#collaborateur
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Sounds like a collaborateur to me.
Blocking and reporting every single pornbot that follows me
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c2ric · 2 years ago
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Rencontre avec Nancy Bertrand
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⭐⭐ La rencontre du mois ⭐⭐ Parce que vous nous vous faites confiance en nous conviant à des étapes clés de votre vie, c’est à notre tour de nous dévoiler un peu ! 🤩 Pour que vous appreniez à mieux nous connaître, voici quelques indiscrétions sur Nancy BERTRAND que nous remercions de s’être prêtée à l’exercice. 😉 🌍  https://www.orpi-directhabitat.immo/rencontre-avec-nancy-bertrand/ #Teamorpidirecthabitat #Teamopri #Orpi #Immobilier #Vente #Achat #Transaction #Rencontredumois #Neuville Read the full article
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vaguely-concerned · 9 hours ago
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the scene where you talk to davrin in his room while he whittles tiny models of monsters (while assan watches with rapt attention <3 there is nothing about this whole setup, man or griffon, that isn't adorable) when your rook IS one of the dainty little academic mage types he so besmirches and you consistently pick the purple options through the conversation -- I am SCREECHING the covert jock/nerd war rages on between clenched teeth and forced jollity, they are doing this on purpose, bioware really have given me this gift all nicely wrapped and lovingly crafted! rook is so fucking bitchy and passive aggressive in these purple options (and once or twice davrin doesn't seem to realize it/takes what they say at face value); it's not very nice of them but it is hilarious. also I must say that hearing these two just relentlessly neg each other with palpable tension of. SOME kind thick in the air* for five minutes straight and then walking away and seeing the 'davrin approves' pop up at the end gets close to the otherwise unapproachable gaming high that is having a tense standoff with sten in origins and seeing +7 affection as you leave. davrin clearly is going 'good talk man nice to see you stand up for yourself more, I respect the roast game' while my rook walks away with a forced smile and clenched fists like 'okay so that wasn't very mature of me I'll admit it but god why is this guy such an asshole'
I cannot imagine how this conversation must play out with a character more on davrin's wavelength because for my setup here this was *chef's kiss* perfect. ideal. I'm so glad this dynamic exists it's one of the funniest and most characterization-enriching things that could have happened to me
*there's some insanity going on here where like... I don't think either of them like want to fuck, they're not actually attracted to each other, but they both would fuck each other in a 'go fuck yourself'/'fuck me yourself you coward'/'fine I will see if I don't!!!!'/'oh yeah??? do it then!!!!!' kind of way. the vibes are indescribable and unhinged on both of their parts.
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apocalypticvalraven · 3 months ago
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The LGBT people who insist "QUEER IS A SLUR, DON'T USE IT!" just want to be normal. They're the assimilationists who line up for brownie points from cishets. They're literal pick mes to the fascists who want to kill us.
Look. I get it, academically. A lot of queer people go through a "why can't I just be normal" phase. And these people never really realized that "normal" is extremely limiting. They figured out they're gay, or trans, and they can't change it, so they seek to make sure that being gay or trans is "normal."
Couldn't be me.
I grew up a monster, mythology and dinosaur obsessed kid who spent recesses drawing or reading. When a PE class put me on a team and kids said we needed a name, I would always say "the Dragons" or some shit. I had my parents read me haunted house pop up books and Arthurian legend as bedtime stories when I was really young. I got in a fucking blow up with my parents in sixth grade because I admitted to a teacher I wished I could just be a werewolf and go live in the woods away from all the people who made my life hell.
I'm a D&D playing Satanist and Fully Automated Luxury Communism Leftist.
I was never normal. I'll never be normal. The fact that I want to wear a sundress with no underwear so my dick is silhouetted when the light shines through, that I want to touch dicks with another weird person in a dress, that I would give anything to be able to rip out the throat of people who call me "sir" with my teeth...
Like... I mean, really, it's just a logical progression.
So you're goddamn right I'm queer. You're goddamn right I'm not "normal." You're goddamn right the Straights will never accept me.
I stopped giving a single solitary shit about their acceptance more than a decade ago.
I'm only getting weirder. And I'm only getting happier.
You can pry "Queer" from my dead, fucking queer hands.
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thebigdeepcheatsy · 2 years ago
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Random Headcanon
Unlike Mr. Grasping and Mr. O’Bloat (Who are evidently rats, judging by their appearances), Mr. Toplofty is a “Les Collaborateurs-type” against his fellow mice.
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formiforma · 9 months ago
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In this article, I'm dropping some deep thoughts straight from my experience at the helm of quality control. Along the way, I've picked up on a crucial insight: truly knowing my collaborators is the ultimate key to smashing it in the quality game and reaching our goals without crashing.
In the complex game of management, it's essential to understand that getting a handle on your teammates isn't just a technique; it's an ever-evolving art. By investing time and energy into this, you'll absolutely see how it can elevate your role as a boss.
If you're itching to ace your leadership mission, I seriously urge you to keep on this quest for understanding because that's where you'll unlock the hidden talents within your team, creating a vibe that pushes everyone toward excellence.
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rhtaoufik · 1 year ago
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Écouter ses collaborateur au travail, pour rendre son équipe très efficace.
Pour assurer une bonne organisation interne en entreprise, la relation de travail entre collaborateurs et employeur doit être une priorité. En effet, la réussite de l’entreprise passe avant tout par la contribution de ses effectifs, qui doivent donc évoluer dans un environnement de travail propice à la productivité. Dans ce cadre, l’écoute reste l’un des meilleurs leviers permettant de booster…
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iweb-rdc001 · 1 year ago
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RDC: Tabu Makusi Angèle et ses collaborateurs recommandent le parti ACAC entre les mains de Dieu à travers une messe d’action de grâce ce dimanche
Les cadres et membres du parti politique Alliance des Congolais Acquis au Changement(ACAC), ont tous pris part à la messe d’action de grâce qui a eu lieu ce dimanche 25 juin 2023 à la Cathédrale Notre-Dame Du Congo, à Kinshasa. Parce que tout ce qui est né de Dieu triomphe du monde; l’autorité morale de ce parti, l’honorable Questeur de l’Assemblée nationale, Tabu Makusi Angele et ses…
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leszackardises · 2 years ago
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Voici les collaborateurs de la 6e saison de Bonsoir bonsoir!
(more…) “”
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padrebaldo · 2 years ago
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🇫🇷 #FIREPODCAST N.44 Écoutez notre VidéoPodcast et c'est toujours #120joursencénacle avec P. Baldo Alagna @padrebaldo.dj Lisons 1CORINTHIENS 3:9 : nous sommes appelés à être les Partenaires en mission de Dieu !🔥
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mercurygray · 1 day ago
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Hi Merc! May I request “grey sky” and “memories” for resistance!Joan in the BoB MotA crossover please? Thank you 💕 — @floydmtalbert
I had a little too much fun with this. Thanks for letting me borrow Lou - I hope I did okay! Paris, early 1944, Atelier de Warrenne.
The street outside was quiet, for a Friday.
Joan looked out the window of her office, arms crossed over her chest, and considered the view outside, gray cobbles under gray skies. There'd been a time once when it would have been hard to see the cobblestones - but a lot had changed in four years, and if the empty streets were only the smallest change, it also seemed like the most ominous. The question of where they had gone would not have a happy answer.
She shivered and considered reaching for another sweater, or one of her furs. It was always cold up here now, with fuel rationed, but somehow putting on another layer felt like an admission of defeat. And she was not defeated yet - not by a long chalk, even if the streets were empty and her clients were all speaking in raptures of Berlin. It was not over, and too much depended on that. Downstairs in her salon an officer was helping himself to champagne while he waited for her to emerge so he might ply her with compliments and take her to dinner. Upstairs in her attic another officer was waiting with baited breath until the man downstairs left, and it was rather tenuous whether he would get dinner at all, and that was what was going to make all of this worth it.
It was hard to remember the woman she'd been four years ago - was she still the same now, as she had been then, even after so much change? Some days she didn't feel like it. And yet the sign on the outside of the building was still the same, the labels in her dresses still the same script and scroll, the suggestion of an oriflamme. Maison de Warrenne.
Not quite French enough for the French, not quite American enough for the Americans, and altogether too much of everything for the Germans - except Hauptmann Havermeyer, who like so many of his colleagues wanted a special souvenir from Paris. She would be quite a prize - her uncle the general, her society connections, the strength of her name and her designs. One more beautiful thing to carry back to Germany - assuming that she was deemed worthy of the honor, of course, when all this was over. Perhaps she'd only be the pleasure of a moment. Both possibilities were within consideration, and she didn't have any stars in her eyes about it - unlike some of her cutters and seamstresses, who'd gotten a little heady in those early days over gray uniforms and promises of chocolate. One of the gossip sheets being circulated by the increasingly underground press had written scathingly that this Joan would not be coming to save France, and after six months of being ferried around in his handsome black Mercedes someone had slashed collaborateur in black paint across the doors of her apartment.
Joan's smile brightened a little, thinking about that. Louise and her little English friend had done a good job with that - the right amount of rushed vitriol, letters smashed together in haste, the abandoned paintbrush, like they'd been forced to flee. The silent judgement of her neighbors was worth something, where her reputation was concerned. And Kurt had been so solicitous after that, fretting over her like she'd been wounded, and not the paintwork- did she need guards, better shutters, a watchman?
No one needed to know that it had been carefully planned - the long-ago meetings with her shop steward and her sewing room mistress and one of the chief operators of the Deuxieme Bureau. I am a target of interest - and too high up to simply disappear. They want me for the propaganda value of it - the woman who once dressed as Marianne for her uncle's victory parade. Make me one of your villains, and I'll give you every scrap I can. I have trucks, drivers, warehouses, contacts. We can move things, move people. There will be too many bodies coming in and out of the studio to make an exhaustive study.
And here they all were. The designer in her lofty atelier was a traitor- and hiding behind her were half a dozen people working tirelessly to protect France.
Her stomach rumbled, and she thought again of the man upstairs in the attic. She'd been working late last night when Louise had smuggled him in, the two of them trying to be quiet on the back stairs. "Louise?"
Her assistant's face had been difficult to read, emerging from the stairwell. "We're alone," Joan offered. "I sent the others home."
Louise had nodded, and, with a little trepidation, pulled her companion forward into the workroom - an airman, with a man's greatcoat pulled hastily around his own flying jacket. American - he had that look. "This is Madame," she said, gesturing tersely to Joan and speaking in English. "She is doing you a great favor letting you stay here."
He nodded and had touched his head, reaching for a hat he was no longer wearing. "Many thanks, ma'am. I'm Captain Robert R -"
"Your manners are a great credit to you, Captain, but with respect, it will be better if I don't know your name," Joan said, cutting him off quickly, her English feeling rusty on her tongue. "I really shouldn't have seen you at all." She turned her attention back to Louise. "He'll need clothes, I'm sure."
"And papers," Louise confirmed. "The network is working on it."
"I'm very grateful, ma'am," the airman added.
"As am I to you, Captain," Joan replied. He must have been rather handsome, in peacetime, though at the moment it was hard to see - he was in need of a shave and his mustache required trimming, but it was still evident, behind those things, the shape of his jaw and the way his hair curled. His eyes were also a rather fantastic shade of blue - the kind of eyes a woman would notice in a crowd, be entranced by, remember. "And Louise? Be very careful about the suit - something that doesn't bring out his eyes."
Louise nodded, and continued chivvying him up the stairs, leaving Joan to wonder, with a small smile, whether her assistant had made the same distinction about Captain Robert's eyes. She hadn't stopped holding the man's hand, while they'd been standing there - a nervous habit, or something more?
She took another breath and finally reached for the fur stole - her own, not the one Kurt had gifted her. A costume, like the suit Louise would find for the airman, a way to play pretend. His battle was over - but hers continued, and she would continue with it.
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aurevoirmonty · 12 days ago
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Ursula von der Leyen veut destituer le gouvernement élu de Géorgie
Pendant que le service public nous assène que Trump est Hitler et Musk Goebbels, on a cette dictatrice non élue, factuelle descendante de millionnaires esclavagistes et de collaborateurs intimes du nazisme qui appelle tranquille à annuler des élections…
Le camp du bien selon France 5
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eternalfarnham · 7 months ago
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Ideological swap AU:
Euphrasie, a former Housemaiden of Dormont's House of Change, hails originally from the island-nation of Ananke, north of Jouvente. On Ananke, she was in a terrible – largely-undefined, to the theoretical game camera's eye – relationship with an unknown man, a "cry-bullying tyrant," which made her suspicious, bitter and unkind – made her worse, she says.
Euphrasie left one day and found her way to Vaugarde, but wherever you go, there you are – Housemaiden or not, even desperately working to adapt, she was still unkind when she didn't want to be, still tormented by awful memories, still taking it out on others. She wished to be rid of the history that made her this way, using her old country's rituals, and gained the power of "Memory Craft" – the power to "scramble" information, such that no one could recall it existed in the first place.
And so – taking her favorite young Housemaiden as a companion – she left her country, styled herself "Faceless" after her god (misunderstanding the Change God's deal pretty badly) and set herself up in Ananke. There, she used "Joyeux" – monsters born from intense emotion – to drive away its residents, so they'd flee to Vaugarde through her one-way barrier. Once the island was properly vacated, she intended to erase it from history – to erase the context that made her so bitter, the society that enabled it just because her old someone was versed in the ways of the Universe, and to be properly and only a daughter of Change and Vaugarde.
Everyone, she says, can start again this way.
Siffrin, the Stargazer, fled the same cruel tyrant that Euphrasie did – albeit separately – and found himself blessed mysteriously with the power to remember everything, no matter what. They are... unlikely, as heroes go – accustomed to creeping around and leaving the charisma and earnestness to less disillusioned folks – but they care deeply about the people they love.
Odile, the Historian, is here with a vested interest in preserving the cultural history of a small, embattled people – particularly against a collaborateur trying to force-assimilate her entire homeland.
Bonnie, the Kid, is here on the strength of a mysterious series of notes they left themself, telling them that they've forgotten something important and that only defeating the Faceless will return those memories. They're a pretty lonely kid.
Isabeau, the Guardian, is... pretty similar, actually. Given Siffrin's limited social graces, he's taken on a bigger social role. Like a diplomat who hits stuff, basically.
And Mirabelle, the Turncoat... was a cool-ass rival character for most of the saviors' journey, out of loyalty to her Head Housemaiden and her House and a lack of anywhere else to go. She returned to the side that isn't trying to destroy a country out of guilt:
It's her rapier that took out Siffrin's eye.
She doesn't want to be that person. She's desperate to change – to be forgiven, by the end of this quest – but there's indelible proof of her rottenness, right on Siffrin's face. So, with the ritual that her faceless caretaker never quite let herself use, she wished that she could be someone different...
And there's nothing more formative – more self-destroying and -recreating – than intense, sustained time loop trauma, right?
(Her faithful guide Ring claims to be a success story: they became someone completely new, down to a new name and pronouns, and broke the cycle, but graciously returned to Ananke to guide weary, misguided, treacherous little Belle to a proper ending. The name "Ring" comes from their bonding earrings, prominently displayed and visible even through the corona of their head. After all, they say, changing – like they were supposed to – meant learning to love the right way, without distrust and fear.
Fucked up thing to say, Ring!)
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vaguely-concerned · 1 month ago
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just going about my day idly contemplating how some of the ways hawke can interact with a romanced anders are not at all unlike how they interact with leandra (and a bit of carver too, especially with a purple hawke), and then thought about my hawke in the timeline where he romances anders and was hit straight in the face with 'was he ever actually in love, or was he just desperately trying to renegotiate with his mother's ghost in any way he could' and now i need to lie down. this is the power of dragon age 2
#'you don't know my mother' haunting me through the years#dragon age#dragon age 2#hawke#On second thought let's not go to Kirkwall; it is a silly place#there are of course as many ways to do/read that relationship as there are players to interact with it haha and all valid!#but my personal version of handers is sooo fucked up and bad times for everyone involved and I love it haha.#this is a relationship neither of them should have been in and that made everything worse and everyone unhappy in the end#locked tomb levels of the horrors of love. i ship it but in the way that I want to make it sadder and more gutwrenching each time#to be clear this is a very mutual two-way kind of fucked up but I think varric in his loyalty and love would downplay hawke's side of it#for huge swathes of their relationship anders is not in a mental place to be a good partner and the emotional blackmail is Not Okay#(but it's just like how mother used to make it! hawke's soul cries sadly as it reaches for it hungrily)#which is in some ways fair enough no one could accuse him of not warning you ahead of time fjskda#but hawke is messy about it in a way only available to a covert people pleaser who has never had a millisecond of therapy#with some added stuff that my hawke is always acespec in some form and when he gets together with anders...#is the sex something he doesn't particularly care to have or not have but it 'makes anders happy'/he longs to feel wanted *and* needed#and also a way he gets out of ever being *actually* vulnerable (which I think he'd had to be with varric for example if he Went There )#'you want the hawke who's in your head so badly and I kind of wish I were that hawke too. so let's be collaborateurs with that fantasy'#(and then maybe if I do it right every time you'll finally be happy hawke says in his heart looking at this leandra-anders phantom form)#(and echoing stuff in varric's relationship to hawke but I think the important distinction there is that varric -- is a craftsman haha#he KNOWS when he's lying/making up a story he KNOWS the difference between what is and what he wishes the world was#(I think there's some deep longing there to not know; for it to blend together or have the power to change things. but he always knows)#which ironically leaves him in a better position to actually see and understand hawke the person#even as he is creating hawke the literary figure. almost to protect him in some ways? god da2 is so full of STUFF!!! I adore it)#and of course anders gets so disillusioned with hawke's inertia and lack of action (you all but married this man anders!#you should know this about him he's already carrying the whole family and city on his shoulders if you add a gram more he'll collapse!)#and hawke feels so desperately hurt that the promise anders seemed to make that he'd be enough -- that he could fix things for him --#('I'm the one bright light in kirkwall and that apparently doesn't count for shit so I'm just slowly turning to ash for you')#turned out to be untrue. anyway. sad now. imagine them meeting like twenty years on what the fuck could you even say to each other then#(I can't imagine Hawke ever physically hurting anyone he loves so he just tells Anders to leave at the end of DA2. they COULD meet again
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francepittoresque · 15 days ago
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28 octobre 1905 : mort du journaliste et humoriste Alphonse Allais ➽ http://bit.ly/Alphonse-Allais Débarquant à Paris à l’âge de 25 ans, il devient collaborateur de la revue Le Chat noir et est bientôt célèbre pour sa plume acérée et l’humour absurde et caustique
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vicnormansstuff · 4 months ago
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Les collaborateurs de l'ennemi se sont emparés de vos cervelles d'oiseau. Ne les écoutez plus. Apprenez à les reconnaître et à les chasser de vous-mêmes, si vous en possédez encore la force. Le monstre est là, échoué sur nos côtes mais bien vivant. On vous adjure, et tout à l'heure encore le pape d'une chrétienté malade, d'ouvrir largement vos portes. Moi, je vous dis, je vous supplie, fermez-les, fermez-les vite, s'il en est encore temps ! Soyez durs, insensibles faites taire votre cœur mou […].
Jean Raspail, Le Camp des Saints, 1973.
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