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jdvcolours · 2 years

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Three Westland Lysander Mark IIIAs of No. 309 Polish Fighter-Reconnaissance Squadron RAF on a photo-recon training sortie over snow-covered Scottish hills.

On 15th September 1940, the Luftwaffe launched the largest attack they ever had on London. The aim was to draw out the RAF into a battle of annihilation.

Up until this point, the RAF had been locked in a battle of 'non-attrition,' where the RAF sought to only inflict moderate losses against the Luftwaffe and to take few of their own. This way, by always putting up some resistance but refusing to engage in larger battles, the Luftwaffe felt they were getting nowhere.

And so 1,120 Luftwaffe aircraft (620 fighters, 500 bombers) met 630 RAF fighter aircraft in the skies above London. But there, 57-61 Luftwaffe aircraft fell, as opposed to only 29 British planes.

While these losses again seem only moderate they represented a large chunk of Axis air power. This is not to mention that all the German pilots were lost, as if they survived the crash or bailed out, they were still captured and interned for the rest of the war. British pilots could return straight to the front.

Both groups tried to overclaim the amount of aircraft they shot down. The Luftwaffe claimed 79 kills for under 40 losses, and the RAF claimed a staggering 185 German planes shot down.

As far as Air Chief Marshal Sir Keith Park was concerned, it was ridiculous to claim 200 aircraft downed. It was also not a cause for celebration as, despite the 2:1 ratio in favour of the RAF, this was proof that the RAF needed 'tightening up.' It was a good performance, but not the RAF's best.

Hitler was not overly concerned with the outcome - he believed from the end of August the Luftwaffe would not achieve aerial supremacy, and so postponed Operation Sealion indefinitely on 17th September. His plan now was to knock the USSR out of the war before they could even start it, neutralising the UK's last potential ally.

But for the British public, it was a cause for great celebration. The Luftwaffe had failed in its last attempt to gain full aerial superiority. For this reason, every 15th of September is celebrated as Battle of Britain day in the UK.

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astroismypassion · 2 years

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Mars sign: what gives you energy 🔥

Credit goes to my blog @astroismypassion

I want to do a self-care in astrology series. 🌿🌱

Today we are discussing Mars sign. It shows what (re)energizes you, gives you even more energy in your daily life.

You can try it out by viewing it as a tool or fuel to stay more focused in your day-to-day life and ready to take on new daily tasks.

🔥ARIES MARS🔥

do something for the first time

initiate a family gathering, friends gathering, host a party

learn more info, data about a topic you are passionate about

do a face mask/sheet mask

try outperforming someone😂 no, but hear me out, try to do/be better or work better than someone you admire or are inspired by, you thrive in competition

rearrange something in your home so that it gives you a feeling of newness

try an at-home workout

explore who you are, take those personality tests

sip a hot drink with your feet up

celebrate the small wins

build a pillow fort

go for a haircut

go for a bike ride

jump in puddles

🔥TAURUS MARS🔥

prepare someone or yourself a snack from natural ingredients (seasonal fruits, especially red, green and yellow fruits)

bake

put on perfume, deodorant

go to zumba or any dance class

literally go out and smell the roses, pleasant smelling flowers

order in food and do nothing all evening

sip and paint

draw and colour (or invest in a colour-book)

treat yourself to a fancy drink or make it yourself (like cocktail, premium hot chocolate etc.)

cook a special or a new meal

diffuse essential oils

light your favourite candle

tea time

wrap yourself in a blanket

create a morning and evening routine

🔥GEMINI MARS🔥

share information, talk more, teach a friend/sibling new facts, knowledge, information

watch an inspiring, informative YouTube video, a documentary

learn how to make cocktails

use public transportation and go to a city area you’ve never been before

journal, vent, talk about memories, emotions in a journal/notes app

play board games or cards

go to Escape room

make a blog and vent

watch an animated movie

practice breathwork

create a texting support group

have a staycation, but in your own town at a hotel

live your phone outside of bedroom at night

count things you are grateful for

🔥CANCER MARS🔥

spend more time with close friends, family members

take care of someone/something (an animal, plant, a sibling) and nurture them, feed them, prepare them a meal, a snack

host a picnic, barbecue, a dinner, lunch in your home

make a collage

write, listen to music, songs

make a monthly, themed music playlist

bake, prepare a home-cooked meal

make tea or iced tea

plan birthday, christmas gifts for family members or close friends

clean your room, kitchen, bathroom

make a bath, take a shower

make your own rage journal 😂 you know you want to cuss your loved one out without saying it to their face and hurt their feelings

play billiards

stargazing

cuddle someone, give them a hug

put on fresh sheets

ask for a hug

🔥LEO MARS🔥

rollerblade, go skating, skateboarding

send your crush a text/voice message/a photo

look at your previous acknowledgements, wins from tourments, medals and use them as a reminder that once you were already enough confident to do it

make home videos, literally make a movie for example about home-cooked meals for an interest you have

if you have a hobby or an interest in something (for example birds, WW2, astronomy, telescopes etc.) dedicate 20 min or less per day for that said hobby/interest

read about and learn how to have better posture, your back will be thankful

make a photo wall in your room

hype someone up by commenting on their photo or inspire/encourage a friend who needs it

dance in front of the mirror

take some cute selfies

🔥VIRGO MARS🔥

doodle, journal, draw no matter how not perfect you think it is

basically invest in your own hygiene throughout the day (use that body lotion, body scrub, lip balm, paint your nails, shave, wash your hair etc.), it will make you so renewed.

try to eat at least 2 different fruits or make sure to have a least one nutritious meal per day

STRETCH

bake an apple pie

DIY something

learn how to make non-alcoholic cocktail

go fruit picking

write a thank you note

write a ‘grateful for’ list

go cycling

go for a walk for 15 min and quickl come back

go for a quick walk, you walking faster

declutter something

read, invest in your to read list

go to the bookstore

eat a soup, drink fresh juice

answer your friends messages

send your friend a detailed, personal voice message

talk about your day and what you’ve already accomplished to a friend

watch animal videos

watch stand up comedy or a humoruous video

put on perfume, deodorant

try guided meditation

clean out your email inbox

🔥LIBRA MARS🔥

treat yourself to fine dining, a lovely meal in a nice restaurant with beautiful atmosphere

go to a concert, group gathering, social gathering with close friends

go for a drink with your bestie and just vent

organise your wardrobe for clothes

iron clothes, clean your shoes

put on an outfit you feel confident and beautiful in like get dressed up for no reason

do a guided meditation

put away your phone for set amount of time

picture collage

T-shirt craft

call someone you appreciated and like and tell them “I love you”

🔥SCORPIO MARS🔥

aaa LIQUIDS, you are probably not hydrated enough

more juices, but also tea or coffee, warm drinks, water, lemonade, iced tea will lift your spirits

mastrubate lol

go to Escape room

go on a night walk or stargazing

mooove your bodyyy

go on a solo date, take yourself on your dream date and do all the activities only you want to do

get a massage

get at least 8 hours of sleep

face your fears

put on lotion and pjs

invest in a silk pj

make a mug cake

🔥SAGITTARIUS MARS🔥

TRAVEL to gain clarity, perspective, change that scenery, even if this just means going into a forest, to the store, grabbing a coffee/tea

join a party

plan a vaction/day trip/weekend getaway

go on “a trip” to the mall

learn about airplanes and airports

try playing any ball sport

listen to inspirational stories/speeches

talk to a foreigner, someone on the internet/distant media

speak in a foreign language

go to a museum

video chat with someone

write a bucket list

🔥CAPRICORN MARS🔥

spend time with your parents, call your parents, grandparents

post something worthwhile on your social media platform

progress one step forward in a goal you are trying to achieve in one month

make 1 week, 6 weeks, 1 month, 1 year plans/visual

go in nature, to the nearest park, forest, on the hill

make a music playlist

go to a career centre

join that alumni club

inspire other with your story and how you overcame challenges before/in the past

plan your deadlines

plan your daily self care activities for the month

🔥AQUARIUS MARS🔥

do something spontaneous, what you consider odd, unconventional

travel in your mind or real life by watching videos about planets, space, electric vehicles, astrology and learn about thoss topics

make a comic

join a group gathering or iniciate one

talk about hopes, dreams, purpose with a friend

dabble into social activism

publish something on a platform, something that interest you

visit planetarium

visit a library

watch a webinar or a virtual workshop

listen to a TED talk

spend 10 min giving compliments on Instagram or any other social media

eat three nutritious meals

🔥PISCES MARS🔥

make visionboards in real life or on Pinterest

learn to listen more, more effectively and while someone is tell you a story, PICTURE it in your head

take photos of something you love

listen to music, dance

look at photo album on your phone or a real one

take a bath, a shower

go swimming

take a walk along a body of water

take yourself on a picnic in nature, by the water, park

read a book, kindle, a magazine, newspaper

buy artwork

make a freshed pressed fruit juice and drink it

write a thank you note to someone, a postcard, give them a small, thoughtful gift

watch stand up comedy

make a music playlist

garden, take care of plants

learn more about photography

visit a gallery, museum

watch an animated movie

help someone in need, be charitable, offer something to a homeless person

put more photos, artwork on your walls

learn about oceans, submarines, sea life, cruises, resorts, hotels

visit aquarium

watch reruns of your favourite sitcom

Credit goes to my blog @astroismypassion

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polish-art-tournament · 6 months

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round 3, poll 2

Stańczyk:

painted in 1862

i generally dislike matejko but stańczyk is so iconic that i've grown to like it

long story short Stańczyk was a court jester for the last kings of the Jagiellonian dynasty in Poland in 16th century. he was also politically savvy and known for his accurate satirical comments on the country's past and present political situation.

in the painting he has just read the letter announcing some significant war losses (the fall of Smolensk); he is somber, but in the background, behind the curtain, the royals having fun at a ball and remain ignorant of the news

it's one of Matejko's early paintings; he was just 24 when he finished it

it's also an autoportrait since Matejko gave Stańczyk his own face

Żydówka z pomarańczami:

painted in 1881

looted during ww2 and recovered after almost 80 years!

portraits of elder people are always so good

there is something very pleasing about the blue-orange colour combination

instead of a live model Gierymski probably used this photo as a reference - the woman really is recognizable!

see more of their works! Matejko, Gierymski

#jan matejko #stańczyk #jester #aleksander gierymski #polish art #polls #round 3

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ladamedusoif · 3 months

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Provenance

A Gentleman Thief x F!Museum Professional Reader Story

Part of the HCU (Heritage Crimes Universe) - click for masterlist

Pairing: The Thief (Casillero del Diablo) x F!Museum Professional Reader

Summary: Two months after their reunion, the museum curator finds herself on an unexpected Parisian adventure.

Content warnings: Smut; Oral sex (F receiving); unprotected but safe PiV sex; discussion of contraception; alcohol consumption; angst; discussion of illegal acquisition of stolen objects during WW2; (ethical) heritage crimes; theft; sort-of fluff; no physical description of Reader beyond her professional attire, though she has a nickname (chérie).

Rating: E (18+ MDNI)

Word count: ~7,500

A/N: They're back! The Thief is just too charming to resist. A follow-up to My Kiss, Only For You and Reunions.

I am no longer using a taglist: please follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications to keep up to date with my work.

The package is, unmistakably, a book. Wrapped in brown paper, a neatly-typed address label affixed to the front. No return address.

It’s pretty explicitly addressed to you, though. Right down to the department. You rack your brain, trying to remember whether you’d ordered something and forgotten. Or maybe it’s a gift?

You slip it out of the wrapping carefully. The dust jacket design suggests it’s from the 1950s, 1960s at the latest, but it’s in impeccable condition.

The Museums of Paris: A Guide

The front cover features a photo of the Louvre, the facades still soot-blackened before their cleaning in the later part of the twentieth century, with beautifully-dressed tourists milling around the old entrance to the museum.

Before you can leaf through the book, seeking a receipt or gift card or invoice of some kind, your desk phone rings. The museum director. And they want to speak to you: now.

***

“We’ve had an…unusual request.”

You slip into the old leather chair opposite the director’s desk, covered in papers and catalogues. “An unusual request?”

She takes off her dark-framed glasses and smiles. “One of our major donors. They’re potentially about to buy some important art objects from a private Parisian collector, and we are hoping that - in time - they might donate them to us.”

“Okay…”

“But they don’t feel entirely confident appraising the collection without expert guidance.”

You nod slowly.

The director looks at you as if she’s waiting for the penny to drop.

“They want you to go to Paris with them, as an expert consultant. They will pay for all your expenses, travel, per diems - the lot.”

You just about manage to stop your jaw falling open.

“Um…why me? I’m not one of the senior curators or object specialists, maybe they…”

She holds up a perfectly-manicured hand. “Stop there. The donor has explicitly requested you. They believe you are the best equipped to manage their needs on this job.”

“Uh… okay. So, when do I leave?”

She grins. “Two days’ time. And bring some decent clothes - you know how formal some of the French collectors can be.”

As you return to the office, a sensual memory flashes through your brain. Velvet, the colour of good Burgundy wine. Soft lips, coarse beard. Warm bodies pressed together. The most intense orgasm you’ve had in years, maybe ever.

It couldn’t be, surely. It was almost two months since that night and there’d been no missive, no note, nothing. The director said “them”, didn’t she? Not “he”.

Besides, she’d said the donor was buying the objects. Not, you chuckle to yourself as you sit at your desk, stealing them. However ethical his motives may be.

Still. No harm in packing some nice lingerie. Just in case.

***

It is still dark when your phone buzzes to let you know that the car - paid for and sent by the client - is waiting outside, ready to bring you to the airport for your transatlantic flight to Paris.

You’d expected an Uber, not the gleaming black vehicle pulled up outside your building. Suitcase securely stowed, the driver points out the bottled water and snacks located in the back of the car as he sets off through deserted city streets.

The surprises keep coming. You are in business class, not coach, for the long flight, resisting the urge to kick your feet and squeal with delight at the unexpected luxury. A smartly-dressed man holds a sign with your name on at Arrivals, and for a moment you wonder if this is the client. He’s another driver, of course - a charming and funny young Frenchman called Youssef, who speaks English with a vague American accent he says he picked up from TV and movies.

Youssef whisks you into the city, pointing out landmarks along the way. The Eiffel Tower comes into view on the other side of the river as the black car negotiates elegant, narrow streets lined with perfectly-maintained nineteenth-century apartment buildings.

“Et voilà!” Youssef stops the car and hops out to retrieve your suitcase. You step out, expecting to see the entrance to a hotel - but instead it’s just another residential building, sealed off from the city by two huge, heavy, dark green doors.

With a bright smile, Youssef taps a little tag off a keypad and one of the doors swings open, revealing a passage leading to a gorgeous courtyard beyond. He refuses your tip - “it’s all good, madame!” - and instead picks up your bag and leads the way, opening another door to reveal the entrance hall proper. The marble floor is polished to perfection; dark red carpet covers the staircase that wraps around the elevator shaft; and there is not a sound to be heard.

”Sixth floor, madame. They’re waiting for you there.” He slides back the door of the elevator, slots your case in beside you, and presses the button. “Have a nice day!”

The elevator is old - possibly pre-World War One, you muse, unable to turn off the specialist’s mind - and slow. As it ascends, you take a moment to gather your thoughts and process this strange little adventure.

If this was a movie, you’d be walking into a meeting of a criminal gang - or maybe to your death, you suddenly think, panic taking over for a second as the lift comes to a shuddering stop and you step out onto the sixth floor landing.

There is only one apartment entrance up here, as far as you can see. Dark red double doors, perfectly polished brass doorknobs and fittings adorning them, and a tiny doorbell discreetly tucked alongside the doorframe on one side.

You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and hover your finger over the button.

The door to the apartment swings open just as your fingertip makes contact with the doorbell, setting off a loud, sonorous bell somewhere within and making you jump.

”Bienvenue, chérie. Come in, won’t you? I do hope I haven’t frightened you.”

***

“You know, if you wanted to ask me out again you could have just called or emailed, like a normal person.”

He hands you a cup of strong black coffee and joins you on the couch in the apartment’s enormous living room.

“Do you think I’m a normal person?”

You take a sip and chuckle. “You are definitely not a normal person.”

He smiles in satisfaction, eyes taking you in from head to toe as you feel a warmth building deep within.

”It’s very, very good to see you, chérie.” His voice is warm and honeyed, an inviting purr that makes you ache between your legs.

Today, he is wearing a black cashmere turtleneck with a pair of perfectly-tailored grey dress pants and some heavy, brown-framed glasses. It’s all you can do not to climb on top of him.

“It’s been almost two months, Thief. Did you forget about me?”

He shakes his head, eyes softening with what you want to believe is genuine regret. “Never. I had to spend some time away, in South America - dealing with the family business, you know - and then I came here, to look at Madame Deseine’s…collection.”

The way he enunciates the final word gives you pause. What was in this “collection”?

“So my invitation here was just an excuse to see me, is that it? Because you weren’t back in the city yet?”

He looks at you in surprise. “Of course not! I mean, I’m very happy to see you again.” A little smile, eyes twinkling. “But no, I need your expertise. And your company is…a nice bonus.”

“My expertise?”

He sits back and crosses his legs, holding your gaze. “You are a specialist in the kinds of decorative arts and objects in Madame Deseine’s collection, I believe. And you are fluent in French. Year abroad in Lyon, correct?”

Your mouth falls open and you quirk your head. “How did… have you been… were you digging for information on me? That’s a violation of trust, and -“

He interrupts your fury with a chuckle. “Chérie, it’s all on your museum staff page profile. Qualifications, time abroad, special areas of expertise.”

You blush, embarrassed, and stare down into the dark swirl of your coffee as an awkward silence takes hold in the apartment’s tasteful interior.

“I’m sorry, chérie. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. Trust me, you are exactly the right person for the job.”

He extends a hand towards yours, long fingers gently stroking the back of your hand. When you look up, his dark eyes are warm and genuinely apologetic.

“I guess I’m not used to being…pursued, like this.”

He arches an eyebrow. “In what sense?”

You smirk and stand up. “In every sense, Thief. Now: are you going to explain this ‘job’ to me or not?”

His gaze - taking you in, a smile on his lips - is enough to set you aflame.

“I am. But over dinner, I think.”

***

The waiter perfectly pours a little more white wine into each of your glasses before returning the bottle to the stainless steel ice bucket and leaving the two of you to your meals.

He raises his glass to you, and you return the gesture.

You were not surprised when the car had pulled up outside an elegant, discreet restaurant tucked away in the Seventh Arrondissement. It was exactly his style: subtle, timeless, and exuding quality even before he held the door open and you stepped inside.

“So.” He swallows a bite of his monkfish and takes a sip of wine. “Madame Deseine.”

“Madame Deseine.”

You start to eat your meal as he explains. A genuine and respected art collector, Madame Deseine lived outside Paris in her family’s country estate, surrounded by an exceptional array of mostly nineteenth and early twentieth-century paintings, decorative arts, sculpture and furniture. As she grew older, she had begun to sell some parts of the collection - but remained extremely guarded about its exact contents.

“There are some…questions about the provenance of some of the items in the collection, or at least items we think are in the collection. Mostly late nineteenth-century decorative arts - clocks, vases, that sort of thing - but also some small art nouveau sculptures and figurines.”

You take a sip of your wine and narrow your eyes. “And this is where you come in?”

He nods.

“You’re planning to steal some of her collection?”

He shakes his head, pauses, then nods before shaking his head again.

“Kind of, not really. Didn’t you hear what I said about provenance?”

“You think she’s not being entirely honest about her methods, about how she came by the collection?” In a world increasingly attuned to the repatriation of looted and stolen objects to their rightful place, you were deeply familiar with the importance of the provenance paper trail.

He dabs at the corner of his mouth with the linen napkin. “Some of the collection. I believe that some of the collection came into her family as a result of looting and theft, that these items were not restored to their rightful owners, and that she is well aware of this fact.”

“You know that some of the most important art collectors in France before the war were Jewish families, no doubt.” You nod and he continues. “And that many of those families, even if they were in the minority lucky enough to escape the round-ups and the camps, had to leave behind those collections.”

”And when they were gone, the collections were…dispersed.”

He shakes his head. “Not dispersed. Stolen. Some of the surviving members of those families had their possessions located and restored, but not all. And I have been reliably informed that some of those missing items are currently in the hands of Madame Claudine Deseine.”

You swallow a bite of your salmon and size him up. “Aha. And this is why an ethical gentleman thief is required, I suppose?”

He gives you a knowing smile. The way the candlelight catches the coppery flecks in his brown eyes makes your breath catch for an instant.

“I have been asked by a number of individuals to retrieve the objects stolen from their families over eighty years ago, and which have made their way into Madame Deseine’s collection without regard for their provenance.” He chews thoughtfully on a steamed green bean.

“So where, exactly, do I come in, Thief?”

”I am going to buy some of the collection. But in order to be sure that the missing objects are in the Deseine chateau and to cross-check the gaps in the provenance records…I need to gain her trust. Or rather - you need to gain her trust.”

You raise your eyebrows and take another sip of wine. You might need something stronger by the end of the night.

”You aren’t seriously asking me to steal art, are you?” you hiss. He shakes his head furiously.

”Absolutely not. But I know Claudine Deseine’s reputation, and I know she won’t just let a potential buyer see the whole of her collection. She will, however, be a little more welcoming to a specialist who has kindly agreed to evaluate the items properly. Oh, and to look through the provenance records, to save us all time.”

”So what, I just turn up with you and hope she lets me into her secret stash of stolen stuff?”

He chuckles at the alliteration. “Not quite. But you may need to butter her up, tell her you’ve heard extraordinary things about the rare items she has, ask if she might let you see these things you’ve only read about in catalogues. And when you’re in, you can use your expertise to confirm that these are the items we are looking for, and then look for any gaps or obvious forgeries in the accompanying paperwork.”

”And how, exactly, do you propose to liberate the items from this chateau?”

He taps his nose. “Chérie, telling you that would make you completely complicit. I will handle it, you will wait in the apartment.”

You purse your lips. “I can’t believe I’m actually agreeing to this.”

He tilts his head to the side. “Deseine has knowingly sat on these things too long - why else would she hide these valuable items from any public descriptions of her collection? The government ignores the claims from the descendants because, for the most part, they live in the US.” He finishes the remaining wine in his glass. “And I, personally, cannot resist a challenge.”

“I have one condition. Apart from not becoming more implicated in this than I already am.”

“Name it.”

”That. That’s my condition. I want your name.”

He chuckles and looks down at his empty dinner plate. “Chérie, I cannot.”

”You’re asking me to help you steal back some very valuable art, and you can’t give me your name?”

”If you know my name you will know too much. And I don’t know why you need to know, anyway.”

You roll your eyes. “I like to know who I’m working with. And, on occasion, who I’m sleeping with, or who’s eating me out on my desk.”

To your satisfaction, he splutters on his sparkling water.

”I still can’t tell you,” he says, recovering his composure.

”Nothing stopping me guessing, though,” you whisper mischievously. “Let’s see. Giacomo.”

He gives you a withering glance.

”Not that, then…Pietro.”

An eye-roll.

“Dave.”

”Do I look like a ‘Dave’ to you?”

You giggle as the waiter takes away your empty plates. “No, that’s true. Pierre?”

He groans and shakes his head, but his smile is unmistakable. “Don’t make me regret this, chérie.”

***

Back in the apartment, he rummages in a sideboard filled with bottles of various liqueurs and spirits, before producing a bottle of Courvoisier and two cognac glasses.

“A little digestif, if you’d like?”

You accept your glass gratefully and inhale the complex, fruity aroma of the alcohol, swirling it gently before taking a sip. Its warmth radiates through your body and you close your eyes and savour the sensation, tucking your feet under you as you cosy up on the couch.

“Tell me about the apartment.”

He smiles, looking around the spacious living room, its nineteenth century interior fixtures somehow matching perfectly with the array of impeccably-chosen twentieth-century furniture.

“My great-great-grandfather bought it, not long after this building was constructed - late nineteenth century, I think. The family business frequently brought him to Paris, and he needed a base.”

“And the family business is…?”

He huffs a laugh. “You are persistent, chérie. Wine. The family business was - is - wine.”

You raise your eyebrows and nod as if extremely impressed, and he chuckles, revealing the laughter lines around his eyes that lend his handsome face such character.

“Well, I can’t pretend to be an expert - what do they call it? An…oenophile, is that it? - so I’m not going to ask for any more details, fear not. My wine knowledge extends no further than ‘that’s quite nice, isn’t it.’”

He feigns horror, recoiling back into the cushions of the sofa. “Chérie, I am going to have to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

You giggle and take another sip of the cognac. “I’m willing to learn, though.”

“That so? Well, I can be your guide, if you’d like.” He finishes his cognac and licks his lips as he looks at you.

“I…I would like.”

He smiles, takes your glass, and stands up. You follow his lead, wandering behind him into the kitchen where he deposits the empty glasses on a pristine countertop. Every fibre of your being wants to reach for him, to pull him to you, to have him there and then.

“Chérie, I…didn’t want to presume anything.” He swallows hard and turns to face you, eyes a little wary. “About, uh, sleeping arrangements. Hence the guest bedroom.”

You had changed there earlier - a bright, pretty bedroom at one end of the corridor running along the apartment, complete with its own small en suite bathroom.

“Oh. Of course.” You flush. “A busy day tomorrow.”

His hand finds yours, long fingers caressing yours before he brings it to his lips for a soft, sustained kiss that does nothing to quench the flames of your desire.

“Indeed. That said, if you want company…”

You see the spark in his eyes: teasing, playful, almost daring you to act first. Instead, you meet his gaze with an enigmatic smile.

He pulls away slightly and arches an eyebrow. “If you want company, I am just down the hall. Bonne nuit, chérie.”

***

In the quiet of the guest room you slip out of your clothes and into a wine-coloured silk robe you’d found hanging on the back of the door, freshly pressed. You retrieve your washbag and toiletries and set about your nightly routine.

You hoped it would be a distraction from the ache between your legs, from the memory of his hand on yours, from the way he looked at you, from his offer of company. From the wet patch you’d noticed on your panties as you undressed.

“Fuck.”

You close your eyes and lean on the sink for a moment as you take a deep breath before reaching for your moisturiser.

***

He’s sitting on his bed, stripped to his boxers and clad in his own, navy blue silk robe. It hangs open around his body, the colour a perfect complement for his golden skin.

A knock. He lifts his head from his papers.

“Come in, chérie.”

She peeks playfully around the door. “I was wondering if that offer was still valid. I think I do want some…company.”

“It’s still valid.” He tidies away the paperwork and pats the space beside him on the large bed. “What kind of company did you have in mind?”

She crosses the room, hands reaching for the sash of her guest robe. It falls open as she reaches the bed, revealing the lacy bra and matching French knickers underneath. He inhales sharply, cock twitching at the sight.

“Up to you. This is your turf, after all.”

“Ah, but you’re the guest, chérie. Your preference is what counts.”

She shucks off the robe and climbs onto the bed, swiftly straddling him. With a slow roll of her hips, she drags her pussy over his hardening cock, the outline visible under his dark boxers.

“This is my preference. Does it work for you, too, Thief?”

He answers with a hungry kiss as he pulls her tight to him.

***

He tastes of mint and cinnamon and the faintest trace of Courvoisier. You had missed his mouth.

His fingers unhook the clasps of your bra and he tugs it off you, discarding it to a corner of the room. He breaks the kiss, lips pink and wet, and turns his attention to your tits: cupping them, fondling them, squeezing them with his broad hands before he starts to suck on each nipple in turn.

You toss back your head and bite your lip, stifling a loud moan. He releases your breast with a pop of his mouth.

“This apartment is the entire top floor, chérie. You can be as loud as you wish.”

Two fingers tug aside the crotch of your panties and find the warm wetness that’s been building between your legs all day. He looks up at you and grins.

“On your back, amor.”

French knickers off, he gently pushes your thighs back before resting your legs over his shoulders. He buries his face against your pussy with a delighted groan, the delicious timbre of his voice rumbling against your core.

He licks a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, a hand pressing against your belly as your hips instinctively buck upwards with pleasure and need. His tongue swirls lasciviously across your folds, lapping up the wetness, before he begins to suck on your clit. Slow at first, a gorgeous torment; then faster, more insistent, the tip of his tongue flicking over and back over the swollen nub rhythmically in time with your needy moans and whimpers.

He keeps it up as he slips first one, then two fingers inside you and hooks them just so, chuckling when you cry out.

“Fuck…I’m close, I -“

You let go. You come hard against his face, ecstasy coursing through your body as he keeps on fucking you through it with his fingers, gently pulling out when he senses your overstimulation.

He moves up and lies beside you, face to face.

“You enjoyed that.”

You try to slow your breathing. “You think?”

He chuckles, tracing the curve of your hip with his hand. “I enjoyed it, too.”

“And no jewel theft involved this time. So far, anyway.”

He closes his eyes and smiles, humming contentedly as he reaches for your breast, idly rubbing your nipple with his thumb.

You study his features for a moment, noting the handful of freckles on his face, the way his dark lashes look against his cheeks, the gloss of your own slick shimmering across his pink lips, his chin, his moustache.

This time, when your tongue swipes against his mouth, he tastes of you.

You gather some of your own wetness on your fingers by way of lubrication, before tugging down his boxers and taking his cock in your hand. He closes his eyes as you stroke him slowly, steadily, feeling him growing harder under your careful touch.

With your free hand you caress the side of his face, thumb rubbing gently against the grey patches in his beard.

“I want you, Thief.”

He opens his eyes and smiles before gently moving your hand away from his cock. He shucks off his robe and shifts into position above you, arms caging your body on either side.

“You know, I’m on birth control,” you whisper, looking up at him through your lashes. “And you were the last person I was with, and before that…well, it had been a while.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Same. Well, not the birth control, evidently…but the rest. No one but you, not for some time. So…?”

You trail your fingers over his chest, dappled here and there with freckles, and he leans down to kiss you. Different, this time - softer, less desperate, more…tender.

“So you can have me bare, if you want.”

“Oh fuck, chérie. Yes. Please.” He gestures with his head. “Turn, get on all fours.”

You do as you are told, teasingly wiggling your ass at him once you’re in position. He gives it a light slap and you squeal approvingly until the feeling of his cock opening you up makes you catch your breath.

He sinks slowly inside you, pausing when he’s fully sheathed in your warm pussy. You can hear his breathing becoming a little ragged, hitching as he adjusts to the feeling.

”Feel good, Thief?”

”Incredible, amor. You?”

“Fucking amazing.”

He takes you slowly at first, a long drag out, a quicker thrust back inside, and builds up a rhythm quickly. The angle is nothing short of perfect and you bury your face against the covers, whining with pleasure. He reaches down and grabs one of your breasts, fingers pressing into the flesh as he fucks you harder and faster.

“Such a beautiful body, amor. So soft and warm and fuck, such a tight little pussy for me. You feel so perfect on my cock.”

He’s hitting you just right now, another orgasm building rapidly until you come for the second time, muffling your cries in the blankets. You turn to look at him: broad body glistening with perspiration, errant curls falling over his forehead and darkened with sweat, that gorgeous head thrown back as he gets closer and closer.

”Come on, Thief.” You purr your encouragement, never taking your eyes off him. “Come on. Come. Fill me up.”

He comes hard, with a loud cry, hands gently caressing your hips as he finishes deep inside you.

”I think you missed me.”

He flops back on the bed and turns to face you as you nestle against him. A mischievous grin plays around his lips. “What on earth makes you say that, chérie?”

You kiss his forehead, tasting the salty sweetness of his damp skin. “Just a hunch. By the way, I have an even better reason why I need to know your name.”

He groans and rolls his eyes affectionately. “Well?”

”Well…if I knew your name, I could scream it out loud the next time you make me come like that.”

His eyes widen and he grins. “You could, I suppose.”

”So? What’s your name…Pablo.”

He fixes you with a teasing glare. “Not Pablo.”

”James. Jimmy. Jimbob?”

He can’t help but burst out laughing this time. “Fine. Fine. Let’s make a deal. If we succeed with Madame Deseine, I’ll give you a name.”

”A name?” The distinction is striking.

”A name. It may or may not be my name. But it will be a name. Deal?”

“Deal.”

***

The morning mist hangs low over the French countryside as you drive through the enormous gateway that divides the Deseine estate from the rest of the world, and follow the long drive up to the chateau proper.

You had expected that Youssef would be on driving duty. But it was your gentleman thief at the wheel of the understated hire car, confidently navigating the autoroutes and trunk roads that led to your destination. For a moment you imagine a parallel universe where you are just a normal couple on a normal holiday, not a nameless thief and a museum curator plotting to relieve a woman of her family’s ill-gotten gains.

He had slept well, it seemed. You? Not so much. In the wee small hours of the morning, you lay awake, listening to his steady breaths and ruminating over what, exactly, you were doing here - and why.

He isn’t your partner. Not your boyfriend. Hell, you don’t know if you could call this “dating”. You don’t even know who he is. He stole from your employer because you let your pussy override your brain. He brought you to Paris to aid and abet in another theft. And, instead of turning on your heel and trying to protect your professional reputation, you’d not only agreed to his scheme - you’d fucked him. Again.

You’d tossed and turned on the pillows as you tried to quiet your mind enough for sleep. Was this really just about sex? Or was something else pulling you into each other’s orbits?

The Deseine chateau emerges at the end of the driveway. It appears at first glance to date from the eighteenth century, with some later additions and extensions. He pulls up near the main door and hops out of the car, quickly bounding over to the passenger side so he can hold the door for you.

“What a gentleman,” you whisper, straightening the smart blazer and palazzo pants you’d worn for the occasion.

“At your service,” he replies with a subtle wink. “Just as I was when you needed…company. How are you feeling this morning, by the way? Satisfied, I hope.”

Before you can answer, the enormous main doors of the chateau swing open and a petite woman with snow-white hair emerges, clad in a vintage bouclé Chanel skirt and matching jacket. He moves swiftly up the steps to shake her hand, speaking too quietly for you to pick up on whatever name he’s using today.

“And this is my expert, my advisor, my guiding light!” He gestures towards you, motioning for you to join them. You introduce yourself with a bright smile, trying to read the older woman’s expression, to get a sense of how you might gain her trust.

“It is an honour to be here, Madame. I’m so excited to see the collection.”

Claudine Deseine casts an appraising glance over you from head to toe. Seemingly satisfied, she extends her hand in greeting and addresses you in clipped, precise English.

“It is very special, I think you’ll agree. Now, do come in - I’ll have my housekeeper Maryam bring us some coffee, and then we can take a look at the objects we’ve discussed.”

***

He is gentlemanly charm personified, you think, watching him follow Madame Deseine around the house. He flirts just enough to have the older woman like putty in his hands, listens attentively, laughs at her jokes, and looks at her with a familiar twinkle in his eyes.

The recognition gives you pause, but you push it to the back of your mind. You have a plan to stick to today.

She leads the two of you into a bright room at the back of the chateau, overlooking a gorgeous French-style formal garden. “Well, here they are.” She gestures towards a large oak table in the middle of the room, where a variety of figurines and decorative objects are set out. You’d known what to expect: mostly art nouveau, dating from decades either side of 1900; some bronze figures; some beautifully-decorated ceramics, glazes still bright and vibrant; and what you immediately recognise as a small, early Lalique crystal vase.

He claps his hands together in what looks like genuine delight, eyes widening as he moves closer to the table. “May I?”

Madame Deseine beams and nods. He carefully picks up one of the vases, inspecting the swirling, sinuous curves of its painted decoration before checking the makers’ marks on the bottom of the piece.

“Extraordinary,” he says in a rapt whisper.

“Madame?” She turns to face you. “Would it be possible for me to see the paperwork while he - while my client is inspecting the objects? It would save your valuable time, and you’ve already been so kind to accommodate us.”

She beams. “Of course. Follow me, won’t you?” She opens another door leading off the room and pauses for a moment.

“I’ll be back tout de suite, monsieur,” she purrs at him as he peers at a bronze figurine. “Please, make yourself at home.”

“You really are most kind, Madame.” He winks, and the esteemed Claudine Deseine titters like a schoolgirl.

***

She flicks a switch and illuminates a large, windowless room located at the rear of the house, in what you suspect might be the former servants’ quarters. “Et voilà. The archive.”

The walls are lined with shelving, filled with hundreds of archive boxes and files. You begin to scan the shelves, trying to work out a pattern in the filing system.

“They are labelled according to date of acquisition,” she explains. “Achats, purchases, by year.”

You look at her with an expression that you hope conveys innocent confusion. “Gosh, it’s all such a lot. Could you give me dates for the items being sold? Ballpark, if necessary - I just know he’s a stickler for the paperwork but he’s impatient and he won’t take kindly to me taking a long time in here…”

She smiles and nods sympathetically, and for a moment you feel incredibly guilty. “Ah. Men. I understand, my dear.” She pulls out an unmarked, unlabelled box file from the top shelf and retrieves a spiral-bound book.

“This is strictly entre-nous, my dear. My personal catalogue. Everything by date. Let this be your guide. And now, I must return to monsieur.” She looks at you conspiratorially. “If he becomes - how do they say it, antsy? - then he can simply take a walk in my beautiful gardens, hmmm?”

***

He strolls past the elegantly-trimmed box hedges as he makes his way to the elaborate water feature at the centre of the gardens. He couldn’t quite believe how well it had all worked out, so far - your complaint about his impatience had, as planned, won you her sympathy and with it an order from the lady of the house to go and see the gardens while you worked through the papers.

If necessary, he’d have feigned illness, claimed he needed some air. But it’s always better when they play right into your hands, with something they believe is their idea.

The gardens are perfectly positioned to give him a view of the back of the house: the doors leading to a terrace, the smaller windows and discreet servants’ entrance. His dark eyes survey the building closely, making a mental map he’ll refer to when he finalises the plan. He has his suspicions, but he needs you to confirm exactly where the collections are hidden. For now, he just hopes you can unlock the final part of the puzzle.

***

A knock on the door announces the return of Claudine Deseine.

“Well, have you found what you needed? I do hope the catalogue was useful.”

Little do you know, Madame.

You replace the lid on a box of papers and nod at a stack of receipts and records of authenticity relevant to the items he was perusing for purchase.

“Very useful, thank you, Madame.”

You swallow hard and slow your breathing as you follow her out of the room.

“Madame, may I - may I make a somewhat bold request?”

She raises an eyebrow. “You may. What is it?”

“I couldn’t help but notice the entries for some of Lalique’s cire perdue work when I was looking at the catalogue. Pieces so rare that we only know they exist because of René Lalique’s own records…”

“Yes. And?”

“My masters dissertation was on Lalique, Madame. Is there…would you…could I…?”

She stares at you before her features soften into a smile.

“You want to see them, don’t you?”

***

“Well?”

He waited until you were out of the estate before asking the question, not seeming to notice how quiet you’d been since getting back in the car.

“They’re there. The three Lalique pieces, that rare Sevres vase. She was only too happy to show me.”

“Did you check the makers’ marks?”

You nod, gazing out of the window. “I did. They’re the right pieces. Those Laliques are one of a kind. In different circumstances, it would have been a joy to see them.”

“And the papers?”

He takes the turn to merge onto the autoroute back to Paris, and you wish the nagging doubts about this whole sorry enterprise - about him - would dissipate.

“The private catalogue clearly states when they were acquired, but with no corresponding archival code numbers. I checked the boxes for those years carefully, just to be sure…but there’s no paper trail. Just a note in each catalogue entry recording the dealer they came from - all from the same man.”

He nods, satisfied. “And the room itself? What’s access like?”

“I sent you some photos earlier.” While Madame Deseine had been taking the priceless objects out of their storage boxes, you had snapped some surreptitious pictures. “Access may not be straightforward, though, given the absence of a window.”

He chuckles. “Leave that to me.”

“Won’t she know that you’ve taken the pieces, by the way?”

“F is for Fake, chérie. Nothing some good forgeries cannot fix.”

***

You spend the rest of the journey in silence, while he rambles about various subjects: French motorways, private chateaux, Lalique’s cire perdue process, in which a vase is formed within a one-off wax mould that was discarded afterwards, rendering the pieces unique - and extremely valuable.

“The descendants of the original owners still have, in some cases, the provenance records for these items,” he explains as he parks the car and taps the sensor to open the door into the building. “And now, soon, they’ll have their rightful inheritance.”

You don’t know whether to snap at him or burst into tears.

He takes your coat and saunters into the apartment’s small kitchen, still talking to you as he audibly potters around, opening cupboards and taking out dishes and glassware. You are not really listening, still caught up in your own thoughts. Why the fuck were you here? Were you really willing to risk your entire reputation for a crush and some sex? You’d been lucky to escape any questioning or punishment after the theft of the ruby, after all.

And what if, as you wondered in the chateau when he was so flirtatious and charming with Madame Deseine, he was just using you? Your knowledge and your veneer of professional respectability helped him steal. Your desire and your body got him off. Win-win for him, but a potentially devastating loss for you.

“Chérie? Didn’t you hear me?”

He’s standing at the narrow door into the kitchen that adjoins the living room, sweater sleeves rolled up.

“Oh. Oh, sorry. I was miles away. What is it?”

“I asked the housekeeper to leave a light dinner for us, as it’s been a long day. It’s nothing fancy - some salads, crudités, cold cuts and cheeses - but I do have a very nice Sancerre chilled in the fridge…”

You force a smile. “That does sound good. I’ll set the table, if you show me where everything is.”

He cheerily opens the various cartons and tubs of food as you ferry the tableware into the open-plan dining area. Behind his usual charming patter, though, is a man increasingly worried about how quiet you’ve been since you left Madame Deseine and her collections earlier that day.

***

“You know you can talk to me, chérie. What’s on your mind?”

Of course he’s noticed. Why wouldn’t he? His perceptiveness is what makes him such an artful, successful thief.

You drain your glass of Sancerre and look him square in the eye.

“Am I really so different to Claudine Deseine?”

He looks confused.

“Excuse me?”

“Am I really so different to Claudine Deseine? In your eyes, I mean. Are you using me, like you’re using her?”

“I’m not using Madame Deseine. I’m buying some of her collection so I can liberate the really valuable pieces and get them back where they belong. That’s stealing, not using.”

You exhale, long and slow. “I saw you today. Handling her just like you do me. The charm offensive, the twinkling eyes, the flirting. She, at least, hasn’t slept with you - though I wouldn’t put it past you to try if you thought it would have helped.”

The words leave your lips, and you instantly regret it. So much for rational calm. Now you just sound like a jealous lover.

He looks at you, jaw ticking, and a blend of fury and hurt burning in his dark eyes.

“That’s rather unfair, don’t you think?”

Silence.

“I had to win her over. Just like you did. Or did you forget your part in this?”

“Why am I here, Thief? What do you want from me? There must be hundreds of other experts out there you could have enlisted to help you gain access to the collection, theft or no theft. And if it’s just about sex, well - I suspect there’s no shortage of people who’d be very glad to fuck you. So why me? Or do you just want to ruin me, finish what you started when you tricked and took advantage of me?”

His voice is low and carefully controlled. “You know that’s not what this is, chérie. You know that.”

You push away from the table and stand to face him, flinging down your linen napkin. “So what, then, is it?”

He stares at you and his expression shifts, from glowering to openness. Mouth slightly ajar, he seems to be struggling to find the words.

He can’t even bring himself to say it. Coward.

“I see. Good night, Thief.”

***

Your return flight is booked for the day after tomorrow, and there’s no way you could afford a last-minute ticket for an earlier departure. As you complete your nighttime routine and slip into the guest bed, you resolve to make the most of an unexpected solo day in Paris, looking up current exhibitions and shows at the city’s various museums and galleries.

You take a herbal sleeping tablet, just in case, and turn off the light.

When you wake in the morning, you find that your pillow is damp from the tears you wept in the night.

His bedroom door is still firmly closed as you pad down the hallway and to the main door. Exploiting you or not, he’d made it clear that he didn’t need you for today, the final stage in his plan. There’s a spare keyfob in the drawer of the small hall console table. You slip it in your bag and head out of the apartment and into the city.

***

Museums afford a kind of sanctuary: a quiet space for meditation, reflection, imagination, escape. On a day like today, they enclose you in a safe, comforting cocoon of art and beauty, helping to shield you from the world outside - and from the raging storm of your own thoughts and worries.

You flash your work ID at the entrance to the Petit Palais and are waved through, past the lines of tourists, by virtue of the international reciprocal entry schemes for museum staff. The current temporary show, on Paris in the first decades of the twentieth century, is just what you need by way of distraction, and you lose yourself in artwork after artwork, in no hurry to return to the apartment.

At the museum’s garden café, you take your time over coffee and cake, occasionally joined by a tiny songbird who seems hell-bent on helping himself to your snack. His daring raids on your slice of carrot cake help to stop your mind from wandering back to the apartment, to him, and to his journey back to the chateau.

***

He’s gone when you get back. Just an envelope on the counter, addressed to you. Normal service, you think, resumed at last.

Chérie,

As planned, I’ve returned to the Deseine estate to finish what we started. I intend to return later tonight, or in the early hours, but promise me that if I do not return, you will take the flight tomorrow evening.

You must not look for me. Promise me that.

I hope that I might see you before you leave, one way or the other.

Know that I care for you, chérie.

Midnight comes and goes with no sight or sound of him.

One. Two. Three. Nothing.

You close your eyes and force yourself to sleep.

***

He whispers to you in your dreams, over and over. He calls out to you.

“Chérie?”

You open your eyes. In the half-light, you see him. Hair mussed, eyes wide, face streaked with dirt, stripped to the waist.

He feels real to the touch: warm, solid, the softness of his middle, the strength of his arms and shoulders. His beard bristles so realistically under your lips that you could almost believe he was there.

“Chérie, I’m here. I’m back. I’m with you.”

Instinctively, you wrap your arms around him and pull him to you, wordlessly peppering his face with kisses before he wriggles down and nestles his head against your chest, holding you tight to him.

He seems unsettled, distressed, even. Perhaps it had been a narrow escape. Perhaps something had gone wrong.

No matter. You envelop him with warmth and protection. The way he clings to you, needs you, starts to provide an answer to your questions about the nature of his feelings.

You kiss the top of his head and stroke the scruff on the side of his jaw. He pulls away for a moment to look up at you, all softness and awe and warmth. He motions as if to say something, then stops, pensive, and reaches up to kiss your mouth.

“My name is Alejandro.”

Find out more about the Lalique cire perdue technique here!

If you'd like to read more about the great Jewish art collecting families of pre-war France, I strongly recommend James McAuley's The House of Fragile Things and Edmund de Waal's Letters to Camondo.

#the thief x f!reader #the thief fanfiction #the thief smut #the thief casillero del diablo #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #gentleman thief #the heritage crimes universe

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operafantomet · 2 months

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I was asked in a PM how I would rate the different non-replica versions. Well. I have different level of knowledge about them. I have seen three of them live, I have seen a lot of full videos of other, while a handful haven't really interested me so I only know them through photos and short clips. And from that you can't make a fair ranking. But if stunting it - and also really assuming they all had equally great casts - I'd say something like this:

1. HUNGARY: I will always give this production props for being the first non-replica production, and a beautiful one. Very eerie and moody set design, and overall a colour scheme reminding of Maria Bjørnson's but with individual details. It was like looking at the Palais Garnier from another angle. My only main complain is that I like the costume sketches a lot more than then actual costumes. But first and foremost, MOODY. Yes.

2. ROMANIA/NORWAY/GREECE/MIDDLE EAST: As such a bit difficult to rate it as a whole, as the Romanian production was a prototype massively pimped for the Norwegian premiere, and also slightly changed for the following productions. But if judging from the Norwegian production which I saw numerous times, it was all in, with the wildest chandelier crash, nice effects overall, a clear vision in the directing, and nice choreography. This too a take on the Palais Garnier which tried to find other angles and aspects than what Bjørnson did.

3. ITALY / SPAIN / MEDITERRANEAN: Beautiful, creative and very Phantom-y. This too seems to reflect on the Palais Garnier, if a bit more abstracted than the ones above. Props for three equally strong leads, not merely in the acting but also directing.

4. SYDNEY HARBOUR, AUSTRALIA: Humongous outdoor set! The same hint of fragmenter grander pieces as Bjørnson did so well. Colourful, an abundance of details, drapes, ideas. Flames! Floating gondolas! And a performance that went on regardless of massive rainstorms. With a backdrop of the evening sky and the Sydney Opera House. Gotta love it all.

5. POLAND: I like it more now than when it first premiered. I was disappointed it stuck so close to the 2004 movie, in terms of direcing, costume design and tweaks (the sword fight in the Mausoleum scene, for example). But I do appreciate the set design a lot, and the production also feature a kick-ass chandelier crash. Here for it!

6. KRISTIANSTAD, SWEDEN: A thoroughly original production, utilizing the small-ish stage to full effect. I was impressed by how much they made out of little, and how different it appeared life compared to photos. Even if the sets were clever, the golden moments of this production was in the smaller details, I felt. And I loved it.

7. CZECH REPUBLIC: Colourful, loud and brassy design, and one functioning inside a pyramide shaped theatre. Fascinating, if a bit... wobbly. But passionate.

8. RESTAGED TOUR: I mean, Maria Bjørnson's costumes (plus/minus). And very professionally executed. Some clever ideas for the staging and directing, and I do enjoy the overall idea of the drum set. But I don't think the busy sets and the ornate costumes is a good match. I wish they'd made a brand new costume design more suited for the sets. I also have massive issues with the portrayals of the Phantom, Christine and Raoul, both separately and their dynamics. In total a love/hate relationship.

9. ESTONIA: Another thoroughly original production, set between WW1 and WW2, with a local spin, an eternal winter, and a costume design reflecting on Vivienne Westwood and 1990s couture in general. The set design is angled, featuring a stage-on-stage in the back, and boxes at the sides. I like this production more on an intellectual level than really feeling it.

10. NEW ROMANIAN PRODUCTION: Rich AI based look, but oh! So crowded. I enjoy seeing a scene here and there, but seeing several is like eating a whole bag of candy: too much. I do however enjoy it in smaller portions, and I want to give props for being the first to do AI design in Phantom land.

11. FINLAND/SWEDEN: Some of the sets are awesome. But the overall staging feels so alien, and the 1980s costumes and the Phantom's gold mask is killing me. I can't. Kudos for huge opera orchestra, though!

12. BULGARIA: Too print and projection heavy for my liking, some LEGO like set pieces (including the chandelier and monkey musical box) and a costume design I'm understand very little of. This one just ain't for me and that is OK.

13. SERBIA: Oh Serbia. I don't understand you. I don't understand your vibe, your 1990s costume design, your bridge-and-cube set design. I... can't.

(and this is of course a highly subjective ranking based on my preferences and my limited knowledge of ome of the productions - it might change if I see more of them live later on)

#phantom of the opera #non replica #scenography #costume design #set design

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footprintsinthesxnd · 5 months

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The Good Die Young

Masterlist

Warnings: mentions of graphic themes, war, injury, weapons, sexual images, language, 18+, swearing, major character death. Pairings: Jake Seresin × f!reader. Disclaimer: This is a series reflecting on the true events of the US Marines in WW2. All of the characters are fictional and not based off are original characters (except for Jake Seresin) and they are not representations of the real, brave men who fought in WW2. I have tried to make all the events in this series as accurate as possible but please bear in mind this is fanfiction and i have added/ changed certain things to fit with this.

Massive thank you to everyone you followed this story for start to finish. It has been an honour and a privilege to write. Huge thank you to @desert-fern for listening to my endless rants about this series and I’m sorry for breaking your heart multiple times. I hope you can forgive me.

New Jersey July 1946

Y/n’s fingers drummed nervously on the steering wheel of Frank’s car as she pulled into the cemetery car park. Frank and Fern had invited her to New Jersey to stay with them, while Y/n sorted out her new life in the States. She had moved with Fern shortly after the end of the war and while Fern already had a house with Frank, Y/n was still looking for somewhere permanent for her and her son Jacob to live.

The cemetery car park was empty, except for a few cars parked on the far side. Y/n couldn’t quite bring herself to get out of the car, her eyes traveling over the neatly placed rows of pale ivory crosses. They seemed to go on for miles, as far as the eye could see and seemed a stark contrast to the brightly coloured lives of the young men they represented.

Frank had arranged after the war for all of his friends' bodies to be repatriated back to the states and placed together in the same cemetery. ‘They deserve to stay together’ he had told Y//n when he’d first explained what he had arranged. Y/n liked the idea that Jake was alongside Edward and Johnny and that Frank didn’t live too far away. Y/n had been devastated to receive the news of Edward’s death so soon after Jake’s. It felt as though she hadn’t just lost Jake but she was gradually losing all of them. George and Edwards's hospital ship had been hit by Japanese pilots whilst being transported back to the mainland. George survived the disaster, unfortunately losing both his legs but Edward hadn’t stood a chance. The faces of the four young men filled Y/n's mind as she unstrapped Jacob’s car seat and lifted her two-year-old son into her arms.

Y/n’s heart felt heavy as she followed the white crossed rows, the names of each one etching her memory, their ages scrawled across her heart; 18 years, 21 years, 24 years… so many lives cut short. It was at the end of the row that she noticed some familiar names ‘Johnathan ‘Shorty’ Carter’, ‘Edward ‘Mary’ Hughes’, ‘Jacob ‘Cowboy’ Seresin’. Y/n couldn’t help but laugh that Frank had included all their nicknames. Each cross was beautifully clean, each one had fresh flowers placed at the base and a picture of the soldier smiling happily in their Marine dress blues. Y/n had never seen that photo of Jake before. She dug into her handbag and pulled out the drawing of Daphne that she had kept since Jake sent it to her. She placed it carefully in its frame in front of Johnny’s cross. “You’re right, Johnny. She really was a beauty.”

She smiled sadly as she unclasped the chain from her neck and hung it over Jake’s cross, her engagement ring hanging loosely down the ivory stone. Y/n sat down before his grave, her little boy in her lap, running her fingers over his headstone and something within her broke. She let out a silent sob, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably as tears began to flow freely. Jacob just sat quietly in his mother's lap, playing with a blade of grass he had picked, seemingly unaware of the devastation before him. Y/n was pleased really that he would never know the heartbreak the world had suffered over the last 6 years.

“I’m so sorry, Jake,” she cried. “I miss you so much.” She cried for what felt like hours, all the grief that she had bottled up for all those months ,while raising her son, finally escaped through the cracks of her broken heart.

The sound of someone clearing their throat behind her caused Y/n to turn, rubbing her hands over her cheeks, no longer concerned whether her makeup was smudged.

“Excuse me, Miss, do you mind if I lay some flowers here?” The young man was standing on crutches, the lower half of his left leg was no longer there and in its place, he’d tied his trouser leg into a knot. He leaned forward as much as he could, gesturing towards Jake’s grave.

“Of course,” Y/n pulled herself to her feet, moving little Jacob to stand next to her. “Please.” She helped the young man move forward to lay his flowers beside her own before he stood back and saluted Jake’s grave.

“I’m sorry, I have to ask but did you know him well?” Y/n asked, hopeful that he may be able to shed some light on the situation.

“Not all that well. I was only with him for four months but he took me under his wing and he protected me. He was kind to me as a new marine, never once treating me any differently. He was like an older brother.” The young man looked down sadly, tears evident in his eyes. “My name is Daniel Chase.”

He reached out his hand, allowing Y/n to shake it. “I’m Y/n Y/l/n, Jake’s fiancé.”

“I know,” Daniel replied. “He spoke of you often and he showed me a picture of you once. He said it was the happiest day of his life when you had a picnic on the beach in Melbourne.”

Y/n felt tears pricking her eyes again as she listened to Daniel speak. “He was a good man Y/n, he really cared about his soldiers and his friends.”

Y/n nodded, she knew Jake cared for people but she never truly knew the impact he had on his fellow Marines.

Y/n reached out for Daniel’s hand again, “Thank you, Daniel. Thank you for sharing that with me. I sometimes feel that he’s gone forever but then I look at my little boy and I know I’ll always have a part of me with him.”

Daniel smiled back at her, “I understand. Sometimes I wonder why I made it back home and so many others didn’t.”

“I think it’s down to luck…” Y/n paused, “or whether you want to be stupidly brave.”

They both laughed recalling all the times Jake performed ridiculous tasks in the face of grave danger. And at least for now, he could rest in a quiet part of New Jersey knowing that his country was free from war and terror.

Jake Seresin was awarded the Medal of Honour for his bravery in the Pacific. His fiancée accepted the medal on his behalf.

George returned to Alabama and married his fiancée Florence. They have a quiet life in Mobile, Alabama with their two daughters and their dog. George became a construction contractor.

Frank married Fern and they have two sons. They have a nice life in New Jersey. Frank became a headteacher at the local high school.

Daniel returned to the States and after many months on crutches he was fitted with a prosthetic leg. He met his future wife ,Faye, who worked at the local school shortly after. They are married and have three children. Daniel went back to university and trained as a doctor. He became a leader surgeon in his field. His family split their time between the States and Europe.

Y/n never remarried. She became a writer for the Wall Street Journal and wrote a book about the life of the Marines in the Pacific with Frank’s help. She lives with her son, Jacob, in New York. Every year they hold a reunion in Jake, Johnny and Edward’s honour and visit the cemetery.

All who returned from the war were never the same men they were when they left, all bore scars from the conflict and each man had to carry on with life the best they could, never forgetting their fallen comrades who didn’t get to see the world in peace.

Taglist: @wkndwlff @a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all @imjess-themess @averyhotchner @mayhem24-7forever @callsignmaverick5 @ssprayberrythings @smoothdogsgirl @xoxabs88xox @luckyladycreator2 @abaker74 @elenavampire21 @classyunknownlover @okiegirl24 @flashyourgreeneyesatme @airedale17 @shadowolf993 @topguncultleader @callmemana @t-nd-rfoot @desert-fern @cherrycola27 @green-socks @jstarr86 @starkleila @alexxavicry @floralfloyd @soulmates8 @depressed-friend-blog @mamachasesmayhem @bcon24 @books-are-escapes @dakotakazansky @memeorydotcom

#the good die young #jake hangman seresin x reader #ww2 us marines #ww2 jake seresin #top gun maverick

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fromthedeskofthecaptain · 1 year

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Things I must know about by the end of series 5, otherwise I might just jolly well explode, Captain and Kitty edition.

1. How did the Captain die?

It better not be anything undignified, Willbond. Not when we’ve loved him for so long. If I don’t cry every time I think of it for the next six months I want my license fee back.

2. What did he do before the war?

His uniformed photo on Mike’s Ghost Board has been identified as pre-WW2 by someone here BUT Ben has suggested in an interview that his life was disrupted by serving, i.e, not a career soldier. I always imagined him as someone who needed the war, emotionally speaking, to give existential meaning to his life. All the more so because he was a reserved man who couldn’t have his own conjugal family. (I have read accounts of people who found their war service a boon to their mental health, friendship circle, social skills and even sexual liberation, quite apart from it being a just cause in itself.)

What exactly were they doing at Button House?

What was Cap in charge of? Weapons development? If so, why him? How did he end up doing that, of all the options for a Royal Artillery Captain?

3. How did Havers feel, dammit!

We MUST KNOW. (Unless it’s not what I want to hear, in which case *LALALA.. I AM THE VERY MODEL OF A MODERN MAJOR GENERAL🎶… can’t hear you Ben). It’s ridiculous how much I need to know whether Cap was the object of romantic love during his lifetime, even if he didn’t know it. If not, then the I demand the Idiots don’t let him move on at the end of the series (not saying The Phrase because I hate it). Let him stay at Button House so a future handsome dead person can sweep him off his feet.

Interestingly, I seem to think that ascending/ moving on means completely ceasing to exist, rather than going to Heaven, etc, otherwise I wouldn’t have that need. Bummer to be an atheist.

Kitty

4. Why did Kitty’s sister hate her so much? Is there a story about parentage and race?

(I suspect Lolly was just colour blind casting, but I have a mental backstory about her being adopted and her ethnicity being important.) What happened to her birth parents? Was she born in England or brought here? Could she have been the child of a member of the family and someone from a colonial country where he was stationed in the Navy or went as a diplomat or adventurer.) Was there a scandal, other than the mixed race situation? What separated her from her birth mother? Was it forced, or death, or her mother thinking she’d have a better life with her white relatives? Did her father want that? Is the man she calls her father in the flashback actually her father, or someone who adopted her?

5. Did her sister kill her? If so, how and was it deliberate or a cruel prank that wasn’t intended to go that far? (Locking her out and she got hypothermia? Playing hide and seek and shutting her in somewhere so she suffocated?) Was it to do with any of the conjecture above? What did Kitty understand about her difference? How curious was she? What was she told about it?

Also, I would like them to hug and talk openly about being like a father / daughter to each other.

#bbc ghosts #the captain #ben willbond #Kitty #lolly adefope #ghosts #ghosts series 5

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wikagirl · 2 years

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You know the german schoolsystem did you a solid one when you watch the 2022 remake of "all quiet on the western front" and your first response is to go get a bucket to puke in because of how disgusted you are at just the speech of that one guy at the beginning, telling all these poor boys that they'd be glorious heroes in war, knowing fully well that only one of them at most will make it back alive. Can't believe that there are people who saw this movie and still think that there is any kind of glory in war, in killing for the sake of someone that doesn't even know you exist until the moment he has to sign the papers so your family can be notified of your death and claim the survivors benefits and not even that is guaranteed seeing how many people are still considered "missing" from all the wars with no confirmation of death.

Edit bc I have some more thoughts and wanna add stuff in general:

btw I've all seen the two previous versions of the movie in history class and read the book in my own free time and if you have an interest in german history and can sit through several different iterations of the same story then I'd really advise you to watch all of them. I don't remember much of the black and white version bc my adhd brain decided to eat a hole into my memory but the first colour variant has a very different ending to the 2022 version that can be some great food for thought. My countries history is most certainly not the best and most bedazzeled but it's im portant to learn about it, especially the really ugly parts, and not repeat the same mistakes and pretend like it never happend (looking right at the peeps over in north america who want to be all hush hush about slavery, strategic massmurder of the natives and warcrimes in the east and take black history out of school, I see you, stop it).

Also idk if there is an english translation out, but if you are also interested in learning about WW2 from the perspective of an actual KZ inmate I'd recommend you take a look into "Der Fotograf von Auschwitz" it's a book written about the very real experiences of Whilhem Brasse who was sent to the camp at the age of 22 and then forced to be the photographer at the camp, taking pictures of the inamtes for dokumentation or just for the shits and giggles of the guards and officers. The book featured photos that Brasse took in his time in the camp as well as detailed explanations for terms and practices, it was first published in 2007, but then republlished in 2014, two years after Wilhelm Brasse passed away in 2012, to honor him and the bravery he has shwon all throughout his life and the service he has done to all of us by sharing his experiences.

I really like both of these books, even though they cover two completely different eras in the history of germany and one of them is fiction while the other is a retelling of a persons life. Fiction or not, both of these sources portray the horrors of the individual periods very real, bare without excuses and close to comprehensible, though I don't think I'll ever be able to fully comprehend or understand what the people back then had gone through simply because I didn't live through it myself and I pray that I'll never have to. There are many people out there who are suffering in similiar situations right this moment, be it in the chinese torturecamps for the Uyghur people to force them into conformity or the all the brave ukranians and volunteers from other countries who fight for their home, history and families in a war against a tyran that claims to be the victim while sitting on a stash of atomic warheads. It's for those people that we have to be taught about these crimes of the past, so we can recognize them in the future and take them on informed, prepared and head first.

#random #wiika #all quiet on the western front #im westen nichts neues #sorry for getting all political #just makes me feel some big emotions and have some big opinions #this movie made me throw up a bunch #idk why it just got to me more than violence and gore usually does #and honestly in the given context I think that's a good thing #der fotograf von aushwitz #it's a really good read I promise #I'm done with expanding on this post now

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workingclasshistory · 2 years

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On this day, 15 July 1966, national rail operator British Rail scrapped a "colour bar" preventing Black workers from higher paid employment at a London station. At the time the bar was supported by unions but a Black train guard, Xavier Asquith, campaigned to overturn the bar, eventually finding some support in Parliament. Asquith was a member of the Windrush Generation who moved to Britain after WW2, in 2019 many of those who moved with him were to be criminalised and deported by the government. Despite the success of his campaign, when Asquith was promoted he faced racist abuse and had to work with a police guard, eventually the stress took its toll and he died in 1980. https://www.facebook.com/workingclasshistory/photos/a.296224173896073/2035173626667777/?type=3

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theworldatwar · 1 month

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A French sailor and two U.S. Army soldiers looking at the Eiffel Tower after the liberation of Paris - 1944

#world war two #ww2 #worldwar2photos #history #1940s #ww2 history #wwii #world war 2 #ww2history #wwii era #Paris #France #liberation #liberation of France #eiffel tower #1944 #colour #ww2 colour photos

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historyherstory · 4 months

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If you're sitting down and committing to wrapping gifts for a couple of hours this holiday season (shh, those of you who get everything done ahead of time, I aspire but could never be like you!!) this is a D-Day series done by a youtube channel I quite like. They cover WW2 in much the same way in a different series (worth checking out - they have one title for the military actions week by week, and another title that covers the humanitarian events of the war in the same period of time).

They do a great job with their research and their scripts, and I appreciate the use of maps (often with moving colours to illuminate changing positions) and inclusion of primary sources like photos and video footage, as available. They also do a great job including excerpts from letters or other briefings so it's not just people paraphrasing, you actually get a sense for what's being said.

youtube

#WW2 history #Youtube

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stirringwinds · 1 year

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Do you know any good WW2 uniform reference books other than the Man at Arms series by Osprey Publishing? I would like to draw the nation personifications in accurate uniforms but my internet research doesn’t really get me very far (especially when it comes to uniforms from nations that weren’t the main axis or allied powers in WW2).

most of the time I actually don't refer to books, so i'm not sure how useful my usual references are to you (esp depending on which countries you're looking for), but maybe these can provide some ideas nonetheless:

Museum websites or a memorial pages from that country — many have photographs (the Imperial War Museum is one I use a lot, since I draw a lot of Commonwealth stuff). Like these are some photos of Indian soldiers I used as references for one of my WWI drawings.

Photographs of re-enactors, if available.

Stills from local WWII films/documentaries. Of course there's some risk of inaccuracies, but these can often be a good guide to see how the uniforms / equipment were intended to look like in colour and brand new, vs. the pieces in museums that may be faded/discoloured.

If you haven't already, another tip is to try searching for stuff online in the language of that country instead, using a rough Google translate. There can be a lot of stuff that just isn't indexed in English on Google.

#hetalia #drawing references

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usafphantom2 · 5 months

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Here's a thread of colour photos of Bristol Blenheims on a WW2 airfield.

RAF Watton in Norfolk, 1941.

@WW2airfield via X

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polish-art-tournament · 7 months

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round 2, poll 4

please click for full painting!!

Żydówka z pomarańczami:

painted in 1881

looted during ww2 and recovered after almost 80 years!

portraits of elder people are always so good

there is something very pleasing about the blue-orange colour combination

instead of a live model Gierymski probably used this photo as a reference - the woman really is recognizable!

Macierzyństwo:

painted in 1905

another title for this painting is "My wife with Helenas" ("Żona z Helenami") because Wyspiański painted his daughter Helena twice in it (the two girls on the left); the baby is his son

Wyspiański was also a stained glass window maker and designer and you can really see it in the lines and motifs here

the colours are so lovely, i love pastels

check out more of their works! Gierymski, Wyspiański

#stanisław wyspiański #aleksander gierymski #art #poland #polska #round 2 #polls

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