#les indestructibles | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rambleonwaywardson · 3 months ago

Text

Clegan Olympics AU - Gold Over America

Masterpost

Read on AO3 (this is a new installment in the Clegan Olympics AU series on AO3)

Author's note: This is NOT the official epilogue. However, I went to see the Gold Over America Tour recently, and I couldn't not write this. Takes place about 5 months after Sous le Ciel de Paris

---

“You holdin’ up okay?”

Curt asks Bucky some form of this question every single night. Are you okay? How you holdin’ up? How’s the leg feel? You sure you’re good for the next number? We can fill in for you if you need a night off.

Sometimes it bugs him – usually when he is, in fact, in more discomfort than he cares to admit – but more often he’s coming to recognize it for the friendly concern that it is. He’s slowly starting to accept the fact that he isn’t a teenager anymore. He isn’t indestructible, and there are people here who care about him and actively want to help him stay healthy.

That’s what we call growth.

Bucky blinks, frozen in the middle of wrapping his knee with tape. Tonight is only his second time since Paris tumbling without a brace and he’s probably overcompensating with how much he’s wrapping the joint. He might as well just wear the damn brace. “Huh? Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Thanks.” He tilts his head and squints, taking a second to actually think about how his leg feels, before concluding that physically, yes, he is fine, if a little sore.

He nods again. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Curt smacks his hand and makes a quit it motion. He grabs the tape out of Bucky’s hand and starts unwrapping it from around his leg as Bucky sputters in protest. Then Curt hands him his brace instead. Bucky glares at him, but he takes the thing and goes about strapping it around his knee.

“No reason not to wear it if you’re this jittery,” Curt says.

It’s early January, a brand new year, and they’re at Capital One arena in Washington, D.C. It’s their third week of the Gold Over America Tour, a fun sort of victory lap for USA’s Olympic gymnasts as well as some of the other gymnasts from the U.S. and from around the world. It’s performative instead of competitive, promoting camaraderie, strength, and resilience through a mixture of gymnastics and fun dance numbers.

In short, it’s a two month long cross-country excursion where the gymnasts basically just get to have fun and interact with fans.

Since they’re in D.C., they’re close to home, and Bucky’s been distracted like this all day. He hasn’t been able to think straight from the moment he woke up on the tour bus, all jumpy and worried about seeing his boyfriend and if he would actually show up or if he’d decided in the month since they last saw each other that Bucky wasn’t worth it after all. Then when Gale actually did meet them in the stadium for rehearsal, Bucky was so excited that he kept getting distracted and tripping over his own feet. Not to mention the amount of time he spent just staring at Gale in complete awe when they all went out to lunch earlier, or the fact that he was nearly late for the show because he was doing god-knows-what backstage.

And now they’re here, in the middle of act one, and Bucky is thrown all out of whack again. Curt tells him to get his head on straight, and Bucky flips him off.

Beside them, Croz is changing into a different competition shirt and pants. He glances up at Bucky, a teasing smile on his face. “You see him out there?”

Bucky nods as he gets to his feet and starts tugging his own pants on. “Just for a second.”

One, perfect second during the opening number where the noise of the stadium faded to quiet and it felt like everything around him was moving in slow motion. It’s hard to see into the crowd through the lights shining on them, but Gale is in the front row, right by the spring floor. And Bucky was drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Curt rolls his eyes. “Not like you didn’t know he’d be here. You’ve been with him all day.”

“It’s just… different.” Bucky shrugs, shifting his weight from leg to leg to test out how the brace feels. “It’s the first time he’s getting to actually see me do this since…” Well, since the Paris Olympics five months ago. Since that last fateful day in Bercy Arena that nearly destroyed John’s career (again) and tore them apart.

It’s the first time since then that Gale gets to watch Bucky be a gymnast. The first time since then that he gets to watch Bucky do what he loves to do.

Originally, before tickets went on sale, before Bucky fucked his leg all over again, they’d hoped to do this tour from September until early November, giving them enough time to recover from the Games and choreograph the show on the front end, and enough time to get back to work for the 2025 competition season on the back end. And then John Egan, one of the stars of this show about strength and resilience, got hurt, went AWOL, spiraled into oblivion, what have you, and it looked like they’d be doing the tour without him.

Once he came to his senses and started at least attempting to crawl his way out of the hole he tried to bury himself in, though, he insisted he wanted to do it.

The doctor, of course, said he was risking his career doing any form of gymnastics so soon, so they came to a compromise.The tour was postponed until mid-December to give his knee time to heal, and he, for the most part, keeps his skills fairly low impact. There’s one part of the show where each member of the Olympic team performs part of one of their routines, but other than that, most of the skills they’re doing here are easy by their standards in order to preserve their bodies, whether that means doing one less twist or flip or letting themselves fall onto the mats during their landings. John isn’t the only one that needs to be careful – they all do. So, as he claimed to the doctor, anything he’s doing on the tour really isn’t more than he’d be doing in his training gym back home at this point.

That doesn’t keep everyone from worrying about him, though.

For the most part, it’s gone well. Performing on tour with his friends, meeting so many fans, and traveling around the country has been a blast. He keeps up with his rehab regimen, frequently doing the whole rest, ice, compression, and heat deal on the bus between cities, and he’s only had to miss a show once due to overuse of his leg.

He’s doing what he loves, and truly he’s finding his love for it again after a rough couple of years. But now, things are different. He has two loves, and the other is in the audience tonight. They’ve been apart for a month, and yet when they saw each other this morning, Gale still jumped into his arms, kissed Bucky like it was nothing, looked at him like he was everything.

“I’m so glad you’re here!” Gale had exclaimed, with that bubbly, candy-sweet smile that is so rare and makes Bucky’s heart jump when he sees it. “I miss you.”

I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. It made Bucky feel all sappy, hearing those words, seeing Gale’s freckles and dimples and the real, unequivocal love in his eyes. It made him feel special, wanted, loved.

Bucky still wonders what he did to deserve that. He still thanks the universe every day for giving him a second chance with the most amazing guy in the world.

Croz puts a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, bringing him back to the present. They can hear the music of one of the girls’ numbers pumping through the stadium; it’s coming to an end, which means he needs to get ready to head out. “He’s proud of you, you know,” Croz says. “You should’ve seen the way he watched you during rehearsal.”

Bucky is quiet for a second, and then he nods hesitantly. He and Gale got into a bit of an argument when Bucky said he wanted to go on tour, after he had already promised to take time off. They didn’t speak for at least a day, and Bucky remembers being so afraid that he was about to lose the only good relationship he’d ever had all over again. He was so afraid he’d have to choose between gymnastics and Gale after all.

But eventually, Bucky managed to push all that aside and try his hand at instigating a real, open discussion about what him on tour would look like and what precautions he’d take. They held onto each others’ hands and Bucky told Gale what he wanted, what he needed. Gale laid out his concerns, but also reiterated his overall support of Bucky’s career. And they talked. And listened. And Bucky never knew how good healthy communication could feel before.

Gale was also there every step of the way as Bucky healed, rehabbed, and then started getting back into the gym again just about two months ago. He was there for the ups and downs, running to help Bucky stand back up when he fell, cheering him on with every forward step.

He never gave up on Bucky.

He’s proud of you, you know.

“I know,” Bucky says to Croz. He thinks he might even believe it.

“Alright, you’ll get to play with your boy toy later,” Curt jokes. He grabs Bucky’s hand and hauls him to his feet. “Come on, you’re up.”

Bucky has to admit, performing his big comeback number – which he’s come to think of as his “I’m back bitch” number – is incredibly cathartic. He wanted to perform to Elton John’s “The Bitch Is Back,” but the production team said it wasn’t “family friendly” enough.

No fun.

The number starts out with a dark stadium, and there’s a video on the big screen as he gets himself to the center of the floor. It shows a few highlights of his career, his Championship wins, his best Olympic moments, him goofing off with Curt and Croz in the gym. A recording of his voice plays over it, something about how, at some point, everyone faces seemingly insurmountable obstacles, or comes to a crossroads that might determine the course of their life.

“…In my case, an injury that should have ended my career.”

Every night, Bucky stands in the middle of the floor, dimly illuminated by the light of the big screen. He doesn’t really even know what he says in the video, doesn’t remember. He hasn’t listened to it since it was first recorded, and he blocks it out night after night, except for the end.

He swallows thickly and looks up, sees a clip of his horrifying fall off high bar, cut before he hits the ground. Then a clip of him collapsing after rings back in August, unable to rise. Every night, it makes his heart beat too fast, makes the blood rush in his ears, just for a moment. But then every night, he hears his own voice, smooth and confident: “We rise to the occasion, no matter how hard it might be. We don’t give up, because giving up is not in our nature…”

There’s video clips of his recovery, after both incidents. Videos of him doing painful rehab after high bar. Videos of him back in the gym after rings. A shaky clip of him laughing after landing a tumbling pass again for the first time, running right to the cameraman for a hug.

Gale. He’s running to Gale.

And it makes Bucky’s heart soar.

The video ends.

John Egan is a guy that likes attention, so standing, feet shoulder-width apart and hands on his hips like a superhero, in the middle of a dark arena as lights flash wildly around him and the beginnings of AC/DC’s Thunderstruck plays is very on brand for him. The flashing lights cast his shadow, long and fleeting, across the floor in all different directions until, finally, they light up and stay on, spotlighting him from all sides. He lets the wild grin overtake his face, pushes back against the pit in his stomach, the buzzing in his head. He shoves all the adrenaline he feels into this moment. He puts both hands in the air in a salute, as if he’s at a competition, and then he launches into a tumbling pass that has the crowd going wild.

The original plan was for him to do a whole floor routine, but he’s trying to save his leg as much as he can, so he does his big opening pass and lands on an extra mat that the techs positioned in the corner, then he does a few easier passes before the lights fade out on him. A spotlight pops up over the high bar, where Curt jumps up and does a few giants, a couple release moves. Then there’s Croz on parallel bars. Alex on pommel. Brady on floor. Then to finish, Bucky jumps up on high bar, the apparatus that tried to break him, just to prove a point. He does a couple of easier releases before jumping off, a single flip, nothing fancy.

It gets him a deafening round of applause anyway.

The Thunderstruck number, every night, drives a range of emotions through Bucky like a truck, for better or for worse. It shoves salt in old wounds, forces him to relive some of his worst moments. And yet it feels so damn good, in a way, just to show people – “hey, I’m here. I’m still fighting. I’m not giving up.” Just to tell them – “if you’re fighting your own uphill battle, don’t stop. Please don’t stop. You don’t have to give up.”

So yeah, it’s cathartic. It makes him feel powerful. It makes him feel in control. It makes him feel like he did something right, at the end of the day.

But he much prefers the more lighthearted parts of their show anyway. The ideas that spawned from a bunch of friends goofing off in a gym between practices. The ones that show their personalities and let them be silly and let them be a little stupid and let them be human instead of just athletes.

There’s a Texas Hold ‘Em number where the guys and girls all dress up in cowboy hats, the guys in white shirts and jeans and the girls in sparkly leos.

There’s some absolutely badass dance numbers from the girls, which Bucky loves watching. They’re full of attitude and confidence that makes him a little jealous.

Then there’s the girls’ rendition of Pink by Lizzo followed by the guys’ take on I’m Just Ken. All the guys on tour get to wear neon tank tops and shorts as they animatedly jog out onto the floor. Nearly all of them spread out and start doing stupid exercise motions: Bucky pretends to lift weights while Brady does push ups, Croz does jumping jacks, Alex does sit ups, and the others pretend to box or jog in place or something.

Meanwhile, a spotlight illuminates Curt over on the balance beam, an apparatus that none of the guys have a clue about. He stands on it, all wobbly but exuding confidence, and he salutes a judge that isn’t there before trying out some of the girls’ skills. A wolf turn, a switch leap, a side aerial. Night after night he fails pretty miserably, sometimes nearly falling off the beam all together. He gets a lot of laughs from the audience before doing a pretty pathetic dismount and running to meet the other Kens on the floor, where they join hands and passionately sing the end of the song.

Every night, none of them can keep themselves from laughing, and they often nearly mess up their choreography, tripping over themselves and trying not to double over from the ridiculousness. Usually, that’s Bucky’s favorite number to perform.

But not tonight.

“So here’s the thing, DC,” he says into his mic as he comes out from backstage, passing the girls as they exit. He walks across the floor, back in his white tee and jeans instead of his Ken fit. “We’re gonna do something a bit different tonight. ‘Cause not only is this place my home, but it’s actually my lucky day, ‘cause a special someone is in the crowd tonight. You may be able to see him, right up here in the front row where I can look at his pretty face.” He points to Gale, who’s sitting in one of the best seats in the house, just feet from the spring floor. The man in question rolls his eyes as Bucky stops at the edge of the floor, right in front of him. Beside him, Marge laughs and shoves his shoulder. Benny reaches over and ruffles his hair.

“What’d’ya say we bring him up here?” Bucky asks the crowd.

Gale shakes his head as if he has a choice. As if they didn’t literally rehearse this earlier today. He didn’t have a choice then, either.

“Yep, come on, beautiful.” Bucky holds his hand out expectantly, until finally, after a very pointed I hate you glare and a long-suffering sigh, Gale takes his hand, stands up, and lets Bucky lead him onto the floor.

The camera locks onto them immediately, showing them on the big screen for the entire arena to see. Gale is dressed in dark jeans, a gray t-shirt, and a worn leather jacket, looking as perfect as ever with his messy hair and beautiful… everything.

Usually, the next number would be a delicate, choreographed dance combined with some skill demonstrations. A love story. Literally, it’s choreographed to Taylor Swift’s ��Love Story.” On a normal night, it consists of Bucky, Brady, and Croz each dancing with one of the lovely dancers they have on tour with them. The story-telling choreography is interspersed with the guys showing off some basic skills on parallel bars, high bar, and pommel horse.

Tonight, Bucky’s dance partner gets this number off. He felt a little bad asking her if that would be okay, but the moment he explained what he wanted to do, she all but threw herself out of the mix for this one show.

“Yes. Do that. You have to do that,” she insisted.

And so Gale, even before he knew the plan, didn’t really have a choice.

Gale Cleven’s moment of fame at the Paris Olympics turned into a bit more than a moment. He’s had companies fighting to sponsor him, wanting to throw him into commercials and ads all over the place. Despite his lack of interest in social media, his following has skyrocketed. Little kids are getting into horseback riding because of him. People remain obsessed with the “Clegan” love story, and they always comment on Bucky’s videos asking about Gale.

This crowd, packed with people of all ages from 3 to 93, loves him just as much. They go absolutely nuts when the camera focuses on him as he takes Bucky’s hand and they walk over to the pommel horse. “Give it up everyone!” Bucky yells into his mic. “Gale Cleven, Olympic silver medalist, your local equestrian legend, and my lovely, amazing boyfriend.”

They’re in a stadium filled with thousands of people, but the only person that can see Gale’s blush is Bucky.

Bucky helps Gale hop up onto the pommel horse as the lights around them dim and a spotlight shines on the parallel bars to their left. The song begins to play out over the arena: “We were both young when I first saw you…”

Gale watches Croz and his partner start their dance around the base of the parallel bars. He got to watch during their rehearsal earlier today, but now he’s pulled away by the feeling of a hand wrapping over his hip. He glances over at Bucky, and his breath catches.

They wait in the darkness for their part of the song, and as they sit together on the pommel horse, Bucky’s eyes are locked on him, even in the dim light. Shadows flit across their faces, eyes reflecting fleeting teases of the light flickering around them. Bucky has a strong arm wrapped securely around Gale, supporting his back.

He leans in close to whisper, “I’m glad you’re here. I wasn’t sure…”

Gale’s hand finds Bucky’s free one. “Don’t tell me you thought I wouldn’t come.”

Bucky shrugs. Because part of him did think that, no matter how ridiculous he knew it was. They’ve been video calling every other day since he went on tour, but it doesn’t compare to the surety of having Gale in his arms. Before Gale can say anything else, though, the lights start to rise around them at the end of the first chorus.

“So I sneak out to the garden to see you…”

They stay sitting at first, Gale leaning into Bucky’s hold while Bucky points up at the ceiling, acting like they’re stargazing. They smile and laugh before Gale jumps off the pommel horse, still holding Bucky’s hand, and walks around to the other side, leading Bucky into a backflip off the horse.

Typically, Bucky’s part of this number is far more choreographed, seeing as his partner is usually a professional dancer. Gale Cleven… is not a dancer. So they have to improvise a little bit. Bucky’s decided it’s fine: what the audience loses in terms of seeing competent dancing, they gain in terms of seeing a real love story.

At the part that says ‘so close your eyes,’ Gale spins so his back is to Bucky, and Bucky’s hands cover his eyes. Instead of the usual sequence Bucky and his partner would do, involving lifts, rolls, dips, what have you, he simply twirls Gale around before kissing him softly – to cheers from the crowd. He takes both of Gale’s hands in his, and they spin around together, laughing the whole time as the camera records it all for the big screen.

Later, he’ll come across a video of this moment on social media, and he’ll save it to his favorites, to watch when he has a bad day.

He grabs Gale by the waist and lifts him easily up onto the end of the pommel horse, and he walks around to the other side as Gale spins around to meet him. Bucky takes his hand, kisses his knuckles gently, and helps him down again. Then Gale jogs off into the shadows, leaving Bucky to hop onto the apparatus to do some circles and flairs.

He comes back as Bucky dismounts, and they grab onto each other’s hands from opposite sides of the pommel horse, looking into each others’ eyes. Then comes the only real original choreography that Gale agreed to do: drawing from his equestrian experience, he grabs onto the pommel and, in one swift motion, throws his leg up over the end of the pommel horse, as if he’s mounting a real horse. Bucky comes around behind him, and Gale draws his knees up so he can be lifted off the horse bridal style.

Gale can’t help but laugh as Bucky spins him around once, twice before setting him on his feet. They end up standing in front of the apparatus, pointing to the imagined sky once again as the lights around them fade out.

Cast in partial shadow as Brady and his partner dance around the high bar, they hold onto one another and spin slowly in circles, a twirl thrown in here and there. Gale whispers things like “you owe me” and Bucky replies “please, don’t act like you’re not having fun.”

“Dancing in front of thousands of people is a little outta my comfort zone.”

“They love you,” Bucky says, genuinely. Because they do.

At the end of the song, all three pairs come together on the spring floor. Bucky lifts and spins Gale one more time, and at the very end, when the other pairs look like they might kiss but stop just short, Gale is the one to lean in that last inch or two, kissing Bucky in front of thousands of people.

“Je t’aime,” he whispers as he pulls away, and it makes Bucky freeze. Je t’aime. I love you.

Whenever he hears those words, his mind still flashes to that day when he stormed Gale’s barn to declare his love after the Games were over. They’ve said it since, of course, but not often. It still feels… New. Special. Scary.

And yet Bucky wants to shout it into a hot mic for this entire stadium to hear. He won’t, but only because he knows Gale won’t like it.

And because the sound techs learned the hard way to triple check that Bucky Egan’s mic isn’t hot.

So his heart hammers in his chest as he looks into Gale’s eyes. Croz and Brady are already walking off into the shadows with their partners, but John and Gale remain center stage, Gale’s arms wrapped around Bucky’s neck and Bucky’s hands holding firmly to Gale’s waist. Like they belong there. The roar of the crowd is deafening, but all Bucky hears are Gale’s words echoing in his head.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

He lifts a hand to cup Gale’s jaw, stroking a thumb over his flushed cheek. “I love you,” he says back, and he kind of can’t believe he had such a hard time saying it before.

He’s on tour with some of the best gymnasts in the world, performing every night in front of thousands and thousands of fans. He’s got several Olympic medals to his name. His leg, while still not a sure thing, has healed well enough to let him do this. To have fun with his friends in the most extravagant way. To make him really believe that he might have another Olympic season left in him.

And all of that… it’s the stuff he’s hoped for since he was a kid.

It’s all enough to make him wonder if he’s dreaming sometimes. But right now, he has this moment. Right now, above all else, it’s the way Gale smiles at him that puts him on cloud nine, makes him think he did something right.

It’s that soft, just-for-him smile that lights up his world and makes him feel like he can do anything. He wants to be the reason for that smile for the rest of his life.

So he smiles back, and he says it again. “I love you.”

…

Here’s a shitty video of the real Love Story number

#gay sports boys are back #I had so many thoughts about them while watching this show #I continue to base Croz on Paul Juda for some reason #clegan olympics au #clegan #mota #masters of the air #john egan #gale cleven #clegan fic #buck x bucky #bucky egan #buck cleven

45 notes · View notes

darksisterrr · 16 days ago

Text

𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒 𝐔𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐎𝐒 | 𝐇𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐔𝐍-𝐇𝐎 | (001)

_______________________________________

El sonido de las botas golpeando el asfalto era lo único que rompía el silencio en la fría noche. Hwang Jun-ho avanzaba con cautela al frente del grupo, su mirada fija en el almacén a unos metros de distancia. A su lado, (T/N) sostenía su arma con una relajada confianza que contrastaba con la tensión en el aire. Era el tipo de persona que parecía disfrutar del caos, como si el peligro fuera un juego que siempre sabía cómo ganar.

Eran cinco en total, un equipo formado por los mejores detectives del distrito. La misión parecía sencilla: investigar un presunto intercambio de drogas en el almacén y asegurar el perímetro. Sin embargo, Jun-ho sabía que las cosas rara vez eran tan simples.

—¿Por qué siempre eligen lugares como este? —murmuró (T/N), lanzando una mirada a las estructuras metálicas oxidadas y las cajas apiladas en el exterior del edificio.

—Porque les gusta lo dramático, como tú —respondió Jun-ho sin apartar los ojos del camino.

Ella sonrió, dándole un suave golpe en el brazo.

—Admite que te encanta.

Antes de que él pudiera responder, uno de los compañeros del grupo levantó la mano, indicándoles que se detuvieran.

—Escuchen —susurró.

Por un momento, solo se escuchó el murmullo del viento, pero entonces, un estruendo rompió la calma. El sonido de disparos resonó en el aire, y el grupo se dispersó instintivamente, buscando cobertura.

—¡Es una emboscada! —gritó alguien mientras las balas llovían desde todas direcciones.

Jun-ho se lanzó detrás de una pila de cajas, su corazón latiendo con fuerza. Desde su posición, vio a (T/N) rodar ágilmente hacia una columna cercana, disparando con precisión hacia los atacantes que salían de las sombras.

—¡¿Estás bien?! —gritó Jun-ho, disparando a un hombre que se acercaba por su flanco.

—¡Estoy genial! —respondió ella, con una sonrisa que parecía fuera de lugar en medio del caos.

Las balas seguían volando, y dos de sus compañeros ya habían caído. La situación estaba fuera de control, y Jun-ho lo sabía.

—¡Necesitamos refuerzos! —gritó al radio, pero solo recibió estática como respuesta.

(T/N), mientras tanto, estaba en su elemento. Se movía como un torbellino, esquivando y disparando con una precisión que desafiaba toda lógica. Sin embargo, su valentía rozaba la imprudencia, y Jun-ho lo notó demasiado tarde.

Un disparo resonó cerca, y (T/N) se tambaleó, cayendo al suelo. Jun-ho sintió que el mundo se detenía mientras corría hacia ella, ignorando el peligro a su alrededor.

—¡(T/N)! —gritó, deslizándose a su lado.

Ella estaba jadeando, pero cuando él revisó su torso, vio que el chaleco antibalas había absorbido el impacto. Aunque magullada, estaba viva.

—¿Qué dijiste sobre confiar en mí? —murmuró ella con una sonrisa débil, tratando de recuperar el aliento.

—Dije que eras una lunática, no que fueras indestructible —respondió Jun-ho, entre la preocupación y el alivio.

El sonido de sirenas llenó el aire mientras los refuerzos finalmente llegaban. La emboscada estaba perdiendo fuerza, los atacantes se dispersaban, y Jun-ho sabía que habían logrado resistir lo peor.

El equipo había sufrido bajas, pero la misión había terminado. Jun-ho y (T/N) estaban sentados en la parte trasera de una ambulancia, mientras un paramédico revisaba las heridas de ella.

—Deberías estar más molesto —comentó ella, observando cómo él revisaba el arma, todavía tenso.

—¿Molesto? Estoy furioso. —Jun-ho finalmente la miró, sus ojos oscuros cargados de emociones contenidas. —Podrías haber muerto, (T/N).

Ella le dedicó una sonrisa cansada pero sincera.

—Pero no lo hice. ¿Sabes por qué? Porque sabía que estarías ahí. Siempre estás ahí.

Él no respondió. En lugar de eso, tomó su mano con fuerza, como si temiera que soltarla significara perderla.

—Eres un caos, (T/N), pero eres mi caos. No me hagas esto otra vez.

Ella apretó su mano, dejando que su sonrisa hablara por ella. Porque en el fondo, ambos sabían que, aunque trabajaran en un mundo lleno de peligros, nunca estarían realmente solos mientras se tuvieran el uno al otro.

#hwang junho x reader #hwang jun ho #squid game #el juego del calamar #netflix #luz roja #the salesman x reader #oc x canon #squid game fanfic #el juego del calamar fanfic #jun ho x reader #fanfic #squid game oc

23 notes · View notes

jeanchrisosme · 2 months ago

Text

Il y a des âmes semblables nées pour se rencontrer. Des liens d’amour si forts et profonds qui ne connaissent pas la distance, Elles vont au-delà de la présence physique. Elles impliquent l’âme. Ce sont des liens de cœur, d’empathie, implication émotionnelle. Ce sont des fils indestructibles que ni le temps ni la distance ne peuvent atteindre. Quand on aime, il n’y a ni distance, ni temps. On est proche. Toujours. Parce que c’est le cœur qui détermine la distance. Les kilomètres séparent seulement les corps, pas les âmes, pas les cœurs. Et les âmes sœurs nées pour se rencontrer, Elles finiront par se rencontrer...

Agostino Degas

27 notes · View notes

lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 3 months ago

Text

Pairing(s): Logan Howlett x Reader, Billy Butcher x Reader, Billy Butcher x Becca Butcher

Warnings: cheating, affairs, hurt feelings, violence, soldier girl au, butcher is kinda the bad guy in this version of the au 😅, the boys x marvel au, nudes mentioned, violence, blood

Words: 2182

Summary: Butcher finally apprehends the Wolverine

When Someone Gets Hurt

Inferno

Bruises and Bitemarks

a/n: yes I'm still alive c:

Butcher thought it was his lucky day when he finally apprehended Logan Howlett, more commonly known by his supe alias the Wolverine.

For just one chance at capturing him, the Boys went over their plan nonstop. They needed to make it count. Butcher only had enough time in his life for one enemy to focus all of his attention on. He definitely didn't need another. From trial and error, Butcher learned that it was near impossible catching Logan if the red suited asshole Deadpool was anywhere nearby. The duo were as indestructible as cockroaches.

While nabbing Logan elated Butcher, the fact that he did it without asking for your help was the cherry on top. Neither of you had spoken since he found out you were sleeping with someone else. Honestly, both of you had been too busy anyway to interact let alone talk. You were going through your own life difficulties what with your maniacal supe brother. You'd discovered that Homelander was actually introducing Compound V to terrorists just so the U.S. government would allow supes in the military to counterattack these new "super villains". You and Annie were working hard to prevent Homelander's supremacy of the country though it felt like a lost cause many times. The new addition to the Seven, Stormfront, was putting a wrench in any plans of taking down your brother.

"Go' you now." Butcher sneers in triumph as he yanks on Logan's hair to pull his face upward. Logan snarls, eyes burning with hate that Butcher couldn't possibly comprehend. This was the guy that took you for granted after all. "Took us quite a long time to figure out what would take you down." His head gestures over to Frenchie who was holding that gun that had taken Wolverine down. The gun's chambers, unbeknownst to Logan, was filled with Carbonadium bullets.

Grinning at the detestation on Logan's face, Butcher slams his head down against the ground. If his bones weren't fused with one of the world's most indestructible alloys, Logan was certain his entire jaw would have shattered. Butcher didn't possess fancy powers. All he had was the indomitable human spirit and a fuck ton of hate in his veins.

His strength fleeing from him thanks to the bullets lodged inside of him, Logan can only growl at Hughie and Butcher who frisk his weakening form. Frenchie keeps the gun aimed at his head.

Stomach sinking when he feels Butcher fish out his cellphone from his back pocket has him actually finding the energy to try and kick up a fight. A bulky boot to his back kicks him down.

Butcher makes sure Logan can see him as he tauntingly holds Logan's phone in front of him. "You want this, ya? Wonduh what secrets you're hiding 'n here."

"FUCK YOU"

Ignoring the obscenities being snarled at him, Butcher closer examines the phone, tapping on the screen to see if the phone required a passcode. Unfortunately it did.

Dropping it into his pocket, Butcher hums "Lets get back to HQ, shall we? We've got a lot of work to do."

While Butcher and MM interrogate Wolverine in the cellar that served as a holding cell, Frenchie and Hughie got to work on unlocking Logan's phone.

Logan's passcode was, thankfully, a weak one so it didn't take long before Frenchie was allowed access.

"Voila!" He grins to himself and hands the phone to Hughie. "Now we can see all the dirt Le Carcajou has and who that annoying red fucker is." Frenchie held a particular grudge against Deadpool. He'd been shot by him a handful of times.

Not much was on his phone. Only the basic apps that were already preprogrammed into the phone. Contacts were limited to a 'Wilson' and 'Al'.

Going through Logan's phone, Hughie ultimately checks the photos app and nearly drops the phone onto the desk with wide eyes. "Oh god. Oh fuck."

"Petit Hughie?" Frenchie reaches across for the device but Hughie slams his hand on top of it.

"No. No, no, no." He's shaking his head. "Fuck. He's going to fucking kill him if he sees this, Frenchie."

"Well. . . oui? That's what Butcher does." He's confused.

"It won't be Butcher's usual supe killing." Running a hand across his face, Hughie heaves a stuttering breath. He brings up to Frenchie the fact that the affair you were having was with Logan himself.

Frenchie slews a string of profanity. "Le Carcajou? We should've known. He's totally her type. That explains why she hasn't been around to help us catch him either." Everything was coming together. "Butcher won't just kill him."

There would be an utter bloodbath. Now that the Wolverine was weakened, killing him was more feasible a vision.

Hughie nods in knowing and goes a shade paler. And once you found out that Logan was captured. . .

Busy freaking out about what to do, Frenchie takes a peek at the picture on the phone's screen and wolfishly grins. "I never knew she was such a naughty girl."

"Huh? Oh- Frenchie don't!"

"Sorry, Petit Hughie but when I see a work of art I must appreciate it."

"Okay, I'm gonna take the phone away from you now."

"What are you two on about?"

Neither breathes, Frenchie has hold of one end of the cellphone while Hughie has the other end. Unable to react fast enough, Butcher snatches the phone from them in seconds with a mumble about how they should have told him the moment they'd hacked into the phone.

He was not expecting to see your bare tits on the screen of the phone.

Knowing who the tits on the phone screen belonged to. Hughie and Frenchie silently back away, already feeling the heat of his wrath.

"What the fuck is this?" Butcher's ears are ringing and can't even hear whatever Hughie is stammering about.

This was the Wolverine's phone. Why the fuck were your tits on his phone?!

Across the plane of the screen, small cracks begin to emerge as Butcher's grip on the device tightens to a deadly grip, as if he was strangling someone. Imagining that the phone was Logan's neck.

Were you. . . Were you really fucking that guy this entire time?

How long had this been going on?

Did you start seeing him before or after the Boys officially started hunting him?

"Butcher. . ." Hughie's voice sounded far off though he knew it came from right next to him. "Your hand is bleeding. . ."

Spiderweb cracks scrawled across the phone's entire surface. Splinters of glass embedding themselves into his fingers.

Either way, the mother fucker was going to pay for it.

Fuck the mission.

Fuck trying to get any information from this guy.

"Wade- WADE please calm down." You shoot Annie an apologetic look before excusing yourself to take your call to a quieter location.

"They've got him! Those fuckers have our peanut!" Deadpool cries out on the other end of the line.

Lips parting about to inquire on who he meant when icy cold realization seizes your stomach. "Logan. . . No. . ."

"YES!! So if you can, please hurry that gorgeous ass of your's and save him!"

Almost hitting someone with the restroom door you hazardously ram open. Annie stares at you when you fast walk back to the table. Explaining what is going on and how you had to hurry back to headquarters.

"Thank god you're here!" Hughie's voice cracks as you push past him. You could hear the jarring sound of a fist colliding against solid flesh. Grunts of pain and the angry howls emanating from a god of wrath.

You rip the door that led to the Boys' makeshift holding cell/interrogation room to come across Logan covered in his own blood. Matted in thick clumps in his hair and sporting several gunshot wounds that weren't healing. Butcher has his back to you, his shoulders moving up and down as he gulps down ragged breaths.

Logan's own breathing was interrupted every couple of breaths as blood bubbled forth to dribble out from the corner of his mouth. Those dark eyes that you love so much instantly land on you.

"Butcher."

Even having the upper hand wasn't enough to ease the heavy stone that sat at the bottom of your stomach; weighing you down like an anchor.

Slowly he turns around. You'd seen this side of him so many times. Yes, a few times they were aimed at you. Those were the incidents when you battled with your own conflicting feelings toward your brother. Butcher was hell bent on putting an end to Homelander; nothing would change that. He would do it or very well die trying. Yet. . . You remembered your beloved big brother. The one who made you lunch to take to school. He'd been John to you back then. You idolized him and envied him. Vought's pride and joy despite Soldier Boy thinking him weak.

This was different though.

The pain that hardened his gaze was palpable. "This who you been fucking?"

Readying your stance to zoom, you try to keep the panic from your tone. If Butcher heard how much you actually cared for Logan, it would enrage him even more. Logan was more than just sex to you now. "I can explain."

"I bet you can." A dark chuckle is exhaled. "You two been fucking this entire time? Laughing behind my back. I should have known. You'll always be more loyal to your own kind."

"Don't be like that Butcher." You hiss. "Don't you dare lump me into your supe-hating bullshit. That's not what this is. He wasn't on our radar when I met him."

That gives Butcher a reason to pause. "So, you were fucking him the same time when we were still-"

"There was no 'we'." You adamantly point out and accompanied by and exhausted sigh, your stance wavers. "You and I, it was just sex. You made that perfectly clear. After all, I could never measure up to Becca. I can't let you kill him."

To add an emphasis on that declaration, your eyes sizzle red in warning.

His scowl deepens, a snarl curling his lip. "That's how it's gonna be?"

"Just step aside, Billy. Please."

The pleading in your irritates him. You liked this fucker enough to put your pride aside and beg Butcher to release Logan.

"You willin' to kill me over him?"

Fear wasn't something you were necessarily accustomed to. Standing there, you weren't sure of what to do. You couldn't kill Butcher. Yet you couldn't let Butcher kill Logan. The heat in your eyes simmers down.

You couldn't.

"I don't have to kill you."

Swatting him away with a flick of your wrist as you charge toward him, Butcher flies into the side wall. Clearing the way for you to get to Logan.

When you feel the rain-like barrage of bullets against your back, you rip Logan free of his confines. You're not A-Train level fast, but compared to Butcher and the others, your movement was quicker. Pure instinct drives you to bulldoze your way through walls, all while protecting a battered Logan. Blood rushing through your ears made you deaf to what Logan was trying to cough out.

You couldn't stop. You had to keep focus until you were far away and safe enough to check his injuries.

Wind whips your face.

You had to save Logan.

You couldn't let him die.

Suddenly a warm hand to your cheek has you stopping midflight; halting to a hover.

"Can you at least carry me so I don't look like a damn damsel in distress."

In your arms you carried Logan in a bridal style fashion. He was huge compared to you. With your super strength he feels no heavier than an infant.

Registering his position, you also take in the multitudes of bulletholes that litter his torso area. They were still bleeding freely.

One safe landing later (and a quick text to Wade) and you're turning Logan over to examine him. "What did they shoot you with?"

He grunts when you dab a piece of your shirt on a particularly juicy wound. "Not many things that can get me like this."

"I'm gonna have to cauterize some of these until Wade gets here." You warn him. Small hand splayed against his chest you catch his eyes on you. He places his larger one over it, pressing your hand so you could feel his heartbeat.

"M'fine." He tells you, ignoring the thick line of dried blood that ran down from the corner of his mouth. Logan looked like literal hell. Sweat and grime coating his face but his smile was still heart warming. "Just stop talking for a second and let me hold you, yeah?"

Unexpected moments of Logan's softness rendered you speechless. He uses this as an advantage and gathers you up in his bloodied arms.

You close your eyes and relish in his nearness.

"Also wanted to tell you that those guys may have seen your nudes on my phone."

"Are you serious?!" You shriek and push him away. Logan coughs out a laugh, avoiding your faux slaps.

#reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #the boys #the boys series #the boys imagine #the boys billy butcher #the boys x reader #the boys amazon #the boys tv #butcher the boys #billy butcher x reader #soldier girl au #soldier girl #logan howlett wolverine #logan howlett imagine #wolverine

39 notes · View notes

king-of-the-fish · 1 day ago

Note

(BRO I JUST REALIZED I'VE LIKE NEVER INTERACTED BEFORE SRRY, INTRO TIME)

*le dramatic gasp

Excuse me???? I'm not a "filthy" mortal. D:<

The stranger leans in closer to Poseidon with a determined look, although the sea king practically towers over them, they seem to pay it no mind.

I'm the local god therapist that Zeus, Hades, prettymuchallofolympus-COUGH sent to get you to calm the fuck down. As hundreds of THOUSANDS of people are DIEING from the storms that you have been causing. THE LITERAL RIVER OF STICKS IS FLOODING

Poseidon, positively pissed and annoyed, flings his trident at the figure. Only to find that the trident fazes through them and crashes onto the palace floor.

The Ocean King, now bewildered, leers at the therapist's face. Only for the therapist while rolling their eyes, take out a clipboard with some papers on it and scribble something on it before continuing their introduction.

I'm practically indestructible (they rant while plunking the god's trident out the ground and shoving it back into his hands), as I do not have a physical form.

AND before you question me, you better bet I am FUCKING GREAT at my job since the world's not DEAD yet. I DO NOT GET PAID ENOUGH FOR THIS. I HAVE TO DEAL WITH HERA AND ZEUS'S SHIT LIKE EVERY WEEK-

Suddenly, they stop themselves and take a deep breath. Before turning their attention back to the Sea god.

So in short. I'm here to help you. Whether you like it or not.

With those words, the God's Wrath narrows to a breaking point, the ground shaking violently. The Palace seems to groan as statues woddle, threating to fall over. The world seems to be frozen in terror.

But before the father of monsters could completely lose his shit. The being swiftly pulls out a bar of chocolate and shove it in Poseidon's mouth. Like clockwork, the earthquakes stop, leaving the absolutely dumbfounded god speechless.

A faint sign of relief leaves the therapist as they stare stubbornly at Poseidon as if he were a child throwing a tanturm.

Now eat this- and let's talk

The creature snaps their fingers and a red door magically appears

Now, shall we?

-🥀

(P.S. the chocolate they forced Poseidon to eat had powerful magical calming ablities. Allowing Poseidon to still feel all his emotions without breaking the world around them.)

OOC: uh-

I'm sorry, but you missed him by like *checks watch* a few minutes-

#mod answers #epic the musical #epic #epic the storm saga #epic the vengeance saga #odyssey #epic poseidon #poseidon #poseidon rp blog #rp blog

16 notes · View notes

therealvinelle · 5 months ago

Note

I think the vampires in Twilight are boring, largely because they are so perfect. They're beautiful, super strong, super fast, fabulously wealthy, they have superpowers, and all without any of the interesting drawbacks from popular vampire lore apart from the bloodlust (which is mostly utilized in the narrative for romance angst) or mental stagnation (which is weaksauce). I'm not even gonna talk about the sparkling

I think there's room for different interpretations of myths and archetypes but I feel like this one just sanded off all of the all interesting bits instead of actually reinterpreting them

What's the point of vampire romance if they're barely vampires?

What's your take as someone who is knowledgeable about this topic?

You know, rather than defend Twilight, I'm going to make the same argument about Good Omens, Alien, the Wizard of Earthsea, and Harry Potter. I'm also going to be incredibly mean to you, I'm sorry, I know your question is asked in good faith but deep in my heart is a snarky monster yearning to break free. It has been unleashed, because you see, I strongly disagree with the "the vampires in Twilight aren't actually vampires!" criticism.

The angels and demons in Good Omens are nothing like Biblical angels and demons and the authors just made stuff up they liked. I'm not sure what the point of that story was.

The alien in Alien bleeds acid, it's virtually indestructible and Ellen has to eject it into space to kill it. What a terrible villain design.

The Wizard of Earthsea and Harry Potter feature very different wizards which makes me wonder- why couldn't either Ursula Le Guin or J. K. Rowling back off? Find some other word, because these fictional creatures can't be both what they are in the Wizard of Earthsea and in Harry Potter. Don't even factor in Lord of the Rings or the Dresden Files - these authors are all over the place, it's like they can't pin down what a wizard even is.

Vampires, being creatures that I take very seriously and want to see accurately depicted in my YA literature, damnit, are grievously disrespected in Twilight where that Stephenie Meyer woman used her imagination and did her own thing. The sheer disrespect, smh.

#twilight #twilight renaissance #stephenie meyer

28 notes · View notes

reallywaywardqueen · 1 month ago

Text

Quiero un compañero de vida, para compartir más que una cama o un fin de semana.

Alguien que sepa lo que quiere, que no le tenga miedo a enamorarse ni al compromiso.

Aquella persona que me cuente de su niñez, la rebeldía en su adolescencia, y su día a día.

Alguien que no huya de los problemas, sino que juntos encontremos la solución de cada obstáculo. Aquella persona que reconozca sus errores y no me haga sentir culpable por ellos. Que me ame cuando esté enojado, que sepa que soy imperfecta y haga ver mis faltas con amor y respeto.

Quiero un compañero de vida, para viajar a lugares que no se han descubierto, desde la playa más exótica hasta el rincón que desconocía de mi cuerpo.

Alguien que esté presente en actividades familiares, en el grupo de amigos y cuando estemos a solas.

Aquella persona que pueda tener mi espacio, y aunque no esté conmigo físicamente, pueda sentir su presencia.

Alguien que no corte mis alas, que se enamore de mis demonios y bese mis locuras.

Aquella persona que pueda ser yo misma, que al verme llorar no me lastime más, sino que me consuele, me diga que todo estará bien, y luego seque mis lágrimas con besos y abrazos.

Quiero un compañero de vida, para planear nuevas aventuras y revivir momentos inolvidables en una tarde de café.

Alguien a quien pueda decirle feliz en navidad y abrazar en año nuevo; que no le preocupe el dinero, lo material, pero que se esmere por hacerme sentir especial en nuestro aniversario, cumpleaños y fechas importantes.

Alguien que me persiga con la mirada, me devore con su pasión. Que al terminar de amarnos, conversemos de lo que sea, riamos o simplemente descansemos. En las noches de deseo, pueda tomar su cuerpo por la madrugada y amanecer amándonos.

Quiero un compañero de vida, para formar una familia, y envejecer juntos. Un compañero de vida sin fecha de vencimiento, indestructible.

#escritxs al viento #escritos #escrituras #textos #amore tumblr #amor propio #frases sad #amor no correspondido #libros #parejas

18 notes · View notes

vertigoartgore · 7 months ago

Text

The Incredibles poster by artist Mike Mignola for Comic Con 2004.

5 notes · View notes

flammine · 2 months ago

Text

Pleins de bons dramas en ce moment ! On poursuit avec celui ci:

Titre: Fangs of Fortune

Drama chinois de fin octobre 2024 de 34 épisodes x45 min

Genre: Fantastique (Dieux et Démons), Historique, Résolutions d'enquêtes, Amitié et Romance.

Acteurs:

Histoire:

Durant l'ère Zhenyuan, la déesse Bai Ze gouvernait les royaumes des humains et des démons. À sa mort, les bêtes démoniaques ont proliférées et semées le chaos dans le monde des humains.

Le puissant chef démon "Zhu Yuan", déguisé en Zhao Yuan Zhou, se porte volontaire pour se rendre et propose son aide à la Cour Impériale pour former un bureau de chasse aux démons et mettre fin au chaos.

Wen Xiao rejoint le bureau de chasse aux démons avec son ami d'enfance, Zhuo Yi Chen, qui est à la fois doué pour le travail de détective et le maniement de l'épée. L'archère Pei Sijing et le jeune talentueux, mais timide médecin Bai Jiu, rejoignent également le bureau de chasse. Ensemble, ils forment une équipe de chasseurs de démons et affrontent les bêtes démoniaques.

Au fur et à mesure qu'ils résolvent des affaires, ils découvrent la vérité brutale qui se cache derrière les actes malveillants des démons.

Confrontés à une grande responsabilité et à la perte d'êtres chers, leur amitié indestructible et l'amour entre le plus grand démon et la déesse pourront ils surmonter ce dilemme ?

Avis perso: Un bon drama avec pleins de bons acteurs, une histoire prenante, de jolis costumes, effets spéciaux et une pointe d'humour, super !

Pour le voir:

Iqiyi ou Dramacool

#drama #chinese drama #fangs of fortune #neo hou

11 notes · View notes

lesmisletters-daily · 12 days ago

Text

What He Believed

Les Mis Letters reading club explores one chapter of Les Misérables every day. Join us on Discord, Substack - or share your thoughts right here on tumblr - today's tag is #lm 1.1.13

We are not obliged to sound the Bishop of D—— on the score of orthodoxy. In the presence of such a soul we feel ourselves in no mood but respect. The conscience of the just man should be accepted on his word. Moreover, certain natures being given, we admit the possible development of all beauties of human virtue in a belief that differs from our own.

What did he think of this dogma, or of that mystery? These secrets of the inner tribunal of the conscience are known only to the tomb, where souls enter naked. The point on which we are certain is, that the difficulties of faith never resolved themselves into hypocrisy in his case. No decay is possible to the diamond. He believed to the extent of his powers. “Credo in Patrem,” he often exclaimed. Moreover, he drew from good works that amount of satisfaction which suffices to the conscience, and which whispers to a man, “Thou art with God!”

The point which we consider it our duty to note is, that outside of and beyond his faith, as it were, the Bishop possessed an excess of love. It was in that quarter, quia multum amavit,—because he loved much—that he was regarded as vulnerable by “serious men,” “grave persons” and “reasonable people”; favorite locutions of our sad world where egotism takes its word of command from pedantry. What was this excess of love? It was a serene benevolence which overflowed men, as we have already pointed out, and which, on occasion, extended even to things. He lived without disdain. He was indulgent towards God’s creation. Every man, even the best, has within him a thoughtless harshness which he reserves for animals. The Bishop of D—— had none of that harshness, which is peculiar to many priests, nevertheless. He did not go as far as the Brahmin, but he seemed to have weighed this saying of Ecclesiastes: “Who knoweth whither the soul of the animal goeth?” Hideousness of aspect, deformity of instinct, troubled him not, and did not arouse his indignation. He was touched, almost softened by them. It seemed as though he went thoughtfully away to seek beyond the bounds of life which is apparent, the cause, the explanation, or the excuse for them. He seemed at times to be asking God to commute these penalties. He examined without wrath, and with the eye of a linguist who is deciphering a palimpsest, that portion of chaos which still exists in nature. This reverie sometimes caused him to utter odd sayings. One morning he was in his garden, and thought himself alone, but his sister was walking behind him, unseen by him: suddenly he paused and gazed at something on the ground; it was a large, black, hairy, frightful spider. His sister heard him say:—

“Poor beast! It is not its fault!”

Why not mention these almost divinely childish sayings of kindness? Puerile they may be; but these sublime puerilities were peculiar to Saint Francis d’Assisi and of Marcus Aurelius. One day he sprained his ankle in his effort to avoid stepping on an ant. Thus lived this just man. Sometimes he fell asleep in his garden, and then there was nothing more venerable possible.

Monseigneur Bienvenu had formerly been, if the stories anent his youth, and even in regard to his manhood, were to be believed, a passionate, and, possibly, a violent man. His universal suavity was less an instinct of nature than the result of a grand conviction which had filtered into his heart through the medium of life, and had trickled there slowly, thought by thought; for, in a character, as in a rock, there may exist apertures made by drops of water. These hollows are uneffaceable; these formations are indestructible.

In 1815, as we think we have already said, he reached his seventy-fifth birthday, but he did not appear to be more than sixty. He was not tall; he was rather plump; and, in order to combat this tendency, he was fond of taking long strolls on foot; his step was firm, and his form was but slightly bent, a detail from which we do not pretend to draw any conclusion. Gregory XVI., at the age of eighty, held himself erect and smiling, which did not prevent him from being a bad bishop. Monseigneur Welcome had what the people term a “fine head,” but so amiable was he that they forgot that it was fine.

When he conversed with that infantile gayety which was one of his charms, and of which we have already spoken, people felt at their ease with him, and joy seemed to radiate from his whole person. His fresh and ruddy complexion, his very white teeth, all of which he had preserved, and which were displayed by his smile, gave him that open and easy air which cause the remark to be made of a man, “He’s a good fellow”; and of an old man, “He is a fine man.” That, it will be recalled, was the effect which he produced upon Napoleon. On the first encounter, and to one who saw him for the first time, he was nothing, in fact, but a fine man. But if one remained near him for a few hours, and beheld him in the least degree pensive, the fine man became gradually transfigured, and took on some imposing quality, I know not what; his broad and serious brow, rendered august by his white locks, became august also by virtue of meditation; majesty radiated from his goodness, though his goodness ceased not to be radiant; one experienced something of the emotion which one would feel on beholding a smiling angel slowly unfold his wings, without ceasing to smile. Respect, an unutterable respect, penetrated you by degrees and mounted to your heart, and one felt that one had before him one of those strong, thoroughly tried, and indulgent souls where thought is so grand that it can no longer be anything but gentle.

As we have seen, prayer, the celebration of the offices of religion, alms-giving, the consolation of the afflicted, the cultivation of a bit of land, fraternity, frugality, hospitality, renunciation, confidence, study, work, filled every day of his life. Filled is exactly the word; certainly the Bishop’s day was quite full to the brim, of good words and good deeds. Nevertheless, it was not complete if cold or rainy weather prevented his passing an hour or two in his garden before going to bed, and after the two women had retired. It seemed to be a sort of rite with him, to prepare himself for slumber by meditation in the presence of the grand spectacles of the nocturnal heavens. Sometimes, if the two old women were not asleep, they heard him pacing slowly along the walks at a very advanced hour of the night. He was there alone, communing with himself, peaceful, adoring, comparing the serenity of his heart with the serenity of the ether, moved amid the darkness by the visible splendor of the constellations and the invisible splendor of God, opening his heart to the thoughts which fall from the Unknown. At such moments, while he offered his heart at the hour when nocturnal flowers offer their perfume, illuminated like a lamp amid the starry night, as he poured himself out in ecstasy in the midst of the universal radiance of creation, he could not have told himself, probably, what was passing in his spirit; he felt something take its flight from him, and something descend into him. Mysterious exchange of the abysses of the soul with the abysses of the universe!

He thought of the grandeur and presence of God; of the future eternity, that strange mystery; of the eternity past, a mystery still more strange; of all the infinities, which pierced their way into all his senses, beneath his eyes; and, without seeking to comprehend the incomprehensible, he gazed upon it. He did not study God; he was dazzled by him. He considered those magnificent conjunctions of atoms, which communicate aspects to matter, reveal forces by verifying them, create individualities in unity, proportions in extent, the innumerable in the infinite, and, through light, produce beauty. These conjunctions are formed and dissolved incessantly; hence life and death.

He seated himself on a wooden bench, with his back against a decrepit vine; he gazed at the stars, past the puny and stunted silhouettes of his fruit-trees. This quarter of an acre, so poorly planted, so encumbered with mean buildings and sheds, was dear to him, and satisfied his wants.

What more was needed by this old man, who divided the leisure of his life, where there was so little leisure, between gardening in the daytime and contemplation at night? Was not this narrow enclosure, with the heavens for a ceiling, sufficient to enable him to adore God in his most divine works, in turn? Does not this comprehend all, in fact? and what is there left to desire beyond it? A little garden in which to walk, and immensity in which to dream. At one’s feet that which can be cultivated and plucked; over head that which one can study and meditate upon: some flowers on earth, and all the stars in the sky.

#lm 1.1.13

7 notes · View notes

onpurposeilovehimonpurpose · 1 year ago

Text

An Incomplete List: Things I Love About HRH Prince Henry & FSOTUS Alex Claremont-Diaz

Happy February 1st, ya'll. I've decided to start posting an image that represents (in feeling or with direct imagery) Alex's list about Henry. While I can't do too much with gifs because my computer won't run the programs I need it to and I need to save up for one that does. I'm trying this format because I miss posting about RW&RB each day, and giving my thoughts. I'm going to post one each day in February, (the month of love) and I will use the other nine days to post my version of Henry's incomplete list for Alex.

I encourage everyone who may come across this post to do the same and tag it with (#An Incomplete List) and whatever other tags of course that you think will work, and reblog this too. It'll be fun spreading the love as the days go on and seeing what everyone can come up with for Alex's days too. Pictures, fanart, video clips, even if all you do is talk about the quote, it'll be fun to click the tag on Tumblr and see what others have contributed. Just a reminder of the list:

AN INCOMPLETE LIST: THINGS I LOVE ABOUT HRH PRINCE HENRY 1. The sound of your laugh when I piss you off. 2. The way you smell underneath your fancy cologne, like clean linens but somehow also fresh grass (what kind of magic is this?) 3. That thing you do where you stick out your chin to try to look tough. 4. How your hands look when you play piano. 5. All the things I understand about myself now because of you. 6. How you think Return of the Jedi is the best Star Wars (wrong) because deep down you're a gigantic, sappy, embarrassing romantic who just wants the happily ever after. 7. Your ability to recite Keats. 8. Your ability to recite Bernadette's "Don't let it drag you down" monologue from Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. 9. How hard you try. 10. How hard you've always tried. 11. How determined you are to keep trying. 12. That when your shoulders cover mine, nothing else in the entire stupid world matters. 13. The goddamn issue of Le Monde you brought back to London with you and kept and have on your nightstand (yes, I saw it). 14. The way you look when you first wake up. 15. Your shoulder-to-waist ratio. 16. Your huge, generous, ridiculous, indestructible heart. 17. Your equally huge dick. 18. The face you just made when you read that last one. 19. The way you look when you first wake up (I know I already said this, but I really, really love it). 20. The fact that you loved me all along.”

#An Incomplete List #RWRB #RWRB Movie #Red White and Royal Blue #RWRB Book #RW&RB FirstPrince #Alex X Henry #Alex Claremont-Diaz #Alexander Claremont-Diaz #Henry Fox #HRH Prince Henry #HRH Prince Henry George Edward James Hanover-Stuart Fox #Henry Fox Mountchristen Windsor #Nicholas Galitzine #Taylor Zakhar Perez #HRH Prince Henry of Wales

37 notes · View notes

justforbooks · 17 days ago

Text

Jean-Marie Le Pen

Leader of the Front National who took the far right into the mainstream of French politics

On the evening of 21 April 2002 the result of the first round of voting in the French presidential election was announced. It had been widely, though not universally, assumed that the outcome would see the field reduced to two contenders: the incumbent conservative president, Jacques Chirac, and the socialist prime minister, Lionel Jospin, with whom Chirac had uneasily shared power for five years.

A shudder of shock, shame, disbelief and, in many places, delight, swept the country when it became clear that Chirac would face not Jospin, but Jean-Marie Le Pen, the leader of the far-right, xenophobic and racist Front National (FN), who has died aged 96. Jospin was beaten into third place and eliminated.

It hardly mattered that hundreds of thousands of protesters took to the streets in the days that followed and that Chirac was eventually re-elected in a landslide, thanks largely to the ballots of appalled and penitent voters of the left. Le Pen, who had won 0.74% of the vote when he first stood for president in 1974, obtained 16.86% in the first round and 17.79% in the second.

If his overall impact were to be measured only in seats won during his years as president of the FN at local, regional, national or European elections, it could be minimised. His success, until standing down in 2011, lay in taking the far right into the mainstream of French politics and in dragging conservative discourse to the right.

At one point during the 2012 presidential contest, there seemed to be a real chance that his successor as head of the FN (since reinvented as the National Rally), his much more personable daughter Marine, might repeat her father’s exploit and reach the second round – this time at the expense of the sitting conservative president, Nicolas Sarkozy.

In the event, the victor was the socialist François Hollande, while the FN established itself as France’s third political force.

In 2017, representatives of the traditional right and left were seen off in the first round, and it took another mould-breaker, Emmanuel Macron, at the head of the newly formed centrist party En Marche!, to defeat Marine by 66% to 34%. Jean-Marie’s granddaughter Marion Maréchal-Le Pen also emerged as a prominent figure in the party.

The rebranding of the FN as the National Rally in 2018 marked an attempt to appeal to a broader range of voters. The margins between Macron and Marine were narrower still in 2022; and the National Rally’s gains continued, with the party at one point seeming to be on course to win a majority in parliament in summer 2024.

Though Jean-Marie had positioned his party to benefit from the surge in nationalism and populism felt in much of Europe and the US, he received little credit for having done so. Marine wanted to detoxify the FN of overt racism, and Jean-Marie’s third reference to the gas chambers of the Holocaust as being a detail of history led in 2015 to his expulsion from the party of which he was by then honorary president. When his daughter ran for president, it was largely as “Marine”, and in May 2018 Marion dropped the Le Pen from her surname.

Jean-Marie continued as an MEP until 2019, casting a malignant shadow over the political life of France and Europe, just as he had for decades. He seemed politically indestructible: evidence and often proof was assembled that he was a racist, liar, bully and torturer, but it seemed to have little effect on his overall popularity. He was prosecuted on several occasions, the most recent instance coming last year, in a case concerning the misuse of EU parliament funds.

Le Pen’s own electoral successes were modest – regular election to the European parliament, three spells as a member of the National Assembly, election to regional assemblies – but his name entered the political lexicon when the lepénisation des esprits, the spread of Le Pen’s ideas into people’s minds, became shorthand for the ratchet effect of the causes he espoused. He would mock his political opponents for stealing his programme, asking why people should vote for the copy when they could have the real thing.

Often portrayed as a boorish oaf, Le Pen was no fool: he was an intelligent man with a gift for demagoguery. Anyone who heard him speak, as he would do for an hour or more at a time without notes at the FN’s May Day celebration or his party’s annual fête on the edge of Paris – mixing heavy sarcasm with mockery, abuse and a vision of an all-white France – had to acknowledge the brutal power of his oratory.

His use of language was often elegant and effective, even if his excesses regularly got him into trouble with the courts. The potential flaws in his economic programme – drastic tax cuts, extra spending on French citizens but not foreigners, a return to the franc, exit from the European Union, protectionist measures – did not worry his backers.

His message was aimed at the resentful petites gens who felt neglected, ignored and discriminated against. Once, their votes had gone to the Communist party; millions switched to Le Pen, who offered them a world in which immigrants were the cause of their ills, and once they had been expelled – and abortion outlawed, the guillotine restored and the police given drastic powers – all would be well. He was successful in federating a variety of social categories: reactionary Catholics and pagan romantics, skinheads and members of the haute bourgeoisie, unemployed factory workers in the north and well-heeled wine growers in the Midi.

Born in the Breton fishing village of La Trinité-sur-Mer, he had the birth name of Jean. He reportedly changed it when he first stood for election. His parents were Jean, a fisherman who died after a mine was caught in his net when his son was 14, and Anne-Marie (nee Hervé), a seamstress.

At university in Paris, he studied politics and law, and led a rightwing student group with a reputation for violent and racist behaviour. It was widely thought that the loss of his left eye was the result of a fight, and his account of the circumstances varied over the years. More recently he said it was the result of an accident while he was erecting a marquee for a political meeting.

In 1953, he volunteered for military service in Indochina, now Vietnam, enrolling as a parachutist in the Foreign Legion and attending officer training school. Demobilised after two years, at the age of 27 he became his country’s youngest member of parliament as a backer of Pierre Poujade, whose support for small shopkeepers and businessmen, and hostility to tax prefigured elements of Le Pen’s later policies. He soon fell out with Poujade, and in 1956 again enlisted, serving in north Africa. Allegations that he was involved in the torture of Algerian prisoners dogged him for years.

Re-elected in 1958, he lost his parliamentary seat in 1962 and spent most of the 1960s engaged in far-right politics and in running a business devoted to the sale of recordings of rightwing political figures. In 1972, he founded the FN, and two years later made his first presidential bid.

Le Pen’s circumstances were transformed in 1976 when Hubert Lambert, a wealthy admirer, died and left him a fortune and a mansion in Paris. Lambert was heir to a cement fortune, but was physically frail, with psychological troubles. For years there was controversy over the manner of his death at 42. Members of his family sought to have the will annulled, and eventually the legacy was split with another claimant.

Le Pen’s new wealth did not enable him to find enough sponsors to run for president in 1981, but throughout the 1980s and 90s elections showed considerable underlying support: 14.3% in the 1988 presidential vote, 15% in 1995; almost 10% in the elections of 1986 and 1998; 15% in 1997 (though only 10% in the 2007 presidentials). Many on the conventional right, though not Chirac, were ready to flirt politically with a man who commanded such support.

The first round of the 2002 presidential election marked the high point of Le Pen’s long and turbulent career. In the legislative elections that followed, his candidates scored respectably but won no parliamentary seats. Inevitably, the question of his succession arose, but Le Pen made it clear he planned to continue: with the presidential term reduced to five years, he would be a mere 79 in 2007.

Marine was given an enhanced role, to the discontent of some of his older and more traditionally minded supporters. After the defection of his chief lieutenant, Bruno Mégret, in the late 90s, no obvious successors emerged: none of the possible contenders had a fraction of his charisma.

Marine took as a priority the task of humanising her father’s image, and began increasingly to take over as his political heir. She set about “de-demonising” the FN, and became an altogether more formidable figure, with Jean-Marie marginalised in the battle for the soul and legacy of their party.

In September 2024, father and daughter were among 25 people charged with embezzling funds for fake jobs for European parliament assistants between 2004 and 2016. Jean-Marie’s health had been poor, and he did not appear in court. The verdicts are expected shortly.

He married Pierrette Lalanne in 1960, and they had three daughters, Marie-Caroline, Yann and Marine.

After an acrimonious divorce in 1987, Pierrette denounced Le Pen, and posed for Playboy when he refused to pay alimony. In 1991 he married Jany (Jeanne-Marie) Paschos. She and his daughters survive him.

🔔 Jean-Marie Le Pen, politician, born 20 June 1928; died 7 January 2025

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #Jean-Marie Le Pen #in memoriam

7 notes · View notes