#Samuel Loo

[of-fear-and-love]

Richard Loo in The Steel Helmet (1951)

#The Steel Helmet #Richard Loo #samuel fuller #sam fuller #1951 #50s movies #1950s film #war movie #james edwards #richard monahan #gene evans

[miistymemorii]

Enemies with Benefits

danny wagner x fem! reader

summary: you and danny wagner hate each other. after a failed date, he escorts you home, and the next morning you both decide you cannot let the red-hot tension between the two of you go on any longer.

rating: 18+

warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI !!!), slapping, cussing, alcohol usage, light hair pulling, degradation (use of word ‘bitch’), slight angst, oral (m and f receiving), unprotected p in v sex.

A/N: smut under the cut (read more tab)

You have hated Daniel Wagner as long as you had known him.

You had met Sammy in high school and the two of you quickly became best friends. Things got complicated, however, when he introduced you to his best friend, Danny Wagner. You had been introduced at a party, where, after Sammy left to mingle, Danny had stared you down as you tried to make conversation before wordlessly walking away from you. Later that night, when all the partygoers had left, you, Sammy, and Danny had settled in for a round of drunk Uno, where Danny’s competitiveness had pissed you off so bad you left after only a few minutes.

The tension between the two of you carried on throughout the years. You had tried your hardest to figure out why he didn’t like you, why he treated you different, but after High School ended, you gave up. He just never seemed to want to be around you or talk to you, and when he did, he teased you relentlessly. 

It was two weeks before Christmas. You were getting ready for a date, excited at the possibility of a new chapter in your life. You had matched with the guy on Tinder, and he seemed nice, respectable. You were dancing along to the loud music drifting through your room, applying the finishing touches on your makeup. That’s when you got it. 

Daniel: Where the fuck are you?

You rolled your eyes, the beginnings of annoyance settling in. 

You: what are you on about?

You hummed along to your song, refusing to let him bring your good mood down.

Daniel: you seriously forgot?

Daniel: typical

Daniel: his party. It’s been going almost 45 mins. He’s been expecting you.

Your heart fell a little as you read Danny’s last text. Shit, shit, shit... you had totally forgotten. 

You decided to ignore Danny, instead opting to make a quick call to Samuel, apologizing. He sounded a little sad but wished you well on your date. With that all handled, you quickly headed to the bar, practically buzzing in your seat.

Then there was the waiting.

At first, it was only ten minutes. You constantly checked your phone, praying there would be a text from your date saying traffic was late, or he had been held up at work but was on his way. After twenty minutes, nothing.

When it hit the 45-minute mark, you started drinking. Heavily. You figured, he won't show up now, he won’t show up ever. That doesn’t mean everyone in the bar had to know you had been stood up, right? After an hour and a half, you were firmly wasted, leaning against the brick wall of the outside of the bar as you waited for your ride. You had sent Ronnie a drunken text, asking her to come get you and take you home. A car stopped in front of you ten minutes later, but it wasn’t Ronnie’s. 

It was Danny’s.

He quickly exited the car, shaking his head at you with a glare, ducking under your arm to hold you steady and help you into the car. You were giggling the entire time, but the annoyance for him you had pushed down earlier was starting to bubble up again. 

Once he had roughly pushed you into the passenger seat and strapped you in, he returned to the driver’s seat and silently began to drive to your house. After a few moments of tense silence, you lolled your head to look at him.

“You’re... you’re not Ronnie-”

“Shut up.”

You scoffed loudly and hiccupped. “Has anyone ever told you how much of an asshole you are?”

“Don’t. Talk. If you talk, you might vomit all over my car. And if that happens, you’re paying to have it cleaned.” He said in the usual cold tone he reserved just for you. 

You scoffed again, rolling your eyes and turning to look out the window, your face smushed against the glass. 

The drive back to your house was short, and the roughly helped you out of the car, leading you inside and taking you straight to your bedroom. You sat up, your head spinning as you tried to focus on whatever Danny was doing as he moved across the room. 

“Hey mister... it’s not-” Hiccup. “Nice to go through a lady’s things.”

He tossed a bundle of fabric towards you. “You’re far from a lady.”

You slowly began to look through what he had thrown at you. It was your clothes, or at least, what he figured was sleep-comfortable. 

“Change. You smell like a brewery. The smell will make you want to throw up as soon as you wake up.”

He turned around to face the wall and you let out a long, dramatic sigh. “You’re suuuuch a gentleman, Daniel.” you mumbled, struggling to take off the nice top you were wearing. You couldn’t even get your goddamn arms through the sleeves. After a few minutes of trying, you threw your arms up, pouting like a child. “Can you PLEASE stop being a prude and help me? Pleeeaaseeee?”

He slowly turned around; his eyes dark as he stared you down. You gave him your best puppy-dog eyes, figuring if it worked when Sammy did it, it would work when you did it. And it did. He maneuvered you to be sitting on the edge of the bed, avoiding your eyes as he helped you strip of your outer clothes and change into your pajamas. After that, he moved you again, helping you under the covers. You smiled up at him, pulling the covers up to your chin. 

“You’re my hero, Daniel.” you whispered.

He didn’t say anything, and maybe it was your drunken state, but you could’ve sworn the glare in his eyes softened a little. He left without saying a word, gently shutting the door behind you. 

Sleep came quickly after. 

You woke up to the harsh glare of sun on your eyelids. Your head was pounding but you were grateful you didn’t feel the need to immediately vomit. You stayed still in bed for as long as you could before slowly moving to sit. You checked your phone. There were a few texts from Sam and Ronnie, making sure you were okay. Your heart dropped when you saw there were no texts from your date. The pain in your head stopped you from crying, though you really wanted to. You eventually managed to peel yourself out of bed, slowly shuffling to the kitchen to get some water and whatever breakfast was safest for your current state. You got water and some pain meds, grabbing a banana and heading to your living room. You stopped in your tracks when you caught sight of your couch.

Daniel Wagner was asleep on your couch, comically positioned with one leg hanging off the side and the other dangled over the arm of the couch. You were frozen, taking in the sight of him looking so... peaceful. You were only used to his harsh, cold behavior, and now you finally got a peek into what everyone else got to see. It warmed your heart a little. 

You didn’t have time for thoughts like that, though. Shaking your head, you set your water and banana down on the coffee table and hovered over him, trying to think of the best way to wake him up. You leaned down, a few inches above his face. You gave his nose a light poke, waiting for him to react. His snore increased in volume a little, but he didn’t wake up. You groaned quietly and poked his nose again, a little harder. This time, he snapped awake, quickly reaching out and grabbing your wrist. You gasped and attempted to wriggle out of his grasp, but he had an iron grip on you. 

Danny slowly rose to his feet, towering over you at his full height. You tried to ignore the heat slowly spreading over your body, the tension in the air, the way your body began to buzz the longer he stared you down with those cold, dark eyes. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he said in a tone so low it was almost a growl. 

“I could ask you the same thing. Why are you in my apartment?” You struck back.

“Sam and Ronnie goaded me into staying.”

“For?”

“To make sure you were okay. Maybe they thought you were too stupid to take care of yourself. Doesn’t seem that unlikely.”

“Really? You’re calling me stupid? So refreshing to see you still insult like we’re teenagers, Wagner.”

He let out a small, sour chuckle, then said, “You can be such a little fucking bitch sometimes, you know that?”

You couldn’t even register your actions. There was a loud crack, and a sharp stinging in your hand. Danny’s head was turned slightly to the side, the skin of his cheek already reddening. Your eyes went wide, and you were sure he could feel the way your pulse was skyrocketing.

His head slowly turned to you, a small smirk on his face. His eyes searched your entire face as he leaned in quickly, your eyes instinctively fluttering closed at the action. He abruptly stopped, pulling back a little, and a small part of you sunk in disappointed. Your mind began to race as you began to formulate an apology, but before you could open your mouth to speak Danny muttered out a “fuck it” before smashing his lips against yours.

His hand dropped your wrist, instead flying to hold your face against his. You shamelessly melted into the kiss, your hands finding their way to clutch at the soft sweater he was wearing. A small growl escaped his lips as his tongue swiped against your lips, your mouth instantly opening to grant him access. His hands moved to your hair, gripping it slightly as he pulled you head back. His eyes stared into your soul as you bother caught your breaths. A small smirk formed on your lips as a mischievous thought overtook your mind.

Two could play at that game. 

You tangled your hands into his curls, harshly tugging on them to bring his face back to yours. He let out a low groan as he fell back in sync with you. You were enjoying the heated makeout session when, in what you would now refer to as “Old Danny” fashion, he broke the blissful moment by giving your ass a hard smack. You couldn’t help the whimper you let out, only spurring Danny on as he gripped the sides of both your legs, urging you to jump up. You did, and he used his strength to hold you up against his waist. He quickly carried the two of you in the direction of the bedroom, but you two were stopped when he accidentally ran into a wall, causing one of your legs to slip from his hold. You couldn’t care less, however, and held him so tightly to keep his lips against yours. He was still supporting you on one leg, his free hand now roughly cupping your breast. You ground your hips against him, both of you letting out loud moans. He swung the two of you around, peeling you off the wall as he continued his journey to the bedroom.

You realized, in all those years of hating each other, he had never been inside your house, let alone your bedroom. You quickly muttered out a “door on the left” before reattaching your lips to his, you hands having departed from his hair to dig your nails ever so slightly into his back, just enough pressure that he could feel a dull pain through his shirt. He made quick work of opening the door, and as soon as you were both in the bedroom you ground down against his crotch. He let go of your legs, breaking the passionate kiss. You let out a whine of protest, but Danny reached out to grip your hips, grinding you against him. And yet, he wouldn’t go back to kiss you. 

You let out a small giggle. “What, don’t like that I had to take the lead?”

“Take the lead? I know that I kissed you first- you know what? You’re...” his voice dropped to a dangerously low - albeit sexy - tone. “You’re such. A. Bitch.”

His hands groped at the bottom of your shirt, attempting to lift it up and off, but you gripped his wrists, stopping him. “You first, Wagner.”

He didn’t even hesitate, the impatience prevalent in his voice. “Nope.”

He gripped at your shirt, taking it from the hem and lifting outwards instead of upwards. The “riiiippp” sound was loud and clear enough to temporarily shock you to into freezing. He looked at your now exposed (but still bra-encased) breasts. You could see his eyes shifting, his mind surely racing. 

“Thank you, Daniel. For giving me something to be a bitch about.”

You didn’t know what had come over you. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was years of pent of aggression. Whatever the reason, managed to spin the two of you around, pushing roughly against his chest to position him with his back against the bed. He reached up to grab your hips, yanking you down against him. His large hands groped your breasts, not even bothering to undo your bra before diving in to touch your skin. He ran his thumb over your nipples a few times, gauging your reaction. 

You bent down to kiss him, giving him a hard kiss before pulling back and quipping, “I don’t have for games, Wagner. Quit playing with me.”

He scoffed, bucking up into your hips, chuckling at the pathetic, whiny moan that left your lips. “I’ll play with you all night, if I want to.”

You rolled your eyes and pulled yourself away from the proximity of his face, peeling off the rest of your torn shirt and shimmying down to settle between his legs. He propped himself up on one arm, the other snaking down to unbutton his pants. You gave his wandering hand a quick swat, making sure he retreated it before making quick work of his pants. He lifted his hips down just enough for you to pull down his boxers and pants and free his cock from its’ confines. You paused; your breath caught in your chest as you tried to process Danny’s cock. Ther had been a few times, at a few shows, that you had seen the strain of Danny’s cock against his pants. So, you had deduced he was big, you had even done some deep-undercover Twitter work to see what the fans theorized. But Danny was big. 

You looked up at him, a huge smirk on his face. You quickly turned you focus back to his cock, now more determined than ever. You put yourself in another place, another mindset, out of your body. You stuck your tongue out and flattened it against the base of his cock, licking all the way up to the tip, where you left a suckling kiss. You heard a quiet hitch in Danny’s breath, but you spared yourself a look, instead sucking on his tip a little more before beginning to take him down your throat.

“F-fuck!...” Danny stuttered loudly, followed by a muffled hiss as he assumedly bit his lip.

All your focus went into bobbing, the movement of your hands as they worked the rest of his length, and the bobbing of your head. Danny’s legs were twitching, trying not to thrash everywhere. You took a deep breath, pulled you mouth up just enough to give his top one last lick, before taking him as deep as you could, feeling him just there in the back of your throat. You gagged, but took a deep breath and stayed there, but only for a second. Danny had grabbed you by your hair and yanked you off his cock, and once you were straightened up on your knees, he gave you another firm slap on the ass. You decided to play up the theatrics, dramatically allowing yourself to plop face first into the mattress. He snorted as you stretched your back down like a cat propping your ass up in the air. He hooked his fingers under the band of both your panties and your sleep shorts, pulling them down and out from under your legs. Your body jumped slightly at the feeling of his finger against your core, barely pressing a single finger into you after having swirled it around in the wetness that had been pooling in your shorts. You bucked back into his finger, silently begging for more. He gave you another swat, your ass stinging and no doubt red by now. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, will you hurry up and do something? Because if not I just need five minutes alone- oh!”

His tongue was what shut you up. The feeling of his tongue against your clit, holding your hips up to grant him more access to your core. He lapped eagerly at your clit, his tongue flicking at just the right speed to make you squirm in his grasp. “Fuck bab- Danny!” 

He moaned against your core, causing a shiver up your spine. You became lost in the swirling pattern he started against you, settling your head down on the pillow with a content sigh. You lifted you head in protest at the loss of feeling against your clit, but let out a loud, almost porn-like moan at the feeling of his fingers burying inside you. He took attention to you like you had to him, clearly watching how your body was reacting in order to find that oh-so-sensitive spot inside you. 

“I... I’m-”

“Yeah?” he purred out, his tone dripping with ego.

You let out a frustrated groan, but your body betrayed your feelings of annoyance as your orgasm took over. He didn’t let you ride it through, however, yet your body trembled slightly at the feeling. You felt him looming over you, leaning across your back to whisper in your ear, his breath hot against your neck, “That was less than five minutes.”

You pushed yourself back against him, once again to prideful to beg verbally. 

Danny had caught on to your games however, holding your hips still with one hand and keeping the tip of his cock against your entrance. “Use your words, princess.” 

“Danny-”

“Hmm?”

You closed your eyes, holding back a groan at his cockiness. You swallowed your pride. “Danny... please, please, fuck me.”

He wasted no time entering you, sheathing his length inside you in one go. You felt some discomfort, which made you jolt slightly, but no real pain. Danny gave a few slow thrusts, but felt you tensing up, and stopped.

You huffed, blowing your hair out of your face. “You don’t have to...”

You trailed off at the feeling of Danny pressing a gentle kiss to your spine. It made you freeze, but not because you were in pain. 

You and Daniel Wagner had known each other for years. And for all those years, you had assumed he had hated you. You had held out hope, but a part of you had learned to resent him for his coldness. Yet, you never hated him. As your confused, but never negative, feelings for him grew, the attraction you had felt for him blossomed ten-fold. Could it be? Was it all wrong? Was there something in his heart for you other than hatred?

He slowly began to pump into you, moving at a slow but deep pace. The moaning between the two of you synced up, harmonizing his deep, raspy tone with your lighter, softer moans. He kept a hand on your hip, rubbing gentle circles into you. You felt another orgasm bubbling up inside you, but it was ripped away from you when Danny pulled out. He was as swiftly as he could, and you grinned a little at the thought that he didn’t really want to hurt you. He flipped you on your back and you took in his sexed-out state, the way his curls were slightly damp and sticking to him, the sheer coat of sweat he had, the softer but equally horny look he had in his eyes. You didn’t even hear the soft “wow...” you let out, but you did notice the way all of his features softened at once. Still, there was some doubt in your mind. He entered you again, and when his arm moved beside your head, you tilted your chin slightly, thinking he might give you a cheeky slap or apply some pressure to your neck. That is, you assumed, this was still hate fucking. Danny, however, had softened completely, instead taking his hand and gently cupping your cheek. You stared at him, wide eyed, a gaze he met with a tenderness in his gaze. You gasped when he began to move, his pace slightly faster than before but just as deep. You felt your eyes fluttering, getting washed up in the tidal wave of pleasure gently crashing over you with every stroke. Danny pulled you back ashore, his thumb rubbing gentle strokes into your cheek. You bit your lip as you felt your orgasm nearing again, and by the way he was groaning you could tell he wasn’t far behind. 

“Danny?”

He hummed in question, leaning down to give you a gentle but firm kiss. 

When your lips detached, you reached your hand to grasp at his shoulder, giving him an affectionate squeeze. “You can come in me.” You whispered. He groaned and ducked his head down, burying it in the crook of your neck. You closed your eyes at the feeling of his mouth on your sensitive skin, the both of you sighing against each other as you both orgasmed. He fucked you through it at a slower pace until your legs started trembling from overstimulation. He pulled out gently, spreading one last sigh against your neck. 

You began to rub soothing pattern into his back. There was a small part of you that still feared that, despite Danny’s sudden change in demeanor, he would go back to hating you again. If that was true, you wanted to keep him in this state of calm for as long as possible. 

He lifted off of you, his own muscles twitching in the aftermath. He sat up, looking down at you. You propped yourself up with the pillows, looking back at him. You crossed your arms.

“Here, let me go get you a towel-”

“What the hell was that, Daniel?”

He looked like a deer in headlights. He nervously scratched at his arm. “I don’t... I don’t know what you mean.” He looked down and you sighed. 

“Danny. Please look at me.”

He looked up, this time his features looked guilty. You sniffled, feeling yourself overcome with emotion. “What did I ever do to make you hate me?”

He shook his head, reaching over to touch your crossed arms in reassurance. “I... No, y/n... I never hated you. Ever.” He let out a long sigh. “I... I know I’ve been a total dick. And it went on for way, way too long. I...” he rolled his eyes, letting out a small, sarcastic laugh. “In High School, I... fell in love with you. Like, cheesy, rom-com, love-at-first-sight shit. I thought you weren’t into me, so I pushed you away. But I saw... I saw how hard you were trying, and after a while I just got so embarrassed of myself, I didn’t know how to stop. And then you started to push back and... I gave up. Figured I didn’t stand a chance.”

You were shocked. You had run a million scenarios through your head as to what Danny hated about you. None of those scenarios even remotely hinted to his confession. You giggled and he looked at you, an adorable, confused look on his face. “You, Daniel Robert Wagner, thought you didn’t have a chance with little ‘ol me?” You reached out to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. His hands flew to your sides, his forlorn look melting away, a boyish grin forming on his face in its stead. “Danny, c’mon. Every moment since I met you, you’re all I think about. All I want. You drive me... fucking insane,” you both giggled, his laugh rumbling through his chest. “But guess what?”

He hummed in question again, tilting forward to press his forehead against yours.

You whispered, his lips ghosting against yours, “Since I met you, I’ve been in love with you too.”

#danny wagner #smut #x reader #danny wagner x reader #gvf #starrywrites #danny wagner gvf #gvf smut #danny wagner smut #danny gvf

[thehoneybeet]

Desiderium (E, 6.1k): draco/harry

Tags: POV Draco, clubbing, minor drug use, fuckbuddies, Draco is a writer, EWE, canon divergence, thunderstorms, body shots, kissing, edging, oral sex, legilimency, wandless magic, pining, staying up all night, this fic is almost entirely one sex scene, except they talk through most of it Summary: Their club, their loo, their writing on the wall—it has to be enough. Until it isn’t.

Draco kept his arm glued to Potter’s waist, clinging to the pretence of keeping him upright as they navigated the maze of sweltering, moving bodies out into the night. It was humid, threatening rain, and Draco faltered at the sidewalk, sucking deep breaths into his lungs, with no idea where to apparate. He’d never been to Potter’s house. Evening flowers poured out over boxes along the street, spilling over the eaves, the scent cloying, and on the horizon was the last indication it had ever been day—a greenish line, like the flash of a curse.

Potter breathed hot into his neck. “Do you trust me?”

“No.”

“Ah, well,” said Potter, as he sucked them out of sight.

For @hp-poetry-fest, inspired by Kubla Khan by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Much love and thanks to @mono-chromia, @the-fools-errand, @nv-md, and @epitomereally for your eyes on this🌹

Read on Ao3

(some spoilery thoughts/author notes under the cut!)

I loved the concept of poetry fest and have been wanting to push myself to write longer scenes, and this was the result. Something I love about Kubla Khan as a poem is how sexy it is, especially upon a second read, and how beautifully it represents paradise not only as a state of artistic creation, but also a feeling that we constantly strive towards but can never quite reach. I was captivated by a Harry who goes through life still halfway in Xanadu, the liminal place between life and death he visited when he died. But of course, 'his flashing eyes, his floating hair'... Harry needed a witness, someone who was both drawn to him and terrified of getting too close. Draco, who initially believes Harry doesn't care for him, still can't help himself, and offers Harry both a reminder that he's alive and a witness to Harry's worst and most wonderful memory. And ultimately, while Draco is Harry's path to Xanadu, Xanadu becomes Draco's path to Harry.

I also wanted to explore this theme through the sex by writing a story where neither of them come. There is no moment of release in that way, which to me was important to convey the feeling that what you most desire is close, but just out of reach. I loved playing with the tension, edging both them and the reader, and in the end leaving them still searching. Anyway, just some thoughts I had while writing, and know that I love you if you read this far.

#hp poetry fest 2023 #honeybeet writes #drarry #drarry fic #draco x harry #writer musings #writing #kubla khan #poetry

[tipsypixel-sims]

Unfortunately the burglar struck again.

Caleb awoke because he heard some strange noises. He thought he saw the burglar stuffing their dresser in his bag, but he must have still been dreaming, because how would that fit in there - right?

Quinn, who was on her way to the loo when she heard someone unlocking the front door had called Samuel Deppiesse, the young cop who would fill in for Detective Harper when she was off duty.

But Samuels fighting skills were no match for the burglar and they escaped.

Samuel was dreading the shift change tomorrow morning when he had to explain to Harper why the burglar escaped.

#ts2 #sims 2 #bacc #build a city challenge #npc: samuel depiessie #pinnaclepeaks #year two #spring 2 #caleb lewis #quinn west #npc: samule deppiesse

[byneddiedingo]

Richard Loo, Richard Monahan, and James Edwards in The Steel Helmet (Samuel Fuller, 1951) Cast: Gene Evans, Robert Hutton, Steve Brodie, James Edwards, Richard Loo, Sid Melton, Richard Monahan, William Chun, Harold Fung. Screenplay: Samuel Fuller. Cinematography: Ernest Miller. Art direction: Theobold Holsopple. Film editing: Philip Cahn. Music: Paul Dunlap. We tend to think of the American civil rights movement as beginning on May 17, 1954, when the United States Supreme Court handed down the Brown v. Board of Education decision, declaring segregated schools illegal. But it's worth giving credit for the climate change that led to the decision to many precursors, including, of all things, the Hollywood film industry. Timid and tepid as "race-conscious" films like Pinky (Elia Kazan, 1949) and No Way Out (Joseph L. Mankiewicz, 1950) seem to us today, they were made by major directors, and showed a willingness to confront American racial conflict that would have been unwelcome a decade earlier. But maybe no movie suggests how profound that change in attitudes would become than Samuel Fuller's The Steel Helmet, an unabashedly low-budget movie, shot in ten days, by a director regarded as second-string and a producer, Robert L. Lippert, known as "The Quickie King." It's a war movie with all the clichés of the genre, including the old familiar melting-pot cast of soldiers, except that in the war movies of the 1940s, made as morale boosters, the ingredients in the melting pot were mostly of European origins: Irishmen, Italians, Swedes, and so on, and a mix of Catholics, Protestants, and Jews. But Fuller's Korean War-era melting pot added an African-American medic and a Japanese-American sergeant to the mix. And it directly confronted the issue of racial discrimination when a North Korean POW taunts both men about their lives back home. Granted, the response of the medic, Cpl. Thompson, is a little disappointing, essentially a these-things-take-time shrug, but the fact that a black actor, James Edwards, has been included in the cast, and on a more-or-less equal footing -- he sasses back when sassed -- is extraordinary. And the POW's mention of the American internment camps for Japanese-Americans is one of the first references in a movie to what was then still a little-known blot on American justice. Because Fuller is just so damn good at telling a story and keeping the action hot, all of this goes by without feeling like a blatant attempt to stir the liberal conscience. If his characters are stereotypical -- Sgt. Zack (Gene Evans) isn't much more than the hard-bitten, cigar-chomping old hand, and Lt. Driscoll (Steve Brodie) is the greenhorn officer a bit out of his depth -- Fuller still knows how to put them into play. He works miracles with locations that are clearly not Korean or even Asian -- they were shot in Griffith Park in L.A. -- and with studio sets -- a door in the Buddhist temple slams and the wall visibly shakes. It's doubtful that The Steel Helmet converted any racists in the audience, but the fact that it must have got them into the theater at all -- it grossed more than $6 million on a budget of a little over $100 thousand -- is a tribute to Fuller.

#The Steel Helmet #Samuel Fuller #James Edwards

[twittercomfrnklin2001-blog]

House of Bamboo

Although at times formally beautiful, HOUSE OF BAMBOO (1955, Criterion Channel) is one of writer-director Samuel Fuller’s more staid pictures. There’s nothing as vertiginous as the tight closeups in films like THE CRIMSON KOMONO (1959) or UNDERWORLD, U.S.A. (1961) or the dizzying moving camera in PARK ROW (1952), PICKUP ON SOUTH STREET (1953) or THE NAKED KISS (1964). Maybe that’s a function of the film’s being a remake (of William Keighley’s 1948 THE STREET WITH NO NAME) or of Fuller’s attempt to fit into the studio system. Robert Stack is a low-level crook who infiltrates Robert Ryan’s criminal band of ex-GIs pulling jobs in post-war Japan. Shooting in CinemaScope for only the second time, Fuller makes good use of his Tokyo locations to fill the screen with detail, but he only really cuts loose in a few scenes. There are two dazzling tracking shots, one as Shirley Yamaguchi (as a friend’s widow posing as Stack’s kept woman) goes shopping and is shunned by more upright women and another as Ryan’s gang robs a factory. Fuller also stages a fascinating moment of cultural clash when the traditional Japanese dance at a party turns into a wild jitterbug, with Japanese women in western attire dancing with kimono-clad Caucasian gangsters. And the final shoot-out in a rooftop amusement park is filled with fascinating details. But the story moves more slowly than usual in a Fuller film. Ryan is fascinating as the multi-layered gang boss, with just a hint of homosocial desire in the way he pits right-hand man Cameron Mitchell against Stack. Mitchell is effective as the gang’s chief hothead, but Stack plays with jaw so firmly clenched his character barely registers as human. Sessue Hayakawa is on hand (albeit dubbed by Richard Loo) as a Japanese police captain, while Biff Elliott and Robert Quarry are gang members. DeForest Kelley’s performance as another was long thought to be a walk-on when the film was only available in a pan-and-scan TV version. When 20th Century-Fox finally issued a restored CinemaScope print, he suddenly emerged as a major player.

#film noir #samuel fuller #robert ryan

[kenzonet]

WE MOVE AS ONE - Six Invitational 2024 from Histeria! on Vimeo.

Six Invitational is coming to São Paulo for the FIRST time in history! As the diehard fan runs through the streets of São Paulo, Rainbow Six legends breach reality itself, bringing the best memories and histories of SI to life until all converges at the iconic Ginásio Ibirapuera!

We were thrilled to be invited by Ubisoft, BLAST, and Rainbow Six Esports to create this INSANE animated film! High-tech visuals, grunge urban vibes, a mix of action and motion, and the best of São Paulo's street culture - it's all packed with the best track "We Move as One" by Ego Kill Talent (ft. Andreas Kisser and Rob Damiani)!

RB6 2024 - Six Invitational Theme Song “We Move as One” Ego Kill Talent (ft. Andreas Kisser and Rob Damiani)

Client: Ubisoft / BLAST Game: Rainbow 6 Event: Six Invitational 2024 Clients: Marcio Soares, Nelson Garcia, Lucas Reis, Leandro Estevam, Victor Niergue, Faye Marlborough, Chrystina Martel, Stig Debois, Matt Bundy

Produced by Histeria!

Director: Jan Xavier Story by: Jan Xavier and Ubisoft Executive Producer: Marcelo Moreno Producers: Tatiana Sato and Lívia Quintanilha Social Media: Sibelle Lobo

Art Directors: Igor Muniz, Victor Tchaba Art Supervisors: Igor Muniz, Victor Tchaba Concept Art: Igor Muniz, Victor Tchaba, Gabriel dos Anjos, Guilherme Lascasas Storyboard/Animatic: Tony Neto Concept Character: Victor Tchaba, Jeff Biglia, PJ Kaiowá, Shun Izumi e Flávia Passos (Estúdio Casa Locomotiva) Layout Character: Victor Tchaba, Jeff Biglia, Fábio Perez, Guilherme Olivieri, Marcos Kenji Uchima, Rodrigo Yokota Layout FX: Jeff Biglia, Mateus Pitta Design: Igor Muniz, Jeff Biglia, Rafael Nascimento (Escaphandro), Victor Tchaba Layout 3D: Jan Xavier, Igor Muniz 3D Generalist: Carol Fiorito, Cláudio Marques, Igor Muniz 3D Lookdev, Light and Comp: Cláudio Marques, Igor Muniz Background Simulation: Cláudio Marques Matte Painting: Gabriel dos Anjos, Guilherme Lascasas, Igor Muniz, Jeff Biglia

Animation Directors: Jan Xavier, Felipe Simões Rough/Tiedown/FX Supervisor: Felipe Simões Clean Up/Color Supervisor: Mila Queiroz 2D Rough/Tiedown: Breno Licursi, Bruna Santana, Catarina Niéro, Geovani Angelo, Lena Franzz, Lucas Franci, Matheus Fernandes, Robb Reis, Rodrigo Yokota, Thiago Geremias, Ton Presley, Viviane Guimarães 2D Clean Up/Color: Carol Caporrino, Denis Bargos, Francine Gonzales, Giovanna Jahjah, Juliana Gouvêa, Louise Bonne, Lucas Franci, Luiz Alvares, Mila Queiroz, Pedro Spaolonzi, Ton Presley, Viviane Guimarães 2D FX: Lucas Franci, Natália Faria Cardoso, Mateus Pitta

Post Production Director: Gabriela Zaneti Motion Graphics Supervisor: Gabriela Zaneti Compositing Supervisors: Gabriela Zaneti, Renato Montoro Motion Graphics: Gabriela Zaneti, Samantha Oda, Vinícius Ricardo, Ricardo La Bella Simonetti Compositing and Post Production: Gabriela Zaneti, Renato Montoro, Samantha Oda, Vinícius Ricardo, Ricardo La Bella Simonetti, Saulo de Castro, Tamires Campos

Audio

Musical Director: Samuel Ferrari Music Producer: Samuel Ferrari Original Music by Ego Kill Talent, Rob Damiani & Andreas Kisser Electric Guitars: Theo Van Der Loo, Niper Boaventura Electric Bass: Raphael Miranda Drums: Raphael Miranda Surdos: Raphael Miranda Vocals: Emmily Barreto, Rob Damiani Synths: Samuel Ferrari, Niper Boaventura Music Programming & Beats: Samuel Ferrari Alfaias: Samuel Ferrari Electric Guitar Solo: Andreas Kisser Anvil: Glauber Coelho Choir As One: Lucas Reis Pereira, Maria Paula Bonino, Jeniffer L. Ramlov, Mayara Abou Jaoude, Maite Fernanda Lorente Henrique, Lucas Miguel Cunha Silva, Diego Chagas Corrêa, Heitor Augusto Coelho Galceron, Maria Eduarda Maccagnan Avella Recording Engineers: Hugo Silva, Otavio Bonazzi and Cauê Del Grande at Dissenso Studio PreProduction: Clovis Vilela, Samuel Ferrari Vocal Production: Steve Evetts Mix: Steve Evetts Master: Maurício Gargel Executive Production: Samuel Ferrari, Glauber Coelho SFX Film: Glauber Coelho Produced at mdois Studios (mdois.tv)

Making of

Making of Produced by: Rockfilmes Production: Lucas Rocha Director: Lucas Rocha Director of Photography: Felipe Bezerra Audio operator: Willian Sassano

[lct50]

A Reflection

In which Samuel ponders his past relationship. 1220 words (go me)

You’re brushing your teeth. It’s 2am. You’ve been drinking, and honestly wouldn’t have, had you not thrown up just a moment prior. It was hasty, a wobbly motion, an awkward scramble to the sink from where you had keeled over before. During the process, you catch a glimpse of your teeth in the mirror. You never look at your reflection anymore, but you do this time. You look at your teeth.

When you begin to recollect, begin to reflect upon it, It was a typical day when it all really started. You think that day was when you began to see a problem in it all. There were signs before, of course, but you were complicit in them, you knew that. But this time it was different. It really shined the light in your eyes. 

You were laid on the couch, head tilted up on the backrest. You remember your eyes were shut, in relaxation, just barely drifting off into a mid-afternoon nap. It was so quiet that day. 

The door squeaks open and slams shut in the same instance. You didn’t move.

Your lover, who was out running some errands formerly, had returned home. He did not announce his arrival this time. Honestly, he’d been doing it less and less. You thought he was starting to enjoy startling you. It didn’t work too well on you. For you were a placid man once, peaceful.

You could sense him approaching you and you smiled, though your eyes remained closed. Still, he had made no effort to address you. 

“Hey there.” He eventually said in a nonchalant tone. “How’s your day been? I learned something interesting today. Do you mind if I show you?” 

What he had asked you was so innocent in nature. You hadn’t suspected a thing of malice within his tone. You did open your eyes a little, though. You could see that he was holding some kind of tool in his hand but, you thought nothing of it. 

“It’s a little weird.” You heard him say, kind of laughing at himself as he leaned over you. You welcomed the weight of him. You had assured him then, though, that you were willing to indulge him in his odd urges. 

He told you to open your mouth, so you did, head tilted back and eyes closed still in your temperate compliance. 

You couldn’t really see what he was doing there, then. You could feel that he had his gloves on. Not that you cared, at the time. You really wish you had. 

It all happened so fast, 

The pressure began to increase, from a wildly uncomfortable grip, and then -

For a moment, everything in your vision had gone white. Shock and adrenaline shot through you just as quickly as the pain, your mouth pouring full with warm blood at an instant. It leaked out through the ends of your lips. The searing sensation radiated down through your jaw and into your neck. It’s sharp and white hot. Everything tasted like metal. 

When it happened, when you realised what happened, you didn’t even scream. Just a muffled, choked cry. 

Fortunately, despite your own placidity, you had been at least sane enough to react. Even through the shock, you quickly shoved him off. Shouting at him, calling him names as you spit up the blood that was rapidly filling your mouth. 

“What is the matter with you!” You had screamed as you bolted to the sink to spit the rest of it up. You were trembling. 

“Why would you do that?!”

You remember running the sink, dipping your head to get a full mouth of water, endlessly spitting as the bleeding refuses to stop. You seethed with rage about as long as the adrenaline fueled it, hovering over the splashing water. The white porcelain was becoming stained with smeared pink. You could only think why, what brought that on, with no warning.

It was sadistic. It was cold. Colder than he usually was. 

All the while, he was laughing at you, standing in the frame of the door with that sweet pitchy laugh that he always did. Like it was such an innocent prank. Like nothing even happened.

“Oh my God,” He howled in amusement. “You should’ve seen your face!” 

When you whipped back around to look at him, you only felt more angry. You had asked, demanded, as to why he did that, though, you knew you could already feel your own brain making excuses.

“Relax, relax.” He had began, haphazardly swinging around the pair of handy-work pliers, holding your perfectly good tooth in between the jaws. 

“It’s in your best interest, love. I had never liked the way that crooked old tooth sat in your mouth. I was thinking just how cute you’d be with a gap there, instead.” He spoke in that tone he did whenever he was gently teasing you. Again. Like it hardly mattered at all. Your anger was already being smothered, ever so gradually, wearing it down like friction does an old rope.

“And my, do you ever!” 

All the thoughts that were rushing through your head, at the time, were so muddled and confused. It was the first time you ever really questioned the way he treated you. In your silence, he decided to stop watching you suffer from afar, and footsteps moved closer to you. You weren’t looking. The pain had ebbed into a dull, but intense throb.

The adrenaline had begun to leave your body then, along with the better of your judgement, returning you again to that same complacency. In place of the energy came weakness, numbing the tips of your fingers and weakening your knees. You felt faint, then, and gripped the porcelain with your fingers as your body lurched forward, legs giving out. You didn’t want to fall.

He had came up behind you, and mussed up your hair, playfully. Though, in your moment of weakness, you couldn’t help but lean into it, like he was comforting you. That was all you wanted. 

“You’re a good sport, you know.” He hummed to you, still carding through your hair. You were still bleeding. It was leaking down your face. Gently, he wipes the blood from your chin with his thumb. You remember how it soothed you so. “I don’t know how you put up with it.”

It was short lived, though. Like everything good with him was. He turned to leave. Halfway out the door, he paused, and leaned his head back all the way.

“May I fetch you an Advil?”

You mumble an affirmative reply. 

You prayed he was a liar, then. It was the strongest part of the memory. Like so many other times, you prayed that he was lying, and that he’d bring you something stronger instead.

You spit your toothpaste out into the sink. The foam is pink from the blood in your gums.

You gag. 

You go to bed on the couch, without a blanket, huddling into your own warmth. In the depths of your thoughts, you couldn’t help but think it -

He was right. You look far better with a gap in your teeth, now. 

When you close your eyes, you shiver, and react to yourself in disgust. All these years, and you’re still awash with the same placidity, 

Those same asinine justifications.

#written #samuel #simon

[lesfeldickbiblestudy]

What is the difference between Peter's gospel and Paul's gospel? [convertplayer id="pUQRsP8uk" width="700" height="525"] We are getting close to a portion of Scripture that I think has been totally confused by almost all groups, and we’re just going to take it for what it says. We’re not going to spiritualize it, or allegorize, it we are going leave it right where it is. Verse 36: Acts 2:36a   "Therefore (because of all that has just taken place. Israel has had The Messiah for three years, performing signs and miracles, they crucified Him, God raised Him from the dead, and sent the Holy Spirit, and everything is falling into place) let all the house of Israel..."   Now you can’t put us Gentiles in this verse, unless you force it. Peter is speaking to Jews on Covenant grounds. It’s the fulfilling of the Covenant which God made with Abraham. Let’s pause for a moment and go to Chapter 3, so you’ll know what I’m talking about. And again Peter is preaching to a Jew-only crowd. Acts 3:24,25   "Yea, and all the prophets from Samuel and those that follow after, as many as have spoken, have likewise foretold of these days." What days? Everything that has just taken place. According to Peter, the Crucifixion, Resurrection, ascension and coming of the Holy Spirit was prophesied. Look at verse 25: "Ye are the children of the prophets, and of the covenant (only the Nation of Israel. All prophecy is directed to the Nation of Israel, they are the ones that will be at the core of these prophetic events. Even the horrible events in Revelation will be directed primarily at the Jew. But the whole world will also reap the fallout from these events. Jeremiah 30 tells us it’s the time of Jacob’s trouble) which God made with our fathers, saying unto Abraham, ‘And in thy seed (through the Nation of Israel) shall all the kindreds of the earth be blessed.’"   So Peter is on Covenant ground. He’s still on the basis that everything that has been since Abraham, that is: the Nation of Israel was to receive the Redeemer, The Messiah, The King and the Kingdom, and it would be through Israel that God would gather the Gentiles. I never like to leave people with the idea that God had cast off the Gentiles. Oh, not at all. But He was going to use the Nation of Israel on Covenant grounds to bring them to Salvation. Even right here God has never said a word to anybody that He’s setting the Covenant promises aside for awhile. He hasn’t told anybody yet that they don’t have to keep Temple worship, or keep the Law. He hasn’t told people they must believe in His death, burial and Resurrection for their Salvation. Not a word about that as of yet. You can’t find it here. And that is what I try to tell people to understand. Don’t take my word for it. Search the Scriptures, but be sure you understand that the Scripture is putting Salvation on His death, burial, and Resurrection. Remember, there is never any reason to force anything into Scripture. Just leave them where they are. You can’t put a square peg in a round hole without doing a lot of damage. So here Peter is still on Covenant ground. Back to Acts 2:36: Acts 2:36   "Therefore let all the house of Israel (He’s talking to Jew only) know assuredly, that God hath made that same Jesus, whom ye have crucified, both Lord and Christ."   Now we have to compare Scripture with Scripture. Come to the Book of Galatians, and just look at the difference in the language. We just saw Peter accusing the Nation of Israel of killing their Messiah, and now look what Paul tells us here in the Church Age. Galatians 1:3,4a   "Grace be to you and peace from God the Father, and from our Lord Jesus Christ, Who gave himself for our sins,..."   And that’s Paul’s theme all through his writings. It’s as different as day from night with Peter’s message. Peter’s sermon just doesn’t fit Paul’s doctrine at all. And it wasn’t supposed to. God hadn’t revealed Paul’s message yet. It’s still a secret kept in the mind of God. Now back to Acts ver

se 37: Acts 2:37   "Now when they heard this (heard what? That they were guilty of crucifying their Messiah. And remember, Peter isn’t just talking to 40 or 50 people. He’s got thousands out in front of him listening out there in that Temple complex. This is the feast of Pentecost and they have come from everywhere as we seen in verses 9-11) they were pricked in their heart, and said unto Peter and to the rest of the apostles, ‘Men and brethren what shall (what’s the pronoun?) we do?’"   Remember Peter is addressing this great crowd of Jews on Covenant ground. He has accused them of killing their Messiah, and now they are so convicted that I suppose in one way or another word gets up to Peter as he is speaking. And they say, "Well, Peter, what in the world are we (and remember that pronoun) supposed to do?" Now that is the question coming from the Nation of Israel. [convertplayer id="nGvFu342c" width="700" height="525"] Let’s pick up again in the Book of Acts and for a short review we will start at Chapter 2 verse 36. Remember this is a Jewish feast day that is being celebrated. Jews from the then-known world have come to celebrate the feast of Pentecost. This is one of the seven feasts listed in Leviticus 23. Now it’s on this day of Pentecost that this huge crowd of Jews are out there in the Temple area and Peter, through the power of the Holy Spirit, is addressing this great gathering. And regardless what nations these Jews have come from, they are hearing it in their own language. And this is the miracle of it all. Peter is speaking to Jew only (with an occasional proselyte). There is no Gentile ground here. God doesn’t put Gentiles in this group and neither should we. It’s a Jewish feast day, a Jewish crowd, a Jewish speaker, and a Jewish message. And now verse 36: Acts 2:36,37   "Therefore let all the house of Israel know assuredly (this is all twelve tribes that are represented here, and God knows who they are), that God hath made that same Jesus, whom ye have crucified, both Lord and Christ." Peter is accusing these Jews of killing Christ their Messiah. "Now when they heard this they were pricked in their heart, and said unto Peter and to the rest of the apostles, Men and brethren what shall we do?" And before we look at Peter’s answer, I want to take you back to Acts Chapter 16.   In Chapter 16, Paul has begun his missionary journey throughout western Turkey. Earlier in this chapter the Holy Spirit directed him over into Greece. One of the first cities he approached there was Philippi. And that is where he met Lydia, who was the first European convert. After the conversion of Lydia, he is arrested and beaten along with Silas, and cast into the lower dungeon of the jail, as in verse 25. The setting is completely different than in Acts 2. This is all Gentile ground, a Gentile prison, a Gentile jailer, This Gentile jailer may have witnessed Paul and Silas preaching, and saw their arrest and beating. Now he was given charge over these two men along with the rest of the prisoners. Acts 16:25-29   "And at midnight Paul and Silas prayed, and sang praises unto God; and the prisoners heard them." "And suddenly there was a great earthquake (we still haven’t left the economy of signs and miracles, and wonders. These will pass off the scene in Paul’s ministry at a little later time. But at this time we have a miraculous earthquake with a distinct purpose), so that the foundations of the prison were shaken: and immediately all the doors were opened, and every one’s bands were loosed." "And the keeper of the prison awaking out of his sleep, and seeing the prison doors open, he drew out his sword, and would have killed himself, supposing that the prisoners had been fled." The Roman authority would have killed him if prisoners had escaped. "But Paul cried with a loud voice, saying, ‘Do thyself no harm: for we are all here.’" Although they could have fled they didn’t, because this is a Sovereign God at work. "Then he called for a l

ight, and sprang in, and came trembling, and fell down before Paul and Silas,"   Why did this pagan Gentile jailer pick Paul and Silas out of all his prisoners? Somehow, God let him know that here was the answer to his dilemma. He’s got all these prisoners loose, ready to flee, but they are staying there. God lets that jailer know the answer to his problem, but it’s going to be a lot more than a bunch of prisoners, it’s going to be the man’s own soul. Acts 16:30   "And brought them (Paul and Silas) out, and said, Sirs, what must I do to be saved?" Now look at the comparison.   Peter, preaching in Acts Chapter 2, is dealing with the Covenant Nation of Israel. And they say in verse 37, "What must we do?" But God doesn’t deal with Gentiles on Covenant ground. He deals with us as individuals. Every individual has to ask that same question. "What must I do...?" Let’s compare the answers each were given. In Acts Chapter 2, it is very clear, anyone can understand it. I’m leaving every word the way it’s in your Bible and mine. I’m not changing a thing. Israel says, "What must we do?" Look at Peter’s answer. Acts 2:38   "Then Peter said unto them, ‘Repent, and be baptized (the next two words are crucial) every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins, and ye shall receive the gift of the Holy Ghost,’"   Everyone of them would have to be converted and accept Christ as their Messiah for God to pick up where He had left off. He would have sent back The King and set up the Kingdom. Peter also tells them this in Acts 3:26. Look at the message. Peter says, "Repent and be baptized." Who began that message? John the Baptist. John was the herald of The King, and his message was, "Repent and be baptized." That was for the Nation of Israel. Now compare this with Paul’s answer to the Gentile in Acts Chapter 16. Paul is not talking to the Nation of Israel, he’s talking to a Gentile. And when this Gentile asks what he must do to be saved, what does Paul tell him? Acts 16:31   "And they (Paul and Silas) said, ‘Believe on The Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved, and thy house.’"   Does it say Repent and be baptized? No, and if that was the criteria it would have been in here. That was the Jewish program, and by this time it has fallen through the cracks because Israel is rejecting it again. God has now turned to the Gentiles through the Apostle Paul, without Israel. So the jailer said, "What must I do?" The answer is simple: "Only Believe on The Lord Jesus Christ." Now when you know the rest of Paul’s message, he only had one Gospel to believe: "That Christ died for your sins, was buried and rose from the dead." You can find that message in many places in Paul’s letters, for example I Corinthians 15:1-4. Believe the Gospel. And it’s no different for Gentiles today, and the Jew as well. That is the criteria tonight. We have to believe the Gospel and nothing else. You search Paul’s letters from Romans through Hebrews (and Hebrews is more Jewish than the rest and there is a reason for that), and show me one place where Paul teaches repentance and baptism for Salvation. You won’t find it. Paul doesn’t teach it. Paul’s message is a different economy and you can’t mix them. A lot of people try to. Our Lord didn’t mix them and neither should we. The verses in Galatians 2:7-9 exist because they were two different messages. That’s why Peter says Paul’s message of Salvation is hard for him to understand in II Peter 3:15-16. To the Jew it was repent and be baptized. To the Gentile it is believe the Gospel. See how simple that is. Now let’s come back to Acts 2 and make another tremendous comparison. Read verse 38 again: Acts 2:38   "Then Peter said unto them, ‘Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins,...’" The whole Nation of Israel had to repent and be baptized.   Winning the whole world has never been implied with

Paul. In Acts 15, when even James had to agree that God is using Paul to go to the Gentiles, what was the expression that James used? Calling out a people for His name. That doesn’t imply 99 or 100%. Christianity has always been just a small percentage. But we should always be ready to share the Gospel that Paul presents to everyone we come in contact with when the opportunity presents itself. I get a kick out of the Gallop polls, the last one I saw was 60% of Americans were professing Christians. That’s a joke because 60% of the Bible belt aren’t Bible believing Christians, let alone other vast areas of our country. But it’s always been that very small percentage, and it hasn’t changed that much. Another comparison here in verse 38: Acts 2:38   "...and ye shall receive the gift of the Holy Ghost,"   I’ve had questions asked of me about this for many years, and let me ask you a question. What was the prerequisite in this verse for receiving the Holy Spirit? Repentance and baptism. That is the first part of the verse. Look at it again: Acts 2:38   "...Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins, and ye shall receive the gift of the Holy Spirit."   Is there any mention of the death, burial, and Resurrection? Any mention of the shed blood for atonement? Not a word. But only the name. When you talk about the name of someone, what does that imply? Who he is. If I say the name of one of our Presidents, what do you associate that with? The White House. You speak the name and immediately it’s the position that you’re tied to. So, Peter doesn’t mention death, burial, and Resurrection. But what were they to put their faith in? Who Jesus was. He was The Christ their Messiah, and they had killed Him. But God had raised Him from the dead. They were to repent and be baptized for the remission of sins and then they would receive the gift of the Holy Ghost. In Acts Chapter 10, we have Peter at the house of Cornelius, a Gentile. This is seven years after the Cross. Not a Gentile has been saved. Back in Acts 2, the Jews had to repent and be baptized, then they could receive the Holy Spirit. Now look at what it says here: Acts 10:44   "While Peter yet spake (he hadn’t come to the end of his message) these words, the Holy Ghost fell on all them which heard the word. "   And we know they all believed. Have they been baptized yet? No, these are Gentiles who haven’t heard anything of the Law. But the moment they believed Peter’s message the Holy Spirit came down, and the amazing thing is God had to prove to Peter and these six other Jews that God was doing something totally new, and that was saving Gentiles! Not on the basis of repentance and baptism, but the moment they heard the word and believed. Peter is still tied to that Jewish economy, so when he sees what is happening he commands these Gentile believers to be baptized after the fact instead of before as we saw in Acts 2:38: Acts 10:47   "Can any man forbid water, that these should not be baptized, which have (past tense) received the Holy Ghost as well as we?"   This isn’t a contradiction, this is not Chapter 10 contradicting Chapter 2, but rather a change of events. Ten is Gentile and Two is still Jew. Acts is a transitional book, so always be aware that what was good for the Jew under that Jewish economy seems like a contradiction, but it’s not, it’s only God changing the program. The moment we believe for our Salvation the Gospel of Grace, that Jesus died for our sins, was buried, and rose from the dead, the Holy Spirit baptizes us and we are saved. Don’t put the message that Peter preached and the message that Paul preached in a blender and mix it all up and expect to understand it. That will give you heartburn, and you will never be able to see what you should clearly believe for your Salvation. But if you will realize that God is changing the program when He goes to the Gentiles, and leave the Scriptures right where they are, I believe the Scriptures will

be opened to you. So many people come into my classes and almost immediately have their eyes opened. I don’t do that, the Holy Spirit does that when you search the Scriptures. Editor's Note: Peter's gospel, called the gospel of the kingdom or the gospel of the circumcision, was preached to the nation of Israel under the law of Moses. Paul's gospel, called the gospel of grace or the gospel of the uncircumcision, was preached to the Gentiles under grace. Whether we are Jew or Gentile, Paul's gospel is the way of salvation for us in this present age of grace.  

[skillstopallmedia]

a Giga-factory in Mexico?

a Giga-factory in Mexico?

Elon Musk meets with a member of the Mexican government and a local governor In photos shared by local media Reforma and El Mañana, Elon Musk is seen talking with the Economy Ministry’s Undersecretary for Investment, Emmanuel Loo, and with the governor’s wife. Another source told Reforma that Governor Samuel García wants Elon Musk to invest in Nuevo León. Royal road for Tesla at the USA/Mexico…

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[myfavoritecharactersaredead]

"Apollo and Daphne," Gian Lorenzo Bernini

Dhalgren, Samuel R. Delany

Metamorphoses, Ovid

The Vegetarian, Han Kang

"Apollo and Daphne," Jean-Baptiste van Loo

#Apollo and Daphne #Gian Lorenzo Bernini #Jean-Baptiste van Loo #Dhalgren #Samuel R. Delany #Metamorphoses #Ovid #The Vegetarian #Han Kang #Parallels #Art #Literature #Mythology #My Posts

[dweemeister]

The Steel Helmet (1951)

Looking through American World War II films made during the war itself, one notices that many have overt strains of bellicose patriotism and propaganda. That war, the final world-consuming crisis for several decades, impacted even civilians living oceans away from the violence. The Korean War cannot be described as such. When North Korea’s Kim Il-sung ordered the invasion of South Korea on June 25, 1950, the U.S. military that countered the invasion was a shadow of what it was five years earlier. What was originally described as a “police action” and nominally pitted United Nations forces (of which the U.S. provided ninety percent of troops) against Communist troops failed to garner much attention from the American public even as it was being fought.

Released a half-year after North Korea’s invasion, The Steel Helmet is one of the first films set during the Korean War. Directed, produced, and written by Samuel Fuller for the independent studio Lippert Pictures, the film was made on the cheap ($104,000; just over $1 million in 2020’s USD) and shot in ten days. The Steel Helmet bears little resemblance to its older cinematic cousins, the WWII films released during that war. Convulsing with bitterness, racism, and post-traumatic fury, this is an attempt to portray life as an American infantry soldier with emotional honesty. The details of battle scenes might not be as accurate as they could be – and certainly not how Korea itself and the film’s Asian characters are portrayed – but The Steel Helmet succeeds in its primary goal.

Surviving a North Korean massacre, Sergeant Zack (Gene Evans) is found by a South Korean boy he will nickname “Short Round” (William Chun; this nickname, also used in 1984’s Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom for Jonathan Ke Quan’s character, refers to a flaw in a gun’s ammunition). Short Round knows English and begins following Zack – much to the latter’s annoyance. The boy won’t listen to, “beat it, kid”; nor does he appreciate being called a, “gook”. Zack and Short Round soon encounter Corporal Thompson (James Edwards), a black medic who is the last surviving member of his unit. The accidental trio shortly stumble onto a small, battered patrol commanded by Lieutenant Driscoll (Steve Brodie), who immediately suspects Thompson – because of his race – to be a deserter. Just as the trio argue with Driscoll and his unit, the soldiers are ambushed by snipers and take cover in an abandoned Buddhist temple (to the film’s discredit, it resembles nothing like an actual Buddhist temple and the centerpiece statue looks nothing like the Buddha). There is a North Korean soldier hiding in the shadows of the temple. And unbeknownst to the American soldiers, an enormous wave of North Korean soldiers is advancing on their position.

The events and characters of The Steel Helmet are fictional, but they have been adapted from Fuller’s war diaries and adjusted for the difference in setting. The Steel Helmet’s limited budget ensures that the violence is contained to the premises of a soundstage; the hordes of North Korean soldiers appearing in the film’s finale either the product of stock footage or Asian college students from UCLA hired as extras. There are no soldiers in The Steel Helmet who show complete deference to authority or accept the reasons why the United States military is in Korea at all. The encompassing political reasons for the Korean War are of little concern to them – survival becomes their only motivation. As a portrait of an infantry soldier’s mentality in desperate circumstances, The Steel Helmet benefits from Fuller’s military service during World War II. The soldiers’ actions and mindsets always seem realistic.

With his scruffy beard and punctured helmet, Zack is a grunt soldier that has become disillusioned with a war that has not even lasted a year. The anger he feels about the adversity he and his comrades have faced is boiling over. Zack is constantly searching for something or someone to take his emotions out on. His somewhat contemptuous attitude towards Short Round suggests racial resentment (more on the film’s depiction of racism later in this review) and that he has no patience for those who cannot defend themselves when the enemy is near; his initial behavior towards Driscoll’s squad is colored by grief manifesting as antagonism.

Fuller’s attempts to articulate the deranged psychology of battle-hardened infantry soldiers are taken to extremes rarely seen in American films in the 1950s. The most chilling example occurs as the film’s closing act begins. A prisoner of war (POW) is unexpectedly murdered by Zack as North Korean soldiers draw near. Zack carries out this murder with concealed, stone-faced passion. Even without the gruesome images that are allowed in modern cinema, the murder is shocking and, considering the characterizations of those involved, conceivable. It is lawless battlefield “justice” where the executioner is also the judge and jury. For moviegoers accustomed to the mostly propagandistic – intentional or otherwise – World War II films released in the prior decade, the notion that a member of the United States military could commit a war crime must have been unconscionable. Then and now, other American viewers not nearly as critical of the military’s conduct might have seen what is an obvious violation of the Geneva Convention as justified.

Joseph Breen’s office at the Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA) was tasked with enforcing the Hays Code (censorship guidelines that applied to American films until 1968, when replaced by the present-day ratings system). As one might expect, the Breen Office voiced vehement objections to this scene – especially since Zack is never punished on-screen for his actions. Nevertheless, Fuller campaigned to keep the scene and it remains in the film. The Breen Office’s reasons for backing down on this appear to stem from the fact that Driscoll threatens a court martial immediately after Zack fires his gun – a peculiarly minor concession, it seems. The Breen Office’s ultimate approval of the film’s debate on racial relations are unclear, and I have been unable to find any explicit reason in freely available literature describing that aspect.

The film’s prisoner of war (played by Harold Fong, whose character is credited as “The Red”) is an English-proficient North Korean soldier. Observing the unit that has captured him, the audience will notice that this is a motley bunch. Granted, the notion of a diverse military squad is a war film cliché. But after President Harry Truman desegregated the armed forces in 1948, note that this is one of the first depictions of an integrated U.S. military in film. A decade earlier, Cpl. Thompson would have been bandaging the wounds of black soldiers and might not be allowed near a wounded white comrade. One of Driscoll’s subordinates is Sergeant Tanaka (Richard Loo; a Chinese-American actor who nevertheless made a living playing numerous Japanese antagonists during the 1940s), who served in the 442nd Infantry Regiment – which was composed almost entirely of second-generation Japanese-American (Nisei) soldiers – during WWII.

Under watch by the Americans, the North Korean soldier will attempt to stoke racial divisions among his captors. Speaking to Thompson, he notes the hypocrisy of a black man fighting for a nation that has failed to recognize non-white people as equal under the law. The prisoner notes that, if Thompson ever returns home, there will still be “whites only” services and that he will have to sit in the back of public buses. Thompson keeps his cool, acknowledging the reality of the prisoner’s words. Nevertheless, Thompson reasons, he is assisting the nation he cares for, showing that he can perform as ably as anyone regardless of race. As Thompson implies, perhaps one day the United States will achieve the ideal it is purported to be – in his individual way, he shall serve the best he can.

Then there is the nighttime conversation between the North Korean and Tanaka. The POW begins by remarking that Americans despise Asian eyes, and then – in what is possibly the earliest, non-documentary mention of this in American cinema – evokes the Japanese-American concentration camps that Tanaka and his family almost certainly were forced into. An exhausted Tanaka, with a fatigued but barely annoyed glance, tells the North Korean major that his charade is too transparent:

THE RED: …They call you “dirty Jap rats” and yet you fight for them. Why? TANAKA: I’ve got some hot infantry news for you. I’m not a dirty Jap rat. I’m an American, and if we get pushed around back home… well, that’s our business… knock off before I forget the Articles of War and slap those rabbit teeth of yours out one at a time.

If The Steel Helmet had been made a few years, perhaps a few months, earlier, these disapproving mentions about the United States’ terrible record on racial equality might never have appeared in the film. The legitimate concern that black Americans would not support the United States military resulted in films like The Negro Soldier (1944). In World War II, the then-segregated military was viewed unfavorably by a substantial minority of African-Americans, so the government (and a cooperating American film industry) reasoned that directly addressing the nation’s painful racial history might be counterproductive. And so soon after World War II’s end, the “yellow peril” that was the Japanese was substituted for another anxiety: communists. Still, the prevailing attitude among American narrative media in the early 1950s was to celebrate the “patriotic” Japanese-Americans and those who served in the 442nd – erasing almost entirely the unconstitutional and inexcusable internment of Japanese-Americans.

As Fuller realizes as he dons his Cold War glasses, the likes of North Korea, the Soviet Union, and the People’s Republic of China could easily use the United States’ racism to undermine its message. Those nations did exactly that and continue to do so (the Soviet Union succeeded by the Russian Federation). America’s idealized self-perception as democracy’s champion collapses quickly even at a cursory glance of its racial relations. The Steel Helmet should be applauded for including this dialogue in the film, but these scenes are brief and never fully adopt Thompson or Tanaka’s point of view. Both are portrayed as intelligent, composed soldiers. But beyond their soldiering, we learn little else – The Steel Helmet is Zack’s movie, with everyone else not nearly as developed as Gene Evans’ central character.

Fuller avoids glamorizing military service and war. Despite Korea as his setting, Fuller makes little constructive use of it and his Korean characters. Fuller might have found his own wartime mentality analogous to Zack’s, but the film becomes one-dimensional as it cannot branch out to detail the other American soldiers’ personal responses to the war they are fighting. The Steel Helmet is homiletic, so be warned if you are not seeking a war film that is unafraid to moralize – sometimes without artistry. But given the restricted budget and the film’s abbreviated 85-minute runtime, I found myself forgiving the film for most of these flaws.

Communist and far-left commentators accused The Steel Helmet of being pro-American propaganda; the far-right, Breen Office, and the Pentagon were horrified by the film and blasted it as anti-American. J. Edgar Hoover, the Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), even launched an investigation into Fuller for suspected Communist sympathies. Such reception must have allowed Fuller a strange satisfaction, if one accounts his future reputation for addressing controversial themes with heavy-handed metaphors and allegories.

Moderately popular when first released, The Steel Helmet languished in obscurity in the decades after. That is unsurprising – the film was made and distributed by an independent studio. Thanks to the Criterion Collection and their special relationship with Turner Classic Movies (TCM), The Steel Helmet has found renewed attention thanks to its home media availability and the occasional TCM broadcast (it is regularly scheduled around Memorial Day and/or Veterans Day, in addition to the odd showing outside May and November). It is a fascinating addition to the lengthy list of American war films, supplying an era known for its propaganda-heavy elements with a forceful rebuke.

My rating: 7.5/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. Half-points are always rounded down. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

#The Steel Helmet #Samuel Fuller #Gene Evans #Robert Hutton #James Edwards #Steve Brodie #Richard Loo #Sid Melton #William Chun #TCM #My Movie Odyssey

[mrfahrenheit92]

#The Steel Helmet #Samuel Fuller #Gene Evans #Robert Hutton #Steve Brodie #James Edwards #Richard Loo #Sid Melton #Richard Monahan #William Chun

[audiemurphy1945]

The Steel Helmet(1951)

#film #the steel helmet #1951 #james edwards #richard loo #samuel fuller #50s #korean war #old hollywood #vintage #...

[shipcestuous]

This would go under the father/daughter ship, but there's a book that came out last year called "The Twelve Lives of Samuel Hawley" and the synopsis makes it seem like their is a beautiful connection between them, but I don't know if they take to an incestuous level or not. I haven't read the book, but the father/daughter aspect in it made me think of this site, so I thought I'd pass it on in case others would like to read the book.

We always hope for canon but non-canon recs are just as welcome!

After years spent living on the run, Samuel Hawley moves with his teenage daughter, Loo, to Olympus, Massachusetts. There, in his late wife’s hometown, Hawley finds work as a fisherman, while Loo struggles to fit in at school and grows curious about her mother’s mysterious death. Haunting them both are twelve scars Hawley carries on his body, from twelve bullets in his criminal past; a past that eventually spills over into his daughter’s present, until together they must face a reckoning yet to come. This father-daughter epic weaves back and forth through time and across America, from Alaska to the Adirondacks.

That sounds very promising!

I also like this snippet of a review I caught in my google search:

A roller-coaster father-daughter road trip for fans of PULP FICTION or THE GIRLS: ‘Pacy and violent, poignant and sensitive’ Daily Mail, Best Reads for the Beach 2017

Thank you for mentioning this!

#asks #xithildinsx #loo and samuel #r: fd #nc #tw: incest #the twelve lives of samuel hawley #nr #first post #commentary #noiv

[thethreebroomsticksficfest]

Petrified

Username: Alohaemora

Pairing: Colin Creevey's Mother/Colin Creevey's Father

Summary: Delia Creevey woke up that day with an uneasy feeling in her gut, though she couldn’t put her finger on why.

Join us today as we take a journey to the Creevey household courtesy of @alohaemora. It's a compassionate and heartbreaking insight into the realities of being muggle parents to a magical child. It is a beautiful, poignant piece and we hope you all love Sam and Delia Creevey as much as we do. Read it below or on AO3 here.

*** *** ***

9 November 1992

Delia Creevey woke up that day with an uneasy feeling in her gut, though she couldn’t put her finger on why. It was a Monday quite like any other. Samuel slept like a baby through the obnoxious ringing of their alarm clock at one o’clock in the morning, and she had to prod his ribcage several times to force him out of bed. By the time he was dressed and ready for the day, he was a half-hour late for his first round of milk deliveries, as usual; Delia heard him swearing under his breath as he barrelled down the staircase to their front door.

Delia busied herself with breakfast and other chores as she waited for her husband to come home. At seven o’clock, she went back upstairs to wake Dennis for school. Her nine-year-old groaned and grumbled as he dragged himself to the loo; Delia rolled her eyes at him, reminded strongly of her husband.

“I don’t understand why I still have to go to school,” Dennis mumbled a few minutes later, as he sat down at the kitchen table. “I’ll go to Hogwarts like Colin, won’t I?”

“Well, we won’t know that until you’re eleven, will we?” Delia tutted. She set a bowl of porridge in front of him. “Besides, magic school or not, you’ve got to keep exercising your brain. I’m sure even wizards have to learn something before Hogwarts.”

“But Mum, what’s the point? On Friday, Miss Adams told us that we can’t make objects fly, ’cause of gravity. But Colin learned how to do that last week—he wrote about it in his letter, remember?”

Delia had no response to this, so she settled for tapping her watch and looking pointedly at her son. Dennis let out a huffy sigh and shoved a spoonful of porridge in his mouth.

All things considered, Delia felt it was a miracle that she managed to see her son off to school and get all of her morning errands done before her husband came home from work that afternoon. She was putting away the groceries from the market when she remembered the anxious feeling she had woken up with that morning. She frowned, pausing with her hand over a sack of potatoes. Had she had a bad dream? She couldn’t remember, she’d always been rubbish at remembering her dreams…

Shaking her head, Delia reached into a nearby cupboard and pulled out a saucepan to begin making lunch. She had just turned on the stove when she heard the jingle of the front door. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Sam stump into the kitchen from the foyer; he pulled off his coat, looking frustrated and tired. Her heart sank.

“Not another one?” she asked quietly.

“Two,” Sam said in a bitter voice, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table and sinking into it. He buried his face in his hands for a moment, then rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. “The Grants and the Turners.”

“Oh, no,” Delia murmured, turning the stove down and coming to stand next to him. Gently, she reached out and prised his hands away from his face. He met her gaze, swallowing heavily. She brushed a lock of his mousy brown hair off his forehead, and he closed his eyes to her touch.

“Sorry,” he whispered gruffly.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she told him firmly. “I was just at the market, I saw how cheap it was there. You can’t be expected to compete with that.”

“How can we continue like this?” asked Sam. “Jack is thinking about quitting—maybe I should, too.”

“Give it another year or two,” she advised him, walking back to the stove. “Who knows how things will look then? This plastic could be a passing fancy. Your milk bottles are tried and true—it takes time to see what’s a fad and what isn’t.”

Sam was quiet for several moments. When Delia glanced over her shoulder again, she saw that he was smiling at her.

“What’s that look for?” she asked him, eyebrows raised.

“You sound just like Dennis when you talk like that,” he said fondly. “D’you know, he cornered me after dinner last night and asked if he could stop going to school? Went on and on about how everything he’s learning is useless, that gravity can’t be real—not if Colin can make things fly, now.”

“He tried the same thing with me this morning,” Delia sighed. “That boy won’t rest.”

“Wonder if they’ve got magic lawyers,” Sam said, grinning. “Dennis could get paid for arguing all day and night.”

“Well, I suppose Colin needs someone to keep his head out of the clouds—not that I think Dennis will be any better about it all if he gets into that school, too, mind you,” Delia huffed. “Speaking of which,” she turned and shot her husband a sharp look, “we’ve got to stop talking to Dennis like he’ll be going to Hogwarts like Colin. You heard what that professor woman said in June—it’s not a sure thing with brothers and sisters. We won’t know about Dennis until—”

“Oh, come off it, Dee,” Sam scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “There’s no question—our boys are both magic. It all makes sense now, doesn’t it? All those odd things the two of them got up to when they were little.”

“Yes, but still—” she broke off abruptly, looking around. There was a soft tapping sound at the kitchen window. An enormous, handsome-looking owl was perched on the windowsill.

“And speak of the devil,” Sam said happily, jumping to his feet and hurrying to the window. “About time he sent another letter, innit? God, Dee, look at the bird he’s sent this time—it’s so posh.”

Delia smiled in spite of herself at the ringing note of excitement in her husband’s voice. If she had been a little suspicious and wary when that professor had dropped in unexpectedly over the summer to invite Colin to Hogwarts…well, she supposed Samuel had more than made up for her initial lack of enthusiasm. He had been exactly the opposite—utterly astonished and delighted. If Delia hadn’t known otherwise, she might have thought her husband was the one who had been accepted into magic school.

“I hope he’s finally stopped following that Harry boy around with his camera,” Delia called to her husband, without turning away from the stove. “Poor lad looked absolutely mortified in that last photo Colin sent—”

“Delia.”

Delia whirled around. Her husband was gazing down at the letter he had disentangled from the owl with an expression of undisguised horror. Delia dropped the ladle she was holding; the knot of anxiety returned to her stomach in full force.

The Creeveys jumped up from their ratty old sectional in unison as a knock sounded at their front door. White-faced and grim, Sam stalked into the foyer and pulled open the door; Delia followed at his heels.

Professor McGonagall looked exactly the same as she had the first time Delia had seen her, just five months ago—tall and draped in emerald-green robes, her black hair pulled back in an immaculate bun. The only difference was her expression: Though it was as stern-looking as the last time Delia had seen it, there was a heaviness in it today that had not been there before.

“Mr. and Mrs. Creevey, I’m so very sorry,” the professor said.

And just like that, the painful knot in Delia’s stomach seemed to lodge itself in her throat, and her eyes burned with tears. “How did this happen?” she demanded, her voice tight. “How—how could you allow this to happen?”

“I promise, Mrs. Creevey, I’ll explain everything to you inside,” said Professor McGonagall. “For the sake of everyone’s safety, I don’t want to risk us being overheard.”

Delia opened her mouth to argue, but Sam reached out and squeezed her shoulder. She looked at him; there were tears in his eyes, too, but he was looking at her imploringly.

Delia swiped impatiently at her eyes, then gave the professor a stiff nod, stepping aside. The three of them trooped back into the sitting room, taking seats along the sectional.

Professor McGonagall glanced around the sitting room for a moment, then looked at Delia. “Your younger son?”

“He’s at school down the lane,” Delia said sharply, “where the worst thing that’s ever happened to him is a few scrapes on his knees.”

“Dee,” Sam said quietly, but Delia silenced him with a glare.

The professor closed her eyes for a moment. When she faced the two of them again, her jaw was clenched. “As I mentioned in my letter, your son was found petrified on a staircase, near the castle’s second floor. I want to assure you, Mr. and Mrs. Creevey, as I did in my letter, that Colin is still alive—”

“Still alive?” Delia gasped. “But that makes it sound like…” She trailed off, unable to say the words out loud. Sam’s hand tightened around hers.

“What d’you mean, he was found…petrified?” Sam asked hoarsely. “What does…how did—?”

“He’s still alive,” Professor McGonagall said again, and Delia was seized by a sudden urge to scream at the woman. She felt her hand tremble in her husband’s. “But he has been rendered immobile and unresponsive—”

“For the love of God, say it plainly, please,” Delia snapped.

“It’s as though he’s been turned to stone,” the professor said, sounding pained. “He can’t move, can’t speak. He’s been completely paralyzed.”

Delia barely heard Sam’s low groan over the ringing in her ears. She felt hot, angry tears rise to her eyes once more. “How did this happen?” she asked again.

The professor was quiet for a long moment. “I’m afraid we don’t yet know.”

“Who at your school is capable of doing something like this?” Delia demanded. “Who would hurt a child? ”

“We don’t know,” said Professor McGonagall, and for the first time, Delia heard her voice falter. Delia let out an angry sob, standing up from the sofa.

“Let us see him,” she said shakily. “Let us bring him home, he’s only just eleven—oh, Sam, he must have been so scared…”

“I…am so sorry,” the professor said, “but I’m afraid I can’t let you bring him back home. Madam Pomfrey, our school matron, has insisted that Colin remain in the Hospital Wing for observation until we can give him a restorative draught—no non-magical hospital would be capable of properly treating his condition—”

“When will this draught be given to him?” Sam interrupted hopefully.

“Our potions master believes he can have it brewed within six to seven months, once the necessary ingredients have matured—”

“Six months? ” Delia’s voice cracked. “Our son will be paralyzed for six months? How can he—how will he ever be the same?”

“I assure you, Mrs. Creevey, that our potions master is very capable. I am confident that his restorative draught will have Colin completely back to normal.”

“Well, then, you must let us see him,” Delia insisted. “Until he’s back to normal, you must take us to visit him. How can you expect us to sit around for six months, knowing what’s happened to him, knowing that he’s…he’s all alone?”

The corner of Professor McGonagall’s mouth trembled for a moment, then thinned again. “I will speak to the headmaster about arranging some way for you to visit your son.”

“Why must it be arranged?” Delia snapped. “Surely, with all your magic, it can’t be so hard to take us both back with you to Scotland—”

“Hogwarts exists under hundreds of thousands of security measures, to prevent it from being accessed by non-magical folk,” the professor explained heavily. “Believe me, Mrs. Creevey, I am not being intentionally difficult. When I myself was a teenager at Hogwarts, my father, who wasn’t magical, was told he could not visit me in the hospital after I suffered a serious sports injury. But things have changed since I was teenager—I am confident our current headmaster will make it his foremost priority to find a way for you to see Colin. I will write to you once he has a plan in place.”

Delia lowered herself back onto the sofa next to her husband, covering her face with tremulous hands. A long silence unfolded over the sitting room.

“Why…why Colin?” Sam croaked. “Why was it him? Why did they hurt him, whoever it was?”

“Once again, we can’t say for sure,” Professor McGonagall said quietly. “But we have reason to believe that he was targeted because he is Muggle-born—it’s a term we use for students who come from non-magical parents. Historically, in our world, biases have existed against such students, but as a school, we stand firmly against instances of any such prejudice.”

“Let me be sure I understand you,” Delia said, her voice shaking. “You’re telling us that Colin was targeted at school because we’re not magic—and yet, the reason we can’t bring him home is because we’re not magic?”

For the first time that day, Professor McGonagall did not seem to have a response. Delia buried her face in her husband’s shoulder and sobbed.

*** *** ***

Delia was curled up under her covers rereading Colin’s most recent letter from school when Sam came back to their bedroom from seeing Dennis to bed.

She immediately set the letter aside, sitting up straight. “How did he—?”

“Took it surprisingly well. Asked if Colin would be all right, of course,” Sam said tiredly, sitting down next to her on the bed. “Then, he made me promise I’d bring Colin his favorite quilt when we visit him at the school—the one your mum made for him, remember? With the red lorries.”

Delia’s chin trembled. “Oh.”

Sam gazed at her. “He also asked if he and Colin would still be allowed to go to Hogwarts.”

Delia closed her eyes. “Sam—”

“Come on, Dee, how can we ask them to give up who they are? How can we ever expect them to be happy if we don’t let them be magic?”

“How can you still be so obsessed with all this magic nonsense?” she demanded. “After everything that woman told us, after our son was hurt? ”

Sam’s eyes filled with tears, and Delia felt her fight leave her in an instant. All the anxiety she'd felt in the last twenty-four hours washed over her again, and she immediately wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her face into his shoulder before he could see her own tears.

“I thought he’d finally be able to get away from it all, in his magic world,” Sam said hoarsely, his voice muffled against her neck. “How stupid am I, Dee? Here, he’s the milkman’s odd son, and there, he’s the magic boy from non-magic parents. How could I have thought—?”

“Oh, Sam, don’t,” she begged, squeezing her arms more tightly around him. “No matter where he is, he’s still our boy, still our sweet Colin…”

Sam let out an agonized sound that sounded as though it had been wrenched from his chest.

Just then, there was a knock at their bedroom door. Delia startled, drawing back from her husband. She looked at him, and he nodded, already turning away from the door to wipe his eyes. Delia hurriedly wiped away her own tears, then called out, “Come in, sweetheart. It’s unlocked.”

Dennis poked his head into the room, taking in the scene; his eyes landed finally on Sam, who was still turned away from the door. “Dad?”

“What’s the matter, son? Did we wake you?” Sam asked, turning around finally to face the room. His voice was too bright to be believable; Delia was sure that Dennis noticed. His young, wide eyes flitted between the two of them a few times.

Then, he closed the door and slunk into the room, toward the bed. “Can I…could I sleep in here tonight?”

Delia looked at her husband, who shrugged back at her. She turned back to Dennis, smiling for the first time in what felt like years. Her cheek muscles ached from it. “Your choice, sweetheart. You know how early your father’s awful alarm will go off.”

But Dennis was already scooting up the bed, into the narrow space between his parents’ pillows. Sam caught her gaze and gave her a small smile. At nine years old, Dennis, though easily the smallest boy in his class, was too big to comfortably fit in their bed; the boys hadn’t crawled in next to their parents at night in ages. But Delia knew neither she nor Sam would be sending Dennis back to his room tonight. She had resigned herself to a sleepless night the moment that letter had arrived at the kitchen window.

“Budge up,” Sam joked, giving Dennis a little poke in the ribs as he climbed under the covers. Dennis laughed, trying to poke his father in return but, chuckling, Sam caught Dennis’s fingers and pulled him into a hug instead. Laughing softly, Delia flicked off her bedside lamp and slipped under the blankets next to her son and husband.

She closed her eyes, trying not to think about the empty space on the bed between Dennis and herself—forcing herself not to imagine her boy, his expression frozen in fear as he lay in a hospital bed, hundreds of miles away.

She squeezed her eyes shut tighter and thought instead of the last few sentences from Colin’s latest letter home.

I love it here, Mum! I can’t wait till Den’s here too. I was scared I would fall behind since I didn’t know anything about magic before Hogwarts, but I think I’m doing all right. I made a feather fly with my wand last week! I was the second one in my whole class to do it. I love you, Mum. Tell Dennis and Dad I miss them. I can’t wait to see you all at Christmas!

Colin xx

#submission #ttb spring fling #creevey family #rare pair