle: 10 Faith Actions You Can Take TodaySeptember 19, 2019

Want to know how to receive a miracle? Find out what actions you can take to participate in His plan for you.

If you need a miracle today, you need to know this: Miracles are not just hit-or-miss. You can tap into a miracle. God doesn’t just sometimes decide to do a miracle, and sometimes not to. No. He is always ready to do a miracle in your life.

Here’s the key.

You are not a spectator. You are an active participant!

If you need a miracle in your life—get off the couch, get involved and receive your miracle with these 10 faith actions you can take today.

Action Step No. 1: Worship the Lord Every Morning“His praise will always be on my lips.” –Psalm 34:1 (NIV)

Some people think as long as they love God and are faithful to Him, the blessings will flow in. But worshipping and praising the Lord put everything in the proper perspective. It puts God at the head of your life and circumstances. It announces to the world, the devil and all your troubles that you are in the hands of Almighty God, and you know it, trust it and have faith to receive a miracle.

That’s why Kenneth Copeland says, “Praise is the big gun of faith.”

That’s how Paul and Silas received deliverance from prison. Instead of begging and pleading with God, or complaining about their situation, Paul and Silas “were praying and singing hymns to God” (Acts 16:25, NIV). The result? “All the prison doors flew open, and everyone’s chains came loose” (verse 26, NIV). All the doors. Every chain. All because of worshipping and praising God.

Learn how to unleash the power of praise and thanksgiving for miracles HERE.

Kenneth Hagin once shared a testimony of a missionary who had contracted smallpox before there was a vaccine, at a time when it was often fatal. As she prayed, the Lord gave her a vision of a scale with prayer on one side and praise on the other. He said, “When your praises equal your prayers, you will be healed.”

She spent two days doing nothing but praising God. She didn’t ask Him for anything. At the end of the two days, she was completely healed.

That’s how you receive a miracle!

Action Step No. 2: Make a Forgiveness List“And whenever you stand praying, forgive.” –Mark 11:25 (ESV)

Think you can receive a miracle with bitterness in your heart? Think again.

If you need a miracle—don’t delay!—sit down and make a forgiveness list today. Get quiet before the Lord and ask Him to reveal to you anyone you haven’t forgiven in your life (this could go way back). Write down everyone who comes to mind. It could be an entire group like a neighborhood, a church or a school.

There may be tiny little “nothings” on the list, but those are important, too! It’s the small foxes that ruin the vines. Then, ask God to help you forgive. It often takes supernatural help.

Find A 3-Step Plan for Total Forgiveness HERE.

From this day forward, keep your forgiveness list empty. Every time someone offends you, forgive immediately. This faith action could be the missing link to receive your miracle.

Action Step No. 3: Sharpen Your Listening Skills“For those who are led by the Spirit of God are the children of God.” –Romans 8:14 (NIV)

God wants you to receive your miracle, and He has some special instructions for you. Can you hear Him? If you’re wrapped up in thinking about your troubles or needs, the noise may be loud enough to block out His still, small voice.

Be intentional about getting quiet before the Lord. Sharpen your listening skills and expect to hear from Him.

Keith Moore has seen many miracles in his life, and his advice is this: “If you want to see a miracle, you must first hear from Him.” This is the most critical step and one that many people try to skip. Then they wonder why they don’t see a manifestation in their lives.

When you hear from the Lord, He will give you an instruction—something He wants you to do to receive your miracle. That is always how God has worked.

When Jesus healed the man with leprosy, He said, “Stretch out your hand” (Matthew 12:13, NIV). When did the miracle happen exactly? When the man stretched out his hand. “Go, wash in the pool” (John 9:7, AMP). “Fill the jars with water” (John 2:7). “Pick up your mat, and walk” (John 5:8). Instruction always preceded a miracle.

Expect to hear from Him. Then, do whatever He tells you to do, and you will receive your miracle!

Action Step No. 4: Only Speak the Language of Faith“He will have whatever he says.” –Mark 11:23 (NKJV)

If you need a miracle—or want to live in everyday victory—you’ve got to learn to only speak the language of faith. The Bible is clear that our words have power to release life, death and whatever we say. So, whatever you’re living in today is likely the result of yesterday’s words.

Find out how to stop sinking your own ship with your words HERE.

Until you reach the point of speaking faith every day, you need to do what Kenneth Copeland told Mylon Le Fevre to do years ago when Mylon was new to walking by faith.

Mylon was telling Kenneth all about his troubles, even though he said he was believing God to help him. Kenneth said to him, “Son, you need to learn the language of silence.”

Kenneth was telling him that until he could learn how to speak faith, he needed to keep quiet.

It’s advice Kenneth gives often. Jerry Savelle shares about what Kenneth said to him when he was first learning to walk by faith.

“Before God transformed my life, I asked Kenneth Copeland why nothing was working in my life, and he said, ‘Jerry, your problem is your big mouth. You need to learn the vocabulary of silence.’ And then he said, ‘If you can’t talk the Word, then shut up.’ Once I learned how to ‘bridle my tongue’ (James 3:1-9), things began to change in my life!”

You may already know about the importance of your words, but you will always have to be intentional about only speaking the language of faith.

Action Step No. 5: Don’t Take No for an Answer“All the promises of God in Him are Yes, and in Him Amen.” –2 Corinthians 1:20 (NKJV)

If you need a miracle, do you accept a bad report as final? If you need a miracle in your body and the doctor says, “You’re going to be on medication for life,” are you accepting it? Or do you fight?

It can be tempting to tuck your tail between your legs and walk away wondering why nothing ever works out. But that isn’t what we’ve been told to do! The next time you hear a no from the world when the Lord has already said, “Yes,” stop and consider your response.

Be willing and ready to fight for what’s yours in the spirit realm. You have a right to enjoy the promises of God, but they won’t just fall in your lap. Go after them today. God’s yes will always overcome every no. That’s what a miracle is!

Action Step No. 6: Refuse to Doubt“Don’t be afraid; just believe.” –Mark 5:36 (NIV)

Once you take a stand against the world’s no, the devil will be right there pulling every trick out of his bag to get you to let go of your faith and grab on to fear and doubt. He’ll say, “You’re not going to get that miracle. You don’t deserve it. Remember how many times you’ve failed God.”

How do you receive a miracle? Refuse to entertain those doubt-filled thoughts. Instead, answer him and say, “Bless the Lord, I don’t get what I deserve. I get what Jesus bought for me. I get the mercy of God. I get a miracle!” That’s why, when Jairus received the news that his daughter had died, Jesus told him, “Don’t be afraid; just believe” (Mark 5:36, NIV). He knew that if Jairus stayed out of doubt and unbelief, the way would be clear for God to do a miracle. That’s a good word for all of us who are positioning ourselves for a miracle. No matter what the devil says, no matter what circumstances may say, no matter what our natural senses might try to tell us—if we’ll refuse to doubt, refuse to fear and keep on believing God, our miracle will surely come!

Action Step No. 7: Don’t Just Sit There—Do Something!“Faith without works is dead.” –James 2:26 (NKJV)

As important as it is to resist doubt, faith alone won’t get the whole job done. You can’t just sit around believing on the inside and do nothing on the outside. For faith to come alive, you have to take action. If you’re waiting for a miracle today, don’t just sit there—take action! When Jesus performed His first miracle, John 2 tells us that He and His mother were attending a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the host ran out of wine. Mary looked to Jesus to do something about it. She was expecting a miracle when she turned to the servants and said, “Whatever He says to you, do it.”

Mylon Le Fevre can attest to this truth. When he first got saved, he had a massive amount of debt, and he knew God had told him, according to Romans 13:8, to get out of debt. So he met with a financial counselor who mapped everything out for him, including how much he would need to put aside each month.

Mylon put everything he had into getting out of debt. He didn’t eat out or purchase anything (he only bought the food he needed and paid his bills). Though the financial advisor said it would take five years and eight months, all of Mylon’s debt disappeared in 18 months! That’s one of the major keys to receiving a miracle. Whatever the Lord says to you—do it! When you take action, He will meet you there with a supernatural result.

Watch Kenneth Copeland teach you how to act on God’s Word to be healed.

Action Step No. 8: Plant the Word of God“The seed is the word of God.” –Luke 8:11 (NKJV)

If you need a harvest today, the big question is, have you planted anything? To reap a spiritual harvest, you’ve got to plant the Word of God in your heart.

A lot of people try to skip that step. They try to believe for a miracle without spending enough time in the Word to change their hearts and minds. They just want to confess it with their mouths and have it instantly appear. But that won’t happen. It’s what we believe in our heart and say with our mouths that we receive.

If you don’t have enough faith yet to believe for the miracle you need, then you can get it. “Faith comes by hearing, and hearing by the word of God” (Romans 10:17, NKJV). So, start planting the Word in your heart until faith for your miracle is born.

Action Step No. 9: Learn the Art of Waiting“Do not become sluggish, but imitate those who through faith and patience inherit the promises.” –Hebrews 6:12 (NKJV)

The difference between receiving a miracle and not receiving, often comes down to your willingness to wait. Faith and patience are the power twins. Patience keeps your faith strong until you cross the finish line.

Learn the biblical art of waiting! Develop the kind of patience that knows if you believed you received it—you have it.

Patience will guard you from your feelings and from watching the clock. Let patience have her perfect work. Patience comes and holds the door of faith open. Praise God! It won’t let the devil slam it. It won’t let anything shut it. It just keeps calling things that be not as though they were. It keeps acting as though it was already done.

Action Step No. 10: Expect the Impossible“All things are possible to him who believes.” –Mark 9:23 (NKJV)

Did you know the spirit of expectancy is key to receiving your miracle? If you only see the natural realm of the possible as what is possible for you—that’s not faith! God works miracles because we believe! We could look at one miracle after another and see that truth in action.   ·         In Mark 5:34, when the woman with the issue of blood receives her healing, Jesus says, “Daughter, your faith has made you well.”   ·         In Luke 17:19, the leper is healed and made whole. Why? Jesus said, “Your faith has healed you.”   ·         In Mark 10:52, blind Bartimaeus received the miracle of his sight restored. The reason? Jesus said, “Your faith has healed you.”   In every case, the faith of the people is credited with the receiving of a miracle. That’s your part—expecting the impossible. It opens the door for God’s power and allows a supernatural flow of the blessings of God into your life. If you need a miracle today, you can put these 10 faith actions to work in your life, and you will see what you’re believing for. It’s time to get in the game! Make God your focus, rather than your circumstances, and your miracle will come.  

Watch Kenneth Copeland teach you about the key to working miracles.

Related Articles:

A 3-Step Plan for Total Forgiveness

© 1997 - 2019 Eagle Mountain International Church Inc. Aka Kenneth Copeland Ministries. All Rights Reserved.

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Im 16 i saved 2 years for a car, bought one now cant afford insurance can someone help me? i live in kentucky?

Im 16 i saved 2 years for a car, bought one now cant afford insurance can someone help me? i live in kentucky?

ok like i said i bought a car and im just wanting to be a secondary driver for right now but the cheapest place ive found is 1152 dollars every 6 month... and that is liability... im looking for something about 80-150 a month i dont care about what it offers just the cheapest possable insurance.... whats some small cheap insurance places... ILL TAKE ALL ANSWERS LOL... THANK YOU

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ok like i said i bought a car and im just wanting to be a secondary driver for right now but the cheapest place ive found is 1152 dollars every 6 month... and that is liability... im looking for something about 80-150 a month i dont care about what it offers just the cheapest possable insurance.... whats some small cheap insurance places... ILL TAKE ALL ANSWERS LOL... THANK YOU

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ok like i said i bought a car and im just wanting to be a secondary driver for right now but the cheapest place ive found is 1152 dollars every 6 month... and that is liability... im looking for something about 80-150 a month i dont care about what it offers just the cheapest possable insurance.... whats some small cheap insurance places... ILL TAKE ALL ANSWERS LOL... THANK YOU

[samanthasroberts]

Trump revises his tax plan, raises top rate

Detroit (CNN)Donald Trump sought to get his stumbling campaign back on track Monday, unveiling a tax reform plan aligned with House Speaker Paul Ryan’s policy agenda.

Trump’s new proposal would reduce tax rates for most Americans and simplify the tax code, but the new rates Trump proposed mark an increase from those he proposed last year as he campaigned for the Republican nomination and touted his tax reform plan as offering the lowest income tax rates of any of his GOP opponents.

Trump’s new proposal would more than halve the number of income tax brackets and bring rates down to 12%, 25% and 33%. Trump proposed drastically reducing federal income tax rates to 10%, 20% and 25% — a proposal that nonpartisan groups assessed would add trillions of dollars to the national debt.

Americans in the top income bracket are currently taxed at 39.6%. Trump also vowed again Monday that the poorest Americans will have a zero tax rate, which he included in his initial proposal.

What’s missing from the 2016 race: Inspiration

The Republican nominee, who was interrupted by protestors 14 times, unveiled his economic plan — which included proposals beyond just tax reforms — a week after he feuded with Ryan. The real estate mogul initially refused to endorse the speaker, who faces a primary Tuesday. But Trump ultimately backed Ryan on Friday after a tumultuous week of intra-party fighting.

Speaking at the Detroit Economic Club, Trump laid out proposals to achieve an American “economic renewal,” including a moratorium on government regulations, a proposal to make childcare expenses fully tax deductible, and other proposals his campaign argued will benefit the middle class.

“It’s a conversation about how to make America great again for everyone and, especially, and I say especially, for those who have the very least,” Trump said.

Trump’s speech, in which he offered detailed policy proposals rarely heard in his typical stump speech, came as the Republican faces steeply declining poll numbers following two bad weeks on the campaign trail during which he repeatedly stoked controversies that distracted from his core campaign message.

But Trump, reading from teleprompters, was laser-focused on promoting his economic agenda and contrasting his plans with Hillary Clinton’s.The Democratic nominee is also set to lay out her own economic proposals in Detroit in a major address on Thursday.

Trump pointed to Detroit, a city lately besieged by economic turmoil and run for decades by successive Democratic mayors, as the “living, breathing example of my opponent’s failed economic agenda.”

Trump called the city’s economic collapse an example of politicians abandoning “America first” policies in favor of a globalist agenda.

“If you are a foreign power looking to weaken America, you couldn’t do better than Hillary Clinton’s economic agenda,” Trump said.

But Trump went beyond bomb-throwing, laying out in detail a number of proposals he would seek to enact as president that would reduce the regulatory influence of the federal government, particularly on fossil fuel industries.

He also again vowed to lower the business tax rate for corporations and small businesses alike to 15% — down from the current top rate of 39%.

“We will make America grow again,” Trump said.

Trump also said he would look to restart the Keystone XL pipeline project, and withdraw the U.S. from the Paris climate agreement, withdraw the U.S. from the Trans-Pacific Partnership and renegotiate the North American Free Trade Agreement, which was enacted by President Bill Clinton.

Ryan’s campaign spokesman Zack Roday praised Trump’s proposal, saying it “has many similarities to the job-creating plan at the heart of House Republican’s Better Way agenda.”

“A Better Way,” is a plan Ryan introduced in June as speaker that lists changes to six policy areas, including tax reform.

Hillary Clinton offered a direct rebuttal to Trump’s remarks during a rally in St. Petersburg, Florida, later in the day.

“He wants to basically just re-package trickle down economics. Now, you know that old saying, ‘Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me?’ ” Clinton said. “Trickle down economics does not help our economy grow. It does not help the vast majority of Americans.”

Stressing the importance of the fall election, Clinton urged the crowd: “Don’t let a friend vote Trump.”

At a family-owned beer brewery earlier in the day, Clinton accused Trump for engaging in the business practice of refusing to pay workers for their services. Clinton said she has met countless people who were “stiffed” by Trump and told: “Just sue us,” and drew on her personal experience of having watched her own father run a small print plan as a child.

“He worked really hard and made a good living for my mother, my brothers and me,” Clinton said about her father at 3 Daughters Brewing, surrounded by thousands of stacked beer cans and large silver brew houses. “That’s why I just can’t imagine — he’d worked so hard — if he had delivered the finished goods to the people who had ordered them, that they would say we’re not going to pay you. And that’s what Trump has done time and time again.”

Clinton has been pulling away from Trump in recent polling, following his disastrous battle with the Gold Star parents of slain Iraq War veteran Capt. Humayun Khan. The latest CNN Poll of Polls shows Clinton beating Trump 49%-39% nationwide.

But a CNN poll in June and a more recent Fox News survey found that voters trust Trump more than Clinton on the economy.

Clinton running mate Tim Kaine tweeted Monday, “Donald Trump is only in it for himself — just look at his economic plan.”

Source: http://allofbeer.com/trump-revises-his-tax-plan-raises-top-rate/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2018/06/28/trump-revises-his-tax-plan-raises-top-rate/

[alternance-web]

100 Colorado Creatives 4.0: Erin K. Barnes

Writer, blogger, Burrito Fairy and synesthete Erin K. Barnes. Barnes as the Illegal Pete’s Burrito Fairy.

Westword: What (or who) is your creative muse?

Erin Barnes: I tend to shine in the zany, offbeat projects. I’ve applied to, and been rejected by, countless corporate copywriting gigs. But right now I’m doing social media for an indie horror film, the Colorado-produced Apartment 212, and boy, does it feel good to wake up in the morning and write, “Do you like your coffee with cream, sugar or a side of #HORROR?”

When I had children, it cracked me open (excuse the graphic metaphor) creatively, and I was almost plagued with creative ideas. I thought I needed to act on each one of them. So I wrote them all down in a blog, which no one read, but it fused them all together in my brain so that a novel came out. At the same time, my Uncle Paul Hamerly, who is this extraordinarily successful entrepreneur, became my life coach. He helped me arrive at the notion that I needed to write my own novel.

In terms of people, I’m incredibly inspired by my children — and not just because they’re my children. They are legit inspiring. My daughter is like a real life fairy, floating around the house in my dresses and jewelry and monologuing to herself about super dramatic storylines. Both of my children make up words, as many children do, and it’s really fun for a writer to watch. One example is my daughter’s very specific word “excombilated:” It means when everyone is disappointed and tired, yet everyone refuses to go to sleep. We experience excombilation often in our household.

Which three people, dead or alive, would you like to invite to your next party, and why?

I’m going to name three people, and they are so amazing that you’re going to instantly know why I chose them. They require no preface, nor explanation. And it’s for this reason that I would choose them to come to my purgatorial-realm dream party: because they are so cool that on a cellular level, you just get it.

NUMBER ONE: Bill Murray. NUMBER TWO: Beyoncé. NUMBER THREE: Vince Kadlubek, CEO and co-founder of Meow Wolf.

They are all alive; I had a Bill Murray sighting at SXSW, and I met Vince Kadlubek at one of his own parties and have e-mailed with him before. If I can just track down Beyoncé, I think I really have a shot at making this party happen!

Barnes with her family.

What’s the best thing about the local creative community in your field — and the worst?

It’s hard to answer questions about my field, because like many writers, I’ve used my craft to get into other creative industries (like music, art, fashion and film). Ever since I had to close down the Donnybrook Writing Academy, I don’t hang out with as many writer friends as I want to.

So I’ll speak to the hybrid meshing of creative industries I am acquainted with: I love seeing comedians and musicians hanging out with artists and writers. I love that we cross boundaries of medium, or just drink beers together, and I want to collaborate more. I’m currently talking to a local musician about creating a soundtrack for my novel.

The worst thing about the creative community, for me, is that I couldn’t find organized support while writing my novel. In the music industry, there are nonprofits, conferences for networking, rad places like the Music District, resources and just really nice, helpful people to meet with bands and help them with their careers. Each time I found a nonprofit for writers, they’d take months to answer a question, because there’s just not as much interest. And the arts grants I applied for usually ended up going to large-scale theater troupes.

Thankfully, there have been countless individuals who’ve helped me through the process, read and re-read my novel, even donated money to my Patreon and encouraged me along the way.

How about globally?

As usual, I can’t stick to one creative medium to answer this question (I have synesthesia, can you tell?). I am in awe of the music being created these days. My husband is an audiophile, so at my house, we’ve been listening to a lot of the new Björk, MorMor, Lana del Rey (my kids LOVE her), CC Dust, King Krule, and my latest unexpected obsession is Lorde, because she is also a synesthete. Listening to her song “Yellow Flicker Beat” actually makes me feel yellow, black and tingly.

Music just continues to get better and better. The sheer multitude of phenomenal music being produced on a daily basis is staggering. I can’t even fathom where we go from here. I can’t even fathom what my children will be listening to when they grow up, since they like Dirty Projectors at age two and five.

Television has gotten so much better. Do you remember the days when you would waste your time by watching something as dumb as Friends? Now you have shows like Wormwood, which are genre-defying: an intriguing true-crime story, but the reenactment, which is usually filled with faceless actors, is so trippy and well done and stars Pete Sarsgaard. All rolled together in a collage.

I think some of the best art is going to come out of this time period. America, and many other countries in the world, are in a state of political turmoil. Yet luckily, so far, we still have the freedom of expression. I can’t wait to look back when we are old, and Emma González is president, and just explore all the art that came out of this time period.

What made you turn to writing in the first place?

It was therapeutic; I always had diaries. But I’ve always felt like writing came more naturally to me than talking. When other people and shiny things are surrounding me, my words get lost on the way out of my mouth. It’s a lot of what’s in my novel. I’m not sure if that’s just an introvert thing, or a neurodivergent thing. But I feel happy when I’m writing. It’s never felt like a chore. I write like I’m painting. I never have a problem with self-criticism. I have very low expectations of myself, and so I always exceed them.

What’s your best or favorite accomplishment as a creative?

Besides my human creations (my kids), it’s definitely my novel, Tintabula. I wrote it mostly over last summer, when I was in the midst of grappling with all the bad feelings that go along with living in our country right now. I was living too intensely in the problems and the activism. I decided to treat myself: I spent a lot of time at the pool, and I wrote something that I personally needed as therapy. I love to get lost in different worlds when I read novels, and the coolest part about it was that I had that same feeling as I was writing one, but this time, I was lost in a world that I had created.

You’ve come this far in life. What’s still on your bucket list? Getting my novel published would be a great start. I just began working with an amazing and talented agent, Nat Kimber at the NYC agency The Rights Factory.

I have several other books I want to write, including children’s books. I have great ambitions for my novel, Tintabula, not because I feel like it’s so important that it needs to be in all different formats. It’s because of my synesthesia; I can see how it would fit across other mediums. It has a lot of fantastical imagery. For this reason, I would love to see it interpreted into a soundtrack; I’m currently writing proposals to make it into a Meow Wolf installation, but I’m not sure if that will happen; and someday, I want it to be a movie.

Denver, love it or leave it? What keeps you here — or makes you want to leave?

I was actually forced to move from Denver because of rising costs. While my friends were settling for corporate jobs — smartly, I might add — my husband and I always worked in creative jobs; we got stuck in the very millennial problem of never graduating from those internship-style “proving yourself” low-pay jobs. At a certain point, you’re like, “I’m over thirty, I’ve been proving myself for ten years. When can I get health insurance?” When my daughter was a baby, we moved to New Mexico for almost two years. I kind of resented Denver during that period, and I loved living in New Mexico. But we missed Denver so much, and finally moved back when my husband got a “grown-up” job.

I’ve always felt like the people here in Denver are as interesting and talented as in a city like New York, but we’re smaller and more insulated. I remember the days when we couldn’t walk five steps at the Underground Music Showcase without running into a friend who has ten amazing projects up their sleeve. We’re going through a lot of changes right now, and I can see everyone’s concern with Nu Denver. But I hope that if we can stay involved and speak up, we can try to have some say on what our future looks like.

Who is your favorite Colorado Creative?

Erin Roberts from Porlolo speaks to my soul. She’s so talented, a true-blue artist, and you get the feeling that she’s going to be making music when she’s ninety years old. As her bio says, one reason she makes music is to get out from under the burden of seriousness. That’s what I was attempting to do with my novel. She is fun, funny, badass and does it all with two children, to boot.

I recommend checking out her new video for “Wasting Time,” which just came out. It’s a great song, and nothing is more satisfying in a pop song than belting out “I was a foooool.” Nothing.

What’s on your agenda in the coming year?

My daughter is starting kindergarten, I’m hoping to publish my novel, I’ll continue loving my work for Illegal Pete’s and Grasslands, and there may be one or two more books in the pipeline.

Who do you think will (or should) get noticed in the local arts community in the coming year?

I’m interested to see what the displaced journalists from the Denver Post layoffs will get up to.

My brand of creative writing hasn’t always fit in at newspapers, so if anything, I’ve only written for A&E sections of the newspaper. I don’t have a ton of experience working with seasoned journalists. But now that I’m working at Grasslands, I’ve had the pleasure to work with journalists like Ricardo Baca, Aleta Labak and Polly Washburn from the Denver Post/Cannabist, as well as Emily Gray Brosious in Chicago. They are truly the best people to work with! So thoughtful, communicative and on top of their stuff.

In this of all eras, when we’re seeing the fallout of our political climate as a direct result of the fallout of journalism (fake news leading to a large portion of the population believing lies), we’re also seeing the Denver Post staff lose large portions of their staff in layoffs. It’s incredibly disappointing and scary.

I’d imagine that a lot of journalists, like the Grasslands staff, are coming over to the creative side, starting agencies of their own and using their writing and photography skills in new capacities. I look forward to seeing what they will bring to the table; I hope that they can continue starting their own websites and outlets and agencies. I hope we can also continue to have journalistic coverage, but whatever they choose, I hope that the community supports them in any way that they can.

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