#Fraternité falls

[girafeduvexin]

L'AU de Gravity Falls (Fraternité Falls ?) avec Ford et Stan en vieux militants de gauche français, ça va me faire ma semaine.

D'un côté, t'as Ford qui était militant au PCF dans les années 70, ancien soixante-huitard (il a tellement fait ses études à Nanterre), limite trotskiste, le gars expert en théorie marxiste, tu débats avec lui et il te sort 45 textes de Marx ou Benjamin qui te contredisent, l'intello de gauche avec ses pulls troués et ses millions de feuilles volantes, mais qui, contrairement à tous ses camarades, ne fait pas de la socio mais de la physique ! Étonnamment, il a cru au programme commun en 81, il a voté pour Mitterrand, et paf en 82, Stan le pousse dans le portail. Il revient en 2012, sous la présidence de Hollande "ah mais le PCF est encore là?" "C'est mort" "c'est à cause du PS, ces sales social-traitres !", il apprend a posteriori la trahison de Mitterand et le tournant de la rigueur "on peut vraiment pas faire confiance à un socialiste", il fume des clopes en rageant devant le Mystery Shack à chaque intervention télévisée de Hollande et il cotise toujours au PCF, malgré tout.

De l'autre, t'as Stan, peu politisé dans son adolescence, et qui passe à côté de mai 68 parce qu'�� la rue à ce moment là, qui vit de débrouille, de galère, qui ne vote pas, ne s'intéresse pas à tout ça pendant longtemps parce que bah, ce qu'il veut c'est survivre jusqu'au lendemain et c'est tout. Et puis, il pousse par accident Ford dans un portail, et le voilà bien malgré lui installé à Gravity Falls. Et maintenant que la survie n'est plus un enjeu, sa conscience politique s'éveille et elle est évidemment marquée par ses années de galère. Ces hommes politiques qui parlent d"assistanat", qu'est-ce qu'ils connaissent à la misère ? Stan est pas très cultivé politiquement et il a pas le temps pour ça, il a un portail à réparer et un frère à sauver, mais les mecs en cravate qui parlent sans rien connaître, ça l'enrage. Et ils ont le culot de dire que c'est à cause de l'immigration qu'il y a du chômage en France ! Stan vote LO, NPA, il vote pour des gens du peuple sans jamais adhérer à un parti (mais il a quand même failli être sur une liste électorale locale !) et il emmerde les fachos, par principe, sans vraiment trop creuser derrière. Il entarte des politicards, il fait des manifs sauvages et il tabasse des fachos dès qu'il peut. Au Mystery Shack, à certaines heures, on peut entendre les Béruriers Noirs gueuler "LA JEUNESSE EMMERDE LE FRONT NATIONAL" et Stan corrige "la VIEILLESSE emmerde le front national".

En 2012, Ford revient, Stan et lui se disputent etc, y a l'apocalypse, ils se réconcilient. Ils discutent de tout, de rien, mais pas de politique, parce qu'il y a tellement plus important à ce moment là.

Et puis un soir, alors qu'ils regardent la télé, on annonce au 20h que Hollande va faire une intervention ce soir. Les deux frères sifflent entre leurs dents, sans se concerter :

"Sale traître"

Regards surpris l'un sur l'autre, puis sourires : évidemment. Évidemment.

Stan fume des roulées avec Ford devant le Mystery Shack. Il râle en disant que les hommes politiques ne comprennent pas le peuple, Ford l'accuse en souriant d'être populiste, Stan rétorque que Ford est un "sale coco de merde". Ils rigolent. La vie est belle.

[avergehistoryenjoyer]

Ladies and gentlemen, it’s official! I’m writing a musical!

For those of you in the community who have known me for a while, this is nothing new, but I’ve been working on it for quite awhile, so I finally want to unveil what I have so far.

The show is officially called “Tyrant! The Story of Robespierre” or just “Tyrant!” for short, and here’s my first concept for the album cover below!

As for the actual story and songs, right now I’m planning on having 16 songs per act, and I’ll format the songs I’ve written or am currently in the process of writing! 

 Italic = work in progress

Bold = fully written

With that being said, this is the song catalogue and all I’ve gotten done so far!

Act 1:

Tyrant! (Show opener) - immediately after his death

Address for the King - early childhood

Never shall we part - transition from childhood to adulthood, meets Camille

Song addressed to Miss Henriette - young adulthood

And So I Reminisce - trio song for the siblings

He Just Can’t Stop - lawyer career in Arras

Let Us Speak/We Swear - Estates general + tennis court oath

Camille’s Address (Bring It Down) - Storming of the bastille

Hey Ladies! (Theroigne’s song + Women’s March on Versailles)

Bienvenue aux Jacobins - Joins the Jacobin club and meets Danton, gets elected president of the club

Never shall we part (1st reprise) - Camille’s marriage to Lucile

Escape (Louis + Marie flee Paris, Champ de Mars massacre)

There’s Safety Here (Robespierre meets Maurice Duplay, moves into the Duplay house)

This Means War! (Speeches against the war and Brissotins, war gets declared anyways)

The Tuileries Tango (Storming of the Tuileries and overthrow of the monarchy)

Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité For All (Establishment of the republic, Robespierre at his height, his big “I want” song)

Act 2:

Incorruptible (Saint-Just’s debut and Robespierre��s election to the National convention)

So Ends the Reign of Tyranny (Louis’ trial and execution)

Bienvenue aux committee/ Bienvenue le Jacobins (reprise) (Appointment to the CPS)

Choose Your Side/And So I Reminisce (reprise) (Charlotte and Augustine’s fight, fracture in the family, duet with Élèonore, PLATONIC, NOT ROMANTIC)

Principio Ad Finem/ A late night’s walk (“darker” ‘I want’ song, NOT A VILLAIN SONG )

What is he doing? (Camille publishes his paper and says stupid stuff)

Never Shall We Part (2nd and 3rd reprises) (Max and SJ duet, Camille’s denouncement from friends to enemies)

A Meeting/Make Him a Monster (CPS meeting, Thermidorian villain song)

You’re Unwell (Eleonore and SJ duet, Max falls ill/ slowly loosing his sanity)

So Ends the Reign of Tyranny/ Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité for All (reprise) (Arrests and executions of Camille, Danton and their followers, closest thing to a villain song for Robespierre)

This Glorious Day (Festival of the Supreme Being, more Thermidorian conspiring)

Principio Ad Finem (reprise) (Max writes his 8 Thermidor speech)

My Final Bow (8 Thermidor speeches for the convention and the Jacobins)

We Swear/Let Me Speak! (9 Thermidor denouncement and arrest)

Requiem (Hotel De Ville siege, bullet to the jaw, death, 11th hour power ballad)

May You Ne’er Be Forgotten (basically charlotte’s ‘who lives who dies who tells your story’, her 11th hour power ballad, grand finale of the show)

I know that was a lot thrown at y’all, and obviously I’ve still got a long ways to go, but I’ll be working hard at it all summer, and I hope to have at least half of the first act finished by the end of this summer! I’ll keep working on asks too now that my schedule’s freed up, but I thought it’d be a fun announcement to share with all of you for Max’s birthday, and I can’t wait for you to see the rest of it! Love you all! ❤️❤️❤️

-Syd

[howtostartarevolution]

So, let’s face it. One of my special interest ist the French Revolution. Or also revolutions in general, though I mostly stick to the French or American one so basically 18th century stuff. Maybe because todays „western“ world basically got born with that. The fall of monarchy and the slow triumph of democracy which, certain setbacks not withstanding, we still find ourselves on.

Especially as Democracy gets challenged once again by the current events of the world. Or maybe the question can also be asked: How much democracy is still in our democracies?

If we go back and look at the ideas that got formulated at the time „Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité“ or „All men (aka humans not the gender) are created equal“ or „There are certain and undeniable rights“ and so on… Or we look at the basic idea of democracy that political power is shared equally by every citizen. That they can invest that power of representatives in elections. And that only this act can legitimize a government and therefore its laws. 

Well, one has to ask oneself how much of that is actually still true, when capitalism has basically created a new aristocracy. Wealth is turned into political power and the „american dream“ is dead since long ago and birth and inherited wealth are the only factors who decide about your success in life today.

Of course there are one or two exceptions, just like in feudalism some people managed to rise beyond their station by education, or patronage or marriage. But at the core in todays society the fluidity between „classes“ has gotten very limited indeed. And while the superrich cruise the world fueling the furnace of climate change and throw their special parties where commoners can not reach them, we are getting very close to the mindset so infamously portrayed in the (only alleged) cry of Marie-Antoinette: „Let them eat cake“.

[camille-lachenille]

I was discussing with a friend about the translation choice for The Fellowship of the Ring in French. In the first translation, the translator Francis Ledoux uses ‘communauté’ for ‘fellowship’, in the meaning of ‘a group of people united by a common goal or shared traditions’*. This is almost exactly the same definition the online Cambridge dictionary** gives for ‘fellowship’. However, ‘fellowship’ has another meaning, a little outdated, that keeps the idea of a shared goal or interest but with the added nuance of a bond of friendship formed over this goal.

And that’s where the new French translation comes in, with the title La Fraternité de l’Anneau instead of La Communauté de l’Anneau. Daniel Lauzon chose ‘fraternité’ for fellowship, meaning ‘the bond between people within a same group, working toward a same goal’*** There is an outdated and specific use for ‘fraternité’ in the context of a medieval, feudal society, to design the bond between knights who swore to protect each other in battle and always fight for the same cause. And knowing just how much Tolkien was influenced by the Middle Ages for his universe, this seemingly trivial difference of translation has me foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog. Because it means the translator, Daniel Lauzon in this case, really took the time to study and look for the exact nuance of a word to best render the idea of The Fellowship of the Ring in the translated title of the book. This is so in line with Tolkien’s love for languages and words, I am over the moon.

There is a big debate amongst French speaking Tolkien fans about old vs new translation but I am a hardcore defender of Daniel Lauzon’s translations of The Lord of the Rings because it’s the one that made me fall in love with Tolkien’s style and poetry even though it was not the original version, and that’s a feat. It’s not perfect, no translation is ever perfect, but it had this feeling of deliberate choice for each word to best render the multiple meanings of a sentence or poem. Francis Ledoux’s translation feels too dry and artificial to me, even though I love how he translated Strider by Grand-Pas, or ‘Big-Steps’

* https://www.larousse.fr/dictionnaires/francais/communaut%C3%A9/17551

** https://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/fellowship

*** https://www.larousse.fr/dictionnaires/francais/fraternit%C3%A9/35113

[niccocum]

So, let’s face it. My special interest ist the French Revolution. Or also revolutions in general, though I mostly stick to the French or American one so basically 18th century stuff. Maybe because todays „western“ world basically got born with that. The fall of monarchy and the slow triumph of democracy which, certain setbacks not withstanding, we still find ourselves on.

Especially as Democracy gets challenged once again by the current events of the world. Or maybe the question can also be asked: How much democracy is still in our democracies?

If we go back and look at the ideas that got formulated at the time „Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité“ or „All men (aka humans not the gender) are created equal“ or „There are certain and undeniable rights“ and so on… Or we look at the basic idea of democracy that political power is shared equally by every citizen. That they can invest that power of representatives in elections. And that only this act can legitimize a government and therefore its laws. 

Well, one has to ask oneself how much of that is actually still true, when capitalism has basically created a new aristocracy. Wealth is turned into political power and the „american dream“ is dead since long ago and birth and inherited wealth are the only factors who decide about your success in life today.

Of course there are one or two exceptions, just like in feudalism some people managed to rise beyond their station by education, or patronage or marriage. But at the core in todays society the fluidity between „classes“ has gotten very limited indeed. And while the superrich cruise the world fueling the furnace of climate change and throw their special parties where commoners can not reach them, we are getting very close to the mindset so infamously portrayed in the (only alleged) cry of Marie-Antoinette: „Let them eat cake“.

[margridarnauds]

real fic writer asks: 💌 🤲 🕯️ 🎀 💘 💫 If any of these have already been asked, I'm sorry!

Thank you so much for asking!

💌share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

I don't know if I HAVE a WIP that's anywhere close to being published, but here's a favorite, from the AU where Orléans lives long enough to be released following Thermidor, under the condition that he leaves France in order to go into exile in London:

“She must be pretty good for you to defend her after all she’s done, Égalité!” The man who said it, the brave vainqueur of the Bastille, fell back several feet, being blasted with the force of their combined glares. 

Then, with all the effort of Atlas, Orléans put on that broad smile that she knew so well, infuriating in its confidence. “Not at all, my good man! I was simply passing by and saw that there was trouble. I had no idea that Citoyenne Arnaud was the victim for today. But, tell me: Isn’t there something better for you to do? Surely the Republic needs all of its citizens to go about their jobs, for the good of the nation.” 

Oh, he was good. She’d almost forgotten how good he was in all the time that it’d been since the last time she’d seen him like this, totally in his element. 

“Ridding the Republic of traitorous scum like this is my business.” The man stood tall, hand on his hips, and she could see several nods from the crowd. 

“Of course, and you do it very well.” Bold as fucking brass, Orléans walked over to him, patting his shoulder. “Though, surely, there must be something else that you want.” He held out a single, gleaming bronze coin, the Phrygian cap clearly displayed. 

“You think that you can buy off good patriots?” The man asked, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Not at all, certainly!” Orléans tossed the coin into the crowd, the bronze gleaming before hitting the crowd, followed by ten, twenty, thirty more, and the crowd scrambled to grab them, falling over one another to get to the coins. 

“You can-You can do your tricks on any number of them as you want, I won’t budge.” 

“Oh,” Orléans’ smile was broad as ever, but cold, colder than a frost in the dead of winter. “I would never expect you to. But now, you see, there is only one of you and two of us. And, of course, I’m sure, in the current spirit of liberté, égalité, and fraternité, the police will be thrilled to know that such an honest, forthright man exists. Though, of course, if you wanted to simply walk away…” 

The man looked between the two of them and the crowd, still focused on scrambling for whatever coins they could get ahold of. 

“Citoyenne Arnaud,” Orléans nudged her. “Come.” 

“Anyway,” Margrid said, taking the opportunity to stomp on the man’s feet as she walked past, “I’m his cousin. By marriage!” 

🤲what do YOU get out of writing?

I get to work with characters I love, explore dynamics that I enjoy, research time periods that are near and dear to my heart. It's a nice refuge.

I noticed it used the candle emoji twice so I'll answer both:

🕯️was there a fic that was really hard on you to write, or took you to a place you didn't think it would take you?

I think every single fic is hard in its own way, especially since these days I'm basically fighting my own brain to get anything out at all (please don't be worried, it's just...the way things are now, I'm fine or...at least, as fine as possible.) And most of my fics end up taking me places that I never thought I'd go to, especially when I really hit the research hard. So I'm going to answer this from multiple angles:

There's one that...it's mostly done, but it's never been published and I don't know if it ever WILL be published, which would have been a part of the Irish Mythology College AU. And the reason why I don't know if it ever will be is that I started it when I was in my flat in Ireland, quietly going insane during the early pandemic, in a very precarious place with where I was as a scholar, where I was in terms of where I was situated, and then...well. We know what happened. It's very hard for me, sometimes, to look at that one. One day, I will hopefully finish it, at least for my own sake, but it's still quite a sore subject. It's more autobiographical than usual -- I've always been very honest about the fact that I feel like I've put more of myself into Lazare, Margrid, and Bres than any other characters I've written, even though every character I've written has little bits of me here and there -- but it's even more so than usual. And in that fic, it's a character very much like me in many ways, struggling with inner demons that mirror a lot of struggles that I've had, facing down a very, very painful situation that I had to face down and that had long-ranging consequences, and, having lived through it, the ending wasn't particularly happy. Hopefully, one day it will be. He isn't *dead.* (Come on, nothing can kill Bres -- Lugh tried, and even then, he keeps popping up in texts. The man's like a cockroach.) The fic was slated to end on a note of uncertainty. But, until then, it's probably the one fic of mine that I have the hardest time staring down, because it's looking into a mirror and, specifically, looking into a mirror at a past version of myself where I know what's going to happen.

The hardest *published* story I think I've ever written was probably Damage Control, just because I did do research on celebrity nude leaks, their reaction to it, the PR that follows, the consequences it could have on their lives, and it was very, very depressing. In some ways, it's easier for me to write about an atrocity that happened two hundred years ago than it is to write about something that happened ten years ago. Like, seeing 18 year old Vanessa Hudgens having to APOLOGIZE for her nudes being leaked made me lose faith in humanity. On the reverse side, it WAS very satisfying to see Richard and Emma get a little bit of revenge, and I think that seeing the impact it'd had, seeing how misogynistic the industry was, really did make me write it better and more sensitively. (I never explicitly said in the fic if there were any nude photos leaked, that was a conscious decision to (1) not make it something salacious or make it trauma porn and (2) to focus on the hurt of it instead. In my mind, there were, but I deliberately left it ambiguous.)

There's one that's been a WIP for a little while that would have Ronan and Lazare having a fight over the possibility of Lazare taking a wife and, honestly, I thought it would be fine, especially since...it's something you know happened historically. Plenty of gay men married and had children with women, plenty of gay women had children with men. It was the norm. But actually writing it out, it was this one moment of "Oh. This really happened." Like, it isn't that I didn't care about those people until I wrote a fic about it, it was more that, when I was writing that scene out, it wasn't JUST those two I was seeing, it was every couple throughout history who'd had that kind of argument and who'd wanted to get married and spend their lives together but couldn't because they were born in the wrong time. And that one ends well, but it did hit me like a brick to write that scene.

🕯️how do you think engaging with each other through tumblr, twitter, comments, kudos, creates healthy fandom experiences? How do you deal with that if you're not a social person/experience social anxiety?

It can create a really supportive, friendly environment. Especially when you're writing for smaller fandoms, it can be a very isolating experience, and it's great to know that you're not alone, that someone likes your odd little thing and is interested in it. As someone who is extremely socially anxious and can sometimes struggle to write my thoughts out on a fic, I usually just remember how *I* feel when I read reviews, even when I'm too busy squeeing over the review to respond.

🎀give yourself a compliment about your own writing

Answered here!

💘Is there any posted fic you want to rework/re-edit/re-write?

Answered here!

💫what is your favorite kind of comment/feedback?

Honestly, I'm really happy for any type of comment, especially if it's not "More" or "Can you write this from the other character's perspective instead?" I do love the in-depth reviews that really dig into the fic, I always love getting those, or the ones that are shorter but that tell me what someone's favorite lines are. There are some lines that I know are *my* favorite lines, but it's always great to see when they hit or, alternatively, when something I didn't think was my best really hits.

[aurianneor]

Absences from work

Everyone talks about absence from work. But if you don’t show up for work, it’s professional misconduct and you can be fired for it. What we’re talking about is absence from work, which is justified by a sick leave, i.e. due to illness. To speak of absence from work without mentionning illness is to question the competence of the doctor who is supposed to make sick leaves without cause, and to deny the suffering of those who are absent from work.

We also hear the expression “call in sick”, as if we had a choice, as if it were something we could do without cause. Either you’re sick, or you’re able to go to work. It’s up to the doctor to judge, not the patient.

The image of the absentee is linked to that of a deserter who would compromise the outcome of the war.

There’s also the suffering of those who can’t take a break and hurt themselves even more. They continue to work when they should be at home, because of a moral rather than a medical judgment. They’re afraid they won’t get their contract renewed, won’t get a promotion or will be fired on the grounds that they’re lazy. They are made to feel guilty because others have done the work for them. But in the case of sick leave, it’s the social security system that pays the salary. Why doesn’t the employer hire replacements?

The work overload transferred to the other employees results in a cascade of sick leave, as the overwork makes them ill.

In addition, there are cases of sick leave absences due to a lack of flexibility on the part of the employer. Health appointments must be guaranteed. If the employer refuses to make arrangements, a sick leave is required.

Employers have a responsibility to provide a non-toxic work environment. Some people fall ill because the pressure is too great, or because they are harassed. What’s more, when people are forced to work beyond the age of 55, there will be sick leave. If retirement is only possible at 67, those who age badly will fall ill.

Business CEO are entitled to nothing. Their status does not allow them to take vacations or leave when they are ill. They are not entitled to unemployment cover. This creates an imbalance with employees. Why do they have this status? Everyone should have the same rights.

It’s true that there are some slackers, but we have to target them and accuse only those who are guilty.

This discourse is toxic.

Health insurance pays for these absences from work. Yet 60% of workers have “bullshit jobs”. In other words, the community is paying for work that provides no service whatsoever. If we implemented a universal basic income and eliminated these jobs that provide no service, there would be fewer absences, because there would be fewer employees and there would be a better pool of replacements.

Lack of confidence comes at a price. Since you need a medical leave, you have to go to the doctor. But there are waiting lists. Which means more days off work just to see the doctor. For minor ailments, trust should be enough. There’s no need to go and spread germs at the doctor’s, or to pay people to check that there’s a sick leave. The cost of checking is monstrous, and we’re blocking doctor’s appointments that could be more useful. Some people will cheat, but it will cost less in the end.

The motto is Liberté Egalité Fraternité (Liberty Equality Fraternity); we rely on trust that benefits us all. A controlling society is detrimental to all. Fraternity enables everyone to live in dignity, without conditions. There will be slackers and lazy people who will have to be sorted out, but the result for the whole is better.

What matters is that the work is well done and useful; it’s not how much time you spend at work.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

L’ absentéisme au travail: https://www.aurianneor.org/l-absenteisme/

What you work for matters: https://www.aurianneor.org/what-you-work-for-matters-peaceful-environment-for/

Work: https://www.aurianneor.org/work-work-1915-charlie-chaplin/

Travail, Famille, Consommation vs Liberté Egalité, Fraternité: https://www.aurianneor.org/travail-famille-consommation-vs-liberte-egalite/

[ammg-old2]

The French Revolution (1789-1799) was a period of major societal and political upheaval in France. It witnessed the collapse of the monarchy, the establishment of the First French Republic, and culminated in the rise of Napoleon Bonaparte and the start of the Napoleonic era. The French Revolution is considered one of the defining events of Western history.

The Revolution of 1789, as it is sometimes called to distinguish it from later French revolutions, originated from deep-rooted problems that the government of King Louis XVI of France (r. 1774-1792) proved incapable of fixing; such problems were primarily related to France's financial troubles as well as the systemic social inequality embedded within the Ancien Régime. The Estates-General of 1789, summoned to address these issues, resulted in the formation of a National Constituent Assembly, a body of elected representatives from the three societal orders who swore never to disband until they had written a new constitution. Over the next decade, the revolutionaries attempted to dismantle the oppressive old society and build a new one based on the principles of the Age of Enlightenment exemplified in the motto: "Liberté, égalité, fraternité."

Although initially successful in establishing a French Republic, the revolutionaries soon became embroiled in the French Revolutionary Wars (1792-1802) in which France fought against a coalition of major European powers. The Revolution quickly devolved into violent paranoia, and 20-40,000 people were killed in the Reign of Terror (1793-94), including many of the Revolution's former leaders. After the Terror, the Revolution stagnated until 1799, when Napoleon Bonaparte (1769-1821) took control of the government in the Coup of 18 Brumaire, ultimately transitioning the Republic into the First French Empire (1804-1814, 1815). Although the Revolution failed to prevent France from falling back into autocracy, it managed to succeed in other ways. It inspired numerous revolutions throughout the world and helped shape the modern concepts of nation-states, Western democracies, and human rights.

[westsahara]

Die afrikanische Presse hebt den Beitritt von 3 neuen Staaten zum Aufruf von Tanger zum Ausschluss der sogenannten „DARS“ hervor, die Weichen für den Ausschlussprozess aus der AU stellend

Dakar-Mehrere afrikanische Medien haben den jüngsten Beitritt von drei neuen Staate des afrikanischen Kontinents zum „feierlichen Aufruf zum Ausschluss der sogenannten „DARS“  aus der Afrikanischen Union“, bekannt als „den Aufruf von Tanger“, hervorgehoben, betonend, dass der Prozess des Ausschlusses dieser Marionettenentität  aus den Gremien der AU ins Leben gerufen werden sollte.

Die afrikanischen Medien berichten über die jüngste Unterzeichnung in Marrakesch während dieser ersten Begegnung des "Aufrufs von Tanger" durch drei ehemalige Außenminister Lesothos, Madagaskars und Gambias, der am 04. November 2022 in Tanger erstmals unterzeichnet worden ist.

Mit Herrn Lesego Makgothi, dem ehemaligen Außenminister des Königreichs Lesotho, Herrn Patrick Rajoelina, dem ehemaligen Außenminister der Republik Madagaskar und Herrn Lamine Kaba Badjo, dem ehemaligen Außenminister der Republik Gambia, beläuft sich die Zahl der Unterzeichner von nun an auf 19.

Im Rahmen der Nachbereitung des „feierlichen Aufrufs zur Ausweisung der sogenannten „DARS“ aus der Afrikanischen Union“, bekannt als „den Aufruf von Tanger “, hielten die Unterzeichner dieses Aufrufs am 28. Januar 2019 ihr erstes Folgetreffen in Marrakesch, Marokko, ab, schrieb die ivorische Zeitung „Fraternité Matin“, anmerkend, dass „die Unterzeichner während dieses Treffens ihre Zusage bekräftigt haben, zusammenzuarbeiten und sich untereinander abzustimmen, um diese nichtstaatliche Einheit, die sogenannte „DARS“, aus der Afrikanischen Union auszuschließen.

Die ivorische Veröffentlichung weist zwar darauf hin, dass Reflexionskampagnen zur Entwicklung des „Weißbuchs“ durchgeführt worden sind, betont jedoch, dass dieses Dokument „eine sachliche und historische Argumentation beinhalte“.

Es ist, schreiben die Medien, ein rechtliches und politisches Referenzdokument, „das eine Vision eines vereinten Afrikas und eines erneuerten Panafrikanismus verkörpert, weit weg von den Ideologien einer anderen Zeit.

„Die Unterzeichner des Aufrufs glauben, dass dieser Ausschluss aus rechtlicher Sicht legitim ist. Er sollte auf keinem Fall als unerreichbares Ziel angesehen werden. Darüber hinaus ist er Teil einer günstigen kontinentalen und internationalen Dynamik. Hier sind die Unterzeichner formal, dass Realismus und Pragmatismus vorzuherrschen hat. Alles, was eine Voraussetzung für die Rückkehr der Unparteilichkeit und der Glaubwürdigkeit der panafrikanischen Organisation in Bezug  auf die Sahara-Frage darstellt", stellt die Zeitung fest.

Die Weichen für den Ausschlussprozess der sogenannten „DARS“ aus der Afrikanischen Union „sind gestellt“, schrieb seinerseits das Portal „Africa24“, feststellend, dass das von den Unterzeichnern des „Aufrufs von Tanger“ aufbereitete „Weißbuch“ der Fahrplan des Ausschlussprozesses dieser chimärischen Republik aus der AU gewesen sei und sei.

Die Medien rufen in Erinnerung, dass die ehemaligen Ministerpräsidenten und Außenminister Afrikas, welche Unterzeichner des „Aufrufs von Tanger“ am 30. Januar 2023 sind, vom Minister für auswärtige Angelegenheiten, für afrikanische Zusammenarbeit und für die im Ausland lebenden Marokkaner, Herrn Nasser Bourita, empfangen wurden, dem sie „das Weißbuch“ überreichten, „das den Ausschlussprozess dieses Marionettengebilde auf die Schiene brachte“, was  vonseiten von mehr als 30 afrikanischen Staaten unterstützt wird.

„Wir stehen in Bezug auf die Frage der sogenannten „DARS“ vor einem sehr heiklen Problem. Es basiert nicht auf Gesetzen, denn sei es der Südsudan oder Südafrika, Simbabwe oder Mosambik, wenn man von anderen Befreiungsbewegungen in Afrika spricht, wurden diese Staaten nie als Mitglieder der Afrikanischen Union anerkannt, bevor sie unabhängig wurden. Daher muss es einen rechtlichen Weg geben, um sicherzustellen, dass sich ein Staat zum Mitglied der Afrikanischen Union auswächst", schrieb das Portal,  die Worte des ehemaligen Außenministers Kenias Raphael Tuju weitergebend.

„Die Entwicklung des Weißbuchs des Aufrufs von Tanger zielt den Unterzeichnern zufolge darauf ab, den Zusammenhalt und die Gerechtigkeit innerhalb der Afrikanischen Union zu kräftigen, indem durch den Akt der Vertreibung der sogenannten „DARS“ bewerkstelligt wird, die Situation in der Sahara-Region auf diplomatischer und pragmatischer Ebene zu bereinigen“, machte dieselbe Quelle darauf aufmerksam.

„Wir sind uns alle der Dynamik der marokkanischen Diplomatie bewusst und  dieses Weißbuch wird in erster Linie an Staatsoberhäupter und Entscheidungsträger zur Untersuchung weitergeleitet, die dazu verpflichtet sind und waren, damit dieser auf den Weg gebrachte Prozess allen erläutert werden dürfte“, sagen die Medien unter Berufung auf Jean Marie Ehouzou, den ehemaligen Außenminister Benins.

Das „Weißbuch“, das einstimmig von ehemaligen Premierministern und ehemaligen afrikanischen Ministern während des ersten Folgetreffens des „Aufrufs von Tanger“ in Marrakesch am Samstag, dem 28. Januar 2023 verabschiedet wurde, steht nicht der afrikanischen Integration im Wege, stellten die afrikanischen Medien die Behauptung davon auf.

Fast drei Monate nach der Paraphierung am 4. November 2022 in Tanger des „feierlichen Aufrufs zur Ausweisung der sogenannten „DARS“ aus der Afrikanischen Union“, bekannt als „den Aufruf von Tanger“, trafen sich die Unterzeichner des Dokuments am Samstag, dem 28. 2023 in Marrakesch zu ihrem ersten Evaluierungstreffen zusammen, schrieb die afrikanische Presseagentur „APAnews“ in einem Artikel betitelt: „Der Aufruf von Tanger“ besteht auf den Ausschluss der „DARS“ aus der Afrikanischen Union.

Gekräftigt durch die verschiedenen Empfehlungen der panafrikanischen Reflexionskampagne in Hinsicht auf die Einsätze der Afrikanischen Union im Lichte der Sahara-Frage, die während der fünf subregionalen Seminaren erörtert wurden, die zwischen Mai und Oktober 2021 in Nouakchott, Dakar, Accra, Dar Es-Salaam und Kinshasa stattfanden, haben die Unterzeichner des „feierlichen Aufrufs zur Ausweisung der sogenannten DARS“ aus der Afrikanischen Union“ einen Entwurf des „Weißbuchs“ diskutiert und es einstimmig angenommen, nachdem sie „ihre wertvollen Beiträge dazu geleistet haben“, stellt die Agentur fest.

Die Zeitungen „Lesotho Times“, „Allafrica“ und „GhanaWeb“ beschieden  ihrerseits, dass zwei Staaten der südafrikanischen Entwicklungsgemeinschaft  (SADC), Lesotho und Madagaskar, jedoch auch Gambia, den feierlichen Aufruf  zur Ausweisung der sogenannten „DARS“ aus der Afrikanischen Union (AU) unterzeichnet haben, bekannt als „den Aufruf von Tanger“.

„Die drei neuen afrikanischen Staaten haben Ende Januar in Marrakesch beim ersten Treffen der Folgemaßnahmen zum Aufruf von Tanger, der am 4. November 2022 in Tanger erstmals unterzeichnet worden war, ins Papier gebracht“, heißt es in den Bekanntmachungen. Sie sagen in diesem Zusammenhang, dass der "Aufruf von Tanger" ursprünglich von ehemaligen Premierministern und ehemaligen afrikanischen Ministern Guinea-Bissaus, Dschibutis, der Zentralafrikanischen Republik, Somalias, Burkina Fasos, Eswatinis, Benins, der Union der Komoren, Liberias, Gabuns, Malawis, der kapverdischen Inseln, Senegals, der Demokratischen Republik Kongos, Guineas und Kenias unterzeichnet worden ist.

„Allafrica“ schrieb, dass die hochrangigen afrikanischen Würdenträger des „Aufrufs von Tanger“, darunter drei neue Unterzeichner aus Gambia, Lesotho und Madagaskar, ihren Aufruf erneuern, die separatistische Einheit aus dieser afrikanischen Organisation auszuschließen, deren Anwesenheit „als Bremse der regionalen und kontinentalen wirtschaftlichen Integration betrachtet wird“.

Auch andere Medien auf dem Kontinent haben den Beitritt dieser drei neuen Staaten zum „Aufruf von Tanger“ aufs Neue beteuert. Während des Treffens in Marrakesch bekräftigten die 19 Unterzeichner ihre Zusage, zusammenzuarbeiten und diese nichtstaatliche Einheit aus der Afrikanischen Union auszuschließen, immer denselben Quellen zufolge.

„Gekräftigt durch die verschiedenen Empfehlungen der panafrikanischen Reflexionskampagne in Hinsicht auf die Einsätze der Afrikanischen Union im Lichte der Sahara-Frage, die während der fünf subregionalen Seminaren erörtert wurden, die zwischen Mai und Oktober 2021 in Nouakchott, Dakar, Accra, Dar Es-Salaam und Kinshasa stattfanden, haben die Unterzeichner des „feierlichen Aufrufs zur Ausweisung der sogenannten „DARS“ aus der Afrikanischen Union“ einen Entwurf des „Weißbuchs“ diskutiert und es einstimmig angenommen, nachdem sie „ihre wertvollen Beiträge dazu geleistet haben.“

Das „Weißbuch“ räumt ein, dass die Anwesenheit der sogenannten „DARS“, einer nichtstaatlichen Entität einer bewehrten Separatistengruppe innerhalb der AU,  die institutionelle Verwundbarkeit der Organisation veranschaulicht und eine unbestreitbare Bremse für die regionale und kontinentale Wirtschaftsintegration darstelle.

Es sei darauf hingewiesen, dass ehemalige Premierminister und ehemalige afrikanische Minister während ihres Treffens in Rabat mit dem Minister für auswärtige Angelegenheiten, für afrikanische Zusammenarbeit und für die im Ausland lebenden Marokkaner, Nasser Bourita, ihm das "Weißbuch" überreichend, dazu aufgerufen haben, die Anwesenheit der sogenannten „DARS“ innerhalb der Afrikanischen Union (AU) als „rechtlichen Wahnwitz“ und als „eine politische Fehlentscheidung“ zu betrachten. Diese ehemaligen afrikanischen Beamten stellten die Präsenz dieser Marionetteneinheit innerhalb der AU an den Pranger.

Als Redner bei dem Treffen betonte Herr Bourita, dass die Anwesenheit der sogenannten „DARS“ „ein institutionelles Hindernis“ und „eine Anomalie“ innerhalb der Afrikanischen Union sei. „Die Existenz der sogenannten „DARS“ ist eine rechtliche Verirrung, weil sie nicht den konstituierenden Elementen eines Staates auf internationaler Ebene entspricht“, unterstrich der marokkanische Minister, fortfahrend: „Ihre Präsenz ist ein institutionelles Hindernis und eine Anomalie innerhalb der panafrikanischen Organisation" und die Existenz der "DARS" stelle ein Problem für Afrika dar.

Quellen:

http://www.corcas.com

http://www.sahara-online.net

http://www.sahara-culture.com

http://www.sahara-villes.com

http://www.sahara-developpement.com

http://www.sahara-social.com

[marybeatriceofmodena]

To add on a bit here - Raoulstine shipper here, but if you want to write fanfic where the Phantom and Christine get a HEA or at the very least make it absolutely clear that they're each other's soulmates, there are 3 (4?) options to go:

Raoul just doesn't exist - works for AUs, it's the easiest way to go, but you can't really do that for a sequel for obvious reasons.

Raoul dies - kind of a cheap shot if not handled well, that would make some people roll their eyes, but there were a lot of ways to die in the 1880s, from consumption to wars. The Sino-French War happened in 1884, the Dahomean Wars and the war with Siam in the 1890s... you got plenty opportunities to make Christine a widow there.

Raoul and Christine's marriage or relationship falls apart because of the trauma they've experienced during the Final Lair, and/or because Christine doesn't fit into high society as a vicomte's wife and that also causes friction on several sides - it's entirely possible, and none of these options involve character assassination for Raoul. Obviously the Raoulstine shipper in me tends to think the Final Lair made their relationship more solid as they are on equal footing towards each other given they're both capable of protecting each other, but the option I just described *is* a possibility.

Christine realizes her heart lies with the Phantom and leaves Raoul of her own voilition - that's the premise of many a fanfic, but it misses the point of the end of the show (to paraphrase Hal Prince, you almost want her to stay but you know that she can't), there are a lot of, em, issues you need to address, and if I had to be honest, the ambiguity and how it depends from one cast to another (you had some Christines who left it ambiguous, others that didn't leave any room for doubt in preferring Raoul or the Phantom) is kind of what made the show so popular and what spawned so much fanfic and debate regarding the love triangle.

All that to say, it *is* possible to make a sequel with an E/C ending while keeping everyone in character (the only E/C fanfic I'd recommend is Fraternité by Gondolier, and it does it brilliantly). There are certainly plenty of other authors who managed to do it, but I'll let other people recommend them to you.

I'm curious, do ppl hate Love Never Dies because they think Eristine is problematic and it's made canon in it, or is it due to something else? I havent watched it yet or anything but i like the vibes, lol

Heh... Love Never Dies has always been controversial at the very least? It came out at a time where Erik/Christine was still the most popular ship in the phandom - it still is, by the way. That didn't change despite a clear shift in fandom and ""problematic content"" around 2013, so a good 3 years after the musical came out. If anything, Raoul/Christine shippers have been a minority for most of the phandom's history, and both sides of the debate at some point more or less decided to agree to disagree (I mean, the homophobic slurs Raoul would get at times were starting to REALLY be in poor taste), except on the point that without the love triangle, there wouldn't be much of a story, and there are various ways of interpreting said love triangle. So, quite frankly, I don't understand why some people on either side are trying to restart discourse in the POTO fandom but I digress. And look, if you see people in the tags saying that Erik/Christine is problematic, they're probably new, and not really representative of the phandom at large. Anything having to do with Sierra Boggess is more controversial.

I really don't think the controversy stems from it making Erik and Christine bang and have a love child - I know there are some people who are against the idea of any kind of sequel, in fanfic form or otherwise, for a variety of reasons, but most of them were being responsible adults about it and didn't actively seek fanfic. As I mentioned before, a lot of folks were Erik/Christine shippers and thought that Christine was more into the Phantom than into Raoul, that's nothing new. But a lot of them also had issues with how LND dealt with it, for several reasons. It didn't come from an "anti" sentiment, it was very much them having issues with the material that was presented to them.

Raphael/phantoonsoftheopera (who is a long time fan of POTO) goes into more detail here and I think he sums up a lot of phans' thoughts back in 2010 when LND came out (whether they shipped the Phantom and Christine or not), and I think @musicalhell is another one who was also around at the time (feel free to pop in, and hope I'm not bothering you with the tag).

As for the rest, I wish I could defend ALW's choices here in the same way I'd defend Lana Wachowski for Matrix Resurrections - i.e. you're allowed to not like it but this is this creator's baby and they're allowed to do whatever they want with it, so let's all respect art for the sake of art here. But LND is very much a vanity project, as ALW has proven multiple times, that is mean-spirited to its core in various ways. For my fellow SW fans, it's the TROS to POTO'S TLJ. The cast and crew were treated in a really shitty way back in the original London production days, same with critics of the show, and there was even a case where a journalist and long time phan who provided a critical review of LND was demeaned in an article as some sort of sad housewife who was obsessed with POTO. Mind you, ALW has tried to make LND work FOR YEARS, with various productions and tours opening here and there, but it always underperforms. And mind you, the Eristine crowd is still hanging around, and POTO is doing extremely well whereever it goes to this day. If the Eristine content was good, the crowds would follow, "problématique" posts and tweets or not. They aren't there.

[girafeduvexin]

Le mot "playlist" est exagéré mais ce sont les chansons sur lesquelles Stan et Ford ont réussi à se mettre d'accord dans mon AU où ce sont deux vieux militants de gauche français.

Ce sont les chansons qui passent sur l'autoradio, en gros.

[kjack89]

Belle Épitaphe

Because this post has lived rent-free in my head for the past six years :’)

Happy Barricade Day, y’all!

ExR, canon compliant(ish) soulmate AU.

As was not uncommon, Enjolras’s parents hosted a party for him when he turned sixteen. Not quite a debut into society, it was instead an opportunity to gather and to wait for the words that would appear on his skin, just as they did on all upon reaching one’s sixteenth birthday.

The words would indicate his soulmark: the last words that his soulmate would ever speak to him.

It was an old tradition, the gathering for the words, dating back as long as any could imagine. But where once an entire village might gather to pray for good words, for words that revealed a name, or clue, of his soulmate’s identity, now it was more a formality to see if his parents need wait for a specific person to marry him off to, or if easier arrangements could be made. Now, instead of praying for a name, his parents �� and more than a few young ladies from surrounding houses – hoped for vague words that could be uttered by anyone.

Enjolras hated every minute of it, dressing in uncomfortable, fancy clothing and pretending to make polite smalltalk with all of his parents’ friends. But most of all, he hated the very idea that some words that appeared on his skin might bind him to someone without his – or their – consent.

No matter how unlikely their meeting one day might be.

So he alone did not celebrate when he felt the words sear against his wrist; he alone did not hold his breath as he twisted his arm around to see the words that stood out starkly against his pale skin.

“Do you permit it?” his father read aloud for the assembled crowd, and his mother let out a small, delighted gasp.

“Such romantic words,” she told Enjolras, holding onto his other arm with both hands. “Think of what kind, loving wife will utter those words at the end of your long life.”

There was nothing Enjolras would rather imagine less.

And as he glared down at the words that had appeared on his arm, he vowed silently that he would never allow any to get so close to him as to say those words in any kind of final parting.

----------

It was, bluntly speaking, an easy vow to make and a far easier one to keep than Enjolras had at first anticipated, in no small part because he escaped from his parents before they could force him into anything resembling a courtship. Once he was in Paris, once he was surrounded by like-minded youths, he felt no need to give literally any thought whatsoever to soulmates, to soulmarks, or to the last words fate had destined someone to speak to him.

It had long since fallen out of fashion to endeavor to search for one’s soulmate, so it was not something of which most young men spoke, save in – gently or otherwise – mocking the lovelorn among them. How many times had Courfeyrac sighed and made an excuse for his errant roommate, telling them, “You really must forgive Marius; he is looking for his soulmate, after all”? 

It was something to roll one’s eyes at, if the subject even came up at all.

And around Enjolras, whose sole concern could be best summed by those three words liberté, égalité, and fraternité, it very rarely came up.

He may well have gone to his grave without ever giving it another thought, were it not for a casual utterance by someone he knew not at all.

When the barricades arose, Enjolras was filled with conviction, even more so than what usually filled him, conviction and righteousness enough to displace what little patience he had for things not associated with the Cause for which he had pledged his life, and very likely his death.

Which was perhaps why his temper soured so quickly upon hearing the latest of Grantaire’s many drunken soliloquies. Usually he could block them out, or ignore them as he tended to more important things, but standing on the crest of the barricade, facing down what was to come, he could not find it in himself to ignore it, or Grantaire.

“Grantaire,” he shouted, “go get rid of the fumes of your wine somewhere else than here. This is the place for enthusiasm, not for drunkenness. Don’t disgrace the barricade!”

Had he known what effect his words would have on the man, he might’ve tried shouting at him sooner. Immediately, Grantaire sobered, something Enjolras couldn’t quite read softening his expression. “Let me sleep here,” Grantaire said, almost gently, and Enjolras shook his head, already turning away.

“Go and sleep somewhere else.”

But Grantaire did not turn away, and something in his voice kept Enjolras rooted to the spot where he stood. “Let me sleep here—until I die.”

Anger welled in Enjolras’s chest as he stared balefully at Grantaire. When so many would doubtlessly lose their lives in service of freedom...what right did Grantaire have to use death as a bargaining chip, there of all places?

“Grantaire, you are incapable of believing, of thinking, of willing, of living, and of dying.”

He knew the words were harsh even as he was speaking them, a cold pronouncement of Grantaire’s character. But if Grantaire seemed affected by them, his expression did not show it. Only his tone seemed affected as he told Enjolras, his voice low, “You will see.”

He mumbled something more, something incoherent, but Enjolras was saved from having to decipher what else the man might possibly have said to him, but Bahorel shouting, “Here’s the street in its low-necked dress! How well it looks!”

And then Enjolras’s returned to the barricade and directing the efforts of the newest recruits who had arrived just as the rain stopped. They were a motley assortment of troops, but still Enjolras called each comrade as he gave out instructions.

As he paused near two men arranging a table on its side against the barricade, he could not help but overhear a snippet of their conversation. “I am confident we will survive this,” one said with a grunt as he shouldered the table into place. “After all, my wife did not utter the words marked on me before I left this eve.”

“Strange,” his companion said. “Your wife said the words marked on me when I left her this eve.”

The first man guffawed and shoved his companion with the camaraderie many of their number shared, their jokes about bedding each other’s wife continuing as they headed in the opposite direction, and Enjolras just shook his head before returning to the task at hand.

That should have been the end of it, an offhand joke shared between brothers at arms, but instead, the thought of the last words he might speak or hear stuck with Enjolras, even as the barricade was completed, even as they lost Prouvaire, even as they discovered the spy among them.

He endeavored to put it out of mind, and succeeded in ignoring it until they finally all settled in for the night. Then and only then did the thought begin to twist, low in his stomach. Especially when he thought of what he had said to Grantaire.

To say that Grantaire vexed him was a vast understatement; Grantaire vexed, irritated, confounded, and infuriated him. And yet for all his drunken ramblings and professions of belief in nothing, for his interruptions and distractions, for the way he had offered once to black Enjolras’s boots and for his failure to complete the one task Enjolras had ever deigned to assign him, Enjolras had never once been able to bring himself to send him away.

Not until that night.

And now, as he tried to get what little sleep he could in the shadow of the barricade as they waited for what battle was to come, he felt something like guilt seep through him.

He had not meant it, what he had said to Grantaire, and he knew better than most that the chance of them both surviving the barricade was not high. As much as he had never wished to care about the last words he said to any, the thought that those were the last words Grantaire might ever hear from him was unbearable.

After everything, he owed Grantaire a better farewell than that.

Mind made up, Enjolras stood to return to the Corinthe. The motion woke Combeferre, who had settled nearby. “Enjolras?” Combeferre asked quietly. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Enjolras assured him. “There is simply something that I must do.”

He could not quite make out Combeferre’s expression in the darkness, but he knew him well enough to guess what look he might wear. “The best thing for any of our number right now is sleep,” Combeferre said. “And to let those already asleep continue so undisturbed.”

“And if the last words I said to you were in anger, would you sleep undisturbed?”

There was a challenge in Enjolras’s voice, but Combeferre did not rise to it. “Had I drunk that much wine, I imagine so,” he returned instead. “There is but one thing Grantaire would wish to hear from you, and as you cannot offer that, it is best to let him sleep.”

“Perhaps,” Enjolras said. “But still I must try.”

If Combeferre made any further argument, Enjolras did not linger to hear it, instead slipping into the Corinthe and making his way to where Grantaire still lay with his head against the wooden table, fast asleep. Despite what Enjolras had said to him, his expression looked almost serene in the dim light, and Enjolras hesitated for a moment before shaking his shoulder. “Grantaire,” he said, his whisper sounding overly-loud as it pierced the silence. “Grantaire, wake up.”

Grantaire’s eyes blinked open, and he stared, unfocused, at Enjolras for a moment before his vision cleared enough to recognize the man half-kneeling beside him.

Then, to Enjolras’s surprise, his eyes widened in horror. “No!” he half-shouted, scrambling backwards from Enjolras and almost falling out of his seat. “No, no, please—”

“Grantaire—” Enjolras started, concerned, but Grantaire shook his head wildly.

“Do not speak to me, I beg of you,” he pleaded, and Enjolras frowned.

“I must,” he said firmly, and Grantaire let out what sounded almost like a whimper, covering his face with his hands. “Grantaire, please, you must let me say this. The words I last spoke to you – I would not have my last words to you be in anger.”

Grantaire lowered his hands, looking at once very sad and very tired. “But you must,” he said, sounding more sober than Enjolras had ever heard him. “Those words were the best gift you have ever given me.”

Enjolras’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you—” he started, breaking off when Grantaire turned suddenly, and yanked his shirt up to show Enjolras his back. “Grantaire, what—”

Again he broke off, but this time not in confusion. He broke off in recognition, seeing the words he had spoken reflected back at him from where they were marked on Grantaire’s skin. Almost without meaning to, he raised his hand to trace with trembling fingers the words he had shouted earlier. “Grantaire,” he whispered, though he knew not what to say after that.

Grantaire flinched, just slightly, at the sound of his name, and Enjolras pulled his hand away as if he had been scalded. “So,” Grantaire said, lowering his shirt after the silence that stretched between them had turned uncomfortable. “Now you see.”

Enjolras shook his head slowly. “I do,” he said, “but I also do not. Those are my words, but they are not the last that I will have spoken to you.”

“Apparently not,” Grantaire said. “Though how I wish that they were.”

“What do you—” For the third time in as many minutes, Enjolras broke off as realization hit him. “Because if they had been, I would be your soulmate.”

Grantaire couldn’t seem to meet his eyes. “Long have I imagined what it would be like to hear those words,” he murmured, so quietly that Enjolras could barely hear him. “What might my soulmate be like, to have such harsh words be the last spoken to me? But then I met you, and I knew, if there was any from whom I could hear those words fall off his lips and have them be sweeter than any confession of love…”

He trailed off, and Enjolras bowed his head, his chest feeling tight. He could not pretend that he had been fully unaware of the way Grantaire looked at him, or spoke to him, but to have it confirmed like this was more than he thought he could bear. Especially now, with those words between them and so little time left. “So when I said them earlier…”

“I knew that if I were to die, it would be worth it to know that you were my soulmate.”

Grantaire delivered the words evenly, even as Enjolras looked away. “I am sorry,” he said finally. “For what I said, and for all I have said after if I have ruined what peace you found.”

“May I ask one thing of you?”

Enjolras glanced over at him. “If it is again to black my boots…”

Grantaire barked a laugh. “No,” he said. “I wish to know what words are marked on your skin.”

Enjolras hand flew almost immediately to the words on the inside of his arm, and he rubbed them subconsciously. “I am not certain what good it would do now,” he hedged. 

“Perhaps none. But that does not change the fact that I wish to know.”

Enjolras hesitated before bowing his head in acquiescence and rolling his shirtsleeve up until the words were revealed, as dark and imposing as they had been when first they had appeared so many years before. He thrust his arm toward Grantaire, who bent his head to read the words silently to himself. Then he straightened and met Enjolras’s eyes. “I have seen the problem.”

Enjolras frowned, rolling his shirtsleeve down again. “What problem?”

Grantaire nodded toward his arm. “I’ve once asked you for permission to do anything.”

Enjolras laughed, a sharp, surprised sound. “I suppose not,” he agreed.

“And I doubt that even now I shall suddenly start.”

“Again, I suppose not.” Enjolras hesitated. “I have never given much thought to my soulmate, even to the idea in general. What good is a soulmate found only at death? My concern is with the rights of the living. Including the right to never find their soulmate if they do not wish.”

Grantaire’s eyes flew to his. “I would never dream—” he started, but Enjolras shook his head.

“I know,” he said softly. “And yet, there is a part of me that now hopes that I will not go to my death without hearing you say those words.”

He would never know what possessed him to say it – undoubtedly, the same instinct that had driven him to wake Grantaire in the first place, the same instinct that had stopped him from removing Grantaire from their meetings all these years, the same instinct that drew them together when they were the last two in the Musain late at night. It was that same instinct that made him painfully aware how close they were even then, and how little effort it would take to close that space and press his lips against Grantaire’s.

But he was saved from that instinct by Grantaire saying, quietly, “I am sorry.”

Enjolras blinked, confused by the apology. “What for?”

“That I will never speak those words.”

“Even if I were your soulmate, I don’t think I could ever bring myself to.” Grantaire gave Enjolras a small, sad smile, and the breath seemed to catch in Enjolras’s throat. “To utter the words that would sever us...if those are the last words that I am to speak to you, then I would rather be struck dumb than speak our last.”

This time, when Enjolras again felt the instinct to close the space between them, he did not fight it, leaning in to kiss Grantaire. Grantaire was frozen for a brief moment before melting against Enjolras, curling one hand in Enjolras’s shirt and pulling him even closer. Enjolras reached up to cup Grantaire’s cheek, kissing him desperately, the weight of the moment leaving him wishing he could stretch the kiss into infinity.

But all too soon, he knew he had to pull away, to end the moment, because he knew Grantaire would never have been able to bring himself to. “I love you,” Grantaire told him, his hand still balled in Enjolras’s shirt, and Enjolras covered his hand with his own, squeezing his hand gently.

“I know.”

“Will you do one more thing for me?” Enjolras did not answer, just looked at Grantaire expectantly, and Grantaire swallowed, hard, before asking, a little hoarsely, “Will you say them again to me?”

Enjolras knew instantly that he meant the words he had spoken earlier, the ones written on Grantaire’s skin. “Grantaire—” he started, the name sticking in his throat.

“Please.”

Enjolras released Grantaire’s hand. “I cannot,” he said softly. “They were needlessly cruel then, and unspeakably so now.”

Grantaire just lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Perhaps,” he said. “And yet, I am asking you to.”

Enjolras tilted his head, trying to read Grantaire’s expression. “Why?”

“Because hearing you speak those words again…I will go to my death with a smile. It is all I have ever wanted, to hear those words from you. And I beg of you the chance to hear them again.”

Again, Enjolras’s chest felt unbearably tight. “Grantaire—”

“I have been resigned to my fate for longer than you could ever know,” Grantaire told him, though there was no resignation in his expression. Just something as close to hope as Enjolras had ever seen there. “Will you not do me this last kindness?”

“Grantaire—”

Grantaire’s expression did not flicker. “One way or another, I die with this barricade. So I beg of you, let me die in peace knowing, for however brief, that you were mine.”

For the third time, Enjolras said his name, but this time, it was not to deny him. “Grantaire—” He could barely speak around the lump in his throat, but he knew he must. He owed Grantaire this much. “You are incapable of believing—” Grantaire’s eyelids fluttered closed and Enjolras could not help himself, reaching out to again touch Grantaire’s cheek, his fingers so pale against the flushed skin. “—of thinking, of willing, of living—” His voice broke, and Grantaire opened his eyes and reached up to lay his hand over Enjolras’s, turning his head to press a kiss, featherlight, against Enjolras’s palm. “—of dying.” 

They stayed like that for a long moment until Grantaire let go of Enjolras’s hand. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Now go. And if the Lord is kind, I will see when I wake.”

Enjolras bowed his head and swallowed, hard, before nodding, just once, and retreating from the Corinthe without speaking another word.

It was done.

And he had a battle to prepare for, one he hoped would make him forget how much, in that moment, he wished to hear Grantaire say the words marked on his own skin.

----------

It was fitting, in a twisted sort of way, that Enjolras found himself back there, not even twelve hours later, backed into a corner with the barrels of twelve guns aimed at him. 

They had offered to bandage his eyes, but Enjolras wished to stare down his death with what defiance he had remaining. He lifted his chin as the sergeant repeated his order, “Take aim!”

But then, another voice shouted from beyond them, a voice that Enjolras knew, a voice he had resigned himself to never hearing again: “Long live the Republic! I am one of them.”

There were no words that Enjolras could muster as Grantaire crossed the room to stand next to him, but he did not need any. 

His words to Grantaire would be his last. For whatever peace it might bring both of them.

“Finish up both at one blow,” Grantaire said to the sergeant before turning to Enjolras.

As their eyes met, Enjolras understood, finally. Romantic, his mother had called the words on his arm, because she had envisioned them said by a doting spouse at the end of a long life. But she could never have imagined how much more beautiful they would be when spoken by someone he had not realized until too late was the one person who could ever have been his soulmate, the one with whom he would die in service of the idea of freedom for all men.

“Do you permit it?” Grantaire asked. The first, last and only time Grantaire had ever asked his permission. The only time he had ever needed to.

And Enjolras wordlessly pressed his hand with a smile.

[frenchpsychiatrybonbons]

…the…

…autopsy…

…of my…

…cunt…

…après…

…le guerre…

…murdered by…

…bitch slapping…

…and principals…

….comme….

…socialisme…

….liberté…

…égalité…

….fraternité…

….murdered by….

…bitch slapping…

…and principals…

…comme…

…socialisme…

…future is…

...more unclear…

...more nuclear…

…power grids…

…throw a couple of wind farms at us…

…plant a few trees with name plaques attached to proclaim the names of corporate donners…

…too late folks…

…ALL USELESS GESTURES…

…ALL USELESS FUCKS

…too late in the game…

…oxygen tanks on backs…

…NEXT…

ALL YOUR USELESS…

WORDS…

BOOKS…

DEBATES…

TV APPEARANCES…

RALLIES…

PISSING IN THE WIND…

…ALL FUK’N USELESS…

….my cunt is…

…fucked silly…

…murdered by…

…political…

…self worship…

….bitch slapping…

…and principals…

APRÈS…

LE GUERRE…

THE SMALL ACTS…

JUST…

IRRITATE…

CHAFF…

leaving…

nothing…

but…

disdain…

excruciating…

disdain…

virolent…

disdain…

screaming…

from…

my murdered…

cunt…

disdain…

in the meantime…

hiding ropes..

hiding knives…

hiding car keys…

from my companion…

he is inconsolable…

sees no future…

hopeless…

free fall…

allez…

allez

en avant

allez

the victims of campaigns are always the people who actually care…

[universallywriting]

If it’s okay to request, a fic where either steven or Connie get injured and it’s like hurt/comfort fluff. Maybe it’s an injury that healing powers can’t fix entirely. (Even if that probably isn’t possible, but whatever. Fanfics.)

So it’s just... recovery or something?? I’m sorry I think I had a better way to word this but I can’t remember.

I managed to find a reason for Connie, but I struggled to find an in-universe reason for Steven. Future seems to indicate the only time a big physical injury sticks for him is when it’s so massive it overcomes his innate healing, which sounds like it’s just straight up “if you would have died, you get a black eye instead”.

I could do an AU if you want to suggest one for Steven! And I could feasibly see him having a some kind of virus/infection/etc as he’s had allergies in the past, so his magic doesn’t perfectly moderate his immune system. But after everything Steven’s been through I don’t want to beat him up that bad again, lol.

Thank you for the prompt!

---------------------------------------

His powers did still flicker out on occasion - his healing most of all. His father sometimes worried it was his fault, because of the lie that he had told years ago, but Steven was sure that it wasn’t. Healing was hard, and it petered out on occasion when his self-confidence dipped.

Which is why it was especially unfortunate that he’d gotten rejected from a small indie label three days before Connie got a concussion during a protest. it wasn’t the biggest deal in the world - he played bars and coffee shops around tow. He’d written songs for friends in the music industry which had seen a surprising amount of success. It was normal to get rejected, even if you were going to be successful some day.

But all those little comforts and nice words didn’t stop his self-confidence from plummeting down to nothing, and though he felt the love he needed to heal, he couldn’t manage to have enough faith in himself to do it.

He sighed as he dimmed the lights in their bedroom, looking at his bedridden fiancé. “I wish you’d skipped this one, just until my healing’s back.”

“Can’t put justice on hold,” she mumbled with a sleepy giggle, then a wince. “Ow. Laughing makes my stitches feel weird.”

She raised her hand to rub them, and he took three quick strides across the room to grab her hand, kissing it gently as he softly reminded her she shouldn’t touch. His voice lowered more now that he was close. “I don’t think it’s putting justice on hold for an American to skip a French protest.”

“Liberté, égalité, fraternité,” she mumbled. “Je voudrais un chocolat chaud con mi empanada manzana.”

He laughed. “Is your concussion breaking your brain or is it just making you silly?”

“Silly.” She squinted, even against the low light of the room. The doctors had promised the concussion was a light one, but it still set him on edge to see a row of stitches over her brow, when normally he could kiss the hurt away. Her voice was soft, a little slurred from her lack of sleep and constant drowsiness. “Thank you. I’m sorry I scared you.”

“Thanks,” he murmured and kissed her brow anyway - not on the stitches, though he desperately wanted to. “But I know this is important to you, and I’ll take care of you until my healing’s back or you get better on your own.”

As he pulled back she whispered, “Steven, don’t leave, okay? It’s been a while since I got hurt this bad. I don’t want to be alone.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised. After a brief pause, he laughed. “Actually, I want to go grab the heated blanket and then we can cuddle until we fall asleep.”

"I’m not allowed to fall asleep,” she muttered.

“They took care of you at the doctor, baby.” He pulled her covers up, but she was already groaning with embarrassment as the small lapse in memory passed, her face crinkled with frustration like every time her concussion messed with her head.

“I’m just gonna sleep until I’m better,” she moaned, eyes falling closed. “Don’t leave, okay?”

“Okay.” He went to get the blanket, quick as he could. By the time he slid into bed beside her, she was half-asleep, but she was often half-asleep the past couple days. She snuggled against his chest, and he hoped she’d be able to pass out this time.

“Oh yeah,” she said, her voice muffled by the soft fabric of his shirt. “Steven?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s a good album.” She hugged him a little tighter. “People are gonna like it. It’ll take a while, but I think some indie guy is gonna like it. I like it.”

He blinked back a couple tears, and held her a little closer. “Thanks, Connie. Get some rest.”

[sentinelstars]

Hello yes this post has definitely been done before but I just need to say it anyways. I’ve seen a lot of people being jokingly annoyed that in the musical, Courfeyrac always gets the “to be free” line(s), when really, that should be Combeferre’s line because of the iconic book quote. HOWEVER, I must say, all of the Do You Hear The People Sing verses fit their characters rather perfectly. And yes I will elaborate.

Enjolras- he has the main verse because he’s the leader. Obviously. He’s the rallying call, the original, and everyone else simply completes and adds detail to it. I feel like this is pretty self explanatory.

Combeferre- “will you join in our crusade? Who will be strong and stand with me? Beyond the barricade Is there a world you long to see?” So first of all, “be strong and stand with me” is significant and Ferre-specific because it’s mentioned in the book that while one would want to follow Enjolras into battle, one would want to march behind Combeferre. So the concept of “standing with me” is very Ferre-like. Additionally, he asks a very characteristic philosophical question “beyond the barricade is there a world you long to see?” Ferre represents to philosophy of the revolution, and is more commited to the idea of the end result than to the mean of glorius battle itself. He is more focused on what society will be like after the revolution, so it makes sense that he would pose that question even in the midst of a call to arms.

Courfeyrac- “Then join in the fight that will give you the right to be free!” This verse is short and sweet, just like Courfeyrac. As we know, Courfeyrac is really the friendly face of the triumvirate- if Enjolras pulls supporters in with his charisma and Ferre with his ideas, than Courf pulls them in simply by virtue of his joyful and friendly demeanor. He represents the Fraternité aspect of the national motto, fighting for brotherhood and camaraderie. So it is fitting that his verse would be more focused on people joining together for a common cause than about the actual cause itself. That is not to say that Courfeyrac is any less passionate about the cause than his counterparts, as that’s simply not true, but he does tend to lean more towards the companionship aspect of the group.

Feuilly- “will you give all you can give so that our banner may advance? Some will fall and some will live Will you stand up and take your chance? The blood of the martyrs will water the meadows of France!” This impassioned plea from our favorite workman definitely focuses more on the possibility and even probability of death than the other ones, which is fitting in a number of ways. Feuilly, unlike the triumvirate, is a worker, not a student, and poorer than the rest of the amis. He is far more realistic, passionate about the cause but less blinded by it’s shiny light- he is keenly aware of that fact that they could all die, and he is almost asking the others and their audience if they, too, are prepared for that possibility. Additionally, dark as it may be, it could be argued that Feuilly has less to lose and more to gain. He is a worker and an artist, constantly working to also educate himself on the side. He is not a rich young scholar playing a game- if the revolution is successful, he will truly benefit, and if it fails, he’s only truly losing what would’ve been a life of perpetual poverty and hard work under the cruel monarchal system. His verse mentions blood and giving up everything, including their lives, in order to achieve an end which he has studied and believed in so adamantly.

Anyways, this was a long ramble but i wanted to get it out somewhere. Please mention thoughts/other things you noticed because I truly do love talking about this.

[apolloandr]

Dead Butterflies

CW: vomiting, alcohol

Grantaire really likes throwing up.

He’s not about to start purging, but there’s something so cathartic about it. As soon as he’s done vomiting the drunkenness leaves his body in an instant. He feels lighter when it’s over. Less cynical. Less of a sky on Atlas’ back.

“You really need to stop doing this,” Enjolras groans. God, why did he insist on accompanying Grantaire to the bathroom?

“You didn’t need to follow me. You could have made another speech about how vaping is capitalism.”

Enjolras clicks his tongue and Grantaire looks down at his boots. Focusing on the flecks of dirt on the toes helps bring the world back into focus. Enjolras has always worn those same boots since they met. Part of Grantaire wants to put his hand on the floor and let Enjolras step on it; crush it.

“I didn’t need to follow you, but I felt that I should, because decency is important.”

You shouldn’t have followed me, I am the follower. I am the follower and I have failed you, I just spilled my guts into the toilet and now all that’s left is loving you.

Enjolras’ eyes are so blue it makes him sick, so blue Grantaire could barf all over again. He can’t look him in the face anymore, so his gaze falls on the dashed e of the “liberté” tattoo that pokes out from the neck of his t-shirt. Of all the tattoos, of course he picked that one. It’s as obvious a choice as Grantaire’s vineyard sleeve. He extends his arm, the one that has “fraternité” written on it, and offers Grantaire a hand. “You should go to bed.”

Nothing is going to come of this. Nothing is ever going to come of anything. One day Enjolras will fall in love and be loved back, because not even a nymph is immune to Apollo, and Grantaire will drown in alcohol and self-pity and there will be nobody there.

He starts fading when he takes Enjolras’ hand and gets pulled off the floor and over his shoulders. “Where’s your egalité tattoo?”

“On my ribs.”

Ah. That explains why he’s never seen it.

“Why?”

“It’s the most equal part of the body,” he says. Grantaire can barely keep his eyes open, but he manages to catch one more flash of blue.

“We all have the same bones.”