#paul nee
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Two tone project: 1934 Lancia Belna by Paul Nèe
The car in question is a Lancia Augusta cabriolet, known as the Belna, produced in France. This variant was specially crafted by Paul Nèe, a French coachbuilder renowned for his balanced designs and work on some Bugatti models.
This particular Lancia Augusta Belna is a comprehensive restoration project. The vehicle has been stored since the 1970s and remains untouched, retaining all original…
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tonights doodle
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using the tap-hold-reblog feature and being constantly reminded that I used to rp as fucking polnih every damn time. but also being reminded that my design for them is literally top tier... double edged sword and so on and so forth...
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there is definitely something to paul choosing *that* name. it's not a portmanteau of palamedes and camilla, though it does look and sound very similar to pal. what i think that name is meant to bring to mind is the story of saul on the road to damascus.
if you're not familiar, saul was on his way to go fuck with the christians, and jesus came down and told him to stop doing that. and then saul was stricken blind for three days, and when he could see again he was rechristened paul because he's a fresh christian man. this experience gave him the power of evangelization to save earth from hell.
so, paul (tlt, nee palamedes & camilla) was also baptized in fire and renamed to fit a new agenda and given a great power to do that. their combined experience was enough to make them a better person than before to do what had to be done to save earth (from hell!). saul was also granted new understanding, much like the combination of palamedes' and camilla's life conceptions must have combined to something greater. they were imbued with glorious purpose with an enormously bright light and that purpose gave them a new identity.
#biblical allusions#thank you tamsyn muir the ex catholics are eating good 👍#the locked tomb#tlt#camilla hect#palamedes sextus#paul tlt#nona the ninth
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Something to Fight For (Series) Part 18 Joel Miller x f!Reader
Rating: 18+
THIS CHAPTER'S TRIGGER WARNINGS: Emotional Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Drug Addiction, Mentions of Death
A/N: I rewrote this fucking chapter about 8 times. I'm still not sure how I feel about it. It was a real hard one to write, ya'll. A lot of my own shit is mixed up in there with the story. MC is part me after all (and part all of you). So it was hard. Harder than I think I expected it to be. So I dunno how it ended up. Couldn't re-read it too much. I really need your reviews on this one folks. It's real important to me, 'specially now. I need to know how you feel, the good and the bad. I gotta get this right.
Story Masterlist HERE
You're overcome.
There's no other word for it. You've been sobbing in your shower for the last hour. After running from the barn, taking a taxi home and bursting into your suite you immediately fell to your knees, the warm water pelting down onto your back.
It's as close to being held, at being soothed that you can manage right now.
You can’t stop replaying tonight’s events. The song Joel chose. The one of longing and deep yearning.
"She may be the reason I survive
The why and wherefore I'm alive
The one I'll care for through the rough and ready years"
But also of a love gone by. A regret.
"She may be the face I can't forget
A trace of pleasure or regret"
Is that how he views you? A love gone by?
Of course he does.
Paul's engagement ring is in the velvet box it came in. It's being returned tomorrow. You'd have done it tonight if it weren't so late.
You need to end things. It's the only way forward. No matter what, no matter if Joel is in love with Tess, no matter if you'll never be with him, you *can't be with Paul.
You don't love Paul. It's obvious to everyone including yourself. It's been obvious for so long. You've wasted so much fucking time and energy on him.
You think of all the boxes packed here, the ones you were going to move to Leander. You think of how strange and sad it is that your whole life can be put into less than twenty cardboard boxes.
And even though Joel can't be yours and even though that hurts more than words can begin to say, you are so fucking grateful for him. You are so grateful you met Joel Miller because he's shown you what love is. True, caring love.
Even if it's not yours to keep.
You will never forget the way he looked singing tonight. The goodbye song from his heart to yours. You'd felt it. The bittersweet finality of your time.
More tears are coming.
"I love him," you say to the tile in front of you. You need to hear the words spoken out loud in the universe, even if it's hidden in the fall of the shower and heard only by you. "I love Joel."
You need to see Joel. You need him to hold you. Need his calming presence. You need to wrap your arms around him and press your face into his neck and just feel breathe that sweet, spicy scent of home.
He's not yours.
You don't get to see Joel. You don't get to have him. He's Tess'. You can't be his friend, you want him too much. So what does that leave?
That leaves you replaced and alone.
You pull yourself from the shower, shivering as you towel off, drying your hair the best you can. You go to your dresser and pull out one of the few remaining pieces of clothing there.
Joel's shirt.
You've washed it so it doesn't smell like him anymore. Doesn't smell like the laundry detergent he uses or that wood shavings scent he sometimes carries. But when you put it on it feels like he's there in some small way. You pull it on over your sleep shorts hiccupping a soft cry.
You remember so long ago, standing in Joel’s den as you pondered if he just played guitar or if he sang as well.
“S’weird how something can make you feel so good and then outta nowhere become the pain”
That’s how it feels now. Joel, the thing that makes you feel good has also become the pain. The wedding is tomorrow. You need to collect yourself by then. You'll see Joel and you need to be controlled. You need to be okay. You need to not ruin this for him.
Because you do love Joel. You love him in a way you never expected to love or be loved. You love him so much that you are determined to make his life better. Determined that you will not take away what he has carved out for himself.
You crawl under the covers, your face buried in the pillow.
"I l-love Joel," you whisper it again into the pillow only now it's broken by sobs. You curl up under the covers, your body trembling. "I love him I love him."
You feel lost. So hopelessly lost.
And then the phone rings.
///
It's late in the Miller house. Quiet. Sarah's been asleep for hours thanks to the sugar crash Bill's cupcakes provided.
Tommy's asleep in the basement apartment, exhausted from the evenings festivities and anticipating a long day tomorrow.
Or, as Joel glances over at the bright neon numbers of his digital clock, later today.
He's laying in bed, one arm behind his head, one hand over his sternum as he stares at the ceiling. In this pose he feels every breath in, every breath out. The studying rhythm bringing him peace. It's impossible to shake the image of you free from his mind.
He'd done it out of love for you. Out of a need for you to know how much you'd changed him. Changed his heart, his outlook, even his fucking idea on the concept of romantic love.
But the look on your face? The way it had fallen before you had dashed out?
Sarah had been bouncing up and down in her seat when he finished his performance, hugging him tightly and throwing things at him as he tried to contain his disappointment ("Daddy you sing so pretty!" And "Daddy will you teach me guitar?") Everyone was clapping him on the back, telling him it was wonderful, so romantic, that Tommy and Maria loved it.
He refused to let his eyes search for you, knowing you were gone. He refused to let his heart believe that you'd come back.
Joel knows he has to stay away from you.
Knows that singing tonight was a terrible idea because not only did he make it so obvious to everyone that he’s so deeply in love with you, but he also made you cry.
Watching your face crumple, watching the way your eyes fell to the ground at the last string. He’d thought you’d be happy singing, Maria had said how often you’d felt happy when you did. But that wasn’t happiness he saw tonight. It was pain.
Joel doesn’t know what to do. He feels so lost.
And then the phone rings.
///
"Joel, I need you."
Four little words over the phone at 2 am.
Four little words that have Joel stumbling out of bed, murmuring he'll be there before he's pulling on his jeans and a t-shirt.
He's half asleep, his mind whirring. He goes to the basement, rapping on the door. An equally tired Tommy answers, blinking in the light.
"She- I gotta go," Joel tries to explain in a rush. "I'll explain later. Can you come watch Sarah?"
Tommy gives a few bleary eyed blinks before nodding and following his brother up the steps.
Tommy settles himself on the sofa as Joel runs out the door. And all the younger Miller can think before he falls asleep is:
Finally.
///
Joel's shoulders nearly take up the doorframe. You notice this when the rap of his knuckles pulls you sniffling from the sofa and you open the door to him.
His eyes are sleepy, but wide. His hair is tousled from sleep and you can see the indent of his pillow faint in his left cheek. He scans your face, concerned.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm so sorry," you say as soon as Joel takes a step towards you. "I never should have called so late. I’m so so sorry, Joel."
"Just let me in," Joel insists, his hand coming to go to your cheek and then dropping. He doesn’t want to overstep. "Tell me what happened."
You try to make the words come out; you force them crackling and trembling out into the world.
"I don't want... I don't want to go back."
Joel doesn't have any context, but that doesn't stop him from rushing in. He closes the door behind him gently before bringing you into his arms. Your forehead drops against his sternum as he does this, your tears warm and free flowing.
As he rubs a soothing hand along your spine he realizes you're wearing his t-shirt again. For some reason this small thing makes Joel's eyes wet.
You're so warm in his arms, trembling against him as you hold in sobs. He wants to kiss away the tears rolling down your cheeks. He wants to carry you to bed and strip every bad memory and experience from you with his mouth and body.
That's not what she needs right now. She needs a friend.
He takes your hand in his, leading you to the sofa. A place where you can talk. The fireplace is on, bathing you in a warm flickering glow that makes his breathing hitch when he glances over at you.
Your eyes are puffy, your nose red and he thinks you might be the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
He can't help himself but reach for you, bringing you to his lap as he sits. There's nothing sexual about it, just the need to hold you close, to make you feel safe there. Your arms wrap around his neck and he rocks you, his arms banding around your waist.
"Honey," Joel whispers into the crook of your neck. "What's wrong?"
Honey.
You melt into him just as easily as the word. This was a terrible idea. What had you been thinking? How could you ask Joel here?
Because of the song, your traitorous heart cries. Because you love him! Because his face is the first one you want to see!
You hold him tightly to you, unable to break from him just yet. Unable to tell him the awful ugliness. Instead your mind drifts to the rehearsal dinner. Your hand plays with the fabric of Joel's shirt, twisting it under your fingers.
"Joel . . . The song."
Immediately he tenses and you can't see his face, but you can imagine it. Eyes nervous, mouth hooked slightly to the side. The same way he’d held his face that night in his den, your hand around a glass of soda.
"Maybe one day we'll have reason to make music again.”
Joel smiles softly around his glass. "Maybe."
"Did you like it?" he murmurs into your hair. You can't help but hold him tighter, your eyes filling. He sounds so unsure of himself, so worried about what you’ll say.
"Yeah, I loved it. It was beautiful."
You feel him physically relax in your arms at this admission. The tension, the uncertainty is drained from him. You force yourself not to tilt your face to his, not to search for his mouth with yours.
"I thought you didn't play anymore,” you tell his shoulder.
"I don't. One time performance I guess. Shoulda charged for tickets."
There, the humor you both needed to break the intense spell that weaves itself when you're in Joel's arms. You're thankful to him for that. Now you can pull back, still seated in his lap, but in control of yourself.
"I hope you keep playing forever."
Joel smiles wistfully at you, nodding. You let his dark eyes search your face. You let his hand cup your cheek, his wide thumb brushing away the tears there.
"I never told you about why I went back to Chicago," you sniffle. "Why I didn't call."
"You don't have to tell me," Joel insists. "It doesn't change why I'm here. I'll stay here all night just holdin' you if it's what you need."
He doesn't want to push you, doesn't want you upset because of him. This time in Chicago, the separation, it feels like an ugly part of your shared history that he just wants you both to forget.
"No, I want to tell you," you say in a sorrowful voice. "You deserve to know everything."
Joel nods and he wants to keep you there in his lap. But you shuffle back from him, sitting across from him on the sofa. It takes several minutes of staring into the flames of the fire before you feel you can begin.
"My dad has been in and outta the hospital a lot," you explain, looking at your hands in your lap. "It's because he's waiting for a liver transplant."
Joel is shocked. The way you spoke of Chicago, of your family, he'd assumed your father was dead.
"The thing is," you continue, unaware of his shock. "He can't get one unless he stops using and, uh, he won't."
"Using?" Joel is still taken aback by the revelation, not thinking clearly.
"Coke and heroin mostly," you say with a wince. "He's a drug addict."
Your father has been a junkie for most of your life.
And it's in part because you exist.
The same year you were born he'd gone to a party without your mom. She was tired, still breastfeeding you and encouraged him to go out and have some fun.
He did.
The kind of fun that had started as a party drug passed around and ended with him burning through the family savings and growing gaunt in the coming years. The kind of fun that had him doing eight balls during your soccer games and shooting up on your graduation day.
You were four when he first went into rehab at the insistence of your mother. A few weeks before your fifth birthday he'd come home sober and ready to change his life back around. You hadn't really understood what was happening. You'd just been so happy to be a family again.
That photo on your desk, the one the flood destroyed, the one that meant so much to you is from the only birthday party of yours that your father ever attended sober.
In the passing years he turned to drugs again but he hid it well from you and your mother. You never knew the severity of it until you turned fifteen.
Until you came home one day from your part time job at the Chicago humane shelter to find him covered in piss and his own vomit and barely responsive.
He died on his way to the hospital, a full forty two seconds he was clinically dead. Until they revived him and he sputtered back to life. You remember all of this because it was you in the ambulance with him.
Your mother was at work, unreachable. Your dad's sporadic unemployment meant she worked two jobs.
So it was a fifteen year old you with tears running down her cheeks that watched this unfold, completely terrified.
You were sixteen when he got out of rehab for the second time and promised his life was changed forever. He and your mother had almost two years of no fighting - a change of pace for you who had grown up to their constant shouting matches.
You were eighteen when he relapsed at a friend's house party. Twenty two and twenty five when he went back to the various rehabs that your mother always paid for in more ways than one.
And then he just stopped trying in the coming years. Still using, but not enough for your sweet mother to kick him out.
It's like he's infected by some insidious being inside him. A forever hungry thing that takes and takes, warping your once sweet father into something subhuman. A being that is frighteningly underweight, hollowing his cheeks and making his eyes bulbous in his face. He isn't your father anymore, not really.
But he is. That's the worst part.
Because if he wasn't your Dad you could hate him.
You tell Joel all of this, it spills from you like a stream and he sits across from you, nodding and never speaking. When your voice hitches or the tears begin fresh he instinctively moves towards you on the sofa, stopped only by your raised palm. You need to get all of this out and if he holds you, you never will.
"That night you left, like, two hours later my mom called me to tell me that my dad had a really bad seizure," You shake your head, wanting to stop the memory. "And she sounded so scared on the phone and I just had to get back. I had to get there, back home to help. I was on autopilot."
Joel recalls the hollow look in your eyes when he went to see you that day.
"I know you came to see me but I don't even remember it," you tell Joel. "All I could think of was that I fucked up, that I should have been there in Chicago with my mom."
Joel is stiff, watching you without speaking.
"And I got home and it was just as awful as I thought it would be." You start to shudder at the memory. "My dad could barely talk. And when he did all he wanted to do was blame me for leaving. Telling me I was selfish for leaving my mom and him. Telling me that without me around to help pay for things that there was more pressure on him and my mom to afford their place."
You break off only to hold in a sob, breathing deeply and continuing.
"And he was right, you know. Coming to Austin for school was so selfish of me. I could've just as easily gone to school back in Chicago." A look of disgust crosses your features as you talk now to yourself. "So fucking selfish."
"No," Joel's voice is quiet but firm. "That's not true."
You're ignoring him though, so caught up in your own devastation. Your eyes are shut tightly and your head is giving short jerks.
"I just run from everything, Joel. I ran from Chicago and I ran to Austin because I thought that if I kept running far away enough that, that his ugliness could never touch me. But it lives in me, Joel. That ugliness is in me forever."
Joel's eyes have grown glassy, even now he remains sitting there looking at you with unending patience and his hands twitching to hold you.
"I stayed there for a month,” you continue, not even aware that your head is tilted so low Joel has to lean forward to hear. “A month of my dad telling me I was selfish. A month of my mom trying to tell me that it's just his disease talking. A month of seeing your name come up on my phone and wanting so badly to talk to you but just thinking about how horrible I was and how you and Sarah deserved better."
You force yourself to breathe between sentences, your air hitching in your chest. Joel is staring at you, his eyes swimming over your features. Horrible? You?
"So when I eventually got back to Austin I was just so fucking sad, Joel. So tired. I couldn't get out of bed. I didn't want to be around anyone. Not you, not Sarah. I couldn't do that to you guys." You swipe at your eyes with the wrist of your sweater. "I should have called you and seen you but I was so selfish only thinking about me and how I felt.
Your eyes jerk open when you feel the warmth of Joel's hand on yours. He's leaning across the sofa, his wide hand placed gently over yours. A thumb gently strokes your knuckles.
"No," Joel breathes in a voice of gentle warmth. "Never selfish. Never. It was me that fucked up."
"No."
"Yes," Joel tells you and you can see the way his dark eyes are damp. "You are the least selfish person I've ever met."
"Oh yeah?" you challenge, your chin wobbling. "You know why I called you tonight? Because my mom just called to beg me to come home again. Apparently my dad's saying that if I move back to Chicago that he'll go to treatment again. That he'll stop using. That he'll be able to get the transplant."
Joel's eyes widen but he remains silent.
"And I don't want to go," you say, lips trembling. "I don't want to go back there. I don't want to fucking go even if it would mean helping because I'm a horrible, selfish cunt."
The sobs that burst out of you are pure anguish that you muffle in a pillow to keep Maria from hearing all those floors above. Joel is physically holding himself back, dying to embrace you but giving you your space.
All he can do is stroke your head, desperate to convey all of his care and affection for you through the gesture.
"He was always promising he was going to get clean," you say hollowly, moving away from the pillow and Joel's touch. "And my mom, she just, she just kept carrying on like there was hope. But there is no hope. Just this endless, bleak, fucking pain."
Your eyes meet his and you're overcome. You stand abruptly, feeling the scrutiny of Joel as sharply as if he were stabbing you.
"Joel, just go. I'm sorry I called. This was a terrible idea to have you come here. This isn't your problem. I'm so fucking sorry."
Joel stands and for a moment you think he's going to leave. You think that might be a relief because you're feeling too vulnerable, too exposed.
You aren't expecting Joel to quietly close the distance between your bodies and wordlessly pull you into his arms. You're shocked more however at how willingly you allow this, how easy it is to fall back into his embrace. To tangle your arms around his neck and hold him as tightly as you can. He's warm against you, his cheek resting on the top of your head as you press your face to his shoulder.
"I hate him. I hate what he put my mom and me through." Your chin is trembling as you blink back the onslaught of more tears. "And I hate that I love him so much because he's my fucking dad."
Your hands are gripping Joel around the middle as he holds you, his broad shoulders curling, his arms tightening.
"I hate that I just want him to die," you cry through clenched teeth. "To stop holding on. To bring my mother some fucking peace."
More tears come.
Joel thinks of James and the cocaine and how upset you'd been. He'd thought you were justified in the way you'd acted, the heated punch across James slimy face for treating you so rudely. But now he realizes why you'd been shamed, so terrified of your own fury.
"And I hate that I'm just like him."
You break off as Joel's large hand is cupping the back of your head, and he's gently swaying you, the way a mother would a newborn.
"It's okay," Joel murmurs in your hair. "I've got you. I've got you."
You don't know why, but this quiet utterance from him is that breaks you, and the wall against him that you've built so high for yourself collapses. Heavy sobs break free from you, stark mournful things that you muffle in Joel's shoulder. They make your body jerk, causing Joel to hold you tighter against him.
"Shhh," Joel soothes. "Just breathe, baby. Slowly, like me."
He takes a few steadying breaths, urging you to match the slow pace. After a few shuddering exhales you do so, your breathing staggering into a steady, even rhythm.
"Good," Joel whispers. "Good."
"I'm just like him," you again whisper the words you've only ever thought into Joel's collar. "I'm selfish and horrible and -"
"You're nothing like that," Joel assures you, pulling you back so that he can look into your eyes when he tells you this. "Not at all."
"Really? What do you call what we did in your kitchen?" You scoff. "Knowing that we were with other people? Or how about when you pushed me up against that wall over there?"
Joel is silent, only his eyes move around your face while the rest of him is like a statue. He doesn't need to look at the wall to know what you're talking about.
"I can't stop wanting you," you say with a look of torment in your eyes. "I can't fucking stop, Joel. I try and I try and I can't. I'm just like my dad. I want what I shouldn't. I want what's only going to hurt other people and hurt myself."
"Honey-"
"I can't stop," you repeat weakly, trying to step back from him. "So I have to stay away."
Joel hands are on either side of your face again and he's peppering your face with soft kisses and everything in you wants to rejoice because Joel is here and he's holding you.
"Don't stay away from me," Joel's tells you as he rains compassion down on you. "Never."
You can't keep him. He's not yours.
Both of you are being incredibly selfish right now. Tess is probably at home right now taking care of Sarah and Daniel. Tess who was made to be a mother. Tess who understands Joel. What is wrong with you?
Selfish.
Horrible.
"Stop, Joel," you say twisting from him, out of his grip. "I told you all of this so that you can understand why I won't be around as much. But I'll call Sarah every other night, if she still wants to speak to me. And when I come back for visits I'll take her to the movies and-"
It's like Joel is only just now noticing all the moving boxes. He's glancing around as you talk, his eyes widening.
"You're not actually thinking of moving back to Chicago," Joel interrupts in a horrified voice. "You can't be."
"Just for a few months, just until he's settled in rehab-"
"No," Joel is wild-eyed shaking his head, his eyebrows saddling. "You can’t. You just. . . You can’t do this. You can’t sacrifice everything. Your work - that sanctuary. You won’t come back. I know you, you’ll feel like you have to take care of your dad. You’ll stay there."
"It's complicated-"
"It's not."
"Joel, my dad needs me."
"That was a horrible thing to lay on your shoulders," Joel says and he looks furious and sad all at once. "And I'm sorry for your parents, I really am, but no. You can't go. You can't do this to yourself."
"I have to go," you tell Joel. You falter, pulling back from him, needing to be out of his orbit.
Joel stands there as you pull back from him, looking so out of place in your suite with its low ceilings, the space almost emptied of furniture. He’s like this beam you can’t look away from, this tall broad angel with eyes that look at you as if you’re actually worth something.
He breaks off, uttering a pained "Jesus Christ" and you're sure he's going to yell at you about Paul just like Maria did.
You’re sure he’ll run from the room shouting that you’re selfish. Positive that he’ll tell you that you’re not worth all this hassle.
Instead Joel does something you're not expecting.
He crosses the room over to you and slips to his knees, holding you around the middle before he presses his forehead gently against your abdomen. It shocks you, this action and this pose from him. He sits like this in silence for several minutes, holding you, breathing against you in heavy shudders. Your hands are on his broad shoulders, glancing down at him in confusion.
"I'm so sorry," he finally whispers, a little murmur against you. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there."
"I didn't need you to be," you insist, your hand going to his neck, urging his face up to look at you. He won't move his face from where it is lodged against your stomach. He can’t.
"But I should have been," Joel insists, his voice a low rasp.
“It was so long ago.”
Almost six months since the awful incident. And you don’t carry it with you, not like Joel apparently has because now his head tilts back from your abdomen.
"I never should have walked away that day. I should have stayed. If I had none of this Tess and Paul shit would have happened. I would’ve gone back with you to Chicago." Joel's voice sounds thick with escaping emotion. "I ruined us."
His beautiful eyes open and you watch as tears slip down his cheek. You suppose that's what makes you freeze up, your heart sinking. You've never seen Joel cry before and the sight is as shocking as it is heartbreaking.
"Forgive me," he whispers brokenly. "Please."
You can see the anguish in his features and realize he's been living in it since you got back. This hellish landscape of grief and regret. He's been wearing it like armor weighing him down.
"Nothing to forgive," you tell him honestly, your knuckles trailing down his cheek to wipe the tears away. "Joel it was never a matter of fault. It was just how things happened."
His head drops against your stomach again and you can feel his strong shoulders begin to quake jerkily.
"I was fucking weak."
"You were human," you reply, rubbing at his shoulders, wanting to soothe him as much as he wants to soothe you. "You couldn't have known."
"I just left you there, all hollow and quiet and I walked away," Joel's voice is ragged. "I should have stayed. That's what you do when you love someone."
Love.
It hits you with a strong, visceral acuity. Starting in your rib cage and then spreading outward, causing everything in your body to wake up. It makes you breathless to hear it, though you've long suspected it, secretly hoped for it.
"Joel-"
"I'll never stop being sorry for it," Joel tells you simply, his face tilting up to look into yours. "Never."
Without thinking your hand is gently carding through his tousled curls. His eyes shutter closed as he leans into your hands. The moment is overwhelming in austerity and you need to break it.
"Not even if I asked nicely?" you say with a teasing lilt to your voice.
His eyes open and he gives you a small, watery smile before he stands. He towers over you again, taking your face in his wide hands and now it’s you leaning into his touch.
"I'd do anything you asked."
And all at once you know he's going to kiss you and that you want him to.
He tilts his head forward and lips move over yours so gently that you sigh into his mouth. Your entire body sags towards him and instead of the fervent kisses from not that long ago, this kiss is different. It’s soft and sweet and unhurried. His soft lips move over yours, taking time to memorize how your pliant mouth moves under his, the way you inhale softly when you break apart, his wide hands still cupping your face.
Tess.
Marmalade.
Selfish.
"I'm sorry I called," you sniff, tilting your face from him. "I never should have done that. You should go, Joel."
"You want me to go?" Joel's voice is a low aching sound. You can't look at him. You can't look into those intense, beautiful eyes of his so instead you face away from him.
"Yes."
You feel yourself floundering, that unmistakable voice in your head screaming to run. Run from the conflict. Run from your feelings.
Run. Run.
"You're lyin'," Joel insists.
"I'm not."
You feel his strong fingers on either side of your chin, dragging your face to meet his. But still your eyes remain closed.
"Look at me."
You shake your head the best that you can in his grip.
"I can't have you here, Joel. I'm sorry I called you, it was wrong.”
Joel's hand is flying to slide around the back of your neck. "Stop."
"You’re with Tess," you insist with a shake of your head, pulling back from his sweet touch. "She's perfect for you. She'll make the best mom to Sarah. It makes sense, Joel. You have to see that."
"I broke it off with Tess," Joel bites off. “I don’t want Tess.”
Your eyes fly open."What?"
"How could I keep dating her? I knew I couldn't stop wanting you. I never will." Joel feels his neck growing warm. "And she told me what she asked you to do, to stay away from Sarah."
You nod brokenly, feeling the tears gathering just at the memory compounded by this new guilt.
"Why would you do that?"
"Because I just want what's best for you and Sarah. A chance at a real family."
You've ruined this for him. Joel's chance at a family, something for himself. Something for his own. Selfish like your dad.
"Go back to Tess, Joel. Tell her it was a mistake."
"I'm not gonna do that."
"You have to, Joel. She wants you."
“And you don’t?”
It hangs there, the truth between you. If you admit it, it’s over. Any pretense you would have carried is gone. He’ll choose you because of this unknowable, untenable connection. But you’re not good for him. You’re not the kind of woman Joel Miller needs. You’ll take and take from him, leaving him with nothing in the end. It’s how your father operates, and you are your father’s daughter. Your engagement isn't even officially off. You're moving to Chicago. So what? You'll confess you love Joel? Make him feel compelled to follow you to Chicago? And what about Sarah? You're going to disrupt her life too? How is that not the most selfish thing in the world?
“No.”
Saying it physically hurts.
You love Joel. You love this man in front of you. And it’s precisely that love that sends you pushing back from him. But you’re stopped by his hand on the back of your neck again, holding you there.
"Don't," Joel says through clenched teeth."Don't stand there and lie to me of all people. You wanna lie to yourself? Fine, but not to me. Never to me. I don’t deserve it."
It is. It is a fucking lie.
"Tell me the truth," Joel urges gently, pleading. "Tell me to my face that you don't want me as much as I want you.”
You try to form the words that tell him exactly that, but you can't.
They don't exist.
Joel nods in understanding, his warm eyes even warmer. But he can see the fear in your expression, the panic.
"Just let me take care of you tonight," Joel whispers, his thumb stroking your cheek. "Please."
You're trembling against his palm, tears coating your lashes. "Okay."
Joel seems surprised by your easy acceptance but he nods, reaching down to take your hand in his.
"Let's go to bed."
You follow him without question to the bed. He shrugs off his jacket, watching you watching him. You're eyes are owlish in your face, the tension clear. Joel brings himself up on the bed still dressed in his jeans and shirt. He lays overtop the sheet before bringing it back for you to crawl under.
You hesitate. There is nothing more enticing than the thought of Joel making love to you right now. But it feels wrong, rushed. Too many things going on in your mind.
"I just wanna hold you," Joel explains when he sees your eyes nervously move from him to the bed. "If that's okay?"
Relief floods you and you nod, moving under the covers of your bed. And all the aching loneliness, all the terror of being lost? It’s gone. It’s gone the second you snuggle up against Joel in your bed.
His broad hand moves through your hair gently, moving it back from your flushed face before stroking it in tenderly. He stares at you, barely blinking. You muse that you could have entire conversations like this, just staring into each other's eyes. That perhaps you're having one right now.
His eyes are so soft. How can a man made up of sharp angles and broad planes look at you with eyes so fucking soft?
"How can you look at me like that?" you ask blinking through new tears. "After everything I've told you how can you lie there and look at me like I'm not a piece of shit?"
"Because you're not," Joel replies swiftly. "None of what your dad did is your fault. How could it be?"
"If I was there-"
"He'd still be using," Joel tells you simply. "And he'd have a new thing or person to blame for it."
"Even if that's true," you insist. "I'm his kid. I should go back."
"You're telling me if I told a grown up Sarah she had to move back home to take care of me, even if I'd barely been in her life, even if she had a whole life somewhere else, you'd tell her she was selfish for not doing it?"
Your eyes widen. Sarah. Sweet, genuine Sarah. No, you wouldn't blame her. But that's Sarah.
"She's just a kid-"
"Same age as when your dad started." Joel's eyes are watery. "How come you're so unkind to yourself? Why don't you think you deserve good things?"
"A lifetime of experience," you reply darkly.
///
And for a moment there is sudden clarity for Joel that hits him in such a way he's shocked he never understood it as easily before.
In the job you chose, in the immediately natural way you were with the screaming Daniel, even quicker than you were with his sweet and calm Sarah.
In the way these animals, hurt and abandoned and ignored are so much more than just pitiful creatures that pass along your desk in files.
You see yourself in them.
You see yourself in their haunted eyes and terrible histories. You see it in the plaintive cry of the frustrated Daniel. In this world that turns its back and its ears to them you want desperately to embrace them, to hold them to you and communicate a perfect, unending love for them.
Because no one did that for you.
Your mom tried, Joel is sure of it. But love is hard to share when so much of it is reserved for a husband in constant crisis. When you're a frazzled mother working two jobs to keep your mortgage and your marriage and family together. Love is there of course, but it's not overt. Not like you crave.
The kind of love that Maria gives you without question. The kind of love Joel would give to you every fucking day if you said you wanted him to be yours.
"I know I have no right to ask you to stay or demand anything from you, but, fuck, please don't do this," Joel whispers earnestly. "Don't move back to Chicago."
You're silent.
“If you do you’ll never come back,” Joel murmurs, his voice full of so many emotions it would be impossible to pick just one. “I know you. You’d sacrifice everything for him.”
“I. . . I don’t. . .”
Your eyes are so heavy, almost as heavy as your heart. You’ve shared so much with Joel, brought up so many painful memories it feels like you’ve run a marathon. Your head tilts against the pillow.
"Go to sleep, baby," Joel tells you, holding himself back from kissing you. "I'm here. Just sleep."
When you finally fall asleep Joel continues to look at you. His dark eyes travel the curve of your cheek, takes in the length of your lashes and the way your mouth looks half open in sleep. He memorizes each part of your face knowing that this may be his only chance to do so.
You’re engaged. You still have that connection to your parents in Chicago. There is so much that exists in this world to take you away from him.
He still sees it this way, outside forces wanting to rip you from him, as if he has some claim on you. He doesn't care if Paul gave you a ring. You’re his. You’re his and he has never stopped feeling this way, even though he's tried. He doesn't know he'll ever stop.
He stops himself from kissing your sleeping mouth on more than one occasion during the night, desperate for that contact if this is really the end.
It can't be the end. It can't.
You sigh in your sleep, shuffling closer against him for warmth or for comfort. Joel allows this, his eyes skipping closed at the calm your nearness brings him.
I'll never ask for anything as long as I live. Just let her be mine.
He finally falls asleep with your soft breathing in the crook of his neck
#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller x you#smut#dad joel miller#fanfic#fanfiction#joel miller#pedro pascal
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"The great day came. It was April 16, the eve of Sasha's twenty-third birthday. In the morning there was mass, at one o'clock in the afternoon the official ceremony of dressing the bride in the presence of the whole family, newly appointed court ladies and three ladies-in-waiting. Marie was coiffed so that two long curls fell on either side of her face, a small diadem of diamonds and pearl pendants was placed on her head - under it was attached a veil of lace, which hung below the shoulders. Each of us sisters gave her a pin to attach it, and then a purple ermine-trimmed robe, so heavy that five chamberlains had to hold it, was placed over her and fastened at the shoulder with a gold pin. At the end, Mama also attached a small bouquet of myrtle and orange blossom under the veil. Marie looked grand and majestic in her outfit, and the expression of solemn seriousness on her childish face was in perfect harmony with the beauty of her figure. At three o'clock there was a solemn banquet, approximately four hundred people were seated in the Nicholas Hall of the Winter Palace at three huge tables. In the middle are the Royal Family and the clergy, who opened the banquet with prayer and blessing. At the table, ladies sat on the right hand, gentlemen on the left. They drank the health of the young couple, Their Majesties, the Tsarevna's Parents, as well as all loyal subjects, and each toast was accompanied by cannon salvoes. The highest ranks of the Court brought champagne to Their Majesties; we, the other members of the Royal Family, were served by our chamberlains. A military band played, and the best singers of the Opera sang so that the walls shook. At eight there was a polonaise in the St. George's Hall: Papa danced in front of everyone with Marie; at ten o'clock we returned to our chambers, here only the family dined with the newlyweds. Adini and I did not take part in this, but had dinner with our teachers in my rooms and looked out at the Neva, at the illuminated embankment, ships decorated with flags, a festive crowd, and behind it the spire of the Peter and Paul Fortress, rising to the sky, still gilded by the setting sun… this day ended with such a wonderful note.”
- Grand Duchess Olga Nikolaevna, Queen of Wurttemberg, on the nuptials of her elder brother, the future Emperor Alexander II of Russia and Empress Maria Alexandrovna (nee Princess Marie of Hesse-Darmstadt.)
#grand duchess olga nikolaevna the elder#emperor alexander ii#empress maria alexandrovna#romanov#russia#quotes
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Hi! I'm kinda new to your account, I love your & others headcanons for pjo characters. So I wanna share some of mine!
SALLY, & PAUL
Sally to me is Malaysian her birth name is Suleika Jusoh, her parents [Mom-Esah/Estelle Jusoh nee Tey, Dad-Bintang/Benjamin Jusoh] had gone to take care of her grandparents [Granpa-Haissam, Granma-Kasih] funeral rites in Malaysia, the plane back unfortunately crashed & they where killed in crash
From then on she was raised by her Uncle Reehab Jusoh, Ruben in America, who'd somehow gotten a house on Montauk beach, when Suleika was seventeen her Uncle Reehab died from a chronic illness [honestly I'm thinking an std], leaving everything he had in Sally's name, the house on the beach isn't fully livable, no running water & the electricity is kinda shoddy, so she moves into NYC proper
Percy is actually named after his grandfather, Perseus Benjamin Jackson [PB&J cause i think im funny like that], Percy of course is Malaysian & I wanna say his Greek side is from the region of Pylos but I can't remember why I chose it
Estelle is also named after her Grannies, Estelle Janet Blofis
Sally's always been protective of using their actual names in legal things, her parents wrote her down as Sally to give a better chance at getting bye in the US & she did the same for Percy in both the real & mythical world
Paul Blofis to me was very dad/uncle coded so he looked like the guys on the mom's side of my family, so he's Afro-Latino, he specifically trace himself to Panama & Mexico, from his mom [Janet nee Yarrow, Afro-Latina] who moved from Panama to the US, & his dad's [Oscar Sr.] side who is Mexican, he's got two older siblings [Janice & Oscar Jr.], an older cousin [Garfield], a cousin his age [Raymond], a little sister [Caroline], & a younger cousin [Lilia]
He's always been the black sheep of the family, not from their own trying & his own, things would just fall out of step & once he graduated & started working in NYC he just didn't call & talk much anymore, the advent of his marrige to Sally & Estelle's birth kinda forced him to get his shit together & actually talk about his life
[I like to think Percy's mortal cousins call him PB for short]
So those are all my Jackson-Blofis family headcanons! Hope that wasn't to many & I hope you like it!
Meant to reply to this sooner than I did, so apologies on that, but this is really good! I seem to be collecting AUs/Headcanons like mythomagic cards lmao
@millylotus
#malaysian sally jackson#malaysian percy jackson#afro latino paul blofis#sally jackson#paul blofis#percy jackson#percy jackson and the olympians#percy jackon and the olympians#pjo#pjo fandom#riordanverse#skeptic asks
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Late Paul Patton (B. June 1st 1942) and a backside note to his late wife Gwendolyn Patton nee Tate (B. July 28th 1944)
the empty plate is for you when
you arrive my love. The plate and my plans
will be filled when you get here
#Paul Patton#Gwendolyn Tate Patton#Fairfax#Virginia#may they both rest in peace#<3#empty plate#for you
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David Soul, who has died aged 80, stormed to fame in the 1970s as half of the television “buddies” detective duo Starsky and Hutch, who careered across Los Angeles in their red and white Ford Gran Torino, over the roofs and bonnets of other cars, and through piles of cardboard boxes.
“When the Starsky and Hutch series was showing, police on patrol duty were adopting sunglasses and wearing their gloves with the cuffs turned down,” claimed Kenneth Oxford, a British chief constable. “They also started driving like bloody maniacs.” In south London, a council lowered a wall after fans of the tyre-squealing screen action used it as a launchpad to jump on to parked vehicles.
While Paul Michael Glaser played the streetwise, cardigan-wearing, junk food-eating Dave Starsky, Soul’s character, Ken “Hutch” Hutchinson, was the quieter, yoga-loving, healthy-eating one – two cool cops looking after each other as if they were brothers.
Over five series (1975-79), they patrolled a rough area populated by muggers, drug dealers, sex workers and pimps. They also fraternised with Huggy Bear (played by Antonio Fargas), a snazzily dressed, “jive-talking” informant with his own bar.
Soul traded on his newfound stardom to return to his first love, music. He recorded the ballads Don’t Give Up on Us (1976), a No 1 in the US and UK, and Silver Lady (1977), another British chart-topper.
His television career continued, but the starring roles rarely resonated beyond his homeland. An exception was the miniseries World War III (1982), in which he played an American cold war colonel trying to avert a nuclear holocaust. It also chimed with his political and social campaigning, which included supporting the anti-nuclear movement.
He took up the tempting offer to play Rick Blaine in Casablanca (1983), a five-part TV prequel to the film classic, in the role originally played by Humphrey Bogart, but it proved a flop.
Soul found renewed success – particularly on the West End stage – after moving to Britain in the 90s. He even hit the headlines beyond the review pages in the title role of Jerry Springer the Opera (Cambridge theatre, 2004-05), taking over from another American actor, Michael Brandon, as the “shock” talkshow host.
The BBC’s decision to screen Richard Thomas and Stewart Lee’s musical, complete with thousands of swear words, transvestites, tap-dancers dressed as Ku Klux Klan members and a nappy-wearing Jesus, received more than 60,000 complaints from viewers.
Soul simply relished the chance to fulfil his “dream to play in the birthplace of English-speaking theatre” after failing to “cut the mustard” when auditioning on Broadway.
He was born David Solberg in Chicago to June (nee Nelson), a teacher who had also performed as a singer, and Richard Solberg, a Lutheran minister of Norwegian descent. His father’s work as a representative of the Lutheran World Relief organisation during the reconstruction of Germany after the second world war meant the family moved to Berlin in 1949, returning to the US seven years later to live in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, where David attended Washington high school.
He then acted in plays while studying at Augustana College, before moving to Mexico with his family. Influenced by his father’s work, he initially had plans to join the diplomatic service, and learned Spanish and studied Latin American history. He was also taught to play the guitar by Mexican students.
After a year, he hitchhiked to the US, landed a job singing Mexican folk songs at a coffee shop in Minneapolis and set his sights on a career in music. He also gained some acting experience with the city’s Firehouse theatre company.
While talking with friends about the metaphorical masks people wear, he came up with the idea of wearing a real one while performing so that the music stood on its own merits, and billed himself “David Soul, the Covered Man”. The William Morris Agency signed him up after hearing a demo tape, and he soon had bookings. One was in The Merv Griffin Show on TV between 1966 and 1968, when he eventually dispensed with the mask. More significantly, a talent agent spotted his acting potential.
He had a regular role in Here Come the Brides (1968-70), a comedy western series set after the civil war, as Joshua Bolt, one of the brothers running a logging company in a male-dominated Seattle frontier town and importing marriageable women.
A guest star, Karen Carlson, became Soul’s second wife (1968-77), following the dissolution of his first marriage, to Mirriam “Mim” Russeth, in 1966, three years after their wedding.
Soul was then popping up all over American TV in guest roles himself, and had a short run in 1974 as Ted Warrick, the defence lawyer’s assistant, in Owen Marshall, Counselor at Law, before wider fame came in Starsky and Hutch. By then, he was living in an “open” relationship with another actor, Lynne Marta. When he moved on to his third marriage, to Patti (nee Carnel, 1980-86), former wife of the 60s pop idol Bobby Sherman, he hit the headlines for all the wrong reasons.
In 1982, having already struck Patti several times, he returned home drunk one night following a day’s filming on Casablanca – which he correctly feared would bomb – and hit her repeatedly. He was arrested on a charge of misdemeanour battery, but a judge spared him jail on condition that he underwent therapy. Soul admitted to having a violent streak and, although he and Patti were reunited, the marriage was soon over.
He kept working, landing starring roles as Roy Champion in the cattle ranch soap-style drama The Yellow Rose (1983-84), the private eye of the title in the TV movie Harry’s Hong Kong (1987), and “Wes” Grayson, leading an FBI forensics team, in Unsub (1989), but his star was on the wane. Another marriage, to Julia Nickson (1987-1993), also failed, before he had a relationship with the actor-singer Alexa Hamilton.
Soul’s career was revived when in 1995 the theatre producer Bill Kenwright was looking for an American to star in the comedy thriller Catch Me If You Can on tour in Britain. He played Corban, a newlywed whose wife goes missing. There were other tours and Soul was in the West End as Hank in The Dead Monkey (Whitehall, now Trafalgar, theatre, 1998), Chandler Tate in Alan Ayckbourn’s Comic Potential (Lyric, 1999-2000) and Mack in Mack & Mabel (Criterion, 2006).
In between, he had one-off roles on British television, including as a locum surgeon in two episodes of Holby City (2001 and 2002), a Boston detective helping to investigate his wife’s murder in Dalziel and Pascoe (2004) and a criminology lecturer in Inspector Lewis (2012). Soul and Glaser had cameos in the 2004 film spoof Starsky & Hutch, alongside Ben Stiller as Starsky and Owen Wilson as Hutch. In the same year, Soul was granted British citizenship.
He is survived by his fifth wife, Helen (nee Snell), whom he married in 2010, and five sons and a daughter.
🔔 David Soul (David Richard Solberg), actor and singer, born 28 August 1943; died 4 January 2024
Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?
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More images of 1912 fashion -
1912-1913 Afternoon dress.
1912 (Winter) Jeanne Paquin evening gown (Helen Larson Historic Fashion Collection, FIDM Museum - Los Angeles, California, USA).
1912 (Winter) Jeanne Paquin evening gown (Helen Larson Historic Fashion Collection, FIDM Museum - Los Angeles, California, USA).
Left 1912 Lucile dress (V&A). From omgthatdress.tumblr.com/post/654088327176306688/evening-dress-lucile-1912-the-victoria-albert 1280X1707.
Center and right ca. 1912 Chantilly lace dinner dress front quarter and back (location ?). From whitakerauction.smugmug.com-Fall2012-Clothing-ID-22-140-i-b3kCXfz 3068X2895
1912 Lady in Furs, Mrs. Charles A. Searles by Cilde Hassam (location ?). From tumblr.com/catherinedefrance 900X1090.
1912 Lady wearing a large hat sitting by Franz von Stuck (auctioned by Sotheby's). From their Web site 1753X1991.
1912 Mrs J., by Józef Męcina-Krzesz (location ?). From godsandfoolishgrandeur.blogspot.com/2016/11/randomly-ix.html; shadows 60% and fixed spots w Pshop 750X975.
1912 Mrs. Ernest Guinness by Sir Francis Bernard Dicksee (auctioned by Christie's) From www.pinterest.com/nouvellegiselle/vintage-inspiration slightly cropped & fit to screen 924X1500.
1912 Mrs. John Lawrence by Edmund Tarbell (private collection). From cutlermiles.com/mrs-john-lawrence-edmund-tarbell/ 992X1280.
Left 1912 Princess Elena of Greece, nee Russia, in 1912, wearing the diamond and pearl tiara she later gave to her daughter as a wedding gift From pinterest.com/inara0798/aristocrats/ 602X960.
Center 1912 Princess Paley in a dinner dress with fancy headdress. From Sacheverelle's photostream on flickr 488X983.
Right 1912 Vizcondesa de Termens From laalacenadelasideas.blogspot.com/2012/12 1018X1316.
1912 Robe de Visite de Paquin (pl.5, La Gazette du Bon ton 1912-1913 n°2) by George Barbier. From edition-originale.com/en/prints-engravings-photographs/ 1682X2518.
Left ca. 1912 Frau Prinzessin Rupprecht in Bayern, Marie Gabrielle in Bayern, by F. Grainer. From eBay fixed spots w Pshop 1017X1600.
Right ca. 1912-1913 Olga de Meyer wearing the famous Paul Poiret coat La Perse, photograph by Baron de Meyer. From facebook.com/144304418968266/photos/a.397639360301436/1143579645707400/?type=1&theater 1123X2048
Left 1912 Winifred, Duchess of Portland by Philip Alexius de László (Portland College - Ravenshead, Nottinghamshire, UK). From books0977.tumblr.com/post/111045895147/the-duchess-of-portland-1912-philip-alexius-de 999X1280.
Right 1912 New Book by Walter Bonner Gash (location ?). From tumblr.com/larobeblanche/742427773413556224/the-new-book-c-1912? 876X1024.
Left 1912 Le Manteau bleu by Xavier Gosé (location ?). From tumblr.com/mote-historie/744587745354301440/painting-by-xavier-gos%C3%A9-le-manteau-bleu-1912?.
Center 1912 Fourrures Max (Max Furs) in the catalogue 'Fourrures Portraits Minatures' by George Barbier. From tumblr.com/mote-historie/732453186620866560/george-barbier-illustration-for-the-catalogue?source=share& 1939X2541.
Right 1912 Man and woman in evening dress by Coles Phillips (NYPL). From tumblr.com/sartorialadventure/747029584815489024?; fixed flaws & spots w Pshop 764X1000
ca. 1912 a Femme chic, Supplément by A. Souchel (Rijksmuseum). From their Web site; fixed flaws & spots w Pshop 3229X5315.
#1912 fashion#1910s fashion#Belle Époque fashion#Edwardian fashion#Lucile#Franz von Stuck#Mrs. J#Józef Męcina-Krzesz#Mrs. Ernest Guinness#Francis Bernard Dicksee#Mrs. John Lawrence#Edmund Tarbell#Princess Elena of Greece#Princess Paley#Worth#Vizcondesa de Termens#Jeanne Paquin#George Barbier#Marie Gabrielle in Bayern#F. Grainer#Olga de Meyer#Paul Poiret#Duchess of Portland Winifred#Philip Alexius de László#Xavier Gosé#Gash#Coles Phillips#A. Souchel#hobble skirt#parasol
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Good evening! And/or morning/day
Do we know how Paul met Aljoscha at the beginning of Feeling B?
I know Flake talks about his own meeting and the formation of their previous band, but Paul's already there in those stories, if memory serves me right?
Good evening/day/morning!
Yes, as a matter of fact we do, from the book 'Mix mir einen Drink - Feeling B - Punk im Osten' (from page 41), and like with Flake they first met Alexander Kriening and Aljoscha through him
As it's been ages since i have done a book quote, i'll do this one 🌺 Paul tells the story
"Ich lernte Kriening 1982 bei irgendeinem lauten Konzert im Kulturpark Plänterwald kennen. Anschließend sind wir zusammen zu mir in mein Kinderzimmer gefahren und ich sprang vor ihm immer auf und nieder und hab ihm meine Ideen vorgespielt. Ich hab mir Lieder ausgedacht und hab die ihm rumspringend vorgestellt. Inzwischen hatte ich den Hals an meiner 'Iris' Gitarreabgesägt, das mache ich seitdem immer. Ich muss da meine eigene Note reinbringen. "Wir machen mal eine Band zusammen", sagte Kriening und rief wirklich fast genau ein Jahr späteran und verabredete sich mit mir um 13 Uhr nächsten Tages am Senefelderplatz. Er kam dan gegen 14 Uhr mit einem älteren Mann an. Ich drängelte Kriening und fragte dauernd, wer das ist, aber der hat mich immer wiederabgewürgt. Er sagte nur kurz, wir gehen jetzt in die Kneipe. Ich war zuvor mein Leben lang noch nie in einer Kneipe gewesen, ichbin irgendwie Komischerzogen worden. Ich wollte nicht in diese Kneipe und erklärte kurzerhand, mir ist schlecht! "Aha, dir ist schlecht, dannbekommst du einen Kräuterlikör", war der erste Satz, den Aljoscha zu mir gesagt hat. Also sind wir rein in die 'Sportlerklause' neben einem Polizeirevier und da haben die beiden Älteren sofort losgebechert. Ich musste Kräuterlikör trinken. Danach sind wir zu Aljoscha in die Wohnung in der Fehrbelliner Straße 7 und das hat mich schwer beeindruckt. Er hat damalsin einer Dachwohnung gewohnt: einfache Bodenfenster, das Dach teilweise seltsam isoliert, stellenweise auch offen. Ziemlich freakig, das fand ich schon gut. Ich kam aus Baumschulenweg, da war überall Teppichboden, hier war es schon ein bisschen dreckiger. Das war mein erster Kontact mit dem Prenzlauer Berg. Kriening hat mir dann eröfnet, das ist unser Sänger und ich gleich: "Nee, nicht so einen alten Mann!" Dazu kam, dass Aljoscha Füße in seinen Turnschuhen dermaßen gestunken haben, das war für mich einfach unglaublich. Er hatte immer Turnschuhe ohne Socken an, das war die Hölle! Das sollte auch so bleiben mit den Füßen."
(Tagesbucheintrag am 1. April 1983) Gestern war ich in der Unterwelt, zusammen mit Kriening. Wir waren bei einem Musiker, vorne Glatze, Locken, lila Tuch, widerliches, sinnloses Gekreische, Lachen, total im Stoff, hat aber urst starke Wohnung. Unterm Dach bei ihm probte eine Punkband. Ich weiß nicht, ob ich wirklich Musiker werden will. Ich habe große Angst davor, mich mit solchen ekligen Leuten zusammenzutun. Mir war richtig schlecht, ich kam mir vor wie im 'Tatort' und fragte mich, wozu lerne und übe ich? Kam mir vor wie jemand, der in ein Kinderheim kommt, weit weg von allen Freunden.
"Nach zwei Stunden saßen wir glücklich und betrunken in seiner Dachwohnung rum. Nun war der Altersunterschied gar nicht mehr so zu merken und ich hatte mich damit abgefunden, dass der unser Sänger sein soll. Als ich mit Aljoscha geredet habe, kam er mir gar nicht mehr so alt vor, ich hab mich an ihn gewöhnt. Er sprühte nur so vor Ideen. Gleich am ersten Abend haben wir uns den Titel 'Ich bin Unsichtbar' ausgedacht. Das war eine Idee von mir, und Aljoscha hat dazu einen Text aufgeschrieben. Aljoscha leierte mir gleich ein paar Texte aus dem Kreuz, er hat sich mit einem Zettel hingesetzt und alles aufgeschrieben. Damit war ich schon um ein paar Texte ärmer. Das konnte Aljoscha sowieso sehr gut, den Leuten ideen wegnehmen. Aber im positiven Sinne, er hat die förmlich ausgesaugt. Er hat die Leute wie ein Schwamm aufgesogen. Wenn man die Ideen nicht gleich genutzt hat, sind sie meist verschüttgegangen. Aljoscha konnte gut Ideen klauen, mit der Umsetzung haperte es meist."
(Tagesbucheinträg 6. april 1983) Aljoscha, das ist der Typ, den ich erst so doof fand, ist aber total stark. Schweizer Staatsbürger, studiert drüben von Montag bis Freitag. Wochenende in Ostberlin. Wiederum ein Beispiel, man darf die Leute nicht nach dem ersten Eindruck beurteilen. Ich glaube, ich mag Aljoscha. Mit der Band, hab ich mir überlegt, geht's nicht. Ich werde mit ihnen drüber reden. Ich hab einfach keine Lust, mich zu binden. Wenn ich mirvorstelle, den Freitagabend für immer verplant, den Sonnabend auch noch - nein. Aber wenn ich nicht mitmache, verpasse ich auch eine Menge...
"I met Kriening in 1982 at some loud concert in the Kulturpark Plänterwald. Then we drove to my childhood room together and I jumped up and down in front of him and played my ideas to him. I thought up songs and played them for him jumping around. In the meantime I had sawed off the neck on my 'Iris' guitar, which I've been doing ever since. I have to put my own touch to it. "Let's make a band together," Kriening said and actually almost exactly a year later called and made an appointment with me at 1 p.m. for the next day at Senefelderplatz. He arrived around 2 p.m. with an older man. I pestered him and kept asking Kriening who that was, but he kept cutting me off. He just said briefly, we’re going to the pub now. I had never been to a pub in my life, I was somehow brought up in a funny way. I didn't want to go to this pub and said without further ado, I'm sick! "Aha, you're sick, then you'll get a herbal liqueur," was the first sentence that Alyosha said to me. So we went to the 'Sportlerklause' next to a police station and the two older ones started drinking right away. I had to drink herbal liqueur. Then we went to Aljoscha's apartment at Fehrbelliner Strasse 7 and that really impressed me. At the time, he lived in an attic apartment: simple floor-to-ceiling windows, the roof in places oddly insulated, and open in other parts. Pretty freaky, I thought that was a good thing. I came from Baumschulenweg, where there was carpet everywhere, it was a bit dirtier here. That was my first contact with Prenzlauer Berg. Kriening then opened up to me, that's our singer and I immediately said: "No, not such an old man!" In addition, Aljoscha's feet in his sneakers stunk so badly, it was just unbelievable to me. He always wore sneakers with no socks, it was hell! It would stay that way with the feet."
(Diary entry April 1, 1983) Yesterday I was in the underworld with Kriening. We were with a musician, bald in the front, curls, purple cloth, disgusting, senseless screeching, laughing, totally stuffed *1) , but has a really great apartment. A punk band was rehearsing under his roof. I don't know if I really want to be a musician. I'm terrified of associating with such yucky people. I felt really bad, I felt like I was in 'Tatort' *2) and asked myself, why am I learning and practicing? Felt like someone who goes to a children's home, far away from all your friends.
"After two hours we were sitting around, happy and drunk, in his attic apartment. Now the age difference was no longer noticeable and I had come to terms with the fact that he would be our singer. When I talked to Aljoscha, he didn't even seem so old anymore, I've gotten used to him. He just sparkled with ideas. Right on the first evening we came up with the title 'I'm Invisible'. It was an idea of mine, and Aljoscha wrote down a text for it. Aljoscha grinded out a few texts from me right away, he sat down with a piece of paper and wrote everything down. I was already a few texts poorer. Aljoscha was very good at that anyway, taking ideas away from people. But in a positive sense, he literally sucked them dry. He sucked people up like a sponge. If you didn't use the ideas right away, they usually just got lost. Aljoscha was good at stealing ideas, but there was usually a problem with the implementation."
(Diary entry April 6, 1983) Aljoscha, that's the guy I found so dumb at first, he's really good. Swiss citizen, studies over there from Monday to Friday. Weekend in East Berlin. Again an example to not judge people by first impressions. I think I like Aljoscha. The band, i thought it, but it won't work. I'll talk to them about it. I just don't feel like committing myself. If I imagine planning Friday evening forever, Saturday too - no. But if I don't join, I'll miss a lot...
1) not really sure what 'im Stoff' would be translated, but i assume from the context something like 'not sober'
2) Tatort is a very famous longrunning german tv show about crimes, so he compairs it to being ata crimescene from that show
more rammstein related book quotes
#paul meets aljoscha#rammstein book quotes#talk about opinion guy#him at 19#still in his kid's room at his parents house#nice neighbourhood wall to wall carpet#meets these older guys and has loads of opinions already 😊#paul landers#rammstein#aljoscha rompe#alexander kriening#feeling b
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The Batman/Reevesverse Scarecrow Speculation Post
So, with the hope that the Reevesverse Scarecrow spinoff still goes through (what with WB's currently tenuous position under Zaslav), here are some speculation points I've had for a while with regards to how dear Dr. Crane could fit into the Gotham universe of 2022's The Batman --
The Drops Trade: Probably the most obvious thread wherein to integrate him. As some rumours about the Penguin spinoff TV series have hinted that they'll pick up on this subplot (since we do see Oz is involved in it in the movie), and there is apparently already an epidemic in this universe's Gotham City, lacing a new strain with fear toxin would be an easy way to spread it massively through the city. This could easily tie him in with the mob characters (Oz et al), and would work well with the Se7en-esque mystery/detective story approach they're taking to Batman's character, with the inexplicable terrifying effects of this new strain of Drops leading Bats down a trail that ends with a disgraced former professor of psychology. What works against this is that it's argably too similar to the very rapidly abandoned drug dealer Scarecrow plot in The Dark Knight. But given that as with every Nolanverse Scarecrow plot point, that kind of just happened and went nowhere until Crane Barbied his way into a new job, and the fact that the series hasn't shied away from similarities/nods to TDK trilogy, there's still a solid chance for there to be a unique spin on it here.
Riddler leaks: Since this universe's Edward Nashton is big on exposing corruption and has a strong online presence, maybe he - or one of his following, acting in his name - will kickstart the start-of-darkness plot by prompting his firing from Arkham or Gotham University (if he works at either in this continuity) by leaking Dr. Crane's more unsavoury dealings and/or unethical practices and experimentation. Perhaps the Renewal Fund flowed through Gotham University and Crane siphoned from it to finance his fear toxin research? While I love the "this man fired a gun in his classroom to illustrate a point and got extremely mad that there were consequences" origin to death, I can admit this origin might be either considered either too silly or in poor taste for a grounded universe like the Reevesverse that does have at least some social commentary. Points against this route, however, are whether they intend to do much more with Edward Nashton; Paul Dano is reportedly signed on for more entries to the series, but given he had a whole movie to himself, and a prequel comic run, they might not want to saturate us on him. On the other hand, Matt Reeves has expressed an interest in building a full and robust Rogues Gallery, and the most successful visual adaptations that have done this have understood the value of the Rogues' relationships amongst themselves.
Arkham Doctor: A usual starting point for Crane, but nonetheless, we've established Arkham already in this universe, and with named and known characters staying there. There's also rumours of an Arkham Series that could bridge with the Scarecrow spinoff proper, and while Crane experimenting on the patients is rather typical, we do have some interesting opportunities -- a chance he interacts with Riddler and Joker, who are set up to be there, again laying the groundwork for a new Rogues Gallery (Poison Ivy is also confirmed to have a spinoff in the works, so she might be involved also), but moreover, an access to the records on Martha Wayne, nee Arkham, could bring him into the leverage/Wayne family drama, which would be especially fun if he still doesn't figure out Bruce's identity as Batman, he just resents the Waynes. Then again, even though Scarecrow's class struggle angle goes back to the earliest comic appearances, this ground has already been well-trodden with Edward Nashton and Selina Kyle in the first movie, so it depends on whether they want to take a new tack or expand Gotham's class disparity to be a major theme of the series.
anyway, these are just a handful of ideas - would love to hear other thoughts!
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Two photos on the same day
The top photo features the royal family of Yugoslavia with the family of Elena Vladimirovna: Marina, Elizabeth with her son Hans Veit, Elena Vladimirovna, The Duke of Kent, King Peter of Yugoslavia, Tomislav of Yugoslavia, Maria of Yugoslavia (nee Romania), Nicholas and Alexander of Yugoslavia, Olga of Yugoslavia (nee Greece) with her daughter Elizabeth, Andrei of Yugoslavia, and Paul of Yugoslavia.
The bottom photo features just the family of Prince Paul: Paul, Alexander, Olga with baby Elizabeth, and Nicholas.
#romanov#elena valdimirovna#greek royal family#british royal family#yugoslav royal family#marina of greece#elizabeth of greece#hans veit zu toerring jettenbach#george duke of kent#peter ii of yugoslavia#mignon of romania#tomislav of yugoslavia#alexander of yugoslavia#nicholas of yugoslavia#andrei of yutgoslavia#elizabeth of yugoslavia#olga of greece#paul of yugoslavia#my collection#my series
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Photographs: 1. Grand Duke Pavel Alexandrovich; 2. Pavel's first wife: Grand Duchess Alexandra Georgievna (Nee Princess Alexandra of Greece and Denmark); 3. Pavel's morganatic wife: Olga Valerianovna, Princess Paley (nee Olga Valerianovna Karnovich).
Grand Duke Pavel Alexandrovich (1860 - 1919) and his children
Grand Duke Pavel was the youngest son of Emperor Alexander II and Empress Maria Alexandrovna. As a child and even as an adult, he had very frail health (but that did not prevent him from being very successful with the ladies and a great dancer.) Politically, Pavel would play his most important role toward the end of the Romanov dynasty, when he largely acted as a liaison between Empress Alexandra and Emperor Nicholas II and the rest of the Romanov family. It was Grand Duke Paul who informed the Empress of the abdication.
Pavel was married twice and had five children. His first wife was Grand Duchess Alexandra Georgievna (nee Princess Alexandra of Greece and Denmark.) He had two children with her, Grand Duchess Maria Pavlovna (the younger) and Grand Duke Dmitry Pavlovich (Alexandra died giving birth to him.) Several years later, Pavel married Olga Valerianovna Karnovich morganatically and was exiled from Russia by the Emperor; the couple had a comfortable exile since Paul had money out of Russia. Olga would be made Princess Paley when the couple was allowed to return to Russia. By the time they returned to Russia, they had three children: Vladimir, Irina, and Natalia.
Grand Duke Pavel's five children were remarkably good-looking. One of his daughters, Natalia, became a model and actress in the United States. It is a shame that they had to live through such horrible times; none of them seem to find lasting stability in the area of relationships throughout their lives. But this post is just about what a good example of the general good looks of the Romanov family Pavel's children were.
Following are some photographs of Pavel's beautiful offspring:
Photographs: Pavel and Olga's children: 1. Prince Vladimir Pavlovich Paley; 2. Princesses Natalia and Irina Pavlovna Paley; 3. Prince Vladimir with his two little sisters; 4. Prince Vladimir; 5. Princess Irina Pavlovna; 6. Princess Natalia Pavlovna
Photographs: Pavel and Alexandra's children: 1. Grand Duke Dmitry Pavlovich and Grand Duchess Maria Pavlovna the Younger; 2. Grand Duchess Maria Pavlovna; 3. Grand Duke Dmitry Pavlovich
#russian history#romanov dynasty#Grand Duchess Alexandra Georgievna#Grand Duke Pavel Alexandrovich#Grand Duke Dmitry Pavlovich#Grand Duchess Maria Pavlovna the Younger#Princess Olga Valerianovna Paley#Prince Vladimir Pavlovich Paley#Princess Natalia Pavlovna Paley#Princess Irina Pavlovna Paley
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'Andrew Scott, mother Nora has passed away after a sudden illness just before Mother's Day.
The sad news was shared by the family, stating that Nora died peacefully surrounded by her loved ones at St Vincent's Hospital in Dublin on March 7th.
The obituary read: "It is with our deepest sorrow that we inform you of the passing of Nora Scott (nee Boyle), beloved wife of Jim, mother of Sarah, Andrew and Hannah."
"Scott, Sandymount, Dublin, formerly Omagh Co. Tyrone, March 7th 2024 peacefully surrounded by her loving family and best friend Anne, in St Vincent's Hospital following a sudden illness. Nora will be deeply missed by her beloved husband Jim, her loving children Sarah, Andrew and Hannah."
Andrew has not yet made any public comments about his mum's passing. Nora had previously shared a heartwarming story about receiving a bouquet of roses from actor Anthony Hopkins six years ago when she told him she was ill. She met him on the set of King Lear, where Andrew was playing Edgar, reports the Irish Mirror.
Recalling the sweet gesture on RTE, she said: "There was probably more than three dozen red roses and attached to them was a little card from Anthony saying 'Be well, sending hugs', and all sorts of things."
"I was thrilled to get such a gift and for the kind thought that promoted it. Now I have recovered, I can enjoy these exquisite roses that grace our hall. It was such a beautiful gift."
Just two months ago, Andrew and his All of Us Strangers co-star Paul Mescal said they didn't really want their parents to watch the movie.
In the film, we see Mescal and Scott's characters getting very close, and both actors said it would be super awkward to watch with their families because of the steamy scenes. "I don't want to be there when my parents watch it! " Andrew shared with TV star Graham Norton.
Andrew had some deep thoughts about the film, saying: "I think for so many people, particularly queer people, you can feel like a stranger in your own family. Even if they haven't directly rejected you, you just feel slightly different... [But] discomfort within a family and love within a family can coexist. It's pretty common."'
#Andrew Scott#Nora Scott#RIP#All of Us Strangers#Paul Mescal#Graham Norton#Anthony Hopkins#Edgar#King Lear
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The DiMarcos: Matt, Kaylynn (and Mr. Wiggles)
Newlyweds Matt and Kaylynn (nee Langerak) are head over heels in love. Some say the recent high school graduates are too young for such a big commitment, but these two lovebirds are ready to prove the naysayers wrong.
Matt is entering his freshman year at Foxbury Institute along with his older brother Paul. Matt is majoring in Biology and plans to attend Veterinary School. He has always loved animals, especially his cat Mr. Wiggles. Kaylynn, a self-proclaimed neat freak, has been making money by cleaning houses. However, she's starting to wonder if her need for order is becoming too stifling.
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