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[yutahoes]

Caramel

(Part One)

characters: stripper! Yuta x female! Y/N genre: chaptered, smut, fluff, angst word count: 2.5k words summary: Y/N has everything in her bitter life, not until she meets a sweet-looking stripper. warnings: matured theme, stripper au!, third person POV, rusty writing, curse words, shirtless guys, degrading words

Bachelorette parties. 

If there is any event that Y/N hated going to, this would be it. 

The girl hated to socialize. Hated mingling with girls her age, even younger than her, who wouldn’t stop talking about finding a nice husband or the newest Birkin from Paris. 

But bachelorette parties are better than attending board meetings. 

This is much better than the blind date her mother kept on pushing her through. 

That was the thought running through Y/N’s mind as she drank the pink bubbling liquid in her champagne glass, settling on one corner of the huge hotel room. She knew very well that it wasn’t champagne. And she was smart enough to know not to drink alcohol in these crazy events. 

The star of the night, a rich family daughter - although Y/N forgot whose daughter she was - was dancing non-stop along to the music. Y/N drank her juice to hide a smile. She knew that type very well, certainly a wild child. 

It wouldn’t be a surprise if a man in a police outfit entered the room and started stripping.

As if on cue, one of the girls entered the door giddily and announced that ‘the main event is here’. Y/N had to chuckle to herself, how predictable. 

One guy, with dark hair and tall height, entered wearing a black jacket without a shirt underneath. He started swaying his body along the sultry music which earned the excitement of the women around. Well, he has a nice muscular body. Another guy, wearing a sleeveless leather tank top, entered and started grinding his body at one of the bridesmaids. This guy is handsome.  

Wow, Y/N thought, they managed to book two strippers. How extravagant. 

The music got louder along with the screams of the girls at the party just as another guy with blonde hair entered the door. Unlike the other two who were dancing with the girls, he entered the door and took the center. The same as the first guy, who completely removed his jacket, he was wearing a leather jacket with no shirt underneath. His body was rolling, hips seductively swaying against the music. He isn’t even that muscular. Certainly, Y/N had seen better. But the way he projected himself, the way he felt himself along the music is rather sexy. Erotic, perhaps.

The girl found herself focused on the third man, watching his toned skin and taking note of the butterfly tattoo peeking from his waist. He is rather handsome, almost the same as the second guy. Where did they manage to book these guys? They don’t seem like low-class strippers like from other bachelorette parties she had been to. Instead, they look like high-class escorts. If there is something like that. 

Y/N shrugged, shaking her head, then finished her juice. 

Before she came here, she thought this bachelorette party would give her a reason to hate these events more. Watching the sensual performance in front of her, she was thankful that she chose to be here rather than elsewhere. 

—-----

“And tell the manager that we’ll be back tomorrow,” Johnny claimed, which made Yuta nod. “Yuta, be careful when going back to the club.” He rolled his eyes at that. He’s not a kid. He can go back himself. 

While heading down to the lobby, he started counting the money he had. One-third of the payment from the dancing gig and some cab fare. He’ll probably reach home, right? Why did the club decide to send the three of them to this far-flung place? When coming here, he saw how far the hotel building was from the entrance. And he doubts, at how high-class this establishment is, that there would be cabs waiting in the lobby. He could ask for a car, but that would cost so much, and Yuta hated to let go of his hard-earned money. 

To be real, he wouldn’t be in this job if not for Lee Taeyong. When he came from Japan with nothing but his dream to be a dancer, his friend helped him by offering to be a dancer in a strip club. It wasn’t the dream but it’s not too far from it. Besides, it gives him food on the table and a roof above his head. But all he does is dance, no extra services, unlike his two friends who left him alone. 

Yuta felt that he had been walking for some time now but all he could see was the endless road ahead, the lush gardens, and the lights of the hotel building. Who made this establishment? Why is it so anti-poor? It also doesn’t help that it’s late at night and he’s wearing tattered jeans with a shirtless jacket. Will there still be cabs outside the hotel at this late hour? Should he just book a hotel room? But that would cost so much. 

He’ll just continue this walk and pretend that he’s hiking like he does in Japan. 

He was startled when a midnight blue car stopped at his side, stylish and looking really expensive. The driver put down the tinted window, “Do you want to ride?” He was more surprised that it was a female driver. “It’s a long walk. I can drop you off at the gate.” Yuta glanced at the long road ahead then at the driver who was only looking at him in question. It is a long walk and she’s heading that way anyway. Nothing bad can happen, right? 

The guy gently opened the door and entered the car carefully before putting on his seatbelt. Even if this woman decides to kidnap him, he doesn’t have any money to give her. And she looked well-off. There isn’t anything else that he can offer to her. The girl might have sensed his nervousness as she lightly chuckled, “Are you really planning to walk that far? You didn’t have a ride coming here?” 

Yuta shook his head, “We took a cab here.”

“We?” The girl repeated before lightly glancing at him. “Oh, you were one of the dancers earlier.” 

“You were there?” The girl nodded. Damn, she really is well-off. 

Yuta felt like shrinking in his seat. What is he doing in this car? And knowing that she had seen him earlier, made him embarrassed. “Why are you alone?” She asked to cut the silence. 

Maybe she doesn’t know anything about his line of work. Or maybe she’s testing him. “They have a booking.” The girl repeated his term in a questioning manner, “Some girls from the party booked them for tonight.” 

“To dance?” 

“For sex," he blurted out loud before hissing at himself. 

“They can do that?” Yuta wondered if she was really innocent. Or maybe she’s part of the population who never cared. But her amusement is rather refreshing. “Then why aren’t you part of the booking or whatever you call that?” He bit his lip to prevent himself from smiling. She’s adorable. “I’m sorry. I’m too curious, aren’t I? You don’t have to answer that.” 

He cannot help but release a chuckle at that. “It’s fine,” he claimed, shaking his head. “I don’t do extra services. Besides, those two were more famous with girls.” 

The girl had to lightly glance at him before making a small sound of wonder. “Really? I thought you were more famous than the two of them.” Yuta had to raise an eyebrow at that. “I mean you were a great dancer, you’re as handsome as the guy with the cap, and you have a nice body. A complete package.” The sides of Yuta’s lips curled up at the compliment. That’s such a confidence boost. “And you have such a nice smile. If it was my bachelorette party, I would have paid for your extra service.” 

“Then will you book me for your bachelorette party?” He then stopped before staring straight at her, “If you haven’t had one.” He tried to check if she had a ring on her finger then sighed in relief seeing that there wasn’t. 

She laughed wholeheartedly and Yuta thought that she was very pretty at that moment. “I’m sorry but there will be no bachelorette party. Please don’t jinx it.” Yuta shrugged. He’s not in the position to ask but why? She’s pretty, she’s rich. And to be honest, she’s hot. Guys would surely go to war for her. He definitely will. 

To his dismay, he can see the gates of the hotel nearby which means that he had to get out of the car. But he’s still enjoying talking to her. 

—---

The night was so dark. Y/N never realized that it was this late. There weren’t any cars around which is typical in this part of town. The headlights of her car kept blinking as she waited for the man earlier to get a cab or any ride to where he was heading. “You can leave me here. Thank you for the ride.” He insisted but she shook her head, reasoning that the CCTVs of the hotel saw her taking him, and if something happened, she would be the prime suspect. He laughed in response, making her swoon at the mischievousness of his smile. 

“Where are you heading anyways?” she asked, shouting through the whole passenger seat between them. She was seated in the car in front of him by the curb. The man pointed at the direction to the left and she giggled. “I can drive you. That’s also my way home.” But it was he who kept on shaking his head, not wanting to bother her. “Come on. You might not get home and I can’t just leave you here.” 

In the end, he went back in the car and promised to pay her the cab fee. The man claimed that he’s heading to their club named Neo as she hummed in answer. She remembered passing by that club once. And it made it pretty clear that they are some high-class strippers. “I’m Yuta, by the way.” he introduced. 

That was a nice name, Y/N thought. Japanese? Maybe a codename. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N.” 

“Y/L/N? Are you related to the owner of the Mozart Museum?” She nodded, whispering that it was her mom. “Wow,” he exclaimed. “You are rich rich.” 

“My parents are.” 

“That’s what rich people always say.” The girl giggled at that. “So what do you do in life, Miss Y/N?” 

She had to drum her fingers along the steering wheel while waiting for the traffic light to turn green. “I work in a research company.” Yuta only gave her a questioning look, “I oversee the company.” 

Wait, isn’t that…? “Like a president of the company?” 

“More of a manager,” she claimed casually then flashed a timid smile. “My dad is still the president.” Once again, an exclamation of awe can be heard coming from Yuta’s lips. “Hopefully, I can achieve his position soon.” 

She’s not just pretty, hot, and rich, she’s also very successful. God damn, she is truly the complete package. “And you are still single?” The girl gave him a knowing smile. How is she still single after all that? And the thought of not wanting to have a bachelorette party, meaning not wanting to be married, made Yuta think that it was a waste. “Don’t you feel lonely?”

Oh shit! That came out wrong. But it was too late to take back those words. She obviously heard it, evidence was the way she gripped the steering wheel. “Sorry. You don’t have to answer that.” 

The girl bit her lip before breathing heavily. “I think it isn’t that lonely. I have the freedom to still do whatever I want.” The muscles of her face eased as she smiled. “And trust me if you encounter those rich spoiled mommy’s boys, you’d rather be single.” Yuta giggled. He knew a few and he could attest to it. 

It was weird how Yuta felt like he could empathize with the world above him, the world of the rich, with every second he talked to this girl. She doesn’t seem like those stereotypical rich trust fund babies who would check their hair and make-up at all times and yap about finding rich husbands. She’s a well-established woman who knows what she wants. Totally admirable. 

Y/N, on the other hand, thought that she knew everything about the world. In her line of work and the society she belonged to, she obviously met a lot of interesting and intriguing people. But nothing prepared her for the mystery named Yuta. If he truly is Japanese, why is he here? What does he do for work? Dancing? Stripping? Why is he so humble and inferior when he looks way more handsome than those narcissistic men who were products of plastic surgery clinics? He is such a wonder. 

The girl pulled the handbrake of the car when they reached the front of a lighted building with a huge marquee that reads Neo. “It’s fancy,” Y/N claimed that made Yuta laugh, nodding. 

“Have you been inside?” The girl shook her head. “Do you want to go inside?” 

“I’d rather not. It’s late and I have some appointments tomorrow.” That’s too bad, Yuta thought. He doesn’t mind working a little extra tonight. 

The guy started fishing his wallet from his pocket, handing her some cash. “It isn’t much but thank you for driving me back.” But the girl shook her head, rejecting his money and claiming that it was not a big deal. Yuta felt embarrassed. Of course, she’s rich. This money would be nothing to her. Why did he offer it in the first place? “But I don’t like owing people anything.” 

The girl smiled warmly, “It’s fine. Think of it as saving me from worrying about someone tonight.” The guy laughed. “Besides, it was nice talking to you.” 

He asked for some pen and paper which she reached out from the glove compartment. Yuta started scribbling something on a piece of paper, “Then, if you feel lonely. Please come by the club and I’ll drink with you.” He handed her the piece of paper, “Free of charge.” 

“A lap dance?” She asked, reading his note. 

He smiled shyly. “That’s the only service I can offer that would allow me to use the private rooms. I can’t let a rich manager drink publicly in a stripclub, can I?” Y/N gave a small giggle before folding the paper and putting it in her handbag. “Just give the paper to the club manager and look for me. You do remember my name, right?” 

“Yuta.” she answered quietly. 

“Yuta Nakamoto.” 

Is that his full name? Then he must be really Japanese. And aren’t they using codenames in the strip club? Does his parents know his job? She lightly shook her head to stop the questions forming in her mind as he exited the car. What is it to her anyway? “Thank you for the ride, Ms. Y/N Y/L/N. Have a safe trip home.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Yuta Nakamoto. Have a good night.”

“See you later?” 

“Later.”

And she sped off with him waving goodbye like a small child. Yuta smiled to himself as he started walking to the strip club. 

This night was so bizarre.

Part Two

[valeriianz]

The Devil Wears Prada AU where Dream manages to get a job working for THE top fashion magazine, as assistant to the editor-in-chief, Lucifer Morningstar. Who works him to the bone.

And Hob of course is his boyfriend, and a sous-chef. But unlike the film, they actually have a very healthy and compatible relationship. And Hob is always super duper supportive of his boyfriend.

They had met in college. Dream was the loner, quiet type who always had his nose in a book and always dressed for comfort, hoodies and sweats. All day every day. All of Dream’s friends are actually Hob’s friends, because he pulls people in like a magnet. And they get looks all the time going out, because they just radiate such opposing auras (Dream in his thick eyeliner, black-on-black attire, uncombed hair and Hob still bright and smiling and colorful despite working 10-12 hour shifts on a cramped line in one of NYC’s busiest kitchens).

Now Dream is coming home to their meager 600 sq ft apartment in tailored suits that accentuate his crazy long legs, shiny shoes with a bit of heel, and pops of color and Hob feels like he’s falling in love all over again. Dream has started putting more effort in to his overall appearance not just with clothes, but with his hair and makeup as well, subtle, professional, and fucking sexy as hell. It’s in the way Dream carries himself now, too. No longer slouching or hiding away from the group at parties or dinner dates, but tall and regal and so full of confidence it just makes Hob beam with pride. Like, that’s my boyfriend. That’s mine. That tall, dark, well spoken man is fucking me senseless every night and I wear his bruises and bites without shame.

Dream is worried his new job is too demanding and is taking away time from them but Hob asks if he’s happy. It's hard work, and it kind of sucks… but yeah, Dream loves it. Then Hob says he supports him. When Dream can’t make it to Hob’s birthday party, he sends a quick text to Hob explaining why he’s missing out, but that he’ll make it up to him. It bums Hob out but he knows how well Dream is thriving in this new job. He’s clawed his way up through the shittiest of situations and is truly making a name for himself. So Hob doesn’t let Dream’s absence sour the mood.

And Dream does make it up to Hob. He takes them out to the cafe they’d first met in the West Village. They walk through a park and Dream takes his hand and pulls him off somewhere secluded and presses their foreheads together and tells Hob how much he loves him. How much he’s appreciated his unwavering support and love. He leans in to brush his lips along Hob’s ear and, with a voice quiet and soft as satin, he asks Hob, 

“If I were to propose to you right now, would you say yes?”

And Hob feels a lump in his throat and his heart crashing against his ribs and laughs and says, 

“Yeah, I would.”

But Dream pulls back, a glint in his eyes and a secretive smile on his lips and Hob suddenly just wants. He pulls Dream down into a kiss that begs and pleads for mercy, biting and licking and damn near sobbing with it. It’s a miracle they’re able to call a cab to get home before Dream drops to his knees in broad daylight to suck Hob dry.

And when Dream gets that gig in Paris, Hob has a congratulatory party waiting for him when he returns. And manages to get down on one knee in front of all their friends and ask Dream to marry him.

Henceforth they are known as the “Power Couple.”

[blackswaneuroparedux]

C'est fou comme les gens ont de moi cette image de femme sophistiquée, glaciale. C'est une telle erreur, c'est tellement mal me connaître.

- Catherine Deneuve on herself in Belle de Jour (1967)

In anticipation of a new film this summer by Catherine Deneuve called ‘Bernadette’ where she plays Bernadette Chirac, the wife of French Jacques Chirac, I’ve been re-watching some her back catalogue of films. She’s done over 64 films and at almost 80 years old she’s still going strong. And yet out of her many films I’ve always been drawn back to one film which has become a cult classic. Watching it and re-watching it and even gorging on books on its making, new intriguing details reveal themselves about this landmark French art house classic - Belle de Jour (1967).

I once had the privilege of having dinner with her - or rather sat around the same table - through a Parisian host and his lovely wife who had gathered an eclectic group of friends across generations together. I was too self-conscious to talk about her film career directly. I was on surer ground when we indulged in small talk where she was perfectly down to earth and very pleasant. I felt it would be rude to go all fan girl on her and pepper her with questions about Belle de Jour in particular as she’s known to be very ambivalent about her experience of the film - a film that really defined her in the eyes of many people.

But it didn’t mean she didn’t recognise its cultural importance though as she was quite happy to amuse us with a funny story about Belle de Jour. A newly restored 35mm version was funded by the fashion house Saint Laurent back in 2018. Deneuve always had a close relationship with Yves Saint Laurent and also the fashion house. She was the one to introduce Buñuel to Saint Laurent. So the fashion house had a glitzy premiere in New York. But they didn’t count on many of their guests being late. Most of the guests were stuck in the New York traffic and the rain. However Martin Scorsese was the only one to get out of cab and run like a mad man through the pelting rain and huge traffic. A true cinephile, he was so desperate to see the film restored to its former glory that he would go to any lengths to see it.

In Belle de Jour, Catherine Deneuve, whose limpid beauty is capable of sustaining any interpretation, is a perfect Severine and demonstrates a remarkable control in progressing, with enormous economy of gesture and movement, from frigidity to physical warmth as the bored housewife who indulges in part time sex work.

“I felt they showed more of me than they’d said they were going to,” Catherine Deneuve remarked to Pascal Bonitzer in 2004, about the making of Luis Buñuel’s 1967 Belle de jour. “There were moments when I felt totally used. I was very unhappy.”

The story of Séverine, a deeply disenchanted haute bourgeois Paris housewife who finds erotic liberation through byzantine psycho-sexual fantasies and part-time work at an upscale brothel, Belle de jour certainly made extreme demands of Deneuve: her character is flogged, raped, and pelted with muck, among other assaults. But despite her objections to the way she was treated and her difficulties with Buñuel, Deneuve’s performance in Belle de jour turned out to be one of her most iconic.

Deneuve, who had become a star only three years earlier, as the melancholy jeune fille in Jacques Demy’s 1964 all-sung musical The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, was just twenty-three when Belle de jour came out; notably, Buñuel’s film was released in France less than three months after Demy’s radiant, MGM-inspired musical The Young Girls of Rochefort, starring Deneuve and her real-life sister Françoise Dorléac.

But Belle de jour, more than any other film from the first decade of her career, defined what would become one of the actress’s most notorious personae: the exquisite blank slate lost in her own masochistic fantasies and onto whom all sorts of perversions could be projected. (Deneuve as deviant tabula rasa was first seen in Roman Polanski’s 1965 Repulsion, in which she plays a damaged beauty plummeting into psychosis; but Belle de jour doesn’t portray its heroine as mad, instead remaining deliberately ambiguous about the origins of her unconventional desires - and presaging the bizarre libertines she would later play in such films as Marco Ferreri’s Liza, 1972, and Tony Scott’s The Hunger, 1983.)

Buñuel was at a very different stage of his career from his young star, but Belle de jour represented a peak for him as well, the greatest - and most successful - film of his extremely rich late period. These works, bookended by 1964’s Diary of a Chambermaid and 1977’s That Obscure Object of Desire (his final film), were made mostly in France - where Buñuel had begun his filmmaking career with the incendiary, surrealist Un chien andalou (1929) - following the exiled Spanish director’s two decades in Mexico.

Many of these late projects were cowritten with Jean-Claude Carrière and focus intensely on sexual perversion (a theme that recurs throughout Buñuel’s work). Belle de jour certainly falls into that category, and also, typically, skewers the entitled classes. Yet it stands out as the director’s most intricate character study—but of a protagonist who resists definition; the heroine, frequently trussed up and mussed up, retains an odd, opaque dignity in her debauchery.

In that same interview with Bonitzer, Deneuve was judicious enough to distinguish her experience of making Belle de jour from the final product, calling it a “wonderful film.” But her first meetings with Buñuel hinted at the duress that was to follow. According to John Baxter’s 1994 biography, Buñuel, it took time for the director to “warm to” his star: “He felt, with some justice, that she had been foisted on him, first by the Hakims [Belle de jour’s producers], then by her lover of the time, François Truffaut.” After dining with Buñuel at his house, the book recounts, Deneuve “left with little more than an impression that he disliked actors in general and was reserving his decision about her. The only advice he offered was the advice he had always given actors: ‘Don’t do anything. And above all, don’t . . . perform.’”

Though Deneuve deferred to her director, she was no puppet; Belle de jour is as much hers as Buñuel’s. The filmmaker, famously resistant to “psychological” interpretations of his work, stuffs Belle de jour with his trademarks, confounding any attempt to parse meaning: the surrealist blurring of fantasy and reality, fetishism, sexual perversion, blasphemy.

But as Séverine, Deneuve, despite operating in the nebulous realm between dream and waking, imbues the film with irresistible and very real lust - and luster. Sporting the chicest Yves Saint Laurent finery, Deneuve revels in the peculiar desires of her character while always inviting our own. As Buñuel himself acknowledges in his 1984 autobiography, My Last Sigh (published a year after his death), Belle de jour “was my biggest commercial success, which I attribute more to the marvelous whores than to my direction.” (Per Baxter, after the filming of Belle de jour, he would finally admit of his star, “She’s really a very good actress.”) Deneuve’s gift was to update the world’s oldest profession for her still-expanding résumé.

The director had some modifying to do as well. Buñuel, who adapted Joseph Kessel’s 1928 novel with Carrière, assessed the source material dryly in My Last Sigh: “The novel is very melodramatic, but well constructed, and it offered me the chance to translate Séverine’s fantasies into pictorial images as well as to draw a serious portrait of a young female bourgeois masochist. I was also able to indulge myself in the faithful description of some interesting sexual perversions.”

He wastes no time in establishing those bizarre erotic proclivities. In Belle de jour’s opening scene, Séverine and her doting husband of one year, Pierre Serizy (Jean Sorel), a handsome, dutiful surgeon, are snuggled close in a horse-drawn carriage; he interrupts the tender moment with the lament “If only you weren’t so cold.” She pulls away, defensive. The sound of horse bells, which has been increasing in volume from the film’s first shot - and will indicate Séverine’s dreams or fantasies throughout - stops. Pierre orders his wife out of the cab; when she refuses, he and the two drivers remove her by force. She is gagged, bound to a tree, and whipped by the coachmen, who are then instructed by Pierre to rape her. When one begins to ravish her, Séverine appears to be in ecstasy.

This carnal reverie is soon interrupted by the Serizys at home, preparing for their usual chaste bedtime ritual. Pierre, in white pajamas, asks his pale-pink-nightie-clad wife, under the covers in a separate bed, what she’s thinking about: “I was thinking about you . . . and us. We were out for a ride in a carriage”—a scenario Pierre has heard before.

The fantasy clearly belongs to Séverine alone; she finds erotic thrills in her secret thoughts of debasement and humiliation, her florid imagination compensating for her sterile, sexless existence. Her most private desires will soon be realized at 11, cité Jean de Saumur, the address of the boutique bordello run by Madame Anaïs (Geneviève Page), given to Séverine by Pierre’s louche friend Husson (Michel Piccoli).

At Madame Anaïs’s, Séverine - now going by the nom de pute Belle de jour, a reference to her two-to-five shift (she insists on being home when Pierre returns from his workday at the hospital) - is horrified at first but proves to be a quick study. A burly Asian client scares off her two seasoned colleagues with his mysterious, buzzing lacquered box, but she is absolutely transfixed; after the john leaves, she, lying prone on the bed, lifts her head, her luxuriant mane of blonde hair disheveled, to reveal a woman still drunk on orgasmic pleasure.

The contents of the box are one of the film’s many mysteries (when asked what is inside, Buñuel would reply, “Whatever you want there to be”). Yet the greatest enigma is Séverine herself: why does she recoil from the slightest sexual advance from her husband yet lose herself, both in fantasy and in her new line of work, in elaborate masochistic tableaux? “Pierre, it’s your fault too. I can explain everything,” Séverine insists to her husband in the opening fantasy sequence, as she’s being forcibly removed from the landau. But of course, she can’t - and won’t.

As in Repulsion, there are flashbacks to possible childhood trauma in Belle de jour. In one, a man appears to touch a young Séverine inappropriately; in another, she stubbornly refuses the Blessed Sacrament. But unlike in Repulsion, whose final, prolonged shot of a menacing family photo is offered as the root of Carole’s pathology, these scenes in Buñuel’s film are almost non sequiturs, presented not as psychological explanation but as blips in a baroque sexual surrealism.

As Séverine’s reveries and job demands become stranger and more mysterious - in one daydream, she is pelted with thick black mud by Pierre and Husson, who call her “tramp” and “slut”; a ducal client solicits her in the bois de Boulogne to perform in a necrophilic rite - Deneuve retains her porcelain, celestial inscrutability, while simultaneously transforming into an earthbound debauchee, delighting in her own defilement. Madame Anaïs (whose early, shameless flirtation with Séverine - who eventually reciprocates - is the first of the many moments in Deneuve’s filmography that would cement her status as a lesbian icon) touts her new employee’s regal bearing to prospective customers: “[She’s] a little shy, perhaps, but a real aristocrat.”

Séverine’s coworkers, Charlotte (Françoise Fabian) and Mathilde (Maria Latour), are constantly remarking on the impeccable cut and style of her ensembles. Yet what this seemingly untouchable goddess craves most is the brutality of her latest john, the thug Marcel (Pierre Clémenti), a rough with metal teeth, a walking stick that doubles as a shiv, and fetishwear (shiny boots of leather with matching overcoat) that could have been dreamed up in an atelier overseen by Kenneth Anger and Pierre Cardin.

Séverine’s relationship with Marcel will lead to Pierre’s ruin - or does it? The ambiguous ending of Belle de jour suggests that everything that preceded it may have existed only in the heroine’s cracked dreamscape. Like the buzzing box, the film’s final scene is whatever you want it to be.

Yet one thing is certain: Deneuve transcends kink. And despite her misery during the Belle de jour shoot, she would return for even more bizarre treatment three years later in Buñuel’s Tristana, losing both her virtue and a leg.

Almost 55 years after it was made Belle de Jour continues to be a compelling film. It takes on greater curiosity for me as I live in Paris and there are Séverines aplenty that I come across. But the film also speaks to a non-French audience even today as it remains a shrewd commentary on the hypocrisy of social relations and sexual politics. Buñuel invites us to ponder the transgression of a socially respectable woman secretly being a prostitute in the afternoons, but I don’t think he bothered to pose the question why a socially respectable gentleman should be secretly visiting a prostitute in the afternoons - which happens more than one might think and that behaviour is normalised. Something to think about.

[moonbeamwritings]

a parisian date with tendou

pairing: timeskip!satori tendou x gn!reader

wc: 1.4k

warnings: none

the poem referenced at the end is “Les Amoureux” By Madeleine De Scudéry

← prev. date | next date →

“My babbbyyyy,” Satori sing-songs, arms spread wide to greet you at the airport. “My baby’s here!”

You all but slam into his chest and within seconds he’s lifting your feet from the floor, twirling you around as he presses dozens of little kisses wherever he can reach. Satori lets out a pleased sigh as he squeezes you closer, crushing you into a hug. 

“I missed you so much.”

You capture his cheeks in your palms and plant a sweet kiss on his lips. “I missed you more.”

He returns you to your feet, but doesn’t let you slip away so easily. As you start to walk towards the exit, Satori loops his arm around your shoulders, tugging you close until no space remains between you. “Nuh-uh. Not possible. I almost withered away and died without your kisses!”

“You sound like Tinker Bell,” you tease, pinching his cheek.

Satori puffs his chest out a bit as you stop to wait for your cab to pull up. “We’re the same, her and I. We understand each other.”

The two of you make idle chit-chat as you push your weight into his side, his arm curled tightly around your waist, occasionally exchanging kisses to keep Satori alive.

When the cab finally pulls up, Satori is quick to pull your suitcase from your palm and the backpack from your shoulders, carefully packing them into the back of the car. Snapping the trunk of the taxi shut, Satori grins at you eagerly. “Are you ready for a Valentine’s Day in Paris, baby?”

The Valentine’s Day festivities start with a trip to the bakery down the road. On the walk there, Satori tells you he comes nearly once a day for a coffee and to gossip with the sweet older woman who owns the place. Apparently, he started watching her cat in exchange for French lessons and now they’re a dynamic duo. 

She gushes when the bell over the door signals Satori’s arrival, reaching across the counter to smooch both his cheeks. And when she locks eyes with you, she gives you much the same treatment, excitedly rambling in French.

Unfamiliar with the language, all you can do is smile and nod as Satori responds in stride. It flows from his tongue with practiced ease, hands moving animatedly as he gestures to you and then to the display case. You catch a thank you and a chocolate croissant order somewhere in there, but that’s where your French knowledge starts and ends.

When she turns to pull the treats he ordered from the glass display case, Satori worms his arm around your waist, brimming with pride. “She said you’re very beautiful, and she’s mad that I haven’t brought you around before.”

“You talk about me?”

His grin only grows. “Of course I do! Nicolette knows everything.” He pinches your side. “Even about all the times you’ve drooled all over my pillows.”

Scandalized, you reel back. “You didn’t.”

A kiss lands on the crown of your head in an attempt to soothe you. You can feel Satori’s smile against your hair. “I’m kidding. She thinks you’re un ange — an angel.”

Your cheeks burn as he pulls away and takes the box of treats from Nicolette. You both give your thanks, and she tells Satori to bring you back in before you leave. With a promise that he will, you set off to eat your pastries in the park.

Bellies full to bursting with fresh pastries and with sunshine warming your cheeks, Satori brings you to what he calls hidden gems. The streets bustle with life as he brings you first to a bookstore with old wooden floors and a creaky staircase that leads to shelves of vintage books that stretch far above your heads. 

Satori plucks a thin book with a red spine and gold lettering from the shelf and smiles. Long, lithe fingers flick through the different pages, his eyes scanning over the letters. In the silence, you crowd his space, peering over the top of the book to catch a peek at the yellowing pages. 

When his eyes meet yours, he taps the tip of your nose. “They’re love poems.”

“Since when are you a poetry kinda guy?”

He tucks the book under his arm and takes your hand. “Mm,” Satori fixes you with a gaze you can only describe as sweet before he leans in to kiss you. “I’m feeling inspired.”

The next “hidden gem” is a tacky, over-the-top souvenir shop close to the heart of the city. It’s jam-packed with tourists, all standing shoulder to shoulder as they peruse the Eiffel Tower-shaped hat options and the gaudy shirts with Paris plastered across the front with an Eiffel Tower as the “A”.

“This is a hidden gem?” You ask, cringing at the neon pink lettering of the shirt in front of you.

“Maybe not hidden,” Satori corrects, plopping one of the hats on your head, “but definitely a gem.”

The moment you’re able to, he crams you into the photo booth in the far corner, taking a little photo with a poorly designed Parisian border, one decorated with baguettes and berets and bright red hearts. In it, he’s squishing your cheeks in his palm to give you a fish face and pushing his nose into your cheek, lips puckered.

You leave that store with a keychain that proudly displays the new photo and a design that reads, “the city of love” plastered in sparkly black font below it.

Satori’s tour of Paris continues with a brief stop at his work for chocolate. There, a photo of the two of you together is pinned on the family cork board behind the counter. And as Satori puts his order in, his co-workers threaten to steal you away from him, friendly affection for your boyfriend glimmering in their smiles and hidden in their jokes.

Next, he brings you to a quiet rose garden tucked away from the hustle and bustle; a spot where you spend a quiet moment, munching on delicious chocolates and taking a break from the onslaught of tourists.

“Act natural.”

“What?”

With the dull snap of a stem, Satori tucks a soft pink, and thankfully thornless, garden rose behind your ear. Once it’s perched in its new spot, he presses a kiss to the shell of your ear before whispering, “You’re really not supposed to pick the flowers.” He pushes a stray hair away from your face, jostling the rose a bit as he does. “But I think they can make a Valentine’s exception, don’tcha think?”

After a long day filled with food and little shops and the warmth of Satori’s hand in your own, the whirlwind tour of his new home city comes to an end at the base of the Eiffel Tower at ten o’clock at night. Tourists and locals alike still meander about, sharing kisses beneath the twinkling landmark, but the cool night air has quieted the sidewalks, giving you a moment of peace. 

The moon sits high and bright in the sky, as you curl up between Satori’s legs, his chin hooked over your shoulder as he reads from the love poems book resting in your lap. Love settles and blooms between your ribs as beams of moonlight decorate the pages and kiss Satori’s fingers where they curl around the book. Your hand moves on its own, coming up to circle his wrist, rubbing a soothing thumb into his skin.

Satori’s voice travels on the breeze, the French rolling from his tongue in soft lilts — a poetry reading just for you. “... Les indifférents n'ont qu'une âme; Mais lorsqu'on aime, on en a deux.”

The concluding line is punctuated with a beat of silence and a kiss to the plush of your cheek.

“What does it mean?” You ask quietly, as if speaking any louder will shatter the moment.

He rereads the poem, kissing your temple every few lines. “... The indifferent have but one soul,” he translates, “but when you love, you have two.”

You nuzzle your cheek into his before turning in his arms, capturing his jaw in your palm and leaning in for a kiss. It feels like a promise, a press of your lips with a sense of finality. At that moment, you decide you never want to do this with anyone else.

“I love you,” you tell him the moment you part.

He regards you with honeyed affection, snuggling close to peck your nose and then your cheek before finally meeting your lips again. As the light of the Eiffel Tower casts his face in pretty, amber shadows, he assures you, “I love you more.”

[archivist-crow]

On this day:

CONNECTED

On September 14, 1966, two British sisters visiting New York City for the first time queued up at the airport for over an hour to get a taxi. Amazingly, as they got in the cab, their driver, a complete stranger, asked them about their actor cousin, Guy Middleton, who had performed in New York thirty years earlier. The cabbie used to take him to and from the theater nightly. The girls had spoken to Middleton two days earlier as they were leaving London, and he had asked them to say hello to New York for him; he had many good friends there.

In September, 1891, Dr. Amie Guinard, a surgeon in Paris, France, awoke with a stabbing toothache and decided to get up to finish a paper he was writing on the surgical treatment of stomach cancer. In the morning he went to the dentist down the street, whom he had met once, six months earlier. When Guinard entered the clinic, the surprised dentist told Guinard that he had spent all the previous night dreaming of him. Guinard hoped they were pleasant dreams, but no; the dentist had dreamed that he had cancer of the stomach and that Guinard was going to operate.

In 1967, Constable Peter Moscardi of Essex, U.K., gave his phone number to a friend. But he had accidentally got a number wrong and was unable to get in touch with the friend to change it. Nights later, Moscardi was in the industrial park and noticed a factory door open and a light on inside. As he entered, the telephone rang, and Moscardi answered it. It was his friend calling the wrong number to speak with Moscardi.

In 1992, in Dover, England, a woman, looking at a staff list, mistakenly called her coworker by dialing his payroll identification number instead of his home phone number. He answered, shocked that she had found him; he had been shopping, and the number she had mistakenly dialed turned out to be the number of the payphone he happened to be standing by at that moment.

Text from: Almanac of the Infamous, the Incredible, and the Ignored by Juanita Rose Violins, published by Weiser Books, 2009

[zaynahfrozenfrost]

When We Met

Timothée Chalamet x Reader

I had gone on a vacation in France for one month with 2 of my friends, Sally and Emma. It has always been a dream of mine to see Paris one day and it felt amazing to fulfill that dream of mine. Me and my friends were going on Eurail Pass to France. I was running late, as usual and when I got close to the train, a beautiful stranger held my hand and took me to the train. He had brunette hair, beautiful eyes and had a tall, fine figure. Overall, he was charismatic and alluring. I was awestruck by his appearance. Later, I found my friends.

"Where were you? What took you so long to arrive?" Emma asked.

"I was confused with the location and became late. But you won't believe who I saw." I told her.

"Who is it? Is he someone we know?" Sally asked, looking surprised.

"That person was a beautiful stranger, none of us know him. His appearance was so pleasing I almost forgot about everything else. His image is stuck to my heart." I said.

"Oh my god, you may think I'm a lunatic, but I think he's THE one for you." Sally said.

"I think the same as well, that alluring stranger and you would be PERFECT together." Emma added.

"You guys are actual lunatics, I might never meet the stranger again. Let's just stop manifesting the future and focus on the present." I said to them

2 hours and 30 minutes later, we arrived to France. It was really nice, the weather was appealing and later, we grabbed a cab and went to the Club Inn hotel. Me and my friends rested till noon. We changed and went to lunch. Emma booked a table for us in a really fancy restaurant. The restaurant's receptionist said some other people were sitting on it. When we went to that table, my jaw dropped because the beautiful stranger was one of the people sitting there. They told us to sit with them. Later, I got to know that his name was Timothée and he told me he's an actor. I've heard his name numerous times but I never knew how he looked like. We got along so well that we decided to exchange numbers. He told me he's going to give me and my friends a tour in France since we barely know anyone here. He was so sweet and I can't wait to meet him again!

I might make this into 2-3 parts depending on where the story is going. I hope you enjoyed reading this fanfic even though it's not that good.

[hanisdaisys]

FINALLY OVER L.HS

Pairing!: Lee heeseung!XF.reader! ( mention of sunghoon x F!reader also)

Word count!: 2.5K

Summary! : “You don’t understand! I don’t care if he yelled at you! He’s my friend, you can’t say that to him” he raised his voice at you as tears filled your eyes. “Hee… he said horrible things about me, I can’t let them happen don’t you understand!” You said tears slowly forming in your eyes. You didn’t know what hurted more, the feeling or your heart slowly breaking apart or the feeling of your boyfriends of 7 years picking his new friends over you. “You need to know your limits. I’m so done with dealing with you!” Heeseung said, making a loud noise with his chair and walking away. You heard the front door shut hard as you cried at the table. You would’ve never guessed he would’ve picked his friends over you.

“You don’t understand! I don’t care if he yelled at you! He’s my friend, you can’t say that to him!” He raised his voice at you as tears filled your eyes. “Hee... he said horrible things about me. I can’t let that happen, don’t you understand?” you said, tears slowly forming. You didn’t know what hurt more—the feeling of your heart slowly breaking or your boyfriend of seven years choosing his new friends over you.“You need to know your limits. I’m so done with dealing with you!” Heeseung said, slamming his chair back and storming off. You heard the front door shut hard as you cried at the table. You would’ve never guessed he’d pick his friends over you.

high school. Heeseung was the main player on the basketball team, and you were just a classmate who caught his interest. At first, it was awkward. You’d stay silent when you were paired for work until he began praising everything you did. Slowly, you felt more comfortable and were able to open up. Heeseung fell in love with that part of you—the carefree side that did what she wanted without worrying about what others thought.

Gradually, you two went on dates, stayed over at each other’s houses, and started walking around hand-in-hand, always close to one another. But when college came, Heeseung chose to study in the States while you went overseas to Paris. Over time, the distance drove you apart. Mornings for him were nights for you. After a while, you no longer had the energy to stay up late waiting for his calls or wake up in the middle of the night to answer him. You’d call occasionally, but most of the time, it felt like you didn’t have a boyfriend at all.

Heeseung’s friends hated the situation. When they’d go to bars, he’d be stuck sitting alone at the table while his friends hit on every girl they could find. They’d encourage him to talk to a girl or dance with one, saying you wouldn’t know anyway. Heeseung always thought about it before rejecting the idea after a few minutes. During the months you were away, he grew quite close to his friends. They were there for him when he needed them, spending time with him whenever he felt bored or down. Eventually, they replaced you.

Those nights when you stayed up trying to call him, he wouldn’t answer, only texting back with something like, “Out with the boys, call back in an hour or two.” You were understandably upset, staying awake for your boyfriend while he gave zero effort in return. Eventually, you stopped trying so often to see if he would reach out to you—and he didn’t.

After a few weeks of this miserable pattern, spring break finally arrived, and you could go home to your friends—and maybe to Heeseung. You had texted him a week prior, telling him you’d be at the airport around 10 a.m., to which he replied with a simple "okay." So, you booked a cab home, but he hadn’t bothered to meet you or even check in with you.

The next day, you went out with your brother. You needed some new clothes, and he was the only one available to go with you. You both went to the mall, entering various stores until your brother needed to use the restroom. While waiting for him, you heard a familiar voice echoing through the mall. “Hee! I missed you so much! How are you?” you said, moving in for a hug, but Heeseung didn’t even try to hug you back. “Heeseung… is this why you held back on the girls at the clubs? Poor you,” his friend blurted out as you let go of him.

You stepped back, waiting for Heeseung to respond, but he remained quiet. “Seriously, Heeseung, you’re not going to say anything? These are the asshole friends you chose while I was gone? Wow, I’m really disappointed in your poor taste,” you said, waiting for a reply. “Talk to you later, Y/N,” Heeseung muttered, walking away without defending you. You looked back as his friends laughed at you and walked off. You had never felt so humiliated.

Your brother, Jay, came back from the restroom and, seeing your face, immediately decided it would be best to go home. Jay often teased you and found joy in annoying you, but when it came to others hurting you, even with the smallest joke, he wasn’t okay with it. He’d do anything to protect you. Without asking any questions, he drove you home in silence, making sure you weren’t too lost in your emotions.

Back at home, you received a message from Heeseung. “Hey, sorry about today…” dot dot dot, followed by another message. “Save it, Heeseung, I don’t want to hear it,” you replied. His typing stopped for a moment before he sent another message. “Let’s meet tomorrow to talk this out, please,” he said. You thought about it for a few minutes before replying with a thumbs up.

When the next day came, you really tried to keep your composure as you saw Heeseung sweetly talking to the barista while ordering your drinks. You walked in and sat down in front of him. “Hi…” Heeseung said, to which you replied with a simple nod.

“About yesterday… I won’t apologize to you because you insulted my friends too,” he said, playing with his straw.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Heeseung? Your friend implied that I was a lame girl for waiting around for you, and YOU didn’t even defend me. I had to stand up for myself. I don’t know how you became such a jerk, seriously.” You were tired of his lame excuses.

“You don’t understand! I don’t care if he yelled at you. He’s my friend, and you can’t talk to him like that,” Heeseung raised his voice at you as tears began to fill your eyes. It was the first time, in all the years you’d been together, that he’d ever raised his voice.

“Hee… he said horrible things about me, and I can’t just let that happen. Don’t you understand?” Tears were now falling freely from your eyes. You didn’t know what hurt more—the feeling of your heart slowly breaking or the realization that your boyfriend of seven years was choosing his new friends over you.

“You need to know your limits. I’m so done with this,” Heeseung said, making a loud noise as he pushed his chair back and stormed out. You heard the café door slam as you sat at the table, crying. You would’ve never guessed he would choose his friends over you.

That day, you went home with a heavy heart. You didn’t know how to act. In your mind, just having someone to call your own had been enough to make you happy, but now that part was taken away, and you felt empty inside. Like someone had punched through the thick skin in front of your heart and ripped half of it out. With what little energy you had left, you opened your phone, quickly blocked his number and social media accounts, and deleted everything that reminded you of him. It felt surreal—the boyfriend you had for as long as you could remember had replaced you so quickly. Even if you didn’t want to think this way, you realized that maybe he wasn’t the right one after all.

As the days passed, you slowly started to pull yourself back together. Whenever you felt sad or upset, you used that energy to better yourself. Somehow, losing him motivated you more than ever. Your flight back to Paris was the next day. Your luggage was already packed, along with a box of Heeseung’s things. You pulled out a small piece of paper and started writing:

-

For Heeseung,

Even though I never wished for this parting, maybe it’s for the best... There are nights when I still think about you, but you threw me away. I sometimes think about the days we had together—when we went to the beach, when you protected me, when we’d eat after school—and I laugh. Where did we go wrong? Was it because I left? I feel so foolish for loving you… I cared so much about you, and you were my everything. I loved you so much, and yet I still wasn’t enough to keep you. It’s kind of funny because you were always my first choice. I’d call you instead of sleeping, hoping you’d keep me around... but I guess life doesn’t go the way you want it to. I’m sorry. Now, I can finally let you go. It’s over, Heeseung. Please don’t contact me. Leave my things at the door—my mom will pick them up.

Thank you for those seven years. Clearly, we weren’t meant to be.

Y/N Y/LN

-

You slipped the letter into the box and sealed it shut.

The next morning, you woke up early and drove to his house. You felt like doing one last thing, so you dropped off the box and placed some chrysanthemums on top. You always liked flowers, and these particular ones symbolized goodbye—the end of a phase. You rang the doorbell and quickly got back into your car. A few tears escaped your eyes as you started the engine and drove away. You wondered what Heeseung thought, how he felt, and whether he was even impacted by your decision.

When you boarded the plane, you put on your headphones and dozed off, ignoring the possibility that this might be the last time you’d ever see him. Finally, you would be free.

The next day, your mom called you to say that Heeseung had dropped off a letter instead of your items. Confused, you told her to just leave it in your room, promising to read it when you came back.

Funny enough, you never did. You ended up staying in Paris for the next five years. You met a wonderful guy there named Sunghoon. His feelings were genuine, and he was truly the best person you had ever met. There’s a saying that you’ll never forget your first love, and unfortunately, it’s true. You still thought about Heeseung sometimes, wondering how he was doing. But Sunghoon had proposed to you, and now you were planning to return to Korea so he could meet your parents.

You felt a little nervous about being back—it had been so long, and everything felt unfamiliar. Thankfully, both Sunghoon and your parents got along well, and the wedding was planned for December, just before Sunghoon’s birthday. While you were back, you decided to look for houses and places to settle down. You found a small loft not far from your parents, cozy and perfect for you and Sunghoon.

One morning, you decided to buy some groceries with him. "Hey, babe, I’ll go grab some snacks, okay?” Sunghoon said as you nodded. You watched his figure disappear into the aisles and continued picking out fresh fruit. “Y/N…” you suddenly heard a familiar voice. You turned around to see Heeseung, standing there in shock.

“Heeseung…” you said, feeling a rush of emotions as he walked closer.

“It really is you! I missed you so much. I tried contacting you, even dropped off a letter! Did you read it? Do you still feel the same?” he said desperately, clinging to your cart. Right… the letter. You had forgotten all about it so long ago.

“Heeseung, I’m—” you started, but were cut off.

“There you are! I got your favorites. You’ll probably eat more now that you’re pregnant,” Sunghoon said, dropping some jellies into the cart.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there… Do you need any help?” Sunghoon asked politely, addressing Heeseung.

“No… You’re pregnant?” Heeseung asked, stepping back as the realization hit him.

“Sorry, do I know you?” you asked one last time before turning away, pulling Sunghoon with you. As you walked away, you turned back one last time to see Heeseung, frozen in place, watching as you left with Sunghoon's hand in yours.

You checked out the groceries and let Sunghoon know you’d be making a quick stop home before heading back to your loft. Your mom was confused but allowed you to run into your room. You rummaged through the drawers until you found a small letter addressed to you, similar to Heeseung’s handwriting.

-

My lovely Y/N,

I read your letter, and I’ve finally come to my senses. I am so sorry for the way I treated you and for letting my friends speak to you the way they did. I wish I would’ve kept closer contact with you. Every day without you felt like a curse, and instead of trying to fix it, I let my emotions consume me. I should’ve taken better care of you and never let you go.

I’ve spent so much time reflecting on our relationship, and I realize now how much you truly mean to me. You were my rock, my support, and I failed to appreciate you when I had the chance. I took for granted the love you gave so freely. I let my friends influence me, and I’m deeply ashamed for not standing up for you.

You are the one I’ve always wanted, the one I envisioned a future with. It hurts to know that I pushed you away when I should have fought for you. I understand if you think otherwise, but I genuinely believe we are meant for each other. I’ll wait for you right here, whenever you’re ready. I hope you’ll consider meeting me again in Korea. I want to show you how much I’ve changed and how dedicated I am to making things right between us.

Please remember the good times we shared—the laughter, the adventures, the love. Those moments mean everything to me, and I still believe they can be our future if you let me prove myself. I love you so much, and I’m truly sorry for hurting you.

I’ll be waiting, my dear Y/N.

Forever yours,

Lee Heeseung

-

Tears escaped your eyes as you read the letter. This bastard was too late. He should’ve protected you when you needed it the most, not after you had left. You dried your tears, placing one hand over your belly as you went back to Sunghoon. You kissed him on the lips, vowing to never think about Heeseung again. He didn’t deserve that part of you anymore. You finally had the life you dreamed of, and you wouldn’t let Heeseung take it away.

THE END.

[purplebass]

The Element of Surprise - Matthtober 2023

Hi all! A little late, but here's my entry fic for @matthtober-2023 💙 It is Matthew's POV of the Thomastair fic where they have to dogsit Oscar. We see where Matthew went and who he met in Paris and there's a bit of Thomastair and Matthew and Alastair banter in this fic.

“There you are. I was worried you’d forgotten,” Matthew chirped at the two people outside his apartment door, not bothering to let them in. “I’m quite late for the train,” he added. “I thought I said nine, and it’s past nine –” 

“You said half past nine, Fairchild,” Alastair argued. “Well, according to my clock, it is ten minutes after nine. We are on time.”

Matthew shrugged nonchalantly and grabbed his luggage with one hand and his dog Oscar with the other. “If you say so.”

“I’m not saying so, the clock is saying so,” Alastair said. “And you said so in your three fire messages. Too bad I’ve thrown them into the fire, or I would’ve showed you the evidence.”

“I didn’t know you paid attention while I talked.”

Alastair raised his eyebrows and sighed. He was about to reply to Matthew, but Thomas interjected. “Come on, you’ll lose the train if you keep arguing about the time,” he patted Matthew’s shoulder, and he finally went out of his apartment, passing in between his friends with his dog on a leather leash.

Thomas and Alastair looked at each other, and followed him outside. The air was crisp, the street still bore the signs of the storm that had bothered the city the night before. Matthew stopped in front of a hansom cab and told the driver to wait, and turned to his dog.

“Oscar. Your father is going to Paris for a few days,” he cooed. “Unfortunately, I can’t take you with me, because Angel forbid dogs can’t attend fashion shows.” Alastair grumbled in the background, said something like “I thought you were late,” but Matthew ignored him. “So I have to leave you with these handsome chaps. You know them both. There is Thomas, who is your friend already. And there’s Alastair,” he took a pause, “who might be your friend. Do not ruin his carpets if you don’t like him, but you can totally eat his ties –”

“Matthew,” Alastair said gravely. “Give me the dog and leave.”

Matthew smiled at his dog and then he turned to his friends. “See, Oscar? Alastair is already brimming with excitement to take you out and clean after you do your business.”

Alastair rolled his eyes as Matthew finally passed the leash to him. Oscar observed Alastair and smelled his pants, then turned to his owner when he greeted them one last time and got into the cab. 

Matthew didn’t like to leave Oscar, but he knew that at least the dog would stay with people he trusted. Yes, even Carstairs. To an outsider they may look like a cat and a dog not getting along, but it was just a farce. He knew Oscar would have fun.

The train to Paris was delayed, and Matthew found himself in the city of lights a few hours later than planned. He couldn’t attend the first salon show he had booked because of this, but never mind. There was more than one show. He couldn’t complain to anyone, though, because this city was always in a rush, and people seemed annoyed by small talk. Time was money.

Time was precious indeed, and Matthew had to change his suit as soon as he entered his lavish room at the hotel where he was staying, because he didn’t want to smell like the train. He eventually made it to the Palace of Versailles where the second event was going to happen. This one, unlike the others, featured a fashion show with models. It was a smart way to let the customers see all the looks and then see in detail those that caught their eye.

Matthew walked briskly to his front seat with a brochure in hand, but instead of reading the program, he used it to fan himself. 

“Quite different from London, right?”

In the time Matthew turned his blonde waves toward the voice who had just spoken, he realized to whom it belonged. “Must be the position,” he offered the woman a pleased grin. “We are more South after all. Maybe the perturbation that worried our country last night will head here next.”

“It would be hilarious if it did,” she said, exchanging smiles. “One of the shows I have to attend is in an Italian garden. Imagine the rain falling suddenly and drenching the poor posh people who came from everywhere just to buy clothes.”

“I would like to see that,” Matthew laughed softly. “I never thought we would be meeting here.”

“Esme, the name is Esme,” she blurted cheerfully. “I did. I know you like fashion.”

Matthew nodded. “Yes, I do remember you, Esme,” he replied. “We often frequent the same circles, you see. And now even fashion circles. Out of my friends, only Anna likes fashion. Ah, and probably Alastair,” he sighed. “But they are so boring when it comes to clothes. They do not go out of their black comfort zone.”

Esme smiled again, and she blushed. “I never thought you paid attention to me,” she mumbled, moving her gaze to the guests who were searching for a seat. “I wouldn’t consider myself part of a fashion circle, not at all.”

“Then are you here out of curiosity? Paris is one of the pillars of women’s fashion, after all.”

“I’m here because of my mother,” she explained. “You see, this seat was hers. She had another event she had to attend, but didn’t want to waste the opportunity to take a peek into the new trends.”

“Oh, so she sent you in her stead. Clever.”

“Yes,” she nodded. “She also told me to order the gowns I think are good for her, but I…”

“I remember your mother,” Matthew said. “I could help you, if you want? And maybe suggest something you can order for yourself.”

Esme’s smile widened, and the pink on her cheeks deepened. “Yes, I would love that.”

Matthew exchanged the grin, and the conversation quieted because the orchestra had just started playing. The show was about to begin.

A few days later, Matthew was exhausted even if he didn’t do much aside from examining and choosing new suits and ties and shoes to add to his wardrobe. Picking out fashion items was tiring, but it was fun, especially when you weren’t alone. 

He ended up meeting Esme Hardcastle at every other show he had booked, and the two resorted to spending time together because they both came by themselves. Matthew didn’t mind being alone, because he could always find company if he desired. But being with someone he knew, even if barely, was better. Somehow, it made him more comfortable when he was traveling. It was like having a piece of your home country with yourself. 

He had to admit, Esme was a cheerful and bright woman. She liked to talk about different topics, but she enjoyed it when people inquired about her family tree project. 

“How should I write you on the family tree?” she had asked him. 

“Just write my name and surname? I’m too young to think about marriage,” he chuckled.

“I never mentioned marriage.”

“No, but you told me you asked people about their plans. Whether they will get married soon, whether they have kids,” he had shrugged. “I don’t plan on either of those things,” he smiled. “At least for the time being.”

“You’re a dog dad,” she nodded and scribbled something on her notebook. “Noted.”

Matthew thought Esme was disappointed, but he never had time to ask her because the day after he went back to London. He was sure they would have chances to speak again. 

As he thought about what he did with Esme during those days, he decided to get Oscar from Cornwall Gardens on the way back from the station. For some reason, her last words to him stuck. She had called him dog dad, and he knew it was true. He sent a fire message to Thomas to make sure they were home, so he could embrace his dog.  

“I thought you were in Paris,” Thomas answered the door. “I mean, I thought you would be back tomorrow morning.”

“They canceled a show due to the bad weather,” he explained, letting himself in. “How did it go? Was Oscar good?”

“I believe you’ll have to see for yourself,” Thomas said. 

“What? Did he break a vase? Did he tear one of Alastair’s shirts apart?”

Thomas led him to the living room. “Even better,” he lowered his voice as he opened the door. 

Matthew frowned, wondering what Oscar could’ve done, until he saw the scene. Oscar was perched on the sofa, sleeping quietly. This wouldn’t have been weird at all, but what made Matthew gasp in surprise was on who Oscar was leaning. His head was on Alastair’s leg, and he was resting as well, one hand on the dog’s back. But he wasn’t jealous, just amused.

“What in the world,” he muttered. “Oscar!” he called, and the dog instantly raised his head and left the sofa to come to him, flapping his tail happily. “Yes, yes, I missed you too,” he stroked his fur.

“You are early,” Alastair grunted from the sofa, rubbing his sleepy eyes. 

“I believe in the element of surprise,” Matthew declared. “And perhaps you do too.”

“Well, I don’t, but what can I do?” he scoffed, but he was grinning. “Is it really shocking that Oscar likes me?”

Matthew shrugged, a smile tugging at his lips. “I might leave Oscar here more often.”

“He’s welcome to sleep on my leg whenever he wants,” Alastair admitted, and Oscar barked. “I do think he agrees.”

“Did you meet someone interesting in France?” Thomas wondered, and Matthew’s mind went back to Esme.

“You wouldn’t believe…” he began, and he told them about his Parisian experience. He would send a fire message to Esme, at least to see if she returned home safely. But not today, tomorrow. Today he would be a dog dad and spend the remaining time of the day with Oscar.

*

This story is called "element of surprise" because Matthew is surprised of finding Esme in Paris and getting along with her but at the same time, he's amused that Oscar likes Alastair so much. I hope you can tell that Matthew and Alastair are joking, they like to banter like that. lol.

Also: fashion shows/weeks in Paris as we know them weren't a thing until the 1970's, but bear with me. I do believe there might have been fashion expositions where rich people like Matthew would go check the new trends

[mycrofts-sword-gunbrella]

Interesting history of the English Brolly

The Public Shaming of England’s First Umbrella User

This pioneer of weather management was pelted with insults and trash.

Jonas Hanway walking into the rain, with—controversially—an umbrella. (Photo: Bettmann/Getty Images)

IN THE EARLY 1750S, AN Englishman by the name of Jonas Hanway, lately returned from a trip to France, began carrying an umbrella around the rainy streets of London.

People were outraged. Some bystanders hooted and jeered at Hanway as he passed; others simply stared in shock. Who was this strange man who seemed not to care that he was committing a social sin?

Hanway was the first man to parade an umbrella unashamed in 18th-century England, a time and place in which umbrellas were strictly taboo. In the minds of many Brits, umbrella usage was symptomatic of a weakness of character, particularly among men. Few people ever dared to be seen with such a detestable, effeminate contraption. To carry an umbrella when it rained was to incur public ridicule. 

Umbrellas on the streets of Paris, in this 1803 painting by Louis-Léopold Boilly. (Photo: Public Domain)

Jonas Hanway, always stubborn, paid little attention to the social stigma. An eccentric man, he was no stranger to controversy—he fervently opposed the introduction of tea into England, at one point penning an “Essay Upon Tea and Its Pernicious Consequences” (1756). He published four books on the development of British trade in the Caspian Sea, leading 20th-century scholar Charles Wilson to call him “one of the most indefatigable and splendid bores of English history.” 

Over the years, Hanway and his umbrella fell victim to all sorts of abuse from Brits he passed on the sidewalk. The most pernicious abuse came from an unlikely source: coach drivers. In England at the time, hansom cabs (two-wheeled, horse-drawn carriages) and sedan chairs were the primary modes of transportation. Business boomed especially on rainy days, as both hansom cabs and sedan chairs came equipped with small canopies that kept passengers dry. When it rained, Londoners flocked to these coaches, so Hanway’s umbrella represented a threat to business.

Fearing an interruption in their personal incomes, many hansom cab drivers and sedan chair carriers grew violent toward Hanway. According to the British history magazine Look and Learn, when they saw him walking by, they often “pelted him with rubbish.” On one occasion, a hansom cab driver even tried to run Hanway over with his coach. Hanway reacted by using his umbrella to “give the man a good thrashing.”

Jonas Hanway, Esquire, in 1781. (Photo: Wellcome Images, London/CC BY 4.0)

The coach drivers, of course, were right to be afraid. With Hanway paving the way, the number of people who owned an umbrella crept upward across England. One historian observed that, soon after Hanway’s taboo-busting umbrella use, “in many of the large towns of the Empire, a memory [was] preserved of the courageous citizen who first carried an umbrella.” Almost every English town, in other words, had its own Hanway.

By Hanway’s death in 1786, umbrella usage was on the rise across England. On rainy days, more and more people could be found traversing their cities and towns with umbrellas held proudly above their heads. As a symbol of the changing social norms, people were also becoming less self-conscious about owning umbrellas.

Three months after Hanway died, much to the dismay of London’s coach drivers, an advertisement for umbrellas appeared in the London Gazette. “Gatward’s new invented Umbrella Manufactory,” it read, offered an umbrella capable of being “opened and shut with the greatest ease and facility” by means of an innovative “spring lock pillar.”

The rain-repelling revolution had begun, with the dearly departed Hanway as its pioneer. Not all heroes wear capes, but some carry umbrellas.

Mycroft's reaction to any insults or threats if it had been him instead of Jonas (though he would also give a harasser a sound thrashing as Jonas did with his umbrella!):

Art by sugishi125

[potato-jem]

NERO MY BELOVED SOULMATE BESTIE!!!!

i’m back!!! i took a few weeks off because life has been a lot and i felt like i needed a little break from everything 🥲

how are you?? what have you been up to in these last few weeks?? i missed you so much!! and i have stories to tell!!

so, i went to paris for a week back in october. i don’t know if you knew this, but paris has been plagued by a bug infestation lately, and the week before me and my friend were supposed to leave they also started having bomb alarms around the city. like the day before we left versailles had been evacuated for a bomb (it was a false alarm in the end) so we were kinda scared and worried. but the city was okay and we didn’t have much of a choice so we went. it was amazing!!! the first two days were perfect, the weather was absolutely amazing, freezing but always sunny, and we walked around the classic spots of the city. we had lots of macarons and croissants too. that was always the best part of the day. then on day three we’d booked versailles. on the day before it had been evacuated again for a false alarm so i thought it would be safe, they checked the night before, but well… after we’d been inside one hour the guards started to talk hurriedly to each other and they led us to the exits, we got evacuated. it looked like they were trying not to cause a panic but it didn’t work, also because there were way too many people inside!! it was crazy and scary, but luckily we were okay and we got safely out. and it was another false alarm, luckily. we decided not to let it ruin the whole trip so that night we went to the eiffel tower and had a nice dinner and dessert. then day four was disneyland!!! it was SPECTACULAR!!! nero have you ever been to a disneyland park?? it is everything you could ever hope it to be. it is pure magic, pure happiness. my friend and i felt like we were outside of the universe, it felt like nothing could touch us, like no problem could reach us. we were kids again. we were singing along to all the songs from our childhood and riding all the attractions and posing with princesses and cartoon animals and we bought so many little souvenirs to keep the magic with us. i got a cheshire cat plushie which is now my favorite thing i own. i have absolutely no regrets even if it costed 30 euros. same goes for my minnie’s ears which had a unicorn horn and a rainbow veil (see attached photograph) another 30 bucks, i have worn them only once, and i love them to pieces 😂 anyways, now is where the fun part really starts. we walked out of disneyland at 11pm after the night show (made me cry for 30 minutes straight, totally would recommend) and we had to take a train to get to the underground. well obviously there was a suspicious backpack at the station so it was closed for about 30 minutes to figure out what it was. it was late and our phones were almost dead so we tried to look for a taxi or bus and they’d put up a special bus service to take us to the closest train station, but as you can imagine it was absolutely packed and when we got off my friend noticed that her bag was open and her wallet was gone. we rushed back to the park to see if they’d had it in the last shop where she bought something but nothing, then we rushed back home to call the police and block all the cards, but of course we only got to the champs-elysées and then they kicked us out of the underground because it was closing. again our phones were out of battery so we didn’t even know if the buses were still running or not or how to call a cab, but luckily a cab passed by like two minutes later and we managed to get back to the hotel. and well, the 24h hotel door was closed. we panicked for about 10 minutes and ringed the bell a thousand times before anyone came to open the door. they were “just in the back for a minute” and i mean, fair enough, but on top of everything it was just the last drop.

anyways, the next morning we went to the police and got all the documents we needed to get back to italy and it was okay, it was just a very long wait for a two seconds job so it pissed me off a bit, but still we had a whole day and a half left so we enjoyed it. we had the louvre planned for that afternoon and it was so beautiful. and it was very heartstopping. pun intended 😂 we actually went and looked for every room we saw in the show and stayed about five hours in each one. this is where elle and tao kiss for the first time, it’s the exact place. can you guess how much i cried??

the only thing we couldn’t find was the painting on the stairs where nick talks to elle. i was very upset about that :( but anyways, the next day we came home and all i can say for this trip is wow. it felt like a five months trip somehow 😂 it was tiring and stressful and it tested my anxiety a lot, but honestly it was kind of perfect. this friend i was with is my opposite and my half in a lot of things and somehow we managed to laugh it all off whenever something crazy happened and we still had one of the absolute best trips of my life. i am so happy, i actually am getting a tattoo for our day at disneyland because it feels necessary hehe

and speaking of tattoos, i have a new one to show you!!! i finally got another heartstopper tattoo!!! and it is perfect and my favorite ever ♥️ i’ve wanted this vignette on my skin forever, and every time i see it it reminds me of everything about this story and it makes me so happy

anyways, enough about me!!! i’ve been away from this hellsite for so long, so how are you?? how is life?? i am very eager to catch up!!

i’m sending you a macaron because i am craving them again now (i’ve tried the marie antoniette macaron and i swear to god it feels like drinking a cup of tea, it’s unreal) and a warm tea to drink as you read because i’ve written so damn much, i can’t tell a simple story i missed you so so so much nero <3333

HELLO CECE MY BELOVED SOULMATE BESTIE!!!

it is so wonderful to hear from you!! i missed you so so much!! i was wondering how your trip went!! tbh i have been very on and off this website just because life is so exhausting :') i'm very excited to catch up with what's been happening with you!!

yes! i did hear about the bedbug thing! i had a few friends in paris around the same time and it was also all over the news here (funny that...) but i did not hear about the bomb alarms, that must have been so scary!! oh i can only imagine how lovely the macarons and the croissants were. nothing would be better than the original! i'm glad it was a false alarm and that you all got out safe. that must have been terrifying. AND DISNEYLAND?! cece i have never ever been to a disneyland but it has always been a dream of mine! i think the closest disneyland to me is japan or singapore 😭😭😭 but that's so wonderful to hear that you had such a lovely time!!! what was your favourite ride? any snacks you would recommend?? i would love to see the cheshire cat plushy, it sounds adorable! and the minnie ears!!! i'm obsessed and you're right: buying ears at disneyland is essential, it doesn't matter if you only wear them for the day! and what an end to a good day 😂😂 that sounds so anxiety-inducing, i audibly gasped as i was reading 😂

literally!!! government documents and officials make you wait so long for something that takes so little time!!! it's so fucking frustrating >:( the louvre!!! that would have been so cool, and it would have had extra meaning because of the show!! and i think i would have died a little, looking at the exact spot elle and tao had their first kiss! i don't blame you for crying at all 😂😂

a positive is that you got to see every other painting and iconic place from heartstopper and that's all that matters!! the trip sounded like so much fun, but yes, very draining with all those things not going to plan!! and i'm so glad you went with a friend who would laugh it all off with you and still make sure you guys had a good time!! that would have been so lovely! oh and absolutely you need to get a disneyland tattoo!! that would be perfect!

speaking of perfect, your new tattoo is so cute!!!! i love that panel too and it's just such a good representation of nick and charlie's relationship throughout the series!! and a really good placement too. ugh you always get the best tattoos!

as for me, i've been doing okay!! i have finished university for the year, and i am currently preparing for my exchange (i go to the uk NEXT MONTH! cece that is so crazy) a part of preparing for my exchange is unfortunately working a lot, but i have been rostered every single public holiday coming up so i should be getting a good amount of money before i leave!

and you'll be happy to know that after the christmas/new year's period, i'm going to stop working and have a few weeks of rest before i go!! i'm planning on just catching up with friends before i leave, packing and just actually getting a good night's sleep 😂😂

oh, also! i know you wanted little updates about what was going on in my love life, sooooooo... in the time you've been gone, i managed to get a girlfriend!!! i'm very happy and i have no clue what i am doing at all times, but it's good :)

i'm going to send you a little pavlova (a meringue like dessert australians typically have around christmas time, loaded with fruit and cream) and a little iced tea to go with, because my god, is it hot in australia right now. miss you heaps!!! <3

[lorirwritesfanfic]

Vivid Memories

Book: The Royal Romance/Heir Pairing: Liam Rys x MC (Jade) Rating: T Word count: 1198 Reading time: ~5min Summary: Liam and Jade go out to dance and the night will bring back a fond memory to him. Based on the prompt: @kingliamappreciationweek day five: Friendships/Relationships/AU

Author’s note:

Jade Bourbon is a creation of this author. The others characters are owned by Pixelberry Studios;

The dates and places mentioned in this fic are part of a timeline I came up with to guide myself as I write Liam and Jade's story. Please do not assume this is canon.

Once again, thank you @lizzybeth1986 and @sazanes for hosting King Liam Appreciation Week ❤

Paris, July 2018

City lights illuminated the royal motorcade as Liam gazed out the window and toyed with Jade's wedding band while holding her hand. The last time he was here, he kept wondering if he would come back with her again to have another late night stroll. He wondered if he'd ever be as in love as he was then and if things didn't work out, he'd be happy to back. Every stone in the streets, every tree, every bush, every lock attached to the Pont Des Arts railing, even the waters of the Seine were their witnesses. Every part of city knew how he felt that night. Paris would never be the same to him again.

Fortunately, Paris would know now how much their love had grown and how happy they were to spend the last days of their honeymoon.

"We're here!" Jade cheered as the car rolled to a stop in front of a crowded nightclub.

Liam's forehead creased as he glanced outside. "Is this place, Lucas?"

"Yes, sir," the driver replied.

"Of course it is! There are several pictures of The Weeknd when he was was here yesterday!"

"I don't follow..." The king's brows furrowed in confusion. "How is the weekend a person?"

"It's an artistic name, honey. He's an R&B and Soul singer."

"Oh... Is he good?"

"He is. But do you mind waiting until later for us to expand your knowledge on 2010's music? We're here for a very specific reason."

"As you wish, my love."

With a small signal to his guards, the car door opened and Liam climbed out, extending his hand to Jade so she could do the same. Before the paparazzi could recognize the couple, the King's guard ushered them into the nightclub.

A strange scent reached his nose as he found himself in a dimly lit hallway. Smoke, magenta lights, loud EDM music, murmurs and moans in delight as strangers eagerly explored one another's bodies in darker corners surrounded him. Once in a while, Liam made an effort to join his friends in celebrations at nightclubs and dive bars, but he couldn't say he was very fond of places like this.

Just then, Jade smiled at him, pulling him by the hand. She probably didn't know, but that small gesture meant so much to him.

New York, September 2017

When the cab pulled to a stop before the Kismet, Jade thanked the driver and paid for the ride. Liam's brows furrowed. Perhaps he should've paid the cab. It was the least he could've done after she went through all the trouble of arranging a boat ride to the Statue of Liberty in the middle of the night. Yet, all her actions were so fast paced he could barely keep up. Did all New Yorkers seem to be constantly in a hurry or was it just the ones he had crossed paths with?

Before he knew, they were standing on the sidewalk to walk back into the nightclub. It was a pity they had to return. She was right about that place being the most exclusive nightclub, given the long line still formed outside. But a noisy and crowded nightclub was the last place he wanted to be.

For a moment, he wished he hadn't answered his phone when Drake called to ask where he was. He wished he could've taken Maxwell's suggestion to meet them later at the hotel. Why didn't he seize the opportunity and suggested taking a walk around the city with her? He could've seen the city through her eyes, maybe he could've taken her back home. He just met this enigmatic woman and it was no exaggeration to say he'd gladly spent the rest of the trip getting to know her.

A soft and warm hand then reached for his, bringing him back to reality. As their eyes met, she smiled softly. "Come on! I'm in the mood to dance now."

Was she this excited earlier? Perhaps she was, but he didn't notice it while he watched his friends go straight to the dancefloor to be sure they were having fun.

While Jade guided him back inside, he was surprised they didn't bump into anyone on the way, given how dark the entryway was. As the music grew louder, pink lights reflected on her hair and leather jacket. To follow her, even in a dark hallway, was exhilarating. Somehow, he had this feeling that something good was waiting waiting around the corner.

When they finally reached the dancefloor, the music changed to a pop song not entirely unfamiliar to him.

"Oh, I love this song!" Jade beamed at him and immediately pulled him closer, wrapping her arms around his neck as she sang along.

In any other situation, he would've found a way to politely keep a respectful distance between them. After all, they barely knew each other. Yet, he just didn't. Ever since they kissed on the boat, he yearned to be closer to her, to know the smell of her hair, to figure out the base notes of her perfume, to feel how soft her lips were when they get swollen after searing kisses.

His body moved along with hers, following the upbeat rhythm of the song. As he placed a hand on her waist, she turned away, pressed her back against his chest and kept dancing. Anything similar to this in Cordonia could've cause a huge scandal. But here, it didn't matter if she took the lead, if their steps weren't perfectly choreographed, if she was way too close than his security detail would allow any stranger to be. He was free to do as he pleased. And right now, nothing was more pleasant than this.

As his hand slowly roamed across her stomach to keep her closer, a part of him still wondered if he wasn't taking advantage of the situation. The last thing he wanted was to disrespect her limits.

"Is this okay?" He murmured in her ear.

Smiling, she looked back at him, placed her hand over his, intertwining their fingers.

"It's more than okay."

With that, his shoulders relaxed. Somehow, following his own whims had brought him more joy than any other moment he followed his friends suggestions. Perhaps, it wouldn't be so bad to be a little reckless for one night.

Paris, July 2018

The dark and crowded hallway, once again, was no match to Jade's eagerness to dance. A mix of joy and pride rose inside his chest. To see his wife happy was always a pleasure, but to know he made her happy was something else entirely.

As soon as they stepped into the dancefloor, the song changed to Into You. Her smile grew wider.

"Oh, this song!"

"The song of our very first dance at Kismet," he added.

Jade's eyes softened as she looked back at him and pulled him into a tight hug. "You remembered..."

"I do. Quite vividly, I must say," he murmured.

"Mmmm... How vividly are we talking about?" She asked with a mischievous smile.

His arms encircled her waist as they started to dance. "Enough to cause a scandal," he whispered. "Perhaps this is something we can discuss further at our hotel suite?"

"I'll hold you to that, my king."

[yorkshiregirlwrites]

Cher ami,

I hardly know what to make of France: for having seen hardly any of it, I am quite sure that I have never read a true account: and you may say: but Voltaire’s Satires and Rousseau’s Commentaries are done with such great Intent and Opinion, that they hardly reflect the reality but what is inscribed in their Mind’s Eye. O but if Voltaire or Rousseau had but lived in the France of my present experience, then I am sure the eye of their minds and indeed of their faces should have been half blinded! My voyage is to be through some invention of a Madman who imagining a Country, so filled it with wonders and curiosities, that it is half a Circus. 

My Remise at Calais, hired with no difficulty for the street was bedazzled by their line of extraordinary top-lantern, made such a pace to Paris, even without the animal assistance of a horse-troupe, that I was arrived by hardly midnight, and for such a miraculous journey, was charged perhaps half of my Pocket. I had my note-book, and the Cocher, the Coachman perceiving it, he asked if I spoke French; I replied that I did rather well; and so we conversed, but in such a strange and colloquial French, that I hardly knew it at all! – O what are we taught by our governesses but rigorous grammar and archaic forms, which cannot make head nor tail of a Calais coachman, any more than a Frenchman reading the Works of Shakespeare, may comprehend our London cab-drivers!

Where have I left you? – Oh! the hotel. I see from the absolute proliferation of street-lamps and illuminated signs, that the French are right to call the Enlightenment: the Siècle des Lumières. My hotel was announced to me by such a sign: and the entrance was so bright, that I must go blinking into it. J’ai une réservation, said I consulting my note-book; and offering my name and provenance. – Voici vos clés, said my Hôtelier, who handed me not my key but a little blank card. I did not however question his French; rather I cast all of my own into doubt; and went for want of language, in the indicated direction. The door was opened through a clever manipulation of this card; and accompanied by another of those interminable Lights. – Such was the speed at which I had been rushed to Paris, that quite exhausted on the carriage’s behalf, I collapsed onto the bed; and here I write; and await the newspapers I have asked to be sent up.

Here they are. I must leave you a short while, cher ami, –

Well! how curious, that all we know of the French has been so domesticated for our benefit, that we hardly even know they reckon the years differently! For I had hardly looked at the first publication, when I saw the date: 17 octobre 2023. I do not know how it is calculated; but I am sure they are Catholic in France; and that no Christian calendar makes such a discrepancy between 2023 and the Year of Our Lord 1772!!

O I am quite baffled: which I think is the effect France has on everyone. I must presently leave you: and determine if I may, what manner of unholy crinkling bird was stuffed to make this pillow.

---- Ton ami

[aroundtheworldwithphillyfogg]

Fogg and Passepartout leave London

(This is the fourth book post today. First post, second post, third post)

Having won twenty guineas at whist, and taken leave of his friends, Phileas Fogg, at twenty-five minutes past seven, left the Reform Club.

Passepartout, who had conscientiously studied the programme of his duties, was more than surprised to see his master guilty of the inexactness of appearing at this unaccustomed hour; for, according to rule, he was not due in Saville Row until precisely midnight.

Mr. Fogg repaired to his bedroom, and called out, “Passepartout!”

Passepartout did not reply. It could not be he who was called; it was not the right hour.

“Passepartout!” repeated Mr. Fogg, without raising his voice.

Passepartout made his appearance.

“I’ve called you twice,” observed his master.

“But it is not midnight,” responded the other, showing his watch.

“I know it; I don’t blame you. We start for Dover and Calais in ten minutes.”

A puzzled grin overspread Passepartout’s round face; clearly he had not comprehended his master.

“Monsieur is going to leave home?”

“Yes,” returned Phileas Fogg. “We are going round the world.”

Passepartout opened wide his eyes, raised his eyebrows, held up his hands, and seemed about to collapse, so overcome was he with stupefied astonishment.

“Round the world!” he murmured.

“In eighty days,” responded Mr. Fogg. “So we haven’t a moment to lose.”

“But the trunks?” gasped Passepartout, unconsciously swaying his head from right to left.

“We’ll have no trunks; only a carpet-bag, with two shirts and three pairs of stockings for me, and the same for you. We’ll buy our clothes on the way. Bring down my mackintosh and traveling-cloak, and some stout shoes, though we shall do little walking. Make haste!”

Passepartout tried to reply, but could not. He went out, mounted to his own room, fell into a chair, and muttered: “That’s good, that is! And I, who wanted to remain quiet!”

He mechanically set about making the preparations for departure. Around the world in eighty days! Was his master a fool? No. Was this a joke, then? They were going to Dover; good! To Calais; good again! After all, Passepartout, who had been away from France five years, would not be sorry to set foot on his native soil again. Perhaps they would go as far as Paris, and it would do his eyes good to see Paris once more. But surely a gentleman so chary of his steps would stop there; no doubt—but, then, it was none the less true that he was going away, this so domestic person hitherto!

By eight o’clock Passepartout had packed the modest carpet-bag, containing the wardrobes of his master and himself; then, still troubled in mind, he carefully shut the door of his room, and descended to Mr. Fogg.

Mr. Fogg was quite ready. Under his arm might have been observed a red-bound copy of Bradshaw’s Continental Railway Steam Transit and General Guide, with its timetables showing the arrival and departure of steamers and railways. He took the carpet-bag, opened it, and slipped into it a goodly roll of Bank of England notes, which would pass wherever he might go.

“You have forgotten nothing?” asked he.

“Nothing, monsieur.”

“My mackintosh and cloak?”

“Here they are.”

“Good! Take this carpet-bag,” handing it to Passepartout. “Take good care of it, for there are twenty thousand pounds in it.”

Passepartout nearly dropped the bag, as if the twenty thousand pounds were in gold, and weighed him down.

Master and man then descended, the street-door was double-locked, and at the end of Saville Row they took a cab and drove rapidly to Charing Cross. The cab stopped before the railway station at twenty minutes past eight. Passepartout jumped off the box and followed his master, who, after paying the cabman, was about to enter the station, when a poor beggar-woman, with a child in her arms, her naked feet smeared with mud, her head covered with a wretched bonnet, from which hung a tattered feather, and her shoulders shrouded in a ragged shawl, approached, and mournfully asked for alms.

Mr. Fogg took out the twenty guineas he had just won at whist, and handed them to the beggar, saying, “Here, my good woman. I’m glad that I met you;” and passed on.

Passepartout had a moist sensation about the eyes; his master’s action touched his susceptible heart.

Two first-class tickets for Paris having been speedily purchased, Mr. Fogg was crossing the station to the train, when he perceived his five friends of the Reform.

“Well, gentlemen,” said he, “I’m off, you see; and, if you will examine my passport when I get back, you will be able to judge whether I have accomplished the journey agreed upon.”

“Oh, that would be quite unnecessary, Mr. Fogg,” said Ralph politely. “We will trust your word, as a gentleman of honour.”

“You do not forget when you are due in London again?” asked Stuart.

“In eighty days; on Saturday, the 21st of December, 1872, at a quarter before nine p.m. Good-bye, gentlemen.”

Phileas Fogg and his servant seated themselves in a first-class carriage at twenty minutes before nine; five minutes later the whistle screamed, and the train slowly glided out of the station.

The night was dark, and a fine, steady rain was falling. Phileas Fogg, snugly ensconced in his corner, did not open his lips. Passepartout, not yet recovered from his stupefaction, clung mechanically to the carpet-bag, with its enormous treasure.

Just as the train was whirling through Sydenham, Passepartout suddenly uttered a cry of despair.

“What’s the matter?” asked Mr. Fogg.

“Alas! In my hurry—I—I forgot—”

“What?”

“To turn off the gas in my room!”

“Very well, young man,” returned Mr. Fogg, coolly; “it will burn—at your expense.”

[polyamarhousgarden]

🌷SELF-INSERT & OC LIST🌷

TOLKIEN

THE HOBBIT

Anoriel Fereniel | Self-Insert

Feren Aurelion | OC

A weaver by trade but is also the Vice-General of the Woodland Realm

Married Elvenking Former Oropher who proposed to him so they could hide Anoriel’s peredhel status

Melmerondir Ferenion | OC

An artist by trade but volunteered to be a scout slash soldier of the Woodland Realm

MO DAO ZU SHI | THE GRANDMASTER OF DEMONIC CULTIVATION

Dayang-Dayang Pagmaya | Self-Insert

Was engaged to Nie Mingjue when she was born

The first young maiden of the Huangshan Gong Sect.

LES MISERABLES

Doña Socorro Chelidonia de Castro de Oro y Moreno | Self-Insert

From a well to do family with progressive views.

Is genderfluid but doesn't know the term yet for it. Their parents allow them to wear masculine and nonbinary attire when the mood strikes them. (They tuck their hair up in their hats)

Despises the Spaniards and ardently believes in a day when the Philippines is freed from the Spaniards' grasp.

Meets Courfeyrac after getting lost in Paris while on a trip with their family. Not wanting them to worry, Socorro proceeds to stay in Cafe Musain in case any of their servants find the cafe.

On the way to Café Musain, they got lost and caught among rioters. Gavroche noticed them getting swept up in the riot and helped them escape, even hailing a cab for them after escaping. As thanks, they invite Gavroche to eat with them. When Gavroche brought Hugues and Bressole with him, they also welcomed the two boys.

DRAGON AGE

DRAGON AGE: ORIGINS

Paraluman Surana | Self-Insert

Knight-Lieutenant Joseph Terrell | OC

DRAGON AGE 2 | DRAGON AGE: EXODUS

Benedicta Alejandra Hawke y Amell | Self-Insert

DRAGON AGE: INQUISITION

Dalisay Kato Bagwisan | Self-Insert

Atubang Mahalina Kato Bagwisan | Self-Insert

MASS EFFECT

MASS EFFECT

Commander Dari Shepard | Self-Insert

Doctor Dominic Shepard | OC

MASS EFFECT:ANDROMEDA

Hiraya Angelica Ryder | Self-Insert

Nimuel Angelo Ryder | OC

Older twin brother

DIVINITY II

Sima | Self-Insert

BALDUR'S GATE 3

Gumamela | Mula | Self-Insert

High Councillor of the Blooming Fey Court

Skilled painter but doesn't try to become the court painter.

Murdered their father as vengeance for the murder of their grandmother

Has a bloodline curse dooming them to a love that ends in tragedy

OVERWATCH

Kapunuan | Gregoria Silang | Self-Insert

ARCANA

Kahidlaw | Self-Insert

MYSTIC MESSENGER

Urielle | Self-Insert

Stage actress with Shakespearean roots

Was on a short acting break when they visited Korea and got mixed up in the Mystic Messenger plot

Zen recognised them the moment they posted their profile pic

Hiyas | Self-Insert

Novelist who focuses on children's fairytales

Was on their book tour when they got tangled with Mint Eye

ACE ATTORNEY

HARVEST MOON

HARVEST MOON: DS CUTE

Agustina | Tinang | Self-Insert

HARVEST MOON: GRAND BAZAAR

Asuncion | Siyon | Self-Insert

HARVEST MOON: ISLAND OF HAPPINESS

Antonia | Toyang | Self-Insert

HARVEST MOON: THE TALE OF TWO TOWNS

Eusebia | Sebya | Self-Insert

HARVEST MOON: ANIMAL PARADE

Angelina | Angge | Self-Insert

Jin's childhood friend

Visited the farm during the summers as a child. That's where they met Jin.

FIRE EMBLEM

FIRE EMBLEM: THREE HOUSES

Kallisto | Self-Insert

Has a resting blank face

Tends to dock points very liberally from the Golden Deer House

Hates Leonie

FIRE EMBLEM: FATES

Ariadne | Self-Insert

Was sickly and was often indulged by their siblings as a result

Jacob is their bestie

CHOICES

ROYAL ROMANCE

Evangeline Marie Lakandula | Self-Insert

NIGHTBOUND

Diwa Kalangitan | Self-Insert

OPEN HEART

Dra. Inocencia Valenciano | Self-Insert

Stupidly non competitive

ROMANCE CLUB

HEAVEN'S SECRET

Amparo Socorro Santos-Walker | Self-Insert

Studied Fine Arts at UP Diliman

Takes inspiration from the older paintings because of the depths of meaning and emotion in them.

The sort of student who joins protests and rallies and sends out foods and necessities to strikers' families

Ends up having insecurities about their relationship with Dino after ten years of their relationship

HEART OF TRESPIA

Queen Saerwen Gwenhevare Methildis Ymeri | Self-Insert

PATH OF THE VALKYRIE

Mirasol | Self-Insert

Studied archaeology to try and discover more pre-colonial Filipino artefacts

Atheist but finds religion to be fascinating

Very open-minded about a lot of things but finds gods to be where she draws the line.

DISLYTE

Gelli | Self-Insert

Was given Apolaki's powers

BEING HUMAN UK

Filomena "Mena" Dimayuga | Self-Insert

SUPERNATURAL

Maria Josefina Christina dela Cruz | Self-Insert

Power Yeiazel | Self-Insert (Divine AU)

LEVERAGE

Clara Marie Dayanghirang | Self-Insert

Does not reveal their real name like Sophie

Nate figures out their alias is a reference to Maria Clara from Jose Rizal's works Noli me Tangere and El Filibusterismo but their false surname meant Chosen Lady

ADVENTURE TIME

Dream Witch | Self-Insert

Found a magic wand in an antique shop and bought it to complete the look of their costume for a costume party

Wand turns out to have magic tied to dreams and dream-walking

Met Simon and Marcy during their travels after the mushroom war

Became another parental figure to Marcy

DC

JUSTICE LEAGUE

Dealá Sanchta Ieyozael | Self-Insert

JUSTICE LEAGUE: GODS AND MONSTERS

Celeste Manlangit | Self-Insert

LACKADAISY

Maria Remedios M. Dalit | Self-Insert

BLEACH

Tala | Self-Insert

Aspiring ballet dancer

Died during the 1920s

Was sent to the wrong soul society after Sasakibe performed the konso on them when he saw their soul scared and lost under a bridge during his travel in the Philippines.

When they died they lost their memory of how they died as well as their name, when they looked up at the sky they saw the stars and chose Tala due to how the stars continued to shine amid darkness

KIMETSU NO YAIBA

Abe Chiyoko | OC

Storm Hashira

Adopted daughter of the previous Storm Hashira and her husband, an inn proprietor who welcomes demon slayers into his establishment without charging them

Body is unsuited to the Breath of Storm due to the taxing sword forms and movements

Became the new Storm Hashira after she killed an entire goup of demons in one night. She proceeded to become bedridden afterwards

Only takes on select missions to be cautious and mindful of their less than steller health

Quiet most of the time and prefers to observe the events unfolding to get a better grasp of the situation

Has had a crush on Gyomei for forever but refuses to confess to him out of fear of rejection

ORIGINAL WORKS (PERSONAL)

A GOOD MAN'S MAKNG

Narcisa Bonifacio | Sisa | Self-Insert