#salon de th

[postcard-from-the-past]

Grand Salon of the 17th-century Château de Lévis, Bourbonnais region of France

French vintage postcard

[haggishlyhagging]

One of the first twentieth-century works to try to redress this pathological omission of women from what has conventionally been written as history is Mary Beard's Woman as a Force in History. Showing how, despite male dominance, women have in fact been important shapers of Western society, this pioneering woman historian led the way back into prehistory as a source of the lost human heritage. Of particular relevance here is Beard's documentation of something that to conventional historians would seem even more outrageous than the correlations shown by Winter and McClelland between "feminine" and "masculine" values and critical historical alternatives. This is that periods of the rising status of women are characteristically periods of cultural resurgence.

From the perspective of the Cultural Transformation theory we have been developing, it is hardly surprising to find a correlation between the status of women and whether a society is peaceful or warlike, concerned with people's welfare or indifferent to social equity, and generally hierarchical or equalitarian. For, as we have seen throughout this book, the way a society structures the relations between the two halves of humanity has profound, and highly predictable, systems implications. What is surprising is that, without any such theoretical framework, writing at the beginning of this century, Beard could see these patterns and remark on them in what is still one of few attempts to chart the activities of women in Western history.

In Women as a Force in History, Beard remarks on "the wide-reaching, and influential activities of Italian women in the promotion of humanistic learning" during the Renaissance. She notes that this was a time when women—along with "effeminate" values like artistic expression and inquiry—were beginning to free themselves from medieval church control. She documents that in the French Enlightenment of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries women played similarly critical roles. Indeed, as we will see, during this period—which launched the secular revolt against what Beard calls "the barbarisms and abuses" of the old regime—it was in the "salons" of women like Madame Rambouillet, Ninon de Lenclos, and Madame Geoffrin that the ideas for what later became the more humanist, or in our terms more gylanic, modern ideologies first germinated.

This is not to say that women have not also helped to keep men and "masculine" values in power. Despite the emergence of great figures here and there, women's part in our recorded past was by necessity largely played in the androcratically prescribed role of the male's "helper." But as Beard repeatedly shows, although women have helped men fight wars, and sometimes even fought in them, theirs has generally been a very different role. For not being socialized to be tough, aggressive, and conquest-oriented, women in their lives, actions, and ideas have characteristically been "softer," that is, less violent and more compassionate and caring. For example, as Beard remarks, "one of the earliest—and perhaps the first—rivals of the hymnology of war, hatred, and revenge made immortal by Homer was the poetry of an Aeolian woman called Sappha by her people but uniformly known in later times as Sappho."

This insight is also found in another pioneering work focusing on the role of women in history: Elizabeth Gould Davis's The First Sex. Like books by other women trying to reclaim their past with no institutions or learned colleagues for support, Davis's book has been criticized for veering into strange, if not downright esoteric, flights of fancy. But despite their flaws and perhaps precisely because they did not conform to accepted scholarly traditions books like this intuitively foreshadow a study of history in which the status of women and so-called feminine values would become central.

Like Beard's, Davis's book puts women back into the places from which they were erased by androcratic historians. It also provides data that make it possible to see the connection at critical historical junctures between the suppression of women and the suppression of feminine values. For instance, Davis contrasts the Elizabethan age with the Puritan regression that followed, marked by virulent measures to repress women, including "witch" burnings.

But it is primarily in the works of today's more exacting feminist historians and social scientists that we can find the data needed to flesh out and develop a new holistic theory of gylanic-androcratic transformation and alternation. These are the works of women such as Renate Bridenthal, Gerda Lerner, Dorothy Dinnerstein, Eleanor Leacock, JoAnn McNamara, Donna Haraway, Nancy Cott, Elizabeth Pleck, Carroll Smith-Rosenberg, Susanne Wemple, Joan Kelly, Claudia Koonz, Carolyn Merchant, Marilyn French, Francoise d'Eaubonne, Susan Stownmiller, Annette Ehrlich, Jane Jaguette, Lourdes Arizpe, Itsue Takamure, Rayna Rapp, Kathleen Newland, Gloria Orenstein, Bettina Aptheker, Carol Jacklin, and La Frances Rodgers-Rose and men such as Carl Degler, P. Steven Sangren, Lester Kitkendal, and Randolph Trumbach, who, painstakingly, often using obscure, hard-to-find sources like women's diaries and other hitherto ignored records, are gradually reclaiming an incredibly neglected half of history. And in the process, they are producing the missing building blocks required to construct the kind of historical paradigm needed to understand, and move beyond, the one-step-forward-and-one-step-back alternations of recorded history. For it is in the new feminist scholarship that we begin to see the reason behind something the French philosopher Charles Fourier observed over a century ago: the degree of emancipation of women is an index of the degree of a society's emancipation.

-Riane Eisler, The Chalice and the Blade: Our History, Our Future

[primewritessmut]

Fucking around with a prompt I saw for Malevolent but have repurposed for SpideyPool bc I have brain rot. (Ugh. Save me.)

Wade Wilson is a mercenary that works for The Organization (very ominous) and he completes missions with the help of a handler. A comms person in his ear feeding him intel and keeping him in line. He's recently been assigned a new handler.

/scene start/

“Take a left at the next street, then an immediate right.”

A muscle in Wade’s shoulder blade twitches as the voice crackles into his ear. This new comms guy is fine, but he’s still not used to hearing someone that isn’t Cable on the line. Wade and Cable had an understanding that this new guy wouldn’t know anything about.

It’s the height of fucking absurdity that Wade is just supposed to roll with some noob rattling instructions into his ear. He and Cable had trust. Namely, Cable trusted that Wade would do the most unhinged thing possible in any given situation and Wade trusted that Cable would be able to get him out of it.

There’s no trust with what’s-his-face. Her face. Their face?

Wade doesn’t fucking know and that’s the whole point. He’d put effort into making sure that he and Cable could work together flawlessly. Yeah, Cable hadn’t exactly been ecstatic that Wade had stalked enthusiastically followed Cable for a year, but that was just business sometimes.

Now Wade has to start all over again. Fuck th—

“Left. Now.”

Wade cranks the bike to the left, putting his foot down as the back end fishtails him around the arc and he can gun it down the alley.

“Right. Now.”

Wade skids again, the back wheel clipping the corner of the building and nearly dumping him onto his face.

“Your other right. Christ.”

“Well,” Wade grunts, muscling the bike back into balance. “Guess I’m takin’ a shortcut.”

The only response is a cute little growl followed by the sounds of frantic key tapping and aggressive paper shuffling.

That’s more like it.

Wade can’t have his new handler letting the title go to their head. No one handles Wade.

Wade is unhandleable.

“U-turn at the next light. Aim for Benton Street.”

“Sure thing, Siri.”

The traffic light switches to green just as Wade shoots out of the alley. He cuts behind a older model truck running the intersection then banks the motorcycle hard, nearly dumping it before coaxing it into a half-circle.

“Benton, Benton, Benton,” Wade mutters to himself, eyes scanning the street signs.

“Between the Starbucks and the hair salon.”

The tires on the bike grab just as that corporate green and white mermaid catches Wade’s eye. He eases off the throttle to get the bike pointed in the right direction, then cranks it back again, speeding between coffee and coifs.

“Where to now, Google Maps?”

Wade is pretty sure that’s the sound of teeth grinding. It puts a little smile on his face, and he has to use most of his willpower not to wiggle in the seat. He does wiggle a little though because he’s not a puritan.

Cable would have given Wade a stern talking to by this point, reminded Wade that he’s doing this for the greater good, that he needs to protect everyone else in the organization by not getting caught, scolded him for leaving a weapon at the scene.

blah blah blah

yada yada yada

He might actually be able to get behind a comms runner that doesn’t sit in his ear like Jiminy Fucking Cricket and judge him the whole time. That’s the ticket. He needs to think about this like being freed from oppression. The next time he wants to take a tooth as a trophy or de-glove somebody’s hand before killing them, there won’t be anyone to say no.

“Duck.”

“Wha—?”

A hot line of pain sears across the outside of Wade’s shoulder and he looks down to see blood oozing from a bullet wound, dripping down the sleeve of his leather jacket. Well… not his leather jacket.

“I just stole this jacket,” he whines.

“DUCK, asshole,” the voice barks in his ear and Wade is leaning over the handlebars, knees gripped tight to the gas tank, before his brain can even process the words.

Ungh.

Okay.

A bullet shatters a shop window to Wade’s left and he quickly readjusts his perspective.

If Wade’s new comms guy can get him out of this alive, he might be willing to give it a chance.

After all, he usually pays $1.99 a minute to get someone to talk to him like that.

[adelemadouce]

Palace Whispers

It was to be the greatest event of the 19th century - the coronation of Napoléon as Emperor of the French! Not in Aix-la-Chapelle or Reims, but in Paris, in Nôtre Dame! And His Holiness Pope Pius himself came to Paris to crown Napoléon!

Th imperial court had moved from Saint Cloud back to the Tuileries. Since my rank as a lady-in-waiting to the Empress was in the lower category as simple "Dame du Palais", I had far less importance than the "Dame d'honneur", the "Dame d'atour", or the "Dame d'accompagner". So the busy preparations for the coronation only affected me peripherally. But since everyone was so excited, the mood at court was more than brilliant! I enjoyed my service to the Empress, although I always -always! - entered her apartments with the trembling fear of meeting "him"! But the Emperor was so busy that he seldom came to see us. Once he appeared when I was playing the harp. The Empress never entered her salon until after eleven in the morning. Then she would chat with us about fashion or gossip. Some of the ladies were embroidering, someone was reading something, or I was playing the harp. When the Emperor came and I was playing a melody by Salieri, I jumped up and curtsied to the Emperor like all the ladies. But the Emperor did not notice us, so I allowed to continue plucking my harp. I only glanced at him once. My heart was pounding! It was magnificent to see how lovingly the imperial couple treated each other. Aunt Joséphine beamed at the Emperor so tenderly that one couldn't help but smile. But then my eyes fell on Madame de Vaudey and she looked at the Emperor not tenderly, but with pure desire! I saw a real greed for him in her eyes. It was almost indecent! The Emperor only gave her a brief glance. But her cheeks glowed with satisfaction! Élisabeth de Vaudey had everything I didn't have: she was tall, blonde, with big breasts that she juggled so skillfully in her cleavage as if they were about to sprang out at any moment. It was indeed fascinating to watch her, she loved to move her soft body with her slim waist and round bottom were more than provocative. But her voice sometimes sounded vulgar, too loud and exaggerated. Élisabeth had a self-confidence that I could only dream of. Her singing voice was really beautiful, but she never asked me to accompany her singing on the harp. She ignored me, never greeted me, never spoke to me. It seemed that she would never forgive me for the magical moment when I wore the Emperor's coat. The Empress herself was not at all jealous of the incident. "You looked so sweet, Adèle! All of Paris is talking about the Emperor's gallantry! Parisians love that kind of thing...and why not!" I remained a child to her, little Adèle, whom she had to protect.

One afternoon, however, the Emperor suddenly burst into the Empress's salon, beaming with joy! We were embroidering, nibbling on pastries and drinking a glass of Anisette. It was a somewhat boring afternoon, which was saved by the visit of the Emperor. We were still kneeling in our curtsy when I heard the Emperor say to Joséphine: "The Pope has arrived in Fontainebleau!" He took his wife's hand and kissed it passionately, with his eyes closed. Joséphine smiled happily. "Mesdames...the Pope is in Fontainebleau!" We applauded, and the Emperor finally looked at us. I quickly looked back at my embroidery. A minute or two passed...then the Emperor unexpectedly came to the small table where I was sitting with Félicité. He reached for my glass of Anisette, smelled it, took a sip, took another sip and then asked me: "Madame Duchâtel, do you know that Italian melody....mia dolce ragazza...avanti...facciamo l'amore...avanti...mia dolce ragazza...la...la...la..." He hummed the song loudly to himself. I looked up at him, uncertainly. "No, Your Majesty, unfortunately I do not know that melody." Then he looked at the Empress and said: "I can't get that damn melody out of my head!" Completely unexpectedly, Élisabeth then called out: "Sire, I know that melody...mia dolce ragazza..." she began to sing. The Emperor nodded, but turned around and slowly walked towards the door. I don't know what demon came over me at that moment, but I reached for my glass and put my lips exactly where the Emperor's mouth had touched the glass before! I closed my eyes blissfully for a second, then looked up at him. The Emperor was watching me. He smiled, knowingly!

Only when he had gone did I take the glass from my lips, but kept it in my hand. Félicité had seen everything! She looked at me questioningly, but said nothing. Élisabeth had seen it too. When the Empress was distracted by Madame de Rémusat and Madame de Luçay, Élisabeth approached me. She leaned towards me and hissed like a cat: "Don't get any ideas...the Emperor is only interested in me!"

A few days later Églée came to me as I was tuning the harp in the Empress's salon. "Félicité told me about the incident with Élisabeth. You have to be careful, Adèle!" Églée sat down next to me. She continued in a quiet voice. "You won't find any friends among the ladies-in-waiting. Especially not if the Emperor or Empress favors you! You'll arouse envy and resentment...you don't want that, do you!" I shook my head violently. "No. Certainly not!" - "Good! You really have to be careful of Élisabeth, she's very scheming. Besides....she's a whore." I looked at Églée in surprise. "Just because she's sleeping with the Emperor?" That was my only conclusion. "No, but she's only doing it for money...not for love! Rapp told me something...you won't believe it!" I bit my lower lip expectantly. I already knew the most important thing for me - that Élisabeth didn't love the Emperor! I was infinitely relieved! And, of course, excited to hear what would happen next. Églée told me, not without pleasure: "Élisabeth wrote a letter to the Emperor...she was in financial difficulties...her creditors had given her a deadline. If she could not raise 30,000 Francs within twenty-four hours she would end up in debtors' prison. She would rather kill herself than go to debtors' prison! The Emperor was shocked! He sent Rapp to her with the money. But when Rapp entered her salon, he saw to his great surprise that Madame de Vaudey had not fallen into despair, but was sitting happily with several gentlemen at the gaming table, enjoying champagne! Rapp immediately turned back with the money and reported to the Emperor. Napoléon was furious!"

I had never heard such an exciting story! It sounded like something out of a novel. "Has the Emperor ended his affair with Élisabeth?" Églée shook her head. "I asked General Rapp that too, but he said that she might still have a chance with the Emperor...he's very fond of her!" Églée sighed. "Perhaps he loves her! Who knows? But one thing's for sure...Élisabeth will try everything to get the Emperor back! She's so raffinée...she knows these tricks that make men submissive." I looked questioningly at Églée. "Tricks...what do you mean?" I really had no idea what she meant by that. "Oh, you little sheep!" said Églée. "Don't you know that some women do things that men don't get from their wives? It's always been that way. A man's mistress must control him through her tricks in the art of love-making; only then can she keep him and his money! And as for Élisabeth, I can only hope that this affair will soon be over and that our dear Empress will not find out the least bit about it!"

But some time later a scandal broke out at the court of Empress Joséphine! The morning began like any other day, with tea and brioches and only two important topics to discuss: the coronation and our needle-work for Hortense's second son, the little Prince Napoléon Louis, who was only a few weeks old. I was working on a white bonnet with rabbits and ducks on a colorful meadow of flowers. I liked it very much, so I eagerly embroidered it. Églée sewed a tiny hussar jacket, for which Félicité sewed the trousers. We were all happily at work, when Élisabeth, who was practicing a melody on the harp, suddenly got up and left the salon. It might not have been noticed if she had not left this sudden silence behind her. Églée nudged me and whispered: "Something is going on..." I looked over, the Empress was discussing something with Madame de Rémusat. Aunt Joséphine seemed agitated. She kept whispering to Madame de Rémusat, who tried to calm her down. She finally succeeded and the Empress looked again at the book she had been reading. There was silence for a while. Suddenly the Empress jumped up, threw the book on the floor and said loudly: "That's enough! I can't stand it anymore!" She walked quickly to the door, elegantly lifting her train. Madame de Rémusat also jumped up and ran after her. "Your Majesty...please stay calm...I beg you!" She sounded desperate. All we saw was the rustling of the robes disappearing through the doorway. Silence remained. None of the ladies dared to say a word. Only Églée grinned. "I told you...this is the most exciting place in the world and I don't want to be anywhere else!" She continued sewing, still grinning. Old Madame de Chevreuse had fallen asleep, only Madame de La Rochefoucauld whispered eagerly with Madame de Soustras. These ladies came from the Ancien Regime, they came directly from the court of Marie Antoinette and were accordingly blasé. They wanted nothing to do with us young court ladies of the lower nobility or Bourgeoisie. Églée called them disparagingly "the old powder puffs!" The little gold clock on the mantelpiece tinkled, perhaps ten minutes had passed when suddenly the door was thrown open and the Empress entered. Her face was streaming with tears. She ran to her dressing room and immediately disappeared behind the door. At the same moment the Emperor appeared in our salon. His face was contorted with anger and of snow-white colour, his hair was disheveled. He had clenched his hands into fists and shouted: "You will not run away, Madame!" We could not so quickly sink into a curtsy as the Emperor strode across the room and disappeared into Joséphine's dressing room. And then we heard the Emperor shouting at his wife: "I'm fed up with your spying! You have no right whatsoever to interfere in my affairs! If I want to fuck my whores after breakfast, then that's not of your business! Do you hear me!!! I fuck whoever and whenever I want!" Then there was silence for a moment and we heard the Empress crying. Églée bit her lips with a grin and looked at Madame de La Rochefoucauld, who was holding a handkerchief to her open mouth. She seemed close to fainting. Then the door opened. "I want a divorce, Madame! Pack your things, you are leaving the Tuileries today!" Now we managed to curtsy in time. But the Emperor walked straight past us and disappeared. We looked at each other helplessly, neither of us said anything. From the Empress's dressing room we heard her loud crying. Madame de Rémusat finally went to her and closed the door. Madame de Chevreuse was still asleep.

We never saw Élisabeth de Vaudey again!

[syneilesis]

[fic] Bilateral Agreement

Bilateral Agreement

Who Made Me a Princess | Lucas x Athanasia de Alger Obelia | T | 3.5k words ao3 link

There’s a foreign prince visiting Obelia, and Lucas doesn’t like him one bit.

Also, there’s a threat of assassination, but that’s not at all important.

A/N: Wrote this on a whim, in a caffeine-induced fugue state. It's been a while since I've read the entire webcomic so there may be lapses in canon details. I just read the last 10 chapters as a refresher. Anyway, this is not a serious fic. Takes place post-canon. Athy is 19 here. Not beta'd. Hope you enjoy!

His name is Valerio Giovanni Loredan and he’s the second prince of an island kingdom far, far away – so far that Lucas bothers recalling neither its name nor its coordinates from the map. He’s tall and tan with chocolate brown hair, a perpetual smile plastered on his face that indicates a good-natured personality. He seems to be the sort of fellow who doesn’t get offended even if you insult him and his royal lineage.

Valerio is presenting himself before the Emperor and the Crown Princess, his envoys falling in line behind him. He’s dressed in loose clothing, coat draped like a robe and jewelry covering his neck, arms, and even ankles. From an outsider’s perspective he looks as if he’s insulting the Obelian court with his fashion of choice, but compared with the Emperor on his regular days Valerio’s clothes seem like they belong in the winter collection.

“I am deeply honored and grateful for the kindness and hospitality the Obelian Empire is giving us,” Valerio is saying. “I am looking forward to our stay here in your beautiful country.”

Claude nods and says nothing, while Athanasia smiles and descends from her seat, offering a hand for Valerio to shake.

The prince blinks and – to Lucas’s nascent horror – his cheeks begin to darken.

He has a bad feeling about this.

+

“How long is that prince staying?”

They’re at the salon in the Emerald Palace, the afternoon sun filtering its way through the windows, casting the room a warm, yellow glow. A day after Valerio and his diplomatic mission’s arrival, Lucas appeared in Athanasia’s room to pester her into having tea with him. Athanasia relented after five minutes of needling, and Lucas bit a smirk at the successful thwarting of any appointment she had in the day.

Athanasia pauses in her sip. “Who? Valerio?”

At the mention of the prince’s first name, Lucas frowns.

“You’re already first-name basis with him?”

Lucas has to do a double-take when a faint red tints Athanasia’s cheeks. Something hot and tight builds within Lucas’s chest, and not the good kind. He exhales more harshly than usual, and Athanasia notices.

“What? I mean I have to be friendly to him, you know? In Cornaro, hierarchy doesn’t mean much, so using honorifics is more a rare occurrence than calling people by their first names.”

“Cornaro?”

She looks at him funny. “It’s the name of his kingdom. Were you not paying attention?”

He huffs. “Why should I bother learning the name of his kingdom? It’s unimportant to me.”

He feels her shoot him a piercing glare, and he returns the gesture with an equal level of insouciance.

“In any case, I don’t want you being rude to him and his envoy. You’re the Imperial Magician, which means you’re part of the Obelian Court. Anything you do reflects the imperial family, which means me and Dad.”

She doesn’t have to tell him that. Lucas knows his role in the royal court. Ever since Athanasia’s official appointment as the Crown Princess, Lucas finds himself assisting her in a number of matters, mostly on travel logistics and procurement of materials for her projects. Sometimes, he takes up the task of bodyguarding her despite the Crimson Blood Knight’s presence, which makes the Emperor knot his forehead and cast him murderous looks.

“Tch. I know, I know.” He placates, “I swear not to replace all his things with dust balls.”

Athanasia seems skeptical of that, but the matter is dropped and they enjoy the pastries for the rest of the hour.

+

On the third day, Athanasia gives Valerio a tour of the rose gardens. It’s late spring, so plenty of flowers are in full bloom, painting the place in bright, colorful hues. Athanasia wears a floral dress that matches the background, her jewel eyes standing out more than usual. She looks like a garden fairy dancing among the roses.

Valerio, from where Lucas sourly watches the pair, is two heads taller than the princess. He nods along whatever Athanasia is saying, her hands in an energetic gesticulation that Lucas assumes to be an explanation of how the garden was developed. Valerio doesn’t interrupt her, nods every now and then, and talks only when he’s asked a question. He throws a comment that Athanasia laughs at, delighted, and Lucas feels his brows melting together.

Beside him Ijekiel raises his eyebrows. It’s one of his visits to the Emerald Palace, disguised as an official meeting with the Crown Princess. He and Athanasia would talk in an official capacity for an hour before they shed their public roles and have tea together in an unofficial capacity. On most occasions, Lucas would crash their teatime, to Ijekiel’s consternation. But the worst thing he does is flatten his lips and frown maturely.

“I’m seeing what you mean,” Ijekiel says. If you ask Lucas, he’d say that they’re not friends, but in the years following the coronation they’ve developed a sort of grudging acceptance of each other, an acknowledgment of their places in Athanasia’s life and the extent of where that would lead to (they still remember vividly Athanasia’s loud declaration of not needing to get married). In this limbo, they have since learned to respect each other’s capabilities.

“It pisses me off,” Lucas grumbles. In the distance the tour continues on merrily. Seconds later Athanasia trips on a bramble, but Valerio is quick to hold on to her arm, thus preventing her from falling to the ground. In that moment, Valerio seems to be sparkling in his heroic deed, his hair and his coat fluttering in the non-existent breeze. Lucas finds himself nearly teleporting to them, but seeing as the princess is already fine, he leans back from where he stands, Athanasia’s warning not to interfere clear in his mind. “Really pisses me off,” he repeats.

Ijekiel hums in agreement.

+

It’s on the fifth day that things get exciting.

The palace explodes with the news of an assassination threat targeting the Cornaran prince, who receives the news with a bafflingly apologetic humor. Logically, this development can potentially strain the budding relations between Obelia and Cornaro, because any opposition to their alliance can treat this as an opportunity to smear either kingdoms. One can accuse Obelia of orchestrating an assassination attempt; conversely, one can speculate that Cornaro may have set this up to pin the blame on Obelia.

“But why would we do this?” Athanasia says, her lips pulled into a frown. “What would Obelia gain from it? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“It doesn’t have to make sense,” Lucas replies, swiping a grape from the tray that Athanasia’s lady-in-waiting delivered. He pinches it twice before putting it in his mouth. “Those who hate Obelia or Cornaro would believe that nonsense, regardless of whether it’s true or not.” He pauses as a thought occurs to him. “Where’s your father in all this? I notice that it’s you who keeps entertaining the delegation.”

“Dad? Oh, he actually assigned this to me. It’s my first diplomatic responsibility, now that I think about it.”

“He what.”

He’s plucked another grape as Athanasia was talking, and when she mentions being in charge of the foreign relations, Lucas summarily drops the grape and it bounces off the couch and into the carpeted floor.

Athanasia glances at the grape and points at it. “Pick that up.”

Lucas ignores her. “Why would he assign that to you? Is that why you keep hanging out with that foreign brat?”

“Excuse me – brat? Valerio is a perfectly nice man! He’s very polite and he laughs at my jokes.”

“That’s it? All it takes is a laugh here and there and you’re all smitten?”

“What are you talking about?” Athanasia glares at him before sliding her gaze away and muttering, “You don’t laugh at my jokes.”

“That’s because they’re not funny.”

“Ugh! This is why Valerio’s one hundred times nicer than you.”

That rubs Lucas the wrong way, the heaviness inside his ribs doubling, red-heat in its tightness. He doesn’t realize that he’s gritting his teeth until Athanasia sends him an unimpressed look, already used to his personality. That just angers Lucas further, and he springs up from the couch, grumbles a Tch, whatever, and teleports away.

It’s an hour after he left that he remembers he never picked up the grape.

+

Normally Lucas would be helping Athanasia in her tasks as important as diplomacy, but the recent events prevent him from lending a hand. He skips going to the palace for a couple of days and stays at the Black Tower instead, causing a panicked uproar among the magicians.

By the fourteenth consultation, Lucas decides he can no longer endure their stupidity and jumps back to the Imperial Palace, leaving a magician’s apprentice hanging.

He’s welcomed by none other than Valerio, who’s currently exploring the flora near the lake. Recognizing Lucas, Valerio grins and waves at him, approaching him with guilelessness borne out of ignorance of the knowledge that Lucas had badmouthed him twice already.

“Imperial Magician!” he greets, like he’s not the target of assassination. Lucas has half a mind to teleport away, diplomacy be damned. “It’s an honor running into you today.”

There’s a snarky reply ready on his tongue, but he hesitates at Valerio’s genuine joy at seeing him.

“Your highness,” he allows, nodding at the prince.

Valerio takes that as a sign to launch into an enthusiastic speech about how he’s enjoying his stay in Obelia so far – threats of assassination notwithstanding – how he’s appreciative of the kindness the people here provide him and his delegation, and how he’s learning so much of their culture.

“Living in a landlocked country truly is different from living on an island. I have traveled to so many countries but I never tire of experiencing new cultures. Obelia is a beautiful place that offers so many things, and with such prosperous economy! I hope to secure as many trade agreements as I can before I leave.”

Were Lucas a courteous man he would have complimented Valerio on his aspirations; unfortunately, he’s not, so what he says is, “That is, if you’re still alive by then.”

If Athanasia were present, she would have smacked Lucas by the arm and shouted at him for being so mean. But it’s just him and Valerio, and Valerio’s so blindsided by that comment that he gapes at Lucas for exactly ten seconds before expiring a shocked laughter that evolves into a full-blown cackle that startles Lucas.

“There is no need to worry,” he says after mellowing with a chuckle. “I have not survived the seas being naive and defenseless. Besides, Crown Princess Athanasia is helping me untangle this situation.”

He begins to relate to Lucas his first brush of danger in the middle of the sea. It was storming at the time, powerful winds that whipped at Valerio’s ship, waves almost swallowing it whole. Almost half of his crew attempted to mutiny during those harrowing hours, and Lucas thinks to himself as he listens to the tale, this can be easily dealt with using magic. But Valerio possesses no mana, and only his sincere words and his unconventional problem-solving skills saved him from both the storm and the rebellion.

Valerio’s animated the entire time he’s telling the story, and his eyes catch the lake’s shimmer, making them brighter and him more riveting. Lucas is almost impressed. Almost.

He kind of sees now why many people are so taken with him, Athanasia included. But no matter what happens Lucas will never ever join that camp.

+

“Fine,” Lucas declares later that night, a beat after popping up in the middle of Athanasia’s office, surprising the princess that she curses and drops the stack of documents she’s holding.

Lucas raises his eyebrows. “If your father hears that, you’ll be in trouble.”

“Shut up,” she says, fingers rubbing her temple. Based on the flurry of papers, it seems that Athanasia’s juggling more than seven tasks at the same time. This is on top of the thing with Valerio. “Why are you here? Are you done sulking?”

He ignores that last jab. “I will help you with the investigation of the Cornaran prince’s assassination threat.”

Athanasia’s fingers stop moving and she raises her head with an expression that clearly indicates she never expected Lucas to utter those words. 

“Oh,” she says, tone very much astonished. A moment later her face morphs into something smug – an expression Lucas never expected – his expectation falls somewhere between her beaming at him in appreciation and her thanking him for his extensive generosity.

There’s a small part of him that laments this development between them. Athanasia, at nineteen, has gone through so much that her heart grew sturdy and defiant, and this means that she’s even more comfortable with snarking at Lucas, who never has the patience for people’s impudence. But Athanasia is not just any people; she’s Athanasia, the one who has lived thrice, whose tremendous mana bent spacetime just to grant her desire for love, who faced her ordeals with the steel-strength conviction of someone who has everything to lose and thus has no plans of giving them up.

Athanasia, whose smile is a rose in full bloom, lush and free.

Lucas is not a magnanimous man; he’d rather destroy than cultivate. But for Athanasia he’d temper himself – something he’s never done in a long time.

+

With Lucas offering his assistance, the investigation wraps up sooner than anticipated. Turns out, a small anti-emperor faction is responsible for the threat; they thought that by putting the Cornaran prince in danger, they could frame Claude, and to an extent Athanasia, for it, thus a breakdown of both diplomatic and public relations.

Claude concludes the investigation by putting the anti-emperor faction in prison, where they will wait for their punishment. Lucas guesses that Claude’s all for execution, but Athanasia would probably oppose that and would suggest a more reasonable sentence.

“I am again grateful for the Emperor and the Imperial Crown Princess’s help and kindness amidst this extraordinary circumstance,” Valerio says, the imperial court his witness. He’s standing in full regalia – coat and jewelry and all – and the confidence in his tone and gait captivates yet again the people present.

“You’re welcome, Prince Valerio,” Athanasia replies, friendly smile on her face. “We only hope that this strengthens the relationship between our countries.”

“Of course, Your Imperial Highness.” There’s a pause where Valerio seems to be mustering something, and the shift of his legs alerts Lucas to an inexplicable dread that freezes his limbs. He braces for impact when Valerio says, “If I may be completely honest: Princess Athanasia has displayed such admirable qualities during our stay. She is wise, compassionate, and strong-willed that I find myself inevitably drawn to her. I realize that I have fallen in love with her. And with this I would like to submit myself and ask for her hand in marriage.”

He finishes his speech by kneeling in front of Athanasia and taking her hand, staring up at her with an earnestness that Lucas finds nauseating. There’s a hush that falls upon the court, all wide-eyed and disbelieving nobles unable to avert their gazes at the two figures in the middle of the hall. Across Lucas, Ijekiel observes the scene unfolding, fists and jaw clenched.

For a few moments, the world seems to be suspended in time, drained of color, monochromatic. But slowly, gradually, it returns: the tick of the clock resumes, hues bleed back into the scene, and Claude, who’s perched on his throne, casting his imperial gaze upon the spiraling event, blinks once, twice.

Then he rises from his seat.

The palace descends into chaos.

+

Athanasia watches the Cornaran convoy depart from the Imperial Palace, their carriages eventually disappearing from her line of sight through the office window. After Valerio’s confession, Claude attempted to murder the prince, which was hilarious (to Lucas) because it was the very thing that they had investigated and had wanted to prevent from happening.

Fortunately, Athanasia had managed to convince her father of the disadvantages of homicide, after which she – kindly, gently – turned down the prince’s proposal. Valerio accepted the rejection with good grace and humor, and swore to continue friendly diplomatic relations despite failing in the romantic aspect. This display of political sportsmanship only cemented his good standing among Obelian nobles, some of whom even invited him to various extracurricular activities. Within minutes Valerio had become a popular figure among the court, and Lucas had a dreadful inkling that he’ll see the Cornaran prince more in the future.

Lounging in the settee, Lucas smirks at Athanasia as she makes her way back to her desk, which is still avalanched by piles of documents. She stares at the papers ruefully before she sighs, and moves towards Lucas instead.

“The brat’s finally gone,” he says.

She sits in the settee, at the other end of it, and closes her eyes, slumps like a puppet with all its strings cut.

“Still a brat? You met him.”

Lucas pretends to think about it. “Okay, maybe not a brat,” he concedes. “A big puppy, more like.”

Athanasia hums.

It’s obvious that the past days exhausted her, one responsibility overtaking a number of others, and Athanasia still has to deal with them all within a given timeframe. Anyone would drop dead from the workload.

But Athanasia has been doing this for years. Starting early as training thanks to her father, Athanasia has built up stamina for this kind of work. It also helps that she’s smart and quick-witted, that she takes these tasks seriously. That she takes her third life seriously, but with a love that glows and brightens everything she touches.

Lucas shifts from his seat so he’s now leaning towards her. “You did well,” he says.

One eye opens, zeroing in on him. A corner of her mouth twitches.

“Yeah?” A thoughtful pause. “Thanks for assisting us with the investigation. You really helped a lot.”

Lucas feels his eyes narrowing, his lips curving upward. An idea forms in his head and he’s going to execute it.

“Of course,” he says with a tone that brooks no argument. “I deserve a reward, don’t I?”

This time, both eyes open, and Athanasia stares at him as if she can’t believe what she’s hearing.

“What?”

“You know what I want.”

The line of her mouth contorts in such a ridiculous way that Lucas has to bite a laugh lest she takes offense. But he sees the red blooming on Athanasia’s neck, cheeks, and even ears – like a blossoming rosebud – that a heat of his own burgeons inside his chest and spreads throughout his body, makes a home on his cheeks. It doesn’t deter him from what he plans to do, so he smirks again and closes his eyes.

“Come on, I’m waiting.”

It’s quiet for a while, the loudest he can hear is his own breathing. But then there’s a rustling of fabric, and a body heat not his gets closer.

He waits. And waits and waits until there’s a soft press of lips on his. Lucas locks himself in place, frozen and unable to move due to shock anyway. In all actuality, he expects a kiss only on the cheek. It’s been that way before. But now, this – this – 

They don’t move for many moments. Lucas tries a peek, and a set of jewel eyes welcomes his sight. 

Athanasia snatches herself away, sputtering and stuttering and so damned red in the face. She refuses to turn his way, body curling on itself because of the intense embarrassment.

No, he thinks to himself, and a hand grabs Athanasia’s shoulder, tight and intent on its grip. Athanasia goes rigid for one split second before she shudders.

“L-Lucas? W-What are you doing?”

His other hand cups her flushed cheek. This way she can no longer escape him. Lucas inches closer and closer until their noses almost touch and he peers at her and murmurs, “It’s not enough. You can do better than that.”

So their lips meet again, and this time Lucas moves with purpose. He catches Athanasia’s lower lip with his teeth and then licks it. Athanasia makes a sound that compels Lucas to prise her mouth open and thrust his tongue inside her, and it’s the hottest (and the only) kiss he’s ever had.

When they part, Lucas studies the dazed expression on Athanasia’s face. Her lips swollen and parted, eyes half-mast and unfocused, cheeks stained with crimson, hair slightly dishevelled. Her fingers cling onto his robes. Lucas shuffles his legs and swallows the lump on his throat. The action brings Athanasia back to reality, and he can see up close the precise point when Athanasia becomes flooded with panic.

She jumps from her seat and stammers, “I-I n-need to dosomeerrandsforDadbye!” and bolts from the room, leaving Lucas alone gawking after her.

Stunned, he lifts two fingers to rest on his lips, as if capturing the memory of the lush pressure of their kiss. Unbidden his mouth curves and Lucas grins to himself, a feeling like soaring lighting his veins.

Leaning back on the settee, he exhales a laugh and closes his eyes. Licks his lips.

They taste sweet, like candy.

[just-someone-online]

I was gonna leave Electrified alone but fuck it, this seemed like fun.

So Electrified's third act was uh... we'll say 'not amazing.' Me personally, I didn't care too much, but I've always been told my tastes are questionable at best. In any case, I wanted to try my hand at rewriting this.

We start at the power plant turned salon. The lights are flickering and the Ghoul Squad are trying their best to keep the normies calm. Suddenly, a hand bursts out of the floor, followed by another, and another. In no time at all, Moanica and her zomboys have everybody surrounded. She looks around at the normies, terrified and screaming because of what's happening. Moanica smirks.

"Are you scared, normies? Well, you should be! Because monsters and zombies are real! And tonight, under the cover of perpetual darkness, me and my zomboys are going out into your world to show you what happens when you force us to hide in the shadows!

"It is time that you normies finally learn your place..."

She reaches towards the nearest human and gives them a slow scratch across the cheek. In seconds a new zombie joins Moanica's zomboys.

"Under me."

The zomboys attack, capturing humans so that Moanica can turn them and repeat the cycle. The Ghoul Squad tries to protect the normies, but Moanica opens trap doors under them all and sends them down to her lair.

Down below, Frankie isn't doing too hot. They're (I'm sorry, I know G1 and G2 use she/her but I'm too used to G3 Frankie) glowing like a radioactive Lite Brite and their eyes are shining like high beams. They try to move, but they can barely lift their arms.

"So...much...electricity..."

Znap flies over to its creator, unsure of how to help, when a bolt of electricity shoots out from one of Frankie's... well, bolts and hits Znap. The little electricity being begins absorbing some of Frankie's excess power. Not enough to overload or hurt itself, but enough so that Frankie can at least move. Maybe Twyla gets hit with a little and gets her Electrified design, idk.

Now that Frankie's a little better, the ghouls explain what happen, and they all set out to Normie Town to stop Moanica.

When they get there, it looks like something out of a zombie movie. Zombies new and old shuffle through the cul-de-sac, looking for humans to bring to their leader. None of the ghouls know what to do, but Frankie has an idea. Or at least a part of one.

The zombies are essentially reanimated corpses, right? And Frankie was brough to life with it, so maybe, just maybe they can restart the zombies hearts with a little power.

(Look, it's a stretch and I doubt G2 would have brought up stopped hearts or reanimation, but it's the best I got)

Lagoona, Ari, and Twyla distract Moanica while Frankie, Cleo, Draculaura, and Clawdeen begin rounding up all of the zombies. Once they're sure everybody is there, Frankie warns there friends to hit the dirt, then unleashes enough of their electricity to hit all of the zombies.

When the sparks die down, the ghouls are pleased to see that the humans are all back to normal. Even the zomboys Moanica already had are back to their old selves. Of course, there's a chance they'll all turn back, but that's a problem for another day.

Moanica, alone and defeated, runs for the hills, promising to come back another day. Frankie takes a deep breath and releases the rest of their electricity. With the power restored and the zombies defeated, the Ghoul Squad heads home before the normies begin looking for someone to blame.

A few days later, the ghouls are cleaning the salon and listening to a normie radio reporting what happened. Everybody is worried that this might mean the end of Monster High, or worse, another Great Fright Flight. Draculaura tries to be optimistic, but even she's worried about the future.

Clawdeen laments the loss of her dream, only for Twyla to come bursting in with a group of humans, one smaller than the crowd seen in the actual movie. They saw the Ghoul Squad fighting to rescue them and figured that maybe not every monster is like Moanica. It'll probably be a long time before the normies are okay around monsters, but this is a good start.

From there, it would probably lead into a third movie, likely taking place after Adventures of the Ghoul Squad, though the only thing I can think of is Ghouls Rule without the normies nearly executing somebody. Maybe there would be a different antagonist? Just to give Moanica a break? idk

[mygainyear2024]

Day 71 The first G!

I convinced Rose to come walking into Lekeitio from the hotel. It was a pleasant experience wondering around the sleepy village. I even made a purchase, two more pairs of earrings! Having harassed the hotel receptionist (a young woman from Paraguay) about wine tasting the night before and spent ages trying to find us an option; between her, the owners and myself, we got nothing that was on our route, and the perfect options was booked out! Her recommended Pasteleria was also closed on Mondays.

So first stop to break up the trip, a coffee roaster, BB Cafe, in an industrial area of Abadiño. I'm sure we would have been their first Australian clients. The coffee was fabulous at €3.60 for two small lattes, and was enjoyed alongside the smell of the roasting process. I was tempted to buy beans, but thought twice given my luggage challenges.

Next stop Bilbao to view the first G! I couldn't get any parking outside the lunch spot I booked, but scored a great spot near the Museum, on street paid parking. The 16 minute walk back to the lunch spot and the lunch itself would have been time better spent elsewhere. I found this cafe, El Salon de mi casa, that I thought might be novel. I should have read the fine print, it was quite a bizarre experience. We had to buzz first. A stern woman told us to take off our shoes, hand sanitise and watch a four minute video in english before gaining access. We then entered the interior. There were two others inside, who left shortly after we arrived. From what I could ascertain, there were seven rescue cats roaming around the restaurant and tables. Luckily the place didn't smell. I think the main purpose is to check out the cats for potential adoption.

We were presented with a set menu and told this was our option, despite there being an a la carte menu, but if we wanted anything off the a la carte menu it had to total €14.95, the same price as the set menu. We settled on the set menu and kept hearing the microwave! The volunteer (I think sister of the owner) insisted the pumpkin soup was not soup, it wasn't a dip either, it was puree! The tomato and mozzarella on the slightly dry bread turned out ok. My chicken and chips was very ordinary. And despite me suggesting to Rose that the croque madam might not be a great option, as she'd already had two eggs for breakfast, she went with that anyway, and just ate the ham out of the sandwich, as it was also covered in grilled cheese that she didn't like. Not sure what you call that version! When it came time for dessert I asked if we could take it away, that was not possible, no containers. The flan was no longer available but we could have one only of the homemade yoghurt, a mandarin or a milkshake! I had the very tart homemade yoghurt. There was then some negotiation required about the price. I had booked via The Fork app which offered 30% off the a la carte menu, but we weren't offered this menu. I was really not happy to pay €30 for microwaved, low quality food. The woman rang her sister about The Fork deal. The phone was then handed to me. In turned out I knew more about The Fork than the business. We then had a lengthy conversation on the phone as they really wanted my feedback and there was "pressure" for me not to post a bad review. No wonder they had a rating of 9.6! I was refunded what I'd already paid and left a donation instead and paid for Rose's socks that she had to buy to wear!

Now after all that craziness, to the real reason for going into Bilbao, the Guggenheim Museum, spectacular building. Maybe there'll be a next time to visit the interior. It was another lovely wonder, around the building and back to the car.

We then headed the rest of the distance to Santander. After our lunch experience we both wanted salad for dinner, courtesy of the two supermarkets we could drive into near our hotel. My hips and shoulder had been giving me grief driving so I went for a one hour walk along the coastline.

[immobilier]

A LOUER S+2 - LA MARSA - TEL 53672333 - FB.5927

Loyer mensuel : 1400DT Superficie : 220 m² Type : S+2 Adresse : LA MARSA Contacter notre conseiller en immobilier au 53672333 / 56096179 / 70727279 A louer un appartement s+2 la marsa cite el Khalil. Il compose d’un grand salon, 2 chambres, 2 salles de bain, grande cuisine terrasse vue sur la forêt de gamma th chauffage central. Salon climatisé, cuisine toute équipée, réfrigérateur, machine à…

[diario-vespertino]

Talleres gratuitos de oficios, manualidades, música, danza, tecnología e idiomas para toda la comunidad

Con una variada oferta, el próximo miércoles 1º de marzo la Comuna inicia un nuevo ciclo de seminarios dictados tanto en los Centros Integradores Comunitarios como en los Salones de Usos Múltiples del distrito. Interesados e interesadas pueden anotarse de lunes a viernes de 8 a 14 hs. en todas las sedes. Además, cuentan con la posibilidad de concurrir directamente en el día y horario de la capacitación elegida. La directora de Políticas Integradoras en la Secretaría de Desarrollo Social -Lita Gómez- subraya “una diagramación con más de 50 cursos, cuyos cupos son hasta 45 personas mayores de 18 años”. “A diferencia de las últimas ediciones, ocurridas durante la pandemia, esta entrega será con presencialidad plena”, aclara. La funcionaria resalta “la gratuidad de la iniciativa”. “Propuestas que no tienen costo para el vecino o la vecina. Pensamos en quienes carecen del dinero suficiente para abonar cursadas de manera particular que, en determinados casos, alcanzan elevados costos como una forma de incorporar nuevas herramientas, impulsar una eventual salida laboral e incentivar la expansión de emprendimientos”. Sedes, horarios y talleres SUM “La Sirena” -Francisco Seguí y 20 A- Corte y Confección: jueves de 9 a 11 hs. Manualidades Varias: martes de 9 a 11 hs. Redes para Emprendedores: jueves de 10 a 11 hs. CIC “Santo Tomás” -Remedios de Escalada y Caseros- Porcelana Fría: miércoles de 11 a 13 hs. Apoyo Escolar: martes y jueves de 9 a 11 hs. Peluquería: martes y sábados de 9 a 12 hs. (Es dictado cada 15 días) Boxeo: martes y jueves de 14 a 16 hs. Redes para Emprendedores: martes de 9 a 10 hs. Guitarra: jueves de 10 a 12 hs. Moldería, Corte y Confección: miércoles y jueves de 14 a 16 hs. CIC “El Rocío” -Chascomús y Lobos- Inglés Básico: miércoles de 14 a 15 hs. Apoyo Escolar: lunes y jueves de 14.30 a 16 hs. Manejo de redes y aplicaciones: sábados de 10 a 13 hs. Guitarra: martes de 10 a 12 hs. Manualidades: jueves de 9.30 a 11 hs. Mosaiquismo: martes de 9 a 11 hs. Informática: martes de 13 a 14 hs. CIC “Pista de Trote” -Río Traful y Juramento- Apoyo Escolar: sábado de 10 a 12 hs. Informática: jueves de 9.30 a 10.30 hs. Reiki: viernes de 13 a 16 hs. Peluquería: lunes de 9.30 a 11.30 hs. y de 13.30 a 15.30 hs. Elaboración de Cosméticos: lunes de 11 a 13 hs. Talleres de Porcelana: martes de 9.30 a 11.30 hs. Corte y Confección: miércoles 14 a 15.30 hs. Dibujo y Pintura Básico: sábados de 10 a 12 hs. Barras de Access: miércoles de 12 a 13 hs. Reggaetón: jueves de 10 a 11 hs. CIC “Villa Argentina” -Calle 523, entre 532 A y 534- Redes para Emprendedores: miércoles de 10 a 11 hs. Armado de Pelotas de Tela: lunes de 10 a 11 hs. Yoga: jueves de 10 a 11 hs. Porcelana Fría: miércoles de 10 a 11 hs. Tejido: martes de 15 a 16 hs. CIC “San Francisco” -Calle 1336 y 1321- Taekwondo: martes de 9 a 10 hs. Pestañas: miércoles de 10 a 12 hs. Masajes: lunes de 10 a 12 hs. Reggaetón: sábados de 12 a 13 hs. Limpieza de Cutis: jueves de 10 a 12 hs. Apoyo Escolar: miércoles y viernes de 10 a 12 hs. Lunes de 10 a 11 hs. CIC “Pico de Oro” -Yugoslavia entre La Haya y Madrid- Yoga: martes de 10 a 11 hs. Corte y Confección: jueves de 14 a 16 hs. Reggaetón: martes de 10 a 11 hs. CIC “Don José” -Diagonal 1 (Ex El Paisano) y Begonia Cocina Tradicional: jueves de 14 a 16.30 hs. Peluquería: viernes de 9.30 a 11.30 y lunes de 14 a 16 hs. Manicura: jueves de 15 a 16.30 hs. SUM “Bosques Norte” -San Antonio y Juan B Justo- Redes para Emprendedores: lunes de 10 a 11 hs. CIC “Presidente Avellaneda” -1º de Mayo Nº 1186- Trenzas y Peinados: jueves de 14 a 16 hs. Maquillaje: jueves de 14 a 16 hs. Zumba: martes y jueves de 14 a 15 hs. Peluquería: lunes de 13.30 a 15.30 hs. Colorimetría: miércoles de 13.30 a 15.30 hs. Manualidades: viernes de 13.30 a 15.30 hs. CIC “Ingeniero Allan” -Calle 1336 Nº 2301- Peluquería: martes de 10 a 12 hs. Estética: martes de 11 a 13 hs. Read the full article

[leblogdemarinaetjeanmarie]

MARDI 13 DECEMBRE 2022 (Billet 1 / 3)

Samedi dernier nous avions invité à dîner Marie-Ange (T.) et un charmant couple, Carole et Olivier (Th.) dont nous avions fait la connaissance il n’y a pas si longtemps chez Marie-Ange justement.

Dans l’après-midi se déroulait le quart de finale Maroc/Portugal… et les « Lions de l’Atlas », après avoir vaincu la Belgique, l’Espagne, l’ont emporté sur les portugais dans un très beau match.

A 20h, c’était au tour des Bleus de rencontrer l’Angleterre. Pour regarder le match nous aurions très bien pu faire un apéro dînatoire devant le téléviseur du salon mais, après avoir questionné les uns et les autres, les « Contre » étaient majoritaires par rapport aux « Pour ».

Marina est donc restée sur son projet initial (peut-être prémonitoire par rapport à la future victoire du Maroc) : un tagine aux citrons confits, olives et fonds d’artichaut.

JM, lui, s’est contenté d’aller acheter dans une petite pâtisserie marocaine qui a le vent en poupe, « La Gazelle d’Or » (cliquez sur le lien ci-dessous pour en savoir plus), sise 44 Rue Olivier de Serres dans le 15e : des cornes de gazelle (presqu’aussi bonnes qu’à Marrakech), des chabakiyas et autres petites tueries "pâte d’amande/pistache"… qu’il a servies bien sûr à la fin du dîner avec un thé à la menthe, comme là-bas !

Le lien de "La Gazelle d'Or" :

La pâtisserie marocaine s’invite dans les quartiers chics de la capitale – ParisGo (wordpress.com)

Vous trouverez ci-dessous la recette du tagine. Nous l’avons déjà mise plusieurs fois sur le Blog mais Carole (toute dernière nouvelle abonnée) nous l’a demandée. Alors, comment le lui refuser.

A la fin du repas, l’iPhone d’Olivier, nous a annoncé la bonne nouvelle : la France avait gagné 2 à 1 contre l’Angleterre.

__________________________________

TAGINE DE POULET AUX CITRONS CONFITS, OLIVES ET FONDS D’ARTICHAUT

Pour 4 personnes

Ingrédients

4 cuisses de poulet

8 citrons confits au sel

2 gros oignons

100 g d’olives vertes et noires dénoyautées (si possible), achetées chez un traiteur « oriental » pour qu’elles aient du goût

Compter 4 fonds d’artichaut par personne (congelés de chez Picard, ils sont parfaits)

2 cuillères à soupe d’huile d’olive

2 petites capsules de safran

1 petite cuillère de curcuma

Environ 30 gr gingembre frais

1 beau bouquet de coriandre

Sel, poivre

Recette

Eplucher les oignons et les émincer. Peler le gingembre, le hacher. Couper les cuisses en deux.

Faire chauffer l’huile d’olive dans une cocotte, sur feu modéré, ajouter les oignons, le safran, le curcuma et le gingembre, mélanger.

Joindre les morceaux de poulet, remuer et faire dorer pendant 10 minutes. Saler, poivrer.

Verser 25 cl d’eau. Laisser mijoter 30 minutes à couvert en mélangeant de temps en temps. Rincer les citrons confits, puis les partager en 2 ou en 4 selon leur grosseur.

Pendant ce temps, décongeler les fonds d’artichaut en les cuisant dans une casserole d’eau bouillante légèrement salée une dizaine de minutes après la reprise de l’ébullition.

Incorporer ensuite les olives au poulet, ainsi que les citrons confits, les fonds d’artichaut et le bouquet de coriandre.

Prolonger la cuisson de 15 minutes.

Retirer le bouquet de coriandre. Servir.

[postcard-from-the-past]

Salon of the 15th-century Château de Brissac, Anjou region of western France

French vintage postcard

[sonyclasica]

DANIEL PEMBERTON

MÚSICA DE LA PELÍCULA DE NETFLIX: ENOLA HOLMES 2

Milan Records acaba de publicar  ENOLA HOLMES 2 (MÚSICA DE LA PELÍCULA DE NETFLIX) del compositor nominado al Premio de la Academia y ganador del Premio Emmy, DANIEL PEMBERTON.

Escúchala AQUÍ

Mira la película AQUÍ

El álbum contiene música escrita por Pemberton para la segunda entrega de la serie cinematográfica de Netflix, protagonizada por Millie Bobby Brown como la hermana de Sherlock Holmes. Pemberton vuelve a la secuela después de haber compuesto la música de la película original de Enola Holmes, estrenada en 2020. Dirigida por Harry Bradbeer, Enola Holmes 2 se puede ver en exclusiva en Netflix.

Sobre la banda sonora, el director HARRY BRADBEER dice: "Enola Holmes 2 tenía que ser más descarnada, más emocional. Tenía que ser algo que valiera la pena contar. Y a veces solo la música de Daniel me ayudaba a mantener la fe. La banda sonora de Daniel es predominantemente orquestal, pero si escuchas con atención, hay un repertorio de clanks, gaitas y tañidos excéntricos entre las cuerdas, grabado en Abbey Road. Son los sonidos de la ciudad: el nuevo mundo en el que entra Enola".

SOBRE ENOLA HOLMES 2

Tras el triunfo de resolver su primer caso, Enola Holmes (Millie Bobby Brown) sigue los pasos de su famoso hermano, Sherlock (Henry Cavill), y abre su propia agencia, pero descubre que la vida como mujer detective a sueldo no es tan fácil como parece. Resignada a aceptar la frías realidad de la edad adulta, está a punto de cerrar la agencia cuando

una cerillera sin dinero le ofrece a Enola su primer trabajo oficial: encontrar a su hermana desaparecida. Pero este caso resulta ser mucho más desconcertante de lo esperado, ya que Enola se ve arrojada a un nuevo y peligroso mundo: desde las siniestras fábricas de Londres y los coloridos salones de música, hasta las más altas esferas de la sociedad y el mismísimo 221B de Baker Street. Cuando las chispas de una conspiración mortal se encienden, Enola debe recurrir a la ayuda de sus amigos -y del propio Sherlock- para desentrañar su misterio. ¡Parece que el juego ha vuelto a encontrar su sitio!

ENOLA HOLMES 2 está dirigida por Harry Bradbeer, con guion de Jack Thorne e historia de Harry Bradbeer y Jack Thorne. Los protagonistas son Millie Bobby Brown, Henry Cavill, David Thewlis, Louis Partridge, Susan Wokoma, Adeel Akhtar, Sharon Duncan-Brewster y Helena Bonham Carter.

CONECTA CON ENOLA HOLMES 2 PÁGINA WEB | TRAILER

ENOLA HOLMES 2 (MUSIC FROM THE NETFLIX FILM)

TRACKLISTING –

1. Stop That Girl!

2. The Enola Holmes Detective Agency

3. Find Your Path

4. To Shadwell

5. Lyons Match Factory

6. The Merry Dance

7. 221b Baker Street

8. A Loose Thread

9. Mysterious Follower

10. The Game Has Found Its Feet (Again)

11. Bell Lane, Whitechapel

12. The Threads Intertwine

13. Le Language de la Danse

14. Dancing Lessons

15. Chaperone Waltz

16. Quite A Party

17. The Last Dance

18. Deductions

19. Carriage Escape

20. Grail On Horseback

21. Sweet William

22. Blackmail

23. Enola and Tewkesbury

24. The Truth Of The Gods

25. Stage Fright

26. The Curtain Falls

27. Up In Flames

28. The Only Power We Have

29. Enola Holmes (One Flame To Start A Fire)

SOBRE DANIEL PEMBERTON

Daniel Pemberton es un compositor y autor nominado a los premios de la Academia y ganador de un Emmy, que ha sido citado habitualmente como una de las nuevas figuras más interesantes y originales de la música cinematográfica actual. Actualmente, Pemberton está nominado por cuarta vez como Compositor Cinematográfico del Año por su amplísimo abanico de trabajos por los Premios Mundiales de Bandas Sonoras (WSA), habiendo ganado el prestigioso honor el año pasado en 2021 tanto de la WSA como de la asociación internacional de críticos de música de cine IFMCA.

Ha recibido múltiples nominaciones a los Globos de Oro por proyectos como su composición neo-noir para Motherless Brooklyn, su mezcla de ópera y electrónica para Steve Jobs de Danny Boyle, "Hear My Voice" (interpretada y coescrita por Celeste) de The Trial of the Chicago 7 de Aaron Sorkin, y "Gold" (interpretada y coescrita por Iggy Pop) de la película de Stephen Gaghan del mismo nombre. Pemberton también recibió una nominación al Oscar a la Mejor Canción Original de 2021 por "Hear My Voice", que también fue recientemente reformulada para ser utilizada como pieza central en la inauguración de los Juegos de la Commonwealth de 2022. Su banda sonora para Being The Ricardos fue preseleccionada para el Oscar y nominada para el BAFTA.

Al sentirse cómodo componiendo para todo tipo de música, desde bandas de rock hasta orquestas sinfónicas, pasando por quintetos de jazz, las innovadoras composiciones de Pemberton han sido siempre aclamadas por la crítica. Pemberton ha escrito la música para algunas de las figuras más legendarias de la industria, como Ridley Scott ((All the Money in the World, The Counselor), Danny Boyle (Yesterday, Steve Jobs), Aaron Sorkin (Being The Ricardos, The Trial of the Chicago 7, Molly’s Game), Jimmy Chin and Elizabeth Chai Vasarhelyi (The Rescue), Darren Aronofsky (One Strange Rock), Edward Norton (Motherless Brooklyn), Louis Leterrier (The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance) y Guy Ritchie (The Man From U.N.C.L.E., King Arthur: Legend of the Sword), además de escribir canciones con gente como Mick Jagger, Iggy Pop y Celeste.

Sus otros créditos incluyen películas de estudio como Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse, Birds of Prey, Enola Holmes, The Bad Guys y Ocean's Eight, así como pequeños largometrajes independientes como el competidor de la Palma de Oro de Cannes Mal de Pierres, el ganador de Sundance Brian And Charles o el impactante documental sobre los Juegos Paralímpicos Rising Phoenix, por el que Pemberton ganó un Premio Emmy del Deporte a la Mejor Dirección Musical. Recientemente, junto con la nueva película de Searchlight "See How They Run", protagonizada por Saoirse Ronan y Sam Rockwell, también ha puesto música a la comedia de misterio y asesinato de Lord Miller "The Afterparty", y a la serie de espionaje "Slow Horses", incluyendo la coautoría del tema principal "Strange Game" con Mick Jagger.

Sony Music Masterworks se compone de los sellos Masterworks, Sony Classical, Milan Records, XXIM Records y Masterworks Broadway. Para actualizaciones por email y más información, visita https://lnk.to/sonysoundtracks.

CONECTA CON MILAN RECORDS: PÁGINA WEB | FACEBOOK | INSTAGRAM | TWITTER | YOUTUBE

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Froq eventos

#Froq eventos series

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#Froq eventos series

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Runway models

#Runway models full#

Often, these shows were theatrical, presented with narratives, and organized around a theme (e.g. īy the 1920s, retailers across the United States held fashion shows. European fashion houses would actively seek out buyers in the United States, specifically in larger cities, by hosting these runway shows. Runway shows were often held in department stores or hotels when they first began. These occurrences took place twice annually, specifically for fashion houses to plan for and promote their lines to foreign buyers. As the popularity for these formal presentations expanded, it was in 1918 when fashion houses established fixed dates for runway shows to occur. These events showed couture gowns from Paris or the store's copies of them they aimed to demonstrate the owners' good taste and capture the attention of female shoppers. By 1910, large department stores such as Wanamaker's in Manhattan and Philadelphia were also staging fashion shows. The first American fashion show likely took place in 1903 in the New York City store of the Ehrlich Brothers. American retailers imported the concept of the fashion show in the early 1900s. One of the most notable designers of this concept, Charles Fredrick Worth, gained traction by displaying clothes on actual people instead of mannequins. Īt the turn of the 19th century, exclusive fashion houses in Europe, especially Paris and London, were using formal presentations to showcase their latest line to clientele. In the 1800s, "fashion parades" periodically took place in Paris couture salons. Paris fashion and runway at the turn of the centuryīecause "the topic of fashion shows remains to find its historian", the earliest history of fashion shows remains obscure. A wide range of contemporary designers produce their shows as theatrical productions with elaborate sets and added elements such as live music or a variety of technological components like holograms, for example. Occasionally, fashion shows take the form of installations, where the models are static, standing or sitting in a constructed environment. It is then up to the audience to not only try to understand what the designer is trying to say, but to also visually deconstruct each outfit and try to appreciate the detail and craftsmanship of every single piece. The order in which each model walks out, wearing a specific outfit, is usually planned in accordance with the statement that the designer wants to make about their collection. Clothing is illuminated on the catwalk using various forms of lighting and special effects. In a typical fashion show, models walk the catwalk dressed in the clothing created by the designer. The London and Berlin fashion weeks are also of global importance. The three most influential fashion weeks are New York Fashion Week, Paris Fashion Week, and Milan Fashion Week, which are semiannual events. This is where the latest fashion trends are made. Fashion shows debut every season, particularly the Spring/Summer and Fall/Winter seasons. Given the monetary value of such bookings and the prestige of being linked with these top tier brands exclusives are tracked in addition to openings and closings during show season.Liu Wen, supermodel, walks the runway modeling fashions by designer Diane von Fürstenberg at New York Fashion Week 2013.Ī fashion show ( French défilé de mode) is an event put on by a fashion designer to showcase their upcoming line of clothing and/or accessories during a fashion week. Girls booked under a semi exclusive cannot walk in any other show in that city before the show.

#Runway models full#

Girls booked under an exclusive cannot walk any other shows in that city, or for the full season. The "Top Shows" used in this list are the ones below whose show casting are considered to be influential.Įach season a select group of designers chooses a few models per show for an exclusive booking. This list is entirely automated based on each model's show credits in the database. These are the girls casting directors and designers look to time and again come fashion month. More than simply highlighting the catwalkers who have tackled a myriad of shows in a single season the shows ranking also highlight the models known for their work on the runways over the last several season. It takes a special breed of model to walk hundreds of shows per year and connect with the vision of countless designers, but the ones who can pull off the impressive feat hold a special place in the business. The runway is the true domain of models - magazine covers and campaigns may be overrun with celebrities, but models will always dominate catwalk.

[eliana55226838]

SONIC THE HEDGEHOG 30 TH

quería conmemorar a quien hiso parte de mi infancia! de quien me dio fuerza mientras los demás se apartaron de mi, de quien me presento al mundo del fandom y entendí que no era la única, de quien me animo a crear personajes e historias!

de quien estuvo a mi lado por años! y siempre le tuve fe y amor a pesar de que alguno de sus juegos no eran de mi gusto. algunos amigos de la secu me preguntan "oye todavía te gusta sonic?" HAHAHAH y mi respuesta es "SI WEE!!! Y SOY UNA DE LAS ARTISTAS LATINO MAS RECONOCIDAS EN SU FANDOM!" nunca abandone al Sonic, pude conocer gente maravillosa gracias a el! y mejorar mi criterio como artista gracias a sus personajes.

  no es solo un bicho azul que cumple 30 añotes! es un personaje que me hiso entender que el mundo es mucho mas grande que los bully del salon! o que los problemas de salud con los que he peleado! ='V asi que aqui tiene mis niños! un dibujo pal sonic!