#Come Away completement en français

[omnomnomdomcaps]

A Guide to Language Domming, Pt. I

Language Play, Qu'est-ce Que c'est?

Republished for your reading pleasure. And to all who attended my Language Play 101 Class at CAP '23- thank you!!!

What is language play?

Language domming, or language play, is a highly immersive activity where a little or sub experiences speech and media exclusively in a foreign language they either don’t know and at all or have very little knowledge of. For the purposes of most of this guide, I’ll be focusing specifically on language play in an AB/DLs or ageplay context, but it is possible to work into some other kinks - I’ll get to that near the end. 

The appeal, especially when you’re dealing with ABs and ageplayers, is pretty clear. Rather than your little having to pretend they’re too little to understand what all the grown-ups are saying, well, they genuinely won’t understand what all the grown-ups are saying. They won’t be able to grasp most of the things you’re saying to them. They won’t be able to read along with storybooks - they’ll just have to look at the pictures and use their imaginations. They’ll consume simple cartoons the way a young toddler would. And all of this, if presented with the right amount of love and care, can make your little feel very, very little. 

I do want to make it clear here that I didn’t invent this idea. A number of bigs, CGs, and doms I’ve spoken to have used native tongues or foreign picture books to make their littles feel little. It’s even come up in some fantasy writing, where an international setting, or even an extraterrestrial one, leaves a little with a babyish inability to communicate. But I haven’t seen it formally spoken about much, so I figured I would share this guide with you all.      

So how does it work?

Language play sessions normally last a few hours, but if you’re feeling adventurous (and very well prepared) you can stretch it for a day or more. The idea is to completely immerse your little in the target language for as long as you’re playing. Speak to them only in that language. Show them cartoons in that language. Read them stories for bedtime and naptime in that language. The more activities you have to help immerse them - children’s board games and card games, toys that say foreign phrases, even alphabet blocks for non-Latin languages - the more wonderful possibilities there are. 

When playing, your little may try to say things to you in English (or whatever you usually speak), and there are a few ways to handle this. You can enforce that they can’t, with spankings and other punishments, or just with a wag of the finger and a reminder of ‘non, non, en français, s'il vous plaît’ or the equivalent. Alternatively, you can just pretend not to understand them, looking quizzical and bemused (but do listen to what they’re saying, in case it’s important). In either case, as long as you don’t break into English yourself, your little will start to get used to it, and will lean more on non-verbal communication and whatever simple words or phrases they’re able to pick up (and often butcher in the cutest possible way). 

Of course, your little one not being able to talk means there’s a whole lot more they’re not going to be able to do for themselves. You’re going to have to choose their activities, so be sure to plan ahead and know your little’s likes well. You’re going to have to give some diaper checks without asking - well, you can ask, but it’s not like they’ll know that you did. You’ll also be the one figuring out the menu, and you may want to feed your little directly to add to the ageplay immersion. 

Because this is one of the more intense ageplay activities, and because communication during play can be difficult, preparation and communication beforehand is key. Learn your little’s likes and limits, make sure to put away any grown-up distractions (work phones, etc.) and set time aside firmly, and have cues in place to use as safewords (and STOP IMMEDIATELY if you see them). Oh, and when you’re done, be sure to have a gentle, warm, snuggle and talk through the experience - your little is going to have a lot they want to tell you, and you might have quite a bit to share as well. 

What if I’m not fluent in a foreign language? Can I play too?

YES! Believe it or not, you don’t have to be native or fluent in your target language to use it for a wonderful, immersive play experience. In Part II of this guide, I’m going to walk through some key words and phrases to focus on, so that you can be ready to immerse your little with just a few weeks of practice, a bit of strategic Googling, and a whole lotta love. 

Pt. II Can Be Found Here

[ladyviolethummingbird]

The Gloaming - Chapter 6 preview 🏰

Ch 6: Madame Beauchamp

Feeling at a loose end after supper that evening Jamie made his way to the library. As Joe had promised, the library at Wolverton Hall was indeed an extensive one and having finished re-reading his favourite book Robinson Crusoe, Jamie was looking for something new to discover. Access to reading materials at the workhouse had been quite limited (even more so at the blacksmith’s) and he relished being able to wander the shelves and choose from vast numbers of books on a myriad of different topics. He ran a finger along the leather-bound spines as he considered his options before pulling out Candide by Voltaire and began thumbing through.

“I didn’t know you spoke French, Mr Fraser?”

The tips of his ears pinking, Jamie whirled around to see Lady Randall standing not two feet away. If she was annoyed to find someone interrupting the solitude of her library she didn’t show it. In fact, she looked decidedly pleased to see him. Eyes sparkling in the lamplight, she motioned to the book in his hands with a smile.

“I confess my French isn’t much. I’ve been trying to teach myself but when one has to stop every fourth word to look it up its meaning in the dictionary I’m afraid it’s rather slow going”

Jamie was silent a moment, unused to this convivial tone from her. It was completely unexpected, but certainly not unwelcome.

“My father taught me, I think he’d planned for me to attend university in France one day”

“Your father was French?”

With a tone of of mock-outrage at the suggestion, Jamie explained that his father Brian had been Scots through-and-through but that he - like Jamie, was something of a polyglot. In addition to French and English, they also spoke Gàidhlig in his childhood home.

“Well I shall know who to come to next time I find a passage en français I can’t make heads nor tails of then”

She smiled again, revealing straight white teeth. As he took her in, Jamie swallowed, trying not to let his surprise show too much. Gone was the closed-off stance of their first meeting, replaced with a welcoming expression that he suddenly realised he’d been craving for weeks. Dare he push his luck and attempt to continue their conversation? Reasoning he might not get this chance again, he decided to press on.

Catch up on chapters 1-5 here

[seaphoam-writes]

A Father's Duty (33/?)

A Father's Duty on AO3

Summary: An encounter with a quantum fissure leaves Picard with more responsibility than he asked for, but he'll do what he always does—his duty.

Chapter 33

Beverly hasn’t seen Jean-Luc since last night, and at that first shared look it all rushes back—the thrill and the anxiety of their confessions, the intoxication of kissing him. There’s an immediate thrum of need inside her, and she sees its echo in Jean-Luc.

Then Deanna excuses herself, clearly overcome by what just passed between the two of them, and Beverly realizes she doesn’t know how she’s supposed to act around Jean-Luc.

Probably normally.

Probably as if she can’t remember how his hands felt on her thighs.

Probably as if she didn’t see the outline of his arousal and imagine palming him through his trousers.

Get it together, Beverly scolds herself.

Jean-Luc already has his professional mask in place; Beverly puts hers on too, shrugging on her doctor persona like shrugging on her lab coat. Jean-Luc observes her shift in demeanor and turns to Louis.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

Louis nods and looks to Beverly for instruction. She pats the examination table. “Hop up.”

He obeys and sits with his hands resting loosely on his thighs, shoulders relaxed, watching her curiously but not warily. It’s a dramatic change from his first visits to sick bay. He trusts her, and Beverly knows not to take that for granted.

“I’m just going to take a blood sample,” she tells him. “Can you get your sleeves up past your elbows?”

“Both of them?”

“Yes.”

Jean-Luc is on the opposite side of the table from Beverly, close but not suffocatingly so. He doesn’t smother Louis. He manages to offer him both security and space simultaneously, and Louis seems to thrive on it. Beverly knows now that Jean-Luc has parenting experience, but she also thinks that he stepped into his role so well—embraced it so completely—because of his age; had he become a father when he was younger—at the age Jack became a father—he would have been much different.

Not bad, just different.

One thing that Beverly thinks would have been the same in either case, however, is his complete cluelessness when it comes to clothing.

As she waits for Louis to push his sleeves up, she notices he’s been wearing the same two shirts on rotation. She’ll have to inform Jean-Luc that owning exactly two shirts may be fine for him, but as Louis won’t be in uniform for 23.5 of the 24 hours in his day—Beverly assumes Jean-Luc removes his uniform only to shower—Louis is going to need a little more variety in his wardrobe.

Maybe she can take him shopping on Earth. She loved doing that with Wesley. Wesley was, naturally, never as enthusiastic about it as she was, but Beverly thinks Louis is different.

(He folds his own pajamas every morning.)

“Ok.” Louis is finished. He watches silently as Beverly takes each of his forearms in hand and gently rotates them to expose their anterior sides.

Remembering Louis’s interest in the scan of his wrist bones, Beverly explains, “I’m looking for the best location to draw blood from. This area”—she traces a triangle on the inside of his right elbow—“is called the cubital fossa.”

Frowning—a very specific compression of his mouth and scrunching of his brow that Beverly recognizes—Louis twists towards Jean-Luc. “En français?”

"It's the same,” Jean-Luc says quietly. “Fosse cubitale.” His eyes flick to Beverly’s, including her in his next statement. “Many medical terms, albeit Greek or Latin in origin, actually entered English through French.”

Beverly actually knew that already; Louis nods like he’s filing that information away.

“There are two large veins here,” Beverly continues, pressing her thumb over each in turn. “The basilic and the cephalic.”

(“Basilique et céphalique.”)

“And between them is another vein, the median cubital vein.”

(“Veine cubitale médiane.”)

“Médiane,” Louis repeats. “The middle?”

“That’s right. The median cubital vein is in the middle of your arm, but it’s also in between the basilic and cephalic veins. It connects them. Yours is so close to the surface of your skin that it’s visible.” She indicates the faint bluish ridge bisecting the pale skin of his anterior elbow. “This is the vein I’ll draw blood from.”

“Because you can see it?”

“Yes.”

(And also because it’s larger and more stable than either the basilic or cephalic veins, but that explanation would draw attention to the size of the hyposyringe and the fact that veins can roll, neither of which are things Beverly wants Louis worrying about.)

One of Beverly’s passions is the history of medicine. She’s always been intrigued by the evolution of technology and methodology, but what fascinates her the most are the practices that have withstood the test of time.

Tourniquets, for example.

Nothing beats a tourniquet when it comes to drawing blood, because despite the invention of the hypospray, they have not yet discovered a way to get certain fluids out of the body without puncturing it.

“What’s that for?” Louis asks.

Beverly smiles reassuringly as she ties on the strip of blue rubber. “It creates pressure in the vein to help make it even more visible. I know it’s tight. It has to be, I’m sorry.”

Next comes the hyposyringe, which is unfortunately an only slightly less barbaric instrument than it was centuries ago. It’s self-sanitizing and dermal regeneration functions are improvements, but it’s still very stabby in nature, which is not something most people enjoy.

Jean-Luc is one of those people.

Because Beverly knows to expect it, she sees the sudden rigidity of Jean-Luc’s expression when she picks up the syringe, the slight widening of his eyes.

“This is going to pinch a little bit,” Beverly says, unsure which of them she’s actually trying to comfort. “But it will only last about five seconds.”

The last time she did this to Louis, he was unconscious. He watches the hyposyringe right up until she places it against his skin, and then he looks away. His fingers twitch when she slides the needle in, but he doesn’t react otherwise.

“Count to five,” she instructs.

Louis takes a deep breath. “Un. Deux. Trois. Quatre. Cinq.”

The vial was full before he got to three, so by the time he finishes she already untied the tourniquet, removed the needle, and passed the sample off to Geordi.

“There,” she says. “You’re all set.”

Louis blinks at his arm and then at the tray of her tools and then at her. “I can get down?”

“Yes. And you can roll your sleeves back down, too.”

Once Louis’s feet are firmly on the floor, Beverly addresses Jean-Luc. “Your turn.”

-/-

“My turn?” Picard asks, raising an eyebrow.

Geordi turns away from the monitor he’s prodding. “In order to prove that Louis’s quantum signature doesn’t match ours, we need an actual sample to compare it to. It makes the most sense to take it from you.”

“You didn’t inform me of this yesterday.” Ever since the Borg, Picard’s not been overly fond of needles. They tend to evoke a very…visceral response in him.

“I’m sorry, captain,” Geordi says, spreading his hands in apology. “Truthfully, we didn’t think of it until we started setting up here. If it’s a problem, we can take the sample from someone else.”

“It’s not a problem.” To admit that it is, in fact, a problem—for others to know that he has this problem—would be intolerable.

He looks at Beverly, wonders if she purposely pulled the reverse of what she suggested for Louis’s physical: one of them goes first to assure the other that it’s safe. There’s a sympathy in her expression that rankles him. He hates that he’s still so damaged from his experience with the Borg that he requires careful handling.

“Louis,” he murmurs. “Why don’t you go check on Deanna?”

The smaller the audience, the better.

“I want to watch,” Louis says.

Picard sighs internally. Fine. He knows he could insist, and Louis would obey, but he doesn’t see the point in turning this into something it doesn’t need to be. Louis is just curious, and Picard will just have to maintain his composure while Beverly pokes him with a needle the same way the Borg poked him with needles.

(And drilled into him, injected him, cut him—cut away his individuality.)

The physical response is immediate. As soon as he decides he’s doing this, it’s as though his brain fills with a fog that obscures everything except for his dread, and as he takes Louis’s place on the examination table, he’s hyperaware of his body and yet somehow also separate from it. It takes a concerted effort to remove his red suede jacket, to fold it and lay it next to him, to roll up his sleeve and offer up his bare arm. He feels himself slipping away, retreating—but when Beverly touches him, the fog lifts as abruptly as it descended.

The Borg that handled him were not gentle, their restraints were never warm, and Beverly’s fingers are both.

Picard swallows and blinks. He’s aboard the Enterprise. He’s in sick bay, Beverly’s there—

And so is Louis.

“Papa, est-ce que tu vas bien?”

Are you okay?

He’s to Picard’s left, pressed against Picard’s leg with both of his hands resting on Picard’s knee, and he’s far too observant to have missed Picard’s reaction.

In French, Picard replies, “I’m okay.” He wants to smooth out the crease between Louis’s brows, but he settles for squeezing his shoulder instead. “Needles just make me nervous.”

“Because they hurt?”

Picard hesitates. A lie would be easier, but the truth is a chance to connect, to reveal his own trauma—to show Louis that he’s not alone in his. Quietly, he confesses, “They make me nervous because they remind me of the Borg.”

There’s no French word for Borg, so anyone paying attention could guess what they’re discussing.

“When they assimilated me”—assimilé in French, also easily recognizable for anyone listening closely—“it was…it was like a surgery.”

Louis huddles closer. “They used needles on you?”

“Yes.”

And drills and scalpels and saws.

“But it’s alright,” Picard says quickly. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.” Your father isn’t hurting anymore. “It’s just the memory that frightens me a little.”

“Don’t do it if you’re scared.”

It’s easy to smile then, to chuckle. “Louis, sometimes we must do things that frighten us.”

“I know,” Louis huffs. “You told me that before.”

It’s a conflation—he’s referring to his real father. Picard’s noticed that, occasionally, the line between him and his counterpart is blurred for Louis. He makes a mental note to mention it to Deanna in case it should be addressed.

“Jean-Luc, are you ready?”

Beverly’s voice draws his attention back to the warmth of her fingers on his arm.

“Yes, I’m ready.”

Her touch is clinical and efficient but gentle. It grounds him. Only when she tightens the tourniquet above his elbow does he shift his focus back to Louis, to ground himself there.

“Do you want me to hold your hand?” Louis asks gravely—in English.

Beverly smiles. Geordi also smiles, though he pretends (wisely) to be concentrating on the progress of the RNA analysis.

“No,” Picard says. He moves his free hand to cover both of Louis’s, still resting atop his knee. “But I would like a distraction. Will you talk to me?”

The procedure is over in an instant but at its conclusion Picard is markedly more knowledgeable concerning the many similarities between foxes and cats. He continues to listen until it’s clear that Geordi is ready to report, and then he slides from the examination table and slips back into his jacket.

“Louis, please go check on Deanna.”

She’s been gone a rather long time. He understood when she fled that it was because of whatever emotions passed between him and Beverly when he entered sickbay. He stifled them as swiftly as he could, and he saw Beverly do the same.

“I bet she’s having a snack,” Beverly adds, rather loudly—they must be audible from her office. Hopefully Deanna will hear her and take the hint, linger in Beverly’s office with Louis so that they can discuss the results of the analysis in private.

But Louis hesitates, glances at Geordi over by the main monitor. “What about the test?”

“We already know what the results will be,” Picard replies. “Having proof doesn’t change anything. We’re acquiring it only because we know Starfleet will ask, and we wanted to do the test somewhere you feel comfortable.”

He explained as much that morning. Convinced, Louis nods and leaves the room, heading down the hallway towards Beverly’s office. When he’s out of sight, Picard turns to Geordi and Data.

“It’s official,” Geordi announces. “Louis is not from this quantum reality.”

Picard recognizes the strands of RNA, but he requires Geordi’s explanation to grasp the significance of the accompanying data. The proof indeed changes nothing, except to provide a small portion of the shield he intends to build around Louis.

“Are there any repercussions for keeping someone from another quantum reality in our reality?” he asks.

Geordi and Data exchange glances.

“Well,” Geordi says. “Something like this has never happened before, captain, so I really can’t say.”

“One possibility,” Data interjects, “is that over time, Louis’s quantum signature could eventually align with ours.”

“How much time?”

Data shakes his head. “I do not know. As I said, that is only a possibility.”

Picard nods to himself. “Alright. Prepare the results in a presentation for Starfleet. Pair it with the DNA results.” They may as well prove that his and Louis’s DNA matches even if their quantum signatures don’t.

Geordi collects what he needs and then he and Data move towards the door.

“Commanders?”

They halt at Picard’s call.

“Yes, captain?” Data asks.

“I’d like your presentation finished for review by the end of your shifts tomorrow, and I expect everything in it to be completely accurate and truthful.”

Geordi presses his lips together to hide a smile. “Of course, captain. We’ll get working on it right away.”

When the door closes behind them, Picard turns back to Beverly.

“You seem worried,” she comments.

“I am worried,” he tells her quietly, leaning against the examination table and crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t know what Starfleet Command wants.”

“You’re afraid they want Louis?”

“Yes.”

She sighs and moves closer, lays a hand on his bicep. “I’m afraid of that too.”

It means something to him, that she cares for Louis so much. He unfolds his arms and takes her hand, holds her fingers loosely in his.

“How are you?” he asks.

It’s not something he would typically say, but he doesn’t know how to address everything between them. He hadn’t realized until he and Louis walked into sickbay that he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to act around her in public now. They’re not a couple. They’re not…anything yet.

“I’m fine,” Beverly says, in a tone that implies she’s amused. “How are you?”

Picard smiles in answer, runs his thumb over her knuckles. “Will you come over tonight so we can continue our discussion?”

“Do you want to talk, or kiss?”

“Both,” he admits.

They’re alone. Beverly funneled other patients into the auxiliary rooms for appointments or emergencies so they could have privacy for the RNA analysis. There’s a slim chance of someone walking in on them, or of Deanna and Louis returning, so but it’s probably foolish to kiss Beverly now, but he wants to.

And so he does.

He leans forward and she tilts her chin up as if she was just waiting for him to make up his mind. Picard meant for it to be chaste, just a light sweep of his lips over hers, but Beverly grabs a fistful of his shirt and tugs him closer. He lets out a small sound of surprise but doesn’t resist, mimics the movement of her mouth and parts his lips.

Heat erupts in his belly. Beverly’s a good kisser, and surprisingly…enthusiastic. He would never have guessed that he would be the one trying to slow things down.

Her tongue dips into his mouth, teasing him, but when he tries to chase it, she pulls back and smirks. “I’ll come over with dessert.”

She’s clearly trying to kill him. Or just completely undo him.

Picard doesn’t move. He’s not able to. He takes a deep, steadying breath. “And what will we be having tonight?”

“I haven’t decided yet. Did you like the cranachan?”

“I liked it very much,” he murmurs with a grin.

She rolls her eyes and steps back, slipping out of the circle of his arms. “I meant the actual cranachan.”

Picard chuckles. “I did.”

“Should I bring something Scottish again? Or try something French?”

“It’s up to you.”

“You didn’t like the clootie dumpling, did you?”

“It was tasty. It was just—”

“Too heavy.”

“Too heavy,” Picard agrees.

“Ok, I’ll keep it light.”

“I’ll eat whatever you decide to bring,” Picard pledges. “And I’m sure Louis will as well.”

Beverly tilts her head. “Louis doesn’t seem like a picky eater.”

“He said his parents used to make him try everything, so there isn’t much he doesn’t like.”

“That’s good. Wesley was never very adventurous when it came to eating. Sometimes that was frustrating.”

Picard smiles. He likes it when Beverly shares something from her own experience as a parent in a way that makes it feel as though she considers them equals in the matter.

There’s a sound from the hallway, alerting them to Deanna and Louis’s return. Picard quickly takes stock of himself to ensure he’s presentable—expression under control, no other, more inconvenient physical indications that he was just kissing Beverly. When he’s certain there’s nothing about his appearance that could arouse suspicion, he greets them cheerily and gestures Louis towards the exit.

“Viens, Louis. Will is waiting.”

Louis skips over to Picard’s side, then turns and waves. “Bye, Beverly. À ce soir.”

“À ce soir,” Beverly responds. “I’ll see you two later.”

Picard can’t help looking back once they reach the door. He’s rewarded with a smile from Beverly, warm as sunshine, and an exasperated facepalm from Deanna.

[comeawaystreamingvf]

Come Away Film Streaming VF 2020 Regarder Complet

Come Away Regarder Film - https://come-away-vf.blogspot.com/

Imaginez un mélange de JM Barrie et Lewis Carroll, avec un soupçon de Charles Dickens pour la misère victorienne et une distribution stellaire qui comprend Angelina Jolie, David Oyelowo et Michael Caine, et vous commencez à entendre "Come Away", une reprise engageante de " Peter Pan »et« Alice au pays des merveilles ». Ici, la scénariste Marissa Kate Goodhill imagine que Peter et Alice sont frères et sœurs, élevés dans la maison de campagne idyllique de Rose et Jack Littleton (Jolie et Oyelowo), parents aimants qui élèvent Peter, Alice et leur frère aîné, David, pour être Créatif. et les esprits libres. La maison Littleton est une admiration presque constante, car Alice (Keira Chansa) propose du thé pour son lapin en peluche bien-aimé, son miroir à main est généralement prêt, et comme Peter et David (Jordan A. Nash, Reece Yates) l'ont mis scène l'imaginaire. raid sur un navire abandonné découvert dans une rivière voisine.

C'est un concept intelligent et entre les mains de la réalisatrice Brenda Chapman («Brave»), il est exécuté avec bon goût et une riche palette visuelle. Faisant écho à des films récents tels que "L'histoire personnelle de David Copperfield" et "Enola Holmes", "Come Away" se déroule dans une Angleterre très pluraliste du XIXe siècle, donnant à l'histoire plus de vitalité et de résonance. (En plus de Caine et Derek Jacobi, qui apparaissent dans de brefs camées, le film est honoré par une représentation fantastique de Clarke Peters en tant que personnage au chapeau flamboyant du passé énigmatique de Jack Littleton.) Si le matériel thématique de «Comment Away »peut être parfois difficile et long (le film traite de la mortalité, de la dépendance et des dysfonctionnements familiaux, entre autres angoisses), Chapman l'anime avec les belles couleurs et textures du temps, en s'inspirant des motifs floraux de William. Morris sur les murs de Littleton, les velours et la dentelle extravagants portés par Rose et sa sœur affectée Eleanor (Anna Chancellor, dans sa forme la plus glorieusement imposante). Il y a des moments où la spéculation fanfique de "Come Away" semble très forcée et complètement absurde; l'intrigue probablement inévitable devient sommaire et l'état presque constant de la pensée magique trop collant et doux pour les mots. Mais la société est anoblie par le sens du style de Chapman et par une large gamme de performances, en particulier de Jolie et Oyelowo, ce dernier des producteurs du film. Comme Away, il n'est peut-être pas comparable aux histoires auxquelles il se réfère, mais il brille avec sa propre lumière illuminante et aspirante. PG. Disponible sur demande. Il contient de forts éléments thématiques matures, de la violence, une action fantastique et des images inquiétantes. 94 minutes. Brenda Chapman (Prince of Egypt, Brave) fait ses débuts en tant que réalisatrice avec cette comédie un peu charmante qui gagne de nombreux points pour avoir placé des acteurs non blancs dans des rôles traditionnellement inversés. Come Away (à ne pas confondre avec le récent Come Play) imaginez ce qui aurait pu se passer si Alice au pays des merveilles et Peter Pan avaient été frère et sœur. Alice (Keira Chansa) et Peter (Jordan A. Nash) partagent une enfance imaginative avec leur frère aîné David (Reece Yates), jouant aux pirates et buvant du thé; des épées et un bateau pirate remplacent comme par magie des bâtons et une vieille barque brisée. Ils aiment leur mère Rose (Angelina Jolie) et leur père Jack (David Oyelowo), qui vit en construisant des maquettes de bateaux. Malheureusement, une tragédie se produit, Rose commence à boire et Jack commence à jouer (et perd une vente importante), et c'est à Alice et Peter d'apporter un héritage familial spécial à Londres pour vendre et sauver la famille. Là, ils rencontreront de nombreux personnages et verront beaucoup de choses qui deviendront des éléments des célèbres livres de J.M. Barrie et Lewis Carroll et les fans s'amuseront à relier les points. Comme Away, il décolle plusieurs fois du sol, mais ne monte jamais trop haut; cela semble un peu sans magie. Mais ça vaut le coup d'œil et probablement mieux que Wendy de Benh Zeitlin plus tôt cette année. Gugu Mbatha-Raw apparaît comme Alice adulte dans un dispositif d'encadrement. Pour certains, la perspective que l'ancienne réalisatrice de Pixar Brenda Chapman ("Brave") fasse ses débuts en direct rendra "Come Away" passionnant. Pour d'autres, c'est le concept littéraire du film qui séduit: et si Alice au pays des merveilles et Peter Pan étaient frères? Et puis il y a le casting d'Angelina Jolie et David Oyelowo en tant que parents, qui suggèrent certaines possibilités quant à la façon dont l'histoire peut gérer certaines dynamiques sociales qui sont rarement examinées dans sa période historique - des possibilités que les trolls Internet ont prises. ciblez les commentaires racistes.

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[atinydise]

Ateez reacting to their s/o speaking a bunch of languages

❦ Genre: Fluff/crackhead.

❦ Pairing: OT8.

❦ Word count: 13k.

❦ Requested: Yes, thank you! 🦋 

❦ Masterlist.

❦ Warning: ⚠️I used Google Translation for most of the languages used here! So I apologize in advance if I made mistakes. Feel free to correct me (as someone did already 🥺)! Thank you!

HONGJOONG (Korean)

You were walking hand in hand with Hongjoong. It was a bit cold, so you took the opportunity to stick yourself to your boyfriend, a bit closer than usual. “Are you cold Y/N?” he asked, noticing that you were glued to him. “No… I’m just enjoying your presence.” You smiled at him. “Oh, then I won’t complain.” He tickled your chin before wrapping his arm around your waist. You continued to walk peacefully, enjoying the Christmas lights. Hongjoong was always so happy during this period. He wanted to go out and admire the decoration with you. You were dating for 2 weeks now. It was a fresh and new relationship. Both of you were still a bit shy and awkward sometimes but it was getting better these days.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you.” He suddenly asked you. “Hum… there’s so much thing that you know already.” “In 2 weeks? Come on, tell me your little secrets.” He insisted. “Okay okay…” you chuckled. “My favorite meal is… pizza!” “I knew that already babe.” “Okay what about-” “저기요?” (excuse me) Both of you stopped to look at the schoolgirl standing next to you. “전화 좀 빌릴 수 있을까요? 저는 제 것을 잃어버렸고, 어머니께 전화를 해야 해요.” (Can I borrow your phone, please? I lost mine and I need to call my mom) You grabbed your phone in your bag. “네, 천천히 하다 !” (take your time) You smiled at her. When the young girl went a little bit far away from you to get her privacy, Hongjoong stared at you. “Why you never told me you could talk in Korean?” You tilted your head, “I guess that it’s something you ignored about me.” “왜 우리는 항상 영어로 말해요?” (Why do we always speak in English?) “Because I love hearing your English accent.” You winked. “And can you only speak in Korean or English?” “I can speak more than 10 languages.” You declared. “10?” he shouted, making people staring at you. “Are you serious?!” “Yes, but it’s not a big deal.” The schoolgirl came back and handed your phone before bowing politely at you. “감사합니다!” (Thank you) “천만에요! 지금 집에 가요!” (You’re welcome. Now go home!) “I can’t believe it…” claimed Hongjoong when the girl left. “There’s so many things you ignore about me finally.” You smiled, grabbing his scarf to kiss his cheek.

SEONGHWA (French)

“Wow… a French restaurant.” You said, looking at the brand name. “Yes, it’s a new one. I thought it would be cool to eat here.” Added Seonghwa, arm wrapped around your shoulders. “That’s a really good idea sweetheart.” “Let’s go then,” he pulled you inside. It was a fancy restaurant. A waiter came instantly to guide you to a table. “We are going to spend all of our salary here.” You giggled. “But you worth it.” Seonghwa glanced at you, to see your disgusted face, as always when he says something kitschy. “Then I’m going to order the most expensive things,” you claimed. You couldn’t see it but Seonghwa was probably scared for his wallet. “Sure… sure, go ahead.” He gulped. You held his hand on the table, “I’m kidding Hwa. Relax.” “Why are you calling me Hwa and not Seong?” He suddenly asked. “Because… you are “Hwa-ouh”!” Your boyfriend looked at you without saying anything. A big silence settled between both of you after this bad joke. Seonghwa puffed at you. He couldn’t resist any longer. “That was SO bad! You are such a clown,” he laughed at you. Before you could answer, a man who looked like the boss or the owner of this restaurant came to your table. “Bonjour!” He greeted both of you. Seonghwa bowed a bit, understanding what he just said thanks to his previous concert in France. “Bonjour,” you replied. “Oh! You can speak French?” asked the man. “Un petit peu, (a little bit)” you said in a perfect accent. “Vous avez l’air d’être une experte en français !” (You seem to be an expert in French) “Je fais de mon mieux!” (I do my best) “Très bien.” (good) “Je venais voir si tout allait bien.” (I came to check if everything was okay). “Tout va bien, merci beaucoup !” (Everything’s fine, thank you so much) When the boss went to see another table, Seonghwa coughed to get your attention. “Yes?” “You can’t talk in French?!” “Oui monsieur.” (Yes mister) “I just understood ‘yes’ but this sounds so sexy!” “I can talk more languages, but French is one of my favorites.” “Interesting… but continue to talk in French tonight.” He bit his lip. “Hum… Je m’appelle Y/N, enchantée.” (My name his Y/N, nice to meet you) “I love it…” he whispered. “Okay I’ll stop there before it’s going too far.” You laughed. “Again! Please! Just a last one!” He begged.

YUNHO (Spanish)

“What’s the name of Canada’s capital? Ottawa or Toronto?” Yunho plopped down next to you, on the couch. “Are you watching this TV show again?” “It’s fun.”  You replied. “I should participate. I think I could win.” “You?” Laughed Yunho. “You and ‘win’? In the same sentence?” You threw a pillow at him, “you are so mean!” Yunho grabbed your legs to put it on his laps. “I don’t think I would win though,” he added. “Few questions are really hard but not impossible.” “How the main character in Big Bang Theory is called? Sheldon or Stuart?” Asked the MC. “Sheldon!” you shouted at the TV. “Are you sure?” questioned your boyfriend. “Oh, you replied Stuart, but the right answer was Sheldon,” announced the MC. You looked proudly at your boyfriend. “Yes, I’m sure.” “Look at her being so modest.” He tickled your toes. “How to say, ‘come to eat’ in Spanish?” asked the MC. “This one is hard.” Said Yunho. “Vamos a comer.” You replied easily. “Good answer!” “How do you know that?” Asked Yunho, completely shook. You smirked at your boyfriend. “You ignore that I can talk few languages. Spanish included.” “Really? Why you never told me!” “It’s funnier to see your face.” You stuck your tongue out at him. “You are so evil,” he smirked. “Pero… te gusta.” (but you love it) The look on his face made you bust in laughter. “Si pudiedas ver a tu cara, es muy divertido.” (If you could see your face! It’s so funny) “I don’t understand anything!” He whined. “Lo sé. Es muy gracioso.” (I know, and it’s so funny) “At least, I know where we are going for our summer holiday.” “In Spain?” You asked. “Es une buena idea.” (It’s a good idea) Yunho pocked your tights and belly. “What are you doing?” you giggled. “I’m trying to turn off the Spanish mode.” “Okay okay I stop.” “Thank you! Finally, I’ll understand you.” He smiled. “Should I talk in Chinese then? “Wait what-”

YEOSANG (Dutch)

“Is there a movie you want to watch?” You asked slipping under the sheets. “Black Panther!” Shouted Yeosang. “Again? We watched it 2 days ago?” “But you are always on your phone,” he raised a brow. “You probably watched 20 minutes of the entire movie.” “Okay touché.” You rolled your eyes. “We can watch something else if you put your phone away.” “Okay then let’s go watch Pocahontas.” You smiled widely. “I’m already regretting my words…” he sighed. As promised, you let your phone on the nightstand and cuddled with Yeosang. Just when Pocahontas was about to meet John Smith, your phone buzzed on the nightstand. At first, you just said that you were to call this person back tomorrow. It was pretty late anyway. “You should pick up. Maybe it’s important.” “But you said, ‘no phone’.” “Yes, but it’s a call, so you can have it.” He kissed your cheek. “Okay, I’ll make it quick.” You grabbed your phone and called the unknown number back. “Hello?” you said. “Oh! Nia, het is lang geleden!” (It’s been a long time) Yeosang looked at you. He wasn’t expecting you to speak another language. “Het is zo leuk on nieuws van je te hebben !” (It’s so good to have news from you) “Which language are you speaking?” Whispered your boyfriend. You made a sign to shush him down because you couldn’t hear your friend anymore. “Wanner kom je naar Zuid-Korea?” (When are you coming to South-Korea?) “Korea?” he repeated. “What are you talking about?” “1 minut Nia!” (1 minute Nia), you said before ending the call. “What do you want Yeosang?” “Which language are you speaking and with who?” “It’s dutch and I’m talking, or at least trying to,” you mentioned that he was distracting you from your call. “With Nia, my Dutch friend!” “Why you never told me you could speak Dutch?” “You never asked me! Now shh!” You put your phone against your ear again. “Waar hadden we het ook al weer over?” (What were we talking about?) “I can’t believe it…” he said, sliding on the mattress.

SAN (Japanese)

“Argh Japanese is so hard!” Growled San, bumping his head on the desk. You entered his studio, “are you okay babe? I heard a loud noise.” San turned around on his chair, a pout on his face. He opened his arms widely, making you understand to give him a hug. “What’s happening babe?” You put down your cup of hot chocolate on his desk. “I can’t write lyrics…” he pouted. You sat on his laps, wrapping your arm around his neck. “You are always doing pretty good with lyrics, San. You shouldn’t even doubt about it. Okay?” “I’m doing pretty good with Korean lyrics.” He rested his head on your shoulder. “I don’t get it,” you raised an eyebrow. “It’s not a Korean song?” San shook his head, “it’s for a Japanese comeback.” He pointed at the sheet of paper behind him. “I’m pretty sure you are dramatizing.” “This is terrible, I can’t send this to Hongjoong Hyung.” “Let me see…” you whispered, grabbing the paper. “The lyrics are in Japanese, you won’t-“ “Konna hazu ja nai yo, yoku yatteru tte itte yo, I wanna grow up, susumitai motto*..” you read easily. “Understand…” he finished, surprised. “Yumemita basho oh oh tōku, yukkuri de mo ī, samayowanai yō tonight*...” “How can you read it so easily?” You smiled at him, “probably because I can speak Japanese.” “Really?!” His eyes opened widely. Ready to go out of his eyeballs. “Yes silly,” you flicked his forehead.” And I can say that your verse is pretty good. As always.” He ripped the paper of you hand, throwing it on the floor. “Screw the lyrics! Tell me more about how you learned Japanese!” “Hum… I learned by my own in high school then I went for 6 months in Japan.” “Why you never told me about that?” he asked, almost upset. “You are a whole ass idol, it’s nothing compared to 6 months in Japan or to speak a bunch of languages.” “Wait,” he stopped you. “Firstly, this is not true and secondly… a bunch of languages?!” “Yes? I can speak more languages than you think,” you smirked proudly. San blinked dumbly, not believing the current situation. “Anyway… just focus on your work. Baka.” (Idiot) You stuck your tongue out at him and almost ran away, hoping that he didn’t understand what you said. “Hey! I know it’s an insult! I watch Naruto with Yeosang-Hyung!” He shouted, following you.

*Lyrics from their Japanese song: Better.

MINGI (Portuguese)

“How cute you are!” Giggled Mingi, pinching your cheeks playfully. You wanted to try your new peach make up palette. At first, you thought it was not really well applied and that you skin color wasn’t matching well but Mingi’s giggles and cute compliment helped you to change your mind. “What did I do to be so lucky? My girlfriend is the prettiest and the cutest of all!” He continued acting like if you were a baby. “Mingi, you’ll ruin the makeup with your big fingers!” You slapped his hand. “But I can’t help it, you’re too cute!” He kissed your entire face. You tried to push him on the couch, but he was definitively glued to you. “Mingi! I need to go. I’m already late!” “Can I come with you?” he asked. “It’s a girl’s night.” You simply replied, making him understand that he was a boy. And that boy wasn’t allowed. “I can tie my hair in a ponytail and wear a skirt.” You couldn’t help but to imagine him like that. “Tempting but no. You are going to stay here.” You grabbed your bag and left your boyfriend in the dorm. But before going out, you stared at him. “O bobo.” (idiot) Mingi thought he was dreaming, or he didn’t hear well what you just said. The next morning, when you came back to the dorm, Mingi was sitting right in front of the door. “Stupid?!” he asked you straight, making you shiver a bit. “Good morning to you too babe,” you raised a brow. Your boyfriend was holding an English/Portuguese dictionary. “You told me “o bobo” before leaving.” “Did you really search the word in a dictionary?” “Yes! Now you are the “o bobo”!” You yawned at your boyfriend, ignoring him “okay… I’m going to sleep. Boa noite or whatever.” (Good night) Mingi rolled his eyes, frustrated again and opened the dictionary. “Since when do you speak Portuguese!” “Not only Portuguese… and since a long time now,” you yawned again. “Not only?” he repeated. “Mingi, I’m tired…” “Wait!” He cut you straight, not letting a chance to hop in your comfy bed. “Which languages are you speaking?” “Too much,” you simply replied, kissing his cheek before heading to his bedroom. “Which dictionary I need to buy then…?” he whispered, completely lost.

WOOYOUNG (Italian)

You threw your coat on the coach next to you. “Finally, home…” you sighed, rubbing your shoulder. “Oh Y/N! You are already home.” Smiled Wooyoung exiting the kitchen. “Yes… but today was so exhausting,” you complained. “Really? Maybe you should take a nap. I just started to cook.” He came behind you to gently massage your shoulders. “I would like to rest a bit, but I prefer to watch you doing all of your cooking and stuff.” You replied, enjoying the little message session. “Okay then! So today I will cook Strolombolani-” he started. “Stromboli*.” You rectified. “Huh?” “You said ‘Strombolani”, the real name is Stromboli.” “How do you even know that?” he asked, tightening his apron. “Because I know it.” You sat on the counter, apple juice in the hand. “Do I need to remind you that I spent almost a year in Italy so I enjoyed these incredible recipes.” Wooyoung dropped the spatula he was holding when he heard your comment. “You what?” “What? I already told you that I went to Italy before going to Korea.” “Yes, but you never mentioned that you went there for almost a year,” he almost shouted. “Calmati,” (calm down) you giggled. Wooyoung blinked, his brain trying to process what you just said. “What did you say?” “Just focus on our meal! I’m hungry!” You whined, rubbing your belly. “Come on! Just talk to me in Italian! I love it!” He walked in front of you. “Cucina così non avrò bisogno di ucciderti e mangiarti.” (Just cook so I won’t need to kill and eat you) “You said a lovely thing huh?” he winked. “Yes sure,” you nodded, as if you didn’t threat his life. “Another one!” he asked you. “Just cook Wooyoung!” you sighed, rolling your eyes. “Just something! Please!” He whined, pouting at you. “Se non mangio il mio pasto entro 30 minuti, sarai la prima cosa che mangerò.” (If I don’t have my meal in 30 minutes, you’ll be the first thing I will eat) “Grrr,” he smirked. “This is something hot right?” “Totally.” You lied again. “Again!” “I just want to eat…” you whispered, annoyed.

*Stromboli: an Italian is a type of turnover filled with various Italian cheeses (typically mozzarella) and cold cuts (salami, capocollo and bresaola) or vegetables. The dough used is either Italian bread dough or pizza dough. Stromboli was invented by Italian-Americans in the United States.

JONGHO (German)

“Ich bin Jongho, schön dich zu treffen!” (I’m Jongho, nice to meet you) You stopped right in front of Jongho’s bedroom door. “Danke, dass Sie gekommen sind-” he paused. (Thanks for coming) You stuck your ear on the door. “Kommen zu-’ he stuttered. (Coming to-) You cracked the door quietly and glanced at your boyfriend who was laying on his bed. His head was almost buried in the book he was reading. “Are you okay Jongho?” you asked. “Yes, why?” he sat correctly on the bed, smiling at you. “Do you need something?” “No. I just heard you talking alone. I was curious to know what’s going on.” He patted the spot next to him, making you understand that you needed to sit here. “I need to practice few sentences in German for the world tour.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and delicately kissed your forehead. “I’m sure you are doing good.” You grabbed the book off his hands. “My accent is terrible,” he chuckled. “Okay practice with me,” you closed the book and stared at Jongho. “You can’t even talk in German,” he giggled. “Oh really?” You grunted. “Hallo, mein name ist Y/N.” “Did you just say, ‘hello my name is Y/N’?” “Exact,” you smiled proudly. “You never told me you could speak German,” he smiled. “I can speak more languages than that, but German is one of my favorites.” “Really?” You nodded, “Deutsch ist wirklich hübsch, ich mag es.” (German is really pretty, I like it) “I like to hear you talking German. Even if I don’t understand anything.” He said shyly. “Übe, damit wir gemeinsam auf Deutsch sprechen können.” (Practice so we can talk in German together) Jongho smiled at you, “I don’t understand, but yes please.” “Yes please?” You laughed. “Yeah! I don’t know a word you said but I’ll do everything you want if you continue to talk German!” “Silly,” you giggled, punching his arm. “Only with my German teacher,” he smirked. “Du bist so anhänglich!” (You are so clingy) “Teach me more please,” he grabbed your chin to kiss you.

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Friday 9 November 1838

7

12 40

fine morning F60° at 8 ¾ - and breakfast till near 10 – then enclosed the 2 little notes for Miss Gassie in an envelope with bien des compliments de la part de Madame Lister written just within the envelope and wrote note in my own name to Dr. Double n°3 Quai Voltaire to ask him to come this evening or tomorrow after 7 – out at 10 ¼ - A- and I in very decent landau remise – to Madame de Bourke’s n°53 R. du faubourg St. Honoré – sent for Miss Gassie and she sat a minute or 2 in the carriage – I then went to Madame de B- in her dressing gown and sat 10 minutes with her – very glad to see me – asked me to dine with her at 6 on Sunday – then to Perrelet fils r. de Rohan to leave our watches – the cocher could not find the street, must time lost – left my watch and Madame P- (he out) having no watch to land me, I took A-‘s for the day – 12 before we got to Perrelets’ – then sought in vain for Madame Hautecoeur – then chez Mr. Monod Rue du faubourg St. Martin n°80 to see if he knew of any Swiss at the protestant school as lady’s maid – would ask his mother and gave me the address of the maitresse of the pension – Madame Langeland, au pensionnat protestant, 2 Rue des deux portes St. Jean – then Passage des Panoramas – A- had a little gateau de riz and we had each a meringue – then bought gloves and ribands chez Watelin in the passage till 2 10 – then to the bank Ferrère Laffitte, r. Laffitte, n°36 – exchange 25/40 = 1270 fr. for circular £50 n°1074 then to Galignani – no newspaper kept for me – so took the last 4 days and ordered the paper to Meurices’ till Wednesday morning inclusive and paid en tout that remained owing 14/50. and A- bought a couple of books – then r. des neuve St. Augustin des  Madame Contant who gave us the address of Madame Hautecour r. des vieux Augustins – then ordered black velvet bonnet to be 65/. for myself and to come home on Monday – then r. de l’université n°5 at 4 20 Madame de N- received me after I had waited some minutes and read an interesting article in the Journal des Debats of this morning on the Mediterranean – to be a lac Français – Madame de N- very civil and glad to see me, ditto ditto Mr. de Noé who came in just before I came away at 4 40 A- had been crying all the time then to r. St. V. brought back the things we left there – home at 6 10 – ordered the coachman to take another pair of horses and go for Miss Gassie at 7 ½ - dinner at 6 20 – had just done when Miss Gassie came – about ¼ hour after Dr. Double came – shewed Miss Gassie into my room where she sat while Dr. S- staid – A- should take a course of medicine here for 2 or 2 ½ months – should go and see her aunt for 10 days and then return – to think of this and he would come gain same hour on Monday evening – A- much improved – and this 2 ½ months medicine would he was sure complete the cure – kept Miss Gassie till after 9 – then sat talking to A- till near 10 – nous verrons – poor A- Doctor Double leads her   we shall probably return  I must settle my affairs as well as I can and manage as well as I can but she leaves me no liberty she is like an incubus on me  I must see about it    she will be no better I think for Double’s medicine than his bathing at the Pyrenees   but she will be a good friend to doctors by and by Had Josephine and wrote all the above of today till 10 ½ at which hour F65 ¼° - then at accounts till 10 ¾ - then at memoranda etc. till 11 10 – then sat looking over 1 thing or other till 12 – Knight on the phallic worship etc.

[baron-alexbarnes]

Lee Bodecker x reader (part 6 in english)

Masterlist (in english)

Masterlist (in french/en français)

Part 5/ Part 7

Paring: Lee Bodecker x reader

Rating: description of domestic violence

A/N : So i'm so sorry for mistakes.I don't reread much because I don't really have time with my classes but I'm going to proofread the chapters this weekend. And I know the cell phone wasn't invented yet at that point in the story but I thought it was more practical. Otherwise, I've already written 14 chapters and I think I'll write 2 or 3 more chapters after that and maybe do a season 2 if you like it

------

"I have enough rooms" "Where do you live to have three rooms? " She scratched the back of her neck. "I only have two, but... They are brothers, they can sleep together! "She was sitting down. "And you're counting on protecting them? "Yes" she had one leg over the other. Looking at him with determination "I'm coming with you" she raised her hands in the air for a few seconds and let them fall back on her legs. "Well, let's go" he walked out of the office, followed by [Y/N]. "The boys were still sitting. Aaron was asleep. In his brother's arms. Lee looked at the two children.

-

Lee was still upset with [Y/N]. And she could feel it. Nobody spoke. Anyway, she had a headache. She put her head against the window, but regretted it, because because of the bumps in the road, it was pressing on her wound. So she put her head on his shoulder. Lee immediately began to relax. His anger had dissipated a little, but it was still there. When he arrived at [Y/N]. She was sleeping on him. He stayed like that for a while. Enjoy. He thought that if he finally said what he felt then he could protect her. But if he told her... She would be in danger with him. It was contained that these tantrums were often too strong, but he couldn't help it.

-

"It's only 11 o'clock" Lee looked at [Y/N]. "We have to work" completed the Sheriff. She shook her head. "You have to work. I'm on vacation" he looked at her "Will you leave the investigation to me? "She looked up, "I'll try the way of the children, find another one" he sighed and let her go to the children. She put her hand on the shoulder of the big brother. We have to go. "He nodded and [Y/N] picked up his brother. "Let's go" Charles stood next to her. "Is my brother safe with you" she nodded "You can trust me" He nodded and looked behind him. "I can stay here, I want to help the sheriff." She looked at the door where Lee had gone. And she nodded. "He smiled and took it. [Y/N] went to the sheriff's office. "What's wrong with you now? " "Charles wants to stay with you" he looked up surprised "Why?" "To help you" Lee nodded. "Yeah, but who's not staying in my way" she stood there smiling "What now? "She shook her head. "Nothing" she left to check on the kids. "You can go" "Thank you very much" she took her brother back and he ran off.

-

Lee was sitting at his desk. Talking with Charles, "So this man was dressed in black. Long hair. And his eyes? "The boy thought, "Blue! Well... Blue-green" Lee noted. "You told me he was six feet tall" "Yeah, he was tall but he wasn't a giant" he nodded "So we can take the Hulk off the list" Charles laughed. "Y/N] is that your girlfriend? "He looked at the young man "No" "Then your wife?" "We're childhood friends... Well, friend is a big word." The boy reached for a book in the library. "You look at her the way my father looked at my mother" "Which is? "Love, but with a lot of anger. My father will never admit it... But he really loved my mother, he could have done anything for her, but she was not to be disobeyed" "Otherwise what?" Lee rested her legs on her desk "She would end up strangled against the wall. He promised me he wouldn't hurt any woman." The sheriff bowed his head. "What do you think? The boy put the open book down on his legs. "If you really love a person. You trust them! You don't have to strangle them for something they're not responsible for or even for not answering their cell phone once. Lee was shocked by Charles' wisdom. How he wished he could be like him. "You know... I had a neighbor my age. My dad always pushed me toward him, because he said, 'The more people you know, the more people will like you. The more people you know, the more people will like you. From there, you can do anything," but he was violent. And one day he told me that his father had told him to hammer a nail in when he got mad. He managed to fill a whole board in a week" "and that calmed her down? "Lee was like, interested in the boy. He's all about if he's not. He got everything he didn't get. "Yeah, last week he hadn't driven any nails. He was proud as he showed me the new board" he smiled "I don't want to go back there" The Sheriff frowned "Why?" The teenager sighed "Everyone was so... "Don't do this, God won't accept you" that it caused Aaron a lot of doubt. Now he's all I have. If I lost him" Charles shed a tear "I have to be strong for him" Lee smiled "You know... My mother always said, "A man who cries is not shameful, it's even touching" I never cried because of what they say. As they say that men must be strong" Charles smiles "We look alike"

-

Y/N] had arrived home. She took Aaron in her arms and opened her front door with some difficulty. She put her keys on the kitchen bar and laid the child on the couch. She grabbed some clean sheets she could find and made the bed for the two children to share. Then she began to think. If Lee would be here... He's going to sleep here. So he'll take her bed. She sighed at the thought of sleeping on the couch. It's not very welcoming to ask your guest to sleep on your couch. Especially since we're talking about Bodecker. She shook her head. And finished the bed. Then she went to her room and put away the files she was working on. Made her bed. And went downstairs. Looked over at her couch, but Aaron was gone. "Aaron?" She figured he'd gone to the bathroom or maybe he was thirsty? He could have asked her. "Aaron?" She moved closer. And [Y/N] saw the door open. She rushed over when she saw him sitting on the stairs "oh you're here" he nodded and she gave him a hug "I didn't mean to worry you, I'm sorry" she shook her head "it's okay" he looked ahead "it looks cool your house" "it was my childhood home. I had a lot of fun here, there's even a pond in the back. "He looked at her with a smile. "My house was simple. There was just a small garden" he lowered his head "I hope you find a good family with a good garden" she smiled sorry for him. Her head jerked up, "You... Can't you adopt me? Please! I'll do the housework and anything else you want! Charles can go shopping, and even drive me to school. We won't be a bother to you and your husband" "I'm sorry, Aaron, but I'm just passing through here, I'll be leaving soon. I can't, you keep. And I don't have a husband" She smiled, but he looked so disappointed, it broke her heart. "The Sheriff is not your husband?" She blushed and shook her head "what a funny idea. Of course not."

[lumau]

Send me a Ship and a Number and I will Write a Kiss: 50 for Froststorm?

Thanks for the request! This is extremely fluffy... I hope you like it!

A kiss out of love / Froststorm

... in which I propose the idea that Ao Shun speaks French with an exaggerated accent when he wants to make Li Ming laugh, and it rarely fails.

For all readers who need it – Scroll down for a version with added translations for the French bits. Oh, also – neither English nor French are my first languages, btw.

“Aaah, n’est-ce pas beau?”

Ao Shun straigthened to his full height and inhaled deeply as he stepped up to the banister. They had just climbed the sweeping stairs of the Palais Longchamp and stopped in the shade of the colonnade to enjoy the view of the waterfall. The Durance fountain was most impressive when seen from below, but up here a light breeze cut through the summer heat, making it a lot more bearable. Ao Shun himself did not mind the tight air, but he knew that it could take its toll on Li Ming.

It had been a while since they had the opportunity to stay in Marseille for a while, and even longer since their last proper time off together. On the rare occasions where both of them were able to get away from their respective duties for a few hours simultaneously, they had always liked to come here in the past.

The Palais d’Eau was a beautiful sight, and while the chatter of the tourists could be somewhat annoying, the crowds also provided a welcome anonymity. Ao Shun prided himself not to be seen as a tourist himself though, so he had taken to practice his respectable, yet rather accentuated French whenever they might be overheard.

“Quelle bonheur de pouvoir enfin revenir ici!”

A noise that sounded like a small chuckle made him turn around. The expression on Li Ming’s face was just a little too politely blank to be completely innocent.

“Quoi?” Ao Shun raised an eyebrow.

“Rien, mon seigneur. Je profitais juste de la vue.”

His French was just as perfect as everything else about him, with an easy flow and natural intonation. Almost annoyingly perfect, Ao Shun thought. But of course that was his personality, and, after all, what had made him his assistant, and part of what he appreciated so much about him.

“Tu moques ma prononciation?” he inquired with a grim look of faux indignation.

This time Li Ming could not hide the smirk on his face.

“Tu te moques de ma prononciation, en fait.”

Ao Shun took a quick step forward and grabbed Li Ming around his waist, wheeling him around to pin him against the banister with his body.

“Tu oses insulter ton roi comme ça?” he snarled, his eyes flashing red. The effect was starkly mitigated by his wide, crooked grin, though.

“Je vous demande dévotement pardon, Votre Majesté! Vous êtes trop charmant, je n'ai pas pu m'en empêcher.”

“Tu penses que mon Français est charmant, hm?” Ao Shun asked slyly, “Oh, je n'ai même pas commencé, chéri.”

Li Ming dissolved into a bout of giggles, as Ao Shun feigned to ferociously attack his neck with his teeth, alternating nipping and kisses with drawling French pet names.

“Mon beau… mon loulou… mon petit chou...”

“Stop it!” Li Ming exclaimed, laughing. “I give up! I will never mock your French again!”

Ao Shun let up on him and watched as he caught his breath. Li Ming’s flushed cheeks, his bright eyes and relaxed, gleeful expression were such a beautiful sight to him. He rarely let his guard down that much, especially in public. A sudden rush of fondness overcame Ao Shun, wondering how he could love this icy dragon just as much as he did.

He reached his hand out behind Li Ming’s neck and pulled him into a long, deep kiss, that left both of them breathless again.

“What was that for?” Li Ming gasped as they parted.

Ao Shun looked at him with affection.

“You. Just you.”

Li Ming blushed crimson and dropped his gaze, but Ao Shun caught the broad smile curling his lips. He stepped back and held his hand out to him.

“Aux Musée des Beaux-Arts?”

“Mais oui, mon amour.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

v   with translation    v

“Aaah, n’est-ce pas beau?” (Ah, isn’t it beautiful?)

Ao Shun straigthened to his full height and inhaled deeply as he stepped up to the banister. They had just climbed the sweeping stairs of the Palais Longchamp and stopped in the shade of the colonnade to enjoy the view of the waterfall. The Durance fountain was most impressive when seen from below, but up here a light breeze cut through the summer heat, making it a lot more bearable. Ao Shun himself did not mind the tight air, but he knew that it could take its toll on Li Ming.

It had been a while since they had the opportunity to stay in Marseille for a while, and even longer since their last proper time off together. On the rare occasions where both of them were able to get away from their respective duties for a few hours simultaneously, they had always liked to come here in the past.

The Palais d’Eau was a beautiful sight, and while the chatter of the tourists could be somewhat annoying, the crowds also provided a welcome anonymity. Ao Shun prided himself not to be seen as a tourist himself though, so he had taken to practice his respectable, yet rather accentuated French whenever they might be overheard.

“Quelle bonheur de pouvoir enfin revenir ici!” (What bliss to finally return here!)

A noise that sounded like a small chuckle made him turn around. The expression on Li Ming’s face was just a little too politely blank to be completely innocent.

“Quoi?” Ao Shun raised an eyebrow. (What?)

“Rien, mon seigneur. Je profitais juste de la vue.” (Nothing, my lord. I was just enjoying the view.)

His French was just as perfect as everything else about him, with an easy flow and natural intonation. Almost annoyingly perfect, Ao Shun thought. But of course that was his personality, and, after all, what had made him his assistant, and part of what he appreciated so much about him.

“Tu moques ma prononciation?” he inquired with a grim look of faux indignation. (Are you mocking my prononciation?)

This time Li Ming could not hide the smirk on his face.

“Tu te moques de ma prononciation, en fait.” (It’s actually “Tu te moques de ma prononciation”.)

Ao Shun took a quick step forward and grabbed Li Ming around his waist, wheeling him around to pin him against the banister with his body.

“Tu oses insulter ton roi comme ça?” he snarled, his eyes flashing red. (You dare to insult your King like that?) The effect was starkly mitigated by his wide, crooked grin, though.

“Je vous demande dévotement pardon, Votre Majesté! Vous êtes trop charmant, je n'ai pas pu m'en empêcher.” (I devoutly beg your forgiveness, Your Majesty! You are just too charming, I could not stop myself.)

“Tu penses que mon Français est charmant, hm?” Ao Shun asked slyly, “Oh, je n'ai même pas commencé, chéri.” (You think my French is charming? Oh, I haven’t even started, darling.)

Li Ming dissolved into a bout of giggles, as Ao Shun feigned to ferociously attack his neck with his teeth, alternating nipping and kisses with drawling French pet names.

“Mon beau… mon loulou… mon petit chou...”

“Stop it!” Li Ming exclaimed, laughing. “I give up! I will never mock your French again!”

Ao Shun let up on him and watched as he caught his breath. Li Ming’s flushed cheeks, his bright eyes and relaxed, gleeful expression were such a beautiful sight to him. He rarely let his guard down that much, especially in public. A sudden rush of fondness overcame Ao Shun, wondering how he could love this icy dragon just as much as he did.

He reached his hand out behind Li Ming’s neck and pulled him into a long, deep kiss, that left both of them breathless again.

“What was that for?” Li Ming gasped as they parted.

Ao Shun looked at him with affection.

“You. Just you.”

Li Ming blushed crimson and dropped his gaze, but Ao Shun caught the broad smile curling his lips. He stepped back and held his hand out to him.

“Aux Musée des Beaux-Arts?” (To the Museum of Fine Arts?)

“Mais oui, mon amour.” (Yes, my love.)

[whumpiary]

[content warning: implied dubcon/noncon, threatened noncon, abuse of power, victim blaming]

-

“Harley. Thank you for coming up, my love”

Harley feels their breath hitch. Just barely. Just a little. Nothing good comes from Christopher using pet names.

But it would be fine, they reminded themself. They knew it would be fine, just like they had known Colette was going to be in a completely terrible mood this morning and like they knew tomorrow was going to be a bad day.

But tonight, everything was going to be fine.

“Come in, take a seat,” Christopher says from the desk, finishing up whatever he’d been working on on his laptop and training his attention on them “Colette brought some biscuits up. Do you want any?”

“No, thank you,” Harley says, sitting on the chair across from his desk. Christopher smiles and grabs one for himself instead, breaking off small pieces to eat.

“You’re enjoying your new classes?”

“Yes. Very much, thank you”

“Et comment se porte votre français?”

“Ça se bien- passe bien… mais… je ne suis pas… uhh… aussi rapide… apprendre que j'espère”

“Ça va. Vous serez un expert en un rien de temps,” Christopher says warmly, a little shrug like it’s no big deal “You’ll keep pushing yourself until you’re the best you can be, won’t you?”

“Of course I will.”

“Of course you will,” Christopher repeats affectionately. “That’s what I like about you Harley.”

Harley smiles despite themself, ducking their head in an attempt to hide it. There’s something almost paternal about Christopher. Affectionate and gracious is an easy way, like he doesn’t have to think about it. His praise warms them like the afternoon sun might. Gentle and natural and sweet.

“Tell me Harley, are you happy here?”

“At your Estate?”

Christopher inclines his head.

Harley looks at the fire, considering the question. They prefer not to lie, when they can help it. Particularly not to a man like Christopher. 

Penance had been difficult, when they’d first arrived, but Harley hadn’t had to give it for nearly nine months now. It was shockingly easy to avoid going. Just keep your head down. Toe the line. And the line was remarkably easy to toe. You just had to do what you were told. Harley was good at that. Always had been, more or less.

The hardest challenge Harley had had recently was fitting in the extra tutoring sessions they’d requested but again, they’d requested the extra sessions. They’d wanted to do more, to do better. Some of the other charges didn’t seem to understand how to succeed here but Harley did. Listen well, behave nicely, lap up every opportunity to better themselves that they were granted.

Bergen Estate was about choices. You just had to choose for the best.

“Yes, I am,” they say finally “I’m happier here than anywhere else I’d be”

“Good,” Christopher says, brushing crumbs from his hands as he finishes the last of his supper. His gaze lands heavily on Harley’s face “That’s good. I do worry sometimes that I ask too much from all of you”

It’s a loaded comment. A fishing expedition their grandpa would’ve called it. Maybe testing the waters for something, maybe searching for information. They doubted Christopher was trying to trip them up in a lie. They hadn’t lied, for starters, and Christopher wasn’t like that. 

“I think… some of the other charges don’t realise how lucky we are here. They’re not grateful for the opportunities we were given when we were brought here”

“But you are?”

“Of course I am. I’m grateful every day”

Christopher smiles, his eyes grazing over them. He nods, seemingly contented with the answer. Harley breathes relief as Christopher reaches for his tea.

“I have a job that needs doing tonight, Harley. Do you think you could help me?”

Harley all but snaps to attention, holding back as they straighten in their chair, eager for a task. The opportunities to give thanks for everything he had granted them in their time here were few and far between. Just another year and their indenture would be finished. 

“Of course I will, Christopher.”

Christopher smiles, relaxing back in his chair.

“I knew you would, my love,” he says “I have a guest staying tonight. I think you met him last time he was here. Andre Beauche?”

Harley frowns, trying to recall. They have a vague picture of the man’s face, and only a slightly clearer idea of his voice. The only thing they can really recall distinctly is-

“The man with the ugly ties?”

Christopher laughs, eyebrows shooting up in surprise, “Is that how you remember him?”

“Sorry, was that rude?”

“Oh, no, no. Not it all. He’s not here,” Christopher says, waving a hand absently before another laugh grips him “Ugly ties. I love that. That’s great.”

Harley lets themself laugh too then, ducking their head. It’s maybe not as funny as Christopher seems to find it but the ties had really been atrocious.

“Yes. The man with the ugly ties,” Christopher says, letting the last of his laughter shake out “As I said, he’s staying here tonight. He’d like some company for the evening”

Just a second, there is a crack in Harley’s usual crafted calm. Just a small second of faltering before they smooth their expression back to being composed and at peace, like everything is perfect and under control.

Because it is and it will be. Everything will be fine. They’d known that this morning when they’d woken up. They’d known that Christopher would be calling them in here tonight. And that afterwards, everything would be fine.

“Company?”

“Yes, companionship. Entertainment. Whatever you want to call it”

“You mean… like… conversation and things like that”

Christopher leans back in his chair, the barely-there smile creeping into a warm grin as he looks at them. There’s a sense of bemusement on his face. A predatory- no, playful ‘are you really asking me that question?’ sort of look.

“I would imagine that the emphasis would be more on the… things like that, than the conversation,” he says.

Harley can’t remember how breathing is meant to go. They’ve misunderstood. They’re misunderstanding. Surely. Because everything’s meant to be fine. But their intuition has been wrong before too. Maybe they’re wrong about tonight.

“Andre would like to see you in an hour or so, after you’ve had a bath and been able to clean up a bit from your day.”

“I don't… think I understand,” they say gently, trying desperately to keep the soft smile in place. The easy calm. Christopher considers them. His own smile doesn’t shift, but something like violence glints behind his eyes.

“I think you understand perfectly, Harley,” he says, there’s hardness in his voice like the glint of a knife “I think you are being deliberately obtuse and to be honest, it’s not at all flattering.”

Their face falls.

“But… but when I came here. When I… When I signed-”

“As I was saying, he’d like you to bathe first and get changed-”

“Christopher, please-” 

“-Apparently he’s a bit of a germaphobe so we’ll have to deal with that. Now, he doesn’t strike me as particularly violent but-”

"No”

It’s a tiny word, the smallest little whimper, but Harley claps their hand over their mouth as if they’d screamed. Christopher’s smile doesn’t even falter. He tilts his head.

“What was that, my love?”

Harley shakes their head, holding their breath. There is a ringing in their ears that reminds them of a gunshot. They can’t do this. Please, God they can’t do this, Christopher must know that they can’t do this.

“I have to say, I am so excited for you to be stepping up to the plate like this, Harley,“ Christopher says, his eyes hard as he looks at them. Into them. Please, please don’t make me do this. "It really demonstrates how much you’ve grown while you’ve been here. Now as I was saying…” 

Harley is dreaming. They’re dreaming, they have to be dreaming. They’re falling and falling but the room isn’t moving and Christopher is still talking so they must be dreaming. Harley closes their eyes, begging to wake up.

Please, God. Please let this be a dream, please let this be a nightmare. I can’t do this. Please not this, not this, not this. He knows not this. I will do anything but not this, not this. Please, God. Please please please please please- 

"Why don’t I just do it?”

Cassius’ voice is lazy and nonchalant as he pipes up from the chaise in the corner. Harley had barely registered his presence when they’d come in. Sprawled out lazily, a book open on his chest, they’d assumed he was asleep. But now he’s opened his eyes just a crack, propping his head up with his arm as he looks directly at Harley.

They haven’t seen him in a week or so. Not since- Harley, stop breathing. - not since Collette had gone to Penance. Harley straightens even more rigidly, and they can’t help but feel a flair of hatred, even through the fear. 

Christopher keeps his eyes trained on Harley for a long moment before turning in his chair, reaching his hand out towards Cassius, “What was that, darling boy?”

Cassius stands up, discarding his book to the side as he closes the gap between himself and the older man. He moves through the room the same way he does everything; like he owns the place.

“Harley doesn’t want to go, I’m here. Why don’t I just do it?” he settles himself on Christopher’s knee “Mon français est mieux que le leurleans”

He leans forward to press a kiss to the man’s neck, lips grazing there as he whispers something else – et je sais comment l’utilise – foreign and lilting, that makes Christopher laugh softly.

Slut. Harley thinks, quickly followed by don’t think that, he’s trying to help. Quickly followed by, trying to show you up, trying to steal the attention, trying to prove how much better he is than you followed by why does it matter what he’s doing or why he’s doing it if it keeps me away from the worst?

Harley forces themself to pay attention to the conversation that’s happening in front of them. They have to pay attention, they have to listen.  Please, please, please save me, I don’t want to do this. They have to know what’s going to happen because they have to know it’s going to be fine but they don’t know how yet and this is important.

“I mean like… did he request Harley specifically?”

Christopher hums, pushing Cassius’ hair back with one hand and wrapping the other around his charge’s waist, “Not exactly. Just someone polite”

Cassius smiles, draping his arms around Christopher’s neck “I’m polite as fuck.”

“Case in point, darling,” Christopher says with gleaming eyes “Andre wants someone pretty, polite, and docile. Hardly the adjectives I’d reach for to describe you.”

Harley cringes internally. Pretty, polite, docile. Is that what Christopher thought of them? Was that how they were marked? 

Cassius rolls his eyes with a scoff, then seems to remember the point and softens in the older man’s arms. 

“Well does he want someone who knows what they’re doing or someone scared stiff? Because frankly I think Harls is about three seconds from wetting themself”

Asshole. followed by well he’s right isn’t he? followed by anyone would be scared. Anyone would be right to be scared. He’s the fucked up exception not the rule.

“Besides,” Cassius continues, his voice soft and lilting as his lips graze Christopher’s jaw, presses a kiss to his cheek. Something changes in the way he holds himself. It makes him look smaller and sweeter than he is. “I can be docile.”

The older man closes his eyes, indulging in the attention and Harley looks away. They can never bear to watch when they’re together like that.

“Andre is particular, Cassius. I need someone well behaved”

“I can be well behaved when people want me to be.”

“I’m yet to see that.”

“Well you’ve never wanted me to be, have you Christopher?”

Harley had walked in on them together once, by accident. Fucking against a wall. Christopher had had his back turned to the door and hadn’t noticed the interruption, or at least hadn’t shown it. But Cassius, with his legs wrapped around the older man’s waist, had heard the door click open, and lolled his head back against the wall to lock eyes with them. He’d smiled and held Harley’s gaze with dead eyes as Christopher thrust into him. Harley had practically tasted the salt and the sweat has they watched him licked a long, slow line up the older man’s throat. And then Harley had fled.

“And what if I want you tonight?“ Christopher, talking again. Harley feels unmoored, the conversation of the two men in the room ebbing in and out of their awareness as they stand there, trying to remind themself that this would be fine. Everything would be fine.

"You don’t, though,” Cassius says, “You’re tired and you want to go to bed. You’re done with me tonight.”

Christopher’s eyes are focused on the younger man’s face intently, the barest hint of a smile dancing on his lips. “Is that right?”

Cassius’ eyes flick to Christopher’s belt and then back up to his face with that tilted grin, “Well you will be in about twenty minutes”

Cassius liked it. Everyone knew he liked it. He made sure everyone knew. So what was with the turning in Harley’s stomach? Why did they feel so guilty for letting him save them? They stare into the fire so they don’t have to see any of it. So they don’t have to pay attention even a little.

Christopher interlocks his fingers around Cassius’ waist, considering him.

“You’ll have to prove to me you can be well behaved”

“Of course I will, Christopher”

The soft, lilting voice is back again on Cass’ tongue and Harley snaps their eyes to him as they realise what he’s doing. That’s their voice. That’s how they speak. He’s mocking them. 

Fucking slut.

As soon as the anger flares in their chest again, they close their eyes, turn back to the fire trying to cool it. He’s helping, he’s helping. It doesn’t matter how he’s doing it. It doesn’t matter why he’s doing it. He’s helping. Let him help. 

Harley tries to unfocus their eyes and their attention again as they see Cassius drop to his knees between Christopher’s legs out of their periphery. The sound of a belt buckle. A low breath. The way the fire turns, it looks like leaves in autumn. 

“Harley,” Christopher says as Cassius’ hands start to work “Penance. Tomorrow morning. 10.30”

Harley nods. They had expected nothing less. They can deal with Penance. Penance is nothing. Penance is fine. They had known that Christopher would be calling them in here tonight and that afterwards, they would be fine. So everything was fine.

Harley’s almost certain they see Cassius wince. It’s the tiniest flinch, the slightest creasing of his brow before it smooths out again and then he’s looking up at Christopher’s face with that same mix of adoration and contempt again. It’s a strange sight, on Cassius. Usually he only exists on a sliding scale between arrogant and smug.

It’s strange too to feel grateful to the person you know is going to kill you one day. Or maybe not. Harley’s intuition had been wrong before.

“Harley can go, right?” Cassius says, his cheek on Christopher’s thigh. “It’s not like we need them”

There is one second, then two, of silence after the comment. And in that, Harley manages to find barely enough courage to glance up at the two men across the room.  Christopher is looking at them, inspecting like he’s trying to decide whether to buy them. Cassius is looking up at the older man’s face like he might have the answer to eternal life.

“No. I think they should stay for now. Maybe they’ll learn something,” Christopher says finally, eyes raking over them. And it’s there again, on Cassius’ face, that little flinch. Grief and rage and revulsion, all packaged up in a second, and then gone again. So quickly Harley could’ve convinced themself it had never been there “Besides, I’m liable to change my mind. You both know that.”

Harley looks away again. Someone really should stoke the fire if Christopher wants it to keep going. But if he was going to bed in twenty minutes that probably didn’t matter anyway. The wood expands, cracks, settles. The sound of fire is soothing. Compared to other sounds.

“I have to say Harley…” Christopher says after a few excruciatingly long minutes.

They look at Christopher’s face. Very carefully at his face. Not at the hand tangled through a head of hair. Not Cassius’ hands on his thighs.

“I really am so disappointed in you,” Christopher says as they meet his eyes “I thought you were better than this”

And the knowledge of Penance tomorrow – the promise of pain and exhaustion and humiliation of it — had been fine. But right there, in that moment, with that comment ringing in their ears, Harley wishes they could die.

[madame-coquette]

** I read a mutual’s post and it really got me thinking about a few things, I’m not going to tag them to keep their personal things personal --- but, it did bring up a great point in how people who know multiple languages are mistreated even though they took the initiative to learn not only their own language but another as well. Which is where the question at the end comes in. **

Also, no idea if this needs trigger warnings or not --- but I don’t think so ??? 

When I was in High School my French teacher had a ( natively French ) friend come to the states to visit her and she invited them to come to our class and give a mini lesson on cultural differences and such. 

When I tell you, 20 teenagers aware of their southern accents got real tight-lipped, I mean threat of torture wasn’t gonna be enough to break that silence. I know we were quiet for a full 45 seconds but it felt like an hour. Then, someone let out the first:

“ Bonjour, Madame ____ “.

And we were all cringing because we knew how it must have sounded - 

“ Bawn-Joor Mad-um “. 

( I know we all wanted to crawl unto the cracks in the tile & just die. Obviously, we all had to participate because this was still a graded class. )

It was however, to most of us in the middle section a horrifically awkward ordeal & probably part of why I hate trying to verbalize the language, myself - but, a day later when were in class Mme. Caldwell said something that stuck:

“ ... If you take nothing else away from that experience, I hope it’s that you realize it’s okay to make mistakes and sound silly. When it comes to learning an auxiliary languages it’s about progress, not perfection. Y’all have no idea how excited & surprised Mme _____ was that you could all hold conversations & answer questions en Français. “

Which turned into a full blown discussion about how we were all really anxious about how we sounded speaking in general. We were told that when it comes to Americans going abroad and at least genuinely attempting to speak the language of the people in whatever place they visit - it’s usually very appreciated because we’ve made an attempt to try to familiarize ourselves with the appropriate language in question, even if we don’t get it 100% right the first time.

** All of this is said without diving into the privilege that is the world adapting to mostly  accommodate English speakers as a whole, or looking closer at POC being treated far differently for their use of native languages over the predominant one that may be spoken in the country they visit/live. I don’t have the energy to engage fully with that discussion & give it the proper care that it needs while discussing it at the current time. Forgive me, please. ** 

I know some of you are not natively American and I was wondering if there’s the same backlash in other places that there is here in the US when someone does not have a perfectly complete mastery of the language ??? 

[fandomsfeelsandfanfics]

The Arrangement, Part XII/// Draco Malfoy x Reader

SUMMARY: Draco comes back to you.

WORD COUNT: 1.4k

SERIES MASTERLIST | PLAYLIST

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It had been exactly a week. Seven very long days that seemed to stretch into eternity. It was a practice of self-control to not call Draco. You’d first gotten the urge to call him just a few minutes after he left your flat. But with a sigh, you realized you both needed space.

That didn’t stop Narcissa from trying to get in touch with you. Apparently, she didn’t like the idea of you two “taking a break”. She invited you to her house to talk multiple times and the longer you ignored her, the invitations seemed more like demands. But you didn’t budge. This was out of her control now.

Your focus was no longer on her or “the arrangement”. Your focus was on Draco actually getting better, with or without you. That’s all you wanted.

As the seventh day away from Draco lurched to an end, you began to think that it might be longer. Two weeks. A month. Longer.

You didn’t like that thought but tried to ignore how unhappy it made you. As long as he needed.

You rolled over in your bed trying to forget about Draco long enough to go to sleep. Then your phone rang.

You almost jumped up in anticipation as you had anytime your phone rang this week. But instead, you took a deep breath, preparing yourself for disappointment. It probably wasn’t Draco. Don’t get your hopes up.

But who was it? Who would be calling this late? It had to be 11 or even later. You reached for your phone, feeling your heartbeat grow stronger despite yourself.

You looked at the contact name through drowsy eyes. Your eyes immediately widened when you saw Draco’s name. You answered the phone as quickly as you could and held it to your ear.

Both of you were silent for a moment then another. You really couldn’t believe he was finally calling and after a week of wanting to call him, you didn’t even know what to say.

Finally, from the other end you heard him say, “Hi.” That made you giggle for some reason. The sound of his laughter filled your ear and Merlin, you missed that.

“Hi, Draco.” There was another beat of silence but it wasn’t awkward. Neither of you were in a rush to break it. Just sitting on the phone with each other was enough.

“Can I come over? I know it’s late but I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I think it’s time I see you.”

You instantly forgot how late it was. “Yes,” you said quickly. Maybe a little too quickly but you didn’t care. “Yes,” you repeated, calmer this time.

“Good, I’ll be right over.” The phone went silent and you thought he’d hung up but he was still there. “Bye,” he finally said. And then he was gone again.

You sat your phone down and laid there smiling. You missed him. Then there was a knock on your door. You were up before you could even consider what you were wearing or how your hair looked. You had one thing on your mind.

You threw the door open, barely containing your excitement. “Draco,” you said breathlessly. He wrapped his arms around you as his only reply.

“I have missed you so much.” He couldn’t put it into words really. His hands squeezed your waist. He missed the way you felt and he missed the smell of your hair. He missed everything about you.

Once he felt satisfied with the hug, he let you go. You took him in. Somehow, in a week he looked a lot different. His stubble had grown out but it didn’t quite remind you of how he used to look. It looked natural especially since he was wearing sweatpants, a white shirt, and a cardigan, which was the most dressed down you’d ever seen him. He looked calm.

“I missed you too. Sit down, get comfortable.” You closed the door while he made his way to the couch. When you looked back at him, you saw his eyes roaming over you. Taking in every inch of you that he hadn’t seen in a week. Who knew a week could be so long.

You say across from him on the couch, turning to completely face him. “So, how’ve you been?”

“Dry. Incredibly dry, which is impressive for me. You know, I haven’t had one drink this week?” You we’re shocked but you tried not to let it show. “That sucked because there have been very few weeks of my life where I’ve wanted to drink more than this one. I was alone, like completely alone all the time. I locked myself up in my flat and didn’t talk to anybody. Well, I sent my mom a letter so she didn’t think I’d died or something but other than that nothing. It was just me and my head.

“I was surprised that I didn’t really think about drinking much. I thought about life and my past and my future but mostly I thought about you.” He put his hand in his pocket and started fiddling with something in there.

“And?” You leaned forward curiously.

“And I’m tired of this. Drinking and partying and all this shit, it’s exhausting and it’s ruining my life. It almost ruined the best thing in my life. If you were smart you would’ve went running for the hills when you saw me at my mum’s party.” At the time, that wasn’t really an option. He didn’t know that. “But you didn’t. And you should’ve ran after you cooked me breakfast and I was an arsehole. And you should’ve ran after Paris but every single time you’re patient and understanding with me. So, either you’re really dense or you’re some type of angel.”

You laughed when he said that. You weren’t nearly an angel. Maybe a little stupid but he made you that way. “I’m serious. I don’t know but I know I don’t deserve you. You’ve taught me so much and I’ve grown so much because of you and it’s only been a few months. You helped me mature enough to be able to say that even if you’ve finally came to your sense and decided to never see me again, I’m okay with that. I’m glad for the time we had ‘cause it showed me how beautiful life can be without any extra...boosts to the senses. I’m ready to move on from that.”

You were about to tell him that when it came to him you’d probably never come to your senses, when he continued. “But I hope you haven’t decided to call it quits cause otherwise this is gonna be a little embarrassing.” He pulled his hand out of his pocket and he was holding a ring. You were too stunned to do anything. “I was gonna do this our last night in Paris but well...”

“Draco, where’d you get this?” You didn’t know much about diamond rings but it looked beautiful and expensive. There was one big diamond in the center surrounded by smaller diamonds and there were more diamonds lining the gold band.

“When we went shopping and I went to that jewelry store. It was in impulsive buy but it felt right. This feels right.” It was crazy. It was ridiculous. It had only been a few months and there had been so many highs and lows but Draco was right. This felt right.

“Listen, I’ve still got a lot to figure out. I need therapy and time but I’m gonna work on myself. And I know I don’t deserve it but I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you give me one more chance?”

You didn’t know if you believed in soulmates. But from the very first second you met Draco to the Yule ball to the war to the arrangement and Paris, you felt connected to him. Like there was something constantly pulling you together. No matter how far you strayed something always brought you back. And every single moment, every single fight, and every single smile brought you here, to him proposing to you in sweatpants on your couch at midnight. For some reason, nothing could’ve been more perfect for the two of you.

“Yes.” You saw the surprise in Draco’s face for a second before it was lost to joy. And then he was hugging you and kissing you. “En français, oui.” He laughed. That’s what you missed most, his laugh.

[pink-jindallae]

Night - NSFW

[Nathaniel/Candy] NSFW and a tiny bit hurt/comfort because I'm evil. The story happens after Nathaniel told everything to Candy in episode 11, and they sleep next to each other… But not in my world. Come on Beemove, let us fuck Nathaniel you coward. Words: 4349 Note 1: Candy is not named so you can imagined whatever name you want. Note 2: Y a-t-il des francophones intéressés par la même histoire en français Note 3: I’m writing the same story with Nath P.O.V ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) WARNING: heavily smutty. I mean, it’s basically a PWP lol

Candy P.O.V.

Nathaniel and I have spent all the evening to talk. He told me the whole story and I'm thankful he was honest. I know it was hard for him to confide such a secret to me but I couldn't bear anymore lies. He explains everything in details; what had happened, how alone he has felt, how lost he is now and more than anything; how he is willing to change for me. I could only listen, his shaking hands between mine to encourage him. The sky is already dark when Nathaniel has decided to leave. According to him, it's dangerous to stay too long in my room and I struggle to squeeze the feeling of anxiety that seizes me. Would the guys he works for come here? As if guessing my thoughts, he reassures me right away, a smile on the corner of his lips. "Relax. They don't venture into the campus." he said to me as he got up from the bed. "Then I don't understand." I reply, standing up as well to face him. "What's so dangerous?" His smile stretches, more suggestive this time, and his eyes shine with what appears to be mischief. I suddenly feel like a little mouse caught between the claws of a cat. He plays with a lock of my hair for a moment before answering. "You don't guess?" "I…" I'm interrupted by his fingers gently brushing my neck once he puts my hair behind my ear. My throat is dry; I swallow my saliva somehow and try to keep my eyes in his. "You?" he inquires with a muffled voice, taking a step forward. "… don't know." I gasp, breathless. My head is completely empty. He is so close that I can't think properly and I'm under the impression that the situation amuses him a lot. I hear him chuckle inwardly. "Really?" He leans his head near my ear and his breath ruffles my skin, making me shiver. "It's embarrassing for me if you pretend not to understand." His tone is warm and coaxing. A pleasant wave runs down my spine, from the nape of my neck to my lower back. The heat is rising in me, the temperature of the room is almost reaching an erotic degree. He is the danger. All my senses go crazy and he knows it, he plays along insolently. I refrain from chewing my lip, it would only give him too much satisfaction. Although, my eyes close unwillingly as the tip of his index moves aside the thin strap of my tank top with a tender stroke. I removed my tartan blouse earlier, only wearing a skinny piece of clothes that doesn't cover my flesh greatly… and he likes it. A lot. His lips rest on my bare shoulder, an indecent sigh escapes mine. Did I just moan like that? It's so embarrassing... Encouraged by my docility, he pecks my skin bit by bit, knotting a necklace of kisses on my collar bone while his hands quietly rest around my waist. I arch against him, already seduced, and tilt my head to the side to grant him a better access, letting myself be carried away by the sensuality of this moment. The fight is already lost. "If you say nothing I won't stop." he whispers. His breathing is hard, as if trying to control himself. He presses me to reply, but what was his question again? Did he even ask me something? His touch breaks my train of thought and I forget to answer when he goes up my throat languidly. My fingers are clutching his powerful torso. He kisses my cheeks, my nose, each of my eyelids and then my forehead. I grow impatient and bring my lips forward... Only to be met with a touch barely perceptible. I lose his warmth out of the blue. He has just stepped away. "Sorry sweetheart, time's up. I should go home now." He is smiling tenderly with no more trace of malice in his eyes. My only reaction is to blink, puzzled. Didn't he just say he wouldn't stop? What the hell is this sudden change of behavior?! He playfully ignites a desire in me then dares to move away, acting like nothing has happened! It's not fair to toy with my body. He knows it works! The worst part of all is his tinkling laugh as he sees me glare at him. "Do you think that's funny?" I pout, crossing my arms. "A little bit, yes." Here he is again playing with my hair. "Don't be mad, princess. You have no idea how much I wanted to keep going. But no answer no special cuddle. See you tomorrow." He plants quick peck on my forehead and then turns around ready to leave. Before he walks through my door, I grab his jacket to stop him. He seems surprised because I notice his pupils widen a little. "Nath, wait! I ..." "Yes?" he asks without hurrying me. My cheeks flush and I look down unable to meet his golden eyes. Why do I feel so shy? It's not like we've never done it. Okay, last time was years ago. But I'm not a newbie and I also did it with other men after him, although I must admit it's been a while. And yet, I am troubled to the very depths of my being in front of Nathaniel. "My roommate is not here tonight ..." I resume in a very small voice. Come on, I can do it. "She's away for three days and I ... well ..." My statement has captured all his attention. He quietly closes the door and spins completely to face me. He doesn't move though. On the contrary, he leans against my door with his arms firmly crossed against his chest. "So what? What do you want?" he demands now more urgently, contrasting his apparent calm. His eyes are feverish, fogged by a spark that isn't unknown to me. His breathing has quickened again. He wants me. My muteness makes him speak again: "I already told you last time but I don't mess with indecision." His tone is agitated but firm. "If it's me you want then say it frankly." Nathaniel is starting to get impatient; he tightens and loosens the grip of his hands on his biceps a few times. After a deep breath, I move unsteadily towards him and gently put my hand on his own. He uncrosses his arms without flinching and lets me entwine our fingers together while I tiptoe to steal a kiss. He refuses to move an inch since I still haven't said anything. I feel him stiffen under my other palm that strokes his arm and lingers on his chest. His annoying cloak keeps me from enjoying the feeling of his muscles, so I hasten to slide it over his shoulders. Stubbornly not batting an eye, he observes me without rejecting me as the garment falls heavily to our feet. "You still haven't answered me." he murmurs with a short breath. I shush him by putting a finger on his mouth and caress tenderly the scar on his lip. His body is tight as a drum when I kiss his jaw. A plaintive growl scrapes his throat that lets out my name just after I reach his neck. Our roles have switched and I'm the one who dominate this. I'm so thrilled. If Nathaniel wants to play with my senses and leave me cowardly the next moment, I'm going to beat him at his own game. He won't touch me until I say so. I notice an incandescent glow in his golden eyes when I detach myself from him, mingled with an unmistakable disappointment. With a mischievous smile, I grab his necklace, guide him to my bed, and push him; he compliantly falls on the mattress, straightening himself on his elbows as I straddle him. He's smirking, the flame that I have lit in his eyes shines even more intensely. "As usual you prefer being in charge. That didn't change." My cheeks flush in spite of me at the evocation of this memory. I remember us years ago in my teenage bedroom, in the same position after I had removed his top. I had even dared to say I wanted him. He seems pleased by my reaction because his smile widens. He must have guessed what I was thinking about, but I won't allow him to perturb me. I gently pull on his necklace to reduce the distance between our faces. We're so close that his breath tenderly caresses my cheeks. "You speak too much." I seal our lips again and he responds with a lot of eagerness, not insensible to my little game. Our tongues intertwine, tease each other. "And you not enough." he adds, panting between two kisses. Nathaniel lies down more comfortably without separating our lips. With an adventurous impulse, my hands sneak under his shirt to feel his powerful body, tracing the path of his hard abs that contract under my fingers. His heart is pulsing at full speed in his ribcage. I take off his top impatiently, wanting to touch him better. I greedily eye him, not bothering to hide my lust. Damn ... Boxing has carved him a dream body that can drives the holiest nun crazy. His chest lifts at the rate of his irregular breathing, his cheeks are rosy due to our sensual session. This beautiful vision makes me unconsciously bite my lip. I plunge my head into his neck, tasting his skin with more audacity and assurance. I touch, lick and nip all that is now accessible to me. Nathaniel begins to go out of his mind, his hands glued on my side force me to interrupt the lascivious wave of my hips against his. "Let me touch you..." he begs me in a groaning voice. His gaze is imploring and moist. My lover is on the brink of explosion but his request fades in the silence of my room. I remove his hands in no time and blocks them on both sides of his blonde head. "No." My tongue travels lower and lower. Only the sound of my mouth tasting him and his heavy breathing resonate through the place. His belly flinches a little more under the fire of my kisses. I undid the button of his jeans in a rush to free him from the prison of his pants. Excited by my daring initiative, Nathaniel raises his hips up and I pull all his clothes off in one go. Not an ounce of shame streaks his bright eyes. His hard cock stands proudly in front of me, offered to my only desire. I stare him a bit longer to tattoo his feature in my mind. Am I dreaming? It wouldn't be the first time. My fantasy seems so real. He is so beautiful, even more than I remember. This aphrodisiac vision of Nath naked under me sends powerful electric shock in the bottom of my stomach, my femininity wildly craving to be filled right now. But I haven't satisfied all my desires yet ... I grab his callous member and Nathaniel freezes. The slow back and forth motion I impose drags several erotic vocalizes out of his throat. His whole being vibrates to the rhythm of my fingers and his pelvis begins to move at the same tempo. "Fuck…" he swears. His fingers are firmly gripping the sheets. In all honesty, I have to admit that his self-control is impressive. I strive to make him mad but he obediently follows my order not to move. How long will it last? The idea of toying with him further crosses my mind. Too bad, I don't have time to put my plan into action. Before I can understand what's happening to me, I find myself laying under him. My wrists are trapped over my head by one of his hands whereas the other one holds my leg to his side. His body deliciously towers over me while his hungry lips are devouring mine with passion. He presses his hardened member against my vibrating center still dressed and a groan escapes me, swallowed by the ferocity of his mouth. Stuck on the bed, I try to release myself from his grip. I so much need to take off my clothes, to feel my bare skin against his. This fabric barrier is so frustrating! However, Nathaniel doesn't give in. His hand tracing imaginary figures on my thigh now goes up my belly in order to grab my tank top and he uses it to tie my wrists. "What are you…" "It's your turn not to move." His eyes say everything: he wants revenge. Without warning, his thumb strokes my naked nipple indecently erected, dragging out a sob of pleasure from me. Needless to say he appreciates my lack of bra. "I see you didn't wear anything under your top." I try to answer but my words die immediately under his mouth on my chest. He languidly sucks my nipple imprisoned between his lip and tongue. He nibbles and I flinch, then he licks as if to ask for forgiveness. I can't do anything except give myself to him and be suppler in his arms. Lost in an ocean of bliss, I hardly notice that he is undressing me. "When one is so beautiful, it's a crime to wear clothes. And it's a bit unfair to be the only naked, don't you think?" I jumped as his fingers slip between my wet folds. Without an ounce of embarrassment, my hips roll to meet him, eager to get a delirious friction. Nathaniel responds to my desire immediately and I utter an acute cry. He lifts his head from my bust - now covered of hickey - and looks at me proudly, his hand still busy at making me insane. Nath… Oh Nath!" I moaned indecently. "Nath please!" I'm not even ashamed to beg him. "You're suddenly very talkative." he laughs sweetly. "You want something?" He finds an evil entertainment in teasing me. My hands are still struggling to free themselves, unfortunately in vain. Whenever I try to say something, he changes the pressure on my clit and makes me unable to structure any coherent word. "So?" His voice seems amused. "I… Ah! I want … Hmmm!" "Yes?" he presses me, softly biting my neck. I'm going to have lovebites there too… "Y-you… I… Aaaah. N-need. Insi- Ah!" Nathaniel pretends to muse on it. "It's not what I wanted to hear." He lazily applies himself to massage the entrance of my vagina without entering it. I need so much to feel him in me. He put me in a real ordeal even though he knows very well what I want. "I say it earlier, didn't I?" he continues in a smooth voice. "No response no special cuddle." "Nath please…" I let out a sob halfway between ecstasy and torment. Watching me so desperate by my inability to articulate any sentences, he stops his torture for a moment and lets me come back to my sense. Catching my breath is difficult. After a few minutes, I eventually manage to express myself. "Take me... Now." "Your wish is my command, princess." I exhale a sigh of relief when he doesn't pray to fulfill my request. His fingers are wasting no time and sink inside me, starting a lascivious movement. Nathaniel skillfully alternates a slow and fast pace, a gentle and strong pressure. I vaguely hear him speak, not understanding what he's saying. I'm too absorbed by the pleasure he is giving me. My eyelids are closed and my body is arched to better accommodate him. However, that's still not what I want. I want him plunged deep inside me. "Nathaniel not your fingers…" I think I heard him laughing softly. "As you want." Except, he doesn't stop fingering me yet. He continues his game whereas his mouth begins a burning path on my skin, starting by the lobe of my ear. Then he goes down and down again. He goes through my throat, between my breasts, then past my belly button ... He spreads my thighs without effort and he swaps his fingers with tongue. I jerk by reflex but he keeps me firmly against the sheets while he laps me like a thirsty man. The pleasure becomes more and more pressing, more and more intense. Almost unbearable. The climax rises in me until the sensation strikes me on the spot, taking me away in a maelstrom of bliss. Oh god. I've just screamed louder my orgasm… People in the dorms may have heard me. For the time being, it doesn't bother me. I just feel so good that I'm not able to care about it. How could I be concerned when Nathaniel is looking at me in such a loving way? His thumb is prolonging a bit more my pleasure while he leaves a tender peck on each of my cheeks. He then brushes my hair gently for as long as I calm down and catch up my breath. After a while, I finally feel my hands being freed and I hasten to plunge them into his golden hair. My lips beg for a kiss that he offers me without resistance. It's tender and sensual, full of love. My hands rub the bare skin of his neck and in an instant, he gets passionate again. All of sudden I realize that his member is still hard against me and I feel bad about it. I want to give him the same pleasure he has offered me… He gets off me though, preventing me to do anything and I soon feel very cold. I miss his warmth already. I sit up, watching him searching for something in the pocket of his pants. "Nathaniel…?" A few seconds later, he pulls out a condom then comes back to me. He gently lays me against the bed and sits between my legs once the protection is put on. And although I can read lust in his eyes, he doesn't penetrate me yet. His gaze is veiled with doubts that squeeze my heart. "Tell me you want to make love with me." he pleads. We've just spent a lot of time into foreplay, so I thought our intentions were clear. Why does he hesitate that much? And why does he look like he's about to cry? Worried, I cup his face between my hands. "What's wrong?" I ask softly. His expression is full of apprehension. I can see his mind ponders. Even so, he just sighs, maybe not knowing how to phrase his emotions. He closes his eyes and lets himself sink into my palms as if to feel them better. "I don't want you to regret being with me." His voice is so weak that it's almost inaudible. He sounds so unsure, so afraid that it hurts. Filled by a tenderness almost maternal, I shower his face with adoring kisses. "Nathaniel… Of course I don't regret anything." "Then please… Say it for me. I… I need to hear it from you." A whiff of love overwhelms me. More than permission, he has been waiting for the proof of my feelings since the beginning. It took me a while to understand that he wasn't just talking about sleeping with me. He doesn't just ask for sex either. He wants to make love. "I want you. Please make love to me." To seal my consent, I place a chaste kiss on his lips. He smiles, grateful and touched. I guide him and finally, he enters me. Inch by inch, he fills the boiling void of my throbbing core and I hum with delight. To feel him better, I tie my legs around his waist whereas he shoves himself deeper. Fully inside, Nath stops and nuzzles my neck. "Love you." he whispers fondly. "I love you too…" A sensual ballet between us follows after. He takes me with a desperate sweetness. The cold metal of his chain necklace grazes my breasts with every single move. Our lips seek and find each other again, our tongues dancing at the same beat as our bodies as his right hand interlaces with mine. Gradually, a new climax is ascending. My hips undulate, prompting him to accelerate, but his pace remains unaltered. I utter a cry of pleasure after a powerful thrust. Nathaniel growls when I dig my nails into his back. His forehead sticks to mine and our twitchy breathing mixes together. "Nath faster." I wail but my supplication has fallen on deaf ears. He keeps going on languidly, only the pressure of his pelvis is changing, softness and strength succeeding one after another. Unlike earlier, the peak is rising in an aching slow pace… I feel it so close and yet so far away. How can something be so good and so painful at the same time? "Nathaniel… I… I need…" My voice is sobbing, nearly weeping. "I know." Yet he is stubbornly denying me. I'm on the edge of release. A little more. Just a little more and I'll sink into madness. Given his obstinacy, I decide to take matters into my hands and try to switch our positions. Maybe if I ride him, I'll be able to impose the pace I desire, the one need right now. However, he doesn't flinch, keeping me under him. Out of options, I start to touch myself. If he doesn't give it to me, I'll do it myself. There, I'm closer… I'm almost reaching it. Against all odds, he doesn't stop me, he even stands on one hand to make it easier for me. He grabs one of my legs, places it on his shoulder and I arch my body to give him a better show. "You're so beautiful…" he breaths. More and more impatient, Nathaniel's cadence begins to break, growing jerkier. He moves my fingers away, switching with his, presses and rolls his index on my swelling bud. And slowly, very slowly, all the nerves of my body are melting in spasm. "Oh Nath…. Yes…" My muscles surrender as I navigate through the wave of pleasure. It's strong and it lasts deliciously. How long, I don't know. And I'm still lost in bliss when I realize that Nathaniel is not far away from his release. He's frowning, eyes closed and sexily focused now on his own pleasure. So handsome. Then he stops and convulses, cumming inside me. The hoarse groan he delivers is so alluring. I want to grave this moment in my memory forever. He needs several seconds before regaining his composure. I can't help a hum when he pulls himself out. He lies down beside me after throwing the used condom into the trash, taking me into his arms immediately. I let myself go against him without a word, too tired anyway. I struggle to stay awake and Nathaniel's fingers drawing circle on my lower back doesn't help either. "I don't want to sleep yet…" I say, yawning anyway. "Why? Do you want a second round?" "The idea is appealing but I'm too tired." "Such a wimp." he jokes and I gently smack his torso. He laughs softly and I can't help joining him. Once we calm down, the silence is enveloping us again. I nuzzle my head near his soothing heart. To be honest, I'm afraid I might be dreaming. I'm scared he'll disappear once I close my eyes and I'll wake up in an empty bed the next morning. I don't think my heart will survive if he leaves me alone… As if reading my mind, Nathaniel reassures me, fondling my hair. "I'm not going anywhere, love." That pet name makes me smile. It's the one I love the most, the one he used when we were still in high school. He stoles me one last kiss and I peacefully end up falling asleep in his arms. -- "You sound in a good mood today." Rosa points out. "Oh… really?" My eyes are everywhere except on her. Jeez, am I really like an open book? After the whole network blackout and the thing between Alexy and Rosalya resolved, she and I went to the park. Girl talk. I know she is still in pain and I wanted to make her think about something else. Seems it works a bit too well. "Yes. You cannot stop smiling." She giggles. "Did you spend a good night?" "H-huh? Uh, I slept very well…" Of course, she doesn't believe me. Do I have a sign around my neck saying otherwise? She is still grieving and it will take time for her heart to heal but I'm glad she can at least laugh with me. "Come on! You shine with an aura of sex." I jump at her raw words. How can someone have an aura of sex?! "You'd better tell me a-b-s-o-l-u-t-e-l-y everything in details." I can't dodge. I suddenly feel my cellphone vibrate in my pocket. I've just received a message. -    I miss you Nathaniel. My smile has widened because I hear Rosa making some joking comments. He has sent another message meanwhile. -    We can go to my flat tonight. Blanche missed you too, she would love to be petted That's not very subtle Honey. It's cute… I want to tease him a little. -    Isn't it you who want to be petted instead? -    Can't deny I hope to get as much attention as her, or more ;) I pinch my lips so that my smile doesn't stretch more. My cheeks kinda hurts a bit. I tap on the keys of my phone quickly. -    Already needy? We just left each other this morning -    Say the girl who threw herself on me last night I'm sure I'm blushing right now. Well, he isn't innocent either. After all, he was the one who initiate a make out session. I only answer: -    Okay I'll come but only for Blanche. See you tonight ♥

[didierleclair]

When the written word becomes black

WHEN THE WRITTEN WORD BECOMES BLACK

What does it mean to be French speaking and from African roots? How to attempt to explain why people of African background keep French as their principal way of expression?

The challenge lies on the contentious issue that exists between people of African origin and French language. This was the language of the slave owners and the colonizers. During the Age of Enlightenment, philosophers like Voltaire expressed their racist views about Black people freely. L'Essai sur les Mœurs et l'esprit des Nations by Voltaire (1756) is written proof of this fact. (I will keep all quotes in French.) His description of African physical features is degrading.

« Leurs yeux ronds, leur nez épaté, leurs lèvres toujours grosses, leurs oreilles différemment figurées, la laine de leur tête, la mesure même de leur intelligence, mettent entre eux et les autres espèces d'hommes des différences prodigieuses. Et ce qui démontre qu'ils ne doivent point cette différence à leur climat, c'est que des nègres et des négresses transportés dans les pays les plus froids y produisent toujours des animaux de leur espèce, et que les mulâtres ne sont qu'une race bâtarde d'un noir et d'une blanche, ou d'un blanc et d'une noire. »

Many versions of this book have been expurgated but Victor Hugo said, « Voltaire, disons-le avec joie et tristesse, c’est l’esprit français ».

Colonialism is also a contentious issue however the difference is that Africans were not unrooted from their continent. This is what you can read from André Gide and his book Voyage au Congo (1927) : « Près de moi, tandis que j’écris ces lignes, un gentil petit macaque qu’on est venu m’apporter ce matin, que l’aspect de mon visage blanc terrifie. Il bondit se réfugier dans les bras de n’importe quel indigène qui passe à sa portée. »

His zoological language to define Africans was normal for this Nobel Prize laureate in literature in 1947. André Gide adds : « Les nègres nus crient, rient et se querellent en montrant des dents de cannibales. » We are into cannibalism now according to him.

French literature is full of racist passages targeting Africans; yet, today, Africans and descendants of Africans are among the most outspoken artists defending French language, commonly known as la Francophonie.

The first reason is simple. Even if Frantz Fanon said that words coming from France would define Black people and take away their right to define themselves, Aimé Césaire decided to say that his black essence, his negritude will shape his way of writing French.

« ma négritude n’est ni une tour ni une cathédrale/elle plonge dans la chair rouge du sol/

elle plonge dans la chair ardente du ciel/elle troue l’accablement opaque de sa droite patience. »

André Breton, the surrealist poet, in his introduction to Césaire book of poetry (Cahier d’un retour au pays natal, 1939), will write : « Toutes [les] ombres grimaçantes se déchiraient (...), tous [les] mensonges, toutes les dérisions tombaient en loques : ainsi la voix de l'homme n'était en rien brisée, couverte, elle se redressait ici comme l'épi même de la lumière. Aimé Césaire, c'était le nom de celui qui parlait. »

André Breton admits that Césaire took French and used it as a weapon to tell his story, the story of Black people.

Aimé Césaire, Léopold Sédar Senghor and Léon Gontran Damas decided, at the beginning of the last century, to use French as a weapon against oppression in the literary movement called Negritude. After them, most writers of African origin used their path. They plunged their pen in a furious or rebellious ink to express themselves with no complex and no burden.

We, francophones of African background, have taken over the French language in a colossal battle against the former colonizer who refuses to admit that we modernized the French language, we impregnated French, filled her up with the venom of truth, truth about who we are, human beings like others.

When former French president, Nicolas Sarkozy, in July 2007, gave a 50 minutes speech in Dakar, Senegal, he spread lies and racist concepts about Africans and Black people in general. He said the Africans never completely entered in History and they are nostalgic of the past.

« L'homme africain n'est pas assez entré dans l'Histoire. […] Le problème de l'Afrique, c'est qu'elle vit trop le présent dans la nostalgie du paradis perdu de l'enfance. […] Dans cet imaginaire où tout recommence toujours, il n'y a de place ni pour l'aventure humaine ni pour l'idée de progrès ».

President Emmanuel Macron, in July 2018, at L’Alliance française in Lagos, Nigéria showed his contempt for Africans. According to him, 8 or 9 kids per woman will keep Africa in poverty.

« Quand vous êtes un pays pauvre, où vous laissez la démographie galopante, où vous avez 7, 8 enfants par femme, vous ne sortez jamais de la pauvreté. Même quand vous avez un taux de croissance de 5 à 6 % vous n'arrivez jamais à en sortir. »

All these misconception about Africans show France (and other dominant French speaking countries), their incapacity to accept an undeniable fact: Black people are autonomous, and masters of their socio-cultural destiny. The increase of the Francophone population in Africa is a threat to French speaking westerners or a blessing. It all depends on the place they get or the place they take within the francophone organization. Furthermore, stating that Africans have not completely entered History is ludicrous. Take the sculptures of Ousmane Sow shown all over the world, take the Hip Hop phenomenon; think of Usain Bolt, the fastest men on the planet. We have so much entered History that people copy us. What make the French speaking black person an indomitable presence, it’s the unshakable force that we share with other Black culture. It worries people like Nicolas Sarkozy or Emmanuel Macron.

Let’s talk about French speaking artists of African origin in Ontario. These people contribute a great deal to the French speaking culture in Ontario. In music, you can mention Yao, he is a specialist of slam, spoken word with music; there are others in poetry and fiction. This fact doesn’t take away what started with the counterculture movement and the music of CANO. The precursors like Robert Dickson and Jean-Marc Dalpé don’t have the same choice of words in their writing compared to the Africans. Works of writers of African origin in Ontario use a lexical that has the imprint of the slavery whip and the spit of colonizers. This imprint is unconscious, but it has the revolutionary reverberation of Césaire, Senghor et L.-G. Damas. This lexical creates novels like Bangkok Blues by Hédi Bouraoui, originally from Tunisia.

There is a way to notice the difference between French speaking writers from African culture and authors who ancestors came from Quebec. One must mention the Franco-Ontarian poet Patrice Desbiens who lives in Québec, now for many years. He became quickly the poet of the intellectual in Quebec and people forget that he is originally from Ontario. His best works has been done in Ontario and it is about the English-speaking oppression and the unease of his own identity (L’homme invisible/The invisible man, 1981).

This phenomenon of changing identity (or highjacked identity) can never happen to a Francophone of African origin in Canada. There is always, in Black culture, an historical and a contemporary unresolved issue. If it’s not about French presidents (and Canadian leaders) belittle people of Black culture, there are new urban issues like police violence and discrimination in the employment sector. Black authors dip their pen in these open wounds to come up with an uncompromised voice. There is no retreat towards Quebec: we have our backs against the wall.

The Francophone of African origin looks like this Black man waving a red rag in the painting of Théodore Géricault, The raft of the Medusa (1818-1819). He is on top of everybody, helped by others of course, but on top because his despair is the sum of many injustices and this raft painted by Géricault is the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Didier Leclair, writer

[louisekayofficial]

The Meaning of Boredom in Meditation ~ Louise Kay ~ Français et anglais

This video is in English with French translations.

Cette vidéo est en anglais avec les traductions françaises.

The purpose of meditation is not to escape to a refuge of bliss and relaxation where all our troubles melt away into oneness for 30 minutes until we re-enter the world of suffering. The purpose of meditation is to allow ourselves to rest as the true self, pure awareness, the silent field of aliveness from which all experience arises, and from this space fully allow and welcome all inner sensations without judgement. Awareness doesn't have any preferences or desires. It doesn't care whether the highest ecstatic bliss or the deepest depression are experienced because it is already whole, complete and fulfilled, regardless of the outer circumstances.

As we rest as awareness, the light of consciousness shines on all the parts of us which are still identified with the separate self and this feels uncomfortable because it means feeling the dense energies which were lying under the surface. The separate self wants to protect itself and so resistance is born. The resistance feels uncomfortable and tempts us to seek out more 'pleasureable' experiences, like eating, drinking or checking our phones. This movement does not come from true pleasure, but from avoidance. If we do not meet the dense energy it will continue to resurface, constantly affecting our thoughts, relationships and interactions with life. Meeting it however, means integration and when these energies integrate transformation happens naturally. So whenever you experience boredom, irritation, agitation or any kind of unpleasantness during meditation, celebrate! This is your moment to allow the separate self to dissolve in the light. This is the moment when all that is not real burns up in the flames of truth. You don't need to DO anything, but simply allow and feel the sensations.

We must learn to feel and allow all forms of resistance from the separate self by being present, still and welcoming with gentle, unconditional love whatever arises. This process unravels whatever remains of the ego and allows unresolved, repressed pain to integrate. It can often feel unpleasant and requires dedication and a deep longing to align with the highest truth in order to let go of the pain of separation. However, it is only with the willingness to feel and allow ALL inner experiences that you will discover true, lasting peace.

This video was recorded on 24th November, 2018 in Paris, France.

Louise Kay offers Embodied Awareness private sessions both in person and on Skype and also holds Open to Truth group events around the world.

For more details visit http://www.louisekay.net/

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[baron-alexbarnes]

Lee Bodecker x reader (part 4 in english)

Paring: Lee Bodecker x reader

Rating: description of a murder

A/N: Sorry for the mistakes

Masterlist (in english)

Masterlist (in french/en français)

Part 3 / part 5

"So" she looked at the woman one last time. "Your turn." He looked carefully at the man. And deduced several things ", it's her husband, they have the same engagement ring, the man was stressing a lot, he was biting his nails and he was watching behind them" she looked at him and then followed his gaze. The rearview mirror. The man's eyes were still open, lifeless for sure, but open and looking at the mirror. "There's one more thing," Lee moved to the front of the trunk. [Y/N] followed him. When he arrived in front of it, he handed her a cloth. She took it with incomprehension, but when she saw the long dried blood on the trunk, she brought the piece of cloth to her nose. He opened again what was used as a coffin for someone. Lee stepped back because the smell was really strong while [Y/N] only winced. "At least it's not the child" Lee pulled something with difficulty from his pocket "The child? ". He took out another rag and held it to his nose. "Yeah, they already had a child" he closed the chests, finding the smell unbearable, but she opened it again. He raised his eyes to the sky and looked out the back window. "He's decomposing" she deduced as she examined the body "No kidding" she closed the trunk. "The child must have complained, the father couldn't stop and tried to turn around to tell him to shut up but the car hit the tree" he looked at her as the lieutenant approached him. [Y/N] looked out the window, in turn, their bodies were stuck together. She looked at the crime scene, he looked at her.

-

"Hurry up!" Lee shouted. "He sighed and leaned against his car, smoking another cigarette. When she got out, she saw him smoking. "You're taking a long time! "She rolled her eyes. "You're really looking forward to seeing your [Y/N]! "He blushed a little "You're in love! "He got angry, "Who would love her, really? Have you seen her? "He laughed as his heart wanted to break. He didn't even mean a word he said. His sister got into the car at his brother's tone, not wanting to upset him further. When they arrived [Y/N] was talking to a man, who looked a little too close to her. When he saw the look in [Y/N]'s eyes. He went to save her. He approached, "Oh! Hey man! It's been a while" The man was slightly drunk. "Yeah hi. Can I talk to my girlfriend? "The drunk young man left, shaking his head and shouting something incomprehensible. "Thanks" she said gratefully and took his hand to say hello. "Everything for you" he made his charming smile while shaking the hand of his friend. He turned his head slightly to see his sister cheering him on, but he shook his head. "Lee, you're still holding my hand" She scratched the back of her neck with her free hand, slightly uncomfortable. "Sorry" he let go of her hand and scratched his head in turn. Y/N] looked at him with a little fear "He's coming back" Lee turned to see the man from the roof earlier, with a camera. He looked even more drunk. The future Sheriff sighed "listen man" he tried to get the teenager to back off, but nothing helped. "I'd leave that" he paused dramatically. "Lee listened to him. "If I have a picture of you" The teen pointed to [Y/N] and she relaxed. The future Sheriff looked at the woman he had called "his girlfriend" earlier. She nodded her head uncomfortably. [Y/N] didn't really want to, but if it would make him go away so she could tell Lee she was moving. She pulled her arms up to her chest. "Lee come closer! "Said the drunken man, yelling. Bodecker lost his patience and began to get angry as the man added, "The new couple deserves a picture! "Lee smiled. When [Y/N] tried to speak, young Bodecker didn't give him time. [Y/N] didn't really want to, but if it would make him leave so she could tell Lee she was moving. Isn't that right my love? "She nodded and her "boyfriend" put his arm around her waist and stuck to him, as close as possible

-

"There's a cosy" He snaps out of his trance. "Oh... Yes" He finally looked out the window. She smiled as she looked back at him. [Y/N] knew he had been staring at her for at least five minutes. He looked at the cosy, it was almost torn off. The child must have struggled. "He's gone" "Or, he was taken away" She completed. She looked at the car one last time and noticed the tires "the tires are dead" "like the parents" He laughed. |Y/N], no. "Oh, come on, it was good" she began to smile "Yes, it was good". Lee smiled. He looked out the window on the other side. "So, I think... Lee focused his eyes on a blue object under the passenger seat. "They hit the tree. The man comes back to finish them off and leaves with the child... Or he manages to escape. "The sheriff understood "I have the child". [Y/N] looking at him. He opened the door with force and pulled the child out of the car. She rushed to the child. "Lee calm down! "The child struggled. He finally let go. "Hey, big guy. It's okay" He looked very young "I don't want him back! "He started to cry and [Y/N] took him in his arms. "Lee looked at her, her attitude with the child. She was calm and gentle. He had been raw and angry. He lowered his head. "I want big brother" The Sheriff bent down to the child's waist. "Where's your big brother? " The child was a little afraid of Lee, but pointed to the forest. "He said he was going to get help, but he didn't come back. "He started to cry again and went into [Y/N]'s arms.

[gabrielxreader]

Tu es en capable

A/N: I realized I haven’t written anything for this blog in a while and decided to squeeze something out before my finals start… this happened. The next one I write will fill a request! The title is (roughly translated) French for “you’ve got this.”

EDIT: Title corrected. I have been reliably informed (by actual French speakers) that the phrase I was trying to use doesn’t exist in French, and I was projecting my English onto the poor language and maiming it. Language is hard. Je suis très désolée. 

Author: Holly

Warnings: Moderate swearing

Characters: Y/N, Gabriel, Dean, Lucifer, Sam

Genre: Humor

Word Count: 1,371

Y/N – Your Name

           “I would rather be fighting Lucifer than studying for this exam!” You shouted in frustration, grabbing your hair in your hands angrily.

           … Of course, with all the good things that came from the supernatural world getting itself together came the bad things. Every rose has its thorn. If the upside was that Amara was dealt with and Heaven was being managed semi-peacefully by reformed archangels, the downside was that you had to deal with Lucifer and Michael in the same room together on occasion. If the rose was your opportunity to pursue more formal education, then the thorn was that formal education had mandated exams, and now you were readying up for the worst of them all: finals.

           “That can be arranged,” Lucifer called from the living room, where you could also hear the sounds of a first-person shooter game.

           Then Dean, outraged, shouted, “That’s not fair! You take back that bullet or I’ll make you eat it!”

           “If you had been watching my half of the screen, you would have seen me coming behind you,” Lucifer reasonably replied. “I don’t see how it’s my fault that you’re so easy to kill.”

           Gabriel snorted. “You have no idea.” He started humming Heat of the Moment.

           Sam stood up from the chair where he was helpfully quizzing you with your flash cards. “You stop that right now-! It wasn’t funny!”

           You groaned again. “You assholes are all why I’d rather fight Lucifer than study for this exam!”

           “That’s not nice, sugar.” Gabriel was suddenly at your left side, fleeing from Sam and hiding with you between him and the doorway. “Anything has to be better than dealing with Luci’s face. What’s this?” He raised his eyebrows at the printed-out paper in front of you.

           “It’s evil,” you grumbled, putting your elbows on the table with a sigh.

           Gabriel pointed at it. “It looks like French.”

           “You speak French?” You gasped and looked up at him hopefully. Sam tried, he really did, but he just didn’t speak French, and his help was just going to teach you how to pronounce things wrong or make grammatical errors.

           He grinned and sat on the edge of the table, just a couple inches away from your papers. “Je peux parler en français entre tes jambes.”

           You weren’t sure, but you could take a guess when you heard the verb for speaking and the word ‘legs.’ “You will do no such thing,” you flatly denied, glaring, unimpressed.

           He just smirked. It was not the kind of reassuring reply you had dared to hope for. The archangel tapped carelessly on a ripped-out piece of notebook paper. “What’s all this chicken scratch?” You grated your teeth. You’d had to scratch out a lot of errors when you were trying to write a draft for an in-class composition assignment. “I thought you’d been taking this for three terms now,” he continued. “Shouldn’t you at least know how to use y and en?”

           You glared. “Not all of us have existed for millennia, and I don’t exactly have anyone French to practice with. I’m doing my best.”

           “Your best is a French first-grader’s homework when they weren’t even trying,” he taunted with a playful gleam in his eyes.

           “My best kept the world in one piece while your family was trying to tear it to shreds.” You deadpanned. Raphael was the politest to Team Free Will, but Gabriel was your favorite. You just didn’t have the time or the mood to mess around.

           “Not to shreds!” Lucifer objected while Dean groaned and whined about losing again. “We rather liked earth. It was you furless monkeys that we wanted rid of.”

           Gabriel clucked his tongue and snapped his fingers, making a Twix bar appear out of nowhere in his hand. He tossed the wrapper onto the other side of the table carelessly. “Take it easy, cupcake.”

           “This composition is worth fifteen percent of my grade, and on the same day, I have a cumulative final worth another ten! How can I take it easy?!”

           The answering snap resulted in a Snickers bar in front of your face. “Calm down,” Gabriel snickered fittingly. “You’re not you when you’re hungry.”

           “I am going to mess your face up so badly that not even your dog will recognize you.”

           “Tell you what, Y/N, you learn to make those threats in French and I might actually stand still long enough to let you try.”

           Gabriel was, surprisingly, a good teacher. Better, in fact, than your actual French teacher, although you had a good idea why that was – he sat down with you, snapped up a bowl full of candy, kept the bottomless sodas coming, and actually explained why certain particles and pronouns have to go in certain orders, and how to identify them. Your instructor told you how to do it, but he didn’t explain why in terms you knew. The archangel taught you the rules as they applied to English, then had you try them with French.

           I will make a cake for my friend, Dean, you wrote down. After a second of review, you scratched out the word ‘cake’ and wrote that you’d make him a pie instead.

           “Now how can you add more information without restating anything?” Gabriel prompted, his feet up on another chair.

           This was easy – English was easy. You understood what he wanted you to do.

           I will share the pie with Dean. You translated it carefully, conjugating your verb and replacing “the pie” with a direct object pronoun. After a moment, your paper said: Je la partagerais avec Dean.

           “Good catch,” Gabriel remarked. “I thought you were gonna forget the gendered word and go with the default le. You’re better at this already!”

           I will share the pie with Gabe because he’s not as useless as Dean is with my homework.

           Gabriel laughed. “Damn straight, cupcake. Try translating that, but cut it off after my name.”

           You had to double-check what the verb for “to share” was, but conjugating it followed the pattern you’d had mostly memorized since your first semester.

           Je partagerais un piece de la tarte avec Gabe.

           “Good,” he encouraged. “Now you’ve expressed a quantity, and used a form of the particle de. So that triggers…?”

           “En,” you answered proudly. “J’en partagerais avec Gabe.”

           He nodded and held up a hand for a high-five. “And how are you going to write y?”

           You bit your lip, then wrote down another sentence.

           Je allais au supermarché avec Cas. Underneath it, you corrected it to use y instead of having to write out the entire phrase that expressed the location. J’y allais avec Cas.

           “Rockstar,” Gabriel thumped your back unnecessarily hard. “Now try combining a couple.” After being taught to use five different kinds of pronouns in the last two hours, you were excited to step things up and use multiple in a sentence. You could already see how they made communication easier, and see how they were used similarly to words in English. “And if you get it right, then you take Cas to that supermarket and make a pie.”

           You wrote out a more complicated sentence with two clauses after choosing your phrases carefully. Then you translated them to French, identified the parts of speech, and replaced some with the right pronouns. After re-writing the whole thing, you showed it to Gabriel, hopeful.

           He read it out loud for you to hear how it sounded. Then he compared it to your original sentence in English and smiled. “Way to go, student! A+! Now that you’ve completed your French coursework, it’s time to move on to the culinary arts.”

           You made his pie for him out of gratitude. Dean used it to cheer up after having lost miserably in his game against Lucifer, and Lucifer just took some so Gabriel would leave him alone about it, then discovered he actually really liked cherry pie. When you got your grades back and found that you had received one of your best French scores yet, you took Cas back to the store, bought double the ingredients, and made two pies – one so Dean and Lucifer wouldn’t pester you, and one entirely for the archangel who’d saved your grade.