royal signals

royal fandom network!

hello there, my loves, i don’t know if i’m the only one, but i keep losing all my royal lovelies! to help keep the fandom alive, and to easily find our old faves and make new faves, i’m setting up a ROYAL FANDOM NETWORK PAGE! i’m going to link up every royal blog that LIKES or REBLOGS this post. If you are multi-fandom, but blog a lot about our babes and consider yourself ‘royal fandom’ you can join our page too! 

  • A like or reblog will get you on the page
  • If you want your NAME included so we can all get to know the blogger behind the blog, please feel free to either submit your name to us, or add it in the tags of a reblog if you wish!

PLEASE SPREAD THE WORD so we can get as many of the classic and new blogs together as we can! xx CMMAFIA

Committed - Harry Hook x Reader(OC)

Originally posted by unchxxrted

Prompt : Aaliyah(reader), the daughter of Princess Tiana and Prince Naveen, is arranged a husband to maintain the legacy of Maldonia. What she didn’t expect was who she would be arranged with.

Rating : T

Warnings : Few curse words, but other than that, none.

A/N : Sooo, I watched  Descendants 2 yesterday, and I am in love with Harry Hook (and Uma), so I just spat this out last night. I haven’t seen the first movie, so i apologize if i got any characterization wrong. Send me feedback plz! I love off it! This will most likely become a miniseries. But click here to message me if you want a part 2!

A/N :I will be changing to a new url soon, so dont freak out!

Part 2 / Part 3

Commitment Day. The dream of any princess, except Aaliyah, of course.

Commitment day was a tradition for the children of royalty here in Auradon. To keep the royal legacy alive, the kingdom would have a huge ceremony where each royal would be paired with another. The mirror of Auradon would display the name of each royal’s true pair, and the two would be married off within the year.

And today, on Aaliyah’s 18th birthday, she would be paired with the person she would spend the rest of her life with. How exciting.

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On August 29th 1930 36 people, the entire population of St Kilda were evacuated from the island.

On 10 May 1930 the people of St Kilda sent a collective letter to William Adamson, the Secretary of State for Scotland, requesting that they should be evacuated from their home. By the end of August that year the evacuation was completed and the process of resettlement on the Scottish mainland had begun. The abandonment of St Kilda is sometimes described as one of the few occasions when the ending of a community has taken place in a voluntary fashion. 

Generations had struggled to scrape a living from the unforgiving land far out in the Atlantic, but the 20th century had finally caught up with the harsh reality of existence there. It was a brutal process, as they carried their possessions and their furniture on their backs to the pier, the men had the unenviable task of drowning their working dogs in the sea, as they were not allowed to take them with them to the mainland, it was either that or leave them to starve, a very harsh ending to their life on the archipelago. Their cats were left to fend for themselves, but from what I can gather were eventually all killed off by the military over the next few years. 

St Kilda is not unique, other Scottish Islands were abandoned beforehand, most notably, Handa, off Sutherland which met its doom in the 1840s. Mingulay, in the Outer Hebrides that was deserted by 1912. The Islands of St Kilda though had become a curiosity, a sort of freak show for tourists to observe. 

St Kilda is actually the name given to the group of islands, though most people when quoting St Kilda, really mean the largest island where the actual village was, that is actually called Hirta, I myself when posting here have occasionally just title the photos St Kilda, rather than correcting myself, lazy, a wee bit I just find it easier than explaining the Island group each post. 

Hirta was occupied by humans for over two thousands of years by various residents and there were many traditions handed down the generations, traditions influenced by monks, viking sailors, medieval rulers and landowners.
What remains there now are the ruins of both their original houses, mainly blackhouse type houses, alongside slightly newer houses which had been built for them in the later years. The layout of the 19th-century village remains to this day, and over 1,400 stone-built Cleit for storing food and fuel are scattered all over the islands, and even on the sea stacs.

In 1726 a St Kildan visited Harris, caught smallpox there, and died from it. His clothes were returned to St Kilda in 1727, and brought the disease with them. Most of the islanders died, only 1 adult and 18 children survived the outbreak. However, 3 men and 8 boys escaped the disease as they had been left on Stac an Armin to collect gannets. The disease spread while they were there and nobody could go to fetch them. They were eventually rescued 9 months later. The owner of St Kilda had to send people from Harris to repopulate St Kilda.
As if the harsh conditions weren’t enough the Islanders had to cope with the effects of the First World War, the Royal Navy erected a signal station on Hirta, and daily communications with the mainland were established for the first time in St Kilda’s history. In a belated response, a German submarine arrived in Village Bay on the morning of 15 May 1918 and, after issuing a warning, started shelling the island. 

Seventy-two shells were fired, and the wireless station was destroyed. The manse, church & jetty storehouse were damaged, but no loss of life occurred. As a result of this attack, a 4-inch Mark III QF gun was erected on a promontory overlooking Village Bay, but it never saw military use. 

Even last year the island hit the headlines when it was announced the last of those that were evacuated,  Rachel Johnson nee Gillies, was just 8 years old when she left Hirta, aboard HMS Harebell with her parents Christina, Donald and her older sister Cathie. The Gillies family did not venture far - they settled in a cottage at Larachbeg, near Lochaline in the Highlands. She later married and settled down in Clydebank. Rachel was 93 when she passed, she only went back to St Kilda on two occasions - once for a documentary and once on invitation of the army to see the transformation the island had gone through. She is ringed in the picture with others from the island, a shy child by the looks of things, she seldom spoke about the life there and was said to be a private lady, I think you can pick that up from her photo.

Once Upon a Time as a subversive take on fairy tales 

This is going to be (probably) the first explanatory post re-cast series. I mean it’s no secret that Once Upon a Time basically fails to be subversive, sometimes managing to be even more conservative than Victorian tales and the Grimm Brothers (ha ha fuck the Grim Brothers). And more often than not destroying whatever significance original mythologies (ahem, the Underworld arc, Orpheus and Eurydice. Seriously he gets torn to shreds by nymphs after he becomes a misogynist. If only) and more recently Jekyll and Hyde (HOW? It’s like crashing a car in the desert). 

Anyway the re-cast is meant to be everything the show isn’t. Racially diverse and well, gay af. Planned & Endgame Swan Queen. So I’m gonna start explaining my reasoning for each re-cast and probably do a new post for when I have the other cast members. Links to each edit are in the actors’ names. They all have playlists because why the hell not. 

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Love Me Not (Final)

Originally posted by sebaeked

❝ You’ve been pretending your whole life to be someone you weren’t, hiding in the shadows so someone else can take the spotlight. Byun Baekhyun was an outlier, someone who was supposed to just be another pawn in the game, but you could have never imagined what fate had in store for you.
❝ characters; byun baekhyun x you
❝ genre; angst, romance, drama, fantasy, soulmate au
part one / part two

a/n; part two of the weirdness that goes in my head


You could tell that something was the wrong the moment you realised that you weren’t staring at a reflection of yourself anymore. Instead, your surroundings were plush and resembled the main quarters of the palace, your eyes landed on the sleeping figure in the middle of the room.

“Baekhyun?” You whispered.

He didn’t hear you. The door opened behind you, his father striding into the room. For some reason, he didn’t seem to be able to see you, and just as he approached you he walked through you.

“Baekhyun, come on get up, we’ve got a lot of planning to do.”

“What-” He was slowly waking up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes slightly dazed and confused.

The empty space in the middle of his chest seemed to prompt him of the events that had taken place earlier, “Y/N, someone took her, I need-”

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“It is very difficult to uncover Elizabeth’s private feelings towards her father. Certainly, she paraded her filial descent with pride. A decade after Henry’s death, the Venetian ambassador noted that she “prides herself on her father and glories in him”. Later still, during her own coronation procession in January 1559, Elizabeth smiled on hearing one of the spectators refer to King Henry, and she claimed it was because “she rejoysed at his name whom this realme doth hold of so woorthy memorie: so in all her doinges she will resemble the same”. On the strength of such observations, biographers have commented on Elizabeth’s adulation of the king. However, given the allegations that she was not Henry’s daughter, Elizabeth had every motive for flaunting her affection and admiration for her royal father. Moreover, in view of Henry’s treatment of his wives and daughters, she had every reason to fear – rather than to love – the irascible, volatile, and merciless monarch. And, indeed, her calm reaction to the news of his death suggests that she experienced no great grief at his passing. Furthermore, her New Year’s gifts for both him and Queen Katherine in 1544 betray an unsettling ambivalence in her inward feeling towards the king.

On New Year’s Eve 1544, Elizabeth probably gave her father a handwritten French translation of Erasmus’ Dialogus fidei, though we cannot be certain, as the work is no longer extant. A matching gift to her stepmother has survived in the form of a handwritten twenty-seven-page English translation of a volume of meditations that had been composed by Margaret of Navarre, sister of King Francis I of France. Every aspect of this gift to Katherine was carefully thought out and redolent in meaning. Its title, The glasse of the synnefull soule, drew attention to Elizabeth’s royal lineage, as it alluded to her paternal great-grandmother Margaret Beaufort’s volume of translations entitled Miroure of golde for the sinful soul. The pages were bound together within a blue cover on which Elizabeth had embroidered pansies in each corner and knotwork pattern in silver thread surrounding Katherine’s initials in the centre. Pansies both punned with the French word for meditations, pensées, and, in the language of flowers, sent out the message “think of me” to Katherine, from whom she had just parted. The embroidered forget-me-nots on the spine of the book signified the “love” or “affection” she held for her stepmother. This was a gift, then, that not only displayed the young girl’s intellectual precociousness and feminine skills but also drew attention to her royal ancestry and signalled her devotion to the queen-consort and, by extension, the king. It can be read as a bid to retain their affections and receive in return a more permanent place at court.

Possibly too, although this is necessarily more speculative, Elizabeth’s gift reveals a deeper and darker psychological side to her feelings towards her father. Margaret’s original poem was a set of meditations on family relationships through which humans may understand God’s love. In fact, the work touched on adultery, bastardy, and incest, all sensitive subjects for the 11-year-old daughter of Anne Boleyn to handle. What is more, its presentation of God as a great king and judge who is kind to daughters and merciful to adulterous wives might have touched a raw nerve in Elizabeth. For this reason, some scholars have argued that her mistranslations and departures from the original text stem, not from a young girl’s carelessness, but from a deep-rooted, perhaps, subconscious, anxiety and anger about her own father’s lack of mercy towards his adulterous wife.”

Elizabeth I and Her Circle by Susan Doran

Assassin!Ignis x Reader: The Truth is Sometimes Equivalent to Love—Always Blind

A/N: A 10 chapter commission for @martascully​! I’m only posting this one for now as a tease. I’ll post the rest when it gets closer to completion~! Enjoy, my dear!

By Oreana Galena (

| Commission Information |

Originally posted by ffxvscreens

Chapter 1

Lestallum—a city that brought a calming, glittering night to combat against the daemons was full of life per usual that starry evening. Casual banter kept even the dying hours of the town full of some form of energy as (Y/N) kept her head down and her attention focused on why she was sent there.

Hands buried in the pockets of her old gene jacket, her black and mudded boots shuffled across the imperfect, paved ground though finding it within herself to kick about some pebbles and an empty can for the sake of appearing natural. Eyes shifting up to the Leville Hotel as it inched ever closer to her as she dragged onward, (Y/N) fixed her collar and upturned it to not only combat the chill of the night’s kiss but to try and obscure her appearance to anybody nearby.

Here, she thought to herself with a firm look to her eyes. The information I need to aid our cause into Insomnia should be here… But if it were true—that the four assassin men would be lying in wait inside—(Y/N) would have the time of her life cut out for her if her distraction didn’t arrive. Stopping short just at the entryway, her frowned deepened as her eyes shifted about in anxiousness wait for such a thing to occur.

The Templar Order, which allied themselves under Niflheim’s control were asked to primarily focus on the assassins that roamed in the shadows in service of Lucian royals, the Kingsglaive, and to find and keep a close watch on the crowned King Noctis of Lucis wherever he may very well be. (Y/N) could only assume he was primarily on the throne where most royals tended to stay.

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‘Pegasus Bridge’
Vehicles including a Royal Signals jeep and trailer and RASC Leyland lorry on the Pont de Bénouville over the Caen Canal at Bénouville, Calvados, 9 June 1944.
The signallers are fixing telephone lines across the bridge.

At 00:16 hrs on the 6th June, the British 6th Airborne Division consisting of ’D’ Company of the Oxfordshire & Buckinghamshire Light Infantry landed by parachutes and gliders east of the River Orne and the Caen Canal.
The small force of 181 men was commanded by Major John Howard and joined with a detachment of Royal Engineers who landed at Ranville-Benouville in six 28-men Horsa gliders. Having taken off from Dorset, the gliders were towed across the Channel by Halifax Bombers. With perfect navigation and piloting skill, the gliders landed on time and on target within few yards of each other. Major Howard’s glider landed within a few feet of the canal bridge. The bridge was captured after a fierce ten minute fire fight, the action all over by 0026, a full six hours before the beach landings.
So, just 90 minutes after taking off from RAF Tarrant Rushton in England, Major Howard was able to send the code words “Ham and Jam”, indicating that both bridges had been captured. In this early action of D-Day, the first house on French soil was liberated.

(Photo source - © IWM B 5288)
(Sgt Christie - No 5 Army Film & Photographic Unit)

(Colourised by Paul Reynolds)

Sergeant Elms of 16/5 Lancers and his tank crew at El Aroussa; Trooper Bates, Royal Armoured Corps, Signalman Bower, Royal Corps of Signals, and Trooper Goddard, Royal Armoured Corps, clean the 6-pounder gun of their Crusader tank while preparing for the drive on Tunis.

The Best Kind of Revenge: Part 2

Part two of the story I am writing for @laurent-ofvere but, this time, we actually get to see Nik and Auguste meeting, and talking trash about Damen and Laurent. because what else would they do? Hope you enjoy it!

Over the next three days, the capital of Vere was an epicenter of activity. Of course, this happened every time Vere hosted royalty from another province or country. Auguste had received word from Damianos that he and his party would be arriving within three hours after the sun reached it’s peak.

This time, Auguste didn’t have to do anything but sit and wait, watching as his brother ran around ordering people to set those flowers in the entry, or to groom every horse in the stables, royal or not. His brother, Auguste thought, may have been going a bit overboard with the preparations.

By the time his guards reported seeing the bright flash of red that signaled Damianos’ royal flag, Laurent had worn himself out to the point of lying on the cool marble floor in front of his throne, trying desperately to stay awake to witness the arrival of Akielos’ king. Not that there was any issue with L aurent as he greeted the king.

When the king’s party breached the castle’s gates, there was little fanfare. Damianos was a simple ruler, who had no wish for anything lavish or extravagant, as he had to repeatedly tell the members of the Veritian court, who were very obviously offended by the Akielon kings’ way of living.

He embraced Auguste, who had gone out to greet Damianos and the members of his guard. Auguste had very little time to move out of the way before his brother was pushing past him to greet the foreign king.

Auguste heard a loud sigh coming from Damianos’ right side and turned to see a man rolling his eyes at the king and the prince embracing as if they had not seen each other for years. The man was shorter than his king, but who wasn’t? He had dark hair and eyes with an olive complexion, as was usual for the people of Akielos. The man must have been a few years older than his king, as his experience of battle and rule was shown on his face.

Auguste moved to greet the man, having figured that he was of somewhat political importance to Damianos. The man held out his hand for Auguste to shake and gave the cursory “your majesty”, giving off the impression that he was not impressed by the goings on around him.

Auguste followed the man’s eyes to see that the king and Laurent were still holding tightly to each other, and he couldn’t suppress the sigh that was building up inside of his chest. The man, still grasping Auguste’s hand, laughed.

“I see I’m not the only one plagued by these two night and day. It’s good to know that someone shares the sentiment.” Auguste nodded as he released the other man’s hand.

“Yes. you must be Nikandros then. Kryos of Ios, and, prior to that, to Delpha, yes? I’ve heard many stories about you, though I’m not entirely sure how many of them are true, seeing as they came from my brother.” He got a nod of affirmation from Nikandros as the party of royalty and guardsmen began the slow journey into the castle. Laurent and Damianos had separated enough for the two to walk side by side with their fingers intertwined, going through the grand archway of the castle entrance.

Auguste and Nikandros were also side by side as they walked into the castle, both beginning to regale their tales of dealing with the prince and the king, both together and separately.

“You don’t understand,” Nikandros started, speaking of Damen after Laurent came back to Vere from his last visit. “He barely acts like a king as it is. And whenever your brother leaves, Damen just sulks like a puppy who’s lost it’s master. It’s pathetic, really.”

Auguste couldn’t help the barking laugh that left his throat.

“You would speak of your king in such a way?” Nikandros looked at him out of the corner of his eye.

“He was my friend before he was my king. We grew up together. He knows I mean nothing treasonous when I speak of him this way.” The two men watched as Laurent showed Damianos where he was to be seated, at the head of the table with Nikandros, Auguste and himself. Auguste couldn’t help but smile.

“As much grief as I give my brother about his relationship with your king, i must admit that it has been a long time since I’ve seen him smile like that.” Nikandros tilted his head at that, aiming his gaze towards the two people in question as they were surrounded by servants ready to fill their cups or their plates at the head of the table.

“I can see your point. After everything with the corruption with his brother, and dealing with the aftermath of the alliance between Kastor and your uncle. Theomedes’ death. He deserves to be happy, even with a foreign prince who is far too clever for his own good.” Auguste nodded his agreement.

“Well, it seems the two have settled in somewhat. What do you say to joining me at the feast? Since those two are ignoring the proper seating arrangement. It seems Laurent has taken your chair.” And, indeed, Laurent was sitting to the far left of the table, where a seat was reserved for king Damianos’ second in command.

“Sous like a great plan. At least now we won’t have to talk over damen when we share our stories.” Auguste waved his hand out in front of him, gesturing Nikandros in the right direction as the two made their way to the high table, Nikandros taking the chair usually reserved for the prince of Vere to Augustes’ right. It took several more minutes for the guards in Damianos’ entourage to find their places amongst the Veretian courtiers. Once everyone had found their chair, Auguste rose from his place and silence fell over the room.

“It seems that’s settled then. Lets eat.”

So, honestly, I’m not sure where this is going quite yet, so if you guys have any ideas, let me know and I’ll do my best to make this story into something awesome. As always, you’re welcome to come scream at me in my messages or ask box!


Katia è stata la prima ragazza che mi sia piaciuta veramente. Invece io a lei non piacevo affatto. Era una di quelle ripetenti croniche che incontri durante gli anni delle scuole medie e che solitamente escono dal tunnel delle bocciature quando tu stai discutendo la tesi di laurea. Quando l'ho scoperto ne ho istantaneamente subìto il fascino. Il fascino indiscreto del proibito sì, e del peccaminoso ma anche di quel proletariato umano che poi avrei compreso, anni e anni dopo, studiando Pier Paolo Pasolini. Senza cioè quelle impurezze che la cultura scolastica, piccola e borghese, inculca nelle teste privandoci di quel candore un tempo forte e istintivo.
Katia aveva i capelli rossi come un fuoco d'artificio, che le rimbalzavano a fasci quando correva per i corridoi o saltava durante le ore di educazione fisica. Le sue gambe erano lunghe e ben fatte, nonostante qualche cicatrice ereditata dai trascorsi turbolenti. Fu la prima ragazza che osservai in minigonna, come dire il primo pezzettino di cioccolato mangiato da un lattante o il bicchiere della staffa prima di congedarsi dagli amici per un lungo viaggio. I suoi occhi erano grandi, accesi, di un celeste turchese che tendeva al ghiaccio durante le giornate di sole, allora diventavano sognanti e assenti.
Quando intuii che non le sarei mai interessato ci rimasi molto male. Ma in breve tempo mi convinsi che alla fine essere ignorato, umiliato e rifiutato da Katia non fosse poi un dramma. Dagli undici ai quattordici anni è un gran bel pezzo di vita, pieno di ottusità e oblio. Si dice che in quei tre anni si sia ancora in grado di affrontare le cose con genuina noncuranza. C'è chi sostiene che avvenga per permettere ai nostri occhi di abituarsi alla vista, di corazzarsi davanti allo stupore. E’ l'ultimo rantolo di ingenuità prima che i mostri da dentro gli armadi diventino pessimi mariti e madri colpevoli.
A cavallo degli anni Ottanta, quando internet lo usava solo la Regina Elisabetta per spedire mail alla sede del Royal Signals and Radar Establishment, era piuttosto difficile trovare qualcuno che ti passasse al primo colpo un disco dei Sonic Youth. L'approccio indie alla materia musicale non era ancora pervenuto in larga scala. Il padre del tuo compagno di banco, la zia scafata, il parrucchiere sotto casa, insomma chiunque avesse un po’ a cuore l'idea di non farti sprofondare nella Lambada dei Kaoma, di solito ti mollava un caposaldo. Fabrizio De André il primo, i Velvet Underground la seconda, i Doors il terzo. “Stai zitto e impara”. Il senso, dovendo riassumere, era questo: accendi lo stereo, metti su questo disco e apprendi.
Non sfugga il verbo. Dovevi imparare. Ma cosa, se durante gli anni delle medie il vocabolario più in uso tra i ragazzi sembra essere il Cherubini/Jovanotti? Così tornavo da scuola, mi sparavo un paio d'ore di storia, un'accesa battaglia tra simple past e present perfect e poi via, a cercare di capire come conquistare Katia con le canzoni contenute in Storia di un Minuto della PFM. Capirai. “Quante gocce di rugiada intorno a me, cerco il sole ma non c'è… / Dorme ancora la campagna, forse no, è sveglia, mi guarda, non so”. E se imparassi a ballare la Lambada? Poi un compagno di classe di mia sorella, con la faccia da Elliott Smith fatto di crack e un cognome profetico come Segantini, si pose come punto di congiunzione astrale tra il mio goffo amore non corrisposto e Katia.
In rigoroso ordine cronologico mi passò tutta la discografia di Rino Gaetano. Io l'ascoltavo. Che cosa potevo fare, del resto se non ascoltare e apprendere? Quando mi portò Ingresso Libero non capii più niente. Vinile apribile dal vago sapore di modernariato cantautoriale,  cosa non da poco: con i testi. La copertina ritrae Rino Gaetano sfocatamente mentre cammina davanti a un muro di mattoncini della sua prima casa a Roma e su una porta è appeso un cartello con il titolo del disco. Si ironizza, con un involontario omaggio a Nick Drake fotografato da Keith Morris qualche anno prima, sull'entrata del cantante calabrese nel mondo della musica. Quando poi partì l'attacco di Tu, Forse Non Essenzialmente Tu andai letteralmente fuori di testa. Dopo un intro di chitarra dal vago sapore Rosa Fluido, Rino, nonostante una dialettica assai colloquiale, si dimostra un grande songwriter.
Tu, Forse Non Essenzialmente Tu è una canzone che mescola filosofia da salotto a fatti quotidiani, facendo degli avverbi il punto cruciale per la comprensione dell'intero testo. Possiamo infatti trovare “riferimenti alla concezione del tempo e alla sua inutilità irriversibile“, come analizza Maurizio Becker, e nel contempo “la narrazione di un sentimento, fatto di circostanze reali, concrete”, come scrive Vincenzo Minocci riferendosi allo storico bar "Barone” o al “6O” notturno che dalla periferia nord-est di Roma arriva a piazza Venezia; ma su tutto l'humus vitale del brano è dettato dallo scandire degli avverbi frasali: essenzialmente, decisamente, confidenzialmente…
Diciamocelo, è un'idea semplice ma non è affatto male. Ingresso Libero è il padre rinnegato di mezza discografia nostrana attuale e Tu, Forse Non Essenzialmente Tu è la summa perfetta degli strani pensieri che si fanno davanti all'imbarazzo di un amore inconfessabile o all'umiliazione di un amore non ricambiato. Un passetto avanti e uno indietro, per paura di essere troppo invadenti o inadeguati quando si pansa che almeno “l'amicizia c'è”. Il migliore elucubrare bislacco che si possa sentire, perché contiene al suo interno dignità, imbarazzo e un candore ai limiti dell'autolesionismo. Pretende attenzione e strilla, ma lo fa con empatica goffaggine. Non le ho mai dette tutte queste cose a Katia. Un gesto che potrebbe sembrare straordinariamente idiota, per uno che passava i pomeriggi cercando le parole giuste nei dischi sbagliati, ma a mettere freno a ogni mio ipotizzabile intento fu la diretta interessata. Venni sputtanato da una sua amica e la sua saggia replica fu sollevarmi a cinque centimetri dal suolo. “Se sento in giro voci strane su di noi io ti ammazzo”. E lo avrebbe fatto. Sicuramente.

“Let’s Get BLOWN” {Bongiovanni RMX} {dj pump bootleg}
“II/IV” Star Slinger
“I Came For Your Love” Psychic Mirrors
“Skate” Pools
“So Good” Tuxedo
“Hold On We’re Going Home” Holy Ghost
“If You Want Me to Stay” Sly and the Family Stone {KidGusto Edit}
“Just Chillin’ Out” Kartell RMX
“Hooked on You” Cerrone {KON edit}
“Flowers” Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish
“Take Your Time” DJ Theory & J Boogie
“Enemies Get No Water” Cousin Colo
“Love Me For Real” Rim Kwaku Obeng and Kasa
“Change Your Mind” Caserta {Baby Maker dub}
“Her Sun in Aries” Trackademicks
“Runaway” KON
“Somebody to Love Me” Eli Escobar feat Nomi Ruiz
“Raw Cuts #6” Motor City Drum Ensemble
“Grind” Les Sins
“The Path” Ralph Mcdonald
"Umi Says” Nick Monaco Edit
“Latch” Disclosure {DJ Premier remix}
“Brazilian Blow Job” Mr Carmack
“Electr(on)ic Relaxation” Ta-ku
“Party” Beyonce {Kaytranada remix}
“Vibrator” Pomo
“Prototype” Starro Bossa Edit
“You and Me” Flume remix
“Solid as a Rock” Big Makk
“Well Prepared” Busy Signal
“Royals” Mayer Hawthorne
“Lullabies” Yuna {Trackademicks remix}
“Baby Be Mine” Quadron
“B Mine” Jo Def
“What You Wont Do” Jessie Ware
“Without Love” Roane Namuh
“Orchids of the Sun” {Instrumental} Leon Ware
“Feel That Way” Tiron and Ayomari
“Open” Rhye {Still life edit}
“Sweatest Taboo” Reva Devito
“Run 2 Me” Sammay Bananas Thicke Mix

Made with SoundCloud

For the sake of the ship, get your ass on twitter now!

Queen Saint Isabel, circle or follower of Quentin Metsys. 1st quarter of the 16th century.
Oil on wood, 38 x 27 cm.

«This “portrait” of Isabel of Portugal with the crown and ermine mantle signalling her royal condition and a Franciscan cord necklace emphasising her religious sentiment, combines  the devoltional convention of a hieratic presence marked by the sign of transcendence (the luminous halo surrounding her) with features of serene and human beauty. It is possible to allude to a type of iconic realism in the distinction and symmetry of the oval face, the elegant features, the subtly oblique eyes, connecting this “style” of female face design to Quentin Metsys’s models. The legend that appears at the bottom of the painting [“the queen saint Isabel”] does however indicate that if not painted by a Portuguese it had a Portuguese destiny that probably also indicated the nationality of the commission itself.

[…] In the inventory of the assets that Queen D. Leonor left to the convent [of Madre de Deus] in her will is “a painting of the Holy queen who lies in Coimbra” and which in 1537 was in the church sacristy […].»

in Casa Perfeitíssima - Celebrating 500 Years of the Foundation of the Convent of Madre de Deus