#ic / just don’t burn the paintings in the louvre

[thevamplelio]

“I haven’t had this much fun messing with a Frenchman since the Napoleonic Wars.” Mel giggles.

@rosenundraben

"That long?" Lestat raised a flirtatious eyebrow. "I'd offer pity but I don't think the lady now requires it," he winked

[pomrania]

Today I read ‘Early Riser’ by Jasper Fforde. It was a good book. I don’t feel like doing a while writeup of it, so I’ll try and get down at least a few points. But I recommend at least looking it up and seeing if the blurb catches your attention.

I picked the book up from my library because I’ve already read stuff by that author, the Thursday Next series among others, and I didn’t have any other books to take out then, and it seemed like it might be interesting from the description.

For me, what I liked the most about it was the setting, because I’m always a sucker for worldbuilding. And it’s the kind of thing that SEEMS dystopian -- “winter is so bad that humans have to literally hibernate through it” -- but it’s more along the lines of “alternate history”. As in, it’s basically the ice age extended a couple millennia. There’s a big corporation that’s taking ADVANTAGE of people’s need for hibernation, but it didn’t CREATE it; it’s been part of humanity for millennia. To illustrate, there’s a throwaway line about that the Louvre’s Mona Lisa was revealed to not be the “original” one, because there was a recently-discovered note written by a contemporary that mentions it being a painting of her “preparing for Winter”, and since the painting in the Louvre is of a skinny-ish woman that means it depicts someone from like spring or summer, and not somebody with sufficient fat stores to survive hibernating.

I won’t be able to do content warnings for everything -- aside from that I just want to get this done and posted, there’s some things which might be (or are) spoilers -- but there’s two major things inherent in the setting described. The most prevalent is weight gain and weight loss, because bodies burn fuel to stay alive and you can’t eat while you’re asleep; so if that’s a thing that might trip the nope button in your brain, give this book a pass, and check out something else by the author instead. There’s also stuff about “keeping the population up” because there’s always losses over the winter, and child-bearing (or paying someone else to do it for you) is at the very least strongly encouraged, with legal consequences; notable however for that not being linked with marriage or partnerhood, or even necessarily raising the child yourself.

Also there’s stuff dissing the English, but the author is Welsh so yeah.

[magalidragon]

paris is always a good idea | a Jonerys Drabble

Thank you @youwerenevermine​ for my wonderful birthday gift, I love it so much and I love Paris so much and Jonerys and you for making this for me so I felt inspired and wrote a quick little drabble thing, lol. It’s only the fourth time I’ve written Jonerys in a modern, non-Westeros world, but it was fun!  And I wanna’ go back so much!  Paris, je t’aime!

They met while in university, oddly enough, as fate would have it, on her birthday.

She had been there to study art, for a year abroad, savoring every last second wandering the wide, arched hallways of the Louvre, staring at grand masters for hours on end, burning the vibrant colors and mesmerizing brushstrokes into her memory, wishing she could be as good as them one day.  One day, someone would have her art in their house, and proudly boast they'd gotten it back when she was but a nobody, painting on the streets or in the grassy parks.  

Since it was her birthday, she decided to treat herself, and instead of heading straight to the university to get some time in the studio, she decided to get an ice cream at Berthillon, heading to the Ile-St-Louis instead of to the metro, taking her time to admire, as she often did, the glory of Notre Dame, it’s gargoyles and buttresses.

At the glacier she took her time selecting a flavor, did not even mind paying the exorbitant price and shouldered through tourists taking refuge from a cold rain that had begun to fall. She savored it, the clean water bouncing off her peat coat and the beanie she’d tugged over her silver hair.

She was about to set off, to eat her ice cream and wander into the Marais, perhaps drop down into the Latin Quarter— maybe take a trip to Chanel or Dior or Celine to admire the creations she couldn’t afford— when her ice cream went flying, straight onto the wet sidewalk. Where a mass of pidgins attacked it with gusto.

“Merde! Faites attention!” she shouted, stomping her Doc Marten on the ground in petulant annoyance.

The man who had bumped her because he’d been roughhousing with another friend had been apologetic.  He bought her another and said his name was Robb Stark. He was from Scotland, was on spring break with his buddies, which she didn’t care about. To apologize he invited her for a drink, especially when the worker who she’d told it was her birthday had commented on it again when she got another ice cream.

She figured why not?  He was attractive, sorry, and nice enough so she agreed, although she had commented his French was terrible best to speak English. “You’re English?” he had teased.

“Half and half,” she answered. English father, French mother.

At the comptoir where she suggested they meet, in Montmartre, she brought her roommate Missandei and Missandei’s boyfriend Grey. It was just a drink and they’d leave and go to the dinner Missandei planned to take her to anyway.

Except that’s where she met him.

The dark, brooding figure at the tiny table in the corner, ignoring Robb and Robb’s friend Theon, and a couple others, favoring silence and his drink. He was in all black, barely acknowledging her and slipped out for a smoke when Robb began to shamelessly flirt. She didn’t care about Robb, she cared about him.

Jon.

She exited, saw him lighting a cigarette against a lap post. She flicked her coat collar up and sidled towards him. “Puis-j’en avoir un?”

“Sorry I don’t speak,” he began, and his eyes— black in the orange lamplight glow— flicking to her. He smiled gently “French.”

She smiled and repeated her question in English.  “Can I have one?  A smoke  that is?”

He stuck the cigarette between his pouty, sinful lips, framed with a cropped dark beard, and reached into his coat pocket, removing a pack. She took one delicately and he lit it, cupping his hands around the tip so the wind didn’t blow it out.

A stream of smoke escaped her nostrils when she puffed and she smiled up at him, hoping he got the hint. “Do you like Paris?”

“Not especially.”

“Aw come on,” she teased. She hummed, closing her eyes and taking in the cold night. The electric buzz is people on the street and at the cafes and bars around them. “Paris is always a good idea.”

“Someone famous said that.”

“Audrey Hepburn.”

He sucked on the cigarette and smiled, a tiny one, the curve of his lip sly rather than shy.  “You aren’t in there with the rest of them.”

“Because it’s my birthday and I want to do what I want to do.”  She stubbed the cigarette out on the post and turned, disposing it in the bin by the door.  A quick text to Missandei: I’m going to skip dinner, I think I have a date, she turned and studied him.  “I’m…”

“Dany,” he said. He shrugged, finishing his smoke. “I remember.”  

Her eyes narrowed. “I didn’t think you were listening when Robb introduced me.”

“I was.”  He pulled the tartan scarf around his neck tighter.  He glanced towards Sacré-Cœur, illuminated white in the lights around its base. He smirked at her.  “You going back in?”

She shook her head. “No,” she drawled. She followed his gaze to Sacré-Cœur. “Have you been up there?”

“No.”

“You should. Some of the best views of Paris.”

He chuckled, voice tight. “You should invite Robb.”

“I think he might be a third wheel.”

It took him a second, the gears in his mind turning, understanding what she was saying. He cocked his head. His black curls were in a mess around his face. A few scattered rain drops landed on them, and he shook it free like a dog. Or a wolf, she thought, noting the animal embroidered on the edge of his scarf.

He narrowed his eyes again. “I told you I don’t really like Paris.”

“Why?”

“It’s loud. Busy. Dirty.”

She laughed. “Every city is like that but in Paris it’s different.”

“Why?”

Her bravado got the better of her and she stepped towards him, linking her arm through his. If he didn’t get it now, he was a stupid fool who deserved it when she kicked him into the gutter. “Because,” she murmured, rising to her toes, trying to gaze as directly as she could into his eyes, which she now saw were actually gray. His breathing quickened. “You’re with me.”

The wolf got the point with that comment. He allowed her to keep her arm around his and lead him towards the cathedral.  They spoke of nothing and anything on the long walk through Montmartre to the highest point in the city.  

He was in Paris for a research trip.  He was studying medieval weapons and was going out to Bayeux to study some relics. His cousin Robb and friends came along for the free trip.  They spoke about being starving artists in their field-- her literally an artist as it were.  They talked about Paris-- how much he disliked it, how much she adored it.  The top of Sacre-Coeur might have changed his mind, but he pretended he still didn’t get the appeal, so she dragged him back down to the streets, to her favorite all-night boulangerie, into the metro and across town to the Eiffel Tower, spinning in circles on the Champs du Mars.  They ran across the Pont-de-la-Concorde and across the Tullieries.  They wandered down the Seine, smoked cigarettes in the doorsteps of old buildings in the Latin Quarter, and drank cheap wine in one of the tourist-cafes near the Jardin du Luxembourg.  

They meandered back through the streets, the city oddly quiet, the rain stopping, and she brought him to her garret studio in the Bastille, up the six flights of stairs to the top of the building, where she shed her coat and boots adn scratched her fat cat Drogon’s ears, leading him to the wrought-iron bars in one of the four windows she had, pushing the window open and crawling out, up onto the roof where she wanted to show him something.  

“Look,” she directed, when he climbed up next to her-- less gracefully-- pointing to the lit-up Eiffel Tower.  

He cursed under his breath.  “It’s gorgeous.”

“It’s my favorite place in Paris.  The rent is steep, but it’s worth it for this.”  She chuckled.  “And it has the best view.”

He whispered.  “Yes, it does.”  

And to her surprise, since she didn’t realize the time, the tower began to twinkle, the 20,000 lights across its metal beams flickering and she glanced sideways; he wasn’t watching the tower, but her face.  She arched her brows.  “You know, the lights twinkle for five minutes every hour, on the hour.”  She smiled and shrugged, whispering.  “It’s a sign that you’re supposed to return to Paris.”

Instead of saying anything, like how silly that was, he leaned in and cupped her face in his wide palm, callused and warm, bringing her face to meet his, kissing gently, in the twinkly glow of the lights.  He pulled back a moment later, breathing, “I think I like Paris.  And you’er right...this place has the best view.”  His eyes were wide on hers, focused.  She chuckled, nodding in agreement, and pulled him back to her for another kiss.

That night she savored every moment with him, as they pulled each other’s clothes off slowly, kissing and touching, every smooth curve and muscle of each other, each hard ridge and plane of his strong, muscular body or her soft, lean one.  He touched her and kissed her and stroked her in ways she’d never experienced, bringing her to heights she’d only dreamed about.  It was intense, the lights behind her closed eyelids when she came, over and over, gripping his shoulders, hair, the bedframe behind her.  He rose up and over her, in and out, their bodies moving as one, thrusting and arching.  

She didn’t know if she’d see him again; if this was a one-time, romantic Parisian adventure, but in the morning when she woke, she found him coming back inside from getting pastries and coffees, the faintest scent of cigarettes and her toothpaste on his lips when he kissed her good morning.  

They exchanged their information, vowing to speak daily, and he would see her when he got back from Bayeux.  She couldn’t believe when he did call and he kept his word.  “When you lie, words lose their meaning,” he’d explained, obviously reading her surprise.  

And when her year ended in Paris, she found herself in London, back at university, dreaming of their magical time there, even when they made time for each other, going back and forth from London to Edinburgh; and he from Edinburgh to Paris during the last couple of months of her year there.  

They made it a priority; every single year they spent time in Paris, like they were students again, on that magical night.  

They grew older, no longer needing to find the cheapest drinks and cigarettes, or staying in studio garrets, eventually able to experience some of the best hotels and restaurants the city had to offer, as he sold books and became a well-known author and professor, and her dream of becoming a famous artist came true, when sure enough, someone bought one of her paintings on the side of the Seine, someone who happened to be an art dealer in New York.  

It was their city, where they met, and where they could remember.  

After they married, about fifteen years after that fateful birthday, they visited again, and spun together on the Pont-Neuf, kissing and murmuring how they loved each other and always would, and he took her back to the tiny studio garret, which was now theirs, and sat on the rooftop and watched the Eiffel Tower sparkle.  

“Paris is always a good idea,” she murmured, head in the crook of his neck, her back to his front, wrapped in a warm blanket, and his arms tight around her middle.  She tilted her face up to his, sated, and still hopelessly in love with him.  “Take me to Paris, Jon.”

He nuzzled his nose into her cheek, whispering.  “You are Paris, Dany.”

As it was the city where they’d met, fallen in love, and found true happiness, she grinned, because that was his way of saying how much he loved her.  She brushed her lips over his, sighing, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”  

And they kissed, as the Eiffel Tower lit up, and she curled up into him, falling asleep in the city of love and lights.

[bugaboowritings]

Tikki Talks: ABOUT PAST LADYBUG IN PARIS!- Fic

Tikki spits at fine art 

This could connect to my Past!Ladybugs AU, but it fits better in what I think could happen in canon if Tikki were to talk about the past ladybug holders and their hidden history. (It builds up slowly and it’s long so enjoy)

May write a second part ....

Marinette stacked the last of her books on her shelves. Knowing very well that they wouldn’t be touched until the start of the new school year. Being dust collectors until she needed a last-minute review on the past semester.

“Can’t believe that school ended. Too fast if you ask me.” Marinette reflected. Throwing her head back to look at her red and black spotted kwami while she tucked the last bit of her commissions in a cardboard box.

“All good things must come to an end. Whether we try to stop them or not.” Tikki nibbled on her cookie. Quickly stuffing her mouth with more baked goods before Marinette could question her tone.

With her room now cleaned, Marinette could finally breathe without her anxious ideas creeping on her neck. Her room decluttered from the mess (burden) of schoolwork and commissions deadlines. Her schedule that once hung with sticky notes and reminders now was wiped off and nearly empty.

Nearly.

Of course, it still had some events here and here scattered around. Like Adrien’s rumored trip out of the country and a party that was planned before the summer break was near.

Her classmates were relaxing with their family as Marinette took the silent in her home with a grain of salt. Knowing that it could easily be revoked with a blink of an eye.

On cue, she heard her father call her down to the bakery. Marinette swiftly threw her purse around her shoulders for Tikki to join her.

Tourists were already flooding in great numbers. Whether in groups or with translators, they all enjoyed the idea of having a fresh-baked pastry for breakfast. So orders enter the counter quicker and buns were already baking in the oven for the next dozen. The heat of the machines, which could beat the burn of global warming, made the small store sweat. Sabina hastily urged her daughter to open a window or two and get started on their iced teas for the lunch rush. Marinette, doing what she was told, couldn’t help but think to herself that this wasn’t what she had in mind on how she would spend her summer break.

Free from her responsibilities from school she was bombarded with the task of keeping a business open. One that didn’t stop till the people did. Don’t get it wrong, Marinette loved working in the bakery. It was an easy way to lose her worries in the recipes and glass bowls. It was like how people ran to clear their mind or draw to help them relax. It was just hard to take in the scent of fresh cinnamon and sweet, organic fruit-fillings when someone was breathing down her neck to get their order in. Luckily, her mother could handle the customers with ease.

“Marinette, honey,” Sabine beckoned while she waved off to the last customer.

“Yeah, mom,” Marinette answered back. Cleaning up the flour she spilled on the floor.

“Why don’t you go off with your friends or get some fresh air? Last thing you need to do if worry about the bakery.” Her mother hummed. Marinette couldn't help but turn to her father. Who gave her a nod and a smile, telling her that it would be good for her to get some air.

-------

“See you in a bit then.” Marinette waved. Closing the backdoor before she overwhelmed the air-conditioning with the heat. Pulling out her phone to call up her best friend.

-------

Marinette walked the streets of Paris alone for the first time in not so long time ago. The one day she was free to make plans everyone else seemed to be busy.  Alya had to take her little sisters to a summer event their school was hosting. Rose and Juleka were handling some details for Kitty Section for an upcoming gig. Mylene was on a date with Ivan. Alix was- actually she preparing to do a mural near the Louvre. Technically, Alix was working but told Marinette if she could come by to say hi. Maybe even go into the museum to check out the new exhibit her dad and older brother were working on.

Tikki peaked out her head from Marinette's bag. Taking in the warm, sunny day as she softly hummed, “It’s surprising to finally have some peace and quiet.” 

“If the Effiel Tower isn't nearby then it’s not something that tourists tend to 'overflow' in this time of year,” Marinette recalled her past experiences.

"It really has changed so much," Tikki admitted. Marinette opened her mouth but quickly close it as she reached a crowded traffic light. Cars racing passed while she awkwardly stood by bystanders. Holding her tongue as the light finally turned red, allowing her to walk safely and quickly to the other side.

"Tikki, " Marinette hushed, away from curious ears. "This isn't your first time in Paris?" Holding her bag closer. "There been other ladybug holders in France, right?"

Marinette imagined the history behind her earrings. Tikki has been around since the beginning of the beginning so she could have seen when Paris was built or when France barely had its name and borders set. She could have seen the Renaissance flourished or observed both World Wars. Tikki could have been there in the French Revolution, there when Napoleon surrender or when he crowded his wife queen. Witnessed the construction of Versailles. Testified to the history books when The Hundreds' Year War took over Europe or suffered alongside Parisians as the Reign of Terror shook the streets. Tikki could have seen the things that Marinette can only read.  

Tikki bit back her tongue. She mentioned the other miraculous holders that have passed to Marinette. However, never really went into detail about them. Her current holder knew a bit, but revealing the history of creation could be a bit shocking. At one point in time, finding out that a little creature like her is the god of it all have made people mad. Knowing that what they believe was wrong or had no real purpose. However, Tikki wasn't in the Middle Ages or surrounded by monks. She was at the hands of her Chosen. Someone that was picked to wear her miraculous for a reason.

Pushing out an old smile, Tikki replied: "It's better if you saw it yourself, Mari."

----- Alix was nice enough (or maybe didn't really care) to let Marinette use her admission pass. Offering it to her when Marinette explains that she needs inspiration for her upcoming designs when asked why she rushed to this part of town so quickly.

For the summer break, the museum was a bit lonely compared to its usual numbers. Better for Marinette in the end since now she doesn't have to pretend to be on her phone so she could openly speak to Tikki. Without anyone thinking she's crazy for holding a conversation with her bag.

Marinette acknowledged the obvious when she looked over the museum's map. "The only known Ladybug artifact in this building is the hieroglyphics in the Egyptian Exhibit. Which did gained some popularity thanks to the Ladyblog," She crossed her legs. "How could there be other artifacts here? Surely, they would be noticed by now. Especially with Alya investigating Ladybug."

"They're here." Tikki winked. "They just hide under the crevices of history and the impossible." Flying out of the bag and marking their destination on the map. "You just have to know where to look."

---

Marinette wrinkled the map in her hands as she walked by the paintings. All sporting diverse techniques that made pigments seem to jump out and touch her. Stepping slowly to the corner of the room to a portrait that Tikki wanted to see. Directing her to a large painting. Which didn't look that exceptional really. . .

      "A Cavalier."

Marinette pulled out her phone again to type the name of the artist in the search bar. Only to meet a loading screen due to the Louvre's slow wifi. “I don’t get it, Tikki,” Marinette whispered, not helping herself as she impatiently tapped on the screen. “Why is this so personal to you?” Her mind bounced back to the hallways filled with grand and spectacular works of arts. How structures of marble were crafted to look like silk on a hot day or canvases had perfectly mirrored a queen’s flawless hair and jewels. Yet, she was here by a painting that didn’t really pique her interest. All as the internet lagged on her phone. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a peck of red flying out of her bag.

“Tikki!!” she hushed. Keeping her screams in her throat as she jumped. Throwing her hands up as her eyes widen in horror. Whipping her hair around, almost breaking her neck to see if anyone was around to witness a red bug-mouse floating up to a priceless painting.

“Tikki, there is a sign that explicitly says ‘DON’T TOUCH’! Tikki, wha-what are you doing?”

Tikki looked back at Marinette, "Showing you what hides under history.”

“Tikki, no-”

Then Tikki did it. She did the worst thing that she could ever do to a work of art. She spat on it. She spat on the painting worth more than her organs in the black market. Tikki, the god of creation, spat on a priceless, antique work of art. 

Marinette felt her heart drop at that moment. As if someone dumped a weight on her poor, fragile soul making it hit the bottom of her stomach. Throwing her knees on the ground. She’s going to jail. She’s going to be charged for vandalism. Then she will be a wanted criminal. Then be imprisoned for life. Then not only be away from Adrien but never be able to ask him to the movies. With her in a small cell with no way out Hawkmoth will be able to akumatized Paris without her to stop him. Chat Noir will be forced to work harder and face the damage after an Akumas. Paris will fall in a dark reign of power. Then she will be dragged for leaving Paris when they needed her. Adrien would never want to date her. Who would blame him!? Who would want to date a criminal or a failed superhero? Then she will never have a house to call her own or three kids named Emma, Louis, and Hugo and she can forget about the pet hamster the moment she gets cuffed up and taken to-

Marinette’s anxious thought peeled the color from her face. Her anxiety could have turned her lips blue if Tikki didn’t speak up. Grabbing her holder’s attention and tongue as they awed at that Tikki has done. Yet, spitting (magic spit, of course) on the painting seemed rough and boorish but it changed the painting for the better. Or revealed a hidden layer.

What once stood a man with brown curly hair and a mustache now a woman with black wavy hair. The simple, light brown tabard turned a bright red with black ladybug-spots, ending above her knees. Underneath her tabard, was a long, white sleeved shirt with a lace collar. With trimming that Marinette wished she knew how to mimic. A black cloth corset replaced the blue that hugged her waist as the black scabbard stayed in place.

As the painting became a totally different one, Marinette only focused on her face and hands. Her pale face carried light, blue eyes that were covered with a red mask. Carrying no expression. In her gloved hands, the woman held onto something that Marinette was familiar with.

The yo-yo.

“She- she was a ladybug holder,” Marinette whispered. “She’s a Ladybug. . .”

“Marinette,” Tikki smiled. Standing proudly in front of this astonishing canvas. “I present you to La Coccinelle. A hero that once walked the streets of Paris and worn the same earrings as you.”

-----

Tikki might have lived through history when she was about to witness Marinette at the verge of making a new chapter.

-------

[artificialqueens]

You won a seven nights stay in Paris, ch 2 (Branjie) - Evelyn Bubbles

Ehy there! It’s your girl Ev back on the beat, so happy for all the love on the first chapter, this is a slow burn so stay tuned you won’t regret it. I want to gradually build some tension and in this chapter we’ll see some. Enjoy! Also just wanted to add that this fanfiction doesn’t take in consideration canon, so take this as they never had a thing on the show and they’re falling in love just now.

Waking up alone in Paris is one thing, waking up besides a handsome man in a beautiful bed in an even more beautiful apartment in the best part of the city is another. Brooke yawned, lazily turning off the alarm set for 8 am, and gradually lifted Vanessa’s arm from her waist. “Please mom, five more minutes…”. “I’m not your mom, Vanjielina… and you’re heavy”, Brooke giggled sitting on the bed and gently running her fingers through her friend’s messy hair. She wasn’t much of a touchy-feely type, except for her cats, which she loved to cuddle with, but Vanessa had that warm and welcoming aura to her, she couldn’t help but relax and open up. The day before they had just walked to Notre Dame (a quite long walk actually), got an ice cream, took some nice pictures on one of the bridges, hanging out like life long friends. Then, they had come back to their apartment, quite wasted from the crazy jet lag, and they had fallen asleep almost immediately; Vanessa still had her t-shirt on. Brooke thanked her for forgetting to take that off: she didn’t know what she would’ve done seeing her toned chest naked, with that amber skin exposed and flushed. Brooke went to the bathroom, grabbing a pair of comfy jeans and a t-shirt, and took a nice shower, casually leaving the door open. She didn’t know what she meant with that: was it an invitation? Was it just because they were close enough at that point? They had in fact spent so many weeks shoulder to shoulder, but the atmosphere during Drag Race filming was radically different from the relaxing vacation they were having. That many men all together, cut off from the rest of the world, it was hard to resist. It was then when Brooke had started to look at Vanessa differently. But when they came home she thought that it had been just a consequence of the situation, a casualty. Instead, as the words of the iconic song said, the cause had been removed… but the symptom stayed. She immediately switched the water temperature from hot to cold. She needed it.

////

“Where we going today sis?”, Vanessa asked as soon as they stepped out of the house. “The Musée d’Orsay. There are a lot of beautiful sculptures and paintings there, even some Van Goghs. I planned this trip hoping to go with my best friend, and he’s kinda into arts, so I hope you don’t get too bored”, Brooke said slightly worried. Classic Canadian courtesy. Vanessa smiled and patted her arm: “Don’t worry sis it’s all good. I love arts. Plus, you could explain some shit to me. You’re giving me this cultured vibe”. “I’m really not, but thank you. In the museums I usually try to listen to a guide who’s telling stuff to a group of tourists, and I grab some info from them. We could do the same thing”. “Yeah, I love mooching culture. Agreed. Let’s go”. “I wouldn’t call it mooching”. “How would you call it”. “Oh, we’re just there… casually listening”. “Why don’t you get an audio guide then”. Brooke smirked: “I’d rather listen to your weird comments about the paitings and sculptures. You can be really funny Vanj". “Maybe that’s the best compliment you’ve ever given me. But how can I blame y'all, it’s true”. “Don’t flatter yourself too much. Now let’s get on this subway, it’s damn late”.

////

Vanessa was completely silent, staring at one of the biggest paintings in the whole museum, “L'école de Platon”. She bit her lip and got closer to the painting. Brooke found her like that, eyes scanning every single inch of the painting with an inquisitive stare. “Hey Vanjielina”, she asked, “What are you looking at?”. “This painting. I know no French but apparently it’s like a lesson or something. Plato is teaching. Beautiful, isn’t it”. Brooke approached her to look at the painting, but Vanessa grabbed her by the arm and brought them a few feet back. “Here. You have to watch it from afar first, and then you can get closer. Just like with another person”, she said, unusually soft. Then, she went back to her previous spot, standing perfectly still, captivated. So, Brooke let her eyes admire the stunning painting from the perspective Vanessa had chose for her: the scene depicted was a garden in Ancient Greece, where many beautiful young men, barely clothed, were listening to the philosopher talk. Brooke got one step closer, and as she walked towards the painting she started noticing more and more details: the veins of the leaves, the single strands of hair, the lights and shadows of the boys’ muscles. Vanessa became part of the painting herself: the curve of her back, her hand on her hip, the tight fabric of the jeans agains her legs, her short, dark hair hidden under her hat, they all seemed to fuse with the painting, as if she was listening to Plato as well, covered in only a piece of pastel fabric, with laurel leaves on her head. Brooke walked right besides her, and stood still as she examined the lines of her nose, lips and chin from just a few inches away. “Have you noticed?”. “What?”, Brooke asked. “All the details. Amazing”. Vanessa had never sounded more serious. Brooke nodded: “Were they all this gay in Ancient Greece?”, she asked jokingly, referring to the boys’ naked bodies all so close to each other. Vanessa chuckled: “If so, gimme a damn time machine girl because this looks like literal heaven. I mean, look at their abs and thighs. Fuck. Perfection. Look, they even have a goddamn white peacock there. It can’t get any gayer than this”. “Trust me, we can find a gayer painting”. Vanessa smirked: “Wanna bet?”. They shook hands: “Bet”.

////

Vanessa and Brooke spent two hours total, almost running all around the Musee D'Orsay, trying to find a gayer painting, failing miserably. They found each other again in front of which was probably the biggest work of art in the whole museum, called “Les Romains de la Décadence”, a scene of daily life in the Roman era, at the baths. “Found anything?”. “Nope”, Vanessa shook her head. “Well, that ecol of something something was pretty gay. I doubt we’ll find anything better in the whole damn vacation”. “So you give up, mh”. “I’m not giving up, I’m just saying it’s fucking hard. And also I’m hungry, I wanna eat. Let’s get out of here”. “Agreed”. They turnt around, going towards the entrance, when Vanessa stopped suddenly and pointed at the big painting. “Wait, Brooke, sis!”, she laughed, “This lady looks like you in drag”. Brooke followed Vanessa’s finger as she was guided to a beautiful woman wrapped in white clothes, laying in the centre of the painting. She looked slightly bored, but beautiful indeed, and she has a long nose and big lips. “She only kinda looks like me”, Brooke said, “But thanks, it means you find me as beautiful as a work of art”. Vanessa’s big brown eyes were all over her. Then, she said simply: “Yes”.

////

They had lunch at a local café, sitting alone at a table eating pan au chocolat, a classical french sweet with bread and dark chocolate, and got coffees. T hey weren’t in the mood for an actual lunch, they would’ve had plenty of occasions for that in the next few days. “It’s so fucking good”, Vanessa said biting into her pan au chocolat. “I know right? We don’t have this in Canada. Or at least not this good”. “I’m a slut for good chocolate”. “You’re a slut in general”. “Excuse me, I’m a respectable young lady!”. Brooke laughed and took a sip of her coffee. “What’s up next then?”, Vanessa asked after a couple of seconds of silence. Brooke looked at her notes app: “Mont Martre tonight, and I’ve also found the best crepes place in all Paris at the bottom of the hill. You like cheese, right?”. “Bitch have you seen me? I ain’t got this thick eating fruits and shits. I love cheese”. Brooke chuckled: “Happy to hear that, because they do excellent cheese crepes. And also sweet ones, like with nuts and strawberries and whatever you want. It should be super good”. Vanessa smiled widely: “You got me excited now, fuck! You’ve really planned this mh?”. “Yeah I did, even though it’s a plan shaped around Steve and me, so like… do you wanna go to the Louvre some time?”. “That’s where the Mona Lisa is, right? Of course I wanna go, I wanna see what’s the buzz all about. Like, is she really that special? Miss Thing thinks she’s a legend but they haven’t seen my portrait yet”. “Do you have a portrait?”. Vanessa hesitated for a second: “Well, no, I don’t, but I’ll have one”. “Where?”. “In the painter place. Isn’t it in Mont Martre?”. Brooke smiled, suprised: “Oh, so you know about it”. “I do know shit bitch! I’m very eloquent”, says Vanessa taking another sip. They didn’t get up until the sun had started setting in the beautiful Parisian sky.

[ash-beaumont]

Melancholy (Nathan x MC)

Summary: “But I must admit I miss you quite terribly. The world is too quiet without you nearby. I go to bed early and rise late and feel as if I have hardly slept.” - Lemony Snicket 

Word Count: 1702 

She misses him when she finds small note cards lodged inside the pages of her books. He'd read aloud to her, often pretending to be each character with different voices and accents to match which he assured her is "exactly how they perform this at the West End." She severely doubted this, but she liked it when he would let his guard down a little to act ridiculous in front of her, and she'd inevitably fall asleep with her head on his lap, his hands brushing through her hair. And he'd write quotes that he loved, lines that reminded him of her, followed by 'this is where my beautiful, harmonious voice put you to sleep. please don't read ahead without me!! - N.' She has more than a dozen shoved deep in her nightstand drawer, under pamphlets and pencils and notebooks. She can't bear to look at them.

--

She misses him when she walks past large murals, her thoughts wandering to what he would think of them. It was a small game they liked to play with each other - sending a piece of artwork, a passage, a quote from a song - with a 'what do you think this means?' She couldn't count the number of photos she had of blurry book pages, of him standing in front of paintings in cafes which he often sent with long, nonsensical artistic critiques.

"What do you even mean by the 'pigment composition is inadequate?'"

"I don't know, maybe I'd tell you if you were here with me."

She'd send him little doodles of horribly drawn stick figures when class didn't hold her interest as much as he did, and she'd try stifling her laugh as he'd compliment her 'bold vision' because 'honestly the world hasn't seen an artist the likes of you before, they should hang that in the Louvre. Are you sure you still want to be a journalist?'

Sometimes they'd go to an obscure university lecture for fun, and when it would end, she'd turn to him, "Do you have any idea what just happened?"

He'd look so deep in thought, and she'd wait for him to say something profound, but then he'd shrug anticlimactically, biting his lip to prevent himself from smiling, "I honestly have no clue, but most of the research was conducted in Florence. Will you go with me?"

She'd sigh, linking her arm in his.

"Okay, no to Italy then. Maybe France?" he'd suggest.

"I don't think I want to go anywhere with someone who doesn't understand the nuances of ornamental plant breeding."

It's a while before she starts sitting in those bookstores and coffee shops again, but she sees traces of him in each painting, in each novel, like he has left a small piece of his soul in everything he touched.

--

She misses him when she goes grocery shopping. He'd purposely walk down the aisles with a flourish just to hear her laugh, waving his list in the air, and she'd follow, teasing him about his apparent overzealousness about artisanal ice creams and raspberries. He'd roll his eyes and smile, and the minute they'd get back to the clubhouse, he would arrange small bowls of ice cream for her to taste.

“Is this really necessary?” she'd ask, and he would lean on the counter, making small twisting motions in the air with a spoon, and she would sigh dramatically as she opened her mouth.

“So?”

“Oh my god, this tastes amazing,” she'd close her eyes because who knew twenty dollar ice cream could taste so good, and she'd feel his lips on hers, his fingers brushing against her cheek.

“It does.”

Sometimes they'd pretend to host a cooking show with terrible French accents; he did most of the cooking while she commentated, and he'd chase her around the kitchen, both of them laughing, after she had somberly discussed his unfortunate ravioli making technique in her best documentary voice.

She thinks it’s strange how some memories become so deeply tied to objects, to places - and as she cries over a bowl of ice cream one night - food. 

--

She misses him late at night most of all, remembering the nights when they were both quiet, and she'd rest her head on his chest and he'd hold her closely to him. There wasn't much to say sometimes, but being near him felt like she was releasing a breath she didn't know she was holding.

Nights when nothing existed except the both of them in his room, when she desperately wanted him and he wanted her too, and she could lose herself in the feeling of being cared for.

Nights when he'd play an old waltz because of course he had taken classes, and he'd bow almost theatrically, his lips brushing against the back of her hand, his eyes looking as if they wanted to swallow her whole. She'd laugh at first, at her own awkward uncoordinated steps, at his attempt of a posh, aristocratic accent, but then she would rest her head on his shoulder as they swayed together, his arms around her waist, his breath against her ear as he'd whisper how beautiful she looked. And when his hands would linger, when she'd feel his eyes following her, she understood for the first time why people fell in love so quickly.

Nights when they'd both sit in the corner table on the third floor of the library, papers and books and coffee cups scattered between them, and it was only a matter of time before she'd read something that she had to tell him about, or she'd find him glancing at her instead of revising, or he'd tell her in hushed conversation an elaborate story on why the librarian had circled the floor multiple times, and they knew that from that moment on that they might as well give up on trying to study.

Nights when she'd read aloud her articles and he would act as her captive audience. She'd assume he was only pretending to listen and she couldn't blame him either, considering new floral arrangements in the public square wasn't a particularly riveting subject, but as soon as she'd finish, he would comment on all the parts he found interesting. Sometimes it would make her teary eyed and he'd look on, alarmed.

“Why are you crying? Did I say something? I take back what I said about not wanting anemones-”

She'd tackle him in a hug, his back landing on her bed, and she'd prop herself on her elbows, her nose touching his. His eyes would search her face, his fingers gently brushing through her hair, and she'd mumble, “you actually listened?”

And he would look confused, brows furrowed, “Shouldn't I have?'”

She wanted to say yes, but she was all too use to people pretending she hadn't said anything at all, so she'd bury herself into his sweater, and he'd understand, because somehow he always did, and would wrap his arms around her.

Nights when they'd sit outside in the grass under a blanket, his arm over her shoulder, and he'd tell her about where he came from, the places he had been to, where he wanted to go next (and he would turn to her and whisper, 'of course you'd be there with me') and she realized that she liked him best here, when he wasn't pretending to be anything, and she wondered as she brushed his hair away from his eyes, how many other people had seen him like this.

Nights when she was vulnerable, an accumulation of tears and stress and anxiety, and she'd apologize that he had to see her like that, but he would only squeeze her hand and quietly remind her that he didn't mind, that he didn't want to be anywhere else, with anyone else. Just because she was strong for everyone else, he told her, didn't mean she couldn't be vulnerable herself.

Sometimes his words keep her from sleeping, in fact, she can't remember the last time she's had a full night's sleep, because she's not sure if he said them out of concern, or if it was a way for him to relish in just how much she trusted him.

--

She keeps herself occupied with the newspaper and her internship, with going to football practices, concerts, and art openings. She takes it day by day, hoping that the shame, the guilt, and the insecurities will go away someday. That she'll let someone in again without having to fear an eventual betrayal. But sometimes her thoughts naturally gravitate towards him.

She can't help but see him in everything, everywhere. What would he say, what would he do, where would they go. Whether he'd laugh at her horrible pun, whether he'd agree with her new piece in the newspaper, whether he'd be impressed that she learned how to cook without burning anything.

She wonders what she would ask him if she ever saw him again. Did he care about her at all, even for a little bit, or was everything a lie from the very first moment? She's not sure if she wants the answer to that question, because she doesn't know what would be worse. That he did feel the same way the whole time, that he cared about her just as much as she cared about him, but it was doomed from the very beginning. Or that he lied, and every touch, every smile, every moment was carefully, delicately crafted, and she was naive enough to have believed every single word of it.

She doesn't want to worry her friends by telling them, she's decided that she has already put them through too much, but regardless of how hard she tries, she can't hide how tired she looks.

--

She smiles for the first time in several days when she comes home to find a mug of her favorite tea waiting for her after class with a note in Zack's neat scrawl, 'I hope you enjoy, meet me and Grant at the dog park at 4?' and she decides to go, because she figures it's time to take a step forward when everything in her heart is trying its best to pull her back.

It's far too soon, too painful to remind herself that the person she fell in love with maybe didn't exist at all. So she tries to forget, and maybe she will, and one day she'll wake up and no longer miss him.

[vantemei]

taehyung sighs as he enters his apartment, throwing his bag to land somewhere hopefully not hazardous and pulling his belt off to throw it in the same direction. as much as he loves working his dream job, modeling is not as easy as it seems. his limbs ache from holding awkward poses all day and his stomach growls with hunger from not having time to eat. on that thought taehyung drags himself to his kitchen, discarding his pants along the way so he's left in his black briefs and the silk button up he got to keep after the shoot. it's a nice off white color that goes well with his current grey hair as the stylist had pointed out. the pattering of small feet on the hardwood floor draws taehyung's attention and he smiles tiredly as yeontan comes dashing down the hallway, small puppy making a straight line to where taehyung is now crouched down to welcome the small pup.

"tan ah, i'm home. did you miss me?" it's an obvious question because the minute yeontan is in taehyung's arms he's jumping up and licking at his face and yipping happily. it makes taehyung laugh with fondness and he feels a little lighter already but he wants to cry when he opens his fridge. a head of lettuce, a tub of kimchi, a sad apple that sits bruised in the back of the second shelf, and a nearly empty jug of milk is what greets him and taehyung remembers the grocery shopping trip he blew off yesterday to get boba with jimin.

his mouth suddenly tastes like boba and bitterness and taehyung sighs heavily, too tired to work up the tears he feels stinging his eyes from frustration. "tan ah, you daddy is a fool." taehyung pouts at the puppy in his arms and yeontan yips and licks his nose, drawing another fond giggle.

his bare feet pad over the plush carpet to his bedroom and he barely strips off his shirt before he's falling onto his silk sheets, tension leaking out of his body in waves as he rolls to the middle and let's himself be enveloped by the sweet embrace of sleep, smiling as he feels his puppy wiggling himself under taehyung's arm to curl up against his chest.

an hour or two later taehyung jolts awake suddenly and sits up groggily, rubbing his eyes and looking around to try and see what woke him up. his curtains aren't drawn in his room (or anywhere else in the apartment for that matter, he much prefers natural light over artificial) and the golden ray's of the evening sun filter in through the window. yeontan still sleeps soundly beside him and taehyung idly runs a hand through his fur.

a sudden thump makes taehyung jump and his eyes go wide, suddenly very awake as he looks at where his door is cracked very slightly. he can't see his living room from the crack because of the small hallway where his bedroom is but that's definitely where the sound is coming from.

slowly getting to his feet taehyung's eyes flicker across his room. on his left draped across his closet door is his dressing gown, a gift from gucci, and on his right on the wall is his aesthetically pleasing realistic samurai sword he bought undercover at an anime convention.

another thud from the living room and taehyung jolts, grabbing the sword and pushing silently into his hallway. there's a voice mumbling something and what sounds like a muffled curse or two paired with a few more noises of someone moving stuff around.

fear chills taehyung's blood despite the warm summer breeze and taehyung bites his lip, terrified. he doesn't want to die, he has so much to do. he's hasn't been to the louvre yet! he's never been in love! jimin still owes him twenty thousand won for the time he bet taehyung to eat a ball of wasabi. yeontan still needs him!

summoning all the courage he can and sending off a last minute prayer that jimin makes sure gucci sponsors his funeral, taehyung jumps around the corner with a vicious battle cry, sword held high and ready.

when jeon jeongguk signed up to be a fireman he signed up for a life of saving lives and helping people. sometimes that does mean being the heroic man who runs into a burning building and comes out carrying a sixty year old woman and her cat but sometimes it also means doing routine fire alarm check up and being shouted at by a man in his thirties who thinks he's a government spy putting a camera in his house to spy on him. those days feel significantly less heroic but someone has to do them and jeongguk is really bad at kai bai bo.

it's a nicer complex in gangnam today which means instead of a hallway full of doors, jeongguk takes the elevator up and presses the entry code for each floor. the lower five floors have multiple apartments and as the floors go up the bigger the apartments get and the less there are per floor until the top floor that is a single apartment. most of the people jeongguk has had to deal with today have been at least politely hospitable, leaving him be to do his job and offering the rare drink.

"hello, this is the fire department. i'm here for a routine fire alarm check up, is anyone home?" jeongguk buzzes the intercom in the elevator for the last floor. it's on the highest floor so the person who lives here must make a lot. another stuck up rich person. jeongguk sighs at the thought and waits a few more minutes, trying twice more before giving up and pressing the nine digit security code into the panel in the elevator thinking the tenant must be out.

the elevator doors open into a massive room, floor to ceiling window surrounding it and the apartment is nice. it looks like more than jeongguk could afford in his life and it's decorated beautifully. the kitchen is modern and neat with white marble counter tops and an open layout. the living room is spread out with a massive tv in the wall. the living room itself looks like it's the same size as jeongguk's entire one bedroom apartment and he can't help but be amazed. far to his left is a small gated area with a bunch of small toys in it and a little bed. the gate comes up about to a little under jeongguk's knee so it's must be for a small dog.

there are various paintings on the walls and jeongguk only recognizes one of them as van gogh's almond blossoms but they're all beautiful. maybe it's an art dealer that lives here?

jeongguk shakes himself out of his marveling and makes his way to the kitchen. the kitchen is just next to the elevator and against one of the only walls that isn't a window. the fire alarm is about a third of the way up the wall and jeongguk is once again taken aback at how high the ceiling is. it must be five meters high at least.

there's a bag that's looks a bit out of place with the cleanliness of the rest of the apartment and jeongguk glances at the lion on it he recognizes vaguely as gucci. he picks the bag up and places it on the counter, out of his way as he sets the step ladder he's had to carry around all day against the wall and climbs up to begin fiddling with the alarm.

a few minutes go by of him working peacefully. there are three alarms in the apartment that he knows of. two by the kitchen and one in the hallway. jeongguk is halfway through finishing the second one when it happens.

there's a sudden scream and jeongguk whips around only to be faced with a man in briefs wielding a sword. jeongguk screams and he jerks, stool suddenly wobbly beneath him and he's falling, back slamming into the ground and air rushing out of his lungs.

"oh my god! i'm so sorry!"

jeongguk gasps for air with wide eyes as a face suddenly appears above him. honey gold skin and wide amber eyes swim into focus followed by cloud soft grey hair and plump cherry stained lips. jeongguk's feels his breath knocked out of him again, this time for a different reason.

"i though you were a sasaeng or a burgler! i'm so sorry! i didn't mean to make you fall! i mean i did but that's because i thought you were gonna steal my stuff or kidnap me! oh god im so sorry! are you ok?!"

jeongguk just gapes dumbly, mouth opening and closing like a fish as he tries to remember how to speak but he can't think of anything but the way the beauty in front of him sounds like his voice was a thunderstorm dipped in chocolate and jeongguk felt like he was drowning.

"oh my god you have brain damage don't you- i've ruined your life! i can't believe i-" the beauty looks over jeongguk's head, presumably for injuries and jeongguk suddenly remembers the mostly naked state of said beauty and can't stop himself before his eyes are wandering down. he looks like he takes bathes in honey is all jeongguk can think as he scans over his toned but slim figure, choking when his eyes come to rest on the golden barbells running through dusty pink nipples.

"ok ok you wait here and i'll get dressed and i'll get you some ice!" the beauty is gone before jeongguk can even gather himself to form a single word and no he does not stare at the way his ass moves as he disappears down the hallway ('goddamn what a snack').

by the time the beauty is back, this time dressed in black sweatpants with a red black and white snake down the left leg and loose cream button up that shows his collarbones, jeongguk has managed to make his way to the unfairly comfortable couch in the living room where he gapes just as lamely as he did on the floor as he holds the back of his head.

the beauty passes the cold pack he grabbed to jeongguk and takes a seat beside him biting his lower lip in worry.

"i'm so sorry about this, i didn't know anyone from the fire department was coming today and i thought you were a sasaeng who managed to get in. do you need me to take you to the hospital? how are you feeling?"

"i-i'm ok i just- i was surprised by the sword," jeongguk finally manages to choke out and the beauty flushes. jeongguk feel's like he's looking at the eighth wonder of the world.

"ah that. i don't really have an explanation for that? i just grabbed the first thing i saw?"

"a sword?"

beauty shrugs. "i have hobbies."

this draws a laugh out of jeongguk and the beauty looks relieved to hear it, smiling in relief.

"i'm jeon jeongguk, i'm a fireman- i guess you can tell from the shirt," the black shirt he's wearing with his jeans that says 'SEOUL FIRE DEPARTMENT' in big white letters. wow jeongguk, smooth. "i came here to check you fire alarms and make sure they're working."

"oh my god i haven't even introduced myself yet. i'm kim taehyung i'm sorry i almost attacked you with a sword." jeongguk laughs again and this time the beauty, taehyung, joins him. his laugh is just as amazing as his blush was. jeongguk's heart skips a beat.

"are you sure you feel oka- OH MY GOD!" jeongguk barely processes the horrified look on taehyung's face before his head is grabbed, gently, and pulled forward. "jeongguk-ssi you're bleeding! oh my god we need to go to the hospital!"

there's a sudden small bark and they both jolt, taehyung releasing jeongguk's head to crouch down and pick up the small dog that appeared by their feet.

"tan ah, i'm sorry baby, daddy's gotta go again ok? be a good boy for me until i'm home," taehyung presses a kiss to the puppy's head and jeongguk tries not to faint as taehyung's words hit him full force, a blush taking over his face until it must resemble gochujang.

"let me grab my keys and i'll drive you, i'm so sorry about this jeongguk-ssi." taehyung sets the puppy down in the play area jeongguk notices earlier and he dashes down the hallyway again, reappearing with a leather wallet he slips in his back pocket with his keys, dialing his phone in one hand while he helps jeongguk stand with the other.

now that they're moving jeongguk is suddenly more aware of the feeling of wetness sliding down the back of his skull and how suddenly dizzy he feels, grunting in surprise as the elevator doors open and he topples forward. strong arms wrap around his waist before he can fall more than a couple centimeters and jeongguk is pulled into a strong chest, one arm still around his waist and the other now holding a phone against taehyung's ear.

"jin-hyung! are you working today.....i need help......no i'm fine but i accidentally attacked this really hot fireman with a sword- no! that is not a euphemism!"

jeongguk giggles a little drunkenly and leans his head on taehyung's shoulder, the one his arm is over, inhaling the scent of eucalyptus and chai with a ditzy smile.

"no hyung, seriously i think he has a concussion, he's bleeding!.......yes.....yes....ok, thank you so much hyung i owe you! we'll be there in fifteen minutes."

taehyung hangs up the call and looks worriedly over at jeongguk. he seems ok aside from the dizzy look on his face and the blood that has now begun to drip down his forehead. taehyung yelps and brings his sleeve up to wipe at it, any idea of a stain not even concerning him.

they make it through through the lobby and to garage relatively easily with taehyung supporting a solid amount of jeongguk's weight before he's sitting him down on the curb and telling him to 'wait here, don't move!'. jeongguk doesn't think he could do much moving anyway, his head is really starting to throb.

jeongguk doesn't even take a second glance at the car that pulls up next to him until taehyung is by his side and helping him into it and jeongguk openly gapes as he's ushered into the black porsche. he doesn't remember much after that. he can hazily recall getting to the hospital and being helped onto a gurney but the next time he wakes up he's greeted again by wide amber eyes and the most beautiful man in the world.

[sparklingdiamant]

aurelie and babette heist au ( i changed my mind kjshdfd )

they sit like black cats in the sun, a bad omen that no one around them recognizes. hair blowing in the sweet august wind and dark sunglasses shielding their eyes, they look like any two pretty french girls, seated at a wrought iron table as they dip wooden spoons into paper cups of gelato. a glass pyramid glints in the distance, and babette leans back into her chair, sucking idly on her spoon as she glances at it.

“don’t say it,” aurelie interrupts, reaching over to take a spoonful of her friend’s flavour.

“i didn’t say anything,” babette counters.

“but you’re thinking it. i can see it.”

“because it’s possible –”

“no. nope. i’m not hearing this.”

“listen, if you really think about it –”

“huh. that’s funny. i could have sworn i told you not to say it, but here you are, about to say exactly what i don’t want you to.”

“– it’s not impossible. we could totally do.”

“aaand there it is!” aurelie slumps back into her own chair, her hands going up and falling back down in defeat as she shakes her head, “will you give it up already, babs? it’s the louvre. the fucking louvre. they’ve got more security features in there than all our other jobs had paintings. it would take a miracle just to get in there, let alone get out with something worthwhile.”

the younger woman is logical in her exasperation, and her eyebrows raise over the rim of her raybans as babette is forced to nod, growing quiet as she contemplates aurelie’s description. the darker-haired between them returning to her food. her lips jut and twist as she looks away. “you’re right. you’re right.”

“i know i am.” aurelie deadpans.

it would take a miracle –

“… so what you’re saying is that it could be done.”

babette thinks the girl is going to throw the ice cream in her face.

“excuse – how is that what you just heard?”

“you said it would take a miracle, and –”

“oh my god, babette.” aurelie flips her hand and disassociates, leaning forward to dig her spoon deeper into her gelato while ignoring anything else.

“well, no, listen!” she moves forward, snatching the paper cup from her while lowering her voice conspiratorially. “it’s -”

“that’s mine –” aurelie interjects.

“i’m obviously going to give it back to you, but just wait for a second.” 

they reach a stalemate. babette wants to be heard. aurelie wants to eat. the latter nods and humours her as a means to an end. the blonde returns the motion with a drop of her chin.

“you said it would take a miracle. are we not such a thing? we’ve taken things nobody could have dreamed of touching, careening through skies like – like – like icarus, snatching works and flying straight through the sun without getting caught. if that’s not a miracle, i don’t know what is!”

“you’re getting poetic again. we’re thieves, not romantics.”

“isn’t it one and the same?” babette grins. “robin hood had ballads, you know.”

aurelie groans, her hands going under her glasses to rub at her tired face. “i just wanted to have a nice afternoon in the sun, that’s all i wanted. was that so much to ask?”

“if we pulled this off, we could have a perfect forever in the sun. in bora bora.”

this seems to pique interest. the former singer straightens up slightly, sniffing as she eyes the older girl. babette sees her teetering on a fine precipice, about to pull one way or the other, and she lunges forward to push.

“– unless you’re scared, of course.” she smiles in a consolatory manner, eyes dancing from behind the darkness of her shades. “in which case,” she pushes forward the melting hostage, placing the gelato back into aurelie’s reach. “that’s totally understandable. i wouldn’t want to make you do anything you don’t think you’re up for.”

the stare is palpable through glasses, burning sun, and set lips. “fine.” aurelie reaches over to snatch her treat back, discarding it exasperatedly to cross her arms when she sees its become liquid. “but when we get caught hanging from our own ropes by the security guards, i’m cutting you loose and making a run for it myself.” 

babette’s teeth flash, and she passes over the remainder of her own cup.

“deal.”

[atlaswriting]

Games—the word rings in my head—like some shitty version of Life where no one wins.

He scoffs, finishing his croissant, “Why are you suddenly defending her?” he questions, leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms over his chest, “When did you become the expert on Sylvia? You know nothing about her.”

My teeth find my lip and dig in. If only he knew, I think, as I bring my coffee to my lips and drink the warmth to quell the truth. Perhaps if I burn it out, it will disappear entirely. “I’m not saying I know her. All I’m saying is that things aren’t always what they seem. Some people put up a mask because what’s underneath is worse,” I’m no longer looking at Abram, the guilt radiates out of my pores and I’m afraid that the ragged bray of my heart will give me away. “Maybe Sylvia is afraid. Afraid of you—of what you two have. Things aren’t always what they appear to be.”

Silently, I chastise myself. The last thing I should be doing is giving Sylvia more power, not when I’m so close to taking it away. Instead of continuing I shrug, forcing my lips apart into a toothy grin, “I don’t know what I’m saying. I must have romantic movies on the brain. Forget it.”

Abram stares back at me; unmoving eyes that threaten to pull out all my secrets. I shift under his gaze and shake my head, “My mom isn’t always like that,” I start, changing the subject. Abram’s ever-present skepticism weighs heavily, “She and my aunt don’t get along—my papa had an affair with Anais’ mom, Mia. From what Anais’ told me she was a painter, spending most of her career restoring paintings in the Louvre,” I pick apart the croissant in front of me, deciding then to drop it in front of Abram who inhales it, “Papa fell in love with Mia, he was captivated by her—she was just like Anais, free as the wind. He was going to leave my grandmother but she wouldn’t allow him a divorce. Mia committed suicide a few years later and Anais came to live with them.”

I can’t contain the jealousy that seeps into my tone. Envy grows wicked around my throat at how easy it was for Mia to choose death, to curl into the darkness and get so lost reality becomes a memory—because that was better than living in her heartbreak.

“Cerise did her best to make him love her but she was exactly like her mother and for that he resented her,” I glance up at Abram, “it runs in my family. Being like our mother’s, I mean—it’s like a disease.”

I try to laugh but the air struggles to leave my throat.

“Do you want to go?” I ask before he has a chance to say anything I stand from the table and pull him out of the café.

We walk along the streets of Paris; I wrap my arm around Abram’s the cold seeping into his hoodie and sticking to my bones.

“Where are you taking me?”

“If I told you, that would ruin the surprise,” I tease.

We walk a few more minutes, Abram more than half holding me up. Between the cold and the heels, I’m a mess. But the lights are glaring and I can only look at him and smile.

“You brought me to a bridge?”

Rolling my eyes my tongue clicks against the roof of my mouth, “The most beautiful sight in Paris,” I stress, “prettier than the Eiffel Tower and less busy. It’s the Pont Alexandre III, it’s gorgeous and old—and everything I love about this place. It’s beautiful during the day but look at it,” I say admiring the architecture, the arch of the bridge—the large lights that decorate the white and gold, “it’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah, me too.”

I tear my eyes away from the bridge, turning my attention toward Abram who hasn’t stopped looking at me. “Have you even taken a look at it?”

He grins, shaking head and turning his attention straight, “Okay—fine, it’s a pretty bridge. But have you seen the Zakim in Boston? That lights up.”

“You’re going to be the death of me. Come on.”

I pull him across the bridge, stopping in the middle between two light posts. The grand design captivates me, steals the breath inside of my lungs.

“I used to come up here when I was younger. I’d run away from my mother and she would always find me here,” I turn my body toward the bridge, placing my hands on the stone and pulling myself up. I lean over and Abram turns with a start, hands around my waist but I shake him off. “Before she’d find me, I used to stare down at the water and wonder how cold it was—how deep it was—how much it would hurt if I jumped,” leaning my head to the side I look down, the water is now covered in a thin sheet of ice, snow falling lazily on top, “I can swim though—but I always thought if I jumped, maybe I wouldn’t want to. Maybe my arms and my legs will forget how.”

“Elise.” Abram’s tone is hard, a warning.

I slip my heels off my feet and let them fall to the ground beside Abram. Standing, I stead myself by grabbing onto the post of a light and Abram follows, arms held out, he’s saying something but all I notice is his mouth moving, “I used to hope that if I jumped I would just disappear, be forgotten, a candle out too soon.” I toy with death, pointing one foot over the edge away from Abram, leaning against my other foot.

“Elise, get down.” He demands, fingers curling and uncurling just itching to reach up and grab me—but we both know that if he isn’t careful down I go—Alice into her Wonderland.

Biting my lip, I look back at him and smile, “It’s so easy, Abram,” there’s a manic happiness in my tone, unsettling and ugly, “It would be so easy.” I lean forward again but this time Abram makes his move. One hand wraps around my steady ankle while he reaches with his other to pull at the oversized hoodie, tugging me down into him.

“What is wrong with you, Elise?” Abram presses me against the stone, hands secured around my face, anger falls out of his mouth like tiny bullets, aiming for my chest—but my skin’s gone numb and though I don’t feel it now, I will later. “Why do you insist on looking at everything and everyone like we’re disposable? Jason, me, your life,” his body keeps me pinned to the bones of the bridges; unlike mine it is sturdy, dependable. Unlike mine, the slightest shake won’t raze it to the ground.

His grip loosens on my face just slightly but he doesn’t move any further away, his breath is hot and fast. My silence sends a comet of frustration hurdling into Abram’s chest and he releases me, moving away with a loud grunt.

I shrug as I pick up my heels, leaning over the edge of the walkway and hailing a cab. One stops and I side in, defiantly, Abram sits beside me.

“You may be nothing like your father, Abram,” I start, as the heat of the cab begins to de-thaw my senses, “but I’m everything like my mother. You’ll see it eventually.”

He doesn’t argue and I don’t expect him to. I watch as the city moves by in colorful blurs, the silence is inescapable until we reach home. Abram’s out first, rushing toward the front door as I pay the driver and follow suit.

Anais and my mother are sitting in the dark as soon as I find my way into the living room. My aunt presses her lips into a thin line when she notices me and excuses herself.

“Elise, asseyez-vous.”

I do as I’m told and sit across from her. My mother reaches over, hand stroking my cheek. It takes everything I have in me not to recoil from her touch.

“I’m sorry about earlier, mon cher. Work has me stressed. I was unaware you were in contact with Anais—you know how I feel about surprises,” I find myself nodding, “what you saw—what you think you saw—it wasn’t reality. Malachi didn’t cause these bruises, I got hurt at work.”

“I never took you for a klutz.” I argue.

Cerise shrugs, “Accidents happen. I would appreciate it if you treated Malachi with a little more respect, Elise. He’s going to be an important constant in our lives.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Slowly, she pulls herself to stand, hovering over me—like any good mirror, I mimic her, “I just mean he’s going to be around for a while.”

Cerise starts to leave, but then stops suddenly, “One more thing, cher, you’re beginning to look like a puppy, following that boy around, heart in your hands—waiting for him to give you scraps from his bed.”

Brows crease together and I cross my arms over my chest, “And what’s so wrong with that, mother?”

“If you aren’t careful you could lose everything.” The threat in her words is sharp.

“Maybe it’s worth it,” I challenge.

Cerise laughs, fingers reaching out to rub the fabric of my dress between them, “And what are you without…” she drops it and looks back up at me, “all of this?”

I wait for the devil to disappear back to Hell before my feet feel it’s safe to walk again. I allow them to carry me destinationless through the building. No longer am I surprised when they lead me back to Abram’s door. I’ve come to realize that my heart is a compass and Abram will always be my true North.

As I reach for the knob, my phone vibrates in the hoodie pocket.

Kai: I’m sorry I blocked you.

Kai: I’ve been thinking a lot. Talking to friends. This isn’t easy for me so I know it can’t be any easier for you. You can be careless when it comes to me, but I love you. I don’t think I’ll ever stop.

Kai: I’m sorry.

Kai: Forgive me?

My fingers linger terribly close to the knob but the sudden crack in my heart would put the liberty bell to shame. I pull my hand away quick and turn my back on the door, on Abram and on everything I thought I had wanted with him.

Nothing will change.

This isn’t a movie, I don’t get the boy.

Given the choice, Abram will always choose Sylvia.

Buried beneath plush blankets, scrubbed clean of my almost-death and mother’s touch, I look at my phone again and start to type the biggest lie I’ve ever told:

I don’t know if I love you anymore.

[easytravelpw-blog]

Full text write on https://easy-travel.pw/top-15-monuments-and-historic-sites-in-paris/france/

Top 15 Monuments and Historic Sites in Paris

01 of 16

Monuments Marking Paris’ Rich History

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Paris is a city with a rich history that stretches back to the third century B.C. It is no surprise, then, that important Paris monuments are so numerous, breathtaking, and varied in terms of period and architectural style. From Roman-era ruins to post-World War II memorials, these famous sites and monuments in the City of Light are essential keys to understanding the city's elaborate and complicated past. 

Before you go, also check out which are the 10 most visited tourist attractions and top 10 museums in Paris. Make a plan to visit those sites that appeal to you most.

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02 of 16

Notre-Dame Cathedral

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Dating to the 12th century, Notre Dame dramatically towers alongside the banks of the Seine River, beckoning all to come to visit. It's simply breathtaking, with its intricate Gothic architectural details that took workers over a century to complete. Other stunning details are its flying buttresses; its famed bell tower from which one can still imagine Hugo's Quasimodo carrying out his duties; the scary and humorous gargoyles; and the stained-glass rose window inside. If you have extra time, make sure to visit the archaeological crypt at Notre Dame to learn more about the history of its construction and other fascinating elements. 

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03 of 16

Eiffel Tower

Aurelien Meunier/Getty Images News

When one of the world's most famous landmarks was presented as part of the 1889 World Exposition in Paris, many decried it as an eyesore on the city's horizon and demanded its removal. Who would have thought then, that the Eiffel Tower would become such an enduring and beloved icon of the City of Light? Before you go, learn the about the Eiffel Tower's interesting facts.

If you can, avoid visiting at peak hours and on weekends, so you can make the most of your visit and really enjoy the views from the top. The best times are just after it first opens and in the evenings.

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04 of 16

The Louvre Palace and Museum

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When most think of the Louvre, it's thought of as a museum, but it was a fortress and palace long before it became a world center for art. The palace is a testament to its rich history spanning from the medieval period to the present. Visiting the Louvre's Medieval foundation is fascinating. The adjacent Tuileries Gardens are perfect for a stroll before or after your visit to the museum. There is so much to see at the Louvre, don't try to pack it into just one day.

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05 of 16

Arc de Triomphe

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Looming 164 feet above the bustling traffic circle at the head of the Avenue des Champs-Elysees, the Arc de Triomphe seems to exemplify pomp and circumstance. You just do not get structures like these anymore. The arch is an icon of imperial France under Napoleon I and is a testament to a time when European leaders felt no shame in erecting massive structures in the service of their equally massive egos. Many do not bother to take the tour to the top, but the views over the elegant avenue stretching all the way to the Place de la Concorde, through the Tuileries, and on to the Louvre is more than worthwhile.

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06 of 16

The Sorbonne and the Latin Quarter

Joachim Hiltmann/Getty Images

You can almost picture it: a student roaming the halls of the Sorbonne with dusty old books clutched underarm, or, that same student sipping cafe perched in its old square situated in the St-Michel neighborhood in the Latin Quarter. One of Europe's oldest and most esteemed universities, the Sorbonne was founded in 1257, but studies here were initially exclusively theological. This is because, during the Medieval period, scholarship was almost exclusively the domain of monks, scribes, and other figures attached to the Catholic Church. Of course, in later centuries, the Sorbonne would go on to help produce some of Europe's most famous minds, before becoming a site of revolt during the 1968 student movements. After you have had your fill of the school, take a step into the Old Latin Quarter: the Rue Mouffetard district.

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07 of 16

The Pantheon

CALLE MONTES / Getty Images

The Pantheon is a neoclassical-style mausoleum where many of France's great minds like Voltaire, Rousseau, and Victor Hugo are buried. It was built between 1758 and 1790. From the Pantheon, a distant Eiffel Tower can be seen. Stop by the Pantheon during a stroll in the Latin Quarter.

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08 of 16

Pere Lachaise Cemetery

Graham Monro/Gm photographics/Getty Images

There are many beautiful cemeteries within Paris, Pere Lachaise is one of most popular and loveliest. In addition to hosting the graves of famous souls from Oscar Wilde, playwright Moliere, and Jim Morrison of the Doors, the cemetery is simply a gorgeous place to stroll and meditate. There are also important war memorials on the site that pay tribute to the many who perished in conflicts and wars. 

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09 of 16

La Sainte Chapelle

tmal / Pixabay

Not far from Notre Dame on the Ile de la Cite looms another pinnacle of gothic architecture. Sainte Chapelle was erected in the mid-13th century by King Louis IX. The cathedral features some of the period's best-conceived stained glass, housing a total of 15 glass panels and a prominent large window, whose colors remain surprisingly vibrant. Wall paintings and elaborate carvings place more emphasis on the stunning Medieval beauty of Sainte Chapelle.

To extend your visit, you can tour the adjoining Conciergerie, part of the former Medieval royal palace. It was used as a prison during the Revolutionary “Terror.” Queen Marie Antoinette spent her last days there before being executed.

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10 of 16

Opera Garnier

Gabrielle & Michel Therin-Weise / robertharding / Getty Images

Seating 2,200 people, the imposing Opera Garnier in Paris—also known as the Palais Garnier or simply the Paris Opera—is an architectural treasure and essential spot for the city's ballet and classical music scene.

Designed by Charles Garnier and inaugurated in 1875 as the Academie Nationale de Musique Theatre de l'Opera (National Academy of Music Opera Theater), the neo-baroque style building is the home of the Paris ballet. The city's official opera company relocated to the starkly contemporary Opera Bastille in 1989.

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Hotel de Cluny and Roman Baths

12019 / Pixabay

The Hotel de Cluny is a Medieval residence that now houses the National Medieval Museum. The famous tapestry, “The Lady and the Unicorn,” is displayed there. Situated in the historic Latin Quarter, not far from the Sorbonne, the Hotel de Cluny boasts a Medieval-style aromatic garden that provides a pleasant spot for a stroll or for reading on a bench in the spring or summer.

The ruins of Roman Empire thermal baths can also be seen on-site. One of the museum's rooms, the tepidarium, was originally the “warm room” from the baths.

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Palais Royal Gardens

Nico De Pasquale Photography / Getty Images

Situated between the Louvre and the Opera Garnier is a Renaissance-style palace that was once the residence of the Cardinal Richelieu. Today, occupied by luxury boutiques and restaurants, as well as several government offices, the Palais Royal was for centuries the center of royal amusement. French playwright Moliere occupied a theater that once stood here with his troupe. It has since burned down, twice.

The stately palais and accompanying gardens are a very pleasant place for a stroll, cafe, or whirl around high-end shops, while Daniel Buren's quirky modern sculpture adds an interesting contrast to the old-world charm.

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Hotel de Ville (City Hall)

Santiago Urquijo / Getty Images

Yet another “hotel” that is most certainly not a hotel in the English sense, Paris' Renaissance-style City Hall sits proudly in the center of Paris. It was built in 1873 on the vast plaza that was once called “Place de la Greve,” a site notorious for gory public executions during the Medieval period.

Today, Hôtel de Ville hosts events throughout the year like free exhibits, concerts during the summer, and ice-skating during the winter months. It can be a glorious sight in its lit evening guise.

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Les Invalides

Juan Carlos Cordovez-Mantilla / Wikimedia Commons / CC BY-SA 3.0

This vast complex was built as a hospital and convalescent home for injured soldiers under the reign of Louis XIV. Part of Les Invalides maintains this role today, but it is most famous for housing the tomb of Napoleon Bonaparte. The on-site Musée de l'Armée (Army Museum) boasts a vast collection of military artifacts and an elaborate armory.

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Saint Denis Basilica

Christophe Lehenaff / Getty Images

Just north of Paris in a working-class suburb is one of France's oldest sites of Christian worship and its most famous abbey—a burial place for 43 kings and 32 queens. The Saint Denis Basilica, whose current edifice was built sometime between the 11th and 12th centuries, served as a royal burial site from as early as the fifth century. With its sculpted tombs and flamboyant Gothic details, this often-overlooked gem is worth a trip outside the city limits.

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Deportation Memorial

Jon Boyes / Getty Images

This sober memorial pays tribute to the 200,000 people (mostly Jews) who were deported to Nazi death camps from France during World War II. Erected in 1962 on the banks of the Seine (across from Notre Dame) and on the site of a former morgue, the Deportation Memorial was designed by architect G.H. Pingusson to evoke a sense of claustrophobia and despair.

One part of the memorial features an “eternal flame of hope” and an inscription reading the following: “Dedicated to the living memory of the 200,000 French deportees sleeping in the night and the fog, exterminated in the Nazi concentration camps.”

Nearby, you can visit the Paris Museum of Jewish Arts and History.

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[thevamplelio]

[ play ]  –  for the sender’s muse to run their hand up the receiver’s shoulder and play with the hair at the base of their neck as a means of comfort. - @ofravensandseas

@ofravensandseas

"You are toying with a wolf, Monsieur, but I trust that was your intention, was it not?"

[thevamplelio]

❝ do you fear me like they do ? ❞ - Mer!Mel (via telepathy bc she doesn’t speak French)

Lestat cannot help but laugh quietly to himself. But he restrains the viciousness, for now.

'Not exactly, no... at least, I wouldn't characterize it as fear..."

[thevamplelio]

"Did you just kiss me?" - Mel

from here. / @rosenundraben

"Why do you sound so surprised my dear?" Lestat questioned as if he wasn't likewise doing the same-- under the same circumstances, scrutinizing the legitimacy of it all.

Then, just to make sure she didn't forget he took hold of one of Mel's hands gently and moved up her arm with soft respectful kisses trailing up the sleeve before he stopped at her mouth and kissed her hard, but not hard enough to bruise.

[thevamplelio]

“A band with a shitty name is, 10 times out of 10, a shitty band.” Mel snarked as she lit up the cigarette in between her lips.

@rosenundraben

"Yes, also-- by extension, a tedious person with no sense of fun and the most average of backgrounds is a tedious person with no sense of fun and the most average of sorts. I can't even give a man like that the benefit of the 'under-dog' or 'every-man'," Lestat said in something like a rather low annoyed hiss. He isn't still mad over that particular Yankee, is he? Depends on who you ask.

[thevamplelio]

“Alles gute zum Geburtstag!” - Your favorite Sauerkraut

@rosenundraben

"It was in November, ma chérie, but, I concede the point, it is never too late to celebrate one's coil as it were, mortal or otherwise."

[thevamplelio]

“Well, if you wanted a cigarette, Fränzie, you could have just asked.”

@rosenundraben

Don't get too cocky-- remember what you are, and how it always turns out, Lestat lied to themselves. Then, sighing half mockingly Lestat said, "If you wished to proposition me for more than just a cigarette, you know, I am perhaps the least likely sort to refuse."