#lieu noir

[andybuison]

Lieu noir, riz blanc

[randomnameless]

Hahaha

Maybe some people will study their geography and finally learn where is Angola, instead of pretending to be football fans.

Edit : I mean, I understand the football team and its players not being represented by their supporters, but damn if it isn’t satisfying to see/imagine those same supporters being full of salt after losing to Saudi Arabia for their opening match.

[tmc-consulting-club]

Thibaut-Marc CAPLAIN vs La mafia amiénoise

Madame, Monsieur, Afin de confirmer l’envoi à la Présidence de la République, vous devez cliquer sur le lien suivant : xxx Sans confirmation de votre part, le message posté sur le site sera effacé sous 72 heures. —L’outil Ecrire au PrésidentPrésidence de la République ========================================================================================================= Voici, pour votre…

[observatoiredumensonge]

La guerre de l’eau aura bien lieu

De l’or bleu pour obtenir de l’or noir… Par Sandra Freyburger Continue reading Untitled

[walidgoldpreppy]

Good Golden morning for Anthony

The next morning, at exactly 7am, Anthony is woken from his sleep by a notification on his phone. A message from Waltergold containing a video. Still half asleep, he unlocks his phone and opens the video. The screen flickers with a strange mix of white and Gold lights, hypnotic. The soundtrack, a low, repetitive melody, fills his ears as he instinctively puts on his headphones.

He hesitates for a moment. He knows the video is an hour long, but he can't help but stare at the screen, fascinated by the Golden sparkles dancing before him. "It's just a video," he tells himself. Yet something about the flicker captivates him more than he would like. Gradually, his eyelids become heavy, and his mind blurs, as if he's dissolving into the Golden flow.

Lorsqu’il cligne enfin des yeux, une heure s’est écoulée sans qu’il ne s’en aperçoive. Il regarde l’horloge de son téléphone, incrédule. Il est 8h15. « Merde, je suis en retard ! » Son cœur s’emballe. Il sursaute, se précipite vers la salle de bain. Sous la douche, une pensée étrange lui traverse l’esprit. Il se souvient d’un détail presque oublié ; lors de son entretien d’embauche, son patron avait évoqué un code vestimentaire au travail. À l’époque, Anthony n’y avait pas prêté attention, préférant ses vêtements décontractés. Mais aujourd’hui, pour une raison qu’il n’arrive pas à expliquer, cette règle lui paraît soudain indispensable.

En sortant de la douche, ses mains s'attardent plus longtemps que d'habitude sur son visage, son menton, ses cheveux. Il se sent étrangement préoccupé par son apparence. Il ouvre son placard et, au lieu de prendre sa tenue décontractée habituelle, il se retrouve à chercher des vêtements plus formels. Son esprit est embrumé, mais une certitude émerge : il doit se conformer. C'est comme si une voix intérieure lui disait que suivre les règles est la seule option.

Il sort une chemise en coton blanc immaculé. La matière est douce, presque soyeuse sous ses doigts. Il la fait glisser sur son torse, ajustant chaque bouton avec une précision méticuleuse. Puis, il attrape un pantalon gris anthracite, en laine légère. Il ne se souvient même plus pourquoi il a ce pantalon, mais il le trouve parfait aujourd'hui. Enfilant de fines chaussettes noires et des chaussures de ville en cuir noir brillant, il est surpris par la sensation du cuir sur sa peau, raide et structurée, à l'opposé du confort de ses baskets habituelles.

Devant le miroir, il hésite avant d’ajouter une cravate bleu marine, à peine texturée. Il l’enroule autour de son cou, serrant le nœud avec une précision surprenante pour quelqu’un qui en a à peine porté une. La soie de la cravate glisse doucement entre ses doigts, et il ajuste le nœud jusqu’à ce qu’il soit parfaitement centré et serré. Un dernier détail saute aux yeux : ses cheveux. Il ramasse un pot de gel qui traînait dans son tiroir, se demandant brièvement pourquoi il fait ça, puis l’applique généreusement, en peignant ses cheveux sur le côté avec une raie parfaitement visible. Le gel brille à la lumière, fixant ses cheveux impeccablement. En voyant son reflet, il se sent à la fois étrangement satisfait et troublé. Pourquoi cette obsession soudaine ?

As he leaves for the office, a feeling of absolute control washes over him. The tight, well-fitting clothes reinforce a sense of discipline he has never felt before. The wool of the pants gently rubs against his legs with each step, the collar of his shirt is slightly tight around his neck, and the knot of his tie exerts a constant, almost reassuring pressure.

At the office, reactions are quick to come. As soon as he walks through the door, his colleagues look up, surprised. This sudden change in style does not go unnoticed.

“Wow, Anthony, this is the first time I’ve seen you dressed so smartly!” exclaims one of his colleagues.

“Do you have an interview with the bosses or something?” jokes another.

Anthony sketches an awkward smile, his cheeks slightly red, not really knowing what to say. He shrugs, mumbling something unintelligible about a “change of mood”. But that’s not the real reason. He knows it. There’s this inner voice, this impulse that pushed him to put on these formal clothes. He has a hard time understanding it, but it’s there, still echoing in his head.

Throughout the day, he receives compliments on his appearance. He finds himself enjoying the admiring glances. Yet, every chance he gets near a mirror, he can’t help but check his hair, running his hand through the gel to make sure his parting is still well defined. His tie knot becomes a silent obsession, which he adjusts constantly, even when no one is looking.

Despite the remarks and questions, Anthony easily focuses on his work. His thoughts also often drift to that morning video, to that strange feeling of obedience that now seems anchored in him. A part of him still resists, trying to understand what is happening, but another part, deeper, feels good in this new version of himself, more disciplined, more compliant.

The day finally ends. Anthony quickly greets his colleagues, escaping their curious glances, and goes home. He breathes a sigh of relief as he closes the door to his apartment behind him, but even at home, he cannot get rid of this strange feeling of discomfort and satisfaction mixed together.

(End of Part 3)

(Part 2)

[hedgehog-moss]

do you have any recommendations for favorite french-language poetry? esp written by women?

Yes, sure! We might not have the same tastes (I like nature poetry mostly, and good old lavish alexandrine verse—I find the predictability of it very soothing) but here are excerpts of poems by 13 French-language poétesses :)

(I wanted to add a few men at the end but I spent too much time on the women, and the French male poets I enjoy are very well-known ones anyway, e.g. Hugo, Mallarmé, Prévert, Aragon... also André Breton's surrealist poetry)

• Sabine Amable Voïart, known as Amable Tastu (1798-1885)

D’où vient que l’âme humaine est ainsi disposée, Que jamais ses regards troublés et mécontens N’ont pu s’accoutumer à la marche du temps? Sur l’éternel chemin, chaque borne posée Nous attriste. D’où vient? je ne sais; mais toujours Le vertige nous prend à voir couler nos jours: 

Si vous reparcourez l’enclos où votre enfance Avez-vous souvenir, à l’âge où tout enchante, D’une voix qui vous plut, voix timide et touchante, […] Que, plus tard, cette voix résonne à votre oreille, De vos rêves déçus vous raillez la merveille, Vous prenant en pitié d’avoir si mal jugé… Elle est la même encor; mais vous avez changé!

• Louise-Victorine Ackermann (1813-1890)

(A la comète de 1861) […] Ah ! quand tu reviendras, peut-être de la terre L'homme aura disparu. Du fond de ce séjour Si son œil ne doit pas contempler ton retour, Si ce globe épuisé s'est éteint solitaire, Dans l'espace infini poursuivant ton chemin, Du moins jette au passage, astre errant et rapide, Un regard de pitié sur le théâtre vide De tant de maux soufferts et du labeur humain.

• Marie Dauguet (1860-1942)

Mon coeur est né sauvage et seul comme un merle, Que berça la chanson du vent, subtil orchestre, Ivre des noirs myrtils dont la forêt s'emperle, Grisé d'odeur de source et d'haleine sylvestre. […]

Et d'abord très souvent j'étouffe dans moi-même, Tout m'y semble étriqué, trop étroit et mesquin, Et je fuis l'infini pour l'infini que j'aime, Parmi le ciel, les eaux, les circuits des chemins.

• Alice de Chambrier (1861-1882) (she is Swiss)

J’ai vu comme l’on voit quelquefois dans un rêve, Une immense Cité près d’une immense grève, Avec des dômes d’or et des palais géants, Des temples incrustés de mille diamants […]

Plus tard j’ai repassé devant cette cité, Et voulant la revoir, je m’y suis arrêtée; Mais à peine mes pas ont foulé sa poussière Que devant mes regards elle s’est tout entière Écroulée—et n’est plus qu’une ruine immense Dont le cri des Vautours trouble seul le silence.

• Lucie Delarue-Mardrus (1868-1949)

1. Humanité sans force, endurante moitié Du monde, ô camarade éternelle, ô moi-même ! Femme, femme, qui donc te dira que je t’aime D’un cœur si gros d’amour et si lourd de pitié ?

2. J’aime, en quelque lieu que ce soit, L’heure où l’existence, pour moi, Redevient nocturne et muette.

L’heure sans lois et sans humains, Sans hiers et sans lendemains, Où je ne suis plus que poète.

La seule heure d’esprit total, Celle où, jusqu’oublier mon mal Je sens se fermer toute plaie,

Car je ne fus moi-même, vraie, Car je ne fus ce que suis, — Passionnément — que les nuits.

• Anna de Noailles (1876-1933)

Nature au cœur profond sur qui les cieux reposent, Nul n’aura comme moi si chaudement aimé La lumière des jours et la douceur des choses, L’eau luisante et la terre où la vie a germé.

La forêt, les étangs et les plaines fécondes Ont plus touché mes yeux que les regards humains, Je me suis appuyée à la beauté du monde Et j’ai tenu l’odeur des saisons dans mes mains.

• Renée Vivien (1877-1911) (English, mainly wrote in French)

Dans l’azur de l’avril et dans l’air de l’automne, Les arbres ont un charme inquiet et mouvant. Le peuplier se ploie et se tord sous le vent, Pareil aux corps de femme où le désir frissonne.

[…] Vêtu de clair de lune et de reflets d’argent, Le bouleau virginal à l’ivoire changeant Projette avec pudeur ses blancheurs incertaines. Les tilleuls ont l’odeur des âpres cheveux bruns, Et des acacias aux verdures lointaines Tombe divinement la neige des parfums.

• Valentine Penrose (1898-1978)

Notre Père qui êtes aux cieux des doux matins bercés aux fleurs des laitues bleues, […] que votre nom soit sanctifié ! O Brume d’or dans les vergers, que votre volonté soit faite ! Sur la Terre comme au Ciel ; sur la terre élançant ses arbres au soleil, sur les labours luisants chevauchés de noyers, sur le sol des jardins de chaleur tout vrillés […]. Donnez-nous aujourd’hui notre Pain quotidien. Dans la fraîche cuisine où bourdonne une guêpe, où les fourmis montent leur noir petit chemin […] Et pardonnez-nous nos offenses… […]

• Louise de Vilmorin (1902-1969)

Pois de senteur en ma demeure Et sur mon cœur poids de cent heures

Je t’enlacerai, tu t’en lasseras

Étonnamment monotone et lasse, Est ton âme en mon automne, hélas !

• Andrée Chedid (1920-2011)

Échappant à l'enclume du temps L'Univers sème ses formes Véhicule ses songes S'invente des tumultes

[…] Enserrée dans son globe Empoignant son noyau La Terre emporte l'histoire Vers son immense dérive.

• Anne Perrier (1922-2017) (also Swiss)

1. Ô rompre les amarres Partir partir Je ne suis pas de ceux qui restent La maison le jardin tant aimés Ne sont jamais derrière mais devant Dans la splendide brume Inconnue

2. Lorsque la mort viendra Je voudrais que ce soit comme aujourd'hui Un grand soir droit laiteux et immobile Et surtout je voudrais Que tout se tienne bien tranquille Pour que j'entende Une dernière fois respirer cette terre Pendant que doucement s'écarteront de moi Les mains aimées Qui m'attachent au monde

• Marie-Claire Bancquart (1932-2019)

1. Un tremble c'est le nom du peuplier blanc : luisance furtive.

Éclair des feuilles leur vie scintille

instant après instant elles chuchotent que nous avons aussi des moments miroitants minuscules, étincelantes traces de nous sur le monde. 2. Je suis l’encolure d’un pays vêtu de toile et d’eau, longtemps ténébreux, maintenant étalé sur la nuit, croisé une fois pour toutes par le crépuscule, et qui entend les soleils célébrer leur courbe.

Je suis son oreille, et, dans son oreille, ce qui, bruissant, permet le bruit.

[…] Mais suis-je enclave, ou bien ce pays serait le creux nécessaire au violon, l’autour-de-moi facilitant mémoire?

• Hélène Dorion (1958 - ) (she's from Québec)

Autour de moi les notes lumineuses d'une feuille venue jusqu'à la branche pour remuer avec le souffle danse et boit l'eau qui la sauve au matin quand recommence son chemin vers le soir

et je marche aussi d'un pas qui repose dans l'infini j'écoute le monde qui bruit à travers les arbres seuls comme des êtres occupés à devenir leur forme singulière

[marleysfinest]

toji x fem reader. its just smut do not perceive my horniness

cw explicit language, groping, spanking, choking (light), pet names, fingering, prone bone, squirting, insults if you squint. not rly proofread!!

w/c 2.1k (this ran away with me lmaaooooo)

divider @/saradika

by the time you fall through the door, you're ready to call it quits. it's been a horrible day - back-to-back meetings that could easily have been emails, a rap across the knuckles from your boss for something that wasn't technically even your fault, and moron after moron on the subway ride home. there's nothing else in your sights now other than the bottle of wine in your bag, your couch, the worst reality television known to mankind, and ordering takeout. an evening alone is exactly what you need.

you kick off your shoes and dump your bag in the hallway before tucking your jacket away in the cupboard, leaving the day at the door and walking into your kitchen with a mind and body free (ish) of stress. you grab a glass from the cupboard and waste no time in pouring a large glass of pinot noir, taking it carefully to your bedroom to change into comfier clothing. you throw your work clothes in the hamper and opt for your fluffiest dressing gown in lieu of sweats, already feeling lighter as you pad through the hall towards the living room. the couch is so inviting, so soft and marshmallow-y that when you sink into it, it feels as if you're on a cloud for a moment. why do I bother leaving? you think to yourself, taking a moment to bask in the silence. a silence which is very quickly pierced by the ping of your phone which buzzes in your bag. your shoulders drop - do you ignore it? what if it's something important? with a groan and creeping sense of disappointment, you pull yourself to your feet and head for the hall, and fish your phone from your bag. the screen lights up as you see the message pop up -

you roll your eyes and lock your phone, throwing it back into your bag. bastard. as you do your best to hide the smile battling its way across your face, you unlock the door and gently swing it open to see him, leaning against the frame as if it's his God-given right to be here.

"well?" he asks with a wry smile, "is there?"

the evening melts into a night of eating way too much chinese takeout (although, you'd had it bought for you, which was more than you were expecting this evening) and subjecting toji to the worst that television had to offer. nursing full stomachs and dwindling glasses of wine, you sit with your legs draped across his lap, his free hand resting gently atop your knee.

"how can you watch this?" he asks, his voice laced with genuine pain. you can't help but laugh.

"hey, after days like this I just need to switch my brain off. there's no point in turning on a fuckin' netflix murder special when I can't pay attention to what's going on."

toji huffs a laugh and shakes his head. you know that he disapproves, and against your better wishes, it bothers you.

"feel free to change the channel if you're so bothered by it!" you argue. his head lolls to the side to look at you with a slight scowl, an expression that you try to match, although you know it never works on him.

"nah," he says dismissively, "at least this keeps you docile."

you squint resentfully.

"docile? the fuck's that supposed to mean?"

"you know what it means," he replies calmly, rolling his head back to return his focus to the tv, "you're a clever girl."

in a bid to prove him wrong you attempt to withdraw your legs from his lap, but he snakes his arm around them, holding you firmly in place. it's a grip that you can't escape on the best of days, let alone when you're a few glasses of wine deep and full to the brim of chinese food. rather than make a bid for actual freedom, you settle for hopefully annoying him enough for him to grant your release. you wiggle and fidget beneath him - being careful not to kick his glass of wine - until you become impossible to ignore. with a quiet groan, toji sets down his glass and pushes your legs off him suddenly, and for a split second you wonder if you've genuinely upset him. his expression is hard to read, and when he stands and switches the tv off there's a creeping worry that you've gone too far, until he turns his attention to you. he leans down, planting his palms on either side of your head against the soft sofa cushions, and brings his face close to yours.

"I am going to bed," he says, his voice low and quiet, "feel free to join me when you feel like you want to behave."

you suppress a scoff - "this is my house" - and watch him head toward your bedroom with intrigue. you weren't feeling up for one of his usual sessions, which tended to creep into the early hours and demand a lot from you both physically, and it didn't seem as if he was, either. although, toji wasn't the kind of guy to invite himself over purely for company's sake. you enjoyed being with each other, but unless there was a concrete excuse or you flat out refused, there wasn't much that would stop him climbing on top of you when you both rolled into bed to sate himself. You sigh quietly and disregard the mouthful of wine left in your glass, and peel yourself from the sofa to follow him.

by the time you reach your bedroom, toji is already well wrapped up in your duvet and absent-mindedly scrolling on his phone, which he puts on the nightstand when you appear in the doorway.

"good choice," he praises, turning to face your side of the bed, assuming the position of the big spoon immediately. your eyes narrow as you flick off the lights, and shrug off your dressing gown to hang on the back of the door.

"oh, come on!" toji whines, much to your pleasure. you had deliberately plunged the room into darkness first, meaning that he didn't get to lay eyes on you -all of you - before climbing into bed. you skip across the room with a giggle and climb into bed, and immediately feel one arm wrap around your waist and pull you close, and the other tucks comfortably beneath you so that you're cocooned by him. with his chest against your back and his knees tucked behind yours, you're reminded just how big he is... before long, he's nuzzling the crook of your neck and squeezing you even tighter.

"you don't have to be such a bitch about it," he mumbles, suddenly nibbling at your skin, "I have an imagination, y'know..."

"that so?" you ask, trying to ignore the way the light pinches at your neck are making you tingle and shiver.

"mm-hmm," toji replies, his warm breath bathing your neck, "I can imagine a lot of things..."

you feel his hand move from your stomach where he'd been pinning you against him, up to your chest, pushing your resting arm out of the way as he did it. his hand battled his way beneath your elbow to take your breast in his hand and firmly squeeze and massage it, gently tugging at your nipple as perked at his touch.

"I can imagine my face pressed against these beautiful tits, or I can imagine them in my mouth..." he whispers into your ear causing you to shudder, the softness of his voice and delicate warmth of his breath deliberately contrasting with the rougher motions of his hands. you just start to lean into his touch when he slips his hands away, drawing them back across your stomach until they rest on the crest of your hip for a moment before sliding down to the meat of your ass. he grabs a firm handful that makes you wince.

"I can imagine this ass bouncing up and down," he purrs, massaging and gently spanking you beneath the sheets. you try to remain still, to maintain an air of being unbothered, but it's getting increasingly difficult. especially when you know exactly where he's going next.

"I can imagine..."

he suddenly swipes his fingers across your cunt - which had been slowly getting wetter ever since you climbed into bed and felt him pressed against you - and sharply sucked in the air through your teeth.

"oh..." his voice takes on a deeper tone, rumbling through you gently, "looks like I don't have to imagine..."

he spends the next few minutes dragging his fingers back and forth agonizingly slowly, massaging circles and patterns against your swollen heat and coating his fingers in your juices. your breath grows heavier and heavier as he stirs you up, and you find yourself instinctively pushing back against him, quietly asking for more. his free arm that had been resting on your pillow shifts suddenly as he repositions himself, propping himself up on his elbow while gently taking your chin in his hand. he tilts your head back so that his eyes meet yours, and in the dim light of the bedroom you see the shadow of a sleepy grin on his face.

"look at you," he mutters, his hand sliding from your chin to your neck, grasping it gently but firmly to keep you in place, "you talk a big game until you get here. keep your eyes on me."

you do as you're told, and toji rewards you by slipping two thick fingers inside you. your mouth falls open as you let out a whimper, and you simultaneously feel him twitch against your ass. your back is arched as he starts to fuck you with his fingers, and before long you can hear how wet he's made you, his fingers slipping in and out with wet strokes. toji takes the sight of you in completely; your big, wet eyes gazing up at him, your mouth fixed in a pleasured "O", your tits bouncing with every thrust of his fingers. the blood swelling in his cock is becoming almost painful, and he's starting to make a mess of his own. he loves seeing the effect he has on you almost as much as he loves feeling it. almost.

the temptation is too much, then, as toji suddenly retracts his fingers from your sopping cunt. you gasp at the abruptness but don't have long to adjust before he's discarded the sheets completely and is rolling you on to your front before mounting you. despite being positively drenched from his fingers, you still gasp at the way his cock stretches you. he balances himself by planting his hands on your ass, weighing you down with an iron grip, and slowly begins to thrust. a guttural groan escapes his throat as he fills you up, and it takes everything he has not to cum there and then.

"you gonna let me fuck you without misbehaving?" he asks, already panting. you nod feverishly, worked up and desperate to feel him fill you up.

"good."

the green light is all he needs to begin picking up the pace, and you can already feel the bruises on your ass forming under the firmness of his grip. to your surprise, he lowers himself down so that his chest returns to your back, rendering you helpless against him as he thrusts. his fingers find yours, and he pins your hands against the pillow on either side of your head as he moves, languidly but expertly fucking you in the most delicious, lazy way.

"gonna make a mess for me?" he asks, his ragged breath returning to your ear, "c'mon, don't hold back on me now, baby."

the way you can tell that he's trying to mask his own desperation only fuels your own release, as it wasn't often that he revealed this side to him. you sometimes instinctively hold yourself back for reasons you're not sure of, but on this occasion you know he wants your everything. he needs your everything. he nuzzles himself into your neck once more and begins kissing, biting, sucking, occasionally quietly moaning right into your ear, knowing how much you love it when he's the vocal one. you become overwhelmed by it all: the sharpness of his teeth on your neck, the heat of his breath on your cheek, the hardness of his cock...

you hit your release and let yourself make the mess he asked for, feeling your juices squirt over the both of you. it's too much for toji to handle, as he cums almost immediately afterwards, being unusually vocal as he pumps you full. he collapses in a sweaty heap on top of you as you both come down from your highs, and plants a kiss on your cheek.

"you deserved more than that," he concedes, panting heavily, "but I was feeling lazy."

[uptoolateart]

Hey, hey, hey - time for a Gabriel analysis!

So. After we learned that Gabriel Agreste wasn't his original name, my mind jumped to Andre Bourgeois, who also once had a different name. In keeping with the themes of the show, we are seeing that secret identities don't always come with masks and comic book names.

We had a hint of Gabriel's secret past in Psycomedian, when Harry visited and alluded to his Gabi days. How, oh how could the Gabriel Agreste we all know have ever been friends with someone like Harry Clown? This is only possible if he was once a different sort of person.

We had further clues in Gabriel's vision of the past, in the time burrow in Evolution - and in Emilie's video messages left for Nathalie, and the photographs of Gabriel, Emilie and Nathalie on some expedition, seen in Passion - and in Amelie's accusation that Gabriel has changed, in Emotion.

Adrien is also aware his father has changed with time, demonstrated when he tells Gabriel that Emilie once said they came from different backgrounds.

The photos shown in Revelation finally gave concrete evidence that Gabriel used to have an adventurous spirit and he used to smile. He was fun...but something changed...and I don't think it was just Emilie's death that caused the personality shift. Based on casual comments Adrien has made throughout the series, his father has been strange for years.

Gabriel tells Adrien that he and Kagami are 'of the same design' - and we know he means this literally. But taking it as a metaphor...for two seasons I've wondered what Emilie's parents were like. We can infer that she comes from a wealthy, 'important' family. Maybe Gabriel struggled to fit in and win the approval of his in-laws. Maybe he never felt good enough. When he tells Adrien things like, 'You're clinging to Marinette because her mediocrity lets you shine more,' perhaps someone once talked like that about him. With that kind of background, it would be unsurprising that he decided to try to forge a new identity.

And let's remember that Gabriel is a designer. His whole empire is founded on inventing personae. Even beyond the sentimonster aspect, he tells Marinette that he designed the image the world holds of his son. Everything is his invention. That speech in Pretension proved just how deep his God complex runs - he fully believes he has made the world in his image. Even the episode title - Pretension - smacks of the image he is presenting to the world in lieu of truth.

At this point, what we're seeing is a 'new money' stereotype - a self-made man who now spurns those who remind him of where he came from. It's one of the most shameful things about him. No matter how much fame and money you get...you can't forget your roots, people. Maybe that's easy for me to say because I'm not rich or famous. But I just can't imagine turning my back on my own origin story. It's what makes you who you are. Gabriel clearly didn't want to be that person anymore...and that's sad.

What's also fascinating is that, if we zoom in on those pictures Nathalie took in Revelation, we see that once upon a time, Gabriel - Gabi Grassette - was a punk. Let's take a moment to appreciate the spiked hair, makeup, leather jacket, ripped jeans, and dog collar - not to mention that smirk. And far from being ashamed of his work with Harry Clown as a human frites (who, by the way, reminds me so much of Mr Banana), he was smiling about it. Man, he loved it. Contrast that with Gabriel in Party Crasher - 'JOY.... What's going on in my HOUSE!?'

If it were at all possible for the old Gabi to meet Cat Noir, I can imagine him loving Cat's costume. On that note, I can't help but compare that dog collar with Cat's bell. I've said before that I see the bell as a symbol of Cat being domesticated and under control. Gabi probably saw his dog collar more as a rebellion, but maybe it too is a symbol of how he once felt controlled by someone.

The thing is...the punk movement was all about anti-establishment anti-authoritarianism. Today, Gabriel is the establishment he once rebelled against. It makes me think of John Lydon of the Sex Pistols turning Conservative and advertising butter. Musicians like Donovan - not a punk, but in a similar category, as a 1960s hippie - are rare for maintaining that same spirit all through their lives.

Gabriel is a 'sell-out'. He gave up that spirit and became someone unrecognisable. Those photos demonstrate that Emilie isn't the only body buried in a 'basement' in the Agreste mansion. There is a different person buried under the cold veneer that is Gabriel - a person Nathalie probably misses. I expect that's why she's stuck with him all this time, despite her better instincts. Something tells me Gabi would've made a better father.

The irony is that Adrien's moments of rebellion are probably one of the few things he has in common with his father, if we look far enough back in Gabriel's past. That, and their temper - and randomly breaking into eccentric dance and song. Gabi might have appreciated Adrien more for standing true to his principles. Maybe Adrien sometimes reminds Gabriel of himself and he can't stand it - can't stand thinking of what he's lost along the way.

I believe Gabriel exists in a perpetual state of regret. Part of him probably misses Gabi, too. After all, Gabi got Emilie. What has Gabriel got? Wealth, sure, but Emilie's dead, Adrien all but hates him, Nathalie's wasting away, and Gabriel himself has only weeks to live.

If you think about it, Gabriel's whole quest has been about getting a do-over. He wants a second chance with Emilie - a second chance for Nathalie - a second chance at his own life. He then tells Adrien that his greatest wish is to try to reconnect with him...because he knows he doesn't have much time left with his son. Even then, though, his selfishness prevails. (Psst, Gabi...you can't make up for years of terrible parenting with banana pancakes.)

Thinking of the snake miraculous, the second chance lets you know what's going to happen, enabling you to make better decisions the next time around. In other words: it's about learning from your mistakes. Gabriel never learns, and it is his refusal to accept destiny and his own human fallibility that is causing his disintegration.

The more Gabriel necrotises, the more we can see this as his 'sins' catching up with him. He doesn't seem to grasp that all the blackness devouring him is, in a way, the blackness of his own heart. Even if he erases the whole world, he can't erase his deeds. If he managed to get his Wish and bring Emilie back, she would be horrified. She'd wonder where her Gabi went.

Gabriel is proof that 'evolution' isn't always positive. He reinvented himself once, and now, because it didn't go the way he wanted, he's trying to reinvent things again. Tomoe also hints at a belief that the solution to her problems is to make the world anew - to get a second chance. Felix tries this, too, when he creates the red moon to wipe out all people except his select group.

But Felix does learn - Ladybug helps him see that even if you erase all the people causing you so much grief...you still have to deal with that pain. What Gabriel fails to see is that - like Cat Blanc on the roof, all alone without his lady - destroying your witnesses won't remove the witness in your own heart.

Even if Gabriel wiped everyone else's memory of his crimes, he would still know what he'd done. And when you cross those kinds of lines, you can never go back to who you once were.

Please no post-Revelation spoilers in the comments :)

[ernestinee]

Je ne vais pas survivre à la saison des grosses araignées qui rentrent dans la maison et descendent le mur pile à côté de moi, mur qui est brun et donc dans le noir on voit que dalle heureusement qu'oreo était là pour sonner l'alarme d'ailleurs voici une photo du héros.

J'ai tellement paniqué qu'au lieu de dire "Ok Google allume la lumière du salon" j'ai dit "Google putain les lampes!"

[arsenicetvieillesenseignes]

L'Hostellerie du Mont Noir nous ramène à l’époque où la pub se peignait à la main. Ici, pas de papier qui se décolle au premier coup de vent. Avec ses lettres gothiques, cette typo inspirée des manuscrits médiévaux promet une touche de tradition et d'authenticité à ce commerce local. Un mur qui ne te racontait pas de salades. Il voulait juste t’envoyer dans un lieu où les histoires se dégustaient autour d’un bon repas, avec un petit verre pour accompagner. Aujourd'hui c'est silence radio. Il reste cette peinture pour nous dire que les bonnes choses ont une fin mais que les souvenirs tiennent bon.

[empiredesimparte]

⚜ Le Cabinet Noir | Episode III, N°8 | Francesim, Versailles, 26 Thermidor An 230

In the late afternoon, Charlotte welcomed her parents, Duke Casimir and his wife Manon, to the Château de Versailles. They seem more than delighted to learn that their daughter is to become regent of Francesim, and try to prepare Charlotte for her future role. The young empress did her best to resist them. She hoped that the regency would not take place and that her husband, Emperor Napoleon V, would reverse his decision.

Beginning ▬ Previous ▬ Next

⚜ Traduction française

En fin d'après-midi, Charlotte accueille ses parents, le duc Casimir et son épouse Manon, au château de Versailles. Ces derniers semblent plus que ravis d'apprendre que leur fille va devenir régente de Francesim, et tentent de préparer Charlotte à son futur r��le. La jeune impératrice tente tant bien que mal de leur résister. Elle espère que la régence n'aura pas lieu, et que son époux l'empereur Napoléon V reviendra sur sa décision.

[nothingtherefornow]

Potential Date and theory about Miraculous World London : at the edge of time

So it's been pretty much confirmed that the new miraculous special wouldn't come out before autumn 2024 T_T Probably the same date Miraculous World Paris got released in 2023 : November 26th T^T

For me That's still too long waiting until the release.

That's why I'll have to kill time by making some shorts theories about this special.

First, I'm convinced that this special will take place during the ellipse between the moment when Gabriel made a wish and the ending with the Adrinette kissing, the poster above pretty much shows clues about that, just like it confirm Lila's big involvement and role in this special, as well as the confirmation that Marinette will team up with young Bunnix and not the adult one. Adult Bunnix may be the one to give Marinette her own time miraculous as well as the ladybug earings received either by Master Fu from the past or the future Ladybug, after Marinette got her earings stolen by Lila.

Now there's something I'm the most curious about this special : Why London ?

If this is an adventure across time to reveal who discover Ladybug's secret indentity and how did they stale her miraculous, why does this special must take place in London and not Paris ?

My theory is that Lila won't just will not just become the new ladybug and ruin the reputation of the old one, she will arrange for all of Paris to be against Marinette, potentially by framing her as the new villain armed with the butterfly miraculous. Which is entirely within Lila's reach, since with the butterfly miraculous in her possession it would be enough for her to akumatize innocent victim and then save the day by pretending to be a heroine with the ladybug miraculous she stole.

But with the power of the butterfly, Lila can akumatize herself, and nothing would be easier than bringing back Volpina or Infox, and create an illusion showing the new butterfly villain detransform into Marinette. With all of Paris wrongly mistaking her for a super-villain, Marinette would be forced to flee to London in the company of Bunnix or even Luka and Su-han who all know that Marinette was Ladybug (Alya would stay in Paris for Nino and to try to defend Marinette's honor I will go further, perhaps it is even Felix who, as a resident of London knowing that Marinette = Ladybug, will offer the young girl a roof under which to hide. So instead of revealing to Adrien that Marinette = Ladybug to ruin their relationship, Lila will make the young girl look like a new villain, and Adrien will not be fooled because he knows his sweetheart well (we'll see what will be the excuse to put Chat Noir aside during this special)

Traduction for my fellow french :

Il a donc presque été confirmé que le nouvel épisode spécial de Miraculous ne sortira pas avant automne 2024 T_T Probablement pour la même date que le special Paris en 2023 : le 26 Novembre T^T

Pour moi, c'est encore trop long comme attente pour cette date de sortie. C'est pourquoi je vais devoir tuer le temps en faisant quelques petites théories sur ce prochain spécial Londre.

Premièrement, je suis convaincu que ce spécial aura lieu pendant l'éllipse entre le moment où Gabriel fait son vœu et la fin de la saison 5 avec le baiser Adrinette, l'affiche poster ci-dessus montre à peu près des indices à ce sujet, tout en confirmant la grande implication et le rôle de Lila. dans ce spécial, ainsi que la confirmation que Marinette fera équipe avec le jeune Bunnix et non avec a Bunnix adulte. Bunnix adulte est peut-être d'ailleurs celle qui donnera à Marinette son propre miraculeux du lapin ainsi que les boucles d'oreilles d ela coccinnelle reçues soit par un Maître Fu du passé, soit en rovenance de la Ladybug du futur, après que Marinette se soit fait voler ses boucles d'oreilles par Lila.

Maintenant, il y a quelque chose qui m'intéresse le plus dans cette spéciale : pourquoi l'histoire doit-elle se dérouler à Londres ? S'il s'agit d'une aventure visant à percer à jour l'identité de la personne ayant découvert l'identité secrète de Ladybug et comment cette personne s'y ait prise pour lui voler son miraculeux, pourquoi ce spéciale doit-il avoir lieu à Londres et non à Paris ?

Ma théorie est que Lila ne se contentera pas juste de devenir la nouvelle ladybug et de ruiner la réputation de l'ancienne, elle s'arrangera pour que tout Paris soit contre Marinette, potentiellement en la faisant passer pour la nouvelle villaine armée du miraculous du papillon. Ce qui est tout à fait à la portée de Lila, puisqu'avec le miraculous du papillon en sa possession il lui suffirait d'akumatiser d'innocentes victimes pour ensuite sauver le jour en se faisant passer pour une héroïne avec le miraculous de la cossinnelle qu'elle aura voler. Mais avec le pouvoir du papillong, Lila peut s'akumatiser elle-même, rien de plus facile que de fire revenir Volpina ou Infox, et créer une illusion montrant la nouvelle villaine papillon se detransformée en Marinette.

Avec tout Paris la prenant à tord pour une super-villaine, Marinette serait forcée de fuir à Londre en compagnie de Bunnix voir même de Luka et Su-han qui savent tous que Marinette était Ladybug (Alya resterait à Paris pour Nino et pour tenter de défendre l'honneur de Marinette. Je vais aller plus loin, peut-être même que c'est Felix qui, en tant que résident de Londre sachant que Marinette = Ladybug, offrira à la jeune fille un toit sous lequel se cacher

Donc au lieu de révéler à Adrien que Marinette = Ladybug pour ruiner leur relation, Lila fera passer la jeune fille pour une nouvelle méchante, et Adrien ne se fera pas dupé car connaissant bien sa dulcinée (�� voir donc qu'elle sera l'excuse pour mettre Chat Noir de côté durant ce spécial)

[coolvieilledentelle]

Il y a un lieu de paix, Il y a un lieu de joie, Un endroit loin de la solitude Un endroit loin de la douleur Cet endroit est à côté de toi..Un jardin secret...Où le noir et blanc devient un lieu coloré.. Les soucis du monde s'évanouissent.. La colère et la peur ne sont pas autorisées...Les préjugés ne peuvent pas entrer.Un endroit où deux cœurs battent comme un seul..Un lieu où deux âmes s'entrelacent...Un matin doux, plein d’amour et de complicité, en toute intimité, juste tous les deux ...  Bon jeudi

[abridurif]

Dos aux images (fragment)

J’écris en tournant le dos aux images. Si je les avais tout le temps sous les yeux, je ne pourrais pas écrire. Et puis, si elles constituent mon environnement immédiat, elles n’entrent pas pour autant directement dans le processus d’écriture. Concrètement, dans la pièce où j’écris, j’ai disposé deux portes sur tréteaux qui m’offrent ainsi un vaste bureau, sur lequel se déposent assez vite livres, cahiers, papiers imprimés, feuilles volantes, phrases recopiées à la main, images découpées, cartons d’invitation, crayons, feutres, stylos… tout un petit bazar dont j’ai besoin pour me sentir chez moi – mon lieu de vie devenant lieu de travail. Cette grande table trônant en plein milieu de la pièce, on peut en faire le tour, elle est décollée du mur où j’ai aimanté une constellation d’images découpées dans la presse, d’images photocopiées – couleur et noir et blanc – d’œuvres d’art qui m’accompagnent depuis longtemps. Un grand nombre représentent des espaces conçus par des artistes : des vues d’installations in situ se mêlent à d’autres, prélevées dans le livre de Bernard Rudofsky – Architecture sans architectes – que j’avais dégoté chez un bouquiniste lorsque j’étais étudiant, en même temps que celui de Georges Perec – Espèces d’espaces. À la question posée par Breton « Qu’est-ce que ton atelier ? », Giacometti répondait : « Ce sont deux petits pieds qui marchent. » Ainsi, je ne cesse d’aller et de venir entre le plan horizontal de la table et le pan de mur sur lequel je déploie mon atlas d’images en mouvement. Mais au moment de commencer un texte, je me saisis plutôt d’une bribe de phrase qui me turlupine que d’une image qui me fait signe. En revanche, par le travail d’écriture, je cherche à construire un espace d’images, en ayant toujours présent à l’esprit l’abri sous roche d’époque magdalénienne qui était dans le fond de la grange de ma grand-mère, à Enval, où des fouilles avaient eu lieu à la fin des années soixante, où ont été prélevés des outils en silex, des objets de parure, des plaquettes gravées, le fragment d’une vénus miniature. Le livre en cours renvoie à cet espace matriciel : terrier, grotte ornée, cavité que l’on creuse dans son propre sous-sol. Reste à savoir si le livre achevé correspond à la chambre excavée, déblayée, mise au jour, ou bien alors au monticule de déblais apparu à la surface, quelques pas plus loin, trié, réagencé, matériau pour un nouvel édifice.

[professeur-stump]

(…) Entretiens avec les habitants du lieu. Voici une rustaude de cent cinquante kilos : 　« Quelle serait votre opinion si de telles créatures existaient ?» 　Une ombre noire traverse son visage laid et ses yeux brillent avec conviction. 　« Les tuer ! Elles pourraient blesser quelqu'un.»

(William Burroughs, Entre chats)

[jamie-007]

🎉🇧🇪🎉 🖤💛♥️ 🎉🇧🇪🎉

Tout remonte à la révolution belge de 1830, qui elle-même mena à l’indépendance du pays. En effet, c’est en 1831 que la Belgique opte pour le régime de la monarchie constitutionnelle suite à un congrès national. Ensuite, cette même année 1831, le premier roi de Belgique est proclamé : son nom est Léopold Ier.

Bien qu’il prête serment sur la Place Royale de Bruxelles le 21 juillet 1831, ce n’est qu’en 1890, sous le règne de son successeur (Léopold II) que ledit-jour sera proclamé jour de fête nationale. Cette dernière aurait initialement dû se fêter le 27 septembre (pour commémorer les Journées de Septembre, du 23 au 27 septembre 1830, qui marquèrent la Révolution belge).

Très tôt, la fête nationale belge affiche des illuminations des édifices publics qui prennent les couleurs du drapeau noir-jaune-rouge. Les belges avaient aussi l’habitude de se retrouver la veille, chaque 20 juillet, pour un bal aux lampions. Et un bal populaire continue d’avoir lieu chaque année sur la place du Jeu de Balles à Bruxelles ce jour-là ! Et puis, le feu d’artifice, qui ponctue annuellement les festivités, est souvent associé à une parade aérienne.

🎉🇧🇪🎉 🖤💛♥️ 🎉🇧🇪🎉