#Ré reply

[thelastspeecher]

elishevart replied to your post: “It would be so funny if Stan got deaged in...”

I do like the idea of Stan getting ré-homed by school until the effect of the powers wears off

​lol yeah, the school just being like "look we're not prepared to take care of actual children here, just teenagers. so you're gonna have to leave."

Stan's pretty upset at first, but he enjoys his time with the Corduroys, which is the family he's sent to.

[toutmontbeliard-com]

Lutte contre le moustique-tigre : vigilance et action en Bourgogne-Franche-Comté

La lutte contre le moustique-tigre fait partie des priorités de santé publique en Bourgogne-Franche-Comté, où ce vecteur des virus de la dengue, du chikungunya ou du Zika est désormais implanté dans 7 des 8 départements. Installé depuis de nombreuses années dans l’Océan Indien et les Antilles (épidémie de dengue prolongée en Guadeloupe et Martinique), le moustique-tigre s’est implanté de manière significative et continue en métropole à compter du début des années 2000. Il est désormais présent dans 78 départements. La capacité d’Aedes albopictus à être vecteur du chikungunya, de la dengue ou du virus Zika, en fait une cible de surveillance prioritaire pour les autorités sanitaires et leurs partenaires, durant sa période d’activité en métropole : du 1er mai au 30 novembre. L’objectif de cette surveillance renforcée est double : ralentir la progression du moustique-tigre et limiter les risques de transmission des arbovirus dont il peut être le vecteur en métropole. Le moustique-tigre est par ailleurs très nuisant. Il pique aussi en journée, à plusieurs reprises, sa piqûre peut être douloureuse. En région Bourgogne-Franche-Comté Aedes albopictus est aujourd’hui implanté dans 7 départements : en Saône-et-Loire, depuis 2014 ; en Côte-d’Or et dans la Nièvre depuis 2018 ; dans le Doubs et le Jura depuis 2020 ; dans le Territoire de Belfort et dans l’Yonne depuis 2023. L’ARS (via un opérateur de démoustication) met en œuvre une surveillance dans les 8 départements de la région par un réseau de pièges-pondoirs, principalement sur les unités urbaines les plus peuplées, afin de suivre la dynamique de progression du moustique. Une enquête entomologique de terrain est réalisée pour confirmation en cas de nouvelle implantation, elle peut mener à considérer une nouvelle commune comme colonisée. En 2023, le nombre de communes colonisées a plus que doublé dans la région, passant de moins de 60 à près de 125. L’Agence Régionale de Santé intervient également lorsqu’un cas de chikungunya, de dengue ou de Zika est déclaré à ses services (ces maladies sont à déclaration obligatoire/DO). Une enquête de prospection entomologique est alors déclenchée pour identifier ou non la présence du moustique-tigre sur les lieux fréquentés par la personne pendant la période de virémie (présence du virus dans le sang). Dans ce cas, un traitement insecticide peut être décidé afin de lutter contre l’instauration d’une circulation autochtone de la maladie. Ces opérations sont assurées par des opérateurs habilités et spécialisés. En 2023, 49 cas importés d’arboviroses ont été signalés en Bourgogne-Franche-Comté pendant la période de surveillance renforcée, donnant lieu à 67 prospections entomologiques, qui elles-mêmes ont conduit à 12 traitements (contre un seul traitement mené en 2021, à Beaune ; 2 en 2022, à Mâcon). Un bilan intermédiaire fait déjà état de près de 70 cas d’arboviroses déclarés dans la région entre décembre 2023 et mi-avril 2024. Au plan national, la direction générale de la santé (DGS) et Santé publique France ont rapporté 1 679 cas importés de dengue depuis le 1er janvier 2024, contre 131 sur la même période en 2023 : une situation inédite qui doit inciter à une posture de vigilance et d’action. Reconnaître et signaler le moustique-tigre Tous les insectes qui volent ne sont pas des moustiques ! L'Aedes albopictus est petit, moins de 1 cm d’envergure. Il est noir avec des taches blanches sur le corps et les pattes, il a une ligne blanche sur le thorax et un appareil piqueur. Avant de voler et de piquer, les moustiques se développent dans l’eau, sous forme de larves. Chacun peut avoir les bons gestes pour éviter la prolifération d’Aedes albopictus en supprimant les petits réservoirs d’eau stagnante : vder (une fois par semaine) coupelles et soucoupes sous les pots de fleurs, gamelles des animaux, replis des bâches, seaux, pieds de parasol… ; couvrir hermétiquement les récupérateurs d’eau ; ranger (à l’abri de la pluie) les jouets, brouettes, seaux, arrosoirs ; entretenir les gouttières, rigoles et chenaux ; jeter déchets et pneus usagés ; créer un équilibre dans les bassins d’agréments : les poissons mangent les larves de moustique. Pour les voyageurs dans les zones à risque, il convient de se protéger des piqûres de moustique, de continuer de se protéger de ces piqûres au retour, durant 3 semaines, de consulter sans attendre un médecin en cas de symptômes car seule la déclaration à l’ARS permet de déclencher les mesures de lutte anti-vectorielle. L’ARS Bourgogne-Franche-Comté est pleinement mobilisée dans son rôle de surveillance et d’intervention ; l’Agence compte sur l’engagement de chacun, collectivités, professionnels, usagers : c’est la somme des mesures individuelles et collectives qui permettra de réduire les risques. Professionnels de santé : pensez aux maladies transmises par le moustique-tigre ! Les zones de circulation de ces 3 virus sont relativement superposables, il s’agit des régions intertropicales. Mais l’émergence de cas autochtones en France est observée dans certaines régions depuis quelques années. Toute suspicion d’un diagnostic de dengue, de chikungunya ou d’infection à Zika en lien ou non avec un voyage doit faire l’objet d’une confirmation biologique et tout cas confirmé doit être déclaré auprès de l’ARS à l’aide du formulaire de déclaration obligatoire. infos > https://signalement-moustique.anses.fr/signalement_albopictus/ Read the full article

[phantomtutor]

Campbell Ski Company manufactures snow skis. During the most recent accounting period, the company’s finishing department transferred 4,050 sets of skis to finished goods. At the end of the accounting period, 420 sets of skis were estimated to be 50 percent complete. Total product costs for the finishing department amounted to $234,300. Required Determine the cost per equivalent. Determine the cost of the goods transferred out of the finishing department. Determine the cost of the finishing department’s ending work in process inventory. a. Cost per equivalent unit ? b. Allocation to finished goods ? c. Allocation to ending inventory ? ORDER THIS PAPER NOW. 100% CUSTOM PAPER CategoriesAccounting homework help Leave a Reply Cancel replyYour email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *Comment * Name * Email * Website Save my name, email, and website in this browser for the next time I comment. Post navigation Previous PostPrevious For this assignment, you will write a job application letter.  Prepare a job appNext PostNext Business Writing Assignment 5: Résumé For this assignment, you will prepare a ré

[sanderssideshands]

these are some high quality hands you got over here

THANK YOU!!! they are all handled with care <3

[josefavomjaaga]

Scolded by Napoleon

Just one of these little napoleonic scenes that, when you imagine them, could easily turn into slapstick: General Mathieu Dumas, one of Berthier's co-workers, gets publicly reprimanded by Napoleon. This scene is taken from Dumas' "Memoirs of his own Life", volume 2, p. 338, and takes place in 1809, after the battle of Wagram, when an armistice had been concluded between Austrian and French forces. Dumas is in charge to oversee the correct establishment of the line of demarcation.

Though the line of demarcation had been very clearly traced in the convention, I had often occasion, in concert with my colleague the Austrian commissioner, to remedy some little infraction in the position of the advanced posts. The most remarkable was that which Prince Joseph Poniatowsky took upon him to commit on the frontier of Galicia. Being informed that an Austrian column, consisting of some battalions of militia, was retiring into Hungary, where the whole Austrian army had assembled, he passed the line of demarcation with a strong detachment, intercepted this column, took up an advantageous position on the Austrian terrritory, and pretended to retain it, as well as the prisoners and the artillery which he had taken.

I laid before the majorgeneral the well-founded complaints of the Austrian commissioner, and asked for his orders before I wrote to Prince Poniatowsky. The major-general answered, that this affair did not concern him, and that the execution of the armistice was confided to me, on my responsibility. I did not hesitate to give orders to Prince Poniatowsky to conform to the treaty, to restore the prisoners and the artillery, and to withdraw his troops within the line of demarcation.

The Emperor, who had been informed by the Prince of his incursion, and of the advantages that might result from it in case of the renewal of hostilities, disapproved of my decision. He sent for me to give him an account of it, in presence of the Prince Major General, and of the Viceroy of Italy. He bitterly reproached me and the major-general, with desiring to favor the interest of the enemy, and pay our court at his expense.

“How can you pretend, gentlemen, to decide thus, of your own authority, on matters of such importance? It is you then that command the army, and I am il ré de cope? Let us see, General Dumas, the register of your correspondence.”

I laid it before him, pointing out my last letter to Prince Poniatowsky; he looked over it, seemed in a very ill humour, and threw the register on the floor. As I was replying to the questions which he put to me relative to different disputed points in the execution of the armistice, and particularly with regard to Zara in Dalmatia, of which he demanded the immediate delivery, Prince Eugene, who was walking with him, turned round and made me a sign not to answer; but I found this quite impossible. Berthier preserved the most obstinate silence.

"You fancy yourselves very important persons, you gentlemen chiefs of the staff. I have made you too great signiors, and you flatter those of the court of Austria. If an Austrian general had taken upon himself to give such orders, he would be sent to a fortress. The chiefs of the staff ought to be only instruments; I have but to call in young Marboeuf, the orderly officer, who is in the hall, and I will make him my major-general."

After having thus reprimanded us, he dismissed us, and nothing further was said of this affair.

I just love to imagine how that scene played out: Napoleon trying to micromanage things as usual, Dumas feeling he has done nothing wrong and talking back, Napoleon talking himself into a fury over Dumas' objections, throwing stuff around, Eugène signaling behind Napoleon's back to Dumas to "just shut the f up, man, please!", and Berthier staring at a far-away corner, pretending he isn't in the room ... I'd just love to see that in a movie.

[emwritesfootball]

Holiday Threesome | Tyrone Mings and Harry Winks

okay I can't stop thinking about threesome with Mings and Winks. what do you say about this: you and harry going on holiday with your friends and harry sees on instagram that mings is in the same place as you and he wants to catch up with him so you all meet up. it's the first time you actually met him, you knew who he was and harry talked a few times about him since they're close. with tyrone being that good looking you couldn't help but check him out a few times and feel sexually attracted to him and it doesn't go unnoticed by harry, he teases you about it and later that night you end up having threesome, having harry in your pussy and tyrone in your mouth as it was h's condition. i also thought about part 2 smh about you going clubbing with you bff and her cousin when harry didn't want you to go because her cousin has a crush on you but despite it you went out, when you come back to your and harry's room you're greeted with visibly angry harry and smirking tyrone, at first you're confused with tyrone's present but when he says 'i think she deserves to be punished, don't you agree h?' it all clicks in place. ty fingering you hard while harry holds you to stop you from squirming around and moving your hips, that night harry lets tyrone have your pussy who didn't have mercy, fucking your brains out with a lot dirty talk and boys not stopping until you're completely fucked out

Gonna go ahead and do this in one go, so it’s gonna be loOoOoOng, sorry not sorry xx

- - -

Harry had whisked you away on holiday to Île de Ré, an island off the south of France, and you were in love. The two of you were lounging in the private villa he’d booked for the week, recovering from the bit of jetlag that came with flying so soon after a match. You’d just gotten out of the shower when Harry made the discovery that Tyrone was also on the island, looking up at you with the puppy-dog eyes he only used when he wanted something. 

“Yes, Harry?” You asked as you stood in front of him in just your towel, watching the blush fan out across his cheeks as he realized there was nothing underneath the towel you were wearing.

“Tyrone is here,” he said, showing you the location pics that were on his teammate’s private Instagram story. “Do you mind if I ask him to join us for dinner tonight so he and I can catch up?”

“Sure,” you replied, shrugging. “I cant’ wait to meet him - maybe he’ll give me some embarrassing stories about you on international duty.”

“He better not,” Harry mumbled, shaking his head as he typed out a message to Tyrone.

A few hours later, you were seated on an outdoor patio overlooking the Pertuis d’Antioche as you sipped a glass of Chardonnay that was produced right on the island. 

Tyrone was better-looking in person and you couldn’t stop checking him out. You’d seen him play on your tv screen a few times during away matches or when Tottenham played Aston Villa, but interacting with him in real life was a different story. Whenever you made him laugh, you would blush over the rim of your wineglass at the deep sound that went right to your pussy. 

Harry wasn’t blind - he could see the effect his England teammate was having on you and the way Tyrone was responding to you as well gave him an idea. “Are you up for a threesome?” He murmured, pulling you in for a kiss when Ty got up to use the toilet. 

“Wh-what?” You asked, shocked. You couldn’t hide the needy whimper that escaped when you thought about what it would feel like to have Tyrone’s hands on you like that, and that was all the confirmation Harry needed.

“We could do tonight if you’d like - and if Ty is down.”

“If Ty is down for what?” Came Tyrone’s question as he rejoined you and Harry. You were blushing like crazy now, and Harry wasn’t going to let you live it down.

“Go on, love,” Harry chided, giving you a cheeky grin. “Ask Tyrone for what you want.”

Tyrone looked at you expectantly and you squirmed in your seat. “I, uh, would like to know if you would, uhm, like to have a threesome with me and Harry...tonight?”

Tyrone’s gaze darkened and he leaned forward so he could tuck a lock of hair behind your ear as he whispered, “I’d love to.”

***

The rest of dinner and dessert was excruciating, your pussy throbbing and soaking your panties as your mind raced with thoughts about tonight. Towards the end of the evening, Harry started laying out a few ground rules for tonight: your pussy belonged to Harry but Tyrone could have your mouth all to himself. When Harry left the table for a moment, Tyrone couldn’t resist pulling you into his lap. “I’ve been watching that pretty little mouth all night,” he confessed, trailing kisses down your neck, “and I can’t wait to put it to good use later tonight.”

You were still in Tyrone’s lap when Harry returned, but he didn’t mind - Harry knew you were loyal to him, but he also liked to spice things up once in a while and this threesome was perfect for that. “You both ready to get out of here?” He asked, clearing his throat to get you and Tyrone’s attention.

Less than an hour later, you were on your knees looking up at Tyrone as you sucked him off while Harry was balls-deep in your pussy. You could barely fit over half of Tyrone’s cock in your mouth, but you were determined not to disappoint him, moaning around his length as you worked him over with your hands and mouth. Tyrone had one hand in your hair and the other lightly around your throat as he fucked your face, enjoying the sounds you made as you choked on his dick. Tyrone came down your throat just as Harry came in your pussy, the feeling of Harry’s cum coating the inside of your walls enough to trigger your own orgasm. 

When the three of you went to bed that night, you found yourself sandwiched between Harry and Tyrone, their hands possessively on various parts of your body.

***

Part Two

On the penultimate night of your holiday, your best friend and her cousin ended up meeting you and Harry on the island. Harry didn’t want you to go clubbing, you reminded him that he’d already had one of his friends spend time with you on the island and now you wanted to spend time with yours. Your friend’s cousin had a crush on you and you’d always known - it wasn’t really a secret and Harry knew, too, which was why he didn’t want you to go. Harry didn’t necessarily agree, but you snuck out while he was taking a mid-afternoon nap, enjoying the adrenaline rush that came with knowing you’d probably end up being punished when you came home later that night.

You were gone when Harry woke up and he knew exactly where you’d run off to, calling up Tyrone to see if his England teammate wanted in on Harry’s punishment for you. Tyrone quickly agreed, excited to watch you come undone under his and Harry’s rough hand. When he arrived at the villa, Harry told him all about his plans to punish you and what he’d let Tyrone do to your body, and the two of them waited for you to come home.

It was half-past eleven by the time you got back. You were slightly tipsy from the alcohol but also riding the high that came from dancing at a club with your friends. You quickly sobered up when you turned on the lights to find Harry and Tyrone sitting on the sofa in the living room, looking at you like fathers who’d waited up all night to discipline their daughter when she came home late. 

“H-Hi Ty,” you stuttered out, blushing a little as you tripped over your words. “What are you doing here?”

Wordlessly, Tyrone and Harry stood up and stalked over to you. Your pussy tingled at the sight of Tyrone towering over you and Harry looking at you sternly with his arms crossed. When Tyrone spoke, his eyes were on you, but his question was directed at Harry. “I think she deserves to be punished, don’t you agree, H?”

Your eyes widened and you shook your head as you took a step back. Tyrone and Harry advanced on you, but you weren’t scared - just turned on at the thought of being punished by Tyrone and Harry at the same time. Harry chuckled as you tripped on the rug and landed on your ass - the humiliation at being on the ground stinging far worse than the physical pain. “Ready for your punishment, naughty girl?”

Tyrone and Harry helped you up, leading you back to the sofa. It started out with a mindfuck - Harry kissed you long and slow, teasing your lips with his as he drew whimpers from your mouth. You didn’t even notice Tyrone spreading your legs and undressing you from the waist down when Harry cupped your tits and squeezed roughly to make you moan. 

By the time you realized what was happening, Harry was holding you down as Tyrone started to finger you. He went slowly for the first few thrusts, then added a second finger to stretch your dripping cunt as he picked up the pace. His fingers hit your cervix and you cried out, squirming in Harry’s arms as your boyfriend held you down. “If you want an orgasm at the end of this punishment then you better behave,” Harry growled in your ear when he couldn’t get you to stop moving. “Heh, good girl. Finally listening when I say something. Where was that obedient girl this afternoon when I told her she shouldn’t go out tonight?”

“I...I don’t know,” you ground out, nearing an orgasm as Ty picked up his pace again.

“Don’t. Cum,” Tyrone ordered, his eyes meeting yours as his fingers stilled inside you. “Do you think her cunt is ready for my cock?” He asked, turning his attention to Harry.

“Guess we’re about to find out.”

Tyrone bent you over the back of the sofa, giving your ass a few harsh spanks before he slid easily into your dripping pussy. You cried out, clutching at the fabric as he pounded into you. He fucked you with abandon, not giving you much time to adjust to his length and girth as he started talking dirty to you.

“God, your cunt is so tight - you’re so wet.”

“My dick is gonna destroy this pretty little pussy...fu-uck.”

Harry listened as Tyrone teased you with his words while he pounded into you, taking your chin in his hands as he looked at you, wanting in on this, too. “You gonna cum all over Tyrone’s cock, dirty girl?”

You looked at Harry, your eyes half-closed as you were overcome with pleasure. You tried to form words but all you could do was nod and moan, your eyes rolling back as your walls spasmed around Tyrone’s cock and you had the first of many orgasms that night.

Harry and Tyrone took turns using your holes, reveling in your responsiveness to them. When they were done, your jaw was sore from all the blowjobs you’d given and your pussy was aching and dripping cum.

“You’re travelling with the national team whenever Winks gets called up, yes?” Tyrone asked as the three of you were laying in bed. You nodded sleepily as you traced patterns on Ty’s chest. “Good, because I’m going to need your pussy whether we win or lose.”

Forever Tags: @chilly-me-softly @savingprivatecass @inlovewithamess @footballdaydream @brewsterbabyy @bbychilly @jamesdanielmaddison @hmminnbirdd @sweetlikesugar9 @lawsandother @eastxfeden @words-for-marcus @eatsleepbreathefutbol @hoelymolywinksy @marco-asensios @kingkepaff @meteora-fc

Tyrone Tags: @idiotsfc @qwetyronerty

Harry Tag: @footballffbarbiex @sunslittlesister

[theoppositeofadults]

1. Pfff

It might sound (and look) a bit silly but this word is a staple of French conversation and used in the right way, it will give your spoken French a bit of native attitude.

Pfff often goes hand in hand with a facial expression that exudes boredom or dislike because it is used to convey contempt, disdain and scorn.

The French use it when somebody is saying something they consider to be stupid, ridiculous, pathetic so much so that they are at a loss for a real answer and are reduced to saying pfff.

There isn't an exact translation in English, but it could be compared to sighing loudly when someone is speaking and some might even make a similar noise to the French pfff to go with it.

Here's an example of this noise in use: Pfff, elle n'avait rien d'exceptionnel cette femme. - Pfff, there was nothing exceptional about that woman.

Or, Pfff, c'est n'importe quoi - Pfff, whatever.

Remember that while it is very common, it is still colloquial and is certainly one to avoid using in front of your boss.

2. Aïe

Aïe is a sound you will hear a lot around France and it may be one that moves you to ask the person who utters it if they're ok.

The action that goes with this word is a deep frown or perhaps even a wince of pain, because it is the French equivalent of 'ouch!' or 'ow!' in English.

So for example you might say: Aïe! Je me suis piqué le doigt. - Ow! I pricked my finger.

Or Aïe! Aïe! Aïe! Je viens de me couper. - Ouch! I just cut my finger.

It can also mean 'oh', 'oh dear', 'oh no' or 'oh my'.

In this case, you might say: Aïe! Que se passe-t-il? - Oh my! What's happening?

3. Bah

Bah will make you sound as French as the French, particularly if you deliver it with your eyebrows raised, your hands turned palms upwards and your mouth formed so that both corners are pointed to the floor. Or with your eyes wide open and an expression of complete perplexity.

Bah can mean ‘I know everything' or ‘I know nothing', it all depends on the delivery and context.

Say it quickly and you can sound dismissively confident. However, you can also say it quickly to sound genuinely surprised. It can also be stretched out to demonstrate just how sceptical and incredulous you are. Or indeed how dubious you are. Everything depends on your facial expression.

Baaaah oui.... 'But of course, you are a fool for asking this question'. Or 'I think so….' (showing your hesitation)

Bah oui! 'Yes!' (showing the answer is blatantly obvious)

Bah oui? 'Goodness me! Is that really true?'

4. Ben

This is one of those French words that you're unlikely to be taught in school and it can really throw a spanner into the works when people start using it in informal conversations.

And if your name is 'Ben' then you're even more likely to be confused... particularly when you see it written down.

But the main translation for Ben isn't exactly a word.

The equivalent in English would be 'er' as in the noise you make when hesitating or playing for time at the beginning of a sentence.

For example, Et tu sais à quelle heure revient ton frère? - Ben, j'en sais rien. (And do you know what time your brother got home? - Er, I don't know anything).

If you're surprised it can also mean 'well'.

Or, J'ai gagné €10,000  à un jeu à gratter! - Eh ben, t'en as, de la chance! (I won €10,000 on a scratchcard game! - Well, you're lucky!)

It can also translate to 'of course', such as Et tu vas à l'anniversaire de Pascal samedi? - Ben oui! (And you're coming to Pascal's birthday on Saturday? - Of course!)

You could also say Ben ça alors! to mean 'well, well, well!'

5. Blow a raspberry

Difficult to spell, this is the noise that babies make when they blow out their cheeks, or the noise of someone making a farting sound.

Unlike in British and Americans cultures, though, in French this is not rude, it's simply a way of saying 'I have absolutely no idea'. It can be used as well as or instead of a shrug if you've asked something that is simply impossible to answer.

6. Hein

French speakers pepper informal conversation with hein all the time. It's one of those things that no one teaches in school, but will make you sound a lot more natural when you talk.

Hein is an interjection which is used to pose a question or seek confirmation. It is usually found at the end of a phrase, but also sometimes at the beginning or on its own, and serves a number of different purposes.

Hein?, when it's on its own or at the beginning of a phrase, is very similar to the English ‘huh?' or ‘what?', used to indicate that the speaker has not understood something and would like it to be repeated. As in, Hein? Qu'est-ce que tu as dit? - ‘Huh? What did you say?'

And just like ‘what?', hein? used in this way can also indicate the surprise of the speaker, rather than that they have not heard what the person they are talking with has said: Hein? Tu as déjà fini? - ‘What? You already finished?'

It can also be used to insist on a response, even when the speaker may already suspect that they know the answer: Pourquoi est-ce que vous êtes en retard, hein? Vous êtes réveillé tard ? - ‘Why are you late, huh? Did you wake up late?'

Or to simply solicit the agreement of the listener, like ‘eh?' or ‘right?', especially at the end of the phrase. For example, Ce n'est pas si facile que ça, hein? - ‘It's not so easy, right?'

Finally, hein can be used at the end of a phrase to emphasise what has just been said, as in Laissez-moi tranquille, hein! - Let me be, ok? (In this case, no question is actually being asked).

However hein is used, it's usually in an informal context, and is the kind of filler word you want to avoid in presentations at work or school.

7. Kif-Kif

This informal phrase will help you out when comparing multiple things that are more or less the same, or when you want to make someone believe that that's the case.

Kif-kif means ‘it's all the same', ‘it's equal', or ‘it makes no difference'. This phrase is usually used in informal scenarios to compare two options that are so similar that they are virtually equal.

For example, Si je prends le métro ou le bus, c'est kif-kif, ça va durer une demi-heure (Whether I take the metro or the bus, it's all the same, it's going to take half an hour).

It can also be used to indicate that two parties have contributed equally to something, especially expenses: Tu as payé le dîner? Non, on a payé kif-kif. (Did you pay for dinner? No, we split the bill).

In this case, the term moite-moite or moitié-moitié (half and half) can also be used.

8. Bof

If you're feeling demotivated, indifferent, or want to engage in the traditional French pastime of avoiding being positive (being honest) about things, this is a need to know word.

Plus it's a French classic, right up there with pfff, exaggerated shrugging and oh la la.

Historically it's thought that this word might be linked to the acronym of Boeuf, Oeuf, Fromage. All three foods were rationed during the German war-time occupation in France and black marketeers became known as BOFs. Overtime bof  has lost this unscrupulous association and come to mean something quite different.

Bof is a spoken interjection that translates more as a feeling of disinterest or mild unhappiness than an actual word.  

It's nearly always used as an indifferent or slightly negative response to a question, for example, - Que penses-tu de ce film? – Bof. Pas terrible. (What did you think of the film? – Whatever. It wasn't terrible.)

Similarly bof could also be the response to ‘Don't you think the film is great?' (Tu trouves pas que ce film est génial?) or ‘Do you want to go to the cinema? (Ca te dit d'aller au cinéma?), meaning an apathetic ‘not really' in both cases.

It could also be a slightly depressing reply to ça va? meaning ‘not great', ‘ok', or ‘meh'.

Considering that a normal reply would be ‘fine' or ‘good thanks' (bien, merci) saying you are just ‘alright', ‘ok' or bof actually implies that you feeling a bit miserable.

Finally, if you're going to use this classic French sound you might as well go the whole hog and Frenchify your gestures too; bof is often said with an indifferent expression and dismissive shrug of the shoulders.

9. Oh la la

And let's finish on a French classic. Any caricature of the French involves someone saying Oh là là and the best thing about this cliché is that it's actually true.

Living in France you hear it at least once a day, probably more, and after a while you find yourself saying it almost as much.

There are several meanings for Oh là là and to work out which one you're hearing you'll need to rely on context.

One important thing to note is that unlike in English (when we say 'Ooh la la') when the French use this expression it is never intended to express that someone is sexually attractive.

Here's a look at the different ways it is used.

There is the 'traditional' method, most known to foreigners and often (though not exclusively) used by women, which is the prim and proper Oh là là. This is used to express admiration, almost in the same way we anglophone girls of a certain age use the phrase 'Oh my god'.

For example, you show someone your new ring and they say Oh là là c'est trop jolie! (Oh my god it's so pretty!). It is high, light and happy. This is a good Oh là là.

Then there is the bad Oh là là.  Perhaps predictably, the French often employ the bad Oh là là, used more in the sense 'Oh my god that's freaking annoying'. .

For example: a car burns through a pedestrian crossing nearly knocking you over or just doesn't stop to let you cross the road generally or the cashier at the supermarket tells you je ferme ma caisse, moi (I'm closing my till) even though the queues are huge.

This Oh là là (or even Ho là là) is low, baritone and disapproving, often muttered under your breath.

Then there is the pièce de la résistance (which, incidentally, is not something the French say. Go figure.) - the Oh là là là là là là. Yes, that's right. Six “là”s - no more, no less - in quick succession. This is bad. This is very bad.  Not to be bandied around lightly, this is reserved for those head-in-hands, all hope is lost kind of moments which, again perhaps unsurprisingly, happen in Paris more often than you think.

This is used when the French miss a crucial goal in the (soccer/rugby/other ball sport) or when you get halfway home from CDG and realise the cab driver doesn't take carte blue.

[ley-med]

Time to dwelve back into tag games... But only one at a time. Thank you all for the tags, I’m slow to reply because exams.

First, the last one :) Thanks for the tag @actuallyfeanor

Top three ships (at the moment): Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Jon/Martin (alternatively Basira/Daisy, The Magnus Archives), Hakan/Zeynep (The Protector/Hakan:Muhafiz - a Turkish series, trust me and give it a try ;))

I’m not really into shipping though, it was hard to come up with so many names

Last song: (sorry I’m listening to these two on repeat)

King Selassie First by Pressure Busspipe

Underdog Remix by Alicia Keys, Chronixx, Protoje

Currently reading: (besides the exams material *cough*)

HItchhiker’s guide to the galaxy by Douglas Adams

Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell

Rés a valóság szürke szövetén by Szélesi Sándor - a hungarian sci-fi anthology

I might be in a sci-fi period? By the way I’m usually reading more books at the same time, but I haven’t started anything new since exams period, only finished some already started ones, and now I’m only eyeing the rest on the shelves sadly...

Food I’m craving: pistachhio ice cream

tagging @docresa @lazy2thebone @doktorwhat @lizziedoesvetpath @medblr-of-a-sleepyhead and anyone if you feel like doing this just say I tagged you please :)

[chamberofmuses]

❝ you’re not alone. ❞ (Ren for Rés)

THINGS THAT YOU WANT TO HEAR.

             ❝ —— Well I certainly hope not, or why the hell              am I talking to MYSELF. ❞

       [ He gave a little L A U G H  before giving Renard a genuine        smile. ]

              ❝ …sorry, that was a stupid thing to say, and that              was a really sweet  thing  of you  to say.  I  needed              that.  I just  never  know  how to  reply,  you know?              Thanks,  Ren,  you make me  F E E L not alone,  if              that  makes sense?  And you’re not  either..  see              now  you can  see  what  I  mean  by  ‘I don’t  know              what to say’ because now I’m just talking complete              nonsense.. I’m going to stop now.. ❞

       [ Rés gave little awkward laughs as he managed to RAMBLE        for an impressive amount of time. ]

@prisonerofmuses

[prisonerofmuses]

Rés:

     [ If Rés hadn’t known Renard so well,  this might have      been the moment he N O P E D out. Instead he tried to      hide his  SHOCK  at the  statement with  a vague  smile,      nodding as  he said a quick (and slightly  higher pitched      than normal), ]

           ❝ —— OK.. ❞

   [ He cleared his throat and  breathed out,  leaning forward    slightly and tapping Ren’s hand  gently with  his own  as he    spoke. He SNORTED a little bit,  realising his reaction had    possibly been a little bit  over the top,  he’d  simply  been    caught by S U R P R I S E. ]

           ❝ Yeah though, right as you are, let’s hope that            we’ve got a  few more  years in us yet  huh? Don’t            get me  wrong,  if I  die in my  T H I R T I E S  the            memorial album’s  going to sell like wildfire, but at            what cost? ❞

            As soon as  he said that it occurred to him that            what he'd just  said was  extremely unsettling,  his            face fell and he placed his hand over his eye for a            second before he placed it back, noticing that Rés            had placed his hand on the one that had still been            on the table. Renard he  laughed with  Rés at his            gaffe,  shaking his  head ratherish.  He snorted  at            Res' particularly  sardonic reply,  he enjoyed Rés'            humour.

           ❛ You know I think your  next album  will be very             popular  anyway,  even if it  wasn't I think everyone              would very much rather have you here.  You're not            wrong, though. ❜

            He  shook  his  head,  glancing  away  out  at  the            lagoon for a second before he returned his gaze to            his date. Laughing blithely as he spoke on.

           ❛ What is the next album about? If you don't mind            me asking. Sorry if it's privileged information. ❜

@chamberofmuses

[blogapart3bis]

https://ift.tt/2O4ScO2

S’il y a deux notions qui semblent antinomiques en apparence, c’est bien la Suisse et la guerre. C’est peut-être pour cela que cette édition 2019 du Prix de l’Ailleurs a choisi un pareil thème, dont les nouvelles primées se retrouvent dans cette anthologie intitulée Swiss Wars.

Je dis « en apparence », parce qu’en tant qu’historien, j’ai une assez bonne idée ce ce qu’il en est. Une bonne partie de l’identité suisse moderne s’est formée sur les mythes de la neutralité armée, du réduit national et d’autres fables du même calibre.

Toujours est-il que c’est donc ce thème que visitent la dizaine de nouvelles de Swiss Wars. Avertissement copinage: je connais personnellement un certain nombre des auteurs, à commencer par les deux premiers prix.

Nicolas Alucq – que j’avais déjà chroniqué en ce blog pour son roman Les Commutants – signe la première histoire, L’Appel des sirènes. Si on a vécu un certain temps en Suisse, on a sans doute eu à « apprécier » les tests annuels de sirènes d’alarme. Je suis un enfant de la Guerre froide et j’ai toujours trouvé cet exercice hautement anxiogène. L’auteur part de cet événement pour une nouvelle entre le banal et le paranoïaque qui pousse le potard de l’angoisse sur onze. C’est très, très bien vu.

Le deuxième prix va à Stratégie d’investissement, de Thalie Ré, qui imagine une Suisse où l’État fédéral a été privatisé. Les unités d’élite de l’armée sont parrainées par des multinationales, qui les envoient prendre d’assaut des ressources – pour le bien du PIB du pays, bien sûr. Mais est-ce vraiment le cas? Sans trop de surprise, l’armée n’y a pas bonne presse, mais les mauvaises langues diront que c’est parce qu’il s’agit ici d’auteurs romands.

Troisième ex-aequo, Onde de choc, de Tu Wüst, une histoire de destins croisés sur fond de négoce alimentaire et d’intelligence artificielle, ne m’a pas vraiment convaincu. Ce n’est pas le cas de son co-lauréat, Loin des vains bruits de la plaine. Avec un titre en référence à l’hymne national, l'histoire chronique l’enfermement catastrophique du pays dans un régime dictatorial. À mi-chemin entre la « Mob » et son Réduit national et un Brexit ultradur, c’est une glaçante descente aux enfers nationalistes que nous offre Thomas Jammet.

Il est amusant de voir que certains des textes prennent des idées similaires, mais pour en faire quelque chose de très différent. Ainsi, Un semblant d’espoir ou bien, de Claire Boissard, prend le contre-pied humoristique du précédent, en imaginant une course-poursuite folle et blindée de clichés entre partisans de l’ouverture et un pouvoir en place isolationniste pour… déposer une initiative populaire au Palais fédéral. Plus suisse, y’a pas!

Je pourrais citer aussi, en beaucoup plus noir, Terre de sang, de François Maret, court drame post-apo dans un Valais retranché, dernier détenteur de « l’or bleu », l’eau des Alpes. Beaucoup des histoires prennent d’ailleurs comme thème un désastre écologique. Signe des temps.

De même, Un puit sans fond et Parasites prennent tous deux le chemin d’une communauté isolée, souterraine, lointaine descendante d’une Helvétie presque oubliée. On y trouve une caste de dirigeants, en apparence parfaits, et des sous-êtres, et deux sociétés à l’agonie.

La seule autre histoire qui ne m’a pas convaincu, c’est peut-être Le nerf de la guerre, de Valérie Kurz. Mais je suppose que c’est parce que j’ai trop lu de Cory Doctorow pour trouver crédible le concept de ces industriels piégés par des hackers.

J’ai trouvé intéressant – même si ce n’est pas très surprenant – que la plupart des histoires montrent d’ailleurs des sociétés qui se nécrosent à force de repli. Et où le salut vient souvent des fêlés – ceux dont on dit qu’ils laissent entrer la lumière.

Il est aussi amusant de voir que l’armée n’est que rarement décrite sous un jour positif dans ce Swiss Wars. C’est particulièrement délicieux quand on sait que le concours a été partiellement parrainé par Armasuisse, l’Office fédéral de l’armement.

C’est d’ailleurs un point qui m’a mis mal à l’aise, même s’il ne semble pas avoir réellement eu d’impact dans la sélection des textes. Parrainage oblige, le nom de cette organisation familière est mise en avant dans les textes en préface et en postface.

Après discussions avec les deux premiers lauréats, il s’avère que la seule « censure » a porté sur les noms de certains compagnies mentionnées dans le texte de Thalie, pour des raisons bêtement légales. N’empêche que, personnellement, je ne sais pas si j’aurais pu participer à un tel concours.

(Encore eut-il fallu que j’aie eu des idées!)

Cela dit, je ne peux que vous conseiller la lecture de cette anthologie, parue il y a quelques jours à peine chez Hélice Hélas. Avec 240 pages, elle ne vous tombera pas sur le pied non plus. Je mettrais peut-être juste un bémol: beaucoup des textes parleront sans doute bien plus à des Suisses. En même temps, c’est un peu le but de l’exercice, je suppose.

L’article <span class='p-name'>« Swiss Wars » – Le Prix de l’Ailleurs 2019</span> est apparu en premier sur Blog à part.

Pour soutenir Blog à part / Erdorin:

Blog à part est un blog sans publicité. Son contenu est distribué sous licence Creative Commons (CC-BY).

Si vous souhaitez me soutenir, vous pouvez me faire des micro-dons sur Flattr, sur Liberapay, sur MyTip ou sur uTip (si vous n'avez pas de sous, uTip propose également de visionner des pubs). Je suis également présent sur Tipeee pour des soutiens sur la longue durée.

[tangyyyy]

Lucille and Eliott met when they were both very young, here is a piece of their love story. They truly loved each other, maybe in a wrong way, but love isn’t always an easy thing to live and to do. From 2014 to 2019. From Lucille to Lucas, with a lot of Eliott in the middle. 

Skids I

Friday, July 8, 2016, 8:12 AM To celebrate the end of school year, Lucille, Eliott and three of their friends had decided to go on holidays together on the île de Ré. The small amount of money they have saved during the year combined with some helps from their parents allowed them to book a small camping site for a week. Joyfully, they took the train then went to the island by bus. The first day was devoted to the build up of their small camp. They stayed awake until a very late hour, all being euphoric to live their first holidays just between friends with no parents to watch on them.

In the tent, Lucille had fallen asleep quickly, curled up in her comfy sleeping bag. Eliott, not feeling the slightest sign of tiredness, took his sketchbook and started drawing frantically.

The next day, awakened by the already bright light of the morning sun, Lucille opened her eyes. At her side, Eliott was sitting cross-legged, his body quite leaning on his notebook. Around him were piled many pieces of papers, some crumpled others intact, all covered with different black and white drawings. "Hello..." Lucille said in a voice still clouded with sleep. Eliott, visibly too focused on his drawings, didn't answer. Stretching, she straightened hard and was quickly hit by a vague feeling of fog. Looking around, she saw the remains of a joint in a shell beside Eliott. "Have you smoked in the tent?” She asked with frowning brows, her eyes struggling to stay open. "Oh hi.” He said, finally noticing her. Suddenly he leaned toward her and came to crush, more than to put, his lips on hers. "Yeah, just a small stick, for inspiration." A bad smell of old smoke floated into the whole tent. Lucille put her hand on her forehead, her head was hurting bad. So he had smoked in it? Was it too hard to go out, to get away from just two meters? Despite the growing anger, the girl made the choice to say nothing, preferring to avoid any early argument. "My head hurts..." She whispered. "I took some pills.” The young man answered quickly, distractedly. "Look!" With a sudden gesture he held out his skechbook under Lucille's eyes. The latter grabbed it and went through the many pages covered with many sketches. Everything seemed to follow a thread that clearly escaped the misty mind of the girl. While some drawings followed logically, others seemed to have fallen randomly on the paper. Sentences and simple words punctuated the story rather randomly as well. If the drawings were as usual, very well done, the organisation of them all was obviously more than wobbly.

"Have you done this all night long? -Yeah. -You didn't sleep? -No. So? That's good huh?!" Lucille looked up. It was obvious that the boy hadn't closed his eyes of all night. He had drawn features and his eyes were red and puffy. He watched her, waiting for an answer from her, unable to hide his excitation. "Yes. Yes... It's nice.” She answered, unwilling to honestly share her real thoughts. He seemed so happy, she didn't want to dissapoint him. "I'm sure it could be a huge success. -What? -I will publish it. I just have to finish it and that's it. -The... Publish it? But how?” Lucille had a hard time holding a so... surprising talk. Moreover at her wake up, in such a small tent, her mind misted with the vapors of cannabis. "I'll find a publisher in Paris! Fuck, it's gonna be awesome..." For a moment, Eliott appeared to pause, he inhaled a great breath of air and then slammed his thighs. "Well! I'm hungry, let's go to the bakery! See ya'!” As soon as he said it, he pulled on the zippers of the tent and stormed out. Enjoying a little fresh air from outside, Lucille took a deep breath and dropped back onto the thin mattress. Eliott's mind was filled with dreams and different plans, among others, that's what Lucille loved so much about him.

Friday, July 29, 2016, 9:36 pm Lucile was comfortably seated in her living room, playing a board game with her mother and younger brother. It had been an eternity that the girl hadn't spend a nice family evening, without tv or stupid fights. The window opened on the street let the noises of the terraces and the singing of the starlings in the plane trees of the little square be heard. While Lucille was about to throw the dice on the game board, a knock was heard at the front door. Mrs Guisez was about to get up when Eliott came into the apartment with a quick step. When he knew that Lucille wasn't alone at home, he used to wait for someone to come and open the door, he never came inside on his own. Surprised, the girl got up and went to meet him. "Hi.” Eliott kissed her longer than necessary in front of her family then shifted to greet them. "What's up?” He asked Lucille's mother. Since when did he talked to her mother in a so familiar way? It didn't bother the young girl but it was... New. Mrs Guisez had no time to answer that Eliott was already focusing all his attention to Lucille. "Look what I did this afternoon!” He lifted his T-shirt and showed her his bare torso. Lucille, astonished and a little ashamed of such a weird behaviour in front of her mother, didn't immediately see the little inscription on Eliott's heart. "It's... A tattoo? -Yeah." The boy replied proudly. Under a small patch of cellophane paper and covered with a thick layer of moisturizing cream, was engraved in the skin of Eliott the word "life" in black ink. The calligraphy was pretty. "Nice huh?" Lucille would have preferred to be alone with him in her room but the boy didn't seem determined to move. "Well... Yeah, yes it's nice. But... Did you do it straight out, on a whim? You never told me about it before. -I had the idea yesterday. "Life" is for Ali, for us, for everyone actually, to not forget to live, to live wildly, to do what we love, to do what we want. -But... -See, it's on my heart, I think it's cool to know that where it beats there's always life. As long as it works, there's hope. I couldn't be there for Ali so I wanted to pay tribute to him. Now I always have him with me." Eliott spoke quickly without taking the time to breathe, still shirtless, a bright smile hanging on his face.

Lucille turned towards her mother and her little brother and blushed at their lost looks. "You... Don't you think you'll regret it?" Eliott's eyes darkened, his face closed. "No. Why would you want me to regret? -I don't know... A... a tattoo is for life. -Well no, I won't regret it. -You... Your parents know?" At this last question, Eliott abruptly lowered his shirt. His eyes were now angry and expressed only contempt about the girl. "You're pissing me off.” Lucille froze, astonished by such a violence. Feeling the accusing look of her mother on her boyfriend, Lucille remained speechless for a moment. "I show you something that makes me happy, which is important to me and you breaking my balls with your fucking stupid questions! -Ellio... -Forget it, bye.” The young man turned around and got out of the apartment, slamming the door. Struggling to realise what just had happened, Lucille remained motionless for a few long seconds. She finally turned and walked slowly back to the table. "Is averything allright?” Her mother asked worriedly. "Yeah, yeah, it's just that he's a bit sensitive at the moment..." Lucille answered, minimising the whole situation. "It's not a reason to talk to you this way." The teenage girl brushed her mother's worries aside, trying to shut her own growing doubts in her mind.

[phantomtutor]

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[polinectar]

Tristesse

When are you being a grown-up lil’ kid ? 

J’pourrais ré-écrire le titre de MorMor que j’écoute en boucle, Heaven’s Only Wishful. La toute toute fin du morceau (4′00) - batterie / basse - me donne envie de 1) taper dans un punching-ball. 2) hurler comme une actrice de telenovela sous la flotte. 3) mettre mon casque et chanter ce couplet en marchant “Some say you’re the reason I feel this way - Some say, you”re the reason, youuuu’re the reaaaason” (d’ailleurs méga relou parce que si t’as juste les paroles mais pas le son qui va derrière tu notes pas vraiment le drama queening voilà). 

J’pourrais écrire plein de choses en fait. À propos de Paris et des gens que j’y ai retrouvé / rencontré. De ceux que j’ai manqué et que je reverrai. Des rires, des sourires. Du repli sur soi. De l’ouverture à d’autres mondes. Des découvertes, des trucs un peu curieux, des rues à n’en plus finir, des millions de fois où je me suis perdue sur un rayon de 500 mètres. 

J’pourrais écrire à propos de cette fille, Pauline. Mais j’en ai pas vraiment envie. Parce que ce soir, j’ai mal partout. Mal de blesser, de pas savoir m’affirmer & taper de mon (petit) poing sur la table. Mal de me bousiller et accessoirement, de pas m’sentir avancer. Ni m’sentir femme, simplement. Vieille gamine voûtée à même pas 30 ans. 

Les larmes se pointent. Elles me donnent l’air con et salé. Comme La Baleine, que je déverse sur tous mes plats et qui me fait risquer l’hypertension. 

J’pourrais écrire que je m’en fous. Mais en fait non. 

J’ai pas le coeur ou la tête à grand chose. 

Par contre, j’peux vous écrire un grand MERCI. Qui que vous soyez. 

[ezzoh]

flo-nelja replied to your post “jonathan sims :3c”

OMG tu en es à l'épisode 100, wow !

Yup! J’ai eu une période un peu brouillonne où j’ai dû ré-écouter des épisodes parce que je m’endormais dessus/n’arrivais pas à me focaliser de façon générale, du coup j’ai un peu zappé notre discussion dessus, sorry :’)

(Du coup je fais un petit break en ce moment en attendant d’avoir à nouveau la tête à ça, je me suis mise à Rusty Quill Gaming pour plus de légèreté~)

[becumsh]

Trevilieu prompt : "Stop moving for God's sake, you're only making it worse!"

Humour and angst is my favourite combination of flavours, add your ownseasonings to taste. I’m clichéd, but ugh. (this turned out to be longer than I was intended it to be)

“Stop moving for God’s sake, you’re only making it worse!”

Treville for the life of him didn’t really understand how you can make this worse. So he continued to do whathe’s always done: ignore Richelieu and proceed to do what he thinks is best.

The foundation of their over a decade long relationship, come to thinkabout it.

“Treville, stop this rightsecond!”

Treville was a straight-forward man; he approached things with asingle-minded determination. He couldn’t afford talking while he worked.

“Shut up,” he finally gritted out. “You’re distracting me.”

“And you are risking bleeding out to death sooner than it is necessary.”

Treville stopped to take a shallow breath and turned to his source ofincessant distraction and annoyance.

Richelieu raised his eyebrow and pointedly gestured at theirsurroundings.

It was Louis’ idea, to create a diversion, when the English dépêche to La Rochelle wereintercepted. At first, he was planning to burn the city to the ground, havingforgotten that it’s exactly what his troops had been trying to do for the pastmonths to little avail.

‘A plan to kidnap my First Minister,’ Louis raged.

‘Your Majesty,’ Anne tried to reason her husband. ‘I’m sure it’s amistake. George Buckingham would never have stooped so low; we’ve met him atthe ball.’

Louis pouted and when Anne had her eyes elsewhere (unfortunately toFrance and its future heir, it almost always the case), mouthed something verysimilar to a condescending ‘women’.

For he loved his Queen, Treville was in full agreement with the Kingthen. Richelieu said nothing on the matter.

‘I cannot believe you take such matters so lightly, that’s not you!’Treville seethed later, when they been on their way from Aytré.

‘Oh, you know that we are still waiting for the fort’s plans, I cannotleave the castle,’ Richelieu hissed back.

Louis ordered to spread the rumour that Richelieu and he were to head toÎle de Ré, ‘Therewill be a pleasant surprise awaiting for these fools. Leave enough men with theCardinal to fend off an attack, Captain, prepare an ambush at Pont-de-la-Pierre.’

In another lifetime if such heresy existed, Treville mused often, Louiswould’ve made a brilliant military commander. In another distant, distantlifetime.

Of course a small patrol of bloody Huguenots attempted to attack thissmall, dingy, pokey, damp, slimsy castle. Of course, because it was Treville’sregiment, thank you very much, that small patrol of damned Huguenots wasdefeated and a word to other musketeers was sent.

That sequence of events brought Treville to now, to a stalemate. Theycouldn’t leave because they risked running straight into other Huguenotswandering about, nor actually attempt to do anything but wait forreinforcements.

As Richelieu would gladly point out later, Treville forgot to mentionthat almost all his men had fallen. As Richelieu would gladly point out later,Treville himself had been wounded, poorly and hastily bandaged himself, and howcould he take it so lightly was beyond him, Richelieu. Actually, Richelieu hadbeen pointing it out to him for the past fifteen minutes.

In short, Treville was livid, bleeding, and in a terribly foul mood.

“Will you sit for a moment?” Richelieu asked primly, as if they werehaving their usual argue in Paris, not in a dingy, pokey, and sorry excuse fora castle in the middle of nowhere. “Please.”

“They might have the reinforcements standing by.”

“Jean.”

Treville winced. His side throbbed unpleasantly, and he could feel theblood soaking through the cloth. He sank down next to Richelieu, who had theaudacity to look as unperturbed on a dirty cold floor as he would during theaudience in front of the King.

“Let me,” Richelieu gently uncovered the wound to re-wrap the bandages. “Itlooks far worse. In fact, it looks absolutely terrible.”

“You overreact. I don’t feel as bad. I’ve been through worse.” May be hedid feel a little bit light-headed and tired.

“If you don’t get help within half an hour, you’ll be dead,” Richelieusaid flatly and pressed painfully against the gash. “We can’t stop thebleeding.”

“If you weren’t so stubborn and just left for the Île, none of that would havehappened.” Treville slumped against the wall. “You are fussing.”

“Andyou are, quite literally, dying to let Buckingham and the Huguenots to destroyour troops.”

“Tenyears ago you weren’t so dramatic,” Treville said.

“Ten years ago you were a reckless Montauban hero who could afford asmany wounds as he deemed necessary to get a favour from the King,” Richelieucut off sharply. “You are the Captain of the King’s Musketeers; you can’tafford dying becauseyour personal feelings cloud your judgement. This is not Vicomté deSaint-Antonin, this is not Montpellier.”

“He wasabout to stab you! If you’ve forgotten, this entire charade was set up toensure to prevent it from happening!”

“I had apistol! There was no need for you to rush headlong to him, unarmed, becausewith all due respect to your abilities, Captain, the odds for an unarmed Catholicagainst a Huguenot with a sword are not favourable.” Richelieu was breathinghard, barely keeping his temper at bay. Treville grunted when his fingers duginto his side with way too much force. Treville covered Richelieu’s hand withhis own. It trembled, every so faintly, because you didn’t survive in a worldof politics for long if you couldn’t control your body language.

But you didn’tspend ten years with a man and failed to learn his every tick and tell.

“Armand,calm down.” It was hard enough to focus and keep awake without Richelieupanicking. Oh, yes, how he could forget, the Cardinal didn’t panic. He, asalways, merely pointed out the obvious.

“I hopeyour new recruit, that chevalier, is as good at sewing as he claims.”

“Armand.”

“I amperfectly calm,” Richelieu said. He exhaled and then breathed in slowly anddeliberately.

“No, youare not.” Treville took his hand that was grasping at the dirtied folds of hisrobes and gripped it as tightly as he could manage. “For once in your life, behonest. You look even worse than I must. If I’m not careful I might believethat you worry about me.”

Richelieuturned his head and stared at him.

“Jean, youare unbelievable,” he said at last. “Of course I worry. You’ve been prancingaround the castle, looking for some imaginary Huguenots who must be lurking inthe corner. You are wounded and bleeding. And if your musketeers won’t be intime, you’ll bleed out within an hour. Why shouldn’t I worry?”

Richelieu’svoice cracked at the end. Treville didn’t like it.

“It’s beenwell over a decade,” Treville said gently. He never thought he’d have to begentle with Richelieu.

“It doesn’teven correlate to this situation in any way.”

“You know, we’ve been through this for more times than it is prudent forthe First Minister,” Treville chuckled. “I thought it was you who insisted thatpolitics doesn’t have as much swashbuckling as one might think.”

“It doesn’t.” Richelieu slipped his hand around Treville’s waist to keepthe bandage in place. “Unless you and your reckless musketeers who don’t careabout the integrity—”

“Well, I care about you,” Treville attempted to shrug but decidedagainst it. “And the integrity of your body parts.”

Richelieu fell silent for a while. The stone against the back of hishead was cold, unforgiving, and too vertical for his liking. He decided to leanto the side in search of a better prop.

“So,” Richelieu cleared his throat, “so you decided to be a recklessfool because you care?”

“I thought you didn’t need me to spell it out.” The shoulder under hischeek was bony and uncomfortable under layers of expensive fabric. Trevillefelt Richelieu’s fingers move in the tight grip of his hand. “I thought we didn’tneed to, you know, talk.”

“I think,” Richelieu’s touch was feathery-light, trembling. “I think, onthe contrary, we have talked too little.”

“Well,” Treville gasped. “Here’s an opportunity of your lifetime. I canneither walk away nor scream at you.”

“Don’t,” Richelieu asked. “Please, just… just don’t.”

Treville, for probably the first time, relented.

“Themusketeers will be here soon,” he said after a while, between laboured andshort breaths. “We still have time on our hands to kill.”

“What doyou propose?” Richelieu replied tersely, entirely focused on keeping Treville fromfalling.

Ten years was such a long time, long enough to admit that there was morebehind Richelieu’s worry than simple… well, knowing Richelieu, there was hardlyanything else behind Richelieu’s worry.

“If I promise you that I will be fine, will you stop?”

“You can’t promise me that,” Richelieu huffed, his voice thin andpapery. “There are too many variables. How fast your regiment got the message.The speed of their horses and how rested they were. If you won’t bleed out onmy robes before they arrive.”

“There’s a called hope. You should try it sometimes.” Treville winced.

“I maintain that hope stayed in Pandora’s Box for the better.” said Richelieutightly. His hand that was pressing against the gash on Treville’s side must benumb already and most likely covered in bloody crust.

Treville didn’t really know how answer that, so they fell silent for awhile. He tried to keep his breathing deep and even, fighting against thetemptation to just close his eyes and fall asleep. Richelieu propped his templeon top of Treville’s head.

Ten years was way too long to continue an affair of any kind. Especiallyif the stakes were so high. Treville rose up the ranks to the point where hecouldn’t be a thoughtless young cadet who cared only about excitement of thebattlefield. There were decisions to be made. There were decisions to fighttooth and nail against. Treville couldn’t imagine doing it with anyone butRichelieu.

Sentiment. Personal issues clouding his judgement. Care. All things thatdidn’t belong in the world of politics.

Ten years was too long to continue this.

“I hate it,” Richelieu suddenly said, jostling him out of his half-lucidreverie.

“Hate what?”

“Waiting. Stressing. Worrying. Doing nothing makes me feel—”

“—helpless?”

“—out of control.” Richelieu bit his lip. “I don’t like not controllingthings.”

“I have always thought you had an adventurous streak in you. But I waswrong; I mistaken it for a suicidal one.” Treville smiled.

“Jean…” a faint wisp of warmth brushed his temple, as if somebodypressed a light kiss on his skin.

“Yes, I know.” Treville lifted their joined hands to his lap. “I know.”

“No, not that.” Richelieu huffed at his inability to express thingsplainly.

“What? Hear that? Told you my boys won’t let us down.”

“Promise me.”

The sound of hooves was drawing closer. Treville’s grip on Richelieu’sfingers was still strong and sure.

Ten years was too long for any relationship to last. Hope, amongst manythings, wasn’t meant to last that long.

And yet.

“I promise.”