#misterieuse

[patrickdfr]

📸🎞📸 ✨un rayon de soleil peu changer la vie …😍😍 🥇modele: @chinoasiane ❤️‍🔥 ▫️ 🔸 ▫️ 🔸 ▫️ 🔸#modelephoto #modelesactuelles #modeleparis #modeleasiatique #modeleunique #modelefrancaise #misterieuse #photographeparis #fotografoemparis #portraitphotography #egerie #musephotoshoot #asianbeautygram #modelephotofrance #patrickdfr_photography #lumieredujour #rayondesoleil (à Paris 13e) https://www.instagram.com/p/Co-WdsGtWQBb9d1xbxg-kJAgV6ezJnpq9FeKSs0/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#modelephoto #modelesactuelles #modeleparis #modeleasiatique #modeleunique #modelefrancaise #misterieuse #photographeparis #fotografoemparis #portraitphotography #egerie #musephotoshoot #asianbeautygram #modelephotofrance #patrickdfr_photography #lumieredujour #rayondesoleil

[versegm]

Started thinking about the Mysterious Cities of Gold again and I'm gonna start fucking chewing through the wall. Esteban being the "Son of the Sun," much like his quest for the cities of gold, is symbolic. Whether he actually can call forth the Sun or not is irrelevant. It's another metaphor for the fact that Esteban is someone who, fundamentally, does not belong anywhere. Because being the Son of the Sun means to be akin to a god, and, most importantly, it means not being human. That's why Esteban denies any affiliation with the Sun at every turn, even in situations where this actively endangers him. Acknowledging even the possibility that he might control the Sun means acknowledging that there is something that separates him from others in way he can never hope to fix. And for Esteban, someone who is desperate to find a place, any place, where he can belong, that is simply unacceptable.

#mcog #the mysterious cities of gold #les misterieuses cités d'or

[earenwen-leafwhisper]

Not wanted (part 1)

Pairing : Daemon Targaryen x Chubby fem reader

Summer : "The silver hair of the prince was blown by the slight breeze, his purplish gaze burned with an anger worthy of his dragon. Y/n although set back could observe the scene unfolding in front of her eyes. Daemon was in front of her father, Dark sister in hand."

Author’s note: hello, I post the first part of "Not wanted" now, so you don’t wait as much. Part two will probably be published during the week or else it will be two publications on Sunday. I hope you enjoy this first part. Enjoy your reading.

Trigger warning: mistakes have undoubtedly had to pass my vigilance, English not being my mother tongue they will be corrected.

Ao3 profile : Earenwen_Leafwhisper

---

There is a feeling, or will it be instinct, which tells you quietly that you are not wanted in a place, it can happen everywhere, whether in school, in the street, at work, but also in the family.

This feeling grows over time and it is not pleasant, the worst being the evening when the truth comes out. When your father is drunk with all the alcohol he has drunk since the beginning of the afternoon explains to you that you will never be born, that your life you owe to your mother who wanted more than anything in the world a child. That explains, a lot of things, like never having a "congratulations" when you achieve something, or a "I’m proud of you, I love you my daughter". No. Never, just "Did you see how fat you are?" "Stop reading", "Why don’t you read?" , being cut off at every moment, "Shut up!" followed by "Why don’t you answer me?". Little by little, all your self-esteem eventually crumbles, by a member of your closest family. There is also this question, "What would I do alone?" The moments when you imagine running away.

Being born on Westeros is not a dream life, whether we are peasants or nobles, we have our own personal hell. Yours is your father. Although not wanted, your father decided to do something with you, and marrying a second-rate lord was a good solution. His son, born of a first union, was already married to a lady from your region, strengthening the ties of the two families.

His son, he saw it differently, for him he had nothing to reproach himself. But to all the others, he was a frightful asshole, who amused himself by threatening servants and lords of smaller house than yours. Manipulating everyone around you, going so far as to threaten you, morally and physically, explaining clearly, that the day your father died, he would put you at the door of your castle. But you were just a ball and chain. Your father did not want to marry you, at the very beginning, prefer that no one speaks of you or shows interest, waiting for the coming years, he ends up wanting to see you leave with a lord, he could not see you when he was drunk, insulting you with various sentences, more or less painful, explaining that nobody would want you, the least that nothing. Deep down, he was bubbling, refusing to accept that someone was interested in you.

During the various tournaments in which he participated as spectator, he tried to find you a husband in vain, he reproached you, while it was his fault, because no lords had seen you in the flesh. The lords are trying hard to convince him to get you out of the castle, wanting to see who this misterieuse young woman was.

A date was chosen, those of the games organized by Lord Baratheon, for the adoubement of his eldest son.

---

To say that you were surprised would have been an understatement, your father, one morning sober, warned you or rather ordered you to be present at the games organize for the son Baratheon. Your mind worked very quickly, you felt fear mounted within you, your whole body became warm, your heart throbbing, you felt your blood flowing at the level of your temples, your hands became sweatly. With time you had learned not to believe the good news coming from your father because to each of them, hid a dark face, turning against you.

You instinctively understood that something was wrong. He had never wanted you to accompany the "family", you learned to appreciate the fact of not participating in banquets, the only semblance of banquets in which you had participated was in your very young childhood, during which only the houses vassal to yours participated and at the same time make your acquaintance, having seen you as a child at your mother’s side. Whether it was a courtesy visit or in the most difficult moments, you, the child who tried to do well to please his parents, but ended up seeing his father drunk, yelling at the guests who contradicted him on anything, (whether on the land or on the alcohol he ate) and who fell asleep on one of the benches aligned against a wall of the room, a knight winning up to your nurse in order to sleep safely.

As you grew up, you would stay back, observing in the dark the rare events taking place in your castle, seeing from your apartments, your brother’s wedding, do not participate in the festivities. In a sense you were grateful, you did not want to play this open-air play, where false pretenses were common, you could only wish good luck to the servants, knowing more than very well, that their work and reprimands would be much more severe than usual

Now you had to participate, was it a new way to humiliate yourself? To have you away from the castle so that your brother could make it his stronghold and abandon you in a place that you were unknown?

All possible reasons paraded in your mind, not even trying to find optimism in them.

---

The area of your family was quite far from the stromlands, the journey was long and winding, the summer was coming to an end, the roads formed of a mixture of earth and large stones, you avoided the forests anticipate the slightest attack of bandits who could have hidden in the trees and depths of the forest. You were traveling for the first time outside your castle and your father did not want to worry about looting in addition to having you nearby.

There were two carriages, in the first was your father, a mestre and his advisor. You were present in the second, more modest, made only of wood, without ornaments, made of the rest of the wood of an old carriage, a servant was at your side, helping you to sew a new dress, for the dinner in which you and your father would participate, dinner to help you find a husband. «New», was not the right word, you used fabric of old dresses that belonged to you to make your work. The jerky movements of the carriage made it difficult to sew, more than once you had pricked your fingers, fortunately there was no taste of blood spilled.

Your journey was calm, you stayed in the carriage most of the time, leaving only when you had no choice, escorted by your servant and a knight, you avoid your father, who over the days used up the small reserve of wine he took with him when you left. The less alcohol there was and the faster he started to be irritable. The slightest thing that was contrary to his desires was directly criticized, whether it was the singing of birds early in the morning, the wind blowing a little too loudly, or a knight of one’s armor needed to be oiled. Everything was a pretext for his moods, the rare moments when he was sober and asked how you lived the journey, and his drinking crises where he remembered for an eternal time painful moments for all and reproaching you, even if you had nothing in it.

---

After more than a fortnight of travel, you finally arrived on the edge of the ramparts of Storm’s End, gave you the impression of being gloomy, all its shades of dark color, made you think of the tales that your nanny told you before going to sleep. Your servant looked through the opening of the carriage opposite to yours, observing the little distance that separated you from your destination.

"My lady! Look! In the sky!"

Surprised by her sudden change in behavior, you looked, trying to understand why she had reacted in this way.

You squinted slightly, trying to look towards the clouds that were beginning to gather above the stromlands. It was just clouds, nothing new, just big gray clouds with white reflections. Whatever… There you seemed to see a darker point, moving, appearing and disappearing, moving in movements that did not seem to come from the wind. The more you concentrated, the more you had the impression that it was getting bigger and bigger. Your throbbing heart, you didn’t understand what you see.

"Sir Percival, do you see this form moving in the clouds?"

Sir Percival was a knight of of family who was loyal to yours for several generations, long before the conquest of Westeros by Aegon the conqueror. Percival seemed to be close to your father’s age, as far as you could remember, you had always known her. He had always encouraged you when you were a child doing a task that seemed impossible to you, unlike your father who always found subject to criticism.

Sir Percival mounted on his horse’s saddle, lifted his head, you could see from his profile that he was concentrating, you could see fine wrinkles forming in the corner of the eye that you could see.

“It seems Lady Y/n, that it is, a dragon.”

"A dragon?"

“Lady Rhaenys Targaryen is a cousin of the Baratheon House through her mother. It would not surprise me that other Targaryen would have been invited. Although tensions are still high between the two houses, with regard to the iron thrones. "

“Thank you Sir”

"With pleasure Lady Y/n"

When you put your head in the carriage you began to imagine how big the shape could become, what their dragon riders might look like. Lost in your thoughts, you whispered a sweet.

“Dragons…”

---

Tents stood against the ramparts of the city that was facing the castle. The long and heavy linen fabrics covered them, a ballet of color paraded on both sides of the central aisle. Shades of blue, green, yellow and other warm and cold colors contrasted against the walls of an anthracite gray. The tents closest to the doors were intended for the most noble houses and more precisely for their knights, small paths were formed between the tents, taking visitors in the direction of the tents of the vassal houses, whose tents became increasingly modest according to their ranks and riches.

From inside the carriage, you and your servant could smell scents of roasted meats, grilled vegetables and soups. The smells came from the outskirts of the enormous camp, where servants of vassal houses prepared meals on oak tables, suspended above the campfires, stood pots where various soups and stews marinated. Looking from the openings of the carriage, you could see the knights helping from their squires moving armor, swords, masses and shields towards the forges moving from the city to the camp. The noises they heard were a mixture of words, metal clapping, the neighing of horses and clogs clapping on the ground.

The coach stopped slowly arriving at the level of the places defined at the location of the future tents. Your house was not one of the largest houses of Westeros, but had known to keep its independence from the largest houses, bend the knee only in front of the Targaryen house, after several years of fierce war. Some people in your family had kept a deep resentment towards silver hair, prefer to have links with other houses in Westeros, hence their placement. Coming out of the carriage, you looked around, taking the time to remember every moment, knowing that she would risk being married to a person she did not know at the end of the games.

Your house was placed between the Stark and Tully houses. You had never met a person of the two houses, hearing of them only by the few bits of words coming from messenger or by the books about the conquest of Aegon. The people coming out of the main tent of the Stark house were preparing the beds, moving the weapon and armor racks, they too had to arrive shortly before you.

"You do not speak without permission, you do not look a lord or a lady in the eye, keep your head down, and most importantly! Don’t make me ashamed!"

The words of your father came out of your thoughts, since your departure from the castle, he had not spoken to you directly, you understood that he would not speak to you more, and kissed the head you understood that it was the best solution for the moment, no one present knew you except the knights of your house, no one would have stood up for you.

Sir Percival descended from his horse, standing beside you. He put his hand against your shoulder.

"Don’t worry Lady Y/n, I’m here."

You sighed softly, feeling the weight of the years under your father’s yoke continue to pressure you.

"Shall I wait here until the tents are up?"

"No my lady, your father allows you to go around the camp, under the supervision of a knight."

"In that case, will you be prepared to accompany Sir Percival?"

"Of course."

Sir Percival, bowed gently in the direction of the young woman, letting his young squire take the reins of his horse, helmet under his arm, the knight began to walk beside the young woman, understanding more than his lord that the young woman needed it.

---

You felt several glances resting on you, despite everything you tried to keep your head high, constantly repeating to you, that your father did not see you, that he could not have concrete proof on your posture. The lord closest to your father looked at Sir Percival, recognizing the knight who at times accompanied Lord Y/f/n, they all watched the young woman round, recognizing for the most observant, the few features she shared with her father. So she was the young woman?

Murmurs began to roam the tents, first of all the less noble houses, clearly understanding that it was their chance to assert their houses in order to win ranks to theirs. The noblest houses were the most reluctant, the lords knew enough Y/f/n to know that your presence was hiding something. Never had your father talked about you, no hint, nothing. You could be legitimate just like a bastard they knew nothing about. A union between the two families by your blood did not guarantee the loyalty of the Y/h/n family, or even your legitimacy. There was still a positive point, your house, was known to have stood up to the Targaryen, it was powerful, but the disadvantage came from one man. Lord Y/f/n Y/h/n. Your father. Who of his problems with alcohol, became one of the most detestable men of Westeros, be it his words invaded with a hatred towards any man not thinking in the same way as him, refusing the slightest annoyance, and his bad manners, he turned and farted without any shame, whether during dinners, the shawl or in interviews when they took place at night.

Some shameless lords were already beginning to want to bring their sons closer, thinking they understood that your father could be overthrown quickly in case of an alliance, but the knight accompanying you watched over the grain, He threw black glances at people who observed too insistently his protégé. Fortunately all the families present were not insistent, greeting you simply out of politeness, resuming their activities just after.

From your walk in the central aisle, you could see the affinities of noble houses from their positions, the north remained mainly between them, the south with the south and then there were some houses that did not remain according to their geolocations on Westeros, But by their wedding rings, the children came and went from tents to tents, laughing at each other in a game that annoyed adults.

Looking at them you felt a slight pinch in the heart, you had never known a real moment of innocence to play with other children except one or two children of servants who ended up punished. Only your nanny and some knights kept you company, trying to alleviate the boredom of the little girl you were.

But of all the looks on you, you could never have imagined that one of them would have made you miss a heartbeat.

---

From both ends of the long alley stood two very large tents, of red and black color. From the location that the house Y/h/n, moving in the direction of the right stood the largest and most flamboyant in its shades of red, it was almost contiguous to the large door, this one raised flags of a red tricephal dragon on a black background. Many knights and servants moved in and around the tent, but no silver heads were visible.

“The king is very weak, he must have sent fighters on his behalf for the games.”

It was Percival, who saw the curiosity in your eyes, had spoken.

“In this case, who owns the second tent? It also carries the dragon.”

Percival concentrated, trying to understand why the Targaryen could have been divided into two parts. The Velaryons stood between the royal tent and the knights fighting under the banner of the Baratheon. In this case, the crown wanted to show that the union between the houses was maintained, although the princess was not the future queen. Who was in the second tent? To this Percival had no answer.

"I’m afraid I don’t know, lady Y/n. "

“It is nothing, we will probably learn in the coming days.”

You were right, when you returned to the tent of your house, you could see the second Targaryen tent grow. Unlike the royal tent, it was mainly composed of linen from a jet black. Two banners in the colors of the Targaryen were placed on both sides of the opening. There was very little movement around, the tent seemed almost deserted.

Almost.

A snap of armor was heard, you turned around at the same time as Percival and saw several knights walking quickly in your direction, Percival just had time to grab your arm and shoot at him, preventing you from being rushed. Slightly under the surprise, you did not pay much attention to the number of knights, or even to the fact that they did not apologize. The only thing that captivated your attention was a hair color that you had never seen beyond book to screen, silver hair, your eyes very easily found those that belonged to the person with silver hair. The purple eyes were almost hypnotic, you never thought possible that it exists, it took you a few seconds to turn away, not without fighting. In front of you, a man who seemed barely older walked, he was dressed in black with small touches of dark red. If at first the man’s gaze was surprised, it was quickly changed by a smirk. You felt your breath stay in your throat, time seemed to you to last an eternity. Although in reality your exchange of gaze did not last more than two minutes.

Percival with his protective arm around you, looked at the man younger than him, he growled. He understood why a second tent was present. Prince Daemon Targaryen would participate in his games, and this no longer in Percival. The prince since the appointment of Viserys as successor to the throne, was in dispute with the royal family, rumors about his adventures in the bordelles spanked numerous as his disrespect for people he did not see as his equal, refusing the arranged marriage with Lady Rhea Royce. The rogue prince was not someone the fathers wanted their daughters to meet. Percival though merely your protector feared that the prince would fall under his spell, not for the punishment he would have had, but he only wanted to protect you.

---

On the first night, Y/f/n ordered his knights and servants to keep you inside your tent, refusing to let you speak to anyone before he begins the bargain of your future marriage. He didn’t want you to undermine his progress, not noticing your look lost in the void.

Although you could not get out of the tent, the servants kept the entrance open allowing everyone to see what was happening outside, finding agreements with the servants of the nearby noble houses to say nothing to their lords.

You were sitting near the entrance and looking out, seeing that the movements of the day had faded by the time the noblest houses had come to the opening dinner of the games. You kept hoping you could see the silver-haired man again before your father came back, but he didn’t seem to have left his tent.

This is what you believed, because under a cloak with the hood up, the young prince was out, wanting to enjoy the night outside the large camp. He saw you from the corner of his eye, a servant was taking care of your hair (long/short, thin/thick, lise/curly/frizzy, etc.) y/hair/c.

Daemon was intrigued, he had already met your father on very rare occasions, as well as your half-brother. Oh more than once, the desire for murder had risen in his mind, he could still bear the Baratheons, but these two men, were detestable. Daemon wondered who this round young woman was, having never heard of her. Something in her attracted him, but he did not know what it was and he did not like it.

---

The night gave way to the days, the first games started at dawn, the archery tournament was on the outskirts of the city, long lines of targets next to each other butted in front of wooden bleachers. Ropes prevented the peasants from meeting the nobles. Your house was divided in two, the closest to the ground you were sitting with your servant, you had to keep your head low, feeling the heavy look of your father in the back, this one was two rows above you.

Daemon, from his place, standing back from the royal family, held a goblet of wine in his left hand, he tried to keep his gaze in the direction of the archers who were advancing, but was without hope. His gaze turned away at the slightest opportunity in your direction, he could see that since night, your posture had changed. From a straight posture, you had bent the spine letting appear some curves that he had not yet seen and which did not displease him, observing what was behind you, he saw Y/f/n, of which the black look was directed in your direction, while he seemed to speak with the lord next to him. Daemon despised this scene.

“You seem to be more interested in the Y/h/n house than in the tournament, my prince.” a lord who Daemon had forgotten the name, just spoken.

"If you please, my prince, it would seem that Lord Y/h/n wishes to bride his daugther although with her age I doubt that the lords are interested, they prefer them younger."

This lord annoyed Daemon, whether by his words or by his innuendo.

“At the same time, what did he think of his daughter, she only whas the second child, and of a second wife, his son will inherit everything.”

The second child… Daemon knew what it was like to be the second, more than anyone else.

---

#daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x chubby reader #daemon x chubby reader #daemon targeryen x reader #house of the dragon fanfiction

[upennmanuscripts]

Manuscript Monday: Ms. Codex 1668 - Cabale misterieuse de 150 pseaumes du Roy David (Video Orientation)

Dot Porter, Curator, Digital Research Services at the University of Pennsylvania Library, presents a video orientation to Ms. Codex 1668, instructions on the magical use of the psalms divided into one section for each psalm. The text begins with an introduction explaining that the magic of the psalms may only be used by those with faith, humility, and devotion and that the practitioner will…

View On WordPress

#Youtube

[shirgi]

White Heather & Thyme

When I pitched my idea to my teacher for my open-ended Creative Writing final project, I wanted to record a raucous blues rock song. I sat in a library, pulled out a notebook, and with the tune droning in my head I started to write the lyrics.

I usually start drafting lyrics by writing anything that comes to mind as long as it rhymes.

I'm carrying my burdens in a black leather bag The hand of God has poked my eye for a sick immortal gag The crows are poking the sand and chipping at my feet Lord, I would do anything to get off this dirty street

With wordplay in mind, this was later revised as:

I've been bearing my burdens in a black leather bag Achaean Achilles, down on her knees, dressed in Danaän drag My skirt is but a curtain and my skin is starting to sag The hand of God has poked me twice for some sickening gag

None of these lines would end up in the final product.

Perhaps a week later, I felt inspired by the song "Wild Mountain Thyme" and thought about adapting its melody for my project. It would be a sharp turnaround from my original plan. I had learned about the tune from the Byrds and Joan Baez. However, the tune of "Wild Mountain Thyme" is copyrighted, as opposed to other folk songs whose melodies are free to adapt anyway and anyhow.

A quick glance at the history of "Wild Mountain Thyme" shows that the song was itself adapted from a Scottish folk song called "The Braes of Balquidder." I immediately loved the version I heard by the Tannahill Weavers, and I began to play around with the tune on my guitar.

I learned to love the shimmering sound of open E tuning from Bob Dylan's outtakes of songs from his album "Blood on the Tracks." The tune of "The Braes of Balquidder" wasn't difficult to recreate on my open-tuned guitar.

One thing I changed about the tune was the addition of new chords and melody towards the end of a verse. "The Braes of Balquidder" is a little too repetitive, I thought, in its music. Other than that, the tune remained largely the same. I didn't own an E or D harmonica, so I tuned my guitar all the way down to open C, for which I did have a harp.

The drastic shift in tone from blues rock to romantic folk meant that I had to find some new and tamer lyrics. I sat in the again library and listened to a collection of crooner ballads and torch songs. I wrote the song as an extension of "The Braes of Balquidder."

Through scrappy cursive, I wrote nearly ten pages of stream-of-conscious nonsense. I wish that I had dated these manuscripts. The ideas of "the flowers of the mountain" and "the blueberries grow 'mong the bonnie highland heather" ended up in the final draft.

I performed the song for my Creative Writing class under my flowery hat. I know that videos of this performance exist, but I don't have contact with anyone who filmed me.

The song was originally called "The Lustrous Valley" but I changed it to "White Heather & Thyme" because that would make its acronym WHAT.

Nearly a full year passed. I finally decided to publish this song with an accompanying music video.

For this video, I wanted to show handwritten lyrics overlayed on a compilation of footage I took on a wintry trip to Colorado. Somehow, I managed to lose every video I took on that trip. I have no idea how I lost it.

I was inspired by the music video for "You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go." In it, an open journal has the lyrics being written in it. I wanted to make something similar but more complex.

I scattered around items in Blender. They don't have any particular meaning other than a general theme of love and romance. The sheets of notebook paper are pages from my journal from when I was brainstorming the lyrics. I threw in some photos of my Colorado trip as a bonus. For specifics, I chose the poem Catullus 7 and sheet music for Les Barricades Misterieuses, Liebestraume 3, and Le Dodo ou L'amour au berceau. There is a brownie and jam cookie because we ate those on the last day of my Creative Writing class.

When it came to the write-on text, I was very particular not only about my handwriting but the words I would write. The first time, I wrote the final lyrics to the song, but on subsequent times I changed the lyrics based on the manuscripts. In the video, the lyrics reflect the first draft of the song except for this couplet:

I am armed for winter war feeling every high and low To this terror, naught I know, but the way the breeze will blow

I filled the fronts and backs of pages with lazy cursive, sometimes slanted and sometimes not, sometimes fancy and sometimes simple. In the end, I opted for a slanted and loopy cursive.

In Davinci Resolve, I traced every stroke, which was the longest and most tedious process.

I put on a couple of videos and talked to some friends, but it was still extremely boring. I would not be surprised if this part took over twenty hours in total for me to do, not just because of tracing a set of lines but tracing even more lines after I decide to redo all of the handwriting.

Afterwards, I put the text on images of torn notebook paper, then rendered it to be used in Blender.

Rendering the final animation took around five seconds per frame, and, taking into consideration some re-renders, the final render time was probably around seven hours long. As long as my sleep, anyhow, so I didn't mind.

I wouldn't say that this video was worth two weeks of inactivity on my YouTube channel, but I think it's a good excuse.

#singer songwriter

[microbianslikes]

Les baricades misterieuses

#Ilikemusic

[sergemoreaumoi-1]

⭐⭐🌜⚜️🤴⚜️🌛⭐⭐ Prince Serge Moreau. Rawdon, Québec, Canada. Ça ne prend pas grand chose pour changer votre apparence , des ombres et lumières peuvent faire toutes la différence entre jolie et misterieuse ! (à Plage A Rawdon) https://www.instagram.com/p/CjQwLHVOEpA/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[hollow-head]

Baroque composer Francois Couperin wrote in 1717 a keyboard piece entitled Les Baricades Misterieuses. The title comes from a contemporary romantic colloquialism for eyelashes. But maybe Aziraphale inspired Couperin to write it about his friend in the sunglasses.  I am partial to Helge Antoni’s piano version because it sounds so very much like falling in love, gently X

#good omens #ineffable husbands #gimme some baroque songfic #this is soft and i hate it #mygoart

[soniabigcheese]

#les baricades misterieuses

[edelberg-carloeneanaldi]

GPHG 2020 Charles GIRARDIER Signature Misterieuse Fleur de Sel https://www.gphg.org/horlogerie/en/watches/tourbillon-signature-mysterieuse-fleur-de-sel #swisscreativelab #swisscreativelab2020 #startgallerygeneva #carloeneanaldi #carloeneanaldiartdirector #oliviermueller #charlesgirardiergeneve #charlesgirardier #charlesgirardierwatches #gphg #gphgacademy #gphg2020 #gphg20 (à SWISS CREATIVE LAB) https://www.instagram.com/p/CEj7ljon0KN/?igshid=cgmapgd2tm88

#swisscreativelab #swisscreativelab2020 #startgallerygeneva #carloeneanaldi #carloeneanaldiartdirector #oliviermueller #charlesgirardiergeneve #charlesgirardier #charlesgirardierwatches #gphg #gphgacademy #gphg2020 #gphg20

[rezendervp]

Analisando Couperin: "Les Barricades Misterieuses" . . . #baroque #baroquemusic #piano #pianoforte #pianoforte #harpsichord #earlymusic #musician #pianist #technique #art #hardwork #score #musicscore #picoftheday (em Maringá) https://www.instagram.com/p/B7rQAsZpaO7/?igshid=1w5xahenouj54

#baroque #baroquemusic #piano #pianoforte #harpsichord #earlymusic #musician #pianist #technique #art #hardwork #score #musicscore #picoftheday

[nuitblancheamarseille]

AFTER PARTY A 2+ PARTIE 1 :

Cette fois ci, on est place au milieu d’une scene timidement sensuelle misterieuse dont on sait seulement que une femme est presente. Le fond Nous perd dans ses volumes et vagues.Cpendant, le decor est pose de forme organise et ordoné rien n’est temoin de bordel.

GAME COULEUR :

FLUO degrades par flash : rose ver jaune

FLUO transparent : rose vert bleu :

RABATUS tranparent : bouteille

 SATURÉ : rouge

[versegm]

Me: [gripping the sink staring into the mirror] I enjoy children 80s cartoons a normal amount

My reflection: [also gripping] The cities of gold are a metaphor. They're symbolic of Esteban's relationship with the concept of "home," of "family," of "belonging." Esteban looks for the city in the same way he looks for his roots, and finds neither of them; his parents (be it his bio mother or the man who raised him) are both gone, just like the road to the city of gold is riddled with false clues, dead ends, and other traps.

Me: The pinnacle of Esteban's journey is when he, at last, find the city of gold, as well as his father. But he only gets a glimpse at either- doesn't even know that this man in a golden mask is the one who he has been looking for all this time. The moment Esteban finds his family, the moment Esteban finds the city of gold, is the moment he loses them both.

My reflection: That is the personal tragedy of Esteban. Sequel nonwithstanding, there wasn't really any other way for the show to end. The entire story hammers home times and times again the idea that Esteban does not belong anywhere. His father is effectively dead from the moment Mendoza tells the story of their first meeting. Esteban's journey will never end as the only place he will ever be able to stop at and rest will be inside his grave.

Me: He is the son of the Sun and therefore is a foreigner to the entire Earth. Mythical city of gold included.

The both of us: [High five so hard the mirror shatters, destroying our respective home dimension.]

#mcog #the mysterious cities of gold #les misterieuses cités d'or #taiyou no kou esteban

[earenwen-leafwhisper]

Teaser " Not wanted"

Pairing : Daemon Targaryen x Chubby fem reader

Summer : "The silver hair of the prince was blown by the slight breeze, his purplish gaze burned with an anger worthy of his dragon. Y/n although set back could observe the scene unfolding in front of her eyes. Daemon was in front of her father, Dark sister in hand."

Author’s note: Hi, I propose to tease a writing, that I wrote to clear my head of a day or even more, complicated.

---

There is a feeling, or will it be instinct, which tells you quietly that you are not wanted in a place, it can happen everywhere, whether in school, in the street, at work, but also in the family.

This feeling grows over time and it is not pleasant, the worst being the evening when the truth comes out. When your father is drunk with all the alcohol he has drunk since the beginning of the afternoon explains to you that you will never be born, that your life you owe to your mother who wanted more than anything in the world a child. That explains, a lot of things, like never having a "congratulations" when you achieve something, or a "I’m proud of you, I love you my daughter". No. Never, just "Did you see how fat you are?" "Stop reading", "Why don’t you read?" , being cut off at every moment, "Shut up!" followed by "Why don’t you answer me?". Little by little, all your self-esteem eventually crumbles, by a member of your closest family. There is also this question, "What would I do alone?" The moments when you imagine running away.

Being born on Westeros is not a dream life, whether we are peasants or nobles, we have our own personal hell. Yours is your father. Although not wanted, your father decided to do something with you, and marrying a second-rate lord was a good solution. His son, born of a first union, was already married to a lady from your region, strengthening the ties of the two families.

His son, he saw it differently, for him he had nothing to reproach himself. But to all the others, he was a frightful asshole, who amused himself by threatening servants and lords of smaller house than yours. Manipulating everyone around you, going so far as to threaten you, morally and physically, explaining clearly, that the day your father died, he would put you at the door of your castle. But you were just a ball and chain. Your father did not want to marry you, at the very beginning, prefer that no one speaks of you or shows interest, waiting for the coming years, he ends up wanting to see you leave with a lord, he could not see you when he was drunk, insulting you with various sentences, more or less painful, explaining that nobody would want you, the least that nothing. Deep down, he was bubbling, refusing to accept that someone was interested in you.

During the various tournaments in which he participated as spectator, he tried to find you a husband in vain, he reproached you, while it was his fault, because no lords had seen you in the flesh. The lords are trying hard to convince him to get you out of the castle, wanting to see who this misterieuse young woman was.

A date was chosen, those of the games organized by Lord Baratheon, for the adoubement of his eldest son.

#daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x chubby reader #daemon x chubby reader #daemon targeryen x reader #house of the dragon fanfiction

[granada-brett-crumbs]

There's a piece of music by Francois Couperin called Les Baricades Misterieuses, and apparently the meaning of "mysterious barricades" is a woman's eyelashes. It's a very pretty piece of music. But consider: Watson sitting across the breakfast table from Holmes reading the paper and Holmes stopping and staring at his eyelashes that turn gold in the morning sunlight and being all (❤/////❤)

oh oh! and that happens the morning after they went to a concert and that piece was played and Watson just loved it for many reasons :>

#also the harpsichord in that video is a beauty ;___; #i listened like 15 versions before posting it sorry #and learned about tuning harpsichords #domestic moments

[nickottomusic]

cafe life

Late May, an afternoon in the city -- everything in bloom. The man who wrote this composition was happy. You simply cannot make music like this if there isn’t a spark of joy in your heart as you’re composing it. It sounds like spring. 

“Les Baricades Misterieuses,” composed by Francois Couperin, played here by Alexandre Tharaud.