#Murray P. Stern

[comicconradio]

There are four Ghostbusters in the original 1984 comedy, but you might not know it by looking at the poster. Along with the iconic "no ghost" poster, Columbia Pictures advertised its summer "supernatural spectacular" with the ghost-bustin' trio "here to save the world": Spengler, Stantz, and a front-and-center Venkman. Top billing was given to Saturday Night Live stars Murray and Aykroyd alongside Sigourney Weaver of Alien fame, with Ramis and co-star Rick Moranis receiving "also starring" credits. There is no mention of Hudson or Winston, who would be the fourth and final member of the team. In a new interview on The Howard Stern Wrap Up Show, Hudson recalled being "pushed aside" during the making of the second-highest-grossing movie of 1984. Ghostbusters director Ivan Reitman was "a brilliant man and I have just so much love and appreciation for him," said Hudson. The actor was less fond of studio Columbia Pictures, which was then a recent acquisition of The Coca Cola Company. "I was the guy who was brought in, and so finding my place in the middle of that... and they were all welcoming and inclusive," Hudson said of his co-stars. "The studio wasn't, and the studio continued not to be. So it made it very, very difficult because I was a part of it but then I very selectively was pushed aside." Hudson continued: "When the posters came out, I'm not on the poster. It took a long time. I went to the 30th-anniversary release of the movie and all the posters are three guys. Now I know the fans see it differently, and I'm so thankful for the fans because the fans basically identified with Winston, especially young, I don't want to say minority kids, but a lot of kids."⚡️🫶🏼 "The original script, Winston was in the very beginning of the movie. By the time we got ready to shoot the movie, Winston came in halfway through the movie," Hudson recalled. "All those things. It definitely felt deliberate. And I'm still not trying to take it personally. Anything bad, if you're African American in this country, anything bad happens to you, you can always blame it on, 'Because I'm Black.' You don't want to go there. That's the last thing I want to do."⚡️ #ghostbusters (at Los Angeles, California) https://www.instagram.com/p/CpbosY5rH6A/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#ghostbusters

[qualitymoonsuit]

Merry Christmas! The books I got this year are The Rise of the Dragon, by George R.R. Martin; The Maze Cutter, by James Dashner; Crown of Flames, by Sayantani DasGupta; Museum of Wonders, by Ransom Riggs; Tread of Angels, by Rebecca Roanhorse; Brotherband Chronicles, Book 9: The Stern Chase, by John Flanagan; Bravelands: Curse of the Sandtongue, Book 3: Blood on the Plains; Star Wars: The High Republic: Convergence, by Zoraida Cordova; Star Wars: The High Republic: Quest for the Hidden City, by Tessa Gratton and Justina Ireland; I'm Glad My Mom Died, by Jennette McCurdy; Beyond the Wand: The Magic and Mayhem of Growing up a Wizard, by Tom Felton; Lords of Night, by J.C. Cervantes; Madly, Deeply: The Diaries of Alan Rickman, by Alan Rickman and Area 51 Interns,Book 2: Zoned Out, by James S. Murray and Carsen Smith. #christmaspresents #books https://www.instagram.com/p/CmmQL-XuIa4/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#christmaspresents #books

[roysexton]

Thank you, Taryn Dreyer Elliott and Legal Internet Solutions Incorporated, for having me on as a guest for #AllTheThings podcast: https://hubs.ly/Q01nHT8m0 … We had such a fabulous chat, and I'm simply cutting and pasting Taryn's description as she nailed it: "Hey podcast listeners. I’m Taryn Elliott, Director of Client Success + Marketing at LISI and I will be your host for this episode of LISI’s All the Things podcast. I’m joined on this month’s episode of One More Thing by Roy Sexton, Director of Marketing at Clark Hill Law, and an old friend from my early days with the Legal Marketing Association - LMA International. Roy and I got together to talk about what he hopes to accomplish next year and his term as the 2023 Legal Marketing Association International President. Knowing Roy for as long as I have, I knew this conversation was going to be fun and I was not disappointed, but we touch on some important topics as well, including volunteering, self-care, acknowledging our differences, and how to amplify yourself along with the work you do. Here is One More Thing, this week’s episode of LISI’s 'All the Thing'” podcast. I hope you enjoy listening to it as much as I enjoyed recording it." Indeed, we did, Taryn! So grateful for our longstanding friendship and for your positive influence in my life. As is my wont, I shout out to a LOT of people and how grateful I am for them: Maureen Fechter Farr, Gina Furia Rubel, Heather Morse-Geller, Gail Porter Lamarche, Nancy Leyes Myrland, Lindsay Griffiths, Laura Toledo, Terry Isner, Jennifer Manton, Deborah Scaringi, Michelle Upchurch Murray, LMA Northeast Region Boot Camp, Robyn Addis, Audra Triplett, Michael Coston, Melissa Ertek, Brenda Plowman, EJ Stern Bearman, Bobbie Conklin, #LMA23, Wabash College, Association of Legal Administrators (ALA), Corporate Legal Operations Consortium - CLOC, Michigan Society for Healthcare Planning and Marketing, Susie Sexton, #TheLordOfTheRings, and #pasta. Happy listening! https://www.legalisi.com/news/one-more-thing-charting-your-course-with-2023-lma-president-roy-sexton/ - #LMAmkt @lmaintl @legalisi @clarkhilllaw (at Saline, Michigan) https://www.instagram.com/p/CjJyTP1D_Jm/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#allthethings #lma23 #thelordoftherings #pasta #lmamkt

[detrixsta]

Song: "I Must Be Dreaming"

Composers: Pat Flaherty & Al Sherman

Lyricist: Al Dubin

Okeh Record: 41051 Matrix # 400706

Performed By: Joe Venuti & His New Yorkers (With Ed. Lang): Fred “Fuzzy” Farrar, Leo McConville (tp), Charlie Butterfield (tb), Arnold Brilhart, Max Farley (as, fl), Herb Spencer (ts), Don Murray (cl, bari), Joe Venuti (vln), Arthur Schutt (p, cel), Eddie Lang (g), Hank Stern (tu), Chauncey Morehouse (d, orchestra bells), Harold "Scrappy" Lambert (vcl), Fud Livingston (arr).

Recorded in New York on May 25, 1928

#joe venuti #eddie lang #1920s #foxtrot #popular songs #jazz age #vintage pop and jazz #scrappy lambert #78 rpm #shellac #roaring twenties #flappers #gatsby era #1928 song #new york jazz #my transfer #okeh #columbia records #roaring 20s #Joe Venuti & his New Yorkers

[badgaymovies]

The Panic In Needle Park (1971)

Films from the 1971 Cannes Film Festival official competition, including The Panic In Needle Park by #JerrySchatzberg starring #AlPacino and #KittyWinn, winner of the Best Actress prize, today's review on MyOldAddiction.com

JERRY SCHATZBERG Bil’s rating (out of 5): BBBB USA, 1971. Gadd Productions Corp., Didion-Dunne. Screenplay by Joan Didion, John Gregory Dunne, based on the book by James Mills. Cinematography by Adam Holender. Produced by Dominick Dunne. Production Design by Murray P. Stern. Costume Design by Jo Ynocencio. Film Editing by Evan A. Lottman. A film about heroine addicts doesn’t sound like a…

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#Adam Holender #Al Pacino #Alan Vint #Angie Ortega #Anthony Palmer #Arnold Williams #Bryant Fraser #Cannes 1971 #Didion-Dunne #Dominick Dunne #Dora Weissman #Evan A. Lottman #Florence Tarlow #Gadd Productions Corp. #Gil Rogers #James Mills #Jerry Schatzberg #Jo Ynocencio #Joan Didion #Joe Santos #John Gregory Dunne #Kiel Martin #Kitty Winn #Larry Marshall #Marcia Jean Kurtz #Michael McClanathan #Murray P. Stern #Nancy MacKay #Paul Mace #Paul Sorvino

[ursoself-satisfying]

Whole Lotta Love

P A T  M U R R A Y (Undrafted) x F!Reader, SMUT 

Warnings: smut, lots of it, language, like all the sex guys all of it guys,,, SPOILER: UNSAFE SEX THEY DISCARD THE CONDOM WRAP IT BEFORE U TAP IT BOYS N GIRLS

A/N: this is my zenic,, its 10k words n I am v tired,,,, I hope you all enjoy sorry its late lol

an accompanying playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/criceloni/playlist/5sP9FcSsFcPjFodxN1E5RY?si=dNK4SdE2RoSRcqhN99dntg 

The engine of your car sputtered weakly as you turned the key for the third time. You pursed your lips and grunted as you screwed your whole arm around, twisting the key in the ignition again. The hot sun beat against the grimy, untinted windows of the old van and your skin boiled under the magnification of the glass. Drops of sweat limply slipped down the side of your face, sizzling when they hit the leather between the seats. The day was nice, but the interior of the vehicle was sweltering and stunk of burgers and sex. You groaned loudly and threw your head back tiredly. With your eyes closed, you tiredly and hopelessly went to turn the car on one last time, dreading the spitting sound that you expected to greet you. You were indeed greeted by the same annoying noise, burned into your eardrums by now, but it faded after a moment, the harsh metallic sounds blending into a solid purr as the engine started, radio turning on to the classic rock station. Shooting up out of your seat in shock, both at the sound and the unexpected success, your hands slammed against your steering wheel and your mouth hung open. “Oh my God,” you muttered, “Oh my God! Thank you, God!” You shouted at the roof of the car and you let out a dry sob. The wet lines down your face could have been sweat or tears, or both at this point. Loud thrums echoed through the cabin of the vehicle as you drummed your hands against the soft roof excitedly, shaking your head in a grateful spasm of relief. “YES! Oh my God, yes, thank you.” The soft whispers left your lips in the form of a laugh and you gripped the steering wheel tightly, taking a deep breath and smiling widely. The next thing you did was roll down the windows and sigh as the clear, blue sky blessed you with fresh air, letting The Who play you out. The gas pedal was pushed down and you made your way from the curb where you’d been sitting for the last half an hour. The VW bus bounced, “My Generation” fading as you turned a corner and made your way to the game.

Your sputtering horseless carriage shuttered to a stop and felt like it would cave in and collapse once in park. With a shake, you turned off on a ‘don’t text and drive’ PSA, the engine and rolled up the dirty windows. Manually locking the door behind you, you exited the rusted green car and headed towards the greener field. You rolled your eyes as you passed a large bus undoubtedly belonging to the opposing team. You doubted it was necessary and would have guessed it was more of a petty power move if anything. A small group of people, not yet a crowd, was gathered by the fences of the baseball field watching the game. It had already begun and you’d missed the first few innings. You searched the crowd for a familiar figure until you spotted a red shirt and jogged over to it. “Brian!”

The man turned to see you waving your hand happily above your head. He turned once he recognized you and laughed heartily with open arms. “[Y/N]!”

Once you reached him, he wrapped his strong arms around you and lightly picked you up. You did your best to return the embrace but he held you too tightly. His cotton button up smelled strongly of a flower-scented detergent and a gas station, comforting and familial. Your laughs mixed and you remained leaned against him when he put you down. “Mr. Murray,” you started playfully, “How are you on this fine day?” The older man patted your back and chuckled.

“Well, I could be doing a hell of a lot better.” Brian looked out at the game, Barone at-bat, and took a deep sigh. You scanned his face with concern, catching the glaze of sadness in his eyes. You softly placed a hand on his shoulder, unsure of what happened exactly, but having an idea.

You turned your head back and look around you for Brian’s almost other half, but seeing the older Mazzello nowhere. You felt safe enough to ask, “He didn’t get it, did he? John-” He shook his head quickly, not turning towards you. You wanted to ask how Pat was taking it but you could figure it out based on your past experiences. You weren’t sure Brian would know at this point anyway. For a moment, you just watched the game. Barone wouldn’t slide and Ty was clearly upset. All you could hear were the curse words carried to you by the light wind picking up. You squeezed Brian’s arm gently and gave him a sympathetic smile, before gulping and beginning to say something. “So then where’s-”

Joe walked up beside Brian and handing him a bottle of water from his trip to concessions. The shorter man glanced over and stopped when he caught sight of you. “Oh, [Y/N]-”

“Hey, Joe,” you replied softly. The man beside stepped back to allow you to give a quick embrace to the new arrival. You stepped back and smiled, biting your lip. “I’m sorry,” you spoke quickly, “He deserved it. John’s-” A stifled laugh interrupted your sentence, but you continued, “Not that I would know, but he’s the best, I hear. He should have gotten it. That’s- That’s so stupid-”

“He’s got some offers, but there’s not much we can do now that it’s over.” Leaning against the fence, the dark-haired man took a swig from the bottle he held and smiled faintly back at you though he kept his attention on the game before him. “Now we just play.”

Though you’d missed the first five innings at least, Brian filled you in on how the game had gone on with as many bumps and hitches as you could possibly imagine. The D-Backs were down (though you honestly wouldn’t have expected otherwise) and hoped for a comeback. Ty interrupts Barone’s play to demand he dirty his uniform, a call is unfairly continued and Ty (again) interrupts and demands his complaint be noted, which had been happening just as you’d arrived.

You were there just in time to see Pat’s second at-bat. “C’mon, baby, you got this! Hit it out of the fuckin’ park!” You were screaming and hollering encouragements at your boyfriend. His father chuckled and gave you a side-eyed glance, a glint of understanding gleaming on his face, seeing again why you and his son got on so well. “He’s not gonna get a hit,” you said quietly to the man beside you, not taking your eyes off the boy at bat.

Brian nodded, smiling. “Never does.” Both of watched as the third pitch was thrown and Pat unsurprising did not get a home run. He let out a long and frustrated scream and hit the bat against his helmet instead before heading to the dugout. The bat Pat had used broke against the fence pole as he hit it repeatedly and cursed the ‘loaded fucking bases’.

Pat then ran to his position in the outfield as he was told but it was clear he hadn’t cooled down yet by his continued yells. If you knew Pat Murray, you knew what he sounded like when he said ‘fuck’. By now, his curses were carved into your ears and you could hear them in your dreams. He yelled and yelled as the game continued, with some concern shown by his teammates and some confusion by the competition. Vinnie had attempted to diffuse the situation by engaging in a friendly game of catch between bats but Murray firmly stuck the ball in the scoreboard. He very nearly took Zapata’s head off.  

“Is he like this at home?” The elder Murray let a smile tweak his lips upwards for a moment, then looked away from the comment. You leaned over the fence n suppressed a laugh at what John had said.

As the game went on, you could tell things would only get worse until it all imploded, and you were right. Brian shared a tired, knowing look with you as you could both hear him yelling from the dugout. “YOU THROW LIKE A BITCH AND YOU BAT AT .250!”

Brian rocked back and look between you and his friend, shaking his head. “Patrick, relax!”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, DAD!”

He nodded and leaned back against the fence. “That’s my boy.” Laughing, you bounced against his side. John shrugged his shoulders and gave an exaggerated frown of acceptance. The game lasted a while before another notable event occurred. This time, was an unsportsmanlike fight erupting after an unfair play and a sudden injury. It all happened so quickly it was hard to comprehend.

Garvey was slammed into the ground by an opposing player and when they hit the dirt a cloud of red dust rose around them. An audible thud echoed as the crowd went silent. Your mouth hung open and the world stood still for what felt like forever as the small catcher laid there unmoving. Then Ty erupted. He grabbed the assaulter from behind and held him down, Vinnie running to leap into a punch. That was the instigator. The rest of the team, with the exception of Fotch, raced to the scene. The riot on the field got worse and once John ran out, Joe bounced off his arms on the fence and rushed just as you had to stop his son. You could hear your boyfriend shouting and mentally cursed, knowing how this would turn out.

“Pat, fuck-” You went to lift yourself over the fence and attempt to run after your lover in an effort to keep him from hurting anyone, but his father pulled you back. He gave you a stern look and shook his head.

“I don’t need you getting in any more trouble right now.” Without anymore protest, you huffed and took your place again. Brian yelled after the boys and jogged out onto the field himself, though he was sure to look back and give you a strict but caring sign to stay back.

You had been right in your earlier assumptions, as Pat charged with a battle cry and pounced on the bobbing mass of bodies, all angrily entangled with one another. More and more athletes seemed to be absorbed into the huddle the longer it went on until it's magnitude reached the crowds of onlookers, who soon after went to join. As the fathers ripped their sons from the mess, Brian stopped a member of the other team from adding a bat to the fight, but by the time the teams had been surgically separated, enough damage had been done. Garvey was in bad, bad shape and the rest of the team was covered in scrapes and bruises, uniforms in shambles and carrying expressions that could kill.

Brian remained out on the field for a few minutes, post scuffle, and Joe went to his son at Garvey’s side. With no one left to stop you from making your way to the scene, you stepped for the first time onto the sacred ground and jogged over to the pit with a wave, “Patrick!” The man turned at his name being called and you stopped in your place when he looked at you. For a moment, you thought you saw a small smile grace his shaking lips as his eyes shone with recognition and he made his way to you. Closing the distance between the two of you, he took you into his sweaty arms and held you perfectly against him. You fit like a puzzle piece together as your own arms were slung around him. He held your head tightly to the crook of his neck and you could smell on him all the events of the day. As you inhaled the scents of dirt and a bit of blood caked onto sweat-soaked skin and leftover aftershave, maybe the hints of a citrus shampoo, you pulled handfuls of his team shirt into your balled fists. Together you swayed for a moment in the middle of the field and he muttered, “Fuck, God- Fuck, I’m so glad you’re here- So fuckin-” He stopped his profane murmurs as he bit back something directly in between happiness and anger. “I’m just so glad you’re here.”

You responded with pressed whispers against the skin of his neck ignoring the previous events and focusing on the moment you were in. “Hey,” you breathed, “I wouldn’t have missed the D-Backs’ last game for the world.”

He smiled, though you couldn’t see. His muffled response was kissed into your hair. You couldn’t quite understand what he’d said but it sounded like something along the lines of, ‘God, I fucking love you,’ which you completely reciprocated.

One hand of yours strayed from his back to his head and held the hair protruding from beneath hat. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said again, softer this time, emphasizing how much your being there for him meant. “But I can’t fucking wait to get you alone.” He finished his statement quietly, in a voice that sent shivers down your spine, hot and dark, every vertebra quaking. His own hands mapped the back of your neck, threading his calloused, bloody fingers through your locks, holding you with a fear of losing you.

“I’m just glad you’re o-”

The quiet conversation was interrupted. “Get a room, Murray!” A voice yelled from the group of red behind him. It was most likely Barone or Polacco, the only two in a good enough mood after the previous events to pay enough attention to you to make any kind of crude comment like usual.

Pat pulled away, lips spread thin and eyes low. His hands moved to grip your upper arms tightly and he slowly turned his head back to look at the clever commentators. “Shut the FUCK UP ABOUT MY GODDAMN GIRLFRIEND!” Your eyes widen and a sheepish grin spread widely between your cheeks. When he turned back to you, you lifted your hand to hold his face. His eyes were tied to yours, but your gaze soon drifted down to the lightly bleeding scratches on his neck. You frowned and your fingertips dropped to trace over the red lines. The man holding you still, softer now, hissed at the raw contact and his pleading eyes twitched.

His hand rose to wipe at your left cheek, stained from his wound and your place in the crook of his neck. He didn’t move it though after placing it there. “You- There was some blood- Fuck, that’s so gross, I’m so fuckin’ sorry-” His head shook lightly as he stared at you, lip twitching with slight distress.

You responded with a soft laugh, breathed through your nostrils. “It’s ok- It’s ok! I’m sorry you got hurt,” you said as you wiped some of the blood from around the new wound. Pat looked pained, but your presence overcame any discomfort he had. “What a game, huh?”

You chuckled and he hummed near your ear, a pleased puff of air pushed through his nostrils. “I’m so fucking glad you’re here- It’s a better game now. I know it’s not gonna actually get better, but-” Pat moved back and looked at you with gleaming eyes. You could never resist those eyes. He seemed so hopeful since he’d learned of your arrival and you weren’t going to even think about how vain it might have been. “But you’re here, you know.”

You moved your hands swiftly to the sides of his face and pulled him down for a kiss. Though it took him a moment, he quickly pulled you against him and his plush lips pushed against yours. His arms around your waist were the only things keeping you upright as the two of you collided so passionately you arched against him. He pulled slightly back to turn his head and slip through your parted lips. He tasted of vanilla ice cream and blue raspberry Gatorade. Tongues pushing needily against each other, for just a moment, the field around you was lost and all you had was the sensation of Pat Murray buzzing through your lips.

“Ey, Murray-!” A sing-songy voice interrupted again and immediately Pat painfully yanked your face from his. With a clenched jaw and white knuckles still on your figure, he wiped the shared saliva from his mouth and looked like he was refraining from erupted in a trembling angry fit. One hand swept down the side of your face with a dazed expression of admiration and he made eye contact with you, sending you his concern through soft, hazel eyes. You felt the sudden sadness of his body leaving yours, the physical contact high of your love crashed down and you were left hot and alone. The player ran back to the benches spewing foul curses at his ogling teammates as they threw around playful jabs at his PDA. He turned to wave you off and that made you smile. You stepped backward, slowly at first, then turned to jog back to your spot at the fence.

The crowds grew but the sound shrunk. Spectators came from around the neighborhood as word of the fight had spread. It was silent now, in the aftermath. It felt like a sort of mourning period, perhaps for the final chances of the D-Backs at winning today’s game. Reverence was the word to describe what was emanating from the home team. The dugout looked morbid and the only eyes that weren't cast down were furrowed in anger, confusion, and concern. Sirens cut through the still, religious air as an ambulance and a police car drove onto the game dirt.

Two EMTs came barrelling from their vehicle with a gurney and lifted Garvey into the back of the ambulance. The teams cheered him on before the vehicle doors closed and the ambulance left the field. The last image of Garvey was that of him in a neck cast with a thumbs up and the biggest smile.

Two cops then got out of their car that had parked itself on the dirt and went over to the D-Back dugout. Vinnie and Ty sat against the fence as the policemen approached them after speaking with the umpires. “Tyler Delmonica and Vincent Maltzan?”

You watched with the fathers as you had before and smacked Brian’s arm with fever as you saw the lawmen approach the team. “What the fuck- What’s- What the fuck are they doing?” With a slightly irritated side-eyed glance, Brian observed the same scene you did with concern. The elder Mazzello on the other side of him grunted and spoke, “Nothing good.”

The two from the fence had gone over to the cops and were now in handcuffs. The entirety of the red team had come swarming from the shaded dugout to defend their friends. Curses were thrown back and forth and the policeman threatened to arrest Dells as well. “Dude, what the fuck-” you muttered.

“Finish the game!” Ty urged as he and Vinnie were dragged away. The other policeman countered Ty’s plea, announcing for an end to the gathering, at which time both teams emerged from their holes and agreed upon something for the first time. ‘We’re almost done!’ they said, ‘We’re winning!’ The crowd, which had grown exponentially since the scuffle, jeered and booed at the officer. He then complied to the masses as Maz promised they would go on with no further complications. The Bulldogs player that had put poor Garv in the hospital was expulsed and that was the end of it.

The game went on, not without some drama, of course, but it went on. It was an incredible sight. Dells was on fire, throwing out after out after out. Zapata gets a hit, Fotch walks with a dead arm (breaking Dell’s front car window in the process), then it was Pat at-bat, again.

He hit the first one and your breathing stopped, then it was announced a foul. You held tightly to his father’s arm, praying for the impossible as you did every game. The second ball went in slow motion as it headed towards him. The world stood still for you. The sudden smack of wood against hot leather shook you from your trance. Patrick ran with a fury you’d never seen before, sliding into first base in a red dust cloud of victory.

You could barely recognize your own voice in the scream you let loose as you watched your significant other accomplish such a rare feat. “YES, PATTY, YES! FUCKING GET IT!” You were jumping up and down, shaking the fence, hitting Brian when your hands weren’t waving excitedly in the air. Brian laughed at your reaction and held you with an arm when you settled down.

Patrick screamed and jumped just as you were. “I GOT A HIT!” The crowd was still roaring, the D-Backs yelling for him.

“Way to go, Pat!” Brian hugged you and wiped tears from eyes you hadn’t noticed falling before. The older man shook you affectionately against his side.

“I GUESSED! I FUCKING GUESSED!” The ginger was kept his yelling as the blue team called for time. “I’M NOT OUT!” He clapped and laughed, calling after his team as they prepped during the other team's timeout. Maybe it was just you but the air smelled sweet now, beside your considered family in an epic and cherished moment. It may have been bittersweet but it was worth savoring every second of.

“GO PALACCO! KILL HIM! MURDER HIM!” Pat was still screaming as his teammate took to the batting mound. It went Palacco, then David, then Maz. Having two strikeouts lead to your star didn’t seem like a good sign, but Maz was a miracle man. A home run, last bat, and they- They won. The D-Backs won. Maz hit home and the entire game, everything leading up to it erupted in the field and the crowds. The culmination of an entire season, all the stress of the game, the fight, the disappointment of the draft, the love of the team and the camaraderie and support they all show through all this exploded.

Red shirts were glued in a huddle at center field. “For Garvey!” You heard someone yell. Vinnie and Ty came running back on, leaping and whooping. The crowd roared and the cheers rolled over the hills beyond the field. You shook with pride, sure you must have been glowing like the sun looking out upon the victory. Brian looked on the verge of tears, but you couldn’t quite tell through wet eyes of your own. Sound seemed to escape the reality you existed in and all that mattered was the team. Time slowed and your focus went to tunnel vision on a very specific first-time hitter.

Patrick ran over to you the second you set foot on the beaten dirt of the outfield, ambushing you with the tightest embrace you may have ever been in. It took a second but you thrust your arms around him as well as he lifted you from your waist. Holding onto him around his neck, he spun you in tight circles as you both laughed heartily, buried in one another’s soft scents. As he put you down, you started to speak but he cut you off immediately by pushing his face into yours. You did not mind one bit as you resumed your position from earlier, curving against him, your front flat against his chest, hands tugging at his sweaty hair as his limbs slipped down your back. Tracing the dimples at the bottom of your spine, pulling at the hem of your shirt and letting his thumb kiss your skin. His other hand gripped your ass, wanting you impossibly closer. Your open-mouthed kiss was outlined by a smile as you groaned every time he found a new place on your body to caress. Pat was lost in your taste, like lemon cookies and cherry slushies and little league baseball games.

“C’mon, man! Your fucking dad’s here!” Zapata groaned and Palacco smacked his arm with a laugh as the team, those distracted by the couple, made faces and sounds to tease. Barone made a thrusting motion and mouthed ‘Get it!’ as his own girlfriend stood neglected behind him.

The pair of you separated to see the what antics the boys had come up with this time around. Though you thought Pat’s good mood after the win couldn’t be bent, this came awfully close. His grimace was incomparable yet that was just another reason you loved him. Somehow it was still adorable. “He’s right, you know,” you patted your lover’s dusty chest and smiled, “I’ve been hanging out with Mr. Murray the whole game and he probably saw all that.” Pat glanced back at you before looking behind you and quickly, guiltily, pulling his hands from your ass.

‘Perfect timing,’ you thought, as you could guess exactly who it was. Brian was kind enough not to mention anything as he approached his son. The father gave you a pat on the back before embracing his son. The moment was tender as you looked on at the scene of the father/son bonding, albeit a bit awkwardly. Brian held Pat by the shoulders for a moment and they both had shining streaks down their cheeks. You didn’t hear anything that had been said but you smiled softly, overcome with love for the both of them. The graying man approached you next, rubbing your shoulder and giving you a quick hug. “You kids have fun,” he said as he walked back to Joe, “and be safe!” He winked.

“God, your dad-”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Love him, though,” you joined the number 15 player as you followed the others to the snack shack, walking arm in arm, holding as much contact as you could while still being able to walk.

Maz ended up beside you when you all sat at the picnic tables with rainbow sprinkles on vanilla ice cream in a casual post celebration gathering. This gave you the opportunity to congratulate him and at the same time express your sympathies after the draft. “I mean, it’s alright,” he’d said to you, “‘cus this is really what it’s all about right here, you know? I mean these guys-” He laughed gently as David and Palacco ‘lovingly’ assaulted Ty with several scoops of ice cream to the face, “Dad was right. They’re what it’s about. Winning is awesome, don’t get me wrong, but I wouldn’t be here without them and- and it’s all just-” Without getting emotional, he could barely say anymore. “It’s not about me. It’s about family.” John sat back against the table and chuckled.

You patted his knee as you stood. “They wouldn’t be here without you either, Maz. Regardless of where you go from here, everything you’ve done has mattered to someone, to all of them, at least.” Your boyfriend approached you and you said one last thing to the star batter before moving out, “I mean, if you could hear the way Pat talked about you, you’d think you were his girlfriend.” He laughed at this and you grinned knowing he would appreciate it. “Be proud, no doubts, you’re loved, and all that shit.”

“Thanks, [YN],” John nodded happily at you and looked down for a moment at his melting cone dripping on the grass below him. Pat stood next to you now and whispered some suggestive suggestions in your ear. Shooting the younger Mazzello a sorry look he sent you off and waved you and your lover goodbye with a sly grin. “Go on, go have fun. I’ve had enough of the longing looks, get it out of your system.”

Pat laughed lightly and slipped an arm around your waist, furrowing a confused set of eyes at his friend’s comment, then at you. It made him wonder what type of conversation the two of you’d had. He led you towards the parking lot, flipping off the team he left behind as they wolf whistled, making a lot of correct assumptions of what the two of you intended to do in your early departure. You’d left your van parked around the side of the field in the nice shade of a small grove of trees. The keys clicked in the quieter, cooler, fresher air around you. Patrick leaned against the side of the vehicle, one arm up to support himself and the other placed on his hip, ankles crossed. He watched you a bit too intently as you unlocked the cabin of your old car.

“I can feel you looking at me,” you smiled, opening the passenger’s side door to manually reach around and slide open the spacious back of the bus, turning on the car battery in the process. Leaving the keys in the ignition, turning down The Damned, but leaving it loud enough to cover what sounds may come. He watched you do this every time. It came as no wonder to him why your cherished car was in such bad shape as you left the battery running to supply a soundtrack to your lovemaking. Eyes distractedly stalled on your midsection as he looked you up and down, Pat faltered as the car shuddered when the door opened and he was thrown off his balance. He caught himself, though, and shot you a slanted grin.

“You’re just-” He bit his lip, “-so fucking hot, and you’re all mine.” Settling into the cushy, creaking back part of the carriage, you grinned expectantly.

“Am I?” You cocked your head, “Maybe you should remind me again who exactly I belong to.” Dragging every word out, you purposefully teased the impatient man, unbuttoning the top of your shorts slowly.  

Like a switch, something clicked in him. His entire demeanor shifted from his almost toddler-like temper to something much more mature. Sitting spread eagle on the plush blankets you kept in the back for such occasions, you waited. He stared at you darkly, a towering shadow that filled the van’s open portal to the rest of the world. He filled in the empty space, deciding what he wanted to do first, how he would defile you in so many ways and what he would start with.

The interior smelled liked fast food, rubbing alcohol, and sweaty sex. Seeing as the main things you did in this car were eat bad food, try to clean up the stains left behind from said bad food, and, of course, fuck, the medley of scents came as no surprise. Around you were an array of cushions, blankets, and pillows all extremely soft to the touch. Not an inch of the original upholstery could be seen under the collection of plush covers. This made for the ideal landing as Pat pounced on you like a starved jungle cat as you look so very appetizing against the grey of the fur throw you laid on.

With him on top of you, you grabbed his cap and threw it to the side, kicking the door closed with your foot. Already against your lips, Pat straddled you, one hand on your waist and the other your cheek. The tops of your thighs pressed against the backs of his laying sideways in the cramped space. Holding his face to yours, his stiff, sweat dried hair curling between your fingers, you moaned. He smelled hotly of dust and fire, like a childhood summer day. The intimacy of the flood of memories he reminded you of only increased the sensation for you, heightening your attraction to him in a familiar, safe emotion.

His lips moved against yours, both of you sharing the same rhythm like singing along to an old song you never really could forget the words to. Open mouths clashed, teeth hit teeth, tongues knotted with tongues. His eyelashes brushed against your cheek as his wet kisses traveled down your face hitting your chin, your neck, your collarbone. Simultaneously, his hand pushed up your top, the other lifting you to help you pull it off. You let your arms drift above your head as he peeled the first layer off your body. It was only fair you would start unbuttoning his jersey and pulling at it, signaling him to take it off.

Before you could rip his undershirt off, he attached his lips to your neck, sucking hard to leave behind a noticeable deep purple love mark high enough it couldn’t be covered. You could feel his teeth graze your skin in a proud smile as your hot and heavy breaths turned to desperate, squirming moans. You gasped, gripping the fabric over his chest. He was glowing knowing only he could leave you in such a state.

Dragging a hot trail of saliva down your body, Pat stopped at your chest. He pulled away and stared down at your breasts with a shake of his head. “So fucking gorgeous,” he whispered. With one knee on either side of you, he sat up and pulled his red top off. Then he swept back down, suctioned back to your skin. He started behind your ear and peppered bites around your jaw, hands pulling your body to arch, allowing him the opportunity to remove your bra. You threw your head back and shimmied off the upper undergarment.

Your hands skimmed Pat’s bare chest, traveling upwards to his shoulders and past. Palms pressed against the sides of his face, you wiped your thumbs at the smeared eye black on his cheeks. His gaze was tied to your exposed chest and his breathing was heavy and hungry. Lips hanging parted, he slowly looked up at you through hooded lashes.

You smiled at the man hovering above you. Neither of you moved as you established eye contact while Jimi Hendrix played in the background. The van was hot between your bodies and the setting sun shining through the front window. Sweat beaded your forehead and your boyfriend went to push your hair back from your face, damp from the growing heat. “You’re-”

“You’re beautiful,” you finished. He laughed and it was like a Baroque painting before you. In a golden haze, his hair looked soft and he was glowing in muted tones. The tapestry pinned to the ceiling gave a dusty rose background to compliment the halo you saw around him. You pushed his hair back and pulled yourself up to kiss him. He took this chance to explore your body, mapping every inch of your warm, welcoming skin.

His fingertips were calloused and grey, dirt caked in the ridges of his prints, proof of the aftermath of the game. Rough pads walked down the center of your torso, stopping at your breasts. He took one mound in his hand, pinching your nipple between his thumb and his palm, rolling it slowly. You bit your lip and tucked your fingers under the waistband of his baseball pants and briefs, pulling them back and snapping them against his hips. Your eyes hung on the happy trail leading up his stomach. You traced it with the tip of your nail and his dark gaze settled on your face.

From his perspective, you were hidden in the shadows below him, hot and vulnerable. Buds of your breasts perky and hard, the dips of your stomach like a flowing river to your hips where your shorts sat a little too low, you were buried under filters of lust. The retiring sunlight hit the dust particles between you, floating through the air in slow motion like a love scene in an early 2000s, warm-toned, rom-com, the kind you spent Friday nights watching under three different blankets on the couch. You were dreamy, always, but especially now, a hazy, golden goddess.

“I want you, Pat,” you interrupted his daze, stroking his face and pushing his loose hair behind his ear. “Now.”

He blinked at you and grinned. “Oh, let’s go.” You smiled wickedly as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, you wrapped your arms around his back and slipped your hands on his ass. He engulfed you then gripped your shorts and panties, ripping them down all at once. A guttural groan left your throat and you wiggled out of your clothes. Pat had moved to one side of you, maintaining skin on skin contact whenever he could, and kicking off his shoes. Your body arched towards him as he retracted his touch. You shook your pants off your leg and laid baring it all for your lover in the cramped space of the vintage vehicle.

Pat was awestruck as you sat up, spread out for him, back to the driver’s seat. He paused with his pants stopped just high enough not to be truly explicit. You looked on with anticipation, one finger slinking its way between your legs. “Keep going,” you nodded at him. He complied with a lopsided grin and hot, hooded eyes. You rubbed two fingers against your clit and bit your bottom lip as he yanked his pants down, cup painfully sliding over his hard erection. He sat back and pulled off his bottoms, socks included, cock slapping against his stomach as he did so.

You snorted at him, unceremoniously slouched in the back of your small van. The sight was both pleasing and amusing, and far from being unfamiliar. Every time you’ve watched him undress in these four fabric covered walls, it felt the same. It had become something of a post-game ritual, defiling the backspace of your car while the oldies stationed tuned out the lewd sounds you made together.

‘She said, hey babe, take a walk on the wild side’, your lover crawled towards you as you spread your lower lips to welcome him, ‘I said, hey honey, take a walk on the wild side.’ Patrick took in the sight of your glistening sex and licked his lips. He sat back on a plush green throw blanket and pulled you onto his lap with a soft chuckle. He hummed contently at your lips against his ear, tightening his arms around your damp skin. You were straddling him, one arm slung over his shoulder and the other reaching for his member. The pre-cum leaking from his tip spread against your stomach as you pressed onto him, limber fingers wrapped precariously around his length. You pumped him slowly, hanging off his lobe by your teeth. This pulled a whimper from deep inside him, nuzzling against you. Thumb sliding over his head, you dragged the slickness down his shaft and sucked on his neck as he had yours. You were dripping for him and he could feel it. His knuckles went white, gripping your thighs with bruising strength. He nipped at your shoulder, leaving behind wet, fading love bites.

You were jostled as your boyfriend lifted you by your waist so he could easily access your tits, supporting you against the back of the driver’s seat. Pace quickening as your hand slid up and down his cock, his mouth latched onto your nipple, teeth brushing against it as he sucked hard. His thick fingers inside you scissored with fervor and you could feel every bend of his knuckles between your walls. Your free hand held his face against your chest and you moaned. Slowly, the cabin filled with the sweet scents of both yours and his arousal and sweat. You pulled yourself towards him and pulled gently on his hair as he replaced his lips with rolling fingers and paid his attention to your other bud.

“Fuck, Pat,” your breath hitched and you could feel him smile against your breast, “Pat, I want you-”

“I fucking need you, [Y/N],” his breathing was heavy as he detached from your chest, moving to look you in the eyes, “Soon.” It was a pleading look he gave you, far different from his on-field persona. With one last soft squeeze of his erection, you let go. He moaned at the release and you were up on your knees. He looked up at you from between your breasts as you flattened against him.

One of his hands slid between your thighs and your composure faltered, his cold fingers pressing past your nerve center and straight to your hole. He watched your face carefully, one hand on the small of your back, the other letting digit after digit push into your sex easily, slick secretion assisting in his effort to stretch you before his anticipated penetration. Blinking quickly, you twitch your hips at the knuckles deep in your pussy. Patrick grabbed your ass and began going in and out and in and out of your entrance with a quiet slap. To the rhythm of the Bowie song blowing out your damaged speakers, you hump his fingers and ride your rising pleasure ut before you can peak, you’re filled with emptiness.

“You fucking ready for me, babe?” Want was dripping from every syllable of his words as you looked down just in time to see him pull his slick fingers from his mouth, appreciating your taste every chance he could.

“Let’s drag this out, baby, today we got something to celebrate.” You caressed the side of his face and smiled softly. He couldn’t resist your whims and he knew exactly how to make this special.

He laid on his back and pulled you up by your ass, sliding your wetness along his torso. He lifted your waist and you compliantly moved your knees to either side of his head. “Then let me finish you off before we start on the good stuff, hm?” His smile was sexy as he adored you from between your legs, willing to put your sexuality before his need. His arms wrapped around your pillowy thighs, on hand holding your slit open and the other stroking your clit. A shiver ran through you as he lifted his head to break your first contact.

This was his chosen place of worship, kissing your core surrounded by the satin skin of your voluptuous legs. His religion was you on your knees and him on his back, the ecstatic expression you wore his deity. The fluid stained woven rugs and fur throws that shaped the interior of your chosen mode of transportation was the altar he so admired in the temple of you. Your skin was scripture and your acts together sacred, the hard rock you left on the hymns of your love. His metaphor was worn but as the last of the daylight threaded through the fallen waves of your hair, he couldn’t think of any words more true to describe this image of you.

He dove into you, starved of your taste. You were pulled down to his face, feeling his tongue probe the space between your lower lips, sucking at the labia and fully drinking up your nectar. You ground against his tongue, utilizing what he could to maximize your pleasure, the texture of his muscle overwhelming your senses. His nose pressed against your clit as his hands moved to go from grabbing your ass, supporting your waist, then giving his hands’ attention to your breasts. Your nipples were well loved as your pussy continued to be stimulated to the point of pushing you over.

Your whole body curved forwards, gripping his hair and supporting yourself with a fistful of the blanket. Uneven breaths drifted from your open mouth, heaving chest painted with small drops of sweat. Pat’s palm was flat against your back. Your hair flipped out of your line of sight as you threw your head back, lips forming a solid ‘o’. A wave of ecstasy rushed over you in your first orgasm of the evening, a musical moan, broken by sharp breaths. The lover beneath you lapped up every release of your spasming pussy until your curses died down to soft shudders. To avoid overstimulating you, Pat moved from your sensitive mound to drop hot kisses on your inner thighs.

The pulsing of your core subdued as you spent the next minute catching your breath. The van was filled with salty, hot air and Patrick held your midsection tightly as he sucked dark hickies on every inch of your shy skin he could reach. His face was coated in your juices, which was smeared across your legs, both sets of hands, and down your boyfriend’s chest. Letting his tongue glide over a fresh bruise just left in the crux of your crotch, his melted autumn eyes stared up at you with intense lust. He threw his head back when he was satisfied with his work and snorted, “You taste like a Goddamn fucking angel.”

His smile was goofy and gross, the juvenile delinquency of your act written all over his face. It made you feel like a teenager again, sneaking around with the angry boy your parents didn’t like. God, you loved him. You couldn’t help but laugh a bit at the situation. There you were, sitting on your boyfriend's face in the back of your musty van by the neighborhood baseball field and you weren’t even done yet.

You grinned down at him, “Shut up and fuck me, Murray.” The man smiled and sat up, catching you as you fell off him. You grabbed his face and pressed his lips to yours for a moment, tasting your own sticky, semi-sweet love on his lips before he pulled away to reach around you. Popping open the center console compartment with a click, he grabbed a condom and ripped it open with his teeth. “Care to-”

You took the contraceptive from him without letting him finish. He could understand the eagerness in your eyes and moved back expectantly. Holding up the plastic package, you frowned. “I thought we were celebrating?” You tilted your head innocently. Recognition flashed across his face and he raised his eyebrows. For the first time, the mood was broken, a Honda commercial really solidifying it for you.

“Are you- Are you serious? Are you sure?” The sweaty athlete’s eyes were wide at your implication.

You smiled slyly and nodded at him. “I’m on birth control and,” you shrugged, “I trust you not to have any weird, contagious rashes.” He laughed at you, happily, and you joined him.

“I can promise you I have no transmittable diseases, inspect me if you want.” His arms moved out to present himself to you.

You dragged a nail across the length of one of his arms and he cocked a half smile in your direction as he eyes your movements. “I’ve seen plenty.” You grinned and put your hands back on his cheeks, pushing against him in a kiss. Pat was quick to move, but you stopped him, hand flat against his chest. “You need a little prep, first, don’t you?” Slowly, he figured it out and sat back to give you more space to do your deed. Folding over yourself, thighs spread and arousal tickled by the thick woven rug beneath you, your face reached the waiting cock.

All the man could focus on was your long, batting lashes and your ass sticking out behind you. His tip was cold and wet from being untouched, but your spit dripped down it as you kissed the slit briefly. Patrick’s breath was shaky as you licked from the base up to the tip, making eye contact as you did so. His body weight was put on his locked arms behind him, leaning away from you, but he feared one more sex filled look from you would break him and he would collapse.

He nearly did when you first took him into your hot mouth. A groan vibrated through him and you felt it in your connection. Slowly at first, sparingly, you bobbed up and down on his length, soft lips sliding over every ridge and every vein. “Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck-” You picked up speed with his encouraging curses. Head thrown back, your lover focused on not cumming right then and there, doing his best to save himself for what came next, but Goddamn it, [Y/N], he thought. He’d let you know him far too well if you could break him into so many pieces so quickly. Tongue scraping at the side of the sensitive skin, balls being treated with care in your hands, and the pace leaving him a sputtering mess- You name filled the compartment like a rolling sea fog, all your senses overcome with his apparent need for you. His scent, his sounds, his taste- hot and salty. Seeing his chest rising with labored breaths, you decided he was getting too close and hilted him in your throat as best you could for a moment, teeth grazing his base and your nose buried in his happy trail, before pulling off at a painstaking pace, detaching from him with a ‘pop’, a string of saliva falling from between you.

It took a quiet moment for him to get his bearings at the disappointing cutoff. The drops of sweat sliding down the sides of his face were tinted with red from the adobe colored dirt he’d spent so much time on. Sitting back up and leaning towards him, you went to wipe the moisture away and he held your hand to his face, kissing your palm with closed eyes. He saved his high and gave you a quick, and ironically chaste, kiss before pushing aside discarded clothing articles and repositioning the two of you so he was above you once again. He took you by your middle and moved you to the side, growing increasingly impatient, seemingly recovered from his edge. Holding firmly to your ribs as he laid you down before him, he then pulled away to admire you again.

Under a young night sky, you were the only star he saw. Glowing in a post-orgasmic haze against the shadows cast by street lamps, you were a constellation of an impossible creature. Contrasting the true space you both existed in, his view of you was divine. Every beautiful thing in the heavens and the earth, he saw in you.

“Pat?” You furrowed your eyes in concern at his momentary stillness.

He blinked the clouds from his eyes. “God, sorry, fuck-” Shaking his head, he smiled slightly, “I got so fucking lucky. I may not be able to get a hit but, uh-” He chuckled before completing his favorite line, “You sure are a catch.” He winked and you gently kicked him in the shoulder. Catching your ankle, he held your leg up and held it over his shoulder as he moved to position himself at your open hips. “C’mon, it’s my best line.”

You impatiently rolled your eyes. “Are you gonna fuck me or not?” You motioned to your waiting sex, ready and slick for him. “I’m waiting-”

“-And I’m ready!” Patrick held up his free hand defensively before grabbing your hip with bruising strength. His dripping, neglected tip sat waiting at your entrance. His tone turned serious, “Are you?”

His genuine asking was comforting and you nodded quickly. His position over you turned you on even more, if possible, loving that he could see you melt in his hand and drip between his fingers. With one hand holding your leg up and the other stroking his excited cock, preparing to enter you. The sparkling space between your welcoming thighs glistened in the little bit of moonlight making its way into the vehicle. He slid his thumb through the wetness and you groaned in need. He chuckled at your response and you squirmed against the soft fabrics you’d been set on.

It was the moment of final satisfaction that you’d been building to all afternoon in the back of your sex-soaked bus. Your eyes were trained on his focused downward gaze and you could feel him press into you. It was a pleasant stretch you looked forward to but it was different this time, void of the protection you’d so cautiously used. You felt unequivocally full, natural, and satisfying like you were made to fit together like this. Scary, but exciting, this new sensation left you unable to control your breathing. Sharp inhalations were a sign to him he was doing something good. Pushing into you was easy with how much arousal dripped your sex, all the fluids of the night mixing together for a pleasurable experience. In and out, he took his time deepening the contact, holding tight to your hips, a nice pain shooting through you when he squeezed the old yellowed bruises he’d left behind from past rendezvous. Your eyes focused on him when they were closed in ecstasy, hands swiping furiously at your clit or alternating between your breast. Pat was in awe at the bolts of hot pleasure that traveled up his body at the raw feeling of you around him, tight, wet, and warm. He thought sex couldn’t get any better, especially not with you, but he was wrong. He felt every dip and fold of your tunnels against the ridges of his own skin.

You were sleeved around him as he picked up speed. Grunts fell from his pouting lips every time his hips slapped against yours. The sound could be heard over the still playing radio in the front seat. It seemed the amount of teasing the two of you subjected each other to left little resilience to the sudden relief of penetration as your boyfriend’s rate jumped from calculated, appreciative thrusts to messy, needy, heavy ones in a matter of minutes. “You feel-” He groaned as he hilted in you again, balls deep to the pleasure of both of you, “So fucking amazing-” The words barely came out. You tried to formulate a response but the heat filling your abdomen stopped you. What came out instead was a gurgled moan of agreement. Smiling at the sights and the sounds you produced, Pat was absolutely enamored by you in this new sensation. Tits bouncing as you shook with his slamming thrusts, your eyes rolling back with guttural groans from deep inside you.

Drawing from that pit of white-hot pleasure, you neared your peak and a higher pitched plead cam as a warning to your partner, “Can’t- Fuck, Pat- Almost there-” He got the message and the two of you shook together, his whispers of ‘me too, me too’ barely heard through the whimpers. No longer could sounds be differentiated from one source or the other as your bodies melted together in a moment of bliss. For the first time, the vehicle noticeably shook in your passionate lovemaking. His hands slipped down your legs, attention drifted from your clit to your navel to your hair as he doubled over to float parallel above you. Sweat from his tiring body rained on you and you pulled him closer. His face was buried between your ear and shoulder, biting away curses as he humped through his high.

“Fuck, that’s it-” The sliding stopped as his back arched first, pressing so hard into your crux, you were sure your entire lower half would be purple by the next morning. His member pulsed inside you and you could feel it swell with anticipation before your own pussy milked him for all he was worth. Streams and streams of hot, white pleasure flowed into you and you swallowed a scream. The sound that managed to escape was otherworldly and Pat loved it. You’d never felt this before, his love directly inside you, hot sloshing, liquid driving you past your point of return. You thought maybe it hadn’t been the physical sensation but the idea of how intimate the action was that had really given you your final orgasm. Either way, you had simultaneously arched against him and he held you up by your back as you squeezed with every muscle. Nails dragging down his spine, no doubt leaving red territorial marks down his sides as you rode out the ocean of intensity that washed over you. It made you curl your toes and tense your appendages around your lover like a boa constrictor and their prey.

Love came gushing from your connection and pooled beneath the small of your back, sinking into the layers of covers that cushioned the two of you from the hard vehicle floor. You didn’t think about the mess you’d made or the unfortunate task of cleaning it up and instead focused on the weight on top of you. Still, inside you, Patrick’s cock twitched as he’d nearly collapsed over you. The rhythm of your breathing synced with his and your pussy pulsed sorely, your entire body sensitive and raw. A shiver ran through your bones as you felt the hot mouth of the body blanketing your’s suction onto your neck one last time, licking over its handy work with a weak laugh. Your fingers laced through his damp hair and you turned your cheek to kiss his.

Your eyes were watering, maybe from the tense situation or the exhaustion that suddenly overwhelmed you now that the wire strings of arousal no longer hold you up. Pat felt the same way as he slowly pulled out of you and you winced. On his side next to you, you felt him pull you closer, nestling into your equally wet and disgusting hair. The entire car smelled awful and hot, the windows were grey and fogged up, blankets beneath you covered in God knows what. Closing your legs and turning towards the warmth beside you, you nestled into him, the feeling of your post-coital calmness was immortalized in the music you’d left on. ‘Goodbye stranger, it’s been nice. Hope you find your paradise.’

Maybe the lyrics weren’t a perfect fit, but somehow the melody found it’s way beneath your hot skin and soothed you. You remained this way for, you weren’t sure how long. Time seemed lost to the two of you then. Engulfed in his arms, you felt safe. The scene was grimy and explicit, your nakedness blending together, the leftover ejaculate dripping from your slit without care, the stained and discarded undergarments left unnoticed and hanging off the steering wheel. It wasn’t clean or safe, but for the two of you, it was nice. What that said about your situation, you didn’t care. This was your heaven.

“Good morning, Orange County! And what a lovely morning it is! We’d like to start the day with a little Springsteen, huh?” A hard drum intro led into a twangy guitar and the sonorous voice of Bruce Springsteen, ‘In the day we sweat it out on the streets of a runaway American dream. At night we ride through the mansions of glory in suicide machines.’

“Is it weird,” you’d said, “knowing all the boys are well aware of what we do? Including your dad?” You laughed a bit, leaning against him, still bare, under a furry quilt. The carriage of the vehicle creaked at your movements, audible now that it wasn’t masked by the heavy breathing of your fucking. The bohemian tapestry behind you shrouded the rising sun from your sensitive eyes, half open in a dream-like state.

Patrick planted a quick kiss in your hair, “I like they know you’re mine.” He took a deep breath, “And my dad can fuck off.”

After a pause, you looked at him and erupted in laughter. “He’s pretty cool, you know, for having to deal with a kid like you.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

‘Wendy let me in I wanna be your friend, I want to guard your dreams and visions. Just wrap your legs 'round these velvet rims and strap your hands 'cross my engines.’

Brian glanced at the phone as he prepared his breakfast. He was sure his son was fine, he’d gone nights without calling before, but by morning he usually had a message waiting for him. He tried not to think about what may have distracted him in order to keep down his first meal of the day. The radio played in the background.

‘Girls comb their hair in rearview mirrors and the boys try to look so hard. The amusement park rises bold and stark, kids are huddled on the beach in a mist. I wanna die with you Wendy on the street tonight in an everlasting kiss.’

The groundskeeper stared on worriedly at the shaking VW bus that had been parked behind the trees since before he’d gotten there in the small hours of the morning. “Fucking teenagers, disgusting,” he shook his head and turned away, earphones back in as he started up the lawnmower.

‘Oh honey, tramps like us, baby, we were born to run.’

#she has a voice!!! #new blog #joe mazzello #film #fanfic #undrafted #reader insert #not queen #joe mazzello x reader #patrick murray #pat murray #pat murray x reader #smut #loml #my angory boi #nut #have at it ya filthy animals #music #here she is!!! #playlist

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15h17 - Trem para Paris filme : The 15:17 to Paris é um filme de drama estadunidense de 2018 dirigido por Clint Eastwood e escrito por Dorothy Blyskal, baseado na autobiografia The 15:17 to Paris: The True Story of a Terrorist, a Train, and Three American Soldiers, de Jeffrey E. Stern, Spencer Stone, Anthony Sadler e Alek Skarlatos. Estrelado pelos autores da obra original, estreou em seu país de origem em 9 de fevereiro.

Elenco: Spencer Stone - ele mesmo[5] Anthony Sadler - ele mesmo[5] Alek Skarlatos - ele mesmo[5] Mark Moogalian - ele mesmo[6] Isabelle Risacher Moogalian - ela mesma Judy Greer - Joyce Eskel Jenna Fischer - Heidi Skarlatos Ray Corasani - Ayoub El-Khazzani Chris Norman - ele mesmo P. J. Byrne - Mr. Henry Tony Hale - Coach Murray Thomas Lennon - Michael Akers Jaleel White - Garrett Walden Vernon Dobtcheff Matthew Barnes

filme dathe: Direção Clint Eastwood Produção Clint Eastwood Jessica Meier Tim Moore Kristina Rivera Roteiro Dorothy Blyskal Baseado em The 15:17 to Paris: The True Story of a Terrorist, a Train, and Three American Heroes, de Jeffrey E. Stern Spencer Stone Anthony Sadler Alek Skarlatos Música Thomas Newman Christian Jacob Cinematografia Tom Stern Edição Blu Murray Companhia(s) produtora(s) Warner Bros. Pictures[4] Village Roadshow PicturesMalpaso Productions Distribuição Warner Bros. Pictures Lançamento 9 de fevereiro de 2018 Idioma língua inglesa

15h17 - Trem para Paris filme completo dublado: 8 de março de 2018 / 1h 34min / Drama, Suspense Direção: Clint Eastwood Elenco: Spencer Stone, Anthony Sadler, Alek Skarlatos Nacionalidade EUA

SINOPSE E DETALHES Quando um terrorista invade o trem n° 9364 da Thalys a caminho de Paris, três amigos norte-americanos - Anthony Sadler, Alex Skarlatos e o piloto da Força Aérea Spencer Stone - se esforçam para imobilizar o extremista, armado com um fuzil AK-47, e evitar uma enorme tragédia.

Título original: The 15:17 to Paris Distribuidor: WARNER BROS.

os detalhes do site que você pode visitar em nosso site:

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[draculalive]

Mina Harker's Journal.

Later. -- He has come and gone. Oh, what a strange meeting, and how it all makes my head whirl round! I feel like one in a dream. Can it be all possible, or even a part of it? If I had not read Jonathan's journal first, I should never have accepted even a possibility. Poor, poor, dear Jonathan! How he must have suffered. Please the good God, all this may not upset him again. I shall try to save him from it; but it may be even a consolation and a help to him -- terrible though it be and awful in its consequences -- to know for certain that his eyes and ears and brain did not deceive him, and that it is all true. It may be that it is the doubt which haunts him; that when the doubt is removed, no matter which -- waking or dreaming -- may prove the truth, he will be more satisfied and better able to bear the shock. Dr. Van Helsing must be a good man as well as a clever one if he is Arthur's friend and Dr. Seward's, and if they brought him all the way from Holland to look after Lucy. I feel from having seen him that he is good and kind and of a noble nature. When he comes to-morrow I shall ask him about Jonathan; and then, please God, all this sorrow and anxiety may lead to a good end. I used to think I would like to practise interviewing; Jonathan's friend on "The Exeter News" told him that memory was everything in such work -- that you must be able to put down exactly almost every word spoken, even if you had to refine some of it afterwards. Here was a rare interview; I shall try to record it verbatim.

It was half-past two o’clock when the knock came. I took my courage à deux mains and waited. In a few minutes Mary opened the door, and announced "Dr. Van Helsing."

I rose and bowed, and he came towards me; a man of medium weight, strongly built, with his shoulders set back over a broad, deep chest and a neck well balanced on the trunk as the head is on the neck. The poise of the head strikes one at once as indicative of thought and power; the head is noble, well-sized, broad, and large behind the ears. The face, clean-shaven, shows a hard, square chin, a large, resolute, mobile mouth, a good-sized nose, rather straight, but with quick, sensitive nostrils, that seem to broaden as the big, bushy brows come down and the mouth tightens. The forehead is broad and fine, rising at first almost straight and then sloping back above two bumps or ridges wide apart; such a forehead that the reddish hair cannot possibly tumble over it, but falls naturally back and to the sides. Big, dark blue eyes are set widely apart, and are quick and tender or stern with the man's moods. He said to me:---

"Mrs. Harker, is it not?" I bowed assent.

"That was Miss Mina Murray?" Again I assented.

"It is Mina Murray that I came to see that was friend of that poor dear child Lucy Westenra. Madam Mina, it is on account of the dead I come."

"Sir," I said, "you could have no better claim on me than that you were a friend and helper of Lucy Westenra." And I held out my hand. He took it and said tenderly:---

"Oh, Madam Mina, I knew that the friend of that poor lily girl must be good, but I had yet to learn -- -- " He finished his speech with a courtly bow. I asked him what it was that he wanted to see me about, so he at once began:---

"I have read your letters to Miss Lucy. Forgive me, but I had to begin to inquire somewhere, and there was none to ask. I know that you were with her at Whitby. She sometimes kept a diary -- you need not look surprised, Madam Mina; it was begun after you had left, and was in imitation of you -- and in that diary she traces by inference certain things to a sleep-walking in which she puts down that you saved her. In great perplexity then I come to you, and ask you out of your so much kindness to tell me all of it that you can remember."

"I can tell you, I think, Dr. Van Helsing, all about it."

"Ah, then you have good memory for facts, for details? It is not always so with young ladies."

"No, doctor, but I wrote it all down at the time. I can show it to you if you like."

"Oh, Madam Mina, I will be grateful; you will do me much favour." I could not resist the temptation of mystifying him a bit -- I suppose it is some of the taste of the original apple that remains still in our mouths -- so I handed him the shorthand diary. He took it with a grateful bow, and said:---

"May I read it?"

"If you wish," I answered as demurely as I could. He opened it, and for an instant his face fell. Then he stood up and bowed.

"Oh, you so clever woman!" he said. "I knew long that Mr. Jonathan was a man of much thankfulness; but see, his wife have all the good things. And will you not so much honour me and so help me as to read it for me? Alas! I know not the shorthand." By this time my little joke was over, and I was almost ashamed; so I took the typewritten copy from my workbasket and handed it to him.

"Forgive me," I said: "I could not help it; but I had been thinking that it was of dear Lucy that you wished to ask, and so that you might not have time to wait -- not on my account, but because I know your time must be precious -- I have written it out on the typewriter for you."

He took it and his eyes glistened. "You are so good," he said. "And may I read it now? I may want to ask you some things when I have read."

"By all means," I said, "read it over whilst I order lunch; and then you can ask me questions whilst we eat." He bowed and settled himself in a chair with his back to the light, and became absorbed in the papers, whilst I went to see after lunch chiefly in order that he might not be disturbed. When I came back, I found him walking hurriedly up and down the room, his face all ablaze with excitement. He rushed up to me and took me by both hands.

"Oh, Madam Mina," he said, "how can I say what I owe to you? This paper is as sunshine. It opens the gate to me. I am daze, I am dazzle, with so much light, and yet clouds roll in behind the light every time. But that you do not, cannot, comprehend. Oh, but I am grateful to you, you so clever woman. Madam" -- he said this very solemnly -- "if ever Abraham Van Helsing can do anything for you or yours, I trust you will let me know. It will be pleasure and delight if I may serve you as a friend; as a friend, but all I have ever learned, all I can ever do, shall be for you and those you love. There are darknesses in life, and there are lights; you are one of the lights. You will have happy life and good life, and your husband will be blessed in you."

"But, doctor, you praise me too much, and -- and you do not know me."

"Not know you -- I, who am old, and who have studied all my life men and women; I, who have made my specialty the brain and all that belongs to him and all that follow from him! And I have read your diary that you have so goodly written for me, and which breathes out truth in every line. I, who have read your so sweet letter to poor Lucy of your marriage and your trust, not know you! Oh, Madam Mina, good women tell all their lives, and by day and by hour and by minute, such things that angels can read; and we men who wish to know have in us something of angels' eyes. Your husband is noble nature, and you are noble too, for you trust, and trust cannot be where there is mean nature. And your husband -- tell me of him. Is he quite well? Is all that fever gone, and is he strong and hearty?" I saw here an opening to ask him about Jonathan, so I said:---

"He was almost recovered, but he has been greatly upset by Mr. Hawkins's death." He interrupted:---

"Oh, yes, I know, I know. I have read your last two letters." I went on:---

"I suppose this upset him, for when we were in town on Thursday last he had a sort of shock."

"A shock, and after brain fever so soon! That was not good. What kind of a shock was it?"

"He thought he saw some one who recalled something terrible, something which led to his brain fever." And here the whole thing seemed to overwhelm me in a rush. The pity for Jonathan, the horror which he experienced, the whole fearful mystery of his diary, and the fear that has been brooding over me ever since, all came in a tumult. I suppose I was hysterical, for I threw myself on my knees and held up my hands to him, and implored him to make my husband well again. He took my hands and raised me up, and made me sit on the sofa, and sat by me; he held my hand in his, and said to me with, oh, such infinite sweetness:---

"My life is a barren and lonely one, and so full of work that I have not had much time for friendships; but since I have been summoned to here by my friend John Seward I have known so many good people and seen such nobility that I feel more than ever -- and it has grown with my advancing years -- the loneliness of my life. Believe, me, then, that I come here full of respect for you, and you have given me hope -- hope, not in what I am seeking of, but that there are good women still left to make life happy -- good women, whose lives and whose truths may make good lesson for the children that are to be. I am glad, glad, that I may here be of some use to you; for if your husband suffer, he suffer within the range of my study and experience. I promise you that I will gladly do all for him that I can -- all to make his life strong and manly, and your life a happy one. Now you must eat. You are overwrought and perhaps over-anxious. Husband Jonathan would not like to see you so pale; and what he like not where he love, is not to his good. Therefore for his sake you must eat and smile. You have told me all about Lucy, and so now we shall not speak of it, lest it distress. I shall stay in Exeter to-night, for I want to think much over what you have told me, and when I have thought I will ask you questions, if I may. And then, too, you will tell me of husband Jonathan's trouble so far as you can, but not yet. You must eat now; afterwards you shall tell me all."

After lunch, when we went back to the drawing-room, he said to me:---

"And now tell me all about him." When it came to speaking to this great learned man, I began to fear that he would think me a weak fool, and Jonathan a madman -- that journal is all so strange -- and I hesitated to go on. But he was so sweet and kind, and he had promised to help, and I trusted him, so I said:---

"Dr. Van Helsing, what I have to tell you is so queer that you must not laugh at me or at my husband. I have been since yesterday in a sort of fever of doubt; you must be kind to me, and not think me foolish that I have even half believed some very strange things." He reassured me by his manner as well as his words when he said:---

"Oh, my dear, if you only know how strange is the matter regarding which I am here, it is you who would laugh. I have learned not to think little of any one's belief, no matter how strange it be. I have tried to keep an open mind; and it is not the ordinary things of life that could close it, but the strange things, the extraordinary things, the things that make one doubt if they be mad or sane."

"Thank you, thank you, a thousand times! You have taken a weight off my mind. If you will let me, I shall give you a paper to read. It is long, but I have typewritten it out. It will tell you my trouble and Jonathan's. It is the copy of his journal when abroad, and all that happened. I dare not say anything of it; you will read for yourself and judge. And then when I see you, perhaps, you will be very kind and tell me what you think."

"I promise," he said as I gave him the papers; "I shall in the morning, so soon as I can, come to see you and your husband, if I may."

"Jonathan will be here at half-past eleven, and you must come to lunch with us and see him then; you could catch the quick 3:34 train, which will leave you at Paddington before eight." He was surprised at my knowledge of the trains off-hand, but he does not know that I have made up all the trains to and from Exeter, so that I may help Jonathan in case he is in a hurry.

So he took the papers with him and went away, and I sit here thinking -- thinking I don't know what.

#vampires #vanhelsing #dracula #draculalive

[tabloidtoc]

Us, February 18

Cover: Hayden Panettiere -- Why She Gave Up Her Daughter 

Page 1: Red Carpet -- Gina Rodriguez 

Page 2: Red Carpet -- Red Dresses -- Amy Adams, Emma Stone, Emily Blunt, Jessica Chastain, Emma Roberts 

Page 3: Danai Gurira, Sandra Bullock, Amber Valletta, Claire Foy, Cate Blanchett 

Page 4: Who Wore It Best? Camila Mendes vs. Eva Longoria, Rita Ora vs. Kaia Gerber, Naomi Campbell vs. Christina Ricci 

Page 6: Please don’t wear leather 

Page 8: Style Chameleon -- Anne Hathaway 

Page 10: Loose Talk -- Priyanka Chopra Jonas on Nick Jonas, Regina Hall on getting confused with Regina King, Jake Gyllenhaal on his haircut for Velvet Buzzsaw, Viola Davis on menopause, Zoe Kravitz on Reese Witherspoon 

Page 13: Contents 

Page 14: Hot Pics -- Super Bowl LIII -- Adam Levine and Maroon 5, Travis Scott 

Page 15: Gisele Bundchen and Tom Brady and daughter, Cardi B, Taran Killam 

Page 16: Erykah Badu, Rachel Bilson, Jaime King, Tracy Morgan and Jimmy Kimmel and Dave Salmoni and Shirley the Sloth

Page 17: Rosario Dawson and Gina Rodriguez, Frances Bean Cobain and Ellen Pompeo and Michelle Visage and RuPaul and Carson Kressley on RuPaul’s Drag Race All Stars 

Page 18: Snoop Dogg, Iskra Lawrence

Page 19: Beth Stern and Rosanna Scotto, Jerry O’Connell and Rebecca Romijn 

Page 20: A look back at Grammys past 

Page 22: Sundance Stunners -- Jeff Goldblum, Tessa Thompson, Lupita Nyong’o and Josh Gad, Viola Davis and Mckenna Grace 

Page 23: Demi Moore and Ed Helms, Blythe Danner and John Lithgow 

Page 24: Stars They’re Just Like Us -- Maisie Williams, Joshua Jackson, Malin Akerman 

Page 25: Nicky Hilton, Chrissy Teigen, Jennifer Garner, Rebecca Gayheart 

Page 28: John Legend’s mini-me Miles 

Page 30: Hollywood Dads -- Dax Shepard on his family 

Page 31: Maksim Chmerkovskiy and Peta Murgatroyd’s son does gymnastics, Jeremiah Brent wants 50 more kids, Offset’s daughter Kulture keeps them up

Page 32: Love Lives -- Taraji P. Henson wants to marry fiance Kelvin Hayden 

Page 33: Michael B. Jordan and Kiki Layne new couple alert, Rene Russo and Dan Gilroy make the perfect team, Jessie James Decker finds it easy to keep things spicy with husband Eric Decker 

Page 34: David Foster and Katharine McPhee are not getting married anytime soon, Dane Cook and Kelsi Taylor seriously in love, Kellan Lutz and Brittany Gonzales have babies on the brain 

Page 36: Channing Tatum and Jenna Dewan custody talks have become challenging and emotional 

Page 37: Introducing Beckinson -- Kate Beckinsale and Pete Davidson, romance rumors are swirling around Celine Dion and her dancer Pepe Munoz, Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt have had two in-person meetings

Page 38: After two documentaries shed light on just how disastrous the Fyre festival was Instagram influencers like Emily Ratajkowski and Kendall Jenner and Bella Hadid who were reportedly paid six figures to promote it now feel awful about it, Jenni “JWoww” Farley’s divorce turns nasty, Perect Valentine’s Plans -- Dascha Polanco, Sean and Catherine Lowe, David Harbour, Bishop Briggs, Teddi Mellencamp

Page 39: Jussie Smollett’s shocking attack, VIP Scene -- Busy Philipps, Diddy, Lady Gaga and Christian Carino, Jenna Bush Hager, Blake Lively and Ryan Reynolds, Bill Murray, Drew Barrymore, Penn Badgley 

Page 40: What’s in My Bag? Phoebe Robinson 

Page 41: Meghan Markle and Prince Harry Royal Baby Watch -- Time to pick the royal godparents 

Page 42: Cover Story -- Hayden Panettiere’s sad spiral

Page 46: Jennifer Aniston turns 50 

Page 50: Kesha and Lady Gaga -- their story of survival 

Page 52: Colton Underwood, the virgin bachelor -- is he telling the truth 

Page 56: Style -- Bargain Bling 

Page 58: Beauty -- Maggie Gyllenhaal, Sofia Vergara 

Page 60: Charcoal 

Page 62: Bangs -- Sandra Oh, Constance Wu, Elizabeth Olsen 

Page 64: Norman Reedus on The Walking Dead 

Page 66: Suits, Buzzzz-o-meter -- Emma Roberts, Gwyneth Paltrow, Khloe Kardashian’s daughter True, Jennifer Aniston

Page 67: Sundance Film Festival 

Page 70: Fashion Police -- Kat Graham, Kristin Scott Thomas, Kate Nash

Page 71: Bo Burnham, Celine Dion, Ann Dowd 

Page 72: 25 Things You Don’t Know About Me -- Taylor Schilling

#tabloid #hayden panettiere #meghan markle

[iscreenscenes]

The Panic in Needle Park, 1971

Directed by Jerry Schatzberg Cinematography by Adam Holender Art direction by Murray P. Stern

#al pacino #kitty winn #movie stills #film stills #adam holender

[maizeofloverp]

Full name: Roxanne Macy “Rocket” Faraday 

Age: 30

Birth date: January 6, 1988

Gender & pronouns: Female, she/her

Affiliation: Civilian

Occupation: Owner of Rise & Grind

Faceclaim: Tessa Thompson

B i o g r a p h y »

There’s no cocktail of events that turn a person into someone like Rocket. Young, but wise. Beautiful, but approachable. Kind, but scathing. Rocket, is a unique individual. Two parents, naturally, and raised as an only child, she had little in the way of family members. Her father, Murray, died when she was seven, and her mother, Helen, found it hard to cope. Instead of curling into herself she found solace with her uncle. Her father’s brother, Don, was the kind of man all people wish they had in their life. The original owner of Rise & Grind, Don became father to Rocket, teaching her all the things a young woman needs to make it in the world.

It helped that Roxanne, who got the nickname Rocket from a teacher who described her wit as a rocket of fury and humour, was always intelligent. Top of her class from Kindergarten through to College, Rocket developed a keen interest in one basic thing - people reading. She managed to understand that if you could watch a person, if you could study, you could beat them or make them a better person. Despite a strange not living in Muddy Waters and then living there, and then not, Rocket has always had a hard relationship with the town. Corruption did nothing for her, her time studying in NYC made her realise that most places have crime but only one place in the US had that level of corruption.

Upon the death of her uncle, she became the sole benefactor of his earthly goods and for two years has been working away as the owner of the Rise & Grind, for a young woman to run a business in the middle of a civil war of gangs is no small task, but what keeps her going, what drives her is her knowledge of the world in which she lives. The cellar of R&G has so much in the way of dirt of the town, and will not stop digging.

P e r s o n a l i t y »

Rocket is sarcastic, keeping her self to herself, not really connecting with people out of a strange for of self preservation. Though she knows ways to help people, and can on occasion be a rather caring, compassionate person, she keeps that side reserved for people who manage to burrow past her harsh barbs and stern outer side. In reality, on her own, Rocket is just plain scared, she knows people aren’t safe in Muddy Waters, she knows people can get killed for getting involved and she knows that it was something that scared her uncle too, so she does nothing outward to rock the boat, but inside, in her head she continues to look into things, to protect herself and the few she actually grows to like.

Played by Paul

#rocket faraday #watcher #taken #female #civilian

[tremparaparis-filmehdportu]

▷▷ASSISTIR 15h17 - Trem para Paris FILME COMPLETO DUBLADO [2018] ONLINE DUBLADO E LEGENDADO EM HD GRÁTIS

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Watching a film that is 15h17 - Trem para Paris and we must appreciate ||15h17 - Trem para Paris FILME ||15h17 - Trem para Paris ONLINE

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15h17 - Trem para Paris filme : The 15:17 to Paris é um filme de drama estadunidense de 2018 dirigido por Clint Eastwood e escrito por Dorothy Blyskal, baseado na autobiografia The 15:17 to Paris: The True Story of a Terrorist, a Train, and Three American Soldiers, de Jeffrey E. Stern, Spencer Stone, Anthony Sadler e Alek Skarlatos. Estrelado pelos autores da obra original, estreou em seu país de origem em 9 de fevereiro.

Elenco: Spencer Stone - ele mesmo[5] Anthony Sadler - ele mesmo[5] Alek Skarlatos - ele mesmo[5] Mark Moogalian - ele mesmo[6] Isabelle Risacher Moogalian - ela mesma Judy Greer - Joyce Eskel Jenna Fischer - Heidi Skarlatos Ray Corasani - Ayoub El-Khazzani Chris Norman - ele mesmo P. J. Byrne - Mr. Henry Tony Hale - Coach Murray Thomas Lennon - Michael Akers Jaleel White - Garrett Walden Vernon Dobtcheff Matthew Barnes

filme dathe: Direção Clint Eastwood Produção Clint Eastwood Jessica Meier Tim Moore Kristina Rivera Roteiro Dorothy Blyskal Baseado em The 15:17 to Paris: The True Story of a Terrorist, a Train, and Three American Heroes, de Jeffrey E. Stern Spencer Stone Anthony Sadler Alek Skarlatos Música Thomas Newman Christian Jacob Cinematografia Tom Stern Edição Blu Murray Companhia(s) produtora(s) Warner Bros. Pictures[4] Village Roadshow PicturesMalpaso Productions Distribuição Warner Bros. Pictures Lançamento 9 de fevereiro de 2018 Idioma língua inglesa

15h17 - Trem para Paris filme completo dublado: 8 de março de 2018 / 1h 34min / Drama, Suspense Direção: Clint Eastwood Elenco: Spencer Stone, Anthony Sadler, Alek Skarlatos Nacionalidade EUA

SINOPSE E DETALHES Quando um terrorista invade o trem n° 9364 da Thalys a caminho de Paris, três amigos norte-americanos - Anthony Sadler, Alex Skarlatos e o piloto da Força Aérea Spencer Stone - se esforçam para imobilizar o extremista, armado com um fuzil AK-47, e evitar uma enorme tragédia.

Título original: The 15:17 to Paris Distribuidor: WARNER BROS.

os detalhes do site que você pode visitar em nosso site:

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Watching a film that is 15h17 - Trem para Paris and we must appreciate ||15h17 - Trem para Paris FILME ||15h17 - Trem para Paris ONLINE

transmitir e transferir filme : https://bit.ly/2ZNBas3

15h17 - Trem para Paris filme : The 15:17 to Paris é um filme de drama estadunidense de 2018 dirigido por Clint Eastwood e escrito por Dorothy Blyskal, baseado na autobiografia The 15:17 to Paris: The True Story of a Terrorist, a Train, and Three American Soldiers, de Jeffrey E. Stern, Spencer Stone, Anthony Sadler e Alek Skarlatos. Estrelado pelos autores da obra original, estreou em seu país de origem em 9 de fevereiro.

Elenco: Spencer Stone - ele mesmo[5] Anthony Sadler - ele mesmo[5] Alek Skarlatos - ele mesmo[5] Mark Moogalian - ele mesmo[6] Isabelle Risacher Moogalian - ela mesma Judy Greer - Joyce Eskel Jenna Fischer - Heidi Skarlatos Ray Corasani - Ayoub El-Khazzani Chris Norman - ele mesmo P. J. Byrne - Mr. Henry Tony Hale - Coach Murray Thomas Lennon - Michael Akers Jaleel White - Garrett Walden Vernon Dobtcheff Matthew Barnes

filme dathe: Direção Clint Eastwood Produção Clint Eastwood Jessica Meier Tim Moore Kristina Rivera Roteiro Dorothy Blyskal Baseado em The 15:17 to Paris: The True Story of a Terrorist, a Train, and Three American Heroes, de Jeffrey E. Stern Spencer Stone Anthony Sadler Alek Skarlatos Música Thomas Newman Christian Jacob Cinematografia Tom Stern Edição Blu Murray Companhia(s) produtora(s) Warner Bros. Pictures[4] Village Roadshow PicturesMalpaso Productions Distribuição Warner Bros. Pictures Lançamento 9 de fevereiro de 2018 Idioma língua inglesa

15h17 - Trem para Paris filme completo dublado: 8 de março de 2018 / 1h 34min / Drama, Suspense Direção: Clint Eastwood Elenco: Spencer Stone, Anthony Sadler, Alek Skarlatos Nacionalidade EUA

SINOPSE E DETALHES Quando um terrorista invade o trem n° 9364 da Thalys a caminho de Paris, três amigos norte-americanos - Anthony Sadler, Alex Skarlatos e o piloto da Força Aérea Spencer Stone - se esforçam para imobilizar o extremista, armado com um fuzil AK-47, e evitar uma enorme tragédia.

Título original: The 15:17 to Paris Distribuidor: WARNER BROS.

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[pulpfest]

In addition to such classics as H. Rider Haggard's "The Ancient Allan" -- originally serialized by CASSELL'S MAGAZINE OF FICTION in 1919 -- Mary Gnaedinger also published new fiction by leading writers of science fiction and fantasy. Some of the authors that she published included Ray Bradbury, August Derleth, Henry Kuttner, Murray Leinster, C. L. Moore, and others. Haggard's Allan Quatermain story appeared in the December 1945 issue of FAMOUS FANTASTIC MYSTERIES, behind a cover by Lawrence Sterne Stevens. Next week, we'll take a step back and look at Popular's original science fiction pulps, ASTONISHING STORIES and SUPER SCIENCE STORIES. In the meantime, visit our homepage to read about this summer's PulpFest. We're planning to hold in August 6 - 9 in Mars, PA when we'll salute Ray Bradbury. https://www.instagram.com/p/B-ib4kTosc5/?igshid=1qxmxntejh0ou

[historichollywoodphotographs]

Hollywood & Vine: Intersection of the Stars

“When Harry S. Truman announced on August 14, 1945 that World War II with Japan was over, the nation and Hollywood went wild.  Rushing from offices, stores, and homes, thousands of people poured into the streets. In the midst of sirens, whistles, auto horns and screaming, the streets were snowed with confetti. Servicemen and civilians snake danced through the jumbled crowds while singing ‘Hail, hail, the job’s all done’. An impromptu parade formed that paralyzed traffic. Clanging streetcars tried to fight their way through the masses of humanity. Strangers clapped one another on the back.  Servicemen kissed every pretty girl they met, and the girls kissed back.” ~ Bruce Torrence

Where did this happen? At Hollywood and Vine! The storied intersection has become enshrined in public imagination, a symbol of Hollywood itself. It has witnessed many iconic events, including the celebration of VJ Day at the end of WWII and various celebrity achievements along the Walk of Fame. Located at the east end of the Hollywood Boulevard Commercial and Entertainment District (listed in the National Register of Historic Places), the intersection is a legendary destination to experience the significance of Hollywood’s influence on the nation’s popular culture.

Three of the four corners are occupied by some of Hollywood’s most significant architectural treasures to boot: the Taft Building, Equitable Building, and Broadway Building. These three highrises, each built in the 1920s to a height of 150 feet, the allowable limit of the time, are central to the history of the street. Their construction celebrated the financial health of Hollywood as it was becoming the “movie capital of the world.” The Taft (1923, architects Walker and Eisen, Classical Revival) was primarily an office building with ground floor retail. The Equitable (1929, Aleck Curlett, Gothic Art Deco) housed a bank and entertainment related offices; the Broadway, originally the BH Dyas Department Store, served the public with luxury goods (1927, Frederick Rice Dorn, Classical Revival; 1938 International style addition by John and Donald Parkinson). Its iconic rooftop sign remains today.

The land around the intersection was developed by the Taft, Beesemeyer, Christie, Stern, Strong and Palmer families. Originally devoted to agriculture, the area was later subdivided to take advantage of the new commercial possibilities presented by the burgeoning movie industry. The families determined to strengthen the eastern end of the Hollywood business district by promoting Vine Street as a major north-south artery running from the Los Angeles business district through Hollywood to the San Fernando Valley. Their Vine Street Improvement Association widened the street, adding curbs and sidewalks with the intent of forming a business and scenic route. Vine connected to the Cahuenga Pass via Yucca and Franklin at the northern end of the route, becoming Rossmore Ave as it proceeded south to Wilshire Blvd through Hancock Park.  

The architectural treasures clustered at Hollywood and Vine and the surrounding environs are no accident. While each is a stunning example of a particular architectural style and the work of significant architects of the day, the collection of structures as a whole are a testament to the larger vision of the city’s builders and developers, as well as those in the film industry whose profits further fueled construction efforts. The building’s varied styles were also no coincidence: certain styles came to personify certain functions – retail, entertainment, and finance.  

On the north side of the intersection, the area’s developers successfully secured a federal grant to build a post office. The building, demolished in the 1980s, was replaced by the Redbury Hotel (now hClub Los Angeles). S.H. Woodruff, one of the developers of Hollywoodland, in collaboration with the Tafts, financed the sophisticated Churrigueresque Hollywood Playhouse designed by Gogerty and Weyl next door at 1735 Vine. The playhouse served as a legitimate theater, later becoming home to Ken Murray’s Blackouts variety show. It’s currently known as the Avalon and continues as an entertainment venue to this day. Gogerty and Weyl also built another highrise just up the block in 1929 called the Yucca Vine Tower (6305 Yucca). The Art Deco structure almost literally points the way to the San Fernando Valley, as it is situated on that primary “Five Fingers” route connecting the Hollywood Commercial District to the Valley via the Cahuenga Pass. Twenty-five years later, Lou Naidorf of Welton Becket Associates, designed one of Hollywood’s most famous buildings of all, the Capitol Records Tower at 1750 Vine.  

On the southwest side, gentleman rancher Jacob Stern, who leased some of his property to filmmakers in 1912 in an effort to spark the film industry’s move to Hollywood, built the Plaza Hotel at 1637 Vine (1924, Walker and Eisen, Renaissance Revival). He also invested in the Vine Street Theater (now the Montalban Theater) at 1615 Vine. In 1925, Frank Strong and other investors secured the Stern property and replaced his Mission Revival residence with the BH Dyas highrise. “This advance from an orange orchard to a metropolitan business section in a little over five years was purely the result of intelligent cooperative effort,” said historian Edwin Palmer.  

The investments on Vine Street were matched on the adjacent blocks of Hollywood Boulevard. In 1929, Alexander Pantages hired B. Marcus Priteca to design an Art Deco masterpiece at 6233 Hollywood Blvd., just east of the Equitable Building. One of Hollywood’s most fabled “movie palaces”, the Pantages Theater continues to be one of the most vital legitimate theaters in Los Angeles today. West of Vine, Sardi’s Restaurant was designed by architect Rudolph Schindler to complement the Streamline Moderne Laemmle Building (1932, Richard Neutra) and the 12-story Beau Arts office Guaranty Building (1923, John C. Austin and Frederick Ashley), conveniently situated just a block from the other Hollywood and Vine highrises on the corner of Ivar.  

Today, new construction supplements this prestigious part of Hollywood’s historic core. The W Hotel and metro station complex surrounds the Taft Building to the east and south, encompassing the former location of the Brown Derby Hollywood restaurant, and a new parking structure separates the Plaza from the Montalban. Even with all the recent development, this historic intersection continues to showcase examples of architecture from Hollywood’s Golden Age, hopefully for several more generations to come.  

~ Christy McAvoy, Historic Hollywood Photographs

Sources: Bruce Torrence archives; E. O. Palmer History of Hollywood v.1 p. 224; HBCED NRHP nomination 1985.

#historic hollywood photographs #hollywood photos #history #hollywood and vine #architecture #streetscape #walk of fame #vj day

[peterbromley]

FOR YOUR CONTEMPLATION Where is grass greenest? Bill Murray, actor, comedian, golfer and much more, on self development. (In an interview with Howard Stern.) “But there’s a lot I’m not doing that I need to do. ....Like working on yourself for self development, or just becoming more of a person. Not more of a person, but more myself.” Later in this interview Mr. Stern asks where Murray’s great love is: “I don’t know. Maybe someday. But I have to do this other thing, and if I am not really committing myself really well to that, it’s better that I don’t have another person. It’s not to diminish the relationship with a woman. I just can’t take another relationship when I am not taking care of the things I really need to take care of most.” Mr. Stern then asks, “Why are you not taking care of that?” Mr. Murray responds, “what stops us from looking at ourselves is that we’re kind of ugly if we look really hard. We’re not who we think we are. We’re not as wonderful.” PB Note: excellent observations - authentically expressed, with one correction: we realize we are far more wonderful and ordinary and limitless and whole when we dissolve the eclipse of unconsciousness that diminishes, undermines, sabotages everything. Though profoundly challenging, perhaps lasting a lifetime, it is life’s purpose and gift (though too often that’s a struggle to believe when stripped of everything you once thought important. The grass is only greener when you know and embody what it means to be fully human. (From book by Howard Stern, “Howard Stern comes again,” which presents interviews with his favourite guests.) . . . . #howardstern #billmurray #wisdom #selfknowledge #selfdevelopment #selfawareness #secondcity @nbcsnl #humility #values #relationship #simonandshuster #hollywood #entertainment #enlightenment #golf #teacher #student #monday #mondaymotivation #highperformance #clearlightevolution #world @siriusxm @sternshow #peaceofmind (at Nova Scotia) https://www.instagram.com/p/Byz6FyJHoLR/?igshid=vbv5xhpp2dnj

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