#autumn and athos man

[welcometoteyvat]

wow! that world quest sure can fucked up!

[groundcontrol21]

The Handkerchief(s) of Aramis (M)

In the 1978 musical movie adaptation of The Three Musketeers, Aramis complains about going to England and says (and I quote) “It’s damp in London, and I only have twelve handkerchiefs.” Naturally I went insane (see this post for evidence).  Unfortunately, given the events of the book and therefore the movie, Aramis never makes it to London to put these handkerchiefs to use. So here I am, changing the plot around a bit to remedy that :) 

Title taken from the actual title of one of the chapters in the book that punched me directly in the k!nk.  

******

Waving the bundle of letters he had just received from Captain Treville, D’Artagnan swaggered into the stable yards where Aramis and Porthos were, reclining against the wall and munching on apples that belonged to the horses. Athos was absent from the scene, though it was just as well; he was recovering from a slight infection to his shoulder wound, and as such, the road was not the place for him. 

“I must go to London to deliver these letters to the Captain’s brother-in-law,” D’Artagnan told the two. Upon seeing their eyebrows raise appraisingly, D’Artagnan added. “Congratulations on his graduation from the academy, nothing interesting.” 

He unhooked his horse from its post, narrowing his eyes when his two friends were slow to do the same. “I trust you two will accompany me?”

“London?” Aramis clicked his tongue and shook his head, letting the apple fall to the ground. “It’s damp in London, and I only have twelve handkerchiefs on my person.”

“Twelve?” D’Artagnan repeated incredulously with a shake of his own head. “We’ll only be gone a week. I should say that number would more than hold you over.”

“Not quite so, Gascon,” Porthos added. “Our Aramis has all the constitution of a delicate flower. Get him a bit too wet and he’ll be out of sorts for weeks.”

This was all news to D’Artagnan, for Aramis seemed far from frail and sickly. The man wielded a sword with prowess and could shoot a fly from the hair of a horse; in fact, D’Artagnan suspected that, after himself, Aramis was the fittest of their coterie. Doubtful, he looked to the man in question for confirmation, waiting for the other shoe to drop and for his two friends to begin laughing at him. 

But Aramis just nodded sadly. “Alas, I cannot even venture too far into Normandy in the autumn.”

“Put him in Bretagne in December, and he’ll come down with pneumonia.”

Aramis pretended to faint against his horse, his dainty hand covering his eyes as he swooned. “Oh Porthos, don’t remind me!”

D’Artagnan tapped his foot impatiently, still unable to shake his initial suspicion that the two men were having him on, or at the very least, trying to malinger. “So will you accompany me or not?”

“Of course,” Aramis said decisively, before swinging himself into the saddle with a flourish. “I am only warning you that your handkerchief may need to be sacrificed for my efforts.” He clamped a hand to his heart, looking suddenly stricken. “Tell me at least, D’Artagnan, that there are no women who await us in London. I could not bear the thought of any fine English ladies seeing me so indisposed.”

D’Artagnan rolled his eyes as he mounted his own horse, hearing Porthos do the same behind him. “There are no women unless you count Treville’s brother-in-law among them.”

Aramis surveyed D’Artagnan critically. “Is he a bachelor?”

D’Artagnan blinked. “I believe so?”

Aramis considered the answer for a moment, face inscrutable, before nodding, apparently satisfied. “Very well, then.” He kicked his horse forward and raised his hat in the air. “To London!”

Porthos followed suit. “To London!”

D’Artagnan urged his own horse to a gallop and followed after the two Musketeers, still feeling distinctly like he was caught in the middle of some elaborate joke. He gave himself a shake and resolved to deal with it later; for now he would focus on the road that lead them outside Paris and beyond, into the countryside and later to the sea. 

********

“Eh’KESHHH’uhh! Ach, this damn rain. Snf! ITCHIEW!” Aramis massaged at his head with a pale hand, the rings on his fingers glinting as the movement made them catch the candlelight in the tavern. The first wrenching sneeze, after riding just half a day in the misty English air, could have been a joke, but the seeming thousands that followed certainly were not. They reached London as Aramis was doing naught more than alternating between shivering and sneezing, and Porthos had given up his own riding cloak to drape around the man’s shoulders. 

It had been drizzling, even raining, since they set foot on the island, much to the chagrin of the poor, suffering Aramis, for they had no choice but to ride on. They three could waste an entire month waiting for the London sun to shine. Papers delivered, they turned back at once, eager to get Aramis back home and to bed, but the foul weather had turned even fouler, and now they were hunkered down in an inn some miles still inland from the port that would take them back to Boulogne, awaiting a break in the downpour. D’Artagnan leaned his head on his hand, listening to the sounds around him: the low hum of the other travelers who were presently seeking solace from the storm, the fierce lashing of the rain against the window panes, Aramis’s completely waterlogged sniffling. 

Porthos returned to the table with a mug and slid it across the table. “Here’s another hot wine for you, Aramis.”

With a grateful inclination of the head, Aramis pulled the mug closer. “Th-heh-thank you, Por–Heh’KSHIEW! Por–heh’ih’HISHH’ooo!” He buried his nose in the folds of his handkerchief, shutting his eyes as he paused a moment, as though too tired to do anything but wait for gravity to drain it and do the work for him. “Ugh, snf!” He blinked rapidly and lowered the handkerchief. “Porthos.”

D’Artagnan’s cheeks colored; it was, for all intents and purposes, his fault that Aramis was feeling this terrible in the first place. He tried to hide his disgusted wince as Aramis emptied what must have been every liquid in his body into the handkerchief. He forced what he hoped was a sympathetic slant to his visage. “How are you feeling?”

“HESHH’uhhh!” The cloth did not move from his nose as he spoke; Aramis merely regarded D’Artagnan with bleary, tired eyes over the top of it. “Snf! Need you even ask?”

D’Artagnan reasoned he deserved such a snappy reply to what had been a rather foolish question. It was plain to see how Aramis was faring, from the way he buried his head in his hands with a soft moan whenever he glimpsed a reprieve from his nose, to the way his voice was low and thick with congestion. That was, of course, to say nothing of the wet sneezes and drippy sniffles that assaulted him with a dogged regularity, leaving his nose a terribly sore and chapped mess. 

D’Artagnan turned his attention to the water splashing against the windowpane with a muttered curse. “If only this rain would let up a bit, we could continue on our way back to Paris.” Aramis coughed and Porthos rubbed his shoulders. D’Artagnan felt himself soften. “At least get you to France where you can be ill in a place with a civilized language.” 

On account of one of Porthos’s old mistresses being a cloth merchant’s wife from Dover, he was the only one of them with any knowledge of English, however rudimentary. Between fragments and hand signals (and Aramis’s quite noticeable ailment which transcended both language and culture), he was able to get Aramis a few things to ease his symptoms, but the going had not been easy. Porthos had nearly got the three of them kicked out when he slammed his fist on a counter hard enough to crack it in his frustration at the innkeeper’s inability to understand his request for “wine with miel… you know, from bzz bzz” and the associated insect-related gesticulations. 

Aramis scoffed, the sound scraping at his throat. “A bit! Ahh’TSHIEW! Snf! Oh… Hihhh’TSHHH!” He mopped his nose miserably. “If it lets up only a bit then I am back in the a-a-ccursed–Ahhh’KSHIEW!--accursed damp that got me in this–snf–situation in the first place! HESHHIEWW! Ehh’KSHHH’uhh! HEPTSHIEW! Oh…” He pinched at the bridge of his nose, his eyes fluttering shut, though he kept the sodden handkerchief close at hand. “Better this way, as I am at least warm and d-dry–Ihh’SHHH!”

Aramis folded the cloth a few different ways, turning it this way and that in search of a dry patch, before dropping it to his lap with a scowl. “Pff, it is no use, this one is completely–Eh’KSHH’oo!”

“Take another,” Porthos said kindly, tapping the satchel in which the cloths were kept.

“Ahh’KSHHH’uhh!” He caught the sneeze in a cupped hand, his other outstretched and waiting for Porthos to place a fresh one within it. “Four days yet, at least, from–snf!--from Paris, and I am already on number…Eh…Snf! Hehhhh… eleven. Snf! HITSHIEW!!” He blew his nose again, muffling a moan into the folds of the cloth at the simple pleasure of its dryness.  

Once finished, he fixed the Gascon with a watery approximation of his usual cheeky grin. “We did warn you, D’Artagnan.”

Porthos merely shrugged and nodded in agreement as Aramis continued sniffling and snuffling into his penultimate handkerchief. For his part, D’Artagnan was slightly chagrined that he had not taken the warning seriously, for all that now stood between the one handkerchief he owned being well and truly sacrificed was the twelfth handkerchief of Aramis and that of Porthos. 

“Heh’TCHOO!”

And at the current rate, D’Artagnan knew the two articles would not be able to withstand the siege for long. This time, he could not altogether hold back his wince as Aramis made prodigious use of the handkerchief to clear his nose, for all D’Artagnan could imagine was his one lone handkerchief in its place. No matter how many washes it was subjected to, given the sheer ferocity of Aramis’s cold, D’Artagnan would never, ever be able to accept the defiled piece of cloth back should Aramis attempt to return it. So he resigned himself, as he listened to Aramis sneeze and sneeze, to buying himself a new handkerchief immediately upon their arrival back in Paris and, if money allowed, perhaps a couple more to fortify Aramis to avoid this sort of situation should they ever be required to go back to England in the future.

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whumptober #20

I can’t believe we’re 2/3 of the way through!!! This has been a fun month!

xxx toto, i have a feeling we’re not in kansas anymore

The four are grossly outnumbered, as seems to be the case more often than not. But the highwaymen are clearly no soldiers, disorganized and untrained, and so their quantity doesn’t do them much good against the skilled sword and musket of a Musketeer, much less four of them. There are only a few of the brigands left when Aramis goes down with a cry loud enough to be heard over the melee and the sound of the Seine.

“Aramis!” Porthos shouts. He runs another man through, and the last remaining few scatter. Athos is already at Aramis’s side by the time he gets there, hands pressed against the fallen Musketeer’s calf Aramis’s eyes are squeezed shut, his mouth drawn into a thin line. 

“The ball went straight through,” Athos says. “I’m trying to slow the bleeding. He’s had worse.”

Porthos nods. His heart is still hammering, but he’s put somewhat at ease by Athos’s words. They’re true enough. “Another scar for the ladies,” he says. 

Athos lets out a snort, and Aramis opens his eyes. He doesn’t look amused. In fact, he looks worried.

“Are you alright?” Porthos asks, worried he may be more injured than they thought.

“I’ll be fine...Where’s d’Artagnan?”  

xxx 

He’s not sure where he is, upon waking. In fact, when he comes to all he’s aware of is the fact that he’s very wet and very cold and whatever he’s lying on is very uncomfortable. He opens his eyes slowly and lets out a groan. 

Ah. Yes. 

It’s all coming back to him, now. 

The fight. He was doing quite well, until he’d taken a ball to the shoulder and fallen backward into the Seine. He must have hit his head, because everything went black after that. And he has a raging headache. It’s nothing short of a miracle that the river had set him down on its banks rather than drowning him. 

He sits up slowly, hand clasped tightly to the wound above his left collarbone. It hurts like the devil, but it doesn’t seem to be bleeding anymore. He reaches up to feel for an injury on the back of his head and lets out a yelp when his fingers find it. 

“Damn,” he says quietly. He looks around to see if he can tell where he is, scanning his surroundings for any familiar landmarks. Unfortunately, he doesn’t see anything he recognizes, and he was unconscious for the entirety of his journey, so he has no idea how far he is from the others. “Damn!”

His spirits are briefly lifted when he has the brilliant idea of firing his gun into the air to alert the others of his location. But then he realizes that he lost his gun in the river, and even if he didn’t the powder would be wet and the thing would be useless. 

Damn. 

His only option, then, is to walk upriver and hope his horse is waiting for him.

He makes his way to his feet, taking his time. The sun is low in the sky, and there’s a light breeze, carrying the first cool hints of the coming autumn. It would be perfect weather if he weren’t soaking wet. Instead, it just makes him cold. Still holding the bullet wound, he presses his arm against his chest in a feeble attempt to keep warm. It doesn’t do him much good, though.

His feet squish in his shoes with every step, and he’s shivering, and everything hurts (he can feel where bruises are forming where the river must have run him into rocks) and he thinks that maybe this is the most miserable he’s been in his whole life. And the sun will be down soon. He won’t even be able to spend the night in his bed with his beautiful Constance.

“Nothing like this ever happened to me before I was a Musketeer,” he mutters through chattering teeth as he trudges forward. “I don’t know what the hell I was thinking!” 

It isn’t long before the sun dips down before the horizon, the last sliver of gold vanishing and taking with it the last bit of warmth. d’Artagnan’s clothes are still damp, and the shivering gets worse, sparking a steady stream of sharp pain as his wounded shoulder shakes. He can feel himself slowing down, his steps becoming sloppy. He doesn’t even realize he’s come to a stop until he’s been standing there for a few minutes. 

“I suppose it’s time to stop for the night,” he sighs to no one. He turns and heads toward the treeline, hoping to at least build a fire. He finds a large oak and lowers himself to the ground at its base, leaning back against the trunk. He didn’t realize just how tired he was until now. His lids are heavy, his head nodding forward. 

He’ll just rest his eyes. Then a fire. But first, just a few minutes rest…

xxx to be continued

[zukalations]

All For One - Tamaki Ryou interview (July/August 2017 MUSICAL)

The mainstream musical theater magazine MUSICAL features various interviews with Takarasiennes in every issue. This interview with Tamaki Ryou comes from a feature discussing the then-upcoming production All for One.

Please note: All for One apparently went through major revisions after the press conference performance. Thus, what Tamaki discusses in this interview may not entirely match up with the show as finally performed.

All For One - Tamaki Ryou interview

The lead role of All For One - d'Artagnan and the Sun King will be played by Moon Troupe's young Top Star, Tamaki Ryou, who broke new ground with her mature allure in her Top Star debut role of Count Felix in Grand Hotel. There are high hopes for how her dynamic allure will shine in this adventure tale of love and courage.

~ How did you feel when it was decided you would perform All for One? I love adventure tales, so I was really happy! I'm playing d'Artagnan, from the world-famous 'Three Musketeers', and on top of that it's an original show by Director Koike, so I'm awfully excited.

~ How does it feel to take on the role of the 'undefeatable hero', d'Artagnan? d'Artagnan is full of a sense of justice, a good-natured young man who has a huge ability to sympathize with others. I want to focus on that, and create the character of a man who, while still lively and cheerful, has a very strong core. He'll risk his own life to protect someone... And that 'someone', in this show, is Louis XIV. And the way he fights for his friends is wonderfully romantic. I'm looking forward to seeing what kind of d'Artagnan will be born once the rehearsals start. Director Koike was good enough to say that he wants me to display my inner generosity in this role, so I hope that I can use that to show the generosity that the country-raised d'Artagnan has possessed since birth.

~ Your partner, Manaki Reika-san, will be playing Louis XIV. Louis XIV is a huge key to this story. I'm sure that the audience will have great expectations for this, and I think that the relationship between our characters is something that only me and Manaki could do. Passion: Jose and Carmen, Le Roi Arthur, Grand Hotel...up until now, the shows I have done with Manaki have all had bad ends, so I'll be happy if people look forward to seeing how things will turn out for d'Artagnan and Louis XIV with excitement.

~ We are looking forward to your relationship with the Three Musketeers, as well as Countess Montpensier and Bernardo. Miya (Rurika)-san, who plays Aramis, had a friendly relationship with my character last time, in Grand Hotel, but that started out with me lying to her, and aside from that we often play enemies, so I'm happy that in this show we can play characters who have a deep bond with each other. Uzuki (Hayate)-san, who plays Athos, has also often played antagonists, but we were raised together in Moon Troupe so I'm looking forward to perhaps being able to display that relationship on stage. And then the young Akatsuki (Chisei) also joins us as Porthos. I hope that she can use her energetic charm to keep up with the rest of us, and I also hope that we can help her bring out a new side of herself. It's my first time in a long time performing with Saou (Kurama)-san, who plays the antagonist Countess Montpensier, and it's my first time with Tsukishiro (Kanato), who plays Bernardo, so I'm really looking forward to seeing how they create their characters.

~ I'm so excited for the show, evenafter watching just the press conference performance. Thank you so much! The theme songs we were presenting have uplifting melodies and amazing lyrics, and also, the character introductions are blended into that...even us performer were getting really excited as we were doing it. The costumes are also a really modern style design using denim and leather, so as soon as I put them on I feel like I'm in the world of the show. I think it's sure a show that will delight the audience's eyes and ears.

~ What other shows have you worked on with the writer and director, Koike Shuuichiro-san? He has worked on shows such as THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL, Romeo et Juliette, Puck, 1789: Les Amants de la Bastille; he's so meticulous about the smallest details, and has an uncompromising desire to achieve his goals, so I think he's a really incredible person. Every time, we create the show by trying again over and over by trial and error until we gain Director Koike's OK. I always feel like not only is what we're doing really valuable, but I can sense a deep love from him, so I'm looking forward to it this time too.

~ How does the title, All For One, feel to you? Originally, the whole phrase is "One for All, All for One". I'm sure Director Koike was thinking about many different things when he chose "All for One", which means 'everyone for the sake of one person', as the title. This is my second show in the Grand Theatre as Top Star, so I want to be steady and take the stage confidently.

~ What was it like to play the role of the Count in Grand Hotel, as well as to meet Tommy Tune? Tommy-san is so pure and sensitive, and I could tell that his inspiration was really coming through in the wonderful direction for the show. Just listening to him speak struck me right to the heart. That was a huge and valuable experience in my life as an actor. While the Count was a role that was rather challenging for me and made me grow a bit, I was really happy while performing him, and I felt so honored to be able to sing all of the wonderful songs.

~ What do you think about your partnership with Manaki-san? I feel every time we do another show that our hearts interact in a different way each time to create that performance. I hope that our energies can impact each other more and more so that we can give birth to a huge power.

~ Has there been any change in your feelings towards the stage or your attitude since becoming Top Star? My attitude of putting in effort on top of effort hasn't changed at all, but now I think more than ever about the whole troupe and the troupe members, and I try to keep an eye on things. When I look at each person while we're on stage, even the junior actresses are making such lovely faces...I can feel how much everyone enjoys performing on stage. In Grand Hotel and Carousel Rondo, I was able to experience what an amazing thing it is to perform in such an impactful ensemble, and I think it was a big turning point for me. In All For One, I hope that Moon Troupe can use its abundance of energy to explode with fresh appeal.

~ What is the otokoyaku image that is your current goal? First I want to be both an actor and a human with a strong core. Also, on top of that base, I want to continue to hold on to a love for Takarazuka, and an inexhaustible desire to improve and learn as an otokoyaku, and be able to take on many different styles.

~ Can you give us a message looking forward to the opening of All for One? As it's called an 'Action Romanesque', there are three different fight choreographers attached to the show, and I think the action scenes, such as duels and combat sequences, will be a big attraction for this performance. Just imagining the scene where all the otokoyaku are ranked together as the Musketeers is so thrilling to me. This show is full with abundant new appeal for Moon Troupe, and it's a perfect musical for summer and early autumn, a fun musical full of love and hope. Moon Troupe will all work together to put on a powerful performance, so please look forward to it!

[strangenewfriends]

Hey, I was wondering if you could rec some larry fics that are plot heavy (i.e. Plot twists, not canon, main focus isn't only on romance), tyy

Oh this will be a fun rec! Get ready:

Incoming Package by HelloAmHere: There weren’t a lot of pilots who were willing to be couriers and there weren’t a lot of pilots who were willing to be couriers who were under six feet tall and capable of doing cheaply with oxygen and there weren’t a lot of pilot couriers under six feet tall and oxygen trained who would take a job like this from AMAZON. Even if COD Harry Styles was on the other end of the elevator to hell.

The Second Hand Unwinds by FullonLarrie: Louis Tomlinson is one of the first members of NASA’s top secret Chrono Exploration Program. When things go wrong and he’s sent further back in time than planned, he has no other option than to show up on his ex-boyfriend’s doorstep.

Just Me, Him, and the Sun and Moon by SadaVaNiren: a gratuitous Pokemon AU featuring farmer!harry, professor!louis, paradise, pokemon battles, love, and the fate of the world

Loyal Knight and True by rainbowninja167: In contemporary Oxford, Harry Styles and Niall Horan run a magical bookshop, unbowed by an entire academic establishment that insists magic doesn’t even exist. Sometimes, Harry finds, it’s much easier to have faith in magic than in himself. Louis Tomlinson is a classically trained poet who needs something to believe in, and Liam Payne longs to be a part of something magical.

Take Care By The Water by shyserious: Louis has spent his summers at his Granny’s in the Isle of Barra for almost as long as he could remember.This summer wasn’t supposed to be any different, but the little Scottish island turned out to be harbouring more than just the gorgeous white beaches, the clear waters, and the town drunk scaremongering the foreign tourists.

Keeping You Forever and For Always by RearviewDreamer: Louis only went poking around in the woods one evening in the name of science and saving the polluted lake that everyone else had long since given up on. He ends up leaving with a lot more than a few toxic water samples when he stumbles upon a belly-buttonless man in the shadows who could possibly be a nudist but is most definitely more than ordinary.

Delight in Masques by kassio: Popstar Louis Tomlinson has been pulling one over on the mortals for years. In the five years since he put on a human illusion and tried out for the X Factor, none of them have realised that he’s one of the Fair Folk – a cat shapeshifter, to be precise – and he’d like to keep it that way.When he returns to the X Factor as a guest judge, the last thing he expects is for some half-Siren fool to use magic on the judges. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what Harry Styles does. Now Louis has to track down some rogue changeling before he exposes them all. Even worse? Apparently, Harry doesn’t even know what he is.

Through Eerie Chaos by MediaWhoreFics: The Ghost Hunter AU where Niall lives to prove ghosts are real, Zayn is a skeptical librarian and Harry gets caught up in a century-old mystery and catches feeling in the process.

through struggles, to the stars by thedeathchamber: Louis is a Starfleet captain trying to find his place in the universe. Harry is a prince just trying to do what’s right. A Star Trek-inspired AU.

Say Hellelujah, Say Goodnight by alivingfire: Louis is an angel who is just a little too bad to be good, Harry is a demon who is just a little too good to be bad, and they’re both a little too in love to be impartial when angels and demons go to war.

Black With Autumn Rain by whimsicule: Harry is a journalist, Louis has lots of secrets and the moors aren’t exactly the ideal place to rekindle a lost romance.

I wrote you a song with the words you spoke by tigriswolf: How people end up on Atlantis varies; some like talking about it and some don’t. Dr. Harry Styles, Lieutenant Niall Horan, and Ph.D. candidate Liam Payne end up there by accident; Zayn of Athos follows his cousin; and then there’s the nameless runner found by SGA-9 on a dead world.

we’ve got to get away from here by suspendrs: Louis is an FBI agent who likes to think himself a paranormal expert, and Harry is the alien that somehow ended up in his office.

Again I could keep going so if you want older fic or shorter or whatever…ask away

[carlofumo]

Smile!!! funny face with Athos #smile #athos #face #happy #blue #sky #sunday #sun #glasses #dog #mydog #mylife #autumn #eye #funny #house #firends #instadog #instalike #instaphoto #picsoftheday #solocosebelle #ilmiglioramicodelluomo #man #italian

[omelettedufromage-24601]

Been tagged!

Thank you again for tagging me @yuvaart! I love those :D

- (Nick)name: Omu, Cookie Parker, Juju and others I obviously forgot

- Zodiac sign: Leo

- Height: 1m71! :D

- Orientation: Until proved otherwise, heteromantic/heterosexual and possibly demi-sexual

- Ethnicity: French, a bit Belgian too from my grandmother, and I have some Spanish ancestors apparently c:

- Favorite fruit: Raspberries or apricot :3

- Favorite season: I always get excited at Spring, but I really like Autumn and Summer too.

- Favorite book series: Arg. I think that'd be the Ants' Trilogy by Bernard Werber, or a childhood one like Christopher Paolini's Trilogy about Eragon, or the Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins... I don’t know ;-;

- Favorite flower: I don't have any, but I have a particular interest in daffodils because of the way they look I guess? I don't know I just like them. Lilies are cute too and mimosa is beautiful.

- Favorite scent: Chocolate :D Or the smell of the sea/ocean.

- Favorite color: Blue

- Coffee, tea or cocoa: Cocoa ;^;

- Cats or dogs: Both! I really love cats – especially since I have Moon now (she's turning 1 this month my baby cutie pie) – but I'm pretty sure if I had a dog I would love it as much as my cat. Dogs are so adorables.

- Average sleeping hours: I need to sleep 8h – 9h is perfect –, but I sleep 6h, (or maybe 5, maybe 7) lately for no reason and that's horrible save me

- Favorite fictional characters: I’m gonna say right now

In the comics: PETER PARKER (I will never stop loving him) I really love this boy alright. Sam Alexander (Nova), Miles Morales because I believe he's also an incredible Spider-Man and I can't wait to see an adaptation of his character!

Mangas: Monkey D. Luffy, Portgas D. Ace and a lot of characters in this manga (really too many to count but assume all the Straw Hats are in it), Eijirou Kirishima, Midoriya Izuku, Uraraka Ochako... because they're precious and a lot of other characters in BnHA (except Mineta lmao)

Books: Katniss Everdeen (Hunger Games), D'Artagnan (The Three Musketeers), and okay, Athos, Porthos and Aramis alright, they're really something... xD

- Number of blankets you sleep with: In summer one light blanket but it always end up on the floor xD Otherwise three maybe more because I'm weak

- Dream Trip: TOO MANY COUNTRIES my first was Japan, but I have others now, like Ireland, Canada, Greece, New Zealand, Hungary and Russia? Top 7 :')

- Blog created: Oh boy, 4 years ago... with @dimancheetoile and @castorlovescourgette with the name “omelettedufromage-221b”

Tagging now: my two dear friends I tagged above, @petite-neko (what did you think I’m a curse), @wolfliorchi, @miss-littlegiant @lululawlawlu @blueflamebird @trashmel @dididdou @prossima-nebulosa and @hanihana~

[avillageofcards]

Tarot Mucha: The Art Behind the Cards

Weirdly enough, it was the Tarot Mucha that led me to Mucha himself, and not the other way around. I wanted my first deck to stick to Rider-Waite-Smith symbolism, but in a style that pulled at my historian heart-strings. I found and bought this deck, and before I knew it, I had Mucha posters on my wall and even wrote my third year final paper on his influence on Belle Epoque advertising. So of course I was absolutely overjoyed to discover how well his works were used in these cards! Below you will find a list of which paintings inspired which cards, completed to the best of my abilities. There may be mistakes and there definitely are absences. I basically just went through his works one at a time, looking for familiar figures, so hopefully you can forgive me. PLEASE feel free to let me know if you know something I don’t and can fill in some of the blanks! In the meantime, I hope this is something to help you appreciate both Mucha and the deck’s really fantastic designers even more.

MAJOR ARCANA

The Fool- Autumn from The Four Seasons (1895)

The Magician- Poster for Gismonda (1894)

The High Priestess- Reverie (1898)

The Empress- Biscuits Lefevre-Utile (1896)

The Emperor AND The Hierophant- The stained glass at St. Vitus Cathedral (central panel with Cyril and Methodius; 1931). I might be wrong here, but the face seems to go to the Emperor, and the robes/worshippers to the Hierophant

The Lovers- Spring Night (1910; the lovers themselves) and Poster for the 8th Sokol Festival (1925; the angel in the background)

The Chariot- Creative Force (1911)

Strength- The Slav Epic, cycle no.18 (1926)

The Hermit- Winter Tale (1917)

The Wheel- Summer from The Four Seasons (1896)

Justice- Poster for Moet + Chandon: Dry Imperial (1899)

The Hanged Man- Still looking

Death- The Death of Frederick Barbarossa (1898)

Temperance- Poster for La Samaritaine (1897)

The Devil- Salammbo (1896)

The Tower- It seems to resemble the tower in his photo of the Dome of the Chilandar Monastery, Mount Athos (1924) but this might be a stretch on my part?

The Star- The Pole Star (1902)

The Moon- The Moon (1902)

The Sun- Anderson’s Snow Queen (year?)

Judgement- Le Pater (1899)

The World- The Morning Star (1902)

WANDS

Ace- None of the Aces in this deck are directly from his works as far as I can tell (though I’d love to hear otherwise!)

2- Still looking

3- The Slav Epic, cycle no.5 (1924)

4- Spirit of Spring (1894)

5- Still looking

6- Slav Epic, cycle no.6 (1926)

7- Poster for the 8th Sokol Festival (1925)

8- Joan of Arc (1909)

9- Poster for the Austrian Pavilion at Paris Exhibition (1900)

10- Madonna of the Lilies (1905)

Page- Poster for Lorenzaccio (1896)

Knight- Still looking

Queen- Anderson’s Snow Queen (year?)

King- The Slav Epic, cycle no.5 (1924)

CUPS

Ace- None?

2- Still looking

3- Amants (1895)

4- Prophetess (1896)

5- Winter from The Four Seasons (1900)

6- Still looking

7- The Slav Epic, cycle no.2 (1912)

8- Age of Wisdom (1936-8)

9- Poster for Bieres de la Meuse (1897)

10- The Slav Epic, cycle no.20 (1926)

Page- The Slav Epic, cycle no.3 (1912)

Knight- The Slav Epic, cycle no.2 (1912)

Queen- Photographic study for a banknote (1919)?

King- The Slav Epic, cycle no.1 (1912)

SWORDS

Ace- None?

2- Still looking

3- Fate (1920)

4- Slav Epic, cycle no.10 (1924)

5- Still looking

6- Slav Epic, cycle no.2 (1912)

7- Still looking

8- Iris from The Flowers (1898)

9- Poster for Lottery of the Union of South West Moravia (1912)

10- Still looking

Page- Poster for Hamlet (1899)

Knight- Still looking

Queen- Slavia (1896)

King- Still looking (Swords were giving me a tough time, haha)

PENTACLES

Ace- None?

2- Still looking

3- Slav Epic, cycle no.4 (1923)

4- Independence (1910/1)

5- Woman in the Wilderness (1923)

6- Jan Amos Komensky (1918)

7- The Slav Epic, cycle no.15 (1914)

8- Still looking

9- Autumn from The Four Seasons (1896)

10- Still looking

Page- Still looking

Knight- Luchon (1895)

Queen- Still looking

King- Slav Epic, cycle no.6 (1926; I might be wrong but he seems to be an amalgam of the figures at the bottom left)

Card backs- Fruit (1897)

I hope you enjoy exploring Mucha as much as I did :) If you fill in any of the blanks I’ll update the list and credit you for your help!

[insertimaginativenamehere]

tagged by @absolxguardian I’m not gonna tag anyone bc I’m ill w a cold and can’t rly be arsed rn

Rules: Answer 20 questions and tag 20 amazing followers you would like to get to know better 

NAME: Rebecca

NICKNAME: Rebec

BIRTH MONTH: July

HEIGHT: 5′8′’

ETHINICITY: White

ORIENTATION: lmao who know

FAVOURITE FRUIT: raspberries

FAVOURITE SEASON: autumn

FAVOURITE BOOK: Catch-22. Always, forever. Also love Kraken by China Mieville.

FAVOURITE FLOWERS: im fuckin allergic to all of them bitchhhhhhh

FAVOURITE SCENT: lemons

FAVOURITE ANIMAL: tigers

FAVOURITE BEVERAGE: milk. im lactose intolerant sue me

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: lots

FAVOURITE FICTIONAL CHARACTERS: Shizuo Heiwajima, Celty Sturluson, Yahiro Mizuchi, Hayato Inui, Elmer C Albatross, Athos, Lemony Snicket (wow, sudden shift right there), Aragorn

NUMBER OF BLANKETS YOU SLEEP WITH: a duvet and a fluffy but thin brown blanket

DREAM TRIP:  Hong Kong again

BLOG CREATED: a whiiiiiile ago. a friend suggested it, I was bored, did so. regretted it immediately lmao nah it’s done so much for such weird reasons, man. opened a lot up

NUMBER OF FOLLOWERS: 543. my blog is trash idk why you guys are here wtf

[readbookywooks]

They Arrive at the Monastery

IT was a warm, bright day the end of August. The interview with the elder had been fixed for half-past eleven, immediately after late mass. Our visitors did not take part in the service, but arrived just as it was over. First an elegant open carriage, drawn by two valuable horses, drove up with Miusov and a distant relative of his, a young man of twenty, called Pyotr Fomitch Kalganov. This young man was preparing to enter the university. Miusov with whom he was staying for the time, was trying to persuade him to go abroad to the university of Zurich or Jena. The young man was still undecided. He was thoughtful and absent-minded. He was nice-looking, strongly built, and rather tall. There was a strange fixity in his gaze at times. Like all very absent-minded people he would sometimes stare at a person without seeing him. He was silent and rather awkward, but sometimes, when he was alone with anyone, he became talkative and effusive, and would laugh at anything or nothing. But his animation vanished as quickly as it appeared. He was always well and even elaborately dressed; he had already some independent fortune and expectations of much more. He was a friend of Alyosha's. In an ancient, jolting, but roomy, hired carriage, with a pair of old pinkish-grey horses, a long way behind Miusov's carriage, came Fyodor Pavlovitch, with his son Ivan. Dmitri was late, though he had been informed of the time the evening before. The visitors left their carriage at the hotel, outside the precincts, and went to the gates of the monastery on foot. Except Fyodor Pavlovitch, more of the party had ever seen the monastery, and Miusov had probably not even been to church for thirty years. He looked about him with curiosity, together with assumed ease. But, except the church and the domestic buildings, though these too were ordinary enough, he found nothing of interest in the interior of the monastery. The last of the worshippers were coming out of the church bareheaded and crossing themselves. Among the humbler people were a few of higher rank - two or three ladies and a very old general. They were all staying at the hotel. Our visitors were at once surrounded by beggars, but none of them gave them anything, except young Kalganov, who took a ten-copeck piece out of his purse, and, nervous and embarrassed - God knows why! - hurriedly gave it to an old woman, saying: "Divide it equally." None of his companions made any remark upon it, so that he had no reason to be embarrassed; but, perceiving this, he was even more overcome. It was strange that their arrival did not seem expected, and that they were not received with special honour, though one of them had recently made a donation of a thousand roubles, while another was a very wealthy and highly cultured landowner, upon whom all in the monastery were in a sense dependent, as a decision of the lawsuit might at any moment put their fishing rights in his hands. Yet no official personage met them. Miusov looked absent-mindedly at the tombstones round the church, and was on the point of saying that the dead buried here must have paid a pretty penny for the right of lying in this "holy place," but refrained. His liberal irony was rapidly changing almost into anger. "Who the devil is there to ask in this imbecile place? We must find out, for time is passing," he observed suddenly, as though speaking to himself. All at once there came up a bald-headed, elderly man with ingratiating little eyes, wearing a full, summer overcoat. Lifting his hat, he introduced himself with a honeyed lisp as Maximov, a landowner of Tula. He at once entered into our visitors' difficulty. "Father Zossima lives in the hermitage, apart, four hundred paces from the monastery, the other side of the copse." "I know it's the other side of the copse," observed Fyodor Pavlovitch, "but we don't remember the way. It is a long time since we've been here." "This way, by this gate, and straight across the copse... the copse. Come with me, won't you? I'll show you. I have to go.... I am going myself. This way, this way." They came out of the gate and turned towards the copse. Maximov, a man of sixty, ran rather than walked, turning sideways to stare at them all, with an incredible degree of nervous curiosity. His eyes looked starting out of his head. "You see, we have come to the elder upon business of our own," observed Miusov severely. "That personage has granted us an audience, so to speak, and so, though we thank you for showing us the way, we cannot ask you to accompany us." "I've been there. I've been already; un chevalier parfait," and Maximov snapped his fingers in the air. "Who is a chevalier?" asked Miusov. "The elder, the splendid elder, the elder! The honour and glory of the monastery, Zossima. Such an elder!" But his incoherent talk was cut short by a very pale, wan-looking monk of medium height wearing a monk's cap, who overtook them. Fyodor Pavlovitch and Miusov stopped. The monk, with an extremely courteous, profound bow, announced: "The Father Superior invites all of you gentlemen to dine with him after your visit to the hermitage. At one o'clock, not later. And you also," he added, addressing Maximov. "That I certainly will, without fail," cried Fyodor Pavlovitch, hugely delighted at the invitation. "And, believe me, we've all given our word to behave properly here.... And you, Pyotr Alexandrovitch, will you go, too?" "Yes, of course. What have I come for but to study all the customs here? The only obstacle to me is your company...." "Yes, Dmitri Fyodorovitch is non-existent as yet." "It would be a capital thing if he didn't turn up. Do you suppose I like all this business, and in your company, too? So we will come to dinner. Thank the Father Superior," he said to the monk. "No, it is my duty now to conduct you to the elder," answered the monk. "If so I'll go straight to the Father Superior - to the Father Superior," babbled Maximov. "The Father Superior is engaged just now. But as you please - " the monk hesitated. "Impertinent old man!" Miusov observed aloud, while Maximov ran back to the monastery. "He's like von Sohn," Fyodor Pavlovitch said suddenly. "Is that all you can think of?... In what way is he like von Sohn? Have you ever seen von Sohn?" "I've seen his portrait. It's not the features, but something indefinable. He's a second von Sohn. I can always tell from the physiognomy." "Ah, I dare say you are a connoisseur in that. But, look here, Fyodor Pavlovitch, you said just now that we had given our word to behave properly. Remember it. I advise you to control yourself. But, if you begin to play the fool I don't intend to be associated with you here... You see what a man he is" - he turned to the monk - "I'm afraid to go among decent people with him." A fine smile, not without a certain slyness, came on to the pale, bloodless lips of the monk, but he made no reply, and was evidently silent from a sense of his own dignity. Miusov frowned more than ever. "Oh, devil take them all! An outer show elaborated through centuries, and nothing but charlatanism and nonsense underneath," flashed through Miusov's mind. "Here's the hermitage. We've arrived," cried Fyodor Pavlovitch. "The gates are shut." And he repeatedly made the sign of the cross to the saints painted above and on the sides of the gates. "When you go to Rome you must do as the Romans do. Here in this hermitage there are twenty-five saints being saved. They look at one another, and eat cabbages. And not one woman goes in at this gate. That's what is remarkable. And that really is so. But I did hear that the elder receives ladies," he remarked suddenly to the monk. "Women of the people are here too now, lying in the portico there waiting. But for ladies of higher rank two rooms have been built adjoining the portico, but outside the precincts you can see the windows - and the elder goes out to them by an inner passage when he is well enough. They are always outside the precincts. There is a Harkov lady, Madame Hohlakov, waiting there now with her sick daughter. Probably he has promised to come out to her, though of late he has been so weak that he has hardly shown himself even to the people." "So then there are loopholes, after all, to creep out of the hermitage to the ladies. Don't suppose, holy father, that I mean any harm. But do you know that at Athos not only the visits of women are not allowed, but no creature of the female sex - no hens, nor turkey hens, nor cows." "Fyodor Pavlovitch, I warn you I shall go back and leave you here. They'll turn you out when I'm gone." "But I'm not interfering with you, Pyotr Alexandrovitch. Look," he cried suddenly, stepping within the precincts, "what a vale of roses they live in!" Though there were no roses now, there were numbers of rare and beautiful autumn flowers growing wherever there was space for them, and evidently tended by a skilful hand; there were flower-beds round the church, and between the tombs; and the one-storied wooden house where the elder lived was also surrounded with flowers. "And was it like this in the time of the last elder, Varsonofy? He didn't care for such elegance. They say he used to jump up and thrash even ladies with a stick," observed Fyodor Pavlovitch, as he went up the steps. "The elder Varsonofy did sometimes seem rather strange, but a great deal that's told is foolishness. He never thrashed anyone," answered the monk. "Now, gentlemen, if you will wait a minute I will announce you." "Fyodor Pavlovitch, for the last time, your compact, do you hear? Behave properly or I will pay you out!" Miusov had time to mutter again. "I can't think why you are so agitated," Fyodor Pavlovitch observed sarcastically. "Are you uneasy about your sins? They say he can tell by one's eyes what one has come about. And what a lot you think of their opinion! you, a Parisian, and so advanced. I'm surprised at you." But Miusov had no time to reply to this sarcasm. They were asked to come in. He walked in, somewhat irritated. "Now, I know myself, I am annoyed, I shall lose my temper and begin to quarrel - and lower myself and my ideas," he reflected.