Notre Dame de Paris

The story of the grand cathedral begins in 1160 when newly appointed bishop of Paris, Maurice de Sully, ordered for a new cathedral to built on a site where another cathedral once stood. Three years later, the cornerstone was laid on the site by either de Sully or Pope Alexander III. The eastern side was the first side to be worked on and finished in 1182. The west side then started under the watch of Maurice’s successor, Eudes de Sully in 1200. Yet the western side was not completed until 1225; after Eudes’ death. Twenty five years later, in 1250, the western towers and rose windows were completed. However, the entire church itself would not be completed until 1345. About four hundred years later during the French Revolution, the church was looted and vandalized during the riots and protests against the monarchy rule. Yet, the Notre Dame- which simply translates to “Our Lady”, which refers to the Virgin Mary- remains to be one of France’s oldest and iconic landmarks. 


mercules-hulligan  asked:

"you don't care, nobody cares, just leave" for the Paris thing we talked about :3

If anyone had asked him Mercutio would have said he was just wandering around, letting the air fresh up his head, and that he just happened upon Paris. Of course, since Paris had specifically hid himself away in a corner of the garden so no one would find him it would have been an obvious lie for those who knew it. Since Mercutio was the only one who found him, however, there wasn’t anyone who knew.

“Ah, so this is where you have been sulking.” Mercutio grinned and dropped down on the ground next to his cousin. It would have shocked many people to see the vain count sitting directly on the grass, not caring about the state of his clothes.

“Go away,” Paris muttered, not deigning to look at Mercutio.

“I did go away, so I came here. That was the obligatory ‘once per day request that I will obey’ so I won’t even pretend to listen to you.” Mercutio took a pointedly long sip from his goblet.

“You don’t care,” Paris sneered, agitatedly waving one hand and barely missing Mercutio’s head. “Nobody cares! So just leave.”

“Mm, no, not going to do that. I happen to have time on my hands, so here I am to let you tell me all about what has gotten you into such low spirits.”

Paris turned a dark glare on him, but Mercutio just raised his eyebrows and drank from his goblet again. His look turning even darker Paris grabbed the drink and emptied it. Busy as he was he didn’t see Mercutio smirk.

“Can this be about the unfortunate affair of your marriage-that-never-was with the young Montague bride?” Mercutio leaned back on his elbows and watched his cousin with idle interest.

“She was supposed to be my wife!” Paris growled and glared at the goblet in his hands. “I would have been good to her, given her all she wanted—jewelry and dresses befitting of her beauty, servants to obey her every wish, all the respect that comes from being a Countess and relative of a Prince. I would have treated her good.”

Mercutio hummed, crossed his legs and wiggled his foot. “And what if that wasn’t what she wanted?” he suggested in a light tone. “Which, as it turns out, it wasn’t. You meant good, cousin, but the lady wasn’t interested in what you had to offer. She wanted more, she wanted love.”

“I would have loved her,” Paris muttered, but his earlier anger had slipped out of his voice. “I would have!”

“Maybe. But tell me honestly: do you think she would have loved you?”

“I’m sure eventually…”

“Paris. Cousin. Dearest, miraculous, dense cousin. Listen here, listen.” Mercutio sat up again and took the goblet from Paris, thereby making sure he had his cousin’s full attention. “She would have been miserable. You’re almost old enough to be her father; do you think that wouldn’t have mattered? And don’t give me any nice words about ‘love’ or ‘time’. If time would have mattered so much, shouldn’t you just have waited until she was older to propose?” Mercutio laid down again with a sigh. “I know you’re incompetent with women, but it really doesn’t suit you to try and snare a girl instead.”

“How dare- I didn’t-”

“Oh shush,” Mercutio waved at Paris’ furious face. “I know that’s not how you were thinking; you’re too, ugh, thoughtful for that. But for those of us who knows you, that’s what we have seen. Be glad for how it ended instead. Juliet gets to be happy and I finally don’t have to deal with a broken-hearted Romeo any longer.”

“And how has this ended well for me?” Paris sighed and looked down on his hands, looking so forlorn that Mercutio wished there was alcohol in the goblet so he could threw it over him.

“Well, dear cousin, it’s simple. This has made it absolutely clear that you need a teacher in how to woo a wife.” Mercutio grinned, sensing Paris’ curiosity and dread. “And there is no one finer at wooing any woman—or man, you should really try out both—you have set your eye on. It can’t be that hard to get them to marry you after, now can it?”

Ignoring Paris’ doubtful look Mercutio looked up at the dark sky and started planning.

Jarvis Cocker (Pulp) at Demonfuzz Records (with Demonfuzz record-bag)

Secret Romance Pt. 6

Originally posted by incantatalacertis


Part 5

Warnings: Smut, and extreme fluff! Pietro is super romantic.

Summary: You, Pietro, Wanda and Vision run away to Paris together to escape the upcoming Civil War and the dangerous job that they have so that you can all live a peaceful life. And where is that place? Paris of course!

A/N: So this is why Wanda asked Pietro if he could still speak French! They’re going to Paris baby! I’ve taken French in school since sixth grade so I know a lot of the culture and Pietro apparently ran to Paris in AoU so I thought it might be fun for him to go back! So now they’re all living the French life! Hopefully I learned accurate things about their life in school and don’t horribly misrepresent a fantastic culture! Enjoy!

You sat in your room at the tower crying your eyes out. You thought that Pietro really loved you. But now it looked like he didn’t care enough to spend time with you because he wanted to “protect your heart”. Maybe you were being a bit hard on him but if he really loved you he would have fought to keep you at his side, not let you go. Then suddenly you stopped crying when you remembered an old saying. When you love someone let them go. And if they love you, they will come back. Pietro had let you go because he loved you. And now you had let him go. So if he loved you he would- Your thoughts were cut off by a knock at your door. If it was your father you swore you would- You tried to open the door but you couldn’t. Then someone on the other side of the door cursed. “Pietro?” You ask softly. “Is that you?” 

Keep reading


“Among all these glowing hearts and thoroughly convinced minds, there was one sceptic. How came he there? By juxtaposition. This sceptic’s name was Grantaire, and he was in the habit of signing himself with this rebus: R. Grantaire was a man who took good care not to believe in anything. Moreover, he was one of the students who had learned the most during their course at Paris.”

Oh Grantaire ma bby <3I really like the thought of him being an art student, so here’s modern arty-R and he actually looks a lot like me when I’m painting, including that fancy old man sweater. Well maybe he’s not ugly enough but whatever - I mean, what is “ugly” anyway?

Update: I have the feeling that these two need to go together. I call it: Business-Enjolras and even more Business-R (busy with going into raptures)

“Enjolras was a charming young man, who was capable of being terrible. He was angelically handsome. He was a savage Antinous. One would have said, to see the pensive thoughtfulness of his glance, that he had already, in some previous state of existence, traversed the revolutionary apocalypse. He possessed the tradition of it as though he had been a witness. He was acquainted with all the minute details of the great affair. A pontifical and warlike nature, a singular thing in a youth. He was an officiating priest and a man of war; from the immediate point of view, a soldier of the democracy; above the contemporary movement, the priest of the ideal.”

To the ones who feels “concerned” for France

I’m already seeing stupid (american) posts. That what happened here was because of “open borders, stringent gun control, pacifism, and cultural acceptance” that because of that we deserved it ? WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU ?
Please tumblr, be clever don’t hurt us more than we are now. Do you realise how gross this is? ? How dare you lecture us as we are mourning our deads ? How dare you ? Did we lecture you when 9/11 happened ? Why being so disrespectful ? Do you like it ? Feel powerful ? If you’re so proud to be American how it comes you forget that you owe your liberty to the devotion of OUR ancestors to your cause ? So don’t you dare start your “I don’t say but” bullshit and post it under #upthebaguette tag because I can assure you that it wont be accepted down here.