#pierre alcover

[davidhudson]

Dita Parlo, September 4, 1908 – December 12, 1971.

With Pierre Alcover in André Hugon’s La rue sans joie (1938).

[nxlx96]

The Boy Saviour - Oscar Piastri x Reader (she/her)

Hi, this is my first time writing x reader, and the idea came to me at 3am a few nights ago while i was trying to sleep and hasn't left me live ever since. This is also my first time posting on tumblr so bear the simple format.

Trigger Warning: Non-consensual drug use, as in, reader gets roofied in a bar (Not by any named character nor any of the drivers, so rest assured on that sense). There is also recreational alcohol consumption and a bit of off-camera violence.

WC: 8381

Also, this is more of a pre-slash story rather than a romantic one. That's all I have to say, I'll shut up and let you read.

Please let me know what you think!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · 𖥸 · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Post race driver parties are not an uncommon thing, although it is much more frequent in the European leg of the season; when everyone is in the same country or near enough they don’t care for a few hours of commute -Today's crowd was composed of Charles, Oscar, Max, Lando, Alex, George, Pierre, Carlos and as a star guest, Daniel-. These parties were often the perfect way to try and unwind from the pressure of the season and to smooth out whatever incidents happened on track. A few passive aggressive interchanges, three shots and everyone’s usually back to laughing and buzzing along.

Tonight they had followed Charles’ recommendation and gone to a club in the more residential area of Monaco, away from the yacht club and the casino. It was still tightly packed with people dancing on the dancefloor and the bar was busy as the drinks kept on coming, but the people there didn't care much for them and they were able to enjoy themselves without worrying about having too many eyes on them.

They had a booth in the second floor alcove, allowing them an almost full view of the dance floor if anyone cared to look down, but they were too busy roughhousing and laughing. She’d gotten used to it, of course, having grown as a girl in motorsports it’s simply part of the package. But sometimes she still needed a break when they were behaving like that, because while they recognise her as a proper rival, a true competitor despite gender bias, being drunk they sometimes forget they have size and strength to their favour while having their fun, and their brawling and heavy shoulder slaps felt a tiny bit too annoying while tipsy. Overwhelming.

So she excuses herself to the bar, shaking the glass that now only tinkers with half melted ice cubes. She gets a few nods and a stray thumbs up but the chatter continues like before.

The layout of the club had the bar as the centerpiece gemstone, the first thing you see when you come though the main entrance across from the massive dance floor. The dance floor’s design is full of different height platforms, similar to those at Jimmy Z. Their booth on the second floor has a perfect view of all the first floor, except for the public entrance, which is right underneath it.

Coming down the stairs, she followed the platforms' paths that led her to the bar once again, choosing a stool to sit and wait for the bartenders to take her order. 

On the wall to her left, the DJ booth rises itself over all the platforms in its own little block, colored lights sprouting from the base towards the right of it, in the corner between the bar and the DJ there is the smaller door they were escorted through, directly from the parking lot behind the establishment. On the opposite wall there's a hallway that leads to what she assumes are the bathrooms, judging by the long queue of women she can see standing in the hallway.

A tap on the countertop brings her attention back. The bartender asks for her order in French, and her basic understanding of the language allows her to order a raspberry mojito without spluttering too much. A sweet enough concoction to help smooth out the straight Vodka shots they downed back at the table. 

In no time, a new clear plastic cup was placed in front of her. A tall cup full to the brim with rum and sparkly water. A mix of raspberry puree, lemon and mint sitting at the bottom. She grabs the straw and starts mixing the cocktail, but the ice floating on top, and the decorative mint leaves that float at the top threaten to overflow the cup when she does, so she has to take another bitter sip of almost pure liquor before actually enjoying the sweetness.

She rested her elbow on the bartop and her chin in her hand, alternating between swaying to the music, looking at the bartenders preparing fancy and complicated cocktails and looking around the crowd dancing on the floor. It wasn’t exactly a quiet place, but it did provide respite from the boys’ rowdiness. Occasionally there would be people who sat in the barstools next to her. Some of them made some sort of small talk while waiting for their drinks to be ready, but no one lingered in her space for too long, allowing her to unwind on her own.

♩ ♪ ♫ ♬ ♭ ♩ ♪ ♫ ♬ ♭ ♩ ♪ ♫ ♬ ♭ 

As a woman in life, you learn to know when to follow your instincts. Call it bad omen, gut feeling or sixth sense. Sometimes you subconsciously register danger before you see or hear something. In this case, she felt a tight coil in her stomach -looking back it might have been more of a natural reaction than not a bad omen-, her adrenaline spiked like she’d been in the car after miraculously avoiding a collision. Her hands trembled a bit as she sneakily tried to look around. There was a couple at the bar two seats to her right, too engrossed in each other to be the source of panic. As she swiped to the other side, her hand caught the straw of her cup, pulling it from inside. She tried to catch it but it rolled over the edge of the bartop, falling to the ground. 

Fucking breathe!

Straw forgotten, she grabbed the cup and twisted around in her stool, swiping the room with her gaze. To her other side there was a group of friends rowdily chatting, no different from the drivers’ table upstairs. He made eye contact with one of them, a guy not participating in the conversation. He seemed embarrassed to have been caught staring as he turned red and avoided eye contact. Too shy, too far away, probably not that either. She started scanning the crowd on the dancefloor with her heart almost at her throat.

Without a straw, she was left to swirl the whole cup to stir its contents. No one in the vicinity was particularly close to her bubble, or paying special attention to her, but the sensation didn’t go away. Some movement from the group at her side made her tense up, but it was a small part of them that walked towards the dancefloor. Shy boy included. The ones left at the bar were immersed in conversation, crowding together to hear themselves over the music. So she relaxed again.

She’d been tilting the drink to her lips when she finally realised that her nearly melted ice cubes had sunk to the bottom of the cup, and the whole thing looked cloudy. Her heart stopped in her throat, closing her airways.

I’ve been drugged.

The realisation sinks in, but it feels unreal.

Is this really happening to me?

The glass is on her lips, and she tilts it back, but keeps her mouth sealed; knowing that whoever did it must be keeping an eye on her. Her jaw is clenched so hard it’s almost difficult to breathe. Her first instinct is to throw the whole thing on the ground, but it’s less than half full now. Whatever they put in it has been in her system for long enough. Her next thought is to notify the bartenders, but she hesitates before turning around. There had been no one near enough on her side of the bar to get close to her drink, and she’d kept her hand over it at all moments; but of course the rim was wide and there were gaps between her fingers where someone could have dumped something in. For now the bartenders are also suspicious. Twisting her arm, she sets the drink on the table behind her; uncaring now to leave it unsupervised. 

The damage has already been done anyway. She figures.

Her heart rate does nothing to slow down, and her thoughts do not help at all. She is in imminent danger with no way out. She’d left her purse at the booth upstairs, and doesn’t have her phone at hand. She looks up in the direction of their table. Under the strobing lights she can see the crowd of drivers has dwindled down. She can distinguish Alex, George, Carlos, Max and Lando sitting up there; the rest of them might be somewhere in the dancefloor. The idea of trying to get the attention of the guys up there was also discarded, since it will alert her assailant too, and she has no guarantee it’ll get the guys’ attention. Trying to find the others in the crowd sounds just as impossible a task as to find a needle in a haystack. 

Her hands shake. The safest alternative that comes to her mind is to run to the women’s bathroom. The crowd queuing in the halfway has reduced, and the hallway looks dark; but it’s her best shot.

Over the corner of her eye something catches her attention. A white button up shit that looks almost fluorescent under the black lights. The figure skirts around the dancefloor, following almost the same path she took to get to the bar, but it’s clear his destination is not the same, since he doesn’t slow down and seems to be aiming for the bathrooms instead.

“Oscar!” She yells before she realises. It might have sounded a bit too strangled, a bit too panicked, but it catches his attention. She’s reaching a hand out to him, and he extends his arm for her to grab as he gets close to her stool.

“Oh hey,” He looks sort of confused, and she doesn’t blame him. They do gravitate to the same groups, But they’re not particularly close friends, so her calling out feels awkward for both of them. “Didn’t realise you came here.” He gestures awkwardly to the bar, but she’s too relieved to have found a safe person she doesn’t even hear what he’s saying. 

She jumps from the stool, holding onto his wrist. “Come dance with me!” 

He hesitates “... You know I’m not-” She’s still not listening, she hesitates between abandoning her cup at the bar, but grabs it at the last second and turns back to him.

“Just one song, come on!” 

“I was going to-” He tries again, but this time she digs her nails into his skin, and desperately tugs him with a trembling hand. He doesn’t put any more resistance, simply trailing behind her as she tries to find a pocket of space for them among the moving bodies. As she walks she feels her blood rushing to her head. She’s feeling too tipsy and woozy for the amount of alcohol she’s consumed; and whatever hopes the whole thing had been in her head crumble like sandcastles at the sensation of her bambi legs. But she has her way out caught in a deathgrip by the wrist, she can still get out unscathed.

As soon as she finds space for them, she stops and turns around to face him, getting close in his space to be heard over the loud music. She wraps Oscar’s arm she’d been tugging on, around her waist, in hopes he can hold her up in case her legs give out and wraps hers around his body too.

She can feel Oscar’s hand in her back, blindly trying to find a patch of fabric to settle on top of. His avoidance of the naked skin of her back settles a minute worry in her mind. Yes, he is a man. Yes, she would probably feel more comfortable coming to her own teammate for help. But Oscar is still safe, he won’t take advantage of her. He is safety.

“Are you sober?” Is the first thing that comes out of her mouth once they’ve settled their positions and start to loosely sway to the beat of whatever song is playing.

Oscar is looking more and more confused at the sudden serious tone of her voice and the way it contradicts the easy smile on her face. She’s still acting up like nothing’s wrong. “Uhh yeah, I came in my car.”

Oscar you blessed man.

“Great! I need you to take me to the hospital right now.” Oscar freezes completely and she tries to keep the easy smile on her face. “Someone put something in my drink and I think I’m going to pass out soon.” His face does something complicated, and one of his hands tries to go for the cup on her hand, but she moves it out of his path, tripping over her own heel in the process. He catches her before she can stumble.

“Why are you still-?” He looks tense in a way she hasn’t seen him many times, he instantly understood the seriousness the situation entails. She’s so glad he believed her, a worry she hadn’t even processed having.

Her confidence starts waving, there is not much time to explain and her voice shakes as she tries to fill him in. “You have to take it- I- I don’t know what they put in- The doctor can… I don’t know-” She feels like she's twelve again, trying to explain to her mother that she accidentally broke her favourite mirror and cut her hand. “They can analyse it or whatever,” she finishes lamely. 

She can see it more clearly now, he’s not just tense, he’s angry. At her or on her behalf? She doesn’t know him well enough to be able to tell the difference.

“You’re so…” Careless. Irresponsible. Stupid. Her eyes fill with tears and he feels like a scolded child. “... smart.” He says instead, not following the script in her mind.

“I kno- Wait what?” He shakes his head, moving past the topic. His voice holds urgency now. 

“Do you know who did it?” He’s looking past her, scanning the crowd behind her.

“No I- There was no one near except the bartenders… I-I didn’t know if they-  A-and I didn’t know who to ask for help!” She sniffs, and clears her throat, swallowing around the tightness in her throat.

He notices her trying to maintain her composure, and smoothes out his expression. “It’s alright. You found me, and I will help you, okay?” In a very unlike-himself moment he wraps his arms closer to her, holding her in a loose hug. Maybe it’s the relief that comes from Oscar’s reassurance that makes her body relax, loosen up. She takes the moment to really get a deep breath, trying to regulate her heart rate, knowing an accelerated heartbeat will only speed the effect of the drug. The music is already hard to hear even with how the deep base thrums in her bones. She lets her head fall forward onto his shoulder and Oscar’s arms tighten around her like a vice, but when she stays standing up he relaxes. “Let’s get you out of here, yeah?” She’s pretty sure she just gave him a small heart attack, but she can’t really find the strength to apologize, so she simply takes another deep breath, this time taking in the smell of his cologne, and nods her head. 

She steps back, trying to maintain balance on the small heels of her shoes, and allows Oscar to grab her arm to guide them through the crowd. It’s a bit scary, how fast she seems to be falling under the effects. What would she have done had Oscar not been there? 

Oscar is aggressively polite as he makes a path for them towards the exit, loudly excusing them as he pushes through. She walks behind him, gaze set on his broad shoulders. They’re almost out of the crowd when she feels a hand closing in on her arm. She flinches and removes her arm before they can grasp her, and steps even closer to Oscar, almost stepping on his heels. “Oscar-” She manages in a squeaky voice, but he must hear her because he holds together and broathens his stride. The hands do not follow, only shoulder bumps as they make their way though. 

They get out the doors in no time. The space outside is deserted, late enough that everyone is either at home asleep or inside the club. Oscar turns to her, scans her and points toward the side street that she assumes would lead them around the building towards the private parking lot. “My car’s this way.” She briefly looks back to the doors, but they stay closed so she nods. Maybe the hand was her imagination, or a simple accidental brush of a hand. 

Her steps are still mostly steady but Oscar still keeps a hand on her left forearm, the warmth from his hand is a stark contrast to the cold air of the Monegasque night. The sweat that had layered over her body is cooling off rapidly as they round the building and by the time they’ve walked the length of the side street and caught sight of the actual parking lot, shivers have started to rack her up.

Oscar briefly lets go of her arm to fish the keys from his pocket and she instantly misses the warmth. Now untethered she slows her walking, paying a bit more attention to where she’s placing her feet. He clicks off the alarm and the navy blue McLaren Artura at the other end blinks its lights at them. “There’s our ride.” Oscar is smiling as he looks back, extending his arm for her again, but his eyes stray over her shoulder and the expression freezes in his face. 

A hand wraps on the arm that Oscar hadn’t been holding and it feels nothing like the Australian's careful and grounding hold. It burns as it takes a bruising hold of her and tugs her to the side. She stumbles with the force of it, body already feeling too close to a ragdoll to comfort. Her voice is strong but not steady as she demands, “Let me go.” She tries to back away from the foreign body, but her ankle gives up and twists painfully. She stumbles but holds her stance and tries to push away from the nasal french voice speaking at her in a sultry voice. The arm that had been trying to push away from the tall man gets caught from the wrist. The drink sloshes and some of it spills over her fingers and onto her dress. 

Just as he’s starting to use his weight against her, a body steps in between them. She collides with Oscar’s shoulder a bit, but her right arm is freed, and she pulls it back towards her. “Get your fucking hands off.” She has never heard him sound so angry. His accent has deepened like she’s never heard before. But he is still gentle as he wraps a hand firmly on her left arm. She can feel him pulling the guy’s hand and prying his fingers open to release her. She uses his back to support herself as she helps pull her arm free from those thick fingers. 

Once freed she stumbles back again, but the Aussie has a firm hold on her and keeps her upright. The guy tries to go around Oscar to get her again, and over the driver’s shoulder she looks at his face for the first time as Oscar pushes firmly with his forearm to keep him away. Tan complexion, prince-y dark hair and a well groomed beard. 

In any other circumstance she would have said he was attractive, but now she can only feel nauseous at the fake nonchalant smile the guy is sporting. With her muddled brain she half understands he’s trying to excuse this as a misunderstanding. He catches the words ‘friend’, ‘together’, ‘mine’ and ‘drunk’. She has no idea if Oscar even understands what the guy is saying, but he seems set on getting him away from her. 

After a more forceful shove that makes the assailant stumble back, Oscar looks over his shoulder and lets go of her, pushing her towards the parking lot. “Get in the car.”

She nods dumbly as she turns in the direction where the lights flashed earlier. The parking lot is only mildly illuminated, but it’s enough for her to be able to locate the Artura among the other luxury cars parked there. There are more confrontation sounds coming from behind, and what sounds very much like a hit, but she doesn’t look back. All her attention and remaining brain power is going to try to reach the car at the end of the parking lot. Her right ankle throbs painfully with each step, and the uneven terrain makes it three times harder, because when the fuck did the pavement turn to gravel?

She leans on a pink Porshe 911 as her legs buckle, the McLaren is right there. There’s the sound of another car starting up, more yelling but she’s already rounding it from behind towards the passenger door. The sound of angry screeching tyres spinning out without traction in the gravel grinds her head and the pain in her ankle is too much; her right leg gives out completely, the other one follows shortly and she’s going down. She tries to drag her hand on the car to find a purchase on something but there’s nothing other than the squeak of her sweaty hand on the polished paint. Her knees take the brunt of the impact, and it stings.

The angry car has sped off, and she’s pretty sure she hears it clip the wall of the sidestreet. She takes a deep breath and lets herself fall seated against the car, knees to her chest, back to the door. Dumly, she notes that the cup still has some liquid on it, its red is just as dark in the low light as the small pinpricks of blood on her knees.

She registers footsteps getting closer to her, and for a second her heart rate speeds up again until she hears her name called by a worried Australian. She bangs her head against the door, willing herself to keep her eyes open as she answers back. Oscar’s footsteps speed up and in no time he’s kneeling in front of her, warm hands on her biceps as he looks over her body. He brings a hand to remove stray pieces of hair from her face and she can see a hint of blood on his knuckles.

“Are you okay?” The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them.

🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎

Oscar cannot believe his ears. “How am- Are you forreal?” An incredulous chuckle escapes him because this girl, shivering on the floor with scraped knees and blown out pupils, who almost got kidnapped by a stranger in a foreign country, is more worried about him than about herself. He shakes his head and wipes his knuckles, showing her the unbroken skin. “I’m alright, see?” Her eyes scan his hand for a second too long before nodding. Her head bobs in a sleepy manner, and he knows he has to hurry. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” She’s breathing heavily, but Oscar can’t be sure if it’s an after effect of whatever drug the asshole put in her drink or the exertion of the situation. “My ankle hurts,” He looks down at her feet, still clad in heeled slippers with a complicated ribbon. Neither of her feet looks particularly swollen or bruised for now. “I’m scared…” Her voice is much softer, almost a whisper, but in the emptiness of the parking lot at night, it almost seems to echo. 

He grabs her arms again, rubbing up and down “It’s okay, it’s over now.” She keeps shivering under his arms and Oscar doesn’t know if it’s the cold or shock starting to settle in, “Can you walk?”

Her eyebrows furrow and she tilts her head in a terribly adorable gesture, “Walk where?”

“We need to get you into the car”

“But-” She slaps the back of her hand against the car, “I’m here”

Oscar can’t suppress the smile, “Yeah, but unless you’re planning on driving, we need to get you around the passenger side.”

“... Fuck.” 

“Force of habit, yeah.” He grabs onto her forearms. Her skin feels cold and sticky with dried sweat. “Come on, let’s get you up.” She pulls alongside him, but as soon as her right foot is firm on the ground, she makes a face and he takes more of her weight as she falters, her other leg not cooperating much. 

“Oscar” The slugginess in her voice makes the R in his name sound much breathier. “I don’t think I can walk.”

“Alright, well-” He bends down and swipes her legs off the floor, holding her in a princess's carry. She makes a strangled sound and her arms come to grab at his shoulders. The cup tilts dangerously but she rights it just in time. “Much easier this way.” He makes his way over to the passenger seat and bends his knees to open up the door, depositing her in the seat. “Ah look!” Wedged right in between the seat and the door, is a hoodie he’d abandoned maybe a few days ago. He pulls it and sets it on her lap, taking the cup from her hand. “Think you can get it on by yourself?”

“Mm-hm”

“‘kay, you do that while I figure out where to keep this.” He closes the door and rounds the car again to his seat, looking around the small space to find a safe place to place it without spilling what little liquid remains on it. As his companion wrestles with the fabric, she kicks an abandoned water bottle. “Bingo.” He leans down to grab it. A small shake reveals to still have stale water he poured out of the window before pouring in the remaining cocktail into it. He screws the lid back on and keeps the cup too, just in case. He drops both items in the footrest of the passenger before looking at the occupant. She’s relaxed into the seat, and her eyes are closed. Fear creeps in for a second, “Ready to go?”

thumbs-upHe gets a thumbs up in response. Still conscious it seems. He reaches over and pulls her seatbelt on, knowing he will ignore all speed limits to the hospital. After a second of consideration, he shakes her arm until she’s blinking up at him. “Try to stay awake, yeah?” He grabs his phone, to call Lando. It hasn’t been longer than 10 minutes since he left their table, but he needs someone to call the police on the guy, and let Lando know he needs to get a new ride. He looks at his companion, she’s looking at his phone as it rings in his lap. “If you feel like throwing up let me know, yeah?” He says as he pulls out of the parking lot.

“m’not throwing up.” Her angry eyebrows are back. 

“Okay, then you can help me explain to Lando-” Just then, the Brit’s voice comes through the car speakers.

“Heeellooo? Mate did you get lost on your way back or what?” He’s half yelling to hear himself over the music. It’s a miracle he even heard his phone ring.

“No, I’m taking the Alpine princess to the hospital.” He sneaks a look at her as he accelerates down the narrow monaco streets. She’s still awake, biting her lip as Lando processes the words.

“You what! What happened!? The fuck Oscah?”

He’s about to start explaining, but she speaks up “Some guy spiked my drink, I found Oscar and he got me out.” He has to keep his eyes on the road, but he can see out of the corner of his eye how she cuddles up into the seat. “I’m alright… Pinky promise.”

“Lando, listen, I need you to get Charles to call the police.” The traffic light up ahead has turned yellow, but Oscar doesn’t slow down. It’s the middle of the night and there are no other cars around, so he floors it right as it turns red. “I’ll give you a description, and his license plate. I need you to report him to authorities.”

“Fuck.” He says, eloquently. “Yeah I-” There’s a bit of silence from him, but the music is still humming loudly in the background. “I think I see Charles upstairs, I’ll go get him now.” Oscar can hear him speaking to someone, but it’s muffled like he lowered the phone. Almost a full two minutes later he speaks up again. “Kay, got Charles and Pierre here. They want to know if you’re really okay, sprout?”

Oscar is slowing down for a curve. Because as much as he would love to go as fast as during the actual race, he doesn’t know these streets as well, so he has to be careful. The silence stretches for too long, and as he turns to look at her again, he finds her completely asleep. 

“Shit, she passed out.” He presses harder on the gas pedal, Lando curses too. “He tried to grab her when we were getting to the parking lot. She twisted her ankle and scraped her knees, but other than that, she’s physically alright.” Streets and buildings blur as he speeds by. “Asshole was as tall as George or Alex. Lanky and tan. Dark hair, beard. I broke his nose, and probably his cheekbone before he ran away.” As he approaches a speed bump, he throws his hand over her chest to prevent her from flying around. 

This time it’s a new voice, Charles “He took off running?” 

“No, in a car. Porsche 911 Turbo S, Dark green.”

“Did you get the license plate?”

Of course I did, who do you think I am? 

“M3T9. He busted a backlight as he drove off, if that helps.”

“I will get on it, do not worry he will not get away.” Despite the noise, Oscar can hear how dark Charles’ voice becomes, and he remembers that Charles is a very prominent figure here; the prince of Monaco who is friends with the actual prince of Monaco.

“I’ll leave you to take care of him, then.”

“Yes yes, I will get him. You just get the petite poupée to the doctors, yes?” He has no idea what that means but it sounds like an affectionate nickname.

Oscar nods to himself in the car, “We’re already here, she’ll be alright” He can see the URGENCES sign of the Centre Hospitalier Princesse Grace. He eases his foot off the pedal, as he turns into the mostly empty parking lot.

“Keep us updated!”

“Will do.” 

The call disconnects and he’s left to pick a parking space that isn’t reserved for ambulances. Once he’s turned everything off, he turns to her and shakes her arm, calling her name to try and wake her up, but it’s futile. She’s breathing deeply, sound asleep. He rounds the car and opens her door. He leans over her legs to grab the bottle and scoop under her knees and in the process he discovers she did not manage to get both her arms though the sleeves of his hoodie, and that her right is still tangled inside. He almost huffs a laugh at that. Almost.

Picking her up again feels different than when he did it 10 minutes ago, because her body is too lax, too malleable. This time she makes no sound when he hoists her up, and her head lulls back, stretching her neck over the arm he has under her shoulders. She looks and feels like a ragdoll in his arms as he stands up and uses his elbow to drag the door down and closed; he quietly seethes at the thought of her being like this in the hands of such a vermin. 

How anyone could find such an unresponsive body attractive is a question he doesn’t even want to think of. Instead he stops to adjust her neck, letting her head rest on his collarbone instead of the previous uncomfortable position and fixes the hood over her head to cover up her face. It is the middle of the night, but he has learnt that every wall has eyes and that everything can and will be posted online. He has nothing to hide his face with, but protecting her identity in a moment of such vulnerability is his only priority in his mind after getting her help.

He’s careful of pushing the doors with his shoulder. The reception is empty except for the receptionist behind the desk. He sighs inwardly at that. The woman looks up and stands up immediately upon his arrival at the desk, his French skills are nonexistent, so he wholeheartedly hopes she understands English. “We were at a club and someone put drugs in her drink.” The woman nods once, so Oscar takes that as a sign that she does and continues. “She passed out in the car while driving here, like five minutes ago.” He’s not as oblivious as to think he looks innocent holding a dead looking girl, and the face of the woman, carefully stoic, sets his nerves on fire.

“Did she say what was put in it or who did it?”

 “No, but she asked me to bring what was left of the drink, because she said you could analyse it to treat her,” He sets the bottle on the counter and hikes her up in his arms. “She’d thought it was one of the bartenders, but as we were getting to the car the guy came and tried to take her by force.” He omits the part where he punched him and instead lets his trump card subtly show. “My friend Charles has already called the police to report the assault.” Despite how common it is, the name must register in her mind, because she makes a double take, between Oscar’s face and the face half hidden in his chest. “Please help her,” 

“Of course we will help.” She shakes her head like the thought of them refusing attention was a personal offence. She presses a button behind the counter and rounds the desk to take a better look at the girl in his arms. She produces a penlight from a pocket and gestures towards her. Oscar twists to allow her to get closer. “How long ago did she consume the drink?”

“Uh…” The nurse opens one of her eyelids and flashes her light, studying pupil reaction. “I have no idea, she found me around 15 or 20 minutes ago, she’d already realised by then and didn’t drink the rest of it, but I don’t know how long it was.” He can hear footsteps from behind, another nurse is coming from the personal hallway. “She started shivering too, but I don't know if it was cold or shock. I gave her my hoodie and it has stopped now, at least.”

The woman nods, and as the new nurse comes closer, she starts -hopefully- translating what he’s said in rapid French. It’s like watching Charles, Pierre and Lance gossip during drivers’ parade. The bottle is handed too, and when the exchange ends, the new nurse takes a cursory look, stops at Oscar’s face and mumbles something back before continuing their path towards the next hallway.

“We will get a room set up for her, do you want me to bring a wheelchair in the meantime?”

“No, I’m alright.” She’s deadweight, but not as heavy as Oscar would have imagined, he’s also trained enough during his life, he can hold a few more minutes. The receptionist goes back around the desk and starts asking questions about her for what Oscar assumes is a registry sheet. A new concern sparks in his mind, and he accidentally interrupts one of her questions with his own request. “I don’t know if I’ll be allowed to stay with her, but could you at least make sure she doesn’t get a male doctor?”

Her serious and stoic facade falls at that, and for a second she reminds Oscar of his own mum. “I’ll make sure of that, and I do think you might be able to stay with her. It’ll help her to see a familiar face waking up.” She gives him a reluctant smile and resumes asking if he knows her blood type. 

The other nurse comes back just as they’re finishing, and leads him to a room where they’ll be treating her. As he lowers her from his arm, he remembers to mention a detail he’d forgotten. “Hey, uh- Her ankle… She said it hurt, and might have twisted it.” 

The nurse nods, and answers in a much more prominent accent. “We will take x-ray of it. Your hand is okay?” 

Oscar looks back to his hand. There’s redness on his knuckles and a bruise is starting to form around the bones, but he flexes his fingers a couple of times and it only stings a bit. “No, I’m okay, thanks.”

“Okay, now you wait outside, I call when ready, yes?”

“Yeah, thank you.” 

He closes the door behind him and walks to a nearby bench, using the time to update Lando via text. In return he gets told that Charles stormed off the bar, Pierre, Carlos and Daniel in tow. The rest of them are deciding how to carpool home; and that everyone will keep the situation under wraps, including whoever Charles has contacted. He says that Alex will be stopping by the hospital soon, to drop off her forgotten bag and phone and whatever else she’s left at their table.

The receptionist nurse passes by Oscar in the way to her room and lets him know they’ll take her for an x-ray; and that after that, he might wait inside her room if he wishes, in turn he lets her know he will jump out for a second because another friend will bring her stuff from the bar. The woman nods and gives him the number of the room they will take her after the x-ray for him to come back. 

His phone rings just as they’re rolling her bed out. He only catches a glimpse of an IV line connected to her arm before they wheel her down the corridor, he too turns away. 

Alex is waiting with his emergency lights on. When he sees him come out of the doors, he gives him a tired smile. Oscar leans against the door and they stay in silence for a while. It’s colder out now, or at least it feels like that now that adrenaline is no longer coursing through him. The light sweat he’d worked up earlier is drying cold against his back. He raps his knuckles against the blue paint of Alex’s car, bringing the Thai’s attention to his bruised hand.

“I heard you broke his nose?” Alex’s tone is teasing, if maybe a bit impressed.

“Got a couple hits, yeah.” Oscar closes his fist, the skin tightens over his bones. The memory of a bone cracking under them probably shouldn’t feel as satisfactory as it did. “Should’ve done more.” 

It comes much more bitterly than he’d expected, and Alex places a hand over his wrist, patting him “You did more than any of us, don’t beat yourself up.” He reaches to the passenger seat and pulls a small handbag and Oscar spots a jacket hung behind the seat. “You cold?” Alex must have seen his eyes stray, and as he pulls it from its perch Oscar notices the Williams logo on it.

“Nah mate, I’d rather be cold.”

“Ah, come on I can’t let the boy saviour freeze tonight.”

“No, no, never in a million years you’ll catch me wearing Williams merch,” He grabs the handbag and steps away when Alex tries to push the jacket into his arms too. They’re both laughing as the jacket falls to the ground and Alex is left half hanging off his window to grab it. Oscar watches him struggle for a second or five before deciding to have mercy; so he grabs the jacket and stuffs it in Alex’s face, turns on his back and starts walking back to the doors so he can’t attempt to hand it to him again.

“Oscar!” Alex calls between fabric and laughter, and Oscar turns just in time to catch a juice bottle headed straight to his face. A second one follows right after, he fumbles with it since both his hands are occupied, but he manages not to drop it, Alex snaps his fingers in faux frustration at that. “Take care of her!” He says as he starts his car again.

“Will do, mate.” He watches as Alex drives away until his tailgate lights disappear behind a wall, just then he turns back into the hospital. As he makes his way back, he rearranges the stuff in his hands; he holds the purse under his arm since it doesn’t have any straps, and studies the bottles. Alex had gotten orange and apple. 

Which one would she prefer?

He has no idea, really. He always sees her drinking either water, isotonic drinks, or energy drinks. Apples or oranges? There is a new receptionist at the desk, and when Oscar rattles the new room number, he is directed to the elevators with instructions to the second floor where lower grade emergencies are treated.

He only has to wait around 10 more minutes before she’s wheeled back in. The initial receptionist seems to be the one assigned to her, as she is the one that stays and explains to Oscar that there isn’t any fracture in the ankle. It seems like just her soft tissue was affected and she’ll get by with wearing a brace and sports tape for a few days. The lower half of her body is covered by the sheets while his hoodie covers the rest. One of the sleeves has been pushed up to make space for the IV, and Oscar can see that her foot is resting on a couple of pillows to keep it raised. Her shoes are in a little cubby under the bed, cubby to which he adds her purse.

He gets told there isn’t much they can do about the drug except keep her hydrated and let her body work it though, because it has already been absorbed by her bloodstream, along with the alcohol she’d consumed. But that the sample analysis revealed it to be non-threatening, it’ll just leave her with a nasty hangover. Despite the slight pessimistic tone, the information leaves him relieved, and he relaxes into the chair he’d sat to wait. He thanks the nurse and watches as a new person in different colored scrubs, carefully and efficiently wraps her ankle in neon blue sports tape.

Before long, he’s left alone with her, with instructions of pressing the call button if anything happens, but to try and rest because it could be hours before she wakes.

He tries to keep himself busy whilst keeping an eye on her. He messages Charles with the name of the drug that was put onto the drink, and the only answer he gets is a demon emoji, a fist emoji, hands clapping and another fist. Confused, he simply reacts with a thumbs up. He updates those who have messaged him to ask about her condition, but doesn’t go further than that. He settles on drinking the orange juice, and leaves the apple one in the bedside table next to her bed, scrolls through social media for a while and checks up on her again, but it has been a long and eventful day, and when his eyelids become too heavy, he doesn't fight them very hard.

🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎

Waking up feels like a heavy G crash. There's a pounding in her head that goes at the same tempo as her heart, and it takes conscious effort to take a deep breath. There's a slight throbbing on her bicep, on the wrist of the opposite arm and a sharper throb on her right foot.

She's laying sideways in a soft enough bed and there is little light from what she can see through her eyelids. 

But it doesn't smell like her bed at all.

Instead there's the smell of a different laundry detergent, artificial minty eucalyptus shampoo and a herbal mix. It smells distinctly like men, and the unfamiliarity of it makes her heart race, worsening the pounding of her head.

There's a blank in her memory when she tries to remember the previous night. She knows she was going out with some of the Monaco based drivers, and that she'd abandoned the table at some point. That's where everything starts to get fuzzy. 

There are flashes. 

A body close to hers in the dancefloor. The cold air outside the club. Falling into the gravel. Hands roughly grabbing at her, and a french accent. Falling asleep in a car.

Panic really does settle in at this point, and tears blurry her vision when she opens her eyes; but the room is nothing like she expects it to be. She's in a single bed, and there is a heart monitor that is displaying her rabbiting heartbeat. A saline drip that is halfway empty connected to the back of her hand.

A hospital?

The light is warm and dimmed, seemingly coming from a lamp behind her. She looks down at herself and finds a hoodie that is not hers, and totally is the source of the smells; but looking under it’s collar reveals the same dress she wore last night.

She slowly turns her head, still wary of the raging headache. The overhead lights are off, and her foot is propped on a pillow under the blankets. She wiggles her toes and twists her ankle. A sharp pain sparks, but it's not unbearable.

The other side of the room is half hidden by the glare of the lamp that makes her blink before her eyes adjust to the light.

A figure is sitting in a chair, sound asleep and covered with a blanket identical to hers. Oscar’s arms are crossed across his chest and his neck looks like it will hurt when he wakes up. 

More memories rush to her mind as she turns fully to that side; Lando's voice over the speakers of the car, Oscar's worried face in the dancefloor, his broad back as he pushed another man from her. The light is low, but she can see a bruise forming on the hand where Oscar is holding a half full bottle of juice. 

Slowly, she registers the smell of stale car and something so uniquely Oscar that brings tears back to her eyes.

“Oscar?” Her voice is low, croaky and shaky, full of tears when she speaks. But the reaction is immediate, he's awake in a second. His head snaps back into the right orientation and he clutches the bottle in his hand. Maybe she should feel guilty for waking him up, but that is a too complicated emotion to think of right now, instead there is a pool of relief as he meets her eyes, and an immense amount of trust as he whispers her name and detangles himself from the blanket to get close.

“You're okay, you're okay.” It's obvious he doesn't know what to do about tears, his hands move around uselessly and he looks so constipated it's almost funny. “Are you hurt anywhere? I can- I can call a nurse?” His hand finally decides to hover over a call button at the side of her bed, but she claps hers over his instead, and attempts to dry her face with the other.

“No, it's okay. I'm- I'm okay,” She hiccups again, and his other hand comes to rub up and down her arm; an action that also feels familiar and warm. “Thank you, Oscar.” Her voice is still choked up, but very earnest. She squeezes his hand and he squeezes right back. 

“You don't have to thank me,” She wipes her eyes again and looks back up at him, he's giving her a half smile that pushes a dimple into existence. It's such an adorable new discovery that she can't help the rush of emotions that comes. She lets go of his hand and sits up to pull him into a hug.

“The fuck you mean i don't have to thank you!?” It sounds half muffled against the fabric of his white shirt. “You saved my fucking life, Oscar” His hands come to wrap around her back and tears spring up again at the thought of what could have been. “He could've-”

“Shhh, let's not think about that, yeah? You're alright and that's what matters.” His hands rub circles between her shoulders, “Charles took care of everything else.”

“What’s that mean?” She sniffs, trying to keep the tears from soaking up his shirt.

“I have absolutely no idea, but he knows people who can hide his crimes, I'm not worried about him.” I'm worried about you, “How are you feeling?”

She takes another deep breath. The smell of eucalyptus and laundry detergent is stronger when it comes from the source. She lets go and wipes her face again with the sleeve of her -his- hoodie. “My head hurts and my ankle stings, but I'm alright,” Thanks to you. “I just feel very hungover.”

“Here,” She hears the shake of liquid, and upon removing her hands, Oscar's is offering an unopened bottle of apple juice. “Alex got us these.”

She grabs it and pouts at him, “It's my favourite. Thank you.” The last line comes out more charged than intended, but that's alright because she doesn't think she'll be able to stop thanking him anytime soon.

Oscar simply smiles like he knows, he lightly shakes his head and starts filling her in on what happened after she “fell asleep” as he says. She has no idea what time it is, but there is no rush right now, she's safe and in good hands, and when sleep starts lapping at her feet, she lets herself be swiped by the tide because she trusts Oscar to be there when she wakes up again.

The end.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · 𖥸 · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

well, if you got here, i want to thank you for reading this the whole way through. as i said earlier, this came to me at 3 am and did not leave my head again, so i had to bring it to life. i hope you enjoyed despite the slightly dark topic.

from my research, i learned that not some drugs are undetectable to the naked eye, so always be aware of your drinks and who is close to you. i hope this story stays as a fictional thing and that none of you ever have to deal with something like that.

taka care and thank you again for reading!

Love,

Nini.

[dailyunsolvedmysteries-movedd]

Green Boots

The body of “Green Boots,” an Indian climber who died on Everest in 1996 and is believed to be Tsewang Paljor - although the body has not been officially identified - lies near a cave that all climbers must pass on their way to the peak. Green Boots now serves as a waypoint marker that climbers use to gauge how near they are to the summit. Green Boots met his end after becoming separated from his party. He sought refuge in a mountain overhang, but to no avail. He sat there shivering in the cold until he died.

The term Green Boots originated from the green Koflach mountaineering boots on his feet. All expeditions from the north side encounter the body curled in the limestone alcove cave at 8,500 m (27,900 ft) - very close to the summit.

The first recorded video footage of Green Boots was filmed on 21 May 2001 by French climber Pierre Paperon. In the video, Green Boots is shown lying on his left side, facing toward the summit. According to Paperon, Sherpas told him that it was the body of a Chinese mountaineer who had attempted the climb six months earlier.

Over time, the corpse became known both as a landmark on the north route and for its association with the death of David Sharp. In May 2014, Green Boots’ body was reported to be missing from view, presumably removed or buried. It reappeared, however, in 2017.

[byneddiedingo]

René Lefèvre and Annabella in Le Million (René Clair, 1931)

Cast: Annabella, René Lefèvre, Jean-Louis Allibert, Paul Ollivier, Constantin Siroesco, Vanda Gréville, Odette Talazac, Pedro Elviro, Jane Pierson, André Michaud, Eugène Stuber, Pierre Alcover, Armand Bernard. Screenplay: René Clair, based on a play by Georges Berr and Marcel Guillemaud. Cinematography: Georges Périnal. Art direction: Lazare Meerson. Music: Armand Bernard, Philippe Parès, Georges Van Parys. 

The French do wonderful things with air. They invented the soufflé and Champagne, and the Montgolfier brothers mastered the art of ballooning. And no French director had a greater gift for buoyancy than René Clair, whose mastery of pacing keeps even the most cockamamie of stories from collapsing, going flat, or crashing to Earth. Le Million is the quintessential Clair film, a musical farce that inspired countless movies, some of which don't always stay aloft. You can see the lineaments of the Marx Brothers' A Night at the Opera (Sam Wood, 1935) in it as well as Jacques Demy's The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (1964) and The Young Girls of Rochefort (1967). The story is much ado about a lottery ticket left in an old jacket owned by a young artist (René Lefèvre) with a mountain of debts, and it carries us from his studio to the jail to backstage at the opera and back again, sometimes journeying over the rooftops of Paris, all of which are embodied not by the real things but by Lazare Meerson's evocative sets. The music is pretty but forgettable, which is really all you need it to be. 

[alexlacquemanne]

Juillet MMXXIV

Films

Le Comte de Monte-Cristo (2024) d'Alexandre de La Patellière et Matthieu Delaporte avec Pierre Niney, Bastien Bouillon, Anaïs Demoustier, Anamaria Vartolomei, Laurent Lafitte, Pierfrancesco Favino, Patrick Mille, Vassili Schneider, Julien de Saint Jean et Julie de Bona

La Jalousie (1976) de Raymond Rouleau avec Daniel Gélin, Nicole Calfan, Jacques Toja, Annick Alane, Marc Eyraud, Anna Gaylor, Françoise Pages et Francis Lemaire

Maestro(s) (2022) de Bruno Chiche avec Yvan Attal, Pierre Arditi, Miou-Miou, Pascale Arbillot, Caroline Anglade, Nils Othenin-Girard et Caterina Murino

The Truman Show (1998) de Peter Weir avec Jim Carrey, Ed Harris, Laura Linney, Noah Emmerich, Natascha McElhone et Holland Taylor

Un crime dans la tête (The Manchurian Candidate) (1962) de John Frankenheimer avec Frank Sinatra, Laurence Harvey, Janet Leigh, Angela Lansbury, James Gregory, Lloyd Corrigan et Leslie Parrish

French Connection (The French Connection) (1971) de William Friedkin avec Gene Hackman, Fernando Rey, Roy Scheider, Tony Lo Bianco, Marcel Bozzuffi et Frédéric de Pasquale

To The Moon (Fly Me to the Moon) (2024) de Greg Berlanti avec Scarlett Johansson, Channing Tatum, Nick Dillenburg, Anna Garcia, Jim Rash, Noah Robbins, Colin Woodell et Christian Zuber

Le Gendarme de Saint-Tropez (1964) de Jean Girault avec Louis de Funès, Michel Galabru, Jean Lefebvre, Christian Marin, Guy Grosso, Michel Modo, Geneviève Grad, France Rumilly, Nicole Vervil et Claude Piéplu

La Marseillaise (1938) de Jean Renoir avec Pierre Renoir, Louis Jouvet, Lise Delamare, Andrex, Edmond Ardisson, Nadia Sibirskaïa, Jenny Hélia, Gaston Modot et Julien Carette

Un éléphant ça trompe énormément (1976) de Yves Robert avec Jean Rochefort, Claude Brasseur, Guy Bedos, Victor Lanoux, Danièle Delorme, Anny Duperey, Martine Sarcey et Marthe Villalonga

Le Gendarme à New York (1965) de Jean Girault avec Louis de Funès, Michel Galabru, Jean Lefebvre, Christian Marin, Guy Grosso, Michel Modo, Geneviève Grad et Alan Scott

Le Secret de Green Knowe (From Time to Time) (2009) de Julian Fellowes avec Alex Etel, Timothy Spall, Maggie Smith, Christopher Villiers, Pauline Collins, Eliza Bennett, Rachel Bell, Dominic West et Carice van Houten

Raoul Taburin (2018) de Pierre Godeau avec Benoît Poelvoorde, Édouard Baer, Suzanne Clément, Vincent Desagnat, Grégory Gadebois, Victor Assié et Timi-Joy Marbot

Nous irons tous au paradis (1977) de Yves Robert avec Jean Rochefort, Claude Brasseur, Guy Bedos, Victor Lanoux, Danièle Delorme, Marthe Villalonga, Jenny Arasse, Christophe Bourseiller et Josiane Balasko

Drôle de drame (1937) de Marcel Carné avec Françoise Rosay, Michel Simon, Louis Jouvet, Jean-Pierre Aumont, Nadine Vogel, Pierre Alcover et Jean-Louis Barrault

French Connection 2 (1975) de John Frankenheimer avec Gene Hackman, Fernando Rey, Bernard Fresson, Philippe Léotard, Ed Lauter, Charles Millot, Jean-Pierre Castaldi et Cathleen Nesbitt

Le Gendarme se marie (1968) de Jean Girault avec Louis de Funès, Michel Galabru, Jean Lefebvre, Christian Marin, Guy Grosso, Michel Modo, Geneviève Grad, Claude Gensac et Mario David

Totally Spies! le film (2009) de Pascal Jardin avec Claire Guyot, Fily Keita, Céline Mauge, Jean-Claude Donda, Karl Lagerfeld et Emmanuel Garijo

Séries

Maguy Saison 6

Quitte ou rouble - Séparation de survie - L'injuste prix - Une nièce rapportée - Une occase en moins - Météo et bas - Une Maude passagère - Bénévole d'essai - Tata poule - Des routes en déroute - Débat des eaux - L'ami gratteur - Pinceaux périlleux - Termite errant - Troubles de la télévision - Étrennes à la traîne - Mégarde à vue - Golf: heurts - Mépris de Rome - Le rappeur sur la ville - Jaloux y es-tu ? - Clochard abstrait - Affreux d'emploi - Un clown chasse l'autre - Adamo.. tus et bouche cousue - Passe-moi le recel - Fissures la corde raide - Écoutes que coûte - Le carton de la plaisanterie - Un fils à la patte - Mur… aïe ! - Désaccords de guitares - Une mage d'histoire - Compagnons d'alarmes - Despote au feu - Dernière cartouche au tableau - Des pots en dépôt

Affaires sensibles

17 et 18 septembre 1981 : dernière cigarette pour la guillotine - 1er février 2003, l’accident de la navette spatiale Columbia - Les Dix d’Hollywood, ou quand l’Amérique voyait rouge - Challenger 1986 : une catastrophe en plein ciel pour la fin d’un rêve "étoilé" - La tornade Michel Polac - John Lennon, mort d'un enfant du siècle - “Nous irons les buter jusque dans les chiottes” Russie, 1999, les attentats, la Tchétchénie et Poutine - Essais nucléaires dans le pacifique, un mensonge français - Péchiney : délit d'amitié, délit d'initiés

Le Coffre à Catch

#174 : William Regal champion en Angleterre? - #175 : CM Punk de retour à la ECW ! - #176 : Shelton vs Christian : un banger en préparation ! - #177 : Trent Baretta & Caylen Croft : les vrais Best Friends ! - #178 : TLC 2009 : Un Show Stealer ?

WWE : les rivalités de légende Saison 2

Hulk Hogan vs. Roddy Piper - The Rock vs. John Cena - Steve Austin vs. Bret Hart - The Undertaker vs. Randy Orton - Steve Austin vs. Shawn Michaels - Brock Lesnar vs. Roman Reigns - The Undertaker vs. Mankind - Trish Stratus vs. Lita

The Durrells : une famille anglaise à Corfou Saison 1, 2

Episode 1 - Episode 2 - Episode 3 - Episode 4 - Episode 5 - Episode 6 - Episode 1 - Episode 2 - Episode 3 - Episode 4 - Episode 5 - Episode 6

Le Tour du monde en quatre-vingts jours

Episode 1 - Episode 2 - Episode 3

Totally Spies Saison 7

Attention : ceci n'est pas un test - Espionnes à l'ancienne - Alerte chat-pardeurs

Spectacles

Patate (1982) de Marcel Achard avec Pierre Mondy, Michel Duchaussoy, Marie Dubois, Pascale Audret, Clémentine Amouroux et Philippe Dehesdin

Imagine Dragons Chambord Live (2023)

Elvis: The Comeback Special (1968)

Nirvana: MTV Unplugged in New York (1993)

Les Pigeons (2022) de et avec Michel Leeb, et aussi Francis Huster, Chloé Lambert, Philippe Vieux

Livres

Batman : The Killing Joke d'Alan Moore et Brian Bolland

Red Skin, tome 1 : Welcome to America de Xavier Dorison et Terry Dodson

Red Skin, tome 2 : Jacky de Xavier Dorison et Terry Dodson

Le coureur et son ombre d'Olivier Haralambon

Détective Conan, tome 23 de Gôshô Aoyama

Détective Conan, tome 24 de Gôshô Aoyama

Conversations avec A d'Alex Lacquemanne

Kaamelott, tome 7 : Contre-attaque en Carmélide d'Alexandre Astier, Steven Dupré et Picksel

[diningwalldecor123]

  Behind The Design Primrose Hill The Wishing Chair

Earlier this year, The Wishing Chair team got together to watch the beautiful film Amélie – all of us instantly transported, even those of us who hadn’t even been, to hip Montmartre. There must be magic in moving pictures after all!

“These are tough times for dreamers” – Amélie

Speaking of Amélie, has there ever even been such a feel good, fun film? Leave aside the music, the cinematography, the overall atmosphere if you will, to arrive now at the story – a collection of seemingly insignificant yet astonishing events chronicled carefully in a diary by writer-director Jean-Pierre Jeunet for over 20 years, before they were compiled to make this heartbreakingly lovely piece of cinema.

Consider for instance the tagline of the film, “one person can change your life.” And you will find yourself in agreement with us, that Amélie’s destiny – if only on the big screen – is nothing short of fabulous. And it is this very fabulousness that inspired our latest collection, as well as this story dear reader –behind the scenes of the creative design process of ‘Primrose Hill’.

Process this!

Our story begins with a single pencil sketch of a Parisian window, followed up quickly by multiple doodles – think stained glass arches, curving balustrades, miniature planters on balconies bursting into bloom, wrought iron frames and grills so typically French, you wouldn’t believe! Are your feet wobbly under (imagined) cobbly streets yet?

Next up – the color render. We used various hues to fill in the illustrations, narrowing it down to soothing blue-green mint and classic lavender-grey, reminiscent of characteristically laid-back French suburbia – chic, yet strikingly unique – settling eventually, on the latter. Welcome to Primrose Hill everyone. Can anyone look at this enchanting collection and not swoon?

Inspired as much by the charming, hip streets of Montmartre and the carefree playfulness of Amélie, the film, we love how our latest line-up, brims over with quirky and heartening leitmotifs – Je t’aime.

Redolent as a summer that every girl deserves – fragrant mornings that involve a french press and a sunny, flower-filled alcove, paved pathways, perfect to ride a vintage red bicycle through, the aroma of freshly baked baguettes and cheese in every grocery store, “bonjour belle”s uttered with the tip of hats – Primrose Hill is exactly the kind of walk down memory lane you’ll love and hold close to your heart. And for those who haven’t already been, prepare to be transported! (Magic, remember?)

READ MORE...Home Decor Gifts Planter Vase Dining Wall Decor Tea Coffee Mugs – The Wishing Chair

[southangelvideos-blog-blog]

Overlooks - Island in the Sky - Canyonlands National Park - Utah

Island in the Sky, située dans le Parc National de Canyonlands en Utah, est une mesa large et plate située au sommet de falaises de grès abruptes qui s'élèvent à plus de 300 mètres au-dessus du terrain environnant.

Chaque point de vue offre une perspective différente sur le paysage étonnant de ce magnifique parc.

Shafer Canyon Overlooks 38.45982, -109.81996  Overlook 1 38.45270, -109.81811  Overlook 2

Ces deux belvédères sont érigés au bord de la mesa et nous permettent d'admirer le Shafer Canyon.  La Shafer Trail, une route en lacet, descend dans ce canyon situé à 426 mètres en contrebas.

The Neck 38.45109, -109.82076

On voit la route qui traverse une étroite bande de terre connue sous le nom de « The Neck ». Ce petit pont de pierre est tout ce qui relie Island in the Sky au reste de la terre.

Shafer Trail Viewpoint 38.44825, -109.82151

Ce belvédère offre une superbe vue sur la Shafer Trail qui serpente dans les parois vertigineuses de la falaise pour se rendre dans le canyon situé en contrebas.

Mesa Arch Overlook 38.38920, -109.86811  Stationnement 38.38804, -109.86349  Mesa Arch

Mesa Arch Trail est une très jolie arche qui surplombe Buck Canyon.  Cependant, il faut entreprendre une randonnée facile de 1,1 km en boucle pour l'admirer (https://youtu.be/H0WbNoav3xA).

Green River Overlook 38.37931, -109.88805  Stationnement 38.37833, -109.88833  Belvédère

Le Green River Overlook est un belvédère où l'on peut voir la Green River serpenter à travers le vaste bassin de Soda Springs.

Aztec Butte Trail 38.39347, -109.88205  Début du sentier 38.39529, -109.87987  Grenier 38.39730, -109.87471  Aztec Butte

Ce sentier modéré de 2,7 kilomètres aller/retour nous permet de découvrir un ancien grenier Anasazi d'où l'on bénéficie d'une vue sensationnelle sur Taylor Canyon ainsi qu'Aztec Butte au haut de laquelle un sentier en boucle offre de superbes points de vue sur le canyon, les nombreuses formations rocheuses ainsi que sur les montagnes La Sal (https://youtu.be/mVcU4VLAfBY).

Holeman Spring Canyon Overlook 38.41211, -109.90469

Un sentier de +/- 800 mètres aller retour qui mène à superbe point de vue sur le canyon. Nous devons stationner notre véhicule en bordure de la route pour entreprendre cette randonnée.

Alcove Spring 38.42309, -109.90878  Début du sentier 38.42372, -109.90742  Point de vue

Nous n'avons parcouru qu'une centaine de mètres sur ce sentier difficile de 18 km pour obtenir un joli point de vue sur le canyon.

Whale Rock Overlook 38.42677, -109.91400  Début du sentier 38.42831, -109.91695  Fin du sentier

Ce belvédère n'est accessible que par un sentier de randonnée de 1,3 km aller-retour qui monte sur un dôme de grès qui offre une vue à 360° sur Island in the Sky (https://youtu.be/idfKXmZgrVM).

Upheaval Dome Overlooks 38.42631, -109.92609  Début du sentier 38.42900, -109.92920  Point de vue 1 38.42972, -109.93376  Point de vue 2 et fin du sentier

Upheaval Dome Trail est un sentier modéré de 2 km aller-retour qui offre de jolis points de vue sur une formation géologique en forme de cratère dont le diamètre intérieur est de +/- 5 km et qui est situé à plus de 300 mètres de profondeur (https://youtu.be/las6uxMoUnA).

Candlestick Tower Overlook 38.37444, -109.86848

Ce belvédère offre une vue magnifique sur le parc, et plus particulièrement, sur une formation rocheuse appelée Candlestick Tower, une butte de grès de 140 mètres de hauteur.

Buck Canyon Overlook 38.34580, -109.86097  Stationnement 38.34596, -109.86021  Belvédère

Il ne s'agit que d'une promenade de 140 mètres aller-retour pour admirer une vue imprenable sur le canyon avec les montagnes de La Sal au loin.

White Rim Overlook 38.32277, -109.84951  Début du sentier 38.31995, -109.83524  Belvédère

L'une des meilleures vues orientées vers l'Est est certainement White Rim Overlook.  Ce belvédère est accessible par un sentier facile de 2,9 km aller-retour qui offre une vue panoramique sensationnelle sur le fleuve Colorado, Monument Basin et les montagnes de La Sal (https://youtu.be/2YwE8vkZR5Y).

Orange Cliffs Overlook 38.31365, -109.85700

Ce belvédère offre une vue panoramique sur le canyon de Green River.  On aperçoit les falaises de grès appelées Orange Cliffs qui sont situées dans le Glen Canyon ainsi que le secteur The Maze de Canyonlands qui s'étend vers le Sud.

Grand View Point Overlook Trail 38.31077, -109.85657  Début du sentier 38.31019, -109.85672  Belvédère 1 38.30333, -109.86781  Belvédère 2

Grand View Point Overlook Trail est un sentier de 3 kilomètres aller-retour qui offre des points de vue sur un réseau complexe de canyons creusés par la convergence du fleuve Colorado et de la rivière Green (https://youtu.be/8cwcOpRJhE0).

AUTRES VIDÉOS: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlRroQCNvchsdvRQOTUATm7OU6BabhYIF

ABONNEZ-VOUS ►https://www.youtube.com/c/SouthAngelVideo?sub_confirmation=1

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[oldfilmsflicker]

L’Argent, 1928 (dir. Marcel L'Herbier)

[glennk56]

French Chub Actors in the early 20th Century

Pierre Alcover. Unlike most of the chubs in early French cinema, Pierre was not a comedian. He was a big, strong hulking man who often played violent roles, in silents and talkies.

[frankenpagie]

8.19.17

[hourcat]

about that Sleepy Charles fic: DO IT

sigh

the thing is! it wouldn't even be a long fic.

because really, charles is just...tired. it's been a long day - he's had so much fun w/pierre out at the nba house, laughing til he'd gone breathless like he'd run a marathon, not exactly sore from the basketball but a little strained because he doesn't use those specific muscles very often. and then the game later that night, which he'd wanted to go to but realized not that long after that he's not quite awake enough to actively care about the bulls or the pistons, just that pierre's leg is still warm pressed entirely against his own. esteban is laughing beside him at something - maybe a text he'd gotten from lance? charles really isn't paying him any mind, if only because, again, he's tired.

so by the time the game ends, and pierre and esteban say their goodbyes, charles is just. shot. "pear," he mumbles, "can we call a taxi?" arm hooked in pierre's. they're standing under a shadowy alcove outside the venue, so charles can press his cheek into pierre's shoulder and nuzzle tiredly without fear of being too seen.

and pierre laughs softly. "sure, mon amour." presses a kiss to charles' forehead, nuzzles back a little. charles makes a soft little noise at the contact, tucks closer. pierre turns to wrap his free arm around charles in an embrace, so that he's got his back to the road and charles is just...watching for their ride as he's snuggling closer to pierre. he's so warm. the jacket he's wearing is a little rough on the skin but charles still presses into it anyway, somehow comfortingly pierre - maybe the smell.

the car comes a little bit later. pierre gently herds charles into the back, then climbs in next to him and gives the driver the hotel address, mumbling some promise about not telling anyone who they are, and charles laughs softly when the driver answers that he doesn't even know who they are, how would he tell anyone. pierre is satisfied enough with that answer. they head off and pierre leans back, and as soon as he's reclined to the contours of the seat charles is on him. well. on him in that he's nestled in his side again, using the middle seat and seatbelt that he normally complains about so he can properly hook his leg over pierre's, press his face into the crook of his neck with only a little bit of interference.

"did you have fun, mon cheri," pierre murmurs softly, resting a hand on his knee gently - not to rile him up, but just to hold him a little more.

charles hums softly, scooting closer. he huffs an initial response that makes pierre chuckle from the sensation. "i did," he answers after a long beat. "it was nice to see este." a lie, kind of, he really didn't pay much attention to their friend at all, but he wasn't exactly unwelcome. there's not much charles can do with pierre when they're in front of all those cameras like that. "i can't wait for bed."

the sentiment makes pierre chuckle again. "you're not usually like this when you're excited for bed, calamar," he teases, and charles blushes but doesn't extract himself from pierre's side. "you really must be tired." he chuckles again when charles pouts, feeling it more than seeing it, charles imagines.

"i am," he insists softly. then, because it's pierre and he can't help but push buttons: "carry me upstairs?" a joke, in a way, but also - charles wouldn't mind that. carried off to bed the way they do sometimes, more awake and more frisky but with a similar end result.

pierre's amusement continues. "what are you," he murmurs in charles' ear, "my baby?" the teasing makes the blush on charles' face darken. he nods, despite it. "we will see, charlo. you gave me quite a run on defense this afternoon, eh? don't know if i have the strength to bring you all the way back."

charles giggles at the thought. this taxi ride could last all night, he thinks faintly, and he wouldn't mind at all.

[dailyunsolvedmysteries]

Green Boots

The body of “Green Boots,” an Indian climber who died on Everest in 1996 and is believed to be Tsewang Paljor - although the body has not been officially identified - lies near a cave that all climbers must pass on their way to the peak. Green Boots now serves as a waypoint marker that climbers use to gauge how near they are to the summit. Green Boots met his end after becoming separated from his party. He sought refuge in a mountain overhang, but to no avail. He sat there shivering in the cold until he died.

The term Green Boots originated from the green Koflach mountaineering boots on his feet. All expeditions from the north side encounter the body curled in the limestone alcove cave at 8,500 m (27,900 ft) - very close to the summit.

The first recorded video footage of Green Boots was filmed on 21 May 2001 by French climber Pierre Paperon. In the video, Green Boots is shown lying on his left side, facing toward the summit. According to Paperon, Sherpas told him that it was the body of a Chinese mountaineer who had attempted the climb six months earlier.

Over time, the corpse became known both as a landmark on the north route and for its association with the death of David Sharp. In May 2014, Green Boots' body was reported to be missing from view, presumably removed or buried. It reappeared, however, in 2017.

[personnages]

😘+ ship roulette 2

send 😘 to kiss my muse | @skyjci

Countess Marya shivered as her eyes blinked open, her vision blurry and indistinct until she could see the sliver of moonlight thrown onto the floor. The curtains were open. Cold air was leaking in through the gap between the windowpane and the sash and the sound of a horse’s hooves on the road could be heard, very faintly.

There was an indentation in the bed next to her, but Countess Marya put her hand down on the sheet and discovered it had long since grown cold. She rose and wrapped herself in a knitted shawl, stopping briefly in front of the icons in their alcove and crossing herself before moving down the hallway.

There was light bleeding through the crack under the door to Pierre’s study and Countess Marya opened the door slowly, closing her eyes against the light. When she opened them, her husband had not risen from his chair. She stepped closer and saw he was asleep.

Countess Marya bent and pressed a kiss to Pierre’s head, waiting to see if he would stir, but he did not. Then, on an impulse, she slipped the shawl from her shoulders and wrapped it around his. Then she left the room, closing the door behind her as quietly as she could, returning back to bed for the last few hours of the night.

[queen-amoroso]

dirty dancing in the moonlight.

Un léger soupir s’échappe des lèvres de Gigi alors qu’elle pose sa tête contre la pierre froide, histoire de se remettre les idées en place, alors que Quaffle joue avec une petite balle dorée sur ses genoux. Elle a encore du mal à comprendre ce qu’ils s’est passé aujourd’hui, avec ces démonstrations de sentiments qui la mettent juste mal à l’aise. Elle s’est isolée sans même s’en rendre compte, dans une alcove du sixième étage, où il y a réellement peu de passage, voir pas du tout, mise à part la visite du Chevalier du Catogan par moments. Lorsque Quaffle redresse subitement sa tête en sentant l’air, Gigi redresse un peu sa tête pour regarder par-dessus son épaule, replaçant une mèche rousse derrière son oreille au passage, avant de voir le visage de Nicky apparaître dans son champs de vision. Le niffleur sur ses genoux semble montrer un intérêt particulier et grimpe sur son torse pour pouvoir se rapproche de la silhouette de la française, une patte posée sur le front de Gigi pour se hisser un peu plus dans sa direction. “Quaffle!” marmonne la Serpentard et récupère la créature dans le creux de sa main avant de tendre le bras vers Nicky. “She’s not supposed to like you this much, especially if you’re not wearing gold.” fait-elle remarquer dans la direction de la française, en se pinçant un peu la lèvre, son bras libre serré contre elle comme une barrière. “Quaffle didn’t forget who gave her this ball.” fait-elle remarquer dans l’ombre d’un sourire, la balle en question abandonnée sur ses cuisses.

[oldfilmsflicker]

L’Argent, 1928 (dir. Marcel L'Herbier)

[sunspray-peak]

Ch. 8: The Egg Festival

SATURDAY - SPRING 13 

True to the Sacred Timeline (as Shane had started to refer to it whenever Achilles brought it up), Strawberry Farms was well on its way out of the wilderness. Between Shane’s help, the occasional hand from the trio, and Alex who had stopped by Friday evening, everything was looking, as Achilles thought to himself, pretty damn good. One could finally walk across the land without having to make a detour around stray logs or boulders or weeds. 

In an alcove over by the western side of the farm, Achilles had ultimately kept a number of large, leafy oaks standing. He would have grinded the two thick tree stumps that Grandpa Dan had left behind out of the ground, but in a moment of inspiration during a midday search for shade, had decided to leave them as little chairs for sitting. To Pierre’s delight, he had purchased grass seeds to plant in the area, too. It could be… a fun sort of fairy garden for kids, or something. Put up a tire swing, plant some perennials… He had even ordered a small bird bath fountain. 

The repair company had finished the most pertinent mine cart route that morning, and Achilles had spent the better part of what was typically breakfast sending cart after cart from the bus stop down to Clint’s. That being said, an empty stomach was a small sacrifice to pay for no longer having to wheel 80 tons of rocks into Pelican Town and across the river. 

By noon, Achilles was knee deep in newly tilled flower beds, and loathing every second of it (not that he’d admit it to Shane)—if he hadn’t already been determined not to be a farmer, this really sealed the deal.

Yoba, why were there so many earthworms. Pink and slimy, wriggling their way through the dirt. Even during his lunch break, he hadn’t been able to escape their phantom crawl across his skin. And now, he thought, scowling at his latest victims squirming in the soil, there were two times as many damned worms as before (thanks to some overly-aggressive shovel work). 

“Disgusting, aren’t they,” Achilles said aloud, though nobody seemed to be there. He winced, flicking a few worms aside before stuffing a tulip bulb into the hole he had made. “Absolutely nauseating. Though they say they’re good for plant growth. Which perhaps you’d all like, I suppose?”

Ever since Shane had told him about the junimos, he’d had the peculiar sensation that someone was watching him. Even inside the farmhouse, Achilles hadn’t been able to shake his paranoia. Unperturbed however, and honestly more annoyed than afraid, he had simply decided to address his mysterious watcher head on. Perhaps the forest spirits wouldn’t mind his chatter. Perhaps they’d say something back. Or perhaps they’d grow tired of it all and leave him be. 

“Hey you! Achilles!” 

Achilles turned abruptly, spade brandished—a junimo? 

But no, to his slight disappointment, it was the grey mustache of none other than Lewis who was cresting over the small hill at the farm’s eastward entrance. 

“Good morning, Lewis—”

“Why aren’t you at the festival?” 

“Hmm?” Lewis or not, Achilles was happy to use this excuse to look away from the worms and stood to meet the mayor at the porch. 

“The Egg Festival! I left a note in your mailbox.” 

Ah. Achilles never checked the mail. But he didn’t see a need to share that right now, not to someone whose mustache was bristling this hard, so he simply responded with, “Oh, the festival. Of course. Well, I’m working.” 

“Huh?” 

“I’m… working.” Achilles waved his gloved hands down towards the pile of flowers waiting to be planted. “I have to clean the property up if I want to sell it—”

 “It’s a festival day, nobody should be working. Come on down, we’ve been waiting for you.” 

“Pardon? Waiting for me? Why?” Achilles laughed politely. “I don’t need to be there, do I?” 

Lewis’ mustache dipped dramatically to this sides as he frowned. 

“Well… everybody comes out to these things.” Then he puffed himself up and adjusted his newsboy cap. “We’ve got folks from all over Zuzu who visit, and it’s a good way for us villagers to show those outsiders our sense of community. You know, show them what a great place Stardew really is. We’d love for you to be there, too.” 

“Ah, I see.” Achilles dusted the dirt from his gloves and took a suggestive step back down from the porch. “Well, Lewis, I really appreciate the invitation, but I’m afraid I have quite a few things I need to get done before dinner tonight—Evelyn and George have been kind enough to invite me over.” He shot Lewis what he hoped was a bright enough smile before grabbing his spade and making his way back to the pit of worms and tulips. “But please tell everyone I said hello!” 

“You come down and tell them yourselves!” Lewis, now clearly cross, folded his arms and gave a mean little stare. “It’s the first festival of the year—your grandpa and your dad never missed a single one when they lived here, you know.” 

Not the grandpa card! And his father—who had been a literal child at the time…

Achilles turned to face him, gearing up to fight back—how dare this sorry excuse for a mayor command him to waste a valuable day watching children hunt for eggs.

“Listen, Lewis, like I said, I really appreciate you coming out here to invite me like this, but I’m on a bit of a tight schedule— ” 

“I’m not leaving until you come with me to Pelican Town right now!” 

All right, fuck you, too.  

He was ready to throw politeness out the window, but a glance at the growing, wriggling pit of earthworms (truly, where in the world were they coming from?) weakened his resolve. And the sky—oh, such an effortless blue, not a single cloud…

He was way ahead of the Sacred Timeline (he hadn’t been entirely truthful about being on a tight schedule), perhaps it’d be good to… take a brief break. 

Swallowing his retort, he set his shovel gently on the ground with a sigh. “I should change.” 

“Hey now, maybe you’ll meet some nice out of towners,” Lewis called as Achilles made for the farmhouse. The old man’s eyes had softened just a smidge at Achilles’ surrender, but there was still a tinge of suspicion as he followed Achilles closely back onto the porch. Gross. Get away. “Maybe even a prospective buyer. We have folks from all over come out, you know. I’ll just wait out here for ya.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Achilles muttered for his (and any watching junimos’) ears only, shutting his front door behind him with as much bitterness good manners allowed. 

*****

Twenty minutes later, dressed in khakis and a button down featuring pastel orange rabbits, he accompanied Lewis back into Pelican Town, which had been brightly decorated for the occasion. 

Maypoles wrapped in flowery vines had been erected through the square alongside long tables piled high with deviled eggs, egg salads, frittatas, quiches—multiple chicken coops’ worth of eggs— and clothed in a lovely pistachio green. 

It wasn’t uncomfortably crowded, but the town’s population of 30 (give or take) had definitely at least quadrupled in size. A sea of pastel people.

Good choice with the shirt. 

Contrary to what Lewis had said though, he had definitely not been missed. Nobody shouted his name or said hello, he hadn’t waltzed in to any sort of applause. In fact, the mayor himself had straight up abandoned him after Achilles had firmly turned down the offer of a basket for the upcoming egg hunt.

At 5’11” (well, maybe 5’10” if you discounted his hair) Achilles wasn’t short, but he still struggled to locate a familiar face as he maneuvered among the crowd, squeezing past children with face paint while politely smiling at their harried parents and dodging rabbit-shaped balloons. 

A flash of dull purple hair caught his attention after a few minutes, and he gently pushed his way closer to what seemed to be a photo-op. Someone dressed in a giant pink rabbit suit was posing with children in front of a flower-filled backdrop.

“Hey, Shane!” he called, raising his hand in greeting. The man was currently waiting in the line with a young girl; it must’ve been his goddaughter, Jas. They supposedly weren’t related by blood, but she shared Shane’s purple hair, hers currently pulled into two short pigtails. 

His greeting had caught Shane’s attention, but after also catching his eye, Shane proceeded to look stubbornly away. 

Achilles scowled. “Ok that’s fine…” He turned back north towards the food tables. Perhaps he’d be able to grab a bite and sneak back to the farm… 

“Heard you aren’t participating in the egg hunt.” 

Another shock of purple hair—this one attached to a much friendlier face—had appeared. Leave it to Abigail to track him down, she always seemed to be just a hair’s breadth away. 

“Don’t be a party pooper, bro, everyone participates, it’s just about to start.” 

“Hello, Abigail.” Achilles stuffed his hands in his pockets upon seeing the extra basket in her hand. That didn’t seem to dissuade her though, as she waved it in his face, the green and purple ribbons whipping his nose. “Ah. I don’t believe it’d be quite fair for me to compete against children in an egg hunt.” 

“Fine, but your loss.” She popped her bubble gum and stacked her baskets. “There’s usually a pretty fab prize.” 

Just as she finished her sentence, Lewis had taken to a stage that had been erected by the side of the saloon, clearing his throat into the mic: participants in the annual Egg Hunt should please head over to the center of the square, right next to Meteor Elementary’s art gallery.  

“Does she… at least go easy on them?” New habits died hard, too, it would seem. He had spoken aloud to no one in particular as he watched Abigail sprint full speed to the graveyard at Lewis’ whistle, her stride double that of the scrambling children left in her wake. 

“That wouldn’t be very Abby now, would it,” came Alex’s voice from beside him. 

Achilles jumped. Alex and Penny—a Pelican Town ginger whom Alex had introduced Achilles to last week (Alex just knew all the women, didn’t he)—had joined him by the face-paint tent.

“Oh, hello, didn’t see you there.” He made some space so the two could stand next to him as they watched the carnage unfold. Alex’s hands, Achilles noticed, were gripping Penny’s shoulders. “I suppose you’re right, it wouldn’t…” 

“Elderflower soda?” A teacher at the local elementary school, Penny had a sweet face that matched her light, breathy voice, although the dark circles under her eyes seemed to suggest there was something else at play beneath her sunny disposition. She handed him a glass, just as Abigail “accidentally” sent a young tween sprawling. 

“Is this allowed? It’s a bit much, isn’t it?” said Achilles lightly, taking a sip as Alex moved to stand in between the two. 

“Abigail at the Egg Festival or Abigail in general?” 

Achilles made a rather noncommittal noise. She had been a friendly face, all things considered. Very welcoming. But… 

“I get it. She’s great! In small doses.” Alex flashed him a conspiratorial grin. “Don’t worry, I know Penny’s not a fan.” He bumped her shoulder with his, causing the soda to spill slightly. 

Penny’s mouth tightened as she searched for a more diplomatic phrase. “I never said I wasn’t a ‘fan,’ Alex. I just think she’s…” 

Achilles lips couldn’t help but turn upwards just a bit, but his smile was quickly dampened as Abigail herself came barreling past, screaming at the top of her lungs in what may have been an intimidation tactic. “Young. She’s… young.” 

*****

All in all, she indeed did not go easy on the kids, swooping in twenty minutes later with 28 eggs, having bulldozed her way past Vincent, Jas, and the other visiting children alike on her road to victory. 

Achilles watched her claim her “pretty fab prize” (a straw hat) with a vague sense of nausea, but his well practiced poker face failed to betray his feelings of secondhand embarrassment. 

*****

The festival passed fairly quickly after that. Achilles had managed to dodge Abigail and her antics after the egg hunt, but still found himself bullied into getting his picture taken with the Egg Festival Rabbit (whom he strongly suspected from the smell was Willy, the local fisherman who owned the fish shop along the beach) by none other than Mayor Lewis. 

“Be a team player, Achilles.” He had hurled the words from across the food table. “We are a community.” 

There was in fact quite a lot of bullying going around today, Achilles thought ruefully to himself as he checked the time on his cell. That reminded him, he still needed to order a new battery for his watch… should’ve added that to the Sacred To-Do list (Shane had re-named that as well)… 

But after getting bullied into purchasing some strawberry seeds by Demetrius (“Correct me if I’m wrong, but your farm is called ‘Strawberry Farms,’ if I’m not mistaken?) and some sort of thick stalked, seasonal plant by Pierre (“You’ve got to liven up that house somehow”) it was finally time. 7 o’clock. Dinner with the Mullners.

Alex had introduced him to Grandma Evelyn and Grandpa George last week shortly after the Mine Endeavor (as Achilles had dubbed it in his head), but it had been very quick—Evelyn had been in a bit of a rush to get back to something left in the oven and George had merely hacked a loogie and told him to buzz off after a curt hello. But it was all smiles this time as he entered the foyer of 1 River Road. Except, oh fuck, he had left the bottle of wine he had purchased for the occasion back at home. Fucking Lewis, messing with his plans… 

Showing up empty handed now, you idiot…

“Oh, you look just like your grandfather did when he was your age!” Evelyn exclaimed with a warm, if frail, embrace. “He was such a handsome man!” 

At this, Grandpa George had huffed, but he gave Achilles a smart nod and said, “Good to see you again, young man.” 

“Likewise, you as well, George—oh, but who is this!” Achilles gasped as a chunky brown dog came tottering its way through the brightly lit hall, paws clattering on the hardwood floors. 

“Dusty! Come here, boy!” Alex knelt down as Dusty the dog burrowed his head into Achilles’ waiting lap, wriggling into his khakis. “Oh, he likes you.” 

“Dusty likes everybody,” George grunted. 

“Yeah, I suppose that’s true…” 

“What kind of dog is he?” Achilles asked, scratching behind Dusty’s long ears. 

“Not entirely sure, we figure maybe part beagle just cause of the ears, but he’s so big. The pound thought maybe part German Shepherd?” 

“He is a big boy, aren’t you, Dusty? Aren’t you?” Yoba, he missed dogs. They had had a number growing up, but in Hyacinthia, he had spent so much time in the office he had felt it’d be irresponsible to adopt one.

“Well you boys have fun now, George and I’ll finish up here,” Evelyn said, making her way back to the kitchen as Dusty, excited at the unusually exorbitant amount of attention, began to whine and drool steadily on Achilles’ arm. “I do apologize, dear, I thought this casserole would be ready in time, but someone forgot to purchase onions!” Over by the pantry, George rolled his eyes and gnashed his dentures.

“Oh no, no problem whatsoever.” Achilles immediately stood, following her while surreptitiously wiping his sleeve against the side of his pants. “How can I help?” 

“Oh, nonsense, dear! We’re just about almost done, you and Alex go have fun, we’ll call you down.” 

“No, really, happy to help—let me set the table—”

“You’ll be more of a nuisance than assistance,” George grunted yet again. The long knife in his hand caused Achilles to take an unconscious step back. “This woman is very particular about how she runs things in here, you take my word for it—you don’t much look like someone who knows their way around a kitchen anyway. Now you two go hang out or whatever the kids call it these days.” 

 And so, feeling like he was in middle school all over again, Achilles found himself following Alex down the hall, Dusty traipsing behind them. A handful of crooked photographs lined the walls—Alex in a grid ball uniform, baby Alex laughing on a swing set, high school Alex at prom with an unmistakably gorgeous teenage Haley… 

“My room,” Alex said, opening the door rather sheepishly. “Um, we can just chill here, if that’s good with you. We don’t have people over too often…” 

It was large; judging from Achilles’ estimation of the house’s dimensions (which he now found himself subconsciously doing ever since toiling over the farm’s proportions), it must’ve been the master bedroom.

Interesting. 

Yellow gridball wallpaper covered the walls under faded posters of bodybuilders and other sports stars. Charts displaying the alphabet and multiplication tables hung next to a nearly-bare desk, while a small row of stuffed animals and action figures lined the window, painfully neat. Similar to how he had described Abigail just hours earlier, the room felt… young. 

Alex took a seat on the bed and looked determinedly at the slightly discolored orange rug that Dusty had decided to lie on. 

“You play?” asked Achilles, nodding at the wallpaper, more to break the silence than anything else. “I saw the picture in the hall.” 

“Yeah, in middle school, a bit in high school. I’ll still throw a ball around with Sam every once in awhile, but was actually kinda more of a swimmer, I guess…” Alex trailed off, biting his lip as he leaned back on his bed, fingers digging into the red duvet. “Grandma put the paper up when I moved here.” 

“Oh, how long have you been with them?” 

“Since I was 12.” But if Achilles had wanted to know more, Alex was being unusually cagey.

Clocking the discomfort, Achilles swiftly walked over to a tall bookshelf across from the door. Books! Always a great neutral topic… “A ha, this is where it’s at.”

His fingers danced across the spines—pausing at the books he recognized, taking a second here or there to savor the selections of this mini library—until they found, with a small thrill, there on the second shelf from the top, a well read copy of Henry Spector and the Main Street Manor. 

He gently pulled it out. Holding it out in front of chest, cover facing away from him, he did a bit of a half-jig towards Alex who seemed to instantly relax. He stood from his bed and took the chapter book from Achilles. 

“I told you I wasn’t lying.” Alex tapped the cover. “I was a big fan.” 

“Was?” Achilles said in mock outrage, returning to the shelf where he gestured at the other five books in the series, each with its own well-creased spine. 

Alex laughed, face beaming as he pulled them all out one by one, turning to stack them atop the desk. “Was, am—you’ll have to sign these now, you know.” He handed Achilles a fountain pen. How perfect, he had always preferred signing with those… 

“And who shall I make it out to, young man?” Achilles took the chair Alex had pulled out for him. He scooted it forward, noticing, as he reached for the first book, a small framed photograph of what must have been a toddler Alex laughing in the arms of a kind faced, young woman. 

“Hey, you know what? Surprise me. Write whatever you want.” Alex’s grin was wide. “You know, 15 year old me would be dying right now.” 

Swiftly readjusting his gaze from the photo, Achilles opened the first book to the title page and signed, “To Alex. My only fan. Achilles Desrosiers.” 

“Okay, well that’s a little depressing.” Alex leaned on his arms atop the desk, squinting over Achilles’ shoulder. “Seb’s a fan, too.” 

To one of my two fans. -Achilles Desrosiers 

Alex took the second book from him and watched closely as Achilles signed something equally pathetic in the third. 

“Hey, write something a little happier, will you?” Alex smacked Achilles on the head with Henry Spector and the Ghoul in School (#3). “I won’t stand for my favorite author ever doing this to himself.” 

To my rudest fan, who violently assaulted me in the head with the book preceding this one. -Achilles Desrosiers.  

“You were a Ferngill Times bestselling author,” Alex groaned after a minute, leaning back against the desk as Achilles feverishly scribbled a note in the fifth book in the series, somehow already back in the heightened rhythm of book signings. “Didn’t you have a TV deal at some point? What happened to that?” 

A sharp inhale. Achilles gripped the sixth novel (Henry Spector’s Final Phantom), his knuckles white against the paperback as he took a pause from signing. Taking a deep but silent breath, he flipped rapidly through the pages, letting them flow meditatively against his thumb as the scent of the yellowed paper lightly washed over him.

It was an unusual edition—he noticed that now, flipping through. Left justified, wide margins, an unusual, cartoonish sans serif font. 

A long-buried memory resurfaced; a special edition of the series had been printed as a part of his publisher’s celebration of National Dyslexia Month. Huh. Well that explained why Alex hadn’t read Apparition, since according to Eddie Bloomsbury, Apparition was “a struggle to read for even the most capable readers…”

He pushed out those thoughts and flipped through the book again until he landed at the cover page. 

To Alexander Mullner, my favorite neighbor in Stardew Valley. Thanks for reading. -Achilles Desrosiers 

“Alex is short for Alexander, right?” Achilles asked, fountain pen resting against his chin. Fool, should’ve checked first. 

Alex, who was still taking a beat to decipher Achilles’ pointy handwriting, nodded.

“Well, there you have it,” Achilles said, popping the cap back on the pen and taking all six books into his hands. “Thank you for coming to the signing.” He headed back to the shelf and slid them neatly in place.  

“No, thank you, really!” Alex moved to clap Achilles on the back but smacked air instead, as the latter had knelt down to get a better look at the rest of the shelf. 

“You’ve got a lot of good stuff here,” Achilles said, but he didn’t touch anything further. Digging around had already been rather impolite, he thought to himself with minor embarrassment. It’s not like they were friends…

Friendly, sure, but friends… 

From behind him, he heard a sigh. He could see out of the corner of his eye Alex shuffle his feet. “You know, I haven’t actually read most of the books on this shelf.” 

Achilles stood back up to full height and glanced at Alex who was bitting his lip again and running a hand through the gel in his hair. “Hmm?” 

“Yeah, I mean I’ve read your stuff of course, and some of the other stuff down there… but like I’m not a… great reader. It’s why I used to listen to a lot of stuff on tape.” 

“For sure, I get it.”  

It was Alex’s turn to kneel, his hands digging around for something on the cluttered bottom shelf. 

“Sometimes I get worried, you know. About, I don’t know, being stupid or something. Worthless…” 

“You’re not stupid—” 

“My mom got me into comics though, when I was a kid. She thought maybe it’d be easier. A ha.” He had found what he had been looking for and pulled out from the back of the shelf a stack of colorful comic books emblazoned with various super heroes and villains. “Haven’t really kept up, so these are pretty old. Gotta wonder how much they’re worth now—not that I’d sell them, of course— but they were fun. Used to draw my own.”  

“Oh yeah? No way, me too.” Achilles knelt down next to him, sifting through the bright covers. “Nimbus was my favorite, I think.” 

“Wait seriously? Me too!” Alex shuffled through the stacks and pulled out a couple thin volumes featuring a blue-caped superhero flying among the clouds. 

“A thing like that.” Achilles took the volume Alex was offering. “It pushed me down a serious weather rabbit hole, I wanted to be a weatherman like Zedd so badly… I can still probably name you all the different types of clouds.” 

Dusty, inspired by their laughter, trotted over and took a seat between them. 

“Wow, I haven’t looked through these in years,” Alex murmured, just the tiniest glint in his eyes as he flipped through the Nimbus volume in his hands. From his position, Achilles could make out familiar panels featuring a showdown between Nimbus and arch-nemesis, Tsai Clone. Flashes of neon blue, green, and pink were likely Zedd Finch, Nimbus’ best friend (and side kick, depending on the era). The hero’s on-again off-again girlfriend, Meg Maizel, had her own cover, the history-making volume now peaking out from under Dusty’s paws. 

Achilles joined him in flipping through an issue with his own hearty dose of nostalgia. It had been awhile for him, too. 

After a minute or two, Alex began to neatly stack the comics and set them gently back on the bottom shelf. 

“When I moved in with my grandparents they tried to get me to read like, real books and stuff. But it just gave me a headache—I mean, it’s my fault, I know I could’ve been better about practicing and stuff…” Alex reached to pet Dusty as the dog settled into his lap. “It’s not that I don’t want to read—like some of my favorite TV shows and movies and stuff are based on books, of course I want to read them some day… I don’t know. It’s annoying. And I guess I’m just too… lazy to really sit down and try to do it…” 

“Do you still listen to things on tape? Maybe while you exercise.” Achilles nodded at the neat stack of weights in the corner. “Although I get it if you don’t like doing that, I usually jog in silence.” 

“No, yeah, I usually listen to stuff, but mostly music, easier to concentrate. And those books are so long, you know? And my headphones are also messed up—I’m just making excuses now, aren’t I?” Alex laughed lightly as Dusty stuffed his nose up his shirt. “Hey, excuse you, Dusty.”

Shit, can I be Dusty?

Stop that, you perv. 

“Well… we all have our strengths and weaknesses.” Achilles shrugged, nodding once again at the weights. 

“Sure, and my strength is being able to row 2000 meters in six and a half minutes and yours is being able to read a menu without wanting to gouge your eyes out. Which one’s more helpful in life, do you think?”

Alex had half-spat the words—some sarcasm, sure, he had come to expect, but Achilles had never heard Alex so… bitter before. 

Assuming (and hoping) the question was rhetorical and deciding he’d give Alex a beat of figurative privacy, Achilles began to focus on brushing Dusty’s tail with his fingers. 

We all have our strengths and weaknesses…

When he was younger, his parents had emphasized that the ideal career for any individual, what one should ideally want to pursue and commit to in life in order to maximize success, lay at the intersection of three different points: 1) what you were good at, i.e. your strengths, 2) what you enjoyed doing, i.e. your interests, and 3) what there was a market for, i.e. what society valued. 

Those words—while well intentioned, and meant to educate more so than intimidate—had nevertheless plagued Achilles over the years and were partly the reason why he was in Stardew Valley stripping paint and carving up worms to begin with, rather than making six figures at a desk over in Hyacinthia. 

He hadn’t quit in a blaze of anti-capitalistic glory fueled by an eagerness to escape a soul-crushing job and find solace and meaning from the natural world. No, it had been much simpler than that, the reasons far less admirable. 

“Sorry.” At Alex’s voice, Achilles glanced up from the small pile of fur he had managed to absentmindedly brush from Dusty. His host’s eyes and tone both had brightened to their usual selves once again.

“Didn’t mean to complain. You’re right, of course—strengths, weaknesses and all that, everyone’s different.” Achilles had to hold back his snort. “But hey, who knows. Maybe I’ll take another crack at the books and one day we’ll be able to have dinner and discuss… phi-lo-so-phy. Isn’t that what you smart people talk about?” 

“You’re smart, Alex,” Achilles said in a softer tone than he had intended. 

“Eh, you can’t really make a decent living in this world without a brain, I’ll tell you that,” Alex said with a whistle that caught Dusty’s attention. “Hey, speaking of which, you need to stop by the gym some time. Can’t remember if I told you, I teach classes down at Orange Grove over in Zuzu, you should swing by.” 

That explained the mini-first aid kit he had had in his duffel that day down in the mines. 

“Swing by? Why? Are you calling me weak?” Achilles narrowed his eyes in mock anger. “Or are you paid based on class attendance and need me to help you in your quest for a brainless decent living?” 

“Ha ha, very funny. No, I’ve been trying for years to get people from the Valley to stop by but people rarely ever do… it’s just nice to see a face from home, you know?” 

There was a knock at the door. They hadn’t closed it behind them and George was lurking in the doorway.

“Dinner’s ready, boys.” 

“Perfect timing, thank you, George,” Achilles said as Alex gestured for him to exit the room first. “Alex here is ready to discuss philosophy.”