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tribalauthor · 16 hours ago

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THE WISEWOMAN (roman reigns ff) <chapter 18>

word count: 2.7K

A/N: the concept of this chapter is 'closure' and being open to the new beginnings that life is offering you

Sophia's POV:

The soft hubbub of people talking was actually in a way comforting to me, adding the bright botanical atmosphere of La Grande Boucherie that offers a luxurious feeling also mixed with a sprinkle of nostalgia due to the fact that I am gathered on a baptism party for the kid of my high school's close friend - Amelia.

She has always been a fan of big parties ever since we were teenagers. I remember I was forced to go to all of her parties because I used to be her BFF, although I wasn't the biggest fan of those things back then.

Since she was the most popular girl in high-school, she got the most popular jock then - Tommy Devito who is now an NFL quarterback of the New York Giants. No surprise here.

The high school sweethearts couple now just had their little baby boy, Michael.

I see plenty of classmates who are with kids in their arms, others are pregnant and I am in a pure state of shock that I, of course, try to hide.

I am also seated next to my first boyfriend ever - Trevor Williams. I mean for six years since I last saw him, he looks more masculine with a beard - very short beard but still giving him a different touch, his hair slightly slicked back and slightly longer than I remember and his blue-grey eyes which once I was longing for.

Yup, I kinda see why I liked him so much back in the day...but it wasn't enough to last.

"I actually didn't believe you could get any prettier, Sophia." he finally spoke to me which caused me to turn to him and giving him a grin. From what I know he is a literature teacher now.

"Here I am." I sang. I am wearing a green long sleeve floral shirt with white long skirt. Accidentally matching the vibe of the restaurant.

Trevor took my hand and kissed it. He is still the gentleman that I remember.

"Careful, dude. Her boyfriend is a wrestler." I heard Tommy saying.

"A wrestler?" my ex-boyfriend looked in disbelief.

"Not just any wrestler but the Tribal Chief himself." Bob added and I laughed quietly, pressing my lips.

"I am still in pure shock from that fact. Who would have thought that Sophia Heyman that rejected all of the boys of the football team would end with an athlete." Nancy said. She used to be the head of the cheerleaders club and now she is pregnant, very pregnant.

I saw Trevor pulled out his phone, probably he wants to see what my current boyfriend looks like and when I saw his appalled expression, I knew that is the case.

"Sophia." he said in disbelief and I just slowly shrugged in defense. "Ain't this man too old for you?"

My expression suddenly changed to a serious one and I am sure the people are tuned in for the drama.

"No, he isn't. Actually, for the few weeks we've been dating he gave me way more than any of my exes combined gave me for the whole relationship. And I don't mean only in a materialistic way." I underlined the last part, so that everyone is aware what I'm trying to imply right here.

The women put hands behind their mouths, and men were taken aback.

"So you are happy?"

"Yes. Very happy. I love my job, I adore my boyfriend and I get along with my colleagues perfectly." all of this time I am responding with pure calmness.

"That Vegas press conference was scandalous, by the way. Are we getting Roman vs Rock or?" another classmate asked.

"Don't expect me to leak anything, gentlemen. Tune in for the shows and you are going to see." I teased them.

I was outside for a little walk and Trevor decided to join me.

"Look, I am sorry for the way I snapped earlier...it's just...I don't know what was going through my head. Maybe cause the guy is way more different than me. My complete opposite, actually and yeah." Trevor said what was on his mind and there was remorse in his voice mixed with nervousness.

"It's okay. I understand but you also have to understand is that he makes me happy." I responded.

"I trust you, yes." he nodded his head.

"What about you? Do you have a girlfriend or a student's mom on the side?" I joked around and he laughed out loud.

"I recently ended another relationship. She is a law student." he added.

"Oh law students ain't it. I also had a relationship with one before Joe. Nope. Never again." I declared and shook my head.

"The thing is, Sophia, that every woman I like...I look for you in her." my eyes almost went out of my body. What am I hearing? "See, what we had in high school was not like the typical high school relationship. You were mature, I was mature. Maybe not as much as you but it was not a childish relationship. And I think we could have the potential to end like Amelia and Tommy.

"Interesting point of view." I remarked, sounding as calm as usual but deep down I am out of words cause why is he telling me all of this now?

"How did it really end between us two?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Well, we had to graduate and I remember you wanted to study in Harvard. You weren't sure if it's gonna work from distance and of course, I had the same opinion and yeah." I said what I remembered. We really didn't end in bad terms. He is right that for a high school "love" our relationship was mature.

Turns out he likes me more than I like him and yeah, I know this is how it works but I don't think I could like him the same amount I like Joe.

Yes, I thought Trevor was the right guy for me but as I said it before, I have always thought with my brain and even if I stayed with him until today, I am not sure if he could give me the same - and again, I don't mean only the material and sexual part.

Joe really makes me feel like a woman - as the phrase is divine feminine. My whole life I have been competing with men, in college, in high school because I always had something to prove.

"You may not realize it but we were secretely competing with each other back then, Trevor. We both wanted the highest grades, we both wanted to be the top of our class. These years made me realize that academic guys are not the ones for me. I felt like a rival, sometimes like an object but right now I feel like a woman." I told him the sole truth without a single care. "I am sure you are going to find your woman somewhere. You are a nice guy and you always have been. So I wish you all the best."

Roman's POV:

After I finished my workout, I went to take a shower and wash that sweat off my body. This week I started new workout program with my trainer since I gotta get in serious shape for Wrestlemania and also because I have a very hot girlfriend.

I gotta look my best.

The moment I turned on the shower, a brown ass water came down and I pulled myself out immediately.

"What" I exclaimed quietly.

Is the water system fucked up or something?

I checked the other sinks and showers and it's the same thing.

This means I gotta call the plumbing company.

The second I grabbed the phone, it suddenly rang and the name of the person I saw on the screen was the least that I expected.

It's Michelle.

Why is she calling? At 5pm.

It must be something urgent, so I decided to pick up.

"Hello?" I responded unbothered.

"Hi, Joe. It's Michelle." she said with her soothing rather cold voice.

"I know. Hi." I replied back.

"Are you experiencing some plumbing problems?" she asked with slight nervousness.

"Yes. Actually I was about to call the plumbing company of the house."

"There is no point cause the plumbing company that worked with ours, was sued for damaging a lot of house systems. They were caught in using cheap products and now many, many new houses have the same problem."

"I see and what can I do now to fix it?" I asked.

"Don't worry about that. We are going to send you a team after two days." she said in a reassuring tone but I felt my body tensing.

"Two days? How am I supposed to shower until then?" I raised my voice.

"Well, you are rich enough to go to a hotel. Also your new girlfriend can shelter you. Don't act like you don't have any options." Michelle sounded rather sassy and I laughed quietly.

"Oh, so you know about that?" I asked.

"Of course. You two are all over the media. Congratulations, by the way. Hope she is the one for you." she said with sincerity.

"Thank you." I replied softly. "I hope you feel happy and fulfilled and find your person too." I nodded my head and spoke back with the same sincerity.

"Thanks. But right now I gotta focus on the job and fix those poor houses." Michelle giggled slightly. "I had to call you because, you know, after everything I love this house to death."

"Although you haven't stepped a foot in it." I said in a teasing tone. We got divorced exactly by the time the house was ready, so she really didn't see the final product.

"That's not important. I poured my everything to make it look good. Does the new girlfriend like it?"

"Sophia loves it. She commented a couple of times how much she loves the interior and she even complimented my good taste but I told her the truth." I said with a big grin on my face.

"You had the opportunity to make yourself cooler and lie, though." she remarked.

"Nah, she thinks I'm cool enough. No need to lie to impress her."

"True. You are the ultimate heartthrob now." my ex wife laughed softly.

Sophia's POV:

Trevor suggested to drop me off at my house and I agreed.

On the way home my phone rang and it's my boyfriend.

"Hey, Joe." I picked up.

"Hey. How is my girl doing? Is the party over?" he asked me.

"Yes, I am heading home right now." I replied.

"With who?" he immediately asked.

"A classmate is dropping me off. Did you finish your workout?"

"Yes and I got a problem with the plumbing system and can't take a shower. The plumbers are gonna come after two days." he explained.

"Well, you can grab your things and come to my house then." I came up with the obvious solution.

"Nah. I would feel kinda uncomfortable and I don't wanna bother your mom." he said. "I think I'll just rent a hotel."

"My mom doesn't care, sweetie." I said in awe. "Plus these two days she is extremely busy. I don't even know if she will come home."

"You got a gym around?"

"Of course." I said.

"Okay, guess I'm gonna pack my things then. See ya, babe." he said warmly.

"See ya." I replied sweetly and we hung up.

"Big boy got problems?" Trevor couldn't help but ask.

"Yeah, plumbing system is off."

"Where is he taking you for your birthday?"

"I don't know. He loves to surprise me." I replied excitingly.

"He may plan something big. You deserve everything." my ex-boyfriend stated. "I remember that I planned a double present since it's your birthday and Valentine's day." he did a reminiscent.

"Yeah. That cute poem you wrote to me plus the handmade rose bouquet. Are you still doing arts and crafts?" I asked.

"Rarely. I don't got the time. I like to enrich myself with books."

...

"Well, it was nice catching up with you, Soph." Trevor said as he stopped in front of my house.

"Ditto." I replied.

"Am I invited to a WWE show?" he teased me and I chuckled.

"You can always buy a ticket." I said. "Or you can watch from home. Smackdown every Friday night at 8pm." I said in advertising tone.

"Okay. Will make sure to watch." he assured me and we said one last goodbye.

...

While I was waiting for Joe, I decided to cook something healthy for dinner.

One of the greatest pros of dating an athlete is that they mostly eat very healthy and you don't need cooking skills to impress them.

They would literally eat anything as long as it has protein. No questions asked.

So right now, I am dressed with a sexy beige nightgown while I'm preparing a chicken and sweet potato bowl, mixed with avocado and cottage cheese.

Beforehand, of course I wahsed and did a long bodycare and skincare routine since I have to look good. I don't know what we might be doing.

It's been two days...not even two full days since we've seen each other and I think I might go crazy. See, now I get the lovey-dovey cringe sayings.

I miss his touch already.

I don't know what Joe is preparing for my birthday and Valentine's but I am also preparing him a little something.

A cute symbolic gift and I hope the crew I spoke with does it till Tuesday.

Cross my fingers.

I also intend, depending on how impressed I am and I'm sure I will be, to give all of myself to him. I think it's time and I actually feel ready.

I heard the doorbell ringing and just on time cuz dinner is ready.

I walked to the door with my black toestep heels clinking on the oak floor then I opened it.

Joe was sitting there, looking exactly like post-workout. His Nike suitcase on his one hand, his hair in a bun and his grey Nike uncle tracksuit, I call it.

When he saw me his mouth dropped.

"What a greeting." he looked at me from head to toe.

"Get your ass here and kiss me." I pulled him by the sweater and closed the door behind me.

#roman reigns #tribal chief #wwe #head of the table #the bloodline #roman reigns fanfiction #wwe fanfiction #wwe fandom

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pinesource · 10 months ago

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Chris Pine attends the CAA Kickoff Party for The White House Correspondents' Dinner Weekend at La Grande Boucherie on April 26, 2024 in Washington, DC.

#pineedit #cpineedit #dailymenedit #menedit #flawlessgentlemen #mancandykings #flawlesscelebs #glamoroussource #mensource #chris pine #event #my edit

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eemcintyre · 2 years ago

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Surprise Me (Tom Cruise)

I've been pondering on this absolute unit for a while. Please appreciate the amount of time, energy, and NYC restaurant research I had to do, lol

TW- none

Summary- One of your friends, after a poor track record of setting you up on blind dates, gets one more chance and makes the most of it. You meet the date for dinner at an elegant NYC restaurant to discover that your friend has set you up with Tom Cruise.

Y/N was one of those people who had told herself, her whole life, that she would never go on a blind date. No matter how many months or years went by of being single, she had refused to stoop to what she perceived to be such a desperate level. Moreover, she was not actively looking for a relationship, as she was generally happy on her own, living a full life of work, hobbies, travel, and friendship.

However, one lapse- one lonely, alcohol-induced, self-pitying night of self-disclosure with a friend later, and that friend, Nikki, had become obsessed with setting her up. Nikki had arranged a number of dates for her with a number of men, who despite Nikki’s good intentions, mostly turned out to be questionable at best, and occasionally were potential serial killers at worst. Tonight was Nikki’s last chance- she promised that this time would be different and would make up for all of the other terrible evenings and to just trust her. Promises, promises.

Y/N exited the taxi that had taken her to La Grande Boucherie, the restaurant that she and her date had agreed on for the evening. It was an open-air French establishment situated in an alley between two avenues. From across the street where the taxi had dropped her off, she could see fairy lights wrapped around several small trees inside the restaurant, twinkling in the descending dusk.

All she knew about her date, from their text conversations spanning the last few days and the description of Nikki, was that his name was Tom, he was handsome with dark hair, fun and energetic, and that he worked in the filmmaking business. As Y/N lived in New York, it was not at all unusual to run into people in the film industry rather frequently- even she herself had worked in costume design, and currently production design. Although, he and Nikki were both a bit vague when she asked what exactly it was that he did. She figured that meant he was probably one of those “aspiring actors” who really make their living doing guided NYC tours or waiting tables and had a bit part in a B movie once.

Y/N had never been to La Grande Boucherie before, and it looked a little more high-end than she had anticipated. Elaborate fixtures of spherical lights hung from the vaulted ceiling, and large tropical plants provided a small canopy by one of the walls. Although “Tom” had mentioned that the place was on the elegant side, she almost wondered if she was underdressed, in a simple, mid-length, classic black dress. But she figured the date wouldn’t last a particularly long time anyway.

If tonight’s a disaster, this is the last time you set me up and I swear I’ll key your car in revenge, she texted her friend a final time before slipping her phone into her purse and crossing the busy street. She wondered why she was feeling a bit nervous when she had been on so many unsuccessful dates and her expectations had become so low. No matter how hard she tried to suppress it, it appeared that a miniscule part of her remained hopeful about finding someone. And at this point, she really had no idea what to expect, as this was a much nicer place than where her previous dates had invited her. Though, of course, men with money had just as much potential to be terrible dates as those without, she was terribly curious, and equally intimidated. What had her friend gotten her into this time?

Upon reaching the front of the restaurant, she briefly scanned her reflection in the window, adjusting her purse strap on her shoulder and shrugging. She also took a moment to evaluate the atmosphere of the restaurant up close. Soft jazz music glided through the entryway, and the building smelled of a combination of rich, sizzling French meats and soups, and the luxury perfumes and colognes of the affluent people who dined there. She was not necessarily worried about the dinner being expensive- she made enough money to be able to splurge on something nice from time to time- but doubted that the overall night’s experience would be worth it, no matter how good the meal was.

Her gaze roved over the occupants of each table, but none of them appeared to be the mysterious “Tom,” either not fitting the description or already accompanied by other guests. Luckily, “Tom” had texted her a table number to look for. Approaching the hostess’ podium, Y/N inquired “Hi. Can you point me in the direction of Table 16?”

The hostess answered with a knowing smile that puzzled Y/N. “Good evening. Of course. It’s the one in the far-right corner by that display of pink flowers.”

“Thank you,” Y/N murmured, spotting the table and the back of the head of the man sitting in one of the chairs.

“Enjoy your night, ma’am.”

“You too.”

Y/N crept slowly across the tiled restaurant floor to Table 16, frustrated with herself at how on-edge she was. Feeling like she was being observed by everyone she passed, she almost tripped on a chair leg. Rounding the last corner and reaching her destination, she braced herself to greet “Tom” and finally see what he looked like.

Sitting at the table was a man in a simple black suit and white dress shirt with the first two buttons undone. He had short, dark brown hair, a few strands brushing his forehead, with green eyes that stood out against his pale skin, and a distinctive mole on his left cheek. Y/N froze, momentarily forgetting everything about what she was going to say, where she was, what she was doing there, and how to talk.

From his seat at the table, Tom Cruise grinned and said “Hello.”

“Oh gosh… wait- oh my gosh, you’re…”

“I am,” he grinned wider and shrugged. He was about to say more, when Y/N continued:

“I am so sorry, I- I must be at the wrong table. They told me Table 16 and pointed me this way-” she gestured frantically, feeling her face grow hot.

“Well, you found it,” Tom confirmed, gesturing to the small sign on the tabletop. “This is Table 16.”

“Oh, um, well, he must have texted me the wrong number… I am so, so sorry, this is embarrassing. I was supposed to meet someone here, and…”

“Wait, hold on- is your name Y/N?” Tom inquired, cocking his head to the side.

“…Yes, it is,” she answered slowly, feeling lightheaded.

“Do you know Nikki?” He leaned toward her from his chair. The look on her face was her answer. “I think we’re supposed to go on a date tonight,” he stated matter-of-factly, beckoning to the chair across from him. “Sit down.”

“Oh, there’s got to be a mistake here somewhere…” Y/N said, her stomach performing feats of acrobatics as she stood rooted to her spot.

“You won’t even give me a chance?” he teased, fixing her with puppy-dog eyes. “I thought we got along pretty well over text.”

“No- I mean, it’s not that, I just…” Y/N brought her hands to her head in embarrassment as she stammered, finally managing to move and take a step back from the table. “I’ll be right back; I just need to- I just need to use the restroom- I’ll just be a minute.”

“You will come back, right?” he joked, although his eyes betrayed genuine concern that she was about to make an escape.

“Yes, I’ll be back.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” She spun around and took several rapid steps in the opposite direction of the table before she heard him call out “It’s the other way.”

“Wow. I can’t believe you; I mean, what the fu-” Y/N hissed into her phone, holed up in one of the women’s bathroom stalls of La Grande Boucherie.

“-What?” Nikki’s voice sounded from the phone speaker innocently.

“You know exactly what you did-”

“-Are you actually calling me right now to complain about being set up with Tom Cruise? I told you that I was coming in clutch for you this time.”

“What the hell are you trying to do to me?? I am not prepared for this!” She snapped, detecting the footsteps of whoever else had also been in the bathroom as they exited rapidly.

“What do you mean? I’m sure you’re wearing something nice, you always do, and I know you know how to eat…”

“YOU SAID HE WORKED IN THE FILMMAKING BUSINESS, NOT THAT HE’S THE MOST FAMOUS ACTOR IN THE WORLD.”

“Okay, okay, calm down…”

“Why didn’t you tell me??” Y/N groaned, emerging from the stall to examine her hair, makeup, and outfit, which seemed to have gone from “possibly slightly underdressed” to totally inadequate.

“You know you never would have gone if I’d told you. You would have either thought I was trying to prank you or you would have had the aneurysm that you’re having right now.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” Y/N snapped defeatedly.

“Act like yourself? Do what you would normally do?” Nikki replied, exasperated. “He was interested in you just off of my description and you guys’ texting.”

A pink tint rose to Y/N’s face. “He was? You’re not just telling me that?”

“Hey, I’m a little crafty, but I’m not evil.”

“…What did he say?”

“He thought it was cool that you’ve done production design and costume work, he liked that you’re kind of outdoorsy… he was interested, okay? Get out there and talk to him instead of talking to me!”

“We are going to have a serious talk about this…” Y/N muttered, straightening the wrinkles in her outfit and heading for the door.

“You can tell me all about it tomorrow. Trust me, I’ll want to know every detail.” Nikki paused. “And you said I’d never set you up with anyone good.” Y/N could hear the triumphant smirk in Nikki’s voice and hung up, rolling her eyes.

“Be calm. He’s just a person. He’s just a guy,” she said to herself as she neared Table 16 once again, relieved to see that Tom still sat there.

“I told you I would come back,” she managed a smile, moving to slide into the other empty chair, when Tom rose from his place to pull it out for her.

“I’m glad you did,” he added, smiling back and looking equally relieved as they finally faced each other at the table. “I ordered us an appetizer and some drinks while you were gone. I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so hopefully it’s all okay…”

“Oh, I’m not picky.” Silence fell briefly, and before it could become too awkward, Y/N decided to address what was certainly weighing heavily on both of them. “So, you and I got off on the wrong foot and I want to apologize. I was just totally caught off-guard…”

“Nikki didn’t tell you?”

“No- well, she knew I never would have gone if I’d known-”

“Do you really hate me that much?” he chuckled. “I mean, I know not all of my movies have been great…”

“Not at all, it’s not that, I just would have been too scared.” Y/N dropped her gaze to her hands, twisted tightly together in her lap.

“Well, it’s normal to be nervous, but come on, I’m not so scary now, am I?” He leaned forward with his elbows on the table, smirking.

Y/N gathered the courage to meet his gaze. “No,” she admitted, with a grin. “I just feel out of place here, in this restaurant, in this whole situation.”

“I think you fit right in,” Tom assured her. “Actually, before our conversation went off the rails earlier, I was going to say that you look stunning.”

“T-thank you, you do too,” she stammered, feeling the blush creeping over her face again, cringing at her reply. He laughed, but it was a good-natured laugh, not seeming to be at her expense.

“Thanks. I tried.”

Y/N finally took a sip of the drink that Tom had ordered for her, a sparkling cocktail that tasted of cranberry and lemon. “This is good,” she nodded.

“I made a good choice?”

“Yes, you did, thank you.”

Soon after, the appetizers arrived- a roasted beet and endive salad. As they started to eat, Tom suggested:

“Now, why don’t we just start the night over? Hi, I’m Tom.”

“I’m Y/N,” she replied, and they both laughed between mouthfuls.

“You mentioned that you do behind-the-scenes work for film projects- what are you working on right now?”

“Oh, just a local documentary thing. Street art and its origins, styles, and cultural significance. Terribly exciting, I know.”

“Of course it is. But you’d rather be doing something else?”

“Like everyone else around here, I have higher aspirations. I know everyone has to work their way up- you know that better than anyone- but I also know that not everyone who puts the work in ends up making it, and it usually just comes down to chance and luck- being in the right place at the right time or knowing the right people. I’m just afraid that my miracle is never gonna happen, y’know?”

“Well, I really believe that if it’s what you’re meant to do, as long as you stay dedicated and a step ahead of everyone else, it’ll happen. We’re just not all on the same timetable. It happened early on for me, but for a lot of other people, they didn’t ‘make it’ until they were in their thirties, forties, hell, fifties…” He took a taste of his own drink- a non-alcoholic cocktail.

“I hope I don’t have to wait that long,” she said, half joking and half serious. “But what projects are you involved in at the moment?”

He obliged to the change in topic. “I have a lot going on with this action-movie satire piece. It’s one of those ones that’s been stuck in development hell for a few years, so there’s just a lot of negotiating back and forth; it gets tedious after a while, but I think we’re finally getting things nailed down. It’s looking like it’ll be a lot of fun once we get past the initial stages.”

During the course of this conversation, they realized that they should begin perusing the menu and decide on their main courses. As she examined the options, Y/N reminded herself that she could afford to spend a bit extra once in a while, yet the prices still managed to stun her. It must have been visible on her face, because Tom said “Order whatever looks good. I’m buying tonight.”

As Y/N opened her mouth to strongly protest, he held up his hand. “Nikki said you’d complain, but you can’t change my mind. It’s been a while since I’ve gone out, I want us to have a good time, and besides, it’s the way I was raised.” He shrugged, folding his hands in front of him on the tabletop. “Don’t worry, I don’t expect anything, and I know you’re capable of paying if I let you, I just want to. Okay?”

When the server appeared with their entrees, the dusk had long since turned to nighttime darkness, allowing the fairy lights and orb ceiling fixtures to bathe all of the restaurant’s occupants in a warm glow. Y/N had ended up deciding on a mushroom ravioli dish, while Tom ordered a filet, and they shared a portion of seafood that he insisted she try. She was surprised to admit that she was feeling remarkably more at-ease.

“I am obsessed with this place,” he said offhandedly, having made it about halfway through his steak.

“I can see why,” Y/N giggled. “So, tell me: what is it you like to do when you’re not sword-fighting people or scaling the sides of buildings?”

Tom laughed, using one hand to smooth his hair back. “On those rare occasions, I like to do things like rock-climb, fly…”

She coughed on her food. “Fly? Oh yeah, that’s right.”

“Or cook, watch sports... I can have fun with both feet on the ground too. I’m down for just about anything.” He cocked an eyebrow. “What do you get into when you’re not designing the aesthetics of local documentaries?”

“Well, I enjoy a good hike or some skating, and I can be a bit arts and crafts-y when I want to. I do some drawing and painting when I’m between big work projects.”

She was amazed at how attentively he listened, and how he didn’t do it just to respond, but to ask questions as well. She was used to enduring her date’s life story without getting more than a few words in edgewise. She reminded herself that his entire job was to be a convincing actor, and so to not become too optimistic or believing of how he appeared. But damn, if it wasn’t difficult the longer they maintained eye contact and sat so closely and laughed with each other amidst the dim, cozy lighting and the soft jazz piano. Maybe she wouldn’t totally eviscerate Nikki after all.

After making it to the end of dinner, standing on the street outside, they prepared to part ways.

“You can ride along with me and my driver can drop you off,” he proposed.

“No, that’s extremely sweet of you, but you’ve done more than enough,” Y/N insisted. “You can’t change my mind.” Her eyes gleamed mischievously at him as she referenced their conversation near the beginning of the evening.

“Well, Y/N,” Tom sighed, “I’ve got to admit that tonight was the best time I’ve had in a while. You didn’t think it turned out so bad, right?”

“Not bad at all,” she replied, clutching her coat in both hands as a soft breeze passed.

“Good enough to do it again sometime? Soon?” he asked, eying her expectantly as the two of them shifted awkwardly back and forth on the pavement.

“Oh, I suppose,” she teased, though her expression was beaming. “This is the most fun I’ve had in a while too.”

A limousine pulled up to the curb next to them. She deduced that it was Tom’s aforementioned ride, but he was determined to stay until she flagged down a taxi, uncomfortable with the idea of leaving her on the street alone at night.

“You’ll have to think about what you’d like to do next. Maybe we could go flying,” he joked, as she eventually caught a passing cab driver’s attention.

“Maybe,” she chuckled as she approached the taxi. Tom opened the door for her, and before she slid inside, he placed a hand on her shoulder and murmured “Have a good night. Be safe.”

“Goodbye, Tom,” she slid into the backseat of the cab, smiling at him and then to herself as the cab started on its path to her home. Basking in the feeling of his touch on her shoulder and the slight giddiness that the earlier cocktail afforded, she lost herself in contemplation of the evening’s events, wondering where they might lead.

#tom cruise #tom cruise fic #tom cruise fanfic #tom cruise imagine #tom cruise x female reader #tom cruise x reader #one shot #creative writing #just for fun #imagine #tom cruise fluff #fluff #x reader #fanfic #self insert #reader insert #first date #blind date

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lafcadiosadventures · 2 years ago

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tell us how you really feel about it, Diderot:

"If our priests were not stupid bigots; if this abominable Christianity had not been established by murder and blood; if the joys of paradise were not reduced to an irrelevant beatific vision of I don’t know what, that we can’t comprehend or understand; if our Hell offered something other than fiery pits, hideous and gothic demons, howls and teeth grinding; if our paintings could be something else besides atrocious scenes, a scorched man, a hanged man, a roasted man, a grilled man, a disgusting carnage; if all of our male and female saints were not wrapped in veils up to their nose, if our ideas of prudishness and modesty had not proscribed the display of arms, inner thighs, breasts, shoulders, any type of nudity, if the spirit of mortification had not withered these nipples,rendered the inner thighs flaccid, arms rendered scrawny, the back muscles torn; if our artists were not chained and our poets constrained by the dreadful words of Sacrilege and Profanation; if the Virgin Mary had been the mother of Pleasure, or rather, the mother of God, if her beautiful eyes, her beautiful breasts, her beautiful buttocks had been what had attracted the Holy Spirit towards her, and had had that written on the Book of his history; if the angel Gabriel had been glorified by the beauty of his shoulders; if Madeleine had had a sort of gallant adventure with Christ; if during the Wedding at Cana, Christ, between two glasses of wine, in a somewhat non-conformist manner,threw glances at both the breasts of a prostitute and Saint John’s buttocks, uncertain if he’d stay faithful or not to the apostle with the chin in bloom with its first beard: you would see what our painters, our poets, our sculptors could accomplish; in what tone would we speak of their charms, which would play such a great and marvelous role in the history of our religion and our God; and how would we stare at the beauty to which we owe our birth, the incarnation of the Saviour, and the grace of our redemption."

Denis Diderot, Essay on Painting, written in 1765, but published posthumously around the year 1790’s

frech original under the cut

« (…) si nos prêtres n’étaient pas de stupides bigots ; si cet abominable christianisme ne s’était pas établi par le meurtre et par le sang ; si les joies de notre paradis ne se réduisaient pas à une impertinente vision béatifique de je ne sais quoi, qu’on ne comprend ni n’entend ; si notre enfer offrait autre chose que des gouffres de feux, des démons hideux et gothiques, des hurlements et des grincements de dents ; si nos tableaux pouvaient être autre chose que des scènes d’atrocité, un écorché, un pendu, un rôti, un grillé, une dégoûtante boucherie ; si tous nos saints et nos saintes n’étaient pas voilés jusqu’au bout du nez, si nos idées de pudeur et de modestie n’avaient proscrit la vue des bras, des cuisses, des tétons, des épaules, toute nudité ; si l’esprit de mortification n’avait flétri ces tétons, amolli ces cuisses, décharné ces bras, déchiré ces épaules ; si nos artistes n’étaient pas enchaînés et nos poètes contenus par les mots effrayants de sacrilège et de profanation ; si la vierge Marie avait été la mère du plaisir, ou bien, mère de Dieu, si c’eût été ses beaux yeux, ses beaux tétons, ses belles fesses, qui eussent attiré l’Esprit-Saint sur elle, et que cela fût écrit dans le livre de son histoire ; si l’ange Gabriel y était vanté par ses belles épaules ; si la Madeleine avait eu quelque aventure galante avec le Christ ; si, aux noces de Cana, le Christ entre deux vins, un peu non-conformiste, eût parcouru la gorge d’une des filles de noce et les fesses de saint Jean, incertain s’il resterait fidèle ou non à l’apôtre au menton ombragé d’un duvet léger : vous verriez ce qu’il en serait de nos peintres, de nos poètes et de nos statuaires ; de quel ton nous parlerions de ces charmes, qui joueraient un si grand et si merveilleux rôle dans l’histoire de notre religion et de notre Dieu ; et de quel œil nous regarderions la beauté à laquelle nous devrions la naissance, l’incarnation du Sauveur, et la grâce de notre rédemption. »

Denis Diderot, Essai sur la peinture, écrit en 1765, mais de publication posthume environ les années 1790’s

#Denis Diderot #said bisexual jesus rights #and freedom of the arts #essai sur la peinture #anticlericalism #translation mine so excuse any bad grammar/mistakes

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crimson-veil-rpg · 8 months ago

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ORGANISATIONS JOUABLES

Les idéaux rassemblent créatures surnaturelles comme êtres humains, rassurent et offrent une cause commune. Qui choisirez-vous de suivre dans la nuit ? Vous ne trouverez ici qu'un aperçu, chaque organisation fera l'objet d'une annexe plus détaillée sur le forum, cette liste est non exhaustive et pourrait être amenée à évoluer et grandir au fil du jeu.

(tw : meurtres, sang, violence, consommation de sang ou de chair, manipulation, secte, chasse, drogue, alcools)

NB : à savoir que les organisations seront dirigées par des PNJs, et donc non jouables.

¨:·. .·:¨ ¨:·. ☾ .·:¨ ¨:·. .·:¨ ¨:·. .·:¨ ¨:·. ☾ .·:¨ ¨:·. .·:¨

GREAT BRITAIN NIGHT WALKERS

Type : Organisation secrète gouvernementale Domaine : Chasse de créatures hostiles, protection des êtres humains et du secret surnaturel Membres : exclusivement humains Signe distinctif : Un matricule autour du cou, une face avec des informations codées et un nombre à quatre chiffres, l'autre un croissant de lune Quartier Général : L'Howard Castle pour le QG principal, des QG secondaires dans tout le Royaume-Uni.

Humanité bienveillante embrigadée au sein d’un ordre ancestral qui prône la protection humaine et le secret du monde surnaturel. Chasseurs de bêtes hostiles et police du mystique afin de garantir l'harmonie et le bon fonctionnement du système. Les Walkers sont inévitablement embourbés dans une lignée familiale belliqueuse, on ne le devient pas sans posséder un proche du même sang, suivant un enseignement rigoureux. Leur rôle est également de faire disparaître les preuves de l’existence des créatures qui se tapissent aux ombres, priorité absolue.

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SPECTRAL HOWLERS

Type : Gang, mafia. Domaine : Combats clandestins, trafic de drogues et d’alcools. Membres : Créatures, principalement harpies et lycanthropes. Signe distinctif : Tatouage d'un S et d'un H entrelacés sur un éclair. Quartier Général : Sous-terrains cachés en ville.

Gang crasseux croupissant dans les sous-sols, ce sont les chiens qu’on y lâche clandestinement, poussant les bêtes à s’entretuer pour faire sensation. Voir la violence apaise la violence selon eux. Mains sales, ils n’en sont guère restés aux combats, demeurent magouilleurs pour les larcins en tous genres, mêlant conception et trafic d’alcools et de drogues assez puissantes pour les diverses espèces surnaturelles en mal d’euphorie.

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THE KILLING MOON CLUB

Type : Organisation secrète, secte. Domaine : Pouvoir aux créatures et endoctrinement d’êtres humains. Membres : Créatures et humain·es captif·ves Signe distinctif : Une chevalière gravée d'un sphinx tête de mort. Quartier Général : Les sous-sols privatisés du Grand Hotel.

Culte factice à la gloire d’une divinité abstraite, The Killing Moon Club cache seulement les ambitions d’un groupe de créatures surnaturelles, avide d’un jour assoir leur pouvoir ouvertement. Réputé dans toute l’Angleterre, les dirigeants du club font partie de l'élite surnaturelle. Ici, on tue, et les soirées mondaines sont de véritables boucheries. On y vient pour chercher une âme à arracher, s'assurer d'un service de nettoyage irréprochable. Secte aux allures de club huppé, les humains y perçoivent salvation et pensent faire face à des êtres divins. Hypnose et captivité entraine la dépendance, tandis que les bêtes y voient buffet à volonté.

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THE BLEAK OUTBREAK

Type : Organisation secrète, gang. Domaine : Chasse et anéantissement des créatures, trafique de ressources surnaturelles. Membres : exclusivement humains. Signe distinctif : des clefs croisées tatouées sous la plante du pied droit. Quartier Général : les sous-sols du Whitby Museum.

Traqueurs de bêtes qui se sont donnés pour mission d'éradiquer la pestilence surnaturelle, en collectionner les trophées ou les revendre à prix d'or. Les créatures révulsent, peu importe leurs espèces, ne sont que manifestations du malin descendues sur terre pour mieux laisser répandre leur venin, des sbires d'un Lucifer venu punir l'espèce humaine sur terre. Alors ils arrachent les crocs vampiriques, les écailles de sirènes, les crânes de loups, les ailes de harpies ou feuilles de dryades sur leurs carcasses et en font commerce pour mieux financer leurs battues dans les landes.

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DAWNBRINGERS

Type : Ligue, association. Domaine : Protection du secret surnaturel, prônent l'harmonie des espèces, moyen de se nourrir alternatifs. Membres : exclusivement créatures. Signe distinctif : un contrat qu'ils doivent avoir sur eux lors des missions. Quartier Général : Le sous-sol de la Terror Tower, attraction hantée de la ville.

Ligue bienveillante prônant l'harmonie des espèces et la cohabitation terrestre. Le principal moteur est la protection du secret surnaturel et des plus faibles, évinçant les traces de toutes ombres chimériques. L'être humain vu comme un allié plutôt qu'une proie, préservé tel un compagnon de route. Les bêtes hostiles qui se joignent au groupe doivent montrer patte blanche, prouver leurs valeurs de part des moyens de se nourrir alternatifs.

#crimson veil #forum fantastique #forum rpg #projet forum #annexes #infos #french rpg

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christian-dubuis-santini · 10 months ago

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"Pauvres gens et misérables, peuples insensés, nations opiniâtres en votre mal et aveugles en votre bien, vous vous laissez enlever, sous vos propres yeux, le plus beau et le plus clair de votre revenu, piller vos champs, dévaster vos maisons et les dépouiller des vieux meubles de vos ancêtres.

Vous vivez de telle sorte que rien n'est plus à vous.

Il semble que vous regarderiez comme un grand bonheur qu'on vous laissât seulement la moitié de vos biens, de vos familles, de vos vies.

Et tout ce dégât, ces malheurs, cette ruine enfin, vous viennent, non pas des ennemis, mais bien certes de l'ennemi et de celui-la même que vous avez fait ce qu'il est, pour qui vous allez si courageusement à la guerre et pour la vanité duquel les personnes y bravent à chaque instant la mort.

Ce maître n'a pourtant que deux yeux, deux mains, un corps et rien de plus que n'a le dernier des habitants du nombre infini de nos villes.

Ce qu'il a de plus que vous, ce sont les moyens que vous lui fournissez pour vous détruire.

D'où tire-t-il ses innombrables argus qui vous épient, si ce n'est de vos rangs ?

Comment a-t-il tant de mains pour vous frapper, s'il ne les emprunte de vous ?

Les pieds dont il foule vos cités, ne sont-ils pas aussi les vôtres ?

A-t-il pouvoir sur vous, que par vous-mêmes ?

Comment oserait-il vous courir sus, s'il n’était d'intelligence avec vous ?

Quel mal pourrait-il vous faire si vous n’étiez receleur du larron qu'il vous pille, complice du meurtrier qui vous tue, et traîtres de vous-mêmes ?

Vous semez vos champs, pour qu'il les dévaste; vous meublez et remplissiez vos maisons afin qu'il puisse assouvir sa luxure; vous nourrissez vos enfants, pour qu'il en fasse des soldats (trop heureux sont-ils encore), pour qu'il les mène à la boucherie, qu'il les rende ministres de ses convoitises, les exécuteurs de ses vengeances.

Vous vous usez à la peine, afin qu'il puisse se mignarder en ses délices et se vautrer dans ses sales plaisirs.

Vous vous affaiblissez afin qu'il soit plus fort, plus dur et qu'il vous tienne la bride plus courte : et de tant d’indignités, que les bêtes elles-mêmes ne sentiraient point ou n'endureraient pas, vous pourriez vous en délivrer, sans même tenter de le faire, mais seulement en essayant de le vouloir.

Soyez donc résolus à ne plus le servir et vous serez libres.

Je ne veux pas que vous le heurtiez, ni que vous l’ébranliez, mais seulement ne le soutenez plus, et vous le verrez, comme un grand colosse dont on dérobe la base, tomber de son propre poids et se briser."

Étienne de La Boétie - Discours de la servitude volontaire (1576)

La psychanalyse nous permet de relire La Boétie en termes de discours, avec ce discours du Maître qu’est devenu le Discours Capitaliste, et la place du sujet en tant qu’il est impliqué dans la structure... Si le Discours Capitaliste ne fait pas lien social c’est qu’il se caractérise du déni de l’impossible ("Yes we can!", "Aujourd’hui tout est possible!"...) car se fondant sur cette particularité unique que le langage y apparaît comme instrument à disposition du sujet (alors que dans les autres discours le sujet est toujours un effet du signifiant)...

Le discours capitaliste nous fait croire que le sujet se sert lui-même à travers ce qu’il lui promet tandis qu’il ne fait que concourir à la perpétuation du discours... Nous nous sentons libres au sein du strict paradigme qu'il nous offre, c'est-à-dire dans la mesure où nous servons le Marché. Nous nous sentons libres précisément à l'endroit où nous sommes le plus serfs. Rien de plus ingénieux n'avait jamais été inventé...

La plus grande des servitudes est celle qui consiste à nous imaginer totalement désaliénés.

À l'inverse, c'est lorsque que nous abandonnons ce que nous imaginons comme étant notre liberté pour nous mettre au service d'une cause, c'est-à-dire d'un discours structuré autour d'un impossible réel, que nous sommes paradoxalement libres.

En nous mettant au service de ce type de discours, nous sommes forcés d'être libres, et en énonçant: "je sers ce discours" je préfigure du même coup un certain type de lien social déterminé. C'est donc en assumant ma servitude, mon aliénation que paradoxalement je peux exercer ma liberté.

Le Maître devient superflu au moment où l'Esclave consent à le servir. Comme lorsque nous sommes amoureux. L'amour est cette force qui nous contraint et qui nous tient. Servir l'Autre ne se fait alors jamais aux dépens de notre liberté, c’en est la manifestation même...

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seasoflife · 11 months ago

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La Grande Boucherie

seasoflife

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selidren · 11 months ago

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Printemps 1918 - Champs-les-Sims

2/10

Je ne souhaite pas revenir sur mon expérience de la guerre. Je me suis tout de même ouvert de votre remarque sur les allemands à Albertine, mais nous avons été interrompus par Marc-Antoine, l'aîné de mes fils, qui a fait valoir son point de vue d'une façon bien bruyante, arguant que ce sont les hommes de peu qu'on a envoyé sur le front, et que les vrais responsables de la boucherie ne sont que des bourgeois bien abrités derrière les lignes. Pardonnez mon fils, ce n'est encore qu'un enfant et il s'est mis à lire Marx ces derniers temps. Je n'y connais pas grand chose, mais je me demande si c'est une lecture bien pertinente pour un garçon de douze ans. Albertine ne cesse pourtant de me dire combien Marc-Antoine est intelligent, et si je me fie à mon propre intellect à son âge, cela semble peut-être plus compréhensible. Quand à vos douleurs, ce n'est pas mon sujet de conversation préféré, mais sachez que j'ai les mêmes dans le bras, et qu'il est des jours et des nuits où elles ne laissent pas en paix.

Je suis cependant catastrophé d'apprendre pour le mariage de votre fille. Ce garnement ne mérite pas les biens de ses pères et j'ose espérer que jamais un homme ne traitera mes filles de cette façon. Les scandales m'ennuient. Et pour votre épouse, ne vous en faites pas, elle finira par saisir l'importance de votre tâche et vous laissera en paix avec ses états d'âme. Il est malheureux qu'elle n'ait pas les mêmes centres d'intérêt que vous, comme cela vous auriez au moins pu lui proposer de vous accompagner. Vous pourrez toujours lui dire pour la rassurer qu'elle n'a pas les difficultés de mon Albertine : mon épouse déteste partir loin des enfants, mais notre passion commune pour l'Egypte est si grande que le choix n'est pas aisé pour elle.

Sur ce, je retournes à mes exercices de graphie. Me voici revenu à l'école élémentaire à tracer des séries de majuscules à la plume. J'imagine qu'en désespoir de cause, je pourrai toujours engager un secrétaire bien que l'idée me répugne : jamais il n'aura dans ses écrits le niveau d'exigences auquel je m'astreins.

Votre cousin, Pr. Constantin Le Bris

P.S : Mes condoléances pour le décès de votre neveu Thomas. Je ne l'ai pas bien connu, mais mon neveu Alexandre m'a assuré que c'était un jeune homme fort aimable.

P.S 2. Albertine vous fait savoir qu'elle se fera grand plaisir d'écrire à votre épouse.

Transcription :

Adelphe « Ah Tintin, tu as déjà fini de manger ? »

Constantin « Exact. Je m’y suis mis en avance, je suis toujours d’une horrible maladresse avec mes couverts et je ne voulais pas contrarier Grand-Mère. »

Adelphe « Tu aurais pu attendre Madame Legens. Elle aurait au moins réchauffé ton repas. »

Constantin « Je ne suis plus un enfant, Adelphe. J’en ai bien plus qu’assez de dépendre des autres pour n’importe quelle tâche futile. »

Adelphe « Fort bien. En attendant, te voilà à manger froid. »

Constantin « Et toi alors ? Tu ne manges pas avec les autres ? »

Adelphe « J’ai une réunion tôt à la distillerie. Les gars veulent créer un syndicat, et ils souhaitent une heure de concertation avec la « délégation patronale ». J’imagine que c’est moi. Ah, et je sais allumer le poêle accessoirement. »

Constantin « Bon à savoir. Tu me montreras comment faire à l’occasion. J’ai encore du travail, des lettres en retard, donc je vais monter. A moins que tu veuilles que je te tiennes compagnie. »

Adelphe « Pas besoin. Je vais finir rapidement. Ah et Tintin, tu as encore mal à ton bras ? »

Constantin « Non, pas spécialement. »

Adelphe « Ne me mens pas, je t’ai entendu grogner toute la nuit depuis ma chambre. »

Constantin « Ce n’était rien, vraiment. Tu dors donc si mal ? Encore tes cauchemars ? »

Adelphe « Non, une simple petite insomnie passagère. »

Constantin « Menteur, tu as les yeux rouges et des cernes ! »

Adelphe « Bon… je pense qu’on devrai arrêter de se mentir Tintin. »

Constantin « Tu as raison, nous ne sommes pas assez doués pour cela et en plus cela ne nous rassure ni l’un ni l’autre. »

Adelphe « Il faut croire qu’on s’est tout les deux bien abîmés ces dernières années. »

Constantin « Sans doute… Ah et j’y pense ! Ne laisse pas Marc-Antoine discuter avec les ouvriers. Je n’ai rien contre le socialisme, contrairement à mon père, mais il est en train d’en faire une obsession ! »

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aurevoirmonty · 1 year ago

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Il y a plus d’un siècle, le 11 novembre 1918, prenait fin l’une des plus épouvantables boucheries de l’histoire européenne qui vit périr plus d’un million de Français et qui mutila, dans leurs corps et dans leurs âmes, des millions d’autres. Toute une génération sacrifiée.

Écoutons l’un des survivants, Louis-Ferdinand Céline, qui, en tant que maréchal des logis du 12ème régiment de cuirassiers, fut l’un des premiers blessés et décorés de la Grande Guerre et en ressortit marqué à vie par l’horreur et la vanité de ce conflit.

Ses écrits ultérieurs raconteront ce cauchemar en dénonçant la mécanique infernale qui, vingt ans plus tard, allait à nouveau embraser le Vieux Continent et jeter les uns contre les autres des peuples frères. Pamphlétaire ? Provocateur ? Violent ? Certes. Mais toujours d’une actualité brûlante.

Et à l’heure où les fauteurs de guerre et les fanatiques de tous bords vilipendent les pacifistes, interdisent tout débat et cherchent encore à nous embarquer dans des guerres qui ne sont pas les nôtres, le plus bel hommage à rendre aux héros de la Grande Guerre, c’est d’écouter ce que ses plus illustres survivants ont voulu nous transmettre.

Vincent Vauclin

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helshades · 1 year ago

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Ce qui me fascine, au fond, dans le déni du délire antijudaïque conjoints des extrêmes-droites complotistes tant christo-franco-natiochauvines qu'islamistes repris quasiment tel quel par la Gauche béni-oui-oui américanisée de ces dernières années, c'est moins le cynisme électoraliste évident chez certains que la sincérité toute aussi évidente chez d'autres.

Il y a une espèce de voile magique sur les yeux d'une partie du gauchisme post-moderne qui glapit son « antisionisme » à tout bout de champ en essentialisant tellement ce fameux sionisme qu'il ne fait aucun doute qu'il s'agit de juiverie et pas de positionnement politique. Je repense souvent au titre du plus célèbre brûlot de la papesse de l'indigénisme francophone, ce Les Blancs, les Juifs et nous fiévreux de bêtise satisfaite où l'on entend tinter la machine à sous entre chaque ligne — parce que le racisme anti-tout-sauf-arabe-et-musulman rapporte, depuis une paire d'années, quand même.

Bref, j'ai l'impression que pour les petits blancs qui composent le gros de l'électorat éléfiste, le Juif est une sorte d'Überweißer qui bénéficie de tous les privilèges censément accordés à la naissance de toute personne de la race et qui de surcroît jouit de ce don suprême du statut de victime ultime et éternelle en raison de son histoire récente comme objet du pire massacre de l'Humanité. Il ne faut pas perdre de vue la logique post-moderne de l'identitarisme qui hiérarchise les groupes humains en fonction du nombre de cases à cocher dans le bingo intersectionnel. Le Juif est une figure intensément problématique parce qu'il est à la fois « blanc » (dans la tête de ses ennemis, ethno-nationalistes européens notoirement exceptés) et victime de racisme systémique à travers l'histoire mondiale. Or, il s'opère une véritable jalousie de la victimité, un ressentiment marqué pour qui appartiendrait à un groupe aux souffrances indéniables, ou tout au moins qui requièrent un plus grand effort pour les minimiser voire les nier.

Il y a un refus généralisé à gauche en Occident à l'heure présente de reconnaître la part de racisme féroce qui sous-tend le grand mouvement international de « soutien à la Palestine » — en prônant l'annihilation pure et simple d'Israël et généralement de tous les juifs — alors même que des drapeaux de l'État islamique ont endeuillé les mêmes cortèges londoniens d'où l'on a chassé des militants gays, et que la foule massée à Sidney scandait « Gas the Jews! ». Une chose que l'on m'a répétée toute mon enfance me revient aussi en tête ces derniers temps : comme on fait son lit, on se couche. Les anglophones ont une expression similaire à propos des gens avec lesquels on choisit d'aller se coucher.

Les Israéliens ont rassemblé un vaste panel de journalistes étrangers pour leur montrer des images et vidéos issues de caméras de surveillance qui ont capturé une partie des massacres du 7 octobre. Ils ont quelque peu tardé à le faire ; ils ont choisi de ne pas publier ailleurs ces éléments, par respect disent-ils pour les familles. En réalité, on sait que des clips iront alimenter en boucle la propagande jihadesque, la tuerie géante du 7 octobre ayant donné lieu à de grandes manifestations de liesse dans le monde. Les journalistes, occidentaux surtout, sont chargés d'aller répéter dans leurs pays respectifs la réalité du pogrom, d'ores et déjà niée par pléthore de bonnes âmes qui se persuadent avec application que d'éventrer des femmes enceintes ou arracher les yeux et couper des doigts à des parents devant leurs enfants, de décapiter des vieillards à coups de bêche ou de filmer le viol de petits garçons pour en envoyer la vidéo à leurs pères — que tout ceci constitue un acte de résistance à l'oppression.

Je ne publierai pas de photos ni de vidéos démontrant l'horreur d'une boucherie délibérée dirigée contre les seuls civils. L'image est une arme de guerre. Il ne fait aucun doute que Tsahal ne se prive pas de s'en servir. La seule attitude digne et sage pour la population occidentale si éloignée de ce conflit devrait être de ne pas prendre parti et de pleurer tous les morts en frères, de quelque côté qu'ils mourussent. Je ne pense pas avoir besoin de contempler le cadavre d'un nourrisson étêté et vidé comme un poisson, ni le corps tordu d'un père pleurant prostré sur le corps de ses enfants, pas plus que des ruines ou des bâtiments en flammes, pour honnir la guerre et ce qu'elle fait à ceux qui l'ont parfois peut-être appelée de leurs vœux par ignorance mais qui ne l'ont jamais décidée.

Je suis révulsée, plus que tout, par le soin méticuleux que mettent tant de progressistes autoproclamés à se coller des œillères quand il s'agit d'islam. J'y vois un profond mépris, en réalité, pour l'objet professé de leurs attendrissements : il est là, le plus veule et feutré des racismes, dans le refus constant de reconnaître un libre-arbitre et la même capacité au mal chez le musulman que chez un autre. Ces aveugles-là n'hésiteront d'aucun royaume, et leur lâcheté perdra tous ceux qui voient encore quelque chose. Pourquoi faut-il toujours qu'ils ne voient dans l'islam que ce qu'en clament ses plus sinistres chantres ? Pourquoi ne veulent-ils comme porte-parole que les plus extrémistes idéologues, qui ne s'embarrassent même plus de taqîyya pour séduire ces cuistres masochistes ?

#gallomancy #à suivre

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