#bonne nuit or whatever

[mister-eames]

I was tagged by @killym - thank you darling!!

Are you named after anyone: My middle name is my grandmothers name. I have a funny story about my and my siblings given names that aren’t really funny so much as they are sad but!!! There’s a story, I guess. 

When was the last time you cried: Idk, like two days ago. Sometimes songs just hits you weird when you’re driving to work at 7am, ok? Sometimes you listen to ‘Somebody I Fucked Once’ and it hits close to home. But tbh, I cry every couple of days over something dumb, usually, like a song or a commercial or a movie I’ve seen 1k times. I’m a very emotional person. Actually wait I just remembered, I last cried yesterday, watching Masterchef Australia.

Do you have kids: Nope.

Do you use sarcasm a lot: I have never used sarcasm a day in my life.

What sports do you play/have played: Netball, MMA. Does ballet count?

What's the first thing you notice about people: Body language.

What's your eye color: Green.

Scary movies or happy endings: Happy endings 24/7/365. 

Any special talents: I can put my legs behind my head?

Where were you born: Australia

What are your hobbies: I almost left this blank before posting. Um? Hobbies,  I have them, sure. Painting. Travelling, which I’m glad I get to do again after the borders have reopened. Ballet. Does making edits and gifsets of OTPs count?

Do you have pets: Yes! Two cats. 

How tall are you: 173cm/5′8

Favorite subject in school: Art and English.

Dream job: Painting to my hearts content on someone else's dime. That, or a botanist. 

I’d like to tag: @dingdangit, @lolahardy, @belbeten, @strangegeology, @iamanonniemouse, @stormofsharpthings @darlingandmreames and anyone else who wants to do this!

[parcai]

all i do is endure 😑

[rosiestalez]

hi hi, ok ok so what abt gambit helping out f!reader when she’s drunk (they’re in an established relationship) ughhh i just want to see him being caring 😩

anyways thank u sm and hope u have a good day/night 😋

Remy Takes Care of you after drinking:

Gambit(Remy LeBeau) x fem!reader

SURE! Here’s something! It’s short, but I think it does the job. He’s a southern man so he’s a gentleman💜.

Warnings: Alcohol, Remy is a little older than the reader, but not explicitly mentioned (I just thought that it would make sense for this lil not so drabble). Drunk reader, picture is from Pinterest!

——————————————————————

You and Remy had engaged in a extremely long night of drinking, partying, poker, and whatever else he came up with. Compared to you, who is a light weight, Remy seemed fine, he’s holding his own. He’s not stumbling, slurring, or giggling uncontrollably like you happen to be. This ragin’ Cajun knew how to party; it’s like it was in his blood.

He guided you up the stairs of the shared home, his hand placed kindly on the small of your back while the other fiddles with the door knob. You can’t help but laugh, “baby I believe that is the wrong key”, your words slurring.

“Oh, s’rry mon amour”, he fiddles with his key chain again before finding the right key and opening the door with ease, “alri, les gon ahead and get you inside”, you stumble in, he’s holding you to stop you from falling over. He softly sits you down on the bench by the door sliding off your heals, and helping you take off your jacket. You sit there for a second just staring at the spinning walls while he makes you a glass of ice water. “Here ya go Cherie, don’t chug”, handing you the glass; you do what he says and take tiny sips while he picks you up and carries you to the bedroom. He grabs the glass from your hand placing it onto the dresser and slowly lowers you onto the bed.

“Reeeeemmmyyy!!!!”, you whine grabbing at his hands to pull him down beside you, to bad he’s stronger than you resisting your motions. He snickers at you; he strips your dress off, “ahhh yes!”, you moan when he takes off your bra. He can’t help but smile at your antics.

“That feel better amour?”, you bite your lip nodding drunkenly, your eyes are so hazy and your ears feel like they are filled with water. He grabs some pajamas and dresses you before tucking you into the plush sheets of the bed. He kisses your forehead, runs down to the kitchen grabbing an ice pack to keep you cool so you don’t start feeling sick. He puts it on your neck and rolls you on your left. “Bonne nuit, mon amour, Je t’aime”, he kisses you again on the cheek knowing you’re already out cold he walks over to his side of the bed shutting off his bedside lamp. He watches you for a couple minutes before drifting off to sleep himself.

another a/n at the end, but this is for all the girlies who get sick a lot or for people who don’t know, but always try to keep cool. when i get nauseous i get hot and an ice pack keeps me from throwing up, laying on your stomach on the left side also helps. also humming when you feel like you’re gonna spill your guts.

[anonymous-dentist]

POV: Loboier

-

Moon!

His body hurts, but He is used to it by now.

He whines his way out of His House, shakes His fur out, stretches, and cries. He cries a lot. (But not loudly, because His Bobby is doing Human Work inside, and He doesn’t want to disturb him.)

Craning His neck back, he says hello to the Moon(!) with a howl.

“Salut, Loboier!” the Moon says back. “Bonne nuit!”

His tail wags. But His body hurts, so He lays down in the grass and closes His eyes. If He pretends hard enough, he can pretend that He is in the Woods with his Pack.

The breeze ruffles His fur. Maybe it’s actually His Spreen saying hi, but without his knife this time.

He growls at the thought. His Spreen… how evil!!

His eyes snap open as the Big House’s door opens.

AAAAAAAHHHHH!!!! YESYESYESYESYESYESYES!!!!!!!!!!!

His Jaiden doesn’t even get a chance to say hello before she has Him on top of her licking her face and saying hello.

“Hey!” she smiles. She pets between His ears, juuuust right.

‘Hi!’ He says, barking loudly so she can hear him. ‘I love you!!’

His Jaiden is his favorite Jaiden. She built His House and she buys His Bones and she plays Ball with Him. She gives the BEST belly rubs!!

He bites her forearm gently. There! Wolf Jaiden!

But his Jaiden just laughs and says, “Nice try, but I’m already taken.”

Pain! Heartbreak!! Agony!!!

(Jaiden is a Jaiden. Not human, but Jaiden. So she can’t be a Wolf, but He still tries every Moon, anyway.)

Dejected, He lets His Jaiden down the stairs and into the yard. She goes to get a Ball, which is fine. It’s whatever. It’s fine.

His body hurts.

With a whine, He settles on His stomach and rests His head on His paws. He closes His eyes. Maybe His Spreen should’ve just finished the job. Letting Him go might have been crueler than letting Him die.

The door to the Big House opens again. He smells who comes out, and His tail wags a little in response- thump-thumping against the grass. But He doesn’t get up. He Hurts.

A cold, calloused hand settles in the fur on His back.

“Is he okay?” His Cellbit asks His Jaiden.

“Yeah, I think so,” she answers. “Sometimes this happens. It’s… complicated.”

His Cellbit hums in response. Grass crinkles as His Cellbit settles into it. He pets Him softly- so, so softly.

He cracks an eye open and looks up at His Cellbit.

Wow, He thinks. He’s beautiful.

The Moon casts His Cellbit’s hair silver. His Cellbit’s eyes almost seem to glow in the dark. Shadows make him look almost like a statue.

He shuffles in the grass until His head is resting on His Cellbit’s lap. His Cellbit’s other hand is also on his lap; He kisses it and wishes he could do that when he’s Human, too.

Quietly, He says, ‘I love you.’

He asks, ‘Do you love me?’

He says, ‘Because I love you. I love you a lot. CellbitCellbitCellboCellbit.’

His Cellbit laughs quietly and says, “I don’t speak wolf, guapito.”

That’s Him! His Cellbit’s Guapito!!

Suddenly much happier, He rolls onto His back and shows His belly to His Cellbit. And His Cellbit is sooooo smart! He starts rubbing His belly, and he’s soooooo cute!!

Smiling, He declares to the world, ‘I love My Cellbit!!’

The world disagrees, because the world doesn’t like His Cellbit, and because His Cellbit doesn’t like the world. But He doesn’t need the world’s approval. So long as He and His Cellbit like each other, that’s all He needs.

And one day when He turns His Cellbit into Wolf Cellbit, He’ll be able to tell His Cellbit EVERYTHING!!

But, for now, He settles for some more kisses and a smile. (He’s sure that His Cellbit understands, anyway.)

[bloggingboutburgers]

Hi, I know it's been a while but it's allo (autistic? unsure what tag to use) anon here again. I just wanted to say congratulations on the project! I showed it to my girlfriend and she was really happy, when it comes out we will definitely read it together. I am proud to see you doing new and exciting things, and I wish you nothing but the best in your future endeavors! You're doing amazing already and I look forward to seeing you continue on whatever path you want to take with your creative work :)

Sorry I didn't message again sooner, things in real life have been... a lot. I still try to check this blog when I can. Your art is still adorable, and I also wanted to say thank you for your comics about fandom and the stuff that people say to aro/ace people. As someone who is very invested in media analysis(TM) and fandoms, I have noticed some behaviour that is really weird and uncomfortable, and it's good to see other people speaking out about it.

Also, not to decenter your experience, but the comic about labels really hit home for me. When I first got diagnosed it explained so much about my struggles and why I felt the way I did. It was groundbreaking to understand that I wasn't just a broken person or full of character flaws, but that things like sensory issues were just part of being who I am. I don't know if you meant it this way, but I really love the yellow colour of the thought bubbles and the little flowers. I know some people say it's pathologizing or too restrictive to cling to labels so much, but it really is a relief to be given something that helps you understand yourself and feel so much less alone. I am glad you were able to find your identity and community. It's so cool that now you get to make those posts, and probably reach others!

I just wanted to pop in again and say I love your stuff, and it's so cool to see other people loving and engaging with it too. I hope you have a wonderful day/night, passe une bonne journée/nuit <3

P. S. I hope that's how you say it, I'm using google translate.

Heyyyy!!^^ Thank you so much for reaching out again and for all the encouragement and support! I hope you and your girlfriend are doing OK^^ And please don't apologize for not reaching out for a while, I'm happy whenever you do at all but it's very fair to have a lot going on otherwise! If anything I hope things are a bit easier now, so to speak.

Also don't worry about decentering my experience by sharing yours when you relate! I'm a big believer in intersectional discussion, I think people from marginalised groups could benefit a great deal from standing together to defend common interests, and if we can relate to each other's experiences in some way even just a little, although we know and acknowledge they're all different, I'm sure we can go a long way. So I sincerely appreciate you sharing, honestly!! (I'm also really grateful you liked the way I graphically conveyed it, that is a challenge in and of itself^^)

Again, thank you so much for all the positive feedback and support, and thanks for taking the time to add some French in as well, very kind of you^^

Hope you have a great day ahead!

[romanticallyghosting]

je suis fatigue...... bonne nuit or whatever im gonna fail french anyways

[fatestouch]

@soulsxng replied to your post:

Knowing that Basile is probably wearing some of The Shorts rn, Baet has to fondle—

"Oh! Bonne nuit, maitre~" And he's absolutely wearing a pair of The Shorts, so he absolutely has been waiting for Baet. "Whatever can I do for you~?"

[wittylittle]

5 décembre le résumé

Ce soir j’ai parlé avec Éric. Le pauvre. Ses histoires de cœur ne s’améliorent pas. « Je vais toujours être ton amie Eric. » « T’es pas mon amie, t’es bien plus que ça, je ne couche pas avec mes amies » Okay… whatever

Cheshire Cat m’a envoyé des cœurs pis un cute selfie.

J’ai parlé 1h05 avec le Prince de Galles aujourd’hui. L’amour à distance c’est fucking long.

J’ai bu un gin soda, pris un concerta 36mg. Plus tard un zopiclone 5mg. Un fond d’huile de CBD.

J’ai une chanson de Renée Claude dans la tête, parce qu’ils l’ont chanté dans l’épisode de C’est comme ça que je t’aime.

Je suis presque contente de commencer ce journal qui sera ennuyant pour toi. Utile pour moi.

J’ai mis mes bandes Smile. Mis mes crèmes et sérums Drunk Elephant. Il est 23h53. Je vais faire le jour 2 de mon programme Sleep 21 nights.

Bonne nuit.

[cryptfile]

Hii!! Can I request frenchie from the boys x f! reader, maybe she's patching him up after a long day? <33

yes,,, thank you for this from the bottom of my heart, might went above with what you actually asked, but whatever, i’m living my best and just rolling with it.

⟢ mountains at midnight, [ frenchie x f!reader ]

summary — After a failed relationship, Serge knocks on your door half baked / half bleeding-to-fucking-death.

warnings — angst, some smooches, it's implied that reader is in her twenty-somethings, filthy mouth, frenchie is in loOOoOve here, some fighting, fluff in the end, usual the boys content aka violence, blood, drugs, mentions of murder, infinite sadness, if you’re a medic you might hate me, little nina is a warning herself.

side notes — hi lovely people on the internet! first things first: i've recasted frenchie to dev patel cause fuck zionists, also loved writing for frenchie, been writing about gen v on wattpad but this? a whole different level. word's on the street my ass latin, so you know now english is not my first language and if there's any mistakes is my own fault being just a girlie out here,, comments, reblogs and likes are appreciated and very much loved! thank you guys so much for the support.

It’s way too late when you hear the knocks on your door.

You’re not used to receive visitors in the middle of the night. Your friends know you hate people to show up uninvited so it’s almost a non-spoken arrangement: You sell the weed to afford med school and they keep you out of trouble.

So you can’t stop yourself from thinking the absolute worst when you hear the noise in your front door, already cursing cause you don't have these expensive cameras that allows you to watch who's outside: What if the police knows you’re selling weed? Worse. What if Vought discovered all about your nice ability of astral projection? Just the thought of it makes you grab the bat, trying to find something to defend yourself with as if it’s going to work against someone as powerful as Homelander.

When you open the door, it’s something similar to seeing a ghost.

Cause that's what Frenchie is to you. A fever dream you must experience after being so tired, after exhausting yourself with the damn residency. You've been doing turns lately in the hospital and you are drained all the fucking time, too many hours standing and trying not to fuck it up it’s now passing you the check.

But when he talks. Jesus fucking Christ, when he talks, you just know it's him in the flesh, stopping the world for a minute — "Bonne nuit," he says all normal like you understand more than just the basics of French. "Long time no see, mon ami."

How does he still remembers your address? How did he managed to get to your apartment when you explicitly said you don't want him anywhere near you? Your heart skips a beat when you're realizing the blood covering his shirt, the dirt on his skin, the bruise forming in his eye: he's injured.

It makes sense soon after, why he's there outside your place, surpassing the locks that protected the building and are supposed to keep people like him out yet, failed miserably. You let out a scoff, taking mental notes of talking about security to the building manager tomorrow.

"You need to go to a hospital, there's also a vet clinic a couple’ blocks away, both do the work" It's tempting. The thought of closing the door in his face after he was a complete asshole with you last time you saw him, but you cannot bring yourself to be cruel, to leave him standing while he seeks for somebody to stitch him up. — "Told you not to come here, Frenchie."

He's different now. He has now cut his hair in a different way, split lip while he pouts like he has loose a huge fight. He looks better, more composed even, but you don't let it slip while you look at him, debating if he won the fight he was involved in or if he just managed to escape, as usual, always in danger.

"Please," he says placing his hand in the door frame like he just read your mind, preventing you from closing the door. "Need your help, mon docteur."

When he looses balance you know shit's for real, quickly grabbing him by the waist as you take one of his hands to place it in your shoulder. He smells like blood, sweat, and weed, and it takes a minute for you to get used to it, being so intense at first when you hold him close to you that it stays with you even when you help him lay in the couch, already knowing it's going to be stained forever.

Fuck's sake. It's not physically possible to say no to him.

You hate him from the moment he's inside. Hate how he has you now all stressed looking for everything you need to prevent him from bleeding out on your couch, still trying to understand if you're worried about his well being or if it's actually about the fact that he could die in your apartment with good grams of weed well hidden, leading you to arrest under micro-trafficking and possible murder charges.

And when you see the large cut on his stomach, you know exactly why you guys didn't work out in the first place, why his way of living was so different than yours trying to keep a low profile, not used to get in trouble with superheroes, usually surviving. You hold your breath in as you notice the situation, his body bruised, blood spread all over like it was a medal.

“The person who did this didn’t do any harm to your organs” you say inspecting, lucky bastard. “But you're gonna’ need stitches.”

"See? I’m gonna' be fine, docteur" he says almost trying to keep you steady while you took the new-moon-shaped needle, that damn nickname you hate with all your guts. You know he would not come if it wasn't absolutely necessary, his gaze following you like he cannot possibly believe he's talking to you again after all that time promising not to. "Not planning to die on your settee."

"You're high" it's not a question but more of a statement. "So please, shut up if you are really not planning to die tonight."

You’re struck by his accent, the way he combined the words so easily while you worked on stitching his skin, finally stopping the bleeding as you can breathe in peace. Med school has been awful, but at least you can do decent stitches even under the dim lights of the lamps, looking at your work almost proud moments after.

Handled him like a fucking pro.

You seem to forget about the contact, being trained to be a doctor has hit deep down now that you can keep professional at all times, but for Frenchie, even after being pretty much stabbed, he managed to fill his mind with memories of you while your cold fingertips close the cut, to think, once again, that he does not deserve you at all, your meeting being a mistake he wouldn't do all over again.

He stills hallucinates about when he met you in your second year of university, selling weed in your campus parties making a pretty good list of clients for yourself. He remembers being so mad at you for stealing possible clientèle at the time, he was planning on beating your ass and scare you out until you didn't dare to sell at all. At least, that was the idea until he notices his potential nemesis. You.

He talked about the situation with Little Nina convincing her he could take care of the problem, but in reality, he chooses to make you his problem instead. You were just a twenty-something med student that stayed up late at night and sell plain weed in order to afford some stuff he knew you needed: How could he be aggressive with you?

He's almost whipped before even talking to you, after following you for a while without you even noticing, he's studying you like you're, indeed, the enemy. And when he finally talks to you in that stupid party, you finally seem to notice he's not there for a nice business, not when he's pulling you aside from all the noise.

You both are so different it's annoying, however, fits so good must be a curse.

You managed to work out the next couple of months, split the clients, the money, and there were no suspects until Nina found out and killed one of your classmates in response, leaving you surrounded by cops and detectives and a profuse sadness that never seemed to go away.

Frenchie is pretty sure you're one of the best thing he used to have in his life, utterly convinced that he must remain far from you after years of not talking to you, yet, he's unable to do it much longer. Maybe it's the weed, the fever and the pain all combined together, but when he noticed he was close to your place, he choose to seek for your help instead of turning to his teammates.

He's no good for you. Even after not being around Nina and changing completely. He's simply no good for you.

You work in silence, unsure of what to say at first. Your breathing is steady as you cover the wound with bandages, neck sore already after keeping the same position over the minutes without sleeping much all that week. Frenchie doesn't whine even when it hurts, making it easier to work with as you check other injuries.

When it comes to the split lip, you know it's going to be a thing.

"Thanks for patching me up," he says while you press the alcohol revealing a much smaller wound that you'd actually imagined, mouth's always bleed tons. "I'm just sorry for showing up so late, mon ami."

Inconsiderate. Your eyes dart the movements of his upper lip while he speaks, trying to clean the blood while it moves with no victory.

"Please talk to me princesse" he says soon after, crazy by your silence — “Please.”

Your eyes narrow in response, looking at him while inspecting his lip. “How did you manage to get so damn fucked up?” You wished you didn't ask, because you already know how he got it, how he was working now for a whole different group doing suicidal missions all the time, heard it from a close friend.

He stays silent for a while, and you cannot help but roll your eyes in response. You’re used to it, to the lack of information and the blatant lie he always used to tell just to reassure you, so instead, you continue cleaning his wounds with alcohol, pressing the gauze with less patience now that he regained the color of his skin. You’re simply not doing it anymore.

“Just stay still so we can do this fast enough” you say tired already, having to deal with him even just ten miserable minutes results in a classic headache.

Silence. You are dragged by the current into an awkward silence, inspecting the stitches and the bruises that now appeared in his skin. He’s warm to the touch in spite of the blood loss, and you cannot help but worry about his well-being deep in your mind, hating him for it: The guy disappears however he wants to, and now has the fucking nerve to show up like nothing ever happened? God.

It’s impossible to keep quiet for the next two minutes, specially when you notice he’s biting the inside of his cheek like he’s stopping himself from saying something stupid — “What?”

“Nothing,” he responds, avoiding your gaze. "I know you're mad at me, docteur."

"I'm pretty mad at you, you're right" you admit in a low voice, finally taking your utensils to the kitchen sink when you finish, cursing when you notice you got blood on your shirt. "That's why you're waiting an hour before leaving. Not involving in whatever is going on in your life right now.”

His pained expression makes you almost regret everything you say. He knew he deserved it, but it didn't stop him from being miserable when he hears you, the cold words lingering in the air as they repeated in his mind over and over again.

"Sober up. Leave after."

It's almost a command, and he hates the sound of it, far from the way he wanted you to command him in reality, the sound of your voice making him shiver. He hates every second of it, remembering why he kept far, giving you space to continue your life without him in the picture.

It stings on Frenchie’s chest, and you try to keep your pride high enough to not think about how much you actually missed him, how you're done with him after moving on at least twice since the last time you saw him, staring at the blood circling in the drain.

"I'm sorry, mon ami" he says when you pass close to him, grabbing the dirty towels as you search, in your mind, for ways to make miracles in that sofa, and you believe him for a second when he grabs you by the wrist, cause deep down you just want him to be sorry for all the shit he did, the lies, the danger.

You just started to sell weed again recently, and his sudden visit makes you so damn uncomfortable: You don't want to take anyone's clients, you learned that the hard way. "I'll never be able to make it up to you docteur, not even in a million years. Je ne voulais pas te faire de mal."

You don't fully get what he says, and you blame it on that fucking app that's been teaching you french all along, you don't even dare to look at him until you think you can handle his intense gaze, now burning in your cheek — "Created this huge mess just to leave me alone to the fucking wolves."

“And there will not be a day I won’t regret it.”

“You’re not going to be able to make it up to me even in a century, Serge.”

It happens all so sudden after, when he pulls you down slightly, enough to press the palm of your hand flat against his chest, the feeling of his heartbeat giving you straight up chills. It’s beating so fast you’re sure it’s abnormal, the expression of his face almost begging you to have patience with him, that he just needs you beyond explanation.

“Don’t call me like that,” he asks, and you’re just standing there, so fucking close, looking at him slightly blushed.

“Like what?”

“Like I don’t mean anything to you, coeur. Like we’re strangers.”

“I don’t know you, at all” you admit in a low voice, and it saddens you to say it out loud — “I don’t think I ever did.”

God. You don’t expect it, you don’t expect the visit, the way he enters to your life again through the main door, dissolving you completely. You don’t expect any of it, it catches you by surprise without giving you any time to even prepare yourself.

He somehow manages to make sit down close to him, composed now that the he’s not bleeding-to-death. And fuck, it takes a minute for you to adjust, to notice what you’re actually doing, the feeling of his hand holding your wrist making it impossible for you to leave, to even put some necessary distance, his breathing changing as you got closer.

“We’re not strangers, mon docteur, never would when my heart beat that fast for you. To me, you’re the most real thing in my life” he’s smiling, and you can’t help but look at him amazed of his way of always change everything around. “It’s visible you don’t want me here, but I cannot stop myself from coming every single time, tu me manques, coeur.”

“You miss me, huh?” you ask almost in disbelief.

“You are missing from me,” Frenchie corrects. He knows the world is a pretty fucked up place to be, but he just wants you to be okay, to avoid trouble and just live a regular happy life.

You are willing to reply, to say something about it, about the time you spend hating his ass and missing him at the same time, but you stay silent when you can feel his gaze following your every movement, when he’s the one that puts his free hand on your cheek, his touch being enough to warm up your face, staining your cheeks red.

It’s so intense. The lack of air, the way his eyes find yours in demand of something you already know.

“Please forgive me” Frenchie says, blatant sincerity. “I’m deeply sorry, mon docteur. I’m the worst thing you’ll ever met, and I cannot help but come back to you.”

His words echo in your brain, and you don’t know exactly when, but you lean into his touch, the palm of his hand warm against your cheek.

“Fuckin’ hate you.”

You don’t. You know you don’t hate him at all. It’s quite the opposite, and it weights on your chest as he smiles like he just got his life back in track again, like it’s everything it takes to make him really happy after all that shit he’s enduring day after day.

And you try put some distance between both of you seconds after, but your heart betrays you sooner than you expect and it’s all it takes for him to finally kiss you, a tender kiss at first that freezes you for an instant, his touch transforming in something else — Something your skin has already experienced before, a taste you’ve savoured long time ago. Makes you shiver when you realize how it feels not foreign at all but just natural, like something you already learnt but it’s kept in the depths of your mind.

He’s damanding when pressing his lips against you, and it clouds your mind for a second, a thick gaze that just makes you dumb at his touch. His hands on your hips are pulling you closer without even caring for his damn stitches, and it becomes intoxicating, the need to keep on kissing him, to have him close, you forget about Little Nina, the weed, and almost everything that surrounds you.

Heavy breathing you seemed to understand it all. Nose touching his as you get it. Maybe you do need to talk. Maybe it’s important to keep your guard down one last time. You cannot avoid him much longer, not when your own heart aches in need.

Serge’s like climbing a mountain at midnight: Just impossible.

[nimphontheshore]

Hello my babydoll,

I hope this will reach you before you fall asleep. Even tho… if you do fall asleep, I would be glad. Because I don’t like knowing you feel off, and that you probably feel alone, all by yourself in this. I would like to say that you’re not alone, nor by yourself, but I have to admit that sometimes I fail at making you feel like that, or at showing it. I don’t know what I’d like to say, everything is saved for the big day. But for tonight I think I’d like to repeat myself (no shit), redeem myself maybe too, and finally, in hope to make you close your eyes avec le coeur un peu plus chaud. Déjà je voulais répéter à quel point tu me manques, à quel point je pense à toi, à quel point je me nourris de ta présence, sous n’importe quelle forme, tant que j’arrive à en discerner ton nom, ton visage, ou encore le son de ta voix. Mais je n’en suis jamais rassasié… Je crois. Surtout pas en ce moment, par ma faute, quand y’a des gens autour, j’arrive pas à tout à fait m’isoler de l’extérieur, je n’y arriverai seulement lorsque le temps nous sera donné. Notre bulle rendu. Alors je voulais m’excuser, pour ne pas avoir l’air à 100%, car je m’éparpille et que je parle trop pour faire 200 choses en même temps — en oubliant de verbaliser les choses les plus importantes, pour être fatigué alors que toi-même veille toutes les nuits pour être à mes côtés, pour ne pas poser les bonnes questions, si tu avais bien mangé, si tu avais passé une belle journée, comment tu te sens par rapport aux démarches (…) je suis désolé si je semble égoïste, je promets que dans les faits je ne le suis pas — tout tourne autour de toi, j’aurais toujours mille questions à te poser, et je me les pose finalement in my head. Je suis désolé de trop parler, de trop parler de moi et de ces jours-ci. Tu sais, tout ce que j’attends c’est notre jour, de fêter tout ça, de pouvoir être avec toi. Je sais que je ne suis pas “là” but I truly am. Je pense à toi, je pense à ce qui t’attend, je pense à nous ici, je pense à comment tu dois être anxieuse, fatiguée et rêveuse aussi. Et je veux que tu puisses tout me dire, même quand j’ai l’air occupé. Tu passeras toujours avant tout le reste, et j’espère que tu en as toujours aussi conscience.

I want you to feel good, now and always. I know it’s okay to have moments, and it’s fair, it’s human and it’s normal. Mais en tant que boyfriend, j’aimerai que cela disparaisse, à tout jamais dans un tour noir. Puisque chose impossible, je me retrouve avec des mots maladroits, à penser que mon amour suffise à panser ces maux à l’intérieur. C’est sûrement une pensée égoïste, là encore. Faut dire que je marche un peu à l’envers these days. Je me déteste quand j’écris, en ce moment, c’est pas trop le sujet mais je voulais le mentionner, car ça justifiera peut être à quel point mes mots ne sont ni suffisants ni très intelligents. J’aimerai pouvoir traduire mes sentiments (et mes attentions / intentions) des fois en une langue, pour que tu puisses en comprendre toute l’intensité. J’aimerai que tu puisses voir à quel point tout mon monde tourne autour de toi et à quel point je culpabilise quand je n’arrive pas à centrer ma gravitation correctement (c’est à dire… quand le monde me rend moins efficace, si c’est le mot). Je t’aime plus que tout au monde, i really do. I hate to be far from you. I hate to see you down, sad, or “whatever” like you said. I don’t like feeling useless, I don’t like stating everything I am right now because im scared it will make you roll your eyes. And im not saying that to make you feel bad for… feeling bad. I’m saying that I couldn’t say otherwise. C’est toi et ensuite le reste, et je suis désolé si je ne parviens pas toujours à l’exprimer de cette façon, mais du plus profond de mes entrailles, it really is like that. Les mots sonnent vraiment mal, je déteste sound like that (idk how i sound but bad) ; i know you love me, and that you know i love you.

Tout ira bien, je te le promets. J’y crois dur comme fer, je le vois et je l’ai toujours su. Je fais de mon mieux même si je sais que je ne fais pas assez ni correctement parfois, mais je pense à toi, constamment, peut être que des fois je devrai le faire à haute voix.

J’espère que pour le un an j’arriverai à retranscrire tout ça, d’une façon peut être un peu plus nouvelle. Mmm quoi que c’est pas le mot. D’une façon peut être un peu plus évocatrice disons. I love you Doll and I’m sorry for tonight if I wasn’t of great help, im sorry d’autant plus si je suis une raison à ces émotions. J’ai vraiment aimé pour le temps que nous étions en session et j’espère qu’on pourra faire cela plus souvent (enfin, avec toi feeling better aussi, idéalement). Je combat mes paupières as I type this, je sais que je ne suis pas très talkative par peur d’être trop encombrant, mais je ne veux pas que tu restes seule ou que tu dormes seule. Je pense ne pas vouloir dormir seul as well, I miss you, so much, next to me. Je fais de mon mieux pour tenir

Je pense à toi tout le temps and I Hope you will feel better in the morning. Please get some rest, wake me up, talk to me, yell at me. Do anything that could help. Pardon de radoter que ça, je n’ai pas envie de t’embêter.

En fait j’écrivais surtout pour te dire que je pensais à toi et que tu me manquais.

Et que j’étais désolé pour avoir la tête all over the place alors même que 99% de mes thoughts te sont destinés. All the time.

I love you babydoll, I love you so much. I feel almost anxious from being apart. I’m here, even when my body or my mind feel like they ain’t, I am. I am for you and to you, and I will always try my best to answer when you call. Cause that’s my most important duty, that’s my most important wish, it’s everything now and always.

Sorry for my words. I should have kept it simple and say that I want you to have the sweetest dreams, that I love you and im sorry I cant make bad things go away. That I’m here, and that it’s okay. And that it will be okay

[journaldenimportequi]

Samedi 30 décembre 2023

Bilan lecture

C'est le moment d'écrire le dernier récit de l'année. Ce récit consistera surtout à faire un bilan de mes lectures. Je n'ai pas été très productif cette année, il faut bien que je l'avoue. Surtout ces derniers mois. Je crois qu'il faudra que j'écrive encore une bonne année de récits pour avoir assez de matière à imprimer sur un livre (j'ai toujours le projet d'imprimer l'intégralité de mon journal sous forme de livre et rappelez vous, j'ai déjà le volume un). Bon sang je suis un fainéant, dans l'idéal il faudrait que je publie au moins un récit par semaine, but whatever...

Il y a quelques semaine mon cousin Jimmy m'a parlé de mon journal, il se trouve qu'il a fait un tour sur mon blog (j'avais mis un lien sur Facebook, c'est à dire à la vue de tous, chose que je n'avais jamais osé faire auparavant) et il m'a lu, et figurez vous qu'il a apprécié et il m'en a dit de belles choses, des choses très flatteuses que ma modestie m'empêche de réécrire ici mais sachez que ça m'a fait vraiment très plaisir et ça m'a fait penser que je n'écrivais pas tout à fait pour rien. Merci cousin !

L'an prochain sera probablement, comme cette année, une année de concerts pour moi. J'ai en ma possession deux tickets de concerts pour Cat Power à Paris et rien de moins que Eric « God » Clapton à Lyon. Cat Power vient de sortir un album fabuleux dans lequel elle reprend le fameux concert de Dylan en 1966, avec la première partie acoustique et la seconde électrique. Et elle arrive à accomplir ce miracle : faire en sorte que la musique soit fidèle au concert original et en même temps y ajouter avec sa voix merveilleuse un petit quelque chose qui rend le disque unique. Et donc, suite à ce disque elle a annoncée une tournée dont deux dates à Paris. Je n'ai pas pu m'empêcher de choper une place pour la seconde date parisienne, et tant qu'à faire j'ai pris la meilleure place qui était disponible. C'était plutôt cher, surtout qu'après il va falloir choper un billet de train aller-retour et une nuit à l'hôtel mais, hé, on a qu'une vie, le cœur a parlé et je me suis fait plaisir.

Concernant Clapton, il s'agit tout simplement d'un des rares (deux ou trois, avec les Stones) musicien de légende que je n'avais encore jamais vu, là aussi il fallait absolument que je chope une place, alors voilà : Eric, here I come !

Ces derniers jours j'ai été plutôt heureux, malgré ma solitude relative (après tout me voilà encore célibataire depuis trois mois déjà), et, ça peut paraître un peu fou mais c'est vrai, la littérature, l'art, sont bel et bien les responsables de mon bien être, tout ça compte beaucoup pour moi et par chance j'ai actuellement de bonnes lectures.

Je viens de me rendre compte que je n'ai pas parlé de noël mais il faut dire que les noëls se suivent et se ressemblent. Disons que nous avons cette année encore nous nous sommes réunis chez mon frère avec sa belle famille, nous avons, encore une fois, mangé et échangé des cadeaux, mon neveu Paul était enchanté et sa joie était mon plus beau cadeau cette année là. C'était aussi le premier noël de ma nièce Pia, si mignonne... Concernant les cadeaux, si vous me lisez depuis longtemps vous vous douterez que j'ai reçu des livres, de quoi alimenter mon bonheur pour les mois à, venir.

Demain, c'est le réveillon du jour de l'an et je n'ai rien prévu de spécial, ce sera l'éternel repas fancy suivit d'un film (je crois que nous regarderons La Rose Pourpre Du Caire de Woody Allen dont j'ai le dvd posé sur ma bibliothèque depuis des semaines et que je n'ai pas encore vu, il paraît que c'est un de ses meilleurs films).

Pour conclure, comme je l'ai fait l'an dernier et je le ferais chaque fin d'année, voici mon bilan lectures de l'année 2023 :

Alain Pacadis, itinéraire d'un dandy punk (Alexis Bernier, François Buot)

Palimpseste (Gore Vidal)

Le Brady, cinéma des damnés (Jacques Thorens)

Le poète russe préfère les grands nègres (Edouard Limonov)

Papa Hemingway (A.E. Hotchner)

Le dernier ermite (Michael Finkel)

Knulp (Hermann Hesse)

La vérité et rien d'autre (Mike Tyson)

Hemingway, histoire d'une vie 1, 1899-1936 (Carlos Baker)

Le salon (Oscar Lalo)

Mick, sex and rock'n'roll (Christopher Andersen)

Thérébenthine (Carole Fives)

Je Le Jure (Frédéric Dard)

La bande à Gabin (Philippe Durant)

Je suis vivant et vous êtes morts (Emmanuel Carrère)

Les derniers jours des chefs nazis (Luc Mary, Philippe Valode)

Hemingway, histoire d'une vie 2, 1936-1961 (Carlos Baker)

Marchands d'art (Daniel Wildenstein, Yves Stavrides)

Vous me croirez si vous voulez (Professeur Choron, Jean-Marie Gourio)

Souvenirs d'un marchand de tableaux (Ambroise Vollard)

J'avoue m'être trompé (Federico Zeri)

Au delà de l'avenue D (Philippe Marcadet)

La prochaine fois que tu mordras la poussière (Panayotis Pascot)

Please kill me (Legs McNeil, Gillian McCain)

Le passant du Bowery (Clément Ghys)

Mémoires d'un nomade (Paul Bowles)

Woody Allen (John Baxter)

Rockambolesque (Sacha Reins)

Van Gogh (Steven Naifeh, Gregory White Smith)

Autoportrait (Helmut Berger)

Et dans l'éternité je ne m'ennuierai pas (Paul Veyne)

Bande son : Cat Power Sings Dylan, Cat Power

[edmilson1000]

#boanoite Boa noite tudo que fizer, faça com força e com alegria na alma, se dando e se doando no que fizer, que a recompensa vem do Senhor... ____________________________________________ #goodnight Good night, whatever you do, do it with strength and with joy in your soul, giving yourself and giving yourself in what you do, that the reward comes from the Lord... ____________________________________________ #bonnenuit Bonne nuit, quoi que vous fassiez, faites-le avec force et avec joie dans votre âme, en vous donnant et en vous donnant dans ce que vous faites, que la récompense vienne du Seigneur... ____________________________________________ #buenasnoches Buenas noches, hagas lo que hagas, hazlo con fuerza y ​​con alegría en el alma, entregándote y entregándote en lo que haces, que la recompensa venga del Señor... ____________________________________________ #buonanotte Buonanotte, qualunque cosa tu faccia, falla con forza e con gioia nell'anima, donandoti e donandoti in ciò che hai fatto, affinché la ricompensa venga dal Signore... #ดารา #ข่าว #บันเทิง #ข่าวบันเทิง #granfindesemana #giornofelice #finesettimana #buonasettimana #settimanabenedetta #instagram #happyday #foi #faith #fé #fe #gooddreams #goodrest #happyweek #weekend😊 #week #felizsemana #bonnesemainen #bonssonhos #bomdescanso (em Novo Horizonte, Salvador) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cox6rMruji3/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[aeternals]

admittedly, the sight of a child hanging off amos is derailed by the bit about getting shot a little. desiderius knows himself well enough at this point to pause the transmission and walk away from his hand terminal until the urge to send a message directly to holden had passed. in that time he enjoyed half a glass of wine, closed the deal on a small statue he'd brought with him from tycho, and sent an update to avasarala about pirates attacking settler ships near the ring.

by the time he returns back to the terminal he sees the pause on that sleepy little face resting against his lover's shoulder. there's a hollow in him knowing he'd never be a father in quite that way. whatever passenger they acquired would either be gone before returning to medina or handed over to the transport union for relocation services.

[ transmission begin. ]

" my love, " desiderius smiles easily and eagerly just thinking about the four short days that separate them. " i'll keep an ear down at the nearby stations to see if any beat up stragglers show up. i'm excited to see you. " lips part but desi's smile only grows. he leans back, combing a hand through locks that had grown since their time down in baltimore; a time that was still etched into the outside of his right thigh.

humor and embarrassment fought for control. although, truth be told, he honestly wasn't sure why he was still embarrassed over getting excited to see amos.

another slow sip of wine is taken and the glass set down methodically. " you can hardly see the bruise as it is. i'm glad you're alright and thank you for telling me. but, " he points at the camera as if tapping somewhere on amos's person. " you forgot to introduce me to the roci's new crew member. if there's anything i can do to help with her or anyone else you might have on board, please let me know. "

the broker gets lost in thought. both elbows are resting on the desk with one hand half covering his face with his chin resting in his palm. " i miss you, lion. bonne nuit, ma chérie. "

[ transmission end. ]

@aeternals / desi

"Hey Des." Amos' voice is quieter than usual, coming from behind the camera that currently just shows the machine shop setup. When he appears on screen, he's bouncing just a little, apparently in an attempt at keeping the tow headed toddler shaped octupi that seems to have attached itself to him, arms tight around his neck, cheek on his shoulder, half lidded eyes following the soft flickering light of the recorder on his console as he paces. "Just wanted to let you know we're running behind schedule, so it looks like we'll be hitting Medina about four days late as of now." One hand reaches to adjust the camera angle. The other arm is clearly occupied in keeping the toddler supported at his waist. "Everyone's fine, I only got shot a little, you probably won't even be able to tell by the time we get back." A somewhat cheeky smirk, at that one, though the camera does pick up a few scrapes and a bruise on his temple that weren't there last video transmission. "There's still some Free Navy remnants out here that are trying to pick off anyone that they thinks an easy target and we ran into a couple of 'em picking through what was left of a settler ship on our way back so. Cap's in pursuit of the one that got away, but the trail looks like it might've gone cold for now. I'll let you know if he finds anything else out in the meantime. Talk at you soon."

[Transmission ended.]

[slaying-absolute-penis]

aaaaaaand now it's time to figure out if im still as susceptible to having apocalyptic nightmares as i was as a kid 👍

[somuchbetterthanthat]

well, turns out it’s not the 20k that did it folks, it’s the coming-close-to-the-40k 

i guess we’ll have to see if tomorrow’s episode inspires me or if it just agrees with my brain that i should stop there and then i will just have bothered you with this fic for months for..nothing 

[facelessinthecrowd]

She knew his hands were tied. It envoked a faux sense of power, but one not outwardly enjoyed. Despite her lack of allegiance to anyone who called these streets home, it seemed that some sense of solidarity was behind her stalling him. Just as he stood by his words, she stood by her own.

"Oh, dear inspector, you say that as a threat and something I should care about," she shot back, pushing herself from the wall to exhale with a sigh. "A night behind bars— a change of scenery, wouldn't you agree?"

If Meg was truthful, she didn't understand why people feared that prospect so much. Or perhaps it was the result of simply not caring any more.

Of course she could hear the same disturbance. If it wasn't for the familiar silhouette of her pimp against the silver of the moon which flooded this simple alleyway, Meg would have continued dragging her feet. And then she remembered why she preferred Javert's company. Bars didn't come with fists; whatever was threatened by him was far more appealing than anything else.

"You owe me a cigarette," she commented finally whilst simultaneously trying to look busy. Of course, it was awkward for such a profession, but she could make a point of readjusting her cleavage without engaging in anything else. Despite his distance, her pimp's eyes burned with a rage she would meet as soon as Javert departed. "But of course you know where to find me."

Despite the inevitable, she flashed a smile nonetheless. Who knew if it would look the same tomorrow? "Bonne nuit, Inspector." She did not have to be told twice.

It struck him that she spoke in spite of him as well as to him, knowing that she was addressing a brick wall yet speaking anyway. It wouldn't change his response because he wouldn't let it but he did hold a certain respect for her rebellion in a way that made no sense to him. So naturally he preferred to ignore it. "Not for a second," he answered for all the world like he was proud of this.

His attempt to shoo her away backfired. The curious thing about the law in these matters was that the trade wasn't necessarily an arrestable offense. He could demand to see her license, ensure it was up to date, but that was one of the rare aspects of his duty that he would leave to others if he could. Shirking and he knew it, which indicated a marked and profound disconnect, which he wouldn't acknowledge.

To be human! Javert huffed scoffingly at the idea. He was not human. He was either base animal or avenging angel, but not merely human. "Exactly. That is why I do not do it." And then: "Yes, yes," he grumbled, annoyed that he couldn't arrest her for simply existing on the streets, even with her profession; "And I am bad for business, so why don't I move along…"

This nearly elicited a smile of satisfaction but Javert was also distracted by the unmistakable sound of a disturbance not far away, which kept it from blooming fully. "I could escort you if you'd like. Just take a care it won't be you I arrest."