#street lourd

[rienafoutre]

[filmap]

Lourdes Jessica Hausner. 2009

Square 1 Av. Mgr Théas, 65100 Lourdes, France See in map

See in imdb

[postcard-from-the-past]

Street scene in Lourdes, Béarn region of southern France

French vintage postcard

[blacksocietic]

Welcome to Black Societic Store

Follow us in Fb and IG as @blacksocietic

[chaddavisphotography]

Our Lady of Lourdes Catholic Church as seen from Main Street in Minneapolis. March 2024.

[rock-a-noodle]

I'm sorry Bessie looks hideous.

[streetsofdublin]

MARY QUEEN OF LOURDES MARIAN STATUE

It was erected in 1954, during the Marian Year, and is one of a number of Marian statues that were built in Dublin during this time.

FASSAUGH AVENUE TRAFFIC ISLAND – OR IS IT A ROUNDABOUT Bliain na Maidine (Marian Year) 1954 Erected by parishioners and friends A Mhuire A Bhainrion Lourdes Guidh Orainn (Mary, Queen of Lourdes, pray for us) The Marian Statue in Cabra is a concrete statue of the Virgin Mary, located in the middle of a roundabout on Fassaugh Avenue. It was erected in 1954, during the Marian Year, and is one of a…

[newmosbiusdesigns]

Grand Hotel Moderne at Night by Cal Cannon

[suburbangothic-rp]

suburban gothic;

inspiré par twin peaks, desperate housewives, six feet under, hereditary, welcome to nightvale, euphoria, totally fucked up, american beauty, pretty little liars, murder she wrote, east of eden.

Par où commencer pour présenter ce monde? Pas de contexte déjà rédigé pour le moment, l’idée n’est que latente; si les rues ne se remplissent pas, à quoi bon y bâtir des maisons? Mais l’idée se fait pesante, lourde de ses possibilités.

Pennsylvanie, au pied des Appalaches, la rouille industrielle qui se bat contre la nature sauvage, elle-même lacérée par le tracé méticuleux de l’asphalte. Le long de l’une des ces longues routes, une ville. Une parmi tant d’autres, des milliers comme elle. Plantée sur une grille qui structure l’espace; au centre-ville et à ses bâtiments denses succède l’harmonie de la banlieue résidentielle. L’ordre s’y confond avec la monotonie, le charme se dilue dans l’ennui. L’architecture humaine se révèle creuse, les fissures laissent s’en échapper les échos de complaintes qu’on aurait voulu recouvrir de béton, de gazon ou de peinture fraîche. L’horreur s’excite avec chaque désillusion, secret, péché, danger, crime, frustrations. Le futur est riche en promesses mais demain n’est jamais un autre jour, inéluctable répétition d’hier. On enterre ses rêves sous un lit de bégonias dont on prend soin avec fureur et hystérie, dans l’énergie du désespoir, jusqu’au jour où une bande d’adolescents les piétine pour s'amuser.

La ville est séparée en quartiers; #1 est un petit centre-ville, le lieu des rencontres fortuites, main street, le cœur administratif et commercial du lieu. #2 est un ancien village rattaché à la ville, avec ses rues pittoresques, ses habitants qui n’aiment pas les visiteurs, le calme acheté à prix fort, les fermes reconverties. #3 est l’ancien bassin minier, abandonné, peuplé de mythes et de terreurs, peu à peu remplacé par l’industrie forestière. #4 est la banlieue résidentielle, le théâtre principal de notre jeu de dupes.

L’horreur vient de l’intérieur; du plus vaste, l’intérieur des frontières nationales, au plus intime: le foyer et l’individu. L’extérieur projette: un pays puissant et prospère, des rues propres, un voisinage aimable, des bonnes manières et de jolies choses. Le tout tient du mirage. À l’intérieur, rien ne va, on est à deux doigts de tomber dans le ravin. Les valeurs fières et heureuses sont corrompues; la communauté devient une prison, la religion devient une manipulation, le politique s’achète, la propriété creuse les dettes, le couple se brise.

Tout ne va pas mal; même si le gothique est souvent très sombre, il y existe aussi une place pour d’autres histoires. Edward Scissorhands est LE film du suburban gothic et c’est loin d’être un film d’horreur. Twin Peaks et True Blood mélangent un ton mystérieux avec des moments plus légers. L’excentricité ou la bizarrerie des personnages est d’ailleurs souvent un symptôme des rouages sombres qui font tourner l’histoire. Les tags associés au gothique sur Tumblr mènent à des contenus sinistres, mais chacun.e est libre d’aller un peu plus loin. À titre personnel par exemple, je pense que les Sims 2 est un jeu à l’ambiance gothique (: On fait ce qu’on veut avec le concept de gothique, et ce sera pareil sur le forum si le projet séduit et intéresse. (si besoin, je peux rédiger un texte un peu plus élaboré sur l'american gothic et ses déclinaisons régionales/thématiques)

Les années 2010; LA décennie des différentes gothic aesthetics. L’une des pires crises financières de l’histoire est passée par là et a fait beaucoup de mal au rêve américain. Le traumatisme est bien là, encore aujourd’hui, chez les individus comme dans les sociétés dans lesquelles ils évoluent. Le paysage de certaines régions change durablement; dans le Midwest, dans le sud, dans la Rust Belt. Une nouvelle tâche sur la mystique de l’Amérique. The American Nightmare.

J’ai beaucoup écrit et si vous avez lu jusque là – merci vraiment, et euh, pardon. C’est avant tout une bouteille à la mer, ce post. S’il trouve sa destination, alors on en fera germer les prémices. Il y a de quoi faire je pense. Les remarques, questions, suggestions, toutes bienvenues, j'ai envie de lire un peu après avoir autant écrit.

Contenu additionel; sera posté s'il y a de l'intérêt – le contexte, évidemment – mécanismes de jeu, animations – les postes vacants, leurs dynamiques – la ville, son monde, son histoire – les racines, l'inspiration – aes

un dernier mot: le tumblr n'est pas encore complètement fonctionnel, la plupart des liens est sous construction.

photo: edgar martins, éditée pour suburban gothic.

[kevincharlesward]

“I am protected from anyone or anything trying to control or oppress me, as I can never truly be owned” – Leo Lourdes

“Sono protetto da chiunque o da qualsiasi cosa cerchi di controllarmi o opprimermi, poiché non potrò mai essere veramente posseduto” – Leo Lourdes

© Kevin Charles Ward

FIRST IMPRESSIONS ITALIAN STREET PHOTOGRAPHY BY KEVIN CHARLES WARD

Watch this video now

[justplainwhump]

Bad pets

Follows seamlessly after this piece on Angel and Lourdes, narrowly escaping recapture... or did they, really??

Developed with and written for @wildfaewhump - I do hope Lourdes is captured (pun not intended) well in this, I love them so much.

Content / warnings : BBU, BBU recapture, creepy whumper, whumper pov, referenced noncon (romantic training), referenced facility whump. Just some nasty people enjoying their nasty job.

Piers Scott was the sort of man others easily considered a bully; which was probably confirmed by how little that reputation bothered him. He was tall, broad around the shoulders, and the sort of heavy that came from strength rather than from fat. Piers could throw most other people around with ease. And he liked doing just that.

To his own surprise and utmost delight, he'd found an employer who paid him well to do exactly what he loved, each day, on the clock. This year would mark his fifteenth anniversary as a WRU handler. He'd started in training Guards, done alright, aided by his ability to instill respect in the trainees; but quickly enough it turned out that he was best suited for the less... refined elements of Romantic training. Many of his colleagues excelled at building trainees up to match the high WRU standards and clients' even higher expectations. But to build them up anew, you first needed someone to tear down what was there.

Piers did that.

He worked in prep protocol, assisted with the delivery of effective punishment, fear-related conditioning, and often enough he got called out on the streets for acquisition or reacquisition jobs.

Usually, these were fun.

Today though, just as he was getting acquainted with their latest target, a tiny, sweet, beautifully fearful stray with huge wide eyes and soft brown skin, some blond bitch in a fancy blue coat had shown up and shushed him off, claiming to be their owner.

He didn't believe one word of it. Little Doe-Eyes had been perfectly designed to the taste of someone, and years of experience made him sure that this someone was not her.

"What a bitch," Fin mumbles next to him, as they step to their van, looking past the pet and their alleged owner. "There's something off about both of them, if you ask me."

The couple is kissing now, in the middle of the road, the pet on their tiptoes, the taller woman leaning in.

"I'd pay to watch them fuck," one of the junior handlers mumbles. "They're both hot."

Piers watches the woman, the way her posture shifts, the way she curves her back and tilts her head. The junior is right, he thinks. They are. And it's not a coincidence.

He scoffs. "Because they've both had Romantic training," he mumbles. "The bitch is just a better liar than the little one."

"Fuck, you're right," Fin hisses, hand flicking to the shock baton at his belt, ready to lurch forward. It's too late. A taxi door slams shut behind them, as they speed off.

"She played us."

Piers pulls his phone from his pocket and with few clicks opens a map. "We can play them right back."

There's a blue dot on the map, where the team are standing in front of the coffee bar. And a red one, moving away from them steadily.

Chuckling, Fin shakes his head and pats Piers' shoulder. "Fucking genius. You put a tracker on them?"

"Little one is bound to stray off again sooner rather than later. I'll gladly be waiting there when they do."

"Well then. Let's see where they go. And put their descriptions in the database, see what comes out. I want to know who they are. Who's looking for them."

If someone's looking for them, Piers thinks. He's known Fin for plenty of re-ac jobs. They do bring in the pets with enough bounty on their heads, or those with desperate enough clients. They don't always bring in the others. Their job is to get strays off the streets and that they do. What happens after, well. There's a long established agreement between Fin and Piers not to talk about any of their favourites going missing.

"Dips on little Doe-Eyes," Piers says, catching his boss' gaze.

Fin smirks and nods, before he looks back on the red dot moving on the map. "Deal. Blondie is mine. And you -" he waves a hand at the juniors. "Just lean back and learn."

-

"What do we have?" A day later, Piers is leaning forward in the van, looking over the junior's shoulder on the laptop screen in front of them. They've been letting the junior's take the night shift, keep an eye on the bourgoise brownstone town house the tracker led them to and do their research.

The runaways had been surprisingly careful, letting their cab drive circles, stopping at a busy shopping centre where they presumably changed cars. But they'd been too stupid to notice the tracker Piers had slipped into Doe-Eyes' pocket. Nobody had ever intended to chase them. They just needed to wait.

Right now, the second junior is still staking out the street, while the others are gathered in the van.

"Little one is from Lourdes program," the junior said, pulling up the file. Piers studies their face on the photo. They are delicious. Vulnerable, eager, terrified. He's always been wanting to get his hands on a Lourdes. Seems it is his lucky day after all. "Reported stolen around a year ago. Owner seems to be over them, already ordered replacement number two."

"Lovely," Piers hums. "And the blond one?"

"More secretive. But you've been right, she's a Romantic as well. High security case, custom order, facility 002. Reported on the run since her owner died, but higher-ups weren't interested in making the search public, probably not to draw attention on that pretty face."

Fin has stepped in behind them as well. "Fine with me. Our attention will suffice for both of them." He glances at the house, then back at the screen. "Whose house is this? Doesn't look like a classic pet lib hide out."

"Freckles'." The junior points at the photo of the blond pet. "Made up a fake identity, married the owner, conveniently inherited when he passed just months later. Doe-Eyes moved in after. Nobody else lives there."

"Freckles, huh?" Fin clicks his tongue, reaching out to trace the pet's lips on the screen. "What a naughty, naughty girl. And she's got so much to lose now."

"How do we get in?," Piers asks. "Freckled bitch won't just open the door, and this is the neighbourhood to just pick a lock. Back door could be -"

The side door of the van slides open, and before Piers can even jump up and grab his baton, someone is thrown on the metal floor between them.

Brown skin, barely covered by a strappy black top and a mini skirt. Beautiful black hair. And huge eyes, wide with fear at their sight.

Doe-Eyes. Curling up in respect position even unprompted. "Please," they whimper. "Please, please, please."

Piers sucks in a breath. Fuck. They're even more enticing today than they were yesterday.

"Look what I found." The junior handler jumps in behind the pet, tosses a small black purse to Fin. "Lost little puppy, wandering the street, all alone."

"Well then," Fin laughs, in utmost delight, as he reaches into the purse and pulls out a single key. "Problem solved. I guess we'll walk right in." He kicks the pet in the side, and they wince beautifully, as he flips them over on their back, staring up at the handlers. Fin firmly plants a foot on their chest, as he smiles down on them. "Hello again, Doe-Eyes. Remember us?"

They nod, desperate tears glinting in their lashes. "Yes, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir, I was a bad pet, I was wrong, I should have been good."

"You can still be good." Fin smiles, the fake winning smile every handler learns to master. "Your friend, though. She's a naughty one, isn't she? She's lied to us. Stolen from us. Pretended to be a person."

The pet shivers, and Fin keeps smiling. "You know what happens to bad pets, don't you? What has to happen?"

Doe-Eyes is trembling under Fin's boot, but they nod nonetheless, even manage to call up a shaking, sweet, apologetic smile in return. They're breathtaking. "Yes, Sir," they whisper and cast their eyes down. "Bad pets get punished."

Yeah, Piers thinks, drowning in their sight. Bad pets get punished.

He knows it's going to be glorious.

[bobawitch]

Love Story // Spencer Reid x French!Reader

Summary: french reader meets Reid and they become friends though both feel a strong pull towards the other. This is heavily based on the song Love Story by Indila.

A/N: OMG another oneshot, ik, i legit said i'm not the oneshot type and here i am. i really appreciate the kind words on my last one shot and I hope people like this one too!! This is around end of season 9 reid.

warnings: none!

word count: 948

You had moved to the states around a year ago, gotten yourself a sturdy job at a cafe/bookstore. You frequented any other bookstores along with the flower shops that reminded you of the quaint streets of Bezier. Your first home, nothing had driven you out in a rush but you always wanted to see the world. You had just bought a new book and were now looking at the flower shop nearby. That’s where he saw you, you were holding a rose and had the book in your free hand. You caught his attention immediately but it would be a few more weeks before he ever spoke to you.

L'âme en peine

Il vit mais parle à peine

Il attend devant cette photo d'antan

Derek had been teasing the guy endlessly for weeks now, Blake always telling the older man to leave Spence alone but honestly Reid didn’t mind it that much. He knew he was being irrational but something about you encapsulated the man. He greatly enjoyed when he’d go in for coffee and you’d be reading a book he liked. He couldn’t get you out of his mind but he was still so nervous. He was nervous to feel things towards someone again. It had been around a year since Maeve was killed in front of him and yet he hadn’t tried to speak to another woman. But today he decided he would speak to you, no matter how it went. He finally upped his courage to ask you about the book you were reading. You smiled, shutting it briefly to talk about the book in your hand. Spencer had recognized it as Nausea by Jean-Paul Sartre though he wasn’t expecting it to be in French. You spoke of his profound outlooks about how human nature is our own sickening curse. Spence gave that nerdy chuckle he always did and agreed with you though disagreeing with it being a fully bad curse. But this was just the beginning of the two of you. 

Il, il n'est pas fou

Il y croit, c'est tout

Il la voit partout

Il l'attend debout

Une rose à la main

À part elle il n'attend rien

Nearly two months later you two had basically started your own small book club, and when I say small I mean there were two members. You and Spence would talk for hours about different books and he always enjoyed listening to the sound of your silky french accent. Though Spencer couldn’t speak French he understood the language, having studied it in his spare time at college. He would try to say certain phrases and though most were pronounced correctly he messed up on occasion and you wouldn’t end the teasing. With each book club meeting you would grow closer and Spence’s feelings would get stronger, though you were oblivious to that. You had always found Spencer nice to look at and his brain was prettier than the stars on a clear night sky. You just assumed you two would only ever be friends since Prentiss told you about Maeve. 

Rien autour n'a de sens

Et l'air est lourd

Le regard absent

Il est seul et lui parle souvent

Il, il n'est pas fou

Il l'aime c'est tout

You could only keep a rational head about the boy genius for so long. Only 3 months after meeting you began to feel it. It was this sinking feeling that made you smile more when he was around. You found yourself imagining him whenever you listened to music or read a book. But rationality eventually came back and you would banish the idea from your mind. Which is why when he came to your house one rainy night you were evidently shocked. 

“Spence?” You looked at his dripping curly hair and how his shirt stuck to his chest tightly from the water. 

He looked at you with those big doe eyes of his and swallowed hard. It looked like he had been crying but you couldn’t say for sure. He didn’t reply to you which worried you further, causing you to pull him inside rather quickly. You grabbed him a towel and put on some tea, making him his favorite, earl grey. You got back with the tea, tucking a leg under yourself as you sat by him. He took the tea from you and held it, not looking at you for a while. Eventually you needed to know he was ok and set your tea down. Your fingers gently touched his cheek, leading him to look at you. “Spence, what’s wrong?” You spoke with genuine concern, your brows laced together with worry.

Though he didn’t respond, he just looked at you. He refused to break eye contact but out of your peripheral you saw him set his cup down. Then he began to scoot closer, your hand still rested on his cheek as you began to ask again.

“Spencer, really whats-” But you were harshly cut off by the feeling of his lips pressed against your own. Your eyes widened but within a few moments you melted into the softness of his lips. His arms quickly snaked around your waist as he pulled you closer. Your other hand came to his other cheek, holding his face close to yours. Soon enough the two of you had to pull apart. “Y/N…” He started.

You shook your head, “I know, me too.” He smiled at your words before leaning in and kissing you again, though that wasn’t the last kiss of that night.

Il la voit partout

Il l'attend debout

Debout une rose à la main

Non, non plus rien ne le retient

Dans sa love story

[postcard-from-the-past]

Street scene in Lourdes, Bigorre region of France

French vintage postcard, mailed in 1904 to Belgium

[madonnalouise-ciccone]

Madonna poses before she was famous in New York! On February 12, 1979 photographer Martin H. M. Schreiber called an agency and they sent one of their young models for him to shoot for one of his lecture classes. Years later the model would become Madonna, the images are now to be shown in the UK for the first time at the Brighton Festival. She is often hailed as a trend setter and the undisputed queen of pop, but now a gallery in Brighton is set to show Madonna as you have never seen her before. Taken 30 years ago these black and white photographs show the unknown 20-year-old Material Girl in an intimate and sensual photo shoot. Looking remarkably like her daughter Lourdes, Madonna was a then young carefree model. Posing nude for just $30 for New York photographer Martin H. M. Schreiber in 1979, the original photographs, "The Madonna Nudes – 30th Anniversary Exhibition", were shown at Brighton's Impure Art Gallery for the first time in the UK during summer. "These photographs were taken during my photography lecture courses in New York," says 52-year-old Schreiber. "At the time she was signed to a model agency and they sent her to this job at my studio on 22nd street Manhattan."The shoot lasted a few hours and it was after that time that we got to know each other for a while." Martin H M. Schreiber developed his eye and technical abilities in the US military in the sixties, while working freelance for the New York Times. After his discharge in 1968 he attended the School of Visual Arts in New York but quit and went solo, winning honorable mention in the first Life Magazine photography contest. In 1977 he began teaching a course at Parsons on photographing the nude and his first book BODYSCAPES was published in 1980. In 1985, after Madonna had become a global icon, the shots appeared in Playboy, catapulting Schreiber to fame. Established in May 2008, Impure Art is the UK’s only permanent, commercial, erotic art gallery. It has fast acquired a reputation for showing daring and exciting work of extremely high quality. They represent over 100 local, national and international erotic artists. The Madonna Nudes – 30th Anniversary Exhibition ran from May 1 to 31 as part of Brighton Festival Fringe.

[elizabethrobertajones]

Had a 'obviously everyone knows...' xkcd comic moment about overestimating people knowing about your field of interest and I'm shocked honestly about what it was because it's only even tangential to my folklore knowledge and I just happen to read the Fortean Times if my mum's boyfriend brings me a copy sometimes...

Anyway sorry if you saw me in the streets of Glasgow shrieking at my brother being the last person I'd go to in a vampire hunting emergency

[docgold13]

365 Marvel Comics Paper Cut-Out SuperHeroes - One Hero, Every Day, All Year…

November 16th - The White Queen

Emma Frost was born in Boston, Massachusetts, to the wealthy Winston and Hazel Frost. Emma had been the third of four children and her father was a cold, ruthless, and domineering parent who imposed impossibly high standards on his children.  Emma’s mother, meanwhile, turned to prescription drugs to cope with the tensions of her household and was largely uninvolved in her children’s lives. 

Emma’s Mutant telepathic abilities manifested in early adolescence.  She found that she could read minds and alter the thoughts, attitudes and beliefs of others.  She ultimately used this power to blackmail her father.  Her father was actually impressed by his daughter’s actions and he offered to make her his sole heir to the family fortune.  Emma rejected the offer, left home and decided to make her own way in the world. 

Following misadventures on the street, Emma became a student at Empire State University and met the fellow Mutant telepath, Astrid Bloom.  Bloom was more apt at using her psychic abilities and she helped to train Emma to further hone her skills.  Some time thereafter, Emma was invited to the Hellfire Club, an underground elite society.  Whist involved with this society, Frost discovered the plans of Edward Buckman and Steven Lang to destroy all Mutants. Alongside Sebastian Shaw, Lourdes Chantel, and Harry Leland, Emma battled Lang's Sentinels. She killed Buckman and the Council of the Chosen and then, alongside Shaw, took control of the Hellfire Club.  Shaw became the society’s ‘Black King’ and Emma took the role of the ‘White Queen.’

During her time with the Hellfire Club, Frost created the Massachusetts Academy, an educational institute for training young Mutants.  Her best students formed a tactical team known as ‘The Hellions’ who would go on to have multiple run-ins with the New Mutants squad of the Xavier School.  Sadly, many of The Hellions were killed during a confrontation with the time-traveling villain known as Trevor Fitzroy.  

Taking time to recover from this terrible loss, Emma ended up aligned with The X-Men in battling the Phalanx.  Emma agreed to help train the young Mutants the Phalanx had targeted and, alongside the X-Man Banshee, she led the Generation X team.  This squad eventually disbanded and Emma relocated to the island haven of Genosha.  Emma taught at a school on Genosha until a genocidal Sentinel attack killed most of the island's inhabitants.  Frost survived due to the sudden manifestation of her secondary mutation: the power to transform herself into a flexible, near-invulnerable, diamond-like substance. 

After being rescued, Frost joined the X-Men and took on a teaching position at The Xavier Institute.  She mentored a group of telepathic quintuplets, the Stepford Cuckoos, who quickly became her prized pupils. Frost and the Cuckoos proved themselves when they thwarted the schemes of the villainous Cassandra Nova. 

Frost continued on as a member of The X-Men and became lovers with Cyclops.  She would later be possessed by the Phoenix Force during the Avengers versus X-Men event.  

More recently, Emma has reclaimed her title as The White Queen, only now as chief executive officer of the Hellfire Trading Company.  This company is responsible for legally exporting the miracle drugs produced on the Mutant nation of Krakoa.  As White Queen, Emma Frost has a seat on the Quiet Council, the ruling body of Krakoa.  In addition, she created the Marauders, a team led by Kitty Pryde and responsible for handling the black market for the miracle drugs, among other concerns.

Emma Frost has appeared in a number of the Fox Films X-Men movies, portrayed by actresses January Jones and Tahyna MacManus.  The villain turned heroine first appeared in the pages of X-men Vol. 1 #129 (1979).