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rhosynviteri · 2 years

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Me, at Musée Fabre :

#musee fabre #musée fabre #alfred bruyas #art

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lamodebygvmiao · 2 years

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“When we start a collection, we decide, like directors, on the plot, the title... The model is the actress; the dress is the costume. People need a story.” - Stefano Gabbana in Harper’s Bazaar

Dolce & Gabbana don’t see #fashion just as clothing but as a means to tell a story and their clothes become the #costumes. I couldn’t agree more with the duo. I reckon no one can tell ❤️ touching stories through clothes better than #opera costume designers 🎭

Recently attended À l’opéra chez les Despous (#operacostume #exhibition) held at L’Hôtel de Cabrières-Sabatier d'Espeyran, an opulent 19th century bourgeois town house right next to #MuséeFabre with the most famous Habanera from Carmen by French composer Bizet played in the background 🎼🎶 I got completely carried away by the #flamboyant costumes with #lavish #embellishments and immersed in the #romantic world of opera (several beautiful arias had swirled around in my head 🥰🎼🎶) See the golden Carmen #gown with the #crystal #beaded #cape and the #burnished #dress exquisitely #crafted with #glittering mirror #sequins from a 2012 opera Jetzt up close for yourself, you’ll feel the same way.

_____________________________ Follow La Mode by GV Miao on: Blog: http://la-mode-by.gvmiao.com/ Tumblr blog: http://lamodebygvmiao.tumblr.com/ La Mode by GV Miao fashion blog fb page: https://www.facebook.com/gvmiaovickivictoirefashionistaz La Mode by GV Miao's Fashion Project of the Year: https://www.facebook.com/lamodebygvmiaofashionprojectoftheyear YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/user/Vickigoders Twitter: http://twitter.com/GV_Miao Instagram: http://instagram.com/la_mode_by_gv_miao

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stlgeekgirl · 2 years

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April conventions

April Cons #MousesMusings #SherlockHolmes #221Bcon #comics #cloudwranglercomics #Liesesherwoodfabre

Hello friends. How has your April been? I know I missed a week this month, a week where I would normally post my bi-monthly musings, but I had just gotten back from a convention. It was the first convention out of state I’ve attended since 2019 so it was an exciting time. 221B Con, a convention dedicated to Sherlock Holmes and all the media surrounding it has been going on for 9 years now. 2023…

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#221B Con #Cloudwrangler Comics #Liese Sherwood-Fabre #Mouse&039;s Musings #Sherlock Holmes

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pagansphinx · 9 months

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Frédéric Bazille (French, 1841-1870) • Young Woman with Peonies • 1870 • Musée Fabre - Montpellier, France

When reading about this painting, I saw that various sources state the title as Black Woman with Peonies. One source interpreted the woman's expression as taking pride in the creation of the flower arrangement and being in "control of the flowers". I don't see pride. I see beautiful eyes that have lost their joy. I see hands going through the motions and thoughts running through her head of how many more things she must do that day before she can eat and rest. This is, of course, purely subjective, as I have an intense preoccupation with the brutality of slavery so prevalent in Europe and America. Historically speaking, it's likely I'm not far from the target.

This young woman is not an artist's model, nor a muse, mistress (if she is a mistress, it's likely against her will) or wife. Unlike many such women, she has no name that's been recorded. She is a servant, likely brought to France against her will or born into slavery. Her expression is one of both strength and resignation.

It is a beautiful painting, rendered with much skill. It was the last painting by Bazille before he left for the battlefield of the French-Prussion War, where he died later that year at the age of 28.

~ P.S.

#art #painting #fine art #art history #frédéric bazille #french artist #french painter #18th century art #impressionism #my thoughts #20th century art #flowers in art #paintings of women #black people in artworks #figure painting #en plein air

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rayless-reblogs · 2 months

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Writing Patterns Tag Game

RULES: List the first line of your last 10 posted fics and see if there's a pattern!

Saw this (thank you @boobaloof!) and decided to give it a whirl.

All fics can be found on my AO3.

A Dream So Like Waking (Tales of the Abyss):

Natalia woke still dressed in a strange bed with the scent of selenias in her hair.

Welcome Home Discarded Faith (Tales of the Abyss):

It had otherwise been been a dull afternoon – gray, humid, excessively long.

And So All Yours (Tales of the Abyss):

Princess Susanne might lament the fact that neither of her sons chose to live in Fabre Manor, but she surely couldn't be surprised.

With Your Hands Your Hearts (Tales of the Abyss):

Natalia proposed to Asch on the night of his twenty-second birthday, and they announced it to Ingobert the next morning at nine-thirty, after his breakfast.

We Could Be Friends (The Caligula Effect):

Daisy never had enough time on her lunch breaks, but that day she knew she wouldn't even have time to sit and eat.

Jumping Off Cliffs (Fate/Extra):

When we cross into Alice's realm – and just now it feels more like Alice's realm than it does the SE.RA.PH's Arena – I remind myself that I have to keep hold of who I am.

The Muse of Last Songs (Transistor):

The thing is, with our hair, there wasn't anyone in my family who wasn't called Red at some point in our lives, as a casual nickname, or a love name, or whatever.

Constant As the Southern Star (Tales of the Abyss):

Natalia and her consort almost spent their wedding night in separate rooms.

Repaid With Life (Fate/Extra):

Archer regarded the enormous digital hamster ball around his Master (Tamamo disparagingly called it a fishbowl, and Nero more fancifully called it a snowglobe, but even in metaphor Archer would take durable plastic over glass any day) and gave himself a little nod.

The Muse of Songs Unfinished (Transistor):

It's risky, but it's not impossible.

Patterns?

I've heard my style described as "punchy", and I think I see it here. I tend not to ease into things with atmosphere or setting (which could work against me, in some cases) and instead lead with something declarative. I'm pretty quick to establish which character's pov we're working with.

Some of these examples vary in tone, but I think my voice is consistent. (But then, I would. That's really more for the reader to decide.)

Please go ahead and do this meme if you'd like to!

#meme #writing #fanfiction #tales #tales of the abyss #fate #fate/extra #the caligula effect #the caligula effect 2 #tales of the abyss spoilers #transistor

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meisterdrucke · 9 months

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Road in the Forest, 1914 by Marie Clementine (Suzanne) Valadon, Oil on canvas, 1914, Musee Fabre, Montpellier, France

#Marie Clementine (Suzanne) Valadon #fineart #art #painting #artwork #masterpiece #fineartprint #gallery #museum #road photography #forest #valadon #oil painting

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alteon77 · 10 months

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The Maker, the Muse, and the Sundered Song: Chapter 1

In his temple, what remains of Orpheus waits in trepidation. Something is changing. Something that he knows might alter the very fabric of the world as he understands it.

Finally freed from captivity, Calliope struggles to make any meaningful changes to the laws that saw her bound and taken in the first place. When the strange woman appears on Mount Parnassus and offers help, Calliope knows she would be a fool not to accept it. Even if she thinks that she's being lied to.

Meanwhile in the peace of the Dreaming, Morpheus grapples with guilt over his son's fate. As he basks in the love of his new children, he can't help but to regret his own failings where Orpheus is concerned.

And as for May, she's really just got a job to do. And her own traumatic issues to deal with. And if it's all hella awkward because she's having to work alongside her husband's ex-wife, she'll see it done anyway. There's even the small possibility that she might eventually admit to Calliope the truth about her identity. That is if she can ever actually work up the courage to say it aloud.

AO3 here, Masterlist here

Quick note: This is one of the short stories that I've had a ton of requests about posting, so I'm going ahead and putting it on here. This is set in the Precious Fragile Things 'verse about six years after the epilogue.

"Father!"

In the river of Fiddler's Green, Orpheus dips his hand under the clear water, rummaging around beneath its glittering surface with an intent furrow to his brow, the expression almost amusing for how out of place it seems on his youthful features. When at last he lifts the limb up and holds it out, his fingers splayed wide, Morpheus leans over to see what his son has found. Settled on his palm is a rock, one smoothed by the gentle currents here, and despite how blandly unremarkable such a trophy is, Morpheus cannot help but to smile at it regardless.

"You have found a rather impressive stone, my son."

"Is it magic?" Orpheus asks, a grin lighting up his face as he beams. It twists Morpheus' heart in emotion, that look of utter adoration. His son loves him as Morpheus has never known love before, wholly and all encompassing in the way that only a child is capable of.

"Perhaps," Morpheus allows. "Shall I tell you a story of it?"

As predicted, the boy, his boy, clambers out of the river, making his way to Morpheus before he crawls into his lap. He's wet still, his tunic having been drenched while he'd fallen a few times in his bid to find a suitable treasure, one that Morpheus knows he will ultimately store in the small box near his bed where he keeps such things. With the lightest touch of his power, Morpheus dries him, unwilling to see this child catch an ailment or chill from the sodden fabric.

Morpheus circles his son in his hold, his arms settling around the boy as he buries his face in his dark curls and breathes in the scent of him. He smells like sunshine and warmth, like the heat of a day spent outside playing when one is young and given to such frivolity.

"Father," Orpheus demands in his tiny, enthusiastic voice. "The tale!"

And with a low chuckle, Morpheus gathers his child closer to him. "Very well. Shall we begin today with Chaos? Or perhaps the Titans?"

"The thread, father! I want to hear of the thread!"

Ariadne and Theseus then, unfortunately one of his son's favorites, though Morpheus does not think he will ever understand why. His boy, another smile stretching across his still babyish face, claps eagerly in anticipation, and though Morpheus is relatively tired of this telling, he can do naught but to carry on with it regardless.

For he loves this child of his, so completely that he feels remade in the glow of his affection, so completely that he can never imagine seeing him hurt or brought low. He thinks, as a father should, that he would rend worlds to ensure this sweet boy of his always stays so happy as he is now, that he would tear the very fabric of creation apart so he might never know pain or suffering. With certainty, however, Morpheus knows this to be impossible. For Orpheus will grow as all mortals are wont to do, and once he does he will make his way into the world on his own, will be exposed to a great many things that Morpheus rather wishes he could avoid. It is the way of life, the way of all children really. They are born. They live. They mature. They pass. And despite the protectiveness that Morpheus feels for his son, he is well aware that he cannot circumvent this cycle.

No matter how fervently he might wish for it to be different.

Though in this moment, his baby is here with him, safe and content, and Morpheus thinks he would be a fool to waste such a precious thing as that on his own melancholic wanderings.

"As you wish, my son," he murmurs at last as he drops a kiss atop the Orpheus' head. "Once not long ago, there was a demigod called Theseus…"

"Dadda! Look!"

Morpheus glances up, blinking out of his sorrowful remembrance slowly as he takes stock of his surroundings. He is in the Dreaming, and many centuries have passed since Orpheus was a young child content to spend time in his father's presence.

Fiddlers Green is, as it is on most days, splendid in its beauty. There's a warm breeze gently blowing through the air, carrying on it the fragrance of nearby jasmine blooms. All around him, the land is covered in rich greens, a testament to the verdancy of this place, and the sun shines brightly, its heat pleasant on him where he sits near the river bank's edge.

His wife is in the Waking for the moment, though her reasoning for going had been relatively vague, and he had brought his son to this place in an effort to stay the worry threatening to overtake him. It is always this way, despite that he had realized years ago that his beloved would come and go as she pleased, however much he might hate the idea of her being outside of the protection of their realm. So now he finds other ways to manage his panic regarding the matter, strict as he is in his resolve to control his own frustrating fears.

"Dadda, please look," Chalen tries again, and this time Morpheus does as he has been bid, peering down at what this boy of his is cradling in his hand.

It's a rock, one smooth and polished by the flowing water of the river here, and Chalen holds it before him as if it is a prized discovery, one worthy of admiration.

Morpheus stares at it, his throat working arduously on a swallow at the sight of the stone perched on little Chalen's palm, his fingers curled guardedly in as if the object might sprout wings and fly from where it is nestled.

Which, given this child's skill with his power, could very well be a possibility.

"What have you brought me, son?" he asks, his voice rough with emotion as he again reminds himself that this isn't Orpheus. This isn't the child that he had inevitably failed so completely with his own foolish pride, with his own stubborn rigidity regarding his inability to even attempt an understanding of the boy's grief.

No. This is instead his other son, the one that he vows daily he will never err similarly against.

And Chalen, his sweet child of only six, smiles at Morpheus in that sometimes hesitant, shy way of his. His eyes, though, as wide and blue as a spring sky, shine in something that Morpheus can only call excitement. "It's magic," he declares, his tone sure and steady, not a hint of doubt in it.

"Magic?"

"Yep."

The pebble shakes, a faint light glowing from it, and Morpheus nearly snatches the thing out of his son's hand in a fit of his oft observed protectiveness. It had been like this with his daughter, watching her learn her way around her fledgling power with an anxious lurch in his stomach every time she wielded it. This had been the compromise between Morpheus and his wife, however. Their children could work to hone their proficiency at managing magic much sooner than he had allowed Aurora, but only if their making was kept small and contained, kept as these little demonstrations that wouldn't interfere with the running of the realm.

Between one heartbeat and the next, the stone transforms, sprouting eight legs all covered in fur that it wobbles around on as if disoriented. Atop this creation, eight glassy black eyeballs form that stare intently up at both father and son, an odd sight since the body of this soon to be arachnid is still very, very much that of a glossy rock.

Tiny hairs grow from the creature, spreading over the entirety of its thorax and abdomen before finally it wholly resembles what he's sure Chalen had meant for it to be. His son at this point has made dozens of these, dozens of perfectly ordinary, if a little large, spiders, and Morpheus would be lying were he to say that his rendering of them is not improving with each attempt. The freshly crafted being feels out along Chalen's palm with its new pedipalps, the shortened legs nearest its head, and the boy giggles in response.

"It tickles, Dadda," he relays just before he crouches down amongst the grass and lowers his hand near the ground, which the spider crawls quickly onto as if it is grateful to be free, as if it is all too willing to run from the gentle attention of the entity that had sparked life into it.

"That was an impressive spider, my star." Morpheus can't help the way that his words come out so strained and rasping. He finds himself overwhelmed with his emotion, with his memories of the child he had done so poorly by. It's not a sudden feeling nor a sudden realization on his part. Instead, it is one he's harbored for decades. Long ago Morpheus had understood all of his shortcomings where his relationship with Orpheus was concerned, and the regret of that has haunted him regularly since.

This sensation of remorse, of deficiency, is only magnified tenfold when Chalen climbs onto his lap like Orpheus often did as a youth.

"I love you, Dadda," his boy offers before weaving his small arms about Morpheus' torso to cling to him.

And Dream of the Endless can do naught but to return the embrace, burying his face in Chalen's raven dark curls to breathe the scent of him in. Like Orpheus, this son of his smells like sunshine too, and it makes his heart unexpectedly wrench in grief.

Still, this child is not Orpheus, and he deserves better than for his father to compare him constantly to the ghost of dereliction past, so Morpheus tightens his hold ever so slightly before murmuring, "I love you as well, my starlight."

They stay like that for a while until Chalen is ready to run again, and Morpheus falters for only a moment before allowing him to rise, to go and do as he will. Letting go, after all, is sometimes a father's duty as well, difficult though he's always found it to be.

In the dingy basement where she's kept, Clio pulls idly at the shackle locked tightly about her ankle. It's no use, she knows, but the metal chafes something terrible, rubbing the skin beneath it near raw so that she thinks she would do anything to have it off if even for a moment. Even the illusion of freedom at this point would be welcome to her, the ability to freely walk around the dank place of her captivity as tempting as an amphora vase of undiluted wine to a drunkard. But it is not to be. The restraints they'd put on her had been wholly unnecessary, a mocking bit of torment from the man that had abducted her. After all, while owned by the old laws, she could not flee even if she tried to, the rules regarding this contract absolute in their restriction.

It's dark here, pitch black in this forsaken desmoterion to which she has been banished, and her captors are monstrous in their demands, taking from her that which she is unwilling to give and utterly cruel in her treatment. For many years, she has not known a full meal in her belly nor the comfort of having clothing to cover her nude form. And while she is immortal and does not truly require these things, the mortals who have chained her down here act as if she is little better than an animal that they are readying to slaughter.

And there are some days, horrible hopeless days, that Clio wishes they would do just that.

She can still be hurt, can still mourn, can still feel the savage abuses they visit on her. When first she was stolen away from her home, she had thought that her thieves would only require knowledge, inspiration, but they seem to have no care for such a thing from her. In truth, they seem to care only for what they can do to her, for the fact that they can injure her time and time again without it bringing about her death. And injure they assuredly do. Repeatedly. Violently. Frequently enough that Clio has often cursed her immortality for its refusal to simply allow her end.

The door atop the steep steps into her basement opens, a thin ray of light shining in through the crack of it, and Clio squints up from where she's huddled near the corner of the room. The man there descends the stairs slowly, a malicious grin curving his lips as he fiddles with the fastenings of his clothing.

Clio gulps past the lump in her throat and prays fervently to gods, both old and new, that perhaps this time she might not survive. It is a futile thing, she knows, since nobody can hear her in this Tartarus to which she has been cursed. And so she gathers her courage as best she can, preparing herself for whatever brutality might be visited on her this night.

On Mount Parnassus, in a pocket realm hidden from the outside world, May takes a minute to collect herself and weigh the ridiculously insane but necessary action she's about to take. This could be stupid of her, she knows, wholly idiotic. But she isn't quite sure what else to do.

It's been nearly three years since Morpheus rescued Calliope, and for almost all of them, Calliope has been attempting to rewrite the old laws, attempting to ensure that what happened to her cannot be revisited on any of her sisters ever again. And in this massive undertaking, she's made almost no progress.

Which is to say she's made none. A fact that unfortunately isn't at all surprising to May.

The truth of the matter is that if the muse intends to rewrite the laws woven in Great Design, if she means to undo a part of it, then she's going to require a maker. Of the two left currently in existence (which are really just May and her brother Viego) May knows that she's the only one capable of handling such a delicate, grueling task, and so she's who Calliope needs to address and end this travesty in any meaningful way.

No matter how uncomfortable that might (probably will) prove to be.

Honestly, though, May can't for the life of her figure out why her mother had allowed such a thing in the first place. Did she not understand, as the universe grew rapidly, that slavery was wrong? Did her mother not grasp how these rules would make it so others could snatch up their victim's lives as if they had a right to them? And if she did eventually realize how bad the whole concept was, why the hell hadn't she put a stop to it right then and there?

May shakes her head as if to force herself to focus. Despite whatever her mother should abso-fuckin-lutely have done differently, she's not able to straighten this mess now. That mantle has fallen instead to May, who resolves to try and manage what she can to fix the flaw in the Design. As draining as it might be, she'll help Calliope to take care of it.

Drawing in one more steadying breath, May gathers up her courage and walks through the entrance, the magic of this place washing over her as she does. It's a cold kind of power, and it tingles a bit as she passes, the sensation somewhat like that of being unlucky enough to catch the spray of a waterfall during a freezing winter's day.

Once she emerges on the other side, she finds Calliope easily enough, spotting her immediately at the edge of a small lake. It's surrounded by flowers, fragrant hyacinths that bloom in rich shades of blue and lavender and rosy pink. Moss covers the entrance to a cave, and water from the lake burbles into a nearby stream that flows over the mountain's edge in a quiet, subdued murmur. The muse crouches by it, splashing her face with her cupped hands. This close to her, May can make out her clothes, from the immaculately clean, white chiton to the lacings along the back that are gold, possibly from a girdle made of the precious metal.

May knows the moment that this woman becomes aware of her presence, however, given that she's watching as Calliope's back goes rigid in what May is pretty sure might be fear.

"I didn't come to entrap you," May calls out, trying to keep her tone as reassuring as possible. "I promise."

Calliope stands like a soldier getting ready to make their last charge anyway as she turns to face her, and May thinks, somewhat distantly, that she's rather lovely. Her hair is unbound, and it hangs down her back in silken waves that catch the sunlight on the gloss of their strands. Her eyes, a beautiful brown, narrow as she peers at May in a wariness that May completely gets. After all, this being had spent many decades in captivity, and the lingering fear of being enslaved to another after something like that is one May understands all too well.

"Who are you?" Calliope asks, her voice heavy with the accent that most of the remaining Grecian deities retain even to this day.

"I'm May. May Westin. I've… come to help."

Wisely, May leaves out the part about being wed to Morpheus, thinking as she does that this entity knowing too early that she's basically her ex's new wife might not go over so smoothly.

Which, she supposes, is entirely fair. This whole situation is awkward to the extreme, but… it must be seen to regardless. And if May can spare Calliope a little of that unpleasantness, then she's going to. Or at least that's what she tells herself despite that she can't deny the way her intentional silence on this reminds her of nothing so much as cowardice.

"Help?" At this, the muse arches up a single eyebrow and appears for a moment as if she might scoff in disbelief.

"Yeah. With your mission to change the old ways. I… I know how to, and I heard about what you were doing, so… here I am. Ready to assist."

"You wish to… offer assistance in my quest to unmake the laws?"

Unmake. May could almost laugh at that phrasing, because this woman has no idea how right she is on that front. There will be a good deal of unmaking involved in this endeavor, but May doesn't tell her that. Instead, she simply answers, "That's right."

Calliope doesn't speak for a while, her forehead bunched up as if she's having difficulty making sense of what May's just offered. "Why?"

"Because…" May feels her heart begin to race, her hands shaking as some undefinable terror creeps over her awareness. She's remembering her own ordeal, her own brush with being forcibly bound. Because I was held prisoner, she wants to say. Because I know how horrid it is to have one's freedom snatched away like they never had it at all. Because I have a daughter that was trapped in a binding circle for a small length of time that felt like an eternity while I worked to free her. Because the thought of ever having it happen to another sickens me more than anything else ever has.

"Because?"

"It needs to be done," May settles on instead, unwilling to unload all of her trauma on this poor woman who was just minding her business until May barged in on her not ten minutes ago.

"And you… are capable of this?"

May nods quickly. "I am."

"Then if you are truly willing to aid me concerning this matter, you might start now. I am readying to leave to my sister's side and free her from her captor."

Relief washes over May. Not at the news that yet another of these poor muses has been taken but that Calliope is going to accept her for this task. This will go so much easier if she's working with the muse as opposed to being forced to shadow her. Teamwork, as her brother likes to say, makes the dream work and all.

"We can absolutely do that. Which sister is it, and where is she being kept?"

At this, Calliope hesitates. "It is Clio, but beyond that, I… am unsure."

May resists the urge to frown as she mentally digs through her many, many memories of the Greek deities. "Clio? The muse of… history?"

"Yes."

"Okay. That's… a bit weird. I mean, no offense to your sister, but history is…. I don't know what someone would really use her for."

"Neither do I."

May bites her lower lip in thought. "How did you find out that she had been taken?"

"The Moirai informed me of as much," Calliope supplies and in the blink of an eye, her appearance changes. From one second to the next, her hair is pinned up intricately atop her head and the water that had dripped down on her chiton no more.

"The fates? Well, then, I guess we can assume it's true." May blows out a frustrated breath. It's just like those irritating entities to give only the tiniest piece of information possible. She knows she can cast out to look for Clio with her magic, but something like that takes time, too much time that she's not sure Calliope would agree to give her. It's the binding that muddles a search like that up, the ownership aspect of what's happening to these muses making it a million times harder. It's set so firmly in the Design's weaving that it's extremely difficult to locate their threads, so to speak, hidden as they are by their captor's claim on them.

"Do you… have any idea of where to start?"

And at this Calliope grants May a faint smile, the kind born of wry satisfaction. "Yes…. I believe so. It is a… thin lead but a lead nonetheless."

Lead. Like she's a detective in a crime drama. The absurdity of that makes May grin. "Well, then. I've got a couple of hours. Let's blow this popsicle stand."

The muse frowns in confusion. "Popsicle stand?" She repeats the words like she's trying them out for the first time, which is probably the actual case now that May's thinking about it. On further consideration, she can't imagine what reason Calliope might have had to say popsicle before this.

"I'll… uh, explain it on the way," is May's promise as she nods her head one more time, fidgeting with her fingers as she often does when she's nervous about something. "We should... um, probably get going."

Calliope studies her anew at that, a scrutiny in her gaze that makes May think the muse is spooked, that she's going to call the whole thing off. In the end, she doesn't, though. Instead, her features go hard, impassively cold, as she brushes past May on the way to the realm entrance. "Very well, May Westin. Let us leave this place then."

#morpheus x oc #sandman fanfiction #the song of orpheus #morpheus x original character #sandman fic #sandman oc #dad!morpheus #morpheus fic #morpheus fanfiction #morpheus x reader #MakerMuseSunderedSong

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shining-gem34 · 1 month

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JADE'S ROLEPLAYING HISTORY

the rules are simple! post characters you’d like to roleplay as, have roleplayed as, and might bring back. then tag ten people to do the same ( if you can’t think of ten, just write down however many you can and tag that number of people ). please repost, don’t reblog!

Current Muse:

Honkai Star Rail: Dan Heng/Dan Feng

Genshin Impact: Wanderer

Multiverse OC: Rook

Want to write:

Honkai Star Rail: Arlan and Sushang.

Genshin Impact: Chiori and Noelle

Tales of Berseria: Velvet Crowe

Pokemon: Riley and Pokemon OC

Have written:

Tales of the Abyss: Luke Fon Fabre

Genshin Impact: Diluc

Saiyuki: Son Goku

Food Fantasy: Peking Duck, Cheese, Cassata, Steak, & Martini.

Monochrome Factor: Akira Nikaido

Would write again:

I'm somewhat still in Food Fantasy fandom (small group of friends on discord). Other than that, I definitely would be open to writing Luke Fon Fabre again especially attempt his bratty self before his character development! I never got a chance to roleplay that side of him. I think there is something appealing about a sheltered boy learning the world outside of his home. He's a spoiled brat, but he's a genuinely good kid at heart. It's something akin to Luke protecting his vulnerable self...

#jadecoocoo (mun rambles)#stolen from luna and rath #||Look #||If you get me talking about Tales of series #||and I only played a few games #||WHICH IS NOT ALOT BUT I HAVE GENERAL KNOWLEDGE #||I will never shut the fuck up about it #||Luke is just a precious guy who made HUGE mistakes but he had to learn quickly #||To accept his own fuck ups #BTW I've played so far: Abyss/Grace F/Xillia & 2/Zestiria/Berseria/Symphonia/Vesperia #including mobile games Tales of Link and Tales of the Rays #and I am still so salty they closed the global version of Rays because of bad marketing #tales of link I hold dear to my heart #i tried Crestoria but with previous experience of mobile tales of closing down I didn't play for long #i did play Rays JP but I stopped and quit at some point

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missinglinksblog · 1 year

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François-Xavier Fabre (1766 – 1837) was a French painter of historical subjects.

Gladiator in Repose, 1789. Oil on canvas, Musee Fabre. Montpellier.

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leowritcs · 9 months

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New multi-muse here! Not new to writing, but took a break from tumblr for a couple of years and now I’m trying to get back into things. Guidelines are up as is my muse page with more to be added. This blog is still a work in progress, but I’d like to get things going because I’m itching to write! I’ll also work on a proper promo when I get more time.

Currently listed:

Garnet/Dagger - Final Fantasy IX

Luke Fon Fabre - Tales of the Abyss

Inuyasha - InuYasha

Koga - Inuyasha

Wakka - Final Fantasy X

Nala - The Lion King

Blue - Wolf’s Rain

Elena Fisher - Uncharted

Negan - The Walking Dead

Replica Riku - Kingdom Hearts

Spider-Man (Andrew Garfield) - The Amazing Spider-Man

Katara (Avatar: The Last Airbender)

Feel free to send a message to plot or an ask to get something going.

#final fantasy rp #inuyasha rp #the lion king rp #the walking dead rp #wolf's rain rp #uncharted rp #video game rp #anime rp #disney rp #tales of rp #ooc #would appreciate a reblog to help me get out there!

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hadesgoddess · 2 years

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Something New, Something Blue

With just about a week and a half left before the wedding, I've been writing and drawing so much! I'll start with this little drabble about the final fitting for the wedding dress!!!!!

Rain pattered pleasantly on the shop windows, just a few dark clouds left in the sky outside. It had been raining on and off all day, which some people might consider a bad omen on a day like this; Rose wasn’t one of them. They watched the drops trail down the glass with a content smile. Her soul felt rejuvenated when it rained, like a fern in the forest perking up after a dry spell.

“Ready?”

Star’s voice broke through Rose’s inner musings. The bride-to-be had come to Evie’s beautiful new storefront with the VK’s to see her nearly complete wedding dress. It surprised Rose that they were so interested in the duller chores of wedding planning.

“You were pretty much one of the only people on the Isle to give a crap about us, teach,” Carlos explained when they asked.

Jay nodded, his usual sunny smile across his face. “Yeah, we’re just happy you found someone who cares about you as much as we do. Even if it’s Star and Mal’s grumpy dad!”

The kids laughed at that, elbowing each other in the ribs with good humor while Rose just rolled their eyes affectionately.

Now, they were waiting in a private room at Evie’s Boutique as the skilled seamstress fetched the gown. While Rose had been daydreaming and staring out the window, she had returned with the dress in hand. It was time for the final fitting.

Taking a deep breath, Rose stood and followed Evie to the attached changing room, knees as shaky as a colt’s. There was no reason to be so nervous! They had already seen the first stages of its design and had stood for a good hour a few months ago while pins pinched and poked them as the dress took shape. It was just that after today, it would all be too real. One of the biggest changes in life just a couple of weeks away.

Gods, she couldn’t wait! The nervousness in her stomach turned to excitement as Evie helped her into the gown. In a few efficient movements, Evie hooked the pearl buttons together and stepped back to let Rose get the full effect in the mirror.

Rose slowly turned this way and that, indescribable emotion welling up in her throat.

“You look perfect.” Evie said, a glowing smile on her face. She wasn’t one to brag, but she was proud of how this creation turned out. When Rose had approached her for this project, Evie quickly cleared her schedule. Like Jay and Carlos, she remembered the counselor had done for them with fondness. Giving them a safe place to run to, and caring for them in spite of the terrible conditions and their vengeful parents meant more to her crew than she could ever say. So she let her handiwork do the talking, hoping Rose could see the love she’d sewn into every seam.

Next to her, Rose had no words. Spellbound by the silhouette they cast in the dress, they ran a hand down their side and savored the smoothness of the ivory colored silk skirt. She loved the lace cut-outs in the corset and traced the edges as her own delighted smile grew wide.

“You’ve really outdone yourself this time, Evie,” They praised the young woman. She wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pressing an appreciative kiss to the crown of her blue hair. Together, they returned to the waiting room, the veil cradled in Evie’s hands while Rose was careful to lift the hem.

Gasps of amazement and delight erupted as they walked through the door, staining Rose’s cheeks red. She waved an embarrassed hand at the group to get them to knock it off, but it only made them ramp it up.

“Look out, Hades!” Jay whooped as Carlos laughed in agreement.

“If dad doesn’t love how you look in that,” Star said, grabbing their sister’s arm in glee. “I’m getting his eyes checked!”

“I’d get his brain checked!” Mal chuckled. While they snickered amongst themselves, Evie went about setting the veil in Rose’s hair. Blue, embroidered flowers trailed along the length of the light fabric, marking ‘something new’ and ‘something blue’ off the traditional list. Once it was clipped in, the accompanying crystal band in place, Evie drew the front end over Rose’s face.

“All set,” The seamstress beamed. “What do you think?”

The VK’s waited with anticipation as Rose checked the mirror one last time.

“I think,” Rose said, choosing their words with care. “Somebody better make sure to stand behind Hades so they can catch him!”

Everyone burst into laughter, all tension gone as they spoke excitedly about the big day. From her place in front of the mirror, Rose watched them fondly, affection warming her heart for these kids who had come into her life a lost, tangled, broken mess and were now supporting her in ways she’d never imagined. The big day couldn’t come soon enough.

They met their own gaze in the mirror and smiled shyly. “Look out, Hades, indeed.” She whispered.

#aaaaa!!! i cant believe its so soon!!!!!!#ship: a glimpse of the sun #self insert fanfiction #s/i #f/o #f/o community #s/i community #my writing

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edgysaintjust · 2 years

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Fabre’s life with Nicole Godin II

The couple of actors got married on 9th November 1778 in Strasbourg, Saint-Pierre's church, and signed the documents two days before, on 7th November. The marriage certificate, written entirely in latin, presents Fabre as a lawyer and son of a lawyer. Transcription of the document can be found in vol IV of these archives of Carcassonne.

Remember the “Fabre was a grandson-in-law of Le Sage” theory? Well, the marriage certificate is another clue, as you can see Jean-Rene as a witness. Crazy, isn’t it? But back with actual information.

Fabre claimed himself to be a lawyer on the certificate. His father, Francoise Fabre was a merchant and never a lawyer, and we have no records of Fabre himself ever working as a lawyer, so it’s an obvious lie. However, itt has a justification - actors had legal trouble getting married, so faking his profession was actually a good bet for our bohemian artist if he wanted an actual, legal ceremony. Happily married, the couple returned to their usual lifestyle and resumed the acting career.

This union, in its beginnings, exerted on the wandering actor, momentarily disgusted with love affairs, a very happy influence. Two years of his life were brightened and purified. He had followed, with his wife, the director Clairville to Maestricht. The theatrical season opened in this city on April 12, 1779, with the Servant mistress of Pergolesi and the Misanthrope. Fabre d'Eglantine played the role of Alceste. His wife, who held the jobs of second love in comedy and opera, began on the 15th by the role of Marine in la Colonie.

Everything seems to make us assume it was a very successful moment in Fabre’s life. As claimed by Bernard of Tableau du spectacle français ou Annales théâtrales de la ville de Mastrigt in an issue from 1781:

We must, to the honour of this actor, according to the pieces we have seen (sic), that in addition to his status as an actor, he was a painter, an excellent poet and a good jurisconsult.

Excellent opinions, blooming career as both an actor and a poet, successful performances and even painting. Two years of the beautiful marriage, seeming to be free of affairs and remarkable fights, resulted in the couple welcoming a newborn son, Louis-Théodore-Jules-Vincent, in their lives. The child was baptised in Maestricht on 12 October 1779, but just before the birth of his son Fabre honoured the pregnancy of his wife with verses:

Marie Nicole remained his inspiration for a couple of years. Among the many works he wrote for her, some little and some more ambitious, it’s hard to find a note of melancholy or sadness, and almost everything he wrote seems to emanate humour and cheerfulness. His comic opera, written years before in 1776 now gets a lively and enthusiastic feedback. It is also the time Fabre performed his il pleut, Bergere. He also wrote little poems he attached to his letters, composing about the most silly matters, like sending his friend some food. Clearly had a lot of fun during those times! As his biographer states:

Everything Fabre d'Eglantine wrote at the time exuded gaiety and joy. His playful and talkative Muse seized every opportunity to rhyme and laugh.

The couple lived its happiest years in Maestricht, and left the city in 1781. After that, things started getting more complicated.

#fabre d'eglantine #nicole godin #fabre library

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