#comte de champagne

[dreamconsumer]

The last kings and queens of the Capetian dynasty.

[mrs-trophy-wife]

[roehenstart]

Jeanne I of Navarre (1273-1305).

Princess of the House of Champagne, she was Queen of Navarre and Countess of Champagne from 1274 to 1305, and Queen of France from 1285 to 1305.

[amphibious-thing]

Hi!

I really enjoy your posts about d'Eon; she's so fascinating. I'm definitely not an expert on her, but I'm very interested! One article I read said that, in her unfinished memoirs, she used both male and female pronouns. Is this a) even true, given some of the clearly wrong historical writing you've cited before, and b) if it is true, what do you think about it?

So I don't speak French. D'Eon's unfinished memoirs were originally written in French and I'm working with an English translation. This makes any discussion of gendered language in her memoirs a bit more difficult as there are words that are gendered in French but gender neutral in English and vice versa. Helpfully the translation by Roland A. Champagne, Nina Ekstein and Gary Kates notes when the masculine or feminine form is being used. However I'm still answering this question based on a translation not d'Eon's original words.

D'Eon's memoirs are written in first person so the majority of the pronouns she uses for herself are first person pronouns (I, me, my, mine).

Other characters use either he/him or she/her pronouns for d'Eon but this reflects that characters perspective not d'Eon's personal pronouns. For example in a scene set in Russia the Comte de Vorontsov confronts d'Eon about her double life, using feminine pronouns for Mademoiselle d'Eon and masculine pronouns for Captain d'Eon:

This young lady remarked to Madame Vorontsov and to my niece the Princess Asthoff that she remembers very well that Mademoiselle d'Eon has a small wine-colored birthmark on her left cheek near her ear, that at the convent in Meaux she wore gold-drop earrings, and that if Captain d'Eon has this wine-colored birthmark on his left cheek and that if he has pierced ears, you can be sure that this is the Demoiselle d'Eon whom I knew in the convent. (p20)

D'Eon pretty consistently seems to use feminine language for herself when speaking in the present tense. She uses the words "woman", "girl", "maiden", "daughter", the titles "mademoiselle" and "chevalière" and "she/her" pronouns at points when she slips into third person.

However when talking in the past tense she sometimes describes herself in the masculine. She was a "man" but is now a "woman". She will sometime talk about her past self in third person referring to "him" as her "brother". After Mademoiselle Bertin dresses d'Eon in woman's clothes for the first time d'Eon says to her:

You have killed my brother the dragoon. That leaves me with a heavy heart. (p61)

D'Eon's describes her transition as a death and rebirth. A few weeks before d'Eon was to be presented at the Court of Versailles as a woman she returns home to Tonnerre. Still wearing men's clothes she gets into an argument with her mother who believes she should start wearing women's clothes immediately. But d'Eon is reluctant, avoiding it. At one point in the argument d'Eon tells her mother she must resign herself to "the imminent death of your pitiful dragoon" as "he" only has a few weeks left in men's clothes. Their argument ends with the following passage:

In tears, my mother said to me: "You are still my dear daughter sitting in the darkness and the shadow of death. But you will be reborn, my daughter, without fear or reproach, to live and die peacefully by your mother, who loves and will always cherish you. For your salvation and our mutual happiness, I have long prayed for the misfortune that befalls you." She wiped her tears against my face and returned to her room. I hid my face under the covers in order not to see or hear anything. I was even troubled by my own presence in he darkness of night. (p41)

While d'Eon describes the loss of her "brother" the dragoon as painful she ultimately sees it as something that is necessary and positive:

Mademoiselle d'Eon has only one more step to take to bury her brother the captain of the dragoons with the full honors of War ... Tomorrow without fail I will inform Mademoiselle Bertin of my return to Paris and tell her to bring with her feathered aides-de-camp to deplume me and to sew the dragoon's skin to that of a girl who is worn out from bitter disappointment with her own skin. This girl has the greatest need of her help to be trimmed, readied, and fitted out by her skillful hand in order that I may walk with unworried assurance along the narrow path of virtue, as is befitting a Christian maiden (p56)

The death of the dragoon captain gives life to the Christian maiden:

In my regiment I sought only the rough and tumble. But in my convent I find only remedies and healing. Thus by a natural tendency I find it impossible to reconcile Mademoiselle d'Eon with her brother, the dragoon captain. The brother is imperfect, the sister perfect. How can one reconcile between the imperfect and the perfect? (p72)

Her life as Geneviève d’Eon brings her joy:

At present I am living in profound peace; and my joy is so great that I praise God in three languages so that a greater number of people may partake of the happiness of the angels in this life while awaiting the crown of ordinary martyrs, Nunc Genofeva d'Eon est nomen meum; quam suave et dulce est laetitia mea! [My name is now Geneviève d’Eon; how delightful and how sweet is my joy!] (p87)

However she doesn't always refer to her pre-transition self in the masculine. D'Eon presents herself as a woman who was raised as a boy by her parents: "I had been educated as a boy, and I dressed as one." (p7) She describes her past self as a "foolish girl who was tricked to go along like a foolish ewe." (p3)

One interesting example of d'Eon's use of gendered language is her invention of the word "demoiseau". One of the translators Roland A. Champagne describes it as a "masculine version of demoiselle" and explains "We translated demoiseau as "pretty boy" in order to capture the lexical proximity of demoiseau to damoiseau ("fop")." Champagne concludes that "d'Éon constructed in a neutral gender the demoiseau to live as a masculine woman beyond the codes of the Ancien Regime." (Decoding "The Maiden of Tonnerre": Translating Gender from the Eighteenth Century)

Champagne is correct to say that d'Eon lived as a "masculine woman" but I think he might be making too much of this one word considering the context. The word "demoiseau" comes from the following exchange between d'Eon and Bertin:

Mademoiselle d'Eon. Alas, at court everything is beautiful. To please the court, does a former dragoon captain have to become a pretty boy [demoiseau]? Mademoiselle Bertin. Yes, absolutely, when the so-called "boy" is discovered to be in fact a girl by the systems of justice both in England and in France. (p64)

So I don't think d'Eon necessarily identified as a "demoiseau" but perhaps I'm missing something in translation.

The part I struggle with the most is words that are gender neutral in English but gendered in French. Without being familiar with French it's difficult for me to understand what the use of masculine and feminine forms of words means in context. Take the following passage for example:

Neither my body nor my mind was worn out from studying when my father took(m) me to Paris at the age of thirteen. At that point, I knew only how to read and write, and not well at that. I, however, fell into the hands(f) of my uncle and aunt who made(m) me feel ashamed(m) of my ignorance and who motivated me to study. Furthermore, they alerted and warned me that if I revealed the truth of my sex I would be locked away(f) in a convent forever. (p4)

In "my father took(m) me" took is masculine. Does that mean that d'Eon is masculine, her father is masculine or the act of taking is masculine? What about "made(m) me feel ashamed(m) of my ignorance" is d'Eon masculine or is her shame masculine? If her sex if revealed she will be "locked away(f) in a convent". Why is the word away feminine?

One thing that I particularly found interesting is that the pronoun "me" is sometimes marked as feminine, sometimes masculine, but most often not marked as either. So we have:

The Revolution made me(m) so rich that today I do not have the means to buy ink or paper.

And then just a few paragraphs later:

I would just as soon suffer childbirth as to be doing this painful work of writing, which I have begun because of the destitution to which the Revolution has reduced me(f).

Then a few paragraphs latter:

I am no longer a disciple of this world since my wonderful conversion, which separated me(f) completely from the body of the dragoons and from the sin of my uniform and which finally stripped away the old man in order to make of me a totally new being before Our Lord, in the eyes of men, in front of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting as well as the Daughters of Holy Mary, and in the hopes of the fortune reserved for me in heaven. The knowledge of that fortune has filled me(m) with complete wisdom and spiritual intelligence so that I might bring to fruition every good action and so that I might behave as befits a Christian woman not only before the world but also before the Lord, since during my novitiate I was washed(f), probed(f), tested(f), corrected(f), corroborated(f), strengthened(f), and rooted(f) in every way, which I endured, in complete patience and spiritual tranquility, the Lord having erased my obligations, which consisted of military orders, orders contrary to my spirit, and which He completely abolished and replaced with my new obligation to live and die in the essential purity of my innocent dress, no longer thinking of those things here below but only about those on high. (p136-137)

The switching back and forth between "me(m)" and "me(f)" is interesting but I honestly have no idea what it means.

If I ignore all the little "f"s and "m"s the gendered language seems pretty clear and consistent. D'Eon is a woman who was raised as a boy. She is feminine in the present tense but sometimes masculine in the past tense. But I can't just ignore the fact that I'm reading a translation. That would not be a honest analysis of her memoirs. I'd love if someone who is familiar with French went through her writing and really analysed her use of gendered language. I'm unfortunately restricted by the limits of working with a translation.

[aquagirl1978]

Auld Lang Syne - Comte de Saint-Germain x Reader (Ikemen Vampire)

A/N: Ny last fic of 2023 - Happy New Year's Eve! Day 6 of my 12 Days of Christmas. Also part of my New Year, New Celebration follower celebration.

Pairing: Comte de Saint-Germain x Reader

Prompt: kiss on the hand

Word Count: 353

Tags: fluff with the tiniest hint of spice at the end

“You look absolutely ravishing tonight.”

Comte was standing next to the carriage, his hand extended to you as he waited for you to make your way down the mansion steps.

You were alight with excitement as you held the hem of your new ball gown, careful not to trip in your new shoes. You paused as you slipped your gloved hand into his; his dazzling smile hid the hedonist lurking underneath the elegant black tuxedo.

“After you, ma chérie,” he said. Lifting your hand to his lips, he brushed a chaste kiss across your knuckles. Your cheeks flushed with warmth as he flicked his eyes up, his golden gaze burning with unbridled desire. 

It was cozy in the carriage when Comte slid into the seat next to you. With your bodies pressed together, the heat from his body quickly radiated to yours. When he placed his hand on your knee, flames of passion ignited in your core.

“I thought we'd start the celebrations early.” Comte reached for the bottle of champagne that was chilling in a bucket of ice on the seats across you. He opened the bottle with a loud pop, causing you to giggle as the champagne bubbled from the top of the bottle. Comte quickly filled two glasses, and handed one to you.

“Bonne année, ma chérie,” he whispered. 

“Happy New Year,” you whispered back as you clicked glasses. The champagne was light and sweet on your tongue. However, the cool liquid trickling down your throat did nothing to cool off your body.

By the time your glasses were drained, you had arrived at your destination.

“We're a bit early,” Comte commented as he took a peek outside. After shutting the curtains closed, he leaned his face dangerously close to yours, his large hand slowly sliding up your thigh.

He dipped his face a little closer, his lips brushing against yours in a teasing kiss. He pulled away, only a millimeter or two away – just enough to tempt you to lean in and kiss him. 

“I think we have a few minutes to kill before we have to go in.”

Tagging: @redheadkittys @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @chaosangel767 @ikehoe @kpop-and-otome @lucyw260 @queengiuliettafirstlady @kisara-16 @lordsisterxotome @umi-adxhira @crypticbibliophile @yarnnerdally @tele86 @nightfoxqueen @wendolrea @randonauticrap @judejazza @maries-gallery @xbalayage @xenokiryu @nightghoul381

[cherryxblossxms]

Y, O, I for the NSFW ABC prompts for ikevamp Comte and Sebastian, please

Sure thing, nonnie! I'm always happy to give these two some love ❤️

Comte de Saint Germain

I for Imagination (What do they fantasize about?)

I answered that one here!

O for Oral (Giving or receiving? Why?)

This man is all about giving. Not that he doesn't go crazy when you decide to pleasure him, but he is a pleasure dom first and foremost. Your satisfaction is like a drug to him, nothing makes him happier than to have you writhing on his tongue, crying out his name as your thighs squeeze his head. He's addicted to the taste and feel of you, getting your sweet nectar on his tongue and feeling the way you twitch and pulse as he swirls his tongue around in torturous patterns. He's relentless, his vampire stamina almost dangerous, because it means he's ready to spend all night pleasing you with his tongue and not having to worry about catching his breath. And his vampire strength helps him hold down any flailing limbs, keeping you captive until he's totally satisfied.

Y for Yummy (How would they involve food/drinks?)

Comte would love to incorporate alcohol, likely champagne. He wouldn't mind just having it poured over your (or his, or both) body as is, uncaring of the wetness or sticky mess that it will leave, as he traces every rivulet with his tongue up and down your body. He knows his tongue is skilled and it let's him tease you and taste you all at once, getting the buzzy heat from the alcohol as he gets drunk in more ways than one. If he learns about jello body shots, good luck.

He's also very into the idea of aphrodisiacs, both foods that are supposedly natural aphrodisiacs such as oysters, figs, and chili peppers, as well as aphrodisiacs put into foods, such as some special chocolates or elixirs that can be mixed. He'll create a truly special plate of varying items to see what works best, what you enjoy the most or gets the most response from your body.

Sebastian

I for Imagination (What do they fantasize about?)

Sebastian admittedly fantasizes about fucking you in public areas. He can be very jealous, so truthfully, he'd never want to actually be caught, both due to the shame he'd feel as the butler but also because he doesn't want anyone else to see you in the throes of pleasure. But it doesn't stop him from picturing you bent over the dining table or the kitchen counter as he pounds into you from behind. Or maybe he'd be trailing his fingers along your sex as you try to wash the dishes, make it a game and see if you break any dishes, or how many dishes you manage to wash before you're begging for relief.

On rare occasion, he's imagined fucking you over Comte's desk, too, making a mess of the papers and making the room steamy. He wondered if the good Count would catch on to what happened later, his desk in disarray. And on even rarer occasion, he's admittedly imagined having a threesome with you and Comte. Moreso Napoleon pops into his thoughts, but he won't get into that.

O for Oral (Giving or receiving? Why?)

Sebastian is honestly for both. He loves giving and receiving in pretty equal measure.

As the butler of the mansion, he's no stranger to waiting on hand and foot for others, taking care of their needs as he saw fit and being the ideal comedic butler of his dreams. He has no difficulty including in sexual needs when it comes to you, especially after a hard day of running around completing errands when he finally has you all to himself. While he's still in uniform, he loves going down on his knees to service you, gloved hands wringing out all your tension and making you putty for him. Nothing gives him better satisfaction than seeing your wobbly smile and knees after he's had you cum at least a couple times.

However, despite wanting to be the ideal butler, Sebastian is still a man with needs of his own. He does love to be on the receiving end of oral a lot, too. After he's been run ragged cleaning up the mansion, cooking and fetching Rouge and Blanc all day, he wouldn't mind being taken care of, for once. It's incredibly satisfying for him to finally get to remove his uniform and just sit back as you pleasure him, to show you how he likes it, the parts of his cock that are most sensitive and how he likes it when you kiss around it, or twist your wrist a certain way as you stroke him.

Y for Yummy (How would they involve food/drinks?)

Sebastian would be similar to Comte. He's less knowledgeable on aphrodisiac foods in comparison, but he knows the big ones such as strawberries and chocolate. He'd love to get melted chocolate on your skin, scoop it up with a fruit and eat it, doing this to each other until you're squirming with need. He can be a tease when he wants to be, he's mastered control very well over the years, and it'd be easy for him to drive you wild with licking and sucking all over you until the chocolate is gone. If you try to do it back to him, though, you will be in for a treat with a very barely-restrained butler beneath you, face bright red and hard as a rock. And since he also manages the baths at the mansion, it'd be easy to wash off the mess in Le Thermae afterwards.

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

Summary: Gabriela Cruz invests in a Victorian mansion in the middle of America where the rule of Buyer Beware is absolute. When her twin sister goes missing, a couple of federal agents show up. Lucky for Gabi, Dean and Sam Winchester are on the case.

Characters: Gabriela Cruz, Camila Cruz, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Ed Zeddmore, Harry Spangler

Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, language, mentions death of family members, cursed object, mentions of blood + gore, sarcasm, twin dynamics, explicit sex

Words: 4,600

Author's notes: thank you, @brrose-apothecary and @stusbunker as always for the pre-reads and support!

CAVEAT EMPTOR

I consider myself a strong, independent woman. I pay my own bills, put a little money away in savings every month, and I just recently took out a loan all by myself to buy an old Victorian mansion cum bed and breakfast in my hometown.

Which brings me to my first point — that most of the time, I think I’m rad as fuck. Then, once in a blue moon (literally, in this case), some guy finds his way into my life, and I personally end up winding back the advancement of women by a century for good dick.

It’s humiliating.

How, you ask? Well, let me tell you...

“When you said Victorian bed and breakfast, I thought it’d be all lace doilies and ornately carved wood. This place is sick!” 

Camila, my little sister by 15 minutes, had driven down from Minneapolis to help me move into my new home. We hadn’t seen much of each other in the past year because she was living with a man who considered our twin bond to be “unhealthy” (read: he’s a pissbaby.)

What he couldn’t wrap his tiny brain around was that Cami and I were not only twins, but we’d spent the entirety of our adult lives with only each other to call home. Our older brother was killed by a drunk driver, our mom by breast cancer, and our dad by colon cancer, all before we were old enough to vote.

Anyway, Camila told him he could stay in his glass box of a top-floor condo in the city while she popped down “just for the weekend” to help me unpack. Little did he know, she’d brought with her an obscenely priced bottle of pink Taittinger Comtes de Champagne 1973 from his wine cellar. 

“Camila Beatriz!” I cackled as I popped the cork.

She was living with a guy so worried about our “connection” that he never bothered to ask about her predilection to permanently borrow (her phrase, not mine) things from the men she dated.

“He’ll never miss it. Just pour.”

We sipped, kind of unpacked, nibbled on a fruit and cheese platter, and generally basked in each other’s presence. As we squeezed the last drops of pink bubbly from the bottle and the sun dipped below the horizon, I felt a chill. I assumed it was exhaustion, nerves, stress — whatever. 

“I’m tired, sissy,” Cami confessed. “Show me to my room, would ya?”

I did, giving her a long squeeze. “Thanks for coming, sissy,” I whispered in her ear. “Sleep sweet.”

I gave her a kiss on the cheek, and she kissed mine before I headed to my room to take a warm shower. Even though the chill never quite left me throughout slathering myself in lotion and wrapping up in my warmest pajamas, it didn’t occur to me that anything was off off.

Then, at midnight, when the third full moon of the season was at its fullest, I was awakened by a blood-curdling sound that seemed to hang in the air for hours after it was released.

“Camila!”

I bolted from the warmth of my bed, flung my heavy door open, and sprinted down the hall to where my sister was supposed to be sleeping. What I found inside that room can never be erased from the darkest corners of my mind.

There was blood everywhere — on the floor, the walls, the ceiling. The room was frigid and vibrating. I felt a presence that turned me inside out, and I started to sweat and heave, regardless of the temperature of the room.

“Cami!” I called out to her, receiving no reply. “Sister!”

I rushed further into the space as whatever it was that I felt began to recede.

“Camila! Where are you?”

I searched and cried, but my sister was nowhere to be found.

The police arrived within minutes, and neighbors hovered on the edge of the property, haphazardly bundled in robes and coats like vultures at the site of carnage. There were hushed whispers of a ghost, a ghoul, or dark spirits.

An ambulance came.

Once the police had questioned me, I was examined by the EMTs and given a sedative. I was told I was in shock. Someone asked if I had any relatives or friends in the area who could stay with me. 

I shook my head. “Cami’s my only family.”

The sedative dumbed me down more than anything. I wasn’t able to sleep or relax. Before dawn, two FBI agents appeared on the scene. The local police were reluctant to let them speak with me, but they somehow persevered.

“Ms. Cruz?”

I looked up to find a string bean of a dude with puppy-dog eyes and a tentative, soothing voice. He introduced himself as Agent Gass and his partner as Agent Black. He asked how much time I’d spent in the house.

“Not even a day.”

Both men nodded. 

I suppose it should have tipped me off that they were not run-of-the-mill federales since they didn’t seem at all surprised by my answer or the situation the way local law enforcement did.

“You just bought the place, right?” asked the other agent.

Until he spoke, I hadn’t realized how tightly wound I was with fear and grief. The quality of his voice had a visceral effect on my senses, like a deep tissue massage or an epic fucking orgasm. 

This man’s voice, you guys...

I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my vision, then found that the face belonging to that voice was so beautiful I could no longer hold the tension in my body, and the tears began to flow.

(I know this sounds very dramatic, but I promise we won’t be spending much more time on the grim details. Also, don’t worry; Cami’s fine. I mean, she’s fucking traumatized, but it wasn’t her blood decorating the walls, is what I’m saying.)

The agents quickly bookended me. Agent Gass tugged a paper towel from the roll I’d left sitting on a side table the night before and handed it to me, muttering something about my nose and tears before Agent Black started talking again. 

“There’ve been reports of strange occurrences in this house for decades, but nothing violent.” He was so close that I could feel the rumble of each syllable like the hum of a lullaby or a stealth percussionist in the wild. “Have you witnessed anything out of the ordinary in the last 12 hours?”

I sniffled. “Besides all the fucking terrifying shit I’ve already told the cops?”

Agent Gass cleared his throat beside me. “We’re sorry, but we need to record our own findings. Do you mind telling us what happened?”

I rolled my eyes and blew my nose. “Fine,” I sighed, tossing the wadded-up snot rag into a nearby trash bag.

“It started when the sun set…” 

I recapped the evening’s events, groggily noticing once again that neither agent seemed nearly as taken aback as the local police.

“‘Blood-curdling sound’ — like a scream?” Agent Black’s question pinged in my brain while other parts of me continued to react to the sound of it. 

“I don’t know why I keep using that phrase... it wasn’t a scream, but... it woke me up, and I immediately knew something was wrong. I was chilled to the bone.”

Agent Black nodded. “You said you were cold before, so you took a shower. Was it the same kinda chill you felt when the sound woke you up?”

I shook my head, squinting to try and remember. “No... I- there’s cold chill and scared chill — I felt both at different times. I... I don’t know how else to describe it.”

Agent Black nodded, peeking over my head to his partner, and they exchanged a silent agreement.

I cannot stress enough how aggravated I am that I felt attraction at that moment. My twin sister was missing, and yet I couldn’t stop staring at his stupid mouth. At the time, I didn’t rationalize it at all, probably because of the drugs the EMTs gave me, but suffice it to say that Dean Winchester is a sorcerer. 

He pushed up from beside me, smoothing his tie and buttoning his suit jacket. “Thank you, Ms. Cruz. Try to get some sleep.” He made a subtle gesture to his partner, spurring him into action, then turned to survey the room with a narrowed gaze.

Agent Gass handed me a card. “Please give us a call if you think of anything else. We’ll be in touch.”

Well into the next day, my new home was under constant guard, filled by local law enforcement and various consultants. I didn’t see Agents Gass and Black again until two weird little guys with video equipment showed up. 

I walked out onto my side porch from the kitchen, wiping my hands on a dish towel, wondering what kind of new crew was on the case. By the time I made my way outside, Agent Black was there, hovering over the bearded guy with glasses.

“...I will shoot you, and you know I’m not fucking kidding,” he growled.

“Agent?” I asked, amused beyond reason at his violent threat and casually draping my dish towel over my shoulder. 

At this point, I’d been able to get some sleep and put a bit of time and space between my cognitive processes and the happenings surrounding Cami’s disappearance. So when that cocky little (there’s nothing little about Dean Winchester, OK, I’m being facetious) shit stretched those long, strong legs and climbed up onto my porch, I was fully aware and accepting of just how incredibly attracted to him I was.

He turned, his posture neutralizing and his eyes softening.

“Ms. Cruz. Yeah, hi...” He strode toward the porch. “Thought I’d stop by, see how you’re doin’.”

“Gabi, Agent.”

He grinned wide as he took the last step to stand in front of me, sliding his hands into his pockets and rocking to his heels and back. 

Such a little shit.

“Gabi… right.” He smirked, then glared over his shoulder at the newcomers. “These two botherin’ you?”

I peeked around him and shook my head before pulling back and looking him in the eye. “This’s the first I’ve seen of them. Coffee, Agent?”

He smirked. “Call me Dean.”

In hindsight, inviting him in for coffee was probably my first mistake. I could’ve offered coffee to him and those two boneheads from Wisconsin outside, but, as previously mentioned, I was busy derailing feminism. 

“How do you take it, Dean?” I asked, swiping one of the clean coffee mugs from an array of disorganized kitchenware yet to be shelved from the move. 

As I took the last two steps to my second-hand Nespresso machine, Dean remained silent, so I glanced over my shoulder before reaching for a coffee pod. He shook his head and blinked up from where he seemed to be mesmerized by something in the neighborhood of my hips.

“Black,” he answered with a lush, lopsided smile.

I nodded, then turned to focus on my task. “What brings you back this way? Is there something new with my case?”

“Uhh, yeah, actually — Agent Gass found some interesting things about the layout of this property on the county assessor’s website. D’you know this was a safe house in the Underground Railroad?”

“Yeah.” I turned and handed the agent his coffee. “That’s one of the reasons I bought it and one of the attractions of the bed and breakfast.” 

He thanked me for the cup, eyeing me closely. “So you’re aware of the secret passages in the home? In the room where your sister was sleeping the night she disappeared?”

I shook my head. “What? No. There’s no passageway in my sister’s room, only in the basement and the outbuildings.”

Dean shook his head, holding my gaze. “There’s a full network of passageways in the exterior walls of this house, Gabi,” he continued slowly and pointedly. “Your sister could be trapped. We’d like to take a look at the room again.”

(The next night, over a post-orgasmic cigarette, Dean told me all about another structure he and his brother had cleaned out and sealed off. Someone had erected an apartment building on the execution site of America’s first serial killer. Because Dean Winchester, in addition to being exasperatingly sexy and good with his hands, is a ghost and monster hunter with his brother not-Agent Gass, they come across this kind of thing all the time, I now understand.)

Five minutes after agreeing to let them explore the alleged secret passageways, Agents Black and Gass were sans jackets, rolling up their sleeves, and peering into the mouth of the Rosebud Suite’s small closet. 

“So...” I paused, absorbing the confirmation that all the things I feared went bump in the night and more are real. “What do you think you’re gonna find in there? A ghost? Vampires? My twin sister’s disembodied head?”

For the first time since meeting them, the agents looked at me in alarm. 

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Dean said, crossing the room to clasp a big, warm hand around my wrist and squeeze. “You’re twins?”

I nodded.

“Then if that twin stuff everybody talks about is real, you know she’s gonna be fine.” He smiled down at me with kindness. “All we know is that she’s missing, and we know the blood in the room is animal blood.”

Dean was right; I knew in my heart that Gabi would be fine, but as relieved as I should have been, I was suddenly much more disturbed on an entirely different level.

“Animal blood? No one told me this was animal blood. What the fuck is going on?!”

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Agent Gass appeared at Agent Black’s side, and they exchanged looks before Agent Black continued.

“I dunno why the police didn’t tell you about the animal blood. Maybe they didn’t want to alarm you-”

“Alarm me? I’ve been walking around here worried Camila’s guts were all over one of my guest room walls. I’ve taken sooo much Xanax since Friday night. Is there anything else alarming I should know about?”

They looked at each other again for a beat before Dean shrugged.

“Those two little weirdos outside?” 

“Yeah?”

“They picked up readings that indicate the presence of a cursed object as well as confirmation of human life other than those of us in plain sight.”

I sighed, dropping my eyes to where Dean helpfully caressed my wrist.

“I feel like I’m in catechism... what’s a cursed object?”

I didn’t pull away because, like I said, his caress was very helpful.

“Just like it sounds. Somethin’, usually old, that’s been loaded up with black magic. If we can find it, we can cancel out the magic-”

“Black magic?! Who the fuck- wait, old?” 

Dean nodded, and sadly, he released my wrist.

“Oh, my god, the wine!”

The agents perked up at that and exchanged more silent looks.

“Gabi... where’s the bottle?”

When I say that I am unreasonably attracted to Dean Winchester, this is what I mean: watching him and the clean-shaven Ghostfacer pepper and ash an empty champagne bottle in a graveyard after telling me said bottle was “cursed” should have made me worry about their and my eternal soul like any other good Catholic girl, but no — I still took him to bed. 

Once we found Cami, of course.

“Cayenne pepper. Interesting.”

Dean unwedged the shotgun from propping his trunk of many wonders open before dropping it shut. “Not just for cookin’.” 

He shifted and swayed and sighed as he slid his hands into his pockets and fixed his crinkly, sparkling gaze on me with a lick of his smug smirk.

“Sam?” I asked about his gigantic younger brother, who was back at the house with the other Ghostfacer, rescuing my sister. “Does he have Camila?”

Dean’s face lit up, and his eyebrows popped. “Oh, yeah. She’s good. She’s talkin’ to the police.”

I sighed. “I’d like to go home now.”

I must’ve looked like a frightened and exhausted child at that moment because Dean’s entire demeanor softened as he reached out to pull me in for a hug. His clothes and skin felt and smelled warm, and I started to cry into his white button-up. 

“It’s a lot to take in, I know, but I gotcha, sweetheart,” he murmured, holding me close. “You’re fine, and so’s Camila.”

This. Man.

This gorgeous, brave, smells-like-you-expect/hope/pray- for-Axe-body-wash-to-smell (but it doesn’t) man, holding me like a fragile doll and calling me sweetheart is the only man I have allowed to witness a sliver of vulnerability since my dad died. So you can imagine the abject horror I felt at the increasing flip-flop from my guts and the heat pulsing even lower. 

I’ve experienced attraction, okay? I’ve had romantic and sexual partners, I self-lubricate at appropriate times. I orgasm.

But the way Dean Winchester made me feel was so alarming that I have since added that feeling to the stack of alarming things happening after Camila and I opened that bottle of wine.

He loosened his embrace but didn’t pull away completely, looking down at me with curiosity in his tender gaze. “Let’s go.”

Dean ushered me to the front passenger door, opened it, and helped me inside. We were quiet as Dean drove back to my bed and breakfast. The silence allowed my thoughts to dance until he pulled into the alley behind my house.

“They’re just wrapping up with the cops,” Harry said, sliding forward with his phone in hand.

The lights were on inside. Sam was standing in the middle of the kitchen, behind Cami, with one hand on the back of her chair. She was wrapped in a blanket, nodding her head at the men on the other side of the table, and Ed was in the corner, pocketing his phone.

It was all so clear, and I couldn’t wait to get out of the car and inside to hug my sister. 

“Whoa, gotta put the car in park, sweetheart,” Dean chuckled, doing just that.

I guess I really couldn’t wait.

And then I was sprinting to the back door.

Like I said before, Cami is fine. She’s shook, but alive and breathing and not bleeding. I’ve never felt so sick and relieved at the same time or cried so hard. That experience didn’t only bag me the sexiest, warmest, most loving man alive, but it also further strengthened Cami and my priorities for each other. 

Dean kicked the cops out, and Sam made coffee for everyone (which Dean spiked). At some point, the little Ghostfacer dudes squirreled away into guest rooms for the night, Sam and Dean lost their ties, and Cami fell asleep draped across my lap where we were huddled in the front parlor.

“Sammy’ll put her to bed,” Dean whispered, gently tugging me to my feet as Sam indeed lifted Camila in a bridal carry. “Which room you want her in?”

“The one adjoining mine, east wing at the end of the hall.”

Sam nodded, and Cami mumbled, burrowing into his massive chest. He turned and swept toward and up the stairs into the quiet darkness.

“Is it really over?” I asked the house itself as much as Dean. Thankfully, only Dean answered.

“Yeah, it’s over.”

I turned to face him, heaving a sigh. He watched me with that same inquisitive expression as the one from the graveyard, this time with his hands in pockets, sock-footed, sleeves neatly cuffed to his elbows, crisp white collar open at his throat — and he looked like he belonged there in the center of my parlor.

“Agent Black-”

“Yeah... about that...” He dropped his eyes for a beat before looking me in the eye with a renewed spark. “We’re not really federal agents.”

You might think that another surprise would send a person careening into catatonia, but not me. No. No, no, I laughed. I started laughing because it was fucking absurd — the whole thing was berserk, right? 

Cursed objects? Cayenne pepper as some kind of supernatural DEET? This remarkably handsome man existing? I was being Punk’d, right? Is that show still running? What is Ashton Kutcher doing these days anyway?

The answer to me being Punk’d is no. You might want to Google Ashton Kutcher because I still don’t know what he’s doing these days. 

Do I sometimes still stop feeding my chickens to look up at the clear blue sky and pinch myself in case this is all a dream?

The answer to that is yes.

“My name’s Dean Winchester. Sam’s my brother. We've been hunting ghosts and demons and-”

“Demons?!”

The good Catholic girl inside me stammered over that, and Dean nodded slowly, blinking even more slowly as he took a step and reached for me.

“I’ll tell ya everything,” he said with a tired smile and an easy clasp of my hand. “D’you mind if we get a few hours’ sleep first?”

I didn’t mind.

I led him upstairs. We peeked in on Cami, where Sam was watching over her, stretched out on the chaise in that room. They were both fast asleep. 

Dean followed me to my room, and I didn’t think twice about stripping myself bare as I made my way to my ensuite. Before I could conjure any pesky stranger-danger excuses, his hands were on me under the hot spray of water.

The next day, Cami dumped her boyfriend. I have a feeling she’d have done it even if the deadbeat had been assed to make the trip south during her 36-hour absence, but his ineptitude made it easy.

Turns out, the brothers Winchester are more than okay with Cami and my connection. Turns out, they’re more than familiar with that kind of connection too.

Dean molds himself to my back, pressing kisses to the side of my neck and the parts of my shoulder that are bared by my tank top. 

“Almost done? Sammy’s makin’ breakfast.”

I hum, letting him swallow me up. “Shower first?”

Ever since that very first night, Dean and I have showered together just in case the water’s cursed, and if it isn’t? Conservation. Right?

Plus, we really like giving each other orgasms.

Five minutes later...

“God damn, I love your mouth,” I sigh as water sluices over my shoulders and spirals my arms before filtering into his hair, where he’s burying his face between my thighs.

Dean’s let his hair grow lately, giving me a lot more to grab onto, not that he needs direction. (He has a beard, too, which wouldn’t normally be my thing at all, but because I know what’s under there, I’m good with it.)

He hums and licks and moans and sucks. The pressure’s always just right — never too much or not enough. I’ve never had anyone down there who knew as much about eating pussy as Dean Winchester. He’s good with his hands, his dick, and toys, too, but man, he loves giving head and is a mother fucking pro at it.

“Dean,” I gasp and flail, nearly busting through the shower curtain and toppling over the end of the claw-foot tub to my death.

Dean lunges up and hooks an arm around my hips, gathering me closer, and I explode.

“Mmm, such a good girl, Gabriela.” He licks his lips as he drags me into the tub with him. Water beats down on his back as he notches his hips in the place his face just vacated. 

I toss one calf over the back of the tub and watch Dean grip his hard dick to slip and slide along my slit. 

“Don’t tease me, Dean. Get inside.” I thrust my hips and reach for him. 

He cocks a brow, lifting my other knee to drape over the other side of the tub, punching the curtain, and slopping water onto the floor. “Honey, I ain’t teasin’; I’m goin’ easy on ya.”

“Pfft!” Now I’m panting like a dog with my ass suspended three inches above the base of the tub. “Who asked you to take it easy on me? I sure didn’t.”

Dean smirks, wrapping one big hand around one hip and steadily guiding himself inside. 

“Fuck.” I drop my head to the porcelain under me and clamp my hands around the edges of the vintage bath to take what he gives.

Every time.

Every time, he feels so perfectly hardhotsmooth, so thick, so heavy. 

And I can’t not stare because he is perfectly beautiful.

“You’re so beautiful, Gabi,” he whispers as he slides his other hand around my other hip and grinds into me.

“Uhhh!”

We both groan, and my back arches all by itself.

He tells me I’m beautiful, and sometimes it feels like a lie — not because I think he’s dishonest but because Dean Winchester is the most beautiful man I’ve ever known.

He drags out slow, and thrusts back in hard and hot, swearing before biting his lip. 

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, tossing his head back into the fall of water before looking back down at me as he blinks water out of his eyes. Then he smiles wide and bright, almost like he’s laughing. “Hold on tight.”

I never take Dean’s warnings lightly.

He sets a hard rhythm, grunting with each thrust, and I echo.

“You look so good, baby — fuck me so good.” 

Dean’s a tough guy and everything, but he loves praise. I give him pet names and tell him how smart and strong he is. I am always sure to thank him for every little thing he does to help me. And he goes fucking crazy when I praise him for fucking me right.

“Give it to me,” I breathe, clenching around him. “I love your dick... so hard and thick — please, Dean.”

I can’t pretend with him, either. No praise I ever give him is lip service. I really do love his dick.

He pitches forward, bracing his hands on the edge above my head, stretched over me like a telephone wire, and that fucking shift-

“Hooofuck, I- ahh!” 

Dean arches and grinds up against my g-spot, pinning me in place until I burst.

“Yesyesyes!” Dean beats a hand against the side of the tub in time with my pulses and throbs around him. “Fuck, honey, yes.”

And then five minutes after that...

“All I’m saying is, if you want some alone time,” Sam actually uses air quotes. “Just say so, and we won’t wait. At the kitchen table. Directly beneath your bathroom.”

Dean rolls his eyes, and Cami and I stifle corresponding giggles.

“It’s not like I personally came down here and burned the toast,” Dean pretends to make sense as he folds a piece of bacon into his mouth. “Bacon’s good.”

He looks to me for agreement, and I nod. 

“It is good bacon!” Then I look at Sam. “We’ll be quieter next time.”

Cami guffaws. “No, you won’t!”

I playfully backhand her and shrug. “Probably not, but the bacon’s still good, and I love you guys.���

Sam snorts and shakes his head. “Yeah, OK, I love you, too, Gab.”

“Hey, don’t be gettin’ my girl mixed up with yours.” Dean mumbles around a mouth full of food as he stabs into his pile of fried potatoes.

I peek over at Camila and catch her looking at me. A memory flashes in my mind of pink bubbly and shivering myself to sleep and that awful fear that my sister was gone forever. Then, Camila blinks, and I’m filled with the warmth of knowing she would return to me and that we would both live happily ever after with the perfectly imperfect Winchester brothers from Lawrence, Kansas.

MJ's Master List

MJ's SPN Master List

MJ's Dean Winchester Master List

What did you think?

[ekman]

– Vous souvenez-vous des Fêtes de Noël au château, du temps de la douairière, ma chère grand-mère ? – Si je m’en souviens, Monsieur le Comte ! C’était, avec Pâques, le moment le plus important de l’année. Tout le domaine préparait l’évènement des semaines à l’avance. Les gens disaient “tiens, garde donc cela, mets-le de côté, nous en profiterons à la Noël”. Toutes les fermes sélectionnaient à partir de la mi-novembre ! Les viandes, les foies, les beaux légumes, les conserves... – Et les vins ! Nous visitions les caves avec mon père et mon oncle. Joseph suivait avec son chariot et disposait les cols choisis avec science. Jamais une de brisée ! – Oui, les vins... et les champagne, et les liqueurs pour ces dames ! Vous savez, Monsieur le Comte, le moment le plus émouvant c’était quand toute les familles du domaine, les fermiers, les métayers, les ouvriers des ateliers de Monsieur Charles et même certains journaliers, se rassemblaient dans la cour d’honneur, neige ou pas. – Combien pouvions-nous être alors ? Une cinquantaine ? – C’est monté à plus de quatre-vingt, Monsieur le Comte. – Le discours toujours bienveillant de mon père, ma grand-mère distribuant des babioles aux plus jeunes enfants, l’archevêque qui venait bénir tout le monde, même les communistes ! – Il y avait encore du respect de ce temps, Monsieur le Comte. Les gens avaient leurs idées mais les codes étaient respectés. De l’ordre, de la cohérence, aucune familiarité, juste de la bienveillance. Voilà ce qui tenait le domaine. – Vous avez raison. Il y avait cette équité par delà les opinions, les ambitions, les contrariétés... Le sentiment d’appartenir à une communauté, à une terre, à un monde qui gardait du sens, entre le calendrier chrétien et les saisons, le rythme de l’agriculture, les mariages aussi. Et les décès. Plus personnes ne vient se faire enterrer chez nous, vous avez remarqué ? – Je ne sais pas si l’on a encore le droit, Monsieur le Comte. En tout cas moi...  – Et moi aussi, soyez-en sûr. – Bien. Je vous attends vers 19h30 pour l’apéritif avec votre épouse ?  – Ce sera une joie et un honneur, Monsieur le Comte. – Puis nous dînerons avec mes autres invités et ce sera la messe de minuit avancée à 22h30 par commodité. Ce nouveau curé est déplorable. Il a une photo de François à la sacristie. Posée à côté de La Croix et Télérama. Ça ressemble de plus en plus à une kommandantur, son gourbi. – Oh, Monsieur le Comte... Paix aux hommes de... – De bonne volonté, oui, je sais.

J.-M.-M.

[squeakowl]

David Austin Roses

Varietals; left to right, top shelf to bottom shelf -

Top row: Crocus Rose, Vanessa Bell, The Pilgrim, Windrush, Malvern Hills, Molineaux Center row (top): Carding Mill, Tea Clipper, Teasing Georgia, Crown Princess Margareta, Golden Celebration, Jude the Obscure, Evelyn, Allux Symphony Center row (bottom): Benjamin Britten, Boscobel, Princess Alexandra of Kent, Lady of Shallott, Grace, The Lark Ascending, Comtes de Champagne Bottom row: Wildeve, Abraham Darby, Janet, Queen of Sweden, Shropshire Lass, Belle Story, Heritage

(source)

[mustafaalgunblog]

A Walking Tour in the Legendary Neighborhood of Montmartre in Paris.

These words come to mind when Paris is mentioned.

travel,blogging,mustafaalgün,vlog,paris,montmartre,walking tour,restaurant,art,accordion,amelie,adele skyfall,bob marley,beauty and the beast,belle et la bete,bakery,bracelet,basilica,dalida,sacre coeur,france,history,sinking house,Rue Foyatier,zaz,je veux,john wick 4,l'amour,moulin rouge,mercure,never again,artists square,125 rue,pink rose,stairs,steps,van gogh,walk around,what to do,where to eat,keanu,loulou,Picasso,love wall,travel guide,travel vlog, alain delon,aligot,anarkia,arc de triomphe,art,baguette,banon,bastille,beaufort,belle,best places,big bus,bisque,bleu d auvergne,blogging,boheme,bohemian,bonaparte,bonjour,bouchees,boudoirs,bouillabaisse,bourguignon,boursin,bretons,brie,brigitte bardot,brocciu,buddha bar,cabecou,caesar,cafe de flore,camembert,canal saint martin,cancoyotte,cassoulet,catacombs,cemetery,cantal,champagne,champs elysees,chapelle, charcuterie,cheese fondue,cinema,city sightseeing,comte,concorde,creme brulee,croissant,culture,death of diana,day trip,daily trip,daily tour,di,diana,disneyland paris,eiffel,edith piaf,emmental,escargot,esmeralda,eu,europe,elysee palace,exploring,epoisses,fashion,fayette,film,flambee,foie gras,fondue,fourme ambert,fr,france,franciaország,frank,frankreich,frankrijk,francia,fransa,fransa vlog,fransada yaşam,frederic chopin,french cuisine,fromage,galettes,galettes bretonnes,gitanes,gitans,gypsy,gypsies,gallery,gastronomie,gopro,grand palais,grand slam,haute cuisine,henri cartier bresson,hero11,history,holiday,hoponhopoff,invalides,jambon,jean luc godard,jim morrison,la fayette,lachaise,lachaise cemetery,latin quarter,livarot,louvre,louvre pyramid,love,Luxembourg Gardens,lumiere,macaron,marais,maroilles,metro,metropolitain,mimolette,moda,mona lisa,montmartre,montparnasse,moulin rouge,munster,museedorsay,Musée d'Orsay,museum,napoleon,napoleon bonaparte,notre dame,omelette,orangerie,orsay museum,oscar wilde,ossau iraty,palais garnier,palmier,pantheon,paris,parisian,parisienne,paris fashion week,paris france,paris things to do,

[dreamconsumer]

Portrait of King Theobald I of Navarre (1201-1253), Count of Champagne as Theobald IV.

He was famous as a trouvère, and was the first Frenchman to rule Navarre.

[itsnothingbutluck]

Listen and learn how to say 70 of the most FAMOUS CHAMPAGNE names correctly with French winemaker Julien, "how do you pronounce" free pronunciation audio/video tutorials. The Champagne pronounced in this video include: French pronunciation including the following Champagnes houses: Abelé (Sourire de Reims, owned by Freixenet), Armand de Brignac (Ace of Spades) Ayala (Grande Cuvée),Bollinger, Billecart-Salmon (Clos St Hilaire), Boizel, Lanson, Bollinger (Vieilles Vignes Françaises,R.D. (Récemment Dégorgé), Bruno Paillard (Nec Plus Ultra), Canard-Duchêne, Cattier (Clos du Moulin, Charles Heidsieck (Blanc des Millénaires, Cheurlin, Comte de Dampierre, De Castellane, De Cazanove, De Telmont, De Venoge, Delamotte, Desmoulins, Deutz (Amour de Deutz), Louis Roederer, Duval-Leroy (Femme de Champagne), Henri Giraud, Gosset Alfred Gratien, Heidsieck & Co Monopole Irroy Jacquart (Cuvée Alpha), Jacquesson, Jacquinot & Fils, Jean Jacques Lamoureux, , Jeeper (Grande Réserve Chardonnay) Joseph Perrier, Krug (Vintage, Clos du Mesnil clos ambonnay owned by LVMH Louis Vuitton Moet Hennessy), Charles Lafitte, Lallier Lanson Laurent-Perrier Lombard & Cie Marie Stuart (Cuvée de la Sommelière), G.H. Martel & Co., Mercier ,, Moët & Chandon (Épernay), Dom Pérignon, Moutard-Diligent, GH Mumm (Mumm de Cramant, Pernod Ricard), Perrier-Jouët (Belle Époque), Philipponnat (Clos des Goisses), Piper-Heidsieck (rare), Pol Roger (Sir Winston Churchill), Pommery, Ruinart, Louis de Sacy, Salon (Le Mesnil-sur-Oger), Laurent-Perrier, Taittinger (Comtes de Champagne), Thiénot (Cuvée Alain Thiénot, Stanislas, Garance) , Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin (carte jaune, yellow label, rich reserve), vranken, De sousa, AR Lenoble, Louis Roederer Cristal, Soutiran, Gardet, Gremillet, Janisson et Fils, Mansart Baillet, N. Gueusquin, Cuperly, Chaudron, Nicolas Feuillate.

[sanctobin]

Airelles Gordes by Christophe Tollemer

Elle figure parmi les plus beaux spots qui soient. La Bastide de Gordes est de ces adresses que le monde entier nous envie. Surtout depuis sa réinvention à la manière d’un opulent palais des Comtes de Provence, où l’on est reçu comme les maîtres de maison.

20 millions d’euros de travaux, 10 000 mètres carrés de bâti, 40 chambres et suites, 120 collaborateurs, 7 terrasses, 4 piscines, 3 restaurants… ces chiffres qui donnent le tournis en disent long sur les dimensions du chantier confié à Christophe Tollemer par Lov Hotel Collection depuis deux ans. « Le projet pharaonique, explique son concepteur, consistait à faire passer plusieurs bâtiments du XVIè siècle au XXIè siècle, sans que cela ne se voie trop ». Un pari difficile dans un tel labyrinthe fortifié, mais un pari réussi. Cette bastide rentre ainsi de plein pied dans le 3è millénaire tout en se protégeant du temps qui passe à la manière de l’armure qui veille sur la cage d’escalier et son garde-corps en fer forgé. Un voyage hors du temps, entre portraits des ancêtres, meubles chinés dans toute la France, boiseries à l’ancienne et toile de Jouy. Contrepoint des tomettes du XVIIIè, que l’on retrouve même dans l’ascenseur, les télévisions dissimulées dans d’imposants miroirs. Spacieuses et confortables, les chambres et surtout les salles de bains sont superbement équipées pour un séjour au long cours, comme dans sa propre maison de famille. Cette bastide a des siècles, mais plus une ride grâce à ses voûtes qui respirent, ses arcades, son bassin de nage. Entièrement tournée vers l’extérieur, on y respire le soleil, la chaleur de l’été, la Provence intérieur. Elle a le goût exquis des grandes vacances et de l’authentique. Comme pour un parfum ou un champagne, la décoration y est plus que jamais une savante équation, balancée, équilibrée de façon presque magique pour donner une atmosphère qui semble toujours avoir existé.

[blog-dame-nina-saleh-ahmed]

FR: Eugène Mahon de Monaghan - Né à Paris le 25 janvier 1821 et mort le 12 mars 1868, fut consul de France à Bologne, journaliste, écrivain et membre du Conseil privé du Royaume d'Araucanie et de Patagonie sous le règne de Napoléon III où il publia une série d'études critiques et de pièces de poésie, éditées dans différentes villes. Sa relation amoureuse avec Victor Fievet, l'imprimeur sparnacien, le conduisit à Champagn, et lui donna l'occasion de publier, en 1854, une Promenade à Saint-Martin-d'Ablois. Ses Heures d'études furent publiées à Reims par Brissart en 1858. Ses Souvenirs (poèmes) furent publiés par Dorigny, autre libraire rémois, en 1850. Mahon-Monaghan fut vice-consul et membre de nombreuses académies dont l'Académie impériale des arts, des sciences et des belles lettres de Bordeaux, de l'institut historique de France. Il fut distingué comme chevalier de la Légion d'honneur par le gouvernement de la France et de l'ordre de Saint-Sylvestre par le pape Pie IX.

Publications L'Araucanie et son Roi – 1872 - par Eugène Mahon de Monaghan Alfred Mahon Monaghan – 1873 – Nouvelle-France Étude historique, pittoresque et philosophique du royaume d'Araucanie

Les Rubans. Légende , 1840.

Femmes et fleurs, par Lacoste du Bouig et Eugène Mahon , 1841.

Les Voix du cœur , 1844.

Les Vauclusiens. Album de douze romans, 1847.

Souvenirs, 1850.

La nuit du 13 septembre, celle-là. 1850.

Guillaume le Taciturne, prince d'Orange, comte de Nassau, etc. et les Pays-Bas depuis l'abdication de Charles Quint jusqu'à l'an 1584 , 1853.

Souvenirs de Champagne, promenade à Saint-Martin d'Ablois , 1854.

Heures d'étude, mélanges politiques et littéraires , 1858.

Mémoires sur le port de Liverpool , 1858.

Robert le Frison : chronique frisonne et flamande du XIe siècle , 1860.

Prince Conradin, étude dramatique en vers , 1861.

La comédie au coin du feu, études dramatiques , 1861.

Guillaume et Marie, comédie (imitée par Goethe) , 1862.

Rome et la civilisation , 1863.

Études critiques sur l'Angleterre , 1863.

Contes du soir , 1863.

L'Église, la Réforme, la philosophie et le socialisme, au point de vue de la civilisation moderne , 1864.

L'Araucanie et son roi , Paris, E. Dentu, 1873, 70 p.

Rêves et réalités , 1875.

Contes émouvants , 1878.

Les tribulations de Pompeo , 1879.

Trois nouvelles à reproduire par les journaux ayant traité de la Société des gens de lettres , 1884.

Le drame de la rue de Condé , 1884.

Maison à louer, scène de vie intime , 1884

Livre audio gratuit : EUGENE-MAHON-DE-MONAGHAN - PEREZ D'AQUEVILLARubrique: histoire Lecture: Daniel Luttringer Durée : 37min Fichier: 28 Mo

Résumé du livre audio : Parue dans la revue La Nouvelle en 1846, une nouvelle historique de Eugène Mahon de Monaghan (1821-1868) sur la conjuration qui mit fin à la guerre de succession d'Autriche, aboutissant au traité d'Aix La Chapelle qui remit le duché de Parme, Plaisance et Guastalla à Philippe Ier, infant d'Espagne.

Cet enregistrement est mis à disposition sous la Licence art libre . Cet enregistrement est mis à disposition sous un contrat Creative Commons .

EN: Eugène Mahon de Monaghan - Born in Paris on 25 January 1821 and died on March 12- 1868, was French consul in Bologna, Journalist, writer and member of the Privy Council of the Kingdom of Araucania and Patagonia, during the reign of Napoleon III of France when he published a series of critical studies and pieces of poetry, published in different cities. His romantic relationship with Victor Fievet, the Sparnacian printer, brought him to Champagn , and gave him the opportunity to publish, in 1854, a Promenade à Saint-Martin-d'Ablois . His Heures d'études were published in Reims by Brissart in 1858. His Souvenirs (poems) were published by Dorigny, another bookseller from Reims, in 1850. Mahon-Monaghan was Vice Consul and Member of numerous academies including the Imperial academy of arts, Sciences et Belle Lettres de Bordeaux, de l’institut historique de France. He was distinguished as a knight of the Legion of Honor by the government of France and with the Order of Saint Sylvester by Pope Pius IX.

Publications L'Araucanie et son Roi – 1872 - by Eugene Mahon de Monaghan Alfred Mahon Monaghan – 1873 – New France Historical Picturesque and Philosophical Study of the Kingdom of Araucania

The Ribbons. Legend , 1840.

Women and flowers, by Lacoste du Bouig and Eugène Mahon , 1841.

Voices from the Heart , 1844.

The Vauclusians. Album of twelve romances , 1847.

Memories , 1850.

The night ofSeptember 13, That. 1850.

William the Silent, Prince of Orange, Count of Nassau, etc. and the Netherlands from the abdication of Charles V until the year 1584 , 1853.

Memories of Champagne, a walk in Saint-Martin d'Ablois , 1854.

Hours of study, political and literary mixtures , 1858.

Memoir on the Port of Liverpool , 1858.

Robert the Frisian: Frisian and Flemish chronicle of the 11th century , 1860.

Prince Conradin, dramatic study in verse , 1861.

The fireside comedy, dramatic studies , 1861.

William and Mary, comedy (imitated by Goethe) , 1862.

Rome and civilization , 1863.

Critical Studies on England , 1863.

Evening Stories , 1863.

The Church, the Reformation, philosophy and socialism, from the point of view of modern civilization , 1864.

Araucania and its king , Paris, E. Dentu, 1873, 70 p.

Dreams and Realities , 1875.

Moving Stories , 1878.

The Tribulations of Pompeo , 1879.

Three short stories to be reproduced by newspapers having dealt with the Society of Men of Letters , 1884.

The Drama of the Rue de Condé , 1884.

House for rent, scene of intimate life , 1884

Free audiobook: EUGENE-MAHON-DE-MONAGHAN - PEREZ D'AQUEVILLARubric: history Lecture: Daniel Luttringer Duration: 37min File: 28MB

Summary of the audiobook: Published in the magazine La Nouvelle in 1846, a new historical by Eugène Mahon de Monaghan (1821-1868) on the conjuration that ended the Austrian Succession War, resulting in the treaty of Aix La Chapelle that remanded the Duchy of Parma, Plaisance and Guastalla to Philippe I, Child of Spain.

This recording is made available under the Art Libre License. This recording is made available under a Creative Commons Agreement.

ES:

Eugène Mahon de Monaghan - Nacido en París el 25 de enero de 1821 y fallecido el 12 de marzo de 1868, fue cónsul francés en Bolonia, periodista, escritor y miembro del Consejo Privado del Reino de la Araucanía y la Patagonia, durante el reinado de Napoleón III cuando publicó una serie de estudios críticos y piezas de poesía, publicadas en diferentes ciudades. Su relación romántica con Victor Fievet, el impresor espagnol, lo llevó a Champagn, y le dio la oportunidad de publicar, en 1854, un Promenade à Saint-Martin-d'Ablois. Sus Horas de estudio fueron publicadas en Reims por Brissart en 1858. Sus Recuerdos (poemas) fueron publicados por Dorigny, otro librero de Reims, en 1850. Mahon-Monaghan fue vicecónsul y miembro de numerosas academias, entre ellas la Academia Imperial de Artes, Ciencias y Bellas Letras de Burdeos, del Instituto Histórico de Francia. Fue distinguido como caballero de la Legión de Honor por el gobierno de Francia y con la Orden de San Silvestre por el Papa Pío IX.

Publicaciones L'Araucanie et son Roi – 1872 - por Eugene Mahon de Monaghan Alfred Mahon Monaghan – 1873 – Nueva Francia Estudio histórico, pintoresco y filosófico del Reino de la Araucanía

Las cintas. Leyenda, 1840.

Mujeres y flores, por Lacoste du Bouig y Eugène Mahon, 1841.

Voces del corazón, 1844.

Los vauclusianos. Álbum de doce romances, 1847.

Recuerdos, 1850.

La noche del 13 de septiembre de 1847. 1850.

Guillermo el Taciturno, Príncipe de Orange, Conde de Nassau, etc. y los Países Bajos desde la abdicación de Carlos V hasta el año 1584, 1853.

Recuerdos de Champaña, un paseo por Saint-Martin d'Ablois, 1854.

Horas de estudio, mezclas políticas y literarias, 1858.

Memorias sobre el puerto de Liverpool, 1858.

Roberto el Frisón: Crónica frisia y flamenca del siglo XI, 1860.

El príncipe Conradino, estudio dramático en verso, 1861.

La comedia de la chimenea, estudios dramáticos, 1861.

Guillermo y María, comedia (imitada por Goethe), 1862.

Roma y la civilización, 1863.

Estudios críticos sobre Inglaterra, 1863.

Cuentos de la tarde, 1863.

La Iglesia, la Reforma, la filosofía y el socialismo, desde el punto de vista de la civilización moderna, 1864.

La Araucanía y su rey, París, E. Dentu, 1873, 70 p.

Sueños y realidades, 1875.

Cuentos conmovedores, 1878.

Las tribulaciones de Pompeo, 1879.

Tres cuentos para ser reproducidos por periódicos que hayan tratado con la Sociedad de Hombres de Letras, 1884.

El drama de la calle de Condé, 1884.

Casa en alquiler, escenario de la vida íntima, 1884

Audiolibro gratuito: EUGENE-MAHON-DE-MONAGHAN - PEREZ D'AQUEVILLARúbrica: historia Lectura: Daniel Luttringer Duración: 37min Archivo: 28MB

Resumen del audiolibro: Publicado en la revista La Nouvelle en 1846, un nuevo relato histórico de Eugène Mahon de Monaghan (1821-1868) sobre la conspiración que puso fin a la Guerra de Sucesión de Austria, dando como resultado el tratado de Aix La Chapelle que entregó el Ducado de Parma, Plaisance y Guastalla a Felipe I, hijo de España.

Esta grabación está disponible bajo la Licencia Art Libre. Esta grabación está disponible bajo un Acuerdo Creative Commons.

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【4K】コントゥドゥシャンパーニュ　Comtes de Champagne　2024年5月10日　May 10, 2024　#コントゥドゥシャン...

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Le château de Saint-Germain-en-Laye et le châtiment des juifs de Bray-sur-Seine

Pour le grand public, la ville de Saint-Germain-en-Laye est le centre d’entraînement du PSG ou le lieu de la fête millénaire des Loges, avec ses attractions populaires.

« La fête des Loges c’est depuis 1138, à l’époque c’est Saint Louis qui a lancé la première... »

Une fête très familiale à ne pas confondre avec la foire du Trône, cette rencontre annuelle de la racaille à la porte Dorée.

Pour le petit public, plus cultivé, Saint-Germain est la ville du fameux château où se reposaient des rois de France, aujourd’hui remplacé par le fort de Brégançon et la Lanterne (à Versailles), où le couple du prince et de la régente, Brigitte 1er, fuient les caméras.

C’est aussi là que le fils de François Hollande, l’avocat antiraciste Thomas, recevait ses copines et ses copains pour des parties pas très fines. Aujourd’hui, enfin, depuis 150 ans, le château est devenu un musée d’archéologie nationale, après avoir été désossé de ses dépendances – vendues au plus offrant – lors de la Révolution. Fin de la parenthèse culturelle républicaine.

C’est sur Wikipédia, qui recèle des trésors à la fois involontaires et intacts, que Jean-Michel Vernochet a déniché une sacrée perle...

Philippe Auguste construit en pierre une tour logis et entoure le palatio d’un mur de fortification. « À son retour de croisade, le roi était venu se reposer à Saint-Germain-en-Laye de ses fatigues, et, le 18 mars 1192, il en partit précipitamment, à l’insu de ses courtisans, pour aller à Bray-sur-Seine pour faire bonne justice de quelques juifs qui avaient mis à mort un chrétien. » En effet, en 1191, un Juif avait été tué par un chrétien qui, selon le chroniqueur Guillaume Le Breton dans sa Vie poétique de Philippe-Auguste, se trouvait incapable de rendre avec intérêts l’argent qu’il avait emprunté. Agnès de Baudement, connue sous le nom de Comtesse de Braine, mère de Robert de Dreux, faisait sa résidence à Bray au mois de mars 1191 peu avant Pâques. Des commerçants juifs avaient obtenu d’elle, au moyen de remises commerciales considérables, qu’elle leur livre le prisonnier. Ils s’emparèrent de lui et le conduisirent sur une place, où, après l’avoir publiquement dépouillé ils lui avaient attaché les mains derrière le dos et mis une couronne d’épine. Les Juifs l’avaient ensuite conduit par tout le bourg en l’accablant de coups de fouet, afin d’impressionner les autres habitants, puis ils l’avaient pendu. Arrivé à Bray, le roi Philippe-Auguste fit placer des gardes aux portes, se saisit de tous les Juifs, et en retint quatre-vingts qu’il condamna à être brûlés sur la même place.

Pour les juifs, il s’agissait d’une rumeur

À l’époque médiévale, se trouvait tous les 20 kms une communauté juive ou un groupement de Juifs. Ce qui permettait à un commerçant de se rendre d’une ville à une autre dans une seule journée et de pouvoir rentrer chez lui pour le Chabbat. Entre la Champagne, la Brie et le Gâtinais, il est facile de repérer les toponymes juif tels « Rue des Juifs », « Rue de la Juiverie », et notamment à Provins, Bray-sur-Seine, Coulommiers, Brie-Comte-Robert, Sens, Melun, Ivry-sur-Seine, etc. (...) Au XIIe siècle, Bray-sur-Seine avait une importante communauté juive, y compris les rabbins tels que Jacob le Tossafiste, et R. Isaac. Plusieurs commentateurs sont nés dans cette ville, tels R. Matathia et Phineas, et il y avait aussi quelques Juifs très riches. En 1191, après le meurtre d’un Chrétien qui avait lui-même tué un Juif, la rumeur courut qu’il aurait été crucifié par ces derniers. Aussi, sur ordre du roi Philippe Auguste, une centaine de Juifs furent brûlés dans cette ville en représailles. D’autres Juifs, pour refus de baptême, se laissent égorger. Après le bannissement de 1306, les Juifs reçurent l’autorisation de retourner s’installer à Bray-sur-Seine. (kkl.fr)

Cette histoire, incroyable aujourd’hui, nous rappelle le bûcher des 200 Talmud à Paris, (le livre était accusé d’être un substitut à la Bible), ordonné en 1242 par Saint Louis (Louis IX). Le Talmud avait été déclaré « infâme » par le tribunal. Les rabbins qui avaient défendu l’ouvrage lors du procès se barrèrent ensuite en Palestine.

Sept siècles, sept décennies et sept années plus tard (777 ans, d’après les calculs de Jovanovic), ce sera le grand incendie de Notre-Dame, soit le symbole de la chrétienté qui part en fumée.

Enfin, quatre ans après ce bûcher aux criminels fantômes, la Palestine est attaquée par les descendants de juifs d’Europe de l’est et du Maghreb, principalement, qui ont pris possession de ce pays arabe en 1948, suite à des tractations avec les autorités britanniques. Ces militaires qui assassinent des civils par milliers sont-ils influencés par le Talmud ? C’est toute la question.

E&R