#pourboires

[equipe]

Retrait de la fonction Pourboires

La fonction Pourboires a été introduite en février 2022 afin de satisfaire les attentes de la communauté, et elle s'est avérée un précieux ajout pour de nombreuses personnes sur la plateforme. Malgré un accueil enthousiaste, la fonctionnalité n'a malheureusement pas rencontré le succès escompté…

Alors, pour concentrer nos efforts sur les éléments qui constituent l'essence de Tumblr, nous avons décidé de mettre fin aux Pourboires à compter du 1ᵉʳ juin 2024.

Vous avez offert un pourboire par le passé ou avez activé la fonction sur votre blog et souhaitez connaître les démarches à entreprendre ? Rassurez-vous, vous n'avez absolument rien à faire : l'icône Pourboire disparaîtra automatiquement des blogs ou des billets sur lesquels elle figurait, et il ne sera tout simplement plus possible d'effectuer un don à un créateur ou de recevoir des pourboires.

Tous les pourboires en attente de paiement seront versés via Stripe d'ici au 15 juin 2024.

Même si cela n'affectera qu'un petit nombre d'entre vous, nous avons conscience que cette fonction vous permettait, par vos dons, de montrer toute votre reconnaissance aux créateurs Tumblr que vous admiriez, et nous sommes navrés de vous ôter cette capacité. Nous espérons que vous saurez trouver d'autres moyens pour leur témoigner votre gratitude, par exemple en leur offrant un badge qui pourrait leur plaire ou en sponsorisant avec Blaze un billet auquel vous auriez souhaité offrir un pourboire. Ces gestes seront certainement appréciés à leur juste valeur !

Si vous avez des questions à propos du retrait cette fonctionnalité, n'hésitez pas à contacter notre Support. Et, une fois encore : un grand merci à toutes celles et à tous ceux qui l'ont appréciée <3

[un-sideblog]

Ça fait deux jours que je travaille en restaurant et je ne demanderais plus jamais de corbeille de pain de ma vie (la carafe d'eau est malheureusement nécessaire à la survie).

J'ai l'air gentil donc tout le monde me demande le pain. C'est si long à faire et après on me reproche de pas servir les plats (ma vrai fonction au sein du restau). Bah oui forcément, chaque client veut deux corbeilles de pain, deux carafes d'eau et de la moutarde. Et pensent qu'ils sont les seuls à faire ce type de demande qui me bouffe cinq minutes à chaque fois (le restau est très grand).

Soyez moins français tous. Moins de pain, service plus rapide pour tout le monde.

[ma-vie-de-serveuse]

Moi actuellement avec mes 36,23€ sur mon compte.

[firehananas]

Tous les héros ne portent pas de cape ; big up à ma potesse S qui a été monter au créneau à la SNCF pour récupérer les 45€ qu’on avait soustrait à une amende qui n’en valait que 5.

Ceci est par ailleurs un rappel : si votre ticket ou votre navigo n’a pas été validé mais qu’il est valide, l’amende est de 5€ et pas de 50!!!! (Que vous soyez français ou non btw)

Source

[jihef03]

J'ai fait l'erreur de commander un menu fast-food par service de livraison.

[dessinsdebado]

De plus en plus, on vous demande un pourboire à l’aide d’un terminal de paiement même si, dans certains cas, il n'y a eu aucun service en échange. (Le Droit, mardi 12 septembre 2023)

[pompadourpink]

Literal French expressions

À deux - at two

À la + n. - in the style of

À la carte - at the menu

À la mode - in fashion

Amateur - lover

Après-ski - after skying

À propos - about

Armoire - wardrobe

Art nouveau - new art

Au naturel - plain

Au pair - at the peer

Auteur - author

Avant-garde - before guard

Bête noire - black beast

Blasé - jaded

Bon appétit - good appetite

Bon voyage - good journey

Boutique - shop

Buffet - credenza

Bureau - office

Canapé - couch

Carte blanche - white card

C'est la vie - that's life

Chauffeur - warmer (n.)

Chef - leader

Cliché - picture

Clique - gang

Connaisseur - "knower"

Coup d'état - blow of state

Coup de grâce - blow of mercy

Coup de foudre - blow of lightning

Couture - sewing (n.)

Cul-de-sac - ass of the bag

Début - beginning

Débutante - beginner

Déjà-vu - already seen

Dénouement - untying

Dossier - file

Double entendre - double hear

... du jour - of the day

Eau de toilette - washing water

Eau de vie - life water

Encore - again

Ennui - boredom

En route - in road

Ensemble - together

Entourage - people surrounding you

Entrepreneur - starter (n.)

Essai - attempt

Esprit de l'escalier - spirit of the stairs

Étiquette - label

Exposé - exposed

Façade - frontage

Faux pas - fake step

Femme fatale - deadly woman

Film noir - black movie

Fin de siècle - end of century

Flâneur - "stroller"

Femme - woman

Folie à deux - madness at two

Foyer - fireplace, home

Gamine - female kid (casual)

Gauche - left

Gendarme - person of weapons

Je ne sais quoi - I don't know what

Laissez-faire - let (someone) do (imperative)

Laissez-passer - let (someone) pass

L'appel du vide - the call of the void

Lingerie - underwear

Maître d' - master o'

Mardi gras - fat Tuesday

Matinée - morning

Ménage à trois - household at three

Mon/ma chéri-e - my cherished

Montage - mounting

Motif - pattern

Mural - on the wall (adj.)

Né-e - born

Négligé - neglected

Nom de plume - feather name

Parole - word

Petite - small (adj.)

Pied-à-terre - foot on land

Poilu - hairy

Pot pourri - rotten pot

Pourboire - for drink

Première - first

Prêt-à-manger - ready to eat

Protégé - protected

Renaissance - rebirth

Rendez-vous - appointment

Répertoire - directory

Résumé - summary

Risqué - risked

Robe - dress

Rouge - red

RSVP - answer please

Sans-culottes - without pantaloons

Savant - "knower" (n.)

Savoir-faire - know how to do (v.)

Savoir-vivre - know how to live

Séance - session

Soirée - evening

Souvenir - memory

Suite - sequel, development

Surveillance - careful watching

Tête-à-tête - head to head

Touché - touched

Tour - circuit

Trompe-l'oeil - cheats the eye

Venue - came

Vignette - sticker, label

Vis-à-vis - face to face

Voyeur - "seer"

Ballet vocabulary:

Allongé - laid down

Balancé - swinged

Balançoire - swing (n.)

Battu - battered

Brisé - broken

Chassé - chased

Chaînés - chained

Ciseaux - scissors

Coupé - cut

Dégagé - cleared

Développé - developed

Échappé - escaped

En cloche - in bell

En croix - in cross

Entrechat - between braid

En pointe - in tip

Failli - almost did

Fouetté - whipped

Glissade - sliding

Plié - bent

Jeté - thrown

Manège - carousel

Pas de bourrée - drunk step

Pas de chat - cat step

Pas de cheval - horse step

Pas de deux - step of two

Pas de valse - waltz step

Penché - leaned

Piqué - pricked

Port de bras - carry of arms

Relevé - lifted back up

Renversé - titled, bent backwards

Retiré - removed

Rond de jambe - leg circle

Temps de flèche - arrow time Tendu - stretched

Temps lié - linked time

Tombé - fallen

Tour en l'air - turn in the air

Kitchen vocabulary:

Amuse-bouche - mouth entertainer

Bain-Marie - Mary bath

Café au lait - milky coffee

Casserole - pot

Cordon bleu - blue ribbon

Crème brûlée - burnt cream

Crème de la crème - cream of the cream

Crème fraîche - fresh cream

Croissant - crescent

Éclair - lightning

Entrée - entrance

Filet mignon - cute net

Flambé - blazed

Foie gras - fat liver

Fondant - melting

Fondue - melted

Gourmet - foodie

Hors d'oeuvre - out of the work

Légume - vegetable

Liqueur - liquid

Mille-feuille - thousand leaf

Mousse - foam

Pâté - pasted

Roux - redhead(ed)

Sauté - jumped

Sautoir - "jumper"

Soufflé - blown

Velouté - velvety

Fanmail - masterlist (2016-) - archives - hire me - reviews (2020-) - Drive

[perdrelacellule]

J'ai reçu un pourboire ? Je savais même pas que j'avais cette fonction activée. Anon, Si c'est une erreur dis moi. Si non, merci beaucoup !

[metataxy]

Richter Belmont as Dhampir fic, #2:

Summary: Olrox abducts Richter Belmont in retribution against Julia Belmont for the death of his lover, and takes him South, raising him among the Mexica. As an adolescent, exposure to Olrox's blood and a near-death experience triggered his transformation into a dhampir. At the time, Richter was furious.

Fast forward six years: Olrox has forged Richter into one of the most deadly warriors on the continent. Working together, the two have overturned the colonial empire in the French colonies. Now, they have voyaged to Europe, where the seer and sorceress Annette believes a far more terrible power is rising.

Except in coming to France, the young Dhampir risks meeting the people he was forced to leave behind, and making them grapple with who he has become.

Part 1 here. Just something I'm playing with and don't intend to post to AO3 until I figure out where this is going ;)

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

Richter fished through his pockets for some spare change, when his hands came upon a bulging purse in his coat pocket.  He pulled it out.  Purple velvet, gold button.  On opening it, he found it full to bursting with coins of every denomination. He shrugged and fished out a franc, flipped it at the barkeep with a smile.

“Keep the change,” he told him.  He hardly minded being a spendthrift with his sire’s money.  The man had enough of it.  A weaker man might have felt the vampire owed Richter a debt for his abduction, the harsh training of his childhood, and the Turning.  Richter rather felt everything that had happened after his kidnapping made up for it.  He would have been targeted as a Belmont.  His mother’s training hadn’t been enough to save either of them from Olrox.  Olrox, on the other hand, had ensured his enemy’s son was more than a match for even him.

Richter sipped at the ale and lapped the rim.  The barkeep, or whoever had brewed it, really had deserved his pourboire. 

A shot rang out.  Pure reflex made him duck when he did.  A moment later, and a bullet buried itself in the wall. 

Richter tracked the sound to the only man sitting, now standing, in the dark corner of the bar.  An old man, with long white hair and square beard and most significantly, a smoking gun.

“Not again!” complained the barkeep.

Richter dodged again, knocking over the barstool.  The next bullet went straight through his plate of food.  “Hey,” he told the old man.  “Knock it off.  I’m just trying to have a meal here--”

Another shot, straight for the heart.

“What did I even do?” he asked, bewildered.

“I told you leeches that the next one of you who came looking for me, I’d leave his headless corpse hanging in the hall like a trophy.”

Richter groaned, holding up his hands.  “I’m not looking for trouble—”

Another shot—

“Oh, fuck it,” he finally said, and sped across the room in a blur of red light.  The man actually followed his movements and met him, pistol tracking his heart.  Richter blurred around him to avoid the next shot, cursing—he hadn’t expected to burn through so much energy so soon—only to get impaled through the shoulder when the man brought up a knife in his offhand.  He leaned into the blow though, tangled his legs up with the old man’s, and took him to the floor, wrestling his gun out of his left hand, pinning his right under his impaled shoulder.

The grizzled old goat bucked and kneed him in the balls, but he’d wrestled the Quechua boys too often to be bothered by that (that was one move Olrox would never do, at least not to Richter-- not because he was too refined, but because he said Richter would need those later.  The old perv).  The man bit at Richter’s neck and tore the skin, and Richter hissed, lunging to lock his jaws around the old man’s jugular, just as the old man pried another blade from his belt and set it at the small of his back.

“Do it,” the old man dared him.  “Kill me.  I’m going to die sooner than not anyhow.  Do it, and I stab this straight through your spine.  Think you’ll be able to walk again before the sun rises?”

This was getting fucking ridiculous. 

Apparently someone else thought so too.

A presence overshadowed him, the kind he’d felt before only in the presence of very old vampires, or very powerful witches. 

“Drop the blade, Juste,” came a voice in a clear tenor, the words free of any urgency.  “<i>And take your fangs out from your grandfather’s neck, little Belmont.</i>”

He heard the words as much aloud as in his mind, where he’d only before heard the voice of his sire.  That, as much of their content, shocked him into stillness.

Then the pressure of the blade against his back gave way, and he hurtled himself off the old man, wiping the saliva from his mouth.

“Grandfather?” he repeated dumbly, and then had a clear look at the newcomer. 

He was beautiful.  Tall, slender, androgenously lovely, with long, wavy hair of a shade of gold so pale it was almost white, and skin bloodlessly white as marble, the colour of a vampire who hadn’t fed in some time.  His eyes were bright amber as a cat’s, and his mouth was open enough for Richter to see his eyeteeth were only as long as Richter’s.

Richter’s own mouth fell open.  He had so many questions, but the old man cut him off. 

“Belmont?  Grandfather?” the man spat, squinting at Richter. “What gives, Alucard?” 

Now that the grizzled hunter wasn’t trying to kill him, Richter endured his scrutiny, nonplussed, looking at the beautiful man for direction.  “You’re a dhampir,” he breathed, looking at the man, who lowered himself to sit crosslegged across from him.

The man’s pale lips curved upwards.  “Yes.  Yes I am.  Alucard.”

The bedside stories he’d heard of the half-vampire who’d fought alongside his ancestors flashed through his mind. 

“I thought you were a myth.”

The man chuckled, his laughter as pleasing as the rest of him.  “I suppose it’s my fault for not visiting your family more frequently.  You’ll find though, that it becomes more difficult to track the passage of time after your first century or so.”

The old man pulled up a chair, still scrutinizing Richter with that implacable gaze.  “Richter?” he said slowly.

Richter nodded.  “Uh.  Yeah.  Richter Belmont.”  He scratched the back of his head and offered the old man a sheepish grin.  “I kill vampires.  And you’re my grandfather?”

The old man didn’t answer, but turned to Alucard.  “How?” he demanded, settling his pale eyes on the vampire.

The lovely dhampir didn’t blink.  “I’ve always enjoyed a close relationship with the Belmonts and their Speaker cousins,” he told the old man, in the tone of someone giving a gentle reminder.

Richter did blink at what that implication.

“He wasn’t born like this.  Julia would have said something.”

“No?” Alucard turned to Richter, examining him anew.  “How fascinating.  I suppose,” he said, thinking aloud, “extreme circumstances, such as starvation or disease, could trigger the change as a means of self-preservation.”

Richter didn’t say anything under that intense stare.

The old man got up and crouched down before him.  “Grandson or not,” he said, growling, “same rules apply.  I catch you sipping off anyone here-abouts, I’ll stake you as dead as any other vamp.”

Richter gave him a flat look.  “No one tells me how to feed myself.”

Juste looked ready to draw his blade on him, when Alucard intervened.

“The boy’s not killing anyone, and based on his reception by the ladies of the Row, I’d guess they’d be considerably piqued at anyone who made him stop coming by.”

Richter flushed.  “You know about that.”

“Did you think you were the only one who ever needed to feed discreetly without killing?”

“You…”

“It’s hardly my preference,” Alucard admitted.  “I prefer to reserve the intimacy of the act for close companions.”

Richter eyed him up and down.  “You’re hardly starving,” he decided.  “Must be a lot of those close companions.”

Juste snorted.  Alucard regarded Richter neutrally.  “None at the moment,” he corrected. 

“Then what are you eating?”

“Deer and cows, like any other man,” Juste told him. 

Richter recoiled. 

“What?  If it’s good enough for a man to eat, it’s good enough for whatever you two are,” his grandfather retorted. 

“What eating means to a human and what feeding means to a vampire—you can’t compare them,” Richter said, almost retching at the thought of animal blood.  He’d drank it before out of desperation.  It had been during those first months after his transformation, when he had still hated what he’d become, hated his sire even more for his role in it, and had been determined to deny all of his vampiric traits.  It was more because of how they now linked him to his sire, than because of any childhood prejudice against his kind. 

He'd retched up the blood of the alpacas he’d tried to drink.  It wasn’t the taste of the blood, it was the sensation of their minds as his own brushed up against theirs, a mental reflex to glamor the victim if the paralyzing agent in his venom proved ineffective.  Their minds were soft and dull, their consciousness had the mouthfeel of moldy potatoes next to the sparkling champagne tang of a human life.

Olrox had taught him better as soon as he’d finally given in and accepted the man’s guidance.  He remembered, those first nights, sitting with the remainder of the tribe to plan their voyage away to find their missing people.  He remembered Lily’s mother coming to them, wrist offered, and Olrox turning her away.  “Very kind, my girl, but no, not this time,” he’d said, glancing significantly at Richter.  “The first feedings are rarely controlled, and the boy would hate both of us if he harmed you.” 

Technically, their sire-childe bond, though weaker than if Richter had been a full vampire, rather than simply a dhampir whose blood Olrox had awakened, should have been enough to let Olrox control him if necessary.  Olrox had been surprisingly gentle with his fledgling though.  He never used the bond for more than communication, or comfort. 

So in those early days, as he learnt control, he hadn’t drank from anyone other than his sire.

In those moments, the bond opened fully, and they knew each other with pure honesty.  He’d sensed his sire’s satisfaction at the completion of his revenge against Julia Belmont, but stronger than that was his sincere pride in Richter.  His son, his student, his creation.  Richter had guessed at the man’s feelings before the turning, but not their depth.  And before, he’d loathed the man even more for it—what right did he have to treat him like a son, after he’d stolen him from his mother?—but after, he’d accepted it.

Olrox had fought for Richter, had suffered in creating him and suffered in keeping him.  While Richter regarded it in large part as no more or less than what the man deserved for his actions, proximity and the constancy of the man’s affection had, in turn, made him somewhat less than indifferent.

[equipe]

Adieu, Post+

À l'origine, la fonction Post+ avait été introduite pour encourager et soutenir l'imagination foisonnante des Tumblriens. Son objectif ? Permettre aux créateurs de proposer certains contenus à leurs abonnés en contrepartie d'une souscription payante.

Hélas, ce système n'a pas rencontré le succès escompté. Après avoir pris en considération vos retours et contrôlé l'utilisation concrète de cette fonctionnalité, nous avons décidé de la retirer de Tumblr.

Chronologie du retrait de Post+ :

À compter du 1ᵉʳ décembre 2023, il ne sera plus possible d'activer Post+ sur vos blogs.

Les contenus Post+ d'ores et déjà existants resteront accessibles jusqu'à la fin de cette année.

Début 2024, il ne sera plus possible de créer de nouveaux billets Post+, et les contenus Post+ existants deviendront des billets privés. Chaque créateur devra alors décider s'il souhaite rendre publics ou non ces contenus.

Pour en savoir davantage à propos de ces changements, consultez notre blog dédié (en anglais).

Même si Post+ s'en va, sachez que la fonction Pourboires compte bien rester ! Vous pouvez l'activer depuis les paramètres de votre blog sur le Web ou dans les paramètres de votre compte dans l'application. Une fois la fonction activée, n'importe quel billet original peut recevoir un pourboire… qui ira directement dans la poche du créateur.

[patheticbookaddict]

Grief

I've heart of myriad,

but one's maimed now,

and that's of a father.

Oh, my fairy!

where have you gone?

You have hidden yourself among the immortals,

and my death could only seek you.

Oh, my child!

Hands are empty now,

whom shoul I cradle?

Mind is empty now,

Oh, my daughter, you were there,

and now,

you have left the grief , echoes and memories.

Ears are empty now,

would I ever be?

Ever be vouchsafed again with saccharine giggles.

Eyes are empty now,

where would I be able to?

Able to,

encounter such a beauty again.

I'm hollow.

Oh, my angel!

You have hidden yourself,

among the Gods of yesterday.

Grant me the pourboire of mercy.

Oh, dear!

Ease my lament.

06/08/23

[prosedumonde]

On ne tombe jamais deux fois dans le même abîme. Mais on tombe toujours de la même manière, dans un mélange de ridicule et d’effroi. Et on voudrait tant ne plus tomber qu’on s’arc-boute, on hurle. À coups de talon, on nous brise les doigts, à coups de bec on nous casse les dents, on nous ronge les yeux. L’abîme est bordé de hautes demeures. Et l’Histoire est là, déesse raisonnable, statue figée au milieu de la place des Fêtes, avec pour tribut, une fois l’an, des gerbes séchées de pivoines, et, en guise de pourboire, chaque jour, du pain pour les oiseaux.

Éric Vuillard, L'ordre du jour

[tournevole]

L'enterrement   Je ne sais rien de gai comme un enterrement ! Le fossoyeur qui chante et sa pioche qui brille, La cloche, au loin, dans l'air, lançant son svelte trille, Le prêtre, en blanc surplis, qui prie allégrement,   L'enfant de chœur avec sa voix fraîche de fille, Et quand, au fond du trou, bien chaud, douillettement, S'installe le cercueil, le mol éboulement, De la terre, édredon du défunt, heureux drille.   Tout cela me paraît charmant, en vérité ! Et puis, tout rondelets sous leur frac écourté, Les croque-morts au nez rougi par les pourboires,   Et puis les beaux discours concis, mais pleins de sens, Et puis, cœurs élargis, fronts où flotte une gloire,               Les héritiers resplendissants !    Paul Verlaine – 1844-1896

[les-cris-des-fendues]

"Si le lien regard-désir chez l'homme est proverbial, c'est qu'il remonte à la nuit des temps et repose sur un substrat biologique. Mais dans les discours intellectuels contemporains, il est farouchement nié, refoulé, oublié... parce qu'il implique l'existence d'un lien puissant entre la séduction et la reproduction ; idée-anathème, chassée de l'esprit des Occidentaux depuis un demi-siècle. "

P.10

"La beauté humaine n'est pas non plus une donnée en soi ; un chien trouvera plus beau le visage du vieux clochard qui le nourrit que celui de n'importe quel top model. Les critères traditionnels de la beauté féminine, ceux auxquels on fait allusion en dessinant avec les deux mains les courbes de la "nana sexy" (gros seins, taille fine, larges hanches), sont au départ, tout comme la peau lisse et sans rides,des signes de jeunesse et de bonne santé, donc de fécondité. "Mais enfin, s'exclameront certains lecteurs hommes, la dernière chose à laquelle je pense quand je mate une fille, c'est à la mettre en cloque!" Voilà l'orgueil humain : naïvement et avec la meilleure foi du monde, nous sommes persuadés de savoir ce que nous faisons et de faire ce que nous voulons. (...)les hommes qui fréquentent des boîtes de nuit avec lap dancers, ces jeunes danseuses quasi nues qui viennent se trémousser sur leurs genoux, seraient étonnés d'apprendre qu'ils donnent dix fois plus de pourboires aux filles en période ovulatoire. Bien que nous adorions croire notre volonté toute puissante, nous sommes loin d'être le "nous" que nous pensons être, et ne comprenons qu'imparfaitement les mobiles de nos propres actes."

P.26

Nancy Huston "Reflets dans un œil d'homme" Babel

Beaucoup aimée cette lecture où Nancy prend pas mal le contre-pied de Tata Momone...

[transparentgentlemenmarker]

1$ = 1 mobile + 1 pourboire

always do good to fellow human beings..because all goodness will come back to us..keep making fellow human beings happy..build friendship through kindness.