#homme beau

[lagaylife-france]

Le beau mec du jour par lagaylife.fr

[son-justdont]

happy March 10th everyone!

[notsodumbww2captain]

*slaps Daniel’s back*

This bad boy can fit so much religious trauma

[abdlrimespotiques]

DIPLOME AVEC DES POINTS EN PLUS HUBERT COSTE CHAPITRE 8

[christiangeistdorfer]

ALAIN MAHÉ eating bread & drinking wine during the 1983 TOUR DE FRANCE AUTOMOBILE

[lolochaponnay]

[canarirouge]

@shiroisourking princesse saphir 😎😎😎😎

[polymans]

[blue-eyed-beastie]

A Closer Look at Belle's Book: Part II

In Part I, I went into some detail about the illustration inside Belle's book, but now I want to turn the page, so to speak.

Thanks to the magic of 4K, I was able to zoom in on some details in Beauty and the Beast that I had never noticed before, and this time I wanted to see what story Belle was reading. I've seen theories that it was either foreshadowing Aladdin or referencing Sleeping Beauty, and I myself noticed that it bears some artistic resemblance to Snow White... but it turns out that it has nothing to do with Disney, or its fairy tales.

It's something else entirely, and it's in French!

After zooming in and studying each frame, I managed to make out the following text:

une languissante sirene! Enfin, il sera bientôt heureux, si c'est là ce qui doit causer son bonheur. Je sais que je suis agréable à regarder, puisque j'y ai du plaisir moi-même, et de ce plaisir je ne priverai pas mon mari, au contraire. Je ne sais si je l'aimerai, je l'espère; mais je veux qu'il m'aime lui, et je ferai pour lui plaire tout ce qui lui plaira. Ah! chère Adélaïde, je suis pleine de rêves absurdes et de pensées contradictoires! Je songe à des choses qui me semblent à la fois douces et vilaines, et j'ai des imaginations qui me font rougir en même temps que pleurer! Au moins, je ne m'ennuie pas. Je vis plus en une heure de ces journées que l'an passé je ne vécus en toute l'année. Chaque heure me renouvelle, me grandit et m'épanouit. Je me semble un rosier qui fleur rirait à vue d’œil, je suis fraîche et parfumée; je suis légère et forte: j'attends le bonheur. Paul est plus beau que je ne l'avais encore jamais tu. Il est pâle avec de grands yeux pleins de fièvre et d'amour. Je le trouve sublime quand il s'agenouille près de moi pour me regarder comme en prière. J'ai envie de le prière aussi, parfois, et de coucher ma joue sur ses genoux, mais quand j'ai cette envie-la, je me fâché contre moi-meme et je boude Paul.

Which, roughly translated into English, means:

a languid siren! Finally, he will soon be happy, if that is what will make him happy. I know that I am pleasant to look at, since I take pleasure in it myself, and of this pleasure I will not deprive my husband, on the contrary. I do not know if I will love him, I hope so; but I want him to love me, and I will do whatever he pleases to please him. Ah! dear Adelaide, I am full of absurd dreams and contradictory thoughts! I think of things that seem to me both sweet and ugly, and I have fantasies that make me blush and cry at the same time! At least, I am not bored. I live more in one hour of these days than I lived in the whole year last year. Each hour renews me, makes me grow and blossom. I seem to myself a rosebush that blooms laughing before my eyes, I am fresh and fragrant; I am light and strong: I await happiness. Paul is more handsome than I have ever seen him before. He is pale with big eyes full of fever and love. I find him sublime when he kneels down next to me to look at me as if in prayer. I want to pray to him too, sometimes, and to lay my cheek on his knees, but when I have this desire, I get angry with myself and I sulk at Paul.

By the way, there is one more sentence (maybe even two) at the bottom of the page that is partially obscured by Belle's shoulder and right hand. It may or may not be important to the rest of the excerpt, but for completion's sake, I'll share it here:

Il est ... maintenir un homme dans les ...

Which translates to:

He is ... to keep a man in the ...

Intriguing, isn't it? What was she trying to say?

Overall, the author appears to be an unwed woman dreaming of her future marriage to a man named Paul. Her confidante is someone named Adelaide, but I suspect she is actually writing to herself. Regardless, she is either betrothed to Paul or she longs to be, since she calls him her husband. Perhaps it is an arranged marriage? She goes on to dwell upon his handsomeness, and how she longs to be close to him, but then she gets angry at herself for feeling this way. The last line of the passage is incomplete, but my best guess is that the author is saying that Paul is not to blame for her sulking, so it is not right to keep a man in the dark, i.e. ignorant. I could be wrong, though. In any case, she is conflicted about her feelings on the matter. You could even say that her feelings are "new, and a bit alarming".

I can see why the filmmakers chose this passage for Belle's book.

It may not be a fairy tale, but it certainly has elements from the film. There are references to beauty, roses, imagination, and eyes filled with love, and passion.

Belle:

"Oh, isn't this amazing? It's my favorite part because—you’ll see Here's where she meets Prince Charming But she won't discover that it's him 'til Chapter Three!"

Do the lyrics match the story hinted at on the page itself? No, but I really respect the filmmakers for going out of their way to include this kind of detail in the film. They could have taken the easy way out, by writing out something like "Once upon a time" to echo the opening narration, or used "Lorem ipsem" Latin filler, or even meaningless brush strokes just to fill the page... but they didn't. They chose something in French that Belle herself might have liked to read. And I think that's really cool.

[lolochaponnay]

La Mère supérieure envoie une jeune religieuse faire quelques courses au supermarché, proche du couvent. La nonne revient une heure après, toute dépenaillée et sans les courses. La supérieure demande : - Et bien, ma fille, que vous est-il arrivé ? - C'est terrible, ma Mère. À peine arrivée au supermarché, je suis allée aux toilettes, et là un jeune homme beau, grand et fort, m'a violéee. J'espère que je ne vais pas avoir un bébé! Que puis-je faire ? - Attendez ma fille, je vais faire quelque chose pour vous! Elle ouvre un placard et en sort une bouteille et une grande cuillère. - C'est de l'huile de foie de morue. Buvez cette cuillerée et ça ira mieux! - Et ça va m'éviter d'avoir un enfant ? - Je ne sais pas, mais au moins ça vous enlèvera ce sourire béat et stupide que vous avez depuis dix minutes!

[tribalmajesty05]

Title: French Whispers

Roman Reigns X Reader

********

It was a quiet Sunday in the Anoa’i household, the kind of day Roman—Joe, to you—treasured more than any spotlight or title belt. Sundays were sacred: no WWE tours, no interviews, no schedules. Just you, him, and the kids basking in the warmth of home.

The smell of breakfast lingered in the air—eggs, bacon, and croissants you’d baked from scratch. The kids were sprawled across the living room floor, their toys creating a colorful battlefield. Joe sat on the couch, watching them with a soft smile, his arm draped lazily over the backrest.

You were in the kitchen, humming to yourself as you tidied up. The sun filtered through the windows, casting golden streaks across the tiled floor. With a mischievous grin, you glanced over your shoulder at Joe.

“Tu es si beau ce matin, mon amour,” you said softly, your voice just loud enough for him to hear. (“You look so handsome this morning, my love.”)

Joe’s head tilted, his brow quirking as a smirk tugged at his lips. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” you replied innocently, turning back to the sink.

Joe didn’t need a translator to know you were up to something. He’d been with you long enough to recognize the playful glint in your eyes when you spoke French. It was one of the many things he loved about you—how effortlessly you switched between languages, your Monaco roots adding an elegant flair to your every word.

But when you spoke French to him? That was his weakness.

A few moments later, as you walked past him to grab a toy from the floor, you leaned down and whispered, “Je t’aime tellement, Joe.” (“I love you so much, Joe.”)

His jaw tightened slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching. You suppressed a giggle as you walked back to the kitchen, feeling his eyes follow you.

The game was on.

Throughout the day, you found little ways to sneak in more French. When he helped you fold the laundry, you’d brush against him and murmur, “Tu es irrésistible.” (“You’re irresistible.”)

When he carried your youngest to her nap, you called after him, “Quel homme merveilleux.” (“What a wonderful man.”)

At lunch, as you set his plate in front of him, you let your fingers linger on his shoulder. “Merci, mon roi,” you said with a teasing smile, knowing exactly what calling him “my king” would do. (“Thank you, my king.”)

Joe’s patience was impressive, but even you could see the cracks forming. The way his hand clenched around his fork, the deep breath he took as he rubbed the back of his neck.

By the time the kids were upstairs, busy with their tablets, you knew you had him teetering on the edge. You were in the kitchen again, tidying up the aftermath of lunch when you felt his presence behind you.

“Okay,” he said, his voice low and gravelly.

You turned, pretending to be surprised. “What’s wrong, Joe?”

He stepped closer, his towering frame blocking you against the counter. His hands came up, caging you in as they rested on either side of you.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his eyes dark and intense.

“Say what?” you asked innocently, though the smirk tugging at your lips gave you away.

“Anything,” he murmured, leaning down so his nose nearly brushed yours. “Anything in French.”

You let the silence stretch for a moment, watching how his gaze dropped to your lips. Finally, you whispered, “Tu es à moi.”

Joe growled low in his throat, the sound sending shivers down your spine. “And what does that mean?”

“It means,” you said, your voice dropping to a sultry tone, “you’re mine.”

Before you could say another word, his lips crashed onto yours, stealing your breath in a kiss that was equal parts passion and punishment. His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him as if he couldn’t bear even a sliver of space between you.

When he finally pulled back, you were breathless, your fingers clutching the front of his shirt. His forehead rested against yours, and his smirk was pure mischief.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” he murmured, his voice husky.

You grinned, brushing your lips against his. “Je t’attends, mon amour.” (“I’m waiting, my love.”)

Joe shook his head with a soft laugh, his hands sliding to your hips. “I don’t even know what you just said, but it sounded dangerous.”

“It means I’m waiting,” you teased, your voice light and airy.

Joe groaned, resting his head on your shoulder for a moment before pressing a soft kiss to your neck. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it,” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Damn right, I do,” he replied, pulling you even closer.

Sundays were sacred, but this one? This one might just be his favorite yet.

[joannerowling]

Aw, you're no fun :(

I have been away for five minutes and Internet girls are yet again thirsting over a rich White criminal propelled as a hero of the people although he's in reality a mediocre murderer. Go figure.

[camisoledadparis]

et même la nuit quand je rêve, c'est de lui, de mon homme, ce n'est pas qu'il soit beau, qu'il soit riche ni costaud, mais je l'aime, c'est idiot

[sabinerondissime]

Manque d'Amour

Il y a des jours où je suis complètement perdue, dépassée par mes émotions que je n'arrive pas à gérer. Je me sens vide, seule, je remets tout en question, y compris moi-même. Même sous le soleil, tout peut me paraître fade et sans intérêt. Ma vie si routinière, mon couple qui n'en est plus vraiment un, ma vie de femme qui est totalement niée. Je me laisse engloutir par un trou béant logé juste là, dans ma poitrine.

Ce besoin d'amour qui m'a toujours habitée et qui n'est plus comblé depuis tellement d'années me fait souffrir encore. J'ai beau essayer de le dépasser, il revient toujours. Pourquoi personne ne m'aime vraiment ? Pourquoi ne suis-je toujours qu'une option, qu'un passage éphémère ? Certes, ma situation familiale n'est pas de celles qui permettent de bâtir une relation saine, mais je ne suis pas la seule en couple qui rêve d’amour.

Je sais que cela arrive. Alors ? Est-ce parce que j'ai 57 ans ? Ou parce que je suis grosse ? Il m'arrive de me dire que je ne suis pas assez intéressante. Mais non, mon âge, mon poids, ma personnalité ne sont pas des freins, ils ne sont pas des tue-l'amour. Le fait est que l'amour ne se rencontre pas souvent dans une vie. Le vrai, celui qui mérite qu'on se donne, qu'on se batte, qu'on sorte des sentiers battus et de nos limites confortables.

Et puis désormais, je suis devenue tellement méfiante vis-à-vis des hommes. Il faudrait quelqu'un qui soit réellement fort, patient et qui surtout, ne provoque aucune angoisse. Quelqu'un qui me voudrait MOI et personne d'autre. Mais dans ce monde de choix virtuels où tout le monde semble accessible, il devient vraiment difficile de se démarquer.

[sforzesco]

It’s a little bit ‘I was the match and you were the rock, maybe we started this fire/We sat apart and watched all we had burn on the pyre,’ and ‘Do you understand that we will never be the same again?’ from Bastille’s The Things We Lost In The Fire

and a little bit:

‘A l’instar de son aîné, Caius Antonius sait se montrer délicieux. Il est cultivé, intelligent, plein d’esprit, gracieux, amiable. Surtout, il appartient à la même génération que Brutus, au même milieu. Depuis le départ de Cassius pour l’Orient, il y à quatre mois, Marcus a vécu avec des hommes dont il pourrait être le père, ou avec les soldats, des bas officiers plus âgés mais qui ne sont pas de son monde.’

and also

‘En juin, Cassius a enlevé Laodicée et définitivement défait les forces de Dolabella. Jugeant les autres à sq propre mesur, le beau Publius Cornelius s'est souvenu de ce qu'il avait fait subir à Trebonius…Cassius passant pour un homme violent et rancunier, pour un ami fidèle aussi, Dolabella s'est dit qu'il allait payer la mort horrible de l'ancien gouverneur.’

Brutus: Assassin par idéal, Anne Berner

actually it’s mostly about how my entire playlist for the road leading up to Philippi (after both Brutus and Cassius leave Rome after the assassination of Caesar) is Bastille’s Bad Blood album on repeat. I want their relationship to get messy. There’s another version of this scene that gets a lot more teeth to the subtext of the conversation, but I wanted to play around with it first before committing to like. room layouts. there was originally a couple of transitional panels before the last 2 because I wanted Brutus to really chew on this thought he has, but augh. stairs. didn’t feel like drawing those.

ko-fi⭐ bsky ⭐ pixiv ⭐ pillowfort ⭐ cohost ⭐ cara.app

[snowseasonmademe]

joyeux anniversaire à mon (notre) mari. notre homme sexy et beau. je n'ai jamais été aussi sauvage sur un homme auparavant, mais cela ne me dérange pas parce que nous sommes tous sauvages pour lui ensemble. je suis heureux d'avoir trouvé une communauté pour avoir soif de lui. grand 25. que dieu le bénisse.