#Acton Street

[ultrameganicolaokay]

Sesame Street #3 by Mary Kenney, Alison Acton and Valentina Pinto. Cover by Acton. Out in October.

"Cookie Monster is excited to host a dinner party for his friends! He needs to set the table, make name cards, and... what is he forgetting? Oh no—baking the cookies! What is a Cookie Monster dinner party without cookies?"

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

BEFORE LYDIA DEETZ, THERE WAS DAVE VANIAN'S FIRST WIFE -- CLASS OF '77.

NOTE:^For those who have already seen "Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice," Lydia was wearing something similar in the movie to what Laurie's wearing here. Except Lydia wore it to a funeral instead of a wedding! LOL!

PIC INFO: Spotlight on Dave Vanian of THE DAMNED with his first wife Laurie during their wedding at Acton Town Hall, High Street, Acton, London, UK, on September 7, 1977.

Source: www.picuki.com/media/3447358610776427408.

[leakestreetbeat]

north acton

[graphicpolicy]

Grover takes Center Stage with the all-new Sesame Street #1

Grover takes Center Stage with the all-new Sesame Street #1 #comics #comicbooks #sesamestreet

[quilloftheages]

Chapter 1: A Night in Vienna - Hans Landa x OC (1st Person)

Premise 

Set in the Inglourious Basterds universe, Elizabeth Acton, the daughter of an Oxford diplomat, is studying history at the University of Vienna in the 1920s. After an unexpected encounter with the enigmatic detective Hans Landa, their lives intertwine in a passionate romance. Despite a loving marriage and idyllic life together, Elizabeth's world is shattered when Hans mysteriously disappears, leaving only a note. Heartbroken and alone, she embarks on a journey to Paris to rebuild her life and confront the haunting question: why did Hans leave? And will she ever see him again?

Story: 

Chapter 1

Vienna, in the late 1920’s, had a certain magic to it. It was a city of art, music, and intellect, where the streets echoed with the footsteps of philosophers and dreamers. I had arrived here from Oxford, together with my family. My father’s career as a diplomat meant he was stationed in the city, and though Vienna was a world away from the rolling green hills of England, I found myself captivated by its allure. The university of Vienna was renowned for its history program, and studying here seemed the perfect way to carve out my future. 

But if I’m honest, I was just drawn to the idea of escape. Oxford, for all its charm, had always felt like a cage. My father’s expectations, the stifling formality of our lives – it all felt so scripted. Vienna, on the other hand, promised something different. It was a city alive with possibilities, and I was determined to take advantage of every one. 

In the evenings, after long days of lectures, I’d attend French lessons with my friends, Elise and Margot. The lessons were my ticket to the next dream: Paris. I’d always imagined myself walking the boulevards, teaching history at a lycée, living among the poets and artist. It was a romantic vision, perhaps, but at eighteen, I had no reasons not to dream big. 

One night, after our French class, we decided to stop at a bar near the city center. It was a cozy little place, dimly lit with a warm glow from the gas lamps and the gentle hum of conversation in the air. The scent of tobacco smoke mingled with the sharp aroma of schnapps and beer, and the clinking of glasses felt like the pulse of the room. We took a seat in a corner, practicing our French while laughing at Elise’s attempts to order wine In the language. 

It was then that I saw him for the first time. 

He stood near the bar, dressed in a dark, tailored coat, his posture straight and confident. There was something striking about him – sharp cheekbones, piercing eyes that seemed to take in everything around him without giving anything away. His gaze moved across the room and paused on us, or more specifically, on me. 

I tried not to look back, but curiosity got the better of me. our eyes met, and a flicker of smile played at the corner of his mouth. Something about it unsettled me, though I couldn’t quite put a finger on why. Still, I felt drawn to him. 

Elise noticed my starring. “He’s a handsome one. Though I must say perhaps a little too old for you.” She teased. Margot noticed what we were talking about and chuckled. “Good for you, Liz. He’s handsome and older. Every woman’s dream” she teased. I chuckled at both of them. Margot was the flirt of the group. Every man wanted her, and every woman wanted to be her. 

“Not interested,” I lied as I took a sip of my glass of wine, trying to escape the conversation. Elise sent me a small smile while Margot just chuckled, “If you say so,” she teased back. Our conversation flowed until suddenly I noticed a presence standing by our table. I looked up and spotted the man from before. Up close he didn’t seem tall, but he had a commanding presence. 

“Good evening, ladies,” he said in flawless German, tipping his hat politely. My German was rudimentary, but I caught enough to understand his greeting. His voice was smooth, carrying an air of authority. “May I join you?”

Elise glanced at me a bit unsure. But Margot, always the bold one, nodded. “Of course,” she replied. 

He pulled out a chair, sitting down with ease, his attention now fully on me. “Hans Landa,” he introduced himself, extending his hand. 

I shook it, trying to suppress the shutter of nerves. “Elizabeth Acton,” I replied in English, my German too weak for conversation. 

“You’re not from here,” he said, switching effortlessly to English. It was more of a statement than a question. 

“No,” I smiled, a little surprised at his fluency. “Oxford, originally. My father is a diplomat, stationed here for now. I’m studying at the university.” 

“Ah, a student of history in the city of history and culture.” His smile widened, though there was sometime about it that remained enigmatic, unreadable. 

“How did you know I studied history?” I asked baffled, not having told him that. He sent me a wolf-like smile. “Intuition,” he replied, making all of his chuckle. 

“What brings you to Vienna? Aside from your father’s work?” he asked. 

“I wanted to study here. It seemed… different. And I’m learning French. We all are, actually.” I paused, feeling self-conscious under his intense gaze. “I’d like to go to Paris someday.”

“Paris is beautiful,” he said, leaning back slightly. “But Vienna has its own charm. You may find it hard to leave once you lived here long enough.” 

Our conversation drifted into safer topics – Vienna, my studies, the little things about the city that charmed me. Hans listened attentively, nodding at all the right moments, his dark eyes never leaving mine. There was something magnetic about him. He was older, more worldly, but that only made him more intriguing. 

As the evening wore on, I found myself relaxing in his presence. He had a way making you feel like you were the only person in the room, as if your words mattered more than anyone else’s. And yet, there was something guarded about him, something he held back. 

I was drawn to that mystery. ______________________________________________________________

It had only been a few days since that night at the bar, but Hans Landa had already lodged himself in my thoughts. There was something about his presence that lingered, like a faint scent you couldn’t quite place but couldn’t forget. His attention was exhilarating.

After another evening of French lessons, my friends and I decided to take a different route home. The bustling square near St. Stephen’s Cathedral was vibrant with life – street vendors packing up for the night, the smell of roasted chestnuts in the air, and couples hurrying off to their favourite cafés. And then, as we turned the corner, I saw him. 

Hans stood leaning casually against a lamppost, his hat tipped slightly forward, watching the world pass by. His eyes flicked toward me, and I felt my heart skip. 

“Good evening, Miss Acton,” he greeted me with a slow smile, ignoring my friend, focusing solely on me. 

I was momentarily stunned that he remembered my name. “Mr. Landa,” I replied, hoping my voice sounded steadier than I felt. 

“Vienna is small, after all,” he said, his English accented but fluent. “We seem to be crossing paths again.” 

He gestured toward the street. “May I walk with you? Unless, of course, I’m interrupting.” He glanced briefly at Elise and Margot, but it was clear he was only asking out for politeness. 

I hesitated, glancing at my friends. Margot just smirked, while Elise gave me a knowing look and whispered. “Go ahead. We’ll see you tomorrow.” 

And just like that, I found myself walking with Hans through the twilight streets of Vienna, the atmosphere between us buzzing with curiosity. We talked – well, mostly he asked questions, and I answered. I found myself telling him more about my studies, about Oxford, my father’s work, my childhood. He listened with an intensity that made me feel seen. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” he said as we neared my street. “How are the French lessons going?”

I smiled sheepishly. “I understand much more than I can speak. My accent is… rather terrible.” 

He chuckled, and the sound warmed me. “Perhaps I could help.” 

I looked up at him and smiled. “I would like that very much.” 

The next week, Hans appeared outside the university as I was leaving my class. His presence was becoming less of a surprise and more of an expectation – one I wasn’t sure how to feel about, yet undeniably looked forward to. 

“Miss Acton,” he greeted, falling into step beside me. “I’ve been thinking about your French. If you’d like, I could assist with your lessons.” 

I raised an eyebrow. “You speak French?”

“Fluently,” he said, with a touch of pride. “After all, I’ve spent some time in France during my travels for work.” 

I was hesitant at first. Hans was a detective, a man with a mysterious aura, and this offer felt oddly personal. But I agreed. 

And so, our meetings took on a new routine. We would meet after my French lessons, and Hans would quiz me, correcting my pronunciation with gentle patience. It was strange – he was often so sharp and perceptive, but with me, he was careful, as though he didn’t want to rush anything. 

One evening, after correcting my imperfect “R” sound for what felt like the hundredth time, he looked at me with a teasing smile. “If you wish to speak with Parisians, you must soften your tongue. Let the language move through you like music.” 

His voice was so close, his breath warm against the evening air. I tried to phrase again, and he nodded approvingly, his smile lingering just a bit longer than usual. 

A few weeks later, after one of our informal lessons, we stood on the street corner, neither of us quite ready to say goodbye. 

Hans shifted, his eyes narrowing in thought before he spoke. “Elizabeth,” he began, using my first name for the first time, the sound of it unexpected and somehow intimate. “I’d like to take you out. Properly.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “You mean… as in a date?” 

His lips quirked into a half-smile. “Yes, a date. Tomorrow evening? There’s a small café near the Danube. Quiet, warm…I think you’d like it.” 

I hesitated for only a moment before nodding, with a smile. “I’d like that.” He smiled charmingly back which made my heart flutter. ______________________________________________________________

The café Hans had chosen was quaint, tucked away from the busy streets of Vienna. It had wooden tables, candlelight flickering in the soft breeze, and a view of the river that was simply enchanting. We sat by the window, the city reflecting off the water in soft hues of gold and blue. 

Hans seemed more relaxed than usual, the guarded air he often wore like amor fading in the candlelight. We talked about everything and nothing. I told him about my life in Oxford, about my younger brother, James, who was still in school. In return, he shared snippets of his life – he’d grown up here in Austria, in the Alps to be precise. He had travelled widely for his work, but seemed to evade anything too personal. 

As the evening drew on, there was a brief silence. Hans reached across the table, gently placing his hand over mine. 

“Elizabeth,” he said, his voice lower, more serious. “I enjoy this. Being with you. I… don’t often feel this way.” 

I felt my heart quicken. “Neither do I.” 

We walked along the Danube afterward, the stars reflecting off the water. When we stopped by the river’s edge, Hans turned to face me fully, his eyes dark and unreadable. For a moment, he simply looked at me, his gaze intense, as if weighing some unspoken decision. 

Then, without a word, he leaned down and kissed me, his lips warm and soft against mine. 

The kiss was gentle, tentative, as though he was testing the waters. His hand came up to cradle my cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across my skin. I responded instinctively, letting my eyes closed as I melted into the warmth of his touch. The city seemed to blur around us, and for that brief moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the world. 

When we finally pulled away, the air between us was thick with unspoken emotions. I looked up at him, trying to gauge what he was thinking, but Hans, ever the enigma, simply smiled softly and took my hand, guiding me away from the river. ______________________________________________________________

The weeks that followed were filled with long walks, secret glances, and quiet conversations. Hans was unlike any man I had ever known – intelligent, mysterious, and yet gentle with me in ways I never expected. He was thoughtful, bringing me books from his personal collection, surprising me with small gifts like pressed flowers or an ink bottle from Paris, knowing I dreamt of going there. 

Our time together felt stolen, as if we were living in a world apart from everything else. We would meet in the afternoons after my classes, sit in a café or stroll through the gardens. There was always a tension beneath the surface, something deepening between us that neither of us could ignore. 

It was late one evening after dinner, and we were sitting in a quiet park beneath the glow of the streetlamps. Hans had been quieter than usual, his mood more intense, his eyes following me with a kind of hunger. I felt it too – the pull between us, the unspoken desire. 

We talked, but it was the only surface-level, both of us skirting around what we were really feeling. Finally, as the conversation died down, Hans turned to me, his expression unreadable. 

“I’ve been holding back, Fräulein,” he admitted, his voice low and raw. “But I don’t think I can anymore.” 

Before I could respond, he kissed me again, but this time there was nothing tentative about it. His lips pressed harder, his hands pulling me close, and I felt the full force of what had been simmering between us. I returned the kiss with equal intensity, my arms wrapping around his neck as the world spun around us. 

When we finally broke apart breathless, the air between us had changed. We didn’t speak, but there was no need. We both knew that things had shifted. I smiled up at him, and he smiled back. And in that moment, he seemed to me to be the most beautiful and charming man, I had ever met. ______________________________________________________________

It didn’t take long after that before Hans suggested to meet my family. My parents were cautious, particularly my father. He was sceptical of Hans, though polite. 

Dinner with my parents was a formal affair, and Hans, to his credit, handled it well. He charmed my mother with his knowledge of art, and even managed to get a laugh out of my younger brother, James, who was typical shy around strangers. My father, however, remained distant, his questions sharp, probing Hans’ background and intentions. 

After the meal, when Hans and my father retreated to the study for a private conversation, I was left with a knot of anxiety. My father was protective, and though he rarely interfered with my life, I could sense his concerns. 

When they finally emerged, Hans looked calm, though my father’s expression remained unreadable. Still, when he shook Hans’ hand, there was a sense of grudging respect. 

I followed him to the door, and while I really wanted to kiss him, I couldn’t with my parents lingering close by. He smiled at me and winked as he left, making me chuckle. 

That night as I went to bed, I had a smile on my face and dreamed of Hans. 

We continued like this for months. He would help my study, take me on walks, to see museums and art galleries. He had come over a couple of more times to dine with my family, and in time my father seemed to like him more and more. 

Even after all of this it still took me by complete surprise. I came home one evening after class, expecting the house to be quiet. Instead, I found Hans sitting in the Parlor, his hat resting on the table beside him, his coat neatly folded over the chair. My heart raced in surprise. 

“Hans? What are you doing here?” I asked, stepping into the room, confusion clear on my face. 

He stood, walking over to me with a serious expression. “I’ve just spoken with your father.” 

My stomach flipped. “About what?” I asked in concern. 

Hans took my hands in his, his grip firm but gentle. His eyes locked onto mine, and for the first time since we’d met, I saw something like uncertainty in his gaze. 

“My liebe, Elizabeth,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve asked your father for his blessing to marry you.” 

The air seemed to leave the room, and I stared at him, trying to process what he had just said. 

“I love you,” he continued, his hands tightening slightly around mine. “And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. If you’ll have me.”

For a moment, I couldn’t speak. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and all I could do was nod. 

Hans smiled then, a rare, genuine smile that made my heart soar. He pulled me into his arms, and as he held me close, I whispered, “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

We kissed again, and this time, there was no hesitation, no uncertainty - just the promise of a future together. 

Just a few short months later, I graduated from the University of Vienna. Hans was there, sitting in the audience with that same proud smile that made my heart flutter. The diploma in my hands felt like a culmination of years of hard work, a symbol of the life I had dreamed of building. But the moment I walked across the stage, my eyes found Hans, and I realised in that moment that the future was no longer just mine – it was ours. 

Our wedding followed soon after. It was a small, intimate ceremony in a charming Viennese church, attended by my family and friends, and some of Hans’ friends. My mother fussed over every detail, while my father walked me down the aisle, his expression soft with emotion. Hans waited at the altar, looking more handsome than I’d ever seen him, his dark eyes flowing with affection and promise.

The ceremony was simple but perfect. The moment we kissed as husband and wife, I felt a swell of love so strong that it left me breathless. I knew my life had changed forever. ______________________________________________________________

After the wedding, I moved into Hans’ apartment – a beautiful, sunlit space in the heart of Vienna. The rooms were filled with the warm, earthy scent of wood and leather, and large windows overlooked the bustling streets below. It was smaller than my family’s home, but it felt infinitely cozier. We spent our first days as newlyweds either in bed or arranging the apartment to make it our own, combining our lives piece by piece. 

Life settled into a peaceful rhythm. I found work as a teacher at a local girls’ school, a position that fulfilled me more than I could have imagined. The students were eager to learn, and I found myself pouring my heart into every lesson. 

Hans’ work as a detective kept him busy, but when he was home, we filled our time with quiet dinners, long walks through Vienna’s parks, and cozy nights reading together by the fire. He would often surprise me with flowers or a new book, and I loved the small ways we cared for each other. We were happy – truly, blissfully happy. 

A year or so into the marriage, my father received word that his posting in Vienna was coming to an end. My parents were being re-stationed back to England, and though I knew this day would come, it still felt like shock. 

The evening before their departure, my family gathered for a final dinner at our favourite restaurant. The air was thick with emotion – my mother trying to hold back tears, my father quieter than usual, and James, now taller and more mature, struggling to say goodbye. 

“I’m proud of you,” my father said, hugging me tightly. “And I know you’ve made the right choice.”

I watched them leave the next morning, waving until their car disappeared from view, tears streaming down my face. Vienna felt emptier without them, but I still had Hans. And that was enough.  ______________________________________________________________

Hans I had tried to start a family, but as the years went by, our hopes began to fade. Each month brought fresh disappointment, and I started to fear that the fault lay with me. Doctors confirmed my worst fears – something about my body, something I couldn’t fix, made it difficult, perhaps impossible, for me to conceive. 

I wept often during that time, feeling a deep sense of failure. Hans, ever gentle and patient, would hold me, his hands stroking my hair as I sobbed into his chest. 

“We’ll be fine,” he whispered, though I could hear the sadness in his voice. “We heave each other, my darling Elizabeth. That’s all I need.” 

He never blamed me, not once. But I couldn’t help but feel like I had let him down. 

To lift our spirits, Hans surprised me with a trip to Paris – the city I had always dreamed of visiting. We arrived in spring, the city blooming with life and colour. The air was warm, the streets lively with music and laughter. Paris was everything I had imagined it would be – romantic, vibrant, and a full of history. 

We spent our days strolling along the Seine, visiting art galleries and historical landmarks. Hans took me to a charming little café, the same one we had spoken about on one of our first dates, and we sat for hours drinking wine and watching the world go by. 

One evening, as we stood on a bridge overlooking the river, the lights of the Eiffel Tower sparkling in the distance, Hans pulled me close. “I promised you Paris,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “And here we are.” 

It was a perfect moment. I felt as though all my dreams had come true, even if the path was different that I’d imagined. 

Years passed in a contended blur. We had settled into a comfortable life in Vienna, one filled with love, even if it wasn’t the life I had originally planned. I was happy teaching, and Hans was content in his work, though he often spoke of darker times looming in the political sphere. 

One day, I came home from work, expecting to find Hans waiting for me, as usual. Instead, the house was eerily quiet. On the dining table, there was a single note, written in his familiar, neat script. 

I’ve been called away on urgent business. Fear not, I will return soon. Trust me. I love you, mein liebe, Elizabeth. 

I stared at the note, my heart pounding in my chest. Hans had never left like this before. His work as a detective sometimes required long hours, but he had always kept me informed. Now, he had disappeared with only a cryptic message. 

As I ate my supper I could not shake of the feeling of loneliness. I spent the rest of the evening reading but found myself often looking at Hans’ chair and felt sad. As I went to bed that night, I wore one of Hans’ shirts in hope that it would quench my longing for him, but it did the exact opposite. I only found myself missing him more. ______________________________________________________________

The days without Hans turned into weeks, and those weeks into months. At first, I tried to carry on as if nothing had changed. I went to the school, taught my students, and returned home to an empty apartment. I pretended I wasn’t watching the clock, that I wasn’t waiting for the sound of his footsteps on the stairwell or the creak of the front door.

But the silence grew unbearable. 

His note lay where I had left it, on the mantle above the fireplace, the ink faded but still legible. I must have read it a thousand times, hoping that somehow, if I stared hard enough, the words would change, or that they would reveal some hidden meaning. But there was nothing. Just the same cryptic message, and the same growing fear gnawing at my insides. 

Where had he gone? Why had he not told me? And – worst of all – was he ever coming back?

I had tried to remain strong, but Vienna no longer felt like the vibrant city I had fallen in love with. Every corner of the apartment whispered of our life together – the quiet breakfasts by the window, the evening spent reading by the fire, and the late nights when Hans would pull me close and hold me as if I was the most precious thing in the world. Without him, those memories were like shadows, haunting me with their absence. 

It wasn’t just his disappearance that hurt. It was the not knowing. Hans had always been so careful with his words, so precise, and yet this time, he had left me with nothing but uncertainty. His work as a detective had always involved secrets, but this felt different. This felt personal. 

One evening, I visited his office, my hope dwindling with every passing day. His colleagues gave me nothing but blank stares, polite refusals, and vague promises that they’d look into it. But they didn’t seem to care. Hans was just another name on a list of officers, one who had apparently gone off on some undisclosed mission. I was his wife, yet it seemed as though I knew the least of all. 

Trust me. 

How was I supposed to trust him when he had left me like this? ______________________________________________________________

I began to write to him. At first, it was just a few words on paper, trying to make sense of the chaos in my mind. But as the weeks went by, the letters grew longer, filled with everything I couldn’t say aloud. I told him about the school, about my students, and how they were thriving in their history lessons. I wrote about Vienna, the city we had both loved so much, and hot it now seemed to reflect the emptiness inside me. 

I even wrote about my dreams – the ones we had shared, the life we had planned. I told him how much I wanted to see him, to hold him, to hear his voice again. How I missed the warmth of his touch, the way his eyes would soften when he looked at me. 

But there was no address to send the letters to. no place where I could reach him. So they remained in a drawer, growing in number, waiting for the say when I might have the chance to give them to him. 

After months of waiting in vain, something inside me snapped. It wasn’t an act of anger or frustration, but rather a quiet, aching realisation that I could no longer stay here, trapped in a life that had once been filled with love and now felt like a prison. 

I began to pack my things, carefully folding away the clothes and trinkets that had once made up our home. The books we had collected together, the small souvenirs from our trips around the city – everything seemed to carry the weight of what had been lost. I left the ring Hans had given me on the bedside table, the one reminder of the love we had shared, but I couldn’t bear to wear it anymore. 

My final goodbyes were said to the few friends I had made, those who had watched me as I slowly crumbled under the weight of Hans’ absence. They offered me sympathy, but no one had any real answers. Vienna had become too painful for me to stay. 

Paris had always been my dream, and now, in the absence of everything, it seemed like the only place I could go. 

I booked my passage on the next train to France, leaving behind the life I had built, the one I had hoped to share with Hans. The city I had once loved felt foreign to me now, its streets empty without him by my side. As the train pulled out of the station, I looked back one last time at the skyline of Vienna, the domes and spires that had been the backdrop to my happiest moments. 

But I knew there was nothing left for me here. Not anymore. ______________________________________________________________

Paris was everything I had imagined it to be – the cut of lights, of romance, and art. But it was also a city of ghosts, filled with reminders of the life I had once dreamed of having with Hans. Every corner café, every bridge across the Seine, every street vendor selling flowrrs – all of it reminded me of the promises we had made to each other, the life we were supposed to build together. 

But Paris was also where I began to heal. 

I found a small apartment near Montmartre, not far from the artists and musicians who brought the street to life with their creativity. It was nothing like the apartment Hans and I had shared in Vienna, but it was mine. A space where I could start over. 

Teaching had always been my passion, and I found work at a local school. The children here were different – more worldly, more curious. They asked questions about the world beyond France, and I found myself telling them stories of Vienna, of the history I had studied so passionately. In a way, it felt like I was teaching them about the life I had lost. 

Days turned into weeks, and slowly, I began to find some measure of peace. The ache of Hans’ absence never truly left, but it become more bearable with time. I still thought of him often – wondering where he was, whether he was safe, and if he ever thought of me. But I no longer let those thoughts consume me. 

Paris became my sanctuary. It wasn’t the life I had planned, but it was a life, nonetheless. And for the first time in months, I felt like I could breathe again. 

I still had the letters, tucked away in a small box at the back of my closet. I hadn’t written to him in a long time, but I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away. They were a record of my grief, my longing, my hope. 

Sometimes, late at night, I would open the box and read through them, imagining what it would be like to see Hans again. I wondered if he would still recognise the woman I had become – the one who had been broken by his absence but had somehow found strength to go on. 

Perhaps one day I would find the courage to let him go entirely. But for now, I held on to the memories, the love we had shared, and the hope that somewhere, Hans was thinking of me too. 

I wasn’t sure if I would ever hear from him again. But I had learned to live with the uncertainty. After all, life in Paris had given me something precious – myself. 

Everything was getting better – until the war began. 

[slashingdisneypasta]

MultiVillains x Reader || Reactions

Topic: You move into an apartment in a dodgy neighbourhood.

Characters Included: (Rarin'-to-Fuck) Buck, Dr Peter Andover, Erik Destler, Freddy Krueger, Bonus!Jason Voorhees, Ian Essko, Bonus!Madame Blavatski, Inkubus, Jim Bickerman, Bonus!Reba, Doom Room's MC, Minister Kratski, Stuart Lloyd, Wayne Jackson, Bonus!Norman Tyrus and Bonus!Dale Acton.

Tagging: @ghouletka , @grav3yardgirl , @marinerainbow , @masqueradeball , @thecourtofgraywaves , @yesthetrashbin and @your-mxnd-is-mxne .

Rarin'-To-Fuck Buck: *Stays right by the window where he can see his car so it doesn't get stolen* "Uh... nice place... " (You: Thank you! I was so jazzed to find it on the market!, it has a dishwasher and everythin- ) "I was kidding Y/N this place is a fucken dump. Lets go- "

Dr Peter Andover: "... no." (You: What. But- ) "We have rooms at the clinic, you can stay there." (You: I cant live at the clinic- ) "Ohhh yes you can."

Erik Destler: "Oh, this is near to the brothel I used to- Ehem. I mean, Y/N this is a very nice, uh... home... you found, here... " || He wants to sweep you away but also he doesn't want you questioning him on that first bit XD So I guess he's just gonna have to stalk you all the time ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ With love. For your safety.

Freddy Krueger: "You couldn't find an actual house?? Oh, and wouldja look at that! Guys with guns. *Waiving out the window* Hey fellas- " (You: Newsflash Fred its not the 60's anymore old man and you cant just b u y a h o u s e !! And put your hand down- )

Jason Voorhees: *Nope. No- Jason will not let you stay here XD He takes one look around, picks you up, and leaves.*

Ian Essko: "What filthy-fucking-hell... Oh! Wait wait wait- " (You: Don't you dare take out that black light Ian.) "What? Afraid of what you'll find in this house of horror!??"

Madame Blavatski: "Oh- this is nice. Lovely. I lived in a home just like this in my stripping days in Russia! Very lovely, very good. And you have drug dealers just two doors down, which is convenient. I already visited, they're very nice boys, and I bought you welcome-to-area 'blow'- da? They even gave discount!" *head pats*

Inkubus: *He's very calm, listening to you talk about it and show him all around, until the very end* "Y/N, love, may I ask something of you right now?" (You: Oh- sure? ^^) "Wonderful. Uh, don't be here between eleven and 3 tomorrow." (You: Why?- ) "Mmm, no particular reason... do you think these beams are good and flammable?" || If it is not clear- the man is going to burn your apartment building down so you don't live here, anymore.

Jim Bickerman: *He's been walking around peering out the windows shaking his head. When he finally looks at you waiting for his thoughts, he flashes a big smile.* "We're going gun shopping." (You: Oh no we are NOT- )

Reba: (You: So! ^^ What do you think?) "... well I noticed the police station a block away, I liked that feature."

The Doom Room's MC: "Well its better then my place, at least."

Minister Kratski: *not getting outta the limo*

Stuart Lloyd: "Y/N I saw some hooligans just down the street with switchblades. I don't think this area is safe." (You: Oh don't worry, I have a plan! ^^) "*Genuinely relieved* oh, great. Wh- what is it?" (You: I got these really big ass boots from the charity store- and I'm going to keep them just outside my door so everyone walking by thinks a lumberjack lives here!) "... ... Y/N- "

Wayne Jackson: *He's very quiet. Just wandering in and out of rooms, lookin' around* (You: ... Wayne, is everything okay?) "... preeetty sure I lived here in the 70's. Cant be sure, though." (You: Oh- ) *Pulls an open door away from a wall* "Ah! I did! Heheh, I made that w in bullet holes."

Norman Tyrus: "... no." (You: Norman- ) "Nope." (You: Not another place, Norman- ) "You're moving. You're not staying here." (You: I'm gonna stop showing you my new places.) "How about ya just find a place that doesn't have bullet holes in the front fucken door?" Dale Acton: "OH!!! I know those guys upstairs, I used to buy coke from them a couple years back! Until a deal fell through at least... hey, don't tell 'em you're with me. You'll be fine. We probably shouldn't be seen together, though, so uh... bye babe- "

[vintage-london-images]

Waite, Rose and Taylor's first store at 263, High Street, Acton, London in 1904.

In 1903 Wallace Wyndham Waite, Arthur Rose and David Taylor started a grocery business in Acton. Later in 1906 David Taylor left the partnership. In 1908 Mr Waite and Mr Rose together registered a private limited company. What did the company become?

[art-portraits]

Hon. Emma (Crewe) Cunliffe, later Emma Cunliffe-Offley

Artist: Thomas Lawrence (British, 1769-1830)

Date: c. 1809-1830

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: The Huntington Library, Art Museum, and Botanical Gardens, San Marino, CA, United States

Hon. Emma (Crewe) Cunliffe, later Emma Cunliffe-Offley British, 1780 - 1850

Elizabeth Emma Crewe was born February 15, 1780, the only surviving daughter of John Crewe (1742-1829) of Crewe Hall, Cheshire, and his wife Frances Anne Greville Crewe (1744-1818). Her father was created 1st Baron Crewe in 1806 in recognition of loyal service to the Whig party during forty-eight years as a member of parliament. But it was her mother's legendary beauty, intelligence, and political zeal that attracted a galaxy of political and cultural luminaries to the family circle.

As a young girl, Emma Crewe garnered high praise from Fanny Burney, who found her "extremely well bred, sensible, attentive, & intelligent" and "promising to resemble mentally her charming Mother." She delighted in music and often performed as a singer at social gatherings. Numerous contemporary accounts attest to her considerable ability.

On March 16, 1809 the painter Thomas Lawrence reported to a friend that Emma Crewe had refused a marriage proposal from Sir W.W. Wynne. One month later, on April 21, 1809, she married Foster Cunliffe (1782-1832) of Acton Park, Wrexham, elder son of Sir Foster Cunliffe (1755-1834), 3rd Baronet, and his wife Harriet. Having no children of their own, she and her husband later assumed responsibility for raising their young niece, the Hon. Annabella Crewe (1814-1874), daughter of Emma's elder brother John, 2nd Baron Crewe (1772-1835).

1829, on inheriting the property of Madeley, Staffordshire, her husband adopted the surname Offley, by which her own family had been known prior to the early eighteenth century. Following her husband's death on April 19, 1832, Emma Cunliffe-Offley spent several years traveling with her niece in Germany, Austria, and Italy. She returned briefly to England on the death of her mother in December 1835, when it was observed that she would have perished from grief, had it not been for the affectionate support of her niece. It was to Annabella that Emma Cunliffe-Offley left the present painting (together with furnishings at Madeley and at her house in Upper Brook Street) when she died on February 15, 1850.

[gleesonarchive]

ɴᴇᴡ • Domhnall spotted out on the streets of North Acton.

📷 serpentandsaint (27.09.2023)

[fettesans]

Top, photograph by Mariko Mori, Love Hotel, 1994. Via. Bottom, photograph by Aapo Huhta, from the series and publication Block, shot in New York between 2014 and 2015. Via.

--

To understand why erotic novels engendered such outrage, we need to get our heads around Victorian sexuality. Male readers: imagine thinking of your body as a physiological economy with a finite amount of resources to “spend” (the most commonly used word for ejaculation in this era). Imagine being taught that every youthful sexual indulgence is an unmitigated evil which wastes your vital force and stunts your physical growth and mental development. Any kind of incontinence is dangerous, you believe, but none more so than masturbation, which will lead to jaundiced skin, eruptions of acne, a slouching gait, clammy palm, leaden eye, and the inability to look anyone in the eye. The fate of a compulsive masturbator is to become a drivelling idiot or insufferable hypochondriac. Even within the presumed safety of marriage, you will have to walk a tightrope between abstemiousness and gratification — have no sex and you’ll be ruined, but have too much and you’ll melt into a goo of despondency as the symptoms of “spermatorrhoea” (an umbrella term for diseases caused by a loss of semen) take hold, leading to heart disease and death.

It’s even worse for women. Female readers, imagine thinking of yourself as a sexless baby-producing machine, almost entirely devoid of any erotic desire and actually incapable of it during pregnancy when your baby will suck away your vital force from within. You will surrender to your husband’s desires only occasionally. Like men, you believe that sex serves a practical purpose — the population of the earth — but beyond that it is profoundly dangerous. Continence is the key. Your sex life is likely to be a sore and bitter trial.

These ideas, so farcical and objectionable to twenty-first-century eyes, are lifted — sometimes word for word — from Dr William Acton’s Functions and Disorders of the Reproductive Organs (1857), no radical polemic but mainstream medical opinion. Anyone deviating one iota from his worthy advice (memorably described by historian Steven Marcus in The Other Victorians [1966] as “part fantasy, part nightmare, part hallucination”) is either indifferent to their health or just plain low. It is only after we get our head around Dr Acton’s alien sexual precepts that we can begin to understand the hysterical tone that united police, press, and politicians in lambasting pornography. For Victorian pornography was not just a foil to Dr Acton’s belief system but its antithesis, presenting as it does a world of sexual riches where women are game for anything and men are “limitlessly endowed with that universal fluid currency which can be spent without loss”, as Marcus puts it. Even Ashbee calls pornographic works “poisons” in the preface to his bibliography, warning that they must be distinctly labelled and “confined to those who understand their potency”. They are also, of course, an incentive to dreaded masturbation. That is why men like William Dugdale had to be destroyed in hard-labour camps.

Matthew Green, from The Secret History of Holywell Street Home to Victorian London’s Dirty Book Trade, for The Public Domain Review, June 29, 2016. (This is such a great read)

[illadvisedselfships]

Hey! I just want a clean space to do my messy self shipping, and this is it.

F/O List (Current):

💚 Cruella De Vil (101 Dalmatians, 1996)

💚 Doc Hudson + the Sheriff (Cars)

💚 Jim Bickerman (Lake Placid Final Chapter-Lake Placid VS Anaconda)

💚 Mr Snake (The Bad Guys 2022)

💚 Otis B Driftwood (Rob Zombie's Devils Rejects Trilogy)

💚 Professor Aaron Callaghan (Legally Blonde; The Musical 2007)

F/O List (Past but they always make come backs 😅):

💚 Ambrose Cornell and Biker Guy (The Mist, 2007)

💚 Freddy Krueger (A Nightmare on Elm Street 1984)

💚 Greasy Weasel (Who Framed Roger Rabbit, 1988)

💚 Jafar (Aladdin, 1992)

💚 Offenderman (Creepypasta)

💚 Peter Hayes (Divergent Movies & Books)

💚 Sheriff Hoyt / Charlie Hewitt Jr (The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2003-2006)

Comfort Characters:

💚 Hades (Hercules 1997)

💚 Slenderman (Creepypasta)

💚 Dale Acton & Wayne Jackson (Good Day For It 2011)

[end-fall]

Last session started with Elton getting woken up and his nose getting reset after being broken in the fight. Jax and then Cynn were both woken up as well. Tulip said she would help Elton and said she looked forward to fighting them again. It turns out Cael was much more drunk than people had realized and Krumer said the drink she had was supposed to be served diluted. This made Cael mad at Cynn, so Jax had to intervene and herded everyone out with Caleb's help and Cynn stormed off . Tulip and Krumer decided to follow. On the way out, Krumer was trying to convince Caleb to join them for cards again and mentioned that Dorian used to play with them. Cael noticed and tried to question him, but he didn't remember the last time he'd seen Dorian. Lucky finally showed up and Cael asked him where he'd been and sent him after Cynn. Jax asked Caleb to get them a cab, but Krumer ssid said he'd do them one better and summoned a sleepy druid from one of the buildings on the ceiling with a loud whistle. After a bit of protest the guy transformed into a giant bird and ferried them back to the embassy. Cynn was walking back and after failing to ditch Lucky, she decided to annoy him with questions abd found out that her family had put out a hit on her.

Elton had fallen asleep vy the time they'd gotten to the embassy, so Jax was carrying him. When they entered, Lady Carestia was just on her way to bed, but stopped horrified at the sight of the party and demanded to know what happened. Jax said that they'd gotten into a fight with Tulip and Cael chimed in teith some great alliteration. Jax said that they'd also lost Cynn and Lady Carestia demanded to know how they lost a woman just as Cynn came in through the doors. She let them know about the hit and Lady Carestia sent everyone to bed. Jax made sure Cael got some water in her before heading to the kitchen to try and find some snacks, instead she found Richard and Charmaine eating sandwiches and drinking wine while going over some notebooks. Jax asked if she could have some and they told her to pull up a chair, so she did. The Charmaine immediately started asking Jax about her and Yuza and she bemoaned how complicated everything was. The next morning Jax woke up to Elton cuddling her leg. He went to go have a shower and Jax decided to try out her new sending stoneby lettering Yuza know she gad some information on some corporations she might want to know. Yuza said she's should bring them to coffee and when Jax asked when that was, she said the next morning at a coffee shop on the 14th level. Jax had a quick shower after Elton and then the two of them headed into the hall where they met knight Caleb. After speculating a bit about how much trouble they were in, the three of them headed to the kitchen to meet their fate. Carestia was very upset at breakfast and told the party that after the political nightmare that they caused by going out the night before, they had to go out to the opera tonight and engage with the high society of Illium and that formal attire was mandatory. Jax suddenly remembered where she left her jacket and tie which sparked some teasing from Cynn. Cynn then questioned if this was a good idea sonce there was a hit on her and took a dig at Cael for not getting intoxicated and not doing her job the day before. This started an arguement between them, which caused Jax to walk out and after Cynn asked if she should just go into to street and shout her name for the assassins to find her and Cael said to just go, Cynn left too followed by Lucky.

Elton tried to justify their actons saying that engaging with the other levels of the city, not just the upper ones showed more respect to the people of Illium. Carestia said that maybe that was true, but that wasn't who they needed to impress, so she needed the party to play the part expected of them.

Meanwhile Jax noticed Cynn leaving and asked her if she wanted to join her for the walk over to Yuza's to grab Jax's stuff. Cynn said why not. Jax asked her to keep the Yuza stuff to herself since Jax wanted Yuza to have her privacy and she didn't know where things were going yet. Cynn agreed, but she was still going to tease Jax about it, which Jax was okay with, she missed her friends and they would have been relentless about this crush. They then started pestering Lucky with questions and he begrudgingly told them his history with Cael and how she had ruined his career. At this point they had arrived at Yuza's place and Jax went looking for the guest room while Cynn kept an eye out for Yuza. She was not in her room, but instead putting her shoes on like she was getting ready for the day in the same room that Jax had stayed the night in. Jax questioned this, but said she was just here to pick up her clothes and that Cynn had tagged along. Cynn tried to convince Yuza that her brother was disguised as Alexios Nevarro and that the real guy was dead. Yuza did not believe this and said that there had been only one dead person at the gala, elaborating that she meant Jax when Jax looked confused. Cynn then told Yuza that her family had put a hit out on her, which Yuza did not care about. Jax apologized for Cynn and they left.

Cynn started crying on the walk back, so Jax gound a secluded bench in a park to sit and said that a lot of the time Cynn sounded like a manipulative bitch when she talked which people didn't tend to like. Cynn lamented that Cael didn't seem to see the work she was putting in. Jax explained that Cael wasn't good at being a person and the two of them where basically speaking different languages. She said she'd try to talk to Cael about it, but she could see the work Cynn had been doing to be a better person and Jax had her back. This caused Cynn to cry even more. Once she had mostly composed herself she threw her whip in the nearby fountain and they ead back towards the embassy.

[rockislandadultreads]

Book Recommendations: More Victorian Era Historical Fiction

Miss Eliza’s English Kitchen by Annabel Abbs

Before Mrs. Beeton and well before Julia Child, there was Eliza Acton, who changed the course of cookery writing forever.

England 1837. Victorian London is awash with exciting new ingredients from spices to exotic fruits, but Eliza Acton has no desire to spend her days in the kitchen. Determined to be a poet and shamed by the suggestion she write a cookery book instead, she at first refuses to even consider the task. But then her father is forced to flee the country for bankruptcy, shaming the family while leaving them in genteel poverty. As a woman, Eliza has few options, so she methodically collects recipes while teaching herself the mysteries of the kitchen. And to her surprise, she discovers she is not only talented at cooking—she loves it.

To assist her, she hires seventeen-year-old Ann Kirby, the impoverished daughter of a war-injured father and a mother losing her grip on reality. Under Eliza’s tutelage, Ann learns about poetry, cookery, and love, while unravelling a mystery in her mistress’s past. Through the art of food, Eliza and Ann develop an unusual friendship and break the mold of traditional cookbooks by adding elegant descriptions and ingredient lists, that are still used today.

Once Upon a River by Diane Setterfield

On a dark midwinter’s night in an ancient inn on the river Thames, an extraordinary event takes place. The regulars are telling stories to while away the dark hours, when the door bursts open on a grievously wounded stranger. In his arms is the lifeless body of a small child. Hours later, the girl stirs, takes a breath and returns to life. Is it a miracle? Is it magic? Or can science provide an explanation? These questions have many answers, some of them quite dark indeed.

Those who dwell on the river bank apply all their ingenuity to solving the puzzle of the girl who died and lived again, yet as the days pass the mystery only deepens. The child herself is mute and unable to answer the essential questions: Who is she? Where did she come from? And to whom does she belong? But answers proliferate nonetheless.

Three families are keen to claim her. A wealthy young mother knows the girl is her kidnapped daughter, missing for two years. A farming family reeling from the discovery of their son’s secret liaison, stand ready to welcome their granddaughter. The parson’s housekeeper, humble and isolated, sees in the child the image of her younger sister. But the return of a lost child is not without complications and no matter how heartbreaking the past losses, no matter how precious the child herself, this girl cannot be everyone’s. Each family has mysteries of its own, and many secrets must be revealed before the girl’s identity can be known.

Theatre of Marvels by Lianne Dillsworth

Crowds gather at Crillick's Variety Theatre, where curiosity is satisfied with displays of intrigue and fear. They're here for the star of the show - the Great Amazonia warrior. They needn't know this warrior is in fact Zillah, a mixed-race actress from the East End fooling them each night with her thrilling performance.

But something is amiss, and when Crillick's new act goes missing Zillah feels compelled to investigate, knowing the fates that can befall women in Victorian London. From the bustle of the West India Docks to the coffee houses of Fleet Street to the parlours of Mayfair, Zillah's journey for answers will find her caught between both sides of her own identity, and between two men: her wealthy white admirer, and an African merchant appalled by her act.

Will Zillah be forced to confront the price of her own performance? And in risking everything can she also save herself?

Master of His Fate by Barbara Taylor Bradford

Victorian England is a country of sharp divides between rich and poor, but James Lionel Falconer is everything a self-made man should be: handsome, ambitious, charming, and brimming with self-confidence. Even as a boy working in his father's market stall in Camden, he was determined to become a merchant prince. Through hard work and a single-minded determination, James rises quickly through the ranks, with a loving wife, devoted children, and a lofty position in the Malvern & Malvern Company. But when back-to-back tragedies strike the Falconer home, shattering this idyllic life, it seems as though James might never recover his former glory...until a royal summons gives him the chance to prove that he truly is a master of the game.

This is the first volume in the “House of Falconer” series.

[graphicpolicy]

Head to Sesame Street with Oni Press in August

Head to Sesame Street with Oni Press in August #comics #comicbooks #sesamestreet

[leanstooneside]

a uvula (WIRESHARK)

◊ ANDREW GARFIELD'S TOOTH

◊ THE SITUATION'S TOOTH

◊ KIRSTIE ALLEY'S TOOTH (ARSENAL)

◊ BILLY BOB THORNTON'S TOOTH (WEST BROMPTON)

◊ KESHA'S TOOTH

◊ ACE YOUNG'S TOOTH

◊ KATE BOSWORTH'S TOOTH

◊ TARA REID'S TOOTH (WEST RUISLIP)

◊ LUKE WILSON'S TOOTH (SUDBURY HILL)

◊ JAMIE KENNEDY'S TOOTH (OLD STREET)

◊ NAYA RIVERA'S TOOTH

◊ AMBER RILEY'S TOOTH (BETHNAL GREEN)

◊ LUCY HALE'S TOOTH (OSTERLEY)

◊ TERRENCE HOWARD'S TOOTH

◊ BROOKE MUELLER'S TOOTH

◊ RASHIDA JONES'S TOOTH

◊ ASHLEY HEBERT'S TOOTH (MILE END)

◊ JADA PINKETT SMITH'S TOOTH

◊ SCOTT WOLF'S TOOTH (NORTH ACTON)

◊ CHELSEA HANDLER'S TOOTH

◊ JONAS BROTHERS'S TOOTH (WANSTEAD)

◊ ORLANDO BLOOM'S TOOTH (OAKWOOD)

◊ LOUIS TOMLINSON'S TOOTH (MAIDA VALE)

◊ DIANE KRUGER'S TOOTH

◊ SPENCER PRATT'S TOOTH

◊ TRAVIS BARKER'S TOOTH

◊ TRACY MORGAN'S TOOTH

◊ KAT DELUNA'S TOOTH (EDGWARE ROAD)

◊ LINDSAY LOHAN'S TOOTH

◊ ANDY COHEN'S TOOTH (SNARESBROOK)

◊ TY BURRELL'S TOOTH

◊ GERARD BUTLER'S TOOTH (EARL'S COURT)

◊ ANDY SAMBERG'S TOOTH