#vivienne hastings | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

claudia1829things · 2 years ago

Text

"THE A.B.C. MURDERS" (1992) Review

"THE A.B.C. MURDERS" (1992) Review As I had pointed out in my REVIEW of the 2018 adaptation of "THE A.B.C. MURDERS", the 1936 book upon which it is based is one of my favorites written by Agatha Christie. And as I had pointed out, there have been at least four adaptations. In this review, I have decided to focus on the 1992 television adaptation from the "AGATHA CHRISTIE'S POIROT" series.

Starring David Suchet as the Belgian-born detective, Hercule Poirot, "THE A.B.C. MURDERS" begin with Poirot welcoming his old friend Captain Arthur Hastings, who has traveled from his Argentina ranch for a visit to Britain. Poirot reveals a letter he had recently received from a possible serial killer named "A.B.C.", who declares his or her intention to murder a citizen of Andover, whose name starts with an "A". Following the death of one Alice Ascher in Andover, Chief Inspector Japp and Scotland Yard becomes involved when Poirot receives a second letter from the killer, who needles the detective with his/her intent to kill a second victim in a seaside town called Bexhill-on-the-Sea. After the murderer kills a third victim, an elderly millionaire from Churston; Poirot recruits the victims' relations and loved ones to assist him and Hastings in the hunt for the killer. And unbeknownst to Poirot and the police, a non-descript, middle-aged stockings salesman named Alexander Bonaparte Cust found himself present at the locations of each victim. As much as I liked the 2018 adaptation of Christie's 1936 novel, I must admit that I prefer this version over it. Unlike the former, this television movie managed to adhere a lot closer to Christie's novel. Unlike many, I would not consider the latter as a requisite for a good adaptation. I can think of a few first-rate Christie adaptations that were not that faithful to the original source. But in the case of "THE A.B.C. MURDERS", I believe Clive Exton was wise to be as faithful as possible to Christie's 1936 novel. Why? I believe it is one of her best creations and it is a personal favorite of mine. It seemed very rare for mystery writers - especially those like Christie - to create a story about a possible serial killer. The only other time I can recall Christie creating something similar was her 1939 novel, "AND THEN THERE WERE NONE". Another aspect of this story that I enjoyed was the sense of urgency in Poirot and the police's hunt for "ABC" after the second murder had been committed. This was especially apparent in Exton and director Andrew Grieve's use of fast-paced moments of newspaper headlines, newsreel narrations and close-up shots of A.B.C. railway guides. And thanks to Grieves' direction, along with performances by David Suchet and Donald Sumpter, the television movie included an excellent scene that featured Poirot's interview with the arrested Cust. Although "THE A.B.C. MURDERS" is a favorite of mine, it is not perfect. Once again, the series brought in Scotland Yard's Chief Inspector Japp to serve as the main police investigator in this story. I have always enjoyed Poirot and Hastings' interactions with Japp, but I do get weary of the series using Japp as the main police investigator in nearly every episode or television movie. Especially since none of the murders in this story were committed within Scotland Yard's jurisdiction. Arthur Hastings appeared in the form of two problems for me. One, I was not a fan of the running joke involving the dead Amazon Cayman that Hastings had shot and brought with him from South America. I did not find it funny or amusing. And two - as much as I have enjoyed Hugh Fraser's performances as Hastings over the years, I found Exeter's portrayal of him as this idiot rather excessive. Although I consider this adaptation superior to the 2018 miniseries, I must admit that the latter seemed to more style and punch in its production. This movie's first half had style. But after the fourth victim, I had to struggle to stay awake, due to the second half's more plodding style . . . at least until Poirot's revelation of the killer. I have a complaint about the casting, but I will bring it up later. But I do have one last complaint. The movie featured one of those scenes in which involved the police chasing the murderer after Poirot exposes the latter. God, I hate them. The "AGATHA CHRISTIE'S MISS MARPLE" with Joan Hickson was the first to utilize this trope. And unfortunately, "AGATHA CHRISTIE'S POIROT" continued it every now and then. The performances in "THE A.B.C. MURDERS" struck me as first-rate. David Suchet gave his usual fine performance as the Belgian-born private detective, Hercule Poirot. As stated earlier, I was especially impressed by his performance in a scene in which Poirot interviews the major suspect. Although I had an issue of how Captain Arthur Hastings was written for this TV movie, I cannot deny that actor Hugh Fraser gave his usual excellent performance as Poirot's companion and best friend. Philip Jackson was excellent as usual as the tart-tongued Chief Inspector Japp. There were two other performances that stood out for me. One came from Pippa Guard, who gave an excellent performance as Megan Barnard, the blunt and tart-tongued sister of the second victim, Betty Barnard. But the one stand-out performance came from Donald Sumpter, who portrayed the stocking salesman, Alexander Bonaparte Cust. Sumpter did a superb job in making such a non-descript personality so interesting and slightly creepy. The rest of the cast provided first-rate support - including Nicholas Farrell, Cathryn Bradshaw, Nina Marc, David McAlister, Ann Windsor, Peter Penry-Jones, Vivienne Burgess and Donald Douglas. Speaking of the latter - he had been cast as Franklin Clarke, the younger brother of the killer's third victim, Sir Carmichael Clarke. I have been aware of Douglas ever since I was a kid and have always regarded him as a first-rate actor. But I believe he had been miscast as Franklin Clarke, who had been described as a handsome, charming and charismatic man in his early-to-mid 40s. Although attractive, Douglas had been in his late 50s when he portrayed Franklin. Also, he seemed to come across more like some hale and hearty Englishman than what Christie had described the character in her novel. I have no problems with the television movie's production values. In all honestly, I would rate the movie's production as solid. There was nothing mind boggling about it. Rob Harris' re-creation of London and other parts of Great Britain struck me as solid. Only his discovery of the De La Warr Pavilion in Essex struck me as a godsend. I found Christopher Gunning's score solid, but not memorable, along with Peter Wenham's art direction. However, I must admit that Carlotta Barrow's set decorations; especially in scenes that featured Alice Ascher's store, the De La Warr Pavilion, Cust's apartment and various hotel rooms, and Poirot's own apartment; struck me as above par and worthy of notice. But I have to give kudos to Barbara Kronig, whom I believe did a superb job of re-creating the 1936 fashions for characters from various backgrounds and personalities. Anyone with common sense would know or realize there is no such thing as a perfect movie or television production. This certainly applies to "THE A.B.C. MURDERS", the 1992 television adaptation to Agatha Christie's1936 novel. The pacing for the movie's second half had threatened to bog down during a small period of time. The joke surrounding Arthur Hastings' dead cayman had become tiresome and never-ending. And I believe one of the characters had been miscast. However, these flaws seemed trifling in compared to the movie's virtues. The cast led by David Suchet struck me as first-rate. Most of the television movie possessed an energy and style, thanks to Andrew Grieve's direction. And screenwriter Clive Exton had written a first-rate adaptation. I believe he did this after recognizing the excellent quality of the source material. "THE A.B.C. MURDERS" is one Agatha Christie novel I will enjoy for years to come.

2 notes · View notes

prettytragcdies · 3 years ago

Photo

#LOOKIT MY SMOL.#Claudia Christian #Bonnie Hastings #Murder She Wrote #x.| elaine maynard ( visage )#x.| vivienne mercer ( visage )

5 notes · View notes

skittidyne · 2 years ago

Text

who wants a deleted scene from ylg2

i’ll also send this out later via email to those who are part of the cool kid club, but also posting it here!

this is a scene that sadly will get scrapped, though it’s a pretty cute scene when isaac and vivienne aren’t sniping at each other. (it’s also written for a way-earlier draft of the first book where sam wasn’t tengu friend, so that’s why there’s confusing distance with mirai!) also, parandrus! those are fun.

“Oh boy,” Vivienne groans, which is the only warning Isaac gets before they’re accosted by a bouncy tengu in the middle of the goblin market.

One that he recognizes, no less: the magpie tengu from Halloween.

“Hello, Mirai,” Vivienne says with a rictus smile. “How have you been?”

“I told these two to deliver a message to you with all haste! That was weeks ago!” the tengu, Mirai, snaps and flutters into the air when they angrily swoop their wings. Their mask may hide their expression, but their glare can be felt. “Little witch, didn’t you give her my message?!”

“Of course he did,” Vivienne blatantly lies.

Isaac rarely feels gratitude, but he supposes he just dodged a bullet. There had been a lot going on during Halloween, so how was he supposed to care that a tengu told them to ask Vivienne to hurry up with whatever egg drama she’s embroiled in? Isaac never thought he’d see the youkai again, anyway. It’s always been a different group manning their stall on the main thoroughfare, and even today, it was supposed to be a quick trip.

“I’m very sorry, Mirai, but there have been a lot of difficult things going on in the human realm that needed my and Mark’s attention,” Vivienne adds with an amount of respect he never would have suspected she were capable of. “I will do my best to convince Mark that we need to hasten our actions to return the First egg to you.”

“Vivienne really was quite busy,” Sam advises with a stage-whisper, complete with hand cupped around his mouth, like the woman standing next to him wouldn’t hear. “I think she almost died—it was dangerous. So she definitely wasn’t lying to you about us telling her your message or being too busy to fetch that egg for you!”

Sam is having too much fun being able to lie to someone else (since the two people he cannot lie to are flanking him). Isaac rolls his eyes.

“Ah, I did smell more death on you than I had before…” Mirai trails off, clawed hand over their mask’s long, beak-like nose.

“I’ve been told it’s very rude to tell women that they smell bad,” Sam adds.

“But then how will they fix it?”

“Okay, you two!” Vivienne breaks back in. “Whatever I smell like to spirits is not the issue here. Sam, please don’t trouble Mirai any further—”

“Oh, he’s no trouble! He’s very easy to speak with!” Mirai chirps.

Why does my demon have a way with tengu, Isaac wonders, exasperated. Aren’t youkai supposed to be infamously hard to deal with? Vivienne’s walking on eggshells around this one. And yet Sam had managed not to get his head ripped off by the barn owl tengu, too, the last time they’d come here.

To Isaac’s annoyance and Vivienne’s visible discomfort, Mirai falls into step beside them when Vivienne tries to beg out of the conversation to continue shopping.

So much for a quick trip.

Sam blatantly leans around Vivienne to continue speaking with Mirai. “So you know the barn owl tengu that normally runs the stall here? I was under the impression that it was their egg that was missing, and they were really upset about it.”

“It is theirs, but it’s my duty to retrieve it!” Mirai replies with their chest puffed up.

“Hatsu doesn’t seem to think so,” Vivienne mutters.

“I need to give it back to them—and I want to! Then Hatsu will see how responsible and decisive and brave I am, not to mention how well I keep my vows to them, and then maybe they’ll finally agree to be courted…” Mirai ends with a dreamy sigh.

Isaac personally cannot believe that tengu, one of the strongest higher spirits around, known for being fierce and violent and exacting, walking vessels of untold magic potential, are also walking examples of romantic period drama tropes. No wonder Vivienne is letting her exasperation show. Has she been dealing with this the entire time?

“Good luck,” Sam earnestly tells them.

Mirai continues mooning beneath their mask, complete with clasped hands and fluttering feathers, even as Vivienne’s expression turns flatter.

Isaac supposes it’s too much to hope that a tengu would be grossed out by having to drag a carcass through the market. He’s not entirely sure what a parandrus is, but apparently they’re big enough that it’ll be an effort to drag a whole one around. Hence the stronger-than-any-human demon Natalie had declared would be perfect for the job. (Vivienne’s there to do the business, Isaac is there as to not stress the contract. Nevermind the fact that he has the sneaking suspicion that he and Sam could be this far apart, and that Vivienne’s presence beside him would likely soothe any discomfort; there are too many loopholes in that damned contract for Isaac to ever understand.)

Graham Yu’s stall is as much of a zoo as Isaac remembers, complete with that blindfolded basilisk he saw last time. It raises its head and flicks out a large tongue, directly at Mirai.

Graham wipes off his gloves on a blood-soaked rag and gives them all a beam. He doesn’t bat an eye at the tengu accompanying them. “Vivienne! You’re here for Natalie’s order, right? It was a pain to maintain the stasis spells, so good luck with that—they’ll probably need refreshing once you get back through the door.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Vivienne replies, offhand but sincere, and ducks behind Graham’s stall with no further invitation. “Strength,” she murmurs and writes down her leg with her finger. She then reaches into that impossible messenger bag of hers to pull out big work gloves to match Graham’s.

Together, they haul a huge, furry body onto the table. It shakes beneath the sudden weight. Isaac can’t see much of the beast, outside of registering long fur and what looks like a horn or antler near the lolling head.

“Is that your dinner? How will you cook it?” Mirai asks brightly.

Graham snorts a laugh. “Charming notion, but no, tengu-san. We’re selling the whole beast for potion bits, but most are best when harvested fresh.”

“The things humans go through for their magic,” Mirai says, head cocked steeply. “Weird!”

“Sam, your turn,” Vivienne wheezes, rolling the parandrus over to the edge of the table. Thick legs and hooves flop over onto that side.

Without so much as a grunt, Sam picks up the parandrus and hauls it over his shoulders. He looks absurd, a skinny white boy beneath an ox-sized creature, but there’s no tremble to his arms as he struggles to balance it. “What is this thing, exactly?” he asks curiously.

“A heraldic beast, isn’t it?” Mirai says, standing on the tips of their talons to peer into its face. Long, rabbit-like ears hang down from its head and antlers knock against Sam’s back. The parandrus’ long fur shimmers as Sam shifts it around. Without meaning to, Isaac reaches out to touch.

Vivienne slaps his hand away. Isaac jolts, surprised, both at himself and her audacity. “Its fur can change color, yeah, it’s not your eyes playing tricks on you. But we need that, and the oils in human skin can damage it—so no touching,” she orders as she strips her gloves off and stuffs them back into her messenger bag.

Sam’s hands fly down away from where he’d been holding it, his face the picture of guilt.

“You’re fine,” Vivienne says with a wildly forced laugh, glancing back at Graham, “because of that spell we did on you earlier! Right, Isaac? Sam, you’re fine to touch it, because you’re our pack mule today!”

“Oh,” Sam says, though if he really catches on, Isaac can’t tell. He gingerly grabs the parandrus again, fingers knotting in long fur, which subtly changes to match his light skin tone.

Isaac watches Mirai’s expressionless mask, but it’s still pointed toward the parandrus’ trailing ears. Considering how obvious their body language is, he thinks it safe to say that they don’t harbor any more suspicion than Graham’s eye roll.

“Tell Natalie that I’m only so generous with keeping whole carcasses for her since she was kind enough to loan you to me with those unicorns!” Graham cheerily informs them, waving goodbye with his large leather gloves. “Oh, but before I forget—how’s that jackalope doing?”

“That was you?!” Vivienne, who had been ready to beat a hasty retreat with Sam in tow, rounds on Graham with eyes narrowed and finger jabbed at his face.

Graham offers her a smug smile. “Doesn’t take a genius to figure out the one you’re keen on is the one who fleeced us at cards at Alice’s Halloween party. Gossip travels fast, you know? So how’s the little critter doing?”

Isaac’s head snaps around, now more interested in this conversation.

“Dana didn’t know it was a jackalope. I got an emergency call the next morning about a rabbit with antlers!”

“She was sloshed after she had the guts to try Ægir ale without any filters. And alright, maybe I was drunk too, since Giselle was nice enough to share her other bottle, but I tried explaining how to take care of the little guy. Or, I can recommend someone who can turn him into a nice pair of gloves. They’re just as soft as rabbits.”

“She named him Pyewacket, and she’s completely enamored,” Vivienne mutters, pinching the furrow in her brow. “Just… don’t go betting cryptids to people who don’t know any better, alright? You could actually get in trouble for that.”

“I’m properly licensed to handle anything and everything in any realm,” Graham retorts, “and how was I supposed to know about your little drama? We were playing cards with a faun and a siren. At Alice Henderson’s party. I didn’t think that was a place for the uninitiated, Vivienne.”

She moved her Halloween stream for a party? Isaac sourly realizes.

“Dana almost got chomped by your unicorns, too,” Vivienne says, maintaining her own sour expression. “Don’t let this become a habit, Yu. I know where you live.”

“No you don’t, and those were Deirdre’s unicorns. She’d already paid for them and their delivery by that point,” Graham corrects.

Vivienne shakes her finger at him one last time, then spins back on her heel and escorts Sam with as much dignity as she can muster. Her cheeks turn red when Mirai giggles.

“Humans are so entertaining with their inconsequential bickering,” Mirai titters, clawed hand to their mask’s mouth. They flick the parandrus’ long ear with their other. “But what an interesting creature! I’ve only heard of them before.”

“There’s a pair at the city zoo, if you wanted to see one still alive,” Vivienne deadpans.

“What are you using the pelt for?” Mirai asks. Sharply.

“…It’s for Natalie, that other psychic friend of mine. This isn’t going anywhere near Mark,” Vivienne replies, looking nervous all of a sudden. Isaac is well aware that there is A Lot of bullshit he’s missing out on—happily—regarding this egg business and Mark Ito. But he doesn’t understand how an animal skin could factor into it in a way that would make Vivienne so jittery.

“Oh, okay!” Mirai chirps, tone bright once more.

“I’ll be sure to text Mark as soon as we get back through the market door, and we’ll figure out our plan of very swift action regarding that First egg,” Vivienne adds.

Mirai cocks their head. Isaac wonders if they’re about to ask what texting is. “I’d hate to have to keep pestering you about this job, so it’s best that you hurry! I’d really appreciate it—and so would Hatsu!” they exclaim instead.

“Of course,” Vivienne replies, sweating. She all but shoves Sam along with a hand on his back.

“We’ll get it sorted out for you, rest assured,” Sam advises like he actually has some part to play in all of this. (Like hell he will, and if Vivienne tries enlisting Sam’s help for further tengu business, Isaac will bite her.)

He turns, walking backward, though still at Vivienne’s pace. Sam waves goodbye to Mirai—then almost gets shoved face-first to the ground when he blindly attempts to go through the goblin market door with a creature the size of an ox on his shoulders.

Vivienne’s smiling, albeit tightly, when she helps him back around, hands hovering over the parandrus’ fur. “You’re a friendly little bean, aren’t you,” she murmurs.

“I’m not a bean,” Sam replies, affronted.

“We’re working on it,” Isaac answers instead. He knows what Vivienne had meant; friendliness has its drawbacks in the realm of the supernatural. “You and Graham seem to know each other well.”

“The magical community is pretty small. Which even you have to know, Isy,” Vivienne replies. “Here, Sam, crouch down and go kinda sideways—yeah, like this. Anyway, yeah, we all know each other, and apparently half the magic community knows about my thing with Dana.”

“Your thing,” Isaac repeats, disgusted, because he does not need to know anything more about Vivienne’s personal life. It’s bad enough he’s sharing part of a demonic contract with her.

“My epic romance with someone else I’ve dragged into the world of magic,” Vivienne says with a hand to her forehead, pretending to swoon. (Sam puts out a hand to help her anyway.)

“What’s a jackalope?” Sam asks.

“Like a rabbit, but with antlers,” Vivienne says, putting her hands up over her head to mimic them. With a flat expression, Isaac points to the very obvious, very real example of the parandrus’ antlers. “Well, yeah, those too. Cute little thing, I can show you pictures once we’re out of sight with this thing. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to meet him, though.”

“Why not? You bring your cat to the shop all the time,” Sam says with a pout.

Vivienne looks up at him, balking, surprised. Isaac doesn’t feel any sympathy for her, though he understands her; she hadn’t expected she’d have to explain why they’re not introducing a demon to everyone ever. Sam’s guileless personality makes it easy to forget he’s a demon, but they shouldn’t forget he’s a demon.

“Maybe later,” Vivienne hedges, which is weird, because Isaac would’ve straight-out told Sam that he can’t meet new people who haven’t been vetted. “Dana’s still new to a lot of things, and I think she’s already getting overwhelmed. Anyway, I’m a little too busy with Mark’s eggy bullshit right now to be arranging pet playdates. Ugh, we have the fucking egg, we need to just figure out a time and what to ask for…”

“You already have it?” Sam asks, astonished, and stops like he may very well run back to the goblin market to tell Mirai right now.

Both Isaac and Vivienne seize him by the arms to keep him walking.

“We have it, but it’s not as easy as giving it back to Mirai in a tupperware tub. It’ll be a pain to transport it, and moreover, we have to arrange payment and a time and I have to talk that idiot psychic into actually doing it!” Vivienne exclaims. “But that’s my ballgame, not yours. You two have the job of laying low and out of coven sight right now, remember? And whatever Nat asks you to do to help her out.”

“You seem very busy,” Sam remarks with a narrow-eyed look down at her.

“Tell me about it,” Vivienne groans.

#how to put the romance back in necromancy #no major spoilers for those who haven't finished the first book #a couple of minor spoilers or spoilers by implication however #i'm sad to scrap this because it was such a good character bit with isaac being less surly and vivienne from an outside pov #but what can you do

9 notes · View notes

simstryingtheirbestok · 2 years ago

Text

Violet was putting the finishing touches on her latest mystery novel, The Integer Overflow Murders, when the camera jerked suddenly up, away, and across town to let me know that some jackass stylist had gone and set himself on fire.

I don't know why that's any of Violet's business nor any of mine, but okay. Fine! Violet, dear, would you mind driving across town to extinguish the stylist? None of the three other people currently on the scene seem capable of it.

Hmm, Val should be in school right now. Velma and Vivienne are! That's why they aren't standing around doing the Interpretive Fire Dance of Distressed Sims. Way to parent, Jake and Wilona.

--oh, finally. She's here! There's Violet on the left, see, and there's the roasty-toasty stylist on the far right.

Violet does not seem to be in any haste at all.

This is exactly the pace, stance, and facial expression of a cocktail party hostess en route to greet new arrivals.

Violet's nonchalance vanished as soon as she got close enough to realize that holy hell, that's fire! She then commenced the Interpretive Fire Dance of Distressed Sims, interrupted only by my continual attempts to send her back home. She couldn't even click on "Put Out Sim" anymore; she couldn't click on the victim to interact with him at all anymore, so I gave him up for dead.

That's when the real hero appeared: The Tattoo Artist. Maybe she figured that having only a Tattoo Artist in a place that offers both tattooing and styling could be bad for business, or maybe she wanted to finish up with a customer first, before dealing with that whole dude-on-fire thing. She whipped out the fire extinguisher and generously sprayed the stylist with it, then marched directly back into the shop.

Unfortunately, this did not put him out entirely. It isn't visible here, but he still had a small patch on his backside on fire.

I appreciate the local neat freak doing what he can to clean up.

The stylist may have still been aflame, but everyone else on the lot was by now over it.

And Violet had finally heeded my directions to go home. Rather than wait for The Burning Bum to become a raging conflagration again, I reset him.

I still have no idea how he started the blaze to begin with, other than maybe it had to do with the candles on the tables? Who knows. It made for an exciting first day in town for Violet, but excitement is generally not what Neurotic Bookworm Sims are looking for. It was a lot for a young woman raised in the islands to cope with.

She checked all the sinks once she got home. Then she had a little freakout and, once tranquil again, went upstairs to finish her book.

#ts3 #ts3 legacy #sims 3 #sims 3 legacy #planetary legacy #generation neptune #violet jeffrey #winston tao padrino #val jeffrey #various townies (only one on fire)

4 notes · View notes

girlmeetsuniverse · 3 years ago

Text

hi, welcome to my blog, my name is claire ♡

here's an unorganized list of my interests, basically my blog will revolve around these most of the times.

don't mind interacting with me, i don't bite! :-)

boy meets world, eric matthews, topanga lawrence, cory matthews, shawn hunter, pretty little liars, hanna marin, spencer hastings, aria montgomery, emily fields, alison dilaurentis, vivienne westwood, chanel, juicy couture, tiffany & co, murder house, jem and the holograms, my little pony, boa, blackpink, legally blonde, mean girls, kamikaze girls, black swan, the virgin suicides, thirteen, the twilight saga, the princess diaries, descendants, clueless, heathers, romeo must die, felicity: an american girl adventure, samantha: an american girl holiday, hot chick, scary movie, enchanted, cruel intentions, bratz, bride of chucky, seed of chucky, orphan, diary of a wimpy kid, barbie, blythe, littlest pet shop, monster high, rozen maiden, nana, chobits, vocaloid, mahou no tenshi creamy mami, peach girl, kitchen princess, dengeki daisy, boys over flowers, alice 19th, princess jellyfish, idol dreams, american girl, momoko ryuugasaki, nana ozaki, felicity merriman, samantha parkington, elsa, rapunzel, mulan, tiana, cinderella, evie grimhilde, gretchen wieners, elle woods, alice cullen, veronica sawyer, yasmin, tiffany valentine, rodrick heffley, sebastian valmont, annette hargrove, cat valentine, jade west, andre harris, memoirs of a geisha, ariana grande, aaliyah, britney spears, kyoko fukada, audrey hepburn, lana del rey, lolita (j-fashion), pullip, super dollfie, disney, lalaloopsy, pop, r&b, pop punk, rock, city pop, whatever lana del rey's music genre is, project diva, makeup, beauty, photography, fashion, modeling, designing, pink, teal, purple, blue, black, red, white, brown, stuffed animals, deer, cats, dolphins, squirrels/chipmunks, dogs, fish, birds, frogs, bunnies, cows, horses, pigs, perfume, coquette

#about me #my blog #me #girl blogger

21 notes · View notes

pony22 · 2 years ago

Text

Wir suchen für unsere neue Deutsche Porno Produktionsfirma , Neue Darsteller die endlich neuen Wind und die Deutsche Produktion bringen!!!

Natürlich gab es schon Hochglanz Vorbilder unter anderem natürlich „Vivienne Schmitt“ Gina Wild“ und so weiter. Unsere Community ist am im Wachstum!! Es gibt zwei Sorten von Menschen die einen die wixxen,die anderen die mit Leidenschaft Ficken!

Wen auch du Lust hast was zu verändern , Kreativ Versaut und auf deinen Körper achtest ,bitte ich dich uns anzuschließen

#casting #germany #sexualität #leidenschaft #wahre gefühle #community #Spotify

2 notes · View notes

anonniemousefics · 4 years ago

Note

Can we please get more tfota scenes from cardan's pov? Maybe something from qon this time 🙈

Happy New Year! ♥️🥂

It’s so great you guys are enjoying these Cardan POV pieces! This one sort of follows His Monstrous Bride and this other little continuation -- it’s taken from Chapter 18 of The Queen of Nothing when Jude and Cardan talk about her exile before meeting with the Living Council.

I don’t have a title for it -- let’s just call it His Monstrous Bride Part II. lol

(Also a shameless plug for my ongoing fic The Nine Terrifying Moons, which will feature a Cardan POV chapter coming soon. Wheeeee!)

-----------------------------------------------

Cardan is well versed at hiding his emotions, but it doesn’t hurt to look the part. And the day that his High Queen is finally awakening, once again restored to Elfhame, is a day to dress for a very specific kind of battle. Jude has ignored him for months – now he must be unignorable. He has gold along his cheekbones and caps like gold knives at the tips of his ears. Jude likes knives after all.

He’s flanked by his guards at her door. (Their door? He’s unused to sharing.) The Living Council means to interrupt her convalescence, and he’ll have none of it. He’s there to make sure she is fit and ready, and he doesn’t have to do more than that, he tells himself. His envoy is at his sides at all times now, and still, in this moment, some part of him wishes there were more of them. Wishes he could shrink back from what may lie ahead.

“Your Highness?” His guards are waiting for him to do something. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been hesitating.

It’s just… it’s been months of endless rejection, though he knows now she never received his letters, but still…he’s not sure he can take one more. And his heart is still cracked and raw from her most recent brush with death.

He steels himself. And knocks at the door.

It’s Oak who answers with an innocent smile, which is something of a relief. With Oak around, Jude’s less likely to become stabby.

Although, at least if she’s stabbing him, she’s no longer ignoring him. And Cardan really can’t stand one more minute of being ignored by Jude Duarte.

She’s there now, and the sight of her standing catches him right in the chest. The last time he’d clapped eyes on her, she was bleeding all over his spider-silk sheets. He’d cleaned her blood with his own two hands, but now she’s upright and clear-eyed, dressed in a foreboding black number with silver at her collar and cuffs. Her auburn hair has been braided like a crown, and with smoky traces of rose around her eyes, she looks deadly and formidable once more.

It’s such a welcome sight. He has never been so thrilled to see her. And that’s such a treacherous and terrifying notion, since he thinks it’s very likely she’s might smack him in the near future if he can’t navigate the mess of crossed wires between them.

The thrill lasts only a moment, because then his stomach gives a lurch. He’s just realized that all of her sisters are there, too. And they’re all staring at him. And he’s been staring right back.

Suddenly, Cardan’s on the verge of breaking into a cold sweat.

“Walk with me,” he finally tells Jude, eager to get away from so many Duarte eyes.

“Of course.” Jude’s brown eyes in particular seem uncharacteristically wide and confused.

Vivienne catches Jude’s hand before she can join him.

“You’re not well enough,” she objects. As if Cardan can’t take care of her. As if he hadn’t cleaned up her blood himself.

“The Living Council is eager to speak with her,” he says instead. Jude should be proud of how he’s learned to curb his tongue in her absence.

“The only danger anyone has ever been in at a Council meeting is of being bored to death,” Jude is reassuring her family, before stepping away, the guards folding in around them.

Cardan offers her his arm – he wants to keep her close, and he wants Vivienne to take note. It is different now, and he wants them all to see. Jude is cared for here.

He wants to take his time with her at his arm as they swap neutral business about the Roach, about the Bomb, about Madoc, but he can hardly even look at her. His head is full of visions of those nights he wrote to her again and again, outright begging in the end, and then lying awake, alone, certain his agony would be never-ending. Gods above, he’d even written once that his heart was hers, buried with her in the soil of the mortal world -- and she’d sent no reply. And though he knows now it’s because she hadn’t even received it, he’s still completely unsure of how to act.

It’s extremely unsettling how normal Jude seems in this moment. As if no time has passed at all.

And there are still so many eyes on them. Courtiers bobbing their heads as they pass. The guards just an arm’s length away. This is no place to try to sort through what he had written to her, what she needed to know. So maybe he just won’t, he thinks. Maybe it can just be like this for an eternity and he can go back to drinking away his feelings after this Council meeting. Maybe this is the most he should hope for.

But then, Jude says: “I need to talk to you.”

And his heart plummets to his guts. He’s not sure he can keep the dread off his face.

“It won’t take long,” Jude says, which is maybe worse. It means it’s simple: she wants to end their marriage. She wants to return to the mortal world. Of course she does.

But then, she says: “Whatever your scheme is, whatever you are planning to hold over me, you might as well tell me now, before we’re in front of the whole Council. Make your threats. Do your worst.”

What? What the bleeding skies is she talking about? This is such a mess he’s made. And it is, perhaps, the first mess he’s ever truly cared to clean up.

Cardan turns them away toward a corridor to the outdoors.

“Yes,” he agrees. “We do need to talk.”

He steers them for the royal rose garden, where he knows the guards will stop at the gate and leave them alone. He has only a few steps down a path of shimmering quartz stairs among the roses to decide exactly what parts of his heart he’s willing to reveal today. What exactly won’t hurt so terribly much should she throw it all back in his face.

“I assume you weren’t actually trying to shoot me,” he says, choosing first the obvious and easiest. “Since the note was in your handwriting.”

“Madoc sent the Ghost--” Jude starts, but then stops. Softens. “I thought that there was going to be an attempt on your life.”

This does not mean that she cares for you, he has to remind himself. He still doesn’t want to look at her. The memory of perceived rejection is still too strong, still too bitter.

But he’s not going to live with the regrets he’d drowned in when she’d nearly died. He tries to choose his next words carefully.

“It was terrifying,” he admits, feigning interest in a nearby bush of jet black roses, “watching you fall. I mean, you’re generally terrifying, but I am unused to fearing for you.” He swallows back the memories, threatening the periphery of his mind. “And then I was furious. I am not sure I have ever been that angry before.”

“Mortals are fragile,” Jude shrugs him off. She doesn’t get it.

“Not you,” he sighs. “You never break.”

There. Can that be enough? He’s made it fairly obvious now, hasn’t he? Surely she gets it now – he doesn’t want her to die, he doesn’t want to see her hurt. Witnessing it was the worst thing he’s ever seen. Because he cares for her.

If he has to spell it out, it might kill him. So, he just waits for what she has to say to that.

Jude’s looking at the roses, too, when he glances at her, her thick lashes lowered.

“When I came here, pretending to be Taryn, you said you’d sent me messages,” she says, and oh, please, gods, not this. “You seemed surprised I hadn’t gotten any. What was in them?”

Cardan wants to vomit. No, he needs to vomit. If his nervous stomach would cooperate and vomit everywhere, he could still get away from this with a shred of dignity.

He clasps his hands behind his back so she can’t see how they shake, his smile telling the lies that the rest of him can’t. That he is cool and unaffected, not at all hopelessly in love with the mortal girl in front of him.

“Pleading, mostly.” He tries to say it like it’s a joke. “Beseeching you to come back. Several indiscreet promises.” Maybe that little bit of tantalizing will flatter her.

It doesn’t. Actually, he’s not sure Jude can be flattered. She closes her eyes shut in no small amount of frustration.

“Stop playing games,” she growls. “You sent me into exile.”

“Yes. That.” Right, of course she doesn’t love that he’s beating around the bush. If only he could help it. He’s so goddamn nervous. “I can’t stop thinking about what you said to me, before Madoc took you. About it being a trick. You meant marrying you, making you queen, sending you to the mortal world, all of it, didn’t you?”

The glare she throws him is so very Jude, though he loves it less when it’s directed at him.

“Of course it was a trick,” she seethes. “Wasn’t that what you said in return?”

Well, this is rich.

“But that’s what you do. You trick people.” Though Cardan’s starting to realize just how wrong he’s been about the things Jude enjoys. “I thought you’d admire me a little for it, that I could trick you. I thought you’d be angry, of course, but not quite like this.”

“What?” Jude looks like she could unhinge her jaw and swallow him whole. He might even deserve it.

He needs to put an end to this nightmare. There’s still a miniscule chance she’ll find some part of it amusing.

“Let me remind you that I didn’t know you’d murdered my brother, the ambassador to the Undersea, until that very morning,” he points out. Surely, the context will help his case. “My plans were made in haste. And perhaps I was a little annoyed. I thought it would pacify Queen Orlagh, at least until all promises were finalized in the treaty. By the time you guessed the answer, the negotiations would be over.”

But Jude’s face is unchanged. He isn’t seriously this good at trickery, is he?

“Think of it,” he presses, hoping she’ll follow along. “I exile Jude Duarte to the mortal world. Until and unless she is pardoned by the crown.” Any minute now. Any minute.

“Pardoned by the crown,” he repeats to her blank stare. Right, so, this game isn’t funny anymore.

“Meaning by the King of Faerie. Or its queen,” he explains, watching her eyes grow wider, wilder. “You could have returned anytime you wanted.”

When he’d first envisioned her figuring out the riddle, he’d expected probably a punch in the arm, maybe she would have even drawn her blade again. That would have been delightful. He’d thought about trembling beneath her again, about that searing look she got in her eye just before devouring his lips. That would have been – gods. He might have considered letting her murder more of his brothers to have that again.

But what is happening now is decidedly the opposite. Jude’s breath is quickening, her face flushing, and in the air between them, Cardan feels a rift cracking wider. He hasn’t played a trick – he’s done something horrible.

When Jude begins to back away from him, he thinks back to what it felt like to find Nicasia with Locke. What Jude’s face is doing now – that is what his heart had done then. She is recoiling from him. Jude Duarte is recoiling from him, because he has hurt her.

He honestly had not thought it was possible. He honestly had not thought himself capable. He honestly had not thought she cared enough.

She whirls then and marches away from him, and he has never hated himself more. Stop her, he thinks, but he’s still stunned. If he’d known she cared…

Stop her!

He runs after her. She has to know he wouldn’t have done it if he’d known. She has to know he will fight to keep her now that he knows. But when he seizes her arm, she hauls around and slaps him, hard enough to turn his face.

It’s not the worst hit he’s taken, not by a long shot, but its sting is entirely different. There’s something fiery in her eyes, and, for the first time, he’s aware that he is not the only one who has been in agony these long months. Oh, he would undo it all now if he could. He would pull her in and kiss her over and over until they both stopped hurting.

Except she still looks murderous. Getting close to her face is probably not a good idea if he doesn’t want to be bitten. (He does kind of want to be bitten, just…in a very different scenario.)

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says, carefully, and his hand finds hers. To his great surprise, she lets their fingers lace together, and his heart seizes with a wild hope. It does not mean she loves you, he thinks. He fumbles. “No, it’s not that, not exactly. I didn’t think I could hurt you. And I never thought you would be afraid of me.”

“And did you like it?” Jude asks, narrowing her eyes.

His cheek is hot from the slap of her hand, and now with shame. Because how is he supposed to answer that? He didn’t hate being more powerful for once. He didn’t hate being the one with the answer to the riddle.

“Well, I was hurt.” He’s hesitated too long, and now Jude’s pressing on. “And yes, you scare me.”

Cardan finds himself taking in her full face then, the one that has always seemed so defiant and fearless and headstrong.

“You’ve always scared me,” Jude is saying, and this is what almost undoes him. She repeats it, telling him again and again each moment she had been afraid of him, and with each one, his mind bursts a little more. This doesn’t seem real. “And I am scared of you now,” she concludes, that defiant gleam in her eye til the end.

Cardan is speechless. And Cardan’s never speechless.

There was a time when he enjoyed playing a villain in her heroic story line, but she wasn’t supposed to be truly afraid of him. She was supposed to vanquish him and make him beg for her kindness. (And he would now. He really would.)

(Maybe he will.)

“You despised me,” Jude reminds him, because he does need reminding. He’s not sure now if he ever really did. “When you said you wanted me, it felt like the world had turned upside down. But sending me into exile, that made sense. That was an entirely right-side-up Cardan move. And I hated myself for not seeing it coming. And I hate myself for not seeing what you’re going to do to me next.”

At that, Cardan closes his eyes. Hopelessness is threatening to overtake him. Fear has created this monster before him, the one who irrevocably holds his heart. Is it possible to unmake such a curse? He’s certainly been unable to find a cure for his own fear, lifelong coward that he is.

When she’d first returned and his heart was freshly cracked, he’d thought back to a fairy story about a boy cursed with a heart of stone and the monster he took as his bride. It had been patience and fearlessness that had won over the monster in the end – something the boy had managed only because of his stony heart.

So, Cardan thinks of stones then. Of pulling together all his cracked and raw edges. Of being impenetrable and solid and fearless. He thinks of doing what needs to be done. He needs her, for so many things, and she must know that. Perhaps it is folly to wish for anything more than simply averting a crisis.

But he can’t manage it if he’s looking at her. He releases her hand and turns away.

“I can see why you thought what you did,” he says at last. “I suppose I am not an easy person to trust. And maybe I ought not to be trusted, but let me say this: I trust you.”

Patience. Fearlessness. Deep breath.

“You may recall that I did not want to be High King. And that you did not consult me before plopping this crown on my head. You may further recollect that Balekin didn’t want me to keep the title and that the Living Council never took a real shine to me.

“There was a prophecy given when I was born. Usually Baphen is uselessly vague, but in this case, he made it clear that should I rule, I would make a very poor king.” It hurts more than he thought it would to say it out loud. “The destruction of the crown, the ruination of the throne – a lot of dramatic language.”

He has to be cavalier about it; it stings too much otherwise. It’s been the bane of his existence, this prophecy. It is the reason his entire childhood was filled with nothing but dismissal and cruelty. It’s the very, very low standard he’s spent his whole life trying not to meet. The best his family had ever hoped for from him was his complete and utter disappearance – and he’d failed to do even that.

He turns back to Jude. Patience. Fearlessness. He has so much more to say. He has so much more he wants to be than this. Deep breath.

“When you forced me into working for the Court of Shadows, I never thought of the things I could do – frightening people, charming people – as talents, no less ones that might be valuable. But you did. You showed me how to use them to be useful. I never minded being a minor villain, but it’s possible I might have grown into something else, a High King as monstrous as Dain. And if I did – if I fulfilled that prophecy, I ought to be stopped. And I believe that you would stop me.”

Jude sputters at that, blinking hard.

“Stop you?” she echoes. “Sure. If you’re a huge jerk and a threat to Elfhame, I’ll pop your head right off.”

“Good.” And he means it. To die by Jude’s hand would be a dream. “That’s one reason I didn’t want to believe you’d joined up with Madoc. The other is that I want you here by my side,” and just for good measure, just in case she still isn’t getting it: “As my queen.”

But he can’t read the expression on Jude’s face when he says it – if it brings her joy, if it brings her more distress. He’s not sure what else he could have said to make it any more clear. And now her silence is threatening to eat him alive. This reeks of the beginnings of yet another rejection.

He smiles at her, instinctively, a last ditch effort to make this even slightly less awkward.

“But now that you’re High Queen and back in charge, I won’t be doing anything of consequence anyway,” he promises. “If I destroy the crown and ruin the throne, it will only be through neglect.”

He wants her to smile back. To roll her eyes at him and act like she isn’t amused when she so clearly is. He’s missed that, oh, how he’s missed that.

He gets all that and more when she blurts out a laugh.

“So that’s your excuse for not doing any of the work?” She quirks an eyebrow, and it makes his heart swell. They’re smiling together again. He’d needed that, too, more than he’d realized. “You must be draped in decadence at all times because if you aren’t kept busy, you might fulfill some half-baked prophecy.”

“Exactly,” he says. Exactly… It’s more true than he wants it to be. His smile fades. And Jude is looking more tired than he’s comfortable with. He hopes he has not pushed her too hard. He touches her arm, gently, not thinking. Her gaze catches his, soft and warm. He finds himself leaning in…

“Would you like me to inform the Council that you will see them another time?” he asks. “It will be a novelty to have me make your excuses.”

But Jude is stalwart and determined as ever. He expected nothing less.

He pulls back. She does not need him. Not like he needs her.

“No, I’m ready,” she says.

How he wishes he could say the same.

-----------

Tagging: @yellowavocadopit, @dagypsygirl, @ireallyshouldsleeprn, @booklover-sleeplover, @mwejh, @courtofjurdan, @faeriequeenofwest, @sugawsites, @loveyourselfsolid, @owl0y0s, @feelinglikecleopatra, @akaloto, @charrise, @persephxnecoven, @raging-bisexual-alert, @rteme, @nahthanks, @addies-invisible-life, @elorcanislife, @snusbandxknifewife, @poeticbrownmermaid, @duarteegreenbriar, @thefolkofthefic, @alittledribbledrabble, @carmensworld17, @annejulianneh111, @amandlas, @elriel4life, @idk-what-name-to-use, @thewickedkings, @juliazato, @woodsbeyond1, @booksmusicandgoodvibes,

#jurdan #the folk of the air #tfota #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #jude x cardan #cardan pov #fanfic #fanfiction #jurdan fanfic #jurdan fanfiction

156 notes · View notes