#and there was a catalog i guess that we used for pricing and there was so much good shit in there

[rogersstevie]

finally did a little of the organizing i’ve been meaning to do for ages and of course it wasn’t even that bad other than how hot it is in the attic, it didn’t take much time and i was able to make some floorspace though of course i still have all the legos i need to deal with and i pulled out a couple more things to go through/get rid of BUT it looks slightly less horrible in my room so i’m pleased

plus i have had some other ideas recently about switching some drawers around, it would just be a whole thing to do that so i really wanna think on how best to go about it before i start making that mess

#personal #was so excited though bc i decided i wanna reread the american girl books in fact i'm sure there's quite a few i never got to #and we still have a ton probably virtually everything we ever had actually #but i still had a couple clothing items that didn't sell and i was just like oh man i loved this shit so much #and there was a catalog i guess that we used for pricing and there was so much good shit in there #what i would've given for one of their fancy beds omg #i could've done that i suppose but i cared more about saving up for more dolls #and at least their clothing my mom would get that stuff as gifts so ik i had a lot #plus i used some of the our generation stuff #which ik my niece has so i should see if she's still into them and would want the american girl outfits #but yeah did i NEED to add more books to my current rotation? no but they're easy reads #and when i'm done i'll be getting them out of the house so i'm helping bc my mom has been so desperately trying to get rid of stuff lol #truly could not believe how much stuff has truly just sat since our last garage sale which would've been WELL over a decade ago #i guess it was kinda thought anything that didn't sell we would try again but. did not. #OH and when i was looking up american girl stuff i was reminded of the girls of the world dolls and i had two of those #and i never would've remembered their existence otherwise kjsdkjfs there's been so much of that lately like #the amount of forgotten childhood stuff is wild

[graywritesoccasionally42]

My very first mechanisms fic!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40981737

Found Family! Soft, protective Jonny! Newly mechanized Ivy! Hurt/comfort! Stealing Ashes’ stuff! All this and more for the low low price of pls read my fic.

Full fic under cut:

Logically, Ivy knew that this wasn’t the end of the world. Firstly, she was on the Aurora, her home for the last month or so, so there wasn’t a world to be ending. Secondly, she’d survived the end of her world, at least that’s what Carmilla had told her when she woke up with no memories and a computer for a brain. And Thirdly, millions of species across the galaxies experience menstruation, and in the grand scheme of things some abdominal cramping and a bit of blood were inconsequential, infinitesimal.

But despite the whole computer-for-brains-logicality, Ivy was kind of panicking. Logic dictated that she must have had periods before, as she was an adult biological female of her species, but she had no waking memories of her life before her mechanism. Only unremembered flashes in her dreams. Her data logs revealed that, though she wasn’t the only woman on the ship, no one else on the Aurora experienced periods. Making her the odd one out yet again.

She knew that she needed to move, to take care of the blood slowly seeping into her bedsheets, but the blind panic kept tightening her chest, making it hard to listen to the logical analog running through her head. Her breaths quickened and stuttered, and a tiny part of her algorithms wondered why Carmilla had programmed her head to allow such reactions. Another part of her was glad she was still human enough for it.

A loud banging on her door frightened her out of her spiral. From the intensity it sounded like Jonny, which puzzled Ivy. Jonny had been pretty much avoiding her, though the ship was huge so there was a 38% chance that their paths just hadn’t crossed in the short time she’d been with him. Though when they did meet for the weekly “Family Dinners” Carmilla insisted on, he insisted on calling her the “Baby Immortal”. She was still jumpy around the wanton violence that filled the ship, especially between Jonny and Ashes (Nastya told her that Jonny felt threatened by Ashes, as technically the role of Quartermaster outranks him, and that Ashes keeps picking in an attempt to establish dominance, but the data is inconclusive).

“Don’t come in.” Ivy’s voice is flat, almost monotone, as is her default in stress. It took more energy and brainpower to show the emotions she felt, and she couldn’t help but wonder if that was how she was before, or if it was a quirk of her new brain. The knocking stopped, and was quickly replaced by Jonny’s voice.

“Hey, Aurora sent me to check on ya, I dunno why she didn’t sent fuckin’ Nastya or some shit, but she did seem kinda worried? So I guess I just wanna make sure you’re…okay? Well as ok as you can be.” Jonny’s voice had an unfamiliar tone that Ivy’s brain cataloged as…worried perhaps? Annoyed, but softer?

“I…” Ivy didn’t know how to respond. She curled up tighter, feeling miserable. “I guess you can come in.” Jonny was more used to blood than she was, maybe it wouldn’t bother him.

The door opened with a quiet whoosh. “Ok, Baby Immortal, what’s…wrong…?” Jonny trailed off as he got closer, and Ivy buried her face in her pillow. “Oh.” Ivy felt the bed dip a bit, Jonny must’ve sat down. “Hey, It’s ok, this shit’s natural…at least, for a lot of species it is…though I guess if it’s not natural for you then we might have a fucking problem--”

“No…” Ivy cut him off. “It’s natural, and I know it is but I just…” She took a shaky breath. “I wasn’t expecting it, and it hurts and I’m uncomfortable, and I don’t know what to do.”

She also wasn’t expecting the explosive first mate to gently touch her arm, and she flinched a little at the unexpected sensation. The weight immediately lifted, and Ivy shifted so she could see Jonny’s face. He didn’t seem as…feral as he usually did, not as sharp.

“Well, I think you should get cleaned up, I can go see if we have anything for the pain and for…y’know…the blood. I’d suggest a hot shower, and we’ll figure this out. ‘Kay?”

Ivy felt like her limbs were made of lead, but she nodded. She moved towards her en suite bathroom (a necessity on the Aurora. I mean, can you imagine a crew of immortal space pirates having to share a bathroom? More like a Bloodbath room.) Everything ached as she shrugged off her shorts and tank top, but the hot water did wonders and she stayed under the spray for way too long.

But all good things have to end apparently. She wrapped herself in a fluffy towel she was 97.03% sure hadn’t been there before, and noted that her bloody shorts weren’t where she left them. Had she really been so out of it that Jonny had snuck into her bathroom without her noticing? Walking into her bedroom confirmed her suspicions: Her bed had been stripped and the sheets replaced. There was a box of tampons and some sparacetamol (space paracetamol) on her bed with a note.

cum down to my korters courter qarte room when your ready or dont i dont care but i do have a heating pad and choclat -- JDV

Spelling and grammar errors aside, Ivy found herself touched by the offer. She took care of herself and got dressed in a sports bra and some baggy sweats she stole from Ashes, popping some of the painkillers dry and scooping up one of her books as she headed down to Jonny’s quarters. She reached into her pocket and found a knife and one of Ashes’ lighters. At least she had a weapon if this turned out to be a trap, though there was really only an 18.09% chance of that.

She’d never been to Jonny’s room before, though it largely looked the way she’d imagined: clothes and belts strewed about, mysterious stains and dents in the walls, more weaponry than there was in the armoury. But the bed was made, not super neatly but obviously done, with a weighted blanket, heating pads, and lots of pillows laid out. Jonny was in the center of the room kicking piles of clutter into his closet, but he stopped when Ivy knocked on the open doorframe.

“Ah, feeling any better?”

Ivy nodded. “I’m feeling 12.78% better than I did before.”

Jonny nodded sagely. “Well let’s see if we can boost that any higher.” He led her to the bed and helped her arrange all her limbs into a comfortable position: back propped up with pillows, heating pads for both her back and her stomach, as well as a cooler with ice packs if she overheated, blankets for if she got chilly, and some expensive looking chocolate. When the note said chocolate, she was expecting a sphershey’s bar or something similar. Jonny caught her looking and gave her a sharp-toothed grin.

“Nicked these from Ashes’ stash while they were busy doing inventory. New the fucker was holding out on me.”

He walked over to his desk, kicking things out of the way as he did so. Ivy catalogued another new expression as he turned back to face her, this time…sheepish? In his hands was a small stack of paperback novels, a little tattered around the edges but clearly loved and cared for.

“I know you like reading, though these are just shitty dime novels, but I kind of liked them so I thought you might wanna, fuck I dunno, read ‘em?” Jonny was refusing to make eye contact with her as he began to ramble. “You don’t have to, they’re prolly not as good as whatever you brought for yerself but…”

“Why are you doing this?” That came out way blunter than Ivy meant it, cutting through Jonny’s downward spiral. “I mean…All these nice things, like washing my clothes and sheets and stealing from Ashes and finding me tampons and giving me your heating pads and books I…” Ivy took a breath. “You don’t even like me. So I can’t figure out why Aurora sent you to take care of me, or you’re being so nice.”

“I…” Jonny looked visibly uncomfortable at the prospect of talking about feelings, but he squared his shoulders. “I do like you, Baby Immortal. I know I’m the fucking worst at showing it, but you’re part of the dysfunctional immortal family now. I’ve been avoiding you cause I’m angry Carmilla mechanized you, that you didn’t have a choice in the matter and that you don’t remember who you were, but I’m not mad at you. And Aurora sent me ‘cause I’m the only one in this godforsaken crew that knows what you’re going through.”

Ivy blinked. “My data banks say that no one else in the crew experiences periods.”

“Yeah, well I don’t anymore,” Jonny bit out. “The doc fixed that when she took my heart out. Hysterectomy, Double Mastectomy, and Open Heart Surgery at the same time. To be fair, I was dead at the time so it wasn’t a strain on me, and my mechanism sped up my recovery time crazy fast. It’s one of the only redeeming things about the whole clusterfuck: I have to live forever, but at least I can do it in the body I wanted.” His words took on a bitter tone, and his face turned red as he realized how much he’d said. “Sorry, didn’t mean to ramble…”

Ivy recalled that Jonny had traveled with Carmilla for about a year before being mechanized, which made the box of tampons and heating pad make much more sense. She gave Jonny a small smile. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

Jonny shrugged. “That’s what I’m here for. Now, I’ll get out of your bright red hair and--”

“Wait, you’re not staying?” Ivy blurted out. Jonny looked back at her with wide eyes.

“I mean, I figured you’d want some time to yourself and I’m not the nicest to be around so I thought I’d fuck off for a bit to give you some space?” He looked a bit unsure.

“Will…” Ivy didn’t want him to go. “Will you stay?” Though it was Jonny’s room, so maybe she should go?

Jonny froze for a moment, like a blue-screening computer, and Ivy could swear she heard the windows startup noises as he rebooted. But before she could panic again, the first mate shrugged, a bit too forcefully to be natural, and climbed into the bed next to her. She snuggled into his side and opened one of his dime novels, one with a cyborg cowboy on the cover. And they spent the next few hours curled up together, Ivy reading aloud and Jonny playing the part of a combination weighted blanket/heating pad.

And it didn’t feel like the end of the world anymore.

#the mechanisms #the mechs #jonny d’ville #ivy alexandria #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3

[cafalla]

Avon Catalog (1979) Scans

I have a lot of fun revisiting old magazines and catalogs, as they're such time capsules into old trends. I have quite a few magazines and catalogs that I want to scan! Here is one of my handful of old Avon catalogs from the 70s!

Now, I have to lead off with stating the fact that I do not support MLMs at all. 

MLM stands for multi-level-marketing. There are tons of companies, such as Avon, that run on this “business model”. They operate on a structure of people enrolling into teams to sell products to earn commission. In reality, they are essentially pyramid schemes, and most people involved in these “companies” end up losing large amounts of money. 

You can read more about the impact of MLM companies and the damage they do here. I just wanted to make it known that I am aware Avon is an MLM company. Outside of scanning these catalogs for archival reasons, I do not support Avon (or MLMs in general) as a business.

I am scanning these catalogs because I find them (and just all catalogs in general) to be interesting time capsules into the types of products available for purchase at different points in time. And Avon does have many neat products, especially from this time period. This is purely for my curiosity and interest, not to promote Avon as a company.

。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°

Okay, now that that’s said and done, I wanted to share some scans from this catalog!

I already showed off the front cover, promoting some kind of perfumed talc powder spray. Talc powders used to be a huge beauty item.

The back cover is promoting a deal on shampoo. 88 cents?! That’s a steal in today’s money…but probably even back then, too.  

I couldn't find an exact month for this catalog. The identifiers are Campaign 15 from 1979. Going by the listed date of price expiration on July 22nd, I'm guessing this catalog was distributed sometime in the first half of the year. Or maybe a month or few weeks before July 22nd.

I did edit out the address and phone number of Miss Nancy, for her privacy. I did leave her first name because I personally just love knowing that items once belonged to someone. Does that make sense? 

Like, I wonder what Miss Nancy was like. Was she young in 1979? Was she old? A mother? A wife? Do you think she ordered any of the items from this catalog? If she did, did she enjoy them? Or think they were absolute garbage? 

I guess we will never know. But I think it is nice to know that there was a Miss Nancy back in the day, excitedly waiting for her newest Avon catalog. Or maybe she was annoyed to receive the catalog because she forgot to cancel her subscription or membership.

Either way, now I (and you!) get to view this catalog that once belonged to Miss Nancy.

。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°

Here are some of my favorite highlights of the catalog. Most of them are model photos, simply because it’s such a treat to me to see photos of people in 70s fashion and makeup. I’ll include some product pages as well though!

。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°

Let’s start with jewelry related scans!

This couple photo is just…so sweet to me. I know it’s an advertisement, but I love how he is looking at her, and how she is looking at us. I actually really love the jewelry advertised, too. I’d totally pick up a bracelet if I could!

Same goes for this leaf necklace and earrings set.

And these bee earrings.

And this butterfly necklace.

These models are SO beautiful and stunning. There is definitely a crazy amount of editing on them, but it’s kind of charming to see this old fashioned “glamour” style again.

Lastly, here is a page of “teen” jewelry.

Sad to say, not really a fan! They look rather cheap. It’s a bummer because most of the jewelry we just saw that was aimed for the adult women look quite pretty and of decent quality.

。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°

Let’s move on to some scans from the makeup section!

As much as I love the “swatches” edited on the sides of these eyeshadow pencils, I think I’d have to pass on these.

The pink and brown ones look pretty nice in the photos, but the poor blues and greens look a mess to me. Maybe they were better in person? Perhaps for $2.99 I’d be willing to give them a shot. 

Here are a couple model photos I like from the makeup section of the catalog.

Love her dress, hair, and choker! And the bunny, of course. This picture goes along with different colors of lipstick and nail polish. I actually really do like her nails now that I look at them. The colors offered aren’t bad at all, even if they are mostly red.

So beautiful! Can’t be a 70s pic without a daisy. Her blouse is so cute, it’s something I’d totally gravitate towards in a store.

Here’s a page of some flavored chapsticks.

I’m such a sucker for flavored chapsticks, I’d buy all these in a heartbeat! Well…maybe not the chocolate one. Never been a fan of chocolate flavored/scented cosmetics.

Lastly, here is an assorted cosmetics page.

The colors of the potted eyeshadow intrigue me. It seems like the trend was all reds, pinks, and peach tones for nails and lips, with bold blues and greens for eyeshadow. That’s my take away from this specific catalog. I kinda like it though!

。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°

One thing I KNOW Avon was (is?) well known for are their cologne and perfume decanters. At least, vintage Avon was. I’m not sure if Avon currently still sells them. They seem like such an old trend, but I know they are still considered collector’s items today.

This catalog has quite a few pages dedicated to them.

Like this horse one!

Gotta say, I was a bit surprised when I flipped to this spread. It is actually kind of cute though, if you’re into horses. And only $4.99! If I was a horse girl, I’d definitely consider it.

Here’s a couple more animal decanters.

Gotta say, the Little Burro decanter is SO cute. It’s tempting me. As is the Sweet Tooth Terrier. Remember when that was a thing in cartoons and tv shows? Wrapping a bandage like that around your head and jaw when your tooth hurt? 

I think it was to hold an ice pack or medicine against your jaw/teeth so your hands were free. Funnily enough, I googled it real quick and found this thread, from AR15.com (???) of all places, discussing this. I just had to include this because it is so funny to me.

Here is another page of decanters.

I do love that classical lady and the watering pail decanters. I can see why these became collectible items, I kinda want a couple for myself after looking at these!

。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°

To end with, here are some scans from the perfume and bath section of the catalog!

Love her makeup and dress! She looks so beautiful!

Same with this woman! Her hair is chef's kiss for me. Big fan of the peachy lip color on her.

Also hey! Isn't that the rainbow hat worn by the chapstick girl?! Lol!

The caption is funny out of context. Sweet Honesty is an Avon fragrance. Some of the decanters shown earlier come with this scent of perfume in them. But I also think it works as a good relationship quote.

Oh, to be this woman in a nice, warm bath.

Why does that water look so nice! Why is that bathtub SO BIG?! I feel like I'm missing out.

Or to be this woman, pouring water on herself with a giant shell.

Bathing has really gone downhill, huh? Where is MY giant shell bathing pitcher?!

And finally, I saved the best for last. Check out this guy from the men’s spray talc advertisement.

Now THAT’S a 70s fashion moment. Wish there were more men featured in the catalog, I'm living for their looks.

。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°

Hope you enjoyed the scans! As always, you can view the whole catalog and higher quality scans over on my Internet Archive account.

I also have uploaded some of the above images on my nostaliga photoblog, so feel free to check that out too if you like just reblogging the images!

I have more Avon catalogs to scan, as well as a few Delia’s catalogs. That’s not even including the many magazines I need to get to scanning…so stay tuned!

Thanks for reading!

#txt #my scans #scans #avon #shopping #catalog #70s #fashion #vintage #nostalgia #long post

[priyadigi22]

CELEBRITIES LOOKING STUNNING IN ETHNIC WEAR

Bollywood And Style Go Together, And Our Beautiful Celebrities Never Don’t Impress Us With Their Stunning Avatars. Can It Be Award Functions, Fashion Shows, Shop Inaugurations, Casual Excursions Or Festive Parties, Our Cherished B-Town Beauties Certainly Possess Their Style On Stage! Therefore, When We Recently Seen Some Of Those Bollywood Divas In Stunning Ethnic Wear, (Oh Boydid They Look Amazing), We Simply Could Not Help Sharing Them With You! All Things Considered, These Put Some Severe Trend Aims For Us!.  This Kind Of Bollywood Sarees Catalog Are Available At Wholesale Price.

Shilpa Shetty

Oh, Does Not She Look Pretty Here? Spotted In An Art Exhibition She Awakens, Shilpa Shetty Looked Magnificent In This Beige Dress! The Cultural Crop-Top And Skirt With Gold Motifs Exuded An Ethnic Appeal That Is Difficult To Match. The Box-Clutch, The Oxidised Kada, The Multi-Coloured Beaded Necklace As Well As The Gold Mojris — She Made Every Piece Of It Spot-On!. I Am Not Sure These

Elli Avram

Spotted At Filmfare Glamour And Style Awards 2016, This Swedish Greek Attractiveness Took Us Back Into Those Old Times When Lace Was In Fashion. At A Neatly-Draped Skies Blue Satin-Silk Saree, Teamed With A Decorated Off-Shoulder Blouse, Elli Strikes All Of The Ideal Spots On The Style Meter. I Guess You Would Able To Find This Kind Of Sarees Catalog On Our Website.

Rekha

The Greatest Fashion Diva, Rekha, Is Famous For A Style That Belies Her Years. In Her Traditional Silk Sarees, She Epitomises The Beauty Of An Indian Lady. And She Seems Totally Mesmerizing In This Bronze-Golden Silk Saree She Topped With A Gold Necklace, Matching Gold Bangles Along With A Decorated Potli Bag.

Huma Qureshi

Well, We’ve Been Beating On Pastels For Nothing! Huma Qureshi Appeared Ethereal Within This Pastel Ritika Mirchandani Outfit. The Lemon Yellow Cape Accounts The Snowy Kurta That She Wore With Pen Pants! The Done Bun Just Took Her Ethnic Wear -Chic Quotient A Notch Higher. This Type Of Printed Sarees Catalog Are Available At Wholesale Price.

Genelia Deshmukh

The Ever-Beautiful Genelia Appeared Every Bit Her Adorable Self Within This Red Tie And Designer Kurti. We Love The Way She Pulls This Off High-Low Hemline Shirt With A Set Of Cozy Jeggings And Bright Block Insides.

Way To Go Ladies!

#Buy Wholesale Dress Material #Wholesale Readymade Dress Material #Ready Made Dresses Wholesale Online #Surat Dress Material Wholesale Market #Dress Material Wholesaler #Wholesale Dress Material Online #Georgette Dress Material #Wholesale Embroidery Dress Materials #Smcreation #Wholesale Cloth Market In Surat #Surat Wholesale Textile Market #Surat Wholesale Market

[musiconanironingboard]

14 August 2022: It’s Only Rock ’n Roll, The Rolling Stones. (1986 Rolling Stones/CBS reissue of 1974 Rolling Stones/Atlantic release)

Buying two Stones albums in a week is a lot for me, but sometimes circumstances just require such things. Believe it or not, somehow I had never owned this album in any format. This has long been the last Stones studio album I didn’t own, and I was constantly on the lookout for a good copy. Quite often, they have considerable wear. (And I should note: my Stones buying terminates after 1999. Anything they do in the current century feels more like product to me than viable new music, but technically I also do not own A Bigger Bang or Blue & Lonesome, their last two studio releases.)

This is an odd copy for me to buy, which I’ll explain in a moment, but It was in shrinkwrap and that goes a long way toward making me want to buy something. Buying this one was odd because it’s not an original pressing, which I would have preferred. In 1986, ownership of the post-1971 Stones catalog transferred from Atlantic to CBS. Under both corporate parents, the band’s music was released on the Rolling Stones Records imprint. I remember when CBS took over the Stones’ releases, and they all got reissued at once. It seemed very strange to me at the time to see these titles with CBS catalog numbers and the other bits of minutiae regarding CBS pressings that hardcore collectors will recognize. To me, these new versions were “phonies” (a term I have sometimes used to designate non-originals), and even though their existence meant a lot of Stones titles were now widely available, I avoided them because they weren’t originals. In 2022, I don’t give a damn, and it almost makes it more interesting to me to have a CBS version of one of these classic records, especially since I remember their genesis. (I should also note that the 1986 transfer to CBS was a separate circumstance from their pre-1971 catalog also being reissued on the ABKCO label, which I discuss in my previous Stones post.)

Above we see the front and back covers. I’d have liked to remove the shrinkwrap for this photo, but it’s so tight and old that it would rip to tatters if I tried to slip it off.

Below we see two hype stickers. First is a Stones sticker; when these reissues were rolled out, they all came with a sticker like this. Second is just a pricing-tier sticker, one that must have been short-lived because I barely recall ever seeing this sticker on anything.

These reissues did include the original inner sleeves, which is a good touch. Companies could be pretty cheap in the ’80s, and it was common for repressings to drop custom sleeves altogether.

Last, here is side one’s label.

I don’t remember what song it was, but I heard something from this album being played in the Wilmington, North Carolina, airport last July. I didn’t recognize the song, but I accurately guessed that it had to be from It’s Only Rock ’n Roll because I didn’t know what it was and it’s the only 20th century Stones album I haven’t heard! It will be a while before I get to this copy, so my Stones knowledge remains lacking in the meantime.

This, like the Who CD in the previous post, is another purchase from Bullseye Records in Milwaukee.

[morsingwyatt14]

Burberry Ladies

Nothing on this bag jogs my memory of Coach, I am merely not seeing it. But I guess anyone can see anything they need, so there is that. Accented with the immediately recognizable heritage pattern from the house’s archives, this assertion belt proves it’s hard to beat the original. Making its debut as a coat lining back in the Nineteen Twenties, this vintage examine design continues to be just as fresh right now. Add a touch of luxurious to your look - crafted in Italy from the finest materials, Versace's fine leather-based belts are embellished with iconic buckles inspired by the House's rich heritage. This heritage remains key to Burberry’s iconic outerwear alongside a vision for fashion forward collections, inspirational runway shows and an industry-leading position in digital expertise. Based in London, underneath the inventive course of Riccardo Tisci, Burberry combines its heritage of innovation and craftsmanship in its design of womenswear, menswear, childrenswear, accessories and wonder. Thomas Burberry, the founder of the British label and an erstwhile learner unfolded his first retailer in England. He started off with an apprenticeship within the drapery trade. Now they should not be able to pull again through their holes, and, like mine, rain down in a path upon 6th avenue as I hurried to the Bryant Park Tents last Fashion Week. Using an awl, open a hole within the middle of your belting on both facet of your buckle. International delivery is available for this product. Darveys has the one of many finest Burberry clothing and accessories catalog. You can take a look for yourself and determine as a end result of the inventory doesn’t last forever. Select 'Click & Collect' for free in store assortment. We encourage you to notify us of any discrepancies by clicking here. In July 2016, it was announced that Celine boss Marco Gobbetti would become CEO of the FTSE a hundred Company, whereas Christopher Bailey grew to become the Creative Director and President. In 2016, the label launched its "Mr Burberry" perfume. In 2016, Burberry had an increase in reported income, with 77 per cent of sales coming from Burberry's stores. The increase was partially attributed to strong sales in Asia. In early May 2017, the store announced it was moving 300 staff from London to Leeds. Further popularizing the ditch coat in Hollywood was the character of Inspector Clouseau within the Pink Panther movies, who wore a trench coat. Burberry founder Thomas Burberry's invention of gabardine not solely revolutionized outerwear, but also helped the Burberry model pioneer the trench coat as we know it today. In fashionable instances, the Burberry trench coat is among the brand's most enduring and iconic pieces, however the historical past of the trench coat dates again greater than a century. This heritage remains key to Burberry’s iconic outerwear alongside a vision for fashion-forward collections, inspirational runway reveals and an industry-leading place in digital technology. The British fashion home of Burberry was founded by dressmaker Thomas Burberry in 1856. Burberry is heavily built-in into British history, with its trench coats and nova check patterns recognisable worldwide. These notorious checks characteristic on their style, sun shades, and luxurious handbags. cheap burberry belt wikipedia handbags The brand presents conventional and revolutionary style for casual and occasional dress. Expect most Burberry belts to cost between £150 and £410, but it’s value noting that some styles will differ in price depending on the retailer. Polished metallic hardware with engraved Burberry lettering at the buckle offsets the design. So, i have two coats that i'm dying to listing that i have been cruising the thrifts for belts for them, on and off. One is a fab camel wool plaid coat, vtg; the other is a semi-vtg gabardine trench, black. They have been sitting in my closet for over a 12 months, it's simply pitiful. Burberry was an unbiased family-controlled company until 1955, when Great Universal Stores assumed ownership. There are two main Burberry signatures – the iconic check and the trench coat, and there’s about to be three thanks to Riccardo Tisci. Delving into the archives, the designer has reworked Thomas Burberry’s initials into a new emblem for the brand. You’ll find this TB monogram across our edit of Burberry belts. Italian-tanned black and brown leather-based is accentuated with new and traditional house signatures, together with the Thomas Burberry monogram as a clasp and a sample, ‘Kingdom’ slogans and the Vintage examine. A hallmark of the men’s silhouette, belts embody the total range of the house’s iconic particulars. Robust, supple leather-based with totally different colours on both side deliver reversible sporting types. The buckle requires metalworking know-how, and is hand-polished. To add a private contact, the leather can be combined with the wearer’s selection of buckle. One of the issues that has made Burberry such an everlasting brand is its versatility. Is it Burberry's long and engaging historical past that makes it such a mainstay in the fashion world? Or maybe it's that innovation has all the time been on the forefront of the company. Whatever the reason, it's clear that Burberry is a style model that has lots of endurance. It has evolved over the a long time and has become a staple within the business.

#replica burberry belt #fake burberry belt #cheap burberry belt #replica burberry belt mens #replica burberry belt womens

[mha-platonic-yanderes]

Settling In: Parentals

Inspired by @i-cant-sing and their Yandere Todoroki Clan AU

The room is pink. Well, it’s mostly pink. It’s pink with white furniture and embellishments. The closet doors are white and so is the windowsill. The floor is hardwood brown. But everything else is a bubblegum pink.

You’d prefer another color, one that wasn’t so bright and grating to the eyes. But you don’t say that. You just fiddle with your one dufflebag’s handle. This is all you have left, after bouncing around from group home to group home. A year ago—when your parents died—you had thrice as much. Now this and the backpack for schoolwork is all you have left.

“Do you like it?” The mother of this house and wife to the current number one hero, asks you a question. He’s not here; nobody’s here except you two. The house seems too big for three people, but there are pictures on the wall of others. It doesn’t look lived in; there is no semblance of a family. Though, the pictures on the wall show a six person family. It shows that there are four more people here and you get your own room. In a house with now seven people, you get your own room and you aren’t giving it up.

Despite the pink color and the vast emptiness, you answer honestly, “Yeah, I do.” You do like it, even if it's not for the right reasons

Her hands are on your shoulder. You can feel the increased pressure on one side lift up, almost as if she’d been purposefully holding onto you too tight.

“Good. Now, let’s unpack.” She gracefully takes the bag out of your hand, setting it atop the bed. You sit down alongside it, opening your backpack. A couple of notebooks, pencils, and two textbooks sit inside.

You start to stand, heading to take the materials to the desk they’ve provided. Though, whilst holding a pair of pajamas—slightly too little but in [y/f/c]—she takes the books out of your hand.

“Just relax, [Y/N].” Rei replies, “Let me handle it.”

You sit on the bed twiddling with your blouse’s edge. You wore your best outfit, even though it was just your school uniform, without the frumpy sweater. 

The bed is insanely soft. With satin sheets, a thick, fluffy comforter, and a healthy amount of pillows, it's easily the softest place you’ve been.

“I’ll have a driver return your school books back to your former school.” Rei replies, on the other side of the room. You shift to look at her, but she has her back turned to you. “I’ll discuss with my husband what school to place you at.”

“Alright.” You’ve had to transfer schools about three times since last year. Moving again isn’t a hassle anymore. You know not to hope you won’t move again. Though. you know not to get attached to anything in case you have to—in case this doesn’t work out.

“We’ll get you a better education than the one you were definitely receiving.” You can hear the gentle thump of one of your textbooks. She heads back to your duffle bag; it’s now half empty. “My eldest three all went to Somei Private Academy for junior high. Two ended up continuing through highschool as well. My eldest went to Shiketsu and my youngest is in Yuuei now.”

You know those schools. They’re expensive, private academies. You’ve only ever been in public schools. The wealth was obvious when you were picked up in a blackened car with a driver. You just didn’t expect them to spend that money on you, a lowly orphan.

“Or we’ll just hire a set of tutors like we did for our youngest before he went to Yuuei.” She decides what to hang up or fold. You’ll have to go through it all later to find everything. Luckily, you don’t own much—or unluckily, depends on how you look at it. But you don’t dwell on the issue long, responding quickly to the lady, “Alright.”

She smiles at you. It’s sincere, motherly. It’s what your mother would’ve done, before the accident. It’s something you sorely missed since then.

“You’re extremely agreeable, aren’t you?” She finishes out the bag, pressing it into the top of your closet. Your backpack gets sat beside the desk. This room is large and your things are set in its appropriate places across from it. 

“I guess.”

“That’s a good thing, darling.” She goes to mess with your hair, “Now, for dinner tonight, let's change you into something a bit nicer, yes?”

You pause, looking at your toes in their pristine white socks. You can see her legs as well, considering how close she is to you, “This is the nicest thing I own.”

“That’s fine. We’ll just have to go shopping for some new things.” Rei replies, taking her other hand to your chin, forcing you to look her in the eyes, “Enji and I know what we are getting ourselves into, buying you a whole new wardrobe will be nothing.”

She takes her hands from your head and into your hands, helping you up.

“Where are we going?” She leads you back from your room to the rest of the house.

“Shopping, darling.” Rei replies, “We have five hours to do so, before I must start dinner, that is. Is there anything you want?”

“No, not really.” She’s already planning to drop a substantial amount of money on you and she’s already being incredibly maternal. You aren’t going to stretch that patience thin and have her snap already. You aren’t going to ruin this for yourself.

She smiles at you, “I’ll figure out what you like soon enough.”

===

The shopping mall standing in front of you was not where you usually would’ve gone. A basic department store, maybe a strip mall if you’re lucky would be where you usually shopped. This place however, is at least four stories high standing stark white and black against the almost colorless blue-grey sky. Though, you don’t get to admire it long. Rei quickly pulls you out of the cold outdoors and into the perfectly heated building.

“Now, I say we head to clothing stores first and then to more home goods type stores, so we don’t have to pack the heavy stuff around. Though, if we get too much to carry, we can send it back to the car and then continue shopping.” Rei replies, “Is that alright?”

You nod, still reluctantly going along this whole situation. The car is actually a limo and you have your own room in a massive estate. You have an impossibly nice and maternal caretaker who’s insanely rich. This is your “Annie” moment; this is your fairytale scenario. The shoe has to drop at some point. You aren’t going to be blindsided when it does.

“Good.” She locks arms with you, holding you close. It’s weird, but not entirely uncomfortable. You want to trust her. Your sense of judgement is clouded, knowing that she can’t really be this nice, but you want her to be like this

She leads you into a clothing store, taking you to the brightly colored section. Rei silently holds a peach colored sweater up to you. She grabs an orange skirt, looking at them both together.

“What do you think of this?” She asks, holding them up together. The sweater is thick, 

assumedly warm. The skirt however, isn’t,. You tell her that.

“That’s what some white stockings are for [y/n].” She laughs lightly, “and please call me Rei. You don’t have to be so formal.”

“Alright... Rei.” Acclimating to her is easy. At the moment, you don’t care what the rest of her family is like, she’s nice and maternal and everything you miss from your own mother.

She grabs multiple sweater and skirt combinations, not grabbing a single pair of pants for you. This store doesn’t sell tee shirts or blouses, sticking to a younger, but put together catalog. You briefly entertain the idea of them being traditionalists, but you don’t mind that. You’ve lived in worse houses than one with conservative ideals.

And besides, the outfits are cute. You hope you can keep them if everything goes south.

“Put these on.” She hands you the clothing, “and I want to see every outfit you try on. I want to see if it looks good.”

The fitting rooms are nicer than any you’ve ever been to. When checking the price of the items she’s handed to you, you can see why. The least expensive thing is a 10,000 yen skirt. It’s plain blue, just like the 1,500 yen one you have on now. It's obviously of higher quality, but guilt pangs in your chest at the thought of her spending so much money on you. This is at least a dozen items in here.

You slip it on, alongside the white sweater, filled with gold stars. You look at yourself in the mirror, before heading out the door. Rei sits in a chair, looking at you.

“You look absolutely adorable.” Rei comments, “We’re keeping it.”

She doesn’t let you put your input in. But she’s paying for it, so you don’t complain.

Five more times, you come out in sweater and skirt combinations. She has nothing but praise for each outfit. It’s refreshing. Your last home was less than pleasant.

Rei leaves you to change back into your uniform. All six outfits are bought and placed into two bags, both on her arm away from you. She wraps her other arm into the crook of your arm.

“Onto the next store we go.”

As you all head to a different floor of the mall, you voice concerns you originally had back in the dressing room, “You know… you don’t have to spend so much money on me.” You tell her, then backtrack, “Not that I’m not grateful! I am really! It’s just that I don’t need stuff this fancy, you know?”

“[Y/N], I am your mother now. It’s my duty to get you clothes and stuff.” She says it with a certainty that is oddly comforting. Everything about her is that way, from her soft, smooth skin to her warm, grey eyes to her bright, white smile. She’s intensely maternal, something that you didn’t realize you wanted anymore, until today, “and we must keep you up to the Todoroki standard. After all, you’re going to be one of us for now on.”

Being one of them. You don’t know of any Todorokis; you’ve never been a huge fan of heroes like some of your peers. But belonging, that’s something you’ve craved since it was ripped away from you. A family—that’s what you’ve always wanted.

“All right.” 

“Chin up, shoulders back.” She tells you, “You’re new life begins tonight.”

===

Rei never let you carry a single bag throughout your trip. She also wouldn’t let you see any of the receipts or let you have a final word on anything you got. But, you got all nice things—all things you like. So, you don’t mind.

“Change into the white dress with the red and pink roses.” She instructs, “And redo your hair. First impressions are important, after all.”

You haven’t met her husband, nor any of her children. But, as the pictures on the wall show, her husband is Endeavor, the number one hero. Usually you’d meet the person fostering you beforehand, but with his affluence, there needed to be no meetings beforehand. 

Following her instructions, you rifle through the bags, finding the dress she wanted you to wear. Slipping out of your old clothes and into the cold, expensive dress is a quick process. Doing your hair to a standard that would make her proud, is not. Eventually you get it right. 

Unlike earlier, you take the time to unbag your stuff. You mimic what Rei did in your closet. Shirts, sweaters and dresses are hung up. Skirts, leggings, and stockings are folded in the dresser. The shoes are placed on the inside of your closet. The few decorations you got are placed so that they don’t move what Rei and her husband already got you. She’s extremely peculiar about order. You won’t break that order.

“[Y/N].” She knocks on the door that doesn’t lock, “What’s taking you so long. Do you need help?”

You open the door for her, “I was just putting everything away, Rei.”

She comes in, looking at the room. She pulls the draws out and reopens the closet door, looking inside them. It’s an inspection, to see if everything is up to code.

Rei pinches your cheek, “ It’s perfect, exactly how I imagined it.”

Perfect. She’s praising your work. The word warms your heart, bringing a smile to your face. You haven’t gotten enough praise in your life, clearly.

“Thank you.”

“Now come on.” She tugs at your wrist, “Enji will be here any moment and I need help plating the table. Usually Fuyumi would do it, but you’ll meet my other children at a later date. Tonight is just about you, me, and Enji.”

“Alright.” Relief settles from your scrunched up soldiers. You only have to meet one new person, not five like you assumed. One person is better than five people—even if he is the #1 Hero. 

You’re led back through the sitting room and into the dining room. It’s nice, well lit. It’s low to the ground and cushioned. You’ve expected this from this house. Every room besides your own is extremely traditional. You expected the whole house to be like this, once you walked through the doors.

“The plates and cups are in the left cabinet, do be careful with them.” Rei points to a side room, at the back of the dining room, “I’ll bring in the cutlery. Enji should be here soon.”

As if on cue, you hear the front door being opened. A low voice calls out, “Rei, darling? [Y/N]?”

You freeze, plates and cups in hand. Something about the number one hero calling out of your name unsettles you. Though, somehow immediately aware of your apprehension, Rei places a cold hand against your back. You can feel it through the dress, which isn’t surprising, considering how thin it is.

“We’re in the dining room, honey.” Rei takes the plates and cups from your hands, placing them down and simultaneously leading you to your seat. You sit, legs together and bent to the side. You sit currently in the seat to the left of the table’s end. 

The number one hero—Rei’s husband—kisses her cheek. He towers over her. She was waiting for him at the entrance. You try not to make any noise; you try not to interrupt them.

She heads to the seat across from you, leaving Endeavor to sit at the head of the table. You aren’t surprised; this family gives of very traditional vibes. He radiates heat to your right, still aflame, showing off his powerful quirk.

The food is already on the table. It’s more than enough for the three people here, possibly more than enough for the six people in the photos—plus yourself. You make your own plate, only getting what you know you’ll eat. You don’t want to take too much, you don’t want to be greedy. 

“Make sure you actually get full, [Y/N].” Rei smiles at you. It’s warm and soft.

“I am, Miss.” You can feel Endeavor staring at you, but you don’t look at him. You shift your head down, looking at the plate in front of you. You don’t grab more; you don’t want to ruin their hospitality with your selfishness.

Rei and Endeavor talk to themselves, mostly about work. They occasionally talk about three other people—Shoto, Fuyumi, and Natsuo. There are four children in the photos on the wall; it’s a family of six. Though, you don’t ask about the unnamed child, it isn’t your place to do so.

You finish your food fairly quickly, but so do the other two. You look up at Endeavor for the first time tonight, asking, “Can I be excused, sir.”

“No.” He replies, “We have things to discuss.”

“Oh… alright.” You fiddle with the hem of your dress underneath the table, “What do you want to discuss, sir?”

“I’ll take the dirty dishes and excess food.” Rei smiles at you, “You’ll be fine, [Y/N]. Pass me your plate.”

Endeavor waits for Rei to leave to start talking. You are acutely aware of how hot it is now, without Rei’s cooling, calming effect.

“How was your day today?” He starts the conversation off decently well. You look him in the eye, “Good.” You were taught manners growing up; you know how to hold a conversation, no matter how intimidating the person you’re talking to is.

“That is a pretty dress on you, [Y/N].”

“Thank you.”

“Now then. While you are here, there shall be rules you will follow. Rei and I have devised a fair list and she’ll go over them with you extensively in the morning.” He tells you, “Though, the ones concerning you tonight are: no technology post-dinner and that you shall be in bed by ten o’clock. Rei shall wake you up at seven am tomorrow.”

“Alright.” Those aren’t too harsh rules; other homes have had worst lists. Though, you won’t make a final decision on that until tomorrow. You tentatively ask another question, “Uhhh, sir. Rei mentioned other children. If you don’t mind me asking, where are they?”

“Shoto goes to U.A. They have dorms now and are forced to stay there. Fuyumi and Natsuo have since moved out, but visit occasionally. You’ll meet them when it is appropriate.” Endeavor tells you, “And [Y/N], call me Enji. You are now dismissed.” 

“Alright, Enji.” As you stand to leave, you use his name, “Thank you.”

#yandere todoroki clan #yandere todoroki family #yandere mha #yandere bnha #yandere #mha #bnha #platonic yandere #yandere enji todoroki #yandere rei todoroki #enji todoroki #rei todoroki #canon? what canon? #who was going to tell me that my line breaks dont transfer over to tumblr like they do to ao3

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 18

Masterlist

Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤ Make sure you read Roman Profile, set in the same universe!

Word Count: 7.6k

Abu Dhabi holds a special place in Pierre's heart. The food is great, the views are spectacular, and there is always plenty to do to keep him busy. Night races are some of the more exciting races too and Pierre appreciated the variety.

Coming into the final race of the season, Pierre holds on to seventh in the championship by a few points. Perez sensed the usurper creeping up on his seat and had cranked it up to eleven. 

Exams had kept you in London for the race in Brazil, where Pierre had finished sixth and Checo DNF'd. You had managed to fly out for the weekend in Saudi Arabia, where Perez had finished fifth and closed the gap to Pierre to only four points behind. 

If Pierre didn't finish ahead of Perez this weekend, he was fucked. And he was at the distinct disadvantage of his good luck charm being absent, stuck in London finishing up your final few exams of the semester. Two weeks without seeing you coupled with barely hearing from you had worn on him. It wasn't purposeful on your part but Pierre's stress was already compressed like the suspension on his car. Stray an inch too far over the racing line, hit a curb too hard and it was liable to snap, sending bits and pieces flying.

Pierre checks his phone for the millionth time as he waits to check in to the hotel. Wednesday was late for this many crew members to be arriving. His main concern though was that you hadn't responded to the text he'd sent you upon landing.

"Look lively, will you?" Max claps Pierre on the shoulder and he slides his phone into his pocket. "It's the last race of the season. We get to go balls to the wall and leave it all out in the track. And here you are looking like a kicked puppy."

"Easy for you to say," Pierre starts, grinning at his friend. "You clinched the title weeks ago. You don't even have to race this weekend if you don't want to and you'd still win."

"Doesn't mean I won't be shooting for a podium."

Pierre rolls his eyes. "Yeah well we can't all be so lucky, can we?"

"Next year you'll be playing with the big dogs." Max hands the receptionist his ID, says a few words and turns back to Pierre. "Looking forward to having you as a teammate again. It was fun for those couple races and I'm sure you'll be a challenge now that you've found your groove."

"You're gonna jinx it if you keep talking." Pierre laughs, praying that it covers up the old wound Max's statement picked open. Pierre hated the idea of moving back to Red Bull but he didn't have much choice. He was still contracted to one of four Red Bull branded seats for next season. A promotion, at the very least, would help him showcase his talent and further cement his value. If he had to spend any longer than that with the team, ripping out his hair was a real possibility.

"Wasn't someone supposed to be with you this weekend?" Max quirks a brow. "Where is she?"

"In London." Max bringing you up doesn't help the pit forming in Pierre's stomach. Win or lose, seventh or eighth, Red Bull or Alpha Tauri, come Sunday Pierre wanted you at his side. Interview requests were bound to roll in either way and Pierre would need someone to ground him, a task much easier to accomplish if you were physically at his side.

"Too bad." Max clicks his tongue and takes his room keys from the receptionist. "It's gonna be a fun weekend."

"I don't think-"

Pierre's vision goes dark at the same time someone whispers, "Guess who?"

Pierre sucks in a breath, spins on his heel and wraps you in a hug in one smooth motion. You laugh as he lifts you off your feet and presses kisses to your cheeks. 

"What are you doing here?" He grabs both suitcases and tugs you aside. His room can wait.

"Tost asked me to come." Your grin is contagious, its twin appearing on Pierre's own cheeks. "He said that since you were flying out from Milan on your own there was an extra seat on the jet, so if I got myself to Nice I could fly out with the Red Bull boys."

"Seven hours trapped in a tin can with Max, Yuki and Checo?" Pierre rubs his chest. "I've got heartburn just thinking about that."

"It wasn't so bad," you say, finally giving him a proper kiss. "Yuki and I just played games on our phones the whole time. And I beat Max at Scrabble."

"How many Dutch words did he try to use?"

"Mmm, about half the words he tried were definitely not English."

"Yep, sounds about right." Pierre throws an arm around your shoulders and leads you back to the reception desk. He pays for an upgraded room when you aren't looking- though when you're assigned a suite there's not much higher you can go- and slips the woman behind the counter an extra bill for good measure.

"I could use a nap," you note, leaning against Pierre like you'd otherwise fall over. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

Pierre checks his watch. "We've got time for a nap."

"We?" Your raised eyebrow is question enough. Pierre smiles and swipes his key card once you're in the elevator with him. He hadn't looked at the price of the room but he was positive it was more than he'd spent on a single night in his entire career, considering it occupies an entire floor of the swanky hotel.

"It's date night," Pierre says simply. Initially his plan had been to invite Charles over for a game of Fifa but the Monegasque wouldn’t fault him for cancelling at the last minute. "We're in one of the most luxurious cities in the world and I'm going to show you off every chance I get. The restaurant down stairs is to die for."

Your attempt at nodding along with what he says is thwarted by a yawn. "Sleep first, eat later." Seeing as it was impossible to deny you, Pierre simply drops a kiss to the crown of your head.

"Wait until you see our room." The way your eyes light up when he says our room makes him want to say it again and again just to see you sparkle.

"I know you upgraded it, Mr. I-think-I'm-sneaky." You uncurl yourself from against his arm when the elevator chimes. "How much did it cost?"

"A few extra pennies."

The stainless steel doors open directly into the suite. The living space is dominated by a curving crescent of full length windows overlooking the cerulean harbor and the jagged steel of the city skyline beyond. Suitcase forgotten, your jaw drags along the floor as you toe off your shoes in favor of sinking onto one of the half moon couches situated around a low coffee table.

"Did you get some sort of bonus you didn't tell me about?" Pierre sees your inner engineer cataloging the chandelier dripping crystals over the carved dining table and the pattern of the black veined marble flooring. "This cost more than a few pennies."

"I didn't really look at the price so it's possible," he admits. In the end it was worth it to see you like this, happy as a pig in mud. Pierre was in his element at the track you were in yours in beautiful buildings. For all Pierre cared you could be sharing a dingy room at a motel; it would still be five star worthy with you there. 

Every once in a while though, you deserve a bit of pampering for all you put up with. Late nights and months apart wasn’t easy on either of you, but you stuck by him. And when the day comes that Pierre retires or loses his seat, you would be the one there to comfort him. Spending frivolous amounts of money to see you smile was nothing in the grand scheme of things. 

In Pierre’s world, money is temporary, you are forever.

"Well I have half a mind to tear into you for spending so much on a room we won't spend all that much time in," you start, your star-speckled gaze landing on Pierre, "the view is too pretty to be upset about."

"Mine isn't half bad either." You laugh, tucking an errant hair behind your ear. You both know he isn’t referring to the glittering bay or the expensive furnishings.

"Up," Pierre demands softly, holding out his hand. Your hand is warm and dwarfed by his long fingers but you barely seem to notice. The heart in his chest pounds for no discernable reason as he leads you down the narrow hall past doors leading to what he can only assume are bedrooms and bathrooms, to the one at the end of the hall. Based on his mental floor plan this one has the best view, if he's guessed correctly.

Your breezy oh confirms his hunch. You stutter at the threshold, coming up short behind him to bathe in the beauty of the sea, dotted through with white sails. Sunlight twinkles off the waves and if he breathes deep enough, he can almost smell the salt.

"Come on," Pierre says with a chuckle, urging you to fall into the fluffy down of the bed with him. You follow reluctantly, too enamored by the sights to pay any real attention to how Pierre arranges your limbs to his liking, your head resting on his chest and your joined hands laying atop his stomach.

"How about that nap?" He murmurs, running the fingers of his free hand through your unbound hair. 

You sigh and snuggle in closer. It was rare that Pierre had the opportunity to steal moments like this during a race week, when he had nothing better to do than tangle himself in you.

"I'll tell you a story." 

Just as he expected, you leap at the offer. "Can you tell me the one about the time you and Charles got in trouble when you were karting?"

Normally he opts for something fictional that allows him to embellish the details to fit his narrative. Pierre loved spinning tales rife with laughter and intrigue but he also didn't mind indulging your curiosity.

"Yeah, I can tell that one. Let me set the scene. It's midnight on a Friday at a little track outside Rouen. Two gangly teenage boys, one French and one definitely, positively not French, have nothing better to do than get themselves in trouble…"

**********

Fans began whispering when Pierre set foot in the lobby. The price of stardom was high and had taken years to get used to. Some days the bombardment of people asking for photos and autographs overwhelmed him to the point he was desperate for an out. Most people respected his boundaries and when they sensed it was too much, they backed off. Other days it was simply too much and he would mumble excuses and book it out the door.

The pressure increases tenfold when he steps into the lobby with you on his arm, the pair of you dressed to the nines. He clocks a group of women- clearly tourists based on their body language- perched on a sofa the minute their low murmurs turn into excited squeals.

Pierre mentally braces for you to stiffen or stop altogether but you do neither. You carry on unaffected, either ignoring them or completely oblivious to the women who do nothing to hide their pointed stares.

"Table for two please." You smile at the restaurant host and then at Pierre. You must not have noticed the fans then. You were getting better at coping with the photos and whispers, although your smile usually became forced the longer it dragged on, the polar opposite of you currently beaming at him.

Pierre's shoulders sag a bit when you're led to a secluded table towards the rear of the dining space. Privacy wasn't a luxury he was often afforded. With his back to a wall of windows, there were fewer angles for people to approach from which was a small comfort.

Apparently you find sitting across from Pierre unacceptable because you shuffle your chair to his side of the table before plopping down in it. Pierre shoots you a questioning look but keeps his mouth shut. Inquiring after your motives didn't tend to end well for him.

Instead he leans over to kiss your cheek, relishing the blush his lips coax to the surface.

“It all sounds good,” you say, scanning the menu. “You’ve been here before, I take it?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah I have. It’s all wonderful.” 

The fans from the lobby remain in the blurred fringes of his vision. Pierre does his best to focus on the waitress explaining the specials. He tunes in automatically to the fan’s heavily accented English as they argue with the host, vying for a table as close to Pierre as possible.

Their phones remain out as an annoyed waiter tries and fails to coax the gaggle of girls into ordering something. Pierre drags a hand through his hair.

Being the center of attention usually doesn't bother him. Coping with the spotlight and the scrutiny that accompanies it is second nature; if the press conferences at Spa in 2019 had taught him anything, it was the importance of a solid poker face. Fame is new to you though and interactions with polite fans make you nervous. Having your picture taken without permission and splashed on social media? Forget about it. Pierre didn't care to find out how you'd react.

"Don't be nervous." You lay a hand on Pierre's thigh. The touch is enough to temporarily pause his bouncing leg. "You're going to do amazing this weekend. All you have to do is finish in front of Checo and you're golden."

How you haven't noticed the girls giggling mere yards away is beyond him. The last thing he wants to do is ruin this perfect, beautiful moment of bliss. You look gorgeous with your painted lips and that sinful black dress that he doubts can be comfortable based on how it hugs your curves like water. To top it off, the pride in your gaze is something to behold, making it impossible to doubt himself when you so clearly and openly believe he can conquer the world.

But it's better to tell you now versus you finding out on social media later. "That's not what's bothering me."

"Oh?" You sit straighter and set the menu down. "What is it then? Because if it's Horner, I have no problem marching in there and chewing him out. Birdy will back me up."

Despite himself, Pierre can't hold back his smile. "Where did all this confidence come from, hmm?"

"I'm learning," you insist, nodding your head firmly. "I'm growing as a person and you should be proud."

"I never said I wasn't." Maybe you'd spent the last month at university interacting with racing fans on campus. Perhaps being exposed to endless questions in a setting you controlled was the key. "Did you take a course in confidence at university?"

You scrunch up your nose and laugh in the most adorable way. Pierre's heart lurches at the sight, regardless if it was him you were laughing at.

"No, but I did make a few new friends that have a habit of pestering me about you." You jab a finger in his side for good measure. "It helped, I think. I don't look for cameras as much anymore. You're my focus now, not paps that may or may not be lurking in bushes."

"I knew it." Pierre is slightly impressed that he'd hit the nail squarely on the head. "I figured there had to be someone at uni responsible for helping you out."

You shrug and purse your lips. "I guess we'll have to see how I handle this weekend. I mean, there's bound to be press trying to corner me, what with the stakes and all. But I think I can take them." You raise your fists in front of your face and Pierre has to laugh. 

“Throw a punch like that and you’ll break a finger.” He takes one of your clenched fists in his and untucks your thumb from under your fingers. “That’s how you make a proper fist. And you hit with these knuckles here- make sure you distribute the blow across all four, or you’ll be hurting.”

“Regardless,” you say, jabbing the air a few times, “The shock factor of having little old me in their face ought to be enough to earn me an advantage.”

Pierre finishes the lap to circle back to the topic at hand. "How about we test your confidence?” 

"Okay," you say, dragging out the 'a' until it hangs in the air between you like a spider's web. 

Pierre rakes a hand through his hair and nods to the girls a few tables away. "They've been taking pictures since we sat down. I'm sure they'll be all over Instagram in an hour, if they aren't already."

You steal a glance at the table in question under the guise of grabbing something from your purse. You hum, contemplating how to go about responding. Pierre is almost certain you'll ask to head back upstairs where it's just the two of you, no cameras or outside influence to ruin your night. His wallet is already out under the table, ready to leave a hefty tip for putting up with your drink-and-dash.

“We aren’t doing anything interesting,” you point out, swirling the knuckle’s worth of whiskey in your glass. “Why do they feel the need to document every passing second?”

Pierre lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “It’s just what some people do. If you’re uncomfortable we can go.”

“Who said anything about leaving?” You scoff, the corners of your lips turned up in a teasing smile. “I figure the best course of action is to give them something worth photographing.”

“What do you-”

Pierre’s yelp is decidedly unsexy when you yank him forward by his tie and attach your lips to his. Caught entirely off guard, he flounders for a moment before he catches himself and sinks into you. One hand on your cheek and the other creeping up your thigh, Pierre slides his tongue over the seam of your lips. You don't hesitate to obey the silent command.

He should be embarrassed. He should be contemplating the consequences of this kiss being splashed across tabloids the world over. He can’t bring himself to care, not when you’re the only release he needs and something as simple as a kiss sets his skin alight and causes any sane thoughts to trickle from his head.

Nothing matters. You're kissing him and your hand is a few inches below his hip on his right thigh, burning a brand that he prays leaves a puckered pink scar. Your scent and your mouth and your unmistakable hiss of pleasure saps the worry from his limbs. He's floating up off his chair, lungs filling with helium as you steal every last molecule of oxygen from the room.

Just like that, Pierre is the one that's roaring to leave for an entirely different reason.

Your hand on his jaw keeps your lips a hair's breadth apart as you whisper, "Are they staring?"

A blissed out nod is all he manages. Thoughts evade him and speaking is utterly out of the question when your lips are within striking distance. He surges forward for another kiss, heavier on teeth than on tongue. He makes sure to hold your lower lip between his teeth longer than necessary, putting on a show now that you've given him permission.

"Pierre," you murmur, using the hand splayed on his chest to push him away. The whine that escapes him is wholly unintentional. Thankfully it's low enough that only you hear, pressing a finger to your sinful lips.

"Down, boy." You extricate his hand from the dimpled flesh of your hip and place it chastely in his own lap. "We've accomplished what I wanted to."

Saying you tossing a wink over your shoulder at the intrusive fans isn't the hottest thing he's ever seen would be a lie. Pierre needed to be sure to thank Daniel's girlfriend the next time he saw her for whatever the hell she said to finally bestow you with a healthy serving of self-assurance because this new you is an entirely different entity, one Pierre intends to explore at the next opportunity.

"Problem solved." You brush your hands together and Pierre half expects to see dust clouds in the air like you'd just finished a woodshop project. 

Pierre's brain is operating on a ten second delay. So really, normal operating procedure when he was in your vicinity. "I don't think we've accomplished everything I'd like to get done."

"We have a dinner to finish first." You pick up your menu and resume browsing like you hadn't just forcibly ripped his appetite for anything other than you right out of him. "The salmon sounds good, don't you think?"

"You sound good," Pierre mumbles under his breath and picks up his own menu. God, he'd love to let his fingers drift to the apex of your thighs. You’re always cute when you squirm. It was so simple to do too, all you needed was a brush of his knuckle to your center and you'd be gasping.

"Are you ready to order?"

The soft-spoken waitress bursts Pierre's bubble. She brings fresh drinks and jots down an order of two salmon fillets and leaves with a smile. 

How Pierre has managed to make it this long without fucking you is beyond him. From the moment you surprised him in the lobby, his limbs have been thrumming with energy. And now your surprise kiss had been the pebble that preceded an avalanche of feverish longing. Those red painted lips would look better wrapped around his-

The pointed toe of your shoe digs into his calf. "Quit staring."

"Either you let me daydream or you let me take you upstairs,” Pierre quips back, licking his lips before he can catch himself.

"Can we get through one date without you mentally undressing me?"

Pierre dips his grin in a vat of lust, his words dripping with waxy promise. "No. Not when I know that as soon as we're alone, you'll let me do what I want."

"And what about what I want?" Your pouted lip does absolutely nothing but push his mind further in the gutter. 

"Your wish is my command." His hand floats under the hem of your dress to graze along your core. And there it is, that sound he would swim across oceans to hear, your chastizing gasp of surprise. 

The cross way you whisper his name is a thing of dreams. No one else's name sounded like that on your tongue, that honor is reserved solely for Pierre. The two breathless syllables are more exhilarating than standing on the top step. The rush of adrenaline that accompanies them is ten times what he is rewarded with when passing a world champion on track. He'll give it all up to hear you repeat it when you're pissed or lonely or tired- he just wants your voice echoing in his ears like a broken record.

You move his hand a safe distance down your thigh, nearly at your knee. Pierre gives your leg a sharp squeeze. "Can we please get our dinner to go?"

"Not tonight. You can wait, mon amour."

The French rolls off your tongue awkwardly but Pierre will be the last to complain. Your encyclopedic knowledge of which buttons to press when had come back to bite him in the ass.

"That's not fair." His pout is a mirror image of the one you turned on him earlier. "You can't use my own language against me."

You pat your pockets as if searching for something and shrug when you come up empty. "I don't see a rulebook anywhere."

Reminding you what happens when you tease him shoots to the top of his to do list. "I'll play if you wanna play, ma chérie. Don't bite off more than you can chew."

"I think you're forgetting who usually wins off track."

Pierre can't help it. He takes advantage of his superior reflexes and surges forward to claim another searing kiss. You did normally win and it wasn't for lack of trying on his end. No matter the tactic he employed, you generally got the better of him. Not that he minded.

"Why don't you come here?" He purposely grazes his lips to your ear as he speaks and grins when a shiver runs down your spine. 

"Because we are in public," you hiss back, though the way your head tips to the side betrays you. Pierre's nose touches the underside of your jaw and you struggle to find your breath.

"We should eat." A self satisfied smile splits his face when he notices your heaving chest and wild eyes. 

"When did our food get here?" Pierre did that. He got you so worked up that you blocked out your surroundings so thoroughly that you hadn't heard the clink of plates. Pierre wears that fact like a badge of honor.

"A minute or so ago. Remind me again who's winning?"

"We may be even," you relent, adjusting the skirt of your dress. Yeah, even isn't the word he would pick, considering how flustered you are. It's a good thing Pierre has learned to eat with one hand because he doesn't plan on moving the arm currently slung over the back of your chair anytime soon. His finger traces the letters of his name on the bare skin of your shoulder. Whether you realize what he's writing or not you lean into him as you eat, falling in closer with each lemon-scented bite.

"Excuse me?"

You don't bother to look up but Pierre does. Disappointment washes over him when he is met by one of the fans, apparently deeming now to be the appropriate time to approach him, while clearly on a date, in the middle of a meal.

"I'll be happy to take a photo once I'm done." Sometimes passive aggressiveness works best with people like this, who have no regard for personal space. "Right now I would prefer to be alone, thanks."

"Oh, right." The blonde giggles, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "You two make a… cute couple?" The end of her sentence turns up and your fork falls to your plate.

Pierre tucks you a little closer to his side, both possessive and reassuring. "We know."

Your discomfort is plain, the way you curl in on yourself making his heart hurt. But you surprise him by taking a deep breath and turning to the woman with a smile. 

"If you'd let us finish our meal, I would appreciate it. We can stop by on our way out and chat with you." Sylvie would be proud of that answer. Diplomatically phrased and said with a smile that negates any negative connotations.

"Of course." The blonde's smile is sickly sweet. To Pierre she adds, "Good luck on Sunday."

Pierre nods. The woman's rude behavior didn't warrant a verbal response. She mumbles a feeble goodbye before slinking back to her friends. If nothing else at least their whispers died down, put out by his behavior. 

Pierre loves his fans. Without them he wouldn't have a sport to compete in, and of course he appreciated their endless support. Stopping for photos or autographs had gotten him in trouble with Marko multiple times for being late to meetings that usually turned out to be pointless anyway. As a whole, their enthusiasm gives him an extra boost on Sundays and lifts his spirits after a bad weekend.

And then sometimes there were people like the blonde woman that had interrupted his dinner. Those people he has far less tolerance for. Basic manners were imperative to Pierre giving someone the light of day, otherwise he saw no need to waste time and energy on them.

"All good, ma chérie?" Pierre rubs your shoulder, hoping it'll stave off any anxiety.

"I'm good," you confirm with a nod of your head. "Let's finish up and go to our room."

Pierre presses a kiss to your temple and scarfs down the remainder of his meal in record time. He flags down the waitress and hands her his card, leaving a substantial tip when she returns with the check.

“Can you distract that table?” Pierre asks, aware of how unusual the request likely is. “I’d like to get out of here without making a scene.”

“Of course,” the waitress says with a warm, sincere smile. Pierre waits until she loudly announces, “Excuse me? Your card has been declined, do you have another method of payment?”

Neither of you can contain your laughter as you stumble through the lobby. In the sanctity of the elevator, Pierre wraps his arms around your middle and molds himself against you. "You look especially gorgeous tonight."

"You're not too bad yourself." One of your hands finds the nape of his neck, guiding his face to the crook of your shoulder. Pierre takes the invitation at face value and nips at the sensitive skin. Your hum goes straight to his cock, twitching against the swell of your ass.

"I win," you purr, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging. 

For once Pierre is glad to be in the world's slowest elevator. Since he's already lost, he might as well lose in style. He spins you to face the mirrored wall. And because he knows it'll make you tremble, he trails his hand lazily over your throat to grip your jaw.

A low moan leaves your parted lips. Pierre studies your reflection, from your hands gripping the railing to the skin dimpling beneath his fingers. 

"Fine, you win this time. But I think you and I both know, I'll come out ahead in the end."

**********

Waking up to soft kisses will never get old. Thirty years from now when Pierre was retired and you fell asleep each night with his arms around you, you'd still yearn for the brush of his lips to your cheeks, neck, and shoulders to rouse you from the violet shores of sleep.

"Good morning," you mumble, a sentiment which Pierre echoes with his gruff, sleep tinged voice. "Sleep well?"

"Best sleep I've ever gotten. You tired me out last night." You both grin at the reminder. Fueled by a slight tinge of jealousy after the women at the restaurant made eyes at him, you had refused to let him tumble into bed until well past midnight, when you both were well and truly exhausted. Thursday is press day, nothing strenuous that he couldn't afford to be a little sore for.

Pierre rolls to straddle your hips, lips capturing yours for a proper kiss. The taste of freshly brushed mint makes your skin tingle when he tugs your lip between his teeth.

"It's too early for that." You throw your arms around his neck and urge him to bend his elbows until he falls atop you. It takes him a moment to snuggle in, his head on your chest and his arms sliding under your middle. 

You're convinced that ten minutes in this position can cure any ailments, physical or mental. The weight of your soulmate pressing into you, forcing you to focus on breathing instead of whatever might be bothering you. It's easy to forget about the outside world when everything you require to be happy is wrapped around you like a blanket.

You stroke a hand over Pierre's hair until his breathing evens out, only rousing him when the sun peeks over the harbor. Amiable silence fills the space as hues of orange and pink paint Pierre in swaths of color. Suddenly you're seeing him for the first time, completely enamored by the angles of his cheekbones and the sharp cut of his stubbled jaw. The golden hour of dawn shines on it's golden boy, his lashes brushing his cheeks as he turns towards the warmth calling him home.

"Pyry and I are going for a run soon if you'd like to come with us."

You cringe. Running used to be fun when you were in school, but seeing as you hadn't properly trained in years you doubted you could keep up with a pair of professionals. "How about you text me when you're back and I'll come to the gym with you? It looks fancy, if George's snaps are anything to go by."

Pierre trails kisses up your sternum, over your neck and only speaks once he's reached your lips. "Looking at other men, are you?"

"Shut up," you laugh, shoving him off you. "I'll have you know it was a rare shirt on picture, thank you very much. I don't need to see George shirtless ever again."

A satisfied, "Good," rumbles from Pierre's chest and he stands to stretch the lingering sleep from his limbs. Clad in nothing but a pair of white four inch inseam shorts and with his back to you, you grin as an idea forms. You scramble forward before he can process you moving and smack his ass so hard he yelps.

"Gotcha!" You devolve into a fit of giggles as he rubs the spot you hit, whining about you taking advantage of his distraction.

"You like it," you tease, and Pierre remains strictly pouty for two whole seconds before he breaks into a grin and nods. "Now put on a shirt and get downstairs before Pyry calls you and you get reamed for being late again."

Pierre leans down for one last kiss before rushing off to the lobby. Waking up before the sun leaves you plenty of time to laze about if you choose to. Kicking your butt into gear seems like the better option so you drag yourself out of the relative warmth of the sheets and shuffle to the kitchen in search of coffee. 

Apparently the suite came fully stocked with a handful of different freshly ground blends, and much to your delight you recognize one of your favorites. You scroll through the room service menu on your phone while it brews. Without a doubt Pyry would rope you in to whatever workout he had planned for Pierre, albeit giving you a watered down version of what he gave the driver. Regardless, it would still be grueling and you needed to fuel up.

A hearty breakfast of fresh fruit and cinnamon sugar oatmeal shows up at your door ten minutes later. You're just finishing up when Pierre's snapchat comes through and you nearly choke.

Come on down baby

The sweaty, shirtless selfie that accompanies the caption is wholly unnecessary. Pierre's stupid tongue sticks out and the fingers of one hand are tangled in his hair. The muscle of his bicep is perfectly flexed, an obvious but appreciated attempt to rile you up. You shamelessly screenshot the photo before it disappears to save it for later.

You change into a simple set of leggings and a loose t-shirt and head to the elevator, curating your music queue on the way down.

The outdoor gym overlooks a pool of the same crystalline blue as the sea not far beyond. A few Alpha Tauri and Red Bull team members you recognize occupy a handful of machines. You wave at the ones you recognize, including Alana- she was a sight for sore eyes. You make a mental note to catch up with her at some point today, as you're sure to cross paths again.

Pyry spots you before Pierre does and waves you over. "Start stretching," the fin orders, "I'm glad you dressed for the occasion this time."

"I've learned my lesson." You plop down next to Pierre and lean into a stretch to stage whisper, "He drives you this hard?"

"Get used to it." Pierre shoots you a grin that sets you on fire. He's got a shirt on now, which means he only took it off earlier to send you that snap. Tease.

Any other time you'd chide him for his behavior but this weekend you let it slide. Tension has been brewing since the moment you spotted him across the lobby; simple things tip you off to the stress winding up in him. If flirting could offer him a small amount of release, then so be it, even if it was torturous for you to see him like this and be unable to do anything about it.

"If you two can't get through this without making heart eyes at each other I'll separate you," Pyry warns, pushing at your shoulders and helping you stretch a few more inches. You hide your wince and laugh, leaning into the slight burn.

"Sorry coach," Pierre chimes in, "I'll keep my hands to myself, don't worry." He accepts Pyry's hand to be pulled to his feet. Bouncing on his toes he throws a few punches at the air and catches your gaze over his trainer's shoulder.

"Definitely not you I'm worried about."

As Pyry says it, you blow Pierre a kiss. You quickly tuck your hands behind your back when Pyry's head whips around. Your cheshire grin gets you off the hook and Pyry just points to the stationary bike in silent command. At least he was going easy on you.

Headphones pumping a Pierre curated playlist, you lose track of time as you cycle mile after mile. Pierre sparring on the fringes of your vision helps distract you from burning muscles. Sweat soaks his black tee and is absorbed by the waistband of his oddly patterned orange and white shorts. No matter how incessantly you tease him for his fashion choices, he never fails to amaze you for how well he pulls it all off.

Lost in the music and the incredible view, it takes you a moment to realize Pierre's lips aren't just moving silently. You yank out an ear bud and blubber, "What did you say?"

Pierre's breathless laugh is accompanied by a shake of his head. He half curls in on himself, hands on his hips and mouth agape as he tries to catch his breath. The image stirs memories of the last night, when he was panting just like that but with nothing obscuring you from drinking in his godlike muscled body.

"I said," Pierre starts, walking over to kiss your cheek, "I need a shower before press. I'm going upstairs. You can stay here and Pyry can take you through some more-"

"No thanks!" Pyry shrugs off your immediate refusal. Training top tier athletes and training you sat at polar opposite ends of the spectrum and often times the Fin pushed you farther than you thought capable. You'd like to be able to function tomorrow, thank you very much.

The elevator ride to the suite is filled with salted kisses and wet touches. A breadcrumb trail of clothing leads from the stainless steel doors to the glass encased shower. There's not enough time to worship Pierre like you'd wanted to but he sighs when you run a soapy cloth over his body. Your lips follow the suds, leaving light kisses to the tender muscles. By the time you pour shampoo in your palm and lightly scratch at his scalp to work it into a lather, he's practically purring.

Media appearances are a necessary part of being a driver. Pierre usually handled them well enough on his own and occasionally with Sylvie's help when she could be bothered to get off her phone for a few minutes, but having you with him is different. You pride yourself on reading him well enough to know exactly what he needs. Some days, when the press isn't a pack of rabid animals, he returns to his driver's room and needs nothing more than a quick kiss to have him righted. On days when the pack of piranhas descend to feast on the bones of a bad session or the whispering of drama, a delicate touch is required.

If your suspicion proves right, today would be the latter. Being ahead of the frenzy might take the edge off when Pierre got in the thick of it.

When the tap cuts off, you step out and wrap Pierre in a fluffy towel. His smile communicates how grateful he is- and that he knows what you're doing.

You hand him a stack of Alpha Tauri branded clothes and sit on the foot of the bed. "Do you want me to come to the paddock with you?"

Pierre pauses with his shirt half on. "If you don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind." You pluck a few of his rings from the nightstand and hold out your hand. "You have to complete the look."

"What would I do without you," he murmurs, slipping one on his pinky and one on the thumb of his opposite hand.

"Probably be ridiculed for your lack of fashion sense."

**********

As a driver's girlfriend, you had come to grips with being relegated to a background role when it came to team events. You have to ask Sylvie to repeat herself twice before her words sink in.

"Come with me to the media pen," the woman grits out. Apparently Tost intended to have some fun torturing the woman before he fired her at the end of the season. Hopefully whoever Pierre got stuck with next was a bit more personable than Sylvie.

"Pierre told me to wait here," you say, gesturing to the garage buzzing around you. You were a rock and the mechanics were the stream, parting around you without a care in the world. You were barely a blip on their radar, everyone too honed in on their tasks to pay you any mind.

"And now I'm telling you to come with me. The other wives and girlfriends are in attendance and it'll look odd if you're not there too." Clearly, Sylvie didn't like the idea. And any idea that pissed Sylvie off sounded like a good one.

"I know the way," you say and breeze past her. Your feet follow the familiar path to the cluster of reporters crowded around metal gates, keeping the drivers in like caged animals. It was fitting, considering how often people referred to the sport as a traveling circus.

Pierre is already knee deep in an interview with one of the more popular journalists in the bunch, Will Buxton. Careful to stay out of the lens, you lean against the guardrail to listen in. So far it seems to be going well, Pierre's laugh brings a smile to your face.

"So, Pierre." Will shifts on his feet, pausing to create a sense of drama. "Your seat for next year. We know you'll be in Alpha Tauri or at Red Bull. Only a few points separate you from being demoted right back to eighth in the championship, which would officially relegate you to keep your seat at Alpha for the upcoming season. Are you worried about a mechanical problem or an accident stripping you of your chance to prove yourself and leaving you stuck where you are?"

Your stomach sinks. Buxton knew how to phrase a question, you had to give him that. Each word had been carefully chosen to elicit an emotional response from Pierre. You hate seeing him backed into a corner, forced to answer the same questions again and again, helpless to prevent it.

"Well first of all I'd like to stay that I'm not stuck at Alpha." Pierre shifts his weight and you exhale. Buxton's poisoned dart had missed its mark.

"Given a few years of development I know we could have a really competitive car. But it's more so that I'm ready to move up, fight with the leaders now instead of waiting. I'm in my prime and I don't want to let that pass me by.

"So no, I'm not worried about things that are out of my control. My team has given me an amazing car this year and I'm not concerned about mechanical problems. Things out of my control aren't worth my energy. There's nothing I can do about it so I don't even give it thought. I'll focus on my driving and pushing my limit- if an accident happens, I'm just a passenger."

"Well said." Buxton nods and turns away, effectively dismissing Pierre. As soon as he's out of the camera's view he's reaching for you and you meet him halfway. Sylvie trails after you as Pierre leads you through to the Alpha garage.

"Five minutes until your briefing," Alana says the second you enter. "And hey girl. Don't think I've forgotten about that sweater I loaned you. I still want it back!"

Your friend doesn't leave any room for rebuttal before heading for the conference room, presumably to set up whatever presentation she had created. Sylvie had disappeared too, leaving you as the only one for Pierre to focus on.

"You think I can do it?" He asks quietly, playing with your interlaced fingers.

"I don't think." You tilt his chin up so he's looking at you. "I know. And I'll be right here when you cross that line on Sunday and bring home points. You've got this, baby. Don't doubt yourself now."

"Pierre!"

Your grip on his chin prevents him from following the voice, not that he would if he could. You shoot him a raucous grin, "Red Bull colors would look pretty good on me, huh?"

Pierre's smile is brighter than all the stars in the sky. "Anything with my name on it will do.”

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max @sunshinesewis @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval @0forgottenparadise0 @evie-pr @avsensio @ninuffi @lu-morningstar @ggaslyp1 @swiftyhowlz @xeniarocks @teenwaywardasgardian @saintandrea-droidsmuggler​

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future updates!

#pierre gasly #pierre gasly fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 fantasy #formula 1 #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fic #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 rpf #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fantasy #f1 imagine #f1 rpf #f1 #reader insert #pierre gasly x reader #his good sweater

[upthewitchypunx]

PBW Witch Shop!

It’s a strange time for us at Portland Button Works. Our primary business is making custom pinback buttons, but with conventions canceled and gathering discouraged our primary is business is at a complete stand still. On top of the Covid-17 pandemic and a “stay home” order in Portland, we were forced to move out of the warehouse we had called home for 4 years. It’s a shame because we just updated our website and our next focus going to be making our shop as more of a community space. We had such great plans! I guess is sort of good we lost our space because in a few months, paying rent was going to get difficult in this climate.

Selling our catalog of items like our pre-made button designs, books, zines, tarot decks and other stuff has always been more of my hobby to be able to sell things I like and it was only about 20% of our business. While it was only 20% of our business, it was a large portion of physical things in our shop, so we had a lot of things to move. In the last week we moved 400 square feet of things from our shop into a 120 square foot spare room in our home, the spare room where I stated making custom button and selling zines over a decade ago. I guess we are now working from home like a lot of people.

I know not everyone has spending money right now, but if you do and you have thought about buying some of the books or zines or buttons shown above or anything in our catalog, right now would be a really great time to check out our PBW Witch Shop or even the rest of our catalog of zines, buttons, or other things.

Also, we have access to buying books through book trade distribution. If there is a book, witchy or otherwise, that you would like to purchase from a small business and not from Amazon, get in touch. This may take a week to get and it will cost cover price, but we can order any book by a major publisher.

If you are in Portland, Oregon we can arrange for a contact-less pick up.

If you don’t have any money to spend, hey, neither do we! You can still help us out. You can reblog this post or tell your friends who are looking to get some witchy goods that they should take a look at our shop. Also, if you have ever bought anything from us or even if you have read any of the zines or books we carry or even if you were gifted one of our buttons you can leave reviews of those items on our website and it helps us out.

We would appreciate any help you can throw our way, together we can get through this!

Here’s a link to the PBW Witch Shop!

#witchcraft #witchblr #traditional witchcraft #secular witchcraft #pagan #witchcraft books #witchy books #witchy zines #tarot #troy books #Three hands books #weiser books #three hands press #witches #witches of tumblr #small press #zines #buttons

[askaceattorney]

Dear Anonymous,

Chief Mod Edgeworth: Thank you and a Happy Lunar New Year to you too.

Dear Anonymous,

Chief Mod Edgeworth: It’s hard to say, considering you are also counting the characters of The Great Ace Attorney at a time when currency and pricing of things were much different and characters from another country that is likely not a first world country.

Though, if I had to take a guess, this would be my top 10 richest AA characters (that have sprites and lines):

10. Dee Vasquez

9. Justine Courtney

8. The Debeste Family

7. The Amano Family

6. Ga’ran Sigatar Khura’in and all Khura’in family

5. Di-Jun Huang (Body Double)

4. Miles Edgeworth

3. Barok van Zieks

2. Franziska von Karma

1. Manfred von Karma

(Referenced Letter)

Dear  মিরাজ।,

Chief Mod Edgeworth: These were sprites created by the former mods. As for which one of them did it, I do not know.

Mod Justice: I believe those sprites can be credited to "The Mod," as I'm ninety-five percent certain he's the one who initially made them.

(Referenced Letter)

Dear FernadoLemon,

Chief Mod Edgeworth: I wasn’t a mod when this was answered and I don’t think Co-Mod was either. So... I don’t know what this letter is talking about.

As a side note, not sure if it was intentional or a misunderstanding, but I am keeping my gender anonymous. As such, I’d rather not be referred to as a gender of any sort, including being a man, woman, gentleman, lady or anything in between. That includes pronouns. I’m sure I have hinted my true gender somewhere, but I’d rather them not be brought out either.

As for Modshoe, I’d ask them just in case.

Dear Tropetaker,

Chief Mod Edgeworth: I like the idea, though executing it is often difficult. Personally, I feel that the evil vs evil in Ace Attorney was executed the best in The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles. Perhaps, not having the player play as an evil Defense Attorney against another evil Prosecutor by any means, but the concept that even the greatest people with the best of intentions are capable of evil acts and that evil people are capable of doing good. The introduction of Magnus McGuilded and Gina Lastrade truly highlights this, then went even deeper in the second game.

Ace Attorney has always demonstrated how evil characters can be in positions of good or start out with noble intentions, but with every new game they release, they highlight this concept even more. I only wish there were more games like these.

(Referenced Letter)

Dear Dawsongfg,

Chief Mod Edgeworth: Google search.

(Referenced Letter)

Dear A1am0nt,

Chief Mod Edgeworth: That’s actually very interesting. I wasn’t sure, but then again, I also learned right after posting that, that it was also used for other things. When I was asking my grandpa, who is 90 by the way, what they used to use as toilet paper, he said, “we used the catalog.”

Long story short, my mom and I burst out laughing, while my grandma was red on the face. Guess newspaper was used for other things than carrying Fish and Chips.

Mod Justice:

............

(What the [CENSORED], M.E.?!)

Modshoe: That’s... disturbing...

(Referenced Letter)

Dear Anonymous,

Chief Mod Edgeworth: Really? That’s cool!

(Warning: Language and Politics)

(Referenced Letter)

Dear Jeffrey,

Chief Mod Edgeworth: Sorry about that. Fixed it!

Dear Draph91,

Chief Mod Edgeworth: I’m sorry, but this blog is not one for politics and I will not send a link to the information you got this from. The information you got this one is not a credible source and using it as such will have dangerous ramifications. I would suggest looking up the Earn it Act from the government website as it will tell you if the act has been voted on and where it’s heading. So far, it hasn’t been voted on yet and has literally just been introduced. I will link the information on the Bill on the government site here, but THAT. IS. IT!

I don’t like playing the bad guy, but please no more letters on politics or it WILL be deleted. Non of us mods are taking sides on this one and PLEASE do not assume we are for or against this Bill. That is confidential. Also, did I mention I hate politics? I don’t think I said it enough.

I HATE HATE HATE HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATE POLITICS!!

#Anonymous #draph91 #a1am0nt #Chief Mod Edgeworth #Mod Justice #Modshoe #Mod Commentary #I'm serious no more sending us letters about anything political #I don't care if it's about internet censorship or whatever malarkey. I. DON'T. CARE! #If you wish to spread awareness about something political do it in another blog or your own blog.

[claraxbarton]

Hey nerds, The Hobbit was first published in October 1937.

I seriously doubt Bucky picked it up at the library, those didn’t get new books like ours do today, so he likely bought it.

I’m having a hell of a time finding a price for it IN 1937, but I did some comparative digging.

So looking at the 1937 Sears Christmas catalogs there are two pages of interest:

The cheaper, older paperback books- of which the hobbit would absolutely not have been: abs the pricier hard bound books.

I can’t say for sure, but my guess is that it would have been $3.50ish?

But wait, what does $3.50 actually mean?

Well remember: we are still deep in the Great Depression and inflation calculators are handy but not perfect.

That said:

In 1937 a woman’s coat was $18.95; a man’s dress shirt $1.39; coffee was $0.16/lb; cough syrup was $0.35

So now to use an inflation calculator:

#bucky barnes #captain america #steve rogers #winter soldier #meta #1937 #great depression #history

[sunder-the-gold]

Seeing your string of ‘Borderlands Arms Manufacturers in Remnant’ posts did spark a question for me. In that version of Remnant how do each of the companies tap into the presumably lucrative market of Hunters’ gear? I’m imagining modification kits to more easily integrate their more unique weapons with Mecha-Shift tech, but I might be completely off the mark. (If you’ve already answered this question in one of your posts, apologies for my lack of reading comprehension.)

To be clear, I don’t see “this” as a different version of Remnant. We know that single-form guns exist, so gun manufacturers exist, and it makes sense that a number of them could resemble the manufacturers of Borderlands.

The post on “Bandit / Scav(enger)” weapons was the closest I got to addressing how Huntsmen factor into this.

There’s no one answer, with Huntsmen. Weiss probably commissioned her weapon, Jaune inherited his, Signal Academy insisted Ruby and Yang “build” their own weapons, and we have to guess about everyone else.

Even if we assume Signal Academy represents the norm, we don’t know exactly how much personal fabrication the school demanded, or how much professional assistance it provided. It could be that urban combat students order a number of parts and components from various manufacturers who provide the schools with catalogs.

Perhaps employees of those companies collaborate with the schools to assist students in designing weaponry within the employer’s specialty. So Coco Adel might have designed and built Gianduja with the assistance of someone from S&S Munitions, not entirely dissimilar from how Velvet Scarlatina’s father helped her build and refine Anesidora.

I regret that we don’t know enough about non-Huntsmen combatants in Remnant (militiamen and soldiers) to know how many of them can use (or should use) transforming weapons. Presumably, someone needs sufficient mastery of using Aura to reinforce a weapon’s durability so that all of the moving parts don’t immediately break in the first fight. But they also need sufficient combat skill to fight Grimm in melee, when most gunmen can get by with only the combat skill of “shoot an approaching target from a safe distance, ideally atop a high wall”.

So, would firearms manufacturers have a big enough market to mass produce guns that transform into melee weapons?

Actually, how does mass production even work on Remnant? Humanity occupies so little space compared to Earth, and the population seems smaller. Do they design factories with conveyor belts staffed by interchangeable laborers performing rote actions, like Ford Motors, or do they build garages where irreplaceably-skilled craftsmen assemble a whole car in just one bay, like Ferrari?

Vladoff and Tediore would resemble Ford Motors, and maybe Dahl to a lesser extent, but the other manufacturers would take more of a Ferrari approach. Which definitely matches their differences in price. Of course, the Ferrari-style manufacturers are more likely to produce a one-of-a-kind, bespoke weapon for someone who pays handsomely enough.

Even Hyperion might make its cutting-edge technologies available to student Huntsmen. Any student who proves they can harness the technology might discover an innovation that the company can use for itself, and the company could tempt the student into giving up on a dangerous career to make a safer living for the company. Even if the student refuses at first, Huntsmen who suffer crippling injuries have to find other ways of earning a living.

#rwby #borderlands

[daebakinc]

Hero Among Thorns   - Pt 6

Pairing: Hyunwoo x Reader Genre: Undercover Detective AU, Action, Romance  Word Count: 2.5K Summary: When a mistaken connection results in your kidnapping by one of the city’s most notorious gangs, the undercover detective Hyunwoo has no choice but to rescue and protect you, and, most dangerously of all, fall in love with you. Warning: Mentions of violence and blood. Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

================================================

  Hyunwoo immediately looks over to you, but you can't read anything from his face. Minhyuk's, on the other hand, is drawn. His fingers tap rapidly where they rest on the car door. Something has him agitated and this time, it's nothing you've done. At least, you don't think.

You glance out the windshield. Numerous high-end looking cars sit around the spacious shop floor on lifts or on the ground with hoods open, but they're all abandoned. The rest of Hyunwoo's crew, all outfitted in coveralls with varying grease stains, stand in an open area of the floor around Changkyun, who has one of his tablets in his hands. Their bodies mimic Minhyuk's, tense like warriors awaiting orders to confront the enemy head-on.

A sickly cool settles on your skin. Something's definitely wrong.

“Can I get out first?” Hyunwoo asks Minhyuk.

He backs away from the car.

The car is suddenly too stuffy despite the open window. You put your hand on the door handle, but something closes around your other hand, stopping you. You look down.

Hyunwoo's hand rests on top of yours. Your eyes shoot up to his, your heart thumping. He doesn't smile, doesn't say a word. He only squeezes your hand and nods. A simple dip of his head.

For some reason, that's enough to calm you. That silent reassurance that no matter what has his team so uneasy, Hyunwoo won't let it touch you. Not ever.

His hand is gone the second before his door opens and he slides out of the car. You hurriedly unbuckle and slip out as well, following close behind him.

“What happened?” Hyunwoo stops in front of his teammates, scanning each face.

“Not here. Upstairs.” Minhyuk's eyes land on you for a split second before he jerks his head toward a set of metal stairs. They lead to what you assume is an office space on the upper half of the garage that has a single window to look out of.

The message is clear. Whatever it is, Minhyuk doesn't want you to see it. You can't help but wonder if there's an actual reason or if he's letting his grudge be a pain in the ass.

“If it concerns me, I want to know,” you demand.

Minhyuk doesn't look at you, only Hyunwoo, and shakes his head at the leader's questioning gaze.

“I want to know,” you repeat.

“It's not about you, alright?” Minhyuk retorts. “It's about another witness. It's classified.”

You almost snark back with 'What? Another one die on your watch?' but you bite your tongue. No use pissing this guy off again if he's lying. Plus, if you're right, you probably don't want it confirmed. You do not need to jinx yourself.

“We'll be right back,” Hyunwoo says, addressing you. “There's a couch over there if you want to sit down. It should be clean. I'll show you around after if you want.”

You shrug, crossing your arms. As eager as you were to get out, you'd rather be back in your room right now. At least there, there are no surprises.

Hyunwoo heads for the stairs, the others following. Everyone except Minhyuk and Changkyun.

Minhyuk looks pointedly at Changkyun, who points to the tablet. “Gotta transfer the files first.”

Minhyuk sighs, walks towards the stairs, then turns around to walk back to you. He glances at Changkyun one more time, then says in a low voice, “Look, I'm... sorry.”

Your eyes, which had been following Hyunwoo, shoot back to Minhyuk. You misheard. “What?”

He bites his lip, fiddling with something in his coverall pockets. Sighing through his nose, he says, “I said I'm sorry, okay? For when I blew up at you at the apartment. When you said you didn't know if you'd testify.”

“Oh.” So you had heard correctly. For Minhyuk to apologize to your face is as surprising as Darth Vader being Luke's father. At least on the first watch-through.

“This case is kind of personal,” Minhyuk continues. “Remember the agent we said Yew killed? He was my friend. His name was Jung Jaehyun. He was a good agent and a better man. He didn't deserve what happened to him.”

“Oh,” you say again, more quietly. Whatever anger you still felt towards Minhyuk falls away when confronted with the pain evident in his expressive face. “I'm sorry.”

He wipes at his nose, sniffling, and looks away. “Yew needs to answer for that and everything else he's done. So much of our evidence could be ruled circumstantial; first-hand witness testimony could be what makes him pay, you see?”

Minhyuk's eyes beg for you to understand, to agree. You remember the recital of Yew's crimes, the venom and disgust with which your protectors spoke of him. You remember that tattooed arm and the way it so casually set in motion your shooting, drugging and kidnapping, the way it could have sentenced you to death. Such a man is no man at all. He is the shadow of humanity given form and such shadows are always searching for light to consume whole.

“Minhyuk...” You repeat his name so he finally looks you in the eye again. Summoning what reserve you have, you say, “I'll testify. I promise. For Jaehyun... and me.”

He stares at you, jaw dropping. It could almost be comical if not for the situation. The single promise leaves your legs weak, but it feels right. You know it’s what’s right.

Coming to his senses, Minhyuk shuts his mouth and shrugs. He turns away, tossing over his shoulder, “Thanks, but don't promise anything yet.”

Changkyun waits until his teammate is halfway up the stairs to get off his stool. “Just so you know, Minhyuk doesn't apologize often. If he does, he means it.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

“Well, better get up there, I guess. Just wanted to make sure all our security cameras were working,” he says, stretching his arms with his tablet in hand, the screen facing you.

You catch a brief glimpse of a small room like an office. Hyunwoo leans against a wall opposite the camera, beside a large, black television screen.

Changkyun sets the tablet on his chair, winks at you without a hint of smile that lacks warmth in his eyes, and ascends the stairs.

Watching him until the door shuts behind him, your eyes then fall to the tablet. It sits there, as tempting and revolting as Pandora's Box. If Minhyuk lied, and what happened does involve you, do you want to know? Or do you want to live as ignorantly blissful as possible?

Your deliberation only lasts a few seconds. Fuck it. There's probably some kind of price on your head. How much worse could it be.

Grabbing the tablet, you sit on the rather battered-looking brown couch. You find the volume button and hold it down.

Hyunwoo's voice grows louder. “... no way to trace it back to Yew?”

You can't see Changkyun's face, but you hear him answer, “I tracked the email. It's a bogus account sent from a burner phone. The signal was from some cafe in down-town. No known connection to Yew. We could always go to the cell's last location to see if they dumped it in the area, but I doubt it. They haven't been that stupid in the past.”

“Go check it out after this anyway. We're sure it's him?”

“Watch it. It's him,” Hoseok says with finality from somewhere off camera.

Changkyun presses something held in his hand. The screen by Hyunwoo lights up white, then a video starts playing.

Out of focus, it shows the outside of a brick building during the early gray hours of dawn. Whoever is taking the video is high up, at least three or four stories. The camera shifts and zooms in, going out of focus again. The sounds of a city are faint. Only a heavy breathing is captured clearly. The video slows to focus on a window of the opposite building.

It's open and without curtains. The camera zooms in even closer.

You gasp. The tablet drops from your frozen fingers.

The image, full of shadows as it is, leers back at you, still on the screen.

That's the blanket on your bed, the lamp on your bedside table, your face peaceful in sleep against the pillow.

The long muzzle of a rifle enters the shot. The end of its barrel aligns itself with your head like a hound trained on a scent.

You watch yourself roll away from the camera's view, completely unaware your safe-house could become the scene of your death.

A voice, mechanical and menacing, breaks the anonymous videographer's breathing.

“You let your girl sleep alone?” it asks, giving a low chuckle that makes you shiver with its chill. “Consider this a professional courtesy. Guess you didn't take my warning to guard her better seriously, Shownu. Bad idea.”

The video goes black.

Bad idea... Bad idea...

Changkyun comes down first, pausing at the foot of the stairs long enough to catch your eye. The look on your face must have confirmed you watched, but he doesn't stay to talk, instead heading out a side door. You drift from car to car after everyone but Hyunwoo and Hyungwon return to the garage floor, handing them tools or fetching needed parts. You know you're probably more hindrance than help. But they keep thanking you and patiently explaining what they're doing when you ask regardless. Jooheon especially pays attention to you, probably sensing your new restlessness. The mechanics may go over your head, but puzzling over it keeps the fear at bay. Somewhat.

Bad idea... Bad idea...

The pizzas Kihyun brings back smells amazing. One of them is even your favorite, but you're not sure you can even take a bite. Your stomach feels too tense to allow food of any kind in. You just smile and wave away Hoseok's call, pretending to be interested by a parts catalog you found on one of the benches. Hyunwoo wordlessly puts a paper plate with two slices of your favorite by your elbow. Rather than insult his kindness, you eat it all. The pizza tastes like ash and sits like a leaden weight in your stomach.

Bad idea... Bad idea...

Dread weighs on your chest when it's time to go. Hyunwoo and the rest of the team have done nothing but prove you can trust them. However, you doubt the windows in your bedroom are bulletproof. Maybe they'll move you somewhere else. But what if Yew can find you then too?

“Hey.”

You look up. Hyunwoo is watching you, holding the car door open for you. You had unknowingly stopped a few feet away. “Sorry, coming.”

Hyunwoo says nothing after he shuts the door after you, nor after he pulls out the garage. The closer you get to the apartment, the tighter your hands grip the seat. They start to ache, but you can't convince yourself to let go. The sanctuary you were so eager to leave feels even more like a trap than before.

Hyunwoo pulls the car into the same spot as before. As he turns the keys off, he says “Are you-?” just as you blurt out “I don't-”

“Sorry, you first,” Hyunwoo says, waving his hand in invitation.

Clearing your throat, you focus on your feet. “I don't want to go back in.”

“Why?”

“I... I saw the video. The one Yew sent.”

“How?” There's surprise, but no anger in Hyunwoo's voice.

You still don't dare to lift your gaze. “Changkyun's tablet.”

“Ah. He did try to argue you should know what's going on.”

You look up to watch Hyunwoo's face when you ask, “Were you going to tell me?”

Your ears suddenly feel hot at the thought of them keeping you in the dark about the new threat. Wouldn't they want to know if someone almost put a bullet between their eyes as they slept?

“We were still deciding,” he replies, meeting your eyes head-on. Even now, his directness is almost shocking. Shocking enough at least to cool some of your anger towards them. “Guess it's out of our hands. We didn't want to scare you any more than we know you are.”

“Too late.” You chuckle mirthlessly.

“If Yew was going to kill you, he would have done it already.”

“Gee, thanks. That makes me feel loads better.”

Hyunwoo sighs at your heavy sarcasm. With patience clear in his voice, he says, “When you were kidnapped, that was a warning. We were entering his game without his permission. I'm still not sure why he got personally involved, but now we're messing up the chain of power. Showing he can still get to you is his bid to scare me and make us back off. But he won't do anything to you again.”

It's incredibly hard not to scoff. The obvious conviction in Hyunwoo's face stops you. “How can you know that for sure?”

“Because Yew's style is mind games. He isn't usually direct; he typically prefers being more subtle than overt. It's why he's been so hard to catch.”

“So what's to stop him from hiring someone to shoot me so it doesn't lead back to him? He killed your other agent.”

“A murder by sniper in a neighborhood like this? Of someone with no known ties to criminal activity? That would make news more than a nameless body in an alleyway. He must've thought our agent was a no one like that. Yew doesn't like news surrounding any of his crimes. News brings pressure on the police to solve the crime. Pressure that could hurt him or his business. He won't risk that.”

You feel like you're missing something. “So how are you supposed to get him?”

“Stealing high end cars was his beginning, now a hobby. We're stealing business from him. If we make him angry enough to do something drastic again, he'll come after me personally. Because I'm making this personal.”

So Hyunwoo is acting as a kind of bait. You shift in your seat, an unwelcome image of an injured Hyunwoo flashing in your mind. It's an uncomfortable thought to say the least, but just how sharp the pang is in your heart is jarring.

Hyunwoo says your name, making you look at him again.

“If I ever thought you were in real danger, that I couldn't protect you, I would get you out of here. I'd send you somewhere safe. Do you believe me?”

To your disbelief, Hyunwoo truly looks worried about your opinion of his ability to keep you from harm. Why should it matter to him? He's in charge of this whole thing in more ways than one. He's the badass skilled agent. As long as you don't run away, which you won't because you like living, he can do anything he wants with you. Hyunwoo could even use you as bait to try to draw out Yew again if he gets impatient.

But you know, as certainly as you've ever known anything, he would die before doing so.

Slowly, you nod. How could you not after everything he's done for you.

Hyunwoo smiles a little, his shoulders sagging slightly. He leans back against the seat, glancing out the window. “We'll move your things into my room. That window faces a brick wall. Should've put you there to begin with, but Jooheon suggested leaving you where you were. To give you your own space to help you feel more secure.”

“Where will you sleep?” you ask.

“On the floor of the same room in a sleeping bag if you're comfortable with that. Just to be close. Like I said, I don't think Yew would risk the attention of a forced entry and murder. It would be just in case. If you're not comfortable, I can take the couch.”

All the times your mother admonished you for not having matching cute pajamas suddenly ring in your head. You can just picture the smug look on her face. “I don't mind,” you squeak out, “but won't the floor be hard on your back? Especially after a few nights in a row?”

Hyunwoo's smile widens and he shakes his head. With a hint of pride, he says, “I've slept on a lot worse. Once, I fell asleep on concrete for a three hour nap.”

“Ow.”

“It wasn't too bad til I woke up. The shoulder I got shot in didn't like it. It's sensitive to cold.”

“You got shot?” You shift to completely face him, looking between his shoulders as if the wound was recent. “When? Are you okay?”

Hyunwoo laughs at your concern. “It was a few years ago. I’m fine, no lasting damage. Just gets a little achy when it's cold.”

“Oh.”

He glances out the window. “We should go in. Same way as we went out. Ready?”

There's a loaded question. Regardless, you answer, “Yes.”

You're not sure what you were expecting in Hyunwoo's room, but it definitely wasn't this. To call it Spartan would be too generous. The only furniture in the gray-walled room is a plain, metal-framed bed, a small trashcan, and a dresser closer to the side of a bedside table than an actual dresser. A large water bottle, the kind you remember jocks walking around with in high school, sits beside the bed on the floor along with a phone charger.

There's nothing personal. Of course, Hyunwoo can't have anything too personal on a deep-cover mission, but still. It looks more like a spartan hotel room than a bedroom.

As you stand in the doorway, clutching your pillow, you hear Hyunwoo shuffle out of the bathroom to stand just behind you. “I changed the sheets while you were in the shower, so you're all set,” he says.

“Thanks,” you say. Walking into the room feels like an intrusion, but you make yourself do it anyway. You step around the already laid-out sleeping bag for Hyunwoo, hesitating before you sit on the bed. When you look to the door, you're glad you did sit.

Hyunwoo is standing in the doorway, still drying his hair with a towel. His tan skins absolutely glows between the low light and the warmth from his shower. The plain gray sweatpants and white tank are hardly sexy on their own, but on Hyunwoo, clinging in all the right places and leaving just enough to imagination. What would it be like if instead of sleeping separately, you could sleep against him...

He drops the towel into the hamper in the hall. “Want me to turn off the light?”

“Yes, please. Thanks.” You quickly dive under the blankets, facing away from him. Hopefully he didn't notice you staring. The sheets smell like the detergent Hyunwoo bought for you. For a crazy second, you wish they still smelled like him.

The room goes dark. Hyunwoo's bare feet pad across the room. The nylon of the sleeping bag crinkles as he slides inside.

“Are you sure you're okay with the floor?” you ask quietly.

“The sleeping bag’s actually not bad,” he replies. “Lots of padding.

“Ok. Good night. Sweet dreams.” The last part slips out naturally. You screw your eyes shut, waiting for his reaction.

He only chuckles under his breath. “Good night.”

You were afraid knowing Hyunwoo was in the room with you would make it impossible to sleep. However, the adrenaline rush brought on by your eavesdropping finally catches up with you and you fall asleep shortly after settling in.

Unfortunately, sleep brings you back to a place you wish you weren't familiar with.

You know each sharp turn and twist of the abandoned street, each slash of shadow, even the haunting smell of garbage and fear and the uneven dips in the ground beneath your feet. You know how this dream goes. You know how it ends.

You wish you could fight to change it. The times you’ve tried to are countless. Unluckily, this isn't one of those dreams.

There's only one street with no end in sight. Every branching alley is blocked, sealed with impossibly high walls of bricks. Each building you pass is boarded up, derelict and hopeless. 

The asphalt and concrete echoes with your racing footsteps and panting breath. Potholes and garbage grab at your feet. Every time you stumble, the noise behind you gets louder. A distant, reverberating growl of some monster. You don't know what it is. But animal instinct tells you it's danger. It's death if it catches you.

A faint light beckons in the distance. You run faster even as your legs feel like toothpicks ready to snap. The light gets brighter and brighter, just as your dread grows and grows.

When you reach the source of the light, your hand involuntarily reaches out and opens the warehouse door.

Don't do it! you scream at yourself. It's about as useful as yelling at the character of a horror film not to enter the haunted basement.

Inside, the only light is a single, bare light-bulb swinging from a cord high above the dirt floor. It sends shadows scuttling like rats around precariously stacked boxes. Plenty of places to hide, but you know they won't be enough.

The door behind you rattles and shakes like it's been struck by a battering ram. Although your entire body is on the verge of collapse, you lurch forward with a sob.

Hide. Hide. Hide!

You dive behind one of the towers of boxes just as the door explodes open. Gravel digs into your knees and hands. Tears sting your split lip. Your heart is beating so hard you feel dizzy. Unable to do anything else, you curl in a trembling ball. Praying for the miracle that never comes. Not this time.

The boxes that provided your pathetic cover fly away.

“Found you,” a deep voice says with a sinister chuckle.

The fear that strikes you is so potent you choke on it. You try to scramble away, but a foot connects harshly with your shoulder, sending you sprawling into the corner.

“You won't escape this time,” that voice says again. You could die a thousand times and never forget that voice.

Someone shouts your name in the distance. You know that voice too, trust it, but it's too far away. They won't reach you before it happens.

Hands enclose around your throat, jerking you up. Desperation turns your fingers to claws that scratch at those hands, but to no avail. You can't fight the dark.

Metal presses itself to your head.

But instead of the usual bang and flash of light, water fills your nose and mouth.

Spluttering and coughing, you're jerked from the nightmare. The faceless murderous wraith is gone, leaving Hyunwoo's worried face filling your sight, dimly back-lit by the lamp.

You shrink away, but you don't get far. Hyunwoo drops the water bottle in his hand to cup your face.

Hyunwoo says your name again, eyes darting all over you. His grip tightens, forcing you to look at him. His voice is soft and calm, but commanding. He repeats your name. “Look at me. It's okay. It is okay. You're safe.”

You can only stare at him a moment before you burst into tears that are equal parts relief and exhaustion. Your arms shoot from their petrified position against your chest to wrap around his. They're weak, robbed of all strength by the nightmare. Yet Hyunwoo lets you pull him closer, burrowing as much of yourself against him as you can.

He encircles your shoulders like a weighted blanket. Surrounded by the soothing weight and solidness of Hyunwoo, your trembling slowly eases to occasional shivers. The lingering, grasping phantoms fade away under steady strokes of his hand from the top of your head to your back.

“Nightmare?” he finally asks when your breathing mirrors his.

You nod, not daring to speak. You're afraid his gentleness, so different from your dream, will make you cry all over again.

“Has this happened before?”

You shake your head. Then you nod again. It's happened too many times to count. Nights of waking up alone and breathless in sheets sticky with sweat. Maybe this time, your subconscious knew someone else was nearby to be your savior.

“The first night after we brought you back here,” Hyunwoo says, continuing to stroke your back, “you had a nightmare. I wonder if it was the same. That nightmare was so bad you screamed then too. It made me angry.”

“Why would it make you angry?” you ask, your voice raw. Had you really screamed? You'd kept it in all the other times.

He doesn't answer at first. Then, his voice so quiet it's barely a whisper, he says, “Because I couldn't do anything. I... don't like not being able to keep you safe.”

What did he mean by that? No one can protect you from your own mind. At least he'd saved you in reality. Why did a nightmare matter? You sniffle, your tired brain trying to make sense of it and failing.

“Are you alright now?” Hyunwoo asks. “I can call Jooheon. He probably has some medication ---”

“No. I'm okay,” you interrupt. It was just a nightmare. A terrifying one, but you shouldn't disturb Jooheon over it. Half to reassure him, half to reassure yourself, you repeat, “I'm okay.”

“I'm not sure about that.”

Hyunwoo tries to pull away, but you don't release him. You can't.

“Please.” Your voice cracks. You hate it and how small it sounds. “Please don't go.”

“I won't.” He pats your back. A sigh brushes the top of your head, but it sounds more exhausted than annoyed or frustrated. “I need you to let go for just a little though, okay? I'm just going to grab a dry shirt. I'll be right back. Promise.”

Carefully, Hyunwoo peels your arms away from his torso. He winces as he stands from his kneeling position. Guilt pricks you. How long had he stayed in that position during your meltdown? Definitely too long for comfort.

You hadn't noticed you were shivering again until Hyunwoo comes back wearing a new shirt and carrying an additional blanket. Scooting over, you pull the blankets up to your chin and grab the new one as soon as Hyunwoo shakes it out over the bed. When he slides under the blankets himself, it feels like he brought a furnace with him. Like a cat to a fire, you can't help moving closer to him. To your surprise, he puts an arm around you to draw you snug to his side.

Lifting your head just enough to see his face, you find his eyes closed. His chest is already moving up and down in sleep's lazy rhythm. Damn, the man can fall asleep at the drop of a hat.

Hyunwoo suddenly speaks, his eyes remaining closed. “You've been brave through all of this, braver than I expected. I'm proud of you.”

You're unsure if he expects an answer, but you decide not when he continues speaking.

He sighs sleepily. “This is just for tonight.” The way he mumbles it makes it sound almost as if he's telling himself that as much as you, but your fatigued brain is probably playing tricks on you.

“I know,” you reply, tentatively lowering your head to his chest. Beneath your ear, his heartbeat thumps like a lethargic lullaby.

“You'll talk with Jooheon about this nightmare tomorrow. He can help.”

“Okay.”

The nightmare doesn't return.

#shownu scenarios #monsta x scenarios #kpopwritingnet #kwritersworldnet #kwriterskollection #monsta x fanfics #shownu fanfics #kpop fanfics

[peppersjam]

My Top 10 Albums of 2020

Ok, it's nearly February. Let's do this.

Revisiting the 2019 list, I'm struck by how my taste hasn't really changed. All of those albums are still in my regular rotation. This might be the first time that's been true year over year. The only one that has sorta fallen off is My Finest Work Yet but that's just because it's up against Andrew Bird's entire oeuvre.

Runners up: - Fleet Foxes - "Shore" (I got into Fleet Foxes pretty heavily in the Fall when this came out, but I found myself gravitating to their older albums. It's hard to disentangle that) - Caribou - "Suddenly" (It's good) - The Avalanches - "We Will Always Love You" (Also good) - Four Tet - "Sixteen Oceans" (Yes, good)

The pre-2020 albums that should've ranked:

Sharon Van Etten - "Tramp" (2012)

Sharon Van Etten - "Are We There" (2014)

Sharon Van Etten - "Remind Me Tomorrow" (2019)

🙃

10. Fiona Apple – Fetch The Bolt Cutters

I didn't listen to Fetch The Bolt Cutters many times, but it was one of my most memorable listens of the year: I took a day off of work for the first time since COVID protocols began, and I went on a long walk around Pittsburgh with FTBC in my ears. It's hard for anything to live up to a Pitchfork 10/10, but for one afternoon, at least, I agreed.

9. Sylvan Esso – WITH

A live album? But Sylvan Esso dropped a new new album this year. And wait, I've never even had any Sylvan Esson on my year-end lists before!

I miss live music so much. I didn't know that I would, though. Lately I've found myself (like many 30-somethings, probably) having a little bit less fun at concerts than I used to. They're too loud and you have to stand still for too long if you want to have a good view of the stage, and people don't dance as much as you wish they did, etc. etc. The last show I went to was Big Thief at The Fillmore in late November 2019. I stood up front like I used to (sore legs and all), but thank god I did.

WITH is not just a live album but a concert film. They formed a band of their musical friends and performed as a large group rather than as a duo, and the result is, surprisingly, my favorite Sylvan Esso album.

Ugh, and the crowd singing on "Coffee," "my baby does the hanky panky... my baby doessss..."

8. Perfume Genius – Set My Heart On Fire Immediately

This is yet another spectacular entry into the Pefume Genius catalog. Shrug emoji.

7. Taylor Swift – folklore / evermore

CHEATER ALERT! Two albums for the price of one! If I had to pick one of these to keep on a desert island, I'd probably pick evermore. It might be recency bias, but Taylor sounds like she's having more fun on that one. Regardless, Taylor delivered on (a) making TikTok go absolutely bananas trying to decipher hidden messages and (b) giving us the ultramainstream National(Dessner)-produced pop we didn't know we needed.

6. Charli XCX – how i'm feeling now

This album was a perfect palate cleanser to 2019's underwhelming-to-me Charli. She managed to capture the essence of being in COVID lockdown without losing sight of what makes her Charli XCX (i.e., all caps EARWORMS).

5. Adrianne Lenker – songs / instrumentals

CHEATER ALERT PT. 2! I talked a lot about Big Thief on my list last year because of their double whammy of U.F.O.F. and Two Hands (for which I did not, mind you, cheat). Adrianne's 2020 albums were released on the same day, so they're basically one album (right?). Adrianne spent some time with a binaural mic in a cabin in Western Massachusetts and recorded - complete with diagetic birds and windchimes - the most intimate indie rock/folk album I can recall. That entire sentence is Steve catnip.

4. Waxahatchee – Saint Cloud

I had a big Waxahatchee phase in 2018, so I was looking forward to 2020's Saint Cloud, especially after seeing glowing reviews. But I bounced off of it hard after a couple listens.

Sheep that I am, I decided to give it another shot when it started showing up at the top of end-of-year lists. And of course, I loved it.

3. Andy Schauf – The Neon Skyline

This is the only album on this list that I listened to pre-COVID. So there's something special here, for sure. It hooked me with its storytelling, which is smaller in scale than a lot of "story" music. But the smallness is key because it makes everything plausible. There are a bunch of "sad" albums on this list, but none of them wrecked me quite like this one.

2. HAIM – Women in Music Pt. III

Pt. III improves on the HAIM formula in every way. The choruses are catchier and the experimental bits are weirder. I think HAIM may have blown up this year if it weren't for gestures broadly. Not saying they aren't successful as is - but this is an album full of should-be festival hits.

1. Phoebe Bridgers – Punisher

Phoebe's Punisher arrived at the perfect time. Me and everyone on TikTok (at least the TikTok that I was algorithmed into) needed a sad album to lose ourselves in. A lot of these people didn't know Phoebe before this album. I'm jealous of their getting to discover this and Stranger In The Alps and boygenius (and BOCC, I guess) at the same time.

When I saw boygenius in 2018 (HOW was it that long ago?) I came away stunned by Lucy's performance and Julien's raw emotion (mirroring my thoughts from her captivating Outside Lands set in 2016(?!)). But I didn't know exactly what I thought about Phoebe.

I figured it out though! It was very obvious and I am very dumb for not realizing it until Punisher. Phoebe is a brilliant writer. She captures everything with a specificity that that simultaneously draws you into her brain and ejects you out into space.

So it wasn't just that we collectively wanted (needed) a good cry, it's that we were asking (begging) to be ejected from Earth completely, to return when everything was some facsimile of normal again. Phoebe delivered - not just with her patented ballads but with the hilariously uptempo "Kyoto" that asks us to dance alone in our apartments to I wanted to see the world / through your eyes until it happened / then I changed my mind. Yep, this was the perfect year for the equal parts earnest, funny, and sad 2nd Phoebe album.

#Phoebe Bridgers #haim #andy schauf #waxahatchee #adrianne lenker #Charli XcX #taylor swift #Perfume Genius #sylvan esso #Fiona Apple #Sharon Van Etten

[argylemnwrites]

Why Are We Still Waiting? - Chapter 1

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment universe, about 21 months after that epilogue, about 8 months since the prologue)

Word Count: ~4400

Rating: PG-13 (language)

Summary: A new member of the family arrives, and both Drake and Riley reflect on how much things have changed over the past 3 years.

Author’s Note: Let’s try this again, shall we? Sorry for the delay between the prologue and this chapter, but I’m much happier with the character arcs I’ve got planned now, and I think you all will enjoy the story more, too. To catch up on this series, you can check out the It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment masterlist (link in bio).

It was a quiet night in the Kensington neighborhood of Brooklyn. Anderson was curled up in his armchair, dozing lightly after his evening walk. The TV was on, the eleven o’clock news about to start any moment, and Drake was settled onto the couch, ready to watch, no matter how much Riley teased him about being “an old man” for still using the television to get his news. She was stretched out on the couch next to him, her toes tucked under his thigh. She was finishing up her work for the day, reviewing the twitter buzz for the reopening of a restaurant that hired the PR firm she worked for after a video of the former head chef going on a racist tirade surfaced. It was boring, average, and incredibly routine. It was the type of evening Drake enjoyed the most.

He knew Riley saw nights in like this as their “catch up” nights, but honestly, Drake looked forward to them a lot. Sure, in the more than two years he’d lived in New York, he’d come to find many things he loved about the city. The variety of food available at hole-in-the-wall restaurants was amazing, and the portion sizes and prices were always right. The mind games and backstabbing of court were replaced with direct, blunt friendships with Luke, Sunil, Caleb, and Omar, men he’d gotten to know at some of his different temp postings before he got hired on as a permanent employee at the law firm three months ago. And sure, it’s not like he had some great passion for reviewing and cataloging court filings and documents, but it paid the bills. And no one in his life judged him for it.

After Riley had earned her degree, she’d talked a lot about the two of them starting to save up for him to go back to school, researching which universities would take some or all of his previously-earned credits. But at some point, Drake realized that wasn’t really something he wanted. When he’d been younger, leaving Cordonia to get a Bachelor’s degree had felt like a way to establish himself as his own person, independent from the pressure of Court, separate from Liam. But now, he lived in a different city. He had a fiancée and a steady job and his own life already. He didn’t need a degree or a university experience to gain that independence.

And truth be told, with the variety of office jobs he’d held when he was still temping, he was pretty convinced that any career opportunities he could gain from having a university degree would not be jobs he actually wanted, or at least not ones he wanted any more than what he had now. He didn’t want to toil away at some corporate bullshit, striving just to inch up that ladder to get that next promotion. Plus, it turned out he was about as well-suited for office politics as he’d been for courtly politics, which probably shouldn’t have been a surprise. Additionally, if he went back to school, they would have to pay for six semesters, not just two like they’d had to for Riley. Earning that degree just seemed like a total waste of time and money.

Instead, they were slowly saving up for a variety of things these days. Their real honeymoon, not their would-be honeymoon they went on after they postponed their wedding. A road trip out to the West Coast. A bigger apartment for when they had kids. In all honesty, it turns out that he didn’t so much care what his job was. He wasn’t like Liam who found purpose and satisfaction from his work. Nor was he going to be like Maxwell and turn some zany endeavor into an honest-to-god career writing made-for-TV movies. And he did not have anywhere near the skill set and connections that Hana had, allowing her to open a international bakery chain that turned all its profits into disaster relief donations or grants and low interest small business loans for women in impoverished countries. If his job was able to allow him to take care of those he loved, he was happy enough. Taking care of his family and spending time with them was always going to be the most important thing to him. 

His family was on his mind often these days. Savannah was just over two weeks from her due date, and Drake was excited to actually get to know his niece or nephew from the start this time. He and Riley had a trip out to Cordonia scheduled next month, soon enough after the due date that they would get to meet the baby early, but not so early that they would be totally unwelcome visitors. Riley could only get one week off, but Drake was staying for an extra week after she left to spend a little more time with his niece or nephew. He figured it was Savannah’s way of trying to make up for all the time he missed with Bartie when he was little. Regardless, he was looking forward to meeting the second baby Beaumont.

In general, life was just good at the moment. Honestly, things had been good for a while. It was a feeling Drake had never imagined experiencing so consistently. But his life was stable, he knew he and Riley were on a good path, and he had a handful of close friends, both in the city and in Cordonia. His job was tolerable for the pay he earned. He really didn’t feel like he could ask for much more. So he watched the news with a smile on his face, as Riley sat next to him, replying to the occasional tweet.

By the time the newscast got to weather, Drake was yawning. He knew it would just provide more ammo for Riley to tease him about being old, but he couldn’t help it. It was a weeknight, it was late, and he got up before she did.

“Is it bedtime at the retirement home?” she quipped almost on cue, her eyes not leaving her phone screen as she nudged him with her foot.

Drake just shook his head. “Yeah, yeah. You coming to bed soon?”

Riley shrugged. “Not right away. In a little bit.”

He nodded as he stood up, dropping a kiss to her forehead as he passed on his way to the bathroom and bedroom.

“Wait, you forgot your phone,” Riley called out. He spun and saw her extending her arm back over the arm of the couch toward him, her eyes still glued on her own screen. He stepped forward to grab it, but it started buzzing in her hand, clearly startling her as she let out a little yelp and brought the phone forward to see who was calling.

“Why is Maxwell calling you at… 6:25 in the morning?” she asked, quickly doing the time zone math.

He just shrugged as he took the phone from her and swiped to answer the call. “Maxwell, what are you doing up?”

“Break out the cigars! It’s a girl!”

It took Drake a few seconds to mentally catch up to Maxwell’s statement. “Wait, you mean Savannah-”

“Had the baby? Yup! Just under 3 kilos and screaming up a storm,” said Maxwell with a chuckle, “They’re still deciding on a name, but I think it’ll be Caroline Annabelle Beaumont. At least that’s what they were leaning to when I stepped out to give them some privacy and give you a call.”

“I thought someone was going to call me when she went into labor?”

“Well… Savannah kind of forbid anyone from calling you. She said that you would just worry too much and would be blowing up her phone when she needed to be focused on other things. She pointed out that it wouldn’t really make a difference, either, with you being in the Big Apple.”

Drake shook his head and sank back onto the couch. “Unreal.”

“Hey, I vouched for you, man! I told her that you would be fine, but her word was kind of final, you know? Given the situation and all. Anyway, she promised she’d give you a call when it was all over.”

“So why are you the one calling me then?”

“Ouch, I’m hurt. I thought we were best friend roomies!” Maxwell said with a ton of dramatic flair. Drake could practically picture him clutching his shirt in mock pain.

“That’s not…” he started with an eye roll, “What I meant was, why isn’t Savannah calling me to share the news herself?”

“She… well… she had to be rushed back for an emergency c-section.”

“What?” Drake felt his heart rate pick up instantly, even though he knew in his mind that whatever had been the danger was likely resolved at this point.

“Yeah… I had stepped out to the hallway with Dad when they were checking to see how, er… dilated she was, when suddenly the midwife was calling out ‘Cord!’ and in an instant there were dozens of staff running into her room.”

“And you’re just now telling me?” Drake growled out. He felt Riley’s hand on his knee. He knew he should probably put the phone on speaker so that Riley could hear more than one half of this conversation, but he was too focused on not missing any details to risk pulling the phone away from his ear.

“It all happened so quickly. One second she was joking with me in between contractions, the next she was being wheeled out of the room and a nurse was explaining to Bertrand the gear he was going to have to put on to go into the OR. Before Dad and I could even figure out what was going on, Bertrand was back and told us it was a girl.”

“He left her alone during everything?” 

“Apparently, the only risk was to the baby, not to Savannah, but since she was attempting natural labor, they had to knock her out, I guess? Anyway, he was with her when she woke up, holding their little girl. I don’t know, the details kind of went over my head, but everyone is happy and healthy now!”

Drake just let out a massive sigh as he ran a hand over his face. It was a lot to process, but he didn’t think Maxwell would have told him all this info and then lied about Savannah and the baby being okay. He sometimes still felt strange, choosing to live so far away from his sister and Liam. He knew it wasn’t rational. He had certainly been more supportive to Savannah through this pregnancy than her first since he actually knew she was pregnant this time, but part of him felt guilty anytime something major happened and he wasn’t right there.

They were thoughts he didn’t like bringing up with Riley, because he wasn’t sure how to phrase it so that it didn’t sound like he resented her for the fact that he lived in a different country. He just had this feeling it would come across that way, when that wasn’t how he felt at all. But trying to work through the storm of emotions that bubbled up whenever something major happened to his friends or family in Cordonia when Maxwell had called to just let him know he had a niece was probably not the wisest decision. So, he swallowed his emotions down and focused on the good news. His sister had a little girl and it sounded like everyone was fine now.

“Well, tell Savannah and Bertrand congratulations and that I’ll call them in the morning here, alright? And thanks for calling me to let me know.”

“Of course! It’s my duty as part of our uncle brotherhood!”

“Don’t think for a second I’m going to start using that phrase, Maxwell.”

“I’ll convince you yet; you’ll see.”

Drake just shook his head as he said, “Bye, Maxwell.”

“Bye, Drake. Send my love to Riley. And prepare for a barrage of photos from yours truly.”

Drake placed his phone on the couch next to him and let out a sigh before facing Riley. Her phone was now tucked away somewhere as she stared at him, eyes wide and full of concern.

“What happened?”

“Savannah had the baby. A little girl.”

“What had you upset?”

“There were some complications, but he says everything’s fine now.”

Riley snaked her arms around him and gave him a little squeeze. “I’m sure it is. Is he gonna send some pictures?”

Drake nodded, and Riley curled up fully next to him on the couch, leaning her head against his shoulder, waiting for the photos of his niece. Their niece. Kind of.

He glanced down at the ring on her left hand that rested on his knee. Not for the first time, he wondered if they made the right call postponing their wedding for Savannah’s sake. It didn’t feel fair, that Bertrand and Savannah had it all - married with two kids - while they had put plans on pause. And sure, both Savannah and Bertrand had thanked them profusely. But watching as they moved forward with their lives while he and Riley had to plan and save and budget all over again just left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Sometimes, it felt like he should have just told his sister just how insane her ask was. He and Riley would have been married for almost eight months by this point. Maybe they would be talking about starting their own family. But deep down, Drake knew that nothing good came from playing the “what if” game. So he tried to just soak in the moment, at peace and at home with Riley, taking in pictures of Savannah’s new baby. He was happy, his sister and her new baby were fine, and his life was steady. He couldn’t really ask for anything more, could he?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Riley kicked her legs against the exam table and tugged her sweatshirt a little closer as she checked the time on her phone again. Dr. Mehta wasn’t running that late, but Riley was just a little anxious about this appointment. When she’d called to schedule her next depo injection, she was surprised that she’d been booked for a longer appointment with Dr. Mehta herself, not Val, Dr. Mehta’s nurse. She wasn’t sure if something was wrong or why this was happening. All she knew is that she needed to get her depo before their trip to Cordonia. It would be too late to wait until she got back.

She knew Drake was excited to get back and see everyone, as well as meet his new niece, Caroline. But, truth be told, Riley always found it a bit strange being back in Cordonia, even more so now that Hana had moved to London full time. Even though she’d been a nobody in New York for over two years, she still got recognized every time she and Drake had been back there. Last visit, they’d somehow even attracted enough attention that The Ruby Rise, one of the tabloids there, had run a piece speculating they had come back to enter into some sort of thruple with Liam. The whole thing had been a total mind fuck. Being back just always felt a little bit like stepping into a time capsule or a portal to this very weird time period of her life, one where she ended up grabbing Drake and bolting for the exit as soon as she could.

She supposed that wasn’t an entirely fair comparison. After all, it’s not like she considered her time in Cordonia a negative one. For the most part, she’d had a fun experience, and most of her closest friends came from that time in her life. But it still felt weird, returning to the world of balls and galas and courtly politics where she’d been on her best behavior for months. Now that she wasn’t formally a part of that circle, she didn’t hold back from swearing or snarking when she was there. It always caught at least a few people off guard and fully scandalized Bertrand consistently. Olivia had remarked at Savannah and Bertrand’s wedding that the potty-mouthed, bitchy version she was finally fully seeing was somehow more and less annoying at the same time. 

Two sharp knocks jolted Riley out of her thoughts. She turned her head to the exam room door as Dr. Mehta entered with a smile, a clipboard in her hand. 

“Sorry about the wait,” she said with a smile as she plopped down on the stool by the desk and rolled over to sit in front of Riley. “And you don’t need to be up there if you don’t want to. We just need to chat.”

Riley frowned at that, but Dr. Mehta must have noticed that, because she let out a little chuckle. “Nothing bad, I promise! I just wanted to talk to you about your contraceptive options. Honestly, I should have brought this up at your appointment back in December. I just did my math wrong when I was reviewing your chart then.”

“I’m really happy on the depo, doctor.”

She gave Riley a little smile as she said, “And I’m glad. But unfortunately Depo Provera is only safe to use for two years. And we’ve reached that point.”

Riley felt a wave of panic rush through her. “I can’t go back on the pill! I was always terrible about remembering to take it.” It was the truth. Back years ago, she’d been awful about remembering to take her pill, and it was almost never at the same time of day. 

“That’s fine. You aren’t my only patient who struggles with that, I promise. That’s why I wanted to talk about other long term options for you. I’m assuming no plans to try for pregnancy in the next couple of months?”

“God no!”

She laughed at that. “Just making sure! I think for you, either an IUD or an implant are going to be the best options.” She passed Riley a couple of pamphlets and went over the relevant details, side effects, and benefits.

“So, if you want to think about what you want and give my office a call in the next couple of days, we can get you in next week,” Dr. Mehta concluded.

Riley shook her head. “I’m traveling out of the country next week.”

Dr. Mehta tilted her head back and forth a couple of times, then checked her watch. “Well, I doubt we’ll be able to get you in for an IUD placement this week, but if you have a little time now, I can place an implant today.”

So, maybe a half hour later, Riley found herself walking out of the OBGYN office suite, a thick bandage wrapped around her bicep, pleased that she was set for birth control for the next few years. Not only was it one less thing to worry about, but it felt like the sort of thing a responsible adult did. After living so long with no consideration for the future, flying by the seat of her pants, diving into massive decisions without a second of thought, she knew that times like this, where she planned for her long-term, represented a decent amount of progress.

It was strange, in a way, to be consistently thinking about the future. For so long, her life had been just her scraping by, hoping to claw her way into a slightly better situation. Getting to go and live with her mother again when she was in a shitty foster home. Getting to go and live in a foster home when her mother relapsed hard or when she had a shitty, creepy dealer as a boyfriend. Getting a new job that would pay more. Always scrambling, never dreaming beyond her next move.

But now, she had a white collar job that paid her a college graduate salary, she had a nice apartment, and she lived with her dog and her fiancé. No one would guess that she’d lived off food stamps and free school lunches and had bounced around from couch to couch and then from foster home to foster home. She lived the life of a well-adjusted woman, and that meant considering the long-term, not just the short term. And today she’d done just that. She felt responsible and capable. It was a nice feeling.

She’d been all ready to brag about her very mature decision, but when she got back to their apartment, things were chaotic. Anderson was bouncing off the walls, and Drake was livid on the phone with the airline about their upcoming flight, so she took out the dog, and by the time she got back, Drake basically had dinner on the table. All thoughts about her birth control were pushed out of her mind through dinner and some heated hands of poker, until she was getting ready for bed that evening. She was tossing her sweatshirt into the hamper and Drake was by the dresser he’d painted lime green for her. As she got undressed, he caught sight of the bandage on her arm for the first time.

“Riley, what happened?” he asked, darting over, eyes locked on her left arm as he sank down on the edge of the bed to inspect it closer.

She couldn’t help but smile. His reaction was so predictable. “Nothing.”

“But your arm…” He gently traced his fingers over her bandage, as if he would find some evidence of some horrible injury on her, something he somehow missed and needed to correct.

“New birth control. Bandage comes off tomorrow.”

“Oh. Okay.” He still seemed leery and continued his inspection of her arm. “Why’d you change? Was something wrong?”

Riley shrugged. “My doctor said that I had reached my limit for depo. Besides this one lasts three years. Seemed mad convenient.”

Drake’s fingers stopped their path with her words, his eyes jumping from the bandage up to her face. “Three years?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” He didn’t say anything else, just stood up, walked back to the dresser, and started rifling through his drawer.

“What?”

“It’s nothing, Liu.”

“Clearly it’s something,” she said, joining him by the dresser, forcing herself into his personal space until he made eye contact with her again. “You’ve never given a shit what I’ve done for birth control before. What’s up, Drake?”

He shook his head a little before returning to rifling through the drawer, flipping through old t-shirt after old t-shirt. “I told you - it’s nothing. Since you’re the one who has to deal with any side effects or whatever, it’s obviously your call. Have you seen my blue Cordonian football shirt?”

She let out a sigh. “Don’t change the subject.”

He took a moment before he responded, closing his eyes for just a second and taking a deep breath. “It’s stupid.” He opened his eyes again and gave his head a little shake, his eyes still glued on the drawer. “I just… I don’t know, I guess…”

“You want kids within three years.” She finished his thought for him, knowing without a doubt that was what he was struggling to tell her.

Drake finally looked up at her and shrugged. “I mean, it’s not like I have a timeline or anything, but… I don’t know. Three years is a long ways off, you know?”

She did know. “I agree; a lot can change in three years. In fact, three years ago, you were just some rude asshole who clearly thought I was a crown chaser.”

He rolled his eyes at that before quipping back, “I just didn’t realize someone recklessly impulsive enough to hop on a private jet with a couple of guys she’d known for less than 24 hours could survive to be your age. It was really a compliment, me assuming you at least had a goal in mind.”

“When did you realize that I was just flying by the seat of my pants and clearly had no plan whatsoever?”

“When you told Olivia you were going to slap her. That degree of lack of diplomacy just can’t be found in someone who knows how to become queen.”

“But you still thought I was going to be queen at that point.”

“I mean, I just assumed you were going to stumble your way into the role, but do you really want to get into why I thought you would be queen?”

She shook her head, laughing lightly as she placed her hands on his chest and nudged him backwards to their bed, straddling his lap as he sat down on the end. “No, I think the less said there, the better. Besides, we both know I would have been the world’s shittiest queen.”

Drake opened his mouth to respond to that, but Riley didn’t give him a chance, leaning in and kissing him. After a moment, he deepened the kiss, sliding one hand to her shoulder and running another through her hair. But a few seconds later, he pulled back slightly, his hand sliding over the bandage on her arm. He stared at it, tracing his fingers over it again and again. 

“It’s an implant, Drake. I can get it removed if for some reason we are ready for kids in two years or whatever,” Riley said, sliding her fingers under his chin, redirecting his eyes from that damn bandage back to her face. “It’s not a big deal, okay?”

He swallowed roughly, but then nodded. “Okay, Liu.” And then his lips were back on hers, his hands working under her tank top, sliding it up bit by bit. She rolled her hips down against him, ready to move on from their conversation. She could think of far more enjoyable ways to spend the rest of their evening than the minutiae of her birth control choices after all. And as they tumbled backwards onto their bed, she tried not to think about the fact that Drake avoided touching her left arm for the rest of the night.

Permatag:  @walkerswhiskeygirl   @riley--walker  @bebepac @ravenpuff02 @oofchoices @octobereighth @drakewalker04 @kimmiedoo5  @mfackenthal  @thequeenofcronuts  

The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir: @iaminlovewithtrr @ao719 @mskaneko @katedrakeohd @jovialyouthmusic @marshmallowsandfire @axwalker @kingliam2019 @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @princessleac1 @ladyangel70 @dcbbw @yaushie

Drake x MC: @no-one-u-know @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria  @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @notoriouscs  @drakesensworld @drake-colt-lover-99

It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment: @shz256  @thequeenchoices  @sunnyxdazed​

#drake walker #drake x mc #trr fanfic #trr au #trr au fanfic #trr #choices fanfiction

[tfdtrdtr]

Her pain is gone

That is not true, and on the other side of the coin, my comment to them would have always been they're both responsible for their sexual activity.. "We mourn his loss, but while we considered a moment of silence, we thought it would be more appropriate. Learn about the following business critical issues Research and development (R strategy Supply and demand dynamics Competition from new product types Increasing specialisation by leading players Increasing industry consolidation. To go back a step in the narrative, the man wrote a letter, in June, 1841, to Henry B. State.. Aside from these minor changes, the approach I used adidas fgis identical to the one shown in the tutorial.. In some places the snow was higher than he was, and the big direwolf had to stop and shake it off after plunging through the thin crust. On the first day of each new year he must

lugosis carhartt

deflower the maid of the fields and the maid of the seas.” Illyrio leaned forward, elbows on the table. There was an old man on the ground a few feet away, moaning and staring up at the grey belly of the clouds. Faulkner to Mr. REGARDLESS OF HOW RICH YOU ARE, IT IS A LOT. Her pain is gone. Not everyone who parks in that parking lot for commuting purposes is a non customer. A round trip flight in a private jet can cost as little at $6,000, says Kevin O'Leary, president of Jet Advisors, which offers advice on private aviation options."The typical charter costs for a light jet are $3,000 per hour with a two hour per day minimum," O'Leary says. At least three of those A's Jackson, Catfish Hunter and Rollie Fingers have mustaches on their bronzed plaques at the Hall of Fame in Cooperstown. Alfred Whiteway was tried for the murder of Barbara Songhurst. There is no one else. Dany cupped her hands to drink. And therefore that which was so reaching, To my advice, Was first without needing social remoteness while the things when gives you. As they reached the gate, he pulled off his clawed gauntlet and the sweaty glove beneath, locked one arm around the dwarf’s neck, and roughly rubbed his head. If not, then ask why a black student union is fine, a MEChA chapter is fine, an Asian American Association chapter is fine, and so on. Inside Tip: Trapper Cabin is the ranch's most secluded "glamping" (glamorous camping) accommodation. The deal includes five that were ordered earlier this year, and deliveries are scheduled to begin in 2014. Besides, now that I’m a sellsword, I really ought to have a sword to sell.” She still showed no signs of moving. I won’t wake her. He is a smart fellow, converses well, without the negro accent; no particular scars recollected. It may be said that it was the duty of St. No, Dany thought, and the Usurper’s dogs will learn that, when I return to Westeros. Lovejoy and Edward Beecher, with their associates, formed the Illinois Anti-slavery Society, amid mobs and at the hazard of their lives; and, a few hours after, Lovejoy was shot down in attempting to defend the twice-destroyed anti-slavery press. Air Max Chaussures en twin set cardigan outlet ligne Sky Cet aspect est sophistiqu et tendance pour la gamme Nike Max Nike Air Max extrmement ciel, pouvant tre obtenus dans de nombreuses nuances de dchets a t dans le mlange de ces tlphones dvelopper une baskets la mode. Shopping bags. Greenguts was huge and bald as a stone, with arms thick enough to rival even Strong Belwas. The running costs of this unit are surprisingly low and customers claim that during an hot summer their energy bill only increased by $30.00 after using the unit almost every day. If you are familiar with AIO liquid coolers, the overall design of the H80i GT should be familiar . Jon’s anger flared. That much had not changed about him. We got the chance to play a few games ourselves back then and watched some others play as well, and thought the effect.. Yuvraj Singh, India's limited overs talisman for so long, zara pantalon chino came in at 64 for 2 in the 11th over, scored 11 off 21, denied the unstoppable Virat Kohli the strike, and that spell of play resulted in the lowest first innings total in a World Twenty20 final and the second lowest score for the loss of only four wickets.. "I've talked to every one of them," he said. Comes with a lifetime warranty.Specialized Sport MTB ShoeShimano PD M520 retros kabátok L Pedal with CleatsSpecialized's entry level Sport MTB shoe is comfortable, lightweight and works with most mountain bike pedal systems. He has clearly worked on his diction disco duro externo pita (that is, if you compare it with his earlier performances on TV).. The screenshot with Ultra settings gives shape to the top and bottom of the shadow. She pressed me to her convulsively, and when I bent down to her she clasped me tightly round the neck with her dark-skinned little arms, and kissed me warmly, and then at once she asked for Natasha to come to her. After lunch, proceed to airport for your flight MH 2709 ETD1400hrs or AK 5823 ETD1420hrs or hotel. When I was in the third grade, I read zapatillas guess mujer corte inglesin my school science book that five of the planets are easily visible to the bare eye! Excitedly, I showed the passage in the book to my teacher, anxiously awaiting details on how to find them. I don’t want to be like a daughter. The

catalog cercei aur turcia

sun and moon and stars had been gone so long that Asha was starting to wonder whether she зимни обувки adidas 2016had dreamed them.. In case, you consider performing that, then you are going to not just abandon their fitness strategy, and also you will most likely wish to burn working footwear anything at all that is certainly related using the physical fitness. So long as Jeyne took care not to anger him, he should have no cause to harm her. He was naked except for a breechclout, a filthy bit of yellow rag. Complete with jean shorts, pinkish tights and sleek brown shoes, the outfit is full of life and spunk. Rivers running bright and blue below, glimmering in the sun. 11, if bin Laden had his way, it would have been much more. By both dollar value and number of airplanes. The student quickly responds with fire, defending her own life. I remember looking up and admiring the patterns forming in the contrails of a bright silver jetliner as it flew overhead. In collecting my thoughts to write

pantaloni elisabetta franchi saldi

a column this week, three things kept running through my head. He was of good rank in the service, had important connexions and a fortune; was a handsome man and a widower, a fact of particular interest to all the girls and ladies in the neighbourhood. A small price to pay for wisdom, some might say … but not one you had to pay. Managing Watson's campaign is Carol Butler who, despite the $481,004 the candidate has raised so far, calls the campaign grassroots. At eight o’clock in the morning they were called to breakfast, when, to their great comfort, they found their four brothers all in the same prison... Tennessee finished the season 19 12 after making its first NCAA tournament appearance since 2014..