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thiswasinevitableid · 1 year

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02, Vincent/Apollo, NSFW! Thanks and happy holidays!

Here you go!

02. (Fantasy? Medieval) Our marriage was arranged and you’ve been away since the wedding but now it’s winter and you’re home and we have to figure out how to actually get along

The mountain railcar slows to a stop, the driver calling “Crocus Valley, next stop.”

Vincent stands, murmuring excuse mes to his fellow passengers as he moves to the door. He steps onto the street and immediately draws his coat around himself; it seems winter reached the valley early this year.

He confirms with the porter that his bags will be sent to the house and resigns himself to walking home now that the snowy streets have limited most forms of transportation.

“Mr. Capra?” The young satyr loading luggage onto the cart pauses, embroidered overnight case in hand, “if you don’t mind a slower trip, “you can ride up here with me.”

“That would be extremely appreciated, thank you.” He climbs into the passenger's seat, pulls his hood over his head as the cart behind him bucks and rattles. The driver pushes a button on the side of the cart and a canopy springs up to cover the luggage from the elements.

“You might not remember me, but I’m Damien’s little brother, Elias.” The driver steers the horseless cart onto the road.

“Oh yes! How are you? And is your brother doing well?”

“Better than, he took that endowment you gave him and turned it into six separate patrons for his paintings. Made enough to move the whole family into a fancier house.” The boy shrugs, “Mother insists I keep this job so I don’t get too big headed and lazy.”

Vincent chuckles, “Yes, mothers do tend to insist on that sort of thing.”

They chat as they curve through the neighborhoods. When the gates of the Capra estate glimmer into view, Elias’s ears flick, “Oh, I meant to say, congratulations on the marriage.”

“Thank you.” He smiles.

Right. His marriage. The marriage to a human who does not seem to like him who has been in his house the last two months.

He’d thought his days offering political service to his home ended when he stopped being governor. But when his successor came to him asking what to do about the human lord who was passing through Sylvain and was offering her a strange form of insurance against later attacks. Lord Cold seemed insulted that the Satyrs would demand such a thing, insisting the werewolves to the west had let him pass without assuming he would use the knowledge of the usually closed-off land of Sylvain to try and conquer it later.

But, Lord Cold had said, he would offer his son into marriage with a Satyr of good standing (his words, not governor Cosma’s). She’d looked at Vincent with exasperation and said, “he’s even suggesting married Satyrs send their spouses away and take his son instead!”

The upshot of this headache inducing evening was that Vincent agreed to marry the young man. He had no spouse, indeed he’d comfortably accepted he’d die a bachelor. He was both high status enough to please Lord Cold without having any direct access to information that his son could steal if he turned out to be a spy.

He married Apollo Cold the next morning, wearing the suit he usually sported at other people’s weddings as an angular, handsome, furious face said its vows while barely touching Vincent’s hands.

The messenger came for him at the reception, apologetic even after Vincet assured him it was alright and to help himself to the wedding brunch. A conflict was arising between the dragonborns and bugbears at the exact same time a visiting delegation of Bigfoots was coming to negotiate usage of the large river to the southeast. Cosma needed him to go to the Summit Summit (bugbears take any chance for word play) higher up the mountain for a week to figure out what the hell was going on while she made sure the valley had sufficient water for next year's crops.

The war was indeed averted. After two and a half months of argument and negotiation.

All this is to say Vincent wishes he could collapse once he arrives in his house instead of dealing with a man he doesn’t know and made it clear he was disgusted by him.

Then again, he ought to give the poor boy the benefit of the doubt. He clearly had no say in the arrangement. For all he knows, Apollo is anxiously awaiting his arrival, fearful of what might come through the doors.

Elias helps him carry his bags across the threshold, eyes widening when he sees the tip Vincent slips into his palm. Hooves descend the stairs and Moira, his trusted housekeeper, hurries over to hug him.

“Stars above am I glad you’re back.”

“It’s good to be home. Did all go well while I was away.”

She shakes her, “The house is all well and fine but your husband-”

There’s a crash from upstairs and they both freeze. The faint sound of someone speaking low and threatening reaches him. A moment later Edgar, the cooks assistant, clatters down the stairs with tears in his eyes.

“Oh dear, what did he say this time?” Moira pats the boys head as he sniffles.

“I, I knocked over a stack of books picking up the dinner tray. He, he said I’d ruined hours of work and, and that he’d make sure Mr. Capra sacked me when he got home.”

“Did he now?”

The boy jumps, then bows to him, “I’m, I’m sorry sir, I didn’t mean to knock the books over, or spill tea on his robe-”

“Come now, of course you didn’t” Vincent rests his hand on Edgar’s shoulder, “you’ve been at my house what, two years now? I know you’re as careful as can be.” He smiles, “now, can you go tell Cook not to fuss over a big dinner tonight? Whatever's in the kitchen will suit me fine.”

“Yes, sir.” Edgar gallops off.

Vincent looks at Moira with concern, “Does he speak to all of you that way?”

“Yes. If it’s not elaborate threats of harm or insults to our intelligence, it’s promises that his husband will see to it we never work again.” She bleats disapprovingly, “it doesn’t get to most of us, we know how you really are. But to younger folks like Edgar or the kids from town who helped prepare the house for winter, his threats are terrifying.”

“I’m so sorry. I had no idea he was like this. I’ll speak to him now.”

“Good luck.

Vincent climbs the stairs, turning towards the north wing and his dearly missed bedroom. Opening the door reveals Apollo sitting in a golden robe by the fire, reading in his favorite chair.

“What now, you incompetent little whelp?”

“For starters, I’d ask you not to refer to any of my staff that way.”

Apollo’s head snaps up so suddenly he then fumbles to push blonde hair from his face, “Vincent! What are you doing here so soon?”

“Telling you that you can no longer use my absence to convince people I’ll have them fired.”

“I did no such thing.”

Vincent sighs, “Is that so? So Edgar was in tears over nothing?”

“Whose Edgar?” It’s a genuine question.

“The cook's assistant that you just terrified!”

“Ah. Well, he should thank me that it wasn’t worse.”

“Stars help me.” Vincent rubs his temples.

“Besides, you cannot be upset with me running the house how I see fit. It’s my house as well.” Long fingers drum on the book cover, “and I was also assuming you were dead.”

He despairs at the fact the younger man can’t imagine negotiations not leading to violence, “Assuming? Or hoping?”

Something flickers across Apollo’s face and he grins, voice going cold, “Ah, so there is a working brain in there. Yes, I was hoping you’d died so I could fulfill my duty to my father without being stuck living with some ugly old goat.” The smile widens, “but really, even if you dislike how I treat my servants, do you think you’ll ever get a better chance at someone to share this place with? They offered you up because they knew no one would be sad to be deprived of the chance to marry you.”

The last words sting. Worse, Apollo knows they do, and as he stands he adds, “I am not interested in obeying some soft, old man. If anything you should be glad I am here; this house badly needs a firm hand.”

Vincent takes a deep breath, then moves swiftly across the floor, blocking Apollo exiting into the bedroom proper.

“Get out of my way.”

“No. Apollo, I understand marriage to me isn’t what you wanted. But that’s no excuse to be cruel to my staff or to me. You and I are going to be together for quite some time; I want us to have, if not a happy marriage, then at least a pleasant one.”

“Then I repeat: get out of my way.”

Yet another deep breath, “Perhaps I should have said pleasant and respectful. I have no intention of being mean or controlling, but that doesn’t mean I will let you disrespect me and the rest of the household. And” he levels Apollo with a sterner gaze, “if you cannot be polite, I will tell the staff to ignore any instructions or requests that come from you.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would, and I will. Now, do I have your word that you will not insult or threaten my staff?”

“Fine.”

“Thank you. That’s a start at least.”

Apollo moves past him, then turns, annoyed, when Vincent hangs his coat on its usual hook, “Why are you following me?”

“....These are my rooms. That’s my bed.” He gestures around at all the items that suggest his life and preferences, “where did you think you were?”

“A guest room decorated with excellent taste. I assumed your room would be more…rustic.”

He chuckles at the absurdity of it, “Did you see nothing of the rest of the valley while you were here? We Satyrs love our creature comforts and artistic flourishes.”

Apollo is quiet for so long that Vincent worries he’s broken him.

“You have very nice taste. Also your wardrobe is impeccable.”

“Thank you.”

“I have been wearing some items. I am keeping your grey and gold pajamas. It’s freezing in this miserable territory and I had none of my own.”

“Really?” Vincent sinks down by the smaller fire place, rubbing polish on his hooves with a groan, “surely you packed clothing for the journey with your father.”

“He left me with nothing but a few items to wear.”

“That hardly seems fair.”

“He did not wish to give your people an item more than you deserved.” Apollo glances over at him, “his words. Not mine. And because I am his favorite, I am the lucky one. We tossed my brother off to satiate some forest spirit on the way here. He offered himself to anyone in our party he could in hopes being sullied would mean the creature did not want him. Of course, no one was interested; he’s offputting to the last.”

“...I thought your father mentioned you were a twin.”

“That is beside the point.”

Vincent quickly runs through the forest spirits on their route and determines the other Cold son is in safe hands, “Well, tomorrow we can go into town and make sure you have everything you need. Commerce tends to slow down as winter comes.”

A pleasant expression crosses Apollo’s face for the first time, “Good. I am glad you understand I deserve to be treated as the nobility I am.”

It’s a step. A tiny, tiny, tiny step.

He excuses himself to the kitchen. Cook (the only name he has ever told Vincent; even his apprentice years ago never learned his true name) sets a plate of fig and cheese toasts in front of him, and they chat about the state of the wine cellar as Vincent stuffs his face.

When he returns to the bedroom, Apollo is once again reading by the fire. Vincent murmurs that he’s turning in for the night, and that Apollo is welcome to join him if he wishes.

He’s doing a book of number puzzles in bed when the human slips into the bedroom and locks the door behind him. Then he practically oozes under the covers, turning a staggeringly charming smile on Vincent.

“Is there something you want?”

“I want to have sex with you.”

Vincent’s ears twitch, “Really? I, I’m not opposed by any means but you didn’t exactly seem interested earlier.”

Apollo frowns, “What do you mean ‘not opposed?’ You’re a satyr.”

His heart sinks, “Excuse me?”

“Everyone knows you’re libidinous creatures who particularly enjoy deflowering humans.” Apollo pokes him in the arm, “why aren’t you deflowering me? Look at me!”

“Because I’m an actual person, not some caricature in a human novel!” He pulls away from his husband, “And making rude assumptions about me is the last thing I find arousing.”

“Look” Apollo snarls, “I have spent the last two hours reaching the point where I was ready to do this. So stop pretending you do not want me and fuck me, old man.”

Vincent tosses the blankets away, grabbing Apollo by the arm and pulling him to the bedroom door, “Goodnight, Apollo. Find somewhere else to sleep. Because I am not sharing my bed with someone who cannot go more than five sentences without insulting me!”

He shuts and locks the door to shouted protests, and ignores them long enough finally, mercifully, fall asleep.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------

The audacity of that old goat, throwing him out like that.

Apollo glares at the couch cushions. Is it his fault he believed what his father had told him? That he comports himself as a lord should instead of being friendly with the servants? That he was left with no choice but to sleep on this soft, purple couch like some housecat?

Alright, so he could have found one of the guest rooms. But he likes this one, likes the colorful mementos in belljars, the view of the trees, the way the bushes on the balcony coax the birds to sit and preen. Not that he’ll admit any of that to Vincent.

Hooves on polished wood announce his husband leaving bed, and Apollo feigns sleep until he’s out the door. He’s no fool; the offered shopping trip is no more. Vincent will no doubt demand the rest of his borrowed clothes back, make Apollo go about in the same four items for days on end until he grovels appropriately.

When no such punishment arises by mid-day, he becomes suspicious. Is his husband planning something more severe?

He sneaks through the house in search of him, finds him in a heated, indoor wading pool near the gardens. Being nearly naked in an unfamiliar house held no appeal, so he has spent no time here. Which is probably why he didn’t notice the tiled murals depicting a staggering amount of nudity. The only one that does not is off a woman with flowing, chestnut hair and a sultry smile, a glass in one hand a book in the other.

The fountain at the center of the pool means he didn’t hear Vincent move closer. So he starts when a voice says, “My mother. My father commissioned that.” A soft laugh, “half the art in the place is of her. Comforting, in a way, to feel as if she’s still watching over me.”

“You’re half human?”

He nods, “Satyr blood is apparently very strong, which is why I look this way. She was an actress in a traveling company. My father was smitten, asked her permission to follow the troupe for a year so he could be near her. When they returned to the valley, he proposed.”

There isn’t an obvious, correct reply, so Apollo keeps quiet.

“Would you like to dip your toes in? The water is lovely.”

It can’t hurt to take the offer, so he slides off his shoes and rolls up his pants, sitting on the edge and sighing in spite of himself as the warm water envelopes his feet. The tension in his body increases with every moment of silence, every time Vincent glances his way but says nothing.

“If I say I am sorry will you let me sleep in the bed?”

“No. Not because I don’t appreciate the apology but because, until you decide you can really, truly, live peacefully and respectfully with me, I think it would be best for us to act as roommates rather than spouses.”

He waits, but no other conditions appear.

“Alright. I will try.”

Vincent starts to say something else, but Apollo stands and strides out of the room before the tiny, fragile thing nesting in his chest can make him drop his guard.

For the next three days, he tries. He really does. He is cordial to the staff, only snapping a few times, and spends his time with Vincent in respectful silence. He tells himself this is the strategic choice, to keep in the good graces of power and that it has nothing to do with how some weak part of him felt ashamed when Vincent looked at him with disappointment.

On day four, he’s pacing by the fire when Vincent looks up from his desk and asks, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. No, actually, I am not, I am bored out of my skull. I have read every book in the house, walked the grounds, and I cannot use the exercise yard because there is a foot of snow!”

Vincent removes his reading glasses, “You read every book here?”

Apollo’s reply is delayed by his mind unhelpfully comparing Vincent’s eyes to sunflowers, “What else was I supposed to do while you were away and I was stuck here?”

“You really never went into town? You didn’t think you were a prisoner, did you?”

“No. I just had no interest.”

The satyr sighs, “If you insist.”

He crosses his arms, “I…I do not like looking incompetent and foolish. I know the norms and rules of home. I do not know them here.”

Vincent stands, clearly intending to mock him. So when he says, “why don’t we go into town today? I have some errands as it is, and you do need some clothing that’s your own” Apollo is so stunned he simply nods and goes to fetch a coat.

He waits for the stinger to come the rest of the afternoon; all through the walk through town, Vincent commenting on landmarks. All through the clothing racks of a quartet of stores, Vincent chatting with the owners as Apollo tests how much he’s allowed to get (he never finds the limit). All through their time at the grocers, where Apollo pretends to not see the customers gossiping about him even though he wants to make them cower.

By the time he understands the truth, they’re winding their way home. Frustration boils in his chest. He could have enjoyed himself if only he hadn’t been so sure…

A glittering marquee catches his eye, “What’s that?”

“The art museum. Or, I suppose art and textiles is more accurate? They have an entire wing devoted to fashion.”

“Could we see it?” He says the words before the same wariness that dogged his entire day ruins this too.

“Not tonight, they close soon and it’s much more fun to take your time. But if you’d like, we could go tomorrow.”

“Yes. Please.” It’s like pulling a tooth, that word.

Vincent smiles, horns glinting in the streetlights, “Then it’s a date.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------

Breakfast in bed hasn’t happened since he was a boy, so the tray settling across his legs is a surprise.

Apollo stands at the side of the bed, hands behind his back bouncing slightly on his toes.

“Good morning Vincent, Cook sent this up just now.”

He glances at the clock on the mantel, “At your request so we could go to the museum sooner?”

“No. Yes. Is it that obvious?” He looks genuinely ashamed.

“A bit. But I hardly blame you for being excited. Here” he pats the bed, “keep me company while I eat?”

The human sits, talking with practiced pleasantness about the weather. His behavior moves from deferrential to downright friendly once they reach the museum. Vincent loses himself in a tangent explaining how neo-classical works have distinct color palettes based on the restrictions on materials due to a war, looks up to find Apollo hanging on his every word.

When they reach the jewelry room, he’s treated to a new sight: Apollo dropping his cool facade and hurrying across the marble floor to a display case.

“Do you know what this is?” He indicates a small sword with a hilt of carved ruby, “it’s a ceremonial item, used to denote generals. There’d been a pattern of common soldiers making fake versions of uniforms of insignias and then riding off to try and give orders when they thought their superiors were wrong. Who knows if they were, but it meant a constant stream of miscommunication. The thinking was that such an expensive, eye-catching couldn’t be bought or replicated on a footsoldiers pay.”

Vincent glances at the plaque bearing only the date and location the piece was found, “Where did you learn that?”

“Father insisted on a thorough study of the military history of all nearby lands. I…I must admit that I re-read the portions on clothing and other frivolous, decorative items more than I should have.”

“It seems to me you just demonstrated that they’re not frivolous, but convey important information. Then again” he gestures at his outfit, embroidered with images of mountain flowers, “I like a little frivolity.”

Apollo’s amber eyes rove across him, as if seeing him for the first time. An inch of tension drops from his shoulders and he smiles an unfamiliar, small, but very real smile.

“Do they have any armor? Ah, there, come on, you’ll never believe what some makers can do with metal work..”

It’s another two hours before they even reach the gift shop, Apollo buying a book on obscure and novel satyr fashion through the ages. They have an early dinner in the museum cafe, snow drifting across the windows of the coffee scented atrium.

On the walk home, Apollo begins reading from the book to distract them from the growing cold, Vincent keeping their arms linked so his husband doesn’t stumble and fall as he describes some truly ludicrous attempts at putting shoes on hooves. They’re so engrossed in the conversation that they continue it through the bedroom door as they both undress, Apollo striding in the instant he can to show Vincent an illustration of horns wrapped in a dozen layers of rope.

It’s only when their legs bump together that Vincent realizes he got into bed on autopilot and Apollo joined him in order to keep showing him the pages.

The human looks down and pulls away, “I apologize. You see, this is why I try to avoid such things, I get all caught up and excited and then I become careless.”

Vincent sets a gentle hand on his knee, “It’s alright with me if you stay the night. Or you could stay here until we’re done talking and then retire to the couch.”

Apollo studies him carefully, the slowly shifts sideways so they’re touching once more.

“I will spend the night here. I like this bed. And I,” pink rushes up his cheekbones, “I like the company.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Everything had been going so well.

Apollo was learning to navigate town on his own, would go out for an afternoon and return with a piece of art or on the delivery cart with a new item of furniture for the house that was always the perfect fit for the room he put it in. He was, if not friendly, polite to the staff, and even apologized to all of them for his prior behavior.

They shared the bed every night. After the first evening of trying to stay on his back, Apollo seemed to relax and would flop about in his sleep, always ending up curled around Vincent, tucked up like a blossom awaiting the sun.

Better still, in the darkness one night he confessed to Vincent that he wanted to put bird feeders up on their balcony.

“They are clever, resourceful, more so than many people give them credit for. But even so I want there to be millet for them when the snow gets thick and the frost kills and covers everything.”

It makes Apollo’s mood today all the more vexing. It’s not like he hasn’t been irritable now and then, but today it’s as if someone turned back the clock and returned him to the state he was in when he arrived.

When he’s downright mean at lunch, Vincent confronts him in their rooms.

“Why are you chastising me? They were the ones being slow and clumsy today!”

“They weren’t. I think your mood is making you see things that way. If you’d just tell me-”

“I do not need to tell you anything, you grey, mangy, fat, son of a wh-”

He doesn’t get the last word all the way out before Vincent has him shoved up against the wall by his lapels.

“Enough. I shudder to think what manners your boorish father taught you but in this house you will never, ever, refer to my family in such a way.”

Apollo says nothing, eyes huge in the firelight. Vincent tests his weight, finds with horror that most of it is being used to press Apollo into the wall hard enough to hurt. He steps back immediately, smoothing Apollos’ shirt down before tucking his hands behind him, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let my temper get to me. I am going to get some air.”

“Alright.”

“And please, please think about telling me what’s really going on?”

“Alright.” Apollo is staying close to the wall, not moving a muscle. Vincent sighs, grabs his coat, and heads out into the snow.

—--------------------------------------------------

What was that? Has Vincent always been capable of that?

Apollo peels himself from the wall and creeps over to the bedroom window. Vincent’s shape moves out towards the garden, and Apollo forces himself to sit on the window seat so he doesn’t follow.

The message that’s gnawed at him all day be damned, all he wants now is for Vincent to do that again. To manhandle him, remind him of how strong he is, then fuss over him until Apollo forgets there was ever anything in his life that troubled him.

He could ask. But how? And for what? What if Vincent is disgusted by his desire? Surely it’s safer to goad him into it once more.

Lounging by the window, he plots his approach, though whenever he gets ahead of himself and imagines Vincent holding him down against the bed he gets too aroused and has to think about birds to calm himself down. He nearly falls out of his spot with excitement when Vincent steps into the bedroom.

“No falls?” He asks, voice brimming with concern.

“No. Though there’s an icy patch near the roses, so be careful if you go out.” Vincent lays his coat over a chair by the fire.

“It’s hardly surprising you didn’t. I think you’re more goat than most satyrs.”

Vincent ignores him, drying his hooves by the grate one at a time.

“I have another theory. Perhaps you don’t look half human because your mother actually fucked a goat and that cancelled it out.”

Vincent tips his head back, faint, frustrated groan audible under the crackle of the fire. Then he turns, hands on his hips, “Apollo, for goodness sake what is going on? It’s like you want me to put you over my knee!”

“You should! You, you should absolutely do that because I, I have not been behaving and I will not until you do that and then I will behave so well that when you are through you will want nothing but to pet my hair and tell me how good I am.”

Vincent bleats, something he only does when truly taken aback.

“It, it would be your right as my husband too. To discipline me. But also because you’re my husband you have to be certain I am alright afterwards. In fact as your husband I, I order you to do that! Right here in this bed!”

The satyr moves towards him, voice light as spring rain, “Apollo, have you been awful all day because you want me to play at punishing you in a sexual way?”

“I….No. Or, at least, not until you came in just now. I got word from father today, about what he’s scene and his plans for unclaimed land once he finds it and I, we, he was supposed to take me with him the whole way. I was going to work by his side, aid him in his great deeds, be the heir to whatever he created and he just left me here. Like I was nothing more than a sack of flour to be bartered.” Anger coils through his veins and he squeezes his eyes shut, “I am tired of thinking about it. I am tired of hurting and then feeling weak for doing so. All I want is to feel something else.”

Lavender and fresh linen reaches his nose, and when he opens his eyes Vincent is right in front of him. The satyr cups his face, keeps it upturned so he can meet his eyes.

“I have an idea. But first: promise me the next time this happens, you’ll start here, not with the insults?”

“I will try my very hardest.”

“Good boy.” Vincent bends and kisses him so sweetly Apollo gives up on composure and melts against him.

“Now” Vincent runs his fingers through Apollo’s hair, “this is what we’ll do. You will undress and lay across my lap and I will, ah, discipline you. When I feel you have learned your lesson, I will use this exquisite body to relieve the frustration that build in me each day I wake up with you in my arms and have been unable to take you then and there.”

“Yes, yesyes.” Apollo sheds his layers, gold and white fabric pooling on the floor. When he’s done, he’s like a snake in a brand new skin; vulnerable and sensitive but no longer aching to tear his skin away.

Vincent lays against the cherry wood headboard, wrapped in his lilac bathrobe and patting his lap expectantly. Apollo climbs onto the bed, but before he lay down Vincent rests a hand on his chest.

“You really are gorgeous, darling. Thank the stars for politics, I could never have won a prize as perfect otherwise.”

A blush spreads as Vincent traces hearts on his chest. Less confidently than he’d like, he murmurs, “That is not true. You captivate me. Even at the wedding I found myself admiring you; they grey in your hair, the shine of your horns, the way you carry yourself so that everyone listens without you having to say a word.”

Vincent smiles, cheeks adorably pink, “You flatter me, sweetheart. Now, be a good boy and lay down.”

Apollo rests across his lap, goosebumps running up his skin in spite of the fire. Vincent moves his hand in slow, deliberate circles on his ass, then smacks once, lightly, and gives a pleased hum.

“You, you can go harder.” His hips wiggle, which only turns him on more as he notices the contrast between his bare skin and the fine robe.

“I know, but I don’t want to. This isn’t really about punishment, after all.” Another light slap, “although, you were very rude for bringing up my ravishing you on that first night.”

“I know better now.”

“Indeed you do.” The next slap is much louder, but doesn’t sting. In the aftermath, he feels faux fur rubbing along his ass. Me moans and pushes back in hopes of more. Vincent chuckles, delivers three more slaps, “do you like that? It’s a paddle I haven’t used in some time.”

“Then use it more nowOH, ohhhhhh” He squeaks as Vincent offers up two, harder blows before returning to soothing the stinging skin.

“As I was saying, it was rude to bring up that topic because I do very much enjoy the fantasy of taking some handsome humans’ virginity in the roughest way possible.”

“Ohhhhhhyes, yes, you can take mine however you please.”

A rough groan, “Tempting my darling. We could manage it too. We’d have to wait until the spring, let you wander the orchards only for me to carry you off and ravish you by the waterfall so no one can hear your pleas.”

Apollo grinds his hips against a warm thigh, cock aching from the thought of Vincent using him where anyone could see.

“But I do not want to wait that long.”

“Neither do I. Besides, in my heart that isn’t what I want for that first time. I want to spoil you, make you feel every inch the treasure you are, my wonderful, rare bird.”

He whines, turning his face to stare pleadingly up at his husband, “If you keep talking like that I’m not lasting much longer.”

“That’s alright. You can cum whenever you like, just know that will not change my plans to use you for my pleasure afterwards.” A sharp, possessive smack, “you are my good boy, after all.”

His orgasm knocks the air from him, so abrupt that all he can manage is an absurd, pathetic whine as hum cums on Vincent’s legs. Useless, he can’t even sound right-

“You make such charming sounds, little bird.” Vincent guides him up so they’re sitting face to face. Apollo gawks when he notices the bulge he was rubbing against looks twice as big as it felt.

“Do you like it?”

He clambers into Vincent’s lap, “Fuck me. Now.”

A kiss to his cheek, “Not all the way tonight. Fitting that inside you is going to take some time and I want to be able to savor it. And right now I feel far too much like a horny old goat, as you would call me, to be patient.”

Apollo kisses him as hard as he dares, hoping it makes up for all the times he failed to tell him how handsome he is. Then he grins, “so what are you going to do, old man?”

He laughs as his back hits the bed and Vincent holds his legs up in the air.

“I could add some more lube to your thighs, but you came on them some and I am out of patience.” He shoves his cock between them, then closes Apollo’s legs and throws them both over one shoulder, locking an arm around his knees to hold them in place. He moans, “finally, time to get some use out of you, my pretty thing.”

Apollo moans happily, his own cock bouncing weakly as Vincent fucks his thighs. It’s a stunning view, not only for the cock on display but also for how delighted Vincent looks. Apollo should have been making him feel that way the whole time.

Ah well, he’ll just have to make up for it now. Like letting his husband put his cock wherever he pleases.

Vincent grunts and cums hard across Apollo’s stomach and chest. Even as cum continues to spill onto his skin, Vincent turns his head to playfully kiss Apollo’s knee.

“Such a good boy.”

“I tried. I, I did I-”

Vincent carefully lowers his legs and crawls to his side, “You were wonderful, little bird. And now I think a bath is in order. Perhaps I can brush your hair? I know you like it when I do.”

Apollo rolls on his side, snickering as the fur on Vincent’s legs tickles him, “That would be wonderful. But I…I would also like to polish your horns once you’re done with my hair. They look so nice to touch and I want to make you feel as safe and as happy as I do right now.”

Vincent takes his hand and kisses it, “I would like that very much, sweetheart. Come on, let’s go take care of each other.

#winter fills #vincent/apollo #terato #arranged marriage au

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mogwai-movie-house · 2 years

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Films You’re Not Supposed To Like But I Do Regardless

Neglected Treasures and Guilty Pleasures

1. The Bonfire of the Vanities (1990)

Yes, it has its flaws, and perhaps the most ill-fitting soundtrack of any Hollywood movie yet made, but judged separately from its much more celebrated source material, I still feel if this film had been made by Frank Capra in the 1940s it would be considered a classic.

★★★★★★★★☆☆

2. Last Action Hero (1993)

I've heard this film described as "a joyless, soulless machine of a movie" and "a perfect example of cinematic-self hatred", but I think that's all a little harsh: personally, I see an absolute one-off, a hugely over-budgeted action blockbuster that is a meta-parody of itself. There's quite a bit of it that doesn't work but the bits that do are a joy and unlike anything else you'll have ever seen.

★★★★★★★★☆☆

3. Under the Cherry Moon (1986)

The great weakness of the follow-up to the phenomenally successful Purple Rain is that there's no room for music (very similar to '8-Mile'). But in its place there's a quirky black & white fantasy tribute to '30's romantic comedies, and Prince is much funnier than most would imagine.

At root it's a vanity project, and something of a silly mess, but it's not the abomination it was made out to be when first released, and if you're a fan of the man there's a lot to love.

★★★★★★☆☆☆☆

4. One-Trick Pony (1980)

Paul Simon's one and only movie was a terrible flop upon release but his story of a 60's one-hit wonder still touring and trying to make a comeback is not really all that bad. If it had been released a few years earlier, I think it would have fitted in more with the gritty, downbeat American films of the time, but at the turn of the 80s, in the immediate aftermath of Punk and New Wave, it got kinda lost.

A small, thoughtful, slightly amateurish film, it's just about worth seeing for Lou Reed's cameo alone.

★★★★★★☆☆☆☆

5. Stardust Memories (1980)

I can't for the life of me see what everyone hated about this one. Yes, it owes quite a debt to Fellini, but on the other hand there'd never been another American film like it, and this is prime Woody Allen, up there alongside Hannah & Her Sisters, Manhattan and Annie Hall with his very best, perfectly blending comedy and pathos into something that is neither but all his own. My very favourite film of all time.

★★★★★★★★★★

6. Kongo (1932)

Don't really want to say anything to spoil it, but this luridly twisted pre-code nightmare genuinely does have to be seen to be believed. It would be hard to get away with what happens in it now, so it's amazing they got away with it then.

★★★★★★★☆☆☆

7. Lady in the Water (2006)

M. Night Shyamalan made one great movie (The Sixth Sense), two very good movies (The Village and Unbreakable), a seemingly never-ending stream of diarrhea (everything else), and then this, which is kind of a bit of all three. It is an incoherent and sloppily pieced-together meander but there's a delightful film in there somewhere trying its best to get out.

★★★★★★☆☆☆☆

8. The Brown Bunny (2003)

The only thing anyone remembers about this is the blowjob, but the whole film is a beautifully shot, deeply intimate and narcissistically self-indulgent work of art, that deserves a much larger cult following than it presently has, and eventually will get.

★★★★★★★☆☆☆

9. The Rapture (1991)

Every time you think you've figured out what this film is saying, it switches up on you and heads somewhere else. It starts out like some straight-to-video softcore, seemingly gets religion in a big way 20 minutes in, then gets very very dark and ends up somewhere all its own.

When watching this for the first time, set a timer on your clock to remind you every 20 minutes to ask yourself "who the hell put up the money to make this?!"

★★★★★★★★½☆

10. St. Elmo's Fire (1985)

Usually overlooked and/or derided 80's 'Brat Pack' movie, looking like a John Hughes misstep but really just a younger version of 'The Big Chill'. And like that film, it's a warm, funny, and well-acted meditation on the complications of growing up and adulthood.

The worst thing in it is Rob Lowe playing the saxophone.

★★★★★★★★☆☆

11. The End (1978)

A full-length comedy entirely about a man trying to kill himself still seems a very strange career decision for action movie superstar Burt Reynolds, but I always rather liked it.

★★★★★½☆☆☆☆

12. Class (1983)

Another rarely mentioned 80s 'teen movie' that has a lot more tenderness and depth to it than the 'Porkies'-type comedies it usually gets lumped in with.

Along with 'St Elmo's Fire', Andrew McCarthy and Rob Lowe's best movie.

★★★★★★★½☆☆

13. The Ghost Train (1941)

Just a completely forgotten time capsule of British wartime comedy, now seeming to come from not only a different age but a different planet. Creaky and atmospheric, sort of an English take on something like 'The Cat and The Canary', but a pretty successful star vehicle for the sometimes very funny, sometimes very grating Arthur Askey.

★★★★★★☆☆☆☆

14. Death Proof (2007)

Quentin Tarantino's 'Grindhouse' double bill never really took off the way he wanted to, but seen alone, this is one of his best second tier films - not as good as Pulp Fiction, of course, or Reservoir Dogs or even Jackie Brown, but I would say better than the much higher praised Django Unchained, Inglourious Basterds and Hateful Eight.

A gloriously lurid tribute to the satin-jacketed stuntman movies and slasher films of the seventies, it's enough of a one-off labor of love to be treasured for itself.

★★★★★★★★☆☆

15. 1941 (1979)

Once a chaotic mess, the Director's Cut turns this into a pretty watchable movie with some great set-pieces.

★★★★★★☆☆☆☆

16. Rumble Fish (1983)

Francis Ford Coppola's final great movie was maybe too small-scale and quirky to get the attention it deserved, but it's a twilit, no-man's land meet-up of a dream of a 1950s that never was and some greaser 80's punk noir, based on pages from a teenage novel and ending up feeling more some kind of black & white myth. It's a smokey, jazzy, melancholy movie all in a world of its own, and Mickey Rourke was never so beautiful or perfect again.

★★★★★★★½☆☆

17. Hannibal (2001)

Lambasted for pushing the powers of Dr Lecter some way beyond those of mere mortals, but really not much more than, say, Sherlock Holmes, this is a fantastic thriller with Anthony Hopkins on toppermost form. If they'd managed to keep Jodie Foster aboard it would have been perfect.

★★★★★★★★½☆

18. Monsieur Verdoux (1947)

The film that finally drove Chaplin from Hollywood and America, it's a failure as a comedy but a triumph as a uniquely cynical take on the morality of murder and war, out of step with everything else made in that time and since.

★★★★★★★☆☆☆

19. Hudson Hawk (1991)

As with many other things in this list, it's a bit of a self-indulgent mess but a lot of fun too, if you're willing to get on board and go along with it.

★★★★★½☆☆☆☆

20. Unbreakable (2000)

Not a flop, and not forgotten, but still undervalued for what it is. Unbreakable introduces superhuman powers into a recognizably everyday world in a far more believable, original and powerful way than many much more famous 'superhero' movies since.

★★★★★★★★☆☆

#classic movies #film recommendations

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slickshoesareyoucrazy · 1 year

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My Changing Emotions About Weddings

OK, so it’s fairly well established that I’m a big sap. Even when I was living a lonely existence of emotional neglect at home when I was young, and even being super demisexual, almost to the point of being totally asexual, I’m going to share my son’s words here to describe me (we’ve had some frank discussions at the start of high school about sexuality). He suspects he’s on the asexual spectrum somewhere, and I told him that’s ok...he’s not damaged or weird. I am too. I told him about how weird high school and college were for me because of that; I was/am that, but at the time, I didn’t know what it was or that it was even a thing a person could be. It was never talked about, even in progressive-for-the-time fiction. So upon learning this about me, the conversation went in this direction...

Boy: Wow. You’re like a very rare person, I think, Mom. Because you’re pretty asexual, but you’re like...HYPER-romantic. You see love and romance everywhere all the time. All your stories are love stories. You’re like Frank Capra and Walt Disney, but an asexual girl. That’s probably a pretty unique combination in people.

Me: Maybe. I never really thought about that.

Boy: I can’t believe you are so optimistic and lovey based on your childhood, even if you weren’t even a little bit ace. Mam and Pap are like...not at all romantic people.

Me: Think how sappy and annoying I’d be if I had supportive parents. HAHAHA!

Boy: You would maybe actually BE Aphrodite then. <chuckles>

(The Boy has been studying a lot of film and literature and classic world cultures for his school’s academic competitions...so yes, he is really the one referencing Frank Capra and Aphrodite...not me.)

I share this because I think The Boy is right about me. When I was young, even though I never had sexual urges, even INSIDE a youthful romantic relationship, I was always into romance-y things. Not the textbook, trite shit like getting flowers or writing love poems or whatever, but just...little things someone does (maybe not even your partner, but your friends, your family, your teacher/coach, whoever) that show they are thinking about you and know you and value you. And I’ve always, even when I wasn’t into any other love-story-type shit, been into weddings. I LOVED going to weddings as a kid/teenager/young single adult/newlywed. LOVED. Nothing fuels a sappy romantic more than watching two hopeful souls stand up in front of the people they know and declare love and promise to one another. Unity. Mutual expression of love and loyalty. I’ve written a LOT of weddings; all different kinds of weddings between all different kinds of people who love each other; into my stories. Like...it really gets my motor running. Or it used to.

The last several weddings I’ve attended, however, even my own brother’s, have soured me on them. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still all about love and loyalty and unity and commitment. I still like the IDEA and IDEAL of weddings a whole bunch. The recent angst comes from the shit I’m hearing said at weddings by all sorts of different sources. Best men/maids of honor/wedding attendants...parents of the bride and/or groom...pastors/officiants... Like it’s leaving a bad taste in my mouth. That wedding celebrations themselves are now being purposely tainted with negativity.

Some snippets from recent (going back to maybe a couple years prior to COVID) weddings...

“You’ve now promised to love this person forever, but you won’t like them all the time...sometimes you’ll look at this person you married and wonder why you married them because you don’t even LIKE this person, but you promised to love them forever. So you have to continue to choose to love them every day, even on days you don’t like them...”

“’Love is patient, love is kind...etc...’ This scripture means that when we join together in marriage, we are called to give our spouse the sacrificial love Jesus gave to all humanity...”

“Marriage is hard.”

“<Groom>, I want you to take <bride’s> hand in your hand. Now place your other hand on top of hers. Enjoy this moment, because it will be the last time you have the upper hand in this marriage.”

That last one is so dripping with marriage negativity and misogyny it made me want to walk out of the joint.

I understand the drive to tell a new couple, especially a young couple, that every day isn’t going to be like their wedding day, where everyone they ever even mostly liked is going to show up and applaud them and give them gifts and get tipsy and get out on the dance floor in their finery and shake it into the wee hours of the morning. Life’s not a party. I get it. Don’t want to set the kids up to think it is, but I mean...they KNOW that. They do. They grew up watching their own parents argue and struggle and sometimes even divorce or die. They’ve all experienced disappointment and loss. Their wedding...from their pastor and parents and family and friends...isn’t the time for harsh reminders of those things, I don’t think. But beyond just that, those things are false. We’re telling these newly married people lies, or at least only incomplete versions of the truth. I DO like J all the time. Yeah, sometimes he pisses me off. I piss him off too. But I always like him. I’ve never thought, ‘Why’d I marry this dude?’ I know why. He’s my person. He makes my life better. My Pre-J Life was undeniably shittier than My Post-J Life. Yes, love is patient and kind and will occasionally to often call on a person to sacrifice something for another, but not your whole life or self. That’s not really love. People who love you don’t expect complete sacrifice and perfection from the people they love. They just don’t. Marriage ISN’T hard. It’s really not. LIFE is hard. Life is going to throw illness and loss and disappointment and hardship at you no matter what you do; that’s life. MARRIAGE is supposed to be a buffer for life. That’s your partner; that’s your person; that’s your homie there to share the load and hold you when you cry. If that person isn’t making your life better, you shouldn’t be married to them, or you should no longer be married to them. We live in a time and place in history and culture where if it’s not working out, there’s a way out. I’m still an incurable, unrepentant romantic, but I’ve seen a whole bunch of bad marriages; I’ve never met a bad divorce. And yeah, again? If a man is getting married, particularly if he’s getting married to a woman? HE’S winning. Women don’t ruin men or oppress them by marrying them. I’m so fucking tired of hearing that coming at me, and everyone else, especially young men who are attracted to women, left, right, and center. It’s not a joke. Those jokes are really stupid and have never been funny. But damned if a whole bunch of people didn’t laugh at that ‘upper hand’ one last night. I didn’t laugh. Neither did J or The Boy.

I dunno. I guess maybe all the negative shit was always there before the past few years for me, and like myself, I just blocked it out and only saw the shiny happy parts I wanted to see in wedding ceremonies and receptions. Now, unfortunately, all I see are the problems. I’m hoping we’re not invited to another wedding for a good long time.

#no reblogs please

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quibbs126 · 1 year

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I was going through my art again and I found this drawing of some of my characters from another project of mine. I made this around June 2021, so it’s kind of old, but I think it still looks pretty good

I’m gonna try not to dump everything about them here, I have actual better references for them, but I might as well tell you some basic stuff

So their names, from left to right, are Cassidy, Rowan (yes I now realize that I now have two Rowans, but this guy was first and I called him that because he was red, so his name sticks), and Rasmus. They also make me think of cake, so alternate names for them in my head are Blue Velvet, Red Velvet, and Chocolate Cake

I based them off of Devil May Cry songs, specifically “Devil Trigger” for Cassidy, “Devils Never Cry” for Rowan, and “Bury the Light” for Rasmus. There are a couple others, but these guys are the main trio

These guys are basically a fictional race I called Capra, they’re basically humanoids that are loosely based on sheep and goats. They all have horns and have a relatively monochromatic color scheme, with either lighter or darker hair. Also they have tails

They also have powers, with Cassidy having lightning, Rowan having water, and Rasmus having fire. I know that’s probably not what people might get from those particular songs, but it’s what I got

The basic plot is that these three are tasked with dealing with a city that’s been overrun with monsters (they’re all monster hunters, each for their own reasons), and they’re meant to work together to get rid of the monsters and find the root of their appearance. What starts out as a simple task soon grows to be far more important than they first realized

Anyways, I’ll stop for now and go more in depth later. I’m actually at class right now and probably shouldn’t be doing this, but I can’t see what we’re supposed to be doing right now, so whatever

Anyways, hope you enjoy this little sketch of them

#it’s kind of similar to Devil May Cry #since that’s what I based them on and I never saw much reason to deviate #never had a proper medium their story would be told in #they were just characters I made while listening to the songs one day #and then eventually I came up with a semblance of a plot #there’s more to each character I just didn’t write it down #might do that tonight #also this is based on a draw the squad #original characters #my oc #cassidy #rowan #rasmus #Capra #character design #draw the squad #my art

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billconrad · 4 months

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Writing An Exchange Book Review

As a minor author, trying to get readers interested in my books has been difficult. I am competing with new, seasoned, and dead authors. Standing out is quite challenging.

Getting more book reviews is one way to get in front of the pack. I started my quest by begging friends to read my book and post a review, but I quickly exhausted this resource. So, I contacted random authors to ask them to exchange reviews. This effort has been mostly successful, and with a lot of hard work, my first book now has 58 reviews. Yay!

I thought it would be fun to explain my process. It begins by selecting an author to approach. I first examined their content to see if I was interested in this. I also read the book descriptions, and Amazon usually allows potential readers to review the first chapter. Existing reviews are also an excellent resource.

My ultimate deciding factor is to ask myself, “If somebody gave me this book for free, would I read it?” The answer must be between “yes” and “I guess so.”

A key aspect to getting the other author to agree is to include a brief book description. The idea is to warn them off if my books are not their cup of tea. “This is a first-person drama about a vampire who forces an author to interview her. It contains mild gore.” Including this basic information has saved me tons of grief. Plus, I get better results.

I do not target big-time authors; instead, I go after new authors with two or fewer books. We are in the same boat, which is amateurs with potential. We figured out how to throw a .epub file on Amazon. Side note. 99.999% of the population has not achieved this worthy goal. Yes, we are truly better people.

However, there is a problem with this class of authors. Only a few people have read their book, and there will be grammar, spelling, formatting, plot, logic, character, and description issues. Run-on sentences that run on while they are running on? You bet!

There is another problem with this kind of exchange. Authors spend a lot of time writing. This means other books… Well… Suck. Why? They do not have our type of characters, story, writing style, or book category. As a result, authors in a review exchange need to accept that they only like a specific type of story and can spot writing flaws like a hawk.

Allow me to re-state the above paragraph. Just because a writing style is unique, that does not make it wrong. For example, I have never encountered two books that use the same dialog integration format.

There is a particular category of book that has a unique problem. If the book contains heavy fantasy, science fiction, alternate reality, or superhero, the author must immediately pull the reader into an alternate reality. That transition is ultra-difficult, and the pitfalls are immense. Want proof? Have you ever met a vampire? Will you? Of course not. Now, let me try to convince you (in my book) that vampires live next door. And we are on Mars…

The fantasy category has another problem. These authors have lived in their wacky, made-up world for years and have difficulty thinking like a reader. This book class needs far more beta reading, editing, and concept work than a standard book. Of course, amateur authors do not have this extensive network of support. Therefore, I take special care when considering this book category for an exchange. I guarantee these stories will be a bumpy ride.

I also do not do an in-depth plot investigation. People reading reviews want clear highlights. “Outstanding book, worth purchasing.” To explain this issue, I found this deep-dive movie review for Clear and Present Danger. It is too highbrow for the average reader and does not provide a quick path to “buy it now.”

There’s a little bit of Mr. Smith in Ford’s Jack Ryan, and there’s a little bit of Capra in the techno-thriller as written and rewritten by Donald Stewart, Steven Zaillian, and John Milius. Unfortunately, this calls for an overblown denouement in which an outraged Ryan gives hell to the chief. This exchange of “how dare yous” aside, the film is certainly more adult in terms of real issues than “True Lies.”

Four of my exchanges were awful, and I can trace the issue back to an exchange partner who did not go into the process with the right mindset.

Now that I have a book to review, I read it cover to cover. While doing so, I take notes, including the main character’s name, locations, plot, and other vital details. Plus, I informed the author about major type-os. If the issues are too numerous, I will say, “Hey, I spotted a few errors. I suggest you give it another self-edit.”

What if the book is below average? I am good at locating positive points and cheerfully describing them. So far, I have not encountered a book so bad that I had to call off the exchange.

I know how difficult it is to put something out for the world to tear down. There is so much competition. Plus, famous authors have already written easy-to-write concepts to death. It nearly impossible to come up with something new. Plus, books are 60-200 thousand words, meaning there are 60-200 thousand places to make mistakees! See, nobody is perfect.

How long does the entire review take? Typically, a week of reading, twenty minutes to write, and fifteen minutes to edit. Do I cheat by reading the existing reviews and making something up? No, I consider this to be dishonest.

I shoot for a 200-word review and take a three-paragraph approach. The first contains an introduction and what the book is about.

“A friend recommended The Title by Major Author, and the description sounded interesting. Major began his story in a dystopian future where America has suffered a horrific war. A nation formed from destruction, and the new government thrived. However, Tony and her misfit friends suspect something is not right.”

You will note the lack of gushing descriptions or endless compliments. Why? This is how genuine reviews read. “Hey, I got this book, and it was cool.”

My second paragraph describes the story and answers why it is a good read.

“Unlike other time travel stories, Major Author thoroughly analyzes the science necessary to make time travel possible. Major put much effort into explaining exactly how time travel technology worked. The unique plot revolved around a daughter attempting to prevent her mother’s death in the past while the Time Cops stop ‘him’ in the future.”

The last paragraph contains praise, but it should not be over-the-top.

“The Title contains great dialog and superb descriptions. I loved the Australian twang and friendly interaction. I recommend this book to three friends and look forward to Major Author’s next work.”

That’s it! It’s a three-paragraph review, but I intentionally let out some details. How about a good quote? Some review sites ban reviews with quotes, and they have burned me more than once. I avoid giving away the plot because that is what the book blurb is for.

I enjoy review exchanges and read many books I would have never picked up. The wonderful authors have provided great tips and pointed out ways to overcome my writing flaws. With some luck, I will reach my goal of 100 book reviews per book, bringing me one step closer to being recognized.

You’re the best -Bill

January 03, 2024

Hey book lovers, I published four. Please check them out:

Interviewing Immortality. A dramatic first-person psychological thriller that weaves a tale of intrigue, suspense, and self-confrontation.

Pushed to the Edge of Survival. A drama, romance, and science fiction story about two unlikely people surviving a shipwreck and living with the consequences.

Cable Ties. A slow-burn political thriller that reflects the realities of modern intelligence, law enforcement, department cooperation, and international politics.

Saving Immortality. Continuing in the first-person psychological thriller genre, James Kimble searches for his former captor to answer his life’s questions.

These books are available in soft-cover on Amazon and eBook format everywhere.

#writing #book review #publicity

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cgclarkphoto · 4 months

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Christmas

Tis the season for a Ho, Ho, Ho, or a Bah humbug what was the most impact on your mood for the season.

336 AD the Church declares December 25 the birth of Christ

1848 Queen Victory brings in the Christmas Tree for Albert (Victoria influenced the white wedding gown and the Christmas tree from Germany)

Early 1900s by Lang - The Advent Calendar

Charles Dickens - Christmas Carol

Clement Moore - Night before Christmas

1931 Coca Cola's Santa Image

Francis Church - Yes Virginia there is a Santa Claus

Bing Crosby - White Christmas

Gene Autry - Rudolph the Rednosed Reindeer

Frank Capra - It's A Wonderful Life

CBS 1969 Frosty the Snowman

CBS 1965 Charlie Brown Christmas Special

ABC 1970 Santa Claus is Coming to Town

Bob Clark/Jean Shepherd - The Christmas Story

1994 Mariah Carey - All I Want For Christmas is You

These are just some of the most impactful things that influenced the season. You may have a favorite that I didn't think about.

#Christmas #Influence #impact #culture #shape #media #song #movie #book #art #advertisement #tv #church #religion #poetry

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back-and-totheleft · 1 year

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On a warm day in October, Oliver Stone leads a visitor into the sun room of his house in Brentwood, where he has been re-reading the daily journals he kept during the production of “JFK,” his kaleidoscopic drama about the 1963 assassination of President John F. Kennedy in Dallas.

Thirty years after its release in December of 1991, “JFK’s” influence can still be detected, on everything from Washington policy to Hollywood world-building. For baby boomers, it was a film that tapped into still-raw generational loss. For Gen-Xers, it defined all they knew about Kennedy and his death. Its form pushed visual language to visceral new extremes. Its content helped introduce a new generation to America’s long conspiratorial tradition. “JFK” is still with us, in style and substance.

Stone, 75, is recalling his preparations for the first day of filming on April 15, 1991. Peering avuncularly through a pair of reading glasses, he scans pages covered with looping blue scrawls.

“The Iraq War is coming into being, which is a big thing for me, because [‘JFK’ is] about war, and the preparation for war,” notes Stone, a Vietnam veteran. “It was unbelievable to see that happening in my lifetime again — to get geared up to send 500,000 men to Saudi Arabia. It was like doing the same thing we did in Vietnam, so foolishly.”

He flips through another few pages.

“And my 16-year-old dog was dying, too,” he says with a sigh. [...]

People who judge “JFK” for its accuracy — even for its fairness — are not wrong. But they too often ignore the vacuum that created it in the first place: the covert actions and cover-ups that have done far more to sow public mistrust than Hollywood. What’s more, they overlook what might be the most enduring value of Stone’s film. “JFK” is less about John F. Kennedy in 1963 or Jim Garrison in 1969 than Oliver Stone in 1991: a man whose primal wound — being lied to about why he went to war — had never healed, a man whose prodigious gifts as a storyteller naturally fused with the unresolved loss and deep-seated doubts of his contemporaries, a man whose dog just died. By the time Costner’s Garrison delivers his summation in “JFK,” he barely refers to Shaw or Kennedy: He is making a plea on behalf of a generation that had never gotten accountability after the official lies and betrayals that had conditioned most of their lives.

On a crammed shelf in Stone’s second-floor office, not far from where three Oscars share space with the Whole Earth Catalog, sit books about Costa-Gavras, whose taut 1969 political thriller “Z” was an inspiration for “JFK,” and Frank Capra, traces of whose “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington” can be heard in Costner’s final speech. “Costa-Gavras meets Frank Capra” might be the best way to describe a director as fluent with polemic as he is with throat-catching emotion. “Yes, you know what side I’m on,” Stone says of his characterizations. “I didn’t say it was an impartial documentary, did I?”

To spend time with Oliver Stone is to enter a different kind of looking glass, where a man often caricatured as a wild-eyed provocateur is thoughtful, easygoing and generous even at his most contrarian; where he’ll go hammer and tongs about Clay Shaw’s role in the CIA or the Kennedys’ relationship with Dulles (“You’re hard core,” he says, shaking his head, after a spirited back-and-forth about the single-bullet theory), and then invite a journalist to peruse his “JFK” archive while he goes upstairs to work. He is not a Trump fan and considers George W. Bush “the worst president we’ve ever had.” He rejects present-day conspiracies like QAnon, but he thinks the Jan. 6 insurrection has been overblown. For the record, Stone has been quadruple-vaxxed against covid-19: “Two Sputniks and two Pfizers,” he says proudly.

Stone’s last narrative feature was 2016’s “Snowden”; since 2001 he’s been making documentaries, including admiring portraits of Fidel Castro and Vladimir Putin. He is currently at work on a film in favor of nuclear energy. Nonfiction, he says, is “more alluring to me as a way to tell the truth, without … having to go through all the BS of disguising.”

Still, he accepts that “JFK” will remain his undisputed masterwork. When asked about the film’s legacy, Stone demurs. “I think it’s one of a kind,” he says simply, adding that it marked a crucial turning point in his career.

“No longer was I judged as a filmmaker,” he says, admitting that his journey through the vagaries of public opinion left him feeling defensive and hurt.

“A lot of filmmakers would say, ‘It’s just a movie.’ It never felt like that to me. A filmmaker should take responsibility for his movie, whether it’s fiction or fact.”

As for the “conspiracy theorist” label he has carried since making “JFK,” he is both philosophical and unapologetic. “I have really not gone in that direction,” he says, before adding: “Conspiracies have happened. Anybody who reads history knows that. But we act so innocent in America, like ‘Who, us?’ ” Stone laughs ruefully. “It just doesn’t work that way.”

-Ann Hornaday, "‘JFK’ at 30: Oliver Stone and the lasting impact of America’s most dangerous movie," The Washington Post, Dec 22 2021 [x]

#oliver stone #ann hornaday #the washington post #jfk #vietnam

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theharpermovieblog · 1 year

Text

#HARPERSMOVIECOLLECTION

2023

VALENTINE'S DAY MARATHON

I watched It Happened One Night (1934)

Director Frank Capra has made a good number of classics including, It's a Wonderful Life and Mr. Smith goes to Washington. Here, he makes a romantic comedy that would define the genre.

A newspaper reporter promises to help a rich girl return to her new husband, but falls for her along the way.

For as old as this movie is, you'd be surprised at how many good laughs are still left in it. But, I'll let you in on a little secret, just cuz something's old doesn't mean it's lost it's ability to be effective.

It's got star power for sure and the romance is decently believable, which isn't something I can say for most romantic comedies.

Since I'm not a fan of romantic comedies, it's hard to judge them. I don't really have too much to say about this one.

It's an oldie but a goodie. It looks great and has some really witty writing. Not to mention, it's got some classic scenes and tropes that are still being referenced and used today.

That being said, I'm happy I get to move on to the weirder stuff I have planned.

But, this seems like the right place to start if you're gonna do a Valentine's day marathon.

(Yes yes, Bugs Bunny....the carrot....we all know.)

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boss323michalmiskovic · 1 year

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puutterings · 1 year

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from Mark Lloyd’s channel, with gratitude for his posting and description.

On the vocation of puttering, from Frank Capra’s 1931 Platinum Blonde. Halliwell Hobbes as the butler Smythe and Robert Williams as the restless newspaper reporter Stew Smith.

—

Smith : Smythe, what do you do with yourself, I mean when you’re not carrying those double straights [whisky?], what do you do with yourself?

Smythe : Well sir, I putter.

Smith : [smiles, unbelieving] Smythe... When you’re alone, and you want to amuse yourself, then what?

Smythe : I just putter.

Smith : [nods] Ok. Do you have to have a putter, to putter?

Smythe : No Sir, I putter with my hands.

Smith : Well, isn’t that nice. You just go right ahead with your [raises his hands]... that’s all right. How do you do that?

Smythe : Well, Sir, I’ll show you. [moves to table: moves some objects about, straightens lamp shade, blows some dust off it... all done silently, as if pantomime] That’s puttering, sir.

Smith : No... that’s... well well well... well, it’s all right, if you like it... Can anybody, anybody can do that?

Smythe : Oh, no sir. Some people are natural putterers; others can never master it.

Smith : Oh my, you mean some people are born... and never will become putterers, eh?.

Smythe : Yes.

Smith : Oh my, wouldn’t that be tragic, not to know that you could never be a putterer?

Smythe : Yes.

Smith : How about me? Do you think that if I concentrated and put my whole soul into it, that someday I might be a putterer?

Smythe : You, sir? Hmmm, You could never be a putterer, not a good putterer, sir.

Smith : Oh well, if I can’t be a good, I don’t want to putter. If I can’t be a good putterer, there’s... [pause] ... why, what makes you think I couldn’t be a good putterer?

Smythe : Well sir, to be a putterer, one’s mind must be at ease. A person with a problem could never be a putterer. For instance, sir, a fish can putter in water, but not on land, because he’d be out of place. An eagle can putter around the rugged mountain tops, but not in a cage, because he’d be restless, and unhappy. [Smith nods, hmm hmm in understanding] Now, sir, if you’ll pardon me, with all respect, as a Smythe to a Smith, you are an eagle in a cage.

Smith : Bird, in a gilded cage?

Smythe : [nods up and down], yes.

Smith : That’s all I want to know.

—

on the film, see wikipedia : link

dialogue by Robert Riskin (1897-1955), wikipedia : link

aside —

“They fall in love and soon elope, horrifying Anne’s widowed mother, Mrs. Schuyler (Louise Closser Hale), an imperious dowager who looks down on Stew’s lower-class background.”

Louise Closser Hale (1872-1933) has appeared previously in these puutterings —

speranza, the delicate construction of (166) some dull wooden station, muddy town (57)

#1931 #Frank Capra #Halliwell Hobbes #Robert Williams #others can never master it

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thenoirblogger · 1 year

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A fun movie whose dialogue gets you gripped from the very beginning to the end.

👤 Kris Caballero 📅 Jun 30, 2018 🗨 0 comments 📂 Blu-ray Reviews

Front Blu-ray Cover

Back Blu-ray Cover

Spine

Blu-ray disc(s)

prevnext

Jennifer Montemar (Brittney Powell) and Roland Drake (Thomas Konkle)

What a lot of people don't realize is how much energy, creative effort, time and money are required to produce a movie/film. Being a video creator myself, it's a ton of work....but the final results are incredibly rewarding. Producing movies is a natural passion; It's an art; It's a visual form of storytelling, be it true or fictional. Ever wonder why these made-for-web projects are getting all the viewership and praise? Peek through the over-hyped movies marketed every 6 yoctoseconds, and you'll find that there are a chock full of independent, low-budget and under-recognized movies that the film industry *wishes* they made. Ladies and gentlemen of all ages, I present to you this: Trouble Is My Business.

The story is about a detective named Roland Drake, played by Thomas Konkle, whose sexy client Katherine Montemar asks for help in snatching a diamond—the Orlov Diamond—that belonged to her family. Along with detering the corrupt, mob-laden black market, Drake contacts those who may have connections as to where this may lead to while keeping innocent and anonymous. During his journey are a bunch of people intercepting his path trying to get him killed, like corrupt police officer Detective Tate, played by Vernon Wells. The movie overall gives off that classic film noir—the early days when the story and the dark life of gangsterism were the goings-on (still goes on today).

There's a bunch of things that go on in this movie that mentioning some parts are enough to ruin the entire thing. While, yes, movie/TV/video game reviews generally contain spoilers, it is a rare instance that a movie this good challenges us not to spill the beans too much. A mention of one or two things can ruin the next plot, but however, if you've watched enough gangster films, murder mysteries and/or the James Bond series, you'll find that this isn't just another movie in contrast to those titles. It's a story with sudden twists and hairpin turns, it'll drop your jaw. I was in awe at the transition from scene to scene.

Roland Drake played by Thomas Konkle

"Well, I can't say no to a lady."

— Roland Drake

This is likely one of the classic lines in this movie—a modest detective reluctantly accepting the meeting with a beautiful woman needing his help. This happened twice to Mr. Drake with two women who happen to be sisters. I won't say anymore beyond that.

"I don't like a man with a sense of humor. I find it almost as unattractive as a woman with one."

— Evelyn Montemar

This made me smirk, but should inform you the kind of people—family—who are incredibly serious protecting prized possessions in the underworld. Gangsters do not have a sense of humor, since their operations involve not saying anything to where CIA or FBI could spot suspicious activity going on.

However, in my world above, women love men with a sense of humor and vice versa. Laughter is the best medicine, and is part of the universal language around the world.

"Just because you read accusations in the newspaper doesn't make them true."

— Jennifer Montemar

I feel this should tie to the skepticism people ought to adopt in the real world. Ever wonder why some news reports are served as "distractions?" Think about that.

Jennifer (Brittney Powell) and her mother Evelyn Montemar (Jordana Capra).

Roland Drake (Thomas Konkle) and Jennifer Montemar (Brittney Powell) in bed.

Bert The Cabble (Paul Hungerford) and police officer Ostrowski (Steve Olson).

Lew MacDonald (David Beeler).

As for the movie, you can tell the budget put into making this. It uses a lot of green screen, but remember, that this isn't focused on special effects compared to, say, space movies or scenes featuring explosions and flying (hello, Transformers, Star Wars and Superman fans). This movie is heavily focused on the story giving homage to the old, black & white movies when technology was so limited, movie producers worried more about the story and the acting. It's not like that today—promoting A-list actors to give low-rated movies some financial leverage. Give me a break....

The story overall is like a roller coaster ride: Once you're in it, buckle up because there'll be some surprising twists and turns. Just don't fall off the ride.

Blu-ray Disc Features review:

There's only two options on the Blu-ray menu: Play Movie and Play Trailer. There's no option for Scene Selections which may bother some Blu-ray fans. Whether you want that option or not, it gives the viewer a requirement to completely watch the film from start to finish, and there should be nothing wrong with that.

Trouble Is My Business Blu-ray menu - Black and White and Color

You may wonder why there are two discs: One for color and one for B&W. Why not put the same on one disc? I figured that they wanted to preserve the video quality putting them in separate discs. Putting two of them in one disc sacrifices the quality of the film which, as you know, will turn off a lot of movie/Blu-ray fans (let's not forget that a Blu-ray holds 25GB of data and a DVD only holds 4GB). The Black & White version of the movie gives that authentic mid-1900s feel, catering to those who dig the classic film library. As for the audio, there is no option on the Blu-ray as it is strictly 5.1 Surround. Majority of movie fans, depending on your audio system, prefer 5.1 audio anyway, but if you have a simple stereo system, it works just as well.

A movie specializing in detecting lives of crime finding truth in-between the lines while extracting secrets from a bunch of sketchy people and a family is what makes this a unique story-telling experience. I really want to talk about the film but, again, it'll spoil too much. It was so good we screened the film twice (perhaps again, after this review).

I want you, the viewer/fan, to enjoy the roller coaster ride this film brings especially when you arrive at the ending. The best way to describe it—I can't believe I'm doing this—I'll quote the bridge and chorus from the hit song "I Knew You Were Trouble" by Taylor Swift:

And he's long gone

When he's next to me

And I realize the blame is on me

'Cause I knew you were trouble when you walked in

So shame on me now

Flew me to places I'd never been

So you put me down

— Lyrics from "I Knew You Were Trouble" by Taylor Swift

Enjoy that scene as it will raise eyebrows.

While this movie just released on Blu-ray as recent as this month of June (2018), some of you may have obtained this packaging:

Scanavo Blu-ray case packaging

I've personally never seen this packaging. From all the Blu-rays we own in our SHOWSOTROS video library collection, this is a huge first. I thought it was an imitation but after doing research, this Blu-ray case is by a company brand Scanavo. I feel these cases are uncommon, but unveiling it on this review, expect studios and networks to invest and do business with them showing up more frequently at your local video and electronics stores. (Yeah, I was scared for a second fearing I got a pirated copy. You'd have to be a serious low life to still produce pirated copies in this modern age.)

It's been a long while, for me at least, to finally watch and enjoy something that grips you from start to finish. Now that we've brought this amazing piece into the spotlight, we'll likely see more of this story-telling style. Because of how much the story stacks up, it's good enough to turn into a TV series (you heard it from us first, Netflix, Hulu, YouTube, Amazon and many of you TV writers/producers reading this). Actually, you know, turn this movie into a TV series because we'll definitely tune in.

This Blu-ray release is still hot, fresh and new. Grab your copy as we strongly recommend this movie!

FEATURE PRESENTATION5/5

ARTWORK5/5

CONTENTS5/5

QUALITY5/5

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