#Paris Museum Pass

[thesingletraveller]

Get Your Money's Worth: Comparing Prices with the Paris Museum Pass

If you’re going to Paris, then look no further than this post for your value tips on how to get the most out of your money in the City of Light. You love history, culture, the arts, and the architecture. Maybe you’ve heard about the Paris Museum Pass and are considering the 2, 4, or 6 day pass. Is it worth the money? I’ve been to Paris five times and bought the pass for three of those visits and…

[goingplacesfarandnear]

Visiting Paris This Year? Plan in Advance

If you have a hope of seeing the Mona Lisa at Le Louvre, book your timed ticket as soon as you book your travel to Paris © Karen Rubin/goingplacesfarandnear.com By Karen Rubin, Travel Features Syndicate, goingplacesfarandnear.com If you are planning to visit Paris his year, it is especially important to make plans really early, lock in reservations to visit the sites, attractions, restaurants,…

[knownoshamc]

how I think want 70s-80s Devil's Minion is going to be (unpopular?). An essay, by me. (edit: apparently I do have to make it clear that these are all my own headcanons and I'm aware that they are not a healthy couple)

The "chase" lasts a couple of months instead of years

they start as the popular fucked up sex

Armand takes Daniel on a hunt, to show him how he plays with his food sometimes, how look I could be doing the same to you. But Daniel very loudly thinks fuck that's hot

Daniel starts picking up on how Armand behaves during sex (even how dissociates sometimes), since most of the time it's when and how Daniel wants (the normal thing for Armand). He starts checking on him more, like you sure, we can do something else // are you comfortable with that? // are you okay? it's just sex for them, sure, but there is this change.

but... they also start dating. once, for fun, they are curious. more dating. Dates are Armand using his mind gift so they have the restaurant by themselves. Taking Daniel to the top of a building so he can have the best view. Museums, galleries, movies...

And Armand brings him flowers, chocolates and poetry and Daniel playfully rolls his eyes and then giggles and kisses him and he even keeps the now dried flowers. Daniel returns the favour, and Armand looks at him as if he brought him the most exquisite and most expensive gift in the world.

Daniel makes Armand laugh for the first time (Armand smiles, smirks even grins, but he doesn't easily laugh) and Daniel realizes he is in love with him. He loves how Armand can be ruthless, cruel, cold with the humans he hunts before giving them an easeful death. He loves how excited with simple things like a phone, a microwave, a blender. How he lets his mask slip sometimes (more and more as time passes) and he sees the real him, the vulnerable side he rarely shows, the anger towards the world he thinks he doesn't deserve to feel.

Armand realises he is in love with Daniel earlier, in little moments, like how human Daniel is and how for the first time in centuries that is fascinating and not indifferent. And he loves Daniel because of how excited he is when he writes something or when he wants to read to Armand an interesting book/article/something he wrote, how clever he is, how he can be cold and compassionate at the same time...

And they talk about little and big things, from a good restaurant that Armand saw pass from generation to generation, to philosophy. And Armand reads Daniel's mind to see if his mind wanders and... Daniel is fully invested. Like I love getting to know you, how you think, what you think, who you are, tell me all about you. And Armand does. He tells Daniel the most.

they are in love and explore the world together and all its fascination and simplicity, and they are really happy.

but... Daniel doesn't want this to end, he wants to stay young forever, he wants to spend forever with Armand. How can't Armand see that this is not just because Daniel wants to be with him for eternity?

Armand sees how his own darkness but lure Daniel in... a bit too much. How he thinks that watching someone die and getting a life is the same thing, how he romanticises vampirism. How maybe he focuses on Armand a lot, and misses a deadline at work. A work that he loves. Maybe one day he catches a fleeting thought of Daniel wanting children someday. But he doesn't bring it up right away. He doesn't want to lose him. And he just can't understand how Daniel can love him unconditionally.

Then Daniel proposes to him in Paris. He has a ring and a romantic little speech to go along with it. But does it really mean he loves him? Or that he wants for Armand to make him a vampire? Isn't that what marriage is, after all, a promise of forever? How can Daniel just love him? So he says no.

Daniel is hurt, he is angry that Armand doesn't really trust his love and he tells him that yeah maybe he does want kids, a family, normality. And maybe a part of him does. They break up.

Daniel meets a girl, Alice. He doesn't fall in love, she doesn't really fall in love either, but they like each other. They get together. She gets pregnant.

Daniel needs Armand's blood (he needs Armand) but he can't have that, so he turns to his old comfort, drugs. It gets bad, he goes back to Armand, asking to get back together, asking for his blood, Armand says no and Daniel storms off to get his high somewhere else. He comes back a couple of days later, apologising and promising he won't ever do it again, he will really get clean this time. Again. And again. Until he comes very close to overdosing, and Armand takes care of him until he can actually go to a rehab facility, even though Daniel just begs him for his blood, to just turn him or let him die.

And this time, he knows what to do. Daniel can't have his normal life if Armand is still in his mind. So he just... erases it all. It's the only way. He couldn't see another way. And Daniel understands what Armand intends to do and he is crying, asking him not to do it, that he can get over this on his own, but Armand doesn't trust him, so he just tries to calm him down, telling him how great his life is going to be, with a brilliant career, a family... happiness. An easeful breakup.

thank you for coming to my ted talk

[cloakedsparrow]

A 'Jason & Tim Join the Bat Family Early' fic in which Jason and Tim meet six months to a year before Jason would have met Bruce in canon.

Jason spends a lot of time at the Gotham City Library for warmth/air conditioning/safety, education and entertainment. Tim spends a lot of time there too, doing homework and reading for fun/education since he prefers it to his usually empty house. They meet when Jason helps Tim reach a book that's too high for him and ends up commenting on it. They start by just reading in the same space and talking while Jason waits with Tim at the bus stop. Eventually, they start hanging out outside the library, first chatting on the steps and eventually getting pizza or burgers (Jason isn't too proud to accept food when Tim offers to pay) and moving to the nearest park where they can talk about what they're reading.

Tim realizes that Jason is homeless but at first doesn't say anything because he doesn't want to upset or offend his new friend. When Thanksgiving Break approaches, he broaches the subject to suggest Jason come stay with him during it, since his parents won't be home. Jason trusts Tim by then, and he really likes the idea of having unlimited access to a shower/bed/food/heating, so he accepts. They get along well enough, and the Drakes are gone often enough, that they decide to basically move Jason in. The maids only come a couple times a week, gardeners once a week, and the grocery delivery every other week, and none of them are allowed in Tim's room, so it's easy enough for Jason to either hide from them, be at the library when they come, or pass himself off as a friend visiting Tim.

This goes on for months before Tim decides that, as much as he loves Jason and loves having him there, the older boy deserves to have a real home with a real family. And he knows of the perfect family.

Tim may know a little more about Dick Grayson's schedule than is normal, but it works in his favor that he's able to make sure he and Jason happen to be at a museum exhibit Dick's also attending. They meet and it's nothing huge, but Tim notices the older teen glancing at him and Jason periodically. Later, the same thing happens at the aquarium. And then Little Paris. By then, Dick is basically ready to adopt Jason himself. Of course, Bruce does so instead once he tells him his plans.

(This has the added benefit of bridging the divide between Bruce and Dick at this time)

The Drakes' house is just on the other side of Bristol, which is easily the safest neighborhood in Gotham, so Tim can just ride his bike or skateboard over to hang out with Jason at Wayne Manor. Instead of the library or the Drakes' empty house, the boys start hanging out at Jason's new home.

Now, it's Jason's turn to get Tim (and his negligent parents) on his new family's radar so they'll adopt him, too.

After some training, Dick happily passes the Robin mantle to Jason, who happily shares it with Tim once the younger boy is old enough.

[Bonus: Dick checks around the Todd's old place to see if there's anything left of Jason's parents, since he knows he cherishes everything he has from his own. He gets the box of family records from their old neighbor and learns that Catherine wasn't Jason's biological mother. He and Bruce decide to quietly locate her and make sure she's safe for Jason to meet. They learn about Shelia's crimes, and arrange for her to be arrested, giving Jason the choice to visit her in prison or not. During their search, they learn about Lady Shiva having a kid and decide to look into that, which leads to them bringing Cassandra home a couple years early. Jason and Tim are delighted to have a big sister.]

[into-september]

Haven't watched the London special but have two observations on when we'll see Adrien learning the truth

DIEGETICALLY: The butterfly miraculous is still lost by the time Alix is in her twenties

ON THE META LEVEL: People talk a lot about Adrien being denied the truth about his dad but I haven't seen anyone bring up Cat Noir being denied the truth about Hawkmoth's demise.

Between "your dad was the supervillain who wanted to change history so your mum never died" and "your dad spent his last months in agony and died by literally rotting to pieces because of the magic that it was your job to use responsibly", we all know which is the worse news. The Movie showed us the first being overcome even after said dad had laid Paris in ruins; the NYC special showed us Adrien's collapse after less than half of that happened to a stranger and then was fixed.

From the way people are posting about the London special, I have the distinct impression that it was also not the part of the problem that the writers were interested in milking for angst. The real focus of this episode should've been Plagg, Alix and Tikki dealing with the aftermath of "Destruction", but instead the fandom is here discussing whether or not we should absolve Marinette for being used to strip the flooring after the writers painted themselves into a corner. The show asks us to pass our judgment on Marinette's choice, but claiming that this is Marinette's choice to make is a fallacy.

Let's be clear on this: "Destruction" exists because there had to be an in-story explanation for why the show won't deal with Adrien learning Hawkmoth's identity. There is a pretense of discussing the morality of Marinette's decision to heed Gabriel's wish above Adrien's autonomy, but per the genre and the tone and the focus and the target audience, there was no other option.

Because here is the truly wild part of this whole debacle: Marinette isn't even making an informed decision. She doesn't have an inkling of what Hawkmoth's identity would do to Adrien. Only when The Reveal happens will she know the gruesome extent of the tragedy that is Adrien Agreste and the true weight of the secret she opted to keep; if she hadn't decided to hide the truth on her own, Plagg/Tikki/Alix would be forced to interfere. Yes Marinette's actions are terrible horrible no good very bad, but if stopping Cat Noir from activating his cataclysm in the wax museum would inevitably lead to Gabriel reviving his angelic wife (which was somehow a worse ending than him reviving his supervillain secretary???), then the solution should be to go back to "Origins" and make sure Master Fu gave Plagg's miraculous to literally anyone else than his son. The real question left by the S5 finale isn't "should Marinette tell Adrien", it is why it was a cosmic necessity that Gabriel Agreste was killed by his own son when Ladybug's team has access to the miraculous who could prevent that tragedy.

There is no universe where the thematically coherent and narratively satisfying climax of the story about Cat Noir and Hawkmoth is "Adrien confronts his girlfriend about lying", and the bitter comfort is that it won't be. If the truth of Hawkmoth's identity ever were to reach Adrien, his girlfriend lying about it would be the least of his sorrows, because those sorrows would be so grotesque that there is no way the show will ever acknowledge them; closure to this storyline was made impossible the moment it was decided that Gabriel would take his death at Adrien's literal hands. When "parents go to jail" was too dark for the networks, I somehow don't think they'll be interested in doing the first ever production of Oedipus Rex for the 4-10 audience.

[copperbadge]

I went to the library this afternoon, intending to get a study room and do some work on the novel, but I got distracted and ended up spending the two hours working on a short story instead.

Georgie has said that Michaelis hired her after she rescued his friend's child from a kidnapping, and it was suggested to me recently that the friend could be Oliver McAllister, Michaelis's old school mate from Pirates of the Riviera. I was skeptical because the timing didn't quite work out, but I couldn't stop thinking about the idea, so I decided to try making it work.

And let me tell you, these messy bitches.

In 2015, Michaelis is deep in his Kingbot 3000 phase so he doesn't have to Have Feelings, and Gregory has coerced him into taking a vacation by threatening a coup. Meanwhile, Olly is fresh from his second divorce, from a woman who just tried to kidnap their child. Georgie is the most together person in the room and she's an unemployed twentysomething who just beat three men unconscious to prevent said kidnapping.

And the most amusing part to me is that because of how I set it up, Michaelis is just trying to be friendly but inadvertently keeps coming across like he's trying to seduce Georgie. Which also makes Georgie joking about trying to marry him for his money in Royals/Ramblers even funnier.

"Ma'am, the police would like to take a statement," Lael said to Georgie.

"I can have Lael find you a lawyer if you want," Michaelis added. She gave him a sardonic look. 

"All right, let's get it over with," she sighed. "There goes my visit to the Musee D'Orsay."

"We'll give you the room. Olly, why don't you go in with your boy, so the police can speak with you if needed. Lael and I will be at the cafe next door when you've finished."

Georgie nodded, but he stopped as he passed her and put a hand on her arm.

"Come see us when you're done," he said quietly, ducking his head so the police at the doorway couldn't see their faces. "And cancel your job interview in London."

"Excuse me?" she asked.

"Stay in Paris. You can see the museum this weekend. The palace will cover your lodging and food."

"I...don't want to offend," she said slowly, "but I'm not -- " 

"I'm not flirting with you," he said, realizing belatedly how it might seem to her, and taking his hand from her arm. She looked faintly relieved. "I'm going to spend the time you're giving a statement assembling a job offer for you with my security office. Any young woman who can spot a kidnapping before it happens and soundly beat three grown men should not be leaving Askazer-Shivadlakia to do a job she hates in London. Now, regardless of that, and I say this as a concerned friend, not as king or employer: be honest and helpful with the police, but...economical."

"Just the facts?" she asked. 

"Exactly." He gave her an approving nod and followed Lael out. They were silent in the hallway and lobby, until they stepped out into the street and Lael exhaled.

"That was impressive," he said. "Young lady has a great right hook."

"She's certainly very alert," Michaelis agreed.

"It's been a long time since I've seen someone throw a punch like that."

"Say it and you're fired," Michaelis said good-naturedly. He'd known Lael since the head of security had been a young palace aide during Michaelis's first days as king -- if still years older than the king himself -- and he knew what was coming. 

"Not since our last trip to Galia," Lael said, voice full of relish. "That time a young hothead punched Duke Tomas in the face."

"Utterly fired. I've found your replacement. I'm putting you out to pasture with no pension." 

"You think she'd make a good successor to me?" Lael asked. He was joking but, simultaneously, he was not -- they were both getting older, and Lael was as aware as Michaelis that when a new king was elected in a few years, whoever it was, they would need someone younger, someone who could more easily keep up with them. 

"You tell me," Michaelis said. "You're the expert." 

"Oh, I've been fired, clearly my opinion isn't wanted," Lael said, as they settled into a table at the cafe, Lael with his back to the wall, eyes always scanning behind Michaelis. There had never, at least as far as Michaelis knew, been an attempt on his life, but he'd become used to never getting direct eye contact in public from the man whose job it was, after all, to watch his back. 

"Fine, I withdraw your firing. I suspect purely on her ability to sass me, she is your equal if not your better," he added, as the waitress approached. He ordered coffee and pastries briskly, then turned back to Lael. 

"Well, it's difficult to tell on two minutes' acquaintance," Lael replied, "but actions do speak louder than words." 

"Agreed. Perhaps a contingent offer? She has a law degree; she could likely earn more than we could offer her for a job like yours, but I think she's looking for the right job, not the right pay. Say three months of probation with guaranteed six months of pay to ensure she takes it, and a firm permanent offer at the end if you approve? Conditions non-negotiable but a bit of wiggle room in the salary, I think." 

Lael considered it, then nodded. "I suppose it's paranoia to imagine she might have arranged all this to get into the Palace employ."

"As what, a spy? I love a thriller novel, Lael, but they are fiction," Michaelis replied, amused.

[hard--headed--woman]

Rose Valland !

She was a French Resistance fighter who rescued and recovered more than 60,000 works of art and cultural property stolen by the Nazis from public institutions and Jewish families during the German occupation!!! For that, she was nicknamed "Capitaine Beaux-Arts"

Rose was born in 1898 and died in 1980. Although she never spoke publicly about her private life and sexual orientation, she never married, and the only relationship she ever had was with a woman.

She was able to study thanks to her mother, who applied for grants for her daughter. In 1914, she entered the École normale d'institutrices in Grenoble, graduating in 1918. Gifted for drawing and encouraged by her teachers, she left to study at the École nationale des beaux-arts in Lyon.

She gained a good reputation there, because she was talented and serious, and won a lot of prizes! In 1922, she entered the École nationale supérieure des beaux-arts in Paris. She then passed the competitive examination for teaching drawing, coming 6th out of more than 300 candidates.

During the 1920s, she studied art history at the École Pratique des Hautes Études, the École du Louvre and the Institut d'Art et d'Archéologie. In 1931, she obtained her diploma from the École du Louvre on the evolution of the Italian art movement up to Giotto. At the Institute of Art and Archaeology at the University of Paris, she obtained three postgraduate certificates in modern art history, medieval archaeology and Greek archaeology. She was so intelligent and cultured, with so many diplomas, it's impressive! She published some studies and articles too, and she even learned to speak some languages like German without even studying it.

From October 1940, at the request of Jacques Jaujard, Director of the Musées Nationaux, she remained at the Musée du Jeu de Paume, officially as a curatorial attaché, unofficially instructed by Jacques Jaujard to report to him on the actions of the Germans, who had just requisitioned the museum to store works of art extorted from private collectors.

During the Occupation, the Germans began systematically looting works from museums and private collections across France, mainly those belonging to Jews who had been deported or had fled. They used the Jeu de Paume museum as a central depot before sorting and directing the works to various destinations in Germany, Austria and Eastern Europe. During the Nazi looting, Rose Valland discreetly recorded, as accurately as possible, the movements of the works passing through the Musée du Jeu de Paume, the names of the looted victims, the number of works, their destinations, the names of the agents in charge of the transfers, the names of the transporters, the marks and writing on the crates, the numbers and dates of the convoys, not forgetting the name of the artist, the work and its dimensions.

For over four years, she kept track of all the works' movements, origins and destinations. She scrupulously drew up dozens of index cards, deciphered German carbon paper discarded in the museum's garbage cans, and discreetly listened in on the conversations of Nazi officials. She provided the Resistance with essential, detailed information on the trains transporting the works, so that these convoys could be spared by the Resistance. In autumn 1944, she gave the Allies the names of German and Austrian depots (Altaussee, Buxheim, Neuschwanstein, Füssen, Nikolsburg, etc.) to avoid bombing, secure them and facilitate the recovery of stored works.

After the liberation of Paris by Allied troops, and until May 1, 1945, she worked with SHAEF (Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Force), providing the Americans with vital information on storage sites for works transferred to Germany and Austria.

From May 1945, she was seconded from the Ministry of National Education to the Ministry of War, then from 1946 to 1952, seconded as a 3rd class administrator to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, occupying the Secretariat of State and then the General Commissariat for German and Austrian Affairs. Nicknamed "Captain Beaux-arts", she was appointed Captain in the 1st French Army, while also serving as Head of the Service de remise en place des œuvres d'art (SROA) within the Public Education Division of the French Group of the Board of Control.

She was sent to the various Allied occupation zones, British, American and Soviet, from where she repatriated a large number of works. She cooperated with American agents to conduct investigations and interrogate the Nazi officers and merchants responsible for the looting.

She played a decisive role in the February 1946 Nuremberg hearings on the plundering of art by Nazi leaders.

Between 1945 and 1954, she took part in the repatriation of over 60,000 items of French cultural property taken from public institutions and persecuted Jewish families.

Her courageous and heroic actions during the war and post-war years earned her numerous French and foreign decorations. In fact, Rose Valland was one of the most highly decorated women in French history.

She was :

-> made an Officer of the Legion of Honor

-> made a Commander of the Order of Arts and Letters

-> awarded the French Resistance Medal

-> awarded the Medal of Freedom, the highest civilian decoration in the USA

-> made an Officer of the Order of Merit of the Federal Republic of Germany

-> awarded the Latvian medal of the Order of the Three Stars in recognition of her involvement in the Latvian Art Exhibition (painting, sculpture and folk art), held at the Jeu de Paume from January 27 to February 28, 1939.

Unfortunately, as is often the case with women in history, the role she played in the Resistance, protecting French works of art and the property of deported Jewish people, was quickly forgotten, and her name is hardly ever mentioned today when this part of history is evoked. Insane, when you know everything she's done and how many decorations she got...

At an undetermined time, perhaps in the post-war years, Rose Valland met the British woman Joyce Heer, secretary-interpreter at the U.S. Embassy, who became her lover until her death. The two women shared an apartment on rue de Navarre in Paris. Rose Valland reserved a place for her beside her in the family vault.

Rose Valland died in 1980 at the age of 81 in a nursing home in Ris-Orangis, outside Paris. She is buried with her lover in the family vault in her native village of Saint-Étienne-de-Saint-Geoirs, where the secondary school and a square bear her name.

She truly was a hero, and I wish we talked about her more !

[1-49]

TOURIST GUIDE: The top 7 things you don’t want to be doing when in Paris.

Imagine,

the brightest, most perfect winter’s day imaginable. Crisp, chilly, and beautiful. Warm cafés, busy streets, and gentle breezes ──── stellar architecture, metros, and museums. If anything, Paris is the most magical place on earth, but having Sungchan there makes it even more so.

That being said,

here is a list of the Top 8 things and situations to look out for, & don’t indulge in when you are in Paris if you don’t want to fall in love. A doomed guide for both tourists and locals, eh.

tags: fluff, love, sure it carries its angst though ⁝ fun concept to approach given i wasn’t going to write a fic nor it fits exactly into headcanon, so yeah. he has made me dizzy with his paris photos im sooo sorry. wc. 3k

Fan fact: The French term ‘Coup de foudre’ describes when someone feels completely blown away by someone they have recently met. In literal terms, it means lightning strike. If you have been ‘struck by lightning’ in this way, a common feeling is that you can tell the person everything bc they just get you

Good luck!

THE CRASH

A stunning stranger seated a short distance away from you in a small cafe is always a threat—but this is not just any stunning stranger. As you converse with your friend, he’s also conversing with his group of friends. Passing phones and a camera make their giggles sound like a good time. 

Every chance you get, you glance at him while speaking with your friend because it’s so tempting to do so. Little sparks shoot out the moment the stare is returned; when your gazes meet halfway; when he’s caught, too, for naively trying to get your attention.

When your friend catches on to the fact that you’re looking at what is behind her rather than her.

When she turns around to reinvestigate the situation and notices that he’s staring in your direction, she instantly understands.

When she gives him a smile and turns back to face you, who moved too slowly to stop her.

The stranger which then believes that you both had a conversation about him.

The friend who first exposed you is also the one who is now pushing you to use the restroom; for if he meets you halfway again, chances are good he’s into you too.

Her point is validated when you find yourself in a small hallway, pretending to scroll through your phone, as he moves toward you.

Scents of rich vanilla, chocolate, coffee, and wine fill the dimly lit secluded part of the café, which has burgundy walls. His physique is too large to fit in the narrow hallway. His eyes and smile translate love. His confession is full of tenderness, affection, & promising good times.

THE ‘NO’ PLAN

It’s already outside of your plan to plan the remainder of your day. Order breaks out. Chaos ensues. What was already set in motion was interrupted by him, a tourist named Sungchan. But a Paris show-off won’t be a show-off without a museum, so there goes that theory. 

In any case, a museum or art gallery is a must, so thirty minutes later, you are showing him around one of the many museums. The grand rooms echo with silence as you hope that the angels are praying for you to make it to the end of the tour. It’s simply so overwhelming to be next to such beauty. You can’t stop thinking how much he fits the scene. 

The line of his nose; his lips; the shadows of his collarbones; the wrinkles of his smile; the flow of your hair; the trickle of his laugh—for all of these, he is worthy of a museum.

So when you finally get your hands on the previously ‘passed-around’ camera, an exhibit of blue curiosities rests on his shoulders. Quickly, you take some pictures of him with the Rothko piece. It’s impossible to determine which is more beautiful—him or the artwork. 

There are repercussions for that, as he leads you to allow him to take a picture of you—his ulterior motive, though, to have a picture of you forever. You’ll be with him no matter what, even after he leaves this city and you behind.

JUST TOURISTY THINGS

Time will separate the two of you, just as a river divides Paris, but as you continue to stroll beside the Seine, where musicians sing of hopeless love and painters craft their works in the open, the issue of time is not a priority. If anything, all the time in the world at this moment is yours.

He grabs your hands and spins the two of you around, his hair brushed with sun-kissed shades of cinnamon brown. Claiming he isn’t immune to music, so you can’t be critical and should just follow his example.

But when the spinning becomes too intense and he feels lightheaded, he tries to steady himself by staring into your eyes for longer than he should. Your proximity scares you, but you’re concerned and ask if he’s okay. 

A smile appears on his face as a result of your concern for him, while a heavenly presence is tipping from his eyes as he’s making a promise that he’s good, if not better than ever.

A smile that inspires hope & makes you believe. A smile that undoubtedly had great power to bring you both to this point. He’s beautiful in every sense. Mentality, personalty, appearance.

He’s even surpassing the Eiffel Tower in terms of beauty with ease!

Your captured images, with him as the subject, create the most ideal postcards, and as you’re showing them to him, it’s when a feeling of sad nostalgia envelops you prior to even parting ways with him. You come to the realization that you desire to spend more time with him, not just one day.

But all you get is one day... 

A magic day... that is gradually starting to turn into a night—and as the two of you walk on the fresh-washed gravel paths through the Luxembourg Gardens, the wind becomes clearer and sharper.

Even the bare trees, which you’re used to seeing against the sky, seem to be feeling the warmth of his touch as he insists on pushing and spreading his fingers inside your palm. His vibrance makes even the leafless trees feel less lonely. He takes your hand in such a way that you aren’t even allowed to give him a warning look. Hand in hand, you have no choice but to chase after him.

NO DESTINATION BACK UP

Does it even matter that he doesn’t know the city? 

The ecstasy you are running on is surley telling you that it’s all about getting lost and  discovering yourself in unfamiliar places—and that’s all because of him.

The startled look in this stranger’s eyes as you two nearly cross a street at a red light due to his rushing… 

As he begins to apologize while biting his lower lip, claiming he didn’t mean to. 

His deer-eyes in the headlights are all that you can focus on really. It’s tempting to say, ‘It’s okay,’ but there is something about his apologetic expression that makes you feel as though he’s completely enclosing you in his gaze. 

His eyes are hugging you while he apologizes. It has been a long time since you felt something like that—felt completely safe. Sincerely, and risk-free. He’s a walking green light. So then, it’s a bit sadistic of you to wish for his apology to last longer. 

But how can you not?

When his hand squeezes yours even harder, and he turns all starry eyes while biting his lip in fear?

Someone you would definitely want to try and fit into your pocket, regardless of his height or width.

CRAMPED SPACES

When the cruelness of the night finally reaches your bones, chasing a tiny, romantic restaurant is the only way to soothe the cold.

The warmth of the atmosphere meshes with his gray cardigan, and you find yourself moving more and more into his comfort zone due to the crowded space, where many are seeking refuge for the same reason as you two. 

His rich scent fills the air around you and his knees keep touching yours due to the close proximity. The wine glass dangles in his hand and his lips become more and more affected, picking up a cherry hue.

His collarbones exhibit every movement of his body, and for whatever reason, you feel an insatiable urge to reach for the soft, grey wool and uncover more.

You’re so invested in this delicate area it’s making you feel absolutely irrational. The constant spreading of his hand through his lush hair and pushing it behind is only adding to your obsession. Regardless of how often he does this, the silky hair flies back into his eyes every time.

He has this habit of dipping his small fork into your chocolate mousse, taking a bite, then flirting while he listens to you talk and plays with the fork, letting the sharp tips sink into his soft lips.

The gesture merely begs for your attention, so in order to stay true to yourself, you greet him by clinking glasses with him. But as soon as his glass touches yours, you have to look him in the eyes again and be so sincere... You lose either way.

This gorgeous person’s natural flirtatious charm can’t be escaped. His focus shifting between your lips and eyes as he attentively listens to you is quite possibly the hottest thing about him. 

And although he insists on practising some French words, he continually mispronounces ���croissants’ and ‘creme brulee’. He got ‘Bonjour’, ‘Bonsoir’, and ‘baguette’ right, which is worthy of notice; and the greatest reward would be a peck on the cheek, which he hasn’t yet received...

The fork remains sunk in his lips. If there’s one dessert that can be described as the ‘most scrumptious’, it’s him.

UNDERGROUND MISHAPS

Running with him in hand is a somewhat exciting experience. You aren’t sure where he got his stamina, but you’re sprinting down the stairs and will have some downtime when you two board the next metro.

When you reach underground platform though, a sea of tourists waits impatiently to go home or explore the outside world.

His hand carefully slides around your waist as you wait, standing side by side, your chests exploding from all the running. Whether it’s to protect you or keep you to himself, the intent is unclear.

And just as you’re about to look up to give him another warning glance, you realize that you’ve already forgotten how many there were. His adorable facial expressions are the reason you never succeed.

Obviously, the wine has increased his energy—his feelings are in his eyes. 

His features quickly and suddenly take on an emotive tone. A line appears between his brows and a hint of melancholy on his face as recognition dawns. Maybe the effects of the end of the day are finally starting to catch up with him.

You realize that he’s a lot of fun—the type of person who always sees the glass half full but who is also, presumably, grounded enough to realize that something is in the way and the glass isn’t quite enough full. Though he’ll eventually have to face it... saying goodbye to you is probably the biggest treat.

His hand is trembling inside yours...

... whether from anger, sadness, or excitement, it can be all of them or then

“Sungchan,”

You barely have time to finish what you started before he pulls you in and gives you a hug. Metros, come and go. People are walking past you, but he freezes this moment.

His coat’s lapels seem kind enough to part away, giving you more personal space and allowing your ear to fall directly on his heart.

His hand falls effortlessly over your head, as soft as a snowflake as he says, “It’d ruin everything if we said anything. Let’s not.” He carasses your hair and then plants a kiss.

A hug so strong that it keeps you safe from the passing of time. 

However, even this beam of sunshine has a heart, and it rains. Not even he has the complete ability to stop time from passing. The earth orbits, and the leaves dissipate.

Though what he can do is, 

he can certainly seize some of the light in the circumstance as he pulls on your hand once more, making the promise of, “Trust me.”

FALLING IN LOVE

There is definitely a sense of a ‘Trust me’ irony in the situation however, about how you won’t fall in love with him.

He seems to be pointing you in the direction of the photo booth at the end of the platform, which he noticed while your bodies were merging together. 

You’re fairly certain that those will be your favourite, worst-ever photos of the two of you, but the only memory you can physically hug, so you decide not to argue.

Naturally, the cubicle is small, but what do you expect from a metro photo booth?

The sweet giant battles his height and shoulders to enter, and when he does, he just hovers above you, looking down. His palms pressed against two different walls, and his neck bent at an awkward angle because you have taken all the ‘what can hardly be called a’ seat. 

Like it is your fault, right?

With a tongue poke to his cheek and raised brows, he’s subtly advising you to do ‘this one thing.’

Like hell, “I’m not sitting in your lap,” you bat your eyelashes at him. 

“It’s too late to back out. Plus, I don’t think there’s any other way to make this work.”

The goofy grin morphs his whole face into what it would be to stand under the sun; his cheeks rise higher the more he shows teeth. He’s so cute. It melts your heart.

Your mouth stays open in shock as you say, “But it is you who wanted this,” before you endearingly defend yourself. “This was your idea.” How very ‘trust me’ of him. In the end, you accept. “Okay, fine,” you sulk while pouting.

Satisfied, he clicks his tongue. You both knew that you would accept; you just wanted to have some fun, didn’t you?

You eventually create room for him to sit, but when it comes time for you to sit, you hesitate. But then you feel his hands dragging your waist down, and the next thing you know, you’re in his lap. He has lost all patience.

You sigh with annoyance, but even you know it is all a front. 

Now hesitant to move, your back remains pressed against his chest, and you’re even halfway there trying to maintain your balance on your feet instead of lounging comfortably in his lap. However, his back hug is particularly effective because it feels like his palm is pressing deeper into your tummy, encouraging you to relax even more into him.

His thighs radiate unnecessary heat, and his warm breath tickles the side of your neck as his chin rests on your shoulder. He teases you, whispering, “You can face me you know, I don’t bite.”

There is an absolute anarchy, there beneath his palm, in your belly. Not the whispering tone!! 

You tilt your head back (ironically, letting it rest where his shoulder and neck meet), gazing at the near ceiling and mentally calculating the number of seconds until you lose your mind.

He rests with you, for a minute, or two… his heart densely kicking in your back, but you swear it’s a peaceful moment. He’s able to magically stop the flow of time, no matter what!

Perhaps outside of the small world that you two inhabit, the metro passes by for the fifth time, and perhaps the waiting area is swept by cleaners once more while your shoes peek out from under the curtain, threatening to blow your cover.

However, time never really stops—especially in this place, the City of Light, Paris, a city that never sleeps.

“Let—um” His voice cracks for the first time before he finally says, “Uh—Let us take those pictures.”

You shut your eyes, allowing the angst of the situation to have its way with you before turning to face him.

His brows appear flat, and the crack between them is even deeper than it used to be. Even his lips are fuller than they used to be. Or could it simply be the face-to-face intimacy that is causing them to appear in such a way?

All this time, you thought it was just a playful lust, an undeniable attraction, when, in fact, what you’re finding is love—love looking straight into your eyes.

You no longer need to hold it within you. You just admit it, completely aware that nothing will change but that it will undoubtedly have some significance because it’s better to let things out than to hold them inside.

“Sungchan,” you pause for a moment, “I don’t want you to leave.”

Like you haven’t already felt them, he takes your hand and puts it over his heart, allowing you to feel the butterflies surging through his chest. Your lips to your eyes is the route he prefers to travel most. “I don’t want to leave either,” he admits voice light and airy.

As you look at him, every time the photo booth camera flashes a bright light, the butterflies burst rhythmically—because of that, and as much at the magic, and at the calculated touch of a girl who, in the past, had learned to trust no one. Yet, here you are, choosing to trust someone you have just met & won’t see again.

Your hands tremble against his cheeks as you gently cup his face and begin your slow, careful inspection. His tense muscles slowly relax under your touch as you run a finger across the peak of his eyebrow.

You feel an influx of emotions as you begin to understand that this person is an angel. You’re tracing every inch of him into your brain—soaking up every star in his eyes and every mole on his face—because an angel like this can never be met twice...

His greatest quality, you think, even in this kind of ‘damned’ situation, is that he can’t stay serious; a smile lights up his face. The only word that adequately expresses how you feel is wanting to ‘devour’ the damned smile that lingers close to your lips. He’s irresistible.

Cute or sexy are terms that are so confusing with him. You aren’t sure to which he’s supposed to be leaning towards. It’s driving you crazy. He simply can not be defined.

And the more he holds you, the more confident he gets. He started off politely, treating you like a paper bird, and then he abruptly stops apologizing. His lashes start to make out slowly with the narrow look he gives you. His thumb glides over your bottom lip. There is only one meaning to it.

Conversely, the photos taken are sitting in the photo outlet. You whisper, “Sungchan,” gesturing to the pictures and apparently indicating that ‘your work here is done.’ 

His firm grip on your jaw, however, fiercely brings your face into his. His winey breath is coating your lips.

“But,” you knit your brows, “our series of pho—”

His index finger stops your lips from moving mid-sentence. “Let’s make another one.”

“You—you’re getting too comfortable in this,” You stagger over what you are saying as his nose brushes against yours, “for-for well, for something that will never happen again.” 

“That’s exactly why I need those photos,” he says, chewing the inside of his cheeks in response to your somewhat insensitive comment.

“And we—And we,” you keep breaking, “We’ve been her—

“Can I kiss you?” He brutally cuts you off.

His sugary lower lip is already pressed against yours. It no longer interests him what you’re saying. It’s a quiet question, but there is some dangerously real intent behind it.

Yes, but can he beg for a kiss?

Sure,

as if he’s breathing in the air that he knows he’ll be missing out on, his lips remain waiting for a sign before they get messy.

His thumb ignites ‘instant fire’ in every pore on your cheek with each precise circle. It’s more like he is consuming you in advance. 

Your thoughts are numb, and your heart is stuck in your throat. You don’t want to forget any part of it all, and you’re bound to in the high you’re experiencing right now... He was right when he advised it to be documented.

The gaping mouths. The tender lip-stroking. The deep, slow breathing. The hot air exchange.

His teeth clenched in pain. The energy he surrounds you with is so intense.

Your “Fuck!”

& Sungchan’s “Please,”

occur simultaneously.

© 𝟭-𝟰𝟵. do not copy, translate, repost, and modify my works.

[artandthebible]

David Crowned King by the Prophet Samuel

Artist: Claude Lorrain (French, 1600–1682)

Date: 1625-1650

Medium: Oil on Canvas

Collection: Louvre Museum, Paris, France

Samuel Anointed KIng by the Prophet Samuel

David is believed to have been twelve to sixteen years of age when he was anointed as the king of Israel. He was the youngest of Jesse’s sons and an unlikely choice for king, humanly speaking. Samuel thought Eliab, David’s oldest brother, was surely the anointed one. But God told Samuel, "Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart" (1 Samuel 16:7). Seven of Jesse’s sons passed before Samuel, but God had chosen none of them. Samuel asked if Jesse had any more sons. The youngest, David, was out tending sheep. So they called the boy in and Samuel anointed David with oil "and from that day on the Spirit of the Lord came powerfully upon David" (1 Samuel 16:13).

[ggomos-maribat]

1 | a perfect day

Part 1 of Marinette Dupain-Cheng is Dead | Masterlist

The place they reserved was beautiful: the greenhouse-type of dining with ferns and orchids hanging from the glass ceiling and walls, a lush green against the pristine white of their chairs and table napkins. The day was blessed with fair weather so just the right amount of sunlight was cascading down on them which fit the light hum of the festive music from the speakers. Even the hostess herself was a sight to behold—a flowery off-shoulder dress, curled brown hair, and pastel manicured nails.

Sabrina truly felt she was in another world.

Their hostess stood up, holding her wine glass in one hand. "I'd like to make a toast." She beamed. "To everyone here, who accepted my invitation for a humble reunion."

She looked at them on by one, first at Alya who seemed to cling at her every word, then moved down the table to Nino, Rose, Juleka, Max, Kim, and so on. These were faces of now acclaimed people, successful in their respective fields. "It seems it was just yesterday when we were only students in Ms. Bustier's class," she continued, "But in reality, we've been through a lot. Ups and downs, pains and losses. But I'm proud of us for sticking together, for keeping in touch after all these years."

A star in the social media field, and a proud founder and CEO of her brand. Lilia Ross. That was the alias she had been using when she was stepping into fame. But to Sabrina, she'll always be Lila, the charming girl who once was a transfer student in their class.

"To us!" Lila cheered, raising her glass up in the air. They all followed suit, some laughing a little and others bursting into lively conversation.

Sabrina took a sip of her drink, turning to her left. "It really has been so long, hasn't it, Chloe?"

The blonde appeared to be in some kind of stupor, but her friend's words shook her out of it. "Huh?"

"I said it's been so long."

Chloe rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Uh, yeah, you're right."

"Are you okay?"

She gave a smile of reassurance. "Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, it's just . . . stress from work."

Sabrina was about to suggest she get some rest first when the wooden doors opened, revealing another familiar face from their teen years. Large sweater over a collared piece. A priceless watch. Golden hair fixed to look stylishly unkempt.

The man greeted them, "Hey, I hope I'm not too late?"

At the head of the table, Lila's jaw dropped open. "A—Adrien?"

"That's me," he chuckled lowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Long time no see, everyone."

The others, too, couldn't mask their shock—understandably so. Adrien Agreste had been out of the public eye for the past seven months, halting his modeling career and laying low in god knows where. Even Sabrina couldn't remember when she had last seen him.

It was Alya who stood up, grabbing a seat for their new guest. "It's been so long!" She said. "Come here, sit. Where have you been and why were you so unreachable?"

"Yeah, man, I even tried visiting your old house in Paris. They said you weren't there." Kim, meanwhile, passed a plate to him.

"I'm really sorry for that." Adrien gave a sheepish look. "I was too focused on taking time for myself. I'm on hiatus from modeling—I didn't mean to cut everyone off. But I wanted to make it to this reunion!"

At that second, Sabrina's phone began to buzz a notification.

"It's alright to take a break sometimes," Mylene consoled. "Are you going back to modeling soon?"

Adrien shrugged. "I'm not sure yet; I might try out other things and see what works for me."

The phone vibrated again, a few times in succession this time.

"What about working with me?" Alix offered. "I need some extra hands around the museum. Minimal experience needed! I'll teach you everything I know."

The nth buzz sounded and Sabrina pulled out her phone from her purse to completely silence it but then she caught a glimpse of Chloe. She looked pale as a sheet, staring down at her unfinished plate.

Sabrina leaned. "Chlo—"

Buzz. Buzz.

Frowning, Sabrina unlocked her phone to check what the incessant ringing was all about. There were tweets, articles, posts, and messages filling up the screen like something had blown up. And something might as well have.

Her eyes widened when she tapped on an article.

Alya's voice rang out. She, too, was looking at her phone. "Hey, Lila, what's this all about?"

"Hm? Is it about my magazine feature?"

"No, it's not," Sabrina whispered.

There in bold letters the words were summoning up a storm: 'The Truth About Lilia Ross: She's Not Who You Think She Is' .

***

Saturday morning saw Jason Todd at the Wayne manor's dining table, munching on a piece of toast with jam. He stayed the night after patrol upon Alfred's insistence, and then remained for breakfast after some more badgering.

The second eldest raised an eyebrow when Bruce strolled into room wearing office clothes.

"Event at WE today," Bruce explained, making a coffee for himself. "Tim, feet off the table please."

Tim, who was stuck to his phone, let out an incoherent mumble before putting his feet down.

"Lilia Ross," uttered Bruce. "Does that name ring a bell?"

"French-Italian, founder and CEO of Lilia Designs, sells clothing and cosmetics," Tim supplied in a monotonous voice. "She's more famous as an influencer though. In the past few days, there have been a lot of rumors popping up about her. Why do you ask?"

"PR at WE asked me. They wondered if I knew her."

"What does she have to do with Wayne Enterprises?" Damian chimed in.

Celebrities and trends never piqued Jason's interest—he focused on eating, debating internally if he should purchase more handguns to replace a couple that he lost.

"She's been promoting our products even if she's not legally affiliated with WE," Tim explained whilst gulping down his daily dose of caffeine. "She's just trying to fish for a real sponsorship or partnership. Her brand's getting famous in Gotham, you know."

"It's not much of a concern for the company then. Our lawyers will be able to handle it if her so-called scandals affect WE," said Bruce.

"True, but it's still weird. This is her first major backlash on the internet and there's a lot of—" Tim did air quotes with his fingers, "—'anonymous witnesses' coming forward to show her 'true colors'."

"How is that different from the usual celebrity rumors?" asked Damian.

Okay, maybe Jason was a little curious.

He discreetly pulled his phone out to check the articles popping out online. And there were many, as if testimonies were spewing from a never-ending fountain.

'eiffelparis12: don't fall for it. she bought all those views and likes. fake *****'

'coffeecake: I worked as a stylist in a studio once. She was at our show...I didn't expect her to be so two-faced! She was so rude to the producer's assistant and kept bossing her around. The poor guy didn't even get to eat.'

'seaasss: her products arent even that good. lol.'

'venusred: she bought her way to be in our blog's feature. i'm pretty sure she has an anonymous sponsor.'

'harpyre: OMG! does she even pay her employees enough?'

'silverberry640: no way, lilia doesn't deserve this! there's no proof.'

'ngc5195: this is what fame does to all of them......sad.'

Jason looked up again when Bruce spoke. "For now, WE isn't obligated to proceed with legal action and we're not actually involved anyway. I'm sure this will pass on its own."

He wasn't wrong. Scandals came and went; people liked to throw stones at one person then move on to the next after the damage was done.

"Or not," Tim suddenly said, staring at something on his phone "Shit."

"What is it?" asked Bruce.

Tim read the words aloud. "Influencer Lilia Ross, accused of murdering former classmate." 

[heritagebrowser]

The most famous art nouveau style shop interior must be the shop of Nicholas Fouquet

L

Because of the particularly remarkable decorations of the Fouquet jewelry store, reconstituted and presented within the collections of the Carnavalet museum, you are immediately immersed in the Art Nouveau style, born in Belgium and further developed in France (and later also other distinct european regions), which will dominate the architecture, the decorative arts then the plastic arts (paintings, sculpture) until the First World War. A style characterized by curved and elegant lines; floral, plant or animal motifs inspired by nature; slender and idealized female silhouettes with extra long, flowing and evanescent hair. A style that will also put color back at the heart of arts and architecture.

To create the decorations for his jewelry store, presented here at the Carnavalet museum, Georges Fouquet (1862-1957) called on the Czech Alfons Mucha (1860-1939), an essential and emblematic illustrator of Art Nouveau from the end of the 19th century . Mucha was born on July 24, 1860 in Moravia, a region today partly encompassed by Czechia. After passing through Prague, Vienna and Munich, he arrived in Paris in 1887 to study art. At the same time, he gradually became known by producing magazines, illustrating catalogs or creating sublime advertising posters. His portraits of the famous actress Sarah Bernhardt, like those of many women in a vaporous and typically Art Nouveau style, made him famous. So much so that he was officially rewarded for his talents at the Paris Universal Exhibition in 1900, notably thanks to a collection of jewelry that he designed.

This is how, in 1901, Georges Fouquet invited Mucha to design the decor for his new jewelry store located at 6 rue Royale, between Place de la Concorde and La Madeleine. The artist created a modern and functional boutique (Art Nouveau is in fact a quest for both aesthetics and functionality), designed as a work of art in its own right. Mosaics, furniture, display cases, stained glass windows, lighting, door handles... everything in the decorations and volumes is of naturalistic inspiration, with a lot of curves, plant and floral motifs, or even animal motifs (the bronze peacocks behind and in the (counter tops are beautiful). A central figure in Mucha's work, the elegant woman is present here too, but mainly in front of the store or in small touches inside. Dreamlike, magical and almost phantasmagorical, the powerful settings imagined by Alfons Mucha will surprise, fascinate and seduce his contemporaries. Dismantled in 1923, most of the shop's decor was given to the Carnavalet museum by Georges Fouquet in 1941. But only in the 1980's the shop interior was reconstructed in the museum.

[not-sobasicbisexual]

my list of Owen movies that I've seen plus my out of 5 stars rating

Night at the Museum (Jedediah 5/5

Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian (Jedediah 5/5

Night at the Museum: Secret of the Tomb (Jedediah 5/5

Shanghai Noon (Roy O’Bannon 4/5

Shanghai Knights (Roy O’Bannon 4/5

Cars (Lightning McQueen 5/5

Cars 2 (Lightning McQueen 3/5

Cars 3 (Lightning McQueen 4/5

Cars: On the Road (Lightning McQueen 4/5

Hall Pass (Rick 4/5

Zoolander (Hansel 5/5

Zoolander 2 (Hansel 5/5

Bottle Rocket (Dignan 5/5

The Darjeeling Limited (Francis Whitman 5/5

Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (Ned Plimpton 5/5

Marmaduke (Marmaduke 3/5

Loki (Mobius 5/5

Wonder (Nate Pullman 3/5

the Royal Tenenbaums (Eli Cash 5/5

Meet the Parents (Kevin Rawley 2.5/5

Paint (Carl Nargle 5/5

Haunted Mansion (Kent 5/5

Secret Headquarters (Jack Kincaid 4/5

Marry Me (Charlie 5/5

Fantastic Mr. Fox (Coach Skip 5/5

Marley & Me (Jon Grogan 5/5

The Grand Budapest Hotel (M. Chuck 5/5

Minus Man (Vann 5/5

Wedding Crashers (John Beckwith 5/5

I-Spy (Alex Scott 4/5

Starsky and Hutch (Hutch 5/5

Anaconda (Gary Dixon 2/5

The French Dispatch (Herbsaint Sazerac 4/5

The Cable Guy (Robin’s date 4/5

How Do You Know (Matty Reynolds 2/5

You, Me, and Dupree (Randy Dupree 4/5

Midnight in Paris (Gil Pender 5/5

[qsycomplainsalot]

Lindybeige is Either an Idiot or an Asshole

Most Likely Both

--There could be more flattering ways to put it, but he's never once given us that favor so why should I. His videos are wildly speculative and often based in cherry-picked British sources, when they come with any sources at all - see his masturbatory piece about the Bren vs the “Spandau”.

--There are two videos that I absolutely loathe at the edges of my youtube recommendations, both just filled to the brim with misinformation and logical contrivances. Videos that neckbeards will endlessly quote at me without question, taking a frustratingly long amount of time to untangle by which point they'd have usually lost interest already. The first one is Shadiversity's video about boob armor, the other is Lindybeige's video about the French Resistance.

--This video will have you believe that the French Resistance on its own did nothing of worth, based in great part on the fact that De Gaulle glamorized its contribution to the war for political status. I cannot stress this enough, just because De Gaulle used the general idea of the Resistance to smooth over a lot of Vichy war crimes and restore national unity does not mean the Resistance did not exist as a capable fighting force. --The very first more specific argument he offers to support his view -if you ignore “ME AND ME PA FOUND THAT VERY FONNY”- is that most of the French armor was American-made and provided through the lend-lease policy, making French people less deserving of credit in winning World War 2. I assume that in his mind that would diminish the contribution of the French Resistance to war efforts, even though these tanks and armored fighting vehicles were used by the Free French Army, not the Resistance at any point of its existence, making the point moot while also conveniently ignoring that the United Kingdom received ten times the aid France did through that same program.

--The image is from War Thunder because it makes for a better glamor shot than having it stand behind a museum fence or in black and white.

--His next argument implies that De Gaulle was "allowed" to walk in the liberated Paris ahead of Allied troops to give a speech that solidified the myth of the Resistance I mentioned. Again, in this passing, deceptive comment, Lindybeige implies that De Gaulle walked in after the fact and that Allied forces did the heavy lifting, only allowing him to do his speech a their convenience. Even a cursory amount of research will tell you that Paris was in fact liberated by the FFI, the Parisian people themselves and Leclerc’s 2nd Armored Division composed of Metropolitan and Colonial French with Spanish elements, supported only on the very last day by the US 4th Infantry Division and a special British unit sent to gather intelligence. --Following this, he quotes the speech De Gaulle delivered in front of the town hall the day the German garrison surrendered, but cuts it short of the part in said speech mentioning “the help of our dear and admirable Allies” to then call De Gaulle ungrateful, which I have a hard time believing could be anything but intentionally deceptive. He then goes on to claim that the French Resistance was not organized by De Gaulle but by the British, justifying the ludicrous claim with 'they didn’t tell him because French intelligence services were bad and would have leaked all of it’. This is of course ignoring the fact that De Gaulle had personally sent Jean Moulin back to France for the exact purpose of organizing the five big Resistance movements into one organization, which he did, creating the Council for National Resistance that played a major role in the liberation of Paris. How the British would have any hand in this may be explained by his further comments, where he goes on to say that agents of the organization preceding the MI6 had been infiltrated in the Resistance to organize it, which begs the question of who's responsible for it being a non-effective combat force if it had been the case. He then gives us a voice in a sarcastic tone by saying, “of course you and your British bias would say that !” but does not really address it. Because honestly yeah, you and your British bias would say that.

--After quickly rambling that there were too many people in France and not enough bushes for all people to join the Resistance, which I have to admit is an extremely pointed and pertinent thing to say in a video downplaying the efforts and suffering of thousands of people fighting back against Nazi occupation under constant threat of torture and execution if caught, he mentions that the German forced labor system had severely depleted France’s manpower of fighting age. He says that by 1944, only teenagers and decrepit middle aged men were left to fight in the Resistance, to the great disappointment of the British agents he mentioned earlier. According to him, this meant France lacked the manpower and the communication capability required to pull the Resistance off, which is again contradicted by the actions of Jean Moulin, who had seemingly managed to access both before his death.

--There are a few problems with that argument. The Service de Travail Obligatoire, STO for short, was a system put in place by Vichy France to supply Germany with civilian manpower to make up for their own shortfalls due to the Eastern front. Because Vichy had negotiated a relative independence compared to other occupied country, its own government was responsible for the order, although it was in almost every point similar to forced labor orders in Denmark or the Netherlands. Now the STO did deprive France of over six hundred thousand young men, many of them skilled workers. However as an incentive given by the Nazis, every three forced laborer sent to Germany would lead to the release of one French POW, meaning that as far as manpower was concerned, France pretty much lost only four hundred thousand men and received qualified military personnel for its trouble. Not only is it hardly the manpower drain pictured by Lindybeige, it also ignores that many of these forced laborers, my grandfather included, immediately skipped work and joined either the Resistance or Allied military regulars after operation Overlord, as they were not as tightly surveilled as POWs and minorities in concentration/death camps. It also bears mentioning that it was teenagers, dismissed by Lindybeige as a negligible quantity, that acted as reconnaissance troops for the Free French using their motorbikes to scout and guide the way to the German Kommandantur. In any case, most members of the FFI integrated the regular French army after the liberation of Paris, meaning they were definitely of fighting age. Of course that whole argument is dropped as soon as he brings in British involvement, at which point he finally points out how the Resistance disabled most of the railway network and stopped the famously lightning-fast German army from facing the Allied invasion properly. For their role in this sabotage, a hundred fifty Resistance members working for the French national railway company were shot and another five hundred deported.

--To put it simply, Lindybeige dismisses the Resistance as a useless, wasteful and infighting group of functional morons, while every successful operation they carried out, every display of good mobility and coordination is attributed to British uniformed soldiers overseeing it. In reality most of that effort was done by either agents of the French government in exile or the Allied command under Eisenhower, with no account mentioning any significant autonomous British involvement which stands to reason as De Gaulle and Churchill could not stand one another. In fact Lindybeige tries to pass off operation Jedburgh as a purely British operation while it was specifically a joint one with American, British, French, Belgian and Dutch operatives all along the Atlantic coast.

--The next part is baffling. Lindybeige points at the Allies stopping their shipments of weapons to the French Resistance after July 44 and justifies it by saying the various cells were fighting each other and were uncoordinated. Thank god the Brits stopped sending arms or there would have been a civil war between these silly French Resistance members. Of course what happened in August was the liberation of Paris followed by the integration of the FFI into the new French army, which would go on to liberate the rest of the country. But Lindybeige pushes this civil war angle pretty hard, calling at this point of the video both Vichy France and the Resistance to be pro French in a way and underlining the conflicts between the two as a reason why the weapon shipments stopped coming, with examples such as Resistance members exacting reprisals against Nazi collaborators, which is a completely moot point because Vichy France and collaborators had nothing to do with the Resistance and were in fact, at this point of time, recognized as the enemy by all Allied forces, meaning acts of resistance against them would in no way prompt Allied command to stop supporting the French Resistance. Lindybeige goes so far as to say that the OSS and British secret service stopping the weapon shipments in August 1944 legitimately prevented an outright civil war between the different cells of the French Resistance, which was in actuality pretty unified in its support to De Gaulle at this point thanks to the efforts of Jean Moulin as discussed previously. This hardly gels with the events following August 1944, where the members of the Resistance and FFI were enlisted in the Free French Army and were therefore issued American military equipment and training to function as regular troops. Now stop me if I'm wrong but it appears that in Lindybeige's mind all French people were ready to tear each other apart until the British stopped sending them pipe guns, after which the Americans sent them tanks which obviously disabled their ability to start a civil war.

--Two French colonial soldiers using a blend of Allied gear during the winter of 1944-45. They are presumably thinking of killing each other.

--Much like the Phantom Menace review this is addressing a piece of media were essentially everything is wrong, hence the length of this post. Lindybeige has obviously researched the topic to great length, then ignored half of it to record 17mn of vague, dismissive and unsubstantiated claim that each take an equal amount of time to debunk. He present the facts as if everything that happened on British soil was under British orders so as to make the French Resistance only effective on their accord, all the while disregarding the French government in exile and slandering the efforts of French people but also inadvertently of the Americans. It is my honest belief that this sad excuse of an historian is either profoundly lacking in literacy or actively trying to justify his xenophobia by bending WW2 historiography around his bias, and whatever it may be he should be deplatformed to avoid spreading more harmful and disrespectful lies about a group of brave men and women who fought to liberate their country from fascism.

[namedvesta]

If you ever get the chance to visit the Louvre in Paris or the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, take a detour to the Ancient Near Eastern Art Gallery. Keep walking until you find yourself in front of one of those cubic display cases, whose bulletproof glass protects a treasure barely bigger than your little finger. We call them Eye Idols. Carbon-14 tells us that they were made between 3000 and 3700 BC.  Look closely, or at least think you're looking at them, because in reality it's quite the opposite. It's the Idol staring back at you; with the same puzzled, indecipherable look she gave the man who carved her out of stone 5,000 years ago. Those eyes have seen the first man, every man since, and they will be wide open long after the last man has closed his. For those eyes, your whole life will pass in less than a thousandth of a second. For them, there is only the eternal now. Feel how that look nails you to the ground and how your own can never have the same effect.

— 𝐕.

[royal-chandler]

Hi! For the ficlet prompt, my three words are:

wine, tremble, lazy

🩷

Thank you for the prompt! I hope this is to your liking! ♥️

---

In March, they steal away to Paris. 

That’s the romantic narration of it, anyway. In reality, Alex had given the law firm months' notice of his plans to use up his vacation time on his and Henry’s birthdays and then worked practically non-stop until the day of their flight, weekends included. Henry’s first draft of his novel was sent to his editor via email while their plane smoked on the tarmac, also having predominantly spent the majority of the lead-up to their hop across the Atlantic working heavily, splitting his time between his office and the youth shelter. 

They mimed passing ships in the night during those closing weeks—college-try handjobs in their morning showers, a conveyor belt of a la carte lunches and takeout dinners, and catch-up conversations that sped into snores under their blankets, against the kitchen island, and in front of the muted tv.  

At one embarrassingly low point, Alex had sluggishly hiked the steps of the brownstone, lost a battle with his set of keys, and called Henry to let him in because something was wrong with the lock. Stepping outside of the neighboring door, phone still pressed to his ear, Henry had laughed that their locks were actually just fine. 

All worth it, Alex decides, living to tell the tale and look over the cinematic heart of the city—the crowd of rooftops and warm shades of gold dotted from the streetlamps all the way to the Eiffel Tower—from his seat on their terrace as music spills from the hotel room.

A deviation from restaurant reservations and room service and at Henry’s insistence, it’s a Parisian picnic tonight. Alex doesn’t know how or when Henry had gotten it done, now that they’re in each other's pockets again but it’s a postcard setting. The round table is draped with the classic checkered cloth and topped with candles and a decanter of wine, and there’s an assortment of fresh breads, cheeses, fruits, and meats—including the chicken mousse that the Texan in Alex really hadn't wanted to like but is shamefully into.

He’s spreading it thick onto another pinch of bread when Henry comments, amused, “We’ll need to make some extra room in your suitcase to accommodate bringing a case of that back home.”

“Ugh yes,” Alex agrees, popping the bread in his mouth. Once he’s swallowed, he tacks on, “But we’ll have to hide it deep in our cabinets. Like not easily visible to our guests. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

“Think you're safe there,” Henry replies, rolling his eyes but his tone rings nothing less than charmed. “I truly doubt that anyone aside from you has ever uttered the words ‘a meat has no validity unless you can throw barbecue sauce on it.’”

“Okay, I’ll grant you maybe not in that exact syntax but the sentiment is out there. Trust me,” Alex insists before a sip of the wine he also wants to smuggle back to the States. 

Every single thing Henry has picked out for the night has been divine but Alex is most appreciative of the picture across from him. Henry is an academic stunner in his sweater, a soft earthy green that he fills out so perfectly with his broad shoulders and curved arms it’ll almost be a travesty when Alex hauls it off of him later. His hair is grown out and dark, partially swept back and behind an ear that’s now pierced with a circle of silver. Best of everything fucking wonderful, there's pretty crescent moons around Henry's mouth that rival the full one hanging above them.

“Whatever you say, love,” Henry says with his grin after waiting out Alex’s intake of him, wise to Alex as always.

“Whatever you say, love,” Alex parrots back, a second nature refrain. “Ooh speaking of, tomorrow’s your day, baby. Was there anything you had in mind?”

There’s a poignant change in Henry’s expression, his mouth so ready-set-go that Alex expects him to name drop another book store or museum with specific pursuits for wherever they go, to unburden an impassioned lecture on a literary figure or regale Alex with the lengthy history behind a painting they have to see and study. 

What Alex doesn’t expect is for Henry to come to his side and take a careful knee, to pull a square jewelry box from its hiding place in Henry’s pants pocket and for Henry’s hand to slightly tremble as it flips the box open before holding it out.

Alex doesn’t expect the gorgeous band of gold that shines in candle light and rings around his heart, claiming it.

“I’d love to enjoy the entire day with my fiancé if he would abide?” Henry offers simply.

“Yes,” Alex says, sure and within so slim a breath, his answer is merely a punctuation on Henry’s question.

Alex makes surprise wait until the ring has slipped on his finger, until he’s kissed Henry with the intent to do so for the rest of his life, until he’s got Henry underneath him and around him in their bed—lazy with love and then impatient with it. There, Alex will let surprise meet and then yield to the knowledge that tomorrow he’ll have a proposal of his own.

[copperbadge]

I want to thank you - your posts about solo travel inspired me to do a week of solo road trip this spring, and I had a fantastic time. I went where I wanted, when I wanted, and even eating at restaurants by myself was less awkward than I was afraid of.

I'm not going to swear off family vacations forever or anything, there is also a benefit to traveling with someone you want to share those experiences with, but I'm definitely going to be bolder about traveling by myself, and I don't think I would have done it without you providing an example.

Oh, also, I want the anon who recommended Qahwah House to you awhile back to know that they are so right, their chai (and basbousa) is absolutely fantastic, and I would never have known to make a detour for it while I was passing through the area if I hadn't seen that ask.

I hope it's okay if I post this publicly! I'm so glad you enjoyed your solo travel and didn't feel as awkward as you expected. I don't always travel solo either -- I visit my family, and I visit friends and travel with them sometimes, and I always enjoy it, I just also really love doing my own thing. And I like to set an example for people because SO often when I talk about going places alone, I get reactions of surprise and envy, and I really want more people to know that it is not only safe and possible but fun to travel alone!

A lot of the time it isn't even really that other people wouldn't want to do what I want to do. I regularly drag my friends to dumb tourist traps and weird museums. But I also get very hesitant about suggesting things and I tend not to do much spontaneously. Like when I was in Paris and went to the McDonalds because I really wanted a soda, I would never have been like "Hey friends who are in PARIS with me, let's go to MCDONALDS". But I'm glad I did because I almost got robbed by a preteen and also encountered the Chicago Supreme Burger, which was super funny.