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leclerc-hs · 7 months ago

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can't get you outta my head - cl16

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader (friends to lovers!) summary: in which you and charles are in the same friend group and find solace in one another OR you and charles fuck and can’t forget about it warnings: smut under the cut! oral (f-receiving!), outdoor sex, p in v, angst, pining, badly translated french (pls correct me), NOT PROOFREAD word count: 5.4k! (lengthy) author’s note: IN HONOR OF HITTING 1,600 FOLLOWERS I AM POSTING THIS TODAY!!!! double-postings today!!! i wrote this SOOO fast so sorry if there’s any mistakes. loved writing it tho and i know i was going to make it more enemies originally but making him softer and cutesy just felt right for now. i can always do another one if you guys want!! just let me know what you think! love hearing from you guys!!! xoxo

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BENEATH THE BRILLIANT canopy of the sun’s golden embrace, you recline comfortably upon the plush cushions of the lounge chairs, creating a sanctuary of comfort amidst the vast expanse of sand. Around you, a kaleidoscope of colors and textures unfold: vibrant beach towels strewn around carelessly, the glistening ocean stretching endlessly before you, and the verdant palm trees swaying in rhythmic cadence against the bright blue sky.

The sound of the ocean’s embrace upon the sandy shoreline murmurs in the background, a subtle undercurrent beneath the symphony of voices of your friends that fills the air. Your gaze drifts towards a cluster of your friends cavorting in the embrace of the water. Their figures, silhouetted against the shimmering expanse of the ocean, exude a carefree vitality. Like playful spirits unleashed, they tumble and wrestle amidst the crash of the waves, their laughter echoing.

You smile softly listening to a few of the girl’s banter over last night’s drunken escapades, flipping a page of the cheap magazine you purchased earlier.

“Joris a pratiquement mange de la merde hier soir.” Joris practically ate shit last night. Your best friend, also Joris’s girlfriend, to the left of you says in between laughter, as you all careen over with a laugh.

“Au moins, il va bien.” At least he’s fine. You say with a soft smile, turning another page of your magazine. “Can we talk about Antoine shooting a firecracker out of his ass?” The words spark an immediate eruption of laughter, tears threaten to fall from your eyes from the sheer hilarity of the memory.

“Qu’est-ce qui est si drôle?” What’s so funny?

You turn your head and find yourself locking eyes with a pair of captivating green. In that moment, your heart skips a small beat, and a soft smile graces your lips as you gaze warmly at him. “Making fun of Joris and Antoine, bien sûr.” Of course.

A smile plays at the corner of his pink lips, and you can’t help but envy their perfect hue. You can’t help but notice the subtle dimples that grace Charles’ cheeks as he smiles. Did he always have those? With a casual grace, he raises a hand to scratch the side of his stubble before reaching for a towel casually draped over your lounge chair. As he leans over, droplets of water cascade onto your warm skin, a gentle reminder of the ocean’s embrace. You steal a moment to admire the bronzed glow of his skin, the sunlight dancing upon the small beads of water that cling to his sculpted muscles with a tantalizing allure.

A peculiar aura envelops the relationship between you and Charles. You didn’t speak often, although you were in the same friend group, and have known each other for forever. However, in the recent weeks, a shift has occurred. Perhaps it’s the shared experience of a newfound singleness has drawn you closer together, prompting conversations to flow more freely than ever before.

A delicate blush creeps onto your cheeks, a fleeting flush of warmth that you hope goes unnoticed against the backdrop of your sun-kissed skin. You feel a jolt of electricity shoot through you as Charles’s fingers brush lightly against your shoulders while the grabs the towel, igniting a subtle spark between you two.

“Allons-nous au club ce soir?” Are we going to the club tonight? One of your guy friends asks, sinking onto a sandy towel with a groan as he collapses onto the soft grains.

For a moment, maybe a few seconds, silence hangs in the air. As if each person is lost in contemplation, weighing the prospect of the evening’s plans. Then, in a synchronous chorus, a resounding chorus of “yes” erupts from the group, breaking the silence with unanimous enthusiasm.

You remain silent, immersed in the pages of a trash magazine, each turn revealing scandalous tales that undoubtedly blur the lines between fact and fiction. Charles watches you intently from his position in the beach chair across from you, though not directly opposite. Positioned slightly to the right, his gaze lingers on you with a subtle curiosity, his expression betraying a hint of contemplation as he observes you amidst the circle of friends. Always in your own world.

“Lovie, tu participes?” Are you in? Your best friend beside you seems to notice your lack of response. Her arms stretch across the gap between your chairs, and she gently squeezes your wrist, a silent gesture of reassurance and solidarity.

Lovie. You don’t exactly know why you got that nickname, but it stuck. And it carried over to most of the friend group calling you that since childhood.

You lifted your head up, the sun beading down on you causing your eyes to slightly crinkle, as you gave her a look that said duh!

Your friends smile widens as she claps her hands together, her excitement palpable as she sits up from her previously relaxed position. Her enthusiasm is infectious, casting a warm glow over the group as they all eagerly cheer in happiness with her. “Mon dieu!” Thank God! It was a squeal of relief. “Maybe you’ll meet a sexy man and fall in love and have his babies so you can forget all about that loser.”

Your heart clenches at the mere mention of your ex. The smile on your lip’s falters just slightly, but you quickly regain composure, determined not to show a hint of sadness surface while on vacation with your friends. With a subtle effort, you smooth away the brief flicker of vulnerability, masking it beneath a façade of cheerful resilience.

You roll your eyes, “Nous verrons.” We’ll see. Your tone carries a hint of mystery as you look back into your magazine, letting the conversation of your friends flow into a different direction.

“Es-tu sûre que tu devrais en prendre unautre?” Are you sure you should have another? Joris says into your ear, making sure you’re able to hear him over the pulse of the music, his arm slung over the back of the booth behind you. You lean into his body, a drunken smile pulled on your lips.

He harbored a slight concern for you. While you were his girlfriend’s best friend, your friendship dated back to childhood, long before his relationship with her, and he held you in high regard. His care for you ran deep, and ever since your break-up, he knows that you haven’t been the same.

“Arrête de t’inquiéter pour moi.” Stop worrying about me. You shove his shoulder gently, before pointing to your best friend on the dance floor. “Inquiéte-toi pour elle.” Worry about her.

You let out a soft laugh as you witness Joris’s eyes widen in surprise at the sight of his girlfriend standing on the stage. With a knowing smile, you begin to slide out of the booth with intent to make your way to the bar, sensing the need for a fresh drink to accompany the unfolding spectacle.

Before you can even slide out of the booth, a fresh drink—scratch that, a refill of your drink, is placed in front of you. Your gaze follows the masculine hand holding the glass, adorned with an expensive watch at the wrist, tracing its path up the arm until your gaze meets Charles’ intense stare. His eyes, dark and captivating, lock onto yours, already filled with questions and a silent understanding.

You slide back over, silently signaling him to sit beside you. As he eases into the spot beside you, the proximity of his body sends a shiver down your spin, the heat radiating from him igniting a primal longing within you. Your bare skin tingles with anticipation as his presence fills the air with an electric charge, a silent dance of desire playing out between you in the dimly lit confines of the booth.

In the midst of the pulsating club music, words between you two remained scarce. Yet, you both found solace in the quiet companionship that enveloped you both. The energy of the club swirled around you, but the warmth of each other’s presence, you felt a profound sense of ease settle, much like a comforting blanket.

It wasn’t unnoticeable to the rest of the friend group. In fact, it was very noticeable. The way you and Charles seemed to find a connection with one another, especially post break-ups.

It’s not that you were never friends, you just were never as close. So it came as a slight surprise to a few of your friends as they picked up the little changes that were made.

Like when Charles refills your drinks for you. Or when he notices that there is coconut in your meal, which you’re very allergic to, and sends it back to the kitchen.

Like when you remind him to put on sunscreen, knowing he tends to burn easily. Or when you find yourselves sitting out by the fire at night, long after everyone went to sleep, just talking about the most random things.

“The CGI in that movie was terrible!”

“It’s a classic! You can’t hate a classic!”

“That doesn’t make the CGI better!”

“I’ll have you know I’m a culinary expert.”

“Charles, I’ve known you for forever. Don’t lie!”

“I’m an innovator! Who else could turn pasta into charcoal with such ease?”

No matter the topic at hand, you and Charles always found yourselves engulfed in laughter, the gentle sound filling the air with warmth and camaraderie.

You didn’t want sadness to cloud your vacation, but sometimes emotions have a way of washing over you like relentless waves. One of the evenings, while your friends made plans to dine out, you made the wise choice to stay in. Although you didn’t want to miss out, you felt that you were not in the right mindset to be out with everyone. Some protested your decision, expressing concern, but you assured them that you would be fine on your own and ready to party it up all day tomorrow.

Charles shot you a funny look as he slid his hands into one of his pockets, leaning casually against the kitchen archway. His white linen shirt, barely buttoned and snug against his muscles, accentuated his tan, making it seem even more vibrant against the stark contrast of the fabric. A single glance from him stirred a whirlwind of emotions within you as you perched on the bar-stool chair, clad in nothing but a tiny pair of sleep shorts and a well-worn t-shirt. It was your ex-boyfriend’s shirt, a garment you should have long discarded, but its comfort proved too irresistible to part with. Despite the pang of guilt that tugged at your conscience, you found solace in its familiar embrace, a reminder of the past you couldn’t quite let go of yet.

The villa you currently stayed in was beautiful. Its whitewashed walls and wrought-iron accents blended modern and luxury all in one. Inside, the warm glow of the setting sunbathed the spacious rooms, casting an ethereal orange hue over the abundance of white and wood-colored furniture. As the click of the front door echoed through the villa, the chatter of your friends faded into near silence as they departed for dinner, leaving you alone in complete silence.

You find yourself eventually nestled in the corner of the oversized couch, cocooned in the warmth of a fluffy blanket draped over your body. With the television remote in hand, you flip through the channels, searching for something to capture your interest. Nothing quite grabs your attention, until you stumble upon a cheesy rom-com you’ve seen hundreds of times.

Lost in a trance, you’re oblivious to the world around you, the gentle breeze whispering through the open windows. The creak of the front door opening barely registers, and it’s only when Charles’ silhouette materializes in the archway beside the TV that you snap back to reality. A soft smile tugs at the corners of Charles’ lips as he gazes upon you, nestled comfortably on the couch, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth. His heart skips a beat at the sight of you, at the sight of your eyes looking at him with such softness.

“Que fais-tu de retour?” What are you doing back?

He shrugs nonchalantly, pushing off from the wall’s archway and making his way toward you. With an easy grace, he plops down beside you, propping one leg up on another couch cushion and allowing his shoulder and head to half-lean against you.

You both settle in a comfortable silence, the sound of the movie filling the air around you with a comforting ambiance.

“Penses-tu jamais que tu le surpasseras?” Do you ever think you’ll get over him?

The words send your stomach into a frenzy of somersaults, and a tightness forms in your throat, making it difficult to swallow.

You don’t answer immediately, instead you stare ahead at the television, your fingers fumbling with the fabric of the blanket nervously.

“Je l’espère.” I hope so.

His eyes are solemn as you look at him. “Parfois,” Sometimes. He begins, straightening his posture so he can fully look at you. “I think I’ll never get over her.”

His words hang heavily in the air, and though they sting a bit, you understand. You share the same sentiment.

“Mais toi,” But you. His hand reaches to yours, the one fumbling with your thigh. His eyes dart between both of yours, like he’s struggling to formulate his next words. “You just,” He starts before squeezing your hand in his. “You just make my days feel easier.”

You nod slowly, knowing exactly what he’s trying to say. “My pain, my heartache, just disappears whenever I’m with you.” Your voice is soft as you speak the words. The truth of them daunting.

“Sometimes I just wish I could turn my emotions off.” You say, unwrapping the blanket from your body, so that it only sits underneath you now. “Like I could just fuck someone and move on.”

Charles’ eyes widen slightly as the word ‘fuck’ slips past your lips. He nearly lets out an audible groan, his eyes tracing the contours of your collarbones peeking out from the oversized shirt that slips tantalizingly of your shoulder.

He licks his lips, swallowing a pronounced gulp, as his eyes trail back to your face.

“Yeah.”

You could feel the tension in the air, like the both of you were considering fucking each other here and now. Charles couldn’t escape the thoughts of spreading you out on the cushions right here, spreading your legs and fucking you with his tongue.

As he locks eyes with you, you feel a flutter in your stomach, your thighs clenching involuntarily as his gaze lingers on your lips. You part your lips to speak, but before you can utter another word, a loud burst of commotion erupts through the front door. No doubt your drunken friends, clamoring for the fire pit.

You and Charles find yourselves in an awkward dance since then. Not too awkward, but the idea of you fucking each other escaped neither of your minds.

It was honestly twisted. The fact that Charles couldn’t stop picturing what you would look like beneath him, what your moans would sound like in his ear. He had fucked his fist twice to the though of you since he even heard the word ‘fuck’ slip past your lips on the couch the other night. It was honestly pathetic.

You couldn’t handle it either it seems. You found your eyes lingering on Charles way longer than necessary. The flex of his muscles as he enjoys a morning workout by the villa’s pool, the small smiles he gives you from across the room, and the small touches he gives as he walks by you has you driving yourself up a fucking wall.

So, when your friends decide to head out for a spa day, you and Charles hang back sitting across from one another a tad too far apart on the outdoor couch for it to be normal. It was as if you needed the space to stop from jumping each other’s bones.

The skimpy red bikini you wore did little to ease Charles’ thoughts. But he couldn’t help but feel grateful for the first time in weeks he isn’t thinking about his ex-girlfriend. No, he’s too engrossed in the idea of fucking you. Hearing your sweet little moans he just knows you would have. Feeling your smooth skin beneath the pads of his fingertips.

Charles could feel himself harden just by glancing at you lounging comfortably on the outdoor couch, the clouds covering the sun engulfing you guys in a moment of shade.

Across the couch from him, you tried to do everything but acknowledge Charles’ longing stare. But you couldn’t. Your body was all tense, in need of a release.

“Charles, will you—”

Before you could even finish the sentence, Charles was standing over your figure on the couch. His hardened cock visibly noticeable in his short swimsuit. The muscles of his thighs flexed before you, as he visibly gulped at the vision of your breasts spilling out of the top.

“Assieds-toi droit.” Sit up. He murmurs softly, his voice carrying a gentle command as he shifts, prompting you to straighten your posture.

Was this really about to happen? You really hoped so.

It was as if Charles can see the desire in your eyes, answering the question of if you wanted this in his head almost instantly.

“Est-ce que je peux t’embrasser?” Can I kiss you? His thumb toyed with your bottom lip, tracing it as he licked his own.

You nodded your head before his lips pressed down onto yours, capturing them in a sweet embrace. His fingers tangled in your hair, gripping it firmly near your scalp as he deepened the kiss, igniting a surge of warmth and longing between you.

A soft moan escapes your lips as he slips his tongue into your mouth, pressing it hotly against yours. He pulls away for a moment, still standing above your sitting figure, as he takes in your blown out pupils.

“Ça a un gout si doux.” Tastes so sweet. His hand remains in your hair, holding your head in place to look at him. His eyes stare at your sightly swollen lips, a clench of need forming in the pit of his stomach.

He falls to his knees before you on the couch, kneeling between your two legs, as his other hand presses against your chest, forcing you to lean back against the cushions of the couch. The sun peeped through the clouds momentarily, allowing you to drink in the sight of just how light his eyes were.

His thumb grazes your bikini cladded core, rubbing light circles in a teasing manner. The pressure of his thumb wasn’t enough, but it was everything you needed.

He looked at you from between your legs, a smirk on his face like he knew just how crazy he was driving you. It was an image you never wanted to forget.

“Touch me.” You begged, a breathy moan leaving your lips as his thumb pressed harder onto your swollen clit.

It was all he needed to hear before sliding your bikini bottoms to the side and shoving his tongue to where you needed him most. The cool air of the outdoors was a stark contrast to the heat you felt between your legs.

He took his time with you, like he wanted to savor every sweet moan you gave him. His tongue flicked around your clit a few times, before wrapping his lips around it. Your hand slid into his brown locks, slightly lightened form the sun over vacation, and pulled as you rutted your hips against his face.

“Mm, that’s it,” He groaned into your cunt, his words vibrating against you, sending your hips into a faster frenzy. He slipped two fingers into you, lifting his head to watch as you lulled your head back against the cushion and took your hands from his head to your breasts. You stretched the bikini top slightly, until your breasts spilled over the tiny triangles, your nipples already hardened from the need that burned within you.

Charles slipped one hand up to your breasts, taking one of your nipples in between his thumb and forefinger and pinching.

“M’god,” You half-shouted, biting your lip to prevent yourself for being too loud.

“Don’t deprive me from your sweet little moans, yeah?” He pulled his lips off your clit for a few seconds, giving you ample time to look at them glistening in you. You nearly came at the sight of it.

He dropped his head back between your legs, flicking fast kitten licks to your clit, which had you careening forward with a cry of pleasure.

He sucked hard on your clit, eliciting loud mewls from you that were like a sweet melody to his ears. Charles could feel his cock straining against the tightness of his swim suit, he flexed his hips into the couch before him, in need of some sort of relief.

He could feel you teetering on the edge of your orgasm, shoving his face deeper into you, his tongue slipping in and out of you at a fervent pace. It hit you hard. Your hips had a mind of their own, as they rode his face, the bony structure of his nose pressing against your clit sending you into a frenzy.

Charles replaced his tongue with his fingers and watched as you came down from your high. His fingers still working you over as he coaxed you through your orgasm, not letting up.

“I knew you would taste like heaven,” He smirks, finally removing his fingers, before slipping them into his mouth, and moaning at the taste of you on his tongue.

You groaned, your pupils blown out as you looked at him, your legs still spread and cunt fully exposed to him and the outside air.

“Need more,” You practically begged.

“Need my cock, hm?” You nodded, wasted no time in answering. He pushed himself up from his knees, sitting beside you on the couch as he pushed his swimsuit down enough to free his cock. It was hot and heavy in your hands as you reached for it, precum already dripping from its tip.

You straddled his waist, raising up just enough for him to slip his cock into your already saturated core. Your hands grip the back of the couch behind Charles’ head, your fingers clenching it tightly as you take in each inch of him. His hands grip your waist, large fingers sprayed across as he guides your movements over his cock.

The squeeze of your cunt on his cock was better than Charles could ever imagine. The fact that he had to use his fist before you was honestly a punishment compared to this.

“Mon dieu,” My God. You groan as his cock stretches your walls. You waste no time in working yourself over his cock, the pleasure of it too good for you to do it slow. You chased that second orgasm as it teetered on the edge. You were already so close.

“That close already?” His smirk was permanent on his face as he flexed his hips up into you, hitting you deeper than before.

You nodded, soft mewls escaping your lips constantly. It was as if you couldn’t shut up now. His hands grip your hair tightly, pulling your head back to look up at the sky, as he pulls one of your hardened nipples in between his teeth.

You didn’t have time to tell him you were coming again, but the clench of your walls on his cock was enough of a warning for him. Your walls fluttered around him repeatedly, as his name fell softly from your lips followed with a string of curses.

As if he couldn’t hold back his orgasm any longer, he lifted you up off him and placed you to the side, his hot cum spilling over his cock and stomach in stringy spurts. Your body was limp against the cushion, your bathing suit covering nothing.

Still hazy from your climax, you look from the blue cloudy sky to Charles beside you. His eyes were glossy as he smiled, like he was fully content.

“Merci,” Thank you. You said softly, an acknowledgment for him giving you what you mentioned the other night.

He nodded once, giving a small smile as if to say thank you back.

It’s been weeks since you and Charles fucked on the outdoor couch of the vacation villa. You haven’t seen each other much since, not that you expected it. You were thankful it helped you forget about your ex-boyfriend just a little bit more. Like you could bare the idea of meeting other men. Which you were.

You claimed that Charles was a one-time thing. Although it was probably the best sex you’ve ever had, you knew you couldn’t do it again. It was a mutual one-time thing.

So, when you found yourself pressed against the bathroom door of the five-star restaurant, your short little sundress bunched up at your waist, and Charles’ cock buried deep in your cunt, it was a little unexpected. Not completely.

It was hard and quick, nothing but a string of breathy moans between you two as he pressed your chest forward into the door. You both came quickly, your chest flushed red and his cheeks slightly pink as if he just performed a hard workout.

“Who’s your date?” He asks, the words slip out fast, like he’s trying to act like he doesn’t care.

You furrow your eyebrow for a second, before looking at yourself in the mirror, Charles standing tall behind your figure. “Just met him last night,” You flattened your hair as much as you could to make it seem normal. “I’m trying to get back out there.”

Charles smiles at you, although it seems slightly pained. “Good. Your ex-boyfriend didn’t deserve you.” His words were kind, and it made you smile that he even bothered to say it.

“I should get back,” You begin, turning to face him. His eyes look at your lips one last time, like he’s contemplating kissing you again. “I’ll see you next week at Joris’s, right?”

He gave you a small nod.

Charles Leclerc is a liar.

Well, a liar when it comes to him saying he doesn’t think about you sexually. The way you feel around his cock. The way your breathy moans turn him on to no end. The way your breasts bounced with each thrust of his cock. The taste of your cunt on his lips.

He’s a liar if he says he doesn’t fuck his fist almost every night to the thought of you.

But he was also a liar when it comes to him saying he doesn’t think about you not sexually. The way you loved to read trashy magazines, the way you always fidgeted with the rings on your fingers when you were nervous, the way your eyes glowed whenever you laughed.

So, when Joris mentions you and a new potential boyfriend, he can’t help but feel slightly annoyed at the idea. The clench of Charles’ jaw at the sight of you and this ‘potential boyfriend’ across the yard at baby shower, does not slip past Joris’s eyesight.

“Y a-t-il quelque chose entre vous deux?” Is there something between you two?

Charles clutches the neck of the beer bottle in his fingers, bringing it to his lips, before straying his eyes from you to Joris beside him.

Charles’ eyes gleamed like he didn’t know how to answer this without admitting feelings he hasn’t even admitted to himself. He shook his head. No. Because there wasn’t.

“Vous étiez proches en vacances.” You guys were close on vacation.

It was just a statement, as if he wanted to see Charles’ reaction. Charles didn’t know if Joris was trying to insinuate anything, but Charles didn’t respond. Not as Joris’s girlfriend, your best friend, popped up behind you both, a tray of cupcakes in her hand.

You sat across the yard, deep in conversation with Theo, at one of the many heavily decorated picnic tables. The short purple sundress that adorned your body is a vision of effortless elegance. Delicate straps grace the shoulders, framing your breasts with a feminine charm. The skirt flows gently with every movement, swaying gracefully in the warm breeze.

You both knew it wasn’t anything serious, at least yet, but he had a way of making you smile, nonetheless. Despite only knowing each other for a few weeks and sharing a handful of dates, he made a point to take his time with you. He was considerate, never pressuring you into anything, especially after you had confided in him about your previous messy relationship one night.

“Tu es belle.” You’re beautiful. Theo whispered into your ear, his fingers toying with the fabric at the ends of your dress, resting right above your knees.

You blushed, your cheeks flaring a light shade of red, as you smiled into your lap. You lifted your head slightly, looking across the yard, where your eyes met with Charles. His eyes already watching you with such heat in his eyes it made your stomach do a somersault.

He felt an intense surge of resentment towards the guy who dared to lay his hands on you, his anger boiling as he watched him lean into whisper into your ear. Your cheeks flushed a brilliant shade of crimson under his gaze, betraying the effect of his words. What could he possibly be saying to you?

It was just his cock you were coming around last week. So, why is this fiery sense of jealousy threatening to consume him entirely?

It didn’t make sense. How could he feel such intense jealousy over someone he never even had a real relationship with? He never even felt this jealous over his ex-girlfriend.

It was just sex.

He told himself repeatedly. It was just sex. But it only made the burn in his chest only grow more.

You were a liar if you said that Charles Leclerc is never on your mind. You were a liar if you said that it was just sex.

Because, for some inexplicable reason, you can’t seem to get Charles Leclerc out of your mind. You remember how he made sure none of your dishes contained coconut, how he bought you those trashy magazines he knew you loved so much, and how he always made sure that you were smiling.

So, when Charles Leclerc stood silhouetted in the doorway of your front door, the moonlight casting a soft glow around him in the middle of the night, you couldn’t help but feel your heart skip a beat.

You took note of his hair in disarray, as if he had run his hands through it a dozen times, and the soft grey sweats that hung loosely on his hips. The taut muscles of his arms peeked out against the seams of the black t-shirt he wore.

“Je n’arrête pas de penser à toi.” I can’t stop thinking about you. He utters the words with a look of anguish etched on his face, each step carefully navigating around your figure as he stands in the foyer of your apartment, a space he’s been in countless times over the years. But never alone. Never without friends.

You close the door and turn to look at him, not realizing just how close he was to you. “It’s like you,” he begins but freezes, taking a step closer toward you. You take a step back, the tight tank top you wore did little to hide your hardened nipples from the cold air, and your back hit the front door. “It’s like you possess every thought I have. Every single thought. You. You. You.”

You sucked in a breath as you looked into his eyes, more darkened than normal, almost as if he was angry at you.

“Qu’est-ce que tu m’as fait?” What did you do to me? His fingers trail up your arm to your collarbones, a trail of goosebumps following in their wake.

You gulp audibly, your lips slightly parted from the feel of his fingertips on your skin for the first time in weeks. You struggle to find the words until Charles is pleading.

He laughs slightly sarcastic, like he can’t believe this is happening to him. “I even bought those trashy magazines that you like so much, a whole stack of them at my place, because I cannot get you out of my fucking head.”

“Dit moi, it’s not just me.” Tell me.

You would be a liar if you said it’s just him. Your hands trail up to his shoulder, your fingers squeezing them in comfort as you stare into his eyes. His breaths getting heavier as your fingers trail his t-shirt classes skin, like he was yearning for it so much, like it burned him.

“It’s not just you.”

He doesn’t give you time to say much more, not until his lips are crashing down onto yours again. Like he couldn’t last one more second without your lips pressed to his.

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mochademic · 7 months ago

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100 Days of Productivity [Day: 80] || 100 Jours de Productivité [Jour: 80]

interesting conversations were had in the office today. since I work alongside a few other FSL people [French Second Language], the conversation came up about how best to learn. Duolingo came up & all of us agreed that while it's a good app to practice already learned skills, it provides very little in terms of actually learning the language. before I enrolled in actual French classes, I used a combination of other language programs, listened to podcasts that were in slow-French [as people tend to speak quickly when talking in a language they're familiar with] but one of the biggest things that helped me learn was actually watching children's shows/reading children's books. no matter the language, any content produced for learning-age children use the basics of that language in order to communicate.

combining oral practice [speaking] as well as listening to & reading in a language are all essential in fluency. I started learning French in grade school at a young age, & even now I still struggle sometimes, especially when using it to communicate professionally. my grammar still isn't perfect, but thankfully I'm in an environment where I get to cultivate those skills daily - plus I have this blog where I write in both languages as regularly as I can :]

currently listening // we fell in love in october by girl in red

Des conversations intéressantes ont eu lieu au bureau aujourd'hui. Come je travaille avec quelques autres personnes en FLS [français langue seconde], la conversation a porté sur la meilleure façon d'apprendre. Duolingo a été évoqué et nous avons tous convenu que, bien qu'il s'agisse d'une bonne application pour mettre en pratique les compétences déjà acquises, elle n'apporte pas grand-chose en termes d'apprentissage réel de la langue. avant de m'inscrire à des cours de français, j'ai utilisé une combinaison d'autres programmes linguistiques, j'ai écouté des podcasts en français lent [car les gens ont tendance à parler vite lorsqu'ils parlent dans une langue qui leur est familière], mais l'une des choses qui m'a le plus aidé à apprendre a été de regarder des émissions pour enfants ou de lire des livres pour enfants. quelle que soit la langue, tout contenu produit pour des enfants en âge d'apprendre utilise les bases de cette langue afin de communiquer.

la combinaison de la pratique orale [parler], de l'écoute et de la lecture dans une langue est essentielle à la fluidité. J'ai commencé à apprendre le français à l'école primaire à un jeune âge, et même maintenant j'ai encore parfois des difficultés, surtout quand je l'utilise pour communiquer professionnellement. ma grammaire n'est toujours pas parfaite, mais heureusement je suis dans un environnement où je peux cultiver ces compétences quotidiennement - en plus j'ai ce blog où j'écris dans les deux langues aussi régulièrement que je le peux :]

chanson // we fell in love in october par girl in red

#100 days of productivity #day 80 #100dop #100 jours de productivité #jour 80 #100jdp #studyblr #studyspo #study blog #study motivation #study aesthetic #bookish #gradblr #langblr

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logogreffe · 2 years ago

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Très vs Trop vs Super vs Vraiment in French

Let's set the scene : You're talking to your friend, she shows you her new art piece and you say "C'est très beau !" to say "It's so pretty !". And for a few seconds she looks a bit disappointed.

(This might sound a bit exaggerated but if a friend of mine, a native French speaker*, says "c'est très beau !" to me, I might assume that :

they're saying that ironically because it's such a strange way to say "it's so pretty !".

they think that I'm under the age of 8 and I'm bothering them - "c'est très beau, now go play with the other children")

(If your friend knows you're not French, she'll understand what you mean, don't worry)

So then, what should you say ?

First, let's take a look at "très"

1. Très // Very :

If you are writing a thesis/sending an email to French clients/talking to your boss etc…using "très" to say "very" is the way to go.

BUT we don't actually use it that much orally in the day to day life in exclamative sentences such as "It's very + adj ! "

Note 1 : Surprisingly if you want to say "It's not very + adj ! " you can still use "très".

Exemple n° 1 et 2 : "C'est pas très bon !" // "It's not very tasty !" "C'est pas très pratique ! " // "It's not very practical !"

In text messages or orally, whenever you want to say "It's very + adj !" I would suggest you forget about "très" and use the other expressions I'll mention in this post. Note 2 : You cannot use the word "très" with every adjective ! - La maison est très belle. La maison est très magnifique. - La soupe est très bonne. La soupe est très délicieuse. [This website lists adjectives you can use to avoid saying "très". The adjectives on the left can be used with "très", the ones on the right cannot.]

2. Trop // Too :

"Trop" can be translated as "too" or "too much"

Exemple n°3 : "Mon café est trop sucré". // "My coffee is too sweet"

BUT NOW. If we go back to our great example : Your friend shows you her art piece. A possible answer is :

"C'est trop beau !" (lit. translation :" it's too pretty").

"C'est + trop + adj ! " is a very common way to say "it's very + adj ! ". Note 1 : It's quite informal ! Be careful whom you use it with !, (I was scolded as a child for using it)

Note 2 : This only works with the adjectives mentionned below ! If you use any other adjectives like "hot" for example : "l'eau est trop chaude" will mean that the water is too hot. (I guess you could also think of "trop" in this context as "so") Note 3 : "Trop" can also be used in the following structure : "Subject + [être] + TROP + Adj" - Beau/belle : C'est trop beau ! // It's so pretty ! (C'est trooooop beau ! // It's soooo pretty ! ) Elles sont trop belles ! // They are so pretty ! - Cool : C'est trop cool ! // It's so cool ! Mon chat est trop cool ! // My cat is so cool ! - Chiant : (!!!bad word alert!!!) C'est trop chiant ! // It's so fucking annoying ! Mon frère est trop chiant. // My brother is such a pain in the ass. - Moche : C'est trop moche ! // It's so/very ugly ! Ce tableau est trop moche. // This painting is so/very ugly. - Bien : C'est trop bien ! // it's so great ! Ce film est trop bien ! // This movie is really great ! - Sympa : C'est trop sympa de ta part ! Merci ! // It's so nice of you! Thank you! Mes amies sont trop sympas ! // My friends are so nice !

Note 4 : Saying "c'est cool ", "c'est beau ", "c'est bien", "c'est sympa" sounds quite passive-aggressive in French. ("c'est chiant", on the other hand works perfectly on its own, don't worry) Note 5 : Those are the most common adjectives that you can use with "trop" . I cannot think of any other adjectives but there might be some more ! The use of "Trop" is really common but informal. What should you say if you don't want to say "trop" and don't want to use "très" either ? -> You can use "super" or "vraiment"

3. Super : You might have seen it translated as "Great". When used in the exclamative sentence "Super !" or before a noun , it does indeed mean "great". But if it is used before an adjective, it becomes synonymous with "really" or "very"!

Exemple n°4 : "Il fait super chaud dehors !" // It's really hot outside !

4. Vraiment : "Super" is a bit more formal than "trop" yet if you're talking to the big boss, "vraiment" would be better.

C'est trop beau ! < C'est super beau ! < C'est vraiment beau !

Note 1 : "Vraiment" literally means "truly". Yet, I feel like in some situations we use this one in French the way English speakers use "really".

Exemple n°5 : "C'est vraiment énervant, j'arrive pas à utiliser ce logiciel" // "It's really/truly annoying, I can't figure out how to use this computer program."

Note 2 : While "trop" and "super" are informal, you can use "vraiment" in both formal and informal settings.

Exemple n°6 : "T'es vraiment chiant !" // "You're really/truly a pain in the ass !" (You could also say "t'es trop chiant !" ou "t'es super chiant !")

5. A few more examples and 3 mores words to say "very"

Exemples n°7 et 8 : "Il fait super froid dehors aujourd'hui ! " // "It's really cold outside today !" "38 euros ? Putain, c'est super cher ! " // " 38 euros ? Fuck, that's really exprensive !" Some people also use "méga" "archi" or "giga" to say "very " , (those 3 are informal as well)

Exemples n°9 , 10 et 11

"Il fait méga chaud dehors ! " // "It's really really hot outside !" "J'ai archi faim !" // "I'm really really hungry" "J'ai giga soif !" // "I'm really really really thirsty" You can try this little test I made about this post here ! * from mainland France

#french #frenchblr #learning french #langblr #apprendre le français #language learning

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le-panda-chocovore · 2 months ago

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Salut Panda!

Je suis curieux de savoir comment décidez-vous quand publier du contenu en français et quand publier en anglais ? Merci d'avoir utilisé les deux.

Désolé pour mon français. Je manque de pratique.

Je sais pas si je dois répondre en anglais ou en français Mdrrr

Well first of all your French is absolutely great, you made no mistakes, you're just a little bit too formal but that's fine !

I mostly use English because it's my default language on the internet, but sometimes my brain is too tired to translate shit, or sometimes I just don't care about being read/understood by the audience so I just write in french

Sometimes I WANT to write in French but my brain is settled on english mode and every french word sounds wrong and fake so I have to pretend I'm an American or something. It's really fucking weird. I have no control over that. (it mostly happens because I read more English than French so it somehow feels more natural to me ?)

Also sometimes I start in French then end in English because that language feels more emotive to me so I'm basically just- "Ouais Gojo est un excellent personnage et je l'aime d'amour, mais Geto a définitivement mon coeur I mean HAVE YOU SEEN THAT MAN HE DESERVES THE WORLD, YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND I WOULD DIE FOR HIM !!!"

And sometimes it's the other way around, I start in English then realize I don't know how to express myself properly so I switch to my native language

Bref c'est cool que tu parles un peu français !! C'est une langue très compliquée à apprendre. Sache d'ailleurs que si tu pense que l'écrire c'est compliqué, le français oral est encore pire. C'est impossible d'avoir une conversation avec des français si le français n'est pas ta langue maternelle, on a beaucoup trop de jargon et d'expressions et de vocabulaire bizarre, et la moitié sont pas dans le dictionnaire. On en est au point que parler un français grammaticalement correct ça revient à avoir l'air snob, parce que personne utilise le français des livres.

Anywayy sorry I write too much ! That was a nice ask, stay curious !

#answering asks #languages

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lounesdarbois · 1 year ago

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Pierre Fournier

Tradition: n. f. Transmission de faits historiques, de doctrines religieuses, de légendes, d'âge en âge par voie orale, sans preuve authentique écrite.

Le Littré

Le détaillant et modéliste de vêtement Pierre Fournier a dirigé les magasins Globe dans les années 1970, Hémisphères dans les années 1980, Anatomica depuis 1993. Toujours actif de nos jours il est âgé de 80 ans cette année.

La création de vêtement repose sur l'esthétique et le fonctionnel, deux critères qui renvoient respectivement aux métiers de styliste et de modéliste. Oiseau rare, monsieur Fournier additionne les deux compétences et a bâti le renom de ses magasins sur des vêtements "anatomiques" les mieux pensés possible, adaptés au corps, résistants à l'usure. Un sens du modélisme concentra dès l'époque de Globe son attention sur les vêtements de base, les "basiques" auxquels il conféra le plus de classicisme possible dans le but de les rendre indémodables, au-dessus des modes. La chemise d'ouvrier aura des coutures, des poches, des lignes les plus adaptées à la morphologie et aux mouvements requis par le travail, critères qui ne sont pas à chercher dans un "techwear" futuriste ni dans un "vintage" caduque mais dans la partie de la culture occidentale qui traverse les époques, la Tradition. Savons-nous combien de vêtements ont-été réellement inventés au 20ème siècle ? 4... Et combien de boissons? Une seule (le coca). Il n'y a pas de créateur de vêtement, tant mieux!

Pierre Fournier appliquera les principes traditionnels aussi en matière de chaussure, lorsqu'il fera faire par la firme Alden une gamme spécifique. Le critère étant ici le "chaussant", Fournier va au fond de questions que ni les artisans ni les clients ne se posent plus en matière de confort et de maintien, et ose prescrire aux clients un nouvel étalonnage des pointures appuyé par un argumentaire fruit de 30 ans de pratique du métier. Les clients chausseront désormais 2 à 3 pointures au-dessus de leur taille usuelle. Libérant de l'espace derrière le talon et devant les orteils la chaussure est conçue pour serrer davantage le cou-de-pied, notamment dans la largeur, et demeurer plus lâche sous les contreforts et trépointes. Cette manière de chausser supprime les frottements et soutient la voûte plantaire, et au plan esthétique elle donne une chaussure étroite et longue qui est l'idéal en la matière.

Produire une chaussure pensée pour s'adapter à la forme du pied, un vêtement pensé pour suivre les lignes du corps, aboutissent à une forme définitive à laquelle tout ajout devient un excédent et tout retranchement une amputation. La tradition populaire française s'est toujours tenue à équidistance de deux écueils : d'abord de la mode qui spécule sur une suspension du jugement des masses abruties par le prêt-à-porter (soumission par pression horizontale), ensuite du sartorialisme qui est au contraire l'expression tapageuse d'élites visant à se singulariser (snobisme par les musts).

La qualité suppose l'appelation d'origine contrôlée, qui elle même suppose un terroir protégeant une fabrication locale par un prolétariat choyé. Lorsque l'on comprend le modèle économique que suppose le Made in France on veut relire les théoriciens des modèles économiques durables, organisés au bénéfice des producteurs et des consommateurs compris comme un seul et même peuple.

Le sujet du vêtement de qualité ouvre tant de perspectives : esthétiques certes mais encore économiques et politiques. Quand nous comprenons la quête esthétique de Pierre Fournier nous percevons que ce standard de qualité renvoie, pour des raisons de coût de fabrication aux thèses de William Morris (L'art et l'artisanat, Comment nous vivons) et à celles de tous les syndicalistes français transcourant : George Sorel, Joseph Proudhon, Charles Maurras, Joseph Fourrier, Edouard Berth. C'est-à-dire le retour aux sujets sérieux, aux questions fondamentales : comment produire dans le pays, par le peuple du pays, pour le peuple du pays. Comment produire local, qualitatif, en circuit court, sans gaspillage, en rémunérant correctement les travailleurs locaux? Quelles sont les pré-requis qu'un Made in France généralisé suppose au plan de l'émission de monnaie, au plan fiscal, au plan des prix de l'immobilier ? Une ébauche de réponse tient dans le discours de George Marchais (PCF) à Montigny en 1981 : protection du prolétariat, arrêt de l'invasion migratoire et éviction des clandestins (xénélasie), hausse des salaires par une baisse des charges sur les entreprises. Mesures de bon sens pourtant déclaration de guerre à la Bourse qui a besoin d'un sous-prolétariat invasif pour abaisser les salaires et le niveau de conscience du prolétariat du pays… Mais mesures nécessaires pour que la veste en flanelle de chez Anatomica qui dure 20 ans vous coûte 80 euros et non pas 750 euros comme aujourd'hui.

Dans un Made in France bien pensé, l'ouvrier a les moyens d'acheter pour lui-même les produits de qualité qu'il fabrique par son savoir-faire et c'est justice: voiture, maison, vêtement, sont à lui non parce qu'il est un consommateur interchangeable mais parce qu'il en est le producteur exclusif.

Voila l'un des fruits de l'idéal syndical, ou chrétien, ou corporatiste, ou libertarien, ou fasciste, ou socialiste, appelez le comme vous voudrez: vêtir le peuple avec intelligence, avec des pièces sobres, élégantes, fonctionnelles, vêtir un peuple mis en mesure de discerner le vrai du faux, ayant recouvré sa propre tradition que les marchands de drouille lui avaient confisqué, et lui offrir des garde-robes réduites en quantité mais haussées en qualité donc en durabilité. Opposer au trop-plein des armoires, au côté malsain de l'accumulation, la saine épure de quelques pièces très pensées que l'on portera 30 ans, rapées jusqu'à la doublure. Charme d'une patine qui raconte une histoire, la nôtre.

(écriteau de porte d'entrée du magasin Anatomica)

La création de vêtement est un sujet propice aux transpositions et analogies: stylisme morphologique, modélisme anatomique, sont la recherche non d'une forme éternelle, mais de l'esprit éternel d'une forme idéale, la plus exacte, la plus fonctionnelle, la mieux ajustée, une forme adaptée tant au mouvement qu'à l'immobilité. "Il n'existe pas de voiture éternelle, le mythe de la 2 CV n'est pas intemporel du tout" me dit un jour Pierre Fournier. Il existe toutefois selon l'usage et le mode de production disponible, une voiture la plus fonctionnelle possible à un moment donné. La différence entre Anatomica et The Kooples par exemple, est la même distance qui a séparé Gabriel Voisin d'André Citroën au début du 20ème siècle: d'un côté l'aristocratie ouvrière où chaque travailleur maîtrise la totalité du travail à accomplir, de l'autre côté l'assembleur de pièces précalibrées dont le modèle industriel repose sur la division des tâches, la parcellisation, le contrôle panoptique, qui aboutira au Fordisme.

Enfin Pierre Fournier a fait montre d'une certaine attitude devant la vie. Nous aimons ces paris tenus, ces investissements risqués, l'insolence d'ouvrir Avenue de la Grande-Armée en 1980 un magnifique magasin racheté à un monsieur de 1900. Nous aimons le goût très sûr pour le vêtement français ancien vendu aux "branchés" de l'époque, pour cette manière de chercher dans le passé les meilleures pièces et de les replacer dans le sens du temps présent. Nous aimons que Fournier n'ait jamais fait de marketing mais que le seul bouche à oreille l'ait placé comme la référence du style français à l'étranger, notamment en Angleterre et surtout au Japon où il est aujourd'hui abondamment distribué (3 magasins là-bas contre 1 seul en France).

Un vrai tailleur étudie l'anatomie puis le modélisme aussi sûrement qu'un séminariste étudie la philosophie puis la théologie. L'un s'occupe du corps, l'autre prend soin de l'âme. Mais si la philosophie est la servante de la théologie, c'est bien le vêtement qui est au service du corps... Dans un temps où le monde inverti proclame l'exact contraire, Pierre Fournier est l'un des seuls détaillants à avoir cru en la Tradition et à l'avoir mise en pratique. Merci monsieur Fournier!

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des-herbes-folles · 7 months ago

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I am building a website for my art and as repost A LOT on my main blog (@ortie-pnk) I thought it might be a good idea to create a tumblr dedicated to my art. Here it is !

And "I" is a 26 yo french artist, it is not my "real job" at this point but i'd like it to be (but I would have to make choices for this to happen so for now I'm a 1 day a week artist)

I make zines, patches, prints, digital and traditionnal drawing. I love reproductible technics (linocut, xylocut, stencil, serigraphy...), fibre art and mix media.

My main subjects are nature, oral tradition, body and identity, some of my recuring artistics influence are punk culture, 90's french and british child books, christian art and surrealism.

french below the cut

Je recrée un site où présenter mon art et comme je reposte énormément sur mon compte principal (@ortie-pnk) J'ai décidé de créer un tumblr dédié à ma pratique artistique : celui-ci !

"Je" c'est un-e artiste français de 26 ans. Ce n'est pas mon travail actuellement mais je cherche à professionnaliser ma pratique (mais ça demande de faire des choix alors pour l'instant je suis un artiste un jour sur 7 ^^)

Je crée des zines, des patches, des prints, je dessine en traditionnel et en numérique. J'aime particulièrement les techniques reproductibles (linogravure, xylogravure, pochoir, sérigraphie...), les travaux textiles et le mix media.

Mes sujets de prédilections sont la nature, la tradition orale, le corps et l'identité. Parmi mes influences artistiques principales on trouve la culture punk, des albums pour enfant des années 90, l'art chrétien et le surréalisme.

#presentation #pinned post #introduction #intro post #pinned intro #artists on tumblr #punk #zine #linocut #patches

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putainsoumise · 1 year ago

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La Putain Soumise mise a l'abattage en club

Voila le genre de texte que ma Maîtresse faisait passer pour ma mise à l'abattage

PRESERVATIFS OU GANTS LATEX PROPRES ET NEUFS AVANT CHAQUE PENETRATION. PAS D'URO, PAS DE SCATO, DE PAS CRAD, PAS DE SPERM, PAS DE MARQUES. ESCLAVE SEXUEL MALE A UTILISER COMME ESCLAVE SEXUELLE FEMELLE EN LIBRE SERVICE POUR FEMMES, HOMMES, COUPLES

Véritable petite salope, la putain soumise n'est qu'un morceau de viande à jeter en pâture à une meute de bites bien dures et affamées de baises brutales et violentes. Les godes, vibros, et plugs sont les bienvenus.

Véritable esclave sexuel mâle à utiliser comme une femelle très salope à traiter de tous les noms (mots crus très appréciés), elle sera exhibée, humiliée en publique face a l'entrée du club et mise à disposition pour être utilisée comme il se doit.

Seul ou à plusieurs en même temps, afin de tester la viande, vous pouvez la palper, la pétrir, la triturer, la malaxer de partout pour vérifier la qualité de la marchandise.

Vous pouvez aussi la baffer, la slaper et lui travailler fermement ses petits nichons de pucelle, la pincer, lui tordre ou lui étirer les tétons, lui claquer le cul et son trou à bites pour l'exciter.

A condition d'utiliser préservatifs ou gants latex, vous pouvez doigter sa bouche de petite pute pour mesurer mes possibilités orales, mais aussi afin de bien la préparer, lui doigter fermement sa chatte anale ou inversement selon vos envies, d'abord lui branler vigoureusement sa chatte, puis fourrer vos doigts dans sa bouche de pouffiasse pour vérifier sa véritable qualité de traînée.

Tant qu'elle sera exhibée face a l'entrée, il n'y aura aucune autre forme de pénétration.

Dès que la Maîtresse le décidera, un collier autour du cou, elle sera traînée en laisse comme une chienne, exhibée, présentée, et utilisable dans les mêmes conditions aux 4 coins du sauna. A ce stade il suffit de demander à la Maitresse pour pouvoir l'utiliser sexuellement.

Elle sera mise à l'abattage pour pouvoir l'utiliser, la prendre sans vergogne de façon brutale et intensive. Vous pourrez l'enculer, la baiser, la défoncer, la dézinguer, la déglinguer, lui déchirer la chatte anale, faire claquer votre ventre sur son cul offert et faire cogner brutalement votre queue au fin fond de ses entrailles Elle est une putain soumise, une véritable esclave sexuelle femelle à défoncer, une chienne en chaleur à saillir bestialement, un gouffre à bite à utiliser à votre convenance, sans préliminaire et sans ménagement sans vergogne et sans pudeur

N'hésitez pas à demander à la Maitresse pour profiter d'elle comme il vous conviendra. Cette trainée n'est ni votre femme ni votre petite amie donc aucun respect ni aucune retenue pour la baiser comme une pute Elle devra être utilisée sévèrement, être offerte sans discussion et mise à disposition de tous, les vicieux, les pervers, les lubriques, pour subir une baise à la chaîne hard sans retenue... (plugs, godes, vibros, bites bien dures qui aiment défoncer hard sont très bien bienvenus et aussi double sodo sauvage et brutale possible).

Si vous avez d'autres idées ou pratiques la Maitresse et le Maitre sont ouverts et avide même aux propositions les plus vicieuses, les plus perverses, les plus lubriques.

Contactez moi par mail afin de me proposer vos envies, vos demandes spécifiques, ou pour réaliser certains de vos fantasmes, après transmission de votre message à la Maitresse et au Maitre je répondrai vos messages avec leur reponse

#panty sissy #slave and mistress #subs wanted #faggot humiliation #sissi slave #esclave #dominate me #bd/sm brat #beta slave #sissi femboi

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orbitofdesire · 1 year ago

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«Les identités roms dans l’art contemporain», par Elora Weill-Engerer

Elora Weill-Engerer, prix de la critique d’art 2023 : «Le stéréotype a ceci de pratique qu’il est littéralement identifiable»

Lundi 9 octobre, dans l’amphithéâtre archi plein de l’Institut national d’histoire de l’art (Inha), l’Association internationale des critiques d’art (Aica) a salué la singularité des travaux de deux critiques. Alors que neuf candidats s’étaient prêtés au jeu du Pecha Kucha, une performance orale de 6 min 40 s, le jury réuni pour cette 11e édition du Prix de la critique d’art, dont Libération est partenaire, a salué la performance de la jeune chercheuse en histoire de l’art Elora Weill-Engerer. Nous publions ci-dessous son intervention dans son intégralité, consacrée à un travail de recherche sur « Les identités roms dans l’art contemporain » à l’occasion d’une thèse sous la direction de Pierre Wat et Elvan Zabunyan.

#<3 <3 <3 that's my friend and this text is one of the clearest & the most brilliant piece of recent social art history that i've read #in a long time!#elle a gagné contre son propre directeur de thèse MDRR queen absolue #romani art #roma

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dragees-surprises-rpg · 1 year ago

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DONS ET SPÉCIFICITÉS MAGIQUES - LA LÉGILIMANCIE

La Légilimancie est une branche de la magie très spécifique. Elle peut être soit acquise au cours de sa vie, soit obtenue à la naissance de façon héréditaire. Elle n'est pas issue d'un enseignement conventionnel comme dans les écoles par exemple. La Légilimancie est une magie qui consiste à extraire ou faire passer des pensées, des souvenirs et des émotions dans l'esprit d'autres personnes. Les sorciers pratiquant cet art sont appelés des légilimens. L'opposé de cette magie, celle qui permet de fermer son esprit, est l'Occlumancie.

La Légilimancie est un art qui demande beaucoup d'entraînement et qui n'est pas si facile à apprendre. Elle demande plusieurs années pour être véritablement maîtrisée, cependant les légilimens de naissance ont plus de facilité. Il faut savoir se contrôler émotionnellement et ne pas être impulsif. C'est une magie qui dépend beaucoup de l'état psychique du sorcier ou de la sorcière, mais également de la personne visée.

La Légilimancie est plus précise et efficace lorsque le sorcier ou la sorcière est physiquement proche de sa cible et que celle-ci est plutôt détendue, n'est pas sur ses gardes, donc plus vulnérable mentalement. Un contact visuel est souvent essentiel et permet encore plus d'efficacité et de précision, même si après de nombreuses années et une maîtrise de cet art, le contact visuel n'est plus nécessaire. Une des technique connue par les légilimens pour garder l'attention de leur cible et pénétrer plus aisément leur esprit est la manipulation orale. Maintenir un contact visuel grâce à une discussion permet de capter mentalement sa cible et de garder un état émotionnel stable.

La véritable différence entre la Légilimancie acquise et innée est sa méthode d'utilisation. Les légilimens ayant apprit leur art au cours de leur vie doivent impérativement prononcer la formule "légilimens" pour s'introduire dans l'esprit d'autrui, même si c'est un simple chuchotement. À l'inverse, les légilimens innés, eux, n'ont pas besoin de sortilège particulier pour exercer leur art. C'est comme un sixième sens pour eux, une pensée, une concentration leur permet d'agir comme bon leur semble.

RESTRICTIONS & LIMITES

Lors de la grande Bataille de Poudlard contre Lord Voldemort, la Légilimancie fut très utilisée par quelques sorcier.e.s et l'impacte sur la guerre fut déterminante pour les deux camps. Lorsque la guerre fut terminée, le Ministère conclut que ce don étai beaucoup trop dangereux pour ne pas être encadré. Tenir un registre des légilimens serait trop compliqué pour eux, néanmoins ils réfléchirent à un moyen d'y parvenir. À la place, ils décidèrent d'imposer des tests psychologiques et des tests de personnalités pour tous ceux souhaitant apprendre cet art.

La Légilimancie n'est pas un don infaillible. Sa précision et sa puissance dépendent de plusieurs facteurs. L'état psychologique et émotionnel du ou de la légilimens est sa principale faiblesse. En effet, si celui-ci/celle-ci est troublé.e, faible, le don devient moins limpide, dominant et efficace. L'état de la cible rentre également en compte, mais dans le sens inverse. Plus la cible est fragile, plus il sera simple de pénétrer son esprit.

INTERACTION AVEC LES AUTRES SPÉCIFICITÉS

LÉGILIMENS vs DEMI-VÉLANE : Le ou la légilimens à une très légère résistance aux charmes du demi-vélane. Il ou elle pourra tenter de résister face à un.e demi-vélane débutant. Lorsqu'une personne légilimens pénètre ou tente de pénétrer dans l'esprit d'un.e descendant de vélane, elle y percevra une voix charmeuse, s'insinuant en elle comme un lent poison. Si un.e descendant.e de vélane et un.e légilimens venaient à s'accoupler, l'enfant aurait 50% de chance d'être porteur du gène de vélane et 50% d'avoir le don de légilimancie si et uniquement si le parent porteur est un.e légilimens de naissance.

LÉGILIMENS vs VOYANT : De part sa capacité à lire dans les pensées d'autrui, si un.e légilimens s'introduit dans la tête d'un.e voyant.e et que ce.tte dernier.e est en transe, en pleine vision, le ou la légilimens peut voit alors cette même vision. Cependant, n'étant pas en possession du troisième oeil, le ou la légilimens sera incapable de comprendre et d'interpréter cette vision. Si il ou elle est assez concentré.e et s'il surprend un.e voyant.e en pleine vision, un.e légilimens peut s'infiltrer dans l'esprit de la personne ayant une vision pour la voir en même temps que son propriétaire. Cependant, le ou la légilimens ne possèdant pas le troisième-oeil, s'il peut voir la vision, il ne peut pas l’interpréter et encore moins la comprendre. Si un.e légilimens et un.e voyant.e venaient à s'accoupler, l'enfant aurait 50% de chance d'être porteur du don de légilimancie si et uniquement si le parent porteur est un.e légilimens de naissance et 50% d'avoir le 3ème oeil.

LÉGILIMENS vs FOURCHELANG : Les légilimens entendent les pensées directes et profondes d'autrui. Ainsi, ils ont la capacité de comprendre le Fourchelang lorsqu'un.e sorcier.e doté.e de ce don parle ce langage. Bien qu'ils puissent comprendre, il leur ait strictement impossible d'apprendre et de parler le Fourchelang. Si un.e légilimens et un.e fourhcelang venaient à s'accoupler, l'enfant aurait 80% de chance d'être porteur du don de légilimancie si et uniquement si le parent porteur est un.e légilimens de naissance et 20% d'avoir celui de Fourchelang.

LÉGILIMENS vs MÉTAMORPHOMAGE : Les légilimens de naissance entendent les pensées directes et profondes d'autrui. Grâce à cela, ils peuvent entendre la voix véritable de leurs cibles et ainsi, même si un métamorphomage est "sous-couverture" (comprenez, s'il a modifié les traits de son visage pour se faire passer pour quelqu'un d'autre), ses pensées resteront accessibles aux légilimens qui pourront ainsi découvrir leurs véritables identités et entendre leurs véritables voix. En revanche, les légilimens ayant appris cette faculté et devant donc utiliser le sortilège légilimens pour s'introduire dans l'esprit ne peuvent pas entendre les pensées d'autrui. Si un.e légilimens et un.e métamorphomage venaient à s'accoupler, l'enfant aurait 50% de chance d'être porteur du don de légilimancie si et uniquement si le parent porteur est un.e légilimens de naissance et 50% d'avoir le gène de métamorphomage.

LÉGILIMENS vs ANIMAGUS :Les légilimens de naissance ont la capacité de percevoir les pensées du sorcier ou de la sorcière lorsqu'il ou elle est sous sa forme d'animagus. Un.e légilimens de naissance expérimenté.e peut donc savoir si un.e sorcier.e est sous sa forme animale. Si un.e animagus et un.e légilimens venaient à s'accoupler, l'enfant aurait 50% de chance d'être porteur du don de légilimancie si et uniquement si le parent porteur est un.e légilimens de naissance. Le don d'animagus n'est pas héréditaire.

LÉGILIMENS vs LÉGILIMENS : Un.e légilimens de naissance pourra tout de suite percevoir si le ou la sorcière en face de lui possède également le don, qu'il soit inné ou acquis. Ne possédant pas spécialement les armes nécessaires pour fermer leurs esprits, les légilimens qui seraient amenés à se rencontrer pourraient farfouiller dans l'esprit de l'autre comme dans un livre ouvert. Si deux légilimens venaient à s'accoupler, l'enfant aurait des chances d'être porteur du don de légilimancie si et uniquement si l'un des parents est un.e légilimens de naissance

LÉGILIMENS vs OCCLUMENS : Les légilimens n'ont pas accès aux pensées de ces derniers. Les occlumens ont la capacité de fermer leurs esprits et empêcher ainsi toutes intrusions. Cependant, les deux dons dépendent des mêmes facteurs : l'entraînement et l'état psychique et émotionnelle des sorciers. Si un.e légilimens et un.e occlumens venaient à s'accoupler, l'enfant aurait 50% de chance d'être porteur du don de légilimancie si et uniquement si le parent porteur est un.e légilimens de naissance. Le don d'Occlumancie n'est pas héréditaire.

LÉGILIMENS vs DEMI-SIRÈNE : Lorsqu'une personne légilimens pénètre ou tente de pénétrer dans l'esprit d'un.e descendant de sirène, il y percevra une voix charmeuse, s'insinuant en lui comme un lent poison. Si un.e descendant.e de sirène et un.e légilimens venaient à s'accoupler, l'enfant aurait 50% de chance d'être porteur du gène de sirène et 50% d'avoir celui de légilimancie si et uniquement si le parent porteur est un.e légilimens de naissance.

LÉGILIMENS vs VAMPIRE : Aucune interaction spécifique. Les vampires n'ont aucune résistance face aux légilimens et ils ont un esprit complètement libre et ouvert face à ces derniers. Un.e légilimens et un.e vampire ne peuvent pas s'accoupler, un.e vampire n'étant cliniquement et biologiquement pas vivant. Si un.e légilimens venait à se faire mordre par un.e vampire dans le but d'une vampirisation, les gènes du ou de la vampire prendrait l'ascendant, tuant l'ADN du ou de la légilimens tout comme le reste de son corps. Le ou la légilimens perdrait donc son don au profit de celui de vampire. En revanche, si le ou la légilimens se fait mordre sans entamer le processus de transformation en vampire, il ou elle reste un.e légilimens.

LÉGILIMENS vs LOUP-GAROU : Aucune interaction spécifique. Les loups-garous n'ont aucune résistances spécifiques aux légilimens et ils ont un esprit complètement libre et ouvert face aux légilimens. Si un.e légilimens et un.e lycanthrope venaient à s'accoupler, l'enfant aurait 50% de chance d'être porteur du don de légilimancie si et uniquement si le parent porteur est un.e légilimens de naissance. Le don de loup-garou n'est pas héréditaire. En revanche, si un.e légilimens se fait mordre par un.e loup-garou, sa vie est fortement en danger. Dans l'hypothèse ou cela se produirait, les gènes de loup-garou entreraient dans une lutte acharnée à l'intérieur du système immunitaire du légilimens. Dans le meilleur des cas, le ou la légilimens est transformé.e en loup-garou et perd son don de légilimancie. Dans le pire des cas, il ou elle pourrait succomber à cette morsure.

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