#ch: jean-pierre

[dailymlgifs]

I want a giant yellow gorilla that throws exploding bananas!

#miraculous ladybug #ml #mledit #miraculousedit #ours* #zue* #s4 #4x08 #ch: alya #ch: mylene #ch: astruc #ch: nino #ch: kim #ch: zoe #ch: max #ch: marinette #ch: jean-pierre #ch: rose

[gaslysgirl]

2 A.M. - [P.G.]

Gif credit to @/luvth0t

Synopsis: provided by a sweet anon in my inbox - You and Pierre are friends with benefits, and he’s in town, but you cancel on him, only to bump into him at a club later. 

WARNINGS: NSFW CONTENT (18+) - unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), your fuckbuddy Pierre giving you overwhelming orgasms.

Your phone pings while you’re brushing the eyeshadow over your eyelids, and you give the lit-up screen a side eye. You put your brush down, gathering your friend’s attention as you sigh softly to take your phone into your hand to reply. “Is it Pierre?” Your friend asks, making you smirk a little as you turn around to look at her. “Yeah, it’s Pierre,” you said. “He’s around, but I just cancelled on him,” you shrugged. “Really?” she asked. “Yeah, just because we’re fuck buddies doesn’t mean he can just ping me whenever he wants sex,” you hum, focussing on your eye makeup again. “Like you didn’t jump on his cock when he texted you three weeks ago,” your friend snorts, and it made you laugh a little. “Well, I was in the mood for it. And now I’m going out with you. Besides, we’ll probably see him in a club tonight anyway,” you answer. “He’s so hot,” your friend sighs, making you laugh once more. “I know, babe,” you reply, thinking of the last time you hooked up. Pierre had been sweet to ask how your weekend away was with your friends, but you saw through the cover and didn’t bother answering, you just wanted him to rail you on the balcony of his apartment.

You finished your makeup, content with the result, and you started to get dressed. You had chosen a little black, halter-topped dress for tonight, platform heels that lifted your legs perfectly. You look great, and you know it, and you were sort of hoping to bump into Pierre to tease him and see where the night would end up. You stayed at your friend’s apartment to get a few drinks in before heading to the clubs by Uber, you were going to meet some others there. The night starts off good, the club is playing good music, and the drinks taste amazing. A few hours fly by, and you head to the bar to order another cocktail. It takes a while before you have the attention of the bartender, but you can finally order. “Can I have a Tequila Sunrise, please?” You ask, a hand on your lower back and a body sliding next to you. “Make that two, please.” You look up at Pierre, who has his credit card in his hand to pay for it right away. There’s a grin on his face, and he looks utterly delicious in a dark blue button-up, ripped jeans. His necklace is visible on his chest, as a few buttons are left undone. Pierre seemed to look more handsome every time you see him again. 

“Didn’t expect to see you here, baby,” Pierre said, putting your glass in front of you. “Thank you,” you say, ignoring what he said. “You look pretty,” he compliments you, his hand curling around your waist in the way you love so much. You chuckle, taking a sip of your drink while your hand slides up his chest, adjusting the cross of his chain. You give him a small smile, enjoying that his attention is on you. He smells incredibly good as he leans forward, and you can feel his hot breath on your face while you gaze into his eyes. He’s about to kiss you, but you pat his chest and slip out of his grasp to get back to your friends. Pierre’s not mad, he’s amused. He likes it when he has to work for your attention, but deep down he’s sure you’ll end up together tonight. Pierre looses you in the crowd for a while, and he spends time with his friends. He suddenly sees you again, and you’re dancing with some kind of guy. There’s a stab in his chest right away, seeing the way the guy has his hands all over you in ways Pierre normally has. He decides not to be bothered by it, although he caught himself look over at you the whole time.

He’s unsure if you really weren’t in the mood for him, or if you’re doing this to make him jealous. Your eyes cross paths as he lifts his drink to his mouth, and your back is against that guy’s chest. The look in your eyes tells him you know exactly what you’re doing. There’s a scowl on Pierre’s face as the guy’s hands trail over your hips. He turns around, knowing you’re doing it just to rile him up. You’re not interested in the guy one bit, and you’re just satisfied to see Pierre jealous. The next time you turn around to glance over at Pierre, there’s a pretty brunette talking to him, and he’s using his usual charms as they’re dancing close together. It goes on like that, teasing each other, pretending not to be bothered. He holds the back of her neck to whisper in her ear, his eyes looking at you meanwhile. But it works, for both of you. You both want to get close, grind on him, have your hands on his delicious chest, feel his lips on your neck. It’s almost as if it’s meant to be, as if it’s natural and there is some sort of electricity pulling you towards each other.

You’re not exactly sure how you ended up against his chest, but it happened anyway. And it feels good to be with him. Pierre’s hands are on your hips, following your moves and pulling your ass against his crotch. His head nuzzled into your neck, pressing hot lips to the slope of your neck. “I missed you, baby,” he tells you, his hot breath ghosting over the side of your face. “I’m sure you did,” you reply. Pierre chuckled, pressing more kisses to your neck. You turn around, sighing as you feel sort of satisfied that his attention is on you again. “I love this dress on you, mon petit,” Pierre continues, kissing the skin just under your ear, one of his knees shoving between your legs. “I thought of you while getting dressed,” you purr, your arms sliding around his neck. “Hmm, that’s what I like to hear,” Pierre grins, his hands grabbing your ass and the flirty ends of your short dress. “And you even cancelled on me,” he whispers in your ear. “Yet look where we are,” you tease, looking up at him.

You lean back again as he tries to kiss you, but he’s had enough of it, and takes your jaw between your fingers to kiss you. His tongue glides against yours nearly right away, and it’s instantly hot and filthy, and so are probably the lyrics of the Spanish music the club is blasting, but it’s right where you wanted this evening to go. His chest feels hard under your palms, and he’s possibly even more muscled than when you saw him last. “Mon coeur...” you moan at the nickname he gives you, when you’re tipsy, you love everything French coming out of his mouth. “Let’s go back to my apartment,” he says. “I’ll let my friends know we’re leaving,” you answer, and you’re off to find your friends, but his hand grabs yours to not lose you in the crowd. Your friend knows what time it is as Pierre shows up behind you, and she wishes you a very good night. Pierre gets a cab to bring you to his apartment, which doesn’t take long, as he lives in the center of Milan. It’s a ride you nearly know by heart. Pierre is on his phone for a moment, texting his friends he’s gone back to his apartment.

He takes a look at you again afterwards, his eyes gazing over the way the material of your dress rests on your tits, no bra underneath, and he’s curious if you’re wearing any panties at all. You look out of the windows of the cab, your nails absently tickling his arm, and he finds himself loving this kind of affection. The cab drops you off in front of Pierre’s apartment building, and you both get out after he paid the driver. You get into the elevator, and his hand squeezes your ass as he pulls you close. He lifts you up in bridal style, and you swing your arms around his neck when he walks out of the elevator. You look at his handsome face, and you’re wondering how he unlocked the door while still carrying you. The door closes behind you, and he carries you through the familiar hallway to his bedroom. You’re dropped on the mattress, and you lean on your elbows while he’s turning some lights on, closing the curtains and the windows. A part of you expects that he’s going to teach you a lesson for being such a brat tonight, but on the other hand, this night just feels different. 

The alcohol buzz in the back of your brain makes the room spin a little, but your focus zones in on him as he stands at the end of the bed, lifting one of your feet to undo the strap of your heel, and let the shoe fall to the floor. He repeated the action with your other foot, and he then his fingers wrap around your ankles, pulling you towards him in a way that makes you laugh. Pierre chuckles, amused by the sound you let out. He looks down at you when he puts your ankles on his shoulders, kissing the joint before moving his lips to your calves, and down, and further down. The mattress dents under his weight as his knees dig into the bed, his fingers riding your dress further up, up, and up till it bunches around your waist. The thin straps already fell down your shoulders, and you pulled your arms out of them, letting your tits spill over the fabric. Pierre grins, he was right, you’re not wearing any underwear. His lips suck on the flesh of your inner thighs, and you’re still looking at him, mesmerized by the way his eyes stare back at you, by his hands locked around your thighs to keep them open for him. Pierre’s mouth finally covers your mound, and your head falls back with pure bliss as his tongue spread your folds. 

He savours your taste on his tongue, humming back at you while he starts lapping at your pussy. “Always taste so good, mon coeur,” Pierre mutters, rolling his tongue over your clit. You whine in response, lifting your head to look at him again, one of your hands reaching out to bury your fingers in his hair. He spits on your pussy, and he makes it sound so wet as he eats you out. You want to buck your hips towards his mouth, but he holds you down firmly. Your fingers tug on the roots of his hair, his moan vibrating against your clit. “You’re so pretty like this, darling,” he praises, and he means it, your pussy is glistening in front of him, begging to be licked, fingered, fucked, and he has the honor to do so. “Make me cum, please?” you hum, taking one of his hands in yours and placing it on your tit. Pierre’s never heard you asking it so sweetly before, and he can’t resist to not grant your wish. His palm squeezes your tit meanwhile, fingers playing with your nipple. Your back arches up, your hands in his hair making him know you want more, more, more. 

He sucks your clit in his mouth, and he does this thing of grazing his teeth over it so gently, that has you nearly going numb. You let out the most beautiful sounds as he laps at your pussy, his tongue swirling around your hole, his fingers still playing with your nipple. You convulse around nothing as you cum on his tongue, and he loves how you taste when you do so. He briefly takes his mouth off your clit, lapping up your juices before letting his tongue roll over the gathering of nerve endings a couple of times more, making you shiver. You sit up, tipsy, your brain foggy from the orgasm he just gave you. Your hands grab onto his collar, starting to unbutton his shirt. You’re destracted by his godlike body, your fingers trailing over his abdomen, and Pierre lets out a breathy chuckle, continuing to unbutton his shirt where you left off. He shakes his arms out of the sleeves, groaning as you’re palming the bulge in his jeans and start to unzip the denim. He kicks it down his ankles and onto the floor, his underwear dropped next to it. Your mouth waters at the sight of his cock, so veiny, thick, and it slapped up against his lower abdomen after it was freed from his underwear.

Pierre looks down at you, and there’s no rush, it feels good, it feels natural. Your fingers take the cross of his necklace between them, slowly and gently curling around the golden chain to draw him closer to you. It’s possibly the hottest thing you’ve ever done, and you swallow the moan he lets out when your lips connected again. Pierre rubs the head of his cock through your folds, lifting your hips a little to make sure the angle will be perfect right away. You part from him as he slides deeply inside you, bottoming out. Your eyes fall closed, toes curling at the stretch of your pussy around his cock. You’re careful to not rip his necklace when you withdraw your fingers, finding the duvet of his bed to fist your hands in. There’s nothing rough about it as he starts fucking you, and his elbows plant next to your head, his hips rolling into you slowly, deeply, letting you feel every ridge and vein on his cock. While you love it when he fucks you hard, this feels incredible, and nearly sucks all the oxygen out of your lungs. “Shit, Pierre,” you hum, your hands sliding up his arms, your touch caressing his skin, and your legs curl a little tighter around your waist.

“Missed this pussy, love,” he grunts in your neck. “Always so tight and wet for me,” he growls next, and it makes you even wetter, making his cock slide in your sopping wet cunt with ease, you’re nearly embarrassed that you’re almost on the brink of another orgasm. His abdomen tighten, one of his hands reach to grab the headboard. You have the perfect view of his muscles. “Fuck, you’re so hot,” you blurt out, drawing a grin from his lips. “Have you had a look at yourself?” Pierre asks between his breaths, feeling you clench around his cock. “Your pretty dress still bunched up around your waist, gorgeous tits and your pretty little cunt wrapped around my cock like this,” he mutters, watching your head fall back at the filthy stuff he says. “And what I love the most is your face, baby. You always cum so beautifully,” Pierre’s whispers in your ear cause the shivers to run up your spine. Your nails dig into his shoulders, raking down the expanse of his back. You can feel the muscles working under his skin as he continues to fuck you so well, slowly, deeply. The head of his cock is nuzzled against your g-spot so perfectly. Pierre growls, feeling the coil in his lower abdomen about to snap.

You feel so good, so wet, so warm around him, and he loves it when you start squeezing him, pulling taut around him each time he drives his cock into your cunt again. He curses under his breath in French, watching how you move your hand between your bodies to rub your little clit. He watches your body spasm as you cum, your pussy pulling him in so heavenly, and he can’t resist it. Pierre moans as his cock throbs when he cums in you, the pressure of his orgasm prolonging yours in a delicious way. He slowly sits up, and after a couple of seconds he pulls out, watching his cock dripping with your mixed juices and they leak out of your pussy a little. “I’ll get you cleaned up,” Pierre says, getting up from the bed. He returns with a wet towel, cleaning your pussy, your thighs so you can get up and head to the toilet, doing the rest of the work. “Don’t think you ever fucked me like that before,” you start, trying to see if you can get a reason why he didn’t rail you into oblivion. “I made you cum, didn’t I?” Pierre replies with a cocky grin, making you roll your eyes. “You always do,” you say, feeding his ego while picking up his shirt.

You move your arms through the sleeves, buttoning a few of the buttons before joining him in bed. “You’re staying the night?” he asks. “Mhm,” you hum. You slept over more often, and he sometimes stays the night at your place. There’s never been a moment where you had breakfast together, usually you sneak out before he wakes up and the other way around. 

     That’s why the next morning confuses him. Your clothes are still on the floor of his bedroom, the door to the hallway is slightly ajar. Pierre rubs his eyes, moving a hand through his hair before he finds a clean pair of boxers and some sweats to pull on. He gets out of the bedroom, finding you in the kitchen. You’re still wearing his shirt from last night, and its just reaching your thighs, and the fabric rested on your tits, your nipples slightly poking through. He leans his head against the wall as he looks at you while pouring the mix of eggs and spinach into the frying pan. “Did you sleep well?” your voice interupts him. “I did,” he says. “This... is new,” Pierre adds. “I was hungry,” you shrugged, playing it off. He approaches you, towering over you while you control the electric heating stove. His hands reach your hips, and his head ducks down to kiss the skin under your ear. “I like that you’re still here, instead of sneaking out before I could wake up,” Pierre says, pulling you a little closer. “Ew, feelings,” you reply, making him laugh. “We should do this more often, no?” he asks, and he means it, pulling your ass against him. “We could spice it up a little, though,” you hum. “I wanted to take you out for dinner, is that spiced up enough for you?” Pierre teases. 

“You want to take me out for dinner? Just say my cooking skills are shit, Gasly,” you answer, feeling him harden against your ass. “I’m not good at cooking either, baby,” Pierre turns the heat off and spins you around, planting your ass on the marble kitchen island behind you. “But I’m sure as hell good at eating,” he grins, riding up the shirt your wearing, and you lean back to let him eat your cunt right on this sunny Milan morning. And this evening? He will take you to a beautiful restaurant to finally have a first date with you. 

#pg #pg x reader #pierre gasly smut

[random-genshin-things]

Saviour

(Childe x Medic Reader) Ch 1

Random thought: Medic reader saves Childe’s life without really knowing who he is and just thinks that’s that. However, Childe, who only vaguely remembers the reader in a semi-conscious fever dream-like state, is almost obsessed with trying to find her because he’s kind of fallen completely, like love at first sight, for the sweet stranger that saved his life. Set before the Liyue Chapter 2 Arc.

.

The first thing you thought when you awoke was that this was not how you were going to die: at the bottom of a cliff on Dragonspine. You refuse to let this be the end of you especially when you were so close to finishing your thesis and graduating from the Akademiya.

Medicine has been your main focus. As a child, you wished to become a doctor. Doctors and healers were the most incredible people in Teyvat in your innocent child's eyes. Giving every effort you could to help save people’s lives and heal their wounds was the most noble cause in your opinion. You had always respected the way that doctors and nurses would carefully tend to their patients. Your goal was to become the kind of doctor that anyone, regardless of wealth, status or any other factor, could come to know that they would be treated with the finest care to the best of your abilities. Monika, your closest friend at the Akademiya, liked to claim you were going to be the best doctor in Sumeru, maybe in all of Teyvat. Every time she proclaimed your greatness, you couldn’t help but chuckle. You knew you had a long way to go and lacked vital experience. Learning in a classroom was all fine and good, but it could not replace real hands-on experience.

You’d been volunteering at a local clinic that your professor ran when Monika said she was going on an expedition to Dragonspine and needed a medic. How could you refuse?

Monika, like yourself, was from Mondstadt. Her main focus at the Akademiya was trying to discover a better way to store and transport perishable foods. More specifically, she was researching ways to keep food better for longer and transport them across large distances without spoiling. Monika had spent a lot of time studying the effects of mist flowers but had run into a dead end. The flowers would wilt after a certain amount of time, meaning that they could not provide a long term solution. Dragonspine had been her new field location of choice. Monika had hoped to study the effects of freezing perishables and perfect her latest idea: a new machine she called the Freeze-r. You remember laughing at the name when she first introduced the machine to you, but the idea was a good one.

Just a week ago you had gathered and packed all of your supplies: bandages, gauze, medicinal herbs and salves, slings; Anything that you thought you could need in case of an emergency. Being from Mondstadt meant you were well acquainted with the conditions of Dragonspine, and you also knew that if something went terribly wrong your only hope of rescue would be if an adventure team stumbled upon you. That was a big “if.”

You were not going to let the lives of your team rest on the off chance that someone else would be on the mountain. By the end of your packing, your bag had been slightly heavier than intended but nothing that you couldn’t carry. Another scholar from Fontaine working with Monika, Jean-Pierre, had offered to carry your bag when the expedition started. Right now, you were incredibly grateful you had not taken him up on that offer. Had Jean-Pierre been carrying your bag when the avalanche hit, then you would have been left with nothing.

Laying in the snow at the bottom of a cliff had not been part of your plan, but neither was the avalanche that separated you from your team. It was just so sudden. You felt the slight rumble of the ground under foot and looked up just in time to see a harsh blanket of white. Your team was several paces ahead and there was no way you could outrun the wave of snow and ice rushing towards you. You didn’t even try to fight it, instead focusing all of your efforts on protecting your head and vital organs. When you reached the bottom you felt grateful to even be alive.

It was always cold on Dragonspine, you could see the condensation of your own breath as you glanced around trying to take in your new surroundings and grasp any semblance of bearings. Your ankle was definitely sprained if not entirely broken and you could feel a hot, dull pain as it throbbed in your boot. One of your wrists was most likely fractured, luckily on your non-dominant arm. Honestly, you were immensely lucky not to be more injured.

Archons, you were lucky to be alive.

Looking around you seemed to be in a buried camp, or more accurately what was left of a camp. It seemed to be fatui based on the colors and design on what little was left unearthed of a tattered tent. As you started to slowly sit up, you gathered more of your bearings and observed more of the camp. It didn’t look to be that old but the frost of Dragonspine has a way of preserving things so it was hard to really tell how old the camp was. You adjust your pack to look for a sling for your arm and your heart just about stopped when you saw it: A figure barely peeking out of the pristine white snow.

Oh Archons you were right.

This camp hadn’t been abandoned. There were people here.

In a panic you rushed to your feet and nearly collapsed back to the ground as a flash of hot pain enveloped your being. The weight of your pack combined with your sprained ankle sent a searing pain through your leg. It almost felt as if the local blacksmith had shoved an iron straight from the stove into your leg, but your resolve didn’t waver. You needed to get to that person. You needed to see if they were still alive. Throwing off your pack, which unceremoniously crashed to the ground, you wrenched yourself from it and stumbled towards the figure. You collapse in front of the figure which you could now identify to be a man.

He was young. Archons, he couldn’t have been much older than you. His messy ginger hair obscured almost half of his face but a single beaded red earring was visible on his left side. The red jewel and the gold holding it glimmered slightly in what little light broke through the canopy of clouds. The avalanche had buried his body from the chest down but you could tell he was wearing a thick white coat lined with black fur and a red scarf. The coat was a good quality thick wool and the fur that adorned it couldn’t have been cheap. The scarf looked well worn almost as if he had gone with him everywhere, and you suspected that it might have had a sentimental value beyond the practicality. The high quality of the coat and the fur told you that he must have been well off, or at least of a high enough rank that the Fatui spent some decent mora on his uniform. He must have been Fatui but you couldn’t see a mask. More importantly, you could see the slight rise and fall of his chest as short shallow breaths came from his mouth.

He was breathing. He was still alive.

You rushed to dig him out of the snow before he succumbed to frostbite. The tips of your fingers were beginning to tingle with the biting cold and loose feeling. Your injured wrist was in the most pain you had ever felt, but you kept digging. This man was still alive and you knew you were his only hope of surviving, so you kept digging even as your wrist and ankle burned with jolts of pain, and your body shook and shivered from the cold.

When you finally pulled him from the snow embankment, you noticed it. The intricate red mask just feet away from him.

It was slightly broken but it was a gorgeous pattern of tangled red branches lined with gold. It was also the most terrifying object in that moment and the pit of your stomach filled with dread as the realisation of who this man was washed over you. That mask could only mean one thing:

Harbinger.

The man that you had just pulled out of his encased coffin of snow was a Fatui Harbinger!

Your thoughts swirled with the voices of your friends and family, with images of the run ins that they had had with the fatui. You knew what they would tell you if they were here. You could almost hear Monika’s voice in your head,

“A Harbinger! Let the bastard die then!”

…… But you couldn’t. You’re a doctor and it’s a doctor's job to help people, to save people!

Regardless of who this man was, his life was now in your hands. If you didn’t do something to at least try to save him, he would die before morning…..

If you didn’t help him then did you really have the right to call yourself a doctor…..?

…… With a sharp intake of breath you hardened your revolve. You had made up your mind. It didn’t matter who this man was.

You were going to save him!

.

A/N: If anyone thinks this is good I’ll keep writing.

Edit: link to Ch 2

#childe x reader #tartagalia x reader #genshin childe x reader #genshin tartaglia x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact tartaglia #childe tartagalia #tartagalia genshin impact #genshin tartagalia #tartaglia #genshin imagines #genshin fanfic #genshin fanfics #genshin impact fanfics #genshin childe #genshin impact #genshin impact childe #childe x you #tartagalia x you

[christian-dubuis-santini]

«Mourir pour une satisfaction parfaite, on peut parfaitement venir le faire valoir comme étant un geste pas moins riche et précieux: la Dame chérie enfin saisie dans une étreinte mortelle, qu'y a-t-il de plus beau?

J.-P. L. - J'entends bien ce que vous dites.

Mais en nous transmettant l'enseignement de Freud et de Lacan, vous nous avez quand même amenés à penser qu'il y avait une limite à tout cela. Que cela devait toujours être tempéré. Or, aujourd'hui, vous êtes en train de me dire que le champ de la jouissance s'élargit tellement, qu'il arrive à tellement s'amplifier, que le parlêtre est en passe d'obtenir ce qu'il veut, et que de ce fait, nous ne savons plus comment le concilier avec le champ du désir, dont nous savons bien qu'il n'est pas construit de la même façon, ou en tout cas qu'il ne peut exister, lui, qu'à se soutenir de la limite.

Ch. M. - Est-ce que l'on va concilier les deux?

Vous avez été frappé comme moi par le fait que, durant cette pandémie, il y en a qui manifeste-ment, et comme si c'était un geste bravache, un geste de bravoure, de défi, témoignaient qu'ils n'entendaient pas choisir le parti de la vie, c'est-à-dire ce qui se résume banalement dans les gestes de protection et dans la vaccination, mais qu'ils choisissaient délibérément l'aspiration vers la mort.

C'est quand même un phénomène surprenant de voir qu'aient pu se tenir, grâce aux réseaux sociaux, des réunions de milliers de personnes... pour venir provoquer des contaminations massives, venues ensuite encombrer les hôpitaux. Je suis frappé aussi que dans un grand pays comme le Brésil, par exemple, le président Bolsonaro ait clairement pris le parti de privilégier le maintien de l'économie sur la préservation de la vie. Le Brésil est sûrement le lieu où le nombre non pas officiel mais réel des morts de la Covid est le plus considérable. C'est un choix qui a été fait. Et qui mérite de nous interroger.

Il faut croire que l'humanité - pardonnez-moi puisque je sais que vous en êtes un ardent et actif défenseur - semble en avoir assez d'elle-même. C'est vrai qu'on est mal foutu»…

Le Ch. M. c’est Charles Melman, le J.P. L. Jean-Pierre Lebrun.

Tout ça pour ça! Quelle prose aberrante de bêtise socio-moralisatrice... On dirait Bouvard et Pécuchet...

Melman qui démontre qu’il n’a jamais rien compris à "l’enseignement de Freud et de Lacan" qu’il "transmet" au point de n’avoir pas la moindre idée du désir comme désinence du dire, à savoir que la psychanalyse est une clinique du discours et un Discours… Il ne comprend manifestement pas que la notion de "discours" est le nerf de l’enseignement lacanien, que le discours dans son acception lacanienne c’est le lien social dégagé de toute nécessité de groupe… Il nous avait gratifié d’une consternante confusion entre Discours de l’Analyste et …Discours Capitaliste! Rien que ça! Au prétexte que "l’objet a" est en position d’agent… après avoir repris à son compte l’élucubration universitaire délirante d’un certain Nestor A. Braunstein…

Et ce crétin de Lebrun qui s'est vanté d'avoir dénoncé des jeunes qui jouaient dehors pendant le "con-finement".

Lacan avait raison: la psychanalyse est sans effet sur la connerie.

[visndcaitswhore]

Amavi|| Ch.3

(I forgot to publish this here, I'm sorry.)

"So, who deserves to be class president?"

"Annick." Gabrielle whispered, at Giaruds question, loud enough for Pichon to hear her since he was still forced to sit next to the 'pretty boy' and the boy turned to look at her. Her words had been filled with spite, and considering the fact she wasn't even doing him the favor of acknowladging him, keeping her eyes on the board, he assumed it was also directed at him. 

But when two people lifted their hands, and one of them was Descamps she slowly turned to look at Pichon. The boy had never felt so nervous in his life like he did under her glare  "What did you do?" she hissed

"This isn't my fault." he whispered back, lacking her bite "Besides you don't want me to be class president."

"Oh, so Annick is stupid for giving you the date out of everyone?"

"Annick is not stupid" 

"Bravo, great observation." she mock clapped without making any sound

Now Pichon was about to give a snide remark back, not understanding what her problem is. Besides, he actually believed Annick was the smartest one of their classmates so she deserved the title better than anyone, just because that wasn't allowed doesn't mean it was his fault but then Giraud spoke up making them whip their heads forward again, paying their full attention.

Felbec gave the wrong answer (to which Gabrielle smiled), that left Descamps, who obviously had the right answer but just when both Pichon and Gabrielle thought that that was it and where about to resume their fight the teacher asked;

"And where did you get that information?"

Seeing an opportunity, Gabrielle started nudging Pichon with her elbow, starting off lightly but when he wouldn't budge she got more forceful till he finally got up, otherwise she might have beat him up.

"I gave him the date." 

Now, Pichon was officially the class president. The entire class was looking at him, Gabrielle looked at Annick who met her gaze, clearly this was bittersweet for her. She took it all with grace, of course, but at least Pichon was president. The blonde had chosen him, at the end of the day. At least she got to do that.

It was a victory. 

Then there was Descamps, and by extension Gabrielle who, simply put, experienced a failure. Because Jean-Pierre simply got a slap on the wrist that was never going to actually affect his grades, or his future. Far better than a missing eye. 

When word got out, the class had just ended and everyone had already packed up their supplies, looking forward to going home. Simone came up to Gabrielle anouncing the news, throwing her arms around her in excitement. Such was her excitement, that she failed to recognise Gabrielle's bewilderment at the fact. Even when she didn't feel her hug back, the Algerian did not pay any mind for she pulled back quickly, running off to find Michele.

That left Descamps, Dupin and Gabrielle in the classroom. All of them had moved past the shock, now only feeling the unfairness of the situation. 

Why did this wound Gabrielle? Did it affect her pride, because she had bet on the losing side? Or was it simply due to the fact that at the end of the day she just knew Joseph the longest?

 The Magnan siblings weren't her friends, but neither was Joseph. He hadn't been for a long time. 

That was your decision.

Then her mind settled on a reason she liked more: Unfairness.

"And to think I wanted to complain about Giraud." Now she knew that she had to simply endure using the boys toilets and being called a boy on a daily basis. Thinking about how this might be her school life till graduation (if she made it that long), made her grind her teeth, her fist slamming on the table next to her. Dupin was the only one to jump at the sudden outburst, but he was more confused than startled when his best friend said;

"Maybe if she takes your eye out they will give her 8 days expulsion." Joseph spat out, eyebrows furrowed. Gabrielle was taken aback by the sudden urge to smooth over the lines between his brows so she just grab her stuff and stormed out.

The blonde simply watched her walk away.

"Do you know each other?" Dupin finally asked, once the girl was gone. He had spent the better part of their 'conversation' (if one could even call it that) watching the two. It was curious. He was certain his best friend was into someone for a while but there is simply no way... He was checking her out that's for sure but that didn't mean anything.

"She is my neighbor." 

On his way home, Joseph was contemplanting murder. Especially because as he walked home his blind side became more obvious than ever before. He wasn't used to it, and it made him furious that he had to get used it because this would be his life from now on. It still hadn't sunk in completely, sometimes he woke up and forgot, or hoped that it was a dream. That he would wake up and be whole again. And his mother would not look at him with those sad eyes, as if looking at him pained her. 

He assumed it did. Everyone looked at him weird now. 

The only ones who did not offer words of pity were Dupin and Gabrielle. Strange how the latter wasn't even his friend anymore, yet he felt her as close as before. 

'It makes you look tough. Lot's of girls go for that'

'How will you get through with all the girls checking you out?'

Joseph paused wondering if it was strange that the two mirrored each other so clearly. Is it weird he chose to be close to people with similar personalities? He had a type, maybe. People who knew he didn't need pity.

One of these people he found leaning on the wall next to her house door. Her bag was leaning on the wall next to her feet, and she didn't show any signs of actually wanting to go in. Not that he found it strange, she did this everyday after school. For some quite, perhaps. Joseph reconned it was difficult to get that with a six year old in the house. The youngest Blanc daughter was for sure spirited, talkative and absolutely obsessed with her eldest sister. She was a cute kid, the blonde had to admit, but exhausting like all kids.

Joseph walked over to her, leaning on the wall right next to her. She didn't say anything, neither did he. And since she didn't wish him to leave, he just lit a cigarette, passing it over to Gabrielle who accepted it. The next minutes were spend in piece when there was the sound of something breaking in the house.

The boy watched her with a smile as she closed her eyes in exasperation when a small "Oops." was heard from the room right above them. 

Gabrielle's room.

"That was mine."

He laughed at her tone "You can't even scold her, she is cute."

"I can and I will."

One thing Joseph would never complain about was being an only child. As if being able to read his thoughts, Gabrielle glared at him "Lucky bastard."

Chewing at the inside of her cheek, which was already quite scarred, Gabrielle was trying to answer one question till she couldn't hold back anymore "Why did Pichon give you the date?" She just had to know. The two boys didn't even like each other so this was weird and she couldn't ask Pichon

"Maybe I found out by myself" he countered making her scoff

"Not even Pichon found out by himself."

"Sabiani." he immediately said, slightly catching her by suprise. Joseph had a brain for being an asshole, and for hitting on girls. Sometimes she forgot he could use it for other reasons as well.

"He wanted me to stop fucking with Applebaum." he admitted with as a shrug. Gabrielle scowled at the mention. Applebaum was one person she actually wanted Joseph to be an asshole to. He was just... weird. The way he stared at their chest was ten times worse than that of her other classmates. It was like that's all he saw, nothing else.

"I don't like Applebaum. He looks at us weird. The girls I mean."

The blonde gave her a look and she explained "I know you all stare at us. But when we talk to the rest of you at least you have the decency to look at our faces. He is just.... " a disgusted scowl was all she could do to describe how he made her feel. It was a disgust that went beyond words, it rooted in every girls bones and it was a certain disgust they would all feel at some point. Feeling like they were the disgusting ones.

"With Pichon being your friend ,"he basically spat out the word "you could always ask him to stop it." 

Gabrielle turned her entire body to face him and he did not shy away from her disbelieving gaze. 

"Pichon is not my fucking friend." 

"Do you always whisper to your non-friends this close?" To prove a point he stepped closer, inching his face closer to Gabrielle's who, as he expected held her ground. "Go on. Demonstrate."

"Careful, the last time you acted all high and mighty you lost an eye."

Both of them stubborn and head strong, none of them wanted to be the first to back down or break eye contact. To do so would mean failure, and as the day had proven they were sore losers. 

Another crushing sound made Gabrielle whip her head to the side, trying to decipher what else had gotten damaged. She realized quite quickly that it propably wasn't hers when the reality downed on her. He had been close, so close, that when she had turned her head at the sound her nose almost grazed his. She should've taken a step back, she definitely had space, but she didn't. 

Listening to her own advice, Gabrielle took a step back even though Joseph wasn't as close anymore. No amount of distance seemed good enough at the moment- she needed him to dissapear from her sight. Swiftly she fished four cigarettes from her pocket, held them to his chest (totally unnecessary, she knew it), grabbed her stuff and got inside the house. 

Joseph just stood there, holding the cigarettes to his chest with one thing in his mind: Applebaum's life was going to be hell from now on. 

It's not like he was going to honor the deal with Pichon, especially seeing as he didn't become class president. Besides, Applebaum was the easiest person one could mess with, it's not like he had much going for him.  Though he had originally his sights set on Pichon, who seemed to be getting far too close with Gabrielle for his liking. 

Killing two birds with one stone didn't sound so bad.

"Stay out of my room!" Gabrielle screamed at the top of her lungs before slamming the door behind her, ignoring her mum's protests to her behavior. She needed to think - No, in fact, she knew exactly what she wanted- to not be around Descamps. Just because she had two conversations with him doesn't mean she wanted to be his fucking friend. 

"No more being friendly with Jose- fuck,- with Descamps." 

"Tomorrow you are helping your dad with the shop!" her mums voice bellowed around the house

"I have school!" Gabrielle reminded, her tone matching her mums. It was a miracle that the house was still standing with their voices shaking its core. 

"Not tomorrow." The finality in her mothers voice did not allow any arguements to be raised.

Gabrielle's fist connected with the wooden door behind her, the stinging in her hand going unnoticed by the girl who simply sighed.

Helping out her dad in the store meant waking up at 4 o'clock sharp, grabbing breakfast in silence since both she and her dad were too out of it yet to be able to converse with anything other than grunts. Get dressed, quickly because her dad was waiting at the door with their stuff and a hat in hand which he put on Gabrielle's head when she came down. 

The silence followed them throughout the day but none of them seemed to mind. On the contrary, Gabrielle found peace more in her fathers quite than in any word they could ex-change. It's not that they understood each other in some soul type of way, like Gabrielle had read plenty of times in poetry. They had just grown used to each other, family was like that. Not some complex understanding and over complicated talks, simply understanding and love after years of spending them together. 

The girl was pleased with the calmness of the day. 

Said calmness did not last because in the evening there was a knock at the door and when the girl went to open it, cursing God for making her get up after just having the opportunity to lay down after a bath, and cursing it even harder when on the other side of her door was Descamps and Dupin with matching mischievious expressions. Gabrielle, in her shock, womdered if this is how she and her sisters looked to their parents when they got in trouble.

"We are your partners for a project."

#joseph descamps #mixte1963 #annick mixte1963 #voltaire high #simone mixte #fanfic #ao3 #wattpad #amavi mixte #dupin mixte1963 #alain laubrac

[kiki-de-la-petite-flaque]

Esta compilación de textos es por gusto individual. Las elecciones son, más o menos, las lecturas que me han influenciado en mi posición como anarquista durante mi vida. Si bien, no todos los textos son acerca de ideas o experiencias ácratas, han sido cercanos sus planteamientos revolucionarios a las teorías y prácticas contra el mundo de la autoridad. Por otro lado, seguro hay otros que se me han quedado en el tintero que son más fundamentales, y otras que desconozco, pero insisto: es mero gusto individual.

Debido a que me han preguntado sobre libros introductorios al anarquismo y la lucha revolucionaria antiautoritaria, he decidido compilar textos muy diversos, de distintas tendencias y formas, que pueden servir para un acercamiento general acerca de la posición por la anarquía. Están en orden alfabético por el título del libro, hay un link de descarga al costado del nombre, y una reseña de cada uno.

Los que no tengo completos son: “Jacob. Recuerdos de un rebelde” de Bernard Thomas; y “La historia de la Angry Brigade. Nos estamos acercando” de Fernando Rocha. Si alguien los tiene por favor contactarse a: [email protected]

Las reseñas fueron extraídas de distintas páginas de internet. Decidí no mostrar las fuentes porque no lo consideré importante para el objetivo de la iniciativa.

¡Apoyen con la difusión!

¡Viva la anarquía!

LISTA DE TEXTOS

1- Adiós prisión: El relato de las fugas más espectaculares- Juan José Garfia

2-Ai Ferri corti- Anonimx

3- Anarcofeminismo y Louise Michel- Marian Leighton

4- Anarquismo es movimiento- Tomas Ibañez

5- Anarquismo: Lo que significa realmente- Emma Goldman

6- Autobiografía de un irreductible- Claudio Lavazza

7- Caminar- Henry Thoreau

8-Ch`Ixinakax Utxiwa: Una reflexión sobre prácticas y discursos descolonizadores- Silvia Rivera Cusicanqui

9- Contra el leviatán y contra su historia- Fredy Perlman

10- Contra los pastores contra los rebaños- Albert Libertad

11- Cuando cae el telón- Bruno Filippi

12- Cuentos breves- Rafael Barret

13- De la huelga salvaje a la autogestión generalizada- Raoul Vaneigem

14- Desierto- Anonimx

15- Dios y el estado- Mijail Bakunin

16- El abismo se repuebla- Jaime Semprun

17-El desorden de la libertad- Massimo Passamani

18- El jardín de las peculiaridades- Jesús Sepúlveda

19- Entre la plataforma y el partido- Patrick Rossineri

20- Fragmentos de antropología anarquista- David Graeber

21- Hacia la nada creadora- Renzo Novatore

22- Hijo de ladrón- Manuel Rojas

23- Homenaje a Cataluña- George Orwell

24- Jacob: Recuerdos de un rebelde- Bernard Thomas

25- La anarquía funciona- Peter Gerderloos

26- La anarquía y el método del anarquismo- Errico Malatesta

27- La conquista del pan- Piotr Kropotkin

28- La historia de Angry Brigade. Nos estamos acercando- Servando Rocha

29- La ideología anarquista- Ángel Capelleti

30- La insurrección que viene- Comité invisible

31- La revolución desconocida- Volin

32- La sociedad contra el estado- Pierre Clastres

33- La sociedad del espectáculo- Guy Debord

34- La tensión anarquista- Alfredo Bonnano

35- Los desposeídos- Ursula K. Le Guin

36- Los invisibles- Nanni Balestrini

37- Memoria de un revolucionario- Victor Serge

38- Nuestra necesidad de consuelo es insaciable- Stig Dagerman

39- Odio las mañanas- Jean Marc Rouillan

40- Pensamiento crítico como arma anarquista- Wolfi Landstreicher

41-Pequeña antología anarcofeminista- Varixs autorxs

42- Taz. Zona temporalmente autónoma- Hakim Bey

43- Textos escogidos- Lewis Mumford

44- Viviendo mi vida- Emma Goldman

Filosofia Antiautoritaria

#Filosofia Antiautoritaria #anarquia

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Fire On Fire: Chapter 10

(Ch. 9). . .(Ch. 1)

Gallery II Taglist Application II Symbol Guide

Summary: Alix tries to come to terms with what she's done as she endeavors to reunite with the people who mean the most to her. A/N: Long, action-packed chapter? Long, action-packed chapter. 👍🏽 WARNINGS: War things, death (obviously), mentions of corporal punishment, Night of the Bayonet Mention. Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @wwhatev3r

Contemporary: June 12th, 1944. Carentan, France.

She didn't remember firing the shots. Subconsciously, Alix knew it had to have been her: she was the only other person in the room but she couldn't remember pulling the trigger. It was like her brain just wouldn't go there. 

She stood there for a second, frozen and numb, as her former friend’s blood dripped down her cheeks like a light rain. 

You completed your mission, she told herself like a mantra.

You killed an enemy spy.

But a part of her that sounded suspiciously like JP whispered, “You killed your friends too.”

In our business, caring for people is their death sentence.

Jean-Pierre’s words rang in her ears worse than the gunshots. 

He was right. Everybody she cared about ended up dead: Giovanni, Toulouse, Henri, Camille, JP.

Who would she get killed next? Joe? Skip? Don? Nixon?

Suddenly realizing she was trembling, Alix felt like she might pass out.

Was it a sin to faint in church? She sure hoped not. But she’d also just killed someone in a church and she felt like somehow, that was probably worse.

Trying to remember what Doc Roe had taught her during her First Aid instruction months earlier, she managed to stumble into a pew and doubled over, putting her head between her knees as she tried to calm herself down.

Deep breath in…Deep breath out…Deep breath in…

After a minute or two, Alix was already feeling a little better when the sound of shattering glass from the entrance jolted her to her feet as her training kicked in. 

Immediately, she moved forward a pew, where Jean-Pierre's body had fallen sideways. He was completely limp, gray eyes still staring blankly, the ghost of his last smirk still on his face.

The blood from the two bullet wounds was starting to pool behind his head onto the pew, matting his light brown hair.

She was startled by how much younger he looked now. 

He looked like his age for the first time...the age he should have gotten to be. Not an enemy agent, just a kid.

Warily, Alix reached out and checked for a pulse but there was none. 

With a small grimace, she dug into her bag for her radio & set up camp for a single message: 

"Édouard, this is Juliette. Target eliminated. Out." 

After hurriedly packing her radio gear back into her bag, she began patting down JP's coat and pockets, searching for any documentation or weapons he might've been carrying.

She hated this part– it made her feel like a scavenger picking over a dead deer in the woods– but it had to be done. If a target had information or supplies, she needed to know. 

Jean-Pierre had been traveling light, which didn't surprise Alix at all. He was an intelligence agent like herself; he needed to be able to disappear as quickly as he appeared.

In one of his pants pockets, she found two different sets of forged identification papers which she deftly dropped into her aid bag, along with his revolver, and the small black notebook he'd been scribbling in, with more documents shoved haphazardly inside.

As much as her curiosity was killing her, the thunderous shouting from just outside the front entrance was more pressing and Alix had to remind herself that if she survived whatever fresh hell came next, she could examine the documents afterwards. 

Keeping her gun loaded, she silently crept toward the doors, blending with the shadows along the ground.

As she pressed her back against the wall, just out of sight, she braced herself to hear the guttural tones of spoken German but she was pleasantly surprised to hear familiar voices on the other side instead. 

“Crazy fools, the Irish!” 

It was Don and Skip. 

“You should know!” 

“Awful rich coming from you, Skipper,” Alix quipped as she emerged from the church’s doors and slipped behind the giant stone column next to Don. “Aren’t you the nutcase who swam the Niagara?” 

Skip shot off a quick round, a grin immediately spreading across his face at the sound of her voice in his periphery. He didn’t even have to look back to recognize her.

“Hey Mal," he exclaimed to Don before hustling over to another column next to their previous one. "Look who decided to join the party!”

Malarkey, positioned just next to Alix, took a shot before turning to greet her with a grin but as soon as he did, it vanished, immediately replaced by a look of concern.

“Jesus Christ!" he yelped, nearly dropping his rifle. "Pyro, are you okay?!” 

Alix’s brows knit in confusion before she remembered: she must look like hell. Her uniform was soaked in mud and gore, her once-lustrous curls now hanging limp and matted down her back, her face striped with blood that wasn’t her own. 

“I’m good, I swear” she reassured her friend as she shuffled toward the edge of the column so she could peek out. “Bit of a rough start but it’s done now. Anyway, has anybody seen-” 

“Romeo went that way,” Skip answered before she could finish, a knowing look on his face as he nodded across the way to the ruins of what had once been a pharmacy. “Place got hit with German arty earlier. Joe was fine but Tipper…” 

He shook his head grimly before stepping out from behind his section of wall to take another shot, yelling over his shoulder,

“Tip wasn’t!” 

“Last I saw, Joe, Welsh, and Penk were taking Tip to the aid station,” Don chimed in helpfully before stepping out from their shared column and sending a spray of bullets toward a small cluster of approaching German soldiers. “'Bout half an hour ago!” 

Alix had her orders but she figured a five minute detour wouldn’t hurt. They would be moving out soon anyways, she'd made contact with her handler, and she'd completed her mission. 

She could afford five minutes to find her boyfriend.

She peeked out from behind the column but before she could even prepare to cross, who should come striding over the hill not 10 feet away from them but Joe, her Joe. 

He was with a group of four or five other guys but even so, Alix recognized him right away. He was the shorter one toward the front with the wiry frame and the confident swagger of a warrior. 

Bullets whizzing over his head, explosions going off mere feet away from him, but he was the only one who didn't look afraid.

He was in his element. 

As if he could hear her admiration, he glanced up for a moment, just across the way to where she, Skip, and Don were positioned. Joe's eyes met hers and the recognition that lit them up was like a lighting strike.

His loping gait quickened and the grip he had on his weapon tightened as Joe fixed his gaze back on the approaching enemy seeking to cut his little band off from reaching the front entrance of the church.

The expression on his face was positively dangerous and he glanced back once more to Alix before setting his jaw with a seething determination. 

Even from the distance, she could read his expression loud and clear: 

"I'm coming for you, Ziskeit," it said. "And I'll be damned if anybody gets in my way." 

Seeing her boyfriend cut through a squad of German soldiers on the battlefield with terrifying ease, Alix was reminded of a line from The Iliad she'd read in school, an epithet for the ferocity of Achilles: 

"the lionheart who mauls battalions wholesale". 

That was her Joe, she mused as she watched him fight the rapidly-scattering remainder. The lionheart. 

Despite the overwhelming urge to rush to him on the battlefield, she, Skip, and Don backed around the corner instead, situating themselves behind the wall of the cathedral for more cover.

Each of them had to step over dead bodies and blood pooling down the cobblestones on their way but the vantage point was much better since now they could shoot without being as exposed. 

Alix rooted herself to her position and forced herself to wait, hoping Joe would make it to their side of the church wall uninjured. 

After what seemed like an eternity, the gunfire died down, the smoke and dust beginning to clear, and Don scooted from his spot beside her to peek around the corner.

"Looks like we did it," he reported with a grin. "Got 'em on the run!" 

Alix laughed, relief washing over her, and a minute later, Joe came dashing around the corner, his helmet haphazardly falling to the ground as he ran. Alix caught her breath as he made an instant beeline for her, his brown eyes wide and fear-filled as they roved her blood-spattered face.

All of the gunfire and explosions that had gone off around him on his way to her but now he looked afraid.

"Oy Gevalt," he breathed, dropping his rifle so his hands were free. "How bad are you hurt? Can you walk? C'mon Zees, we gotta getcha to-" 

He began to move toward her, ready to scoop her up and run the five miles to the aid station by himself if need be, but Alix launched herself into his arms, cutting him off with a searing kiss instead. 

But Joe froze, momentarily stunned, and Alix pulled away immediately, her elation turning to sudden dread. Fearing she'd unknowingly crossed some line and ruined everything, she took a small step away.

"I-I'm sorry," she stammered, searching in vain for an explanation but before she could get another word out, Joe caught her arm and yanked her back to him, crashing his lips against hers with such passionate fervor that it made Alix's head spin. 

Carding her hands through his hair, the sweet electricity of his lips on hers sending shivers of pleasure down her spine.

No doubt thinking she was cold, Joe wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest, and she could feel heat creeping up her cheeks as he deepened the kiss still more, eliciting a soft moan from her throat before she could stop it.

"Oh wouldja look at the time!" Skip declared from behind them, his sunny-sounding laughter bubbling into his words. "C'mon Mal, let's leave the lovebirds alone, huh? We got places to be!" 

Alix didn't even have to open her eyes to know he was dragging Don away with him by the collar. She knew her friends like the back of her hand. 

She felt Joe smiling just a bit too smugly against her lips. 

"See," he teased gently, punctuating his words with shorter kisses. "They know…about us… and…they don't care."

Alix dropped her gaze to the ground, suddenly remembering what JP had said.

Caring about people is their death sentence.

"I know they don't care," she replied quietly. "But I do." 

Joe's brow knit in confusion and he frowned, letting her go.

"Why?" he asked, leaning back against the church's wall and crossing his arms to keep from reaching for her again. "You embarrassed of me or somethin'?" 

He was trying to come off tough, uncaring, but Alix could see the wounded look in his eyes. 

"It's not that at all, Joey," she reassured him, caressing his dirt-streaked cheek with her thumb. 

"Then what is it?" he asked hoarsely, turning his face from her. "And don't say Fraternization 'cause we’re in combat now. They need all the soldiers they can get; I’d have to drop-kick an officer from here to Anaheim to get a reprimand. Holding your hand ain't a problem.”  

Alix looked at him sadly as JP's words haunted her thoughts yet again.

Caring about people is their death sentence…This is your fault…

“They’re going to use the people I love against me, Joey," she whispered and his eyes widened with concern. 

"Who, Zees?" he asked, immediately taking both of her hands in his own. "Who's got you so scared?" 

Alix screwed her eyes shut but the gunshots and the thud and the image of JP's corpse lying in blood swam before her and she forced her eyes back open with a shudder. 

"Talk to me, Ziskeit," Joe begged,  "Please." 

"There was a double-agent among my contacts," she confided, her voice quivering slightly. "I took care of him but it was too late…I've been compromised." 

Joe took a minute to process her statement as Alix tried in vain to find words that could properly articulate how violated she felt. 

A spy's biggest advantage was their invisibility. The ability to shed one skin for another was her only saving grace when behind enemy lines…to have that taken away was beyond terrifying. 

She took a shaky breath, her words coming out on the exhale.

"There's no telling how many of my identities are on Gestapo radar now. As it is, most spies with a radio only last six weeks in the field and I'm looking at FAR less than that now. It's just a matter of time before the Gestapo tracks me down and when they do–" 

"When they do, I'll be waiting." Joe finished firmly, giving her hands a soothing squeeze. "I won't let 'em get to you, Zees, I swear." 

Alix's eyes began to brim with tears. 

"Joey, you don't get it," she insisted. "It’s not me I’m afraid for. They'll go after you too, to get to me and I can't lose you, not like that.”

The memory of Camille’s boyfriend Toulouse’s fate sprang to her mind. 

He had been like her Joe…He had been Jewish too and full of fire, with a girlfriend who loved him more than life.

And what had become of him?

Three days of continuous torture and a fourth ending in a bullet to the head.

And from what she’d heard from her handler, for the Nazis, that was merciful.

She shuddered again but this time, Joe was there, enveloping her in his strong arms.

"Hey, hey,” he murmured comfortingly, giving her a gentle kiss on her forehead as he pulled her close.

"Listen to me: You’re not gonna lose me, okay? Not ever. I'll take on a whole fuckin' battalion of Krauts by myself if I have to. They're not gonna keep me away from you and they sure as hell aren't gonna take you away from me. You got that?” 

Alix nodded, a faint pink beginning to flush her cheeks.

“What did I do to deserve you?” she marveled with a sniffle. “I must’ve been an angel in my past life.” 

“You’re an angel in this one too,” Joe added smoothly and Alix grinned, swatting at him playfully.

“What a line!” she teased. “I bet you say that to all the pretty girls you meet, huh, flyboy?” 

“Nah, just my girl,” he replied with a breezy chuckle. “And just when I wanna see that gorgeous smile of hers.”

Alix had just leaned in to kiss him again when Don Malarkey peeked his freckled face around the corner.

“Hate to interrupt, guys,” he disclosed with an apologetic grin. “But it looks like we’re moving out so–” 

“So tell Pyro to get her rear in gear unless her and her boyfriend wanna get left behind!" Skip crowed from somewhere up ahead of them. 

"Jesus Christ, her boyfriend has a name, y'know!" Joe called back but Skip was already too far ahead of them – chuckling to himself, no doubt– to respond. 

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

Contemporary: June 13th, 1944. Somewhere in France.

Alix's fears were partially correct: after radioing in to Nixon, their sources in Paris confirmed that Jean-Pierre had in fact given her name to the Gestapo, meaning that "Juliette Fournier" needed to disappear and fast.

As instructed, Alix got busy shredding and burning her identification papers on the way out of town. She would have to assume one of her new identities later, once the company got wherever they were going. 

She had no idea how long they'd been trudging across the grassy fields or how far they'd gotten, but she knew her feet hurt like hell. The blisters on her heels were raw, open sores now, and every step had a slight burn to it. 

Skip had jokingly offered her a piggyback ride about three miles back but now she was seriously considering taking him up on it. 

"Anybody know if we're getting close?" Don asked, wincing as he soaked his boots in yet another muddy rain puddle. "Because realistically, how long can we stay in the open until–" 

As if on cue, the familiar bang-bang-bang of German gunfire broke through the air and everyone dropped to the ground, except for Alix, who was practically tackled onto it. 

“Santa Maria,” she coughed out as her chest slammed the dirt with a force previously unknown to man, momentarily knocking the breath out of her. “Jesus Joey, I think you broke my fucking ribs!” 

“An’ you can thank me for it later!” Joe yelled over the din, rolling off of her back and sending some shots over at the enemy as he crawled his way toward the treeline ahead of them. 

All around her, the company seemed to be scattering like mice as the hail of German bullets and artillery rained down on them. 

Through the panicked stampede, she could hear Welsh and Winters bellowing at everyone to stay low and get to the hedgerows, doing their best to be heard over the cacophony of the assault. 

As she reached the edge of the field, she and the paratroopers near her scrambled to their feet as they made a mad dash for the relative safety of the hedgerows.

All around her, troopers were dropping like flies and Alix took a desperate dive into the vegetation, landing in a bramble bush with an unceremonious crash.

Whirling around, she saw Skip barreling towards her and she reached out an arm, yanking him next to her into the safety of the thicket. 

“Where’s Don and Joe?!” she shouted over the roar of explosives and Skip’s amber eyes filled with concern.

“I thought they were ahead of us!” 

Getting to their feet, the pair both cast a last, worried glance back at the open field– at the stragglers behind them still fighting their way across and the corpses lying in the grass– before setting off to find the others. 

Skip, being the more heavily-armed of the two, took the lead with Alix covering his back, keeping her eyes peeled for any would-be attackers who could be hiding in the thick brush.

“Of all the safe places you coulda dragged me to,” Skip laughed, shaking his head good-naturedly as he examined the scratches marring his bleeding forearms.

“You just had to pick a thornbush, didn’t you?”

“Naturally,” Alix quipped from behind him. “Can’t send you back to Faye after all this–" she gestured vaguely around them, "–without any cool battle scars, can we?”

"Y'know Skipper, you should be thanking her," a voice from behind a nearby tree deadpanned. "Your one-on-one battle with that thornbush could get ya a Purple Heart."

"You're a riot, Mal," Skip replied dryly, gold eyes glittering with laughter as Don's grinning face appeared from behind the tree before joining his friend up front. "A regular Bob Hope." 

"So I've been told."

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

Nightfall brought an unexpected chill to the already brisk French air and it reminded Alix a bit of Aldbourne…except for the fact that she was sitting in what was basically a giant ditch.

"Just think of it like camping," Skip had piped up cheerily from his spot with Don a few feet away. "Except there's no tent, the food is shit, and there's people trying to kill us!"

How he managed to be so chipper despite their circumstances, Alix would never understand, because she was exhausted but Skip's positivity never seemed to flag. 

Joe, on the other hand, was burning through his cigarettes like a madman at the edge of their medium-sized ravine. Sitting on his knees and glaring daggers out into the darkness, Alix was certain that if looks could kill, the entire German army would have evaporated on the spot. 

“Tesoro, you know they can’t see us, right?” she asked, following his gaze out into the nothingness from her place behind him.

“Yeah, I know.” He took another drag of his cigarette, his breath mixing with the little puffs of smoke in the cold air. “But they’re gonna attack the second we let our guards down. We gotta be ready.” 

“Joey, there’s being ready and then there’s obsessing,” Alix cautioned gently, propping herself up on her elbows. “You need a break.” 

Joe turned his head back sharply to look at her, mouth already open to argue, but as soon as their eyes met, Alix stuck out her bottom lip and blinked her big doe eyes at him pleadingly, patting the empty spot next to her.

With a groan of defeat, her boyfriend’s gaze immediately softened– Warrior Joe had vacated the premises and only Puppy Joe remained.

 

“Fine, fine,” he muttered, sitting back on his heels for a moment before crawling back to lay down with her, setting his rifle down beside them.

“Dammit Ziskeit, you know I can’t say no to you.”

“I know,” Alix replied smugly, shifting their makeshift comforter to make room for him underneath it.

It was just their two woolen blankets tied together with her hair ribbon, but it made for a nice comforter under the circumstances, even if it was a bit scratchy. “And I’m gonna take full advantage.” 

“C’mere, smartass,” he mumbled affectionately, putting his arm around her and guiding her over to his chest. “You’re really somethin’, y’know that?” 

Alix hummed an agreement, enjoying the chorus of crickets and the steady drumming of Joe’s heartbeat. He was like a furnace, warm and comforting, and for a second, she let herself imagine they were somewhere else:

A spring meadow out in the American countryside maybe, where life was slower. They could look up at the stars together in a field of wildflowers without the ever-present fear of death looming over their heads like a thundercloud threatening rain. Perhaps there would be cows in the pasture nearby, lowing quietly as they chewed on their evening meals, oblivious to the young lovers laying only steps away.

Joe’s chest rumbled as he spoke, interrupting her daydream.

“Hey Zees?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Tell me somethin’ about you.” 

Alix was slightly taken aback and she lifted her head slightly, tipping it back to look up at him.

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, tell me somethin’ about you,” he repeated gently, his brown eyes shining in the little moonlight there was. 

“Anything you wanna tell me, I'm game. When you're on the job, your whole shtick is bein' everybody but yourself; when you're with me, I want you to be you, the real you.” 

For a moment, there was a silence between them as Alix searched for what to say, the raucous singing of German troops far across the field blending with the crickets in the background. 

“Hm…Well, I used to sneak out of my room at Saint Mary's to go to the dance halls in town on the weekends," she let out a small giggle.

"Never got caught by the sisters, thank God, or I'dve been skinned alive, but I came pretty close once." 

"Yeah?" Joe asked wryly. "How close is 'pretty close'?" 

"Too close," Alix bubbled, dark eyes sparkling with mischief.

"My roommate wasn't feeling well and it was a drafty night so she shut the window without thinking and went straight to bed, which fucking locked me out as there was only one key. I had pretty much resigned myself to sleeping in the courtyard and just taking the punishment in the morning, but luckily, Lavinia across the hall had also come back late except her roommate came with her so they let me crash for the night on their floor."

Her boyfriend wrapped his other arm around her to hold her better and she snuggled into his chest.

"Jesus, fuck, you did get lucky," he marveled with a rueful laugh.

"You probably woulda got the strap for that, ya little troublemaker, and I should know 'cause I spent most of my two years getting belted pretty good."

 

"Wait really?" Alix blinked up at him in disbelief.

"In my first year, a girl on my hall snuck her boyfriend over for a weekend and we all knew but nobody said anything so we all got three lashes when they got caught, but that was the only time. What on Earth did you do to get the strap so much?" 

Joe shrugged.

"Fightin', mostly," he admitted. "Really couldn't catch a break at that place. I was either getting shit from the kids or getting shit from the nuns. Finally figured maybe it just wasn't for me an' left. Still glad I did too 'cause money was tight and my little sisters and brother needed an education more than me anyway. My Pops needed me to help him out at the barbershop for awhile so that's what I did instead, till I started driving full-time." 

"Did you like driving?" Alix asked, snuggling in still closer under the blankets for both warmth and comfort. "I've always wondered what that's like. You must meet a whole lot of different people!" 

Joe's face seemed to light up at her interest.

"Oh yeah, all kinds!" he replied enthusiastically.

"Bein' a cabbie doesn't pay too hot but it's what I like the best. I know everywhere there is to know, in the city and out, and I get to meet all types of people. My favorites are the tourists 'cause they don't know shit about anythin' so I get to give 'em the VIP tour and they always got somethin' new to talk about. I could drive 'em wherever when it's quiet too but it's nice to talk about stuff, y'know? Beats the radio any day." 

He gave her a kiss on the top of her head, making her blush and added quickly,

"Now, tell me to shut up, will ya, so you can get some sleep. You need it." 

Alix was about to reply when a whimpering noise from beyond their section of hedge interrupted. It sounded like the yelps of a wounded animal, hissing, and pained swearing.

Joe's whole body tensed.

"That's Tab," he whispered, brow creased with worry. "I'd know that voice anywhere."

Alix shifted so he could get up and before she could blink, he pressed a quick kiss to her cheek and was on his feet and ready to investigate, rifle in hand.

"I'll be back in 5." 

But Alix was already on her feet too, fully awake with her handgun loaded. 

"You're not going alone, Joey." 

He rolled his eyes but she could see the grin on his face even in the near-darkness.

"Yeah, I figured. You stayin' on my six then, killer?" 

It was Alix's turn to grin and she positioned herself behind him, ready to lay into any attacker stupid enough to try to approach them from the back. 

"Count on it." 

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

#so this was originally part of Chapter 9 but I changed my mind last minute lol #here have some Joelix hurt/comfort & fluff #bc I think they're neat #& some Three Musketeers (Muck Martinelli Malarkey) platonic fluff as well #loves of my life all of them #Alix Martinelli #Joe Liebgott x Alix Martinelli #Joelix #Joe Liebgott x OC #Joe Liebgott x Reader #Don Malarkey #Skip Muck #Warren Muck #Floyd Talbert #Band of Brothers fandom #Band of Brothers fanfic #BoB #FireOnFire #fluff #hurt/comfort #Joe Liebgott imagine #mutual pining #platonic friendship #HBO War #HBO War fandom #HBO War fanfic #Band of Brothers fanfiction #mywork #pining #secret relationship

[monsterkissed]

Do you have the chronological order for the “ A little story from the past” sections that you’d be willing to share, or would doing so be revealing/spoiling something?

it's not complete (there's a few more little events to be added in) but here is a broad timeline of the past segments! i have probably forgotten/overlooked something or other somewhere but these are the perils of writing some weird time nonsense

Ch.33 - Two children introduce themselves

Ch.34 - Diavolo fails a test

Ch.35 - God fails to finish what He started

Ch.37 - A promise is made

Ch.36 - Diavolo does not pass the mirror test

Steady As She Goes/Gasoline

Ch.25 - Doppio(?) finally gets to Sardinia(?)

Ch.31 - A vague collection of thoughts, feelings and leftovers decides to become a person

Ch.30/32 - A young man wakes up in Cairo

Ch.33 - Diavolo accidentally makes a phonecall

Ch.34 - The horrors of networking and the comforts of spontaneous disproportionate violence

Ch.26 - Passione's underboss is appointed

Ch.35 - Doppio gets a makeover

Ch.8/36 - An ugly bathroom is critiqued, and prettier things appreciated

Ch.15 - On the necessity of killing

Ch.20 - Doppio does a murder

Ch.4 - King Crimson Training

Ch.13 - Nobody gets a haircut

Ch.5 - Tattoos

Ch.23 - Diavolo explains how drugs work

Ch.7 - Paperwork arson

Ch.16/30 - Doppio does not watch a documentary on controversial mental health disorders

Ch.11 - On the practicalities of offering someone the sun

Ch.6 - Befriending some random unimportant cat

Ch.22 - Jean Pierre Polnareff both does and does not encounter Diavolo, resulting in the second-worst festering paradox in the timeline that will ultimately doom everyone in it and ruining a perfectly good shirt

Ch.17 - Doppio buys pears

Ch.19 - Doppio fails to open a tin of cat food

Ch.21/37 - A regrettable incident of villain powercouple-on-powercouple violence

Ch. 12/37 - Meeting a friendly doctor

Ch.3 - Posting some modern art

Ch.18 - Doppio takes his Boss out for a drink

Ch.28 - A white lie and some amateur needlework

Ch.24 - Carne submits a job application

Ch.9 - Doppio contributes nothing

Gasoline

Ch.14 - Diavolo is unhappy about the daughter situation

Ch.27 - Doppio is unhappy about the daughter situation

Ch.2/22 - A phone call moments before a fateful encounter

#also ty for asking i love any excuse to drown ppl in bngn trivia

[poimandresnous]

Iamblichus’s De Anima & Philosophical Hermetic Influence?

Chapter 1. "Nature of The Soul”

I will be taking sentences and sections from chapter 1 and compare/expand on them to that of the Stobean, Corpus Hermetica, & the Definitions to Asclepius from Hermēs. (David Litwa’s ‘Hermetica 2’ & Brian Copenhaver’s ‘Hermetica.’ Jean-Pierre Mahé Definitions to Asclepius… [SH-CH-DH]).

Chapter 1–paragraph 1:

"I see in these categories much that is ambiguous and confused (for motions in the category of change are not be considered as identical with motions in the category of life, nor kinds of knowledge that involve imagination with those that transcend it, nor the sort of purity of essence proper to air with that of things essentially incorporeal), and much that is incomplete and inadequate (for it not possible to take in all the varieties of opinion under these three categories.)

Here we see Iamblichus refuting Aristotles ‘Physics’— namely, his idea of the tripartite soul:

Motion

Knowledge

Subtly of Essence (Incorporeal Substance)

To divide the soul into strictly three parts is too simple—given the nature of the soul, according to Iamblichus.

(Should be noted Iamblichus is known for over-generalizing his predecessors for the sake of argument, and he admits this a few times in his writings.)

I’m inclined to agree with Iamblichus, given The numerous references in philosophical Hermetica I have found to support this. Interestingly enough, SH 3 gives a Platonic tripartite function.

SH 3:4 tells that the "soul is ever moving and is always moves itself and energizes the motion in other beings." In verse 5 it gives three kinds of souls:

Divine

Human

Non-Rational

Though the last verse. SH 3:9, encourages us to look at the “4th type of soul” this is the Soul that is “to be the moving agent of inanimate beings. To me this seems like it could fall under Aristotles “Subtly of Essence” category, but until I investigate Aristotle myself, and inclined to agree with Iamblichus in the mean time.

Looking at CH XII [21]… “Soul” is indeed one of God’s limbs: "like wise the <limbs of God> are life, immortality, {fate}, necessity, Providence, Nature, SOUL & mind…"

So to me, again, I agree with Iamblichus on the ambiguity of the tripartite of the soul. (Until, I of course, study Aristotles and Plato’s tripartite soul more in depth, I see nothing wrong with agreeing with Iamblichus, until I find more time to study the nuances of all this.)

Paragraph 2

"Some trace back the essence of the soul to the first principles of the four elements. For the primal atomic bodies are more elemental even than the four elements; being unmixed and completely filled with pure primal essence, they do not receive in themselves any trace of division. These primal bodies possess an infinite number of forms, one among which is the spherical, and it is out of spherical atoms that, they say, the soul is constituted."

Here, Iamblichus is refuting the Atomist of his day, Democritus & Leucippus. I believe Iamblichus is saying here that souls have infinite possibilities of taking whatever form Nature has constructed.

Turning back to SH 3:4– the soul moves itself, and energizes all beings. Namely, the 4 elements alone, cannot energize all things. That is what Soul does. So, in Soul’s infinite number of forms, receives not division because it is indeed constituted, or causes by the All ( God).

Now looking CH II [12]

"God is not mind, but the cause of mind’s being; He is not Spirit, but the cause of spirit’s being…"

So God is the cause of Soul’s being, but He isn’t Soul. (that is another discussion!) in CH X, God’s activity is to Will All things into being. Thus, this makes me agree with Iamblichus. As far as the spherical atoms that make up the Soul—I looked to CH XII [1] to understand that and to me it makes sense. If gods are immortal humans and humans, mortal gods; so The spherical nature of “what constitutes the souls”, as Iamblichus purposes, is at least to me, Hermetically sound.

Now looking at DH 1:3

"Just as soul keeps up the figure (while being) within the body, which cannot possibly be constituted without a soul, likewise all of that is visible cannot possibly be constituted with out the invisible.”

This kind of rings back to SH 3:9 — that “4th kind of soul that moves inanimate objects. While I believe in DH 1:3 “the invisible” here could be referring to God, but I think, “the invisible” could mean Soul, when looking at the verse under a different context, in purpose of supporting Iamblichus’s Hermetic influence (could be a stretch but I included this anyways).

Paragraph 3

"Closely allied to this opinion there is a view, not handed down by tradition but plausibly derived from it, which makes the soul combination of all the qualities and the simple summation of them, whether arising as a result of them or existing prior to them."

Not it’s a little unclear to me if Iamblichus is viewing Soul’s as associated with bodies, or if he views them as an incorporeal quality. Referring to the Stobaean Hermetica chapters 16 and 20 seem to support Iamblichus—IF he’s concluding that Soul’ are bodiless(incorporeal). Which he does in the next paragraph.

SH 16 states:

"Verse 1: the soul is a bodiless reality. Though it is in a body, it does not loose it’s essential principle."

SH 20 reiterates this.

Paragraph 5

"…while many of the Platonists and Pythagoreans adjudge it to be the attunement which is interwoven with the cosmos and inseparable from the heaven."

Now this paragraph is speaking on the “Attunement of the Soul.” This attunement is not inherent in bodies. Iamblichus calls it a “mathematical attunement.”

This corresponds very well with SH 19 in my opinion.

"Now the Soul is an eternal intelligent reality, employing intelligence as its own rational faculty. Contemplating its own thought, it becomes cognizant of harmony.

In verse 3: "now there are two kinds of life and motion in the soul: one is in accordance with intellectual reality, the other being in accordance with the natural body."

These two verse from the Stoabean Hermetica perfectly support the Soul’s “mathematical attunement” along with this attunement being interwoven with the Cosmos(natural body SH19:3) & inseparable from the heavens (intellectual reality SH 19:3)

Paragraph 7

"…separates the Soul off, inasmuch as it has come about as following upon Intellect, representing a distinct level of being, and that aspect of it which is endowed with intellect is explained as being connected with the intellect certainly, but also subsisting independently on its own, …"

Here I cited SH 19:3 again. Along with SH 3:6-7–

SH 3:6-7 — "When the soul of mortal animals separates form it’s non rational parts, it does off and into the divine body, which is ever moving and moved in itself. The human soul has a portion of the divine. Yet non-rational elements, namely drive and desire, are attached to it."

Paragraph 8.

"Orpheus himself considered that the soul was separate and one and that out of it there springs many divisions, and that many intermediary “breaths” descended to the individual souls from the universal soul."

This immediately led me to think of Corpus Hermeticum X [7] & from the Stobaean Hermetica 23:14. Here we see that God(the universal Soul) indeed does dispense all the souls in the universe. In SH 23:14–we see that God fashions the souls from “a good amount of his breath, and by an act of intellect mixed it with fire.”

CH X [7]— "In the General Discourses did you not hear that all souls whirled about in all the cosmos—portioned out, as it were — come from the One Soul of All?"

SH 23:14

Chapter 2. The Power of souls.

Paragraph 10.

"According to those who think that the soul lives a double life, in itself and one in conjunction with the body, they are present in the soul in one way but in the common anime in another, as Plato and Pythagoras think."

Now Iamblichus isn’t always clear on who he sides with when presenting these theories from other philosophers. But this sentence/theory rings the most “Hermetic” to me. Let’s see if there’s any Hermetic literature that can support this “double life” of the soul:

We will be looking at a few chapters in the Stobaean Hermetica(SH) specifically 2B, 3 & 19.

SH 2B:6-7

So early on we are presented with a two fold nature of the Soul within this “battle” that must take place within the Soul.

More specific examples here:

SH 3:1-4

Here we are presented with in verse 4 that the soul is ever-moving and energized the motion in other beings. In verse one it makes it explicitly clear of the souls two fold nature:

Immortality

always moving.

SH 19 should help solidify our beliefs that the souls “double life” is a sound hermetic theory that I myself would be comfortable following. We could go into more Hermetica to explain *why* the Soul is immortal—another day perhaps?

SH 19: 1-4

Here, we clearly are told of the two kinds of life and motion within the soul: one in accordance with intellectual reality and one in accordance with the natural body. That “double life” of the soul that is “in itself” and “one in conjunction with the body” as described by Iamblichus should very clear now.

See verse 1 for how the Soul is also “in itself” —this rings back to the “Battle within the Soul” verses in SH 2B. The Soul employs or assigns intelligence. When we shed our physical body (desires and passions). To me, this is how the soul is also “in itself” while also being in “conjunction with the body.”

May come back to expand on that if I can…

Paragraph 11.

(To be continued…)

#iamblichus #occult #hermeticism #philosophy #plato #neoplatonism #hermes trismegistus #hermetic library #hermetic philosophy

[jojotransparents]

jean pierre polnareff transparent [ch. 155]

#jjba transparent #jojo transparent #polnareff #polnareff 3 #manga panel #colored #b&w #chapter 155 #3

[alonelystargazer]

Fic: Better Days Ahead Ch. 7: Sakura 🌸

Read on AO3

In the final chapter, Jotaro and Noriaki go to graduation together and enjoy a special moment under the cover of a cherry blossom tree.

Tags under the cut

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships:

Kakyoin Noriaki/Kujo Jotaro, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Kujo Holly & Kujo Jotaro

Characters:

Kujo Jotaro, Kakyoin Noriaki, Joseph Joestar, Mohammed Abdul | Muhammad Avdol, Jean Pierre Polnareff, Kujo Holly, Star Platinum (JoJo), Hierophant Green (JoJo)

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, we ignore the canon sdc ending in this house, Denial of Feelings, Awkward Conversations, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Background Avdol/Polnareff, Past Joseph Joestar/Caesar Anthonio Zeppeli, Awkward Kujo Jotaro, Kujo Jotaro Loves Kujo Holly, Disabled Kakyoin Noriaki, Post-JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Part 3: Stardust Crusaders, Touch-Starved, Stand User Kujo Holly, Good Parent Kujo Holly, Coming Out, Period-Typical Racism, Hospitals, Injury Recovery, Internal Conflict, Family Reunions, First Kiss, Literal Sleeping Together, Graduation, second button, Sakura (Cherry Blossoms)

#jotakak #noritaro #jotaro x kakyoin #kakjota #fanfic #bre's posts

[random-genshin-things]

Savior (Childe x Medic Reader) Ch 13

Link to Ch 12

Link to Ch 1

.

Everything around you seemed to come to a crashing halt as you watched Jean-Pierre fall almost in slow motion to the ground. The arrow had stuck him in the chest. Was he…. dead? Had you just killed someone? Oh Archons! You had just killed Jean-Pierre.

You had just killed someone!

You felt the sour taste of bile rising in the back of your throat. All of your life you’d sworn to save the lives of others regardless of who they were or where they came from. Your first mentor’s words rang in your ears.

“It’s not a choice. You treat the patient in front of you. If you think you can pick and choose who deserves treatment, then you have no right to be practicing medicine.”

Some of your peers had grumbled at the harsh attitude of the old man, but his words had struck you to your core. “You treat the patient in front of you.” You treated those words like an oath. It was a promise to help those who needed you.

Archons knew you weren’t a saint. There were dark times in your life when you had hurt people. Times where you’d taken your emotions out on those around you. You had changed and grown since then. But Archons, you’d never killed someone before. You thought losing patients was one of the worst feelings imaginable. Feeling like your lack of resources made you ill equipped and utterly useless to help someone dying in front of you. Not to mention telling the families. However, this was a whole new level. You were the reason Jean-Pierre had died: not an accidental fall off a mountain; not a runaway carriage; not a Rishboland tiger attack; but you.

Did it make you an even worse person that the first thing you felt watching Jean-Pierre crumble to the ground wasn’t the shock that you had shot someone, but relief that he couldn’t hurt Tartaglia anymore?

Your mind was starting to spiral when you heard a groan. Tartaglia! Right now he was your first priority. If Jean-Pierre was still alive, you’d bring him back to Liyue and hand him over to the millelith. Tartaglia was still lying face down in the dirt, but had begun to try and prop himself up on his uninjured arm. The bow that you had been gripping so tightly, like it was the only thing tethering you to reality, dropped unceremoniously to the ground as you rushed to his side.

“Y/N.” He tried to reach out to you with the blade still embedded in his shoulder. You caught his hand in yours and lowered him back down so as to not further disturb his wound.

“Shh stay still.” Your free hand found itself in his hair, bushing it away from his face in effort to comfort him, or maybe it was really to comfort you. Tartaglia gave you one of his signature grins before using his propped arm to push himself up into a kneeling position.

“It's fine I’ve had much worse injuries. The blade isn’t even that long.” He reached back ready to grab the handle and rip the knife out.

“Don’t you dare! I don’t care if it’s a butter knife or a machete. I will be removing not you!” Tartaglia chuckled and let his hand fall to the side, before he took on a serious tone.

“Jean-Pierre….” You locked eyes with him.

“I… used your bow… and shot him.” Tartaglia’s eyes widened.

“I was beginning to wonder if I had been hallucinating, but you really shot him!” The look in your eyes told Tartaglia to tread lightly.

“I-l… I killed someone…” Your hand began to shake like a leaf in his grasp.

“I-I–” Tartaglia’s free hand came up to rub slow and steady circles on your back.

“Hey. It's going to be alright.” Your eyes stung with unshed tears as the shock began to fade leaving you to feel the full gravity of the situation.

“I-I’m… I’m a terrible doctor.” Tears slowly flowed down your cheeks leaving wet valleys in their wake and staining the dirt as they dropped to the ground. Tartaglia’s hand moved to your cheek as he wiped away the salty remnants of the turmoil churning in your heart. He spoke in a deep soothing voice.

“That’s not true. You’re a wonderful doctor. And you’re a good person. Even good people can do bad things. Besides, you did what you had to in order to protect yourself… and me……” His voice trailed off for a moment.

“Do you regret it?”

Your eyes shot up to meet his. Looking into the eyes of the man that you love, the man you nearly could have lost, you found your resolve and your voice. Placing your hand on his that softly rested on your cheek, you knew your answer.

“No… I’d make the same decision again if it meant saving you.”

You meant that with all of your being. Tartaglia moved his hand from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you in to rest your cheek against his chest. His chin came to rest on the top of your head as he slowly stroked your hair. The two of you stayed like for a moment before Tartaglia spoke again, a cheeky grin pulling at his lips.

“If your worried about being labeled a murder, I can finish him off.” That earned him a short, non-forceful, thwack to the side of the head.

“If he’s still alive we’re taking him back to Liyue Harbor, the millelith can deal with him.” Just as you finished your statement you heard the sound of pounding footsteps getting closer.

“Lord Tartaglia!” The two fatui soldiers that stopped in front of you were ones you were becoming quite familiar with. They always seemed to find you whenever Tartaglia was involved.

“Ah. Mikhail. Artyom. Can you check if the man behind us is still alive?” The two men exchanged a glance at their superior's words before one of them went to check on Jean-Pierre. You turned to address the other.

“How did you two find us?” The man known as Artyom gave a sheepish laugh.

“Well after hearing that you were heading to check on Lord Tartaglia…. We… maybe… followed you…. After all, we couldn't let anything happen to Lord Tartaglia’s lover!”

…..That was almost sweet. Although they could have just asked to escort you. You sighed through your nose and turned back to Tartaglia as Mikhail returned.

“Lord Tartaglia! The man is unconscious but still breathing.”

Jean-Pierre was still alive. You hadn’t killed anyone! … Yet at least.

“Would you like us to finish him of–”

“Would one of you be able to carry him to BuBu Pharmacy?” The two men looked at you in complete confusion before Mikhail spoke up again.

“But he attacked Lord Tartaglia. Shouldn’t we just finish him off?” You sighed for what must have been the tenth time today.

“No, we will let the governments of Liyue and Snezhnaya deal with him. Although, with the prospect of facing legal retribution for attempting to murder a Fatui Harbinger, he might almost wish we did finish him off by the time the Snezhnayan government is done with him.”

Tartaglia let out a chuckle. “Mikhail. Artyom. Carry that man back to Liyue Harbor.”

“Yes Lord Tartaglia!”

After that you gave basic first aid to both men. Your priority was to halt the bleeding and get them to a place where you would have the supplies to safely remove both weapons. You used strips of fabric that you tore from your clothes as makeshift tourniquets. It was important to keep applying pressure to the wounds, keep the knife and arrow from moving, and keep the wounds elevated above the heart. Tartaglia was able to walk with your support while Mikhail and Artyom carried Jean-Pierre. Since the fight occurred just north of the harbor, the walk to BuBu pharmacy was rather short. A fact that you were eternally grateful for while you were supporting the weight of a full grown man. When you arrived at BuBu Pharmacy, Dr. Baizhu was there to greet you.

“Oh what brings all of you here?” You gestured to the men behind you.

“These two are bringing you a patient. I can handle Childe now that we're back in Liyue Harbor.” Baizhu gave you a calm smile.

“Please feel free to use one of my beds for your patient.”

You thanked him and quickly moved Tartaglia to a bed. Since you had started writing your research paper, you made frequent visits to BuBu Pharmacy. As a result, you’ve gotten to know all of the staff and Baizhu quite well. During busy days at the Pharmacy, you would even help take care of some of the patients that stopped in. Baizhu was quite appreciative when you would stop by to help Qiqi.

Gathering clean water, cloth, bandages, and salve, you set to work on Tartaglia’s wound. Slowly removing the blade from his shoulder, you found that true to his words, the blade was quite short and only about two-thirds of it had entered his flesh. After removing the blade you quickly removed his jacket and shirt so you could clearly clean and tend to the wound. Tartaglia hissed slightly through gritted teeth as you began cleaning the wound with a wet washcloth.

“Did that hurt?” Despite your question you continued to clean the wound. Tartaglia let out a strained laugh.

“I thought you were cleaning it with water.” You let out a smile knowing that he couldn’t see it.

“Oh I am…. water infused with herbs that have a cleansing property suitable for open wounds. It might sting a little.” Tartaglia snorted at your comment.

“Thanks for the heads up.” You had to stifle a laugh.

He always went to great lengths to hide if an injury was causing him pain in an attempt to avoid worrying you. More often than not, you could see straight through him. After cleaning his wound, you used your healing powers granted by your pyro vision to close up the wound a little. Then you added a layer of medicinal salve over the wound and began to bandage him up. Due to the location you wrapped the bandage several times around his upper arm, shoulder, and across his chest. By the time you were done, you were beginning to feel the crash from adrenaline. Tartaglia could tell and used his good arm to pull you in and rest your head on his uninjured shoulder. Baizhu soon emerged from a back room.

“Sorry to interrupt but I have an update on the other patient.”

Your whole body tensed. While you wanted nothing to do with Jean-Pierre, he could rot in a Snezhnayan prison and you’d dance on his grave, however you also didn’t want to be the one who killed him. Schadenfreude was one thing… murder was another. You had come to terms with the fact that you might have killed him, that didn’t mean you hoped you had. Baizhu continued.

“The arrow struck him in the left pectoralis major. The person who released the arrow either has terrible aim or used significantly less force than what would have been required. The arrow missed his lungs and was embedded in muscle tissue. He fainted due to shock. He’ll make a full recovery.”

Tartaglia scoffed. “Just in time to spend the rest of his life in prison.”

You let out a sigh of relief. Once Mikhail and Artyom had dropped Jean-Pierre off they had gone to inform the millelith of his actions. Their testimony along with yours, Tartaglia’s, and the location of Tartaglia’s injury all painted a clear picture of what happened. Jean-Pierre would be charged with at the least physical assault with a weapon and at most attempted murder. Tartaglia smiled down at you and stroked your hair.

“We can leave now.” You looked up at him and sighed.

“Not yet. When he wakes up, I’m going to be the one to verbally clobber him. He’s going to hear from me that I hate his very being and that he has no one to blame but himself. These delusions of grandeur end here.” The fire that burned in your eyes told Tartaglia everything he needed to know.

“Would you like me to be with you?” Your lips pursed as you thought about that. On one hand you definitely did not want to be alone with that man, but you also did not want to give him another chance to take out his emotions on Tartaglia.

“I think I need someone with me, but I’m worried if he sees you…” Your words trailed off as your grip on Tartaglia tightened; The fear from earlier filled you again.

“I can stay with you.” You both turn to Baizhu at his offer.

“Thank you. I trust you’ll keep her safe.” Baizhu nodded to Tartaglia.

“Of course.”

It was almost another hour before Baizhu came back to inform you that Jean-Pierre had awoken. You felt like you were swallowing rocks as you walked with Baizhu into the back room to see him. Walking through the door, your eyes fell on Jean-Pierre, who moved to stand.

“No! Just… stay there.” Jean-Pierre seemed shocked by your sudden outburst.

“N/N… it’s alright” Those three words brought more rage than you thought you were capable of at that moment.

“No. It’s not alright. It’s anything but alright. You tried to kill the man that I love. What in Teyvat is wrong with you? How could you possibly think that would make me happy? Let me make one thing abundantly clear, I am not and never have been in love with you. You were my friend and nothing more. But you’ve ruined that. Now I don’t even want to look at you.” Your heart was beating out of your chest.

“Oh N/N it all his faul–” Now you were beyond seething. You despised this man with a burning passion.

“No! Don’t you dare. This is your fault. All of this is your fault. You have no one to blame but yourself, you sorry excuse of a man. Even if I had never met Childe, I would not be in love with you. And after what you’ve done to him, after all the things you said to me, I never want to see you again. You lied to me. You tried to manipulate me. You selfish bastard. Did you even think about how I felt, or was it all about you?” You were breathing heavily now. Pent up emotions were flowing forth like water through a broken dam.

“N/N I–” No. This time he was going to listen.

“No. You don’t get to call me that anymore.” You locked eyes with Jean-Pierre so he could see the fury and how deadly serious you were.

“You will never see me again.”

With that you turned on your heel and walked out the door.

#childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin childe x reader #genshin tartaglia x reader #tartagalia x you #childe x you #genshin childe #genshin tartagalia #childe tartagalia #tartagalia genshin impact #genshin impact tartaglia #genshin impact childe #childe #tartaglia #genshin fanfic #genshin fanfics #genshin imagines #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfics #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader

[muznew]

Nothing But... Fuego for the Terrace, Vol. 19

- Artists: AJ (ITA), Bizen Lopez, Nat Queen Kult, J.Wheel, Martin Mosquera, ZoZoo, Gabriel Slick, RoboCrafting Material, Marcellino Ricci, Cerbu, Querido (CH), Danilo De Santo, Bando (GR), Walter Albini, T R ! X, GALLIVENT, DJ Dew, Alex Raider, Metridate, Jean Pierre, Tonepushers, Söwza, Jay Ess, Stanny Abram, Ataz, Dgtalsystem, Minimal Law, Casper Bane, Zak Cox (UK) DATE CREATED: 2024-04-15 Label: Nothing But Tracklist : 1. AJ (ITA) - In Da Back(Original Mix) 2. Bizen Lopez - Matt Bu Lanz(Original Mix) 3. Nat Queen Kult - CO2(Original Mix) 4. J.Wheel - Display(Original Mix) 5. Martin Mosquera - Natural High(Original Mix) 6. ZoZoo - Whatcha Gonna Do(Original Mix) 7. Gabriel Slick, RoboCrafting Material - Nova Archive 20(Original Mix) 8. Marcellino Ricci - Touchdown(Original Mix) 9. Cerbu - Chu Kou(Original Mix) 10. Querido (CH) - Tell Me(Original Mix) 11. Danilo De Santo - Velvet(Extended Mix) 12. Bando (GR) - Vice Affair(Original Mix) 13. Read the full article

[djmusicbest]

Nothing But... Fuego for the Terrace, Vol. 19

- Artists: AJ (ITA), Bizen Lopez, Nat Queen Kult, J.Wheel, Martin Mosquera, ZoZoo, Gabriel Slick, RoboCrafting Material, Marcellino Ricci, Cerbu, Querido (CH), Danilo De Santo, Bando (GR), Walter Albini, T R ! X, GALLIVENT, DJ Dew, Alex Raider, Metridate, Jean Pierre, Tonepushers, Söwza, Jay Ess, Stanny Abram, Ataz, Dgtalsystem, Minimal Law, Casper Bane, Zak Cox (UK) DATE CREATED: 2024-04-15 Label: Nothing But Tracklist : 1. AJ (ITA) - In Da Back(Original Mix) 2. Bizen Lopez - Matt Bu Lanz(Original Mix) 3. Nat Queen Kult - CO2(Original Mix) 4. J.Wheel - Display(Original Mix) 5. Martin Mosquera - Natural High(Original Mix) 6. ZoZoo - Whatcha Gonna Do(Original Mix) 7. Gabriel Slick, RoboCrafting Material - Nova Archive 20(Original Mix) 8. Marcellino Ricci - Touchdown(Original Mix) 9. Cerbu - Chu Kou(Original Mix) 10. Querido (CH) - Tell Me(Original Mix) 11. Danilo De Santo - Velvet(Extended Mix) 12. Bando (GR) - Vice Affair(Original Mix) 13. Read the full article

[christophe76460]

je n'ai rien à ajouter "jésus est le sauveur "Qui est Jésus ? Un grand prophète ? Un grand maître ? Un modèle d'amour pour l'humanité ? Un saint homme ?... Il est bien tout cela, en effet, mais Il est bien plus que cela.

Lui-même a posé cette question à ses disciples : "Qui dit-on que je suis ?" Ils lui répondirent: "Les uns disent : Jean le baptiseur; d'autres: Elie; d'autres encore : Jérémie ou l'un des prophètes". "Mais vous, dit-il, qui dîtes-vous que je suis ?". C'est Simon Pierre qui donne comme réponse cette vérité inébranlable :

Tu es le Christ, le Fils du Dieu vivant"

(Évangile selon Matthieu ch.16 v.16)

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Fire On Fire: Chapter 8

(Ch. 7), (Ch. 6), (Ch. 5) (Ch. 4), (Ch. 3), (Ch. 2), (Ch. 1)

Gallery II Taglist Application II Symbol Guide

Summary: Alix (Codename: Juliette) and Nixon (Codename: Édouard) hunt for a Gestapo informer masquerading as a Resistance fighter. Will they sniff out the rat in time or will the collaborator complete their objective of seeing the Carentan faction eliminated? WARNINGS: The usual war + espionage stuff Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere

Contemporary: June 10th, 1944. Saint-Hilaire-Petitville, France.

Alix had seriously underestimated the amount of waiting around that came with being an OSS operative.

“Thérèse, this is Juliette,” she stated for the third time into the handheld transceiver, doing her best to enunciate clearly so her French wouldn’t be scrambled by the radio. “Do you read me? Verify status. Over.”

Silence.

Alix chewed on her bottom lip nervously. It didn’t usually take this long to clear a dead drop and lateness in espionage never boded well. 

The Resistance fighter in question, codenamed Thérèse, was a new trigger but she had been trained well by the group, especially on such short notice. After a string of recent arrests, she was the only member of the on-the-ground surveillance team left.

Fortunately, the trigger position wasn’t too difficult: scope out potential sabotage locations, report on potential targets, and pick up any info that was dropped off in locations near her designated watch zone. Thérèse was a “pavement artist”– it was her job to blend in with the scenery and she was damn good at it. 

While she waited for their contact to answer, Alix took the opportunity to subtly survey the flat and its occupants from the cluttered desk. Resting an elbow on top of one of Henri's many medical textbooks, she leaned her head on her hand as she quietly took note of the scene.

Everyone was spread out across the small bedroom, each of the Resistance members staking an unspoken claim to their particular section.

Their 20 year old courier, codenamed Camille, was stretched out on the far side of the bed, dozing off after 48 hours straight of helping Alix organize supplies for the front lines. For someone perpetually in motion, seeing her nearly still was as jarring and unnatural as a blizzard in the middle of summer. 

Pacing by the boarded-up window like a restless ghost was Henri who had been thrust into the position of impromptu leader out of necessity. The quick work of the informer– whoever he or she was– had resulted in the recent capture and arrest of four founding members just the week before Alix's arrival, crippling the faction's leadership and momentarily disrupting their operations.

 After the arrest of the former leader, a Jewish teenager from Coutances codenamed Toulouse, Henri had seniority so despite his initial reluctance to take the spotlight, he did eventually assume the role.

He was a pre-med student who had just turned 21 but carried himself with the solemnity of a man twice his age. He never complained but the ever-present dark circles under his eyes had become so deep as of late that they had begun to look like bruises.

Their resident bombmaker (or “Bang-Bang Boy” as the guys at HQ jokingly referred to them) was a schoolboy of about 16, codenamed Edgar, who was sitting in the chair opposite Alix, leafing through the latest issue of Défense de la France, a popular underground newspaper the Resistance had been distributing.

Gaunt with a lank flap of ash-blond hair and a sickly, almost anemic pallor, it was easy to see why no one would suspect him of being a saboteur for the Resistance– he looked as though a sudden breeze might strike him dead. 

Jean-Pierre, their bagman, sat cross-legged on the closest side of the bed, lazily whistling the best part of "Sing Sing Sing" as he checked his watch again for the millionth time.

A fisherman’s son from Calais who had fled to Carentan at 19 after his family were killed, he was one of the newer Resistance members but also one of the most effective. Jean-Pierre had a sort of breezy charm about him which was a necessity for a bag-man. It allowed him to quickly ingratiate himself with the local authorities, bribing them for information and in many cases, for their silence as well.

Despite his generally easy-going nature, JP could be brash at times; he and Alix had quickly bonded over their shared tendency toward recklessness and a passion for Benny Goodman records.

Like her, he also wanted to be as involved in every mission he could. If he wasn't in the field bribing officials, he was helping to plan operations, forge documents, mark maps, whatever was needed. Having been rejected by the French army for having severe asthma, JP told her he was sick of feeling helpless, a feeling Alix knew all too well.

Sitting around, waiting for her targets to arrive in the Kill Zone made her feel helpless too. It’d already been almost a week since D-Day and she had yet to go on a single assassination operation.

Instead, she was relegated to planning acts of sabotage and organizing supplies for the front lines, a fact that was eating away at her like a poison.

All the smatterings of gunfire in the distance, the explosions and the roar of tanks nearby, all the screaming and crying and bleeding and dying, and she wasn’t doing a damn thing to stop it.

Her boyfriend, her best friends, and thousands of others were out there risking their lives and she was stuck inside with a radio and a map. It was beyond maddening. 

In selling out four founding members of the Carentan Resistance just a week shy of Alix's arrival, the Gestapo's mole --whoever he or she was-- had essentially upended every pre-planned operation in the OSS playbook and made it virtually impossible for her to do her job as planned.

She couldn't complete her assassination ops without Resistance support and her contact -- who she'd spent months building a cover and rapport with through correspondence-- had already been arrested and was most likely enduring unimaginable horrors at the hands of the Gestapo. He was French, Jewish, and a Resistance leader: there was no way the Nazis would interrogate him without employing incomprehensible methods of torture designed to maximize his pain, regardless of what he said or did.

Alix felt her throat beginning to burn at the thought of her ally's suffering and she squeezed her eyes shut before any tears could surface.

Whenever I find the mole who sold him out, she vowed silently as she clenched her fist and tried to steady her breathing. I'm going to rip them limb from limb.

Suddenly, the transceiver on the desk crackled to life again and her eyes shot open.

“Juliette, this is Thérèse. Drop cleared. Dry-cleaning now. Out.” 

From the window, Henri exhaled audibly, his shoulders relaxing in his relief. 

One part complete.

"Took her long enough," Camille mumbled without even opening her eyes.

"See, what did I tell you?" Jean-Pierre prodded as he fiddled with the much-larger radio set Alix had brought them earlier in the week. "Thérèse was being followed. Why else would she be trying to evade a tail after the pick-up?"  

“Gee, I don’t know,” Camille muttered bitterly, sitting up with her back against the wooden headboard. “Maybe because she’s lying?” 

"Here we go again," Alix grumbled and Henri just sighed.

Camille's outbursts didn't usually end well.

"And why would she be lying, Camille?" Jean-Pierre asked in a monotonous voice of exaggerated tolerance, his expression pinched. “Do remind us. I don't think you've said it in the last 30 minutes."

"Don't patronize me, JP, you know why!" Camille's voice rose to a fever pitch. "It's because she's the fucking mole!"

Alix's eyebrows shot up to the ceiling and in front of her, Edgar slammed his newspaper shut so quickly that the front page ripped. 

“She’s my sister," he retorted incredulously. "She's not the mole!” 

“And how would you know, little one?” Camille shot back, her green eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Perhaps it’s you!” 

“We’re twins!” Edgar burst out with a surprising amount of aggression given his frail appearance, his French coming out so quickly that Alix could barely understand him. “We share everything! I would know if she was!”

“Camille,” Alix said measuredly, trying her best to be diplomatic. “We know how much Toulouse meant to you, but-” 

"You don't know anything, Juliette," Camille snapped, rounding on her. "You have barely been here a week! How do we even know we can trust you?! Toulouse trusted you and now he's-"  

The words died in her throat.

Alix clenched her jaw, forcing down her rising rage.

Camille's running on 48 hours of no sleep, she reminded herself, lighting a cigarette to help cool her down.

And her boyfriend is probably being brutalized right now, if he's not already dead, because he was betrayed by someone he knew. She's just looking for someone to blame. How would you feel if you lost Joe like that?

"You've seen my bona fides," she stated tersely after taking a long drag. "You've seen every document. You've spoken to my case officer. You've read the letters-- seen the code. You know I'm clean." 

"Jules has no reason to lie," JP chimed in, aiming a nod of support to Alix. "She has no motive." 

"Thank you-" Alix said with a small huff of irritation and a There-You-Have-It gesture but JP wasn't done.

"But you know who does…?" 

He swiveled his head toward Henri with an accusatory glare. 

It was an allegation so audacious that it took a second for it to fully set in. 

"Me?" Henri took a step back, brown eyes wide. "You must be joking!"

But no one was laughing.  

"You did say your parents were Party members once…" Edgar mused, suddenly eyeing their leader with a newfound suspicion.

"I've never hidden that," the older boy replied evenly, meeting his gaze with a calm defiance. "I despise them and everything they stand for. That’s no secret.”

“Why're you always shortchanging me then?” Jean-Pierre demanded as he got to his feet. 

Henri’s brows furrowed in confusion. 

"What on Earth are you on about?" 

"Oh don't play stupid, Henri," Jean-Pierre scoffed, crossing his arms contemptuously. "It doesn't suit you." 

"If you have something to say, then say it," Henri challenged, nearly bellowing. It was the loudest Alix had ever heard him speak and she jumped at the sound.

"Very well," Jean-Pierre sighed, sounding almost reluctant as he shoved his hands deep into his pockets.  

"I've tried to cover for you this long because I like you, Henri, but you leave me no choice. You barely give me enough money for me to do my job! How am I supposed to bribe officials for valuable intel with barely enough money to feed a rat?"

"If there's not much, it's because we don't have a lot left after expenses," Henri contested angrily. "Sabotage materials aren't cheap, you know!" 

"Or you're skimming off the top," Jean-Pierre prodded, giving his nose a quick scratch.

"My God," Henri marveled with a hollow laugh. "All my money goes to the Resistance or to my studies! If I was stealing from our funds, do you honestly think I would still be living in a place like this?" 

He gestured to the tiny run-down flat they were in and Alix certainly saw his point.

With its yellowing wallpaper already dog-eared and peeling, the ever-present drip…drip…drip of the faucet, and the faint smell of mildew, she couldn't imagine living in a place like that unless it was an absolute necessity but Jean-Pierre clearly wasn't convinced.

"Perhaps it's not even about the money," he posited, his startlingly gray eyes blazing. "Perhaps it's just about sabotaging us so you can help out your degenerate parents!" 

"You take that back," Henri growled but with a shout of "Traitor", Jean-Pierre swung at the older boy, leading to an immediate scuffle on the carpet. 

Alix swore in French and stubbed her cigarette out quickly before springing into action.

Apparently today, "aiding the Resistance" meant keeping the members from killing each other.

Edgar didn't move from his chair, busying himself with a homemade pencil fuse instead, while Alix and Camille rushed to separate the two boys. 

Camille grabbed a panting Henri by the back of his heavy wool sweater and hauled him off of his assailant just as Alix managed to drag JP to his feet and wrench his arms behind his back, effectively restraining him despite his irate protestations. 

The agent was about to cuss them both soundly for engaging in such idiocy without a speck of proof, when a loud clatter down the hall quieted her instantly.

Instinct took over and before she knew it, she was standing in the bedroom doorway, revolver at the ready with Jean-Pierre behind her, his own handgun loaded as well.

While the pair waited with bated breath, Henri scrambled to disassemble the larger clandestine radio, Camille raced to stash the smaller handheld one, and Edgar began shoving as many contraband newspapers under the chair cushion and mattress as he could.

With a silent signal to JP, Alix crept soundlessly out the door and he followed in her footsteps down the hall, when they both lowered their weapons with a collective sigh of relief. 

It was Thérèse, still clad in her school clothes: a rumpled wool sweater too large for her frame, loafers, and a gingham skirt, making her look even younger than her 16 years. 

She never gets to be a child, Alix thought sadly as the girl gave them a small wave. Now she’s a soldier. 

“Good to see you, Thérèse,” Jean-Pierre proclaimed with a wide smile as the three headed back into the cramped bedroom of Henri’s tiny flat.

Once they entered again and locked the door, Edgar rushed to embrace his twin sister, the two chattering back and forth in rapid-fire French.

“You had us worried,” Henri chided the girl gently as she took a seat. “Was there something wrong with the initial drop?” 

Thérèse shook her head emphatically, causing the black ribbon to slowly slip out of her hair. 

“Not at all,” she replied as she turned the ribbon over in her hand. “The drop itself was fine but there was a point when I suspected I was being tailed. So I dry-cleaned for a little bit. You know, to keep from being spotted.” 

She and Alix exchanged furtive giggles.

It was a common joke in the intelligence community because trying to lose someone following you was known as “dry-cleaning”.

Lewis Nixon had taught the joke to Alix during her training as a way to remember the term and when Alix first arrived at the Resistance, she had taught it to Thérèse as well because she was on the main surveillance team. 

“Who did you think was tailing you?” Alix asked, sobering quickly.

Enemy intelligence already had one mole in the Carentan faction of the Resistance. If they were starting to pick out Resistance members on the street too, their jobs had just become a lot more dangerous.

 Thérèse shrugged before delicately nudging her wire-rimmed spectacles further up her nose. 

“I’m not sure exactly,” she divulged as she began to gingerly remove a lengthy strip of paper that had been carefully concealed inside the ribbon. “Perhaps it was just me being paranoid but I felt as though I was being watched so I took precautions, just to be sure.” 

Once she had removed the hidden note, she passed it over to Alix who squinted at it. It was badly crumpled, the creases so deep that she had to iron it out on her leg to be able to make out the writing on it, which was in script so cramped that it took her multiple tries to figure out what it said. 

Goddamn it, Nix, she scolded him in her head, making a mental note to repeat it later over the radio when they next had contact. Your handwriting is atrocious. Didn’t they ever teach you to write legibly at Yale?

She skipped to the postscript first. He had promised to keep her updated...

“DJS all accounted for. You’re welcome.” 

Don, Joe, and Skip were safe. Thank God.

“It’s from Édouard,” she announced to the rest of the group as she scanned the document for the actual contents.

Nixon’s codename was the French version of Edward, a not-so-subtle reference to the famous Edward Teach also known as Blackbeard. 

Very clever, Lieutenant, she thought, inwardly rolling her eyes.

“It looks like the Oberleutnant is arriving early,” she summarized.

“He’ll be passing through here in the next couple days on the way to Carentan. We should be able to catch him by nightfall the night after next, if all goes according to plan." 

But of course, things never did. 

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

Contemporary: June 12th, 1944. Saint-Hilaire-Petitville, France.

“Édouard, this is Juliette. We have a visual. Requesting permission to engage. Over.” 

Alix drummed her fingers impatiently against her thigh as she awaited her handler’s response.

Any day now, Nix. 

Peering through the stained curtains, she had a perfect view of her target: Oberleutnant Walter Hahn, who was chatting idly to a couple soldiers across the way, blissfully unaware that he was being watched by a team of Resistance assassins.

All Alix had to do was slip out the door, "accidentally" bump into Hahn as he made his exit, flirt a little bit, get him alone, and then it was going to be auf wiedersehen and good riddance to the Nazi bastard. 

Technically, Hahn wasn't supposed to be her problem until that night but it appeared that he and his men had arrived even further ahead of schedule than planned.

And who was Alix to question fate?  

It would be dangerous, no doubt. They would be in broad daylight and Alix’s training specified that she was to wait until nightfall, when her identity was easier to conceal.

But she was restless, growing more and more frustrated with her own inaction as the days went by. She was tired of planning, of smuggling supplies, of being safe while her loved ones were out there somewhere, fighting and dying. Like a tiger trapped in a cage, she wanted out. She wanted to do something. She wanted to help.

But she also knew that it only took one person in the immediate area remembering her face or clothing to have the entire Gestapo out looking for her. But she wanted to help! And besides, such a risky mission might take the mole, whoever he or she was, by surprise. 

“Édouard, this is Juliette,” she repeated, overenunciating her French to be sure she’d be understood. “We have a visual. Repeat: We have a visual. Requesting permission to engage. Over.”

She didn’t have to wait long that time.

Nixon’s response was swift and predictable.

“Negative, Jules. Too risky. Over.” 

Alix sighed in frustration, the crackles echoing across the line. 

"Apologies," Henri said with a sympathetic shrug. "But you heard the man." 

By the mirror, Camille stopped brushing her short-cropped brown hair to check her watch. 

"It won't be that much longer," she assured Alix. "Only a couple more hours." 

"By then it could be too late," Jean-Pierre countered, echoing Alix's own thoughts. "They could've moved on to Carentan. She should go now." 

Henri balked at the suggestion.

"And risk exposing the whole operation, are you mad?!"

"It is a gamble," Jean-Pierre conceded. "But it could pay off." 

"Or, most likely, it could blow up in our faces and get us all killed." Camille shook her head.

"I vote no, and I know Edgar and Thérèse would say the same if they were not blowing up bridges right now.”

“If Toulouse were here-” JP countered but Camille cut him off instantly.

“Well he isn’t!” Her voice quavered and Alix instantly averted her gaze. 

Her stomach flip-flopped with anxiety; she felt like she was intruding on a private moment of grief. She’d never been fortunate enough to meet Toulouse personally before his arrest but from their written correspondence in the weeks before her arrival, he’d seemed like an unusually bright and courageous person and she had looked forward to working with him. 

It felt strange in a way, to grieve the loss of a person she’d never officially met. A part of her felt like she didn’t have a right to feel sorrow over it. After all, she didn’t even know his real name and he hadn’t known hers.

Toulouse was to be her main contact in France; they had been tasked by the OSS to establish a trail of fake correspondence before her arrival, knowing without a doubt that all postcards and letters would be monitored by the Nazi authorities. Since the Nazi takeover, identification and alibis were meticulously investigated so every cover had to be a deep one.

 

“Dear Jules,” one of her favorite letters read.

“Mother is pleased to hear you may come to visit us! She's already planning a party of sorts– you know how she is. My girlfriend is very much looking forward to your arrival too! She's been very curious to meet my favourite cousin! Also, she's quite the musician and is dying to hear you play something when you arrive! Perhaps some Rachmaninoff– I’ve always been partial to Piano Concerto No. 2, myself. We are in desperate need of some music here. Regardless, I’m certain you two will get along wonderfully. I hope to propose to her soon, whenever this damn war (and more importantly, her father) will let me. I had hoped her little brother Gilles would be able to meet you as planned but he and some of his schoolmates have recently fallen ill and some are already in hospital. Hopefully it doesn't come to that for him or I fear we all may catch it. Anyway, I’ve got to be off now. Shabbos preparations wait for no one! 

All the best, 

Your favourite (and only) cousin, 

Toulouse 

PS. Enclosed is a photograph of Voltaire, who also sends his best (and a hairball, for good measure)."

A seemingly innocuous letter, just two cousins conversing about an upcoming family get-together. 

Certainly not an OSS agent and her Resistance contact discussing an upcoming sabotage attempt, the arrest of a Resistance member, a request for a clandestine radio to send further reports, and that the leader suspected more arrests might follow.

But despite every line being coded, Toulouse had still managed to slip some of his sunny personality in-between. He reminded Alix a lot of Skip in that way: ever an optimist, even in the darkest of times. She wished she could've had the chance to introduce the two. She knew they would've been good friends.

The best covers were made of partial truths and their faked correspondences had been no different. The photo of Voltaire, Toulouse's pensive-looking Persian cat, had been real as were his feelings for Camille. 

According to Thérèse, when Pascal's flat was raided and the arrests had been made, Toulouse had actually been carrying the engagement ring he'd hoped to give Camille in his pocket. 

Alix couldn't even begin to fathom the agony that Camille must live with every day knowing how close the pair of them had been to happiness. If God forbid that ever happened to her and Joe, Alix knew she would lose her mind. 

“Toulouse isn’t here,” Camille repeated, clasping her trembling hands in her lap in a futile attempt to still them. “The Gestapo have him. So it doesn’t matter what he would’ve done.”  

No one spoke for a moment, her words hanging in the air like a death knell, before Henri broke the silence in his usual understated way.

"Well as leader, my say is final and I say you’re waiting until nightfall. Sorry, Jules."

With that, he turned back to his work, manning the larger radio and quickly tapping out signals as Camille scribbled down codes via headset, monitoring the progress of nearby skirmishes. 

“You don’t have to listen to them, you know,” Jean-Pierre whispered out of the corner of his mouth as he began measuring out the coordinates on his end of the map spread out in front of them. “You work with us, not for us, yes? You don’t take orders from them.”

Alix checked her notes before stretching an arm out halfway on her side of the map and deftly marking the coordinates of another supply drop zone.

“I know," she acknowledged as she returned to her notes.

 "But I'm required to take orders from my handler and he said to wait too.”

Jean-Pierre barked a low laugh. 

“Perhaps it is different with you Americans but in France, we do not need nursemaids to look after our operatives. We have common sense." 

“Oh fuck off," Alix quipped as she reached around him to steal a pushpin from his pile. “Maybe Édouard is right in this case, okay?” 

Jean-Pierre made a skeptical noise in the back of his throat.

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"

It took all of Alix’s self-control not to elbow him in the ribcage.

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

About thirty minutes went by uneventfully before JP set his pencil down.

"Finally," he remarked with a dramatic wipe of his brow. "All finished."

He took a surreptitious glance at his watch which Alix thought was unusual but she dismissed it.

"Now if you all will excuse me, I'm going to grab a glass of water. I'm parched."

Henri nodded in the direction of the kitchen, hardly looking up from his work.

"You know where everything is."

"Don't get lost," Alix joked and JP flashed her a quick grin.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Gesturing to a sheet of paper by his side of the map, he noted, "By the way, Jules, could you be a lamb and double-check my coordinates while I'm gone? The notes are over there. Wouldn't want any supplies getting misplaced on my account."

After the door closed behind him, Alix reached over to pick up the sheet of paper, a frown appearing on her face as she tried in vain to make out the slightly-smudged numbering.

She squinted, held it up to the light, and even turned it upside down for a new angle but to no avail. It still looked like chicken-scratch. It wasn’t worse than Nixon’s cramped script, which nearly had letters written on top of each other at some points, but it certainly came close. 

After a final, futile attempt, Alix resignedly glanced over to the desk in the corner where Camille and Henri were hunched, still working with the larger radio.

There was nothing she hated more than admitting she couldn’t do something but she had work to do. 

"Camille, can you come look at this real quick?" she asked, swallowing her pride and holding up the paper for her to inspect. "I can't make heads or tails of this line." 

The French girl let out a reluctant sigh, as though helping Alix was the world’s biggest inconvenience, but she still put down the headset and got up, with the air of a martyr. Just as she reached the table, Alix passed the paper over to her, accidentally knocking a pen to the floor with her sleeve. 

This is why they should let me wear civvies in my off-time too, she thought in annoyance as she rolled up the sleeves of her uniform. These uniforms are just too damn big.

She had just crouched to retrieve the pen when all of a sudden, the window shattered and Camille came crashing down onto the carpet beside her, green eyes wide with shock.

Clutching a hand to her chest, scarlet was starting to stain her shirt, pouring like paint through her fingers and Alix felt her own blood run cold. Leaping into action, she began to stifle the bleeding as best she could with her hands as a scream of warning ripped from her throat to the others: 

"Sniper!"

#I wonder who the informer is...🤔🤔🤔 #Cliffhanger [jazz hands lol] #suspense #thriller #spy thriller #Band of Brothers #BoB #Band of Brothers fandom #Band of Brothers fanfiction #Band of Brothers fanfic #espionage thriller #Band of Brothers imagine #spy fic #HBO War #HBO War Band of Brothers #betrayal #angst #HBO War fanfiction #HBO War fandom #Carentan #Lewis Nixon #OC x Joe Liebgott #OC x Canon #French Resistance #WW2 fanfic #mywork #FireOnFire #FOFChapters