#bataclan

[leah-lover]

Meeting again. Alexia x reader part 3.

Reader is confronted by her friends.

Saying that tension was in the air would be an understatement. After the hellos, hugs and kisses the whole team went back to the changing room and took Leila with them. So there I was standing in front of Alexia, mapi, ingrid, parti, claudia, and aitana.

The silence was loud and their glares were unforgiving. All i thought to myself was that i didn't belong in barca anymore, i was cursing myself for ever choosing to leave city before Ingrid said “ We cant talk about this here how about we go to a restaurant and have a proper conversation.”

The rest of the girls seemed to agree with her, then Parti jumped and said “ okay then we will meet at our usual spot in about an hour, you still remembered no ?” she asked me with a sarcastic tone.

Confused, I only nodded and waited for them to all get inside before I breathed again. This encounter was harsh but I had a feeling it wasnt gonna get any easier.

After an hour I found myself at a table in my favorite restaurant with feelings I buried three years ago. All the anger, shame, and sadness came back with it. I waited a little before they all came together except alexia who was running late.

“ So how do you want to start this? Maybe with an apology for what you have done.” started Patri as soon as she sat down, which earned her a jab from Claudia who told her to be nicer.

“ i don't know what had gotten into you these past three years Patri but i don't this i have anything to apologies about.'' I replied with a defensive tone.

“ yes you do carino. You let us, no goodby no nothing we had to learn the news from instagram like everybody but we are not everybody we are your family and we felt hurt. Plus you didn't talk to us for 3 years. You denied every try at contacting you. You abandoned us you……” said mapi softly so as to not sound angry because she wasn't. They all went angry; they were just hurt.

“ Look, we don't have to do this. I came here to do my job and play good fucking football. I did this for my career not to rip my insides out again.'' I replied, trying to hold back my tears.

“ Darling, we are not trying to hurt you, we are trying to understand you. We are just curious why our best friend left us. ” explained ingrid with a concerned look on her face.

“ there is nothing to understand that your bestfriend is dead. She died three years ago. I have been a walking corpse since I left. I don't feel anything i am numb to everything.'' I managed to get out before a few tears left my eyes.

I then got up and went out. I was overwhelmed and all the feeling came back rushing. Which led me to hyperventilate. Suddenly I felt a hand on my back.

“ I am sorry about our reaction. We didn't know this would happen. We acted out of love for you. We missed you. We just are so very sorry just come back inside.” said aitana before pulling me into a hug.

I then started crying, all the tears i have been holding back decided to go out all at once.

“ i love her tan, i still do, i abandoned her, i gave up on her i didn't fight for her.'' I said while crying into tana’s shoulder.

“ I know darling, I know. She loves you too. She has been suffering without you we all have. Now just come back inside please.” she added running her hand through my back.

“ i dont think it's a good idea, I just want to go home now.” I said after we separated.

“ okay. Call me when you are ready to talk, okay.” she added before going back in.

When I got home Leila was already there. So as soon as I saw her on the couch I went straight to her and laid on her chest.

“ How did it go?” she said, running her hand through my hair.

“ fucking horrible.” I answered.

“ Do you want some ice cream?” she asked. “ I will get you some ice cream.” she answered herself after looking at me.

When Leila was gone the doorbell rang so i went to answer it.

And there she was in front of me, beautiful as ever. “ I know you want space but we need to talk.” she said and I ushered her in.

“ I miss you and I want you back.” she started after sitting on the couch. “ I know I was shitty to you, you didn't deserve what I put you through. I changed carino. You motivate me to get my priorities straight. You are my number 1 priority. You matter more than football more than le and more than life itself. Please give me a chance again. Please mi amor.”

Her words left me speechless. I was too tired to start over. I just want to be comforted and loved.

[joselito28-1]

13 Novembre 2015, des terroristes islamistes donneront la mort à 131 spectateurs et blesseront plusieurs centaines de personnes dans la salle de concerts du Bataclan à Paris.

[fidjiefidjie]

Bon Soir 🎹 💙🤗 🎬

Vincent Delerm 🎶 Tous les acteurs s'appellent Terence

Live au Bataclan 2009

[cosmonautroger]

Genesis, Bataclan, Paris, 1973

[lordadmiralfarsight]

You know, the current mess around the I/P situation reminds me of something that happened after the Charlie Hebdo attack, and even a bit more after the Bataclan attack.

We had people in the International Left, Americans and non-French Europeans (Scandinavian countries were pretty well represented in that movement back then) telling us French that we deserved it, that if we hadn't been oh so terribly oppressive to our Muslim population then there wouldn't have been terror attacks. There was no examination of the ideology of the terrorists, no taking into account their motivations, no looking at their VALUES. Just ... France bad, terrorists good.

And let's not talk about how the Muslim/Arab world reacted to those attacks ...

Oh it wasn't everyone, there were a lot of voices that offered support ... and then picked up the same criticism as the terrorist fan club, in the same tone, word for word, without looking at the actual situation or what lead to it, not even a week later. Showing that they had the same assumption that France was being EVIIIIIL to Muslims for funsies.

So yeah, I'm seeing the same way of thinking, acting and talking in the way many on the left react to the terror attack on Israel. Except more. Because antisemitism "antizionism".

And looking through the tags recently, I am frankly convinced a lot of Tumblr Leftists would cheer if Charlie Hebdo or the Bataclan happened tomorrow. All you people need is the right sticker on the murder to say it's good.

I've seen enough of you people say "France should cease to be" or "UK needs to disappear" or some other insane thing in the name of anticolonialism to know that, even if Israel packed up tomorrow and all Jews left the region, you'd still argue for their murder. Because you don't want to make things better, you want blood and to kill "righteously".

It was awful then, it is awful now, and the end result will be the same : worse consequences for the people you claim to defend with your braindead takes.

[praline1968]

🕊️

Le 13 Novembre 2015, déjà 8 ans, le terrorisme islamiste frappait la France.

Nous n’oublierons jamais les 131 victimes, les blessés, les estropiés et leur famille.

Des vies innocentes brisées par la barbarie.

Ne jamais oublier, toujours combattre le fondamentalisme islamiste.

Ni oubli, ni pardon.

🕊️

[aferlog]

guys, someone's going to see Maya hawke in concert at Paris the 2nd of July? (im scared to be alone)

[andelkacroatia]

‼️WARNING: GRAPHIC AUDIO‼️

Audio of the moment when the gunmen opend fire in the Bataclan theater during "Eagles of Death" concert in Paris on 13 of November 2015 at around 21:50.

These attacks claimed 130 lifes.

[naipan]

Let’s talk about the Bataclan massacre.

Imagine that on 13 November 2015, the terrorists would enter the nightclub accompanied by their extended families.

Imagine that apart from killing 60 innocents and injuring 416, they would also take 250 hostages. Then they hole up in the building, using their women and children, as well as the hostages, as human shields.

Then they begin to murder the hostages one by one, airing videos of them tortured and begging for their lives.

All the while, they also shoot rockets into Paris, causing the evacuation of the city.

If you imagined all that, can you also imagine the French police or army not storming the place, to the detriment of the elderly, women and children held in the building?

I cannot.

(And apology to my French followers for raising that horrific memory).

https://x.com/faniaoz/status/1747693818697175211?s=46&t=UnfJHs5jrN--r9aG6DyqgQ

[meta-holott]

2015 Paris

[joselito28-1]

Merci Plantu pour ce beau dessin.

[sublecturas]

"V13", de Emmanuel Carrere en la Línea C

[curvascirea]

Comunque che bello partecipare a un evento musicale senza essere stuprati, rapiti e ammazzati

[thebroken--soul]

I have never experienced such an incredible concert where an artist puts all his energy, love and passion into his songs. And because of this, I think Dermot Kennedy just got the first place in my best concerts list.

"An evening I will not forget" 💜💙🧡❤️

[culturefrancaise]

There is no fairness in terrorism.

Despite it all, we keep on living.

I’ve been quite out of it these past couple of days but now I feel more like myself and I need to put everything down. So here it goes, The Paris Attacks. How I lived that night and the day(s) that followed.

I live in Paris. I woke up on Friday the 13th feeling good and actually happy. It was World’s Kindness Day and I had had one of the best nights of my life. I spent the day on a cloud, being carefree and giggling like a 13 year old.

I was supposed to meet a friend at a theater at 8pm, but he ran a bit late and we couldn’t get tickets. The theater was over-crowded. We got tickets for the 9pm showing instead, and went to grab a beer. We sat outside, and talked, laughed, reinvented the world for an hour. Then we went back to the theater. Sat down. Turned our phones off.

45 minutes into the movie, I saw people suddenly getting up, almost running out of the room, their phones glued to their ears. I thought “c’mon, the movie is pretty shitty, but you paid 10€ to see it, the fuck are you doing leaving not even half way through it?!”. Waited 10 more minutes. More people were getting up, phone clutched in hand. I started having a bad feeling.

So I turned my phone on. It blew up with notifications. Missed calls, texts, voice mails, you have it. I quickly scrolled through them.

“why aren’t you picking up your fucking phone??? WHERE ARE YOU?”.

“tell me you’re safe at home”

“Tell me you’re not anywhere near the shootings??????”

“Wherever you are, DON’T MOVE”

“Just tell me that you’re okay I don’t know where you are!”

“I’m feeling scared, can I call you?”

“PICK UP THE PHONE”

“Hun there’s been several attacks, I know you’re at the theater so don’t get out of there and stay put”

“Your phone goes straight to voice mail, tell me you’re at home please!”

“Bombs and shooting all over Paris, where are you?”

I remember feeling cold, thinking “not again please please please not again” and gripping my friend’s arm. Started reading him some of the messages. The guy on my other side told me to shut up, he couldn’t hear the movie. I looked at the screen and James Bond was blowing shit up, guns being fired all over the screen. I thought “this is unreal”. I tried to look up the news on my phone but I couldn’t get a signal strong enough in the theater.

Then my phone rang. My Mom. I ran out of the room on shaky legs. There were people outside on their phones, running their hands through their hair. I told my Mom I was safe, that nothing was happening where I was, that she could go to bed and that I would let her know when I was home safe.

Truth is, I had no idea what was exactly going on. I didn’t know if I could even get home. I don’t remember hanging up but I remember shaking and having difficulties breathing. Not being able to type properly to answer my friends’ texts. I think there was an announcement at some point in the theater, telling us that it was safer to stay inside  than trying to go home. I remember the fear, the worry, the distress, the not-quite panic, not yet. All we knew is that they were targeting public places and that we were in one of the biggest cinemas in Paris, full of people.

After a while we got outside. We just wanted to get behind closed doors. Our closed doors. There were rumors that there was a shooting going on in Les Halles and another one on the Trocadero. I live on the Troca and had to go through Les Halles to get there. I couldn’t go home. I couldn’t get to my safe place.

My friend told me we would get to his place, which was closer, and stay there for the night. We took the metro, which was miraculously still running. It was so empty. There was a woman, who looked completely haggard. 3 young men, joking and shoving at each other “DUUUUDE we were near the Bataclan just earlier, it so could’ve been us, maaaan”.

We got out of the metro and ran. There were people yelling at us from their windows. Telling us to get inside, asking if we had somewhere to go, shouting the code of their buildings. There were sirens screaming through the night, flashing blue lights speeding near us in a blur. I more or less remember calling my best friend, telling her I was okay, thanking whoever might be listening that she lived far far away from Paris. I got a notification from Facebook asking me if I was safe. I remember laughing. The kind of nervous laugh that takes you by surprise. No, I don’t know, am I? I’m still on the streets, where are they?

We finally got to my friend’s place and we collapsed in each other’s arms. He turned on the TV and that’s when we really realized. The anchor man was saying that the president had spoken earlier, that the state of emergency had been declared. What does that even mean? Hadn’t the last state of emergency been declared during the Algerian War? War is such a scary word.

I started shooting texts to friends I hadn’t heard of yet. Called my Mom again. Another friend who was home and scared. Before I knew it, my phone died on me. I had no way to contact the couple of friends who hadn’t replied yet. The one who lives near the Bataclan. The girl from my class who was celebrating her 25th birthday in a bar in the 10th arrondissement. I later learned that she spent 2 hours face down on the floor, in silence and in the dark, waiting for the all clear.

So we watched the news and waited. Waited for the assault on the Bataclan to be over. Waited for the sirens outside to stop – they didn’t. When nothing could be done anymore besides watching the number of the dead go up and up and up, we curled up on te couch with a blanket and watched a movie. The Empire Strikes Back. Something we knew and loved. I guess I fell asleep at some point, thinking that I couldn’t fathom how my day could have started so well and ended so wrong.

I woke up on Saturday morning and switched the TV on again. Watched it in a near catatonic state for hours. It was always the same thing. The same videos. The same arguments. Only the death toll was changing.

Around noon I decided to go home, if only to get my charger for my phone. The streets were eerily quiet. I saw heavily armed cops walking around. I saw a child running around and playing with a small dog on a playground. It made me smile. Life was still going.

I sat in front of a lady in the metro. She nodded at me and asked if I was okay. We usually don’t do that. We usually avoid everyone’s gaze in the metro. But it felt good. She gave me strength.

Outside, the streets were still empty. I had never seen the Trocadero and the areas surrounding the Eiffel Tower so deserted. I hurried home, shut the door behind me and cried. My safe place, fucking finally.

I got online. Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr. I saw so much support, I saw how much help was being offered, how much empathy. People all over the world sending well wishes. Images of Parisians queuing to give their blood, being sent home because the banks were already full. The hashtag #VoyageAvecMoi going strong, for POC and Muslims who were scared of taking public transports alone. It helped so much. It gave me hope, and it made me proud.

But I also saw stuff like “well now white people know what it feels like!” “French people should be ashamed! Look at all the support thrown their way when nobody is talking about Beirut/Baghdad/Japan/You name it!” “Don’t #Pray/StandForParis, #Pray/StandForTheWorld! Paris had it better than others!”

Do you have you any idea what it feels like to read this? I should be ashamed? I had it better? I’m white so it’s a sort of righteous retribution? Do those people not realize what they are saying? Is it my fault how the media responded? I’m generally-speaking all for #StandForTheWorld. We all should thrive towards peace for every single person on this planet. But right now, that night, #StandForParis was the #BlackLivesMatter of #AllLivesMatter. That night, that terrible, horrifying night, all we could think of was ourselves. And that’s not selfishness. That’s what terror does to you. Seeing #StandForParis meant that we, Parisians, were not alone. That people cared about us, about our city, about our home. Yes, Paris is mostly a white city, in a rich country, but how does that make the people living there monsters whose pain should be undermined? There is no fairness in terrorism.

We didn’t ask for any of this. Innocent people were killed. In January, they attacked a symbol. It hurt, it did. It hurt our values, what France stands for. But it didn’t feel the same. On Friday, they attacked us. The people. People who were enjoying themselves, going to a football game, to a concert, on a date, eating at a restaurant, drinking a beer, celebrating their fucking birthdays. Carefree, utterly innocent people. It could have been me. I was outside at a bar that evening, I was in a very public space, I was just like those people who died for being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Of course I feel more strongly for what’s happening just where I live. But don’t tell me I should be ashamed of myself for embracing the support thrown my way. I didn’t ask for the attacks, I didn’t ask for the support, but I still got both. I, a 23 year old student, didn’t ask officials over the world to light up their most famous buildings with the colors of the French flag. But they did. And I’m thankful. Does that mean that I don’t care about what’s happening elsewhere? No. Does that mean that I don’t feel like the international response is way more overwhelming for France than it is and has been for other countries? No. Does this prove once again that geopolitics govern the world? Yeah. Is it unfair that 130 dead in Paris makes a lot more noise than 400 in Syria or Irak? Yes. But is it right to dismiss French people’s grief and spit at us for being thankful? Definitely not. Let us mourn, let us grieve. Let us bury our dead. There will be time later for analysis.

We’re scared. Some claim they aren’t. Good for them, I’m impressed. I know I will be for a while. Not being scared after that night is unthinkable for me. It doesn’t make me a coward. I might be scared, but I’m not going to stop living. I’ll still go out with my friends. I’ll still take walks along the river Seine banks and I’ll still bitch about twisting my ankles on the cobblestones. I’ll still get excited about the smell of chocolate croissants and complain about the price. I’ll still look at the Eiffel Tower at night and think “ Ça a quand même de la gueule.” Paris is still beautiful, and I’m still alive.

FLUCTUAT NEC MERGITUR