#conversation française

[smartway2000]

Dialogue Français pour Débutant : Commander du Pain à la Boulangerie

🎥 Dans ce dialogue français pour débutants, un client entre dans une boulangerie pour acheter une baguette. Suivez cette conversation réaliste et apprenez des expressions essentielles en français.

📚 À la fin de la vidéo, nous vous proposons un exercice de compréhension de quatre questions pour évaluer votre compréhension du dialogue.

🎯 Alors êtes-vous prêt ❓

[prosedumonde]

Les paroles ont une brutalité, quelque chose de fatidique et de cruel. Cela paraît bien étrange si l’on songe que penser est plus profond que dire.

Alice Ferney, La Conversation amoureuse

[chai-en-kaadhale]

kabrus the kinda brown guy who'd take ap chinese for no reason and somehow be a god at it

[aardappel-van-mijn-oog]

Does anyone else have a love-hate relationship with les Québécoises? Like I learnt the other day that they say 'because que' and I really don't know how to feel about that, slay I guess.

"Alors chéris on peut pas go to the shops because qu'ils sont closed." - a Canadian probably

Si bizarre ça

[jules-and-company]

on a tous été alceste un jour + the fact that philinte c’est 80% de son drive sociabilité sans lui il est PER-DU

[amateurvoltaire]

I feel that one of the most overlooked aspects of studying the French Revolution is that, in 18th-century France, most people did not speak French. Yes, you read that correctly.

On 26 Prairial, Year II (14 June 1794), Abbé Henri Grégoire (1) stood before the Convention and delivered a report called The Report on the Necessity and Means of Annihilating Dialects and Universalising the Use of the French Language(2). This report, the culmination of a survey initiated four years earlier, sought to assess the state of languages in France. In 1790, Grégoire sent a 43-question survey to 49 informants across the departments, asking questions like: "Is the use of the French language universal in your area?" "Are one or more dialects spoken here?" and "What would be the religious and political impact of completely eradicating this dialect?"

The results were staggering. According to Grégoire's report:

“One can state without exaggeration that at least six million French people, especially in rural areas, do not know the national language; an equal number are more or less incapable of holding a sustained conversation; and, in the final analysis, those who speak it purely do not exceed three million; likely, even fewer write it correctly.” (3)

Considering that France’s population at the time was around 27 million, Grégoire’s assertion that 12 million people could barely hold a conversation in French is astonishing. This effectively meant that about 40% of the population couldn't communicate with the remaining 60%.

Now, it’s worth noting that Grégoire’s survey was heavily biased. His 49 informants (4) were educated men—clergy, lawyers, and doctors—likely sympathetic to his political views. Plus, the survey barely covered regions where dialects were close to standard French (the langue d’oïl areas) and focused heavily on the south and peripheral areas like Brittany, Flanders, and Alsace, where linguistic diversity was high.

Still, even if the numbers were inflated, the takeaway stands: a massive portion of France did not speak Standard French. “But surely,” you might ask, “they could understand each other somewhat, right? How different could those dialects really be?” Well, let’s put it this way: if Barère and Robespierre went to lunch and spoke in their regional dialects—Gascon and Picard, respectively—it wouldn’t be much of a conversation.

The linguistic make-up of France in 1790

The notion that barely anyone spoke French wasn’t new in the 1790s. The Ancien Régime had wrestled with it for centuries. The Ordinance of Villers-Cotterêts, issued in 1539, mandated the use of French in legal proceedings, banning Latin and various dialects. In the 17th and 18th centuries, numerous royal edicts enforced French in newly conquered provinces. The founding of the Académie Française in 1634 furthered this control, as the Académie aimed to standardise French, cementing its status as the kingdom's official language.

Despite these efforts, Grégoire tells us that 40% of the population could barely speak a word of French. So, if they didn’t speak French, what did they speak? Let’s take a look.

In 1790, the old provinces of the Ancien Régime were disbanded, and 83 departments named after mountains and rivers took their place. These 83 departments provide a good illustration of the incredibly diverse linguistic make-up of France.

Langue d’oïl dialects dominated the north and centre, spoken in 44 out of the 83 departments (53%). These included Picard, Norman, Champenois, Burgundian, and others—dialects sharing roots in Old French. In the south, however, the Occitan language group took over, with dialects like Languedocien, Provençal, Gascon, Limousin, and Auvergnat, making up 28 departments (34%).

Beyond these main groups, three departments in Brittany spoke Breton, a Celtic language (4%), while Alsatian and German dialects were prevalent along the eastern border (another 4%). Basque was spoken in Basses-Pyrénées, Catalan in Pyrénées-Orientales, and Corsican in the Corse department.

From a government’s perspective, this was a bit of a nightmare.

Why is linguistic diversity a governmental nightmare?

In one word: communication—or the lack of it. Try running a country when half of it doesn’t know what you’re saying.

Now, in more academic terms...

Standardising a language usually serves two main purposes: functional efficiency and national identity. Functional efficiency is self-evident. Just as with the adoption of the metric system, suppressing linguistic variation was supposed to make communication easier, reducing costly misunderstandings.

That being said, the Revolution, at first, tried to embrace linguistic diversity. After all, Standard French was, frankly, “the King’s French” and thus intrinsically elitist—available only to those who had the money to learn it. In January 1790, the deputy François-Joseph Bouchette proposed that the National Assembly publish decrees in every language spoken across France. His reasoning? “Thus, everyone will be free to read and write in the language they prefer.”

A lovely idea, but it didn’t last long. While they made some headway in translating important decrees, they soon realised that translating everything into every dialect was expensive. On top of that, finding translators for obscure dialects was its own nightmare. And so, the Republic’s brief flirtation with multilingualism was shut down rather unceremoniously.

Now, on to the more fascinating reason for linguistic standardisation: national identity.

Language and Nation

One of the major shifts during the French Revolution was in the concept of nationhood. Today, there are many ideas about what a nation is (personally, I lean towards Benedict Anderson’s definition of a nation as an “imagined community”), but definitions aside, what’s clear is that the Revolution brought a seismic change in the notion of French identity. Under the Ancien Régime, the French nation was defined as a collective that owed allegiance to the king: “One faith, one law, one king.” But after 1789, a nation became something you were meant to want to belong to. That was problematic.

Now, imagine being a peasant in the newly-created department of Vendée. (Hello, Jacques!) Between tending crops and trying to avoid trouble, Jacques hasn’t spent much time pondering his national identity. Vendéen? Well, that’s just a random name some guy in Paris gave his region. French? Unlikely—he has as much in common with Gascons as he does with the English. A subject of the King? He probably couldn’t name which king.

So, what’s left? Jacques is probably thinking about what is around him: family ties and language. It's no coincidence that the ‘brigands’ in the Vendée organised around their parishes— that’s where their identity lay.

The Revolutionary Government knew this. The monarchy had understood it too and managed to use Catholicism to legitimise their rule. The Republic didn't have such a luxury. As such, the revolutionary government found itself with the impossible task of convincing Jacques he was, in fact, French.

How to do that? Step one: ensure Jacques can actually understand them. How to accomplish that? Naturally, by teaching him.

Language Education during the Revolution

Under the Ancien Régime, education varied wildly by class, and literacy rates were abysmal. Most commoners received basic literacy from parish and Jesuit schools, while the wealthy enjoyed private tutors. In 1791, Charles-Maurice de Talleyrand (5) presented a report on education to the Constituent Assembly (6), remarking:

“A striking peculiarity of the state from which we have freed ourselves is undoubtedly that the national language, which daily extends its conquests beyond France’s borders, remains inaccessible to so many of its inhabitants." (7)

He then proposed a solution:

“Primary schools will end this inequality: the language of the Constitution and laws will be taught to all; this multitude of corrupt dialects, the last vestige of feudalism, will be compelled to disappear: circumstances demand it." (8)

A sensible plan in theory, and it garnered support from various Assembly members, Condorcet chief among them (which is always a good sign).

But, France went to war with most of Europe in 1792, making linguistic diversity both inconvenient and dangerous. Paranoia grew daily, and ensuring the government’s communications were understood by every citizen became essential. The reverse, ensuring they could understand every citizen, was equally pressing. Since education required time and money—two things the First Republic didn’t have—repression quickly became Plan B.

The War on Patois

This repression of regional languages was driven by more than abstract notions of nation-building; it was a matter of survival. After all, if Jacques the peasant didn’t see himself as French and wasn’t loyal to those shadowy figures in Paris, who would he turn to? The local lord, who spoke his dialect and whose land his family had worked for generations.

Faced with internal and external threats, the revolutionary government viewed linguistic unity as essential to the Republic’s survival. From 1793 onwards, language policy became increasingly repressive, targeting regional dialects as symbols of counter-revolution and federalist resistance. Bertrand Barère spearheaded this campaign, famously saying:

“Federalism and superstition speak Breton; emigration and hatred of the Republic speak German; counter-revolution speaks Italian, and fanaticism speaks Basque. Let us break these instruments of harm and error... Among a free people, the language must be one and the same for all.”

This, combined with Grégoire’s report, led to the Décret du 8 Pluviôse 1794, which mandated French-speaking teachers in every rural commune of departments where Breton, Italian, Basque, and German were the main languages.

Did it work? Hardly. The idea of linguistic standardisation through education was sound in principle, but France was broke, and schools cost money. Spoiler alert: France wouldn’t have a free, secular, and compulsory education system until the 1880s.

What it did accomplish, however, was two centuries of stigmatising patois and their speakers...

Notes

(1) Abbe Henri Grégoire was a French Catholic priest, revolutionary, and politician who championed linguistic and social reforms, notably advocating for the eradication of regional dialects to establish French as the national language during the French Revolution.

(2) "Sur la nécessité et les moyens d’anéantir les patois et d’universaliser l’usage de la langue francaise”

(3)On peut assurer sans exagération qu’au moins six millions de Français, sur-tout dans les campagnes, ignorent la langue nationale ; qu’un nombre égal est à-peu-près incapable de soutenir une conversation suivie ; qu’en dernier résultat, le nombre de ceux qui la parlent purement n’excède pas trois millions ; & probablement le nombre de ceux qui l’écrivent correctement est encore moindre.

(4) And, as someone who has done A LOT of statistics in my lifetime, 49 is not an appropriate sample size for a population of 27 million. At a confidence level of 95% and with a margin of error of 5%, he would need a sample size of 384 people. If he wanted to lower the margin of error at 3%, he would need 1,067. In this case, his margin of error is 14%.

That being said, this is a moot point anyway because the sampled population was not reflective of France, so the confidence level of the sample is much lower than 95%, which means the margin of error is much lower because we implicitly accept that his sample does not reflect the actual population.

(5) Yes. That Charles-Maurice de Talleyrand. It’s always him. He’s everywhere. If he hadn’t died in 1838, he’d probably still be part of Macron’s cabinet. Honestly, he’s probably haunting the Élysée as we speak — clearly the man cannot stay away from politics.

(6) For those new to the French Revolution and the First Republic, we usually refer to two legislative bodies, each with unique roles. The National Assembly (1789): formed by the Third Estate to tackle immediate social and economic issues. It later became the Constituent Assembly, drafting the 1791 Constitution and establishing a constitutional monarchy.

(7) Une singularité frappante de l'état dont nous sommes affranchis est sans doute que la langue nationale, qui chaque jour étendait ses conquêtes au-delà des limites de la France, soit restée au milieu de nous inaccessible à un si grand nombre de ses habitants.

(8) Les écoles primaires mettront fin à cette étrange inégalité : la langue de la Constitution et des lois y sera enseignée à tous ; et cette foule de dialectes corrompus, dernier reste de la féodalité, sera contraint de disparaître : la force des choses le commande

(9) Le fédéralisme et la superstition parlent bas-breton; l’émigration et la haine de la République parlent allemand; la contre révolution parle italien et le fanatisme parle basque. Brisons ces instruments de dommage et d’erreur. .. . La monarchie avait des raisons de ressembler a la tour de Babel; dans la démocratie, laisser les citoyens ignorants de la langue nationale, incapables de contréler le pouvoir, cest trahir la patrie, c'est méconnaitre les bienfaits de l'imprimerie, chaque imprimeur étant un instituteur de langue et de législation. . . . Chez un peuple libre la langue doit étre une et la méme pour tous.

(10) Patois means regional dialect in French.

[leclerckiss]

pretty in pink ౨ৎ

notes: oscar piastri x girly!reader, est. relationship, protective demeanour, unwelcome attention from strangers, fluff. requested.

a/n: i adored writing this, and it helped encourage me to stop writing for only charles in all honesty. ily.

The aroma of petrichor against warm pastries from the L'Amour du Pain Vieux bakery nearby lingers, skies over Montréal grey with the lull of clouds where hints of the early afternoon light dance through and upon the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve below, a gentle remnant of dampness about the smooth stone streets from rainfall earlier in the hour that has since come to a halt.

With qualifying to commence in a few hours – highlighting the true beginning of the Canadian Grand Prix where your boyfriend hopes to secure the finest result possible – there is a heightening feel about the paddock as you wander through, latte of oat-milk and vanilla balanced in one soft-skinned hand, donned in your favourite, little dress like blushing, pale peonies.

After an early albeit comfortable, familiar morning waking beside Oscar in your shared hotel suite amongst the quiet luxury of pretty, minimal décor – mussed bed sheets of lush cotton, cashmere throws and interlocked limbs – shared, slow kisses and breakfast consisting of sweet, syruped pancakes and coffee, before greeting the true day ahead, you are most excited.

Amongst conversational journalists with inviting, saccharine smiles merely for enticement and photographers who do not hesitate to notice your face, the lovely and pretty diamond that is Oscar Piastri's lovable girlfriend, you have never quite opposed to the media attention so long as you have him by your side.

"Hm." Chanel ballet flats of embroidered ivory and light-pink clicking on the path, comforted by your sweet treat in hand whilst balancing your iPhone in the other – a brief conversation with your lover concluding he would be busy for another couple of minutes at least due to press conferences – you are mostly contently lost in your own daydreams.

"Excuse me?"

It is the sound of a voice addressed in your direction that has you faltering in your gait, pretty head tilting just the slightest to glimpse over your shoulder just as the sudden voice and approach of a male has you somewhat shy.

"Sorry, I feel like I know you from somewhere," He is youthful, perhaps the same age or a year older than the aforementioned by looks, dressed rather comfortably in a clean, white shirt of linen only half-buttoned against the beige hues of his trousers, Française Cartier watch glinting on his wrist.

His mouth curves on a smile, eyes like caramel dancing over your face and lower until he allows himself the fleeting, silent glance at how the neat edges of your mini dress hug your thighs before straightening his stance once again, lithe fingers threading through his styled, light hair.

The words leave you a touch perplexed given you certainly do not recognise him and lack any recollection of his face, laughing uncertainly as you tuck a stray hair behind the shell of your ear with the clink of a rose quartz bracelet about your wrist, the sound sweet as an angel's.

"I'm sorry, I don't think–"

"It's alright, I don't either." The man continues with an amiable shrug as though pretending to understand or assume what you had been meaning to say, countenance turning more charismatic on the edge of a revealed dimple, "My name's Jacques, love."

There is something in his gaze and the execution of his demeanour which has you hesitating, rosebud mouth parted ajar whilst you glance about momentarily even when the hint of a natural, polite smile remains.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Jacques," You reply quietly, the expression you hold towards him is a pleasant one despite yourself, although not enough to reveal the slight discomfort that lurks in the depths of your stomach, "But my boyfriend is–"

"Right here."

As if the mention or mere thought of him was an innate manifestation, you are greeted with the presence of a certain, handsome individual where you recognise the warmth of his aura just as fingertips are felt on the curve of your vertebrae against a splayed palm.

You cannot deny or refuse the immediate beginnings of a soft smile and the ease flourishing within you as soon as his touch is known, the lingering scent of his cologne with hints of patchouli and rosewood permeating, an incline of your head allowing gazes to meet momentarily in mutual greeting.

He stands tall beside you, the limb draped around your waist a familiar presence whilst eyes of an intimate, rich hue that remind you of coffee and autumn dance between yourself and the other man who now stands a touch awkwardly with a dissuaded visage.

"Is this man bothering you, princess?" His tone is honey-like, a smooth and lowered baritone that you adore, though there is the telltale sign of his fingertips that press a touch firmer against your hipbone, and the arch of a brow, that demonstrates the silent brewing of protectiveness in the midst of his affections for you. Oscar Piastri is an affectionate sweetheart, true to his feelings and honest in generosity with the renowned presence of patience, though can be a defensive figure when the subject concerns his girl.

"Not really. He was just being friendly," Your cadence is light and sweet with imploration, the subtle gesture of a kiss left against his cheekbone in comforting warmth as you balance on the edge of your toes momentarily.

You are sweet, almost too much so with your pretty looks and the faint glimpses of innocence there even though you know exactly where you stand; it has Oscar longing to return to the quiet privacy of home where nobody will harass you both for attention, where he can have you to himself even if only for a little while.

Jacques chuckles, almost uncertainly in a manner that juxtaposes his previous incentive whilst tucking one palm into the concealing wool of his tailored slacks when he nods, "I was just saying 'hello', no harm done."

The Australian does not seem particularly reassured though there is no instigation for a disagreement, looking over the other only a moment longer without another word before he's silently coaxing you against his side when he walks with a gait somewhat quicker than his usual.

"Wait," Your kissable lips touch a little downward in uncertain wonder, though you follow his guidance easily, a touch intrigued by his lingering silence that lacks explanation, "Where are we headed? Was I doing something wrong?"

There is no initial comfort or answer to your inquiries as he looks forward, evidently lost to his own thoughts whilst internally calming himself from the dwindling ache of his possession over you, a muscle in the line of his jaw shifting almost imperceptibly.

A boring press conference consisting of being asked the same questions like a repetitive, tedious dance had already left him a touch bitter, and the sight of a stranger trying to steal his girlfriend's attention away only aggravates him further.

Eventually, your shared walk leads to the quieter alcoves of the McLaren hospitality comforts until he's nudging you backwards through a white-varnished door, breathing in the sweetness of your perfume – Good Girl: Blush – with hints of almond against sweet peonies, vanilla and coumarin.

"You weren't doing anything wrong," Oscar murmurs, his arm entwined securely about your figure as his lips ghost over the outer shell of your ear near the glimmer of divine, embellished earrings he gifted you on your birthday after he had seen you admiring them through the glass of a jewellery shop once, swallowing slowly.

It is a quiet, comfortable room – one that he often confides in the refuge of when in need of fleeing from the never-ending attention and demands of his profession, an inviting, plush chaise lounge of white cushioning, shelves and cupboards of various items.

Your glossed lips touch into a delicate pout of mystery, a gentle sound of consideration and acknowledgement leaving the back of your throat whilst arms drape loosely around his neck, the edges of your thumbs tracing along his nape where you feel the soft hairs there.

"Then what was it?"

"Nothing." It is an uncharacteristically brief reply, though the manner his lightly-calloused palms cradle the small of your waist until he cannot quite restrain himself from the tightened grasp there with a brief glance towards the closed door, exhaling through his teeth in some kind of defeat, "I'm... Do you want me to be honest?"

The question is uttered so softly that the question leaves you a fraction breathless, heart thrumming within the interns of your rib cage like a dove locked away as you nod.

"I always want the truth from you, Ossie," You respond in a lull so saccharine it sounds like a sing-song of delight, the edge of your index finger and thumb dancing downwards against the soft fabric of his sweater before pausing when you meet his eyes through your lashes.

Oscar sighs, though there is the slightest of reservations of a smile the corners of his mouth at the manner in which you address him, a nickname reserved especially for when the two of you are alone together and intimate.

He does not immediately bless you with an answer, tilting your head towards him in silent, shared invitation before your mouths melt together. It is slow and sweet, tasting one another and your belongings forgotten on the nearby, makeshift desk of polished oak, a sweetened hint of café au lait on your tongue.

"Seeing that man," He begins between chaste kisses, not quite allowing you the liberty of shying away as he holds you close until your back nudges the ivory-coated wall behind, near drawn photographs of memorabilia from old Grand Prixes, "And how he looked at you, it made me want to–"

He pauses, inhaling audibly as though trying to meditate on his own emotions in that moment, his hands feeling over your body like a sculptor and his finest work before he swallows the remainder of his sentence with a kiss.

Oscar Piastri is an undeniably attractive man when he's possessive over you, touching every inch of you like his belongings, muttered sweet nothings and vows of devotions against your tongue. It is a warm feeling, knowing he will always protect you without hesitance. And he does, cherishes you like the pretty doll you seem to be, because he cares in some earnest, undying reality.

"I love you."

The punctuation of another kiss, "I love you more." And he traces the jut of your ribs through the thin, velveteen fabric of your rosé dress when he holds you close until you're flush together, sighing against your lips, "I will never let anybody hurt you, ever. Understood?"

"I understand."

[squoxle]

🗼Peril in Paris ~ Minho ff 18+

🗼pairing: Lee Minho (Lee Know) x Female Reader (close proximity) | 🗼wc: 4.2k | 🗼summary: On a study abroad trip to France, you're forced to share a room with the handsome and cold-hearted Minho. |🗼cw: angst, fluff, smut, unprotected sex, fingering f., slightly rough sex, squirting (sry if u don't like that), choking, profanity, swearing

⋆｡°✩Smut Scenes are Highlighted w/ Fire Heart Emoji❤️‍🔥

Disclaimer: this ff came from my drafts in April and was made originally for Sunghoon, so if u see his name anywhere…that’s why (April 25, 2023)

You and your two best friends were so excited to study abroad in France. You had been practicing your ‘française’ and now you could have a few intermediate-ish conversations. Well, actually it’s more like basic-advanced conversations. One of your friends, Charlotte, was super advanced in comparison to you—like halfway fluent to be specific. You have a habit of looking to her for extra help. But Noemi, your other friend, is more on your level. So, you tend to joke around a lot. For the next 16 weeks, you and the rest of your class will be touring all over the beautiful city of Paris.

You continued prancing around your room, packing your suitcase with everything you’d need for your semester away. This was your first time traveling to a country overseas and you weren’t entirely sure of what to expect. You tried your best to "prepare" by binging YouTube vlogs from Paris. Luckily for you, your friends were going to be right there with you. When you were together, nothing could go wrong. Or so you thought…

Charlotte’s Parents drove you and Noemi to the airport where you met up with the rest of your class. When you walked into the massive airport you followed the signs pointing to your group. “Okay everyone. I need to see two lines. One for the ladies and one for the gentlemen.” The head professor—Mr. Zhao—said as he waved his hands around to get everyone’s attention.

The students got into the appropriate lines with their suitcases and boarded the plane. “Omg! I still can’t believe we’re going to Paris~” Noemi giggled. “Yeah, this is an amazing opportunity to immerse ourselves in this beautiful language and culture.” Charlotte chimed. “Y/N! Come on! Let’s GOOO~”Noemi said. You were still locking eyes with Lee Minho. He had been staring at you almost the whole time you guys were in line. But it wasn’t the type of staring that would cause your heart to flutter, it was the cold glare that pierced your soul.

You proceeded to board the plane with your friends. Fortunately, you all had seats next to each other…it always felt like fate kept you guys together. “I saw him staring at you,” Noemi whispered as she nodded her head in Minho’s direction. He was sitting in the row next to us with some other boys.

“Ok, so what?” You snapped “He’s super attractive. And, he might be into you, just saying. If I were you I’d totally be into him” She giggled. Charlotte had already fallen asleep so she was missing all the drama. “Knock it off, Noemi. I’m not interested and I don’t think he is either.” You replied, nudging her shoulder. “So you’re telling me you don’t think he’s hot?” Noemi smirked. “I mean…he’s good-looking, but I’m not just gonna hop on him.” You said as the two of you glanced at the boy. “He really was beautiful,” you thought to yourself.

After the plane landed you and the rest of the group boarded a large tour bus that took you to the hotel you’d be staying at for the next 16 weeks. The female instructor, Ms. Rei, gathered all of the female students and put them into the 5 rooms in groups of three. Mr. Allen did the same with the male students.

However, for some reason, there was one room left and the only people who hadn’t been grouped up were you and Minho.

“Sorry. We miscalculated the room arrangements and you two will be sharing a room with me.” Mr. Zhao said with a shrug. To be honest, he’s one of the cooler teachers so this wasn’t a problem. The problem was that you were separated from your best friends.

You definitely DID NOT see this coming. "What are the odds," you sighed to yourself.

“Umm…well I was supposed to be all alone in this room. But since I’ll be sharing with you two…I’ll take the sofa and you two can share the bed.” Mr. Zhao said as we reached our room. “And don’t worry. It’s a king-sized bed. So, the two of you can sleep at some distance.” He awkwardly chuckled.

Minho remained dead silent the whole time. He then headed to your shared room with his phone in his hand. He was probably doing the same thing you would do…text your friends. You remember him sitting next to two other boys—also attractive, but that’s not the point.

“Which side do you want?” Minho said breaking the silence. “Oh…umm…I’ll take the side by the window if that’s okay with you,” I replied. “I obviously don’t care. That’s why I asked.” He shot back coldly. I really don’t understand why he’s being so cold. Neither of you wanted to be here, but at least you were trying to make the best of it.

Since you arrived at night, you only had enough time to shower and unpack a few things before bed. Mr. Zhao ordered some dinner from the hotel’s restaurant, but Minho decided to just shower and go to sleep.

While eating dinner, Mr. Zhao told you about a few of the things you were going to do the next day. By the time you finished, you were ready to go to bed. Without thinking, you walked straight into your room, locking eyes with Minho.

He was wearing a plain white tee and his hair was slightly damp. He was also wearing a pair of grey sweats with a towel around his neck. “I’m finished in there just so you know.” He said before sitting on his side of the bed with his phone in his hand. I couldn’t help but stare. “Are you going or what?” He asked, snapping me out of my head. “Oh yeah. Sorry.” you stammered, picking out your nightgown before heading to the shower.

When the morning finally came, I got ready for the day. On the tour bus is where I found my friends, Charlotte and Noemi.

“Hey…so what happened? We were texting you all last night.” The two of them said upon greeting you. “My phone died and I couldn’t find a charger.” “Oh, okay.” They looked at you as if waiting for you to tell them some juicy gossip.

“I’m sharing a room with Mr. Zhao and Minho if that’s what u were wondering,” you said slinging the bag over your shoulder. You watched as their jaws dropped halfway to the ground after what you just said.

“NO WAY! You are so lucky~! Did you and Minho ‘do’ anything?” Noemi asked mischievously.

“No, we just shared a bed--"

"Shared a bed! How are you being so chill right now?" Noemi spat, cutting you off. "Girl, the thing I would've done with an opportunity like that."

"You wouldn't have made much progress. When I came out of the shower he was still glued to his phone,” you continued.

“Oh, bummer. I thought he would’ve been cooler.” Noemi said waving her hands in the air.

When you guys arrived at the Louvre Museum you broke off into the same groups assigned last night. Which meant you had to be with stone-cold Minho and Mr. Zhao. Though you'd much rather be goofing off with your friends.

“Well guys, what do you think, huh? There’s some pretty amazing artwork here.” “Hmm. Yeah, I guess.” Minho said with a shrug.

Before you could speak, Mr. Zhao’s phone rang. “Hold on you guys. I’ve gotta take this call really quick.” He said before stepping out of sight.

Again, here you were. Alone. With Minho. The taps of his phone echoed throughout the quiet hall. That and the random sounds of him sniffing through his nose.

For weeks this cold behavior persisted from Minho and you’d had enough of it. He was making this trip miserable. And now was your chance to maybe change things up a bit. Or at least make it less awkward.

“What’s wrong with you?” You asked, sternly.

“Hmm? Were you talking to me?”

“Obviously. Who else is around?”

He rolled his eyes and scoffed before turning back to his phone.

“You’re letting life pass you by while you tap away at that damn phone.” Saying this caused him to look up at you. “Since we got here you’ve been driving me insane. You make everything feel awkward, you hardly talk, and when you do, you have an attitude. What did I do to you?” Minho tucked his phone away in his pocket.

“There. Are you happy now?” His passiveness pissed you off even more. He could see the look of frustration on your face at his nonchalant behavior. You were fuming at his casualness.

“Sorry. I don’t know how else to tell you this. I’m just not a ‘people’ person.” He said looking down at the ground. “How about I make it up to you?”

“How do you plan on doing that?” You asked.

“Follow me.” He grabbed your hand as he led you out of the museum.

“But--" You stammered, trying to think of a valid excuse. After all, this is kinda your fault, right? If only you had just kept your damn mouth shut.

Like any sane person, you were weary about venturing off in a foreign country. Especially, alone...with a boy. "What about Mr. Zhao?” you spat, digging your feet into the ground in an attempt to stop him from leaving.

“Relax. I remember where the hotel is. Even if we get left behind, we won’t be lost.” He said with a smile.

This was the first time you saw Minho smile…ever. It was like diamonds. And I know how corny that sounds, but it really was just as rare and beautiful as diamonds.

He led you into a park that wasn't too far from the museum.

“What are we doing here?” You asked in a slightly shaking tone.

“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you wanna go back already. Daddy’s just getting started,” he smirked before holding your hand and walking further away.

“What had gotten into this boy?” You wondered to yourself. How does someone come from quiet and cold to cheeky and adventurous? Was he putting on an act or is this the person he’s always been? You couldn’t tell because both sides seemed so genuine, but by the time you snapped out of your thoughts it was already too late to turn back.

“So, what are you gonna do now?” You asked.

“Taking you out for a drink of course,” he said before walking into the cafe that stood in front of you.

“You think a cup of coffee is supposed to make up for you acting like a stone cold bitch?” You asked casually. To be honest you were trying to match his energy, but this type of lingo really wasn’t your style, and it honestly made you cringe at yourself.

“I can do so much more,” Minho whispered in your ear before kissing your cheek. The flustered look on your face caused him to giggle a bit.

“What the hell is going on?” You thought to yourself.

Once you made your way to the register, you were greeted by the young man behind the counter. He was tall, attractive, and had a naturally toned body. You could tell through the crisp white collar shirt he wore. You were speechless for reasons aside from his looks. As you could assume, he spoke to you in French. And, as you mentioned earlier, you weren’t very good.

Minho watched as a dazed and confused expression formed on your face while your brain played connect the dots. “Don’t worry. I got it,” he smiled before telling the young man what you wanted.

Luckily for you it was just a cup of black coffee. Minho’s ordered something else, but you definitely heard the word for coffee. You felt like kicking yourself in the ass for not studying enough.

You and Minho walked over to a table near a window. It was growing darker by the minute and you were starting to worry.

“So, you wanna talk? Let’s talk. Tell me something about yourself,” Minho said as you started out the window

“What do you want to know?” You asked as you toyed with your fingers under the table.

“Hmm…let’s start simple and then escalate to something a little crazier. How’s that sound?” He suggested, tilting his head slightly to the side.

You nodded in response as he asked you the first question, “What type of music do you listen to?”

"Uhhh. Honestly, I'll pretty much listen to anything," you said switching your attention to the conversation.

"Me too, but I prefer listening to good dancing music. It just makes me feel better," the two of you went on asking a few more random questions back and forth. However, the entire time he was talking you couldn't help but search desperately for that smile. Every now and then you'd see it peek out a bit, but you wanted to see it in full.

"See something you like?" Minho smirked as he ripped you out of your inner thoughts.

"Huh?" you stammered.

"Well, you keep looking at my lips. Did you want to kiss or would you rather keep thinking about it?" he leaned closer to you, flashing that cheeky smile.

You were speechless and you could feel your face heating up as he came closer to you.

"Since you haven't said anything, I assume a kiss is exactly what you want," he chuckled to himself. "Let's save it until after we leave okay. Hopefully, you can control yourself long enough."

It wasn't long before the waiter came out with your order. Two black coffees and a small box with a bow. "What's inside the box?" you asked Minho.

"It's a surprise," he smiled. "You can have some later," he said before sipping from his cup.

You were really starting to like this side of him. Especially the fact that you were the only one who got a chance to see it.

After finishing your drinks the two of you walked around for a bit more before Minho was ready to head back to the hotel. He also told you that he texted Mr. Zhao earlier, telling him that you felt sick and he was taking you back to the hotel. The box of treats was something for the three of you to share.

"I guess he forgot about the kiss," you thought to yourself as you climbed into the taxi.

Even though you initially told yourself that you wouldn't do something like that with him, you were getting the feeling to do a little more than just that.

The ride home was dead silent. It was like he had gone back to his old self again. Completely zoned out on his phone and absent in reality. Was it something you said? Or was that really all just some act to get you to shut up? You weren't sure, but you'd still hold on to the memories from that moment.

The glint from his smile flashed into your head as you walked through the hotel door.

"Feeling better?" Mr. Zhao asked as you came in.

"Yeah," you sighed as you watched Minho silently walk to the bedroom.

"Where're you going?" Mr. Zhao asked him.

"I'm going to take a shower," he muttered before walking into the room.

"Hey, next time you're not feeling well. Make sure you let me know. I could've taken you back here and got you some medicine," Mr. Zhao said, placing his hand on your shoulder.

"Okay, I will," you smiled. "And Minho bought these for us," you said handing him the box.

"Aww. Let him know I said thank you. Did you want to pick yours first?" he asked as he opened the box.

"No, that's okay," you smiled before walking to the room.

It felt like a heavy weight was on your shoulders. The thrill was gone and everything had returned back to normal.

Just like last time, Minho came out of the bathroom with damp hair and plopped on the edge of the bed, tapping away at his phone. You pulled out a pair of shorts and an oversized t-shirt before heading to the shower.

You turned the water on high, causing the mirror to fog up. You got lost in the thought of Minho coming into the bathroom and joining you in the shower.

You squeezed your thighs together as the warm water ran down your body. You could feel yourself getting more and more excited, but the sound of the soap dropping to the floor startled you. You felt a bit of guilt after realizing that you were getting turned on by a casual interaction with a classmate you never really paid attention to.

You finished up in the shower before balling your clothes up to toss in the laundry bin.

As expected, you saw Minho lying in bed when you came out. The feelings of pure annoyance returned as you thought back to the way he behaved like Dr. Jekyll and Hyde. The two-faced, bi-personality this man wielded was insane. Both sides seemed so genuine. It was hard to figure out who he really was.

You went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water before going to bed. You looked over to see Mr. Zhao sleeping soundly on his makeshift bed. He'd gathered together extra pillows and sofa cushions to make a platform on the floor.

You walked back to your room and climbed into bed, moving around to get into a comfortable position.

"Can you keep still?" Minho said sharply.

"Sorry," you said sarcastically, rolling your eyes as you plopped your head down onto the pillow.

"Here we go again," you thought to yourself. "Random, grumpy, asshole," you sighed to yourself as you rolled over and closed your eyes.

"Hey," Minho whispered.

"What?" you angrily whispered back.

"Did you still want that kiss?" he asked as you rolled over to meet his gaze.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" you spat back.

"No, I'm serious."

"You must've lost your fucking mind."

"Sorry, it's just that..."

"It's just that what?"

Minho moved in closer to you. So close that to the point that your faces were barely an inch apart.

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about it," he said glaring into your eyes.

"You can't be serious. I'm not falling for this lame-ass act again. Good night," you huffed before turning away from him.

"I'm sorry for getting cold on you again. That's just the way I am," you heard him say from behind you.

"Look, there're two sides of me--"

"Yeah, I see that now," you mumbled, cutting him off.

"Let me explain--"

"I don't wanna hear it. I'm trying to sleep so can you just be quiet," you spat.

Minho pulled the cover off of your body causing you to turn your body over to face him.

"What the fu--" You were startled by Minho climbing on top of you. You were completely speechless.

Your eyes doe eyes glistened under the faint light emitting from the bedroom window. You watched as his body hovered over you. His facial features looked even more amazing in the cool moonlight.

Minho leaned in to kiss you while you were still dazed. Just a small peck, but enough to get your attention. The two of you stared at each other for a moment before kissing again.

You couldn't believe what was happening right now. You were in a shared hotel room making out with one of your classmates while your professor was asleep in the other room.

The kissing intensified as you thought back to your fantasy in the shower. You gripped onto Minho's hair as your tongues intertwined. Your breathing became ragged as you desperately begged for more. But what really got things started was when you accidentally moaned in his mouth.

❤️‍🔥

Minho paused to straddle your body as he looked at you lying beneath him. "What was that for?" he smirked. "Nothing," you lied. "It didn't seem like nothing," he leaned in closer. "Tell me what you were thinking about," he said as he began kissing on your neck.

"I was thinking about you in the shower," you blatantly admitted. You were surprised that those words had even escaped your lips, but Minho's reaction made it all worth it.

"Oh really? And what were you thinking?" he asked as he rubbed your thigh. "Go on. You can close your eyes if it makes you feel better," the feeling of his breath against your neck made your insides flutter.

"I was thinking about you coming into the bathroom and fucking me in the shower," you said as you closed your eyes. You could hear him slightly chuckle in your ear as he moved his hand between your legs. You felt his hands massaging your pussy through your shorts.

"Mhmm. And how did that make you feel?" he asked. "Ngh!" you groaned as he pressed his thumb against your clit. "Nevermind, I already got my answer," he smiled as he felt your pussy throbbing through your shorts.

"How about I tell you a little secret? I wasn't talking in the taxi because I was too busy thinking about all the things I wanted to do to you back there," Minho spat on his fingers before sliding them into your shorts. "And when we came in, I jerked off in the shower because of you," he continued as rubbed your clit.

"You're so fucking wet," he smiled as he kissed you again. "Do you wanna know what I was thinking about?" he asked to which you hummed in response. "How about I just show you," he smirked.

Minho reached down to pull your shorts off. You moved your legs to wiggle them off before they fell on the floor. Minho rubbed the print of his dick through his pants before pulling out his dick. He glided himself between your folds, you watched his dick twitch as he was eager to enter your wet walls. "Mmm. Your pussy feels so good," he groaned.

You sat up slightly to remove his shirt, revealing the scar on his stomach. Minho continued to stroke his dick back and forth between your pussy lips, coating it in your fluids. You watched as the precum seeped from his dick before inserting it into your pussy.

You let out a soft moan as he inched his way through. "Shhh," he hushed as he covered your mouth. "We don't wanna wake anyone up." You felt him pushing every inch inside of you before taking long, slow strokes in and out of your pussy.

The room was filled with the squelching sounds of your pussy and your muffled panting as Minho increased the speed. He moved his hand as he raised your legs to change the position. Your ankles were now over his shoulder as he pounded hard into your pussy. You tried your best to stay quiet, but the pleasure was overwhelming.

You started to moan quietly through your closed lips, that was until Minho grabbed onto your waist and fucked you deeper. A loud moan escaped your lips as he railed you deeper. "You like that don't you baby?" He wrapped his hands around your throat and pushed you into the bed as he hammered your pussy. Choked moans hiccuped from your throat as you reached your climax.

Your chest raised up and down as you gripped onto Minho's waist. "Come on baby. You're almost there," you felt your pussy tightening around his dick as he pumped in and out of you. "That's it. Cum for me like a good girl," he groaned as you panted breathlessly.

You were just at the point where you were about to cum when Minho lifted you up and began drilling you as you squirted all over his abs. Minho pulled you close as his dick twitched inside of your pussy.

Feeling drained but relaxed you weren't ready for what Minho wanted to do next.

Minho dropped you on the bed and turned you over. Your ass was up in the air facing him as he gripped it before hammering into your pussy from behind. "Ugh. I can't get enough of your perfect fucking cunt," he hummed. You could hear the sounds of your skin slapping against each other as he fucked you.

Your legs quivered as you were getting ready to cum again. Your moans were muffled by the bed sheets. Minho pressed your head into the bed as he faintly moaned from behind. "Ngh, fuck. You feel so fucking good." You could tell Minho was reaching his climax as the speed increased even more.

He pulled your body back, gripping one of your breasts in his hand, while the other wrapped firmly around your throat. "Ngh," Minho whimpered as he filled your pussy.

❤️‍🔥

You and Minho fell down onto the bed before lying lazily under the covers. "We can go again in the morning if you want," Minho said kissing your cheek. "You just gotta get up early," he continued before caressing your face. "Then we can fulfill your fantasy," he smirked.

You agreed to some steamy shower sex before the two of you fell asleep, naked and wrapped up in each other's arms.

❀ Thank you all so much for reading! Make sure to check out other works on my masterlist!

❀ 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @chlorinecake @nikisdubblchococake @addictedtohobi @parkjonseongswife @hoyeonheeseung @cas104 @doseoflily @neoteez01 @fics-jillian-liked @skzfelixlove @hyunjinswifeee @urfavberry @ihrtlix @emily1310universe-blog @tiddiesbruhposts @stay-berry @hwanghyunjin2 @cherry8183 @hyunjinslovebott @ta3baee @skz-lover21 @skztalkersworld @hyunjinnie2000 @hyunjinswifeyy @luvyblossom @th3-g1rl-y0u-10v3 @bratty-tingz @skzenhalove

[crestofshame]

I know I have some French mutuals, so I wanted to put out a question that’s been on my mind (as a language nerd):

L’Académie Française is… an interesting establishment to say the least. With the broken conversational French I speak, I know that sometimes the decision of whether a noun is masculine or feminine can be kind of arbitrary, so I guess something like that would help. But, with how many agreements there are with masculine versus feminine articles and adjectives, I was curious what the gender neutral pronoun conversation looked like, because, unlike English, I would assume you’d have to come up with an entirely different suffix as well as a pronoun.

In English, singular “they” was used before singular “you,” so it’s a reversion and an integration. Most of the people that say that singular “they” doesn’t “grammatically work” don’t actually work in a Language discipline to know the facts and/or they’re just being an ass about it. I was wondering, though, what that conversation looks like in Francophone countries and if L’Académie has said anything.

[empiredesimparte]

⚜ Le Cabinet Noir | N°28 | Francesim, Palais des Tuileries, Paris, 13 Fructidor An 230

Emperor Napoleon V and Empress Charlotte have announced the joyous news of the upcoming arrival of their first child, the future heir to the throne of Francesim. This is a momentous occasion for the imperial couple and the entire nation, which eagerly awaits the birth of this child. While the baby’s gender and name remain closely guarded secrets, anticipation is already palpable among the people, who are preparing to celebrate this new addition to the imperial lineage with great enthusiasm.

As Francesim rejoices at the news of the imperial couple’s first child, a pressing question fills public conversations and speculations: will Emperor Napoleon V be at his wife’s side in the coming months? This question is especially pertinent given the Regency, which allows the Empress to govern in the Emperor’s absence as he pursues military training.

In this unprecedented situation, observers wonder if the sovereign, already far from the palace, might set aside his ambitions temporarily to support Charlotte through this crucial period. The answer to this question could well shape the coming months and further endear the young imperial family to the French people.

Beginning ▬ Previous ▬ Next

⚜ Traduction française

L’Empereur Napoléon V et l’Impératrice Charlotte ont révélé l’heureuse nouvelle de l’arrivée prochaine de leur premier enfant, futur héritier du trône de Francesim. C'est un événement marquant pour le couple impérial, mais aussi pour toute la nation, qui se réjouit d'accueillir ce bébé. Si le sexe et le prénom de l'enfant restent encore des secrets bien gardés, l'attente est déjà palpable au sein du peuple, qui se prépare à célébrer avec ferveur cet héritier de la lignée impériale.

Alors que la Francesim célèbre l'annonce du premier enfant du couple impérial, une question brûlante anime les conversations et les spéculations. De nombreux Français s'interrogent : l'Empereur Napoléon V sera-t-il aux côtés de son épouse, l'Impératrice Charlotte, durant ces prochains mois ? Cette interrogation prend tout son sens dans le contexte de la Régence, mise en place pour permettre à l'Impératrice de gouverner en l'absence de son époux, parti parfaire sa formation militaire.

Avec cette situation inédite, les observateurs se demandent si le souverain, déjà engagé loin du palais, pourra s'accorder une pause dans ses ambitions pour soutenir Charlotte durant cette période cruciale. Une question dont la réponse pourrait bien influencer le cours des prochains mois et nourrir encore davantage l'attachement des Français pour leur jeune famille impériale.

[prosedumonde]

Et quand j’essaie de parler calmement, quand je ne dis pas ce que je pense, pour ménager l’atmosphère, ça ne ménage rien du tout : car les mots tirent des trains de mots, tous ceux que le passé a entendus. Chaque mot est devenu un collier de mots. Quand tu en prononces un, n’importe lequel, un petit anodin de rien du tout, les oreilles de l’autre entendent le collier entier, et il s’énerve pour un seul petit mot qui n’aurait rien fait s’il n’y avait pas le passé, toutes ces traces, des mots qui s’enfilent les uns derrières les autres.

Alice Ferney, La Conversation amoureuse

[nayelleya]

14 et 15 mai 2024

Je venais de quitter ma mère au téléphone lui disant que j'allais certainement rentrer à l'auberge ou bien me faire un trajet de métro et rentrer à pieds (j'adore me faire des tours de métro sachez-le).

Dans la station, je remarque un garçon qui m'a interpellé : son charme, ses nombreux tatouages et ce qu'il dégageait. J'écris directement à une amie "Je viens de trouver l'amour de ma vie, il est juste à coter de moi". Le métro arrive, peu de place on se serre tous, lui et moi comprit. Deux stations plus loin le métro se vide un peu, je savais que j'avais beaucoup de temps devant moi avant le terminus alors je décide de sortir mon livre "Rêveries du promeneur solitaire" de Rousseau. Je le vois se pencher, tentant de lire le titre. Alors, tout naturellement je lui montre ce que je lis. Puis il me dit "Tu lis ça pour la fac ou pour les cours" EN FRANÇAIS ? Je lui réponds que c'est pour le plaisir, lui me dit que personne ne lit du Rousseau pour le plaisir, que ce n'est pas possible.

On commence désormais à faire connaissance, me demandant qu'est-ce que je fais dans un métro à Vienne et à cette heure-ci (il devait être 21h30). On discute pendant deux trois arrêts jusqu'à que le chauffeur annonce que le métro a un soucis et que nous sommes tous obligés de descendre à la prochaine station. On se dit que c'est le destin, qu'on doit continuer cette conversation. Alors, on marche, on parle de nos vies, de nos auteurs préférés, de nos lectures.

On tombe sur un bar, par chance il fermait dans 30 min mais on a pu quand même commander. Heureusement, cet inconnu parle français car sa mère est née en France, qu'il a été au lycée français à Vienne et qu'il avait fait deux ans de prépa à Paris. Mais ce qui voulait dire qu'il était bilingue allemand (merci la vie j'en pouvais plus de commander et de commander en anglais surtout). Dès qu'on s'assoit, il sort son carnet et écrit directement la date du jour, mon prénom, la ligne de métro où on s'est rencontrés et écrit "couleur de cheveux inconnu" (nous n'avions pas réussit à déterminer si j'étais rousse ou si j'avais les cheveux rouges).

Je passe les détails sinon ce post ferait 10000 lignes. On finit par partir du bar, on marchait et il me lance un "Mais en fait on est dans Before Sunrise, on vit un rêve Leyan, je suis sûr que demain quand on va se lever rien de tout ça n'aura exister". Je lui avoue que je n'ai jamais vu ce film, film qui raconte l'histoire de deux inconnus qui se rencontrent dans le train et l'américain demande à la française si elle veut rester avec lui à Vienne le temps d'une nuit. C'était totalement nous, sauf que nous, l'amour était platonique. Comme il m'a dit "C'est la rencontre de nos deux âmes, pas de nos deux corps". Et, je pense que c'est la chose la plus merveilleuse que nos corps ne se soit pas rencontrés. De toute façon, on ne c'est pas parler pour se draguer. C'était spéciale.

Finalement, on se décide d'aller regarder le film dans le hall de mon auberge. Trop de bruits. Il réserve une chambre privative juste pour qu'on regarde le film. On a parler durant tout le film, on coupait le film pour se dire que par moment c'était vraiment nous. Après l'avoir vu, on s'est demandés "Et qu'est-ce qu'on fait quand le soleil va se lever ?". On a beaucoup réfléchit, on s'est dit que le meilleur moyen de continuer ce rêve ce n'était pas de prendre nos contacts. Juste un rendez-vous après ses examens de médecine. Il m'a écrit un poème de Pablo Neruda en espagnol, pour me montrer que je n'ai pas rêver de cette rencontre juste spectaculaire. Personnellement, je lui ai laissé une petite lettre, le remerciant d'avoir une âme aussi pure et saine. On avait l'impression de se connaître depuis toujours et en même temps pas du tout c'était très étrange. Je l'ai laissé dormir, je suis partie au lever du soleil. J'espère qu'il a prit mon message, qu'il a prit cette lettre. J'espère qu'il va venir au rendez-vous. Si un de nous deux ne peut pas finalement, on s'est dit qu'on allait se recroiser un jour de façon anodine, c'était sûr et certain. J'ai quand même mit à la fin de ma lettre "Et si on ne se revoit pas, souviens toi que tu as un visage pour être aimé". Car, c'est totalement vrai. Cet inconnu à un visage pour être aimé (et puis aussi lui rappeler qu'il doit lire du Paul Eluard).

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Contemporary descriptions of the hébertist execution compilation

The joy of the people was universal at seeing the conspirators taken to the scaffold. There were the same demonstrations of joy everywhere; a sansculotte jumped up and said: “I would light up my windows this evening, if candles were not so rare.” In the evening, in all the groups and cafes, people talked about the death of these conspirators; the story of their last moments was the only subject of conversation. It was said in several places that Hébert had denounced around forty deputies. It was time, they added, that this conspiracy was discovered, because it was believed in several departments that Paris was under fire. […] According to the comments made on the Place de la Révolution, during the appearance of the conspirators on the scaffold, one noticed that there were people placed to sow trouble. One woman was beaten by another for having made some comment. While the 19 conspirators were being guillotined, the people remained silent; but when Hébert’s turn came, a swarm of hats appeared, and everyone shouted: “Long live the Republic! This is a great lesson for those who are consumed by ambition; the intriguers have done well; the committees of public safety and general security will manage to discover them, and ça ira!” Tableaux de la Révolution française publiés sur les papiers inédits (1869) by Adolphe Schmidt, volume 2, page 186. ”Situation in Paris 4 Germinal Year 2” (March 24 1794).

The events of yesterday, that is to say the judgment of the conspirators, their journey from the Palace to the Place de la Révolution and their execution, have entirely absorbed the attention and feelings of the people. Everyone wanted to at least see them pass so that they could judge the impression made on their wicked souls by the sight of an immense people, outraged by their crime, and the knowledge of the imminent death they were going to suffer. The crowd of curious people who were on their way or who witnessed their execution was innumerable. [...] Two opposing feelings, indignation against the guilty and joy at seeing the Republic saved by their death, animated all the spectators. One tried to read the faces of the condemned to enjoy, in a way, the internal pain from which they suffered: it was a kind of revenge that they took pleasure in obtaining. The sans-culottes were especially angry with Hébert and insulted him. “He’s damn angry,” said one, “we broke all his stoves (fourneaux).” “No,” said another, “he is very happy to see that the real aristocrats are going to fall under the guillotine.” Others carried stoves? (fourneaux) and pipes and raised them in the air so that they could strike Father Duchesne's eyes. Regardless, this wretch could not pay any attention to what was happening around him; the horror of his situation appalled him; he had reproached Custine for dying as a coward, and he showed no less pusillanimity than him. Momoro put up, as they say, a brave face against bad luck, he pretended to be confident, talked to his neighbors and laughed a wicked laugh. [...] Cloots appeared calm, Vincent lost, Ancart and Ronsin furious and Hébert overwhelmed. The latter was the star of the show, he appeared last [on the scaffold]. Report by the police spy Grisel, March 25 1794, cited in La Liberté ou la Mort: mourir en député (2015) by Michel Biard.

On D-Day, March 24, 1794, an “innumerable crowd” impatiently awaited the execution of Father Duchesne and his accomplices: “Advancing from the place of execution of Paris, one encountered waves of citizens on their way there; everything resounded with the cry of “Father Duchesne to the guillotine!” and in this respect the children acted as peddlers.” Another agent remarks that “in the streets, from the Palace to the Place de la Révolution, the crowds of people were so great that one could barely pass through.” The police estimate (already!) claimed that “perhaps four hundred thousand souls witnesses to this execution.” […] If the legend claiming that Hébert fainted in the tumbril seems false, all reports corroborate on the other hand the moral and physical collapse which this great sermonizer presented: […] “It was noticed that Ronsin seemed the least frightened by his execution, that Anacharsis Cloots had retained great composure, but that Hébert and the others bore on their faces the signs of the greatest consternation;” [Another report states that]: “Of the nineteen culprits dragged to execution, Hébert was the one who presented the saddest and most dismayed face.” Taken from the Palace to the Place de la Révolution amid cries of joy and insults (“Everywhere they passed one shouted “Long live the Republic!,” and threw hats in the air and everyone said some epithet to them, especially to Hébert.”), Father Duchesne was not yet at the end of his troubles. To make the feast complete, a cruel staging allowed him to meditate on his fate: “Upon his arrival on the Place de la Révolution, he and his accomplices were greeted by boos and murmurs of indignation. With each head that fell, the people took revenge again with the cry of “Long live the Republic!” while throwing their hats in the air. Hébert was saved for last, and the executioners, after putting his head through the fatal window, responded to the wish that the people had expressed to condemn this great conspirator to a punishment less gentle than the guillotine, by holding the suspended blade for several seconds on his criminal neck, and throwing, during this time, their victorious hats around him and attacking him with poignant cries of ”Long live this Republic that he had wanted to destroy.” As can be seem, one knew how to have fun in those days. However, as soon as the affair was completed, the agents noted contrasting reactions among the people: “In all public places, the aristocrats and the moderates rejoiced at this execution and affected a lot of patriotism. The patriots also rejoiced, but they observed one another.” [Another report states] “I visited different cabarets near the Gros Caillou, near the Military School. They talked only about Father Duchesne, about whom a thousand stories were made with the intention to bless the Committee of Public Safety for having discovered such a betrayal. I found the little people cheerful”; [Another report states]: “The walks are everywhere full of people and everywhere one stays and asks: “Did you go to see Hébert yesterday?” One answers “yes”. All the faces seem happy.” [Another report states]: “Since Hébert’s death, I have noticed that, in cafés, men who talked a lot no longer say anything.” This is because the execution of Hébert and his supporters, although it purged the Mountain of its extremists, nonetheless shook the people’s confidence in their leaders. Who would believe if even the most ardent patriots could suddenly become traitors? At least one thing is certain, that is that beyond the unconscious dismay which struck the people after the execution, the great cowardice which Father Duchesne demonstrated before the guillotine ended up destroying him in the eyes of everyone: “After the execution, everyone was talking about the conspirators. They said: “They died like suckers”; others said: “We would have thought that Hébert would have shown more courage, but he died as a good-for-nothing.” Series of police reports found in Paris pendant la Terreur (1962) by Pierre Caron, cited in this blog post.

The execution took place in the afternoon around 5 o'clock, at the Place de la Révolution. A prodigious crowd of citizens filled all the streets and squares through which they passed. Repeated cries of long live the Republic and applause were heard everywhere. These testimonies of the indignation of the People against men who had just so eminently compromised the salvation of the Fatherland, were proportionate to the extreme confidence they had in the art of surprising them; and the public satisfaction whose feeling was mixed with this deep indignation was a new proof of the love of the citizens for the Republic saved by the punishment of these great culprits. Thus perishes anyone who dares to attempt the re-establishment of tyranny! Gazette Nationale ou Moniteur Universel, number 185 (March 25 1794)

It was 18 of them who suffered the death penalty due to their crimes... It was Father Duchesne, this scoundrel, who was cursed by all the people. If he had been susceptible to remorse, he would have died of shame before his arrival, in front of Madame Guillotine... He was the last to be guillotined, each of the closest spectators continued to reproach him for his villainy... Letter written by the Convention deputy Ayral Bernard, March 26 1794

Hébert, Ronsin, Vincent, and the other conspiracy defendants whose names and qualities we reported in previous issues, were sentenced to death by the revolutionary tribunal. Only one was acquitted; Laboureau: he was immediately set free; the president of the tribunal embraced him and made him sit next to him: the room resounded with the liveliest applause. The other defendants said nothing when they were sentenced; the Prussian Cloots appealed to the human race, of which we know that he had made himself the speaker. Ronsin wanted to say a few words, he was removed alongside the others. Femme Quetineau declared herself pregnant. Taken back to the Conciergerie, the condemned asked for half a septier of wine and a soup. Around four in the afternoon, they left on three tumbril to go to the execution. Never had an execution attracted such a considerable crowd of spectators; everywhere they passed, one clapped hands, tossed hats in the air, and shouted vive la république ! They seemed quite insensitive to the indignation that was brewing against them: arrived at the foot of the scaffold, they all embraced each other. Hébert, known as Father Duchesne, was the last to be guillotined; his head was shown to the people, and this spectacle provoked clapping of hands and universal cries of vive la république ! Annales Patriotiques et Litteraires de la France, et Affaires Politiques de l’Europe, number 369 (March 26 1794)

The republic has once again been saved: 19 leaders of the conspiracy hatched for its ruin were sentenced to death today, 4 germinal, at half past twelve. The flattering sword of the law struck their guilty heads: these traitors marched towards the scaffold with all the audacity of crime; some laughed, others raised their shoulders: Father Duchène appeared to be neither in great joy nor in great anger; the people applauded and stood in crowds in the places through which the procession was to pass. A lot of cavalry and infantry preceded, accompanied and followed the tumbrils carrying the conspirators: but armed force became useless, because joy was universal. Le Courier Belgique, number 39 (March 31 1794)

Here is an anecdote which can serve to make better known the eighteen conspirators whom the sword of the law has struck down. On the day of their execution, several heads had already fallen when General Laumur's turn had come. Ronsin and Vincent looked at him at the scaffold and said to Hébert: ”without the clumsiness of this j... f... we would have succeeded.” They were alluding to the indiscretion of Laumur, who would tell anyone who would listen that the Convention had to be destroyed. Suite de Journal de Perlet, number 555 (March 31 1794)

My father told me that only once, during the Revolution, he found himself stuck in the crowd, without being able to move forward or backward, as the fatal tumbril passed. It was the one who carried the Hébertists. Cloots, placed at one end, said to the spectators: “My friends, please do not confuse me with these rascals.” Mémoires sur Carnot par son fils (1861) volume 1, page 366.

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Previous parts of this totally family friendly series:

Contemporary descriptions of the dantonist execution compilation

Contemporary descriptions of the robespierrist execution compilation

[rubyroboticalt]

right so my hearing ass heard about qsmp sign languages and HOO BOY STRAP IN because i have linguistics autism level 1 and am conversational in asl. are you ready? Good.

there are a half dozen sign languages that are somehow derivative of langue des signes française, french sign, abbreviated as lsf. starting with asl, american sign language, which mr gallaudet based on lsf. i, as an asl speaker, can somewhat understand lsf videos, this is a concept called mutual intelligibility and will be important later. língua brasileira de sinais, brazilian sign, abbreviated as libras, is likely derived from portuguese sign (lgs) and lsf. okay, so that is two sign languages derived partially from lsf, taking vocab and grammar and evolving separately after splitting apart. all three, libras, asl, and lsf, have a degree of mutual intelligibility. pidgining between them is likely to be an exchange of vocab, using the most common sign between all the speakers; or whatever sign is taught to another speaker first.

there are more sign languages than just those three! asl has parented other sign languages. lengua de señas peruana, peruvian sign, abbreviated as lsp, is derived from asl. lengua de señas puertorriqueña, puerto rican sign language, abbreviated as prsl, is a derivative of asl. lengua de señas argentina, argentinian sign language, abbreviated as lsa, is also derived from asl. it will be abbreviated as lsar in this post. there is a degree of mutual intelligibility between asl and each of these three languages, though the degree varies. given that the lsf-derived sign languages also have some mutual intelligibility, it's likely that the six sign languages all have mutual intelligibility. how much will vary from language to language and speaker to speaker.

this is still not all of the connected sign languages! algeria has langue des signes algérienne, abbreviated as lsa, and as lsal in this post to distinguish from argentinian sign. seven total sign languages that are somehow derivative of lsf (thanks, colonialism), and that share a degree of mutual intelligibility.

spanish sign language, lengua de signos española, abbreviated as lse, may be related to lsf, but mutual intelligibility begins to break down between lsf-derivatives and lse. the breakdown of mutual intelligibility becomes complete with mexican sign language, lengua de señas mexicana, abbreviated as lsm. lsm does not have any mutual intelligibility with its relatives lsf and asl. this is where the pidgin begins to become unintelligible with lsf-derivatives, though lsm may share intellibility with other latam signs like lsp, libras, and prsl.

the big kicker for the qsmp signed pidgin becoming something taught, something learned from the other residents, is when you add british sign language to the mix. bsl is completely different from lsf, asl, lse, and their derivatives. it has different vocab, different grammar, different alphabet, the whole shebang. there are exactly two brits who log on frequently, and one joined late. the discrepancy in speakers between bsl and lsf-derivatives is massive. instead of contributing grammar, the pidgin likely picks up vocab from the bsl speakers, and applies it to the fairly-standard lsf-derived grammar.

of course, we must consider the eggs, who are canonically mute and literally use sign items to communicate. this is where the pidgin the adults sign becomes a creole, as a creole forms when a pidgin is the first language taught to a child. and that is where lengua de señas de qsmp becomes a creole, when it is taught to an egg to communicate.

so thats how i think the qsmp would form a pidgin sign language combining all of the signs from the countries the current islanders are from. and i havent even touched asian countries that have been teased, or korean sign because tina is korean. thank you for coming to my ted talk.

[ghostly-runes]

Deaf/Hard of hearing Black family (And a bit of the Tonks/Rosier/Malfoy/Lupin/Riddle family (Pretty much everyone in the family tree I could think of))

Note: I am not deaf but I am disabled so I am somewhat pulling from my experiences so, if I get anything wrong or am insensitive in anyway please please let me know

- Sirius was born hard of hearing but never got the support he needed in childhood

- He didn’t know and wasn’t taught sign language until he was older and could learn it by himself

- Regulus and Andromeda were the only ones to learn BSL (British sign language) with him (More so Reg than Andy because he lived with Sirius)

- Deafness runs in the Black family but most of them learn to live with it so they don’t seem “crippled” (Narcissa and Orion are the only ones that aren’t hard of hearing or deaf in the family)

- Regulus grew up hearing but midway though his years at hogwarts he started losing his hearing (Pandora pointed it out)

- This is one of the few times during their years at Hogwarts and after Sirius runs away, that Regulus comes to Sirius because “How can he be the perfect heir if he’s ‘defected’. ”

- They had a long conversation about how that didn’t determine his worth and he wasn’t ‘defected’ or anything of that sort

- In a They all live!AU Regulus would have been completely deaf by 30

- Luckily though, at the age of 15 Regulus has a close knit friend group and they’re all willing to learn sign language for him (He sucks at lip reading)

- Sirius also has incredibly close friend group and they all start to learn sign language for Sirius, even if it’s just common signs

- Sirius actually doesn’t tell his friends that he’s hard of hearing, James just picks it up 2nd yr and when asked Sirius tries to deny it but he sucks at lying to James

- After a bit they tell Peter and then Remus

- After Remus, Sirius finds it gets easier and easier to tell his friends and soon most (if not his whole) friend group knows

- Regulus on the other hand doesn’t tell anyone but Dorcas, Barty, Evan, Pandora and Sirius for a while. (James and Lily have to learn about it from Sirius)

- Andromeda is born completely deaf and it scares her mother half to death because it’s not often that the Black children are born that way

- Because of this she isn’t able to talk very clearly and struggles quite a lot

- Bellatrix, like Sirius is Born hard of hearing but her mother is a little more accepting of it and makes sure her daughters learn sign language

- So the girls grow up learning and knowing LSF (Langue des signes française/French sign language)

- They teach the brothers bits and pieces when they get the chance but Orion refuses to let them use it in the house

- Orion and Cyprus both don’t start becoming hard of hearing until they are teenagers and even then they never go completely deaf

- Walburga was born hard of hearing like Sirius and was considered a failure by her mother for this (she continued the cycle of this to Sirius)

- Alphard was not born completely deaf but is by the time he is a small child he is (His parents are reallyyy not happy about this)

- Because he went deaf after he began to talk he can talk mostly clearly, he does struggle a bit at times but it’s not normally noticeable

- However, he cannot speak English as he didn’t learn any before going deaf (French is his first language) and he only knows bsl after he moves out

- Tonks (Nymphadora) is born hard of hearing and grows up in a house that uses sign language

- Draco, like his mother is one of the few family members that are born hearing but he starts losing his hearing a bit earlier than most folks

- Teddy is also born hearing but grows up with Andromeda so they learn sign language as one of their first languages

- Scorpius was surprisingly born hard of hearing considering his mother, father and grandparents are not deaf or hard of hearing

- But not to worry, the family trauma is being healed and he grows up with a good support system and people who know sign language and use it with him

- Delphi and born hearing and doesn’t usually have any problems with her hearing until she’s a preteen

[christian-dubuis-santini]

Deux témoignages…

Hier conversation à l’écart, tête-à-tête avec Nathalie, une collègue de 59 ans, une beauté française classique (style Françoise Dorléac)

-😑 tu sais la santé ça ne va plus

-qu’est-ce que tu as?

-depuis le vaccin je suis pas bien, tout mon corps, j’ai plein de problèmes

-L’injection expérimentale…

-Oui oooh 🙄 On s’est bien fait avoir!

Ce matin, une accompagnatrice d’enfants en situation de handicap, que je vois masquée FFP2 bleu depuis trois semaines:

-dans mon cours, vous pouvez l’enlever.

-Mais il faut que je protège les autres(?)

-Vous ne protégez personne, vous pouvez l’enlever. Et puis on retrouve des micros plastiques dans les poumons, en plus l’humidité vous fait respirer les champignons de votre masque…

-(Elle arrache vivement son masque)

-Alors ça je m’en doute car j’ai une infection de la gorge et du nez en permanence !

-…et être en hypoxie, sous oxygénée, ça favorise les cancers vous savez? il y a plusieurs études maintenant et …

-Ah! Ben voilà ! on m’en a diagnostiqué un lundi! On m’a dit que c’était pas grave mais quand même ! un minuscule cancer. On essaye de bien faire et voilà. (…) Ils nous protègent pas au gouvernement ?

-Non, ils ne nous protègent pas.

-😞 mais ils devraient nous protéger.

-Protégez-vous, vous.