#lamy garden

[dulcescorderitas]

clark leaned against the locker room door, his eyes blazing with an unmistakable crimson hue. the cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his lips wasn’t just charming—it was downright infuriating. red kryptonite had turned smallville’s golden boy into a swaggering, irreverent bad boy, and he knew exactly how to wield that dangerous edge.

“y’know,” he drawled, tilting his head lazily as his gaze slid over you, unhurried and electric, “i’ve got a talent most boyfriends don’t. i see things… things other guys can only dream of.” his voice was low, gravelly, a sinful mix of arrogance and tease.

you folded your arms, feeling the heat of his stare as though it had a weight of its own. “what are you talking about, clark?” you snapped, pretending the flush on your cheeks was from annoyance and not the way he was looking at you—like he already owned every inch of your body.

clark chuckled, a deep, wicked sound, and stepped closer, the space between you crackling with tension. his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, but his posture screamed dominance. “oh, don’t play coy,” he said, his eyes flashing to yours briefly before dipping lower again. “lacy red with a little bow in the front? cute. but maybe next time, try something sheer. you’re hiding a masterpiece under there.”

your breath caught in your throat, indignation and something darker surging through you. “excuse me?!” you hissed, your hand instinctively tugging your skirt down. “did you just…?”

“did i just use my x-ray vision to admire my girl’s panties?” clark interrupted, leaning down so his lips were just a breath from your ear. his voice dropped, husky and unapologetic. “damn right i did.”

your heart was pounding now, a wild rhythm of embarrassment and excitement. “you’re unbelievable,” you muttered, trying to keep your composure. but it was hard to stay indignant when he had that smug, wolfish grin on his face, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“and you’re gorgeous,” he shot back effortlessly, stepping even closer, his body brushing against yours. “seriously, babe, you should’ve seen yourself bending over to pick up your books earlier. let’s just say it made gym class a hell of a lot more interesting.”

“you are impossible, clark kent,” you said, but your voice wavered, betraying the growing heat between you two. his confidence, his audacity—it was intoxicating.

“impossible?” he echoed, finally pulling his hands free of his pockets and bracketing you against the lockers. “maybe. but you love it.” his lips hovered dangerously close to yours, his smirk softening just enough to be almost sweet—almost. “don’t worry, sweetheart. i’ll keep your little secret safe… for now.”

[littlelamy]

𝒶 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝒾𝓂𝒶𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑒

author's note: mentions of reader saying she's going on a diet; s4rafe coded. wanted to take a break from posting about burlesque!reader so enjoy! i'm hoping to have one or two more fully edited of rafe and sarah before christmas but i am visiting my family sooo...

rafe’s knuckles went white around the fork as he stabbed at the eggs on his plate. the clink of metal against porcelain made your stomach twist, though you ignored it, focusing on the glass of water in front of you.

"what the hell did you just say?" he asked, his voice sharp enough to slice through the quiet morning.

you hesitated, fingers playing with the hem of your oversized sweatshirt. "i’m going on a diet. i just… i feel like i need to lose a few pounds."

his jaw clenched, the fork stilling midair as he turned his full attention to you. his blue eyes darkened, a mixture of disbelief and frustration clouding them. "are you fucking serious right now?"

"it’s not a big deal—"

"bullshit, it’s not a big deal," he snapped, the fork clattering onto the plate as he stood abruptly. "you think i’m just gonna sit here and let you starve yourself over some dumbass idea you have in your head? hell no."

your stomach tightened as his tone softened slightly but remained firm. "rafe, it’s my body—"

"it’s your body that i fucking love," he interrupted, his hands gripping the edge of the table as he leaned closer, blue eyes locking with yours. "you don’t need to lose anything, y/n. you’re fucking perfect."

before you could respond, he grabbed a plate and started piling it with food—eggs, toast, fruit, and even a slice of bacon. setting it down in front of you with a deliberate thud, he crossed his arms and glared.

"eat."

"rafe—"

"eat the damn food," he insisted, his voice dropping to something dangerously close to a plea. "don’t fucking do this to yourself. you’re perfect the way you are. fuck, y/n, i mean it."

you blinked back the sting in your eyes, his words cutting deeper than you expected.

"please," he added, his jaw clenching like the vulnerability was physically painful.

silently, you picked up the fork and took a bite, avoiding his intense gaze. his shoulders relaxed slightly as he sat back down.

but just as you swallowed, he was suddenly out of his chair again, crouching beside you. his hands gripped your waist, dragging you closer until you were perched on the edge of your chair.

"you know you’re fucking insane, right?" he muttered, his voice low but filled with that same sharp-edged frustration. his lips brushed over yours briefly—just a peck.

you barely had time to process it before he leaned back in, this time slower, pressing his lips against yours with more intent. your breath hitched as his hands tightened on your hips, pulling you closer until there was no space between you.

his tongue slid against yours, the kiss messy and heated, and when he pulled back just enough to catch his breath, a thin string of spit connected your lips.

"see?" he murmured, smirking as he swiped a thumb across your bottom lip. "that’s how much i fucking love you. don’t ever pull that diet bullshit on me again, alright?"

you nodded, dazed, your cheeks flushed as he leaned in to kiss you again.

"good," he muttered against your lips, his tone softening but still firm. "now finish your plate. we’re getting ice cream later."

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @aariahnaa @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog credits: @dollywons for the png!

[fairygoremutt]

Il porcellino in Mercato Nuovo, Florence

[bipherpol]

Nice songs! I like the way you think! I wish Kaku can rejoin Galley-La in the future, provided he apologizes, and Galley-La forgives him, of course. Who realizes that Franky and Lucci are going to be in-laws first? I just realized that I sent the Alice in Chains songs twice, so you get six songs this time! "Pictures of You" by The Cure, "One Thing" by Finger Eleven, "Skinny Love" by Bon Iver, "Whirring" by The Joy Formidable, "Tongue Tied" by Grouplove, and "Little Talks" by Of Monsters and Men.

oh kaku is absolutely joining galley-la. they try to make him stay after enies lobby and he's like "no let's go be proper government traitors and give everything we know to the revs and then i'll consider it" this argument ends with the other six deciding that they'll do that and then promptly dump kaku on the next ship to water 7 regardless of whether or not he agrees. if necessary, they are not above tying him up to get him there. if that doesn't work, they could always ask kuma.

(kaku absolutely wants to go back but he also, y'know, doesn't want to just ditch the rest of them. meanwhile, the rest of them are like "oh my god please just ditch us and go. live ur childhood dream. pls. at least one of us gets to.")

honestly, the first one to realize the in-laws is probably one of cp9. or nami. actually no wait it's probably nami. she catches onto the whole franky/robin thing quick and then just kind of has a moment where she just mentally points between them and starts laughing her ass off because oh god. it's funny on so many levels, at least partially because the former government assassin is going to be in-laws with the head of water seven's big gang.

songs!! a: i love "pictures of you" it's so good. (the emo kid loves the cure, who's surprised) also oh god "tongue tied" i haven't heard that song since glee. (it is a good song though)

"toxic" by britney spears (who saw that one coming), "don't hold your breath" by nicole scherzinger aaand "unkind" by sloan

[littlelamy]

please ask!!

✨soft asks✨

What song makes you feel better?

What is your go to comfort show?

Reading or writing? Why?

Whats your favorite feeling?

How do you like to take care of yourself?

What’s your favorite candle scent?

Who do you feel most like yourself around?

Whats a fabric/texture that’s nostalgic for you?

Best childhood moment?

When was the last time you laughed so hard you cried? (or just felt really good afterwards)

Do you have a comfort item? Tell us about it!

What calms you down?

Bath or shower to relax?

Whats something upcoming that you’re excited for?

Comfort food?

What’s something you want to create soon?

How do you feel best loved?

What age in life do you think you’ll feel most yourself at?

Have you ever written or received a love letter?

Tell us about a memory you hold close to your heart.

Tea, Coffee, or hot cocoa?

Name of your favorite playlist?

Have you ever received flowers?

Who is your bestfriend?

If your soul was a color, what would it be?

If you could live anywhere with anyone you want, where would it be and who would you bring?

Do you like to garden? Have you ever grown something?

What are you proudest of?

Are you a kind person?

What do your hobbies look like?

[sylvva]

@mediicusvitae​ said :

"Here," Lamy said, pulling out a little bag of candies in the form of hearts. She held them out to Camilla, a bright smile on her lips. "There's a bunch of vendors selling Valentine's Day stuff in town! Thought you might like these."

❀ 𓏬 It was such a shame the two crews couldn’t meet up more often. Although Camilla couldn’t help but note the irony that today of all days was when the Strawhats ran into the Heart Pirates. It left a smile on her face as she sat upon the deck of the Sunny, surrounded by familiar faces and listening to their new adventures. Her eyes had wandered from the current story teller to the rest of the crew, looking for a certain girl. 

     Camilla almost had gotten up when, like magic, Lamy appeared. Almost as if her mind was read. However she didn’t think that she’d be receiving valentines along with her presence. 

     ❝They’re so cute!❞ Carefully she opened the bag, her smile widening at the sight of candy inside. She took some for herself then turned the open end back at the other. ❝Here! You have some too.❞

[khepiari]

LuLaw Fic: The Seventh Wife Of Emperor Nika

A.U. DILF Luffy x DILF Law. Emperor x Healer. Slow-burn. Miscommunication.

Inspired from Bluebeard’s Seven Wives

Written for @truffyfest 2023.

This is my first ever time participating in a Zine project! The story is extremely precious to me, I couldn’t have finished it had @quackquackcey not supported me throughout the process. It was an honour to be part of the fest! I finally found courage 12 years after becoming a LawLu shipper.

You can download A New Dawn: a One Piece Lawlu/Lulaw Zine- here.

Or read the entire collection on Ao3.

Trafalgar D Water Law was heartbroken.

The man he loved, his one true love, his soulmate, was married. Married not once or twice, but married six times.

And as if the pain of this information was not enough, his family was not consoling him either, instead, they wanted him to accept the position of being the Emperor’s seventh wife, in his case male-wife.

“I really can’t understand you, child, you are almost forty, why can’t you agree to this marriage?” Law’s father huffed as he wrote down the list of raw materials they needed to buy the next morning. “Your mother told me you are crying every night if you love him so much, why are you wallowing in this pain? People die of heartache, you know? You can be the ruler of this empire, but you choose to suffer in overthinking!”

“Yeah, tell him, Dad!” Law’s younger sister Lamy added her support from one corner of the backroom.

Law had no answer, he was at his wit’s end. Heartbreak couldn’t be justified easily, in his case he had explained to his family multiple times, that he didn’t wish to be someone’s male-wife, wife, husband or spouse, if they already had six wives in their castle! Now he was suffering from guilt, guilt of loving someone so magnificent that he felt selfish.

“You better say yes, before that Emperor Lover of yours does something drastic!” Law’s mother walked into the backroom carrying the fresh herbs and minerals, that needed to be dried under the scorching afternoon sun. “Lamy, take these out! Dry this girl.”

Without a fuss, the teen took the herbs and walked out quickly, only to return even faster. “Why are you back with these?” Their mother asked. Lamy had returned with a pale face, as if a ghost had visited her in their kitchen garden.

“Answer your Mom.” Their father scolded, finding no reaction, the head of the family continued, “Look at this girl, she learned her attitude from Law”

Finding no reply, the elder brother went to his sister, “Lamy what happened?” Law pressed his palms on his sister’s cheeks. “Why are you cold?” The teen girl stood there like a statue in front of her family, clenching hard on the tray of herbs.

“Did something happen?” Both parents rushed to the teen, fearing the worst. “Did anyone hurt you?”

After a long pause, the teen spoke, “The sun is gone!”

Continue reading The Seventh Wife Of Emperor Nika Ao3

[littlelamy]

STAWPPP🤭😭 *me and you btw*

Wanted to take a moment to wish everyone a Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! I’m very grateful this year to be apart of this little community and I’m thankful for everyone I’ve gotten to know a little for welcoming me and listening to me ramble!

I just wanna shoutout some moots who deserve all the love and recognition for their works! I’m sure I don’t need to remind any one of how great they are with their writing but I still want to show my appreciation for them! ♥️♥️♥️

@rafeyscurtainbangs

@starkeysprincess

@zyafics

@itneverendshere

@whytheylosttheirminds

@angelicameron

@rafescokewhore

@littlelamy

@nemesyaaa

@cameronsprincess

@starkeynation

@etheraltides

@rafestify

@ivysprophecy

Also a huge thank you to everyone who has supported my writing. I’m so very grateful! I really can’t put into words how much each of you mean to me. This has been an amazing past couple of months, and even though I am sometimes hard on myself I do enjoy writing and I hope to be able to continue. And I hope you continue to love it just as much as I do! ♥️♥️♥️

[pamphletstoinspire]

Meditations of St. Padre Pio – Part 5 (Concluding Meditation)

Padre Pio was at the height of his priestly apostolate with multitudes of pilgrims visiting him, for his Mass, to confess to him, and to ask him for prayers and counsel. He was a master of souls; he directed everyone with penetrating words full of deep meaning. His series of "Meditations" was the first complete text of Padre Pio's thoughts. These texts consists of Padre Pio's meditations upon the fundamental dogmas of the Catholic faith. The Immaculate Conception and the Incarnation of Jesus. He then relives Jesus' agony in the garden of olives. Next he reflects on the human condition, and on our need to turn to God in the passing of our days. These are not conventional texts; they are reflections derived from the contemplation of the absolute Truth. “Mary Immaculate” is a more theological text. The others are more human and simple.

Padre Pio, in the first years of his residence in San Giovanni Rotondo (1918 – 1920), when he was freer from the care of souls, wrote a few meditations for his novices and his spiritual daughters of the Franciscan Third Order. They were the text of his lectures or instructions that he gave weekly as their Spiritual Director. After that, between the years 1925 – 1928, Padre Pio compiled other meditations. Fr. Agostino of San Marco in Lamis affirms it in his "Diary:" The Provincial, Fr. Bernardo of Alpicella, once suggested to Padre Pio to “compile a few meditations for the principal feasts of the year for our seminarians.” When Padre Pio was shown the possibility of publishing these meditations, he said: "I have written these things for myself." But, when it was explained to him that "they would do a lot of good to our souls" he smilingly said: "if it is as you say, bonum est diffu sivum sui (good, by its nature, is destined to be spread).

Meditation - Part 5 - The Agony of Jesus In The Garden - Holy Hour

J. M. J. – D. F. C. Note: The initials J. M. J. – D. F. C. Stands for Jesus, Mary, Joseph – Dominic, Francis, Catherine

The cross is always ready and awaits you at every turn." – Imitation of Christ

(Maxim which appears on the door of Padre Pio's cell No. 1)

O Divine Spirit, enlighten and inflame me as I meditate on the Passion of Jesus. Help me to fathom this mystery of the infinite love and suffering of a God who clothed himself in our human nature and endured suffering, agony and death for love of his creatures. The eternal, immortal God stoops down and humbles himself to the point of enduring the greatest martyrdom, the ignominious death of the Cross, covered with insults, contempt and infamy, in order to save the creature who has offended him and wallowed in the filth of sin. Man takes pleasure in sin and because of his sin his God is saddened, suffers and sweats blood in the most appalling spiritual agony. No, I cannot fathom this boundless ocean of love and sorrow unless your grace sustains me. Let me enter into the deepest recesses of the Heart of Jesus, to read there the essence of his bitter sorrow which reduced him to the point of death there in the Garden. Let me comfort him with my love, forsaken as he is by his Father and by his own. May I be able to join him in order to expiate in union with him.

O most sorrowful Mother Mary, unite me with you that I may follow Jesus and share his sufferings and your own sorrow.

O my dear Guardian Angel, guard my faculties and keep them recollected in my suffering Jesus, so that they may not stray far from him. Amen.

I

At the end of his earthly life, the divine Redeemer, having left us his whole self in the form of food and drink in the Sacrament of Love and having fed his Apostles with his immaculate Flesh, makes his way together with his own to the Garden of Olives, a place well-known to the disciples and to Judas himself. Along the way leading from the Cenacle to the Garden, Jesus instructs his disciples. He makes them ready for the coming separation, for his imminent Passion, and prepares them to suffer calumnies, persecution and even death itself for his sake, showing them how to imitate him, their divine Model.

I shall be with you. Do not be troubled. O disciples, for the divine promise will never fail; of this you will receive proof at this solemn hour.

He is about to enter on his grievous Passion and rather than thinking of himself he is full of concern for them.

Oh, what immense love is contained in that Heart. His countenance is suffused with sadness and love at the same time and his words come from the depths of his Heart. He speaks with deep affection, he encourages and comforts them; he promises to console them and explains the deepest mysteries of his Passion.

O Jesus, I have always been deeply moved by this journey from the Cenacle to the Garden, by the effusion of a love that poured itself out so freely and was merged with your loved ones, by the outpouring of a love that is about to sacrifice itself for others to redeem them from slavery. You have taught us that there is no greater proof of love than to lay down one's life for one's friends and you are now about to seal this proof of love with the sacrifice of your own life.

Who can fail to marvel in such a generous oblation?

When they reach the Garden, the divine Master dismisses the disciples and takes with him only three of them, Peter, James, and John, that they may witness his suffering. Would this same trio who saw him transfigured on Tabor between Moses and Elias and acknowledge him as God, would they be strong enough to recognize him now as the Man-God in the midst of mortal agony and sorrow? As they enter the Garden he says to them: Remain here, watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation. Be on your guard, he seems to tell them, because the enemy does not sleep; protect yourselves against him beforehand with the weapon of prayer, so that you may not be led into sin. This is the hour of darkness. With this recommendation he goes apart from them a stone's throw and falls prostrate on the ground.

He is extremely sad: his soul is a prey to indescribable sorrow. The night is far advanced and the air is clear. The moon glows high above, leaving the Garden in semi-shadow. Occasional ominous flashes of light breakthrough the shadows, seeming to herald some serious and sinister events, producing shivers and freezing the blood in one's veins. The light seems tinged with the color of blood. A wind which gives warning of a coming storm stirs the olive trees and with the rustling of the leaves seems to reach one's very bones like a herald of death, going right down into the soul and filling it with mortal sadness.

This is the most dreadful night, the like of which will never again be known.

What a contrast, O Jesus. How beautiful was the night of your birth, when the jubilant angels announced peace and chanted their Gloria. Now it seems to me that they are circling around you at a respectful distance, as if in recognition of the supreme anguish of your soul.

This is the place to which Jesus comes to pray. He deprives his sacrosanct human nature of the strength conferred on it by his divinity and subjects it to indescribable sadness, to extreme weakness, to sorrow and desolation, to mortal anguish. His soul is plunged in this grief as in a boundless sea which at every moment seems about to overwhelm him. There appears before his mind the entire martyrdom of this approaching Passion which, like a torrent overflowing its banks, pours into his Heart to torture, oppress and tear it to pieces. First of all, he sees Judas, the disciple he loves so dearly, who sells him for a few coins, who is at this moment drawing near to the Garden to betray him and hand him over to his enemies. He, the friend and disciple whom only a short while earlier he has fed with his Flesh. Prostrate before him he has washed his feet and clasping them to his Heart has kissed them with all the tenderness of a brother, as if he intended by the power of love to dissuade him from his impious and sacrilegious plan, or at least that when he has committed this crazy crime he may enter into himself and recalling all these proofs of love, repent and be saved. But no, he is lost, and Jesus weeps over his willful loss.

Jesus beholds himself bound by his enemies and dragged through the streets of Jerusalem, through those same streets which a few days earlier he traversed in triumph, acclaimed as the Messiah. He sees himself before the High Priest where he is beaten, declared guilty and deserving of death. He, the Author of life, led from one court to another to appear before judges who condemn him. By his own people whom he has loved and to whom he has given so much he sees himself insulted and ill treated, while with devilish shouts and hisses they clamor for his death, his death on the Cross. He hears their false accusations, sees himself condemned to the most merciless scourging, crowned with thorns, derided, mockingly addressed as King, slapped in the face.

Finally, he beholds himself condemned to the shameful death of the Cross and mounting the hill of Calvary, reduced to extreme weakness from loss of blood, falling to the ground several times beneath the weight of the Cross. Then he sees himself reaching the hilltop where he is stripped and laid upon the Cross, mercilessly crucified and raised up on the Cross in the sight of all, where he hangs by three nails which tear and dislocate veins and bones and flesh. O God! What a long three hours of agonizing torture he endures amid the insults of an insane and merciless throng.

He sees himself with throat and internal organs racked by burning thirst, while this agonizing torture is increased by the taste of vinegar and gall.

He sees himself abandoned by the Father, and witnesses the desolation of his Mother at the foot of the Cross.

Finally, he beholds his ignominious death between two thieves, one of whom recognizes and acknowledges him as God and is saved, while the other blasphemes and insults him and dies in despair.

He sees Longinus approach him and with supreme insolence and contempt rip open his side. Then, like all mortal men, he is subjected to the humiliation of the tomb.

All these things pass before his gaze to torture him and Jesus is seized with terror. This terror takes possession of his divine Heart, holds it fast and lacerates it. He trembles as though in the throes of a very high fever, he is overcome by terror and his soul languishes in deadly sorrow. He, the innocent Lamb, alone, abandoned to the wolves, deprived of all defense. He, the Son of God, the Lamb who has offered himself voluntarily to be sacrificed for the glory of that same Father who abandons him to the fury of the powers of Hell, for the Redemption of the human race. His own disciples have become cowards and desert him, fleeing from him as from the most dangerous of men. He, the Eternal Word of God, becomes the laughingstock of his enemies.

Does he withdraw? No, from the very start he generously embraces all without reserve.

What is this terror and what is its origin? What is this deadly fear? Ah! He has exposed his human nature as a target to receive all the blows of divine Justice injured by sin. In his naked soul he experiences keenly all that he will have to suffer, each single sin that he will have to expiate with its own particular punishment. He falls prostrate because his human nature is a prey to weakness, fear and terror.

He seems to have reached the extreme limit. He lies prostrate, face to the ground, before the Majesty of his Father. That divine countenance, which keeps the angels and saints of heaven in ecstasy in eternal admiration of its beauty, on earth is completely disfigured. My God! My Savior! Are you not the God of heaven and earth, equal in all things to your Father, you who humble yourself to the point of almost losing the likeness of man?

Ah, yes, I understand that it is in order to teach me, proud as I am, that I must be plunged into the depths of the earth if I am to have relations with heaven. It is in order to make reparation and to expiate for my arrogance that you bow down in this way before your Father; it is so draw down on mankind his merciful gaze which has been withdrawn because of man's rebellion against him. Because of your humiliation he forgives the proud creature. It is in order to make peace between earth and heaven that you fall prostrate to the ground as if to bestow on it the kiss of peace. O Jesus, may you be blessed and thanked forever by all men for all the humiliations and abasement by which you have given us God and united us to him in an embrace of holy love.

II

Jesus rises and looks up beseeching and sorrowfully to heaven. He raises his arms and prays. Dear God, how deadly pale is that face! He prays to the Father who seems to turn his gaze elsewhere and appears ready only to strike him with his avenging sword, with all the fury of an offended God. Jesus prays with all the trust of a Son, but he is fully aware of the task that is his. He recognizes that he alone, on behalf of all, is the One who has outraged the divine Majesty. He realizes that it is he alone, by the sacrifice of his life, who can satisfy the divine Justice and reconcile the creature with the Creator. He longs for this and he desires it efficaciously. But his human nature is terrified at the sight of his bitter Passion. It wants to refuse it all, but his soul is prepared for the sacrifice and does battle with all its strength. He feels stricken but he struggles furiously.

O my Jesus, how can we draw strength from you when we see you so exhausted and stricken?

I understand how it is: you have taken upon yourself all our weaknesses. It is in order to bestow your strength on us that you have collapsed like this. It is in order to teach us that we must placed our trust in you alone during life's battles, even when heaven seems closed against us.

In his extreme affliction Jesus cries out to the Father: If it be possible, let this cup pass from me. This is the cry of his human nature which in its affliction has recourse with confidence to heavenly aid. Although he is aware that his plea will not be granted, since this is his own will, he prays. O my Jesus, why do you ask for what you do not want to be granted? The reason is suffering and love.

Here is the great secret. The sorrow that afflicts you leads you to us for help and comfort, but your desire to appease the divine Justice and restore us to God makes you cry out: Not my will, but thine, be done. In face of this prayer, heaven remains hard as stone.

His broken Heart is in need of comfort. The abandonment he experiences, the battle he is bearing all alone seems to drive him to look for someone who will comfort him. Slowly, then, he rises, and almost staggering he moves off in the direction of his disciples in search of comfort. These men who have lived with him for so long, these trusted ones, will be able to understand his interior anguish and the trial he must undergo in order to end it. They will be able to give him a little comfort.

But what a disappointment! He finds them fast asleep and he feels even more fully alone in that boundless spiritual solitude. He draws near to them and calls them. Then turning quietly to Peter he says: Simon, are you asleep? You who protested that you would follow me until death and would give your life for me, are you sleeping? Then turning to the others he adds: So, could you not watch with me one hour? The complaint of the Lamb who has offered himself to be sacrificed, the complaint of a wounded Heart that is suffering intensely, alone and deprived of all comfort.

But he revives as if from a weakness and forgetful of himself and of what he is suffering, full of concern and love for them, he adds: Watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation. It is as if he meant to say: If you have forgotten me so quickly, while I struggle and suffer, watch and pray and least for your own sake. But the disciples, heavy with sleep, hardly notice the voice of Jesus. They barely distinguish him as a shadowy figure, so that they do not observe his face is disfigured by the interior anguish which torments him.

O Jesus, how many generous souls, touched by your cry of grief, have kept you company there in the Garden, sharing your sorrow and your mortal anguish. How many hearts in the course of the centuries have replied generously to your invitation. In this supreme hour, then, may this company of souls bring you some comfort, sharing with you more than your disciples did the sorrow of your Heart and cooperating with you towards their own salvation and the salvation of others. Allow me also to be numbered among them so that I too may bring you a little relief.

III

Jesus has returned to his place of prayer and another picture more dreadful than the previous one is presented to his gaze. All our sins with all their filthiness past in detail before his eyes. He beholds all the wickedness and malice of creatures as they commit these sins. He knows to what an extent these sins injure and outrage the Majesty of God. He sees all the obscenity, the immodesty, the blasphemies which rise up from the lips of creatures, accompanied by the wickedness of their hearts, of those hearts and lips which were made to send up nothing but hymns of praise and blessing to the Creator. He sees the sacrileges by which priests and people are defiled, indifferent to the Sacraments instituted for our salvation as the necessary means for the communication of divine grace, but which have become, instead, the means of sin and condemnation for souls. With this filthy mass of human corruption he has clothed himself and appears before the holiness of his Father, to expiate for each sin by a separate punishment, to render to God all the glory they have denied him, to cleanse that sewer in which men are plunged with contemptuous indifference.

Nothing of all this holds him back. Like a surging sea this mass sweeps down on him, surrounds and overwhelms him. Behold him before his Father, facing all the anger of his divine Justice. He who is the essence of purity, he who is holiness by nature, in contact with sin! In fact it is as if he himself has become a sinner. Who can fathom the disgust he experiences in the depths of his soul? The horror he feels? The nausea, the repugnance he experiences? Since he has taken all these things without exception upon himself, this immense load crushes and overwhelms him, throws him to the ground and leaves him prostrate. Exhausted, he groans beneath the weight of the divine Justice, before his Father who turns on him ready to strike him like an accursed being with his full fury.

He would like to shake off this immense load that is crushing him. He would like to throw off this dreadful weight which makes him shudder. His very purity rejects him as does the angry gaze of his Father who abandons him to these turbid and polluted waters of sin in which he sees him immersed. Everything combines within his soul to induce him to withdraw from this bitter Passion. Nature fights against itself and everything tells him to cast off this filthiness and to refuse this mediation. But the image of Justice unappeased, on the sinners not yet reconciled, prevails in his Heart brimming over with love.

These two forces, these two loves, one holier than the other, fight for victory in the Savior's Heart. Which will prevail? Undoubtedly he wants to grant the victory to outraged Justice. This takes first place and he wants it to triumph. But what is the image he is to show forth? The image of one sullied by all the filthiness of men? Is he, the very substance of holiness, to see himself filthied by sin, even apparently? No, not this. It frightens him, it fills him with fear and terror.

As if seeking the solution to this harsh situation he has recourse to prayer. Prostrate before the Majesty of his Father, he cries out: Father, let this cup pass from me. As if he wanted to say: My Father, I want your glory, I want your Justice to be satisfied in full. I want the family of mankind to be reconciled to you. Must I who am the same holiness as yourself see myself sullied by sin? Ah, no, this is not to be! Let this cup pass from me, then, and you, to whom all things are possible, find some other means in the infinite treasury of your Wisdom. But if you do not want this, then: Not my will, but thine, be done!

IV

This time also the Savior's prayer fails to have affect. He feels he is dying and with great difficulty he interrupts his prayer to go in search of comfort. He feels utterly deprived of strength and he staggers, panting, towards his disciples. Once more he finds them sleeping. This increases his sorrow and he merely arouses them. How confused they must feel. But Jesus says nothing to them this time; he only appears immensely distressed. He keeps to himself all the pain and affliction of that desertion, of that indifference and by his silence he seems to regard with indulgence the weakness of his own.

O Jesus, what suffering I read in your Heart already brimming over with anguish. I see you withdraw from your disciples in such deep grief. Ah! If I could only relieve you and comfort you even to a slight extent. But since I am unable to do anything else, I remain beside you and weep. Aware as I am of your great suffering, may my tears of love for you and of sorrow for my sins mingle with your own and made they rise up to the Father's throne and induce him to have mercy on you and on many souls who are still plunged in the sleep of sin and death.

Jesus returns once more to his place of prayer in great affliction and in a state of collapse. He falls to the ground rather than prostrating himself upon it. A mortal agony seizes him and he prays with greater vehemence than before. The Father keeps his gaze averted, as if this were the most despicable of men.

I seem to hear all the laments of the Savior. Oh! If at least men for whom I am agonizing – he seems to say – and on behalf of whom I am ready to embrace everything, if only they were grateful and were to repay me with love for all the suffering I am enduring for them. If they only realized the high price with which I am about to ransom them from the death of sin so as to give them the true life of God's children. Ah, it is love that rends my Heart, more than the executioners will tear my flesh to pieces. But no, he sees men who are unable to profit from all this because they do not want to. Men will continue to curse this divine Blood and the loss will become more irreparable and unpardonable. Only a few will draw profit from it while the majority will hasten on their way to perdition! In the extreme anguish of his broken Heart, Jesus continues to repeat: Of what use is my blood? And he falls down again, utterly overcome.

But those few induce his divine Heart to remain on the battlefield, to face up to all the suffering and sorrow of his Passion and Death, in order to win for them the palm of victory. He no longer has anywhere to go to find comfort. Heaven is closed against him. Even men on their deathbed, beneath the load of their sins, indifferent and ungrateful, ignore Jesus' love for them. Jesus is in mortal agony, he is torn and tortured by love. His countenance has taken on the pallor of death, his eyes are dimmed, an indefinable sadness invades his whole being. My soul is sorrowful even unto death.

O Jesus, I seem to hear from your lips these words in tones of infinite sorrow! They reveal a profound sadness which wells up from the deepest recesses of your soul!

Fear shakes him and makes him tremble all over as a deadly anguish crushes him. He is nauseated by the evil smell of many sins and intense grief invades his soul: My soul is sorrowful unto death. O Jesus, my generous guarantor, these words of yours go straight to my heart. Oh, if I could only raise you up and comfort you. O Jesus, the contemplation of your great torment makes me weep with you.

Jesus! Jesus! He no longer listens to my cry! Love has made him his own executioner. He has fainted and fallen to the ground and from his face and his whole person blood is flowing to the ground. At first, I see it issuing in great drops from his pores, then these drops unite and the blood flows in streams to the ground. He no longer lies face downwards, but on his left side with outstretched arms, in a deadly collapse, his face and his whole body bathed in Blood, his eyes half-closed and almost lifeless, his mouth half-open, while his breast which previously was heaving is now enfeebled and almost motionless.

Jesus, my adored Jesus! Let me die along with you. Jesus! My contemplative silence, as I remain close to you in your death-throes, is more eloquent. Jesus! Your sufferings pierce my heart and I cast myself down beside you. My tears have dried and I groan along with you, for the cause that has reduced you to such agony and for your intense and infinite love which has brought you to this.

O Divine Blood. You pour spontaneously from the loving Heart of my Jesus; the flood-tide of pain, the extreme anguish, the fierce struggle he endures in driving you out of that Heart to ooze from his pores and stream down to the ground. Allow me to gather you up, O Divine Blood, especially your first drops, for I want to keep you in the chalice of my heart. This is the most convincing proof that nothing but love has forced you from the veins of my Jesus. Through you I want to cleanse myself and to purify every place that is contaminated by sin; I want to offer you to the Father.

This is the Blood of his beloved Son which has descended to the earth in order to purify it; it is the Blood of his Son, the Man-God, which goes up to his throne to placate his Justice which has been outraged by our sins. He is profusely satisfied.

But what am I saying? While the Father's Justice is satisfied; Jesus is not yet satiated with suffering. No, Jesus does not want to arrest at this point the outpouring of his love for men.

Man must be given an infinite proof of his love, he must see to what depths of ignominy this love will bring his Savior. He must recognize that his Redemption has been abundant. Even though the Father's infinite Justice measures the infinite value of his Most Precious Blood and is appeased, man, on the other hand, must have tangible proof that Jesus' love is not weary of suffering for him and does not stop here, but goes on to the extreme agony on the Cross, to the point of his ignominious death upon it.

Perhaps completely spiritual men can assess at least partially the love which brings Jesus to endure quite voluntarily this Agony here in the Garden, but those who are engrossed in material things and whose hopes are centered more on this world than on heaven need to see him agonizing and bleeding to death for them on a Cross, in order that they may be shaken by the sight of that Blood and that heartrending torment.

No, his loving Heart is not yet satisfied. He enters into himself once more and prays again: My Father, if this cup cannot pass unless I drink it, not my will, but thine, be done.

From now on, Jesus answers the loving cry of his Heart, the cry of the human race which, in order to be redeemed, demands his death. When the Father pronounces his death sentence, heaven and earth want to see him die. Jesus bows his adorable head in acceptance. Father, if this cup cannot pass unless I drink it, not my will, but thine, be done.

Now the Father sends an angel, an angelic messenger, to console Jesus. What comfort does God's angel bring to the strong God, the Master of the universe, invincible and omnipotent? Jesus allows himself to be susceptible to suffering. He has taken our weakness upon himself and it is the Man who suffers and agonizes. It is the miracle of his infinite love that makes him sweat Blood and reduces him to agony.

There are two reasons for his prayer to the Father: he prays on his own behalf and on ours. The Father does not hear him for his own sake, but wants him to die for us. I believe the angel, bowed down in reverence before Jesus, before this eternal Beauty now covered with Blood and dust, in deferent homage brings him the consolation of resignation to the divine will, imploring him for the glory of the Father and in the name of sinners to drink the chalice which from all eternity he has offered to drink for men's salvation. He prays in order to teach us once again that when our soul is desolate as his own, it is only through prayer that we should seek comfort from heaven.

He, our strength, will be ready to rescue us because he willed to take our miseries upon himself.

Yes, O Jesus, you have to drink the chalice to the very dregs, for you have now taken upon yourself the most agonizing death. O Jesus, may nothing ever have the power to separate me from you, neither life nor death. Following you during life, passionately attached to you, may it be granted to me to breathe my last with you on Calvary, so that I may ascend to you in glory. May I follow you in trials and persecution so that I may one day be worthy to come to you, to love you in the unveiled glory of heaven, to sing you a hymn of thanksgiving for all you have suffered.

But now Jesus rises to his feet, strong and invincible as a lion in battle. This Jesus who desired with great longing this banquet of Blood – with desire I have desired it – smooths his disheveled hair, wipes the blood from his face and with strong and decided steps makes his way to the exit of the Garden.

Where are you going, O Jesus? Are you not that Jesus whom I saw languishing there, a prey to fear, weariness, dread, prostration, desolation and terror? The same Jesus whom I saw trembling and crushed beneath the immense load of evil which was bearing down upon you?

Where are you going now so readily and resolutely and full of courage? To what are you exposing yourself?

Oh! I hear you say: The weapon of prayer has enabled me to win through and the spirit has overcome the weakness of nature; from prayer I have drawn strength and I am now ready to face up to anything. Follow my example and, when you suffer, deal with heaven just as I have done.

Jesus draws near to the three Apostles who are still sleeping. Emotion, the late hour of the night, the presentiment of some grievous event, of something irreparable that seems to be drawing near, as well as their own weariness, all this has plunged them into sleep, into an oppressive sleep that it seems impossible to shake off and which, even when it is shaken off, comes over them inexplicably again, so much so that Jesus has pity on them and says: The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.

At the same time he has felt so keenly this desertion by his own that he exclaims: Are you still sleeping and taking your rest? He pauses there. With a great effort, at the sound of his footsteps, they open their eyes. Then Jesus continues: Behold, the hour is at hand, and the Son of man is betrayed into the hands of sinners. Rise, let us be going; see, my betrayer is at hand.

Jesus beholds everything with his all-seeing eye. He seems to be saying: You who are my friends and disciples are sleeping, but my enemies are on the watch and are busying themselves about my capture. You, Peter, who felt strong enough to follow me even to death, you are sleeping. From the very beginning you showed me signs of your weakness; but do not worry, for I have taken your weakness upon myself and have prayed for you. When you mend your ways, I shall be your strength and you will feed my lambs. You, John, are also sleeping. You who only a few hours ago, in ecstasy by reason of my love for you, counted the beats of this Heart, are you asleep? Rise, let us be going, this is no longer the time for sleep. The enemy is at the gates and the hour of the powers of darkness has come. Yes, let us be going. I am going forth voluntarily to my death. Judas is drawing near to betray me and I go forward with a step that is firm and sure and intend to place no obstacle to the fulfillment of the prophecies. My hour has come, the hour of great mercy for mankind.

In point of fact, there is the sound of approaching footsteps, a reddish glare from lighted torches shows through the trees of the Garden, while Jesus followed by his three disciples goes forward calmly and without flinching.

O Jesus, give me the same strength when in the light of misfortunes my weak nature rebels. Help me to face, as you did, cheerfully and tranquilly, all the sufferings and torments I may encounter in this land of exile. I unite entirely with your merits, your pains, your expiation, your tears, in order that I may cooperate with you in my salvation and flee from sin, which was the only reason for your sweat of Blood and which brought you to your death.

Destroy in me everything that is displeasing to you and with the fire of your love imprint your sufferings on my heart. Bind me so strongly to you, with bonds so tight and so delectable, that I may never more abandon you in your sufferings. Let me rest on your Heart in all the sorrows of life, to draw from it strength and refreshment. Let my soul cherish no other desire than to live by your side in the Garden and to be satiated by the sorrows of your Heart. Let my soul be inebriated by your Blood and be nourished by you on the bread of your sufferings. Amen.

[dulcescorderitas]

𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓳𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓮𝔂

the barn door creaked open, letting in the warm glow of the setting sun. you stepped inside, barefoot, wearing nothing but clark kent’s jersey. it hung loose on your body, the hem barely brushing the tops of your thighs, exposing just enough to set his imagination on fire. the air smelled of hay and wood, the quiet broken only by the faint rustle of the breeze outside.

clark looked up from where he was working, wiping his hands on a rag. his eyes widened for a fraction of a second before his lips curved into that familiar, easy smile—the one that made your heart skip every time. he set the rag aside, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned casually against the tractor.

“well, this is a surprise,” he said, his voice warm and teasing. his eyes traveled down your body, lingering on your legs before snapping back to your face, a faint flush on his cheeks. “you, uh, trying out for the team?”

you took a step closer, the jersey shifting just enough to reveal more of your bare skin. “thought you might like seeing your name on me,” you replied, your voice soft, teasing. “or is this too much?”

his smile faltered for a moment, replaced by something deeper. he straightened, pushing off the tractor as he took a slow step toward you. “too much? not even close.” his voice dropped, quieter now. “you look… beautiful.”

you felt heat rush to your cheeks, your confidence bolstered by the way his eyes darkened as they roamed over you. “is that all?” you asked, taking another step closer. “i was hoping for a little more than compliments.”

he chuckled, the sound low and rich as he closed the distance between you. his hands hovered near your waist, hesitant, like he was afraid of overstepping. “are you sure about this?” he asked, his gaze searching yours. “i don’t want to do anything you’re not ready for.”

your chest tightened at the care in his voice. “i’ve never been more sure,” you whispered, sliding your hands up his chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath his shirt. “i want you, clark.”

that was all it took. his restraint cracked, and he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was as tender as it was intense. his hands settled on your hips, his fingers brushing against the bare skin beneath the jersey. when you sighed into the kiss, pressing closer, his grip tightened.

“god, you’re incredible,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough now. “do you have any idea what you do to me?”

you smiled, your fingers tangling in his hair. “why don’t you show me?”

his breath hitched, and without another word, he scooped you up effortlessly. your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you to one of the sturdy beams, pressing you gently against it. his lips never left yours, his hands sliding under the jersey to grip your thighs. “you sure you’re okay with this?” he asked again, his voice low, his forehead resting against yours.

“clark,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need. “please. i need you.”

he groaned softly, kissing you again before pulling back just enough to free himself from his jeans. his cock, hard and throbbing, pressed against your entrance, teasing you. he paused, his eyes locking with yours. “if it’s too much, tell me, and i’ll stop. promise me.”

you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “i promise. just… don’t make me wait.”

with a quiet groan, he pressed into you, slow and steady, giving you time to adjust. the stretch was overwhelming, but the way he held you, the way he kissed you as he filled you, made it impossible to focus on anything but him. “god, you feel amazing,” he murmured, his voice shaking. “so perfect.”

“you’re perfect,” you managed, your nails digging into his shoulders as he began to move. his rhythm was slow at first, deliberate, his hips rolling against yours in a way that left you gasping. his hands held you firmly, one sliding up to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

“tell me if it’s too much,” he said, his voice gentle even as his movements grew more urgent.

“it’s not,” you breathed, your head falling back against the beam. “don’t stop, clark. please.”

his control snapped. his thrusts grew faster, deeper, the sound of your cries mingling with the creak of the barn. his lips found your neck, kissing and nipping as his hands gripped your hips, guiding you to meet each thrust. “you’re everything to me,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “i don’t ever want to hurt you.”

you clung to him, your body trembling as the tension built, your release hurtling toward you like a freight train. “clark—i’m close—i can’t—”

“i’ve got you,” he whispered, his thumb finding your clit and circling it with maddening precision. “let go for me. i’ll catch you.”

his words sent you over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you in waves that left you shaking in his arms. his own release followed moments later, his groan low and guttural as he buried himself deep, his warmth flooding you.

for a long moment, there was only the sound of your breathing, your bodies pressed close. he kissed your temple softly, his hands smoothing down the jersey. “are you okay?” he asked, his voice full of quiet concern.

you smiled, resting your forehead against his. “more than okay,” you whispered. “you’re everything i need.”

his smile was warm, full of love. “good,” he said softly, kissing you again. “because i’m not letting you go just yet.”

[littlelamy]

heartbeats with rafe

author's note: i wanted to lean more into a softer, vulnerable side of rafe; it was scrapped because i thought it was a little corny, but i'm still in love with the idea of rafe being calmed down by something as simple as his partner's heartbeat.

rafe wasn’t the kind of guy to relax after a fight. anger simmered in him like a storm that couldn’t pass, whether it was a screaming match with his dad, an argument with his sisters, or some run-in with the pogues. he carried it with him, his fists clenched and his jaw tight, until it burned itself out.

but then there was you.

you were different. with you, the fire in him didn’t rage out of control; it softened, flickering into something gentler. you had a way of grounding him, of pulling him back when he felt like he was spiraling.

tonight, though, the storm followed him home.

he slammed the door behind him, his chest heaving as he stood in the middle of your shared room. his hands were shaking, his mind still running wild from another fight with ward.

you looked up from the bed, your expression calm, even though you could feel the tension radiating off him. “rafe,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the haze in his head.

he shook his head, pacing the room. “i can’t—fuck, i can’t do this,” he muttered, his hands raking through his hair.

you stood slowly, your bare feet silent against the floor as you walked over to him. when you reached him, you placed a hand gently on his chest, feeling the frantic thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

“breathe,” you murmured.

his eyes locked on yours, wide and almost desperate. “i can’t—i don’t know how to calm down,” he admitted, his voice cracking.

you guided his hand to your chest, pressing it flat over your heart. “then listen to me,” you whispered.

he froze, his fingers trembling against your skin as he focused on the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. ba-dum. ba-dum. it was soft, sure, and unshaken, the complete opposite of how he felt.

“your heart,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “it always calms me down.”

you smiled faintly, your other hand brushing his cheek. “then let it.”

he exhaled shakily, his hands sliding to your waist as he guided you backward toward the bed.

“can i...?” he asked, his voice quiet, unsure.

you nodded, understanding what he needed without him having to say it. when the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress, he eased you down slowly, his hands warm and steady.

kneeling beside you, his fingers brushed the hem of your shirt. “i just need to feel closer,” he murmured, almost like he was afraid you’d push him away.

“it’s okay,” you whispered, your voice soft but reassuring.

he tugged your shirt over your head with careful reverence, his touch never rushed or forceful. when his hands found the clasp of your bra, he paused, his gaze searching yours for permission.

you gave him a small nod, and he unhooked it slowly, letting it fall to the floor before leaning down to press his ear against your chest.

his arms wrapped around you as his hands moved gently to cup your chest. his palms were warm against your skin, his touch soft and careful, not possessive but grounding. he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, syncing his breaths with the steady rhythm of your heart.

subconsciously, his thumbs began rubbing slow, soothing circles on your skin. the motion was absentminded, but it made your heart ache with tenderness.

“this,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin. “this is what keeps me together.”

you ran your fingers through his hair, your own heart swelling at how vulnerable he seemed in that moment. “i’m not going anywhere,” you promised.

he tightened his hold on you, his thumbs continuing their gentle movements as he exhaled again, slower this time. “you make me feel like I’m worth something,” he said, his voice breaking.

“you are,” you said firmly. “to me, you’re everything.”

he stayed like that for a long time, letting the steady beat of your heart and the warmth beneath his hands pull him out of the chaos in his mind. when he finally looked up, his blue eyes were clearer, softer.

“thank you,” he said quietly.

“always,” you replied, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

he smiled faintly, his hands never leaving you. his thumbs stilled their motion, but his palms remained warm against your chest, grounding him. “i don’t know what i did to deserve you,” he said.

“you don’t have to do anything,” you replied, your voice soft but steady. “you just have to let me love you.”

his lips curved into a small smile, his eyes shining with something raw and unspoken. “i’ll try,” he said.

you kissed him then, slow and gentle, a reminder that he didn’t have to face everything alone.

later, as you lay together on the bed, his head resting against your chest, you traced lazy patterns along his back.

“rafe?” you murmured.

“hmm?”

“i love you,” you said softly.

he tilted his head up to look at you, his eyes searching yours. “i love you, y/n,” he said, his voice quiet but certain.

he pressed a kiss to your chest, right where your heart beat steadily beneath your skin, and for the first time that night, he felt at peace.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @aariahnaa @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog

[sonsofbal]

IV. The Mist Festival pt.1

As Morthal prepares for the Mist Festival that day, Alicent is swept up not just in the village's preparations but in her feelings for Seth, the charming newcomer. While helping her mother with the flower offerings, every glance from him deepens her emotions. With the fog season about to begin, Alicent prays not only for the village's protection but for the courage to face her own heart, hoping this festival marks a new beginning.

That afternoon, the Thaumaturgist's Hut was an obligatory stop for the people of Morthal. They'd come to the outdoor garden to buy a flower arrangement to offer to the gods to ask for their protection during the hardest months of the year. Soon would be the start of the fog season. During the cold months, the fog would fall over the Hjaal region. It would deprive its inhabitants of the warmth of Magnus, the sun, during the day, and hide the stars at night.

The garden had a welcoming feel. It had a magical feel to it with the bright colors of the flowers they had planted. At that moment, while Alicent took a short break from the hustle and bustle of the day, Lami was encouraging Thonnir, who was lamenting spending his first Mist Festival without his wife Laelette. She was chatting with Benor, leaning against the inside of the garden fence. Benor was a Nord on the cusp of adulthood. He sold himself as a mercenary, though he aspired to become part of the hold guard one day. Alice had known Benor for as long as she could remember, and she especially liked him. Although strong and rough, he was always close to her. He was like a big brother.

“That cloud looks like a rabbit”, he said.

Alicent lifted his head to the sky where his finger was pointing, but in spite of his efforts he could not see the animal.

“I see it," she lied.

She often felt unable to disagree with those around her, and she was not sure why. She felt others might think she was stupid or not worth their time if she spoke her mind.

It was then that Alva came out into the garden and walked up to them. Alva and Benor were a few years older than Idgrod. Between them, the age difference was barely noticeable. But with Alicent, it stood out. Alva had a fair complexion, dark straight hair, and her emerald eyes were the perfect complement to her elegant features. She was the prettiest girl in all of Morthal. Although she denied having any kind of relationship with Benor, Alicent always saw them together and suspected that they must be secretly in love.

"You still haven't bought the bouquet for the offering?" She asked in a scathing tone, raising her eyebrows.

Benor responded by snorting sharply without looking at her. Then he lovingly stroked Alicent's hair.

"I worked on it. Ali, why don't you bring me those flowers you were telling me about?" Benor asked, winking at her.

With one look, the newcomer paralyzed Alicent. The very presence of Alva was intimidating. Alicent spun around. Feeling that Alva's eyes were on his neck, she hurried to the back entrance of the building where the various offerings for the celebration were displayed.

Alicent took a few minutes to choose from the remaining floral arrangements for Alva's offering. She chose a combination of lavender, purple flowers, and freshly cut symphocarpium.

"These flowers are from our garden," she explained proudly, offering the bouquet to Alva. "This mixture is offered to Mara and Dibella to ask for their blessings of beauty and love."

Alva accepted the flowers complacently. Alicent smiled broadly at the realization that her choice had been a wise one. Benor snorted, though.

"Love. Haven't you had enough of this, woman?" he growled with a mocking smile.

Alva rolled her eyes at Alicent with a look of complicity. Even standing still, she had a magnetic way of unwinding.

"Men. If it were up to them, they would be offering a bouquet of arrows to the gods," Alva replied.

Not knowing what to say, Alicent forced a smile at the look on their faces. She hated decisions that required her to position herself. At that moment, surprising Alicent and freeing her from the awkward situation, a pair of arms wrapped around her from behind.

"Alva, if I were you, I'd buy this bouquet as soon as you can. When Alicent sees who's coming, he won't want to part with those flowers," Idgrod greeted her, a broad smile on his face.

"Idgrod!" Alicent exclaimed as she turned around in her arms.

She greeted Idgrod with a warm embrace, but her eyes were on the garden entrance in search of the only person her friend could have been referring to.

Seth walked toward them. His neat appearance contrasted with Morthal's coarseness. It made him the center of attention. She saw the neighbors, hovering in the yard, turning their heads to comment on Seth's unexpected arrival.

Alicent left the group and approached her guest.

"Seth, you've come!" she exclaimed excitedly.

He narrowed his eyes. His head tilted to one side.

"I promised you, didn't I?" he asked, smiling casually.

Once again, she felt the heat on the top of her cheeks. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. On impulse, she took his hand and pulled him toward the group. Seth's expression was one of surprise at her boldness.

"Come, meet my friends. You already know Idgrod." Idgrod held up her hand to say hello to him. "This is Benor and this is..."

"Alva," Seth stepped forward. He was surprised.

Alva bowed slightly.

"Lord Athan, our paths cross again," she said charmingly.

Alicent felt her stomach tighten. She had felt something similar when Alva had tried to get closer to Joric, but this time it was much stronger. Unlike Joric, Seth was in no hurry to be out of her sight.

"Ali, I haven't got my bouquet yet!” Idgrod exclaimed suddenly, grabbing her by the arm. We'll be right back," she apologized.

Alicent let Idgrod lead her away. She walked to the side of the hut where the bouquets were laid out on a table.

"Are you all right?" asked Idgrod as soon as they were far enough away from the rest of the group. "You should see the look on your face, Ali. You look like you just had a kick from a goat," she commented with a smile.

Alicent looked at her reproachfully. She was hurt.

"I'm..., I'm okay. It's just..."

"You're jealous." Idgrod finished her sentence.

Alicent frowned. She crossed her arms in front of the table and stared.

“I don't... Well, maybe I do a little…,“ she admitted with dismay. “It's just... Why do they know each other? Do you think they...?”

"Listen, Ali." Idgrod cut her off. Her friend shot a sly glance at the group before turning back to her and lowering her voice. "Alva's family was close to Seth's family, as far as I know. Her family was killed by the Renegades, as was Seth's father.

"The Renegades?" asked Alicent before looking back at Idgrod with wide eyes. "Seth's father is...?"

Alicent had no need to finish the question, as Idgrod nodded as she examined a couple of flower arrangements.

"It's complex politics. Alva came here to live with her uncle after that. Seeing each other after such a long time must be difficult for them, I imagine.”

Alicent felt a terrible sense of guilt for having been so wrong in the first place. Idgrod had been right, and she understood that. She was well aware of what the loss of a father was like and how difficult it was to face the memory of that loss. Seth was taken aback; if it had been her, she would have cried.

Idgrod took a bouquet of bluebells with a blue yarrow for himself, and held out another of the same kind to Alicent.

"This will do. Let's go," Idgrod urged.

Alicent looked at the flowers in her hands with a thoughtful expression. It was the same offering they made every year. This year, however, she had something else on her mind. Alicent stared at another bouquet, identical to the one she had given Alva. Idgrod read her intentions.

"Absolutely not. Ali, if you keep being so obvious, you're going to scare Seth away."

Alicent, embarrassed, looked across the garden to where Seth and Alva were still talking. Benor stood off to the side, looking unfriendly as Seth and Alva chatted. Idgrod started walking in their direction.

"Idgrod," Alicent called. Idgrod stopped with a look at her. "Thank you," she said softly with a sweet, intimate smile.

Idgrod returned the gesture, and the two of them bridged the distance that separated them from the rest of the group. They were in the midst of a conversation about the festival when they were at their destination.

"You all seem to be pretty excited about this event," Seth commented. "Is it really so important?"

"Even caravans of Khajiit come to Morthal this time of year," Alva replied with some cynicism.

This made Seth laugh, short and dry. Then he turned his eyes back to the girls.

"I really don't know what you're celebrating," Seth admitted.

Alicent replied quickly.

"The Mist Festival is our village's most important, because when the fog comes, Morthal becomes dangerous," she explained, suddenly nervous but glad for his attention. "The light of Magnus doesn't reach here during the day, and at night you can't see the stars or the moon. Today we ask the Eight for protection until the flowers are in bloom again.

Seth nodded and looked at the bouquets with curiosity.

"And what are the flowers for?"

"We use them to ask the gods for certain favors," Alva answered. I, for instance, am asking Dibella and Mara for beauty and love.

She said the last one in a flirty tone and Alicent's stomach twisted. Seth, though, seemed amused. He laughed, which annoyed Alva, who frowned.

"You don't seem to need any more of that," Seth remarked, trying to make it go away.

The look he gave to her and to Benor was a silent hint.

Alva opened her mouth to reply, but changed her mind at the last moment under Benor's watchful eye. Noting that their offers were identical, Seth turned to Idgrod and Alicent.

"And what is your request? "

"May Stendarr protect us from my brother's brilliant ideas," Idgrod replied without a moment's thought.

Alicent burst out laughing and Seth raised both eyebrows.

"Joric is an avid hiker and has no fear of fog," Alicent explained. "Truth is, it's great to get out of Morthal, even for a bit. And Stendarr has always protected us in our escapades, even though the region is dangerous in the cold months of the year."

Idgrod rolled her eyes and looked at Seth in search of his complicity.

"Two against one, as you can see. Maybe you can help me balance the scales this year."

Seth smiled.

"I'll have to hear those suggestions first," he said. Then he turned to Benor. "What about you?"

"I'm going to put an arrow on my plate so that Talos will give me strength to fight," he replied with challenging pride.

Idgrod looked uncomfortable and Seth raised both eyebrows for some reason. Alva nudged Benor. He gave both a stern look.

"Skyrim belongs to the Nords," Benor said proudly.

He said it in such a confident way that he seemed to be making something clear. Something that everyone there could understand. Everyone except Alicent, who had a confused look on her face. All of a sudden, the atmosphere had become tense.

"Seth..." Alicent began, in an attempt to calm the atmosphere. "Is there anything you would like to ask the gods?"

All eyes turned to him. He thought for a few seconds before shrugging his shoulders.

"Not really. Perhaps new knowledge... or luck in my business."

"Ah, then you should offer a few coins to Zenithar," Alicent replied.

"Or a scroll to Julianos," added Idgrod.

Seth clicked his tongue after a moment's thought.

"I'll see what I can do. Anything else I should know about the festival?"

"Not much. After the sacrifices, there will be dinner and dancing. The usual," Idgrod replied.

Seth froze at the mention of the dance and gave Alicent a quick look that made her heart race.

"You didn't tell me there was going to be a dance," he protested. He was looking directly at her now. This abruptly brought her down.

"I didn't have time", was her defense. She was instantly sorry for the tone of her voice. "I'm... I'm sorry." She stammered.

Idgrod raised both eyebrows and Alva let out a laughing sound.

"Maybe you should offer an arrow to the gods as well", Alva said. “When her boyfriend hears about this, he won't be too happy". She had malice in her eyes.

Upon hearing this, Alicent's jaw dropped and she was at a loss for words. With frowns and pursed lips, Idgrod and Seth had adopted a similar expression, but only Idgrod was looking at Alva. Seth had his eyes on Alicent.

"You didn't tell me Joric was your boyfriend either," he grumbled.

"We're not..." Alicent began, not knowing how to go any further. In the face of such a gratuitous attack, she had gone blank. Her eyes were on Alva, in search of an explanation for her words. The woman gestured sufficiently.

"Sure, sure. Nor me and Benor, right?" she asked, holding her gaze. Obviously, Alva was having a good time.

Alicent lowered her head. Her eyes fell to the ground and she clenched her fists in anger. Alva could be devious when she wanted to be. She did not know why Alva was acting so out of line with her. Fortunately for Alicent, Idgrod came to her defense.

“You are the exception to the rule", Idgrod said matter-of-factly, in a tone that was conciliatory yet sharp.

Alva gave Idgrod a look of challenge, but Benor grabbed her hand before she could reply.

"Woman, you're daedrical. Don't disturb the child," he ordered grumpily. Alva's game seemed to have exhausted Benor's patience. "We're leaving now."

There was a sigh and a roll of the eyes from Alva, but a nod.

"What a bore you are, Beni. See you at the festival, kids.”

Alva and Benor walked away, leaving an aura of unease in the group. Though what had just happened was getting on Alicent's nerves, she couldn't help but think about Seth's reaction. Did he really have a problem with the idea that Joric and I were boyfriend and girlfriend?  She looked up and met the boy's gaze. He was still earnest.

"I'm not dating Joric. I don't have a boyfriend." Alicent hurried to explain in a shy tone.

"And not because Joric doesn't want to," Idgrod concluded, slapping Seth's shoulder, who tensed without Idgrod noticing. "You can ask Ali to dance with you if you want to. I give you my blessing."

Seth's expression suddenly relaxed, although his first reaction had been to frown. Averting his gaze from Alicent, he raised both eyebrows. He opened his mouth to say something, but he didn't have the time. Lami, who had just finished serving the last customer, was on her way. She was disheveled and had a tired, but satisfied look on her face. There was a smell of herbs and potions on her.

"Are you still here?" Lami asked in a motherly tone, her hands on her hips as she looked at Alicent and Idgrod. "Ali, change your clothes and go out and have fun. I'm going to lock up the shop."

Alicent looked up at the sky; it would not be long before the sun set. She smiled and nodded.

"Thanks mom!" Then she turned to her friends: "Will you wait for me? I won't be long," she promised.

They both nodded, and she ran off in the direction of the hut, leaving Idgrod behind with her flower arrangement. Alicent put on the dress she kept for special occasions: it was yellow and green, unpatched, with a brown belt that cinched her waist and a beautiful heart-shaped neckline. She made an effort to comb her hair as best she could. The orange hue of Magnus' rays announced the end of the day as she left the house.

They were waiting for her on the porch. Seth was leaning against a wooden pillar and Idgrod was sitting on the top log of the fence. They were in the midst of a lively conversation when the sound of the door interrupted their talk. They both looked at her. For a moment, Seth looked stunned, but he quickly regained his composure and took on the expression that had driven her crazy since they first met.

"Nice dress," he commented, as if it were nothing, after a sweep of his eyes over her.

Alicent blushed again and smiled broadly. Next to Seth, Idgrod gave her a complicit grimace.

From where they stood, they could hear the hubbub of Morthal's people, who had already gathered on the other side of the Hjaal River. It did not take long for the ceremony to begin.

"I think we should go now," said Idgrod, who jumped to the ground and took the lead, leaving the couple in his wake.

Alicent appreciated the gesture. She knew that her friend was trying to give them some privacy. Seth offered his arm to walk alongside her, and Alice gladly accepted.

[tina-aumont]

Hi Eleni! Look what I’ve found!

This is the link:

https://www.cinematheque.fr/film/154288.html

WOW ANDREAAAAAA 😍 😍 😍 🌟 Thank you very much for sending me this, it is totally new to me!!🌟

I’m going to translate the text into English and paste it here, it’s really interesting!! 😍💜 💜

A new Home Movie by Frédéric Pardo has been found and it will be shown the 9th March 2023 at 19:30h at Cinema Reflet Medicis

                         Home Movie : Tina Aumont

Frédéric Pardo

France 1968  / 9 min 

With Tina Aumont & Roland Pardo (Frédéric Pardo’s dad).

Editing of found footage of fiction in Italian and shots of Tina Aumont and Frédéric Pardo in the Luxembourg Gardens, and in the countryside in a cemetery. Then shot of a lunch in the garden of a country house, we see Tina and Pardo’s father.

2K digitization at the CNC laboratory by the Cinémathèque française, from the 8 and 16 mm copies kept in the collections.

Three Home Movies, from a collection deposited at the Cinémathèque. Three previously unseen films, which show, in their simplicity of family films, an artist in love: Tina Aumont is permanently at the center of Paris Home Movie With Tina, a candid poem shot mostly in the alleys of Luxembourg and Pardo New York, where the couple joins Viva and Michel Auder in Central Park, and where we also see Nico at the window of a room in the Chelsea Hotel. Here again, Tina magnetizes the painter’s gaze. What he does with her and the light has no other aim than to translate into images an intimacy that obsesses and delights him. Different, because devoted to the group – in this case the Zanzibar band, Philippe Garrel, Serge Bard, Patrick Deval, Jackie Raynal, Michel Auder, Daniel Pommereulle and Sylvina Boissonnas – Home Movie Marrakech begins in Venice. Tina contemplates the Grand Canal from her room before continuing in a boat, then it’s Morocco, crossed in a large American car. We recognize Sylvina Boissonnas, producer and patron of the group, Caroline de Bendern, Auder, and others (it could be, it is to be confirmed, Jean Mascolo, Babethe Lamy and Pierre-Richard Bré). It is a prolegomena to the Home Movie that Pardo will do in the wake of the filming of Garrel’s Le Lit de la Vierge. It is notable that these films were not listed in the catalog of Zanzibar productions. Pardo obviously had no intention of showing them. Discovering them today, however, leads us to place them (all things considered) alongside certain films by Pierre Clémenti, Warhol, Mekas or Garrel: a whole crest line of a cinema that fuels the intimate, the couple, to the band, and to the meeting. In the psychedelic paintings that Pardo was doing at the same time (from his initiation, by Klarwein, to the ancestral tempera method), the princes, the sponsors were replaced by friends, loves. It was an idea he held dear. When we know the influence (aesthetic in all) that Pardo had on the Zanzibar group, we understand better in what perspective Garrel, at the time of Le Berceau de Cristal (where he films Pardo at work) needed in turn to gather his “ family” in his films. To repopulate an imaginary in exile, caught in a perpetual flight.

Philippe Azoury

[kicksaddictny]

ComplexCon Returns November 18th and 19th With A Fresh Approach to Art Programming

Arts and culture festival ComplexCon had an undeniable reputation for leading the conversation surrounding pop culture and trends. Now, it makes its seventh annual return to the Long Beach Convention Center November 18th and 19th, this time with a reinvigorated approach to art. The comprehensive, expertly-curated festival takes a holistic approach to discussions about style, entertainment, and brands that would not be complete without art. With a refreshed dedication to inclusivity, ComplexCon presents an immersive and unforgettable weekend of style, sneakers, art, food, music, inspiration, and more. 

This year, CACTUS PLANT FLEA MARKET sits at the helm as the Artistic Director. The globally renowned artist and their namesake brand has become one of the most notable influences in culture, art, fashion and lifestyle today. As such, they are uniquely primed to lead the discussion of culture, with special attention to the art programming and overall aesthetic. 

As part of this exciting evolution for ComplexCon, a new wave of artists, makers, and creatives come together to round out the dialogue about arts and culture, ensuring fresh and innovative pieces at every turn. 

An undeniable art legend, FUTURA brings Knew Stand to ComplexCon. The graffiti legend who first gained popularity in the 70s worked adjacent to art for decades following his success, and has pivoted back into the art world in the last few years. With his unparalleled experience, he contributes to the conversation of culture, merging the past and present. 

Queer Kicks, curated by San Francisco-based Schlomer Haus Gallery and presented by Hijinx Arts, is a group exhibition using sneaker culture as a microcosm to explore the effects of personal identity on style and pop culture as a whole. In telling Queer stories at the heart of a major exploration of culture, Queer Kicks provides invaluable perspective, without which there could not be a comprehensive conversation. Twelve artists from across the LGBTQIA spectrum bring their views into the greater discussion of arts and culture, and who/what moves the needle between popular and unpopular, offering a more holistic picture of the world. 

Last year’s event was complete with a garden growing throughout, and this year ComplexCon keeps the flora theme intact. Muralist, artist, and designer Chris Pyrate returns for a third year, releasing a limited run of the next “Gardener” low sneaker colorway, not to mention the upcoming apparel collection available for purchase, and an activation that allows visitors to “pick their own flowers.”

The floor will be full of surprises, including an immersive collaboration between Leen and the Keith Haring Foundation. Kirk Catlin, a ComplexCon fan-favorite, returns with his distinct flash tattoos, boasting exclusive designs for the ComplexCon audience. Superchief Gallery will be presenting a booth installation from their exhibition earlier this year called GARBAGE FUTURISM POST-WASTE, including an exclusive limited T-shirt collab with BAER, and other artist collaboration t-shirts dropping throughout the course of the weekend. 

Bringing the creative energy to the floor, artist and storyteller Gregory Siff will be live painting on a 10x10 canvas, displaying his distinctive style, characterized by bold brushstrokes, vibrant colors, and unabashedly raw emotional depth. Literally Balling–artist Victor Solomon’s on-going exploration of the icons of basketball–celebrates the sport’s evolution and omnipresence. 

A ComplexCon icon and former Artistic Director, Takashi Murakami teams up with +44 to connect with fans via creativity and culture. Louis De Guzman, a visual artist & designer, brings new works as well, furthering the pop culture conversation. Inflatables from Jeron Braxton, a debut Rhymezlikedimez arcade machine, and Skateroom x Michelle Lamy collaboration with Juergen Teller round out the experience. 

With a balance of new and returning participants, like returning Uzumaki Gallery and doodles for the first time, the festival is sure to exceed expectations. Uuuntld and ET artist just begin to scratch the surface of what’s in store. 

ComplexCon would not be complete without awe-inspiring exclusive drops. This year, keep an eye out for Mermaidhair, Rello, Sushibaby, and several exclusive collaborations from CACTUS PLANT FLEA MARKET, with plenty more in store!

With art at the center of the cultural discourse, ComplexCon is a remarkable opportunity to view and experience the works leading us into the future. 

VIP and general admission tickets are currently available at ComplexCon.com. For more information and to stay updated on the latest news, follow @complexcon on TikTok, Twitter and Instagram.

[snackpointcharlie]

Snackpoint Charlie, for when you need a reminder that the sun is always setting somewhere. This has all happened before, and it all happened again this past Weds night on WGXC, 90.7 FM but you can download and listen NOW at the link in the comments below

Snackpoint Charlie - Transmission 126 - 2023.11.01 https://wavefarm.org/wf/archive/nhemz3 [ ^ click for download ^ ]

PLAYLIST

1) Good News - “Raji'lak Roghmi Kulli Znoubi (Live)” from ANA SHA'IR BEEK

2) ماري لميع (Mary Lamie) - “لولا ياربي ما انت معانا (Oh God, You Are Not With Us)” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cC4JC1W9ecI

3) Tommasini Juicers - “If You See Me” from SOUND PLEASE TEXT +1 (360) 223-5886

4) El Khat - “Ma'afan” from Albat Alawi Op.99 https://glitterbeat.com/artists/el/

5) Rossy, Orkes Rachman A. & Orkes Medenasz - “Surja Gemilang” from SURYA GEMILANG https://madrotter-treasure-hunt.blogspot.com/2019/12/rossy-orkes-rachman-orkes-medenasz.html https://www.discogs.com/release/10540750-Rossy-5-Iringan-Orkes-Rachman-A-dbp-Rachman-A-Orkes-Medenasz-dbp-Dimas-Wahab-Surja-Gemilang

(Underbeds throughout:) Pinchas Gurevich - “Revisionist Herstory,” “Ninarotation” and “Garlic Garnish”

6) The Females with Lilis Suryani - “Damai” from THE FEMALES https://madrotter-treasure-hunt.blogspot.com/2019/03/lilis-suryani-females.html https://www.discogs.com/release/6492726-The-Females-The-Females

7) Kenneth Routon - Senegal excerpt from RADIO IS A FOREIGN COUNTRY: WEST AFRICAN RADIO (RIAFC 106) https://www.radioisaforeigncountry.org/

8) François De Roubaix – “Les Lèvres Rouges” from LES LÈVRES ROUGES https://www.discogs.com/master/1533015-Fran%C3%A7ois-De-Roubaix-Les-L%C3%A8vres-Rouges

9) Sublime Frequencies - “Dangdut is the Music” from RADIO SUMATRA: THE INDONESIAN FM EXPERIENCE https://sublime-frequencies.bandcamp.com/album/radio-sumatra-the-indonesian-fm-experience

10) Alta Vista - “The Price I Had to Pay” from ALTA VISTA https://alta-vista.bandcamp.com/album/alta-vista

11) RAAI - “Little Stone” from BEAUTIFUL MOMENT https://raai.bandcamp.com/album/beautiful-moment

12) Jim Copp & Ed Brown - “The Duck, The Tiger, The Shrimp, and the Owl” from A FIDGETY FROLIC https://www.discogs.com/master/1208764-Jim-Copp-and-Ed-Brown-A-Fidgety-Frolic

13) Francois Rauber - “Play Time - Super Market” from SONORAMA! https://www.discogs.com/release/1678703-Various-Tati-Sonorama-

14) Accord - “Kitty” from USSR TV https://www.facebook.com/sovietvisuals/posts/pfbid02jgpfJKor3swk49TG9S7rBoXNVAsuWv2ybSvwMe9npWFRwnjwaQayYd1XD6ij69DSl?mibextid=zDhOQc

15) 渡辺はま子 (Hamako Watanabe) - “火の鳥 (Phoenix)”

16) Rita Chao - “The Boy Next Door” from RITA CHAO WITH THE QUESTS https://www.discogs.com/master/1248949-Rita-Chao-With-The-Quests-Rita-Chao https://madrotter-treasure-hunt.blogspot.com/2023/11/rita-chao-quest-rita-chao.html

17) Omni Gardens - “Oolong” from HIGH BIAS: MUSIC FROM THE BOOK https://highbiasbook.bandcamp.com/album/high-bias-music-from-the-book

18) Black To Comm - “La société des rêves” from AT ZEENATH PARALLEL HEAVENS https://blacktocomm.bandcamp.com/album/at-zeenath-parallel-heavens

19) Badiâa Bouhrizi - “(في المدينة الهرمة) Fil Madinati Al Harima” from KAHRUMUSIQA https://akuphone.bandcamp.com/album/kahrumusiqa

20) Pharoah Sanders - “Version 1” from HARVEST TIME LIVE 1977 https://www.luakabop.com/artists/pharoah-sanders

21) Greg Malcolm - “Naima” from NEED FOR A CROSSING: A NEW NEW ZEALAND VOL. I https://www.discogs.com/release/2943966-Various-Need-For-A-Crossing-A-New-New-Zealand-Vol-1

22) Unknown Folk Ensemble - “Folk Song” from THE NIGHTINGALE'S THREE DAUGHTERS: ALBANIA AND EPIRUS AT 78 RPM https://archive.org/details/10.-vocal-group-from-epirus-1

[huariqueje]

Statues in the garden of Versailles     -   Pierre  Franc-Lamy , 1918.

French, 1855-1919

Oil on canvas laid on panel   , 126.5 x 75.5 cm.   49.8 x 29.7 in.