#Au Bonheur des Dames | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dangermousie · 1 year

Photo

This is from a much later ep but I am posting them because I just had a revelation that would make sense to pretty much nobody among my followers because only like 8 of them have any interest in Aziz and I am not sure there is any overlap between you awesome guys and people who’ve read and loved Emile Zola’s Au Bonheur des Dames (The Ladies’ Paradise), one of my all-time favorite books.

That novel was the basis for the British show Paradise which I hated hated HATED. It may have been a decent show on some other terms but it was a truly terrible adaptation - horrifically miscast and the feelings is utterly off. Ugh ugh I like to forget it exist.

But anyway - after Aziz, Murat Yildirim and Simay Barlas looking the way they do in Aziz are 100% my headcanon for Mouret and Denise.

We have the age difference and the suits and the strong-willed beautiful younger working class woman driving the upper class man who doesn’t think he could ever love her insane with longing. I mean, Simay is not blond and the set up is somewhat different - Mouret is a playboy genius businessman who finds himself drawn to a beautiful shopgirl he hired. But she refuses to be his mistress (and he cannot imagine her as a wife) and he starts losing it in desperation and meanwhile the aristocratic woman his age he was courting is seeing all this unfold. This is 100% who are my headcast now.

I mean, look at this bit:

He said no more; but he was still looking at her in her simple black dress and bonnet trimmed with a strip of blue ribbon. Was this little savage going to turn out a pretty girl? She looked all the better for her day in the open air, quite charming indeed with her splendid hair waving over her forehead. And he, who during the last six months had treated her like a child, sometimes giving her advice, yielding to a desire to inform himself, to a wicked wish to know how a woman grew up and became lost in Paris, no longer laughed, but experienced a feeling of surprise and fear mingled with tenderness. No doubt it was a lover who was improving her like this. At this thought he felt as if pecked to the heart by a favourite bird, with which he had been playing.

The novel totally had hair fixation too ahaha.

Anyway, I conclude on a passage which sums up their dynamic and is one of the reasons it was a fave of mine....

Mouret, meanwhile, was living in anguish. Was it possible that such a child could torture him in this manner? He could always recall her arrival at The Ladies' Paradise, with her heavy shoes, thin black dress, and wild look. She stammered, they all used to laugh at her, he himself had thought her ugly at first. Ugly! and now she could have brought him to his knees by a look, for he thought her nothing less than an angel! Then she had remained the last in the house, repulsed, joked at, treated by him as a curious specimen of humanity. For months he had wanted to see how a girl sprung up, and had amused himself with this experiment, not understanding that he was risking his heart. She, little by little had grown and become redoubtable. Perhaps he had loved her from the very first, even at the time when he had thought that he felt nothing but pity for her. And yet, he had only really begun to feel this love on the evening of their walk under the chestnut trees of the Tuileries. His life dated from then; he could still hear the laughter of a group of little girls, the distant fall of a jet of water, whilst in the warm shade she walked on beside him in silence. After that, he knew no more, his fever had increased hour by hour; all his blood, his whole being, in fact, had been given to her. And she, such a child—was it possible? When she passed by now, the slight gust from her dress seemed to him so powerful that he staggered.

For a long time he had struggled, and even now he frequently became indignant and endeavoured to free himself from this idiotic possession. What power was it she possessed that she should be able to bind him in this way? Had he not seen her without boots to her feet? Had she not been received almost out of charity? He could have understood had it been a question of one of those superb creatures who charm the multitude! but this little girl; this nobody! She had, in short, one of those insignificant faces which excite no remark. She could not even be very intelligent, for he remembered her bad beginning as a saleswoman. But, after every explosion of anger, he experienced a relapse of passion, a kind of sacred terror at having insulted his idol. She possessed everything a woman can have that is good—courage, gaiety, simplicity; and from her gentleness a charm of penetrating, perfume-like subtlety was exhaled. One might at first ignore her, or elbow her like any other girl; but the charm soon began to act with invincible force; and one belonged to her for ever, if she deigned to smile. Everything then beamed in her white face, her soft eyes, her cheeks and chin full of dimples; whilst her heavy blonde hair also seemed to light up with a royal and conquering beauty. He acknowledged himself vanquished; she was as intelligent as she was beautiful, her intelligence came from the best part of her being. Whilst in his eyes the other saleswomen only possessed a superficial education, the varnish which scales off from girls of that class, she, without any false elegance, retained her native grace, the savour of her origin. The broadest commercial ideas sprang up from her experience, behind her narrow forehead, whose pure lines clearly announced the presence of a firm will and love of order. And he could have clasped his hands to ask her pardon for blaspheming in his hours of revolt.

Why did she still refuse with such obstinacy? Twenty times had he entreated her, increasing his offers, offering money and more money. Then, thinking that she must be ambitious, he had promised to appoint her first-hand, as soon as there should be a vacancy. And she had refused, and still refused! For him it was a stupor, a struggle in which his desire became rageful.

All his days were now spent amidst the same grievous obsession. Denise's image rose with him. After he had dreamed of her all night, she followed him to the desk in his office, where he signed the bills and orders from nine to ten o'clock: a work which he accomplished mechanically, never ceasing to feel her present, still saying "no," with her quiet air. Then, at ten o'clock, came the board-meeting, quite a cabinet council composed of the twelve directors, at which he had to preside; they discussed matters affecting the in-door arrangements, examined the purchases, settled the window displays; and yet she was still there, he heard her soft voice amidst the figures, he saw her bright smile amidst the most complicated financial situations. After the board-meeting, she accompanied him on the daily inspection of the departments, and returning with him to his office in the afternoon, she remained close to his chair from two till four o'clock, whilst he received a crowd of important business men, the principal manufacturers of France, bankers and inventors: a continual coming-and-going of the wealth and intelligence of the land, a mad dance of millions, rapid interviews during which the biggest affairs of the Paris market were concluded. If he forgot her for a moment whilst he was deciding to ruin or support an industry, he found her again at a sudden twitch of his heart; his voice died away, and he asked himself what could be the use of this princely fortune since she still refused. At last, when five o'clock struck, he had to sign the day's correspondence, and the mechanical working of his hand began again, whilst she rose up before him more domineering than ever, seizing him entirely, to hold possession of him throughout the solitary and ardent hours of the night. And the morrows were the same days over again, days which were so active, so full of colossal labour but which the slight shadow of a child sufficed to ravage with anguish.

However, it was particularly during his daily inspection of the departments that he felt his misery. To have built up this giant machine, to reign over such a world of people, and yet to be dying of grief because a little girl would not accept him! He scorned himself, dragging the fever and shame of his pain about with him everywhere. On certain days he became disgusted with his power; from one end to the other of the galleries he felt nothing but nausea. At other times he would have wished to extend his empire, and make it so vast that she would perhaps have yielded out of sheer admiration and fear.

Or this bit is even better:

"Good heavens! I love you! I love you! Why do you delight in tormenting me like this? You can see that nothing else exists for me, that the people I speak about only touch me through you, that you alone can occupy my thoughts. Thinking you were jealous, I gave up all my pleasures. You were told I had mistresses; well! I have them no longer; I hardly set foot outside. Did I not prefer you at that lady's house? have I not quarrelled with her in order to belong solely to you? And I am still waiting for a word of thanks, a little gratitude. And if you fear that I should return to her, you may feel quite easy: she is avenging herself by helping one of our former salesmen to found a rival establishment. Tell me, must I go on my knees to touch your heart?"

He had come to this. He, who did not tolerate the slightest peccadillo among the shopwomen, who turned them out for the least caprice, found himself reduced to imploring one of them not to go away, not to abandon him in his misery! He held the door against her, ready to forgive her everything, to shut his eyes, if she merely deigned to lie. And he spoke the truth, he had quite reformed; he had long since given up Clara and had ceased to visit at Madame Desforges's house, where Bouthemont now reigned supreme, pending the opening of the new establishment, The Four Seasons, which was already filling the newspapers with its advertisements.

"Tell me, must I go on my knees?" he repeated, almost choked by suppressed tears.

And that delicious ending..

Then he took her hands, and, in an outburst of tenderness, after the long coldness he had imposed on himself exclaimed: "And if I asked you to marry me, Denise, would you still leave?"

But she rapidly drew her hands away, struggling as if under the influence of a great grief. "Oh! Monsieur Mouret! Pray say no more. Oh! don't cause me even greater pain than before! I cannot! I cannot! Heaven is my witness that I was going away to avoid such a misfortune!"

She continued to defend herself in broken sentences. Had she not already suffered too much from the gossip of the house? Did he wish her to pass in the eyes of others and his own for a worthless woman? No, no, she would be strong, she would certainly prevent him doing such a foolish thing. He, tortured, listened to her, repeating in a passionate tone: "I wish it. I wish it!"

"No, it's impossible. And my brothers? I have sworn not to marry. I cannot bring you those children, can I?"

"They shall be my brothers, too. Say yes, Denise."

"No, no, leave me. You are torturing me!"

Little by little he was losing his strength; this last obstacle drove him frantic. What! She still refused even at this price! In the distance he heard the clamour of his three thousand employees building up his immense fortune. And that idiotic million lying there! He suffered from it as from a sort of irony, he could have kicked it into the street.

"Go, then!" he cried at last in a flood of tears. "Go and join the man you love. That's the reason, isn't it? You warned me, I ought to have known it, and not have tormented you any further."

She stood there thunderstruck by the violence of this despair. Her own heart was bursting. And then, with the impetuosity of a child, she threw herself on his neck, sobbing also, and stammering: "Oh! Monsieur Mouret, it's you I love!"

A last murmur was rising from The Ladies' Paradise, the distant acclamation of a multitude. Madame Hédouin's portrait was still smiling, with its painted lips; Mouret had fallen on his table, on the million which he could no longer see. He did not quit Denise, but clasped her to his breast in a desperate embrace, telling her that she might now go, that she could spend a month at Valognes which would silence everybody, and that then he would go to fetch her himself, and bring her back, all-powerful, as his wedded wife.

You know, now that I think about it, that novel is DESIGNED for a Turkish show! They could just move it from Paris to Istanbul and do it.

Anyway, I think I want to reread it now mmmmm off on rereading I go.

#turkish tv #aziz #emile zola #books #quotes #au bonheur des dames

5 notes · View notes

blatterpussbunnyfromhell · 2 years

Quote

Il paraît qu'aujourd'hui ce sont les voleurs qui font fortune, tandis que les honnêtes gens meurent sur la paille... Voilà où nous en sommes, je suis obligé de m'incliner devant les faits.

Émile Zola, “Au Bonheur des Dames”

#vraiment ce livre ptaiiin #je l'AIME #au bonheur des dames #emile zola #books #literature #french literature #émile zola #french author #classic literature

8 notes · View notes

agnesmontague · 2 years

Text

i was approaching something like stability last week (narrator: this was not entirely true, but close enough for current purposes) before i idly checked the wikipedia page for thérèse raquin and learned for the first time in the entire decade i have known it that it was NOT part of the rougon-macquart like i had previously thought, shattering all semblance of security i had in my convictions which brings us to today where im lying here under two blankets, shivering

#rambles #realistically not all of zola could be R-M. i know this.#but also: almost all of his most famous ones are. nana. germinal. le ventre de paris. au bonheur des dames.#so i very naturally assumed the same for thérèse #i know im exaggerating a little for comedy but also i was sincerely shook to the fucking core i was so CERTAIN of it

6 notes · View notes

saunne · 5 months

Text

HSR THEORIES - PENACONY ANALYSIS

I guess I'm late to the game, but I'm normally a lore gremlin for Xianzhou lore, not Penacony lore. Anyways, don't expect something very elaborate, but you'll be able to find :

Reflection on the period based on history (Penal Colony)

Reflection on the period based on fashion (NPC in trailers)

Reflection on the period based on architecture (Art Deco)

Reflection on the period based on cultural shift (Railway Mania, Department Stores)

Reflection on lore based on Literature (Jules Vernes, Herman Melville)

Reflection on lore based on Philosophy (Idealism, Utilitarianism, Transcendental Idealism)

Everything under the cut as always since I tend to babble.

The name "Penacony" possibly comes from the phrase "penal colony".

I'm certainly not the first to make the connection, but "Penal Colony" inevitably brings to mind Australia. This idea of "Space Australia" is also reinforced by the names for the characters we know at the moment, with a very clear English etymology : Sunday, Robin, Gallagher, Firefly.

The use of Australia as a "penal colony" by England took place after the American War of Independence, so we start with a period around 1780 to ~1870.

youtube

We didn't get to see a lot of NPC outfits in this very short clip, but what little there is could actually correspond to a period like this. However, we had a little more hints in Honkai Star Rail - Penacony Trailer | Game Awards 2023, where we see Acheron at the reception of the Reverie hotel :

This NPC in particular is interesting, because of her gloves. It's called "evening gloves" or "opera gloves". They were popular during the Napoleonic period (1800-1825) but were also very fashionable in the last two decades of the 19th century, i.e. 1880-1900 and before WWI, i.e up to 1910.

In terms of temporality, it is also important to note what concerns the architecture of Penacony.

It was noted on Reddit that the style of architecture could be reminiscent of the French Art Deco style, an architectural movement predominant in the 1910s to 1920s. Art Deco is said to have represented "luxury, glamour, exuberance, and faith in social and technological progress", so quite fitting for Penacony. Key features were : geometric/sleek designs, bold colors, luxurious materials, things that we find in the previews.

We'll have to wait to see more from Penacony, but it might be interesting to see if there is also any inspiration from the previous movement, Art Nouveau 🤔

Another architectural thing :

Look up and see the metal tracks crisscrossing the skyscrapers and the Spheroids rapidly rolling along them. They are the most visible means of transportation in this dreamscape metropolis and guide guests to each and every place around the city. [x]

This part about the Spheroids is interesting, because during this period (starting from 1825, with a peak in the 1840s), there was in France and England what we called the Railway Mania.

This is a point of interest because the Railway Mania saw the the arrival of the railroads in Paris. When it happened, this caused another major cultural shift : the rise of Department Stores. There is even a well-known french novel on the subject, called Au Bonheur des Dames (The Ladies' Delight) by Emile Zola.

The end of the 19th century is also the period of birth of modern advertising and given the number of things that we see plastered all over Penacony, I think I can say that we are on the right track/period.

So, in terms of rough "era", we can go from 1780 to ~1920, so mostly the 19th century (1800-1900).

Speaking of period culture and Penacony in general, we currently have a Relic Set which I will use for the rest of the post: Penacony's Dream-Seeking Tracks

Opening a window no longer show a view of the stars in the deep sky, but of the city's shifting streams of light and shadows, holding up the constant echoes of giant clocks and theaters.

Okay, let's start with some details that I only noticed because I come from a literary studies background. I'm not going to lie to you, it's far-fetched, but stay with me, I promise it's interesting.

Giant clocks and theaters made me think "steampunk" works, whose setting are often set in an alternative history of the Victorian era (~1837 to 1900, so right in our period). One of the pioneering writers of the genre, “proto-steampunk” so to speak, is Jules Vernes, considered one of the "father of science fiction".

Remember Spheroids ? : "Spheroids are regarded as both vehicles and as toys in the land of dreams. However, few remember that the Spheroids are actually imprisonment cages — the vehicle towards dreams are tools originally used for locking up prisoners."

One of Jules Vernes' best-known novels is Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Seas, a science-fiction aventure novel the majority of which takes place aboard the Nautilus, a submarine belonging to Captain Nemo. And interesting thing, "he also tells his new passengers that his secret existence means he cannot let them leave — they must remain on board permanently" ; They are prisoners in the Nautilus.

On another point, Jules Vernes is also considered as having had a strong influence on the surrealist movement "in which artists depicted unnerving, illogical scenes and developed techniques to allow the unconscious mind to express itself. Its aim was, according to leader André Breton, to "resolve the previously contradictory conditions of dream and reality into an absolute reality, a super-reality", or surreality"." Quite fitting for our dream planet.

For the next one... Well. I have no excuse for this one, it's even more far-fetched. But so, we remain in the literary universe.

The water from the spring turn into a giant whale and swim through the halls.

Giant whale made me think of one thing almost immediately : Moby Dick, by Herman Mellville, published in 1851 (once again in our era of interest). Moby Dick is a "sea novel" centered around the figure of the hunt of a whale. It's main themes are the limits of knowledge, fate and free will, nature and man, race, fellowship, and enslavement, madness and religion [x].

I wont copy and paste the whole shtick but I send you check again The Family description from the Data Bank.

With that, we're done with literature... so it's time to move on to something else wonderful and terrible, the greatest enemy of my high school years (when you have to do it for 8 hours a week, it quickly becomes tiring), I named: PHILOSOPHY.

For a transcendent experience, for an inspirational excitement, for the soothing of worries and wounds — guests of the highest caliber come to surrender their pain in exchange for peace and tranquility

I'm not going to dwell on that for too long, quite honestly. I'll just... put that here for you to do whatever the fuck you want with it.

Idealism : "Idealism in philosophy, also known as philosophical idealism or metaphysical idealism, is the set of metaphysical perspectives asserting that, most fundamentally, reality is equivalent to mind, spirit, or consciousness; that reality is entirely a mental construct; or that ideas are the highest form of reality or have the greatest claim to being considered "real"

At some unknown point in time, the small cells cut off access to reality, but people's consciousnesses became linked in dreams. In the midnight bell, that shared dream seemed so real, reflecting the sheer hypocrisy of reality.

Utilitarianism : "a family of normative ethical theories that prescribe actions that maximize happiness and well-being for the affected individuals. In other words, utilitarian ideas encourage actions that ensure the greatest good for the greatest number."

Those who follow the "Harmony" Path admire understanding, support, and cooperative behavior.

In addition to all previously "said", one of the greatest thinkers of the time, who is also the one at the origin of the definition of transcendent, is Immanuel Kant. His best known work is Critique of Pure Reason (1781), with which "he aims to reach a decision about "the possibility or impossibility of metaphysics".

Metaphysics "is the branch of philosophy that studies the fundamental nature of reality. This includes the first principles of: being or existence, identity, change, space and time, cause and effect, necessity, actuality, and possibility."

This work was the founding work of a philosophical doctrine known under the name of Transcendental Idealism. I'll spare you the convoluted explanations but look at that :

The scenery gradually becomes more and more incredulous, and the senses feel as if one has been lifted by silk. [...] The guests finally realize that they were never awake, but are instead witnessing Penacony's true nature in a dream — a place where time stops in a neverending dreamscape.

"Kant means that his philosophical approach to knowledge transcends mere consideration of sensory evidence and requires an understanding of the mind's innate modes of processing that sensory evidence".

"Kant outlines how space and time are pure forms of human intuition contributed by our own faculty of sensibility. Space and time do not have an existence "outside" of us, but are the "subjective" forms of our sensibility".

#hsr #honkai star rail #penacony #hsr penacony #honkai star rail theory #hsr 2.0

69 notes · View notes

homomenhommes · 20 days

Text

Un brin de muguet dans la main d'un manifestant, le 1er mai 2016

1er mai : pourquoi s’offre-t-on du muguet pour la Fête du Travail ?

Comme un symbole du printemps et des beaux jours qui reviennent... Le muguet refleurit dans les rues de France tous les ans, au 1er mai. Une tradition botanique qui tire ses origines de la Renaissance.

À cette époque, le muguet devient en effet un porte-bonheur que l'on offre à cette période de l'année depuis le roi Charles IX. C'est lui, en 1561, qui officialise la tradition d'en offrir chaque printemps aux dames de sa cour, après en avoir reçu en cadeau du chevalier Louis de Girard de Maisonforte.

Charmé par cette pratique, le jeune souverain aurait alors décidé de la pérenniser : "Qu'il en soit fait ainsi chaque année". Un rituel royal qui s'étend au peuple dans les années 1900. Le brin de muguet ne sera associé à la fête du Travail que des années plus tard

et c’est Pétain qui impose le muguet à la place de l’églantine trop prolétarienne, trop "rouge", trop révolutionnaire (et oui, ça fait un peu mal hein….)

12 notes · View notes

tournevole · 1 month

Text

Un peu de musique - Victor Hugo

Écoutez ! — Comme un nid qui murmure invisible, Un bruit confus s’approche, et des rires, des voix, Des pas, sortent du fond vertigineux des bois. Et voici qu’à travers la grande forêt brune Qu’emplit la rêverie immense de la lune, On entend frissonner et vibrer mollement, Communiquant aux bois son doux frémissement, La guitare des monts d’Inspruck, reconnaissable Au grelot de son manche où sonne un grain de sable ; Il s’y mêle la voix d’un homme, et ce frisson Prend un sens et devient une vague chanson : « Si tu veux, faisons un rêve : Montons sur deux palefrois ; Tu m’emmènes, je t’enlève. L’oiseau chante dans les bois.

« Je suis ton maître et ta proie ; Partons, c’est la fin du jour ; Mon cheval sera la joie, Ton cheval sera l’amour. « Nous ferons toucher leurs têtes ; Les voyages sont aisés ; Nous donnerons à ces bêtes Une avoine de baisers. « Viens ! nos doux chevaux mensonges Frappent du pied tous les deux, Le mien au fond de mes songes, Et le tien au fond des cieux. « Un bagage est nécessaire ; Nous emporterons nos vœux, Nos bonheurs, notre misère, Et la fleur de tes cheveux. « Viens, le soir brunit les chênes ; Le moineau rit ; ce moqueur Entend le doux bruit des chaînes Que tu m’as mises au cœur.

« Ce ne sera point ma faute Si les forêts et les monts, En nous voyant côte à côte, Ne murmurent pas : « Aimons ! » « Viens, sois tendre, je suis ivre. Ô les verts taillis mouillés ! Ton souffle te fera suivre Des papillons réveillés. « L’envieux oiseau nocturne, Triste, ouvrira son œil rond ; Les nymphes, penchant leur urne, Dans les grottes souriront ; « Et diront : « Sommes-nous folles ! « C’est Léandre avec Héro ; « En écoutant leurs paroles « Nous laissons tomber notre eau. » « Allons-nous-en par l’Autriche ! Nous aurons l’aube à nos fronts ; Je serai grand, et toi riche, Puisque nous nous aimerons. « Allons-nous-en par la terre, Sur nos deux chevaux charmants, Dans l’azur, dans le mystère, Dans les éblouissements ! « Nous entrerons à l’auberge, Et nous paîrons l’hôtelier De ton sourire de vierge, De mon bonjour d’écolier. « Tu seras dame, et moi comte ; Viens, mon cœur s’épanouit ; Viens, nous conterons ce conte Aux étoiles de la nuit. » La mélodie encor quelques instants se traîne Sous les arbres bleuis par la lune sereine, Puis tremble, puis expire, et la voix qui chantait S’éteint comme un oiseau se pose ; tout se tait.

19ème siècle, Poèmes, Victor Hugo

7 notes · View notes

cinenthusiast · 1 month

Text

my Top Ten By Year Zine: 1930 is now on sale! i am not expecting any traction here but i figured what the hell! i have spent the last many months working on this 20-page zine dedicated to a year from one of film history's most fascinating micro-eras (Sound Gets Situated). having ten films to write about is both a jumping off-point and culmination but it's about so much more than that. it's about traversing through a year in film to the best of my ability, picking up memories and observations along the way. this zine features original collage work on every page, an essay, memories across over 50 films from 1930, and writing on 10 films of my choosing (people on sunday, city girl, king of jazz, madam satan, "dance of the hands", the big house, au bonheur des dames, ladies of leisure, laughter, and liliom). this is a labor of love for anyone who loves or appreciates film.

9 notes · View notes

oldfilmsflicker · 1 year

Photo

Au Bonheur des Dames, 1930 (dir. Julien Duvivier)

#Au Bonheur des Dames #Julien Duvivier #DIta Parlo #silent film

109 notes · View notes

tournoi-francophone · 1 year

Text

Matchs de Poule

Bonjour à tous.tes, on a reçu énormément de suggestions, c'était super. En tout on a 160 livres et BD pour le tournoi ! On va donc commencer par des poules, pour ne garder que 64 livres. Les groupes sont notés ci-dessous (on ajoutera les liens pour les votes au-fur et à mesure qu'ils seront publiés), il y en a 32. Les deux livres recevant le plus de votes de chaque groupes seront séléctionnés pour la suite du tournoi.

Groupe 1 Le Château d'Anne Hiversaire ; Le Petit Prince ; Les Chants de Maldoror ; La Geste des Chevaliers Dragons ; L'Incal

Groupe 2 Les Furtifs ; Un Jacques Cartier Errant ; Même pas Mort ; Yoko Tsuno ; Les Trois Mousquetaires

Groupe 3 Un Sac de Billes ; Malpertuis ; Vango ; Mémoires de Louise Michel ; Les Schtroumpfs

Groupe 4 Femmes d'Alger dans leur appartement ; La Quête de l'Oiseau du Temps ; Bérénice ; La Rose Ecarlate : Vingt Mille Lieues sous les mers

Groupe 5 U4 ; Le Jardin, Paris ; La Passe Miroir ; Romancero aux étoiles ; L'île mystérieuse

Groupe 6 Les 4 As ; Les amis inconnus ; Tobi Lolness ; Persepolis ; Le Jeu de l'Amour et du Hasard

Groupe 7 Vendredi ou la vie sauvage ; L'Autre ; Oh boy! ; Julie, Claire, Cécile ; Le Journal Tintin

Groupe 8 Etudes et Préludes ; Lou! ; Sur les Terres d'Horus ; L'élégance du Hérisson ; Parle-leur de batailles, de rois et d'éléphants

Groupe 9 Lancelot-Graal ; Les Fleurs du Mal ; Chien Blanc ; Mélusine ; Une Tempête

Groupe 10 La Métaphysique du Vampire ; Pot Bouille ; Les Mémoires d'Hadrien ; La bête humaine ; Le Misanthrope

Groupe 11 Tara Duncan ; Trois Oboles pour Charon ; Gaspard de la nuit ; Le Pacte des Marchombres ; Sambre

Groupe 12 Kid Paddle ; Père Castor ; Dom Juan ; Ces Jours qui Disparaissent ; Le Message

Groupe 13 Astérix ; Les animaux dénaturés ; Fantômette ; Germinal ; Mathieu Hidalf

Groupe 14 Le Cid ; Les Carnets de Cerise ; Tant qu'il le faudra ; Rhinoceros ; Dans la Nuit Blanche et Rouge

Groupe 15 Thorgal ; L'arbre à soleils ; Les Faux Monnayeurs ; Alcools ; La Mécanique de Cœur

Groupe 16 Aya de Yopougon ; Chat Noir ; Blake et Mortimer ; Le Survenant ; Le Deuxième Sexe

Groupe 17 Au Bonheur des Dames ; Nadja ; Mille francs de récompense ; Le tour du monde en 80 jours ; Le Butterlyland

Groupe 18 A comme Association ; La Nuit des Temps ; La Guerre de Troie n'aura pas lieu ; Quatrevingt-treize ; Une Famille aux Petits Oignons (Histoires des Jean-Quelque-Chose)

Groupe 19 Le forçat innocent ; Phaenomen ; A la mystérieuse ; Le Livre des Etoiles ; Le Livre de Perle

Groupe 20 L'écume des jours ; Max et Lily ; Petit Ours Brun ; Les Dingodossiers ; Cyrano de Bergerac

Groupe 21 Thérèse Desqueyroux ; La fin du monde ; 47 cordes ; Garin Trousseboeuf ; Oksa Pollock

Groupe 22 Le Grand Secret ; Lucky Luke ; L'Illusion Comique ; Pardonnez nos offenses ; Les Liaisons Dangereuses

Groupe 23 Un Secret ; Fortunes ; Querelle de Roberval ; Manuel de savoir-vivre à l'usage des rustres et des malpolis ; 38 mini westerns (avec des fantômes)

Groupe 24 Les Misérables ; Magarcane ; Frangine ; Les Eveilleurs ; Archives des Anges

Groupe 25 Le Dit de Vertigen ; Spirou et Fantasio ; Antigone ; Le Prince Eric ; Les Colombes du Roi-Soleil

Groupe 26 Cédric ; Sept Jours pour une Eternité ; La Petite Fille de Monsieur Linhl ; Gouverneurs de la Rosée ; Gaston Lagaffe

Groupe 27 Corps et Âmes ; Claudine ; L'œil du loup ; Boule et Bill ; Le Dernier Jour d'un Condamné

Groupe 28 Les Fables de La Fontaine ; La Dame Pale ; Chansons ; Marsupilami ; Les Aventures de Loupio

Groupe 29 L'Enfant de la haute mer ; Du Domaine des Murmures ; La Bibliothécaire ; Ondine ; Dieu n'a pas réponse à tout

Groupe 30 Le Horla ; Réparer les Vivants ; Freaks' Squeele ; De Cape et de Crocs ; L'automne à Pékin

Groupe 32 Les Derniers Contes de Canterbury ; Le Compte de Monte-Cristo ; Storm ; Manifeste Assi ; Les Lumières d'Oudja

#bande dessinée #france #french #french side of tumblr #frenchblr #littérature francophone #upthebaguette #français #littérature française #francophone #info !!

30 notes · View notes

mywrittengartgallery · 1 year

Text

PEDRI - Une page d’amour

Words : 2,5k

Warning : Fluff

Summary : Here you were again, wrapping books at the bookshop until a certain someone would come pick you up (part 2 of Au bonheur des dames)

☁️

“I’m going to buy it after practice Fernando, don’t worry!”

“I’m sorry, it’s just really complicated right now...”

“I know, it’s okay! I mean, it’s not like I haven’t already done that alone last year.” Pedri laughed. His brother hadn’t had the time to buy a Christmas present for their mom and with Pedri being away for the World Cup and going back to training with the FCB, well there was no present now. So, Pedri finally decided to take the situation in his own hands.

“What? I was with you, I even remember you throwing a tantrum!”

---

You had been looking at the time on your phone for the last twenty minutes. You sighed as you crossed your arms on the table, placing your head on top of them while looking at the glittering garlands decking the Christmas tree. The bookshop was clearly not crowded, the opposite actually. There was no one, literally, and so you were stuck there doing nothing. You weren’t even an employee so you couldn’t help them storing the new arrivals or check the accounts. Here you were, desperately wanting the time to go faster. Fifteen minutes, it was the time remaining before the shop would close. Another sigh left your lips. You may add that you couldn’t even leave early because one client could possibly arrive, you doubted that though, but still. So you couldn’t leave your post like that. People coming last minute are asshole you thought, and if you had to wrap another book in the next minutes, well you wouldn’t do anything but you would swear at them in your brain. You wouldn’t have any pity.

“Excuse me? would you happen to have ‘Páginas de amor’ by Émile Zola ?”

You looked up, surprised. Your gaze met a warm one, accompanied with a small smile and rosy cheeks probably due to the cold outside.

“It’s ‘Una página de amor’, try with that, you might find it...” you tried to stay serious, feigning annoyance and avoiding his eyes. It was hard though, especially when you heard his contagious laugh. It wasn’t loud but it felt like it was booming to you, it clearly was the most beautiful sound you’ve had ever heard.

Pedri gently put down the book he had been holding on your table in order to take the pair of scissors that had been sitting there. You watched him intently, fascinated by his antics and the way he moved. He looked so natural there, comfy. This boy could make your heart race just by being there, you were pretty sure that wasn’t healthy.

“Could use some help, babe” he said, smirk evident in his voice. He knew he had just ended your moment of zoning out thinking of him. Maybe he could make your heart race, but he also could get on your nerves easily. You stuck out your tongue out and made some space on your chair so he could sit on it, pressed right next to you. He did just that, bumping his shoulder with yours and lightly kicking your ankle. God, he was a kid. You unrolled the wrapping paper and put the book he had brought in the middle, then, you showed him where to cut. He would give you the tape after you had folded the corners neatly and would cut the ribbons of the colors he wanted, before leaving them to you to curl. You were a good team, you couldn’t deny that.

“Here it is mister, the present for your mom!” you said, smiling while handing it to him. He had this amused grin that just brought sparks into your heart because it was so genuine and so reserved to the people he loved.

“Thanks, but I wouldn’t recommend you though!” a fake frown washed over his features, “Since when do clients need to do the wrapping themselves ?”

You laughed, with your entire heart, and pretended to punch him in the arm. “You’re silly...”

At that, he only shrugged and put his arm around your shoulders to bring you closer. He pressed a kiss to your temple, which made your cheeks warm.

“Y/N, we are closing soon so you’re free to leave” said the young employee, a broom in hand, and a knowing smile on his face. You’ve never really went public with Pedri, so not a lot of people were aware that this type of scene could happen. However, you knew that Mathias, the employee, had some suspicions when he saw you recently getting picked up by a Green Mini. What a coincidence ? Just when the Spanish national team was back from the World Cup. Mathias had quite surprised you, so you had put some distance between the two of you by reflex, your blush only accentuating. You nodded, followed by Pedri, and stood up, again, followed by Pedri. The athlete was watching you with amusement, you were so flustered, trying to occupy your hands to look like you weren’t affected at all by the situation. You tried to tidy the table by putting all the remaining ribbons in a small clear box, throwing away the way too small paper scraps in the trash behind you.

“Mathias, could you put this in the storage room please ?” you asked, still shy from what had happened, while showing him the box where people would donate. You couldn’t really leave it there like that, it was best that it would stay in a storage room, completely locked and with limited access. He nodded and took it from you, doing it right away. You thanked him and focused back on what you were doing. At the same time, Pedri had put your tote-bag on the table, putting your things inside. He also had pushed the chair under the table and was holding your coat in his hand, the one that wasn’t gripping your bag.

“Here” you turned around when you heard him, throwing him a thankful smile as he helped you putting on the clothe that would keep you warm, well physically, because otherwise, Pedri was there. He then took your hand, intertwining your fingers with his. You squeezed it tightly before relaxing your grip, you didn’t really know why you had taken the habit to do it every time he would grab your hand, but now it was your thing. You were pretty sure that he would be worried if you weren’t to do it. So you did it, collecting a meaningful smile on the way, and started following him towards the exit, watching as most of the lights were being switched off and some others dimmed a little bit.

“Where did you put your gift?” you asked suddenly, worried that he had forgotten it on the table.

“It’s in your bag” he said cheekily, proudly showing you that he was holding it as the gentlemen that he was. You rolled your eyes and shoved him lightly, now finally walking through the door. The air was cooler than it had been the rest of the day, it was probably due to the soft breeze coming from the sea or maybe winter did that. It was hard to say in Barcelona, winter here was most of the time sweet, never making you freeze. Pedri gently tugged at your arm to bring you to his car. He had parked it right in front of the shop, and you felt relief, you were so tired and you clearly didn’t feel like walking, especially towards the nearest parking which was still too far for your liking.

You got in the car, quickly connecting your phone to the bluetooth so you could choose the music. You liked Quevedo for sure, but listening to him day and night was too much. Instead, you opted for some Joji, setting the mood. Pedri would certainly complain, you knew it, but you also knew that he secretly loved his music. While you were doing your things, your boyfriend had shut the trunk and finally climbed in the car.

“Y/N!” he whined. Told you so.

“What?”

He didn’t say anything more, just sighing as he surrendered. You had been separated for too long with everything going on in your schedules and sure, you had been reunited last week but it was still too fresh, and when it was like that, Pedri couldn’t deny you anything. He liked your smile way too much and listening to Joji made you smile, plus it just reminded him of you. So he would take it, being engulfed in you, his senses driven by you. In the end, he hid his smile and drove in the night, passing by the sea and neighborhoods you loved. It took around twenty minutes for you two to arrive at your place. A small apartment complex that mostly hosted students like you. It was nice, small and minimalist, you couldn’t really afford more, but it was pretty new and this part of the town was pretty calm. You loved it.

“Here we are” the Canary said as he stopped the car. You were reluctant to leave, wanting more and more of him. So, you just stayed there watching him looking at you. He caught your hand, playing with your fingers absentmindedly, letting the romantic sound of the music keeping you in a loving bubble. He quietly leant down and kissed you, slowly. It was the sweetest one you had had in a long time and it made you smile in the kiss, that’s all you wanted. His other hand was cupping your cheek, his touch was so gentle that it had you melting in it. You grabbed his wrist to try to ground you as you deepened it a little by pushing your own a body forward. It was just a pure demonstration of love. Sometimes, words weren’t enough to describe what you felt for him and Pedri was even less talkative in this aspect, but these moments told you enough.

He broke the kiss in order to look at you in the eye, you had a shy blush and your lips were pinkish. That made him feel so full, he didn’t know why but that led him to not knowing what to do with himself. That’s why he leant down again, like an impulse had taken over him, to place a small peck at the tip of your nose. You had scrunched your nose at the action. You were the cutest.

“Happy one year, Y/N” he had whispered it. With a frown on your delicate face, you met his eyes, confused.

“Our anniversary is in January...” you said. Had you missed something? The 20th of January 2022, Pedri had asked you out. It had been a cold night where you had been feeling so stressed by school, especially by the anatomy’s course, that you had to do something to make you think about something else. You and Pedri had been hanging out frequently for a month now, as friends, well at least you thought. So, you had thought that calling him at eleven P.M to go on a walk wasn’t that out of place. He had agreed, without even having you pushing him. You had met him in the hall of your building, waiting for you. All night you had had this expectant feeling and you didn’t know what for. The boy had given you answers though, at the end of your walk, back to your building. You had been laughing at one of his jokes, it wasn’t that funny, but he did that to you. However, he had stopped laughing, it had been sudden, and even if a smile was still adorning his face, your insides were churning. That was when he had asked you to go out with him, voice soft and shy. You had been expecting him to make a move, even if you weren’t aware of it, and the butterflies that exploded in your stomach were just the proof you needed.

“We met a year ago” it was a simple sentence but the warmth it brought you was unnamed. He had counted the days since you met, he had put his eyes on you the day he met you, remembering the day it all began. That brought such warmth to your heart, this boy was the love of your life, you were sure of that. So you snaked your arms around his neck, kissing him trying hard to make him know how much you loved him, how much you were thankful to have him in your life. He reciprocated it making it last minutes. You finally broke apart to try to gain back your breathe.

“Happy anniversary, then!” you exclaimed, earning a giggle from him.

“I also pick you up tomorrow?”

You nodded excitedly, your arms tightening around his neck. “It will be our first Christmas together heh!” well, not really on Christmas Day but both of you would spend it with your families, meaning you had to go back to your native city. That’s why you had decided to celebrate it tomorrow night, just you and him in your flat. You couldn’t wait to have him all for yourself an entire night, in this magical ambiance. It had been too too long, you needed it.

“I love it!” and he was genuine, you knew it at the small wrinkles the corners of his eyes offered when his smiled. You pecked him on the lips and finally detached yourself from the boy, disconnecting your phone and fiddling with the belt. While you were doing so, he had put his head on the headrest, watching you intently with pure endearment emanating from his eyes. You looked up again.

“See you tomorrow” you said right before kissing him, losing yourself in his taste, the way his lips felt against yours and how he fitted you. He pecked your lips again before resting his forehead against yours, a lazy smile on his face.

“Of course, love”

That’s how you left his car, taking your things out of his trunk and reluctantly going to your building. You missed him like crazy.

The feeling intensified when you found a wrapping paper scrap in your bag, a little crumpled on the edge. You could recognize Pedri’s handwriting anywhere, a wide grin appeared on your face when you saw that he had used one of your pink, glittery pen. If missing him was the major feeling, the feeling of being loved was there too.

“ Sleep tight, mi amor ♡ ”

---

“Bro, you’re late!” Ansu pointed out, feigning annoyance as he stepped on the side to let Pedri inside.

“Sorry, had to go buy a present for my mom.” he said while taking off his shoes. He could hear Ferran’s hysterical laugh as Gavi was screaming. He surely was losing.

“This seems oddly familiar...” whispered the slightly oldest of the two. He shrugged, denying himself the need to dwell on it and went to the living room, followed by Pedri. This time the Canary wasn’t blushing and certainly not blaming it on the cold. No, now he was smiling warmly, a tingly feeling nagging at his heart while he thought about a cute girl his age that had wrapped his mom’s present and who he had brought home.

☁️

I hope you liked it! English isn’t my first language so I hope I didn’t make too many mistakes!

Don’t be shy and tell me what you thought of it.

#pedri #pedri imagine #pedro gonzalez #pedri fic #fcb #barca #football #gavi #la liga #fc barca #fluff #football fanfic #football scenarios #football imagines #fanfic #barcelona #spanish nt

138 notes · View notes

coquelicoq · 9 months

Note

First I'd like to say, it's a pretty impressive list of french books to have read in only 12 months! (even for a french speaker ngl).

I'm not super well versed in classic literature, novel wise (tho I liked "le dernier jour d'un condamné" by Hugo, "la promesse de l'aube" by Romain Gary, and as cliché as it may be I adore "le petit prince") but if you like theater ! In classics I’d recommend "Phèdre" and "Iphigénie" by Racine, Molière ("le malade imaginaire" and "les fourberies de scapin" are personal favorites),"Hernani" by Hugo again (♡♡), and for more modern stuff "Rhinocéros" and "la cantatrice chauve" by Ionesco. Oh, and "Huis Clos" by Sartre!

In poetry, first of all I think Villon is a great, and brave choice especially if you have it in old french (one of my all time favorite poem is his, "la ballade des pendus"). Otherwise, Baudelaire, Rimbaud, Verlaine and Apollinaire !

In a bit more modern things, if you liked Queneau I’d say give "Zazie dans le métro" a try – tho the way he plays with vocabulary and spelling in this one can be challenging (but it is very fun). Then "Au bonheur des ogres" and "La fée carabine" by Daniel Pennac (I assume the rest of "La saga malaussène" is good too but I have only read those two so far), "escalier C" by Elvire Murail (this one is a big big big fave of mine ♡♡♡), "mercure"by Amélie Nothomb (she’s super prolific but this is the one I remember really enjoying).

For sci-fi, I realize I am not very up to date with what french literature proposes. It’s been quite some time but I remember enjoying “le cycle des fourmis” and “les thanatonautes” + “l’empire des anges” by Bernard Werber. Also “les lutteurs immobiles” by Serge Brussolo. My mother is a harcore fan of Pierre Bordage, so I will slip his name here too. Then I don’t know if you enjoy reading short stories, but in between some scifi/fantasy/fantastique I can rec “la vieille anglaise et le continent – et autres récits” by Jeanne-A Débats, “notre dame aux écailles” and “le jardin des silences” by Mélanie Fazi, Oh and in … I guess technically fantasy? But bordering historical fiction bc of the realism, “chien du heaume” and the next one “mordre le bouclier” by Justine Niogret are two very good short novels.

I am probably missing a ton of great titles, but my brain is failing me and I have very few books in french here (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ) (most of them stayed, well. In France). But this makes me think I really need to get back into actually reading in french – so I am adding Valérie Perrin to my lists for sure!

omg thank you for these recs!! this is so detailed and specific, i love it. you're reminding me i've read several of these before, like i had forgotten about rhinocéros but we read it in high school and i really loved it! i should reread that and/or read some other ionesco for sure. speaking of absurdist plays, have you read en attendant godot? i've read it in english but i know it was in french originally so i've been thinking about trying that. big fan of french absurdism.

i also read a lot of molière in high school french classes (i remember giving an extremely boring and long-winded presentation (for everyone else; i was super into it) on his plays to my english class for some reason??), which is how i first learned what a cuckold is lol. and of course we read some baudelaire but i really want to revisit him! also omg apollinaire is the calligramme guy, right? those rewired my brain. i will check out more of his stuff for sure. and it's good to have the names of some other heavy hitters so i can expand out to cover more than was included in my formal education obvi. (like i have read zero racine? which seems like an oversight in curriculum, but what do i know.)

i do have villon in old french 😩 or i guess technically middle french is what he was writing in. the reason i've been putting it off is that right after the preface there's a four-page section on "graphie et prononciation" and i was just like hmmmm is this really something i need to be introducing into my life at this formative time. like i'm still sort of coming to terms with modern french spelling and pronunciation and this seems like it might just confuse me. so i might not be quite ready, but it's here for me when i've leveled up lol.

i loved the one book by queneau i've read so far, so i super appreciate getting recs for other works by him. and i read one amélie nothomb a few years ago, but when i went to look at what else i could read by her i got so overwhelmed by the sheer number that i couldn't pick! so it's good to have your suggestion for a particular title 😊 i've not heard of the other people you mentioned but will look into them!

thank you so much for pointing me in some scifi/fantasy directions 👀📝 i will take a look at these authors and titles...

yeah i super recommend changer l'eau des fleurs, and i know valérie perrin has written at least two other novels, so i'm gonna try to get my hands on those! the challenge now is that whenever i try to buy books from overseas my credit card company marks it as fraud and cancels the transaction lol. my grandmother found this us-based company that imports books from france and really wants to get me some more french-language books for christmas, but their selection isn't huge. this gives me lots of ideas though and i'm sure they will have at least some of the books you mentioned! thank you again, you really came through 🥰🥰

#always looking out for me...you're a legend for real #french #to read #asks #not anon #also le petit prince is cliche FOR A REASON #absolute classic. i haven't reread but only because 1) i don't own it and 2) it is extremely emotionally potent and i'm not sure i am #in a place to have my heart dissected right now #mais si tu m'apprivoises ma vie sera comme ensoleillée...#j'y gagne à cause de la couleur du blé.#<-GET OUTTA HERE WITH THAT SHIT! I'M TRYING TO LIVE MY LIFE!!!!

16 notes · View notes