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#john napoleon darling
animusrox · 1 month
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TOP 10
Past Lives
Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse
How to Blow Up a Pipeline
Poor Things
Oppenheimer
Barbie
BlackBerry
The Holdovers
The Iron Claw
Killers of the Flower Moon
MY LETTERBOXD Grade A 11.    The Killer 12.    Beau Is Afraid 13.    Dream Scenario 14.    Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 15.    Godzilla Minus One 16.    American Fiction 17.    They Cloned Tyrone 18.     Evil Dead Rise 19.    Eileen 20.    The Artifice Girl 21.   Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem 22.    Talk to Me 23.    Reality 24.    Leave the World Behind 25.    A Thousand and One 26.    Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning Part One 27.    Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret. 28.    Theater Camp 29.   Carmen 30.    Merry Little Batman 31.    Priscilla 32.    Society of the Snow 33.    Infinity Pool 34.    Enys Men 35.    Sanctuary 36.    Rye Lane 37.    Skinamarink 38.    Monster 39.    Anatomy of a Fall 40.    Landscape with Invisible Hand 41.    Reptile 42.    Sisu 43.    Pinball: The Man Who Saved the Game 44.    No One Will Save You 45.    Tetris 46.    May December 47.    The Zone of Interest 48.    V/H/S/85 49.    Dumb Money 50.    El Conde 51.    Arnold 52.    Maestro 53.    Napoleon 54.    20 Days in Mariupol 55.    Influencer 56.    The Creator 57.    Origin 58.    Thanksgiving 59.    Next Goal Wins 60.    The Boy and the Heron 61.    Bottoms 62.    Wonka
[Press Keep Reading For The Full Graded List]
Grade B
63.   God Is a Bullet 64.    No Hard Feelings 65.    Joy Ride 66.    Fair Play 67.     Cocaine Bear 68.    NYAD 69.    Asteroid City 70.    Nowhere 71.    The Angry Black Girl and Her Monster 72.    Divinity 73.    The Equalizer 3 74.    The Last Voyage of the Demeter 75.    Venus 76.    Butcher’s Crossing 77.    Somewhere in Queens 78.    The Persian Version 79.    Boston Strangler 80.    Polite Society 81.    Miguel Wants to Fight 82.    The Color Purple 83.    The Royal Hotel 84.    Saw X 85.    All of Us Strangers 86.    Fallen Leaves 87.    Ferrari 88.    Elemental 89.    Peter Pan & Wendy 90.    Renfield 91.    Cat Person 92.    Scream VI 93.    The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes 94.    BS High 95.    Blue Beetle 96.    Huesera: The Bone Woman 97.    When Evil Lurks 98.    Dark Harvest 99.    A Good Person 100.    Final Cut 101.    Knock at the Cabin 102.    Quiz Lady 103.    Leo 104.    Air 105.    The Super Mario Bros. Movie 106.    Batman: The Doom That Came to Gotham 107.    John Wick: Chapter 4 108.    Beaten to Death 109.    The Wrath of Becky 110.    Passages 111.    Transformers: Rise of the Beasts 112.    Gran Turismo 113.    65 114.    Sick 115.    Sister Death 116.    The Blackening 117.    Please Don’t Destroy: The Treasure of Foggy Mountain 118.    Flamin’ Hot 119.    Nimona 120.    Cobweb 121.    Totally Killer 122.    What’s Love Got to Do with It? 123.     Sharper 124.    Unseen 125.    Dunki 126.    Bird Box Barcelona 127.    The Marvels 128.    Shazam! Fury of the Gods
Grade C
129.   Wildflower 130.    Freelance 131.    M3GAN 132.    Strays 133.    Sympathy for the Devil 134.    Creed III 135.    Chevalier 136.    The Marsh King’s Daughter 137.    A Haunting in Venice 138.    The Little Mermaid 139.    Silent Night 140.    Master Gardener 141.    The Flash 142.    Fast X 143.    The Pope’s Exorcist 144.    Saltburn 145.    Kandahar 146.    Stand 147.    Plane 148.   Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny 149.    Fingernails 150.    Quicksand 151.    Fool’s Paradise 152.    Migration 153.    Rustin 154.    The Covenant 155.    Good Burger 2 156.    The Pod Generation 157.    Alice, Darling 158.    Insidious: The Red Door 159.    Missing 160.    Shotgun Wedding 161.    You Hurt My Feelings 162.    The Boogeyman 163.    Showing Up 164.    Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom 165.    Champions 166.    Consecration 167.    The Nun II 168.    Biosphere 169.    House Party 170.    The Exorcist: Believer 171.    Big George Foreman 172.    Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves 173.    Children of the Corn 174.    The Beanie Bubble 175.    Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania
Grade F
176.    Anyone But You 177.    Marlowe 178.    Paint 179.    Extraction 2 180.    It Lives Inside 181.    Deliver Us 182.    Trolls Band Together 183.    Finestkind 184.    Corner Office 185.    Wish 186.    Prisoner’s Daughter 187.    Pain Hustlers 188.    Foe 189.    The Mother 190.    Old Dads 191.    Ghosted 192.    Ruby Gillman, Teenage Kraken 193.    Haunted Mansion 194.    Mafia Mamma 195.    Five Nights at Freddy’s 196.    The Machine 197.    Justice League: Warworld 198.    We Have a Ghost 199.    What Comes Around 200.    Legion of Super-Heroes 201.    The Boys in the Boat 202.    Attachment 203.    Operation Fortune: Ruse de Guerre 204.    About My Father 205.    You People 206.    Meg 2: The Trench 207.    Pathaan 208.    Rebel Moon - Part One: A Child of Fire 209.    Assassin 210.    Dalíland 211.    Vacation Friends 2
Bottom 10
212.    Sound of Freedom 213.    Winnie the Pooh: Blood and Honey 214.    When You Finish Saving The World 215.    Heart of Stone 216.    Family Switch 217.    Expend4bles 218.    Sweetwater 219.    Hypnotic 220.    80 for Brady 221.    Spinning Gold
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ashhearthelps · 6 months
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Below the cut will be a masterlist of names taken from Disney Animated Films. Next to each name will be the movie the character was in. The movies included in this list are :: The Aristocats, Alice In Wonderland, Cinderella, Lady and the Tramp/Scamps Adventure, Sleeping Beauty, Bambi, Peter Pan/Return To Neverland, Tarzan, Beauty and the Beast, The Many Adventures of Winnie The Pooh, and Robin Hood. There are 29 female names, 34 male names, and 29 gender neutral names. This is part 1 out of ??? I haven't decided how many of these I will do, but I'm guessing at least 2 - maybe 3.
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Female Names.
Abigail. - The Aristocats.
Adelaide. - The Aristocats.
Alice. - Alice in Wonderland.
Amelia. - The Aristocats.
Anastasia. - Cinderella.
Annette. - Lady and the Tramp.
Aurora. - Sleeping Beauty.
Belle. - Beauty and The Beast.
Cinderella. - Cinderella.
Collette. - Lady and the Tramp.
Drizella. - Cinderella.
Duchess. - The Aristocats.
Ena. - Bambi.
Fauna. - Sleeping Beauty.
Flora. - Sleeping Beauty.
Flower. - Bambi.
Jane. - Tarzan & Peter Pan Return to Neverland.
Kala. - Tarzan.
Lady. - Lady and the Tramp.
Leah. - Sleeping Beauty.
Marie. - The Aristocats.
Mary. - Cinderella & Peter Pan.
Merryweather. - Sleeping Beauty.
Perla. - Cinderella.
Sarah. - Lady and the Tramp.
Suzy. - Cinderella.
Tiger Lily. - Peter Pan.
Tinker Bell. - Peter Pan & Tinkerbell Movies.
Wendy. - Peter Pan.
Male Names.
Adam. - Beauty and the Beast.
Archimedes. - Tarzan.
Bill. - Alice in Wonderland.
Bruno. - Cinderella.
Christopher. / Christopher Robin. - The Many Adventures of Winnie The Pooh & other films.
Diablo. - Sleeping Beauty.
Edgar. - The Aristocats.
Edward. - Peter Pan Return to Neverland.
Gaston. - Beauty and the Beast.
George. - Peter Pan.
Georges. - The Aristocats.
Gus/Octavius. - Cinderella.
Hubert. - Sleeping Beauty.
Jaq/Jacques. - Cinderella.
Jim Dear / Jim. - Lady and the Tramp.
Jock. - Lady and the Tramp.
Joe. - Lady and the Tramp.
John. - Robin Hood & Peter Pan.
Lucifer. - Cinderella.
Michael. - Peter Pan.
Maurice. Beauty and the Beast.
Napoleon. - The Aristocats.
Otto. - Robin Hood.
Peter. - Peter Pan.
Philip. - Sleeping Beauty.
Phillipe. - Beauty and the Beast.
Richard. - Robin Hood.
Roquefort. - The Aristocats.
Samson. - Sleeping Beauty.
Stefan. - Sleeping Beauty.
Tarzan. - Tarzan.
Thomas. - The Aristocats.
Tony. - Lady and the Tramp.
Waldo. - The Aristocats.
Gender Neutral.
Angel. - Lady and the Tramp Scamps Adventure.
Bambi. - Bambi.
Berlioz. - The Aristocats.
Briar. / Briar Rose. - Sleeping Beauty.
Casey. - Dumbo.
Cheshire. - Alice in Wonderland.
Clayton. - Tarzan.
Danielle. - Lady and the Tramp.
Danny. - Peter Pan Return To Neverland.
Darling. - Lady and the Tramp.
Dinah. - Alice in Wonderland.
Eeyore. - The Many Adventures of Winnie The Pooh & other films.
Faline. - Bambi.
Flynt. - Tarzan.
Gopher. - The Many Adventures of Winnie The Pooh & other films.
Kanga. - The Many Adventures of Winnie The Pooh & other films.
Lafayette. - The Aristocats.
Maleficent. - Sleeping Beauty.
Marian. - Robin Hood.
Peg. - Lady and the Tramp.
Rabbit. - The Mandy Adventures of Winnie The Pooh & other films.
Robin. - Robin Hood.
Roo. - The Many Adventures of Winnie The Pooh & other films.
Si. - Lady and the Tramp.
Slightly. - Peter Pan.
Thumper. - Bambi.
Tigger. - The Many Adventures of Winnie The Pooh & other films.
Toby. - Robin Hood.
Toulouse. - The Aristocats.
Winnie. - The Many Adventures of Winnie The Pooh & other films.
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agentnico · 1 year
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Most Anticipated Movies 2023
Though the COVID pandemic can still be referenced within the film realm as the recent Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery does, the movie industry itself has now seemingly fully recovered from those lockdown days and we now get to enjoy the full might of Hollywood and indies yet again. As such 2023 is proving to be a stacked yet for movies. There’s a lot of them! So many! Many of which will most likely be crap, but here I am listing the ones I am most excited for. Again, come end of 2023 and prepped for disappointment for a lot of these, but as of right now I am full of hopes and dreams! So, in no particular order...
HONOURABLE CURIOUS MENTIONS: Oppenheimer, Next Goal Wins, The Old Way, Wonka, Mission Impossible - Dead Reckoning: Part One, Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse
John Wick: Chapter 4 - It simply doesn’t get better than seeing Hollywood sweetheart the beautiful Keanu Reeves plays an unkillable hitman who is able to kill a man with a single pencil or a book or any item at his disposal, let alone give him a gun. Those headshots then come at the speed of a Call of Duty pro-player! So obviously I want to see what’s next for Mr Wick.
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Killers of the Flower Moon - Let the Brendan Fraser renaissance continue! It’s been absolutely adorably awesome seeing him back and looking so happy and pleased to be appreciated for how amazing he is! I mean, yes Killers of the Flower Moon also happens to be a new crime drama from one of cinema’s greats Martin Scorsese featuring a cast including Leonardo DiCaprio and Robert de Niro, but honestly I’m just happy seeing Fraser getting solid work again. Go get them tiger! 
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Operation Fortune: Ruse de Guerre - Technically this was originally slated as an early 2022 release, however due to distribution issues it has been moved a year later. Regardless, Guy Ritchie always makes slick gangster flicks, with his recent The Gentlemen being especially cool and badass, so I’m willing to see Ritchie continue making these types of films as many times as he wants, as long as his dialogue stays sharp and Hugh Grant keeps saying “Darling” during every appearance.
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The Super Mario Bros. Movie - Setting aside the controversial lack of effort that Chris Pratt is putting into that Mario voice, this animated effort from Universal and Illumination is actually looking surprisingly enjoyable. The animation looks great and there are some great nostalgic call backs to the games, and even the voice cast (aside from Pratt) are all sounding great. That Bowser voice from Jack Black - woah!! Can’t wait to hear more of that! 
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Napoleon - Ridley Scott is doing a movie about Napoleon, and Napoleon himself is played by Joaquin Phoenix. Great director, superb actor, an integrally interesting historical figure at the narrative centre... what’s not to be excited for!
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Knock at the Cabin - M. Night Shyamalamalamalamadingdong is back with another plot twist. Look, M Night is very hit-and-miss, and when he’s great he’s great, but when he’s bad he’s bad in a fun way. His last film Old was filled with plot-holes, inconsistencies and ridiculous narrative choices, yet I had a ball watching it and pointing out all the obvious foreshadowing. And then Shyamalan is also responsible for The Happening, which, well, happened. Anyway, new Shyamalan film - gimme gimme gimme!
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Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 - Before James Gunn fully takes over the running of DC films (though he already took Henry Cavill as Superman away from us the monster!!!) he still has one Guardians film from Marvel left for us. And though I was not a fan of Vol. 2, the recent Holiday Special has reinstated my hope in this ragtag space-travelling group of outcasts, and Gunn himself has been on a roll with The Suicide Squad and Peacemaker, so they’ve got this. Also Rocket has an otter girlfriend in this one so I’m ready to witness some animal loving. 
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Barbie - Okay, so it’s okay for a guy to look forward to a Barbie movie?? What’s so wrong with that?? It’s not weird! I don’t have a thing for dolls if that’s what you’re thinking. Nope, in fact I am more hoping that similar to how The Lego Movie managed to take a famous toy and create a superbly meta entertaining movie classic, Barbie shows promise to also go against conventional genre tropes and do something different weird. At least judging from that 2001: A Space Odyssey piss-take of the teaser, Greta Gerwig and Noah Baumbach have created something real unique. Also Ryan Gosling as Ken.....either the greatest casting choice or the worst decision ever. We’ll see...
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Renfield - Nicolas Cage is a worldwide treasure, and one thought that him playing himself in a movie was the craziest thing yet. Nah, now he’s playing Dracula. Yep, THE Nicolas Cage is playing THE Count Dracula! And this time he really is a vampire!
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Cocaine Bear - It’s a bear that’s high off it’s tits on cocaine and is going on a murderous rampage whilst trying to get more cocaine. I don’t need this to be a good movie. I don’t need it to win any awards. I just want there to be bears, I want there to be cocaine, and ideally those two to be connected for the entire time. What’s more is this is based on the real life story of a 175lb black bear who ingested a duffel bag of abandoned cocaine in northern Georgia in 1985. I mean yes that bear died fairly quickly, but in the movie they’ve evidently taken some creative choices (and definitely the correct ones!!) and instead this bear is simply killing everyone left and right and being high as a kite. And from that recent trailer from the very first appearance you can tell that this bear is on cocaine. That is all I want. 
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ohctranscripts · 2 years
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Naughty Till New Years: Sixthly, the Flea Talks
Narrator: In the grand ballroom, at the top of the Eiffel Tower, the red velvet curtains part, and suddenly, the giant On-Air sign above the stage lights up!
[Music starts]
John: Broadcasting from the top of the Eiffel Tower, the Orbiting Human Circus of the Air!
Narrator: We start things off where we last left John Cameron…
[John laughs]
Crawling around on his hands and knees.
John: Oh, god.  I don’t ask much of you!  Where are you?
[Applause]
Blood-sucking bastard.
Narrator: The whole world is waiting on the flea.
[Drums start in rhythm with applause]
And in the fashionable cafes beside the Seine, there’s an unfashionable silence as they listen!
Woman: You know, darling, I’m not really sure that there was a flea at all!
Narrator: And as they listen in the bagel bakeries of Brooklyn, the bagel bakers have stopped baking!
Man: What’s this?  No flea?  Yeah!
Narrator: In the bedrooms of the teenagers in the cities…
Teen 1: What happened?
Teen 2: Dad!
Narrator: At the washbasins of farmhouses…
Child 1: Is a flea the best thing in the world?
Child 2: I think he is.
Child 1: He’s not coming on!
Narrator: But why wouldn’t a small and sensitive soul come out to sing on the Orbiting Human Circus?  Likely insults about one’s stature aside, is it possible that one might be… humiliated?  Let us think back.  Have there been any other stories of invitations to go onstage and sing on the Orbiting Human Circus? Why, yes!  There was one involving the janitor himself!  What was it he told Coco?
Julian: They had a stage hypnotist on the show, like my great-grandpa used to be.
Narrator: That’s right!
Julian: A professor of hypnosis.
Narrator: And, to fill the time in between demonstrations as the hypnotist put new subjects under, John Cameron announces on the air that he’d overheard the janitor singing.  And he called Julian onto the stage.
John: I give you Julian, janitor at the Eiffel Tower!
[Applause]
Julian, come on out.
[Light laughter, then heavier laughter]
Julian: He wanted me to sing.
Narrator: At first, it had felt quite wonderful.  Here’s how the janitor said Laeticia described it!
Laeticia: I don’t know.
Neighbor: [Mumbling] …delicious.
Narrator: While preparing dinner with her downstairs neighbor…
Laeticia: Ze audience, they love it!  They—they are trowing zese roses down onto ze stage, and, uh, dey are piling up at his feet.  Is like a triumph, you know?  Like, uh, Napoleon or something.
Neighbor: Just like Napolean.
Narrator: But here was how he said stagehand Jacques described it to stagehand Francois, who’d been out with the flu.
Jacques: All the time… he’s just been hypnotized.
Narrator: The janitor hadn’t really been singing, but had in reality been making sounds like a baby seal.
Jacques: And the audience didn’t applaud at all.  It’s laughing.  He freaks out, he runs outta the room, he goes right to his shower.  This kid, he smashes the fuckin’ walls with his bare hands!  I mean, he’s a beast, I couldn’t believe it, I didn’t think the kid had it in ‘im.  He fuckin’ knocked holes in the wall, tiles flyin’, it’s awesome, I’m tellin’ you!
[Jazzy music]
Narrator: Jacques tends to exaggerate, but the truth in this case is not in the details.  All we really need to know is that the adventure ended with the janitor accidentally hypnotizing everybody in the theater.  Jacques…
Jacques: It was like floatin’ on a happy cloud.  You just standin’ there, like a mountain range.
Narrator: Laeticia…
Laeticia: And, er, then that was the last thing I remember.  [Laughs]
Narrator: And all Paris.
Laeticia: People are dumb.  Also, er, they cannot remember they are missing a window of time.  They are like, er, they remember listening to the show, and then they remember, like, er, they wake up with, like, with a glass of milk in their hand.  Like, in their pajamas, like in front of the, er, refrigerator.
Neighbor: Oh, my god.
Laeticia: We were in trouble with the network.
President: One cannot allow a janitor to ruin an international radio broadcast!  It simply isn’t done!
Narrator: After which, the president of the Perpetual Broadcasting Corporation had an idea.
President: The board has met and come upon a solution.
John: I can’t wait to hear it.
President: We are going to chain a polar bear to your microphone podium to keep the janitor away!
John: What?
President: Effective immediately.
John: A polar bear?
President: A polar bear.
John: But sir—
President: The decision has been made…
[Arguing voices fading]
Narrator: Which got loose.
[Roaring]
John: Ladies and gentlemen, please be calm!
[Screaming]
Play some music!
[Music starts]
Narrator: Who maimed the janitor…
Julian: Mr. Cameron, no!
Narrator: Attacked the audience…
Laeticia: John, get back!
Narrator: And disappeared into Paris, never to be heard from again.  And, to this day, parents all over France use the polar bear as a threat to get their children to come in at night.
Child: [Speaking French, crying]
Parent: If you don’t come in right now, will the polar bear get you?  Absolutely.
Narrator: So you can see why a small soul might take some pause when invited to sing on the Orbiting Human Circus by John Cameron.  And while the flea hid, the whole world waiting for him, the theater in pandemonium, and the stagehands searching madly, chief stagehand Laeticia Saltier and crew carpenter Lily confined their search to the dressing room area.
Lily: Okay, does the flea have a name?
Laeticia: Mm…
Lily: I wish I had this kinda opportunity to go on out there.  I mean, I can understand you get scared, you see these people, they scared, we scared, everybody—
Laeticia: Terrifying.
Lily: Yes!  But… he has to do his walk out on the stage…
Laeticia: Yeah.
Lily: Open his mouth…
Laeticia: Mm-hm.
Lily: And sing for the world.  Make ‘em happy.  The world is crazy right now, we could use some happy right now.  Give me a chance, you know I would.
Laeticia: I know you would.
Lily: You know I would.  But I don’t sound like a flea though.
Laeticia: Only the flea sounds like a flea.
Lily: That’s it.
Narrator: Meanwhile, in the heating duct behind the stage, the janitor has just discovered the flea hiding in his sock!  It’s crawled around to the outside of his sock.  If he just moves quickly, he can trap it with his cupped palm.  The janitor pounces all at once, and he’s got it!  Oh, but it leaps out of his hand further down the duct towards the exit.  The janitor leaps after him…
Julian: Ah!
Narrator: He could just barely reach him!  He—
[Grunting]
We will return in just a moment.
[Christy Gressman break]
Narrator: We have returned to the heating duct behind the stage where the janitor, with a heroic leap—
[Bang]
Has trapped the flea against the heating duct wall!
Julian: I know you’re mad at Mr. Cameron, I know.  Listen.  He hasn’t always been the way that he is now.  Something happened to him.  And I think it wasn’t his fault, and it made him the way that he is.
Narrator: But, at that very moment, Jacques, Pierre, and Lily were peering into the mouth of that heating duct from the backstage storage area!
Jacques: It’s in there.
Pierre: We should go in.
Jacques: You guys hear that?  Somethin’s goin’ on in there, somethin’ fishy is goin’ on in there.
Pierre: Yeah, yeah.
Jacques: I’m goin’ in.
Pierre: Yeah, send the tough guy in.
Jacques: Okay.
Lily: Yeah, yeah.
[Duct creaking]
Pierre: Come on, Jacques.  Come on.  There you go.
Jacques: Guys, I think I’m stuck.  I, uh… I can’t move.
Pierre: He has a six pack.
Lily: Yeah, we gonna have to deflate his six pack.  [Laughing]  I might have a hairpin or somethin…
Jacques: Can you grab my leg please?
Narrator: Meanwhile, on stage…
[Applause]
John: Find it, just find it…
[Louder] Ladies and gentlemen, singing fleas are great.  Are they?  Singing fleas are great and all, especially multiplatinum-selling superstar fleas that—well, they make us all feel like any one of us could do it, too, am I right?  There’s just nothing to it, there’s nothing to it, like anyone could simply get up on stage and spew entertainment all over us, like there’s no hard work, like there’s no decades of honing a craft.  Half my life!  And finally, you’ve got the whole world’s attention right there in the palm of your hands and you don’t even want it.  In the palm of your hand.  And the next thing you know, you’re flat on your face because you can’t even hold on to a flea anymore!
You ever been there?
Narrator: Just how many of those uncharacteristic drinks did he have in his dressing room?  An audience member stands up in the front row.
Audience member: Bring out the flea!
John: I’ll give you something to flee.
Narrator: John Cameron approaches the audience member with a wild look in his eyes, his arms extended to strangle!  He’s—
[Scream]
Suddenly the janitor bursts onto the stage!
Julian: …Cameron, Mr. Cameron, Mr. Cameron!
Narrator: He grabs the host, pulling his hands from the throat of the audience member!
John: What!
Julian: I have the flea!
John: You… you have the flea?
Julian: It was in my sock.
John: It was in your sock?
Julian: Here.
John: You have the flea.  This is—Julian, I love you!
[Kissing sound]
Narrator: John Cameron rushes up to the microphone, his palm extended right up to it.
John: Ladies and gentlemen, here he is!
[Music swell]
The flea tenor!
[Music starts]
Narrator: And the flea’s song fills the ballroom at the top of the Eiffel Tower, and goes out into the night, reaching radios!
In the fashionable cafes beside the Seine, they put down their forks.
[Clink]
Julian-voice: Into the river Thames…
Narrator: And in the bagel bakeries of Brooklyn, the bagel bakers listen…
[“Julian” singing in the background]
Baker: This is a new world.  I love this.
Baker 2: Yeah!
Narrator: And in the cities, the teenage girls look at their fathers and smile.
Father: Turn it up!
Teenager: We can listen together if you want.
Narrator: And in the farmhouses, the farm children huddle closer together.
Child 1: I still think he’s cute.
Child 2: He’s a flea!
Narrator: And they are happy.
And in the wings of the stage at the broadcast ballroom, Lily, Jacques, and Pierre look on.
Lily: I like it.
Jacques: Nice.
Lily: Yeah.
Pierre: Gorgeous.
Lily: He does sound like, um…
Jacques: There’s somebody, right?
Lily and Pierre: Yeah.
Narrator: And on the other side of the stage…
Laeticia: Yeah, it reminds me…
Neighbor: Somebody, who is it?
Laeticia: Like, um…
[Sigh]
Yes, zat’s beautiful.  Mm-hm.
Jacques: It’s kinda, you know, it’s kinda moving, I guess, is the word I would use.
Lily: It’s, it’s…
Narrator: But none of them can remember who the flea’s singing reminds them of.  And on stage, John Cameron, his arm extended out to the microphone, smiles the practiced smile of the professional.  But if one looks closely, one can see that he is not happy.  And the janitor standing beside him sees this and does not look happy either.
[Applause]
The janitor makes his way off stage and through the crowd backstage, and [Music stops] out of the broadcast ballroom.  He climbs out on the girders and crawls up the side of the tower to his special spot at the tower’s very tip.
[Metallic footsteps]
He needs to be alone.
But, as soon as he gets there, he feels a bite on his left forearm.
[Julian moans]
He puts his hand on the place and comes up with… the flea in his palm!  He looks at it.  It looks up at him and speaks.
Flea: Hello there.
Julian: Uh…
Flea: I sang like you wanted me to.  I did it for you.  Not for anybody else.
Julian: You… you can talk?
Flea: That is Mr. Chouinard’s line.  Of course I can speak.  I can even do impressions, you wanna hear one?
Julian: Yeah.
Flea: [Clears his throat, then as John] Why me?  Why… do I have to stand there holding a flea up to a mic while it sings?
Julian: Oh, my god, it’s Mr. Cameron.
Flea: Uh-huh.  How ‘bout this one?  [Clears throat, as Laeticia] Hmmm…
Julian: Oh, it’s Laeticia!
Flea: [As Laeticia] Oh, John.
[Julian laughs]
Julian: You were in his dressing room.
Flea: I can also do him singing.  You wanna hear it?
Julian: Yes!
[Music starts, flea clearing his throat then singing as John]
Flea: [As John] Hear laughs, laughed last.  Hear words, spoke last. This old year stands again…
Narrator: Is that a tear rolling down the janitor’s cheek?  It can’t be…
Flea: [As John] This old year stands again…
This old year…
Julian: Oh, my god.  He’s the one.
Narrator: He stares at the flea in the palm of his hand.  He—he places it down gingerly on a girder, and without looking back, begins climbing down the tower as fast as he can.  He reaches the deck and jumps down.  The tower is quiet.  The crowd has gone now, the show long-ago ended.  Suddenly he hears something!
[Glass breaking]
A crashing sound!  Going to investigate, he finds John Cameron talking on the Eiffel Tower payphone.  He hides close, listening.
John: Oh, jeez, so good to hear your voice.  You know that piggy bank I keep backstage?  Well, I broke it open, took all you.  I’m standing on shards of ceramic pig.  Oh, sweetie, I’m glad you liked it.  Oh, genius?  Genius?  Um…  Oh, how do I throw my voice, yet sing so beautifully?  That’s right, there was no flea, I just threw my voice, and…  Oh, you liked the funny part?  Oh, that’s, yeah, that was my favorite part, when the flea didn’t come out.  Oh, you like when I strangled the audience member?  Yeah, that was, uh, okay, I’ll accept brilliant, but I, uh… No, I actually feel wonderful because I’m speaking to you.  Mm-hm.  You’re my movie star.  Aw, baby.  Come here.  Closer to the phone, mm-hm.  You know, I’ve gone to see your movie twenty times now at the cinema.  Mm-hm.  I go every day in the afternoons.  I’ve seen you kiss Joan Blondelle twenty times.  No, it doesn’t bother me at all, there’s no one I’d rather see kiss Joan Blondelle twenty times.  Mm-hm.  God, I miss you so much.  What happened?  How did you end up there and I ended up here imprisoned in this tower, like Rapunzel?  We had Naughty Till New Year’s, we were gonna be together, that was our plan, what?  No, I’m seriously asking you.  What happened? …Julian?  Wh—I… well, he’s actually at the Eiffel Tower, he’s the janitor here, didn’t that—isn’t that crazy?
Narrator: And there, the story stopped.  He could not continue.  It’s the janitor I speak of.  He’d been telling this story to Coco in the Eiffel Tower commissary and suddenly grew faint.  Coco stands before him, absorbed and frozen in a hypnotic state.  The janitor is shaking and he’s broken out in a sweat.
[Footsteps]
Stumbling away from Coco and out of the commissary, he makes his way to the railing at the edge of the observation deck and leans over it, taking in gulps of air.
[Heavy breathing]
He looks down at the city of Paris far below, but he does not see it.  Memories have come flooding back to him, real memories!  And what he sees is embarrassing and humiliating, and he does not understand it.
Back in the Eiffel Tower commissary, Coco wakes up and finds he is alone.
Coco: Oh my goodness.
Narrator: It is the first time the janitor has disappeared on him in a long, long time.  He feels disappointed.  Coco wonders where the janitor hides from him. He gets as far as the outside of the commissary door and stops.  He is astonished to find the janitor leaning over the observation deck railing.  Coco puts his hand on the janitor’s shoulder and is surprised to find himself asking the question he’s wanted to ask for so long.
Coco: These people, these stagehands, they are… Are they people from real life?
Narrator: The janitor looks like he’s going to vomit!
Julian: Leave me alone!
Narrator: The janitor spins and, brushing the old man aside, darts past Coco!
[Music starts]
He throws himself in his cot in his janitor’s closet.  He closes his eyes.  There is a bird flitting around his janitor’s closet.  He leaves food for them, they get him through a hole near the ceiling.  The janitor is glad that the bird is there now, and that he is not alone.
It doesn’t take much to imagine the bird an Orkestral.
[Bird call]
And it doesn’t take much to imagine the Orkestral beginning to play.
[Bell tolling, jazzy ending music starts as bird twitters]
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courtneysmovieblog · 15 days
Text
Finally watched "Joy Ride" (and "Oppenheimer")
Next month I should have a couple more of this year's Oscar nominees for my mini reviews. Until then:
The Three Musketeers (1993): I don't know if this was the best version, but it had a ton of 90s stars! Chris O'Donnell, Charlie Sheen, Kiefer Sutherland, Rebecca De Mornay, Oliver Platt...and Tim freaking Curry as the bad guy! How can you go wrong?
Father Stu: I tried to watch, but I just couldn't get interested, and not just because Mel Gibson was in it.
Alice, Darling: Anna Kendrick comes to terms with the fact that her boyfriend is abusive. A haunting look at psychologically toxic relationships.
John Wick Chapter 4: I liked these movies better when it was about Keanu Reeves avenging his dog. Now it's just gotten a bit convoluted.
Joy Ride: This was HILARIOUS! I don't care if it didn't do well at the box office, we need a sequel!
Napoleon: I learned more about Napoleon from The Powerpuff Girls in two minutes than I did from Ridley Scott in this boring three-hour piece of crap.
Oppenheimer: While it's not my cup of tea, it certainly was intense and the acting was great. I'm happy that RDJ, Cillian Murphy, and Christopher Nolan got their Oscars.
Damsel: I don't care if everyone else thought it was dumb, I enjoyed it! And not just because it was how Game of Thrones SHOULD have ended.
Spaceman: Adam Sandler gets consoled by a giant space spider (Paul Dano). Actually drearier than it sounds, but it still had some great moments and the visual was dazzling.
Ricky Stanicky: Thanks, I hate it. Although I did get a cheap laugh out of John Cena's karaoke scenes.
0 notes
hayingsang · 1 month
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What I read in 2023
2023 was a funny year for reading. I didn’t finish that many books – just 43 altogether, including one I read twice, and only one of them in Chinese.
There were various reasons for this. One was that among the books I did read were Ulysses and almost all of The Brothers Karamazov, both long, slow reads. I loved The Brothers Karamazov (my note on it here) – among the most fantastic tales I’ve ever read (actually reread – this was the second time round). Ulysses I also liked a lot. I wouldn’t go as far as Anthony Burgess, who in the blurb on the back declares it to be the greatest novel of the 20th century, but it’s one of them. It also laid down a standard for experimentation which more writers since Joyce should have tried to surpass; reading it made me think how conservative 99% of novelists are.
Another reason for my low books-finished total was that a good part of my reading time was spent on four text books – for International Baccalaureate physics and IGCSE physics, chemistry and biology – all part of trying to get a handle on what two of my kids were meant to be learning, and none of which I actually finished (though I did finish the IGCSE trio a few days ago; I’ll add a note on them soon). All four required close attention, frequent rereading of definitions and dense paragraphs. If it hadn’t been for the Internet and especially many YouTube videos, I wouldn’t have been able to handle the IB book; the IGCSE ones were more my level. I think I could pass all three subjects, though I wouldn’t score particularly highly.
As for the Chinese, I did read most of another book and spent more time reading news. But I also took a bit of a break. And the one book I did read, Selected Essays by Zhou Zuoren, was tough going (as I noted here).
As in 2022, I didn’t manage to keep up my 2021 practice of writing around 250 words on each book I read – again, I’ll blame my textbook reading. The ones I did have links. This year I’m going to give it another go.
The standouts
Non-fiction
Odd Arne Westad, The Cold War – a tremendous global history of the 1945-90 period.
Pamela Kyle Crossley, The Manchus – the unlikely people behind China’s last imperial dynasty.
Timothy Snyder, Bloodlands – the terrible history of Ukraine and the other lands around it from the 1930s to just after the end of the second world war.
EB Sledge, With the Old Breed – a Marine’s experiences on two islands in the second world war.
Napoleon Chagnon, Noble Savages – an anthropologist in the Amazon in the 1960s whose findings upset a lot of other anthropologists.
John Gribbin, The Reason Why – that intelligent life exists at all is miraculous; we should care about it (ie, us) a little more.
Bas van Bavel, The Invisible Hand? – why markets can’t be the answer when they make people rich and powerful.
Colleen Carney & Jack Edinger, Insomnia and Anxiety – a book that has made me sleep better and worry less.
Fiction (aside from Ulysses and The Brothers Karamazov)
Mohsin Hamid, The Last White Man – a masterpiece in just 180 pages.
Annie Ernaux, A Man’s Place/The Years/A Woman’s Story/“I Remain in Darkness” – more than worthy of the Nobel prize.
Honorary mentions
Vaclav Smil, Energy and Civilization – Smil is right: energy underpins everything (though it’s not the only thing).
Chris Miller, Chip War – exactly how books should be written about big, important topics.
The list in full
Patricia Lockwood, no one is talking about this (I loathed this book)
Mohsin Hamid, The Last White Man
Sean Carroll, Something Deeply Hidden
Charles Yu, How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe
Odd Arne Westad, The Cold War
Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov, I
Frank Fraser Darling, Island Years
Milo Beckman, Math Without Numbers
Chris Bernhardt, Quantum Computing for Everyone
David Morgan, The Mongols
Doris Lessing, Ben in the World
Annie Ernaux, A Man’s Place
Doris Lessing, The Fifth Child
Avram Alpert, The Good-enough Life
Joseph Angelo, Gaseous Matter
Cormac McCarthy, The Passenger
Vaclav Smil, Energy and Civilization
Chris Miller, Chip War
Cormac McCarthy, Stella Maris
Annie Ernaux, The Years
Bruce Dickson, The Dictator’s Dilemma
Napoleon Chagnon, Noble Savages
Annie Ernaux, A Woman’s Story
Annie Ernaux, “I Remain in Darkness”
Isaac Asimov, I, Robot
Nicole Perlroth, This Is How They Tell Me the World Ends
Pamela Kyle Crossley, The Manchus
Timothy Snyder, Bloodlands
Jin Keyu, The New China Playbook
Ursula Le Guin, Gifts
EB Sledge, With the Old Breed
Ackbar Abbas, Hong Kong: Culture and the Politics of Disappearance
Frank Dikotter, China After Mao
Catherine Lacey, Pew
James Joyce, Ulysses
John Gribbin, The Reason Why
Christine Brooke-Rose, Amalgamemnon
Zhou Zuoren 周作人, Selected Essays 散文選
Bas van Bavel, The Invisible Hand
Shibani Mahtani & Timothy McLaughlin, Among the Braves
Colleen Carney & Jack Edinger, Insomnia and Anxiety
Ursula Le Guin, Gifts
Wang Xiaobo, Wang in Love and Bondage
For the record
I never got round to posting What I read in 2022 until two days ago. It’s here – just the bare list.
0 notes
quoththemaven · 2 months
Text
2023 Favoritest Flicks
Take out your five faves and it'd still be a dynamite year for movies. My tops = Poor Things. Fave performance = Da'Vine Joy Randolph in The Holdovers. Fave score = Poor Things. Fave G'lord WTF is This Wild Gem = Dug Dug. The movie I liked a lot more than I expected to = Air. The Can't Wait for Their Next One = Kristoffer Borgli's Dream Scenario. Congratulations to all winners, you've won special mention on this Tumblr page 🏆
Loved!
Air
American Fiction
Anatomy of a Fall
Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret.
Asteroid City
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Barbie
Beau is Afraid
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Blackberry
Bottoms
Dream Scenario
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Dug Dug
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Ferrari
Godzilla Minus One
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How to Blow up a Pipeline
Knock at the Cabin
M3GAN
May December
Napoleon
Oldboy (20th Anniversary Remastered)
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Oppenheimer
Past Lives
Poor Things
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Saltburn
Society of the Snow
Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse
Stop Making Sense (rerelease)
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The Boy and the Heron
The Holdovers
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The Iron Claw
The Killer
The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar, The Swan, The Rat Catcher, Poison
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The Zone of Interest
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Liked!
65
A Haunting in Venice
A Thousand and One
Alice Darling
All of Us Strangers
Ballerina
Beyond the Infinite Two Minutes (2020)
Biosphere
Blue Beetle
Boston Strangler
Broker
The Burial
Cassandro
Cat Person
Creed III
Dark Harvest
Dogleg
Dumb Money
Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves
Eileen
El Conde
Elemental
Evil Dead Rise
Fair Play
Fallen Leaves
Fast X
Fingernails
Five Nights at Freddy’s
Flora and Son
Good Grief
Gran Turismo
Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3
Halfway Home
Honk for Jesus. Save Your Soul.
If You Were the Last
Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny
Inside
It’s a Wonderful Knife
John Wick 4
Joy Ride
Landscape with Invisible Hand
Leave the World Behind
Little Bone Lodge
Luther: The Fallen Sun
Lyla
Maaveeran
Maestro
Maggie Moore(s)
Missing
Mission: Impossible - Dead Reckoning Part One
Mountain Woman
Mr. Monk’s Last Case: A Monk Movie
Mutt
Nairobby
Nimona
No One Will Save You
Nowhere
Nyad
Paint
Para Betina Pengikut Iblis
Plane
Please Don’t Destroy: The Treasure of Foggy Mountain
Priscilla
Quiz Lady
Raging Grace
Renfield
Ruby Gillman, Teenage Kraken
Sanctuary
Self-Reliance
Sharper
Shin Kamen Rider
Showing Up
Sisu
Skinamarink
Starling Girl
Still Time
Strays
Suzume
Talk to Me
Taylor Swift: The Eras Tour
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem
Tetris
The Boogeyman
The Book of Clarence
The Call
The Covenant
The Kitchen
The Last Voyage of the Demeter
The Machine
The Royal Hotel
The Strays
Theater Camp
There’s Something Wrong With the Children
They Cloned Tyrone
To Leslie
Vesper
Wil
You Hurt My Feelings
0 notes
fncreature · 2 years
Text
Y/n, I am your father
You find out a not-so-nice secret
A/n: Just dumping out some stories (I wrote on a doc that's way too long) so here we go, sorry that it kinda sucks. I had just read the Baker Street Irregulars and finished when I wrote it, so...
~
You nodded silently, and Mycroft pretended to roughly shove you into the room.
Moriarty’s eyes widened.
Mycroft didn’t tell you why he needed you for info, you just liked helping Sherlock and Mycroft asked you to.
“So” Mycroft started, his voice stronger than before. “Where?”
“I’ll never tell” But his voice had lost it’s usual teasing tone.
It was actually slightly… Scared?
Mycroft pulled the gun slightly out of his pocket and gave him a look.
No response.
You knew what was coming, he had warned you.
In a second, the gun was pressed on your temple.
“DON’T” He shouted.
“Well?” Mycroft asked.
“No” Moriarty replied. “You’d never shoot an innocent”
You just stared straight ahead, after working with Sherlock for a few years, you learned the art of faking fear.
And it was convincing. There were silent tears flowing down your cheeks, and a pleading look in your eyes.
The safety clicked off.
You pretended to start breathing a bit harder.
“Don’t” He pleaded. “Don’t shoot her”
“Well?” Mycroft repeated.
“Fine” He sighed. “Fine, just get her out of here”
Mycroft pretended to shove you out once again.
You still had honestly no idea what was going on.
Sherlock and John were waiting outside.
“So is anyone gonna tell me why I was just used to threaten the Napoleon of crime?” You asked.
“He wouldn’t even understand why” John joked.
“Is that just because he’s a psycho-”
“Sociopath” Sherlock corrected.
“Sociopath or because he doesn’t know basic knowledge?” You finished.
“Sociopath” John answered with no hesitation.
“Well then I could probably-”
“It’s not something you should know at thirteen” John interrupted.
“So… I’m mature enough to help solve murders that Scotland Yard can’t, but because I’m thirteen, I’m too young to know that I’m the kid of Moriarty?” Shocked stares were given to you by both.
The rest of the walk was silent.
When you got there, you asked “So is anyone gonna tell me if I’m right or not? I’m new to this observation thing”
Silence.
“Why am I not allowed to know that I’m related to a murderer? I feel like it would be easier to cope with if I know for sure” You asked angrily.
Once again no response from them, who were both staring at you at this point.
“Fuck you” A few tears ran down your cheeks. “Fuck both of you” You grabbed your scarf off of the hook and ran out.
You wandered around for a few hours. You checked your phone every time they called in case it was a friend, or Mycroft or Lestrade, since they sometimes called you or John because who knew when Sherlock had his phone on him, even less likely that he’d even answer.
It was Sherlock or John, spamming your phone with calls for literally two hours straight.
When they finally stopped, you considered going back, it was getting pretty cold, but you decided against it.
You ignored your phone when it rang.
And again.
After the fifth time you checked it.
It was Mycroft.
“Fuck” You mumbled and picked up.
“I was getting worried” He said in a calm tone.
“Yeah, sorry, John and Sherlock were spamming my calls an hour ago” You sighed “I have over two hundred missed calls”
“Why?” Mycroft asked.
“It doesn’t matter” You replied.
“Then I assume you don’t want to talk about it” Mycroft said, and you sighed a sigh of relief. “Anyway, the reason I’m calling is that I’d like to say thank your help on behalf of the british government for your help”
You grinned for a minute.
“I’ve got a meeting in-” “Is Moriarty my Dad?” You asked, unable to keep it off your chest.
He hung up.
It took all your will not to smash the phone on the ground.
You just sighed and shivered.
It was cold.
And it was getting dark.
You probably should have gone back. But you were mad. And spiteful, so you didn’t.
You sat on a bench crying for two hours or so.
The sky was black when you stopped.
You ate dinner at a restaurant and continued wandering around.
You overheard someone say “I hope Y/n’s alright” It was John’s voice.
So you started walking away.
“Is that Y/n?” Sherlock asked.
You started running.
“Y/N!” John called.
You started running faster.
“Y/N!” He shouted again.
It must have looked bad, the world’s greatest detective and his assistant running after a thirteen year old girl, and some people stood in between you and them (Sherlock shoved them aside)
Somehow they caught up to you, and John tried to grab your arm, which caused you to fall, and your knee was bleeding and your jeans torn.
Now you were cold, angry, hurt, and honestly a bit scared.
John just stared for a minute with Sherlock behind him, as if he didn’t know what he had just done.
You were crying.
Sherlock, who had no experience with human emotions, just watched.
John offered his hand to help you up, but you got up by yourself, and turned away from them and walked away.
Your knee hurt pretty bad, but you didn’t care.
They were calling your name, but you didn’t care.
You wanted the truth, and you couldn’t have that.
You just wanted to know that your father was even alive.
“Y’know you’re gonna need to sleep somewhere, right?” John called.
“Y’know I can stay awake for over forty-eight hours, right?” You shot back.
“Y/n” Sherlock said.
“Shutup” You mumbled.
“Y/n” Sherlock repeated. “It doesn’t matter what emotions you’re feeling, we need you to come back for your own safety”
“WHY?” You shouted angrily. “I’m not allowed to know who my Dad is, but I’m okay to be used as bait to Moriarty for information with no idea why, and I need to be taken back ‘for my own safety?’ I’ve had guns to my face before and I don’t care!”
The people there were probably in shock. There was a whole lot of blood on your knee.
“Y’know what, I’m willing to make a deal. Tell me if he’s my Dad or not and I’ll go back. Deal?”
Silence.
You walked away.
You went back to Baker street and convinced Mrs. Hudson to let you spend the night in 221C.
You woke up to some hard knocks on the door.
“Y/n” Sherlock said.
“Fuck you” You said groggily.
“Y/n, we need you in the flat.” Sherlock said, and he unlocked the door.
You were curled up in a ball with some gauze on your knee.
That’s how you fell asleep.
Your knee was hurting like heck.
“Are you alright?” John asked.
“Of course, I’m fine, last night was great” You grumbled sarcastically.
“Y/n for god’s sake I-”
“John, leave her alone” Sherlock interrupted, walking in and sitting down next to you. “She had a horrible night and now you’re going to ruin today for her as well”
“Thank you” You sniffled.
Sherlock smiled warmly. John looked surprised.
“Darling, look, I-”
‘I just want you guys to tell me the truth, okay? I- I’m getting good at the observation thing, and there’s no other reason, just tell me, okay?” You asked.
“He’s your father” Sherlock said blatantly. “It’s obvious, I actually assumed you knew sooner”
“Thanks Sherlock, she’s going to have a wonderful time trying to deal with that-”
“Thanks for telling me, anyway, you guys have those large band-aids in the flat, right?”
92 notes · View notes
nellygwyn · 3 years
Text
BOOK RECS
Okay, so lots of people wanted this and so, I am compiling a list of my favourite books (both fiction and non-fiction), books that I recommend you read as soon as humanly possible. In the meantime, I’ll be pinning this post to the top of my blog (once I work out how to do that lmao) so it will be accessible for old and new followers. I’m going to order this list thematically, I think, just to keep everything tidy and orderly. Of course, a lot of this list will consist of historical fiction and historical non-fiction because that’s what I read primarily and thus, that’s where my bias is, but I promise to try and spice it up just a little bit. 
Favourite fiction books of all time:
The Mermaid and Mrs Hancock // Imogen Hermes Gowar
Sense and Sensibility // Jane Austen
Slammerkin // Emma Donoghue 
Remarkable Creatures // Tracy Chevalier
Life Mask // Emma Donoghue
His Dark Materials // Philip Pullman (this includes the follow-up series The Book of Dust)
Emma // Jane Austen
The Miniaturist // Jessie Burton
Girl, Woman, Other // Bernadine Evaristo 
Jane Eyre // Charlotte Brontë
Persuasion // Jane Austen
Girl with a Pearl Earring // Tracy Chevalier
The Silent Companions // Laura Purcell
Tess of the d’Urbervilles // Thomas Hardy
Northanger Abbey // Jane Austen
The Chronicles of Narnia // C.S. Lewis
Pride and Prejudice // Jane Austen
Goodnight, Mr Tom // Michelle Magorian
The French Lieutenant’s Woman // John Fowles 
The Butcher’s Hook // Janet Ellis 
Mansfield Park // Jane Austen
The All Souls Trilogy // Deborah Harkness
The Railway Children // Edith Nesbit
Favourite non-fiction books of all time
Catherine the Great: Portrait of a Woman // Robert Massie
Love and Louis XIV: The Women in the Life of the Sun King // Antonia Fraser
Madame de Pompadour // Nancy Mitford
The First Iron Lady: A Life of Caroline of Ansbach // Matthew Dennison 
Black and British: A Forgotten History // David Olusoga
Courtiers: The Secret History of the Georgian Court // Lucy Worsley 
Young and Damned and Fair: The Life of Katherine Howard, the Fifth Wife of Henry VIII // Gareth Russell
King Charles II // Antonia Fraser
Casanova’s Women // Judith Summers
Marie Antoinette: The Journey // Antonia Fraser
Mrs. Jordan’s Profession: The Story of a Great Actress and a Future King // Claire Tomalin
Jane Austen at Home // Lucy Worsley
Mudlarking: Lost and Found on the River Thames // Lara Maiklem
The Last Royal Rebel: The Life and Death of James, Duke of Monmouth // Anna Keay
The Marlboroughs: John and Sarah Churchill // Christopher Hibbert
Nell Gwynn: A Biography // Charles Beauclerk
Jurassic Mary: Mary Anning and the Primeval Monsters // Patricia Pierce
Georgian London: Into the Streets // Lucy Inglis
The Prince Who Would Be King: The Life and Death of Henry Stuart // Sarah Fraser
Wedlock: How Georgian Britain’s Worst Husband Met His Match // Wendy Moore
Dead Famous: An Unexpected History of Celebrity from the Stone Age to the Silver Screen // Greg Jenner
Victorians Undone: Tales of the Flesh in the Age of Decorum // Kathryn Hughes
Crown of Blood: The Deadly Inheritance of Lady Jane Grey // Nicola Tallis
Favourite books about the history of sex and/or sex work
The Origins of Sex: A History of First Sexual Revolution // Faramerz Dabhoiwala 
Erotic Exchanges: The World of Elite Prostitution in Eighteenth-Century Paris // Nina Kushner
Peg Plunkett: Memoirs of a Whore // Julie Peakman
Courtesans // Katie Hickman
The Other Victorians: A Study of Sexuality and Pornography in mid-Nineteenth Century England
Madams, Bawds, and Brothel Keepers // Fergus Linnane
The Secret History of Georgian London: How the Wages of Sin Shaped the Capital // Dan Cruickshank 
A Curious History of Sex // Kate Lister
Sex and Punishment: 4000 Years of Judging Desire // Eric Berkowitz
Queen of the Courtesans: Fanny Murray // Barbara White
Rent Boys: A History from Ancient Times to Present // Michael Hone
Celeste // Roland Perry
Sex and the Gender Revolution // Randolph Trumbach
The Pleasure’s All Mine: A History of Perverse Sex // Julie Peakman
LGBT+ fiction I love*
The Confessions of the Fox // Jordy Rosenberg 
As Meat Loves Salt // Maria Mccann
Bone China // Laura Purcell
Brideshead Revisited // Evelyn Waugh
The Confessions of Frannie Langton // Sara Collins
The Intoxicating Mr Lavelle // Neil Blackmore
Orlando // Virginia Woolf
Tipping the Velvet // Sarah Waters
She Rises // Kate Worsley
The Mercies // Kiran Millwood Hargrave
Oranges are Not the Only Fruit // Jeanette Winterson
Maurice // E.M Forster
Frankisstein: A Love Story // Jeanette Winterson
If I Was Your Girl // Meredith Russo 
The Well of Loneliness // Radclyffe Hall 
* fyi, Life Mask and Girl, Woman, Other are also LGBT+ fiction
Classics I haven’t already mentioned (including children’s classics)
Far From the Madding Crowd // Thomas Hardy 
I Capture the Castle // Dodie Smith 
Vanity Fair // William Makepeace Thackeray 
Wuthering Heights // Emily Brontë
The Blazing World // Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of Newcastle
Murder on the Orient Express // Agatha Christie 
Great Expectations // Charles Dickens
North and South // Elizabeth Gaskell
Evelina // Frances Burney
Death on the Nile // Agatha Christie
The Monk // Matthew Lewis
Frankenstein // Mary Shelley
Vilette // Charlotte Brontë
The Mayor of Casterbridge // Thomas Hardy
The Tenant of Wildfell Hall // Anne Brontë
Vile Bodies // Evelyn Waugh
Beloved // Toni Morrison 
The Murder of Roger Ackroyd // Agatha Christie
The History of Tom Jones, A Foundling // Henry Fielding
A Room With a View // E.M. Forster
Silas Marner // George Eliot 
Jude the Obscure // Thomas Hardy
My Man Jeeves // P.G. Wodehouse
Lady Audley’s Secret // Mary Elizabeth Braddon
Middlemarch // George Eliot
Little Women // Louisa May Alcott
Children of the New Forest // Frederick Marryat
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings // Maya Angelou 
Rebecca // Daphne du Maurier
Alice in Wonderland // Lewis Carroll
The Wind in the Willows // Kenneth Grahame
Anna Karenina // Leo Tolstoy
Howard’s End // E.M. Forster
The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole, Aged 13 3/4 // Sue Townsend
Even more fiction recommendations
The Darling Strumpet // Gillian Bagwell
The Wolf Hall trilogy // Hilary Mantel
The Illumination of Ursula Flight // Anne-Marie Crowhurst
Queenie // Candace Carty-Williams
Forever Amber // Kathleen Winsor
The Corset // Laura Purcell
Love in Colour // Bolu Babalola
Artemisia // Alexandra Lapierre
Blackberry and Wild Rose // Sonia Velton
The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories // Angela Carter
The Languedoc trilogy // Kate Mosse
Longbourn // Jo Baker
A Skinful of Shadows // Frances Hardinge
The Black Moth // Georgette Heyer
The Far Pavilions // M.M Kaye
The Essex Serpent // Sarah Perry
The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo // Taylor Jenkins Reid
Cavalier Queen // Fiona Mountain 
The Winter Palace // Eva Stachniak
Friday’s Child // Georgette Heyer
Falling Angels // Tracy Chevalier
Little // Edward Carey
Chocolat // Joanne Harris 
The Watchmaker of Filigree Street // Natasha Pulley 
My Sister, the Serial Killer // Oyinkan Braithwaite
The Convenient Marriage // Georgette Heyer
Katie Mulholland // Catherine Cookson
Restoration // Rose Tremain
Meat Market // Juno Dawson
Lady on the Coin // Margaret Campbell Bowes
In the Company of the Courtesan // Sarah Dunant
The Crimson Petal and the White // Michel Faber
A Place of Greater Safety // Hilary Mantel 
The Little Shop of Found Things // Paula Brackston
The Improbability of Love // Hannah Rothschild
The Murder Most Unladylike series // Robin Stevens
Dark Angels // Karleen Koen
The Words in My Hand // Guinevere Glasfurd
Time’s Convert // Deborah Harkness
The Collector // John Fowles
Vivaldi’s Virgins // Barbara Quick
The Foundling // Stacey Halls
The Phantom Tree // Nicola Cornick
The Seven Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle // Stuart Turton
Golden Hill // Francis Spufford
Assorted non-fiction not yet mentioned
The Dinosaur Hunters: A True Story of Scientific Rivalry and the Discovery of the Prehistoric World // Deborah Cadbury
The Beauty and the Terror: An Alternative History to the Italian Renaissance // Catherine Fletcher
All the King's Women: Love, Sex, and Politics in the life of Charles II // Derek Jackson
Mozart’s Women // Jane Glover
Scandalous Liaisons: Charles II and His Court // R.E. Pritchard
Matilda: Queen, Empress, Warrior // Catherine Hanley 
Black Tudors // Miranda Kaufman 
To Catch a King: Charles II's Great Escape // Charles Spencer
1666: Plague, War and Hellfire // Rebecca Rideal
Henrietta Maria: Charles I's Indomitable Queen // Alison Plowden
Catherine of Braganza: Charles II's Restoration Queen // Sarah-Beth Watkins
Four Sisters: The Lost Lives of the Romanov Grand Duchesses // Helen Rappaport
Aristocrats: Caroline, Emily, Louisa and Sarah Lennox, 1740-1832 // Stella Tillyard 
The Fortunes of Francis Barber: The True Story of the Jamaican Slave who Became Samuel Johnson’s Heir // Michael Bundock
Black London: Life Before Emancipation // Gretchen Gerzina
In These Times: Living in Britain Through Napoleon’s Wars, 1793-1815
The King’s Mistress: Scandal, Intrigue and the True Story of the Woman who Stole the Heart of George I // Claudia Gold
Perdita: The Life of Mary Robinson // Paula Byrne
The Gentleman’s Daughter: Women’s Lives in Georgian England // Amanda Vickery
Terms and Conditions: Life in Girls’ Boarding School, 1939-1979 // Ysenda Maxtone Graham 
Fanny Burney: A Biography // Claire Harman
Aphra Behn: A Secret Life // Janet Todd
The Imperial Harem: Women and the Sovereignty in the Ottoman Empire // Leslie Peirce
The Fall of the House of Byron // Emily Brand
The Favourite: Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough // Ophelia Field
Night-Walking: A Nocturnal History of London // Matthew Beaumont, Will Self
Jane Austen: A Life // Claire Tomalin
Beloved Emma: The Life of Emma, Lady Hamilton // Flora Fraser
Sentimental Murder: Love and Madness in the 18th Century // John Brewer
Henrietta Howard: King’s Mistress, Queen’s Servant // Tracy Borman
City of Beasts: How Animals Shaped Georgian London // Tom Almeroth-Williams
Queen Anne: The Politics of Passion // Anne Somerset 
Charlotte Brontë: A Life // Claire Harman 
Goddess: The Secret Lives of Marilyn Monroe // Anthony Summers
Queer City: Gay London from the Romans to the Present Day // Peter Ackroyd 
Elizabeth I and Her Circle // Susan Doran
African Europeans: An Untold History // Olivette Otele 
Young Romantics: The Shelleys, Byron, and Other Tangled Lives // Daisy Hay
How to Create the Perfect Wife // Wendy Moore
The Sphinx: The Life of Gladys Deacon, Duchess of Marlborough // Hugo Vickers
The Life and Death of Anne Boleyn // Eric Ives
Dancing in the Streets: A History of Collective Joy // Barbara Ehrenreich
A is for Arsenic: The Poisons of Agatha Christie // Kathryn Harkup 
Mistresses: Sex and Scandal at the Court of Charles II // Linda Porter
Female Husbands: A Trans History // Jen Manion
Ladies in Waiting: From the Tudors to the Present Day // Anne Somerset
Ghostland: In Search of a Haunted Country // Edward Parnell 
A Cheesemonger’s History of the British Isles // Ned Palmer
The Butchering Art: Joseph Lister’s Quest to Transform the Grisly World of Victorian Medicine // Lindsey Fitzharris
Medieval Woman: Village Life in the Middle Ages // Ann Baer
The Husband Hunters: Social Climbing in London and New York // Anne de Courcy
The Voices of Nîmes: Women, Sex, and Marriage in Reformation Languedoc // Suzannah Lipscomb
The Daughters of the Winter Queen // Nancy Goldstone
Mad and Bad: Real Heroines of the Regency // Bea Koch
Bess of Hardwick // Mary S. Lovell
The Royal Art of Poison // Eleanor Herman 
The Strangest Family: The Private Lives of George III, Queen Charlotte, and the Hanoverians // Janice Hadlow
Palaces of Pleasure: From Music Halls to the Seaside to Football; How the Victorians Invented Mass Entertainment // Lee Jackson
Favourite books about current social/political issues (?? for lack of a better term)
Feminism, Interrupted: Disrupting Power // Lola Olufemi
Revolting Prostitutes: The Fight for Sex Worker Rights // Molly Smith, Juno Mac
Why I’m No Longer Talking to White People About Race // Reni Eddo-Lodge
Trans Britain: Our Journey from the Shadows // Christine Burns
Me, Not You: The Trouble with Mainstream Feminism // Alison Phipps
Trans Like Me: A Journey For All Of Us // C.N Lester
Brit(Ish): On Race, Identity, and Belonging // Afua Hirsch 
The Brutish Museums: The Benin Bronzes, Colonial Violence, and Cultural Restitution // Dan Hicks
Things No One Will Tell Fat Girls: A Handbook for Unapologetic Living // Jes M. Baker
Hood Feminism: Notes from the Women White Feminists Forgot // Mikki Kendall
Denial: Holocaust History on Trial // Deborah Lipstadt
Yes Means Yes: Visions of Female Sexual Power and a World Without Rape // Jessica Valenti, Jaclyn Friedman
Don’t Touch My Hair // Emma Dabiri
Sister Outsider // Audre Lorde 
Unicorn: The Memoir of a Muslim Drag Queen // Amrou Al-Kadhi
Trans Power // Juno Roche
Breathe: A Letter to My Sons // Imani Perry
The Windrush Betrayal: Exposing the Hostile Environment // Amelia Gentleman
Happy Fat: Taking Up Space in a World That Wants to Shrink You // Sofie Hagen
Diaries, memoirs & letters
The Diary of a Young Girl // Anne Frank
Renia’s Diary: A Young Girl’s Life in the Shadow of the Holocaust // Renia Spiegel 
Writing Home // Alan Bennett
The Diary of Samuel Pepys // Samuel Pepys
Histoire de Ma Vie // Giacomo Casanova
Toast: The Story of a Boy’s Hunger // Nigel Slater
London Journal, 1762-1763 // James Boswell
The Diary of a Bookseller // Shaun Blythell 
Jane Austen’s Letters // edited by Deidre la Faye
H is for Hawk // Helen Mcdonald 
The Salt Path // Raynor Winn
The Glitter and the Gold // Consuelo Vanderbilt, Duchess of Marlborough
Journals and Letters // Fanny Burney
Educated // Tara Westover
Bookworm: A Memoir of Childhood Reading // Lucy Mangan
Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal? // Jeanette Winterson
A Dutiful Boy // Mohsin Zaidi
Secrets and Lies: The Trials of Christine Keeler // Christine Keeler
800 Years of Women’s Letters // edited by Olga Kenyon
Istanbul // Orhan Pamuk
Henry and June // Anaïs Nin
Historical romance (this is a short list because I’m still fairly new to this genre)
The Bridgerton series // Julia Quinn
One Good Earl Deserves a Lover // Sarah Mclean
Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake // Sarah Mclean
The Lady’s Guide to Celestial Mechanics // Olivia Waite
That Could Be Enough // Alyssa Cole
Unveiled // Courtney Milan
The Craft of Love // EE Ottoman
The Maiden Lane series // Elizabeth Hoyt
An Extraordinary Union // Alyssa Cole
Slightly Dangerous // Mary Balogh
Dangerous Alliance: An Austentacious Romance // Jennieke Cohen
A Fashionable Indulgence // KJ Charles
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WITCHING HOUR, a sequel.
chapter four: advent
word count: 8.7k
rating: m for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop, tags will be updated accordingly.
warnings: naughty language, brief mentions of what could-be prenatal depression. elliot considers the logistics of murder. nothing new.
notes: i am so sorry that this chapter took so long to come around, but i hope it's worth the wait! we're finally getting somewhere with these two dummies, as well as a few little things starting to develop along the way. i'm really pleased with how this chapter finally came out, because it was giving me some trouble to start with, but thankfully i have some wonderful people around to help keep me motivated and not letting me get discouraged!
special thank you to my beta reader, @starcrier, for helping me with the barebones skeleton of this chapter and not letting me get too in my head about it. and a thank you to my loves, @shallow-gravy and @baeogorath, for lending me their eyes as well as i tried to muddle through the parts of this that felt so, so difficult. i adore you all so much!!
Isolde fucking hated Montana.
Maybe “hated” was a bit strong of a term, but all she could feel as she cinched her coat tighter around her and waded through crowds of milling, purposeless passersby in the airport was that she could not wait to leave—and she had only touched down minutes ago.
That she was even here at all was a miracle in and of itself: she didn’t owe John Seed anything. Not a favor, not the time of day, not the firing of her neurons to process her furious disdain for him. If anything, John owed her for up and fucking off for no good reason. If anything, he should be the one doing her a favor. Strapping him to a bed of nails on the hood of a car and watching him suffer while she drove over speed bumps in a mall parking lot during an earthquake would have been a good start.
I need your help, Sol, he’d said, like he didn’t have two fucking hands and eyes and a mediocre brain of his own to get things done.
“Fucker,” Isolde gritted out between her teeth. “Fucking—stupid—fuckface. Fuck I hate him. I hate him.”
But that wasn’t really true, was it? She didn’t hate John, not in the same capacity that she actually hated people, like the ex-husband that so rarely registered in her brain nowadays. For all of his posturing and Napoleon syndrome, John had been her only friend, the only person that she trusted, for a very long time.
Fuck me, she thought, I’m in a bad spot if that’s the case.
It was.
Isolde stepped out of the airport and into the frigid air of the outside pick-up area. Her eyes scanned the area, and while she thought for certain she saw a familiar redhead right away, he was leaned up against a beat-up, mud-splattered truck and surely Jacob Seed did not think he was going to put her in a metal death trap that looked like it wasn’t going to make it five minutes on the highway.
He waved to catch her attention. Isolde stayed firmly put, and she saw—with a little lick of amusement whispering inside of her—Jacob’s teeth flash in a grin.
“Sol,” he called, beginning to saunter over, “I know you can see me.”
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” she asked tartly. “I was supposed to be getting picked up by an actual vehicle, not...” She leaned around Jacob’s broad-shouldered figure to peer pointedly at the beater truck, which had not miraculously become better in the last thirty seconds. “...three pieces of metal loosely held together by a shit welding job.”
Jacob’s wolfish smile did not dim. “Good to see you, too.”
“Hello, my darling.” She beckoned him with one hand, giving him a one-armed hug once he was within range. “I suppose you are the transportation John promised, then.”
“None other,” Jacob replied.
“Surely, no expense was spared.”
“Surely.”
Jacob relinquished her of the weight of her suitcase, lifting it with ease and beckoning with a tilt of his head for her to follow. She did, even though her reservations about getting into a fucked up Toyota had not abated; as the eldest Seed brother loaded the suitcase into the back “seat” (being used loosely in this context), Isolde hoisted herself up into the passenger seat.
“Hm,” was what came out of her once she was buckled in, a singular expression of her displeasure, and the redhead settled into the driver’s seat next to her.
He glanced over, his smile having relaxed into something more ambivalent. He said, “I love that you haven’t changed a bit,” and began to pull out of the pick-up lane.
“It is one of my most charming qualities, I think.”
“How did Johnny convince you to come all this way?” he asked, and Isolde stifled a long-suffering sigh that tried to worm its way out of her.
“He told me what helpless idiots you are without him,” she replied. Shrugging out of her jacket, she pushed it into the back seat and turned the heat in the truck down. “Did a whole bit. You would have found it entertaining, I think. It was all Sol, you’re so tall and threatening, please help me. I hate that he knows exactly how I like to be complimented.”
“Well, he’d have to really pull out the stops to get you to come back and help Joseph,” Jacob acquiesced, with the same kind of visceral, gut-punch perception he had always operated and which Soli had expected and still hoped he wouldn’t apply.
Isolde’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Fuck you, she thought, but there was no venom, because he wasn’t wrong. She wouldn’t have come back if John hadn’t really tried, if he hadn’t made it obvious that he was desperate. It did bother her, a little, to see John like that—haphazard and urgent, scrabbling for a foothold wherever he could get one. She just hoped he wasn’t overshooting his shot with the mother of his unborn child.
“Yeah,” Sol said after a moment, “I guess he did.”
Jacob gave her a look. It was a look that said, come on now, Sol, because if there was one unfortunate thing about having dated Joseph Seed and worked with the baby brother for years on end, it was that Jacob—arguably the most perceptive and intelligent of the whole brood—had come to understand her quite well. So annoying.
“I’m glad you’re here,” is what he said after a minute. “Be nice to have a fresh face around, all things considered.”
“You mean all the killing.” Her words came out clipped, but if Jacob felt any particular way about it, it didn’t show on his face.
“Well,” he acquiesced, and that was all that came out of his mouth for at least two heartbeats.
Isolde narrowed her eyes, watching the redhead move methodically as he hit cruise control and settled back against his seat a bit.
She prompted, tightly, “Well?”
“Don’t give me that, Sol,” he cautioned her. “You can use that tone on Johnny and Joseph, but you can’t use it on me. We neither fuck nor run a business together.”
“I remember now why you’re unbearable. How silly of me, to have forgotten.”
“I was going to say,” Jacob continued, as though she had not spoken at all, “that the killing really shouldn’t be a point of contention for you.”
And then, with the kind of spiteful accuracy that she truly detested: “Of all people.”
Shut up. The words sat there, on the tip of her tongue, threatening. Only Jacob would get away speaking to her like this. She supposed that made them hearty exceptions for each other, didn’t it? All the same, the things that she had done—or rather, the things that Joseph had done, for her —were in the past, and long-since buried. Literally and figuratively.
“Here I was, thinking you were my favorite,” she replied primly, and this elicited a laugh out of Jacob, short and barked out but nonetheless genuine. “Tell me you didn’t volunteer to pick me up just so you could start a fight with me. Is it that boring, out there in God’s Country?”
“I never said I volunteered.”
“But you did,” she countered, “didn’t you?”
Jacob glanced at her, then focused his gaze back on the road. “God’s Country is pretty boring, right about now. But there’s been a bit of excitement.”
“Ah, yes,” she replied, foregoing her irritation with his little jab. “Why don’t we compare what John told me with the truth, then?”
“Sounds like a fun game to pass the time.”
Isolde had the feeling they’d at least have a lot to fill the time, at any rate.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Eden’s Gate was not what she had anticipated.
The cult aspect—that was one thing. She could deal with a cult. She could deal with two cults, even, which if what Jacob told her was accurate—and she assumed that it was, because he had no motive to lie to her—sounded like it was actively happening, or had just finished happening.
The compound’s yard looked like a graveyard. As the truck, guided by Jacob’s hands on the steering wheel, rolled in, Isolde took a moment to sweep her eyes over everything as meticulously as possible. Small, meek buildings, the white wiring of a long trellis stretching over the yard, and—blood. Splattered across some of the buildings. Sins in their most classical names, graffitied here and there.
It was dirty. Nothing looked well-insulated. The media would absolutely have had a fucking field day with this. What few people she saw out and about, milling around and regarding the truck’s arrival with quiet, venomous curiosity, might as well have been plucked straight out of the homeless shelter.
When Joseph had told her what his plans were, when he had started dropping tiny scraps of information—because he wanted her to ask for more, wanted to pique her interest—he had never told her it would be...Well.
This.
“This is a fucking joke,” Isolde said, without thinking, turning to look at Jacob. The redhead regarded her with an even-keel gaze, putting the truck in park and tilting his chin, almost defiantly.
“What is?” he asked, and it was sort of there—a tiny, tiny little threat. A demand. What’s funny, Isolde? What do you think is a joke? Surely, the eldest Seed had regarded many defectors and insurgents with the same kind of look. Surely, she knew, he was waiting for her to say something that would make her regret having voiced her opinion.
Purposefully, Isolde replied, “This place.” When Jacob exhaled out of his nose, sharp and impatient, she watched the muscle of his jaw flex, his teeth clenching; before he could open his mouth, she plunged on, “Jacob, you’re not a fucking idiot.”
“Thank you,” Jacob snipped, not sounding very grateful at all.
“The media would lose their fucking shit over this place. It would be a madhouse .”
The redhead sucked his teeth. “You really aren’t getting it, aren’t you?” he asked after a moment of silence had lapsed between them. “There won’t be any fuckin’ media, Isolde. Not if Joseph’s right. And he’s been right about everything else. There won’t be fuck all left to care about beyond your own life.”
“Yeah, except I have to care about them like they’re going to be here!” Isolde snapped. “That’s the whole reason I’m here, you know. In case. John sent me to do damage control because he knows you and Joseph are so tunnel-vision you don’t have any kind of back-up plan.”
His eyes narrowed. “That’s funny. A back-up plan, for the collapse of the world as we know it.”
“Finally,” she bit out, “you get my sense of humor.” She grabbed the handle of the door, but before she opened it, she said, “ If Joseph’s right.”
Jacob stilled beside her, head cocked as though he were really listening to her, taking in her words. “What?”
“You said,” Isolde replied tartly, “ if Joseph’s right.”
She turned her head to look at him, trying to discern anything in his expression that might have let her glean some insight on where it was that Jacob really stood. Of all of the Seed children, he had always struck her as the least fanatical—devoted, surely. Structured and disciplined and rigorous and devoted, yes. But not in the way that John had been about Joseph, and maybe was still.
Of course, she saw nothing that indicated Jacob was going to bite the bait.
“Just remember,” Isolde told him, pushing the passenger door open and feeling the bite of winter dig straight into her bones, “ you said that, not me.”
She slid out of the passenger seat, grabbing her suitcase from the back seat and hauling it out. Jacob sighed from the front seat, passing a hand over his face before he climbed out of the driver’s seat and came around the front, stilling her hands over the handle of her suitcase.
“Joseph doesn’t know you’re here,” he told her, glossing over her little barb as though it had never happened. He disengaged her suitcase from the back of the truck with ease, lifting it over her head and keeping it out of the snow. “Just as a heads up.”
“He doesn’t—?” She felt the incredulous spike in her voice. “Bloody fucking hell, did you not tell him?”
“Why would I?” the redhead replied idly, beginning to walk toward the chapel without waiting for her. The implication lay there— why would I, when it’s so much more interesting to have not? —reminding Isolde that in many ways, Jacob Seed was still a Big Brother that did not so often enjoy bending to the will and request of his younger sibling.
She picked her way across the yard, stomping the snow off of her shoes before she stepped into the chapel that Jacob had disappeared into. It was empty, and dark; a heater ran, fruitless and futile, in the far corner. That’s going to change, she thought tiredly. I won’t be losing my fingers for this shithole.
“Look who I found at the airport,” Jacob announced to the figure standing at the front of the church. Isolde felt her insides twist with a strange kind of dreadful anticipation, because the second the figure turned around, she recognized him immediately. Even dimly backlit by the cold winter light filtering through the symbol carved out of the front of the chapel, even after so much time apart. Of course, she thought, she would have recognized him anywhere.
Joseph said, “Isolde,” like he wasn’t at all surprised to find her there.
“Hello, Joseph,” she greeted, managing to keep the anxiety out of her voice. “I’ve only just learned John did not choose to inform you of my impending arrival.” And apparently, neither did God.
“No,” the man agreed. He was bundled up in a dark-colored sweater, high-necked, the hair pulled back from his face. “But I haven’t spoken to John recently. And what did he send you for?”
Isolde blinked at him, brows lifting on her face. “Pardon?”
“What purpose?” he reiterated. “To what end?”
It was so completely and utterly dismissive that Isolde thought she had hallucinated Joseph’s blatant disrespect. The Joseph she had known had, at least, more grace and tact when it came to being a thoughtless bastard.
“To what—?” Fuck you fuck you fuck you, that vicious, still-wounded thing inside of her whispered, furious. Fuck you, you stupid smug fucker, fuck you so fucking hard. To what end? He couldn’t have possibly descended into sheer stupidity as well as delusional grandeur, could he have?
Jacob said, almost in an effort to mediate, “Johnny thought we could use the support.”
“To what end?” Soli demanded, incredulous. “You’ve got half of Montana’s homeless population dragging their emaciated corpses through the snow outside, Joseph. What ‘purpose’ do you think I’m here for?”
Joseph’s eyes narrowed. His expression remained serene otherwise, no flex of irritated muscle that she could see. He’d always been nearly impossible for her to read—plenty of times she’d said things just to push his buttons, just to see him flinch, just to see what he’d do. It had both pleased and infuriated him, then.
Now, she hoped only for the latter.
“You’re here for PR, then,” is what he said, at last. “A fall-back. Because John has doubts.”
“Taking one quick look at your congregation, I can see why.”
“Faith and devotion are not always the easiest routes,” Joseph replied, lifting his chin in a tiny spark of defiance. “And they are. Devoted.”
“They are,” Isolde said tightly, “ filthy, Joseph.”
There was a tiny, almost imperceptible click, and she realized with a sense of satisfaction that it was Joseph’s molars, setting and grinding together. The moment stretched between the two of them like that, drawn tight and tense by her blatant disdain and Joseph’s refusal to acknowledge that they probably needed her, and finally Jacob cleared his throat.
“So glad,” he said lightly, rubbing his hands together. “So glad to have you back around, Sol. Why don’t I show you where you’ll be staying?”
Isolde sucked her teeth. “Fine,” she replied tartly. “And it ought to have a better fucking heater than this.”
“Whatever you want, princess.”
As Jacob swung her suitcase over his shoulder, heading for the door that led out through the back of the chapel, Isolde cinched her coat tight around her waist and followed.
“Soli,” Joseph said, the utterance of a nickname so few had ever been allowed to use for her grinding her movements to a halt. She took in a short, sharp breath through her nose, turning to look at the man over her shoulder.
He was regarding her curiously, his eyes taking a relaxed, leisurely sweep over her despite the unpleasant interaction they had just endured.
“What, Joseph?” she asked, her words coming out short and biting.
“You haven’t changed a bit.” The corner of his mouth ticked upward. “I’m glad you’re here.”
It wasn’t what she had expected or anticipated. Even in a perfect world where they were absolutely cordial with each other, she would haven’t expected this. The whole thing had to be some kind of game: already, the mental chess game had begun, and she had been caught lagging unpleasantly behind on the first move.
So she said, “Good,” and turned back around, marching devoutly after Jacob.
“You should be.”
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
He had been this close.
John hadn’t intended on being as loud as he was, when he got out of his car. But the sight of Elliot wandering out of her front door, barefoot and in nothing but shorts and t-shirt, had inspired quite a bit of concern; he’d still waited, watching her. Watching her walk out to the fence that he knew led out to the pastures and eventually the woods, and then stood there.
Much like the other night, she only stood. He couldn’t see her do anything except be there—standing, watching the woods, her face relaxed and serene.
It filled him with the same kind of dread it had when he’d seen her do it through the windows, standing at the top of the stairs with her face lax and her eyes open. Seeing it again, he was now more certain than ever it was a recent development, and that she had not been sleep-walking back in Hope County; at the very least, not when he had been around her.
And red. Her hair was so red—the same kind of coppery-ginger that he’d seen the man in their family photos sporting, the man who had been entirely absent from any other photos past what seemed to be the age of eight. Her hair was so red, and so long, sprawling down to her shoulder blades and sweeping across the thin white cotton of her sleep shirt. 
When ten minutes passed and he saw no change, he thought, that just won’t fucking do, and opened the car door, shutting it behind him with a new sense of urgency. He hadn’t wanted to get her like this when something was so clearly unsettling her, but if that’s what it had to be, then—
But the front door of her house opened, and he heard the woman that he thought had to be Elliot’s mother calling for her, and he’d stopped himself. It would have been worse if he’d been halfway down the drive to her, but this far away he could duck behind the Honda he’d been calling his home and act like he hadn’t gotten out at all.
Somewhere down the street—down in the far end of the widely-spaced row of old money houses—the sound of a car starting and pulling away echoed.
It could have been nothing, he thought. It could have been, but what if it wasn’t?
What if it wasn’t nothing?
John listened to the sound of Elliot muddle through a response to her mother, words slurring tiredly as she stepped through the snow. It wasn’t until he heard the front door of the house close and the voices fade out of existence that he finally allowed himself to climb back into his car, turning the key in the ignition and cranking the heat up.
He had been this close to her. As he sat in his car, listening to the heat tick against the cold metal of the engine, John thought that maybe he would not be able to be as careful as he would have liked with this whole thing. Time was rapidly running out, and things were only going to get worse the longer he spent dallying.
Besides—if memory served him correctly, Elliot had always slept better with him there. Even if it wasn’t the most ideal reunion he could have pictured, he thought it was as close as he was going to get.
It certainly wasn’t how he anticipated meeting his mother-in-law, at any rate.
In the console, the rattling vibration of plastic on plastic broke him out of his thoughts. John fished around absently, eyes burning with exhaustion, until he could pull the cell phone out and regard the unregistered number for a moment. It had to be either Jacob or Joseph, given they were the only ones who had access to this phone number, but that thought was oddly uncomfortable.
He hit the green accept button, clearing his throat. “Hello?”
“John. How are you doing?”
It was Joseph’s voice, familiar but altogether strange, too. They hadn’t spoken before he’d left the compound, and Hope County—in part because Joseph had been deep in his singular loneliness, convening with God, and in part because John had not wanted to think about the conversation they would have had regarding bringing Elliot back. There was too much there to unpack, really; Joseph’s dislike (hatred?) of what she had done was abundantly clear, but his elder brother couldn’t find it in himself to deny, either, the importance of returning her back to the fold.
“I’m alright,” John replied, cautiously. He thought about whether or not to mention Elliot’s sleepwalking, and then decided against it. “How are things at the compound?”
“They’re good.” There was a pause. “You sent Isolde here.”
It was a statement, not a question. John pressed his mouth into a thin line. He wondered if Isolde had been polite—and then reminded himself that it was Isolde, and no amount of bad blood or past history would ever get her to shut up.
So he said, “She’s the next best thing, after me.”
“I see.” Joseph seemed to want to say something else, his voice lingering absently on the other end of their phone call: but if he was going to say what it was, he didn’t make any move to, and John felt that nervous, anxious energy pushing up high in his throat.
“It’s important to me,” John managed out after a minute, “that you and the others are well taken care of while I’m here dealing with…”
“Our wayward lamb.”
The tightness in Joseph’s voice was not lost on John, and he cleared his throat.
“Right. But I’m going to be—touching base with her soon, and we’ll be back on the road in no time.”
Touching base didn’t sound quite right. It didn’t feel quite as momentous as it was going to feel, he thought—but making contact also didn’t hit the same. It was going to be near-disastrous, he was sure, no matter how he went about it.
At first, anyway. And then she would understand, of course, that everything he had done had been for them; everything had been done for her sake, for her future with him, and she would finally, finally be fucking grateful.
“See that you do, and are,” Joseph said after a minute. “We need our brother here, John. You, and our sister and nephew.”
Our sister, Joseph said. Something about that didn’t feel good at all, John thought, but he swallowed back the uneasy bile in his throat.
“Of course,” he replied after a moment. “I understand completely.”
“Goodnight, John.”
The call clicked off before John could even open his mouth to reply, leaving him with only the dead air and the stifling silence of steady snowfall around him.
Good night indeed.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
When Elliot awoke that morning, it was to the sound of conversation downstairs and Boomer’s frantic barking.
She struggled out of bed, eyes blurry from exhaustion. Her body ached, dull and faintly reminiscent of her late-night jaunt out into the snow; she pushed the door open, only for Boomer to instantly race down the stairs.
“Elliot,” her mother called, her voice pitching high with frustration, “ please come control your beast.”
Boomer was barking mad. He was barking angry, the kind of vicious alert noise he made when he saw someone he did not like. Elliot barely managed to collect herself to get down the stairs to apologize profusely to whoever it was her hound was currently yelling at when she stopped short at the end of the stairs.
It was John. John, sitting on her couch. John, coming to a stand when she came down the stairs. John, hair tousled out from its normally perfectly-gelled slick-back style, John in street clothes, John John John existing in her space and breathing her air and flashing her a stupid smile that she wanted to immediately punch in.
Her brain fizzed and sputtered to a stop. She had thought, should this moment ever come, that she would feel scared. Panicked. But she didn’t feel any of those things. She only felt—
Furious.
The kind of strange, quiet fury that arrived like death, sudden and violent and crashing over her in waves until all she could think about was getting her hands around John’s throat.
She was vividly, ferociously reminded of the drag of John’s finger along her sternum. Yours must surely be the sin of Wrath.
It felt something close to nirvana, though, in a strange, intoxicating way. All this time she had spent being worried that someone was hunting her, someone like Burke—desperate to Do Right by the law—or maybe even the Seeds themselves, because some kind of cosmic force had been on their side for reasons even she couldn’t formulate. But now?
Now, the man who had been the apex predator, the man who had dragged her through a drug-riddled nightmare, the man who had lied and lied and lied endlessly, ceaselessly, who had
(I love you, Elliot)
pretended to give a shit about the things that she wanted, was here.
Within reach.
It was a different kind of adrenaline rush, one that she hadn’t realized she had missed until her attention had zeroed in directly on John and the imminent threat that he posed. The things he could tell her mother, the things she had worked so hard to keep at bay and far behind her—John was the manifestation of all of those things, and she was fucking mad.
“Elliot,” her mother said, breaking her from the strange, dreamlike haze her fury had plunged her into, “John tells me that he’s your...”
And then Scarlet’s voice trailed off.
“What?” Elliot bit out, crushing the bones of the words between her teeth. “ John says he’s my what, mother?”
John exhaled through his mouth. There was an infuriatingly charming smile planted on his face, but if she looked close enough, she could see lines of tension there, too; she wondered if he’d really thought her mother would be a safer bet than her. “Ell,” he began, the nickname grinding Elliot’s good nature to a halt, “I think it’s important that we—”
But before he could finish his thought, Elliot interjected, “Shut. The. Fuck. Up. ”
Boomer’s barking had dwindled into low, threatening growls, his hackles fully raised like little pin needles along his spine. He was laser-focused on John, with one ear cocked in her direction, waiting. On the couch, John shifted uncomfortably.
“Bunny,” her mother said, her voice tight and her mouth set in a prim line at the expletive she’d just barked out, “tell the hound to be quiet.”
“Sit,” Elliot ordered, which did not equate to quiet, but which Boomer obeyed anyway. She thought maybe she would have been more stressed about it if she were not fully confident in her ability to heel him, should the need arise.
“I only wanted,” John tried again, raising his hands like he was trying not to spook a wild bronco, “for us to have a moment—”
“It’s nice to want things,” she bit out viciously. “There are a lot of things I want, too.”
Her mother came to a stand, clearing her throat and instantly drawing their eyes.
“Mr. Seed,” Scarlet said, her voice mild, “please take a seat. You’re raising my blood pressure, looming in my vision like that.”
John took in a breath and then re-seated himself, planting a smile on his face. “John is fine, Mrs. Honeysett.”
Her mother gave him a scathing once-over before she said, very pointedly, “Mr. Seed tells me he is your husband.”
It might as well have been a slap to the face. Elliot was viciously reminded of their last interaction—the threat of murder, the oh-so-satisfying sting of her palm connecting with his face. The last well-and-true violation John had committed against their wobbly, new-born trust.
Her stomach lurched. The kind of nausea that came with rage welled up inside of her, and she blinked furiously, wishing for once that the adrenaline did not make her so very focused and hyper-aware and instead that she could actively choose to check-out of reality.
“He’s a fucking liar,” was what ended up coming out of her mouth, because it wasn’t incriminating either way. John Seed was a liar. A deceiver. And while they might —maybe, tenuously, questionably—be married in the eyes of the law (something which Elliot could, unfortunately, not prove one way or the other), that didn’t mean fuck all.
“At the very least, you won’t be having a baby out of wedlock,” her mother continued, her voice tight with some unreadable emotion that implied she was not pleased by this development at all. She was eyeing Elliot, studying her, and for once a scolding for her poor language did not ensue. “I imagine you’ll want a moment to discuss in private what our next steps are.”
There are no next steps, Elliot thought viciously, loosening the vice-clench of her hands and feeling the blood come rushing, stinging back into her palms. She watched the corner of John’s mouth tick upward, amused; infuriatingly handsome, per usual, so much so that she wanted to just punch his fucking teeth in. There are no next steps for John Seed, not with me.
“Yeah,” she said finally, eyes narrowing, gritting the words out between her teeth. “I would love to have a moment alone with John.”
The casual smile on John’s face downturned, just a little. It was the kind of uneasy expression that came with getting what he wanted so easily, too easily, that he didn’t know if it was really what he wanted anymore. Good. She wanted him to squirm.
“I’ll be upstairs,” Scarlet replied, sweeping past her. “And you just call if you need me, bunny.”
Elliot made a small noise of agreement. The tense, drawn line of her mother’s shoulders implied a distinct dislike, and she could already feel the judgments welling up—things that John would certainly deserve. Things that her mother would wait to slip into idle, polite conversation, if it ever got to that point. Which she would do her fucking damnedest to make sure that it didn’t.
As soon as her mother had drifted wraithlike up the stairs, a moment of silence stretched between them. John came to a stand, keeping his hands up and in plain view as he took a few steps forward, inspiring in Boomer a few short, vicious barks that reminded him their friendship had been temporary and fleeting.
“Ell,” John began, “I know that you’re—”
“Don’t fucking call me that.”
He exhaled, once, out of his nose. “ Elliot,” he tried again, “a lot of things were said—”
Elliot felt the anger spike in her violently. “Oh, were there?”
“My God, are you going to let me finish a sentence?”
“I should rip your fucking tongue out of your mouth, you lying rat,” Elliot snapped viciously. “What are you doing here? Why are you here? How did you fucking—how are the police not—the government —”
John flashed her a half-cocked smile that she was sure had inspired homicidal tendencies before, and would do so again. “Are you really that surprised they weren’t able to keep us?”
“This is not the fucking time,” she hissed, pitching her voice low, “to be playing games with me, John Seed.”
“No game,” he promised as he mimicked her volume. “We found a way out. I’m presuming, not unlike the same strategy with which you found a way out, isn’t that right?”
She felt her teeth clench. Of course he fucking knows, something inside of her whispered viciously. Of course he knows, he’s not stupid about things like that. Just everything else.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said finally. “You have no way of knowing that Burke didn’t send me off to a therapist and let me go.”
“Sure, Elliot,” John murmured, his voice slick, “Cameron Burke, U.S. Federal Marshal, shipped you off to a therapist who found out you were perfectly well-adjusted after caving a man’s face in with a blunt object and now you’re here, living in bumfuck nowhere Georgia. How’s mama Honeysett feel about that, anyway?” He tilted his chin, eyes sly. “About all the killing—”
She swung without thinking. It was a knee-jerk reaction, no thought and no pre-meditation, only pure and unadulterated gut-instinct to impact her fist with his face. Unfortunately, John seemed to have been prepared for it, and stepped back just in time, catching her wrist.
“I’m a quick study,” John murmured, his voice pitching low into a threat, “and I’m not interested in losing any teeth.”
“Brave of you to put your hand so close to my face,” Elliot snapped in a hiss. She jerked her wrist out of his grip like it had burned her, and it might as well have—the contact of skin, not unlike the ways John had touched and grabbed her before, when he’d had a right to.
Regarding her warily, he dropped his hand to his side. “You ran away with our baby.”
“I would hardly call leaving you to your own devices as I made a leisurely departure with government officials ‘running away’.”
“You ran away with our baby,” he repeated, cocking his head to the side. “I think the exact words were ‘you should have considered that before you fucking came inside me, you cunt’.”
Elliot’s mouth twisted. She was trying not to smile, because despite the absolute absurdity of the situation—the punch of those words still felt satisfying, in a strange, twisted way. Even though it was for that exact reason that she found herself in this situation now: pregnant, and struggling to feel like she was really that, like she was anything more than a temporary vessel for the baby who didn’t quite feel real to her yet.
John’s eyes flickered. “Find that amusing?”
“Yeah,” she replied sharply, “I think it’s some of my best work. Short of slapping you in the face. I do wish I’d made it a closed-fist punch, if I’m being honest.”
He seemed pleased at that, as though the reminder of her Wrath was a comforting familiarity, and she wished she hadn’t fallen so easily back into their old cadence. Steeling herself, she said, “You need to leave.”
“I think I’m exactly where I need to be,” John assured her. “With my unborn child, and my wife —”
“Don’t you fucking—”
“—and my mother-in-law,” he finished demurely, “who surely knows everything about what we’ve been up to these last few weeks. Doesn’t she?”
Elliot stared at him. No was the correct and truthful answer. No, her mother did not know what had been happening these last few weeks, was blissfully unaware of the extent of Eden’s Gate and their evil as well as the things that Elliot herself had done. If her mother had known what she’d done—if her mother had known the things John had done—she would have been horrified. Disgusted. Repulsed.
I’m it for you, John had said, and
(maybe that was true, maybe he was the only person who would ever be able to get her, accept her, love her)
fuck him for saying so.
“The irony of you threatening me with pure honesty isn’t lost on me. And I don’t know what you’re hoping to accomplish,” Elliot said sourly, after a moment. “Blackmail isn’t exactly the way to a girl’s heart, and certainly doesn’t convince me of your qualifications as a father.”
“Desperate times,” John allowed, tilting his chin up playfully, “desperate measures. And it isn’t blackmailing, per se. You could have just as easily told your mother everything that had happened and I’d have nothing working in my favor.”
But of course, he had known her better than that. John had seen the way killing Kian had affected her, the way it affected her when she was faced with the mountain of bodies she had left behind her, the shame and disconcertion at finding something wretched and wrathful inside of herself and liking it.
So he hadn’t gambled at all, really, and she supposed that she wasn’t that surprised.
He paused, studying her for a moment, before he added, “Not to mention, you are carrying my baby.”
My baby, something hissed inside of Elliot, wretched and protective, something that had otherwise been dormant inside of her up until now; not your baby, my baby.
“All I want,” he continued as he kept his voice low, sauntering closer, trying to do that thing that he did where he crowded up against her and made her brain go fuzzy, “is a chance.”
“Fuck you,” Elliot snapped. “I should have throttled you the second you walked through my fucking door.”
“But you didn’t,” he pointed out. The arrogance bled through and into his voice, bright and sharp. “And you haven’t. And that’s because you lo—”
This time, Elliot’s swing wasn’t anticipated at all, and she landed a sharp, open-palm slap to the side of John’s face. He reached up, working his jaw, his eyes narrowed as that tell-tale anger colored his expression. Good, she thought venomously, watching the red bloom just under his skin, good, I hope it fucking hurts, you stupid fucker.
“Next time you presume to tell me how I feel about you,” she warned, “it will be closed-fist. And I won’t fucking miss.”
John’s eyes flashed with something dangerous and angry. But he said, “I’m glad I didn’t break that wrathful streak out of you,” with no absence of affection-tipped venom.
“Elliot?”
It was Scarlet’s voice, drifting down from the stairs. Elliot gave John one hard, vicious look before she turned to see her mother standing at the landing where the two stairways converged at the top of the main staircase, regarding them with a critical eye.
“Have you sorted it all out?” she asked after a moment. “All of this…business?”
“I’m going to be in town for a while longer,” John said, before Elliot could formulate a response, inspiring in her yet another bout of homicidal rage that she had to quickly reel in. “I’m determined to make this work, no matter how long it takes.” And then, in what he surely thought was a very charming gesture: “I’m very pleased to get to know my mother-in-law a little better, as well.”
“Ah,” Scarlet replied. She then refused to elaborate. 
“I hope,” John continued after a moment, “that’s alright with you, Mrs. Honeysett.”
Her brow arched upward, looking between Elliot and John expectantly, making it clear that was all she had to say on that. It was satisfying, to watch her mother operate as she always did without even knowing the true nature of John Seed. It was the least he deserved
“I really think you should just go,” Elliot said tightly as she turned her attention to him. “Back to Hope County, I mean. Your brothers probably need your help.”
“They’re fine,” John said, feigning sweetness despite the red sting of her slap still fresh on his skin and her mother's very apparent disdain, “and nothing is more important to me than you and the baby, Elliot.”
Saccharine and venomous. Fuck, I hate him.
“I’ll get a room in the motel here,” he continued, brightly. “That way we’ll have plenty of time to spend together. Catch up. Has Elliot told you much about Hope County these last few weeks, Mrs. Honeysett?”
"Fine," Elliot bit out, just as her mother cut in, "That won't do at all," and they looked at each other with the same amount of wounded incredulity.
"He'll stay with us." Her mother's voice was decisive. "Not in that run-down motel."
"Mother," Elliot bit out.
"I won't have a man traipsing in and out of my house at all hours of the night, living like some vagabond," Scarlet asserted. "Especially not the father of my grandchild. And you certainly don’t expect me to explain that to people."
Elliot could feel the headache blistering behind her eyes. She didn't even need to look at John to know he was grinning, ear to ear, like a fucking Cheshire Cat. It was the blatant and unimpressive downside to her mother remaining completely in the dark about what had happened in Hope County—and if John had thought he had leverage over her before, he certainly thought so now. There was no way Scarlet would have insisted he stay if she really knew.
This was bad. Devastatingly, infuriatingly, chop-her-hair-off-and-run-away bad. The kind of bad that only happened in horror comedies. Suddenly, she thought that dyeing her hair had been the most reasonable thing to do, and that her margin for acting out had increased exponentially.
"That's so kind of you," John said pleasantly from behind her. "Thank you."
"It is kind of me," was her mother's clipped agreement. "Make sure you move your…" Scarlet gestured vaguely with one elegant hand. "Vehicle behind the garage, Mr. Seed. I do not need my driveway looking like a scrapyard." Her head tilted, eyes narrowed. "Bunny, help me prepare the guest room."
She resisted the urge to sigh, knowing that if there was one thing her mother would not tolerate, it was an insolent child. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Her mother gave the two of them one more leisurely, scathing sweep-over with her eyes, making a noise that bordered skillfully between discontent and acquiescence before she departed up the stairs to leave them alone once again.
“Do we really need separate rooms?” John mused, as though he had not hunted her down five states away and showed up unannounced at her home after systematically lying to her. “I mean—you are carrying my child.”
There it was, that little spark again, pure defiance: my baby, I’m carrying them, you’ve done nothing, like all of a sudden this baby had become more hers than it had ever felt before the second John tried to stake his claim on it. “I’m going to punch your fucking teeth in,” she hissed, “if you don’t get the fuck out of swinging range.”
“I did so miss our rapport.”
“Final warning.”
He flashed her a grin that was all teeth, and she regretted, in fact, having given him a warning at all; it seemed that even though their time together had been short, old habits did die hard.
The brunette swung around on his heel, pulling the keys out of his pocket and sauntering toward the door. He truly did embody the cat that had caught the canary, more so than Elliot would have liked to admit, turning to look at her through playfully narrowed eyes. “In case you were wondering—”
“I’m not.”
“I like the red,” he finished, voice bleeding with self-satisfaction, “bunny.”
It was good, for his sake, that he had waited until he was out of reach to say so.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
“ That one, Elliot?”
“Mama,” she gritted out, her fingers digging viciously into the fabric of the sheets, “please, I do not want to have this conversation.”
“I just think,” her mother amended curtly as she passed a scathing look over the brunette Elliot was currently considering shoving through the stained glass of the front door, “you could have at least picked the tall one.”
Elliot stared at her mother from across the king-sized guest bed, blinking rapidly. “You mean...Jacob?” Ugh, she thought, remembering the way John’s eldest brother had grinned at her when she’d threatened to kill him and said, yeah, you think you can, little girl? Fucker.
“Is that the redhead?”
“Yes.”
Scarlet nodded sagely. “You have to be mindful of who you pick to build a life with,” her mother intoned dutifully. “Genes, and the like. Both your daddy and I are tall, and you’re so short, honey. You want to set the baby up for success, don’t you?”
“I’m not—” Absurd. Absolutely absurd, this conversation she was having, not only that her mother thought she would just have her fucking pick of Seed brothers to be impregnated by, let alone that she would ever fucking want Jacob Seed that close to her. “I’m not discussing whether or not I’d let Jacob Seed into my bed, mother.”
“Well,” Scarlet replied primly, smoothing out the comforter meticulously with her hand, “John’s quite...alternative, anyway. I just never knew you liked...” Her voice trailed off again, and she gestured vaguely.
Elliot arched a brow at her. “Liked?”
“That,” her mother finished after a moment, and then sighed, like it had been excruciating for her to say so. It wasn’t as though they’d had many heart-to-hearts about what kind of boy Elliot liked, anyway. “You know, the—tattoos. And whatnot.”
“They don’t bother me one way or another, mama.”
“I find your taste in men quite eclectic. What happened to that nice young man you went to high school with? And all of those school dances? He was nice. Didn’t you two work together at the sheriff’s office?”
The last person that Elliot wanted to discuss in terms of a romantic relationship was the one man she’d dated in high school. Staci Pratt had been evacuated with the others, and was hopefully living his life with a steadfast therapist somewhere far from Hope County, just like the rest of the Resistance. She cleared her throat.
“I’m not having a baby with Staci Pratt.”
“I know that.”
“Can we please,” she started, “can we please stop talking about this? I really don’t even want John staying here, but you insisted, and—”
Scarlet crossed her arms over her chest, frowning. “Well, why not? Don’t you like him? Enough to marry him and have a baby with him, anyway.”
I don’t, that vicious little voice inside of Elliot hissed, I didn’t say yes, I didn’t want to marry him, I don’t think I even want to marry anyone, stop talking about it, please.
It made her sick to her stomach, to think about John being her husband, to think about the fact that she was having his baby, and maybe that was why she hadn’t been able to feel quite so much like herself as of late; maybe that was why she had been feeling so disconnected from the baby, because she hadn’t quite reconciled how they had come to be in the first place.
She hadn’t reconciled that she had been so, so, incredibly, wretchedly stupid.
“Is there something you aren’t telling me?” Scarlet asked after a moment, watching her from across the bed, her mouth turning into a firmer, more deep-set frown. “You seemed awfully unhappy to have him here.”
“We didn’t leave on good terms,” Elliot muttered, clearing her throat and busying herself with pulling pillowcases onto the pillows. Fuck, she couldn’t believe she was doing this. Making up a bed in her guest room for John fucking Seed.
Her mother moved around to the foot of the bed, stepping carefully over Boomer so as not to disturb him where he lay. She paused at the door, just long enough without saying anything to draw Elliot’s attention back to her, before she exhaled softly.
“It’s Christmas next week,” her mother said after moment, completely ruining the illusion she’d had of her mother actually asking her something meaningful. “The perfect time to practice patience.”
Elliot felt her mouth twist viciously, turning away and dropping the pillows on the bed so that her mother wouldn’t see. The last thing she needed to give John Seed was patience. Least of all Christmas-spirit-induced patience. He deserved far, far less, and much worse, than that.
“Don’t forget about your doctor’s appointment,” her mother called as she departed the room, “and hurry down to eat something before you run your beast.”
It was better this way, anyway. To have John here. If he wasn’t in the custody of Federal agents, the next best place he could be was where she could see him—keep tabs on him, keep aware of what kinds of shit he was up to. And maybe he’d get so tired with her mother’s particular brand of vitriol that he’d fucking leave.
I should be so lucky.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
“What is this?”
Kajsa’s voice broke her out of her reverie. She had been watching the snowfall, flecking against the window in crystalline geometrics, methodical and variable all at the same time—but the surprise peaking in her harbinger’s voice was enough to draw her eyes away.
The heater in the car rattled, straining against the cold temperatures. Kajsa’s dark eyes had narrowed, and when Helmi followed her gaze, it was to the front of the mother’s house. Their little interloper was heading up the front steps, having apparently come from behind the two-story shop and garage to head back inside.
And then he let himself in.
“He is moving quickly, this little snake of ours,” Kajsa murmured, her voice flecked with amusement. “I thought he’d be exercising more caution.”
Helmi made a low noise. This was...displeasing, to say the least. They had been counting on John’s interference being minimal, given that he was away from home and all of his little pets. Apparently, it had only made him more bold.
And that just wouldn’t do at all.
“You will go back,” the black-haired woman beside her announced, decisively.
“What?” Helmi asked, brows furrowing together at the center of her forehead. “Back to Hope County? But—I should be here, with you. My place is—I belong with you. What about...”
Kajsa leaned back against her seat, her eyes never once having left the house. As Helmi’s voice trailed off, unused to presenting distress or dislike of a decision made by her superior, the woman’s jaw worked absently, the brush of her dark, sooty lashes caressing the top of her cheekbones. Singularly devastating and beautiful, as always, though in moments like this Helmi wished it weren’t so distracting.
“I can open our mother to the influence on my own,” she said at last, and finally turned her slate-gray gaze to Helmi. “I want you to return to our family back in Montana. Do whatever you would like, but make sure you are making them sweat. ”
She turned in her seat now, so that they were facing each other, taking Hel’s face in her hands. The pads of Kajsa’s thumbs swept across her cheeks, affectionate.
“Strangle them,” Kajsa murmured. “I want you to be my tourniquet. Stop the bleeding where you can. Tighten so ferociously around those apostates that John Seed will have no choice but to abandon our mother and leave her to me.”
I don’t want to leave, Helmi thought, watching the woman’s dark eyes—so dark, so dark, faded and distant while her pupils ate away at her irises. I don’t want to leave you.
“It is best.” Her voice pitched, soft and low, almost lulling. “For the end. For our winter, Helmi. I do not want you to go, and I will grieve, just like you will.” She tilted her head, drawing Helmi’s eyes to the wisps of dark hair spilling like black moonlight against the porcelain of her throat. “And what do we say to our grief?”
“Sorrow shared,” Helmi whispered, “sorrow halved.”
“That is exactly right.” Kajsa leaned back, the curve of her dark mouth, feline and sharp, wrenching right on Helmi’s resolve. “You will go for me, won’t you?”
I don’t want to, she thought again, the idea of leaving Kajsa alone to sit in the dark, to peel apart the mother’s layers one by one, unthread her, a distressing one. They had never been so far apart. I don’t want to be away from you.
“Helmi.”
“I will,” she managed out at last. “For you.” I would do anything, for you.
Kajsa’s smile widened, razor-sharp.
“And that is why," the woman murmured, "you are perfect to me."
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zodiyack · 4 years
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Taglists (Comment to be added)
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Xavier Plympton Taglist
@marvelmayo
Richard Taglist
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Duncan Shepherd Taglist
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Jim Mason Taglist
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Everything Jamie Campbell Bower Taglist
@wonnou
Caius Volturi
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Jace Wayland
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(Henry Creel is in Stranger Things List)
Everything Peaky Blinders Taglist
@simonsbluee, @stuckysslag, @psychkunox, @marquelapage, @i-love-superhero
Thomas Shelby Taglist
@captivatedbycillianmurphy, @stydia-4-ever, @jenepleurepasbaby, @peakyxtommy, @babylooneytoonz, @lyarr24
Lost And Found Series Taglist
@hinagiku0
John Shelby Taglist
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Arthur Shelby Taglist
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Michael Gray Taglist
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Finn Shelby Taglist
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Isiah Jesus Taglist
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Bonnie Gold Taglist
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Alfie Solomons Taglist
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Luca Changretta Taglist
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Elizabeth L Shelby Taglist
@peakysputain, @marquelapage
etc. (ask and I’ll add)
Everything BOP Taglist
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Harley Quinn Taglist
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Roman Sionis Taglist
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etc. (ask and I’ll add)
Everything TVD Taglist
@dpaccione, @local-depresso-gay-idiot, @thatdamncutegirl
Damon Salvatore Taglist
@jenepleurepasbaby
Opposites Attract Series Taglist
@lady-salvatore, @sana-li, @lawlerek, @caseysalvatore, @thecraziestcrayon, @tranqs-main-mami, @yolobloggers, @rosiesimone819, @agustdpeach, @iclosetgeek, @dpaccione, @jenjie, @avengersgirllorianna, @obsssedwithjustaboutanything, @sonnydoesrandomshit
Stefan Salvatore Taglist
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Other TVD Characters Taglists;
- (comment)
Everything The Originals Taglist
@dpaccione, @thatdamncutegirl
Klaus Mikaelson Taglist
@jenepleurepasbaby
Every King Needs An Heir Series Taglist
@underc0vercryptid
Elijah Mikaelson Taglist
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Kol Mikaelson Taglist
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etc. (ask and I’ll add)
Everything Stranger Things Taglist
@dpaccione, @xoxo-pepprmnts
Billy Hargrove Taglist
@urie-bowie-mercury
Catching Feelings Taglist
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Billy Hargrove VS The World Series Taglist
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Steve Harrington Taglist
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Eddie Munson Taglist
@sebby-staan, @sarahskywalker-amadala, @ogoc-19, @everheart12, @littlemiss-yeehaw, @b-irock, @final-girl96
etc.
Everything Criminal Minds Taglist
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Spencer Reid Taglist
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Derek Morgan Taglist
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etc. (ask and I’ll add)
Motley Crue + The Dirt Taglists (I might make one for both and then one for each)
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Tommy Lee Taglist
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Nikki Sixx Taglist
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Mick Mars Taglist
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Vince Neil Taglist
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Everything Slasher Taglist
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Patrick Bateman
@kittenlittle24
Bo Sinclair
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Lester Sinclair
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Vincent Sinclair
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Stu Macher
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Billy Loomis
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Severen
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etc. (ask and I’ll add)
Everything iZombie Taglist
@small-bean-ball
Everything Harry Potter
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Harry Potter
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Draco Malfoy
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George Weasley
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Fred Weasley
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Percy Weasley
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etc. (ask and I’ll add)
Everything Supernatural Taglist
@psychkunox, @doozywoozy, @cassieinnitx
Dean Winchester
@lyarr24
Sam Winchester
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Jack Kline 
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Lucifer Morningstar
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etc. (ask and I’ll add)
Everything Vikings Taglist
@doozywoozy
Ivar Ragnarsson
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Ubbe Ragnarsson
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Bjorn Ironside
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Sigurd Ragnarsson
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Hvitserk Ragnarsson
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etc. (ask and I’ll add)
(comment other taglists you’d like to be added to -I’ll also probably add more when I come back-!)
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mnthpprt · 4 years
Text
Chapter 18: A Certain Kind Of Intimacy
[Extra long and angsty chapter because I am an insomniac and a sucker for Arthur being soft]
The rest of the week passes uneventfully. By now, I have developed a comfortable sort of daily routine, and have gotten to know all the residents to some extent.
Every morning, Sebastian wakes me up with a light breakfast and a steaming cup of black coffee. He has quickly learned the way I like it, and to his credit, it is the most effective way of getting me out of bed so early. I take a few drops of Saint John’s Wort before I eat, get dressed, and go to work in the garden.
I water the violets under Mozart’s window, chat with Dazai, and watch Vincent paint. Although he has not said anything about it, I suspect he is using me as a model. He has taken to sit by the greenhouse, and I feel his observant gaze on me as I repot exotic plants or shake the jar of tincture I am making.
I eat lunch with Isaac, and he silently works on his research while I read the English copy of Dazai’s book that I borrowed from Sebastian. Afterwards, if I am done in the garden, I spend some time in the training room. For a couple days, le Comte insisted on giving me dancing lessons there, but I caught on quickly enough for him to drop it. Napoleon likes watching me skate, and we talk about my hometown during breaks. He asks me a lot of questions about the future, mostly about politics, and I do my best to explain the major events between his time and mine. I admit I do not do a great job of it. I have a very strange patchwork of knowledge, and while I could easily list the chemical composition and dates in which each pigment was discovered, I have a hard time remembering names and places. Jean is elusive as ever, and I only ever see him when he’s sparring with Napoleon. 
When they are hogging the training room, I tend to stay in the library. Leonardo is usually there, and he jokes around as he helps me find the relevant books for my own research. He is charming and funny, but I have noticed the sadness that seeps into his eyes when he thinks I am not looking.
A couple days ago I found him working on some kind of machine with Isaac. They needed a wrench small enough to fit into a specific piece, I suspect a part taken from another object. I gave them the tool I use for my skates, and Leonardo has spent most of today apologizing profusely for losing it in the dumpster that is his bedroom.
I help Sebastian here and there. Sometimes it’s laundry, sometimes it’s cleaning, or even delivering rouge and blanc to the vampires. We talk about the things we like about the mansion, and about the things we miss from our time. I have come to understand why he chose to stay, and quite frankly, I am starting to lean the same way, although for entirely different reasons.
I tell him about my job, and about my friends in the year 2020. I tell him how much I miss my best friend Mila, who I was about to meet for the first time in over a year, and about Carlos and Jack, who are just as dear to me but I get to see often. They would all love to see what I now live every day, and I am sure that, given the chance, they wouldn’t have hesitated to come with me, especially Carlos. Like Sebastian, he would have given anything for the chance to see the past with his own eyes.
“I have a sister,” I said to him when he asked about my family. He spoke very fondly of his. “She lives in Milan. Our parents aren’t really in my life anymore...” He understood when I said I did not want to talk about it. Though stern, he is a kind man. We have become close while working together.
I have also spent a lot of time with Arthur lately. In the spare moments when he is not writing or out in some bar, he has taken up the habit of visiting me wherever I am. He gives me riddles to solve as I work, and teases me about the odd answers I come up with. While neither of us really confide in the other, conversations with him are always fun and stimulating. He still flirts relentlessly, but I have become used to it.
This afternoon in particular, he drops by my bedroom while I am reading, and I welcome him and the cup of tea he offers me. He brings one for himself, too, and does not hesitate to get comfortable on the armchair as I sit on the edge of the bed to face him, the tray on top of the ottoman between us.
“I am afraid I have come up with a case of writer’s block,” he says as his only explanation. “I need a break from that story. Will you distract me, my dear?”
“Uh, sure,” I shrug. Maybe he can answer my questions about living in this time. “I have no idea how women do their hair for special events in this decade. Perhaps you could help me with that? You know, with the ball being tonight, and all.”
“Could you show me the dress you’ll be wearing?” he asks thoughtfully.
I oblige, and pull it from the wardrobe. It is a beautiful shade of lilac, made of delicate chiffon. Aside from the slightly puffy cap sleeves, it is simple, yet elegant. Arthur examines it for a few seconds, holding it up in front of me.
“I am afraid I can’t help you, darling. I know nothing about hair,” he concludes, the pondering look in his eyes replaced by an amused glimmer.
“Then why did you ask for the dress?”
“Why, I just wanted to see how hot you would look in it, dove,” he laughs. I playfully smack his arm, and he laughs harder. “This shade brings out the green in your eyes!” I laugh too, rolling my eyes, and let him put the dress away as I return to my spot on the bed.
“Okay, then I hope you can actually answer this,” I giggle. “You’re a doctor, right? And you’re obviously well acquainted with female anatomy.” He smirks as if he thinks where this is going, and boy is he wrong. “How do women deal with menstruation? Am I just supposed to use a piece of cloth or what?”
He chokes on his tea, and lets out another boisterous laugh.
“By Jove, I was expecting you to go the sexy route with the way you phrased that!”
“Arthur, I’m being serious!” I giggle. He is still chuckling when I begin my endless tirade of questions. I would genuinely like to know the answers to them, but I mostly just ask for the sake of keeping up the joke. “Do you know any women vampires? Do they menstruate too? Are vampires fertile, or are you, like, dead in that sense? Oh my god, do you drink period blood? I really hope not, but I wouldn’t put it past you,” I tease him, mockingly disgusted.
When he finally calms down, Arthur proceeds to answer all the questions in methodical order, still clutching his sides.
“They sell special undergarments for that, coated in something that makes them impermeable on one side, I think. Just go to any shop that sells ladies’ dresses in town.” I nod, satisfied. Reusable pads it is, then. Next comes the rapid fire of answers to my increasingly ridiculous questions. “I personally do not know any women vampires, but Leonardo and le Comte definitely do. There are two kinds of us: purebloods like him, who are born like that, and lesser vampires like me and everyone else in this house. Purebloods are the only ones who can turn people, and I have no idea if they menstruate or not because I have never met another one, but they certainly do reproduce like humans. Lesser vampires are very much alive, but while we can have sex, we are infertile, and I suppose the women follow the same rule. And no, we do not feed from menses, you filthy lunatic! Don’t be absurd!” he concludes with a chuckle.
“Good to know,” I laugh at his horrified expression.
“It actually smells completely different from regular blood,” he says. “It’s very unpleasant and does not trigger hunger at all, though I have no idea whether a vampire could potentially survive on it. I am relieved to say I don’t think anyone has tried.” He raises his eyebrows and takes a deep breath before he goes on, condescendingly adding explanations that I did not ask for. “By the way, yes we do have reflections. Also, crosses don’t scare us and neither does sunlight. Anything else you’d like to know, dove?”
“Give me a break, I am curious, not stupid,” I roll my eyes. “Oh! I thought of one! The garlic thing is obviously false, but it is a natural anticoagulant, so I wonder: was that myth started by vampires so you could feed on people better? Like, if superstitious people ate a lot of garlic to try to avoid being bitten, their blood would be thinner and therefore easier to suck, right?”
“Frankly, I have no idea.” He looks surprised. “I can’t say I’ve ever thought about that before, but it makes sense. You’re a clever one, darling.”
I flip my hair over my shoulder with a cocky smile, earning yet another chuckle from Arthur. Suddenly, his eyes focus on something behind me, and he grows serious. He walks over to my nightstand and picks up the small vial on it, carefully reading the label with a furrowed brow.
“Did you cut yourself while gardening?” he asks, a hint of worry on his face. I simply shake my head, and he looks at me, and then at the vial again. Having rejected one of the two main uses for the tincture, he quickly figures it out “Oh. I did not know you suffered from melancholy. I used to give this to soldiers who were affected by their time in the army.”
“Well, you hardly know anything about me. Did it work?” He shrugs, which I interpret as a ‘sometimes’. “In my time we have more effective medication for that sort of thing. I kind of depend on it, but being here... Well, it’s been an unexpected inconvenience. I was lucky to find a mediocre replacement before the effects wore off. It cancels out my contraceptive, but I don’t have that here either, so it’s pointless to worry about.”
He listens intently, his head slightly tilted. He looks at me with sadness in his eyes, the same kind of sorrow that I saw that day at the market. It is not pity, but rather... a mutual understanding. He gets it.
“Oh, Anaïs... I took the Saint John’s Wort myself for a while in my previous life, but it never really did anything for me,” he sighs. I am somewhat surprised by his words. “I hope it works for you, dear. I would hate to see you unhappy.”
“Thank you,” I mutter. He is standing close enough for me to hold his hand, and I am overcome with the urge to reach for it. I interlock my fingers with his, and he squeezes gently in response. We stay like this for a while, silently looking at where our hands meet. His touch is warm and comforting, and he makes no attempt to break contact.
“Oh, shit,” I exclaim, abruptly standing up. “The ball! I have to get ready!”
Arthur lets go of my hand and I immediately begin to undress myself, unbothered by his presence.
“I’ll leave you to it. Have fun, darling,” he says, but I stop him before he gets to the door.
“No, no, don’t leave. I need help getting into the dress.” I shove the one I am wearing down my hips, dropping it on the floor, and hastily remove my bra to change it for the corset. “Besides,” I turn to him, my breasts exposed as I fumble with the clasps on the stiff garment, “you’ve already seen me naked, remember?”
“I suppose you’re right,” he responds with a smirk and, as always, I roll my eyes. 
He hands me the lilac gown, and proceeds to helpfully search the room for my shoes as I put it on. By the time he returns by my side, a pair of matching heels in his hand, I am holding my hair up, ready for him to button the back of my dress. His agile hands work fast, and soon he taps my shoulder to let me know that he has finished. I relax my arms, letting my hair cascade over the chiffon bodice, and slip my feet into the shoes he has left by my side, suddenly becoming two inches taller. I kiss his cheek and thank him for the help, to which he replies with a whistle.
“You look lovely.” He looks genuinely impressed, for once, causing me to blush. 
“You really think so?” He nods, and I walk over to the mirror. A chuckle escapes my lips upon seeing my reflection. “I look like a cupcake. Seriously, though, this is so different from what I am used to wearing. I hardly recognize myself.”
“You almost seem ladylike, even,” Arthur jokes. “All prim and proper. I agree. That,” he says, pointing at the mirror, “is a totally different person.”
It is amazing how effortlessly he can make me laugh. I move on to the dressing table, and pull out every hair accessory I can find in the drawers. Arthur observes thoughtfully as I quickly brush my long hair and begin to work on the styling.
“You were wrong, you know?” he finally breaks the silence. “When you said I hardly know anything about you.”
“Huh?” I raise an eyebrow at his remark. “Well, go on, don’t leave me hanging. What do you know about me that I haven’t told you?”
“For starters, I know that you were not scared of Isaac feeding on you that night.” I look at him through the vanity mirror and nod for him to go on, my hands still braiding through my hair. He seems almost hesitant to keep talking. “When I brought up biting you in the thermae, you were completely unfazed. Considering the incident was so recent, it just didn’t add up. It wasn’t the idea of him biting you that scared you, was it? It was the way he acted when he tried to. I won’t pry if you do not wish to talk about it, but I know that your past can’t have been easy, Anaïs.”
“You’re right,” I whisper. My braid now hangs limp and undone over my shoulder. I must have stopped at some point without realizing. “If he had explained, I might have let him do it, but... I don’t know. He became so violent, so suddenly. The way he grabbed me, it just... It brought back a lot of memories I’d rather forget,” I explain. My voice is barely a murmur, but I am sure Arthur can hear me just fine. “I know it wasn’t his fault, and I have long since forgiven him. Honestly, the reason I was so shaken up after the incident was because I kept reliving all those things it reminded me of. Granted, suddenly learning about the existence of vampires just added to my stress, but ultimately, It had nothing to do with Isaac himself. Or with any of you, for that matter.”
“You’re strong, Anaïs,” he comforts me. “That’s another thing I saw the moment I met you. You’re clever as the devil himself, and I have no doubts that were I human, you could absolutely destroy me in a fight. Those skater legs of yours are good for more than just walking, I bet. Not to mention how kind and caring you are, even for a bunch of strangers who could kill you. You manage to be so open without being naïve. I love that about you.” 
I look down at my hands and resume braiding my hair, unsure of how to respond. I refuse to look at my reflection for fear of Arthur seeing it too, but I can feel my cheeks burn. My fingers work fast, providing a distraction, and I blindly pin the braid into a bun at the back of my head.
“Another thing I know,” Arthur continues, granting closure to my silence, “is that you played Mozart’s piano.” I notice his choice of words. He said ‘played’, and not ‘touched’. Coming from him, I have no doubt it was intentional.
“How on Earth do you know that?” I look up at him through the mirror as I keep working on my hair, adjusting strands and adding pins every now and then. He chuckles.
“I heard Wolfie complain about going to the ball with you. You clearly did something that upset him, although I must admit that’s not exactly a hard task.” He waltzes over to the vanity and comes to a stop right behind me, putting his hands over my shoulders to playfully lean closer. “And I know you were playing, specifically, because you do this thing with your fingers when you’re quiet. Like you’re playing a song in your head.” He wiggles his fingers on my shoulders to illustrate his point.
“I do?” I ask, puzzled. “I have never noticed.”
“Yes,” he laughs. “I first saw you do it in the bath, when you closed your eyes. After that, and after spending some more time with you, I have been able to notice how frequent it actually is. It’s rather adorable, if you ask me.”
“Oh, no,” I laugh, embarrassed, and bury my red face in my hands. Once again, Arthur has successfully made me feel better. He sits back on the armchair and finishes his tea, which is probably cold by now. 
Meanwhile, I dig around my backpack for the small amount of makeup I happen to bring with me when I arrived. I apply some mascara, and smudge a tinge of red lipstick on with my finger, before reaching for the last product. I spend the next few minutes applying layer upon layer of concealer over the few tattoos that are visible over the dress: the one on my collarbone and a portion of the flower on my right arm, just below my shoulder. While the gloves will cover the rest, I made sure to try them on beforehand, only to find out an inch wide portion of skin would remain visible.
“Okay, can you still see it?” I turn to Arthur, applicator still in hand, for his approval. He squints and then shrugs lazily.
“Only a little, and only because I already know it’s there,” he says. “Honestly, I doubt anyone will notice.”
I sigh, defeated, and walk to the full length mirror to add one last coat, for good measure. This is surely going to become a cakey mess in a few hours, but there is nothing else I can do. I guess that means I am ready for the ball.
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queerchoicesblog · 4 years
Text
A  Life So Changed (SC Titanic, Zetta x Adele Series, Ch. 15)
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So, folks, here’s the new chapter of the series. Thank you so much for your support, hope you enjoy it!
Little disclaimer-favor: especially since the tags don’t seem to be working anymore, if you do enjoy it, please consider supporting the author & sharing this. A little gesture that means a lot!
Also, this chapter contains reference to THIS FIC I wrote about James and Zetta inevitable confrontation not showed in the original book.
Word Count: 2000+
Zetta x Adele Tag: @storyscaped​ ​ @storyscapefanficarchive​ @marmolady​ @animus-and-anima​ @hayley-carter19 @escako​  @everlastingchoices​ @indescribablechoices​ @ahrielstuff​ @bornonawdnsday​ @nazario-sayeed​  @h-doodles​ @adele-serda​ @marlcasters​ @brightpinkpeppercorn​  @michelleconnoly​ @charliejane-blog​ @ghost-of-yuri​  @choicesgremlin​  @lanzhansguqin​ @orange-elephants​ @wonder-falcon​
Zetta x Adele Series Tag: @eternal-langdon​ @nydeiri​
➡️ Ch. 1, Ch. 2/1, Ch. 2/2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch. 7, Ch. 8/1, Ch. 8/2, Ch. 9, Ch. 10/1, Ch. 10/2, Ch. 11/1, Ch. 11/2, Ch. 12, Ch. 13, Ch. 14
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What follows that night is a feverish dream. The following months flow in a haze as days blend into each other. New York, my apartment...all is familiar yet ever distant. As if I'm back home and somewhere far away simultaneously. I'm here and I'm not here.
Moving on is tougher than I could have possibly imagined. Sabine and Richard take care of me with tender compassion, doubling their usual efforts: it's heartwarming, truly. It leaves me wondering what I have ever done right in my life to deserve such adoration and, most importantly, affection because it's genuine concerned affection what I see in their eyes when our eyes meet. Sabine immediately added a newfound touch of sweetness to her proverbial efficiency and joins me at the breakfast table more often these days: sometimes it happens that I am not in the mood for talking and we sit together in complete silence. At first it made me nervous but my little Napoleon doesn't seem to mind: she would offer me a smile and gesture to the coffee pot or the plate filled with slices of my favourite bread and my nervousness melts away replaced by a sense of comfort. Richard visits me more than usual and invites me to join him for a walk at Central Park: "you always say how much you love that place, let's go together...it will do you good" he suggests, smiling sheepishly and offering me his arm. Just like Sabine, he doesn't mind that at times I fall quiet and melancholy takes over me. He would gently stroke my hand resting on his arm and keep walking at my side. One day, as I took a seat on a bench, he picked a flower, a gorgeous little daisy, and pinned it to my hat. He smiled at me and gave my hand an encouraging squeeze before taking a seat beside me. He's surprisingly sweet, sweeter than I deserve, and more mature than I thought when we first met. Richard never once mentioned nor complained about James. He would have every reason and right to question me about him after the secret letters my nephew sent him, asking for money. He never did: the day after our arrival, he even asked his friend John to make sure Mr. Eisler and his valet were safe in their New York apartment. Richard is probably waiting for the moment I'm ready to have that conversation. How could I never be ready for it? Yet, I must, I must confront my nephew: what he did is too hurtful and serious not to come with harsh consequences. Before I send a note to James, I share with Richard my decision: as much as I have little desire to see him now, he's still family and I have at least a moral obligation to him, the old oath I made to Theresa, so I will grant him a generous monthly income. I will set a few conditions, which include no more letters or inappropriate requested to Richard and no more interferences with the marriage under the treat of a legal action from my lawyers. I explain my fiancée the hideous scheme my nephew planned, omitting some details, and I assure him that I was in the dark about the letters: I knew nothing about them and I'm deeply ashamed and sorry he went this far. Richard listens to me carefully and gives me a painful smile as he take my hand into his. "I knew, Zetta. I always knew and I didn't suspect you when I received them, not even for a split second" he sighs. "I trust you, my darling". He just worried about me and he is still concerned because as much as it pains him to say that, my nephew seems dangerous and he has no sympathy for him. I assure him we won't see him anytime soon: after what he did, the things between James and I will never be the same. I don't even know if I will ever be able to forgive him. I repeat the same words to Jaime a few days later and having such a conversation with him is one of the toughest thing in my whole life. I'm angry and disappointed as I speak, wounded in the deep yet tortured by the familiar affection refusing to die inside me. When he close the door behind him, full knowing I don't know when we will see each other again, my heart breaks and I fall sobbing on my knees. My little prince is gone. There is a big fuss in town about the Titanic hearings: American and British authorities are investigating the disaster and the White Star Line company is covered with shame. The hearings are held in New York at Waldorf-Astoria Hotel so I try to keep updated. I spoke to a committing magistrate too: he asked questions about that night to see if I could provide valuable information for the official investigation. It turned out I had none or at least very little to offer him, aside from reporting the questionable decision of lowering half-empty lifeboats and the stubborn refusal to go against it of many officers, like the one I yelled at on the deck. I sign my deposition, which adds up to many others he gathered since the inquiry started. I don't need to testimony at court, he said, he has tons of other witnesses reporting the same issue and he will just add my deposition to the documents to be sent to the judge. "You can go, thank you for your time, Miss Serda" he smiles, vigorously shaking my hand. He praises my heroism but I don't know what he's talking about. Apparently, other witnesses claimed that they owe me their life or saw me protesting on the deck. I'm no hero, I think as my mind runs to the young steward who stayed behind, down in the belly of the sinking ship to keep the light on and give us all a chance to survive. I think his name was Charlie. A few weeks after the beginning of the hearings, about the end of May, I receive a letter from Lucille. She hadn't hear from me since our arrival and she's worried about me, she writes. She had sent me letters but I answered none. She profusely apologises for not waiting for me as she promised but "they had no choice, the chaos was mounting": she hopes this won't be the end of our friendship. Hoping so, she renews her invitation: Richard and I will be her most welcome guests if we fancy joining her and Cosmo for dinner at their apartment whenever it suits us. I don't know how to feel about this. Under different circumstances, it would have filled with joy, maybe relief after all we've been through, now...now things are more complicated than that. Unlike me, Lucille and Cosmo were asked to appear at court during the hearings to verify certain details. They had been all over the press ever since the news spread and I wonder if I'm being a bad friend "abandoning" her in a time like this. The press predictably feasted and is still feasting over the disaster: tragic stories, eye catching headlines, shocking revelations, heartwarming and heartbreaking pictures from the pier: ça vien sans dire, the touching embrace between me and Richard - "reunited lovers" as the caption said - made it to the front page. As weeks went by, my brief appearance was replaced by the new scandal involving nothing less than the Duff-Gordons, not only my personal friends but also a couple of incredibly famous socialites. When I first read it, my heart sank while Richard declared himself disgusted by what journalists write these days. Rumor has it that Lucille, sitting with her husband and secretary on Lifeboat No. 1, commented to her Laura something like, "There is your beautiful nightdress gone" in the aftermath of the sinking. When the Titanic disappeared to the bottom of the sea and poor souls were freezing to death in the ocean, begging us on the lifeboats to come back and save them. I still hear their screams in my nightmares. There's more though: reportedly Cosmo had bribed the lifeboat's crew not to return to save swimmers out of fear the vessel would capsize; he handed checks to them on board of the Carpathia. But Lifeboat No. 1 was designed to carry 40 passengers. Only 12 people were on board when it was lowered unlike the one I was on, filled beyond its capacity. How could an half-empty boat capsize? They could have saved so many lives that night! The thought made my stomach turn to the point that I feel almost nothing when I see the pictures of them during the inquiry: Cosmo looking grim and tensed in his seat and Lucile dressed in black, a mourning dress with a veiled hats, entering the court. I know better than to trust rumours blindly...but I know them. I've known her for ages and, as much as it hurts to say, I can't completely rule out the possibility that for once the press was right. Maybe I'm wrong but I can't vouch for them this time. And doubt is an uncomfortable thing... The final report by the inquiry is more generous than me and clear their names, even if - I'm sure - the general public will be less forgiving. Anyway, Richard is quite fond of the couple, we will surely go visit them... I do not pretend to be fine after what happened on my birthday's night -the sinking, James' betrayal, but I can conceal. I know how to conceal, if need be, in public, in front of people who cannot understand. I'm an actress, a great actress after all. But I feel numb, a ghost of my usual self. During the day I try to keep myself busy. My renaissance requires hard work and commitment as well as a good plan. Sabine and Richard are excellent helpers: I need new projects to work on to make my comeback and an efficient daily schedule to prevent me from drowning in my sorrow. I may conceal it but I dread the time when I have nowhere to run and my mind races back to that memory that fills me with excruciating sadness and guilt. My sweet revolutionary. At night I drink sherry and write letters to Adele. They're passionate, melancholic, tearful. I throw them away in the morning: my words flow on the paper but they ring hollow in the daylight. I don't know what I am supposed to write her. What should I tell her? What could possibly excuse my silence as times go by? I wish I could speak freely what's inside my mind but it's unbelievably difficult. More than she deserves, probably. For some time I tried to convince myself that our little romance on the Titanic was mere attraction, a secret affair favoured by the circumstances: two women growing close, Adele's protectiveness, my heart susceptible to women's beauty and charm just like hers. We found each other and it happened. That's all. But her memory lingers, it never fades away. Never. She always finds a way back to me. At night or during the day, by accident. She's everywhere even if this isn't a place she belongs to. She's in the announcement of a referendum for women's suffrage in Michigan: I read the news and think how excited she must be about it. Maybe she knows it already but I feel a silly urgency to send her the page of the newspaper: your dream may come true after all, see, my love? She's in a gorgeous dress I see hanging on a mannequin in a boutique and I know would fit her perfectly. I have to refrain myself not to buy it and send it to her with a sweet note because I don't care if she needs it, I just want her to have it. She needs beautiful things in her life too. She's in a witty joke I hear in a fancy cafe: I laugh and turn towards Sabine to say "Oh Adele would love this humour" but words die in my throat. When I turn, my cheer has turned into a grimace. Adele isn't here. I don't even know her address here. The thought pains me. I could ask Sabine to find it, I could visit her...but I find myself wondering if it would be the better judgement. I'd give up half my fortune or even more to know about her, even just a quick update. Is she fine? Is she still hurting? Did she and her sister settle down safely? Does she have nightmares at night? She looked so defeated and forlorn on the Carpathia, it pains me to remember seeing the light in her eyes flicker. But maybe this way it will be easier for her to move on. To forget me, if that's what we must get to, no matter how much it hurts. Sometimes I drink myself to a stupor to break the spiral of such thoughts and I'm quite ashamed of myself when Sabine finds me like that in the morning. I mutter nonsense excuses I don't owe her - but I feel like do, she's not a maid, she's my friend - as I hold onto her since I can barely stand on my feet at times and I burst into tears whenever she says: "You have nothing to apologise for, Madam" I do, though. I should - no I must apologise to Adele and Hileni too for disappearing and abandoning them on that pier. I must tell Adele how things really are, how I miss her, it's unbearable... So it's no surprise then that when Richard announces me his idea to postpone the grifter story project I've been working on in favour of a new one, "an homage to the Titanic tragedy", my mind comes find her once again. The project is a wise mix of ambitious opportunism - the sinking is still the talk of the town and people will love it - and genuine concerns. He says I'll not only play the main heroine but also pick the subject, he will just help assessing the script but he wants me to be the one calling the shots on the story to tell. I believe he feels it might be somehow therapeutic for me, aside from the alluring detail of having the star Zetta Serda co-writing an announced success. I consider it for a while, but in the end I write down the Carrem sisters story. I'm fully aware that the picture will hardly be able to bring back to life what it truly happened, the grandeur and the terror. I'm experienced enough to know that the audience can take only that much of the tragedy: they wanna cry and say that they felt as if they were there but they would scream and leave the room if I showed them the truth. A giant ship collapsing in front of you, officers shooting to maintain orders, stewards stubbornly denying desperate passengers their only chance to jump on a lifeboat and to survive, the screams of those who floated in the chilly waters and the dreading silence that followed their unmerciful death. They will never take that much. On the contrary, they will likely enjoy the story of two sisters separated and reunited, prevailing over the impending tragedy threatening to kill them both. It's an heartwarming story with an happy ending and the right amount of pathos and hope. It's also the story of my love that I'm writing down on paper and hand to the posterity. When I present it to Richard, he loves it. He himself couldn't have found a better story, he says, barely containing his excitement. I explain quietly that it's a true story, I just changed the names in respect of the real protagonists of this story. I can only hope Adele won't hate me for this when she sees it. Hate me even more than she's probably doing right now, I frown. I can only hope she will understand.
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flammentanz · 4 years
Video
“Sechsmal Napoleon” (“The Six Napoleons”)
Erich Schellow: Sherlock Holmes Paul Edwin Roth: Dr. John H. Watson Magda Hennings: Mrs. Brown Werner Hessenland: Josiah Brown
Mr. Brown: “This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes, sweetheart.” Mrs. Brown: “I know, I know. And this is Dr. Watson.” Mr. Brown: “Oh, you know the gentlemen?” Mrs. Brown: “Of course. Mr. Holmes is my secret passion.” Mr. Brown: “It doesn't belong here.” Mrs. Brown: “Don’t be angry, darling. You know my preference for crime stories. You have to become our family doctor.” Dr. Watson: “With the greatest of pleasure, Madam. Surely you are an interesting case.” Mrs. Brown: “How do you like our new flat, gentlemen? My husband changed from retail to wholesale, so we thought it would be appropriate also to change the house.” Mr. Brown: “Never mind, sweetheart. Mr. Holmes has come to see me in an urgent matter.” Mrs. Brown: “Why? Does somebody wants to murder you, darling?” Holmes: “Thankfully not but nevertheless you are in danger.” Mrs. Brown: “This is  incredibly exciting.” Holmes: “Depending on how one looks at it. A burglar is after your Napoleon.” Mr Brown: “My what?” Holmes: “Over there.” Mr. Brown: “This one?” Holmes: “Yes.” Mr. Brown: “What do you think of that, sweetheart? This is Napoleon.” Mrs. Brown: “You see! I have immediately said, we take him because he is a personage.” Mr. Brown: ���When we moved in here, my wife meant that another thing belonged at this place.” Dr. Watson: “A fine taste. I couldn’t think of any better place for Napoleon.” Mr. Brown: “Honestly?” Holmes: “But I’m afraid his hours are numbered.” Mr. Brown: “What the devil is wrong with this guy?” Holmes: “We don’t know it yet, Sir.” Mrs. Brown: “Take him with you I beg of you. It’s terrible when he looks at you and one knows that there is something wrong about him.” Holmes: “I’m sorry but the bust has to remain here.” Mr. Brown: “Bust? Now I don't understand anything at all.” Holmes: “That’s not so important at the moment. For your own safety I would recommend not to lock the windows tonight.” Mrs. Brown: “But everybody could enter our house this way.” Holmes: “Hopefully. If you don’t lock the windows the intruder hasn’t to use force.” Mrs. Brown: “What? We will be robbed? Holmes: “Yes.” Mrs. Brown: “ Josiah, did you hear this?” Mr. Brown: “Calm down, sweetheart! There is still the police of her Majesty.” Holmes: “I can assure you that you have nothing to fear. Please go now to your bedroom and keep completely quiet.” Mr. Brown: “I'm afraid it's not so easy in our situation. Who guarantees for the safety of the valuables in this room?” Holmes: “Nothing will happen to them with only one exception.” Mrs. Brown: “This one?” Mr. Brown: “After all - nine shillings.” Holmes: “I’m sorry but we have to start with our professional activity now.”
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swynlake-spill · 3 years
Note
What's with all the fighting at the Hunted Deer lately? Someone starting a fight club?
hope so! wow, that plus the #vforvendettasquad and it looks like swynlake is channeling the cinematic spirit of the early 2000s! Miss Jane Darling does make a very hot Tyler Durden if I do say so myself...hopefully the cops will think the same if she keeps riling everyone up  👀
other films i think that swynlake should absolutely parody: 
Phineas and Ferb ala Napoleon Dynamite. Am i right or AM i right
Greg as Donnie Darko, and Jun Moon as Frank the Rabbit. Trust me, this makes a lot of sense when you consider Jun and Greg were seen like........hugging (?) last week. Or Jun was trying to choke him out...
Tommy Harrington should pull a Tommy Wiseau and do the Room with Phil and John Smith for back up. Yeah, I know, genius. 
RA Skip should go FULL Regina George for Mean Girls 2: University Years. Obvious Henry Charming is Gretchen Weiner. 
if u didn’t understand any of these references, consider this ask your official ‘must-watch’ list over the weekend. toodles! 
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among-the-lostboys · 4 years
Video
NAME: John Napoleon Darling  AFFILIATION: Pirate aboard the The Lost Wench WEAPON OF CHOICE: Rapier  OCCUPATION: Student, son of a merchant  MAGIC STATUS: Mundus  BIOGRAPHY:
John Darling’s earliest memories are of the sea. 
He was only four years old when he boarded a ship bound for Swynlake Port, his mother pregnant and his older sister leaning over the bow of the ship, tasting sea spittle before they ever left the dock. By the end of the trip, his sister would be lost-- taken by the waves, though John swears it was the mermaids who beckoned to her-- and John would never see England again. 
But he always dreamed of the ocean and that siren’s song, as well as the wide and miraculous world beyond the shore. By day, he obeyed his father, studying so he might one day become a successful merchant in his father’s stead. But when the sun set, John devoted himself to other trades: sword fighting with the local blacksmith, sailing in the harbor, fishing in the port, and learning the ways of the mermaids. He only ever expressed such dreams in letters to his cousin across the ocean in England. And that’s all they were-- dreams.
That is, until wayward, long-lost Jane Darling showed up not a moment too soon and offered him a place on her ship. 
It means turning his back on his family. It means becoming a pirate. But it also means freedom from the life he never wanted. 
Freedom is a treasure too precious to waste. 
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