temp 1

childhood favs
(please listen to this while looking cuz I had it on freaking repeat the entire time)

What I've gathered so far...

So I’ve been thinking about getting a ball python for about a year now (though it may take a few more years to actually be able to house one; my mother hates snakes and probably won’t let me have a noodle under her roof)
Anyways, just to check and see if I’ve got my info straight, this is what I’ve gathered so far:
1) Temps need to be high 80’s to low/mid 90’s with a heat gradient
2) They need to have about a 55% humidity to be able to digest and shed efficiently
3) Lamps aren’t the best option since BP’s are nocturnal; a heating pad that can be regulated under the hot side of the tank is good
4) Their food should be about the same size as the largest part of their body
5) F/T is preferred because it poses less risk to the snake, although if the baby is especially picky you may just have to feed live (not looking forward to having to babysit my snoodle while it does it’s thing, but I need to be willing to give my snake what it needs to survive)
6) Certain morphs are more prone to health issues, varying in severity depending on the pairing of the parents or the snake itself
7) Stuck shed = somewhat of a monitored bath and checking of the humidity levels to make sure things are working correctly
8) going off feed is normal during the breeding season, and as long as they aren’t losing weight don’t worry about it, just keep offering food until they are ready to nom again
9) make sure they have lots of hiding areas, since I intend on getting a tank to house the beeb (enrich the child)
10) Limit handling (actually just no handling at all) on the few days before and after feeding so baby can digest in peace
11) Check temps/humidity, spot clean and ensure the snake has clean water everyday
12) Every 2-3 weeks deep clean the enclosure and change the substrate
13) Cedar and certain wood substrate can make you snake sick and cause impaction of their innards
14) they are shy gentle children, keep them out of high traffic areas
15) Get as much info on the breeder and about the individual snake as possible (is this bitch legit, how many feedings has the beeb had, what is the child’s feeding response, etc.)
16) They are assholes to feed at times and like to escape to fuck with you even more
17) The child will let you know if something is wrong as long as you pay attention

I know these animals aren’t easy to care for, they aren’t cheap and they can’t love you and cuddle you like a dog or cat, but they’re interesting little critters and it’s fun to watch them just be goofy little babies (yes I know they can grow to be 5 feet long and live 20-30 years)

Someone fact check me, and give me sources.

3

Mercredi 6 Juin 2017, 11h19 / Palais de l’Élysée

          Le premier des ministres sort, le pas décidé, entame les marches du perron de l’Élysée et, avant qu’il n’ait le temps de s’engouffrer dans son automobile, se voit suivi de ses collègues. Les journalistes, installés dans la cour, se relèvent d’un mouvement, ajustant les lentilles de leurs appareils aux pas des membres de ce nouveau gouvernement.
          Un ministre, deux ministres, ils déferlent, certains par pairs, souriants entre deux paroles échangées, d’autres seuls. Les plus âgés, souvent, préfèrent rejoindre leurs voitures sans offrir de regard aux journalistes. À l’opposé, les plus jeunes - et ce gouvernement n’en manque pas - voient en ces photographes une influence dont ils connaissent aujourd’hui le pouvoir. Mais aucun ne leur adresse un mot.

          En réalité, ces jeunes visages qui ont goûté au pouvoir à l’âge où leurs aînés ne pouvaient qu’y rêver, ne sont à eux tous qu’un pâle reflet de celui qui les a propulsé entre ces murs. 

          Les minutes s’écoulent et l’homme qu’attendent fidèlement les journalistes ne se présente pas. Son ministre de l’Intérieur non plus. Le Président a une fois de plus défié la coutume, ne saluant pas chaque ministre quittant les lieux.

           Soudain, ils aparaissent, côte à côte. Le ministre, à l’habit d’ordinaire impeccable, se tourne subitement lorsqu’il aperçoit les quelques journalistes qui demeurent dans la cour. Leur faisant dos, il referme d’un air sec son manteau, malgré la chaleur, tandis que le Président épie les reporters du coin de l’oeil, veillant à ce qu’aucun d’entre eux ne mésinterprète la scène. Le visage fermé, dur, de l’homme au manteau noir, et celui plus enclin à l’observation du jeune homme laisserait, à quelque observateur étranger au jeu politique, l’impression d’une inversion des rôles entre le Président et son ministre. Le jeune homme semble, de sa main gauche, jouer avec le vide, étirant ses doigts, les resserrants, triturant sa alliance, le tout du bout d’un bras raide et immuable.   Puis, il se défait du dossier encombrant sa main droite, l’offrant à son subordonné qui l’empoigne et le place sous son propre bras gauche. Sa main droite déjà dans la poche de son habit, ils ne se serrent pas la main en guise d’au revoir.

          Affectueusement, le Président place sa main dans le creu du dos du ministre qui, surpris par ce geste rendu public et la sensation engendrée, semblable à celle éprouvée quelques instants plus tôt dans la discrétion du bureau, s’écarte violemment, se fige. Il sent son visage reprendre la couleur qui lui est trop souvent associée. Le jeune homme, lui, ne laisse apparaître sur son visage de marbre qu’un coin de sourire, décidé à ne rien offrir aux journalistes insatiables mais pourtant obstinément aveugles à la scène qui se déroule devant eux. Le ministre, destabilisé, ne leur lance pas un regard avant de reprendre sa descente, les yeux rivés sur les marches, incapable maintenant de croiser le regard penché sur lui de celui qu’il dominait il y a tout juste quelques instants.

          Les rôles se sont inversés. Du moins dans l’oeil du public, de l’homme ou de la femme lambda, étranger ou non au jeu politique. Et c’est, finalement, le seul aspect de leur vie qui garde une valeur certaine dans le monde de ces deux hommes happés par l’attrait du pouvoir et de la responsabilité, son protégé est devenu son souverain.

Chapter 1: De Temps En Temps

Draco

1897 Paris, France

           June in Paris is exquisite. Everything seems to breathe with life, and count every breath as if it was the last. The way the golden sun kisses the tops of the buildings each morning to rouse them from their slumber is by far the best way to wake. However, any true Parisian knows that nights in Paris are what the soul really desires. The full moon that sits languidly above the Eiffel Tower, watching all of Paris laughing through the night, lets you know that you are never alone. It is definitely easy to understand why people fall in love in this beautiful city. It is as if every piece of Paris was made just for you, especially in June.

           Well, unless you’re being dragged a half hours walk to the 18th arrondissement after every decent person in the city has locked up their homes for the night by someone who is supposed to be your best friend. Then it is quite easy to be disgruntled in the face of beauty.

           If that is the case, then it really depends on the person. If you are the sort of person to enjoy a nice midnight adventure, traipsing through dangerous neighborhoods in your finest, then this experience visiting a different kind of…market, would surely be an enjoyable one.

However, Draco Malfoy was not the sort of person to stick his nose into the *ahem* business practices of anyone else. Especially this sort of business practice. He would much rather spend his time back in the 9th arrondissement… where it was safe, and sanitary. June in Paris for him, at the moment, seemed very unattractive indeed.

           Blaise on the other hand…

           “Draco, honestly, hurry up. I don’t want to miss anything.” The beast tugged on the jacket sleeve that was pressed within an inch of its life, wrinkling the fabric. You would never guess that they were from the same ilk with the level of excitement he was displaying. If Draco hadn’t known him all his life, he would have thought the handsome gentleman tugging on his arm had grown up in Montmartre itself, instead of the beautiful Italian manor house of which his family was so proud of.

           His temper was climbing to alarming levels as he followed his bouncing friend in the direction of the foul subsection. There were few reasons why a person from proper breeding would make their way to this part of the city, and Draco did not think they were here to peruse through the artwork of the locals.

           The cobbled streets below his feet caused him to stumble and curse, nearly falling into the tall man clutching his arm. The walk alone was murder if one was not wearing the proper shoes.

           “Will you unhand me?” he snarled “I gave my word that I would accompany you out tonight, even when you insisted that we spend the evening…” a sneer lifted the corner of his mouth as he realized exactly what street they were on. How could he have not noticed? The crowded streets filled with women in far too much makeup, men leering openly at everything with a pulse, Bohemians strutting about in their garish ensembles. “at the Moulin Rouge.”

           Draco could feel his pulse thundering in his temples, not that he let it show on his face. “Blaise, pray tell, what exactly do you not want to miss at the Moulin that is perfectly available on any existing street corner? There,” he gestured to an open corner where a very large woman was shaking her overly large breasts in an offensive manor. “Why don’t you venture over there and pick up that beautiful… creature. Preferably, without me being present whilst you…dally.”

           His dark features stretched into a predatory grin that made Draco’s stomach cramp with anxiety. There were two people who frightened him when their features took on that particular look; the man currently standing in front of him, and Pansy. Pity, that they had married each other. Surely their parents felt their match was appropriate, but Draco felt that if they had chosen someone more… demure then it would have saved everyone a headache in the long run.

 “Oh, my dear friend, do you not honestly expect me to believe that you have no understanding of what takes place at the Moulin? It is more of an experience than a simple rendezvous with Constance.” Of course he knew her name, the wretch. He pressed his hand into the other man’s shoulder. “Do not fear, my naïve friend, you are in my care now. You may drop the act of innocence that is surely only there to impress Ms. Greengrass. She is nowhere in sight tonight.” His grin stretched wider “Unless she too is somewhere inside, you have permission to live as you wish until morning.”

Draco clenched his jaw muscles and looked into the face of the other man.

           He could feel the throbbing in his temples increasing at an alarming rate. Blaise was many things, but never would he have considered his friend to be stupid. If he thought that this lurid display of…. promiscuity was going to do anything to calm his nerves from his impending engagement to Ms. Greengrass, then he does not understand how they have remained in acquaintance all these years.

           “How do you—never mind.” He shook his head “Blaise, please tell me this isn’t some sort of scheme to take my mind off of my engagement.” He looked the other man in the eyes.

           A loud, undignified, guffaw erupted from his friend’s lips. “Oh Draco, dear heavens no! This trip is purely for educational matters. I just figured that you might as well get some practice in before you wed, that way when the time comes— “

           “Blaise!” He was going to murder him, right here. At least this way he can blame the atmosphere for his willingness to commit such a crime when they haul him for trial. Surely his father’s lawyer would understand. “Can we not discuss my upcoming marital affairs in public? Actually, let us not discuss them at all. Just because you and your spouse decide it is fine to jump into the bed of anyone within 300 yards, does not mean that my marriage will be the same!”

           He knew that was a low blow, as well as hypocritical. What Blaise and his wife did behind closed doors was none of his business and he preferred it that way. The heat of embarrassment fills his cheeks at his outburst. Curse his fair skin.

           Blaise lifted an eyebrow “The difference in the relationship between Pansy and I, and the one that you and Ms. Greengrass will be establishing in a two years’ time, is that I am attracted to my wife.” His eyes glinted in the lighting cast from the glow of the buildings, giving them a frighteningly shiny gleam. “I do not require the ‘practice’ to get through my husbandly duties.”  

           Perhaps he deserved that.

Draco suddenly found that the Moulin was a much more complex structure than what he had though upon first glance. He could feel the heat in his cheek spread to his neck.

           Ah, yes. That particular… abnormality of his would pose a problem with his future spouse if he could not err—perform up to par on the night of his betrothal.

           “Draco,” Blaise’s face softened with his words “You know that Pansy and I do not mind, and would never betray your confidence.” He gave a kind smile. Sometimes, Draco felt he was lucky to have a friend like Blaise. Other times, like now, he understood why his father thought them unnecessary. “Besides, it is perfectly legal.”

           He inclined his head toward his friend. He did know that, but that didn’t mean he would… advertise this information. He was supposed to sleep with his wife after they were wed. That is what he had been taught all his life. You procure an heir, and your husbandly duty was fufilled. When his affliction presented itself when he reached of age, suddenly the husbandly obligation seemed more daunting. He had trouble enough imagining how to go about doing it, so how would it be possible if he—well… For arguments sake, the theory was if he could deny his abnormalities, then when the time arrived for him to fulfill his duties he would do it to the best of his ability without the memory of what he could have lingering in the back of his mind.

           A theory Blaise might not have agreed with, but had jumped onto if it meant that he might accompany him out.

           Some things, like deflating at the sight of your exposed wife on your wedding night, were just not on. Something he knew was in the near future no matter how much ‘practice’ Blaise insisted he have.

           “Besides, I did not bring you here to fraternize with women and steal all my opportunities.” His grin returned to its previous state of decadence “I brought you here because Zidler has proven to us all that he is completely insane.”

           Draco allowed an eye roll to cross his features as he released the tension in his shoulders. Mollified that Blaise wasn’t going to convince him to sleep with some terrifying woman.

Everyone has always known that Charles Zidler was a mad man. A genius in all things to do with the sins of the flesh, but a complete nutter. “What has he done this time, given his girls polka-dot knickers?”

           “He hired a male can-can dancer.”

           The heat that had finally ebbed from his face, relocated to his abdomen. Suddenly the Moulin’s complex structure was no longer a source mild interest; It was absolutely fascinating. Almost compelling him inside to see if the grand ballroom matched the exterior walls in their indecent shade of red. Images of a man with hard muscles wrapped in girlish garters, kicking his legs into the air along with the other dancers flitted through his mind. The red windmill on top beckoned like a sirens call, promising the inside to be filled with mesmerizing objects and creatures that Poseidon, himself, could never imagine finding.

           Draco swallowed audibly.

           “Oh, did I get your attention then?” he smirked.

           He physically shook himself out of his trance “But… why would I be interested in seeing him? It’s not like I could ever stoop to, you know.” His cheeks would have warmed again if all the blood in his body was not currently making its way to his groin at the mere thought of what that statement entails. He most certainly could not ‘you know’ with the can-can dancer, but oh god, he wanted to.

           Blaise’s eyes looked as if they were going to pop out of his head and roll onto the cobbled ground beneath their feet. “What do you mean you are not going to ‘you know’ with him? You can’t not ‘you know’ with him! You know?”

           Draco did think that he knew, but one could never be too sure with his friends.

           How could he explain to Blaise that he just couldn’t? It would be too much like Plato’s Allegory of the Cave. Once he would have the knowledge of what is out there, he could never go back without driving himself mad.  For Blaise, it’s easy. He might, upon occasion, enjoy a tryst into the deviant Bohemian lifestyle of sexual freedom, but that is all they are to him; trysts. They don’t haunt him with realities of his ailment, nor do they taunt him with the knowledge that legality has nothing to do with familial obligations. “I can’t Blaise. I’m engaged.”

           “And I am married.” Blaise laughed. “What of it?

           The image of the man in garters returned “You, you just don’t understand.” Draco hissed. “You’ve a wife that does not mind you messing around with other people. You both are honest and open about who you are with each other. Don’t you understand that if I were to sleep with this man tonight, I could never allow my wife the honesty she deserves? I could never look at her and promise her that I would hold her above all else? Because I couldn’t Blaise, you know that I couldn’t. I would return here, every night if I could.” He looked into his friend’s eyes.

           Judging by the sadness he found there, he might now understand what he was feeling. But the steel in his eyes promised that the disagreement was not met. “Draco, listen to me. I know that I cannot fathom what it is to be in your situation, but you have got to let go. It is not healthy for a young man to repress his very nature.” He lifted his chin “Ms. Greengrass is not your wife as of yet. You have not even announced your formal engagement and this opportunity presents itself at just the appropriate moment, and you have decided to live your life never knowing? What would Pansy say if she could hear of you being a coward? This is a sign, Draco. One telling you that you must take care of your needs, which you do not do often enough, if at all.” He gave him a stern look. “If you choose to ignore this as a sign, then fate itself will punish you if my wife does not get to you first.”

           Draco looked at his dearest friend and saw the genuine concern that lay behind his words. As his courtship with Ms. Greengrass loomed in the near future, he became more withdrawn. Barely speaking to any of his former friends. He had spent all his energy on appearances, so worried that if he dared lose his footing in the proceedings, that everything would be revealed. Pansy had finally had enough of his distance and demanded his return to the land of the living, or she would make Hell seem like a sauna. It had worked, and he had promised her from then on to take care of himself.

           It seemed like an easy compromise. Pansy, for her part, would rather it if he would live openly and find himself a nice young gentleman to settle down with, the tart.

           “Fine, but you will stay with me Blaise Zabini, or you will find yourself on the end of your wife’s shrill descant.”

           The Cheshire cat grin reappeared. “Excellent.” He straightened Draco’s jacket, and pushed him inside the doors. “I promise you will not regret this.”


Tag-time !

On remercie @acaoli pour me permettre de tuer le temps au boulot ! \o/

1- Name/Nicknames?

Yam (par Milka), Mayo (par ma famille), Maymay.

2- Height?

1m67, fun fact : depuis que je fais 1m65 jvoulais atteindre ce chiffre j’étais contente quand j’y suis arrivée ! 

3- Hogwarts House?

POUFSOUFFLE POWER BITCH !

4- Last Thing Googled?

So Shape parce que @je-suis-parfaite-ou-presque le fait et que je voulais savoir en quoi ça consistait (ça à l’air dégueulasse d’ailleurs courage à toi !)

5- A fictional character I’d like as a sibling?

Fred et George Wesley !

6- How many blankets do I sleep with?

 1 couette mais j’ai toujours 2 plaid à portée de main (que généralement je fini par utiliser en traversin

7- Favourite artist/band?

Hans Zimmer !

8- How many blogs do I follow?

284

9- What do I usually post about?

Ma vie, après comme jveux pas vous submerger de mes obsessions fandomesques je reblog sur @youknowwhodoesthat-crazypeople et je postes mes photos sur @maylisistakingpictures pour que ma famille puisse en profiter mais que je n’ai pas à leur donner mon blog principal :p

10- Do you get asks regularly?

Nope, fin ça dépend en ce moment oui en réaction à certains posts mais pas en spontané.

11- What’s your Aesthetic?

Jsais pas si je répond correctement à la question mais : un canapé comfy, un éclairage aux loupiottes, un chocolat chaud, Hans Zimmer en fond sonore, la pluie qui tape contre le carreau, un bon plaid et un bon livre.

12- Tag 20 followers

LA FLEEEEEEMME ! :*