#wat champ

[carebearbro]

Even Christy is susceptible to the wat face every now and then.  

[painted-bees]

Smut tier just dropped over on the Lark & Wren patreon

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

One Small Change

Sequel to One is the Loneliest Number, One on One, One Little Thing, Only One I See, One Thing Leads To Another, One Message Waiting, One Day Closer to You, I’m the Only One, Plus One, Ticket for One, The Wrong One, Number One

Warnings: none, Professor Steve (that’s a warning in itself)

Saturday. You find it hard to focus on the mountain of work before you as the night before nips at the back of your mind. You haven’t even sorted through the mess of text messages waiting in your phone, the battery icon blinking neglected as you search for an ounce of motivation to start a new day.

Why did last night have to end? You and Jake didn’t play any more MarioKart. You hadn’t managed to catch your breath until well after midnight and you only just dragged yourself out of his dorm before two in the morning. Two!

You feel wild. Like you’re finally living your college life. Not just burying your nose in endless textbooks and dreading your next lecture. But that doesn’t mean that part of it is over. Nope, it’s sitting there staring you in the face, the pile of borrowed library books stacked on your desk and the half-finished notes littered around your laptop.

You grab your mug and peer into the depths, stained with the dregs of your first cup of coffee. You’re half-tempted to go down and indulge in a sugar latte from the Starbucks attached to the next dorm building but you haven’t earned much more than another generic pod from the shared keurig in your kitchen.

You resign yourself to the bland medium roast and emerge into the common space to set the machine to grinding. Your dorm mates are elusive, likely sleeping off their own Friday nights, as the nozzle chokes out a steady brown drip. You add a touch of oat milk and go back to your room, yawning before you take a sip.

Your phone buzzes. You can’t ignore it forever. You’re supposed to meet up with Inez later but you don’t know if you can face everything else. You still can’t believe Jake, but you're not mad at it. He only said what you’re too afraid to. 

And he’s right, you’re just happy he said it all out loud. Professor Rogers was getting a bit too close for comfort. Even if he’s totally oblivious to it, you shouldn’t undersell your feelings. Easier thought than done.

You take your phone and plug it into the charge as the 5% warning chirps. You pause and scroll through your notifications, pulling up Inez’ chat first.

‘Meet me at mine @ 1. Bring snacks.’

You give a short confirmation and flip back to Jake’s chat. A dweeby gif of a cartoon cat waving and wishing you a good morning. He’s such a nerd but it’s so cute.

‘Mornin’ you answer bluntly, not sure how much you should say.

‘How ya feelin, champ? Is the crown heavy?’ He quickly responds and you chuckle.

‘W.e. If I spent all my time playing as an imaginary plumber, I might be just as delusional’

‘O we had some real fun last night ;)’

‘And now back to the real not fun’ you swoop up the camera and take a photo of your desk, sending it off with the message.

‘Boo. Should I bring help? Coffee?’

‘Pls. I can’t have u distractin me’

‘Bc I’m so fuckin’ sexy or because I got the best cuddles’

‘Ew stop’

‘Not wat us said last nite’

‘Got 2 study. U should 2.’ You make yourself key in, ‘txt later’.

You hit back and view the list of unread, Professor Rogers at the very top. You really don’t want to delve into that horror show but you have a meeting with him on Monday and you can’t really walk in with this hanging over you. You push your thumb down and the chat pops up.

Several messages precede Jensen’s brash response. ‘How’s it going?’ ‘Having a fun Friday?’... his usual niceties. But only one comes after.

‘Didn’t mean to overstep. Have a good night’

Should you answer? Reassure him with some lie? Or at least let him down easy? Let him down easy? About what? He’s your professor, not your friend. You close the chat and leave him on read. Let him take a hint.

You take your coffee back to your desk and sit down, chin in your hand as you scroll. An email pops up in the corner of your screen, a red exclamation on the margin denoting an urgent message. The sender both surprises you and doesn’t. Dr. Steve Rogers. It could be for the class.

You click and the wind spans the screen, the subject; ‘Lesson 1 Revisions’

You sigh. You thought that was all figured out. You went over everything, you made the changes, he said it was all good. You were already halfway through planning for your next lesson in Week Three.

‘Due to some recent Council regulation amendments to the curriculum, the introductory lesson for Winter term’s ‘Classic to Contemporary Literature’ must be revised to meet the new standards set by the Dean’s Office. See attached the most recent council legislative review and let me know if you have any questions.

My recommendation would be to postpone the completed lesson for Week 3 and design a new lesson to meet the requisites for Week 1. I am open to discussion. Understanding that these are last-minute and unexpected changes, I am open to meeting Sunday for office hours if necessary.

Please let me know if I can assist further and if you would like to meet.

Dr. Rogers’

You sigh and turn your head down, tempted to slam the laptop closed. You don’t have time for this. You have finals, you have papers, and now all the work you’ve done is essentially wasted. It seems almost too convenient that this has to happen now, of all times.

And Dr. Rogers… that sign-off? You lift your head and scroll back to the last email he sent to the class about the exam. At the very bottom you hover your cursor over ‘Professor R.’ Why is he suddenly getting so formal about this? Dr. Rogers, you scoff and roll your eyes. 

Well, you can’t blame him for the council amendments. That’s just an unfortunate inconvenience, still his timing is a bit strange. He could wait until you meet on Monday when you’re not piled high with studying. 

You rub your forehead and go back to his email. You sit up and type your response.

‘Thank you for letting me known, Dr. Rogers. We can discuss this on Monday at our previously arranged time.’

You hit send and exit out of the window. You have the holiday break to figure out second semester. Right now, you need to finish this stupid paper about Interwar Bavaria for Professor Laufeyson.

[sorchasolas]

In WAT i want Dalinar to like, fail & and not make good on promises and reveal his flaws etc etc

And Kaladin feels like betrayed in a wholly different way than with Amaram and the likes

But this time he isn’t completely destroyed by it, or forced into a horrible situation that made him hate the person— he just sees the person he admires being Not As Great As He Thought He Was, and has to make has to make a choice.

Kaladin has NOT made enough actual decisions in this series. Hes only been forced into situations & the only real decisions hes made have been fuelled by his need to protect and such.

So he doesn’t have to or need to protect Dalinar right now, espec bc hes not Honor’s champ, & he well can’t just break the contract or wtv.

So he has to choose whether to support Dalinar or not. And i REALLY REALLY REALLLYYY hope he doesn’t

This man needs to learn to make Choices.

[intheshadowofwar]

28 May 2023

On Parade

Anzac Parade 28 May 2023

If there’s one thing every capital city needs, it’s a big ceremonial thoroughfare. Washington has the National Mall, London has the Mall, Paris has the Champs Elysees, and even humble Canberra has Anzac Parade. In times of less construction, one could stand on the steps of the War Memorial and have an unobstructed view of the long avenue, and then, across Lake Burley Griffin, to both the Old and New Parliament Houses.

It’s perhaps odd to consider that nearly none of this was intentional. Anzac Parade was part of Walter Burley Griffin’s plan for Canberra, which I’ll link to here - Griffin, it seemed, really liked his big avenues, and you can see most of the modern Canberra roads there. Looking at drawings by Marion Mahony Griffin, which are in Nicholas Brown’s History of Canberra, there doesn’t really seem to be anything in the spot where the memorial is, and a bizarre domed building that looks like a cross between the US Capitol and the Angkor Wat stands on Capital Hill. Even Old Parliament House was only intended to be temporary. Of course, the First World War intervened, and thus the War Memorial came to sit where it does now at the base of Mount Ainslie, while the permanent parliament house was not constructed until the 1980s, and certainly looks like the product of its decade.

Just as Anzac came to exist, so did Anzac Parade. Like much of Burley Griffin’s plan, it took until later to come into fruition - it was opened in 1965. Over time, it came to be lined with individual war memorials to specific services, battles or wars. They run the gauntlet from the traditional statuary of the Army Memorial to the modern, cubical Peacekeepers Memorial; from the traditional heroic imagery of the Desert Mounted Corps Memorial to the sombre, ambiguous concrete monoliths that form the Vietnam War Memorial.

My uncle has been in town recently, so I took him up and down Anzac Parade to look at the array of memorials. It was a good opportunity to reorientate myself with them - and it’s a fairly good walk besides.

We started on the left side of the road (facing towards Mount Ainslie.) At the start of Anzac Parade there are two giant basket handles on either side of the road, forming the Australia-New Zealand Memorial. It’s perhaps fitting that we start with the oft-forgotten ‘NZ’ part of ANZAC; a healthy reminder that Gallipoli and the Western Front are just as important in Wellington as they are here. Moving along, one passes the Boer War Memorial. This is a very recent addition indeed - it was well into the 21st century before the South African War had its memorial in the national capital. Past that is the Desert Mounted Corps Memorial.

I’m going to go a little deeper into this one, as there’s not much scope for the discussion of the Palestine campaign anywhere else. The Desert Mounted Corps, initially the Desert Column, operated in the Sinai Desert, Palestine and Syria between December 1916 and the end of the war, fighting against the Ottoman Empire. Initially the force was commanded by General Chetwode, but in mid-1917 General Harry Chauvel took command, the first Australian to command a corps. (Lawrence of Arabia, apparently, was not a big fan of him.) The Corps consisted of three divisions - two ANZAC and one British. An additional British division and an Indian brigade were added in mid-1918, and I believe there were detachments of French Colonial troops, although I can’t seem to confirm this right now. I tell you this because you would not know from looking at the memorial, which is entirely an Australian and New Zealand affair. Grumbling about the omitting of nationalities aside, a big reason the Desert Mounted Corps Memorial is of particular interest is because it’s actually a replica. The original was erected at Port Said in Egypt after the war, but during the Suez Crisis, it was targeted and destroyed by Egyptian nationalists as a symbol of the British Empire. The destruction of statutory, despite what some might say, is by no means a 21st century phenomenon.

Moving along, one passes the grey, funereal Vietnam Memorial, which asks visitors to walk inside it, and in which the names of the dead are gathered on a ring above. Then you pass the Korean War Memorial, with its army, navy and air force figures surrounded by tall steel poles that look like rain, and after that the comparatively conventional memorial to the army. At the end of Anzac Parade, nestled into the corner, is the Hellenic Memorial, which commemorates the battles of Greece and Crete during the Second World War. It’s built to resemble an amphitheatre, with a pillar marked with the Greek Orthodox cross and pair of steel beams in the middle. A map of the Aegean, almost stained glass in appearance, is made from tiles on the floor.

Perhaps entertainingly if one knows the history of Greco-Turkish relations, it’s positioned directly across the road from the Mustafa Kemal Ataturk Memorial. There probably aren’t many western democracies, with the obvious exception of Germany, that have memorials to the enemy in their capital - still less to an autocratic dictator. Yet Ataturk holds a key position in Anzac mythology. As a Lieutenant-Colonel in the Ottoman Army, he played a role in the defence of Gallipoli against the British and Anzac forces. After the war, he became a key figure in the Turkish nationalist movement, and eventually the President. I have to be very careful what I say here, as I have to load and edit this in Turkey where it is illegal to defame Ataturk, so I’ll focus my discussion on the inscription on the memorial.

It’s a long one, and it’s a little hard to see on my photograph, so I’ll just type it out.

Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives … you are now lying in the soil of a friendly country. Therefore rest in peace. There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side here in this country of ours … you, the mothers, who sent their sons from faraway counties, wipe away your tears. Your sons are now lying in our bosom, and are in peace. After having lost their lives on this land, they have become our sons as well.

Beautiful sentiment, right? The only problem is that Ataturk almost certainly didn’t say them. I’ll link to an excellent article on the subject at Honest History (and honestly, I’d recommend that website for a lot of things) but the basic gist of the problem is that knows when he said it, or if he dictated it to someone else, or if it was a letter, or really anything else about the providence of the quote, and it really seems to have started being kicked around in the 1980s. There is no evidence prior to 1953 of the speech (or letter, or dictation, or lavatory graffiti) existing.

So why, when we know he probably say it, is it still there? I think it’s because it’s comforting. It’s a little bit of myth making that serves to make the past a little more bearable. To imagine your father or grandfather lying in the bosom of a friendly nation is palatable. To imagine him buried in an enemy country, whose soldiers killed him, is less so.

Traveling back down Anzac Parade, one next passes the memorial to the Royal Australian Navy Memorial, a mishmash of flesh and steel shapes which includes a fountain. Beyond that is the ‘shower curtain’ - the derogatory name a veteran nurse gave to the Nurse’s Memorial. This is the most vertical of the memorials on Anzac Parade - a blue glass structure that visitors can walk into, listing the names of conflicts and postings of the nursing service and displaying images of nurses throughout Australian military history. It is worth pointing out that this is a memorial specifically to nurses in the Australian service, not Australian nurses - nurses who died in the British service are not commemorated either here or on the Roll of Honour. I know you’re getting sick of links by now, but here’s one to a video on that subject.

We then pass the Royal Australian Air Force Memorial, which I’ve never been a particular fan of - it just seems a bit dull to me, if I’m completely honest. Past that is the great tan monument to the Rats of Tobruk - the men of the 9th (and one brigade of the 7th) Division who defended Tobruk from the Nazi Afrika Korps in 1941. (I am going to get into so much trouble for calling Rommel’s Afrika Korps ‘Nazi,’ which is of course precisely why I did so.) Finally, one passes the impenetrably abstract Peacekeepers Memorial, before reaching the other side of the New Zealand Memorial.

This walk took us about an hour, and on the way home, we decided to try to find the Air Crash Memorial in the Pialligo Forest. The key word was ‘try,’ because it turns out there’s no road access and it’s a 3.2km walk to reach it. As we’d already been walking, we decided to call it a day. The air crash in question was the Canberra Air Disaster - a Lockheed Hudson crashed on approach to Canberra airport on the 13th of August 1940, killing three members of the cabinet and Chief of the General Staff General Sir Brudenell White. This is another name we’ll probably come back to. Suffice it to say, it was a major body blow to Robert Menzies’ first government and probably contributed to its fall the following year (although Menzies buggering off to London for several months to pester Churchill probably didn’t help either.)

All in all, it was a good day. I don’t know when I’ll write again, though I’m hoping soon - otherwise I shall see you in two weeks, as there’s a few thoughts I might want to get onto paper while I’m in Sydney.

[colourme-feral]

Remember Me locations IRL

Remember Me: The boys’ homes in Chachoengsao (excluding Nan’s)

IRL: อาคาร นนทพิมลชัย 117-118​ หมู่​ 2​ ต.โสนลอย​ อ.บางบัวทอง​ 0892054444 ​ Sano Loi, บางบัวทอง Nonthaburi 11110, Thailand

Note: The temple in the background is Wat Laharn

Gun’s home

Em’s home

Champ’s home

Name’s house

Screenshots taken by me

Masterlist

[magheteenonsjeminderzijn]

Weekend! De zaterdag begonnen met wat later uit bed te komen. Na de crackers ging ik rond 10.30 boodschappen doen. Eerst bloemen halen voor Frank en Ditte waar we morgen gaan eten en daarna de weekend boodschappen. Bij de kiosk voelde ik dat ik weer eens last van mijn darmen kreeg. Geleerd van de voorgaande keren nu maar meteen na het kopen van de bloemen terug naar huis. Ik rij naar huis, pak de bloemen en toen toch net te laat 😩 de bloemen had ik niet moeten pakken.

Verschoond en omgekleed en toen door naar Appie voor de boodschappen. Na terugkomst een kiwi gold gegeten en daarna meteen door om Marcel bij de sneltram af te zetten. Die gaat van daaruit naar darten bij Pim in Buitenveldert. Ik rij door naar mam, die heeft nog een bericht in mijn Amstelland staan over het weghalen van de huidkanker as maandag, en dat moet geopend worden met de Digid app. Ik neem meteen de 2 bedlampjes en de wekker mee die ze besteld heeft. Ook heeft ze een trui met pluisjes dus de elektronische pluizenverwijderaar gaat ook mee. Ik had moeite met het vinden van de opening voor de batterijen maar gelukkig was mam goed bij de pinken en die had het zo voorelkaar 😅

Ik ben een goed uur gebleven. Ook nog haar nekkie uitgeschoren. Helaas heb ik het scheerapparaat in de doos gedaan die ik had meegenomen dus die ligt nu in Uithoorn (dan weet je dat mam 😉). Die moet Marcel maandag maar weer meenemen.

Na mam nog even naar AH in Bovenkerk en door naar huis. Twee pakketjes klaargemaakt en de quinoa met appel salade gegeten.

De salade vond ik niet geweldig dus dat is geen blijvertje. Na de late lunch (at pas om 14.30) een halfuurtje op de loopband. Ondertussen Netflix kijkend gaat het lopen op de loopband mij prima af.

Rond 16 uur mijn kwark gegeten, pakketjes weggebracht en nog wat Netflix gekeken.

Om 18.30 maar weer eens 400 gr groenten in de wok gedaan en een Duits biefstukje gebakken. Beetje kerrie en sambal erbij en dan vind ik het prima te eten.

Cappuccino gemaakt als toetje maar die is niet goed gelukt. Marcel is duidelijk de cappuccino champ.

Om 20 uur de hele mini serie One day afgekeken en om 20.30 was Marcel weer thuis. Nog even een weekend afgesproken met Mike en Natas waarop Ivy en Ryan bij ons kunnen logeren zodat papa en mama er even op uit kunnen.

Vanavond maar niet al te laat naar bed want morgenochtend moeten we om 10.30 bij De Hermitage in Amsterdam zijn. Ik was het even vergeten maar we hebben kaartjes van de vriendenloterij gekregen dus we gaan toch maar even.

[rausule]

DIE NA-OORLOGSTEATER IN PARYS¹

In die naoorlogse teaterbeweging in Frankryk sal ek probeer om 'n beweging te identifiseer wat beide dié van die teater en dié van die Franse gees is.

Hiervoor sou dit nie genoeg wees om al die vertonings by te woon wat van 1920 tot 1936 hul stempel op Parys afgedruk het nie, maar ek kan wel sê, ek het deelgeneem aan die intieme lewe van die teater, in sy lyding, in sy terugslae, sy hoop, sy probleme en soms selfs sy triomfe.

Ek het as akteur of regisseur in nie minder nie as tien teaters gewerk: l'Œuvre, l'Atelier, Vieux-Colombier, Comédie des Champs-Élysées, Studio des Champs-Élysées, Théâtre de Grenelle, Théâtre Pigalle, die Théâtre de l 'Laan, die Théâtre des Folies-Wagram.

Ek het al die belangrike persoonlikhede van die teater persoonlik en intiem geken en saam met hulle gewerk: Lugné-Poe, Silvain, Charles Dullin, Jacques Copeau, Louis Jouvet, Georges en Ludmilla Pitoëff, Suzanne Desprès, Gaston Baty, Valentine Tessier, Génica Athanasiou, Roger Karl, Falconetti.

Ek het die tydperk van volwassenheid van die Théatre de l'Œuvre, voor Lugné-Poe vertrek, en dag gesien

dag na dag het ek die eerste avonture beleef van die ontluikende Atelier, wat vir drie jaar voortdurend die

ramp, tot die dag toe hy uiteindelik homself kon afdwing.

Ek wil nie hier 'n eenvoudige lys van akteurs gee nie, 'n inerte palmarès, maar die lewe en asemhaling van die teater

in Frankryk wat net 'n paar maande gelede 'n geheimsinnige verskynsel veroorsaak het. In Parys, in 1920, terwyl die Vieux-Colombier sy deure heropen het, het 'n paar groot akteurs oor die

toneel van die Comédie-Française: Silvain, De Max, Paul Mounet, ens. In die avant-garde teaters het mense lekker gelag deur die tics van die groot akteurs na te boots: deur Paul Mounet, die sonore

keelstem, daardie groot, swaar Cerberus- en aardbewingstem, en sy passiewe, meganiese styl. Die uitdrukking op die mond en ander eienaardighede van De Max was vervals, soos daardie spesifieke manier wat hy gehad het om homself op 'n bestudeerde manier te draai en reg te maak; en hy het homself bevestig: «Hier is presies wat nie gedoen moet word nie

Doen".

Maar na my mening, ten spyte van hul swakhede, was hierdie akteurs die laaste wat die heldhaftige tradisie van die teater gehad het. En toe hulle dood is, kan gesê word dat geen tragedie weer in Parys opgevoer is nie. Silvain het 'n vreemde manier gehad om sy arms oor mekaar te kruis, op die vlak van die solar plexus; hy het ook die gewoonte gehad om sekere lettergrepe met 'n hou op die bors te aksentueer.

De Max, sonder om die betekenis van sy gebaar te ken, het sy sonoog met die punt van sy wysvinger terg, met sy wysvinger probeer om die oorlewing van die derde oog te herontdek en die plek van wat, in Indiese metafisika, is noem die pineaalklier. In al hierdie oordrewe gebare van die akteurs is daar die instinktiewe oorlewing van 'n magie wie se

diegene wat oefen weet nie meer wat dit beteken nie, en diegene wat daarvoor lag, lag sonder om te weet hoekom. En ek sou ook sê

dat, as hulle op daardie oomblik kon weet wat in hulle lag, hulle bang sou wees vir hulself.

Dit is daar waar 'n mens die rede kan vind vir die beweging van godsdienstige terreur wat die skare by die Paryse Koloniale Uitstalling in 19312 aangegryp het, toe hulle die akteur van die Balinese Teater na hulle kon sien opruk en,

nadat jy drie of vier treë geneem het en 'n nuuskierige opwaartse beweging van die heupe gemaak het, raak die derde oog op die kop aan.

Toe De Max aan sy kop raak, was dit nodig om te vertaal:

Ek dink dit met my donker kop. Ek soek in my gekwelde kop na die verlore plek van gedagte.

Maar wanneer die akteur van die Balinese Teater aan sy kop raak, is dit nodig om te vertaal:

Ek is bewus van 'n verlore oog; Ek wys na die verlore plek van 'n oog in die kop van kriminele mensdom. Ek doen 'n beroep op daardie wetenskap wat mans verloor het aan die begin van die Swart Era. Dit wil sê sestig eeue gelede. Want, soos ons weet, het die Black Age, vir die Hindoes, 3120 jaar voor Christus begin.

Hier, wanneer ons in hom deurdring, wat ware teater vir ons kan voorstel.

In Duitsland word ’n artistieke opvoering uitgevind; in Rusland, die opvoering van die massas; maar in Frankryk, een van die seldsame lande in die wêreld waar dit selfs uit niks moontlik is om met iets vorendag te kom, in Frankryk was dit moontlik, amper sonder middele, om die geheime lewe van die teater te herontdek, net soos Arthur Rimbaud was in staat om die geheime lewe van die poësie te herontdek ...

Maar ek keer terug na die alchemie van die teater in Frankryk, na sy nuwe na-oorlogse debute, daardie oomblik toe, in Parys, die lewe ontwaak het.

Dit was Lugné-Poe wat Jarry, Strindberg en Ibsen aan die Franse onthul het, wat die Krediteure, Hedda Gabler, Spectres, A Doll's House ens. na die verhoog gebring het, in die klein privaat kamer van die Cité Moncey, by 55 rue de Clichy , in Parys.

Die Œuvre is 'n "geslote" teater. Slegs intekenare het toegang daartoe. Ek gaan soontoe om een ​​by te woon

verteenwoordiging, sonder dat ek eers ingeteken het, ontmoet ek Lugné-Poe wat my nooi om

kom in sonder om te betaal en hy bied my aan om in sy teater te werk. Dieselfde jaar het ek my debuut gemaak as

administrateur, nutsman, prompt, akteur en ekstra.

Ek het Jean Sarment se waarnemende debuut in Specters from the wings gekyk. Hedda Gabler, 'n Poppekas, ens., en, op dieselfde toneel, die volgende jaar, tot Lugné-Poe se verstommende skepping in Crommelynck se Manjifieke Cuckold.

Lugné-Poe het in hierdie rol 'n onvergeetlike tipe intellektuele boef geskep, wat 'n Bruegeliaanse komposisie op die Franse verhoog bekend stel, met 'n soort knorstem asof in 'n fantoom, en kaskenades van lag, gevolg deur kaskenades van uitdrukkings wat van kop tot tone gerol het. voete.

As akteur was Lugné-Poe dikwels ongelyk, dramatiese vertolking het hom verveel. Hy tree met minagting vir die gehoor op. Maar as hy sy deel betree, lag die hele vertrek tot hees. Hy is 'n volledige akteur, van kop tot tone. Sy verrassende veranderinge in stem, sy vingers wat na punte draai, sy ontstoke blikke laat ’n mens vir oomblikke dink aan ’n nou verlore teatertradisie. Dit blyk dat ons in die teenwoordigheid van 'n akteur uit die Franse Middeleeuse Mysteries is.

Tog is dit aan ’n heel ander kant van die teater, sonder gebare, met net haar stem, ’n silwerige snikkende stem wat Suzanne Desprès in d'Annunzio se roerende werk huil oor haar afgekapte hande³.

Omstreeks dieselfde 1920 het Durec, wat 'n tyd later gesterf het, in 'n Yslandse toneelstuk vertolk: Die begeerte van Sigurjónsson, die rol van 'n towenaar gevangene van sy towerspreuke, terwyl hy glo dat hy die geheim besit. Ek kan nie onthou dat ek so 'n besetene stem in enige teater gehoor het nie, totdat ek die dag, in die Dibbuk, Marguerite Jamois letterlik hoor huil het, haar siel agternajaag.

1920 is die jaar waarin Jacques Copeau, by die Vieux-Colombier, die eenparige skool na die toneel bring, wat ook 'n skool van naturalisme en eenvoud is. Eensgesindheid is 'n populisme avant la lettre, maar a

65

[flannelepicurean]

"powerpuff" still applies 💯

and u kno he'd be like "I'LL SHOW YOU A POWERPUFF!!! RRRRAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!"

and errybody be like, "ge...yeah bro, that's literally...u kno wat, go for it. just try not to get aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh, there he goes. dammit. bulma, stick him back in the juice. you'll get 'em next time, champ."

i love him so much 😂😂😂

[inhidingxoxo3637]

I respect few father's but Pedro Acosta Jr SR is one of them :)

[becky-lynch]

wrestling edit challenge (5/10) - wrestler you want to win a championship this year :

-> Io Shirai

[sailorvinus]

vi’s traumatized at least 2 people today so i consider that a victory :) its the little things that count.....

[beef-brisket]

Adam glanced at Lucifer as they walked through the town closest to where Lilith is meant to be.

Adam: You've had that stupid grin o your face all day. What the hell are you so happy about?

Lucifer: ...you're limping~.

Adam: Of course, I'm limping! You're... fuck...

Lucifer: I'm what~?

Adam: ...big.

Lucifer: Damn right, I am~. Amd you took me lime a champ!

Adam blushed and looked away. Weirdly enough, despite the teasing, Adam doesn't regret last night. Quite the opposite. He already wanted to go again. Fuck the pain.

Adam: W-Where is her friends house?

Lucifer smirked: About 30 minutes out of town, she said she lived on the border of a large forest.

Adam: ...right. shouldn't be hard to find then

Lucifer: ...Is she really a witch?

Adam: ...she practiced it when she was with me. I didn't mind. Didn't care. As long as she didn't hurt anyone... but after I joined the wat front, the queen asked to see me. Said I was the only one to bring her down... that she's been hurting people, killing them for her spells... I guess she somehow caught wind of us coming for her,so she bolted.

Lucifer: I... never noticed anything... she was cold sometimes, especially after having Charlie, but she never seemed THAT cold...

Adam: She's good at lying... but it's okay... it'll be over by tonight, and tomorrow we can start the journey back-

Lucifer: Do you really want to kill her? You were with her for so long. Surely this must be hard for you?

Adam: ...it's probably the hardest thing I'll ever have to do... I loved her- sometimes I didn't myself... begging for her to come back... but I have to do it... I... I can't fail, not again... I'm sorry, Luci. I know she's the mother of Charlie but- but we can't let her live

Lucifer: ...I know, Adam. It's okay, I'll be with you... she killed people under my roof, under my daughters roof... she needs to pay for that.

New au!

Adam's a soldier in the royal guard. He was sent to an orphanage by his mother and was taken in by the kingdom, with the sole purpose of being a soldier.

He's been in two long-term relationships, Eve for 6 years and Lilith for 8. He was with Eve since he was 14, then a few months after their break up, he met Lilith, and they were together for 8 years.

Both Eve and Lilith cheated on Adam.

Because of the stress of being in the guard, the abuse he suffered growing up, and being betrayed by the only two people he ever cared about, he reached a breaking point. Lilith cheating and moving away to be with her new partner (Lucifer), made Adam break down.

He used to hate killing and was moved from being a soldier to a guard. But after Lilith, he returned to being a soldier and started killing people for fun. Taking his anger out on the innocents.

After five years, Lucifer is begging Lilith to stay with him and Charlie, but she's not interested. She never wanted to be a mother or for her to stay with Lucifer long term. So she leaves. Lucifer is heartbroken, but he tries to be there for his daughter.

A day later, their town is raided, Lucifer tries to escape with Charlie, but there was so much blood, and every house and business were on fire. So, he just ends up going around in circles.

Until he sees a gaint, bloody solder walking out of the fire towards him. The flames make his eyes glow gold.

Lucifer holds Charlie tight as he shakes with fear. This man looks like a monster. He is a monster. The man's glaive dripping with blood as he slowly makes his way towards them.

The man speaks.

Adam: Where. Is. Lilith?!

Luicfer: W-what?

Adam: Lilith!? Where is she!!

Lucifer flinched and held Charlie close, the poor girl was close to tears.

Lucifer: She's not here! Lilith left months ago.

Adam cursed and kicked a nearby rock, that fucking bitch! Got out when the getting was good and before Adam could exact his revenge. If anyone deserved his blade in their neck it was her.

Adam: Where can I find her?

Lucifer: I don't know! Honest! Please just..... Let us go!

Adam: No.

Adam was going to kill them that day. He truly believes he was going to. But something inside of him stopped him.

Instead, he took Lucifer and Charlie as his prisoners of war.

[jizzandpissandshitandcum]

that new sona skin... just fuck me up fam

wait a minute.....that was sona??????????at the end of the trailer?????????thats her?????not a new champion??????wtf`????

[moveslikekeithrichards]

you were in kindergarten before I was born

wat tha hell. id give you some fatherly advice but i dont know dick sorry champ

[psilosirens]

you r so cool <3 i love your blog theme (and i noticed the elliott smith) keep doin wat ur doin

you are so sweet 🙏❤️‍🔥🙏 this ask prompted me to look at my elliott smith tag and i realized i’ve rb’d the same pic of him and jeff buckley at a sebadoh show like 4 times and each time i said “wowwww i candy believe i’ve never seen this” 😳 my brain is a champ for providing me the joy of discovering this image over and over and over again with zero memory of it