#❛ ╱ paris sonnet .

[soufre-de-paris]

🎉🎉🎉 finished 「midsummer」! 🎉🎉🎉

it comes in a little shorter than i'd expected—169k—with some pretty weird chapter length discrepancies, which is fine, just new. i have to go through it more thoroughly with my fixlist in mind like remembering that sam has fucking earrings come on paris but i'm done with the prose (for now? do i want a wrap-up chapter that isn't an epilogue? who knows???)

i'll go through my fixlist soon, apply everything, and then it'll be put away for a bit so i can forget about it enough that i can edit it

but yay!! 🎉🎉🎉

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Esquisse pour l'Hôtel de Ville de Paris - La Verité entraînant les Sciences à sa suite répand sa lumière sur les hommes.  [Guillaume Gris]

* * * * 

“I love you like the plant that does not bloom and carries in itself, hidden, the light of those flowers,” ― Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets

[lepetitlugourmand]

Festival des Étoilés Monte-Carlo 2024 - Alain Ducasse - Simon Rogan - Du District des lacs anglais à la Méditerranée

Samedi 20 avril dernier a eu lieu les premiers déjeuner et dîner du Festival des Étoilés Monte-Carlo 2024. Pour cette 4ème édition, Alain Ducasse recevait pour la première fois, au Louis XV, Simon Rogan, chef britannique et propriétaire du restaurant trois étoiles L’Enclume, situé dans la région du Lakeland au Nord-Ouest de l’Angleterre. Continue reading Festival des Étoilés Monte-Carlo 2024 –…

[fashion-from-the-past]

Elisabeth de Caraman-Chimay, Comtesse Greffulhe (1860–1952) made this dress famous by posing in it for the photographer Nadar in 1896. The museum also possesses the photographs made at the time, in which the elegant countess opted for being photographed in back view so as to highlight the slimness of her waist: this close-fitting 'princess line' dress – there were no seams at waist level – and the sinuous lines of the lily plants accentuate the impression of tallness and slenderness.

One of the leading figures on the Paris social scene – not only for her rank and sovereign elegance, but also for her culture and intelligence – Comtesse Greffulhe was a significant source of inspiration for Marcel Proust, who used her as the model for the Duchesse de Guermantes in Remembrance of Things Past. She was also the cousin of Robert de Montesquiou, who drew on her for some of his poems, including a sonnet whose closing line Beau lis qui regardez avec vos pistils noirs ('Beautiful lilies gazing with your black pistils') doubtless refers to this dress. The bertha collar, whose original form was altered, certainly during its owner's lifetime, could be turned up to form bat's wings; a bat being Montesquiou's emblematic animal, making this a true dress-poem.

[mediumgayitalian]

Will would like to say, at risk of perjuring himself, that he did not intend to fall asleep.

Like, he wanted to.

And he did.

But it was not his original intent.

His original intent was to stabilize his patients (success), climb out the back window of the infirmary (success), stick the landing (failure is good for growth), meet Nico behind the Big House (success), and shadow travel to his cabin without throwing up (fifty percent is a pass). The secondary intent was to sprawl on his boyfriend’s lap, taking up as much space as possible in his massive, against-camp-regulations bed (how it is possible to be Dionysus’ nepo baby without actually being a child of Dionysus, Will shall never know), turn off his brain, and watch him play video games for a while.

The issue is that Nico is so comfortable.

Yeah, he’s bony. And yeah, sometimes he gets really into the game and forgets that Will is there, elbowing him in the face as he cusses at the screen in what sounds like ancient Latin. And yeah, the sound of a CoD lobby is the opposite of a sleep-conductive environment. However.

However.

While he may spend hours of his week standing on tables, lecturing on healthy eating habits and regular circadian rhythms via sonnet, and enforcing said habits via taser (rip Leo Valdez, you would’ve loved watching Will taser people for stress relief, come back alive soon), Will is what his friends and family call a ‘big fat hypocrite’.

He wouldn’t know healthy habits if they painted themselves bright neon blue (the easiest colour for him to see), stood ten feet tall, dressed in Malvolio’s outfit from Twelfth Night, and roundhouse kicked him in the teeth his mother spent thousands of dollars on (braces suck). He has not slept through the night even once his whole life. Yesterday, his two meals were 1) twizzlers and 2) audacity. He once measured how much liquid he had in his system on any given time and then drank approximately two point seven litres of RedBull to become, by volume, one half percent caffeine. (His heart did indeed stop. But it started back up again when Jason shocked him, so it was fine. Plus, he wrote it all down, so in reality it was science.)

Also, his dumbfuck peers keep getting themselves maimed, and he was informed unfortunately by Chiron that he cannot strike and leave them to suffer. (Accusing him of violating his First Amendment Right To Petition got him nothing but stable duty.) As of ten minutes before Nico picked him up, he was on his thirty-ninth consecutive hour of being awake. Probably. (He’s reasonably certain that climbing a tree on Friday morning and belting himself to the trunk, Katniss Everdeen style, for a quick catnap was not a fever dream, but one can never be too certain.)

Regardless. Point is, Will had cute boys to cuddle and Thoughts to Think. He had no intention of falling asleep.

And, yet.

He wakes up warm — the perfect kind of warm, wherein you feel akin to a soupified caterpillar in a chrysalis — or like a croissant lovingly shaped by the hands of an elderly chef in Paris and baked with care in a regulated oven — or like a wonderfully blubbery elephant seal baking on a slick rock — or like a space rock hurtling through the —

“Morning, Sunshine,” murmurs a very familiar voice. Following the very gentle murmur is a very gentle smooch on the forehead. Will, still mostly asleep, thinks he would sign off his soul without a second thought to ensure it happens again. “Or evening, rather.”

“Has anyone ever offered you their soul?” Will asks, fuzzy and disoriented. He tries and fails to blink the grogginess away, but the world around him stays dark, and the hand in his hair remains where it is, and he is so, so sleepy.

“Not yet,” Nico says. Will can hear the amused smile in his voice. “Why?”

Will yawns. “No reason. Timizzit?”

“Late, tesoro. Past curfew.”

Will groans, knocking his head gently back into Nico’s hold.

Of course his dumb ass slept through the evening. Of course he now has to drag himself awake and walk, in the blistering, nose-numbing frost (it’s sixty degrees, Solace) across camp, dodging feral harpy attacks (Apollo kids have harpy immunity, William), and trudging into his sad, small, lonely bed (gods above you are your father’s son) where he will of course be fully awake by the time he gets there. God really does give his hardest battles to his strongest soldiers. (You’re an atheist, William Andrew.)

“Why me,” he laments, refusing to move from his boyfriend’s lap. Perhaps he will simply wither here, warm, satisfied, and more importantly away from little siblings who will not stop squabbling even when their long-suffering older brother looks longingly and pointedly at a bottle of cyanide.

Nico snorts. “Because the gods are punishing you for your crimes.”

“I have committed no crimes! This is unjust! Partisan! I am Hester Prynne and she is me —”

“Your mother is going to hell for teaching you literacy.”

“Defamation and libel!”

“Shut up, Will, gods —”

But he softens the blow of his words by leaning down, hands on either side of Will’s face, and kissing him like he’s trying to breathe him back to life. Or keep him quiet, honestly, but he smells like woodsmoke and citrus and old leather so Will doesn’t really mind. Even if he did, the chapped skin of Nico’s lips serves as a very good distraction, as does the brush of his thumb over Will’s cheekbone and the cool press of his ring against Will’s heated skin.

“Stay over,” he whispers, shifting his lips to Will’s chin, his jaw, his neck. He scratches his teeth lightly against Will’s adam’s apple and his hemoglobin briefly forget how important their job is. “You don’t have a shift tomorrow and everyone at camp owes you, like, twelve favours each.”

“That’s very convincing,” Will mumbles, unsure if he’s referring to Nico’s sound logic or the breath he blows on the shell of Will’s ear, which makes his arrector pili muscles go crazy. (He could make a more convincing case for the logic if all the blood had not abandoned his brain. Alas.)

“I’m a very convincing person.”

He slides a hand under Will’s shirt and his already very weak resolve pulls out a suitcase, packs its things, and abandons its family to pursue a career in competitive shoemaking. Or something. Nico’s hands are very very cold and it feels really really good for some reason and Will is just one man, okay. He may have been named after willpower but that does not mean he possesses any. And Nico is a convincing person. He out-stubborned Death.

“Okay,” he gasps out, arching into the nail Nico scratches over the intensely sensitive skin of his hip, “I’m staying, I’m staying, please take all your wiles and ship them out into the sea in a wine crate ala Danaë and her newborn.”

“…You are such a deeply strange person.”

“And yet you love me so.”

Nico presses his smile to Will’s forehead. “Indeed, I do.”

[sopafa]

Can we all agree that Hisirdoux is not only interested in musical art, but in all kinds of artistic media, and that during the 900 years he spent wandering the world, he learned all kinds of artistic and bardic activities?

You cannot look at this man and tell me that he does not know how to dance spectacularly. I’m convinced he took classes in so many types of dance that he lost count, and that on more than one occasion he was a participant and member of the Paris Opera, even if he was only a stagehand. This boy knows ballet from its origins, and when he feels overwhelmed, he picks up a pair of slippers and takes a dance class.

Because sometimes you can't express everything in words, and that's why he writes songs. But when even the sonnets and poetic rhymes that accompany the melodies fall short, it's your body that demonstrates the feelings with movement, and that is what we call dance.

HC DOUXIE IS A GREAT BALLET DANCER

[hard--headed--woman]

For this 2nd day of Pride Month I decided to talk about a woman I mentionned yesterday in the post about Renée Vivien (that you should absolutely read by the way, Renée Vivien is amazing) :

Natalie Clifford Barney !

I talked about her to say that she's had a love story with Renée Vivien, but that's not the only thing she's done.

Natalie was born in 1876 in the United States and died in 1972 in Paris, at the age of 95. Writer and poet, she was the first woman to use the word "lesbian" in her writings (in this case a collection of poems, published in 1899), instead of the word "tribade" (it's another word for lesbian in french) or simply "homosexual". The word lesbian back then was even more taboo than it is today, so you can imagine how important this fact was (and still is).

She was also famous for the parties she organised: she held a literary salon which she wanted to turn into the "new Mytilene". She invited the female artists, writers and intellectuals of her time, in response to the all-male Académie Française, and they all spent whole afternoons and evenings in the flat of the wealthy American.

Natalie never tried to hide her homosexuality. As she said in a sentence that quickly became her most famous one,

"Why would anyone blame me for being a lesbian ?"

(Yes, that's her with Renée Vivien)

Natalie's mother (a renowned artist) and her tutor awakened her interest in the French language at an early age, and when she was a little older, she was sent to a school in France; thanks to this, she spoke French fluently and without an accent, and developed a soft spot for this country.

Natalie was 12 when she realized she was a lesbian, and decided right away to "live in the open, without hiding from anyone".

Hee first known relationship was with Liane de Pougy, a famous dancer of the time (whom she cheated on with many women). Natalie wrote about this love story in her collection Quelques portraits, sonnets de femmes. ("Some portraits, sonnets of women"). Liane wrote about it in her novel "Idylle sapphique", which so fascinated the French public that it had to be reprinted sixty times in the same year, with people torn between admiration and scandal. The two women eventually parted ways, however, due to Natalie's infidelities and Liane's "debauched lifestyle" (in Natalie's words).

As I said, this book caused a huge scandal. Natalie was forced to return to the United States, where her father burned all her writings he could find, and tried to marry her off. However, she categorically refused to obey him, and faced with her stubbornness, her father gave up, and Natalie returned to Paris, where she had a lot of lovers. Among these lovers, there's Renée Vivien (probably the most important, since Natalie never accepted their breakup and tried to get Renée back until Renée died at 32) Lucie Delarue-Mardrus, Colette, Emma Calvé, Olive Custance, Henriette Roggers and many others.

In 1902, on the death of her father, Natalie Clifford Barney inherited a large fortune and was able to rent a house in Neuilly-sur-Seine, where she gave parties that became the talk of the town.

In 1910, she moved into a house at 20 rue Jacob ; for nearly sixty years, this house was the setting for her famous "Fridays", one of the last influential literary salons. A LOT of famous people went there. Like really. The complete list is on Wikipedia if you're curious, and here's a screenshot with some examples :

Marie Skłodowska-Curie went there. Albert Einstein went there. Apollinaire and Proust went there. Oscar Wilde went there. That's cazy to me!

She's had other lovers, like Elisabeth de Clermont-Tonnerre, but her greatest love story was with the painter Romaine Brooks, with whom she had a relationship similar to that of a married couple from 1914 to the end of her life. Of course, this didn't stop her from cheating on Romaine with other women: Natalie was known for her infidelities, believing that polygamy was necessary for a couple's survival, although she claimed that this didn't stop her from being deeply in love with Romaine. She cheated on her for example with Oscar Wilde's niece Dolly, and Nadine Huong, whose story I'll tell one day because it's so interesting!

She spent the years of the Second World War in Italy, and later returned to France to find her second home, which she shared with Romaine Brooks, destroyed. In 1949, she reopened her salon (which started to welcome more and more famous actors and actresses on top on everyone else).

Nothing much happened for the rest of his life. She never left Romaine Brooks (despite continuing to have affairs with a host of other women) and died in Paris in 1972, aged 95.

Natalie Clifford Barney's work and life were very important not only for culture itself, but also for the lesbian community. She made a major contribution to lesbian visibility, opened many minds, helped normalize (even if we still have a long way to go) homosexuality and, above all, helped many lesbian women accept themselves, understand that they were not alone and live the life they deserved.

The influence of her works and her salon on culture, literature, cinema, theater and even science is immense and deserves to be recognized. We should be talking about her much more than we are!

Here's some of her poems with an english translation :

And she's written loads of other stuff that I really recommend you read! She was an interesting woman who wrote interesting things. Look her up on Google and read her writings and her life!

Anyway, that's it! Sorry for posting so late, and see you tomorrow for the 3rd lesbian pride post 🏳️‍🌈

[essaytime]

I think the main thing that absolutely infuriates me about the "Romeo and Juliet were just dumb, horny teens" take is this implication that because they were so young, their relationship had to boil down to them being dramatic and inventing some great romance to moan about, or lust and hormones. As a teenager, it makes me want to tear the speaker apart with my bare hands. Interchangeably with stabbing, maybe.

When you look at the text, you can clearly see that there is some emotional connection between Juliet and Romeo. Their first conversation is literally a sonnet - which already indicates some sort of understanding and mutuality, and it's also beautiful poetry. They are the only characters in the entire play that they are really fully comfortable talking to. The adults are caught up in the feud, Nurse loves Juliet, but cannot understand her (and makes a dirty joke at her expense in Act I, which for a person Juliet's age would be awfully unpleasant), Romeo's friends, though I Iove them, don't get his sensitivity - Mercutio laughing at it and Benvolio worried by it - which Juliet, in turn, appreciates. They speak of each other with respect and admiration, quite unusually in Verona, where all is conflict and even Juliet's own father insults her: look at the sonnet, the balcony scene, Romeo comparing his sweetheart to the sun or a jewel (in contrast to his earlier quotes about Rosaline, which are literally a compilation of clichés stacked on top of one another). Even when Juliet awaits their wedding night, in a speech clearly centered on sexual matters, there is a visible softness and affection with which she treats Romeo ("cut him out in little stars"...). She waits for the night because it's him, not "I want to sleep with someone because I want to sleep with someone". The two genuinely care about each other, and are fond of each other. Of course, we can wonder if this love would last if they were given an opportunity to grow older, but when the play takes place, this love is there, and it's beautiful.

(Off-topic, I'd also like to note that this is an Elizabethan play that takes place in even earlier times, presumably late medieval - early renaissance Italy. They wouldn't live in the modern world where you can date many different people and settle well into your thirties or fourties. The average marriage age for girls in Shakespeare's time was about twenty, in fifteenth century Florence it was eighteen. Both of them were from wealthy families, so they'd likely be expected - even if Juliet's parents did not force her into a marriage with Paris - to marry earlier, for financial and political purposes. There couldn't be a "growing older" like we imagine it. Even their hypothetical different relationships would be early relationships for today's standards)

And it makes my blood boil when the visible genuine bond between these two is reduced to just "dumb kids being horny". The motive behind these words being partly, of course, the high-school-acquired All Required Reading is Nonsense edginess, but also a deeper issue - the inability to comprehend the fact that teenage love is also often real love.

Being capable of having deep and meaningful romantic relationships does not come baked into your birthday cake when you turn eighteen or attached to your first ever bill. Not every single feeling a teenager might harbour is at its core shallow lust and wanting to get laid. Of course, there's lots of cases of shortsighted infatuation where the pair really have nothing in common! I could name at least a few examples I have seen personally. But still, on every street and every corner of the world, and often a few metres from these pointless infatuations, teens fall in love because there's something more to it. Because they find they have a lot in common, because they get along well with each other, because they are able to see the good in the other person - their kindness, their intelligence, their enthusiasm, you name it. "Teens" including the younger teens, from thirteen to fifteen. And this love is a deep emotional bond. Sure, in most cases it will not last until death (and to be honest, relationships not working out is not really a teenage-specific phenomenon and a sign that young love of all is inherently doomed and it has to die so the curse of growing up is fulfilled), but it doesn't make it less of a love when it still remains, and it includes all the things love is about. Young couples go on dates, and have fun. They confide in each other. They support each other through hard times, they show care, they sometimes make sacrifices for their loved one's good. As any person in love does, at any age.

When I fell in love four months ago, I did not fall in love because I wanted to sleep with someone so bad. In fact, I do not want to - not for the next several years. I realise it's something I might want someday, but it's not today; and above all, I'm way too young. If anything, what I want is to kiss someone, or run my fingers through his hair, or read with his head in my lap - but it's not something I'd go out of my way and date a random person to get, come on. I fell in love because he is actually the first boy that reminds me of myself so much, the first I can understand so well. Because I also have a penchant for history and writing, I also tend to use formal and flowery language in very informal situations, I also enjoy people's attention (though I seem to worry more about being a potential inconvenience than he does), I also believe that we should judge people as individuals, because there's too much nuance in one person to make proper statements about large groups - and I find in him so many things that I can relate to, though of course I can't say I know him well enough to speak much for sure. Besides, he's simply a wonderful person, not flawless, of course, but he has a good heart. He is always kind, and well-mannered, and intelligent, and you can laugh with him. I think he would care if something bad happened, no matter if he says that he wouldn't. I think I know him well enough to say this at least. And if he loved me back (a thing I consider unlikely for now, but not entirely impossible), would we stay together forever? Heaven alone knows! Maybe not! It is up to the higher power. But even if we broke up, that wouldn't erase the fact that I loved him, and I would have done a lot for him, and we were able to have meaningful conversations. Just because a love isn't forever, doesn't mean it was never there.

Because - what the "dumb kids" people don't seem to grasp - teenagers are also human beings with a functioning, even if not fully developed, brain, capable of having complex feelings and thoughts just like an adult. Note that Shakespeare's leads, at least Juliet, actually do that - hence the pre-wedding night monologue, the "deny thy father and refuse thy name", her statement (I don't know the English original of that one, to be honest) that she is too soft and loving towards Romeo already, but it's because she has such profound feelings for him she can't even pretend to be strict. It's noticeable that she has some emotional maturity, at least - she shows some critical thinking abilities, she understands the consequences of many actions, she is able to see that the feud is pointless and a name is just a name. She's a teenager, and someone in their teens is also a Homo sapiens specimen, not a being from a different planet. Teens think and feel. It might not be the same reality as the adult one, and they don't deal with emotions with such ease as an adult would, but that doesn't mean they are unable to truly love and care, to enjoy talking to someone and want the best for them, like grown-ups do - as developing an affection for someone that makes you happy is a very human thing, and I can guarantee you a thirteen or fourteen-year-old is a developed enough human being to experience it.

So, to sum it up, if I hear any "Romeo and Juliet were just dumb kids being horny" on my watch, the author of this statement will presumably be mercilessly killed, and then I'll do as Fulvia allegedly did to Cicero and stab something through their tongue, except instead of a hairpin, I'll probably use one of the darts my little brother got for Christmas. They are very sharp. We have several holes in the floor already.

[nightmare-grass]

Odd Moon-related Connections in Genshin Lore

- Glaze Lillies and Nilotpala Lotuses only bloom at night

- Glaze Lillies may have been the favorite flower of Guizhong, who’s hair was grey/white and who’s outfit had stardust on it (she was the god of dust, so unless she was a god of stardust specifically that’s some odd things about her)

- Nilotpala Lotuses bloomed at the bleeding feet of the Goddess of Flowers after being cast out of Heaven in the wake of the Seelie disaster

- There is at least one account in Sumeru that claims Liloupar came to the people in a moonbeam. Quote: “Our prayers to the Goddess of Flowers have borne fruit. Her envoy came to us in a moonbeam, granting us life-saving medicine and clean water … …She called herself Liloupar, born of the lilies” and later in that same passage, Quote: “At moonrise, she warned us that the water from the canal may carry disease.” So many mentions of the moon in one text about Liloupar and her relation to the Goddess of Flowers.

- Seelies seem to have a moonlit sky with sparse clouds reflected in their bodies, the bright orb in their heads looks like a moon.

- Guizhong’s death produced a cloud of dust that blocks out the sky and creates a darkened area in Liyue.

- Istaroth was said to be responsible for the Sin Shades, who only show up in Evernight in the dark.

- Nahida has some moon connections in her titles, and she has white hair and pale skin, like Paimon, who has a starry pattern on her scarf like Guizhong had on her robes.

- The Goddess of Flowers built a city for her offspring, the Jinn, and she called it Ay-Khanoum, translated to English that’s the City of the Moon Maiden.

- You can link the mythologies of the Goddess of Flowers and King Deshret to King Solomon and Astarte, who was a version of Ishtar, who is the root for the name Istaroth

- The power of the Aranara is the power of dreams, they exist in the dreamscape. And with how much we use a harp to connect with Aranara, it’s just as likely that music is linked to dreams. And Venti, one of Istaroth’s thousand winds, is a bard who knows all songs past and future, and plays a harp.

- The moon sisters were named Aria, Sonnet, and Canon, literally musical terminology.

- There’s probably a connection between the three moon sisters and Teyvat’s concepts of Time, Memory, and Dreams

- One of Venti’s powers is that he can pull up memories from the far flung past

- The quest for Time and Wind has these sun dial looking things that are actually moon dials since the puzzle only activates at night

- Seelies make a jingling tune, Nahida makes a jingling tune, the Goddess of Flowers taught Rukkhadevata the “source song” which birthed the race of Aranara, and the Pari fought the abyss using the Great Songs of the Khavarena, which seem to summon pure elemental energy aligned with Dendro.

- One of the fairytales that was weirdly important to the Abyss Order before we learned that fairy tales could hold the truth about the past if it’s been rewritten/deleted in Irminsul was the Pale Princess and the Six Pygmies. I’ve already noted a few pale characters with crowns or royal status but there was also a character called the Night Mother, who seemed to be the villain of the story. Another odd Night connection.

- Andersdotter wrote The Boar Princess, her signature rose design is on the cover. A rose is also on the cover of The Pale Princess and the Six Pygmies, so could she have written that too? As a member of the Hexenzirkel, it’s pretty likely.

- The Seelies were said to be beautiful pale people, and Rukkhadevata is pale with white hair, as is Nahida. Another trait they share are elf ears. Klee is pale with fair hair, and she’s an elf; from what we know of Alice, her mom, she could look much the same. Although he’s old, Pulcinella of the Fatui Harbingers is also an elf with white hair and pale skin, fitting the description. Seelies are fairies, and elves in real world folklore are considered fae, so could the Seelies have given us the elf race in Genshin? Or the Moon Sisters, who presided over the Seelies? Elves seem to be as long lived as gods, so it’s not out of the realm of possibility.

- I think Aria, Sonnet, and Canon represented Memories, Time, and Dreams, symbolizing the past, present, and future respectively. I don’t know the order of the goddesses in their roles, but I do know they had a fight and two died, leaving only one, and wouldn’t it be something if that surviving moon goddess became Istaroth, the god of Time? Maybe even Irminsul came from the death of the moon goddess of Memory? I don’t know what could’ve happened to the goddess of Dreams, but maybe her death caused the constellations that are canonically made up of the crystalline fruits of Irminsul in the sky box of the Firmament.

(If I could post more than 10 pictures I would but you have the internet, you can look up photos of the stuff I’m talking about.)

[burningvelvet]

“A woman’s face with nature’s own hand painted / Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion”

Lines from the poem Sonnet 20 by William Shakespeare (1609) one of his texts most noted for the theme of sexual ambiguity, and the sculpture Sleeping Hermaphroditus, an Imperial Roman copy of a Hellenistic original by Polycles (circa. 155 BC) rediscovered during the early 1600s and subsequently accented with a marble pillow sculpted by Bernini in 1620; now housed in The Louvre, Paris.

[leclsrc]

One person stopping a kiss to ask “Do you want to do this?”, only to have the other person answer with a deeper, more passionate kiss. || with Charles

all my trying – cl16

genre: fluff, drabble, 1k celebration

19: one person stopping a kiss to ask “do you want to do this?”, only to have the other person answer with a deeper, more passionate kiss. title from this

There’s crushes—juvenile, stupid to a degree, innocent—and then there’s Charles’ crush on you. He’s convinced he could write sonnets for you in all three languages he speaks, pave roads, paint ceilings, just to watch you laugh. A childhood crush so many years in the making is equally difficult to act on, because it would change everything, whether or not Charles wants it to, but he’s still determined on letting his feelings spill out of him. 

“This is sooo cute!” Charles’ philosophy was that, by enlisting a long-term relationship with a couple about his age to help him, he’d receive vital tips on how to steer things in the proper direction. Enter Lily and Alex, who are seated across him, both equally transfixed on his proposition.

It’s hot in Paris, where the majority of the grid has been spending off days lately, and you agreed to fly out to meet him. You’d missed him, you said. The way you uttered it tugged at his heart. “Oh, and in the”—Lily points outside the hotel window and onto the nearby Eiffel Tower—“city of love?! I am honored to be a part of this.”

“She’s been dying to play matchmaker for somebody ever since our rewatch of Clueless,” Alex explains.

“Tch. Like you’re not on yet another Paul Rudd mega-stalk session. I see your iCloud pictures, doofus.”

Alex opens his mouth to protest, but Charles raises a palm before either of them can talk. “I just need you two to help me say how I feel… properly. And to maybe set something nice up for her. Like a surprise, or something.”

“I would be so happy to. I’m thinking roses and a dinner in your room. Keep it simple,” Lily says fondly. “And the saying thing? Charles, that’s the easiest part.”

Lily and Alex have been together for so long, and are so compatible, that love advice becomes a rehearsed act. Alex comes next, sliding into the flow easily. “Mate, when you’re brave enough to just let your guard down and be honest, you’ll find yourself talking for minutes. About all the hows and whys and ifs and whens. Being in love just makes sense like that.”

The advice had stuck with Charles so much that it’s not until half-past-eight, when he’s readjusting the bouquet of flowers on the bed and monitoring the dinner waiting on the balcony, that it dawns on him.

He turns to his pair of co-conspirators, who are both lighting candles by the bed, and in one panic-induced slurry, goes: “Mon dieu. What if she doesn’t like me back?!”

Lily diffuses the situation, calmly explaining how that would go. Grin. Bear it. Accept that things may change. Don’t wallow in self-pity. “But,” she reassures in the end, “I’m positive she likes you. Loves you. You guys are basically soulmates.”

Just then, his hotel room door sounds with a knock. Fuck. Shit. He’d completely forgotten your ETA, and he can’t have Lily and Alex leave and ruin the momentum of the surprise. The trio quickly exchange wordless looks, and then Charles is promptly shoving them into the closet adjacent to the door. They both flash thumbs up, their pained smiles the last image he sees before closing it with a soft click and opening the next door with a nervous grin. “Hi.”

You almost drop your phone when you look up—behind your best friend is an assortment of roses, candles, and a dinner on the balcony. You smile a little, walking inside and letting him close the door behind you. You narrow your eyes. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No, I—um, just.” He leads you forward, leaves your suitcase by the door. “I have something to tell you.”

“Alright. Is everything okay?”

“Absolutely, yeah. I’m just, I—” Charles curses himself. Didn’t Lily and Alex say this would be easy? Instead he’s thinking about everything, about the words and the things and the verb tenses and how you might react and if he should withhold some other parts and. And he realizes he’s thinking too much, holding onto too much. So he inhales, exhales.

“I love you.”

Your lips part, wordless.

“I know it’s been a long time coming—a really long time. I think the first time I realized I had feelings, I didn’t even know how to label them. We were... I was seven, you were six, and we were making lemonade, and you taught me what it meant to let the powder dissolve in the water. And I thought, I want to marry you so I will never forget how to make lemonade. Those feelings... they’ve only grown since then. You remind me to become better, is the thing. You… you’re always there for me, and I hope you think the same of me. You’re talented, beautiful, kind. You. It’s always been—it’s always going to be you. Everything. It’s you.”

“Me,” you repeat, almost tearing up with how overwhelmingly loved you feel. “Me.”

“You.” A beat. “Always.”

You take two steps forward and press a kiss to his lips, one that is immediately reciprocated. It lasts briefly, just you both meeting and parting lips and a smile, and then you pull away. He does, too, opening his eyes and then briefly widening them when he sees, behind you—

Good job! Lily mouths from the fully open closet door. Fucking snoops.

“Do you want to do this?” You ask, hesitantly. His eyes travel back to meet yours, glassy, unsure.

Closet Alex mouths SAY YES. Charles doesn’t need to be told twice, dipping down to kiss you with more fervor and knocking a breathless laugh out of you. Your hands wrap around his neck, both of you so wrapped up in the kiss—in the feeling of just being together—that you have to pull away just to breathe. You smile, your foreheads still touching.

“I love you,” you say, voice dry. “I always have.”

His eyes flicker upward. Both Lily and Alex are weeping.

[cardiac-agreste]

normally i write people in pain, but i really wanted to get in on the loveybug action

I doff my hat to @blur0se, @asukiess, and @pisoprano for giving us this precious jewel, and then I'll return to making Sabine Cheng cry.

---

He’d told his new partner that the Arc de Triomphe would be an excellent regular meeting place for them to talk and recuperate. It had a broad, flat top for laying down. It was centrally located. It was also a tall landmark, which gave them the security of high ground. He’d presented his case, but given how much Ladybug had enjoyed the Iron Lady and Notre Dame, he underestimated how easy it would be to convince her replacement.

She had been effusive in her praise.

“A brilliant idea, Catwalker! It’s so energetic!” She flitted around the perimeter, drinking in the views from every corner as he stood behind, marveling at her passion.

“Shhh, listen to the cars.” She closed her eyes and swayed. Then she popped like a firework. “I love this city!!” she said as she threw her fist in the air in celebration.

When he landed atop their spot after a rough day with his father, he was bursting with joy. He got to see her again! And she wanted to see him, too! He rarely had people—

“My lord, you’re already here!”

Catwalker spun on his heel. She’d snuck up on him again! His eyes rolled up from the ground to her face, and his breath hitched. She, a being of pure light. She, zipping through space without a sound. She, illuminating everything in her path. A figure of tulle, of chiffon, of organza.

She skipped toward him and threw her arms wide for a hug. She leapt at him with a broad grin on her face. “I missed you!” she screamed right into his chest as he teetered back, whether from the force of her body or her joy. Her muffled voice vibrated as she nuzzled against him. He remembered a song he’d spent a summer playing on repeat, fantasizing about exactly this kind of girl. Careening through the universe, your axis on a tilt.

She danced back out of his reach and twirled on her heel, leaving a wisp of nutmeg and cloves behind. A hint of allspice. He could be all spice; could she? Settle down.

She took a deep breath and screamed to match the honking horns of evening traffic. “I feel alive!”

Loveybug, Loveybug, Loveybug.

When he’d met Ladybug, all knots and tangles and grit, he thought he understood what Keats meant by a steadfast, bright star. He thought she was his future. He thought many things. But she rejected him, and then she rejected him, and then she disappeared. Then so did he.

He’d met Loveybug as Chat Noir. She seemed happy to be around him, but starstruck, too. It was time for Chat Noir to fade away and pass on the mantle. Catwalker would mourn Chat Noir (and possibly Paris would!), but he needed a reset. He owed it to her, who entranced him effortlessly and shared her heart with him.

So here they were, beneath a night sky full of her blue eyes on a curtain of her black tresses. He spread his dreams beneath her feet and she came to him, treading softly. She lay her cheek against his chest. He rested his chin atop her head. And together they hummed a lullabye to old partners, and together they murmured a sonnet to new ones, and together they were together.

[iamnathannah]

Twenty years ago today, the Gilmore Girls spring break episode, "Girls in Bikinis, Boys Doin' the Twist" aired for the first time on The WB, and everything shifted in that moment for me. Rory Gilmore and Paris Geller had a fun and light few days of fun, let off all the steam, yelled at some guys about how they ate bananas, watched some Power of Myth, listened to the Shins...oh, and maybe Paris kinda kissed Rory and introduced her to lesbianism in a panic about being cool on the dance floor 🥹. Sure, Prory didn't happen in ASP's "canon", but so many young minds shifted from 'god is there any other guy besides Dean and Jess Rory can love' to 'PARIS IS THE LOVE OF HER LIFE THIS IS THE DESTINY SHE TALKED ABOUT GOING BACK TO WHEN SHE TRIED TO SEDUC–I MEAN INIMIDATE RORY WITH A READING OF SONNET 116 STOP FORCING THESE MEN UPON THESE LOVELY AND SMART LADIES!"

This episode changed my life, made me who I am today, gave me so many friends I treasure to this day, and even if it ended up with Logan the next season, the AU where Rory doesn't pull away from Paris and says 'let's take this back to the room' and they become the happiest Boston marriage of all time still fills many a Gellmore shipper's brain to this day.

Thank you, episode 417 for showing Rory and Paris at their best.

[lepetitlugourmand]

Le Louis XV - Alain Ducasse - Une Riviera en Vivante Modernité - Chef Emmanuel Pilon

Depuis juin 2022, c’est le jeune et bouillonnant de créativité Emmanuel Pilon qui a repris les fourneaux avec une signature contemporaine de la Riviera ravivée de Naturalité. Le Louis XV Alain Ducasse à l’Hôtel de Paris Monte-Carlo est l’une des adresses des plus emblématiques et les plus reconnues de la haute gastronomie française. Un lieu unique au monde, chargé d’histoire, qui a formé un…

[planet-gay-comic]

Art Nouveau, Bathhouses, and Winter Gardens Art, Body, and the Beginnings of LGBTQ+ Liberalization The Art Nouveau movement, also known as Jugendstil, developed between 1890 and 1910 as a reaction to industrial materialism and the often strict, puritanical morality of the Victorian era. Art Nouveau celebrated nature, the aesthetics of the human body, as well as the expression of emotions and individuality through organic forms, flowing lines, and floral motifs. This movement, which manifested in architecture, design, painting, and sculpture, played a crucial role in questioning and dissolving outdated societal norms. Although Art Nouveau as an independent art movement ended in the 1920s, its stylistic elements and ideas continued to influence architecture and design in the decades that followed.

The Victorian era (1837-1901) was characterized by strict morality, rigid gender roles, and a conservative view of sexuality. The body was often regarded as something shameful, and sexual openness or the recognition of LGBTQ+ relationships were socially taboo and even criminalized. Art Nouveau broke with these restrictive norms. The movement emphasized the beauty and sensuality of the human body without moral judgment. Artists such as Gustav Klimt, Aubrey Beardsley, and Alfons Mucha created works that celebrated sexuality, intimacy, and the human body in ways far removed from Victorian prudery. This opened up new ways of thinking about the body, sensuality, and human connections.

In parallel with the Art Nouveau movement, luxurious bathhouses and winter gardens emerged across Europe. These spaces not only served as places for relaxation and retreat from hectic urban life but also became symbols of the interplay between nature, the body, and art. Art Nouveau bathhouses were exquisitely designed, often lavishly decorated venues where architecture, art, and the human body harmoniously merged.

Winter gardens, originally found in the homes of the wealthy upper class, were often glass oases where nature was artfully integrated into urban spaces. These spaces offered refuge from the outside world and became places of self-discovery, contemplation, and sometimes expressions of non-conforming sexual orientations.

In this era, bathhouses and similar venues often existed on the fringes of societal norms and began to take on special significance for the emerging LGBTQ+ subculture. Bathhouses, particularly in major cities like Paris, Berlin, and Vienna, became meeting places for people who sought to explore their sexual orientation in a time when homosexuality was often still suppressed or criminalized.

Bathing itself, long symbolically associated with purity and cleansing, transformed in the context of Art Nouveau into a symbol of liberation from restrictive norms. The corporeality openly displayed in these spaces provided LGBTQ+ individuals with an opportunity to meet outside the rigid societal rules and explore their identity.

The Art Nouveau movement and its associated new openness toward the body and sensuality offered artists and intellectuals a platform to advocate for the rights of individuals who deviated from the conservative norms of the time. Writers like Oscar Wilde and Magnus Hirschfeld fought for the decriminalization of homosexuality and laid the groundwork for the later liberation movements of the LGBTQ+ community.

The Art Nouveau era marked a turning point in Western culture and society. It was not only a celebration of art and nature but also an era of upheaval and emancipation from strict moral norms. Bathhouses and winter gardens became places of retreat, freedom, and intimacy, especially for those who did not fit into the rigid corset of Victorian society. The Art Nouveau movement and its associated aesthetics paved the way for new perspectives on the human body, sexuality, and the acceptance of LGBTQ+ individuals in a society that was slowly but steadily changing.

Text supported by GPT-4o and Claude 3.5 Sonnet

Image generated with SD1.5. Overworked with inpainting (SD1.5/SDXL) and composing.

[adverbian]

My fanfiction over on AO3. All Good Omens (TV continuity), Aziraphale/Crowley. (Updated 05 Sept 2024)

(As always, check tags on AO3 for content notes!)

That Certain Night (E, 8670 words, 4/4 chapters)

Three nights together during wartime, and one night together after. Angst with a happy ending. 1941, 1967, Night at Crowley’s Flat, and a sweet, smutty South Downs epilogue. A birthday gift for @voluptatiscausa .

This Most Balmy Time and Stay Me With Flagons (both E, each 100 words)

A pair of smutty birthday drabbles for @cemeteryangel725 .

Nothing Lasts Forever (G, 108 words)

A post-S2 meditation on narrative arcs, astronomy, and love — but make it a sonnet. (Written for a poetry game in the Good Omens After Dark Writers Guild. Prompt: “Starmaker”)

(More under the cut!)

Gibraltar May Tumble (E, 8539 words)

A little first-time light bondage on a rainy South Downs afternoon, with feelings and tenderness and love. (A gift fic for @sapientmanbuncountrymare written as part of the Good Omens After Dark Pride Exchange)

Bear You on the Breath of Dawn (T, 100 words)

They’ve had an argument — their first since they moved into their cottage together. They’re still not very good at talking. But this time, they both stay. (A drabble.)

Da Pacem (M, 341 words)

A sestina about stopping the Second Coming with your secret lover, using the key words “night, time, glass, light, tide, stars.”

Is This Desire? (E, 15.5k words, 2/2 chapters)

A smutty, sex-pollened meditation on desire and consent. (Written for the High Pollen Count Good Omens Sex Pollen Event.)

Confiteor (M, 3k words, 1/1 chapter)

Aziraphale goes on a guilt trip. Crowley brings him back home. (Angst with a happy ending.)

Exsultet (E, 6k words, 3/3 chapters)

They’d won. But there were some things left to lose. (And there were some victories still to come.) (A gift fic for @crowleyslvt written as part of the Good Omens Song and Poetry Exchange)

In contenti e in allegria (E, 5k words, 2/2 chapters)

Completely shameless PWP, honeymoon in Paris edition. (A gift fic for @and-his-hands-were-24-crows in the Good Omens After Dark Valentine’s Exchange)

O You and Me at Last (E, 4k words, 1/1 chapters)

News of one of Aziraphale’s past admirers has Crowley feeling a little… possessive. (Written for the Good Omens After Dark Smut War)

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea (E, 5k words, 3/3 chapters)

Crowley’s been giving Aziraphale space to adjust to being on his own, finally free of Heaven. Now, a gorgeous American philanthropist has started hanging around the bookshop. Has Crowley left things Too Late? (Spoiler alert: There’s a very happy resolution.) (Gift fic for IUsedToBeGifted177 in the Good Omens After Dark Christmas Exchange)

Small Things Like Reasons (M, 4k words, 7/7 chapters)

An exploration of six competing meta theories against the backdrop of the Rapture.

These, Thy Gifts (M, 100 words)

Crowley gives thanks for a feast. (A smutty Thanksgiving drabble.)

Revolver (T, 200 words)

Sometime in the late 1960s or early 1970s, Crowley tried to introduce Aziraphale to the Beatles. It went about like you’d expect. (A double drabble with hands thirst.)

Series: Auprès de ma blonde

(Each item in the series can be read independently.)

General vibes: Ineffable Honeymoon. Everything is terribly sweet and romantic. Lots of Feelings. There are literary and musical allusions.

(Individual works in the series under the cut! Dorothy Sayers fans will instantly clock the first two titles. Yes, there are Wimsey vibes.)

one more river (and that’s the river of jordan) (E, 5k words, 3/3 chapters)

They are alone now — they are free. They are both nervous, but eager, newlyweds.

Auprès de ma blonde, qu’il fait bon dormir (E, 2k words, 1/1 chapters)

The morning after “one more river.”

What We Think About When We Think About Each Other (E, 4k words, 6/6 chapters)

Five times they swapped fantasies, and one time they started learning to share.

Songs and Sonnets (E, 2k words, 1/1 chapters)

A little bit of exploration that gets surprisingly emotional.

That the One Ought To Have of the Other (T, 1k words, 1/1 chapters)

Marriage vows considered as a formal contract, and negotiated with feelings.

Set Me as a Seal Upon Your Heart (E, 12k words, 4/4 chapters)

The Ineffable Husbands make it official. And formal contracts between supernatural entities have a way of becoming particularly real.