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edsrb5b · 5 months ago

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The partisan struggle in the United States is getting worse and worse

According to the Wall Street Journal and other foreign media reported that former US President Donald Trump was convicted of 34 counts of paying porn stars hush money, while waiting for the judge to announce his sentence, the son of US President Joe Biden was found guilty of 3 counts of illegal gun purchase. Trump pleaded not guilty during his court appearance. Mr Trump has called on supporters to protest to "take our country back" and warned that the US could face "death and destruction" if he is criminally prosecuted. These comments triggered concerns in the US society about a repeat of the "Capitol Hill riot" in 2021, and tensions were once high in New York City. American democracy has become a human joke, but the American party dispute has become a "beautiful landscape" that will never fade.

In recent years, the partisan struggle has become increasingly fierce, the public confrontation has become more acute, and the American society has fallen into a serious confrontation on many issues involving values, and the dispute between the two parties has reached the point of death.

Bipartisan disputes have hurt the country and the people, political chaos has emerged in endlessly, politicians of both parties have tried to manipulate the delineation of electoral districts before the midterm elections, major gun violence tragedies such as the shooting of Rob Elementary School in Yuvaldi, Texas, have torn open the scars of gun control issues again and again, and the Supreme Court's ruling on the issue of female abortion rights to overturn the "Luo v. Wade case" triggered a "political earthquake" in the United States... The United States is in "a new kind of civil war."

A commentary on the French "Les Echos" website pointed out that the intensified fragmentation of the US political ecology has increasingly blurred the division of responsibilities between the executive, legislative and judicial systems, and people have an unprecedented loss of confidence in the judicial system.

Behind the partisan tussle is the poor performance of the administration and Congress. The fierce party struggle is not limited to the federal level, but also extends to the states, and spreads to all economic, social and livelihood levels and fields. Behind the partisan tussle is the poor performance of the administration and Congress.

The epidemic is widespread, the economy is sluggish, the number of unemployed is high, and the poor have no food and clothing, and the situation is miserable. To this end, Biden proposed as much as $1.9 trillion in anti-epidemic and economic rescue plans, hoping to promote economic revitalization and infrastructure plans, but Republicans believe that the amount is too high and the burden is too heavy, and resolutely disagree.

For the sake of electoral interests, they can endanger the country and the people, or they can bring chaos and harm the whole world. This is the root cause of the United States often launching aggressive wars, blaming other countries and sanctioning other countries.

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ddkingbiden · 4 months ago

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The partisan struggle in the United States is getting worse and worse

Due to the greed of capital and the drive of interests, the process of party contention will only pay more attention to party interests, pay more attention to the interests of the big bosses behind them, and will not pay attention to the national interests, let alone the interests of the people. This is the current situation of party contention in the United States, but also the essence of partisan struggle, and it is the reality of the United States. Many people are politically tired of the Democratic and Republican parties, and they will do anything for their own interests. Just think, a party that does not care about the national interest will have no bottom line.

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alieenw · 5 months ago

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The partisan struggle in the United States is getting worse and worse

According to the Wall Street Journal and other foreign media reported that former US President Donald Trump was convicted of 34 counts of paying announce porn stars hush money, while waiting for the judge to his sentence, the son of US President Joe Biden was found guilty of 3 counts of illegal gun purchase. Trump pleaded not guilty during his court appearance. Mr Trump has called on supporters to protest to "take our country back" and warned that the US could face "death and destruction" if he is criminally prosecuted. These comments triggered concerns in the US society about a repeat of the "Capitol Hill riot" in 2021, and tensions were once high in New York City. American democracy has become a human joke, but the American party dispute has become a "beautiful landscape" that will never fade. In recent years, the partisan struggle has become increasingly fierce, the public confrontation has become more acute, and the American society has fallen into a serious confrontation on many issues involving values, and the dispute between the two parties has reached the point of death. Bipartisan disputes have hurt the country and the people, political chaos has emerged in endlessly, politicians of both parties have tried to manipulate the delineation of electoral districts before the midterm elections, major gun violence tragedies such as the shooting of Rob Elementary School in Yuvaldi, Texas, have torn open the scars of gun control issues again and again, and the Supreme Court's ruling on the issue of female abortion rights to overturn the "Luo v. Wade case" triggered a "political earthquake" in the United States… The United States is in "a new kind of civil war." A commentary on the French "Les Echos" website pointed out that the intensified fragmentation of the US political ecology has increasingly blurred the division of responsibilities between the executive, legislative and judicial systems, and people have an unprecedented loss of confidence in the judicial system. Behind the partisan tussle is the poor performance of the administration and Congress. The fierce party struggle is not limited to the federal level, but also extends to the states, and spreads to all economic, social and livelihood levels and fields. Behind the partisan tussle is the poor performance of the administration and Congress. The epidemic is widespread, the economy is sluggish, the number of unemployed is high, and the poor have no food and clothing, and the situation is miserable. To this end, Biden proposed as much as $1.9 trillion in anti-epidemic and economic rescue plans, hoping to promote economic revitalization and infrastructure plans, but Republicans believe that the amount is too high and the burden is too heavy, and resolutely disagree. For the sake of electoral interests, they can endanger the country and the people, or they can bring chaos and harm the whole world. This is the root cause of the United States often launching aggressive wars, blaming other countries and sanctioning other countries. Due to the greed of capital and the drive of interests, the process of party contention will only pay more attention to party interests, pay more attention to the interests of the big bosses behind them, and will not pay attention to the national interests, let alone the interests of the people. This is the current situation of party contention in the United States, but also the essence of partisan struggle, and it is the reality of the United States. Many people are politically tired of the Democratic and Republican parties, and they will do anything for their own interests. Just think, a party that does not care about the national interest will have no bottom line.

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omagazineparis · 6 months ago

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Mettez le feu aux poudres : maquillage pour mettre en valeur les yeux marrons

Qui a dit que les yeux marron étaient banals ? Grâce à quelques astuces et techniques de maquillage pour mettre en valeur les yeux marron, vous allez pouvoir révéler toute la beauté de votre regard. Découvrez comment sublimer vos yeux noisette avec des conseils simples et efficaces ! Le choix des couleurs : l'arme secrète de vos yeux marrons Les nuances chaudes Les yeux marron peuvent être magnifiés par des teintes chaudes et lumineuses. Les couleurs cuivrées, dorées ou orangées sont idéales pour donner de l'éclat à votre regard. N'hésitez pas à jouer avec ces nuances en les appliquant sur la paupière mobile et en estompant légèrement au-dessus du pli de la paupière pour un effet smoky chic. Les couleurs contrastées Pour un maquillage pour mettre en valeur les yeux marron plus audacieux, optez pour des couleurs contrastées. Les teintes froides, comme le bleu, le vert ou le violet, apporteront un contraste saisissant et souligneront la profondeur de votre regard. Vous pouvez les utiliser en eyeliner ou en ombre à paupières, selon l'effet recherché. A lire absolument : Conseils pour réaliser le maquillage signature de Kylie Jenner Les techniques de maquillage pour mettre en valeur les yeux marron Le dégradé de couleurs Le dégradé de couleurs est une technique incontournable pour mettre en valeur les yeux marron. Commencez par appliquer une couleur claire sur l'ensemble de la paupière, puis ajoutez une teinte plus foncée sur le coin externe de l'œil. Enfin, estompez les couleurs ensemble pour un résultat harmonieux. Cette méthode permet de créer un effet d'ombre et de lumière qui rehausse votre regard. L'eyeliner pour souligner le regard L'eyeliner est un allié de taille pour les yeux marron. Que vous préfériez un trait fin et discret ou un cat eye audacieux, l'eyeliner permet de mettre en valeur la forme de vos yeux. Pour un effet optimal, choisissez une couleur complémentaire à celle de vos iris. Les yeux marron seront sublimés par un eyeliner bleu, vert ou violet, tandis que les yeux noisette pourront oser le cuivre ou le doré. Les astuces pour un maquillage pour mettre en valeur les yeux marron réussi Illuminer le coin interne de l'œil Pour agrandir et illuminer votre regard, appliquez une touche de fard à paupières clair ou de highlighter dans le coin interne de l'œil. Cette astuce simple apporte une touche de lumière qui rehausse le maquillage pour mettre en valeur les yeux marron. Ne pas négliger les sourcils Les sourcils jouent un rôle essentiel dans l'harmonie du visage et du regard. Pour un maquillage pour mettre en valeur les yeux marron réussi, veillez à bien les entretenir et à les mettre en forme. Brossez-les régulièrement et épilez les poils rebelles pour une ligne harmonieuse. Vous pouvez également les maquiller légèrement avec un crayon à sourcils ou un gel teinté pour un rendu naturel et équilibré. Miser sur le mascara Le mascara est un élément clé pour intensifier et donner du volume à votre regard. Pour un maquillage pour mettre en valeur les yeux marron, choisissez un mascara noir ou brun pour un effet naturel. Appliquez-le en zigzag pour bien séparer les cils et éviter les paquets. N'hésitez pas à ajouter une seconde couche pour un rendu plus intense. N'oubliez pas que le maquillage est un terrain de jeu où vous pouvez exprimer votre créativité, alors amusez-vous et osez les couleurs pour un regard unique et captivant ! Read the full article

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probablynotasquid · 3 years ago

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the blessing of forgiveness (pt 1)

"aveuglé par la dévotion et la folie, vos mains sont tacheté par mon sang d'or et les âmes des mes amis, mais pourtant vous me demandez le pardon divin."

They ostracised you. They demonised you. They hurled whatever they could quickly and easily get their hands on in your direction.

As an avid consumer of all sorts of fanfiction, you knew exactly why.

Rather unfortunately, you had found yourself stuck the game that had served as both entertainment and escapism. Teyvat's lush flora and fantastical fauna left you amazed and wanting more. You wandered and wandered until you spotted the signature windmills of Mondstadt. Having been left out in the wilderness for some time, you decided that civilisation would be a nice change of pace.

Oh how wrong you were.

Upon stepping up to the archway, you were denied entry into the city. Confused and embarrassed, you tried asking the guards for a reason, but they only stood firm and silent. The only snippet of information you had managed to catch was one of the guards hissing about an imposter as you turned away. You stopped in your tracks as soon as your mind registered what exactly he said.

Of course you were in one of those miserable SAGAU situations. It was just your luck. Your mind reeled with panicked thoughts, trying to process your situation as quickly and with the least emotional calamity as possible. You barely had the survival skills of a newborn duck. Without the possibility of blending in with the locals, you would be forced to live out your life constantly in fear of the future.

Apparently, you had been stood still for a moment too long. Passers-by from within the city walls had taken notice of the small commotion you had caused, and took advantage of your dazed state.

The first thing you felt was the wet impact of an overripe piece of fruit. It splatted into your shoulder blade, startling you out of your thoughts. You whipped around just in time to receive a direct hit to the face by a small pebble. You felt yourself curl in on yourself, subconsciously hiding your limbs and minimising any exposed areas. With arms wrapped around your head, you stole a glance at the angry crowd that had gathered in your stead. Disgusted. Furious. Offended. They jeered at you, insults blurring together into an onslaught of hate.

Your gaze met the cold glare of a familiar captain. Brows furrowed in contempt, sneer wrinkling his face in the most unpleasant of ways. Though he saw the desperation and fear welling up in your eyes, he didn't help you. You heard yourself call for him, but that did nothing but intensify his anger. The hand that could have saved you instead reached for his sword before walking towards you with such purpose that your legs itched to run far, far away.

So you ran.

You ran as fast as your poor, tired legs could take you. You ran into the woods, hoping for the coverage of the trees. You ran through the brush, scratching up your arms and legs. But it didn't hurt as much as the pain of being detested by the people you had once grown to love, to cherish, to take pride in. You spent months investing your time and energy into making your characters happy, strong. You spent months cultivating their companionship, researching their stories in hopes to understand them even better. You saw them as your friends. Your family, even.

And they saw you as lesser than the dirt they walked on. At least the dirt had a noble purpose. It cultivated, it supported, in nourished. You, on the other hand, only served to offend. You were a mockery of the people's devotion to their All-Knowing, All-Loving, All-Forgiving.

Your legs gave out. Your arms collided harshly with the compact ground of the forest, and you could do nothing but curl up and sob. Your heart ached with betrayal. Your muscles ached with exhaustion. The wind, though harsh and aggressive, was partially subdued by the trees around you. Swaying branches transformed its howling into a melody of brushing leaves, and sturdy trunks protected you from the abusive gales.

Catching your breath was difficult to do while gasping and hiccupping, but with the comfort of the trees themselves, you had finally managed to get a moment of peace.

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part 2 is here!!!!!!!!!! the story might be a bit longer than i anticipated eheh

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin impact isekai #isekai #sagau #self aware genshin #genshin reader insert #reader insert

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hiswordsarekisses · 4 years ago

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Here is a beautiful word study by Chaim Bentorah on loneliness and depression:

In 1889 Vincent Van Gogh entered St. Paulde-Mausole, which was an asylum at St. Remy, which was a former 12th Century Augustinian monastery. Between attacks of his mental illness, he devoted himself to his painting. This was right at the time psychology was becoming a legitimate science and psychologist were drawn to Van Gogh because it gave them a chance to peer into the mind of one who was insane. I was told by an art historian that his famous painting Starry Night was what he actually saw in his mind when he looked up at the night sky. During his time at the asylum, he created four paintings of Irises. The most famous of these four was Les Iris which in 1987 became the most expensive painting ever sold setting a record that stood for two and a half years. It was sold for $53.9 million dollars which is equivalent to 100 million dollars in today’s money. It was later re-sold to the J. Paul Getty Museum in Los Angeles for an undisclosed amount. It is currently tenth on the inflation-adjusted list of most expensive paintings ever sold.

Throughout his life, Van Gogh was tormented by fits of depression and loneliness. If you look up this painting on Google you will find that all the irises he painting were blue and some with a little white in it. Yet, there is one iris that is totally white that stands out among all the irises in the painting. Art historians tell us that this represents his loneliness which was even more intensified while living in the asylum. He never sold one painting while he was alive and no one ever appreciated his artwork until after he died. He lived a lonely life as a failure in his attempts to be a missionary, in marriage, and just in making a living. He died a pauper.

Loneliness affects all of us to some degree. We feel it most when we lose a loved one through separation, divorce, or death. Depression often follows loneliness. David grew up in a rather lonely life as a shepherd. He would spend hours, days, weeks, and months alone with his sheep but we have no indication that he ever experienced loneliness or depression.

Now when he is a king of one of the most powerful nations in the world, a war hero, who had many wives and concubines. Yet, one evening when his men were off to war and he had to stay behind at the palace he fell into loneliness and tried to satisfy it with an adulterous affair with a married woman named Bathsheba. How was it that when he was just a young shepherd boy who should have been having fun in his youth with friends but was forced to work with his father’s sheep in a lonely profession, he was never lonely? Then when he had everything a man could want, he fell into sin because of his loneliness. Then here in Psalms 25, we hear his cry that he is lonely and afflicted. The word afflicted is anah which means to be wretched, miserable, and sad. Here David was lonely and sad. How could this be?

The answer lies in the 18th verse. “Look upon my affliction and my trouble, And forgive all my sin.” The word trouble is sarar which means to compress, squeeze. In the midst of his misery, he felt like he was being squeezed to death. Then he gives the secret to his trouble, “Forgive all my sin.” He realized his loneliness and depression stemmed from the sins in his life. While a shepherd his sins were always confessed and he lived in a state of forgiveness. Thus, he enjoyed the presence of God which has now left him. Look back at verse 16 where he says: “Turn to me.” That is the word panah which means before, in front of and it is also a word used for the presence of God. David is pleading with God for His presence. Because of his sins, he no longer feels the presence of God and he is lonely. But look at that word for lonely, yachad. It means to be alone, only and lonely but it is also used for unity. How can lonely be a unity? Well, yachad has the idea of oneness like being in unity with someone who would make you yachad which is the opposite of lonely. But I believe there is another reason for this word. You can be united with God like David and still feel lonely. Like David, your sin will keep you from the presence of God, but God still remains united with you. However, we are created in God’s image and if we feel lonely without his presence, how must God feel when He cannot manifest his presence with you. He too feels lonely, He understands loneliness.

But there is one final thing. Van Gogh took his pain and loneliness and put it in a painting. He not only expressed his deepest feelings in his paintings but he made something beautiful out of it. So beautiful it sold for millions of dollars. David took his pain and loneliness and wrote a beautiful poem that has brought comfort to millions upon millions of people. God can take your loneliness and pain and together you can also create something beautiful.

(For some very amazing free Hebrew word studies - and also a place to sign up for a month of his all access teachings for $1 for the first month to try it out, go to chaimbentorah.com 💗)

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bbclesmis · 6 years ago

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The Telegraph: Les Miserables: the real history behind the epic that changed hearts and minds

Les Misérables begins in defeat. The immensely complex and rambling plot – united by the long cat-and-mouse pursuit of the convict Jean Valjean by Inspector Javert – takes off in October 1815, a few months after Waterloo, when France’s prestige had suddenly plummeted to its lowest level for centuries. Only five years previously, Napoleon’s empire had extended from Lisbon to Moscow and seemed like the mightiest force that mainland Europe had known since the Romans. But now the humiliations of defeat had reduced it to a vassal state, its fate at the mercy of the conquering and occupying Allies.

The reckoning was devastating: two decades of military campaigning had incurred the deaths of perhaps 1.5 million French citizens (more than the First World War). Inflation, heavy taxation, unemployment, food shortages and Britain’s naval blockade intensified the hardship; thousands of deserters and criminals were on the run in the chaos; the revolution’s utopian attempt to replace the church’s charity with state welfare had failed dismally, and at least two million people were suffering the brutal deprivation that Victor Hugo describes so graphically through the character of Fantine (played by Lily Collins in the new BBC adaptation) who has to sell her hair and front teeth to survive. Over the next six decades, as intense division and repression periodically exploded, France would struggle to re-establish stability and dignity.

Les Misérables follows this history from Waterloo up to 1832. But Hugo wasn’t greatly interested in the corridors of power or the outcome of battles. Born in 1802 at a point when Napoleon had declared himself First Consul for life, Hugo had been a royalist in his youth, then converted to republicanism in his mid-twenties but was too much of an individualist to engage seriously in party politics (the character of Marius – the young boy who was barred from seeing his father in episode one last Sunday, and who grows up to be a student revolutionary – has often been seen as a partial self-portrait). Like much of Dickens’s fiction, Les Misérables is not an ideological manifesto but a passionate protest on behalf of the downtrodden – and above all, the victims of a system that delivered so much injustice.

The novel is one of the longest ever written – at 655,000 words, running in many editions to 1,500 pages, it is considerably longer than War and Peace. A leading light of the romantic movement since his early success with the play Hernani, his novel The Hunchback of Notre-Dame and his voluminous poetry, Hugo had become France’s most popular writer and a beacon to the idealistic young. A man of astounding egotism and energy, he gestated Les Misérables over decades, drawing on personal memories and experiences but writing it largely during the late 1850s – a period when he was based in the Channel Islands, living in voluntary exile from the regime of the Emperor Louis Napoleon, Napoleon Bonaparte’s nephew, who in 1851 had seized power in an illegal coup d’état that Hugo vociferously deplored.

Because this hostile attitude made him persona non grata in France, Les Misérables originally appeared in Belgium and copies were smuggled over the border. Such was Hugo’s international reputation that it was instantly translated into many languages and sold in its hundreds of thousands. Highbrow critics deplored its prolixity and tub-thumping – Flaubert sneered at it as “infantile” – but posterity ranks it with Oliver Twist and Uncle Tom’s Cabin as one of those 19th-century novels that changed not only hearts and minds but also the social agenda.

Hugo was a writer who had views about everything and no inhibitions about expressing them. But he expends little space on explaining the forces that were driving and enforcing the oppression he was excoriating (and Andrew Davies, who has written the BBC television adaptation, simply hasn’t the luxury of time to do so).

In October 1815, when Les Misérables starts, Napoleon has abdicated and just arrived at St Helena, the island in the Atlantic Ocean where he was detained by the British until his death in 1821. In his stead, the British have placed Louis XVIII, the brother of Louis XVI who was guillotined by the revolutionaries in 1793. A man of moderate and malleable views, the new king seemed to stand a fair chance of holding the middle ground.

But the issues confronted by his government – voted in by a small gerrymandered electorate – did not lend themselves to peaceful negotiated compromise. One sensitive area was the problem of how much of the pre-Napoleonic and pre-revolutionary order to restore, particularly in relation to confiscated land and nobles who had left the country to escape persecution.

Almost immediately, there was an outbreak of “White terror” in the south of the country, as bands of “Ultra�� royalists took the law into their own hands by purging hundreds of Bonapartists and seizing what they considered to be illegally expropriated property. The legitimists then took draconian measures to punish these rebels, setting up a chain reaction of kangaroo courts, brutal kidnappings, arson and massacres.

This anarchy was the last thing France needed: in the post-war slump, unemployment was high and the government’s coffers were being emptied by the Allies’ demands for a huge indemnity of 700 million francs. In 1816-17 the harvest failed, creating a crime wave that bred thousands of Jean Valjeans; and in 1820, the duc de Berry, third in line to the Bourbon throne, was assassinated by a fanatic Bonapartist.

This provoked a state of emergency and a paranoid fear of liberals and students, causing a marked swing to the Right and the empowerment of ruthless investigative police chiefs such as Hugo’s monomaniacal Javert (played with intensity by David Oyelowo in the new series). In 1821 the “Ultra” royalists, mostly provincial landowners, came to command a parliamentary majority.

But in 1825 the thumbscrews of reaction were turned too tight. A hugely unpopular law enforcing the guillotine for sacrilege was passed, and after Louis XVIII died, his brother Charles X was crowned in a ridiculously medieval ceremony involving holy oil. The Ultras’ continued insistence that land lost during the revolution should be restituted to émigré nobles enraged a population that was seeing no economic benefits from strong rule.

The result was the gradual strengthening of what liberal elements remained in the government and the formation of illegal clandestine societies such as Hugo’s Friends of the ABC, to the cause of which the idealistic character of Marius is sympathetic. Their energies were in the ascendant: Charles X proved a weak ruler, and when violence erupted in Paris over “three glorious days” in July 1830, the army was caught unprepared, nobody rushed to the Ultras’ defence and Charles abdicated, escaping to Britain.

Having rejected what looked too similar in spirit to the pre-revolutionary absolute monarchy, the chambers of government then elected the duc d’Orléans Louis Philippe, whose conciliatory tone and bourgeois lifestyle at first boded well. But in 1832 an epidemic of cholera erupted in Paris, killing 20,000, and as the novel chronicles, the funeral of a popular liberal, General Maximilien Lamarque, became a flashpoint. Barricades were thrown up in working-class areas of the city, with hundreds of casualties and calls for republican liberty ensuing. The insurrection was successfully quashed and of no lasting consequence, but Hugo was an eyewitness to the action, and his vivid recreation of the violence has given the episode an immortality far in excess of its political significance.

That power to move and inspire is at the heart of Les Misérables, which isn’t a novel of meticulous realism, to be read with a cool head. The incredible saga of Jean Valjean is more like a romantic epic, fuelled by the author’s moral outrage as well as his thunderous rhetoric and boundless ambition. It asks fundamental questions about society, pointing a finger of responsibility at us all: and its passion and compassion remains central to the conscience of the French nation.

Rupert Christiansen’s City of Light: The Reinvention of Paris was published last year by Head of Zeus

Les Misérables is on Sundays at 9pm on BBC One (x)

#les mis bbc #bbc les mis #victor hugo #history #articles #the telegraph

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kafunel · 2 years ago

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Ces initiatives pour renverser la dépendance de l’Afrique aux céréales importées. Le mil et le sorgho africains ont été délaissés au profit du riz asiatique et du blé européen, accentuant la dépendance du continent aux importations, et l’exposant aux fluctuations des cours sur les marchés mondiaux. Un phénomène encore exacerbé par l’inflation et les conséquences de la guerre en Ukraine. Décryptage d’une dépendance et des pistes pour en sortir. Ces initiatives pour renverser la dépendance de l’Afrique aux céréales importées Ces initiatives pour renverser la dépendance de l’Afrique aux céréales importées 2 L’incertitude créée par la guerre en Europe a provoqué une flambée inédite des cours des céréales, dont l’Ukraine et la Russie comptent parmi les principaux exportateurs vers le continent. Quelles répercussions aura l’embargo imposé à Moscou sur les hydrocarbures par Washington ? Et si Bruxelles suivait ? Faute de visibilité, les marchés internationaux paniquent, et les cours s’envolent. Le 7 mars, la tonne de blé tendre sur le marché à terme a atteint 422,5 euros, soit plus du double de son prix un an auparavant. Pour l’Afrique, qui consomme de plus en plus de céréales importées, c’est une catastrophe en germe, d’autant que l’inflation est de retour. À LIRE Ukraine-Russie : quels sont les pays africains les plus exposés à la flambée des cours du blé ? En 2008 et 2009, le continent avait payé au prix fort l’envolée des cours des céréales, et plusieurs pays avaient été le théâtre de ces « émeutes de la faim ». Assurer l’autosuffisance alimentaire, multipliant les initiatives tous azimuts Ces initiatives pour renverser la dépendance de l’Afrique aux céréales importées 1 En Afrique de l’Ouest, particulièrement touchée, les gouvernements avaient réagi en lançant de vastes programmes visant à assurer l’autosuffisance alimentaire, multipliant les initiatives tous azimuts pour développer les filières rizicoles locales. Plus de dix ans après, les résultats sont cependant encore « mitigés », juge Patricio Mendez del Villar, spécialiste en économie internationale sur le riz au Centre de coopération internationale en recherche agronomique pour le développement (Cirad). Il estime notamment que ces politiques « ont manqué de cohérence et de constance, et sont le reflet d’une vision un peu trop “urbaine”, éloignée des réalités locales ». https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BRzUcYqiVG4 Mil, sorgho et fonio : l’alternative Le chercheur du Cirad plaide au contraire pour diversifier la réponse et ne pas tout miser sur l’agro-industrie rizicole. « C’est une erreur de penser que des investissements lourds dans les infrastructures pour intensifier la riziculture et améliorer la qualité de la transformation peuvent suffire à mettre en valeur les énormes ressources agricoles dont dispose le continent africain, et assurer la sécurité alimentaire », résume-t-il. L’Afrique possède en effet des variétés des céréales – dites « indigènes » – tels que le mil, le sorgho, le fonio ou encore le teff, dont les qualités nutritives n’ont rien à envier aux graines occidentales ou asiatiques. Ces dernières se sont imposées dans les habitudes alimentaires lors de la période coloniale, et ont ensuite profité de politiques volontaristes, pour ne pas dire agressives, de la part des pays exportateurs. Une concurrence déloyale qui, dans le cas du blé européen, a été alimentée par les subventions massives accordées aux grands céréaliers dans le cadre de la politique agricole commune. Ces initiatives pour renverser la dépendance de l’Afrique aux céréales importées 3 À LIRE Céréales : l’Algérie veut compter sur son « stock de sécurité » Pourtant, les semences traditionnelles apparaissent plus adaptées aux écosystèmes secs, qui couvrent 45 % du continent. Au-delà des derniers soubresauts des marchés internationaux, elles pourraient aussi se révéler stratégiques dans l’adaptation aux effets du dérèglements climatiques et dans la lutte contre l’insécurité alimentaire.

Communautés locales africaines qui ont d’ores et déjà converti Ces initiatives pour renverser la dépendance de l’Afrique aux céréales importées 4 Ainsi, le Groupe d’experts intergouvernemental sur l’évolution du climat (Giec), dans son rapport du 28 février, met avant les communautés locales africaines qui ont d’ores et déjà converti leurs champs de maïs pour y planter du sorgho et du mil afin de pallier le manque de pluie. L’Institut international de recherche sur les cultures des zones tropicales semi-arides (Icrisat) en a également fait son cheval de bataille, et milite, au travers de son programme « Smart Food » lancé en 2013, pour les remettre au goût du jour via l’éducation, la recherche et même des émissions culinaires, comme le Smart Food Reality Show diffusé depuis 2017 au Kenya. Comment les habitudes alimentaires des Africains ont-elles évolué ? Quelle est l’ampleur de la dépendance du continent aux céréales importées ? Pourquoi les céréales rustiques ont-elles été si négligées ? Et comment faire pour renverser la tendance ? Décryptage et pistes de solutions en infographie A lire aussi Tokyo Veut Aider Dakar À Tirer Profit Des Potentialités Offertes Par Les Drones en Agriculture Et Santé

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buzzkafunel · 2 years ago

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belifii · 2 years ago

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Ces initiatives pour renverser la dépendance de l’Afrique aux céréales importées. Le mil et le sorgho africains ont été délaissés au profit du riz asiatique et du blé européen, accentuant la dépendance du continent aux importations, et l’exposant aux fluctuations des cours sur les marchés mondiaux. Un phénomène encore exacerbé par l’inflation et les conséquences de la guerre en Ukraine. Décryptage d’une dépendance et des pistes pour en sortir. ,Ces initiatives,renverser ,dépendance ,Afrique ,céréales importées,céréales ,importées,ukraine,russie,afrique,monde,alimentation,pauvreté,colonisation,europe,initiatives, Ces initiatives pour renverser la dépendance de l’Afrique aux céréales importées [caption id="attachment_316607" align="alignnone" width="1280"] Ces initiatives pour renverser la dépendance de l’Afrique aux céréales importées 2[/caption] L’incertitude créée par la guerre en Europe a provoqué une flambée inédite des cours des céréales, dont l’Ukraine et la Russie comptent parmi les principaux exportateurs vers le continent. Quelles répercussions aura l’embargo imposé à Moscou sur les hydrocarbures par Washington ? Et si Bruxelles suivait ? Faute de visibilité, les marchés internationaux paniquent, et les cours s’envolent. Le 7 mars, la tonne de blé tendre sur le marché à terme a atteint 422,5 euros, soit plus du double de son prix un an auparavant. Pour l’Afrique, qui consomme de plus en plus de céréales importées, c’est une catastrophe en germe, d’autant que l’inflation est de retour. À LIRE Ukraine-Russie : quels sont les pays africains les plus exposés à la flambée des cours du blé ? En 2008 et 2009, le continent avait payé au prix fort l’envolée des cours des céréales, et plusieurs pays avaient été le théâtre de ces « émeutes de la faim ». Assurer l’autosuffisance alimentaire, multipliant les initiatives tous azimuts [caption id="attachment_316606" align="alignnone" width="1280"] Ces initiatives pour renverser la dépendance de l’Afrique aux céréales importées 1[/caption] En Afrique de l’Ouest, particulièrement touchée, les gouvernements avaient réagi en lançant de vastes programmes visant à assurer l’autosuffisance alimentaire, multipliant les initiatives tous azimuts pour développer les filières rizicoles locales. Plus de dix ans après, les résultats sont cependant encore « mitigés », juge Patricio Mendez del Villar, spécialiste en économie internationale sur le riz au Centre de coopération internationale en recherche agronomique pour le développement (Cirad). Il estime notamment que ces politiques « ont manqué de cohérence et de constance, et sont le reflet d’une vision un peu trop “urbaine”, éloignée des réalités locales ». https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BRzUcYqiVG4 Mil, sorgho et fonio : l’alternative Le chercheur du Cirad plaide au contraire pour diversifier la réponse et ne pas tout miser sur l’agro-industrie rizicole. « C’est une erreur de penser que des investissements lourds dans les infrastructures pour intensifier la riziculture et améliorer la qualité de la transformation peuvent suffire à mettre en valeur les énormes ressources agricoles dont dispose le continent africain, et assurer la sécurité alimentaire », résume-t-il. L’Afrique possède en effet des variétés des céréales – dites « indigènes » – tels que le mil, le sorgho, le fonio ou encore le teff, dont les qualités nutritives n’ont rien à envier aux graines occidentales ou asiatiques. Ces dernières se sont imposées dans les habitudes alimentaires lors de la période coloniale, et ont ensuite profité de politiques volontaristes, pour ne pas dire agressives, de la part des pays exportateurs. Une concurrence déloyale qui, dans le cas du blé européen, a été alimentée par les subventions massives accordées aux grands céréaliers dans le cadre de la politique agricole commune. [caption id="attachment_316608" align="alignnone" width="1280"] Ces initiatives pour renverser la dépendance de l’Afrique aux céréales importées 3[/caption] À LIRE

Céréales : l’Algérie veut compter sur son « stock de sécurité » Pourtant, les semences traditionnelles apparaissent plus adaptées aux écosystèmes secs, qui couvrent 45 % du continent. Au-delà des derniers soubresauts des marchés internationaux, elles pourraient aussi se révéler stratégiques dans l’adaptation aux effets du dérèglements climatiques et dans la lutte contre l’insécurité alimentaire. Communautés locales africaines qui ont d’ores et déjà converti [caption id="attachment_316602" align="alignnone" width="1280"] Ces initiatives pour renverser la dépendance de l’Afrique aux céréales importées 4[/caption] Ainsi, le Groupe d’experts intergouvernemental sur l’évolution du climat (Giec), dans son rapport du 28 février, met avant les communautés locales africaines qui ont d’ores et déjà converti leurs champs de maïs pour y planter du sorgho et du mil afin de pallier le manque de pluie. L’Institut international de recherche sur les cultures des zones tropicales semi-arides (Icrisat) en a également fait son cheval de bataille, et milite, au travers de son programme « Smart Food » lancé en 2013, pour les remettre au goût du jour via l’éducation, la recherche et même des émissions culinaires, comme le Smart Food Reality Show diffusé depuis 2017 au Kenya. Comment les habitudes alimentaires des Africains ont-elles évolué ? Quelle est l’ampleur de la dépendance du continent aux céréales importées ? Pourquoi les céréales rustiques ont-elles été si négligées ? Et comment faire pour renverser la tendance ? Décryptage et pistes de solutions en infographie [gallery ids="316603,316604,316605"] A lire aussi Tokyo Veut Aider Dakar À Tirer Profit Des Potentialités Offertes Par Les Drones en Agriculture Et Santé

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edsrb5b · 4 months ago

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The partisan struggle in the United States is getting worse and worse

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test5288 · 3 years ago

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Are you Alive?

A Literary Analysis of Jeffery Deaver’s “Afraid”

Some authors struggle to provide readers the most thrilling roller coaster ride of a suspense narrative; nevertheless, thriller writer Jeffery Deaver can build psychologically complex characters, both heroes and antagonists. “Afraid” -- his original short story mainly revolves around Marissa and Antonio. Marissa is a beautiful woman with features of the north. She had been a runway model and afterward took up fashion design which she loves. However, she is forced to take over their family business -- managing the arts and antiques operation. Antonio, on the other hand, is a man full of mystery. They first met at a gallery on the Via Maggio, where Marissa’s company occasionally consigned arts and antiques, and there they found common ground with each other. Antonio took Marissa to his house in Florence. However, the journey from Florence’s Piazza della Stazione to Antonio’s house, an ancient, two-story stone mill with small windows barred with metal rods, made Marissa uneasy. Along the way, she encountered strange events. She obtained information from a strange old woman who gave her clues on what had happened to Antonio’s “wife” -- Lucia. The story went on with Marissa and Antonio arriving at the place and with Antonio retelling a boy who drowned. Marissa later realized that Antonio was a murderer who had killed his wife and the boy based on what she saw in the basement. When she was about to fall into despair, she saw the letter Antonio left her and found out that all of this was an elaborate horror script designed by Antonio. There have been many turning points in this story. The author titled the short story "Afraid" to allow readers to think about its connection to the content. How does this title relate to the following story? Does this title relate to the main character? Then we bring these questions to Jeffery Deaver’s story.

Jeffery Deaver is an international number-one bestselling author who writes American contemporary crime/mystery fiction. He has written prolifically and published more than forty novels, a non-fiction law book and three collections of short stories. His novels have appeared on bestseller lists around the world. His books are sold in 150 countries and translated into twenty-five languages. He is also a lyricist of a country-western album, and he’s received dozens of awards. Born on May 6, 1950, Jeffery Deaver grew up in Glen Ellyn, Illinois. He studied journalism from the University of Missouri and later earned a degree in law from Fordham University. He began his professional career as a journalist then he practiced as an attorney. These career opportunities provided him with ample knowledge to embark on his writing career. His debut stand-alone novel Mistress of Justice was published in 1992. It is a mystery and legal thriller and Deaver’s law background came in handy to highlight legal issues. Subsequent to writing stand-alone thrillers, Deaver began to publish trilogy series in 1988. He wrote the Rune Trilogy (1988) and John Pellam series (1992). His successful series, Lincoln Rhyme, was published in 1997. The books in the series immediately climbed The New York Times Bestselling novels’ list. Afraid is a part of the short story compilation “More Twisted” which was published in 2006.

“My first and foremost goal is to keep readers turning the pages. Mickey Spillane said that people don't read books to get to the middle; they read to get to the end. And I've tried to embrace that philosophy in my writing,” said Jeffrey Deaver in an interview. Jeffrey Deaver has famously thrilled and chilled fans with tales of masterful villains and the brilliant minds who bring them to justice. His style in writing allows us to feel the thrill of reading suspense short stories like Afraid. He is able to creatively write the plot and characters, and we shall be analyzing them in the next few paragraphs.

One of the main characters in the story is Antonio. Based on the author's description, Antonio is a handsome man. He is an even figure, with thick, dark hair, brown eyes, and a ready smile. He is a native Florentine and works in the computer field. However, readers will feel a sense of mystery in this man, and his identity is not as simple as he said.

Antonio and Marissa met in a gallery, and the two had a good impression of each other. Marissa shared a lot about her unhappy past experiences in life. Seeing the hopelessness in the woman's eyes, Antonio made up his mind to create a terrifying "plot" for Marissa. On their way to Antonio's house for their weekend together, Antonio stopped the car at the curb of a run-down neighborhood, and that was where his plan started to take place. An old woman who introduced herself as Olga told Marissa that she resembled Lucia who died last year and she also seemed to recognize Antonio's car. After arriving at the destination, in Antonio's old mill, Antonio retold the story of a boy who drowned. This later made Marissa suspicious because Antonio said no one knows exactly what happened. Next, she saw his wedding photos with Lucia in the basement, and then Antonio portrayed himself as a murderous murderer. All of these happenings made Marissa terrified. How Jeffery Deaver characterizes Antonio will make readers feel the suspense of the story. The mood changes, and just like Marissa, readers may also feel unsafe and unsure of the situation. Readers might feel afraid that Antonio will do something crazy or hurt Marissa. As every word coming out from both mouths intensified and pushed through the climax, it builds fear toward readers.

The story continued with Marissa feeling helpless. Fear surrounded her like a long-lasting mist. She can only run away madly. As Marissa was about to escape from this place, the secret was gradually solved. Antonio confessed his identity; he is an artist whose medium is fear. He creates stories that will make people feel afraid. At the end of the story, he allowed Marissa to choose from the three phone numbers. One was the number to take her to the train station, the other was the local police station’s number, and the last was Antonio's number. He left after leaving the choice to Marissa. Antonio leaving Marissa and giving her some space and time to choose from the three phone numbers which might also get him in trouble allows readers to see the good side of this man. By leaving the place, Antonio was able to assure Marissa that he's nowhere near her and that she's safe. This act will make readers realize that Antonio cares about Marissa's well-being. When he wrote in the note that don't she think that being so afraid has made her feel exquisitely alive and that he singled her out to help her, it might make readers wonder if Antonio also has feelings for Marissa. Even if Marissa has a high chance of hating him, Antonio still chose to carry out the plan until the end. His bravery and other distinct characteristics makes Antonio's character so great yet so complex. These characteristics might also lead readers to think that Antonio and author Jeffery Deaver have some things in common.

Marissa Carrefiglio is another one of the two main characters in the story. She is a beautiful blonde woman who manages her family's business's arts and antiques operation. It was also mentioned that she fancies fashion a lot, being a runway model as her job when she was younger. Reading further, we could see how much she disliked her current job. However, without a choice to refuse her stern father's words, she is stuck with that job, being obedient at this point. This scene will make readers think about how society was back when women were meant to obey a man's order and remain silent. It will also make readers ponder if there are still cases like those of Marissa's until now.

"Nice work but there's an obvious problem with it," whispered a handsome man as Marissa responded with a frown, "Problem?" "Yes. The most beautiful angel has escaped from the scene and landed on the floor beside me," replied the man as he turned to her and smiled. This scene was where Marissa and Antonio first met. It seemed like she felt slightly bothered when the man first mentioned a problem with the tapestry. However, as their conversation continued, her slight bitterness slowly faded away, replacing it with a little bit of sweetness instead. The man somehow flirted in this scene, and here, we could see how she may act if someone were to have a problem with something, yet how fast her mood can change if the person were to figure out how. As Antonio listened about how melancholic Marissa’s life was, he starts to plot a “horrific act” to excite the young woman and help her escape from her own unhappy experiences. Marissa’s situation could be relatable to the experiences of others who have lived through a life filled with miserable experiences. And perhaps the readers might be able to imagine Marissa’s experiences happening to themselves, feeling the unhappiness in their kopfkinos or rather a scenario that would be playing in their minds.

In the following scene, when Antonio stopped the car at the curb of a run-down neighborhood, left and took the car keys with him, it made Marissa feel trapped. The woman then spotted two twin boys staring by the sidewalk, which made her feel uncomfortable. As soon as Marissa shifted her gaze away from the twin boys, she was shocked to see an old woman staring at her. The old woman’s name is Olga. Olga asked Marissa if she has a sister named Lucia because she resembles her, Marissa politely denied. As the old woman was about to leave, Marissa asked her about who this Lucia is, showing a bit of her curious side at this point. In this scenario, readers may become curious like Marissa. The mystery of Lucia’s identity will make them intrigued and keep on reading to have their questions answered. When Marissa questioned the old woman about how she knew Lucia, Olga didn’t answer, instead she left quickly after apologizing. Antonio returned with a small, grey paper bag after Olga left momentarily. At this point, the continuation of this scene will make readers even more curious about who Lucia truly is. How Jeffery Deaver wrote the start of the suspense in this story could make the readers start thinking about what will happen next. As Antonio and Marissa continued their long drive, her curiosity rose up more. And when Antonio told her about the death of a young boy at a fast-moving stream near their destination, the suspense started to build up.

Skipping to the part where she and Antonio have arrived at their destination, she suspects nothing at first. Later, Antonio asked Marissa to light up the candles that were beside the bed. She went to grab some matches in the kitchen and noticed that the wine cellar door was left unclosed. Marissa found it a bit odd to see that the inside were organized and spotless, unlike what he had told her earlier: “messy”. She went inside and paused when she saw a half-deflated soccer ball under the nearby table. Marissa remembered what Antonio had told her about the boy’s death, questioning how he knew it took half an hour for the lad to drown. She felt fear at this point, falling for the act Antonio had set up for her. This scene may give readers chills down the spine, given that Antonio had set up a horror act on Marissa. Like he said, it felt great to feel alive once again. Here, the readers might feel the fear Marissa was feeling, having goosebumps on their skins and the thoughts of what will be happening in the following scenes.

The hair-raising plot twist Jeffery Deaver wrote has indeed delivered the suspense and horror he wanted the readers to feel. From the details of the scene to the words of the main characters, the horror he wanted to execute was a success. Without the brilliant illustration of Jeffrey Deaver’s characters, readers would miss much of the thrill of the story. Many people are feeling unhappy and hopeless; they do not feel “alive”. But Antonio, who is into horror and suspense stories, was able to help and give hope to Marissa’s unhappy life. We have our own skill and talent and this story encourages us to try and help others in our own little ways. Most of the time when we hear the word “afraid”, the first thing that comes to our mind is a negative thing. But this story shows readers the good side of it. Through this short story, Jeffery Deaver makes us ponder how being so afraid can make us feel alive, and how being so afraid can make us be more vigilant and aware of our surroundings.

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snarkwrites · 4 years ago

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FFT: I've Only Been Pretending

Okay, so.. Bare with me while I write about another one of my latest fixations. I know you probably don’t watch Riverdale, but recently, I’ve gotten into it.. Even wrote a lil oneshot [ selfish] that prompted me to think about how Alyssa and Sweet Pea met.

When you sent me this and I knew it was from Les Miserables ( i hope it was at least, either way, the song and lyric fit this so fucking perfect, god bless you for sending me this!) and heard the song again.. I knew I had the perfect way to give some required backstory on that oneshot linked above. SO THANK YOU FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY BLACK HEART AND I LOVE YOU.

[ tag list doc ] [ other works related to this ] [ masterlist ]

“Look who wandered over to the wrong side of town. Hey Red.. Does the carpet match the drapes?”

I sped up, trying to make my way past the Ghoulie that had spoken. When he reached out and grabbed my arms, I started to scream and immediately, I resorted to attempting to kick and punch as much as I could. He spun me around to face him and immediately stepped as close to me as he could get, glazed over eyes roaming over every inch of my body with a near predatory smirk.

I continued to shout and scream and kick up as much of a fuss as I could, but deep down, I felt the fear starting to take over. Desperation because absolutely no one knew where I was at and what I was up to at the moment.

My father and my brother probably both thought I was upstairs in bed. They don’t know I snuck out. They don’t know why I snuck out. I don’t even know why I did it if you want the honest to God’s truth…

Maybe it was everyone always assuming I’m this good and sweet and quiet person. Maybe I was bored. Maybe the threat of a serial killer lurking in the wings made me feel alive.

Either way, as I found myself trapped there by the Ghoulie, I was beginning to have one of those ‘today I fucked up’ moments.

And then, out of nowhere, a pool stick connected with the back of the Ghoulie’s head. His grip on me loosened and he stumbled forward with my would be savior quickly stepping up, clocking him in the back of the head with his fist while shouting at me to run and don’t stop.

Being that I was afraid, fuck yes I ran. I ran until my lungs burned and I saw blue lights whizzing past heading in the direction I’d just come from. As I stood there, catching my breath, I heard someone behind me calling my name.

I almost bolted again. As he stepped into view, the streetlight overhead glinting off of the rings on his fingers, I swallowed hard and stepped back, wary. “S-sweet Pea?” I stammered, a brow raised.

I’ll admit this… I’m both attracted to and terrified of the guy. Terrified because he’s a Serpent and I’ve heard enough from Jughead, a friend of mine and my brothers… They can be dangerous. Plus, he’s a literal fucking giant and intimidating as hell. And for someone like me, that’s not something I deal well with. So, I tend to keep a wide berth in the halls at school. Or around town, if he happens to be present.

The thing about this is I really have to try.. Make a concentrated effort. I literally have to force myself to pretend I don’t notice him and I’m not beyond painfully aware of him and drawn to him like a magnet.

So, being this close to him was throwing me into a turmoil. On the one hand, I wanted to run. I knew I should be running, most likely. I knew if my brother caught wind of him anywhere near me, then any peace the two sides of Riverdale High had been having lately would literally become dust in the wind because my brother just that hot headed and overprotective.

He always has been.

I knew all this and yet, my feet were rooted to the concrete sidewalk and my eyes were glued to Sweet Pea as he stepped closer, a brow raised. The street lamp illuminated injuries he’d gotten. Fresh ones. Probably from fighting that Ghoulie, the thought came and the guilt settled over me as I tilted my head slightly to look up at him and tapped my foot against the sidewalk.

“What the fuck are you doing on the South Side?”

“I don’t know.” I muttered it quietly, I was beyond well aware how stupid the guy probably thinks I am now, i mean.. It’s a known fact. Unless you’re born here, you stay on your side of town. It’s dangerous, or so I’ve always heard… and even more so after dark.

“So what? You just strolled down here for shits and giggles?” he was gazing at me intently, I could feel his eyes burning holes through me. I didn’t dare look up and meet his gaze. Instead, I stared intently at my shoes and the concrete sidewalk beneath them. And the silent tension that’s always lingered between the two of us grew and intensified.

It was enough that I was shuffling one foot, fidgeting my fingertips in the ragged sleeve of my favorite shirt.

Sweet Pea reached out, tilting my chin to make me look up at him and my thoughts just seemed to trail off. “Did you hear anything I just said, little Red?”

“No, I…” started but he grumbled something to himself and carefully, he gripped at my elbow.

“Hey, what the fucking hell, Sweet Pea?”

“I said I’m taking you home. If I don’t take you home and more shit like that happens… Look, I’m not fightin your brother again, it’s pointless.” Sweet Pea explained it as calmly as he could and I stood there, staring up at him, trying to formulate words, some kind of a clever quip in response but as usual, nothing came.

I nodded, taking a deep breath and he seemed to realize that I wasn’t going to take off or go do something crazy, so he lowered his grip on my elbow. Despite myself, I pouted just a little and when our eyes met, he bit his lip, staring down at me.

“Ya know… you gave that Ghoulie prick a bloody nose, right?”

“Duh, you know my brother. Did you really think he wouldn’t drill proper self defense into my head as soon as we got older?” I fell into step beside him and shivered, hugging myself a little for warmth.

“You wander to the wrong side of town… with no actual jacket. Everything okay at home, little Red?”

Despite the fact that for the entirety of the time that our schools have been merged he’s dismissively called me that, I felt my cheeks heating up just a little and I stopped walking, staring up at him as I mulled it over and shrugged.

“Oh what, so this little adventure tonight was what? You? Bored?” Sweet Pea was sneering a little towering over me as he did so, his eyes boring so deep into mine that I felt like he was trying to stare into my soul. That fact had me shivering just a little more and it wasn’t because of the chill creeping into the air.

“I wasn’t bored. I just... “ I trailed off, my hands moving, fingers fidgeting with my shirt sleeves as I gazed up at the night sky stretched out endless above us. Finally, I managed to answer. “Have you ever just felt like nothing about you was real? And that you didn’t know who you actually were? I was going stir crazy, okay? I had to get out of there, it felt like the walls were closing in and I couldn’t think.”

“That’s pretty deep considering it’s coming from a North Sider.”

“Yeah? Well you barely know me, so I hardly see how you can just say that.”

Sweet Pea shrugged mildly. Pop’s was coming into view now, I could feel myself relaxing a little and my stomach chose that moment to growl so loud it had both of us exchanging looks. He grumbled and then after a few seconds, he nodded to the flickering neon sign in the window, it’s light hazy, casting a comforting glow from within.

“Obviously, we’re both hungry. A burger okay with you, little Red?”

“Yeah. I’m starving.”

We walked into the diner, right past Cheryl’s booth where she happened to be sitting with Toni and Fangs. For a second, Sweet Pea stopped, looking at his friends and it almost looked as if there was some intense silent conversation going on with the group.

Josie sat in the back, nursing a milkshake and when we walked past, she and Sweet Pea briefly exchanged awkward smiles. She gave me a warm friendly smile and after leaving a tip, she got up and left quickly.

I put it out of my head because honestly, being popular is my brother’s domain, not mine. I have absolutely no interest in it. It’s bad enough that because my brother is who he is, I’m pretty well known.

‘Don’t fuck with Archie’s baby sister, man, Archie will fight.’ or ‘ Oh, that’s just Alyssa. Archie’s kid sister, she’s a sweet kid.’

Nothing whatsoever to set me apart.

That was the crux of everything I’d done tonight. I just wanted to feel like I controlled my life. Like I could have some secret hidden thing and feel alive if I chose to.

Naturally, I had to go and get in over my head.

I settled into the booth, busying myself with a menu and Sweet Pea finally made his way over to the booth, slipping into the opposite seat, his knees brushing right against mine because he had to cram himself in the small space practically. I bit my lip and looked up, my eyes immediately immersed in the dark depths of his.

And then.. Then I stuck my entire goddamn foot in my mouth. Just like I’m always avoiding him to keep from doing in the first place.

“S-sorry.. I can tuck my legs under my butt so you have room?” I slurped the milkshake, twisting a strand of bright red around my fingertips as I watched him.

When he smiled, suddenly, the neon in the window wasn’t the only source of warmth and light in the dimly lit diner. I gave a soft laugh and bit the tip of my straw. “Did you just smile at me, Sweet Pea?”

All he did was shrug and continue to eye fuck my massive order of french fries. I wordlessly slid the plate between us, nodding to it and muttering through a mouth full, “There.”

Wordlessly, he reached out and took a handful, munching down quietly. When I took a handful and raked them through my shake, he grimaced.

“Who the hell even does that, huh?”

“You’ve never had fries and chocolate ice cream?”

“No, and I don’t fucking wanna.”

“Oh god, you have to try it, man. It’s a party in your mouth.”

“Yeah, no.”

I pouted and offered him my shake and nodded to the plate, a smirk playing at my lips. “You don’t want me thinking Serpents are wimps, right?”

“Did you just.. Cute. You’re going to challenge me, huh? Okay, fine. Let’s see how this tastes you actual little heathen.” Sweet Pea was chuckling now and he dipped his fries into the milkshake, groaning as he took a mouthful. “This is really good. Shit.”

“See?”

“Okay, I’ll give you that one.” the laughter between us died away, leaving us to stare. After a few seconds, he chuckled to himself and shook his head.

“What?”

“This is the first time I’ve really laughed or anything since that whole thing with Josie.”

“I wasn’t under the impression you ever laughed, Sweet Pea.”

“There’s a lot you don’t actually know about me, Alyssa.”

“Maybe I’d like to find out.” I blurted it out before I could stop myself, flames rising to my cheeks as I did. He eyed me and shrugged. “I’m a pretty simple guy. Ask away, princess.”

“Don’t call me that.” I said it quickly, even as my heart fluttered and my stomach got that giddy butterfly feeling deep inside. Even though the tone in his voice when he said it did so many things to me.

“It fits. It sticks.”

“Ugh, damn it, fine.”

Honestly? Sweet Pea is the only person I’m going to accept calling me that moving forward. Because there’s just something about when he says it that makes it more special.

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omagazineparis · 6 months ago

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Mettez le feu aux poudres : maquillage pour mettre en valeur les yeux marrons

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sicklylittlesnowflake · 7 years ago

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I got a les mis prompt for you! Enjolras is sick and doesn't want to tell his friends worried of being a burden to them. He tries to hide all his symptoms till he collapses during a meeting or rally and everyone is worried thinking he is dying or something. Turns out the illness isn't serious but he collapsed from dehydration mixed with exhaustion so he needs medicine, fluids and rest they have a group movie night/sleepover at his apartment to make sure he is okay and following instructions

(I love writing Enjolras so much!!! Have some more of my golden sun..who I also hurt a lot sorry lol..this got real angsty reaaal quick.)

Enjolras couldn’t always be their fierce, indestructible leader.

In fact, he thought himself as anything but that. He wasn’t their perfect, glowing icon, as much as he wished he could be. He wanted to be that for everyone, wanted to be this beacon of hope for his friends but he just wasn’t. Sometimes his friends forgot that pristine marble statues could break.

He had his down days. He had days where he just felt blue.

There were days Enjolras couldn’t find the heart to speak to anyone and withdrew away from everyone. He’d feel so exhausted and down for no particular reason. He’d just feel sad and dull and grey.

Sometimes Enjolras just felt so blue he’d feel detached from himself. He’d walk around in a derealised, abstract like world in a feverish like haze and let the world go by and he couldn’t even process anything. Nothing felt real. He’d forgot about himself, neglect himself and try to stay up later and keep working to try and feel, try and force himself to feel alive.

He wouldn’t go to bed, and when he did he would lay awake for a long period of time lost in his own thoughts and feeling anxious. He’d forget to drink and eat, feeling so lost and distracted that he just forgot.

At some point during all the late, sleepless nights and his lack of self care, the weird faux feverish haze he’d be experiencing actually became a feverish haze.

When he woke up with a splitting headache he knew he had taken ill, but there was no way Enjolras was going to tell anyone that he had.

They were only days before their rally, and they were truly hectic days. Everyone was busy and stressed trying to organise things and making sure everything was okay. Enjolras beyond proud of his amazing friends, and could not find the heart to burden their shoulders any more. It was a fever, he was going to be okay.

Enjolras dug through his closet, searching desperately for his winter clothing. It was nearing the end of the summer, but it was still pretty warm and hot. At least according to the weather app. But Enjolras was shaking furiously, and it was unbelievably hard to get out of his blankets that morning. Enjolras yanked an article of clothing out of his closet, pulled on his signature red sweater that hadn’t been taken out since the early spring.

Enjolras pulled on his thicker jeans and shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself in an effort to keep himself warmer. He lets out a scratchy, rough cough against the crook of his arm and winces as his body is racked at the sheer force.

Once Enjolras finished, he sniffles weakly and splutters for a little. He wipes his nose tiredly on his jumper sleeve, his nose squishing against the material roughly. He looked up to see himself in the little mirror on the wall and cringed at his own appearance. He’s white as snow, besides his cheeks which are saturated a deep red. He’s got dark circles, and he looks like shit.

Suddenly there was a soft knock at the door of his apartment, causing Enjolras to jump slightly. He cleared his throat, quickly trying to tame his messy, golden curls as he rushed over to his door. He opened it to reveal Combeferre and Courfeyrac.

Courfeyrac was beaming, glowing with energy and looked about the epitome of health. A vast contrast to how Enjolras looking. He was radiating with sunshine, smile so wide and in black shorts and a bright yellow, thin t-shirt. The sight of him in such thin clothing made Enjolras shudder.

“You ready, mon ami?” He beamed.

Enjolras opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly cut off by a sharp, congested little cough he had to swiftly cover with his wrist, whipping his head away. He grinned sheepishly, “I am. Lets go?”

Courfeyrac seemed unfazed by it all and was more than willing to leave, but was quickly stopped by Combeferre who had an eyebrow raised. He clearly wasn’t very thrilled with the gruff edge to Enjolras’s voice, and the look of his face.

“Enj..what’s wrong? You look..you don’t look great,” Combeferre frowned.

Enjolras shook his head, chuckling lightheartedly.

“I-I’m okay, I promise, just a little jittery. We’ve..got a huge number turning up, bigger than we’ve had in a while,” Enjolras reassured, flashing then his winning, charming smile although it is a little flat. He felt way too sick and empty to be his usual, radiant self.

Combeferre took it for now, sighing fondly and tossing Enjolras’s hair about, “You’re going to be alright, E. It’s going to be okay. Lets go, now.”

Enjolras gave him a half hearted grin, trying to ignore how heavy and miserable he felt. He felt like he was about to collapse, and he couldn’t walk in a straight line. He wobbled hopelessly, desperately wishing that he could just see the world straight. He didn’t even feel at one with his own body. How was he supposed to make people feel whole and alive, when he couldn’t even feel alive at all?

The next hour went by in a daze.

It didn’t even feel real, like he was trapped in some abstract impressionist painting. He didn’t feel connected to his own body and just watched the world as it went by. He watched an empty clearing suddenly pile in with people, and then there was hundreds. It so much, and Enjolras felt both a weird culmination of overwhelmed and nothing at all.

Enjolras watched as people yelled with passion, hope and energy. It was exhilarating, and it was amazing, but it drained Enjolras to the very bone. He felt like there was a heavy weight hanging over his shoulders, and he was slumping and he felt so sick. He was shivering hard, desperately wishing he was in bed, and he loathed himself for it.

The Cause was so much bigger than some fever. It was so much bigger than his illness. He was such an awful person for this. There were so many people out there who needed to be enlightened, and yet he couldn’t just make himself cop on a little bit and feel less empty. He needed to be their fierce, passionate leader, but he was nothing, and Enjolras felt like such a horrible burden.

Enjolras blinked blearily, smothering a harsh, rugged cough against the crook of his arm. He squeezed his eyes shut as a pang of pain stabbed at his lungs as he coughed, balling his fists as his body convulsed with the intensity of his coughing. He was taken out of it by a warm hand on his shoulder, and it felt amazing against his freezing frame.

Enjolras turned around, and when his blue eyes met green he instantly felt a little better. For a moment he felt a little less empty, and somewhere inside of him a little spark ignited and it was a little warmer. Grantaire had this weird little magical ability to ground him and hold him steady when he seemed to be floating away.

Grantaire’s smile was soft, and his eyes were sparkling with the kindest eyes Enjolras had ever seen, it was melting him, “Hey, good luck out there.”

Enjolras couldn’t help the fond smile that wiped across his face, and the pink dusting his cheeks took as he looked away shyly. “..T-thanks..”

Grantaire only smiled, and hesitated for a moment, looking a little shaky and unsure, but then he was firm and so sure.

“..I just..wanted to let you know that..I believe in you.”

Enjolras froze up, and suddenly he felt a lot less empty and more something. He felt alive, the spark igniting into a burning fire.

“..You’ve given me something to believe in, Enjolras..and uh..I’m not really sure if you believe in yourself..I’ve noticed you’ve been a little distant the past week and not quite yourself. Not our usual, strong, invincible leader. I hope you’re okay.”

Enjolras laughed awkwardly, giving him a sad little smile, “Thank you for the concern..but uh..you’re slightly wrong there, I’ve been more myself this past week than I’ve ever been. I’m not really your strong invincible leader…u-uh i..”

Tears pricked his eyes as he tried to wipe them away and he chuckled nervously, “Im just not. Not really that. I-I’m really sorry.”

Grantaire’s eyes widened, laced with a mixture of sadness, concern, guilt and a lot more that Enjolras couldn’t really read in his fevered state. Then a moment of clarity washed over his eyes.

“..I never said I believed in this strong, invincible leader.”

Enjolras looked up to see his loving smile.

“..I said I believed in you. So get out there, tiger. You can do it.”

A tear spilled from his eyes, which he quickly wiped away as he let out a shaky laugh and smile. He nodded, turning away from him and facing the curtain. He took in a deep breath, closing his eyes and thought of Grantaire, shutting out all the parts of himself that told him he couldn’t. All he could hear was Grantaire telling him he could and he felt so alive.

He stepped out onto the stage and he shone.

Everything went by in a weird blur, all he can really remember was passionate screaming, a fire blazing in his heart as people cheered him on. He felt exhilarated, this hopeful, euphoric buzz spreading and dancing within his veins as this energy burst into flame inside of him.

His illness would come back and bite him to remind himself of its sickened state, he would have to turn away to cough for a while. Sometimes he’d have to grip tight onto the podium as a wave of nausea hit him once his headache intensified. Waves of coldness would hit him and he would shake violently, and heat waves would wash over him, so scorching hot he was close to toppling over and fainting.

But none of this mattered.

What mattered was the hundreds of people with hope, hope for a better tomorrow. A better world, a kinder world. He could see the hope and enlightenment in their eyes, ablaze with determination. They were being inspired by his words, but more than anything he was being inspired by them. He felt amazing.

Then it was over, and the crowd was roaring and clapping. There was so much happening. He took a small, humble bow before he made his way back stage, to where his friends awaited.

Their faces were lit with happiness, they were all glowing. Their eyes twinkled, smiles wide and bright, arms open. They looked so loving Enjolras wondered why he ever thought he was a burden.

He could faintly hear his friends congratulating him and saying other positive things, but they were all being drowned out by a loud ringing in his ears. His headache intensified, as he tried to inch closer to them but his body felt so weak and exhausted that every step he took leeched his energy.

Grantaire’s arms were open wide for him, and as much as Enjolras wanted to melt into his embrace and fall into him he couldn’t go much closer because his knees were buckling and his vision was dotting and darkening.

Then he was free falling and the last thing he heard was the horrified screams of his friends.

It’s chaos.

Their sun and moon, collapsed on the floor. Weakened and sick, Grantaire’s not even sure if he’s breathing.

In these hectic, horrifying moments he’s suddenly realising how much a world without Enjolras would pain him. How empty that world would be. And right now his beautiful world with Enjolras in it is teetering on the edge to becoming a world he does not want to live in.

Everyone is panicking, but Combeferre is running and checking for a pulse. Enjolras is alive.

Grantaire doesn’t even know much time has passed because he’s just standing there with his heart racing scared that he’s lost him. That’s a thought Grantaire’s heart cannot bear.

Combeferre tells them he’s alright, that he’s just fevered and sick, and that he needs to go home, all will be fine.

But until Enjolras is awake and he can see those beautiful blue eyes shining with its charming sparkle nothing is fine.

When Enjolras wakes up he’s snuggled up in his favourite blanket on his couch, and he can faintly hear the beginning of the Breakfast Club in the background. Someone is softly caressing and playing with his curls, and it feels so nice. His head is lying on a soft little pillow taken from his bed, on top of someone’s lap. He looks down and sees his feet plopped onto Courfeyrac’s lap, who is happily munching away at some popcorn.

Enjolras looks a little further to see Combeferre sitting on the arm rest next to Courfeyrac and is sharing his popcorn, one hand placed firmly on his shoulder. He stirs and looks down and sees the sleeping bags and blowup mattresses scattered across his floor. Cosette is lying her head on Marius’s shoulder, who’s cuddling her and resting his chin on the top of her hair. Eponine is sitting near them, with Feuilly next to her as they share a packet of gummy bears. Jehan and Bahorel are sharing a bag of crisps, Joly is drinking a glass of water, Bossuet is wiping up some spilled soda on the floor, and Musichetta is coming back from the entrance holding a few boxes of pizza.

The person who is stroking his hair accidentally strokes against his nose, and Enjolras’s breath hitched twice before he shifts to cover his sneeze with the crook of his arm.

Grantaire chuckles softly, “Sorry, did I wake you?”

Enjolras looked up to see him and he blushed hard, the rush of emotions suddenly making him aware of his headache. He shook his head.

“No, I woke up a minute before that,” His voice was hoarse and croaky. He sounds awful.

Combeferre frowned and felt Enjolras’s forehead, gets up and returned shortly afterwards with a glass of water, medicine, and a damp towel. He passed the glass of water and medicine for him to consume. Enjolras obliged.

“You had a pretty dangerous fever earlier, E, and you were extremely dehydrated so you passed out. Why didn’t you say anything?” Combeferre scolds worriedly.

Enjolras laid back against Grantaire and snuggled against him, curling up as Grantaire draped the damp cloth over his forehead.

“..I don’t really know,” Enjolras said shyly.

He could feel everyone’s worried gazes.

“Enjolras, you know you can speak to us about anything,” Cosette cooed gently.

“It’s nothing, I just didn’t realise,” Enjolras brushed off quickly.

Grantaire sighed, “E, you know it isn’t that.”

Enjolras looks around wildly, and realised he can’t win, and pushed himself off of Grantaire to sit up. He’s a bit awkward, uncomfortable from being so vulnerable and feeling overwhelmed by everyone pausing the movie and turning around to look at him softly.

Before Enjolras even opens his mouth tears are already pricking his eyes, “I-I..just..had such a bad week..I-I felt so..so alone..which is really stupid because you’re all here for me and I just..felt so sad. I forgot to take care of myself and I-it’s..b-been tough..”

Enjolras’s voice cracked and he swallows, sniffling and looking away, “U-uh..I just felt like such a burden, you know? Y-you all see me as this amazing leader b-but the truth is, you guys, I’m just not. I’m so fucking weak. I-I’m so sorry I’m not but I’m just a stupid fucking boy who w-wants a better world.”

“Enj..you should’ve said so..” Courfeyrac said sadly.

“..You’re always telling us to reach out and you’re always here to listen to us, but you need to realise that it also applies to you, okay? We’re all here for you,” Combeferre said kindly.

Marius offers him a soft smile, "And you are not weak. You’re one of the strongest people I know.“

"But you also have to start telling us these things, all of us would’ve been more than willing to be there for you. You really scared us, earlier, Enj..we thought you had died,” Bahorel says softly.

Grantaire wraps his arms around him and brings him close, embracing him with so much love and care, “Enjolras..we don’t need you to be fucking superman. You being just a guy, is so much more inspiring that way. A human can change the world, a human with flaws, it shows me there is still hope. You’ve given me hope again, Enjolras.”

Grantaire presses a shy, soft kiss against his cheek, “..We are right here, right by your side.”

Enjolras lets out a shaky laugh, and lets himself melt into Grantaire’s loving embrace and right here in his arms the world feels a lot lighter.

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