#henri charriere imagine

[carni-val]

Soooo it’s been a hot minute but I’m getting back into my Charlie Hunnam hyper fixation so if anyone wants to send some requests through, my ask box is open 👀

[groovyzombiellama]

Imagine: Telling Henri about a job you want to apply for, but all he wants is to kiss you

Henri stared at your eyes, losing himself for a moment, before his gaze shifted to your lips, and all he could hear was every fibre of his being screaming at him to kiss you.

[tash880i]

I'm always wet for him and him only. 🧎🏻‍♀️

[hotdamnhunnam]

Hello! Can I put in a request for Henri Papillion Charriere please? Reader’s in place of his love interest in the movie and in this request let’s imagine he escapes in 5 years. He tracks her down and is waiting for her in her bedroom and she enters shocked to see him. They haven’t forgotten about each other and still love each other, which leads to some needy reunion sex? I know you have a big request list and I don’t want to overwhelm you, and I honestly understand that this’ll take time if you accept it. But your awesome writing is always worth the wait 😍!

Thanks for the kind words on my writing 🥰 I’ve added this to the end of my list under ‘Pending Requests’ – link below! ✨

Request Status Masterpost

[izzy-b-hands]

Fictober 2019, Oct. 24th, “Patience...Is Not Something I’m Known For.”

Fanfiction

Fandom: Papillion (2017 film)

Pairings: Henri “Papillon” Charriere/Louis Dega

Rating: M for Mature...bit of making out and talkin’ about doin’ other stuff (if they could but they can’t in the setting of the fic so...yeah.) 

Warnings:Just the bit of making out and allusion to later, wished for sex

769 words

My first Papillon fic! Shout out to @fl0wer-boy for helping me work out figuring out which fandom I was gonna write for with this prompt (which had me stumped for days tbh.) 

Best synopsis I can give of this fic is: what if the boat scene when it’s just Papillon and Louis also had gay yearning, confession, and making out? Read on to find out.

“How can it possibly take so long to reach land?” Louis sighed, his fifteenth repetition of the phrase that hour.

“Perhaps it knows how fussy you are, so the sea pushes us out further,” Papillon teased. Their tiny boat could bear little more than the sea itself, and he wanted to keep it full of good cheer despite the situation.

“That isn’t funny,” Louis said. “We could die out here.” 

“And I know you were aware of that well before now,” Papillon replied. “What is it in this moment that has you so worried about it?” 

Louis shrugged. “...things left undone. Unsaid.” 

“Would it help to say them to me? I could do the same. If only one of us survives, both of our previously unsaid words could still live on that way.” 

Louis seemed hesitant, almost scared.

“There is nothing we need hide now. Have we not seen enough together that we should be able to trust each other with anything and everything?” Papillon continued. 

Louis nodded. “You might well toss me overboard for my words.” 

“Do you plan on telling me I’m an ugly bastard you never hope to set eyes on again, or something like that?” Papillon laughed. “Because I have endured worse insults. Rest assured, I will not toss you to the sharks.” 

Louis was far enough to the other side of the boat that it was almost hard to hear him over the crash of the waves, looking down at the bottom of it.  

“I would never tell you that. Rather, I would tell you that you’re handsome and beautiful, and if I could I would have it that I set my eyes upon you every day for the rest of my life,” Louis replied. “Though you are sometimes a bastard. As am I, I imagine.” 

He looked at Louis, waiting until Louis finally looked up from the bottom of the boat to meet his eyes. “You mean this? Truly?” 

Louis turned crimson, but nodded. 

“And you thought I might toss you overboard for this?” 

Louis nodded again. “And you would be justified; surely you don’t feel the same, and even if you did, I would never ask you to rebuke whoever might be waiting for you back home, and-” 

It was impossible to move as quickly as he wanted in the boat, but he was able to move just fast enough to cut Louis off with a kiss.

“You need not ask for it, for I already have. I presume she has moved on without me, and you-” 

“She?” Louis asked curiously.

“Love and lust need not have limitations, at least for me,” Papillon smiled. “I would repeat your words back to you, about you, if you would hear them. And if it would not make you blush so hot as to set your hair aflame.” 

Louis stared at him for a moment, perhaps in shock, then laughed. “Am I really that red?” 

“You are. It’s a good look on you. Once we’re in safety, clean and warm, I would find other ways to make you blush, if you would wish that as well.” 

Louis was in his lap in a second, chapped lips on his, arms pulling him close. 

He smiled after a few moments of fevered kisses, when Louis finally broke for a breath. “A shame a boat is not a better place for it, or we could have at each other now.” 

“Patience...is not something I’m known for,” Louis sighed. “I suppose I don’t have much choice than to be patient now though, do I?” 

“We are at the whims of the sea,” Papillon admitted. “But I think the boat should survive some kissing...maybe a bit more, if we’re careful.” 

He hadn’t seen much in the way of a bright smile on Louis’ face for some time. It was beautiful to see it again.

Louis lounged against him as the boat swayed. “Perhaps you could tell me all what you’ll do to me once we’re safe and free.” 

“Would that make the voyage more bearable for you?” 

Louis nodded, and kissed him again. 

“It will make it more bearable for me as well. The land might see you smile and blush then, think it the sun rising on the horizon, and rush to meet it. We’d be at our journey’s end then too. On our way to a decent bath, warm food, and a soft bed.” 

As the sea moved them along, he found the thought of Louis and the bed were all he could think of. But it was an enjoyable torture, with Louis’ kisses to keep him sane. 

[wwwbaileyalexandercom-blog]

In this chaotic and often wicked world control your imagination or someone else will

In this chaotic and often wicked world control your imagination or someone else will

Steve McQueen played Henri ‘Papillon’ Charriere in the original Papillon. I watched the remake last night, what an epic story and what an ending. Because Henri Charriere owned his imagination. When I met my husband we fell in love and he wanted to sail around the world. I didn’t. But he did want a papillon so we got two; Colette and Godot. Then we named our first sailboat Papillon. One papillon…

[ssfoc]

I remember that you did a wonderful and comprehensive analysis of the movie”Papillon” and how it relates to Harry and Louis’ tattoos and their story. Well, I finally got around to watching “Papillon” and it was really good. Those two men were desperately trying to ‘escape’ and they needed each other and they loved each other and they were loyal to the end.

Hi!

That’s great to hear! I haven’t seen the movie myself, but last year there was a remake starring Rami Malek and Charlie Hunnam. The original starred, of course, Steve McQueen as Henri Charriere, and Dustin Hoffman as Louis Dega. The romantic imagination of Harry and Louis to get tattoos like that…

Here’s my tattoo post.

https://seasurfacefullofclouds.tumblr.com/post/169920071315/seasurfacefullofclouds-the-secondhand

Thank you for letting me know!

[bienready2122]

Postmodern Film Approach: Papillon

PAPILLON

I used to watch a great deal of French movies, https://real-123movies.best/other-brands/popcornmovies so I get it's fitting that I should every so often take up Hollywood mainstreamers with a minor association with France - Papillon here and The Day of the Jackal there. (Incidentally, these two movies share another trademark which is a remarkable inverse of the Hollywood standard - there is no affection interest in either.) Or possibly not. No one will befuddle Franklin J. Schaffner with Truffaut, Godard, or Varda.

In any case, despite the fact that Papillon has honestly had the opportunity to be one of the sloppiest significant studio delivers ever delivered, it has tremendous force, power that is elevated and strengthened by the way that Henri Charriere truly got away from Devil's Island and lived to tell the story. It really is ideal that Schaffner had extraordinary office with this sort of picture in light of the fact that the missteps in the film verge on the unimaginable - fluids, both blood and water, obviously sprinkle on the camera focal point and totally decimate all willingness to accept some far-fetched situations. The guillotine scene is unexpectedly amusing, with progression and altering goofs that make you keep thinking about whether the team was stoned both during recording and in after creation; and the penultimate scene wherein Papillon jumps into the sea and we can obviously observe the jumper supporting the buoy underneath him - so promptly noticeable that the person could nearly be a piece of the story - these are altogether really debased and contemptible. (There are, indeed, more mix-ups, effortlessly Googled. I don't have the heart to experience everything. One includes the extraordinary entertainer Anthony Zerbe in the part of the head of the untouchable state.)

Whatever; here I need to discuss one little stretch of this long film, and that is the end credits, which bargain not exactly an entire two minutes. This succession nearly makes me imagine that Schaffner really arranged a great deal of the blunders so as to have them work working together with the credits toward the end as a sort of reflexitivity.

As Papillon coasts in the sea on his shoddy pontoon after his trying to hop from the precipices, a storyteller up to this time missing is sent in from the universe to advise us that he got away, carried on with an incredible remainder in opportunity, and outlasted the famous French correctional settlement. It isn't obvious to me what the favorable position is of having a storyteller slam in as an excluded visitor like this, and placing the message in text on the screen would have been similarly as nosy and diverting. Maybe Schaffner felt the fact of the matter was too hard to even think about getting across with more scenes in a "show, don't tell" sort of way. Maybe more scenes would have made a long film much more, and in this way somewhat less monetarily suitable. Whatever the case, I think the predictable severing of the willingness to accept some far-fetched situations, if deliberate, sets up the pictures that go with the credits at long last in another and distinctive manner since watching the end credits turns into a significant piece of understanding this film.

I've regularly thought about what level of a crowd of people really sits and watches the last credits without popping the circle out or leaving the theater. It must be exceptionally low, and that is on the grounds that a complete end to the film has typically as of now been appeared on the screen. No one considerations who the gaffer or the third collaborator chief is. Yet, here, as we watch the pictures of the deserted jail - void structures dissolved by time and canvassed in solo vegetation - the hugeness of the undertaking that Papillon attempted, his journey for opportunity, becomes bigger and bigger in our psyches. What number of us could coordinate his enthusiasm? The number is presumably more modest than the quantity of us who endure the end credits.

This is a film brimming with activity and savagery, which essentially makes for realistic scenes. In any case, Schaffner likewise has an eye for the sort of more downplayed, nuanced scene that a lesser chief wouldn't consider arranging. For instance, in a scene indicating the yard of the infamous jail the camera begins a little reptile sitting on the bursting hot top of the structure. A scene portraying a butterfly chase gives huge consideration to the vacillating bugs attempting to dodge the nets. In a scene where the detainees initially show up on the island a hoard is demonstrated joyfully overflowing with the mud in the base left of the screen. Etc.

In any case, the last scenes that I need to cause to notice here are without individuals and creatures and just show the different pieces of the flimsy jail as setting for the names of everybody engaged with the creation of the film while frequenting music by Schaffner's constant arranger, Jerry Goldsmith, works to crescendo. The end impact upon us is, obviously, examination of the idea of the very idea of time. Time, we are being told by these photos and the music in backup, pulverizes everything. Once in a while the power of a human will - Papillon's for this situation - can battle it, or slow down it, yet in the end the outcome is consistently a triumph for time. What's more, we should not overlook the cross reproducing of the film and the meta-film, which is, in general, one of the most fascinating highlights of Papillon.

[discrepant]

Papillon’s last album out today! ‘’Discrepant’s adventurous boss Gonçalo F. Cardoso sees off his Papillon project with a febrile flux of dream/nightmare logic weaving in material from label cohorts including Mike Cooper. Presented as “one last hurrah into the depths of tropical disquiet”, and taking cues from Henri Charriere’s book sequel of the same name ‘Banco’, Cardoso sounds out in simiularly poetic terrain to the new David Toop ace, but perhaps more ravaged and infected with an illness from which he doesn’t return. Roughly stitching in contributions ranging rom Mike Cooper’s signature lap steel guitar to samples from fellow intrepid explorers Cédric Stevens, David Daan, and Yannick Dauby, the results leave us feeling upended and shored up beyond view, and that’s kind of where we want to be right now. Perhaps it’s fair to say that Covid-19 has made far-out, imaginative sound trips such as these all the more valuable as escape hatches from locked-in torpor and mundanity, and Papillon’s inventive levels of detail and plain freaking audness, from Annea Lockwood-like sensualities to South Seas breeze guitar and Coil-y K-hole (Indian not Chinese) ambient glitching make this one totally worth the return ticket.’’ By boomkat https://www.instagram.com/p/CEYn07ZpxwS/?igshid=132h5zqp8rqmj

[oh-styles]

Fun little story behind the tattoo: Let’s go back to October 1931 when a man of the name Henri Charriere was convicted of the murder of a pimp named Roland Le Petiti - though he denied the accusation - and was sentenced to 10 years of hard labor to a penal settlement in French Guiana. 

His 1970 best-selling book, Papillon was said to only be 75% true, claiming details of his alleged escaped, attempted escapes, adventures and captures, from his imprisonment in 1932 to his last escape to Venezuela. 

The books title comes from the papillon - butterfly - largely printed on his chest. 

Before, many believed of the stories he told within his novel, when in reality, it was likely stories Charriere had stolen or overheard while in incarceration. A french justice ministry report said his book included episodes that were imagined or involved others and “should be divided at least 10 to get near the truth.” 

And in 2005, a 104-year-old man of the name Charles Brunier claimed to be the real Papillon. 

It was stated by critics who agreed that Charriere’s depictions included events that happened to others, and that Charles Brunier was at the prison the same time. 

So basically, every time I see Harry’s butterfly tattoo, I just imagine him going, “I’m the real papillon!” And I really want to know if he knows the story behind all of this.

“The butterfly on his torso is based on and old French prison tattoo inspired by Papillon. Traditionally it would mean the wearer is a thief – something to do with the double meaning of ‘Je vole’, which translates as both ‘I steal’ and ‘I fly’.” – Liam Sparkes.

[greyparty]

I never do these but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Tagged by @elaboratepuppet Rules: Answer twenty questions and tag 9 followers you’d like to know better. Name: Maria Nickname(s): Mærris, Mazza Zodiac sign: Leo Height: 5’6 Orientation: I think I have it now, like... I think I’m ... wait no nvm idk Nationality: Norwegian Favourite fruit: Dates!!!! Durian!!!!  Favourite season: Summer Favourite book: Papillon by Henry Charriere Favourite flower: Bluebells and sunflowers Favourite scent: Vanilla, caramel, cardamum, coffee Favourite colour: Green Favourite animal: Gelado baboons and that ring-tailed bear, but not the American one sorry, and also dogs Coffee, tea or hot chocolate: Coffee Average amount of sleep: 9 hours Cats or dogs: Dogs Favourite fictional character: Earl of Lemongrab Number of blankets I sleep with: 1 Dream trip: A cruz around the whole world that ends with me stuck on an island that turns out to be a tropical paradise. There are some natives there that treat me well but let me find my own ways. We live in tune with nature. I learn to communicate with monkeys. 30 years later I’m found and I am fulfilled as a person. Blog created: 2007 I think? Number of followers: 153 I think?  What do I post about: Shitposts, nature, space, tv shows, veganism Do I get asks on a regular basis: No Aesthetic: Beach. Blue water. Flowers and palm trees. Some Renoir paintings. Favourite band/artist: Don’t have one Hogwarts house: I refuse to answer on account of the monopoly Harry Potter has over lit culture, I mean honestly, not everyone likes magic, Harry Potter isn’t that great, sure it’d be cool to be a wizard but why is only Harry so special and why do they still end up married and with kids, plus I don’t like the way they treated the dragons (Gryffindor) I was tagged by @elaboratepuppet why do they ask twice for this Relationship status: Single                                                                     Favourite colour: The same two seconds ago                                                     Lipstick or chapstick: Lipstick but I never use either                                             Last song you listened to: Relight My Fire                                                           Last movie I watched: Moana, which I didn’t like                                                 Top 3 tv shows: Fargo, Black Sails and Bates Motel (and Hannibal)               Top 3 characters: I love all my children equally                                               Top 3 ships: It changes all the time but right now Charles and Boss from A SoUE, no wait I actually don’t know once I start thinking about it, but I always thought the personifications of UK and USA were the greatest ship ever in the history of the world and I cant think about it bc I will cry (I really don’t like Hetalia anymore but imagine a serious movie/series being made with this idea).                                                                                                           Books I’m currently reading: Meditations by Marcus Aurelius, Why Didn’t They Ask Evans by Agatha Christie and Papillon (for the second time)

I tag: @downthegutterray @obsessionandstuff those are the two blogs I know follow me and feel comfortable tagging but anyone else feel welcome to do this I’m v curious so I’ll probably be happy if you do

[carni-val]

The Early Bird Catches the Butterfly [Henri “Papillon” Charrière] - Pt. 1

pairing: Henri “Papillon” Charrière x OFC

summary: When the early bird and the night owl meet at the break of dawn, how long can they survive together in the light of day?

author’s note: Here is yet another contribution to the Papillon fandom. There will be a part two to this coming out next week. I hope you all enjoy this!

Charlie Hunnam Masterlist | Papillon Masterlist

Part 2 | Part 3

It all started at Amélie’s Boulangerie. The morning sun began to stretch over the horizon marking the beginning of a new day after a particularly long night. Papillon, still dressed in his clothes from the night before, found himself stumbling through the streets of Paris, his new home.

He had woken up half an hour ago between a half-dressed cocktail waitress and a half a bottle of the most expensive wine he’d ever had before.

Not a bad way to wake up.

He was one of the few people left behind in the extravagant party hall and he decided he’d better get home and freshen up for a new day.

He was just getting settled in the city, learning the ins and outs of the new business he had found himself shuffled into, like a single card in a deck in the hands of a blackjack dealer. He felt tossed around by people who wanted his attention and people whose attention he needed if he was gonna make a life here.

Nevertheless, it was a fantastic party with fantastic alcohol, fantastic women, and fantastic new contacts. That’s what Papillon reminisced on while he ran his hands through his messy hair, fixing it to his liking in the reflective surface of the silver platter that was left behind on a table nearby. He smoothed out his clothes and headed off into the quiet morning, fully intending to go back home.

He lit himself a cigarette, a habit he’d picked up in the countryside, one that only got worse when he moved to the city. It was hard not to when everyone around him was doing it. It’s how men bonded. It’s how the men he wanted to be like bonded.

Letting out the smoke in a controlled stream, Papillon took in the morning air that was disturbed by nothing but his presence. It was serene, quiet. Papillon assimilated to the tranquility, sauntering with one hand in his pocket and the other gripping his cigarette. The quiet clacking of his shoes against the pavement echoed in the air around him and he let himself exhale another puff of smoke.

He could finally hear himself breathe. Papillon didn’t realize how much he’d missed that sound until now. Sometimes the constant chatter, the boisterous laughter and the crashing of glass that was somehow always a guest at every party got too be too much after a while.

Papillon scoffed, he never thought he’d feel that way. He hated the countryside so much but he rarely had mornings like these to remind himself what he’d left behind. Still, he would never trade this life for that one.

There was a light breeze that ruffled Papillon’s hair, that sent the lapels of his blazer flapping about momentarily and carried the smell of warm pastries and coffee to his nose. His stomach rumbled at the intrusion and it had Papillon searching for the source of the smell.

He didn’t have to look very far. To his left, just a few feet away sat Amélie’s Boulangerie.

It was a small little cafe perched at the corner of the street. It was a white building with the company’s pastel pink logo in the front.

Papillon had been down this street thousands of times and never caught sight of the bakery. Maybe because he was always out here at night and Amélie’s Boulangerie was reserved for the early birds.

Coffee and a pastry did sound delicious right about now though. Papillon found the placement of the bakery to be convenient. After owls like himself prowled around the area in the late hours of the night, it was nice to find something that made it easier to get up the following morning.

Taking a final drag from his cigarette and flicking the remainder of it into the street, Papillon headed towards the bakery, the delicious scents only getting more and more pungent.

There was a little bell that rang when he opened the door and it rung throughout the small vicinity of the place. There was a counter with a register on top and a glass case full of fluffy, delightful pastries all the way from croissants to danishes to tarts.

Papillon’s stomach grumbled again as the smell of the baked goods and the coffee blended together perfectly in the air.

“Coming!” he heard from somewhere behind the counter.

Papillon craned his neck, noticing a door behind the counter that was slightly ajar. He stepped towards the glass case getting a better look at the products that were on display. His eye caught some croissants and even some danishes. Maybe he’d buy some for later.

It was just as Papillon was standing straight up again that she came bustling out of the back, hastily dusting off the white apron tied around her waist. Her dress was almost as pink as the sign out front and her smile was as bright as her eyes. Her curly hair was pulled back into a low ponytail that did little to perturb the rebellious way they sprung about wherever they pleased.

Papillon’s eyes locked onto her form as she made her way to the register. She was shorter than him, but the confidence in her smile made her presence fill up the entire room and it sent the left side of his mouth upwards.

“Good morning,” she greeted him kindly once she stood in front of him.

“Good morning.” His voice rumbled in his chest now, like a cheshire cat purring in delight as his crosshairs were immediately set on her.

“What can I get for you?”

“Let me get a croissant and a cup of coffee,” he replied, digging into his pocket.

Papillon watched as she typed the prices into the register before reporting his total. It didn’t matter. The bill he handed her was enough to cover that and then some.

“Throw in a couple of those apple danishes too,” he added.

Papillon didn’t miss the way her brown, doe-like eyes widened slightly at the sight of the bill — they were almost the colour of whisky: brown with a touch of translucency when the morning light hit them

She played it off, typing in the price of the rest of his order before she opened up the cash compartment of the register and handed his change back to him.

“Please, make yourself comfortable” she offered, gesturing to the long, empty counter with a few seats perched underneath it.

Papillon thanked her as he did just that. He watched her glide around behind the counter, grabbing a plate from one cabinet and a cup and saucer for his coffee in the other. She hovered around the intricate, metal coffee machine for a little while, making sure his coffee was going right into the cup before turning around with a white plate in her hand and pulling out the fluffiest croissant from the display case.

Papillon’s lip quirked up at the gesture and his smirk only widened when she had placed the cup of coffee and croissant right in front of him.

“How do you take it?” she nodded towards the coffee.

“Black is just fine,” he assured her.

She smiled at him, “I hope you enjoy it.”

“Thank you,” Papillon told her sincerely.

She grabbed a brown bag from underneath the counter and some wrapping paper before heading over to the display case again. Papillon watched her over his coffee cup as he drank, noticing how she, once again, picked out the best of the selection. This was evidently the perk of being the first customer of the day.

“Nice to know there’s another early bird around here,” she said as she placed the first danish down onto some paper to wrap it up in.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” he mused before taking a bite of his still warm croissant.

“How else would you put it?” she asked as she began carefully wrapping up each individual pastry and putting them in the brown bag.

“Late to the party but early for breakfast,” he replied.

“Still early,” she quipped with a small smile.

Papillon breathed out a laugh before he could stop himself. He pulled his cup of coffee up to his mouth, drinking for a prolonged amount of time, almost embarrassed that he’d done that.

“This is good coffee,” he commented.

“Thank you,” her voice was warm. “I hope the croissant is just as good.”

“It’s even better,” he assured her.

He watched as her smile grew at the compliment, “I’m glad you like them.”

He did, but Papillon wasn’t sure what he liked more: the coffee, the croissant, or her.

Papillon still hadn’t figured out the answer to that question despite being back several more times. It became a routine now: wake up the morning after a party, fix himself up — he now carried a comb for his hair, he’d pop a stick of gum in his mouth — and head off to Amélie’s Boulangerie. He’d have a few minutes to himself on his morning stroll over but once he was in the bakery, all of his attention was on her.

He ordered the same thing every day: black coffee with a croissant and some dessert for later. Those apple danishes he ordered the first time he came around were better than any other dessert he’d ever had. They were perfectly warm and stuffed with filling that oozed out the other end whenever he took a bite. Once he finished them, he was desperate to go back for more.

She eventually learned to be ready for his arrival, coffee and croissant practically waiting for him on the counter when he walked in, right in front of his usual seat.

“Why don’t you sit and have a cup of coffee with me?” he told her one morning.

“I wish I could,” she told him with an apologetic smile, “But I still have some cleaning up to do in the back.”

Papillon relented.

However, the next day, he ordered two cups of coffee and two croissants.

“Meeting a friend?” she asked him.

“She’s already here,” he quirked a brow at her.

She gave him a look, trying to counter his know-it-all smirk, but the glimmers of joy were sparkling through her eyes. She shook her head once before turning towards the coffee machine.

“Sit down,” she told him and her tone of voice told him she’d give in just this once.

And once was all Papillon needed.

She made two cups of coffee this time; hers diluted with some warm milk. She put two croissants on two plates, putting the fluffier one in front of Papillon.

She sat next to him and he couldn’t stop the smile forming on his face. 

Each of them had a sip of coffee before Papillon said, “See, isn’t this nice? Taking a break from all the hard work.”

Every time Papillon came in, he always noticed how she’d come rushing out from the back, sometimes covered in flour, other times wiping her hair away from her face as she was huffing out her breaths, and other times she would be sweeping up the floor in the front. She never stopped working.

“It’s okay,” she shrugged, feigning dissatisfaction. She bit into her croissant to hide her smirk and Papillon mirrored her action.

“Give it a few more minutes. It’ll be good for you to sit down for a little while,” he advised her playfully. “Is this your bakery?”

“It was my grandmother’s,” she told him, “My mother ran it for a little bit when my grandmother died, but she passed away a short while ago.”

Papillon’s heart softened, “I’m sorry.”

She put on the best smile she could before changing the subject. “I don’t get many well-dressed men coming into the bakery at this hour,” she commented, “Where are you coming from?”

“A business meeting that ran late,” he replied.

“A business meeting,” she parroted, skeptical. “Seems more like a party,” she nodded to the clock in the corner. It was just approaching seven in the morning.

“A little bit of both,” he shrugged, meeting her skeptical stare with a nonchalant one.

“Must be an interesting line of work,” she commented. “I’m sure time slips away from you at these business parties.”

“It happens, yeah.”

“That would explain why you come in before we’re even open,” she told him before sipping on her coffee again, watching his reaction over the rim of the cup.

Papillon’s eyebrows pulled together in confusion as he looked towards the door. “The door was unlocked.”

“I forgot to lock it that morning,” she confessed, eyes stuck on the beige liquid in her white coffee cup. “You came in and I didn’t have the heart to turn you away,” she played it off, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Is that what happened?” Papillon questioned, that cheeky smirk appearing on his face again as he kept his eyes locked on her and her now shy look.

“Exactly,” she confirmed. “You looked out of place, like a lost little puppy and who am I to kick a lost puppy to the curb?” Her spark shone through despite her timidness.

“Is that why you kept the door unlocked?” He was careful as he inched forward a little closer to her, the smell of the bakery clinging to her.

“Like I said, I just didn’t have the heart.” If she noticed him moving towards her, she didn’t say anything, didn’t bat an eye, or twitch a limb.

“Come out with me tonight.”

Her brows raised slightly in surprise. “Where?”

“A business party.”

“I didn’t think outsiders would be allowed at business parties.”

“They usually allow a plus one.”

She paused, eyeing him, eyes flickering between his smirk that was quickly becoming a full-blown smile and his eyes. “You think it’s that easy?”

“I’m willing to bet my chances are good.”

“Is that what you do at these business parties? Gamble?”

“I choose not to get my hands dirty with that,” he feigned innocence although she was surmising he was anything but. “So what do you say?”

“I don’t even know your name.”

“Papillon,” he answered without missing a beat.

“Papillon,” she repeated. He didn’t know if she was clarifying that she’d heard him right or if she was getting the feel of his name on her tongue.

He watched her as she took her time, finishing her cup of coffee and the last few bites of her croissant all while contemplating her answer, but Papillon was sure she already had one.

“Okay,” she nodded.

Papillon downed his cup of coffee to hide his grin. “I’ll pick you up here, nine o’clock, Miss…”

“If you’re here on time tonight, I’ll tell you,” she propositioned.

“And if I’m late?”

“If you’re late by even a minute, I will go home and keep the door locked tomorrow morning.” Her voice held a taunting tone to it.

Papillon’s grin couldn’t be held back any longer. “I’ll be here at 8:30 then.”

And he was. Papillon sauntered in front of the shop that evening. The lights were all turned off inside and the door was locked. The building effortlessly blended into the background, not to be seen by the crowd that was bustling before him.

Papillon found himself leaning against the door as he fidgeted with a cigarette he’d pulled from the case in his pocket, trying to flip it up and catch it with his mouth. He was unsuccessful, but caught it with his hand instead before it fell on the ground.

His eyes would graze over the busy street, filing through each face as he looked for her. Couples were linked together arm-in-arm and friends paraded around the town living larger than life, but none of them were her.

A few more minutes had gone by before he heard her voice from beside him.

“I’m impressed, Papillon,” she said.

He turned to look at her. She stood taller now in her heels and she wore a dress that hugged her figure beautifully and an A-line coat to top it all off. Her hair was out of its ponytail and swayed in various directions, and curly bangs rested on her forehead now and framed her face. She must have kept them pulled back as she worked with a meticulously placed bobby pin holding them back. Her jewelry sparkled under the red light that drenched the street from the sign of the movie theatre nearby. There were small little studs in her ears and a dainty necklace resting against her collarbones.

Papillon wanted to spoil her rotten.

He looked to his watch. 9:01.

“So what happens if you’re late?” he looked up at her.

“It’s up to you,” she shrugged nonchalantly and put her hands in the pockets of her coat. Papillon noticed the beginnings of a challenge glimmering in her eyes. “You can take me with you or leave me here.”

The two stared at each other as her body swayed subtly but playfully. It did nothing to curb the temptation spreading through Papillon’s chest.

She knew. She knew he wouldn’t leave her here. Although neither of them would say it out loud.

There was a growing smirk on both of their faces that broke as Papillon stepped closer, deciding to overlook her tardiness.

“Does this mean I get to know your name now?” He played it cool even though he was enraptured by her.

She smiled before she placed a hand onto his forearm and leaned up to his ear. He met her halfway, leaned down and stayed still so he didn’t miss it.

She said it, faintly of course because that was all part of the game, and it was almost as sweet as the desserts she made.

Josephine.

He pulled back, their smiles mirroring one another.

Papillon took Josephine’s hand in his to pull her close, then under his arm. They joined the crowd of people and Papillon held her tight to make sure she didn’t get lost in the ebb and flow of bodies. She held onto him tightly, a firm arm wrapped around his torso as she let him lead the way, the both of them laughing whenever either of them stumbled into one another or received some unkind words from people they bumped into.

Soon enough, they were in the clear. However, they only had a minute of calm as they stood in an alleyway and Papillon knocked on the backdoor to this business party. Chaos resumed as the door opened and Papillon pulled her in.

Josephine didn’t miss the way Papillon greeted almost everybody at the party with stunning confidence that had the other ladies in the party eyeing him with lust evident in their gazes. It was the same confidence that piqued her interest. He looked so sure of himself.

She was surprised to find him outside the bakery on time tonight. She purposely showed up a little late because she was skeptical that he was completely serious about taking her out.

Still, she showed up, constantly questioning whether she should turn back and go home the entire way over. Josephine had gotten her hopes up for the first time in a long time and Papillon had yet to disappoint.

The music from the live band a few feet away from the entrance was booming and filled the room with pulsating energy.

Papillon noticed the surprise on Josephine’s face when she saw the bare-breasted women serving champagne on silver platters and the dancers on stage next to the band.

He helped her take her coat off, hanging it with the others in a nearby closet before leading her further into the party.

Papillon soon released her hand to grab two flutes of champagne a waitress was carrying by. He handed one to Josephine and the two of them tipped their glasses to one another before taking a sip.

He threw an arm over her shoulders, holding her close as they walked around the party. Papillon had to make his rounds and say hello to a few people. He even introduced her to some. Josephine was really good at talking to people; it was one of the first things Papillon noticed about her.

However, when she began to refuse anymore alcohol and was less enthusiastic in conversation, he asked her, “Should we go?”

Papillon just had to check in with Castili, drop off the stuff, get paid and they could be on their way.

Josephine nodded up at him and smiled gratefully. Papillon grabbed onto her hand and led her through to the back past the band and the dancers. The door shut behind them and muffled the music, giving them some relief from the conglomeration of noise.

They passed through the dressing room of the women that perused the party and they all greeted Papillon kindly. They were dressed in glamorous costumes with fluffy boas and shiny embroidery along the material on their bodies.

Papillon was just as kind in his response as he led Josephine all the way down the end of the hall and stopped at a door.

“Just give me a second in here and I’ll be out in a few minutes, okay?” he told her.

“Sure, okay,” she nodded, glancing at the women around her.

He noticed her timidness coming back and he felt bad to leave her behind out here but he’d prefer that she stayed out her rather than get acquainted with anyone behind that door.

“Nenette,” Papillon called over to the raven-haired woman.

She came through the crowd and appeared right in front of him.

“You mind looking after my friend while I talk to Castili?” he asked her.

“Sure, no problem,” she smiled up at him.

“Thanks,” Papillon smiled gratefully at her.

He then turned to Josephine, “It’ll just be a minute.”

She nodded in return, putting on her best smile to assure him that she was okay.

When Papillon disappeared in the room, the two women introduced themselves to one another.

“Is this your first time here?” Nenette asked her.

“Yeah. I didn’t even know parties this fancy existed,” she chuckled.

“Oh they’re a lot of fun,” Nenette assured her, “It’s good that you have Papi here with you. He’s a really good guy.”

“Yeah, he is,” she replied with a smile of her own.

“How did you two meet?”

“He’s a customer down at my bakery.”

“You have a bakery?” Nenette perked up.

“Yeah, you should come!” Josephine offered, “I’ve sort of started an early bird special since Papillon started coming around so early. I’d love to do the same for everyone else around here.”

Nenette’s smile faltered slightly but she nodded nevertheless. “I’ll tell some of the other girls about it,” she assured her just as the door to the room opened again.

Papillon was smiling at Josephine before his eyes shifted over to Nenette. He thanked her and Josephine said a goodbye to her before Papillon grabbed onto her hand and led them back the way they came.

They stopped at the door momentarily while Papillon wrapped her up in her coat again before they were back out in the alleyway.

Josephine let out a sigh of relief now that she could hear herself think again. “You do that every night?”

“I have to,” he shrugged, offering his arm to her. “It’s still business even though it’s a party.”

She wrapped her hand around his bicep and the two of them sauntered down the alleyway together. “What exactly is it that you do?”

“I’m in banking and investments,” he replied without hesitation. “I find profitable items that other people store away and bring it to my company’s knowledge.” It was a lie he had crafted and told hundreds of times but this time, it didn’t feel right.

“Oh wow,” she mused, “Sounds important.”

“It is,” he nodded, now throwing an arm around her.

“So you’re some sort of detective,” she smirked up at him.

Papillon’s chest rumbled with a laugh that Josephine joined in on and that made the bad taste in his mouth more potent.

[groovyzombiellama]

Imagine: Henri begging you to believe him he's not guilty as they are arresting him

Henri:”I swear Y/N I didn’t do it! I’m innocent!” Y/N:”I believe you Henri, I’ll find a way to help you get free!”

[tash880i]

I miss charlie and jax 🤍😔...

[takenews-blog1]

Jail Drama 'Papillon' Picked Up by Bleecker Avenue

New Post has been published on https://takenews.net/jail-drama-papillon-picked-up-by-bleecker-avenue/

Jail Drama 'Papillon' Picked Up by Bleecker Avenue

Bleecker Avenue has acquired U.S. distribution rights to director Michael Noer’s Papillon, the jail drama starring Charlie Hunnam and Rami Malek that premiered at this yr’s Toronto Worldwide Movie Pageant.

Based mostly on the books Papillon and Banco by Henri Charriere, the movie follows the story of Henri “Papillon” Charrière, performed by Hunnam, a safecracker from the Parisian underworld who’s framed for homicide and condemned to life within the infamous penal colony on Satan’s Island, the place he kinds an unlikely alliance with convicted counterfeiter Louis Dega, performed by Malek.

“Michael and the manufacturing staff have created an epic retelling of Henri Charrière’s unique autobiography,” Bleecker Avenue CEO Andrew Karpen stated Tuesday in asserting the acquisition. “It’s a brand new imaginative and prescient of dedication and redemption.”

Joey McFarland, David Koplan, Ram Bergman and Roger Corbi produced the movie. The deal was negotiated between Kent Sanderson and Avy Eschenasy on behalf of Bleecker Avenue and CAA on behalf of the filmmakers.

Charrière’s life behind bars was beforehand dropped at the massive display in 1973’s Papillon, starring Steve McQueen and Dustin Hoffman and directed by Franklin Schaffner.

[carni-val]

The Early Bird Catches the Butterfly [Henri “Papillon” Charrière] - Pt. 2

pairing: Henri “Papillon” Charrière x OFC

summary: When the early bird and the night owl meet at the break of dawn, how long can they last in the light of day?

warnings: Slightest elusion to smut, angst

author’s note: Sorry this is coming out so late, I had to rewrite this three times so I hope you all enjoy it! Also, there will be a part three because I don’t know how to shut up :)

Charlie Hunnam Masterlist | Papillon Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 3

It resumed at the Moulin Rouge Cinema when the hustle and bustle seemed to never let up. The city got busier over the years which meant more people in the streets, more parties to go to, and more contacts to make. A whole new side of Paris opened up but it was still empty.

There were so many conversations happening around Papillon that he couldn’t even keep up with one of them, so he decided to watch instead; watch how people squeezed past one another while trying to stay connected to their friends or lover; how cars stuttered in the face of blockages in their paths; how the trolleys seemed to get fuller and fuller with each one that passed, or maybe they just got smaller and smaller.

“Hey, Papi!” he felt someone clap his shoulder one time.

Papillon turned to the man who was passing by and sent him a quick smile before turning back to look out at the street before him. He didn’t have a clue who that man was, but it was routine to just smile and let them be on their way.

He learned how to make conversation with guys like that whenever it was called for: how’s the family? You hear about that guy so-and-so? You got a smoke to spare? Then, you let them steer the conversation wherever they wanted to take it.

Paris wasn’t as small as it used to be. He used to be able to recognize all of the men Castili worked with, but ever since he became bent on “expanding his horizons” as he put it, there seemed to be someone new to meet at every party.

“Papi, I want you to meet Johnny DeLuca,” Castili brought the new guy over at a party one night for him to meet. “Fresh from Italy and eager to help us out down here.”

“Happy to help in any way I can,” Johnny announced proudly.

All the faces muddled together and Johnny DeLuca looked almost like Roger Carrobie. Johnny’s only defining feature was that he seemed too eager to get his hands dirty.

A few months later, Castili found out Johnny was holding out on Castili’s cut by just a few dollars. The debt was settled with Johnny’s life.

The game was getting more dangerous than before, so Papillon learned how to work smarter. With every man that wronged Castili, Papillon learned how these guys got caught, and he learned how to avoid making the same mistakes.

Along with developing a sixth sense for these kinds of things, Papillon also earned a pristine reputation as one of the best safecrackers in the city, and everyone wanted to hire him to do their dirty work. He only ever worked for Castili though. Papillon was playing the long game, so he would bear it for now.

The work was steady and paid him handsomely, but Papillon couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a quiet moment to himself; a moment to hear the sound of his shoes against the cobblestone streets at the break of dawn, or his steady breath as he exhaled the last drag of his cigarette in an alleyway, or a chance to listen to his own thoughts.

Even now, he was too distracted by the occasional laugh that broke through the crowd, or the smell of a woman’s perfume, or the reflection of the red light from the cinema reflecting off of a man’s watch glittering in the distance.

Safecracking was a silent gig. It had to be; he worked in the vicinity of sleeping people; near henchmen who roamed around quiet halls just a few feet away; and because he needed to be sure exactly which number gave him that sweet, quiet click of confirmation. But on the inside, the thoughts never stopped. Those thoughts, however, were not for himself.

Did anybody hear that?

Was that click on 34 or 35?

Let me double check.

34. For sure, 34.

There was always something to distract him; he was constantly in search of it. It was how he survived the last couple of years.

It was when he was taking the last drag of his cigarette that he felt a hand latch onto his bicep. Papillon flicked the butt of the cigarette onto the ground and stubbed it out with the toe of his dress shoe. He blew the smoke out of the corner of his mouth before smirking down at the cheery girl as they exchanged greetings.

“What do you wanna see?” Nenette craned her neck to look up at the marquee above them.

“André said All Quiet on the Western Front was good,” Papillon noted.

Nenette’s face scrunched up in distaste, “I don’t wanna watch a movie about the war, Papi. Caroline said Show Girl in Hollywood was to die for!”

She was getting that dreamy look in her eyes again. Papillon saw it whenever Nenette talked about moving to the countryside and building a life there. He also saw it when she’d talk about some of the dancers they knew who’d moved to the States and were now performing on big stages in front of thousands of people.

She was always undecided — teetering between being invisible and being so grand that you couldn’t see anything but her; exhausted from being in the limelight, then longing to be the light.

It was one of the first things he noted about her when they had an actual conversation. She was never sure about what she wanted. 

Papillon surmised that she didn’t even know if she wanted him.

Nenette, despite being one of his only friends, was hot and cold; in love with him one day and wanting to just be friends the next. Papillon knew how he felt about her and let her mood swings pass. He was simply an observer, no matter how many times she tried to pull him along for the ride.

Show Girl in Hollywood stood prominently in bold letters on the marquee, assuring him that Nenette — with enough pouting and pleading — would eventually get her way, but All Quiet on the Western Front was bolder, demanding that he stand his ground.

A shoulder colliding with Papillon’s arm threw him off and made him stumble a bit. He turned his head toward the intrusion with furrowed brows that relaxed immediately at the sight of her.

Her mouth, painted in a red that he adored on her, was hanging open, frozen in mid-air. If he still knew her even a little bit, he was sure it was to apologize until she realized it was him that would be on the receiving end.

Her eyes were locked on him, unwavering as she took him in; the ghost of her past. Papillon felt the world slowing down around him, just as it always had whenever he was in her presence.

Every early morning he spent with her was a striking contrast from the quick business deals, fast-paced music, and endless games of blackjack that went by in the blink of an eye the night before. Chatter faded, Nenette’s grip on his arm melted, and all he could see was her.

The one who served him his coffee and croissant slowly the morning after another business party. He took even more time to finish them just so he could be with her a little longer to decompress because she was the only one he felt comfortable doing it around.

“Long night?” she asked him with an apologetic look one morning.

He nodded with a sigh, the hearty scent of his fresh coffee invading his senses. “Believe it or not, there was a time when I could do this for every night for months on end.”

“I think I’ve been a bad influence on you,” she smirked.

“Please,” he breathed out a laugh, “Keep influencing me, early bird.”

When he was no longer welcome at the bakery, Papillon tried to reserve his mornings for himself, but the coffee he made for himself was too bitter and his apartment was too lonely. 

She quickly became the last comfort he’d ever known; a holiday he found his mind wandering off to during these busy years. She was the reason Paris now harboured a void despite its growing population.

Nenette, in true Nenette fashion, broke the silence between them first. “Hi, Josephine!” Her tone gave way to her pleasant surprise.

Nenette was always so infatuated with Josephine and her bakery — just another life she wanted to live. Papillon was subjected to Nenentte’s raving for months before she stopped going upon learning he didn’t go there anymore.

“What did you do?” she questioned him in the dressing room in the early evening before another one of Castili’s parties.

She held a tube of mascara in one hand and the wand in the other. One eye was gooped with the stuff while the other was bare. Apparently, Papillon’s romantic life was enough for Nenette to pause in the middle of putting on her makeup which was her favourite part of getting ready.

“I don’t wanna talk about it, Nenette,” he ducked his head, resting his forearms on his knees.

Nenette took a couple of steps over to where he was sitting, gripped his chin and yanked his head up to look at her. “Well you’re stuck with me, so start talking,” she prompted.

She turned back to the mirror, listening to what transpired between him and Josephine. The next time she stopped doing her makeup was so she could grab her bag that was nearby and hit him in the arm with it.

“You should’ve told her that long before you brought her here,” Nenette spoke in a hushed tone, not wanting someone like Castili to overhear her slandering him and his people.

Papillon couldn’t even be angry with Nenette because he knew she was right.

As Josephine stood before them now, her eyes flickered between the hold Nenette had on his arm and Nenette herself. “Hi,” she put on a smile that was still bright, but not as confident. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” she nodded enthusiastically, “How are you? How’s your bakery?”

“It’s really good actually.” Josephine’s smile was more relaxed this time, more natural, but when her eyes flickered to Papillon, it faltered slightly.

Her hair was shorter now but still relentlessly curly. Papillon’s heart stopped every time he saw a curly headed woman in a crowded room. His heart would hold out hope that it’d be her as Papillon would chase after the woman, but it would sink, then go on beating — a mundane task now — when the woman who turned around turned out to be just another stranger.

He could still remember how it felt to have his fingers tangled in Josephine’s curls. Just thinking about it had his knuckles tingling.

She stood taller under the red light that drenched her form and everything else around her. Papillon’s eyes flickered to her shoes, noticing she was propped up a few inches by her heels. He loved having her at this height. She fit against him perfectly, her head landing right against his chest but her arms were still able to wrap comfortably around his torso, although Josephine loathed wearing them.

“How much further?” she asked, slowing down with each step she took.

“Just a couple more minutes,” he promised, holding onto her arm to keep her up.

Josephine would put on a brave face to try and hide how much pain she was in, but Papillon would catch the way her face scrunched up with the odd step.

He stopped and Josephine had no choice but to conform seeing as how he was her support. He turned to her and scooped her up into his arms before she could keep up. Her yelp of surprise echoed throughout the street and had some heads turning in their direction.

“Do me a favour,” he said once they’d made it to his apartment and she was seated on his bed.

He took off one of her shoes and then the other before tossing them to the side, “Never wear these again.”

“I have to,” she shrugged, “Have to keep up appearances in this society,” she said with a light tone.

“Then I’ll carry you home every night that you do,” Papillon promised her.

“Josephine?” a man appeared by her side after maneuvering his way through the eager movie goers.

Papillon watched as he slipped his arm around her back and looked down at her. Josephine was initially surprised by his presence but when recognition washed over her features, she relaxed in his hold.

It was second nature at this point for Papillon to look for the bad in people. He wasn’t in a line of work where you could trust anyone and before he knew it, that motto was weaving its way into his personal life. Ironic.

The man wore a suit with sleeves that were a tad too short for his arms, and Papillon knew his blonde, combed back hair was superior to his counterpart’s black hair that was parted on the side.

“Almost lost you,” he joked to Josephine before his eyes met Papillon’s. He looked down to Josephine again, confused.

Papillon’s eyes were on her as she looked between everybody before letting out a quick laugh. “Sorry,” she apologized to the man as she quickly gathered herself. 

She gestured to Nenette, “This is, my, um…” her words stumbled slightly before she decided to forego a title, “This is Nenette, and…” her words faded again as their eyes met once more, “…Henri.” She forced out the name.

She had only ever called him Papillon even after he told her his full name. He didn’t want his full name ever falling on the wrong ears. He just told her he was more comfortable that way, so she accommodated that.

She told him she wanted to know one morning — the time of day where all his secrets were held.

The bakery was closed that day but the two of them were still up early, holding each other and trying to shield themselves from the intrusive morning light streaming in through the window in Papillon’s bedroom.

“Why does everybody call you Papillon?” she whispered to him, not wanting to break the serenity that the dawn carried in with it. “Doesn’t anybody call you by your real name?”

His jaw twitched but he kept his hand gentle as he ran it up and down her arm. “A couple people,” he lied, but then softened it with the truth, “Not a lot of people know my real name.”

“Can I know?”

Papillon looked down at her before she craned her neck up to look at him, hopefully. Her eyes were glimmering in the morning light; her hair dishevelled, but he didn’t mind it, because neither did she.

He opened his mouth to say it but stopped, feeling timid about it all of a sudden. It’s not that he didn’t trust her, but he never really liked his name. He never felt like it fit him.

“I told you mine,” she reminded him playfully, trying to coax him into telling her.

She had a point. This would just be another secret locked away in the early morning, a place that was safe from nosy men and sharp ears.

After a small sigh, Papillon said it, “Henri Charriere.” He added quickly, “There, are you happy now?” to try and give her something else to focus on in hopes that she’d forget hearing the former.

“Henri Charrière,” she repeated, much to his chagrin. But then she said it again, letting the name roll off her tongue after trying it out once, and the smile on her lips as he did it made him smile too. She said it again and Papillon never wanted anyone but her to ever say it.

Jean was the man’s name and Papillon watched how his gaze fell to the butterfly tattooed on his chest as it poked through the button-down shirt he was wearing.

If he knew what it meant, he didn’t say anything, instead, he remained polite. He unwrapped his arm from around Josephine and held it out to Nenette first, who was gentle in her handshake, then to Papillon who was not.

Papillon’s hand was rough, calloused, and scarred in some places from various fights he’d been in and safes that needed just a little more elbow grease to crank open, but Jean’s hand was pristine with not a single nail too long or a patch of skin too rough. His hands held no stories, at least none that Papillon was interested to know

He had to bite back a smirk at the sharp inhale Jean took upon his crushing grip. He felt the bones of Jean’s hand under his fingers and he was tempted to press down even harder and break it in several places as he thought about how it nestled itself in the small of Josephine’s back.

He caught Josephine’s look out of the corner of his eye; her eyes were wide and her jaw was tight, silently demanding that Papillon let go of his hand. He relented and watched her face relax as he did so.

The red lighting distorted the colour of her eyes and left Papillon wondering if the brown in her eyes still became slightly translucent in the sunlight, or had they become darker over the years? And if they did, was he to blame for that?

“We should get our tickets before they’re sold out,” Jean suggested to her.

Josephine turned to look at him and sent him a small smile. “Yes, that’s a good idea,” she nodded.

Papillon’s lip began to curl up in anger as he watched Jean brush away a piece of Josephine’s hair that the gentle breeze around them had whisked onto her face. She had grown out her bangs, so Papillon could see more of her face; more of the way she silently thanked him with just a look, and her newly cropped hair — new for Papillon at least — made it easier for him to see the extravagant necklace she wore. It hung just above the neckline of her dress and sparkled in different directions. There was a green stone in the middle of it that was surrounded by smaller diamonds.

The idea of Jean surprising her with it and putting it around her neck made Papillon nauseous.

“What movie are you seeing?” Nenette asked the pair.

“Show Girl in Hollywood,” Jean replied, sending a look to Papillon as if to say women, am I right?

It was a poor attempt at getting them on the same page.

“So are we,” Papillon decided.

“Really?” Nenette peered up at him with a hopeful gleam in her eye.

“Really,” he sent a quick smile down at Nenette before catching the way Josephine’s brows furrowed the slightest bit.

She knew what he was doing, she wasn’t an oblivious woman, and Papillon was just fine with that. He learned to get used to it throughout the time he’d spent with her and he was counting on her quick wit to find him out and see past his facade just like she always had.

“Let’s get our tickets then,” Jean prompted.

“Should we sit together?” Nenette offered.

“I don’t see why not,” Jean replied, looking down to Josephine to confirm.

She was polite, giving a smile and nod before Jean was leading her towards the entrance.

As they made their way into the theatre and waited in line, Papillon kept his eye on Josephine, trying to piece together whether or not this was just another dream he’d have to forget when he woke up.

She’d been within arm’s reach this whole time but distance was never the issue; having a reason to speak to her evaporated and was replaced by the sting of her absence.

Papillon tried to quell it some nights when he’d wander away from Castili’s party, desperate for a break from all the new faces that wanted to pull him in every direction. He always found himself at the door of Amélie’s Boulangerie. Everything was simpler here, until it wasn’t, and Papillon only had himself to blame for that.

That reminder would act as his cue to head back to the party and numb everything that was quickly bubbling up to the surface.

The smell of freshly baked bread still lingered on Josephine and brought back sweet memories. Papillon could still see her behind the counter with her hair tied back and her dress and apron stained with some flour. His heart fluttered when he remembered how bright her smile was whenever she greeted him.

He had seen some beautiful women in his time, usually dressed in extravagant jewelry and expensive dresses, but all she had to do was smile at him. Josephine never had to try hard, probably because she knew she didn’t have to; she had his attention the moment he walked into that bakery.

The movie was even more dreadful than he thought it would be because Papillon heavily miscalculated the consequences of his hasty decision. He was not privy to what people did in movie theatres when the lights went down — a kiss here, a grope there, a slip under the pants too if you’re lucky — and he didn’t want to give Jean the opportunity; he could hardly bear the image of it in his mind. Jean’s arm latched around Josephine the entire time outside was more than enough.

Papillon tried to keep his fidgeting to a minimum as he kept catching glimpses of Josephine’s hardened demeanour from the corner of his eye.

She put on an act in front of Jean, successfully fooling him into thinking everything was fine. Even when Papillon sat next to her, Jean was none the wiser about Josephine’s agitation even though all the signs were there: the way she chewed on the inside of her cheek, how deeply she was breathing, and the way she kept her eyes straight ahead on the screen in front of them long before the movie started.

Papillon didn’t purposely do it though. After Jean offered Josephine a seat in the theatre, Papillon did the same for Nenette. Nenette, however, sat in the next seat over, leaving a seat between Josephine and herself empty.

He didn’t want to sit right next to Josephine, he didn’t even want to sit near her. He just needed to be close enough to see them.

The change in plans obstructed Papillon’s collected demeanour and he found himself desperately scavenging for a solution to the problem Nenette created.

He would sit to Nenette’s right. 

However, just as Papillon moved for the seat, a man sat down in it, catapulting him from relief all the way back to distress.

Josephine was watching him out of the corner of her eye and it only made Papillon more nervous. He felt like a deer in headlights, almost as if everyone around them had found out that even after all these years, he was still at her complete mercy; willing to bend in any direction to make sure she was happy.

The two hadn’t said a word to each other yet, but the looks they exchanged told him more than she could ever express with words.

It was so uncharacteristic of them; it was her he would turn and speak to during events they attended together, even if some of Castili’s best men were there, ready and willing to meet Papillon.

Now the weight of her pain settled in the space between them and made the damage irreversible.

When the lights began to dim in the theatre and the crowd’s volume decreased with it, Papillon became a silhouette in the darkness and before anyone could heckle at him to sit down, he reluctantly descended into the seat.

He heard Josephine’s heavy sigh just before the film projector clicked on and began to whir in the background of the opening song as the titles began to play.

He noticed Josephine’s leg beginning to bounce which meant her agitation had graduated to vexation.

Not good at all.

But of course, Jean was none the wiser.

The chill of Josephine’s cold shoulder sent a shiver down his spine. The flickering of the lights on the screen before them animated the planes of Josephine’s face while the shadows filled in the valleys.

It had only been two years but she looked different — maybe it was the hair — but she looked more mature. She sat up straighter, kept her eyes focused ahead of her and didn’t break out into a smile under Papillon’s admiring gaze.

He wondered where she went that turned her into this woman before him. The bakery was still running which was evident by the lights that illuminated the shop every morning when he passed by, so how did he manage to lose her in the close proximity? He had always been a night owl, but he found himself circling the area at dawn along with the other early birds and yet, she was nowhere to be seen.

Maybe he helped her find comfort in the night as she helped him find comfort in the morning.

They could never seem to get it right.

The movie provided no distraction as Papillon couldn’t bring his full attention to it. He’d see the way Jean would occasionally lean over and whisper something to Josephine that would make her suppress a laugh.

Papillon waited and listened with his trained ear. He was scanning through the noise form the movie and others around him, and his patience was tested every time Jean leaned closer to Josephine to whisper something, but still, he waited. Papillon’s eyes locked onto the screen but didn’t process anything that was happening. He had to tune out all input from his other senses to be able to hear what he needed to.

It was agonizing and felt like a lifetime had passed before he heard Jean’s voice over the sound of the movie. It was quick, potentially accidental, and unintelligible from Papillon’s end, but it gave him a reason to send a chilling look Jean’s way.

When their eyes connected, Jean was clearly startled at the sight — Nenette referred to this look as the territorial caveman look with the way his chest heaved, he went totally silent, and his eyes nearly bulged out of his head — but composed himself and leaned across Josephine to speak to Papillon, “Sorry, did you say something?” he asked politely.

“No, but do you mind keeping it down? I’m trying to watch the movie.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, “I didn’t think I was being so loud,” he admitted, sending a sheepish grin to Josephine who flashed him a smile in return, but Papillon saw the way her nimble fingers tugged at a stray strand dangling from her coat.

Papillon was about to respond but he felt a hand on his arm. He turned to find Nenette’s hand resting on his forearm, but her eyes were still on the screen. They flickered over to him for just a moment but he heard her message loud and clear: stay calm.

Papillon relaxed back into his seat and just as he was about to put his other arm on the armrest, he caught sight of Josephine’s arm heading the same way. He stopped his movements in mid-air and dared to look her in the eye.

Her stare was hard and she let out heavy sigh before putting her arm back in her lap and turning back to the movie.

It was evident that his presence created a tornado inside her. Papillon would admit that the opposite was true as well.

It felt like hours had passed and the movie was still in full swing. The characters on the screen were still strangers to Papillon, their conflict was impersonal, and he couldn’t care for the main characters no matter how much strife they went through.

Papillon tried multiple times to read his watch, but the darkness in the room made it impossible to do so.

He remained mindful of his movements as he tried to angle his watch towards the screen to get some light on it, but the glare on his watch obstructed the details within it. He could feel his skin crawling at the discomfort that invited itself to this unexpected reunion and he just wanted to claw his way out of it.

All of this was weighing down heavily on him and slumped on his chest as he sagged back into his seat, letting his arm move towards the armrest, but before it could land on it, it collided with Josephine’s arm that was already resting there.

The two of them pulled back instantly, like a pair of magnets repelling each other. Papillon’s heart leapt out of his chest at the contact and how she may have perceived his mistake for an intended move.

He didn’t have a moment to even look at her before she got up and made her way out of the theatre. She was careful not to brush against his legs as she rushed past him and he wanted to call out to her but she was too far and he didn’t want to bring any attention to either of them.

Papillon deflated back into his seat as the anxiety of the situation began to wear him down. This night had been exhausting and he’d never felt that way around Josephine before. Everything used to be so easy with her and now she couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as him.

He scrubbed his hands over his face as his eyes shut tight, and he could feel the pounding of his heart in his ears and his throat constrict slightly. One of his hands fell to his jaw as he felt anger irking at every sensitive nerve ending in his body. Anger tried to shield him from the seering pain that was still as tender as ever, but the two emotions merged and had him desperate to scream at the top of his lungs.

Normally, Papillon was a master under pressure. In the most uncertain conditions, he could keep his hand as still as a surgeon’s when it came to twisting and turning locks on safes that belonged to very important and dangerous people. He had a handle on his emotions so he could get his job done, even when he heard footsteps approaching the room he had sleuthed himself into, but just one look at Josephine and he was falling apart at the seams.

“Go,” he heard Nenette whisper from beside him. She looked up at him expectingly. “Go before he beats you to her,” she prompted more profusely this time, nodding towards Jean who was looking at the exit, about to get up and follow Josephine. “I’ll distract him,” Nenette promised.

Before he could protest, she was already getting up to go and sit next to him. With the shrug of her shoulder, the sleeve of her jacket slipped down her arm, revealing a bit more skin.

Papillon pulled his eyes away from the scene and hastily made his way out of the theatre, feeling, for the first time ever, thankful for Nenette.

He was a few steps out when he saw Josephine’s curly hair in the midst of the few stragglers in the lobby. She was heading towards the exit of the theatre and Papillon’s heart pounded in his chest, because this time, he knew, it was Josephine, and he was not gonna let her get away.

He called out her name and quickened the pace of his walk, but she did the same, eager to get out of the theatre and away from him.

However, Papillon picked up his pace to a jog, the carpeted floor concealing the sounds of his approaching steps.

Josephine disappeared through the door but Papillon was close behind. The air outside breezed through him and ruffled his clothes and hair. He caught up to her just in time before she could camouflage herself into the crowd of people. He finally found her after all this time and he wasn’t gonna lose her again that easily.

Papillon caught sight of her wet eyes before she ducked her head to avoid his gaze. Causing this once was hard enough, but causing it a second time almost convinced him that he’d never recover.

“I’m sorry, Josephine,” he sighed. His hands hovered around her as he wanted to reach out and hold her or wipe away her tears but he didn’t want her to run off again. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“Why did you come see the same movie as us?” she questioned him once she regained composure, but her eyes were still wet.

“Nenette wanted to see it,” he answered without missing a beat.

“Nenette,” she scoffed, folding her arms across her chest.

“Yeah, Nenette,” he insisted.

Josephine’s face scrunched up in confusion and frustration. “Why is it so easy for you to lie to me?”

Papillon fell silent as he felt all of this baggage begin to unravel from the tightly bound confines he’d locked it in.

“Were you gonna go see the movie if you didn’t know I was seeing it?” she tested.

Papillon stuttered for a moment. The street was loud but he was unmasked and there was no distraction big enough to deter him away from how exposed he felt. “We probably would’ve. Nenette’s real pushy,” he tried to laugh it off, but his smile faltered at her frown.

“Well, you should’ve fought harder, I mean, did you really have to sit right next to us?”

“Nenette was the one who suggested that.”

“You could’ve told her no.”

“You could have too,” Papillon retaliated.

Josephine’s eyes fled from his and she occupied herself with something in the street as she absentmindedly played with her necklace. Her chest was heaving deeply as her jaw tightened again. His eyes were locked in on the glittering jewels embedded in the necklace, and he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Did he get you that?”

Her head whipped towards him and he nodded towards the jewelry. Fresh tears clouded her vision and new found anger furrowed her brow. “I bought it for myself,” she spat, but she could only hold his gaze for a second longer before her eyes perused the streets behind him as she held herself.

She was looking for a distraction.

She tried her hardest to fight the way her brows softened and gave way to how hurt she was underneath all the anger as her tears spilled over her eyes and a frown smeared across her lips. She hastily swiped at her cheeks with a frustrated huff.

“Why are you crying?” he stepped closer to her, his voice soft.

Josephine didn’t speak, she just bit down on her bottom lip as the tears multiplied, and shook her head, avoiding his eye.

“Josephine,” he prompted, stepping towards her once again.

Papillon reached out and cupped her cheek to try and turn her head to look at him, and when she squeezed her eyes tight, he brought his other hand up to cup her other cheek.

When Papillon stopped asking why, he consoled her instead, but like an elastic band pulled too taut, Josephine snapped as a sob escaped her lips before she pressed her face into his chest.

Her sobs and sniffling were muffled against his shirt and Papillon tried to soothe her despite the sudden change in atmosphere.

He pressed his cheek against her head and held her in his arms, quietly shushing her to try and ease her distress, despite his confusion about why the necklace, of all things, was her breaking point.

Papillon caught the eyes of confused passersby as they stood in the eye of the crowd, a view for others to gawk at. He led Josephine away from the crowd, sending dirty looks to anybody’s gaze who lingered too long on them.

He nestled the two of them in the alleyway beside the theatre. It was quieter over here, less lights, and less eyes on them. All Papillon could hear was Josephine’s crying before it came to a slow stop. He pulled her head away from his chest and looked her in the eye again, noticing streaks of her makeup streaming down her face. He used his thumbs to wipe away her stained tears as best as he could and warmth spread throughout his body when she clasped onto one of his hands that was still on her cheek.

The single light hanging above them highlighted Josephine’s features without any distortion; her big doe eyes, soft cheeks, and plush lips that he longed to kiss. He wanted to let his nose brush against hers; he wanted to feel her smile against his lips. He wanted to let the the hair that draped over the nape of her neck warm his hands and he wanted his body against hers.

He longed to admire her because his memory didn’t do her beauty justice. He could never fully comprehend it when he was around her.

“This was supposed to be easy,” she hiccuped as her eyes fell to the ground.

Papillon ducked his head to keep looking into them, which to his dismay, had dimmed over the years. “What was supposed to be easy?”

Josephine looked up at him, no armour in her gaze, just pure pain that Papillon would spend the rest of his life repenting for. “I’m opening another bakery in Germany.” she answered and Papillon’s heart stuttered- “Tonight’s my last night here.” -then sank deep into his core.

He wanted to hold her tight and be as far away from her as possible all at the same time. Sadness and anger battled for the upper hand inside him, but on the outside, Papillon was still as he felt his stomach recoil and his breath become shallow.

“You were gonna leave without saying goodbye?”

Josephine tried to move her face from his hold but Papillon held on. He couldn’t let her get away this time. She relented as more tears streamed down her face and her continued crying gave him the answer he needed.

His soft look turned incredulous as he felt his insides hollow out. If he thought he was empty before, nothing compared to this feeling. He could blow away in the wind without a care in the world.

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” she shook her head in his hold.

Papillon let her go and took a few steps back, training himself to breathe in and out deeply.

“What was I supposed to do? Find you after all this time and tell you I’m leaving? I don’t know you anymore — I never did,” she told him.

Papillon turned to face her, “You were the only one who ever knew me! I never told anybody the things I told you.”

He didn’t realize how lonely he was in the city until he had, and then lost Josephine. He thought he liked being somewhat anonymous to women. The mystery piqued their interest and he didn’t have to deliver a single thing — it was all part of the game, but he and Josephine never played those kinds of games.

Talking to Josephine was easy and it showed him how desperate he was for someone to hear him and how much he wanted someone to see past the power and money, to find him and like that better.

Like a river, everything he ever wanted to share with anybody came pouring out, the dam that held it all back, long forgotten. He wasn’t ashamed of any of it either — not of his upbringing, not of his parents’ occupations, and not of what he wanted out of life. He had to hide these parts of himself in the face of Castili and his contacts. There was no place for that version of Papillon there, but Josephine always made room for it.

“What did you wanna be when you grew up?” she asked him as they sauntered through the streets one night.

The herd that usually loitered in the streets was thinning out as the cusp of dawn was approaching.

Neither of them were in a rush, not in walking or in talking. They wanted to hear every detail to every answer the other gave. They wanted to know each other and be known.

“I didn’t know exactly what I wanted to be, but I knew I didn’t wanna be a teacher like my parents were, I didn’t want to stay in the countryside either, and I wanted to make money.”

Josephine hummed, urging him to continue.

“I just remember visiting the city with my parents when I was younger, and I saw the men dressed up in fancy suits with their hair freshly cut and styled; they never had to count a single dime before they spent it; and they had beautiful women around them all the time. I know it sounds greedy, but I wanted more for myself.”

“Not greedy at all,” Josephine shook her head as the smile on her lips widened.

She slowed her walk down until she completely stopped and turned to him. “And now you’re in the city — not a schoolteacher, wearing a fancy suit,” she let her hands wrap around the lapels of his blazer before she pressed her body against his, “With freshly cut and styled hair,” her eyes flickered up to his swept back hair, “And you’re making money.”

Papillon grinned as he held her close to him, “Exactly.”

“Now you just need all the women.”

“Just one,” he corrected, beaming down at her.

“One?” she feigned surprise, “I’m starting to get jealous now,” she quipped.

“I just need you,” he clarified before meeting her lips with his.

Josephine couldn’t be further from him now as her eyes narrowed with a piercing glare. “You never told me you were a thief.” she pointed at the butterfly tattoo on his chest.

He’d been called a thief all his life, whether it was through a harmless jab from some contacts here in Paris, by a shop owner back in the countryside who was a little too late to catch him running out with pockets full of sweets, or by police officers looking to nab him on something; but when Josephine said it, it made him want to abandon it all right on the spot. It made him want to be an honest man.

“I’m sorry,” Papillon relented.

It was the one thing he desperately wanted to tell her every morning they spent together and every night he’d go to her place and lie in bed with her. Instead, he let them get caught up in stories of their childhoods and discussions about their hopes and dreams when their lips weren’t occupied elsewhere.

“It’s been a long time since I had someone to lay next to, Papillon,” she confessed one night in her bedroom.

When she wasn’t being witty or joking around, Josephine was devastatingly honest.

Her fingers were delicate as they traced his butterfly tattoo. She had no idea what it meant and even the slightest entanglement between both of his worlds made Papillon’s stomach knot uncomfortably. Both versions of him couldn’t exist in the same place.

He took her hand in his and pressed a kiss to her knuckles before resting her palm flat against his chest.

The sounds of cars and people on the street below were muffled by the closed window where the streetlights cut through the darkness and streamed in through the room.

“I’ve been working so hard these past few years trying to get another location open. My grandma planned on it, my mother almost made it happen, and I feel like I’m so close to actually doing it,” she beamed up at him and her happiness was like a contagion. “I never made time for anybody else because I wanted to focus on that. I always thought being with somebody would get in the way of it all, but not with you,” she reached up a hand to stroke his stubbly cheek.

Papillon turned his head to kiss the palm of her hand before she sat up, the bedsheet falling down to her waist and exposing her bare chest. “I really love you, Papillon,” she confessed in a whisper, eyes examining him for any signs of recoil upon this new information.

But there was none. Papillon acted quickly to pull her down into a kiss as his bottom lip began to quiver, her words plunging right into his heart and healing every wound and filling every void that was there.

He should’ve told her then, but when she lay back and pulled him on top of her, he became consumed with chasing the high that this new feeling provided.

Now, he was paying the price and Papillon wanted nothing more than to go back to that night to find the courage to tell her.

He watched as Josephine shook her head at his apology, “It’s too late for that.”

“It’s not too late,” he refuted.

“Yes it is-“

“Then why are you still here listening to me?” he challenged, knowing she’d have no problem walking away from him. “Why did you cry to me?” he gestured to the remnants of smudged makeup on his white dress shirt. “And why are you upset about leaving in the first place? This is what you’ve wanted for so long,” his tone was softer now. He knew all the answers, but he needed her to admit it first.

She was tense all over but shaking at the same time. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you know everything when you don’t.”

“Tell me then.”

Josephine kept her mouth shut and her eyes on Papillon.

“Josephine, just tell me,” his impatience was starting to get the better of him. She was leaving tomorrow and they were wasting time.

When he stepped forward, she finally said, in a quivering voice, “It doesn’t change anything.”

“Of course it does,” he insisted.

“Why?”

“Because I still love you.”

Josephine stuttered, her breath catching in her throat and her eyes bore into Papillon’s. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” her voice was weak now, devoid of any malice.

“So let’s spend your last night here together,” he prompted as he took a step forward.

Josephine’s brows pulled together, evidently confused as to how he could suggest something like that after everything. “It’s different now.”

“I still love you and I know you still love me.”

“You lied to me,” her voice was a whisper now.

Papillon took her face in his hands again and tilted it up so he could meet her eye. He brushed her hair away from her face and off her look, he could feel the tears building up inside him again. “I know and I’ll always be sorry for it. All I ever wanted to do was make it right, but if you don’t wanna hear it, we’ll go our separate ways and let it all end. You’ll go to Germany tomorrow and I’ll stay here.”

Her breathing became staggered when he finished his sentence, and he watched her eyes squeeze shut as more tears gushed out. They glimmered under the light hanging above them and he was quick to dry them.

Papillon had caused a lot of hurt in his life but not much healing. He didn’t think the two abilities could coexist in the same hands or more importantly, in the same heart. The two dimensional categories of good and bad that people were often filtered through didn’t leave much room for growth. Papillon had always been labelled as the latter but he wanted to learn how to heal Josephine. He wanted to learn how to be the antidote to the poison he infected her with. He wanted to learn how to be good.

When Papillon pulled Josephine into his chest, she didn’t fight him. Instead, she melted into his hold and wrapped her arms around him, and Papillon felt like he could breathe again. Her body was racked by sobs once more and they let it pass. He rubbed her back, apologized profusely, and planted kisses on the side of her head.

“I’ll tell you everything if you wanna hear it,” he told her. “I won’t leave anything out.”