Summary: However this ends, he’s a fool if he does nothing or a fool if he gives into the sweetness of temptation.
Author’s Note: I’m glad I’m finally done with this story. I had debated on a while on how far to take this. But I’m glad that I decided to push the envelope and go all the way with the smut. Enjoy!
Nights like this were always innocent.
They would curl up under the covers of her bed and watch movies until they both fell asleep. Suspicions never rose when they spent hours together behind her bedroom door; often times it wouldn’t open until the early hours of the morning and it was time for Isaac to leave so he could head home to get ready for school. It was entirely innocent…until it wasn’t. Her parents should have expected that it would turn out that way eventually.
The night starts out like every other one. They had watched two movies and thirty minutes into the third (some French film remake with an obscenely long title), she was sound asleep. The movie was a thriller; it was on the subtler side but the heroine was hot and that kept his attention mostly.
Then there was a sex scene. Of course there was a sex scene. Not that he was complaining too much. The guy okay looking, but seeing the actress naked, enjoying being eaten out, being thrust into from behind—the whole scene made his cock twinge with desire.
Isaac feels a shift beside him. Looking down, he sees [Name] burrowing herself further into the covers of her bed. Lying on her side with one arm tucked under the pillow and her legs pulled towards her stomach, she looked like an angel. She looked so peaceful (and not his girl) and there was a desire in his blood to touch her. It should never have been a thought that entered his mind. It was wrong. She was his friend and asleep, and he was turned on by a movie. He should have just gone to bathroom to jack off. Isaac licks his lips as his eyes travel across her sleeping form.
I’ve seen posts about French songs and French Disney songs, but there
are also lots of French covers of famous songs that are originally sung
in English, and I don’t think they’ve been mentioned on tumblr before (within the langblr community at least), so here’s a not-so-comprehensive list I compiled:
All these songs are in French; of course the lyrics aren’t exactly the same but they’re pretty close the originals (well, the ones I’ve heard at least; I’ve yet to check out the entire list… I did hear at least a snippet of each song though).
I wrote the English titles instead of the French ones so that you can easily recognize the songs. Each of these artists has many more French covers so be sure to check out their channels.
I made a PLAYLIST right here where I put all the covers I found (the
ones that sounded reasonable at least) and I’ll keep adding to it. Or you could just search
Youtube for “french cover songs” or “cover français” and you’ll get a whole bunch of songs
and playlists as well. Enjoy ;)
The current World Number One won her first major at the 1999 US Open, when she was only 17 years old. Now, aged 35, she has won 7 Australian Open titles, 3 French Open titles, 7 Wimbledon titles, and 6 US Open titles, bringing her Grand Slam titles total to 23. This number sets a record for most Grand Slams won in the Open Era, and the second most of all-time.
Mon amour je t'ai vu au beau milieu d'un rêve Mon amour un aussi rêve est un présage d'amour Refusons tous deux que nos lendemain soient mornes et gris Nous attendrons l'heure de notre bonheur Toi ma destinée, je saurais t'aimer J'en ai rêvé La-la la-la, lalalalala… Nous attendrons de notre bonheur Toi ma destinée, je saurais t'aimer Tu l'as rêvé
The word luminous gets tossed around a lot, but when it comes to describing Phillipa Soo onstage, no other adjective will do. As the director Pam MacKinnon puts it, “It’s like, Wait a second—is there a spotlight on her? Nope, it’s just her inner glow.” Soo first lit up the stage, fresh out of Juilliard, as a lovelorn Tolstoy heroine in the 2012 Off-Broadway pop-musical Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812. She went on to earn a Tony nomination for her moving turn as Eliza Hamilton, opposite Lin-Manuel Miranda, in Hamilton. Now, under MacKinnon’s direction, the 26-year-old actress is bringing her brand of incandescence—not to mention her ravishing soprano—back to Broadway, in the title role of the new musical Amélie, adapted from the 2001 French film directed by Jean-Pierre Jeunet that made Audrey Tautou an international star.
In France, nobility was a quality of the individual, a legal characteristic that could be held or acquired, and conferred some rights and privileges; such as levied taxes in times of war (since the nobility was supposed to fight for the sovereign), or since the 17th century, only weaker taxing exceptions. Also, a number of military and civic positions were reserved for nobility.
How is it inherited?
Nobility was usually hereditary only through the male line; a nobleman could marry a commoner and keep his nobility, but a noblewoman could not. When the nobility was hereditary, even though it was transmitted through the father, a higher percentage of noble blood or a higher number of noble generations in the family could be important as well.
How is nobility acquired?
By Birth. Usually from the father since 1370 (only exceptions are nobility in Champagne until the 16th century and Bar until the French Revolution). Bastards of nobles became nobles when legitimated by letters of the sovereign until 1600, after that a separate act of ennoblement was required (except royal bastards, they were always nobles even with no legitimation).
By Office. Depending on the office, the holder became noble either after a number of years in office or immediately. This kind of nobility could be personal or hereditary for 2, 3 or more generations. Here we have nobles for fiscal offices (tax courts and state auditors), “noblesse de robe” (for judicial offices, members of the parliament or courts that have been in office for 20 years), “noblesse de cloche” (municipal offices, the mayors of towns), administrative offices (the places on the household of the king and the secrétaires du Roi) and military commissions (since 1750 officers reaching the rank of general would receive hereditary nobility).
By Letters. Meaning, by royal grant, meaning that the king could always ennoble whoever he wished.
Could nobility be lost?
Yes it could. You lose it by failing to your failing duties (this was called “déchéance”, kind of like Athos in The Musketeers BBC series); by practising forbidden occupations (called “dérogeance”), like commerce or manual crafts or farming someone else’s land (farming your own or the King’s land was ok). Funny that medicine, glass-blowing, exploitation of mines, maritime commerce and wholesale commerce was acceptable. Also, if you were a woman and marry a commoner, your nobility is lost.
What about the titles?
To bear a title you had to be noble. And a title is a rank attached to a certain piece of land. So, there could be nobles with no titles.
Duc. A duke (from the Latin dux, “leader”) was originally the governor of a province and a military leader. He was the possessor of a “duché” (a duchy).
Comte. A count (from the Latin comes, “companion”), originally an appointee of the king governing a city and its immediate surroundings. He was the possessor of a comté (county) or a high-ranking official in the king’s immediate entourage called Counts Palatine (palace counts).
Marquis. Originally the governor of a “march”, a region at the boundaries of the kingdom in need of particular protection. He was the possessor of a marquisat (marquessate).
Vicomte. A viscount was originally the lieutenant of a count, either when the count was not at home or then the county was held by the King himself. He was the possessor of a vicomté (viscounty).
Baron. Originally a direct vassal of the king or another major feudal lord (a duke or count or so). The possessor of a baronnie (barony).
Châtelain. A castellan was the commander in charge of a castle. Few chastellanies survived with the title or “Sire” (sir).
Prince. Possessor of a principauté (principality). This title was not the same as the rank of Prince and did not give his possessor precedence at the court.
Seigneur. A lord, possessor of a lordship.
Chevalier. The equivalent of a “knighted” or a member of certain chivalric orders or the head of the King’s guardsmen. Not the same as the rank of Chevalier.
Wait. Titles and Ranks are not the same?
No, they were not. Because French people are crazy and this could not be easy at all. Let’s say that there were two kinds of “titles”: the ones linked to the fifes (the feudal real estates, meaning the duchies and counties, etc) and the personal ranks.
Fils de France/Filles de France. The sons and daughters of the King.
Petit-fils de France. The grandchildren of the King through the male line.
Prince du Sang/Princesse du Sang. A Prince/Princess of the Blood was a legitimate descendant of the King but was not part of the immediate family. Meaning that they were not Fils neither Petit-Fils de France.
Prince/Princess Légitimé. The legitimized children of the King or other males of his dynasty.
Prince Étranger. A foreign prince naturalized and recognized by the French court.
Chevalier. A rank assumed ONLY by the most noble families and the possessors of very high dignities in the court. Note that the ones with the title of Chevalier and the ones with the rank of Chevalier are addressed differently.
Écuyer. This rank (squire) was the one of the majority of nobles. It was a member of the nobility with no title.
How are they addressed?
For this section I’ll use an example name, so each way of addressing will be very clear. Let’s use the Marquis de Castelnau: Philippe-François d'Albignac.
The simpler way to address a noble is using Monsieur, Madame and Mademoiselle: here, we would address Philippe-Françoise simply as Monsieur.
But of course it cannot be that simple, you could not be sure about who and which Monsieur, Madame or Mademoiselle you’re talking about. So, there is a simple formula: Monsieur/Madame + de + last name or house = Monsieur de Albignac.
But you can also refer to someone by their title and not their last name: Monsieur/Madame + le/la + title = Monsieur le Marquis.
And you can be even more specific, since we wanna know, are we talking about the same Marquis? You’d use: Monsieur/Madame + le/la + title in full style = Monsieur le Marquis de Castelnau.
Those are the general ways, but it can be very tricky or specific according the rank and title. Here is another helping guide:
The King. Majesté, Your/His Most Christian Majesty, Your/His Majesty, Monsieur Le Roi.
The Queen. Majesté, Your/Her Most Christian Majesty, Your/Her Majesty, Madame La Reine.
The Dauphin (the eldest son of the King). Monsieur le Dauphin, His/Your Royal Highness, Monseigneur le Dauphin, His/Your Royal Highness Monseigneur le Dauphin.
The Dauphine (the Dauphin’s wife). Madame la Dauphine, Her/Your Royal Highness, Her Royal Highness Madame la Dauphine.
The Fils de France. Referred by their main title, except the Dauphin. I.e. Monsieur le Duc d’Anjou.
The Filles de France. Referred as Madame+their given name. Except the eldest daughter that was called Madame Royale until she married, and then that style is used by the next Fille de France. I.e. Madame Victoire.
The Petit-Fils/Petit-Filles de France. Addressed using their full style titles.
Prince du Sang/Princesse du Sang. Usually styled by their main ducal title, but other more precise titles were also used. It could be used: Monsieur le Prince, Madame la Princesse, Monsieur le Duc, Madame la Duchesse, and so on. In writing only the style Serene Highness was used.
Prince Légitimé/Princesse Légitimé. They took last names according to the branch of the House their father belonged and after the legitimization they were given a title. Males were given titles from their father’s lands, and therefore addressed as Monsieur and the title or last name; females were given the style of Mademoiselle de “X”.
Prince étranger. Basically addresses as Haut et puissant Prince or Your/His Highness. They are tricky to address, since they could have ANY other kind of title (literally any, from Prince to Chevalier, everything in between), then they could be called according to their first title and/or as Highness. Let’s take the example of Hercule Mériadec de Rohan, Duke of Rohan-Rohan; he could be addressed as: Monsieur le Duc de Rohan-Rohan, His Highness Hercule Mériadec de Rohan, His Highness Monsieur le Duc de Rohan-Rohan, His Highness Monsieur de Rohan, Monsieur de Rohan.
Other words to keep in mind to address nobility:
Monseigneur. Used for those of very high office and noble blood, like the Dauphin, cardinals, etc. Usually used only for adults.
Excellence. Ambassadors, foreign dignitaries.
Eminence. Mostly for cardinals, along with Monseigneur.
Monsieur le Chevalier. ONLY used when Chevalier is the rank.
Chevalier+last name. To address those who are knighted members of chivalric orders.
Sieur. Like Sir in English. Usually used for property holders that are not noble. It is used as Sieur + de + name of the land.
Gentilhomme. Used for ANY noble, from the King to the last écuyer.
“Death of the author” is an interesting concept. It was first named in an essay by the same title in 1967, written by the French literary critic Roland Barthes. He argued against considering the author’s intentions and cultural context when interpreting a text.
While it might seem like a convenient way to determine the meaning, attaching the author’s intention to a text actually limits it. To begin with, the author’s intention is an unreliable source. It is impossible to perfectly know what the author meant. Even in the event the author is still alive, the true intentions can be difficult or even impossible to communicate. Such are the limits of human expression.
However, if one were to forego considering the intention behind it, a text will have as many meanings as there are people reading it. “Killing” the author in such a manner creates the freedom for an infinite number of meanings to come from the same words. Following this theory, a text will obtain the power to resonate with an infinite number of people. “Death of the author” means conceptually killing the author so that the words they wrote can reveal their true potential.
It does not mean that you should attempt to take my head and brandish it as a trophy. Your pitiful attempts at my life are a nuisance. To begin with, my powers are such that to attempt to take my life equals forfeiting your own.
bovaryser (verb, French) – to dream of another destiny that is more satisfying than one’s own, to take refuge in fantasy or wishful realities. Derives from the title character of Gustave Flaubert’s novel ‘Madame Bovary’.