#Belgian Shoes

[wellwornwornwell]

[oxfords---notbrogues]

Belgian Shoes

[thurstongrey]

[maturetemptations]

Bulgin' Belgian Pierre-Yves Jeholet

[digitalfashionmuseum]

Gold Leather Evening Shoes, ca. 1925, British.

By Lilley & Skinner.

Victoria and Albert Museum.

[killyridols]

eat my hat by charline tyberghein, 2022, oil & acrylic on canvas, 120 × 110 centimeters

[ln4bub]

PLEASE I JUST SAW 71. I NEED MIRROR SEX WITH OSCAR ASAP. Not even kidding that’s my new Roman Empire

A/N back on the oscar pastry hype train for national croissant day

Word Count - 2k

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Oscar's lips were hot and heavy against your own, moving with a precision that you never expected. His hands roamed your body, cupping and squeezing desperately as the two of you stumbled through your apartment door.

"I don't make a habit of hooking up on the first date you know," You say breathlessly against his lips. He hums, "No me neither, but I'm not complaining." He laughs, his lips travelling down your neck. It wasn't like you'd just met Oscar, the two of you spending plenty of time together in the paddock making content for McLaren. He'd convinced you to go on a date with him after the Belgian Grand Prix, knowing that if anything went wrong you'd have the whole summer break to get over it.

The date had been perfect, Oscar flirting with you more than you'd ever anticipated. Sure he flirted in the paddock but now he had you alone he had laid it on thick, holding eye contact with you whilst ate his dessert. That had been your final straw, watching the way his lips had wrapped around the spoon as he cleaned the ice cream off with his tongue.

The taste of ice cream now lingered on your own tongue following its battle with Oscar's. Oscar continued kissing his way down your neck, sucking lightly and leaving as many marks as he could. His lips slammed against yours once more, your hands tangling in his hair, grateful that he hadn't had a chance to cut it. You could feel the underlying anger from his DNF on Sunday, finally getting a chance to release the tension from your body.

"Where's your bedroom?" He asks, darkened eyes staring into your own. You smile, grabbing his hand and pulling him into your room. He matches your own smile, especially when you pull his face back to yours. His large hands rest on your back, trailing up to the zipper of your dress before pulling gently, "Turn around for me." He whispers against your lips.

You follow his instructions immediately, spinning around to allow him access to your back. He unzips your dress, kissing each inch of skin that's revealed as he removes the fabric from your body. He kisses over your lacy thong as he crouches to his knees, allowing the dress to fall to the floor and you to step out of it. "You've looked beautiful all night, but right now, you look drop dead gorgeous." He tells you, hands running up the backs of your legs.

He spins you back around and with a small push to your thighs encourages you to lay back on the bed. Oscar removes his belt and shoes as he admires you, waiting for his touch. He leans down and kisses the centre of your chest, lips moving to trace the mound of your left breast as his hand cups the right. Your back arches, allowing his hand to sneak behind and unclip your bra, pulling the fabric from your body.

Continuing to knead your tits, Oscar returns to his previous crouching position. He kisses your pussy over your thong, moaning at the faint taste of you through the lace. You spread your legs wider, allowing Oscar to fit in between. He removes his shirt quickly, adding to the mess you had already made of his hair. He lifts your right leg over his shoulder, giving himself more space to fit.

Oscar leans in, licking a stripe up the lace of your underwear before sucking at your clit through the fabric. You whimper at the feeling, threading your hands through his hair and digging your heels into his back. He groans into your pussy at the feeling of your stiletto putting pressure on the muscles of his back. His thumb replaces his tongue, rubbing your clit through the fabric and admiring the glisten of your juices as they begin to soak the lace.

"So fucking pretty, and this underwear is too pretty to take off. Love that you wore this for me, my pretty slut." Oscar whispers, causing your pussy to clench around nothing. His thick fingers pull the saturated thong to one side before sliding through your folds, collecting your juices. He brings his fingers to his mouth and his eyes flutter closed, "Could taste you forever." He mutters, your hand in his hair encouraging him to move closer to where you need him.

His tongue delves between your folds, licking every inch that he can. You moan out at the feeling, "Fuck Oscar!" You feel him smile against you, muttering something about saying his name. His lips encircle your clit, sucking gently as his tongue swirls in circles. He feels the way your legs tighten around his head, heel digging in harder, when he traces a figure eight over your clit. He smirks, an idea popping to his head.

Sliding a finger into your pussy, Oscar pulls away slightly, enjoying the sight of your arched back, the hand not in his hair kneading your breast. He lowers his face once more, tracing the number eight onto your clit, following it with a straight line. Your stomach clenches at the feeling, a loud moan tearing from your chest. "So good Osc- oh god, don't stop." You cry, tugging at his hair.

He continues the movement of his tongue, his finger curling against your walls. He feels the way your walls begin to clench around him, doubling his efforts so he can relish in the way your cum floods his tongue. It's when you notice that he's been tracing his driver number on your clit that you feel the waves of your orgasm washing over you, prolonged by his thick finger inside you, drawing more and more cum from your pussy.

Oscar pulls away from you when your legs begin twitching, leaving a gentle kiss on your pussy before reaching down to remove your heels. When your eyes flutter open you catch sight of just how wrecked Oscar looks, hair messy and eyes wild, lips glistening with your cum. You sit up, tongue sliding into his mouth and moaning at the taste of yourself on his tongue. You pull him onto the bed, crawling over his body to begin kissing down his chest.

Your hand pulls the zipper of his trousers down before reaching in and palming his length in his underwear. Oscar's head was thrown back against the headboard, eyes screwed shut at the feeling of your small hand over his hard cock. His head snaps forward as he feels the warmth of your mouth ghost over his crotch. It's then that he notices something at the foot of your bed, "Is that a mirror?" He asks, immediately cursing himself for thinking out loud as the feeling of your mouth suddenly disappears from his covered cock.

"Really?" You ask, "That's where your mind went right now?" You can't help but laugh as Oscar's cheeks flush red. "I'm sorry," He laughs in return, "You short-circuited my brain." You roll your eyes at his comment before smiling when he pulls you into his arms, straddling his cock. Oscar tilts his head to allow your lips access to his thick neck. Your lips trail his pulse point, nibbling lightly at the skin. When he moans at the feeling you continue, sucking small marks on his neck to match the ones he left on yours.

Your swirl your tongue gently over each mark, soothing the sting before licking a stripe up Oscar's neck to his ear. His body shudders and he whimpers at the feeling, his hand tangling in your hair and pulling with a harsh tug. "Turn around and face the mirror, right now." He whispers. You bite your lip at the dominant tone of his voice before complying, positioning yourself on your hands and knees at the foot of the bed.

You hear the soft thud of Oscar's remaining clothes hitting the floor before you see his figure behind you. The size of his body sends a shiver down your spine, your pussy clenching at the thought of how he could manhandle you. "Oh baby, so desperate for me that your little pussy is clenching already." Oscar chuckles condescendingly, smoothing his hands over your ass. He tugs your hair back once more, "Watch yourself in the mirror Y/N, want you to see how ruined my cock is gonna get you." You whimper, nodding at his words.

Oscar lines himself up behind you, gliding his cock through your folds, collecting your wetness. He groans softly at the glisten on his cock, biting his lip as he pushes the fat tip into your pussy. You moan at the stretch, mouth dropping open and eyelids fluttering as he continues to push inside you.

"God taking me so good, wish you could see my cock stretching you like this, you were made for me weren't you?" Oscar rambles, slowly thrusting as your walls stretch around him. "All yours Osc, feel so good." You whine, beginning to push yourself back onto his cock. He takes that as his sign to fuck you harder, pulling out before slamming himself back inside you.

You cry out his name, head trying to drop slightly but its stopped by his hand in your hair. You watch in the mirror, practically drooling at the sight of Oscar's eyes trained on the way his cock slides in and out of you. Your hands wrap around the bedframe at the foot of the bed, toes curling as Oscar hits your g-spot with every thrust. "Yeah, right there? That feels good doesn't it?" Oscar groans, hand leaving your hair to join his other hand on your ass. His thumbs spread your cheeks, giving himself a better view of the way you stretch around him.

A small glimmer of light catches your eye in the mirror, the lighting in your room causing the stream of spit leaving Oscar's mouth to glisten. You whimper as it lands on your asshole, sliding down to meet where the two of you are connected. The lewd wet sounds fill the room even more with the addition of Oscar's spit, his weight causing you to fall closer and closer to the mattress. Your thighs are practically stuck together as Oscar fucks into you, the slapping of skin filling the room. Oscar's arm wraps around your front, his forearm practically choking you as he pulls you up slightly, your back arching and pressing your ass against him.

He groans at the way your ass ripples with each thrust, leaning as close to your ear as possible. "You close baby?" He asks, "I can feel your pussy getting tighter, tell me you're close." He practically begs. You nod with a moan, "So fucking close Oscar, please don't stop, so good, so fucking good." You moan, whining with each word as he continues to hit the perfect angle inside you. "Yeah?" Oscar moans, "Want you to cum, want you to show me how good I feel inside you, soak me with your cum baby, come on." He rambles in your ear, voice breathy and desperate as his own orgasm approaches.

His plea is all you need to tumble over the edge, your walls milking his cock as he continues to thrust as best as he can. His rhythm stutters, hips slamming harder against yours as he chases his orgasm. "Fuck baby, that's it. Feel so good, so tight." He whines, his stomach tightening with his approaching orgasm. "Want you to cum inside me Osc, please, fill me up." You moan, white-knuckling the bed frame as you approach the edge of overstimulation. Your whiny request sends Oscar flying towards his orgasm, ropes of cum filling your tight pussy as he shallowly thrusts.

His deep grunts fill your ears as he fills you, warm breath hitting your back. He stills inside you, lifting himself on shaky arms before pulling out. Oscar rolls to the side, pulling you on to his side with one arm, kissing your forehead as your sweaty skin sticks together.

"Totally should've asked you out sooner." He mutters breathlessly. You laugh, kissing his chest softly. "Rookie mistake." You whisper, making Oscar smile before hugging you tighter to his body.

[screamingviridianforest]

Dog hybrid Soap x Cat hybrid Ghost x Rabbit(bunny) hybrid reader

Lil bit of angst, not anything serious

By time Soap and Ghost get together is when they finally meet you. You're a sweet little recruit, smarter than smart. You pick up new skills scarily fast - being a belgian hare.

They've claimed you when they first saw you, though you have no idea. Ghost makes sure you get easier missions, his way of protecting you. He also always makes sure one of the 141 will be with you on said mission. Soap trains you, though he trains most recruits, but he's far more attentive to you. He takes time to break down more bomb disarming methods and makes sure you have perfect form when fighting.

It really shouldn't have been a surprise when you got sent on your first dangerous mission. It was supposed to be easy, just an intel run. The danger was the fact that it was a bomb factory. You were chosen because of your very alert temperment, you would be able to hear any hostiles coming.

You weren't supposed to be in the main fight, being a recruit and all, you were supposed to be a guide. Someone to make sure they didn't run into any hostiles in the way.

But of course everything went wrong.

They only saw you being wheeled into medical, unconscious. There was blood all over you, yours and others. You had rushed into the fray to protect a teammate and caught a stray bullet.

Well, it ricocheted off of you and into the nearby storage of bombs.

Everyone just barely made it out. Everyone covered in burns.

In the end, they ended up visiting your room while you were asleep more than anyone did while you were awake. You were ok, mostly minor burns from someone else protecting you. A broken bone or two.

Ghost immediately goes into overdrive after you recover, putting in way more effort to make sure you don't get hurt like that again.

Soap puts in more time training you, being harsher with it. Can't you see they're just worried?

It isn't until they find you passed out on the couch in the rec room, the one for everyone, not the 141 one, that they take a moment. You were fast asleep, chin tucked against your chest and ears folded down out of the way.

You looked so small.

So, Ghost gently lifts you up into his arms as Soap gently rearranges your limbs into a more comfortable position. Ghost can't stop the soft purr that rumbles forth and it just makes you curl into him more.

Once they get you to your room, they take a moment. Soap tucked you in real tight, and Ghost makes sure you have everything you'll need for tomorrow(phone plugged in, shoes by the edge of your bed, clothes set out).

Sure, you'll wake up tomorrow, confused, but ironically, you'll miss the soft purr that goes by your door with footsteps.

[ac3may]

"One of us"

(Lando Norris x Fem!Reader)

F1 Requests = Open

It's a little later than I'd like it but here's a little Christmas something, something to kick off my F1 content.

Also first proper SMAU, how'd I do??

Description: "Reader joins the Norris family for their Christmas celebrations and realises just how much they mean to her through a few short days"

Masterlist

Who I Write For

Words: 1.8k

UrUsername has posted a story

“UNCLE LALA!”

A bright smile spreads across your boyfriend's face as he catches the small bundle of energy catapulting herself toward him. Mila’s legs fly behind her as he spins and she relishes in her uncle's attention. 

Smiling softly at the sight, the Christmas lights decorating his parent's country home glisten in the background. You begin unloading your suitcases from the car as tiny footsteps and little giggles disappear across the sprawling gravel driveway.

Soon enough Lando’s arms sneak around your waist, halting any attempt at movement. “I can do that, Lovey.” His lips pepper kisses to your hairline as he inches you aside gently.

“I can help too,” you insist, stubborn words contrasting your actions as you grin at the roll of eyes and scoff he returns. 

“You know that’s not how this works baby.” 

Smirking a little to yourself you resign yourself to watching happily. The Christmas jumper spread taught across his back, muscles rippling through the knitwear as he works. Catching his eye with a wink when he turns.

When you pull yourself from focusing on the handsome man you begin working in tandem, unloading his packed SUV of presents and suitcases for your week ahead.

UrUsername posted on instagram

UrUsername: Ski trip? Completed it✔️ Bring on Norris family xmas '24

The home that greets you is warm, the air scented with a glorious mix of gingerbread and cinnamon. You manage a single step through the front door before Cisca immediately fusses over you.

Exchanging hugs, collecting coats and ignoring her son entirely. Which has you giggling as he huffs and grumbles behind you. 

Further down the hallway Adam and Oli have gathered, baby Athena resting peacefully in her grandfather's arms. They let out much fuller laughs at your boy as the Belgian woman continues to dot on you.

Your hands emptied and you're ushered towards her daughters (and daughter-in-law), all watching on in amusement, hot drinks in hand.

Lando has lugged both of your large suitcases inside and is midway kicking off his shoes when his mother finally turns to him. A sassy remark falls from his lips as he embraces her tightly, a loving grin on his lips as he catches your gaze over her shoulder. 

'I love you,' your lips form the words silently as you mouth your affections, and he returns the silent words as you're both swept in different directions. The Norris women surround you and drag you further into the open-plan kitchen, pressing a warm mug into your hold, desperate to hear all about the ski trip you had recently returned from. Meanwhile, Mila hurricanes into the entryway gaining the full focus of the Norris men. Cisca stands back, admiring her family finally gathered together under one roof.

lando.jpg posted on instagram

lando.jpg: 🦌☃️❤️

After a big family breakfast and a long thirty-minute attempt at getting the entire family out the door, you were squished in Lando’s backseat between his sisters. You had given up your passenger princess privileges so Adam could sit up front with his son. Who had adamantly refused to give up the control of driving to ride in his parent's backseat. The rest of the Norris clan follows behind you in Savannah’s car. 

In following family tradition you’d all decided to spend Christmas Eve in the local town. You were beyond excited to see the small countryside town your boyfriend had been raised in. 

Festivities were in full swing when you arrived. You were quickly informed that it was the last day of the holiday market, which annually caused the whole community to gather and have a collective celebration. With Lando’s hand wrapped warmly around yours, you gazed around in awe. 

Music was playing from speakers throughout the small village of stands, all set up by local businesses. There was even a small petting zoo and stable where families gathered for a chance to meet donkeys, sheep, goats, chickens, and even reindeer.

What took your breath away though was the big, bushy, towering tree standing in the centre of the town square, draped in lights and baubles, a gold glowing star shining on top.

“Woah.”

You breathe the word almost silently, catching Lando’s attention his head turns to eye you adoringly. “Pretty, huh?” He offers, giving a squeeze to your hand.

You nod in return, childlike glee shining in your eyes as you peer up at him. Giggles escape as he enjoys your joy, tugging lightly to pull you with him into the maze of festive joy in front of you.

savnorris reposted UrUsername's story

The sun begins to dip beyond the horizon as the family gathers together, you among them. Empty hot chocolate cups littering the table in front of you. Mila perches on your lap, both tiny hands wrapped protectively around the carrot she had spent seven minutes meticulously picking. She had spent the whole time excitedly bouncing on the balls of her feet, eyes wide, as she anticipated providing the treat for Santa’s reindeer that evening. 

Despite the light tickles you leave up and down the sides of the tiring girl in your hold your focus is towards the curly-haired boy across from you. His attention is captured by the youngest Norris, little giggles escaping her as he pulls faces and blows raspberries against her rosy cheeks.

Moments later collective cheering distracts you and all heads turn towards the stage which has stood empty all day. The town band now stand upon it, jingle bells sounding as they begin to play. Folk around you start to dance and sing away. A bright smile beams across your face and the little girl in your arms perks up as well, jumping to her feet in front of you. 

“Tee! Tee! Dance with me!” With her calling out for her aunts you direct your attention to the stage, but only for several seconds before an insistent hand is tugging at yours. “Tee! Tee! Dance!” 

You look around for Flo or Cisca before your eyes meet back with the small ones honed on you, “… me?” You ask the girl, pointing at yourself, confusion laced in your tone. 

“Duh!” You see your boyfriend in her at her sassy remark, feeling another impatient tug on your fingers. Scrambling over your shock you scramble to your feet, taking both tiny hands in your own as you jump, twirl, giggle and sing with the two-year-old.

Collapsing heavily onto the sofa beside you Lando grumbles, dramatically clutching at his stomach.

“I. Am. Stuffed.” He declares, shuffling around to get comfortable before draping his limbs around you lazily. 

You laugh at the boy as he clutches to you like a child, still wiggling into the perfect position. He continues to groan in frustration before huffing and forcing your hand upon his head. “Scratch.” He demands.

Internally you can’t help but be amused and a little enamoured with his sass, loving his clingy moods and the fact he’s so comfortable with you in front of his family.

But outwardly you quirk an eyebrow, Lando puffs his lips into a pout giving you big puppy eyes as he adds a soft, “please,” to his sentence.

A little laugh escapes you and you concede easily to his wishes, watching the immediate way his face relaxes. 

The TV plays low in the background as the family slowly filters through to join you lounging in the living room. Mila plays with a collection of toy cars on a mat in the middle of the carpet as you speak in soft tones with Flo and Oli as their brother dozes in your lap.

The matriarch of the family is the last to enter through the door of her living room, arms stacked high with gifts.

Adam jumps from the armchair he’d claimed, quick to help his wife with the wobbling pile. She smiles gratefully and leaves again only to reappear moments later with two boxes and a second stack.

Hearing the crinkle of paper your boyfriend's eyes flutter open and his head perks up, swivelling to face his parents as they distribute packages to the occupants around the room.

“Christmas Eve packages,” Lando informs you, “my parents have done them ever since we were kids, usually something matching just to ‘get us in the spirit’,” his explanation finishes with finger quotations, his reaction speed only barely quick enough to catch the present launched towards his face in the process. 

“And this one’s for you darling,” Cisca’s motherly tone reaches you and her warm eyes meet yours. She hands the gift to you a loving smile on her face, one you recognise all too well from the way you saw it mirrored on Lando’s daily. Watching the shy smile that plays on your lips as you flip the parcel over in your hands Lando can’t help but press a kiss to your cheek. 

“You’re one of us now baby,” he grins, noticing the surprise tracing your features. His grin morphs into a smirk as a thought flicks through his head.

Linking your fingers together he raises them up. Lips brushing against your ring finger, “only thing left now is for me to put a ring on it.”

UrUsername posted on instagram

UrUsername: holiday dumps do it better🎄✨

“Hey, bubs?”

Lando hums in response, snuggling his nose further into your neck, as if he could get any closer. His position already left half your body smothered by him. Carding your fingers rhythmically through his dark hair you continue, your voice gentle, unwilling to break the peaceful bubble you’d created within his childhood bedroom. 

“Thank you.”

His head pulls back from you, yours tilting down to meet his eyes. Lando rolls off of you but still manages to create no distance as he props himself on his side. “What for Lovey?”

Your eyes roam down his, now bare, chest to spy his plaid pyjama trousers as you are flooded with the recollection of your evening. Of how only hours before you had watched him stubbornly argue against the matching nightwear until you batted your eyes at him. Of the teasing he’d received for the quick dissolve of his resolve. Of Mila’s excitement as she placed her carefully selected carrot beside the cookies you’d helped her bake. Of Lando’s boyish grin as you dusted the crumbs of said cookies from his chin several hours later. Of the giggles shared over glasses of mulled wine and tipsy twister once the young ones were sound asleep. 

“For everything,” you eventually respond, “for inviting me to spend the holidays with you, for your family accepting me, for you loving me, for everything.” The twinkle of love in your eye shines brightly, and is returned in his as he sees the emotion take hold of you.

“You never need to thank me for loving you, Y/N L/N. It’s an honour in itself for you to allow me the pleasure of loving you. And my family agree.” His palm raises to cup against your cheek, fingers tucking a few rogue strands of hair behind your ear as his lips tenderly meet yours, plushy and perfect.

(All pictures taken from Pinterest and edited for story purposes and fan consumption)

[dimonds456-art]

Chapter 2 of the Runaway Ford AU is up! Also below the cut for you guys who don't have an Ao3

Seagulls screeched nearby, and voices could be heard muttering to each other from every direction. It was a beautiful day to get out and enjoy some sunlight, but Ford had other priorities. 

Taking in a breath of fresh air, Ford paused. He'd only just made it outside the pawn shop, stopping to take in the bright midday sun and the clear blue sky. 

First up, he had to find Stan. Then, they were gonna run off together. After that? They'd go live on the Stan'O'War, probably. It couldn't float yet, but they could fix that easy-peasy.

The issue was trying to find Stan, though. Ford's first thought was the Stan'O'War, which was down by the beach, but there was a chance that Stan was waiting somewhere closer, and if Ford left now, he'd miss him. Then, he'd double back, and Stan would go to the boat, and they'd just keep passing each other while never actually finding each other, and that sounded like a mess waiting to happen. Best to be methodical about it.

He knelt down, unzipping his backpack to pull out his notebook and a pen; his sharpie- old reliable once again. Unfortunately, he knew first-hand that it would bleed through the pages, so he set it aside for now. Instead, he pulled out a smaller ballpoint pen. 

Quickly zipping his bag back up and slinging it over his shoulder, he sprinted off a little down the road. If his parents found his note too fast, they'd be able to catch him before he made any progress on finding Stan, and if that happened, he probably wouldn't be allowed out for the rest of the summer- a summer which just started. There was so much sun ahead of them, he couldn't get cooped up too fast this time. 

Once he was a couple buildings away, he ducked into a small alley and opened his notebook again. He started writing down as many places as he could think of, before going back and starring the ones he thought were most likely.

List of places Stanley could be: - Somewhere around Pines Pawns *! - Hot Belgian Waffles - The Stan'O'War *! - The park - The boardwalk - That once ice cream store I can never remember the name of *!

Ford read it over again, trying to think of more. There was also a chance he was in places Ford liked to go, like the library, but he'd check those later. 

Now, where to start? Ford was willing to bet his allowance that Stanley was on the Stan'O'War, but in case he wasn't, Ford didn't want to keep running around in circles. So, starting at the closest place and going from there made the most sense. 

Back to Pines Pawns it was. Hopefully they hadn't found the note yet. 

Ford stood in front of his previous residence of not even a half an hour ago, tapping his pen against his chin. 

Nope. Still looked the same as it ever did. 

The building was shorter than the other ones around it, which was bound to draw eyes, so his father had basically taken advantage of it. He'd put up all kinds of eye-catching paraphernalia around the place, like pointing hands and bright colors, to advertise the shop. The dirtied window showcased watches, a chandelier, a trophy, and stuff of a similar caliber. Up above was a giant chess piece as suggested by Ma, since it was weird- making it stand out. No one had giant pawns on top of their roofs.

The sidewalk was covered in tiny flecks of sand and dirt and trash, the streetlight was just off-center enough to drive Stanford nuts, and the silver bin they kept in the alley looked full. Same as it ever was. 

After taking a moment to just drink it in, Ford darted off to the left-side alley. There wasn't much down there, just brick walls and trash. And no Stanley. 

Same with the right side. Ford crossed his arms, scrutinizing the alley as best as he could. Candy wrappers crunched under his shoe as he tapped his foot. See, he wasn't an expert by any means, so trying to figure out what was a clue and what wasn't was hard. Like, he didn't know what to look for. Did that mean there were no clues, or they were just going over Ford's head? 

A small gust of wind blew by, rustling the half-crumpled cardboard sticking out of the trashcan. It didn't blow out, but it was enough to make Ford realize that this was probably a dead end. 

He crossed off Pines Pawns. 

The bell rang as Ford stepped into the restaurant. The next-door business, Hot Belgian Waffles, was always a favorite of Stanley's when they could afford to eat there. Their pancakes were fluffy as a cloud, butter smooth and melt-y, and their syrup was sweet. Of course, the best meal was the waffles, which were just cooked enough to be crunchy on the outside and soft and fluffy on the inside. Add some strawberries on top with some butter and syrup and you were golden. 

Ford took a couple steps inside, trying not to get too swept up by the smells. This was probably a bad time to realize he hadn't eaten anything before leaving the house. The aroma was positively divine. 

While he loitered by the front door, most of the patrons continued eating and chatting. However, he did see a few glance his way, who were quick to squint at him disapprovingly. He looked down at the floor. More wooden flooring. Cozy.

A waitress spotted him. She was a taller woman, with dark curls circling her round face. She took care of the couple she was serving, jotting something down, before walking up to Ford. She smiled widely, just enough to look friendly but not enough to look genuine.

"Well now, if it isn't one of the Pines Pawns boys!" she greeted, voice syrupy sweet. "Just you today, sugar?"

"Oh, um, I'm not gonna order," Ford told her somewhat sheepishly, pretending he didn't see her smile falter. "I'm looking for my brother." 

"The other one? Can't say I've seen him today." She placed her hands on her hips. "Say, what's with the outfit? You playing handyman or somethin'?"

"Oh," Ford looked down at himself, realizing how out-of-place he looked now with his belt, backpack, and bindle. "No, I'm… treasure hunting." He shrugged, making eye contact and smiling and remaining calm and not sweating. "You never know what you'll need for that." 

The waitress looked like the impossible cross between disappointed and overjoyed to hear that. "I see. Well, if he comes around, I'll put in a good word for you."

Ford visibly relaxed. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Don't mention it. Though, per company policy, I am going to hafta ask you to stop loitering in the doorway." 

"Right. Goodbye, miss!"

"Good luck!" She waved him out as he reached up to the door handle and pulled. It was heavier than the Pines Pawns door- must be made of better materials. Either that or the gold handle really was gold. 

As Ford stepped back out, he crossed Hot Belgian Waffles off the list.

If his intuition was right, his next stop should be his last. 

Ford lifted up the tarp, stepping inside the rickety old boat with a smile. "Stanley! I…" he trailed off, face falling as he took in the empty expanse. "...found you." 

Nothing. The box of nails they forgot to bring home were still there, their footprints were untouched aside from the inarguable influence of gravity, and nothing looked more broken than it had yesterday. 

Ford pushed the tarp back all the way, slowly stepping inside through the broken side of the ship. Each noise he made didn't echo so much as it was immediately thrown back at him, amplifying it. It made the silence even thicker. 

"Stanley…?" Ford called out tentatively. "You in here?"

The crashing of the waves nearby served as his only answer.

Stepping back out, his eyes took a second to adjust to the light. Maybe he fell asleep on the deck? The stairs weren't usable inside yet, making it hard to get up there, but the boys had noticed that some of the planks on the side stuck out at just the right angles to form a makeshift ladder. Ford set his bindle down, taking each step carefully as he scaled the side of the craft. 

Up on top now, he had a much better view of the beach. No one was here, which wasn't surprising for this time of year, but it was still eerie. Ford found himself tensing his shoulders as he glanced around. 

Okay, logic. If Stanley wasn't at the boat, then he could feasibly be anywhere. Or, maybe he had been staying at the boat, got bored, and wandered off? That sounded like a Stanley thing to do. Or maybe he went to play in the ocean and got dragged out by the undercurrent again? Or maybe the Jersey Devil found him? 

The more he stood there and thought about where his brother might be, the more Ford found himself getting lost in worry. He gripped the straps of his backpack tighter, scanning again, slower this time, to see if he could see any trace of his brother along the shore. 

Waves lapped at the sand lazily, seagulls screeched. Cars drove by not too far away. The long, thin grasses further up the beach rustled against each other in the wind. But no loud whooping or sounds of destruction. 

"Okay, okay, this is okay," Stanford said to himself. "He's probably around here somewhere. He probably… went to go get ice cream. Yeah." That was reassuring! And delicious. 

His body didn't stop shaking. 

He groaned, throwing his head back. "When I find Stanley, I'm throwing him into the ocean myself," he grumbled.

Taking a deep breath, Ford walked over to the side of the boat where he'd left his bindle and jumped back down. He landed softly in the sand, having done this a couple of times now. It did send a shock up his joints, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. 

"Okay, Stanford, just think." He slung the little stick-bag over his shoulder again and began to pace around the boat. "If he wanted to meet you here, he would NOT be here." He threw his free hand out for emphasis. "He's too restless for that. So the best choice would be to stay and wait for him. But…" he trailed off, glancing down the beach. "...if he's not here, then you're wasting more time." 

He hummed, trying to calm the storm brewing in his mind. "Maybe…" 

Ford gasped, then smacked himself in the head. Duh!

There was one other place on the beach Stanley might be. Stanford quickly took off, heading north.

Let it be known that Stanford Pines did not give up easily. Heck, he still had a bunch of other places to be searching! But his earlier hypothesis of the two of them walking circles around each other was starting to become more clear. Which meant, one of them had to stand still and wait for the other to catch up. And since Stanley could not, for the life of him, stand still, it looked like Ford was going to be the one to do that.

He sat forlornly on his seat, gazing off into the waves. It was going on five hours since he started searching, and while adults would tell him that that wasn't very long at all, to Ford, it felt like he'd been going all day. Paired with the worry building in his guts that was slowly rising towards his chest, he was feeling exhausted. 

He'd already checked the park, and the boardwalk (he'd walked up and down it three times), and he'd made sure to find that ice cream place and ask about Stanley there. Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. No one had seen him, no one had heard him, no one had anything to tell! 

There were too many variables and not enough information. He could spend the entire day running around in circles and that would solve nothing. He just had to trust that Stanley had come looking for Ford now, too, and they were doing circles. They were both just being silly and overreacting. It was fine. He was fine. They'd see each other by nightfall, since Stanley would go back to the Stan'O'War to camp out for the night, right? Yeah, yeah that was it. 

But right now, Ford couldn't find it in him to move. Everything was becoming too much. 

His feet dug into the sand under him, and he lightly pushed himself back and forth in a slow swaying motion. His swing made low creaking sounds as he did. 

Stanley's swing was silent. 

Sunset was still about two hours away this time of year, so he had time to just… breathe. Calm down, refocus. Stanley was on his way.

"Oh, and now what do we see here?" 

Ford tensed at the sound of footsteps behind him. He didn't turn to face them yet; he didn't know what to expect. Last time he'd heard those voices, it didn't end well, but it also had been a while, so…? 

"Galloping gumshoes, I do believe that's one of the Pines twins! All on his lonesome, apparently." The second voice dripped with fake surprise. 

"About time, wouldn't you say, Dickie?"

There were suddenly hands grabbing at the ropes of Ford's swing. Jumping, he turned to look, and found himself sandwiched between the Sibling Brothers. The boys' golden, slicked-back hair shone brightly in the late evening sunlight, and their eyes gleamed with a fire just barely concealed under fake bravado.

The one on his left, who was wearing a blue sweater vest and a white, long-sleeved shirt, nodded. "That I would, Ascot!"

The one on Stanford's right, Ascot, looked nearly identical to his twin in everything but clothing. He was wearing a red sweater with a yellow ascot poking out from beneath the collar of a white shirt. He smirked. "Say now, where is that brother of yours, freak? Not still grounded after the whole golden sticky-fingers incident, is he?" He turned up his brows in mock concern.

Ford shook his head. "N-no, he's- Stanley and I, we were just, uh…" he dug around for something to say. He did not have the time nor the patience for these two right now. He needed to march back to the Stan'O'War as quickly as possible and wait for his twin there. Hopefully he wouldn't be much longer, and if they did pass each other, they'd see it this time since it was getting late and there's no way Stanley wouldn't also be thinking that Ford was either at the swingset or the boat, right? "Just leave me alone!"

As Stanford moved to stand up, Ascot grabbed his jacket sleeve and yanked him back, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to knock him back into the seat. 

"Oh no you don't, Pines," he glowered. "We still have some unfinished business." 

Dickie leaned into Stanford's view, arms crossed. "Yeah. You owe us for the Jersey Devil debacle." 

Stanford frowned. "I don't owe you two anything! You tried to get my brother in trouble, and you keep calling me a freak!" He stood up sharply, trying to run again, only to hit the sand as Dickie tripped him. It got under his glasses and in his clothes, but he hardly noticed. He spun around, eyes flicking back and forth between the two boys. 

"Outstanding work, Dickie." 

"Many thanks, Ascot." 

The two of them started towards Stanford. He scrambled backwards, but couldn't seem to get his feet under him. 

"You know," Ascot began, "I'm starting to think your brother isn't here, Stanford." 

"What, did you finally get tired of him?"

"No…" Stanford looked away, still scooching backwards along the sand. Hopefully they were far enough away from where the broken glass was, he didn't want to get his hands cut up. They only had so many bandaids. "No, he just… he… went to go get ice cream?"

"Ho ho ho!" Dickie placed a hand on his guts in mock laughter. "So he really is gone!"

"No, he isn't!" Stanford stopped, purposefully focusing on his feet as he shakily stood back up. "I'm going to find him!" 

"Find him?" Ascot raised a brow. "And he has been missing for…?"

Crap. "Nothing! I mean, never! I know where he is!" Stanford pointed at them both accusingly. "And you better get outta here before he gets back! You don't wanna mess with him, trust me!"

The two gave each other a long look before bursting out laughing. If Ford had to describe it in a word, it'd be "snooty." 

"And just what makes you think you can solve any mysteries?" Dickie put his hands on his hips. "If it weren't for you two following us, you would have NEVER discovered the Jersey Devil in the first place!"

"And," Ascot added, stepping closer, attempting to loom over a boy his same height, "you were working as a team. You're alone now, aren't you, freak?"

"Stop calling me that!" Stanford burst out. He jammed his hands into his pockets, hating the feeling of his face heating up. "He's my brother, of course I'll find him! We always find each other!"

Dickie tapped his chin with a finger, rolling his eyes in thought. "You know, Ascot, I've been struck with an idea," he mused, dragging out his words.

"Do tell," Ascot waved a hand at his brother in a grandiose fashion. 

"That troublemaker means a lot to six fingers, doesn't he? Perhaps, if we find him first, he'll thank us instead. We could get our reign as Glass Shard Beach's best mystery solvers back!"

"Hey, Stanley would never-" 

"I like the sound of that, Dickie!" Ascot turned to smirk at Ford again. "If we found him first, then we would be considered great detectives, cracking a case that not even the so-called Kings of New Jersey could solve on their own!"

"We could restore our reputation" Dickie seemed genuinely excited now. "And get payback at the same time!" 

"Righto!"  

"Shut up!" Stanford threw his hands up in the air before stomping towards them. "My brother and I can take care of ourselves! You stay out of this!"

"Hah!" Ascot scoffed. "What's the matter, Pines? Afraid you'll lose?"

Ford straightened indignantly. "That's my twin you're talking about! You go stick your noses somewhere else, this is none of your business!"

"Sounds like the game is on," Dickie grinned. He turned on his heel, walking back towards the nearby boardwalk. "Tah tah, Pines, we'll see you on the other side of the proverbial finish line!"

Ascot followed right behind him. "May the best detective win!" He whipped his head around and blew out a raspberry at Ford, leaving the both of them giggling their snooty giggles as they walked their snooty walks back towards civilization.

Ford huffed, hands clenched. He had sand in his hair and in his jacket and shoes and pants and speckled on his glasses and he didn't care. This wasn't some random competition, this was his brother.

Despite himself, Ford crossed his arms. "Oh you'll see," he growled. He marched back over to the swings, grabbing his bindle, and began storming off. He had a boat to catch. "You'll see."

[kathlare]

homecoming haven

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Amelie returns home after a week of filming, finding Lando exhausted and struggling with the aftermath of a difficult race and the harsh online comments that followed. She supports him emotionally, offering comfort and reminding him of his worth. Together, they share a quiet, intimate evening with a movie marathon, playful banter, and moments of deep connection. As the night progresses, their bond strengthens, culminating in an intimate and passionate moment, reaffirming their love for each other.

Wordcount: 1.6 k

Warnings: fluff, kinda suggestive content, little smut (not that explicit)

request over here!

July 29th, 2024 - Monte-Carlo, Monaco

The late afternoon sun was casting a warm glow over Monaco’s streets as Amelie unlocked the door to their apartment. She pushed it open, her suitcase trailing behind her, and immediately sighed in relief. After a whirlwind week of filming, being home felt like a breath of fresh air.

She kicked off her shoes by the door, her ears catching the faint hum of a Formula 1 race recap playing on the TV. A familiar sight greeted her as she stepped into the living room—Lando, sprawled out on the couch, his hoodie pulled up over his head, a blanket draped over his legs. His body language screamed exhaustion, and the muted TV light did little to mask the tension in his features.

Amelie’s heart ached. She’d been keeping up with the Belgian Grand Prix and knew he hadn’t had the weekend he’d hoped for. Add the ever-critical comments on social media, and she could imagine the toll it was taking.

Quietly, she set her bag aside and tiptoed over, perching on the armrest of the couch.

—Hey, handsome,— she murmured, brushing the hood back to reveal his face.

Lando’s eyes fluttered open at her touch, a slow smile breaking through his tired expression. —Hey, love. You’re back.—

—Of course I’m back. Where else would I go?— she teased, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his forehead.

He chuckled weakly, reaching up to pull her down onto the couch with him. She let out a playful squeak as she landed next to him, his arms wrapping around her waist.

—Missed you,— he mumbled against her shoulder, his voice low and heavy with fatigue.

—Missed you more,— she replied, running her fingers gently through his hair. —Now tell me, what’s going on in that head of yours?—

Lando hesitated for a moment, his grip on her tightening slightly. —Just... everything. The race didn’t go how I wanted, and then the usual crap on social media started piling up. Feels like I can’t catch a break sometimes.��

Amelie frowned, cupping his face so he’d look at her. —Lando, you’re one of the best drivers on that grid, and anyone who can’t see that doesn’t matter. Don’t let those idiots get in your head, okay?—

He sighed, leaning into her touch. —I know you’re right, but it’s hard not to let it creep in, you know?—

Amelie nodded, her heart breaking for him. She knew how much he poured into his career and how deeply he felt every setback. —I do know,— she said softly, pressing a kiss to his temple. —But that’s why I’m here, to remind you how amazing you are. And how much you mean to me.—

Her words coaxed a small smile from him, and she felt a flicker of hope. —Alright, enough sulking,— she declared, sitting up and tugging his hand. —I’ve been away all week, and I’m not letting you mope around when we could be making the most of our time together. Come on, up you get.—

Lando groaned dramatically but allowed her to pull him up, her determination infectious. —What do you have in mind, troublemaker?— he teased, a hint of his usual spark returning.

Amelie grinned, her eyes dancing with mischief. —I’m thinking a movie marathon, maybe some comfort food, and I definitely want a rematch in Mario Kart because I’m still convinced you cheated last time.—

Lando laughed, a genuine sound that made her heart soar. —Cheated? You just can’t handle losing, love.—

—Says the guy who conveniently “forgot” to mention shortcuts on Rainbow Road,— she shot back, poking his side as he laughed even harder.

They moved to the kitchen, where Amelie set about gathering snacks while Lando leaned against the counter, watching her with a fond smile. She could feel his gaze and turned, catching him staring.

—What?— she asked, feigning innocence.

—Nothing,— he replied, shaking his head slightly. —Just... I love you. You’re good at this, you know? Making me feel better.—

Amelie smirked, setting the popcorn bowl on the counter as she walked up to him. She slid her arms around his waist, standing on her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips.

—That’s because I’m the best girlfriend you’ll ever have,— she teased, her grin widening when she felt his arms wrap around her. —Now, are you going to help me carry all this, or are you just going to keep looking pretty over there?—

Lando raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a smirk. —I can do both, actually. But since you asked so nicely...— He grabbed the snacks, playfully bumping her hip as he walked past.

They set up the living room in record time, Amelie draping a plush blanket over the couch while Lando fiddled with the TV remote. The first movie was a mutual favorite, but neither of them really paid attention. Lando lay stretched out, his head resting on Amelie’s lap, as she absentmindedly ran her fingers through his hair.

Amelie leaned back against the couch, her fingers gently carding through Lando's soft curls as the opening credits of Nothing Hill rolled on the screen. The tension in his body seemed to melt away with each stroke, and the small smile on his lips was enough to warm her entire chest.

—Still my favorite movie choice,— Lando murmured, his voice muffled as he nuzzled into her lap.

—That’s because you have excellent taste, babe,— Amelie replied with a smirk, her fingers pausing momentarily to scratch the back of his head.

His eyes fluttered shut, and he hummed appreciatively. —Don't stop, though. That feels too good.—

Amelie chuckled but continued the motion. —You're shameless, you know that? I leave for a week, and you fall apart.—

Lando cracked one eye open to look at her. —You saying I’m high-maintenance?—

—Extremely,— she teased, leaning down to peck his forehead.

He snorted, tugging her hand down to kiss her palm. —Seriously, though. Thanks for being here. I don’t think I’d be able to shake all this crap without you.—

Amelie smiled softly, her heart swelling at his words. —That’s what I’m here for, you idiot. You think I’d let you mope around and stew in your own misery? Not on my watch.—

Lando laughed lightly, the sound easing some of the residual tension in the room. —You’re bossy, but I like it.—

—Good. You’re stuck with me,— she shot back, her grin turning playful.

As the movie played on, their banter slowed, replaced by a comforting silence punctuated by the occasional chuckle from the screen. Amelie’s hand didn’t leave his hair, and she felt his breathing steady, the stress from the weekend slowly ebbing away.

By the time the credits rolled, the room was dim, lit only by the flickering light of the screen. Amelie shifted slightly, but Lando didn’t move. His arms had somehow found their way around her waist, keeping her anchored to him like a lifeline.

—You asleep?— she whispered, her voice soft.

—Nope,— he replied, his tone lazy. He tilted his head to look up at her, his blue eyes catching the faint light. —Just thinking.—

—Dangerous territory for you,— she teased, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. —What about?—

Lando hesitated for a beat before pulling himself up to sit beside her. —Just... how lucky I am to have you,— he admitted, his voice quieter than usual.

Amelie’s chest tightened, her cheeks warming. —Lando...—

—No, seriously,— he cut her off, his gaze steady on hers. —You’ve been everything to me lately. Even when I’m being a grumpy bastard, you’re here, making me feel like I can handle all of it. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Amelie.—

She leaned forward, her hand cupping his cheek as she pressed her lips to his in a kiss that was tender but full of conviction. —You don’t have to do anything without me. I’m not going anywhere, okay?—

Lando nodded, his forehead resting against hers. —Okay.—

The moment hung between them, thick with unspoken promises. Then, as if on cue, Lando’s lips quirked into a mischievous smile. —So... about that rematch in Mario Kart?—

Amelie groaned, pulling away just enough to swat his chest. —You’re insufferable!—

—But you love it,— he shot back, grabbing her hand before she could escape.

—Unfortunately for me, I do,— she replied, laughing as he pulled her onto his lap.

The rest of the evening blurred into a series of small, intimate moments—shared laughter over a bowl of popcorn, whispered teases as they argued over which movie to watch next, and countless stolen kisses. They didn’t play Mario Kart after all, too caught up in each other’s presence to care about anything else.

As the night deepened, Amelie and Lando found themselves tangled in the sheets, their movie marathon long forgotten. The blanket that had once been draped across the couch now lay in a heap on the floor, discarded in favor of the warmth they shared.

Lando’s hands had become bolder, exploring the curves of Amelie’s body with a hunger that matched the intensity of their kisses. She could feel the tension of the past week slowly melting off him with each touch, the stress of the race and the online criticism fading into nothing as her lips met his in a fiery embrace.

Amelie’s breath caught in her throat as his hands slid under her shirt, his fingers skimming her skin with a lightness that sent shivers down her spine. She responded in kind, her hands tracing the lines of his chest, feeling the subtle strength of his muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. Every movement between them was a dance, a familiar rhythm they’d perfected over time.

—You’ve been on my mind all week,— Lando muttered between kisses, his voice thick with desire. —I couldn’t focus on anything else. Just... waiting for you to get back.—

Amelie smiled against his lips, her fingers tugging at the hem of his hoodie. —I’ve missed you, too, babe,— she murmured, pulling the hoodie off him with a small tug. —Now, I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.—

His hands found their way to the buttons of her shirt, each movement deliberate, slow, as though he was savoring every moment of her closeness. He had always been like that—careful, passionate, and when it came to her, completely lost in the moment.

Amelie’s breath quickened as his lips trailed down her neck, sending waves of heat crashing through her. —Lando,— she gasped, her fingers tugging at his hair, urging him closer.

His response was a low chuckle, the sound rumbling in his chest. —Yeah, love?— he asked, his voice a teasing whisper.

—You drive me crazy,— she replied, her fingers now working at the waistband of his sweatpants.

He grinned against her skin, a mix of humor and heat in his gaze. —That’s the idea, isn’t it?—

Before she could respond, Lando’s lips were back on hers, intense and insistent, as if trying to prove just how much he’d missed her. The kiss deepened, their bodies moving together, each touch igniting a fire that only they could stoke.

Amelie’s heart raced as she pulled him closer, their movements growing more urgent, more desperate. The world outside their little bubble no longer mattered—just the two of them, tangled together in their own whirlwind of passion.

As the night stretched on, they found themselves lost in each other’s touch, unable to stop, caught up in the overwhelming desire that had built between them during their time apart. Time seemed to slow, every kiss, every caress leaving them breathless and yearning for more.

Eventually, they collapsed against the pillows, their bodies entwined, breaths coming in short gasps as they lay there in the aftermath of their shared intimacy. The room was quiet, save for the sound of their breathing and the distant hum of the city below.

Lando brushed a strand of hair from Amelie’s face, his expression softening. —That was... exactly what I needed.—

Amelie smiled sleepily, curling into him. —I know, babe. Me too.—

And with that, they let the world fade away, cocooned in each other’s warmth, knowing that no matter what the outside world threw at them, they had each other.

[princesssarisa]

In Heidi Anne Heiner's Cinderella Tales From Around The World, I've now read the variants from Germany, Belgium, and France.

*Of course the most famous German Cinderella story is Aschenputtel by the Brothers Grimm. If you don't know it from reading it, you probably know it from Into the Woods, and if you don't know it from there, you've probably heard of it in pop culture. Too many people mistakenly think it's the "original" version of Cinderella. But there are other German Cinderella stories too – all similar to the Grimms' version, but with differences here and there.

*In nearly every German version, and in both of the two Belgian versions the book features, the heroine gets her elegant gowns and shoes from a tree. It throws them down to her, or opens up to reveal them, after she either recites a rhyme underneath it or knocks on it.

**Some variants, like the Grimms', have the archetypal "father goes on a journey and asks for gift requests" plot line, and the heroine gets a hazel twig, which she plants on her mother's grave and which grows into a tree. But in other versions, the tree is seemingly a random one, which either a dove, a dwarf, or a mysterious old man or woman advises her to ask for finery.

**That said, there's one exception: a German version called Aschengrittel, where the heroine meets a dwarf who, like the fairies in some Italian versions, gives her a magic wand to grant her wishes.

*As in the Egyptian, Greek, and Italian versions, it varies whether the German versions have the heroine abused by a stepmother and stepsister(s) or by her own mother and sister(s), whether her father is alive or not, and whether the special event she attends is a royal ball/festival or a church service. In both of the two Belgian versions, the heroine's abusers are her own mother and sister(s).

*While in the Mediterranean versions, the heroine's future husband is always either a prince or (more rarely) a king, in the German versions he's occasionally a knight or a rich merchant instead.

*Other typical German and Belgian details are (a) the (step)mother forcing the heroine to sort lentils, seeds, or grain, usually by picking them out of the ashes, which is usually resolved by birds doing the job for her, (b) the prince (or king, or merchant) having the palace or church steps smeared with pitch so that the heroine loses her shoe, and (c) the notorious detail of the (step)sisters cutting off parts of their feet to make the shoe fit, which is revealed when either birds or a dog call out that there's blood in the shoe.

**One Greek version has the prince catch the heroine's shoe by having the church steps smeared with honey, but the Mediterranean Cinderellas usually lose their shoes either by accident or by choice, while in Germany and Belgium it's usually the prince's doing.

**The foot-cutting episode is clearly typical of German and Belgian versions, but the Grimms' other notorious detail, where the stepsisters' eyes are pecked out by doves at the end, isn't typical. The Grimms themselves added that grisly detail to give the story a more "moral" ending with the stepsisters appropriately punished.

*The Grimms' footnotes for their version are included in this book. They mention several other German variants, including two that continue after the heroine's marriage and have the stepmother and stepsister try to murder her, and one where the stepmother starts out as the heroine's childhood nurse and murders the girl's mother by pushing her out a window, then claims she committed suicide.

*The German, Belgian, and French Cinderellas aren't quite so cunning and unfazed as the Greek and Italian Cinderellas. Now we see more heroines who cry over their hardships, and/or who beg to be allowed to go to the ball/festival or church, and whose magical help is more given to them and less in their own control. One notable French exception to this pattern, though, is Madame d'Aulnoy's cunning and self-reliant Finette Cendron.

*France doesn't seem to have the same pattern of culturally-distinct oral versions of this tale that other countries do. Instead, the French examples in this book are nearly all literary versions, and each one is almost completely different from the others.

**Of course the most wildly famous and important French Cinderella is Charles Perrault's Cendrillon. This is the Cinderella we all know best, with the fairy godmother, the pumpkin coach, the magic only lasting until midnight, and the glass slipper.

**Published in the same year as Perrault's version was Madame d'Aulnoy's Finette Cendron. This is an interesting, much longer variation that starts out as a Hop o'My Thumb/Hansel and Gretel story, where three sisters are abandoned in the woods and nearly eaten by an ogre, only for the clever youngest, Finette, to outwit him, but then turns into a Cinderella story when the older sisters abuse Finette after they make the dead ogre's castle their home, but Finette follows them to a ball in finery she finds in a chest.

**Another French literary variant is The Black Cat, which starts out as a Cinderella tale, but then has the heroine be stranded on an island and give birth to a black cat son (long story), then turns into a Puss in Boots tale as the cat helps his mother. Yet another is The Blue Bull, where the heroine runs away from her stepmother with her only friend, a magical bull, only for the bull to be killed protecting her from lions, and which then becomes a Donkeyskin/All Kinds of Fur-type of story, where she becomes a servant at the prince's palace and gets her ballroom finery from the bull's grave.

*Perrault and d'Aulnoy's versions are the only two Cinderellas so far where the heroine has a fairy godmother. Yes, in some others there are fairies or mysterious old women who help her, but the concept of a fairy godmother seems to have French literary origins.

*These same two versions, Perrault's and d'Aulnoys are also where we first see strong emphasis on the heroine's virtue and kindness, even to her cruel (step)family. While some oral versions do have her forgive them in the end, these literary versions not only have her do that, but have her constantly be gracious and kind to them (Perrault) or save their lives even at great personal sacrifice (d'Aulnoy).

*Now that I've read Finette Cendron, I can see its slight influence on Massanet's opera Cendrillon. In Finette Cendron, instead of Perrault's choice to have the slipper taken from house to house, all the ladies are invited to the palace to try it on, and Finette's fairy godmother sends her a horse to ride there – just like Cinderella's fairy godmother transports her to the slipper-fitting at the palace in the opera. Finette Cendron's Prince Cherí also falls deathly ill with love for the mystery girl, but is cured when he finds her. (A recurring theme in many different variants, which I forgot to mention when I covered the Mediterranean versions.) In the opera, this has its parallel when Prince Charming faints in despair over the seeming failure of the slipper-fitting, and before that when Cinderella herself becomes gravely ill because she thinks she'll never see her prince again.

@adarkrainbow, @ariel-seagull-wings, @themousefromfantasyland

[lacewise]

Grace Kelly*: From Style Icon To Royal Bride

Okay so actually there are two books about Grace Kelly’s wardrobe and impact on fashion, both written by the same person: H. Kristina Haugland. One is called Grace Kelly Style, written for the Victoria and Albert Museum’s 2010 exhibit “Grace Kelly: Style Icon”. It’s focused on her fashion evolution based on her life stages.

The second book, Grace Kelly: Icon of Style to Royal Bride, provides insight to the titular wedding outfit, starting with the background and lead-up, then going in-depth into the construction and transport. There’s even a diagram of how the dress was made at the back.

So, the reason I read both books is because I could not figure out what “rose point” lace** meant. I rarely to never see that referenced in lace books, and I double checked the indices of several books I own to make sure. I thought it was a familiar term I might have heard elsewhere in that (and don’t get upset at me here) the UK and US often just… make up new names for things…? Things that already had names? So I was chasing down this term in 20th century US sources and it made no sense. Some sources said it’s Italian and some sources said Belgian. I’m pretty certain everyone was just a tad confused.

And that extended to Grace Kelly’s wedding dress. Everyone agreed the lace was needlemade, most that the MGM dressmakers had reembroidered it***, and several sources repeated it was a hundred and twenty five years old when she wore it and basically I needed a professional.

Luckily!!! Someone cited this book!

And Haugland acknowledges it’s confusing!!!

So, “rose point lace” is actually an American name for point de gaze, a lace I am intimately familiar with.

She also calls out MGM for saying the lace was 125 years old. Point de gaze didn’t debut commercially until the mid-1800s, and that includes the 3D elements and the famous rose patterns (I have read documents related to this but I don’t want to dig them out because it’s really mundane “the queen of such-and-such, so-and-so is coming to support us” letters—they really wanted to impress).

And I’m pretty sure I know where the initial confusion because of a book Haugland herself cites. Unfortunately, it doesn’t solve my confusion. So.

In Icon of Style to Royal Bride, Haugland quotes Marian Powys’s Lace and Lace-Making****. I, of course, immediately read that too. It is the lace book of the mid-20th century. In it, she writes on rose point lace (point de gaze to me) and then… point de venise a rose, which I have seen shortened as ‘point de rose’ (and had not the faintest clue what they could possibly be talking about). Obviously, confusing, and probably why some sources reported the lace as Italian.

But this does not answer my question! Because Powys also describes both Belgium and Italy as copying the popular old point de gaze patterns and selling them. And given MGM likely sourced the lace through dealers while knowing very little about handmade lace, who knows.

However.

However, in Style Icon to Royal Bride, an anecdote given about Grace Kelly’s shoes (decorated with the same lace [sort of]) does lead me to believe the lace was likely antique—or at least, old.

So, after reading three (3) books(!!!), I have to satisfy myself that the lace was probably(?) Belgian and probably(?) antique. But I do know more about the history of garment conservation and exhibition now, so that’s pretty cool regardless. I also really liked the insights into the design process, the timeline, and the construction of the dress.

Would definitely recommend if you like knowing semi-obscure trivia, Hollywood celebrities, have ever wanted to copy Grace Kelly’s wedding dress, fancy dresses or falling down rabbit holes.

Here’s one of the glossy photos from inside the book

P.S. I looked into this to try and find out if there really was priceless lace floating around Old Hollywood. It definitely needs more research but initial conclusions are ‘not likely.’ The reason Grace Kelly was gifted such an over-the-top sensational dress is she was becoming a princess while still under contract with MGM—imagine the publicity if they could convince a royal to come back to movie making. It definitely did pop up occasionally but it seems like it was more an East Coast socialite thing—for example, Jacqueline Lee Bouvier wore her grandmother’s antique point de gaze veil (sometimes provenance is certainty) in her wedding to future President Kennedy.

Footnotes:

*Grace Kelly was a movie star and then married the Prince of Monaco (the sovereign ruler, because principalities are weird).

**needle lace is an entirely handmade fabric that involves stitching buttonholes into patterns. It’s also called point lace, needlepoint lace, etc—primarily to separate it from bobbin lace, which similarly is a completely handmade fabric woven via braiding, and other types of knotted needle laces, which are generally significantly more hardy.

The desirability of needle lace is usually its delicate, gauzy appearance.

***while needlerun lace (hand embroidery over machinemade lace to make it look closer to handmade) was fairly common at the time, being able to convincingly embroider or make needle lace was almost as big a deal in the 20th century as it is now. Especially by a major movie studio like MGM. What the embroiderers did, according to the book, is disassemble the lace, fit it to the patterns, and sew it on another fabric backing—where it was reassembled to cover the seams. Which is much, much easier than the reports (if anyone asks I will explain why).

****Powys’s 1953 book on the subject of lace defined many terms I see used in literature about lace that I never see lacemakers themselves use. And her glossary is in the front!!! And she gives her process to making needle lace in the back!!! I include this because there’s a general misconception that books on lace (needle lace especially) only exist up to 1905 or so, with a smattering published in the 1980s. However, I’ve tracked down needle lace books from the late 19th century to the present. You need to know what you’re looking for.

Additionally, reading Powys is when I realized Grace Kelly’s civil ceremony dress was “needlerun”—I was having a hard time squaring it with methods of manufacturing.

EDIT: please ask me any questions for anything I missed, I wasn’t expecting the original post to break double digits and it kind of threw me for a loop (I will make sure to have a draft for the next time that happens) and then I had issues with Tumblr

[canvasmirror]

Léon Frédéric (Belgian, 1856–1940) • Intérieur d’atelier (Art Studio Interior) • 1882

This enigmatic work is thought to be a self portrait depicting a fantasy scene of Frédéric in his studio. He is obviously naked, on his lap is a skeleton draped with a shear, star spangled cloth and holding a branch (I don't recognize the plant or tree). Draped around the studio are the artist's clothing, hat, and shoes. An allegory, perhaps.

Interestingly, Frédéric painted the same star cloth in the painting Allegory of Night (1891), below.

[mar3ggiata]

professional help, c2. 'The urgency.'

simon riley x original character.

trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault, mentions of rape, trauma, sexual themes, swearing, use of alcohol and drugs, eating disorders, depression.

song to listen to when reading this: The Chain, Fleetwood Mac.

abstract: this is Jude, this is a little bit of information about me since you care so much, I don't even know you… anyway yes, I really like being mysterious, what you gonna do about it, punch me in the face? I'm not even real, grow the fuck up. see ya.

Sometimes, she just fucking hated her life. She supposed it was normal like that, it happened to everyone to absolutely fucking despise their lives, no? She wakes at the same hour everyday, does her makeup. Not too much, not too little to show she was sleep deprived and got high last night. Her identity was concealed under eyeliner and blush. She looks like a doll. She likes her makeup, she's quite good at it. She plays with her hairstyles, sometimes a bun, sometimes braids, sometimes loose with a headband, depending on the mood. She walks her dog and cleans his poop. Jinx, a 5 month old Belgian Malinois she adopted when she moved. She found him at a shelter for abused puppies, he was the last one to get adopted. She decided to take him, she planned to move to the countryside soon anyways. Gaining his trust was one of her biggest accomplishments, now the dog had a bit of an attachment issue, but they were working on getting better together. She drives to work with the same 4 playlists playing in her car. Old rock, Frank Ocean, some Italian songs here and there.

She always comes in dressed in dark colours, dark red, dark blue or black. She has 10 male patients and 8 female soldiers. Some of them are combat medics, some snipers. Demolition experts. She works 'till lunch time, eats alone, sometimes skips lunch just to make her body feel something and indulge in disordered eating, then goes outside to smoke and comes back in. After the afternoon sessions, she sometimes has groups together for some group therapy. Then she usually goes home and smokes weed while she cooks her dinner, she acts like she's in MasterChef, puts on music and pours herself a glass of wine 'Quando sei qui con me' she sings to her dog, 'Questa stanza non ha più pareti, ma alberi'. Jinx doesn't even know Italian. Two times a week, she teaches ballet at a local dance school. 13 year old is not old enough to be on point shoes. It's her favourite time of the week though. She gets to finally have control of a situation, she gets some respect. 13 year olds, a fucking nightmare… She gets to tell them what to do and correct their arms, their feet, their posture and they listen! They do, and they like her, they say thank you Alba, see you next week! They learn her choreographies, they follow her lead when she explains a new variation. They even like the songs she chooses for warm up. Mostly Abba.

Alba is not her real name, but they don't know that. A gift from Laswell, when she started working for her. A sparkly new identity, English ID and nice documents that prove she's an English citizen, born in Southampton. She's not. Kept a little bit of Italian in the fake name. She hasn't been in Italy in close to five years. She went on vacation alone in Tuscany once, just to feel her country again for a second. She is not in contact with her family, last message from her sister was three years ago, it went 'I hope you're alive.' Her mother taught her violence. To be in power. To be beautiful and kind. To never ever trust someone who wouldn't give their life for you. Her mother taught her loyalty, respect. She used to never cry as a child. She loved to know stuff, to read about planets. She would kill lizards in the backyard with her little brother, who died young. She saw her first gun at 13. Now, her name is not Alba and it sure isn't Jude. Or Judy, as some patients call her. They know it's a callsign, a code name, everyone has one, especially in the task forces. Hers is Jude. 'Jude looks like an angel, but her words have thorns'. That's what Billy Lunette had to say about her. Billy had been her favourite patient for the whole of 2021. He had PTSD, he had night terrors and was in a mental hospital for schizophrenia symptoms for a while. He wouldn't take his medication, he would smoke, he was a mess. He listened to her though. She was the only one who visited him in the hospital. She showed him he could trust her and he completely lost himself in her. He would call her at 3 in the morning, drop by her office too many times per day, developed a bit of a codependency, but she was able to help him through his pain. He would do research about the treatments, the medicine, cognitive behavioural therapy. Billy was happy now. He was grateful to have had her and she was grateful that Billy had been a great patient. Big challenge. Billy was her biggest accomplishment, and proof of the fact she wasn't completely useless in the army.

She didn't work for the entirety of 2022. She had an accident with one of the patients, classified information. She survived, but man was it hard to live after that day... Spent time with her dog, visited a friend in San Francisco, taught ballet. Price and Laswell felt so guilty they continued to pay her even if she wasn't working. Why she decided to come back she really didn't know. She thinks the truth is she likes helping people, makes her feel good. She likes the crazy stories and that she had a reputation at the base, she was starting to be respected. She craved that. And it really started to bore her, the routine. Until Arash. Seeing Arash so frighted and tense was new, he was a calm and polite gentlemen. She saw an invisible string tying his story and his damned pilgrimage book to the mission she knew had failed in the Middle East. Now, it was a little bit of a stretch. So she did her little research, put her Sherlock hat on, lit a cigarette and started digging.

She had fun, until things really started clocking. He was missing his doctor appointments on purpose on specific dates, to go do what? Call someone? She couldn't steal his phone. Send letters? She tried the post office but found out nothing. The bank really did give her his statements, which was pure luck. He had set his personal security questions as his birthday and his mother's name, which she knew, because he told her. She knew everything about him, even his social security number. Arash really trusted her and she had an incredible memory for unnecessary details. Also, he left his wallet on the couch in her office countless times, it’s not that she looked, it was just there and she remembered. When she saw him stressed and fidgety she knew he was hiding something. She kept a straight face, 'Arash, we can really talk about whatever you want, you know' and he would interrupt her 'You don't understand. The urgency!', he continued to say. She really didn't want to tell Price herself, she would have preferred for Laswell to do it. She took extra time in the morning to get ready that day. She was going in a separate area she knew very little about, and nobody knew who she was. Sometimes people mistook her for someone's wife, or daughter. She chose her outfit accordingly, she wanted to seem professional. She wore a sports bra. There was nothing to look at anyways. She didn't put on lipstick, not even the nude one. She was used to being underestimated, and being looked down at. She was also used to raising her voice and presenting herself as stoic and cold. She knew perfectly how to be violence. She noticed a familiar face once she opened the door of the briefing room. A familiar face mask. The skull guy, she had seen him before. Was he the guy…

She could't get distracted. Her little mission went smoothly. She always knew Price liked her and feared her at the same time, and when it came to his little soldier boys, she really didn't care what they thought. The guy from the day of her accident even spoke to her. Poor thing. She was really amused no one told him about the reason why she didn't want to go home alone. He did really good that night, she remembers him well. He didn't try to speak too much, he sounded gentle. A gentle giant. Unfortunately for him, no one was gonna tell him about that day. When she left the room, she went straight home. She doubted someone would ever contact her again about the situation, they would handle it themselves, and probably very badly. She was driving to her ballet lesson, still thinking they all looked so confused by her words. They were probably gonna do a stupid interrogation, or rather do nothing and wait for the next mission to be a shit show. Imbecilli.

'Alright girls, one more time please!' At least she had her little ballerinas to cheer her up. She had them warm up, she usually did the warm up routine with them. She walked between the four rows of kids at the barre, delivering her corrections. Jennifer usually had stiff hands, and she was tense in her shoulders. Kyla had a beautiful turnout but she often confused her arms positions. The jetes routine, they always forgot that one. 'It's three in front and switch… guys I'm not gonna repeat myself'. She thought she sounded rude sometimes, but 13 year old American girls were a nightmare to work with. Last month, she even had to deal with poor Gemma being bullied in the changing rooms. 'I'm gonna say this just once, three in the front, switch to the back.' she liked demonstrating, felt like she was taking lessons herself. 'Ta-ra, ta-ra, ta-da. And we're gonna hold here' she lifted herself on her toes and attached her right pointed foot to her knee. She let go of the barre, holding her balance on one foot. 'Passè.' she said. The girls groaned. 'The more you complain the more I'm gonna make you stay like this girls. We're gonna do one minute.' She went to the side of the room, to play the music 'From the top.'

notes: translation of the song: 'Quando sei qui con me' when you're with me, 'Questa stanza non ha più pareti, ma alberi', this room doesn't have walls no more, it has trees.

notes: Alba means something specific!

translation: imbecilli, means imbeciles.

notes: let me know what you think !! <3

love, mare.

taglist:

@ummmmmwat @ghostlythots @sweetfemmefatal @natxpat @chavarriakeren647 @ravenmoore14 @farther-than-pleiades @internallyscreamings @hwromi @atoxicrat @cuti3maddi3 @deafeningkittenblaze @its-celeste @serene-hills @lexidoll12 @poohkie90 @lunatiquess

@warmedbythebody @katzykat @iristhemuse @azkza @keiraslayz @abbyandermine @jennyjencakes @dest-nai @corset-briefs @nutze-kekse @ilytsukiw @b3anspr0ut

@pondsblog @missyouzoe @fallenkitten @bigauthorrascalturkey @bethtay @angelynn-nicole @starluv @stargirlisworld @giyuuslittleslut @impossiblecupcakelight

@rkrivees-blog @ghosts-hoe @kam1snotverysmart @gauky76 @freyjaaasstuff @spicyspicyliving @scottpilgrimvsmyfists @courtney0-0 @shinchanboi @darling006

[yourbelgianthings]

aforementioned giant list of mountain goats songs for taz

sadly some characters i couldn’t find a song i thought fit for (i.e. angus) that doesn’t mean i don’t like them!!

Magnus- Against Pollution, Spent Gladiator 2, Training Montage, Billy the Kid’s Dream of Magic Shoes

Merle- Hebrews 11:40, Harlem Roulette, January 31 438, Noche Del Guajalote

Taako- Up the Wolves, Get Lonely, Get Famous

Barry- Blues in Dallas, Love Love Love

Johann- Your Belgian Things, Harlem Roulette

Lucretia- Old College Try, Heel Turn 2, Game Shows Touch Our Lives

Davenport- Idylls of the King, Maybe Sprout Wings

Hurley- Magpie, Love Love Love

Sloane- Dilaudid

Lucas- In Memory of Satan

Lup- Going Invisible 2

Taakitz- The Age of Kings, The Coroner’s Gambit

Blupjeans- Bluejays and Cardinals

Carey and Killian- Animal Mask, 1 Corinthians 13: 8-10

IPRE- High Hawk Season, Corsican Mastiff Stride, When A Powerful Animal Comes

Aubrey- There Will Be No Divorce, Dinu Lipatti’s Bones, Amy aka Spent Gladiator 1, Shadow Song, Song For An Old Friend

Duck- Midland, New Monster Avenue, In the Hidden Places, As Many Candles As Possible

Ned- Cotton, Wild Sage, Estate Sale Sign, Prowl Great Cain, The Mess Inside, Bleed Out, Going to Hungary

The Pine Guard- Fire Editorial

Pigeon- Jeff Davis County Blues

Mama- Midland, Bones Don’t Rust

Barclay- Color in Your Cheeks, If You See Light, Harbor Me

Minerva- The Young Thousands, Luna, Mobile, Clean Slate

Dani- Blueberry Frost

Keith- Alpha Rats Nest

Hollis- Alpha Rats Nest, Amy aka Spent Gladiator 1, Guys on Every Corner

Boyd- The House that Dripped Blood

Indrid- Alabama Nova

Thacker- Elijah, How to Embrace A Swamp Creature

Amber- The Recognition Scene, International Small Arms Traffic Blues, Oceanographer’s Choice, 1 John 4:16, Bones Don’t Rust, The Young Thousands, Family Happiness, Game Shows Touch Our Lives, Genesis 3:23

Devo- Cotton, Up the Wolves, Get Lonely, New Zion, Outer Scorpion Squadron, Hopeful Assassins of Zeno, Never Quite Free, Cry for Judas, Mark on You, Autoclave, Genesis 3:23

Zoox- Song for Lonely Giants, Incandescent Ruins, Autoclave

Oksana/Kodira- The Recognition Scene, Oceanographer’s Choice, Luna, Genesis 3:23

Orlean- Trick Mirror, New Zion, In Memory of Satan

The Curator- Deuteronomy 2:10

The Shoreside Community- Letter from Belgium, Going to Lebanon 2

The Coriolis Crew- Steal Smoked Fish