pour moi merci

MACRON ET TRUDEAU!!! CA Y'EST !!! submission by @p-andore

interstellar, a zodiac series: 5/13
joshua hong / hong jisoo
951230
capricorni

(#슈아의_스물두번째_겨울)

Speak your language day

… Or: how to add gay bdsm undertones to famous lines from Star Wars.

Ok I’m a bit late to the party but here we go: I usually HATE French dubs, but sometimes translation creates some beautiful things. A favorite of mine has to be that memorable/memeable moment at the end of RotS when Obi-Wan tells Anakin : “It’s over Anakin, I have the high ground!”. In French, it’s: “C'est terminé Anakin, je te domine!”, which literally means: “It’s over Anakin, I’m dominating you!”. So yeah, not only does this sentence sound silly in all languages, but the French version makes it sound kinda dirty.
C'est tout pour moi merci. xD

All the Clouds are Gone

PART TWO!
(part one)


It was a Thursday in early December and Jeremy had just finished his Chem II final. It was evidently brutal, he had been responding to Jean in monosyllabic phrases for the past thirty minutes. When Jeremy’s blinks began to last longer than the time in between them, Jean insisted that he go take a nap. Normally, Jeremy would fight being told to take a nap. He didn’t like the idea that he could miss out on anything. In fact, most days Jean had to lie down with Jeremy while he slept and promise not to get up until Jeremy did to get him to go to sleep. While he didn’t fight the idea of a nap, Jeremy didn’t get up either. He just slumped over against Jean’s arm. Jean braced Jeremy as he stood before hefting his boyfriend into a fireman carry and taking him to his bed.

“Jeeeeaaan, you know this isn’t comfortable,” Jeremy whined in a small voice.

“You are too old to be acting like this,” Jean huffed under Jeremy’s weight.

“Carry me like a baby, Jean,” Jeremy cooed.

“I will drop you,” Jean insisted, making Jeremy bark out a laugh.

Jean didn’t drop Jeremy. He set him down gently on his bed before pulling off his shoes and jeans before tossing the covers up over his body.

“Rest now, mon petit soleil. I will be here when you wake up.”

Jeremy didn’t hear him; he was already asleep.


Jeremy woke in a slightly confused panic. He wasn’t sure where he was or what time it was. The last thing he remembered was telling Jean about his Chemistry final and that was at 11 o’clock that morning.

The room was pitch black and Jeremy had no idea where his cellphone was so there was no way to tell how late it was. Instinctively, Jeremy reached out for Jean. He was normally sitting up beside Jeremy, close enough to reach a hand out and soothe Jeremy back to sleep if he needed to, but Jean wasn’t there. Jeremy flopped down on his back and blinked for a minute, contemplating going back to sleep. He heard voices coming from the kitchen and it reminded him of how long it had been since he last ate.

He remembered grabbing his bag and running to the door, he was going to miss the bus. Before he could make it out the door, Jean snagged his sleeve and handed him a toasted bagel with peanut butter on it. Jean had even offered to drive him so that he could enjoy his breakfast and not rush. Jeremy had wolfed down the bagel in the passenger seat of Jean’s sedan, and leaned across the console to give Jean a peanut butter smeared kiss before bolting out the door. Right as he was passing the vending machine, he got a text from Jean telling him to text his back pocket for money for a drink. Jeremy closed his eyes and thanks any and all gods for this moment of domestic bliss, amen. That bagel and juice were the only things he had all day.

Eventually he could no longer ignore how hungry he was, so he hefted himself to his feet and shuffled over to where his sweats were lying on the floor. He got halfway down the hall before he smelled it; pancaked. There was the warm smell of real butter. Cooked fruit, tantalizingly sweet. The sizzle and pop of bacon. And fresh baked bread, yeasty and baked to perfection. Jeremy wants to cry. It all smells so good and there’s a distinct chance his stomach will gnaw its way out of his belly towards the kitchen if he doesn’t hurry the fuck up.

Jeremy rounds the corner, expecting his mother, as silly as that sounds, but there’s Jean. Standing over the stove and messing with an assortment of pans, the sleeves of his dark red sweater pushed up to his elbows. Jeremy’s heart stutters in his chest, he wonders if Jean knows that he is so weak for Jean in dark red. Jeremy’s eyes track down Jean’s back, eyeing the way he fills out the sweater.

Jeremy must make some sort of sound, because Jean glances over his shoulder and spots Jeremy in the doorway and beams. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Jean says cheerfully. “Did you sleep all right?”

“Yes,” Jeremy responds. “But you weren’t there when I woke up,” he adds, barely keeping the pout out of his voice.

The look Jean levels at Jeremy could only be described as elated. “I was there for the first hours, but you slept so long. I was worried you were dead. I went and spoke to Alvarez and she explained that you were dead; you had just finished Chem II. Laila said if you were not awake by the time I finished St. Nicholas Eve dinner, she would eat your portion and then sit on you until you suffocated. Don’t worry though, I would have woken you up first.” Jean winked at Jeremy, and Jeremy flushed six shades of red.

There is a saucepan that holds peaches and one that holds strawberries, bubbling happily in syrup over a low flame. There is a pan full of apple slices, already sprinkled with sugar, cinnamon, and nutmeg. On the last burner is a small skillet filled with scrambled eggs, fluffy and sprinkled with herbs. Beside the stove is a large stack of pancakes and a plate of bacon and sausage.

“Sorry I slept so late,” Jeremy said, tiptoeing towards the stove to catch a glimpse of all the food he’d get to eat. “What is St. Nicholas Eve, by the way?” he asked, as his stomach gave a deranged growl.

“In short, the start of Christmas,” Jean said. “The Christmas season starts on December fifth with St. Nicholas Eve and ends on January sixth with Epiphany. St. Nicholas Eve is a day for gift giving with friends and family, and tonight if you leave out your shoes, Père Noël might come and leave you gifts. I think he is your Father Christmas, or Santa Claus?”

“Santa, yeah,” Jeremy said walking closer to put his forehead on Jean’s shoulder. “This smells amazing, I’m so hungry.”

“You slept through lunch.” Jean laughed.

“You said we give gifts? I have part of your Christmas present. Would you be okay with only giving half now?”

“I remember when I was very young, St. Nicholas Eve was mostly for me to take gifts to my friends before school went on winter break. My family only ever gave one gift and saved the rest for Christmas itself. I think only half of the gift would be more than adequate,” Jean said.

“Okay, pause the reminiscing, because I want to come back to that, but now you got me all excited and I want to go get your gift!”

Jean grabbed Jeremy’s hands before he could rocket off to his room. “What if we have dinner with the girls and then we drink hot chocolate in front of the Netflix fire Laila showed me and exchange gifts all together? And then after we say goodnight to girls, I will tell you about my Christmas memories. Because this is my first time trying to recreate it and maybe if I tell you about it you can help me, since I will be spending Christmas with the Knox clan.”

“Jean,” Jeremy said, voice breaking, “That sounds absolutely amazing and you’re making me hella emo.” Jeremy dramatically sniffed and pretended to swipe at his eyes. “You got me cryin’ babe. I love you so much.”

“Je t’aime aussi chéri,” Jean said giving Jeremy a smacking kiss on the forehead and slapping his ass. “Now, set the table pour moi, merci.”

“Oui, ma lune. Comme vous le souhaitez.”

“Jeremy, your French is absolutely horrendous. What did I tell you about looking up the pronunciation before you use words?” Jean asked laughing again.

“To do it because my français n’est pas très bon,” Jeremy said, yelling the last bit as Jean chased him around the kitchen.

leomed21  asked:

Que dirais-tu à une PACES qui rêve d'être sage femme et qui a le concours dans un mois ? 😊😘 Merci pour tes posts, tu me fais bien rire tous les jours!

Sincèrement? Ne fais pas sage-femme. Si j'avais su je suis pas sûre que j'aurais fais ça. C'est trop cher payé pour des conditions de travail de merde.
Le côté magnifique de la naissance tout ça, ba t'as même pas le temps d'en profiter parce que tu dois gérer 15 patientes en même temps.
T'es payé une misère. C'est très dur de trouver du boulot. Tu bosse de jour de nuit et les jours fériés et à Noël. Non franchement, tu m'aurais demandé ça il y a un an j'aurais pas dis la même chose, mais là en connaissant parfaitement la réalité du métier je te le dis: n'y va pas.

anonymous asked:

Je t'aime. Un peu plus à chaque chapitre. Un peu plus à chaque phrase si bien écrite. Merci pour cette fic qui est juste parfaite. Merci de faire vivre ces "personnages" dont on apprend les tourments et qui nous brisent avec leurs sentiments. On ressent tout. On pleure surtout... Mais on attend toujours avec impatience la suite dans l'espoir de voir un peu de bonheur poindre le bout de son nez ou tout simplement, des phrases superbement tournées.

Nonny !

Je ne sais pas quoi dire donc je me contenterai d’un immense merci. Du fond du cœur. Moi aussi je t’aime.

Monsieur

Request: reader is the cousin of g.wash […] and they’re close. it’s Washington’s bday and reader get introduced to Laffy at dinner 

Pairing: Lafayette x reader

Warnings: terrible french, a pov swap, historical

Word count: 1,166

A/N: French translations (sorry there’s a few) Le plaisir était pour moi.’ means “the pleasure is all mine” and “je m’appelle” means “my name is”; ‘je suis’ means “I am”, and “Ça fait longtemps que je n'ai pas parlé français” means “it’s been a long time since I’ve spoken french”, ‘bien sûr’ means “of course” and ‘il est d'une suffisance écœurante’ means “he is sickeningly smug” aaaand ‘Ecris-moi bientôt’ means “write soon”

askbox || masterlist

You tried not to gawk as you entered your cousin’s mt. Vernon home. Well furnished and looked after, it was one of the nicer homes you’d been in since you’d returned from France.

Your cousin George was standing in centre of the room, greeting his guests. Nervous, you smoothed down your skirts and wondered if he would recognise you after so long. 

Before you had left to France you and George had been close- two seven year olds with similar ideas and goals. Only George was a General now and you were a woman, waiting at home.

“Hello George,” you said as you approached him, sweeping a curtsy, “it’s been a while. Happy Birthday!”

You saw him do a double take, his polite smiling quickly turning into a grin. “Y/N!” he exclaimed, pulling you into a hug, “How are you?”

“Not nearly as well as you, it seems,” you teased, easily falling back into the give-and-take you used to delight in. “This general lark seems fun. I’m sure I could manage it just as well.”

He raised an eyebrow, and then laughed. “I’m sure you could.”

You found yourself seated next to George and opposite his wife at the table. You sipped at the wine and eagerly caught up with your cousin. 

About half way through the dessert course the doors opened, admitting a late diner. George stood and nodded, gesturing for the newcomer to take the empty seat on your left. 

“Y/N,” he said, “this is the Marquis.”

You turned to greet the Marquis. He was tall, skin dark and hair pulled back into a bun. He wore the uniform of a revolutionary and looked, if you were honest, breathtakingly handsome in it. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you said. 

He smiled charmingly and bent to kiss your hand, “Le plaisir était pour moi.”

“Merci,” you replied, blushing. “Je m’appelle Y/N L/N.” 

Keep reading

Merci à tous ceux qui ont été là pour moi hier, merci d'avoir été là, merci de m'avoir redonné espoir, merci.. merci pour tout
Je vous aime tellement vous vous imaginez pas à quel point
Et je suis vraiment vraiment vraiment désolée pour hier..

@kigamin replied to “Hey Killua, this is Gon. How is everything going with your sister?…”

Sinon moi je propose des emails comme ça personne ne sombre dans un AU terrifiant et surtout pas moi (merci pour les émotions ekxnskwjs)

Excellent raisonnement!! et puis ils ont des téléphones aussi, eux ils peuvent s’appeler, s’envoyer des textos, des mails…. Pas besoin de passer par des lettres. Et il y a AUCUN moyen pour que Illumi s’en mêle… pas vrai? 

Il y a 40 ans, 
Merci Madame !!

Merci pour moi , pour mes soeurs , pour mes filles .. merci ……

Le 26 novembre 1974, Simone Veil montait à la tribune de l'Assemblée Nationale Française pour défendre son projet de loi. Les députés français votent une résolution pour réaffirmer le droit à l'IVG, mercredi.

40 years ago !

Thank you Madam !!

Thank you for me, for my sisters, for my daughters .. thank you ……

November 26, 1974, Simone Veil went up to the rostrum of the French National Assembly to defend her law. Today , French MPs are voting a resolution to reaffirm the right to abortion .

Moi : Pourquoi jamais personne ne me propose de sortir
Un pote : Viens ce soir, on fait la tournée des bars pour mon anniversaire
Moi : Non merci flemme je suis crevé

Moi : Pourquoi jamais personne ne me propose de sortir

anonymous asked:

Heyyy j'veux montrer Kaamelott à mes amis anglais mais j'trouve pas en ligne avec des sous-titres en anglais qui seraient pas trop merdiques. T'as un lien de confiance pour moi? Merci! :D

Désolée mais j'ai longtemps cherché moi aussi et rien… (mis à part l'épisode que je viens de reblogger, avec la carte, et même là les sous-titres sont bofs-bofs) (m'enfin c'est déjà ça tu m'diras)

Solange te soûle

La vidéo “PAS FÉMININE (en 5 leçons)” de Solange a soûlé Julie, qui nous a envoyé sa réponse.


Chère Solange, tu m'énerves. Je suis une meuf qui aime les talons et une ado peut bien me doubler en baskets dans la rue, je m'en cogne. Une meuf qui se fait une manucure toutes les semaines et (grand dieu) qui s'hydrate les mains. Une meuf qui va se faire épiler l'entrejambe tous les mois quand ça dépasse.

A t'écouter, je suis donc féminine (à ma façon) et j'ai tort.

Or, j'aime ça.

Je ne suis pas modelée par des siècles de sexisme et de patriarcat. Je le fais pour ma gueule. Parce que je me sens bien comme ça. Parce que je suis LIBRE de le faire aujourd'hui. Merci pour moi.

Je ne suis pas seulement “féminine” avec du vernis, une robe et des talons. L'inverse est aussi vrai. Un cliché ne vaut pas mieux qu'un autre. Merci pour celles qui aiment les pantalons.

Je ne suis pas “féminine” pour plaire aux mecs en général ni au mien en particulier qui baise aussi quand j'ai des poils, le vernis écaillé et en Converse. Merci pour lui.

Chère Solange, comme tu aimes les impératifs : arrête de nous fatiguer avec des “schémas de sexisme intériorisés” dès qu'on enfile un collant. Arrête de vouloir me faire croire que mes doigts vernis sont là pour tout le monde sauf moi et qu'ils valent moins que des ongles nus. C'est ridicule. Arrête de prendre les meufs pour des idiotes : on peut être féminine à notre façon et féministe. Les deux ne sont pas incompatibles en 2015.

Julie