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leclerc-hs · 6 months

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lucky (bonus!) - cl16

Pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader Summary: in which you and your childhood best friend have sex for the first time. Warnings: BAD FRENCH! (I didn't get to check these translations so if they're wrong please correct me and I will fix!), smut, angst, cheating (oops) Word Count: 1,381 Author's Note: hi! I felt that Charles and Lucky having sex later in their friendship was the right move. I was in between making them younger, but it didn't feel right writing about teenagers having sex to me lmaoooo. I love you guys and hope that you enjoy!!! please leave feedback I love hearing from you all. xo PART 1 PART 2

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HE WINS IN Spa; He wins in Monza!

The air was filled with a mix of adrenaline, joy, and the unmistakable scent of burnt rubber from the track. The vibrant red of the Ferrari flowed under the brilliant Italian sun, reflection the passion of this moment. The crowd’s cheers echoed, creating a symphony of celebration that seemed to envelop the entire circuit.

Your heart raced with a blend of pride and excitement, knowing that your best friend had achieved something extraordinary. The victory at the Ferrari home race was more than just a win; it was a triumph that would be etched in the annals of racing history.

Turning your attention to the podium, you marveled at the sight of your best friend standing tall, a champion stood above in the midst the cheering crowd. His racing suit adorned with the iconic prancing horse; he wore the victorious smile of someone who conquered not just the track but the hearts of fans worldwide.

The tears welled up in your eyes, a testament to the shared journey and countless hours of hard work, dedication, and sacrifice that led to this moment. You were so happy for him.

The podium ceremony unfolded with the spraying of champagne, and as the golden droplets shimmered in the sunlight, you couldn’t help but feel proud as you savored the moment completely.

“Il s’est très bien debrouillé!” He did so well! You muttered to Lorenzo who greeted you with a big hug of excitement.

“Oui! You’re needed in his driver’s room,” Lorenzo responded with a smile. “Il m’a dit plus tôt.” He told me earlier.

You patiently waited in his driver’s room, lounging on the compact leather couch. When the door swung open at last, with his race suit unzipped at his waist, you leaped to your feet with excitement.

You cried out, “Mon dieu, Charlie!” My God, Charlie! before leaping right into his arms, clinging onto him tightly. “Je suis tellement fiere de toi!” I am so proud of you!

He felt his heart pound rapidly as you leaped into his arms. He wanted to tell you right then and there that he was in love with you.

“Nous devons célébrer!” We must celebrate! You waited for him to place you back down on your feet, but he never did. At least not as soon as you thought he would. He just held you there, staring at you as if you were the sun.

“My Lucky,” he says. “It’s all because of you.”

It was quick. One second, he was smiling at you as he held you up against him, and the next you were pressed against the door with his lips on yours. You felt your stomach clench from the heat of the kiss.

“Est-ce que c’est bon?” Is this okay? You nodded into the kiss. Yes – yes it’s okay.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. In fact, it wasn’t supposed to happen at all. You both could blame it on the fact that he just won a major race or the rush of emotions from the win. But it was just love. Not that either of you would ever admit it.

His hips had you pinned to the wall, completely at his mercy, while his hands fumbled with the button of your jeans. “Puis je les enlever?” Can I take these off?

You didn’t provide a verbal response; instead, you assisted by pushing the jeans down and shimmying out of them. His fingers immediately nudging their way past your cotton panties and hooking two of them right into your center as his thumb rubbed your clit in quick circles.

“Tu es tremée,” You’re soaked. He moaned into your mouth, the vibration of his groan echoing hotly into your mouth.

You moaned back softly into his. Your moans alone were enough to send Charles into a rampage. He wanted to listen to you for eternity. It was in this moment, he thought he never wanted to hear anything else from your mouth again.

You skillfully removed his race suit from his hips before he guided you to the same compact sofa you just waited patiently on. His lips never left yours as you both fell to the couch – you now straddling him.

You both were so frantic. So needy. The only time your mouths separated was for him to whisper the foulest things. They only fueled you to ride him harder.

You’re so fucking tight.

Just like that.

Squeezing me like you’re going to come, Lucky.

Such a good girl.

C’mon let me feel you come.

I can feel how fucking wet you are.

You both came simultaneously, heavy breaths exchanged into each other’s mouths. It was so hot.

The suddenness of it all left you breathless, caught off guard by the intensity of the moment. One second, his tongue was pushing its way into your mouth again. The next, you were pushing him away, standing up from the couch as you rushed to find your jeans and get them back on.

The reality began to sink in, a shadow over the fleeting moment. He has a girlfriend, a detail that changed the complexion of the situation. You felt sick to your stomach as the reality began to weigh down on you.

Although the term girlfriend was a bit of a stretch, you felt awful. But you didn’t regret it. You could never regret anything with Charles. He was your person. Your best friend.

“Nous ne pouvons pas refaire ça.” We can’t do this again.

“Lucky.” His arms, once a source of comfort, now felt like constraints as he grasped you. The taste of his kiss lingered, but it was overshadowed by the bitter understanding that boundaries have been crossed.

You yearned for a different reality where his girlfriend didn’t exist, but the weight of the truth remained. Accepting, you grappled that some things were beyond your control.

“Cha, c’est bien.” It’s okay. With a heartfelt effort, you mustered up the biggest smile, gently cupping his face into your hands. Despite your warm gesture, his eyes reflected a sadness, a longing for something more, a desire that he couldn’t act upon.

“Tu es mon meilleur ami.” You’re my best friend. “Nous oublierons que cela s’est produit.” We will forget that this happened.

Charles shook his head in disagreement at first, but you stopped him. You needed to shift the conversation. You were supposed to be out celebrating. “Nous devons célébrer!” We must celebrate!

You urged Charles to get dressed quickly. You needed to get out of the confines of this room.

Physically, Charles nodded with a smile, but internally, he felt nothing but pain in his heart. It’s always been you. He wanted to yell that she means nothing to him, that it’s you who means everything.

“Allons-y,” Let’s go. You grabbed his hand, leading him out of the driver’s room to kick off your night of celebration, leaving the pressing issues behind. Pretending as if nothing changed. He was your best friend. You were his best friend. Nothing changed.

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

Charles found it unbearable. The attention you were attracting was driving him to the brink of madness as he sat in the booth of the club, with his girlfriend beside him.

“C’est toujours elle,” It’s always her. She leaned over into Charles ear.

His so-called girlfriend wasn’t oblivious, like he thought. She always picked up on his gaze following you, his constant talk about you, and the fact you were consistently his top priority. Initially, she shrugged it off, given your close friendship. It only became apparent to her when she sensed that your needs started taking precedence over hers.

She couldn’t even pretend to ignore the marks on his neck.

“Quoi?” What? Charles finally glanced at her, breaking free from his trance on you. It only prompted laughter from her, evidence that his attention was solely fixed on you. He heard her though. He just didn’t want to acknowledge that he had been caught.

“You’re wasting my time,” his girlfriend muttered before standing up, grabbing her things to leave. “If you want her, tell her.” These were the final words she uttered to Charles before exiting the club, leaving him behind.

But little did she know that he had attempted to share his feelings for you numerous times. It just never worked out. The timing was always off.

#charles leclerc x reader #f1 imagines #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc smut #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #charles leclerc #lucky

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thebearchives · 2 years

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ma moitié | CL16

PAIRING: charles leclerc x fem!reader

REQUESTED: [X] yes [] no

WORD COUNT: 5.4k

SYNOPSIS: no time better to confess than after a near-death experience, am i right?

WARNINGS: hurt/comfort, angst?, descriptions of a car crash, literally every dialogue is french so LOTS of translations (looking back now, i could have just been like “italics = french” but it’s too late), probably really inaccurate descriptions of a race bc idk logistics of races oops

as always, don’t be a ghost reader!

“je me sens vraiment bien pour aujourd'hui, c'est mauvais?” i feel really good about today, is that bad?

your eyes dragged up from the egg you had just cracked into the hot pan and onto your phone, poorly propped up against a loaf of bread. said phone’s screen displayed the view up charles’ nose, his eyelashes peeking over the apples of his cheek. no doubt, he had been holding up his phone mic against his lips, making sure you could hear him over the bustling of the garage.

a giggle caused him to bring the phone back down, full face now in frame. his eyes were furrowed as he questioned, “tu te moques de moi? c'est mauvais, je le savais.” you're laughing at me? it's bad, i knew it.

you cut him off before he could get inside his head and stress himself out, “non, non, char, ce n'est pas mal du tout. vos résultats ont été bons tout le week-end, bien meilleurs que lors de vos dernières courses.” it's not bad at all. your results have been good all weekend, much better than any of your last races.

you turned the heat down of your egg, “il n'est pas faux de penser qu'aujourd'hui sera bon aussi.” it's not wrong to think today will be good too.

“alors pourquoi avez-vous ri?” then why did you laugh?

the pout on his face was adorable. adorable and absolutely horrible for your heart, which ached lightly. you wanted nothing more than to be in his arms, arms around his neck and lips on his, kissing that pout away.

“allô?” charles’ voice brought you out of your thoughts, he scoffed playfully, “regarde-toi tu essaies de trouver une excuse.” hello?...look at you trying to come up with an excuse.

you reluctantly pulled your eyes away from his lips. at least there was one good thing about him travelling a lot for his job; whenever he called you, you could stare at his lips for as long as you wanted and he’d never know.

“je n'ai pas besoin d'excuse, mais si tu veux savoir, ta voix s'est coupée et je n'ai pas tout compris.” i don't need an excuse, but if you must know, your voice cut out and I didn't catch everything.

you lied. of course, you would. why wouldn’t you? it’s not like you could tell him ‘hey, yeah, sorry i was staring at your lips because i want to kiss them.’ years of hiding it straight down the drain, along with his friendship too.

“mon dieu, encore ça? je viens littéralement de mettre à jour le plan que nous avons,” charles sighed, “peut-être que vous avez juste besoin d'un nouveau téléphone.” my god, that again? i literally just upgraded our plan…maybe you just need a new phone.

you waved him off, flipping your egg over. oops, slightly burnt.

“ouais, ouais, le meilleur fournisseur de wifi de tout monaco, ça ne pourrait jamais être leur faute. pourquoi es-tu si catégorique sur le fait que c'est mon téléphone?” yeah, yeah, best wifi provider in all of monaco, could never be their fault. why are you so adamant it's my phone?

“parce qu'il l'est! il fonctionne parfaitement sur tous les appareils de la maison, sauf le téléphone.” because it is! it runs perfectly on every device in our house except your phone.

charles brought the phone closer to his lips again, this time, however, it was angled sideways so you could see just outside his open driver room. he spoke again, “je vais payer même pour ton nouveau téléphone si tu le veux.” i'll even pay for your new phone if you want it.

“peu importe,” you rolled your eyes, “ne devrais-tu pas être littéralement dans ta voiture en ce moment?” whatever…shouldn’t you literally be in your car right now?

before charles could reply to you, his name was called out from somewhere outside the frame. his eyes met yours through the screen, a look of understanding shared between the two of you.

he had to go.

“tu peux le faire, char,” you smiled at him, “prends ce sentiment et fais-en une réalité.” you’ve got this, char. take that feeling and make it a reality.

“je t’aime, ma moitié.” i love you, my other half.

and then he was gone, taking your heart along with him.

moitié. you hated it when he called you those pet names. in all your years of knowing charles, rarely ever did he use your name. it was always ma moitié, mon ange, petite chou, anything and everything but your name.

you hated the way it made you feel like you were more than just a friend to him. you hated the way it made you feel like maybe, just maybe, he returned your feelings too. you hated the butterflies, the clammy hands, the way your brain would just stop. you hated how easily you were like putty in his hands.

after charles had ended the call, you rushed to plate your egg before it burned to a crisp. with your coffee in one hand and plate in the other, you made yourself comfy on the couch, legs snug under a throw blanket, unmuting the tv which was already streaming the grand prix.

as you chewed on your breakfast, you couldn’t help but think back to charles’ words. he had every right to feel good about this race. this weekend had gone beautifully, with charles topping the times in every round of the qualifying. he was sitting in pole position, with carlos lined up right behind him in p3. you could only hope that the strategists at ferrari would help him succeed.

your lips involuntarily curled into a smile the second you saw charles’ car on the screen. that smile widened when his voice entered your ears, god, the way he spoke english was so perfect.

you wished you could have been there, in the garage wearing those red headphones. but sadly, you had taken too many sick days already and were saving your vacation days for the actual summer break and any grand prix that was especially significant to charles.

you watched the lights turn on one by one with great amazement. you had never known how it felt to be behind the wheel at that specific moment, not personally really. anytime you asked, charles would describe it as exhilarating, nerves just simply disappearing along with the lights. he’d also go on to say “you’d know if you karted with me instead of making me cry.”

and he was right. the two of you met way back when charles had only just started karting, at a karting race that your dad had been working as a commentator for. your mom, ever the outgoing person, quickly made friends with charles’ mom, and unlike charles on the circuit, you found yourself sitting next to a very small arthur, too young to kart alongside his brother.

when the race had finished, you and arthur were sat across from one another, a pile of ripped-up grass and flower petals between the two of you. the youngest leclerc’s toy car sat at the bottom of the pile, and at the sound of your mother saying ‘go’, the two of you dove your hands into the pile, fingernails scratching against the other’s hands, just to be the first to reach the car and pull it out.

when you felt like you had finally grasped the small car, you pulled it towards yourself, unknowingly pulling the young boy along with you. as arthur lurched forward, the car slipped out of both of your hands and flew straight into charles’ head, helmet having just been taken off.

safe to say, you had made charles cry the very first time you met him, which he never failed to bring up.

you couldn’t help but wonder, eyes following charles’ red car along the track, if you’d be where you were in life had you not made him cry. or if 8-year-old pierre gasly hadn’t seen his friend get hit in the face with a toy car or tease him for crying like a little baby in his mother’s arms, every single time he saw you at a karting event.

would you two be friends? would you even be living in this place, sharing a flat with charles leclerc, if it hasn’t been for that stupid ferrari toy car?

the very toy car that arthur had gifted you and charles as a housewarming present, which now sat on the tv trolley, between two framed pictures of you two. one at your eighth birthday, months after you two had met, and one from when you were both 19, celebrating charles’ formula 2 championship title.

the broadcast shifted to the camera in charles’ car, and you listened as he gave the team his update on his tires, and listened to them give him information in return. things were looking up for him, well-deserved after the last few shitty races.

it wasn’t until halfway into the race, right when charles had pitted for a new pair of tires, that things started to go downhill. although called in for the pit stop by the team, the mechanics had seemed unprepared for charles to pit, which caused charles to have to wait for an extra 10 seconds before exiting the pits. the lead he had built for himself slowly crumbling away, neck in neck with max’s car.

your hands gripped your empty coffee mug tightly, unmoving. you had taken your last sip just seconds before charles’ pitstop but had been too focused on the shitshow in front of you to place it down.

you flinched as charles’ angry voice came through the radio, “he’s going to get ahead of me.”

you watched as his words became reality, joining the racing line milliseconds behind the redbull car. charles tried to maneuver his car around the sides to get ahead along the straight, but max had always been good at defending, charles had told you before that it was something he had both respected and hated about the dutch driver.

the two cars drove nearly tire to tire as they drove through the chicane. your heart felt like it was in your throat, praying that the two cars didn’t touch.

you felt like someone had thrown you into an ice bath when you heard charles’ radio again, his voice was filled with anger and frustration, “something isn’t right.”

his race engineer’s voice followed shortly, “everything looks good, charles. what is wrong?”

“i don’t know, the steering is acting weird. it’s getting hard to keep it under control,” you couldn’t tear your eyes from the red car, “there’s too much oversteer. more than normal.”

fuck.

charles’ car fell behind max’s slightly going into the next turn. it was clear now that charles had pointed it out, the back of his car coming out far too much for it to be normal.

“okay, charles, we will look into that and tell you what to do. keep your head down and elbows out. the pace is looking good right now, you should be able to retake your place soon.”

what was mere seconds had felt like hours of charles trailing closely behind max’s car. it was the last turn of the lap when it happened.

charles had taken to the outer side of max’s car, still struggling to correct the oversteer, when max’s wheels locked up going into the turn. it had happened so fast. one moment, charles’ car had pulled up slightly ahead of max’s. the next, his car was spinning out, speeding straight towards the wall.

your eyes stung with tears, the mug in your hand slipping and rolling off the blanket, shattering into tiny pieces on the ground. you barely registered the sound, barely being able to hear anything over the sound of your heart racing.

your breath hitched in your throat as they replayed the crash from charles’ perspective. the deafening silence after charles’ engineer asked if he was okay made you want to throw up.

get up, charles, please, the tears felt salty in your mouth. please, please, please.

you bunched up the blanket in your hands, watching as the screen zoomed in on the car. the halo looked to still be intact, but you could barely see charles from behind the cloud of smoke.

dread clouded over you, your mind both rushing with thoughts, yet silent all at the same time. where were the fucking medics? why was no one helping him out?

after what felt like years, you saw charles helmet emerge from within the cloud of smoke. his red racesuit next. your heart continued to race, calming slightly knowing that he was conscious.

the medics reached charles’ car just as he had began moving, hands rushing to pull him up and out of his seat carefully. you watched with a bated breath as they supported him away from the red mess of a car.

but charles was stubborn, you knew this, and so you watched as he pushed away from the medics slightly, trying to walk on his own. they had backed off a bit, trailing alongside him just in case his body decided to give out on him.

and it did. on his fifth independent step, his knees buckled, the medics catching him before he hit the ground. the way charles’ head titled forward was a clear sign that he had lost consciousness.

you felt numb, watching them take him into the back of the medical car. the camera switched as soon as the car drove off, showing the reactions of the rest of the grid drivers, before panning onto the damaged redbull car, which had also been taken out of the race in the collision, albeit much less destroyed than the ferrari. not far from it, you could see max also being taken care of by another set of medics.

you felt sick.

you don’t know how long you sat there, wet eyes staring blankly into the tv, seeing but not registering. it wasn’t until a notification sounded loudly in the kitchen, recognizing the tone as the one you had reserved for members of the leclerc family, that you snapped out of it.

you rushed off of the couch, forgetting about the broken ceramic on the floor as you raced to the kitchen. it was a text from lorenzo.

ils l'emmènent à l'hôpital. they’re taking him to the hospital.

the hospital. charles was going to the hospital.

you felt all of your emotions hit you at once, the weight of it all causing you to physically hunch over the counter.

a sharp pain shot up your leg and you gasped, eyes flitting down to notice the trail of blood that you had left in your haste to reach your phone. you had been numb when it happened, but as your foot screamed out in pain, you realized you had stepped in a glass shard.

you momentarily ignored the rush of pain and nausea that was climbing up your body, hastily sending lorenzo a reply.

est-ce mauvais? is it bad?

todt a dit qu'il a repris connaissance dans la voiture, mais ils veulent encore l'emmener pour s'assurer que tout va bien. todt said he gained consciousness in the car, but they still want to take him to make sure nothing is wrong.

you felt like you could breathe again, charles was awake.

tenez-moi au courant s'il vous plaît. please keep me updated.

il va s'en sortir, ma petite. he's going to be okay, kiddo.

although he knew he couldn’t quell how you were feeling, lorenzo still tried his best. and his best was good enough for you to finally stop hyperventilating. charles would be okay. he had to be.

you rested your head against your arms, taking a deep breath to reset your brain. after a couple seconds, you raised your head, turning around to look at the small trail of red that you had dragged along with you.

your foot was still bleeding, and you decided to wrap it up before you cleaned the floor. it’d do you no good to just sit here and waste away, waiting for an update from lorenzo, or a call from charles himself.

you winced as you took a step, hand gripping the counter tightly for some support. with the lack of adrenaline coursing through your body, you were able to really feel how badly you had cut your foot.

you grabbed a towel paper and placed it against the heel of your foot, half-hopping to charles’ bathroom, where you knew he kept his first-aid kit. you had one too, but yours had consisted of only bandaids and alcohol wipes. charles had splurged on the good stuff, saying something along the lines of “all the athletes carry one.”

you weren’t sure if he was right as you had only had the pleasure of meeting fellow racecar drivers, arthur leclerc and pierre gasly, both of which had received the same kit from charles as an “it was on sale so i bought it for you” gift.

by the time you had finished cleaning out your wound and wrapping it, you felt exhausted and mentally drained. your earlier panic had left you feeling extremely cold, and you couldn’t help but catch sight of the hoodie thrown over charles’ desk chair. the same one he had been wearing the night before he left.

you pulled yourself up from the ground, throwing away the bloodied alcohol wipes and gauze packaging before hobbling over to the chair and picking up the hoodie.

you willed yourself to not tear up as you brought the hoodie up towards your nose. it still smelled like him. you couldn’t help but wish that charles was in the hoodie still, wrapping his arms around your neck and squeezing until you would cough and slap his back. it was his favourite thing to do, up there with blowing air in your ear while you were cooking and poking your skin whenever it peeked out from under your shirt.

“c'est une vengeance pour les dommages émotionnels que tu as causés quand on avait six ans." he had said once, after you yanked his ear in retaliation and demanded why he was so insistent on annoying you. it’s payback for the emotional damage you caused when we were six.

god, when you’d see him again, you were going to get your own payback for the emotional damage he caused today.

you slipped the hoodie on, the warmth of it instantly blocking out the cold you felt. you made your way back to the kitchen, wetting a towel paper and wiping at the trail of blood from the kitchen to the living room.

thank god for tiled flooring, huh? but also, fuck tile flooring because if there was a carpet in your living room, maybe your cup would have never shattered in the first place.

when you entered the living room, you found yourself faltering, eyes catching sight of the tv that was still on, now showing the repeat of charles’ crash. you looked away when the car slammed into the wall, opting to turn the tv off altogether and began picking up the pieces of what had been your favourite mug.

back in the kitchen, you stared at your phone, willing it to ring with a message or a text from charles, or anyone from his family really.

after realizing how much of an idiot you were being, you grabbed the phone yourself and started to draft a message to charles, explaining how you worried you had been and how you hoped he was okay.

one message quickly turned into several as you poured your worries out to him over text. you went from freaking out, to scolding him, to finally settling on how you couldn’t wait to see him and that you weren’t going to let him out of your sight the entire time he would be at home.

just as you had finally put the phone down, it rang. you rushed to pick it up, “hello?”

“ah, y/n? bonjour, ma petite fleur.” my little flower. pascale’s voice was so soft, like she knew exactly how you were feeling. she probably did.

the emotions you had tried so hard to suppress all came flooding out at the sound of charles’ mother.

you sniffled, “maman,”

at the sound of your voice, pascale felt her heart clench. over the last (nearly) two decades, you had become like the daughter that she had never had, and with pascale being able to see through both you and her son, she knew one day, you would become her daughter for real. she had been the one to convince you to call her ‘maman’, calling you her ‘belle fille’.

“oh, ma belle fille. tout va bien, ange.” oh, my beautiful girl. everything is okay, angel.

“comment le savez-vous?” you rubbed your eye, “vous lui avez parlé?” how do you know? have you talked to him?

“la mère sait toujours ce qui est le mieux, non?” she chuckled lightly, though you could tell she was also choked up, “son manager a dit qu'il va bien, qu'il se repose pour le moment.” mother knows best, no?...his manager said that he is fine, that he is resting for the moment.

you hummed, too choked up to say anything.

pascale cooed out your name, “mon ange, pourquoi tu ne viens pas?” why don’t you come over?

you shook your head before remembering she couldn't see you, “non, c'est bon. ça ira. je suis sûr que vous êtes plus secoué par ce qui s'est passé. je ne veux pas me mettre en travers.” no, it’s okay. i’ll be fine. i'm sure you're more shaken up by what happened. i don't want to get in the way.

pascale tsked, “petite idiote, tu ne pourrais jamais te mettre en travers du chemin. tu es de la famille, je sais que tu souffres aussi.” silly girl, you could never get in the way. you are family, i know you're hurting too.

you couldn’t help but laugh pitifully at the way she called you an idiot, “j'ai été vraiment stupide, non? j'avais tellement peur que charles parte et je ne lui aurais jamais dit ce que je ressentais.” i've been really stupid, no? i was so scared that charles would leave and i would have never told him how i felt.

pascale had been the only one to know how you truly felt about charles, having caught you crying one christmas night when charles had brought his girlfriend to join the family dinner. she had comforted you all night, and spent the whole dinner staring charles’ new girlfriend down, though you–and charles–had no idea.

“il aurait été tout aussi stupide,” pascale hummed, “je ne peux qu'espérer que ce jour l'amène à admettre ses sentiments également.” he would be stupid too…i can only hope that today causes him to admit his feelings as well.

“je te le répète, il ne ressent pas la même chose.” i keep telling you, he doesn’t feel the same.

“ouais, ouais, et je continue à te dire qu'il l'est. Je connais mon garçon, et il est amoureux de toi. Il ne s'en rend juste pas compte.” and i keep telling you, he does. i know my boy, and he's in love with you. just doesn't realize it.

the two of you chatted for a bit more, with pascale giving you live updates every so often. lorenzo and arthur both joined the conversation, commanding you take care of yourself or else they would come and bring you home.

the conversation had only just died down when pascale gasped, “oh, mon dieu! c’est charles! y/n, je vous téléphonerai après, d'accord?” it’s charles, i’ll call you after, okay?

your breath hitched in your throat, “bien sûr.” of course.

it felt like forever, waiting for her to call back, or for charles to reach out to you on his own. yet nothing happened.

sometime later, your phone buzzed with a text from lorenzo.

il va bien. Il rentre pour finir son travail avec les médias, mais il prend l'avion ce soir. he's okay. he's going back to finish his media duties, but he'll fly back tonight.

c'est un soulagement. that’s a relief.

viens. je vais chercher charles et le ramener à la maison. il voudra te voir. come over. i'll be picking up charles and bringing him home. he will want to see you.

non, c'est bon. je le verrai quand il reviendra à l'appartement. no, it's fine. i'll see him when he comes back to the apartment.

y penser? think about it?

you left him on read. as much as you wanted to see him, you weren’t sure you wanted to in front of his entire family as well. who knew how you would react?

not long after, you found yourself in front of the tv again, much like you had been earlier in the morning, only this time charles was no longer in a smoking car, but rather in front of a bunch of mics and cameras.

you watched as he answered questions about the car, the oversteer, and how he had felt in the moment. your heart ached as you stared at his face, he looked so tired. he’d grimace every time he moved, so lightly that no one would notice. but you did, you’d learned to identify any subtle expression changes early on in your friendship with charles. he was a stubborn man, but you were nothing if not just as stubborn.

you didn’t know when you fell asleep, eyes getting heavier and heavier as you watched charles answer the same questions again and again. you also didn’t know how long you slept for, the stress and tension of the day had left you exhausted.

you barely stirred when the lock of your house opened, or when the keys chimed loudly as charles placed them in the key bowl near the door. when he was picked up by lorenzo, he had told him to take him to your shared apartment immediately. lorenzo, who knew what was coming, didn’t question a thing, just gave his brother a smile and a quick “it’s about time” before driving.

the driver turned around, leaving his luggage near the entrance. the sound of the tv was quiet, but charles could hear it. his eyebrows furrowed, it was late. were you waiting for him to come home? he walked towards the living room, stopping when he caught sight of you on the couch, asleep.

he quietly walked forward, hand blindly grabbing at the tv remote and turning it off. his eyes followed down your figure, lingering on the hoodie you had been wearing before moving down to the bright white gauze you had wrapped around your foot earlier.

he kneeled down next to you, hand lightly grazing the rough wrapping, “oh, mon dieu, ce qui vous est arrivé, ange?” oh, my god, what happened to you, angel?

at the sound of his voice, you stirred. charles cursed himself for being loud, although his words had been whispered so quietly. charles retracted his hand, shushing you lightly as you groaned.

“rendors-toi, amour.” he lightly pressed a hand against your fluttering eyes, blocking out the light from above. go back to sleep, love.

“charles?” you pushed your head up, cheek nuzzling into his palm, “c'est toi? tu es vraiment là?” is that you? are you really here?

charles could feel his heart break inside his chest. how many times had you woken up tonight, expecting to see him but then be wrong? how many times had you dreamt of him coming back home?

charles rubbed his thumb against your cheek, “oui, c’est moi. je suis là.” yes, it’s me. i’m here.

you blinked twice, vision clearing enough to see the man you had been waiting for, sitting right in front of you. your eyes instantly pooled with tears, “charles?”

he rushed to soothe you, “ne pleure pas, mon amour. je suis là, je vais bien.” don't cry, my love. i'm right here, i'm okay.

you reached up and grabbed the hand that had been resting on your cheek, “tu ne comprends pas. j'ai eu si peur pour toi.” you don't understand. i was so scared for you.

you sat up and charles moved to grab your other hand in his as well.

he squeezed them softly, “je suis désolé, mon ange, tellement, tellement désolé. je ne voulais pas te faire peur aujourd'hui.” i’m so sorry, my angel, so, so, sorry. i didn’t mean to scare you today.

you lurched forward, hands escaping his and instead wrapping around his neck. charles’ own hands found themselves in new places as well, one wrapped around your back while the other flew behind him to keep the two of you from toppling over.

his heart tightened, feeling his neck get wet with your tears as you sniffled loudly. his other hand found itself wrapping around you as well, pulling you closer to his body.

charles moved the two of you into a more comfortable position, stretching his legs out so that you were essentially sitting in his lap, straddling him, “je suis désolé, y/n,” he apologized again.

at the sound of your name slipping through his lips, you couldn’t help the sobs that escaped your own. charles’ grip around you tightened, “hey, what’s wrong? qu'est-ce qu'il y a?” what’s the matter?

you shook your head, “tu es si méchante, charles. je n'ai même pas pu te dire que je t'aimais quand tu as raccroché ce matin.” you are so mean, charles. i didn't even get to tell you i loved you when you hung up this morning.

he lightly coerced you to pull your head back, “oh, mon coeur, je suis désolé.” he felt like a broken record, apologizing again and again, but in the moment, nothing was coming to his head.

you leaned back, puffy eyes connecting with his own, which were tinged red, a sign that he had been crying as well, “ce n'est pas ta faute. c'est la mienne. je ne t'ai jamais dit ce que je ressentais, et je m'en voulais tellement de ne pas l'avoir admis plus tôt. quand tu n'es pas sorti de la voiture tout de suite, j'ai eu tellement peur de t'avoir perdu. perdu avant d'avoir pu te dire que je t'aimais.” it's not your fault. it's my fault. i never told you how i felt, and i was so angry at myself for not admitting it sooner. when you didn't get out of the car right away, i was so afraid that i had lost you. lost before i could tell you that i loved you.

charles’ tears spilled out of his eyes, “c'est ma faute aussi.” his words were the same as pascale’s, “j'ai toujours eu trop peur de te dire ce que je ressentais parce que j'étais trop égoïste. je ne voulais pas te perdre, alors je ne t'ai jamais dit ce que je ressentais.” it's my fault, too. i was always too scared to tell you how i felt because i was too selfish. i didn't want to lose you, so i never told you how i felt.

“tu m'aimes?” your voice was so soft, as if scared to be wrong. you love me?

charles placed his forehead against yours, “tellement. je t'adore plus que tout ce que j'ai jamais aimé.” so much. i adore you more than anything i've ever loved.

the tears slipped out as you relished in his revelation, “je t'aime. mon dieu, je t'ai aimé aussi longtemps que je me souvienne.” i love you. my god, i've loved you for as long as i can remember.

charles leaned up, kissing your tears away, “je te promets qu'à partir d'aujourd'hui, tu ne pleureras plus jamais à cause de moi.” i promise, from today forward, you will never cry because of me ever again.

your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of his lips against your skin. he couldn’t help it, placing soft kisses against your eyelids.

his hands followed down your spine, resting at the base of your waist, “on va te mettre au lit, mon ange.” let's get you to bed, angel.

“je peux m'allonger avec toi?” can i lay with you?

“toujours, à partir de maintenant et pour toujours.” charles smiled lightly, “je suis tout à toi, ma moitié.” always, from now on and forever…i am all yours, my other half.

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cadmusfly · 4 months

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Analysing the Quality of Napoleon's Marshals With Silly Data Science

Let's talk numbers and laugh at funny graphs with missing data!

Other people in this fandom do really lovely detailed information posts, I do weird fanfic, dragon shitposting, body pillow design shitposting and run a stupid Lannes ask rp blog. But! I'm also a programmer with an interest in Numbers, and today we're going to Analyse These Dead Frenchmen with a bunch of screenshots of graphs.

Ethan Arsht published a really interesting article called Napoleon was the Best General Ever, and the Math Proves it., where using data scraped off Wikipedia articles, he creates a statistical model drawing from multiple variables per battle to calculate How Good A General Is At Winning.

Give the article a read, it's great stuff, but if you don't feel like it, he basically applies WAR - "Wins Above Replacement" - which is a value from baseball that measures how many wins a player is worth when compared to a replacement.

So the general's WAR would be how well they compare to a completely average general who replaced them. Yes, as Arsht says, "in other words, I would find the generals’ WAR, in war."

But as he says, this is not a stringent historical analysis and is more of a fun thought experiment. Wikipedia is probably the most comprehensive dataset on this topic that he had access to, but it is Wikipedia the crowdsourced online encyclopedia, so it is going to have holes and inaccuracies. And this was written seven years ago, and the data was collected then, so any updates to these articles since then wouldn't be reflected.

And it's not a perfect model that takes into account everything - it's an approximation, a whole bunch of number crunching. I haven't looked too deeply into how the numbers work exactly, even though I could.

I think that 0 would be "completely and utterly average"? A positive WAR is good, a negative WAR is not. Napoleon is the best general ever at 16.679 WAR, the next highest is Caesar at 7.445 WAR.

(Link, you can hover over each battle and look at each datapoint!)

But I'm interested in Napoleon's marshals. The 26 men he raised up to military nobility! The dramatic assholes who kept arguing with each other. I'll post links for all of them at the end of this, but I won't be screenshotting each of their WAR graphs, just a few.

I'm not entirely sure how the scraper collected the information about what battles a commander is considered in "charge" of - I tried looking at the provided code repository but I am reminded that data science people bless them are not really good at structuring or publishing code and why are all the html pages just straight up saved in the root folder why are the jupyter notebook outputs just uncleared aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

Oh yeah this was scraped from seven years ago so current wikipedia pages won't be reflective of what's on the graphs - so we can assume that this is just grabbing stuff from the "Commanders and leaders" part from each individual battle page and collating them into numbers

Anyway let's look at the iron man himself, Davout, considered to be the best of Napoleon's marshals.

(Link)

Heh, here we see the first hole in the dataset - Jena-Auerstedt is considered to be one battle, and Napoleon would like you to think that's the case.

Anyway, pretty good! Let's look at Jean Lannes, the lively Gascon

(Link)

Oooooh, even better than Davout! Helps he didn't go to Russia. Wait, why is Aspern-Essling dated to before Ratisbon, especially when Lannes died in the former?

Let's look at André Masséna, also known as being pretty cool:

(Link)

Damn, neat, though I think there's a lot of omissions here.

Here's Murat:

(Link)

Lol Tolentino, I do like how Murat Peaked there a little bit

But we're forgetting a certain redhead, aren't we?

(Link)

Ouch. But also Waterloo not appearing there, hmmm.

Anyway let's finish off the screenshots with Napoleon's greatest strategist, Jean-de-Dieu Soult, the man that Wellington called a master of the defensive!

(Link)

honestly this is the entire reason why i wanted to write this post

in soult's defense - as a soult defender - he had a pretty shitty army full of conscripts, was isolated, was occasionally pretty bad at adapting tactically to new surprises and had to deal with the english being stubborn fuckers, but he was brilliant in setting things up strategically and forcing the english to catch up through a fighting retreat with a demoralised army, stopping them from closing in on france too

but also the way this graph bullies soult so hard makes me laugh a lot

Anyway, yeah, these graphs are definitely inaccurate and I'm also posting these to see the Napoleonic community on tumblr's reaction to them, but they are a fun way to engage with history!

Just don't take them seriously, and feel free to argue in the tags/comments/reblogs

I could theoretically use this guy's code to rerun this just for the Marshals now - I know my way around some data science code - but I do have a lot on my plate, but it would be a fun experiment!

Marshal WAR Graph Links

Note: So these are under the Wikipedia article names at the time that the web scraper was run seven years ago so some of these names turned out to be different from what they are now and I had to do a bit of digging to fix some

you can definitely tell that the information is incomplete on a lot of these, again i repeat the information was scraped off wikipedia seven years ago

Louis-Nicolas Davout

Jean Lannes

Joachim Murat

Michel Ney

André Masséna

Jean-de-Dieu Soult

Bon-Adrien Jeannot de Moncey (one battle lol)

Jean-Baptiste Jourdan

Charles-Pierre Augereau

Jean-Baptiste Bernadotte aka Charles XIV John of Sweden (Two battles and only Swedish ones I think)

Guillaume Brune

Édouard Mortier (two battles)

Jean-Baptiste Bessières (two battles)

François Christophe de Kellermann (one battle, Valmy)

François Joseph Lefebvre (two battles)

Charles-Victor Perrin (ouch)

Étienne Macdonald

Nicolas Oudinot (lol)

Auguste de Marmont (loll)

Laurent de Gouvion Saint-Cyr

Józef Poniatowski (three battles but hmm. pretty bad but feel like there's too much missing info here)

Emmanuel de Grouchy (two battles, can't make a Where's Grouchy joke)

Marshals Without Graphs Not because they didn't command anything but I couldn't find their graphs on the website or in the code repo

Catherine-Dominique de Pérignon

Jean-Mathieu-Philibert Sérurier

Louis-Gabriel Suchet (wtf? maybe seven years ago the documentation on him was sad)

EDIT: wait i was looking at the notebook (the uh place where the code was being run, to see if i could run the code myself)

soult is one of the lowest ranked generals overall on this initial list pfftHAHAHhahahahahahahaha

#napoleon's marshals #napoleonic era #napoleonic wars #napoleonic shitpost #cadmus rambles #cad rambles about dead frenchmen on main #jean lannes #louis-nicolas davout #joachim murat #michel ney #andre massena #im not tagging all of them #jean-de-dieu soult

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trauma-and-truffles · 2 months

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After the Cake Incident with Marshal Lannes, My assistant, Mlle. Hopster has been telling me to make a blog myself. I finally gave into her pestering.

I'll probably make a better introduction at a later date, as by then I'll have a better gist of Tumblr.

I am Baron Dominique-Jean Larrey, Surgeon to Emperor Napoleons Imperial Guard. Feel free to ask whatever you like.

-Larrey

( This blog is run by @hoppityhopster23) (Disclaimers: This blog does not provide professional medical Advice, nor am i a professional historian. I'm just well read about the history of medicine and enjoy reading about Larrey) ------------------

Tags: Responses from the the Baron - answers to any asks.

Conversations with the assistant - Conversations with my time traveler assistant. shes the one who convinced me to create this. shes also young, sometimes foolish, and likes to give people bad ideas.

Portraits of the Doctor - Images of me.

Comments from the Assistant - self explanatory

-------------------

Fellow Soldiers and marshals, etc (personal notes below):

Marshals Other Military Staff Royals Other

@armagnac-army - My Dear Friend Lannes, Marshal of France, Prince of Siewierz, and Duke of Montebello.

@murillo-enthusiast - Jean-de-Dieu Soult, Marshal of France and Duke of Dalmatia. (I'm pretty sure he just tolerates me.)

@le-brave-des-braves - Michel Ney, Marshal of France, Prince de la Moskowa, and Duke of Elchingen. (He's very helpful, And I am grateful.)

@your-dandy-king - Joachim Murat, Marshal of France and King of Naples.

@chicksncash - Andre Massena; Marshal of France, Duke of Rivoli, and Prince of Essling.

@your-staff-wizard - Louis-Alexandre Berthier, Marshal of France, Prince of Neuchatel, Valangin and Wagram, and technically my boss.

@perdicinae-observer - Louis Nicolas Davout, Prince of Eckmühl, Duke of Auerstadt.

@bow-and-talon - Laurent de Gouvion Saint-Cyr, Marquis of Gouvion-Saint-Cyr, and a man I respect for giving the us Medical staff needed in life.

@general-junot - Duke of Abrantes, and General of the French army.

@askgeraudduroc - Also My good friend, Grand Marshal of the palace, Duke of Frioul, and head of the Emperors household.

@generaldesaix - One of my closest Friends. Unfortunately we didn't have a lot of time together in life. nut now we do.

@messenger-of-the-battlefield - Marcellin Marbot, an aide to an assortment of Marshals, and a man I met a few times in life.

@askjackiedavid - Jacques Louis David, neoclassical painter.

@carolinemurat - Caroline Murat, Queen of Naples, and sister of the Emperor.

@alexanderfanboy - Napoleon Bonaparte, Emperor of France.

@rosie-of-beauharnais - Josephine, the Empress of France.

@the-blessed-emperor - Alexander I, Tsar of Russia.

#pinned post

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rochenn · 7 months

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Darling, Obi-Wan Kenobi in his early Clone Wars armor? Mon dieu, where do I even begin? Picture this: a sleek, tailored tunic in the most divine shade of muted sand, hugging his form in all the right places. The fabric? Luxurious, of course, a blend of lightweight materials for effortless movement, worthy of a Jedi Master.

Now, the traditional robes, my dear, are given a modern twist. A cape, darling, a cape! But not just any cape—this one flows gracefully, accentuating his every move, a symbol of his Jedi wisdom billowing behind him. As for his trousers, a slim fit, elongating those perfectly toned legs without making him look like a stick insect.

Ah, accessories! A wide, weathered leather belt cinches his waist, adorned with discreet pouches for his lightsaber and other essentials. The lightsaber itself, a work of art, naturally, with a hilt that fits his grip like a glove, emitting a soft, ethereal glow.

Now, the pièce de résistance: the armor. Plastic, you say? Non, non, mon ami, we must go for something more refined. Picture lightweight, flexible durasteel plates seamlessly integrated into his ensemble, providing both protection and style. Each plate meticulously crafted, ensuring he moves with the grace of a dancer while being shielded from harm.

And the color? A subtle, polished silver, darling, accentuating his neutral tones and highlighting his commanding presence. The armor whispers as he moves, a soft, melodic hum, a symphony of technology and elegance.

[x]

thank you very much for the visuals, mysterious possibly-french fashionista from my inbox!

i can absolutely see him wearing this to formal occasions. too bad the jedi tend to dress very humbly :'D

#ask #obi-wan #huge fan of designing armor more ergonomic than the exoskeleton-type clone armor #because like. the single-piece bicep armor ensures that you basically can't move ur torso much #might draw something about this later

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empirearchives · 16 days

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The Paris Health Council

Members of the health council in 1807 + the Prefect of Police of Paris

Created in 1802 by Napoleon and his Prefect of Police of Paris, Louis-Nicolas Dubois, the Paris health council was an advisory body which assisted in the regulation of public health.

According the historian Ann Fowler La Berge, “The Paris health council was one of the most successful and influential institutions that grew out of the nineteenth-century French public health movement.”

“From 1802 to 1848 the members of the Paris health council prepared yearly anywhere from 150 to 600 reports dealing with various aspects of public health in the city of Paris and the department of the Seine.”

The 7 members of the health council in 1807:

Charles-Louis Cadet de Gassicourt, chemist and pharmacist

Nicolas Deyeux, chair of chemistry at the Paris Faculty

Guillaume Dupuytren, second surgeon at the Hôtel-Dieu

Jean-Baptiste Huzard, inspector-general of the Veterinary School of France

Michel-Auguste Thouret, dean of the Faculty of Medicine and author of many works on hygiene

Jean-Jacques Leroux, succeeded Thouret in 1810 as dean of the Faculty of Medicine

Antoine-Auguste Parmentier, pharmacist and chemist, famous for his earlier research and introduction of the potato into European diets

The first five years of the organization’s existence, its role was limited to the “examination of supposedly adulterated drinks, the investigation of and reporting on epizootics, the investigation of unhealthy factories and workshops, visiting prisons and reporting on their sanitary state, and providing first-aid to the drowned and asphyxiated.”

In 1807, the organization’s responsibilities increased to cover a greater number of issues.

“The council was henceforth to report on epidemics, markets, rivers, cemeteries, slaughterhouses and slaughteryards, dumps, dissection rooms, and public baths; the council would also keep medical statistics and mortality tables, do research on the sanitary reform of public places, the perfecting of unhealthy industrial processes, and the elimination of quackery; the members were also charged with determining the best methods of heating and lighting and doing research on secret remedies.”

Source:

Ann Fowler La Berge. “The Paris Health Council, 1802-1848.” Bulletin of the History of Medicine 49, no. 3 (1975): 339–52

#they all have a look of smugness that only treating Napoleon’s hemorrhoids could give a man #Parmentier is like my neoclassical Santa Clause who gifted us the wonders of mashed potatoes and fries #btw Cadet is the illegitimate son of Louis XVI #napoleon #Paris health council #Paris #napoleonic era #napoleonic reforms #napoleonic #napoleon bonaparte #reforms #first french empire #french empire #Napoleon’s reforms #history #france #19th century #Ann Fowler La Berge #La Berge

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josefavomjaaga · 4 months

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"Roi Nicolas" master post

A list of links to posts that deal with the alleged attempt by Marshal Jean de dieu Soult to make himself king of Portugal.

Documents:

The "circulaire Ricard", the main piece of evidence (Oporto, April 1809)

Wellington's letters from April and May 1809

Napoleon's letter to Soult about the affair (September 1809)

A reassuring letter from Napoleon to Madame Soult (Paris, January 1810)

Reports/opinion pieces from the memoirs of

Saint-Chamans

Brun de Villeret

Petiet

Soult

I will add to this when I translate more. I want to show at least Soult's own version of the story, from his memoirs, Napoleon's harsh letter to Soult and (done) if possible Brun's very long report of his meeting with Napoleon in Vienna in summer 1809.

And I hope I may include this here: an excellent post by @snowv88, showing how a contemporary historian summarized events, and providing much background information

(And yes, in case somebody wondered, being a little less messy is also one of my New Year's resolutions 😋).

#napoleon's marshals #roi nicolas index #jean de dieu soult #the roi nicolas incident

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glamrpevents · 1 day

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Perched atop the Panier hill, in the oldest quarter of Marseille, the InterContinental Marseille – Hotel Dieu, is the most majestic of the luxury hotels in the city. Overlooking the Vieux Port, its massive staircases, vaulted passages and magnificent terraces all bear witness to the former status of the building: the Hôtel-Dieu, a superb 18th century edifice, inaugurated by Napoleon III, in person. This classified historical monument, with its unique setting, offers an inimitable view of the landmark Notre-Dame-de-la-Garde Basilica, while firmly seated in the present-day, modern and very contemporary Marseille. The MuCEM (museum for Europe and the Mediterranean) that opened its doors in 2013, is a short walk away, as are the old Joliette Docks with their animated business quarter, shopping outlets and ever-growing trade and commerce. The Hôtel-Dieu continues to stand tall above the city, as it has done for centuries: it is an ideal venue for anyone wishing to really get to know Marseille, both past and present.

Nestled within the historic setting of Marseille's iconic Hotel Dieu, the InterContinental Marseille boasts a blend of timeless elegance and modern luxury. With breathtaking views of the Vieux Port and the Mediterranean Sea, this five-star hotel offers impeccable service, exquisite dining options, and indulgent spa facilities. Each room and suite is meticulously designed to provide the utmost comfort and sophistication, ensuring a memorable stay for discerning travelers seeking an unforgettable experience in the heart of Provence.

Elevate your experience at the rooftop bar, where sophistication meets skyline panoramas. Offering a stylish ambiance and unparalleled views of Marseille's historic Vieux Port and the azure Mediterranean, this rooftop oasis invites guests to indulge in handcrafted cocktails, fine wines, and gourmet bites. Whether basking in the glow of a sunset or reveling in the city's nightlife against a backdrop of twinkling lights, the rooftop bar promises an unforgettable rendezvous high above the bustling streets of Provence's vibrant capital.

It’s no secret locally, that the Capian bar is one of the trendiest in Marseille, and a huge favourite among cocktail enthusiasts. The word ‘capian’ derives from the local word for the pointed prow of the emblematic, brightly-coloured fishing boats, with their generous curves, that ply their trade in the ports of the Mediterranean. This bar has it all! An elegant décor, a superb terrace, a view of the Vieux-Port, the protection of Notre-Dame de la Garde and to cap it all, a head bartender, Xavier Gilly, national and international award winner.. Together with his talented barmen, Xavier has created over 50 inimitable cocktails for a drinks menu with over 200 international alcohol brand references, including a magnificent collection of premium spirits.

LES FENÊTRES: In a brasserie that is at once modern and chic and extends unto a magnificent outdoor terrace in summer, our Chef’s cuisine draws its inspiration from all things Provencal, for contemporary, audacious dining.

THE TERRACE: Grandiose, sublime, glamorous, extraordinary: these are but a few of the adjectives to describe the 750 m2 that are your best introduction to the capital of Provence, the city of Marseille and its 300 days of annual sunshine. The terrace of the InterContinental Marseille – Hotel Dieu is set above and slightly back from the Vieux-Port, under the benign gaze of Notre-Dame de la Garde, emblem of the city.. All year round our staff is delighted to share this paradise with you. The life and times of the Provence is well represented here, as is the very soul of the wonderfully fashionable city of Marseille and the eternally-beautiful Provence Here you can contemplate the Lacydon cove (calanque) where the local art de vivre finds its origins: and the art de vivre in Marseille is well-known indeed!

ROOM SERVICE: Room service is gastronomy at your fingertips, when you wish. Dishes prepared by our Chefs are delivered to your room by staff there to ensure that you enjoy every moment of your stay. Whether you opt for a Continental breakfast, a healthy choice meal, à la carte, starters and salads, regional dishes, in season dishes of the da, pasta, pizzas, sandwiches, burgers, desserts, the wine menu and so much more… At Room Service there’s a lot to choose from.

The pool is perfectly secluded, protected from public view and from the sun’s rays, with water at 28°C, in an infinitely peaceful setting. The decor is reminiscent of the fountains and lavoirs (communal clothes-washing places) of traditional Provence. The decor draws its inspiration from the Palais Longchamp, built to celebrate the arrival of water in the city of Marseille in the 19th century. The pool is enclosed on one side by a stone wall down which water gently cascades into the pool, providing a charming, pleasant backdrop. The lighting, both subtle and discreet, with a mix of warm and cool tones, evokes the changing luminosity of the city and reinforces the sense of peace.

BEACHES NEARBY:

Plage des Catalans: Located just a short distance from the hotel, Plage des Catalans is a popular urban beach offering golden sand, clear waters, and stunning views of the Château d'If and the Frioul Islands.

Plage du Prophète: Situated to the south of Vieux Port, Plage du Prophète is another nearby option known for its relaxed atmosphere, calm waters, and picturesque setting against the backdrop of the Corniche Kennedy.

Plage de la Pointe Rouge: A bit further from the hotel but still easily accessible, Plage de la Pointe Rouge is one of Marseille's largest beaches, featuring fine sand, various water sports activities, and a vibrant beachfront promenade with restaurants and cafes.

Plage de la Vieille Chapelle: Tucked away in the charming Vallon des Auffes neighborhood, Plage de la Vieille Chapelle offers a more secluded and intimate beach experience, surrounded by rugged cliffs and traditional fishing boats.

In a decor inspired by the traditional Provencal fountains and lavoirs (communal clothes’ washing places) the Spa by Clarins offers time out: a moment of sheer revitalizing relaxation in an ambience redolent of the warmth and sensuality of the Mediterranean basin. There are 5 treatment booths including a double VIP booth, indoor swimming pool, indoor relaxation areas and a spacious fitness centre: the spa offers you a bubble of physical and spiritual relaxation, restful with Provencal tones. The Marseille Spa by Clarins is the first ever care and beauty treatment centre from this world-famous brand to open in the city of Marseille and indeed the first ever partnership between the brand and an InterContinental hotel in France.

Endowed on three sides with large French windows, the fitness center benefits from pervasive light and has an incomparable view of the Hôtel Dieu and the Vieux Port. It is fitted with the very latest, high quality Technogym equipment, WIFI connections and personalized, touch-sensitive screens:

Treadmill

Indoor cycles

Elliptical trainer

Rowing machine

Muscular strength exercise machine

Aqua jogging

Our personal trainer, several-times French champion in Taekwondo and Olympic coach in the 2012 games in London, is on hand should you request her services, to help you get back in shape, with the methods best adapted to you, personally.