#dapper x Instagram

[nixotinix]

YOWZA WOWZA it's been a while! My MH spark died down for a bit in favour of my OCs and goddamned Papa Louie if you can believe it, but my monster high hyperfixation eventually came back and came back swinging! It definitely helps that I recently got some new supplies that Ive never played with before... paint pens! They're so much fun to use and I've been cranking out art at an absolutely ungodly speed because of them. So here's some of that art!

I only have 8 colours of paint pen as of right now bc im poor but like if anybody wanted to buy me some more ahaha just joking (unless....)

Anyways enjoy!

[pucksandpower]

Too Sweet

Toto Wolff x Reader

Max Verstappen x ex!Reader

Summary: Max used to think that you’re too sweet for him … now he has to learn to live with the fact that Toto has quite a sweet tooth (inspired by the song that I’ve had on repeat)

I take my whiskеy neat

The doors to the upscale restaurant swing open and Max strides through, his fingers lightly grazing the small of your back as he guides you inside. The dimly lit interior is bustling with the chatter of well-heeled patrons enjoying their evening repasts. A sharply dressed hostess greets you with a polite smile.

“Good evening, sir. Welcome to The Sazerac Room. Do you have a reservation?”

“Verstappen,” Max replies curtly.

The hostess consults her tablet, then nods. “Right this way please.”

She leads the two of you through the elegant dining room, weaving between tables topped with crisp white linens and elaborate floral centerpieces. Max keeps his hand at your back, his thumb idly stroking in a soothing pattern as you take in the opulent surroundings with wide eyes.

“This place is incredible,” you murmur, craning your neck to admire the ornate chandeliers glittering overhead. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

He simply grunts in acknowledgment as the hostess stops before an intimate table tucked discreetly in the corner. After pulling out your chair for you with a flourish, she sets two leather-bound menus on the table.

“Your server will be right with you,” she informs them before departing with a polite nod.

You waste no time in opening your menu, hungrily perusing the offerings. “Oh Max, look at all these amazing cocktails! The La Vie en Rose sounds divine — rose liqueur, raspberries, lemon ...” You glance up at him hopefully. “We should get a couple of those to start.”

Max barely glances at his own menu before shaking his head. “I’ll just have a whiskey neat.”

Your face falls slightly at his brusque response. “Are you sure? These all look so good! We should live a little and try something fun for once.”

He fixes you with a stern look from across the table. “You know I don’t like frilly drinks. Now stop pestering me about it.”

Chastened by his harsh tone, you lapse into a wounded silence and continue reading the menu with diminished enthusiasm. A few moments later, a dapper middle-aged gentleman in a crisp suit appears at your table.

“Good evening, and welcome to The Sazerac Room. My name is William and I’ll be your server this evening.” With a polite smile, he produces a notepad from his breast pocket. “May I start you off with something to drink?”

You glance back at Max, giving him one last chance to change his mind. When he simply gazes back at you impassively, you sigh. “I’ll have the La Vie en Rose cocktail, please.”

William jots down your order before turning to Max expectantly.

“Whiskey neat,” Max says flatly. “Redbreast 27 Year, if you have it.”

“An excellent choice, sir.” William makes a note. “And may I bring you both some bread from our bakery while you decide on your meals?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” you reply gratefully.

William departs to place the drink orders, leaving you and Max alone once more. An awkward silence stretches between you, filled only by the tinkle of silverware and murmurs of conversation from surrounding tables.

Finally, you try again. “Max, are you sure I can’t tempt you with one little sip? This La Vie en Rose cocktail sounds absolutely divine. You might lov-”

“For fuck’s sake!” Max suddenly explodes, slamming his menu down on the table hard enough to rattle the cutlery. “How many times do I have to tell you I don’t want any of your ridiculous fruity bullshit? I’m a fucking race car driver, not some ridiculous Instagram model trying to look pretty with my drink.”

His nostrils flare as he leans across the table, eyes flashing with irritation that you would dare continue to push the issue. “I’ve had a long fucking day and I am going to drink whatever the fuck I want. So order your stupid fucking girly cocktail if you must, but don’t act so goddamn disappointed and keep shoving it in my face when I say no.”

You shrink back in your chair, eyes widening with hurt at his enraged outburst. The crestfallen look on your face is enough to douse Max’s fury like a bucket of ice water. He slumps back, remorse already stirring as he witnesses the light dimming in your eyes, lips trembling ever so slightly as you blink back sudden tears.

“I … I was just excited to try something new together,” you whisper shakily. “But never mind. You’re right, I’m sorry.”

The arrival of William with a basket of assorted breads and your glittering pink cocktail garnished with raspberries provides a merciful distraction from the tension.

You immediately reach for the drink, wrapping your hands around the delicate stemmed glass and taking a large gulp — both to avoid making eye contact with Max and to sample your coveted libation.

A look of bliss softens your features as the tart, sugary concoction bursts across your taste buds. “Mmm, this is incredible!”

For a beat, Max can’t help but drink in your look of pure enjoyment — the way your eyes flutter closed in delight, pink lips quirking into a contented smile as you savor each sip. It simultaneously tugs at his heartstrings and fills him with an irrational stab of resentment.

Here you are, sweet and radiant, able to find joy in the simplest of things … while he is just a miserable bastard who can’t let himself enjoy anything without getting irrationally angry.

You deserve so much better than him.

The thought is sobering and he feels shame burn hot in his gut. Unconsciously, his shoulders slump as he watches you take another euphoric sip of your cocktail.

“I knew it, this is amazing,” you sigh happily, seemingly recovered from his earlier tantrum as you bask in the deliciousness of your drink. “Max, you have to try just one little-”

“No.” The refusal is automatic, the word slicing through your offer before he can think better of it.

Your face shutters once more, the bright light in your eyes dimming as your smile fades into resignation. With a soft exhale, you set your glass down and reach for the bread basket instead.

“Suit yourself, then.”

As you silently butter a roll, Max finds himself at a rare loss, anger dissipating into regret as the knot in his stomach tightens painfully. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration after his impressive win on the track, a chance for the two of you to enjoy each other’s company and make more happy memories together.

Instead, he’s gone and ruined the mood … again … just like he always does.

***

“Another round?” Checo’s voice cuts through the sound of laughter and chatter around the table.

Max glances up distractedly from pushing the remaining bits of food around his plate. He, Checo, and a few other members of the Red Bull team are celebrating a successful Monaco Grand Prix. Despite making the podium, Max’s mind hasn’t really been on the festivities.

“I’m all set, thanks,” he mutters, raising his glass of whiskey with a tight smile before taking a sip. His gaze drifts across the opulent dining room of Cipriani Monte Carlo, idly scanning the crowd of wealthy patrons enjoying their evening meals.

That’s when his eyes catch on a shockingly familiar figure.

You.

Sitting at an intimate corner table, bathed in the soft glow of a candle’s flickering flame. For a moment, Max’s breath catches in his throat as a thousand bittersweet memories assault him all at once.

The hurt look on your face that night at The Sazerac Room … the resignation in your eyes as you accepted, yet again, that he would never be able to appreciate the sweet, simple pleasures that brought you such joy ...

The cold, empty silence that descended over your apartment when he finally left for good, stuffing his belongings into a duffel bag as you watched with trembling lips from across the room ...

Max blinks, and the moment passes — but his gaze remains riveted to your table. Because there, sitting across from you with adoration written across his insufferable face … is Toto Wolff.

Max feels his lips curl into an unconscious sneer as the Mercedes team principal murmurs something to you with a gentle smile, reaching across to delicately brush a lock of hair behind your ear. You catch Toto’s hand as it falls, pressing a tender kiss into his palm that makes the older man’s expression soften even further.

Your waiter arrives then, providing a momentary distraction as he lays out a couple of fresh cocktails on crisp white linen — a bright purple concoction garnished with a sugared rim and a plump cherry for you and an amber-hued old fashioned for Toto.

Your eyes light up as you take in the colorful beverage, immediately wrapping your hands around the delicate stemmed glass and bringing it to your lips to sample. A look of pure delight crosses your features as the no doubt sugary drink bursts across your taste buds.

“Mmm ...” you hum in pleasure, causing Toto to chuckle affectionately as he watches you enjoy the first reveling sips.

Setting your glass down, you gesture enthusiastically toward it as you address Toto. “This is incredible! You have to try it.”

Without hesitation, the Mercedes team boss dutifully leans across the table to take a long pull from your straw. Max watches with a mixture of disgust and morbid fascination as Toto’s expression morphs into one of surprised enjoyment.

“Wow, that is quite good, isn’t it?” Toto remarks with an indulgent grin, licking a telltale dab of purple syrup from the corner of his mouth.

“I told you!” You crow in delight, eyes sparkling with unrestrained glee.

The pure joy radiating from you in that moment is enough to make Max’s heart clench in his chest. He has seen that look before, so many times — whenever he deigned to let go of his surly demeanor for even a moment and actually indulge whatever fleeting whim or simple pleasure you desired to share with him.

But it was always so short-lived with him, stamped out by his own stubborn refusal to truly embrace anything resembling happiness or frivolity. You deserved so much more than his constant scowling and gruff rebuffs.

As if reading his thoughts, Toto then leans across the table to tenderly capture your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. The gentle intimacy of it makes Max’s gut churn as a feeling too complicated to fully unpack blossoms in his chest.

When you finally part, both of you are smiling at each other with such open, unguarded adoration that it’s almost obscene to witness. Toto reaches out to cradle your face in his palm as your lips find his once more in another chaste, loving caress.

This time, when you pull away, you let your head loll back with a look of pure bliss. Something deep within Max cracks and splinters at the sight. In a haze, he finds himself drifting back through the churning currents of memory ...

… that last, fateful shouting match in your living room, both of you red-faced and furious as the dam holding back all the anger and resentment and accusations that had been building for months finally burst ...

… you weeping silently as you clutched a meager trash bag containing what little remained of his belongings, not even able to look at him for fear of collapsing completely ...

… “I’m too sweet for you, Max. You’ve made that perfectly clear.”

The acid words burn in his mind even now, feeling as fresh and raw as that night they were spat out like venom between you. His chest constricts as his gaze falls guiltily back to the present day scene in front of him.

Toto and you, basking in the warm, rosy glow of new love — careless and unrestrained in your public affection. Delighting in each other’s company and simple pleasures … just as you always desired for Max to do, yet he could never fully surrender to.

The display is like a twisted mirror, taunting him with the vibrant reflection of what he threw away. What he was too foolish, too emotionally stunted and uncaring to fully appreciate at the time.

Stumbling from his chair in a daze, Max barely registers the questioning looks and concerned murmurs from his team as he staggers from the dining room. He hardly makes it to the privacy of the restroom before bending at the waist, hefting the contents of his stomach into the thankfully pristine porcelain basin.

The whiskey burns on the way back up.

Max grips the edges of the counter, face contorted in anguish as a realization washes over him in searing waves.

You were the real prize all along … and now, he’s lost you for good.

My coffee black

The drone of announcements over the PA system and the dull roar of hundreds of people bustling to and fro mingles into an ever-present white noise hum. Max trudges ahead, the brim of his ball cap tugged low as he weaves through the teeming crowds filing through the airports’ terminals.

It’s just after 5 am, the start of another grueling race week. This time the travel will take you from the Middle Eastern leg of the circuit to the other side of the world in Australia. Twenty-plus hours of planes, layovers, and jet lag beckon — a prospect that grows less and less appealing with each passing season.

A warm weight presses against his side as you shuffle along beside him, head lolling adorably as you struggle to keep your eyes open. One slender hand is looped through the crook of his elbow, gripping the strap of your carry-on bag with the other. You let out a jaw-cracking yawn, leaning into Max’s solid bulk.

“I need coffee,” you mumble groggily. “I’m barely conscious.”

He shoots you a sidelong glance, mouth quirking ever-so-slightly at your dramatics. As grating as your tendency for excessive cheerfulness can be at times, he does admire your ability to shake off the fatigue and stress that plagues him more and more these days.

“There’s one of those chains up ahead,” he grunts, nodding toward the familiar logo peeking through from around the corner.

You light up immediately, straightening and quickening your shuffling steps in anticipation of the caffeinated boost soon to come. By the time you reach the counter, there’s a bright spark back in your eyes that makes the exhaustion plaguing Max’s own limbs feel slightly more bearable.

The barista, a pimple-faced youth who can’t be any older than 18, greets you with a too-wide smile. “Welcome to Daily Grind! What can I get started for you?”

You lean in eagerly, surveying the massive display of chalkboard signs advertising the latest sugar bombs and “coffee” concoctions designed to appease the basic palates of everyday people who wouldn’t know a good cup of joe if it slapped them across the face. Max scowls, already anticipating some ridiculously saccharine order.

“I’ll have a large cinnamon honey oat milk latte, please,” you chirp, as expected.

The barista marks down your request with a perky nod. “Excellent! And for you, sir?”

“Black coffee,” Max replies flatly. “Medium.”

Your brow furrows as you shoot him a quizzical look. “Just black coffee? Not even a splash of cream or anything?”

He shakes his head tersely, one hand already rummaging in his pocket for his wallet as the barista rattles off the total. “We’re in a rush as it is, and that sugary nonsense you ordered takes forever to make with all the fussy bullshit they do to it.”

You wince at his blunt assessment, shoulders slumping a bit in a way that makes a pang of guilt flicker through Max’s chest. He doesn’t mean to be so harsh … but sometimes it’s like the more considerate side of his nature has been ground away by years of constant training and calculating every single variable down to the most minute detail.

The poor kid working the register seems to shrink under the intensity of Max’s gruff demeanor. With shaky hands, he quickly processes the payment before stammering out your total. As you shuffle off to the side to wait for your orders, Max can’t help but keep picking.

“Honestly, I don’t know why you insist on ordering those stupid drinks that are 90% milk and trash,” he mutters, shooting you a disapproving look. “Barely any actual coffee at all.”

You frown, immediately hunching into yourself a bit as you cradle a handful of napkins against your chest. “It’s not like that coffee flavor isn’t there at all,” you argue meekly. “And I have to get some kind of caffeine boost to stay awake during all these flights and race weekends. I just … I don’t really like the taste of black coffee.”

Max scoffs loudly at that, shaking his head in open derision. “Sure, because drinking just regular black coffee like an adult would be too difficult. Instead you have to get your ‘caffeine boost’ from some tooth-rottingly sweet concoction that looks like something a child would order.”

The barista shifts uncomfortably behind the counter, clearly flustered by Max’s abrasive tone. Not that he cares — he’s been dealing with people gawking at him in public for years now. What does rub him the wrong way is the wounded look spreading across your delicate features, eyes dropping to stare dejectedly at the floor.

He opens his mouth to continue chiding you, but at that moment the barista appears with your drinks. The sweet, cinnamony aroma of your order hits Max’s nostrils like a slap in the face, making his nose wrinkle on instinct. You accept your oversized paper cup gratefully, hands automatically curling around the comforting warmth.

With visible enthusiasm, you bring the drink to your lips, unable to resist taking a sip despite the scalding temperature. Max tracks the minute changes in your expression — the slight widening of your eyes, the upward quirk of your lips into a smile of unalloyed contentment. Your lashes flutter closed on a quiet hum of blissful appreciation.

“Mmm … heaven,” you practically moan, hunching over your cup as though to better inhale the revitalizing notes of sugar and spice.

It makes Max want to retch, watching you so unashamedly indulging in such vapid, artificial flavors. How can you find such simple-minded pleasure in that, when you could be savoring the bold, robust notes of a proper cup of black coffee? One meant to awaken the senses and caress the taste buds with its smoky aroma and rich, nuanced flavor notes.

“You can’t honestly get any enjoyment from basically drinking hot milk and flavored syrups,” he mutters, sneering at the offensive beverage in your grasp.

In response, you simply shift closer to him until you’re pressed alongside his body. Your free hand snakes around his bicep, squeezing gently as you tilt your head back to gaze up at him imploringly. Exhaustion and hurt war openly with the angelic softness of your delicate features.

“Max … can’t you just let me enjoy this?” You plead in a low murmur. “It’s early, and we’ve got a long flight ahead.”

His jaw clenches stubbornly, unwilling to back down so easily. Caffeine and sleep deprivation have eroded his already thin sense of decorum.

“I’m just saying, drinking a syrupy dessert drink loaded with sugar and god knows what else isn’t doing you any favors. You might as well just stick to black coffee like a normal adult if you want to be awake and energized.”

The wounded look in your eyes deepens into something more somber and resigned. Slowly, you pull away from Max’s side until a noticeable distance stretches between your bodies. Something inside him shrivels at the loss of contact. Your slender fingers work feverishly at the cup’s lid until it pops off with a dull thunk.

Max stares blankly as you march over to the nearest trash can and upend the contents of your cup into the receptacle. You don’t even seem to hesitate — simply turn on your heel and hurl the now-empty cup in after the wasted drink. It clatters hollowly against the canister, mocking and empty.

When you turn back to face Max, the sight makes the now-lukewarm coffee sitting neglected in his own cup feels like a lead weight in his gut. Your arms are wrapped protectively around yourself, hunched against some unseen foe. Head bowed, you refuse to meet his gaze as you slowly make your way back over to where he stands rooted to the spot in stunned silence.

It’s only as you draw up beside him that Max notices the twin tear tracks striping your cheeks. Your chin remains stubbornly trembling, but you make no move to wipe at the tears now falling freely. Max’s chest constricts almost painfully at the sight of your misery, the guilt gnawing at him as the reality sets in.

He is the reason for it. His harsh, uncompromising tongue has wounded you in one of the cruelest ways once again. Too strict, too unyielding, too incapable of allowing even the smallest indulgences that bring you simple joy without sneering dismissal.

For several agonizing moments, the two of you stand in silence amid the milling crowds of travelers streaming past. Max can’t bring himself to meet your gaze, knowing he’ll only find the depths of his own callous thoughtlessness reflected back at him in your swimming eyes.

Finally, you release a shuddering sigh that sounds far too weighted for someone of your sweetness and light. When you speak, your voice is little more than a tremulous murmur laced with dejection.

“Let’s just go to the gate, Max.”

You brush past him without another word, leaving him to trail numbly in your wake as shame burns a hole through his gut. He watches as your form disappears into the throngs, shoulders already beginning to hunch inward as that spark of happiness in you gutters and fades.

Lingering behind, Max’s gaze falls to the empty cup lying crumpled and discarded in the trash. A reminder of yet another instance where his unchecked tongue and inability to empathize has spoiled an innocent attempt at simple pleasure.

His coffee suddenly tastes like ash on his tongue.

As he moves to dump the neglected drink into the nearby basin, Max wonders with a sinking feeling just how many more times he’ll be able to snuff out your light before it dwindles to nothing.

***

The late morning sun bears down with oppressive force, causing a mirage-like haze to shimmer over the sweltering asphalt of the paddock. Despite being early summer, the Spanish air is already thick and heavy enough to bathe Max’s skin in a sheen of perspiration as he trudges toward the Red Bull Energy Station.

Ahead, he spots a cluster of people milling aimlessly near the entrance to the Mercedes motorhome. At the center appears to be you, head tilted back in unrestrained laughter at something George Russell is regaling you with. The British driver is equally animated, pale features scrunched up in exaggerated motions as he relays what is no doubt an amusing tale.

Max feels his steps gradually slow of their own accord as he takes you in from a distance. You seem utterly at ease and in your element — cheeky grin splitting your face, one hand toying idly with the ends of your hair as your eyes crinkle with unbridled mirth.

A pure vision of effortless contentment.

His gut clenches unexpectedly, unbidden memories of how he methodically chipped away at that very lightness in you until it was all but extinguished washing over him in a nauseating wave. How quickly he took such simple joys for granted ...

So transfixed is he by the sight of your open, honest amusement that Max barely notices the figure slipping up behind you. Not until Toto Wolff raises a conspiratorial finger to his lips, eyes twinkling impishly as he pantomimes for silence at a sputtering George.

You remain oblivious even as the Mercedes team principal slides flush against your back, looping one arm around your waist to tug you snug against his chest. With his free hand, Toto cups it teasingly over your eyes — to which you release a tinkling peal of laughter.

“Guess who?” The playful lilt of the older man’s Austrian lilt is unmistakable, dripping with honeyed warmth.

“Hmm … I wonder,” you murmur coyly, making a show of tapping your chin in feigned confusion. “Is it a dashing gentleman caller here to sweep me off my feet?”

Toto chuckles deeply in your ear, the sound positively dripping with unguarded affection. “Only if you’ll have me, liebling.”

Craning your head back with a cheeky grin, your arms instinctively wind around his neck as you stretch up on your tiptoes to greet him properly. Toto meets your lips in a lingering, languid kiss that has George hastily clearing his throat and looking resolutely anywhere but at the affectionate display before him.

When you finally part, all radiant smiles and flushed cheeks, it’s like the rest of the world has completely fallen away. Toto gazes down at you with such pure adoration that Max feels his throat constrict as though a belt is suddenly cinched tight around it.

“I have a surprise for you, schnucki,” Toto murmurs huskily, lips brushing your temple as he speaks.

You light up like a kid on Christmas morning, practically vibrating with excitement at his words. “Oh? Do tell!”

With a wink and roguish smile, Toto brandishes his other hand from behind his back — in it, clutched protectively, is a large cup topped with whipped cream and what looks like edible flower petals sprinkled over the top. The light purple hue of the iced contents catches in the bright sun, refracting a prism of soft, delicate colors.

“I had the barista in our hospitality whip this up for you,” Toto explains fondly. “After I mentioned how much you enjoy trying unique coffee flavors. It’s a lavender vanilla iced latte.”

Your mouth drops open in a perfect ‘o’ of delight as you instinctively make grabby motions toward the tantalizing beverage. Max recognizes that earnest enthusiasm all too well. It’s the same look you used to get whenever presented with any unique taste or experience to appreciate.

A look he always met with disdain and scorn.

Toto doesn’t hesitate for a second before depositing the cup into your greedy hands. You immediately cradle it reverently, as though it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever held. Ducking your head, you take a long pull through the striped paper straw.

The expression that blossoms across your features as that first taste bursts over your tongue is one of pure, unadulterated bliss. Your eyes flutter closed on a muffled moan of sinful enjoyment, lips pursing as though savoring each individual note of flavor. Max hasn’t seen you look that unguardedly delighted by anything in … well, he can’t actually recall the last time.

“Oh Toto, this is heavenly!” You gush, swiping your tongue across your lower lip to catch a stray drop of condensation. “The lavender is subtle, but gives it such a uniquely fresh and floral twist. And the vanilla adds this creamy sweetness that keeps it from being overwhelming.”

You open your eyes to beam radiantly up at the older man, who returns your luminous smile with equal warmth. “It’s perfect, thank you! You have to try it.”

Without prompting, you eagerly offer the cup up to Toto. He accepts it with an indulgent chuckle, locking eyes with you as he takes a contemplative sip — no doubt eager to share in whatever fleeting moment of bliss the simple drink has brought you.

Unlike Max, who would have turned up his nose and likely received it with derision, Toto seems to savor the complex blend of flavors. Humming thoughtfully, he swipes his tongue across his upper lip as though committing each separate note to memory.

“You’re quite right, liebling,” he agrees readily, “this is delightful. So refreshing for this heat. I may have to acquire a taste for these iced coffees myself.”

You positively glow at his assessment, lighting up from within like a joyful little sun. Max is helpless before the storm of emotions suddenly ripping through him at the sight.

“Oh! That reminds me,” you chirp giddily, bouncing on the balls of your feet, “I was talking to the barista about maybe incorporating some other floral syrups for iced coffees too. Like rose or hibiscus! And maybe we could get her to try making those fun layered drinks with the espresso on the bottom-”

Toto’s deep belly laugh cuts off your stream of eager rambling. Without warning, he snakes an arm around your waist and tugs you flush against him once more. You let out a startled giggle as he buries his nose in the crook of your neck, lips brushing the feverish pulse point just beneath your jaw.

“You adorable thing,” he rumbles warmly, words slightly muffled against your skin as he presses a languid line of kisses along the sharp line of your jaw. “So enthusiastic about the simplest pleasures in life ...”

Pulling back, Toto lifts one hand to tenderly cradle the side of your face. You automatically nuzzle into his palm with a look of such smitten devotion that it makes Max’s heart stutter behind his ribcage. When Toto leans in to seal his lips over yours once more, the kiss is deep and thoroughly unhurried — as though the two of you have all the time in the world to savor this intimate little moment.

Max’s hands clench into white-knuckled fists, blunt nails biting crescent moons into his clammy palms. He should turn away, leave you to your blissful display with someone who so clearly appreciates you. Yet he remains rooted in place, unable to tear his eyes from the scene unfolding before him.

It’s like witnessing an alternate universe version of your shared lives play out in vivid, scorching detail.

In this reality, Toto is the one tenderly stroking the pad of his thumb over the elegant arch of your cheekbone as the two of you part, drinking in the sight of your passion-addled features hungrily. He is the one basking in the radiance of your bright and unrestrained joy. Celebrating each of your simple thrills, from the most frivolous of flavored coffees to the sensual graze of skin on skin.

And where does that leave Max? An outsider peering in at paradise with his face smeared against the glass, watching the warmth and affection he could never fully embrace slowly slip through his calloused fingers.

And my bed at three

The mattress shifts, the subtle movement rousing Max from his slumber. He cracks one eye open to find the space next to him empty, the sheets disheveled where you had lain.

A glance at the digital clock on the nightstand tells him it’s not yet 5 am. Where are you going at this hour?

He hears faint rustling from the living area of the hotel suite, followed by the soft click of the door. Groaning, he kicks off the covers and pads out of the bedroom, the plush carpet warm beneath his bare feet.

You’re sitting on the couch, slipping into a pair of flats. “What are you doing up so early?” He asks, his voice still husky from sleep.

You look up, startled. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” A soft smile plays on your lips. “I was going to watch the sunrise.”

Max rakes a hand through his tousled hair. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Because it’s beautiful.” Your eyes sparkle with an excitement he can’t comprehend this early in the morning. “The colors, the way the light slowly creeps over the horizon — it’s just magical.”

He snorts. “It happens every day. Nothing magical about it.”

Your face falls ever so slightly, and it tugs at something in his chest. But the feeling is fleeting, replaced by annoyance at having his sleep disturbed for something so trivial. “So you didn’t want to join me, then?” You ask, almost timidly.

“And wake up before the ass-crack of dawn? No thanks.” He flops onto the couch beside you with a huff. “I was up until 3 am sim racing. Not all of us find staring at the sky such riveting entertainment.”

You say nothing, simply nodding as you avert your gaze. The light in your eyes has dimmed, and he feels a pang of guilt. But he shakes it off — it’s far too early for this kind of whimsical nonsense.

“Suit yourself,” he mutters. “I’m going back to bed.”

He doesn’t see the way your shoulders droop as he turns and trudges back towards the bedroom. Doesn’t see the tears that prick at the corners of your eyes before you blink them away and readjust the set of your jaw with determination.

Max burrows under the covers, fully intent on drifting back into oblivion. But sleep evades him, his mind buzzing with a peculiar restlessness. He punches his pillow into a more suitable shape, flips it over to the cool side, but still he lies awake, listening to the silence that fills the suite.

After what feels like an eternity, curiosity gets the better of him. He kicks off the covers once more and pads over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city street below. Sure enough, there you are, a tiny figure perched on a bench across the way, your face tipped up towards the slowly lightening sky.

Max leans his forehead against the cool glass, watching as the inky blackness of night gives way to soft shades of periwinkle and lilac. Slowly, the colors deepen into blazing pinks and vibrant oranges that streak across the heavens. The sky ignites in a brilliant blaze of crimson and gold, the clouds set afire by the rising sun.

And there you sit, bathed in the dawn’s ethereal glow, utterly transfixed. In this light, your features seem softer, more at peace than he’s seen you in a long while. A smile plays on your lips, genuine and unguarded, as you take in the spectacle unfolding before you.

Max finds himself holding his breath, as if the slightest movement might shatter the magic of this moment. He’s never seen you look more beautiful, more alive than in these fleeting minutes as day breaks over the city.

A rare pang of tenderness blooms in his chest, quickly overshadowed by a creeping sense of unease. He isn’t certain how much time has passed before the brilliant hues fade into the pale blue of morning, but eventually you rise from the bench, taking one last, lingering look at the sky before turning and disappearing from view.

Max exhales slowly, his breath fogging up the glass. He isn’t proud of how he dismissed your simple joy, that spark of wonderment at the little things that he so often takes for granted.

An emptiness settles in the pit of his stomach, the guilt heavier than before. How many other moments has he trampled on in his relentless pursuit of success?

He thinks of your radiant smile, how it lit up the pre-dawn gloom more vibrantly than the sunrise itself. With a sigh, Max turns away from the window, already dreading the apology he knows he owes you.

Because in that single, breathtaking moment, he realizes just how lucky he is to have someone like you in his life. Someone who can find magic in the mundane, beauty in the simple things he’s become blind to along the way.

Someone, Max fears, who may be too sweet for him.

***

Max gives up on sleep around 4:30 am, as he has for the past several weeks. Insomnia has become his constant, unwanted companion, leaving him tossing and turning until the first hints of dawn creep through the curtains. On nights like this, slumber remains persistently out of reach no matter how exhausted he feels.

He lies in bed, staring at the ceiling as the brightening sky slowly illuminates the room. It wasn’t always this way — he used to be able to sleep like the dead after a race weekend, knocked out by the physical and mental exertion. But lately, his mind refuses to shut off, thoughts swirling endlessly until his head pounds.

With a groan, Max kicks off the tangled sheets and drags himself out of bed. Maybe going for a run will quiet the racket in his brain, at least for a little while. He dresses quickly, lacing up his trainers and grabbing his earbuds before heading out into the semi-darkness.

The pre-dawn streets are blissfully empty as he starts off at an easy jog. He despises becoming one of those obnoxious morning people, but exhaustion has a way of stripping away one’s self-respect. If pounding the pavement before the rest of the world awakes is what it takes to catch a few hours of sleep, so be it.

His route takes him along the harbor, the gentle lapping of the waves against the seawall providing a soothing soundtrack. The first rays of sunlight glint off the glassy surface, and he finds himself averting his gaze, oddly resentful of the impending sunrise.

It wasn’t so long ago that he scoffed at your eagerness to greet each new day. But ever since you’ve been gone from his life, those brilliant, fleeting moments of beauty have begun to mock him at every turn.

He picks up his pace, as if he can outrun the rising sun and the flood of memories it brings. But there’s no escaping the vivid flashes of you, smiling radiantly as the world awakes in a blaze of fiery hues. Or the hollow ache that twinges somewhere beneath his rib cage whenever he’s reminded of just how little he appreciated you.

So lost is he in his circling thoughts that he nearly runs right into you, appearing abruptly on the path ahead. His trainers skid against the pavement as he grinds to a halt, his heart stammering in his chest.

“Max?” You blink up at him, clearly startled by his sudden presence.

He opens his mouth, an automatic apology rising to his lips — until his eyes zero in on the camera clutched in your hands. Of course. Still chasing sunrises after all these years.

A wry grin tugs at the corner of your mouth as you take in his rumpled running attire. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Max says nothing, his gaze flickering briefly towards the brightening horizon before fixing on you once more. You look … well, radiant as ever, lit by the soft morning glow. A small pang of something — longing, maybe — twists in his gut.

“Out enjoying another sunrise, I see,” he says at last, nodding towards the camera.

You glance down at it fondly. “Well, you know how it is. I have to capture them while I can.” A teasing lilt edges into your voice. “Not all of us are night owls.”

He huffs out a humorless laugh. “I’ll never understand what’s so fascinating about watching the same thing happen day after day.”

“But that’s just it — each one is different. Unique and fleeting and … breathtaking.” Your eyes spark with that gentle wonderment he remembers so well, the sight sending a tremor through his chest. “Like getting a front row seat to the greatest show on Earth, but it’s one you’ll never see again.”

You trail off with a small shake of your head, seemingly at a loss to put the feeling into words. Max doesn’t need the explanation — he’s seen that look of childlike awe on your face more times than he can count.

An awkward silence stretches between you, laden with the weight of history and unspoken apologies. You shift your stance, mouth opening as if to say something more.

But Max cuts you off before you can get the words out, unable to bear whatever sentiments might cross those sweet lips of yours. “Toto not joining you this time?” He asks gruffly.

Your expression softens into a fond smile, and it’s like a physical blow to Max’s sternum. He knows that look, has been on the receiving end of it more times than he cares to remember. The way your entire being seems to brighten when you so much as think about someone you love.

“Ah, you know Toto — he’s more of a sunset person,” you say with a light laugh. “I’ve never been able to drag his grumpy butt out of bed for a sunrise.”

Even as his insides curdle with jealousy, Max can’t help the quirk of his lips at the mental image. He could all too easily picture Toto swatting irritably at you, burrowing deeper under the covers to escape the blasted sun.

“But we make it work,” you continue, that loving glow refusing to dim from your eyes. “I take photos of the sunrise to share with him later. And he does the same with the sunsets for me. That way, we both get to experience it in a way.”

The gentle sound of your voice washes over Max like a salve, momentarily easing the tangled knot of regret and longing that’s taken up permanent residence inside him. He watches, transfixed, as the early morning light bathes you in ethereal radiance.

In that moment, he sees it so clearly — the depth of give and take in your relationship with Toto. The effort, large and small, that you both put into nurturing one another’s happiness.

Even when your desires don’t perfectly align. Even when compromise is required.

It’s such a simple gesture, capturing those magical moments to share with your loved one. But it’s one Max was never willing to make when you were with him.

A lump forms in his throat as realization washes over him with unforgiving clarity. You weren’t too sweet for him, as he had so arrogantly assumed time and again. No — the truth, much harder to swallow, is that he was simply too sour for you.

Too selfish, too wrapped up in his own ambitions to make even the smallest concession. Too blind to recognize the magic in the simple things that brought you unbridled joy. Too bitter and jaded to embrace and nurture the beautiful nature that made you … well, you.

And now, after all his careless cruelties and wasted chances, he can only stand idly by and watch as someone else basks in the sweetness of your affection. As someone else goes out of their way, day after day, to put that blinding smile on your face and those stars in your eyes.

Something in Max’s chest cracks and crumbles at the injustice of it all. At the agonizing truth that he let the best thing in his life slip through his fingers, all because he couldn’t be bothered to change his sullen ways.

Because you were never too sweet for him … he was too sour for you.

[babydollmarauders]

MEAN — ALEX TURCOTTE

alex turcotte x fem!reader

part of the Speak Now Fic List

summary: in which y/n opens up to Alex about the hate she’s been receiving from his fans

notes: not proofread! so sorry if it sucks!

y/nonthegram

liked by _alexturcotte, trevorzegras, and 7,297 others

y/nonthegram on a date and our waiter called me a bitch… anyone know what number i can call to complain?

tagged _alexturcotte and trevorzegras

user47 awww they went to dux in tux to support trevor!

_alexturcotte my girl 🖤

y/nonthegram my boy 🤍

user16 thank god she didn’t show her face

trevorzegras sorry, we don’t take complaints 🙅‍♂️ only compliments 💁‍♂️

y/nonthegram that feels very unprofessional

trevorzegras who ever said i was professional? 🤔

jackhughes my boys! looking dapper! and y/n!

y/nonthegram this is y/nphobic

jackhughes i acknowledged you, didn’t i?

y/nonthegram barely

colecaufield @/y/nonthegram i’ll acknowledge you! you look beautiful, y/n!

y/nonthegram @/colecaufield thank you! at least someone appreciates me!

user63 well… trevor wasn’t very far off

user77 have you ever even met her? she’s literally the nicest person ever

user21 she gives mean girl bitch vibes so idc

user98 impatiently waiting for him to dump her

user30 honestly, if he cheats on her on a roadie… would anyone really be upset?

user52 i know i wouldn’t! i think all of us are just praying on their downfall. like, he could do so much better

***

my eyes sting, locked to my phone screen. my hearing is muffled, drowning out the sound of my boyfriend and his best friend just feet away from me.

they sit on the coffee table in front of me, NHL 23 displayed on the tv. they shout curses at each other and the tv, trying their hardest to win for their respective teams on the video game. but my focus is solely on the comments of my most recent instagram post.

all i wanted to do was show off my boyfriend of five years. but his fans were being so mean.

it was nothing new. these comments happened on nearly every post i made. whether they were insulting my looks, or saying Alex deserved better, i could never please them.

usually, i only let myself look at the comments for a moment before deleting them altogether, but today was already a hard mental health day and these comments were hitting me where it hurts. i can’t help but dwell on them longer than usual. today they took my worst fear, and used it as a ‘what if?’ scenario, one of the meanest things they’ve ever done.

i sniffle, standing from the couch. shuffling quickly past my boyfriend, my head hanging low to try and hide my tears as i make my way to our bedroom, shutting myself in the darkened room, the only light being that of the setting california sun peeking through the curtains on the windows.

i crawl up our bed, burrowing myself in a cocoon of blankets and pillows, and turn my phone back on, scrolling through the comments once more. this time, i let my tears flow freely, silent sobs racking my body.

all the comments on my body, my insecurities and flaws, my relationship, even some accusing me of cheating on Alex with our friends. it’s one blow after another, each one cutting deeper than the last.

a loud cry escapes my lips and i clap a hand over my mouth, squeezing my eyes shut and holding my breath; praying to whatever higher power that Alex and Trevor didn’t overhear me from the living room.

my prayers go unanswered when our bedroom door creaks open, the light switch being flipped on, and two sets of footsteps enter the bedroom.

“hey, sweet girl.” i bury my head deeper under the blanket at the sound of my boyfriend’s voice. “you wanna show me that pretty face?”

his gentle tone brings even more tears to my eyes and despite knowing he can’t see me, i shake my head.

“y/n? are you okay?” Trevor asks softly. i feel them both sit on the bed as i hum out a ‘mhm’.

“you sure?” Trevor questions.

“why won’t you let us see you, then?” Alex asks. a hand finds my back, rubbing it soothingly, and the soft touch causes me to let out another cry. i hear some muffled whispering before someone rises from the bed.

“i’m gonna leave you guys to talk, i’ll see you tomorrow.” Trevor announces. “y/n, if you need me, just call and i’ll come right over.”

i hear his footsteps retreating, the bedroom door falling shut behind him before my boyfriend’s hand leaves my back, coming up on the blankets and pulling it down to reveal my tear stained face.

“hey, what wrong, baby?” his eyes are filled with worry, concern dripping from his words like honey. “why are you crying, sweet girl?”

“i’m fine.” i choke and he obviously sees straight through my lie.

“if you were fine, you wouldn’t be crying.” he shifts his body, moving to lay down next to me on the bed. his arm wraps around my waist, pulling me in close, and on instinct, i throw my thigh over his abdomen. his hand comes up to play with my hair, the tips of his fingers scratching my scalp in a calming manner.

“you wanna tell me what’s got my girl so upset?” he questions. he knows he has me in the palm of his hand. he knows exactly what to do to ease my mind and make me feel safe.

“comments.” i whisper into his chest, muttered by lips against his shirt.

“hmm?” he hums. my eyes flicker up to see his brows pulled down in confusion.

“instagram comments.” i clarify, sniffling and wiping at my nose with my hand. “some of your fans aren’t very nice.”

“wait what?” he asks. his hands pause their actions and he pulls my face back to look me in the eyes. “what are you talking about?”

“i didn’t wanna say anything. you love your fans and some of them are so sweet.” i sigh.

his expression is one of betrayal and disappointment. this is exactly why i kept this all from him. he loves his fans so much, i know he would never want to hear that some of them are so cruel.

“y/n, what are they saying?”

“just mean things. things i’d rather not repeat.” i unlock my phone, the screen still on the hate comments of my latest post, and hand it to him, letting him see them for himself.

“what the fuck?” he murmurs to himself. “why have i never seen these?”

“i usually delete them right away.” i confess. “i never wanted you to see them.”

“baby, you should’ve told me about these. these are cruel.” he scrolls through the comments, deleting every comment that isn’t necessarily considered nice.

“i know, but your fans make you so happy. i never wanted to take that from you.” i cry, burying my face in his chest.

“but you make me happier.” his hand rests on my head, the other rubbing my back. “you make me so much happier than they ever could.”

“it just hurts. it didn’t used to hurt this much, but after so long, the comments are getting to me.” i sob. “i just wanna feel okay again.”

“hey, you know nothing they said is true, right? you’re beautiful, and sweet, and the best thing to ever happen to me. you’re the smartest, most thoughtful, kindhearted, loving girl i’ve ever met. and i would never do anything to jeopardize what we have. i would never even think about even entertaining the idea of sleeping with anyone on a roadie, you know that, don’t you?”

i nod my head, sniffling. i raise my head to look at him, his eyes glassy as he wipes my tears.

“i love them, but i love you so much more. and they’re clearly not fans of mine if they think it’s okay to say shit like this about you, let alone to you.”

my insecurities get the best of me and i can’t help but question.

“you’re sure you’re not sick of me?” i whisper.

“you ever looked in my nightstand?” he asks, my eyebrows furrow in confusion and i shake my head.

“not recently, no.” i don’t understand his question, or what it has to do with mine.

he pushes me off of him, my heart sinking in my chest.

this is it.

he’s decided we’re done.

i don’t know what i’ll do without him.

he leans over his side of the bed, shuffling around in his nightstand drawer for a moment before turning back to me, something clasped in his hand.

“i had a more romantic plan, i swear i did. i had a whole speech planned, but my mom said that i should do this when it feels right. and now feels right.”

my eyes widen, my breath going shaky as i consider what he could possibly be meaning in this moment.

i sit up quickly in the bed, as he reveals a black ring box in his hands, opening it to reveal a gorgeous diamond ring.

my hands rise shakily to my parted lips, more tears gathering in my eyes as they flicker between him and the ring.

“you asked if i’m sure, and i hope that this ring shows you that i’m absolutely positive. i can’t imagine a life without you. i can’t imagine what my life would’ve been like if you hadn’t called me a ‘stupid waste-of-a-pretty-face hockey player’ when we were sixteen.”

“all you got from that was ‘pretty’.” i let out a choked laugh through my tears.

“and i’m so glad i did, because that one word was all it took for me to fall to my knees. to chase after you and annoy you for an entire year until you agreed to go out with me. and now i never want to live a life without you.

“you’re my biggest supporter, my favorite person in the world, and the only girl i ever want. i love your kind soul, and the way your smile brightens my day. i love your beautiful eyes and the way you laugh over my dumbest jokes. i love that you fought for us to stay together, even when i wasn’t sure if we would work after i was drafted. i love that you dance in the kitchen when you cook, and the way you romanticize every part of our every day lives. i love that you refuse to go to bed angry, and that you sing in the shower and make me duet you. i love you, for everything you are, and everything you will be. and i would love to spend the rest of our lives together, if you’ll marry me.”

i can’t even get a response past my lips, opting to tackle him instead, nearly knocking us off the bed. but Alex’s quick thinking saves the moment, swaying us sideways instead to land on our sides on the mattress.

i straddle his waist, knocking him on his back as my lips glide along his face, peppering kisses on his cheeks, forehead, nose, chin, anywhere i can reach, before settling on his lips.

i pour all of my emotions into this kiss, filled with love and happiness, joy and affection. i suckle his bottom lip as i pull back to look into his eyes, a large grin taking up the bottom half of my face.

“is that a yes?” he chuckles, a hand resting on my lower back, the other still gripping the ring box.

“that’s a yes.” i nod excessively, holding my left hand out for him. he smiles widely, making quick work of removing the engagement ring from the box and sliding it onto my finger.

“i love you so much.” i tell him, grasping his face in my hands as i lower my lips to his once more.

***

y/nonthegram

liked by _alexturcotte, jackhughes, and 11,759 others

y/nonthegram i said yes <3

tagged _alexturcotte

comments on this post have been limited

jackhughes HE DID IT?! WITHOUT US?! WHAT HAPPENED TO THE PLAN?!

y/nonthegram plan?

jackhughes i mean.. i’m so happy for you guys! i knew you guys were meant for each other!

y/nonthegram thank you rowdy!

_alexturcotte thanks bro!

trevorzegras HELL YEAH BRO! LOCK HER DOWN! SO HAPPY FOR YOU LOVEBIRDS!

y/nonthegram thanks Z! celebration lunch tomorrow?

trevorzegras just txt me the deets, doll!

_alexturcotte thanks bro, and thanks for keeping the secret, even though you usually have loose lips

trevorzegras @/_alexturcotte i resent that

colecaufield MY BEST FRIENDS ARE GETTING MARRIED!! CONGRATS YOU GUYS 🍾🎉🥳🥂💍

y/nonthegram thank you coley! 😙🤍

_alexturcotte thank you cole!

_quinnhughes when did you grow up? stop growing up! i’m happy for you two, but jeez y/n, i could’ve sworn you were still fourteen and stalking practices yesterday!

y/nonthegram hey! i never stalked practices! i simply liked to observe the sport!

y/nonthegram but thank you quinny 🤍 you’ll be my man of honor, right?

_quinnhughes it would be my pleasure, y/n/n

jackhughes hey! why is QUINN your man of honor and not me?!

y/nonthegram because if it’s you then you’re gonna wear a dress. you wanna be man of honor?

jackhughes ya know what? i’ll let Quinn be your man of honor. you’ve known him longest, so it’s only fair.

y/nonthegram that’s what i thought

lhughes_06 congratulations guys!! engagement party at the lake house?!

y/nonthegram engagement party at the lake house!

[rubberizer92]

🌐 Dutch Dapperness Unveiled: Meet Johan from the Netherlands! 🇳🇱

👬 Immerse yourself in the charming canals of #OBEYseason16, where muscular men proudly wear rubber suits inspired by their nations' flags. This season's challenge took them to their capital cities for a pose-off that unveils Dutch dapperness and masculine charisma. Get ready to witness the fusion of national pride and style like never before! 🌍💪👢

🗳️ How to Vote: Boost Johan's journey by engaging with our content on Instagram, Tumblr, and X. Your Yes votes in our Instagram stories can give him the push he needs, with No votes being subtracted. Your voice matters, so let's make Johan's Dutch dapperness known!

🕶️ Meet Johan from the Netherlands: 🇳🇱 Johan, a symbol of Dutch elegance, wears the vibrant colors of the national flag. Against the backdrop of the capital city, he strikes a pose that blends cultural charm with raw masculine energy. Will Johan's journey in #OBEYseason16 be a triumph? It's in your hands!

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[dystini]

Indycar Driver Lore

Indycar Driver Lore Masterlist

Christian Lundgaard

Birthdate: July 23, 2001 Hometown: Hedensted, Denmark Residence: Hedensted, Denmark/Indianapolis, Indiana Height/Weight: 6’0”/150lbs

Rookie Year: 2022

Team: Rahal Letterman Lanigan Racing (RLL)

Follow him on: Instagram Twitter Twitch

Career Stats

2021: 1 race with Rahal Letterman Lanigan Racing - 37th Overall 2022: Rahal Letterman Lanigan Racing - 14th Overall 2023: Rahal Letterman Lanigan Racing - 8th Overall

Competing in his second full season in the NTT INDYCAR SERIES with Rahal Letterman Lanigan Racing.

Alpine F1 junior racer who spent the last two seasons in FIA Formula 2 Championship and claimed two wins and six podiums in 2020.

Won SMP and Spanish F4 championships and scored a win in F3.

Son of European Rally champion Henrik Lundgaard and followed his father and older brother, Daniel (2017 Danish F4 champion) into motorsports through go-karting where he won Danish and European karting titles.

Enjoys golf, watching “anything on Netflix” and playing “Call of Duty” on his Sony PlayStation.

Says he’s looking forward to experiencing America, as he had only previously visited the U.S. for go-kart racing as a teenager. -has "Loyalty" in fancy script tattooed on the outside of his right wrist/forearm. And what might be a rose on the other forearm closer to the elbow.

Iconic/memorable moments 2022 INSIDE THE RACE // CHRISTIAN LUNDGAARD AT ROAD AMERICA Christian Lundgaard IndyCar Rookie Test at Texas, Interview and On Track Video Tom Griswold Interviews Christian Lundgaard (2022 Indy 500) 2023 - CHRISTIAN LUNDGAARD x HYVEE RLL''s Christian Lundgaard, with personal best 2nd, on how Graham Rahal has helped him NTT INDYCAR Series Driver Christian Lundgaard talks about joining RLL in 2022

Christian showed a flash of brilliance his rookie year at the second Indy GP and things were looking up for the team in general but as 2023 has begun, RLL is back to having problems with their cars, lacking speed and driver comfort. He’s not a flashy person, preferring to hangout with friends playing card and board games or finding a place to play pickleball rather than go out on the town when he’s in Indy. He likes to spend a good chunk of the winter break back in Denmark visiting family and friends. He’s got an unreasonable fondness for Dad jokes for a 21 year old and his fashion sense ranges from bucket hats and weirdly patterned shorts (a preference he shares with much of the Indycar field) to dapper 3-piece suits straight from the golden age. He currently has a bet with a friend that he cannot shave his mustache until he wins a race.

Fanfic Lore

Paired with David Malukas.

ROOKIE PALS, RIVALS LUNDGAARD, MALUKAS CROSSING PATHS AGAIN

[psqvp]

Details 🔎 . . . Suit by @lopez_aragon details: corduroy fabric by @brisbanemoss ; double breasted blazer: wide peak lapels, quite structured shoulder, patch pockets, non-everlapping buttons on the sleeve; trousers: Gurkha buttoning; no beltloops; two frontal pleats, 4,5 cm cuffs ✂️ Chocolate Turtleneck Jumper Brigatelli 1922 x @michaeljondral 🍫 @drakesdiary pocket square ⛩ Single Buckle Monk with hand stitched norwegian apron in milk chocolate brown by @saintcrispins 👞 . . . #corduroy #outfitoftheday #bespokesuit #shoes #doublebreasted #shoeporn #shoespassion #shoesaddict #ootd #corduroysuit #sartorial #lopezaragon #enjoylife #lifestyle #lifestyleblogger #menstyle #gentleman #gentlemanstyle #instagram #instagood #dapper #welldressed #dappermen #doublebreastedsuit #saincrispins #shoesoftheday #menshoes #rincondecaballeros #splittoederby #saintcrispinsshoes (en Madrid, Spain) https://www.instagram.com/p/CpMnWZnMWyj/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[aricastmblr]

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[aos-presents]

Digital Collectibles and Web3 may soon be accessible via Instagram. Follow the podcast for more developing details, and insights over the upcoming weeks.

We're Exploring :

the trajectory of mainstream social

Web 3 according to the numbers, many companies are ditching what's considered "mainstream social" for blockchain alternatives

• Social polls and surveys

Current social trends what's working organically, right now. Transitioning to Web3 and where to build your business, while building in the community and marketplace.

Send your suggestions and participate, in our community polls and surveys. Subscribe to our podcast, click the link

[emerald-studies]

Racist Clothing Brands + Black Brands to Buy From Instead:

                                         Racist Brands

Chanel

Chanel has been repeatedly accused of racially profiling Black customers and last year they hired a white woman as head of their "diversity and inclusion" department.

Gucci

Gucci has a complicated history with the Black community, stemming from them all but trying to destroy Dapper Dan's business only to hire him two decades later. Most recently they came under fire for releasing a sweater that had suspiciously Blackface elements and stealing designs from Black designers.

Prada

Prada has a similar history and they recently had to apologize after releasing a collection of monkey key chains.

Dior

Dior's most recent fragrance campaign came under fire for racist undertones but a Black Hollywood stylist also gave BET.com an account of an incident that she had with a brand. The stylist requests to remain anonymous says, "they compromised our creative relationship by not following through on requests and instead loaning looks that were promised to me to white actors instead."

Celine

Celine's branding is notoriously extremely thin and extremely white. A quick scroll of their social media will reveal exactly their opinion on Black lives.

Barney’s 

Before going bankrupt, Barney's had to pay out a settlement in a racial discrimination case of $525k to two plantiffs. 

Moda Operandi

A former employee of the company released this thread on Moda Operandi, citing several micro aggressions she suffered there. 

Burberry

Burberry issued an apology after releasing a sweater featuring a noose motif.

Tommy Hilfiger

In 1996, Tommy Hilfiger famously made comments against the Black community and has since clarified what he meant, but the hurt in the community lingers. 

Moschino 

Managers discriminated against black customers who did not appear to be rich or famous.

“If a potential black client was not a celebrity and did not have an outward appearance of money via diamonds or name brands, defendant [Ranna] Selbak called them a ‘Serena’ to other sales associates and wanted the ‘Serena’ to be closely watched,” according to the complaint.

Versace

A former male Versace employee sued Versace for allegedly firing him after his manager realized he was Black.

Zara

Zara was accused of using racial code words for black and Latinx customers. The Center for Popular Democracy surveyed 251 Zara employees in New York City about the retailer’s practices. Poll respondents said that when the term “special order” was used at the store, employees were to find the location of the shoppers in question and follow them around. Black customers were most often described as “special orders,” according to the survey results.

Reformation 

They were criticised for their internal practices by a black former employee, Elle Santiago. Santiago said she was denied work promotions in favor of white colleagues, as well as being ignored by the company founder, Yael Aflalo, because of her race.

“Being overlooked and undervalued as a woman of color who worked and managed their flagship store for three years was the hardest,” Santiago wrote in an Instagram post picked up by industry watchdog Diet Prada. “I cried many times knowing [that] the color of my skin would get me nowhere in the company.” 

Urban Outfitters

“As one of very few PoC [people of color] I quickly noticed the toxic environment I’d joined,” says the former employee, who wishes to remain anonymous. “Within my first month my manager made a flippant racist comment in regards to an Uber I’d called; the driver’s name was Muhammad. Her comment was, ‘You would get a Muhammad’ – in what I can only take as a comment made because of my heritage.

“There’s no PoC in the executive team and very little representation of PoC in head office, on the website, marketing campaigns and within the retail management teams.”

The company has a history of producing offensive items of clothing, including a seemingly blood-spattered T-shirt seen as a reference to the 1970 Kent State shootings; a T-shirt in a color named “Obama/Black”; another featuring a six-pointed badge, which seemed to allude to the Star of David badge that Jewish people were forced to wear during the Holocaust; and a racially insensitive Navajo line which used the Navajo nation name illegally.

Dolce & Gabbana

Ads, featured a Chinese woman struggling to eat spaghetti and pizza with chopsticks.

Comme des Garçons

White models wore wigs of traditional Black people’s hairstyles during its men’s autumn/winter 2020 show.

                                             BLACK BRANDS

ASATA MAISE

This designer transforms vintage fabrics into unique pieces that are made to be photographed. I mean, this whole slideshow of looks is A-R-T. Of course, being a one-person business can be overwhelming, so if you have the means, you can donate to Asata's GoFundMe which will provide her with equipment to keep up with demand.

Website: asatamaise.com

MIE

If dreamy, flowy dresses are up your alley, you definitely want to give this brand a follow. All the pretty pieces, including this stunning red puff-sleeve number, are made by local seamstresses and artisans in Lagos, Nigeria where it's based.

Website: mie.ng

JBD Apparel

Kim Kardashian recently gave this brand a shoutout, and it's easy to see why she's a fan of these body-hugging knit sets. All the pieces are handmade to order.

Website: jbdapparel.com

PHLEMUNS

Another celeb fave is this gender-neutral brand designed by James Flemons and based out in Los Angeles. Solange Knowles, Lizzo, Billie Eilish, Clairo, Lil Nas X, Miley Cyrus, and Bella Hadid have all worn its designs.

Website: phlemuns.com

RIOT SWIM

Looking for a truly standout swimwear piece to add to your summer wardrobe? Check out this label designed by Monti Landers featuring minimalistic silhouettes and shades that blend in seamlessly with darker skin tones.

Website: riotswim.com

COME BACK AS A FLOWER 

Specializing in hand-dyed garments, the pieces are ethically made using 100 percent recycled cotton. It also does drops of cool vintage tees, and stars like ASAP Rocky and Big Sean have worn its clothes.

Website: cbaaf.org

HUMANS BEFORE HANDLES 

This jewelry label has some of the cutest accessories for summer (eyeing these seashell ones, wow), and most impressive is the fact that everything is under $50.

Website: humansbeforehandles.com

LAQUAN SMITH

Here’s a real celeb fave (Rihanna, Beyoncé, and sooo many more have worn his pieces). Go to LaQuan Smith for any of your glam/sexy outfit needs, please! 

Website: laquansmith.com

BROTHER VELLIES

Founder Aurora James creates truly one-of-a-kind shoes (please look at this pair of mesh boots topped with feathers) and small leather goods that are handmade by artisans around the world.

Website: brothervellies.com

CUSHNIE

Designer Carly Cushnie’s sleek styles have been worn by the likes of Jennifer Lopez, Ashley Graham, and Lupita Nyong’o, btw.

Website: cushnie.com

JADE SWIM

Need a swimsuit? You’re going to want one of these pretty, minimal designs by former fashion editor and stylist Brittany Kozerski.

Website: jadeswim.com

CHRISTOPHER JOHN ROGERS

The 26-year-old designer from Louisiana was one of the hottest tickets at New York Fashion Week in February 2020, and high-profile ladies like Michelle Obama and Cardi B. have worn his unique, colorful pieces. Find his clothing exclusively at Net-a-Porter online.

Website: christopherjohnrogers.com

MATEO NEW YORK

Matthew Harris of Mateo New York is a self-taught jewelry designer hailing from Montego Bay, Jamaica, and living in NYC. Shop here for beautifully minimal 14k-gold fine jewelry.

Website: mateonewyork.com

TELFAR

Looking for something truly magical and out there? Consider designer Telfar Clemens, whose hybrid pieces (hello, “sweatpant jeans” and “scarf-collar shirt”) really stand out.

Website: telfar.net

FENTY

DUH.

Website: fenty.com

PYER MOSS

Founded by designer Kerby Jean-Raymond in 2013, Pyer Moss uses its platform for social change, storytelling, and activism as well as art and design. For shopping, come for the bright, matching suits, glam, and pleated gowns and stay for comfy sweats and jeans.

Website: pyermoss.com

                                         + More Brands Here +

[mrchalamet-mrstyles]

Reputation Management and the Rot at the Heart of Celebrity Journalism: How Armie Hammer Tried to Get Ahead of the Story—with Help from a GQ Writer

On September 30, 2020, GQ UK published an interview with Armie Hammer. The headline: Armie Hammer wants you to pick up the phone and call a friend. Like, now.

The interview was packaged as a rare, candid conversation with a movie star about his mental health struggles. A man who supposedly had it all—looks, breeding, a successful career on the silver-screen—was admitting that appearances can be deceiving. And he wanted the whole world to know he was having a hard time. Why? So that others in a similar position would feel inspired to seek help.

So humble. So brave.

Looking back, it's clear the interview represented a calculated attempt by a well-oiled publicity machine to prop up the 6'5" oil heir as a hero, lest he be exposed as a monster.

By September 2020, many of Armie's alleged DMs were already ricocheting across social media. In fact, they'd gone somewhat viral on July 15, following his divorce announcement.

What Armie's reputation needed, asap, was a good old-fashioned scrubbing—something to show that, whatever his demons, he was addressing them. Armie was doing the work.

And boy, did GQ UK come through for our leading man. It even put him on the cover of the November 2020 issue, all broody and soulful and wanting to open up about his pain, man.

But why did Armie's team go all the way to the United Kingdom in search of the ideal publication through which to launder his image?

This is where things get interesting.

Armie's mental health cover story was written and packaged by GQ UK's Chief Content Officer, Jonathan Heaf. It marked the second occasion both men worked together in less than two years: Armie had graced the March 2019 cover of the magazine—the accompanying profile of the actor was written by Heaf.

It's not exactly unheard of for celebrity coverage to be cloyingly sycophantic. But Heaf's 2019 article? Never before had a glossy magazine printed a rim job quite like this one.

He takes great pains to let the reader know that he really likes Armie Hammer:

It’s easy to want to be friends with Hammer. You can kind of tell, right? I swooned, plus he’s terrific company.

He really, really likes Armie Hammer:

"Did I tell you how much I like Armie Hammer? Well, let me tell you again: it’s very easy to like Armie Hammer."

It's a familiar experience—you become infatuated with someone, and you want to talk about how great they are to anyone who will listen.

"I am compelled to tell Chalamet what I feel compelled to tell you: about the sheer decency of Hammer as a human being."

Anything else you told Armie's co-star about Armie, Jonathan?

"I tell him that I believe there is something noble about his friend, mentor and colleague. Not noble as in a sense of hierarchy or blue-bloodedness, but more in a decent, gallant, chivalrous way."

Geez, man. It sounds like you started to worship Armie Hammer. I hope you didn't go even further overboard with the compliments, because they might look embarrassing in retrospect.

Ah, well. Nevertheless.

You should've listened to your role model, Jonathan. He wasn't wrong.

The question is, Why? What the hell happened to make a journalist become so chummy with his interview subject? (Beyond the obvious lack of professionalism, of course.)

Unfortunately for Jonathan, he might not be in a position to answer this. There's that pesky lack of professionalism, for one. While the interview with Armie Hammer was technically supposed to be a "work" thing, Jonathan ended up getting drunk. Very, very drunk. So drunk he doesn't remember how he got home. So drunk he barely recalls the evening he spent on the company dime, "interviewing" Armie Hammer.

I'm not making this up. Jonathan Heaf, Chief Content Officer of GQ UK, spent half the article talking about how hungover he was the day after the interview. Half the article. Surely, nobody who leafed through the March 2019 issue of GQ UK looking for the Armie Hammer profile gives a rat about Jonathan Heaf's hangover. I'm not sure anybody in the world would be interested in reading these many words about Jonathan Heaf. Not even his mother. Yet here we are.

There's another reason we are unlikely to ever get an answer for why Jonathan Heaf loves Armie Hammer so much. The reason is because the two men share a secret. A salacious secret. A secret so juicy and hilarious, the two men can't help joking about it on Twitter.

Oh man, you really had to be there. It was a bonding moment between two dads. (Yes, both men are fathers.) It even got immortalized in a very funny photo! Jonathan loves talking about "THE PHOTO." But he won't let you see it. No, sir. It's a secret photo. A secret photo related to an even secreter secret shared between Jonathan Heaf and Armie Hammer.

And let him tell you, Jonathan Heaf is very, very relieved that his secret is safe with Armie Hammer. So safe he can play coy about it in the pages of the magazine that employs him.

If you see Armie Hammer out on the street, looking tall and noble, ask him. Ask Hammer the actor what happened to him and the British journalist after the Martini session in the Sunset Tower Hotel bar in November last year. Walk up to him. Say hi. Smile. Wave. Talk. Engage in a conversation. He’ll like that. Be nice. Be civil. Be a bit more, well, be a bit more Armie. I mean, he probably won’t tell you. Why not? Well, he’s Armie Hammer, isn’t he? It wouldn’t be gracious. It would make you laugh like hell, sure, but it wouldn’t be loyal. It wouldn’t be decent. And, you know, we could all do with being a bit more Armie Hammer sometimes. Right, Armie?"

If you've made it this far (first of all—thank you), you may be wondering whether I'm being too harsh on poor old Jonathan Heaf. How was he supposed to know his utterly decent, supremely loyal friend Armie Hammer would turn out to be a sadistic psychopath? Jonathan Heaf is probably just as freaked out as we all are. Right?

On Thursday, Heaf uploaded a photograph to his Instagram grid, of himself wearing a flashy tracksuit. If the tracksuit looks familiar, it's probably because you've seen Armie Hammer wear it on the pages of GQ UK.

And in the comments of his dapper tracksuit insta pic, Jonathan Heaf, Chief Content Officer of GQ UK, wrote, "cut me, I bleed breakfast wine 🍷"

(X)

[dickgraysonisnothereforthis]

I Didn’t Mistake Your Finger for the Moon, I Just Chose to Look at You Instead

Tim Drake x Reader Oneshot

The title comes from zen buddhism (maybe chinese? i’m sorry I don’t know), the idea is I am pointing my finger at the moon to show you the moon don’t look at my pointed finger, look where I’m pointing.

Heavily inspired by the play Frankie and Johnnie in the Claire de Lune

***

You can’t believe it’s only 8:30pm, just two hours into the night and you’re already bored out of your skull. Around you, the huge ballroom swirls with sparkling socialites keeping themselves busy by incessantly talking shit and guzzling Bruce Wayne’s alcohol. Everybody has their lips to someone’s ear and a glass in their hand, except for you, which is quite stupid on your part. But that’s why you’re at the bar. 

Behind you, the positively charming laughs of the Wayne Gala’s guests dot the conversations that spill out through the room in concentric circles, rippling over each other in waves that ebb and flow right up until they reach you. Then they stop short, leaving you alone and trying to order a drink from a bartender who seems to be too busy to chat you up out of pity.

Not that you’d do anything with her, obviously. But still. Some attention would be nice.

Christ, you were so shit at knowing what to do with yourself at these parties. You’d think you’d have them figured out by now, but no such luck. Your funeral.

“Hey, have you seen Tim?”

You turn to face the speaker and your eyes fall on Dick Grayson, dressed gorgeous in a sharp suit complete with a dark blue bow tie. He looks incredible, but then again, he usually does. And miracle of miracles, the folks around you are now eyeing you up, trying to figure out if it’s worth skydiving into your conversation to get in a word with Bruce Wayne’s heir. Dick does that to people, has the sort of happy, positive demeanor that makes folks want desperately to talk to him, to be part of his group. You’ll probably never get used to it. Or to how beautiful he is.

“Yeah.” Yeah, you know where Tim is. You resist the urge to point across the ballroom, motioning with your chin instead. “He’s over there, schmoozing with some LexCorp folks.”

“Schmoozing? With LexCorp?” Dick’s face takes on a slightly disgusted hue in the light of the chandeliers.

You shrug. “Schmoozing, making thinly veiled threats, planting the seeds for some light corporate espionage, but not the sort anyone can prove. You know Tim.”

Dick chuckles at that. “I guess I do.” He takes a step away from you, then doubles back. “Are you all right, over here? You look a bit...”

“You can say lonely, Dick, it’s okay,” you say with a bit of bite, too many teeth in your voice, but he’s not wrong. “I’m fine, you don’t need to babysit me.”

His eyebrows raise. “Jeez, y/n, I didn’t mean--”

You cut him off. “No, it’s fine Dick, I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry.” You press a hand to the bridge of your nose and try to take deep breaths. Starting a fight with your boyfriend’s oldest brother is not exactly on your to-do list for the evening. “I am a bit lonely, but it’s cool, I get Tim back in...” you check your watch, a cheap analogue that clashes something awful with your cheesed-up attire. “Eight in a half minutes. Then he’s mine for at least an hour.”

Dick quirks his lips in a half-smile. “You guys time how long he spends doing W.E. business at these galas? That’s--”

“Adorable? Or just anal?” Try as you might, you can’t keep the cynicism from spreading thick over your tone.

“I was actually going to say very Tim,” he says back warmly. You grin at him, bad mood abandoning you for the moment. “It was his idea. Wouldn’t be much of a date if we didn’t spend any time together.”

Dick laughs again. “No, I suppose it wouldn’t.” Across the room, Tim turns away from the circle of business harpies and shoots you an apologetic smile. Dick must’ve clocked it as well. “Maybe Tim’ll turn knight-in-shining-armor and rescue you,” he suggests.

You wrinkle your nose. “I doubt it. As much as I don’t like it, the business stuff needs to get done.”

Dick eyes Tim’s back. “Yeah, something tells me you’d be the one doing the rescuing.” He clears his throat. “Well, I hate to be rude, but I gotta skip out on you.” Dick’s down-to-earth manner of speaking always surprises you, especially because he manages to get away with it at these swanky events. When you do it everyone seems to look at you sideways. “Need to go find Damian,” Dick explains further. “If he’s not antagonizing your boyfriend, he may be up to something worse.”

You nod in agreement. “Go get ‘em, Tiger.”

He sighs. “Yeah, wish me luck.” And then Dick makes his exit, leaving you with seven and a half minutes to wallow before Tim comes back.

You chide yourself a bit, picking up the Gin and Tonic that the bartender had just placed in front of you. Were you seriously going to wallow in self pity at a gala half of Gotham would kill to attend? With Tim Drake as your date? Hundreds of girls and quite a few boys probably daydream about being in your place, especially after he made the Forbes Thirty under Thirty list last month. Still, his spot on the list doesn’t change the fact that exactly no one at this party, striking Dick and the bartender, has said a single word to you.

You stifle a sigh. It isn’t your fault Gotham’s socialites always prove to be uninterested in Timothy Drake’s thoroughly middle-class girlfriend. They had found you just fascinating when the relationship was new and Tim’s move of dating so far below his class had actually made headlines. But, six months later, your novelty had worn clean off. God, you wished you had someone to talk to. You were feeling so small.

Swallowing a sip of G&T, you think back to your first gala at the Manor. The glitter and glamour of the evening had left you breathless, whereas now it’s making you sick. Some parts of the evening never seem to go stale, though. You still love playing dress up in gorgeous clothes and parading around with your boyfriend, who was also dressed up in gorgeous clothes. Tim usually bought your dresses for these events, since there was no way on the planet you could afford them. You’d gotten used to Tim being stupid rich early in your relationship, and it doesn’t bother you that you can never match him in the money department. 

Occasionally, Tim likes to spoil you, although neither of you are too keen on outrageous gifts that are ultimately useless. He tends to avoid getting you things that are overpriced and unnecessary. (Cheap and unnecessary is where you operate. The two of you are currently having a competition over who could get the other the smallest, most useless gift for under two dollars. Your last gift to him had been a yellow plastic shovel that fits in the palm of your hand)

Tim doesn’t like buying expensive, frivolous things on principle, and you don’t like receiving them, also on principle. But if you’re going to attend these galas, you need an expensive dress point-blank, otherwise you’ll stick out like a sore thumb. And you want to attend, you want to be Tim’s girlfriend, public appearances and all. So Tim just has to buy you the dresses, which you secretly love because they’re gorgeous, and you have to accept them, because you can’t attend the gala without them. It’s a neat way for Tim to give you something expensive and make sure you’ll have a need for it. Plus, you know he loves seeing you wear the clothes he’s bought you.

Tonight, however, you’re not wearing one of Tim’s Vera Wang’s or Alexander McQueen’s. You’ve opted instead on something you’d bought yourself, a bridesmaid’s dress you’d worn to a friend’s wedding earlier this year. It just about fits in with everyone else’s attire, and besides, the dress was expensive. You wanted to wear it at least twice. A great plan, except it isn’t as beautiful as some of the other dresses in the room tonight. You’ve recognized more than one from a runway fashion account you follow on Instagram. Nice as your dress may be, it can’t compare with any of those, and every time you see an exceptionally beautiful gown you wonder what you were thinking, wearing a dress like this.

The negative buzzing in your ears dissipates as you catch Tim’s eye again. He’s got the same stupid look on his face he’d worn when he picked you up this evening. Like he’d been punched but he didn’t exactly mind.

“Are you sure you’re my date for tonight?” he’d whispered, after doing a cartoonish double-take at the door of your apartment, because he really is a good boyfriend. “I’m not sure other people will believe it.”

“Of course they will,” you’d scoffed, cheeks glowing at the compliment. “We look good together. You’re pretty stunning yourself.”

He’d look down at his own clothes with a worried expression. “Really?” Following your advice and urging, Tim had stepped out of his comfort zone tonight and was sporting a patterned tux. It’s a dark blue checked with thin black stripes, waistcoat and bow-tie to match. “I think I look like Al Capone.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you look very dapper.” You had taken his hand, then, smiling up at him and leading him out of your apartment. “Charming, even.”

“If Jason’s there he’ll make fun of me. Damian definitely will.”

“They were going to do that anyway. And besides, who cares? I think you look great.”

“I guess you’re the only one that matters.”

“Damn straight.”

He really does look incredible tonight, you think to yourself as you check him out from your position at the bar. Nothing short of beautiful, with the long lines of the tux sitting pretty on his sinuous, willowy limbs and gorgeous frame. His shoulders are holding strong under the fine material of his jacket, and presiding over everything are his sharp cheekbones and even sharper eyes. Which, you note in satisfaction, are now fixed on you as Tim extricates himself from the suits and makes his way to the bar.

“Is this seat taken?” he asks, plopping down next to you and casually hooking a foot around your ankle.

“Nope,” you smile happily, thrilled to be spending time with him again. “I was saving it for you, and as you can see, I had to really fight to keep it free.” You motion around yourself to the people ignoring you. 

Tim winces. “I’m sorry, y/n, if I could do anything--”

“Stop, stop,” you wave him silent. “Don’t worry about it. You’re here now, it’s okay,” you reassure him.

“I don’t like that you end up spending so much time alone at these things,” he says, wrapping an arm around you. “If you even think I’m going to let you come to this thing by yourself,” you say, shaking your head. “Some of the other ones, maybe, but if I don’t make an appearance at The Wayne Gala, capital T, W, and G, the public will think I’m out of the picture.”

“Defending your territory, huh?” Tim grins sidelong at you. “Keeping the society pages off my back, more like.” You shift in your seat, sensing an opportunity. “But maybe I am defending my territory, hmm?” You give him an obvious once over, let lust show in your gaze. “Maybe you’re too pretty to let out of my sight.”

He flushes, color overrunning his cheeks and spilling down his neck and making him look even more edible. You let out a breath. “God, Tim, I could just...” you lean over, easily catching his lips with yours. Holding him there for a just a second, you run your tongue quick over his bottom lip and then pull back, spending a few moments just looking at him, with him looking back. 

You wait for some of the sparkling energy to fade before you speak again. “It’s important to me that you know I’m here to support you as acting CEO.”

He laughs at that, spell broken. “I know sweetheart.” He turns from you to order a drink. “I’m very proud of you,” you say to his back. He rolls his eyes at you over his shoulder.

The bartender makes the drink inside of twenty seconds, because Tim Drake asked for it, and then your boyfriend spends a few more moments staring at you, taking the glass in his hand and eyeing you over the rim.

You meet his gaze. “What are you thinking?” He presses a finger to his ear. “Going off comms,” he murmurs, then surreptitiously fishes the device out of his ear and stows it in his pocket. If you hadn’t known what to look for you would swear he was just running his fingers through his hair and then brushing some lint off of his suit.

“If I’m honest, I’ve spent the last twenty minutes fantasizing about eating you out.”

...what?

It takes a moment for his words to connect to your brain. Then--

“Tim!” you squawk, eyes darting around to make sure no one had overheard you. “You can’t just say that to me in public!”

His eyes meet yours, he looks unimpressed. Tim never has any patience for your prudishness whenever he brings up sex with other people around. “What can I say? The LexCorp people were boring,” and now he’s the one looking you over, eyes slowly working up and down your form. You shiver under his attention. “That’s a very pretty dress you’re wearing, y/n, I think it would look great bunched up around your hips.”

God, confidence is such an irresistible look on him. Despite your better judgment, you decide to play along. Leaning closer, you let one hand ghost over his crotch, cupping him for half a moment as you say “and how do you think the dress will look on your bedroom floor?”

He gasps when you touch him, then smiles brilliantly, eyes shining. You really, really shouldn’t be encouraging him, but you can’t help it. You love him like this, you love the unrelenting force of his desire. You love how much he wants you. 

With Tim, you’ve found that once the idea of sex gets into his head and he sees that you’re game, he’s like a dog with a bone, gnawing and gnawing at you. There’s no stopping him in pursuit to get you into his bed, or car, or the nearest supply closet. And you always find yourself indulging him, because the sex is usually good, but the man himself is even better. You delight in seeing Tim aroused, because as soon as that switch is flipped, the self-control that Tim rigidly keeps in place disappears, and he becomes hypnotically impulsive with his emotions. It took some time for him to get the barriers down, for him to let loose around you, but now he allows himself to be everything all at once. An aroused Tim is playful, awkward, confident, shy, ridiculous, and enthusiastic. You never know what you’re going to get with him, and sometimes he flits from one affect to the other between moments, leaving you breathless.

And you’re more than happy to provide an arena for Tim to let loose, because the only time your boyfriend allows himself to be anything less than perfect is when he’s in your arms. Control rules Tim’s life in the form of some probably unhealthy idolatrous god. As he’s explained to you several times, yes, he actually does need to be this tightly wound, because if he makes a mistake he’ll lose clout at WE. Or he’ll be too slow at night. People will die (he will die.) Insert answer here. 

Which is all true, but it doesn’t mean Tim can’t take a fucking break once in a while. And that’s where you come in. Your boyfriend spends his whole life striving for perfection and punishing himself when he doesn’t reach it, but when he’s with you, he can be anything he wants. 

And one of the wonderful things about sleeping with Tim is so often you get to see everything he wants. Once he’s finally lost control, once you’ve convinced him to put the walls down, he’s like a kid in a candy store. He can do anything, and so he usually does everything.

“Christ,” he breathes in your ear, head still in your fleeting touch, one arm coming to rest on your back. “I think you’ve given me a semi.”

“That,” you say in a sing-song voice, absolutely delighted, “sounds like a ‘you’ problem.” You turn and pretend to walk away, but Tim catches hold of your arm, reeling you back towards him. “You can’t leave now, y/n,” he pleads, eyes dancing. “People are going to look at my crotch and see I’ve got a hard-on, and I can’t endure Cass making fun of me again. C’mon, y/n,” he pouts at you. “I’m your damsel in distress. Save me from the bullies. Dance with me so no one will see.”

You roll your eyes, but come to stand in front of him nonetheless, letting him lead you to the center for the room with his hands on your waist. This isn’t the first time a gala has bored Tim to sexual frustration. “People will still be able to see your crotch,” you argue. “We’ll just dance really, really close together.” As if to prove his point, he suddenly jerks your hips to his, and you all but fall against him. “The song is too fast for this kind of slow-dancing,” you say into his neck, false protests muffled by his suit.

He leans back to make eye contact with you as the two of you start swaying. “That doesn’t matter. We’re young lovers, y/n,” he reminds you seriously. “They’ll forgive us.”

“Young lovers, hmm?” You’re struck again by his confidence tonight, how alluring it is. It’s rare that he’s this sure of himself, but he wears it so well when he is.

“That’s right.” The two of you are silent for a moment, and you contemplate leaning your head against his chest. “You really do look beautiful in that dress, y/n,” Tim says quietly, all joking gone from his tone.

Your cheeks heat at the compliment. “Thank you.” And then, because you’re immature, too, and because Tim isn’t the only one who can flash his sex drive in public, you impulsively say “I bet you can’t guess what I’m wearing underneath.”

This is probably a mistake, but what the hell. You want your boyfriend just as much as he wants you, maybe more.

Tim doesn’t even wait two full seconds before responding. “See, I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I bet I can.” You weren’t expecting him to be so quick on the uptake, your mistake for thinking his boredom hadn’t already driven him to tackle this particular problem.

“It’s warm enough out that you’re not wearing any tights or pantyhose, so the suspender sets are out.”

“The suspender sets are out,” you repeat solemnly, already excited by this new game you’re playing. “Well, hang on, maybe I just wore a set without the suspenders.”

Tim is quick to shake his head. “No, you hate doing that, you’d rather just wear separate set altogether. It’s a set without the suspenders.”

You let out a low whistle. “Got me pegged there, detective.” You see an opportunity, and waggle your eyebrows. “Maybe I’ll have you pegged, later.”

He falters in the slow waltz he’s leading you through. “Really not helping with the semi here, y/n” he complains, and he’s right, you can feel it pressing lightly against you. You roll your eyes. “Fine, let’s go back to you guessing what lingerie I’m wearing.”

He nods, only half joking. Tim loves a puzzle. “Thank you. So none of the suspenders.”

“So none of the suspenders,” you repeat again, and offer him a winning smile when he glares at you over it.

Explanatory monologue in full swing, he says “You normally like to match your dress, but this one’s black, which isn’t very helpful.” All of a sudden his attention shifts and comes to rest on your face. “Are you going to tell me if I get it right, or will I just have to wait and see?”

“What would make it better for you, baby?” you ask, voice sultry as you slide your hips against his.

“I have absolutely no idea. Is it the red one?” 

“Nope!”

“Damn. I love the red one.”

“I know you do, sweetheart.”

He pouts at you, but quickly perks up again. “Here, hang on, I’m going to risk exposing my erection so I can get a better view of your back,” and suddenly you’re spinning, once, twice, three times, before Tim pulls you back to his chest and dips you as the song ends. You’re panting a bit in surprise, and from your position suspended in his strong arms, you can feel one of his hands pawing around at your hip, smoothing over the fabric of your dress.

He pulls you upright as another song begins, a grimace on his handsome face. You reach up to brush some of his hair out of his eyes. “That was inconclusive,” he mutters.

You glance over his shoulder. “I think Bruce definitely got a good look at what’s going on down south.” Your boyfriend’s father is looking rather pointedly at the ground, a pained look on his face.

“I could barely see the lines of the set through your dress,” Tim complains, and then adds “Bruce’ll get over it. Or he won’t. Whatever,” he says dismissively. “Last week I walked in on Selina blowing him under his desk, so now we’re even. What’s way more important is that I couldn’t see anything, why couldn’t I see anything?”

“Aww, poor baby,” you tease.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, before brightening a bit. “I mean, it wasn’t a total loss. I did get a great view of your ass. It still looks fantastic, by the way.”

“Thanks for the update.”

He keeps going. “I didn’t see the lines, but I did get a good feel of your underwear at your hip.” He plants his tongue between his teeth, eyes closed in concentration as you sway delicately to the new song. “I didn’t feel a strap, so I can rule out some of the thongs.” You hum in agreement, arms coming up to wrap securely around his torso in an extended embrace. “It isn’t either of the black ones, or the nice blue one, is it?”

“No, sweetheart, it’s not.”

“Hn.” He shifts his arms, and you feel his slight hand flitting about at your hip again. He soon gives up, discouraged. “The material of your dress is too thick, I can’t feel anything through it.”

You decide to throw him a bone. “I’ll give you a hint: I’m actually wearing another color besides black, and the set matches it.”

Tim frowns, stepping back from you for a moment to look down at your feet. “Your shoes are black too, what are you talking about?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Do you want me to ruin it for you?”

“No, let me think,” Tim says, and goes silent, eyes shut. You study him as the actual detective comes out to play. His eyes snap open again, and you clock his gaze going for your throat and ears. No necklace, but you are wearing gold earrings. Tim ignores them and takes your hand in his, examining your rings. He knows you too well to ask whether the set is gold or silver, that isn’t your style. He’s getting much closer with the rings though, and then his sharp exhale is ghosting through your fingers and his eyes are meeting yours again. You give him a proud smile.

“Good solve, Timmy.” He kisses the pad of your index finger. “Nail polish, y/n?”

“Nail polish,” you confirm.

“Why?”

You pretend to think it over, letting your eyes go wide. “Well, I just thought it would look nice, you know? My hand right over the panties, maybe even inside them, if you wanted me to do any of the work on my own.”

His eyes just about bug out of his head at that, and then he shakes his smile back and forth, impressed. Your answering grin is knife sharp. “You’ve got me right where you want me, don’t you, y/n? What am I going to do with you?”

“Anything you want,” you whisper, winding your arms around his neck. “That’s sort of the point. We can get out of here right now.”

“You know I would love, love, to do that,” Tim says, running his hands down your back, “but there’s supposedly a deal going down at 9:30 that I kind of need to be there for.”

“Well, then,” you murmur, “you’ll just have to suffer for another twenty minutes.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” he says drily. The two of you sway in silence for a few minutes before he speaks again. “Hold on, y/n, something just occurred to me.”

“Yes, Tim?”

“Your nail polish is purple, but you don’t own any sets that color. What gives?”

You raise your eyebrows at him. He looks at you for a few moments before his face smooths out again. “You really have it in for me tonight, don’t you? It’s a new set?”

“It’s a new set,” you confirm.

“And I bet you look just stellar in purple,” he says to himself, a desperate edge to his voice. 

“You know very well I look good in everything.” You glance downwards. “How are you doing there, Timmy?”

“Fuck off,” he says happily. “Is it lace?”

“Tim, sweetheart, of course it’s lace.”

Your boyfriend groans, then freezes in place. You look at him questioningly. “I’m running a cost/benefit analysis on me skipping out on this deal.”

“Give it to Tam,” you suggest.

“Give it to Tam,” he agrees. “Yeah, alright, let’s get the fuck out of here.”

You let out a delighted laugh, following him in the direction of his old bedroom in the manor. Behind you, you dimly hear the orchestra finish their song. There are a few moments of silence while you make your way to the exit, and then you hear a few forlorn notes on the piano that have you turning around and calling out “Tim!”

“Whoa, y/n, where are you--”

“Tim! Tim it’s Claire de Lune, they’re playing Claire de Lune, we have to stay!” You drag him back to the dance floor.

“But,” he tries to argue, “but y/n, we were going to--”

“Tim.” You stand your ground. “It’s Claire de Lune. Please?”

He mumbles under his breath but takes you back into his arms regardless, like the good boyfriend that he is. You adore the Claire de Lune, and he’s probably reasoned to himself that no amount of arguing or pleading could tear you from the melody spinning lazily through the room.

He’s still going to complain about it, though. “Claire de Lune, huh? I can’t believe I lived to see Twilight cock-blocking me again.”

You poke him in the side. “Some of us first heard Debussy at the Gotham Philharmonic and some of us read about him in Stephanie Meyers’ blockbuster paranormal romance and googled Claire de Lune on the family computer in their Dad’s office, okay? The important thing is we’re both here, and we can both appreciate it, so shut up.”

Tim shuts up. You smile at him, and let your eyes fall closed. The slow melody envelops you like mist and settles on your skin, resting easy in your inner ear. A small part of you anticipates the notes before the pianist actually plays them, and you find yourself nodding when they finally escape from her fingers. Her performance is perfect, she isn’t messing around trying to improve Debussy’s masterwork, just picking her way through it, measure by measure. You take deep, even breaths as a sense of calm permeates your system. Eyes still closed, you let the music relax you, content to wade dreamily in its cool comfort. 

After about a minute, Tim clears his throat. “Y/n,” he says gently, “look.” You open your eyes and follow Tim’s pointed finger to one of the floor-length windows, gasping out loud when you see the stunning full moon. It sits in an overcast sky, fog and smog and clouds pressing against it like an embrace. The thin ropey clouds that drift across its slouched figure are reflecting its yellow light and giving it a warm, pearly corona, a halo. You stare at it openly for a few seconds, admiring the bone moon in its sky armchair.

Your attention drifts back to Tim’s finger, arm still hanging loosely in front of you, and then to the man himself. The ballroom lights are low enough that you can imagine the moonlight reflecting off of Tim, too, that he too is catching some of its cotton shine on his face. You’re awfully lucky to be with someone who takes the time to point out a particular moon among of a string of nights with particular moons, and you tell him so. Tim’s smile is quiet, but he presses his forehead to yours, where it stays for the rest of the song.

When it ends Tim leans back to smile at you again. You smile back, feeling filled up with the moon and the music and him. Catching his hand in your own, you start in the direction of the grand staircase that leads up to his old bedroom. Tim stops you by pulling on your arm lightly, before turning and walking towards the doors that will take you outside.

You look at him quizzically. “Can we go to your apartment?” he murmurs. “We’ve been in my world this whole night, now I want to be in yours.”

You smile softly before leaning up to kiss him, quick and light. He squeezes your hand as he leads you through the room, and then suddenly you’re outside, breathing cool, almost autumn air while you wait for Tim to get a car sorted out. You turn your eyes upward to meet the moon again, the ghost of Claire de Lune still drifting through your head.

Tim breaks your reverie by calling your name, and you follow him into the back of a car. After directing the driver to your apartment, Tim hands you an earbud. You put it in your left ear while Tim puts the other in his right, and together you listen to Claire de Lune again as the car makes it’s way through a Gotham that’s soft and shiny with moonlight. Three repetitions of Debussy later you’re standing in front of your apartment, Tim wrapping his arms around you as you fiddle with your keys, unlock your door, and lead him to your bedroom.

Later, after you’re spent twice over and Tim has made good on his fantasy of opening you up with his mouth, Tim shifts in the bed and slides himself around you, lips at your ear.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

You sigh happily. “Mmm.”

“I asked the orchestra to play Clair de Lune.”

You raise yourself up on your elbows at that, leaning over him with a meaningful look into his starry eyes. You’re sure there are stars in yours, too. 

“Yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

You lie back down. “Thank you.”

His hand comes up to stroke your hair. “Mmm.”

[photolover82]

The Masked Singer Season 6 Costumes (Ranking & Opinions/Guesses)

Hello everyone! We are back baby! Welcome (or welcome back) to Ana's Masked Singer recap, where I, Ana, talk about this not so little show called The Masked Singer, not sure if you have heard of it lol. IT’S SEASON 6 TIME EVERYONE, which means that when a new season is upon us, we gotta rate some costumes (hey, I do make the rules, and that’s a special tradition we do here in case you are new… if you are new, hi, welcome, have a seat, get a cookie, some dinner, whatever you would like, and relax we are about to go on a ride of sorts with costumes). Having said that, let’s get started!

Preface: The show will air September 22 and 23 as a two night premiere and costumes are being revealed little by little at the moment (When I am writing this, idk how many contestants there will be in total so this might be more than 1 part long)

Preface over… introducing the new costumes! *INITATE DRUMROLL PLEASE*

1. Banana Split 🍌🍨

Thoughts: It’s a cute idea ngl…. It kinda makes me sad that there was already a banana costume and an ice cream costume and they just kinda put it together, but it’s still an adorable idea. I love pair costumes on the show, so this is very cute, the cartoon nature of it is super fun.

Prediction: (I am gonna put a prediction on who I think it could be, like whether it’s an athlete, musician, a pair of siblings, a couple, etc.) I think they are a couple, probably married or played a married couple on TV… I am also gonna dream cast this for fun: my dream cast for Banana Split would be either Kristen Bell and Dax Shepard or Fran Drescher and Charles Shaughnessy (who played Fran and Max on The Nanny, who were love interests/a married couple on the show)

First Clue: 3 pair of 🎲 with the numbers adding to 6

Rating: 10/10

2. Hamster 🐹

Thoughts: it’s soooo fluffy and cute omg I love it… I really hope this is a good singer because I just love this costume, it is too cute to be sent home the first week (I’m looking at you Gremlin). Everything about this costume is so cool and whimsical, any child (and me) would go crazy for the hamster.

Prediction: My brain automatically goes to an athlete who can sing (hopefully) but from experience with the show, this seems like an athlete would be under this mask… but another part of me thinks it might be an actor, so I am torn between the 2: actor or athlete (hopefully who can sing ok)… probably male I predict. Dream cast actor wise would be Jack Black and athlete wise I have no idea because I know close to nothing about sports and I don’t wanna embarrass myself here with names

First Clue: A whistle

Rating: 10/10!

3. Cupcake 🧁

Thoughts: This is a costume I have been waiting for a while… I love I so much. It reminds me of the cupcake float from Victorious (if anyone knows that reference I applaud you) and I really love it honestly.

Prediction: An actress or/and singer (female), I low key want it to be like one of the actresses I grew up on like anyone who used to be on Nickelodeon or Disney Channel… so my dream cast would be between Liz Gillies (who played Jade on Victorious), Victoria Justice (Tori also on Victorious) or Sabrina Carpenter (from Girl Meets World on Disney Channel)

First Clue: 🧭 pointing North

Rating: 10/10!

4. Mallard (Duck) 🦆

Thoughts: Wow, this one is really dope and dapper looking, it kind of reminds me of Giraffe from season 4, I really like the look of it. Also, I heard from the preview that he can sing a mean country song, so I’m excited, I hope he’s good, fingers crossed.

Prediction: From what Robin Thicke said in the preview, perhaps a country singer or an actor who can sing country. My dream cast would probably be Keith Urban, Jason Aldean, or LeAnn Rimes’s husband (who was on that Netflix show about country music so I guess he can do a country song idk) Eddie Cibrian

First Clue: Red telephone ☎️

Rating: 10/10

5. Dalmatian 🐶

Thoughts: This one is also pretty cool, I really hope someone in sports isn’t under there because that would be way too predictable… it reminds me of last season’s Bulldog mask which ended up being Nick Cannon… but like cooler for some reason

Prediction: I’m gonna go off the cuff here (since those kind of responses work for this show lol) and I think it might be a rapper of some sort, similar to like Frog or Chameleon. My dream cast for this one would probably be Kendrick Lamar, Snoop Dogg (lolll get it… probably not tho), or Chance the Rapper

First Clue: Eagles 🦅

Rating: 9/10

6. Octopus 🐙

Thoughts: This is my first time seeing the octopus, since it was just revealed today… but I really like the vibe, even though it is a bit of an unconventional twist on an octopus. I like the idea of an octopus for this season since so many international versions have it and the American one really needed it. It’s cool ngl, I was hoping for more of an authentic octopus tentacle thing instead of just the pants but it is cool regardless

Prediction: I think this is a male actor or singer, someone a bit older or someone popular from the 80s or 90s. I am in between like a member of Boyz 2 Men, Ted Danson, or Lance Bass for a dream cast.

First Clue: Cookie 🍪 dunked in milk 🥛

Rating: 8/10

7. Bull 🐂

Thoughts: I really like what Masked Singer did with the bull, making it look like a Spanish matador which is super cool and also ironic in a funny way. It looks really cool, kinda reminds me of the Dragon from season 4. I like it a lot tbh.

Prediction: I think this might be a male actor or musician… I am thinking similar my prediction to Octopus, either older or popular from the 80s-90s. Again, dream cast wise, I would say someone from Boyz 2 Men, AJ McClain from Backstreet Boys, or like a legend like Paul McCartney

First Clue: Lions and Tigers

Rating: 9/10

8. Queen of Hearts 🫀

Thoughts: It’s a dope costume, but the one eye and the mouth is kinda creepy looking tbh. I do like the idea of an actual heart with a crown being the Queen of Hearts instead of like a similar thing to Alice in Wonderland’s Queen of Hearts.

Prediction: Probably a female actress or TV personality (probably from reality TV perhaps), age wise I am not too sure but it might be a shorter girl. Dream cast wise I would say Liza Koshy, Nicole Richie, or Paris Hilton.

First Clue: Horses

Rating: 8/10

9. Baby 👶🏼

Thoughts: Damn, that’s a creepy baby and Masked Singer confirmed on Instagram that it was their biggest costume yet, which their previous biggest one was 7 feet, so a huge baby makes it even more terrifying like wow! However, having said that, part of me is pretty intrigued to see who the hell is under this mask. I’m sure they cannot sing tho…

Prediction: My mind straight goes to an male athlete because that would be so funny and kind of a troll on Masked Singer’s part… and that’s most of the big people we have seen thus far. So, dream cast wise, you are allowed to laugh at me but my mind immediately went to Shaq (Shaquille O’Neal) because he’s huge and if you are gonna go big for someone, it would be for Shaq.

First Clue: "This pacifier sucker never claimed to be classy, especially when I get gassy"

Rating: 6/10

10. Beach Ball 🏖

Thoughts: Yeah, there is no way a human could fit in that thing, but it’s cool regardless… I also saw that it has two faces. That’s super interesting to me honestly, it reminds me of Snail from last season who ended up being a Muppet, so this is a bit reminiscent of that. I like it, this is the most intriguing one thus far.

Prediction: As I kind of hinted at in my thoughts, I feel like this is a Muppet or puppet of some kind, round two! There might be more than one puppet in there because of the two faces, but I am gonna assume one for dream cast reasons, I really want it to be Miss Piggy because it would be funny with Kermit being there last season.

First Clue: 2 band-aids shaped like an X

Rating: 8/10

That’s it for part 1! Stay tuned for part 2 for more costumes and predictions! See you guys then! 👋🏼

* This post was edited on September 13th to add the 1st clues from the sneak peak episode that aired on September 12th but even though some of my thoughts have changed (especially with Queen of Hearts), I will not be changing them and I can elaborate better when the episode airs *

[buckyodinson]

Poetry (AU!Oberyn Martell x fem!Reader)

Request based on this prompt from @ghostofthebarricade​ : I just thought of a Modern!AU Oberyn x Reader where the reader has a toddler daughter from a previous relationship who can‘t pronounce Oberyn‘s name properly so she just ends up calling him Obyn or Byn (Beaaaaaaaaan). And he ends up calling her little Bean…

Word Count: 2k

A/N: Much like the Javi fic, I’d like to preface this by saying I’ve never watched Game of Thrones, and know next to nothing about Oberyn other than what I’ve seen in Instagram edits, or other writing. Hopefully the Modern!AU worked in my favour here???

(D/N = daughter’s name)

You owned a small book store in your town, and it was there that you met Oberyn. He came in one morning, asking whether you had any poetry. You showed him to the shelves that contained the poetry you stocked, and left him there, telling him to give you a shout if he needed anything else.

You walked back to your desk, straightening a few books on the way there. Once you were sat back at your computer, you couldn’t help but steal glances at the man as he inspected the shelves. He was dressed very smartly, and seemed well-educated. He had an accent that you couldn’t quite place, but in the brief exchange you’d shared, you’d quickly determined it to be very attractive.

In your peripheral, you saw him approaching your desk, so you studied your computer screen more intently, hoping he didn’t notice you watching him. He placed three books on the counter and smiled at you once you looked up at him, “Could I trouble you for your opinion?” His voice was like honey and you felt heat rising across your face.

“Of course, how can I be of help?” You beamed at him.

“I like to write poetry in my spare time, but as of late, I’ve had no inspiration and I was wondering, if you had to recommend one of these to inspire me, which would you choose?” He gestured to the three books he placed in front of you.

You looked down at the books and your smile softened when you caught sight of the book in the middle, “This one, for sure. All three are beautifully written, but personally, I find these to be the most charming. I actually read these poems to my daughter. I doubt she understands them, but she sleeps well if I read one to her. I even have to make sure I pack the book when she stays at her dad’s, or she won’t go to bed!” You pick the book up and run your finger up and down the spine lovingly before handing it back to him, blushing and internally cursing yourself for talking about your ex to this random guy.

“I’ll take it, then! How old is your daughter, if I may ask?” His inquisitive eyes shine as he smiles.

“She just turned 3.” You gesture towards a photo on the wall behind you, as you process the book through the register.

“That’s us dressed as Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum from Alice in Wonderland, for World Book Day.” You smile as you look at the photo and remember all the people who came into the store that day and complimented the pair of you.

“Good costume choice, she looks just like you! It’s a lovely photo. I take it she loves books?”

“I guess she hasn’t really got a choice with me as a mother!” You joke and he chuckles.

“I bet you’re a wonderful mother. I’d have loved to have been read to all the time when I was younger.” His genuine smile makes you blush as you give him his total and he gives you the money.

“That’s very sweet of you to say, thank you. Maybe one day you’ll be reading your poetry to your own kids?” Your whole face lit up as you gave him his bag.

“Maybe…”

“Well, have a lovely day! And I’d love to read your poetry one day, if you don’t mind sharing it, that is? I bet it’s lovely.”

“Thank you. And perhaps I’ll stop by some time and let you read it.”

“I’d like that…” he gave you a small wave when he walked out the door and down the street.

You took a deep breath and picked up the two books he’d left behind, walking to place them back on the shelf, “Get a hold of yourself… he’s a complete stranger who came in to buy a book, don’t be an idiot.” you whispered to yourself. But when you reached the shelf to place the first of the books back, you saw a business card poking out between two books. Your eyebrows knitted together as you pulled it out and saw the generic business details printed, but also a mobile number handwritten on the back. You quickly put the books back and walked back to your computer, typing in the name on the card.

Oberyn Martell.

You hit search, and his face appeared, as well as a small biography. He was the son of a wealthy oil proprietor from down south. That shocked you, but when you read more, you found he could be considered the black sheep of the family - or white sheep, depending on how you looked at it. While his family were in the limelight, he led a quieter life, choosing to spend his wealth on charities, rather than splashing it on private jets and mansions. He supports several charities that deal with children who are displaced by war, and several LGBT+ charities (much to his family’s chagrin). The more you read about Oberyn, the more fascinated you grew over him, wondering what compelled him to stop in your little book store today.

You looked back at the business card, and turned it over to see the mobile number he’d scrawled on the back. You grabbed your phone and added him to your contacts, but the chime of the bell above your door alerted you to a customer, and you put your phone away before you had a chance to send him a message.

The store gets a little busier as the afternoon hits, and you don’t manage to get to your phone until later in the evening, once you’re home. When you finally sit down with a drink, you open your phone and the first thing that pops up is his contact screen. You smile and type him a message.

‘Is this the sweet-talking poet from this morning?’

You busy yourself with making dinner, dancing lightly around your kitchen when you spot your phone screen light up from across the room. You quickly grab your phone and stare at the message.

‘It sure is. I was beginning to worry you hadn’t seen my card. Or that you had, and had just thrown it in the trash.’

‘Never! I can’t pass up a poet, they’re a rarity these days. Especially if you’re planning on letting me read some of your work.’

‘Well, I’m glad you’re interested.’

You’re about to type back when you see the three little dots appear, and you wait for his second message to come through.

‘Forgive me if this is too forward, but would you like to go out for dinner with me some time?’

Your eyes widened when you read the text, but you quickly typed a reply,

‘I’d love that’

‘I’m free anytime after 6 all this week, D/N is with her dad visiting family this week.’

‘Perfect! I can pick you up from the store tomorrow, if that works?’

‘Sounds good to me!’

The next day, you were closing the shop when Oberyn pulled up to the pavement, and jumped out of the car to pull you into a hug, kissing you on the cheek. You blushed as he opened the passenger door for you, closing it once you were sat inside.

He took you for dinner at a restaurant in town, not overly fancy, but much more upmarket compared to the places you usually ate at. He told you all about his family, and you told him about your ex and your daughter, and he seemed very understanding. You chatted for hours, and you felt a real connection with him.

He dropped you home afterwards, kissing you on your doorstep before walking back to his car and driving away.

You fell for him quickly, and he was evidently enamoured with you too. You’d text constantly and he’d stop by the store often, bringing you flowers, or a small piece of poetry he’d written about you.

The big day, however, was the day you finally introduced him to your daughter. It had been just over a month of him coming to the store with little gifts, or something to eat from the bakery round the corner, and fancy dinners once or twice a week. Your daughter’s daycare was closed for the week because of some building work, so she was spending the week at the book store with you, being your little assistant.

He’d text you the night before to tell you he’d be stopping by, and you’d explained to her that she was gonna meet a new friend of yours at work, and she seemed happy enough at making a new friend.

You’d had a fairly quiet morning in the shop, D/N sat behind the counter with you all morning. If any customers bought anything, she’d give them a drawing to put in their bag when they left too. Most of your customers were regulars, who knew her very well so they all made a big deal about the little scribbles she would hand them, and you were so grateful because the smile on her face rarely wavered.

Oberyn turned up around noon looking very dapper. He waved at the pair of you as he walked in, and D/N waved back happily, simply whispering the word ‘prince’ to you. You think seeing someone dressed so smartly was a new thing for her, as she’d only ever really seen men dressed like that in princess cartoons. It made you giggle as he walked over, and you thought to yourself that he did actually look like a prince. He brought cupcakes for the both of you, and even a cute little set of gel pens for D/N, which she was very excited about.

“D/N, this is my new friend I told you about, remember?” You sat her on your lap as you pointed at Oberyn.

“Yes!” She squealed as she took a bite of her cupcake.

“Hi D/N. My name is Oberyn, it’s very nice to meet you. Your mother has told me lots about you.” He held a hand out and after a nudge from you, D/N reached her own out. Oberyn gently took her hand, and placed a kiss on her knuckles, before bowing as if she were royalty. This produced a giggle from the young girl, who smiled brightly up at Oberyn.

She tried to say Oberyn a few times, unsuccessfully, before simply settling for “Byn!”

“Is that what you wish to call me? Byn?” He chuckled at her attempts and she nodded her head enthusiastically.

“As you wish! But only if I can call you Bean?” He countered, raising an eyebrow comically, and D/N giggled yet again.

“Okay!” She happily carried on her drawing, now with her new pens, while you and Oberyn chatted.

Once it was time for Oberyn to leave, you leaned over the counter to give him a quick kiss, and D/N made a noise of disgust, which made you both chuckle.

“What do you say to Oberyn for the pens?” You smiled down at the drawings she’d done while you idly chatted away.

“Thank you!!” she practically shouted before handing him one of her drawings. It was mostly scribbles, but from the colours, Oberyn could see it was supposed to be him.

“Is this me?” His eyes went wide and he acted shocked, before holding it up next to his face, “It looks just like me! You’re so talented, Bean!” She laughed at the nickname again and reached her arms out to hug him. Oberyn looked at you, as if for permission, and you gestured for him to go ahead. He leaned forward and she wrapped her little arms around his neck, and he quickly picked her up and spun her around in a little circle, before slowing down. As he moved to put her back in her seat, she planted a big kiss on his cheek and you mimicked her earlier ‘ewww’ and she poked her tongue out at you, at which Oberyn laughed heartily.

“I must go, my doves.” He bowed dramatically again, “It was lovely to meet you, little Bean.” She gave him a massive grin in response.

She waved to him as he left the shop, promptly carrying on with her drawing.

“So, do you like Oberyn?” You asked her after a few minutes.

“Byn!!” Is all she said, but the smile on her face told you enough.

[yesevictor]

Genies’ PAC-MAN NFTs Look Good Enough to Eat

In May 2021, avatar tech firm Genies partnered with entertainment giant BANDAI NAMCO to launch a series of PAC-MAN NFTs. These non-fungible tokens, unique collectables, utilize the vintage arcade game’s ground-breaking and colorful design aesthetic to bring PAC-MAN into the digital world. The project, which featured contributions from digital artists including Gabriel GG, NFN Kalyan, Defaced, Baugasm, Cory Van Lew, and Render Fruit, featured a series of PAC-MAN helmets: avatar-wearable NFTs for purchase and use in digital spaces. Six helmets, one designed by each of the artists, were released, as well as a classic piece inspired by the original game. In addition, a last art piece featuring a Genies avatar wearing a PAC-MAN helmet and being chased by one of the game’s ghost antagonists is available. The wearable NFTs can be sported by Genies avatars that can then be used in various social media, messaging, and game apps that work with the Genies platform. This list includes:

Giphy

iMessage

Instagram

Facebook Messenger

WhatsApp

And more.

PAC-MAN Wearable NFTs

This Genies x PAC-MAN collaboration, released via the avatar wearable NFT marketplace OpenSea is the last in Genies’ series of NFT releases made on other problems. Going forward, they will be making their wearable NFT drops on their own marketplace, where fans and collectors can engage with the games, teams, artists, and other IPs that they support while expressing their digital identity in unique ways. Genies is collaborating with NBA Top Shot’s Dapper Labs, also an investor in Genies’ recent $65 million round of funding, to build its new NFT marketplace. Perhaps Genies Asia will partner up again with BANDAI NAMCO to sell another set of NFTs supporting another classic gaming IP: SoulCalibur, Dark Souls, Digimon, or one of their many other successful franchises. Fans can express their devotion to the world in this capacity, advertising their love for the game in a completely new medium.

The views, thoughts, and opinions expressed in the text belong solely to the author.

Source: https://hypebeast.com/2021/5/pac-man-wearable-nft-genies-avatar-exclusive

[psqvp]

All on brown! 🌰 . . . Suit by @lopez_aragon details: corduroy fabric by @brisbanemoss ; double breasted blazer: wide peak lapels, quite structured shoulder, patch pockets, non-everlapping buttons on the sleeve; trousers: Gurkha buttoning; no beltloops; two frontal pleats, 4,5 cm cuffs ✂️ Chocolate Turtleneck Jumper Brigatelli 1922 x @michaeljondral 🍫 @drakesdiary pocket square ⛩ Single Buckle Monk with hand stitched norwegian apron in milk chocolate brown by @saintcrispins 👞 . . . #corduroy #outfitoftheday #bespokesuit #shoes #doublebreasted #shoeporn #shoespassion #shoesaddict #ootd #corduroysuit #sartorial #lopezaragon #enjoylife #lifestyle #lifestyleblogger #menstyle #gentleman #gentlemanstyle #instagram #instagood #dapper #welldressed #dappermen #doublebreastedsuit #saincrispins #shoesoftheday #menshoes #rincondecaballeros #splittoederby #saintcrispinsshoes (en Madrid, Spain) https://www.instagram.com/p/CpIZdzys92U/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[newcaptainofsquad9]

Was This Vacation A Mistake?~Crazy Rich Asians( Astrid x black! fem! reader) ~Part 1

Pairing: Astrid x reader

Summary: You and your best friend Rachel have been teaching at NYU for a few years now and the both of you need a load off from it. Rachel suggests that you tag along with her and Nick to Singapore to which you reluctantly do. Although you consider yourself an outsider, you’re welcome by Rachel and Nick’s close friends. However, some of Nick’s family don’t seem too fond of Rachel and you being so chummy with Nick. All but Nick’s cousin, Astrid who comes to your rescue. 

Writer’s Note: I’ve been wanted to write a black reader insert forever, since I’m a black woman and don’t really see much of it on here. I wanted to do a fic with one of Gemma Chan’s characters’ and obviously Astrid had to be the first. Crazy Rich Asians was such a great, breathtaking film that I had to write about it. Note, there will be some racism in this fic, because racism still exists, even though a lot of people believe that it’s gone. I thought about how this traditional family such as the Youngs would view an American outsider if she was a woman of color and it will not be pleasant at first. 

Warnings: None. I’ll try to make it good I promise, I just wanted to try something different. Please, give me feedback! Hope ya’ll enjoy it!

Word Count: 1,527

______________________________________________________________

“Singapore?” I ask while blowing off my rather hot blueberry muffin. 

Rachel nods with a dazed grin, teeth and all.

“It’s not too early is it?” she asks, “I’m still trying to determine what type of family they are.”

“I’m sure they’ll love you Rach, families can be a bit dysfunctional at time,” I say, retracting my statement immediately. “On second thought, dysfunctional doesn’t even cover it.”  

“Maybe,” Rachel says, grinning abruptly. “Maybe my best friend could come with us?”

I nearly choke on the piece of muffin I began chewing.

“Come again?” I ask. 

Rachel’s hands reached across the table taking my own while putting on her best pout. 

“Please Y/N? I don’t want to go it alone,” she groaned. 

“Uh, last time I checked you and Nick were in a relationship. I don’t do open relationships,” I say. 

Rachel chuckles, “No, Y/N look when was the last time you used your passport? Wasn’t it that summer in Nice to interview that author for your class?” 

“I thought I told you not to bring that up anymore? That was an asshole and didn’t respect the craft, he only cared about money,” I grumbled. 

Rachel nods understandably. 

“You need a break from this stuffy campus, what have you been doing since classes ended last week?” She asks. 

“Grading papers,” I groan, “got down to the last two today–I’m having second thoughts about teaching next semester.”

Rachel gasps dramatically. 

 “Then who will join me for tea every weekend?” she asks, “who’ll listen to me vent about our current economy and listen to her bestie vent about creating the new cannon of literature.”

Rachel nudges my arm, forcing a smile back on my face. 

“Don’t act like you don’t agree with me, I know these kids are sick of reading the same old white dudes as I did.” I say. “I’m close to changing it.”

“You know I’m a hundred percent on board,” Rachel says, “but you need a break, have some real Asian cuisine.”

“Rachel Chu, did you just bash your mother’s cooking skills?” I tease. 

Rachel slaps my wrist playfully. 

“You and I haven’t had her meals since the semester started and you know it!” She scolds. “All I’m saying is that I know the food will be great, and I’d rather you see for yourself instead of through Instagram.”

“Fine,” I groan in defeat. “I’ll go, but if it turns out like Get Out, I’m out of there.”

Rachel rolls her eyes. 

“I won’t let that happen, minority alliance, right?”

She giggles holding her pinkie out. I’m the one rolling my eyes now, but I link my pinkie with her own. This is a chance to get a load off and travel to another place, meet new people. Rachel might be right, for once in a while. 

“In speaking of moms’, I need to let her know that I’m spending the summer in Singapore,” I say with a smirk. 

“Tell her you’re going to a wedding,” Nick says as he walks up to the table.

He greets Rachel with a kiss prior to coming over to my side. 

“Y/N, how’s my favorite English professor?” he chuckles. 

I can’t help but laugh at his attempt to suck up. 

“I’m the only one you know, but come here anyway,” I say.

Nick grins and hugs me tightly before pulling away. 

“We still down for drinks tonight?” he asks Rachel with a grin. 

I rise, noticing when the fluff starts as always. It’s cute, too teeth rottenly cute. 

“All right, ok I’ll go,” I say, “oh, yeah Nick, how much is a round trip to Singapore anyway?”

Nick doesn’t answer, only chuckles as if I told a joke. 

“What?” I ask.

“Y/N, I’m well off to cover it, trust me.” 

…

I always knew Nick Young was right for Rachel, but I didn’t expect him to be rich. Insanely rich, there’s a distinction. People I knew back home saved up for regular air bnbs, working class people. I could never imagine something like this.

Nick’s got his own flight attendants who wear these slender, red traditional Chinese dresses, loads of champagne and two beds.

Of course Rachel is now sprawled out on my bed watching Notting Hill. 

“Why this movie, this isn’t even his best movie,” I say. 

Rachel giggles and rolls back up into a sitting position. 

“You’re just mad I didn’t put on a Tom Hiddleston film,” Rachel sneers. 

“Hey, it’s not my fault his accent is much better than Hugh Grants,” I say.

Rachel gasps, “you didn’t!”

“I totally did, and here I thought you’d much prefer your boyfriend’s accent,” I say. 

“Don’t tell him that,” Rachel jokes, “he won’t let me live it down.”

“Live what down?” Nick asks, holding two glasses of champagne. 

Rachel accepts one, and I decline Nick’s offer. 

“I’ll pass,” I say, “I’m not really a champagne drinker.”

“That’s ok Y/N,” Nick says, “I think I heard you say my accent is better than Hugh Grants.” 

I can’t help but giggle, Rachel rolls her eyes as Nick rumbles with chuckles. 

“Yeah, your accent is definitely up there, why didn’t you tell me your family had points with this airline?” I say, “could have saved me the crummy airbnbs I’ve gotten over the years.” 

Nick grins again before taking a swig of his champagne. 

“My family’s just well off.”

…

Well off my ass. 

Nick’s grandmother’s house isn’t a house, it’s a mansion. With butlers, luscious plants;people with sparkling dresses, dapper suits ; and a giant stuffed tiger. Rachel was worried about everyone staring at her, but all eyes stay on me. 

Nick already whisked Rachel away to meet his mother, leaving me alone with the silver trays and the wondering stares. 

“Hey! You’re Nick’s personal servant, aren’t you!” One guy hollers.  

I throw him a look, but say nothing. They might believe any stereotype, wouldn’t want to give them anymore reason to. 

“You all right?” someone asks. 

I raise a brow and turn towards the voice. 

My face burns at the sight of the olive skinned woman; her jet black hair, ruby colored lip stick and a shiny silver dress. Her accent caught me off guard though. British, like Nick’s, but a bit different. 

“Hi, ah–”

She smiles and holds her hand out to me. 

“Astrid, Astrid Leong,” she says. 

I grin, shake her hand firmly and almost forget my own name. 

“Y-Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N,” I say. 

“That’s a pretty name,” she notes. 

I can’t help but blush. This has got to be a dream. 

“Thanks, I-I love your earrings,” I say, trying to keep myself from staring too deeply into her eyes. 

Astrid steps a bit closer, putting a hand on my arm. 

“You sure? you seem a little flustered,” Astrid says. 

I nod sharply.

“Y-Yeah, just all of the lights I got to get used to,” I say, playing it off. 

Astrid gives me a careful once over before grinning again. 

“All right,” she says, “if you need anything let me know, I can play hero for Nick and Rachel’s friend.” 

“How’d you know I came with Nick and Rachel?” I ask. 

Astrid giggles while rubbing my arm tenderly. 

“I’ve been to this house for years Y/N,” Astrid says, “I know the usual guests and no one looks at it in wonder like you do.” 

All I can do is nod and be captivated by Astrid’s voice. 

“Y-Yeah, great point, Astrid–”

“Astrid!” 

Astrid and I both turn toward a man in a purple suit and glasses. 

“Cassian’s calling for you, he wants a story before bed,” he says. 

Astrid sighs.

“Mother duty calls I suppose, thank you Ollie,” she says before turning to me. “It was a pleasure Y/N, I’ll see you later, yeah?”

I nod and try not to fall as she squeezed my hand and walk away. 

“Wow,” I whisper.

Ollie nods. 

“Indeed,” he agrees, “I hardly see women fawn over Astrid like that.”

I turn to him. 

“I’m sorry, have we met?” I ask.

“Oliver T’sien,” he says, “I’m the eyes and ears around here.”

I keep an eye on him. 

“How do you know Astrid?”

“Well, Astrid and I are Nick’s cousins. My family’s not as well off as the Youngs or Leongs’ but we’re still stable,” he explains, “plus I’m just the rainbow sheep of the family, I’ve gotten used to all of the talk, haven’t you?”

I nod, catching onto his words. 

“Family drama can be a pain, but instead of the rainbow sheep, I’m more of a pink, purple and blue one,” I say. 

Ollie grins. 

“All the more scandalous, can I tell you something about Astrid?” he asks. “It’s nothing bad, I swear.”

I nod, he offers an arm and I take it as we walk. 

“Sure,” I say. 

Ollie leans close to my ear and whispers, “Astrid’s a divorcee, she’s been divorced for the past year now.” 

My heart skips a beat, thank God I wasn’t ogling over a married woman.  

“I don’t know if Astrid favors the pink, blue and purple like you, but I’d give it a try,” Ollie says. 

I’m not sure how I feel about that.