#Le Premier Bonheur du jour

[reckonslepoisson]

Tous les garçons et les filles (1962), Le Premier Bonheur du jour (1963), Mon amie la rose (1964), L'amitié (1965), La maison où j'ai grandi (1966), Ma jeunesse fout le camp… (1967), Comment te dire adieu (1968), Françoise Hardy

There’s a tendency to assume all French music (and all French people, for that matter), are elegant and sophisticated, an assumption which is of course severely mistaken and rather silly, though several cultural figures have, over the years, fed it. Françoise Hardy is one of those cool Frenchies, with her classic sort of presented Frenchness – but she was also atypical. Hardy’s opening decade shows her distinction from the start, the extent to which her style was not just classier and less coquettish than most yé-yé girls but also unforcedly refined. How could one listen to this and not be seduced by a sense of sophistication? Perhaps I’ll be made a Francophile yet.

Pick(s): ‘Le temps de l’amour’, ‘Nous tous’, ‘Je veux qu’il revienne’, ‘Ce n’est pas un rêve’, ‘Je changerais d’avis (se telefonado)’, ‘Voilá’, ‘Comment te dire adieu’

[hystericalchemicalreaction]

le premier bonheur du jour c'est un ruban de soleil qui s'enroule sur ta main et caresse mon épaule *** c'est le souffle de la mer et la plage qui attend

[rastronomicals]

3:45 AM EST November 14, 2023:

Os Mutantes - "Le Premier Bonheur Du Jour" From the album Os Mutantes (June 1968)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

File under: Tropicalia

[agent-cupcake]

Flashbang

Chapter 2 - Le premier bonheur du jour

Spotify Playlist / All Chapters / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 /Chapter 7/ Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 pt.1 / Chapter 9 pt.2 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12

Pairing: One Piece Live Action Buggy x f! Reader

Synopsis: What happened while you were blackout drunk? What is your actual job on the crew? Why is there a lion on this pirate ship? These questions and more are left unanswered as you stumble your way through your first day on Captain Buggy's crew.

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse

Word Count: 6.8k

“The first delight of the day Is a ribbon of sunlight It's the fresh breath of the sea And it’s the beach that awaits The first sorrow of the day Is the door that closes shut But soon after you come back And my life resumes its course."

x

Waking up, all you knew was that you were cold. Freezing, really, shivering so hard that you felt your bones tremble. It was because you weren’t dressed properly. You never slept in your underwear. You forced your bleary eye open and looked off the side of the bed, spotting your bag haphazardly abandoned alongside your boots and bandana. Bracing yourself for the chilly air, you pulled the blanket along like a cape to grab your bag, quickly retreating. Even that small movement left your head spinning painfully, a headache pounding twice into your skull, once at the base and again at the left temple. At least all of your clothes were clean, even if they had been mushed into a wrinkled ball. Moving as fast as possible you put on leggings and a sweater, tugging your fingers through your hair before pulling the bandana over your eye. After that, you huddled back under the blanket, staring at nothing and waiting for the shivers to stop. 

Between the headache and the cold, the only thing you wanted was to go back to sleep. That was the best way to deal with pain, or chills, or hunger, or whatever else you felt. If you were asleep, those things became automatic, you didn’t have to deal with them. 

You were halfway under when somebody knocked. 

At first, you hoped it was in your head. A dream. They knocked again, louder, calling your name. That was the thing to wake up the part of your mind that had been sleeping so soundly, that made you realize how wrong the situation was. 

Slowly, you sat up, looking around. You had slept in a bed that did not belong to you, wearing nothing except your underwear, in a room you had never seen before. The bed itself was set into the wall and hung with thick, velvety curtains. Windows lined the far wall, but they were covered enough to let in only the barest amount of light with more curtains and a familiar Jolly Roger, one with a red clown nose. After you recognized that, everything else fit into place. The desk littered with shiny clutter, the red and white theming, the odd mixture of grunge and opulence. You were on a ship. 

The person knocked again. Growing nervous, you threw off the blankets and pulled on your boots, slinging your bag over your shoulder. You had to cross through an anteroom to get to the door. It exchanged a desk and bed for couches, but was fundamentally the same. The air was cold. You opened enough so you could peer through the crack. Crina stood there, looking impatient. 

“So you are alive,” she said, giving you a once over with smokey dark eyes. “Barely.”

You opened the door a little further, blinking against the light. “What time is it?” you asked, your voice hoarse. 

“Nearly noon. Some ships were spotted so we had to leave earlier than expected, I’m surprised you slept through it all.”

You blinked, trying to make sense of what she was saying. Everything was blurry, bleary, a puzzle with a picture so worn you couldn’t make sense of it. 

“Did you have fun last night?” Crina asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I… I guess…” you said, confused. You remembered the drinking, and talking, and laughing, but the specifics were lost in a blurry whirl. “What time is it?” 

Crina rolled her eyes. “Okay, come on. You shouldn’t be in there.” She didn’t wait to see if you complied before turning around. You followed, stumbling a bit before getting your balance and shutting the door behind you. “Those were the captain’s quarters, and these are the officer’s rooms,” she said as you passed a few more doors. 

“That was Captain Buggy’s room?” you asked, your brain chugging to play catch up. The headache was awful. 

She shot you a frown over her shoulder. “You don’t remember?” 

“No.”

She shook her head, although you couldn’t see her expression. “We’re going down to the officer’s mess. Careful on the ladder.” 

She turned from the narrow hall to an equally narrow drop of steps, easily descending. Dizzy and a little sick, you didn’t match her grace, but you managed to avoid falling. 

With your recollection of the ships you had been on when you were young, you expected the officer’s mess to be fitted with elegant yet utilitarian finishings. Modest, but not so much that it forgot civilization. And, in another life, perhaps it had been. Now it was a pirate vessel, and they did what pirates always did. Various props lined the walls, batons and boxes and fabric and wheels and all kinds of other things. Red and white striped banners hung across support beams as if to mimic a big top tent. Signs of age and destruction were everywhere, indication of the tumultuous seizure, but it had once been a fine vessel. Crina didn’t pause to let you gawk, indifferent to the decor as she led you to another narrow hall and turned. You got an odd sense of deja vu there, pausing. 

“Are we going to the infirmary?” you asked, steadying yourself against the wall. 

“Yes,” Crina said as she unlocked the door. “You’ve sailed before?” 

“When I was young,” you said. “My dad was-” You cut yourself off there, realizing that the end of that statement wasn’t something you should reveal. Marines were the enemies of pirates. It wouldn’t look very good if you suddenly revealed that you were the daughter of a Marine Captain, retired or not. “That was a long time ago.” 

“I see,” she responded impassively, opening the door for you.  

The smell hit you hard, like a brick to the face. Scent formed a sort of endless memory, one so ingrained into your mind that you didn’t know exactly where it came from, that you couldn’t remember independently but never forgot. Your body locked up, arrested by the familiarity. Perhaps it was what every ship infirmary smelled of, even masked with the sweet aroma of incense and smoke.

“What are you doing?” Crina asked. 

You shook your head quickly, holding your breath as you hurried in. It wasn’t like it was actually the same. The room looked far more like a place of mysticism than medicine, with a rainbow of glass bottles lining the far wall, herbs hanging to dry, and scarfs draped to hide the stark wall. It wasn’t even slightly the same. Slowly, you released your held breath. It was fine. 

“Sit,” Crina told you, shutting the door and immediately busying herself at the sideboard. You sat down on the table-like bed set into the wall, your shoulders and head immediately drooping. The surface was hard, meant for surgery rather than sleeping, but you didn’t care. With the weight of your head, you would have happily drooped down onto the floor. “Have you ever been drunk before last night?” 

“No.” 

“How do you feel?” 

“Tired,” you answered. “My head really hurts.” 

“Of course it does, you’re dehydrated,” she said, pouring water into a tin cup. The sound alone perked you up, made your parched tongue that much more dry. She added a spoon of powder before turning and offering it to you.

“Thank you,” you said, taking the cup. You intended to take it slow, but the second you got a taste of water, you couldn’t stop until it was gone.

“That’s two times,” Crina said when you were done and wiping your lips. “Two times that I could have poisoned you.” 

You frowned, looking down at the cup and back up at her. “That was medicine, wasn’t it? Like before.” 

“It’s already in your body, it doesn’t matter if you know what it was.” 

You averted your gaze, flushing. “I’m sorry.” 

Crina didn’t respond to that, approaching you instead. “How’s the bump on your head?” 

“It’s fine,” you said reflexively. It hurt, of course. It would hurt for a while. 

“May I check?” Crina asked. You hesitated, but eventually nodded, turning to give her access. The second she prodded the sore spot, you yelped, tears springing into your eye. “Ice will help with the pain and swelling.” She paused, smoothing your hair back into place. “Did you and Buggy have sex last night?”

“What?” you asked, whirling around. The quick movement did not help your sore head, sending little sparks of pain down your spine, your left temple thumping in protest. 

“You slept in his bed after a night alone on the ship, it’s not an unreasonable question. Everybody will assume, but I’m asking you. Did you and Buggy have sex.” 

“No!” you said, blushing furiously. “No. Captain Buggy wouldn’t… I can’t… There’s no way.”

“Earlier, you didn’t even know it was his bed. Could something have happened and you don’t remember?” Crina asked, her tone softening. You stared at her, stricken, your heart racing with sheer panic. “I’ll ask you another question—Is there any chance that you could get pregnant?”

“No,” you said, rubbing your face to hide the blush, feeling a little sick. Surely you would remember if something happened between the two of you. You didn’t even remember how you got into his bed. What you remembered was the warmth, and the saccharine sweet desire, and… Nothing. “He wouldn’t… do that. I wouldn’t.” 

“I’m not here to judge you,” Crina said. “And I don’t want to embarass you. Do you remember when I warned you about consequences? This is one. Sex is fine, but if you get pregnant, you either get rid of it, or he gets rid of you. It’s better to avoid pregnancy in the first place—safer too. I can help you with that.” 

She let that hang in the small room, waiting for your response. You had none, unable to so much as look at her. The thought of having sex was enough to make you wish the world itself would open up and swallow you whole. More than that, it was absurd to think that any man, let alone Captain Buggy, would bother with a one-eyed midget. It was disgusting to even entertain the notion. You were disgusting. 

Eventually, Crina sighed. “When you need contraception, tell me. You have to look after yourself, god knows that no man will. But that’s all I’ll say on the subject. Do you want more water?” 

You opened your eye. She held out the jug like it was a peace offering, which you accepted after a moment. There was no added powder this time. You wouldn’t have cared anyway, you emptied nearly half the cup before your sloshing stomach uneasily warned you to stop. 

“Those bruises on your wrists are impressive,” Crina said. “May I take a look at them?”

You winced, fixing your sleeve to cover the discoloring and wrapping your hands around the cup to keep them from shaking. “They’re fine.” 

“They look painful,” Crina said, leaning against the sideboard with her arms crossed, fixing you with a stare you didn’t like. It hadn’t been a question, but her silence made you want to answer. 

“I’m fine,” you insisted. She still said nothing, just looking at you. It made you squirm uncomfortably, the table creaking. “I was sick a lot when I was little,” you explained. “I’m better now, but I still bruise easily and… It’s fine, my dad says it’s normal.” He said it was expected for a child, especially a girl, to be a little more breakable. You were weak. Frail. That was why you got hurt so often, got hurt by things that shouldn’t have hurt you. 

“He says that it’s normal for you to have bruises? Did he tell you that broken bones and fat lips are normal too?”

“No… No, that was all my fault,” you said. “Because I’m not careful, I don’t ever think about how weak I am—because I was sick.” 

“What kind of sickness was it?” Crina asked.

You shook your head quickly. “I-I don’t know.” 

“What were your symptoms?”

“I was… sick.” 

“Dizziness, headaches, fatigue, chills, anything like that?” 

“I don't… Maybe. Some of those are because of the accident too.” You touched your bandana, tugging it down to ensure it was covering as much of the scar as possible.

“So you still have symptoms?” 

“That’s not what I meant,” you told her, flustered by the relentless questions. “I’m fine.”

“Why did that man, Randall, claim you were mentally unwell?” 

“I’m not,” you said, shaking your head, searching for the right answer, the one that she wanted. “He only thinks that because my dad… My dad worries about me. After everything that happened, he worries a lot.”

“Is that why you ran away?” 

You shook your head, staring down at your lap. Crying now was embarrassing, you focused your entire self on fighting the sting of tears in your eye. Trying to cover it up, you adjusted the bandana again, desperately forcing your thoughts onto something, anything else. 

“If it were up to me, I would not have medically cleared you to be here,” Crina said. “Asking you to perform any physical labor is out of the question, and you’re frail. It is more than likely that you’ll suffer severe injury by the end of the year.”

“I’m not weak anymore,” you said through clenched teeth, soft enough that she couldn’t hear that you were crying. “I’m okay, really. I’ll get stronger.”

“You can’t fix stunted development,” Crina told you. “But it’s not up to me. I’ll do what I can to help you as long as the captain insists upon keeping you around.”   

Your shoulders heaved with a dry, pathetic sob. 

“Finish that water and we’ll go to the galley to see about getting something to eat,” Crina told you. “Cry now, if you need to. After that, you’re going to have to be someone else’s problem for a while.” 

Crina’s medicine and some food had helped you feel better. The headache remained, a stinging, painful reminder of the past night, but you ignored that as you emerged onto the main deck. Sunlight blinded you and the wind whipped your hair into an unruly mess, the oppressively humid salty ocean air staggeringly familiar. Not all memories were bad. Really, some were good. Since your dad was a surgeon, he was allowed to bring you along to help. Fetching things, bringing meals, cleaning up, running messages, helping tend to the wounded. Back then, you were his sweet little girl.

You shook your head clear of those thoughts, squinting through the sunlight to look around. You were looking for Cabaji, Captain Buggy’s Chief of Staff. A man with green striped dark hair and a blue checkered scarf and, according to her, a sour expression. From the description, you would have thought he’d stand out, but it seemed like Buggy’s entire crew could be described with equally colorful traits. Most of them were busy with some task or another. Those who noticed you watched with expressions ranging from unimpressed to hostile. To your great relief, you didn’t see the blunt-featured Ivo anywhere.   

Assuming you would find the man by the quarter deck, you headed in that direction, trying very hard to seem as inconspicuous as possible. Strangely, your unassuming sweater and leggings made you the odd one out instead of helping you blend in. Eyes made your skin crawl as you passed. Did they all think you had slept with the captain? Crina’s words bothered you. They bothered you a lot. But if the two of you had done something, there would be evidence. More than just a missing dress. 

Hesitating at the steps, knowing it wouldn’t be appropriate to approach the quarter deck without invitation, you stalled out. People were still looking at you, likely wondering what you were doing. You didn’t know either. There, caught in a cycle of anxious uncertainty, someone passed right by you. At first, it didn’t register, but then you blinked and turned. Dark hair, checkered scarf. 

You rushed to follow him, relieved. 

“Excuse me,” you called. Nothing, although the deck was terribly noisy. You had to rush to keep up. “Excuse me, sir?” 

Nothing. He was walking so fast too, with a grace and balance you couldn’t hope to match. 

“Excuse me!” you called, reaching out to touch his arm. Your hand missed the first time, catching air. The second attempt connected, and that finally got a reaction, albeit a slightly violent one. You pulled back, narrowly avoiding his elbow. He turned around, searching at eye level before looking down at you. “You’re Cabaji?” you asked. 

“I am,” he said. 

“Um… I’m-” 

“I know who you are,” he said, cutting you off. “We met last night when you were boarding the ship.”

“Really?” you asked, taken aback. The entire previous day was blurry. Except where it wasn’t, but you couldn’t think about that. “I’m sorry I don’t… remember.” 

His eyes narrowed. “What do you need?” 

“I was hoping to talk to you. If you’re not busy, sir.” 

“I am,” he said, clearly irritated.

“Oh. Right. Is there anything I can help you with, sir?” you asked. “I’m not busy.” 

Cabaji looked at you critically. “Do you know where the kitchen is?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Go down and pick up Captain Buggy’s lunch then wait for me on the bridge. I have to take care of something first. Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir,” you responded, eager to have something to do. “I’ll be quick.”

“Just don’t mess it up.” 

With that, he turned and stalked away. 

Having a task reinvigorated you. You probably drew just as many eyes, but now it didn’t matter as much. How many times had you been tasked to serve meals when you sailed with your dad? Countless. It was something you could do, a way you could contribute. 

Descending back down into the dark belly of the beast, you had to be careful. Last time you were on a ship, you had both eyes. Although you had gotten used to it in so many ways, you had even been able to scale the southside buildings, the sea required a different type of balance. 

“Back for more?” The cook asked when he saw you, his round cheeks ruddy from working in such a small, hot space. “I haven’t got any scraps, you’ll have to beg somewhere else.” 

“Cabaji asked me to pick up Captain Buggy’s lunch,” you told him, unsure if you should be offended by the comment. 

He looked you up and down, his mouth twisting. It was the same look Cabaji had given you, even similar to the way Buggy had sized you up. Nobody lingered on your bandana like the people in town, far more concerned with your size. “If you drop it,” he told you, grabbing a silver tray to put into your hands, “I’ll be frying up your skinny rump instead.” 

“I won’t, I promise,” you said. 

“When the captain’s done, you bring that back to me. Got it?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Better hurry then.”

With a final awkward nod, you made your way back up, extra careful with the tray. It was already getting easier to find your balance. You didn’t care if anybody was watching you as you crossed the main deck, all of your attention on not dropping the tray. If you messed up your first task as a part of Buggy’s crew, you’d be better off tossing yourself into the water. 

Unfortunately, Cabaji wasn’t on the quarter deck. The door into what you assumed would be the navigation and office was closed, but that was probably where Buggy would be dining. 

Standing there quickly became awkward, the sun piercingly bright and the tray getting heavier and heavier. You looked around for Cabaji a final time before going into the map room. It was empty, but on the other side of the sliding doors, you heard voices. Cautiously, you circled the large center table, intending to knock. The map, however, drew your attention. You knew it. You had seen it before. Your town was a burgeoning center of trade traffic, and so new routes needed to be mapped for merchant vessels to facilitate that growth. As a retired Marine, dad was always willing to help out with that sort of thing. He was well connected. Respected.  

One of the pirates had stolen the map right out of your own home. 

Before you could figure out how to feel about that, the door into the captain’s office slid open. You jumped, nearly dropping the tray as you turned around. A man with a white fur vest stopped at the threshold, his eyes immediately narrowing.

“Who are you?” he asked, his tone unnervingly accusatory.

“I… Um…” 

“Well, well, would you look at that,” Buggy called. You looked around the man to see Captain Buggy at the other side of the office, sitting behind a big desk with his feet up on its top. “She’s standing and everything, I’m impressed. After how wasted you got last night, I thought you’d be out for the whole day.”

“I brought your lunch, sir,” you said faintly, not knowing what else to say. 

“It’s about time,” Buggy said. “I’m starving. Bring that over here.” You entered his office, nervously skirting around the man who was still glaring at you. 

Just as you set the tray on Buggy’s desk, avoiding meeting his eye, the other door opened. You looked over your shoulder to see a very displeased Cabaji come in. 

“I’m sorry, Captain Buggy,” Cabaji said as he crossed the map room. “I told her to wait for me out there.”

“Don’t worry about it, I was meaning to get you two in here anyway. Mohji, Cabaji, this is my new cabin boy—er, girl. Woman?” Buggy looked at you inquisitively. “How old are you?” He shrugged it off just as quickly, taking the top off of the tray. “Whatever. I had one, but that didn’t work out. An artist of my caliber doesn’t need a spineless yes-man to run my errands, I need a protégé that I can mold into something really special. I knew you were just the girl from the minute I saw you… Wait, no… No, I knew it from the moment you said that you would happily serve me for the rest of your life.” He grinned, cutting off a chunk of meat. “Yeah, that was it.”

You shuffled awkwardly, trying very hard to avoid looking at any of the men. It was true, but when he said it like that, it took on a far different tone. They had to be drawing the worst conclusions. 

“So, you two,” Buggy continued, talking at Cabaji and Mohji through a mouthful of food, “make it clear to everyone that she’s a part of the crew. I don’t want to hear shit about special treatment or whatever. Except for, you know, if anybody messes with her I’ll feed ‘em to the lion. Maybe that’ll perk him up, eh Mohji?” 

“Yes, sir,” Mohji said.

“Great,” Buggy said. “Cabaji, you can take the afternoon to show her the ropes. Make sure she’s up to snuff.”

“What about crew inspection?” Cabaji asked. 

“I’ll be here to help Captain Buggy with that. Your presence isn’t necessary,” Mohji said, looking at Cabaji with what you thought was a hint of animosity.

“I don’t need either of you to judge talent, that’s my business,” Buggy said irritably.

Neither man responded to that, but Buggy’s annoyance dissipated quickly.

“One last thing. Be careful with her,” Buggy said with a wink, his mood shifting yet again. “Don’t get fooled by the whole one-eyed innocent thing, she’s a real freak.”

“Understood,” Cabaji said, deadpan. 

“Great. Now get out of here. She starts tonight.” 

“Yes, sir,” Cabaji said, grabbing your elbow and pushing you in front of him so he could basically herd you out of the room, past the uncomfortably familiar map, and back into the sunlight. 

He shut the door and pulled you to the side, shooting it a wary glance before looking back at you. “Next time,” he said, “do what I tell you. I don’t care about whatever relationship you think you have with Captain Buggy, you will follow the orders that are given to you.” The implied or else was obvious from his intense stare. Part of you wondered what the or else would be, although the other part didn’t want to know. 

“I understand,” you said, bowing your head. “I’m sorry, sir. And I don’t… Captain Buggy and I don’t have any kind of relationship. Last night, we didn’t do… Didn’t do anything. I swear.” 

“That’s not my business,” Cabaji said. 

“I really mean it,” you muttered, although you could tell he didn’t believe you, and you thought about what Crina said, and waking up in your underwear, and you felt sick in a way that had nothing to do with a hangover. 

“We should get started,” Cabaji said, ignoring your weak objection. You swallowed hard and nodded. You had a job now, you needed to focus on that.

The first thing you learned about being a pirate was that you had next to no idea what you were doing. There were hundreds of things you needed to learn simply about living on the ship before you could begin learning your job, whatever that entailed. The biggest problem was how quickly you wore out. Cabaji was accustomed to being on a ship and athletic, you were neither. Having such a bad headache didn’t help. As the afternoon passed, Crina’s medicine wore off. If it were only the one hammering your temple, you could handle it, but the lump on the back of your head pulsed with every heartbeat, sending fresh sparks of pain down your spine every time you moved your head. 

Like a wind-up doll slowly running down, you fell behind. It was only a matter of time before you collapsed, his voice fading out and the world blackening on the edges. You didn’t do something as dramatic as fall, but you distantly felt your legs fold beneath you, too rubbery to support you anymore. 

“What are you doing?” Cabaji asked, stopping. 

“‘m fine,” you said automatically, your voice faint. “Sorry. I’m fine. I just need a second.”  

“Are you sick?” 

“No, jus’ dizzy,” you said, trying to get your bearings.

Cabaji knelt in front of you, tilting your head up with a hand beneath your chin. Your eye spun, his face blurring.   

“Let’s take a break,” he said, dropping your chin and standing up. 

You might have protested, but the truth was that you very badly needed a break. It was embarrassing, but it would be worse to pass out. So you accepted Cabaji’s help getting your feet, the world blackening on the edges. Fortunately, the officer’s mess wasn’t a long walk, and you gratefully dropped into one of the chairs. Cabaji sat opposite you, his dark gaze unwavering. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, but his stoic intensity made you squirm. 

“I’m really sorry, sir,” you said. “This won’t happen again, I promise.”

“It’s alright,” Cabaji told you. “There are things we should discuss. About your role on this ship, and about your duty to the captain.” 

That made you bristle, but you forced yourself to relax. He was your senior officer, this conversation was necessary. “Okay.” 

“Captain Buggy is a very unique man. He demands a lot of his crew, especially those who serve him directly. As his Chief of Staff, it is my responsibility to ensure you’re able to meet those demands. Your failure would reflect very poorly on me.”

“I won’t fail,” you told him sincerely, if a little defensively. “I promise. I-I know what a cabin boy does. I’ve sailed before, sir.”

Cabaji leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his dark eyes narrowing at you like you were stupid. “Were you listening to what he said? Captain Buggy didn’t hire you to be his gopher or attendant. He gave you an official job to acknowledge you as a member of the crew so the others don’t mess with you, that’s it.” 

“Oh, um,” you said slowly, frowning, “maybe I misunderstood. I’m sorry, sir.” 

“We all know why you’re actually here,” Cabaji told you. “I’ll teach you how to perform basic duties, but your only concern is serving Captain Buggy. You will provide him with whatever he wants—will do anything he asks of you. You do not tell him no, or question his judgment.”

There was an implication bubbling beneath his directions that made you skin crawl, thinking again of what Crina said before, but you forced yourself to ignore it. Cabaji said earlier that it wasn’t his business, and it wasn’t. 

“I understand, sir,” you told him instead. “I really do.”

Cabaji’s demeanor softened slightly, his head tilting to the side. “No, you don’t. I’ve known people like you. Children who grew up on the streets, or malnourished ship slaves. Small. Frail. Weak.” He spoke bluntly, though without malice. “Add in your lack of skill and experience, and you’ve got no idea what you’re in for.” He sighed, leaning back. “I’ll do what I can to help you. As I said, your failure would inevitably become mine as well.”

“I won’t fail,” you muttered softly, staring at your knees, your headache hammering at the back of your skull, down your spine. 

He shrugged. “I guess we’ll see.”

When you thought about being on a ship, it was with the experience you had on Marine vessels. Strict order, stricter schedules, and militant discipline. What you didn’t think about was exiting the hatch from the lower deck to see a circle of pirates loosely gathered around a nearly empty spot in the middle of the deck. Nearly empty, except for a lone man beneath a makeshift spotlight. Music crackled out of a speaker, providing him a beat to follow for his routine. It looked like a dance, although not one you had ever seen.

“What’s going on?” you asked Cabaji as he came up behind you.

“Crew inspection,” he told you. “These are the new recruits.” 

You watched the man for a moment before your eyes strayed past the spotlight. Captain Buggy wasn’t hard to find. He leaned against the railing with crossed arms, his dark silhouette cutting through the sunset. Although his scowl was only barely visible, tense displeasure underscored every aspect of his posture. 

Following the flourishing swell in the music, the pirate ran from one corner of the emptied area, using his momentum to do a flip. To you, it was one of the most impressive things you had ever seen, but he landed wrong. A sharp intake of breath rippled over the gathered crew as he stumbled, unable to save it and falling down onto one knee. 

“Stop,” Buggy said, pushing away from the railing, waving his hand to stop the music. “Just stop. I’ve seen more than enough.” 

The pirate got to his feet, his head bowed in deference as Buggy approached him. 

“Was that a joke?” Buggy asked. The man didn’t respond. Without the music, a very loud hush had settled over the entire deck, even the flapping sails and creaking wood quieting down in the face of Buggy’s temper. “You’re all in on it, right? Because if you performed like this in front of an audience, the only thing they would do is laugh.”

The pirate muttered something you couldn’t hear. Buggy leaned in with wide eyes to listen.

“You’re hungry?” he repeated. The man spoke again and Buggy nodded sympathetically, his anger suddenly gone. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I had no idea that you were hungry.” He grabbed the man by the shoulder, smiling. “You shoulda said something sooner.” 

Without any warning, he struck the man in the stomach, using the grip on his shoulder to push him to the side. 

“How about some food for thought,” Buggy said, raising his voice as he strolled into the center of the impromptu stage. “I hired you, all of you, because I need talent worthy of my show. That’s what you signed up for. So where is that talent? All I’ve seen today is shit so bad it’s stinking up the deck. I oughta let every single one of you good for nothing nobodies starve until you can give me something—anything—that I can work with.” 

Everybody in the circle shuffled uncomfortably, most of them bowing their heads rather than meet Buggy’s eyes as he looked at each one in turn. 

“We’re done here, go get some grub,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “We’ll try this again after you’ve had time to reflect on your failure.” With that, Buggy stalked out of the circle towards the quarter deck.   

“Go get the captain’s supper,” Cabaji told you. “Bring it to his office.” 

“Oh, um. Yes, sir,” you said, nodding.

Cabaji left to follow the captain, and you joined the flow of people going down. It was a solemn group, full of stormy expressions and whispered dissent. You felt a bit of that yourself. Captain Buggy seemed amused by your lack of talent last night, but would that hold? You didn’t have any unique skills, and especially not anything even approaching as impressive as the acrobat from earlier. The only answer that came to mind was Crina and Cabaji’s sickening assumptions. But if that was true, Buggy would have said something. 

It had to be more simple than any of that. He wanted somebody who would be loyal, obedient, and could perform the boring quality of life tasks that captains were too busy for. You just had to prove that you really were the best person for that role. 

Food was already being served to crew members who were not among the new recruits, taken from the kitchen to the mess by other younger pirates. Nobody paid you any mind while you nervously hovered, unsure if you were meant to wait in line or not. You didn’t want to keep Buggy waiting, but you didn’t want to cut in front of anybody and draw attention to yourself. Your indecision was ended by the ruddy-faced cook recognizing you from earlier, giving you the captain’s tray without any further comment. Your skin crawled with the weight of the eyes that tracked you, watching you quickly take the tray and hurry out of the kitchen. 

Working against the flow of people was more difficult than following it, and you had to stop twice to catch your breath, the dizziness from earlier returning. 

The main deck had returned to something like normalcy when you returned. The spotlight had been exchanged for lanterns and crew members had returned to their duties. By now the sun had fallen very low, casting the ship in a smoky haze of near dark. You crossed the deck with your head down, watching your feet to make sure you didn’t trip on anything. 

There were no lights in the map room, just an illuminated line between the doors into Buggy’s office. As you got closer, you could hear Cabaji’s low, calm voice. You had taken too long, and you were a little winded, and Buggy was already unhappy, and part of you wanted to stay in the dark until you could calm your breathing and think of a good reason for making him wait. Instead, you knocked. 

“Come in,” Buggy called, and you opened the door, blinking as you entered his well-lit office. “Took you long enough.” 

“I’m sorry, Captain Buggy,” you said, hurrying to his desk to set down the tray. 

You half expected him to berate you, but he only rolled his eyes, looking back to Cabaji. “You were saying?” 

“Once we seize another ship, we can remain in that area. Those waters are thick with smaller supply vessels and that-” 

“Boring,” Buggy said, cutting him off with a loud enough voice to make you wince as you pulled the lid off the tray. “All of this. It’s all completely uninspired. I’m not gonna drum up any buzz by doing the same tired act as everybody else. People don’t give a shit about small fry supply vessels and shithole villages in the middle of nowhere. You know what makes people pay attention? Giving them something they’ve never seen before. Artistic vision—does anybody else on the ship understand that?” 

Cabaji didn’t say anything. What was there to say? You knew the flint-like look in Buggy’s eyes, in the tone of his raised voice. Any response could be the steel to start a fire.  You didn’t dare draw any attention to yourself, trying to remain as small as possible in the tense silence. A silence that was broken by the door opening loudly. Mohji walked in without knocking, a leatherbound book under his arm. He seemed to realize that he was interrupting something too late, nervously looking from Cabaji to Buggy. 

“I’m sorry to-”

“Did you get what I asked?” Buggy cut in brusquely, his mood shifting yet again to business. 

“Of course, Captain Buggy,” Mohji said. You took that as your cue to leave, passing Mohji with your head down to catch the door from fully closing. 

When you raised your eye to watch where you were going in the dark map room, a pair of eyes reflected back at you. It took a second for your brain to process that what you were seeing was real, but then you yelped in fear, stumbling back into the office and landing hard on your butt. 

“What was that?” Buggy asked from the other side of the room, amused.

“There’s… something in there,” you said, scrambling to get to your feet. “An animal.” 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Buggy said, nonplussed. “Why’d you let him in there? Everything’s gonna smell like wet dog.” 

“Richie doesn’t stink,” Mohji said. Realizing how his clipped tone might come across, he lowered his head respectfully. “Captain.”

“That was a dog?” you asked. 

“A lion,” Mohji corrected.

“A lion?” you repeated, your voice thin. 

“He won’t hurt you,” Mohji said dismissively. 

You nodded as though you understood. Even Cabaji looked more exasperated than concerned. They made it seem like it was no big deal, like lions weren’t terrifying wild animals that you would never want to meet without a set of bars between you. Even if circuses generally had animal acts, allowing one of them to wander around freely couldn’t have been safe. 

“Don’t look so scared,” Buggy said. “Not even Richie would bother trying to eat you. Not nearly enough meat.” 

That was obviously your prompt to leave. Between the embarrassment of staying out of fear and getting eaten by a lion, you decided that the second was at least more dignified. Still, you could feel the cold sweat on the back of your neck when you slipped out of his office and into the dark room. Hidden in shadow, the only thing you could really make out about the creature was its size. How could it even live on the ship? 

Slowly, you circled the table opposite where Richie laid, keeping your eye on him to ensure he didn’t move. You were nearly to the door when you heard the lion growl. Jumping in fear, you stumbled the last few steps to wrench the door open with shaking hands, practically slamming it shut out of terror that the beast would follow. 

Several seconds of silence from within convinced you that you were safe, scurrying away with only a few backwards glances to ensure you weren’t being followed. 

When you reached the bottom of the steps on the main deck, you stopped to breathe. Maybe from wearing yourself out physically, and definitely from being afraid, your head ached with an agonizing pulse, as if the pain were generating a heartbeat of its own. All at once, an overwhelming sense of alienation froze you inside. You were surrounded by strangers, stuck on an unfamiliar ship, there was a lion on the loose, and your only tether to a life you weren’t physically cut out for was a man you barely knew. And the day wasn’t even over. 

The wave of exhaustion that rolled over you at the thought of all you had left to do was almost enough to knock you over.

Squeezing your eye shut and rubbing your temple, you forced all of those thoughts away. It didn’t matter if nothing made sense, or if you were making a mistake, or that you were afraid, or that you were in pain. Those things never mattered, not when you had things to do. During all those dark months after the accident, that’s what dad said. Submitting yourself to service was the best way to deal with unwanted feelings, to express your grief in a way that could benefit others, and therefore be a salve to your wounded heart. 

All that mattered now was proving your own worth to Captain Buggy through service. You could do that. 

[au-jardin-de-mon-coeur]

Une tasse de café sur d'heureuses pensées, est le premier petit bonheur du jour a la saveur d'un matin doux et serein...

Bonne dégustation à toutes et tous ! ☕️

#au-jardin-de-mon-coeur ✒️

[sputnikstars]

Le premier bonheur du jour

[candyysays]

françoise hardy song recs

grand hôtel

soir de gala

le premier bonheur du jour

puisque vous partez en voyage

brouillard dans la rue corvisart

i’ll be seeing you

piano-bar

chanson sur toi et nous

lmk if you want my françoise playlist <3

[b-satela-star]

Mes premiers rituels

I Le sort d'amour et d'attraction

(from : pinterest)

Pour ce rituel, il est conseillé de le faire un vendredi de pleine lune ou de lune ascendante.

Vous aurez besoin :

Stylo rouge-rose

Papier vierge de type parchemin

Quelques plantes relatives au désir (rose, jasmin, cannelle, basilic)/des encens naturels

Des bougies rouges ou roses

Un chaudron (ou récipient pour une combustion)

Charbon à encens

Une divinité à honorer (relative à l'amour, la sexualité, le désir, le succès, ...)

Une formule* (exemple ci dessous)

D'espoir :)

Pour ma part j'honorerai ici Lilith en guise d'exemple, mais vous pouvez adapter la divinité à vos croyances, l'important est la sincérité de vos actes.

Comment procéder :

Allumer la bougie et inscrire le nom et prénom de la personne aimée sur la feuille. Puis inscrire son propre nom et prénom et entourer les tout 3 fois.

Plier le papier 3 fois puis inscrire un symbole lié à l'amour dessus.

Une fois le charbon allumé, faire brûler les plantes/encens et réciter la formule*, papier en mains et faire brûler intégralement. Il vous est possible de faire tomber quelques gouttes de cire de bougie pour sceller le sort.

Après que les cendres aient refroidi, vous devez les déposer au pied d'une rosier.

Pour ce qui est de la formule voici un exemple :

"Je vous invoque Lilith, ô déesse de la passion, de la liberté et du courage, faîte que ma labeur et mes efforts permettent à {ses noms} de venir à moi. Ouvrez pour moi le chemin de son coeur, de l'amour et du bonheur. Très sincèrement, prochainement et pour toujours, merci."

Gardez en tête que la démarche doit être personnelle et sincère :)

II Le sort pour appeler la chance

(from : pinterest)

Pour ce rituel, il est conseillé de le faire un jeudi de pleine lune ou de lune ascendante.

Vous aurez besoin :

1 pochon en tissu naturel

2 bougies vertes (ou une verte et l'autre liée à l'aspect (rouge-amour, jaune-famille, ...))

1 encens fait maison (pissenlit ou trèfle)

Du sel (de même, la couleur/variété représente un aspect)

Une feuille de laurier où il faudra inscrire d'un côté ses nom et prénom et de l'autre ses initiales (+éventuellement un chiffre lié à ce qu'on recherche (7 pour en général, 9 pour la famille)

Une pierre précieuse pour mettre dans le pochon (pyrite, ambre, agate, émeraude, béryl)

1 objet marquant (une pièce, un trèfle à 4 feuilles, un bijou)

1 papier avec un sigil/symbole/sceau de chance

Une ou plusieurs runes ou symboles de chance à inscrire sur ses mains avant le rituel.

Une formule* (+éventuellement une divinité à honorer)

Exemple de formule : "Uolo felicitatem in uita habere"

Pour ma part j'honore Fortuna, déesse de la chance et du destin.

Procédé :

Installation : Jambes non croisées dans une pièce suffisamment sombre.

Allumez les bougies et brûler les plantes/encens en récitant la formule (jusqu'à la fin du rituel).

Mettre dans le pochon dans l'ordre : sel puis laurier puis plantes (au moins 3 différentes) et enfin le minerais.

Ajoutez l'objet et le papier en même temps dans le pochon et le nouer 3 fois avec une corde naturelle.

Garder le pochon en mains et se concentrer (rien ne doit rester, seules les intentions et l'incantation) charger d'énergie grâce aux mains et déposer sur un symbole de géométrie sacrée (pentagramme, Métatron, Merkaba ... ).

Laisser charger 3 jours et 3 nuits puis vous pouvez garder le pochon sur vous ou dans un endroit comme votre chambre.

Bonne chance ;)

[girafeduvexin]

"Je suis l’aîné‚ j’ai un frère et une soeur. Mon frère a un an de moins que moi et ma soeur huit années. Mon frère a eu un accident avec une dame en vélomoteur et l’institutrice m’a dit que c’était ma faute si mon frère avait failli mourir et ma mère m’a dit que non et que ce n’étaient pas des choses à dire à un enfant. Je me souviens de l’endroit exact. Ensuite‚ jusqu’à 15 ans‚ mon frère a eu des violentes et fréquentes crises d’asthme‚ il ne réussissait pas à l’école et puisque j’avais la chance de ne pas être malade‚ je ne pouvais pas ne pas être un bon élève. Il a eu la typhoïde en mai 68 et il est resté hospitalisé et du mois de mai 68‚ je ne me souviens que de cela‚ qu’il allait encore mourir. Un jour‚ on m’a envoyé seul au cinéma‚ voir La Mélodie du bonheur‚ c’est le premier film que j’ai vu‚ c’était avec Julie Andrews‚ puisque je n’avais pas posé de problème lorsque mon frère était à l’hôpital. Mon frère encore s’est cassé les deux bras à deux moments différents‚ et il a eu une double fracture de la mâchoire dans un accident de vélomoteur‚ et plus tard vers 20 ans‚ un accident de voiture avec des copains au retour du Maroc. Il ne m’est jamais rien arrivé."

Extrait d'un texte autobiographique de Jean-Luc Lagarce.

[ltalaynareor]

La naissance

C'était une journée baignée de lumière à Jérusalem, la ville sainte où régnait le roi Baudouin IV et sa reine bien-aimée, Alix de Tripoli. La guérison miraculeuse du roi de la lèpre avait été célébrée dans tout le royaume, mais pour le couple royal, il y avait une autre raison de se réjouir. En ce jour béni, Baudouin et Alix accueillaient leur premier enfant dans le monde.

La chambre royale était emplie d'une atmosphère de bonheur et d'anticipation lorsque le son doux des pleurs du nouveau-né retentit dans l'air. Baudouin, ému aux larmes, prit délicatement son enfant dans ses bras, sentant son cœur déborder d'amour et de gratitude. À ses côtés, Alix avait les yeux brillants de bonheur et d'émerveillement, le regard fixé sur leur enfant, le fruit de leur amour.

Pendant des années, Alix avait aimé Baudouin inconditionnellement, même lorsque la lèpre avait marqué son corps et son âme. Elle avait été sa compagne fidèle, jouant avec lui dans les jardins du palais, partageant ses peines et ses espoirs. Peu importait les cicatrices sur son visage, Alix n'avait jamais cessé de voir la beauté de l'âme de Baudouin, la force de son caractère et la bonté de son cœur.

Et lorsque la guérison miraculeuse était finalement arrivée, Alix avait été là, le soutenant de tout son être, ne le voyant jamais comme autre chose que l'homme qu'elle aimait. Elle lui avait offert son amour, son soutien indéfectible, sa confiance éternelle. Et lorsque Baudouin avait hésité, incertain de son propre corps guéri, Alix lui avait offert son amour, sans peur ni doute.

Alors qu'ils se tenaient côte à côte, en contemplant leur enfant avec une tendresse infinie, Baudouin prit doucement la main d'Alix dans la sienne. "Ma chère Alix, tu es la lumière de ma vie, mon âme sœur", murmura-t-il, les yeux brillants d'émotion. "Tu m'as aimé malgré tout, et pour cela, je te serai éternellement reconnaissant."

Alix le regarda avec amour, sa main caressant doucement celle de son roi. "Mon roi bien-aimé, tu es mon tout, mon amour éternel. Peu importe les épreuves que la vie nous réserve, nous les affronterons ensemble, unis pour toujours."

Et ainsi, dans cet instant de bonheur pur et simple, le roi Baudouin IV et la reine Alix de Tripoli se tinrent ensemble, plus forts que jamais, entourés de l'amour qui les avait unis et qui brûlait désormais plus fort que jamais. Et dans les rues de Jérusalem, le peuple célébrait la naissance d'un nouveau membre de la famille royale, un enfant destiné à être aimé et chéri, entouré de l'amour inébranlable de ses parents.

[jeanchrisosme]

Tu sais ce qui était beau ?… C’est que tout avec toi devenait une histoire, une parenthèse. Chaque instant se transformait en précieux souvenir, à accrocher la nuit au plafond de mes rêves. J’ai tant ri de te regarder rire que je te laissais être ce distributeur d’oubli cher à un très célèbre Humaniste, pour n’être qu’ici… pour n’être que dans l’instant que tu savais remplir, comme si tu connaissais les secrets de l’infini. Ce qui était beau, c’était ton regard incrusté de milliers d’étoiles lorsque tu me regardais… J’avais tout à coup la sensation d’être un phare, une île perdue sur laquelle tu avais envie de t’éveiller dans les premiers rayons de ta beauté. Depuis toi, je comprends les peintres, les écrivains et les poètes… ceux qui sculptent la pierre à la force de leur tendresse, pour faire renaître et graver la magie de tout ce qu’il est impossible d’oublier. Je comprends que cette force d’Amour puisse transcender un être, au point de vouloir remercier le ciel… la source de ce qui réinvente les mondes à chaque seconde… cet univers si vaste, souvent bien trop grand sur lequel on danse, comme des équilibristes filants sur l’existence. C’est beau quand tu es là pour habiter le temps, quand tes cheveux ondulent au gré du vent même les jours où il enrage… Tes paupières battent toujours comme les ailes de ces papillons blancs quand tu me regarde… C’est simple, le monde tout autour de nous s’efface et je suis comme un môme de te voir rayonner comme ça. Je m’abandonne, je me donne le droit de vivre et de profiter de toute cette magie qui ne se rattrape jamais… Mon cœur reste suspendu, allumé de toutes ses couleurs. Depuis Nous, j’ai appris à me laisse envahir de complétude… de ces bonheurs simples qui sont de loin les meilleurs. La vie me laisse ces images qui me reviennent en cascade. Je souris tous les jours devant mon café et jusque dans la glace… parce que je ne peux plus me voiler la face, je Sais. Dès la première seconde, je me suis senti appelé… je t’ai reconnu alors que je ne t’avais jamais vue. C’est mon âme qui s’est mise à t’aimer avant moi, alors que je n’avais rien demandé… Tu sais ce qui est beau… C’est que je sais aujourd’hui ce que c’est d’aimer pour rendre libre et ne rien vouloir posséder. Je veux te voir toujours comme aujourd’hui… radieuse comme à la lueur de ces bougies quand on se dit ce que nous sommes seuls à comprendre. Alors même si un jour le destin venait à nous séparer… je serai toujours le plus heureux des hommes… simplement parce que je sais déjà que ce sera Toi jusqu’à ma dernière seconde.

[selidren]

Printemps 1924 - Champs-les-Sims

10/10

Ou alors elle se trouvera là où elle a toujours voulu être. J'admire chez elle cette certitude un peu illusoire avec laquelle elle mène sa vie. On a souvent l'impression qu'elle ne doute de rien, qu'elle sait exactement ce qu'il faut faire. Je vous ai déjà dit que c'est elle qui a encouragé ma liaison avec Jean ? Je ne crois pas. J'espère pour elle qu'elle vivra toutes ces magnifiques aventures qu'elle fantasme tant et qu'elle m'écrira les détails dans ses lettres. Je suis persuadée que de toute façon, nous ne la verrons plus beaucoup à la maison à partir de l'automne. J'espère bien revoir mon frère cependant. Il est n'est pas souvent là, et il me manque beaucoup. J'ai bien un autre petit frère, mais nous n'avons plus beaucoup de centres d'intérêt en commun depuis quelques années, et de toute façon, il va à son tour entrer au pensionnat cette année. Si j'ai un jour un fils, je ne sais pas si j'aurai envie de le laisser aller là-bas, il me manquerait encore plus qu'Antoine j'imagine.

Je sens que les changements seront plus radicaux que prévu. Petite Eugénie (qui adore écouter aux portes) dis que Papa et Maman veulent retourner en Egypte, mais ce serait pour s'y installer. Ce serait vraiment une catastrophe. Je n'ai absolument pas envie que cela arrive.

J'ai été ravie de vous écrire cher cousin.

Noé

Transcription :

Albertine « Cléo… Ma grande fille, pourquoi est-ce que cela a l’air de te bouleverser à ce point ? Et que faisais-tu à la boite aux lettres ? »

Cléopâtre « Maman, je… Comment se fait-il que je sois la seule que la passion fuit ? »

Albertine « Mais… mais de quoi parles-tu ? »

Cléopâtre « Vous et Papa, Sélène et son Berto, A… bref vous avez compris… Moi aussi je veux une histoire d’amour passionnée, des émotions qui tourbillonnent et qui vous donnent l’impression de vous noyer de bonheur… Moi, je brûle tout sur mon passage ! »

Albertine « Je ne comprends rien ma chérie… Tu y auras droit aussi un jour, j’en suis sure, qu’est-ce qui te fait croire le contraire ? »

Cléopâtre « Il y a ce garçon avec qui j’écris… Enfin, un ami d’Antoine. Il nous a mis en contact et… j’ai été très amoureuse Maman. Mais trop, beaucoup trop. »

Albertine « Oh ma chérie... »

Cléopâtre « Il m’a dit dans sa dernière lettre que j’étais trop brûlante pour lui, et qu’il ne pouvait pas me donner ce que je voulais alors… Je lui ai répondu. Je l’ai supplié… Mais je n’ai jamais eu de réponse. Alors j’attends. »

Albertine « Ma Cléo… Il y a tout à aimer en toi. Le feu qui t’animes ne brûle pas trop fort, il fait en réalité de toi quelqu’un de précieux. C’est un magnifique outil de création, et une lumière qui te fait briller. Si ce garçon ne peut pas le voir, c’est qu’il n’est pas celui qu’il te faut. Mais il n’est que le premier, il y en aura d’autres. »

Cléopâtre « Comment en être sure ? Et puis je l’aime... »

Albertine « Je sais que c’est très dur, mais il faut l’oublier. Si il ne veut pas que vous alliez plus loin, ce n’est pas la peine de persévérer. Je sais simplement que si ton père et moi avons pu nous trouver, il n’y a pas de raison que tu ne trouves pas quelqu’un un jour. Pleure autant que tu veux, cela te fera du bien. Puis, pense à la suite. Tu vas faire de brillantes études, et ta carrière littéraire sera plus brillante encore. »

Cléopâtre « Mais l’amour... »

Albertine « Cléo, tu as toujours aimé l’idée de l’amour. Mais il n’est pas tout. Si j’aime ton père, je n’ai pas que lui comme raison de vivre. Ne te définis pas comme une amoureuse avant tout. Tu le trouveras. Mais avant, pense à toi et à ce que tu accompliras. Et quoi qu’il arrive, n’oublie pas que ta Maman sera là pour t’aider ou même juste pour épancher tes larmes. »

[claudehenrion]

Est-ce moi qui suis fou ?

La période actuelle dépasse sans doute, en intensité dans la folie, la ration ''normale'' à laquelle ont eu droit nos parents, nos aïeux, nos ancêtres. Oh ! Je sais que, pour celui qui le traverse, le problème du moment est ressenti comme étant ''le plus ceci ou cela'' jamais survenu depuis le début de l'aventure humaine sur terre. Il n'empêche : je pense que les historiens du futur –s'il en reste... et s'il y a un futur, après l'absurdité actuelle-- s'étonneront de l'inconscience, de la superficialité de la cécité et avec lesquelles nous évitons les problèmes, les défis, les menaces...

Depuis les absurdités, incongruités et utopies dystopiques post-1968, et ''à pleins pots'' depuis l'époque noire (bien que officiellement rouge !) de Hollande, que les bonnes raisons de se faire du souci ne n'ont pas manqué : la Gauche s'est attaquée, de plus en plus clairement et de plus en plus visiblement à tout ce qui marchait, le plus souvent bien, parfois pas trop mal... mais aussi ''pas bien'', ici ou là. –jusqu'au stade actuel de la provocation violentissime permanente et de l'affirmation en pleine lumière de ses mauvaises intentions, exclusivement ravageuses.

Le monde occidental avait patiemment érigé une civilisation ''pas croyable'', qui concrétisait l'un après l'autre tous les rêves qui avaient bercé, sous-tendu et conduit l'Humanité depuis sa création, et il gardait assez de forces en lui pour corriger les inévitables erreurs survenues le long de ce long chemin glorieux. Il offrait en permanence une palette jamais imaginée au cours des millénaires : un groupe humain offrait au reste du monde le meilleur de ses inventions et découvertes : dans le cadre de la seule religion qui était ouverte à toutes les croyances et n'exigeait aucune adhésion a ses rituels en échange des cadeaux offerts, notre merveilleuse civilisation, dite ''occidentale'' mais en vérité ''judéo-chrétienne'', offrait la totalité où peu s'en faut de tout ce qui pourrait être considéré comme ''les besoins fondamentaux, permanents, trans-générationnels et trans-nationaux de tout être humain libre de ses choix''.

A en juger par ce que l'on constate ces temps derniers –et sauf un retournement à 180 degrés, toujours possible mais assez improbable en l'état actuel des choses-- il semblerait bien que les forces (exclusivement négatives) du progressisme aient réussi à mettre en grand danger tout ce qui marchait, vraiment pas mal du tout, et qui était prometteur de jours encore meilleurs et de correction des ''à peu près'' qu'il fallait, c'est certain-- améliorer à la marge. Ces fossoyeurs du monde ancien et de la seule chance de ''bonheur'' jamais croisée par l'Humanité en recherche ont eu deux idées particulièrement perverses –et particulièrement efficaces : en premier, s'en prendre à la jeunesse, proie facile s'il en est... et ensuite faire perdre tous sens aux mots, devenus des bouts de chewing-gum à peine bons à triturer dans tous les sens... jusqu'à leur faire perdre le leur.

Nous pouvons contempler aujourd'hui, avec un effroi qui se rapproche de la terreur, les premiers résultats des ''avancées'' (qui ne sont que d'immenses reculs) de cette tentative de retour vers des époques et des civilisations où pas un seul des réels progrès que l'Occident a ouverts et offerts au reste du monde n'était disponible : nous retrouverons bientôt une espérance de vie se ''baladant'' entre 27 et 43 ans, les maladies toute-puissantes, une médecine qui se mélangeait à la magie (cf les mesures ridicules prises ''contre'' (?) le covid), plus aucune des aménités qui rendent nos vies si douces (malgré quelques petits grincements, ici ou là), des transports impossibles, le confort même pas concevable, l'analphabétisme de définition et la culture une exception, les ratés et malformations considérés ''de base'', le sort de chacun ressemblant fort au malheur de tous...

Or, quels que soient les chemins tordus que les thuriféraires de cette malédiction réapparue empruntent pour nous faire avaler leurs mensonges et leurs dystopies, il n'est honnêtement possible de trouver qu'un seul chemin pour aller de l'ombre épaisse à la lumière éclatante d'où ces oiseaux de malheur voudraient nous faire sortir : c'est la voie qu'a inventé l'Occident et qu'elle a proposé au monde entier. Le succès rencontré fut immense... même s'il fut parfois difficile à voir venir et délicat à identifier comme tel. Et le prix de ce succès littéralement unique dans l'histoire de l'Humanité (seul, dans l'Histoire, l'empire romain a pu engranger des succès vaguement comparables, mutatis mutandis... mais il est un peu le grand-père du nôtre) a été une jalousie mortelle et impardonnable venant de tous ceux qui, n'ayant rien à proposer, ont inventé le syndrome fou de ''la table rase'' célébré par les notes superbes (hélas !) de l'Internationale.

Force est de constater –pour le déplorer, mais ça ne sert à rien !-- que, à force d'endormir les occidentaux génération après génération, les authentiques criminels que sont nos soi-disant ''progressistes'' ont réussi à endormir toutes les consciences... rendues inconscientes par décérébration progressive. Un exemple ? La tribune d'honneur de la lamentable cérémonie d'ouverture vers tout sauf les jeux olympiques (qui, Dieu merci, sont jusqu'à cet instant un franc succès) était remplie de gens qui représentaient ce qu'ils étaient : des noirs pour l'Afrique, des arabes et assimilés pour le monde musulman, des asiatiques de diverses souches représentant chacun leur pays, fièrement et avec juste raison... Seule l'Europe avait honte d'être elle-même, le fait d'oser exhiber une couleur blanche et un vieux christianisme fondateur étant du plus mauvais effet.

Nos dirigeants, poursuivant leur rêve, notre cauchemar mortel, cherchent désespérément à passer le message mensonger suivant : notre continent, décidément gravement incontinent, rêve de faire croire au reste du monde (qui, pas fou, refuse de telles conneries) que nous ne sommes plus ni un ni des peuple(s), ni une race, ni une civilisation, ni une Histoire, ni une ou des culture(s). Ces dystopistes pathologiques ont inventé une série de ''concepts-abjects'', au terme desquels nous ne serions plus qu 'un assemblage a-sexué --donc sans futur, c'est-à-dire destiné à disparaître le plus vite possible-- de diversité-inclusion-égalité, caractérisé sans caractère par une interchangeabilité (sélective, selon leurs seuls critères impossibles). C'est un comble qui devrait être classé ''gros mot'' tant le concept est con...  

Déjà les universités américaines parlent de la France en disant ''Gay-land'', ce qui fait mal aux sinophones qui se souviennent que, en mandarin, nous étions il y a peu encore ''Fa-Guo'', le pays de la Loi... et que grâce à notre absence totale de diplomatie, nous ne sommes même plus nommés, en Chine. Seulement méprisés. Les autres pays savent que les fantasmes ukrainiens 'à la française'' ont ramené la totalité de nos forces aériennes opérationnelles à un total moyen de 3 (je répète : trois) Rafales opérationnels : juste de quoi abuser les braves gens le 14 juillet.

Nous, LA FRANCE, ne sommes plus rien, sur l'Echiquier mondial. Plus rien du tout... sauf un sujet de pitié et de moqueries.. Mais ce n'est pas encore assez, aux yeux des progressistes qui se jouent de nous, comme ils l'ont fait avecr les élections bananières du mois dernier, ou pour le covid, avant ça, et comme ils s'apprêtent à le refaire à la première menace inventée de fausse pandémie qu'il s'apprêtent a nous imposer le plus tôt possible ! Plus vite ils nous aurons néantisé, plus vite ils pourront installer leur dramatique absence d'idées, de solutions, de réponses... visibles en clair dans l'amphigouri de l'anti-programme de ce qu'est devenue la Gauche, qui se résume en 4 ou 5 mots : tout détruire... au nom du progrès !

Français, mes frères, ressaisissez-vous : il est temps encore. Mais, comme dit le bon peuple, ''ça ne durera pas aussi longtemps que les impôts !''

H-Cl.

[ernestinee]

Alors alors. J'ai fini le bouquin. Spoilers dans la suite au cas où vous voudriez lire malgré tout (il a 4,5/5 sur Babelio, je suis juste passée à côté mais foncez foncez, c'est un premier roman, il faut encourager l'écriture, et je suis loin d'être une référence en lecture)

Donc on en était au moment où elle est hospitalisée et Alexandrin devient pote avec le papa.

Et puis ça fait ça :

- tout va bien

- tout va bien

- tout va bien

- ils se marient

- elle annonce sa grossesse le jour du mariage

- tout va bien

- première écho, c'est des triplés.

- tout va bien malgré une légère inquiétude, pour rappel, elle est très malade du cœur

- tout va bien

- deuxième écho c'est des triplées. Monsieur ose raloter une seconde pcq il se voyait bien jouer au foot avec ses petits mecs. Après, il a très vite un élan de paternité protectrice pour toutes ses petites femmes.

- tout va bien.

- elle meurt subitement lors des premières contractions. Césarienne, les petites vont bien.

Alors après le décès, le personnage évolue, et c'est ce qui sauve un peu le livre à mes yeux, il y a de la tristesse, la présence subtile de Marie dans le caractère des filles, une joie légère et enfantine dans les petits détails précieux. La poésie va mieux à la mélancolie qu'au bonheur, c'est mon côté Baudelaire.

Alors je me pose des questions, pourquoi ce livre a-t-il 4,5/5 sur Babelio ? Est-ce que je suis une vieille conne aigrie ? Je n'ai pas aimé, ça ne veut pas dire que c'est mauvais, je ne me permettrais pas. Mais je n'ai pas aimé, je ne suis pas la cible, je suis passée à côté. Le texte est beau quand on aime la poésie. L'histoire est belle quand on aime que tout se passe bien. J'ai trouvé que c'était trop imprégné de clichés sur les hommes, les femmes, la vie. Le personnage principal m'est antipathique et encore maintenant je ne sais pas si c'était voulu. La fin sauve le livre mais tient en 20 pages.

Allez ⭐⭐⭐. La première pcq j'aime quand on ose écrire, la deuxième parce que la poésie est bien mariée à la prose, ça me l'a rendue plus digeste, la troisième parce que la mélancolie finale était douce à lire.

[ashstfu]

hi hi ash 🐋🤍 i js wanted to drop by ‘n ask 26 for the song ask game !!

hi hello kazu my angel <3 god i’m on my bollywood kick lately so hmm.. tere bina zindagi se by lata mangeshkar, aaj mausam bada beimaan hai by mohammed rafi & le premier bonheur du jour by françoise hardy!!

[petit-atelier-de-poesie]

Quelques trucs bien. Mai 2024

Ces “Quelques trucs bien” s’inspirent directement des “3 trucs bien” de Fabienne Yvert, publié au Tripode. 

Pas 3 par jour pour ma part, mais une volonté régulière de gratitude et d’optimisme. 

Recevoir des compliments sur notre travail d’équipe et l’accueil dans le service 

Fêter les mamans sur trois générations. Échanger des plantes fleuries à entretenir comme l’amour 

Être présente pour valoriser l’établissement 

Recevoir un message de réconfort et de soutien d’une collègue suite à une crise 

Préparer le premier barbecue de la saison dans le jardin. Inviter les amis 

Jardiner en famille et planter dans le potager 

Bricoler en famille et améliorer la pergola d’une toile d’ombrage

Organiser l’anniversaire de mon fils : 24 ans déjà ! 

Aller aux bébés nageurs avec ma fille et mon petit Mateo. Être éclaboussés de bonheur 

Superviser le sauvetage d’un oisillon mésange, tout juste sorti du nid et déjà guetté par la minette. Laisser du temps aux petites ailes fatiguées

Recueillir la confidence d’une collègue. Me sentir honorée de sa confiance 

Surligner ma lecture au stabilo rose. Prendre des notes « En cas d’amour »

Mettre short et tongs pour la première fois cette année. Enfin ! 

Passer une vraie journée détente : repas en terrasse, spa et massage. Exceptionnel et délicieux ! Et cadeau de mes enfants ! 

Passer une journée en montagne avec ma fille et sa famille. Passer d’une saison à l’autre en quelques heures. Surmonter le mal d’altitude pour admirer le parc des animaux sauvages : bisons, cerfs, chevaux et sangliers, et le reste de la faune dans cet espace protégé

Passer une journée en Italie avec ma sœur et ma fille. Faire le plein de soleil et de rire 

Écouter ma nièce lire sa production d’atelier d’écriture détournant les contes classiques. Me souvenir de mes propres textes détournés. Conclure par « je me suis bien amusée » et l’encourager à continuer 

Boire un verre de vin blanc en regardant le coucher de soleil du lundi de la reprise, comme pour prolonger le temps de vacances

Répondre positivement à une invitation à déjeuner. Prévoir d’apporter une bouteille de vin blanc 

Planter et rempoter sur la terrasse avec mon fils. Arroser en attendant la pluie (pour une fois) qui favorisera l’enracinement

Accueillir un nid de mésanges sous l’évacuation de ma terrasse. Les savoir là du regard sur leurs allers et venues, et de l’écoute de leurs pépiements 

Passer du temps avec mon petit Mateo. M’émerveiller et m’émouvoir de son développement. L’encourager des deux mains  

Aller à la jardinerie pour fleurir ma terrasse de rose et de bleu 

Passer une journée pluvieuse sous la couette. Attendre le retour du soleil