#French formal suits

[addictedbespoken]

Men Blue Velvet 3pc French Nobleman Costume 18th Century Inspired Carnival Of Venice Rococo Wedding Outfit With Free Lace Jabots And Cuffs

This 18th Century vintage costume for men is inspired from the magical Venical Carnival & Late Baroque fashion. The costume can become the zest of any carnival or themed festival and can also be a perfect costume for wedding groom.

This 3Pc court suit include: •Blue velvet justaucorps embellished with paisley & floral embroidery & metal button detailing •Off white paisley print vest embellished with paisley & floral embroidery & have button closure •Blue velvet Breeches with floral embroidery on bottom & metal button detailings & closure •Laced jabots & cuffs

Features: •Intricate embroidered •Lightweight •Soft & Breathable •Comfortable wearing in all seasons

Material & Caring: •Premium Velvet & Eco friendly material •Dry Clean •Dry on low heat or hang to dry for best result

[crystalbehindthescenes]

Oh he's not technically breaking any rules, Tuxedo Mask's outfit isnt a traditional kind of tuxedo at all. Its a military Mess suit most likely based on the formal attire worn by the French Military! The uniform is crazy similar to Tuxedo Masks whole drip. Theyre also worn by royalty! Mamoru is a prince and a king!

Funny enough, King Endymion actually wears a traditional style tuxedo, with coat tails and everything. Endymion seems more associated with the coattails, so Mamoru on the Kanzenban covers probably isn't Mamoru at all but Prince Endymion!

Tuxedo Mask's outfit isnt an outfit, it's a military uniform- just like the senshi!

I think he has coat tails in Crystal's design cus Sakou used Kanzenban as a reference- Cus he's never actually depicted with having coattails in the actual pages or artbook outside of King Endymion. Or maybe cus mess jackets and white tie tuxedos share a similar waist design, Sakou and gang thiught he was wearing a white tie tux and probably didn't know about Mess Jackets, at least not by name.

We always talk shit about Mamorus bad fashion and usually think his manga fashion style is very decent (besides the cow print anyway lol)

But listen the boy literally cant dress right he doesnt even wear a tuxedo right, theres 3 types for specific occassions with specific etiquette and our boy is wearing all 3 styles at once what a mess.

imagine newspaper articles and forums just clowning in his drip lmaoooooo

[multific]

Small Kisses

Vincent De Gramont x Wife!Reader

Warning: mention of toxic obsession and kidnapping (not done by Vincent)

Summary: You loved the tickle of his lips on your skin.

Vincent loved to give you small kisses.

No matter the reason. He just loved doing it wherever you two were.

A formal event? 

A simple dinner?

A small date?

Or just staying in bed all day?

You swore the reason Vincent lived was to give you his sweetest kisses. A man so cunning and proud as him, yet he would be the proudest and calmest whenever he was with you.

You were his beautiful wife whom he loved with all of his dark heart.

But you didn't mind the blood, the murder and the insanity of it all.

Because every time he killed someone in the most brutal way, he would also come home to you, his gorgeous suit covered in blood, and give you such a sweet kiss.

It was honestly confusing rather than anything. 

Vincent was a very classy man. He enjoyed the luxuries in life. High-end products, and he always made sure that you lived in the same luxury.

On your last birthday, he gifted you an original Monét piece.

The painting is currently right above your bed.

If he could, he would buy you the Mona Lisa.

He would literally make sure that you are dripping in diamonds, much like how he did for his birthday when he got you a special gown, made out of diamonds.

Once he said: "I would change the Mona Lisa to a painting of you, you are far more beautiful, Mon Amour."

His sweet talking always worked.

No matter how angry you were because of something, he would always say the sweetest things and then give you a small kiss to your forehead.

“My Beautiful Wife, even stunning when she is mad at me.”

“I would kill any man for you, Mon Amour. You don’t have to ask.”

“I must apologise, I believe I have lacked in my duties as a husband, Mon Amour. I believe you forgot just how much I love you.”

He would always make sure that you are happy and protected.

Even when one time, he failed to do that.

Well, it was more like his men failed, not him. 

When you were taken, he was furious. Too furious to say or do anything other than rage. 

You were taken by a man. A man so insane, you never saw anything like this.

He kept on going on about how he knew you were in love with him, how he knew that you only married Gramont for the money and how now, you two can be together.

He scared you. 

His obsession with you was toxic, you could see just how crazy he was in his eyes. Every time he used the word 'love' it sent a shiver up and down your spine. 

When Vincent finally got to you, you were shaking in fear. The only thing that managed to calm you was Vincent's kisses.

The smallest little kisses he placed all along your body. He also spoke in French some calming words but you could only recall the tickle of his lips when he found a soft spot.

And when the next couple of days you woke up with a shiver, having nightmares about the man who abducted you, it was Vincent who calmed you down. 

It was he who kept waking up with you, never leaving your side, promising he would never leave or let this ever happen to you while placing kisses on your hands, knuckles and palm.

Vincent loved to give you small kisses on any exposed skin that you have.

But you loved the tickle of his lips on your skin even more.

His little kisses were the true proof of his love for you.

Vincent Taglist: @l4venderia

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel​ @rororo06​ @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster @capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @alex12948 @lxdyred  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak   @manduse   @jacalineiscomingforyou  @mandoloriancookie @noname2246

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS  

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This 1927 Spanish style mansion, "The Cedars," in Los Angeles, CA is crazy. It's Old Hollywood Glamor, and the 10bd, 12ba home is $32M. You just have to see it. The owner is fashion designer Sue Wong, who restored it.

The grand entrance hall and staircase. There are a variety of styles throughout the home, from Baroque to French Art Deco. That ceiling is amazing.

Look at this hall. It talks about all the styles, and says that it includes the property next door, but it doesn't say anything about the furnishings.

How's this for a living room?

And, the dining room- it's an open concept.

This is a little more casual seating and it's Art Deco. Love the round room and view of the garden.

Then, this sitting room is more Spanish Villa. What happens w/the very wealthy? After they renovate & decorate, they get tired of the house?

Up these stairs there's a beautiful iron and glass gate.

The formal dining room. So, even if she takes all the furnishings, the buyer will still have the curtains, chandeliers, and ceilings.

Smaller, casual dining space. I wonder if the cabinets are built-in.

The kitchen is impressive. Look at the faux finish on the celing. It looks like no one's ever cooked in this kitchen.

Here's a little larger everyday dining space. This one has a built-in cabinet.

Check out the ceiling in the primary bedroom. Odd choice of color bedspread, though. Red, orange, blue, gold, and a pink bed.

The bath is nice. Not as elaborate as I thought it would be.

And, look at this orange bedroom. The shape of the ceiling and faux finishes are great, but the gold fireplace in the corner is the focal point of the room.

Off this room is a lovely conversation room.

And, look at the bath. Maybe this is the primary bedroom.

These halls. I see a built-in cabinet down the hall and these windows open- you can see the iron barrier, so it's like a terrace.

Elaborate canopy bed in this room.

Writing desk in here. Must be a guest suite.

Marble tiles and look at the tub.

Another sitting room with cute spiral stairs going up to a loft.

This looks like a rooftop deck with a pergola.

Bridge over a koi pond and a covered sitting area.

Stunning home. That must be a pool b/c it has stairs, but it also has grass.

Fountain and water feature.

The .51 acre lot is 1/2 an acre, the house is huge, but they really made the most of the grounds. The gardens are stunning.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/4320-Cedarhurst-Cir-Los-Angeles-CA-90027/20810967_zpid/

[pandapetals]

First Date

Logan takes you on a date.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - married couple, cute, fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

divider credit: @enchanthings

It had been a long time since Logan had planned a date—if he’d ever really planned one at all. Most of his life had been spent moving from one battle to the next, his connections fleeting, his relationships either shallow or cut short by the chaos that always seemed to follow him. 

This was different. You were different. After a year of dancing around the tension, the stolen glances, and the teasing smiles, he’d finally confessed his feelings. Now here he was, standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of his jacket for what felt like the hundredth time.

He grunted at his reflection, tugging at the stiff fabric. He felt ridiculous. Logan wasn’t a “fancy date�� kind of guy, but tonight, he wanted to impress you. You deserved more than what he could give—more than the gruff, broken man he knew himself to be. He was gonna try. You meant too much for him not to.

He had it all planned. He’d take you to that upscale restaurant you’d mentioned in passing once, the one downtown with the fancy décor and the overpriced menu. It wasn’t his usual style—he’d much prefer a greasy diner or a dive bar—but he figured a place like this would be a good start. After all, it was your first official date, and he was going to make it perfect. Or at least, that’s what he hoped.

The first sign that the night wasn’t going as planned came when he pulled up to the restaurant in his beat-up truck, glancing nervously at the line of sleek black cars parked in front. Men in suits and women in elegant dresses stepped out of fancy sedans, while Logan sat there, gripping the wheel, already feeling out of place. He glanced at you, sitting next to him in the passenger seat, looking effortlessly beautiful, your eyes gleaming with excitement.

"You sure you wanna go here?" he muttered, his voice gruffer than usual. "We could hit a burger joint instead."

You laughed softly, the sound light and easy, and gave him a playful nudge. "Come on, Logan. You picked it, remember?"

He let out a sigh, more for show than anything, and reluctantly got out of the truck, circling to open your door. You picked it, you’d said, like it was some kind of grand gesture when in reality he’d spent the past week fretting over the reservation, second-guessing every damn detail.

Things didn’t get any smoother once you were inside.

The place was swanky—too swanky, if you asked him. Chandeliers dripped from the ceiling, casting soft golden light over tables draped in white linen, and every other waiter looked like they were auditioning for a part in some high-end fashion commercial. Logan couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been anywhere this… fancy. Probably because he never had.

He tugged uncomfortably at the collar of his button-up, the stiff fabric digging into his neck. His jacket felt too tight, too formal. He caught the eye of a waiter and waved him over, trying not to feel like an imposter as the guy handed them menus the size of small novels.

Logan glanced at the menu, squinting at the descriptions. Everything was written in French—or something that looked like it. "What the hell is ‘foie gras’?" he muttered under his breath, but loud enough for you to hear.

You tried to stifle your laugh, but it bubbled up anyway, your eyes shining with amusement. "It’s duck liver," you whispered, leaning in closer, your lips quirking into a smile.

Logan raised an eyebrow, glancing at the menu again like it had personally insulted him. "Who the hell pays fifty bucks for duck liver?"

Your laugh was louder this time, and Logan couldn’t help but smile. That sound—your laugh—eased some of the tension coiled in his chest. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad.

The waiter came back, rattling off the specials with an accent that Logan was pretty sure wasn’t real. When it came time to order, he froze, his eyes darting back to the menu. He had no idea what half the dishes were. His instincts told him to just pick the steak—steak was always a safe bet—but before he could speak, the waiter turned to you.

"I’ll have the coq au vin," you said, handing back your menu with an easy smile.

Logan blinked. What the hell is that? He glanced at you, hoping for some kind of silent translation, but your eyes were sparkling, and you looked completely at ease. He cleared his throat. "Uh, I’ll have... the same," he said, knowing he had no idea what he’d just ordered.

When the waiter left, Logan sat back, letting out a small sigh of relief. So far, so good, he thought. Right?

He glanced at you, expecting you to be annoyed by the place—or at least a little thrown by the waiter's attitude. Instead, you watched him with a knowing smile, your eyes soft with amusement.

"What?" Logan muttered, his voice gruff. Sitting there stiff and uncomfortable, he felt stupid, while you seemed perfectly at ease.

"You hate this, don’t you?" you asked, leaning forward just slightly, your voice low and conspiratorial.

Logan shifted in his seat, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. "I don’t hate it," he lied, trying to sound convincing. "Figured you’d want somethin’ nice for our first date."

Your smile widened, your eyes sparkling in that way that always made his heart stutter. "Logan, you don’t have to do all this to impress me."

"I wanted to make it special," he mumbled, his eyes dropping to the table. "You deserve somethin' nice. Better than the usual stuff."

Before you could respond, the waiter returned with your drinks, interrupting the moment. He placed your wine in front of you with exaggerated care, but when it came to Logan’s beer, he practically slammed it down on the table, causing it to spill over the edge. The condescension in his expression was unmistakable, like he thought Logan didn’t belong there like he was beneath him.

That was it. Logan’s patience snapped.

He was halfway to standing, fists clenched, when your hand shot out, gently grabbing his arm. "Logan," you said softly, your voice calm but firm.

Logan froze, the tension in his muscles still coiled tight, but your touch was enough to keep him from acting on instinct. He glanced down at you, and the look in your eyes wasn’t disappointment or frustration—it was understanding. It made him pause, long enough for you to take over.

You turned to the waiter, your voice cool but steady. "Excuse me," you said, raising an eyebrow. "Could you treat my date with a little more respect, please?"

The waiter blinked, clearly taken aback by your tone. His smug expression faltered, and he nodded quickly before practically scurrying off to the kitchen, probably realizing he’d crossed the wrong person.

Logan let out a breath, still caught off guard by how easily you’d defused the situation.

You turned back to him with a grin. "Now, where were we?"

Logan blinked at you, still trying to process what had just happened. "I was about two seconds away from breakin' that guy’s nose."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "Yeah, and I’m sure that would’ve made for a lovely first date story."

"Would’ve felt good," Logan grumbled, though his lips twitched into a smile.

"Maybe," you said, leaning forward slightly, your voice softening. "But honestly, Logan, you don’t need to do all this—fancy restaurants, dressing up, impressing me. That’s not why I’m here."

Logan looked at you, his brow furrowed. "Then why are you here?"

"Because I like you," you said simply, your eyes meeting his with such sincerity that it made his chest tighten. "I don’t need fancy things or grand gestures. I just need you—as you are. That’s what impresses me."

Logan stared at you, his heart thudding a little harder in his chest. He wasn’t used to this—being wanted for exactly who he was. He’d spent years thinking he wasn’t enough, wasn’t good enough. Yet here you were, telling him he didn’t need to be anything but himself.

He let out a low, gruff laugh, shaking his head. "Guess I overthought this whole thing."

You smiled, reaching across the table to grab his hand, your fingers warm and soft against his. "How about we get out of here? Find somewhere less... pretentious."

Logan smirked, the weight on his chest lifting. "What’d you have in mind?"

Not an hour later, you found yourselves sitting side by side in a dingy, hole-in-the-wall burger joint, the kind of place Logan belonged in. The scent of greasy burgers and fries filled the air, the low hum of conversation around you soothing in a way that the fancy restaurant had never been.

Logan took a long sip of his beer, glancing over at you as you happily devoured a burger, ketchup smeared on the corner of your mouth. He felt more relaxed, more himself than he had all night.

"Now this," he said, leaning back in his chair, "this is more my speed."

You grinned at him, wiping the ketchup from your mouth with a napkin. "See? Told you. All I need is you, a burger, and some beer. Doesn’t take much to impress me."

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. "Guess I’ll have to remember that."

You leaned closer, your eyes sparkling with affection. "You don’t have to remember anything, Logan. Just be yourself. That’s all I want."

At that moment, with the sound of clinking glasses and the smell of grilled burgers around him, Logan realized something that made his heart ache in the best way possible—you weren’t just saying it. You meant it.

He didn’t feel like he had to be more than he was. You saw him, all his rough edges and imperfections, and you were still here. You were choosing him.

[undergoing-mitosis]

i am going to ramble about my death note accent and language headcanons (wammy's boys + light) okay thanks

L is very British. This fits surprisingly easily with Alessandro Juliani's incredible dub performance, but just lose the Canadian(?)ness. He still has that slight drawl and softly pronounces every consonant, so it's less bo'o'wa'a bri'ish and more autistic every consonant is pronounced British. Every language he speaks is practically perfect accent wise, he tends to be a bit of a chameleon. You can only tell that he's not native Japanese when he speaks it by a few lilts on certain sounds which aren't quite right, but even then it's only noticeable if you're looking for it. Knows an ungodly amount of languages fluently: he had a period of hyperfixating on learning a bunch between cases, before he got bored and moved onto advanced Go strategy.

Light is Japanese. Mamoru Miyano's voice is canon. That is all I have to say on the matter. He also knows a few other languages from his studies, including English, but knows very little about using these languages in practice, making his speech sound very formal and textbook-y.

Mello is from somewhere in east Europe, but given he's lived at Wammy's since he was around 5-ish he had completely lost his accent. So his base accent is British like the rest of them. Whatever his native language may be, he can understand it but not speak it. Mello tended to err on the side of more rough British, dropping consonants no matter how much Roger tried to make him speak properly. He never devolved into full roadman though. When he ran away to the US, he taught himself how to speak with an American accent. (this idea is directly from Crush on ao3 haha) Over the years of the time skip he perfected his accent, now it is indistinguishable from a native LA resident. However, he is still having to actively put this accent on. Post-Mafia, Mello doesn't have to put up a front of being purely American any more: he still does it out of habit, especially in public, but in private his voice will become an odd mix of American, British and a few muscle memory sounds that come from his mother tongue, creating a unique sound. When Mello loses his composure (mainly, when he gets pissed at Matt) he devolves into full British expletives. He is known he mutter "bloody hell" under his breath frequently. He can also speak Japanese fluently, along with French and bits and pieces of a few other European languages.

Matt is Canadian. I don't know, I just think a Canadian accent suits him. Picked up a few British turn of phrases at Wammy's, but given that he moved there later than Mello he kept his accent. The only Japanese he knows is osmosised from anime. He also picked up wingdings from that period of time when every email he sent would be in it for funsies.

Near is also British. Very much has that autism British accent, without the added drawl in L's, making him sometimes sound quite posh even though he isn't. Nate River is the most British name I have ever seen I'm sorry I don't make the rules. He learnt Japanese for the Kira case, and can speak it pretty fluently and without a strong accent, but as a rule of thumb he has no interest in learning languages: he'd rather spend his time making paper cities or studying quantum physics. An exception to this is code languages: he knows morse code fluently.

[empress-simps]

Close To Me

Pairing: Bodyguard! Marauders x Fem! Reader, Bodyguard! Sirius x Fem! Reader AU: Bodyguard AU / Muggle AU CW: Reader getting kidnapped. Sirius getting injured. Note: This might be the longest one shot I have written so far, this is also my first time writing an action-ish fic? So please do keep it in mind, some parts may be inaccurate.. I also published this at 12 midnight lol. Enjoy!(2.5k words)

You always thought it was a tad bit excessive.

Being the sole heir to a vast family fortune meant that you had the finest thing you could ever want in your life; it also meant that you had the finest protection. Your father handpicked every staff member that was assigned to protect and care for you- going as far as doing not just a background check on them, but also their entire family. Doing a bunch of psychology and loyalty tests were also a must so it was rest assured that they would do their job.

Having one bodyguard? Understandable. Two? Oh, alright just some precautions. Three? That sounds... very safe. Four? Now, that's where you draw the line.

Sure, being born with a golden spoon is great- wonderful, even; but you felt like you were trapped.

You wanted to live life like any other normal human being, away from assassination or kidnapping attempts that were made in your life. So, mustering up every courage you have, you stormed into your father’s study to try and persuade him to just at least assign one to watch over you.

It was expected, you failed.

Now you were stuck with four goofballs bodyguards who would protect you with their life.

James Potter- the strategist. He could sense danger from miles away and best believe that a safe escape plan for you was already formulated if ever things went south.

Remus Lupin- the mediator. He has the ability to appear calm and composed even in the face of danger. Remus saved you more than once just from his voice and words.

Peter Pettigrew- the tech wizard. He’s the one responsible for surveillance, turning any kind of technology into a means of protecting you.

And then there was Sirius Black, the jack of all trades. When your father chose the top candidate, it was him. He was an exceptionally skilled fighter, good with weapons, fast and light reflexes, can speak multiple languages (mainly French), and over all just a well-rounded protector.

Being born into a family with a long tradition and a reputation for producing some of the best security experts in the muggle world, Sirius stood out like a sore thumb. He was the black sheep who defied family expectations. His family's company, BlackGuard Security, was known for its merciless efficiency and rigid standards.

His abilities were evident. Succeeded in every training program he participated in, frequently outperforming his peers with fast thinking and adaptability. Your father noticed Sirius's unconventional approach to security and saw potential in his abilities. When he was assigned to be your bodyguard, he took it as an opportunity to show himself beyond the shadow of his family's legacy.

Sirius is your shadow. He’s never more than a few paces behind. But it wasn’t just duty that kept him so close; it’s the quiet and unspoken bond that had formed between you two throughout the years. A bond that went beyond the call of duty, beyond the formalities. Which he desperately tries to deny.

“Good morning, Remmy!”

You beamed, smiling as you opened the door of your bedroom to see the tall man standing outside, on watch.

It’s still a mystery to you how he looks so put together with his neat hair, suit, and the signature earpiece in his ear even though it’s still 7:00 in the morning.

“Good morning, Miss.” He smiles, closing the door behind you as you headed towards the grand staircase, Remus following a step behind.

“I rarely see you during mornings,” You comment, going down the stairs to grab breakfast.

“James had some matters to attend to, Miss.” He answered, offering a small and polite smile. You hummed, “It’s alright. I like your company, Remmy. Jamie can get a tad bit enthusiastic in mornings.” You laugh, as Remus looks at you.

“Don’t let him hear that or he might just throw a fit.” He chuckled.

“He’s James, it’s normal.” You grinned, seeing the familiar long black-haired guy talking quietly in his earpiece.

“Morning, Sirius!” You waved at him; his piercing grey eyes looked in your direction. “Good morning, Y/n.” he smiled, then went back to talking in his earpiece.

You would be lying if you said you weren’t a bit bummed that you don’t have his undivided attention, Remus noticed this and raised his eyebrow, smiling to himself.

Taking a seat at the rather large dining table, you couldn't help but sigh. Remus decided to tease you a bit, "Were you expecting more from Padfoot?" He smiles, chuckling at the way you desperately try to hide the blush on your cheeks.

"What?! No! I was just pre-occupied with other things!"

Remus doesn't believe it when your eyes wandered in the direction of Sirius who was still talking into the earpiece. "No prongs, she has an event she needs to attend in the evening." You heard him talking to what you can assume is James from the other line.

The scent of breakfast wafted through the air, making your stomach growl as the staff placed the dishes and arranged the silverware for you.

"Would you like some, Remmy?"

"No thank you, miss. I already ate."

As you ate a piece of your breakfast, you looked up to Remus. "Anything interesting stuff for today?"

"I'm afraid today will be quite normal, miss. Just a charity ball your family would attend hosted by the Malfoy family."

You frowned. It's not like you hate the Malfoys, you just don't like how they're trying to set you up with their son, Lucius Malfoy, when it was clear that he is infatuated with his mother's bodyguard- Narcissa Black.

"Do I really have to go?" You complained,

"Prongs already picked up your dress for later, Y/n." Sirius suddenly spoke up, and standing beside Remus. You huffed, already feeling tired.

“Maybe I’ll just sneak out again-“

“No can do, Y/n!” James appeared out of nowhere, his famous grin plastered on his face, Peter trailing behind him, tinkering with what seems to be a mini remote of some sort.

You crossed your arms, eyebrows raised. “And why would that be, Mr. Potter?”

“Because your escort would be Malfoy.” he grumbles, clearly not liking the idea and the dude.

“I beg your pardon?”

You tried not to roll your eyes, keyword, tried. Remus clears his throat, trying to mask his surprise. Sirius felt his eye twitch.

What if something happens at the ball? Sirius is the most capable one of protecting you from danger, sorrynotsorry.

“But!” James blurts, “We’d still attend the ball, not just that close to you.”

“Like that’s any better.”

James frowns, “Sorry. The Malfoys actually don’t even want us to attend and guard you. Your father insisted, telling them you won’t attend the ball without us.” He says, taking a seat beside you despite Remus’ warning glances directed at him.

“Just what do they want…?” Sirius mumbles to himself, already getting highly suspicious of Lucius and his family. (Not because of the fact that you’re about to get arranged to the Malfoy heir, no not at all.)

“They’re probably just annoyed, Lucius really can’t make a move on Y/n with us around.” James said, grabbing a handful of grapes and popping them onto his mouth, making you chuckle as you pushed the bowl closer to him.

“Alright, looking good Y/n!” James grinned, seeing you come down the grand staircase dressed in a red lavish gown with a gold accent.

Sirius felt his heart stop.

There was just something about you that makes his heart beat a little faster, time freezing, and the unusual flips his stomach did when he sees you.

Fuck— you were absolutely breathtaking.

You twirled, making your boys smile and compliment you, but Sirius just stood there, not reacting.

“Do I look presentable, Siri?”

You asked, trying to pass it off as a joke but they know damn well you were serious as you fiddled with a random lace in your dress. Not like Sirius noticed it, no, he was transfixed to your beauty.

“Beautiful.”

That was all you needed to hear.

“Mr. Malfoy, good evening.”

Lucius smiled slightly, taking your hand, and kissing it. “The night could not compare to your beauty, Y/n.”

It took every single fiber of Sirius’ being to not punch Lucius square in the face. How dare he flirt with you when he’s secretly dating his cousin?

You smiled politely, even though all you wanted to do is to stay a good couple of feet away from him. “You flatter me, Mr. Malfoy.”

“I am just stating facts, Y/n.” He offered his arm to you, “Shall we?”

Right. Might as well get over it.

Linking your arm with his, you nodded. “We shall.”

The boys instantly knew there was something off as soon as they stepped inside the venue.

James kept twisting the ring on his pinky finger, already thinking of numerous escape plans for different situations. Peter was on his phone, eyebrows furrowing as he checked and tries to figure out why he can't access some surveillance cameras in the venue. Sirius was on high alert, nothing could go unnoticed, he knows who approached you, how long you've spoken to them, the food that you consumed, and how that stupid Lucius kissed your hand, and interacted with you.

Remus also was alert, but one thing that made the alarms go off inside his head was the four suspicious men dressed in tuxedos quietly slipped inside the venue without getting noticed.

"Marauders, two o'clock. Four men, nearing darling's area quick." He told in the comms, eyes never leaving the four figures.

"Copy, Moony. Wormtail, any news?" Remus' earpiece was filled with James' voice. "Negative. Still trying to access." Out of the corner of his eye, Remus can see Sirius slowly inching to your direction. "Padfoot, do not engage. Wait it out." Remus heard James order Sirius, "I won't." he grunts.

That was when hell broke loose.

With lightning reflexes, one of the men pulled out a pistol and shot the large crystal chandelier causing it to fall and crash to the ground, breaking into thousands of tiny pieces. It was pure chaos, people were trying to rush out of the exits, chairs and tables were turned as they pushed through.

Sirius felt his blood run cold.

He was in autopilot, he dodged a panicked guest and leaped over fallen chairs, all while keeping his eyes on you. He cannot afford for the men to reach you before he does.

Luck was not on his side today.

He quickly closed the distance between both of you. He was your protector; he swore on his life he would protect you. Sirius would even sacrifice his life if it meant that you would be safe. He would do anything for you.

It was proven it wasn't enough when one of the men grabbed your arm, dragging you towards a hidden exit while Lucius Malfoy was escorted by the others.

"Fuck!" He yelled, as one of Malfoy's henchmen shot him in the shoulder to prevent him from going after you.

"Prongs! They have her!" They could all hear his anguished voice through the comms. Remus runs over to Sirius from where he was stationed, "Padfoot, you're injured-"

"I don't care!" He yells at his friend, "We need to fucking find her!"

"Wormtail, you better have the damn access already or I'll skin you alive!" Sirius barks angrily, talking to his comms as he fought the rest of the men with Remus helping him. "I'm in, but it's too late. They jammed the signals earlier and destroyed footages. Go to the exit, you'll see a motorbike on your left-" Sirius doesn't need to be told twice, he did what Peter told him and mounted the motorcycle, Remus quickly joining him.

"Can you see the black car ahead of you? That's them." Peter told him. Sirius was focusing on chasing the damn vehicle, so Remus answered on his behalf.

"Yeah, we're closing in. Prongs, what's your status?"

"Backsup are on their way, they'll be right behind you in 2 minutes."

Sirius felt the distant throb in his shoulder, the warm blood seeping through made his dress shirt clung onto him, but he paid it no mind.

"Keep your eyes on the road, Padfoot!" Remus reminds him as they narrowly missed an incoming truck. Sirius only nodded in reply as he grips the motorcycle tightly, weaving through the traffic and desperately trying to reach the speedy vehicle you're in.

"We're gaining on them!" Remus updates, seeing the familiar back up vehicles approaching, "Back up's near."

"Do not engage until the back ups arrive." James told them in a calm and commanding tone.

Of course.

Sirius will always be Sirius. When had he ever listened to Prongs' orders?

He is driven by his instinct, which is currently screaming at him to attack right then and there. As they neared an intersection, an opportunity was presented to him. He would be a fucking idiot to ignore it. With a calculated risk, he accelerated, effectively pulling alongside the car.

Remus sighs, already knowing his friend's thoughts and getting ready.

"Now, Moony!" Remus, who's on cue, leaned out and desperately tried to reach the car's door handle, and with a few tries, he managed to open it succesfully making him grapple with a man inside.

The car swerves, tires screeching but Sirius kept his pace. He can see you struggling with your captors, and he can hear the backup seconds away. He couldn't wait, every second counts, anything could happen.

"Hang on!" Sirius shouts, with a burst of speed, the backup cars sandwiched the car with you inside, forcing it to halt. Sirius and Remus dismounted the motorbike, guns drawn.

"It's either you release her, or I'll kill all of you and blondie." He growls, referring to Lucius Malfoy who is also inside the car.

The situation was tense, but the arrival of their team shifted the balance. The henchmen, overwhelmed and outgunned, let you go, their plan thwarted. Keeping the Malfoy Heir safe is their top priority.

Dust settled down, and the other staff handled the situation, wrapping it up. Sirius stormy grey eyes met yours in the midst of chaos. His shoulder stung, a reminder of the events that had happened tonight, although it paled in comparison to the concern etched in his face as he rushes to you.

"You're not hurt, are you?" His voice was barely above a whisper as he scanned your form. Your eyes found its way on his injury, "No, I'm alright. But Sirius, you're hurt."

Sirius exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and the world seems to slow down. "I'll live, darling. The important thing is that you're safe."

The sirens, flashing lights, and the buzz all seemed to fade out into the background as you stared into his eyes. Taking your hand in his, he placed it to his lips, pressing a kiss, his gaze never leaving yours.

"I was so afraid I'd lose you," he admitted, the vulnerability in his voice unlike anything you'd heard before. Sirius hugged you tightly, feeling him press a kiss against your hair as you leaned to his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart.

"You'll never lose me. Never in a million years, how could you when you're always close to me?"

[rosielefay]

Hetalia Headcannon ʚɞ

Kind of obsessed with vapid, hyper-fashionable Europe. To people like America or Canada, it makes them pretty much indistinguishable - they can't tell the different between a classic and a semi-spread collar, or an angle-cut and a french-cut cuff.

I just like the idea of them being super homogeneous in taste but also obsessed with small details and embellishments. Like they're all wearing the same three piece, because it's totally in right now, courtesy of Romano's impeccable suit cuts. Except England is pairing his with a Vivienne westwood globe pearl choker, whilst France has a dainty silver chanel necklace with a matching hair broach and cuff links.

"No America, I'm not wearing the same scent as Austria. He's wearing Givenchy 'Gentleman' and I'm wearing Tom Ford's 'Our Wood', its a very obvious difference!"

There's makeup and jewellery galore. America may not indulge for conferences the same way Europe do but you can bet he's wearing the Austin Butler white waterline eyeliner and the charlotte tilbury flawless filter for press conferences. Russia is forever covered in diamonds: rings, necklaces, bracelets - and he'll always be gifting his pieces to nations but its a rare occasion when they're actually worn. Romano will always wear his classic golden crucifix, no matter the suit. Meanwhile Spain will be a little more adventurous, with his cross anklets and cross waist chains. Norway's silver hair broach comes in a whole variety of designs, many are embellished in jewels, others elaborate in design, whilst some are simply plain.

England, America, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Sealand - they all wear matching signet rings. England wear's the crest on a golden necklace too, sometimes swapping it out for the choker version for moral formal outfits. America and Canada have matching rings they put on the same signet finger, a testimony to their separate brotherly bond.

They're all a little bit vapid and probably spend a bit too much of their salaries on clothes, jewellery, and manicures, but they're used to court and excess, and clothes lasting much longer than they do today.

[holmesianlove]

Chapter 22 -  Ghosts

After quite a long day interviewing everyone thoroughly at the mansion, and running around after Sherlock all over the estate, John had been exhausted. The hostess had wanted to have them at her table for a formal dinner and John had actually dozed off, sitting upright at the table. He had put in his apologies and headed up to his room to prepare for sleep. In the end, it had been too late to get back to the train, so they would stay the night and head home the next morning.

Sherlock of course, had been right. The daughter was responsible for the theft and had eventually admitted to the crime and returned the jewels all before sunset. John had at least felt useful to some degree, having been the one to go and sit with her and sympathise, until she exploded into tears and admitted it all. Sherlock had lathered him with praise for his work, which felt ridiculous. It really just consisted of him being a good listener, but he would take the praise wherever it was bestowed. Especially when Sherlock was doing the praising.

He and Sherlock had been given adjoining rooms on the second floor of the mansion. There was something comforting about having his own space but also knowing Sherlock would burst through the adjoining door whenever he wanted, as he was prone to doing. He opened the French folding doors which allowed him to walk out onto a shared balcony and take in the beautiful tailored gardens below. John couldn’t imagine what life would like to be so wealthy, that you would own an estate of this size. It felt overwhelming despite its beauty. Standing there, alone, he suddenly felt a pang of sadness. They would be returning home in the morning. Back to London. Back to routine. He could already feel his chest tensing, his mind closing up. Over the last few days he had been sure that there had been… something brewing there with his flatmate. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what had changed to make him think it. Not to mention, he would never make an assumption of someone like Sherlock without actual, verbal confirmation from the detective’s mouth, but even so, it felt like things had shifted with them. Perhaps it was just a shift to a more intimate friendship in Sherlock’s eyes? They had shared more stories, more confessions, but also more physical touch. In any case, John had been enjoyed it all. He wasn’t sure how comfortable he would feel back in London being that way in public with his friend. They endured enough crap as it was. No matter how many times he told people… they never believed him. 

Not gay.

And he wasn’t. Not exclusively. Not entirely. Mind you, he thought he would simply make an effort, try to make an impression on Sherlock, show he was serious about the work and dress up a little bit. And the way Sherlock had looked at him when he came down to breakfast in his suit! But he didn’t expect the detective to wear that shirt. That was a spanner in his plan. He was pleased to see Sherlock was a little surprised by the outfit, and a little thrown, perhaps? Or maybe he was just sleep deprived too. But the man had struggled with words for the entire day. Did it mean something?

John had left Sherlock at the table to speak with their host a little longer and talk her through the next steps now that her daughter had confessed.

He undid his tie and shirt and smiled to himself, as he began to get changed for bed. The last few days had really taken a toll on him somehow though, combined with the sleep deprivation of the night before. It was time for an early night. It took him very little time to fall off to sleep in the large, very soft and comfortable bed, surrounded by fluffy pillows. He intended to sleep well.

He didn’t know how much later it was, but he awoke in the dark, with Sherlock kneeling beside him up on the bed, holding his shoulders.

“Sherlock?” he croaked out, sleepily. “What is it?” He pushed himself up a bit to be able to look at his friend who flopped his weight back to his knees with a heavy sigh. “What? What is it?”

“A nightmare, John. Or a night terror, more accurately, I’d say.”

“Oh, are you alright? Do you need me?” John asked, becoming more alert.

“Not me, John. You. You were screaming.” He swallowed loudly, his voice sounded shaken. “You were screaming my name. Over and over. I was sure you were being murdered in your bed,” Sherlock rasped out, his voice full of worry.

“Oh. God I’m sorry I don’t… I don’t know what that was even about.” He rubbed a hand over his face as he tried to remember what he’d been dreaming about but it completely escaped him now. “I don’t… I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Sherlock said, relaxing further onto the covers. “You didn’t do it on purpose. I had to shake you awake. I hope I didn’t… hurt you?”

John shook his head as he tried to register any feeling in his body. “No. No, I’m fine.” He looked at Sherlock who seemed terrified still. Even in the dark, he seemed to be shaking slightly. “I’m so sorry.”

“Honestly, John. It’s fine." Sherlock straightened his shoulders, his voice sounding more calm now. "Do you really not remember what it was about?”

John looked at his lap, just breathing, trying to remember. “It’s usually just about… the war… ghosts. People I’ve lost, moments I wish I could change. The day I got shot. The day one of my friends died in my arms.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be free of those ghosts.”

Sherlock watched John for the longest time and finally put a hand on his thigh. “I’m sorry.”

John shook his head again. “Not your doing.”

“Is that why…” Sherlock cleared his throat, rethinking the question.

John raised a brow, looking at his friend who suddenly seemed unable to speak. That was very unlike him. “Why what?” “Is that why you don’t like to… make friends? Make… connections with people?” Sherlock asked.

John frowned. “I don’t think I…” He sighed. “I don’t know. I think you’re the very best friend I’ve ever had, closer than any of those blokes,” he said candidly, his brain waking up slowly. “I don’t trust people easily, that’s true. And I don’t like people because they don’t… understand me. But you do, Sherlock. I don’t think I’m… restricting myself. Not with you. And I don't need any more connections than that.” He blushed a little, knowing of course there were some things he wasn’t going to tell Sherlock, but otherwise, Sherlock had access to everything about him. “I protect you so fiercely, when we’re on a case, when people say things… because you’re my very best friend and I wouldn't be able to… survive a loss… of that,” he said honestly. He swallowed hard and flopped back onto his pillow. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“I’ll probably stay awake now,” Sherlock sighed. “It’s three A.M.”

John sighed. “Me too.”

As he lay there in silence he felt the bed move and Sherlock was suddenly lying down beside him, on the other pillow. He had his hands clasped together chastely on his stomach and he looked at the ceiling, not making eye contact. “We could tell ghost stories? While we wait for the sun to rise?”

John turned his head to look at Sherlock and smiled. He always knew how to cheer John up. Sherlock didn’t move his eyes from the ceiling, so John turned his head to look up at the ceiling too. There was an ornate light fixture and beautiful plaster work to observe and the moonlight made shadows that created changing patterns there. He could stare at those and keep his eyes away from his friend lying beside him. “Okay. You go first, though,” John suggested.

“Okay,” Sherlock said with a smile and so he began.

@lisbeth-kk @helloliriels @totallysilvergirl @221beloved @safedistancefrombeingsmart 

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@otter-von-bismarck @silvergoldsea @calaisreno

[lyricalt]

[tf2 minific] late stage fashionalism

fem!(Sniper/Spy) - rated T - [ao3]

I love the trope of putting Sniper in a fancy suit for a gala mission glow-up so fem!Sniper getting dolled up to be an absolute smokeshow isn’t that far of a stretch, lol. (and fem!spy makes the awooga sfx, naturally.)

I looked at some dresses from the 1960s and THIS is sort of what I had in mind for Sniper, though I did want to put her in a cute 70s mod dress as well (with hat)! Oh well. Next time.

[Part 1] | [Part 2] | [Part 3]

+++

The clickety-clack of heels alerts Spy to someone’s presence at the door to her quarters. She doesn’t bother to turn around from her vanity, too focused on setting up the table; make up brushes, various powders, pencils, and sponges all in a neat little row. Tools of her trade, as good as any weapon. For tonight’s gala mission, she’ll need all the help she can get, if not a full on miracle.

“It’s unlocked,” she calls out, bracing herself for what feral monstrosity might tumble through.

The door opens and Sniper stomps into the room. How she manages to stomp so grouchily in heels, Spy will never know, but the last two steps inside are quiet, sliding against the floor with the barest hint of a tap to betray the point of the heels—deliberate and expert in a way that Spy thinks she might have underestimated Sniper’s ability to prowl, no matter what the footwear.

The door clicks shut and now Spy can’t hear any footsteps at all.

She quickly turns around, wary by this new realization, and finds Sniper standing sullenly in front of her like she’s awaiting her own execution.

Spy stares. Her careful makeover plans for Sniper flutter right out of her brain. Aside from her unhappy expression, Sniper looks more put together than Spy could have ever credited her for. It’s almost offensive.

At first pass, Sniper’s dress is nothing too glamorous—an asymmetrical cut at the ankles in light bronze, the satin fabric gathered up to one side in a pretty slope to the floor. It’s not exactly what Spy would call fashionable for this year’s showing but Sniper’s slim body wears it well. The sweetheart neckline should have been strapless, but she can’t fault Sniper too much for opting for thin golden chains to hold the dress up by the shoulders. With the amount of movement that might happen during the mission, it’s better to be safe than sorry.

As for Sniper’s hair, Spy had gotten her hot curlers out in a bid to shape it into something more interesting, but Sniper had already done up her straight-limp hair in a more formal version of her customary braid, now in an elegant French plait, starting high at the top of her head and running over one shoulder. It’s slightly messy, no doubt due to Sniper’s lack of finesse, but the flyaway strands lead to a chic and charming look to her ensemble. Without meaning to, Spy turns off the hot curlers with a frown.

It’s a fitting silhouette. Spy isn’t so blinded by irony and pessimism that she won’t admit it. She can pick out her favorite detail immediately; the way the fabric of Sniper’s dress sits over her small bust accentuates her already tall height, and Spy’s critical gaze can’t help but trail down the long lines of Sniper’s legs. The side mid-slit was certainly a calculated choice, the faint sheen of lotion over tanned skin doing wonders, but more importantly—

“My god, you’ve shaved,” Spy says in an attempt to sound sardonic but her voice comes out genuinely shocked. She is going to have to reevaluate the amount of work she’s been prepared to do. It might actually be very little.

Realization festers in the back of Spy’s mind. It’s not often that she feels threatened. But she could be.

“Y’act like I ain’t never been dragged to church or some fancy dinner party,” Sniper says, folding her arms across her chest. She leans one shoulder against the doorframe, less annoyed by Spy’s observation and more by the situation itself. The fabric of the neckline scrunches, the barest peek of a dark nipple slipping through. Her posture is as unfeminine as ever, shifting the slit of the dress so that it rides further up her bare thigh.

“The kind of churches you’ve gone to, I’d like to know,” Spy says, dragging her eyes back up with a tremendous amount of effort.

It’s obvious that Sniper isn’t used to wearing dresses, but her lack of demure modesty might draw the wrong kind of attention if she ever decides to sit in a chair as she normally would, slouched with her legs spread out comfortably, no awareness of how her dress slides up in all the right—no, wrong places. Spy might need to find a pin to stitch up the slit a little better. Tape the bust some more to avoid any flashing.

Spy turns back to her vanity. She starts going through her drawers for a needle, thread, and pins. Behind her, she hears Sniper groan, mistaking Spy’s furious rummaging for more work to be done.

Quite the contrary, in fact. The actual neckline is fine as it is, the curves doing well to give the appearance of lift, even if Sniper barely fills out the top half of the dress. If it’d been Spy, she would’ve have used the loose fabric to her advantage, letting the thin golden chains slip from her shoulders every so often. It irritates her that Sniper seems to do it all on her own, on accident with no prompting. Sniper simply gives a single shoulder shrug and the strap slides down, hanging in a pretty loop that seems to fit the shape of her lean bicep.

“Well, let’s just say I don’t do much prayin’ when I visit,” Sniper says. “Same as you.”

When Spy swivels back around, she catches Sniper in the middle of hooking the strap back over her shoulder with two deft fingers. The gesture is so far from being flirty, more unconscious than anything, but it plays a part in the maddening way Spy cannot stop staring.

More gold toned jewelry, Spy thinks calmly, falling back to being critical. It matches her skin and the dress. She gets up from her chair to better inspect Sniper.

A necklace with a long ruby crystal on a delicate chain. Short matching earrings to offset the long hair. A brooch will be needed, tucked behind the right ear; for a hidden knife. Extra bullets around the thigh or in the heels if Sniper can manage walking in something higher.

Spy eyes Sniper’s slender hands. Rings. Perhaps one on the fourth finger, to deter some of the men.

She is about to contemplate the width of the band and size of the diamond when she abruptly becomes aware of her own unusual amount of possessiveness. Almost stricken dumb by it.

It’s unbecoming. Embarrassing, even. Right then and there, Spy stubbornly decides to forego suggesting any rings. Sniper is a grown woman. She can fend for herself; from men, women, and spies alike.

“Well? You’ve been quiet,” Sniper says, raising an eyebrow. A bristly, unshaped eyebrow. “Do I pass muster?”

Damn, Spy hadn’t even thought of make up yet. She reaches out to fix the folds of the bust, giving a couple of perfunctory tugs, but with the open slit down Sniper’s left leg, she can’t help but finger the hem in order to brush her knuckles against Sniper’s thigh. Standing this close, Spy has to look up a little more. She barely comes up to Sniper’s chin, an entire head shorter with Sniper in heels.

Spy bites the inside of her cheek. Sniper is no longer all awkwardly thin and lanky limbs—she is simply tall, trim, and completely devastating to look at.

“When you claimed you already had a dress,” Spy finally says, “this wasn’t what I had in mind.”

The corners of Sniper’s eyes crinkle. “Guilty. Demo got it for me. Lotta eyebrow waggling, so I think the jig’s up with her.”

She hitches the shoulder strap back in place again.

“I’ll have to send her flowers,” Spy mutters and primly kneels down to the floor, fingers still sliding along the hem of Sniper’s dress. When the length of the dress runs out, she simply puts her hands over Sniper’s legs. “And a bottle of wine.”

“What?” Sniper exclaims, pushing off from the door. She glares down at her. “Why her? I’m the one sufferin’ here.”

Spy only laughs, and her grin stays in place when she pulls the hem up slightly. Apparently Sniper had taken a butcher's knife to her legs. Spy can see several missed spots and a thin line of hair at the back of Sniper’s calf, along with tiny little knicks that haven’t had the time to scab over yet.

“Trouble with the razor?” Spy asks, amused, even with the simmering heat in her, “Or did you have to use the kukri?”

“Aw, c’mon. It’ll do, right? So what if I missed a couple of spots. Ain’t no one gonna look at my gams,” Sniper complains. “Don’t make me go back to the showers.”

Spy glances up, leveling Sniper with a stare of disbelief. She heroically doesn’t mention that Sniper is at least three quarters leg, and very good legs, once moisturized and smooth. Somewhat smooth, at any rate. She runs a palm down the calf, stopping when she sees a thin line of blood trailing from a shallow razor cut.

“You’re bleeding,” she notes.

Before Sniper can grumble any further, Spy bends down, tilting her head to lick the running drop of blood. Sniper’s leg tenses in her hands, muscles shifting.

“Spy…”

“I don’t want it to stain your pretty dress,” Spy replies, lips against her skin. It still doesn’t explain the slow line of kisses she leaves behind, hardly necessary to wipe away blood or clean a cut, but Sniper goes quiet. She holds Sniper by the calf and beneath the ankle, her grip gentle before tightening in question.

Sniper uses one hand to grab the doorframe. She finally blushes as she grudgingly lifts her leg, the flat of her heel coming up to rest against Spy’s folded thigh with the faintest wobble.

“I ain’t taking this bloody dress off until the mission’s done,” Sniper growls in warning. “Had a hard enough time wrestling it on.”

Spy flashes her a hungry smile, almost dizzy when she has to look so very up to meet Sniper’s glare.

“Oh, we’ll keep it on,” she replies, and ducks under the dress.

---

[Part 1] | [Part 2] | [Part 3]

[lovelytsunoda]

the end of an era (and the start of a new one) (iv) // platonic! mercedes amg

summary: toto gives y/n the final verdict on her future with mercedes amg, and the results are better than she ever could have imagined.

pairing: platonic! mercedes amg petronas x female reader

warnings: this is actually the first installment of the series that doesn’t have any wow look at that-

author's note: here's a quick little chapter checking up on baby merc! this may seem like the end, but i promise it's not. im going to try my hardest to continue baby merc's story <3

the bowling alley was loud, and y/n had already broken a nail twice.

not that she minded, because for all she knew, this could be the last team outing that she was ever invited on. her field placement was coming to a close, and toto had never given her a final answer on where she was going next.

or if she was going anywhere at all. in a perfect world, she'd be staying with these people that she now called family. in the real world, life wasn't that simple.

but she could hope.

"george, you slimy cheating bastard!" she laughed, watching the briton score another strike. "come on, there's no way you're winning with that strong a lead."

"read it and weep, baby merc!" george laughed, taking a dramatic bow.

bowling had been lewis' idea. typically, taking the team bowling was something he did in japan. but with all the people leaving mercedes at the end of this season, he wanted to make sure they all got to be included in the team bonding ritual.

"every day you surprise me more and more." peter bonnington chuckled. "y/n, it's your go!"

"how am i supposed to match up to mr. posh spice over there?" she laughed, pointing at george before walking over to the ball machine. "i sacrificed a wonderful home manicure for this."

she bowled, taking half the pins out in one go, and all but two in the second. bowling had never been her strong suit, and normally she would have complained. but she found that her friendship with the team had grown and fostered so much that they could make even cleaning a bathroom a more enjoyable task.

she'd be really upset if she needed to let them go, that's for sure.

games finished (george had won, of course), the team sat around a big metal table (she felt like a character in a john hughes movie, but without the romantic interest. olli had texted her a few times since the holiday party, but she had continued to shoot him down), baskets of french fries, chicken tenders and a large salad for lewis in front of them.

it was bittersweet, with so many people leaving the team, and toto was the first to say so when he got up to give a speech.

"it's been a long season. the car was shit, but we made it work. we're also losing some valued members of this team. angela. nyck. james. you will forever be remembered, and know that you always have a home at mercedes if you want it."

the table started clapping as toto finished. y/n was going to miss nyck, but he'd still be around. just at a different team. she'd miss angela, but the physiotherapist would always be one phone call away if she needed her.

the three in question sat on one side of the table, teary eyed and grateful for the send-off.

"additionally, we have some new faces joining us for 2023 that i am very excited for you to meet." toto grinned. "i'd like to welcome our new reserve driver, mick schumacher."

next to y/n, mick blushed, trying to hide as the table cheererd for him, a tina turner song playing over the stereo as y/n laughed, pulling him in for a side hug.

"and, this comes as no surprise to any of us, on behalf of the mercedes amg petronas f1 team, i would like to formally offer our new intern, y/n y/l/n a permanent spot on the team for the 2023 and 2024 seasons. if you'll have us."

if the cheers for mick were loud, the cheers for y/n were louder. she was frozen, halfway to tears before she snapped out of it, lewis' hand on her shoulder as he congratulated her.

"we knew you could do it."

"thanks, lew." she beamed, giving the world champion a proper hug. "i love you guys. tahnks for letting me stay."

"don't thank us." nyck laughed. "thank toto. he's the one who made the final decision. but it was a no-brainer. you were going to stay anyways."

getting out of her chair, y/n crossed the table to throw her arms around toto wolff. the man was shocked at first, but eased into it, wrapping the younger girl in his arms.

"thank you, toto."

"welcome to the family, y/n." toto laughed. "we're lucky to have you."

and that's when she knew she found it. the family that she had always been looking for.

and she knew that she was going to be okay. for real, this time.

because true family are the friends that you make along the way.

[starrycassi]

The fact that there seems to be no schools on Zaun is so fucking sad. Like why is Silco doing allat to "better Zaun" instead of installing like two public schools. Baby get those children of the mines and start teaching them about the french revolution and I ASSURE YOU that you'll get an independent nation in no time. There's no one more radicalized that oppressed people realizing that populations before them HAVE managed to change their status in story. Like the week we covered this specific topic in class my group became completely different. We managed to get more budget for half of our activities. Actually made a formal complaint with signatures and all for a horrible teacher. Managed to get the principal to allow us to bring a DJ for prom (mind you this was a catholic, all-girls type of school)

EDUCATE THE CHILDREEEEEN. SILCOOOOO. GIVE THOSE FUCKERS ALGEBRA HOMEWORK.

Yes I know systemic issues and at the end is all piltover's fault but silco my darling dearest I assure you funding a school would be cheaper than those goddamn shimmer suits. ALSO he could've manipulated the next generation via completely modifying the curriculum! Like, Silco! Hear me out! This would give you control over most of the kids in the fucking place. Even if not all of the show up to class, you only need ONE of them spreading the bullshit you feed them to their friends who will spew it to their friends who will- one kid is enough!! Now imagine a hundred of them. You can actually poison families from the fucking inside.

Why do "villains" never go for the schools. Especially patient ones. Like give it ten years and you've got a small guerrilla. Shooting lessons instead of P.E. Get your goons to train them. Like you could be SO much more powerful. It would skew the public's perception of him. He could pull a "It was ME who brought education to the children of Zaun. I stand for its progress. Will you stand with us, too?" And people would EAT IT UUUUUP

[whencyclopedia]

Blitzkrieg

Blitzkrieg ('lightning war') is a military tactic combining air and land forces deployed at speed against the enemy's weaker points while the rear lines are simultaneously disrupted by acts of sabotage and bombing. Speed, concentration, and surprise are designed to psychologically overwhelm the enemy, wreck its command structure, and cause a total collapse without having to completely destroy the enemy.

Blitzkrieg was developed from earlier tactics in the 19th century, where armed forces such as artillery and cavalry were used in concentration and deployed at pace, but the first successful use with mechanised weapons was by the German armed forces during the Spanish Civil War (1936-39) and, on a much larger scale, in the first years of the Second World War (1939-45). The tactic continues to be employed in modern warfare.

Origins

The Prussian general Carl von Clausewitz (1780-1831) is often credited with pioneering the idea of Blitzkrieg in his book On War, published posthumously in 1832. The army of Prussia deployed forces in concentration and with an emphasis on speed during the Napoleonic Wars (1803-15). Clausewitz also emphasised the importance of launching attacks on enemy forces which, through sheer power of numbers, speed, and surprise, would negatively affect them in psychological terms. Another advantage of the tactic is that it can be used by relatively small armies, such as Prussia's of that period, to counterbalance an enemy's numerical advantage.

A further development came in the 1920s with the ideas of the commander of the German Army, General Hans von Seeckt (1866-1936). Seeckt led an army which was then limited in size (100,000 men) by the Treaty of Versailles, which had formally concluded the First World War (1939-45). To overcome a size disadvantage compared to other European armies, Seeckt emphasised speed and mobility in field tactics, even if Germany was forbidden to possess both tanks and aircraft for military purposes. To get around the restriction, Seeckt used mock-ups and sent units to the USSR for secret training. The idea of using combined arms, that is, mobile infantry, armoured vehicles, mobile artillery, and aircraft in such a way that disrupted and penetrated enemy lines was not unique to Germany as it was also endorsed by such military strategists in Britain as Major-General J. F. C. Fuller (1878-1966) and Basil Liddell Hart (1895-1970). It was the German Army, though, that would be the first to use the Blitzkrieg tactics in practice.

Hans von Seeckt

Musvage (CC BY-SA)

The term Blitzkrieg, meaning 'lightning war' because of the emphasis on speed, "has been attributed to Hitler, and was probably coined for intimidation purposes" (Dear, 109). The historian A. Gilbert suggests that Adolf Hitler (1889-1945), the leader of Nazi Germany, first used the term Blitzkrieg in a political speech in 1935. Hitler was intent on expanding German-controlled territory. The Blitzkrieg tactic perfectly suited Germany's armed forces, which were smaller than some of its rivals in numbers in 1939 but much more modern in terms of equipment. Technology such as radios (including inside tanks) and telephone lines, which could be quickly laid in new areas, allowed commanders to maintain contact with their forward troops or even to personally join those forward units while still being able to direct the rest of the army. The training of German officers emphasised independent decision-making, which also helped increase the speed of troop movements in the field since orders could be adapted to the needs of the situation at hand.

The commanders of the French Army, in contrast to all this mobility, were still disposed to emphasise static defences such as the Maginot Line. Tanks were part of the French Army, but these were deployed as a backup to the static defences and were not part of aggressive, attack-focussed tactics. In many ways, the French and British commanders were still sitting on their laurels of victory from WWI. In that war, trench battles had been typical. WWI was a conflict of attrition, that is, the aim was to use superior numbers to wear down an enemy by eliminating its soldiers at a rate faster than one lost one's own troops. Blitzkrieg, on the other hand, had an entirely different objective, as here explained by the historian B. Pitt:

The basic principle behind the Blitzkrieg technique is that it is simpler, easier, and cheaper to reduce the strength of an enemy army by starvation (cutting off its supplies) or by paralysis (destroying its High Command or cutting its communication and control lines) than by battering it to a bloody pulp.

(Liddell Hart, 19-20)

Continue reading...

[mareastrorum]

So my sister had her wedding and asked guests to dress art deco black tie. Which is essentially 1920s glam but floor length. She never does extra fancy stuff, and I normally don’t do dresses, but it’s her wedding, so I decided to glam it up. The bridesmaids were all deep green, and the maid of honor had the glammiest smoking lounge dress with a blinged out gold thigh strap to show through the slit. My mom found a deep blue velvet dress with a drop waist, my brother did a formal suit with the loudest purple shirt and accents he could find, and I found this (all second hand or on sale):

I chose the shoes because t-straps were popular in the 20s. When we all got our nails done, I got black French tips. My family is Mexican, so we always wear skulls and such in October and November. The wedding even had an ofrenda for all the family members who didn’t make it; all my jewelry was from them: black pearls, garnets, and opals.

DUDE. EVERYONE ELSE JUST DID BLACK TIE. NO ONE BOTHERED TO DO ART DECO. THIS WAS A WEDDING WHERE YOU SIMPLY COULD NOT OVERDRESS, AND THEY WERE ALL COWARDS.

YOU HAD THE CHANCE TO SERVE CUNT WITH A PROFESSIONAL PHOTOGRAPHER YOU DIDN’T PAY FOR AND YOU WASTED IT.

I DON’T EVEN DOLL UP IN GENERAL. I STILL READ THE ASSIGNMENT.

Anyway, that’s how I knew who was from California and who was from Seattle.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Here's a 2007 home in the middle of the Montrose, CO desert. Gee, it must be pitch dark here at night. I see only a few fixtures on the outside of the home. It looks like there's a garage that accommodates a truck or RV. 2bds, 3ba, 4.108 sq ft, $1.775m. Let's go inside.

In the entrance hall there's a large staircase straight ahead, surrounded by faux finished walls.

Open concept family room/kitchen. The family room is in the corner with a corner fireplace. The beamed ceiling runs throughout the home and there are large windows with a view of the terrace and desert in this main living area.

The kitchen and dining areas are very large.

Nice wood cabinetry and quartz counters. I like the arched pantry door. (We will see that I was wrong and it's not a pantry.)

There's a display shelf above the cabinet (dust collector). I like the arched ceiling over a staircase next to the kitchen.

Facing the family room.

The dining table. Oddly, there doesn't seem to be a formal dining room.

So, my "pantry" door opens to a very large TV room off the main area and it has French doors to the terrace, plus a big mural that I think is a tribute to the old Bird Cage Theater in Tombstone, AZ.

This is kind of nice, the way these room arches are staggered. The rooms look like dens and children's play rooms, etc.

And, here we have the very orange primary bedroom. It has a mini kitchen w/a large display niche above.

There's a multi-room en-suite. (Can you imagine how many gallons of gold paint they used on this interior?) Got 2 niches up there. You'd have to get a rolling ladder to dust this place.

The terrace around most of the home has a view of the vast desert. It has a 36.50 Acre lot.

Here we have an Astro Turf yard and patio w/a fountain.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/19754-Dave-Wood-Rd-Montrose-CO-81403/111204477_zpid/

[secretagentspydetectiveninja]

(Alright, going to stop procrastinating and finally make this post.) After playing through the new trilogy in French to see what was different, here are some things about the French localisation of Spirit of Justice I thought you should know:

First of all, I usually like the French and English versions of the games equally. This marks the first time I've actually enjoyed the French version... more than the English one?? Especially Turnabout Revolution? Don't get me wrong, I already loved it in English, but I think the next time I replay it I'll actively choose French. Idk man it just hits different when a bunch of French people are talking about revolution and overthrowing the tyrannical regime etc

Oh yes, speaking of which, yes, the "Japanifornia" parts of the game take place in Paris, France, as usual. No, I have no idea how Kurain village can be next to the mountains and also the sea while also being in the vicinity of Paris. I also don't know why the entire population of a small country in the Himalayas are fluent in French and use it on a daily basis. But seriously, the main characters mention SO OFTEN that they're French and from France, like, all the fricking time. Remember the incredibly Japanese rakugo case? Imagine that taking place in France.

The Khura'inese pun names are hysterical in French. An example that English speakers can get too: the first culprit's name in French is Sterh'uey Tu'heiven. I'm not making this up. That's his name.

RAYFA'S FRENCH VOICE ACTUALLY SOUNDS LIKE A TEENAGER INSTEAD OF A 30 YEAR OLD, THANK THE HOLY MOTHER

Unfortunately the Holy Mother giveth, but she also taketh away, and they gave Nahyuta a crunchy old man voice that doesn't suit his ethereal appearance at all...

Athena has now added German and Italian to her random English and Spanish phrases from the prev game. I mean... it made sense before, since she was meant to have lived in the USA in this version, but now I guess she just does it for fun? Who knows

French Roger Retinz uses €50 notes (euros) to fan himself instead of dollar bills

Inga's full name is "Inga Karkhuul Kel Nomh Bowkhou Tro'lon Pohm'peu Eh'Duhr Apronh Ons'ai Khura'in III" ("quel nom beaucoup trop long, pompeux et dur à prononcer")

Nahyuta's nickname in French is just "Yuta"

Ema and Apollo now use informal pronouns for each other, so do Ema and Trucy now, Maya starts using informal pronouns for Apollo from almost the first moment she meets him (though he uses formal pronouns for her lmao), and yes Dhurke and Apollo use informal pronouns with each other the whole time, even when things are awkward at the start. Rayfa and her mother always use formal pronouns for each other, which is a little depressing.

AS FOR NAHYUTA AND APOLLO... HOHOHO. Obviously they're both using "vous" (formal) in court, but in the scene afterwards Apollo switches to "tu" (informal) when he asks Nahyuta if he remembers him. Later in Turnabout Revolution, Apollo has gone back to vous but he's at least saying "Nahyuta" rather than "Prosecutor Sahdmadhi" or whatever (I think that happened in the English version too). Then during the final trial, after that one insanely angsty scene, Apollo starts using tu again and even (internally) uses the nickname Yuta once! Nahyuta eventually starts referring to him as Apollo and starts using tu after finally openly acknowledging Apollo as his family aaauuuuuugh ;o;

(Listen Apollo usually always tries to be formal and professional in court so this is a big deal!!! It's a big deal to me at least!!!!!!!!!)

In the English version there were a few times our good ol' American Apollo had a sort of "haha I'm just a foreigner I don't know anything here" vibe which... no you're not lol. The French version didn't have that (or at least toned it down a lot) and made him feel less like a tourist and more like an immigrant returning to his old home country with complex feelings, which he is. It makes it more personal that he's the one to bring about the revolution imo -- he's not some random foreigner swooping in to save the day, this is his home and his family, he belongs here. (As an immigrant myself I find aspects of him relatable and will defend his Khura'inese backstory to the death DON'T TEST ME)

The "what's crack-a-lackin' homie" line in all its glory: