#Normandie by Locals

[grandboute]

Lagertha pour @michaelssonarmandsson Ce soir il y avait une fermière blonde à la maison @labanquize pour m'aider à monter les marches #lagertha #northmeaen #blonde #fermiere #normandie #cervoiserie #laChapelle www.northmaen.com #biere #malt #brasserie #houblon #bier #brasseur #instabeer #beer #jusDeHoublon #brewery #frenchBeer #locale #artisanale #craftbeer #beerstagram #mousse #instamousse #instapero #apero #instapicole #picole https://www.instagram.com/p/CigJnloqvBs/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[histoiresgenealogiques]

Quatre femmes et la halte de chemin de fer de Saint-Loup-du-Gast : portraits de Louise Modeste Brunet (1858-1908), Célina Modeste Victorine Boudesseul (1880-?), Marie Eugénie Valentine Pillier (1898-1983) et Marie Anne Elisa Boudesseul (1853-1914)

Tout commence avec la création de la ligne de chemin de fer Caen (Calvados) – Laval (Mayenne). Cette ligne, qui passait par Flers (Orne), permettait de connecter ces villes à Angers (Maine-et-Loire) grâce à la ligne Laval-Angers. Elle permettait ainsi de connecter par Normandie, Maine et Anjou par plusieurs tronçons de lignes successives. Cette ligne est inaugurée en 1874 et est en service…

[micheltaanman-blog]

Frankrijk - Normandie -strand- Plage de Veules-les-Roses

[bignaz8]

D-DAY ANNIVERSARY

“You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have striven these many months. The eyes of the world are upon you. The hopes and prayers of liberty-loving people everywhere march with you…” With these words, Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower issued the “Order of the Day” just before the 1944 Allied assault on Normandy Beach. It’s been 80 years since that historic day, and less than one percent of Americans who served in WWII are still alive. However, the impact of their service and sacrifice will live on forever.

Code named Operation Overlord, planning for D-Day began after France fell to the Nazis in 1940. It involved Allies from several countries and was the largest amphibious invasion in military history. As H-Hour approached (5:30 a.m. local time) on June 6, 1944, demolition teams had already blasted out underwater obstacles planted by German forces. Rangers were already scaling the cliffs to knock out coastal guns, and American and British airborne divisions had been dropped in hedgerows behind the beaches overnight. Soon, the first waves of Infantry would hit the beach.

Leonard T. Schroeder, Jr. served in the 2nd Battalion, 8th Infantry, Fourth Division, where he was the commanding officer of Company F. 

He has the distinction of being the first man ashore at Utah Beach, the first beachhead, landing fewer than 60 seconds after H-Hour. Recalling the day, Schroeder said that Allied aircraft had bombed the beach heavily, creating craters that could be used as cover. Some of those craters were offshore and hidden by water. When Schroeder’s landing craft pulled ashore, he jumped off and into a water-filled crater six feet deep. He came up sputtering and struggled to rush ashore. Working his way up the beach, he was wounded by shrapnel but continued to fight. He commanded his company for three hours before collapsing into unconsciousness. He woke up at an aid station and was later evacuated to England. Schroeder received the Silver Star.

Pvt. Carlton W. Barrett served in the 18th Infantry, 1st Infantry Division and participated in the Normandy Invasion. His unit was in the third wave of Allied soldiers to come ashore at Omaha Beach, landing at about 10:00 a.m. Germans had planted mines on the beach about a foot apart, and the beach was strewn with bodies of soldiers. Barrett landed under heavy enemy fire, wading through neck-deep water. He noticed fellow soldiers around him floundering in the water and rushed to save them from drowning. Once on the beach, Barrett carried dispatches back and forth along the exposed beach while under heavy fire. He also carried wounded soldiers to an offshore evacuation boat. For his dauntless courage, Barrett was awarded the Medal of Honor.

The Allies landed over 160,000 troops on June 6, 1944, with an estimated 10,000 casualties, more than half of which were American. Today, a visit to the Normandy American Cemetery is the final resting place for 9,387 Americans and a sobering reminder of selfless service and the ultimate sacrifice made 80 years ago. 

[captain-price-unofficially]

Private Collins plays with the local village cat, Snowball, in Normandy, 1944.

[deadpresidents]

Brigadier General Theodore Roosevelt Jr. -- the eldest son of the 26th President of the United States -- was the only Allied general to land on the beaches of Normandy with the first wave of soldiers during the D-Day invasion on June 6, 1944.

Crippled by arthritis, hobbled by old combat wounds from the First World War, and forced to use a cane as he landed on Utah Beach with the U.S. Army's 4th Infantry Division on D-Day, General Roosevelt was the oldest man to take part in the opening stage of the invasion. He had made three requests to personally lead the assault on Utah Beach before finally being given command despite concerns about his health. During the confusion and chaos of the largest seaborne assault in human history, Roosevelt realized that tidal currents had carried nearly two dozen of the initial landing craft to the wrong location and was said to have announced, "We'll start the war from right here!"

For his actions on D-Day, General Roosevelt would be awarded the country's highest military decoration, the Congressional Medal of Honor, on September 21, 1944:

For gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty of 6 June 1944, in France. After two verbal requests to accompany the leading assault elements in the Normandy invasion had been denied, Brig. Gen. Roosevelt's written request for this mission was approved and he landed with the first wave of the forces assaulting the enemy-held beaches. He repeatedly led groups from the beach, over the seawall and established them inland. His valor, courage, and presence in the very front of the attack and his complete unconcern at being under heavy fire inspired the troops to heights of enthusiasm and self-sacrifice. Although the enemy had the beach under constant direct fire, Brig. Gen. Roosevelt moved from one locality to another, rallying men around him, directed and personally led them against the enemy. Under his seasoned, precise, calm, and unfaltering leadership, assault troops reduced beach strong points and rapidly moved inland with minimum casualties. He thus contributed substantially to the successful establishment of the beachhead in France.

However, the Medal of Honor would be awarded to Theodore Roosevelt Jr. posthumously. On July 12, 1944, thirty-six days after landing in Normandy on D-Day, General Roosevelt died in his sleep at the age of 56 after suffering a heart attack. In a letter to his wife, General George S. Patton would write, "Teddy R[oosevelt] died in his sleep last night. He had made three landings with the leading wave -- such is fate...He was one of the bravest men I ever knew." General Patton would join General Omar Bradley and numerous other generals as honorary pallbearers at Roosevelt's funeral. Roosevelt was buried at the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial along with thousands of his fellow American soldiers who died in Europe during World War II. He is buried next to his youngest brother, Quentin Roosevelt, who was killed in action in 1918 after being shot down over France during World War I.

[cheynovak]

The assistant

Reader x Soldier Boy 

Warnings:  Where to start... Smut 18+, Fluff, Alcohol, Cursing, unprotected sex, mentioning of rape, you name it ... (Make sure you're always protected!)  

Side note: English isn’t my first language.  

Words: 7331 

POV: Y/N is best friend and personal assistant from Crimson Countess. The close position Y/N had and the fact that she is not a supe made it hard on her to see the things she got away with. Part from all that, she hated the fact that Crimson and Soldier Boy were dating, Y/N couldn’t stand the man! Or could she? Their mutual frustration on Crimson Countess brings them closer together.  

I wanted to make this in one part but made a sequal.  

----------------------- 

Y/N and CC (that is the nickname she gave Crimson Countess since she didn’t want to use her civilian name anymore.) are best friends since they were little kids. When CC got her spot at Payback she could choose a personal assistant, immediately she thought of Y/N, there was no one she could trust more in this world.  

Y/N just got into the office and had been called to an emergency meeting with Payback. Everyone was on edge. Y/N walked in delivered CC her coffee smiled politely at Soldier Boy who clearly was in a bad mood and sat down on her chair behind Crimson. “So, if I get this right” The leader supe started to talk. “You’re punishing me, us, for the shit show TNT created?” - “Let’s not forget the mess our PR team had to cover up from your last trip with Countess. House arrest until the storm in the media is over!” Was the answer he got. Yeah, right your PR team Y/N thought, I had to clean her shit up and made sure no one knew about the casualties. Vought thought it would be a good idea to let her go on a little trip with her man to let off steam and showing the world they were the perfect IT couple. But instead, she got so frustrated with him that she tried to blow his head off, literally in the middle of Venice.  

That is all they were doing lately, fighting. CC hated it that her boyfriend got all the credit, fame and success.” That old bastard is nothing without Payback.” She had told Y/N last week. “Who gives a shit he stormed Normandy. We’re fucking over 30 years past that crap.” Y/N couldn’t believe her, she wanted the fame and glory but forgot that if Soldier Boy hadn’t chosen her, she probably would still be fighting local crime. “CC don’t you think you’re overreacting, a little bit? I mean come on without him you might not be here at Vought.” The second those words left her lips Y/N realized she made a huge mistake. Crimson turned to Y/N. “YOU, you jealous bitch, that’s it isn’t, you want my success! Nooo, you want my man! I’ve seen you looking at him, smiling at him! Is that why you dressed so cute today? To impress him?” Without hesitation CC threw her piping hot coffee at her. Luckily the coffee only spilled on her dress and not her skin. Y/N decided not to react to it and walked away, knowing if she would answer, she might get fired.  

“She is just not herself right now, she needs some time to cool off, you like her, you love her.” Y/N mumbled under her breath while walking in the lounge bar searching for something to clean her dress. She didn’t see Soldier Boy sitting in the corner, in one of the cosy boxes. “Trouble in paradise?” He asked not getting up. Y/N jumped up by the sound of his voice, bumping her head at the bar. “I’m sorry Soldier Boy. Didn’t see you there. I’ll be gone in a second, I’m just looking for something to get this coffee stain of my dress.” - “Don’t go, could use some company.” He said tapping the seat next to him, Y/N looked better at him this time. There were 2 empty bottles of whiskey on the table, he was working on the 3rd one. Y/N got closer, he moved so she could sit with him. “Besides, it’s Ben, but I told you that countless times before, haven’t I?” He looked at her, for the first time she dared to look him in the eye. “So, what was it this time, coffee to hot, to cold?” He nodded at the stain, Y/N sights “No, the fact that I smiled at you this morning.” Ben looked at her confused. ”You smiled at me this morning?” - “At the meeting, you looked at me I smiled instead of saying good morning. Because it clearly wasn’t a good morning for you.” She said looking at the bottles. Ben started laughing. “That jealous bitch.”  

“That’s what she called me...” You said while pouring a glass for yourself. “Are you?” He asked. “Oh no, wouldn’t want to have her life.” Y/N looked at her glass. “Nothing? Not one piece of it?” He asked while trying to make eye contact. “Well, being seen or being loved is a nice thought. You know walking through these halls and when you see someone you know for years, you say hi, they at least answer or nod instead of looking at you like you’re a nobody.” She admitted “That would make it less awkward to use their first name.” She smiled at him making it very clear that she was talking about him.  

Ben nodded slowly. “I’ll make sure I’ll remember it next time.” Liking her boldness.  

After a couple of glassed Y/N got pretty drunk and bluntly honest, but Ben seemed to like it.  

They joked around had nice conversation, even though Ben wasn’t half as drunk as she was, he trusted her. Telling Y/N why CC got on his nerves, and honestly, she understood the man especially after today. “Can I ask you something Ben?” She asked laying her hand on his arm. “Why are you still with her, if she irritates you so much?” Moving his face closer to hers. “I could ask you the same.” - “I like my job and she is my best friend since, well, forever.” She said, looking in his green eyes, waiting for his answer. Ben looked at her lips before making eye contact again. “I like her best friend.” He smiled  

Y/N’s face turned red and before she could move away Ben moved even a little closer and kissed her cheek, all of the sudden she felt very sober. “I -I should probably go check on her.” Y/N said and quickly moved away.  

Y/N stepped way to quick out of that room, definitely NOT playing it cool. She didn’t go back to Crimson, but instead she went for a little walk on the campus, thinking about what Ben had said. She always had a little crush on him ever since puberty, CC knew that and that was why she reacted the way she did. But Y/N knew her place, besides, since she worked for Vought her crush was quickly crushed knowing how many one-night adventures he had with actresses and such. Let alone the killing and mistakes they covered up. She had nothing against him or CC, she was even thrilled when CC told her Ben had asked her out on a date. And they had nothing against her either. But the thought that if she wasn’t ‘theirs’ and she would get hurt out in the open, they wouldn’t care. That made her almost puke, they were supposed to be the heroes.  

That night Y/N didn’t sleep well, she had a dream about that moment hours earlier. She walked in with her stained dress. Ben was standing there in a tux holding champagne. ”Hi" he smiled his picture-perfect smile. Taking her hand over to a candle lit table. The entire time he looked in her eyes, touched her hand, laughed when she told a joke, interested when she told him a story about her childhood. At the end of the dream Ben had got up asked her to dance. He placed a hand at the small of her back leaning close to her and like a man enchanted with her lips he moved in, closing the space between their lips. Everything deep down she knew we wouldn’t do. When Y/N woke up she felt guilty, a little ridiculous considering it was only a dream. And comparing it to the steaming wet dreams she had about her and soldier boy as a teen, this was nothing! “God don’t think about that.” She whispered to herself. ”You are seeing him in less than an hour for the daily meeting.”  

Surprisingly Y/N was first in the conference room taking her usual seat in the corner. She wisely chose a jeans with a casual shirt and her hair up with a pin. Not to get CC started on dressing up for “her man” again. Everyone entered one by one. Nobody greeted her not even CC, she looked still pissed at her and deliberately taking the seat opposite of her to make a statement. Y/N was already writing some notes down for herself not paying any attention, Ben was last to arrive, he said good morning in general, Y/N glanced for a second and moved her attention back to her paper. But instead of taking his regular seat next to CC he walked past Y/N bending over so she would notice him. “Good morning.” He winked at her like he was telling her, I remember. “Hi.” she said being flustered. Y/N’s eyes followed him back to his seat next to Crimson she saw the look on her face while she kept looking at Ben for an explanation. This is going to get them into a fight again Y/N thought, Ben was clearly ignoring her look. Although Y/N tried to stay focussed in the meeting, her eyes get glancing over at Ben, he once or twice caught her looking which made his tongue move over his lips, smirking.  

After everybody got their assignments for the day they left. CC walked over for a talk. “What did Ben say to you?” - “What? Eh, good morning. Seriously CC stop being jealous.” Y/N took whatever confidence she had and decided to tell Countess her thoughts. “Listen, I’m no supe, I am a nobody, Ben chose you, you are gifted I'm not, you are HOT, I'm not ... ok. Just because I used to have a crush on him when I was 17, like by the way, half of the US, doesn’t mean I WANT your man. He just said good morning because I told him yesterday, when I was still pissed because of our fight, I told him it was damn time to recognise the normal people in the halls when they greet you.” Y/N was out of breath after that. “And if you now want to excuse me. I’ve got paperwork to do.” CC left. Y/N sighted and lowered her head in her hands. After a second or two she got up took her paperwork and left the room. “For the record. I don’t think you realize how hot you are.” Y/N was startled by that unexpected comment that she dropped her papers. “Jesus, Soldie...” But before she could finish that sentence, he wiggled his finger” Uh-uh-uh.” - Y/N rolled her eyes. “Jesus, BEN!” she corrected while picking up her papers. “Much better.” He grinned.  

“How long were you standing there?” She asked when they walked towards the elevator. “Long enough to hear you finally defending yourself Sweetheart.” That nickname made you feel butterflies. They stepped in the elevator, the doors closed. “So, you had a crush on me?” He asked casually. Y/N could feel her cheeks glowing.” Eh, yeah.” Ben stepped closer to her putting his hands against the wall behind her, trapping her between his arms and body. “Now that is something you forgot to mention yesterday at our little rendezvous.” He leaned in, Y/N moved her face to the side she could hear him taking a deep breath in. “You really smell good, I never noticed before.” He said with a deeper voice than before. Y/N looked up at him, standing so close she could feel his breath on her face. The door opened Ben looked over and took a step back but not quick enough to be unnoticed by Gunpowder who entered. Ben gave him a dark glace to which he simply nodded. It looked like Ben told him “not a word” without saying a thing.  

Floor 7 

“This is me.” Y/N said quickly jumping out but of course Ben followed.  

Y/N opened the door to her office, Ben walked in right behind her closing the door. “Is there anything else I can help you with?” She said nervous. “Yes, I want to know more about you. He said while looking around her office. Well office, it was more of a closet repainted with a window so small it looked like a prison cell.  

“Why are you so nervous?” - I’m not.” She lied.  

“You know I can hear your heartbeat right.’ He looked at her again.  

“So, your little crush on me. You had posters?” - “Yes.” she said sitting on her desk while he looked outside. “Let me guess, movie posters?” - “Eh no, the D—day one and one where you’re not actually posing but more like talking to the soldiers. That was my favourite.” He looked shocked.  

Ben walked back towards Y/N standing against her legs. Y/N had to look up almost with her head in her neck as he hovered above her. He lowered his face next to her ear placing a hand on the desk next to her thigh. “Did you ever dream of me? Of us...” He whispered not moving his face. Y/N’s heart started to beat really fast. “You did, didn’t you.” He sounded excited. “Did you ever... touch yourself thinking of me?” Ben asked while he placed a small peck on the spot under her ear. Y/N closed her eyes and sighed almost whimpered at that question. Ben got up again moving himself so he could stand between her legs. Y/N slowly opened her eyes only to see that his were darkened with lust. He moved his thumb over her lips. “I wish I could’ve seen that. You, touching yourself for the first time, experimenting with your body, searching for that one sweet spot inside that makes you go over the edge.” He swallowed deep.  

Y/N’s mouth opened slightly to get more air. But instead of getting air, Ben dipped down holding Y/N’s head with both hands and kissed her hard, slipping his tongue inside finding hers quickly. The kiss wasn’t rushed, but he made sure she would be out of breath. “Ben...” she whispered. “Tell me sweetheart, you ever been with a man?” - “Yes. Once or twice. First, boyfriend” She said hesitating.   

“Did it feel as good you fantasised.” he asked while kissing her neck. Y/N got shy keeping her head down. When Ben looked at her for an answer, he noticed her looking away. “What’s wrong?”  

“It wasn’t really, I didn’t want... Not really.” Was all she could manage to say but Ben understood what she meant. “He just took it? Didn’t he?” Y/N nodded ashamed afraid that Ben would be repulsed by her. He did take a step back, Y/N held on to the shirt, telling him not to go. “Oh sweetheart.” He kissed the temple of her head. But Y/N didn’t want this feeling to stop, so he placed a hand on his neck pulling him in for another kiss. This time she took the lead and licked his lips. “Are you sure Y/N?” - “Yes, please.”  

His lips crashed against her. His hands moved hungry over her body pulling her shirt over her head while she took his suit off. Y/N’s hands moved over his naked torso towards his hips. Her lips leaving his to follow her hands, kissing his hips while trying to undo his belt. He moaned her name. Y/N was surprised by her boldness but the heat inside her had to be satisfied. Her hands quickly found their way to his clothed bulge softly rubbing and squeezing.  

Ben got wild from desire, moving down remove her shoes, jeans and panties. He looked up to lock eyes with her before kissing her clit. Y/N moaned his name while laying back at her desk.  

Ben worked his way on her. Licking her folds open tasting her, dipping his tongue inside her while his hands pushed her bra up, so he could hold her breast. Softly pinching her nipples.  Not even in her wildest dreams she would imagined a man doing this, but it felt so good all she could do is moan and whime. When Ben changed his tactics by pushing two fingers inside her and suck on her clit, she quickly felt the heat in her stomach grow. She lifted herself back up to look at him smirking he knew he had her on edge. And when he curled his fingers, she couldn’t hold back anymore she started screaming his name while grabbing his hair, not caring about her surroundings anymore.  

After her high he stood up kissing her, Y/N could still taste herself on his tongue. It secretly made her even more horny. And while he was kissing her, she pulled his underwear off. Starting to stroke it hard cock. She was surprised it was so big, the man she had been with was nothing compared to Ben’s size. Ben saw the look on her face. “Don’t worry sweetheart, It will feel good.” He pulled her back to the edge of the desk holding her legs open. Pumping once or twice before he lined up against her wet hole. She could feel the sting, every inch he moved she could feel it, biting her lip feeling herself clenching up. “Relax, it will feel better in a second, I promise.” He said leaning in looking her in the eye. When he saw the pain disappearing, he started to thrust his hips back into her, this felt painfully slow for him, but he took his time with her.  

“Ben...”  

“Yes sweetheart.” 

“More... harder... please.” Y/N could feel he was desperately holding back. “I’m not going to break.”  

She could hear him growl at that comment. Hearing the beast in him wanting to take her so hard she wouldn’t be able to walk anymore. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He said kissing her hard. “Ben, please. Take me hard, show me what I've missed.” He pulled out lifted her up and turned her around. Laying her on her stomach on the desk. He hovered above her while he let his cock slide between her soaking folds. He could hear her beg. “Please!” He thrusted hard back in her, the sound that came out of her sounded so intense so primal, it made him growl. Ben took her so hard the desk started to shake. Y/N’s moans filled the room, it sounded like a porn movie. He pulled her back by her hips so he could push in even harder and deeper. Ben felt she was close, her cunt started to tighten around his dick. “Come on baby let go. Fuck, come hard on my dick, I want to feel you riding out that orgasm on me.” Y/N screamed his name like a prayer, he felt her shacking and clenching around him. He felt he couldn’t hold much longer he pulled out and started to pump his cock. She felt the warm liquid dribble on her ass while Ben was panting behind her.  

 

Ben took a few tissued out of the box at her desk, cleaning Y/N up. Before turning her around and kiss her again. “That was... better than my dreams.” She admitted. Ben clearly felt joy of that comment. “Well, I hope we can do this more often. Because I wasn’t lying when I told you that I like you.” He said still out of breath. He got dressed again kissed her head and left her sitting at her desk while he walked through the door. Y/N had no idea how she could recover from that and how she had to get through the day. From that moment on Ben kept his eye on her. Looking at her while she was writing in meetings, listening to conferences, hell even when she was having lunch. He tried to act normal but couldn’t help himself wanting to know more about her. She seemed so pure and delicate.  

One day almost a week later he saw her sitting by herself at lunch working like always. He decided to join her. Y/N’s eyes got big when he sat down. “What are you doing?” - “Eating.” He answered cocky. - “No, I mean, why are you sitting here?” Y/N looked around to see if CC was around. Lucky she wasn’t, she had told Y/N that Ben acted strange but didn’t know why. But other people were looking at them. “Ben, people are staring.” she whispered hanging over the table. But when Ben turned to look at them, they all quickly moved or turned away. “So, what are you working on?” He asked while taking a bite.” - “Really, small talk?” She said looking him in the eye. “You rather have me taking you here on the table?” He said smiling. - “Your Christmas Party. I’m organising it.” She said not to react to his last request. “It’s this weekend, I'm making the guest list.” - “You’re coming?” - “No, I, never, I’m spending it with family.” He nodded looking sad. After the weird interaction at lunch Y/N worked her week as usual.  

On Christmas she went home to her parents where she officially still lived. “Y/N honey I’ve invited Dylan and his parents to celebrate with us. Y/N’s heart sunk thinking about Dylan being there. Her first boyfriend who didn’t understood a “no” for answer. Great she thought, hearing my folks talking about what a great item we could have been if I didn’t ended things. “You know, you could have been married by now, if you didn’t broke up.” Your mom said like she could hear your thoughts.  

The evening went seemingly smooth, Dylan kept mostly to himself, but then again, he didn’t have anything to drink yet. 9 pm the bell rang. You looked confused at your mom. “Where expecting someone else mom?” - “Not that I know of.” she looked at your father. Y/N opened the door. “What are you doing here?” Y/N said surprised.  

“Y/N honey, who is it?” your mom walked towards the door. ”Oh my! Soldier Boy! Sir, please come in.” - Ben smirked walking past Y/N. “Thank you ma’am. You have a beautiful house.” 

“To what do we own this pleasure, sir?” Your father got out of his chair shaking his hand. “Well, since Y/N couldn’t make it to our party I thought, why not deliver her present myself. Locking eyes with her while handing her a small box. Y/N opened it knowing very well that the employees never get anything other than a thankyou speech. Covering her mouth seeing what he bought her.  “Oh my! Are those pearls?!” She looked at him with an open mouth. “My boss never gave us such gifts!” Her mother looked over at Dylan’s mom. “Well, Y/N works day and night for us. Making sure we are... satisfied. She deserves a little extra.”  

“I don’t know what to say... eh, Thank you.” Y/N felt she could kiss him but instead she just went for a hug which Ben gladly accepted. “Dessert? Or maybe a drink?” Y/N asked flustered pulling away. “Why not.” he answered not letting her fully go.  

 

Y/N introduced everyone to Ben, who in his turn used his charm to win over your mom and Dylan's mom. Both women were impressed by his manners.  

When Ben sat next to your father who was watching a documentary about the 2nd world war they started to talk about "the good old days." Y/N started to clean up the table Ben caught Dylan trying to get Y/N's attention. When she was looking through the vinyl's he got up and stood next to her. "I thought CC was your boss?" He asked rubbing his hand between your shoulders. Y/N moved gracefully away trying to avoid his touch. "I am her assistant. But Soldier Boy pretty much owns all of Vought." She looked over at him while explaining. Ben caught her glance clearly hearing every word they said, she looked a little scared.  

"Dylan..." Ben started talking to your dad. "Is he family?" Without looking up your father answered. "Oh no, he was her high school boyfriend they used to date for a while. We all loved for them to end up together. But for some reason she decided to be an independent woman." - "He is always this... close?" Ben asked feeling his frustrations grow. "Close... a hand on her hips, a kiss on the cheek, woman nowadays can't stand anything anymore am I right?" He laughs looking at Ben who was already heading towards Y/N and Dylan. "Hey Buddy, can't you see she doesn't like you touching her." Ben said while he moved in between the two of you. Ben seemed like a giant next to Dylan. "We were just talking man." -"Well, try to talk with a little more respect and a little less hands. Maybe then you will be able to keep a fine woman." Dylan walked away like a dog that had been hit.  

"Are you going to be ok sweetheart?" Ben asked when he was ready to leave. Y/N nodded and looked at him thankful. "Well, ma'am the dessert was delicious, but I've got to go. Can't miss my own party." He said to your mother. "Always welcome!" Y/N walked Ben to the door. "Next time, give me a heads up." She laughed. Ben looked over your shoulder making sure no one had followed you before he pulled you in by your hips, for a kiss. "I've missed those soft lips of yours, I even dreamed of them." He whispered while kissing your neck. "Ben! Not here." She said pulling him away. "I have missed you too." - "Well, will you think off me tonight?" Y/N noticed the arousal in his voice. "I know I will..." Y/N pulled him in for a kiss, her tongue finding his quick. Ben's hands moving to her ass pinching softly. Letting go to wave him goodbye.  

--  

After the party at Vought.  

Ben darling, I've got a surprise for you. Countess walked in the room, wearing lingerie in her signature colour. Crawling over the bed pulling the sheets down. Ben held her shoulders. "Not tonight." Crimson Countess looked confused at him. "Oh baby, so stressed... let me take care of you." she dipped under the sheets and started to give him a blow job. Ben wanted to stop her but instead he closed his eyes and start fantasising it was Y/N working her lips on him. "Oh sweetheart" He moaned. When Countess wanted to move on, he held her making sure she would finish what she started. "Don't stop sweetheart, I'm close." After he came in her mouth, he pushed her aside. Countess was clearly confused by his actions.  

--  

The next weekend.  

Y/N walked beside CC she had texted her that morning she needed a talk before the New Year's Eve party. "Have you talked to Ben lately?" She opened the conversation. "Eh no, not really why?" Y/N asked nervous knowing very well she was avoiding Ben. "He, he is acting weird, last week he didn't want to have sex and since then he only touches himself, I can hear him in the shower... Him... the man is practically walking sex on a stick! And when I started to give him a blow job that night, he called me sweetheart... He never, ever called me that." Y/N started to panic. "Y/N can you talk to him? Or find out who the whore is he is seeing? I need to know who I need to fry." Leaving her standing scared as hell in the hall.  

The party was one like every party they throw. But Y/N didn’t like it, she couldn’t stop thinking about what CC told her. Ben doesn't want her anymore... But Y/N couldn’t contain her nerves around all these drunk supes, so after an hour or two she left for the elevators. She kept thinking, Ben called her sweetheart before and told her he would be thinking of her that night... Did he mean it? She was so deep in her thoughts that she didn't see Ben standing behind her until he slipped in the elevator with her. "Where are we going?" He laughs charmingly "I'm sorry Ben, but this party not my cup of tea. I'm heading home." - "Ok, I'll take you, you never know who is out there at night." "You really don't have to, my car is parked in the garage." she said while remembering what CC told her. But Ben refused to leave her side.

Once home he asked about Dylan. "Is he the guy who..." -"Yes, and I don't want to talk about it." Y/N said quickly walking to the kitchen grabbing something to drink. Ben moved closer to her placing his hands on her hips pulling her in. She could already feel the bulge in his pants grow. "Where is everyone?" he asked kissing her neck "Out with friends. They won't be home till later. Tomorrow is little family breakfast to celebrate the first of Januari, here at this house. So, you can't stay." She said trying her best not to give in.  

"Hm, I only need a few hours." He turned her around and kissed her hard.  He was glad she chose a dress tonight. His hands moved under it, pulling her panties off, lifting her up putting her on the kitchen table, rubbing her clit with his thumb while his fingers found their way to her folds. He continued kissing her. Y/N's nails dug into his shoulders and moaned his name. "Ben... not here. Not on this table... upstairs." She managed to say. Ben took a step back and followed her to her room. Y/N closed the door and pushed Ben against it. The heat in her was unstoppable. They ripped each others clothes off. Ben threw her on the bed so hard she bounced back. "Open those pretty legs for me sweetheart."  He said while pumping his cock. He quickly placed himself between her legs pushing hard inside her. "Oh, sweetheart I've missed this pussy.” Y/N felt every inch off him as he bottoms out in her. “You feel so good. So tight." He huffed while trusting hard in her. "Oh Ben, this, you, feels so good." She moaned. For some reason Y/N felt that Ben was smoother in his touches and moves, more... loving even though he was still taking her hard.  

Y/N didn’t need much tonight, Ben was everywhere on her body kissing and licking her. She could feel her orgasm climbing. “Ben... don’t stop.” She said while her hands moved between them. Ben stopped her. ”I got you sweetheart.” He lifted her legs higher over his shoulder while he rubbed her clit. She came faster and harder than she had ever experienced. After her high Ben dropped her legs and closed the space between their bodies. He held her shoulders and placed his head in her neck. “Oh baby, I won’t be able to hold it much longer.” He whined in her ear. “It’s ok Ben, do it, let go, I want to feel you come.” Her hearing saying that made him growl. “Come inside me, please...” She begged him. As Y/N wrapped her legs tighter around his hips she felt his thrust to get sloppy. “That’s it Ben, come for me.” With a primal grunt Ben came hard inside you. Not only his hips were pushed as hard as he could against you, but his entire body held your close to his.  

He started to relax but didn’t move. You caressed his broad shoulders and back with your fingertips while kissing his head. “Oh god, that felt... really good.” He said while lifting himself off you and took the place next to you on the bed. He kissed Y/N softly. “I’m going to take a quick shower.” Y/N said. Quickly leaving the bed with Ben in it. He looked puzzled so followed you to the bathroom. He opened the curtain and stepped in the shower behind you. His hand started to move over your shoulders to your breast, kissing your neck. “Y/N...” He started but didn’t finish. Y/N turned around looking at him. “Are you ok?” - “Why wouldn’t I be?” “Well, you couldn’t be faster out that bed. Didn’t you ... like it? I know it was a little quick but not that fast.” He looked worried. “Oh no Ben, I'm satisfied trust me, I don’t think I can survive another round, it’s just...” Y/N was thinking how to say this. 

“CC knows there is something going on. She told me this morning. And I’m worried.” - “What did she say?” He asked washing her breasts and tummy. “Well, that you refuse to make love with her, that the last time, when she gave you a blowjob on Christmas you called her sweetheart and that you never call her that.” Y/N’s face turned red. “Thats true. I never call anyone sweetheart.” He said locking eyes with her. “Part from you.” He smirked “Y/N, last time I was intimate with her, I could only do it...” He stepped closer to her “Thinking it were your soft plump lips working on me.” he touched her lips with his thumb. “Is that what you fantasize about?” Y/N asked feeling nervous. He nodded “I’ve never, given...” “I know.” he kissed her soft, she felt him getting half hard again against her.  

Y/N looked up at him turning so that his back was against the shower wall. “But I would love to try.” She said while her hands were traveling down. She wrapped her hands around his shaft pumping, every time she got to his tip, she’d move her thumb over it. Ben’s eyes darkened with lust. Y/N got on her knees looking up at him. First kissed the tip taking her time to travel all the way down. Ben held her hair up without forcing her. When her warm lips wrapped around head of his cock moving down to the shaft, he couldn’t resist a moan. “Oh sweetheart, you feel better than I thought.” She slowly builds speed, moving her tongue, searching for all the things Ben seemed to enjoy. When she moved one hand to hold his balls, she saw his head fall back when his hand tugged a little harder. Bingo, she thought.  

“Relax your throat baby” He said, while pushing her a little closer. Y/N felt the tears sting in her eyes but couldn’t hold back a moan. Ben guided her to the speed he liked and when she got it on her own, he started to sigh and moan her name. “That’s it, keep that mouth working Y/N...”  

“Oh, sweetheart if you don’t want me to come in that pretty mouth of yours you need to let me pull out now.” She moaned at the idea of him filling her mouth, tasting his semen. “You sure?” He could barely ask out of breath. When she nodded, she could feel him coming. Lucky for her he just came inside her, so this time it wasn’t as much as usual. Ben helped her up. “That was so good.” he kissed her.  

They got back in bed. “You should leave in a minute.” Y/N said. “You are kicking me out?” Ben said, clearly amuses, he thought that was funny coming from her. “Not before I got to hold you. Without running to the bathroom.” He teases her. But she gladly accepted. Ben held her close, her ear on his heart, his arms around her, the sound of it beating made her fall asleep faster than anticipated. So did he. The next morning Ben woke up to a noise, coming from the kitchen. He looked at the clock. 9AM.  

He looked at Y/N who was still laying on his chest. Proud he smiled thinking to let her sleep for a few more minutes.  

“Y/N sweetheart it’s time to wake up.” your mom opened the door. “Oh, oh I'm so sorry.” she looked away. “Good morning.” Ben smiled not even the least bit embarrassed to be caught in her daughter’s bed. “Breakfast is ready and most of the family is already arrived.” She said before leaving the room. “Thanks, we’ll be down in a sec.” Ben noticed Y/N slowly woke up. “Were you just talking?” She asked with a sleepy head. “Yeah, your mom told me breakfast is ready.” Ben answered casually. “WHAT!” Y/N jumped up. “Yeah, and your family is already here.” - “Oh, no no no, I need to get you out of here!” Ben pulled her on his lap. ”Or, I could stay.” he said while kissing, breathing heavy. “You are insane.” She looked at him. “What are they going to do? Your mother already saw me.”  

You and Ben started to get dressed when you heard a knock on the door. Ben opened the door. “Honey, your aunt Martha is also downstairs, now that Soldier Boy is here, maybe he could you know, say something.” She smiled shy. Ben looked with a lot of questions at you. Y/N quickly explained. “Aunt Martha used to be a back-up dancer for you. “Don’t worry, I got it.” Ben said placing a hand on your mother’s shoulders. ”Besides, please call me Ben” He worked his charm again on her. “Oh, so sweet of you, you can call me Mary.” “You really don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” You said to Ben when your mom left again. “My pleasure” he said kissing your lips before heading down. You heard your mom saying that she needs another chair, whispering that her daughter wasn’t alone last night.  

You both walked in the dining room, all eyes on Ben who had no choice but to wear his suit. But he made a wise choice to leave the protective gear and weapons upstairs. Now it looked like a green long-sleeved shirt with a turtleneck and green pants and combat boots. You quickly noticed that your parents had invited Dylan and his family again. Y/N loved the look on his face when he recognised Ben. Your mother was so over the moon to show off that she now was on first name basis with the world most famous superhero she over did her performance. “Ben sweety, coffee?” She asked in her sweeter than honey voice. But Ben understood the assignment “That would be amazing, Mary.” He winked at her. Then he looked over at your Aunt Martha. ”I’m sorry but, have we met before?” You could see her eyes twinkle. “Well, met not really, I used to be a back-up dancer and an extra in one of your movies.” “What movie? “ He asked and then pretended to think. “Maggy, no ... Martha? Am I right?” Smooth, very smooth Y/N thought.  

Ben seemed to have won over the woman. It surprises you how civilized he is in a setting like this. He listened to the stories that were told at the table even laughed at the silly jokes. He placed his hand on your chair rubbing his thumb over your shoulder. Y/N could see her dad giving criticising looks over at the two of you, after a while he got up and walked over. “Ben, I was wondering. You are raised with older classic principals, being born in, what was it 1918?  

”September 1919.”He corrected him.“ And I guess you can say so.” “That makes you what over 50 years old.” Y/N closed her eyes knowing where this was going. “And as a man with influence at that age I can only imagen you have “enjoyed” the company of many women over these years.” He looked over at Martha, who knew how many of her colleague dancers were treated on a night with Soldier Boy himself, every year she would brag about her adventures and how she managed to stay a virgin until marrying your uncle.  

“So, why is it that a man as yourself all of the sudden, after 4 years working for you and your girlfriend, her best friend Countess, is interested in my Babygirl?” He continued his interrogation. But Ben stayed cool. “Well, A few weeks ago we shared a heart-to-heart talk about our frustrations at Vought. And other things. And that was when I realised Y/N and I have a lot in common. Besides Crimson Countess and me that is a publicity stunt, nothing real about it. ” “ In common...” Your father echoed. “She is in her 20s she has nothing in common with a man who is the same age as her parents. Beside and I’m sure you would agree, being raised traditionally, that a young woman needs a husband, a respected man like Dylan to start a family, but that isn’t possible if she is... soiled.”  

“DAD!” ”Richard!” You and your mom yell at the same time. This time Ben got slowly up and took a step closer to him. “Soiled?” He smirked getting really irritated by now.  

“You think I made your daughter do anything she didn’t want to?” Ben stood eye to eye with him.  

“I’m not saying that, I’m just wondering how much power a man like yourself has over an innocent young woman.” Y/N could see Ben clench his fist, she quickly got up to hold his hand. “Dad, Ben never forced me into doing anything. Better yet, the one man who did force himself on to me, who as you put is so gracefully soiled me, is the one you and mom keep inviting even though I begged you two not to.” Y/N looked at her mom with tears in your eyes. “Do you have any idea how difficult it was to find someone who I can trust.” Y/N’s tears started to fall of her cheeks. “And yes, Ben might be older and made terrible mistakes, but he is the first person who tries his best for me, who tries to be a better man, instead of forcing me into doing something I don’t want because he is my boyfriend and then eat and drink at our table without regret!” Ben placed a hand on her back what made Y/N stand taller now. ” If that means I have to accept that I won’t be having a family or need to live in his shadow, be a secret, I will...”  

Ben looked surprised by Y/N’s words. ”Sweetheart, I’m not planning on keeping you a secret.” “B-But CC, Vought?” Y/N looked hopeful at him. “Crimson can be replaced, maybe she can finally work on her one-woman act.”  

“I would lose my job.” - “You said it yourself, I’m practically Vought, If I say you stay you stay. I’ll create a new job for you or make you head of public relations at Vought.” Ben meant what he said. “Or I could hang up the suit, start a family, if that is what you want...” Y/N’s eyes grew big. “I, eh, I do need some time to think... About all of the above.” Ben kissed her, let me know when you ready.

Since the party was over, Y/N decided to stay at the Vought tower for a couple of days, taking a spare room. Ben walked in. ”Alright, let’s talk about it...”  

--

If you liked this, please check out my masterlist for other stories.

[urbanrelics]

HOPITAL PLAZA

This imposing ensemble, commissioned by the French King Louis XVIII in 1820, is known in urbex circles as 'Hôpital Plaza', although it was only effectively used as a hospital for a very short period at the end of the First World War. During that period, more than 8,000 - mainly Belgian - wounded soldiers were cared for.

After the French Revolution, the Catholic fire again raged very strongly in the west of France, especially in Normandy, and there was a need for training opportunities for young men who felt called to the priesthood. Two wealthy residents donated the necessary land to the diocese to establish a "minor seminary" on this site. The ensemble became an architectural replica of the nearby 'major seminary'. Young seminarians first followed a course here, after which they completed their training in the major seminary.

The Minor Seminary not only welcomed young people who were destined for the priesthood; it also gave access to general education, both for sons of wealthy families and those of families from more humble backgrounds. The school survived until 1905, when the French church and state were once again separated.

At the end of the First World War, the building became a shelter for veterans. After all, at the end of the fighting, many disabled soldiers could no longer support themselves. The Minor Seminary became a home to welcome them. Retired veterans joined later. Many affected French families also found temporary shelter here during the Second World War, after which the buildings resumed their function as a retirement home for veterans.

In June 2000, it was abandoned completely and was sold to a businessman from Lyon, who intended to install 70 luxury apartments. Much to the chagrin of the local government, the plans were never realized and the old seminary began to deteriorate. Since 2016 it has been owned by Spanish property developers, who were supposed to look for a new destination. The local government now wants to start an 'abandonment' procedure to expropriate the whole ensemble, hoping to give the beautiful seminary a new lease on life.

[hlupdate]

W​​hat’s the secret to a great portrait? At 86 years old, David Hockney has a few ideas. A lifetime of looking has taught him to always start with the face. “I begin with the head first,” he says, matter-of-factly, from his home in France. “From there, I place everything else.”

That was his approach when, late last May, Harry Styles traveled to his light-filled studio in Normandy and stationed himself on a cane chair, ready to become the esteemed artist’s latest subject. Over two days, Hockney worked to capture the exact hues of red and yellow in Styles’s striped cardigan, the indigo of his jeans, the string of pearls at his neck—not to mention the unmistakable tousled fringe of one of the world’s biggest pop stars. For the artist, though, the goal was merely to capture the essence of the person in front of him. “I wasn’t really aware of his celebrity then,” Hockney says, with a shrug. “He was just another person who came to the studio.”

The pair struck up an instant rapport that was likely helped by Styles being a full-on fanboy. For his Vogue cover shoot in 2020, Styles wore a pair of hand-painted Bode cords that featured a talismanic illustration of Hockney by artist Aayushia Khowala. It’s also hard to imagine the wide-eyed wonder of a flamboyant Brit discovering the sunny thrills and spills of California—a theme, and sound, that has permeated the former One Direction singer’s solo albums—without Hockney as a precedent. “David Hockney has been reinventing the way we look at the world for decades,” says Styles. “It was a complete privilege to be painted by him.”

The unveiling of the portrait kicks off the second iteration of the National Portrait Gallery’s Hockney exhibition “Drawing From Life,” which first opened in February 2020, only to close weeks later due to the pandemic. With the addition of a new room of pictures charting Hockney’s creative impulses throughout lockdown, the show returns on November 2—a few months after a refurbishment of the entire museum—with Styles’s portrait as its crown jewel. “The whole world shut down, and the exhibition was still sitting there, in the dark,” recalls Sarah Howgate, the gallery’s senior curator of contemporary collections, who oversaw the exhibition in both phases. “So it’s nice to know it will have another life.”

The Styles painting may bring star wattage, but the unassuming genius of Hockney’s portraiture is still the main exhibition draw. What makes his images tick, you quickly learn, is their honesty: whether in the tension bubbling beneath the surface of his famed double portrait of Ossie Clark and Celia Birtwell, painted between 1970 and ’71, or the seated figures that populated his 2016 Royal Academy of Arts exhibition, which included the likes of his own sister, Margaret, and the late comedian Barry Humphries. Hockney’s eye for the human figure may be playful, often kaleidoscopic, sometimes fantastical—but it’s always, most importantly, frank.

Styles’s portrait will hang alongside those of writer Gregory Evans, Hockney’s printer Maurice Payne, the mayor of his local town Dozulé, his gardener, and even his chiropodist, or in Hockney’s words, “the dandy who cuts my toenails.”

One of his more recent subjects was the eminent music producer Clive Davis, who first suggested inviting Styles to swing by. “Clive told me about Harry’s new album, and JP [Hockney’s studio assistant] sent Harry a note and asked him if he’d like to come to my studio and sit for his portrait,” Hockney remembers. “He replied straight away and said, yes, he’d love to.” From there, Hockney’s process of painting Styles was instinctive. “Everybody just came to sit,” he says, breezily, before admitting: “Now I know Harry’s a celebrity, though: I’ve seen all his music videos.”

“He’s not a traditional portrait painter,” says Howgate. Hockney’s interest is not in what people do, but rather in who they are. “He’s not interested in fame. He’s interested in depicting people and their relationships.” It’s why his eye is primarily trained on his inner circle these days—but it also pays testament to his enduring curiosity that he’s still willing to open that up to a newcomer every so often. Styles seems to know how lucky he is, adding, with a tinge of disbelief: “I’m in awe of the man with enough one-liners for a lifetime.” As to what those one-liners might be? Styles and Hockney’s mutual silence on that question suggests that what happens in the studio, stays in the studio.

“David Hockney: Drawing From Life” will be at the National Portrait Gallery from November 2 to January 21, 2024.

[blurredcolour]

You Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under | Part One

Your Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under Masterlist

Dick Winters x Female SOE Agent!Reader

The 101st Airborne's jump into Normandy is filled with unexpected surprises for all parties involved.

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Weapons, Death, Blood, Gore, Injuries, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Language, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Note: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal of Dick Winters by Damian Lewis. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within. Shout out to my bilingual friend who double checked my French lines for me. Non-English is denoted in italics.

Word Count: 4809

--------------------------

Paris – December 10, 1944

The sea of humanity in Gare du Nord was overwhelming as Dick Winters stepped off the train from Mourmelon-le-Grand. Though it was mid-morning on a Sunday, it seemed like everyone was on the move. His height had him standing head and shoulders above most of the crowd as he made his way down the platform toward the exit, nearly bumping into a woman dressed in an olive drab uniform.

“Sorry –” He reflexively apologized in English before correcting it to the local French, though his pronunciation left a lot to be desired. “Excusez-moi.”

You turned back to him, eyes widening with recognition as they flicked over his face. “A captain now.” You smiled as your gaze eventually settled onto the two bars shining on the garrison cap of his Class-A uniform.

“A Canadian now.” He replied as his own eyes settled on the patch embroidered on your shoulder. The hip length jacket, A-line skirt, and peaked cap of the uniform suited you. “Or were you always, Charlotte?” The hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as his green eyes met yours.

He did not miss your visible swallow before you recovered with an even warmer smile than before. “I’m sorry you’ve got me confused with my good friend Charlotte Roussel. She’s told me all about you.” You offered your gloved hand to shake as you introduced yourself properly, though he wondered if it was just another cover identity.

Taking your hand in his, he shook it firmly with a bemused expression playing on his face. “Dick Winters. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, Captain. If you are in need of a place to stay, I happen to have a recently vacated room in my apartment I would be happy to loan to you, free of charge. The hotels in Paris would love nothing more than to liberate you of your American dollars.”

Dick eyed you curiously, still as full of questions as the last time he had seen you in early June, yet you continued to obfuscate. “I wouldn’t want to impose…” He replied in the time-honored tradition of the polite refusal that preceded acceptance.

“Not at all. Besides, Charlotte would not forgive me if I did not repay you for saving her life.” You insisted with a nod, and he swallowed, noticing the way you now wore your hair to carefully cover your forehead beneath your uniform cap.

“If I remember it correctly, she saved mine first.”

------------

Normandy – June 6, 1944

After the rattling and jostling of the plane as it flew through clouds and flak, the drop onto French soil had felt peaceful in comparison. Granted of course, there was the constant awareness that enemy fire could find him on his way to the ground, but by some miracle he made it in one piece. The same could not be said of his leg bag.

After linking up with Hall from Able company, the pair had set off into the woods with only one M1 Garand between them. Dick had done his best to remain calm and reassuring despite how poorly the night seemed to be unfolding already. Small touches of humor appeared to calm the young man’s nerves but they both remained hyper vigilant to all sounds around them. Roughly ten minutes from their rendezvous they heard a noise to their right and Dick signalled for them both to halt and get low, but before Hall could level his weapon, they were face-to-face with the muzzle of German K-98 rifle.

Preparing to lunge at the soldier’s legs, Dick was brought up short when a figure in dark clothing jumped onto the man’s back, clamping a gloved hand over his mouth before burying a knife into the side of his neck. The unexpected weight thankfully pulled the weapon toward the sky before the soldier squeezed off a few rounds in the struggle, but the brutally efficient downward stroke of their blade had the soldier quickly collapsing to the ground, neutralized. Left standing was a woman clad in what first looked like a skirt but was in fact very wide-legged slacks and a wool sweater with a cap over her hair and a scarf covering her neck and face up to her eyes.

“Parlez-vous Francais?” You asked in an elevated whisper as you crouched down to wipe the blade of your knife clean on a corner of the dead man’s uniform jacket.

Dick and Hall both shook their heads in silence, dumbfounded.

“Welcome to France.” You smiled a little as you pulled down your scarf to reveal the rest of your face.

Dick was struck by many things in that moment, first and foremost being how beautiful you were, which he quickly compartmentalized as he’d been well trained to do. The second was the lack of a French accent, of any accent to your English. You almost sounded American and yet…

The stirring of brush to the left had them tensing once more before a young man of no more than sixteen, tall but obviously underfed and in clothes that had fit him several inches ago, emerged to pick up the German rifle from the forest floor. The function returned to Dick’s brain all at once and he looked back to you quickly.

“Resistance?”

You nodded in confirmation, glancing between the pair of them before turning to the young man. “Emile, donne le fusil au lieutenant.”

“Mais Charlotte…” He protested, gesturing at the older rifle slung over his shoulder.

“Maitenant, Ils auront une nuit pire que la notre.” You replied in a firm tone that brooked no argument and he handed it over to Dick who thanked him with a nod.

Hall immediately began to dig through the fallen soldier’s pockets to find him some more ammo.

“You’re a lot further inland than we were expecting you.” Your comment brought Dick’s attention back to you and he did his best not to let his annoyance at the situation show.

“Any idea where we’ve ended up?” He asked as he took what Hall was able to scrounge with a nod of thanks, tucking it into the pocket of his ODs.

“Half a kilometre outside St. Mere Eglise. You have a map?” You asked with a tilt of your head, and he hesitated a moment, knowing that while he did, it was covered in confidential material. He watched as a knowing smirk stretched your lips. “I have one without your top-secret information, one moment.”

You raised up on your knees to tuck your knife into the sheath at your hip before reaching up the back of your sweater, the motion inadvertently pulling the fabric higher to reveal the skin of your midriff. He quickly averted his eyes to the tree canopy above, wondering when the training on attractive female Resistance fighters was supposed to have been delivered.

The sound of rustling paper had him glancing carefully toward the ground and he relaxed to see you unfolding a map across the leaves and pine needles that carpeted the forest floor. The four of you gathered around as you took out a lighter, using the weak light from the flame to point out your rough position.

“Easiest way to the coast is the railroad tracks – keep off the roads. There is a squad of about ten Nazis with two officers on a horse-drawn wagon. They are making their way to their favourite spot here.” You tapped the map further into the woods.

“Favorite spot?” He prompted quietly.

“To make members of the Resistance disappear.” You replied grimly, glancing at the simple watch on your wrist. “We set explosives here,” you tapped a spot along the rail line further inland, “to detonate about now. That should help you find your way?” You looked up to him just as the explosion sounded in the distance, a column of orange lighting the sky.

“Bravo, Charlotte. À l’heure juste.” Emile beamed at you, and you nodded in reply with a grin of satisfaction.

“Merci. Any questions, gentlemen?” You asked turning back to the two Americans.

“None. Thank you, Charlotte. Be careful out here.” Dick replied earnestly, hoping you were not headed to the German’s so-called favorite spot, but he held his suspicions.

“Same to you.” You nodded firmly folding up the map as he tapped Hall on the shoulder and the pair began to make their way towards the rail line.

You had been right, the explosion made an excellent beacon. The situation continued to improve when he reconnected with Lipton, Guarnere, Malarkey, Wynn, Toye, and two boys from the 82nd. When he heard the whinny of a horse, he realized you had also given him an accurate warning about the group of Germans.  While Dick presumed it was usually preferable for Resistance to avoid confrontation, with the numbers he had gathered, he preferred to eliminate the threat and arranged an ambush. Mercifully Guarnere’s premature action did not result in the failure of their attack and the men went about cleaning up the mess while Dick took a moment to reprimand him.

They were about to depart down the road when a rustling in the trees caught the hot-headed Sergeant’s ear. “Flash!” He barked out the password challenge in his brash Philly accent, sending everyone’s eyes towards the edge of the road where you stood, flanked by Emile and two other men Dick didn’t recognize.

“Thunder.” He rapidly replied on your behalf. “Don’t shoot, they’re Resistance.” He elaborated, coming to stand beside Guarnere.

“Merci, Lieutenant.” You exhaled. Your reply was muffled behind your scarf, but the relief was still audible.

“Jesus Christ, you’re a dame!” Guarnere hissed, pouring his excess adrenaline into his outburst.

Your barely smothered laugh reached Dick’s ears, making him swallow reflexively as the group watched you make your way to the back of the wagon. One of the older men, his clothes gone baggy under German occupation, carrying a weapon from the last war, grasped a corner of the tarp laying across some hidden cargo. Together you pulled it back to reveal the bodies of two more of your comrades.

“Merde.” Emile choked out and turned to take out his frustrations by kicking one of the fallen Germans at his feet.

Dick could not help the frown as he walked to the back of the wagon, his eyes falling on the form of a young boy no older than twelve.

“Goddamn he’s just a kid…” Malarkey uttered in dismay.

“They’ve got women and kids fighting out here for fuck’s sake.” Toye growled, slamming his helmet onto his head as he wrenched his eyes away from the scene, moving to take watch to the head of the wagon, obviously impatient to get moving.

“I’m sorry it’s not the outcome you were hoping for.” He looked to your eyes, wishing that scarf wasn’t hiding your face.

“But not unexpected.” You muttered back, straightening your sweater before leaning forward over the boy’s body.

“What will you do?” Dick asked as you grasped the boy’s lifeless arm and slung his torso across your shoulders, hugging his legs close to your body beneath your other arm.

“The only thing we can do - take him home to his mother, so she can bury him.” You replied as the fourth man with you, mid-forties with a build not unlike Randleman’s though still wasted away some, stepped forward to gather the remains of the twenty-something still on the wagon. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Good luck.” You met his eyes briefly, revealing your own glistening with unshed tears, before disappearing through the trees the way you had come.

The next twenty hours passed in a blur – finally reaching the assembly point, destroying the 105mm guns at Brécourt, losing Hall. Would that he could return the boy to his mother as you had been able to do with your fallen. As Dick watched Nixon open the can of food he’d been struggling with, he sighed deeply.

“Met a Resistance fighter in the woods after I landed – she spoke perfect English, Nix. No trace of any accent, at all. The men were all looking to her for direction.”

Nixon raised his eyes to meet his meaningfully. “No shit…” He blinked and handed him the successfully opened food. “Sounds to me like you met a genuine SOE agent assigned to ‘set Europe ablaze.’” His tone was dripping with envy. “Division wasn’t entirely convinced by Churchill’s boasts. She must be one tough broad.”

“She seemed pretty proficient, Lew.” Dick replied with poorly concealed admiration, eyeing the contents of the can reluctantly.

“We ought to send Churchill a thank you card, then.” He smirked knowingly.

Dick let out a half-hearted laugh before his face fell serious once more. He looked to his boots before confessing to the loss of Hall, which Nixon tried to make up for by reassuring him the map he’d retrieved would be useful. Surrendering the food with the excuse of lack of appetite, Dick wandered off lost in thought.

Honestly never expecting to lay eyes upon you again, he was stunned to see you in a hamlet somewhere between Culoville and Vierville the next day. It was no more than a tiny cluster of buildings on both sides of the road, too small to earn a name on the map. The road was clogged with refugees, fleeing the conflict, slowing the progress of the armored division they were meant to be traveling with.

Dick had diverted Easy across a nearby field behind the hedgerow, bringing them to a halt to plan their final approach, his officers naturally gathering around him.

“Christ there’s civilians everywhere.” Welsh hissed under his breath as they peered through the foliage.

“So, who’s going to knock on the door?” Compton grinned, his bulk barely concealed by the late spring greenery.

Dick paused, squinting through his binoculars as he watched you carefully set your wagon, filled with suitcases and other belongings like any other refugee, beneath the window of a café. Your gaze was fixed on the boulangerie across the lane, seeming of a mind to purchase some food for your travels. His eyes followed as you wended your way through the dwindling stream of people, clad in a spring jacket with a worn brown dress beneath, a pair of dusty boots on your feet. You stood out to no one but him.

“Dick?” Nixon prompted in a hushed whisper.

“Hold. The Resistance is here. Which means we most likely have Germans lurking nearby.”

“Resistance?” Nixon’s eyes widened as he fumbled with his jacket to retrieve his own binoculars. “You mean she’s here?!” He whirled to face the road, his movements made less than graceful by his excitement, and Dick barely contained his amused grin as you had already vanished inside the bakery.

His amusement did not last long, unfortunately, as a red-faced German solider came charging out of the café.

“Bingo.” Nixon breathed quietly.

Dick’s lips pressed into a grimace as the man re-emerged shortly thereafter dragging you by a fistful of your hair, shouting and pointing at your wagon. Any remaining civilians on the road quickly scattered into the other buildings or the fields beyond.

“He’s upset about the wagon.”

“You don’t say, Nixon” Compton replied sarcastically, a furrow forming between his brows.

Your voice carried to them, the pleading tone laced with fear making Dick tighten his grip on his binoculars. He could tell you were speaking a mixture of French and German, but not much more than that. “Lew?”

“Please in German…Please in French. I was just getting food. I’m sorry in German. I’m trying to get away from the Americans in French. The death in German. Please.”

Dick could hear the men shifting restlessly around him and lifted his head. “Tell them to hold, not yet. That café has got to be full of Germans. Plan on snipers in the fourth and fifth buildings as well.” He described the assault plan for each of the squads as your pleas continued to ring out parried by barked commands from the increasingly perturbed soldier. “But wait for my signal.” He nodded firmly to dismiss them, and they hurried off to their respective platoons.

Dick wanted to trust that you had the situation in hand, but this surely could not be unfolding according to your plan. He raised his binoculars once more to see you desperately plant your hands on the soldier’s chest, several men drawing a collective breath. Dick narrowed his eyes as your gaze shifted to the left, toward the face of your watch glinting in the afternoon sunlight. He tensed noting your proximity to that wagon, convinced now more than ever that it was filled with explosives.

The sharp ‘smack’ of the German’s glove impacting your cheek had your head snapping to the side in a way that had Dick seeing red.

“I’m going to kill him myself.” Nixon hissed under his breath, but Dick didn’t have time to respond as, surging forward, you slammed your forehead into the soldier’s nose, a bloom of red flooding down his face and yours.

He held his breath as you seemed to stumble back, a bit dazed as a commotion sounded from within the café, but he was able to exhale as you regained your feet and used your ankle to sweep the man’s jackboots right out from beneath him. Dick glanced to the wagon once more with apprehension as you yourself dove to the ground before grabbing the back of the dazed soldier’s coat and hauled his body over yours. He had barely shifted his gaze to the collection of five Germans in the doorway when the wagon exploded violently.

“Right on time…” He muttered to himself, tucking his binoculars away and preparing to advance.

Nixon turned to stare at him, speechless.

“Don’t.” He replied warningly, still unsure if you had survived the blast, giving the debris a moment to settle before he gave the signal, heading straight up the road to you.

Much to everyone’s annoyance, the telltale sound of Shermans approached from further up the road – just in time to get all the glory without really having to do any of the work. As planned, the men peeled off to clear each of the buildings as Dick rolled the dead German off your body. He watched with bated breath as Roe appeared at his side to check your pulse, nodding up to him.

“She’s alive, sir.”

The road was filled with broken glass from the explosion, and fearing for the bare skin of your legs, Dick had Roe help carry you into the bakery as Malarkey reported it clear, the medic sliding his arms beneath your shoulders. Dick did his best to ignore how soft the backs of your knees felt against his fingertips as he managed your legs. They laid you down on the floor in the back room amongst abandoned baking supplies and he swallowed as your eyes fluttered open.

“Charlotte, you’re alright, Doc’s just going to look you over, ok?”

You furrowed your brows and glanced down at Roe as he undid your coat, looking you over for injuries aside from the obvious scrapes as Dick quickly pressed a bandage to the split in your forehead from where you had broken the German’s nose.

“You’re in good hands, I need to go back out there alright?”

You sighed heavily and he looked to your eyes quickly.

“I’m sure you’re speaking in that fucking wonderful American accent of yours, Lieutenant but I cannot hear a fucking thing. I’m sorry.” You spoke, seemingly unaware that your voice was obnoxiously loud.

Dick grimaced at your language as Roe barely contained his scoff of laughter before Dick nodded to you to show that he understood. Eyes pinning yours, he pointed at you firmly before forcefully pointing at the floor.

“Stay here. Understood.” You replied with a nod, a loud groan quickly overtaking your voice.

Dick hesitated a moment, but Roe was already looking over your face and into your eyes. There was really nothing for him to do here and his men needed him outside. Securing his helmet on his head, he dashed back out into the afternoon sunshine. Aside from one sniper’s nest three buildings down the road, which was easily managed with the help of the armored division, the hamlet was secured with only one minor incident involving Muck and some broken glass.

At Nixon’s urging, which Dick allowed to play out much longer than was needed to convince him, he ordered two stretcher bearers to accompany him back to the bakery to fetch you. He was encouraged to find you sitting with your back propped up against the wall, looking more alert with your knife grasped with one hand, though you had not seemed to have had the wherewithal to unsheathe it. He crouched down in front of you carefully, sliding his helmet from his head.

“I’m just going to take that from you, there Charlotte.” He wasn’t sure why he was speaking, fully aware that you could not hear him, but your grip loosened on the weapon as he reached for it.

“Alright.” You murmured softly in response and his eyes snapped to yours.

“You can hear again?” He asked as he tucked the knife into the pocket of his ODs.

You began to nod before halting the movement abruptly. “Mostly…”

“Good. That’s good.” He smiled briefly. “Do you have any other weapons on you?”

“No.” You replied after a thoughtful pause and patting of your coat pockets.

He nodded before standing, addressing the men lingering in the doorway. “Take her to the aid station, Lieutenant Nixon and I will be there as soon as we can.”

They responded with a chorus of ‘yes sirs!’ before he stepped back out to deliver orders for the company to take a rest while they awaited their next set of instructions. It was not long before they were told to proceed to Vierville where Colonel Sink had set up the battalion command post. It was also, conveniently, where the aid station was located. Once the men were situated for the night, Dick and Nixon quickly made their way to hotel that had been taken over as a medical facility.

They had barely walked in the door, the copper tang of blood just meeting their noses, before the battalion surgeon was calling out to him.

“Winters! Why in the hell did you send me a civilian?!”

“Strategic intelligence asset, sir.” Nixon replied smoothly, stepping in front of Dick to take the heat. “Where might we find her?”

“In one of the back offices. She cannot stay here. She needs to go a hospital whenever you’re done…whatever you’re doing.” He narrowed his eyes skeptically, hands on his hips as made his way over to them between the rows of cots set up in the lobby.

“She going to be alright, sir?” Dick asked, tone carefully neutral.

“Concussion, lacerations, bruising, three stitches to the forehead, hearing gradually returning. Overall malnourishment like all the French civilians. She’ll be fine after a week or two.” He muttered. “In a civilian hospital.”

“Yes sir.” Nixon replied quickly with a grin, grabbing Dick’s arm and pulling him towards the aforementioned office.

For all his bluster, the pair were amused to find the surgeon had set you up in a rather nice space, a blanket draped over your legs and a mug of hot coffee in your hands. Though judging by the grimace you made after taking a sip, it wasn’t to your taste. Your hair pins must have fallen out during the struggle and subsequent transport as the style you’d been wearing that afternoon was lost, and a few swathes of gauze now encircled your head to hold a bandage in place over your stitches.

He knocked on the door frame quietly and you looked up, smiling at little, your eyes shifting to look at Nixon.

“Charlotte, this is Lieutenant Nixon.” Dick introduced his friend who quickly stepped forward to offer his hand.

“Lewis, please.” You took it carefully, shaking it in return.

“Charlotte Roussel.” You replied.

“Would it be alright if we asked you some questions?” Dick tilted his head, and you raised an eyebrow.

“Of course.” You almost nodded again but caught yourself more quickly this time.

Dick stepped into the room, closing the door behind him and perching on the edge of the desk as Nixon took the only chair. He tried not to grin as you sipped the coffee and grimaced once more, obviously failing to conceal his reaction as you apologized.

“It’s very bitter, but very appreciated.”

“I won’t tell the surgeon.” He nodded with a conspiratorial look.

“So, Dick tells me you’re with the Resistance?” Nixon spoke after a moment of watching your exchange.

Your eyes slid over to Dick, and he tensed, briefly concerned you might be upset with him, before you looked back to Nixon. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Any information you might be able to share with us would be of great assistance.” Nixon nodded encouragingly.

“Well, all of my documents were quite recently destroyed but I’d be happy to share what I remember with you. Do you have a map?” Your question echoed one of the first you’d asked him and pulled a small smile from Dick’s lips.

He watched quietly as Nixon produced as clean map of the area and you easily provided all the information you had on which German troops were stationed where, between wincing sips of the hot drink cupped between your hands. The intelligence officer thrust out his palm about halfway through and Dick patted down his ODs until he produced a pencil for his friend, passing it to him so he might jot down the volume of information you were able to impart.

“And what about yourself, Miss Roussel?” Nixon looked up to you once he’d acquired all your knowledge of military use.

“Me?” You blinked innocently.

“Tell us about yourself.” Nixon nodded encouragingly, leaning back in his chair.

Dick noted the way your fingers tightened slightly on the mug, and he realized it bore the logo of the requisitioned hotel, but otherwise your demeanor remained calm and collected. “I was born just outside Paris in 1920. My aunt and uncle have a farm near St. Mere Eglise. They have no children of their own and when my Uncle Phillipe was killed during the invasion my Aunt Sophie asked if I could come help her. There is more to eat out here than Paris anyway, where you can grow it.”

“Why do you speak such good English?” Dick asked, unable to help himself.

Your eyes turned to meet his curiously. “I was a university student before the war, I had an excellent teacher from America. Ms. Jones. She was able to go home before the Nazis arrived.”

There was a touch of envy there, and though Dick was convinced you were selling them a very good story, the desire for ‘home’ struck him as true. He watched as you leaned back against the wall wearily, your eyelids growing heavier.

“You’ve never been to England?” Nixon prodded.

“No, Lieutenant Nixon. I’ve never left France.”

“Your experience with explosives? Who taught you that?”

“Antoine. He fought in the last war, he was a sapper. He was there after you took out the Germans who had captured our comrades.” You looked to Dick who nodded in reply, recalling the elderly man who easily could have fit that description.

He heard his friend sigh a little in frustration as you seemed to have a perfectly reasonable answer for everything – answers that were not what he was wanting to hear. A sharp knock on the door drew the attention of the group and Dick raised his head.

“Enter.”

A runner from Colonel Sink popped his head in the door and Dick sighed internally knowing they had run out of time. “Lieutenants, Colonel Sink has requested the pair of you at battalion CP immediately.”

“Right, thank you Sergeant. We’re on our way.” He looked to Nixon who sighed audibly in defeat before the pair looked to you.

You were barely keeping your eyes open, the mug in your hand tilting precariously. Dick carefully took it from your hold and set it on the desk.

“Thank you very much for your assistance, Miss Roussel. Do take care.” He stood, wishing there was something better to say, but there was too much to do. The landing had barely taken place and was by no means a sure success yet. The best thing he could do for you was to get out there and liberate France entirely.

“I’ll see to it that you’re transferred to a hospital as soon as we can.” Nixon added.

“You’re welcome, Lieutenants. And thank you.” You replied, Dick swallowing as he could feel your gaze following him out of the room.

-------------------------

Read Part Two

Your Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under Masterlist

[zehiiro]

I over analysed the new TBOC Teaser and Sneak Peek

There's so much to cover here, and I'm so happy right now because of all the content we've gotten today! I'm going to focus the analysis on the new things we see in the teaser and trailer since many of the things shown today have already been discussed on here many times.

So please grab yourself a cup of tea or your morning coffee and bear with me through this post. It might be a little long, but I'd love to hear your takes on my timeline theory at the end. ♡

The Teaser

I'm starting with the teaser because that's what I got to see first.

Firstly, we see in the below photo that Daryl has finally gotten himself some arrows, which means we're finally going to see him with a bow (excluding that one time he used a crossbow in twd:dd 01x02). These definitely don't look like crossbow bolts, which implies that this shot is pre-reunion.

I also want to break down the dialog here:

Isabell: Tell me a story Daryl: There was this guy, he left home looking for something, and he couldn't get back.

I'm focusing on the part where he said "he couldn't get back" because he didn't say "he didn't go back" or "he didn't want to go back"; he said he couldn't; he's not there by choice.

~~~~~~

Secondly, we have this shot of Carol and her crew on a mountaintop. What stands out here is that it's not just her (on the right) and Ash (on the left); there are two other people there with them (middle).

Making notes of who these people are, here's a breakdown of what we can see about them.

There are two people.

First one: seems shorter with longer brown/black hair and wearing a beige coat.

Second one: seems taller, shorter auburn hair and wearing a black coat with a faux fur collar.

Unlike Carol and Ash, neither of them is visibly holding a weapon.

Also unlike Carol and Ash, they both seem to have bags/supplies.

They must trust each other at this moment because Carol and Ash don't seem to have their weapons drawn or their guards up.

The last three points make me think that the two in the middle might be locals from wherever they've landed in France and are helping them find their way. Additionally, to the local's guess, there's no way that the plane (image/model below) C/A flew in could have fit more than 2 people.

Beechcraft S35 Bonanza:

~~~~~~

Next, we see Carol (looking amazing as always) holding/shooting the crossbow, killing the walker we see below.

What's interesting here is that this walker is covered in moss and what looks like fungus growing out of it, which would happen to walkers who have been around water and/or in humid environments. The walker is also wearing winter clothing, which aligns with the snowy mountains in the background.

The only other place I remember seeing a walker like this, in France, was on the way to Normandy Beach, where Daryl looked over at the walker that had similar moss on it with trees growing through it; however, if I had to guess I'd say that's not relevant to the location of this new scene.

If the filming location accurately reflects the actual location of Carol/Crew, based on the surroundings and lake in the above shots, my best guess is that they are near the French Alps, somewhere around the area highlighted in red, OR the Spanish Alps highlighted in blue, since the rest of France is relatively flat and does not feature any large mountain scapes like we see in the photos.

It is also possible that these photos of Carol and Ash in the mountains are pre-France, set in the US while they were planning their departure via plane, with the only reason being that I don't think I've seen any photos of Carol or Daryl with the crossbow in France (that we know for sure were set in France). However, I'm still leaning towards it being in France because I don't see why Carol couldn't have taken the crossbow with her if they managed to take the rifle along.

Carol is later seen in a clip at Chantier Naval de la Passagère (purple mark on map), placing her right next to Daryl/Crew at Mont Saint-Michel (green mark on map).

~~~~~~

The Sneak Peek

The first thing to note with the sneak peek is that it looks like these images from the first teaser (below)...

are not at the same location as Daryl/Crew fighting in the sneak peak (below).

Another thing to note that's different is the people present with Daryl during each fight, which brings me to the next thing I've noticed.

~~~~~~

When the back of the truck is opened in the sneak peek, we see three people sitting in the back. After playing with the image a little bit, it becomes a little easier to guess who we're looking at.

To me, it appears that it's Fallou and Emile on the right, and the guy on the left resembles the man highlighted in the image below (from the first teaser).

All of this leads me to believe that somehow/somewhere, Fallou, Emile, and the ??? Man are taken by Genet and her people. This would explain Daryl's desperation during the sneak peek fight to stop Genet/Crew and get to whatever/whoever is in the back of the truck.

However, it gets a little complicated with how the timeline of these two fights relates to the below scene with Carol/Fallou/Codron.

I have two theories about how the timeline can go, but for now I'm just going to break down the one I think is the most feasible.

Firstly, we know that Fallou and Emile leave Daryl/Crew in 01x06, potentially heading back to Paris. On their way, they run into Codron, who's been badly hurt/tortured by Genet, along with Carol, who has tracked Daryl to Paris at this point.

From here, after resting, resupplying, and with the new information that Codron and Fallou gave her about Daryl's whereabouts and what he's been going through to try and get back to her, Carol leaves the Paris group and heads out to resume her search for him.

Sometime after Carol leaves Paris, the Paris group/base could have been attached, leading to Fallou, Emille, and ??? Man being captured.

This leads us to the fight we see in the sneak peek between Daryl/Crew and Genet/Crew, which results in Fallou/Emile/??? Man being rescued and joining up with Daryl and the Nest Crew again.

Here's where I think it gets interesting: Now that Fallout is back with Daryl, he tells him everything he knows about Carol, how they ran into her, how she's been looking for him, and how, right before the attack on that Paris base, she left to resume her search for him.

This would light a fire under Daryl, realising how much danger she could be in because the areas between Paris and Mont Saint-Michel are swarming with Genet's men, and Carol could very likely be unknowingly walking into an ambush that wasn't meant for her.

Knowing that Carol is somewhere between Paris and Mont Saint-Michel, Daryl can now easily track her to Maison Mere, where she happens to be trapped in a car with Ash, surrounded by walkers (image below).

This leads us to the scene from the first teaser, where we see Daryl, Fallou, Isabell,??? Man, and a few others from the Nest, are searching through what we've said appears to be Maison Mere.

In the first teaser, We see the walkers surrounding Carol's car get killed by something/someone that's not visible to us, other than the lone hand we see on the back of the windshield, which we have all agreed strongly resembles Daryl's (image below).

Leading us to our long-awaited life-changing reunion!!

Thank you so much for sticking with me and getting through this post ♡. I really hope reading it made sense like it did in my head.

I'd love to hear your thoughts on any of the above and specially on things that I've missed.

I'm so happy we'll have Caryl back in a few short months!!! Our wait is almost over ♡♡♡

[grandboute]

#gudrun #blanche #bio #organic #normandie #brasserieDeLaBaie #ardevon #normande #biere #malt #brasserie #houblon #bier #brasseur #instabeer #beer #jusDeHoublon #brewery #frenchBeer #locale #artisanale #craftbeer #beerstagram #mousse #instamousse #instapero #apero #instapicole #picole https://www.instagram.com/p/ChsSH1lKIa1/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[blackswaneuroparedux]

I am by far your superior, but my notorious modesty prevents me from saying so.

- Erik Satie

To his contemporaries and peers Erik Satie was something of an enigma. Just a few of his quirks included claiming he only ate white foods, carrying a hammer wherever he went, founding his own religion, eating 150 oysters in one sitting, and writing a piece with the instruction to repeat 840 times! As a composer, Satie paved the way for the avant-garde in music and became a very influential figure in the classical music of the 20th century whose works still sound fresh today.

Born into a poor and difficult childhood in the Normandy harbour town of Honfleur on 17 May 1866, Satie would always be an outsider. The Paris Conservatoire to which he was enrolled by his stepmother, herself a pianist, became for him “a sort of local penitentiary” during his teens; he left with no qualifications and a reputation for being lazy. He signed up for military service in 1886 and dropped out within the same year. Immersing himself in the bohemian life of Montmartre, he became linked with the popular music scene and eked out a living as an accompanist, playing at the Chat Noir cabaret. Always on the periphery, and forever out of money, he later downgraded from the cramped room in which he lived to the less fashionable Parisian suburb of Arcueil, where he holed up in isolation and squalor – no visitors set foot in the room during the near-30 years he lived there.

Much has been made of the eccentricities of this flâneur, who was always seen in a grey velvet suit, and yet underlying Satie’s music is his serious desire to create something new. You can hear it in his popular piano pieces: the haunting scales and rhythms of the Trois Gnossiennes written under the spell of Romanian folk music, and the meditative world of Gymnopédies, where, as in a cubist painting, motifs are “seen” from all sides. At a time when French composers were looking to escape the shadows of Wagner’s epic Romanticism, the French composer’s stripped-back mechanical sound, inspired by the humble barrel organ, offered a radically simple approach.

Satie preferred originality to the mundane. The composer of the famous Gymnopedies, could never be accused of having an uninteresting personality. For one, his outgoing fashion statements always caused a stir. During his Montmartre years, he had 12 identical velvet corduroy suits hanging in his wardrobe, which earned him the nickname ‘The Velvet Gentleman’, and in his socialist years, he donned a bowler hat and carried an umbrella.

Debussy helped to draw public attention to Satie, orchestrating two of his Gymnopédies, yet Satie had to wait until much later in life to attain celebrity status. While still earning a living writing salon dances and popular cabaret songs, and after suffering a creative crisis, he enrolled himself at the Schola Cantorum in Paris at the age of 39. Rather than finding him validation, his studies seem to have fuelled his hatred of convention - it’s with more than a hint of bitterness that he claims to put “everything I know about Boredom” into the Bach chorale of his masterful Sports et Divertissements piano pieces. But notoriety led to a succès de scandale and when it came it came with a bang in Parade, his surreal, one-act circus ballet for Diaghilev. Into the orchestral score, which featured jazz and cabaret tunes, were thrown typewriters, sirens and a pistol - just the kind of noises a wartime audience would normally pay not to hear. With its rigid cubist costumes by Picasso - which restricted Massine’s choreography - and a promotional push from Cocteau, it was provocative enough to secure Satie’s position at the vanguard of modernism.

Yet Satie was continually frustrated in his attempts to be accepted as an artist in high society France - his failure to establish himself at the prestigious Académie des Beaux-Arts, to which Debussy had won a scholarship, only compounded his resentment. Was this treatment by the cultural elite fair? Certainly his determination to antagonise his audience in his late ballets did little to endear him to the critics, but the fierce criticism he received in Paris was also a sign of things to come. Pierre Boulez would later poke fun at Satie’s lack of craft, while composer Jean Barraqué - another proponent of 12-tone music - would deride Satie as “an accomplished musical illiterate … who found that his friendship with Debussy was an unhoped-for opportunity to loiter in the corridors of history”.

Satie is perhaps, to this day, the most audacious and original composer when it comes to naming his works e.g. Gnossiennes and Gymnopédies. With Satie you will not see symphonies, concertos or opus numbers. Satie possessed a wicked sense of humour and his mockery, both of himself and others, became an inspiration for many of his irony-tinged works. His Sonatine bureaucratique is a spoof of Muzio Clementi’s Sonatina Op. 36 and contained many witticisms in the score. For example, he writes Vivache (vache being French for cow) instead of the original Italian tempo marking Vivace.

Whether in the collage-like miniature piano parodies he wrote during the World War I, his creation of a theatre format that has endured over the years, or in his collaboration with Jean Cocteau, Pablo Picasso y Sergei Diaghilev, there is a liveliness of imagination and a hunger for innovation that made Erik Satie In the torch bearer of the vanguard in his work. Satie would influence so many so strongly that years later some of his closest friends became radical artists, for example. ManRay, the sculptor Constantin Brâncusi, and Marcel Duchamp, or a much younger group of Paris-based composers like Les Six.

Satie, a known drinker of absinthe, and apparently every other alcohol available, died of cirrhosis at the age of 59 in Arcueil, France in July 1925. But his compositions, especially those deceptively simple-sounding solo piano works, find life today through recitals, concerts, and great movie scores. Although he died in poverty with little success to his name, today Erik Satie is acknowledged as a founder of 20th-century modernism, who changed the face of music.

Personally I do find Satie's music enriching, But I also find that his calculated wackiness is culturally apt. Pieces like ‘3 Pieces in the Shape of a Pear’, ‘Flabby Preludes for a Dog’ and ‘Desiccated Embryos’ rewardingly deflate Wagnerism's excesses in a characteristically French way.

[heroofshield]

@anderfels

Rating: M

Warnings: some cancer talk, discussion about Ellen's illness & chemo side-effects.

Summary: James returns after a year gone & finds that somethings have changed.

--

Rose inhaled the air that tasted like salt and sunshine before turning to fully face Vega. “You’re probably wondering why I flew out well before the N7 ceremony.”

“The thought did cross my mind, Admiral.”

Rose made a slight face at the title, she’d been an Admiral for almost two years and hearing something other than ‘commander’ in front of her name still made her pause for a moment. “They want me to take the Normandy back up. We’re at the point where we can start sending frigates back up for supply runs and checking in on some of our nearer outposts. I haven’t given them my answer yet, wanted to see how much of the old crew would be willing to join me. So far it’s only Joker and Chakwas, but I wanted to feel you out before I asked anyone else.”

“Me?” James asked, the surprise in his voice evident. Hackett asking if Shepard wanted to command the SR-2 again was almost the last thing he’d expected to hear.

“It’s not the Normandy without an N7 on board.” Rose took a slow step forward with the help of her cane, down the cobbled path that wound through the small garden that was on the side of the building. “And even if you don’t reach N7, having at least one member of my old fire team as Senior Staff would go a long way. Show everyone else that I’m not this demi-god figure the Alliance has built me up as.”

“You don’t need me for that,” James replied casually as he followed Shepard through the local flowers and trees. “Just have them play a round of cards with you and that illusion will shatter.”

“I could say the same for you.” Rose laughed, crinkling her eyes as she did. “Nothing’s written in stone yet, so think about it and let me know what you decide.”

“I will, Admiral.”

Read the rest on Ao3!

[mr-styles]

When Harry Styles Met David Hockney: An Exclusive First Look At A Special New Portrait

A legendary painter and a pop lodestar? Sparks were inevitable. David Hockney and Harry Styles share a very special sitting with Liam Hess

W​​hat’s the secret to a great portrait? At 86 years old, David Hockney has a few ideas. A lifetime of looking has taught him to always start with the face. “I begin with the head first,” he says, matter-of-factly, from his home in France. “From there, I place everything else.”

That was his approach when, late last May, Harry Styles travelled to his light-filled studio in Normandy and stationed himself on a cane chair, ready to become the esteemed artist’s latest subject. Over two days, Hockney worked to capture the exact hues of red and yellow in Styles’s striped cardigan, the indigo of his jeans, the string of pearls at his neck – not to mention the unmistakable tousled fringe of one of the world’s biggest pop stars. For the artist, though, the goal was merely to capture the essence of the person in front of him. “I wasn’t really aware of his celebrity then,” Hockney says, with a shrug. “He was just another person who came to the studio.”

The pair struck up an instant rapport that was likely helped by Styles being a full-on fanboy. For his US Vogue cover shoot in 2020, Styles wore a pair of hand-painted Bode cords that featured a talismanic illustration of Hockney by artist Aayushia Khowala. It’s also hard to imagine the wide-eyed wonder of a flamboyant Brit discovering the sunny thrills and spills of California – a theme, and sound, that has permeated the former One Direction singer’s solo albums – without Hockney as a precedent. “David Hockney has been reinventing the way we look at the world for decades,” says Styles. “It was a complete privilege to be painted by him.”

The unveiling of the portrait kicks off the second iteration of the National Portrait Gallery’s Hockney exhibition Drawing From Life, which first opened in February 2020, only to close weeks later due to the pandemic. With the addition of a new room of pictures charting Hockney’s creative impulses throughout lockdown, the show returns on 2 November – a few months after a refurbishment of the entire museum – with Styles’s portrait as its crown jewel. “The whole world shut down, and the exhibition was still sitting there, in the dark,” recalls Sarah Howgate, the gallery’s senior curator of contemporary collections, who oversaw the exhibition in both phases. “So it’s nice to know it will have another life.”

The Styles painting may bring star wattage, but the unassuming genius of Hockney’s portraiture is still the main exhibition draw. What makes his images tick, you quickly learn, is their honesty: whether in the tension bubbling beneath the surface of his famed double portrait of Ossie Clark and Celia Birtwell, painted between 1970 and ’71, or the seated figures that populated his 2016 Royal Academy of Arts exhibition, which included the likes of his own sister, Margaret, and the late comedian Barry Humphries. Hockney’s eye for the human figure may be playful, often kaleidoscopic, sometimes fantastical – but it’s always, most importantly, frank.

Styles’s portrait will hang alongside those of writer Gregory Evans, Hockney’s printer Maurice Payne, the mayor of his local town Dozulé, his gardener and even his chiropodist, or in Hockney’s words, “the dandy who cuts my toenails” .

One of his more recent subjects was the eminent music producer Clive Davis, who first suggested inviting Styles to swing by. “Clive told me about Harry’s new album, and JP [Hockney’s studio assistant] sent Harry a note and asked him if he’d like to come to my studio and sit for his portrait,” Hockney remembers. “He replied straight away and said, yes, he’d love to.” From there, Hockney’s process of painting Styles was instinctive. “Everybody just came to sit,” he says, breezily, before admitting: “Now I know Harry’s a celebrity, though: I’ve seen all his music videos.”

“He’s not a traditional portrait painter,” says Howgate. Hockney’s interest is not in what people do, but rather in who they are. “He’s not interested in fame. He’s interested in depicting people and their relationships.” It’s why his eye is primarily trained on his inner circle these days – but it also pays testament to his enduring curiosity that he’s still willing to open that up to a newcomer every so often. Styles seems to know how lucky he is, adding, with a tinge of disbelief: “I’m in awe of the man with enough one-liners for a lifetime.” As to what those one-liners might be? Styles and Hockney’s mutual silence on that question suggests that what happens in the studio, stays in the studio.

via vogue.co.uk

[thestylesindependent]

W​​hat’s the secret to a great portrait? At 86 years old, David Hockney has a few ideas. A lifetime of looking has taught him to always start with the face. “I begin with the head first,” he says, matter-of-factly, from his home in France. “From there, I place everything else.”

That was his approach when, late last May, Harry Styles travelled to his light-filled studio in Normandy and stationed himself on a cane chair, ready to become the esteemed artist’s latest subject. Over two days, Hockney worked to capture the exact hues of red and yellow in Styles’s striped cardigan, the indigo of his jeans, the string of pearls at his neck – not to mention the unmistakable tousled fringe of one of the world’s biggest pop stars. For the artist, though, the goal was merely to capture the essence of the person in front of him. “I wasn’t really aware of his celebrity then,” Hockney says, with a shrug. “He was just another person who came to the studio.”

The pair struck up an instant rapport that was likely helped by Styles being a full-on fanboy. For his US Vogue cover shoot in 2020, Styles wore a pair of hand-painted Bode cords that featured a talismanic illustration of Hockney by artist Aayushia Khowala. It’s also hard to imagine the wide-eyed wonder of a flamboyant Brit discovering the sunny thrills and spills of California – a theme, and sound, that has permeated the former One Direction singer’s solo albums – without Hockney as a precedent. “David Hockney has been reinventing the way we look at the world for decades,” says Styles. “It was a complete privilege to be painted by him.”

The unveiling of the portrait kicks off the second iteration of the National Portrait Gallery’s Hockney exhibition Drawing From Life, which first opened in February 2020, only to close weeks later due to the pandemic. With the addition of a new room of pictures charting Hockney’s creative impulses throughout lockdown, the show returns on 2 November – a few months after a refurbishment of the entire museum – with Styles’s portrait as its crown jewel. “The whole world shut down, and the exhibition was still sitting there, in the dark,” recalls Sarah Howgate, the gallery’s senior curator of contemporary collections, who oversaw the exhibition in both phases. “So it’s nice to know it will have another life.”

The Styles painting may bring star wattage, but the unassuming genius of Hockney’s portraiture is still the main exhibition draw. What makes his images tick, you quickly learn, is their honesty: whether in the tension bubbling beneath the surface of his famed double portrait of Ossie Clark and Celia Birtwell, painted between 1970 and ’71, or the seated figures that populated his 2016 Royal Academy of Arts exhibition, which included the likes of his own sister, Margaret, and the late comedian Barry Humphries. Hockney’s eye for the human figure may be playful, often kaleidoscopic, sometimes fantastical – but it’s always, most importantly, frank.

Styles’s portrait will hang alongside those of writer Gregory Evans, Hockney’s printer Maurice Payne, the mayor of his local town Dozulé, his gardener and even his chiropodist, or in Hockney’s words, “the dandy who cuts my toenails” .

One of his more recent subjects was the eminent music producer Clive Davis, who first suggested inviting Styles to swing by. “Clive told me about Harry’s new album, and JP [Hockney’s studio assistant] sent Harry a note and asked him if he’d like to come to my studio and sit for his portrait,” Hockney remembers. “He replied straight away and said, yes, he’d love to.” From there, Hockney’s process of painting Styles was instinctive. “Everybody just came to sit,” he says, breezily, before admitting: “Now I know Harry’s a celebrity, though: I’ve seen all his music videos.”

“He’s not a traditional portrait painter,” says Howgate. Hockney’s interest is not in what people do, but rather in who they are. “He’s not interested in fame. He’s interested in depicting people and their relationships.” It’s why his eye is primarily trained on his inner circle these days – but it also pays testament to his enduring curiosity that he’s still willing to open that up to a newcomer every so often. Styles seems to know how lucky he is, adding, with a tinge of disbelief: “I’m in awe of the man with enough one-liners for a lifetime.” As to what those one-liners might be? Styles and Hockney’s mutual silence on that question suggests that what happens in the studio, stays in the studio.

David Hockney: Drawing From Life will be at the National Portrait Gallery from 2 November to 21 January 2024