The historical and structural studies, conducted by
Bruno Gaudin Architectes to discover the issues specific to the structure, brought to light an extraordinary juxtaposition of spaces within the structure. The assessment also revealed the necessity of including multiple areas within the intervention to restore
Bibliothèque Nationale de France
to its use and splendor.
To launch the project for the rehabilitation of the Richelieu Quadrangle was therefore, to accept the challenges of a polymorphic building whose architectural strata required the elaboration of not one but several different projects: one aimed at the great scale of the site, one concerning distribution and reception; and multiple projects targeting the renovation of specific rooms, each having its
individual issues and requirements.
The team of Bruno Gaudin Architectes and Virginie Bréga developed different typologies of “weaves”, which set up a dialog between Architecture, History and Techniques. A vision that guided the necessary and profound changes the structure underwent.
Follow the Source Link for image sources and more information.
spoilers all over: ffxv and the symbology of sleep
I had an Anonnie ask me for headcanons about sharing a bed (as in sleeping) with Ardyn, and while listening to the FFXV piano collections this morning and contemplating all the themes, this really made me want to elaborate on the theme of sleep, and the juxtaposition with light in the game, because this has been in my mind so much recently.
I know many more clever people have already dealt with this before but I’m just throwing in my two cents.
On the surface, there are a lot of references to sleep straight away; the theme we hear first when we start the game, playing in the main menu is called Somnus (lat. sleep); Noctis (lat. night) is the prince of Lucis (lat. light), and the citadel is called Insomnia, literally, ‘habitual sleeplessness; inability to sleep’.
Now I find it fascinating, that the original idea, that is also still present in the Brotherhood anime, but which unfortunately doesn’t get explored in the game, was that Noctis keeps falling asleep all the time, even during the day. In the beginning of the game, Noctis is, figuratively, still ‘dreaming’ - he’s wayward but unaware of the grand events that are taking place, and his true destiny.
Noctis’ love interest in the story is Luna (lat. moon). FFXV does not only borrow names from Latin, but is also strongly linked to Greek mythology, ie. their world is called Eos, in Greek myths the goddes of the morning star, or, dawn. Luna is also the Roman equivalent of the Greek goddess Selene.
According to the myths, Selene, the moon goddess, fell in love with a sleeping shepherd (in some variations a hunter, or a king), Endymion. Being immortal herself, she couldn’t bear her lover becoming old and dying. Thus, she asked Zeus (or according to other sources, cast a spell herself) to make Endymion fall asleep, and in his eternal sleep, remain young and immortal. Only in his sleep, could he be together with his beloved.
See where this is going?
The first major event in the game to wake Noctis from his naive ‘sleep’, is when, while forging a covenant with Leviathan, Luna dies and Noctis is forced to use the power of the Armiger for the first time, thus getting a first glimpse of the power he can possess. The musical composition we hear during the Leviathan fight is aptly named Apocalypsis Noctis, lat. ‘the revelation of the night’, or, ‘the revelation of Noctis’. This is literally the revelation, the awakening for Noctis.
From there on, there is quite literally no turning back, unless you timetravel to the past.
Okay so this is no news to anyone. What I really wanted to talk about, of course, is how this all relates to our favourite Trash Jesus Lucis Caelum, Ardyn.
The name of Insomnia does not make much sense, if you only link it to Regis or Noctis – sure, it can be a nickname for the “city that never sleeps”, Insomnia being a big metropolis – but there’s definitely another layer to it, and that is in direct relation to Ardyn.
The poor man has been cursed with immortality, as he absorbed people’s daemons in his past as a healer, and was subsequently cast aside by the Astrals. All this time, he has only been waiting for Noctis, and he does everything he can to push him to be the King of Light, quite literally pushing the night towards the light.
As the starscourge spreads through the world of Eos, the nights grow longer, until the light of day is completely diminished and the world succumbs into eternal night. Ardyn heads back to Insomnia, to wait for Noctis to become the King of Light, while he sleeps inside the crystal.
The last mission in the game’s storyline, the one where your task is to confront Ardyn, is called The Cure for Insomnia. The name bears more than just a superficial significance though; it obviously plays with the name of the citadel, where you’re headed to defeat Ardyn, but it also holds a strong symbolic meaning: Ardyn will finally be able to rest, to sleep the eternal sleep.
This makes Noctis’ last words to Ardyn so meaningful;
“This time you can rest in peace. Close your eyes… forevermore.”
Having completed the final mission, you have found the “cure for insomnia”; ie. found a way to release Ardyn from the curse.
This is also why it’s my strong headcanon, that Ardyn does not, or can not, sleep (literally, and I touch upon this in A Man Of No Consequence). He’s been kept awake, alone in the darkness with the daemons, for an eternity, until Noctis, the night, grants him peace, and lays himself to rest as well, to allow for the new dawn of Eos.
Interior with lady at the piano. Carl Vilhelm Holsøe (Danish, 1863-1935). Oil on panel.
Interior scenes, often sparsely furnished rooms, were a feature of Danish painting in the late 19th century. Vilhelm Hammershøi, a contemporary of Holsøe, also specialised in such scenes, frequently, like Holsøe, including a single, invariably, female figure. Holsøe achieves a defined space in these interiors through harmonious colours, subdued light and the careful juxtaposition of objects.
Interior with a Woman Sitting at the Piano. Carl Vilhelm Holsøe (Danish, 1863-1935). Oil on canvas. MacConnal-Mason Gallery.
Holsøe was to become renowned for interior scenes, often sparsely furnished rooms. Such scenes frequently includied a single, invariably, female figure. Holsøe achieves a defined space in these interiors through harmonious colours, subdued light and the careful juxtaposition of objects.
Pairing: Dean x Reader Summary: On a hunt, Dean gets seriously injured. The reader has to help him get back to the hospital and, in his delirious state, he admits something. Prompt: The line “Family means nobody gets left behind” for @whispersandwhiskerburn‘s We’ve Got A Fic For That Challenge. Reader Gender: Female Word Count: 1,592 Tags: canon-level violence and gore, injured!Dean, a lil angst, a lil fluff A/N: Ayyyyeeeeee, here’s some injured!Dean for you
Dean gasped a little, clutching at
the monster’s arm and staring at a nonexistent spot in the distance. The monster was cruel and twisted the blade
lodged in Dean’s gut, wrenching out a small groan from the reeling man. Dean fumbled and tried to bat the monster’s
hands away but he was already weak and this did nothing.
They say a picture is worth a thousand words.. this picture is a beautiful piece of art and spun a story in my head that wouldn’t leave me alone until I wrote it out.
This picture popped up in my feed last week and had me mesmerized. Credit for the art goes to the original poster- http://mirta-posts.tumblr.com/post/137491189674 Her page is full of amazing pieces that I’m sure inspire so much more than my little piece.
ANGST. ANGST. ANGST.
Word Count: 1584
Dean x reader, Sam
Dean Winchester tugged at the bow tie as he pushed out of
the crowded hall with his pilfered bottle of whiskey. Sam had been eyeballing
him all night and the first chance he got to sneak out just happened to coincide
with a pass by a very distracted bartender. He couldn’t blame the guy, he would’ve
been distracted by the bridesmaid at one time too.
The only thing he needed now was some space without loud
celebrating idjits surrounding him with suffocating noise. He strode down the hallway
heading for the service door at the back of the building that lead to the beach.
Not wasting any more time, he twisted the cap off the bottle.
The door opened easily and he slipped out, taking his third
long pull from the bottle feeling the salty air cool his skin as the liquor
burned down his throat. The crashing waves drew him like a moth to the flame
but each step felt heavier than the last. The sun was hanging low on the
horizon, just about to dip into the ocean and its reflection stretched out
across the top of the water as if reaching for the beach. It briefly brought to
mind the vengeful spirit hellbent on punishing both brides and bridesmaids on
their happy day that he sent up in smoke not too long ago but then his thoughts
immediately turned back to her.
He took another long pull and made his way toward the water
pulling at pieces of the monkey suit with his free hand. Each step forward in the
soft sand sent him back to a case so much like this one yet so very different.
She was wrapped in a
purple dress she wouldn’t stop fidgeting with and complaining about even though
he thought it fit her like a dream- the color be damned.
“What are you staring
His gaze jumped up to
hers as he cleared his throat. “What?”
She dropped her hands
from the edge of its deep purple bodice and narrowed her eyes at him. “Exactly.
You just get to wear that nice, good looking, and probably very comfortable suit
while I have to schlep around in this god damn Barney vomit nightmare that is
trying to squish my insides. The things I do for a case! With this color, let
the god damn spirit take her. She wasn’t even that nice to someone who offered
to step in for her dearly departed maid of honor.”
“Mmm. I’d like to
squish..” His eyes wandered back down to the bodice hugging her chest.
“DO not finish that..”
She brandished her finger at him but amusement sparkled in her eyes.
“Okay. I’ll just think
Her whip of laughter
always made him smile. He craved it on his worst days. She tugged on his lapels
and pulled him against her. “Yeah, yeah. Yuck it up, chuckles.”
His gaze fell to her
protruding cleavage, “I don’t think this thing is half bad.” She let out
another belt of laughter.
“Just you wait. One of
these days we could do this. Force a couple people to dress ridiculously and
get presents and dance the night away.”
“Why the hell would we
do that?” He looked into her eyes trying to read her.
“Well, not like this.
I’d like something more.. private and open.” Her gaze trailed away then her
eyes popped wide with excitement just before coming back. “Like a beach. Yeah,
with the waves lapping at our feet as we vow to fight to the end together. It
doesn’t need all the pomp and circumstance, just us and a few friends and
family.” She turned on that smile that melted his insides.
He watched as whatever
she was imagining in her head soothed the tension in her shoulders and on her
face. She looked so serene and he felt drawn to her once again. He wrapped his
arms around her waist. “Oh yeah? So why would we tie the knot? Why spend the
money if we wouldn’t really be changing anything?”
She shrugged, her gaze
trailing away from his. “I don’t know. Just one of those things, I guess. What
if I asked you to marry me? To bond yourself with me for life and ever after?”
“And ever after, huh?”
“Sounds good.” She
smirked as her gaze flicked back up to his. “A night where everything was about
celebrating us.” Her hands smoothed down his lapels and her eyes followed.
“I like the
celebrating we do already as often as we please.” He pressed his lips against
hers humming against the softness as her scent enveloped him.
“Mm, me too. But I
like the celebration and bonding thing too.”
Dean chuckled then his
phone buzzed. He pulled it out and read Sam’s message. “Okay, we’re in.” She
held out her arm for him to take as her game face slipped into place.
Dean tore his gaze away from the waves and glanced over his
“I’ve been looking..” Sam paused then cursed under his
Dean offered up his bottle but Sam waved it away. Dean
knocked back another shot noticing how light the bottle had become but kept his
eyes on the water as it rushed in and pulled out- wiping the sand in front of him
clean and smooth.
“Here. I thought you might want these.” Sam dropped Dean’s
shoes and socks in the sand behind him. “I guess I should thank you for leaving
the bread crumbs.”
The cold water reached up and slapped his knee. “Why didn’t
I just give her everything she wanted when I had the chance, Sammy? Why did I
have to think so much into it?”
Sam clenched his jaw and looked away. “I knew we shouldn’t
have taken this case.”
“I thought about it. A few times, even planned out the
logistics of getting the right people to a spot like this one and surprising
her.” The scene played out in his head like he had imagined so many times
before then he shook it all away. “But I never went through with it because I
was scared.. terrified that if she was linked to me she’d be..” His voice broke
as he looked out over the ocean, the sun glittering off the water in a thousand
points of light in its last struggle to stay.
“I know. Come on, let’s get you out of here.”
“She was damned the day she met me, ya know? The least I could’ve
done was give her the things she wished for. Even if she didn’t actually ask.”
Sam pulled at his brother’s arm. “Alright, let’s get you to
Dean shook him off. “I’m fine! I’m enjoying the water.”
“No, you’re punishing yourself for something out of your
control! Y/n knew..”
Dean snapped as he twisted to face his brother, “DON’T!
Don’t say she signed on..”
Sam cut him off, matching his rising volume. “I WASN’T! I
was saying she knew what we were up against. We all do. We all take on the risk
when we go out for each hunt!” He sighed, taking a step back both literally and
mentally. “Why do you think she never asked you?” Sam watched the tension on his
brother’s face crumble before he turned back to the water. “She would’ve asked
you to marry her. She thought it out as much as you did but she didn’t pull the
trigger for the same fucking reason you didn’t. We’re all scared of being the
reason something goes after the ones we love, man. But she wouldn’t want you to
Dean’s shoulders slumped forward. “I can’t, Sammy. I just can’t.
Just let me stay here with her for a little while.”
Sam took another step back. “Okay, but I’m not leaving you.
I’ll just be over there.” He knew his brother heard him even though he didn’t acknowledge
it, just like he didn’t acknowledge Dean’s little slip. He turned and walked a
few paces away before taking a seat in the sand. He settled in watching the
water lap at the beach erasing his steps with each wave in the dwindling light.
His gaze followed the disappearing dents to the broken man
in front of him allowing the water to lick at his legs- the rolled up pants getting
splashed each time. His white shirt open, missing a button or two, hanging
heavily from his shoulders matching his posture. The sleeves shoved up and his bow
tie left undone.
The sun glinting off the water just beyond him flashed
against the bottle he gripped in his hand. The sparkling light created such a juxtaposition
it almost hurt his eyes. That man coming apart at the seams looked so tired,
stricken, and lost. And if he didn’t know that man’s story, he would feel sorry
Unfortunately, he knew the devastation of loss and he still felt
the anguish of lost love but neither one of those things prepared him for what
he saw on that beach. There was nothing more excruciating or harrowing than
watching his brother torment himself and not being able to do a damn thing to
help him. But with the last rays of light before the sun disappeared below the
horizon, he repeated the vow he gave y/n before she closed her eyes for the
last time. I promise I’ll always take
care of him, y/n. I’ve got his back, I promise.
Kvinde der sidder i dagligstuen (Lady Seated in a Drawing Room). Carl Vilhelm Holsøe (Danish, 1863-1935). Oil on canvas.
As with other works, Holsøe depicts a single female figure, turned away from the viewer. Here, she reads in a simple black dress. Holsøe achieves a defined space in these interiors through harmonious colours, subdued light and the careful juxtaposition of objects.
Can you write a fic where the MC didn't accidentally spill her drink on Bianca? Like what would Hunts first impression had been if he didn't first meet him/her at a disciplinary meeting?
Even at the beginning of the year, something about her drew his eye. When she had enrolled, she was rather shy, soft-spoken and unsure of herself. Though she was quite pretty and well-put together, there was no mistaking the fact that she missed the air that some others had. Those who lead luxurious lives with rich mommies and daddies who took care of their most inane wishes. No, she was different than the majority of those who had enrolled. It reminded Thomas Hunt of himself when he had first taken classes at the prestigious university. It made him aware of her. Cautious, almost.
Reading – The Painter’s Wife. Carl Vilhelm Holsøe (Danish, 1863-1935). Oil on canvas. MacConnal-Mason Gallery.
Interior scenes, often sparsely furnished rooms were a feature of Danish painting in the latter part of the 19th Century. Vilhelm Hammershøi, a contemporary of Holsøe, was also a painter who specialised in such scenes and, like Holsøe, frequently included a single, invariably, female figure. Holsøe achieves a defined space in these interiors through harmonious colours, subdued light and the careful juxtaposition of objects.
Woman Reading. Carl Vilhelm Holsøe (Danish, 1863-1935). Oil on canvas.
Holsøe regularly painted interior scenes, sparsely furnished rooms, often including a single, invariably, female figure. Holsøe achieves a defined space in these interiors through harmonious colours, subdued light and the careful juxtaposition of objects.
Pacing. It’s never been a habit of hers, but tonight, she can’t stop. Back and forth, traveling the perimeter of the room, taking deep breaths through her nose, exhaling through her parted lips.
He’s in the kitchen, making a celebratory dinner that will be done soon, that will require her to come out of hiding, but she isn’t ready. Not just yet.
She just needs a few more minutes.
No victories, only battles, Montgomery had once told her. She had known he was right then, but they had just unveiled LokSat, finally come up with a way to end all of this with their lives still intact, their happily ever still on track.
They weren’t ready for another battle. They were still nursing war wounds from this one.
“Kate,” his voice floats muffled through the walls, half distracted, and Beckett crosses her arms tightly over her chest, presses her forearms in hard against her unsteady heart. “Kate, dinner’s ready!”
She sighs and tilts her head to the ceiling, blinks away exhaustion crowding her eyes and shifts to rest her back against the edge of the bathroom sink for just a moment longer. Her hip flares with sparks of pain, the graze along her left bone still livid with the kiss of a bullet. Another scar to add to the collection.
But Castle had made it through their gun battle without any bloodshed, his eyes stuck on her the entire time, his palm protectively hovering above her bloodied waist until they had made it safely into an ambulance.
He had held her hand while she had lain in the bus, winced through the stitching to the skin just above the jut of her bone.
“You dove in front of a bullet,” he had growled, his eyes so harsh, a piercing blue in the dim lighting. A juxtaposition to the tenderness of his hands, one cradling hers, thumb sweeping over her knuckles, while the other cupped her ear, tracing the shell. “For me.”
“You would have done the same,” she had murmured, carefully turning her head to find his fingers, dusting her lips to his knuckles. “You have before.”
He hadn’t been able to deny it, he couldn’t, but he had leaned in closer, looking oh so weary, so tired, and bowed his head over their tangled hands.
“I can’t lose you. Please don’t let me lose you,” he had breathed out like a prayer, and Beckett had reached with her free hand, cupped his nape and drew him in closer without jostling the paramedic at her waist, paying strict attention to sewing up the ripped skin of her hip.
“I can’t lose you either,” she had whispered, stroking her thumb to the delicate skin behind his ear. “I wasn’t trying to sacrifice myself, Castle. Keeping you alive keeps me alive. Can’t let you die, baby.”
He had released a choked breath of laughter into the knot of their hands, lifted his head to meet her eyes with a strangled smile and a glimmer of light spreading through his gaze. But despite the part of his lips, the exhale of his breath, words had escaped him. All except-
“Love you, Kate.”
The knock on the bathroom door startles her and she hisses at the jolt of agony that splits like lightning through her hipbone.
“Kate, is everything okay?”
Beckett checks her father’s watch. “Yeah, I’ll be out in just a minute.”
Maybe… maybe it doesn’t have to be a battle. The timing may be wrong, it may not be how they had planned to do this and it’s been so long since they were able to discuss it, but-
The door handle clicks, easing open slowly, and Kate snags the stick balanced on the edge of the sink behind her, fighting the urge to hide it, petrified to let him see before she can have the chance to prepare what she’d hoped to say. Torn between and left standing like a deer in headlights with the blank test in her hands.
“I swear I’m not trying to hover, but if it’s your hip, I have that prescription from the doctor if you…” His sentence trails as his eyes roam her face, fall to her fingers, the pregnancy stick poised between her thumb and her index. His gaze is vibrant and questioning as it flies up to meet hers. “Kate, are you-”
“I don’t know yet,” she gets out, deflating as he abandons the doorway, drifts in towards her. “I still had another minute left.”
“But you… you might be?”
Kate swallows, nods. “Listen, Rick, I know we probably aren’t ready to do this right now and it’s been months since we even talked about starting a family-”
“Kate,” he murmurs, the smile unfurling along his lips soft, no expectation, no hope or dread. Nothing but promise. “I know it’s been a while since we discussed it and this has been a more difficult year for us, but if you’re pregnant… would you want to keep it? Our baby?”
Her hand rises to her stomach on its own accord, clutches the fabric of her sweater through the collapse of her lungs at the mere idea of it.
“Castle,” she croaks, but he’s already moving in closer, covering the hand on her stomach and twining their fingers. “Of course, I would keep our baby.”
“Then we would figure this out,” he tells her, so gentle and calm, so reassuring, and something inside of her eases.
Not for a second did she believe he would pressure her into a decision she wasn’t comfortable with, not once did she doubt he would be ecstatic at the idea of having a baby with her. All she fears now is doing this wrong, putting their life together at risk, putting what could soon be their child in harm’s way, their family.
“I just want us to be safe,” she confesses, squeezing the fingers laced with hers. “I don’t want to worry about any more threats. I just want - I want us to be happy.”
“I’m happy,” he states without hesitation, his other hand lifting to feather along her injured hip, settling above the wound, palm fitting to the curve of her side. “I told you, I have everything I want right here, and if that test result is positive, so will that baby in nine months. Our baby will be so happy, Beckett, because he or she is going to have us for parents and I already know we’d excel as partners in this too.”
A chuckle spills from her lips, breathless, and Kate drifts into him, their hands pressing against her stomach while Castle’s arm gingerly winds around her waist, cradles her to the haven of his chest.
“And you’ll still be a captain, still be second only to Batman in the world of detectives,” he murmurs, forcing her lips to quirk against the hollow of his throat. “You can still run for senate someday, you can do anything-”
“We,” she corrects him, feeling his lips quirk against the line of her hair.
“We can still do anything. No matter what happens in the future, our future, you’ll always come home to me, to our child. We’ll always make it work.”
She nods against him with confidence, finding herself believing every word. They would make it work. They’ve always managed to make it work. They’ve always beat the odds.
Kate lifts her arm to wrap around his shoulders, the pregnancy test rising into her line of sight before she can, the results displayed and momentarily stealing her breath.
My name is Garry Waller and I’ve been shooting street photography for quite a few years, I’ve found it to be such a great companion as I wander through life! The things I’m drawn to are usually random moments where suddenly all the various things line up and present a great image. It can be as simple as an interesting composition, a moment of great light, an interesting juxtaposition or just a curios personality. My tools of choice are a digital Leica M and a 35mm lens and I’m rarely without them in my bag!
I’ve recently finished a series called “The Bridge”, it’s a look at Brooklyn Bridge and the people moving across it that I was fascinated with, not so much the structure itself.