#FRANCE IN FOCUS

[thcscout]

Cannabis in France: Weeding out the facts from the fiction

Cannabis in France: Weeding out the facts from the fiction

#Cannabis itself remains illegal in #France, but in recent months its “wellness” derivative, #CBD, has become something of a green Eldorado. So where exactly is the line between #therapeutic, medical and recreational use? We take a closer look. And to find out more about the use of cannabis for #medical purposes, we speak to hospital psychiatrist Nicolas Authier. In March 2021, with the health…

[quibbs126]

So apparently Pokémon Presents told us we’re getting a new Legends game based in Kalos, rather than anything about Gen 5 remakes

And you know honestly, I’m cool with that, I think I prefer that. Kalos got barely any attention even in its own generation, not even getting a rerelease/sequel, which all the generations before and even the one after it got (Gen 8 and 9 didn’t get that, but they got DLC which basically acts as an addition to the story, which still applies here). Not to mention we know Kalos has lore from ancient times, and we’re probably gonna see it now in this game, which is really cool

Like yeah, I’m pretty sure Kalos isn’t seen as one of the best regions, but it’s finally getting more attention from Game Freak, and I’m happy to see that

Also I think BDSP has shattered my faith in Pokémon remakes, so I’m kind of glad Gen 5 isn’t getting one. They’ll probably save it for Gen 10 if we’re being honest

Edit: wait I just looked at more info (I didn’t see the Presents, I had class, but I just saw the news), this might take place in a futuristic Kalos? I don’t really know, but just then take what I predict about it with a grain of salt

[spittyfishy]

And now I know how Joan of Arc felt

Miraculous ladybug version of ‘Adoration of St.Joan of Acr’ by J. William Fosdick, because gosh those two girls are too young to have the fate of France on their shoulders

[no-light-left-on]

considering the historical influences in the fashion of Dishonored (and the extent of nsfw fanfiction this fandom has) I’ve been thinking about the layers that would be, realistically, part of the daily dress

which means: dishonored seems to honour the importance of a vest in a properly dressed gentleman’s or lady’s wardrobe

vests were, and I cannot stress this enough, a mandatory part of an outfit, to the point of men wearing only vests if they could not afford a fully tailored suit (trousers + vest + jacket) and a new shirt and opting to only wear a fake collar under the vest for the illusion of a full outfit

shirts were underwear, so to speak. there were no occasions in ‘polite society‘ where one could only wear a shirt without a vest on top.

this is something we see mirrored in both dishonored games, though the style of the vests and clothing have somewhat changed, they still follow the same rules of vests worn with every outfit, as far as we can tell. (we could argue that Jessamine is not wearing one, or that some higher class women aren’t wearing vests under their buttoned up jackets, but since we don’t really see underneath we can’t judge.)

we see the vests be worn even by the Whalers in the first game (which in itself brings up many questions. are whalers, the actual whalers that capture and kill whales, held in high enough regard by the society that they made a vest part of their uniform? or is it merely something that is worn by all? something that every citizen of sound mind would don, were they to leave their house?)

there are a few exceptions to this, of course, but this whole thing came to be by asking a simple question

does the Outsider wear a vest under his leather jacket?

now, in the first game, his jacket is unbuttoned just enough for us to get a good enough peek at what lies beneath. which is to say: there is no hint of a vest underneath. judging by the vests in the first game, the fashion was that the vest would go up high, often covering collarbones or even having a standing collar. what we see on the Outsider is just... an unbuttoned shirt

it’s much the same in the second game, even if we examine his final concept art, his outfit consists of a shirt (more or less underwear) with most of the top buttons unbuttoned, and a jacket on top. no hint of a vest underneath

what I’m trying to say is that the Outsider is a slut

[ridl]

more ganyu and keqing!!! [from a cn only event?] they're so cute here, hairpin couple.

[kikizoshi]

can we form a coup against asagiri and make you the writer instead? genuinely... I am not taking the Fyodor immortal information well.. please help............................ ( ´，_ゝ` )

Oh, I would absolutely not do BSD well either. I just wish Asagiri had stuck to his roots more. He was a great comedy writer, and the beginning of the story was great for it. It's the action and Death Note stuff he can't seem to get mastery of. But for the immortal part: I'm not entirely sold that Fyodor's immortal, yet. It seems like yet another twists that will twist to reveal oh, shocker, he faked his memories to confuse Sigma/the ADA... or something. Could very well be immortal, but not 100% guaranteed.

[fatehbaz]

[D]omesticated attack dogs [...] hunted those who defied the profitable Caribbean sugar regimes and North America’s later Cotton Kingdom, [...] enforced plantation regimens [...], and closed off fugitive landscapes with acute adaptability to the varied [...] terrains of sugar, cotton, coffee or tobacco plantations that they patrolled. [...] [I]n the Age of Revolutions the Cuban bloodhound spread across imperial boundaries to protect white power and suppress black ambitions in Haiti and Jamaica. [...] [Then] dog violence in the Caribbean spurred planters in the American South to import and breed slave dogs [...].

---

Spanish landowners often used dogs to execute indigenous labourers simply for disobedience. [...] Bartolomé de las Casas [...] documented attacks against Taino populations, telling of Spaniards who ‘hunted them with their hounds [...]. These dogs shed much human blood’. Many later abolitionists made comparisons with these brutal [Spanish] precedents to criticize canine violence against slaves on these same Caribbean islands. [...] Spanish officials in Santo Domingo were licensing packs of dogs to comb the forests for [...] fugitives [...]. Dogs in Panama, for instance, tracked, attacked, captured and publicly executed maroons. [...] In the 1650s [...] [o]ne [English] observer noted, ‘There is nothing in [Barbados] so useful as … Liam Hounds, to find out these Thieves’. The term ‘liam’ likely came from the French limier, meaning ‘bloodhound’. [...] In 1659 English planters in Jamaica ‘procured some blood-hounds, and hunted these blacks like wild-beasts’ [...]. By the mid eighteenth century, French planters in Martinique were also relying upon dogs to hunt fugitive slaves. [...] In French Saint-Domingue [Haiti] dogs were used against the maroon Macandal [...] and he was burned alive in 1758. [...]

Although slave hounds existed throughout the Caribbean, it was common knowledge that Cuba bred and trained the best attack dogs, and when insurrections began to challenge plantocratic interests across the Americas, two rival empires, Britain and France, begged Spain to sell these notorious Cuban bloodhounds to suppress black ambitions and protect shared white power. [...] [I]n the 1790s and early 1800s [...] [i]n the Age of Revolutions a new canine breed gained widespread popularity in suppressing black populations across the Caribbean and eventually North America. Slave hounds were usually descended from more typical mastiffs or bloodhounds [...].

---

Spanish and Cuban slave hunters not only bred the Cuban bloodhound, but were midwives to an era of international anti-black co-ordination as the breed’s reputation spread rapidly among enslavers during the seven decades between the beginning of the Haitian Revolution in 1791 and the conclusion of the American Civil War in 1865. [...]

Despite the legends of Spanish cruelty, British officials bought Cuban bloodhounds when unrest erupted in Jamaica in 1795 after learning that Spanish officials in Cuba had recently sent dogs to hunt runaways and the indigenous Miskitos in Central America. [...] The island’s governor, Balcarres, later wrote that ‘Soon after the maroon rebellion broke out’ he had sent representatives ‘to Cuba in order to procure a number of large dogs of the bloodhound breed which are used to hunt down runaway negroes’ [...]. In 1803, during the final independence struggle of the Haitian Revolution, Cuban breeders again sold hundreds of hounds to the French to aid their fight against the black revolutionaries. [...] In 1819 Henri Christophe, a later leader of Haiti, told Tsar Alexander that hounds were a hallmark of French cruelty. [...]

---

The most extensively documented deployment of slave hounds [...] occurred in the antebellum American South and built upon Caribbean foundations. [...] The use of dogs increased during that decade [1830s], especially with the Second Seminole War in Florida (1835–42). The first recorded sale of Cuban dogs into the United States came with this conflict, when the US military apparently purchased three such dogs for $151.72 each [...]. [F]ierce bloodhounds reputed to be from Cuba appeared in the Mississippi valley as early as 1841 [...].

The importation of these dogs changed the business of slave catching in the region, as their deployment and reputation grew rapidly throughout the 1840s and, as in Cuba, specialized dog handlers became professionalized. Newspapers advertised slave hunters who claimed to possess the ‘Finest dogs for catching negroes’ [...]. [S]lave hunting intensified [from the 1840s until the Civil War] [...]. Indeed, tactics in the American South closely mirrored those of their Cuban predecessors as local slave catchers became suppliers of biopower indispensable to slavery’s profitability. [...] [P]rice [...] was left largely to the discretion of slave hunters, who, ‘Charging by the day and mile [...] could earn what was for them a sizeable amount - ten to fifty dollars [...]'. William Craft added that the ‘business’ of slave catching was ‘openly carried on, assisted by advertisements’. [...] The Louisiana slave owner [B.B.] portrayed his own pursuits as if he were hunting wild game [...]. The relationship between trackers and slaves became intricately systematized [...]. The short-lived republic of Texas (1836–46) even enacted specific compensation and laws for slave trackers, provisions that persisted after annexation by the United States.

---

All text above by: Tyler D. Parry and Charlton W. Yingling. "Slave Hounds and Abolition in the Americas". Past & Present Volume 246, Issue 1, pages 69-108. February 2020. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

[sdimbour]

#bonjour

#photooftheday

End of the day #life 🙂 #capbreton #landes #nouvelleaquitaine #sudouest #france

#people #dog #sea #seescape #beach #streetphotography #storyofthestreet #lensonstreets #so_photo #sudouest_focus_on #sudouest_photographie #reponsesphoto #shotoniphone #outofthephone #mobiography #bnw #bnwphotography #bnw_greatshots #blackandwhite #noiretblanc #365project #mobitog

[mellaithwen]

How’s the Rugby World Cup going, you ask? Well I’ve just built an ikea cabinet to calm down 😅

Less than 10mins to go and the score’s 32-14 to Wales (against Fiji) 🥰

[tracing-rivers]

France said "again, this time with cunt"

[of-two-lands]

44°58'23.5"N 6°03'54.8"E

youtube/oftwolands

www.oftwolands.com

[theceaselessidiot]

[balladofthewhitehorse]

How about 18 "tell me what you're scared of" for scotfra?💖💖

Teehee >:3c

‘’Tell me what you’re scared of?’’

France rolled their eyes, letting their gaze settle toward some dark corner. The presence of their friend felt too much like the Sun, to look at it would only hurt more. ‘’I’m not scared of anything-’’ They scoffed, waving a hand manner-of-factly; Scotland should know this, France mused as they hovered in the vast hallway. Candlelight flickered warmly, filling the space with such colour - finally woven tapestries adoring the stark stone walls. ‘’-Why do you want to know?’’ A lump rose in their throat, hackles bristling as France rested a hand on the hilt of their sword - Do I look scared?

‘’I just-’’ Scotland shrugged, drifting across the floor with measured strides. A bitter gloomy thing twisted in the pit of his belly, Scotland casting France a hard stare as they continued to look away. ‘’-How am I meant to guard you if you keep pushing me away, France?’’ He groused, voice as soft as velvet - but his face as hard as iron. ‘’I haven’t spoken to you for days, for months and you haven’t said a thing to me.’’ A resentful scoff bubbled from the back of his throat (the dog left out in the cold - Scotland’s gaze sharp as he glared at France’s back, almost bitter). ‘’Is this the thanks you’re giving me?’’ He snorted, grinning sharply at France as he slowly stood up, the line of his shoulders hard and tense. ‘’Hm?’’

‘’Don’t take it so personally.’’ They narrowed their eyes, whirling around to stare at Scotland - hands balled into a fist (he couldn’t stand at the cliffs forever - wasting men and ships, no matter how much France would love to). ‘’I’m not scared of anything.’’ France bristled, gritting their teeth together as Scotland rolled his eyes. ‘’I don’t know if you’ve forgotten-’’ They ground out, all teeth. ‘’-But you sought me out.’’ France hissed, glaring at Scotland.

Scotland grimaced, face going pale as France’s eyes bore into him (digging, like the claw of a rooster - digging and digging until it found blood at last). ‘’Whatever. It was just a question.’’

France was about to reply - when there was a sudden cry through the halls of the castle; A warning, and France was off like a hare. Soldiers were gathering, like a rising tide - lapping the walls of the castle, and France could see a few familiar emblems fluttering in the wind. It was clear that England was here - and he was baying for blood. Reeling back, France pulled their sword out of their scabbard and turned to face Scotland, eyes expectant - patient as Scotland drew in a deep breath, and then nodded. Good, they were both in understanding then. Without another glance, France watched as Scotland moved ahead - a mountain amongst men, going to rally his men for one final defence.

France pursed their lips together - uncertain what they wanted to say, to call out as they lost sight of Scotland. God be with you? Good luck? Don’t get yourself killed? Childish thoughts, to say the least - and thus they left, marching up the stairs to look down over the small bodies beneath. Boiling oil and tar had been prepared, France biting back a grimace (they remembered the way it seared - blistering flesh) as they were slowly lifted up onto the stone walls. ‘’I’ll be there-’’ France whispered, muttering under their breath as their men moved about them like ants and suddenly, France felt as though they were a long distance away.

The siege had begun and Scotland was doing a good job of holding back the wall - but, France knew that England would never stop. He had been railing against the castle defences for months already (a dog at their gates, wild-eyed and howling defiance - surely, someone would need to put him down and France intended to be that person). ‘’England-!’’ They called out, eyes wide as they moved through the dark castle - there was the sound of wood splintering, of metal crashing against metal (a storm had whirled into France’s space, and they drew in a deep breath, like a man who knows that he is about to drown).

Scotland staggered - a red stripe of blood flowing down his face as he glared at England. It had been a mad dash, a scramble really as brother met brother in the courtyard. Scotland knew that it had been inevitable, but perhaps he had hoped that England would be…smaller, somehow. Diminished, once he found himself in the shadows of the great castle Scotland’s men had built stone by stone. ‘’You’re a fucking bastard-’’ He swore, feinting to the left as England’s hammer cleaved the air - whistling with a dark promise, England’s hands tight around the handle of his weapon (much to Scotland’s dismay, hoping to disarm England).

‘’Says you!’’ England snapped, his voice sharp and indignant. Ragged and worn, his armour was tarnished and England felt a pang of resentment course through him as he stared at Scotland in disbelief. For months, England had been starving and thirsting outside the castle walls, a siege of endurance - stamina sapped by the cold damp that had crept into his bones. England could have distinctly sworn that France had claimed that their country was supposed to be warm! ‘’You’re a damn fucking-’’ England snarled as the hammer swung towards Scotland’s face - biting back a yelp as Scotland caught his knuckles with his sword.

‘’Get out of here.’’

England’s eyes seemed to blaze - as the two clashed and crashed further into the bowels of the castle. All else seemed to dim, Scotland and England circling one another; An oddly hypnotic dance of steel and blood as England hounded Scotland up the stairs, teeth grit as they rambled towards the high towerpoints. ‘’Get out?! Get out-!’’ England snarled, war-hammer crashing with a loud clatter - slick with blood, the weapon had flung from his hands, and for a brief moment England stood still, trembling with fury. ‘’You’re my brother.’’

‘’That means nothing.’’ Scotland replied coldly, lunging forward with a flash of steel. His sword slid harmlessly against England’s mail, Scotland quickly turning on his heel to direct another flashing blow at his brother. ‘’You’ve got no weapon, England-’’ He sneered, glaring at his brother - chest heaving with exertion as he began to approach slowly, sword held high over his head. ‘’-Best give up the fight.’’ Adrenaline pounded through Scotland, as he prepared to cleave England’s head from his shoulders - when suddenly, England lunged.

Colliding solidly with Scotland, England grappled for his sword - hands clutched around his wrists as he snarled. The stone walls seemed to rise up around him, and they were teetering on the edge, the earth swaying beneath their feet. ‘’Shut the fuck up-’’ A sound, someone’s footsteps racing up the stairs - England’s head snapping to glare sullenly at the doorway, staring at France with mute disbelief - and then exasperation, groaning resentfully as frustration welled up inside him. ‘’Can’t you ever stay away, France?’’ He growled, arched over his brother (a cage - protective or captive, it was hard to tell and England continued to watch France warily, his hands gripping Scotland’s wrists).

France’s chest heaved as they stood on the landing, their sword stained with blood. England stared at them. His eyes seemed to ask, tauntingly - Are you going to let my brother die?

Heart hammering in their chest, France knew what the answer was. They didn’t hesitate as they surged forward, a battle cry on their lips as they collided with England (Claws finding their way into the soft flesh, for all the shaggy mane there was - blood drawn, an old emnity). They sank their sword into England’s flank, and the sky span overhead.

They tumbled - staggering and half-sliding down the side of the castle as they went flying. Limbs and hair and steel, France felt less like a thing - and more like a concept. Courage and sacrifice, all good things in a person - all good things in France.

The earth that rushed to meet them - never felt more merciful, the sound of bones almost melodious.

England lay shattered, a bloody stain on the dew-wet grass; Overhead, Scotland stared - vaguely surprised-looking shadow to France. Alive at least.

France let out a wet gasp, lungs bubbling as they loosened their grip. At least Scotland was okay.

[freddieslater]

Rowing the Rarepair Rowboat: Brett Talbot x Isaac Lahey (Teen Wolf)

Requested by @rhyslahey

Brett stops Scott before he can knock on the door. Lori groans but he doesn't take another step, looking directly at Scott.

"You're absolutely positive we'll be safe here?" He doesn't ask because he doesn't trust Scott, but because he needs to see that he believes this is the right decision as well. For Lori's sake more than anything.

Scott understands. "I promise. No one is going to find you here. Not Monroe, not Gerard. Nobody knows this safe house exists outside of the pack."

He assured him of that before they even left, but now that they're in France, so far away... Far away is good. For the time being, at least, until things settle down and it's safe for them to return home.

"And this friend of yours, the one who lives here," Brett begins, eyebrows raising, "you're sure we can trust him?"

"Brett," Lori says impatiently. She can't stop looking around them every few seconds, worried they're going to be crept up on.

Scott nods once more and wholeheartedly says, "You can trust him. Isaac is one of us, and he knows we're here."

Taking a deep breath, he finally lets Scott go ahead and knock on the door. He keeps himself back a bit as footsteps approach them on the other side of the door. His arm slowly creeps out to push Lori back if necessary.

The door opens. They're immediately ushered inside, and Scott offers for them to go first but Brett insists. He walks in behind him, keeping Lori close at his heels.

For a safe house, it's a pretty nice apartment. They all move into a big room with two couches and double glass doors that lead out onto a balcony. The thin, grey curtains are drawn enough for him to spot the Eiffel Tower in the distance.

Brett turns his back to it as Isaac, he presumes, walks in. He and Scott have a moment together, sharing a hug and a general greeting. Then Scott turns to him and Lori with a smile.

"Guys, this is Isaac. An old friend," he says, and turns back to Isaac as he continues, "this is Brett and Lori. I told you what's been going on, and that they need somewhere to sort of lay low for a little while. We're hoping not more than a couple weeks."

"You never know with Gerard," Isaac says darkly. "I thought he was gone for good and now you tell me he's back. And with a new sidekick, like Kate wasn't bad enough?"

"Except, he's her sidekick, apparently."

There seems to be some doubt in that for both of them. Brett keeps his eyes on Isaac, and only shakes his head in response when he asks him and Lori if they want something to drink.

Isaac leaves the room to get some water and a croissant for Lori, who complained that she was starving, to Brett's annoyance. He did offer to get her breakfast at the airport and she called him overbearing.

"You'll both be fine here," Scott says to them softly. He seems to be talking more to Brett than to Lori, who's already wandering the room, admiring the framed art on the walls.

Brett says nothing, but glances around as well. It really doesn't look like a bad place. Maybe a bit more open than he would like for the place they're meant to be "hiding out" but it's high-up and in a whole other country from Monroe or Gerard. Could be worse. He and Lori could be dead.

Stepping closer to him, Scott lowers his voice like it'll make any difference. "Are you okay?"

For a second, he's tempted to admit that he's scared. Terrified, actually. Of being found. Losing Lori. Being in a place so far from the only people they were able to call family. His stomach lurches at the thought of Satomi.

He clenches his teeth and nods, forcing a tight smile. "Mhm."

"I can stay tonight, if that would help. But I would need to go back tomorrow. With everything going on back in Beacon Hills, I can't stay too long," Scott says, looking and sounding like he feels horrible about it.

"It's fine," Brett says. "I get it. They need you. We'll be fine here, like you said." His eyes dart to the kitchen door where he can see Isaac buttering Lori's croissant. He nods his head toward him. "And he seems nice enough."

Scott nods with full sincerity. "He's one of the best I know."

Then Brett decides. This Isaac guy must be the real deal. When Isaac returns to them a moment later and offers him a glass of water, he accepts it with a slight smile of gratitude.

"Feel free to head through to the bedroom and get some sleep," Isaac tells him, glancing back at Lori as well, then turning back to flick his eyes up and down Brett's rigid form. "You look like you're about to drop dead from exhaustion."

Lori snickers. Brett narrows his eyes at him. His mouth curls into the first real smile in the past forty-eight hours or so.

"I'll remember to throw on some makeup next time I'm on the run," he replies dryly. "Thanks for the compliment, Jean-Paul."

"You know I'm not actually French."

"That's a shame," Brett says, unscrewing the lid from his bottle. He walks around him and Scott, pointing down the hallway they came in through. "Bedroom's down here?"

"Yeah, on the right." Isaac then turns to Scott and Lori in confusion as Brett goes to find the room. "Why's that a shame?"

He smirks to himself as Lori wearily answers, "He's always said he wants to date a French guy. Or even just one who can speak the language semi-fluently."

"Oh," Isaac says. After a beat, "I'm pretty fluent."

[coquelicoq]

started on the french dictionary and so far i've only read the front matter and three pages of the A's and i'm already having so much fun. highlights:

the irony of the preface, which basically says, "this is an abridged edition. isn't that neat?", being at least three times longer than necessary

the list of 16 different symbols and their uses in distinguishing senses and introducing distinct usages within the same definition. because that seems like a large number of symbols, i have given myself permission not to comprehend the differences between any of them and just vibe

from the list of abbreviations:

"abusivt: abusivement (emploi très critiquable, parfois faux sens ou solécisme)" 😒 @ french lexicographers: have you heard the good news (of linguistic descriptivism)?

"recomm.: recommandation (dans recomm. off. « recommandation officielle » ; terme conforme à la loi française de 1994 sur la langue)" okay actually @ all of france: get well soon

"abdomen [-ɛn]" do you mean to tell me this vowel isn't nasalized??? sick. twisted. rebellious. can't believe la loi française de 1994 sur la langue has nothing to say about this !

"aber [abɛʀ]" this dictionary tells me when to pronounce the r in words ending in -er. my holy grail. crying and kissing its feet in gratitude

every time the definition includes a word i don't know i can just look that word up elsewhere in the same book i am currently holding!!!!

"abortif, ive adj. Qui fait avorter." told you b and v were related

"abreuver v. tr. 1. Faire boire abondamment (un animal)." this makes it sound like you're force-feeding animals water...on the previous page abondance is defined as "Grande quantité (supérieure aux besoins)" so like i'm getting the sense that you're leading a horse to water and not only making it drink but not letting it leave until it's drunk every last drop in the trough lol

"abribus [-bys] n. m. (nom déposé) Arrêt d'autobus équipé d'un abri" ok cute.

the example it gives for abruti is "Espèce d'abruti !" folks it don't get any frencher than that.