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#sacré bleu
shroombloomm · 1 month
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Prologue
tw: mentions of ed, anxiety, depression, & irregular eating.
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Lights.
Cameras.
All the attention on me.
I craved it from an early age. Cheryl, my mom, always told me I was an attention seeker. She never meant it negatively, it just meant that I could control a room, or have heads turn when I walked into one. In this case, I truly did make heads turn.
I wore a dress that cost more than our rent. The moment I stepped onto the runway, I heard the people start to clap for me. I was taught not to smile even if I wanted to. It was about the clothes, not about me, but I couldn’t lie–I knew my fans when I saw them.
Step by step, the cheering got louder. The louder the crowd, the more I felt alive. I’d somehow got addicted to this feeling, I couldn’t remember a time when I didn’t live for others' validations. I worked hard to get where I was, at some point I believed that if the noise ever stopped…I’d die.
A piece of me chips away each time I leave the stage.
Throughout the years, I never realized how many pieces seemed to break away until I just got…tired.
Suddenly, I didn’t want to model anymore.
Modeling was easy until it wasn’t anymore. Nobody told me about the strict diets, waking up incredibly early to work out with a personal trainer, and the amount of time I had to put into myself every single day. If I wasn’t neat, I wasn’t clean. If I wasn’t lean, I wasn’t perfect. People would think that I had it easy, but it was far from.
When I was five, I wasn’t a small kid. I was chubby and more than okay with that. It was until I started performing that the girls around me started to have an influence on me. I realized that my body wasn’t like others, that my stomach poked out rather than not.
Nobody should’ve ever felt that way about their body at that age. Cheryl used to tell me that I wouldn’t eat after school when I came home. Of course, I didn’t remember, but I took her word for it. As any active kid, I lost weight as I grew up, and I was suddenly more appealing to others. The people who wouldn’t speak to me in school started speaking to me, and boys began looking at me.
Things started to look different when I turned eight. Parents awed over how cute I was and boys would pass me notes in class. I think my mom started to realize how much potential I had when I started getting invited to events, or to be a part of things at school. As any mother would, she thought I was beautiful no matter what; but when the money started coming in from pageants she realized that I had some things that people didn’t.
Seventeen years old, I’d been doing this since I was a kid. Cheryl enjoyed showing off her pretty little girl and I loved smiling and waving to the crowd. I took any role I could get, whether it be a main role in a play, or a centerpiece in the cheerleading squad. I learned how to sing opera, and learned how to dance ballet.
None of that ever prepared me for being a part of the industry.
I was sitting at an afterparty crowded with people that I shared the stage with, yet didn’t even personally know. These parties always seemed fun in hindsight, but I’d never felt so insecure before. I was surrounded by the famously known people, they had worked hard, or not at all, for what they had.
When I was younger, I believed that I would be in the middle of these crowds, talking to everyone. Having everyone gawk over me, compliment me. A stupid, stupid daydream of being the it girl. Yet, I sat in the corner booth away from everyone. Each glance towards me felt like a wound to my chest. I couldn’t think about how the room was starting to close in on me either, I had to take deep breaths through my dry martini.
Cheryl left my side, I didn’t notice how long she’d been gone for. All I knew was that I was desperate for anyone to come sit next to me so I didn’t look like a complete and utter loser. I fixed a piece of my sparkly black dress, brushing the thick curls from my face as my eyes wandered around the room.
I seemed to lock eyes with someone for mere moments, and when I tore my gaze away he stalked his way towards me. I was a bubbly person, but years of being picked apart by magazines started to dull me down. Each person I spoke with, I believed that they were judging me in their heads. Many times I had to excuse myself from a conversation to cry in the bathroom due to stress and anxiety. I was so young.
So when the man sat at my booth, I had to force a smile and seem confident. He looked rich and that was intimidating in itself. Sure, me and Cheryl made more money, but we still rented. We didn’t have much of anything, but we enjoyed pretending that we were rich for the night.
This man had black hair slicked back, a shiny, large watch on his wrist and a crisp blue suit that complimented the tan color of his skin. I tried not to stare into his deep blue eyes as I sat my martini down, turning myself towards him to greet him.
“What is a pretty girl doing here all by herself?” He spoke before I could, hiding his smirk behind the crystal glass of brown liquid.
“Me?” I pointed towards myself, then dropped my hand into my lap, “Oh, I mean…I mean, I’m waiting on someone.”
The way his eyes scraped over me made my skin crawl, not in a good way either. I shifted my weight once more, suddenly wishing I had a shawl of some sorts to cover myself.
“I saw you earlier. On the runway,” He didn’t acknowledge the way he made me visibly uncomfortable, “You’re talented. I’m shocked that you’re not on a bigger scale like everyone else here.”
“Oh, thank you…” I drew out, hiding the hiding on my face with my martini glass, “I just enjoy being able to be at events like this. It’s such an honor to be in a room full of talented people.”
His fingers scratched his jawline as he chuckled quietly, then took a heavy sip of his drink. He sighed happily, setting his drink down on the table.
“I’m Harris,” He introduced himself, “Harris Moon.”
“Margot Miller,” I forced another bright smile.
Once again I was searching the room for Cheryl. The night wasn’t seeming to end, the last time I’d looked at the clock it was almost midnight and my ankles were killing me from these heels. I was exhausted, ready for my mom to come back and whisk me away back home where I could wash the mask off of me and go to sleep.
“Are you signed onto a label, Margot?” Harris drew his finger around the rim of his glass, “Surely someone’s had to take a pretty girl like you.”
I swallowed thickly, searching the room once more, then setting my eyes on him.
“My mom, Cheryl, she’s–,” I tried not to sigh as I said it, so I fixed my shoulders and stretched a smile so wide that it hurt the corners of my lips, “She’s my manager. Unofficially, of course. We’ve been solo for a while, we are just really happy to be where we are.”
Harris nodded, meeting my gaze, “You’ve got talent, Margot Miller,” He pointed at me, leaning closer, “Someone ought to pick you up. That’s why I want to talk to you about signing you to my label.”
I gave him a look, but I couldn’t decipher if it was a look of shock or sadness. I was seventeen years old, already exhausted from living the path that I chose. The reason we hadn’t signed onto a label was because I’d always chased them off before Cheryl could come running to talk to them. I was fearful that he’d overstayed his welcome until she came back to the table.
“I’ll have my manager contact you,” I stood from the table, smoothing my dress down, “I think it’d be worth looking over.”
I offered him a smile as he slid his card. However, I wasn’t fast enough to yank it away and leave the table. Across the room, Cheryl came into view, and she set her eyes on Harris who was sitting next to me. A piece of me chipped away. My throat felt dry.
“Is that your manager?” Harris asked slyly with a smirk.
I couldn’t make myself answer, even if I wanted to. Cheryl approached the table in her pretty white pantsuit, pearls hanging around her neck, and curls tightly tucked with her matching pearl clip in her dirty blonde hair. Her lips stretched into a smile, darting her eyes between the two of us.
“If I knew we were to have company, I would’ve ordered more drinks for the table. I’m so sorry.” She placed her hand on her chest.
Harris rose to his feet, taking my mom’s free hand to shake. The scene before me made my hands shake, the exhaustion made it seem like a bad fever dream.
“No need to apologize, Cheryl. My name is Harris Moon. I watched Margot walk tonight, may I say that you’ve trained your daughter well?” He squeezed her hand, then let it fall to his side.
“Harris Moon? With Moon Modeling?”
I knew that look from anywhere. A sparkle in her eye. She was hungry, ironically enough they shared the same look. Doubtful that the hunger was for me, but for what I could make him in dollars. The two of them sat down to speak business and I felt my weight buckle under me and my bottom hit the seat with them. I reached for another martini on the table.
By the end of the night, Cheryl and Harris came to an agreement while I sat pretty between the two of them.
The drive home was quiet and my head was spinning. I pulled my knees to my chest as I watched the city lights pass by. Cheryl seemed happy, yet never asked me how I felt about it. I almost felt guilty telling her that I couldn’t do this anymore. There were many times where I’d hinted at stopping, but then she would hint that we wouldn’t be able to pay rent if it wasn’t for me.
I sucked in a deep breath and asked, “How long is the contract?”
There was a beat of silence, then I turned my head to Cheryl as she glanced towards me out of the corner of her eyes.
“Four years.”
I was locked in. Trapped, I felt anxiety rush through me. When the tears started to pool around my eyes, I turned my head once more to look out at the city lights. I blew out a slow breath, closing my eyes as the coolness from the window calmed my hot head.
“What’s wrong, honey? Aren’t you happy?”
My shoulders shook as I let out a silent cry, then sniffled. I wiped my eyes, turning towards her and forced the same smile that I’d been for a couple years.
“I’m so happy.”
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“Sacré blur,” a unique stained-glass installation near London’s Hyde Park. The diminutive stained-glass greenhouse was created by Paddington horticultural artists Tony Heywood and Alison Condie, members of the Royal British Society of Sculptors. The couple’s unique sculptural interpretation makes great use of reclaimed and reconfigured 18th & 19th Century ecclesiastical stained-glass.
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sacrer-blu · 20 days
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I am wondering how mon team is holding up, ah, des thoughts of an sleepless head...
I miss them
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bracketsoffear · 10 days
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Grey Noise (Marcus Hawke) "Evan is just trying to get his store, REWIND VIDEO, up and running. Fate, unfortunately, often has other plans. Then he finds something that would be the perfect touch, an old vacuum tube TV. One that keeps turning to static. And it too has other plans.
It follows you.
Drives you.
It’s already inside you.
Lose yourself in…GREY NOISE."
Sacré Bleu: A Comedy d’Art (Christopher Moore) "The story surrounds the mysterious suicide of Vincent van Gogh, who famously shot himself in a French wheat field only to walk a mile to a doctor’s house. The mystery, which is slowly but cleverly revealed through the course of the book, is blue: specifically the exclusive ultramarine pigment that accents pictures created by the likes of Michelangelo and van Gogh. To find the origin of the hue, Moore brings on Lucien Lessard, a baker, aspiring artist and lover of Juliette, the brunette beauty who breaks his heart. After van Gogh’s death, Lucien joins up with the diminutive force of nature Henri Toulouse-Lautrec to track down the inspiration behind the Sacré Bleu. In the shadows, lurking for centuries, is a perverse paint dealer dubbed The Colorman, who tempts the world’s great artists with his unique hues and a mysterious female companion who brings revelation—and often syphilis (it is Moore, after all). Into the palette, Moore throws a dizzying array of characters, all expertly portrayed, from the oft-drunk “little gentleman” to a host of artists including Édouard Manet, Paul Gauguin, Georges Seurat, Claude Monet, Camille Pissarro and Pierre-Auguste Renoir."
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going-outside-enjoyer · 6 months
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Have this mildly funny meme I found on reddit
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kaltstrahls · 1 year
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i don't think i've squared up as hard for anything in my life as i did for les misérables (all adaptations)
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itsukicoded · 1 year
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unlovablehand · 1 year
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french ppl are unironically SO funny today i witnessed a full grown man wail ‘MERDE ALORS!’ in REAL LIFE just because the self checkouts at lidl were closed
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incorrect-hs-quotes · 1 month
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ROSE: This is problematic of me (joke), but I really enjoy the splashing of French into English speech or writing. It just adds a pizzazz.
JOHN: adds a certain... je ne sais quoi.
ROSE: ...See, the problem is that, despite around eight years of French schooling, the French language has utterly escaped my brain, so even the most obvious set-up I had created for myself by accident was missed by me. Such is life.
JADE: c'est la vie!!!
ROSE: God damn it.
DAVE: sacré bleu
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despazito · 6 months
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French explorer 1: sacré bleu what do we call this creature
French explorer 2, currently fantasizing about a lovely ham dinner: hrrrgg pork epic.....
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medusasbush · 7 months
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Red, White & Sacré Bleu
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shroombloomm · 1 month
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table of contents
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cover made by @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy
tw: mentions of ED, irregular eating, anxiety, depression, weight loss, weight gain, drinking, smoking & sexual content.
read at your own discretion.
• prologue
• one
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rowenas-my-fave-child · 2 months
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Enoch: oui oui baguette sacré bleu
Horace: that is not how you say « I chopped off her head with a guillotine » in French
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frevandrest · 6 months
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On Hérault's Orgy Cave
@divinaaugusta I wrote about this in the past (my pet topic, guilty as charged), but I have trouble locating relevant info on my blog because Tumblr my beloved.
We learn about the sex/orgy cave from the book by his mistress Suzanne de Morency, "Illyrine ou l'Écueil de l'inexpérience". She describes their relationship, including how he bought her a lottery and rented a luxurious house for her near Champs-Élysées. In 18c, there was no avenue, but we know its approximate location, near the convent St Périne (now a hospital). Here is how the area looked in the 1730:
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So, near rue de Chaillot in 18th century.
As I understand, in 1790s that was a nationalized property that Hérault rented for Suzanne. As part of the complex, there was a garden with an artificial grotto. These grottos were all the rage in the 18th century. Here is one belonging to Frederick the Great: Neptune Grotto (although no idea if this one - or grottos in general - were used for the same purpose as how Hérault used it). Apparently, Hérault's grotto/cave included a little brook, flowers, and comfortable furniture (including a chandelier). She describes:
Chérubin [Hérault] me prie d'ôter mes bas , parce qu'il faisait chaud , et il se désha billalui-même, passa seulement une grande lévite de bazin doublée de taffetas bleu : il me prend la main , me fait traverser le parterre ; j'apperçois un petit portique du quel il m'avait toujours soigneusement écartée ; et il avait un grand soin de ne pas me perdre de vue depuis notre arrivée. Enfin , ouvrant la porte de ce portique , il me présente à l'amour , qui m'offre une guirlande de roses fraîches ; puis il me dit : Adèle ; vois son inscription. Je le regarde en souriant; il me donne un baiser , dé noue ma ceinture , marobe , et à l'instant je n'ai plus de vêtement que la guirlande que l'amour m'a donné : mon amant a la même parure : il ouvre la porte sacrée ; nos pieds foulent le gazon. Il me conduit à un lit de jonc dont le ciel était un grand myrthe. Mon amant s'était ménagé toute la soirée pour ce lieu enchanteur…. Je ne puis te peindre tous les plaisirs que nous goûtâmes : je ne trouverais pas de pinceau assez habile ; ils sont plus faciles à imaginer qu'à peindre. Mais Séchelles est plus qu'un homme si j'ai quelquefois dit que mon mari et Q…..te étaient autant au- dessus du vulgaire qu'étaient les anges au- dessus de l'humanité, je dirai maintenant qu'Hérault de Séchelles est autant au - dessus de mon mari et de Q…..te que la divinité est au dessus des anges. Nous nous restaurâmes par des glaces et des liqueurs ; tu en connais l'effet …. De nouveau nous nous épuisâmes : nous passâmes la nuit dans ce charmant réduit.
Illyrine ou l'Écueil de l'inexpérience, tome 3 , pages 273-274.
(If anyone would like to translate, that would be great! My French sucks for that, but even Google translate gives you the vibe).
The description starts on page 270, with the description of the house, and then the garden and the portico and the inscription "Fuyez loin d'ici , profanes , si vous n'êtes purs et nuds comme moi" ("Flee far from here, profane people, if you are not pure and naked like me"), to which Hérault - obviously - suggests them to undress. And they did. (Sadly, she doesn't describe the encounter, except that it was amazing and that he served drinks and ice-cream after).
Suzanne says that they visited the cave more than once, sometimes with another couple (so, not just sex cave but also an orgy cave). Again, she doesn't go into details, but she makes it clear what kind of activities went there.
So... that's the story of this particular 18th century spot! :)
About Hérault's Mistresses in another post, because it will be long (as one might imagine).
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bracketsoffear · 10 days
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Spiral Leitner Tournament Round 1
The Raw Shark Texts vs. The Helmet of Horror
Ulysses vs. The Third Policeman
A Midsummer Night's Dream vs. Uzumaki
The Color Out of Space vs. Flatland
Babel-17 vs. Harrow the Ninth
Fibble vs. Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius
The Memory Police vs. Don't Go to Sleep!
Codex Seraphinianus vs. The Voynich Manuscript
Grey Noise vs. Sacré Bleu
The King in Yellow vs. If On a Winter's Night a Traveler
The Door in the Wall vs. The Yellow Wallpaper
Wayside School Is Falling Down vs. Cain's Jawbone
Maybe You Will Remember vs. Gas Light
The House on the Borderland vs. A Guest in the House
The Book of the War vs. The Word Eater
Alice in Wonderland/Through the Looking Glass vs. Don Quixote
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letsallgotothelobby · 11 months
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Sacré bleu!
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