#grim gest

[consequencesofargentdawn]

I might be incorrect but isn't the discord user St John who was threatening and sexually harassing a former Azure Dawn member one of Morsteth's aliases'? Screenshot were shares on the A3 thread.

That one is Morsteth's discord handle yes, correct. Former leader of the Grim Gest, who only was removed after doing the same to his own guild members.

[fdelopera]

Welcome to the 35th installment of 15 Weeks of Phantom, where I post all 68 sections of Le Fantôme de l’Opéra, as they were first printed in Le Gaulois newspaper 114 yeas ago.

In today’s installment, we have Part III of Chapter 14, “La lyre d’Apollon” (“Apollo’s Lyre”).

This section was first printed on Tuesday, 16 November, 1909.

For anyone following along in David Coward’s translation (the link is to the Kindle edition on Amazon US), the text starts in Chapter 13 at Christine’s line, “Discover the truth!... Raoul!... Wake from the nightmare?...,” and goes to Christine's description, “My ghostly captor noticed for, with a quick gesture, he dismissed Caesar who ran off into the darkness of the gallery where I heard his iron shoes clatter on echoing steps.”

There are some differences between the standard 1st Edition text and the Gaulois text. In this section, these include (highlighted in red above):

1) Chapter 14 in the Gaulois text is Chapter 13 in the 1st Edition, etc.

2) In the Gaulois text, Christine describes the chandelier as having crashed onto the "parterre," while in the 1st Edition text she describes it as having crashed onto the "parquet." Both words refer to the front area of the audience, i.e. the stalls or orchestra.

3) "La voix" (the voice) is uncapitalized in this place in the Gaulois, whereas in the 1st Edition it is "La Voix," capitalized. (In both editions, "la Voix" is inconsistently capitalized.)

4) Compare the Gaulois text:

Cependant, la petite lueur rouge nous avait suivis. C'était une lanterne sourde, posée par terre, qui éclairait le jaillissement d'une fontaine.

("Yet, the faint red glow had followed us. It was a bull’s-eye lantern, set upon the ground, which cast its light upon a gushing fountain.")

To the 1st Edition:

Une lanterne sourde, posée par terre, éclairait le jaillissement d’une fontaine.

("A bull’s-eye lantern, set upon the ground, cast its light upon a gushing fountain.")

5) Compare the Gaulois text:

...je pensais que j'étais sous l'influence redoutable de quelque élixir.

("I thought I must be under the fearsome influence of some elixir.")

To the 1st Edition:

...je pensais que j’étais sous l’influence bienfaisante de quelque élixir.

("I thought I must be under the benign influence of some elixir.")

6) This line was included in the Gaulois text (but omitted from the 1st Edition:

Je me disais : Quand nous arrêterons-nous ? Quand arriverons-nous ?...

("I said to myself: 'When will we stop? When will we reach our destination?'")

7) Compare the Gaulois text:

"Mon sinistre compagnon dut s’en apercevoir, car, d’un geste rapide, il me saisit et, d'un sifflement, congédia César..."

("My grim companion must have noticed this, for with a quick movement, he grabbed me, and with a whistle, he sent César away...")

To the 1st Edition:

"Mon sinistre compagnon dut s’en apercevoir, car, d’un geste rapide, il congédia César..."

("My grim companion must have noticed this, for with a quick movement, he sent César away...")

8) Minor differences in punctuation and capitalization.

Click here to see the entire edition of Le Gaulois from 16 November, 1909. This link brings you to page 3 of the newspaper — Le Fantôme is at the bottom of the page in the feuilleton section. Click on the arrow buttons at the bottom of the screen to turn the pages of the newspaper, and click on the Zoom button at the bottom left to magnify the text.

[legionofmyth]

[Hour 3 of 3] James "Grim" Desborough | Wightchester: Prison City of Ye Damned | Horror Genre

Wightchester: Prison City of Ye Damned [PDF]Wightchester: Support Material [PDF][Part 3 of 3] – James “Grim” Desborough joins 🐲 RPG Die Gest 🐉 to talk about his 500 page campaign sourcebook, Wightchester: Prison City of the Damned, a historically inspired zombie / undead survival setting for your Dungeons & Dragons 5E, Old School Renaissance, and Mork Borg tabletop role-playing games. After this…

[maclee547832]

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[dentalyadav]

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[909hold]

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[cafes-et-friandises]

✧  Un dédale de Roses

RESUME | Une des rares occasion où Heartslabyul semble calme, personne dans les environs, un week-end tranquille sans qu’une règle ne vienne perturbé la journée, sans que deux premiers années et un Grim ne soit dans tes pattes, le rêve calme autour d’un bon thé.

INTERÊT | Riddle Rosehearts

GENRE | Fluffy  |  Début de Romance  |  Fem!Reader  | Un peu trop doux

WARNING | Rien à signaler

­

La tasse de thé au jasmin fumante entre les mains, tu regardais distraitement les roses peintes autour de toi. L’air doux caressait tes cheveux, tandis qu’une nouvelle fois, comme un manège sans fin, tu portas la tasse en porcelaine à tes lèvres. Un simple gorgé, le liquide chaud roulant le long de ta gorge, alors qu’avec rêvasserie, tu laissais ton regard se perdre sur les fleurs aux pétales de rouges. Elles étaient magnifiques, sans aucun conteste, mais tu savais aussi qu’essayer d’en prendre une te blesserait, sans oublier la colère folle que te réserverait le chef de dortoir d’Heartslabyul. Même si son collier ne te ferait rien, ses mots tranchant et son regard rouge de colère te laisserait des sueurs froides le long de ton dos. Rien que d’y passer, ton visage pâlit alors qu’une sueur froide roulait le long de ta colonne vertébrale, t’électrisant.  

­ 

    ─   «  Le thé est-il assez chaud ? » S’inquiéta Riddle, mais son expression restait de marbre, laissant son regard acier te saisir au corps, pour te détailler de haut en bas. Il était assis juste en face de toi, une table en fer de jardin vous s’éparant, ses jambes croisées l’une sur l’autre, sa coupelle de porcelaine dans une main, sa tasse tenue avec raffinement dans l’autre. Il était confortablement installé sur son siège. « Serait-ce impoli ? Mais... Votre regard et vos traits ont palis, j’ai donc pensé que le thé n’était pas à votre goût. » Se conforta-t-il dans l’idée, alors que bien évidemment cela faisait déjà une bonne dizaine de minutes que tu sirotais son infusion en silence.  

 ─   « Il est parfait, ne vous inquiétez pas Riddle-san. » Soufflas-tu en seule réponse détournant ton regard sur le côté. 

­ 

Prise en flagrant délit, tu ne pouvais décemment pas lui répondre avec ce qui te trottait dans la tête. C’était comme si, dès maintenant, tu disais adieux à celle-ci, un collier pendant autour de ton cou nu. Une petite goulée d’air frais, tu essayais tant bien que mal d’effacer les légères petites rougeur qui essayaient de marquer tes pommettes de leur présence. Maintenant consciente du regard qu’il posait sur toi, depuis le début de votre rendez-vous, si c’était vraiment le cas, tu sentais comme de l’argent en fusion glisser sur chacun de tes traits, te détaillant comme si tu allais disparaître, ou comme si Riddle n’en avait jamais assez de t’observer. Définitivement, ses yeux s’ancraient sur ta peau, terminant ton thé d’une dernière gorgé salvatrice, ta tasse retrouva bien vite sa sœur jumelle, la coupelle en porcelaine. D’un geste, que tu essayais d’emprunté de l’élégance de Riddle, celle-ci se retrouva bien vite reposante sur la table en fer qui vous séparait le chef de dortoir et toi. Une contenance retrouvée, ton regard se redressa vers ton compagnon, chassant d’un revers de la main ton gloussement quand il détourna rapidement à son tour le regard.

 ­ 

─    « Je ne savais pas que vous m’observiez Riddle-san... » Soufflas-tu à ton tour.

­ ­ 

Tu savais parfaitement que Riddle reprendrait ses investigations sur les pensées qui t’habitait, et tu n’étais pas sûre de vouloir y répondre. C’était à ton tour de poser les questions, te replaçant confortablement sur ton dossier, tu pris un fin sourire, ne le lâchant pas du regard à ton tour, essayant de paraître la plus innocente possible.

­ ­ 

─   « Il semblerait que ce soit le cas. A votre contraire, je peux profiter pleinement de la vue des roses quand je le souhaites, donc... » Le roux s’arrêta presque instantanément dans sa réplique, se joue se mirent furieusement à brûler, tandis qu’il plaçait une main devant ses lèvres et l’autre devant toi en guise de stop, pour que tu ne continues pas sa réplique.  « Oublies ce que j’ai dit. »

─   « Me regarder te semble plus intéressant ? ~» Minaudas-tu, tandis que ses pommettes prenaient une nouvelle teinte de rouge, si cela était humainement possible. Cachant son visage derrière l’une de ses mains, tu savais parfaitement que le chef de dortoir n’était ni plus ni moins qu’un désordre rougissant. « Ton visage est si honnête, j’ai... ~ »

─   « C’est absurde ! » Clama-t-il les joues rouges, ses mains claquant sur la table en fer à demi debout penché en avant, tandis qu’il ancrait ses billes aciers dans ton regard (c/y), l’air furieux au visage. Celui-ci déchanta bien vite, en te voyant te ratatiner sur son siège, détournant rapidement le regard de lui, une pâleur rare habitant ta peau. « ... Je ne voulais pas te faire peur... C’est que... »

─   « Je suis allée trop loin, désolée. » Ta voix se fit plus basse, tandis que ton regard se prenait de passion pour une rose traînant en bas d’un buisson, évitant de le regard de peur de ne pas pouvoir dire tes prochains mots. « Je pensais que nous étions assez proches pour ce genre de flirt, mais... Je me suis sûrement trompé, pas vrai ? »

─   « Non ! » 

 ­ 

Surprise. Ton regard se releva rapidement, se détachant de la rose pour rencontrer l’homme à qui avait appartenu cette voix forte. Il était là, debout, son cœur battant la chamade, alors que sa gorge se nouait légèrement. Tu le sentais chancelant, comme si pour la première fois de sa vie il allait s’effondrer, ni de peur, ni de pleurs, ni de tristesse. Son cœur débordait, depuis la première fois où son regard s’était posé sur toi, depuis la première fois où son cœur avait raté un battement, qu’il avait ignoré d’un revers de main, depuis la première fois où ton sourire avait été pour lui, depuis ces premières fois, il avait compris qu’il était tombé. Il ne pouvait rien y faire, son cœur ignorait sa raison, remplissant ses pensées de ton sourire, de tes petites attentions et il le savait, il ne pourrait jamais rien y faire, son cœur était à toi.

 ­ 

─    « Pas du tout... » Murmura-t-il, si son regard s’était détourné un instant de toi, rapidement, il s’était replongé dans tes billes (c/y). « Je... N’y suis pas habitué, mais si c’est toi... Je suis d’accord. »

­ 

Pendant tu ne savais combien de temps, tes lèvres formèrent un magnifique o, tandis que petit à petit, tu comprenais ce que voulais dire ses mots. Une main se plaça devant tes lèvres, alors qu’irrémédiablement, un sourire conquis d’amour se fendait déjà dessus. Ton regard n’arrivait pas à quitter son visage rougissant, ses billes argent incertaines qui regardaient avec tant d’appréhension et d’amour, tandis qu’il serrait ses poings sur la table en fer entre vous. Il était tellement adorable. Tu te retenais de bondir de ta chaise pour le prendre entre tes bras en clamant à tue-tête à quel point : « Il est adorablement mignon. ».

­ 

─    « Je... Ne le ferai que si c’est toi. »

­ ­ 

­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ Retour à la Masterlist

[french-obeyme-twistedwonderland]

French/Français : Leona Kingscholar X Readerfem! provocatrice

Pour la compréhension de tous, le Reader est une femme et possède la capacité de renforcer ses muscles. Cependant, ça la fatigue énormément ! Bonne lecture.

Pas de Lémon/nsfw

_____________________________________________________

Durant la nuit, j'entends au loin Grim tousser. Ce n'est pas de la comédie j'ai l'impression.

C'est au lever du jour que je constate que mon compagnon de chambre grelotte, m'approchant, je le réveille doucement et il m'annonce ne pas se sentir bien. Soupirante, je lui fais remarquer qu'il avait pris un bain froid soi-disant pour que ses poils soient doux. Me râlant dessus, il éternue tout en se pelotant sous la couette. Touchant son front, je lui demande de m'attendre le temps que je me prépare. Vêtement et masque enfilé, je pose sur mes épaules mon manteau puis y met Grim sur moi avant de refermer le tout. Je dois le maintenir à sa température, le pauvre n'a même plus la force de protester.

Dans l'allée principale, j'ai l'air d'une femme enceinte mais la tête de Grim ressort un peu pour prendre l'air. Entendant mes amis au loin, je les salue puis Deuce s'inquiète de ma santé en pensant me servir de Grim comme d'un chauffage. Chose à quoi je réponds en exposant l'intelligence de mon compagnon. Ace se moque de lui mais le pauvre est tellement faible qu'il a seulement la force de le regarder méchamment. J'annonce au garçon que je pars afin d'amener Grim à l'infirmerie. Ace me conseille de ne pas arriver en retard au cours de Crewel et j'hoche simplement la tête.

L'animal déposé, le mot d'excuse de son absence et de mon retard en poche, je fonce directement en cour. Lorsque mon professeur ferme la porte, j'arrive à m'engouffrer dans celle-ci sous les petits applaudissements d'Ace. Il n'en rate pas une !

- Puis-je savoir la raison de votre retard Fuyu, me demande Crewel menaçant.

- Eh bien, ris-ai-je un peu en voyant son fouet frapper doucement sa main. Grim est tombé malade, je l'ai amené à l'infirmerie... Voici nos mots.

- Hum, prononce-t-il en les regardant. Je vais prendre votre mot de retard, espérant que ce genre de chose ne se reproduise pas.

- Oui monsieur, m'excuse-ai-je en m'asseyant.

- Bien, mise à part l'absence de Grim... Tout le monde est présent. Le proviseur a jugé bon de vous offrir un avant-goût de ce que vous aurez lors des deux prochaines années. Pour ce faire, vous serez sous la tutelle d'un de vos aînés durant une journée complète. Cette journée se déroulera demain, comptant sur vous pour vous comporter comme de bon chiot face à vos aînés. Si j'ai vent d'un quelconque comportement indésirable, vous aurez le droit à une punition exemplaire.

- Oui, annonce tout le monde.

- Bien, sur ce, commençons.

Durant le cour, je me concentre du mieux que je peux, demain risque d'être fort intéressant !

En sortant de la classe, quelqu'un me rentre dedans, sous mes protestations, j'y aperçoit Leona. Bon sang, son commentaire sur le fait que je lui ai rentré dedans m'agace. Je lui fais remarquer que je sors de ma classe et qu'il est un peu sur mon chemin. Il réplique que c'est son chemin et qu'il ne m'a pas vu à cause de ma taille. Protestant pour défendre mon 1 mètre 70 si chèrement acquis, il souffle simplement des narines avant de partir. Deuce me conseille de ne pas trop l'énerver mais Ace m'encourage à entrer dans cette voie. Me tournant vers eux, j'annonce que je ne pense pas être avec Leona pour demain. Avouant même que ce serais le comble de tomber sur lui comme accompagnant demain. Après tout, je vais seulement apprendre à sécher les cours et à procrastiner.

Lors de nos attributions, je regarde en rage l'emploi du temps ainsi que le nom de mon accompagnateur

- Vous sentez cette odeur les gars, demande-ai-je.

- Laquelle, me demande Deuce.

- L'odeur de la putain d'ironie, dis-je en montrant ma feuille. J'ai Leona Kingscholar.

- Super, râle la voix de mon accompagnateur. De tous les herbivores potables, il fallait que je tombe sur la pire.

- Je te rassure, t'es pas un cadeau.

- Tu devras me suivre et ne pas trop faire de bruit. C'est une chance pour toi de te tenir à mes côtés alors ne la gâche pas inutilement.

- Oui, oncle Leona, souris-ai-je.

Sous ses grognements, Crewel nous souhaite une bonne journée. Regardant les garçons, ils m'envoient tout leur courage et leur soutien. Allez, courage T.P, c'est juste 8 heures à être à ses côtés. Même si ce sera 8 heures de luttes acharnées. Attendant qu'il parte, je regarde notre emploi du temps, c'est cour de potion. En plus avec Crewel, ça risque de donner. Mais je ne tiens pas à lui donner raison, à la moindre occasion, je prends le bâton qu'il me tend pour lui frapper les chevilles.

Après avoir enfilé nos tenues de chimiste, je me tiens prête à voir ce que donne les cours de potions. Se plaçant au centre de la pièce, le but est d'aider nos aînés dans la préparation d'une potion. Celle-ci demandant à être préparé avec le plus grand soin, celui qui dirige le tout est notre aîné mais le professeur nous offre tout de même les étapes ainsi que des photos en couleur comme référence. Au moment où la feuille tombe dans mes mains, Leona s'empresse de la prendre en m'ordonnant de ne pas trop interférer dans sa manière de faire.

Non mais ! Pour le moment, et même si ça m'embête, je me surprends à admirer sa précision concernant les dosages. Je me contente de faire les mélanges de mon côté afin de bien être vu par le professeur. Quand la prochaine étape arrive, je prends l'ingrédient mais Leona m'arrête en disant que je me trompe. Je lui répète que non en se basant sur ce que pouvait donner cet ingrédient avec la couleur sur la fiche. Riant à mon nez, je prépare rapidement la potion pour arriver à la même étape. Tendant le tout à Leona, je lui annonce qu'on va voir qui a gagné. Lorsque le professeur passe à côté de nous, il nous demande la raison pour lesquels il y a deux potions. Souriante, je coupe Leona qui allait se donner raison, j'explique alors au professeur qu'on a eu un différent et qu'il voulait voir qui avait raison dans l'histoire. Regardant Leona, j'ajoute que même nos ainés peuvent faire des erreurs. Le prof hoche simplement la tête tandis que Leona grogne toute sa haine sur moi en disant simplement avoir de la chance. Il ne veut simplement pas avouer que j'ai eu raison.

Au cours de Trein, je ne suis pas étonnée de le voir dormir en moins de 3 secondes. Voyons le bon côté des choses, il fait acte de présence. Remarquant le regard du professeur sur mon accompagnateur, je le réveille brutalement en lui marchant sur le pied. Râlant de ce que j'ai fait, le professeur demande à Leona de ne pas amener une de ses élèves prometteuses vers le bas. Je souris alors et remercie le professeur de ce compliment. En y ajoutant même, à voix basse, que ma présence pourra peut-être l'aider.

En sport, je m'échauffe avec Leona qui ne semble toujours pas ravis. C'est un 500 mètres, bien que je ne doute pas des capacités de mon partenaire, j'aimerai voir jusqu'où peuvent aller mes pouvoirs. Un renforcement musculaire n'use pas beaucoup de magie, j'ai appris à respirer avec Deuce et Jack. En plus de savoir correctement courir ! Le lion ne refusera jamais un défi, surtout si c'est une question de fierté.

- Leona, dis-je. On peut courir à deux et voir qui fera le moins de temps possible ?

- Tu oses me défier, demande Leona. Tu n'es qu'une herbivore.

- As-tu peur de perdre ?

- La victoire serait trop facile, ris Leona.

- Eh bien, ça sera une occasion de me faire taire.

Tapant doucement son torse, son regard et ses gestes veulent tout dire. Les élèves semblent déglutir mais Rook, lui, semble s'intéresser par la tournure des événements. Nous nous plaçons tous les deux sur la piste, je me sens prête ! Au coup de sifflet, nous commençons à courir. Au départ, mes muscles sont à peine renforcés et un petit écart se creuse. Lui tirant la langue, un grognement rageur traverse sa gorge où il commence à accélérer. Quand l'écart est beaucoup trop grand, je commence à faire bouger rapidement mes jambes ainsi que ma magie afin d'arriver à sa hauteur. Même si c'est dur de maintenir le tout sur 500 mètres, le désir de lui faire ravaler son clapet m'aide à avancer. Sur les derniers mètres, nous franchissons la ligne d'arriver en même temps où le prof annonce également le temps que nous avons effectués. Reprenant mon souffle, je m'avoue accepter un ex-aequo. Pour ne pas trop perdre la face. Cependant, Léona n'a pas l'air d'accepter car il considère ça comme une défaite, l'ai-je poussé à bout ?

Après les cours, je pars rejoindre mes amis mais Leona m'amène dans un coin isolé afin de me coincer contre un mur.

- Si t'essayes de me pousser à bout, annonce Leona. T'as réussi.

- Merci, souris-ai-je. Cette journée a été très instructif pour moi.

- Pff, la seule chose que tu faisais été de me casser les pieds.

- Vraiment, dis-je un peu rouge en sentant son souffle sur mon visage. Je suis ravie alors.

- Comment je peux faire taire cette bouche, se demande Leona en rapprochant son visage du mien.

- Eh bien, il y a différentes manières. Mais je ne suis pas sûr qu'elle te convienne.

- Mais j'imagine qu'elle convient à toi. Tu es vraiment la seule personne qui a su sortir de ma zone de confort.

Je le remercie de ce compliment, glisse mes mains sur ses côtes. Me délectant de son regard chaud sur moi puis de la forme de ses muscles, je le tourne contre le mur. Attendant surement que je fasse quelque chose, je frôle mes lèvres avec les siennes. J'ai envie de me jeter dans ses bras mais ce serait lui donner raison. M'éloignant sous sa frustration, je rejoins mes amis en jetant un dernier regard à Leona.

Mais ce jeu à l'air de lui plaire.

[challito]

A Rescuer and a Refugee

Like a high tide, blood washed quickly and fully to the Tainted’s cheeks. In most cases, it was almost impossible to tell when he was blushing, one of the benefits of naturally crimson skin. However, as Aristotle watched Lili rush to his backpack, shoulder it, and bow her head in a subservient way, he blushed. Aristotle blushed so intensely that his red cheeks flushed deeper and redder than they ever had been before.

Every eye on the street bored into him. Each of them shooting disgust directly his way. Aristotle was used cold glances from strangers. Mostly it was due to the way he looked. His demonic heritage, or genetic defect or whatever trick of fate had caused his birth to be polluted with horns, a tail and crimson skin. However, this time the cause of the looks was very different. It was because he was so far west that the inhabitants of this back-water city actually believed him to be an genuine slaver.

Slavers were tolerated in Pelaius, but certainly not welcomed. Slavers often found that while visiting, inn prices were exorbitantly higher, food and drink became astronomically more expensive and the locals developed a crude habit of cursing under their breath. Aristotle quite admired all this except for the fact that now, only a short time after the sun had risen, he was being mistaken for one such slaver.

“Give me my pack.” He whispered to Lili.

The halfling flushed but refused to hand it over.

“Give it to me, you stupid girl.” Aristotle whispered again as he desperately reached out for the pack. Lili flinched away at the sight of his hand.

The air felt like it suddenly grew a lot colder around the Tainted. He had just confirmed the on-looker’s false suspicions of him being a slaver. Not only that, but in addition he had unintentionally taken on the illusion of a particularly abusive one.

“A right cunt, to be sure.” A grizzled, old man spat as he shouldered Aristotle out of the way.

“Please.” Begged Aristotle, feeling his tail reflexively curl around his leg in fear. “Please give me my bag back.”

“I happily carry your burdens, master.” Lili replied without lifting her head.

“No. No, don’t call me that. That’s not funny.” He said.

“It was not meant in gest.” She replied.

Aristotle felt his mouth set into a grim, straight line before he turned and led them away from where they stood. He wasn’t exactly sure where he was leading the two of them. All he knew was that he needed to get away from the large group of people that wanted to doll out horrific punishment.

Truth be told Aristotle whole heartedly agreed with their intentions. In most cases, he would have even joined in the hurling of insults and abuses. If he thought he’d had more time, he would have explained happily that he was a student of the Eastern University. By simple fact of his education and the people he rubbed shoulders with, his political leanings were sure to be far more open minded and liberal. Not to mention, likely far more opposed to slavery than the throng of angry citizens that was slowly growing around them. He would have happily explained this and so much more. However, when he started to see weapons being brandished within the crowd of people, he decided against it. Instead he hurried down the cobbled street as quickly as he could with Lili running at his heels to keep up.

Every street they turned down; it was much the same. Aristotle was dressed in fine clothing and couldn’t help but walk with an air of educated dignity that the university had instilled in him. Lili, on the other hand was a stooped halfling, barely cresting a metre. She was dressed in simple linen garments and although she carried Aristotles heavy bag with practiced ease, it practically brushed the ground as she walked.

Every time they rounded another corner, people would take one look at them and clock them as a slaver and his slave. Aristotle really couldn’t blame them. Lili played her part so well he half believed he was walking beside a genuine slave of Pentos.

The actuality of that idea was a complete impossibility. Aristotle knew only too well that all slaves of Pentos were branded with a magical seal that would cause the branded to become sicker and sicker the further offshore they went. 10 kilometres offshore, all slaves would die. There were shackles and other accessories that could dampen the effects for when slavers needed to travel, but Lili wore none that he could see.

So, when they found themselves on a particularly quiet street Aristotle bent down to Lili’s level and addressed her without much patience at all. “Okay. You’ve had your fun. Now give me my bag.”

Lili only stooped her head lower. “I’m sorry for upsetting you Master, but I couldn’t bare if someone were to see you carrying your own bag. It would shame me. It’s only proper if I do it.”

“The whole point is for people to see. I want everyone to see me carrying my own damn bag and you not carrying a thing. “

There was a long pause before Lili met Aristotles eye for the briefest of moments. “What do you mean?”

“You’re about to convince this whole city that I’m an actual slaver. Combined with these darlings,” Aristotle touched his horns. “It’s a fantastic recipe to get me lynched.”

Lili met Aristotles eyes for a much longer time. “I…I don’t understand.”

“Then listen very carefully. Give me back my bag. And then…I don’t know. Just walk beside me like we’re friends or something.” Aristotle held out his hand for the bag.

Slowly, reluctantly, Lili took off Aristotles bag and handed it back to him. He slung it over his shoulders with a sigh of relief. He looked around him. The hatred in the dirty looks that surrounded him seemed to lose their edge ever so slightly. Now they only searched him with nervous suspicion because of the colour of his skin. And the horns, the horns never helped.

Despite copious goading, Lili never inched closer than a step behind Aristotle. As they walked further into the city the smell of sea air was replaced by the mangled smells of animal droppings, cooking food and warm bodies. When they attempted to find a new outfit for the halfling, they found most of the city was already talking about them. “A Halfling slave and her Tainted slaver.” Aristotle only had to be denied entry into one tailor before he swiftly procured them passage out of the city.

An old trader happily agreed to their free passage to Dusk Harbour. Unfortunately, Aristotles pleasant surprise at the generous gesture soured within the hour. It turned out that the older trader was also a staunch sympathizer of Pentos and the old confederacies. Aristotle sat in muted hatred as their chauffer carefully described all the benefits for legal slavery.

When they alighted at Dusk Harbour, the old bigot threw out a hand sign that was so archaic and troublesome it was no longer even used in gest. Lili responded with the slave’s variation. Aristotle stared at them both dumbly and hoped that no one in the town had seen even a moment of the exchange.

The sun was setting as they entered the quiet port town. It was only that morning that Aristotle had rescued Lili. They had escaped the city an hour later and spent the rest of the day on a cart talking about slavery and how wonderful it apparently was. Aristotle still felt unconvinced.

If Aristotle was truthful with himself, he knew that rescue was the wrong choice of word. In his reckoning rescues implied breaking and entering under the cover of night and daring fencing duels down narrow corridors. They encompassed the humiliation of evil captors and incredibly grateful damsels or bachelors in distress.

In truth, the Tainted had found Lili behind a brewery while he was looking for a spot to piss. He’s actually given up searching for her 2 days earlier. Their first conversation had been extremely awkward and the only person that had felt humiliated was himself.

He tried to put that behind him as he found lodging for the night. The woman that owned the only inn allowed them to stay in the stables. They had to promise not to be seen and to leave before the sun came up. As a Tainted in these parts, Aristotle was simply grateful not to be run out of town with his tail between his legs.

When the innkeeper asked if Lili was his slave, Aristotle shook his head and begged her not to spread that idea around. He dropped a few extra copper Tinc in the innkeeper’s hand and found the most secluded corner of the stable to bed down in. Lili had unpacked his bedroll and laid it out before he had noticed.

Conversation was sparse among the dank hay. Rain pattered the wooden slats above their heads and the few horses that were stabled shifted restlessly the whole night. Aristotle woke several times to pray that the locals didn’t try to burn the structure down while he was inside. In the end, the Tainted’s mounting anxiety had the benefit of them securing a particularly early start on the day.

Aristotle repaid the innkeepers kindness by stealing some of her children’s clothes. Of course, they were for Lili to wear. At least now she would look like a farm girl instead of someone who kept being mistaken for a slave. It never once occurred to Aristotle to change his own attire. He did leave a generous silver tile as payment and whispered a silent apology.

The journey from Dusk Harbour to Port Demahsi would have taken them 10 days had they not stopped for an extra two at an old Dwarven couples’ house that constantly smelled of roasting wood. The couple were by profession a tailor and a cobbler. The idea was to have something made for Lili that would help her fit in more easily in Ketrosi.

Lili found the idea of choosing fabric or design completely impossible, only adding to Aristotles frustration with her. The Tailor was sure they were pulling farce or prank. So, the Tainted spent most of the second day cleaning gutters and performing other feats of manual labour as way of apology.

That afternoon a messenger stopped for a spot of gossip with the Tailor and the cobbler. She told them of a small force of Pentosi infantry that was causing trouble in Pelaius. Apparently, the infantry were trying to go door to door looking for an escapee of the Empire. When the messenger left the militia of Pelaius was trying to force the Pentosi troops back onto their boats. Once the messenger left, Aristotle decided it was best he and Lili left too.

It wasn’t until a day out of Ketrosi that Aristotle was finally determined enough to get to the bottom of the Halflings poor behaviour. They’d made camp, it was Lili’s turn to prepare something to eat and he could tell she was uncomfortable. Whenever he asked her about it, she just bowed her head and turned away until eventually, she wet herself.

They had stared at each other for a long time after that before tears silently rolled down Lili’s cheeks. It was the pathetic, helpless depression he had witnessed many times at the university. The kinds of sobbing that said “I should have studied more. I should have planned. Now I stand on the precipice of something I am totally unprepared for.”

“It’s okay.” Aristotle whispered, moving toward the halfling. “Everyone’s done it at some point.”

Lili responded only by flinching away.

“Why don’t you go down to the river and clean off. I’ll finish dinner.” He continued.

Lili shook her head and turned some carrots that were roasting above the fire. “Why are you pretending to be so nice to me?”

For some reason, it was that sentence that cracked Aristotles dammed up frustration and cause it to come spilling forth. “Pretending? How much more do I have to do to prove that I’m not pretending? I rescued you from a city I could have been killed in because of the colour of my skin. I’ve led you across half the country. I stole some child’s clothes for you! I’ve never done so much for my own father.

“I don’t know what it’s like where you come from. I don’t know how your family treated you, or how you treated the slaves you owned. I’m here for a job. I got asked to collect a short, blonde, noblewoman from Pentos who was seeking refuge. So, the real question, is why in the gods damned world are you making this so difficult for me?”

Lili and Aristotle locked eyes then, for the longest time they ever had. It was Aristotle that looked away first.

“Sorry. I…I know it must be impossible to leave everything you know and seek refuge in another country. I’m sorry.”

“Why did you say I was a noblewoman?” Lili asked at length.

“The people that asked me to find you said you were.”

“I am not.”

Aristotle scratched his chin. “A noblewoman’s daughter then? A merchant, an Artisan, a courtesan?”

Lili shook her head. “I’m a slave of Pentos.” She said quietly.

Very delicately, Lili lowered the kerchief that she’d worn tied around her neck. Behind it hid a raised brand of an ornate P with a slightly glowing slash carved through it. Aristotles eyes went wide with recognition and she hid it again.

A maelstrom of questions and realizations buffeted the Tainted’s mind. How was she alive this far away from Pentos? That was first, next was the fact that he was travelling with one of the most coveted foreign goods of Pentos, and that if anyone were to figure that out, they would most likely kill him. Then came all the clues he’d witnessed over the course of the last month or so and completely ignored. Lastly came the image of a battalion of Pentosi infantry, the most feared and deadly warriors in all the known world.

It was another fact entirely that caused Aristotle to begin to sweat. He felt his knees grow weak and slowly lowered himself to the ground. He felt nausea wash over him and was thankful that he had not yet eaten. Lili watched him carefully, a look of concern growing on her face.

“What is it?” She asked finally.

“If you’re not a noblewoman.” Aristotle said. “Then I believe that I have left something very important indeed at that back-water, port city of Pelaius.”

[handeaux]

Pranks & Put-Ons Mark Old-Time Cincinnati April Fools’ Days

Readers of the Cincinnati Enquirer gasped in astonishment one day in 1887 as they read how Jocko, the headliner elephant at the Cincinnati Zoo, burst his cage, raided the park’s barroom and stumbled through a crazy bender, smashing cages and trampling flowers, finally charging a tourist train and beaning himself against the locomotive.

Astute subscribers would have noticed the publication date. Yes, it was April 1, and the entire pachydermic escapade, illustrations and all, was fiction, an elaborate April Fools’ joke.

History explains why Zoo administrators may still cringe whenever the first day of April rolls around. Do kids still ask unsuspecting adults to telephone the Zoo and return a call from Mister Fox? There are undoubtedly Cincinnatians still living who participated in such tomfoolery. (Your proprietor pleads the Fifth.) Those phone calls to the Zoo were considered old-fashioned even 98 years ago, according to the Cincinnati Post [1 April 1922]:

“There was nothing new in the way of April fool jokes Saturday except the boobs who fell for them. Avon 134, the Zoo telephone, was as busy with calls from persons who wished to talk to Mr. Baer, Mr. Wolf and Mr. Lyon as it was on the day the joke first came from the feeble mind that invented it.”

According to the Post, a lot of people also called the dog pound, asking for Mr. Barker.

Cincinnati’s police and fire departments used to get their share of April Fool prank calls. In 1874, a cop named Murphy used the police telegraph system to report a fire at the corner of Sixth and Stone streets. Needless to say, there was no Murphy on duty and Sixth Street did not intersect Stone.

Even the local courts engaged in the spirit of misrule. On 1 April 1921, Police Court magistrate W. Meredith Yeatman gazed upon four sorry miscreants, charged with stealing rides on freight trains. The judge solemnly intoned a sentence of thirty days and a fifty-dollar fine, plus costs. As the defendants groaned, the judge brightened up and announced that was an April Fool joke. (He did order the men to leave town within three hours.)

In 1904, the president of the truck drivers’ union, John Mullen, saw one of his members dashing frantically down the street, still struggling into his coat. Mullen asked the cause of his agitated flight and the teamster shouted that he was late for work, it being after 5:00 a.m. Mullen informed him that the bells were just about to ring 1:00 a.m. and the teamster shamefacedly trundled home to confront his mischievous landlady.

How far back did Cincinnati endure April Fool hoaxes? Pretty far back, as it turns out – all the way back to 1849. In 1904, retired house painter Charles Stewart decided to celebrate his 55th wedding anniversary by getting a new marriage certificate to replace the original, lost some years before. As Marriage License Clerk Fred Bader issued the official duplicate, he noted the date of Stewart’s original marriage – 1 April 1849. Stewart confessed that, when he told his friends back in 1849 he had married pretty Martha Dawson that morning, they all thought it was an April Fool joke.

Reading about vintage pranks, it strikes the modern reader how casually cruel our ancestors could be. As you might expect, some old-fashioned tricks included exploding cigars or soap-filled cream puffs, but some could be dangerous and even fatal.

A group of Price Hill boys hauled a dozen empty coal oil cans up a hill at the western end of Gest Street for April Fool entertainment in 1872, and set them on fire. For added effect, they had filled one of the cans halfway with gasoline. When the inevitable explosion rocked the city, newspapers sent reporters scurrying to locate the cause. By then, they boys were in the wind, thankfully unharmed.

In 1901, someone sent word to a Covington widow that her son had been run over by a delivery wagon and was dying in a Dow drug store in Cincinnati. The elderly woman and her daughter hired a cab and raced to almost every Dow outlet in the city, being informed at each one that no one injured had been brought there. At length, they retreated to Covington where they anxiously awaited grim news. Eventually, the young man, ignorant of their distress, came whistling up the block, in perfect health. His elderly mother collapsed and required medical care. It had all been a wicked joke.

In 1904, two doctors, brothers Chase Ferris and Charles Ferris, ended up in court when their April Fool joke sent at least two people to the hospital. Both victims had eaten oysters and drank beer at a lodge meeting and became violently ill. Attorney Hiram Rulison alleged that the Ferris brothers had intentionally poisoned the refreshments as an April Fool joke, but had exceeded the intended dosage.

One thing was certain: Uncle Sam has no sense of humor. A Cincinnati lawyer discovered this the hard way. As April Fool’s Day 1905, approached, Attorney Charles F. Williams came across what he thought was the perfect gag for his girlfriend. A local shop sold a bundle of newspapers, carved through the center to hide a stash of fake candy – red-pepper-filled chocolates, soap-flavored caramels, that sort of thing. The recipient, believing the newspaper container to be the trick, was likely to fall victim to the inedible candy.

Williams bought and mailed the booby-trap and then heard . . . nothing. A week later, he was summoned to the Post Office where he learned his joke was now evidence of a federal crime. By mailing the joke as “newspapers,” he had defrauded the postal service, because it should have been mailed a “merchandise,” which would, of course, have ruined the joke.

Uncle Sam was not laughing. Williams faced a potential $100 fine, plus a year in prison. By chance, Attorney Williams was known to Postal Inspector A.R. Holmes, who offered a lenient judgement of a $10 fine and postage due. Williams paid.

[consequencesofargentdawn]

Hey CoAD team I've seen a couple of PCU members with the following in their OOC TRP description: "We are the beginning and the end". I came from Defias Brotherhood and this is eerily similar to the rhetoric Morsteth and Krieger's goons would put in their OOC descriptions when they sparked conflict with the OOCers. Is this a coincidence? I'm assuming it's a weird reference to them going down with the ship

Its very likely some sort of coded message to one another, a dog-whistle if you will to their fellow alte kameraden that does likely signify they are going down with the ship and will do all they can to be as much of a nuisance as possible as they go.

[regressionanxiety]

Dr. No (1964)

I am watching all of the James Bond movies, they are very bad and I love them. These are some of my thoughts as I watch, it’s basically a recap so you know, spoilers...

It starts with some murdering. James Bond is called into work, goes through the waiting room and meets with M.  He gets a new gun because M insists, he’s very proud that under his leadership 00-deaths have gone down. Moneypenny is the best as always.

James Bond arrives in Jamaica and is instantly spotted, of course he is, he is after all, the worst spy. He is looking for a Taxi, but there is a driver waiting for him. Not at all suspicious. Bond makes a phone call. Is being spied on. Then goes to the car, and tells the driver to “just take me for a ride.” I know he’s just stalling, but I will use this line as support for my argument that James Bond is a chaotic bisexual. 

Now Bond points his gun at his driver, questioning him, as he well should. The driver kills himself with cyanide hidden in a cigarette. Bond takes the car and drives to wherever he’s going, dead guy in the back seat. Tells a person when he arrives: “'sergeant, make sure he doesn’t get away.”

He  drinks and puts out snooper traps in his room before he goes out to investigate his case futher. Chatting with some men, being his very best Miss Marple her, non threathening, pleasant conversationalist, even when the topic is grim. He’s directed to a man with a boat, Quarrel, who doesn’t want to talk to Bond and gives him some sass (everyone should give Bond sass) and turns him away. Bond, of course, isn’t deterred and approaches the man just as he’s having a bear. Now he wants to talk, because it’s private. They go into a storage room of some kind. The man has a knife and the guy at the bar (I think), grabs bond from behind. Bond easily throws them both into some neatly stacked (and empty) Red Stripe cartons, product placement or just an attempt to convince us that we’re really in Jamaica right now?

Bond thinks he has the upper hand now, but no! The man from the airport (not the dead driver - this isn’t that kind of movie) with his sunglasses is there, and he has a gun! 

“gently, gently, let’s not get exited” the man says. With those sunglasses it’s hard not to mister. They are talking suits, like real gents. The other guy is CIA, and his name is Felix Leiter. They’re friends now, with drinks (and i’m sure fucking - those sunglasses can only mean one thing). Underneath the mango tree plays.

A woman takes their picture, now they need to get her. They question her a bit, Bond destroys her film, but gives her the camera back, they send her off. She calls them rats and says they’ll be sorry. 

Bond learns about an island Crab Key (?) owned by a Chinese guy, apparently Quarrel and missing guy Strangways went there to collect geological samples. Locals won’t go near it, some have and never came back. They know very little of the man, except that his name is the titular Dr. No.

Bond is exiting a taxi, and the men who dealt with Strangways earlier are back, sneaking around with a gun pointed at Bond, but a car roars by and they miss their chance at an easy assassination.  

Bond is talking to a professor Dent (one of the men he chattet with about Strangways before) about the geological samples from Strangways, he claims to have thrown them away because they weren’t anything. Bond is batting his eyelashes and being his best Miss Marple again. He knows the man is a liar!

Prof. Dent goes straight to a boat to get to Crab Key. These bad guys are really dumb. Anyway; crab key is guarded by men with big guns. 

Very dramatic room. The professor is being berated by a disembodied voice for coming during daylight hours, stricktly forbidden. This still isn’t that kind of movie, but Dr. No is clearly a vampire. There’s a spider in a cage on a table. If guns don’t work on Bond, try spider bites?

Bond is back in his room. Checks his intruder revealers and as expected they have been disturbed. He wants some vodka, throws ice in a glass, opens the bottle, thinks twice, sniffs it, then puts it back down and opens a drawer and pulls out another bottle. Uses this instead. I’m not sure why that bottle would be safer, unopened and sealed somehow?

Ruh roh! Someone feels a little spidey! Bond killed it, his first murder in this film! 

Bond gest a package, finds that the files on Crab Key are missing, sets up a date with a secretary (the stunning miss Taro) he caught eavesdropping. Business as usual. His package was a geiger counter? He checks some samples with his pals Leiter and Quarrel, and yes, they are radioactive. The professor is a liar! Gasp! Who knew! Now they must go to Crab Key, but in the night, after his date. But wait! there’s a note for him at the hotel reception. He calls miss Taro, she wants him to come to her and gives him some directions, a car starts following him, trying to drive him off the road? Oh noe, a crane or something is in the road, what will Bond do? His little car goes under, the bigger car that follows? Not so much, goes over and burns up. 

“How did it happen?” The man who has the crane thing asks. “I think they were on their way to a funeral,” Bond replies.

He finally arrives at Miss Taro’s, shes just out of the shower, drying her hair, while wearing a tight toweldress???? Clearly not expecting him. He kisses her, and she protests. 

The phone rings. She promises to try to keep him there. He really does seem to be a terrible kisser. They fuck. He pretends to want italian food so he calls a taxi, despite getting there by car. She is confused, he kisses her again to distract. Then the car comes, and she’s arrested. She spits in his face, which he deserves. He goes into her house again, creates a scene: pours some drinks, leaves his jacket, puts on a song (underneath the mango tree, again), goes into the bedroom and uses a pillow to make it look like someone is in it. Then he waits.

The professor walks through the door and shoots up the pillow. They have a chat. Bond shoots him. Then meets up with Quarrel to go on to the island. Makes a quip about it being a break from being a clay pigeon, but I somehow I doubt it. Leister is worried offers to go instead, but Bond refuses him. 

Wait, why is bond asleep on the beach? Was that the plan? Did I miss something?

Ah, the bikini. It isn’t a very good one is it? They’re hiding from guards with guns now. Bond promises he’s no threat to this woman, Honey Ryder, but we all know that’s a lie. They must hide, they’ve been spotted on radar. They get shot at, the woman’s boat is ruined so she has to tag along. They sneak up some kind of river I think. Almost get caught, but don’t, hiding under water using reeds as breathing tubes. Honey claims Dr. No killed her father, a marine biologist, who came to Crab Key to never be seen again.

Now she’s telling Bond about how she killed her landlord (who raped her) via spiderbite. It took him a week to die. Bond just pouts at her, probably knows he might have deserved that spiderbite earlier...

The rumored dragon is nearby, and Bond, who knows it isn’t actually a dragon, wants to see it. 

they’re captured, Quarrel is dead, and claimed to be contaminated. Geiger counters going wild! They need to be hosed down. Then they’re put in very nice quater and treated as guests. because why not. They have some coffee, it’s drugged and they pass out. Bond breaks a perfeclty good cup in the process - that brute. A mysterious figure, with shiny latexy gloves takes a look at Bond in bed. Dr. No presumably, he lifts the cover a little before we cut to the next scene. Sean Connery really isn’t that attractive Dr. just kill him already!

I’ve always wanted an evil lair. Finally the elusive Dr. No is revealed. Are you a good Bond villain if you don’t have a physical disability? It appears that he doesn’t have hands, because of errors in his work or something. He finds Bond a worthy adversary or some such. Bond has Honey sent away from the dinner table - ostensibly to save her. Dr. No quickly realizes that Bond is in fact just a policeman, not smart enough to join his criminal gang after all, SPECTRE (Special Executive for Counter-intelligence, Terrorism, Revenge and Extortion) has no need for the likes of Bond, though if they did he’d prefer the revenge department. He is apparently being tortured, we don’t get to see that, but his clothes are ruined when we next see him in a cell he quickly escapes from by going into the pipes that keep this underwater facility with air. He falls down one of them and gets to take his shirt off. Oh no! Water rushes in and Bond must hold on! 

He gets out, finds his way into a radiation suit (stylish, with a very square hood, he looks like a Doctor Who villain in an episode where they ran out of budget) and infiltrates a control room! They’re talking about a vehicle and say the word radiation a lot. Bondis trying to figure out how to sabotage their sabotage (of a rocket launch). Big science words! No time to think for Bond, just punch everyone! Chaos! Alarms blaring, abort abort! 

Bond vs Dr. No. Bond wins and Dr. No goes down in what may be boiling radioactive water? Doesn’t seem like a delicious way to go. Everyone is fleeing the facility, Bond somehow finds Honey and frees her (she’s tied up on some ramp with water coming in, were they going to let the tide drown her? This is not how you kill people effectively). 

Lots of footage of people fleeing, flinging themselves into the ocean etc. Bond and Honey get a boat, the facility goes boooooooooooom! 

The boat runs out of fuel, and Bond and Honey settle in to wait for rescue, Leiter show up and start to give them a tow, but Bond lets the rope go so he and Honey can fuck. Leiter shakes his head and smiles at them in an overbearing manner. 

THE END

[legionofmyth]

[Hour 1 of 3] James "Grim" Desborough | Wightchester: Prison City of Ye Damned | Horror Genre

[Part 1 of 3] - James “Grim” Desborough (@Grimasaur) joins to talk a/b Wightchester: Prison City of the Damned. After this we take a broader look at the #horror genre in tabletop role-playing games. #Wightchester #ttrpg #osr #DnD5E #DnD #MorkBorg

Wightchester: Prison City of Ye Damned [PDF]Wightchester: Support Material [PDF][Part 1 of 3] – James “Grim” Desborough joins 🐲 RPG Die Gest 🐉 to talk about his 500 page campaign sourcebook, Wightchester: Prison City of the Damned, a historically inspired zombie / undead survival setting for your Dungeons & Dragons 5E, Old School Renaissance, and Mork Borg tabletop role-playing games. After this…

[michelgrimard-blog]

Un second faux Bob Bouette ici.

Titre: Un second faux Bob Bouette ici.

.

Les faux Bob Bouette pullulent.

Un connaisseur de Bob Bouette le sait, lui.

Si c'est un Bob Bouette.

.

Le rouge appelle le turquoise et le turquoise appelle le rouge.

La persistance rétinienne fait le reste.

Des vibrations.

MG

Actualités miniatures

13 février

De mon côté, ça donne...

Ça!

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Mes vitres sont un jardin de givre! -20C!

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Un repère local avec Jim Zeller en lien avec les Foufounes électriques oui mais aussi une entrevue qui m'a fait beaucoup rire avec Normand Brathwaite.

Entrevue dont le titre pourrait être: C'est qui le weird?

Tsé quand 2 fréquences pas syntonisés se rencontrent!

Et j'ai même un passage GrimZeller dans la compo ''King Bling Bling''!

C'est pas rien!

.

J'ai vu aussi des intérêts pour des thèmes spirites mediums etc.

Avec tout les moyens technos disponibles, plus aucunes preuves visuelles ne tient pour les histoires de revenants. Une mode du début du vingtième siècle.

Une chose n'existe que parce que on croit qu'elle existe.

Mais pour tout l'aspect extra sensoriel, je pense apporter d'autres exemples à ce qui existe. Une compo écrite à 85% d'un coup et relativement rapidement, je mets ça sur le compte d'une dicté ou d'une captation de l'esprit de la machine comme j'ai écrit. Le savoir et la raison n'ont qu'un rôle d'ajustement dans ce processus.

5h pour 85% de la compo et plusieurs heures, jours, mois ou années pour l'autre 15% ! C'est que une fois l'orchestration et l'idée de développement trouvés, le buzz diminue et le jeu fait place au travail. Ce n'est plus ''facile'' et la patience joue un rôle clé pour cette étape car on va écouter la compo x nombres de fois à s'en écœurer!

Les fréquences bloquées ou captées autrement ou mieux si on veut, ça n'a rien de magique.

La capacité de percevoir est aussi inscrite dans une gradation.

.

Je recherchais des sources variées mais filtrées par un certain niveau de qualité. Je peux dire que ça fonctionne. C'est comme provoquer des contrastes culturels dans mon cas.

L'inde? Russie? Chine?

C'est différent les nouvelles et un profil individuel.

Peu importe l'écart culturel, le pareil qui revient souvent c'est check c'est moi moi moi pis encore moi avec ...et check mon ou mes...

Comme un Justin avec différents costumes!

En y collant cette image de snap moi moi, le marketing s'assurait de toucher au moins 80% de la masse qui vont se dire, volontairement ou pas, stie c'est moé quand je me pose stie!

L'identification à Justin sur un point.

Con d'même le marketing! Un mélange entre téter l'autre pis de la propagande.

L'alternative d'utiliser ce que on est comme logo pour présenter ce que on aime ou réalise, ça donne un autre genre de dynamique web.

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Ça me donne par exemple un profil sur des préoccupations de sujets à inclure à l'école.

Du pragmatisme féminin terre à terre avec du gros bon sens. Tout le monde va pas faire agriculteur pour autant avec ce genre de thème mais enseigner l'environnement comme son jardin, ça a le mérite d'être autre et pas fou.

J'ai eu la chance d'avoir un modèle d'école que j'estime pertinent avec l'idée du programme sports-études.

Mon domaine a été un ajout dans une case vide alors on peut aussi en ajouter d'autres.

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Menute! Je fais un test d'algorithmes.

pizza,pizza,pizza,pizza,pizza,pizza,pizza,pizza,pizza,pizza,pizza...

C'est fait.

Suite...

.

Inspiré des truckers sans être exclusif à eux.

Libarté!

Libarté!

On ne compte plus les sauces avec cet ingrédient!

La liberté sans balises, c'est le chaos. Et le chaos, c'est pire qu'un Bob Bouette!

C'est grave!

Un bémol lourd!

C'est mon droit, je fais ceci. Même si mon 5% fait chier 95%.

Libarté!

Libarté!

C'est inclus dans la démocratie.

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Où est le gros bon sens dans les 2 camps?

La question est permise.

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Dans beaucoup de cas, juste par un geste concerté de couper le récepteur aux émetteurs pis y perdent de leur ''pogne''.

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Il y a de l'activité avec le groupe Fish Farm 3.

J'ai fait un aquarium ''Grim Green Space'' !

Composé de magnifiques piranhas et d'une tête de mort!

Avec ça, vous devriez faire le lien avec les autres publiés.

Composition sur poissons virtuels! Signé avec un ange gris foncé et ligne jaune sur le dessus pour eau douce.

Parachutart dans l'eau virtuelle.

PS: Y sont fluos discos vos poissons! On dirait que y sont en pastique!

PS2: Faut chialer parfois! Vraiment dingue de réalisme boosté, ce que je viens de voir! (pense que c'était des vrais filmés HD mais bon...)

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Mon spectre d'intérêts ... Viens de voir des métals look zombies-Hellraiser-gothiques ascendants scorpions!

Vais être aussi impressionné par un paysages d'arbres en fleurs rosées de l'Asie ou des vues sous marines ou ...

Les divertissements gagas, rien contre ...juste y en a trop.

.

Un rappel sur une utilisation intéressante de Google Street.

Le street art est archivé et lié à la géolocalisation.

Donc un mur, c'est parfois 5 murales ou plus sur des années.

Capture d'écran de street art d'ici.

MG

[wonderswritings]

Internet Love: Extended Cut

Sumaray: Chris Evans has discovered the world of tumblr. Under a fake profile, Chris stumbles upon Y/N’s account when she makes a post about his on-again-off-again girlfriend. The two talk and Chris tells Y/N who he really is. The two become friends and Chris flies her out to see him and she becomes everyone’s best friend and unknowingly strains Chris’ relationship. Drama in ensues and Y/N regrets everything. Love can be amazing and beautiful, but it can also be deadly. Pairings: Chris Evans x OC, Chris Evans x Reader, Sebastian Stan x Reader (best friend), Anthony Mackie x Reader (best friend) Warnings: Cheat but not really, LANGUAGE, Angst, Crying lots of freaking crying, 

“Earlier today, we gave you the exclusive on Chris Evans and Brittany Lewis recently getting back together. We’re here today with friends of Chris Evans and Brittany Lewis to discuss the recently renewed relationship.” The interviewer turned towards their gest, smiling at them both. “I’m here today with stars Sebastian Stan and Anthony Mackie. Thank you both for being here today.” “Thanks for having us.” Sebastian nodded, smiling. “Yeah, it’s great to be here.” “As you both must know, Chris Evans recently got back together with Brittany Lewis, what can you both tell me?” Anthony and Sebastian looked at each other, having a silent conversation. They both turned at the same time, smiling. “I think it’s great.” Anthony’s hand came into view, hitting Sebastian’s arm. Sebastian turned, Anthony giving him a pointed look. Sebastian turned, smiling although it was strained. “I think it’s great along the lines that Chris seems happy.” “And what about Brittany? Do you both like here?” Anthony reached over, grabbing his coffee and take a sip before he put it back, rubbing his hands over his leg as he sat up. “I’m not going to lie to ya man, I’m not particularly fond of her.” “Really? May I ask why?” Sebastian made a face, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest as Anthony started to talk. “I have nothing against the girl, or her relationship with Chris, I just don’t think she’s right for Chris. Look at their past relationships, they ended and not all of them were on the best of terms.” The interviewer nodded, turning to face Sebastian. “What about you? Do you like her and the relationship with Chris?” Sebastian sighed, shaking his head and closing his eyes. “Chris is my best friend man. I only want what’s best for him. My personal opinion is that he can do better and he could do better. This relationship is hazardous to everyone involved.” “Does Chris know of both of your opinions?” Both men nodded, a grim look on their faces. “He does, yes. The thing you’ve got to understand about Chris, is that he cares in a sense, too much. He does everything in his power to make other people happy, ignoring his own needs. I believe that’s what he’s doing with this relationship.” “Anthony?” “It’s like Seb said, Chris strives to make other people happy. He puts their needs before his own, and he suppresses his own feelings, his needs. When your in the public eye like we are, any relationship you have is going to be out there. Everyone knows how their last attempts at a relationship went. This’ll either end the same way, or worse.” The interviewer nodded, flipping the papers he had. “How does Chris feel about your feelings towards his relationship?” “Chris understands that we each will have our own opinions about things and as long as we are respectful about it, it’s fine.” Sebastian nodded, and the interviewer leaned forward, shaking their hands. “Again, thank you both for coming here today and taking the time to speak with me. It was a pleasure having you here.” “Thanks for inviting us.” “Yea, it was a pleasure.”

Marvel Tag: @emoryhemsworth  @kindnesswins  @supernaturaldean67  @wildefire@kirakombat  @katykyll  @be-amaziing  @imaginesofdreams@helloangelicaaaaa  @regrets-decison @sonic-lipstick-is-mine @hp-hogwartsexpress @indaybella99  @rashinyx2002  @lilypalmer1987  @flipsorenson-99  @dninah  @marvel_af

Internet Love: @hista-girl @alonna-oxoxox @steelbluebucky @unhealthy-obsession @dninah @shieldgirl95 @lilpageofeverything @thebookisbtr @wordlesswriters @onthapathatass @nikkyshows @patzammit @partypoison00 @rashinyx2002

*If I can not tag you after three times, I will remove you from the list*

[naturepointstheway]

Day 4/30 Batb Lines Prompts: “Late Newcomer”

Young prince Adam can tell the castle is waiting for a new arrival, a new young boy to work down in the kitchen. But hours pass and he never arrives, except in the middle of a great rainstorm. 

@morgaine2005 @tinydooms @lumiereswig @insectoid5

There was an agitation in the castle, he could feel it. Not a grim sort of agitation with the expectation of bad tidings. No, this was the agitation of a castle expecting a visitor. A very late visitor, apparently, on overhearing Cogsworth complaining to his mother, Princess Charlotte, about the latecomer’s tardiness in one of the small meeting rooms dotted about the castle. He knew it was naughty for little boys to eavesdrop on other adults’ conversations, but he couldn’t help listening in when he heard Cogsworth’s grumpy words.

“Dismiss him as soon as he steps foot in the castle!” Cogsworth counselled Adam’s mother, “Such tardiness cannot be tolerated.”

Behind them, still unseen, the boy kept listening, curiosity becoming too much for him to resist. He wondered who their missing “visitor” was, and why he was so late. His fingers cupped around the side of the door as he tip-toed a couple steps over the threshold.

“Perhaps he has lost his way,” Adam’s mother suggested, raising up on her toes as she leaned over the desk to peer outside. “We are in the hidden heart of France, far from Paris, after all, Cogsworth.”

“Surely he has a map on him?” Cogsworth asked as though this was the most obvious thing in the world. “Every man should have a map on him.”

“Well, Cogsworth, map or no map, let’s hope he can find his way here nonetheless. There are many paths through the forest to get to here.”

Cogsworth glanced over out the window, squinting as the weak autumn sun peeped out from behind a silver-lined cloud.

“Looks like it will rain later,” the prince heard him comment, his voice becoming softer now despite himself, “I just hope he won’t get caught in the downpour to come. Even if he is being tardy.”

As if on cue, the wind outside kicked up a strong breeze, rattling the window above the desk. Both Cogsworth and the princess glanced over at it again.

“That wind isn’t going to let up at all today,” Cogsworth observed, “There’s a storm coming this afternoon, I can feel it.”

Adam’s mother smiled, straightening her shoulders, both hands still lightly touching the desk. “I’m sure he will make it here before the storm. Surely he cannot be too far away.”

Looking over her shoulder, Cogsworth finally spotted the boy, and at once, his face broke out into a smile on seeing the little prince.

“Looks like we have a little visitor with us, Madame,” he commented, gesturing to the boy to come over and join them.

“Who are you waiting for?” the boy asked as he walked to his mother, reaching his arms up to be lifted into her protective embrace.

“A new member of staff,” Cogsworth explained, pulling out a chair and taking a seat as he talked, “Going to be working down in the kitchen.”

“Where is he?” the prince asked, his little arms wound tight around his mother’s shoulders.

“Hopefully not too far away,” his mother answered with a smile, before glancing out at the window again, “I just hope that we, or Chapeau, will be the ones to greet him.”

Cogsworth gave her an assuring glance, “Don’t worry, Madame, we’ll make sure of it.”

The prince picked up on the unspoken words. “Will father yell at the man?”

The princess held her son in a tighter, assuring embrace, “Don’t worry, we’ll make sure he’s welcomed here.”

Another rattle from the window from the wind; looking outside at the sky, Adam could see huge, billowing grey clouds looming over the horizon.

“Will he be alright if it rains?”

“I’m sure the boy will be fine,” his mother said, “He’ll be here soon enough.”

Cogsworth nodded his agreement, “He’ll be fine, Adam, he’s a young man, from what I hear. Fit and healthy boy, I’m sure. How old is he? Fifteen? Sixteen?”

“Fifteen I think,” Adam’s mother confirmed, “Tells me he loves to entertain and tell stories to children too.”

“Would he tell me a few stories?” Adam asked.

“Perhaps if you asked him nicely after a few days once he has settled here, he may.”

“I’ve read the letters he’s sent you, Madame,” Cogsworth added, “Far too overenthusiastic for my taste, but seems to be a genuine young man all things considered.”

The afternoon meandered on, clouds darkening the sky in the ominous prologue of a forthcoming storm. The wind pressed small, fragile tree saplings so low to the ground Adam almost expected their supple young trunks to snap. And yet, these young trees, planted by their dedicated gardening staff, stayed resilient against the harsh autumn wind. As he played cards near the fireplace with Cogsworth, he could hear rain beating against nearby windows, drumming harder with every minute. The wind outside began to shriek with wild abandon, heralding the storm’s arrival. Cogsworth’s attention kept going to the front entranceway and then back to the card game with the boy prince, clearly looking for the new arrival.

“Will he be cold out there?” Adam asked Cogsworth, looking around as Chapeau came to join them, seating himself down in a chair with a new music book just for violins.

“He will be if he’s in that storm too long,” Cogsworth answered, putting down a card on the deck, “He’s going to catch a cold out there.”

“Don’t worry,” Chapeau spoke up from his perch, “Mrs Potts and Plumette will arrange a hot cup of tea down in the kitchen when he does come.”

Adam and the other two servants jumped as the first roll of thunder roared over the castle. Chapeau’s book slid from his fingers, but he deftly caught it in one hand, his other over his heart. Cogsworth glanced over at the door again, as did the prince. There still seemed to be no sign of their new resident of the castle.

“I hope he’s alright out there,” Chapeau commented in his characteristic quiet manner, “It’s terrible weather outside.”

“Hope he isn’t fool enough to walk under the trees,” Cogsworth muttered.

The fire crackled merrily as the prince and Cogsworth finished up their card game, Chapeau resuming his read, ignoring the continued rolls of thunder overhead. Cogsworth pretended to be greatly disappointed when the prince won the card game, but a genuine smile broke through nevertheless. Another roll of thunder overhead—the storm clearly wasn’t letting up any time soon. The boy began to worry himself—was the new arrival they were expecting going to be alright? Had he lost his way in the rain?

It wasn’t until after Mrs Potts and the princess had come to join them that there finally was a loud knock at the door.

“Is that him?” the prince asked the room at large, pointing to the door. Chapeau had already got up to greet the door, and the little boy began to stand up himself to follow the servant to front entrance.  

“Seems like it,” the prince’s mother mused, gesturing to Mrs Potts to start pouring a piping hot cup of tea. “He could use a good strong brew after being out in that dismal storm.”

Following Chapeau to the door, the prince stood next to the servant as the latter pulled open the door to peer around at whoever was on their doorstep. Adam caught a glimpse of a tall, lanky boy, probably in his mid-teens, who looked very soaked, as though he had been walking through a relentless rainstorm. A few leaves were stuck in his hair, and his shoes looked very muddied. Nevertheless, despite his appearance, the new boy flashed them the warmest and cheeriest grin ever.

“Good evening,” the visitor greeted them with a deep bow, “Sorry I’m late.”

“You must be the new boy,” Chapeau guessed, stepping aside and widening the entranceway so the boy, now dripping water all over the floor, could step inside.

The new boy gave a grateful nod at Chapeau, now pulling and yanking at his sodden coat with great grimaces and strain.

“I got lost,” he explained, “The forest is a big place, and at lunchtime, the sun was so inviting I had to sit and have lunch somewhere warm.” The man laughed. “I’m afraid I fell asleep in the sun—my fifteen minute nap turned into an hour long sleep.”

“Here, let me help you with that coat,” Chapeau offered, taking pity on him.

“Ah, you’re a good sort I can see,” the newcomer complimented, allowing Chapeau to pull off his coat, stepping away as the latter shook it out, raindrops flying everywhere, the prince barely dodging the droplets. The prince’s stepping away out of the range of the rainwater seemed to catch the newcomer’s attention. At once, the youngster flashed him a big, broad grin and loped over to crouch down to the prince’s height. “Didn’t see you back there! You must be the Prince and Princess’s son?”

The boy nodded, “Prince Adam. Who’re you?”

“I’m just a traveller, seeking shelter from the storm, and a home in the castle!” the youth proclaimed as he stretched a hand out in an offer to shake Adam’s hand. The prince reached out in response, feeling his small hand clasped in the newcomer’s own. His hand was cold and wet and red from the bitter storm outside, but nevertheless, his grasp exuded warmth and sincerity, the boy feeling at once he could easily trust this newcomer to the castle.

“What’s your name, then?” the prince asked again.

The newcomer bowed to the prince, or as much as he could while crouching, still dripping water everywhere, not that he seemed to care.

“Good prince, you seek my name, and soon I shall tell you! I am a traveller from Paris, who has spent an afternoon wandering many paths through an endless forest, dodging the anger of Jupiter’s thunder as the heavens’ doors opened upon my head, soaking me to the bone.  I had neither map nor horse to guide my way here, but I needed neither—wit and quick feet were all I needed, and here I am! I have found the castle! Late, to be sure, but here I am now. I have fought fire and ice to find my way to a new home at long last!”

The prince couldn’t help but giggle in shy delight, watching how the stranger’s eyes sparkled and his hands gestured with high animation as he wove this speech full of how he valiantly battled nature to find the castle at last.

“Well! Prince Adam, you desired to know my name, and so I shall reveal it: the name’s Lumiere. And I intend to bring a lot of that into everyone’s lives for as long as I am here.” Lumiere stood up again, straightening to his full height, “Now, I believe I can hear a warm fireplace crackling somewhere. Care to lead me to where I can finally get dry and warm again?”

The prince glanced over at Chapeau, thinking he would be the one to lead the way, but the servant nodded and gestured at the boy, hinting he could do the honours. The prince offered a shy hand to Lumiere, who gripped it again gently in his own.

“This way,” the prince directed, pointing toward the chairs and fireplace near the entrance.

“Lead this weary traveller there, then, good prince,” Lumiere said with a grand flourish of his other arm. “I do not know my way around the castle yet, I fear!”

The boy couldn’t help but grin, finding Lumiere’s cheery demeanour too infectious and uplifting to ignore. Already, he felt he liked this new member of staff a lot, and how could one not, with all his joy and enthusiasm that even now seemed to brighten the castle just from his very presence.

“The fireplace is this way.”