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bullet-prooflove · 1 month

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The Finder: Duke Crocker x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @trublu2u @aiko24k @magic-multicolored-miracle

When you’d first turned up in Haven you’d called yourself a P.I, Duke knows better these days, the more appropriate term would be a ‘Finder’. You have an exceptional gift for locating missing people, it’s that that brought you to Haven in the first place.

You’d been on the trail of your friend Jim Delaney, a man who had simply stepped out of your life one day and vanished into thin air. You’d managed to track him all the way here to Maine.

Using your less than savoury connections you’d discovered that Duke had been the one to smuggle him out of Boston. Jim’s Trouble had started to manifest physically and he’d had to cash in a favour from an old friend to spirit him away. It was safer for everyone, Jim had told you when you’d showed up at the houseboat Duke had set him up with.

It's seeing your compassion that makes Duke realise that you’re something special. Jim’s Trouble had disfigured him, rendered him practically unrecognisable to the man you once knew. However that didn’t seem to faze you. When you realised he was getting sicker, that his affliction was terminal you had set up yourself up in Haven and liquidating your business assets so that you could afford to make Jim more comfortable during his remaining few months.

“Who is he to you?” Duke had asked one night when the two of you were walking alongside each other on the beach. “Why come all the way out here to find him? Why choose to stay?”

“He’s my friend.” You say simply. “He gave me a chance when nobody else would.”

He’s doesn’t quite understand what that means until the night Jim passes away. The two of you are sipping from a forty year old single malt that he would have loved when you find yourself telling Duke how Jim saved you.

“I was living on the streets trying to escape a bad situation. I left with the clothes on my back and a couple of dollars I’d managed to take from my boyfriend’s wallet.” You tell him as you lay on a blanket, staring up at the stars. “I couldn’t go to the shelter because I knew he would find me so I started sleeping rough, trying to stay one step ahead of him until I could find a way to earn that wasn’t…”

You trail off then and Duke’s fingers thread through yours because he’s had to do some pretty terrible things to survive and now he knows you have too. He doesn’t judge you for it. He’s just glad you’re out of that situation, that you’re safe.

“He hired Jim to find you didn’t he?” he says into the darkness.

“Yea.” You say softly. “Jim, he took one look at the bruises, the doorway I was sleeping in, the clothes I was wearing…”

“And he saw you.” Duke says knowingly because Jim, he had done something similar for him just after Simon Crocker had died. He had been a lonely, messed up kid when Jim had taken him under his wing, helped him find his feet.

“He got me out of the city, set me up with a new identity, a job, a life.” You say softly, your voice breaking just a little. “He didn’t want anything, he didn’t expect anything, he just did it…”

“That’s who he was.” Duke says quietly as he shifts onto his side, propping his head up on his arm. “He couldn’t stand to see someone in distress, he couldn’t help himself…”

You turn to face him and he can see the agony in your eyes because Jim, he was a more than just a friend to you, he was a mentor, a father figure, the man who saved your life.

Without him you’re alone in the world all over again and Duke knows how hard that is, how untethered and isolated it makes you feel. His thumb ghosts over your cheek, chasing away the tears that stain your cheeks. He’s known you for just four months but already it feels like a life time.

“We’re gonna take care of each other alright?” He whispers to you as his forehead comes to rest upon yours. “It’s you and me, no matter what happens. We’ll take care of each other.”

The two of you stay up, swapping stories about Jim into the early hours of the morning. You laugh, you cry and finally you fall asleep curled up against Duke, your head resting on his chest as you listen to the sound of his heartbeat. He draws the blanket up around your shoulders, tucking it around your body as he holds you close. You’re gone when he awakens, the scent of your perfume and the sea clinging to his skin.

You don’t come back for three weeks and when you do it's one in the morning.

He’s asleep when you let yourself into his bedroom, he wakes up to the aroma of jasmine and sunshine, it floods his senses as you join him underneath the covers. He thinks he’s dreaming at first but his dreams, they’re never this sweet.

“Tell me you’ve missed me.” You whisper as you strip off your shirt and his calloused palms chase over your bare skin.

“I have thought about you every damn day.” He murmurs into the curve of your throat as he helps you undress.

He makes love to you that night, his lips trailing over your naked form as the sound of the waves crash in his ears.

When he wakes up it’s to an empty bed. He sighs, burying his face into your pillow because this isn’t one of his usual one night affairs. He actually cares about you, the feelings he has, they’ve been there since the day you turned up on his boat peppering him with questions about Jim.

When he steps out onto his deck that morning he doesn’t expect to see you sitting there, wearing one of his shirts and a pair of his boots. You’re perched in his chair, sipping tea from a chipped mug and reading one of those mystery novels that you love so much.

Haven, he thinks as he lingers in the doorway, the edges of his mouth turning into a smile. It just has this way of giving people what they need, especially when they least expect it.

Love Duke? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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#duke crocker #duke crocker x reader #duke crocker x you #duke crocker haven #eric balfour #haven #haven syfy

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komorezuki · 3 months

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The next infernal team in Hell: Skittles and Morax. Problems of demons' representation in s2

Well, I am keep viewing demons in s2 and my attention was drawn to these two.

They were credited as the demon Morax and the demon Skittles.

Lets look more closely at them. Skittles is first. What's the name? Why Skittles? She isnt even multicolored. Ok. She was played by Ann Louise Ross. She is looking like old evil lady. Or like a visitor of Berlin techno rave or of Wave Gotik Treffen idk. I love her honestly.

Her spirit animal is supposedly a raven or crow (or another bird). Look at the black feather on her belt and at the bird skull necklace:

I think she could be associated with goetian Malphas:

Great President of Hell, with 40 legions of demons under his command and is second in command under Satan. He appears as a raven, but if requested, will instead resemble a man with a hoarse voice. Malphas is said to build houses, high towers and strongholds, throw down the buildings of enemies, destroy enemies' desires or thoughts (and/or make them known to the conjurer) and all that they have done, give good familiars, and quickly bring artificers together from all places of the world.

The second one is called Morax. He is clearly a demon from Ars Goetia and Pseudomonarchia Daemonum.

He is a Great Earl and President. He appeareth like a great Bull with a Man's face. His office is to make Men very knowing in Astronomy, and all other Liberal Sciences; also he can give good Familiars, and wise, knowing the virtues of Herbs and Stones which be precious. He governeth 30 Legions of Spirits

Obviously Morax's animal is an ox. *uncovers all jokes about Azi's relationship with oxes*

Morax is played by Florence Nzenwefi. He has big horns (dude something tells me that mask doesnt help you to blend in) and charmingly growls . He wears a long coat and....a sash???

Beautiful blue leather belt with a big ox head buckle. I dont know if that a sash or just baldric for weapon but I have questions in both cases.

It's a sash. According to @vaexathear's theory sash is a sign of power or status. Worn by demon from bottom of the barrel and bla bla bla. Whyyy?

It's a baldric for weapon. Dude did you have a flaming sword weapon? I am curious about what it might be. Sword or saber or axe maybe? How many demons are armed? Lords of the Hell dont wear weapons so why YOU should do.

And the last thing. Does that attack of demons bother you? I mean, they are definitely stronger than people. They can do miracles, and teleport and so on. You can say that lower demons are probably limited in a magic but Shax isn't. She can literally burn you in a lightning. Obviously she wouldnt kill Maggie and Nina because of Crowley's threat. But why not bring bookshop into chaos. Instead of this demons crawl up the stairs one at a time and girls knock them out with a books and fire extinguishers.

A whole demon representation in s2 bothers me. Why are demons so weak? Why are they shown as stupid and clumsy misfits? These ones who was in "legion" are fallen angels too, why they are the damp. Even Muriel can do miracles, but they cant. I am literally feeling bad for them.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens demons #good omens meta #good omens hell #ars goetia #go2 meta #good omens analysis #demons

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aduckwithears · 6 months

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Sharing this in its own post. See here for context - basically a scene in Job's basement "planning" what to do with the kids... like most of their plans it is lacking in details, but makes up for that with longing glances. (i guess i write fic now??)

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I'm torn, because this conversation could have happened in the cellar, or it could have been a speed-run on the way back from seeing God talk to Job. Anyway, I ended up writing the first scenario. Feel free to fill in the blanks afterward with any, um, more physical activities you like, you degenerates (affectionate).

Aziraphale's First Magic Trick (or, how Crowley unwittingly starts the career of The Amazing Mister Fell, an act which will have Repercussions)

Aziraphale is very full. He's never been fuller. Although he has no reference point for his own stomach, he is starting to suspect that a human would never consume an entire ox. By oneself. In one sitting.

He glances over at Crawley who seems to be completely enjoying himself, lounging with head lolling back, his wine cup half raised, and eyes half closed. There is a temptation to linger on this sight, but Aziraphale remembers (after several longish moments) that he, as an angel, cannot be tempted, and rapidly readjusts his gaze. It falls upon a clay bowl and 3 multicolored shape-shifted children.

"Crawley, the children!"

"Hmmm?"

"The children! They can't stay newts!"

Crawley hoists himself up on one elbow and looks over at the bowl. "Nahh, not newts. They're a type of lizard - meant for the desert, them. They're fine."

Aziraphale levels a stern, if slightly greasy stare in the direction of the demon. "That's not what I meant. How are you planning to return them to their parents?"

Crawley looks surprised. He had been trying to think of the exact type of lizard the form of the transformation had taken. He thought it might be a grecian but that didn't seem quite right. Greco? Still not it... He tries to focus through the wine. "Back to their parents? Doesn't seem very demonic." He shakes his head. "I got rid of them - no more kids, poof, gone - seems like it would take a miracle to get them back." He waves a hand dismissively.

Aziraphale huffs out a breath. "Well, they can't stay that way forever. If we could get them back to Sitis and Job after the bet is over, maybe they could be taken as new children..." He trails off, realizing what he is saying.

Crawley is now sitting all the way up, wine goblet forgotten and dangling from his fingers as he slowly raises both eyebrows and aims a golden gaze at the angel. "Ohhhh, do go on," he drawls.

Finding it suddenly very important to look anywhere but Crawley, Aziraphale feels his shoulders hunch. The taste in his mouth is too oily and his tongue seems raw. "Ahhhh," he says eloquently, casting his eyes about the cellar and encountering bare oxen ribs in his attempt to not look at the attentive demon. He turns his gaze miserably to the floor.

Several minutes pass and the uncomfortable silence grows, until a wiggle turns into a rustle turns into a black dressed form elegantly scooting (possible if you were once a snake and your human spine is open to suggestion) a little closer to his despondent companion.

"What about a magic trick?"

Aziraphale flicks his eyes over to where Crawley sits nearby, long legs folded, gazing up at him. "A... trick,” he manages over his oily tongue.

"Look," says Crawley, "between you and me, Gabriel couldn't tell these kids from Cain and Abel. I doubt he can even count to three." Aziraphale chokes a little, halfway between a laugh and gasp, but he must hand it to the demon, Gabriel has never seemed to be the brightest angel in the choir. He thinks about his recent conversations in Heaven and Gabriel’s insistence that God will provide seven new children to Job. Via Sitis (oh that poor woman).

The red hair and beard shimmer in the low light as Crawley leans forward and catches Aziraphale's eyes with his own. "So we'll do a magic trick. Sitis's births have to start sometime, why not right away?"

"Because... uh... well, you see..." Aziraphale himself is completely at sea. He reflects that perhaps humans do not eat entire oxen because it seems to diminish the power of thought. Does he have a general working knowledge of human reproduction? Yes. (He'd been on the human planning committee after all). Could he explain it to the wide-eyed being sitting in front of him? No. This is probably due to the taste of oxen stifling his brain. No other reason. Certainly not.

Crawley sighs, points to decimated ox. "Do ya get it? Ribs!" He grins.

Aziraphale feels his mouth drift open. He looks at the ox, ribs glinting white in the flickering light. He remembers another day, a flickering morning, and a woman taking her first breaths… and more importantly, a birth process Gabriel would believe… “Eve!”

The demon’s grin, impossibly, widens. “Exactly. Even if there are a few angels hanging around it should be easy to plant a few ribs, sneak in a few lizards” (what WERE they called? Gemini? Arghh…) “…and poof! Kids!” His hands flutter in the air. A distant, anachronistic part of Aziraphale’s brain categorizes these as Jazz Hands.

“Magicians!” Aziraphale allows himself a small smile. His shoulders relax. He crinkles his eyes towards Crawley, misses the small intake of breath from his demonic cellar-mate. “That could work!” He hesitates. “As long as no one asks directly which children these are, we should be fine!”

Crawley scoots back and resumes his comfortable position from earlier, refills the forgotten goblet, raises another toast. “Angel, the archangel Gabriel wouldn't notice if his wings were on backward. You bring the ribs and gecko-kids (that was it!! Geckos! Course it was!), I’ll do the talking. We’ll be fine." He takes a deep drink of wine.

Aziraphale's smile grows and he thinks that maybe a few of those ox bones need a little more work to be truly clean. He wiggles a little at the anticipation of the rich taste. He casts a quick glance at his companion, who seems, true to his word, not particularly lonely. His magician’s assistant. They will be fine.

#please be kind its the first fic longer than like 3 lines that i've ever written #but it just kind of happened #so happy halloween i guess?#morning reblog #good omens ficlet #the job job #the job minisode #a companion to owls #that night in job's cellar #tumblr fic #good omens fic #good omens fan fiction #ineffable husbands #azriacrow #a duck writes

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santacarlahorrorshow · 2 months

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Five Songs I'm Currently Obsessed With:

Tagged by the lovely @mrprettywhenhecries

1. Irresistible by Fall Out Boy

2. Mama by My Chemical Romance

3. The Leaving Song pt. II by AFI

4. Adam's Song by Blink-182

5. Points of Authority by Linkin Park

Tagging (w/no obligation!): @boozles @thran-duils @artsymaddie @magic-multicolored-miracle @eightysix-baby @itsthenovelteafactor @residentdormouse @thatpunkmaximoff and anyone else who wants to do this!

#tag game #tagged in

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damnknoxandothernonsense · 1 year

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a place to call home<3

The quality of Freelancer and Gavin’s shared apartment was on par with some of the abandoned facilities throughout Dahlia

And that was the understatement of the year

It was a miracle if they went more than a week without one of their utilities suddenly needing to be fixed

It had pushed them to the point where they wanted their own place

It was when they were trying to come up with a list of necessities that they realized something

They needed a place for Caelum

For as much time as he spends with Freelancer and Gavin alike the magically inclined couple knew that when they were touring different houses that a second bedroom was nonnegotiable

They saw how exhausting it was to not have a place on this plane to call his

You could see the fact that he wanted to stay, but he would always leave without giving either of them the chance to invite him to stay

It wasn’t hard to see that Caelum hated “inviting himself” into their home without actually living there

There was times where the small daemon would accidentally fall asleep on the couch, waking up and continuously apologizing for “invading” their space

It was not a secret to the young daemon that they were in the process of moving out

However they had not informed them about getting a space all for him

After all, Gavin was a fan of dramatic flare

After what felt like ages, they finally found a two bedroom place that would work perfectly for the unofficial family of three

Once all the paperwork was finalized, the two had decided that it was time to reveal their little secret to the sweet kid

So the next time that he stopped in they planned a date/time to meet at their new house and give him a tour

The youthful, multicolor-haired daemon ran around the modest house without a care in the world

They slowly walked around, hand in hand as they announced each and every room that they were going into

“This is the living room, we are thinking about maybe having a picture collage over here. What do you think Caelum?”

“This is the kitchen, we think we are going to paint the cabinets something a little more colorful, instead of scuffed up white.”

And last but not least they arrived in his room

“And this, this room is for you.”

The small daemon stopped in his tracks, turning to look at them in confusion

“What?”

“It’s for you bud, for you and you only.”

Gavin let go of his deviant’s hand, moving to kneel in front of Caelum to be at eye level with the wide eyed empath

“Well, we figured that you might want a place to call home. Caelum, we know how important it is to have a place to just exist as is. To be you, without any expectations. And, well- we love you just as you are. As the sweet, compassionate, goofy little guy that you are. We want you to feel at home here- with us. Freelancer and I wanted to show you that you are welcome to be here whenever you want.”

Both demons eyes welled with tears, Freelancer’s hand resting on Gavin’s shoulder out of solidarity of what he was saying

Caelum looked between the two

As if he was silently asking if this was real

“Are you- are you sure?”

They both nodded, not a moment of hesitation

The young daemon immediately ran at the two of them, holding them with an ironclad grasp

And the couple held on just as tight, a silent promise to be a steady place for the empathy daemon no matter what

Not only were they offering a place in their home, but a piece of themselves along with it

if you want to read more of what I’ve written, you can find my masterlist here!

if you want to ask for something to be written, you can find my guidelines here!

#knox's writing #redacted headcanons #redacted audio #redacted asmr #redactedverse #redacted caelum #redacted gavin #redacted freelancer #gavin/freelancer

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seancekitsch · 8 months

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tagged by @training4theapocalypse to post a moodboard by searching for my name+core on pinterest 💖 thank you for the tag!

the accuracy and all of it

tagging: @jozstankovich @magic-multicolored-miracle @santacarlahorrorshow @lysenfeu

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imagine-you · 10 months

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writing wip game

I've been tagged by the lovely @residentdormouse to provide at least four spoiler pictures and/or gifs for a current WIP without any context. (I cheated, so there is one each for a WIP I currently have open because I can't just work on one fic at a time apparently.)

tagging with no obligation: @thatpunkmaximoff @seanfalco @magic-multicolored-miracle @berkmansimagines and anyone else who wants to do this

#tag game #tagged in

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exlibrisfangirl · 1 year

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Wait, it's your birthday?

Happy Birthday!

You are an incredible friend (and my first tumblr friend) and I hope that your birthday and your year bring you all of the good things that you deserve. Love you 💖🥳🎂

Ay, 'tis now! (Jan 2nd) 🥰

*BONK INCOMING*

ARRRRGH, I MISSED. THE WHOLE BLOODY SEA INTERNET AND ABOUT 3,000 MILES GOT IN ME WAY.

Thank you so much, Shye! I love you! 💛

#magic multicolored miracle #tumblr friends #the jack to my anne #answered ask #happy birthday to me #personal post

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bisexualnathanyoung · 1 year

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I thought this was fun. I just woke up from an eleven hour hibernation and can’t think rn, but basically I’m gonna search in my google docs and show you where in a wip it says these words that @merrilark tagged me in: glass, touch, line, and soft. I write a lot of vent fics that may or may not see the light of day, but

I’d gotten used to him. I wasn’t running out of my room to beat someone every time I heard a shuffle in the kitchen. Well, even before, when I was living alone, it was usually the mice. I usually woke up randomly. There was no way to know if something had woken me up or if it was just my body. I got concerned when I heard glass shatter in the kitchen.

“She’ll remain in Ms. Cooke’s class for now, but I’ll be in touch with her mother, I promise,” Mrs. Woods said, “moving back to consequences, a 4 day suspension and removal from all extra curricular activities is what is listed in the handbook, and what we must stick to, regardless of the circumstances of the violence if it was not in absolute self defense,” she glanced at a paper in front of her, “that means no more Robotics, no more chess, and no more reading to the younger students as a privilege.”

“Is this Melanie Young? Rowan’s mum?” the woman on the line said. Oh shit. Ro. She’s 12; did she start his first period? Did she fall and break her neck? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Every fic I had the word “soft” has either been posted or abandoned so ✌️

Like I said I just woke up, so my brain didn’t even comprehend who else has been tagged and I’m pretty sure everybody has probably already been tagged. I’ll just give two words just in case anyone wants to tack my on the end of something else. I’ll say “but” and give you the “soft” since I couldn’t find one. I’ll tag @magic-multicolored-miracle , @super-unpredictable98 , @seanfalco , and @seancekitsch

obviously no pressure to do it, I constantly don’t do tags and then feel bad about it lol … I thought I posted this, but it was in my drafts

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miss-kittys-magical-library · 2 years

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Tupelo Honey

Word count- 3400

Warnings- slightly graphic description of childbirth, mentions gun violence, m!f oral sex

A/N- After a year and a half, the origin of Honey and Leon comes to an end with a death, a dramatic birth and the emergence of a villain who would haunt the Kostas family for the next fifty years.

Special Note- To @bisexualnathanyoung @magic-multicolored-miracle @robertsheehanownsmyass @elliethesuperfruitlover and @messengeronthemoon (wherever you may be) thank you from the bottom of my heart. Leon and Honey would've been nothing but three chapters without you.

Chapter 6- Dream A Little Dream of Me

How did they get here? Leon thought. Racing through the French countryside towards God knows where. His gut told him no one was following. No one was left to come for them.

Ella was doing her level best to ignore what was taking place besides her. The window rolled down and she smoked casually with one hand out of it. She tried to stroke Honey's hair while the pregnant woman cried out every so often. The anguish happened faster as Tom sped along.

“Mate, I think you best stop. She's doing my head in.” Jonny announced from the passenger seat.

“Oh it wasn't from where the fucking SHOT GUN HIT YOU IN THE FACE AFTER SHOOTING BLINDLY IN A GUN FIGHT YOU POMPOUS, BRITISH HOWDY DOODIE?!” Honey screamed from the backseat. She clawed at his face while scrambling for his collar to yank him back in between the seats. “YOU SHOT ME YOU CUNT!”

Honey laughed. She had no choice. A piercing, maddening sound escaped her in the midst of contractions. “It was under control. I had him. I had that ratty little bastard. You fucked up so bad Thorpe. We killed Leon.” Her laughter turned to hysterical tears.

However many hours ago, the quickening happened in the chaos. Watching it turned to shit, Selina wanted to make her debut. Two weeks early. Then she was out of her body in the middle of a slaughter. There was Kidman and Jonny and the cold steel in her hands. Kickback that drove a gun back into her stomach and Jonny’s into his own face. In the center with a look of shock was Leon.

“You died,” she screamed around her most painful contraction yet.

“Did I?” Leon hid panic behind amusement. “But I'm here.”

“Don't fuck with me, Kostas. I held you in my arms while you bled to death!!” Honey sat up and tore at Leon's shirt. “Jonny said it's happened before! What does that even mean, Leon?!”

“I think Jonathan’s right, Tom. She's gonna have this baby soon. He ignored her pawing at his skin and begging him to tell her where they were. Where had his wounds gone.

The car came to a stop. A sign for Spanish towns loomed in front of the car. Shotgun pellets poured out of Leon's chest onto the back seat. He winced and smiled with a shrug. She slapped him. Tom lit a cigar.

----

Honey couldn't fathom allowing her daughter, their daughter to be born like this. With her mother cramped in the backseat of a stolen muscle car on the side of some foreign road in the middle of the night. Ella yelled in French as Honey propped against her. Jonny outside the car pacing back and forth with cocaine and a cigarette. At least he was trying to flag down passersby.

Leon between her legs, Honey giggled amidst the searing pain that coursed through her body. That was how she got in this mess. Those curls and wide panicked eyes like the Aegean sea, his mouth agape like usual. She could tell, as she screamed through a contraction, that he was thinking. Processing the situation as she braced a foot on his chest.

Then Leon opened his hand and stared at his palm. He held it up, "Is my hand too big?"

"ARE YOU STILL TRIPPING?!" Honey screamed. Then pain tore through her and she screamed for that. She felt pressure, her body said push. She refused.

"No! I read about.. Nevermind." Without asking Leon took the palm of his hand and pressed it to Honey's vagina. A look of concentration quickly turned to awe. "It's her head. I feel her head. You best push, Gracie."

"Not in this nasty Chevy I won't. I'll stand in that field and let it all come out of my snatch in the dirt before I do it here." She cried and struggled and crawled out of the car.

Honey stumbled and each footstep felt like knives. Her body was wrenching apart as she hurried past Kidman. He had fallen silent save for inhales of his cigar. He grabbed her by the waist and she cried out in frustration and kicked out to get away, but Tom was so much stronger.

"Dollface You ain't birthing your daughter in the dirt. Stand above this." He took his suit jacket and laid it on the ground at her feet. "Now fucking stand here for Leon. Let him take care of you."

"Why do you care?" Honey grunted as she pitched forward into Kidman's chest.

"Against my better fucking judgment, I like the skinny bastard. Now stop being such a bitch and let us help."

So Honey did. She stood with her back to the man who resembled a disgruntled lion and reached for Leon. They tangled their arms together and she steadied herself.

A primal scream escaped from Honey's mouth as she listened to her body. Her baby. Leon's mindless comforting babble drowned out by it as she looked up at the sky and understood everything.

Those creation myths where some god split in two and his children tumbled out of him. Honey did that, cleaved in two. Except it wasn't children that sprang from her body as Leon got down on his knees to pull a living being from her. Her body had torn in half and she had given birth to the moon.

I'm delirious, she thought as Leon cried and Tom laughed. A strange sound drowned out by the screams coming from Leon's arms. She sank to the grass and Kidman followed hoping to soften the blow. Leon joined in the slowest of motions beside her.

"Here she is, love," Leon whispered and handed Honey their daughter.

As Honey laid in the grass with Selina cradled in her arms, her umbilical cord still connected mother to daughter, she thought back to the start. How there was a future where this baby was a beautiful grown woman. That she would have Leon's nose and untamed hair and stillness. But there would be a fire under her skin, a tilt to her chin and Honey's dark eyes full of defiance.

"She told me I was going to go away. That we would get separated." Honey traced along the baby's lips which also belonged to Leon.

Honey realized Leon was yelling at Jonny to give him his shoelaces. Jonny was bitching that they were Ferragamo. Kidman was handing Leon a switchblade and walking him through the next steps he had seen at a war hospital in Saigon. Leon stopped to jab the tip of the blade in Jonny's shin.

"Give me the cunting shoelace, Thorpe. Or I'll do what The Iron Monger never could, cut your willy off."

Honey laughed maniacally as Jonny obliged. Her head swam from blood loss and pain and hunger. The baby wailed, and in her daze the new mother instinctively pulled her breast free from her shirt and held it to the newborn's mouth. Selina took it easier than Honey ever anticipated.

"C'est une petite fille heureuse. Le miel est déjà une bonne mère," Ella called from her position by the car. A tinge of green to her porcelain skin could be seen in the moonlight. She looked disgusted from the sight of the birth.

"As for the woman you met, Gracie?" Leon spoke gently as he tied off the cord. "Her past didn't have to be our future. This you stayed. I'm sure there's even a version of us who haven't quite met yet."

Honey was overcome by delirium. She knew she should be happy, and she was. Somewhere. But something was taking her over. It was the sense of fight. She held Selina tight to her body and finally remembered why they were even on the run. The dead bodies scattered and pooled with blood in the hallways. The shock that Leon was in after seeing a man with an axe in his back. Jonny equally terrified from the carnage.

Leon wiped the blade on his jeans and held the cord in his hand. He stared at the ropey organ in his grasp, his free hand clamored at the beard on his face. He tore it off, careful to hide his wincing. The pain was temporary compared to his partner’s. He tossed the umbilical cord into the night along with the fake beard.

Under the moonlight, it was evident to Honey how young he was. They were. Not 20 like Nick and Toula when Leon was born. Or even 23 like Giacomo and Theresa when she was born. How had Theresa spent SIX YEARS consecutively of her life pregnant.

Was it cyclical? Honey thought as she reached between her legs and felt something else protruding from her body. Was that beautiful girl from the future in love with a beautiful boy she met one night? A boy with indescribable eyes and personality? Would their child do the same?

A strange sensation washed over Honey. Like it was true as it settled in her skin and heart. It was a premonition. A circle of lust and love and Honey and Leon. It stretched across time.

She giggled at the notion of endless versions of her and Leon just hooking up and falling in love for eternity. God she fucking loved him, and wanted every woman who came from her to love and be loved by Leon. And she tried to articulate this but instead:

“Leon.. The bag,” Honey attempted to say. The desire to push again overwhelmed her. “The papers and the cash..” she groaned and anchored a foot in the grass. Her other one propped up on his shoulder .

Without really thinking, he held her ankle and kissed it. Honey growled in frustration and pain, “NOT NOW, LEON! Ohhhh, the afterbirth!” A sound like a banshee came from somewhere inside of the small woman.

“Whot?!” Leon panicked, but it was too late. What remained of Honey’s pregnancy has been delivered into his lap. He and Jonny both vomited into the grass together.

Tom stood and lit his cigar again, "This is great and all but kid we gotta move. "I'm not dying on the side of the road in pussy France"

“Silly Tom, they invented the revolution!” Honey giggled drunkenly.

"Yeah, in 1760 something. The Russians did it better. We have to keep moving. At least get you to a hospital."

“Oh. Ok. That's a good idea. My twat hurts really bad."

"No shit?"

"I can't walk."

Tom turned to Leon and barked an order "Kid, you carry Dollface here. I'll take the baby."

"Not if you want me to kill you,” Honey said plain as day and deadly serious.

"There's our girl. Just do it.”

“You called me a bitch."

“Sure did. Give me the baby just till we get going, ok? I'll wrap her up in Leon's cardigan since you ruined my jacket.”

Tom didn't wait for her to hand him the baby, but Honey didn't fight him either. She let him carefully wrap Selina up in that brown monstrosity she begged Leon to ditch. Now it would keep their daughter safe and warm until they could really stop.

Honey trusted Kidman with her life and Selina’s. The ex-fed who chased her out of America was in the running to be Selina’s Godfather. This little family coaxed the good out of everyone.

No matter how many times he had carried her these last two years, Leon’s strength amazed Honey. Not that she was very big at 5’2 and probably 120 pounds due to the baby. He was raised on hard work and fishing boats.

Was that late summer early fall in Mykonos really only two years ago?

Honey’s thoughts were once again nostalgic and intrusive as she stared up at the night sky as it whizzed by overhead. The stars like comets as her fiancé moved with speed, a hint of fear just below the surface. No one had followed them though because Tom left them all dead. Like an old-fashioned cowboy shootout.

She felt her giggles grow into full on laughter with a snort as she pointed heavenwards, "There's very tiny humans in space, you know. It really was a giant leap for small men floating about in all that.. space. Oh.. space!” Then Honey caressed her lover’s cheek and grew serious, “Leon.. you bastards really did fuck all to make it realistic, didn't you?”

His response was one of frustration and dare anyone say anger, "Spot on, poppet. Didn't wanna be there and I was trippin my balls off. Almost literally"

"Buzz buzz!! Let's never get pregnant ever again."

"Is this what I'm like when I'm high? Fuck me, no wonder you get livid. As for the pregnant part, that requires me to wear condoms or you to go on that birth control.”

"We can take our chances,” Honey sounded quite content with her change of mind.

"Wasn't there a boy too, you said?" Leon asked almost as if he had always just been playing along.

Ella had opened the door so that he could lay the new mother down gently in the back seat again. She would slide into the front between Kidman and Jonny who struggled with not smoking around the newborn. Instead he did several bumps of coke from a bag in his coat pocket.

Honey sat up so Leon could sit, and she laid down with her head in his lap. Tom handed the baby off to the new father who placed her on the seat beside Honey’s curled body. His fingers combed through her hair as the car took off to God knows where. They were both drifting weightless to sleep.

"Apollo follows close behind his sister doesn't he?” Honey yawned. She cradled the brown cardigan that swaddled Selina in her arms and kissed the baby’s head. “Remember that olive grove in Greece where we were watched by Artemis? Don't you think she blessed us? Our daughter is the living moon. And our future boy will be.. our sunshine.”

Jonny grimaced from the front seat, "If my parents said that hippie, spiritual shit about me, I’d be LOADS better at being human. Leon she’s fucking mental that. Barmy from blood loss. I think Kidman's right, she needs the hospital."

It was the first time Jonny had spoken besides two words since they left London. He went to continue but the couple in the back were asleep; besides the radio cut them off in Spanish.

“Los estadounidenses han aterrizado en la luna!!” It repeated. The Americans have landed on the moon!

They had done it. They had really fucking done it!

“They sure did.” Kidman was the only one who dared to speak as dawn began to break over the Spanish countryside. He and Jonny stared at each other. “Didn't they?”

--- Six Months Later, Kalafati Greece ---

“No! THAT’S WHAT HAPPENED THE NIGHT I GOT KNOCKED UP WITH SELINA!” she whispers loudly.

Leon threw Honey over his shoulder then slapped her on the ass. “It isn’t like you’re any less portable.”

He raced into the bedroom. Haphazardly tossing Honey onto the bed they both giggle. Giddy with the prospect of being together for the first time in ages. Touching, kissing, manipulating every blessed inch of sun-darkened skin.

Leon stood at the foot of the bed before grabbing Honey by the calves and roughly tugging so that her thighs enveloped him. He tore at the fabric covering her breasts until they were free. She clamored for his hips, his back. She clawed at him until he bent over and captured a nipple in his mouth.

He coaxed it pert while being acutely aware what the motion may do to a nursing mother. He teased the bud and switched to the other. His favor changed between the both of them rapidly.

Honey arched her back into him. Her hands lost in that wild hair as he blazed over skin. The air hummed and crackled while she moaned. She broke free to twist her grip in the sheets. The other urged him downward.

Leon undid the row of buttons without lifting his head. He bit at her stomach then dipped his tongue inside of her navel. A strangled squeal mixed with a moan escaped Honey. He loved how ticklish she could be.

“Are you alright with me going down on you, love?” The words muddled by Honey's thighs (which he kissed) and the downy hair inside of them. He flicked the tip of his tongue around the entrance.

“Leon,” she called his name. “Please?” That one word was full of want as much as he was hungry for her.

Honey couldn't even be cheeky, making a retort about her parts and the baby like he had anticipated. He dove into her with the desire she could see in him while he gazed up at her face. Watching while he made a lazy circle around her clit for the first time since July.

She undulated. His mouth followed when she started an up and downward motion with her hips. He dragged his tongue along her sex when she came to rest back on the bed. Then the opposite direction when Honey lifted herself. That laziness turned to a speed that made her drunk on Leon.

The sound of someone clearing their throat from the balcony elicited a scream from Honey. Leon scrambled up onto the bed with his arms around her in a protective circle.

“Sorry to interrupt your.. Oral copulation. I do find sexual behavior vulgar, yet fascinating between two people such as yourselves.”

A man who stood a little less or more the same height as Leon stepped out from the shadow of the Bougainvillea that covered the doorframe. Impeccably dressed, a piece of glass covering his left eye caught the moonlight.

Honey could feel Leon's heart beating wildly in his chest, but his body was rigid. Stiff with fight. His biceps and stomach flexed. His grip molded into fists. Her skin pimpled with goose flesh; the hair on her arms and neck stood on end. Like this stranger rode in on a cloud of static electricity

The man stepped forward all the while stroking a groomed mustache and goatee. The mustache curled at the edges that gave him the effect of a Dickensian villain. He used a walking stick with a carved ivory elephant, that Honey knew he certainly did NOT need.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Sir-”

“You're the bloody Monocle,” Leon said in disbelief.

“The what?” Honey never took her eyes off the man. “That filthy rich bastard who somehow made a fucking fortune on umbrellas?”

The stranger winced at her coarse language. “Sir Reginald Hargreeves. Mr. Kidman told me you were here after that appalling debacle in London. I believe my colleagues and myself have some things to discuss with you.”

“Uh go fuck yourself, Uncle Pennybags. Isn't there a Monopoly game you escaped from somewhere?”

“Oh yes, he told me you were the.. Spirited, Miss Bartucci. Trust me. You'll want to come with us back to Washington.”

“It's Kostas. We got married. Leon and I aren't fucking going anywhere with a James Bond villain.”

“FASCINATING!! Your spunk is both frustrating and wonderful. Would you like to meet my companion, Pogo?”

Reginald clapped his hands and a chimpanzee appeared from the other room. He too was remarkably dressed, and in his arms he held a bundle rather gently. The bundle suddenly babbled and clutched at the ape’s fur. He cooed and rocked it very much like a human would.

“SELINA!!” Both Leon and Honey screamed. Each launched forward in a singular, synchronized motion.

They reached for the baby, but Pogo hurried away and up over the side of the balcony in a fluid motion. Selina clutched tight to his chest.

A sob racked Honey’s body, but a fire lit under her. She lunged for the billionaire with fingers curled like claws. “GIVE ME BACK MY DAUGHTER!”

Reginald swatted her wrist with the handle of his cane. Pain shot through Honey; she kept coming until Leon grabbed her by the waist. Instinct told him The Monocle was dangerous. Inhuman.

An emotionless smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. “I believe now you'll come willingly?”

So (without much of a choice), they did.

- The End -

@forenschik @firstpersonnarrator @a-ghoulish-tale @holidayspirits @rob-private @love-is-dirty-baby @sylvertyger @khronoswheel @frogs--are--bitches @heratheanon @vonkimmeren @falloutby

And to @super-unpredictable98 (even though we aren't on speaking terms anymore) you were there once too.

#robert sheehan #robert sheehan character fic #leon #leon x honey #moonwalkers #klaus hargreeves #the umbrella academy

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bullet-prooflove · 4 months

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Criminal!Joe - Bleed: Joe Velasco x Reader

Tagging: @plaidbooks @witches-unruly-heart @storiesofsvu @magic-multicolored-miracle @rosaliedepp @cycat4077 @deekaag @cixrosie @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @legit9thlunaticwarrior @thatesqcrush @mydarkestsecretlol @upsteadlogic @wooshwastaken @imaginecrushes @kiwiithecrazybird @justreblogginfics @anime-weeb-4-life @hey-dw @alwaysachorusgirl @telepathay @weiwei0210 @anaferreira-4 @dancingonthebeachatdawn @spaghettificationandpretzels @nu1freakshow @trublu2u @yezzyyae

The Wolf - Joe meets his queen in an unexpected place.

Reward - Joe rewards you for your loyalty.

One More (NSFW) - Joe ruins you when you display your devotion.

Pictures of You (feat: Mike Duarte) - Mike discovers you're alive.

You’ve been Joe’s girl for over three months when he asks you about the scars on your back, the ones he spends his nights tracing his fingers over. You’re lying on your stomach, drowsy and sated, the sheet barely covering the curve of your ass when he raises the question.

“They used a knife.” You tell him, burying your face even deeper into the pillow. “They heated it up first because they wanted to make sure I felt the blade everytime they cut me.”

“Why?” He asks you, his dark eyebrows furrowing into a frown. His fingertips trail over the largest one, chasing over the raised flesh.

A businessman wouldn’t do something like this, he wouldn’t damage the stock. You’re a beautiful woman, well educated, sophisticated. Clients would pay thousands just to spend the night in your presence. This poses a problem for Joe because the people he deals with are professionals just like him, they don’t supply damaged goods. There’s no way you should have been his shipment that night. That thought hasn’t occurred to him until now, he’s been too caught up in the romance of it all.

“The man I was with, they wanted to hurt him.” You find yourself telling him. “They took me off the street, tried to ransom me and everytime he refused to pay…”

You trail off, your eyes closing because you don’t want to go back to that place, the one where those men recorded every single moment of your agony, your humiliation.

“You don’t have to talk about it.” Joe says softly, his fingertips brushing the hair away from your features so that he can read your expression. Sometimes it’s like looking into a mirror. The two of you are both survivors who’ve endured through unspeakable things, but you’ve come out stronger, more hardened against the world because you understand it’s cruelty.

“I love you.” He whispers fiercely as he gathers you up close, your head comes to rest upon his chest. Your fingertips brush over his own scars, the ones his father left embedded in his skin over thirty years ago. “Believe me when I say I won’t let anything like that happen to you again.”

“You can’t make that promise.” You say softly. “Noone can.”

Everything about what happened to you bothers Joe.

He can feel the rage searing underneath the surface of his skin as he lies beside you, listening to the sound of your breathing in the dark. He thinks about the men that hurt you, the terror you must have felt, the agony every time they cut into your flesh, and he gets that metallic taste in his mouth.

He hears your words ringing in his ears and it feels like he’s being stabbed in the chest because the man you were with before him…

He wants to kill the fucker with his bare hands for feeding you to the wolves, for letting them tear you apart piece by piece.

He kisses you before he slips out of the sheets, his lips brushing over yours with a tenderness he reserves only for you. You whine as he withdraws, and he smiles just a little because even you’re sleeping you want him. He loves you and he would do anything to make sure that nothing like that ever happens to you again.

Terry Bruno is already waiting for him in the office by the time he arrives. The other man has been his confidant since the very beginning, he’s loyal and fierce, with a sharp investigative mind. Joe knows that he can trust him with the task he has in mind.

“I want to know who hurt her.” He tells the other man as he settles behind the desk. “Track the sale, find out how she ended up in our shipment.”

“Anything else?” Bruno prompts because he can see the fire in Joe’s eyes, he knows there’s something else simmering below the surface.

“I want the man who left her in the hands of those animals.” Joe tells, his fingertips rapping out a tune on the surface of the desk. “I want to make him bleed.”

Love Joe? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#joe velasco #joe velasco x reader #joe velasco x you #jose velasco #criminal!joe #dark!joe #jose velasco x reader #jose velasco x you

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elliethesuperfruitlover · 1 year

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Ellie’s Blorbo List of 2022

Not gon’ cap, I had a very shitty first 6 months of 2022 and kinda uh….isolated myself (and had no choice but to do so at one point). But I’m here right now. And I’m alive and breathing. And that’s enough for me.

We’re gonna go through some of the characters I chose to be a part of my clan this year as a fun little thing to celebrate being here. And as something to observe me by, this is PALPABLE.

Tag List: (bc i hope y’all want to hear these things) @joz-stankovich, @super-unpredictable98, @badsext, @bisexualnathanyoung, @maerenee930, @seancekitsch, @candyclaw, @magic-multicolored-miracle

Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)

part of the reason I kinda uh….went far under was related to him. But I’m able to enjoy him and keep the nasty stuff at bay now so that’s fun :).

Peter Parker/Andrew Garfield (The Amazing Spider-Man 1 and 2, Spider-Man: No Way Home)

I made an entire playlist about Prior Walter. And watched Tick Tick Boom. And part of under the silver lake……I was balls deep in this man’s cinematography, and it was all thanks to No Way Home.

Dr. Otto Octavius/Alfred Molina (Spider-Man 2 and Spider-Man: No Way Home)

Part 2 of my no way home brainrot. This man…..yeah……mhm. I love him so much. Big boy. That’s all.

Cloud Strife (specifically Final Fantasy 7, but he’s a part of the whole franchise)

I’ve had moments with Cloud every now and then, and I’ve decided to include him, solely on the fact that I have over 20 edits of him saved on a google doc. I’ve also never played a single Final Fantasy game.

Eddie Munson/Joseph Quinn (Stranger Things)

I watched season 4 of stranger things as a distraction from the horrors and I never looked back. He is my baby boy and baby girl and Erica and Lucas are my younger siblings. He’s made me feel unlike any other character, especially in the way he makes me want to punch people on tiktok who call cosplay “cringe”, or bully outcasts.

Steve Harrington/Joe Keery (Stranger Things)

babygirl. I want to fix him a nice large meal. And hose him down in the front yard because I know for a fact he needs a bath. I’m cleaning him like a duckling covered in oil. I also watched Spree, and listened to DJO for the first time around September-ish. I’m unstoppable now. Joe Keery’s music is SOLID.

Maxine (Max) Mayfield (Stranger Things)

She’s my bestie. I’m protecting her from all harm in Season 5. Thank you very much.

Morpheus/Dream of the Endless (The Sandman)

He’s my skrunkly little man. I almost put desire too....imagine i put a gif of them on here wow omg.

Prince Sidon (The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild)

This one was mildly short lived, but it happened. I love him so much....shark prince. (fun fact, sharks have not one, but 2 penises) I have not played a single second of any Zelda game.....yet here we are.

Hamlet (Hamlet)

Ok so we read and watched Hamlet in AP English Lit (Branagh’s version with clips from the other) and I was like “this man right here needs therapy”. This is a joke but it’s also not.

Principal Larissa Weems (Wednesday)

I recognized Gwendoline Christie from The Sandman when I saw the trailers for Wednesday and went “oh bet I’m definitely watching this” and I finished this show in less than 24 hours.......yeah I like it. She cares about her students, she’s tall, she’s definitely a lesbian. I love her.

Wednesday Addams (Wednesday)

She’s my bestie, I’m her bestie. She was my first cosplay. That’s all.

Tangerine (Bullet Train)

I watched this movie a whopping almost 48 hours ago. I love him. I want to fix him a large meal. Treat him. That is all.

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psalm22-6 · 2 years

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[1] The artificial city constructed near Antibes [2] The same city, view from behind [3] Extras sitting around the coat boxes [4] Destined to illuminate the artificial city [5] Tractors transporting electric machinery

Long post incoming but this is a fun article on the set design for 1934 LM

Source: L’Image, October 1933

Paris, a Neighborhood in Antibes

“All of Paris is on the French Riviera”...that is trite. But this piece of Paris between Nice and Cannes, it is something rare. And two or three districts of Paris as they were a hundred years ago? That is a miracle.

No. It’s cinema.

Antibes…on the flourishing Riviera in the joy of springtime, you’d image that it is one of those towns, big or small, where everyday feels like you’re on vacation, where architects with joyful spirits planted multicolored villas among the pines, the eucalyptus, and the palms, and where, transfigured, the bars and restaurants familiar to Parisians or, for example, 1933’s Mome Crevette, could discover a modern version of Maxim’s.

You may believe, based on a faith in tour guides, that Antibes is an old city whose port retains memories of Roman, Greek and Phoenician sails and which prides itself in a glorious history. You may even be tempted to consider as sufficient attraction the narrow streets where only the sun and the southern wind find enough room to pass, streets where laundry is hung out the windows, where the eye is suddenly surprised by the intimacy of the courtyards and the roads that slide beneath the archways of another time. And you could end your stroll by the sea front or dreaming of Algeria which is just across the way. . .

But the boy who will serve you your aperitif while you sit in a shaded square, will ask you (because you truly have the look of a “Franchiman,” a man from the north): “So our Paris, have you seen it?”

And you’ll go out in search of that Paris, which has become a neighborhood of Antibes. You’ll have been told - because everyone here is courageous - “It’s on the Biot road.”

Suddenly, after a walk through the gardens - if fate is favorable, if someone tells you the “open sesame” to the magic district - you will be able to read on the street corner this sign, which your eyes will reread in astonishment: “Faubourg Saint-Antoine.”

A dream?... Keep going on your walk. There is no doubt: You are really in Paris. Here is a morsel of the les Halles district, here is the rue Mondétour and another whose name you ignore, rue de la Chanvrerie and here is the rue Saint-Honoré…

The hallucination continues. Walk. Walk on the large paving stones of days gone by where a motley group brushes past, where students in the royal blue velvet jackets go by, students such as those who saluted the king Louis-Phillippe and his umbrella [apparently his carried an umbrella as a substitute for an scepter], where you pass by workers in tall hats [casquette a pont] and convoys of misbehaving boys with tormented faces.

In the windows, the blinds conceal the lives of this strange world’s inhabitants and the naïve signs creak under the awnings of the shops. A cabaret opens to welcome you in your fatigue: It is under the sign “the Grapes of Corinthe.” Come in…

It is no longer a café, it is a guardhouse, a camp. Men are watching, the older ones are preparing bandages, others are playing, smoking, or dreaming, a gun held between the legs. On the wall is a poster that requires your attention: “Republic or Death.” Suddenly the door opens in a fracas: disheveled, fiery, cheeks blackened, eyes burning, gun in hand, a young man shouts: “Gavroche! That’s the signal!...There they are!” A few instants later, gunfire rings out…

…The dream is illuminated, is dissipated: the light of a projector, an encounter with an electrician in a blue coat brings you back to the present. You have aged a hundred years and come back again, reliving the days of 1832. You took yourself to be an anonymous character from the epic Les Misérables, a creation of Victor Hugo’s.

But here is Raymond Bernard coming up to you, straightforward, pleasant, and thoughtful, as strong people are. Raymond Bernard, not happy to only have accomplished making Le Miracle des Loups, has promoted himself by virtue of his talent to director of epic French film adaptations: Les Croix de Bois yesterday and Les Misérables today. Near to him is Andre Lang, the writer who is in the service of the cinema a most certain, most fine, most cultured man and M. Perrier, the architect and decorator who gave life to the setting known to Victor Hugo.

“The whole old district of Les Halles, which is like a city within a city…an obscure lake….a monstrous cavern…a wild shadow….” has spring up here again because the great directors have decided it should be so.

To judge the evocative quality of their work, a single phrase will suffice: “It must have cost a damn lot of money to rent all the houses and bring them here!...” Because of its innocence, this homage is most beautiful: no one can say it better than this good old mother who, ignorant of the power of cinema, uttered this authentic remark.

But us, we know better, right? We want to know everything, and first we want to go behind the scenes. We see that the streets are nothing but facades, that beneath the clash of a fist the stones resonate like plaster, like cardboard...and these are the secrets we are told.

In seven weeks this old Paris spring from the earth, where a meadow was going to be made new by spring time. 70 houses, around 20 roads, where all of them, all of them conform to the image of Paris in 1832 left by the drawings of Victor Hugo and the lithographs of Daumier. Raymond Bernard, M. Perrier, and Andre Lang consulted engravings and plans from long ago and omitted nothing, not even the most humble detail, which will avoid anachronisms…

Of course, the challenge was to condense the sets, to bend to the requirements of the camera and those of the lights. Of course, it was a necessity because one cannot reconstruct Paris…all the same! The rue de la Chanvrerie had to be knocked down (in the district of Les Halles) in the faubourg Saint-Antoine. But Victor Hugo himself took great liberties with history and topography. And the staff of carpenters and masons, ingenious as the distant and Provençal grandsons of the late Ulysses [?], constructed this town, made of 25 kilometers of parchment and pine, with 8 tones of nails and which covers almost a hectare.

Even if it isn’t real, even if it is a dead city, it is a city that lights up. Another magician, M. Charlier dreamed it up. In less than a month he build a vast platform, a central electric, an authentic factory. He brought a ten thousand volt currant, two transformers, two rotary converters, and two equalizers - in short, one hundred and four tons of machines which power a hundred floodlights and which, over five kilometers of cables, distributes seven hundred kilowatts, all with two thousand five hundred horsepower.

To light the gestures of Jean Valjean, Marius, Cosette, Grantaire, and Enjolras and to show how Gavroche knew how to die, with a song on his lips… electricity and more electricity were required - enough to power a city with 20 thousand inhabitants…

The miracle continues: two steps from the faubourg Saint-Antoine, a prison rises up; not far from there is a replica of the city hall of Toulon adored with the noble statues of Cariatides de Puget rebuilt…

In a corner of the meadow, a model of this entire false city - a model where the roofs of the houses reaches to the height of a table - makes us prideful: it is a Lilliputian scene, even smaller still than what would have made Gulliver think “I am too big for myself…”

And the visitor, if a fairy had brought a visitor here on a moonless night, he would be incapable of understanding that this old Paris was nothing but a set where Les Misérables is being reborn. A victim of so much truth, he would take himself for his own great-grandfather.

Those were the impressions that I brought back from my sojourn in Antibes, in the second Paris, so much so that I found myself singing “I have two loves, Paris and Antibes.”

#LM 1934 #les miserables #my translation

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