#ail des Ours

[persephonessister]

The Gardener takes a nap with the garlic.

[transparentgentlemenmarker]

Cueillette des ail des ours ⚠️⚠️⚠️ la feuille à des nervures parallèles brillante dessus et mat dessous une fois coupée l'odeur dégage l'ail

Les faux amis

[ditesdonc]

Cheese-cake à l'ail des ours

Recette de Perrine

Perrine n’a pas que des cuillers dans son armoire, elle a aussi des voyages dans ses valises et beaucoup d’amour dans ses papilles. Pour le doux printemps qui pointe, elle nous offre une recette baladeuse, où New York vient jusqu’aux vieilles forêts d’Europe – et vice-versa – pour un tour d’assiette aux allures de conte de fées. Quand un tout petit bout de plante, portant avec elle les ours sauvages, les chasseurs-cueilleurs et les potions de femmes-sorcières rencontre la Ville des villes, la citadine par excellence… ça sonne comme un air de Boucle d’or qui n’aurait pas peur. Alors miam, miam et remiam, non ? Et merci Perrine !

***

L’une des premières joies du printemps naissant, ce sont les tapis d’ail des ours qui s’étalent dans nos sous-bois ! Vous pouvez le déguster – une fois bien lavé – en fine herbe (salades, omelette etc…) ou transformé en pesto. C’est à partir de ce pesto que je vous propose cette recette originale, d’un cheesecake salé qui sera une entrée délicieuse.

Ingrédients pour 8 personnes :

•200g de gressins ou crackers type Wasa

•100g de beurre demi-sel

•100g d’ail des ours lavé et essoré

•15cl d’huile d’olive

•30g d’amandes entières

•Sel, poivre

•300g crème entière liquide

•300g St Môret

•3 feuilles de gélatine

•1 pot de tomates séchées confites à l’huile

Préparer le Pesto d’ail des ours (ce pesto pourra également être utilisé avec des pâtes, un risotto, en tartine…)

Dans un mixeur, mixer l’ail des ours, l’huile d’olive, le sel et les amandes. Réserver.

Préparer la base du cheesecake

Dans le même mixeur non lavé, mixer les crackers/gressins et le beurre pour en faire une pâte encore grumeleuse.

Chemiser le fond d’un moule à charnière de papier sulfurisé. Recouvrir le fond du moule avec cette pâte, que vous tasserez bien.

Préparer l’appareil

•Faire tremper les feuilles de gélatine dans de l’eau froide pour les ramollir

•Faire chauffer la crème ; lorsqu’elle est chaude, y faire fondre les feuilles de gélatine.

•Dans le mixeur : mixer la crème, le St Morêt, le pesto d’ail des ours. Assaisonner de sel et poivre si besoin.

•Verser cet appareil dans le moule, sur la base.

•Laisser prendre au froid pendant 3 heures.

•Démouler en défaisant la charnière afin d’ôter le bord du moule.

•Servir chaque part surmontée d’une tomate confite.

Recette du restaurant L'Armoire à cuillers, Place de la nation, Crémieu - 0614962987

[miaqc1]

Another Rody with fairy wings drawing. Commissioned from @beardedstrangerdreamland on tumblr.

Rody with fairy wings [Art] - MiaQc - Dead Plate (RachelDrawsThis Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]

💗⭐💗

Un autre dessin de Rody avec des ailes de fées. Commandé de beardedstrangerdreamland sur tumblr.

Rody avec des ailes de fée [Art] - MiaQc - Dead Plate (RachelDrawsThis Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]

[oumaimas]

recreating one of my fav restaurant dishes from this year but like a version u can make on 4 hours of sleep

[missriyochuchi]

The Torchbearer and the Flagbearer

Summary: The Torchbearer and the Flagbearer meet in the Jardin des Tuileries after the Opening Ceremony and commiserate about the Olympic Games.

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: Established relationship. Mentions of death.

Notes: I imagined these two like otherworldly beings blessing the games, what with the Olympics being invented by ancient Greeks as a partly religious event. As such, I would have preferred to keep them gender neutral, but because I’m writing this in a pinch and want to be able to distinguish between them without constantly using their names, I opted for gendered pronouns. But nothing about their physical descriptions are particularly gendered; I’m just leaning on the old linguistic quirk lol Also, how tf is there no video of the Flagbearer!? I wanted to gif her/their entrance but couldn’t find a damn thing! She/They deserves more love!

Read on AO3 - Part 2 - Part 3

Darkness cloaks the Jardin des Tuileries. Even the cauldron floating above its center offers little illumination on the ground. Shadows play along the perimeter, tourists passing in the midnight hour, their idle conversations lost to the humid air. The soft patter of rain echoes across the masonry scattered throughout the empty park. Only the occasional creak of metallic plates and restless hoofbeats betray the garden’s solitary visitors.

The Flagbearer looks up at the orange orb in the sky. She marvels at the city’s ingenuity. Decades of oil and gas have finally given way to an electric fire. Only with such technological advancements could engineers even dream of safely flying the eternal flame above the City of Lights. If only the future was as assuredly bright, the Flagbearer thinks. Her gaze drifts back down to the darkness below, the surrounding chill creeping back into her senses. Her horse stirs beneath her and jostles her mind back to the present.

“Easy, Zeus,” she murmurs as she presses her legs to the animal’s sides in an attempt to soothe both their anxieties. “Patience.”

No Olympic Games are ever truly free of political problems, an inevitability of any gathering between disparate peoples, but they weigh heavier on the Flagbearer’s mind now more than ever. Her part in the Opening Ceremony is small but significant, and though she spends less time among the crowds than her eternal counterpart, she catches enough to gauge that tensions are higher than ever before. The darkness of the night seems to encroach and bleed into the darkness in her mind as she ponders human history and her role in it. Before her resolve could lurch under the gravity of her thoughts, the light crunch of gravel announces his arrival.

“You are late,” the Flagbearer intones harshly. She steers her steed to turn around and face the approaching footsteps.

Enough ambient light creeps across the park to distinguish the Torchbearer’s silhouette, catching on the gauzy pieces of his attire bobbing in the breeze. His stride is sure, his stature straight, betraying neither weariness nor arrogance. Only a few meters away, he shrugs and raises his palms out at his sides, teasing, “I did not have a ride.”

The Flagbearer is unmoved but in no mood to quarrel. “How are you, my love?” Her voice floats soft and light through the misty drizzle.

“Exhausted.” His shoulders slump fractionally, perceptible only to his eternal flame facing him. “And you?”

“Concerned.”

The Torchbearer reaches for the horse’s muzzle and runs a familiar hand along his nose. “I hope you are not as troubled as your rider, mon joli cheval.” Zeus bows his long head and huffs in response. His palm runs along the animal’s left flank, lifting once he reaches the Flagbearer’s side. He extends both hands to her gloved ones and helps her to the ground.

“What ails my sweet?” He pinches her chin.

She hums and takes one of his hands in both of hers, squeezing hard enough to convey her worry. “In all our years shepherding these games, did you ever know the atmosphere to be this—”

“I know. The world is—”

“Restless.”

“Yes, and—”

“Not at peace.”

“Never has been, my love.”

“I do not remember it ever being this—”

“Your worries are not unfounded, cherie, but you must redirect your attention elsewhere.”

They circle the base beneath the cauldron, hand in hand. Zeus follows close behind, his reins tied to the saddle. While the nightlife bustles beyond the park’s pocket of silence, the few security guards on duty watch the hooded figures from a distance.

Event organizers had explicitly and numerously instructed personnel not to approach or engage with the Torchbearer and Flagbearer. They were both host and blessing to the festivities, and decades of tradition dictated that a respectful, neutral distance be maintained between the host nation and the two Olympic guardians so that there would be no suspicion of impropriety or favoritism during competition.

The Flagbearer recoils, incredulous. “How can you be so indifferent to the violence and rhetoric—”

“I am surprised that between the two of us, you, in your glittering armor, are the first to lose hope and declare defeat.”

“I have not!” She stops them in their orbit and shoves his hand back to his side.

The Torchbearer laughs. He crooks a finger under her chin and raises her gaze. She sighs and closes her eyes as the backs of his fingers graze her cheek. Her hands come up to open and press his palm to the side of her face, his pressure more than his warmth a soothing balm to her inner turmoil. Her voice is low and leaden when she continues.

“I merely wonder if the gods have not tasked us with an impossible mission.”

The Torchbearer falls silent as he contemplates the Flagbearer’s concerns. She did not interact with humans as much as he did, a natural consequence of their separate roles. While the Olympic torch exchanged hands with every kind of man and woman, the Olympic flag exchanged hands with a significantly select few. As a result, the Flagbearer’s opinion of humanity often leaned towards the optimistic while the Torchbearer’s leaned towards the pessimistic. He had come to know, better than she, the complexities of human nature, their heavenly highs and their hellish lows. They spent decades arguing about the tenuous balance. Now, as he watches his partner’s shoulders sag with the weight of the world, he finds himself despondent that she seems poised to concede to his viewpoint and knows it, knows that she lost this one important battle. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and guides their walk away from the cauldron.

“Plus vite, Plus haute, Plus fort.” The Torchbearer rattles off the Olympic motto.

“Citius, Altius, Fortius, my dear. Latin may be dead, but it is still your mother tongue.”

“‘Ensemble.’ C’est la partie importante. And that is precisely what they are doing and continue to do.”

“But for how long? We do not have a future if they do not, and my darling, I do not see—”

“We cannot predict the future any more than humans can. It is none of our concern. The gods will take care of us.”

“The gods have abandoned us, just as the humans have abandoned them.” The Flagbearer catches the ice in her voice and does her best to warm her vitriol. “We do not exist outside these games, my love. And if these games end, if the world can find no purpose to these communal competitions—”

Silence. The specter of death looms large in their periphery. Every Closing Ceremony marks the end of their days on Earth, a return to a darkness beyond darkness. And every two years, they are reborn and reimagined back into existence to inspire and perform and protect the Olympic Games. Despite the constancy of this cyclical event, the eternal guardians find humans increasingly less hospitable to the ideals they represent. What is sportsmanship to a world where even the rules of war no longer hold?

“Steel your heart as this city has steeled your form.” The Torchbearer steps close enough for the edge of his hood to kiss hers. “The next host cities have been decided, their venues under construction. We still have a future. There is no reason to despair.”

“For now.”

“For now.” He sighs at her obstinacy, but knows not to push further or risk wasting precious moments on a fruitless fight. “In the meantime, the games have begun, and we do not have much time together.”

A smirk plays beneath the Flagbearer’s hood. She perks up at her partner’s motives. “Sixteen days is not enough to spend with you.” She steps closer and brings her forehead to his. She squeezes his biceps, and he rubs her elbows in return. They exchange breaths for a moment of eternity.

“Come.” The Torchbearer takes her hands and swings her in circles. Their laughs echo as they near the horse. “Much of the city has changed since we were last here, and you will not see them if you continue to sulk beneath the cauldron.”

The Flagbearer mounts Zeus and extends an arm to help the Torchbearer take a seat behind her. He presses his front to her back, unbothered by her damp cape. He slides his arms along either side of her waist and rests his hands atop hers on the horn of the saddle. The horse ambles forward towards the city streets.

Buoyed by the Torchbearer’s embrace, the Flagbearer regains a sliver of her hope and optimism. “The Italians will call on us next. Perhaps we will meet a changed world by then.”

“We always do. I wonder what forms they have planned for us.”

“I quite like this form on you, my dear. The cut of your jacket complements you well.”

“As does this armor on you, mon amour.” His hands find the edge of her cuirass and sneak nimble fingers to the suit underneath.

She giggles at the light pressure below her ribcage. “I will miss hearing you speak this city’s language.”

The Torchbearer tightens his hold on the Flagbearer, impressing his being into hers. “You worry about community and forget that we are in the City of Love.”

“Paris is not the world, my dear.” They sway in sync as Zeus carries them towards the edge of the garden.

“Perhaps, but the Olympic Village is, or at least, as close an approximation as the humans are capable of producing. If it is unity you seek, we will surely find a certain kind—”

“You said you were exhausted.” Amusement lightens the Flagbearer’s tone, her heavy mind now fizzy with thoughts of the Torchbearer’s amorous intentions.

“Never enough to deter me from you.” He presses his chin to her shoulder, his words vibrating down the expanse of her armor. “Would you waste the energy of the players’ liaisons?”

Her hood whips to the side as he squeezes the unarmored flesh of her upper thigh. Before she can answer, he takes the reins and brings Zeus to a gallop towards the Olympic Village.

“No more talk,” he heaves with urgency. “I need you before the sun rises and our duties begin again.”

Footnotes:

mon joli cheval - my pretty horse cherie - dear Plus vite, Plus haute, Plus fort (French) / Citius, Altius, Fortius (Latin) - Faster, Higher, Stronger ‘Ensemble.’ C’est la partie importante. (French) - ‘Together.’ That is the important part. mon amour - my love

“The 100% electric flame burns no fuel. The ring of fire uses 40 LED spotlights to illuminate the cloud created by 200 high-pressure misting nozzles.” (source)

According to the engineers who built the mechanical horse, its name is Zeus.

[pilferingapples]

Fantine Fic Recs!

Things being how they are for Fantine, these are pretty much all AUs, but I'm going to roughly sort them into Canon Era AUs and More AU Than That:P

Actual Canon Era:

A Bit of Philosophy on Love, by mgrbienvenu A conversation between the grisettes

Canon Era AU

the Less Miserables series, by @robertawickham : Chance twists a little differently for Fantine, and she starts on the road to a very different life. Featuring a lot of Zephine , too !

At Summer's End, by @saltedpin : Fantine meets a stranger on the road to M sur M , and it changes her path and theirs. A fix-it for multiple characters!

Ailes des Jais, by @akallabeth-joie : canon era, BBC setting, following up on THE hot new character from that series: Fantine's Bead Bird. Ignore my snark, this is a very sweet little tale.

Silent Night, by crimsondust/ @aflamethatneverdies : fixit for Georges and Fantine !

Grand-père Noël, by @akallabeth-joie : fix it fic! Victurnien makes a grave error and ends up helping out. And Cosette and Fantine get a mysterious visitor...

A Right to Flowers, by @midautumnnightdream: Fantine stays in Paris, and life goes a little more gently. Fix it fic for Fantine and many others.

Vulture, Lark, Sparrow, Owl, by @breadvidence: " ... in those explorations of the Infinite there are realities where the most wretched souls are extended pity in life which they elsewhere knew nowhere but under the sheltering mantle of our mother. All that Providence required was a little more snow, and a cloud traversing the sky out of season sufficed to renew a world" . Fix it fic in M- sur -M.

More AU Than That

A Favour, from @shitpostingfromthebarricade : Modern setting. Fantine and Favourite meet again some years later, now both single mothers, and renew their acquaintance.

As a Hen Gathers Her Brood, by @shitpostingfromthebarricade: A Scarlet Letter AU!! getting out classic lit in our classic lit....

Miserable Spectres, by crimsondust/ @aflamethatneverdies : a Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell AU ! Focuses largely on Fantine and Eponine as parallel figures.

En l' annee 2014: a wonderful modernizing and rewriting of Fantine's story --and Favourite's , and Dahlia's -- to bring it into the 21st century. I am in awe of the translation of themes and details across the centuries. Go go go read.

If You Ever Need Help, Call For Me, by jubilantly: a fairy tale AU! " Fantine helps three animals, and gets help in return when she needs it."

Under a Moonlit Sky, by badassindustries / @badassindistress : " The year is 1817. After Félix Tholomyès' little suprise, a despairing Fantine thinks she might go to her hometown of M-sur-M to find work. Instead, she decides to find Tholomyès and make him acknowledge Cosette. Enter a young man who would love to have an excuse to travel South (as far away from the law faculty as possible) and is uniquely suited to hunting down terrible men" . Also Bahorel is a werewolf. Don't worry about it .

And as always , tip your fic writers (leave comments !)

[dykeboi]

Blaise Drummind, b. Liverpool, 1967. Gewaltige Raume Unerschlossenen Landes [Immensité des territoires inexplorés], 2007. Huile et collage sur toile

Blaise Drummond peint un symbole réalisé par le Corbusier 'Unité d'habitation de Marseille, dans un espace vierge et blanc avec au sol des tâches de couleurs. Une phrase en anglais rythme la façade: [Parfois je fais ce rêve où nous découvrons des pièces supplémentaires dans notre maison, comme une aile secrète. Elles sont presque d'élabrées mais ont un grand potentiel pour un projet d'extension et de restauration Un nuage beige, fait d'un morceau de couverture, surplombe le bâtiment et semble perturber la quiétude du paysage. Cette ceuvre est l'illustration parfaite des préoccupations de cet artiste anglais installé en Irlande, sur la rupture entre habitat et nature, l'homme et son milieu. En reprenant les emblèmes iconiques de l'architecture moderne, Drummond traite de la contradiction entre l'utopie moderniste, son industrialisation et les nouvelles conditions de vie assujerties.

Blaise Drummond paints a symbol made by Le Corbusier, "Habitation Unit of Marseille", in a blank white space with colored spots on the ground. A sentence in English punctuates the the facade: "Sometimes I have a dream where we discover these extra rooms in our house, like a secret wing. They are pretty dilapidated but have good potential for a sort of restoration extension project." A beige cloud, made from a piece of blanket, hangs over the building and seems to disturb the peacefulness of the scene. This work is a perfect illustration of the concerns of the English artist based in Ireland, of the rupture between habitat and nature, humankind and their surroundings. By reclaiming the iconic emblems of modern architecture, Drummond addresses the contradiction between modernist utopia, its industrialisation, and the new conditions of life subject to it.

[natrogersfics]

PREVIEW - Always Remember Us This Way (Romanogers AU)

Artwork by @faith2nyc Part III of the So It Goes... 'verse

“These are the occupancy numbers for the month?”

Natasha’s lips curl up into a smirk as Loki peruses the latest report on the tablet. “Try the entire Summer.”

Loki’s eyes dart to her. “You don’t say,” he says, a smile spreading across his face when she nods in confirmation. He hands the tablet back, and the pride that fills his expression is difficult to miss as he leans back against the couch cushions. “Seems our little experiment is working.”

“Maybe a little,” she says, causing them both to chuckle.

If working meant blowing projections out of the water, then that’s absolutely what their experiment – that is, throwing rolling, invitation-only events at each revamped Red Guardian property – is currently doing. Their Las Vegas property had benefited from a surge of bookings following the opening of the Red Room, and if there’s anything she’s gleaned from the sudden resurgence of their once ailing asset, it’s that there’s still cache in the hotels that her parents had built. The waning interest of their patrons in recent years had nothing to do with them tiring of their prime locations but with the predictable, cookie-cutter experiences they were offering. After all, luxury hotels on the Strip were a dime a dozen in Sin City. But crown one with an ultra-exclusive rooftop club and suddenly everyone is clamoring for an invitation.

Needless to say, they had taken that concept and ran with it, applying it next to Red Guardian’s hotel in Milan. Following the rebuild of its grand ballroom and the subsequent Masquerade Ball that Loki’s company had arranged with every celebrity and socialite in attendance, what was once considered a hemorrhaging outpost in their portfolio is now a go-to destination in the North of Italy – a fact she’ll happily highlight at her next meeting with the board.

“So, where to next?” Loki asks, spreading his arms across the back of the couch. “Tokyo? Dubai? Oh, what about Ibiza?” He sighs. “A couple of glasses of tinto de Verano under the Iberian sun sounds heavenly right about now.”

“Are we picking our next project or your next vacation?” she says with a scoff.

Loki rolls his eyes. “One day, darling, you will learn to play as hard as you work.”

“Who’s to say I don’t?”

Intrigue colors Loki’s face, but before he can ask one of the hundreds of questions she knows is already forming in his mind, a knock causes them both to look towards the doorway of her living room to see Steve standing there, a folder clutched between his fingers.

“Mr. Rogers,” Loki greets cheerfully. “How nice of you to join us.”

“Mr. Laufeyson,” Steve says, and she doesn’t miss the way his tone sounds more formal than usual. She offers him a little smile when he turns her way, but it does nothing to dislodge his humorless expression. “When you have a minute, I’d like to go over the preliminary background check for your potential client.”

“The one who requested to meet with us tomorrow?” Loki clarifies before she can respond, earning a nod from Steve. “Since when do we run background checks on clients?”

“Since it’s become clear that security’s been a little too lax as of late,” Steve says, to which Loki arches a brow at. “Safety isn’t something we’re going to trivialize.”

“We can go over that report right now,” she says before Loki can say anything more, tapping his foot with her own in an attempt to get the man to shut up. From her periphery, she catches the confused stare Loki sends her way, but she ignores it as she directs Steve’s attention back to her. “We’re just about done here anyway.”

Steve walks further into the living room at that, stopping just in front of her coffee table to hand her the folder. As she opens it up, Loki scoots closer to her, peering over her shoulder as they both study the picture clipped to the corner of the report. The woman in the image couldn’t be much older than she is, her striking features breathtaking. Everything from her flawless, porcelain skin to her gray eyes that are wide and piercing – a stark contrast to the dark curls cascading down her shoulders – made for an intriguing sight.

“Her name is Viper?” she asks as she unclips the photo to read the rest of the information on the page.

“Yes and no,” Steve says, prompting her arch a brow. “Viper is her online persona, but her real name is Ophelia Sarkissian.” He gestures towards the rest of the report. “If you turn a few pages, there are some screenshots from her social media profiles. She made a name for herself by reviewing cosmetics for the eleven million followers she has across all platforms.”

Loki lets out a low whistle. “That’s quite a following.”

“Which is why she may be looking to capitalize on it,” Steve says. “She recently filed an LLC for a company called Viper Cosmetics.”

“Finally putting her doctorate to use,” she notes, reading over Ophelia’s accomplishments that include multiple PhDs on top of being a board-certified chemist. “Filing for an LLC is literally step one in putting up a company, though. Why would she want to meet with us already?”

“Probably to secure a venue for her when she’s ready to launch,” Steve says. “Between Vegas and Milan, the uptick in your occupancy has been all over the news.”

She rolls her lips, considering the thought before looking at Loki. “She’s not our usual clientele.”

“True, but it could be a good way to get our hands into that industry,” Loki offers.

“I suppose,” she says. “What else do we know about her?”

“At the moment, not much more than what’s in that file,” Steve admits, a hint of frustration slipping into his voice. “But like I said, this is just a preliminary check. The team and I haven’t found anything online that’s raised any red flags either, so as long as the meeting is in our territory, we don’t see an issue with tomorrow’s meeting.”

“I trust you,” she says, watching the way the tension in his shoulders ease ever so slightly at her words.

The faintest of smiles cross his lips, and she’s glad when that softens his worry-hardened expression. “I’ve also reached out to my contact at the FBI to see if she can find anything. Just in case.”

“Well,” Loki says, “I, for one, already feel very safe.”

This time, she doesn’t even think twice about joining Steve in sending him a glare, shaking her head when Loki only whips out his phone in response, scrolling through it unbothered. She looks back at Steve. “You’ll let me know if she finds anything?”

“Of course,” he says, checking his watch. “I’m actually going to meet with her this evening. Sam’s right at the door, but I’ll be in first thing in the morning.”

“Oh, okay,” she says, feeling a sudden wave of disappointment at the idea. Even so, she musters a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Goodnight,” he says before turning to leave.

She watches his figure retreat down the hall until it disappears from her view as he turns the corner, and it’s only when the telltale sound of the front door opening and then clicking shut fills the room that Loki turns to her. “Has he always had that stick up his ass or did he put one up there today just for me?”

She leans her head back, sighing. “He’s been this way since we got back.”

“You’ve been back for weeks,” Loki says, smirking as he adds, “I thought he’d be a giant ball of sunshine after your little side trip.” She turns to him to send a glare his way. Needing someone to confide in after the events in Vegas, she’d told him about the true nature of her relationship with Steve. And while in hindsight, she should’ve known her best friend could not help but meddle, she was still a touch surprised when he’d admitted in return that he had some hand in setting things in motion. Nevertheless, she’s glad to have someone to talk to about all of this now – even if she is, at present, regretting the decision as she catches the mischievous glint that sparkles in Loki’s eyes. “Did you two have your first little domestic up in the mountains?”

“No, it’s nothing like that. Those three days…” she trails, reminiscing. “Well, they were perfect.”

She isn’t even being hyperbolic. Short as the trip they had decided to take after the event in Milan was, there really isn’t any other word to describe the days she and Steve spent alone together in her cabin in the Alps. With her phone forgotten in the deepest crevice of her luggage, it’s as though time spanned endlessly, allowing them to explore every nook and cranny of the little remote village they found themselves in. And with no one to recognize her, there hadn’t been a need for them to hide. They spent the days walking in and out of the quaint shops, sipping on mulled wine, and stealing kisses as they huddled for warmth. Then as the night rolled around, they would find themselves retiring by the fire, where they would talk and laugh and eventually find their way into each other’s arms again. Those days were nothing short of blissful, and she couldn’t think of a time where she’d felt so happy. So complete.

“What’s changed then?” Loki asks.

She sighs, recalling the exact moment in the car ride back home from the airport where she felt their euphoric little bubble burst right in the backseat of the SUV. “When we got home, his team told us that someone had sent me letters,” she says. “They were similar to the ones my stalker had sent me in the past.”

“Natasha,” Loki says, every trace of his upbeat mood gone as he sits up straighter, grabbing her hand. “Are you alright? If you’re in danger again-”

“I’m okay, Loki,” she says, finding that she truly does mean her words as she squeezes his hand back in reassurance. She’d been paralyzed with fear the first time she’d received those letters, and even more so when that maniac had found a way to corner her in the elevator bank way back when. But things are different now. She’s capable of fighting back, of protecting herself. And now she has Steve, who along with his team, she trusts whole-heartedly to never let anything like that happen to her again. “The guy’s been apprehended. Steve… well, he and his team made sure of it.”

“I’m relieved,” Loki says. “Though I suspect he isn’t.”

She shakes her head, running a hand tiredly over her face. “He’s been… distant?” she says, trying the word out for size. “He’s here, watching me and our surroundings like a hawk, but at the same time it feels like he’s a million miles away.”

“He cares about you. Deeply.”

“And I feel the same way about him,” she says, her answer coming to her almost instantly before she finds herself admitting the one thought that’s been weighing on her since the jet touched down in Teterboro last week. “I just wish we never came home.”

A beat of silence hangs over them before Loki sighs. “Natasha,” he says, “I understand why the two of you have been keeping things under the radar, but… would it really be the worst thing? The two of you out in the open?”

For a moment, she can only stare at her friend, contemplating his question. “I don’t know,” she says eventually.

Full chapter coming soon...

[sinvulkt]

Ce que l’Abbé ne savait pas, c’est qu’il y a une raison pour laquelle les templiers n’ont jamais dépensé leur argent. Une malédiction de l’ancienne magie repose sur cette ile : quiconque hérite du trésor en devient son gardien.

Edmond n’en savait rien non plus. Il vit, toutefois, un immense squelette reposant sur la fortune cachée. Quelques baleines purent avoir été déposées là par ses prédécesseurs, peut-être.

Au début, ce ne fut que quelques écailles parsemant sa peau. Rien du tout. Edmond les pris pour une quelconque maladie de peau. 

Puis, ce fut une obsession. Un besoin fréquent de retourner sur l'île. La brise était bonne, là- bas. Et sans doute pouvait-il allonger son passage vers l'Italie par un petit détour? S'arrêter vers le trésor n’était qu’une question de prudence, de vérifier que quelques voleurs ne s’étaient pas accaparé ses biens.

L’obsession tourna vite en avarice, comme les ongles d’Edmond s’allongeaient et ses doigts se recourbaient. Chaque sous dépensé pour sa vengeance était légèrement plus dur à donner. Chaque pièce mise a bien pour la machine bien huilé de son plan semblait comme une goutte de sang versé sur l’autel du sacrifice, et lui brisait le cœur.

Quelque beau jour de février, il passa, par chance, près d’un chaman, qui eut tôt fait de le mettre au courant de la malédiction. En effet, le destin de tout héritier de la fortune de Monte-Cristo était de se transformer en dragon, et sous cette apparence draconique, de garder pour toujours le trésor.

Le chaman lui donna force d’amulettes et de concoctions, mais le prévint: tant que le trésor existait, il ne pouvait que ralentir le mal.

La vengeance d’Edmond était désormais une course contre la montre.

Quand ses mains deviennent griffes, il se met à porter des gants. Quand ses pupilles se fendent, il prend l’habitude de lentilles. Dès qu’il peut, malgré la douleur qui lui en déchire la poitrine, il dilapide le trésor; dans le vain espoir d’en affaiblir la malédiction. Plus d’une fois, la providence se joue de lui, et Edmond se retrouve enrichi par les mêmes investissements qu’il avait fait pour perdre sa fortune. 

André et Haydé ont beau avoir été ignorants, ils sont loin d’etre stupide. Il ne leur faut que quelques années avant de finalement découvrir le secret du comte; bien qu’ils se gardent de le dire à ce dernier. Comment ne pas remarquer la chose, quand deux ailes immenses déchire le dos du comte, le stoppant en plein milieu de l’accomplissement de sa vengeance à Paris?

C’est l'inquiétude pour son mentor qui pousse André à reporter sa vengeance. Après tout, en prison, son père biologique forme une proie facile.

Au final, seule force de maquillage permet au comte de cacher les écailles recouvrant son visage, et d'apparaître humain pour le chapitre final de sa vengeance. Les jambes courbées du comte, camouflé sous son pantalon, rendent la marche difficile sans sa fidèle canne. Ses dents, aiguisées comme un carnivore, sont ce qui lui remporte la victoire contre Fernand.

Après cela, il sait que c’est la fin. Un cœur qui n’est pas vraiment le sien bas dans sa poitrine, et lui ordonne sans cesse et sans cesse de retourner sur l'île. Pour chaque seconde passée loin d’elle, sa raison le quitte.

Il leur laisse une lettre. Elle ne dit pas un mot de sa transformation, mais elle formule une requête. Elle demande a Haydé et André de se rendre sur l'île de Monte-Cristo, avec une armée s’il le faut, et d’y subjuguer un monstre. Elle leur demande, également, de jeter le reste du trésor à la mer, où il sera enfin oublié par l’Histoire.

Haydé et André ne font rien de cela. 

La créature, ils subjuguent, car il ne reste à Edmond que très peu de raison. Mais c’était suffisamment de raison pour les épargner, aussi, quand bien même il demande la mort, les jeunes gens l'épargnent à son tour. Ils ne peuvent le laisser aux prises de la malédiction, aussi, ils l’enferme, mais ce n’est que le temps d’affaiblir cette dernière.

L’or maudit, ils parsèment au quatre vents. Une bonne partie finit dans l’océan, sans doute, mais dans tous les océans du monde, suite aux dangers du milieu marin qui font si souvent couler les bateaux. Le reste, ils échangent, ils négocient, ils jettent. Ils finissent ce qu’Edmond avait commencé, et échangent la fortune tant et si bien que la malédiction peine à les suivre. Elle ne peut s’installer dans ces étranges papiers, qui fait la mode de la monnaie de Paris. Elle ne peut s’installer dans les fermes, les forêts, les montagnes, qui soudainement sont inscrites sous le nom de ‘Monte-Cristo’. Elle ne peut rester dans les quelques artefactes qu’on entrepose en chine, en amérique, ni dans les quelques pépites données aux africains. C’est trop grand, trop large, trop de choses différentes à trop d’endroits.

Tirée à quatre épingle, la malédiction se brise.

Il est trop tard pour Edmond, dont le large corp écailleux ne pourra jamais retrouver forme humaine. Mais son esprit est clair. Il reconnaît ses enfants, ses amis. Il reconnaît le ciel, l’océan, et leurs odeurs qui chatouillent ses narines. Il se souvient avec une douloureuse nostalgie du berceau des vagues, du sel qui prend à la bouche, de l'aventure qui guidait sa vie avant qu’elle ne s'écroule.

Il est libre, désormais. Libre de l’héritage du passé.

Et c’est libre qu’Edmond Dantès, comte de Monte Cristo, se perd dans l’immensité bleu qui l’appelle.

[papillondusublime]

Je n'étais qu'une enfant (poésie écrite à l'occasion de la Journée nationale de la vérité et de la réconciliation) Je n'étais qu'une enfant quand ils m’ont dérobé La lueur dans mes yeux. L’ombre m'a enrobée. Vous, hommes habitant les terres canadiennes, Sachez qu'auparavant elles étaient les miennes! Pensez à mon peuple quand le sol québécois Taché de notre sang vous offre blé et bois. Vous parlez du bonheur d'antan et moi j'entends Un chant du cygne dans mon cœur indépendant. Dans l'école résidentielle, on m’a coupée De culture et tribu. L’Histoire est leur épée. Ils m’ont dit: « Obéis et tu iras au ciel! » Avec mes cheveux longs, ils m’ont coupé les ailes. Mes camarades aux deux esprits, malaimés, Dans un placard obscur ils les ont enfermés. Ils aiment leur prochain, leurs prochaines victimes, Ces « chrétiens » dont le Christ est à tort éponyme. Occidentaux, partez! Ne versez pas de larmes En baissant le regard et les bras, pas les armes. Mes sœurs sur la route seize, Joyce Echaquan Et mes ancêtres dans leur tombe vous condamnent. Le racisme et l'injustice, main dans la main, Aiguisent leur lame aux marées hautes sans frein. En toussant, est craché mon pus comme mes frères Par les blancs, écume croyant boire la mer. Ce pays plongé dans l’ordre et loi du silence, Je n’ai que l’oreille du gouffre des souffrances. Sans connaître ma langue, est étouffée ma voix; Sans pow-wow, je prie mais en la vie seule ai foi.

Mort, ne me retiens plus! Moi, je garde en mémoire Que je suis née pour la lutte, pour la victoire. Ma nation est une armée de survivants N’abandonnant ni ses enfants, ni ses parents. Ma mère, guerrière, est brave et réconforte. Devant elle, quelle Amazone est assez forte? Agile comme un cerf, rusée comme un renard, Puissante comme un ours, la chasse est son grand art. Sur mon père noyant dans l'alcool son chagrin Se posera, telle la rosée du matin, Un nouvel avenir. Quoi, il pleuvra des cordes? C’est pour qu’aigle et tortue y grimpent sans discorde. Des cordes, des planches... Combien en faut-il pour Construire un pont vers le pardon et vrai amour? Le soleil d’un totem se lèvera un jour Sur tous, qu’ils turluttent ou frappent un tambour. Alors, nos corps et cœurs dansant au même rythme, Dans le cercle sacré se rejoindront nos rites. Nous partagerons le calumet de la paix, Québécois d’icitte et d’ailleurs, dans le respect.

[the-lumpfish-king]

HEY! It’s me, Lumpku!

Thought I’d make one of these pined post things to introduce myself.

My name is Solanum, but you can call me Sol or Lump (or Sol Badthey if you’re epic)

I’m a 23 year old ginger, use they/it/she/anything non-male, demiromantic, exist in an asexual quantum superposition, and am bi/pan. Most importantly, I am also a fish

I have a degree in Physics with plans to go into a PhD program for research Astronomy. My area of focus is galaxy structure, formation, and evolution. I’m currently working on my first research papers, adapting my undergraduate thesis work into proper astronomy journal form. I love doing physics and take requests for calculations, stupid or serious (check “#lump’s calculations” for those I’ve done so far, these are my best posts by far).

I try to keep fully nsfw stuff off this blog, but mild nsfw is to be expected, so minors beware

Outside of research, work, and classes I can usually be found gaming, playing MTG, or putting way too much effort into my shitposts while watching something on my second monitor.

I can be found on a few other sites under the same username but am only active here, and if any mutuals want to connect on discord or steam dm me

If you take one thing away from reading this it’s GO PLAY OUTER WILDS RIGHT NOW. Do not look up anything about it, just play the game and then get your friends to play it. Then we can all talk about it. Please, I need to talk about this masterpiece with more people.

Now that you’ve learned about me I have gained access to your walls. Don’t worry, all I do is nibble a bit of drywall from time to time.

Too many fun facts below

My personal motto is: “The universe is scary and so much bigger than any of us can comprehend, so it’s our duty to fag it up as much as possible”

My plushies names: -Tofrug: Lord Squishers -Manatee: Weapon of Lettuce Destruction -Reimu Fumo: Air Fried Bastard -Hydreigon: Hans -Vaporeon: Dihydrogen Monoxide Puppy -Meowscarada: Greenfield -Reshiram: Nuclear Mommy -Gardevior: Horizon -Blåhaj: Jimbei -Gobbo Bard: Ga Bu

I love nature, and evergreen forests in particular. I enjoy hiking and mushroom and berry picking.

My most proud find is this massive cluster of morels I came across a couple years back.

Here’s an overabundance of my personal top 3′s, not necessarily the three I think are best (except Outer Wilds, that’s best thing humanity has produced). Games: Outer Wilds, FFXIV, Ori and the Will of the Wisps Manga: One Piece, Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure, Dungeon Meshi **Books:** Red Rising, Percy Jackson, A Song of Ice and Fire Movies: Monty Python and the Holy Grail, The Secret of Kells, How to Train Your Dragon Shows: Mob Psycho 100, Good Omens, Ya Boy Kongming! Characters: Mr Torgue Highfive Flexington, Kronk, Nico Robin Mountains: Mt. Hood, Sierra de la Laguna, Mauna Kea **Flying Critters: Giant Golden-Crowned Flying Fox, **Pelican, Toucan **Landbound Creatures: **Red Panda, Jumping Spider, Goliath Frog Marine Animals: Sea Lion, Lumpfish, Giant Pacific Octopus **Pokemon: **Gardevoir, Hisuian Goodra, Zekrom **Soundtracks: **FFXIV, Made in Abyss, Wildfrost Albums: Starship Velociraptor, The Cures What Ails Ya, Westwinds (The Real McKenzies) Foods: Cottage Pie, Khao Soi, my dad’s Chile Verde **Fruit: **Mexican Pitaya, Atemoya, Mango, Huckleberry Galaxy Clusters: Abell 0209, Abell 1689, macs0416

Here’s a couple of neat galaxy pictures I took using my university’s telescope:

[yoannlossel]

[ENG] ☀️ Meet Etienne, the hero of the music video "L'Envol," created for the band Alcest! We crafted this puppet, halfway between a heron and a crane, in order to study its movements and create the animation for the video. It is fully articulated and can move each of its parts, spread its wings, move its legs, or open its beak. It required three people to operate it, along with our partner Cédric Lenfant, to ensure that each part moved independently.

I took great care in studying the anatomy and osteology of wading birds to make its movements as realistic as possible. I learned a lot about birds thanks to Etienne, and he was a fantastic performer!

[FR] Rencontrez Étienne, le héros du clip musical "L'Envol", réalisé pour le groupe Alcest ! Nous avons fabriqué cette marionnette, à mi-chemin entre un héron et une grue, afin d'étudier ses mouvements pour créer l'animation du clip. Elle est intégralement articulée et peut bouger chacune de ses parties, déployer ses ailes, bouger ses pattes ou ouvrir son bec. Il était nécessaire de la manipuler à trois, avec notre compère Cédric Lenfant, pour que chacune de ses parties bouge de manière indépendante.

J'ai pris beaucoup de soin à étudier l'anatomie et l'ostéologie des échassiers afin que ses mouvements soient les plus réalistes possible. J'ai appris beaucoup de choses sur les oiseaux grâce à Étienne, et il a été un acteur formidable !

#Alcest

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode nationale, no. 1, juin 1947, Paris. Reproduction of first cover published in 1885. Bibliothèque nationale de France

Nous vous présentons aujourd'hui le premier numéro d'une nouvelle série de la Mode Nationale et nous avons pensé qu'il serait amusant de reproduire la couverture du premier numéro paru en 1885 pour vous permettre d'apprécier le chemin parcouru.

La mode n'était pas simple à cette époque, ni la présentation des journaux ; déesse couverte de bijoux, renommée avec sa trompette, amour aux ailes de papillons. Par chance le paon ne fait pas la roue, mais le bateau à vapeur a encore des mâts de voiliers et doit être ancré dans un bien joli port. Tout cela pour agrémentrer le titre. Quand aux élégantes de l'époque habillées pour une grande cérémonie, nous souffrons pour elle du supplice qui leur était infligé. Nos clientes devaient être de bien habiles couturières pour exécuter d'aussi savants drapés. Que tout cela a changé. Vue seule chose a persisté, le désir que nous avons de satisfaire nos fidèles lectrices, petites filles de celles du temps jadis; de les satisfaire en leur présentant des modèles simples, chics, et si facile à faire.

—

Today we present to you the first issue of a new series of La Mode Nationale and we thought it would be fun to reproduce the cover of the first issue published in 1885 to allow you to appreciate how far we have come.

Fashion was not simple at that time, nor was the presentation of newspapers; goddess covered in jewels, renowned with her trumpet, love with butterfly wings. Luckily the peacock is not doing cartwheels, but the steamboat still has sailboat masts and must be anchored in a very pretty port. All this to enhance the title. As for the elegant ladies of the time dressed for a big ceremony, we suffer for them from the torture that was inflicted on them. Our clients must have been very skilled seamstresses to create such skillful draperies. That all this has changed. The only thing that has persisted is the desire we have to satisfy our faithful readers, little girls of those of times gone by; to satisfy them by presenting them with simple, chic models that are so easy to make.

[patoune-prod]

Avalanche chapitre 73

Décompte

Vous ne l'attendiez plus, moi non plus ! Mais voilà le nouveau chapitre d'Avalanche !

Et... J'arrive à la fin. Le dernier chapitre est en cours, et j'hésite honnêtement à faire un gros chapitre ou deux plus courts, mais ce sera de toute façon, rapide.

Enfin, rapide comme je peux, je suis désolée de tous les délais pour les derniers dix chapitres.

Et en attendant la fin:

Résumé : Il reste moins de 48 heures avant que Météore ne percute Gaïa. Moins de 48 heures et pourtant, elles semblent durer des jours entiers chacune. Et devant le marasme de l’attente, de l’inaction, des événements qui s’enchainent tous, plus vite les uns que les autres, Vincent découvre quelque chose qu’il n’attendait plus. L’espoir. Et aussi l’importance des sagas antiques dans la gestion du stress.

Personnages : Team Avalanche, Team Haut Vent, Tarask, Team la Tour Infernale Shinra

Tags supplémentaires : En attendant la fin du monde, soyons positif, ou faisons bien semblant, Vincent trouve encore son moment, c’est la pagaille, personne ne gère, même pas la Calamité je crois, hope punk, Zéphyr et Tarask… uh… Cohabitent ? , Tarask préfère ‘cohabiter’ avec Fran et Balthier, Zéphyr découvre les joies d'avoir des ailes, de l’art de rester en vie et plein d’espoir bordel, j’écris des fanfics au lieu de flipper sur le monde réel

[miaqc1]

“Woah! I’m floating!”

Rody in anime chibi style with fairy wings by @CentArt0 on twitter. Commissioned drawing.

“Woah! I’m floating!” [Art] - MiaQc - Dead Plate (RachelDrawsThis Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]

⭐⭐⭐

« Whoah! Je flotte! »

Rody en style animé chibi avec des ailes de fée par @CentArt0 sur twitter. Dessin commandé.

« Whoah! Je flotte! » [Art] - MiaQc - Dead Plate (RachelDrawsThis Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]