#jo valencia

[blakelysco-pilot]

G darling!! Happy Sleepover Saturday 🥰 For the domestic prompts, how about 13 for Rosie and Jo, and 51 for Ev and Val?

Sage bestiiie! These were so fun! 🥰

Prompts from the Domestic Prompts list - Inbox is open chickies 💗

Prompts under the cut to save space

Worth a Thousand Words

¹³⁾ pictures lined up on a mantlepiece - Rosie & Jo

Part of Harry Crosby being in charge of the 100th bomb group’s quarterly newsletter now that the war was over meant that he was able to dig up photos that the regimental photographer had taken during their time at Thorpe Abbotts. It also meant he could ensure his family’s news was always included. He had been privy to photos before anyone else, and this time, on the heels of a very important birthday, Josephine was cashing in on Harry’s position.

Rosie had woken up that morning thirty years old, and he was griping about it every chance he got, as if he was the first man ever to do so.

“Harry, he’s been moping for a week!”

“Oh I know,” Harry Crosby stood in the foyer of his home, a small package wrapped in his hands, his son sitting at his ankles tugging on his pants. “He called me up for lunch the other day and spent half an hour whining about it.”

“I just don’t understand, nothing’s changing!”

“Jo,” Harry groaned as she bent to pick up her nephew who had changed gears and was making grabby hands at her. “Just last week you were moaning over your coffee to Jean about turning thirty.”

“It’s different for a woman!”

“So Rosie isn’t getting gray hair and wrinkles?”

“He’ll look distinguished,” she smiled, bouncing little Joseph Robert. “I’ll look like a sea witch.”

“Doubtful,” he smiled, taking the baby from her in exchange for the package. “Okay buddy, say bye-bye to Auntie Jo. Go on, give her a kiss goodbye and say see ya later!”

“Goodbye my little love,” Jo dusted a kiss to her nephew's forehead before giving Harry a hug as well. “Thanks again, Harry, I appreciate it!”

“I know he’ll love it.” Harry smiled, walking her out.

***

When Rosie arrived home from work that night, it was to a cake on the table, a meticulously wrapped box next to it, and his wife dressed immaculately in the living room with two cocktails.

“Hello birthday boy,” she smiled, allowing him a moment to drop his briefcase next to the chair. “Have a good day?”

“Does getting older mean everyone wants to celebrate you?” He smirked, stepping forward to pull her into his arms.

“Yes, because you’re worth celebrating.”

“Look at you,” his voice a whisper as he pulled her into a kiss. “Stunning, honey pie.”

“Thought you might like to have a small celebration, just us.”

“That’s exactly what I want.”

“I know you had a big lunch so I thought we’d skip right to the cake. Don’t worry, I won’t sing and there’s no candles, all I ask is you cut it and make a wish.”

“If I promise to cut it and make a wish, can I open my gift first?”

“You are still a boy at heart,” she grinned, shaking her head. “But yes you can.”

Rosie beamed, taking his cocktail off the coffee table and pulling Jo into the kitchen with him. She nodded again as an OK before he lifted the box and gave it a gentle shake. Brows furrowed, he tore into the paper, lifted the lid and stopped on a sharp breath.

“Where did you get this?”

His blue eyes were wide, mouth hanging open in amazement as he lifted a frame from the box, housing a photo of him on the shoulders of men after he had completed his 25th mission. He was beaming, crush cap in his hand, and flight gear still on, and he remembered. Pappy had been on someone else’s shoulders right behind him, the rest of his crew jumping around them on the ground.

“Jo, honey how did you get this!”

“Harry helped me,” she smiled, coming to stand next to him. “He got in touch with, Joe? The regimental photographer.”

“I didn’t even know Joe got a picture of this!”

“He did,” she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “Do you like it?”

“I love it, so much,” he turned to catch her lips again. “Let’s put it on the mantle next to the one of me and the fellas.”

“I already made space.”

————————————————————————

It’s a Date

⁵¹⁾ scrawled-on calendars - Ev & Val

It was still significantly cold in March at Thorpe Abbotts. The wind could pick you up and carry you to your destination faster than you could walk some days. So, once Val was inside the Red Cross hut and had the pot belly stove in the corner burning, she wasn’t moving unless she absolutely had to.

Pulling a chair up to the side of the stove, Val quickly removes her navy blue jacket, tossing it over the arm before getting comfortable with her stationary. She’s a bit overdue to return Mama Biddick’s latest letter- the Irish matriarch is just as much a mother to her as her own, and no less worried than her own. Just as she begins writing, the door to the hut swings open, bringing the breeze and her boyfriend all at once, along with a scowl.

“Everett, shut the door!”

“Oh shit, you lit a fire, sorry!”

“It’s fine, just hurry up and come inside before it goes out.”

Quickly shutting the door, he dropped a kiss to the top of her head before perching on her bed, a smile on his face as he looked around the room for what, she had no idea.

“I thought you had a meeting with Red?”

“We finished a bit early,” he looked up at her, still searching her things. “When I stopped by the truck Tattie told me you finished up early and she sent you to defrost.”

“Yes, it’s so cold today!”

“Bites you right on the ass, hmm?”

“Yes, and I don’t want anything biting my rear end.”

“Nothing?”

“Everett!”

“I’m only joking baby, I won’t bite your rear end. Even if it is the cutest I’ve ever seen.”

“Fresh,” she swatted his arm playfully. “What are you doing anyway?”

“Where the hell is your calendar sweetheart?”

“My calendar? What for?”

“Want to see something.”

Pulling open the locker designated to her, she reached in and pulled out a small calendar. Face full of skepticism she handed it over, watching as she picked up the pen she had been using to write with, and scribbling something down quickly.

“What- Ev! What are you doing!”

Smiling, he handed it back to her, and waited for her to read the newest event.

Three day pass with the love of my life

March 17-19

“A weekend pass?”

“Yup! Why did you think I was meeting with Red?”

“Oh, gosh, I don’t know? The war?”

“Well, yeah, but you need a break and I need some time in a bed for adults with you.”

“You really are fresh, you know that?”

“I know,” he grinned, giving her a quick kiss before heading for the door. “Start packing, tomorrow is the 16th!”

“Hey! You’re leaving?”

“You looked busy when I walked in…”

“Writing to Curt’s mom.”

“Tell her I said hi,” he smiled, pulling the lucky strike from behind his ear and moving back into the room. “Maybe I will stay, it’s warm in here.”

“Give me ten minutes and we can get under the covers if you want.”

“Now who’s fresh.”

[sagesolsticewrites]

Love’s Light Wings: Chapter 3 (“There stays a husband to make you a wife”)

John Brady x Juliet Thompson (OFC)

The day has finally arrived! You are cordially invited to the wedding of Captain John Brady and Juliet Thompson— complete with an abundance of tears, joy, nerves, and Jean Crosby’s infamous martinis.

Word count: 6.2k

Warnings: none, I think? As always, please let me know if I missed anything!

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Hugest of huge shoutouts to @winniemaywebber and @blakelysco-pilot for reading this many many times before I posted it I love y’all 💕 here’s to our girlies!

Masterlist | Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 

Juliet is already up and bustling about her room when her mother peeks in on the morning of her wedding.

“Oh sweetheart, you’re up already!”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Juliet grins sheepishly, fiddling with the pearl necklace laid out on her vanity, “I was too excited.”

That, she thinks, and the pounding headache she’s had since she woke up several hours ago prevented her from going back to sleep— she’s sincerely regretting that last lemon drop.

“It’s a big day,” Her mother smiles knowingly, “just remember the girls will be here soon.”

“Everything’s set up at the hotel, right?” 

“I just called, they assured me everything’s ready for you girls.”

“And the church—”

“John’s mother and I are going to stop in to check everything before we join you at the hotel, yes.”

“But what about—”

“Sweetheart,” her mother steps forward, taking one hand in her own, “breathe.”

Juliet wants to ask about the rest of the preparations— everything has to be perfect— but she closes her eyes, does as her mother asks, and lets her voice wash over her.

“I know that you have a thousand things running through your mind right now,” she says gently, “But I just want you to take a moment.”

Juliet swallows, feeling pressure build behind her eyes as her mother’s voice grows thick, no doubt becoming teary-eyed herself.

“My baby girl’s getting married today—”

“Mama!” Juliet lets out a watery laugh, tears threatening to overflow as she opens her eyes to see tears streaming down her mother’s cheeks, “No, if you cry I’ll cry, and then we won’t get to the hotel at all!”

“I’m sorry, honey, I’m sorry,” she laughs, brushing her tears away, “I just…”

She trails off with a sigh. “I remember how scared you were when he was gone, sweetheart. How terrified you were the day we got that letter… I was so scared of what it would do to you if your boy didn’t come home.” 

“But,” her mother takes a steadying breath, trying to compose herself, “Now here you are. Ready to build a home of your own with him. A life. And I…” she blinks rapidly, and Juliet can’t help but laugh at her attempt to hold fresh tears at bay, “I’m so, so happy for you, honey.”

Juliet throws her arms around her mother, holding her tight as she tucks her face into her shoulder, curling into her like she did as a child.

“Thank you, Mama,” she murmurs into her robe, crying and smiling and feeling a thousand things at once that all culminate into one fierce spark of love.

With one final squeeze, her mother pulls away.

“I’d better let you get dressed, the girls will be here soon.”

Juliet nods, her hand moving to fiddle with the pearl necklace once more. The long list of things she’s worried about, everything that needs to be done on time for today to run smoothly, is nagging at the back of her mind, but she pushes it back for just a moment.

She’s getting married.

The smile on her face still hasn’t faded by the time cars start to pull up to their driveway, and she can’t hold back a squeal seeing her friends make their way to the front door.

There’s a chorus of greetings between Juliet, her friends, and her parents as they’re ushered inside, her mother rushing off to get coffees for everyone as they settle in the living room.

“How are you feeling after last night?” Olive whispers once Mrs. Thompson is out of earshot.

“Like I need lots and lots of black coffee,” Juliet admits, and her friends’ eyebrows shoot up collectively.

“That bad?” Vika asks, frowning sympathetically at her nod.

“It’s getting better,” she assures them, adding with an excited giggle, “Especially once it hit me what today was.”

“Yes!” Jean exclaims, having experience as the one married member of their little group, “How are you feeling, honey, any nerves?”

Juliet’s fingers twist, fiddling with the emerald ring on her left hand as she tries and fails to bite back a smile.

“I just… I can’t believe it’s really happening,” she admits, “I… I had hoped for so long while he was gone, and even before that, but now that it’s finally here—”

Jo’s arm wraps around her shoulders, pulling her in for a hug. Her friend knew intimately how worried Jules had been for Johnny during the war— Jo’s own sweetheart Robert Rosenthal signing up for a second tour while John had been taken prisoner in Germany had led to the two bonding over their worries for their boys an ocean away— and knew exactly how long she had been longing for this day.

“You deserve it, honey,” Olive says, hazel eyes soft as she reaches for her friend’s hand.

Juliet gives it a grateful squeeze. 

“It’ll be your turn next,” she grins.

“Me and Ev first,” Val chimes in, vibrant green eyes sparkling as bright as the emerald on her finger.

Jules nods, letting out a happy sigh.

“I’m so happy for you girls.”

“Who gives a fig about us?” Jo says playfully, though her gaze is soft as it meets Jules’s, “This is your day, Jules.”

Jules opens her mouth to retort that she, in fact, gives a fig— these girls had become as good as family over the past couple years, their joys and sadnesses shared no matter what— when her mother returns with a tray of steaming mugs.

Several cups of coffee (and a slight lessening of her headache) later, they’re whisked off to the hotel in a pile of chatter and giggles.

“Vika, that color is gorgeous on you!” Val gushes as she finally emerges, the last of the girls to change into their pastel green bridesmaid dresses.

“You all look lovely,” Mrs. Brady smiles from her place on the couch, her gentle gaze sweeping over the girls. 

“Not as lovely as she will,” Olive says after the chorus of thank you and so do you Mrs. Brady, nodding over to the screen where Mrs. Thompson is helping Juliet into her wedding dress.

There’s a beat, a moment where her words hang in the air before Mrs. Brady speaks again, her voice soft.

“She’s been good for my Johnny. And for his father and I, when he was…” She trails off, blinking back tears as she composes herself. “I don’t know what we would’ve done without her.”

The room is quiet, the only sound the occasional rustle of fabric or a soft sigh as each girl listens intently.

“I’ve known my boy wanted to marry her since the moment he told me about this girl who dragged him around to every bookstore in Ithaca. Even just hearing him over the phone, I knew he was head over heels,” she laughs. “And then when I finally met her?” 

Mrs. Brady’s eyes go soft, distantly recalling the first time John had brought Juliet Thompson home.

“That’s when I knew she was the one,” she says with a soft laugh, “When I asked her about her studies, she started talking about some sort of assignment she had regarding Shakespeare, and Johnny— who couldn’t have cared less about Shakespeare, or reading anything for that matter— was hanging onto her every word. The look on his face…”

“I’ll be so proud,” Mrs. Brady murmurs, “to call her my daughter.”

“I know she can’t wait to be part of your family,” Jo smiles earnestly.

“He still gets like that when she talks about Shakespeare, Mrs. Brady,“ Olive giggles, “Even on base, we could tell when he’d just gotten one of her letters. Strong, serious Lieutenant Brady walking around with the silliest grin on his face—”

Behind the screen, the idle chatter of Mrs. Brady and the girls provides a soothing backdrop for Juliet, and their laughter brings a smile to her face as she steps into her wedding dress.

It’s not the first time she’s worn it— her mother had her try it on several times over the course of her sewing and resewing her own wedding dress to be repurposed for her daughter’s big day— but she knows down to her bones that this time is different. There are no pins, no Mama fussing about a seam here or a loose thread there.

Well, there is a little bit of that, but it’s minimal as she pins the darling pillbox hat she’d found with the girls in place, adjusting the veil so it falls just so over her impeccably made-up face. With all the fussing and preparation they've done over the past couple months, Juliet almost expects to see a stranger staring back at her from the mirror.

But it’s just… her. About to be married.

“Oh my darling…” her mother says, meeting her eyes in their reflection as hers well up with tears, “You look beautiful.”

Juliet takes in a shaky breath as she smooths down the full silk skirt, a bundle of tulle forming a sort of bow at her waistline. Her gaze follows the path of pearls up the creamy silk to an illusion neckline, a string of pearls resting at her throat, and something about seeing it through the haze of the veil over her eyes makes it feel that much more real.

She turns to embrace her mother, murmuring a soft and sincere “Thank you.”

Her mother’s arms squeeze tight around her for a moment before she steps back, not wanting to wrinkle the fabric.

“Well,” she says, “Ready to show everyone?”

Juliet and her mother step out from behind the screen, and the room falls silent.

“Juliet…”

Mrs. Brady is the first to break the breathless hush that’s fallen over the room.

“Sweetheart, you look lovely.”

“It’s perfect, Jules.”

“Brady’s gonna be speechless.”

Her heart thumps in her chest, glowing under the praise. She’s glad her friends love it as much as she does, but what she really wants to see is Johnny’s reaction. 

The girls’ voices fade into the background as that thought lingers, and lingers, and—

She blinks, and suddenly her mother is giving her a final kiss on the cheek as she and Mrs. Brady inch towards the door.

“We’ll be back when it’s time to go.”

The moment they’re gone, Juliet collapses into a chair, the full weight of what’s about to happen hitting her all at once.

“Oh gulabo,” Vika turns towards her, eyes wide, “are you alright?”

“Darling, you look like you’re about to pass out,” Olive says, frowning slightly as she peers intently at her friend. “Earth to Jules,” she urges, waving a hand in front of her face.

“Sorry,” Juliet says shakily, pushing her veil back over her head with trembling hands, because even that thin fabric between her and the world feels too confining at the moment, “I just— I’m so nervous.”

“About what, chickie?” Val chimes in, “You’re marrying your boy. Smooth sailing from there!”

“Yes!” Vika says, beaming, “This is the day we’ve been waiting for!”

There’s a clink from the other side of the room, and their attention snaps towards it.

Juliet blinks, anxiety momentarily traded for confusion as Jean produces bar equipment from who knows where, starting the familiar process of mixing her infamous martinis.

“Uhm, where did—?”

“Jo sweet-talked Rosie into convincing the barman to let us… borrow some of his things last night,” Olive giggles over the clinking of ice, “His lawyer charm worked an absolute treat.”

She still has… several questions, but before she can voice any of them, the anxiety returns with a vengeance.

“Here,” Jean says, shoving a glass into her hand, “Drink up, pumpkin. Only half an hour to go!”

Juliet focuses on the cool glass, letting the sensation ground her as Jo helps pass drinks around to the other girls.

“To the Bradys.”

She raises her glass, the words repeating around the room, smiles audible.

A thrill runs up Jules’s spine at the toast, and she smiles into her drink as she takes a generous sip, wincing slightly at the strength of it.

In half an hour, she’ll be Juliet Brady.

“Doll,” Jo rests a hand on her shoulder, “Do you need us to check up on anything?”

“If one of you wouldn’t mind walking over to the church… make sure everything is set—”

“I’ve got it, chicken,” Olive says, standing to drape the silk shawl that matches their bridesmaid dresses over her shoulders. “Anyone wanna join?”

Jules can’t help but grin as Vika eagerly volunteers, and the sound of Olive teasing her about seeing Benny fades as the door closes behind them.

“Tell us again where you’re going on your honeymoon, Jules.”

Jo’s voice cuts through the sound of her heartbeat in her ears, and Juliet feels a blush heating her cheeks as she answers.

“We’ve booked a lakehouse up near Rochester. Ten whole days.”

“That sounds wonderful, honey.” Jean smiles.

“It does,” Val chimes in with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, “A whole house to yourself? And on a lake, too, very romantic. Plenty of privacy…” She singsongs.

“You’ll have lots of fun, I promise.” Jean adds with a wink.

“You’re all awful,” Jules giggles, nearly choking on her next sip. “As excited as I am for that,” she says, her blush intensifying, “I’m even more excited to see the house, once we’re back.”

“He got it?!”

“You haven’t seen it yet?!”

The girls’ questions overlap, and it takes Juliet a moment to parse who said what.

“He did. Johnny’s been working on it for a while with my father, getting as much as he can fixed up before we move in” she confirms, sliding into an almost-whine as she continues, “and he won’t let me see it! Says he wants it to be a surprise.”

“He’s probably fixing up a private library just for you,” Jo teases sweetly through a sip of her own drink.

Juliet shakes her head. “Don’t be silly,” she waves the comment away, but can’t help the grin growing on her face. What if…?

She can feel her cheeks heat and pinken as they work their way through Jean’s well-strengthened martinis, and by the time her glass is drained, her nerves are gone, replaced by an all-encompassing giddiness.

And just in time, as a soft rap of knuckles on wood alerts her to someone at the door before it bursts open to reveal her mother, Mrs. Brady, Olive and Vika. They pile into the room, all smiles and— in her mother’s case— eyes shiny with unshed tears.

“It’s time, sweetheart.”

Her eye flick to Olive and Vika, and her dearest friends grin reassuringly.

“The church looks beautiful, chicken.”

“Everything’s ready, Jules,” Vika smiles, her voice sweet and soft, “All we need is you.”

Juliet nods, pushing to her feet. One deep breath in and out as she looks around at her friends— no, her family.

She beams.

“Here we go.”

It’s a short drive to the church, and in no time she’s slipping out of the car and walking up the steps to the side entrance, the girls helping with her short train and her mother clutching her bouquet of gardenias and pink roses.

“I’ll go check in with Johnny and let your father know you’re here,” Mrs. Brady whispers as they enter, giving her hand one last squeeze. “See you later, honey.”

Juliet thanks her softly, and with one last smile over her shoulder, she’s gone.

Their little group makes their way to the small room just down the hall where they’ll wait for the ceremony to start. The church is small, small enough that she can hear the soft chatter of their guests in the main chapel, and butterflies once again stir to life in her belly.

Peeking in the mirror to make sure her makeup is still immaculate, she sees the door open behind her, and she whirls around with a grin.

“Daddy…”

Her father is in his best suit, and his eyes are wide as he takes in his daughter on her wedding day.

He steps forward and pulls her into his chest.

“My little girl,” he whispers, his hoarse voice the only hint of the emotion he’s holding back, “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, hugging him tight. Juliet feels tears welling up and rapidly blinks them back as she steps out of her father’s embrace with a watery smile.

She can hear the chatter outside soften slightly, the string quartet and choir start up, and knows that Johnny’s following Father Pat down the aisle, just like they rehearsed. Any minute now they’ll be called for the procession…

Juliet turns back to the mirror for a flurry of last-minute adjustments, tucking away a stray hair here and there, fixing the way her necklace lays against her collarbones, one last affectionate twist of her engagement ring, and she can hardly keep the smile off her face as her mother looks up from her watch to announce:

“It’s time.”

Jules stays tucked just around the corner with her father as her mother brushes one last kiss to her cheek, her eyes keen as if taking in every detail of Juliet’s face before she turns and disappears down the hall leading to the main chapel. The music rises and falls as the large doors open and then close behind Mrs. Thompson.

The girls flutter around her one last time, fussing with her train and veil before they, too, line up with their respective men— Benny and Vika looking not at all upset, if a bit shy, that they ended up paired together— and disappear into the chapel.

Now it’s just Juliet and her father, and he’s looking at her with an indescribable emotion on his face— as if he’s seeing all the hers she’s ever been.

The little six-year-old begging for another story at bedtime, wide green eyes and a trembling lip drawing another fairytale out of him.

The ten-year-old listening rapt as he read A Midsummer Night’s Dream aloud, giggling and starry-eyed and believing wholeheartedly in fairies.

The teenager accumulating a more impressive collection of books than even he could have imagined, carefully nurturing an appreciation of Shakespeare he’d planted himself alongside a newly-developing thirst for romance.

The near-grown woman, smiling bright as the sun at the prospect of attending Cornell, ready to take on the world and then some.

“Ready, my Juliet?” is all he says as they wait for the doors to open once more.

Juliet beams up at him, forcing back the pressure behind her eyes— she refuses to have ruined mascara on her way down the aisle— and nods.

And then the doors are opening, revealing the chapel resplendent with white streamers and fragrant with gardenias, the few modest rows of friends and family and neighbors turning to look as she enters, but there’s only one face she cares about.

Juliet’s eyes lock on John Brady standing at the end of the aisle, finding his gaze as easy as breathing. He looks… positively awestruck, an adoring grin spreading across his face, and she can’t stop smiling back, lovely, bright, heart achingly sweet happiness bubbling up inside her at the sight of him standing proud in his dress uniform at the end of the aisle.

The world shrinks until it’s just the two of them, Canon in D a sweet victorious hymn in the background— he made it out, made it home to her, made it back to a place where he could put the war behind him, they made it. 

Through separation and war and uncertainty and worry and fear, they made it. 

The tears well at her lashline, threaten to spill over, but she holds them back as best she can until she catches a slight change in the music. Her eyes flick to Olive, whose teary eyes are now bright with proud mischief, then back to her Johnny as the song shifts to something it takes her a moment to recognize.

The tears spill over her cheeks as soon as her brain fills in the lyrics to a song she shouldn’t know, but has felt a connection to since the moment her friend played it for her.

Can I go where you go?…

The world is hazy through her veil, and blurry through her tears until she blinks them away to find herself standing barely a foot away from Johnny. Surprise and fondness sparks through her when she sees that his own blue eyes are shining with tears as her father presses a final kiss to her cheek and presses her hand into John Brady’s.

She knows her boy will take care of her. She knows her father knows that too, but it warms her heart all the same to see John give a solemn nod to Mr. Thompson as his hand envelops hers, his face— for the barest flash of a moment— as serious as the day he went off to war.

She passes off her bouquet to Vika, and turns back to him smiling.

“Hi,” she breathes, a greeting for his ears alone. She wants nothing more than to kiss him senseless, but she can’t… not yet.

“Hi,” he whispers back fondly, that crooked grin she adores widening as his eyebrows lift slightly in amusement. 

The priest allows them this small moment, giving them an indulgent smile before— finally— beginning the ceremony.

Juliet does her best to memorize every detail of the hour-long ceremony, but afterwards she’ll admit it’s all a blur until the moment Benny gives John the rings.

She remembers every second after that for the rest of her life.

She remembers seeing Johnny’s smile through the haze of her veil, Father Pat’s friendly rumble faded to background noise as he asked him to vow for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?. She remembers the surety in her soon-to-be husband’s voice as he replied “I do”, the weight of the simple gold band sliding to join the emerald on her ring finger.

She remembers Father Pat asking her the same— for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?— and the “I do” that tumbles out of her almost before he’s finished speaking, prompting a titter of fond laughter to echo through the crowd of guests.

She remembers his hand, warm and strong and scarred and sure in hers as she slides on his own wedding band.

They’re pronounced man and wife, and Johnny can finally lift the veil over her head, and— oh.

She understands now, why at every wedding she’s attended here, the bride seems to be hit by a wave of sudden emotion after her veil is lifted. There’s something that rocks her to her core about seeing the world through a haze and it only being lifted once they’ve promised themselves to each other for the rest of their lives.

Johnny’s beaming, his eyes soft as he takes her in properly. His thumb strokes gently along her cheek, his gaze almost greedily snatching at the details the sheer fabric was hiding from him. 

And then he’s leaning in, and her husband is kissing her, soft and chaste and sweet in front of all of their loved ones, and something warm blooms in her chest as she smiles into the kiss, something that tells her this is only the beginning of a very happy new chapter.

Her parents, Mrs. Brady, and the bridal party linger for pictures on the church steps after the guests file out— Juliet makes sure to get a picture of her and the girls together, demure smiles abandoned in favor of outright beaming at the camera.

Once the pictures are done, the whole group is whisked back to the Thompson home. Her mother bustles off to the kitchen, Mrs. Brady hot on her heels, while John and Juliet field congratulations from neighbors and family and friends— only a handful of people, all things considered, but everyone they deemed important.

As somewhat overwhelming as all of it is, Juliet can’t stop smiling, nodding and thanking everyone for coming. Meatball’s arrival— courtesy of Mrs. Demarco, who had volunteered to keep an eye on him at home so he wouldn’t cause any havoc at the ceremony— provides a welcome reprieve, the husky eagerly greeting the new faces as Benny’s mother offers her congratulations and goes to find a well-deserved glass of champagne.

Everyone settles at the mismatched tables in the backyard, covered with every scrap of respectable linen Juliet and her mother could scrounge up. The warm, sunny afternoon is a perfect backdrop as the toasts start.

Her father’s makes her cry, her giggles morphing into tears as he reminisces on the fine young lady his daughter has grown up to be, slipping from jokingly threatening John to wishing them the happiest of lives together. Mr. Thompson is a fairly stoic man, but Juliet can just barely see the telltale sheen of unshed tears as he raises a glass in their direction.

“To the bride and groom.”

The toast is echoed by their guests as her father returns to his seat and the groomsmen take turns speaking. Despite the tradition of speeches being limited to just the best man and maid of honor, both Juliet and John thought it was only right for all of their friends to have the opportunity to speak if they wished.

All five of them— Benny, Ev, Dougie, Rosie, and Croz— are surprisingly sentimental, each of them taking a moment in their own way to tell the newly proclaimed Mr. and Mrs. Brady how happy they are for them— they all know how long Brady had waited for this day, and to see it realized, to be there to celebrate with him, was an honor and a joy they tried their hardest to put into words.

Seeing the grateful smile on her husband’s face as they speak, Juliet feels a wave of fondness rush over her— as awful as the war was, it gave both of them some very dear friends on the other side, and she’s sure neither of them would change it for the world.

Speaking of very dear friends…

Vika steps up first, a shy smile on her face as she speaks about their childhood friendship, reconnecting as adults, how even with how long she’s known her, she sees Juliet at her absolute happiest when she’s with John.

“I hope that never fades,” she concludes, raising her glass in a slender hand, “And may we all be lucky enough to find a love like yours.”

Olive comes next, her speech sprinkled with Shakespeare references as she talks about a friendship built on pages sent across oceans.

“Brady lit up when he first told me about his girl who shared a name with one of Shakespeare’s heroines, and I was so excited when he offered to send along an essay for me— thanks for letting me take up so much space in your letters, Brady—” the Brit adds with a wink, “I was more than happy to talk about tragedies with you, Jules, but I’m over the moon seeing you get your well-deserved happy ending.”

Jean steps up with a sweet smile as Olive returns to her seat. She talks of friendships forged in worry and wartime, and reminds Juliet that should she need anything— there’s something fierce yet soft in her gaze that tells Juliet she truly means anything— she’s only a letter or phone call away.

Jo’s next, reminiscing on their time spent distracting each other from the ever-present worry of the past couple years, building a lifelong friendship in the process, and echoing Jean’s reminder that they’re there for anything. “Especially if you’re itching for another ride on the Cyclone,” she laughs, “And that goes for you, too, John.”

(John shakes his head vehemently, still smiling, and Juliet makes it her mission then and there to get her husband on that rollercoaster at least once).

Val brings the speeches to an end, all sweet Brooklyn snark— “still can’t believe Brady landed someone as sweet as you, Jules, have you seen how grumpy he is in the mornings?”— laced with the genuine, infectious  joy they’re all feeling today.

Juliet frantically dabs away another round of tears, blowing kisses to each of her friends as the speeches come to an end. She’d left the option of speeches open to all of them, of course, but she hadn’t anticipated…

Johnny squeezes her hand, and she turns to see his sweet smile. His blue eyes are soft as he lifts her left hand to press a kiss to the back of it, and she thinks she might actually burst from the amount of love she feels in that moment.

The sweet moment is interrupted by motion out of the corner of her eye, followed by soft gasps and murmurs from their guests, and she turns to see her mother wheeling the cake over to their table, a bright, proud smile gracing Helen Thompson’s face.

Juliet’s jaw drops as she takes in the tiered confection, elaborately decorated with thick cream frosting. She’d told her mother it didn’t need to be anything fancy— the simple lemon cake from her childhood was all she’d really pictured— not wanting her to save their sugar rations just for this, but…

She scrambles out of her seat and races to her mother, Johnny following close behind as she pulls her in for a fierce hug.

“Mama, it’s wonderful. Thank you so, so much, it’s just perfect, how on earth did you manage this?”

“It was nothing, sweetheart,” Mrs. Thompson says modestly, eyes flicking between her daughter and her new son-in-law, “You deserved nothing but the best on your wedding day.”

“It’s wonderful, Mrs. Thompson,” John says, “Thank you.”

Her mother beams in thanks, and gestures them closer to the table.

“Oh, go on and cut it already— but wait for your father, he wants to get pictures!”

The newlywed Bradys take up the kitchen knife that’s been set beside the cake and— exchanging a smile— carefully cut into the bottom tier, pulling out a small slice. Juliet grins when her husband holds his fingers to her lips, accepting the small bite that Johnny pinches off the slice for her.

She happily does the same for him, and— oh, she can’t resist. 

With a giggle, she smears the bit of frosting left on her finger onto the tip of his nose. The moment of pure shock on his face is well worth his revenge when she ends up with a matching dot of frosting on herself.

Her own shock is wiped off her face as her grinning husband swoops in to kiss her. She smiles into the kiss, tasting lemon and sugar on his lips as their guests cheer.

Her mother soon reappears, shooing them back to their seats with slices of cake so she can commence distributing the rest to the guests. They happily oblige, feeding each other bite by bite until nothing but crumbs remain and Juliet’s head is deliciously fuzzy with champagne and sugar.

Which makes it that much easier for her husband to pull her onto the little section of grass they called the dance floor, Juliet fighting back a blush as she’s pulled into his arms for a slow dance. A few of their neighbors with musical talents had happily offered their services for the reception, and it's thanks to them that John can twirl his bride around the floor to his heart’s content as the tempo picks up and their friends join in.

The improvised band returns to a slow song, and Johnny’s arms wind around her waist to pull her close. Face tucked against his shoulder, she looks out at their friends— Benny and Vika chatting at a table nearby, the Crosbys, Rosie and Jo, Ev and Val surrounding them on the grass… She catches Olive’s eye, swaying nearby with Dougie, and beams, reaching out instinctively for her friend. Olive’s neatly manicured hand clasps her own, and she gives a soft squeeze, hoping that tiny action conveys even a fraction of the gratitude she feels. 

When they first started writing, she couldn’t have imagined how close she’d become to the sweet English girl an ocean away— a lifetime away— helping keep tabs on her Johnny. She adored Jo and Jean and the rest of the girls equally, of course, but Olive’s updates— even after Johnny had gone down— were a large part of the reason she hadn’t gone completely out of her mind with worry. Any news that came from Olive came in the guise of soft conversation with a friend, rather than those dreaded stoic telegrams, and it was… easier, somehow.

Olive squeezes back, hazel eyes glinting with happiness, and with one last knowing smile, they each return to their respective partners. 

Goodness, she can’t wait for their wedding.

Her husband catches her attention with a gentle squeeze of her waist, and Juliet pulls back to look up at him questioningly.

“I’m glad I got to introduce you two,” he smiles, nodding towards Olive, “Even if those essays did take up far too many of my letters.”

“Me too,” Juliet replies, adding teasingly, “And you hush, I know you read them too.”

“Maybe a few,” Johnny admits, “Still didn’t understand a word.”

“Better get used to it, sweetheart,” Juliet beams, “You’re stuck with me now.”

He leans in, smiling against her lips.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Mrs. Brady.”

Their guests slowly trickle out after the cake and dancing, and soon it’s just her family— both biological and found— milling about to clean up the backyard. She can’t help but giggle at the various scoldings from the girls to “Be careful!” as the boys gather what the Thompsons deem their “good plates” to be returned to the kitchen, and something warm settles in her chest, seeing all of her friends milling about her childhood home— all the people she loves in one place. 

Once the last of the tables have been put away (that is, returned to their various neighbors, with profuse thanks for allowing them to borrow them), Juliet finds herself standing beside the gardenia bush she’d planted below her bedroom window.

“Everything okay?”

She turns to see Johnny making his way over to her and smiles in spite of herself.

“I’m fine,” she assures her husband, “just… taking a moment before we start getting ready to leave.”

He nods, looking up at her window as he stands beside her.

“Good thing you won’t have me tossing rocks at your window to sneak you out of here anymore.”

She blinks, unsure of where that came from. Yes, that was something that had happened when they first started dating… more often than she cared to admit, but what did that have to do with now?

John turns his gaze to the blooming gardenia at their feet.

“This poor fella would’ve been trampled to bits.”

Juliet giggles, “I’ll admit I wasn’t thinking about that when I planted it here. I just liked the smell— I couldn’t bear the thought of it being gone when we converted the garden.”

He smiles, leaning down to gently pluck a blossom from the bush.

“We’ll plant as many as you want at the new place,” he murmurs, tucking the flower carefully behind her ear.

She beams, a thrill running through her at the thought that after the celebration, after their honeymoon, they still have a home to set up —to make their own.

“I can’t wait.”

Soon Juliet is whisked off to change, her dress tucked carefully into a garment bag to be kept safe at her parents’ home until after the honeymoon.

Her husband— husband, husband, husband, the word fills her with sunshine every time she thinks it— stands smiling at the bottom of the stairs as she descends. She slips her hand into his, and together they run out of her childhood home in a shower of rice. They pause before entering the car waiting at the end of the walk, and Juliet turns back. Grinning, she tosses her bouquet blindly, a few stray petals fluttering to the ground as it sails through the air and is caught by Val.

Her friend beams, a wide red-lipped smile stretching across her face as she glances towards Ev, green eyes sparkling like the emerald on her ring finger.

Juliet blows the girls a kiss, squeezes her parents tight one last time, and slips into the car, John closing the door for her before running around to the driver’s side.

Waving frantically until their friends fade from view, the car is silent as they drive unceremoniously past the tiny town limit sign. Juliet turns to look at Johnny— and beams when she sees he’s already staring at her.

She’s already said it a thousand times today, but she can’t resist repeating again.

“I love you.”

His reply is the same as it’s been the other thousand times, as though he’ll never tire of saying it— though this time there’s something tacked on at the end that makes her feel warm all over,  like she just swallowed sunshine.

“I love you, too, Mrs. Brady.”

[jossarisfoto]

Valencia | Traditie, Cultuur en een Vleugje Magie

Donderdag, 16 juni 2016 | De laatste dag van onze onvergetelijke vakantie in het prachtige Valencia. Met gemengde gevoelens van opwinding en een vleugje weemoed, bereidden we ons voor op een dag vol culturele hoogtepunten en eeuwenoude tradities. Het Watertribunaal: Een Levend Stukje Geschiedenis Onze dag begon met grote verwachtingen voor een bijzonder evenement dat al meer dan 1000 jaar…

[neonbutchery]

LLISTA D'ORGANITZACIONS I INICIATIVES PRO-PALESTINA ALS PAÏSOS CATALANS, ACTUALITZADA (MAIG 2024)

com tumblr és una plataforma angloparlant, la majoria de les notícies que circulen són de moviments i mobilitzacions als estats units, canadà, anglaterra, i altres països anglos. i encara que està molt bé construïr solidaritat interacional i assabentar-se del que passa a altres indrets del món, cal no perdre la vista sobre les accions i els esdeveniments que ens cauen molt més a prop.

han passat uns mesos després de la primera llista que vaig fer, i per sort, l'activisme pro-palestí segueix creixent als països catalans, amb manifestacions, col·loquis i xerrades, i ara, les primeres acampades estudiantils. on jo he trobat més convocatòries és a través d'instagram, però si coneixeu algun altre recurs digueu-m'ho.

ASSOCIACIONS GENERALS

Comunitat Palestina de Catalunya. porten molts anys fent activisme i estan molt actius a xarxes socials. de fet, la majoria dels enllaços en aquesta llista vénen d'ells. INSTAGRAM / TELEGRAM / TWITTER

Comunidad Palestina de Valencia (en català i castellà) - FACEBOOK

Associació Catalana de Jueus i Palestins - JUNTS

Coalició Prou Complicitat - INSTAGRAM / TWITTER

Samidoun España (no és exclusiu dels PPCC, però penja moltes accions i convocatòries que si que ho són). INSTAGRAM / FACEBOOK

Casa Palestina Catalunya - TELEGRAM / FACEBOOK / WHATSAPP

BDS (Boycott, Divest, Sanction)

BDS - Pàgina oficial (en castellà)

Llista de productes, serveis i empreses per boicotejar que col·laboren amb l'ocupació israeliana i estan presents als PPCC

Directori BDS Catalunya (‼ pot no estar actualitzat ‼)

BDS - Red Solidaria Contra la Ocupación en Palestina. Perfil general de les organitzacions BDS a l'estat espanyol (en castellà)

BDS País Valencià. TWITTER / INSTAGRAM / FACEBOOK / TELEGRAM

BDS Girona

BDS Castelló

BDS Bages / Catalunya Central

BDS Alacant

🏕 ACAMPADES ESTUDIANTILS 🏕

Universitat de València - Acampada Palestina UV. Accepten a qualsevol persona que vulgui unir-se, i també donacions de diners o de menjar. TELEGRAM - TWITTER

@useless-catalanfacts podries tornar a difondre això? Moltes gràcies!

Llista més exhaustiva d'associacions regionals a sota d'aquest separador.

CATALUNYA

BARCELONA CIUTAT

Comitè de Solidaritat amb Palestina de Sants-Montjuïc

UAB Acció per Palestina

Comitè Solidaritat Palestina Facultat Dret UB

Comitè de Solidaritat amb Palestina del Campus Diagonal

Comitè estudiantil de solidaritat amb el poble palestí

PROVÍNCIA DE BARCELONA

Penedès amb Palestina - LINKTREE

RipoPalestina (Ripollet)

Molins amb Palestina (Molins de Rei)

L'Hospitalet amb Palestina

El Montserratí X Palestina

SUMUD Palestina (Santa Coloma de Gramenet) - FACEBOOK

PROVÍNCIA DE TARRAGONA

Terres de l'Ebre amb Palestina

PROVÍNCIA DE LLEIDA

Comitè en Solidaritat amb Palestina de Lleida

PROVÍNCIA DE GIRONA

Pla de l'Estany amb Palestina

La Garrotxa amb Palestina

Ripoll amb Palestina

ALTRES

PalestinaCatCentral

ILLES BALEARS

Mallorca per Palestina

Plataforma de Solidaritat amb el Poble Palestí d'Eivissa

PAÍS VALÈNCIA

Estudiants per Palestina

[youchangedmedestiel]

Crazy ex-natural

Okay, hear me out.

I had an idea of a crossover between Supernatural and Crazy ex-girlfriend (one is definitely more popular than the other), where Dean would play Rebecca's role:

Dean met Benny when they were young, around 16 years old. They saw each other for the first time at that summer camp back in the days, which was called Purgatory. It was a kind of military camp where Dean's father, John, sent him to put him back on track before the next school year. Dean chose his own track and it was Benny. They started the kind of relationship Dean never knew before. They had a lot of fun and Dean was probably in love. That's why bumping into him here, among all the other streets of New York, where Dean is having a life crisis right now, seems to be a sign of fate.

A fate that Dean decides to follow. He drops his job at the major law firm, and moves to California, more specifically to West Covina, where Benny had always lived with his family and friends.

Dean joins a little law firm here and finds a new flat. He meets new people, one barmaid named Crowley that seems sarcastic but funny and kinda cute, a coworker named Charlie who probably will become his best friend, but Benny is nowhere to find for now.

... TO BE CONTINUED (maybe ?)

Like I don't know if people would be interested in this story. Dean would play the role of Rebecca Bunch in Crazy ex-girlfriend and then you'll have:

Benny = Josh

Charlie = Paula

Crowley = Greg

Cas = Nathaniel

John = Rebecca's mom

Chuck = Nathaniel's dad

Garth = White Josh

Rowena = Hector

Jo = Valencia

Sam = Heather

Gabriel = Darryl

[urperfectcinnamonroll07]

Do's and Don'ts

Hello everyone! I'm not really that new to Tumblr, so I do know how this whole thing works. I just kinda deleted my old acc, and made this one for a fresh start so yeah:)

You can find my Masterlist here!

Do's

Fluff

Angst

Smut

Platonic

Girl x girl

Gender nuetral reader/non binary reader

Platonic age gaps

PLATONIC family pieces (like, brother x sister, sister x sister, platonic stuff yk)

Don'ts

Rape

Huge age gaps (from four years apart and up)

Incest

Yandre/Tsundre

Character x animal/furry kinda thing

Kidnapping (unless it is part of a story and the kidnapper is platonic e.g. the grabber x platonic!reader etc)

A scenario in which the reader dies

Spirit x Reader (like a ghost kind of spirit, because that's js weird)

Specific AU's (e.g. Mafia!Seungcheol x reader. In general I js think it's a no)

anything anal (just no)

People who I write for:

Seventeen

All members

Alice In Borderland

Shuntaro Chishiya

Yuzuha Usagi

Ryohei Arisu

Kuina

Ann

Suguru Niragi

Ginji Kyuma

Daikichi Karube

Mira

Aguni

Akane Heiya

Kotoko Shiga

Sunato Banda

Kōdai Tatta

Oki Yaba

All Of Us Are Dead

Lee Su-hyeok

Choi Nam-ra

Lee Cheong-san

Nam On-jo

Yoon Gwi-nam

Park Mi-jin

Jang Ha-ri

Jang Woo-jin

Min Eun-ji

Han Gyeong-su

Yang Dae-su

Stray Kids

All members

BTS

All members

Blackpink

All members

Any Kpop groups

Squid Game

Kang Sae-byeok

Seong Gi-hun

Hwang Jun ho

Abdul Ali

Front Man

Cho Sang woo

Twisted Series

Alex Volkov

Rhys Larsen

Josh Chen

Christian Harper

Ava Chen

Bridget Von Aschenberg

Jules Ambrose

Stella Alonso

King of Sin Series

Dante Russo

Kai Young

Dominic Davenport

Xavier Castillo

Vivian Lau

Isabella Valencia

Alessandra Davenport

Sloane Kensington

There might be more added to this, but I will try to make a Masterlist sometime soon. So cya, and have a lovely day. Don't forget to drink water and eat something, love you all!

[winniemaywebber]

hi winnie! for build a fic prompt, can i request this for jean or olive (whoever you feel like ):

1) a broken-down elevator

E) ankle

꒰ 𓅟 ꒱ “don’t bullshit me, i can hear your heart pounding.”

thank you ❤️❤️

hi friend! I'm sorry this took so darn long. I hope you enjoy it! I loved writing it <3 one of my new faves for sure.

Olive puts the final touches to her hair and make up, nervously glancing at herself in the hotel vanity. 

“Don’t you look as beautiful as ever?” Dougie compliments, sitting up in bed. 

“Thank you, darling,” she murmurs back in reply, her voice shaking slightly. She tries to hide it, clearing her throat and taking her eyes away from her reflection. He catches it instantly, Olive seeing Dougie’s head cocking from the corner of her eye.

“What’s up, doll?” “I don’t–I don’t know, actually. It’s a really important day and I just find myself extremely anxious.” “You’ll be fine once you get with the girls. Who’s going today?” “There’s Val and I,” she begins, counting on her fingers. “Jo, Jules, Vika…and Jean.” “There it is,” Dougie says, a triumphant tone to his voice as if he’d cracked open some cold case. “It’s Jean Crosby.” “And what about Jean Crosby?”

She stares James down, knowing he knows the truth yet wanting him to spit it out. She bites her lip anxiously, breaking the eye contact. “I don’t think Jean is all too keen on me, Dougie.”

“What makes you think that?” “We’ve barely said two words to each other - rather, she’s barely said two words to me.” She pauses for a second, contemplating her next verbalized thought. “It’s okay for her not to like me, it just sucks, y’know? I really wanted us to be friends,” Olive says, heat rising up her throat. “Especially because you and Croz are such good buddies. It would be perfect, but–” “Croz has always said she takes a moment to warm up to new people, honey girl.” “I know, I know,” she replies, her tone trying to brush him off. “But she’s warmed up to Valencia just fine.” “They have more in common, and Val was writing to Josephine for years; no wonder Jean feels like she knows her.” “Do you just have an answer for everything I say?” “Yes,” he says cockily, winking at her from the bed. “Now, put that worried face away. Gimme a smooch before you go, that’s it.”

***

“Jeanie Bug!” Harry Crosby calls from downstairs. “The cab’ll be here in a minute. Are you almost ready?” “Yes, Binger!” she yells in reply, wincing at her high strung tone. Grabbing her purse from her vanity, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before beginning to descend the stairs. “Here and ready,” she says, stuffing her feet into her black kitten heels. “How do I look?” “Lovely as ever, my little wife.”

Croz looks her over, taking in her ever present beauty before really registering her emotion. “You look nervous, darling. What’s the matter?” “Oh, nothing,” she replies, placing the shoe horn back in its drawer. “Just one of those days.” “Hmm,” Harry murmurs, slightly narrowing his eyes at her. “Don’t believe you.” “Believe what you want, Mr Crosby. I’m fine.” “Sure. Well, have fun. I’m sure you’re looking forward to seeing everyone.” He sees his wife wince, his eyes widening as he realizes he’s getting to the reason for her nervousness. “Not sure everyone’s looking forward to seeing me, Bing.” “Ah!” He says. “You mean English?” “Yes!” Jean relaxes instantly at his answer, shoulders sagging as if the weight of the anxiety had just left them.  “I don't think she's exactly raving about me, Bing”

“Give her time. Her life has just changed, gone totally upside down. She'll come around.”

“I hope it's sooner rather than later. I'd hate for her to think that I'm not welcoming her.”

“I know Olive. She doesn't think that. She's just a little subdued. You should have seen her those first few days with us. She was quiet as a mouse unless someone spoke to her first!”

“I don’t think I believe that.” She sighs at herself for her assumption, realizing at once that she’s being extremely unfair.

“Just try, okay? For Dougie…and for me.”

“Yes, dear,” she replies, teeth gritted.

“It’ll be okay. It’s just you're very intimidating sometimes”

“Binger!”

“Hey…I like it,” he says, kissing her softly as they hear the cab pull up outside.

“See you for lunch, Mrs Croz.”

***

The girls had all greeted each other with such gusto that they had acquired a few nasty stares from passersby, but they paid them no mind. Jean and Olive had exchanged a wry smile at one another, an attempt to remain polite under all the uncertainty.

“Come on, I’m excited!” Valencia commands in her Brooklyn drawl. She drags Olive by the hand, Olive scrambling to pull whoever is behind her by the hand too. It happens to be Jean Crosby, the two of them staring at one another blankly as the awkwardness began to rise. 

“Sorry, Mrs Croz,” Olive says, her voice small. 

“Quite alright, Olive,” she replies, not making eye contact as she speaks. “Before we begin wading ankle deep in wedding dresses, Val,” she says, pulling her gloves off. “I need to use the facilities.” “Me, too, actually,” Olive nods. “We’ll meet you up there. What floor is it on?” “Five,” Jules says, nodding towards the elevator at the opposite end of the store. “Far too many stairs, girlies. Take the elevator.”

***

“Ready?” Olive asks Jean as she wipes her hands dry.

“Yep,” she replies, her tone as dry as her hands. “All ready.”

The two silently make their way over to the elevator Jules had directed them to earlier, Olive pressing the button before Jean and their hands scrambling. They both clear their throat, trying to force themselves through the tension. Stepping on to the plush carpet of the elevator, and pressing their selected floor, the pair ascend in silence. Until…

Bang. Clank.

The elevator comes to a sudden stop, the squeak of brakes piercing their eardrums.

“Well, shit,” Olive whispers. She tries pressing the button to open the doors again, even risking ruining her new manicure to prise the doors open manually.

“Leave it, Olive,” Jean says sternly. “We’re stuck here until they realize.” “Fuck,” Olive replies, eyes darting at her surroundings. She looks to her right at her companion, taking in her ashen face and damp brow, her chest rising and falling with a quickness.

“You alright?” “Yes, Olive.” Jean nods, trying to reassure her. In fact, she can feel the walls of the elevator closing in on her, boxing her in to this tiny space and feels like she’s beginning to suffocate. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m here with you. Breathe,” Olive soothes. “Not good with tight spaces?”

“I’m fine, Olive,” she snaps, the panic causing anger to spill out.

“Don’t bullshit me, Mrs Croz. I can hear your heart pounding from here.”

At Olive’s final remark, Jean leans against the wall, unsteady on her feet. Olive sees Jean’s ankle begin to give way, her body barely able to hold her up.

“Oh jeez, Mrs Crosby. Sit down, doll.” Jean obliges, finally listening to Olive. “There we go. Just breathe, okay?” Olive crouches down, takes her hand and strokes it with her thumb, trying her best to comfort her. “Slowly and deeply. Like this,” she demonstrates, ensuring Jean follows her instructions and looks into her eyes.

“Got a feeling this might be your worst nightmare, Jean,” Olive says once Jean’s breathing has returned to almost normal.

“What makes you say that?” she says, voice still a little tight but chest looser nonetheless. 

“Stuck in a small space, broken down elevator. And it’s me you’re stuck with, of all people.”

“Come again?” Jean questions, face falling in confusion. A breath sticks in Olive’s throat, the words hiding behind it. 

“I thought you didn’t like me,” Olive says, timidly, sitting herself down next to Jean.There’s a silence in the air, Jean trying to figure out how to respond.

“Oh, Olive,” she sighs. “Of course I like you. We just haven’t had a chance to spend time together - just us - yet.” “Now we have,” Olive laughs. “What a story to tell the girls, huh?” “Yes, now we have. And the guys, too.” Another pause, Jean’s head falling to Olive’s shoulder. “Bing will be relieved.” Olive giggles in response. “So will James.”

The friends feel the elevator shoot down and back up in quick succession, the pair of them screaming and laughing at the shock of it. The doors open with a ding, finally at their destination.

“What took you so long?” Vika laughs, carrying five veils upon her arm. “And why are you sat down?” “We got stuck!” “Oh, Jesus,” Jo murmurs, shooting a look towards Val. “Everything okay?” she asks, directing the question to Jean and Olive.

“Everything’s great,” Olive replies softly, standing and realizing that their hands are still entwined.

“I had good company, girls. She’s a doll. Now…where do you need us to start?”

[mitchellcoolboy123]

jar of flies [versainz] - interlude headcanons

read chapter 1 here on ao3

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

so sorry for the lack of an update !!! life is crazy so i hope the miscellaneous art was a decent taster while i write. that being said, no update still (lol sorry) but here’s some headcanons i was thinking of lately. new chapter will be out soon hopefully and it will be longer than the last maybe,,,

ps dont take the rpf too seriously this is still for funsies

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

the paternal issue

max and carlos are two sides of the same coin; one is being eaten alive by the media for his surname while the other is being praised for his surname. expectation breathes down the backs of both their necks. do they agree with the narrative being thrown at them?

Carlos definitely feels the effects of such a weighted name. Afterall, he is quite literally named after his father. To him, this isn’t negative. Carlos carries his name like a badge of honor. He loves his dad and his mission in Formula 1 is to make his dad proud. Being compared to such a great driver definitely puts a lot of pressure on him, especially when that's his dad. Though their series are different, the pressure to live up to that glory is present. While Senior has told him multiple times not to let it get to him and that his love won't change no matter what happens, Carlos still wants to keep the name pure. At the end of the day, being named after his father is a huge honor that Carlos wouldn't even trade for the world. Growing up his dad was his hero and following vaguely in his footsteps was his destiny.

Max carrying the Verstappen name is just another hurdle thrown at him by life. He can't change what happened in the past but he can affect what happens in the future. This burden has followed him throughout karting and single-seaters so he is prepared for any predatory question a lazy journalist could throw at him. Max is still his father's son and there's nothing he can do about his name. He learned to ignore the thoughts of others and has grown some pretty thick skin. The whole discussion around "Verstappen" is all just tabloid drama to him. He's Max, not Jos. His time has yet to come in Formula 1 and when it does, he will make sure people remember his deeds and not his fathers. One day "Verstappen" will signify glory instead of shame.

[ … ]

soulmates… who knew?!

so, everyone has a soulmate and maybe even a vague idea of who they are through a tether of emotions and sometimes their heartbeat or breathing. but why do some people tend to immediately know upon meeting and some dont?

Carlos is, quite frankly, oblivious. He likes Max but he doesn’t think he’s his soulmate. That would be a pretty huge jump in cognitive thinking for a kid he just met and likes. In his mind, his soulmate is a tall, beautiful tanned girl from Valencia with dark, waist length hair and light amber eyes. He thinks Max is cute and his slightly endearing yet off-putting way of staring when he doesn’t think Carlos is looking is sweet but not soulmate material. If Carlos were to be honest, he doesn’t know much about his soulmate nor does he think about them a lot. He often got random pangs of pain as if he had randomly bruised and sometimes he felt a fiery desire to persevere no matter what. The connection between that and his soulmate was never made though. Sometimes he was clumsy and if he didn’t want to win he wouldn’t be karting. Afterall, he had all the love he needed with his family and friends. His soulmate wasn’t on the front of his mind when the affection he needed in the moment surrounded him.

Max knew immediately that Carlos was his soulmate. While he tried to deny if, deep down he knew. Carlos had always been with him, Max just didn't know it at the time. He had always felt the deep rooted kindness and melancholy he radiated. To him, this was normal, but this early connection was quite rare. The connection he gained to Carlos was due to Max searching for a sense of affection in nearly everyone he met as a child. He had been separated from his mom and sister at a young age, his father didn't exact fill the role as a dad, and Max didn't have many friends. As a result, he was able to tune into Carlos early to feel the overwhelming amount of love he gushed for everyone. As he got older, he became slightly obsessed with the idea of his soulmate. It was a topic he thought about the most and even searched every new person he met to verify if they were or weren't his soulmate. Of course, he never found his answer until winter testing in Abu Dhabi.

[ … ]

the red bull racing dilemma

bringing in two rookies to figure out who gets to join a midfield-ing main team off the high of vettel's championship runs was certainly a choice. between a twenty-one y/o and a seventeen y/o, the choice seems pretty clear from the beginning... but do they agree?

Carlos is quite confident that he'll get the promotion. He has an age advantage which ultimately means more driving experience. While he likes Max, he thinks he's too impulsive and not something the bigger team would want. Carlos likes Max and hopes they can keep things civil. They are each others first teammates and he hopes he can hold this relationship close while they travel through their careers in this sport. If things don't turn out that way, he can only hope they can mend their relationship later down the road. At the end of the day, he is just happy that he isn't the guy who's about to get fired on the main team...

Max knows that RBR seat is his. He tends to take a bit of a morally gray approach to how he wants his season to go. Obviously, his mental state is a bit all over the place and his obsessiveness about Carlos does not help. He hates and loves Carlos at the same time. He wants to rip his teammate down and help him succeed. He thinks Carlos will ruin him but he just can't stay away. Maybe he doesn't think the seat will come to him that easily. If he could have it his way, he would rip apart the current RBR line up so he could hand a seat to Carlos on a silver platter. But he can't and he needs to get on the main team. A sacrifice will need to be made and Max knows that will likely be his teammate.

[thevalencianroyals]

meet 15 year old jo and addie ♡

\transcript ~

Académie Rochambeau - North of Franceism - 16 years ago

[Josephine] Who’s that?

[Friend] Who? 

[Josephine] Her, over there. The one everyone is scared to talk to. 

[Adelaide] Oh, Adelaide. Her Royal Highness. *chuckles* The Princess Royal of Valencia. 

[Josephine] That’s the Princess?!

[Adelaide] Yup. 

[Josephine] Do you know her?

[Adelaide] Not really…she came to the academy about a week ago.

[Josephine] Why isn’t anyone talking to her?

[Adelaide] Mmh…I don’t know. She’s pretty quiet. Keeps to herself. 

---

[Josephine] If you’re nervous, there’s no need to be. 

[Adelaide] Excuse me?

[Josephine] Our ballet teacher, Madame DuPont, is actually really nice. 

[Adelaide] Oh. Okay. Thanks for telling me. 

[Josephine] I'm Josephine.

[Adelaide] I’m Adelaide. 

[Josephine] Oh, right— Your Royal Highness— 

[Adelaide] You don’t have to call me that. Really--I’d prefer it if you didn’t.

[Josephine] Right. Sorry. So how do you like the academy so far?

[Adelaide] It’s…fine…

[Adelaide] *deep sigh* I don’t know…I’m a little…homesick…and scared. I haven’t been more than a couple days away from my family. And I don’t know anyone here. But everyone knows me apparently. 

*chuckles*

[Josephine] It goes away, you know. That feeling. 

[Adelaide] Which one?

[Josephine] The fear.

[Adelaide] And the sadness?

[Josephine] You get used to it.

[Adelaide] Thank you, Josephine.

[Josephine] You can call me Jo. All my friends call me Jo.

[guillemelgat]

Hey hello I made a thing! As perhaps a few of you know, I have spent the last half a year being completely unhinged about Patrick O’Brian’s Aubrey-Maturin books, and I’ve always been particularly interested in the character Stephen Maturin and his relationship to Catalonia. I saw that there was a lack of stuff about this part of his identity, and, being me, I felt the need to fill it in the only way I could: compiling music and yelling about it for thirty pages. Hence this playlist.

You really don’t need to know anything about these books to listen to this playlist. You also don’t need to know anything about Catalan (I hope). Catalonia and the Catalan Countries in general (including Valencia, the Balearic Islands, and parts of southern France, Aragon, and Sardinia) have a really interesting musical and literary tradition, and I wanted to make that more accessible, so I put together a few songs I liked, translated them, and wrote a bit about each of their significance, including the most important cultural tidbits I could. Some things don’t translate super well, and I hope my Catalan followers will forgive me for trying to adapt them more for English-speaking audiences than perhaps would be preferable; I usually don’t choose to do that, but in this case I wanted to open the door, and not to intimidate people.

Now that that’s out of the way, here is a link to the PDF of the liner notes (graphic design is my passion, as they say): https://drive.google.com/file/d/1MUpRM84W8aypznEIrt0eA1jG5OxaRZvz/view?usp=sharing

Under the cut I’ve included the ephimera and unnecessary commentary that you know and love, feel free to read or ignore it as you will

These roughly follow the order of the songs and are varying levels of seriousness

If you like "Sant Joan, feu-lo ben gran" then I'd highly recommend listening to the whole Tornaveus album. I almost included the “Stabat Mater de Sudanell” and the “Goigs de Sant Julià de Lòria”, which are both from western Catalonia, and they also have more cançons de pandero, in perhaps a slightly more traditional style. A lot of the other songs have interesting cultural commentary in them, especially on feminist topics, and they’re very well-researched because literally one of the members of the group is basically the ethnomusicologist of Catalan music at the moment. Anyways, if people would like the liner notes perhaps next time I’m home I’ll scan them, they’re in Catalan and English and very well-written. Also note the legendary Lluís Llach song which has been turned into a polyphonic piece lol (and I did not include the “Goigs de la Nostra Senyora de la Llibertat” but tbh that might have been a mistake on my part) (Blorbo side note that I think this fits Stephen’s childhood very well which is mostly why I chose it)

“L’Hereu Riera” is one of my favorite Catalan folk songs I love it so much and if you want to hear the Catalan version (as opposed to the Valencian one included here) and see the dance and also see a cobla, I am including a link to this version by Germà Negre which is tragically not on Spotify. I chose the Valencian one because (1) Al Tall and (2) I think it fits The Blorbo better (specifically I was thinking of his fiancée who dies before Book One who idk if anyone ever remembers shdjfhskf). That being said, Stephen would probably know the Catalan one (and almost certainly not the Valencian one). Also, on a memey-er note, Hereu Riera bisexual king and literal icon <3 love how he has to remind his girlfriend on her deathbed that actually he'd technically be interested in both her sisters AND her brothers if he wasn't so into her that he never wanted to marry anyone else

I literally did put in Roger Mas just so there would be at least one person with a Lleidan accent, #diversity win

Many points about the “Cançó de pandero de l’Urgell” and “Jo no canto per la veu” so here we go:

I put these two songs in mostly because I got very obsessed with the cançó de pandero from Alcarràs (which is a great movie that came out last year about a farming family in a village near Lleida that is winning all the awards atm). Anyways, since Carla Simón has been too busy winning things to put up the gotdam soundtrack, I did a bit of digging and it turns out that it was written for the movie?? By her brother??? It's excellent and very anticapitalist and you can listen to it here and see the trailer for Alcarràs all in one! (Includes English subtitles)

The original “Canto per un amic meu que per mi daria la vida” is probably from a Valencian cant de batre, although I could not get any confirmation on that. But regardless everyone should listen to Pep Botifarra's version of it, which I would literally marry if it had a physical form it’s so so good. (I posted it here back in ye olden days but it's been long enough I think I can post it again)

Valencian music side note because I can’t stop myself: the second pair of verses in the "Cançó de pandero de l'Urgell" (starting with “vos esteu ben acotxada…”) are sung by Miquel Gil, who is a very famous Valencian traditional singer, anyways you should listen to this version of him singing “Del Sud” by Obrint Pas (you want to go down a Valencian music rabbit hole so so bad)

I firmly believe that Stephen would canonically be obsessed with Ausiàs March, and the fact that he has not yet recited any of his poems is Patrick O’Brian’s biggest failing in my eyes. Anyways I have more thoughts but I’m saving them for other posts shdfjsd

If you read this before listening to the playlist please just listen to "El testament d'Amèlia" and follow along with the lyrics in real time before reading the blurb, it's such a good experience to let that song hit you as it comes. I won't say more than that but you'll get it when you get it. (Also obligatory listen to Marala they're so good <3)

From the Càntut album, I also quite like the songs "El pomeró" and "El divino vull cantar", and Càntut in general is an incredible resource, it's a database of folk song field recordings from northeastern Catalonia.

Brief pause to scream about the fact that Maria Arnal and Marcel Bagés WERE ON NPR??? AND NO ONE TOLD ME???? Anyways link in the sources section, also they're great and you should listen to their whole discography

As the #1 Roba Estesa stan blog on Tumblr, listen to Roba Estesa. And Ebri Knight. And El Diluvi.

I chose this version of "La presó de Lleida" because I like it but here's a more traditional one sung by Joan Manel Serrat, another Catalan legend. Here's another one in Catalan rumba style with Sílvia Pérez Cruz singing, the sound is a bit wonky but it's also one of my favorites. The Valencian version of this song is called "La presó de Tibi" and El Diluvi have done a very explicitly anti-monarchical rendition of it (the Balearic one is "La presó de Nàpols").

I'm sorry for never putting the Sílvia Pérez Cruz version of "Corrandes d'exili" but if you want it here it is. Also note that the statue of the Virgin in the poem is a reference to the Virgin of Montserrat, it literally all goes back to her shfjkshdf (also apologies for being very bad at Christianity and Catholicism, if I mistranslated things let me know)

HOO BOY SARDANA TIME

Okay so I have a whole essay to deliver on this that I've been holding inside for the past like two months or so, I apologize in advance for my excessive pedantry on the topic.

In Master and Commander, Stephen delivers this speech:

"‘Then I must tell you that on Sunday mornings it is the custom, in that country, for people of all ages and conditions to dance, on coming out of church: so I was dancing with Ramon Mateu i Cadafalch in the square before the cathedral church of Tarragona, where I had gone to hear the Palestrina Missa Brevis. The dance is a particular dance, a round called the sardana.’"

I hate to be a hater but it is very, very unlikely that anyone would have been dancing a sardana as far south as Tarragona in this time period. The sardana as the symbol of equality and brotherhood emerged in the Renaixença and would not yet have been a thing; Stephen could well have heard sardanas in Ullastret, but they would have been a more typical folk dance, and not anything like the way they're described in the book. It's very ironic, then, that they've become THE Catalan music style for Aubreyad readers, but hopefully this playlist can change that a bit :)

(also sorry for being a sardana-hater on main, someone bring me to dance a sardana and maybe I'll feel better)

Songs that didn't make the cut: La cançó del lladre, Rossinyol que vas a França, La balanguera, La gavina - I'm always happy for more recs!

Originally, this list was also going to include songs in Irish; I quickly realized that I was in over my head with that one, but the working list of songs is here (may be subject to changes so save songs elsewhere if you like them!). Also I would add "Fé Bhláth" by Imelda May and Kíla if it was on Spotify but alas it is not; and "Amhrán na Leabhar" which I have not had time to add but was kindly recommended by someone. I'd love it if someone was interested in actually doing a proper playlist for Irish though—it's a gap in my knowledge that I'd love to start filling.

Aaaaaaand that's a wrap. I hope. Final comment to say thank you to everyone who voted in the cover image poll, turns out you all won :) (Pirineus did win and take the cover of the liner notes though)

[papervalentines]

rip jo valencia you would have loved chappell roan

[blakelysco-pilot]

Hi Gina! I saw Winnie post the January prompts so ran to see if you'd posted them too! (Yay, you have!)

Could I request ¹¹⁾ silver candlesticks for Rosie and Jo and ³⁰⁾ cigar smoke for Val and Ev?

P.S. - When can we have the next chapter of both yours and Winnie's fics? ❤️

Hi nonny! Thank you for the requests! I had a lot of fun with these. 🥰 The next chapters are being worked on, we promise 😉

Prompts from the January Prompts - inbox is open chickies!

Under the cut for space.

11) silver candlesticks - Rosie & Jo

Mintons was bursting from wall to wall with people. The band played on; loud, enthusiastic, as couples flooded the dance floor. A chance to be close, be held, a connection that was missed during the years of war. Tucked back behind the crowds were tables of people, friends, lovers, all taking the chance to sit and have a drink, a conversation. A moment together. One table at the edge of the crowd was occupied by two people deep in conversation, hands clutching each others and eyes unable to leave that of the person across from them.

Major Robert Rosenthal held tight to Josephine Harris. Fingers intertwined, blue eyes fixed on her as she told him about her first visit upstate with Juliet Thompson, meeting Ruthvika, and Jean Crosby by her side. Her smile was bright, lips painted red, eyes wide in excitement as she went on about her and Jean arguing over the top bunk in the sleeper car of the train. He’d read her recount of this particular adventure in one of her early letters to him, but hearing her tell it, the light in her eyes and the way her hands gripped his as she got excited; well, it could hardly hold a candle to the pen and paper version.

“Robbie? Are you listening?”

“To every word, honey pie. I promise.”

“You look like you’re lost somewhere…”

“Looking at you,” he gave her hand a gentle squeeze before pulling free from her grip to gently pinch her chin between two fingers. “I can’t stop looking at you.”

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.”

“But I’m so afraid you might…”

“Robbie, honey, I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

His gaze lingered on her, features illuminated by two tall candlesticks on their table. Her red lips looked fuller in the shadows, eyes wide and questioning as she urged him to continue.

“I was gone so long,” he sighed. “Longer than I should have been and I-”

“No. Don’t you ever think I would leave you because you made a decision to stay and fight for people’s safety.”

“But I wouldn’t blame you if you did, Jo.”

“Well I’m not. And nothing could make me! You silly boy, don’t you know how much I love you?”

“Not nearly as much as I love you.”

“Oh you sweet talker…” she leaned forward to press her lips to his cheek when he turned at the last second to capture her lips instead with his own. When she pulled back, his blue eyes were dancing with mischief, lips tucked up in a half smile as she playfully rolled her eyes at him.

“What! I can’t kiss my girl?”

“Like I said,” she grinned. “A sweet talker.”

“Well, could I sweet talk you into a dance?”

“Like you haven’t been doing that forever…”

“You make a compelling case.” He grinned.

“Says the lawyer,” Jo stood, tugging Rosie up with her in answer to his question. “Come on, it’s been too long since you’ve taken me for a spin.”

“What my lady wants,” he half bowed, tugging her close as soon as they reached the dance floor. “I will always try my best to give her.”

“Just you, sweetheart.”

“Same for me, honey pie. Just you.”

30) cigar smoke - Ev & Val

Thorpe Abbotts was quiet, save for the crickets in the grass and the occasional rustle of the trees in the summer breeze. It washed over the airfield like a blanket, covering its inhabitants in safety found only on the ground. Safety while asleep, dreams carrying those who were tucked into nissen huts miles and miles away from the war.

All except two.

Parked on the outskirts of hardstand eight, a jeep sat with its engine off, and lights bathing the surrounding area. On the wing of the fort sat Major Blakely and Val DiRosano, the couple balanced precariously as they passed a small flask between themselves.

“So, why did we have to sneak out at exactly eleven thirty?” Ev turned to her, fingers digging in his pocket for his cigarettes.

“Because…” she trailed off, smacking his hand away gently, a smile gracing her face. “Nope, put those away.”

“What? Come on honey, it’s midnight, the least you can do is let me have a smoke.”

“You can,” she grinned, checking her watch to make sure it was exactly midnight. “But not that.”

Carefully, she produced a cigar from her pocket. The mischievous glimmer in her eyes told him exactly where she had gotten it from.

“Did you… Val, please tell me you didn’t steal this from Harding’s office…”

“Yes it’s from his office, no I did not steal it.”

“Thank god.”

“I told him I was taking it.”

“Val!”

“What! It’s your 25th birthday, and I wanted to do something special!”

“Huh… midnight… it is my birthday.” He mused, finally taking note of the time and date. July first.

“Did you forget your own birthday?”

“I guess I did. I just got busy…”

“I figured. So, I told Chicky I was taking one of his stogies.”

“And he was okay with that?”

“He rolled his eyes. Red just laughed.”

“Sounds about right.”

“Go on, light it up!”

“I can’t smoke the whole thing… not tonight at least.”

“I’ll help you out.”

“You’re gonna smoke a cigar?”

“You underestimate me?”

“Never.”

Pulling his lighter from his pocket, Everett made quick work of the cigar, using his pocket knife to cut off the end and then puffing until it was completely ignited. With a deep inhale, he pulled the smoke in, letting it sit for a moment before exhaling. The white tendrils swirled around him before disappearing into the night air.

“Since you did the leg work for this,” he passed her the cigar, grinning as she took it from between his fingers. “Go on, I bet you look adorable.”

“I always look adorable.” Val winked, bringing the cigar to her lips and watching as Ev’s eyes went wide as her red lips wrapped around it almost as if she had done this before.

Exhaling a stream of white smoke into the air almost hypnotically, eyes closed as she savored the taste of the cigar, Everett couldn’t help but admire the best birthday gift he had been given in his 25 years, war be damned.

“Happy birthday to me…” he grinned, carefully pulling her closer.

[dncinginthemccnlight]

Closed starter: Isolde and Joanna (@hcrexcellency)

The party was dizzying, a dazzling array of lights and sounds, a festival like had not been seen since the beginning of their time in France. Finally, it seemed like the mood had lifted. Still, as seemed to always be the case, the joy came at a cost and now the rulers of the Holy Roman Empire, those who had done so much damage, were free. Not only that, but there were rumors that Javier was planning to marry Valencia. Isolde pressed a hand to her forehead as she paced around her room, thoughts crashing through her brain like a torrential downpour, each thought like the incessant beating of the drops of rain against the stone of the castle at home. Trying to shake away the lump in her throat, she made her way to Joanna's room, knocking on the door before peeking inside.

"Jo?" she murmured, her voice hoarse. "I came to see you because I wanted to check on how you were after the party. I saw you dancing with Reuben and wanted to ask how everything went afterwards." If anyone might be able to cheer her, to pull her from her dreary mood, it was Jo.

[jossarisfoto]

Valencia | Ontdekking van Oceanogràfic en Ciutat de les Arts i les Ciències

Woensdag 15 juni 2016 | Valencia, een stad die de perfecte balans vindt tussen geschiedenis en moderniteit, biedt bezoekers een unieke ervaring die alle zintuigen prikkelt. Op een stralende woensdag 15 juni 2016 stond een bezoek aan een van Europa’s meest indrukwekkende aquaria op het programma: het Oceanogràfic. Ciutat de les Arts i les Ciències: Een Architectonisch Wonder Voordat we ons…

[cucullas]

- Mes, que diràn a Barcelona ? Ara bé. Sem a Barcelona o a Russilló ? El Barcelonès diu : jo parlo ; el Valencia diu : yo parle ; el Mallorqui diu : jo parl : el Russillonès diu : jo parli. Qui te ra-hó ? Jo pensi que tots quatre ne tenen, y que cum n'es d'aixo n'es d'allo. - Y donchs, també cairà escriure Canigu al lloc de Canigó ? Perqué no ? Canigu, qui vol dir : Montanya blanca, [...] y perqué convé an als fills del Monseny de pronunciar Canigó, ai xo vol pas dir que nosaltres, qui sem nascuts y qui vivim en Ia falda o al peu d'aqueixa montanya, siguem obligats de fer com ells. Qui sab millor que'ls fills mateixos del Canigú'l nom del gegant llur pare ?

Estève Caseponse (1850-1932) in the introduction of Contes Vallespirechs (1931) about why he doesn’t write “on the manner of Perpinyá” or “following the rules of Barcelona” when writing his Tales of the Vallespir. 

“- But what will be said in Barcelona? 

Now, are we in Barcelona or in the Rousillon? A Barcelonese says: jo parlo; a Valencian says: yo parle; a Mallorcan says: jo parl, and a man of the Rousillon says: jo parli. Who is right? I think the four of them are and that here and there things are different. 

- So, do we also have to write Canigu instand of Canigó?

Why not? Canigu means: White mountain and just because pronouncing Canigó suits the children of Monseny (mountain near Barcelona), that doesn’t mean that us, who were born and who live in its slope or at its foot have to do the same. Who knows better than the children of the Canigu themselves what is the name of the giant they call Father?”

[labrecha]

Sin Medalla Culmina Equipo Mixto de Tiro con Arco en JO

Sin Medalla Culmina Equipo Mixto de #TiroconArco en #JuegosOlímícos #París2024. #AlejandraValencia y #MatíasGrande

París / Agosto 2 de 2024.- La dupla mexicana, Alejandra Valencia y Matías Grande quedaron eliminados en cuartos de final por equipos mixtos de los Juegos Olímpicos, al caer ante los alemanes 1 a 5 puntos. Los mexicanos no pudieron refrendar el bronce que ganaron en Tokyo 2020 y ahora, en París 2024 fueron eliminados en cuartos de final. La dupla alemana conformada por Michelle Kroppen y Florian…