#demande de mutation

[une-prof]

Qui dit fin d’année dit aussi résultat des demandes de mutation. Malheureusement, ça va être l’hécatombe au lycée… la proviseure adjointe part (Bon, elle était clairement inefficace…), le proviseur adjoint part (sans lui je ne donne pas cher du lycée….), le secrétaire de direction part (il était toujours efficace), le secrétaire de vie scolaire part (pas toujours efficace et souvent mal luné…). Il ne reste plus que la proviseure (qui est arrivée cette année) et l’intendance. Ça va faire beaucoup de changement, et ça nous inquiète un peu (après, on sait ce qu’on perd mais pas ce qu’on gagne!)

[thedemonofcat]

First time trying to come up with an idea in the Omegaverse.

Jaskier is considered rare among Omega for several reasons, which sets him apart from the norm. Firstly, he is a male Omega, a rarity in itself, as male Omegas are not very common. Due to their scarcity, male Omegas have often been treated as precious gems, valued for their uniqueness. Jaskier's gender alone makes him stand out among his peers.

Moreover, Jaskier possesses qualities that deviate from the stereotypical traits associated with Omega individuals. He is known for being headstrong and exceptionally talkative, which contrasts with the expected demeanor of a docile and reserved Omega

Interestingly, all the qualities that make Jaskier different from other Omegas are the very reasons why Geralt is deeply enamored with him. As an alpha, Geralt is often seen as the epitome of Alpha characteristics, except for the fact that he is a Witcher. The Witcher mutations have bestowed upon Geralt the genetic traits of an alpha, making him a unique blend of both human and monster.

Despite their individual oddities, Geralt and Jaskier have formed a remarkable bond as mates

One day, Jaskier woke up feeling unwell, experiencing bouts of morning sickness. Concerned for his mate's well-being, Geralt decided to take Jaskier to see Yennefer. Little did they know, Yennefer had a surprising revelation waiting for them—by some miraculous twist of fate, Jaskier was pregnant.

Given that witchers were believed to be sterile, Geralt never anticipated the possibility of Jaskier becoming pregnant. Nevertheless, Jaskier was content with the idea, considering his life as a traveling bard made it challenging to raise a child. However, Yennefer believed that destiny had played a hand in this situation, decreeing that Geralt and Jaskier should embrace their roles as parents.

Geralt and Jaskier experienced a mixture of nerves and excitement at the prospect of becoming parents. However, their joy was short-lived as they soon discovered the alarming truth—numerous individuals were relentlessly pursuing their unborn baby

In this unprecedented occurrence of a witcher baby, the belief spread that the child would possess unparalleled power, surpassing any known beings. A group with nefarious intentions devised a plan to kidnap Jaskier, intending to hold him captive until the baby was born and subsequently raise the child as their new leader. They were even prepared to eliminate Jaskier if he refused to comply with their demands after the baby's birth.

Before assuming the name Jaskier, he was known as Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. Jaskier had fled his home to escape the clutches of his controlling parents, who, despite hearing about Jaskier's pregnancy, adamantly refused to recognize Geralt as his mate. Jaskier's parents harbored intentions of arranging a marriage between him and a wealthy Alpha Lord, solely for the sake of social status and riches.

Moreover, the kingdom of Nilfgaard, in their ongoing efforts to coerce Ciri, Geralt's child surprise , into their grasp, recognized Jaskier as a potential bargaining chip. Consequently, their interest in capturing Jaskier intensified, surpassing their previous pursuits.

Now on the run, desperate to ensure the safety of their unborn child, Geralt is willing to go to any lengths to protect his beloved Jaskier. Together, they make their way towards Kaer Morhen, seeking refuge and the support of the other witchers.

However, the magical nature of the baby begins to pose problems. Jaskier's pregnancy progresses at an astonishing rate, with his belly growing larger by the day, making their arduous journey even more challenging. Walking becomes a struggle with Jaskier's prominent pregnant belly, and the fact that he is a male omega further complicates their ability to hide and remain inconspicuous.

To add to their concerns, it is discovered that the baby carries witcher mutations in its genes. As Jaskier's health deteriorates, Geralt's fears intensify, dreading the possibility that Jaskier may not survive the process of giving birth to a witcher child

[honeyandbloodpoetry]

Transman Jack Krauser x Transmasculine Reader

I usually write far more detailed things than this, but I'm currently in the ER and thought this would be a fun thing to brainstorm. I hope y'all enjoy. This is my poetry/writing blog but you can find more of my content on @toadwarts and @boipussybiohazard I definitely plan to write more of this along with Krauser dating hcs!

First Meeting

• Krauser comes back to consciousness after being stabbed by Leon. He is injured and not particularly able to move, but Albert Wesker has been keeping an eye on him. Agents are sent to retrieve his body and are shocked when Krauser is in fact alive, if barely.

• Wesker dedicates time and resources to healing Krauser, with the written contract that Krauser will now become one of his agents. Krauser is a BOW now, and Wesker has enabled it so that he may mutate at will. The Plagas could not be removed without killing Krauser, but it could be modified. When not mutated, Krauser's arm and face are still disabled--leading to difficulty with facial expressions and motor impairment.

• Krauser knows how to do one thing well, and that's following orders. Him guiding Leon to finish him off was the first decision he had made completely on his own and it failed. He is empty, a shell of a person, and has nothing to live for. He does work for Wesker and he does it well.

• Krauser has to forcibly de-mutate after a heavy skirmish. Going in and out of mutating is incredibly painful, but it was neccessary this time. He is badly hurt and finds you cutting through some allies to get home--he demands medical items, food, water. He is extremely intimidating. You look at him and his arm bleeding profusely while dangled at his side, and think of your own disabilities. You struggle with walking and have an exceptionally weak constitution. You understand the pain in his eyes that he tries to hide behind a biting tone, though you have no idea who these mysterious man in military fatigues is. You speak to him softly and get him some first aid. His cruel manner of speaking goes silent, but he is cold. He mutters something about being too far away from his rendezvous point.

• You offer him to take it easy in your apartment. He is incredulous. You suspect there is more to him than meets the eye. You tell him gently that you lost your parents to an operation by Umbrella...looking at the sudden widening of his eyes, you realize your hunch was right. You let him know that you tend to keep your head down and just work your 9-5, so he should be safe at your studio apartment. He reluctantly agrees and walks with you, insisting on carrying the groceries you had had in his uninjured arm. You get a feeling he is showing off his machismo, but for who? It's clearly hurting him. You fret, though you get the feeling that if you showed him pity you'd likely get some knuckles to the face.

• You go to give him the bed, but he refuses. Not in a chivalrous sort of way, but instead claims that he isn't soft and he'll do just fine with a sleeping bag. He keeps muttering how he shouldn't even be here. How he has no idea of what to do with civilians like you. Too normal and complacent, people like you are. He seems lost. You smile and start making something simple for you both to eat. You figure a big guy like him eats a lot.

• He's an army guy, obviously, so you want to try and find something familiar. All American. As he tends more to his arm, you fry up some hot dogs and warm the buns. You grab each of you a beer from the fridge. You bring it to him and he blinks. Doesn't say thank you, just starts to eat. The way he scarfs it down is more than enough for you. He asks for seconds, then thirds.

• "Who are you?" You ask.

• "Not important." He says. He takes his time with the beer. Looks like this guy is a locked chest, and you won't be getting anything from him soon. After he's fed and you give him some of your pain medication, you crawl into bed. You wonder if you're safe--he's an older man with bloodstains on his clothes and has hardly said more than a few sentences. He doesn't exactly scream safe... After all, he IS taking advantage of you, isn't he? Or at least he tried, before you led him right to your home like a lost puppy.

• Still. You remember what happened to your parents, and the flash of recognition in his eyes when you mentioned Umbrella. Umbrella is why you had been disabled and silenced...why your parents were dead. Maybe they had hurt him too. Maybe the world itself had. He looked like a guy carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, hiding it behind snarky remarks and a deep scowl.

• You didn't believe in fate, but when you fell asleep with him sitting straight up and staring at the wall, you felt like this was something meant to be. You wanted to help him, but you also knew...that was his choice. Not yours.

Getting to Know Each Other

• Krauser stays with you for a few days. All he says is that he cannot reach his contact. He is abrasive and mostly silent. His eyes are empty and he stares out into space often.

• Over the next three days, you slowly get him to open up. You ask him what his favorite movies are, and he flatly says he doesn't watch movies. Board games? No. Books? No. Video games? No. Hobbies? Nu-uh. You are shocked. Irritated by you, he finally tells you he hasn't bothered with anything like that since he was a child--he was too busy with his military career.

• You invite him to watch a movie with you. It's some military flick, not something you're particularly interested in. He is reluctant, but sits on the couch. He clearly doesn't know what to do when out of action.

• You watch the movie together and have to take frequent pauses for him to make some sort of commentary or get up and pace restlessly. A two hour long movie turns into four hours. You don't mind, because he's finally talking, and he's finally passionate about something. He has a sneer that most would find nasty, but you think is cute. You're receptive to his infodumps and understanding of his needing to pause, and he notices this.

• You watch more movies with him--he loves Highlander and Braveheart, movies like that. You show him sci-fi and fantasty, move on to some comedies. The Princess Bride actually makes him laugh. The two of you start talking more. He isn't sweet, but he's a great verbal sparring partner, especially when he's passionate about something.

• He shows you one of his knives and the tricks he can do with it. He seems to glow from the way you're impressed, but just acts like he deserves it. He tells you about his favorite knife, one he...gave away to a friend. You don't ask questions.

• One day, he is just gone. It was only five days, but it felt like forever, and you wanted to get to know him more. It felt like this mysterious stranger had left an imprint on your life forever.

• Three months pass. Nothing. You grieve that you never learned his name.

• You come home from work one day, struggling with your cane. Your back and leg are killing you. You almost scream when your front door swings open as you approach, and your Mysterious Stranger is standing there. He grins at you, seemingly pleased to have given you a fright, then has the decency to look sheepish. He says he remembered the spare key. He tells you that he needed a place to stay again. You're incredulous, but let it slip. Not without bitching at him for eating your food and leaving without a word. He bites right back, your home feels more alive again.

• This cycle continues. He finally tells you his name. Jack Theodore Krauser. You love it. You spend a lot of time inside, showing him different kinds of media, but slowly get him to venture outside. He almost seems agoraphobic when it comes to anything other than a battlefield or room with four walls, and it's a long process. He's not used to eating things much more than MREs and chicken breasts and veggies. You get him to try new things, to venture out to the park, to find some new clothes at the mall. Specifically at the big and tall store.

• You two have fun together. You become good friends, and still you don't know a lot about each other. It doesn't matter.

• He gets the mail one day. He's a nosy bastard and opens it...it's your testosterone subscription. You see him holding it and nearly have a panic attack! You have no idea how this army guy is going to react to the fact that you've been hiding something so big and--

• Krauser stares at the prescription for a moment, lips pursed. He shrugs and tugs up his shirt. Barely there, extremely faded, are keyhole top surgery scars. You would have to know what you're looking for to see them, especially with all the muscle he's built.

• You both kind of stand there in shock, before he tells you about his experiences as a gay trans man in the American military. How much he had to hide, the papers he had to forge... It was a hard life. He finally tells you about Operation Javier. His face is stone cold, but his hands tremble. The military discovered he was transgender then. Between that, the failure and his disability, it got him discharged.

• You put a hand to his. He's so much bigger than you, different than you, and yet...there is a thread that ties you together. Many threads. He looks at you, his glassy blue eyes hiding any trace of emotion.

• And then he leans down and kisses you. He is a sloppy, wet kisser, and you can tell he doesn't have much experience, though his passion is like a brightly lit flame.

• You make out with him and curl up in bed together, the first time he has ever deigned to touch your sheets. He tells you about Las Plagas. He tells you what he is. What he has done.

• You smile at him. You let him know that you would love him no matter what.

• He says nothing.

• He is gone in the morning.

[halebop-c-est-moi]

- Dites, docteur, vous savez pourquoi l'autre il m'a chouré mon pull ? demanda Raph en entrant dans la piece.

Il s'assis à la table et passa une main dans ses cheveux; Il accrocha ses chausettes derriere les pieds de chaise. Il posa ses joues mal reveillées dans ses mains et regarda Henry, au dessus de l'evier, en train de nettoyer une de ses tasses à thé.

- Tu veux dire mon pull ? demanda-t-il en se retournant, torchon a la main.

- Ouais, ça, dit Raph se grattant la joue. Il l'a pris et il s'est enfermé dans sa chambre, elle est fermée et tout. Chuis presque sur qu'il a chourave ma couette de rechange.

- Oh c'est très probable, c'est une des couvertures les plus confortables.

- Mais pourquoi il me la prend, là ?

Henry s'intrrompis dans son geste et se retourna, sourcils froncé l'air de se demander si Raph se payait sa tete. Le jeune homme en fut un poil vexé.

- ...Eh bien pour son nid, annonça-t-il comme si c'était l'évidence même.

- Son nid?

- Eh bien oui.

Henry posa doucement son torchon sur son épaule.

-Mais euh... C'est un Renard, pas un oiseau hein, tenta Raph avec un sourire.

Henry semblait commencer à réaliser qu'il ne se foutait pas de sa gueule.

- Tiens, nous ne t'avons jamais parlé des mutations de troisième millénaire ? demanda-t-il.

Il se caressa la moustache et s'assis doucement à la table, en face de Raph. Celui-ci se redressa legerement.

- Le troisième millénaire c'est à partir de trois-mille, non ?

- Non, à partir de deux-mille, soupira Henry.

- Et il s'est passé quoi, du coup ?

Henry plissa les yeux, et se gratta le menton. Raph s'appuya contre le dossier de son siege et tendit la main vers le paquet de pretzel de petit dejeuner : Ca, c'était sa tete de quand le docteur se préparait à se lancer dans des grandes explications, et Raph ferait mieux mettre d'etre confortable. Il enfourna un gateau dans sa bouche tandis que Henry posait ses mains sur la table.

- Alors. Dans le courant du troisieme millenaire, une mutation fut découverte chez les humains. Il est difficile de poser une date précise, car bien évidement, la science est un actes communautaire.

- Ouais, dit Raph qui ne savais pas ce que ça voulait dire.

- Elle se caractérise, vois-tu, par des facteurs d'un coté, disons, génériques, innés, et de l'autre coté comportomentals. Il existe trois classifications caractéristiques possibles, qui peuvent atteindre les humains. Les scientifiques, mes collègues, en ont bien évidement nommé au fur et à mesure qu'ils les ont identifié. Tu suis jusqu'ici ?

- Ouais, les humains peuvent etre séparés en trois groupe, répondit Raph en hochant la tete.

- Tout à fait. Le premier groupe, qui fut bien évidement nommé Alpha. Le second, Beta, et le troisième ...

- Gamma ? sourit Raph qui avait fait grec LV3.

- Non, Omega. C'était le dernier groupe, Raph.

- Ah d'accord.

- Ces mutations ammènent des... disons, des mutation physique, dit Henry en se caressant la moustache. Qui furent détaillées, et quelque peu inquiétantes quand elles ont commencé à s'exprimer dans lapopulation.

- Ah ouais ? Genre quoi, des troisieme bras ?

- Non, le coupa Henry avec une mine de daron. Encore que... Mais non. Ces mutations... disons....

- Y a vos ventilateurs qui se mettent en route, docteur.

- Je sais, Raph ! Ces mutations sont... euh... Ah, tiens : une de ces mutations a a voir avec l'emission d'odeur particulieres. L'apparition d'une glande à parfum, entre le cou et l'épaule, vois-tu. Et les odeurs sont différentes entre les trois groupes, et evidement avec ça s'est développé une sensibilité particuliere pour pouvoir identifier les odeur émises par les autres humains, ne serait-ce que pour pouvoir savoir dans quels groupe l'interlocuteur se place.

- Ouais c'est cool, mais y a quoi d'autre comme différence entre les groupes ? genre des odeurs, ça va c'est pas mega chelou, si ?

- Bon. Une des mutations les plus importantes fut la création d'une maniere alternative de se reproduire. Notamment, les individus appartenant au groupe Omega, qu'ils soient homme ou femme...

- Ou autre, fit Raph en hochant la tete.

- Ou autre, tres juste, eh bien ils peuvent tomber enceint. Par une voix alternative, parallele à la classique mais complémentaire.

Raph se releva sur son siege et ouvrit des yeux ronds.

- Ah ouais ?

- Oui. Mais , fait interessant, les Omega ne peuvent etre... euh... parents que avec des Alphas.

- Mais c'est ouf !

- Tout à fait, sourit Henry en s'appuyant contre son dossier. Après, des différences comportementales ont été mises à jour : les individus alpha avaient plus tendance à deveopper des problemes de gestion des émotions, d'impulsivité, et les omega des sur-empathie. Bien sur, ce ne sont que des tendances, soyons clairs.

Raph hocha la tete, préssé d'entendre Henry continuer tout ça.

- Les individu Beta - appellation qui a fait débat en France, comme tu peux t'en douter- ont des capacité de resolutions de conflit, et de cohesion de groupe. Voilà, ce sont les différences majeurs entre les trois

- C'est ouf !

- Je ne te le fais pas dire, sourit Henry avec un sourire satisfait. Ce fut une révolution scientifique, à l'époque.

Il hocha la tete d'un air philosophe, et Raph se passa la main dans les cheveux.

- Mais du coup tout le monde dans le futur a ça ?

- Mais tout à fait ! A des degrès différents selon l'époque, soyons réaliste : notre ami Mattéo viens d'une époque ou ces mutations commençaient juste à se répendre dans la population, elles n'etaient pas... elles n'etaient pas puissament exprimée, dirons-nous. Alors que en 2550, tu peux etre sur que tout le monde fait parti d'un de ces groupe, sans probleme. Il est meme probable que toi- meme tu ais des tendances d'appartenance dans ton ADN.

- Wow... Mais du coup, vous vous l'etes pas ?

- Eh bien figure toi que c'est fascinant, sourit HEnry en se penchant vers lui. Je le suis, car mon créateur, mon Daddy, comme tu connais...

- Ouais je connais ouais.

- ...eh bien il était très au fait des découvertes scientifiques. Il a fait des tests et s'est découvert omega. Il ne pouvait pas rendre ses créations oméga, evidement, et il a préféré, peut-etre par sentimatalise, nous donner des caractéristiques physique des alphas. Donc, malgrès le fait que je sois un robot, j'appartient à un de ces groupes d'humain.

- Ouais, genre un Alpha synthétique ? sourit Raph en recommencant à manger son pretzel.

- Tres exactememnt, approuva Henry avec bonhommie. Je suis affublé de chemo-senseur d'une précision atomique, par exemple.

Il s'inclina contre le dossier de sa chaise, alors que Raph machouillait son pretzel. Mains dans les cheveux, il essayait de realiser tout ce que ca voulait dire pour cette epoque deja incroyable. Puis il releva la tete d'un coup.

- Mais pourquoi il m'a piqué mon pull, du coup?

- Bah pour son nid, dit Henry comme si ca devait tout expliquer.

- Mais quoi, "son nid" ?

- Mais parce que il oublie la moitié du temps les bloqueurs que je me casse le cul à lui faire, donc apres oui, faut pas s'ettonner qu'il doivent se faire chier à construire un nid une fois tous les deux mois ! gromela Henry en indiquant la chambre de leur ami de la main.

- Des bloqueurs, mais des bloqueurs de quoi ?

- Des bloqueurs de chaleur, Raph.

Son habitude à dire des choses comme si elles étaient evidentes commencait à bien taper sur les nerfs du jeune homme.

- Mais ca veut dire quoi , ses chaleurs ? Des chaleurs comme des chats et des chien ?! s'ecria-t-il en sortant le truc le plus con auquel il pouvait penser.

- Eh bien oui.

Le ton direct d'Henry le coupa dans son elan d'energie.

- Euh... Pardon ?

- Eh bien oui, comme les animaux. Les humains sont des animaux, Raph.

- Non mais du coup ça veut dire que là... dans sa chambre... il est...

Il savait pas trop quoi dire, alors il fit un vague geste d'aller-retours de la main. Un geste tout de meme assez facile à comprendre. Henry leva les yeux au ciel.

- Oh mais qu'est ce que j'en sais, moi, oui, probablement !

- Mais mon pull !

- C'est mon pull, Raph.

- Pourquoi il le veut dans sa chambre ?!

- Parce que que c'est mon pull, il est confortable, et vu l'etat dans lequel notre ami est actuellement, il a bien le droit d'etre entouré de choses comfort.

- Mais quoi, son etat ?

- Quoi, Raph, tu penses que c'est facile de vivre des chaleurs ? D'avoir une hypersensibilité tactile pendant une semaine par moi, qui fait que la moindre texture désagréable peut l'envoyer en crise se spasme ? La physiologie de son cerveau change, Raph, ses hormones - et sa glande à odeur- font n'importe quoi, et combiné à sa fatigue extreme, car oui son corps prend l'energie de quelque part pour la transformer en chaleur, eh bien il est completement à fleur de peau ! paranoia, comportement d'auto apaisement, il est dans un état sauvage qui est extenuant ! Alors il merite bien la converture confortable de la cave, Raph.

- Ah merde... je... je savais pas...

- Oui, hein. Voilà.

Henry attrappa un pretzel d'un mouvement un peu trop brusque et le fourra dans sa bouche. Raph regarda ses mains. Il ne savait pas si il avait le droit de parler.

- Mais euh... y a rien pour lempecher ca ?

- Ah bah si, evidement, y a des bloqueurs ! des pillules simples, il a qu'a en prendre une par semaine ! Mais non, ce con il oublie ! Et a cause de lui, la cave est inondéee d'odeur d'Omega, et moi gmpf mpf...

La fin de sa phrase se fini en en gromellement autour d'un nouveau pretzel.

[indisfuckigntrolllllsssss]

[Lapita Fithum]

handle: crystallineSoldier

land: Land of Chains and Gusts (LOCAG)

Specibus: Shotgunkind

classpect: Prince of Blood

Prospit

Denizen: Medusa

Typing Quirk: .”THE QUICK BROWN FOX JUMPS OVER THE L🜍ZY DOG”

interests: HUNTING and STUDYING LAW

Lusus: N/A

Song: Numb - Marina and the Diamonds

lore under the cut!

He never remembered much from the earlier parts of his life. All he knew was the Traveling Cabaret, a traveling circus hosted by purplebloods and featured people all across the hemospectrum. From a rustblood with eight arms to a fuchsia with scaled wings, it seemed like a glorified freak show. He knew this all too well, as an olive without pupils. Even such a benign mutation prompted the circus to break into Lapita’s hive and paint the walls with his goat lusus’s rich olive blood. He was so young, only half a sweep old, but that memory has never left him. Fear led to hate, hate that he harbored for every member of the circus. He hated the people that called him “dead-eyed” and “a living corpse” and showed him off as a little party trick.

He hated everyone except for his moirail, a jadeblood named Marfen Pozlas, who had two unfortunate blessings. He was born male, and was a descendent of one of the most famous magicians on all of Alternia. Even with all the pressure on Marfen to be as good as the man who came before him, he still managed to smile so genuinely. Lapita idolized him, knew that he couldn’t live without his moirail.

Oh, the irony.

The circus had stopped at Thrashthrust, a dense forest on the outskirts of the city. After the day’s performance, at the crack of dawn, Marfen beckoned Lapita to meet him where nobody would see. The two stood in the middle of the forest’s clearing, the morning breeze ruffling their hair.

“aren’t you tired, lapita?

”TIRED OF WH🜍T, EX🜍CTLY?”

“aren’t you tired of being nothing *m*ore than just… their puppet…? don’t you *w*ant to break a*w*ay from it all?”

“WH🜍T 🜍RE YOU GETTING 🜍T?”

Marfen took Lapita’s hands in his, the morning sun reflecting in his childlike eyes, reignited with a new hope to live.

“*w*e can escape the*m*. right here, right no*w*.

“…”

“*w*e can *m*ake a ne*w* life for ourselves! no *m*ore *w*orrying about ho*w* *m*uch blood is going to be spilled today, no *m*o-“

Lapita punched Marfen across the face, his lack of pupils not hiding the sheer desolation in his facial expression.

“YOU RE🜍LLY 🜍RE 🜍 DUMB🜍SS KID. DO YOU H🜍VE 🜍NY IDE🜍 WH🜍T THEY’LL DO TO YOU OUTSIDE THIS PL🜍CE? THEY’LL JUST CULL YOU. 🜍 M🜍LE J🜍DE TH🜍T DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO C🜍RE FOR THE MOTHER GRUB? WORTHLESS. 🜍BSOLUTELY WORTHLESS, YOU HE🜍R ME?”

“lapita…”

“YOU KNOW WH🜍T? FINE. H🜍VE YOUR LITTLE ESC🜍PE F🜍NT🜍SY. WE BOTH KNOW YOU’LL END UP B🜍CK HERE 🜍S 🜍 CORPSE. SO GO. H🜍VE YOUR FUN, STUPID WIGGLER.”

Marfen was left in the woods outside, dazed and with tears of betrayal in his eyes. Over the horizon, he saw hundreds of trolls surround Lapita, demanding to know where his moirail went. He closed his eyes, waiting for him to point directly towards the forest.

He pointed towards the city.

That final act of protection may have cost a morailegance, but inadvertently saved two solitary lives.

He never saw Marfen again… at least not until he began to play.

[mmepastel]

Dans la foulée (enfin presque) de ma lecture de La petite communiste qui ne souriait jamais, je continue ma découverte de l’œuvre de Lola Lafon.

J’ai énormément aimé ce roman là, Chavirer. J’ai cru que c’était une histoire vraie, et même que l’autrice elle-même avait eu affaire à ce genre de problème, adolescente, tant cela respire le vrai. Cléo, l’héroïne du livre, est incroyablement incarnée, terriblement attachante. Mon attachement a sans doute été facilité, en plus du talent de l’écrivaine, par une quasi parfaite adéquation générationnelle : Lola Lafon est née en janvier 1974, moi en décembre de la même année. Sa Cléo suit ce même timing, avec des références que je connais : les blousons Chevignon que les bourges se devaient d’avoir au collège, les samedis soirs devant Champs-Elysées (je forçais mes parents), Jean-Jacques Goldman dans la radio (chez moi, il était méprisé), l’avènement contesté de Vanessa Paradis, l’avènement acclamé de Mylène Farmer…

Bref. Je me suis vite passionnée pour cette très jeune adolescente de treize ans, passionnée de danse, qui mord à l’hameçon de cette énigmatique Cathy qui distribue promesses, billets, cadeaux ; cette dame chic fait miroiter un avenir brillant qui fait rêver les jeunes filles (enfin, les enfants, à 13 ans, on n’est pas une jeune fille) ; elle prétend travailler pour une fondation destinée à aider les talents prometteurs, déceler celles qui pourront bénéficier d’une bourse. Elle les attire à des déjeuners étranges, où des hommes jouent à être séduits, réclament de la maturité, pour finalement réclamer des faveurs sexuelles. Traumatisée et éconduite pour sa demande d’aide financière, mais dans l’incompréhension totale de ce qu’elle a vécu, toujours désireuse de parvenir à obtenir une bourse pour une école de danse, Cléo devient à son tour une émissaire pour dénicher, dans son collège, des filles qui pourraient bénéficier de l’aide de la fameuse fondation.

C’est en raison de cette mutation de victime en complice que Cléo intègre une double culpabilité qui empêche la parole. Elle n’arrive pas à se pardonner. On suit son parcours de 13 à 48 ans, directement ou à travers des gens qu’elle a rencontrés. Ces personnes, ami, amoureuse, rencontre d’un soir, collègue, victime collatérale, apportent un éclairage à la personnalité de Cléo, une jeune fille sensible qui semble éternellement enfant, bloquée à ses treize ans, une jeune femme bosseuse, courageuse, qui réussit à faire de la danse son moyen de vivre mais reste verrouillée de l’intérieur. Très souvent renvoyée à ses origines modestes, à son milieu social. Qui peine à voir le mal pour la condition féminine dans le fait de danser dénudée à la télé ou dans des cabarets, c’est sa propre fille, majeure, qui lui fera entrevoir cette dimension. Mais qui apprend. Progressivement, elle apprend même à se battre pour ses droits. Mais du temps, il lui en faut encore beaucoup pour troquer l’oubli impossible contre le pardon.

En effet, elle a appris à se construire avec cette blessure, sans l’avoir soignée. On devine que la solution, partielle, si solution il y a, si guérison il peut y avoir, encore une fois, passe par le collectif, l’entourage, la bienveillance autour, même si des rencontres sont ratées, ou seulement à moitié réussies. Petit à petit, l’idée fait son chemin. En apprenant les manquements des autres aussi, leur probité vacillante. En comprenant la difficulté d’être intègre de A à Z. Accepter de ne pas être parfait, de ne pas avoir toujours eu la bonne clairvoyance, en comprenant qu’en n’étant pas la victime parfaite, elle était malgré tout une enfant, bel et bien victime.

Encore une fois, un beau livre sur le corps des filles que l’on sexualise bien trop tôt. Le corps que l’on désire, que l’on scrute, que l’on juge, que l’on travaille, que l’on malmène, qu’on évalue.

Ce livre a pas mal résonné avec l’actualité (oui je pense à Judith Godrèche), quand on pense que dans les années 80, il était bien vu de jouer à la grande, que les hommes étaient glorifiés pour leurs liens troubles avec de très très jeunes filles, et que beaucoup de familles s’enorgueillissaient de voir leur progéniture distinguée par ces hommes vus comme cérébraux, chics, alors qu’ils n’étaient que des prédateurs adoubés par une société malade. On ne connaissait pas encore le préjudice d’emprise… quelle naïveté, quelle candeur quand on y pense…

Un livre remarquable, puissant, touchant, implacable.

[profenscene]

Lundi 17 avril

Ma demande de mutation est passée "à l'étude", m'explique l'énième plateforme informatique que je fréquente cette année. Et comme tous les ans depuis que je suis rentré en Bretagne, j'espère, malgré le peu de chances. Espérer trouver un lieu ou poser mes bagages, espérer ne plus sillonner les routes loin, si loin que je ne suis presque plus en Bretagne.

C'est chouette l'aventure. Mais quand je puise dans mon d'énergie, je sens parfois, sous la pulpe de mes doigts, le fond du sac.

[nation-of-bros]

Russia has already won

Just a year ago, Time Magazine named Zelenkyy Person of the Year. Now the same author speaks in more critical tones. Statements from the inner circle are revealed, where officials report that Zelenkyy is the only one who still believes in a "Endsieg" [final victory] and does so with a messianic belief. The little Jewish warlord of Kiev finally mutated into a second Hitler.

The Ukrainian "counter-offensive" celebrated in the Western mainstream has failed spectacularly. Many military leaders at the front have long since ignored the orders from Kiev because they would only mean more horrendous casualties. To this day, Zelenskyy's government remains silent about the actual number of Ukrainian soldiers killed. This is likely to be in the hundreds of thousands by now.

According to internal statements, it would no longer make any difference if the USA continued to pump weapons into Ukraine, as the human resources to operate them are simply running out: there is no longer an influx of men fit for military service. This recruitment shortage is so great that draft officials are looking for every Ukrainian man who is able for military service and cannot buy his way out to immediately send them to the front, which is nothing more than a death sentence.

What the West did with its euphoria by supporting the most radical forces in Ukraine to provoke and wage a proxy war against Russia is nothing other than a human tragedy; just another outright war that only serves private interests, and could have been avoided until the first exchange of fire: Russia always offered as a solution:

Official cession of Crimea to Russia

Autonomy for Donbass

Refrain from joining NATO.

It must be understood that these demands are the result of eight years of Ukrainian nationalists murdering thousands in Donbass and expelling millions to Russia; 8 years in which Putin tried in vain to resolve the conflict…

The Donbass had already been a de facto war zone since 2014 and the Ukrainian state had stopped fulfilling obligations such as transferring pensions to people in this region. It would be nice if these things had been discussed in the Western mainstream; especially since Putin never insisted until the conquest that the territories officially belonged to Russia, but only demanded more autonomy; something that is pretty normal in many European countries, for example Germany and Switzerland, where regions are more independent to regulate local affairs.

Crimea has always had an absolutely Russian majority and was simply "given" to Ukraine a few decades ago until Russia corrected this mistake in 2014 after the coup in Kiev. Therefore, Russia's understandable demands at the beginning of 2022 actually meant no real losses for Ukraine. But why did Kiev always reject this offer? It is simply the US interest in the escalation as well as the Ukrainian neo-Nazis, Azov movement, who have now prevailed over the entire society including authorities and want a total war against the "Muscovites"; a radical need that American officials on the ground were all too happy to feed and exploit…

The fact that the West rejected all diplomacy with Russia is not only a disgrace of humanity, but also proves across the board the mendacity of the so-called “free world”. There is nothing free in this world except exploitation and hypocrisy! Moreover, where are the supposed humanistic maxims according to which any bloodshed should be avoided? How does a policy of “defending every square meter to the death” fit into the 21st century? Where are the good woke citizens who already scream "discrimination" when addressed with the “wrong pronoun”?!

Russia's economy is flourishing

The state-ordered withdrawal of Western companies and the loss of their investments in Russia only means total economic loss for them but not for Russia. For Russia, on the other hand, this represents not just a loss of investors, but an opportunity to fill this gap with domestic companies, even if, for example, through a Russian imitation of McDonalds with healthier local products.

Furthermore, the Russian economy has long since switched to war because the West has given the Russians no other choice. Therefore, Russia will never run out of ammunition. These constant reports, especially from "British intelligence agencies", as the mainstream likes to say, are nonsense from start to finish. Russia is the largest country in the world, the richest in natural resources; they can curl up completely like a hedgehog and stay in this position permanently without starving. On the other hand, we are the ones who suffer from the shortage of raw materials, every single citizen pays the price of US aggression every month.

More reasons why Ukraine can't win

The main focus has long since shifted away from Ukraine and towards Israel. The entire Western world, in its typical consumerist simplicity, has long since become numb to Ukraine. No one cares about the much suffering, the real suffering of the men at the front, and never has in this orgasm of idiotic American-like heroism.

Now Israel is siphoning off all sympathy, or at least trying to do so, along with all financial resources, in order to implement its own wet dream of a Greater Israel. Zeklenskyy, on the other hand, only plays a side note now; hardly anyone wants to hear his annoying goat-like babbling anymore. For Ukraine this means total decline. Maybe this is also part of the big plan: a Jew should destroy Ukraine from the inside until all nationalists have died at the front in this Slavic fratricidal war and the depopulated country can be settled by the Jews fleeing Israel; a Zionist Plan B, so to speak, should it not work to drive out the remaining Palestinians while the Arab world forge a military alliance against Israel.

Recommendations to the US government

In its analyses, the RAND Corporation has long advised the US government to withdraw completely from Ukraine in order to avoid further costs. Of course, the USA, just a conglomerate of global concerns with some "basic rights" stapled on and secretly controlled by a few family clans, who don't give a shit about such recommendations, will not immediately change their chosen direction. Ultimately, this conflict only serves as an opportunity for money laundering and to enrich certain corporations.

Israel – Cause of the Next World Conflagration

If Hezbollah were to launch a war against Israel, it would affect every single Israeli city and not leave out any settlement. The Islamic-Lebanese militia has tens of thousands of rockets that can be guided with centimeter precision; thus completely different dimensions than this hand-made and pieced up stuff from the Palestinians. "Iron Dome" would not be enough to avert such attacks, so Israel's desire to turn Gaza into Dresden could quickly turn out to be a boomerang, with cities like Tel Aviv ultimately left in ruins.

Even if Israel were to win this new conflict and clean up "all around" with US help by destroying the Arab neighboring areas, it would itself be badly damaged and its population decimated. In addition, neither Russia, nor China, and certainly not Iran, would accept further American interference in the Middle East. Therefore, Israel stands at the forefront of a possible third world war. Everything depends on how far the US government, led by a demented puppet of Zionist leaders, is willing to sacrifice even more of the US for foreign interests. Ukraine will seem like a distant side note compared to the Israel conflict. This time there is a threat of direct interference with US soldiers if Israelis activate all their organizations and supporters in the great USrael for the final battle.

[nicolasbaudoin]

Méthode de travail :

Maîtrise des outils de réflexion et d'actions que donne le Marketing → pilotage marque, segmentation marché, analyse cible, offre cohérente (conçevoir le bon livre au bon moment au bon prix soutenu par bons arguments portés par les bons médias distribués dans les bons point des vente rendus visibles auprès des bons lecteurs potentiels)

Capacité à construire des décisions communes avec direction, éditeur, commerciaux, graphistes, fabricants en enrichissant leur réflexion

Outils numériques → connaissance en PAO

Utiliser requêteur

Maitriser logiciel d'enquête comme SPHYNX

Etude qualitiative : notion en psycho, PPT

En amont : stratégie, analyse, manière de réfléchir souple et rigoureuse, convaincre,

En aval : opérational, porté sur le relationel, actif, aimer travail en équipe, capacité d'enthousiasme

Créativité et compétence rédactionnel

Les métiers du marketing de + en + important en maisons d'édition CAR les dynamiques favorisent l'émergence et le renforcement du marketing CAR marché de masse hyper-concurentielle AUSSI un bien de consommation → ATTENTION

Depuis rachat de De Noël par Gallimard → Grands acteurs → Phénomène de concentration → Actionnaires réfléchissent marché avec pensée marketing

Mutation circuit de diffusion → FNAC, livre dans grande surface, AMAZON → Réfléchissent aussi avec argument marketing

On vit une époque de dématérialisation des biens culturels.

Concentration, mutation de la diffusion, dématerialisation des biens culturels... explique l'importance du marketing.

En aval, on voit apparâître nouveaux acteurs : autoédition, impression à la demande, booktubeur, booktokeur, babelio, financement participatif,

La chaîne du livre se complexifie et se brouille, le marketing permet de se saisir des opportunités.

Le marketing s'épanouit grâce à tous ses enjeux.?

Autres mutations à venir ? OPA Lagardère, révolution numérique → métavers ?

[turtlethon]

"Turtles to the Second Power"

Season 10, Episode 5  First US Airdate: October 12, 1996 

The Turtles of the past and present work together to prevent Lord Dregg from using the sun to destroy the world’s cities. 

The final season of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles continues with "Turtles to the Second Power". This is the third part of an ongoing storyline which began with “The Power of Three” and continued with “A Turtle in Time”. 

As with the previous episode, we begin with a retelling of events so far, summarising Dregg draining the Turtles of their powers, his plan to transport pieces of the sun into the heart of Earth’s cities which was thwarted due to Shredder’s sabotage of his equipment, and Carter requesting the help of time-hopping resistance warriors Landor and Merrick in summoning the Turtles of two years earlier from the past to provide a life force transfusion for their present-day counterparts. The Turtles of season eight would go on to rescue their season ten selves from the Dreggnaught and return to New York alongside April and Carter, but now find themselves face to face with Dregg’s “invasion force”: a beastly robot monster piloted by a group of bat-men. 

It’s faintly surreal to watch the two sets of Turtles emerge from Dregg’s nuclear power plant base, the healthy ones from the past each propping up their ailing current-day counterpart. April leaves to inform the wider world of Dregg’s schemes while Carter returns with the Turtles to the Lair. Aboard his ship, we see Lord Dregg take out his frustrations on Mung, something he’s been doing with increasing frequency as the season has progressed. He demands to be given a status update on when the rest of his attack force will be ready, and is informed it’ll take another fifteen hours before they’re ready to begin taking over the planet. 

In the Lair, Carter assists the Turtles in using the de-mutation ray to begin the life force transfer needed to ensure the survival of the current-day green teens; when quizzed as to how long it’ll take, he responds that the procedure will be done in – yes – “about fifteen hours”. Elsewhere in the city, Shredder and Krang begin plotting to strike back at Dregg, with Shreds still in possession of the chip from the villain’s vortex transporter and now intent on using it against him. The duo captures one of Dregg’s bat-men, with Krang using his powers of hypnosis(!?) to gain control of the trooper. 

We jump forward to the completion of the life force transfer, the health of the present-day Turtles now restored. Their season eight counterparts are ready to return to their own time and resume the battle they were participating in during “Turtle Trek”, and so Carter again uses Donatello’s computer to try and summon Landor and Merrick. This time the efforts to establish a connection are unsuccessful, the message “SECURITY BREACH” appearing on the monitor. Raph points out that they only have three hours left before the time warp paradox will cause them to cease to exist. 

With his invasion force now ready, Dregg beams down with Mung to Earth. Act one concludes with the heavily armed machines being teleported into the heart of the city, where they begin opening fire and causing citizens to flee in terror. When we return from commercials April is seen pleading with an unconvinced sergeant at the police station, who changes his tune after seeing Dregg’s mecha fleet decimating portions of the city nearby. The two sets of Turtles, accompanied by Carter, also become aware that the invasion is underway, emerging from the Lair and immediately needing to take refuge in a nearby alley after being fired upon. Some fun action sequences follow in which each of the season eight Turtles works alongside their season ten counterpart to try and take down the machines, with Carter also briefly adopting his mutant form. 

Via Turtlecom, April informs Michaelangelo – both of him – that Dregg’s forces have materialised not just in New York, but in cities all over the world. Carter leaves with one set of Turtles to confront the villain at the power plant, the others remaining behind to battle the rampaging mechs. Back in the Lair, Landor and Merrick arrive fashionably late, being brought up to speed about the unfolding situation by Splinter, who suggests April may be able to assist them in tracking the team down. 

Shredder and Krang have the hypnotised bat trooper pretend to hold them at gunpoint, providing them with cover as they appear to be marched into the nuclear power plant. Feigning reluctance, Shreds hands the stolen chip back to Dregg. The villainous duo is marched toward the transporter, about to be sent to the Dreggnaut; in reality, the chip provided by Shreds is a fake, which Dregg picks up on due to knowing how Krang’s mind works after absorbing his intellect in the previous episode. (And yes, on paper it doesn’t make much sense that he can tell what Shredder would do because his mind contains a duplicate version of Krang’s thoughts, but as in the previous episode the idea seems to be that the two villains have worked together for so long that Krang knows exactly how Shreds thinks.) Dregg attacks the duo with his laser eye beams, takes “the real chip” back, and announces his intention to finish off both villains when the Turtles and Carter crash the party, gradually taking down the bat-men. 

Out on the streets, the other set of Turtles – who as they don’t have Carter tagging along are presumably intended to be the ones from season eight, though it’s never outright stated – use a bulldozer in an unsuccessful effort to take down Dregg’s giant robots. Briefly, it appears that Michaelangelo has been flattened alongside the vehicle, but he emerges from a nearby manhole unharmed, the last time you’ll see this well-worn misdirect used in the series. 

Back in the power plant, Dregg attempts to gain control in the jostling over the microchip by threatening to finish off Krang if Shredder doesn’t surrender. Donatello’s own sabotage efforts are also thwarted, the Turtles being held at gunpoint by the bat-men. Now fully in control, Dregg is ready to initiate his original plan and transport pieces of the sun into the world’s biggest cities. He begins doing so, to Carter’s audible horror, as the second act ends. 

Act three opens with the Turtles, Carter, Shredder and Krang being made to watch as the results of Dregg’s plan are seen on a monitor, one city after another being incinerated as portions of the sun are transported. Even Krang, who in the past has been known to place little value on human life views this as a step too far, but Dregg remains unrepentant. Elsewhere, the other Turtles race to the top floor of an office building. From there, they leap into the cockpit of one of the mechs, tying up the bat minions piloting it and assuming control themselves. 

Moving on to the next step of his plan, Dregg demands to have a Zoom call with a member of the League of Nations, intent on threatening to destroy even more cities if control of the planet isn’t handed over to him. The dignitary who appears calls him out on his bullshit, pointing out that the planet’s major settlements are doing just fine thank you very much; as it turns out, Donatello re-routed the computer systems to instead create a virtual reality simulation of what it would look like if Dregg had went through with his scheme. 

Seconds later, the other group of Turtles arrive in the robot they’ve commandeered, blasting through the wall of the power plant. Dregg has his microbots dismantle the machine, and is momentarily stunned when a second set of Turtles emerge from the wreckage. More sequences follow of our heroes working in stereo with their counterparts from the past, with the two Donatellos transporting Dregg’s robotic fleet to an asteroid elsewhere in the galaxy. Dregg again makes a play to teleport portions of the sun to Earth, for real this time. The two Donnies and a mutated Carter try in vain to stop this, but Mung presses the button to begin the process. One of the Donatellos reveals that this attempt, too, has been sabotaged: instead of sending part of the sun to a city on Earth, it’s re-located to the Dreggnaught, which is immediately destroyed. This has the unintended side-effect of overloading the transporter platform within the power plant, which now threatens to explode. The past and present Turtles work quickly, de-powering Dregg back to his normal state and dumping him – along with Shredder and Krang – in their respective dimensions before fleeing from the disintegrating facility. 

Outside, the Turtles face a further problem: only ten seconds remain before the consequences of the time warp paradox kick in. With oblivion beckoning for all of them, April pulls up in her sports car, accompanied by Landor and Merrick. The season eight Turtles are sent back to their own era to resume their battle with Shredder and Krang. 

Carter uses this as an opportunity to announce – again - that he intends to go back to college to work on finding a cure for his mutation. Landor and Merrick suggest he instead travel with them to the future, where a solution may be found. After all three disappear, the Turtles just stand there, gawping, with nothing to say, and the episode abruptly ends. This is the last time we’ll see Carter in the show, and it’s incredible that this character, who I compared to Poochie in the Turtlethon entry covering his debut, ultimately makes his exit from the series with a full-on “I have to go now, my planet needs me” moment. 

It’s highly tempting at this juncture to put the boot in, to say good riddance Carter, you won’t be missed. Really though, does it matter? The show would have likely continued on the same trajectory with or without him, still burdened by the interminable “new mutation” arc, the loss of TMNT’s key writer and several of its voice actors, and all the other largely ill-advised changes which have taken place since the end of season seven. I imagine the end point for TMNT would have still been season ten minus Carter, but the last two years of the run would have been a far more enjoyable watch if the focus had remained on the Turtles and the rest of the established supporting cast instead of devoting so much time to this new character. His exit coincides with the resolution of the unstable mutations plot for the Turtles, which won’t be brought up again in the short amount of time the show has left. 

Perhaps it would have been fitting for TMNT to conclude with Shredder returning for one last encounter with our heroes, given that alongside Krang he was so integral to the series for much of its run. Both instead bow out here, mere supporting players in a storyline where Lord Dregg remains the main antagonist. There was an opportunity here for the pair to take a more proactive role in stopping Dregg at the climax of this episode, perhaps granting them a moment of redemption when pitted against a villain willing to do things that even they consider unspeakable, but the show just isn’t willing to follow through with such a grand gesture. It’s a problem that will pop up again before the series is done. 

Dregg’s scheme in this episode – depicted as occurring during the story in what turns out to be merely an illusion, though it’s made explicit at the climax that he can and will try to go through with it for real – is easily the most horrifying act perpetrated by any villain in the show’s run, which if it had happened would have been a mass genocidal incident in which millions of people would have been instantly killed. Naturally the Turtles thwarted this, but it’s still jarring to see the 1987 TMNT cartoon, so often derided for its juvenile nature, even propose such a nightmarish scenario. If nothing else, it creates a challenge big enough that it justifies having two sets of Turtles running around. 

Something not addressed in relation to the time travel aspects of this episode is that the knowledge the season eight Turtles have obtained about the events that will occur in the two years to come will surely affect the actions they'll take, and lead to things playing out differently: they now know in advance about the arrival of Lord Dregg, April losing her job, inventions yet to be created by Donatello and doubtless countless other things of which they had no awareness at the conclusion of “Turtle Trek”. Do the past Turtles, for example, prevent Carter from accidentally mutating himself when doing so would relieve him of his burden, but also erase the instances in which he was able to use his powers to save them? All of this could be explained away by assuming that the S8 Turtles had their knowledge of future events wiped, but there’s nothing in the episode suggesting this is the case and no precedent in previous TMNT time travel adventures for it either. Based on what we see unfold here, we can only assume the past Turtles now have some difficult ethical, borderline existential issues to grapple with. 

“Turtles to the Second Power”, along with the two episodes which precede it, make for a creatively ambitious adventure that ties up a lot of loose ends as TMNT approaches the conclusion of its staggeringly long run. There are now just three adventures left, the next of which will provide a change of pace as we harken back to the early days of the show with an old-fashioned macguffin chase and the debut of one last gangster villain in “Mobster from Dimension X”. 

[de-gueules-au-lion-d-or]

Pierre Guillaume est né le 11 août 1925 à Saint-Malo. Il est le fils d’un officier de carrière, Maurice Guillaume, qui, après avoir servi avec Lyautey au Maroc, devint l’aide de camp du président de la République Paul Deschanel – celui qui tomba d’un train en des circonstances mystérieuses. Résolument anticommuniste, on le trouve mêlé de loin et même sans doute de près aux activités de la «Cagoule» et il dirige un journal au titre sans équivoque de Choc. Anti-allemand mais fidèle au maréchal Pétain, il se trouvera emprisonné pendant de longs mois lors de l’Epuration, sans qu’on parvienne à lui reprocher grand-chose avant de le libérer. On comprend que ses deux fils resteront marqués par cette mésaventure, qui n’empêchera pourtant pas Jean-Marie d’entrer à Saint-Cyr ni Pierre à l’Ecole navale, tout en restant l’un et l’autre très réservés sur la personne et la politique du général De Gaulle. Après un stage à Pont-Réan, voici le cadet embarqué sur le Somali, comme simple matelot, ainsi que le voulait l’usage de l’époque. Puis c’est le retour à Brest et le galon d’enseigne qui marque l’entrée dans la carrière de Pierre. Il embarque sur le Commandant de Pimodan, qui fait partie de la flottille des avisos et dragueurs d’Indochine. Ce premier séjour en Extrême-Orient va le marquer à jamais et il y contracte ce que certains appellent le « Mal jaune », passion inguérissable pour un pays exotique et son peuple. C’est au Cambodge qu’il va connaître son baptême du feu. Il découvre la véritable guerre civile qui oppose les milices catholiques et les partisans viêtminhs.

Cet aspect révolutionnaire le frappe profondément. Après avoir servi à Lorient dans les sous-marins, Pierre Guillaume part en mission aux Etats-Unis et affronte une terrible tempête en ramenant les deux bâtiments qu’il était allé y chercher. Le voici de nouveau en Indochine où il sert dans une Dinassaut, à bord de ces bâtiments légers qui ne cessent de briquer les fleuves pour mener la vie dure aux ennemis tapis sur les rivages hostiles.

De cette époque datent les fameuses photos où l’on voit le jeune officier de marine installé confortablement dans un fauteuil de mandarin boulonné sur le toit du LCVP qui lui sert de vaisseau-amiral. Il est en train de gagner une réputation d’original qui le suivra durant toute une carrière se déroulant dans les coins parfois les plus pourris du Vietnam du Nord comme du Vietnam du Sud.

Promu lieutenant de vaisseau, il ne se berce pas d’illusions et sait que cette guerre à l’autre bout du monde ne peut que mal finir.Une de ses missions n’est-elle pas d’embarquer en catastrophe les populations civiles essayant d’échapper à l’étau des forces rouges en pleine offensive ? Le drame des «boat-people» marque la fin d’un monde. Comme beaucoup d’autres militaires français, il se jure de ne plus jamais laisser massacrer ceux qui avaient fait confiance aux promesses de la France.

Quand vient le moment de regagner le vieux monde, Pierre Guillaume décide de s’embarquer non pas à bord d’une jonque, comme le prétendra la légende, mais de mettre son sac à bord d’un ketch à bouchains vifs de huit mètres de long, le Manohara, sur lequel aucun de ses camarades n’a voulu le suivre. Commence alors une assez prodigieuse épopée à travers l’océan Indien, où Pierre Guillaume se montre digne des grands navigateurs solitaires, réalisant un de ses rêves les plus fous : Singapour, le détroit de la Sonde entre Sumatra et Java, les îles Chagos au grand sud des Maldives, les Seychelles… Et c’est l’arrivée acrobatique sur la côte de Somalie où il ne sait plus très bien s’il est naufragé bien accueilli ou prisonnier de quelques indigènes belliqueux.

Le bateau n’y survivra pas mais Pierre arrivera à Orly à la fin de l’année 1956. Il apprend alors que son frère Jean-Marie est tombé à la tête d’un commando de parachutistes coloniaux.

L’officier de marine décide alors de demander sa mutation pour l’armée de Terre afin de remplacer son aîné à la tête de l’unité qui porte son nom. Il va ainsi vivre une expérience dangereuse et efficace qui annonce celle des commandos de chasse qui ne vont pas tarder à être implantés dans toute l’Algérie. Il s’agit de s’infiltrer en territoire hostile à la faveur de la nuit, d’observer pendant des journées entières de «chouf» et de renseigner par radio le commandement afin que soient portés quelques coups décisifs contre un adversaire qui découvre des combattants capables de mener la même guerre que lui.

Quand arrive le « putsch des généraux » d’avril 1961, le lieutenant de vaisseau Guillaume se rallie d’enthousiasme à ce sursaut et tentera en vain de « faire basculer » les autorités maritimes de Mers el Kébir dans le camp des révoltés. Son attitude impressionnera tellement les juges du petit tribunal militaire qu’il ne sera condamné qu’à quatre ans de prison avec sursis. Le voici chassé de l’armée, privé de son grade et de sa Légion d’Honneur, mais libre. Il en profitera pour tenter de rallier d’autres marins à l’OAS et jouera un rôle important au sein de l’armée secrète, dont il devient vite un acteur capital, après avoir clandestinement regagné l’Algérie. Il ne peut que se faire capturer un jour ou l’autre. Ce sera le 24 mars 1962 en Oranie. Jugé pour la seconde fois, il aura, avant d’affronter le tribunal, une seule réaction: « J’ai fait tout ce que j’ai pu afin de tenir ma parole. Je suis seulement désolé que ça n’ait pas marché. Si c’était à refaire, je ne changerai rien. J’ai perdu… Ils vont sans doute me fusiller… C’est normal. » Il échappera au poteau, vivra longtemps dans le port de Saint-Malo à bord de son voilier L’Agathe avant d’être rattrapé par la mort en 2002.

Jean Mabire

[dooareyastudy]

Coucou, quel est ton avis sur les activistes corses/les plasticages en corse ? Et l’article récemment qui qualifie leur acte de terrorisme ? Je ne suis pas corse mais honnêtement j’ai du mal à concevoir cela comment étant du terrorisme.., peux-tu m’expliquer en bref quelle est la problématique ? Pourquoi et depuis qd cet activisme existe ?

Petit avertissement : ceci n’est que mon avis, fondées sur mes connaissances limitées sur la question et peut-être un avis biaisé du fait d’avoir vécu en Corse et d’aujourd’hui voir les choses depuis le continent.

Un peu de contexte historique

Pour un peu de contexte, la Corse a longtemps été sous domination génoise. Il y a eu une révolte à partir des années 1730, soit peu de temps avant la Révolution française, contre Gênes qui refuse l’indépendance de l’île. Pour y faire face, Gênes va obtenir l’appui de puissances européennes, en particulier de la France : les deux vont peu à peu se mettre d’accord pour transférer le gouvernement et l’administration de l'île aux Français.

A partir de 1755, l’île commence à se doter d'une constitution (c’est le début de l’ère Pasquale Paoli) mais la France refuse de reconnaître la Corse comme République indépendante (on est en 1768, donc la France est toujours un royaume). Le 9 mai 1769, les troupes corses finissent par tomber devant celles françaises durant la bataille de Ponte Novu.

A partir de là, la Corse devient française et une sévère répression commence. Pourtant, cela n’empêche pas qu’en 1789, les Corses, par leurs cahiers de doléances et leurs représentants envoyés devant l’Assemblée constituante, réclament le rattachement de l’île à ce qui est encore le royaume de France.

Au regard de ce bref rappel historique, on peut dire que l’histoire de la Corse est depuis longtemps marquées par des troubles politiques et surtout par cette volonté d'indépendance. Le paradoxe apparent est que l'île apparaît à la fois tentée par l’indépendance mais ne semble jamais prête à aller jusqu’au bout. C’est peut-être exagéré de ma part d’y voir un thème récurrent car la situation n’a aujourd’hui plus rien à voir : je reconnais que la comparaison est peut-être fallacieuse. Toutefois, avec les précautions nécessaires, je pense que le rappel historique reste éclairant : si la volonté d’auto-détermination est toujours présente, les risques de l’indépendance apparaissent très fortement, ce qui peut venir tempérer la position des militants nationalistes ou freiner leur action. Le paradoxe n'est donc qu'une apparence.

Le mouvement nationaliste corse contemporain

On fait un grand écart temporel et on passe à la période contemporaine (passant donc sur des événements importants pour l'histoire de l'île qui permettraient certainement de mieux saisir les événements actuels), durant laquelle l’île connaît des mutations économiques importantes. On cherche alors à développer l’agriculture et le tourisme, ce qui commencera réellement vers la fin des années 50. La Corse va aussi être touchée par la décolonisation, notamment avec l’octroi de terres aux Pieds-noirs rapatriés d’Algérie.

La période est marquée par l'émergence de plusieurs mouvements politiques. Par exemple, il y a eu un mouvement régionaliste non violent pour protester contre le coût de la vie et une crainte de désertification de l’île dès la fin des années 50 / début des années 60. La demande consiste finalement en une meilleure intégration au tissu économique français, plutôt qu’une séparation vis-à-vis du continent.

Les choses changent de visage avec ce qu’on appelle les événements d’Aleria, en 1975. A l’origine des tensions : la répartition des terres agricoles corses en faveur des rapatriés d’Algérie et au détriment des locaux (sur fond de soupçons de fraude et de pratique déloyale dans le milieu viticole). C’est un contexte de forte tension, car le gouvernement français répond quasi immédiatement par la violence. C’est à partir de ce moment – à ma connaissance – que le mouvement nationaliste corse prend la forme sous laquelle on le connaît aujourd'hui, c'est-à-dire une tournure plus violente (avec notamment l’attentat de l’aéroport d’Ajaccio en 1981). Quant à leur discours politique, j’avoue ne jamais l’avoir bien saisi au-delà des revendications d’autonomie et d’indépendance : est-ce qu’on peut les qualifier de gauche ? De droite ? Je n’arrive pas trop à saisir le mouvement par ces catégories-ci.

En parallèle, les autorités françaises engagent tout un processus politique et institutionnel pour adapter le statut de l’île en réponse à cette violence. Plusieurs propositions sont faites et mises en œuvre en faveur de la décentralisation, sans que cela ne satisfasse réellement les nationalistes : les violences continuent, et connaissent leur apogée avec l’assassinat du préfet Erignac, en 1998. C’est une drôle d’époque car on sait que les autorités, plutôt que de tempérer les choses, en rajoutent une couche (le préfet qui remplace Erignac est connu pour avoir fait incendier des paillotes sur la plage, en guise de représailles).

Le mouvement nationaliste est aussi marqué par des dissensions, donc des scissions et des réunions. C’est difficile pour moi de le saisir dans sa complexité car c’est un mouvement clandestin, qui fait partie de l’historie contemporaine donc on a finalement peu de recul dessus et ça touche et implique des gens qui sont encore en vie, donc qui n’en parlent pas de la même manière que si c’était dans le passé.

Les violences ont continué tout au long des années 2000 et 2010, avec une intensité décroissante. Il y a eu un dépôt des armes par le FLNC dès 2014, mais plusieurs actions ont été menées par des gens s’en revendiquant par la suite. Puis, en 2021, c’est la résurgence qui a défrayé les médias nationaux suite à l’assassinat d’Yvan Colonna. Malgré une menace de reprise de service du FLNC et quelques communiqués, c’est d’un nouveau groupe dont on entend aujourd’hui beaucoup parler : la GCC (en français, la jeunesse clandestine corse).

Est-ce que le nationalisme corse peut être qualifié de terrorisme ?

Est-ce qu’on peut qualifier les attentes, les actes de destruction et autres actions politiques des ces mouvements clandestins de « terrorisme » ? Le Larousse définit le terrorisme comme un « [e]nsemble d’actes de violence (attentats, prises d’otages, etc.) commis par une organisation ou un individu pour créer un climat d’insécurité, pour exercer un chantage sur un gouvernement, pour satisfaire une haine à l'égard d’une communauté, d’un pays, d’un système. ».

C’est une définition assez large, à mon avis, pour qu’on puisse y inclure l’action clandestine corse : on a bien des actes de violence (pour les libéraux, l’atteinte au droit de propriété est une violence – je rappelle que notre constitution qualifie le droit de propriété de « sacré »), on a bien eu la volonté de créer un climat d’insécurité (des actions de nuit, coordonnées pour frapper dans différents lieux en même temps…) et la volonté d’exercer peut-être pas un chantage mais au moins une pression sur les autorités françaises afin d’obtenir quelque chose.

Toute tentative de renversement d’un système s’appuyant (en partie ou en totalité) sur des modes d’action violents pourra être qualifié de terroriste. Tout déferlement de violence d’un groupe vis-à-vis d’un autre, pour de pures raisons racistes par exemple pourra aussi être qualifié de terrorisme. Mon avis est donc que la qualification de « terrorisme » est peu pertinente pour réellement saisir un mouvement dans ce qui fait sa spécificité.

Maintenant, rien de surprenant à ce que les autorités françaises qualifient les récentes actions violentes des nationalistes corses de « terrorisme ». Cela s’inscrit parfaitement dans ce climat de durcissement (ça devient presque un euphémisme) de la répression envers toute forme de contestation (violente ou non) de l’ordre établi, que ce soit les nationalistes corses, les militants écologies ou les jeunes de banlieue. A mon avis, il ne faut pas chercher très loin : on a assisté au repli de l’État social sur ses prérogatives régaliennes, tout le social étant démantelé et refourgué à bon prix au privé. L’État mobilise donc à outrance le peu qui lui reste pour continuer d’exister mais surtout, pour s’assurer que le système socio-économique actuel reste à flots (alors même qu’il connaît des crises sans précédents). Quelles sont ces fonctions régaliennes ?

1° Assurer l’ordre extérieur (on pourrait analyser l’attitude des États européens face à la guerre en Ukraine pour l’illustrer, mais je n’ai ni le temps, ni les compétences pour le faire de manière pertinente) ;

2° Assurer l’ordre intérieur (cf. le maintien de l’ordre quasi criminel pendant les manifestations, et ce depuis quelques années maintenant) ;

3° Fixer les règles de droit et rendre la justice (ici, on peut déplorer une inflation législative particulièrement contre-productive et illusoire, sans même entrer dans le détail de comment l’État instrumentalise la justice pénale pour remplir ses objectifs liés à sa fonction 2°).

En guise de conclusion

Pour conclure, l’attitude de l’État français face aux mouvements nationalistes corses me semble tout à fait cohérente avec son attitude envers les mouvements de contestation récents en général. Du point de vue des autorités françaises, je n’ai pas de mal à admettre que les actions de ce mouvement puissent être vues comme du terrorisme. La question reste celle de savoir si on adhère au mouvement, c’est-à-dire à la fois à ses méthodes et à ses objectifs politiques, à son discours. Ayant quitté la Corse jeune et depuis un moment, j’avoue avoir une vue partielle du mouvement en tant que mouvement politique, donc j’éviterai de me prononcer sur cette dernière question de manière définitive.

Si quelqu’un sera parvenu jusqu’au bout de ce pavé, je le remercie chaleureusement ! Je réitère l'avertissement du début : j'ai des connaissances limitées sur la question, ça fait longtemps maintenant que je n'habite plus en Corse ce qui peut aussi impliquer des biais dans ma façon d'approcher cette question. Et surtout, je ne prétends pas fournir des réponses toutes faites sur ce qu'il faudrait penser ou ne pas penser !

[nowayout-rpg]

PRÉLIENS DU FORUM | samira — cheffe des lucioles (f)

tw: suicide, mutation, milieu médical / fiche du prélien

𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

— Fille de parents médecins (ou au moins l'un des deux parents)

— Samira avait entamé ou devait débuter (selon son âge) des études de médecine avant l'apocalypse. Elle est devenue médecin en apprenant sur le tas et parce que ses parents lui ont appris ce qu'ils savaient

— Son père (et/ou sa mère) a été mobilisé dans l'une des zones de quarantaine dès le début, emmenant sa famille avec lui. Il peut s'agir de la zone de charlottetown ou d'une autre zone, dans ce cas il faudra trouver la raison pour laquelle Samira est ensuite arrivée à Charlottetown (en gardant en tête qu'elle doit arriver avant 2031)

— Samira a insufflé l'idée de créer un pôle de recherches auprès de William Walker. Le groupe des lucioles est né grâce à elle en 2031. Bien qu'elle soit relativement jeune, elle est nommée cheffe des lucioles

— Elle se montre parfois un peu sévère envers son équipe, les poussant dans leurs retranchements (et leur demandant de ne pas compter leurs heures). Bien que leurs recherches pour empêcher la mutation soient infructueuses, elle ne perd pas espoir

— Sa mère a été isolée à spider groove et est décédée là-bas (tu es libre de choisir si elle a préféré se donner la mort avant sa mutation ou non). C'est cette raison qui a poussé Samira a crée le groupe des lucioles. Son père aurait pu se suicider après le décès de sa femme n'ayant pas trouvé le moyen de faire baisser son taux de radioactivité (ce n'est qu'une idée, la raison qui aura poussé Samira à créer les lucioles est libre)

𝒾𝒹ℯ́ℯ𝓈 𝒻𝒶𝒸ℯ𝒸𝓁𝒶𝒾𝓂 — Yasmine Al Massri, Golshifteh Farahani, Sarah Shahi, Merve Boluğur, Sofia Boutella (Il faudra choisir le faceclaim pour coller aux origines de son prénom)

[eloisegrant]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡:

𝐒𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐚 𝐃𝐞 𝐥𝐚 𝐇𝐨𝐲𝐚

Mutant!Oc, Filipino!OC, Marvel!OC

NOTE: Due to the lack of Filipino representation in Marvel comics, especially in the mutants catalogue, I decided to create my own. So please, enjoy this angst, action-filled and exciting opening to my original character, Sampaguita De La Hoya.

A lso, please feel free to insert yourself as Sampaguita.

WARNINGS: Swear words, mentions of drugs and alcohol, abuse, post-traumatic stress disorder,

TRANSLATIONS:

Ganda -> Beautiful

Kuya/Mang/Manong -> term for elder man or brother

Ano? -> What?

WORD COUNT: 3k

(Images are not mine, credit goes to the respective owners xx)

𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

In the Philippines, certain families stay atop others. Certain individuals have more power and money, that was just how this system worked. Enter, Francisco De la Hoya. He was one of the most influential people in the country. Being the Governor of the city of Manila, meant he was the head honcho of any and all operations in this beautiful exotic country.

Second to only the President.

So when his beautiful daughter was bought into this world, it was only fitting for a gala to take place. Heaven on earth, that was what the aunts, uncles, guests and even common folk called their beautiful daughter.

She was an angel with the prettiest eyes, a fitting addition to the De la Hoya family. As such, the birth of new life is supposed to bring love, health and prosperity.

However, as the night grew darker and the party guests left. A worry-filled revelation came to their attention.

Within the airy halls of the De La Hoya mansion, the echoing murmurs of Francisco De la Hoya and his wife Kristina filled the air. Their family doctor was explaining the horrific discovery made in their 2 week old daughter’s DNA– a mutated form of a Homo-sapiens gene that has been renamed the X-gene.

“No it isn’t possible.” Francisco passes back and forth in his office, cigar in hand, pointing it to his wife to light it up with a lighter.

“She’s what we call a mutant, sir.” Doctor Malayo points at the documents on the table carefully. Kristina gasping in anguish, terrified that she had given birth to a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“What will the media say if they find out my daughter is one of those-” he exacerbates, “those things!” He slams his fists on his desk, causing the items to rattle. “Magnus, Mystique, Angel… that blasted brotherhood of demons! Those monstrous genetics running within my beautiful baby… It sounds like a joke.” A fumed Francisco runs his fingers through his raven hair.

“They won’t find out…” The doctor stands up and walks towards a large refrigerated case. Opening it, a loud click, a large bright light illuminating several vaccines.

“These are still in the testing phase, but have a 100% success rate.” The couple stare at the small man, prompting him to continue his statement. “It successfully suspends the x-gene for at least 24 hours.” He holds one of the small injections in his hands, “...thereby physically hiding her mutant gene.

“But she will still have the gene?” Kristina pleads to the physician, anxious and grieving at the realization that their life is no longer perfect.

“You will need to administer this vaccine everyday. On the dot, same time, same routine.” Doctor Malayo emphasizes every word. “She will have to believe it’s to keep her alive.”

Ethically speaking, this was a terrible arrangement. Injecting and forcing a child through unusual and downright dangerous substances, just to cover the truth. A las, the De la Hoya’s were willing to do anything to keep their pristine image, pristine.

Francisco and Kristina exchange glances as they hear their dear baby’s coos through the monitor. With a firm nod, they turn to Dr. Malayo, “Give us all you can get.” the patriarch demands.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏: 𝐀 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭

“Okay, ganda, this’ll just be a pinch and a burn.” Thea, an elder in house maid of the De la Hoya’s smiles at a now, 21 year old, Sampaguita

“Of course,” she sighs, pulling her sleeve up, “it always is.” she jokes around, rolling her eyes.

Thea could feel her chest clench at the sight of Sam’s arms, the shots would be delivered on either side of her arms, today was the right arm’s turn and it was a horrendous sight. Purple, green and blue veins, some nearly popping out of poor Sampaguita’s arm. The in-house helpers definitely felt bad about this entire situation, but they were on a paycheck.

Money was a difficult find, and they were all desperate for it. But, Thea may just not have the heart to go through with this.

“It just sucks that I have these illnesses you know like…” her words trail as she tries to remember what illness it was– all these shots were making her think woozy, making her paler than usual and made her weak.

Thea is quick to remind her of the fake illness they’ve strategically concocted for the girl, “Ms. Sam, it's for your blood deficiency, Anaemia… these vaccines are iron supplements…”

“Yes of course…” Sam sighs as the shot hits her shoulder for the nth time of her life. Had I just been born normal, I wouldn’t be like this. Poor Sam was just accustomed to the shots, but she still couldn’t accept it.

Thea removes the shot and places it in a metal dish, “Alright, ganda. You can go now.” She stands up, wiping her hands on her apron, “Goodluck today on your thesis defence!” She smiles at her resulting with a big smile coming from Sam’s lips.

Her small frame wears a long black leather cloak over her cream turtleneck, it’s November and Manila has been getting a little chilly. Her heeled footsteps echoed and trailed through the big oak hall, down the massive staircase approaching her father’s office right by the front door.

“Father… Mother…” She knocks shyly, “I’m off to college now.” Her hands do an awkward wave in order to get a little bit of a reaction from her parents.

All she gets is a look and a small nod from both of them, before looking back into their computers.

A deep sigh escapes her lips, they were never the supportive bunch, never even bothered starting a conversation or giving her any type of admiration— but they did provide her with all and more a girl her age could ask for. Nevertheless, she had an important day today and that couldn’t be overshadowed by her petty emotions and issues with mommy and daddy.

Fernando, their driver, opens the main door and readily offers to drive the only child to her college, “Thank you Mang Nando but, I’m feeling confident about today and…” she takes the keys from the man’s hands, “I’ll be driving myself!” She cheerfully squeals, running to her car.

What her parents lacked in emotional support they gave back with material things. Sam’s car was the newest Land Cruiser in the classical pearl white, a 21 year old having such things was seen as a little bit of a splurge on their end.

As Sam settled into her seat her phone vibrated, Rodrigo- the caller ID stated.

With a sigh, she starts the car and answers the call through the infotainment system.

“Sammy?” Her friend’s careful voice beamed through the car speakers.

“Ano? What do you want Rodrigo? I’m about to drive.” She buckles her belt and puts the car into drive. Rodrigo had always been a pain in the ass, but Sam loved him for it. They have been friends since the first days of elementary school, so their bond was a very irreplaceable one.

“Ah well I won’t distract you too much…” his breathlessness was abundant, maybe he was running down the halls. “Just called to let you know that you’re after 5 more people so… You’re safe.” He warns Sam causing her to smile as she exits their mansion’s front gate.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” Her hands clasp the wheel as she makes a hard turn onto the main road. With that, the phone call ends.

The drive was normal, it was supposed to be normal. Heck, it was not a complicated road to drive through. However a growing interruption began to take wing a few minutes in.

Sam’s eyes begin to twitch as she reaches the first stoplight, a little weird for it to happen but she pushes on. It's probably my allergies. Pressing the gas, her head feels a sudden weight, as if it was pushing down into her, causing her to pull the car to the side, the safest area for now. A traffic enforcer notices the abrupt halt of Sam’s car and approaches her window, knocking on it lightly.

With a soft squeak, Sam, breathless due to the sting she feels on her head, looks at the officer and presses the windows down. “Ma’am are you alright? You’re on the freeway.” He leans against the car.

Sam couldn’t even respond, her vision began to get brighter as her breathing began to get heavier.

“Ma’am? Do you need assistance?” He repeated to her, her whole body felt heavier than usual. Am I having a heart attack? Please… Not now.

The enforcer scratches the back of his head, confused with Sam’s irresponsiveness and begins to dial for help, “We’ll see to it that you’re kept safe, Ma’am, just a mome-”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP FOR A FUCKING SECOND!” She shouts at the top of her lungs, glancing to the front, shakily trying to regain power over her body. She half expected the guy to shout back or call for assistance from the other enforcers but heard nothing. Great, I offended the guy.

“Hey listen, Manong I didn’t mean to shout at you-” Her eyes looked back at the enforcer, who was standing impressively still. “Huh?”

She waves her hands in front of the man, “Kuya, don’t be so playful! I didn’t mean to freak out, you were just talking too much.” Exasperated, she tries to lighten the mood. But no, the enforcer was still frozen, impressively still. It almost looked like the guy was playing a joke but it took a fly landing on his hand for Sam to notice, he was really stopped in time.

She heavily breathes as she realises, even the cars surrounding her were in a halt. “What the actual-” Looking up from the sunroof of her car, a bird was also paused in motion. Her back pushes against the seat as she tries to understand what the actual hell was going on.

Were the avengers here? Am I dead? Is there a God? WHat tHE heLL iS HaPpEning??

Her fingers slowly massage her temples, trying to calm herself down and understand what was happening, “There is a perfectly logical explanation…” She bites her fingernails. “Why would the world just stop?” She plops her head down between her shoulders, “How do you fix this?” In a way to cope with this situation, Sam begins to joke around, “Ha, it's not like I can magically tell them to start moving again-” as the words came out of her mouth the enforcer and all the cars, birds, every single object and being, started to move again.

“Just a moment.” The enforcer completes his sentence causing Sam to get shocked at the situation. I… did… that???

“Kuya uhh… No need, please. I’m fine!” She smiles at the man, “See!” She puts two thumbs up to show the man that she was a-okay.

He tries to get a word in but Sam closes the window before she could even hear it.

As she speeds away she couldn’t help but twitch at every slightest sound, it was as if she could hear people’s thoughts, their breathing, the people’s footsteps meeting the pavement and how different shoes would resonate different sounds. To get her mind off of it, she turns on the radio but it blasts too loud causing her to accidentally press the gas a little too harshly.

“Putang-in-!?” She hits the brakes as quickly as possible, upon seeing a group of people crossing the street. Her eyes make their way to look at the volume of the music.

6.

WHAT

DO

YOU

MEAN

SIX!!?

That nearly blew off her eardrums and the sound system was just at SIX? If the world doesn’t begin making any freaking sense she is gonna lose it. Just as she pushes on the gas she spots a pharmacy and decides to parallel park quickly to grab some sort of calming syrup. Something that would calm down her thoughts and just mellow her down for a bit… isn’t that just liquor? Ah, anyhow, she was going to get something to calm her nerves.

Placing the car onto a brake, she leaves swiftly and runs inside the pharmacy, “Hi, umm..” She places her hands on the counter, “Do you have anything to calm a person down, something fast acting and easy?” She jitters between her two toes.

The pharmacist smiles and looks at Sam up and down, “You mean something like liquor?” She distastefully responds.

“No, miss. Medicine.” Her voice was stern and irritated. Sam wasn’t about to deal with this woman’s jokes right now, even if she’s literally shaking with every word, looking like a druggie.

“Well we don’t think you should get some given your…” There the pharmacist was again eyeing her up and down, “...condition.”

Before Sam could respond she heard a thought, literally.

‘How embarrassing.. These kids just do drugs left and right, no care in the world.’

“I’m not a druggie!” She screams upon hearing the thought, “Shut the fuck up and give me something to calm me down!” Her scream causes the woman to fly back to the organized shelves of medicine. The mere voice erupting from Sam’s lips caused what seemed to be a localized earthquake.

Scared and confused, the woman grabs ‘calming pills’ that were purely herbal, “He-here, don’t even pay! Please! Get out!” Sam immediately grabs the box and panics, shuffling out of the pharmacy.

Gaining a few judgemental glances from the elderly people along the aisles, she storms out of the pharmacy to her car.

Just then, Rodrigo rings her up yet again through the car.

“RODRIGO PLEASE!” She grabs her flask and takes 3 herbal calming pills at once, willing to do any and everything to mask this sensation. “I AM NOT OKAY RIGHT NOW.” Quickly, she maneuvers the car back to the road, trying her hardest not to crash into something.

“I’m sorry, so sorry, Sam! It’s just because you’re up after 2 more…” Rodrigo’s nervous voice panicked at both Sam’s angry voice and her thesis defence.

She ends the call, rather than continuing the conversation. Whatever was happening was much more important than this fucking thesis.

Her eyes finally adjusted and cleared back up, making a U-turn back towards her house.

->

Mr. And Mrs. De la Hoya weren’t expecting anything major to happen this day. With his upcoming announcement to run for president, he was too focused on the paperwork.

So they definitely didn’t expect their daughter to barge through the house, panicking and in tears.

“Kuya! Ate! Help me please!” Sam supports herself onto the nearby long table by the foyer. Trembling, Shaky, panicky and terrified. “Please!” Her abrupt tone made Thea and Nando rush to her side, as well as the other household maids.

They rushfully supported her, bringing her to the living room. Causing her parents to follow and observe the situation that was unfolding. Not out of care for her but rather for themselves.

“What’s wrong Miss Sam? Can you breathe properly?” Lily, another housekeeper, grabs a cold pack of ice placing it on Sam’s forehead.

She couldn’t understand why but the sensation of the ice made her forehead twinge and made her scream at a guttaral level. “STOP!”

Her voice, causing the numerous people surrounding her to fly to the opposite sides of the room. The couch she was on slid as well to the far end of the living room.

Francisco and Kristina were taken aback, covering their faces with their arms at Sam’s ridiculous gesture. Fearing the worst, they were worried that the vaccines she has been receiving were no longer working. Or someone chose to keep her from the dosage.

Some of the housekeepers were injured slightly, refusing to stand up. But older maids like Thea, rushed to Sam– still a bit cautious.

“Sampaguita!” It seemed like a miracle for her father to call her name out like that. Like it has never been an action anyone in the household was used to.

Her father’s voice made her trembling calm down, a mix of confusion and fear across her face. “Did you give her the dosage!?” He directs his questioning towards Thea.

“I-I did!” Thea nearly breaks into tears from the demanding voice of Francisco. Unfortunately, he did not believe a single word that came from her mouth.

“Marites, get Sampaguita’s medical basin!” He orders another maid, who rushfully heads up the stairs. His gaze never leaving Thea who was trembling by Sam’s feet.

“Father, don't punish Thea! She gave me the vaccine!” Sam protests, her voice causes another, milder rumble to boom through the house.

He shushes her by narrowing his eyes to her direction.

Marites held in hand a vaccine that had most of its remains in. Causing Francisco to shake his head, gently walking towards Thea before smacking her face with his backhand.

“FATHER!” Sam defends the old maid by standing between her and her father. “So I don’t get the vaccine today, why punish Miss Thea?”

Francisco shakes his head as he looks down to his daughter, “It’s more complicated than just that, Sam.”

She wasn’t interested in banter but rather just getting to the bottom of all this. Why she was exhibiting such abilities, why Thea missing a vaccine was so threatening and why this has been the most conversation her and her father have had.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

The room fell silent. Nobody was willing to say another word. If Sampaguita found out that she was being medically and physically abused all throughout her life; they would be facing several issues.

Her disappointment, her pain, her fury and her powers. What exactly were they and how would they impact all of them?

“You might want to sit down…”

[trashgoblinzimmeh]

OOC: Sideblog/Character Info (+Backstory)

Sideblog Info: This is one of the IZ Roleplay/Askblogs for @raccoonzinspace. It revolves around one of my IZ AUs in which Zim gets infected with a rare nano-virus and gets mutated into this abomination. The timeframe for this AU is about 30 years after the Florpus incident, and the location it takes place is an abandoned landfill near Cleveland, Ohio (yes, the one that had the shopping center built on top of it and that was leaking methane). Below are the fonts and punctuation that'll be used:

Plain Black Text: OOC

Italics: Emphasis

Asterisks (*): Denotes action

Parenthesis (): Denotes an event or narration

Pink Text: Zim's dialouge and actions (roughly translated from a super ancient form of Irken)

Green Text: Gir's dialouge and actions (he speaks English for the most part)

Blue Text: Dib's dialouge and actions (he speaks English but understands some Irken)

Purple Text: Squee's dialouge and actions (one of this Zim's smeets)

Red Text: Meep's dialouge and actions (the other smeet and Squee's brother)

Yellow Text: Teefs' dialouge and actions (the newly adopted puppy; he mostly communicates in dog)

Character Info/Backstory: This version of Zim is much like a giant maggot, mostly consuming things that are rotten or creatures that have long expired. His hideous, chubby build reflects this. Though he does hunt for prey and gather various produce, he stores these away until they're aged to imperfection (ergo, they're completely rotten and crawling with critters). He is incredibly voracious, sometimes devouring up to half his body weight in detritus (for reference, he is about 60 feet tall, 30 feet long, and weighs about 200 tons). He is incredibly territorial, viciously attacking and actively k!lling anything he sees as a threat (mainly humans as he's afraid that they'll send the government after him). He will not stop until the human that "provoked" him is d**d. Though he basically eats s**t, this version of Zim is surprisingly clean, constantly preening his antennas and removing dirt off his body.

Despite his bulky and sturdy frame, this version of Zim is able to run his "aggressors" and prey down at over 50 mph for a distance of 15 miles, and he has even been known to follow his "aggressors" home. He can register where he puts each of his eight legs so he can be as silent as possible. He uses a special sack in the back of his throat in order to spew special gas: the brownish-orange gas is used to drive threats away and the greenish-yellow gas is used to end prey. His collapsable ribs allow him to squeeze into small spaces, letting him get to food that is otherwise unreachable. If a person gets bitten by this creature, then they develop a nasty (and often f*tal) infection from the wound. The spikes on his body are also incredibly toxic, leaking a poison that can k!ll a man in under a minute (there's no antidote, either).

This version of Zim cleverly uses his abilities in order to get his victims, making him quite a scary creature. For example, he has been known to breathe his prey-k!lling gas into the ventilation system of a "aggressive" person's home and cut off escape points for his prey. He really only ventures out of his territory if he is trying to murk a threat or is hunting for prey, though.

Backstory: Zim had managed to contract a rare, incurable nano-virus. When it was found out that he had been infected with this, he was sent to a hidden laboratory on Irk to be monitored and quarantined. Over the two weeks he was kept in that lab, the nano-virus initiated a painful transformation and change in behavior. Zim fought tooth and nail in order to keep himself in tact, but the virus won. The data in his PAK was compromised and his memories were wiped. He had been mostly reverted back to a primordial, animalistic state.

Things reached a fever pitch when he escaped from his room and devoured one of the Irken scientists that was watching him. Upon finding this out, the Tallest demanded that this Zim be euthanized as he was deemed too dangerous to be kept around. Zim overheard this and devised a successful plan, escaping Irk. The Irken Empire didn't pursue him as "at least he wasn't on Irk anymore".

Unfortunately, this version of Zim ended up back on Earth in the aforementioned abandoned landfill. It is here that he dug himself a den and made himself at home, establishing his territory using the scent glands on his forehead. This Zim would spend his days guarding his territory and keeping intruders out, culling any human who found out he was there. He thrived here by devouring the rotting landfill garbage and using his various abilities to the fullest.

Potential Triggering/Upsetting Content: There are some things that are discussed on this IZ RP blog that might be disturbing to some readers. Some of the things that will commonly pop up are: d3ath, implied heat/implied s3xual urges, and the occasional egg-laying (this version of Zim is a hermaphrodite, meaning he is both he and she. However, "he/him" are his preferred pronouns). If any of the above topics trigger or upset you, you might want to use caution when browsing through this blog! You do not have to follow this blog if anything here upsets you.

Thank you for taking the time to read this pinned intro and have a good day!

-End of Post-

[histoires-de-la-louve]

25.05.22 Message du jour

Beauté, élévation, trahison.

Une journée au goût doux-amer.

Je demande qui s’est lâché sur le piment et la sauce aigre-douce ???

Qui ?

Premier message du jour :

Méfiez- vous des apparences et de celleux qui vous propose de monter trop vite et trop haut.

Je ressens comme un.e manager.euse ou un.e futur.e employeur.euse qui propose de vous aider à progresser vite en vous surchargeant de responsabilités. Sauf que c’est contre productif. Cette surcharge vous pénalise plus qu’autre chose.

La personne vous promettant une aide devient alors votre bourreau et use et abuse de la réflexion « Mais pourtant j’avais confiance en ta capacité à réaliser tout ce travail. Me serai-je trompé ? »

Je le répéterai encore une fois, Superman est un extraterrestre, Wonderwoman n’est pas humaine… En dehors, de Batman qui est pété de thunes comme Ironman aucun.e super-héro.ïne.s n’a la caractéristique basique humaine. Iels ont toustes au minimum une mutation génétique. Alors désolé pour celleux qui pensaient que vibrer haut suffisait pour réaliser 12h de travail en une… À part un épuisement vous récolterez pas grand chose.

Second message :

La méchanceté dont tu as été la victime, t’as permis de comprendre et d’apprendre à connaître et poser tes limites.

Il est temps pour toi de te relever et de profiter des cadeaux que t’offre la vie.

Douceur, joie et progression sont au programme de cette journée.

Courage à vous !

Belle journée.

💛💪