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thesightstoshowyou · 7 months ago

Note

begging you to elaborate on the "Asa tells Marena that Jesse is into dead body stuff" idea from earlier

~@slashhinginghasher

Hehehehehe hoohoohahahaha 😈 For anyone that missed it, here’s what this ask is referencing.

Into the Cricketverse - Welcome to my Death Talk

Part 1*, Part 2, Part 2.5, Part 2.75, Interlude*, Part 3*

(Asterisks denote the parts written by the fabulous @slashhinginghasher )

Warnings: Graphic discussions of necrophilia and torture, Marena and Cricket recieve a million hits of psychological damage

Needle pierces fabric and the pull of thread fills the relative silence of the penthouse living room. Late afternoon sun spills in through the windows and warms Cricket as she sits on the sofa, legs curled up under her. She still can’t decide if she should add a little cactus flower next to the embroidered scarab beetle or not.

At the kitchen counter, Marena fiddles with something, but only the woman’s wild mane of hair is visible from where Cricket rests. Asa and Jesse sit side by side at the table, reviewing some undoubtedly heinous footage on Jesse’s laptop.

Chromeskull’s shoulders shake, a quiet wheeze leaving him as points to something on screen. Asa scoffs, “Was that necessary?” His tone might sound petulant to the uninitiated, but Cricket can hear the sly smirk in his voice.

In the interest of preserving her mental state, she doesn’t look up to see what Jesse signs in response. When she finishes this next stitch, she will nonchalantly ask to be excused. However, what Asa says next has her slowly raising her gaze to the two men seated at the table.

“That reminds me of Jacksonville. Remember the one with that ridiculous tattoo? What was it you put down her throat…?”

‘A fucking fluorescent lightbulb,’ Jesse signs with a silent chortle and a shake of his head.

“Broke halfway in, if I recall.”

‘Bitch wouldn’t stop flailing. It was her own damn fault.’

A quick glance toward the kitchen shows Cricket that Marena has frozen in her seat as she listens and watches out of the corner of her eye. In her own chest, her heart hammers. Time to leave, she must get away before hears any more—

“The way you had her bent back over the edge of the casket wasn’t doing her any favors,” Asa chides as though he’s teasing Jesse about a faux pas and not the brutal torture of some poor, nameless woman. “Though I believe it was the rutting that did her in.”

As though forced by an unseen hand, Marena stiffly twists around to turn her icy gaze on the conversation. Cricket wishes she could shout at her to flee, that nothing good will come from hearing what will be said next. Instead, she tightens her grip on the embroidery frame until it creaks.

‘Hey, dead pussy’s still pussy. And you’re one to talk. I’m pretty sure I remember you mentioning some similar proclivities before your little Cricket showed up.’

Asa chuckles and shakes his head. “Perhaps, but when it comes down to quantity of occurrences, there is only one clear winner, Cromeans.”

“Shut. Up.” Guffaws cease and the two men turn to look at Marena. With how she’s shifted, Cricket can now see she’s holding a knife in her white-knuckled grip. Her words are as sharp as its blade, but in her eyes is the unspoken plea: ‘Please tell me you are joking.’

If only.

Cricket clenches her jaw and looks down at her trembling hands. She lets her gaze go out of focus. Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it….

“I thought you would know better by now than to speak to me that way,” comes Asa’s frigid reply. All levity has left his voice. Cricket snaps her eyes closed.

There’s silence—Jesse signing maybe—and Cricket peeks up to see Marena shaking her head like she’s trying to rid herself of the visual he undoubtedly just painted in her brain.

Cricket wishes she was telepathic. She would scream into Marena’s head and tell her she would understand if the other woman went ballistic on the both of them, no matter what consequences it incurred. She tries to convey the sentiment with her eyes, but Marena’s are firmly locked on Jesse’s grinning face.

“Come here, Cricket.” Asa says it lightly, but the intention behind his words drops her heart into her stomach. The sewing supplies clatter when she hastily places them on the coffee table. Bare feet pad quietly across marble as she comes to stand before the Collector, hands wringing, eyes on the floor.

Asa wraps his arms around her waist and eases Cricket into his lap. He positions her back to his chest so she’s facing Marena. One warm hand comes up to rest on her throat, rough fingers tracing each of her scares reverently. She tries to ignore the way her skin crawls due to the newly revealed depravity

“Look at her,” he commands, lips brushing the shell of her ear. Mismatched eyes find cold blue. Marena’s face is expressionless, but it’s forced, like she’s put every fiber of her being into remaining impassive. Asa’s next words are hushed, meant only for Cricket, “Do you think that, because you are my favorite, your corpse will not suffer a similar fate?”

Her throat dries and nausea churns in her gut. Laboriously, lips part to release a tremulous exhale as she gives a single shake of her head. Marena watches blankly, but Cricket can see the tense set of her shoulders.

And if Cricket sees it, Asa can see it too.

Then, Marena turns and stalks away. Her pace is not hurried, but neither is it slow. She is measured, deliberate in her movement, her control barely maintained. The master bedroom door closes with a soft click.

The Collector hums thoughtfully. The hand lifts from Cricket’s throat and she flinches, prepared for the hurt, but Asa only murmurs, “You may start dinner.”

She scrambles from his lap and utters a shaky, “Yes, Sir,” in acknowledgement. As she retreats to the sanctity of the kitchen, she doesn’t listen to what Asa says to Jesse.

#thank you for the ask #asa emory #asa emory x cricket #asa emory x oc #cricket oc #jesse cromeans #the collector 2009 #chromeskull #laid to rest #the collection #marena polunochnaya #other’s ocs #midnight star #into the cricketverse #this spring break fucking sucks

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desceros · 1 year ago

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wip list

i decided that instead of having a list on my masterpost since this list has gotten so, so goddamned long it'd be easier to just have a linked post that i keep (relatively) up to date with ideas that are in my pile.

here's a list of my ideas. if one of them makes you particularly feral you can lmk. i can't promise i'll work on it right away since i write whatever makes me foam at the mouth the most at any given time, but it'll push things closer to the top of the pile!

updated: 17 july

these aren't in any particular order, but if they have asterisks** that means they're something i really wanna work on. i’m using the following format:

pairing, anticipated rating (ref here); description

question marks mean i’m still waffling about

rise

**DREDGE AU (i have abt 20 wips. i'm not listing them all) donnie, ?; donnie bonds with draxum donnie, E; donnie has a hand kink now donnie, E; donnie likes fingering you donnie, E; donnie's dtf leo, ?; 5 times leo catches you doing something embarrassing leo, E; the pube fic leo, ?; night blooming flowers on the roof mikey, E; having sex with mikey is vanilla... until it isn't leo, E; the penpal au donnie, E philosophy major/biology major enemies to lovers donnie, E; SWEATPANTELLO leo, E; the amnesia fic donnie, E; the one where donnie fixes your shit donnie, E; PAPATELLO leo, E; fake marriage fic donnie, E; sex pollen in the lab sequel donnie, E; wearing more clothes over time donnie, E; yoga instructor ?, ?; the apocalypse fic donnie, E; the other apocalypse fic leo, E; the other other apocalypse fic **leo, E; day job au raph, E; day job au mikey, E; day job au donnie, E; long-hair donnie leo, E; leo learns how to meditate leo, E; the leo bruise fic

bayverse

leo, ?; 5 times leo asks for advice on flirting leo, E; GFMP sequel leo, ?; angry chinchilla-esque reader leo, M or E; leo texts the wrong number raph, E; photographer-chan leo, E; vern's PA donnie, E; you and april have trash taste in men raph, T or E; we make each other worse raph, E; hawk-coded character donnie, E; donnie's a virgin. you're here to help donnie, E; donnie wants a baby **raph, E; the cinderella fic leo, E; leo likes bossing you around

idw

donnie, ?; a moment in the barn (volume 4) leo, ?; city fall angst

2003

donnie, ?; reflecting on the breeding program episode

undecided tmnt

donnie, ?; devotion bordering on worship ?, ?; the hand that wants to be held, needing a glove donnie, E; brumation fic

#this isn't all of them. just the ones that are uh. firm enough in my head to make the cut to a wip page i guess. dont judge me ok.#this also doesn't include the stuff in my inbox that you people have been sending in. you dogs. as always i will publish them

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crowjodojocasahouse · 1 year ago

Note

hii sorry if it sounds weird but are you still drumming? if so do you have anything drum related you want to say ? :)

hi!! not weird at all! i am still drumming, and i assure you i'll never stop. it's not just a hobby, it's my pride and joy, my lifestyle. i moved to the city and am currently pursuing a music degree.

the drumming related thing: just do it. so many people always say "ooo that's so cool that you play drums i wish i played drums" DOOOO IIIIT. i know starting is scary, and can be expensive, but here are five relatively cheap things to help you get started.

● a standard classic, 5A drumsticks (i know, vater, controversial, i'm a vater guy what can i say): https://www.sweetwater.com/store/detail/VHP5AW--vater-american-hickory-drumsticks-power-5a-wood-tip

● an evans realfeel drum pad, closest drum pad to feeling like a snare that i've played (i linked the cheapest option, but there are larger ones and also double-sided ones): https://www.sweetwater.com/store/detail/RealFeel6--evans-6-inch-realfeel-mountable-pad

● Tommy Igoe's "Great Hands For A Lifetime" curriculum. This curriculum starts from the very beginning. It teaches you the basics of hand technique, then goes all the way up to advanced hand patterns. You can buy it online, it comes with the full book (pdf), a poster with his Lifetime Warmup on it (pdf), complementary videos that accompany the text, and mp3 files of Tommy Igoe taking you through three different iterations of the Lifetime Warmup (basic, intermediate, and advanced). i'm not sponsored i promise HAHAH, i just swear by this program. i've been studying it with my teacher for over a year now and my technique has improved so much.: https://hudsonmusic.com/product/great-hands-for-a-lifetime/

a book to help you begin reading music, even if you don't stick with drums, this book is the bible for every musician. Progressive Steps To Syncopation For The Modern Drummer by Ted Reed. it begins with simple rhythms and they get a bit more complex as the book progresses. nothing outside of 4/4.

here's the International Drum Rudiments as outlined by the Percussive Arts Society. the asterisks indicate the original 26 traditional rudiments. this website not only has a pdf, but also downloadable audio files of every rudiment so you can hear them and read them. it's all free!

all together, this stuff costs about $80. it's not super cheap but it's cheaper than a whole kit and private lessons. it is possible to at least start playing drums without spending over $100. DON'T WAIT!!! NOW IS THE TIME!!!!! you get out of it what you put into it. if you put your heart into it, you'll get everything you could want out of it.

cheers!

#can you tell i want to be a teacher #drums #drumming #drumming education #music

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roman-catholic-mass-readings · 2 years ago

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11th June >> Mass Readings (USA)

Solemnity of Corpus Christi

(Liturgical Colour: White: A (1))

First Reading Deuteronomy 8:2–3, 14b–16a He gave you a food unknown to you and your fathers.

Moses said to the people: “Remember how for forty years now the LORD, your God, has directed all your journeying in the desert, so as to test you by affliction and find out whether or not it was your intention to keep his commandments. He therefore let you be afflicted with hunger, and then fed you with manna, a food unknown to you and your fathers, in order to show you that not by bread alone does one live, but by every word that comes forth from the mouth of the LORD.

“Do not forget the LORD, your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, that place of slavery; who guided you through the vast and terrible desert with its saraph serpents and scorpions, its parched and waterless ground; who brought forth water for you from the flinty rock and fed you in the desert with manna, a food unknown to your fathers.”

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 147:12–13, 14–15, 19–20

R/ Praise the Lord, Jerusalem. or R/ Alleluia.

Glorify the LORD, O Jerusalem; praise your God, O Zion. For he has strengthened the bars of your gates; he has blessed your children within you.

R/ Praise the Lord, Jerusalem. or R/ Alleluia.

He has granted peace in your borders; with the best of wheat he fills you. He sends forth his command to the earth; swiftly runs his word!

R/ Praise the Lord, Jerusalem. or R/ Alleluia.

He has proclaimed his word to Jacob, his statutes and his ordinances to Israel. He has not done thus for any other nation; his ordinances he has not made known to them. Alleluia.

R/ Praise the Lord, Jerusalem. or R/ Alleluia.

Second Reading 1 Corinthians 10:16–17 The bread is one, and we, though many, are one body.

Brothers and sisters: The cup of blessing that we bless, is it not a participation in the blood of Christ? The bread that we break, is it not a participation in the body of Christ? Because the loaf of bread is one, we, though many, are one body, for we all partake of the one loaf.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Sequence Lauda, Sion

The Sequence may be said or sung in full, or using the shorter form indicated by the asterisked verses.

Laud, O Zion, your salvation, Laud with hymns of exultation, Christ, your king and shepherd true:

Bring him all the praise you know, He is more than you bestow. Never can you reach his due.

Special theme for glad thanksgiving Is the quick’ning and the living Bread today before you set:

From his hands of old partaken, As we know, by faith unshaken, Where the Twelve at supper met.

Full and clear ring out your chanting, Joy nor sweetest grace be wanting, From your heart let praises burst:

For today the feast is holden, When the institution olden Of that supper was rehearsed.

Here the new law’s new oblation, By the new king’s revelation, Ends the form of ancient rite:

Now the new the old effaces, Truth away the shadow chases, Light dispels the gloom of night.

What he did at supper seated, Christ ordained to be repeated, His memorial ne’er to cease:

And his rule for guidance taking, Bread and wine we hallow, making Thus our sacrifice of peace.

This the truth each Christian learns, Bread into his flesh he turns, To his precious blood the wine:

Sight has fail’d, nor thought conceives, But a dauntless faith believes, Resting on a pow’r divine.

Here beneath these signs are hidden Priceless things to sense forbidden; Signs, not things are all we see:

Blood is poured and flesh is broken, Yet in either wondrous token Christ entire we know to be.

Whoso of this food partakes, Does not rend the Lord nor breaks; Christ is whole to all that taste:

Thousands are, as one, receivers, One, as thousands of believers, Eats of him who cannot waste.

Bad and good the feast are sharing, Of what divers dooms preparing, Endless death, or endless life.

Life to these, to those damnation, See how like participation Is with unlike issues rife.

When the sacrament is broken, Doubt not, but believe ‘tis spoken, That each sever’d outward token doth the very whole contain.

Nought the precious gift divides, Breaking but the sign betides Jesus still the same abides, still unbroken does remain.

The shorter form of the sequence begins here.

*Lo! the angel’s food is given To the pilgrim who has striven; see the children’s bread from heaven, which on dogs may not be spent.

*Truth the ancient types fulfilling, Isaac bound, a victim willing, Paschal lamb, its lifeblood spilling, manna to the fathers sent.

*Very bread, good shepherd, tend us, Jesu, of your love befriend us, You refresh us, you defend us, Your eternal goodness send us In the land of life to see.

*You who all things can and know, Who on earth such food bestow, Grant us with your saints, though lowest, Where the heav’nly feast you show, Fellow heirs and guests to be. Amen. Alleluia.

Gospel Acclamation John 6:51

Alleluia, alleluia. I am the living bread that came down from heaven, says the Lord; whoever eats this bread will live forever. Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel John 6:51–58 My flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink.

Jesus said to the Jewish crowds: “I am the living bread that came down from heaven; whoever eats this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give is my flesh for the life of the world.”

The Jews quarreled among themselves, saying, “How can this man give us his flesh to eat?” Jesus said to them, “Amen, amen, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you do not have life within you. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him on the last day. For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him. Just as the living Father sent me and I have life because of the Father, so also the one who feeds on me will have life because of me. This is the bread that came down from heaven. Unlike your ancestors who ate and still died, whoever eats this bread will live forever.”

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

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archivelondonfalling-rpg · 2 years ago

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Diamonds are Forever

A london falling event - Starting on the 26th of April

The Jolly Rogers have been taking advantage of the shift in leadership in the opposition’s ranks to prepare a bold and extremely lucrative heist. One of the advantages of working in a company is that the workers are always more important than the CEO.

They’d hit the Jabberwocks on their turf, and they would come home with a lot of money in their pockets.

The event at the casino was announced many months ago: every year the casino hosts a large-scale auction, featuring one star element, bound to draw in investors, collectors, as well as every curious citizen in town. Last year, it was a private collector willing to part with a Goya; this year, an emerald that is said to have belonged to none other than Queen Victoria herself.

Paintings, diamonds and antiques will be displayed in the lobby but it is only during the auction that the pièce de resistance will be revealed.

This is when the Jolly Rogers will strike.

For the perfect heist to be pulled off, the gang needs the following roles to be filled:

The Distraction

-As the title already entails, The Distraction's job is to distract. It's up to them to be the center of attention to pull the prying eyes in their direction instead of what's happening behind the smoke screen. Example: posing as the groom/bride of a stag/hen night party to keep the casino's staff catering to them.

The Ball & Chain

-They enter the auction room with an eminent investor* on their arm, potentially harnessing the interest of a Jabberwock who is hellbound on keeping a close eye on them.

The Imposter(s)

-They neutralize and impersonate members* of the private company mandated to handle the objects being auctioned off.

The Quick-Change

-A critical role that requires the one to fill it not to be caught under any circumstances. They have the fake gem in their pockets, ready to change it out for the real one to give the Jolly Rogers as much time to get away before being found to be the fake. They'll be working in tandem with the rest of the crew, a precise dance, while weaving through the wild cards* of the guests and Jabberwocks alike.

In addition to these designated roles for the characters already within the Jolly Rogers, you may have noticed in some of these descriptions an asterisk by some keywords. These roles are encouraged to be played by our members during the event. For those who are interested in playing these temporary (and very possibly in-game disposable) characters, let the main know! We hope this becomes a great opportunity for all our players to enhance their muse since these characters are just for fun without any pressure to continue with them!

For those who play characters who are in neither gang, there are plenty of opportunities built in!

From gathering the major storylines of the night to upholding the laws of London or being a V.I.P. for the night, the Red Casino welcomes all making it the perfect opportunity for characters to mingle with all sorts of people, criminals, law enforcement, government, etc.

Ask Memes

Here are a few ask memes to find inspiration from. Feel free to reblog them onto your blog ( link to your accounts’ ask box if you have multiple characters)

#lf.event #crime rp #skeleton rp #semi appless rp #appless rp #mafia rp #mob rp

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contemplatingoutlander · 11 days ago

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The original Washington Post article is well worth reading. It focuses on struggling white, working class residents of New Castle, PA. What is most astonishing (and sad) about the quotes from some of these people in the original article, is how deeply Trump and right-wing media conned them.

“He is more attuned to the needs of everyone instead of just the rich,” [Lori] Mosura, 55, said on a recent afternoon. “I think he knows it’s the poor people that got him elected, so I think Trump is going to do more to help us.”

“We helped get you in office; please take care of us,” Mosura said, shifting the conversation as though she were speaking to Trump. “Please don’t cut the things that help the most vulnerable.”

“It’s not cutting government programs, it’s cutting the amount of people needed to run a program,” [Steve Tillia] said. “They are cutting staff, which could actually increase the amount of the programs that we get.”

“You can’t wipe out half of the population” of New Castle, [Kathy] Davis said. “We are old and tired and just want to be taken care of, and Trump has too much common sense, so I don’t think he is going to do anything to hurt us.” [emphasis added]

A Portrait of the People Quoted Above

*Lori Mosura (age 55) "goes to the grocery store on a bicycle because she can’t afford to fix her Ford F-150 truck. The single mother and her 17-year-old son live in an apartment that is so small she sleeps in the dining room. They receive $1,200 each month in food stamps and Social Security benefits but still come up short. Mosura said she often must decide whether to buy milk or toilet paper." **Steve Tillia (age 59) "receives $1,600 a month in Social Security disability payments and $300 in food stamps to support himself and his son. Tillia, who said he is unable to work after suffering from mini strokes, still drives around New Castle with a Trump flag anchored on the bumper of his SUV."

***Kathy Davis is "a retired artist, subsists on a monthly $1,300 Social Security payment and $75 in food stamps. She rents her studio apartment for $385 per month. Asked whether she worries that Trump’s agenda could hurt the poor, Davis said the incoming president is 'too smart for that.'” [emphasis added]

The original WaPo article by Tim Craig is worth reading. Below is a link to a copy on the Internet Archive.

New Castle, Pennsylvania, on Dec. 19. (Jeff Swensen for The Washington Post)

____________________ Note that three different photos were cropped from the article for the portraits; the inset in Tillia's photo was added to provide part of the cropped out larger photo. Formatting was changed for descriptions under the photos and asterisks were added.

From low-income voters who supported Donald Trump last month, a plea to the president-elect: don’t cut our benefits.

Trump has frequently made grand promises to protect Social Security, Medicare and other benefits. But with a growing list of billionaires on his cabinet, a vow to quell spending and a slim Republican coalition in Congress consisting of some anti-spending hawks, his voters aren’t so sure.

Pennsylvania Trump voter Lori Mosura described the billionaire as “more attuned to the needs of everyone instead of just the rich” in an interview with the Washington Post. She lives below the poverty line, receiving $1,200 a month in food stamps and Social Security benefits.

#trump #working class #low income voters fear trump will cut benefits #social safety net #gullible voters #the washington post #tim craig #yahoo news #internet archive

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otonymous · 3 years ago

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To Know Your Love: Part I (Tears of Themis: Artem - NSFW)

Description: What could the picture perfect Artem Wing have yet to master? The top attorney reveals his secrets and more to you in To Know Your Love. Part I of a two-part mini-series.

Warnings: Please stay away if you are allergic to fluff. Aside from that, slight spoilers for Artem's Side Story and the story from his "Sparks" SR (nothing major that would interfere with the game, but please be warned in case you don't want any spoilers at all 😊)

Word Count: 3822 words (~19 mins of that yearning, slow-burn sweetness)

Author's Notes:

To celebrate the official release of Tears Of Themis, I present to you my first ever smut written for the game - and it's for the absolutely lovely Artem Wing! I tried to make this as true to (what I currently know of) the character as possible, hence this is one long ass read 🤣. That being said, I hope y'all enjoy it! ❤️

PS. Lines marked by an asterisk were taken directly from Artem's "Sparks" SR card story or from his side story. The first section of this fic was inspired by the story associated with the "Sparks" SR.

(Originally posted on Pa*treon on July 11/21)

“Artem, you’ve been grilling for almost two hours now. Why don’t you let me take over? I know I’m no master chef, but it’s a great chance for me to get a few pointers from you!”

Azure eyes warmed by orange flame meet yours over a massive number of skewers, meticulously lined up on the grill as they’re cooked to perfection by an even more meticulous man.

The sharp angles of that handsome face soften as Artem shakes his head, lips pulling into a faint smile. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m fine. Why don’t you bring these over to the others instead?”

Placing the last of a batch of satay beef skewers onto a serving tray, he lifts its hefty weight with one hand to place it gently onto your outstretched arms, all the while continuing to cook with the other.

Glancing at your coworkers, you hesitate. There they were, sitting in a group some distance away from where you and Artem stood at the barbecue, the sound of their raucous laughter drifting over amidst lively conversations you couldn’t quite make out. You knew they could smell the sizzling meat though; the eager heads that popped up periodically to look in your direction provided ample confirmation.

And there, in the heart of the tranquil woods where Themis Law Firm had decided to hold their annual team building getaway, the discontent that had been simmering in your gut ever since you arrived finally boiled over.

Slam!

You set the tray down so hard onto the picnic table beside you that Artem’s head snaps up. Blue eyes wide, his surprise lasts for all of a second before he regains composure, quickly setting aside the meat thermometer he had brought from home to wipe his hands on the front of his apron (also his own), face apologetic as he approaches.

“I’m sorry. You must be exhausted, having helped me with the fishing and food prep earlier. Here, give me the tray and I’ll accompany you over to the others. You stay and have fun. I’ll come back and take care of the rest.”

His expression — all soft consideration — is the final nail in the coffin.

“I’m not exhausted, Artem, but you must be. You’ve been doing everything for everyone this entire trip. The whole point of going camping was for all of us to get a chance to kick back and relax, yourself included. The least they can do is come over and get their own damn food.”

…especially after they’ve been avoiding you like the plague, you think, before good sense made you bite your tongue. So you follow with a meek “I’m sorry” instead, cheeks warm at the vehemence of your outburst, especially when you notice the way Artem stiffens, sitting on the bench beside you.

Looking off into the treetops swaying in the distance, Artem blots perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand. “Everyone is nervous around me. Whether as their senior or superior, my presence means they won’t be able to relax. The purpose of today’s team building is for everyone to relax. This is the best way for everyone to do so.”*

His deep voice was the same as always but the words give you pause, sinking in slowly like a skipping stone descends to the bottom of a lake. You remembered the way Celestine ripped into Artem for taking that work call on the bumpy ride up to the woods; how practically everyone had felt pressured to follow suit, pulling out laptops or cell phones and attempting to read or type until their faces turned green and the bus driver had to pull over so a puke queue could be formed by the side of the mountain.

Everything Artem said was true, of course. Your colleagues made a habit of fawning over his abilities and good looks at the break room as if he were an idol, elevating the man to such a degree that they couldn’t even work up the courage to look in his general direction. But you knew that it was also due to Artem's staunch work ethic and attention to detail, traits practically unmatched by anyone else in the field, let alone at the firm. To put it simply, your colleagues were afraid of messing up in front of him, preferring to shy away like one refrains from staring at the sun.

"Doesn’t it ever bother you?” you wanted to ask, the situation not sitting well with you at all. Aside from Celestine and yourself, you could hardly recall anyone else taking the time or effort to engage Artem in conversation that didn’t involve work. Behind his back, however, Artem was a hot topic amongst your colleagues, like how they arrived at the conclusion that there was no way the senior attorney could've had a significant other, not with evenings, weekends and even holidays he spent at the office.

So capable, so handsome and yet…so lonely.

Taking a deep breath, you derail your train of thought before it veers into pity territory. Artem was a grown man; he didn’t need anyone to feel sorry for him. Especially when the way you felt about him was decidedly more…

…complicated.

When you first joined the firm, you weren’t all that different from your colleagues, viewing Artem with a mixture of reverence and awe — the seeds of which had been planted during your time at law school when talk of both his legal and scholastic feats were already circulating amongst the student body.

What set you apart however, was the staunchness of your own ambition: you aspired to learn from the best so you could stand amongst them. So when you were given the chance to work directly under Artem, you did not shy away but jumped at it, taking the opportunity to carefully observe the wunderkind and his methods...while discovering the man behind the myth.

Because the truth was that Artem was as caring as he was strict, like a mentor who demanded excellence because he wanted to see you grow into someone capable of standing on their own two feet. And for someone as accomplished as he was, he surprisingly had very little ego, more concerned with acting in his clients’ best interests than resting on the laurels of his 99.9% win rate.

You had even come to find his seriousness endearing, how he would apologize for the way it seeped into other areas of his life — like bringing an entire complement of his own cooking utensils for this camping trip, or admitting to not knowing enough about “trending topics” to carry on a conversation that went beyond how to properly massage a fish to enhance its flavour.

“I’m sorry, I must be boring you,” he had said, cheeks faintly pink as his gaze dropped from yours back to the fish on the cutting board.

But nothing could be further from the truth.

You weren’t bored. You were in love.

Somewhere along the line, respect and admiration had mixed with glimpses of sweetness in a man who demonstrated sensitivity and consideration in ways you never expected, ways that gave you courage to think, to hope, that you weren’t the only one to sense the magic simmering beneath the surface of a relationship that was, to an outsider, solely professional.

Which was why you reacted the way you did, letting emotions get the best of you when you thought Artem Wing was being taken advantage of by your colleagues on this camping trip.

“Here, how about a compromise. I’ll stay and help you finish grilling up the last batch of skewers. But in return, we’ll go for a short hike afterwards so that everyone can have a chance to relax, yourself included. Deal?”

Azure eyes sweep from the pinky finger you held up before settling onto your face, Artem staring so intently at you that it takes a moment before you realize you had stopped breathing. Finally, he smiles, wrapping his finger around yours like mischievous children sharing a secret.

“Deal.”

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

A gentle breeze whistles between trees, carrying the scent of pine and cedar and accentuating that of Artem’s cologne — so faint now that had you been standing farther away, you wouldn’t have caught it.

As it was, the path of the trail was propitiously narrow and as neither of you wished to walk in single file, you found yourselves hemmed in so closely together that the backs of your hands almost touched.

“Um, it was nice of Celestine to loan us her flashlight for the hike. It’s getting so dark I can already see the stars.”

The sound of your voice seemed almost jarring in the quiet woods, but the two of you had been walking in near silence for the past ten minutes and with dusk descending, it was getting harder and harder to see the expressions on his face.

Artem had seemed somewhat put-off by Celestine’s reaction when he went to inform her he was off to take a short walk with you. And while you couldn’t hear the words exchanged at the distance from which you stood waiting, the giant smile on her face was obvious, as was the enthusiasm with which she shoved the flashlight into Artem’s hands, waving like a proud mother seeing her child off on the first day of school.

“Ahem, yes, it was very generous of her. Do you—"

“Artem, do you—"

Speaking at the same time, you share a sheepish chuckle before Artem smoothly motions for you to continue.

“I was just going to ask if you ever had any interest in stargazing. One year, when I was a child, my parents bought me a telescope for my birthday. Back then, I would spend hours looking through it, wondering about these balls of light that shone like diamonds in the sky and thinking that if only I were patient enough, I’d catch a glimpse of a UFO.” Turning towards him, you smile. “Silly, right?”

Artem shakes his head, neck extending to look towards the darkening sky — the posture highlighting the masculine bulge of his Adam’s apple in the most captivating way.

“Not at all. That sounds very sweet, like how a childhood should be.”

There is a hint of melancholy in his tone, so faint you couldn’t be sure if you had only imagined it.

“I liked it too,” he says. “Liked reading the skies and searching for different constellations, learning the stories behind them. Do you see that one?”

With a long, tapered finger, Artem points in the direction of a broad cluster of stars, twinkling much brighter on this mountaintop than you'd ever see amongst the lights of the city. You nod, trying and failing to focus, consumed as you were by how close Artem was standing beside you, heat seeming to roll off his body in waves despite the windbreaker he had on.

“That one’s Perseus, the hero from Greek myth. And that one over there is Princess Andromeda.”

The forest around you falls into a hush, as if the trees themselves were just as intent on hanging onto his every word as you were. The pleasant timbre of Artem’s low voice was rich and soft; warm breath caressing the shell of your ear as he patiently continued with his story, tracing each constellation as he does.

“Perseus was returning home after having successfully slayed the gorgon, Medusa, when he came upon Andromeda. The princess had been chained to the face of a cliff, forced to act as a sacrifice for the sea monster, Cetus, as punishment for her queen mother’s continual boasting of her daughter’s beauty, which angered the gods. The hero, having fallen in love with the princess at first sight, decided then and there that he would be the one to save her from her sad fate or die trying.”

He pauses then, leaving you on a cliffhanger. Curiosity peaking, you turn towards the reticent storyteller, completely forgetting about the proximity of his body to yours.

Pulling back in shock, your lips burn from where they had accidentally brushed against the chiseled line of Artem’s jaw. You can see it clearly now, Artem’s face — the moon having risen in full to cast an ethereal glow over his handsome features. But none could compare to his eyes, almost indigo now like the night sea, reflecting the stars above.

To say that the sight was breathtaking would be an understatement.

Especially when you had literally been holding your breath when it became clear that Artem's gaze wasn't going to drop from yours.

“What happened next?”

Your voice is little more than a whisper.

There is a rise in his chest — subtle and shaky, as if he, too, was only now just starting to breathe. He wets his lips with a quick dart of the tongue; they glisten pink under faint moonlight, and you cannot help but wonder how your lips would’ve felt to touch his instead of merely grazing his jaw.

“It…it is at this point that inconsistencies appear in the myth. Some accounts say that Perseus slew Cetus with a sword forged from diamonds; others say he turned the creature to stone by pulling Medusa’s decapitated head from a sack and turning its gaze upon the monster. Sorry, I suppose that description’s a bit gruesome. I’m not very good at telling stories.”

With a self-deprecating chuckle, Artem looks down - breaking the spell that had held the two of you in its grasp.

“I disagree; you had me hanging onto your every word. But I have to say that I had no idea you were so well versed in Greek mythology. It really is quite amazing, Artem, the way you seem to know about…everything, really.”

“You flatter me. Nothing could be further from the truth.”

“Oh yeah? Name one subject you know very little about.”

“Well, Celestine seems to think that I’m hopeless when it comes to lo—"

Catching himself, Artem purses his lips, suddenly silent again.

“When it comes to what, Artem?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing important.”

He smiles but the tone of his voice makes it clear that this was a topic he felt uncomfortable discussing, so you let it drop despite your curiosity. Just what was the infallible Artem Wing so terribly bad at that he would ever be referred to as a hopeless case?

The question continues to haunt you for the rest of the night, lying sleeplessly in your tent as Artem retired to the one pitched in the earth beside yours.

It didn't help that you could still feel the heat of his skin on your lips.

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

Monday morning rolled around, bringing with it a return to normalcy.

The team-building getaway seemed little more than a pleasant weekend memory, the only difference being that now, your colleagues had Artem’s culinary prowess to throw into the mix of things to fawn over. It seems they still remembered the savoury taste of his skewers even if they had forgotten to work up the nerve to actually talk to him.

As for Artem, he was back to business as usual — serious and meticulous as always going over the details of the latest case you were working on together; so much so that he hadn’t realized you were the only ones left in the office when Celestine knocked on his door to say she was heading out.

“As much as I’d love to be married to the firm like both of you evidently are, my fiancé is waiting for me in the car. I know it’s bad for business for me to say this, but don’t stay too late!”

For reasons you cannot fathom, she throws an exaggerated wink Artem’s way before leaving with a smirk on her face.

“Oh wow, it’s almost 9. Where did the time go?” you remark, stretching your arms up overhead as you fight to suppress a yawn. Sneaking a peek in Artem's direction, you almost balk to see that he looked much as he did when you first saw him early that morning. The only clue that he had worked thirteen hours lay in the fact that the tie around his collar had been loosened, and only slightly at that.

No wonder they called him a machine behind his back.

“I’m sorry I lost track of time. It’s late, I’ll give you a lift home,” he says, and that’s all it takes for you to feel like you’ve won the lottery, breathing deeply to calm the butterflies flying en masse in your stomach.

“Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?”

“It’s no trouble at all. Let me put away these documents and we can go. No, it’s okay; I can handle this myself. Perhaps you could get my car keys from the drawer in my desk instead?”

Artem’s consideration makes you smile as you watch him lift the heavy case files from the corner of your eye. Walking to his desk, you sidestep his leather office chair, reaching to pull on the slim drawer just beneath the tabletop.

And pull and pull.

But to no avail.

Bending down, you peer into the slim space between the drawer and the underside of the desk. It doesn’t appear to be locked, but rather jammed from something misaligned within. So grasping the sides of the drawer, you jiggle it left and right until something gives and it finally slides open.

The offending object turned out to be the cover of a book. A textbook, in fact, its title embossed in bold gold foil:

"Introduction to the Psychology of Love and Attraction."*

Ba-bump, ba-bump.

Everything in your training insisted that you not jump to conclusions, told you that this book could’ve simply been something Artem had on hand for professional purposes, something to refer to in an effort to help his clients.

But the intuition that lit up every corner of your trembling heart told you this wasn't so.

You had seen Artem’s reference books before - neat and tidy and practically pristine in that he barely even took a highlighter to them let alone made notes in the margin. But this...this book had the look of one that was well-worn, referred to often as indicated by the number of neon Post-its that stuck out at intervals from its borders.

“Flowers — which are her favourites?” read one sticky yellow square, the word ‘flower’ circled multiple times in black ink as if it were a matter of tremendous importance.

“Don’t be afraid to reveal your softer side. Vulnerability builds trust — a key ingredient in any serious relationship,” read another.

And then you remember.

That night on the camping trip; the expression on Artem’s face under moonlight when he let slip, “Celestine seems to think I’m hopeless when it comes to lo—." The way he abruptly dropped the topic without even finishing his sentence.

Could it be that the one thing Artem Wing hadn’t mastered was…love?

“Are you ready to go—"

Stopping short behind you, Artem’s eyes flit to the book you had been staring at, sitting in the middle of the open drawer. And it feels like the blood has drained from your face, from your entire body — so much so that for a moment, you actually feel lightheaded.

“I-I’m so sorry, this isn’t what it looks like. I didn’t mean to pry. This book was stuck in your drawer when I tried opening it to get your keys-"

“It’s fine,” Artem says, his calm reply making you feel like you had just further incriminated yourself by acting like a blubbering idiot. “That's, um, just something Celestine gave me to read.”

Ah. So your instincts were right after all.

“What I…what I was going to tell you before during our hike in the woods is that I’m actually pretty inexperienced when it comes to dating. I’ve never really been in a relationship before." He looks at you, azure eyes darkening almost imperceptibly as he holds your gaze with an insistence bordering on intense. "There's much I still have to learn when it comes to love. So you see, I really don't know everything at all."

You weren’t sure which you were more surprised by: that, at the age of 29, the gorgeous and brilliant Artem Wing had never before had a girlfriend, or the fact that he was readily admitting it to you.

You look at him; at the wisps of dark hair falling into wise blue eyes, at the strong brows accentuating the solemn masculinity of his features, at the tips of his ears — coloured bright pink with an innocence that seemed incongruent with the rest of the man…

…and your sanity was immediately swept away.

“I, um…I could help you, if you want.”

“I beg your pardon?”

And now, it is your turn to redden, cheeks blazing as you quickly shake your head, realizing after the fact the enormity of what you had just said and hoping he wouldn’t sue you for sexual harassment in the workplace.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry! Please, disregard what I just said! It’s late and I'm tired, my mind isn't working properly—"

Quickly turning away, you are about to forego your ride and would’ve headed for the door had long fingers not wrapped gently about your wrist, the sheer heat of skin on skin stopping you in your tracks long enough for you to hear Artem say:

“Could you…teach me about love?”

👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

Find out what happens next in the NSFW Part II of To Know Your Love, now up on my Pa*treon (please see link on my Pinned Post)! Hope you all enjoyed the read! 🤩💕

#tears of themis #tears of themis artem wing #tears of themis zuo ran #tears of themis smut #tears of themis artem smut #tears of themis fanfic #tears of themis zuo ran smut #artem wing smut #zuo ran smut #tears of themis fic #my writing

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ickle-ronniekins · 4 years ago

Text

embrasse moi

request: from nonnie! “please can you do a super competitive fred and reader story and idk do with that what u will I trust your judgement”

pairing: fred x french!slytherin!reader

word count: 1.7k

A/N: i am ~feelin~ this request rn. i know quidditch wasn’t a thing during the triwizard tournament when faux moody was teaching just humor me. didn’t realize how much i need a french speaking fred until i wrote this 😩 also i definitely do not speak french and i've used google translate so i apologize in advance if any phrases are wrong LOL. i'll put the what the translations are supposed to be underneath the paragraphs they appear in and @ the bottom with an asterisk *

warning(s): a curse word (oops sry); ~steam~

tag list: @mintlibri @seppys-return-to-madness @how-do-life-does @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @semmelsemi @laneygthememequeen @snakesonaplane-7 @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @dreamer821 @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy @obsessedwithrandomthings @thoseofgreatambition @harrysweasleys @sleep-i-ness @shadowsinger11 @shadychaoticcollection @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @hood-and-horan @letsfightsomeorcs @theweasleysredhair @purpleskiesstorm @hxfflxpxffs @wand3ringr0s3 @finecole @angelinathebook @highly-acidic @purplefragile @90shermione @zreads @susceptible-but-siriusexual @hollands-weasley @andromedaa-tonks @bbystrawberry0421 @princessof-theuniverse @cappsikle @mytreec @imseeinggred @idont-knowrn @flyingserpxnt @auroraboringalis57 @godricsswords @jejegu @annasofiaearlobe @starlightweasley @alwaysasadaesthetic @thisismysketchbook | message me to be added, loves!

“Slytherin wins!”

Fred watched as you threw your beater’s bat into the air while you did backflips on your broomstick in front of all of your teammates. He huffed dramatically; he normally didn’t fancy losing a match to Slytherin, but you showing off was just rubbing salt into the wound.

“Don’t think on it, mate,” George told his twin. He looked absolutely bloody exhausted. Ever since Slytherin had replaced their beaters who had graduated the year before, their team was unstoppable. You sort of stunned the entire school when you arrived at tryouts and crushed it, making the students question why in the bloody hell you hadn’t ever tried out for Quidditch in the first place.

As the Gryffindor team walked sluggishly back toward the changing rooms, the vile Slytherin team captain did not hold back from overly-complimenting his team, therefore firing shots in the Gryffindors’ direction.

“Never seen a more brilliant beater before,”

Fred rolled his eyes noticeably. As your teammates patted you on the back, Fred just scoffed loudly, hoping to grab your attention. When he saw that he had, he turned to George and Harry and said, “She wasn’t that brilliant.” George just shut his eyes and shook his head, sick of Fred’s constant complaining.

“Aw -- vous vous sentez mal, Fred? Ne sois pas si mauvais perdant.”

↳ “Are you feeling bad, Fred? Don’t be such a sore loser.”

You earned yourself another eye roll for that one.

“Speak bloody English, would you woman?” he said angrily.

You pursed your lips dramatically in his direction. If he hadn’t been so pissed off, he would’ve noticed how his heart rate had seemed to increase at the fluttering of your eyelashes as you winked at him. Except he’d always been too focused trying to one-up you to notice such things. “Better luck next time, Weasley.”

It wasn’t just Quidditch. It was everything. Charms, incantations, exploding snap games, hexes -- even things Fred absolutely loathed doing, like stupid readings in Divination. It had all started back in your first year, when you were able to kick off the ground first in your flying lesson; you were a Muggleborn and had no idea how to fly. This annoyed Fred to no end, because he’d been flying since he could walk! And ever since, you two fell into this intense competitive streak, not giving into one another. George sure was over it though. Had been for a long time.

He gently tugged on Fred’s robes to lead him back toward the Gryffindor changing rooms, but it was a lost cause. Fred was already ripping off his uniforms due to pure anguish. George sucked in a deep breath before leaving his brother on the pitch. “Bloody hell, here we go again.”

-- -

The next day, Fred was struggling to get through classes due to his lack of sleep from the night prior, and it didn’t help when he was partnered up with you in Defense Against the Dark Arts in Moody’s attempt to separate him and George. Begrudgingly, his feet carried him over toward your desk where you stood, arms crossed and smirk bright. George on the other hand looked particularly jovial to be very far away from the two of you.

“Professor?”

Moody growled. “Not now, Weasley. Time to practice nonverbal hexes with your partner. No complaints.”

Fred huffed a bit and turned toward you. You cocked your head to the side, “What’s the matter? Scared you won’t be able to out hex me?” You narrowed your eyes at him and deepened your grin.

Fred scoffed. “I can out hex you in my sleep.”

You rolled your eyes and muttered under your breath, “Pauvre, gentil garçon. Tellement naïf.”

↳ “Poor, sweet boy. So naive.”

He didn’t even bloody care what you’d said, he was just so ready for this lesson to be over. He positioned himself a few feet away from you and stood in a rather dramatic, annoyed stance, waiting for you to just do your worst, already.

Your eyes seemed to darken with concentration. Fred was hoping that the slight smirk he painted on his face would be enough to distract you, but he was unfortunately proven wrong. Suddenly his knees were reversed and he began to falter on his own two feet. You and a few others surrounding you both, including his own twin, fell into laughter.

“Walk much, Weasley?”

His eyes turned to slits as he reversed the hex back, ignoring the crimson colour flooding his cheeks and the laughs still bouncing around the room. You still wiggled your eyebrows at him as he took his own position, pointing his wand toward you. He really needed to bloody concentrate, but the sing-song sound of your voice as you rattled off phrases in your native tongue sent him spiraling. He focused his thoughts solely on the one word: Titillando. He might’ve been distracted, but still managed to hex you.

Your laughter grew due to the tickling that took you over. You fell to your knees and giggled like a little school girl, grabbing at your arms and legs and back as the tickling sensation only heightened. Fred waltzed over to you, confidence exuding him, and lifted his eyebrows at you. He grinned evilly. “Got you.”

Somehow he found himself centimeters from you. He slowly lifted his wand and reversed the hex, and you were now completely out of breath, staring up at him with beady eyes. He took your hand in a tight grip and pulled you to your feet. He could feel your breath on his neck. “Sanglant brillant,” you managed to say in a breathless whisper.

↳ “Bloody brilliant.”

He certainly didn’t need you to translate that one. He wiggled his eyebrows at you and breathed, “Glad you think so.”

Shit. You didn’t realize you’d said it aloud, and you hadn’t managed to realize how close he was to you. You pushed on his chest and walked out of his way, fixing your tie and cardigan before sighing deeply to rid yourself of your flustered feelings. You cleared your throat and said, “Again.”

Cheekiness overtook his expression. “Looking for me to out jinx you again, are we?”

“Just do it, Fred.”

“Why can’t you just finally admit that I’m better than you? Put this whole thing to rest --?”

You cut him off. “Tu n'es pas! You stupid boy --” you wandered toward the entrance of the classroom; you needed some air, he was driving you up a wall. You stepped into the empty corridor. “Don’t let this foolishness go to your head. I’ve always been better, I always will be better.”

↳ “You are not!”

Fred laughed. “You’re out of your mind, what on earth --”

“It’s obvious!” you cried, throwing your arms up into the air. You inched forward toward him, and you were able to see the veins in his neck protruding just a bit; you were clearly getting to him. The tips of his ears were bright underneath that red hair of his. “Just admit it to me, Weasley. You can’t handle a girl being better at you -- better at hexes, better at lessons, better at Quidditch. Better at everything.” You stood on the tips of your toes in an attempt copy his stance. “And it’s driving you bloody mad, isn’t it?”

Fred sucked in a very deep breath and clenched his jaw tightly to suppress his anger.

Still, you prodded. “Isn’t it?”

Fred just wanted you to shut up already. So in a moment of fury, he growled and immediately pushed you against the wall and pressed his lips to yours in an attempt to silence you. He felt your shock against him as he parted your lips with his tongue, willing himself to not be distracted by the faint taste of your cherry lip balm. When he was sure you’d be silent, he slowly pulled away from you and let the shock roam through him too.

There was fire in your eyes. You blinked slowly a few times and eyed him up and down, as if trying to make sense of your own thoughts. Fred was sure you were about to deck him for being a right git until you lifted your hand and yanked on his tie and whispered, “Encore. Embrasse moi encore.”

↳ “Again. Kiss me again.”

He didn’t need a translator for that, either. He watched you lick your lips before he pressed himself into you again. You both met one another’s hunger with an intensity you couldn’t quite understand, but Fred reckoned this was probably the underlying reason for all of the competition between you two. How could he have possibly missed it all these years?

The idea of heading back inside the classroom for the lesson completely slipped from his mind when you grabbed two fistfuls of his hair in your hands and pressed your chest hard into his. By the muffled sigh you emitted against his mouth, he was sure he was driving you mad, and he was hellbent on getting you to be the first one to break with a moan.

But a low, unamused grunt ripped you apart from one another -- Fred was shocked that something had managed to break the ferocity between you both. You bit down on your bottom lip as you both turned to be face to face with a very disturbed and annoyed looking Mad-Eye, and George cracking up right behind him. You quickly swatted Fred’s hand away from your exposed hipbones, but he was pretty sure Moody had noticed anyway.

“Back inside,” your professor growled simply to both of you. In a lower voice, Mad-Eye continued, “I’ve got to be barking mad -- I did not sign up for this..” George winked at his brother and mouthed something that slightly resembled a Knew it, I bloody knew it, before making his way back into the classroom.

Fred turned back toward you and glanced down at your red and swollen lips. “Ready for me to out hex you again?” he asked with a glint of cheekiness in his voice.

“In your dreams, Fred,” you replied, narrowing your eyes and swatting him across the chest in your usual irritated tone. He was about to drag you back into the classroom but you yanked on his tie once more. The sultriness in your voice that dripped from your mouth made him not want to focus on the lesson at all; he’d rather think about many, many other things instead. “First -- embrasse moi, you prat.”

↳ “Kiss me,”

“Mmm,” he replied hungrily, licking his own lips in anticipation of getting you alone later. But he could get you riled once more, right? In more ways than one? He absolutely adored the completely startled and impressed look in your eye when he replied to you in French, “Bien sûr mon amour.”

↳ “Of course, my love.”

* vous vous sentez mal, Fred? Ne sois pas si mauvais perdant. - Are you feeling bad, Fred? Don’t be such a sore loser.

* Pauvre, gentil garçon. Tellement naïf - Poor, sweet boy. So naive.

* Sanglant brillant. - Bloody brilliant.

* Tu n'es pas! - You are not!

* Encore. Embrasse moi encore. - Again. Kiss me again.

* Bien sûr mon amour. - Of course, my love.

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jpehg · 3 years ago

Text

Bonifacio 060322 2050

Kaninang tanghali, may bumanggang pulang Pajero sa isang jeep sa may Maginhawa. Nakapwesto na para lumabas ng Quirino Avenune 'yung jeep pero parang nagmadali 'yung Pajero. Kaya ayun, bangga. Tumilapon 'yung gulong ng jeep, medyo nasindak 'yung mga nagtitinda sa gilid. Pero 'di ko mapigilang matawa kasi sugatan silang dalawa pero mas nangibabaw pa 'yung galit nila't kinaya pa nilang magbangayan sa gitna ng daan. Ay shet, rhyming o. Bars.

Di ko nga alam ba't di rin ako nagulat nung tatama na sila. Sobrang desensitized ko na yata kaya wala na rin akong pakialam. Sabagay, ilang taon na rin akong tumatambay dito't 'di na rin bago sakin 'yung mga gantong aksidente. Hindi gaya nung mga unang beses ko. Meron dating magnanakaw na nadakip ng mga kapitbahay dito sa amin. Sa pagkakatanda ko, bisikleta daw ang ninakaw niya. Namukhaan lang daw siya nung dumaan kina Tito Jerry- na halos kilala lahat ng tao dito sa amin dahil siya 'yung taga-deliver ng mga order ng pagkain sa karinderya nila. May kasabihan na, kapag nagnakaw ka, siguraduhin mong 'di ka papahuli; dahil kapag nahuli ka, pagdadasal mo na lang sana na sumuko ka na lang agad sa presinto- kasi walang sinasambang batas ang mga taong nanakawan, gaano man kalaki o kaliit. Put* ang haba ng sentence na 'yon ah. Bugbog mukha niya, pasa buong katawan. Tapos diniretso siya sa presinto bago sa ospital.

Huh?

Meron pang isa, may habulan noon dati sa may Los Baños. May nakasalubong akong magnanakaw. 'Di ko na rin matandaan kung anong ninakaw niya pero hindi na ako nagtangkang magpaka-Batman dahil sumigaw 'yung naghahabol na "'Wag, may kutsilyo 'yan". Minsan lang ako kilabutan pero tangi** - HOY baT may asterisks- natakot ako kasi baka 'di ko rin makain 'yung liempo na tinakeout ko. Pero buti na lang, may isang binata na dumadaan din dala 'yung bisikleta niya. 'Di na siya nagdalawang isip at ibinangga 'yung bisikleta dun sa magnanakaw. Sobrang cinematic non. Nakita ko in slow motion kung pano bumalibag 'yung magnanakaw, at kung paano siya nadakip ng mga pulis. Serves you right, bi***!

Huh????

Taran****! Pu*****? Tae? Tae. Tae. Tae. Ano pa ba, ****? Hoy ano 'to?

Anyway, ngayon kitaan namin ng mga tropa. Matagal din kaming 'di nagkita kasi naospital ako nang isang buwan. Lalabas dapat kami para mag-Baguio kasi bakasyon naman. Kaninang ala una pa dapat 'yung kitaan namin pero 'yung huling message ni Carlo, kaninang alas nuebe pa. Panigurado nakatulog na naman 'to. J******* 'tong si Carlo e, kaya napupuyat palagi sa gabi. Kakapanood ng bold haha. Itong si Mika naman, kasama palagi boyfriend. 'Di naman ako nagrereklamo pero sana naman, makapag-enjoy din kaming tatlong magkakaibigan na kami lang. Parang tulad lang nang dati. Pero tanggap ko naman 'yung kalagayan namin ngayon, minsan naiinggit lang ako kasi madalang lang silang dumalaw sa ospital non. Ngayon na nga lang kami magkikita ulit, late pa sila. Pero ayos lang, sa dinami-dami kong pinagdaanan sa orgs, natuto naman akong maghintay.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Ba't may nagha-hum? Luh ****? Marites! Apples! Mansanas! Words? Angry!! Yelling! Francis? Diosdado? Fidel? *******? EH??? ****** ****** diktador tuta? HAHAHAHAHAH ****?! Bat nace-censor sila HAhaha

Alas otso na nang gabi. Ayaw ko naman kasi umuwi kasi 'di naman ako nagpaalam na aalis ako. Nagsend na ako ng text kay Carlos. Sabi ko, mauna na siguro ako. 'Dun na lang kami magkita sa tutuluyan namin. Ba't parang 'di rin pala ako gutom?

'Di bale, bukas na lang ulit. Mag-Grab na lang ako papuntang terminal. Pero kanina ko pa napapansin tong mamang naka-itim na kapote dito. 'Di ko makita mukha niya pero parang may binabalak na masama haha mukhang ****, hoy bat nace-censor talaga mga mura ko, hell-

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mintypuggo · 4 years ago

Text

About My Sexuality, Gender, and Pronouns

If you are seeing this you are either following me, saw the asterisk in my bio, or are going through tags. If you are following me or I am following you, or if you came here from my bio, please read this. If you are going through tags, you are not obligated to read this. This post is literally just info dumping about myself. There are TL;DR’s after every main topic and a link to a google doc because Tumblr’s text sucks.

Here’s The Google Doc

Starting With Sexuality

My Sexuality

I will start with addressing my sexuality, as you can see in my bio, I have described myself as Pansexual. I chose Pansexual because I feel like Bisexual and Omnisexual don’t fit my experience with sexuality as much as Pansexual does. I don’t really care if you call me Omnisexual or Bisexual either but Omnisexual is preferred over Bisexual i.e.: Pansexual > Omnisexual > Bisexual To me, Pansexual is defined as: Not limited in sexual choice with regard to biological sex, gender, or gender identity. There are many times where I call myself Lesbian and/or Gay and/or Bisexual and/or Queer/the f slur. The only time I refer to myself as Lesbian is when I am making a joke/meme about my attraction to women, and when I say women I mean every single person who identifies as a woman, I will not be having any of that Transphobic or Gender-queer-phobic bull, thank you. The only time I refer to myself as Gay is when I mean in the broader sense, as in literally anything that falls under “Not Heterosexual Heteroromantic” (Yes, of course that includes Demisexuals, Asexuals and Aromantics & Allosexuals that are Asexual and/or Aromantic.) The only time I refer to myself as Bisexual is when I am explaining myself to people that I do not know very well and I do not want to sit and explain what Pansexual is when it does not really matter at all because it just seems like a waste of time. I can call myself Queer and a f*gg*t as much as I want, thank you very much.

Personal Review/TL;DR Part 1:

Pansexual>Omnisexual>Bisexual

Trans Men are Real Men

Trans Women are Real Women

Queer isn’t a slur

I can call myself a f*g if I want to

Omnisexual, Bisexual, & Pansexual

I am aware that many people regard Pansexual as: The same thing as Omnisexual and/or Bisexual, close to Omnisexual and/or Bisexual, and/or an offshoot of Omnisexual and/or Bisexual.

Whether or not any of these statements are true hardly matters to me any more. All that matters to me is the following:

People who say they are Pansexual are Pansexual. People who say they are Bisexual are Bisexual. People who say they are Omnisexual are Omnisexual. Do not call someone who says they are Pansexual an Omnisexual or Bisexual. Do not call someone who says they are Bisexual an Omnisexual or Pansexual. Do not call someone who says they are Omnisexual a Pansexual or Bisexual. The only time this is ever acceptable is if the person in question explicitly says they are okay with it or do not care which you call them.

Review/TL;DR, Part 2:

Pansexual ≠ Omnisexual or Bisexual

Omnisexual ≠ Pansexual or Bisexual

Bisexual ≠ Pansexual or Omnisexual

Unless explicitly stated otherwise

The Discourse.

I am hyper aware that there is an ongoing discourse going on between some Pansexuals and some Bisexuals (and maybe Omnisexuals, I have not seen any arguments personally.) Some argue that Pansexual is a bigoted term because the people that use it are treating Transgender Men and Women as not Real Men or Real Women, but as a separate third gender of some kind. In my opinion, this is not true. Pansexuals who are Transphobic and see Transgender Men and Transgender Women as anythings other then their preferred sex and gender are exactly that: Transphobic Pansexuals.

I have seen almost the exact same argument made: that Bisexual is a bigoted term that excludes Transgender People from their attraction because they see them as not Real Men or Real Women, and almost the same thing applies here: Bisexuals who are Transphobic and exclude Transgender People from their attraction because they see them as not Real Men or Real Women are exactly that: Transphobic Bisexuals

Lets Play a Game/ TL;DR Part 3:

Bisexuals = Transphobic [🚫] Incorrect!

Pansexuals = Transphobic [🚫] Incorrect!

There Are Transphobes Who Identify As Bisexual = [✅] Correct!

There Are Transphobes Who Identify As Pansexual = [✅] Correct!

Are Transphobic Bisexuals Valid? = [🚫] No!

Are Transphobic Pansexuals Valid? = [🚫] No!

Now Onto Gender

My Gender

Moving on to my gender, as you can see in my bio, I have described myself as Genderfluid. To me, Genderfluid is defined as: A person who does not identify themselves as having a fixed gender. It should be noted that being Genderfluid does not mean only switching between a man and a woman. Being Genderfluid just means switching between any binary or non-binary gender identity, it doesn’t even have to be just two! However, I do not believe Genderfluid encompasses the whole of what I personally experience, it just fits the most accurately. I have often found that I identify and relate to experiences most often seen in other identities. For Example: Transgender Men - I have often found myself wishing for gender-reaffirming surgery like many Transgender Men do, since I identify myself as a man and on the more masculine side of the gender spectrum. There are very few times where I associate with the feminine sides. Demigirls - When I do associate with the more feminine side of the spectrum it always feels like there is something else there. It never feels completely feminine. Agender - with my Genderfluidity there is also a mysterious third gender. I have no idea what the heck it is, but it isn’t masculine, and it definitely isn’t feminine. So far, I haven’t found any word that fits this completely so for right now, Agender is the closest description. You know those memes of wanting to just like, exist, as a vague non-corporeal being? It feels exactly like that. It should be noted that I do not experience any kind of dysphoria I do, however, often experience euphoria when people mistake me for a biological man. If there are any obscure gender expressions that you know about that you think might be a better fit than Agender, or fits all of these experiences, let me know and I’ll update this.

Personal Review/TL;DR Part 4:

I am Genderfluid [✅] Correct!

I want Male Gender Affirmation Surgery [✅] Correct!

I am only Transgender [🚫] Incorrect!

I sometimes Identify as Male [✅] Correct!

I am only a Man [🚫] Incorrect!

I sometimes Identify as Demigirl [✅] Correct!

I am only a Demigirl [🚫] Incorrect!

I sometimes Identify as what might be Agender [✅] Correct!

I am only Agender [🚫] Incorrect!

I will change this is you think there is an identity that might fit better [✅] Correct!

Lastly, Pronouns

My Pronouns

Finally, my pronouns, as you can see in my bio, I have given myself the Pronouns They/Them. Honestly, I could care less what pronouns you used on me, 90% of the time I use He/Him, 9% of the time I use They/Them, and the last 1% I use She/Her. The only time it’s 100% safe to call me She/Her is when I am wearing a dress or skirt, and since this is the internet....That’s impossible to use practically. As long as you don’t use any kind of neopronoun, you’re probably fine.

Personal Review/TL;DR Part 5:

Is it 100% safe to address me using He/Him? [✅] Yes!

Is it 100% safe to address me using They/Them? [✅] Yes!

Is it 100% safe to address me using She/Her? [🚫] No!

Is it ever okay to address me using a neopronoun? [🚫] No!

#Pansexual #Bisexual #Omnisexual #Neopronouns #Genderfluid #Demigirl #Agender #Transgender #Sexuality #Queer

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langblr-o-kebek · 4 years ago

Audio

Practice the Subjunctive with Tragédie

(Probably not what they intended to happen with this song but who cares)

As you will see, this song is not in the slightest a great song-it’s catchy (Cette chanson est accrochante) but alas, Tragédie is no Baudelaire when it comes to poetry and lyric.

Song lyrics are in Bold with their translation in regular font under each line. Subjunctive clauses (the trigger phrase and the conjugated verb) are Bold underlined Italic, finally, slang words will be asterisked. A few times there will be a slang word used as a verb, you will notice it will not follow normal conjugation rules or any conjugation at all. I didn’t translate the whole song, only the beginning and the chorus are heavy in subjunctive.

Cette soirée c'est pour toi et moi Tonight is for you and me Faut que ça slam* It’s got to slam Ne me déçoit pas Don’t disappoint me Faut que tu bouges You have to move Et que tu danses And you have to dance Sur ce son faut que tu déhanches Sway your hips to the sound Quoique tu dises Whatever you say Je serai ton homme I’ll be your man Quoique tu fasses Whatever your do Faut que tu restes en forme You have to feel it Si tu veux bouge contre moi If you want, move against me Si ce n'est pas toi ce sera moi If you don’t, I will Ma baby danse pour moi My baby dance for me Emmène-moi où tu vas Take me where you go Quand tu bouges comme cela When you move like that Tu sais que j'aime trop ça You know I love it so much {x2} Faut que ça balance It’s got to match En rythme et en cadence The rythym and step Faut qu'à chaque fois que j'y pense Every time I think of it it has to Ça me mette en transe Put me in a trance Oh oh oh oh oh oh... Il faut que ça soit chaud It’s got to be hot C'est toi qui fait mon show* You put on a show for me Je veux que tu danses sexy pour moi! I want you to dance sexy for me

#langblr #french #francais #tragédie #sexy pour moi #vocabulaire francaise #subjonctif

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crearuru · 4 years ago

Text

Bravely Default II, Martha x Adelle Chapter 1?

Spoilers for Chapter 3 through the end of the game chapter 6. Word count: 3,113. A lot. Like a lot. I'd count but tumblr wont let me copy paste the whole thing at once and its 4 am

Everyone knows Rhimedhal's winters are colder than the deepest ocean, and that the freezing winds could cut with a fury matching the most skilled skilled of mages. Of course, reading about it was one thing, but to a certain fairy from as sheltered and temperate an environment as Mag Mell, the thought to dress properly for the cold came far too late.

I knew it would be cold, but this is just ridiculous! If my wings were out they'd freeze before I could even get off the ground... Adelle pondered if keeping her disguise intact was worth the freezing cold. Surely, no one being around would allow her to drop her guard... but could she ever truly know who was watching? She'd set out to find her sister knowing she would need to lay low, but dressed for warmth as she was, and with such low visibility, she admitted she desperately needed shelter. She couldn't risk alienating herself from any nearby humans who might spot her braving the storm.

Even the monsters are hunkered down, she thought bitterly to herself. And where was this Rhimedhal town supposed to be, anyways? Surely she should've reached it by now... But she had to keep moving. Had to find somewhere to rest. The wind buffeted her, the ice it carried leaving shallow slices across her exposed midsection. The blizzard had arrived so suddenly, and her memory of the beautiful, gentle snowy night that it interrupted was far from a priority now. Leaving the Wayward Woods was something she needed to do, for her sister, but it was too late to return and beg for more supplies. She wondered how she would ever find those flowers she promised to bring back for her dear friend if she froze out here.

Is that... A cave? A section of darkness ahead, when the blinding white snow clung to everything else brought Adelle's heart a renewed vigor. She would not fall so soon into her journey, not to something as simple as the weather. As she tucked into the Serpent's Grotto, she lit a small fire and set up a tent. She would need to hunker down until the storm passed, which could take anywhere from hours... to weeks. As she regained feeling in her extremities, she realized the wind would blow out her fire if she did not go deeper.... and monsters within the cave may ambush her if she did not take caution. But first... she needed rest. Just an hour or two, and she would be fine. She wasn't in direct path of the wind, for she was behind an outcropping in the cave. She had some time to recover before pressing on.

And so, Adelle slept. Cold, hungry, and exhausted... But not alone. She dreamt of brown hair, of eyes locked upon her with a determination that matched her own, of flashes of silver and pink just out of the fire's light...

And the subject of these dreams knew she was there. Martha had asked Master Gwidyion if someone was coming, and he more than confirmed it. But was the stranger friend, or foe? That is what Martha set to find out. As she prowled the Grotto, her jaw firmly set, her eyes sharp and focused, she wondered if this visitor understood the ground upon which they trespassed. Were they here for the Lord of Dragons? To help? To harm? Master Gwydion had been sick for a while, and Martha worried he may not have much time left. Gwilym was next to inherit the position, but he was young. Needed time. Martha had served Master Gwydion for most of her life, as did her father before her, and his father, and so on. To neglect opportunities to extend his time on Excillant would just not do.

Having taken care of a few troublesome spirits, Martha reached the entrance to the cave. She saw a gray haired girl, in blue and grey, around her age, who she was surprised to see had not succumbed to the cold. Wearing a short shirt and loose pants in a blizzard? Sure, Martha wasn't exactly the picture of bundling up right now, but that was the result of the Dragoon asterisk! She wouldn't leave her midsection exposed to the cold if she weren't the Dragoon guardian, especially not going out into the blizzard full force. Looking closer, she noticed the girl was cut up something awful. The ice in the air had done quite the number on her face and torso. Foe or not, Martha knew she wouldn't likely make it without treatment. Not without some severe frostbite, at least. Eyeing the girl curiously, she picked her up and set her upon her broad shoulder. They would both do nicely with a warm cup of the good stuff in Gwydion's chambers. Then maybe she could ask about the intent behind her trespass.

Adelle opened her eyes to a brightly lit room, filled with greenery, sunlight coming in from the top of the chamber. It was so... warm. She smiled for a moment, content and warm, before feeling the bandages upon her face and stomach.

"Where... Where am I?" Adelle wasn't really expecting an answer, but she heard a calm, regal voice echo in her head.

"You are safe, child of... No? How very... interesting..." Looking up, Adelle saw a massive, silvery dragon, looking down upon her with piercing, yet gentle, red eyes. He seemed almost to take up the whole chamber, and yet he did not feel imposing. The weariness in his voice softened his aura considerably. Her mouth agape, she patted herself along her upper and lower back, wanting to ensure her wings were still hidden. After reassuring herself she would have felt herself revert to her true form, she turned her gaze back to the dragon. "Are you a..."

Martha, piping up from beside the massive beast, let out a quick laugh. "A dragon? Why yes, he is. This is Master Gwydion, and I am his guardian and caretaker, Martha." The brunette smiled, and despite the protective aura seemingly emitting off her, it was a kind and sincere one. But there was an edge to her voice as she continued, "You are trespassing on sacred ground. None are permitted here, in order to keep Master Gwydion, Lord of Dragons, Lord of Rhimedhal safe. State your business, or I'm afraid my act of bandaging your wounds may go to waste."

So it was Martha that bandaged these... Adelle idly traced her fingers along a particularly long stretch of red on her bandaged torso. She must have got cut up worse than she had thought from that ice. "I thought dragons were supposed to be creatures of myths to-" she caught herself. She did not want to find out if humans still carried murderous intent towards her kind. She had heard they would lie, cheat, betray and attack. But this one had bandaged her wounds...? "I thought dragons were supposed to be creatures of myth."

Gwydion's laughter rang through the chamber. There was no malice in it; it was a laugh like that of one who has reconnected with a long lost friend. "I am not the only one here who could claim connection to myth! But, I shall keep this secret for the time being."

Shit, Adelle thought, he's onto me. But at least... she turned her head to look at the woman beside the massive dragon. She definitely appeared to be human. The village fairies had told her that humans had "genders"; "males" were broad and deep of voice, "females" supposedly higher and... Well, there were many differences purported between the two. Adelle observed Martha's strong arms, her tender grip on her spear, the sparkle in her eyes. She couldn't see anything that would help her confirm or deny the accounts of the village fairies. "Men" were "he", "women" were "she"... Maybe asking along those lines would help her keep things straight for maintaining cover.

"Martha?" The brunette looked deep into Adelle, unblinking pools of emerald green. There was caution given towards the fairy in disguise, although she of course had no reason to believe Adelle was anything other than human. Rather, she suspected her motives for coming here. Perhaps there may be something she could do to-

"Martha!"

Martha snapped out of her brainstorming of ways to prove good or ill will for a moment. Her gaze had been returned this whole time.

"Yes?" She asked Adelle through her teeth. Surely no one would come to kill the Lord of Dragons without so much as a winter coat, right? But that brings up the question of what kind of person could make it this far into the Rhimedhal region without freezing to death or prepping properly. The girl's fortitude was certainly-

"Are you-" Adelle caught herself. She needed to phrase this in a way that wouldn't make her look like someone who doesn't know what a "woman" is. "What are your pronouns?"

Martha took a moment to process this. Just what kind of girl gets all cut up in the ice and wind, collapses on sacred and forbidden ground, gets brought to see a dragon, a DRAGON, a deity on earth, and takes the time to ask someone's pronouns before addressing any of the above! Was she trying to strike a nerve? Had she simply forgotten to shave? Martha knew the Dragoon outfit might make her look like a tryhard, some had gone so far as to whisper she was a... a... there were some rather unkind statements going around about her appearance since she'd been dressed in Dragoon, but she was a priest! ....a priest... Right. And should priests not assume sincerity until proven otherwise?

Martha took a breath, then let out a long, slow exhale. "I appreciate your consideration in not assuming. It's quite... modern of you. But, as I've drilled into the townsfolks' heads already, I am a woman. She/her is fine... What about yours? And your name? I can hardly dance around saying it forever."

Adelle was no better off than she had been before. She knew fairies couldn't tell men and women apart, but had she commited a faux pas? Maybe humans and gender weren't so straightforward as the texts implied. Gender was certainly seeming more and more to be more trouble than it was worth. She looked herself over, then at Martha. They both had similar figures, would it be a mistake to use she/her as well? Fairies had "Queens", and "Ladies", which texts about humans her sister Edna had shown her seemed to line up with she/her. She'd planned to go by that set since she set out, but seeing a human be so testy about it was giving her second thoughts.

"My name is Adelle. I am... also a woman. She/her is what I use as well." Phew. Nailed it. Martha's face had softened, and her cover wasn't blown.

Martha was perplexed. Something about Adelle's response gave her pause, but she was at least glad that she hadn't been incorrectly assuming. Those who live in Dragon's Grotto should not throw stones.

"So, Adelle... What business leaves one so woefully unprepared for the cold as yourself frozen half to death on the Lord of Dragon's doorstep? Why didn't you go to town first, or button up?"

There it was. Her first test of her cover story. Heavens only knew how the human would react if she found out Adelle was a fairy.

"I'm... A travelling mercenary. I'm looking for my sister, Edna. She ran off from our hometown, and stole some... very important town heirlooms. Leaving town is not something one normally does, but I needed to track her down. I need answers."

That should be good enough for Martha, right? Adelle stared intently at her, just waiting to see how she took the bait. She hated lying, but... There was a lot more in her future. She would just have to suck it up. She noticed the light shift as she looked over Martha, the twinkle gleaming off her armor, the tail protruding from her back that swayed as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other, the tone to her voice that reminded her of the wind through holes in trees, or water running down the river, the way her emerald eyes looked like the bottom of her favorite crystal clear, mossy lake. She looked so much... prettier, than she expected humans to be. Humans were supposed to be scary, and while this one had indeed made implications of a threat, she had not attacked. She had even bandaged Adelle's wounds...

"Adelle, are you listening?" Adelle snapped out of her trance. "What, Martha? I just responded, d-didn't I?"

Martha shook her head, her long brown hair falling in front of her face, obscuring a soft grin. "I said, what hometown would leave you unprepared for the cold? You could have frozen to death."

"We're... An isolationist town. Not on any map. We stay in one place, so I was not expecting the cold to be so... Penetrating. Reading about it is different than the real thing.

"What do you mean, reading about it? Have you never seen snow before?"

"No, I'd only ever read about it."

Martha's heart sank for the poor girl. The snow and cold were bitter, and deadly if not respected, but to live a life without snow... Without seeing the mountains in spring, as the snow atop the permafrost melts and feeds small rivers... It simply would not do.

"That settles it. As soon as this blizzard ends, I need you to do me a favor."

Adelle hesitated. She really needed to get back to finding her sister. There's no telling what could go wrong if she couldn't track down the asterisks. Though, Martha's outfit seemed familiar somehow...

"I need you to go east, and collect some herbs for Master Gwydion. His health is fading, and these herbs can extend his time left on this plane. But if you bring them back, we will each bestow upon you a favor.

Gwydion spoke, softly but firmly: "I believe I know the service you wish me to provide, Martha. I can provide it. Adelle, if you can bring me these herbs, I will have enough strength left in me to scout for the potential whereabouts of your sister. There are some familiar feelings your presence brings that reminds me of Martha. I'm certain your sister will provide that same trace."

Martha was unsure of the "energy" her Master was talking about, but she did feel an attachment to Adelle. She was quite pretty, yes, but it was more than that. Her asterisk... Adelle and the Dragoon asterisk both gave Martha a sense of.... she.... she couldn't find the words for it. She had guarded Gwydion for years, for juuuuust under a couple decades, even, but the Asterisk was a recent acquisition. The Archbishop had given it to her just a half year ago, and it had given her a sense of self that mere satisfaction with one's purpose could not.

"Master Gwydion is correct, for the part I know he can provide. But I have something to provide as well. If you retrieve the herbs we need, I will show you a beautiful sight. You must see the snow from the way I can see it."

Adelle was confused. The way she could see it?

"And until the blizzard dies down... I hope you don't mind me offering, well, your own offering, but i rummaged through your tent before bringing you in here, and well... I saw you brought firewine."

Damn it! Adelle cursed herself. She knew she should've remembered to take a swig before passing out. No wonder she looked and felt so cold. Not to understate how cold it was outside, but firewine definitely would've helped warm her up inside the cave.

"Would it be alright if we shared a bottle? I see you've definitely stocked your supplies before this journey, oh ho ho!" Martha winked as she said this, to indicate the teasing nature. She... Some part of her wished to extend goodwill towards this trespasser. She had not yet made a move of hostility to Gwydion, nor his son sleeping near his tail, and she was, frankly, dying for company. Tending to the dragons was her life's work, and she would not trade it for the world, but living on sacred ground was terribly stifling to one's social life. The pleasures of the flesh, such as fine food, wine, even the touch of another human's hand on hers... She missed them. If only she knew Adelle wasn't a human, ah?

Adelle's stomach rumbled. She was cold, but no longer freezing. The innermost chamber of the cave was warm enough to support plants, but the chill from her stint outside had yet to fully leave her. She dreaded to think of what she might let slip after partaking, buuuuuut.... It was good to get some practice in. If she really planned on getting work to support her sister-hunt, she would need to get as much practice in with humans as possible.

"What the hell, sure. To a hopefully well spent winter?"

"To a winter well spent, indeed." Martha began to pour them each a glass, and they began to dine. There was fresh meat, berries, fruit, and edible flowers (Martha understood the meat, but wondered how anything else could be this fresh at this time of year). A few glasses in, they both loosened their tongues some. Martha told of the years spent training for the role of Guardian from a young age, and Adelle came up with fantastical stories about the escapades of her and her best friend from Mag Mell... She of course left out any identifying details of fairy status, or names. Flight stories were out as well. Humans walked everywhere. It was slow and exhausting. They dranks and sang, ate, partook in games, danced... and danced, and danced, and danced. There was something about their eyes meeting, the tipsy laughs they shared... Adelle thought that maybe humans aren't as scary as they were led to believe. She knew her sister loved humans, and she could see why. Spinning Martha around until she got dizzy was a real hoot. But when the night was done, they did not retire to bed, so much as fall down one after the other, asleep. Gwylim tried to wrest at least Martha to her usual patch of moss, but they had collapsed over one another and were snoring soundly. Surely, if Martha had reservations about Adelle, they would be gone on the morrow.

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