#the spy: julien laurent

[dxppercxdxver]

little something i've been tweaking for that collaboration with @chiropteracupola :)

(placed under a cut because it's Long)

when the sun breaks to no more bullets

Sunrise dawned bitter over the horizon of what was to be the final day of this long and gruesome war. Not the war for the colonies, no, that raged on all around them, but the fight for the Pauling Estate, shrouded in ink-black shadows, sharp as knives between the bricks.

Samuel took a deep, steadying breath, letting his exhalation ring his head in a halo of frozen air. Against the winter chill, the sprawling expanse of a harsh pale sky, the faint whisps of fog only reminded him of how small he was, against the enemies they were facing today. They had firepower, but at the end of the day, they were but ten, and Helen Pauling had every advantage: territory, ranks, and skill.

It was hard not to realize how pitiful their efforts truly were. How, despite his gun, despite their knives, depite their conviction, if it all went to shit, belief would not be enough to save them.

Sighing, Samuel slung his rifle over his back, and trudged away from the mansion, unable to bear the sight of it any longer. His footsteps were far from silent, crunching through the thick coat of snow coating the forest floor, but he could not bring himself to care. Helen would know they were coming, of course, he had seen the patrols, the glint of a muzzle through an open second-story window, and so stealth was more or less left by the wayside. There was only so much surprise they could muster.

A short distance away, Samuel knew, was a clearing that overlooked a valley boasting a river glittering with sunrise flowing through the bottom. Soft oranges and pinks bathed the grass in a tranquil haze, and Samuel held his hand up to the sky, watching the play of the rays through his outstretched fingers.

“Going somewhere?”

By now, Samuel had become accustomed to Julien’s tendency to sneak up on him, and was proud of himself for not jumping. Instead, he simply let out a sharp breath, lowering his arm. He shrugged.

In simple response, Julien nodded. “Of course.” Rummaging in his bag, he added, “Could I interest you in a smoke?”

When Samuel neither confirmed nor denied, mind decidedly elsewhere, Julien slipped a pipe into his hand all the same, pressing the spill to the tobacco until it began to smolder. Plumes of smoke coiled and writhed upward, like they were desperate to escape, and Samuel half wanted to go with them.

Beside him, Julien tapped an impatient finger against his upper arm, before he gently grabbed Samuel’s wrist and guided the pipe to his own mouth. Whem Samuel raised an eyebrow, Julien replied, “Were you going to? No? Thought so.”

The heat of the pipe against Samuel’s fingers was a comfort, almost, contrasted with the numbness spreading across the rest of his body. It forced him to be aware, to remember where he was, and what he was doing. And… who stood next to him, patiently taking drags off the pipe he refused to let go of just yet.

In the ephemeral glow of early morning, the angles of Julien’s face seemed simultaneously harsher and more rounded, with deeper shadows, but an inexplicable tenderness too. His eyes had a faraway look about them, fixed on some nebulous point in the distance. Even in the present circumstances, he retained much of the poise he did his best to cultivate. Julien’s jacket was buttoned up high, his cravat neatly tied, and there was nary a hair out of place in his wig. All the same, Samuel could sense the anticipation coiling in his stomach, coming off of him in waves.

“You alright?” Surprising himself, Samuel was first to break the silence, and Julien seemed just as taken aback, nearly choking on the pipe stem. He was quick to regain his composure, as usual, but it still felt strangely comforting to see someone else clearly uncomfortable with themselves and the situation they found themselves in.

“You know,” Julien said vaguely, tapping Samuel’s wrist with a glove-clad finger. “You know, mon fleur.”

Shifting slightly, Samuel idly scratched the back of his neck. Something about Julien’s comment sat oddly with him. He had always been fond of petnames, idle epithets, even before they became something more, so that was unlikely to the be the source of his disquiet, but even so… Perhaps it was the subtle shift in intensity, or the implication that Samuel was privy to the inner workings of a man whose entire livelihood relied on obscuring everything there was to be known about himself, or perhaps the blatant declaration of affection only hours before their imminent annihilation.

Perhaps it was all of those things, or none, or Samuel was getting in his own head again.

A soft squeeze around his forearm coaxed him back to reality, and when Samuel came into his senses again, Julien was looking at him curiously, lips pursed and gaze unreadable.

“Samuel?”

“Yeah?” His voice sounded painfully weak to his ears.

Julien smiled in that quiet way of his, so faint it could be missed by all but his closest friends, which Samuel thought, with a shock, now included him. “You are lovely in the light.” Leaning in, Julien kissed his cheek, cradling his face with his empty hand.

Breath rattled in Samuel’s throat, fighting an overwhelming sense of sadness creeping into his lungs, and he clasped Julien’s hand with his own, leather against leather. The enormity of his feeling bloomed within his chest, and Samuel cursed his own clumsiness with the spoken language for barring him from taking Julien in his arms and explaining exactly what he meant to him until he was certain he understood. Tears threatened to spill over, but the young Thornton’s rallying cry in the distance saved him from sinking too far down into the amber-gold depths of this moment he wanted to hold as it existed, forever.

“Come,” Julien whispered, fingers trailing down Samuel’s sleeve until their hands interlaced, “we will be needed.”

The walk back to their makeshift camp reminded Samuel far too much of a last march to the gallows. Julien carefully rubbed his thumb over Samuel’s knuckles, but even the solace found in his tender contact barely detracted from the dread clouding his thoughts like cotton. His rifle swung against his leg in time with the beat of his heart.

When they arrived around the campfire, Doe was already several minutes into a rousing speech about strength and honor and Samuel, as hard as he tried, could not force himself to take in his compatriot’s words. His thoughts kept straying to Julien, who had hung back just inside the treeline with him. Notably, he was still holding Samuel’s hand.

“I’m scared, love,” Samuel said, hoarse. “I’m really, really fucking scared.”

“Do you think that I am not?”

Blinking, Samuel rounded on Julien, looking for a trace of his usual insincerity and startling when he found none.

He wanted to protest, because Julien was the most unflappable of them all, but at the same time… “You’re not afraid of anything, spook.”

“Oh, darling,” Julien said, “I am always afraid. That is my secret.” Drawing his knife from his shirtsleeve, Julien considered the blade, tilting it against an errant sunbeam. “A fearless spy is sure to become a dead spy.”

“Then, how…” Samuel replied. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“How do you keep going? With the fear?”

Tilting his head, Julien seemed to consider the question. “You keep going simply because you must. In this line of work, there is no other option, no way to back out. No fallback, no…” he gestured upward, “other tree to hide in. Once the job begins, you go until you win, or you die. Be afraid, let it help you, but do not let it claim you.” Julien turned to face Samuel, face set hard against the imminent battle. “My love, you must be afraid, and you must be brilliant all the same.”

In the background, Doe’s speech seemed to be wrapping up, if the raucous applause from the rest of their teammates was any indication, and Samuel rode the enthusiasm as far as it would take him, throwing caution to the wind and gathering Julien into his arms, pulling him in for a kiss. No matter the battle, no matter their friends, Julien was there and Samuel would sooner run himself through with his bayonet than leave him alone on the eve of their destruction.

Julien sighed against his mouth, breath ghosting over his lips, and Samuel let himself slump, their foreheads touching, limbs entwined in a hug.

“Be good out there,” he said, like a command, like a prayer. It was time, and Julien must be good, must be better than good to survive.

Smiling, Julien kissed Samuel’s nose, before drawing his pocket watch from inside his coat. Golden filigree across the back shimmered, elegant, spelling out Dead Ringer with a horrible feeling of irony.

“Mon cher,” Julien murmured, winding the watch and letting Conagher’s technology work its magic until, in a puff of smoke, a picture perfect replica of Samuel stared back at him, “I always am.”

He winked, tipped his hat, and disappeared into the trees, and Samuel could not bring himself to move until the sounds of his boots vanished into thin air.

[dxppercxdxver]

NOW THAT SUBMISSIONS ARE CLOSED! boosting these guys for @tf2shipswag again!! along with a bonus propaganda post* because i adore them

*it’s just art of them but it’s REALLY GOOD ART and you should LOOK AT IT with your EYES

psst hey @dxppercxdxver and I have sent these two off to a different second war from the one they're already involved in and entered them in the @tf2shipswag oc tournament!

yes we have been posting these men since march but also not in a way where anything gets explained, so I shall say again the things that I said when sending them to the tournament, which are as follows: here’s some guys a little too over their heads in honor and duty and justice! here’s some guys over-fond of burning bridges and running from their responsibilities suddenly faced with things like the massive Group Projects that are both war and romance! here’s some guys that sword-fight and shoot gun real good! here’s some guys that sleep in alternating four-hour blocks because they come in a set like particularly scrungly pair-bonded cats! here’s some guys that go from biting each other (angry rivalry) to biting each other (romantical)!

[theredpelican]

Films watched in 2018

Leopardi (2014) dir. Mario Martone ★★★★☆

Bram Stroker’s Dracula (1992) dir. Francis Ford Coppola ★★★★☆

Dans Paris (2006) dir. Christophe Honoré ★★★☆☆

Battle Royale (2000) dir. Kinji Fukasaku ★★★★☆

Frida (2002) dir. Julie Taymor ★★★★★

The Tale of the Princess Kaguya (2013) dir. Isao Takahata ★★★★☆

The Darjeeling Limited (2007) dir. Wes Anderson ★★☆☆☆

Dangerous Liaisons (1988) dir. Stephen Frears ★★★★★

Bottle Rocket (1996) dir. Wes Anderson ★★★★☆

Chungking Express (1994) dir. Wong Kar-wai ★★★★☆

By the Sea (2015) dir. Angelina Jolie ★★★☆☆

Interview with the Vampire (1994) dir. Neil Jordan ★★★☆☆

Me, Myself and Her (2016) dir. Maria Sole Tognazzi ★★★☆☆

Woman in Gold (2015) dir. Simon Curtis ★★★★★

Big Fish (2003) dir. Tim Burton ★★★☆☆

Jack et la Mécanique du cœur (2013) dir. Mathias Malzieu & Stéphane Berla ★★★★☆

La Dolce Vita (1960) dir. Frederico Fellini ★★★★☆

The Tourist (2010) dir. Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck ★★☆☆☆

What We Do in the Shadows (2014) dir. Taika Waititi & Jermaine Clement ★★★★★

American Psycho (2000) dir. Mary Harron ★★★★☆

Happily Married (2015) dir. Aluizio Abranches ★★★☆☆

Saint Laurent (2015) dir. Bertrand Bonello ★★★★★

Wilde (1997) dir. Brian Gilbert ★★★★☆

Naissance des Pieuvres (2007) dir. Céline Sciamma ★★★★☆

Les Deux Amis (2015) dir. Louis Garrel ★★★☆☆

Velvet Goldmine (1998) dir. Todd Haynes ★★★★★

Hunt for the Wilderpeople (2016) dir. Taika Waititi ★★★☆☆

Logan (2017) dir. James Mangold ★★★★☆

Belle de jour (1967) dir. Luis Buñuel ★★★★☆

La grande belleza (2013) dir. Paolo Sorrentino ★★★★☆

Brice de Nice (2005) dir. James Huth ★★★☆☆

God’s Own Country (2017) dir. Francis Lee ★★★★★

Blade Runner (1982) dir. Ridley Scott ★★★★★

Le Charme discret de la bourgeoisie (1972) dir. Luis Buñuel ★★★★☆

Paris qui dort (1925) dir. René Clair ★★★★★

Ocean’s Eleven (2001) dir. Steven Soderbergh ★★★☆☆

Ocean’s Twelve (2004) dir. Steven Soderbergh ★★★☆☆

Stromboli (1950) dir. Roberto Rossellini ★★★☆☆

Paris je t’aime (2006) dir. [18 directors] ★★★★☆

Black Panther (2018) dir. Ryan Coogler ★★★★★

Quand on a dix-sept ans (2016) dir. André Téchiné ★★★☆☆

When Marnie Was There (2014) dir. Hiromasa Yonebayashi ★★★★☆

Love, Simon (2018) dir. Greg Berlanti ★★★★★

Through a Blue Lens (1999) dir. Veronica Alice Mannix ★★★★☆

Ma Mère (2004) dir. Christophe Honoré ★★★★☆

El faro de las orcas (2016) dir. Gerardo Olivares ★★★★☆

The Killing of a Sacred Deer (2017) dir. Yorgos Lanthimos ★★★☆☆

Ocean’s 8 (2018) dir. Gary Ross ★★★☆☆

Beginners (2010) dir. Mike Mills ★★★★★

Charlie’s Angels (2000) dir. McG ★★★★★ 

Charlie’s Angels: Full Throttle (2003) dir. McG ★★★★★ (I’m gay)

Deadpool 2 (2018) dir. David Leitch ★★★★☆

Sleepy Hollow (1999) dir. Tim Burton ★★★☆☆

Lara Croft: Tomb Raider (2001) dir. Simon West ★★★☆☆

Wanted (2008) dir. Timur Bekmambetov ★★★☆☆

Solo: A Star Wars Story (2018) dir. Ron Howard ★★★☆☆

Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom (2018) dir. J. A. Bayona ★★★☆☆

The Hitch-Hiker (1953) dir. Ida Lupino ★★★☆☆

The Emperor’s New Groove (2000) dir. Mark Dindal ★★★★★

Incredibles 2 (2018) dir. Brad Bird ★★★★☆

mother! (2017) dir. Darren Aronofsky ★★★☆☆

Tom of Finland (2017) dir. Dome Karukoski ★★★★☆

Coco avant Chanel (2009) dir. Anne Fontaine ★★★☆☆

Hereditary (2018) dir. Ari Aster ★★★☆☆

Neuilly sa mère ! (2009) dir. Gabriel Julien-Laferrière ★★★★☆

Maurice (1987) dir. James Ivory ★★★★★ 

Hurricane Bianca (2016) dir. Matt Kugelman ★★★★★ 

The Fall (2008) dir. Tarsem Singh ★★★★☆

Sorry to Bother You (2018) dir. Boots Riley ★★★★☆

Elle (2016) dir. Paul Verhoeven ★★★★★ 

The Talented Mr. Ripley (1999) dir. Anthony Minghella ★★★★★

The Devil Wears Prada (2006) dir. David Frankel ★★★★☆

The Fellowship of the Ring (2001) dir. Peter Jackson ★★★★★

The Two Towers (2002) dir. Peter Jackson ★★★★★

The Return of the King (2003) dir. Peter Jackson ★★★★★

Sissi (1955) dir. Ernst Marischka ★★★★★ 

Disobedience (2017) dir. Sebastián Lelio ★★★★☆

Hercules (1997) dir. Ron Clements & John Musker ★★★★★ 

Burning (2018) dir. Lee Chang-dong ★★★★☆

Free Fall (2013) dir. Stephan Lacant ★★★☆☆

Under the Tuscan Sun (2004) dir. Audrey Wells ★★★☆☆

The Spy who Dumped Me (2018) dir. Susanna Fogel ★★★☆☆

Mission : Impossible - Fallout (2018) dir. Christopher McQuarrie ★★★☆☆

Thunderball (1965) dir. Terence Young ★★★★☆

Ladybird (2018) dir. Greta Gerwig ★★★☆☆

Lilo & Stitch (2002) dir. Chris Sanders & Dean DeBlois ★★★★☆

The Silence of the Lambs (1991) dir. Jonathan Demme ★★★☆☆

Dovlatov (2018) dir. Aleksei German Jr. ★★★☆☆

The girl who played with fire (2009) dir. Daniel Alfredson ★★★★☆

L’inconnu du lac (2013) dir. Alain Guiraudie ★★★★☆

Venom (2018) dir. Ruben Fleischer ★★★★★ 

Rafiki (2018) dir. Wanuri Kahiu ★★★★★

The house that Jack built (2018) dir. Lars von Trier ★★★☆☆

Steel magnolias (1989) dir. Herbert Ross ★★★☆☆

Fantastic Beasts : The Crimes of Grindelwald (2018) dir. David Yates ★★★☆☆

Lazzaro felice (2018) dir. Alice Rohrwacher ★★★☆☆

Loro (2018) dir. Paolo Sorrentino ★★★★☆

Suspiria (2018) dir. Luca Guadagnino ★★★☆☆

The Duchess (2008) dir. Saul Dibb ★★★☆☆

My best friend’s wedding (1997) dir. P.J. Hogan ★★★☆☆

The Mummy (1999) dir. Stephen Sommers ★★☆☆☆

[thecommunityarchive]

2019

March 4th – 30th, Bonington Gallery, Nottingham Live in Nottingham with Ethan Assouline, Laëtitia Badaut Haussmann, David Bernstein, Tenant of Culture, Cyrus Goberville, Philippe Hallais and Ruby Hoette

2018

November 9th – 11th, Le Reilhac, Paris ’Photos Authentiques, Romantiques, Magnifiques’ with David Brandon Geeting, Xiaopeng Yuan, Nico Krijno, Charles Negre, Melchior Tersen, Nick Sethi, Kamilya Kuspanova and Marie Déhé

October 13th – 20th, DOC, Paris Umwelt Monde with The Community (Paris), TG (Nottingham), Mercy Pictures (Auckland), Unsere Umwelt (Basel), Guimarães (Vienna) and Sydney (Sydney). The Community with Tenant of Culture, Justin Cole Smith and Alexander Kelvy

September 26th, Palais de Tokyo Terrace, Paris Gauntlett Cheng 'Eternal Spring' Performance + Terrace Takeover

July 21st, The Community, Paris Permanent Cuts #09 : Black Zone Myth Chant (Editions Gravats)

July 11th – 28th, The Community, Paris Final exhibition: « Inside the house » with Cali Thornhill Dewitt, David Luraschi, Félicia Atkinson, Ieva Kabasinskaite + “the names of the core team”, Julie Béna, Julien Carreyn + Ernesto Sartori, Julien Lacroix, Laurent-David Garnier, Laëtitia Badaut Haussmann + Anna Athéna Simon, Niklas Hallman, Pieter van der Schaaf & Stéphanie Lagarde, Shauna Toohey & Misha Hollenbach, The Community, Thomas Jeppe + Cyrus Goberville + Black Zone Myth Chant, Léa Domingues + Aapo Nikkanen, (But chérie, today we’re not full – More to be announced!)

June 22nd – 24th, The Community, Paris Double Date with Wigs (Perruques) by Tomihiro Kono and “I’m having a dinner with a friend” by Haruka Spring and Shauna T. June 20th – July 29th, rue de la République, Marseille Installation by The Community for Koché at Le Sud Bébé

June 9th – July 1st, Averard Hotel, London European, Foreign and Domestic with Louis & Marie Amar, Amy & Oliver Thomas-Irvine, Michael Iveson, Jack Brindley, Marc Einsiedel & Felix Jung, The Community, Ittah-Yoda and Ophelia Finke ∩ JJ Lincoln

May 30th, The Community, Paris octopus notes 8 Launch

May 25th, The Community, Paris Launch and book signing: Khichdi (Kitchari) by Nick Sethi (Dashwood Books)

May 12th – June 10th, The Community, Paris Autour de ma chambre with Christiane Blattmann, Women’s History Museum and Femke Dekkers

April 28th, The Community, Paris Permanent Cuts #08 : Dominick Fernow (Hospital Productions)

April 20th – May 19th, COHERENT, Brussels I spy with my little eye with Brendan Fowler, David Luraschi and Niklas Hallman

April 18th, The Community, Paris I will set a stage for you by Ana Iwataki and Marion Vasseur Raluy – based on a project for Art Viewer

April 12th – May 6th, The Community, Paris Angela (An American Hero, Chapitre 2) by Ethan Assouline and Philippe Hallais

April 5th – 7th, The Community, Paris The Community : Living Room with Thami Schweichler (Makers Unite), Ruby Hoette (Goldsmiths University), Julien Pujol and Soft as Snow (Houndstooth)

March 17th, The Community, Paris Permanent Cuts #07 : ssaliva (Collapsing Market)

February 16th, Cotton Club, Paris Ystävänpäivä Party Celebrating Our 500 Days

January 24th – March 18th, The Community, Paris Same Same but Different #04

January 18th – 23rd, The Community, Paris The Community with Producing Love featuring Camper Lab, Chin Mens Intl. and Neith Nyer

January 6th, The Community, Paris Permanent Cuts #06 : Félicia Atkinson (Shelter Press)

2017

December 16th – January 14th, 2018, The Community, Paris How do you do? with David Bernstein, Paul Gagner and Hermanni Saarinen

November 10th – 12th, The Community, Paris The Community : ISLAND with Osamu Yokonami, Daniel Shea, Camille Vivier, Thomas Albdorf, Durimel, Nico Krijno, Charles Negre

October 27th – November 26th, The Community, Paris MILKY WAY with Felicia Atkinson, Giovanna Flores, Elina Laitinen, Cécile Nogues, Adéla Souckova and Sophia Taillet

October 4th, The Community, Paris Gallery 909 SS18 “Empty Zones” Installation via The Community

September 29th – October 4th, The Community, Paris The Community with Novembre Magazine featuring Camper Lab, Ground Zero, MARIEYAT and Neith Nyer

September 27th, The Community, Paris Utopia III “Energy Is Fluid" Launch by P.A.M.

September 23rd, The Community, Paris Permanent Cuts #05 : Philippe Hallais (Modern Love)

September 22nd, The Community, Paris SS18 FEM(M)I by Anne Karine Thorbjørnsen

July 9th, The Community, Paris Dining with Humpty Dumpty Launch and Reading by Reba Maybury with Rottingdean Bazaar 

July 1st – July 30th, The Community, Paris Automated Curation with core.pan, Miša Skalskis, Simone Niquille, Matti Liimatainen, Caroline Pretterebner, Aaron Alexander Arnoldt, and Wille Hyvönen & Sakari Vaelma

June 26th, Maison Louis Carré, Paris The Community with Laëtitia Badaut Haussmann at Maison Louis Carré

June 23rd – 28th, The Community, Paris The Community with Novembre Magazine featuring Chin Mens, Neith Nyer, Ground Zero and Camper Lab

June 22nd, The Community, Paris The Community with SomeWare (Brendan Fowler + Cali Thornhill DeWitt) and Odwalla1221 (Chloé Elizabeth Maratta & Flannery Silva)

June 13th – 18th, Basel  Umwelt Mode with The Community (Paris), MAVRA (Berlin), TG (Nottingham), and UNSERE UMWELT (Basel). The Community with Aamu Salo, Brendan Fowler, Hanne Jurmu and Thompson Street Studio. Umwelt Mode curated by Thomas Jeppe and Benedikt Wyss

May 20th – June 21st, The Community, Paris RUN HOME Collection III with Susan Cianciolo and Kiva Motnyk

May 9th, The Community, Paris Collection revue 5 launch

April 6th, The Community, Paris Permanent Cuts #04 : Ron Morelli (Hospital Productions)

March 25th – May 9th, The Community, Paris A Waiting Room with Susan Cianciolo & Kiva Motnyk (Thompson Street Studio, Run Home Collection), Corinna Helenelund, Lola Mercier, Sara de la Villejegu and Henry Roy

March 3rd – 8th, The Community, Paris Paris Fashion Week Installation with Novembre Magazine : Gauntlett Cheng, Helena Manzano, Neith Nyer, Nhu Duong and BARRAGÁN

February 23rd – 26th, LACMA, Los Angeles LA Art Book Fair

January 29th – February 26th, The Community, Paris Same Same But Different

January 21st, The Community, Paris Permanent Cuts #03 : Pan Daijing

January 20th – 24th, The Community, Paris Paris Fashion Week Installation with Novembre Magazine : Chin Mens and Neith Nyer

2016

December 8th, The Community, Paris Permanent Cuts #02 : Carla dal Forno (Blackest Ever Black)

December 3rd – January 13th, 2017, The Community, Paris The Adventures of You with Jaakko Pallasvuo, Arnar Ásgeirsson, Hanne Jurmu & Anton Vartiainen, and The Community and Lance the Psychic & jasonknudsen414

November 26th, The Community, Paris mummy has the bends again (is the bends the one where you go down deep underwater for a long time and when you surface, you feel funny?), Paris launch of HEROES – Fanfiction, by CENTRE FOR STYLE and 3-ply

November 12th – 16th, The Community, Paris Facing-the-World with Nico Krijno, Yelena Yemchuk, Marton Perlaki, HART+LËSHKINA, Mark Peckmezian, Ye Rin Mok, Camille Vivier, Estelle Hanania, Osma Harvilahti, Sasha Kurmaz, Bea de Giacomo, Birthe Piontek, Jody Rogac, Matthew Leifheit, David Luraschi, Heikki Kaski, Louise Desnos, Charlie Engman.

November 4th, The Community, Paris Permanent Cuts #01 : Bill Kouligas (PAN)

September 29th – November 11th, The Community, Paris BEING-IN-THE-WORLD with Sandra Vaka Olsen, Hadrien Gerenton, François Patoue, Aapo Nikkanen, Gyohei Zaitsu, Lauri Soini, Maria Korkeila, ensaemble, Vivi Raila, NINJAT, NOT, Yashka, Elina Laitinen, Sia Rosenberg, The Art Markets, Khaos Publishing, Jean Boite Éditions and Thompson Street Studio

[cassetteboy]

A selection of 118 potential french names for the Spy, handpicked by your local french boy

So, yeah, It’s kinda hard picking a name in another language, and even name lists are sometimes a little off.

Of course, those are not all the french names that were used around 1970 (I’m not even sure for some of them), but they are either french, either used in france, and rather old-sounding, since I excluded any modern names.

I bolded my personnal favorites! If you’re a fellow french person and wanna add something or tell me a name is wrong, go ahead!

List of suitable names for the Spy (by the mighty standards of cassetteboy)

Amaury

Armand

Aristide

Arsène

Balthazar

Barnabé

Blaise

Bruno

Casimir

Cédric

Charles

Clément

Constant

Damien

Edmond

Édouard

Émeric

Émilien

Fortunat

Francis

François

Gabriel

Gaspard

Georges

Gilles

Grégoire

Guillaume

Guilhem

Henri

Hippolyte

Horace

Isaac

Isidore

Jacques

Jean

Jérémie

Joseph

Jules

Julien

Lambert

Laurent

Léonard

Lionel

Lothaire

Ludovic

Manuel

Marius

Maxime

Melvin

Michel

Modeste

Narcisse

Nazaire

Nestor

Nicholas

Noé

Olivier

Oscar

Oswald

Pascal

Patrice

Patrick

Paul

Phillippe

Pierre

Prosper

Quentin

Raphaël

Raymond

Régis

Renaud

René

Richard

Robert

Rodrigue

Romain

Roméo

Romuald

Samson

Sébastien

Serge

Simon

Sylvain

Sylvestre

Théodore

Théophile

Thibault

Thomas

Timothée

Toussaint

Ulrich

Valentin

Victor

Victorien

Vincent

Virgile

Vivien

Vladimir

William

Wilfried

Xavier

Yvan

Yves

Yvon

Zacharie

[italianaradio]

César 2020: tutte le nomination, domina L’Ufficiale e la Spia di Polanski

Nuovo post su italianaradio https://www.italianaradio.it/index.php/cesar-2020-tutte-le-nomination-domina-lufficiale-e-la-spia-di-polanski/

César 2020: tutte le nomination, domina L’Ufficiale e la Spia di Polanski

César 2020: tutte le nomination, domina L’Ufficiale e la Spia di Polanski

César 2020: tutte le nomination, domina L’Ufficiale e la Spia di Polanski

Anche la Francia si mette in pari con la stagione dei premi dell’anno corrente e annuncia le nomination ai César 2020. La sorpresa è che il bellissimo film di Roman Polanski, L’Ufficiale e la Spia (J’accuse) ha conquistato 12 nomination, nonostante le polemiche e le nuove accuse che hanno reso ancora turbolenti gli ultimi mesi del regista.

Nella categoria Miglior film straniero, spicca anche una nomination, l’unica, per l’Italia, a Il Traditore di Marco Bellocchio, che era stato presentato proprio in terra francese a Cannes 2019, e che aveva riscosso un discreto successo.

Ecco la lista completa dei nominati ai César 2020

BEST FILM La Belle Époque, Nicolas Bedos Grace à Dieu, François Ozon Hors Normes, Eric Toledano, Olivier Nakache J’accuse (An Officer and a Spy), Roman Polanski Les Misérables, Ladj Ly Portrait de la Jeune Fille en Feu (Portrait of a Lady on Fire), Céline Sciamma Roubaix, Une Lumiere, Arnaud Desplechin

BEST DIRECTOR La Belle Époque, Nicolas Bedos Grace à Dieu, François Ozon Hors Normes, Eric Toledano, Olivier Nakache J’accuse (An Officer and a Spy), Roman Polanski Les Misérables, Ladj Ly Portrait de la Jeune Fille en Feu (Portrait of a Lady on Fire), Céline Sciamma Roubaix, Une Lumiere, Arnaud Desplechin

BEST ACTRESS Anaîs Demoustier, Alice et Le Maire Eva Green, Proxima Adèle Haenel, Portrait de la Jeune Fille en Feu Chiara Mastroianni, Chambre 212
 Noémie Merlant, Portrait de la Jeune Fille en Feu Doria Tillier, 
La Belle Époche Karin Viard, Chanson Douce

BEST ACTOR Daniel Auteuil, La Belle Époche Damien Bonnard, Les Misérables Vincent Cassel, Hors Normes Jean Dujardin, J’accuse Reda Kateb, Hors Normes Melvil Poupaud, Grace à Dieu Roschdy Zem, Roubaix, Une Lumiere

BEST FOREIGN FILM Pain and Glory, Pedro Almodovar Le Jeune Ahmed, Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne Joker, Todd Phillips Lola Vers La Mer, Laurent Micheli Once Upon a Time … in Hollywood, Quentin Tarantino Parasite, Bong Joon-Ho The Traitor, Marco Bellocchio

BEST DOCUMENTARY 68, Mon Pere et Les Clous,  Samuel Bigiaoui La Cordillère des Songes, Patricio Guzman Lourdes, Thierry Demaizière, Alain Teurlai M, Yolande Zauberman Wonder Boy Olivier Rousteing, Né Sous X, Anissa Bonnefont

BEST ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY La Belle Époche, Nicolas Bedos Grace à Dieu, François Ozon Hors Normes, Eric Toledano, Olivier Nakache Les Misérables, Ladj Ly, Giordano Gederlini, Alexis Manenti Portrait de la Jeune Fille en Feu (Portrait of a Lady on Fire), Céline Sciamma

BEST FIRST FILM Atlantique (Atlantics), Mati Diop Nom de la Terre, Edouard Bergeon Le Chant du Loup, Antonin Baudry Les Misérables, Ladj Ly Papicha, Mounia Meddour

BEST ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY

La Belle Époque, Nicolas Bedos Grace à Dieu, François Ozon Hors Normes, Eric Toledano, Olivier Nakache Les Misérables, Ladj Ly, Giordano Gederlini, Alexis Manenti Portrait de la Jeune Fille en Feu (Portrait of a Lady on Fire), Céline Sciamma

BEST ADAPTED SCREENPLAY Costa-Gavras, Adults in the Room Roman Polanski, Robert Harris, J’accuse Jérémy Clapin, Guillaume Laurant, J’ai Perdu Mon Corps Arnaud Desplechin, Léa Mysius, Roubaix, Une Lumière Dominik Moll, Gilles Marchand, Seules les Bêtes

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS Fanny Ardant, La Belle Époque Josiane Balasko, Grace à Dieu Laure Calamy, Seules les Bêtes
 Sara Forestier, Roubaix, Une Lumière Hélène Vincent, Hors Normes

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR Swann Arlaud, Grace à Dieu Grégory Gadebois, J’accuse Louis Garrel, J’accuse Benjamin Lavernhe, Mon Inconnue Denis Ménochet, Grace à Dieu

BEST FEMALE NEWCOMER Luàna Bajrami, Portrait de la Jeune Fille en Feu Céleste Brunnquell, Les Éblouis Lyna Khoudri, Papicha Nina Meurisse, Camille Mama Sané, Atlantique

BEST MALE NEWCOMER Anthony Bajon, Au Nom de la Terre Benjamin Lesieur, Hors Normes Alexis Manenti, Les Misérables Liam Pierron, La Vie Scolaire Djebril Zonga, Les Misérables

BEST ANIMATED FEATURE La Fameuse Invasion des Ours en Sicile, Lorenzo Mattotti Les Hirondelles de Kaboul, Zabou Breitman J’ai Perdu Mon Corps (I Lost My Body), Jérémy Clapin

BEST EDITING ANNY DANCHÉ, FLORENT VASSAULT – LA BELLE ÉPOQUE LAURE GARDETTE – GRÂCE À DIEU DORIAN RIGAL-ANSOUS – HORS NORMES HERVÉ DE LUZE – J’ACCUSE FLORA VOLPELIÈRE – LES MISÉRABLES

BEST CINEMATOGRAPHY NICOLAS BOLDUC – LA BELLE ÉPOQUE PAWEL EDELMAN – J’ACCUSE JULIEN POUPARD – LES MISÉRABLES CLAIRE MATHON – PORTRAIT DE LA JEUNE FILLE EN FEU IRINA LUBTCHANSKY – ROUBAIX, UNE LUMIÈRE

BEST COSTUMES EMMANUELLE YOUCHNOVSKI – LA BELLE ÉPOQUE THIERRY DELETTRE – EDMOND PASCALINE CHAVANNE – J’ACCUSE ALEXANDRA CHARLES – JEANNE DOROTHÉE GUIRAUD – PORTRAIT DE LA JEUNE FILLE EN FEU

BEST PRODUCTION DESIGN STÉPHANE ROZENBAUM – LA BELLE ÉPOQUE BENOÎT BAROUH – LE CHANT DU LOUP FRANCK SCHWARZ – EDMOND JEAN RABASSE – J’ACCUSE THOMAS GRÉZAUD – PORTRAIT DE LA JEUNE FILLE EN FEU

BEST ORIGINAL SCORE FATIMA AL QADIRI – ATLANTIQUE ALEXANDRE DESPLAT – J’ACCUSE DAN LÉVY – J’AI PERDU MON CORPS MARCO CASANOVA, KIM CHAPIRON – LES MISÉRABLES GRÉGOIRE HETZEL – ROUBAIX, UNE LUMIÈRE

BEST SOUND RÉMI DARU, SÉVERIN FAVRIAU, JEAN-PAUL HURIER – LA BELLE ÉPOQUE NICOLAS CANTIN, THOMAS DESJONQUÈRES, RAPHAËL MOUTERDE, OLIVIER GOINARD, RANDY THOM – LE CHANT DU LOUP LUCIEN BALIBAR, AYMERIC DEVOLDÈRE, CYRIL HOLTZ, NIELS BARLETTA – J’ACCUSE ARNAUD LAVALEIX, JÉRÔME GONTHIER, MARCO CASANOVA – LES MISÉRABLES JULIEN SICART, VALÉRIE DE LOOF, DANIEL SOBRINO – PORTRAIT DE LA JEUNE FILLE EN FEU

Cinefilos.it – Da chi il cinema lo ama.

César 2020: tutte le nomination, domina L’Ufficiale e la Spia di Polanski

Anche la Francia si mette in pari con la stagione dei premi dell’anno corrente e annuncia le nomination ai César 2020. La sorpresa è che il bellissimo film di Roman Polanski, L’Ufficiale e la Spia (J’accuse) ha conquistato 12 nomination, nonostante le polemiche e le nuove accuse che hanno reso ancora turbolenti gli ultimi mesi […]

Cinefilos.it – Da chi il cinema lo ama.

Chiara Guida

[dxppercxdxver]

more of that collaboration with @chiropteracupola!!

all the days of our delights

Julien woke with the sun to the first warm spring day since the war ended.

Golden light spilled across the fine sheets of his bed, tucked deep in the heart of Teufort Manor, just now beginning to properly feel like home, and he rolled to his side to look out the window at the greening forest. Turning over revealed the empty space beside him, blankets creased with a recently departed presence, and the faint, comforting scent of pine sap lingering in the air and in the weave of the satin. Outside, the birds were just beginning to rouse themselves, gentle chirping drifting on the breeze.

For once, Julien felt no need to hurry, no urgency to his actions. Instead, he simply stretched his arms above his head, listening to the dull popping in his neck, and reached for his partner’s pillow, pressing it to his face. Duties would soon call his name, of course, but he decided morning could wait. Julien was owed this moment of quiet.

Unfortunately, before he could sink back into the bedding and let the drowsiness claim him once more, there came a knock at the door.

“Go away,” he murmured, although his words were muffled by the fabric enshrouding his face. To his surprise, a low laugh issued forth, and then the door creaked open.

“Good morning to you, too,” Samuel Mundy chuckled, voice roughened with the early hour, before padding over to the bed and sitting on the side, back to Julien’s, reaching for his hand. Twining their fingers together, Julien dragged Samuel’s knuckles to his lips while Samuel continued, “Sorry about your beauty sleep.”

“Mmm you know I do not need beauty sleep.” Julien smiled, looking up to meet Samuel’s serene gaze. In the dawn’s glow, the crags of his weathered face were softened, pleasant and tranquil.

He chuckled. “Right, because you’re always so handsome.”

“Of course I am.” With a grin, Julien reached up with his free hand, running his fingers through Samuel’s hair, blessedly free of snarls and mats, before lifting himself up for a kiss. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

Pulling away slightly, Samuel raised an eyebrow. “You mean you don’t want this ugly mug starin’ down at ya?”

“Mind your tongue, cher,” Julien said, bumping his forehead against Samuel’s. “You know how I feel about your ugly mug.”

“I knew it.”

“Knew I love it? I should hope so.” In spite of Samuel’s scoff, Julien really did adore the way he looked, and kissed him again to prove it. “Now, what brings you here before sun-up?”

If Julien was not mistaken, it appeared that Samuel was blushing, and but a moment later, he idly pushed his hair out of his face, confirming Julien’s suspicions.

“Well,” Samuel said, rocking slightly in place, “I made you coffee, if you want it. It’s downstairs.”

“Oh…” It was such a simple thing, to be made coffee in the morning, but the fact that it was Samuel doing it—Samuel, who rarely stayed in bed past the first light, Samuel, whose every move was deliberate—and he was doing for him made Julien’s breath catch in his throat. He buried his head in the crook of Samuel’s neck, letting his stubble scratch at his forehead.

“I would like that,” Julien said, drawing Samuel into a hug. “Shall I get dressed?”

“Nah, no one else is up yet.” He held Julien close, words ghosting over Julien’s skin, before leaning back to take him all in. “‘Sides… I like you. Like this.”

“Well, I suppose I cannot argue with that,” Julien replied, but he felt heat rising to his cheeks all the same. “I will see you downstairs?”

“Yeah,” Samuel beamed. “Kitchen.” With that, he stood, pausing by the door. It was only then that Julien properly registered that he was wearing only his nightshirt, hair falling loose around his shoulders. He looked so at ease, so vulnerable, Julien almost wanted to avert his eyes, as if observing him so exposed was a violation of whatever privacy was still hovering between them. But then Samuel glanced over his shoulder, unmistakably smug, and said, “Don’t be late, love.”

As Samuel disappeared into the hallway, Julien could only stare, agape, before recalling where he was expected well enough to will himself out of the bed. Tossing on his own nightshirt was almost an afterthought in his haste to meet Samuel in the manor’s kitchen, and he even left his wig behind, fluffing his hair up in its place. The wood was cool on his feet as he wandered the halls, listening to the snoring that emanated from his friends’ bunks. Spring was coming, and they were alive, and what a wonder it was, to be laughing and living among such company.

Upon his arrival to the dining area, Julien caught a glimpse of Samuel bustling about the kitchen, and the distinct aroma of roasting coffee greeted him shortly afterward. A small table was set up in a nook by an eastern window, place settings haloed in gold.

“Oh good, you’re here,” Samuel called, holding up two china teacups. “Be out in a second, alright?”

“Oui,” Julien replied, trailing off upon examining the table more closely. Two plates were set out, heaped with strips of bacon and warm bread, slathered with butter. It was far from an elegant meal, but it was lovely all the same. Glasses of milk were placed in the center, with a tidy bouquet of flowers filling up a delicate-looking vase that served as the centerpiece. “Samuel,” he said, “is this for me?”

Apparently, Samuel had snuck up behind him, because it took but a breath for him to press a kiss to Julien’s cheek, setting the teacups on the table.

“‘Course,” he said, a subtle pride radiating off of him. “Is that… okay?”

Julien took his hand without a second thought. “It’s perfect.”

Enveloped in the near-idyllic springtime atmosphere, Samuel slowly guided Julien to his seat, pushing the chair in for him, before settling in across the way. For awhile, Julien could only watch as he tore off pieces of bread and sipped at his coffee. He knew the food was for him, too, but eating meant taking his eyes off of Samuel, and he wanted to commit this to his memory forever: the way the dappled sunlight gleamed in his hair, the nimble movements of his hands, the loose laces of his nightshirt that allowed him brief flashes of the ropy scars that crisscrossed his chest.

Samuel was, in no uncertain terms, beautiful and lovely.

When he caught sight of Julien staring, Samuel snorted, resting his palm against Julien’s neck. “You’re allowed to eat, love. I didn’t make you breakfast just for show.”

“I know,” Julien said, tapping Samuel’s wrist. “I will.”

“You better.”

Unfortunately for Julien’s constitution, Samuel was a talented cook, even if the food itself seemed unassuming. It had been so long since he had eaten fresh bread, even longer since their travels had afforded them time enough to cure and cook meat. Everything about the dishes spoke of a simple and honest devotion, an affection Julien felt wildly unprepared to process in its entirety. So, he ate, and he enjoyed it, and he was filled with the desire to supply Samuel with only the finest ingredients in the world so that he might continue to cook as he loved, for the people he loved.

“You should come to the market with me.” The words were out of his mouth before Julien had even had the chance to think about them, but upon recollection, he found he did not regret them. Samuel just blinked, swallowing the bite of his food.

“Are you sure?”

“Why would I not be?” All Julien wished was for Samuel to see just how much he meant, how much he was cherished, how Julien yearned to care for him in every way he could manage. He could not fathom why Samuel would hesitate now, when it was so clear Julien wanted to spend his time with his love in a way that would matter to both of them.

“Well…” Samuel said, ducking his head and picking at the hem of his nightshirt. “I mean, you’re you, and I’m…”

“Charming? Honorable? One of the better men I have had the pleasure of knowing?”

“Ugh, no.” Groaning, Samuel crossed his arms over his face. “You’re just… Put together, and you know how to talk to people, and your reputation means something to you, and I’m… me.”

“You…” Julien could only watch, baffled, as Samuel refused to look at him. “Do you really think that poorly of yourself? That you assume I would rather not be seen with you?”

“Well, wouldn’t you?” Samuel shrugged loosely, gesturing at nothing. “I’m just a random bloke who’d rather spend his days in a tree, and I don’t know how to dress, and we’ve both got bands but no wives to show for it. And you…”

“Have a great want of your company at the market today,” Julien finished, clutching at Samuel’s fingers. “My dear bushman, I am telling you I want you to come with me. I stopped caring about how I looked to the rest of the world a long time ago, and now I simply want to spend time with the man I love. Can you accept that?”

“But… the townsfolk—”

“Oh, let them gossip,” Julien said with a wave of his hand. “I highly doubt anyone will be giving us trouble, anyway. Not after Lady Helen’s death.”

With a reluctant snort, Samuel muttered, “Serves ‘em right.”

“Now you see.” Patting Samuel on the cheek, Julien stood, pulling Samuel to his feet. “If you truly wish to leave, we will go, no questions asked. I only ask that you come at all.”

Samuel seemed to turn this over in his mind, squeezing at Julien’s hand, before saying, “Okay.”

“Merci, my dear.” Kissing Samuel’s forehead, Julien began heading for the stairs to their room. “I suggest you get dressed, then, for as lovely as you look now, I doubt the people of Teufort would much appreciate it.”

“Y—Yeah. Sure.”

“I will meet you under the trellis in the garden, then,” Julien said with a wink. “Je t’aime, sweet.”

And with that, he left Samuel with the scraps of his breakfast, disappearing up the stairs.

It was true, that Julien took great pride in his appearance, and a day out in a sleepy little town in Pennsylvania was no exception, least of all considering that Samuel would be joining him. So, he chose his clothing with a critical eye: nothing too extravagent, of course, but something befitting the company he would be keeping. He settled on was a deep red coat and matching waistcoat, and tied his cravat in a neat knot, before adjusting the wig on his head. Grabbing his cane, Julien made his way down to the front of the manner.

“Mornin’, Jules,” Jeremiah yelled from his bedroom, followed by a cheerier, “Good morning, Mr. Laurent!” from Filomena.

“Bonjour to you both,” Julien fired back, deliberately not looking through the crack in the door, “and pass my regards on to the good doctor.”

“Can do!”

The rest of his trip being unimpeded, Julien found himself leaning against the trellis in very little time, studying the ivy that wound its way up the wood. He took a leaf between his gloved fingers; it surely would not be long until it began to bloom.

“Oi. Spook.”

When Julien looked up, Samuel was standing on the front porch, shifting his weight on his feet. While he must have been profoundly uncomfortable, Julien could not help but think he looked stunning, even though his clothing was relatively plain. Samuel only boasted a heavy brown coat over top of his usual garb, but his hair was neatly braided and his shoes had been polished to a slick gloss.

“Hello, cher,” Julien smiled, holding out a hand. “Shall we?”

“Eh.” Marching down the stairs with heavy footfalls, Samuel threaded his arm through the crook Julien’s elbow. “Might as well.”

The walk into town was spent in relative silence, save for the thud of Julien’s cane on the hardpacked dirt. However, it was far from unpleasant. Julien frankly adored watching Samuel study the terrain around them, unconsciously whistling back the birdcalls that reached them, and did not mind the lack of conversation. After all, it was important that Samuel start the day on a footing comfortable to him, and if he liked the quiet, Julien would happily oblige.

It was only when the far off clamor of voices began to filter through the trees that Samuel began to tense. He carefully slipped his arm from Julien’s grip, holding it behind his back.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “Nervous.”

“It is alright, my dear,” Julien replied, nudging him slightly. “I will follow your lead. Whatever you want, it is yours.”

“No, I can’t ask you to—”

“It is only fair!” Julien said, patting the bag sitting on his hip. “You treat me so wonderfully, so I would like to return the favor.”

Frowning, Samuel eyed the purse with suspicion. “Yeah?”

“Anything you desire.”

And, at last, Samuel returned his smile, slipping his hand back into Julien’s. “Thanks.”

The pleasant hubbub of the market soon surrounded them both, and Samuel quickly brightened upon viewing the goods for sale. True to his word, Julien paid for every single thing, and they soon found themselves with a bag full of fresh cuts of meat, fine goat butter, colorful bunches of flowers, plenty of bulbs to start a proper garden, and a number of little trinkets Julien personally saw no value in but Samuel seemed to love. People smiled at them, waving and greeting them with as much politeness as was warranted for men they most definitely were not, but Julien certainly was not going to complain. The longer they walked, the closer Samuel drifted to him, until they were traversing the market shoulder to shoulder, Julien’s wig brushing Samuel’s cheek.

“Oh, would ya look at that…” Samuel pointed at a woman selling woven clothing. Her stall was filled to the brim with colorful fabrics stitched together in intricate patterns, and embroidery shimmered in the noonday sun.

Julien nodded approvingly. “You have good taste. Would you like something?”

“No, I— I couldn’t, spook, but thank you.”

“Nonsense.” Striding toward the stall, Julien said, “Anything you want, love.”

Hesitantly, Samuel came to join Julien, and while he struck up a conversation with the owner, Samuel ran his fingers over the sleeve of a woolen coat, lingering beside it no matter how many times he left and returned. It was clear he adored it, and for good reason—it suited him and his work, after all—but could not bring himself to commit to it. Eventually, Samuel drifted away, but Julien remained, pulling out his purse.

Coat secured few moments and many coins later, Julien slung it over his forearm and tracked Samuel down at the edge of the crowd.

“Oh, you bastard,” Samuel said upon eyeing the coat. “How much did that cost you?”

“It was nothing, cher.” Unfolding the coat, Julien draped it over Samuel’s shoulders. “Besides, it looks wonderful on you.”

For a few horrible moments, Samuel remained stock still, hand lingering over the collar, before he stepped forward and switftly yanked Julien into a hug, kissing his neck.

“You’re a fucking menace,” he said softly.

“And this is why you love me,” Julien whispered, paying no mind to the throngs of people that could undoubtedly see them.

“Yeah.” Samuel’s voice was hoarse, and Julien suspected he may have been fighting off tears. “I really do.”

And that was it, really. Samuel loved him, and he was holding him close in the town square of Teufort, thousands of miles from either of their homes that could not really be called homes anymore, and he did not care who saw. Now choking back tears of his own, Julien gripped Samuel tight, almost like a dare, a challenge for anyone to try to take him away. The chatter of the crowds faded to a dull buzz, and Julien could only smell conifers and gunsmoke.

“Come now, bushman,” he murmured, kissing Samuel’s cheek. “Let us return.”

With the scent of springtime in the air and Samuel’s skin on his as they returned to the manor, Julien could finally say to himself that maybe, just maybe, they were going to be okay.

[dxppercxdxver]

hello hello! in preparation for the opening of @tf2shipswag's oc bracket For Real i have written a vaguely persons-of-the-tale-esque bit of propaganda fiction in which our unwitting ocs experience a historical anachronism and discover they have been entered into the oc bracket! if you like early enemies to lovers and a tasteful dose of meta fiction (along with aggressively 18th century styled prose) you'll probably like this! i call it "there's such a thing as an author" or "persons of the tale But Worse"

Somewhere just to the left of the story well known, Samuel Mundy sat perched in the bay window, long legs stretched across the whorled-grain boards with languid content. Liquid summersong pooled in his lap with all the warmth of a loyal cat, golden and simple. The glass panes were thrown open to let in the comfort of the season—what little could be snatched from the jagged-toothed forest filled with the crack of gunfire, anyway—and he clutched a chipped china saucer in his fingers, picking at a fresh bread roll.

Gazing across the Manor’s ill-tended garden, Samuel sighed nearly dreamily, a reflexive smile playing across his cracked lips. For once, his little world was quiet, nary a disturbance to be found.

Of course, however, his peace was not destined to last, and Miss Pauling’s far off cry of, “Mail, boys!” roused the rabble from deep within the house’s corridors, who all came a-bustling with the energy of an anthill, and idle chatter filled the air, quickly snuffing the silence. Samuel, pointedly ensconced in his window-borne nest, merely watched his compatriots greet their friend and sponsor on the lawn as she distributed the sheaves of parchment and carefully tied packages amongst them. They were permitted some personal effects at their stations, which included a small allowance for assorted trinkets and treasures, and thus the days Miss Pauling ventured into town were filled with a quiet sort of excitement. Much as they were soldiers of a secret war, and trained for such, it grew dreadfully lonely and dreadfully threadbare.

This day, though… Something about it was different.

While the great majority of his fellows dispersed from the lawn as swiftly as they had come, their spy, Laurent, remained, conversing with Miss Pauling. Samuel could hardly make out a word at his distance, but his eyes were sharpened by his particular profession, and the feeling between their persons was a tense one. Her brows were furrowed sharply over the silvery frames of her spectacles, and Laurent’s hands formed clipped gestures at his sides. Whatever it was they spoke of, it hardly seemed a pleasant thing.

After mere moments more, Laurent plucked a paper from Miss Pauling’s elegantly gloved fingers and held it out before him, pursing his lips as he studied it, before shaking his head, offering Miss Pauling a crisp salute, and trudging across the lawn.

In what appeared to be Samuel’s direction.

Growling softly, Samuel wrinkled his nose, staring firmly down at his plate in some vain hope Laurent would pass him by, that the mysterious business he appeared so perturbed by was kind enough to leave Samuel alone. The last thing he needed was another catastrophe atop the neverending tumultuousness of his wartime existence.

“Bushman.”

In spite of his willing, Laurent’s infuriatingly smooth voice lilted into his ears with a weariness that belied an intent beyond an obligatory passing greeting, and Samuel found himself looking up to meet his tired gaze.

The warmer weather had done a kindness to the spy; his sallow complexion and skeletal frame were given a new life in the sun, and the embroidery in his suit shimmered like the finest of jewels. And still, Samuel couldn’t help but find him dour, unpleasant, and downright infectious in his discomfort. Almost in response to Laurent’s hardened grimace, Samuel shifted in his seat, his skin itching ‘neath his clothes.

“Spook.”

When the acknowledgement of Laurent’s presence failed to dispel him from Samuel’s immediate company, he sighed, and turned to properly face the equally beleaguered spy, letting his boots sway loosely beneath him.

“Unless it’s business, I’m not interested,” he said brusquely, fixing Laurent with a firm stare that he returned with unflinching readiness. Pale eyes bored into his own as Laurent shook his parchment bounty open with a sharp flick of the wrist.

“While my present port of call has little to do with our current occupation,” he said, calm and measured, “I have a feeling you will want to see this.”

The paper was rough and worn, stained deep yellow with the wear of travel, and the ink splashed across it was coming off on his skin and the leather of his glove in small flakes, but there was no mistaking the printing.

At first, Samuel blanched, presuming it a call for their heads, but as he read, the fear curdled into something far more baffling. Taking up most of the page was a sketched rendition of the two of them—sniper and spy—stood side by side, illustrated Laurent flashing a wry smirk at his ink-bound companion that the drawing of Samuel readily returned. Bold typeface toward the top spelled out “WANTED” clear as day, although there was no reward attached. Twirling arrows pointed to Laurent and him in turn, annotating precisely who was whom. There was yet more type at the bottom, but Samuel had rather stopped processing exactly what it said by then, and handed the sheet back to Laurent with an incredulous scowl.

“What in the hell is this?”

As Laurent crisply refolded it and placed it in an inner pocket, he replied, “We appear to have been entered into some sort of tournament.”

“Tournament?” Samuel’s mind whirled, spiraling out endless possibilities, each one markedly worse than the last, “As in… fighting?”

“Mercy of mercies, I do not believe so,” Laurent mused, crossing his arms and glancing into the distance. “Even with my considerable skill, we would hardly stand a chance with you on our side.”

“Watch your tongue, Frenchie.” Livid, Samuel snapped, instinctively reaching for the machete at his side. “Don’t pretend you’re not glad of this as well.”

Laurent snorted. “Of course I am, but it is hardly a matter of cowardice.”

“Yeah? What is it, then?”

“I do not wish to dirty my suit,” Laurent sneered, mouth curved sharp as his knife. In that moment, Samuel wished for nothing more than to knock that wretched expression from his face, but resorted instead to knotting his fist in the fabric of his shirt. It certainly would not do to lose his composure so early and in a place so visible to his superior, but oh how he longed to rattle Laurent around, maybe beat some sense into him along the way.

Samuel rolled his eyes. “Fine. If we’re not to be fighting, what exactly are we meant to be doing?”

“If I am interpreting the missive correctly,” Laurent said, smoothing the fine hairs of his wig, “it is really less of a gladiatorial affair, and more of a… popularity contest.”

“Oh.” Cocking his head, Samuel let the implications wash over him, feeling his body recoil in the wake. “Oh.”

“Strange, is it not?” Taking a deep breath, Laurent shrugged slow and deliberate. “Still, I suppose I might consider myself at an advantage. I have many a desirable quality to be considered…” He trailed off, but Samuel was suddenly alight with energy.

Held in his hands was the opportunity to be absolutely devilish, and he seized it with vigor.

“Oh, really?” he said, feigning innocence. “Like what?”

Laurent whirled, eyebrow raised in sharp relief. “Is this a joke?”

“No.” Samuel poured as much sincerity into his voice as he could, leaning forward with earnest. “You see, we’ve been friends for so long—” he stifled a laugh, “—and I’d never even realized! Please, tell me about these ‘desirable qualities,’ I would love to hear all about them, and at the greatest of lengths.”

For a long, terrible pause, Laurent only stared, and Samuel faintly worried he was about to receive a length of cold steel across the throat or wedged between his ribs, but then Laurent’s cheeks flared red beneath his powder, and his mouth hung agape.

“You— you arse!” he snarled, seizing Samuel by the cravat and drawing their faces close. “You would do well to mind your manners, bushman. I do not abide mockery, nor do I suffer a fool, and you, sir, are a prime example. Remember this, lest I be forced to remind you.” With this, he drew his suit back, revealing the delicately tooled sheath for his beloved dagger. Samuel swallowed, thought up every prayer he could, and grinned wolfishly, fiddling with Laurent's elegant sleeve cuff.

“Wouldn’t want to get this dirty, would you?”

Laurent’s nostrils flared, his breath hot on Samuel’s lips, before he released him, pushing him back roughly and huffing, indignant. Samuel massaged his neck, relief coursing through his veins. A scant few feet away, Laurent stood in profile, nearly serene if not for the subtle movement of mute, furious speech.

“Nice talking to you,” Samuel said cheerfully, and, strange as anything, Laurent actually laughed. It was a brief, choked thing, barely identifiable as humor, if not for the smile playing across his face.

“You, sniper,” he said, reaching out and taking a bite of Samuel’s bread roll, “are a ridiculous, ridiculous man.” With this last remark, he about-faced and trudged across the lawn, spine ramrod straight and be-ribboned hair flouncing against his back.

“I know you are, but what am I?” Samuel called after him, and Laurent retorted with a sharp, “Go fuck yourself!” which Samuel could only meet with a thrown bread roll. It collided with the back of Laurent’s head with a satisfying muffled thunk, and Samuel cackled as Laurent let loose a long stream of French obscenities, harshly adjusting his wig so rudely whacked askew.

“I hope you know I despise you,” Laurent hissed once he had deemed himself presentable, and disappeared inside the house with the slam of the heavy oaken door.

“Yeah, yeah, hate you too,” Samuel said. Tucking his legs back into his window seat, he inhaled the lively summer air, and discovered he could not stop his beaming.

[as ever, flintlock fortress is a collaboration with @chiropteracupola]

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another thing for that collaboration with @chiropteracupola!!

volta (take him by the teeth)

A cold October night at Teufort Manor found Julien pacing its labyrinthine halls with great trepidation, occasionally casting harried glances at the darkness outside through the torchlight flickering in the glass. His footsteps echoed uncomfortably around the corridors. The wooden flooring, glossed to a perfect mirror shine, spoke much to the extent of the Paulings’ wealth, but was of no great service to him, especially when he rather preferred not to be seen.

This particular cold October night boasted the specter of defeat, haunting every corner of the mansion and saturating its very framework with a grim atmosphere. The paintings, the tapestries, even the patterns in the wallpaper seemed to scowl upon Julien with something resembling disapproval, and the Lord knew he deserved it. The mission had been a complete and utter failure, and Julien was largely to blame.

He had stumbled, let slip a piece of valuable information to the wrong person, and before they knew it, the entire crew was engaged in frantic defensive strategy, more focused on leaving the General’s home alive and without espionage charges on their heads than returning with the intelligence they had been sent to gather in the first place. Everyone had trickled out of the party, graciously in one piece, but they had gone home to Lady Helen empty handed. Her iron stare in the face of their disappointment was a cruel one indeed, and Julien found himself slinking off to his private drawing room feeling like a dog with its tail between its legs.

Of course, he could hardly remain idle with such a disastrous performance looming over his head, and after only one halfheartedly enjoyed drink, he took to wandering the Manor itself, basking in every last detail. Julien would be more prepared next time.

He had to be.

With the late hour, most of his compatriots had retired for the evening, as evidenced by the chorus of snoring filtering from the line of doorways that made up the troops’ quarters, although Julien had made the mistake of listening too closely in the past, and hurried along before anything more unsavory could reach his ears.

Teufort Manor was much larger than he felt it ought to be. Not only from the outside, which cloaked itself in a deceptively ordinary facade, but also from a more philosophical standpoint. Julien had never been much for morals, but such splendor standing relatively untouched amidst a bloody war somehow rankled at him in a way he was uncertain he knew how to contend with. Safety was all well and good, but there were battles to be fought, and instead they were taking tea with the last remains of colonial aristocracy.

“Mon ouille,” Julien scoffed, passing a grand portrait of Lady Helen in her youth; once a striking woman, with high cheekbones and raven-black hair. The whole thing was framed with gold, and while he had always had a taste for the fineries the world had to offer, on this night, the only emotions springing forth were mild disgust and a bone-deep sense of exhaustion.

Stifling a yawn, Julien idly tugged at his wig. It was beginning to itch, and after only a moment’s trepidation, he pulled it off, adjusting a few stray hairs, before thinking the better of himself and fitting it once more against his scalp. Even stranded in the depths of the mansion, Julian felt far too exposed without it, as if the building itself was watching him.

It was time, Julien mused with a wry smile, to find his way back to a soft mattress and blessedly dreamless sleep.

In his wanderings, Julien had somehow pulled himself deep into the belly of the beast. This section of the house seemed frightfully unfamiliar to him, although he was certain he could navigate after a few minutes of retracing his route. Pivoting sharply on his heel, Julien struck off in the direction he had come.

It became abundantly clear after several half-remembered turns that he was actually lost in Teufort’s vast gilded maze. The clock was swiftly advancing toward midnight, and Julien cursed under his breath. He had let himself lose focus. Again. And now he was stuck in this horrible manor until a servant woke up and discovered him unconscious on a throw rug.

Pursing his lips, Julien picked his way toward a foyer-esque room, if only to try to get his bearings, but as he walked, he became distinctly aware of the whisper-faint echoes of boots on the floor. He kept going, but his fingers were on the handle of his knife now, just in case.

The foyer proved to be remarkably unhelpful. He barely recognized the damn thing, and it only offered one more exit, but Julien readily slipped through it anyway, bereft of any option that would not push him back toward his mysterious enemy. All this time, the footsteps continued, pulsing quietly in his wake. He wanted so badly to dismiss them as the noises supplied by an exhausted and overworked mind, but whenever he glanced behind, a shadow darted around a corner, or flickered just out of sight, and he could not bring himself to let go of his blade.

When it was obvious his pursuer was in no business of revealing himself, Julien snorted, whipping around with his knife at arm’s length, tucked into a narrow hallway of the mansion.

“Who is there,” he snapped, casting his eyes around for his stalker. “I am not of the mind to suffer these kinds of games.”

For a horrible breath, all was silent, but then the figure emerged from a dark patch, and it took only seconds for Julien to recognize the tall, gaunt man approaching him.

“Monsieur Mundy.” Setting his jaw, Julien quickly re-sheathed his knife in his sleeve, and fixed the team’s resident sniper with his best withering stare. “What a pleasant surprise. Do you make it a point to follow your own teammates in the dark like some kind of harborside harlot?”

To Julien’s chagrin, Mundy remained characteristically silent, barely cocking his head. He looked even worse than usual in the firelight, dirt stains made darker by the shadows, weathered face hollowed and skeletal.

While he was still dressed in his day-to-day rags, Julien noted, with some relief, that his rifle was conspicuously absent.

Sighing, Julien said, “To what do I owe the pleasure of this… midnight liaison?” Of course, Mundy did not respond, and Julien began to grow nervous, not that he would let Mundy know. He should have been in his element, in this hazy backroom type of conversation, but that required there be conversation at all. Julien had almost never lost, when he could work a room, work one man, as he did, but somehow Mundy knew just how to cut right to the heart of the matter. After all, Julien was only so good as his words—and that was really quite good—but with none to fall back on, to build off of, he was stripped bare, alone inside a mansion that wanted nothing more than to swallow him whole.

“Well, not that I am not having a simply magnificent time, but I really must be going.” Julien hoped this would inspire Mundy to be out with whatever it was he wanted, but even then, he only shifted his weight, blinked, and let out a soft exhale through pursed lips. With the setting, with that look in his eyes, Julien found himself rather unpleasantly reminded of a mouse staring down a cat. He was cornered, after all, and Mundy had the upper hand of purpose and territory. Even now, in the firelight, his hollow eyes flickered, and it took very little to imagine the glint of teeth like razors tucked behind his chapped skin and day old stubble.

Mundy, the wolf, and Julien… trapped.

Squaring his shoulders, Julien held up his hand in a vague waving gesture.

“Bonsoir, bushman.”

Drawing the curtain on their conversation was meant to be easy; a quick goodnight and then he’d see neither hide nor hair of Mundy til the morning, til the harsh crags of his face reminded Julien less of an animal ready to rip him apart. He was deadly, and Julien knew it, and feared it, and admired it, and refused to admire it all the same.

So when Mundy took a neat step into Julien’s path, drawing himself to his full height, it was only logical that Julien’s heart should begin to race, his pulse quickstepping, tripping forward with all the clumsiness adrenaline required. He swallowed.

“Monsieur, it is late.”

Still, Mundy remained, looming over him, expressing utterly unreadable. It occurred to him only then that this whole scare tactic may have been payback for his mistakes of the day, that Mundy had taken it upon himself to sharpen his skills by force, and in that instant Julien was fuming.

“Is this about the mission?” he hissed, leaning in so that Mundy’s face was but inches from his. He would not show that man how terrified he really was, how tired, how overcome. “Is that what you want? To gloat? Is this some sort of game to you?”

Julien prodded Mundy’s chest with a finger. “Come, bushman, tell me how you would have done it better. Tell me how you would have saved us all by—” he took a step, pushing Mundy again, “—by hiding in a tree and waiting. Because I’m sure we would all love to hear it.”

While Julien was dreadfully aware of how closely he was toeing the cliff’s edge, or perhaps charging right toward it, once his mouth opened he found he could not make himself stop. Mundy was right there, and the words poured out, and Julien could see every single line in his skin and every smudge of dust and sap smeared across his face, and this close, a woodsy aroma enveloped the both of them.

“You are a coward, sniper, and I think you know this,” Julien sneered, lacing his words with as much venom as he could muster. “You would rather step aside and let the rest of us do all the real work, and this mysterious loner persona will not offset how piss poor of a fighter you are, and—”

In an instant, Julien’s tirade was abruptly cut short.

One moment, Mundy was staring down at him, gaze cool and intense as a blade, and Julien was almost certain he was set to be devoured, but then his hands were around Julien’s face, leather on one cheek and rough calluses on the other, and he was drawing Julien into a kiss.

Julien was almost stunned into stillness. The blood pounding in his ears drowned out everything except the gentle pulse in Mundy’s wrists pressed hard against his throat, and his mind ground to a shuddering halt. Kissing him was unlike anything Julien had ever experienced, all roughness and gracelessness and pressure, and Julien was immobilized in his grip, but… In spite of everything, he would be lying if he said he wanted it to end.

Letting out a slow breath through his nose, Julien closed his eyes, tentatively reaching his arms up to cradle Mundy’s head and let him hold him there, in that kiss. Any thoughts of danger vanished, bleeding out from his body, relaxing into Mundy’s arms.

And then it was over.

Mundy stepped back, absently wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, and eyeing Julien curiously.

“You’re good when you’re quiet, spook,” he said, nodding with a self-satisfied air. “‘Night.”

With little ceremony, Mundy about-faced with a soldier’s form and marched down the hallway, disappearing around a corner, leaving Julien standing agape. His hand hovered over his lips. He was half ready to wipe away the memory of the kiss, to shake off the aberration he had just experienced, but was somehow traitorously unable to fully commit to doing so. Thus, his lips sung, and his mind was racing, and all around there was only silence.

Left like this, with no company and certifiably stranded, Julien should have been afraid, but all he could bring himself to focus on was the dwindling scent of pine sap fading in the autumn air.

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honest to god i nearly made myself weep with this one (it is! once again! that collaboration with @chiropteracupola)

light on (gone the rainbow, gone the dove)

The day Julien returned to France was much like any other.

Salt burned his lungs as he stood on the docks of Boston Harbor, sun struggling to find its way through the meager gaps in the cloud cover, and the snap of the canvas sails intermingled with the chatter of the crouds and the crashing waves into a pleasant drone. Julien clutched his bag tight, and watched a weather-beaten ship standing proud over the pier begin its long loading process.

“Enjoying the view?”

At first it was unclear that anyone was speaking to him in particular, but then Julien felt a gentle pinch at the fabric of his coat, and turned to see Judith Thornton standing beside him, unreadable expression on her face. The meager sunlight brought out thin veins of gold in her hair.

Julien sighed. “What are you doing here, cherie?”

“Well, when I woke up this morning, you were quite thoroughly disappeared from my home,” she replied, running her thumb over the embroidery on her sleeve hem, “and I wondered whereabouts you would have gone.” Grimacing, Judith at last turned to face him, cool blue eyes unyielding as steel. “It didn’t take long to find you.”

“Am I really that predictable?”

“You really are.”

Together, the two of them lapsed into a less than comfortable silence, watching the passersby with a calculated interestd. Well, Judith appeared to be watching the people; Julien was primarily watching her. He truly had not meant for her to know, had assumed it would have been easier to simply disappear. After all, she would be in far more trouble if he stayed, and he had duties elsewhere whose importance far superseded his affections for one woman and her as yet unborn son.

Of course, Judith had very quickly wedged her pretty satin shoe in the door of his plan, and here she was, glowering at the early morning sky. Curiously, her hand still found its way to Julien’s, and she clasped it gently, tapping his knuckles with gentle rhythm.

“Do you have to go?”

The question came completely expected, but Julien was still taken aback by the wave of shame that rose in his chest, battering his ribcage with a horrible insistence. There was no way he could reasonably be expected to stay, to raise a child with a woman whose husband had passed a man of honor, but still, a not insignificant part of him yearned to throw down his bags and carry Judith all the way back to her little shop on the square and fix her the breakfast she had clearly skipped to meet him here. Mystery would save her life, her reputation, but with the way she was looking at him, Julien knew he would never escape this woman cleanly. She had her hooks in him, and all he longed for was her tug on the wire.

“What would you have me do instead?” was all he had to say. Judith took a deep, shuddering breath, and squeezed his wrist.

“We never even gave him a name,” she murmured. Around them, the throngs were slowly funneling up the gangway, settling in for the journey ahead, and Julien’s pulse began to pound in his ears. There was so little time to choose, to explain everything he had never bothered to tell her, and now his ship out of Boston was getting ready to leave without him.

Whirling, Julien gripped Judith’s shoulders tightly, pristine fabric wrinkling under his gloved fingers.

“Promise me you will keep him safe,” he said insistently. “Raise him well.”

“What would you have me do instead?” Judith parroted, squirming under his grasp. “I am his mother, Julien, I cannot simply step away when the burden of a son is no longer convenient for me.” Her words rang like the peal of a bell, ricocheting throughout Julien’s body and echoing in perpetuity, and her fury was plain to all around.

“We both know this is for the best.”

“Have you considered I may not want the best anymore?” Chest heaving, Judith threw Julien’s arms off of her and stuck an accusatory finger to his chest. “I am sick of the best! My husband died, my sons have left me, and all I have left is you and this godforsaken shop!” She sniffed, swiping at her nose with a vicious fervor. “I have always had the best, but what if I want something for me?”

Julien stared. “My love, that will ruin you.”

“Do you think I am unaware?” Voice like ice, fire in her eyes, Judith pulled Julien into a vice-like embrace, mouth to his neck. “Stay with me, sweet. Please stay with me.”

With Judith’s heart hammering against his chest, breath ghosting over his neck, Julien wondered if he would ever find the strength to leave. He placed a feather-light hand against her back, looking out over the ocean, knowing how far they would drift, unsure how to leave, yet unable to remain.

“Je suis désolé,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Merci, ma petite chou-fleur.”

“What?”

But before Julien could lose himself in her face, lovely though streaked with tears, he snatched his bag off the docks and bolted toward the ship, every step of his boots against the wood a gunshot to his ears. Judith’s shrieking was almost lost to the noise of the crowd. And still, still, Julien refused to look back.

Only when they had lifted anchor and were well on their way did Julien face the pier, scanning for Judith in the crowd. He expected her to be furious, if she had even remained at all, but when he found her again, she bore nothing but a soft, mournful smile, waving a handkerchief he vaguely recognized as his own in the breeze.

Something awful was building in his stomach, clawing its way into his throat, longing to escape.

“Ma lune!” he found himself calling over the roar of the waves. “My father’s name was Jeremiah!”

Although it was highly unlikely Judith had heard him, she nodded nonetheless, and turned on her heel, disappearing into the sea of bodies cloaked in fine fabrics milling about, and grieving just the same.

“Promise me you will write!” Julien cried once more, but she was already gone, leaving him with nothing but the bitter sting of salt.

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poll time!!

there is no wrong option! i simply wish to make these More Presentable and want to know which ones to address First

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🌹🌹🌹🌹 :3

Very little was known about the Australian sniper drafted late in the war; he rarely spoke, and never of himself, and he boasted a gun of a kind no living soul could recognize or comprehend, with skill enough to match. He was obviously dangerous, but his presence in the study belied a different kind of danger. Julien’s kind of danger.

lil snippet from the first draft of flintlock fortress Outfits that i am still rather fond of :]