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mkkk12345 · 1 month

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Divus Crewel x Wife Reader How they met

Sorry this took so long to write, I was once again procrastinating lol Feel free to request situations (I write slowly and I’ll be pretty busy for the next while sadly, but please do request if you would like to! I'll do anyone in twst for the most part with your usual restrictions) (side note I got the names for the dogs from the 101 Dalmatians)

1.2K words

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Oh how Crewel would come to regret what he had done that day, he really should have seen it coming. “Hey! Professor Crewel, tell us how you met your wife!”

This had all started when Crowley had approached him with a challenge. “If you manage to raise the class average of the first years to let's say~ 80 percent? I'll give you a raise! Am I not so incredibly generous? Hahahhahaaaa” He cawed to himself as Crewel walked away absolutely done with the crow mans shenanigans

Rolling his eyes he responds “I guess there is no harm in attempting it”

As an encouragement to study harder he had told his students that if they were able to raise the class average to 80 percent by the next semester he would allow them to ask one question about his personal life. Of course all of the students had jumped at the chance to glance into the oh so mysterious and strict teachers personal life.

And that is why we are here now.

Professor Divus Crewel, now being forced to tell the oh so embarrassing story of how he had met his lovely wife.

“Well it's not the worst question you lot could have asked. I would rather not share this story but if I must I will do so…”

—----

Divus was around 17 when he first met Y/N It was a bright and sunny day, the weather was perfect and it just so happened to be a long weekend, a rare opportunity to visit home in the Queendom of Roses.

It was also a perfect day to take his beloved pet dalmatian Perdita for a nice long walk in the nearby park for some long deserved bonding time.

When Crewel was home from NRC he would often take Perdita to the park. Whether it was actual exercise or for some relaxing time outside to sketch new fashion designs, Perdita never really minded. But today was different, the minute the pair stepped out of the door the spotted dog went bolting in the direction of the park. “Hey! Slow down girl, why on earth are you in such a rush today?!” he said, trying to keep all his sketching supplies from falling to the ground.

Luckily for young Divus, the dalmatian did eventually slow down once they reached the park. “You act as if no one has been bringing you to the park since I left for school.” he said exasperated from the impromptu run.

Soon after catching his breath Divus and his companion walked over to a nearby bench so the boy could start sketching, but right as he put his sketching equipment down there was another sudden tug on the lead and once again they were off “hey! Slow down! What has gotten into you toda-” CRASH he had been cut off suddenly, crashing into another person as Perdita and what seemed to be another dalmatian were running circles around the two very effectively tying the two together.

When he finally pried his eyes away from the dogs he finally realized the full situation he was in, tied up with a very beautiful young lady. “Oh my god I'm so sorry he doesn't usually act like this, Pongo would you stop that already?”

“Don't worry it was neither of our faults really, I guess these two have taken quite the interest in one another” he said as he pulled his arm out of the leashes to awkwardly scratch the back of his neck a blush forming on his face as he looked at a very interesting tree behind her.

“They've actually been like this for weeks!” she laughed as she finally met his eyes, “Oh you must be Divus! Your mother talks about you very often.” He was surprised, not only was this girl absolutely stunning but she already knew him. Although he would never admit it, he practically fell in love with her right then and there, the way she beamed with joy, the slight blush on her cheeks, her laugh even in the strangest of situations.

In an attempt to calm himself he averted his gaze again and began to untie him and his new developing crush from the entanglement of leashes they were trapped in “Oh you must have met mother while she was walking Perdita I do hope she didn't tell you anything embarrassing” a strained smirk appeared on his face, knowing how his mother liked to tell the most embarrassing stories of his childhood.

“Well I cant say she didn't say anything” she laughed softly again drawing Divus’s attention for a moment the blush on his face growing ever brighter.

Snapping out of his short trance he asked “Might I ask for your name then since you already know mine?” With blush remaining on the tips of ears he held out his hand like a gentleman, both with the intention to give her, her dogs leash back but also to lead her over to a bench so they could hopefully continue their conversation.

“Oh my apologies how rude of me, My name is Y/N nice to finally meet you.” She bashfully took both the leash and his hand, walking over to the bench.

“The pleasure is mine”

—-

“And whilst that was all happening I looked over to our dogs, only to find them looking at each other with what seemed to be a grin on their faces like they planned that all out.” Crewel sighed as he recalled how proud those little devils looked. “After quite a long conversation that ended up in me never actually starting a new sketch, we traded contact information and left the park.” he looked up at his students now regretting all his life decisions.

“And that is how I met my wife, now it seems like class is over, please leave quickly so I can question why I ever became a teacher in the first place.”

“But prof how did you ask her out?” “Yeah yeah! Who was the first one to confess!” “How did you propose????”

Frustrated crewel quickly answered “If I recall correctly you were all only given the privilege of asking one question, now if you don't stop pestering me I will be giving you even more homework.” a completely very unnoticable blush began to form on his face.

“Sorry sir!” Everyone shouted in unison, but on their way out the students did not miss the slightest hint of red that dusted their professor's cheeks as he pretended to sort through papers.

Once everyone had left and silence had fallen through the classroom a laughter could be heard coming from the Professors phone. “Awwwww darling, you retell that story so fondly~” Crewel sighed as he finally looked over at his phone

“I honestly can not believe I let you talk me into letting you listen to that.” he said with a hand firmly planted on his face covering any sign of pink that appeared.

“Consider it as repaying me for when I dropped those papers off for you. Now hurry home our two rascals of dogs are looking at me like I should thank them for getting us together.” she laughed nervously

“Yes yes honey see you soon” ending the call with a small smirk as he muttered “I should buy some more dog treats on the way back.”

#twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #crewel x reader #divus crewel #divus crewel x reader #divus crewel x yuu #twisted wonderland headcanons

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restinslices · 7 months

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Liar

Druskelle!Matthias Helvar x Heartrender!WIfe!Reader Word count: 2347 Summary: You've kept being a Grisha secret from your husband Matthias Helvar, but what happens when he finds out? Y/N - Your name D/N - Daughter name

If it hadn’t been for two big reasons, you’d like to think you’d have left Fjerda.

The ice, the cold, the anti Grisha talk. Living in Fjerda was nerve wracking, causing you to be hypervigilant on everything you said or did. To say it was tiring, would be an understatement. Yet two people kept you in Fjerda; your husband Matthias Helvar and your daughter D/N Helvar.

There were nights where you would toss and turn, your mind plaguing you with nightmares about Matthia finding out about you. Those nightmares never ended the same way. In one dream he’d kill you, the other you’d try to run away together, only for him to be killed. Sometimes you’d be caught instead. In the worst nightmares, it’d be your daughter who was caught and killed.

It’s not that you were afraid of Matthias. You feared him finding out because you didn’t want to lose him. Either from him leaving you, or the other Druskelle killing him.

While you were awake though, you fortunately had a friend. A woman named Elise, who lived a few houses down and was also a Grisha. A tidemaker to be more specific.

When night fell and darkness covered you both, you two would become a particular thorn in the Druskelle’s sides. Elise would use her tidemaker abilities to create harsh waves that would knock over the boats before they could depart, or icicles that pierced the bottom of the boats, while you would free any Grisha the Druskelle decided to make a “public example” out of. That among other things caused the Druskelle to have a hit out on both of you, but since you were never caught, it was like trying to capture a shadow.

“I know that I’m right”, Elise said. You rolled your eyes. This was the third time she brought up the possibility of her son, Erik, liking your daughter.

“They’re six Elise”

“I knew what I wanted at six! Plus, Erik gave his scarf to her. Isn’t that proof?”

“No. He noticed she was cold and he was nice”. Elise waved dismissively and went to open her mouth, but luckily Matthias emerged from the back. You had to admit, if you hadn’t known Matthias, you’d be startled by his build. He once told you that he was the tallest and biggest kid amongst the Drukelle, and you never doubted it. Even now, he was taller and bigger than most of the men you saw walking around. He absolutely terrified Elise when she first saw him, and you always brought it up when you wanted a good laugh.

“They’re too young to date” he said simply before he placed a kiss on your cheek. “They should wait till they’re older and he can court her properly”

You spoke before Elise could make a sarcastic remark, “where are you off to?”

“Boating docks. We’ll be taking off before the week is done, and we have to stay alert”. You fought against the urge to shoot a glance at the woman sitting next to you. Matthias mistook you anxious about being caught for anxiousness about his safety. He rubbed your cheek lightly with his thumb and looked at you with soft eyes, “I’ll be ok”.

You nodded in understanding and off he went, not knowing he was watching out for you.

~~~

You peered out your window, watching the sun start to go down. You had told the kids to be home at six bells. Foolish of you to think they’d actually listen when you weren’t watching them.

“I’m gonna start looking for them”, you announced as you threw your coat on. Your hand hovered over the doorknob, before suddenly it was thrown open.

Erik stood in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth opening and closing like a fish taken out of the water. His left sleeve was completely wet, and you couldn’t help but notice that your daughter was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s-”

“W-we were playing on the lake and… and… and i-it’s not my fault!”

“What isn’t your fault?”

“The ice cracked! I tried to pull her out but she kept moving!”.

Your heart sunk, your breath caught in your throat. Fjerda was always freezing, and who knew how long Erik had waited before he finally came to get both of you.

It was one of those moments where you mentally blacked out, only fully gaining consciousness when all three of you were approaching the lake. Your feet moved faster when you noticed the hole she undoubtedly fell in. Shouts telling you to slow down fell on deaf ears as you kept running. You approached the hole, hoping maybe she was close by, but she wasn’t. You kneeled, hoping being closer to the ice would help you spot her.

You heard shuffling and panting behind you. “I told Erik to get Matthias. Do you see her?”

“Do you see her in my arms?”, you snapped unintentionally, too preoccupied to care about how harsh that sounded.

You got back to your feet and overlapped your fingers over each other, making a triangle shape.

“Y/N anyone could see!”. You ignored her words and kept trying to feel for the familiar heartbeat.

You felt a heartbeat, but it did nothing to ease your worries when you realized how slow and faint it was. You followed it, the heartbeat leading a while away from the initial hole in the ice.

“Elise!”, you called when you saw the familiar hair color of your daughter and her bright colored jacket. Your back stayed to Elise, afraid if you took your eyes off your daughter that she would float away again.

The ice above her cracked before it erupted, it being moved with ease. You silently said a prayer to any higher power that was listening, and thanked them for giving you a tidemaker as a friend.

You dropped down, pulled the young girl up and laid her on the ice. Your hands went over her heart, once again ignoring the protests coming from the woman behind you. It wasn’t her child dying. It was yours.

“Come on… come on…”, you mumbled.

You kept muttering encouraging words under your breath, as if all she needed was a good push. You kept telling her to wake up, only letting yourself let out a breath of relief when her eyes opened and she coughed up water. You pulled her up and patted her back, your own heartbeat still not slowing down. You slipped off her jacket and replaced it with your own, your own arms now freezing, but your own freezing body was the least of your concerns.

You heard more footsteps and looked up, seeing Matthias approaching. He kneeled down, scooping her in his arms and sighing, “Let’s get her inside and get her warm. She’s freezing”.

~~~

Your heartbeat only slowed down when you laid your daughter down to sleep. You watched over her for a while, monitoring her heartbeat. You didn’t know what Matthias was doing. He started acting strange once you got home. Maybe it was shock. You couldn’t tell him how to process the near death experience of his only child.

You left your daughter’s room and made your way to your own bedroom, but your eyebrows furrowed when you noticed Matthias was nowhere to be seen. You checked the bathroom, living room and kitchen, but Matthias wasn’t there. You stepped outside, finally seeing Matthias outside standing, eyes up to the sky.

You made your way to his side, “how long have you been out here?”. Matthias didn’t respond. You looked up at the stars like he was, “were you speaking to Djel?”.

He nodded. “I was asking for guidance and forgiveness”.

You frowned. Forgiveness for what? For not predicting what happened today? Who could have? It was an accident. A terrible accident, but an accident. You weren’t even angry at Erik or Elise.

“Today was not your fault Matthias. You don’t need to ask for forgiveness”.

Matthias once again didn’t respond. Instead, he walked back into the house. You followed him, calling his name, but getting nothing in return. You grabbed his arm, noticing when he flinched and took a deep breath.

“I know you’re scared because of what happened today. I am too, but don’t push me away. Talk to me-”

“Stop”, he said firmly. He turned to face you, and for the first time ever, he didn’t look at you with softness and love or patience and caring. His eyes were harsh, his eyes now reminding you of a storm instead of the calm sea. “How’d you find her? That’s not the hole she fell in”.

“No one knows where she fell. We weren’t there”.

“Erik was, and he said you weren’t where D/N fell. So, how’d you find her?”.

“I looked around”, you half lied. You had been looking around… just with a little help. “I saw her hair and jacket”.

“Why was there another hole?”

“It was already there”, you lied once again but Matthias didn’t look convinced. “Why… Why are you asking me this?”, you asked. You tried your best to remain calm, hoping he hadn’t seen anything, and if he did you were hoping you could lie your way out of it. You couldn’t let your nightmares come true.

“You’re lying”.

“I’m not”.

“I saw you! I saw your hands over her!”. You unintentionally backed away when his voice rose. He didn’t seem as soft and caring as he usually was. You tried to think quickly.

“I-I was giving her CPR. There was water in her lungs, I wasn’t just gonna wait for a doctor-”

“I saw Elise break and move the ice without touching it! I saw you with your hands over D/N! Why are you still lying to me?!”.

You went silent. You couldn’t think of a lie out of this. You tried, you really did, but how could you explain that?

“You’re a liar”.

“Matthias”

“It all makes sense. What’s been happening recently. Ships wrecked, sudden bad waves, Drusje escaping, Druskelle being disoriented”, he took a pause, his eyes never getting softer “it was you two. And that’s why you kept telling me to stop being a Druskelle”.

“I…”, you thought for a moment, trying to find a good response. “I wanted to tell you but I didn’t wanna lose you-”, Matthias turned away but you kept talking, your words coming out rushed “I love and care for you so much and Matthias, Grisha are not bad people, despite what you’ve been taught”.

“Is D/N a witch?”

“Grisha are not witches and I don’t know. I didn’t think to test her yet”. Silence filled the room before Matthias spoke up again,

“But she could be”

You moved to be in front of him, “she’s still our daughter-”

“She’s your daughter”.

You froze. All of a sudden the girl he cared for since she was a newborn, the girl he told bedtime stories to and let sleep next to him when she had a nightmare, was no longer his daughter?

“Don’t do this. She’s still your daughter. I’m still your wife!”, you pleaded. Your hands raised to cup his face but he backed away. You looked into his eyes, trying to read what he was feeling. It didn’t work. He had become a hard wall, unwilling to budge. “I love you and you love me”.

“None of this was real. This was your witchcraft. You made me fall in love with you!”

“You know that’s not true!”, you almost yelled. “Everything between us is real! I married you because I love you! I had your child because I love you! I didn’t make you fall in love with me, that’s not even how my power works!”

“You’re a witch who can boil blood and stop a pulse! Who knows what else you can do?!”

“I would NEVER do that to you or anyone else even if I could!”. You stepped closer to him, but once again he stepped back. “You can’t possibly be that afraid of me”

“I’m not afraid of witches”

“You hate me”. You waited for Matthias to deny it. For him to pull you into a hug and say he’d hear you out, but neither came. You sighed, how could all of this change in a matter of hours? “You wanna hate me, but you don’t and you know you don’t”.

Matthias looked away from you. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then opened his eyes again. He didn’t look back at you though. “I have to report you and Elise”.

You shook your head, “no you don’t!”. Your hands gripped his arms, sorrow and agony behind your words, “Matthias please!”.

Matthias looked down at you, “I’ll wait until half bell. After that, we’ll be looking for all of you”.

All of you.

You, Elise, Erik, your daughter.

When Matthias hadn’t budged, you ran to your daughter’s room. You quickly got her dressed and threw a coat over her tiny frame. She kept asking questions and rubbing her eyes, but you couldn’t spare any time to answer them.

What really broke your heart though, is when she saw Matthias. She slipped from your grasp and made her way to him, “where are we going?”. Matthias picked her up and held her, and her arms and legs wrapped around him. Her head falling in the crook of his neck. You had hoped that maybe he changed his mind, but you guessed picking her up and comforting her was like a reflex, because once he seemed to realize what he was doing, he put her down and stepped away from her.

You picked her up, ignoring her confused murmurs and spared Matthias one last glance before you left. You ran over to Elise’s house, telling her of the news. Like you, she had to wake up her child, and dress him quickly. You two knew you couldn’t go to the boat harbor, so you started on foot to the Ravkan border, the cold air freezing the tears on your face.

A/N: my bad if there's mistakes, I'm sick and this screen is hurting my eyes. Also in the books at least, they use bells instead of like, "6pm" but anyway-. I don't know if I wanna make a part 2 or leave this as a stand alone. Stay tuned to see if this sickness takes me out.

#matthias helvar x reader #matthias helvar x you #matthias helvar x y/n #matthias helvar #matthias helvar oneshot #shadow and bone #shadow and bone oneshot #shadow and bone imagine #matthias helvar imagine #six of crows #grishaverse #shadow and bone x reader

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diordrysdale · 2 years

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after dark ⋆ andy barber (part 2)

dark!neighbor!andy barber x camgirl!reader

word count ⋆ 1.1k+

warnings ⋆ smut! minors dni, virtual sex/livestream, cheating, sexual use of a popsicle, age gap (reader in their 20s, andy in his late 40s) daddy kink, masturbation (f), degradation kink, mention of spanking, VERY SLIGHT mention of cnc play (you’ll see).

authors note ⋆ you all will definitely see andy’s dark side next chapter <3

don’t forget to give me some love, reblogs and likes are very much appreciated.

PART 1

3 days earlier

“you just need to feed sprinkles three times a day, and that’s pretty much it.”

your best friend, lila, handed you her family’s cat as she rushed to gather more of her belongings and tossed them into her luggage.

“the guest room is all yours, make yourself at home!” you followed behind her as she scrambled down the stairs at the sound of her mother calling out for her.

“if our house is still intact when we come back, you’ll get paid,” lila rolled her eyes at her mother as she hugged you goodbye.

“come on, tony! we’re gonna miss the flight!” the eighteen year old boy waved goodbye to his best friend and next door neighbor, jacob barber.

“keys are on the counter top, help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. love you, bye!”

present day

andy huffed as he scrubbed at the dishes, listening to his wife chat loudly on the phone while the television was blaring whatever brain-rotting reality show was trending at the moment.

he tilted his wrist to reveal the time on the apple-watch, 7:03p.m.

it was torture having to wait.

“andrew! go water the plants next door, cindy and the kids aren’t home— carol, stop!” laurie continued laughed on the phone with her friends, forcing andy to count to ten before drying his hands, although the simple act gave him a flashback.

sucking on a popsicle in nothing but your light pink lingerie, you told 60.8k of your loyal subscribers how your day went, how you were terrible bored during a job interview and could only picture yourself spreading your legs for the employer, begging him for the job as he slaps your pussy with his rough belt.

“I’m not sure if I got the job, but at least I have all of you,” you lean back into your cloud-shaped, getting comfortable in the bed you got to call yours for two weeks.

barber543 donated $250.00!

barber543: stop pouting, you make me wanna fuck that slutty mouth of yours til you’re begging me not to

your [e/c] eyes lit up at the familiar user, giddiness running through your veins as you hook your panties to the side with one hand.

“barber543, I did promise a surprise, didn’t I?” You whisper as your other hand moved the blueberry-flavored popsicle towards your sex, moving through your folds before tapping your clit.

“you choose what I call you.” sliding the cold treat inside your cunt, you whimpered at the feeling, heart racing at the notifications of subscribers screen-recording.

barber543: greedy little girl, say mr. barber

“m-mr. barber,” andy shuddered at your breathy words, “don’t fuck me with the popsicle, please.”

barber543: you better fucking take it if you want my cock, you don’t deserve it

“ah- pleaseplease, ‘s too cold-“ your words contrast against how quick you began fucking your cunt with the popsicle, clenching it around it so delicately.

barber543: harder.

“mr. barber, m’ gonna cum, feels too good-“ you choked on your words as your free hand zeroed relentlessly on your numbing clit, back arching as your hand flew out to clutch your bedsheet, leaving half of the blueberry treat in your pulsing cunt.

barber543: wish I could bend you over and slap your ass raw for cumming without my permission.

“don’t punish me, daddy,” your fucked out glance was priceless, removing the popsicle from your center and licked the tip with a breathless giggle.

andy shook his head with a idiotic grin as if he actually was face to face with the angel that you were— or pretended to be.

andy wiped his cum-tainted hand on spare napkin, before something caught his eye.

kneelforhansen donated $3000.00!

kneelforhansen: I’d love to have you for myself. direct message me if you’re interested, kitten.

andy despised the glimmer in your eyes— a look he wanted to believe only belonged to him.

“oh my, thank you,” andy could tell your soft voice was entirely genuine, and he was about to raise the amount, but he remembered than any purchased higher than a thousand would send an alert to his and laurie’s joint email account.

“you’ve made my night, mister.”

andy scowled at the memory— even if a billion people watched your stream, he liked to think you two were simply having a skype-sex session or whatever the younger people used now for video chatting.

facetime?

“hold on- andrew! the plants!” laurie shrilled, waving her hands as she pressed her phone between her ear and her shoulder.

“fucking hell.” andy mumbled, slamming a drawer into place as he made his way out of the house, glancing towards his right and analyzed the garden.

suddenly, he saw purple lights go on in one of the rooms on the second floor.

if cindy’s daughter is still home, why is he doing their chores?

he shoved his hands into his jeans, opting not to water their stupid roses and stupid hortensias and stupid—

his childish thoughts were interrupted by a sweet maserati revving carelessly into the driveway.

he’d be humiliated to admit his jaw dropped at the sight of a celebrity walking about 10 feet away.

devin peters, movie star.

“I’m outside, baby.” he sang into his phone, most likely sending a voice chat as he leaned against the goddess of a car.

the front door swung open, revealing a girl with nothing but a oversized shirt and pink panties, [h/c] hair and beaming [e/c] andy couldn’t mix up.

there was no way.

“there she is.” devin reached out his arms, engulfing you in a needy hug, guiding your legs around his narrow waist.

no. no.

“my pretty girl. how’s my kitten been?” the movie star began walking blindly to the house, mind racing on how many ways he could utterly destroy you.

“oh, crap, that’s lila’s neighbor. hold on,” you wiggled yourself away, shyly making your way towards the older man who was three seconds away from passing out from shock.

“im sure Cindy must’ve told you to take care of these flowers, but I’m house-sitting for a couple weeks. I can manage, mister…”

“barber. mr. barber.”

your eyes widen as your head spun for a split second due to the unquestionable coincidence.

no way.

┗━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━┛

PART 3

a/n; this is my multiverse: lloyd hansen, andy barber & devin peters

(devin peters is chris evans’ cameo character in the movie don’t look up, just a reminder :)

#kali writes !#andy barber #andy barber x female reader #andy barber x reader smut #andy barber fluff #andy barber x reader #chris evans x female reader #chris evans #chris evans smut #chris evans x reader #andy barber smut

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fuckyeah-jessicabiel · 1 year

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GQ Magazine - July 2007

The Summer of Jessica Biel

To celebrate Biel’s being in a movie actually worth seeing, we sent Adam Stein to play carnival games with her.

When I told various friends I’d be interviewing Jessica Biel, I got the responses you’d expect—jealousy, mild rage, a plea to give her a phone number because she’s the one person that a friend’s wife would give him a free pass to sleep with. The uncanny thing is, when I asked these guys what they thought of her as an actress, most of them drew a blank. They hadn’t seen a single motion picture of hers. Okay, one or two had girlfriends who’d brought them to see The Illusionist, but otherwise, nada. As my friend Taj put it: “I’m obsessed with a girl I’ve never seen move.“

Well, that’s about to change. Later this month, men across America will see Jessica being very good in a very funny movie, and the nature of their love for her will…deepen. She’ll still be inhumanly beautiful, sure, but now they’ll have to contend with genuine talent, too, and that one-two punch can be disorienting. You know what else can? The fact that despite her recent tabloid exposure, she’s actually sweet, funny, earnest, occasionally a little crude, and—if my time playing carnival games with her can be used as evidence—uniquely driven to conquer whatever stands between Jessica Biel and what she wants.

I am waiting for her at the Santa Monica Pier, sitting on a stool next to one of those games where you shoot water from a gun into a clown’s mouth. I haven’t shaved for a week, because I read somewhere that Jessica Biel likes guys with beards. I’m inspecting mine in the reflective back of my iPod when a nice-looking young woman materializes in my view. “Excuse me,“ she says. “Are you Adam?“ “Jessica?“ I ask, ridiculously. Of course it’s her, in wraparound sunglasses, an open gray sweater over a white blouse, and faded jeans. She wears checkered Vans, like Jeff Spicoli. On the pier, no one recognizes her, which I suppose makes sense: There’s little resemblance between the pinup girl and the sneaker-wearing civilian out on a Monday afternoon. She doesn’t stick out as we walk the wooden planks of the amusement park; she blends in. She is, you might say, a very chill girl.

“Can we get a photo next to a star?“ she asks, stopping in front of a booth hawking photographs with huge cardboard cutouts of celebrities. It’s an impressive, eclectic array: Bill Clinton, Mini Me, Michael Jordan, Hilary Duff, Enrique Iglesias(!), Jean-Claude Van Damme, DiCaprio in Titanic. “They’re all kind of old,“ she says. I don’t know if she means the cutouts or the celebrities themselves (because to me, Mini Me will never age). She’s only 25 years old, so it could go either way. I ask her who she’d most want to pose with. She scrutinizes the assembly and makes her call: “I’d probably pick Van Damme, cause he looks the coolest.“ She takes the Muscles from Brussels over Leo—a victory of might over sensitivity. Nice.

Then she decides it’s time for the games to begin. She passes up the Riptide Ring Toss (“That one is impossible,“ she says) and focuses her attention on the Pier Plank Plunge. The PPP is basically a rope ladder suspended horizontally over an inflatable mattress. The trick is to climb, perfectly balanced, to a taunting red button placed approximately ten feet away. Press the button, win the prize—an enormous Sonic the Hedgehog. I ask her if she’s ever Pier Plank Plunged before. “Yes,“ she says, assessing the structure, looking for its weaknesses. “But I’ve never been able to achieve it.“ She begins barraging the bored-looking carny with questions. “Do you have any tips?“ (It’s all about balance.) “Have you done it before?“ (Nope.) “Has anyone ever won?“ (Yeah.) “Has anyone won today?“ (Not yet.) She turns to me, and I have to say she seems genuinely excited. “This is our chance,“ she says. “It’s our chance to win.“ I’m beginning to get the distinct impression that winning is important to Jessica Biel. “Ladies first“ being the imperative, I take the initial go-round. It’s harder than it looks. My arms shake. Everything shakes. I can feel her hopefulness—Do it, get there—but I fall off within seconds. The shame is truly surprising. I wanted to do it for Jessica and failed. She throws me a “good try“ before stepping up herself.

Jessica was a gymnast when she was younger, and the training appears to be paying off as she mounts the unstable rope ladder. (It also occurs to me that the view I currently have is one the paparazzi would kill for.) She deploys a disciplined crawl, gets tantalizingly close to the red button, reaches for it—and loses her balance, flips over, and lands flat on the cushion, laughing. “Holy shit,“ she yells. “It’s so hard. That’s so frustrating.“ The carny asks if we’d like to try again. She pauses for a moment, looking at the button, and then, with obvious reservations, demurs. “You were really, really close,“ I tell her. “I know,“ she says, still staring at it, reluctant to move, apparently, without conquering the damn thing. “That’s how it gets you.“

Next up is something called the Hi-Striker, a game in which you swing a mallet to test your strength. I take three feeble swings, each one less successful than the last. A huge Hispanic man laughs every time I bring the mallet down on the metal block, and when I exit the cage and hand it off to the female attendant, she takes one exhibition swing and makes my emasculation complete. Up goes the projectile. Ping goes the bell.

J.B. watches, rapt. “Look at her awesome stance,“ she whispers, absorbing the details, memorizing the motion. Some actors “find“ their characters via a process of internalization—investigating emotions, plumbing psychology, creating an “inner life.“ This is known as the inside-out approach. Other actors work outside-in—developing a walk, a gesture, a physicality. Look at, say, Hilary Swank in Million Dollar Baby. Look at Jessica Biel in the Hi-Striker cage.

Mimicking the attendant’s, her first swing easily skunks my best effort. And she improves with each attempt. She’s getting into character. As she exits the cage, there’s a look of satisfaction on her face. She returns the mallet to the attendant, who looks at me and says: “She did better than you.“ As we leave, I ask her: “Is it more technique than strength?“ She shakes her head. “Brute strength,“ she says. “You just throw it up and slam it as hard as you can.“ On our way off the pier, we pass Zoltar, the animatronic fortune-teller who turned that kid into Tom Hanks in Big. Zoltar senses us and speaks: “Destiny is not a matter of chance; it is a matter of choice. It is not a thing to be waited for; it is a thing to be achieved.“ Zoltar makes Jessica smile. She digs his philosophy.

Jessica Biel’s destiny, at least of late, has led her to a prominent place in the trashy supermarket gossip rags. First it was snapshots of social excursions with second-banana studs (Chris Evans, Ryan Reynolds). Then, upping the ante, there was a beach fling with a sports icon (Derek Jeter). And then, in February, she grabbed the tabloid brass ring for reportedly nabbing the world’s most eligible bachelor, Justin Timberlake. Unsurprisingly, it’s not something she’ll discuss.

One thing she is happy talking about, though, is the unladylike girth of her knuckles. We’re getting dinner at an unassuming Italian trattoria across the street from the pier when she flashes those meaty joints and describes her nascent production company. “It was almost called Fat Knuckle Films. Because I have fat knuckles. See?“ she asks. “They don’t really look that way until you start putting rings on them, and then it stops right there.“

I have to say, Jessica Biel’s chunky midfingers are endearing, human, attainable—a word she uses a number of times in our conversation, as if to remind the world that she’s just a regular girl from Boulder, Colorado, who happens to have been called, by Esquire magazine in 2005, the Sexiest Woman Alive.

“At first I felt really embarrassed about it,“ she says. “You know, it’s a weird thing to talk about. Like, Hey, guys. Guess what?’ You don’t just go telling everybody that.“ She shifts her weight forward and goes on: “But after I got over that, I just started to embrace it. I started thinking, If I ever do have kids, and if they have kids, I can tell them: You know what? Your grandma in 2000-and-whatever was the Sexiest Woman Alive. How about that, kids?’ That’s what I started to think about. I’ll always have that picture to say, That’s what Granny used to look like.’ “

Before coming out here to get my ass handed to me at the Hi-Striker, I immersed myself in Jessica Biel’s Collected Works. She got her start in the mid-’90s on 7th Heaven, the WB dramedy that made a splash with the moral-values set, before leaving around 2002 for bigger (and badder) things. It’s been a grim scene ever since: Summer Catch (2001), which starred Freddie Prinze Jr. and stands at number forty-nine on Rotten Tomatoes’ 100 Worst- Reviewed Films of All Time. The Rules of Attraction (2002), notable only for Fred Savage shooting heroin between his toes and saying things like “I can feel my dick.“ (Remarkably, Biel comes across as fresh and charming, despite the astonishing pointlessness and nihilism of the flick.) The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2003), which was Biel’s first top billing and is her biggest box-office performer to date, with a take of about $80 million. J.B. screams her head off throughout the movie and is entirely believable in distress, but you can’t help thinking as you watch her, There’s got to be better material than this. Sadly, no. There was an atrocity called Cellular, in 2004, and Blade: Trinity that same year (in which Biel kicks much undead ass as a midriff-baring vampire hunter). But the nadir has to be London, in ’06, a delusional piece of trash that starts off with a sex scene, Biel on top, saying, “Are you coming? Are you coming?“ before she proceeds to another not-quite-dignified act and then dips out of the frame to, presumably, swallow. Like I said, a grim scene.

And then, just in the nick of time, salvation arrived. A script called The Illusionist, to star Edward Norton and Paul Giamatti. There was a problem, though. The filmmakers didn’t want to give Biel an audition. They weren’t convinced the vampire-hunting Hollywood creation could rearrange herself into the role of a refined fin de siècle Hungarian duchess.

But Jessica Biel has a hard time taking no for an answer. And when another actress “dropped out“ of the film, her tenacity paid off. They finally brought her in. She arrived wearing a full period costume. She made them take her seriously, she says, and three days later, an offer arrived.

The Illusionist wasn’t what you’d call a “hit,“ but it got good reviews, made decent money, and changed the industry’s perception of her. Doors that were closed began to open. They just weren’t opening fast enough for her taste.

She sets down her after-dinner tea and says, “I want choices. I want options. I want to lay out all the directions I could go and have the ability to choose. I’m slowly starting to have that now.“ It’s the “slowly“ that kills her.

One film that will almost surely expedite the process is I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry, which will be released this month. It stars Adam Sandler and Kevin James as two Brooklyn firefighters who pretend to be a gay couple in order to receive domestic-partner benefits. J.B. plays the female lead, their hoodwinked attorney who falls for Sandler by the end of the picture.

Chuck and Larry is Jessica’s first real shot at popular, mainstream film success. Unlike her previous big-budget endeavors, it doesn’t rely on CGI or fetishistic weaponry to make its points. It is also—apologies to Freddie Prinze Jr. —her first comedy.

“It was a little bit intimidating,“ she says. “I really admire Adam and Kevin, but then, I didn’t try to equal them or one-up them, and the character I created didn’t have to be that. She’s the straight woman, but very fun and very cool and just—attainable. That’s the kind of part that I’d like to play more. I mean, a vampire hunter? Is that really attainable? I’d just like to play something a little more quirky, interesting, outrageous. And uninhibited.“

“You’re not worried that she can do comedy,“ the movie’s director, Dennis Dugan, tells me. “You can tell she can do comedy. So we just met her and cast her. I really think she can have one of those diverse, Oscar-winning careers. As far as I’m concerned, there’s no horizon to her talent.“

The sun has gone down, and we’re standing on the sidewalk in front of the Italian joint, across from the pier. I’m holding a small stuffed Spider-Man doll that Jessica won as a prize back at the amusement park and which she’s given to me to give to my son. I ask what she’s doing tonight, and she says she’s playing chaperone to a girlfriend on a first date. “Basically, I’m her wingman tonight,“ she says. “I’ll probably slip away if it’s rolling along well.“

She graciously agrees to a photograph with me, which I would include except for two reasons: (1) I don’t want to make Justin Timberlake jealous, and (2) you never quite understand how unattractive you are until you see yourself in a picture with Jessica Biel.

I watch her as she walks toward the pier. I know it’s where her car is parked, but I have this image of her heading straight back to the Pier Plank Plunge. The carny won’t know who she is, nobody on the pier will recognize her, and she’ll just hand over her fiver and go at it. That red button, almost within her reach. Attainable.

#jessica biel #gq #gq 2007 #articles #magazines #cover #interviews

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prosperdemeter2 · 2 months

Text

Seven (+) sentence Sunday - watermark

Buck tossed the rolled up pair of socks at him, mildly disappointed to see him catch them rather than let them bounce off his body and fall to the floor. “How was the gym? Did you make any friends?”

It looked, for a moment, like Eddie was going to push the issue. It was clear that he was used to being the martyr, to throwing himself down on a blade and not accepting an apology at face value. But that made sense, really. Shannon had made him apologize for every single minor disagreement they had ever had, and she would claim to forgive and then she’d bring it back up the next time she wanted to fight. “I did, actually.” Eddie let a relaxed humor slip into his voice, placing the rolled up socks on top of the pile Buck had accumulated with no real understanding of where they were supposed to go (they were his socks, not Christopher’s, but Eddie had placed them on top of Christopher’s shorts and… not really paid it any attention).

“You made friends?” Buck teased.

Eddie balked. “I have friends.”

“You have your sisters and our coworkers.”

“What friends do you have?”

“Ali.” Buck blinked. “Connor -.”

“You don’t even talk to Connor.”

“I literally texted him last week!”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “You hate that guy.”

“You hate that guy.”

“Well, he…” Eddie waved his hand as though that explained enough about it and, really, it did. Eddie didn’t like Connor for the same reason he didn’t really like Abby - Connor had had him, he had let him go, and he had been weird about things ever since. “That’s two people, Evan.”

“Josh.”

“He’s Maddie’s friend.” Eddie argued. “Not yours.”

“Carla.”

“I have Carla too!”

“She’s your employee, it doesn’t count.”

“She’s your employee!”

“I don’t pay her.”

“The insurance pays her.”

“Karen’s my friend.” Buck kept the argument going, but only because Eddie seemed both insulted by it and relieved to be having it. Buck understood; he hadn’t been in the best place the past week or so, and their familiar banter had faded down pretty quickly. It was fun, harmless, familiar.

Them.

It was them. “Karen is your coworker’s wife.”

“Yeah, but she texts me.”

“To set up playdates.”

“Albert.” Buck pointed out. “Albert thinks I’m cool.”

“Albert does not think you’re cool.”

“Albert doesn’t think you’re cool.”

“Albert only talks to you because you two have that weird… younger brother thing in common.”

“Albert sat through an entire, awkward, family dinner. Why would he do that if we weren’t friends?”

“He wanted the free food.” Point, but, well….

“Listen, Eddie,” Buck scoffed jokingly. “I still have more friends than you.”

“You have one friend.” Eddie smiled as he said it, though, rounding the couch and stepping into his space. “Now, put down my shirt -.”

“It’s my shirt.” Actually, Buck was pretty sure it was their shirt. He didn’t know who it had belonged to originally, but they had both worn it at that point. Which was only really funny because Buck was a bit wider in the shoulders than Eddie was, and they weren’t really the same size in anything.

“Just kiss me.”

“Wow.” Buck snarked as Eddie took it from his hands and tossed it over his shoulder so that it landed somewhere near the wall in a heap. “The romance is dead, babe.”

@wildlife4life 😘😘

#rewrite #buddie #911 fic #watermark #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie fic

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bisexual-thoughtss · 10 months

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Humphrey Bone x Ghost!Reader

Just a little reader insert into “The Bone Plot”.

TW; suicide (didn’t actually happen, but it was mentioned so I wanted to include the warning), canon typical headless-ness/death

“Which is why the history books echo with the name; Sir Humphrey Bone.”

You cringe, knowing it was coming but unsure of how to answer the questions that were sure to follow.

“Did you know? You’re his wife!” Cap asks accusatorially.

“Yes of course I knew,” you sigh, knowing this is going to bring up a lot that the both of you would rather not remember.

The ghosts begin their search for Humphrey as you amble along behind them. Of course you know where Humphrey is, having just left him in the study when he told you he didn’t want to come to the filming, but you weren’t going to tell them that. Eventually they do find him, and you settle into the chair next to the table his head is on.

“You didn’t tell us you were famous!” Kitty says.

“Am I? Ooh, that’s nice. Am I a painter?” Humphrey plays dumb.

“She means the plot, mate. The Catholic Plot,” Pat huffs.

You watch as they go back and forth about it, frowning as Mary grumbles about his easy death. Certainly isn’t easy to have the memory of the sight burned in your brain. You stroke his hair away from his forehead gently as he goes into telling the story. It’s not long before the ghosts have a million questions.

“Humphrey?” Kitty asks gently when he trails off, lost in thought.

“What is he talking about? Who’s Sophie?” Captain interjects and you frown.

“She was my wife,” Humphrey answers, the other ghosts’ eyes bulging in shock.

“You what?! I thought you were his wife!” Pat exclaims.

“Technically, I was his mistress,” you mumble. You hear a clipped “good lord” from Captain, and Fanny looks a bit faint.

“You never told us that!” Kitty complains.

“It never came up,” you shrug, “and you never asked.”

“But it’s not how it sounds,” Humphrey cuts in when the ghosts all begin to ask questions over each other.

“Sophie was a business arrangement, there were no feelings there. She’s the love of my life, er- afterlife? Both,” he explains, smiling at you fondly.

It really wasn’t at all how it sounds, despite how the documentary makes it seem.

You had known each other since you were young, you; a baker’s child, and Humphrey; noble but only just so. Despite their status, his parents still occasionally sent him to the village on errands which is when he’d met you. Your young romance blossomed between sacks of flour behind the bakery where your clandestine meetings took place. He was dead set on marrying you, not caring what his parents would say, but before he could tell them this, they had arranged a marriage for him, practically set in stone. They’d whisked him off to meet her and marry right away.

You were heartbroken when Humphrey snuck into town the next week and told you the news, but he was undeterred.

“She doesn’t want to be married to me any more than I want to be married to her,” he tells you urgently, willing you to understand.

“It’s just for looks, she has no interest in being with me at all,” he implored.

“What are you saying?” You ask softly, not daring to get your hopes up. He explains his plan to you and honestly you think it just might work.

And it does. Within the week you’re moved into their manor, under the guise of being a new baker in the kitchen.

“Not only were you the mistress, but you had the gall to live in their home?!” Fanny squawks and you roll your eyes.

“It wasn’t like I was intruding on their marriage, Fanny. Humphrey is not a deceitful man, we discussed it with Sophie before I ever even moved in,” you explain curtly, her face scrunching in disbelief as Humphrey goes on to tell them about your arrangement.

The two of you were free to be together within the walls of the house with Sophie in her own side of the manor, which suited her just fine. They kept up appearances in public when need be, and went about their own business at home. This arrangement suited you all for years until Sophie became restless in the house.

Humphrey, ever the gentleman, still looked after Sophie as much as she’d permit (which truly wasn’t much) but he was more than willing to supply her with anything she might want or need. This is how “book club” had started. Sophie held her meetings while the two of you enjoyed your alone time on the other end of the manor. Until one fateful day, that is.

Humphrey had just gone round to grab something out of the chart room after one of the book club meetings when he found the letter. His blood had run cold when he read it, instantly thinking of what it could mean for your lives. The moments after this were pure terror, telling Sophie to run and thinking that you were safe on the other side of the manor. Panicking as the guards were banging on the door.

“Beheaded on the spot for high treason, so heinous was his crime. His mistress committing suicide out of grief at the sight.”

“At least, that’s how-“ Humphrey starts, but gets cut off by the Captain’s salute and the other ghosts murmurs of agreement.

“We should tell Alison,” Kitty says, and the ghosts agree, wondering off to do so. You can’t help but think about how the rest of that night actually went.

You heard the shouting from the other side of the manor, no idea what was going on but a pit forming in your stomach. You ran towards the chart room where Humphrey said he was going, using the back halls to avoid whatever the commotion was. Running into the room through the back door, you find Humphrey panicking.

“What are you doing here? You have to go!” He whisper yells, his eyes full of fear.

“What’s going on?” You ask in a hushed voice.

“There’s no time! You have to hide,” he insists, frantically shoving you into an alcove covered by thick curtains in the corner before running off to his own place to hide. You don’t dare to even breathe when you hear the doors being shoved open and the queen’s guards announcing themselves. They search for what feels like forever, one of them coming so close to you that he nearly touches you with his sword through the curtains before the other one distracts him. You can hear them leave but you still don’t dare move until you hear Humphrey shimmying out of wherever he’d been hidden. You peek out of the curtains, when you see Humphrey halfway out of the fire place. You run to his side, ready to ask him just what the hell is going on.

“God, I love this house,” he laughs, tapping the wall lightly. You barely have time to suck in a gasping breath when you see the swords moving, much less warn him. You would’ve screamed at the sight before you, but your breath was taken away before you could even consider it, the sword swinging right through Humphrey’s neck and piercing you in the abdomen. Your thick layers of corsetry were nothing against the sharp blade sticking into you. With a gasp, you pull yourself away from the sword, blood pouring thick and fast from your wound. You don’t have time to do much of anything before you’re stumbling to the floor. In your last woozy moments lying on the ground, all you can think to do is grab Humphrey’s hand for some sort of final comfort. He’d told you later that he could still see in those final moments, watching helplessly as you collapsed, trying in vain to squeeze your hand in return.

You suppose that this is how you’d come to be Humphrey’s mistress in the history books. You look over at Humphrey and you can only imagine he’s thinking of the same moments, judging by the far off look in his eyes.

“C’mon, love. No use dwelling in the past,” you try to cheer him up, a light hand on his cheek to pull him from the memory.

“D’you reckon we should tell them what really happened?” He wonders as you take him in your arms. You imagine the two of you must make a right pair to the outside eye, a bloody Tudor lady carrying a severed head and whatnot.

“I think they’ve heard enough truth today. Let them think what they want,” you smile playfully, pressing a kiss to his cheek as you walk the both of you towards the sitting room.

#humphrey bone x reader #humphrey bone #bbc ghosts #ghosts #six idiots

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writingcold · 8 months

Text

Hi there. Welcome to Chapter 16. We’ve had some fluffy healing. It’s time to start buckling up. We have a few chapters left of Act II, and Act III is… fast.

If you are just joining us, you can find the Master List to the series here

A very huge hug and thank you goes out to @lvnterninthenight, @gardensgatedaisy and @whitesuitjake. You’ve heard me gush about them all the way through, and there’s still more to go. Yeah. Pretty amazing humans there.

This is a work of fiction, and is totally mine. Please do not take it for your own personal use. I’ve put in hours of research, hours upon hours of writing, re-writing, screaming, yelling and vomiting over this epic of a story. But it is mine.

Content warning: Again, just saying this is an 18+ story for a reason. This has elements of violence, so please be ready. There is harm to women, there is harm to two major characters.

Word count: approx. 6000

Chapter Sixteen: Dark Horizons - Cora

Late Autumn storms shedding rain and snow had descended on Kingsford. The last week of October was encroaching. She felt like she blinked and six months had culminated in so much life that she scarcely believed it ever happened. To be away from the farm and to be free of Kilbourne was a feat unto itself. But to have the love of Jacob was unbelievable. To have found an equal footing and beginning of a friendship with Joshua made her smile. This family had welcomed her without hesitation, without warrant, supporting her, sheltering her and her own. Jacob wanted a family - with her. The notion filled her with something she had very little of six months prior: hope.

“Morning, Joshua!” she called as she walked through the back door, tucking her key into her bag.

“Morning, lovely,” he called back, his nose already buried in work.

“Going to have lunch with Jacob today,” she said as she started pulling out her first tasks. “Are you going to come along?”

He appeared in her doorway. “Actually, I have lunch planned with the Reading brothers.”

They laughed. The Reading brothers owned the feedlot that Josh had offered to purchase several times. It had become a running joke that the brothers so enjoyed Josh’s free lunches only to turn him down when it came time for him to pitch his deal. Josh would shrug it off and continue laying in wait for the time that he would offer half of his original purchase offer and they would have to take it as they had no one else interested in their fading business.

Cora settled in at her desk. Josh had asked her to start looking into the balances of the bank in prior years, essentially making sure that the business of the bank itself was sound. She had been reading line by line entries in the bank’s records, noting anything that looked odd or did not line up with accounts. Though she had come across a few errors, she had yet to truly find anything that would be considered riveting.

Sitting up and looking away to refocus her eyes, Cora felt a shiver. The bank was awfully silent for the hour at hand. There seemed to be no customers in the lobby at all - a true rarity. Closing her eyes to rest them just for a few moments, she felt her brain readjust. Standing, she went to the bookcase by the door to retrieve the next ledger. The scent of tobacco struck her nose and a grin tugged at her mouth, thinking perhaps Jacob had arrived early. As she turned back to the desk, another scent struck, it was dark and mildewy. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as a chill touched her cheeks. Pain flared at the back of her head as a hand grasped hold of her braided bun, yanking her frame backwards. A surprised yelp was cut short as another hand wrapped around her throat, crushing the air from her. “Where’s my wife, bitch,” Harold Archer's voice filled her ears.

Her body slammed against him but he slapped the side of her head. Her ear exploded in a fit of ringing while stars cast across her right eye. He yanked her backwards once more, dragging her from her office into the short hall.

“Are you really this stupid?” Josh’s voice came from behind.

Archer spun them around, his free hand moving out to steady them. She gurgled for air, her body flinching with shock.

“Think it through, Harold,” Josh said calmly. “This cannot end well for any of us if-”

Cora felt something sharp run across her forearm like a thousand bees were being dragged by their wings, followed by pain that forced a whimper from the bottom of her gut. Josh’s face grew hard. His dark amber eyes went flat with rage. Cora gritted her teeth as the sharp point was pushed into her ribs as she started to be dragged away from Josh, Archer’s hold on her tightened as he laughed over the situation.

“Come on, little man. Come on out here so that we have more room to play,” Archer taunted.

“Fine, Harold,” Josh replied, his voice kept low and calm.

Cora’s insides twisted and jostled as panic began to pool in her feet. She could feel her arm bleeding, the shock of injury making it feel hot and itchy. Once to the main area of the bank, her eyes went right to the tellers. Both ladies were behind the locked counter, their faces wild with fear, but both seemed unharmed. The windows were all covered. Cora’s breath began to stutter as her own fear began to stab and twist in her, much like the knife that was digging in her side.

“Cora,” Josh called out, trying to get her attention. “Cora, listen. Don’t fight. Hear me?”

Archer laughed. “Oh, I think she’s gonna want to fight. If she knew what I wanted to do to her, she'd want to fight. She owes me a wife, I can just take it from her.”

Her body quivered. This was Junie’s daily experience. This man who presented such respectability was a monster. Involuntarily, she strained, only to have him dig the blade deeper.

“Cora,” Josh soothed, despite his eyes widening with emotions. “Please…”

“On your knees, Kiszka,” Archer seethed.

She watched as Josh complied, sinking to his knees, hands out before him. Her heart raced, but she stayed as still as she possibly could as the hand slid away from her neck, down her chest, grabbing a breast in a painful clutch. She did not give him the satisfaction of a reaction, keeping her eyes directly on Joshua. For a moment, there was comfort. Whatever Archer planned, Josh would ensure they survived together. She ignored the shredding of her pretty blue dress - the one that Molly had given her and had insisted she wear it on the last day of shop trial, and wear it for Jake. She ignored the man’s hand as he attempted to humiliate her before Joshua. However, the sight of Josh’s face flashing panic as he lunged forward cued icy fear to flood her brain. Archer kicked him, landing a solid blow to his face. The clerks screamed.

“You should’ve been mine,” Archer oozed. “That twin of his has been fattening you up, hasn’t he? You’re not all skinny like your sister. Has he put his cock in you yet? Shown you what a man is?”

“Harold!” Josh said sharply, rising up again.

Archer kicked him again, this time in the ribs. Before she could move, Cora felt something sharp stab into her right buttock. She hissed over the stark sting. Archer laughed before planting a wet kiss against her cheek. His body shifted against her as he reached into his pocket. The knife dug against her side causing her to gasp. Archer slammed his hand against her mouth and nose. Cora choked as powder invaded her, chalky and bitter.

“Yeah, I think I’ll enjoy taking that,” he said crudely.

“Please, no,” she whispered, tears hitting her cheeks as Josh struggled forward once more, blood smeared across his face.

“Cora?” he asked, his eyes full of fright. Each letter seemed suddenly drawn out, like she was watching him speak in symbols. “Cora? Lovely, stay with me. Keep your eyes…”

Pain exploded against her side as she was shoved down. She brought her hand up, unable to understand the fluid that was so sticky that covered her hand and arm. The world started to dim, as if colors were beginning to not exist. Her head felt heavy and her neck could no longer hold the weight. She shivered. Her whole body felt cold and hot in intermittent waves as she struggled forward. She knew Joshua was calling out to her, but the words made her eyes want to flutter. She needed Jacob. Her Jacob. She needed his warmth and gentleness. Each time her eyes drifted closed only to open again, leaving her more confused if it was real or dream. Nightmare or hell.

Chapter Sixteen: Pt. 2, Jacob

The sky was heavy with clouds that would eventually spill snow as he walked towards the bank. He had set up Mr. Thornaby in the Tiger. He had dropped in on Sam as he continued to make adjustments to the Moon now that he could take the time to really study and experiment on the rig. When he arrived at the Northern Trust door, he was startled to find it locked. The curtain on the main window was drawn obscuring anything that may have been going on. His gut twisted. His breath steadied as he listened to anything that may be happening on the other side of the door. The quiet made his mind sizzle with panic.

“You’re one of them Kiszka brothers,” a voice called out. “I’ve been waiting to get in there.”

Jacob looked up at the man that was walking towards him. “Oh, so sorry. I’ll get right on that, sir. It’ll only be a few more minutes.”

Turning, he walked across to the post office, all the while trying to make his face look calm. The clerk behind the counter looked up as he entered.

“I’m sorry to be a bother,” he said, forcing his voice to sound friendly. “I’m -”

“What can I help with, Mr. Kiszka?” the gentleman asked.

“I need to borrow your telephone,” he said, looking back out the window across the street. “I fear I have forgotten the key for the bank and it was my morning to open the doors…”

“Oh, of course. Here, step this way,” the clerk said with a wave of his hand.

He waited until the man moved out of earshot to call the garage phone. Sam picked up, his tone annoyed.

“Get heavy back up and meet me at the center with keys,” he said firmly before hanging up.

He flashed his biggest smile. “Thank goodness for baby brothers, right?”

He paused to glance out the window once more. The thought that it was Archer in that bank with Cora and Josh prickled just underneath his skin. There was no telling how long the man had been inside and what damage he had already been entailed. He dug in his breast pocket for his cigarette holder as he crossed the street. By the time he was rounding the back of the building in the alley, he had one out and lit. He paused at the windows, listening for whatever was going on, only to be met with silence. The minutes felt like days as he waited for Sam and Marcus and anyone else his brother would be able to rouse.

Two smokes lay crushed to the pavement beneath his feet. Jake’s panic was beginning to choke his throat. A muffled scream from inside chilled his heart. His brain could not identify if it was Cora or someone else in the bank. Was it one of the clerks? Was it Cora? His brain registered the tone as feminine sending his blood to raging. His thoughts raced faster than his body could keep up with them. Just as he was about to say the hell with it and break the door down, Marcus jumped down from the running boards of the Kissel as Sam parked.

“What the hell is going on?” Sam asked, holding out the keys.

“Everything’s locked up, windows are covered,” Jake said, moving towards the doorknob. “It’s gotta be Archer. I can’t hear anything, and it’s been too long to be a fucking bank job.”

Marcus stopped him, his face hard. “You two stay behind me. Jake, no matter what you see, do not feed into him.”

The vein in his forehead began to throb. Marcus had been the darkness of an enforcer for so long for the Diamante family that nothing surprised the man. Jake nodded, turning the key in the knob as slow as possible to not make sound. They moved through the short hall into the rear offices of the bank. Jake noticed that Cora’s door was open and the room empty. Josh’s door was closed, but it was easy to figure out that he was not in his office as Jacob heard his brother’s voice sharp and cold in the main lobby of the bank. The words were followed by a hard slap and grunt. Marcus had his pistol out. The man’s grizzled face was hard with the duty at hand.

He crouched his frame down and nearly crawled to the edge. Jake and Sam followed suit.

“Don’t know what the fuck you think you’re going to get out of this Harold,” Josh muttered, his voice thick. “No one will trust you after this. No one will allow a sick assed bastard who likes to hurt little girls to be a part of their community, let alone the head of their largest bank in town.”

Jake felt Sam flinch as Josh was struck. He couldn’t see anything around Marcus. Mentally, he tried to picture anyone who would be in the space aside from Josh and Archer and Cora. There would be two clerks. Or, would there only be one… His brain fuzzed over as he heard Archer hit something, but no sound followed except for Josh growling and spitting venom. Marcus looked back at him hard.

“Jacob, no matter what, do not come around this corner until I say. Do you understand?” the elder said, his voice thin with anger.

“What the fuck did he do-”

The man’s eyes held death. This was the enforcer that Sastrato Torello had sent to them for protection of his daughter for a reason. Jake felt himself melt into the wall behind him. Sam held onto his shoulder as Marcus snuck out into the main space. Archer was absolutely rambling in his fury. He anticipated a gunshot, but instead was surprised by the sickening crunch of bone, followed by screaming. Screaming of the women behind the counter bounced off the walls. Screaming of a man in pain pierced the ears. There were wet thuds that made his stomach turn.

“Marcus,” Josh’s slurred voice called out as another hit landed. “Marcus stop…”

“Fuck it, Sam,” Jacob hissed standing up.

“Marcus!” Josh called again, his voice a little stronger.

Jake stepped out into the open with Sam right behind him. The narrow room froze as his heart pounded like it was lurching from his chest and back. Sam rushed forward as Josh was trying to reach out to Marcus. The youngest grabbed hold of the enforcer’s arm to capture his attention, nearly incurring the man’s wrath. Archer was gasping for air beneath him. Josh was holding onto his ribs, cheek pressed to the wood floor. Wild-eyed, he searched for Cora. Following his twin’s gaze, he discovered she was hunched over between the wall and counter. Her eyes were closed and her head was slumped against the brick of the wall. No air reached his lungs. His jaw grew slack.

“Jacob,” Josh groaned as Sam dragged him up to sit upright. “I don’t know what he doped her up with, but I wouldn’t let him touch her, Jake. I took it.”

He looked at her, realizing that her dress was in pieces on the floor. Shrugging out of his coat he started to move quickly towards her, but her head snapped up, panic in her face. There was no recognition in those blue eyes he so loved.

“Sam, go get Sheriff Moore,” Josh was saying behind him.

“Finch,” Jacob whispered, holding his hand out to her. He wanted to weep as she tried to claw herself away from him. “Baby, it’s me.”

He tried to hush and soothe. All the while, he wanted to turn and rip the skin from the sick fuck that lay in a bloody mass behind him. The fury that bubbled in his stomach made him want to vomit. Cora’s body folded once more and took advantage of her weakness, covering her body with his coat and wrapping his arms around her. He repeated his love over and over as he smoothed her hair.

Gentle hands came down on his shoulder. He moved slowly so as not to startle Cora. Mrs. Cooper and Miss Klass were behind him, their weary faces full of concern. He was about to turn back, but Mrs. Cooper held out Cora’s long, lined coat.

“This might work better, Mr. Jacob,” she said. “Can we help? Maybe get her to a chair. Marit, go get her chair from the office.”

The younger lady moved away without a word. Jacob slid himself backward, while trying to keep his hands soft on her. The emotion choked him at the sight of the blood on her hand, arm, and on her side that seemed to be from a deep slice. His breath rushed from him as her eyes flared but her mouth remained mute.

“Steady, Mr. Jacob,” Mrs. Cooper whispered, as she moved to his side, her hand wrapping around Cora’s other shoulder.

Together, they got her from the small space. Cora started shrieking, clawing at the air, her blows landing on Jacob’s back in hard thunks. Mrs. Cooper tried to catch the flailing arms, but could only catch one before the other broke free. Marcus moved around to come behind them, clutching Cora around the middle.

“Jacob, sit down,” he directed. “You’ll have to hold her. Move that chair over, close to the wall. She needs a small space.”

Jake sat down, uncertainty pounding through his body as Marcus lowered his girl into his lap. He held on as tightly as she would allow. He caught Josh’s gaze. He could not hide the heaving emotions that pushed at him. The fear that pulsed in his brain, to the love that quivered in his chest, all of it lay bare for everyone to see as Cora writhed against him, her whimpers piercing him like blades. Marcus draped her coat over them, effectively covering her, and tucking it around her frame for modesty.

“Miss Klass, go fetch Doctor Boone. Tell him it’s an emergency,” Mrs. Cooper ordered, her voice firm, despite the tremble of fear that still resided in the moment.

“Marcus,” Josh said, his voice thin. “You need to get out of here. Sheriff Moore can’t see you.”

The enforcer’s eyes closed for a few beats of breath. Jake watched as the man was struggling.

“You take care of her, Jake,” he said quietly, the hardness evaporating from his face, replaced by concern.

“I will,” he whispered. “Tell Rosemary for me. Tell her mama that I will care for her.”

He watched as Marcus moved quickly out the back door. Cora’s cries softened. Her body shook under his touch. His eyes landed on the fabric of her dress, the swirls of color on silk that lay hidden just beneath the chiffon. The tip of his tongue pressed against his upper lip as if trying to hold back the anger, the fear that was merely the front for the guilt that loitered along the fringes of his thoughts.

He vaguely recognized that Sheriff Moore had entered with Sam, a few deputies were with them. Martin quickly posted the extra men around the front to control the crowd that had gathered. At the sight of Archer, the man needed little explanation of events. Josh was fading fast. Jake kept whispering against the soft perfume of Cora’s hair, trying to will her back to him through the drug haze that the monster had unleashed on her.

Doc arrived. One look at Cora and he was dismayed. There was no telling what Archer had shot her with. The hypodermic needle that he utilized would be helpful, but only if they had some notion of what was in it prior to injection. The doctor identified the wounds as being knife stabs and slashes that needed stitches. The puncture on her ribs was going to need attention. Josh was in rough shape. He had broken ribs, the left arm was dislocated at the shoulder, a few fingers were snapped. Archer had yet to rouse from the beating that Marcus had unleashed. Jake silently thanked the man for each shattered bone, each break of the skin, each bruise. The remorse that he was not in the building pounded only as bright as the shame he felt for wanting to have been the one to dole out the terror that had been unleashed by Marcus.

Josh’s sharp yelp brought him out of his thoughts. Doc had popped the arm back into the socket. He watched as his twin slumped to the floor, eyes closed, nearly mirroring the unchecked mass that Martin stood over. Boone wanted all three to the hospital, just to have a quieter stage to clean everyone up. Jake had not realized the noise outside the bank. A crowd had gathered, some panicked about not being able to get inside the bank, others loudly yelling about a bank robbery. Martin had the deputies load up Josh and help Jake get Cora into the Kissel. Sam drove across town, leaving the sheriff and his men to figure out what to do with the now destroyed Harold Archer.

Chapter Sixteen: Pt. 3, Cora POV

She could feel sunshine - cold - but sunshine on the skin on her face. Her mouth felt like sand had been poured inside until she could hold no more. She barely moved and her body erupted in hot, throbbing pain. Cora instantly froze, keeping her eyes closed. She drifted into the silence. Sleep rolled across her like she pictured how waves would feel if she were ever to visit Lake Superior, or dared to really travel and see the ocean. She could hear Jacob’s voice from time to time, leaving her to wonder if it was just in her dreams or if he was really talking to her but she was unable to answer. Mingled in, she thought perhaps she heard her mother. All the while, she longed for Junie. The brutality that she faced - alone - was unforgivable to be put through such a state and still call her family for what they still needed to be: family.

Cora wanted to move. She wanted to whisper through the thick mud that resided in her throat. Her limbs felt like concrete; heavy and unmoveable. Her brain wanted nothing more than stillness. She felt drawn under once more. The dark was rich and velvety, like Jacob’s voice when he would whisper to her in the night against her ear. The way he would talk to her as they made love. The way he would tell her he loved her. Her heart swelled over the notion that this man chose her. This man saw his life with her. The quiet stretched into dreams filled with color and warmth.

The next time she surfaced above the sleep waves, she could hear Joshua talking. His voice seemed so distant. He had been her protector for as long as he could. She wondered if her body accepted Archer in her frozen state. If her body allowed him to be inside. If her body betrayed her heart and mind. How was Jacob going to look upon her when she did fully wake from her haze? She wondered if she would still be the object of love for him. She wondered if Josh would have to explain it to his twin what he was witness to. The thoughts tore at her spirit. How that monster clung to the fringes of her - did he have to touch her? Did he have to violate her? Would she even know fully what he had done not just to her, but to her sister? They were not questions she needed to truly answer… did she? Instead, she allowed the wave to carry her away once more, settling into remembrances of the way Jacob walked at her side, treating her as equal.

“You would’ve been proud of her, Jake,” Josh’s voice echoed through her thoughts. “She gave that fucker no satisfaction of any kind of reaction. She was beyond brave.”

“I don’t want her to…” Jacob’s voice cracked. “Josh, I don't want her to remember.”

There was silence. Cora focused on the hurt in his voice. The strain. Whatever Archer did after the end of her memory must’ve been awful.

“Why would she need to? He -”

Josh’s words tumbled through the abyss as she plunged downwards once more. How one could feel like they were underwater but walking through the desert at the same time was beyond her reckoning. There was blood here. There was pain. That monster’s laugh pierced her with each twist of his knife. But Joshua was there. Those eyes, so much like her Jacob, but more like dark caramel, more bits of gold and mischief. Those eyes kept her rooted, kept her with him. It was not just her blood, her pain, was it? He barked and badgered, insulted and whined, anything to bait Archer away from her. So much of those moments were shrouded in gauze that was stickier than spider silk.

Sunshine on her face. She could see the light on the outside of her eyelids. It was a warm, fuzzy light that beckoned her; welcomed her home. She experimented with sliding her arm up to touch her face. Then she flexed her toes. The pain wasn’t so bad. She turned her face against the pillow, hoping to breathe Jacob’s scent in, but it was a sterile smell, one that was foreign. Blowing out a breath, she tried to clear the debris from her throat.

“Finch?” Jacob whispered, his voice next to her.

Her fingers landed on her throat. She tried to form words, but she was so dry. The grit of whatever dirt was in her windpipe kept her from saying anything. Instead, she tried to open her eyes to look upon him. Sharp rays of sunshine stabbed at her and she was quick to shut them back out. He pressed his hand to her shoulder and the sunshine dimmed against her.

“Finch?” he whispered again, his face close enough for her to feel his breath.

Cora tried again, opening her eyes to a haze of light. Her eyelids felt like each one weighed tons, fighting against herself to look around. His fingers touched her mouth before sliding across her cheek. He let out a soft laugh as she struggled to focus. She could only imagine what she looked like with her eyeballs feeling like they were moving in opposite directions.

“I’m so glad to see you, baby,” he whispered, planting little kisses across her face.

She tried to say something… anything… Only air escaped through the throb that pulsed on the inside of her throat. She tried to whisper, to get something out, but the air caught, leaving her gasping to fill her lungs.

His brows knit together as he shook his head. “It’s all right, Cora. Doc said things are bruised in your throat. Don’t force it.”

Joshua appeared behind Jacob’s shoulder. His eyes were warm as he looked at her with a little wave. His face was swollen and cut and bruised badly. If he looked like that, she was sure she looked similar.

“Hello, lovely,” he whispered. “I’ll let you have your fella, hmmm?”

She felt the corner of her mouth tug. She grimaced as she tried to move, to create space. Jacob tried to stop her, but she frowned. Cora continued to slide and rock until she was on her side and there was enough room for Jacob to lay down next to her, belly to belly.

“Oh, Finch,” he sighed, brushing back her hair. “Are you sure?”

She tapped against the pillow. He smiled as he carefully lay next to her.

“You’re probably wondering where you are. You’re in the hospital. You’ve been here for two days. You scared the shit out of me, baby. I’m so glad you’re awake.”

He was careful in where he set his fingers, where he touched and brushed against her. However, each touch was full of light and love just for her. Cora stared into his face, searching for what he saw in her in the moment. There was only concern and honest joy. He whispered against her, telling her about how Rosemary had stayed through the nights with him. He had the boys at the house, sleeping in the parlor after too much sweets and hot cocoa each night. Sam was already honed in on educating Matthew about auto engines and Jon about actual engineering. It had been two days that she had lost. Two days that she had slept. She managed to ask about Joshua and Jacob smiled.

“You find a scrap of voice and you ask about him?” he teased, brushing his thumb across her bottom lip.

Broken fingers. Fractured right arm. Left arm was dislocated. Four broken ribs. Stabbed in the thigh and left arm. She wanted to weep. Joshua had placed himself before her as a sacrifice. Jacob’s voice warbled as he whispered his love for her. His fear for her. His regret that he hadn’t been fifteen minutes earlier.

The next time she awoke, she was in her own bed, in her own home. She remembered being wheeled out of the hospital and Jacob helping her into the Kissel. She could recall Matthew grabbing Georgie’s collar and holding him back when she caught her toe as they moved through the front door. She could remember her mother telling Jacob to take her into the bedroom and how his cheeks warmed as he helped her sit down on her bed. When she stirred, she could hear the boys swarming around the house, and the base of Jacob’s voice calling to Matthew from the kitchen.

“He slept on the sofa last night,” Rosemary whispered as she was buttoning up her dress. Cora frowned, unsure of if her mother disapproved. The woman smiled softly as she was reaching for her brush. “He stayed with you the whole time. By the time we got you here, he was completely exhausted. He sat down and was asleep in moments. I dared not wake him, and neither did the boys.”

She smiled as her chin dipped. The idea that he would not be far from her made her heart skip a bit. Rosemary twisted her hair up into her typical thick bun before moving towards her with the brush. She grimaced as her mother started on some of the blood matter in her hair.

“Tell you what, I’ll get the boys through breakfast, then I’ll run you a bath,” she said with a gentle squeeze on her shoulder.

“Thank you, Mama,” she whispered through the fire that still burned in her throat.

“Still pretty raw,” Rosemary remarked. “I’ll send Jacob out for some honey. It will help your throat and we can put that on the … on the …”

“Cuts, Mama,” she answered, hurting over the struggle that her mother allowed herself to show. “I’m sure he would be happy to.”

Rosemary continued to brush through the thick hair, her fingers holding firm to each section. “I do not expect you to understand fully, Cora. To have one daughter harmed by my choices, only to have a second fall prey to the same hands…”

Cora stopped her mother’s hands, looking up into her face. She appeared old and young at the same time. The woman had aged considerably since the loss of her husband, but all the more so in the past weeks after the plight of her daughters.

“I can send you and the boys to Junie if you wish,” she whispered, enclosing her mother’s hand with her own.

“I won’t go until my whole family can,” Rosemary answered, her blue eyes sharp with care. “And I don’t just mean you and the boys, Cora.”

Her chin dipped at how her mother had brought back her own words, but tailored it to her own fashion. “Thank you, Mama.”

“You just sit back and rest. I’ll have one of the boys bring you a plate,” she said as she tied the thick hair back in a simple plait.

She felt like a stranger in her skin. Slipping underneath the blanket once more, Cora stayed up, sitting against the headboard, her hands quiet in her lap as her eyes drifted closed. Her whole body still ached. The wounds pulsed. Not quite as bad as when they were fresh, but they throbbed in a way as if they were calling out to her attacker like he could hear the pain they still caused. She focused on bringing breath in and pushing it back out as her ears took in the sounds of breakfast beyond the door. Jacob’s voice wove in between Matthew’s and Jon’s with Georgie’s trill over top in excited bursts. She sighed. Jacob sitting at the table with their children trickled through her thoughts. The smile that would grace the man’s face would incinerate the room in joy. She felt herself drift upon that hope, her mind focusing on each detail in dreamlike quality as her breathing evened out and tugged her into the stillness of her heart's desire.

The warmth of him drew her from her slumber before his touch against the ridge of her cheek. Sleepily, she opened her eyes as she leaned into his touch.

“Hey, Finch,” he whispered.

She realized the house was silent. Her brows pinched as she sat up. “Where is everyone?”

“Rosemary needed to get to work, the boys left for school,” he said, trailing his fingers down her bare arm. “You fell asleep and your mother did not want to wake you. I volunteered to stay until after lunch.”

Her gut began to sink as she continued to wake. “She was going to run me a bath.”

“I can do that, although I told your mother that Molly could help you,” he smiled, his eyes soft with care. “In fact, I don’t think it would be good to miss getting those cuts cleaned.”

He stood and disappeared for a few moments. She could hear the tap clunk on and the water hit the bottom of the enameled tub. Jacob returned with a towel and a sleepy grin. He helped to get her night dress off and covered her lean frame in the towel. Into the tub and he knelt down beside it, keeping his fingertips at the water to make sure it stayed the right temperature. He helped to take the linen bandage off her side, a near inaudible hiss escaping him at the sight of the bruising, puncture, and gash that marred her ribs.

Cora reached out to him, her fingers sinking into his hair as he rested his forehead against the rim of the tub. “Jacob?”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there, Finch,” he whispered. “I’d give anything for your body to not know violence.”

When he looked at her, the emotion that was etched in his features stirred her, strengthened her. He moved around her, washing her hair and limbs and body as if he loved each piece, each perfect and each flawed morsel of her. He dried her and redressed her wounds before following her back to her room to help her dress.

“Rosemary left you some biscuits and jam. Does that sound good?” he asked as she finished buttoning up.

When she nodded, he kissed her cheek before leading her out to the dining table. He was talking about nothing important as he rummaged around the kitchen. Cora just listened to his tone, the rumble of his words as they escaped him. The vibration of him washed over, comforting, vanquishing the harm within and replaced it with a softness that was only for him. She watched as he finally settled down next to her. He reached for her, touching her cheek with the tip of his finger.

“I’m glad I picked you,” she whispered. The sight of the joy in his eyes made her smile wider. “I’m so glad you picked me.”

He leaned forward, kissing her forehead. “Always, Finch. You’re my always.”

Yeah. That just happened. I hope you stayed with me through this chapter. Like I said at the top, we only have two more chapters until the end of Act II. Now that I said that, I guess I should say that there’s 25 total chapters and an epilogue. So, we have a lot of story left, and much of that is going to be rough. Be aware the violence only amps up as our characters hope to survive leaving Kingsford.

I do have a tag list - you can find it here

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adarkrainbow · 6 months

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Do you have any more information about the Michel Carré/Paul Collin "Sleeping Beauty" opera? I had never heard of it until now.

I knew you were gonna ask ;)

And don't worry you're not the only one, I just heard about this very obscure thing today while doing my early post! In fact, when you go check the Wikipedia articles of both Michel Carré and Paul Collin, you find nothing about any potential work on a "Sleeping Beauty" production... The piece is however evoked, described and link when you go check the Wikipedia page for the fairy, Urgèle.

Now the source for this Wikipedia paragraph is actually a double link to two articles stored by Gallica - the online archive of the BNF (Bibliothèque Nationale Française, National French Library).

The first link is here.

This article is from a newspaper called "Les clochettes algériennes et tunisiennes" (Algerian and Tunisian bells) from the 10th of January 1904. It was a Franco-Algerian newspaper about literature, humor and commercial business published every sunday. In the "Theatrical Week" segment you can read that an "opéra féerique" (fairy-opera, "or so claims the poster" adds the journalist) had its premier at the Municipal Theater: La Belle au Bois Dormant, Sleeping Beauty by Michel Carré and Paul Collin with music by Charles Silver (who received a Great Prize of Rome).

There is a recap of the plot that goes as such. Princess Aurore (Aurora, played by Mme Rigaud-Labenz) was recently born, and her five fairy godmothers (Primevère, Rieuse, Brillante, Sensible, Prudente - Primrose, Laughing, Shining, Sensitive and Careful) call upon her health and happiness. The King, pleased, invites them to a copious feast, but suddenly arrives the wicked fairy Urgèle (played by Mme Corot). Angry at having been excluded of the christening, she casts a curse: if the princess falls in love when she is twenty years old, she will die. We jump sometimes later, before the twenty years are passed - the princess Aurore is wandering, sad and dreaming, in the palace's garden, but her father's reassurance that once she goes over her 20th year without falling in love she will be free from the curse convinces her to not take part in the various games and entertainments of her young female companions. However the Wandering Knight appears (played by M. Broca) - welcomed by the king, he finds himself alone with Aurore. He is very openly in love with her, but when she answers favorably to his advances, she falls in a deep sleep as well as all the inhabitants of the castle.

A hundred years later, arrives the Prince (also played by M. Broca) - as he arrives in a forest he learsn from a peasant woman named Jacotte (Mme Stéphane), wife of the peasant Barnabé (M. Vialar) that the castle he sees on the horizon contains a princess who will marry anyone that is able to wake her up. The prince recalls that one of his ancestors told him that, once he had kissed a princess and she had immediately fallen asleep. Barnabé, overhearing the Prince revealing this secret, decides to go wake the princess and become king - but he is too afraid by the forest at night when he tries to go to the castle, and after stumbling over a rod/bundle of wood, it suddenly lifts itself in the air, carrying Barnabé with it (think of a witch's broomstick). Right after Barnabé was carried off in the air, the Prince enters, still thinking about the princess, and in the fog he sees Aurore that calls for help and tells him she loves him. He immediately rushes to the depths of the wood. Meanwhile Urgèle, in her cavern/grotto, calls against the Prince all the spirits of evil, while the flying piece of wood drops Barnabé right next to her. Urgèle puts Barnabé in a royal suit and sends him wake up Aurore, while suddenly, in a flashing light, Primrose appears saying "Aurore will be free, the times are over!" - which turns Urgèle's grotto into a celestial dome filled with springtime flowers, benevolent spirits and butterflies. Despite many obstacles ("flames, monsters and gnomes"), the Prince wakes up Aurore with a kiss on the forehead. All the servants wake up, and the two young royals exchange love vows. The old royal garden becomes green and alive again, and the good fairies appear, with laying at their feet the wicked fairy, vanquished.

After this recap of the plot, the critic-journalist tells their opinion. They point out that "apparently" it was a success in Marseille and Lyon, while it is currently played in Alger at the Théâtre de la Monnaie. According to the reviewer, its success is due to the "scenic and féerique" part of the work, "because, in truth, the music is too rudimentary. It is a musical dictation carefully written by an applied student, without any spelling or grammar mistakes. M. Silver is a Prize of Rome, which means he knows the technique of his art in a deep way. Unfortunately, he is missing something that is not demande for the examinations: inspiration. Not everybody can have genius, but M. Silver reveals himself as a beginner talent who under-uses his own work. Among four acts and one prologue, not one dominant moment, not one spark that makes the well-tooled orchestra alive. The author aimed at a too great simplicity, and comes off with a too-great naivety. And yet isn't the musical formula smoothly handled by M. Silver the best way to strongly express spontaneous feelings?"

The reviewer than says the actors really did their best to portray the characters - Mme Rigaud-Labenz and M. Broca were, "as usual" a triumph and only deserve a flood of praise - while the other characters were "episodic", and were "correctly held". In conclusion "the staging was very entertaining, and the play deserves to be seen". And the reviewer's name is "Frontin"

[As a personal note, the sources keep oscillating between calling this an opera and a theater play... In fact, Frontin clearly seems to call this a play, even pointing out with some irony that the work claims itself to be an opera.]

As for the other article, given this is already quite a lot, I will add this into a reblog.

#sleeping beauty #sleeping beauty adaptation #carré and collin's sleeping beauty #sleeping beauty opera #french adaptations

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little-peril-stories · 5 months

Text

The Queen of Lies: Faith and Freedom

Story Intro | Contents [Warnings] | Mood Board | Vibey Song Lyrics | Ao3

Contents: blood, injury, illness, guy whump [all just leftover stuff from the last few chapters :) no new bad stuff]

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Word count: 3650 || Approx reading time: 15 mins

Faith and Freedom

Teaser: “Just give me a minute,” he said, grunting and coughing as he sat up. After a moment, he drew up his knees and rested his forehead there. “Feels like I’m dying.”

The world beyond the prison walls was cloaked in shadow, with thick cloud cover blocking out the stars, leaving only the yellow gas street lamps to illuminate a city that had mostly gone to sleep. Two frantic figures, a boy and a girl—a thief, a prisoner who had been set free, and his rescuer, who had spent four long year being Baden Hatchett’s wife and who no longer knew what she was—stumbled through the streets. He did not speak, nor did she; rather, they fled in silence, letting their ceaseless, hurried footfalls break the peace of the autumn midnight. It was not long, however, before the boy’s strength waned, his steps growing unsteady and his breathing more laboured.

The hand that was still clutched in the girl’s went slack.

And the thief fell.

Fear spread through her, so strong it sent numbness to her toes and fingertips, as the boy hit the ground. “No!” Dropping to her knees, shaking his shoulder as gently and urgently as she could, she breathed, “Please, please, no, no, no, wake up, wake up—”

He groaned, blinking open eyes that in the gloom appeared a much darker hue than the gold-and-green colour she knew them to be. “What?”

She almost collapsed to the cobblestone, too, but not with exhaustion; rather, it was with relief that she’d been able to rouse him. “You…you scared me.”

He glanced around, seeming to perceive that he was on the ground and woozy. With a soft groan, he took a deep breath and let his head fall back against the stone. “Fuck. Just…”

The girl swallowed. “I’m scared you’re…” She wanted to say, too weak to keep going, but how would he react to those words? If she’d ever said such a thing to Baden, he would have slapped her hard enough to leave a bruise for a week.

“Just give me a minute,” he said, grunting and coughing as he sat up. After a moment, he drew up his knees and rested his forehead there. “Feels like I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying.” He couldn’t be; she wouldn’t allow it, not after everything she’d gone through to get him out of that awful prison cell. She glanced around, wishing it weren’t so dark. It had been a blessing as they crept from the prison grounds, but now it served only to make the towering houses and unlit storefronts seem dingy and menacing. “We need to get somewhere safe. It’s only going to get colder, and you need to eat. And drink. And rest.”

“What?” he said, half-heartedly mocking. “Can’t I stay at your house?”

She clenched her jaw and refused to take the bait. It was too cold, and she was kneeling in a puddle, and the wind was picking up into a sinister sort of howl, and she was too frightened to chase down whether the teasing was good-natured or not. “I’ve got an inn room booked, but we need to make it there.”

The secret note for Alice, hidden in the returned copy of The Scarlet Letter—tucked into the last marked page and written in the tiniest hand she could form: As I am unwell and cannot make the arrangements myself, could you please visit the Whitemoor Inn and book a room for my cousin, Lucy Cooper, for one night? I’ve enclosed enough funds to cover her stay.

One night for a young woman named Lucy Cooper to fleetingly exist, and come morning, she would dissolve into the ether, gone forever—as would the girl and the boy who’d occupied her room.

“A room booked?” he repeated, holding his head now. “You—you actually got some kind of plan? Seriously?” His eyes were still hazy with pain, but he was alert, and his gaze had gone wide. “You got money?”

“Yes,” she said, “I do.” She’d had one chance, one, between Baden letting her out of her room and him taking her to the prison to beg for forgiveness—one fleeting blissful moment when no one’s eyes had been on her. She’d taken as much money as she could from the safe in his study, the one he thought she didn’t know about.

That wasn’t all, though. In her coat pocket, sewn into the lining, there hid as much jewelry as she’d dared to take from the box on her dresser—enough to pawn for extra funds, not so much that it would weigh down her clothes or jingle as she walked.

Finally, there was the second half of her entreaty to Alice: if her friend had come through for her and done as she asked, a parcel waited for “Lucy Cooper” at the inn, containing a necklace and a ring, all she could reasonably and surreptitiously fit into Alice’s book. They would fetch a good price somewhere. Of course, the girl had no way of knowing if Alice had acquiesced, but she’d picked that friend over the other for a reason. Marguerite would never have gotten involved, but Alice was sensible and kind, and she knew—she knew. So surely, surely, she’d made the arrangements.

As long as that was true, and as long as the innkeeper didn’t turn them away at the sight of her companion, they would have somewhere warm and safe to sleep for the night.

If only the thief didn’t look like he had just stumbled out of a street brawl.

“Do you think you can keep going?” Her voice slipped out high-pitched and breathy. Too many worries, too few answers to soothe them.

He fixed her with a look of pained, miserable resignation. “Gonna have to.”

She pressed a hand to his face again. Despite the chill of the night, it was still hot. “I’m scared...” She couldn’t finish her thought.

The thief groaned again as he got cautiously to his feet—not pulling away when she held his good arm to steady him—and said, “Scared? Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”

For a moment, she didn’t even know what to say. Her eyes roamed from his blood-flecked shirt to his black-and-blue skin to the entirely useless arm in Mrs. Bristow’s apron-sling.

They landed on his lips, which were ever so slightly quirked upwards.

“Well, good,” she finally managed. “If—if we are set upon by an army of kittens, I’m very glad you’ll be here to defend me.”

He choked out a laugh, coughed, and took a few wary steps, letting her cling to his arm; he wobbled slightly, but he stayed upright. “Lead the way, princess.”

She was going to have to do something about the name problem.

As they moved through the winding streets, she stuck close to him, partially because she feared he would pass out again, but also because she had never wandered the city at night before, by herself or with anyone else, and the warm presence of his body—beaten and worn-out though it was—gave her a peculiar sense of security. She knew it was probably false.

Still, she clung to it anyway.

“What am I to call you?” she dared to ask after a while. Although she was, indeed, desperate for an answer, she also worried that if she remained too quiet, he’d slip back into unconsciousness. “Am I allowed to know now?”

“Don’t get all uppity about that,” he mumbled. “Can you blame me for being suspicious?”

No, she thought, but she didn’t say it. She merely pointed the way down a nearby street. Almost there. They had to be almost there. “That’s not an answer.”

It was a long while, it seemed, of something happening behind his eyes that she could not decipher, some tug-of-war between giving a real answer and not until he at last told her, “I don’t have a name.”

Another lie, of course; he had a name, but he didn’t trust her with it. What a surprise. Why should he? All she had done was give up her entire life and risk everything to break him out of prison. “Please.”

He bit his lip and again took a long time to answer. “I…I can’t.” His gaze flitted around, as if he expected someone to burst out of the dark and streak towards them. As if he feared they were being followed.

Why should her chest feel so tight? He came from a life of crime—of course he was perpetually suspicious. Surely, he had to be. It had been foolish to hope for he might give a straight answer. “Something. Anything.”

After a moment, after a third agonizingly long pause, he said, “Fox.”

“Fox?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

A phrase she’d heard the day Baden found her in his cell drifted back to mind. “Fox-thief…”

He stiffened. Yanked his hand from her grasp. “Don’t—don’t. Don’t call me that. Please.”

“All right,” she said, horrified. “I won’t.”

When silence fell again, she didn’t chase it away.

He stumbled once more, dropping to his knees but staying conscious, and when she pulled him up, her tears blurred her vision enough that it obscured the strain in his features and the violent shaking of his limbs.

Finally, when the inn loomed before them, she pointed at its dimly lit door. “This one.”

“This one,” he repeated. Voice weaker now, words slightly slurred. He was failing by the second, she realized, perhaps having depleted the frenetic, urgency-fuelled strength that had helped him run once Mrs. Bristow got them beyond the prison gate.

“Let me go in first,” she said. “I’ll settle up if I need to and come get you.” That, she supposed, was the best course of action. The innkeeper might not notice her bruises—but Fox? A superstitious person might take one glance and conclude that he had risen from the very pits of hell.

“Okay,” he said, bracing his good arm against the wall, and she turned on her heel and hurried inside.

The woman who presumably ran the inn was dozing, and no wonder; it was the middle of the night. Her eyes snapped open, however, at the sound of approaching footsteps.

“My name is Lucy Cooper,” said the girl whose name was not Lucy Cooper. “One Mrs. Wright made arrangements for my room a few days ago, I believe?” Too late, she remembered she was wearing trousers. “I—um—please excuse my appearance. I’ve been...um...I’ve been travelling.”

The woman peered down at a piece of paper in front of her, appearing merely drowsy and rather bored. “Just one night?”

Relieved that the woman either hadn’t noticed or did not care what she was wearing, the girl said firmly, “Yes. Only one.” Once Baden learned that she was missing, he would search for her, and at some point, he would speak to Alice, and Alice, not knowing what else to do, would lead him here.

He would find neither Breanna Hatchett nor Lucy Cooper in this inn.

Instead, the boy called Fox and the girl who was called—well, who was called something—would be long gone.

“You’re already settled up for the room.” The woman tapped a list of meals and their fees and turned it towards the girl. “You want to pay for food, too?”

“Yes. I would.” The answer rushed out. “Whatever you have now, if you please, and some breakfast, too, before we depart.”

The woman raised her eyebrows and glanced toward the grandfather clock behind her, which displayed an hour not typically associated with taking a meal. “Now?”

“Yes,” repeated the girl firmly.

The woman frowned. “We might have some broth still,” she said. “It won’t be hot anymore.”

“That’s all right.” She paused. One more inquiry before she paid. “Did Mrs. Wright leave a parcel for me, by any chance?”

With a sigh, the woman turned away to rummage somewhere behind her. After a few moments, she returned with a wrapped box, slightly crumpled but intact. “There you are, Miss Cooper.”

“Thank you.” The girl took it gratefully, promising silently that she would one day find a way to repay Alice for her kindness.

As the innkeeper took the money and filled out the rest of the paperwork, the girl tried to steady her breath, bracing herself against the new fears that rushed in. Never mind the fact that she was renting a room for herself and a strange, half-clothed, terribly battered man who bore only a false name and who was not her husband. Now she had to contend with bringing him inside without drawing attention. What if the woman took one look at his bloody skin and the tattoo on his arm, and threw them out?

“All finished up, Miss Cooper.” The woman handed her a key. It lay cold and heavy in her palm.

At first, she couldn’t find the man in question at all. It took a few moments to realize he had sat down on the ground, back against the wall, slumped and half-conscious.

“Fox,” she whispered, tapping his uninjured shoulder, eliciting a moan. “Wake up.”

His eyelids fluttered open. “Hmm?”

“We can go in now.” He groaned, and she tried again to rouse him. “Do you want to sleep out here in the cold?”

“Not really,” he mumbled, letting her help him to his feet. “I’m so fucking tired. Everything…everything hurts.”

“I know,” she said, her heart cracking open in her chest. “We’ve got our room. Let’s find it.”

In the narrow, lamplit corridor where she located their room, he leaned against the wall, waiting for her to finish struggling with the key in the lock. With his head resting on his good arm, as he breathed heavily from the climb up the stairs, he watched her, or seemed to, although his eyes kept drifting closed.

“Bed. Now,” she said, pointing toward it when they made it inside. His exhausted gaze swept the room, obviously counting.

“Just one. It’s for you,” he mumbled.

“Don’t be absurd.” She pulled him toward the lumpy-looking mattress with its yellowed sheets and woollen quilt. “You’re hurt and sick. Lie down.”

“You gonna sleep on…what? The floor?”

He really thought she would be able to sleep? After everything? “Never mind about me. Get yourself in that bed, now, before I throw you into it.” She resisted the urge to clap a hand to her mouth and backtrack as she realized she had practically shouted at him. “Uh—” Fox was staring at her with a wide-eyed expression she could not read. “I mean…please.”

He laughed. It was weak and riddled with coughs, but it was genuine, and relief swept over her like a warm wind, because…

Because if she’d ever ordered Baden around like that…and threatened him like that…no matter how empty the threat was…

“There should be a meal waiting downstairs,” she said. “I’ll go get it. You can rest, but you must at least drink. If you fall asleep, I’m going to wake you.”

Fox sat heavily on the bed. “You’re the boss, princess.”

By the door, she paused. Princess. The name was silly, and she got the feeling he wasn’t using it to be cruel, but her thoughts on the matter of her name had been boiling over since she gave the innkeeper her false one. The girl closed her eyes, imagining who she would have to be once the light of dawn broke. Someone courageous and clever, someone who faced her fears instead of burying them or running scared. Someone who was bold enough to grasp the life she wanted with both hands.

Hopes and memories flashed in her mind, bringing with them disembodied faces and disjointed pictures—flames, ink, books, blood, and a heavy sunrise filled with promise.

She let her eyes fly open, the answer to the question Who am I? coming to her in a sudden burst.

“You can keep calling me Bree,” she told him, and he raised his eyebrows. “I decided I like it after all. So that’s—that’s my name now. Bree. Bree Scarlett.”

Fox nodded slowly, his eyes on hers, repeating the name to himself, at first under his breath, then a touch louder, as strong as his weak and tattered voice would go. “Bree Scarlett. I…I like it, too.”

Cheeks suddenly blazing hot enough to be unintentionally—and newly—eponymous, Bree Scarlett hurried away, closing the door behind her. As she bounded down the stairs, tempted to take them two at a time like a giddy schoolgirl, she repeated her name to herself, and she found that the very taste of it on her tongue filled her soul with glee.

***

Defying her own prediction, Bree did fall asleep, the siren’s song of slumber suddenly irresistible the moment she let herself rest, and she awoke curled against the wall, which was where she settled after determining that the room’s wooden chair was even less comfortable than the floor. She startled awake with a gasp, trapped for a moment in the dizzying space between the waking and sleeping worlds, wondering where on earth she was and how she had gotten there.

She took one look around, and reality came crashing down: she had run away from her husband, set his prison on fire, and sprung a thief from jail.

Bree waited for the panic to set in, for the bone-breaking terror that, at any moment, Baden would burst through the door and tear her to shreds for her betrayal and her crimes.

It did not come.

Instead, she felt strangely calm, detached from the chaos she had wrought in her pursuit of freedom. Her eyes wandered over the room, with its wood-panelled walls, slightly uneven floors, and inarguably paltry sleeping spaces, trailing her gaze over the door and the window that by some miracle remained silent and unassailed by constables pounding and breaking through. It was a veritable marvel, how unafraid she felt.

As she looked around, her inspection paused upon the boy who called himself Fox.

He was still asleep, lying on his side, looking for all the world serene despite the blood still crusting his skin. Her throat tightened, horror creeping through the short-lived peace she’d just been enjoying as she took in the sorry sight of him again.

How many of those wicked bruises had been dealt by Baden himself?

She forced away the thought. There was little she could do right now about the guilt that stole through her and would not retreat; however, she had a new problem to contend with that she could solve. Fox had fallen asleep so quickly after she brought him water and the inn’s lukewarm broth that he hadn’t even gone under the wool quilt, and now he shivered in the chill of the night air.

Bree searched for something to keep him warm. Ah—there—her jacket, abandoned in a crumpled heap near the door.

How furious, she thought, her fatigue doubling as her husband invaded her thoughts again, Baden would be if he could see how carelessly and messily she’d flung aside her clothes. And how furious he would be if he knew how much she wished she could simply escape the thought of him for even a few minutes.

How furious he would be to see her pausing at the bedside of his foe, gently laying her own clothing over his body and tucking in the sides to keep him warm.

For a moment, it seemed as if her mission to blanket Fox’s shivering form without waking him had been a success, but as she turned away, his fingers curled around her wrist, the unexpected touch sending a jolt through every limb.

“Why?” His voice was rough, thick with sleep and whatever sickness ailed him. But the word was intelligible.

“You’re cold,” she said. “I could see you shivering.”

“No.” When she turned slowly back to him, his eyes were open. Bleary, yes, but he knew her. And he remembered what she had done for him. “Why. Are you. Doing this. Hel… Helping me?”

Good god, what was she supposed to say to that? What explanation was there?

“Because,” she said, failing to banish from her mind the image of him chained and on his knees, horrified at the sight of her for fear that it would bring him more agonizing pain, “you didn’t deserve what he did to you.”

He watched her, still shivering. “I…am. You know.”

“You are, what?”

“A criminal. A thief. In. In…IA.”

The cough that had been so quiet while he slept returned. Bree bit her lip, wondering what to say to quell his anxieties and allow him to rest. “Sleep more,” she said, deciding to ignore what he had mumbled—what he’d told her like she didn’t already know. “I’ll be here.”

“Bree.” He winced, overtaken by some phantom pain whose source she could not discern. “Bree. Don’t…”

He didn’t finish, and for a moment she thought he had fallen asleep mid-sentence. But his eyes were still on her when she looked back down. “I won’t leave.”

“No.” He closed his eyes. “Don’t fuck me over. Please.”

Even now, he feared she would betray him. Bree blinked back tears.

“You won’t, right?”

“I promise I won’t,” she whispered. Gently, she tried to pull her arm away, yet his fingers didn’t let go.

“Thank you,” he mumbled. So quiet, so indistinct, it was difficult to make out. “For saving me.”

Unable to bring herself to speak, and uncertainly unable to give the reply that came to mind, Bree swiped at her face with her free hand, her treacherous tears spilling over despite her efforts to hold them back.

She did not move until his fingers loosened and fell away—until the boy called Fox was asleep once more, perfectly still save for the rise and fall of his bruised, battered chest.

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Taglist (please let me know if you’d like to be added/removed!)

@starlit-hopes-and-dreams

@clairelsonao3

@gala1981

@pleasestaywithmedarling

✨

#lps the queen of lies #whump #whump story #whump writing #original writing #original story #original content #lady whump #guy whump #romance #angst #blood #injury #illness

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yuraslefttoe · 5 months

Note

hey, it's me again! I came to pester you with questions!! *there should be a scary laugh, but it sounds more like mean giggles*

(by the way, I’m thinking about sending you such long texts with questions (because I have a lot of them!!) once one or two weeks, if you don’t mind. . . . . . .you don't mind..??? (god, I hope you don’t get tired of me..!) I'm so sorry, please, I'm just very interested!! *qwq*)

ok, let's start with the sweetest part, prelude. ACTUALLY, I DIDN'T EXPECT THAT YOU REPLY SO QUICKLY, GOD, NOT PASSED A FEW HOURS!!!!!! I THOUGHT YOU HAD TOO MANY QUESTIONS SO I DID NOT EXPECT A SO SOON REPLY!!

I’ll remind you once again how much I adore your work (after all, you deserve it!!), and I’ll also say that I specifically shouldn’t talk about posts tagged with the adm, because I’ve read your tumblr and twitter in its entirety several times, I even have a separate album in my gallery with answers that particularly interested me, there are several hundred screenshots there and I don’t regret anything! (sorry if my hyperfixation may be intimidating!!)

*=^._.^= ∫*

and now the questions!!!!

1. my wife doesn’t have a tumblr, but her suggestion interested me and can be seen in the first two screenshots(the translation sounds like: “after the release of “red hour” I have an assumption that andrey is more... athletic than misha. either this is because of ferry’s drawing style, or he really has such wide shoulders")so now we are interested to know about the physique of your characters!! maybe some of them are thin, or vice versa, a little overweight. and what about physical training? did you have any headcanons for this??? ( by the way, when I ask about “characters” I mean not only misha and andrey, but also europe and maya, because they are also worthy of attention <зз)

2. what about the abbreviation "dyusha" for andrey? in russian it is... not used very often, but still, it sounds very cute. so it would be interesting to know how you would feel about this? 3. I also want to hear about the names of the characters!! how did you choose them? I mean........ how did it happen that from ☺europa☺ you switched to 👹MiKhAiL👹?? (I'M SO SORRY, BUT MISHA'S FULL NAME SOUNDS SOMETHING THREATENING. MY UNCLE'S DOG HAS THE SAME NAME EHE- *ᕕ(ಥ▽ಥ)ᕗ*)

4. and lastly, let's return to my wife for another moment. she suggested that andrey was now also in a time loop. what do you say about that? and also in enigma, she noticed that misha seemed to be addressing the second person in the lines: "and if you wanted to be anything more than just free" and "you’ve seen a hundred lies I see that all the time". is this second person a viewer? or maybe one of the previously mentioned characters??

the last photo, by the way, is one of the sketches that I found so far in my gallery! ^^

initially it was planned to attach two sketches, but andrey turned out TOO bad, I’m ashamed to show him. someday I'll redraw it into something normal.... maybe. but! I really like the pic with misha and the wolf(I hope this is the wolf you were talking about lol. google didn’t show me anything else, and I’ve never been to ikea myself, ehe...)

(and I don’t want to post all this yet, because running a tumblr was certainly not part of my plans, haha)) I registered here solely to read your blog, and not to maintain my own)

sorry again for possible illiteracy, and also for the chaotic nature of my thoughts, haha, I don’t know how to adequately express them in english.. and also, I’m really REALLY apologize that the text was too long, next time I’ll try to be shorter...

okay im gonna try and answer everything here in a coherent way so sorry if nothing makes sense

im just fine with lotes of questions :) answering asks and responding to comments is one of my favorite things ever and i brings a verry big smile to my face

on andrei: i consider him to be a skinny little gut but not exactly unathletic, and in addition i think he would have basic combat training and probably be good with firearms. misha is probably a very average bodytype, nothing special, not particularly athletic.

i do not speak russian (though ferry has recently encouraged me to learn so maybe in like four years ill be able to form a sentence) so i dont know anything about the short forms so you can do whatever you want. if you coin it and peoples tart calling him that i will not stop it from happening

i do not name my characters, i usually let me friends name them (i think that the only one i named was europa and his partner). going forward maybe ill try to make it more cohesive

the time loop idea im seeing thrown around alot is really cool and while i havent particularly wrote any of my songs about that in general i see it fitting into the loose narrative i have going on. also in enigma misha is definitely talking to andrei whenever he says the word "you" but it could also be to the listener because the entire theme of enigma is 4th wall breaking and meta shenanigans like that

that sketch is SO CUTE oh my god

#asks #adm #misha #andrei #deepest lore

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itsmadeofwaffles · 8 days

Text

One night I had a weird dream about HM FoMT, at first I just wanted to illustrate my vision with some made up screenshots and gifs. But as I kept working on them I felt the need to also tell a story so, I ended up writing a one shot fanfic:

(Or if you prefer the text only version on AO3)

Until Dawn

Summary:

A sudden hurricane alert causes more than heavy rains and some falling trees. "Be careful when climbing the mountain. There are no wolves or bears, but you can't be too cautious. Know what I mean?." Once warned Gotz, but what did his words meant well, Claire will soon find out...

"Welcome home! You arrived just in time, I have finished making dinner." Said Karen enthusiastically standing next to a served table.

Lately her cooking had gotten slightly less disastrous with the help of Claire's guidance at the kitchen and, combined with the fact that the Farmer's stomach was now even more resilient to the strange meals, since that one winter when she spend a whole week eating questionable "foods" at the mines after getting lost while searching for the mythical Kappa Jewels. Somehow eating random herbs, mushrooms and other "looks edible enough" items had prepared her for her future married life.

"Sorry I couldn't help you with the dinner. I found some leaks in the roof of the chicken coop and it took me some time to fix it." Said Claire while washing her hands before taking a seat at the table. "The hurricane alert came out of nowhere."

"Don't worry, the safety of the farm is also important and I wanted to surprise you with a new recipe." Replied Karen while taking her seat across the table. "Remember next monday is the Harvest Festival, so I have to keep practicing if I want to impress everyone this year."

The dish in front of Claire was curry, one of the many recipes from the cook book she had written over the last few years since starting a life at the farm and the book her wife now used as a reference.

Realizing that Karen was waiting for her to taste the meal, the farmer thanked for the food and took a spoonful of rice and curry and proceeded to savor all the textures and flavors. -Hmm… The carrot is still under cooked... The burnt taste of the onion actually brings out it's sweetness and is a good contrast to the spiciness.- were some of her toughs as she eat and even if the rice was still on the watery side the meal was surprisingly tasty.

"Sasha is going to be so proud in the next Harvest Festival!" Claire said once she was able to speak again. "This is so good! Is sweet and spicy, the bamboo shoots gave it a distinctive crunch and the sauce is well seasoned. Just be sure to cut the carrots and potatoes more evenly to ensure they cook together and let the rice water to evaporate a bit longer to avoid the mushiness."

"You really think so?" Asked the one who for the longest time held the title of being 'unable to cook to save her life' not believing the farmer's words.

"Yes! I'm sure this curry will leave everyone in town speechless."

And after that exchange the two continued their dinner talking about how their day went and anything else that crossed their minds.

~~•~~•~~

Around midnight, just like the weather forecast had predicted, the storm started as a light rain that in a few hours turned into a hurricane, regardless, Claire went to sleep knowing the farm would be fine or so, she thought.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

At some point past 4am, the sound of the wind and raindrops falling onto the roof were violently replaced by a knocking door and the sound of yelling coming from the entrance of the house:

Knock! Knock! Knock!

"WAKE UP!! They are free again!"

Not waiting for an answer from the homeowners, the front door was abruptly opened and two men covered in raincoats made their way into the house. "Hurry! If we don't stop them the town will be doomed!" A second voice yelled.

At the sound of the intruders Claire opened her eyes and ran towards the entrance of the house, standing by the door she saw Gotz the Woodcutter and Thomas the Mayor of the town, before she could even start to question why they had irrupted into her house at this hour Gotz started to talk:

"The hurricane destroyed one of the mountain seals, Harris and Carter are already looking for it." Explained in a hurried voice. Somehow while explaining this his voice sounded as if he was doing everything in his power to remain calm, which to Claire it was disconcerting. "Here... Use this to defend yourself and don't let them get you. If they get a hold of you... You'll..."

Gotz didn't finish what he was saying, instead he shoved a long box into the farmer's arms and left for the mountains leaving Thomas behind.

Still standing in his spot, the color of his face was nowhere to be seen and the horror was clear in his eyes yet he tried to sound calm as he spoke "Listen, there's not much time before it starts." Quickly glancing at his pocket watch it read 4:36am. "Use what Gotz gave you to fight back and do your best to survive until morning. Last time… a tragedy occurred." He added with a somber look.

"It's almost time, I have to go and check on Saibara back in town. Be careful and fight as many as you can, just... resist until dawn."

Thomas left the farm heading to the town leaving a very confused Claire behind, once she had barely processed what had occurred she went back to the dorm were she found both occupants still sleeping, Karen and Pachu, the dog somehow continued to sleep as if nothing had happened at all.

Realizing that she kept holding the long box Gotz had shoved into her arms, she opened it to discover a simple hand crafted wooden bat with some odd markings engraved and a "Good luck" note inside. The strange "gift" confused her even more if it was possible.

But as soon as the farmer was starting to think of everything as some sort of joke the clock rang, the sudden sound caused her to look at it, 4:44am. -Why would announce this hour?- Claire wondered then she felt a strange pressure around her.

A strange dark haze covered the room and suddenly it dissipated in seconds, the wooden floors were replaced by hard, cold stone, the walls were covered in a thick layer of rotten grime, somehow the TV in the room turned itself on but only static could be seen.

Claire rushed to Karen's side, the woman was still sleeping but something on her was off, like if her body belonged to a different reality, frozen in place. Not wanting to disturb it and cause a tragedy the Farmer decided to walk away.

Clank! Clank! CRASH!

The sounds came from the kitchen.

"What's that!?" She exclaimed at the same time as Pachu ran barking towards the source of the sound. "He… He wasn't affected by any of this?" Not sure if that was a good or a bad thing she just felt relief for not being alone in this.

Before leaving for the kitchen, Claire gave one final look to the room and noticed that the friendly looking portrait of the Lake Deity that adorned the wall got replaced by the portrait of a being that clearly didn't belonged to this world. "I hope this is just a nightmare."

~~•~~•~~

Crawling through the stone floor an oozing dark sludge was moving. Claire couldn't help but stare at it unable to move, simply witnessing the bizarre event before her eyes and firmly clutching her hands to the bat she was holding.

Standing next to her Pachu kept growling at the sludge, the fur of his back up, ready to attack and defend his territory.

"This… Can't be… Happening!" The farmer whispered not fully understanding what she saw. The sound of her voice seemed to alert the amorphous sludge of her presence and started to head her way.

"Iii'm... HooOmEee!" An eerie voice suddenly emanated from the sludge as it approached both the farmer and the dog. "WeeLcoOmEee hOoMeEe!"

Claire felt a shiver going through her body at the sound of the creepy unearthly voice. "It's... talking… Why is talking!?" She cried trying to make sense of it.

As the creature crawled closer to her, it started to shapeshift, the sludge grew in size and morphed to resemble what seemed to be an humanoid form, it was as tall as an adult person, no hair, no skin, just the slime. When it was close enough to the farmer it's head twisted itself in a terrifying way to meet directly with her and when their yellowed eyes devoid of life made contact with Claire's, for a brief moment, she could feel how it saw through her soul as an incessant echoing of voices invaded every corner of her mind.

The creature's body oozed with the black sludge. "WeelCoomEee... DiinEeer iiS... rEeaAdy!" Screeched as it lunged itself towards Claire.

The screech broke her trance and without thinking twice she gripped the wooden bat in her hands and swung it at full force towards the monster, closing her eyes briefly she felt the impact and then saw how the monster's head splattered across the room, the body collapsed in front of her, returning to be an immobile pile of rotten goo.

"It… Worked…" She said trembling and struggling to catch her breath, more sure than ever that those creatures didn't belonged to this dimension nor reality and not wanting to make eye contact with them ever again.

Looking around the kitchen, Claire saw the monster's leftovers on the cabinets of the kitchen and thought it would be impossible to remove monster innards stains. -Why I'm worrying about something like that now?- She laughed at herself.

Bark! Bark! Grrr! Bark!

Her thoughts were interrupted by the barking and growling coming from the other room that reminded her that this wasn't over yet.

Rushing to the next room she found two piles of sludge approaching the barking dog, one by the table and another one by the bookshelf.

Using all the strength she could muster she hit the one closer to the table, in that moment a shriek was heard and the creature collapsed into a puddle of dark slime meanwhile, across the room the remaining monster readied itself to attack Pachu, the dog growled menacingly, Claire not taking a chance pushed the table between the two to create a barrier causing the monster to refocus it's target.

The humanoid sludge released a war cry, the sound was so unnatural and so nauseating that for a moment the farmer flinched, barely avoiding the incoming attack, she dodged it, quickly turning to her right to reposition her stance and then...

PLAF!

From the corner of her eye she spotted another one appearing by the window and with the adrenaline still rushing through her body she launched herself to it, getting rid of the monster before it could even take it's humanoid shape.

"How many more there are!? Where these are coming from!?" she said exasperated. "Sigh… Thomas said I need to keep doing this until dawn but…" The clock on the wall read 4:44am. "Time hasn't moved at all!"

The growling and shrieking sounds coming from different areas of the farm interrupted her complaints, and deciding that she would leave that for a moment when those who she cares about, and herself, won't be in an imminent danger to get answers. She gripped her weapon and braced herself for what seemed to be the longest night in her life.

~~•~~•~~

Two… five… nine… twelve… Losing track of how many she had dispatched so far and not sure of how much time had passed, if at all, since the last time she checked the clock the tiredness was already taking a tool on her, her arms ached and now under the rain, keeping herself up was an even more complicated task.

One more appeared by the carrots, feeling her head spinning and dreading the possibility of this nightmare never ending Claire took a deep breath and proceeded to encounter the monster.

PLAF!

"I... I... Did it…" That was the last of her strength. Claire felt her knees gave in and her body collapsing on the ground, at the same time the clock back in the house finally rang at 6am; The dark haze from before engulfed the farm and like before once it dissipated, the strange pressure was lifted off and everything returned to normal.

Understanding what that meant the farmer closed her eyes and passed out of tiredness and relief that the nightmare was over.

~~•~~•~~

The sound of water drops hitting the windows and the distant thunders eventually woke up a very confused Claire, as she tried to get up a sharp pain made her yelp and fall onto the bed again. "Gah…! My arms hurt! What… I'm doing here…?" She tried to make memory of when she got to bed last night but, the last thing she could remember was the chickens and the heavy rain.

"Urgk… There's no way fixing the chicken coop can tire me like this..." Making another effort she finally was able to sit on the side of the bed "Huh...?" -Gotz, Thomas and… The nasty goop monsters.- "I remember!" The farmer stood up so quickly that it got her dizzy.

"There are slimy monster remains around the house! How I'm going to explain this to Karen?" -Karen!- Her eyes scanned the room but no one besides her was here. -Did... she woke up? Is she hurt?- As she hurried towards the door a new fear was unlocked. "Pachu! What happened to him!"

Stumbling into the kitchen and almost tripping, the first thing she saw was Pachu happily chewing on some carrots. "Pachu! You're not hurt!" The dog got up and went to greet it's owner wagging it's tail, when the dog was at arms reach she picked it up to hug him. "Ouch! My arms hate me right now but I don't care, I'm so relieved that nothing happened to you!"

"Ohh… You finally woke up." The Farmer turned to the source of the voice while allowing the dog to return to his snack. "I was getting worried because you usually are the first one to wake up but since there's a hurricane… I thought it would be good to let you rest some more."

Karen now was standing right next to her, a quick flashback of her previous unresponsive state, the echoing of tortured voices invaded her mind and, ignoring all the pain in her body she couldn't help but throw her arms around her and tightly hug her in relief. "You… Were worried about, me…? I'm the one who didn't knew if you or anything would return to normal ever again!" She cried as she felt some tears forming in the corner of her eyes.

"Huh!? What do you mean?" A confused Karen asked trying to understand the situation, she was rubbing her hand on the back of the farmer to try and reassure her. "Did you have a nightmare last night? I'm perfectly fine." She added now fully returning the hug, together they stood like that for a few minutes as Claire calmed down.

"The dark haze, the horrendous monsters, the incessant voices of creatures forced into life… And the house is a mess, how can… ehh!?" Finally breaking the hug she threw a look around realizing that everything was in place. "But the table was… And the windows were… The cabinets didn't…" The farmer was speechless.

Unable to comprehend how the room was in perfect state. -Did last night truly was a nightmare or... some type of hallucination?- She started to question her own sanity. -Okay, let's see, my body aches and…- suddenly her thoughts were interrupted by a gentle hand in her forehead.

"Hmm… You don't seem to have a fever, maybe we should simply take a seat." Karen gently guided her to the sofa in the living room "Okay, now take a deep breath, I'm going to make some tea so you can tell me about your nightmare. You'll feel better talking about it." She was heading back to the kitchen but then stopped "Oh! I almost forgot to tell you, I found a letter addressed to you by the entrance. Here."

[Dear Claire:

We're so sorry for intruding like we did last night, I really hopped "this event" to never repeat itself again but unfortunately nature wasn't on our side, and I'm sure you have a lot of questions and probably want to personally express your frustration at us.

I want you to know how grateful I am that you could overcome this terrible task in success.

This is something that your grandfather didn't wish to inherit you and neither we did.

I assure you we'll give you the answers you seek soon, just have patience, I know this is to much to ask for but please act as if it hadn't happened, we don't want to cause a commotion.

Sincerely, Thomas.

P.S. Don't throw away the bat.]

"They really are asking me this? After all that!? The nerve." She murmured to herself as she finished reading. "What did my grandfather knew? Well, at least now I know it was real."

Now that she had calmed down, Claire decided to head back to the kitchen too, where she told a version of her nightmare to Karen who in exchange suggested that maybe the farmer has been working to much lately and that it's good that they can take the day off and relax until the storm is over, together they eat strawberry cake and had tea.

For now at least, this was over and she could return to her every day life as a farmer.

#hm fomt #harvest moon #friends of mineral town #hm fomt fanfiction #my writing #based of a dream #fanfic #took longer than I wish to admit to create the fake screenshots and gifs #also I changed the layout for the beds because I don´t like the original #I've been playing the gay hack

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